Iron Man: She Builds Quick Machines 3/??
Title: She Builds Quick Machines
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Author: Ghani Starkiller @ mrs_peel_fanfic
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations
Disclaimer: Marvel and the filmmakers own 'em, I just play with 'em.
Characters: Tony, Rhodes, Pepper, flashback!Obadiah, some Happy, OFCs, Pepper/Tony, Rhodey/OFC
Summary: As Pepper urges Tony to accept Obadiah's betrayal, she herself grows closer in sympathy to Stane's grieving personal assistant, and becomes fearful for Tony's new lifestyle and her relationship with it and him. Meanwhile Stark and Rhodes slowly begin to uncover a plot coming from within Stark Industries that involves industrial espionage, revenge and the unsettling resurgence of a ghost from Tony's troubled past. And cybernetic ninjas. Every story needs some of those!
A/N: A HUGE thank you to the very, very talented jadeblood for the gorgeous story graphic!
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Beautiful Story Graphic by jadeblood
3.
Three Years Ago-
Krissy smiled courteously at the man sitting across from Obadiah’s desk, Mr. Mordecai Midas, his massive girth barely contained between the two armrests giving the impression of a toothpaste tube pinched awkwardly at its center; she effortlessly carried the tray with one hand and closed the door to Stane’s office firmly behind her with the other. She placed a bottle of ouzo between the two men with a glass for each, though she knew that Obadiah would subtly abstain; the obese man, however, wasted no time in helping himself to the potent drink.
“I’ve cleared your schedule for the afternoon, Mr. Stane,” she informed him smoothly, keeping her voice as evenly pleasant as possible. “And I’ve called maintenance yet again to remind them about the trouble we’ve had with the air-con. Honestly, I think I’ll just have to get in there and fix it myself.”
“Thank you, Krissy,” replied Obadiah dynamically, grinning. “You’re too good to me!” The ouzo was a nice touch, he had to admit. As usual, she’d done her research and acted upon the information just as he would have done. She was an asset, wasted on such menial secretarial work, though he thanked providence every day that Stark was too blind, dense and, most of the time, too intoxicated to notice what was right in front of him.
“Ah, this must be the valued Miss Longfellow you’ve spoken so highly of!” the rotund man told Obadiah brightly, speaking in Greek as he eyed her with a salacious leer. “It is so difficult to find a competent assistant, and one so very easy on the eyes as well,” he commented casually with a suggestive twitch of his lips.
“She’s a lovely young lady without doubt, Mordecai,” Obadiah answered, punctuating the hidden nature of his words, his manner suddenly becoming cold, vexed by both the suggestion of an improper relationship and the man’s disregard for her; he used a language that he didn’t suppose she understood to speak of her right in front of her.
She’d felt her body go rigid even as she struggled to keep her air of cool, professional indifference, her hand unconsciously reaching toward her cheek, pressing the warm, pliant flesh there against her high cheekbone. “If I’d had the good fortune to have had a daughter,” Obadiah continued, his overbearing smile returning to his face rather forcefully, without the easy grace he might have summoned before, “this old man would very much have liked her to be just like Krissy.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Midas,” interjected Krissy soothingly, placing one calming hand on Obadiah’s shoulder as she used the Hellenic tongue herself. “One has to work so hard to keep up one’s appearance nowadays.”
“And she speaks the language of my people!” chuckled Mordecai affably, unaware of the steadily defusing friction he’d caused. “Be careful, Obadiah, or I’ll steal her from you! I knew you were far too charming,” he grinned, wagging his finger at her playfully, “you must be Greek, eh?”
“Italian, actually,” she replied easily. “I spent the summers of my childhood on Santorini, so I became fluent in both. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have much business to attend to. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Krissy,” Obadiah repeated, this time a layer of subtext lurked just beneath the surface, expressing his gratitude towards the grace in which she had handled herself and the situation. She undoubtedly had her own agenda-everyone did, by Stane’s reckoning, and Krissy had more than her share of secrets-but he was truly fortunate to have her. “We may be a while.”
“And if Mr. Stark calls inquiring after you?” She arched one eyebrow suggestively.
“I’m on another of my fishing trips,” he replied with a wicked quirk bending the corners of his mouth, shrugging and gesturing about him with his outstretched hands as if it were obvious, and she nodded understandingly. She fastened the door behind her as she exited, smiling to herself as she strolled to her office, a generously spacious room directly adjacent to Obadiah’s, and sat briskly at her desk.
