Tony Stark's Workshop, Malibu
The workshop floor was a controlled detonation site. A sleek, crimson boot, locked into an assembly rig, suddenly fired a brilliant blue repulsor blast, sending a fire extinguisher skittering across the concrete.
"Okay," Tony muttered, wincing as he looked at the dented extinguisher. "Power levels are... lively."
He stood on a raised platform, his legs encased in the matching crimson and gold greaves. Wires snaked from the suit components to a bank of monitors displaying a dizzying array of diagnostic data.
"Let's start with a one percent power capacity," he said to the empty room.
"Initiating," JARVIS's voice replied.
Tony took a hesitant, clanking step. His feet lifted a few inches off the platform, hovering with a clumsy, unstable wobble. A wide, boyish grin spread across his face. "Okay..."
He pushed off, lurching forward a few feet before his stabilizers failed, sending him crashing into a rack of expensive-looking prototypes. Metal screamed against metal.
"Sir," JARVIS stated calmly, "it appears the stabilization system is..."
"Yeah, I got it," Tony grunted, pushing himself up from the wreckage. "Let's try again. Five percent."
The repulsors whined with more power. This time, he shot upwards, his head connecting with the ceiling in a shower of plaster dust and a resounding clang. He pin-wheeled through the air, flailing like a newborn giraffe, before slamming into his collection of vintage cars. The sound of shattering glass and crunching fenders echoed through the cavernous space.
"I am sorry, sir," JARVIS said, a hint of digital concern in his voice. "It appears my calculations were... optimistic."
Hours later, after dozens of concussive failures, he finally found the balance. He hovered in the center of the workshop, the repulsors humming a steady, controlled rhythm. He moved with a newfound grace, banking left, then right, a master of his own private airspace. The grin returned, pure and unadulterated.
"Flight control is a go," he said, landing softly on the platform. "JARVIS, you're a genius."
"I am a reflection of your own, sir," the AI replied.
Tony stripped off the leg armor, his body bruised but his spirit soaring. He looked at the half-assembled suit, no longer just a project, but a promise. A possibility.
"Alright," he said, running a hand through his messy hair. "Time for the main event."
The fully assembled Mark II armor stood in the center of the bay, raw, unpainted titanium gleaming under the workshop lights. Tony stood before it, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, let's do this."
The suit opened with a series of clicks and hisses, a mechanical flower blooming to accept him. He stepped inside, and the armor closed around him, sealing him in a world of humming servos and glowing holographic displays.
"Checks," he commanded.
"All systems online, sir," JARVIS's voice said, now inside his head. "Propulsion, navigation, life support... all nominal."
"Let's see what this baby can do," Tony whispered. He engaged the repulsors, a gentle push at first. He lifted off the floor, a smooth, controlled ascent. He hovered for a moment, then angled his hands down and shot forward, a silver bullet streaking out of the open bay doors and into the night sky.
The cold air of the Pacific rushed past him. The lights of Malibu were a glittering carpet below. He laughed, a pure, joyous sound amplified by the suit's speakers. "This is incredible!"
He pushed the thrusters, accelerating into a vertical climb, the G-forces pressing him into his seat. The world fell away, replaced by a canopy of stars. A warning chimed in his ear.
"Sir, we have an icing problem," JARVIS warned, a section of his HUD flashing red. "The exterior temperature has dropped below freezing."
"What? No, that's impossible," Tony said, but he could feel the controls stiffening, the suit's movements becoming sluggish. The red warnings spread across his vision like a virus. System after system began to fail.
"MAIN POWER OFFLINE," a robotic voice blared.
The suit went dead. He was a rock, plummeting back to an earth in a silent, terrifying freefall. The ground rushed up to meet him, a dark, unforgiving canvas.
"JARVIS!" he yelled, his voice tight with panic. "Deploy flaps! Do something!"
"I am unable to, sir. The system is frozen."
He closed his eyes, his mind racing. He had to think. Think. He remembered the design, the schematics. The icing. A flaw. A stupid, simple flaw. He manually rerouted power, forcing a bypass. The suit sputtered back to life just moments before impact, the repulsors firing in a desperate, ground-shaking blast that kicked up a plume of sand and seawater. He shot back into the sky, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He flew low over the ocean, the close call still a chilling memory. He was alive. He had done it.
Just as he was about to turn back, two F-22 Raptors appeared on his flank, their silhouettes dark and predatory against the moonlit clouds.
