– Two weeks later –
May 16, 2009 - Tony Stark's Mansion, Malibu
The workshop in Tony's mansion was quiet save for the hum of moving mechanical prototypes and the soft whir of DUM-E rolling between workstations.
Arthur sat in one of Tony's ergonomic chairs, Elena perched on his lap, both of them watching the large display screen mounted on the far wall.
On the screen, Tony appeared mid-experiment, wearing only half of his armor—hand and leg thrusters attached, the rest of him still in workshop clothes. His arms were stretched forward, repulsors warming up to a bright glow.
"Okay," the recorded Tony said, his voice crackling through the speakers. "Day eleven, test thirty-seven, configuration two-point-oh. For lack of a better option, DUM-E is still on fire safety."
The robot arm holding a fire extinguisher chirped enthusiastically.
"If you douse me again, and I'm not actually on fire, I'm donating you to a city college."
Arthur's lips twitched.
"Starting off easy. Ten percent thrust capacity in three… two… one—"
The suit shot upward, slammed into the ceiling with a spectacular crash, and came back down in a heap of clanging metal. Before Tony could even groan, DUM-E rolled forward and unleashed a torrent of fire extinguisher foam directly into his face.
Elena burst into giggles. "Uncle Tony looks like a snowman!"
On screen, Tony sputtered and cursed while DUM-E continued its enthusiastic assault.
"That's enough!" Tony yelled, waving his arms. "I said enough, you glorified can opener!"
Arthur chuckled, a genuine sound of amusement. "Your Uncle Tony has a unique relationship with his robots."
"JARVIS," Elena called out, "can you show the one where Uncle Tony spins around and around?"
"Certainly, Miss Elena. Test twenty-three, I believe."
The footage cut to another attempt. This time, Tony managed to hover for approximately three seconds before the suit began rotating uncontrollably, spinning him like a top until he crashed sideways into his tool rack.
Elena clapped her hands in delight. "Again! Again!"
Arthur smiled and let the next video auto-play, watching Tony's various early attempts at the Mark II.
When they'd arrived an hour earlier, he hadn't expected to walk straight into a milestone moment - Tony's first full test flight of the Mark II. Tony himself was still out, zipping around the city somewhere, but Arthur had been even more surprised when JARVIS simply opened the workshop doors for them.
"You have the clearance," JARVIS had explained. "Mr. Hayes, your access level is second only to Mr. Stark."
It was a generous, unexpected gesture of trust.
And as Arthur watched his daughter laugh at Tony's on-screen mishaps, a thin thread of guilt tugged at him. Tony had shown no hesitation with him - handing over workshop access, JARVIS permissions, everything - while he, in return, had revealed only fragments of his own world.
It's not as if I've lied, Arthur reminded himself. I just… haven't volunteered more than necessary. If Tony ever asked directly, he'd tell him and maybe that conversation wasn't far off.
He exhaled, then glanced at the ceiling, at the faint sound of something breaking the sound barrier far above Malibu.
"JARVIS," Arthur said, keeping his tone casual, "switch to the live feed. Let's see what Tony's up to."
"Right away, Mr. Hayes."
The display flickered, the recorded footage collapsing into a new interface. The live HUD feed from Tony's Mark II came into focus, crisp and immediate.
Tony was climbing higher and higher, punching through the night sky as he rattled off instructions to JARVIS. The altitude markers kept rising.
Then the picture jolted. The suit shuddered violently. A heartbeat later, the entire feed went black.
"What's happening?" Elena asked, her brow furrowing.
"Ice buildup," JARVIS replied. "The Mark II's current configuration cannot withstand extreme high-altitude temperatures. Sir has lost power and is now in an uncontrolled descent."
Elena gasped. "Uncle Tony is in danger! Daddy, save him!"
Arthur didn't flinch. He looked at the ceiling with calm, unfussed focus.
"He'll be fine," he assured her. "This isn't dangerous for him yet."
Right on cue, the HUD flickered back to life. The ice shattered away, systems rebooted, and Tony pulled out of his fall.
"See? He already broke the ice, and power's restored."
Elena let out a relieved puff. "Uncle Tony is very brave," she declared. "But also very silly."
"An accurate assessment, Miss Elena," JARVIS agreed.
The feed steadied again, showing Tony weaving through traffic at insane speeds, laughing into the wind. He angled upward, clearly heading home.
The mansion appeared below. Tony's voice echoed through the speakers: "Kill power."
Elena brightened instantly, ready to sprint upstairs to greet him, when a violent crash exploded behind them, followed by a chorus of shrieking car alarms.
They spun around.
Tony Stark, encased in the silver Mark II armor, had just crashed through the ceiling of his own workshop—and directly onto the roof of a vintage Shelby Cobra.
"Uncle Tony!" Elena shrieked.
Arthur was already moving, crossing the workshop in quick strides with Elena hurrying beside him. The suit lay sprawled across the crushed sports car, frost still visible on its surface, steam rising where the cold metal met the warm California air.
"Tony?" Arthur called out. "Are you alive in there?"
A groan echoed from within the helmet. "Define... alive."
"Capable of complaining, apparently."
"Then yes. Barely." Tony's gauntleted hand rose weakly and gave a thumbs up. "The Cobra broke my fall. And my Cobra."
Elena peered at the crumpled vehicle. "Uncle Tony, your car is very flat now."
"Thank you, Ellie. I hadn't noticed."
Arthur climbed onto the wreckage of the car and offered a hand. Tony grasped it, the metal gauntlet cold to the touch, and Arthur hauled him upright with an ease that defied the suit's several hundred pounds of weight. In his confused state, Tony did not notice.
"Get me out of this thing," Tony groaned. "The servos are locked up."
It wasn't a graceful process. This early prototype wasn't designed for automated removal. It took Arthur and a pair of robotic arms ten minutes to unscrew, unlatch, and pry Tony out of the silver casing.
Twenty minutes later, Tony finally stepped out of the armor - sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, Black Sabbath shirt soaked, legs wobbling.
"I'm definitely adding an emergency release system to the Mark III," he muttered. "Something faster."
"A wise modification," Arthur agreed.