Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Iron Man: Armored Adventures isn't mine. Not even Tony (or Gene! D:), belong to me. The rights ultimately belong to Marvel, so there. :D Don't try to sue me, got that? I'm not making even a single cent off this story.

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews, everybody! I tried to make this chapter a bit longer than normal to make up for the wait, and I hope you like it. :D


Chapter Three: Showdowns

Swaying in her seat and suddenly feeling very lightheaded, Pepper nearly fell out of her seat. She clutched at the edge of the tabletop to keep her balance, the violent motion tipping over her glass of orange juice and causing it to spill out across her lap. And yet she hardly noticed, staring at the casually strolling Tony Stark, who didn't even seem to notice her.

"What? What is it?" Gene turned around in his seat, trying to see what had shocked Pepper so badly. His face visibly paled, and his dark eyes widened at the sight of the young billionaire calmly walking past the outdoor café. "Stark," he managed to croak out, trying to contain his absolute shock to a bare minimum.

Pepper leapt up from her seat, ignoring the orange juice that was slowly soaking through her jeans. Also ignoring the look that Gene gave her as he quickly pushed his own chair back to stand, she rushed towards Tony. He was already passing the café, nearly about to round the corner and disappear down the busy sidewalk. And Pepper wasn't about to lose him this time, not when she was so sure that she wasn't hallucinating.

After all, Gene had acted like he saw Tony, too.

"Tony! Tony!" Pepper cried, shoving annoyed pedestrians out of the way until she reached him. "Oh my God, Tony. Is that you?" she demanded, even though she knew for a fact that it was him. She could probably recognize him with her eyes closed. Gene jogged up behind her, but she paid him no attention as Tony slowly turned to face her.

His expression was nonchalantly blank, the look strangely alien on his normally cheerful face. "Ah, Potts. And Khan. Fancy meeting you two here; haven't seen you in ages."

Gene exchanged an incredulous look with Pepper, who ignored him. She swallowed hard, trying not to let Tony's indifferent attitude get to her. "T…Tony? Where have you been?" she demanded, voice annoyingly squeaky. She tried to ignore that he was acting kind of different. It had been two years since she'd seen him last, after all. People changed over time.

"Oh, here and there." Tony waved his hand calmly to dismiss the question, winking at a blonde woman in a tiny mini skirt as she pranced past him. "Nowhere special, really."

"You…you've been gone for two whole years, Tony!" Pepper cried, feeling her eyes starting to water. She tried her best to hold the unwanted tears back, concentrating on the situation at hand. After all this time, Tony was finally back. And the last thing she wanted to do was bawl in front of him.

Quickly, she mentally scanned over several possibilities as to what could be causing her supposed friend's weird behavior. "Do you…do you have amnesia or something? Maybe you were kidnapped and hit on the head, then held against your will all this time! Or maybe you, well, aren't really Tony! You could be a robot in disguise, or a clone, or…or–"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Tony snapped unexpectedly, scowling darkly at Pepper. Seeing the fire burning in his blue orbs, her lips snapped back together with an audible popping sound. "I'd forgotten how much you could talk, Potts, and it isn't very pleasant to recall like this."

Pepper blinked furiously, knowing that the tears she could still feel brewing in her eyes were now visible. She could see Gene looking at her with some concern at the corner of her vision, but didn't give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. He probably only wanted to make fun of her or something. It's what he had always done when they were younger.

"Well, better be off. I would say it was nice to see you two again, but…" Tony turned to wander aimlessly away from them, without another word or even a second glance.

Pepper, biting down hard on her lower lip in an attempt to keep from collapsing in a sobbing heap on the concrete, reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Tony stumbled to a graceful stop, not bothering to spin all the way around to meet her watery stare. "Tony, please," she pleaded brokenly. "We were all so worried about you!"

Tony jerked roughly away from her, sleeve moving upwards on his wiry arm with the violent motion. Pepper's hand flew to her mouth with a startled gasp as she gawked at the horrible scars marring Tony's shoulder. They twisted cruelly across his tanned skin, tearing deep into the flesh.

