A/N: I know the trend has been to delve into Tony's psychological turmoil and panic attacks and such in this type of story, but I don't really see Tony as being an angsty, whiney mess, so I'm not planning doing it. My Humpty-Dumpty only needs the shell put back together, not his scrambled yolk (brains) as well. Sorry to those hoping else-wise.

Also, got a couple reviews but as far as I can tell, FF hasn't posted them even though I said yes. But to those people / guests, I did receive them and read them. Appreciate y'all - Thanks!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Except for the one that is mine. The rest are Marvel and Disney's, sadly.

Tony was in his element. Dressed to kill and captivating people simply by talking and smiling had him feeling almost normal since his ordeal. He missed talking - his oft purposefully, longwinded explanations to confuse Cap or Thor; arguing with Pepper; discussing new discoveries with Bruce; ordering his bots around and insulting them; being able to simultaneously give direction to JARVIS while still fiddling with his hands. It just wasn't the same when JARVIS had to relay everything he signed. So tonight, having his voice back even for just a few hours, was pure bliss!

It was unavoidable not to talk at the gala. Of course, everyone would want to talk with him, question him on where he'd been, talk about the Avengers and all their avenging, give condolences for his condition and being caught in the explosion, etcetera, etcetera. None of that mattered to him. This was the one particular gala each year where he would give a speech. If anyone else did it, it would just feel wrong. So he did it. He rocked it too, if he did say so himself. His mother had started the Stark Gala and had given it her attention, heart, and its purpose. It was the one time every year where he would stand in front of these people and ask for their money. For her.

That didn't mean that it wasn't hard. Every cell in his body ached and hurt and yelled for attention and it was taking all of his acting skills to hide it from everyone. He probably wasn't fooling most of his team or even Pepper, but they weren't hovering around him and making it obvious to others, so he'd take it. Plus, he'd done so much to ensure that these people didn't see all his physical wounds, he couldn't mess up all that hard work by putting on a bad performance.

While Bruce had been working on his 'Tony's voice,' Tony himself had been building an earbud that would protect his ear from the cacophony of a large gathering, getting the filter to jam the different speech frequency ranges that he would undoubtedly encounter that night. Then he had had to develop a more protective and comfortable sling for his hand. He and Pepper had discussed it and the media needed a reason why he wasn't seen for three weeks. Allowing everyone to see his hand in the external fixation would account for his seclusion, yet wasn't detrimental enough to dip stocks any further. That didn't mean he wanted to risk hitting it on something or someone and setting his healing back by weeks or cause permanent damage to the appendage.

The worse thing about the sling, though, was that the strap ran across his back, over the worst of his marks there, and rubbed when he moved too much. No matter what he tried, he couldn't find a solution.

The bruising on his face was easily covered up with some makeup he had designed years ago when he first started being Iron Man - like Vanko said, a bleeding superhero puts doubts in people's minds as to their effectiveness and need, so he'd designed a foundation that covered up the deepest bruises and swelling, yet made the face appear absolutely normal.

Overall, he thought he did a pretty good job with only a couple hours lab-time over the three days to work and one hand. Bruce and his bots helped out a lot, but they were all his ideas, so really, it was all him.

During his talk on stage, he had noticed a man in the back, standing on the fringes of the huddled group. He looked familiar, but as soon as he saw him, he had lost him again.

Off stage, Tony had been corralled by congratulations and all that other bullshit people who want to say they knew him said at these types of things. Raised to be polite - even if people didn't believe he possessed that skill nor if he ever wanted to employ it - he talked to all the other self-important, uppity CEOs, but kept his eye out for the man.

He finally spotted him later on in the night, their eyes locking, and he couldn't prevent his eyes widening in recognition, catching the smirk that spread across the man's lips.

Ryker K. Sawyer.

Ryker continued to move about the room, avoiding people and conversations as he went, his colleague moving silently alongside. Occasionally, someone would stop them and try to engage. His partner would reply, never him. This wasn't his crowd. He didn't like these people and he certainly didn't need or want their approval. He had one mission tonight and it was the man to whom he was slowly making his way.

It was like a dance. He would take two steps forward. His prey would take one step back. Circling and swaying. Two steps to the right, one step left. Even with his hidden injuries, Tony Stark was a proficient dancer, he thought, laughing silently to himself over his silent, personal joke.

Tony got trapped by some guy in a fancy suit and his wife in her ostentatious dress. Ryker's own suit was modest at best. Again, not that he cared. He actually felt sorry for Tony, having to constantly show interest in people beneath his intelligence and class. Then again, who wasn't? Ryker stopped to observe the interaction, not ready yet to make his move.

He watched as Tony smiled prettily at the couple, his teeth glinting in the light. Watched as Tony played his part in the charade of the evening: the consummate host. It was a different dance than he and Tony were currently playing, but a dance just the same.

Ryker's interest peaked when a new dancer pranced his way to the three talking. He approached from the left - Tony's apparent weak side this evening. A brutish looking man, he was broad and well-built; a bear of a man compared to the smaller, slighter billionaire. The couple talking to Tony hadn't realized the man's intent until a meaty hand thumped across Tony's left shoulder, jostling the genius and pitching him forward with its strength.

Tony grimaced and tried to wiggle his way out from under the man's hand, but the man had clamped down hard on the space between Tony's shoulder and neck, squeezing none-too-gently.

Ryker couldn't hear what was being said, but the three original talkers looked uncomfortable and offended at the man's actions - his obvious intoxication not helping in the least. The man only let go of Tony's shoulder to thump him again on the back before teetering off towards his next victim. Tony made a conciliatory gesture towards the couple and slipped into the crowd the opposite direction of the brute.

Though the evening was waning and the party-goers thinning, Ryker lost Tony in the crowd. It wasn't until a thunderous round of clanking glasses - which, where did these people find the silverware to perform this action? - that he caught Tony slipping his way out a side door.

Isolated. Injured. Alone.

Now was Ryker's time to strike.