With practiced efficiency, she slid open the top drawer to her left, removing a earphone plug and attaching it to the small, makeshift but exceedingly effectual monitoring device hidden inconspicuously within the desk. She turned the device on and adjusted the screen until she had the perfect view of the two men conversing inside Stane’s presumably secure office.
“Now tell me, Mr. Midas,” she murmured to herself as she began her surveillance; she steepled her fingers thoughtfully beneath her chin, keeping one eye upon the door in case anyone took it upon herself to interrupt with a question or small talk. “What can Stark Industries do for you?”
Present Day-
The air was dry, crisp with early spring; the kind of weather one vowed to enjoy now and worry about the wildfires that would inevitably endanger the summer months later. Tony took a deep breath, mentally celebrating the fact that he hadn’t, as he had at first feared, had to climb out of the small bathroom window but instead found that the little office the toilet was located in had a door that opened into a stone courtyard and modest garden shaded from the midday sun by a tiled veranda.
Boredom hadn’t been his only reason for escape; he trusted his friends knew that. Even being stabbed in the back, without his knowledge consistently and for years, wasn’t nearly so painful as being stabbed in the heart, and that’s what Obadiah had done. Compulsively, he placed his hand over his heart, surprised to remember the tiepin, to feel it press against his palm and click softly through his shirt against the arc reactor embedded in his chest. It may have given good press, but it seemed so extraordinarily wrong to wear it along with his dad’s cufflinks, perhaps because, only a half a year earlier, he’d have given it no thought at all.
Once, he would have thought of Obie as his pop’s worthy successor, and not just as managing director of Stark Industries. Had he died in Afghanistan, he would have done so still believing in that one simple perceived truth, that Obadiah had cared for him like a father. He would have died trusting in a lie. It would have been less painful than living with the truth, he was sure of that, but his life would have been wasted, something he promised never to do again.
God, he needed a drink.
Startled by the quiet sound of a suppressed sigh, he realized he wasn’t alone. Seated on a bench, unobtrusively huddled against the wall of the church, Kristine Longfellow seemed to be contemplating a nearby patch of freshly blooming, brightly colored flowers as they moved delicately in the breeze. She’d already plucked one and was turning it over between her fingers, picking absently at the reddish-orange petals.
She looked up at him suddenly, as if some subtle shift in the air around had informed her of his presence. She stood abruptly, the flower tumbling from her skirt, floating like small phantasms to the rough hewn cobbles at her feet. They both tensed for an instant, a mutual decision on how to address the situation, professionally or personally, driving both of their thought processes for the moment. What could he say to her, someone whose grief for Obie was pure, innocent, naïve? It would be easier to treat her as Mr. Stark, her employer, would have done: flippantly self-deprecating, flirtatious, funny but arrogantly distant.
She spoke first, choosing to throw away formality. “Yeah,” she told him sympathetically, her voice breathy like the femme fatales in those black and white movies though the empathy of her tone betrayed that quality, “me too.” She offered him a small, thin smile. “I thought it was time to get out of there when I started wondering how far into my ear I’d have to push my pen before it reached my brain.”
“She’s still going, you know,” he chuckled lightly, raising his hand, flattening his fingers in a straight line and flapping them against the thumb beneath to imitate endless chatter. He shrugged glibly with the one arm and unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it aside at both hips to thrust his hands into his pockets in a relaxed manner. He’d always known that Krissy was a beautiful woman; truthfully, that sort of thing rarely escaped his notice. But he’d never really looked at her past the superficial and was sincerely taken aback by the stunning woman standing beside him.
Long and slender, she was about an inch taller than he was in her chic heels, gracefully slim though Tony could plainly see the lissome strength and agility of her tightly refined sinew. Ooh, Pilates, possibly even a gymnast, he thought instinctively, fun and exciting! With a grin he added, I guess old habits die hard. But it was her face that struck him most powerfully, though it wasn’t the clear slate-colored eyes, the high cheeks bones, straight flaxen hair cut in a straight line just below her shoulders or the sculpted, bow-shaped lips frosted with what was most likely a fruit-flavored gloss that captured him; it was the strange familiarity of it all.
Of course she was familiar, he scoffed at himself; she’d been working for Obadiah for years and he’d been admiring her for just as long. But it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just a conversancy but an intimacy he felt when he met her gaze. And then there was the peculiar sensation like looking at a recognizable picture from the wrong angle; an odd impression akin to déjà vu began to crawl along his spine. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, so he attempted to dismiss the unsettling phenomenon.