Gene, who had so far remained silent, couldn't keep his eyes from widening marginally. "Stark, what happened to you?" he asked, unable to keep the shock from showing in his voice. It looked like the former wearer of the Iron Man armor had endured unimaginable torture, probably at the hands of whoever had presumably kidnapped him two years earlier.

"I don't think it's any business of yours. Either of yours," Tony added pointedly, glancing towards Pepper. The latter was rapidly getting close to dissolving in a weak puddle on the concrete, as her legs were shaking almost as much as her lower lip was.

Gene's brow furrowed into a deep frown as he saw the obvious emotional turmoil that Pepper was going through. He couldn't hold his thoughts back any longer, not when he was seeing her like this. "Don't you understand everything she's gone through for you since your disappearance? Everything she's done? She changed her very personality to become better, spent all her time putting herself in danger while searching for you. How can you not see that?"

"Gene," Pepper said tiredly, unable to bring herself enough energy to even stand up straight. She only cared that Tony was being shouted at, even though the arrogant look on his face hadn't changed under the harsh assault of words. "Don't."

"How can you say that, Pepper?" Gene spat, turning to face her again. "This isn't Tony Stark, no matter how much he resembles the real thing. The real Tony would care about how much pain he's put you through."

Instead of looking hurt and sheepish, as Gene had intended, Tony looked almost bored with the conversation. "I'm very much real, Khan," he said in a dangerously low voice. "And if you had any sense, you wouldn't make me mad." Then he rocked back on his heels, stuffing both hands into his pockets. "Well, it's been interesting seeing you two again. I doubt we'll do it again very soon, so enjoy the memories of this meeting while they last."

He nodded briskly to the two of them. "Potts. Khan. I have important business to take care of, so I must be off." And then he was gone, as unexpectedly as he had come, walking imperturbably off down the crowded sidewalk.

Pepper's eyes widened, and her outstretched hand clasped at depressingly empty air. "Tony–" she breathed weakly after him, skin visibly becoming a few shades paler. Gene watched her warily as she swayed, then plummeted towards the ground. She collapsed in an untidy heap on the concrete, immediately out cold.

Gene dropped into a crouch beside her, gently slapping one pale cheek. "Potts. Potts, wake up. Pepper." She gave no signs of stirring, so he heaved a sigh and grabbed her by the arms. Standing once more while keeping a firm grip on her arms, he pulled with all his strength. She was surprisingly heavy for such a petite girl, which he discovered while trying to heave her off the ground, with little luck in the matter.

All the people strolling by were slowing down to gawk at the dramatic scene, but none of them stopped to offer their assistance. Gene wasn't surprised, and was actually rather glad that this was the case. He was the Mandarin, and he couldn't afford to have anyone's help. Even if he actually really needed it right at that moment.

Grunting, he pulled again with all his strength, heaving Pepper into his arms. He stared emotionlessly down at her peaceful face, which looked so much younger when she was unconscious, then turned and started walking in the direction of his limo.

So much for their breakfast date.


Only a few minutes later, Gene closed the limo door behind him and settled himself into the leather seat. He stared momentarily over at Pepper, whom he had dumped unceremoniously across the seat beside him, then leaned forward and pressed the button for the privacy screen. The bulletproof glass slowly lowered, revealing his hired driver. The older man glanced calmly into the rearview mirror, eyebrows only rising slightly when he saw the unconscious redhead. "What can I do for you, Master Khan?"

"Breakfast ended a little earlier than expected. Now I want you to take me to the address that I'm sending to the dashboard GPS." As he spoke, Gene skated his fingers across the keypad attached to the wall beside his seat. "And go as fast as you can, got that?"

"Understood, Master Khan," the driver agreed, pressing a button to receive the address on the GPS screen.

Nodding briskly, Gene closed the privacy glass again and pulled out his cell phone. Opening it, he effortlessly pulled up his contact list and scrolled down until he found the right number. Pressing send with his thumb, he held it to his ear and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. After only two rings, Rhodey answered, his voice confused. He was more than likely wondering why the heck that Gene would be calling him. "Hello? Gene, is that you?"

