Evening painted the Pacific in sweeping strokes of gold and crimson as the Hayes family's car wound along the coastal road toward Malibu.
Arthur drove, Eileen sat beside him, and the children chattered excitedly in the back seat. With magic always available, actual family drives were rare and therefore treasured.
An hour earlier, Eve had pinged him with an update: Tony had wrapped up everything with the authorities and returned to his mansion.
The Stark residence soon came into view, rising from the cliffside like a monument to modern architecture—glass, steel, and dramatic angles defying gravity and good sense. Arthur had always appreciated Tony's aesthetic choices, even if he found them slightly theatrical for his own tastes.
Pepper met them at the door, and her exhausted expression melted into genuine warmth.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, pulling Eileen into a hug first, then Arthur. "I was starting to wonder when you'd get here."
"We wanted to give Tony a little time to decompress," Eileen said. "How is he? Really?"
Pepper hesitated. "Better than I expected. Worse than he pretends." Then her face brightened as Elena bounded forward. "And there's my favorite girl!"
"Hi, Aunt Pepper!"
Pepper ruffled her hair, then turned to Tristan, "And little Tristan!"
He offered a shy wave but clutched his wrapped package protectively.
"Is Uncle Tony okay?" Elena asked immediately.
"He's tired, but he's okay. He's been asking when you'd arrive." Pepper straightened and gestured inside. "He's in the workshop. Just… fair warning: he's already tinkering."
"Of course he is," Arthur murmured. "Lead the way."
They descended the spiral staircase into Tony's workshop—part garage, part laboratory, part meticulously organized chaos. Holographic displays floated in the air, robotic arms tracked their movement with soft mechanical curiosity, and the entire space hummed with the electricity of invention.
Tony stood at one of the workbenches, fiddling with something small and metallic. He looked up as the family entered, and his face transformed.
"The cavalry arrives!"
"Uncle Tony!" Elena yelped, breaking free from her mother and sprinting across the room. Tony caught her and spun her once, though he winced when he set her down.
"Easy, Ellie. Your uncle's still a little banged up."
"Sorry!" Elena's face crumpled with immediate remorse. "Did I hurt you?"
"Nah. You're practically weightless. I'm just being dramatic." He ruffled her hair. "What would Uncle Tony be without a little drama?"
"Are you really okay? Daddy said you beat up lots of bad guys."
"Did he now?" Tony shot Arthur an amused look.
"I made you something!" Elena thrust her rolled canvas forward with great ceremony. "I did all the drawing myself!"
Tony accepted the gift and carefully unrolled it. His expression shifted as he took in the image.
It was a crayon drawing—surprisingly detailed for a five-year-old—of Tony in civilian clothes, fists raised, surrounded by defeated bad guys with X's for eyes. Above the scene, in Elena's careful handwriting, were the words: "UNCLE TONY - THE HERO."
Tony stared at it for a long moment.
"Daddy said you went on an adventure," Elena explained earnestly. "And that you beat lots and lots of bad guys." She paused, then added with perfect childish logic, "So I drew you being a superhero. Because that's what you are."
"This is..." Tony's voice was rough. "This is the best thing anyone's ever given me, Ellie. I'm putting it right here." He stood and walked to a clear section of wall near his main workstation. "JARVIS, remind me to get a frame for this."
"Noted, sir," JARVIS replied.
Tristan stepped forward next, holding out his gift with grave formality. "My gift, Uncle Tony."
Tony crouched. "Let's see what you've got, little man."
Tony unwrapped it carefully—and his hands went still.
It was a photograph, professionally framed in sleek black metal. The image showed Tony in the Mark I armor, standing at the mouth of a cave in the Afghan desert. His weapons were deployed—flamethrower extended, crude missile launcher raised—his posture battle-ready, clearly expecting a fight. The armor was battered and scorched, still smoking from recent combat. But Tony's face, visible through the rough helmet opening, showed pure determination.
"That's quite a picture, isn't it?" Arthur said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You should have seen your face when you came out of that cave. All that righteous fury, ready to burn down the world… and there I was with a Nikon."
Despite himself, Tony laughed. He looked back at the photo, his thumb tracing the edge of the frame.
"Does this photo come with a message too?" Tony murmured, his eyes still fixed on the image. "Or is it just meant to capture my good side?"
"Of course," Arthur said, his tone turning thoughtful. "That moment right there… that's where everything started. Where everything changed. The man in that picture… he built the impossible out of nothing. He refused to break. He fought his way out with grit, brilliance, and a box of scraps." Arthur paused. "Always remember your origins, Tony. Remember where you came from. What forged you. The world's going to try to make you forget - success, fame, comfort, all of it will try to smooth out the hard edges. Don't let it."
Tony was quiet, absorbing it. Then he squinted suspiciously. "Is that supposed to be profound? Because it sounds like something from a fortune cookie."
"I don't know," Arthur said, lips twitching. "Does it? I've read it so often in books that I figured I should try saying it at least once."
Tony snorted, the tension breaking. "You're ridiculous."