“I would have thought that you, you know-“ he began, gesturing with his head back towards the entrance to the church and raising an eyebrow at her.
“I would have,” she replied with a self-consciously indifferent shrug as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I knew Obie better than-well, better than almost anyone else,” she corrected herself with a timid smile. “But they didn’t ask. Maybe they were worried that the eulogizing of a personal secretary would consist primarily of humorous dry cleaning anecdotes and tales of scheduling snafus.”
“Dear Lord,” Tony laughed, pulling a worried face, “tell me that’s not what I have to look forward to.”
“Oh, I’m sure Pepper knows many much more colorful stories about you,” she teased and Tony cleared his throat a bit too loudly. “Never fear,” Krissy confided in a stage whisper, “she’s very discreet. I thought, you know, they would have asked you though,” she observed in earnest, directing the playful exchange back towards its origin.
“Who says they didn’t?” he muttered almost sullenly. “There was nothing to say.” That was the most accurate and candid answer he could come up with on the spot. Uh, yeah, that would have gone over well, he scoffed to himself: ‘I’m really sorry I had to, like, electrocute him because he tried to kill me for, you know, the second or third time-I kinda lost count.’ Oh yeah, the media’d eat that up. ‘I’m sorry I can’t mourn the person you pretended to be because I now know the person you truly were.’
“This is all just a joke anyway,” she said, shaking her head softly. Tony felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him; the shock of her words was like an unexpected blow to the gut. Could she possibly know? She must have misread his expression, or the emotion behind it because her explanation sounded guilty, defensive.
“Half of the people in there are business rivals who’d probably line up to do the Watusi over his bier if they knew they could get away with it; the others are from the press. Linda Stane would like to personally see me in a casket of my own; she’s still convinced that we…that I ruined her marriage. Honestly, I don’t know how they managed to keep it together for as long as they did because that man was married to his work.” She shrugged. “Me? I’m just here for the cocktail weenies. I hired the caterer for the reception, so at least I know that’s a solid. Besides, this is just a memorial-“
“-Service!” Tony finished in unison with her. “That’s what I keep telling everyone,” he mumbled watching as she toyed with the golden chain at her neck, rolling the pendant between long fingers. Tony began to stare at the movement thoughtfully, transfixed, for once ignorant of how provocatively low his eyes were wandering until she hemmed pointedly.
His gaze snapped back to her face, stuttering, “No, it’s the necklace. I was just…it seemed like I recognized it and I was just trying to recall…You’re just not buying this at all, are you? Oh God.” He rubbed the balls of his thumbs into the corners of his eyes as if he’d suddenly developed a headache. “How about we change the subject rapidly to something that doesn’t even remotely feel like the beginnings of a sexual harassment lawsuit?”
“I thought you were meant to be so smooth,” she said, restraining an impish grin. “That’s what all the magazines in the supermarket check-out aisle say,” she observed as she mischievously clucked her tongue, cocking her head to the side and lifting one shoulder.
“Okay, first of all,” he corrected her solemnly, holding his forefinger up, “you don’t want to read those things, huh? They’re garbage, okay? Nothing but-but lies and libel-“
“Isn’t that slander?” she interrupted with a small frown.
“No, that’s spoken,” he explained distractedly, waving his hand dismissively. “Libel is print.”
“I mean, you saying that,” she snickered. “Isn’t it slander?”
“I walked into that one, didn’t I? Yeah, I did,” he admitted, smiling lopsidedly. “Point is, defamation and calumny. Hey, I’m not, you know, denying I’ve done some, well, less than admirable things, and I’m not saying that some of their exaggerations haven’t been, frankly, flattering-“
“Like the Iron Man thing?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow cunningly.
“Case in point!” he declared, narrowing his eyes slightly at her crafty tone of voice. “One-one blatantly facetious remark at a press conference and, you know, suddenly I’m this superhero-“
“Actually, I believe People called the Iron Man a ‘public nuisance,’” she interjected shrewdly.
“It’s-it’s ridiculous,” he stated resolutely, ignoring her intrusion. “I’m just not, you know, that guy. Point number two,” he proclaimed, wagging his forefinger in the air once more, adding his middle finger, “I am smooth. I defined debonair for a new millennium, okay? And, trust me, if the charm and wit and incontrovertibly prodigious good looks don’t do it, there’s always that bank account balance that’d make those schmucks from Google weep openly.”
