Chapter 8: Going Green

The next morning, Laurel delivered his coffee to the kitchen, and then proceeded to the lab with the rest of the tray. She suspected that Stark was still regrouping from his most recent attempt to unmask her, and so she behaved a little less warily than she should have. The moment she placed the coffees on the work bench, a net of metal cords, woven as fine as spider silk, exploded around her, knocking coffee and papers to the ground and binding her fast.

She barely had time to raise a shield to prevent the tiny wires from coming into contact with her skin. An alarm sounded, and she heard a loud whoop from somewhere upstairs. Jarvis was talking, but Laurel paid no attention to his words. She wondered about the cords, because Stark knew she could apparate, but then she sensed that there was more to her chains than she had expected. An electric current ran through the metal, but almost as soon as the buzzing started, it stopped. As if waiting for its cue, one of the robots wheeled towards her, holding a small metal cylinder. Her paranoia caused her to react instantly, apparating across the room before the robot could deploy its strange weapon. She had thought it was some sort of knockout gas, but realized its true purpose with a mixture of intrigue and horror moments later. Even several yards away, she could feel her body lock up a little bit. If she were closer, she would be completely paralyzed by now.

The idea of winding up frozen and completely at Stark's mercy unsettled her. He was beginning to go to more drastic lengths to catch her, and she needed to decide soon whether he could be trusted to remain humane in the face of scientific discovery. Impulsively, Laurel decided to test him.

Seconds had passed since the net had deployed, and she knew she had only moments before Stark came barging in to find his trap empty. She summoned the paralytic from the robot, placing it in the space she had recently occupied inside the net. With a deft bit of transfiguration, the device became a puppy, and not just any puppy—a crup. Although the wires no longer carried an electrical current, she carefully shielded the small animal.

All at once, Stark burst into the room, breathing heavily and wearing his Iron Man gauntlets on his wrists. Interesting. Perhaps his trap had required more courage than she had anticipated, because the gauntlets made it very clear that he wasn't underestimating her. When he saw the pup, he stopped short, and his mouth grew slack. "Jarvis? What's going on? Am I dealing with a shape-shifter?" he demanded, eying the frisky puppy with consternation.

"I don't believe so, sir. Perhaps you ought to watch the footage of the event in question," the AI suggested delicately.

He ignored the softly whining dog for the moment, and peered at the viewing screen with fascination, observing how the cords had molded themselves around a distinctly human-shaped body. As the silhouette disappeared, and the chains began to collapse inward, Tony blinked and commanded, "Jarvis, go back."

This time he watched carefully, and actually saw the small silver neuro-paralyzer fly out of Dummy's grasp and land in the empty net. Quickly deactivating the net, he searched all over for the small sonic device, checking under the furniture and then digging through the metallic mesh. It wasn't there. The puppy was. It all pointed to one inescapable conclusion. "It's been turned into a living thing," he breathed, awed and a little frightened at the possibilities.

Just what was he dealing with here? Some sort of ancient demigod? Perhaps an alien with the desire to scope out the best of earth's technology. He wasn't flattering himself when he acknowledged that she had come to the right place. But with powers like hers, he sincerely doubted that he had anything she would consider worth her time. He would feel like a fool if she turned out to be a villain, but could hardly bring himself to consider that theory. The pieces just didn't fit. What sort of bad guy would worry about his eating habits and keep coming back week after week?

Tony felt incredibly guilty about using the paralysis device, which Obie had once turned against him to devastating effect, but hadn't been able to think of how else to secure her. Titanium-alloy ropes were of little use against a being that could teleport, and an electric shock would only freeze her movement for a few moments. She would still have been long gone by the time he had made it downstairs if he hadn't resorted to desperate measures. But it appeared that both his fears and hopes had been futile, because she had eluded him once again.


Laurel disapparated, standing in her darkened hotel room, gasping for breath and laughing in exhilaration. That had been an extremely close call, but instead of making her question the sanity of her current course, it had had rather the opposite effect. Somewhere along the way-after fighting basilisks, riding dragons, hunting horcruxes and battling dark wizards-she had gotten a little addicted to danger. Pitting her wits and magic against Stark's genius and technology was the most fun she had had…possibly ever.

And she liked him. It was really impossible not to. Tony Stark was…wonderful. He was fun personified, breathing life and vigor into everything around him. His was the unique mind that gave Jarvis consciousness; taught himself to fly…and in every way proved himself to be the superior son of a stellar father.