Gene smiled grimly, then began to speak...


Rhodey stared at the computer screen of his laptop, brow furrowing as he tried to work out the answer to the next question on his semester test for college. Was it just him, or were the answers getting harder and harder to figure out? Or maybe it was the stress of his fight with Pepper starting to get to him.

He was currently in the local library, trying to tune out the sounds of people talking and typing frantically on their own computers. He would have stayed home to study with his dog, in the restful peace and quiet of his apartment, but he didn't want to risk getting another call from his mother. He didn't feel like being any more depressed at the moment, especially when he was trying to get good grades on his very important test.

At that moment, his phone vibrated intrusively inside his pocket. He leaned over and pulled it out, staring incredulously at the small screen. In gleaming letters, a name that he never really expected to see was displayed. "Khan, Gene calling. 322-4775."

Frowning, he pressed send to answer the phone. "Hello?" he asked warily, not exactly sure what Gene could want from him. "Gene, is that you?" he added uncertainly.

"Yes, Rhodes. It's me. Are you at your apartment?"

"…Not at the moment," Rhodey responded carefully. He still wasn't sure what Gene's motives were. Surely he wasn't calling just to be polite and catch up on recent events. He hardly ever called, except to get Pepper's newest phone number. And surely she hadn't already changed it again. "Why?"

"Because I'll be there in approximately seven minutes. It's about Pepper." The line went dead, and Rhodey stared down at the small device for several seconds. Then he pushed it quickly into his pocket, closed his laptop and picked it up from the table, then raced out of the library.


Obadiah Stane stared serenely out the window of his office, contemplating the spectacular view of New York City. He enjoyed thinking like that. His window. His office. His view of the city. Even after two whole years of such thoughts, he still couldn't get over the fantastic potential behind them. As a top business owner of inventive new weapons (the blueprints of these secretly taken from Howard Stark's collection, while the public wrongly assumed that he was the brilliant mind behind the creations), he was always looking for more potential to add onto his spotless public image.

Reaching for the glass goblet resting on the surface of his desk, he raised the rim to his lips and took a generous sip. Two years today, since that wonderful day when the Controller had blessedly rid him of Tony Stark. He enjoyed celebrating the anniversary more than his own birthday.

The phone on the opposite corner of his desk rang shrilly, pulling Stane from his reminiscing of the torture he had inflicted upon Tony before handing him over to A.I.M. A smile was still on his lips as he pulled the phone towards him, thoughts of how the broken child had cried for mercy as he was dragged away, tears soaking his bloodied face. "Stane speaking," he said into the phone's plastic receiver, a hint of cold joy lighting up his normally emotionless voice.

"Hi there, Daddy dearest." None other than his daughter's sneering voice echoed out of the phone, assaulting his eardrums.

Suddenly out of his surprisingly good mood, Obadiah frowned and set his goblet to one side. "What do you want, Whitney?" he asked flatly. There was no love lost between him and his brat.

"Just thought I'd let you know that I'll be dropping by in less than ten minutes," she told him cheerlessly, for some reason seeming to take pleasure in the fact of his nearly audile disgust. "We have some things to…discuss."

"If this is about my orders to keep you at home last week after you attempted to destroy my laser blaster project, there's nothing to discuss," Obadiah told her resolutely.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Daddy. I'm so over it." Her tone of voice definitely argued with her seemingly pleasant words. "This is about your newest project. The so-called 'Thunderbolt Lances'."

"What about them?" Obadiah roared, crashing his fist thunderously against the surface of his desk.

"They're too powerful. Human beings shouldn't even possess this kind of technology yet. They have the potential to kill hundreds of people each day if you continue testing them as dangerously as you have been. You need to shut that project down."

Obadiah didn't listen to another word, slamming the receiver down and nearly cracking its plastic cradle. His brow furrowed darkly as he tried and failed to keep his temper in check. Whitney was too much like her mother, acting like she had to be in control of every situation, whether it concerned her or not. She needed to stop meddling in his affairs, or he would be forced to take care of her. Permanently.

