When Tony turned to open his bedroom door, he realized both his hands were full. He should have left his empty mug in the kitchen or at least on the table; taking it with him had happened on auto-pilot. He sighed and balanced the mug on the tablet to open the door, then dumped both on the nearest horizontal surface, which happened to be the end of the bed.

He hadn't been in the shower long before Friday said, "Colonel Rhodes and Sara Chen wish to enter, boss."

He sighed and rolled his shoulders beneath the warm spray of water. "They can come in, but the bathroom is off limits," he said, grateful that he'd closed the bathroom door for once.

He didn't hear their voices until after he turned off the water, and he still couldn't decipher what they were saying. Not that he cared. He dried off and pulled on his bathrobe before throwing open the door and padding out into the bedroom.

"Mr. Stark," Sara greeted him as he pulled open a drawer to fish out a clean pair of underwear. "I hope we aren't intruding."

"I'm used to having strange people in my bedroom," he joked with a smirk and closed the drawer with his hip. "It's fine. I told Friday you were allowed."

"Are you trying to call me strange?" Rhodey asked, feigning indignance.

"I didn't say that, you did," he replied smoothly, turning his back on them to slip on the underwear without exposing himself. Rhodey had seen it all before, but he didn't want the new assistant to get the wrong idea. He was a playboy, not a creep. "What have we got?"

"We have several options, depending on if you want to go with a two-piece or a three-piece," Natasha said from inside the closet.

Tony turned back around, startled. "Security breach," he said reflexively. "Friday, why didn't you tell me she was here?"

"I have not been tasked with announcing everyone who steps foot through the door, boss," Friday replied. "Colonel Rhodes allowed her in."

"Stop sassing me," he grumbled. "All right, it's fine. What do you want?"

"Two-piece or three?" she replied, unruffled, and held up an example of each type. She was, as Clint predicted, dressed flawlessly in a short black dress, and Tony was willing to bet that the combs or sticks or whatever held her hair in that updo could be used as weapons. He knew for sure that the heels on her shoes could be fatal.

"Unless you'd like to wear the kitten t-shirt," Rhodey said with a grin. "Why do you even have a kitten shirt?"

"It was a gift from Lila," he said defensively, then addressed Natasha. "Which do you want me to wear? You're the one insisting that I shouldn't shave for this."

"Two-piece," Sara suggested into the awkward silence that followed. "It's less formal but still more than adequate for the occasion."

Natasha nodded and disappeared back into the closet while Sara turned her attention to him. "What about makeup?" she asked, loudly enough that he knew she wasn't talking to him.

Natasha emerged with three suits that she laid out on the bed, then joined Sara in examining his face. "How desperate do you want to look?" she questioned bluntly.

"I don't know, what goes with my hasn't-shaved-in-three-days style?" he asked sourly, running his hand through his nearly dry hair.

"We might want to clean up the facial hair a bit," Sara suggested.

"They've seen worse," he said before Natasha could respond. "Whatever, it's fine. What am I wearing?"

"I vote for the middle one," Rhodey said, having wheeled his chair over to survey the options.

Tony finally turned to see what had been selected. "Why, so we can match?"

Rhodey, dressed in a dark blue suit instead of his uniform, replied deadpan, "Would we? I hadn't noticed."

"Yes, the dark blue," Sara agreed.

"White shirt, red tie," Natasha added.

"And don't forget the flag pin," Rhodey said dryly.

"What, is it the Fourth of July? Why the patriotic look?" Tony objected.

"You're about to announce publicly that the U.S. government is investigating you for terrorism. Looking the part of a patriotic citizen might help win some sympathy from those who won't be sorry that you've lost access to your millions," Natasha explained from the closet as she handed a shirt to Sara and flipped through his ties.

"Billions," he corrected absently. "All right, fine. Are you going to watch me dress, too?"

"No, I think Rhodey can handle that well enough. We'll see you on the quinjet," Natasha said, tossing the selected tie to Rhodey.

"Would you prefer notecards or sheets of paper?" Sara asked.

"For what?" Tony replied dumbly.

"Your prepared statement. Would you prefer it printed on notecards or sheets of paper?" she elaborated. "This is the sort of thing I don't know because we haven't had a meeting yet."

"Uh, right," he said blankly. "Let's go with notecards."

"Of course. I'll have them ready for you shortly."

He nodded dumbly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Mr. Stark."

Natasha was already in the hall, so Sara followed and closed the door quietly.

Tony shrugged off the dressing gown and began getting dressed by rote. He had his trousers on but not fastened and was buttoning up his shirt when Rhodey said, "Don't worry, you'll make it."