Laurel realized that it would be better for her and Stark if she cut ties and walked away, but she'd come much too far for that. The witch felt a little embarrassed that she had sunk to using her powers to stalk a celebrity, but could no more have ignored his shining existence than she could have excised her own magic. Besides, she reasoned casually, it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy it. After all, she wasn't Peeves or Moaning Myrtle. With a grin, she wondered how the inventor would have handled them.

Laurel enjoyed thinking about what the genius would have made of the wizarding world. His limitless curiosity and scientific mind would have revolutionized it. She had yet to unpack her bottomless bag, and kept it on her at all times. Sometimes she would inventory the piles of magical products and materials that she had acquired for her adventure. Every time she came across anything remotely interesting, her first instinct was always to show it to Stark. She had grown addicted to putting a look of wonder on his face, and spent a fair amount of time daydreaming about which spells and magical objects would impress him. She owned a large roll of dragon-hide, and mentally pictured him running tests on it. He would be intrigued by firewhiskey, the Monster Book of Monsters, pensieves, joke products from WWW...In fact, he would probably see applications for all of them that she'd never dreamed of.

She grinned to herself when she imagined being the one to reveal all the marvels of magic to him. He was a man that would truly appreciate them….But these were just her fantasies, rather than plans for the future, because if he knew about magic, he would want to conduct research, and his research could always be stolen and turned against her. The magic-user doubted that even Jarvis was impenetrable. Tony Stark and his alter-ego, Iron Man, were very public figures, and any companions would be as well. She feared the careful scrutiny of the media, government agencies, militaries, villains, competitors….She knew that she had a difficult choice to make in the near future. This game was fun, but she and Stark couldn't remain in limbo forever. Either she would have to disappear, or he would catch her. And if he caught her, she would owe him some answers. It would be only sporting.

In concern for the future, she had sat down a few days ago with books of spells strewn all over the bed and discovered a charm that some equally paranoid magical had created, which made blood disappear the moment it left the body so that it could never be used for nefarious purposes. She had never heard of anyone employing this spell before, but assumed that was because it was in parseltongue. Also, it would probably be much easier to bleed to death if no one knew how much blood you had already lost. But to her, the risk was more than acceptable.

She had noticed a few years ago that she wasn't shedding hair and skin cells. The cells didn't seem to be dying. And she was still young—not yet thirty, but she hadn't aged a day since she'd hit her prime. This served as yet another reason (she must be mad to need more) why showing her true face to these muggles was extremely inadvisable. If anyone had the slightest idea that she possessed eternal youth, she would need to develop eyes on the back of her head. The sorceress could envision how marketable she would be to any lab. Even one of her tissue samples would be beyond price, and she shuddered at the idea of a bounty being placed on her head.

It was imperative that she find a more secure place to live, but she still thought like an alien visitor in this new world, and the idea of putting down roots made her feel rather conflicted. Besides, she spent hardly any time at all in her hotel room. It was for sleeping, and occasionally brewing a potion or doing a little research that would involve looking through more than one book at a time.

She had made a set of intricately carved ward-stones, and carried them in her bag. There were six in total, and every night, she placed them around the perimeter of her room. Each linked to the stone closest to it, and ended up forming a sphere that stretched above and below the room, as well its circumference. She gathered them up each morning, and they gave her a little peace of mind. The witch was starting to get the itch to set up wards around Stark's mansion—nothing too over-the-top like the Fidelius Charm, but perhaps some intent-based wards. Unfortunately, she hardly thought that she could get away with digging up the perimeter of his property without him noticing—especially now that he was on high alert, but it was an idea for the future, if she ever revealed herself.

Although Tony-watching took up quite a bit of her time, Laurel had many other pursuits. Some days she felt like a pilgrim in a strange land, free of all the restrictions imposed by her mother country. She reveled in all the aspects of her new-found independence, even simple things like foregoing the heavy, ungainly witches' robes. But she also felt more than a little lost, and Tony was her anchor in this new world. He was the one constant, a warm hearth-fire that drew her irresistibly each evening.

Having been stifled for so long, it was hard to find a purpose. It was true that she had enjoyed a few years abroad after the war, but those had mostly been spent cloistered in study. The young witch had often gone for weeks without having a decent conversation with anyone in an effort to hide her identity. She had grown even more withdrawn and introspective as a result, and this mindset had carried over to her new life, contributing to the alienation she felt from the muggles.