“Those are some classy women you know,” she tutted playfully, mulishly defying her own susceptibility to his charisma. Damn him, she thought, all of a sudden unsettled by the intimacy of their exchange, by his nearness. For nine years she’d managed to keep a cautious distance; it wasn’t the time to lose that focus.
“Very,” he chuckled slyly.
“You’re a very cynical man, aren’t you?” She made a face, as if the words had tasted bitter upon her tongue, then quickly tried to disguise the grimace.
“Didn’t always used to be,” was his hushed reply. Unthinkingly, his palm once again reached for the now comforting and familiar circular indent of the arc reactor against his dress shirt; once again, his touch met with the pointed contour of the tiepin, its cool, polished surface. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said, his tone unexpectedly contemplative, “but did Obie didn’t happen to give you that necklace.” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed so familiar; perhaps if Obadiah had given it to her, he might have seen it in his office, or maybe Obie had shown it to him.
“Oh,” she gasped, conscious for the first time of the fact that she’d been idly tugging at the jewelry around her neck; she glanced down, holding the pendant as far as the chain would allow as she pursed her brow in thought. “This. No, um-“ She cleared her throat. “This was a gift from a friend,” she explained vaguely and Tony couldn’t help but admire her composure; she sounded rather chagrined but not a soupçon of color flushed the smooth, tanned skin sculpted along those sleek cheekbones of hers.
“I think they’re finishing up inside,” she said, her head tilted to one side as she listened to the growing din coming from within. At first he thought she was merely attempting to distract or even get rid of him, as she’d somewhat soured on the conversation with his last inquiry, but then his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and he knew it’d be Rhodey or Pepper frantically texting him to get his ass back in the church.
He almost fell asleep on his feet while the pastor droned on; no one had thought to provide chairs since this was a more private affair consisting of only family and friends and the group of mourners had been severely reduced while the photographers still scrambled at the edges of the cemetery to get the best shot with their zoom lenses. He closed his eyes and thought of Yinsen, how no one would ever grieve for him let alone organize an entire ceremony of observance for someone so brilliant and compassionate as he had been. He must have drifted away because the next thing he knew, Pepper was nudging him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.
It felt like treachery then, Yinsen’s last moments still fresh in his mind as he watched the lowering of Obadiah’s coffin into the ground, taking the first handful of dirt and scattering it on the lid, hoping he was burying that part of his past forever. Without speaking one word to either Rhodey or Pepper, he turned and began to walk away, hands curled into tight fists in his pockets as the others began to disperse.
“Mr. Stark, I haven’t had time to offer my condolences.” The deep, compelling voice intruded so absolutely on his pensive withdrawal, it shook him out of his stupor and made him look up into the frankly piggish little eyes of what had to be the most grossly obese man he’d ever encountered in his life. He only stared for a moment, trying to recall if he’d ever met this besuited beluga before. He couldn’t imagine, even in his most drunken daze, meeting and failing to recollect this man.
He was easily three-hundred pounds at the very least, all so elegantly stuffed into stylishly tailored pinstripe, his chubby hands and neck looking like swollen water balloons squeezed by the snug-fitted cuffs and collar of his suit. It seemed to be an immense effort for the man just to support his massive girth on his two stubby legs; he was short-winded, his chins quivering in sweaty agitation simply from trying to hobble over to Tony as quickly as he could move, leaning heavily on a cane. Gold glittered on every plump finger, from his ears and around his wrists; he seemed to shimmer with it in the rays of the California sun, jewelry and ornaments of all kinds.
Krissy followed in the wake of this colossal whale of a man, suggesting she’d been speaking to him only moments before; she shot Tony an unhappy, wary look as he shook the hand that the elephantine gentleman had proffered. “Thank you,” Tony said simply, feeling both cross at having been interrupted and helplessly at a loss.
“Mordecai Midas,” Pepper murmured in Tony’s ear in an undertone when the giant was contented that he’d adequately expressed his commiserations and had moved on.
“The Greek futures magnate?” Tony said, astonished. “Wow, I just never imagined he’d be so-“ He coughed into his hand diplomatically. He arched an eyebrow. “Midas?” he scoffed.
“Don’t think he doesn’t just adore that affectation,” Pepper informed him, clucking her tongue.