"At what cost?" he asked bleakly, fumbling with his buttons for a moment before marshaling control of his fingers. "A lot could be lost in the time it takes our fine government to get its head out of its ass."

"The team stands with you."

"The team," he scoffed, perching on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. "They can't possibly all agree when it comes to me and whether I'm right."

"They're all with you on this, and you know I'm with you no matter what."

"Yeah, I know," he said with a lopsided smile as he took the red tie from Rhodey's hand. His hands were trembling enough that he couldn't manage to loop the knot properly.

"Come down here and let me do it," Rhodey broke in, sounding aggravated. "You look pathetic."

"Just part of the charm," he said halfheartedly, kneeling awkwardly in front of Rhodey's chair.

"You sure you can do this right now?" Rhodey asked when he was finished fixing the tie.

"I have to," he said wearily.

"Promise me that you'll step back afterward and let Mel handle the press."

"Yeah, yeah."

He started to stand up but Rhodey caught his arm. "I'm serious. You look beat. Let her do her job or she's not worth the money you're paying her."

He laughed darkly and stood, shrugging on his suit coat. "I'm not paying anyone at the moment, remember?"

Rhodey waved that away. "I know you. You'll make up for it even if you have to sell the tower to do it."

"Right now it's not mine to sell," he said wearily, fastening his cufflinks and contemplating who could possibly buy the tower at the price he'd demand. Not that he was selling, but it was an interesting idea. He pushed that thought back; he had other things to worry about.

"Ready?"

He shook out his sleeves and stepped over to open the door for Rhodey. "We need better doors," he said. "The whole place needs an upgrade."

"That costs money," Rhodey reminded him, rolling into the hallway.

"What doesn't?" he grumbled.

The others were gathered when they arrived at the quinjet, dressed in an array of clothing that hinted at their appointed roles during the event. Barton was in his full gear and would no doubt be perched somewhere high where he wouldn't be noticed. Wilson was also geared up, though he would have to be somewhere outside, as the tower lobby wasn't large enough to make good use of his wings. Vision was Vision and looked the same as always and Tony privately hoped he would be out of sight so his presence wouldn't be distracting.

Rogers was in a suit and his hair had been darkened, though he was still recognizable. Wanda was wearing the ladies' equivalent of a suit, slacks and all, with her hair swept up and her makeup done in such a way that strangers wouldn't immediately realize who she was. She looked uncomfortable and Tony realized he had never seen her in pants before. In those getups, he couldn't immediately guess at their appointed tasks. Natasha and Sara he'd already seen.

When they were all on the quinjet and Barton was finishing the pre-flight checks, Sara appeared at his side. "Where would you like your notecards?" she asked quietly, holding them up.

"I can take them," Rhodey said. "He doesn't like to be handed things."

She smiled slightly, gave Rhodey the cards, and nodded at them both. "I know," she said, then headed toward Rogers, a giant makeup bag bumping her leg.

"Did you tell her that? I didn't tell her that," Tony commented, watching her.

"I didn't, maybe Natasha did," Rhodey replied.

As soon as the jet was airborne, Natasha appeared in front of them. "Are you ready to be grilled?"

"I prefer to be toasted," he said, shuffling his notecards back into proper order. He slumped back in his seat and eyed her warily. "Do your worst."

She perched on a seat facing him and began quizzing him on portions of his statement. He had to refer to his cards a couple of times, but he thought he did pretty well considering his head was pounding (again? still? he didn't know) and he needed more coffee like he needed oxygen.

Rhodey watched the whole affair, silent until Natasha returned to the front of the jet as they prepared to land. "Have you taken anything for the headache?"

Tony regarded him out of the corner of his eye-actually turning required too much movement, and might also hurt. "Not recently," he admitted with a sigh.

"That's what I thought." Rhodey shook his head, pulled a familiar tin out of his pocket, and set it on Tony's knee. "Take something."

"You have water in there somewhere, too?" He picked through the tablets and selected two of something mild. "Have you had this since the U.N. meeting?"

"No. I dug it out of your other suit while you were in the shower."

"Hold onto it for me?" he asked, passing it back after swallowing the pills dry.

"As long as we're clear that I'm not your minder," Rhodey said lightly as the jet settled onto the landing strut with a small jerk.

"Aren't you?" Tony glanced over to where Sara was working on Rogers's face and was immediately impressed. "Rogers, you hardly look like yourself," he said loudly enough to be heard over the jet's mechanical noises as it powered down and was drawn into the building.