Oftentimes, she wandered invisible, because it was easier to be herself without fear of reprisal. If she happened to be in a run-down area of a city, she could fix it up with a few well-aimed reparos, and no one be the wiser. She liked to mend broken things, and did it a lot, drawing on her skill at transfiguration. Sometimes she hopped to cities overseas and repaired things there, getting to see something of the world at the same time. But she always returned to Malibu. Tony Stark had made many requests of her, but the one thing he had never asked her to do was leave.

Laurel tried to keep busy and to take life one day at a time, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Countless nights she rose from sleep and paced moodily to her hotel room's balcony, feeling the cooling breeze on her face, drinking in the rhythmic sound of the waves, and trying not to choke on her loneliness. On these particular nights, it was a strain not to give into the urge to summon a dead person from her old life. She didn't know if she would still be able to reach them in this new place, but suspected that death transcended all boundaries. It would have eased her spirit to talk to Sirius, Remus, her parents…even Snape or Colin Creevy. But she didn't want to be a bother and interrupt their 'next great adventure' so they could listen to her whinging. Also, the fear of finding out definitively that she was unable to contact them-that they had finally passed beyond her reach-was so soul-rending that it usually succeeded in dousing the temptation.

In her heart, she suspected that she had become someone that her parents and Sirius probably wouldn't approve of. Over the years, she had evolved from the open-hearted infant they had loved into an almost unrecognizable figure. First she had changed into a secretive child, the kind that hoards food and watches adults through narrowed eyes. When she had entered the wizarding world, Laurel had been forced into a chameleon role, wanting nothing more than to fly under the radar, but continually hustled into the limelight by destiny…and Albus-the-insufferable-old-man-Dumbledore.

That distrustful child had grown into a ruthless, battle-scarred veteran—and most of those scars were on her soul. She naturally did things now that would have been reprehensible to her when she was younger. She obliviated on occasion, and had even used the Imperius Curse a couple of…okay, seven times. If those crimes weren't damning enough, she also frequently employed legilimency to scan the intentions of others, because it was so easy with muggles. They had no mental shields and practically projected their thoughts into her mind. Laurel hadn't done this to Stark though. He was sacrosanct.

Things weren't all bad. She had explored and studied things that she never would have dreamed of had she stayed in the wizarding world. She had discovered the wonders of Shakespeare, Star Wars, Rembrandt, The Beatles, the internet and Einstein….Speaking of an Einstein, she supposed that Stark could use an explanation for her most recent gift…and more coffee, because his had spilled when she'd sprung his trap. Bringing more would show that she harbored no ill-will. Satisfied with this course of action, Laurel sat down at the small desk and pulled the stationary towards her. Vanishing the hotel's logo from the paper, she swiftly set about writing a note. The gift would require a little justification.

Secretly, she had always wanted a crup, from the moment she'd found out about them. They had been banned at Hogwarts because they were territorial and displayed an almost shocking level of loyalty to their masters. They were also frightfully intelligent, and able to gain entrance almost anywhere. According to tradition, the house elves hadn't been able to keep them from sneaking into the kitchens even with their powerful magic. It seemed like a fitting companion for Stark, who loved his robots, but might also appreciate something warm and alive to hold every now and then. Merlin knew that she would.

She didn't worry about the dog she had sent as a canary into the coalmine. If Stark began painful experiments on the creature, she could rescue it. If she gave herself away to Stark, and his thirst for knowledge ended up outweighing his humanity, no one would come to save her. To be honest though, only a very small part of her still expected betrayal from that quarter. The man might be sarcastic and flamboyant in public, but he had the heart of a hero. His celebrity status frightened her far more than he himself did. The last thing she wanted was to draw the covetous eye of government agencies and their military scientists. A friendship with Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, would make it an inevitability.


Back at the lab, Tony approached the dog warily. It was a small creature, and looked up at him with bright, intelligent eyes…which were green. As was its coat. The lighter parts of its hair made up the majority of its body. The fur that would have been white on another dog was a distinct pale green on this one. Its ears and forehead were sable, and it looked a bit like a cross between a Pomeranian and a Jack Russell terrier. It had a rather fluffy coat that looked incredibly soft, and a foxlike face with a short snout. One ear flopped over and the other didn't, giving it the rakish air of one wearing an Australian bush hat. Most noticeable of all, however, were the two tails that beat a muted tattoo on the cold tile. The wagging increased in tempo when the dog realized that it had Tony's full attention.