The phone rang again, annoying trills piercing his fragile calm. He savagely grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Damn it, Whitney! I'm not shutting down the Thunderbolt Lance project!"

There was a brief silence, then a voice that was most definitely not Whitney Stane answered. "This is security officer McDonald, sir. Calling from sector one point seven. We have a bit of a problem."

Obadiah straightened his tie, taking a deep breath as he did so. He couldn't afford to ruin his image. Every outburst had the tendency to leak out to the public, no matter who heard it. "What sort of problem?" he enquired suspiciously.

"It's a, er, code twenty-nine, sir."

"How the hell am I supposed to know what that means?" Obadiah demanded tiredly. "I can't keep up with all the codes you people assign to various situations."

The sound of McDonald swallowing hard was audible even over the phone. "Er…a code twenty-nine, sir. That means…the return of…Tony Stark, sir."

Stane pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for several seconds, then replaced it again. "I almost thought that you said Tony Stark was back," he said in a dangerous tone.

"Y…y…yes, sir. That's right, sir. We've just received the call. I'm afraid it's very true, sir. A…a…and he was said to be heading in this direction, sir."

Feeling the blood draining from his face and his hands starting to shake, Obadiah slammed the phone back down, cutting off the call. He swallowed hard to fight the uncharacteristic panic, then rummaged frantically through a desk drawer. Pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper that was coated with a layer of dust, he studied the disorderly scrawl for several moments. Not even a name was recorded, only an eight-digit phone number to contact the Controller.

Obadiah had not once dialed this number, even in two years. He hadn't particularly cared what happened to Tony, only that he was gone for good, with no strings attached. The company was his, and that was all that really mattered.

With a pounding heart, he picked up the now-cracked phone receiver again and dialed the number. Lifting it to rest against his ear, he waited through six rings. Then an automated voice spoke: "The number you have dialed is not a working number. Please try again, and be sure that you have the correct digits."

A fake. The number he'd been given was a fake. Obadiah's eyes bulged with pure rage, and he angrily threw the phone across the room. It crashed against the wall, exploding in a storm of millions of tiny pieces. But Stane was beyond caring, inhaling several deep breaths while pondering how best to get his revenge of someone he couldn't even contact.

"Mr. Stane. I'm told you rang?" came a highly unexpected voice from behind him.

Obadiah spun in his seat, fingers twitching towards the alarm button implanted in the bottom of his desk, then froze. The man was more than familiar, and was tastefully dressed in an expensive suit with a brilliant yellow tie to accent its dark color. His hair was tastefully combed back from his forehead, and his hands were clasped behind his back as he stared peacefully out the glass wall. This was almost too much like that first meeting they had shared two years earlier. The man's chilling first words still echoed in Obadiah's mind. "Mr. Stane? I'm told you have a little…problem."

"The Controller," Obadiah ground out through tightly gritted teeth, hands clenching into angry fists as he got to his feet.

"Quite right. I'm pleased to find that you still remember our little meeting," the Controller replied pleasantly, turning around. He still looked exactly the same, so neat and tidy that he looked like he never did any real work with his hands. But then again, neither did Obadiah. Though this statement was actually quite true for him.

"How could I forget?" Stane asked drily, then settled down to the grim business at hand. "Now. Why have I just heard that Stark was sighted heading this way?"

"Why indeed?" the other man answered absently, a cold smirk curving his lips into an upwards position.

"Don't play games with me, Controller," Obadiah snapped. "I'm not really in the mood."

The Controller studied his fingernails absently, pausing to polish them against his silk tie. "I'm not playing games with you, Mr. Stane. The time of our deal has run out, as of today."

"What are you blithering about, Controller? What time? You never mentioned any time!" Obadiah shouted, trying to ignore the sweat he could feel beading on his forehead.

"Oh, but I did. Check the back of my…card."

Slowly, Obadiah turned over the crumpled paper with the Controller's supposed contact number written across it. There, in the tiniest size of writing possible, was written four short sentences and a signature, written under a heading that tended to give anyone who read it the faintest traces of apprehension, Fine print: Thank you for doing business with us, Mr. Stane. We hope you enjoyed your brief opportunity to torture Tony Stark. And for your information, our deal will expire in approximately two years, though absolutely no sooner or later. Then we will be free to do with our new pet as we wish. Pleasantly yours, A.I.M.

