A few notes at the end for you..Thanks again to all those who have reviewed, and to everyone who has read this. I know I look forward to clicking into and seeing new stories--so this is for all of you who keep coming back!

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing besides my keyboard.

Tony Stark likes to be in control.

There was no doubt about it. As a young man, he had been thrust into the working world of adults thanks to one: his natural acuity for all things electronic, technological, and combustible; and two—his father. Not that he was complaining. He loved his life. Everything he has accomplished has been thanks to his own perseverance, his desire to be the best, and his upbringing.

Control was not about being a dictator or a madman—though he had been called such things before—But he believed it was about creating something better than the next guy, and making it bigger, better, and stronger. It was about achieving something everyone had thought he couldn't do. It was about proving he could, when no one else can. He was in control-- and he was proud of that fact.

For many years he had managed to convince himself that he had been in charge of his personal life as well. Hell, he could (and did) have any woman he had ever gone after. He was a ladies' man, and from most testimonies—great in the bedroom as well; to his own satisfaction--he was envied and hated by many of his male peers—; he was healthy and in great physical shape; and he was happy—Or so he lead himself to believe.

Who knew, after all these years, he had been blind to the fact that he had been living behind a lie constructed of smoke and mirrors?

"I've had my eyes opened..." he once declared out loud to his dedicated assistant…and even more so, to himself. "I finally know what it is I have to do." There had been so many reasons to fear himself in that moment. He could have feared the fact that he didn't recognize himself in the mirror anymore since finding out the truth behind his own company; or the fact that the things he had invented were being used to extinguish innocent lives. Fear was more powerful than control.

One thing he did genuinely fear in that single moment, was watching Pepper, the one person he knew he could always count on, walk away from him for good.

The fear could have swallowed him whole in that moment. He gave up the control he had so easily relied upon for years, and it hung in the air like a feather, waiting for a certain redhead to signal it back down to its owner.

And she did.

The control had returned, the fear had vanished, and he felt himself move toward a path that would be the origin of a new and improved Tony Stark.

Months later, he would come to discover that even he, the great Tony Stark, would never truly be in complete control of the chaotic life that was his.

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A sea of white foam and steam emerged from the underground workshop of Tony Stark's Mansion.

"Son of a bi—!" Stark rumbled. His anger focused on the tubular robotic arm. "Did you see smoke?? There was no smoke! No smoke equals no fire!"

Stark stomped towards the clear end of his workshop to grab a clean shop towel. Wiping his face free of the fire-retardant leftovers, he sank into the couch, anxious for a moment of rest.

"Jarvis, time?" He huffed.

"It is 5:45pm, sir. Miss Potts will not be arriving for another one hour and thirty minutes." Jarvis replied. Since when has he been able to read my mind? Tony thought. "Thanks, Jarvis."

"Yes, sir."

He glanced down to the work table in front of him and saw an old GQ Magazine. Tony Stark, genius among geniuses. The title declared. A Titan among men. He exhaled, and picked up the gaudy magazine. He recalled the last GQ article he was featured in…there was something in it about him being on Hugh Hefner's hit-list for being called the better 'Playboy'. He used to chuckle at the articles each time Pepper set them on his desk. However, despite the large amounts of articles he'd been in, he recently found himself questioning why he even took the time to sit through the pointless interviews.

Increasingly frustrating was their ability to all ask the same questions over and over: No more weapon manufacturing? Why? What's in the future for Stark Industries now that your mentor, Obediah Stain, is dead? Are you suffering any Post Traumatic Stress symptoms? What is this alter-ego of yours, IRON MAN? How this, why that…But the one that began annoying him the most lately has been, anyone special in your life?

He always side-stepped that last question. If the interviewer was a man, he would usually quip, "Well, I guess you could call each of the Laker Girls 'special'…" Or, if it happened to be a woman in the interviewer seat—and most of the time it was—he would layer on the charm, scratch his chin to bring attention to his lips, lean forward, and ask, "Would you like to be that someone?"