Gingerly lifting the creature into his arms, the inventor began to inspect it, marveling at its warm, supple weight in his hands. He had never had any pets, preferring to make them himself. After all, if you ended up with a stupid dog, you couldn't exactly upgrade its software. But none of his old reservations applied now, because this was a magic dog. He had expected anger and retribution from his magical guest if he failed to capture her, but she had surprised him once again, rewarding his cheek with generosity.

"Jarvis, order everything this little guy needs and have it delivered today," he ordered, still peering intently at the puppy, and gently inspecting its paws and bifurcated tail.

"Mr. Stark, eleven o'clock," Jarvis hinted, and Tony spun around, immediately spotting new coffee to replace what had spilled.

Lodged underneath the tray was a piece of stationary, filled with the small, spiky, rather careless script that he recognized from his post-its. Shifting the pup's weight to one hand, he used the other to lift the note, and immediately began smiling at her familiar, starchy prose.

"Mr. Stark, I had not realized the lengths you were willing to go to meet me, and feel you should be rewarded for your…boldness and ingenuity. I have a gift for you. This animal is a crup—a magical creature, which will grow up to resemble a common Jack Russell terrier. Yours is currently the only one in the world. By now, you will have noticed the two tails. This is the most visible difference between a crup and the common canine, but far from the only one. Magical owners used to remove one tail so that their crups could better blend in, but I find the practice cruel and unnecessary. He is yours, and you are, of course, welcome to do as you will, but the second tail can be explained away as a genetic mutation. With your status, people probably expect your pet to be a bit unusual.

"Crups are incredibly intelligent, much smarter than any dog or ape. They are also very loyal, and have an innate ability to sense when someone has ill-will towards their owner. I have created him to be sterile, and cast an enchantment so that every time he excretes anything, every trace will instantly vanish. He doesn't shed, and will prove a good friend to you. You may take him to a regular vet. The usual innoculations will not hurt him, although they are unnecessary. Despite his somewhat mundane appearance, this creature has magical blood, which will manifest in many ways. He will heal quickly, age slowly, and be more or less immune to normal illnesses. Once he chooses you as his master, his life will be bound to yours. Unless he is killed by unnatural causes, he will take his last breath at the same moment as you, and will be a true friend to the death. Regards, Your Former Captive (however briefly)"

Would he be able to resist the temptation to experiment on this creature that had found its way to him?


Four Days Later

"Tony!" a low, authoritative voice drifted down the stairs.

The engineer sighed, removing his face-plate and wiping the grease and hydraulic fluid off his hands and onto his black wife-beater. "Come on, you little Brussels sprout," he quipped to the puppy, who had been perched on a stool watching him.

The dog loved to be up high, and was quite an impressive jumper, considering its small size. When it grew a little bigger, Tony suspected that it would be able to get onto the stool by itself. The moment its feet touched the ground, it officiously led the way upstairs, its two funny little tails making him grin as he watched it walk. As the scientist reached the living room, he was met with the amusing sight of Rhodey trying to fend off Dummy, who was making several aborted charges at him in an effort to seize his uniform hat.

"Dummy, that's enough!" Tony called, and then turned a smirking face to Rhodey. "I'm sorry about that. He's a little out-of-sorts today. I had to punish him by sending him upstairs after he tried to force-feed the little guy."

He gestured at the green and sable ball of fur that was looking up at the interloper with intelligent, vividly green eyes. Dummy gave an indignant whistle and Tony turned to it and declared firmly, "No! I warned you after you shot him with the water cannon."

Trying to ignore the sulking robot, he spun back towards his friend and explained in a whisper, "I think he's just jealous. After I made You, he misbehaved for a week. Pretty soon, he'll get used to the new kid and then they'll be the best of friends."

"I doubt it," muttered the other man.

"Oh, I think they'll find they have a lot in common," and he snickered as though he had said something hilarious.

"What, like living in the lab and not getting fed?" Rhodey inquired, looking at the dog askance. It returned the gesture.

"Of course not! Most days we go for a walk, or he runs errands for me. And anyway, he's really resourceful. If he can't find any food, he lets Jarvis know," Tony said breezily.

His friend didn't deign to respond to that comment, wondering if Tony grasped that he had just confessed to letting his dog forage for its own food…and apparently run errands. Dogs didn't do that, did they? Still reeling from surprise, the sinewy pilot remarked dully, "You got a dog…a mutant dog."