“The golden touch,” Tony noted, quirking his head to the side. “And he was a business associate of Obie’s?” he asked, his tone both suspicious and sickened as he watched Midas converse with Krissy; she was tense, tersely formal in her side of the conversation.
“Not exactly,” Pepper replied with a wince. “To say he’s fascinated by the technological innovations of Stark Industries is the understatement of the century; he’s nearly fanatical.” She lowered her voice. “He’s not interested in weapons, Tony; he’s interested in your mind, your designs and vision. Obadiah either saw no usefulness or value in your creations or didn’t want to share.” She shrugged. “Midas wasn’t in bed with Obadiah, Tony; as a matter of fact, from what Krissy’s said, their association was one of enmity.”
“The enemy of my enemy,” muttered Tony pensively, frowning as he ran his hand over his half-beard. “Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Or is he my enemy as well?” He scratched his head, twining his fingers in his slicked hair, tugging slightly as he attempted to clear his brain. “I gotta get back,” he sighed, pursing his mouth. He abhorred questions, problems without neat, finite solutions; that’s why he liked his work, the answers were always so plain to him, there to decipher and interpret.
He created human chaos around him in an attempt to control it, because he couldn’t understand it less and was frustrated by his inability to contain it. Because it wasn’t an equation he could solve. Of course, lives fit together as readily as machine parts, but there was no configuration, no formula or fixed patterns to calculate the outcome, which was unpredictable at best, and had the potential to be as destructive as the missiles and land mines he used to invent.
“And hide yourself away down in that garage again?” said Pepper with a bit more tartness than she’d intended. “Happy’s waiting to muscle you through that lot,“ she sighed, gesturing with her shoulder towards the press of lensmen gathered at the edge of the lawn, standing as a barrier between the cemetery and the parking lot. “Try not to make…more of a spectacle of yourself than is strictly necessary.”
“Who?” His countenance was the very essence of innocence and ingenuousness, as he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, and adjusting his lapels. “Me?”
TBC
Peace, Ghani
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Author: Ghani Starkiller @ mrs_peel_fanfic
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations
Disclaimer: Marvel and the filmmakers own 'em, I just play with 'em.
Characters: Tony, Rhodes, Pepper, flashback!Obadiah, some Happy, OFCs, Pepper/Tony, Rhodey/OFC
Summary: As Pepper urges Tony to accept Obadiah's betrayal, she herself grows closer in sympathy to Stane's grieving personal assistant, and becomes fearful for Tony's new lifestyle and her relationship with it and him. Meanwhile Stark and Rhodes slowly begin to uncover a plot coming from within Stark Industries that involves industrial espionage, revenge and the unsettling resurgence of a ghost from Tony's troubled past. And cybernetic ninjas. Every story needs some of those!
A/N: A HUGE thank you to the very, very talented jadeblood for the gorgeous story graphic!
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Beautiful Story Graphic by jadeblood
3.
Three Years Ago-
Krissy smiled courteously at the man sitting across from Obadiah’s desk, Mr. Mordecai Midas, his massive girth barely contained between the two armrests giving the impression of a toothpaste tube pinched awkwardly at its center; she effortlessly carried the tray with one hand and closed the door to Stane’s office firmly behind her with the other. She placed a bottle of ouzo between the two men with a glass for each, though she knew that Obadiah would subtly abstain; the obese man, however, wasted no time in helping himself to the potent drink.
“I’ve cleared your schedule for the afternoon, Mr. Stane,” she informed him smoothly, keeping her voice as evenly pleasant as possible. “And I’ve called maintenance yet again to remind them about the trouble we’ve had with the air-con. Honestly, I think I’ll just have to get in there and fix it myself.”
“Thank you, Krissy,” replied Obadiah dynamically, grinning. “You’re too good to me!” The ouzo was a nice touch, he had to admit. As usual, she’d done her research and acted upon the information just as he would have done. She was an asset, wasted on such menial secretarial work, though he thanked providence every day that Stark was too blind, dense and, most of the time, too intoxicated to notice what was right in front of him.
“Ah, this must be the valued Miss Longfellow you’ve spoken so highly of!” the rotund man told Obadiah brightly, speaking in Greek as he eyed her with a salacious leer. “It is so difficult to find a competent assistant, and one so very easy on the eyes as well,” he commented casually with a suggestive twitch of his lips.
“She’s a lovely young lady without doubt, Mordecai,” Obadiah answered, punctuating the hidden nature of his words, his manner suddenly becoming cold, vexed by both the suggestion of an improper relationship and the man’s disregard for her; he used a language that he didn’t suppose she understood to speak of her right in front of her.