Obadiah's teeth gritted together again, and he choked. "Why…why, you –"

"It isn't our fault that you never read the fine print, Mr. Stane," the Controller said sinisterly. He checked an expensive leather watch that he wore on one wrist, and smiled. "Ah, look at the time. I had better run, so that Tony will have enough time to do with you as he wishes. Well…not really what he wishes, that is. If you know what I mean." And then he was gone, with no dramatic flashes of light or exciting thunderclaps. He was simply…gone.

Obadiah swore loudly, throwing the paper towards the carpeted floor. Instead of making much damage, it instead floated far too quietly to land beside his chair.

As though on cue, the intercom on one corner of his desk rang a warning, and a red light flashed. The voice of his day secretary, Martha, burst from the tiny speakers. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stane, but I couldn't stop him. Not legally, anyway. He's far over eighteen now, and this company is legally his. He can do what he pleases with it. He's on his way up in the elevator!" she cried frantically.

"Who? Who are you talking about?" Obadiah demanded, dread beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. He had a sinking suspicious just who Martha meant.

"Tony Stark, sir. He's come to reclaim the company." The line went ominously dead, and Obadiah swore again.

Right then, the door exploded open and slammed deafeningly into the wall behind it. None other than Tony Stark was framed in the doorway, looking a little older and rougher around the edges, and yet still the very same.

"Get out of here! Or I'll kill you!" Obadiah threatened wildly, glancing urgently around the room for some kind of weapon he could use against the young man. When Tony didn't budge, he tried another tactic, using a dark voice this time. "You know I can, Tony. Don't you remember the time we spent together before A.I.M. took you? The sonic whip tearing into your flesh, sending blood spurting against the walls? The tears you cried when I handed you over?"

If Obadiah was expecting a reaction, he didn't get one. Tony simply strode into the room, heading for the desk. He passed Obadiah without a second look, sweeping one hand across the desk's surface and sending various papers and tiny (stolen) prototypes to the carpet with a muted thud.

Obadiah didn't waste time trying to reason with the adolescent genius anymore, instead thinking hysterically over ways to stop him. "You can't do this!" he yelled.

"Oh, but I can, Stane." Tony spoke for the first time, folding his arms across his chest and staring Obadiah down with a piercing blue stare. "Stark International is my company, and always will be. Even if you abuse me and hand me over to terrorists. Now get out before I call the police and tell them that little story, Stane."

"But…but you can't!" Obadiah stuttered, gaze flitting anxiously around the large room as he tried in vain to think a way out of the situation. "You can't take this company from me, Tony Stark! I refuse to allow you!"

Tony smiled ominously, nonexistent warmth not exactly reaching his eyes. "But you can't stop me. So don't even try, Stane."


Whitney paused for a few moments at the front desk, but the usual secretary was nowhere in sight. She couldn't remember the woman's name; she thought it might be Mary or Michele or something like that. When no one appeared, she shrugged carelessly and headed for the elevator. She didn't have time to wonder about some random woman's vanishing act; she had much bigger actions to consider. Like what she was going to say to her father to make him listen about the Thunderbolt Lances.

Stepping into the mirrored elevator, she pressed the button that was clearly marked Stane – Office, then turned around and studied her reflection in the polished mirror. Her short blonde hair was complimented just right by the fluorescent lighting, flowing daintily around her made-up face. Her lipstick was just red enough, and her mascara made the lashes framing her glittering eyes seem amazingly long. Added with her denim mini and sequined green top, she thought she looked just right for confronting her father about the deadly actions that his newest weapon had the potential to perform.

She turned around just as the doors slid smoothly open, and strode briskly over the metallic threshold. Her heels clicking on the shining tile, she walked past three doors and around a corner. She was surprised to find the door to her father's office wide open, and frowned. After hesitating only a second, she stepped into the office.