"Unidentified aircraft," a pilot's voice crackled over an open channel. "You are in restricted airspace. Identify yourself."
A slow, mischievous grin spread across Tony's face. "Right, the 'unidentified' part is a problem." He thought for a second.
"JARVIS, call Colonel Rhodes."
"Connecting, sir."
The line clicked. "Hello?" Rhodey's tired voice came through.
"Rhodey, it's your boy. I need a favor," Tony said, his voice casual despite the two fighter jets bracketing him.
There was a pause on the other end. "...Tony? What the hell? Where are you?"
"Oh, you know, just tooling around. Listen, I've got a little situation here. I'm being tailed by a couple of your boys. If you could call them off, that'd be great."
"Tony, you're not in a plane, are you?" Rhodey asked, a note of dawning horror in his voice.
"Why, are you tracking a plane? Because that's not me," Tony said evasively.
"What is that noise?" Rhodey demanded as the Raptors' engines roared.
"I've got them on my six," Tony said, banking sharply. "It's... a training exercise."
"Tony, there are no training exercises in that sector! I'm looking at the live feed. There's an unidentified bogey... that's you?!"
"Yeah, nice, isn't it?" Tony grunted, pulling a high-G turn. "Listen, I'm going to have to call you back." He tried to slow down, but one of the pilots, spooked by his maneuver, fired a warning shot from his cannon.
"Whoa!" Tony yelped as the rounds stitched across his wing. He lost control for a second, his armored body clipping the F-22's wing. The jet spiraled away, its engine spewing smoke. The pilot ejected, a small parachute blooming in the night sky.
"Oh, crap," Tony muttered.
Rhodey's voice was a frantic shout in his ear. "What was that?! Did you just take out my guy?!"
"He's fine, he bailed out," Tony said quickly. "Look, just tell people it was a bird strike. A big one. And that the pilot's a hero. And... I gotta go." He hung up, leaving Rhodey shouting his name into a dead line.
He glanced at his HUD. The collision had damaged several flight surfaces. He wrestled with the controls, the suit now handling like a flying brick. "Note to self," he grunted, "avoid contact with other aircraft."
He landed back in his workshop with a deafening crash, obliterating the roof of one of his prized cars and sending his robotic arms into a frenzy with fire extinguishers. He stumbled out of the suit, bruised and exhausted, but grinning from ear to ear. "Notes," he said, his voice breathless. "Icing problem is definitely a thing. We need a new paint job. Hot-rod red."
Arthur's Brownstone, Greenwich Village
Arthur was reviewing the latest Aegis report on Section 16 when his secure line buzzed, flashing a priority call from a military exchange. He let it ring twice before answering, his voice perfectly calm. "Arthur Steele."
"Steele. Please tell me you have some idea what your client just took for a joyride," Colonel Rhodes's voice came through, tight with a strained, exasperated patience that was clearly about to snap.
Arthur held the phone a few inches from his ear, a silent beat of consideration. He took a slow sip of the scotch sitting on his desk. "Colonel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Do you have any idea the mess I'm in right now?" Rhodey's voice was a low, stressed rumble. "I've got generals demanding to know why two F-22s were outmaneuvered by a... what did the pilot call it? A 'hot rod'? He damaged a thirty-million-dollar aircraft, Arthur. Clipped its wing. Then he hung up on me."
"My client has a flair for the dramatic," Arthur said, his tone placid. "But let's establish the facts. Did this 'unidentified bogey,' as I'm sure it's listed in your report, display hostile intent?"
"It was an unregistered craft! He buzzed my pilots!"
"But it didn't return fire," Arthur pressed, his voice still infuriatingly calm. "In fact, according to the preliminary data JARVIS is feeding me, your pilot fired the first and only shots. Unprovoked."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, the sound of a man at the end of his rope. "Steele, this isn't a courtroom. This is a massive international incident waiting to happen. What do you want?"
"I want what you want, Colonel. For this to go away," Arthur said. "The official record states that your pilot's F-22 suffered a catastrophic equipment failure due to an unfortunate and unprecedentedly large bird strike. The pilot is a hero for ejecting safely. Stark Industries will, of course, anonymously and generously, cover the full replacement cost of the aircraft out of respect for our armed forces." He paused. "There is no bogey. There is no incident. Just a very, very unlucky goose."