She’d felt her body go rigid even as she struggled to keep her air of cool, professional indifference, her hand unconsciously reaching toward her cheek, pressing the warm, pliant flesh there against her high cheekbone. “If I’d had the good fortune to have had a daughter,” Obadiah continued, his overbearing smile returning to his face rather forcefully, without the easy grace he might have summoned before, “this old man would very much have liked her to be just like Krissy.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Midas,” interjected Krissy soothingly, placing one calming hand on Obadiah’s shoulder as she used the Hellenic tongue herself. “One has to work so hard to keep up one’s appearance nowadays.”
“And she speaks the language of my people!” chuckled Mordecai affably, unaware of the steadily defusing friction he’d caused. “Be careful, Obadiah, or I’ll steal her from you! I knew you were far too charming,” he grinned, wagging his finger at her playfully, “you must be Greek, eh?”
“Italian, actually,” she replied easily. “I spent the summers of my childhood on Santorini, so I became fluent in both. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have much business to attend to. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Krissy,” Obadiah repeated, this time a layer of subtext lurked just beneath the surface, expressing his gratitude towards the grace in which she had handled herself and the situation. She undoubtedly had her own agenda-everyone did, by Stane’s reckoning, and Krissy had more than her share of secrets-but he was truly fortunate to have her. “We may be a while.”
“And if Mr. Stark calls inquiring after you?” She arched one eyebrow suggestively.
“I’m on another of my fishing trips,” he replied with a wicked quirk bending the corners of his mouth, shrugging and gesturing about him with his outstretched hands as if it were obvious, and she nodded understandingly. She fastened the door behind her as she exited, smiling to herself as she strolled to her office, a generously spacious room directly adjacent to Obadiah’s, and sat briskly at her desk.
With practiced efficiency, she slid open the top drawer to her left, removing a earphone plug and attaching it to the small, makeshift but exceedingly effectual monitoring device hidden inconspicuously within the desk. She turned the device on and adjusted the screen until she had the perfect view of the two men conversing inside Stane’s presumably secure office.
“Now tell me, Mr. Midas,” she murmured to herself as she began her surveillance; she steepled her fingers thoughtfully beneath her chin, keeping one eye upon the door in case anyone took it upon herself to interrupt with a question or small talk. “What can Stark Industries do for you?”
Present Day-
The air was dry, crisp with early spring; the kind of weather one vowed to enjoy now and worry about the wildfires that would inevitably endanger the summer months later. Tony took a deep breath, mentally celebrating the fact that he hadn’t, as he had at first feared, had to climb out of the small bathroom window but instead found that the little office the toilet was located in had a door that opened into a stone courtyard and modest garden shaded from the midday sun by a tiled veranda.
Boredom hadn’t been his only reason for escape; he trusted his friends knew that. Even being stabbed in the back, without his knowledge consistently and for years, wasn’t nearly so painful as being stabbed in the heart, and that’s what Obadiah had done. Compulsively, he placed his hand over his heart, surprised to remember the tiepin, to feel it press against his palm and click softly through his shirt against the arc reactor embedded in his chest. It may have given good press, but it seemed so extraordinarily wrong to wear it along with his dad’s cufflinks, perhaps because, only a half a year earlier, he’d have given it no thought at all.
Once, he would have thought of Obie as his pop’s worthy successor, and not just as managing director of Stark Industries. Had he died in Afghanistan, he would have done so still believing in that one simple perceived truth, that Obadiah had cared for him like a father. He would have died trusting in a lie. It would have been less painful than living with the truth, he was sure of that, but his life would have been wasted, something he promised never to do again.
God, he needed a drink.
Startled by the quiet sound of a suppressed sigh, he realized he wasn’t alone. Seated on a bench, unobtrusively huddled against the wall of the church, Kristine Longfellow seemed to be contemplating a nearby patch of freshly blooming, brightly colored flowers as they moved delicately in the breeze. She’d already plucked one and was turning it over between her fingers, picking absently at the reddish-orange petals.
She looked up at him suddenly, as if some subtle shift in the air around had informed her of his presence. She stood abruptly, the flower tumbling from her skirt, floating like small phantasms to the rough hewn cobbles at her feet. They both tensed for an instant, a mutual decision on how to address the situation, professionally or personally, driving both of their thought processes for the moment. What could he say to her, someone whose grief for Obie was pure, innocent, naïve? It would be easier to treat her as Mr. Stark, her employer, would have done: flippantly self-deprecating, flirtatious, funny but arrogantly distant.