"Uh…yeah, I've had the little guy for a few days now. And he's not a mutant," Tony innocently retorted. "He just has a rare color. Some green dogs were just born in Spain, and more in New Orleans. Something about amniotic fluid mixing with the placenta. But he's my good little buddy, yes he is," the inventor cooed at the dog, which perked its ears and wagged its twin tails vigorously.

Tony was relieved that he had googled 'dogs born green' and actually gotten some legitimate results. Otherwise, he would have just had to tell people that he dyed its fur, and could imagine how that would have gone over. He shuddered to think of what Pepper would have said on the matter.

The colonel eyed him as though he were slow. "I meant the tails," he enunciated carefully.

"I suppose that is a mutation, but I like it. Now I've gotten used to them, and I don't think he'd look right with just one tail," he confided, scooping the dog up in his callused hands.

The puppy licked him on the nose, drawing an affectionate smile from the scientist.

"I'm almost scared to hear what you named it. Didn't you name your robots 'You' and 'Dummy', or something like that? So, what do you call it…'Spot'?" Rhodey asked derisively.

Matter-of-factly, Tony answered, "No. Spock."

In response to Rhodey's look of disbelief, the inventor added, "It was either that or 'Loki'—you know, the Norse god of mischief. But he's a highly logical dog, so I settled on 'Spock'."

About this time, Laurel had arrived in the lab and heard the voices coming from the stairwell. Softly climbing the stairs, and unknowingly activating the pressure sensors, she heard Tony showing his friend all the things his dog had already learned. "Sing, Spock," he commanded, and the little dog threw back its head and let out adorably musical howls. Even Rhodey secretly had to admit that the dog stayed on pitch fairly well.

"He's even better with actual musical accompaniment. Went crazy when he heard the pseudo-operatic part of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', so I started playing opera for him. You should hear him do Carmen. He's a great little mezzo-soprano," the engineer enthused, digging around in his jeans' pocket for a treat.

Oblivious to Rhodey's consternation, he continued blithely, "He likes classic rock pretty well, but hates metal—which is ironic," the engineer snickered, as if at an inside joke.

"He's not a robot, is he?" the other inquired slightly accusingly.

Tony paused and blinked at him. "Well, no….He's not perfect, Rhodey," he said a bit defensively.

He finally found what he had been searching for and balanced it precariously on the nose of the pup, which seemed to be taking the process very seriously. It waited patiently until Tony said, "Okay!" and then tossed its head and delicately snagged the small bone from the air. The engineer applauded its efforts.

Rhodey eyed him as if he feared for his sanity. Suddenly, Jarvis' cool, detached voice announced, "Mr. Stark. Code 51."

Stark gasped. He had never expected for his sensors in the stairwell to pay off. "Is there a problem?" his friend asked, knitting his brows at Tony's distracted state.

"Just a…uh…little problem downstairs. Not important! …Why don't you sit down and we can talk about army stuff?" he urged, shooting frequent glances towards the stairs, practically twitching with the desire to make his way to that side of the room.

"Don't you mean 'air force'?" he asked drily, lifting a finely shaped eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure. Those guys. The boys in green…or blue. One of the ocean colors," Stark babbled, not really listening or paying attention to the fact that his friend was standing right in front of him wearing his uniform.

Tony wasn't trying to be rude, but was squirming with anticipation to see what the Passive Infrared Detector (PID) had made of his guest in the stairwell. If he was lucky, he would finally get to add a body shape to the smattering of knowledge he possessed about his ghostly visitor. Coupled with the information with the pressure sensors, he would be able to gauge height, weight and probably sex. If it worked, he would install infrared sensors throughout the lab. Then he would not only always know when he had company, but also her exact position.

Rhodey rolled his eyes in exasperation, wondering at the change in his friend. Tony was always unpredictable, but that performance with the dog had been a little bizarre even for him. "Are you okay, Tony? You seem a little…off," he remarked dubiously.

To his surprise, Tony sobered immediately, staring at him ponderingly for several long moments, as though debating the merits of something. It seemed the perfect time to inform Rhodey about his condition if he was going to. The engineer actually opened his mouth to speak, but the words turned to ash on his tongue.

Why should he inflict this additional pain on his friend, who already had enough to deal with, just for whatever emotional support he might offer Tony? That wasn't really how their friendship worked. They shared a love of flying and gadgets, not hugs and tearful conversations.

Everyone was always telling him how selfish and irresponsible he was. Well, they could take this for responsibility—he would carry the burden of death on his own. Rhodey wouldn't be able to help him, and it would only worry him needlessly. He would still grieve when he found out Tony had died in an accident, but at least he wouldn't experience the helplessness and suffering leading up to the event.