There was a long, strained silence.
"A goo..goose?, that what you are going with? A fucking goose? Really Arthur...?
"Yes" Arthur said nonchalantly.
"You both are perfect for each other," Rhodey said finally, the anger gone, replaced by weary resignation.
"It's my job," Arthur replied.
"Listen to me, Arthur," Rhodey's voice was low and serious now, all military protocol gone, replaced by the concern of a friend. "This isn't about the jet. He has been avoiding me since he returned. First he pulled the stunt with the press conference and now this. He needs to get some help.You need to get him under control. He's going to get himself killed. Or someone else. And I don't know if I'll be able to clean it up next time."
"That is a statistical probability," Arthur agreed. His voice softening a bit "Don't worry, I have got his back, Colonel"
"I'll have the preliminary paperwork for the 'donation' on your desk by morning." He hung up, placing the phone gently back in its cradle.
Walt Disney Concert Hall
The gala was a sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, the air buzzing with polite conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. Tony Stark, looking impossibly sharp in a tailored suit, arrived fashionably late and made a beeline for the bar.
"Give me a scotch, I'm starving," he said to the bartender.
"Mr. Stark," a calm voice said from his side.
"Yeah?" Tony turned to see Agent Phil Coulson. "Oh, hey."
"Agent Coulson."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the guy from the uh... Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
"God, you need a new name for that," Tony muttered, taking his drink.
"I hear that a lot," Coulson said with a practiced smile. "Listen, I know this must be a trying time for you, but we need to debrief you. There's still a lot of unanswered questions, and time can be a factor..."
"Let's just put something on the books," Tony cut him off, already scanning the crowd. "How about the 24th at 7:00 PM at Stark Industries?"
"You got it," Coulson said, satisfied.
Tony's eyes found her. Pepper, across the room, in a stunning, backless blue dress. He froze for a second, then a slow smile spread across his face. He excused himself and moved through the crowd.
"You look fantastic," he said as he reached her. "I didn't recognize you."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, a mix of surprise and pleasure in her voice.
"Just avoiding government agents," he said, before gesturing to her dress. "Was it a birthday gift?"
"It was from you, actually."
"I've got great taste," he purred. "You wanna dance?"
"Oh, no, thank you," she said, slightly flustered.
He took her drink, set it aside, and gently took her hand, leading her towards the dance floor. "Come on."
They fell into an easy rhythm, swaying to the music. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked, his voice low.
"Oh, no. No," she said, a little too quickly.
"I always forget to wear deodorant and dance with my boss in front of everyone I work with in a dress with no back."
"You look great, you smell great," he assured her.
"Oh, God."
"But I could fire you, if that'd take the edge off."
She looked at him, a playful challenge in her eyes. "I actually don't think you could tie your shoes without me."
"I'd make it a week," he shot back.
"Really? What's your social security number?"
Tony froze, his mind blank. "Five..."
"Five?" she prompted with a grin. "You're missing just a couple of digits there."
"The other eight," he said, pulling her a little closer. "I've got you for the other eight."
The music swelled, and they danced in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Tony's smile faded slightly. "I'm not... I'm not you," he started, fumbling for words.
"What?"
"I don't have anyone. But you know, it's... I feel like I'm..." His voice trailed off. He needed some air.
They stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the city. The cool night air was a welcome relief.
"That was totally weird," Pepper said, her arms crossed.
"Totally harmless," Tony insisted.
"It was not harmless," she argued, her voice rising with flustered energy. "You don't understand because you're you. And everybody knows who you are and how you are with girls... and then me, I'm your boss... no, you're my boss, and I'm dancing with you, and it makes me look like the one who's trying to..."
"I think you're overstating it," he said, stepping closer. The city lights twinkled behind her. The argument died in his throat. He leaned in, his eyes fixed on hers. The moment stretched, silent and charged. Just as he was about to close the distance, she pulled back, breathless.
"I think I'd like a drink," she whispered.
She turned and walked back inside, leaving him alone on the balcony. He let out a shaky breath, then followed her in.
He found her at the bar, but before he could speak, Christine Everhart was there, her phone held up like a weapon.
"Tony! I went to Gulmira."
The images flashed on the screen: a village in ruins, Stark weapons everywhere. The fragile peace of the last few minutes shattered. The faces of the villagers blurred with the ghosts from the cave.
"I'll... I need to look into this," he stammered, turning away from her.