There had been no interviews lately. Not since his last press conference. He just couldn't handle the constant barrage of the same questions. After all, 'no comment' was a nice easy answer for Pepper and the rest of his staff to divulge.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. Leaning back into his leather couch, he began to mentally go over a checklist in his head.

Complete suit upgrades—check.

Call Rhodes to ensure no F-22 Raptors would be firing at him tonight-check.

Ensure security improvements are in place-check.



Give Pepper the new safety updates and instruct her how to use the new security protocols—Soon to be check.

Over the years, Tony Stark has learned that taking chances in certain areas of life was OK, but when it came down to safety, especially after Afghanistan, security and protection must be a top priority; both for himself and those who would be in close contact with him. Despite the precarious location of his high-tech mansion, reporters and strangers alike have found themselves coming too close for comfort lately. The last thing he needed was a security breach in his own home—especially considering the sensitive material concealed beneath it and within the hillside.

Gone was the open driveway leading up to the entrance of his home. Replacing it was a pressurized concrete path that would recognize the coding found only in the vehicles Stark had personally approved. In addition, a large steel gate, complete with security cameras galore, had been placed at the front entrance.

Gone were the numbered punch-code pads that had been previously used to gain entrance into the home, workshop, and offices. Replacing them would be a biometric hand scanner. Of course, these would only be used by those who had exclusive access to certain areas of the Stark Mansion. Tony himself, Pepper, Rhodes, and perhaps Agent Coulson—he hadn't decided on him yet. Most importantly, no more silent break-ins by former mentors who want to rip things from your chest.

And finally, new enhancements have been made to the underground workshop. Security sensors, escape hatches, and lock-down measures have all been installed to protect Starks' most valuable invention—the suit.

Jarvis, the house AI, whom Stark had decided was not just that, but a friend indeed, would be in central control over monitoring and reporting all system functioning to Stark personally.

Thirty minutes later, with a green protein shake in hand, Stark stood in the front of his workshop and surveyed its newly arranged floor plan.

His prized—and repaired—cars were set against the far left wall of the workshop, concealed by a piece of darkened plexi-glass.

Straight ahead of him was what he like to call the 'launching pad'—this is the place where the floor gave way to moveable robotic arms that would encase his legs and feet with the boosters he had so carefully and painstakingly designed, and the ceiling would break open to reveal more automated limbs that would finish the job of 'suiting' Tony Stark up to become what he had come to love--'Iron Man'. Ahead of the launch pad was the tunnel that lead out from the house and the hillside and into the world.

The floorboard design was of his own creation. In the event of any unauthorized visitors, the floor had no cracks or splits in it that would indicate anything was beneath it. The same was to be said of the ceiling opposite to it.

To his right was his computer and virtual work station, and to the rear of the workshop, was a newly repaired plasma television, his favorite leather couch, a bar, and a cooler full of energy drinks.

The entrance remained the same, save for newly installed bullet-proof glass and a hand scanner at its opening.

"Jarvis, run diagnostics on the new security systems, and prepare the launch pad, please. I'd like to be outa here at 8pm." Tony glanced at the TV screen. Flashing on it were new satellite images of the soon to be destroyed weapons stockpile in Iraq. "And make sure that TV is off when Potts gets here."

"Of course, sir. May I remind you as well, you must still replace the circuit board in the security box at the entrance of the workshop. Otherwise, I predict there may be a malfunction within the near future," Jarvis added, "…and I do believe you now have forty-five minutes to get ready before Miss Potts' arrival."

"Right, thanks Jarvis!" Tony began running up the stairs leading from the shop, "…notify my as soon as you get the results of the diagnostics. And," Tony added, "as soon as Miss Potts—"

"Arrives.Yes. I know." Jarvis interrupts, sounding rather annoyed.

"Wow, someone needs to relax." Tony Scoffs, as he enters his bedroom. Now, he thought to himself, what to wear…what to wear?

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AN: So, this chapter and probably chapter 5 is all about setting up for future events—I did intend this to be a little action adventure oriented as well. I am trying to bring across a bit more of an emotional element as well. Anyways, I am having fun writing—I hope you are all having fun reading…! The next chapter is much longer...