And was utterly floored by what she saw next.

Obadiah was shouting, which was really nothing new. Spittle was flying from his mouth and beads of sweat were standing out on his bald head as he pointed angrily around the room. And none other than the MIA Tony Stark was reclined in the leather desk chair, feet propped on the desk surface and fingers forming a temple in front of his face. He was staring darkly at the bald businessman, something deadly lurking in his sapphire depths.

"Oh. My. God. Is that you, Tony?" Whitney felt her heavily-mascared eyes widen in shock, but didn't try to curb her emotions, as she usually did. "It's been two years! I thought…I thought you weren't coming back." She glared accusingly at her now-silent father, barely holding back her hostility. She had always known that Obadiah was somehow behind Tony's disappearing act, and now it seemed that she had been right.

And God, it was good to see Tony again. It had been far too long.

Tony turned his head towards her, seeming bored. If his expression was anything to go by, he wasn't nearly as happy to see her as she was to see him. But there was something strange on his face, something…unnatural.

Thanks to the fact that she could copy appearances while wearing the Madame Masque costume, she had trained herself to pick up even the tiniest detail about someone. And this one really stood out.

"Stane Junior. Just who I didn't particularly want to see today," Tony stated blandly. "What do you want?"

"Well…I thought you would be happy to see me. It's been two whole years," Whitney felt obligated to point out.

"First Potts and Khan, now you," Tony sighed, eyes facing the ceiling above him. "Why does everyone seem so determined that I should have missed them?"

"You saw Pepper and Gene?" Whitney's eyes widened even further. "And you aren't with them right now? That's…that's unbelievable." If there was anyone Tony would ever be happy to see, it would definitely be those two and Rhodey.

"If you haven't got anything remotely important to say, you can go now. And take that annoying father of yours with you," Tony said impatiently, staring out the smearless glass wall, towards the city stretched out below.

Something definitely wasn't right with this situation. "Tony, what's wrong with yo–"

Tony leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom before she could even finish her sentence. "Security, this is Tony Stark. Please come to the office and escort Mr. and Ms. Stane from the building."

"Understood. Sir," came the nervous voice of one of the guards.

Tony smiled, something alien behind the supposedly innocent look. "I like good service, don't you?"

"I'm warning you, Stark–" Obadiah began angrily.

"Warning me what, exactly? That there's nothing you can do and that this company is now back in its rightful hands? Don't worry, I already know all that," he interrupted arrogantly, seeming way too confident about all this.

Whitney took a step forward, trying her best to talk some sense into this strange new Tony. He was a Tony that she wasn't entirely sure she approved of. "Tony, you can talk to me. I promise that I'll try my best to make things right," she told him earnestly.

Tony laughed coldly. "You? Do something useful? Please tell me something I'll actually believe, Stane Junior."

Before Whitney could reply with something scathing, a pair of guards stepped uncertainly into the office, eyes flickering back and forth between Obadiah and Tony. "Mr. Stane, you'll have to come with us," one of them murmured awkwardly.

"I won't be forced out of my own company!" Obadiah bellowed.

Tony leaned forward over the desk. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Stane. Didn't you read the name on the label? It's Stark International, not Stane. Now get out of my sight."

Still screaming threats of impending doom and destruction, Obadiah was firmly towed from the room my one of the guards. Whitney nodded calmly at the other waiting guard to show she wasn't going to put up a fuss, then turned to face Tony again. "Tony, what's gotten into you? You aren't the same guy I knew before," she said softly.

"That's truer than you'll ever know, Stane Junior. Now get out, and never come back." Tony reclined in his chair, again resting his feet recklessly on the desk again as he stared out the glass wall.

Whitney allowed the second guard to take her arm and guide her from the room, mind spinning with shock and disbelief over what had just occurred.

But at least she wasn't going to have to worry about her father creating dangerous weapons anymore.


Please review, and I'll try to make the wait MUCH shorter next time! :D Besides, it's not really ALL my fault that you guys had to wait so long. First, I moved to a new house. Then the Internet at the new house wasn't working. Anyway, you know what to do…click that button, right over there! :D