Just then,
"There you are," Pepper said, coming to his side. "I was about to send out a search party."
Before he could reply, a large, imposing figure stepped beside them. It was Obadiah Stane. "Tony, we need to talk."
He steered him towards a quieter alcove, his grip firm. "The board has filed an injunction. It was passed this afternoon."
"An injunction? For what?"
"For locking them out," Stane growled.
"For building your... hobby projects in the lab while the company burns. They're removing you from the CEO position. Effective immediately."
The words hit Tony like a physical blow. The noise of the party receded into a distant hum. His eyes searched the crowd and found Pepper, her face a mask of shocked disbelief and pained sympathy. The news was hitting her just as hard.
"We had to do it, Tony," Stane said, his voice dripping with false pity. "To protect the company. To protect you from yourself."
He gave Tony's shoulder a final, condescending pat and walked away. Tony was left standing alone, the gala's cheerful sounds a cruel, mocking soundtrack to his public execution. He had been cast out. He couldn't comprehend how the man he considered a father figure would throw him aside like that, he was trying to fix things and make up for the horrors he caused, didn't it count for something?The idea of a hero was born, and in the same night, the king was deposed.
Later that night, the doorbell of Arthur's brownstone buzzed. On the security feed, a hollow-eyed Tony Stark stood on his doorstep. Arthur let him in.
Tony slumped into an armchair as Arthur poured two glasses of Macallan.
"He..hey...! Nice place you got here, I must...be paying you too much if you...can live in this fancy place."
"I am renting it, from a client." Arthur replied.
"I am your only client, you work for Stark industries remember" Tony stated with a bit of confusion.
"No Tony, not anymore. The board thought... me being your personal lawyer causes some sort of conflict" Arthur showed a double quotation gesture, " They said, I am not committed to Stark Industries interests, they voted to cancel my contract and handed me one year severance, after I stopped them from selling the Clean Energy division."
" Ofcourse they did... fucking pussies, all of them have cocks in their eyes,balls in their ears and they get off on profit reports" Tony let out a string of curses. He then turned to Arthur.
"Rough night," Tony slurred.
"I heard," Arthur said.
"I'm sure you did," Tony scoffed.
"Rhodey called you, didn't he? "
"He was... concerned," Arthur replied coolly. "About a goose."
Tony stared at him. "A goose?"
"A very large, very expensive goose,"
Arthur said, his face impassive. "Stark Industries is making a donation under your name to cover the damages. Quietly." He let the statement hang in the air. "Whatever you're building in that workshop of yours, Tony, it has a habit of causing expensive problems. Luckily, I'm good at solving them."
"Why?" Tony asked, his voice quiet. "Why are you doing all this? The injunctions, cleaning up this... goose problem. Why go this far? Half the world hates me, and for a good reason, the other half wants to squeeze me dry for profit, why are you helping me?"
Arthur walked to the window. "When I first started here, I saw two things," he said. "The engine of the company: your mind. And then I saw the rust: men like Stane and the board. They'd sell the engine for parts if it meant a better quarterly report."
He turned back. "I made a decision long before you came back from Afghanistan. I decided to bet on the engine, not the rust. That press conference... that wasn't just a speech Tony, that was the confirmation. It proved I made the right bet." He met Tony's gaze. "You have the potential to be more than just a name on a weapon. And I find that... interesting enough to protect."
Tony was silent for a long time. He drained his glass and set it down with a decisive thud. "You're a damn good lawyer, Steele," he said, a ghost of a smirk returning. He stood, a new, dangerous light in his eyes.
"You said your job is to solve the problems I cause," Tony said, his voice low. "Well, that reporter... Christine. She showed me a problem in a village called Gulmira."
He walked towards the door, his steps now steady. "Looks like I've got to go and cause a solution."
Arthur was bewildered. Did he really think that was a cool line for an exit? He must be really drunk...
A/N.
I was building up for this conversation for sometime now, I needed a correct sequence for Tony to trust Arthur and their bond to grow organically, many fics just have the MC suddenly become best friends with Tony and the other characters, he doesn't feel earned. I love writing this tid bits.
This is basically me talking to them and living my fantasy through Arthur's lense.
You might feel that, I am relying heavily on movie plot here, but this is exactly what I want to do, I don't want to completely derail the canon, just want to make some things better for the characters and soften the emotional blows.
Please let me know what you think.