She spoke first, choosing to throw away formality. “Yeah,” she told him sympathetically, her voice breathy like the femme fatales in those black and white movies though the empathy of her tone betrayed that quality, “me too.” She offered him a small, thin smile. “I thought it was time to get out of there when I started wondering how far into my ear I’d have to push my pen before it reached my brain.”
“She’s still going, you know,” he chuckled lightly, raising his hand, flattening his fingers in a straight line and flapping them against the thumb beneath to imitate endless chatter. He shrugged glibly with the one arm and unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it aside at both hips to thrust his hands into his pockets in a relaxed manner. He’d always known that Krissy was a beautiful woman; truthfully, that sort of thing rarely escaped his notice. But he’d never really looked at her past the superficial and was sincerely taken aback by the stunning woman standing beside him.
Long and slender, she was about an inch taller than he was in her chic heels, gracefully slim though Tony could plainly see the lissome strength and agility of her tightly refined sinew. Ooh, Pilates, possibly even a gymnast, he thought instinctively, fun and exciting! With a grin he added, I guess old habits die hard. But it was her face that struck him most powerfully, though it wasn’t the clear slate-colored eyes, the high cheeks bones, straight flaxen hair cut in a straight line just below her shoulders or the sculpted, bow-shaped lips frosted with what was most likely a fruit-flavored gloss that captured him; it was the strange familiarity of it all.
Of course she was familiar, he scoffed at himself; she’d been working for Obadiah for years and he’d been admiring her for just as long. But it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just a conversancy but an intimacy he felt when he met her gaze. And then there was the peculiar sensation like looking at a recognizable picture from the wrong angle; an odd impression akin to déjà vu began to crawl along his spine. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, so he attempted to dismiss the unsettling phenomenon.
“I would have thought that you, you know-“ he began, gesturing with his head back towards the entrance to the church and raising an eyebrow at her.
“I would have,” she replied with a self-consciously indifferent shrug as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I knew Obie better than-well, better than almost anyone else,” she corrected herself with a timid smile. “But they didn’t ask. Maybe they were worried that the eulogizing of a personal secretary would consist primarily of humorous dry cleaning anecdotes and tales of scheduling snafus.”
“Dear Lord,” Tony laughed, pulling a worried face, “tell me that’s not what I have to look forward to.”
“Oh, I’m sure Pepper knows many much more colorful stories about you,” she teased and Tony cleared his throat a bit too loudly. “Never fear,” Krissy confided in a stage whisper, “she’s very discreet. I thought, you know, they would have asked you though,” she observed in earnest, directing the playful exchange back towards its origin.
“Who says they didn’t?” he muttered almost sullenly. “There was nothing to say.” That was the most accurate and candid answer he could come up with on the spot. Uh, yeah, that would have gone over well, he scoffed to himself: ‘I’m really sorry I had to, like, electrocute him because he tried to kill me for, you know, the second or third time-I kinda lost count.’ Oh yeah, the media’d eat that up. ‘I’m sorry I can’t mourn the person you pretended to be because I now know the person you truly were.’
“This is all just a joke anyway,” she said, shaking her head softly. Tony felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him; the shock of her words was like an unexpected blow to the gut. Could she possibly know? She must have misread his expression, or the emotion behind it because her explanation sounded guilty, defensive.
“Half of the people in there are business rivals who’d probably line up to do the Watusi over his bier if they knew they could get away with it; the others are from the press. Linda Stane would like to personally see me in a casket of my own; she’s still convinced that we…that I ruined her marriage. Honestly, I don’t know how they managed to keep it together for as long as they did because that man was married to his work.” She shrugged. “Me? I’m just here for the cocktail weenies. I hired the caterer for the reception, so at least I know that’s a solid. Besides, this is just a memorial-“
“-Service!” Tony finished in unison with her. “That’s what I keep telling everyone,” he mumbled watching as she toyed with the golden chain at her neck, rolling the pendant between long fingers. Tony began to stare at the movement thoughtfully, transfixed, for once ignorant of how provocatively low his eyes were wandering until she hemmed pointedly.