"I prefer 'meaningfully pretentious.'"
"You would." But Tony's grip on the frame was gentle as he set it on his workbench, positioned where he could see it from his main chair. "I'm keeping this, you know. Both of these. Right where I can see them."
"That was the idea," Arthur said lightly.
—
An hour later, the children had been happily corralled into exploring the workshop under JARVIS's watchful supervision while the adults talked.
Tony leaned against his workbench, nursing a glass of water. Arthur stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, casual but observant.
"So," Arthur said. "Obadiah."
Tony's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "What about him?"
"What happens now? With the case?"
"Better things for me to worry about." Tony shrugged, but the tension in his shoulders said otherwise. "It's open and shut. The feds found everything on his personal computer—communications with the Ten Rings, financial records, the whole conspiracy. He was sloppy."
"Sloppy, or arrogant?"
"Both." Tony's voice hardened. "He thought I'd die in that desert. Never even considered I might come back and start pulling at threads."
Arthur nodded but said nothing. Privately, he had his doubts. Obadiah Stane had run Stark Industries for two decades—a man didn't survive at that level without cultivating powerful allies, people who owed him favors. If Justin Hammer could make Ivan Vanko walk out of prison, what was stopping someone from doing the same for Stane?
But even if Stane slipped the noose through legal tricks or hidden connections, Arthur doubted he would ever pose a real threat to Tony again. His reputation was ruined, the Mark I sat safely in Arthur's storage vault awaiting a future as a display piece, and without access to Stark tech, Stane was declawed. The Iron Monger would never be born.
Still, Arthur made a mental note to keep an eye on Tony. Just in case.
"The press conference was quite a show," Arthur said instead. "Very dramatic. Very you."
"You watched?" Tony's eyebrow arched.
"We all did." Arthur smiled faintly. "You looked extra arrogant up there."
"I call it looking cool," Tony replied. "Speaking of the press conference—you didn't happen to lose a fortune in the stock collapse today, did you?"
"Quite the opposite, actually."
Tony's eyebrows rose. "Do tell."
"I sold my positions just before your whole speech." Arthur's smile widened slightly. "And then I opened a short position. Maximum leverage."
"You bet against me?"
"I bet on you," Arthur corrected. "On what you were going to do. The look in your eyes when you stared at those weapons crates—that told me everything."
"And what did it tell you?"
"That the weapons division was finished the moment you walked out of that cave." Arthur met Tony's gaze evenly. "You'd already made the decision. I just positioned myself accordingly."
Tony shook his head slowly. "You know, one of these days I'm going to surprise you. Just once."
"I look forward to it."
"Liar."
A reluctant laugh escaped Tony, shaking something loose in his chest. "At least you're honest about being insufferable."
"Always." Arthur tilted his head. "So what's next? For Stark Industries?"
Tony turned to look at the holographic displays floating around his workshop—schematics, energy calculations, designs that hadn't existed a week ago.
"Nothing concrete yet. But I'm thinking about new energy. Clean energy. Something that could change the world in a different way."
"Good." Arthur nodded approvingly. "The twins will be happy. Your shift away from weapons... it will mean a lot to them."
"I understood what they went through," Tony said quietly. "After seeing my own missile get used against me. Seeing my own creation nearly kill me. I don't want that to happen again. Not to soldiers. Not to civilians. Not to anyone's kids."
"A worthy goal."
"Yeah, well." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "It's going to take time. And money. And probably a lot of failures along the way."
"You'll manage." Arthur's voice carried absolute conviction. "I have no doubts about the future of Stark Industries under your leadership."
Tony stared at him. "That's... a lot of confidence."
"Deserved confidence." Arthur smiled. "In fact, I've already asked Daniel to start acquiring shares. Phoenix Group is planning to buy at the bottom and consolidate a significant position. Be prepared to see me in future board meetings."
"Wait." Tony straightened. "You're joining the board? Actually joining?"
"When the price stabilizes, yes."
"You've been avoiding that for years. Every time I offered—"
"You were a weapons manufacturer," Arthur said simply. "I couldn't support that. Now that Stark has changed direction... now I fully believe in you. And I'm prepared to show it."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, something working in his expression. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For coming. For not giving up on me when everyone else thought I was dead."
Arthur held his gaze steadily. "You would have made it out regardless. The armor you built—"
"Maybe. Maybe not." Tony shook his head. "But you came anyway. You and Miss Anderson and her people. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," Arthur said softly. "I did."
Something passed between them—an understanding that went deeper than words.
Tony cleared his throat, the vulnerability retreating behind familiar walls. "Speaking of Miss Anderson—I've been thinking about security. Real security. After today, after Obie..." He gestured vaguely. "I need people I can trust. People who actually know what they're doing."
"I'll arrange a meeting," Arthur said. "Ariadne runs the best security operation I've ever seen. Her people are professionals—former military, intelligence backgrounds, the works. And I'll have her assign an excellent female bodyguard for Pepper as well. Someone competent."
Tony huffed a laugh. "Already thinking three steps ahead."
"Always," Arthur said.