Besides, telling Rhodey might not only be selfish, but actively harmful. What if he tried to stop Tony from ending himself in his own way? What if he told Pepper? Or his superiors? The genius liked Rhodey-he owed him his life-and trusted him in many different areas. The air force colonel would stick his neck out for him as far as he was able, and would probably even take a bullet for him. But loyalty rarely crossed all boundaries.

The inventor knew the day was swiftly approaching when Rhodey's friendship with him would come into conflict with his loyalty to his command. The colonel's camaraderie with the billionaire inventor had been seen as a great asset by his superior officers when it had been time to hand out promotions; but he knew that would change the moment it looked like he was even considering taking Tony's side against theirs. In that case, his brilliant career would be irrevocably scuppered. Tony didn't want that to happen to him. Rhodey was exceptional at his job, and loved it besides. The engineer couldn't conceive of being the ruin of his friend—not that it would ever come to that.

Tony would never ask him to take his side—partly because it would be unfair, but mostly because he had no doubts as to the outcome. He refused to deceive himself about the other's hierarchy of loyalties. Rhodey had been in the air force long before he met him, and would still be a part of it long after Tony died. It was a no-brainer that he would follow his orders, and it was looking almost certain that those orders would be to acquire Tony's suits by any means necessary….No, he decided, he most certainly could not tell Rhodey about his illness.

He resisted the urge to run a hand over his puffy eyes, answering with false brightness, "I'm great, Rhodey. Just a few sleepless nights. You know—getting ready for the Expo. It's going to be huge. I've been developing the Mark V, but the Mark IV is ready and I'm planning to wear it to kick off the ceremony."

"You know, it's a shame that the Mark II is just sitting downstairs going to waste," Rhodey hinted, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the sofa's buttery leather.

Tony mentally sighed. Rhodey's bosses must already be putting the pressure on, because he had been dropping oblique (and sometimes uncomfortably direct) requests for his older armor almost every time he visited for the past several months—ever since the Mark III had come on the scene. Playing dumb, the inventor replied in mock-outrage, "My armor is never wasted. I reuse components all the time and am constantly improving the suits. If one gets damaged, I need backups."

"Do you really need three back-ups?" the colonel asked reproachfully.

"Well, the patent office seems to think it's my prerogative. If anyone disagrees, they're welcome to take me to court….I'm going to need a drink if we're going to start debating economic ideologies. Want one?" he offered a bit shortly, standing and walking jerkily over to the wet bar.

Tony wasn't angry. It was more that he hated the continual indications that his friend had an agenda. They couldn't just be together and enjoy each other's company anymore. Rhodey probably had to go back to the base and debrief every time he dropped by Tony's house. And just because he understood the colonel's position didn't mean that he wanted to be reminded of it forcibly every other second.

What was Rhodey's rush? Couldn't he wait the few weeks it would take for Tony to die before appropriating an Iron Man suit? The engineer tried to quell these harsh thoughts. The approach of death occasionally gave him bouts of spite and resentment, but they were usually quickly and brutally suppressed. He just felt tired all the time. And sore. No amount of stretches and exercise made the aches and weakness go away. Judging by his body's worsening condition, it was frighteningly evident that the poison was at work.

He and Rhodey were very different, but sincerely cared about each other. In fact, Tony had already entered his friend's bio-metric data into his suits' security features. When he died, Rhodey would be Iron Man's successor. Just as Pepper would ascend to CEO of Stark Industries. In return for their variable support over the years, his two best friends would inherit everything and hopefully carry on his legacy.

"Just water…and I hear that you are being sued. That subpoena from the Armed Services Committee should be headed your way any day now," his friend answered, quietly changing the subject and not letting the other's mood swing affect him.

Tony poured the drinks in contemplative silence, quietly directing Dummy (who was still in Butler-mode) back to the lab after the robot rolled over to the bar and made an attempt to take the glass from him. "I don't suppose it'll do any good to tell you that it's too early for drinking," Rhodey added mildly, stretching his long legs out in front of the couch and unsettling the puppy, who rose in righteous indignation and took a few further steps away, before lying down with its head on his paws, staring up at him with worrying intensity.

The engineer let out a slightly bitter laugh, but covered it up by retorting cheerily, "Has it ever before?"

"It's never too late to act your age," the other remarked drily, leaning back slightly in his seat and relaxing his stiff military bearing.