"There wasn't enough time to grow a beard," Rogers replied, keeping his eyes closed as Tony stood and made his way over.

"It won't fool facial recognition algorithms, but it will fool the human eye," Sara said, leaning back to examine her handiwork, then leaning in to make a few tiny adjustments. "Having them hide in plain sight would be easier if your tower didn't have countermeasures for those digital facial masks."

"Natasha sneaking into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with one of those proved the need for recognizing and disabling them," Tony said. "There was no way in hell I'd leave a vulnerability that large unaddressed, especially while the tower was our headquarters. Did you use any prosthetics or is that just makeup?"

"Almost entirely makeup. The only prosthetic piece is on the bridge of his nose." She nodded and dropped the pencil and compact in her hands back into her bag. "You're all set, Steve."

"Thank you," Rogers said courteously as the ramp for the jet whirred open.

Sara glanced over her shoulder and waved to Mel, who was waiting with a suited man holding a silver case. "I'm sorry we're a few minutes behind," she called.

"I'll forgive you this once, but see that it doesn't happen again," Mel said with a laugh. "Come along, everyone. We don't have long to get you into position before the media starts showing up."

As the others filed off the jet, Tony hung back to take a few deep breaths and shake out his hands. He was growing unaccountably nervous. Rhodey waited for him without comment.

By the time he disembarked, the others were gathered around Mel and the suited man, who was saying, "-be careful with these, they cost more than you want to know."

Tony was taken aback; the voice sounded like . . . "Happy?" he asked in disbelief as he drew closer.

Happy acknowledged him with a nod before he handed the last pair of Security Sunglasses to Wanda. They were part of a set of three prototypes he'd cooked up for Happy when he'd first developed a simplified HUD for use with a pair of standard eyeglasses. That had been a side effect of his paranoia after the thing with Killian, though he'd found it useful to have Friday so close at hand on several occasions.

Happy's glasses didn't interact with Friday, of course, but even their simpler system could detect temperature variations, conduct limited scans for weaponry and explosives, and run facial recognition algorithms to compare with law enforcement databases. He should revisit that programming; the improvements to Falcon's equipment and his new scanning methods could be useful upgrades.

After a few more instructions, Happy directed the security contingent to take their places before turning toward Tony, the third pair of glasses sticking out of his breast pocket. "Hey boss," he said cheerfully. "Never thought I'd be telling the superfriends what to do."

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but the company can't seem involved-"

"I'm on leave," Happy said before he could finish. "When it came to the CEO's attention that I hadn't taken any vacation time in over a year, she insisted I take the next month off. Use or lose leave, you know how it is."

Tony frowned. "But the fiscal year just started."

"Pepper has it taken care of," Happy assured him. "So here I am."

"It's good to see you," Tony said, shaking his hand. "I'd ask how long you've been here and how long you plan to stay, but Mel over there keeps looking at her watch. Am I perplexing you, my dear?"

"Always," she replied immediately. "The lawyer with the accent is waiting downstairs, said he wants to speak to you before we get going and we're quickly running out of time."

"He wanted to come up here with us to meet you, but I turned him down. Security reasons," Happy added.

Tony clapped him on the back as they headed for the elevator. "Saving my bacon before I even know you're here. I like it."

The ride downstairs was quiet. Happy went off to check on things as soon as the doors opened, and Mel led Tony and Rhodey to the office where the lawyer had taken up residence.

Sara was waiting outside the door, a tall paper cup of store-bought coffee in her hand. "Mr. Stark, Mr. Mortimer requests a private meeting. He says it will take no more than a few minutes."

Tony scoffed. "Rhodey, you're coming with me," he said, then checked his watch. "Give us twenty minutes, then break down the door if you have to. And please tell me that coffee is for me. I would kill for some coffee right now."

"No need, it's for you," she said, handing the cup to Rhodey, who barely had time to steady it before Tony snatched it from his hand.

"Thanks." He patted his pockets one-handed, frowning. "Rhodey, did I have a tablet when we left my room?"

"Not that I saw, why?"

"Dammit, I had my notes on it. Guess I have to start over. Do you have any more cards?" he asked Sara briskly.

It was her turn to pat her pockets and she came up empty. Before she could apologize, Mel tore a sheet from her notebook and held it out without comment. Sara passed it to Rhodey, along with a pen, and asked, "Do you still have your cards, Mr. Stark?"

He produced them from his inside jacket pocket, then replaced them. "Let's get this over with," he said, pushing open the door and holding it for Rhodey. "Hugh! It's been ages. How have you been?" he said with false cheer as the lawyer struggled to his feet.