With a roll of his dark eyes, Tony recapped the water bottle and stowed it away. "I know that nothing's come of the threats before, but you might actually have cause to worry this time. Justin Hammer is already lined up to testify against you," the slender man related, his honest eyes proclaiming his concern for the engineer.

"Hammer is one of those rare individuals that prefers his humiliations to take place publicly and with as large an audience as possible. Who am I to deny him?" Tony quipped, dropping into his seat and handing over the water.

Stark took an appreciative sip of his drink, enjoying the icy, purifying burn of the scotch. "Tony…what's up with your dog? He keeps staring at me…angrily," the officer declared, shifting uncomfortably under that accusatory bright green gaze.

"Oh, he's fine. You bumped him, didn't you? He likes his personal space," Tony said dismissively, reaching down to stroke one soft ear.

Laurel had never met one of Tony's friends before, and was curious about the man. He seemed much more formal and level-headed than the exuberant engineer; but she could tell from the nature of his projected thoughts that he meant Tony no harm.

For a while, Laurel had shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation, placing a notice-me-not charm on herself in addition to her other concealing spells. She always did this when the pup was around now, after having almost been unmasked the first night Tony had had it. She had forgotten that crups were magical creatures, able to sense magical energy. This one had been drawn to her immediately, hopping to its feet and trotting over to where she had lounged in the corner.

Remembering that Luna had claimed to have cast a notice-me-not charm on herself whenever she went traipsing through the jungles in search of mythical creatures, Laurel had hoped that it would work just as well to hide her from the crup, even though Luna had been in a magical forest (and her quarry probably hadn't existed), while Laurel was the only magical person in an enclosed space. Mercifully, it seemed to have worked, because when she had apparated to the other side of the room and cast the charm, the crup hadn't followed.

It would have been extremely embarrassing to have been detected that way—by something she had made herself—hoisted by her own petard as it were. Occasionally, she knew the crup sensed her. It would look up sometimes if she moved very much, and she suspected it felt the vibrations or the movement of the air. The creatures were known to have very sensitive ears.

All of her worries with Tony and the dog proved unfounded. The man was too tender-hearted for his own good. He was besotted with that puppy. He did perform experiments on it, but they were never invasive, and always with the dog's full participation. The tests were usually designed to test its intelligence, although sometimes Tony would coax it to do something 'magical'. He spoke to it like it was a person, or one of his robots, and the dog responded shockingly well to the consideration, cooperating with Tony and spending hours watching him work. The engineer was even teaching it the names of some of the tools.

Judging by the inventor's frequent, not-so-subtle glances towards the stairwell, and Jarvis' unexplained 'code' earlier, Laurel felt certain that Ton—Stark (Oh, who was she kidding? In her mind, she had been calling him Tony for days now.) knew she was in the house. She had begun to comprehend the genius inventor, and sensed that he was a man after her own heart. He would never divulge her existence to his friend, if he had managed so long without telling Pepper. He liked this game as much as she did, and understood that it was strictly between the two of them. She suspected that he would take great pains to hide her presence from this military man. Grinning roguishly, she decided it was time to have a little fun with the inimitable Mr. Stark.

The men chatted about Hammer Industries' contract with the military for a while before they moved on to the second sensitive subject of the day. "You must have really done something to set off Pepper. She sent me over to see whether you'd drunk yourself to death yet," Rhodey murmured ironically.

"You know, I don't really consume much alcohol these days," he defended, torn between feeling pleased that Pepper had wanted someone to check on him and concerned that she was still too angry to do it herself.

The other man grinned, lifting his drink in the air toward Stark in an ironic toast. "Except for now, of course, at…fifteen-hundred in the afternoon….Be careful, Tony. Pepper's one of a kind and you're not the only one who's noticed. She spends all day with cultured, successful businessmen," Rhodey declared, taking another long swallow of his water.

Tony grimaced at his words, but couldn't fault the truth of them. As they lapsed into silence, Tony almost choked when he noticed Rhodey's drink suddenly turn bright purple.

Next, the officer's cover levitated off the cushion beside him and lazily floated over his head, revolving in a slow circle about six inches above his closely cropped black hair. Tony gazed wide-eyed, but the colonel didn't notice, and continued speaking, "It's not like she doesn't get offers, and we both know that she's light-years too good for you….I don't want to see you throw away the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Tony didn't reply, but his eyes were as big as galleons. All the furniture in his line of sight had risen slowly into the air, stopping a few feet from the vaulted ceiling and hovering there.

Creeping up behind the couch, Laurel found herself closer to Tony than she had ever dared be before. She was usually extremely careful about staying out of reach, but this was a special occasion. He could hardly spin around and grab at the air while he had company. Being this close to him felt so deliciously forbidden.

She leaned in until her face was mere inches from the shell of his ear. She caught a whiff of his skin and couldn't help acknowledging to herself that he smelled amazing. It was an aromatic mix of expensive aftershave, fire, motor oil and….She shook her head to clear it. This was no time to wax lyrical over the man, not when she could be pranking him.

Tony froze comically when he felt a puff of air against his right ear. Jumping slightly, he let out a startled yelp. Rhodey stared and asked sardonically, "Is there a problem?"

The engineer's eyes shifted around the room, relieved that everything had suddenly returned to its proper spot before Rhodey could turn around. "It's…ah…hemorrhoids. Really bad…er, big ones," he finished lamely.

His friend nodded in comprehension. "I hear you, man. Those hemorrhoids are the worst," he said gravely, rising from his seat. "Well, I'll head out. I just wanted to touch base with you before the Expo."

Tony walked him to the door, partly sad to see his friend go because it had been so long since anyone had paid him a social call, but mostly eager to shove him out the door so that he could check the feed from the stairwell. "Well, my little first officer and I are headed back to the lab. Don't be a stranger," he called, waving as the man replaced his cover on his head and marched back to his black, government-issued sedan.

As soon as Rhodey was safely gone, Tony called tauntingly, "What you did with the furniture…that was really something. You'll have to tell me how you did it once I catch you. In fact, you should probably get a list ready, because I'm going to want to know everything."

For a moment, he could have sworn that he heard low, tinkling laughter, but was maddeningly unable to pinpoint its distance or direction.

The game was fun, but he longed to meet the mind behind the gifts and wry, pithy little notes. As death crept up on him, he actively began to crave things that were real and tangible. He wanted to see what she was really like-listen to her voice, touch her flesh and feel the life coursing beneath it. He felt everything slipping further out of reach—his goals, his relationships—but he promised himself that he would have this one thing. He would know her before he died.

Because she mattered to him. Even though he didn't know what she was or where she had come from, she had seen something worthy in Tony Stark. She was a radiant, extraordinary being, and could do absolutely anything—work miracles, travel the world, rule the world—but instead, she chose to bring him coffee every morning. To tell the truth, he couldn't remember anyone ever going to such pains over him—especially without being paid.

He didn't blame Rhodey and Pepper and his other (mostly marginal) friends for not reading his mind and supporting him through his secret crisis. He grasped that he was far from perfect at relationships himself. He was too flippant, too reluctant to bare his emotions. He was adept at projecting confidence, not confessing his vulnerabilities. He had taken both of his friends for granted too many times to count, and deeply regretted it now. But when the equations started multiplying and the designs tumbled over one another in his head, he struggled to remember to feed and bathe himself, much less to recall birthdays or anniversaries.

That evening, he looked at the footage from the stairwell. At the foot of the stairs, she activated the sensors, and for one brief, victorious moment, he saw a human figure silhouetted in reds, oranges and yellows. But then it vanished. He gaped. It had worked…and then it hadn't. He knew she hadn't simply teleported out because the pressure sensors had continued to be triggered in ascending order. It was almost as though the magic was learning. She hadn't been exposed to infrared scanners before, and so they hadn't been deemed a threat to her invisibility. But now they were.

He swore that he would either capture her or draw her out. He wanted to know her like she knew him, to hear her thoughts, discover what made her laugh, see the brightness of her eyes.

He still had lots of ideas, and felt fairly certain that the package waiting in his foyer was the sonar range finder (SRF) he had ordered. Perhaps it was time to grow a little more cunning. True, she had magic, while he had technology, but that didn't mean it was the only tool in his arsenal.


S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters

"Agent Romanoff, you have your assignment. And while you're at it, find out what Stark's doing with all of that equipment he's been ordering. Why does he need sonar, pressure alarms, motion sensors, and infrared? Something tells me he's working on another project, one that doesn't have a damn thing to do with clean energy," Nick Fury ordered, closing his phone and staring at one of the ubiquitous posters for the Stark Expo.

With a sigh, he wondered whether Tony Stark would ever stop being such a pain in his ass. Something told him that if the engineer irritated him now, he would be much, much worse as one of his employees.