Hugh Mortimer, Esquire, smoothed his waistcoat primly before stroking his abundant white beard. "I requested a private meeting," he protested with an asthmatic wheeze that almost obscured his accent. Something British, and it would bother him terribly if he knew Tony had forgotten exactly where he was from.

"Rhodey is here to be my minder," Tony said breezily, moving a chair aside so Rhodey's chair would fit next to him. "You know I need minding from time to time."

"Very well," Hugh said with a resigned sigh, settling back into the chair he'd been occupying on the other side of the small round table and taking out a handkerchief to mop the sweat from his gleaming forehead.

Why an aging man with a serious perspiration problem insisted upon wearing three-piece woolen suits was a question that Tony didn't care to ask. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked, intentionally keeping his manner as informal as possible.

"I wish to discuss your planned responses to the questions likely to be raised," Hugh replied, straightening the sheets of paper in front of him. "Mr. Wiggins informed me of your telephone call yesterday on the matter."

"Then you know more than I do right now. Are those your notes? Pass them over," Tony said, sliding his hand across the table to snag the papers.

"Y-yes, sir," Hugh said, flustered, pushing the papers toward him.

"I assume you've read my statement. Anything you think we've missed?" Tony asked as he skimmed the lawyer's careful shorthand and motioned for Rhodey to pass him the paper and pen.

"It appears that you have identified the major points of concern," Hugh admitted.

"Good," Tony said absently, writing hurriedly. "Then why did you want to talk to me?"

"To request that you refrain from speaking off-the-cuff," Hugh said acidly. "Your legal defense is a far simpler task when you keep your remarks to a minimum."

"Rhodey, I think he's telling me to shut up," Tony said, feigning shock.

"Sounds like it," Rhodey agreed. "He's not wrong."

"I didn't bring you here so you could take his side."

"Sometimes that's what happens when you want me to be your minder."

"Spoilsport." He finished copying what he needed from the lawyer's papers and slid them back over the table. "How about this: if something is asked that we didn't anticipate, I'll look to you to signal whether I can answer it or not. Deal?"

"I suppose that will have to suffice," Hugh said grudgingly, straightening his pages once again.

"Then we're done here." Tony folded his page and stuck it and the pen into his pocket. Then he stood and took a swig of his coffee, letting Rhodey lead the way to the door.

The hallway was empty. The double doors to the lobby were a short distance away on the left; there was already a low hum of voices as the news crews arrived and set up their equipment for the event barely a half hour hence.

Tony headed down the hall to the right, passing empty offices, their occupants either involved in the press conference or sent home early. Halfway between the double doors and the end of the hall was a security monitoring station-one of several scattered throughout the tower-where two uniformed security personnel were keeping close watch on the building and the proceedings in the lobby. He hesitated momentarily in the doorway to peruse the screens, then moved on after one of the officers nodded in greeting.

He slowly paced the corridor, going all the way to the far end before turning on his heel and returning the way he came. He was trying to marshal his thoughts, mentally rehearsing those things he'd have to say or answer and trying to push everything else out of his mind with limited success. He couldn't afford to be distracted, it was going to take every shred of energy to get through the next hour or so as it was, especially since his headache was throbbing in his temples again.

In his preoccupation, Tony didn't realize Rhodey was following him until the wheelchair's tires squeaked on the tile as he turned around. He floundered for a response. "You don't have to-"

"I know," Rhodey replied steadily. "You okay?"

He waved dismissively with his empty coffee cup and continued his leisurely stroll. "I'll be fine," he said, trying to convince himself it was true.

Rhodey said nothing more until they drew near to the bathroom. "You might want to use the toilet. You can't pee in that suit without somebody noticing."

"How do you know about that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I was there, Tony," Rhodey said patiently.

He frowned and tried to remember. He recalled Rhodey kicking his ass in the War Machine armor but little more. Jarvis had to fill him in afterward on the notable details, like peeing the suit, which only came up because Pepper mentioned it in an argument about his hygiene. "I don't remember that," he admitted finally.

"I'm surprised you remember anything," Rhodey said dryly. "At least go in there and throw that cup away before you crumple it and drip coffee on yourself."

"Yes, mother," Tony replied sarcastically.

The heavy door closing behind him made him feel a little like he was being locked in a tiled prison that echoed each footstep ominously. He shook it off and dropped the cup into the empty trashcan. While he was there, he might as well heed Rhodey's advice.

His hands trembled as he straightened his clothing, the urinal flushing behind him. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face. God, he looked tired.

After a few deep breaths and vigorously rubbing his face with paper towel, he felt as ready as he would ever be.