His gaze snapped back to her face, stuttering, “No, it’s the necklace. I was just…it seemed like I recognized it and I was just trying to recall…You’re just not buying this at all, are you? Oh God.” He rubbed the balls of his thumbs into the corners of his eyes as if he’d suddenly developed a headache. “How about we change the subject rapidly to something that doesn’t even remotely feel like the beginnings of a sexual harassment lawsuit?”
“I thought you were meant to be so smooth,” she said, restraining an impish grin. “That’s what all the magazines in the supermarket check-out aisle say,” she observed as she mischievously clucked her tongue, cocking her head to the side and lifting one shoulder.
“Okay, first of all,” he corrected her solemnly, holding his forefinger up, “you don’t want to read those things, huh? They’re garbage, okay? Nothing but-but lies and libel-“
“Isn’t that slander?” she interrupted with a small frown.
“No, that’s spoken,” he explained distractedly, waving his hand dismissively. “Libel is print.”
“I mean, you saying that,” she snickered. “Isn’t it slander?”
“I walked into that one, didn’t I? Yeah, I did,” he admitted, smiling lopsidedly. “Point is, defamation and calumny. Hey, I’m not, you know, denying I’ve done some, well, less than admirable things, and I’m not saying that some of their exaggerations haven’t been, frankly, flattering-“
“Like the Iron Man thing?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow cunningly.
“Case in point!” he declared, narrowing his eyes slightly at her crafty tone of voice. “One-one blatantly facetious remark at a press conference and, you know, suddenly I’m this superhero-“
“Actually, I believe People called the Iron Man a ‘public nuisance,’” she interjected shrewdly.
“It’s-it’s ridiculous,” he stated resolutely, ignoring her intrusion. “I’m just not, you know, that guy. Point number two,” he proclaimed, wagging his forefinger in the air once more, adding his middle finger, “I am smooth. I defined debonair for a new millennium, okay? And, trust me, if the charm and wit and incontrovertibly prodigious good looks don’t do it, there’s always that bank account balance that’d make those schmucks from Google weep openly.”
“Those are some classy women you know,” she tutted playfully, mulishly defying her own susceptibility to his charisma. Damn him, she thought, all of a sudden unsettled by the intimacy of their exchange, by his nearness. For nine years she’d managed to keep a cautious distance; it wasn’t the time to lose that focus.
“Very,” he chuckled slyly.
“You’re a very cynical man, aren’t you?” She made a face, as if the words had tasted bitter upon her tongue, then quickly tried to disguise the grimace.
“Didn’t always used to be,” was his hushed reply. Unthinkingly, his palm once again reached for the now comforting and familiar circular indent of the arc reactor against his dress shirt; once again, his touch met with the pointed contour of the tiepin, its cool, polished surface. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said, his tone unexpectedly contemplative, “but did Obie didn’t happen to give you that necklace.” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed so familiar; perhaps if Obadiah had given it to her, he might have seen it in his office, or maybe Obie had shown it to him.
“Oh,” she gasped, conscious for the first time of the fact that she’d been idly tugging at the jewelry around her neck; she glanced down, holding the pendant as far as the chain would allow as she pursed her brow in thought. “This. No, um-“ She cleared her throat. “This was a gift from a friend,” she explained vaguely and Tony couldn’t help but admire her composure; she sounded rather chagrined but not a soupçon of color flushed the smooth, tanned skin sculpted along those sleek cheekbones of hers.
“I think they’re finishing up inside,” she said, her head tilted to one side as she listened to the growing din coming from within. At first he thought she was merely attempting to distract or even get rid of him, as she’d somewhat soured on the conversation with his last inquiry, but then his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and he knew it’d be Rhodey or Pepper frantically texting him to get his ass back in the church.
He almost fell asleep on his feet while the pastor droned on; no one had thought to provide chairs since this was a more private affair consisting of only family and friends and the group of mourners had been severely reduced while the photographers still scrambled at the edges of the cemetery to get the best shot with their zoom lenses. He closed his eyes and thought of Yinsen, how no one would ever grieve for him let alone organize an entire ceremony of observance for someone so brilliant and compassionate as he had been. He must have drifted away because the next thing he knew, Pepper was nudging him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.
It felt like treachery then, Yinsen’s last moments still fresh in his mind as he watched the lowering of Obadiah’s coffin into the ground, taking the first handful of dirt and scattering it on the lid, hoping he was burying that part of his past forever. Without speaking one word to either Rhodey or Pepper, he turned and began to walk away, hands curled into tight fists in his pockets as the others began to disperse.
“Mr. Stark, I haven’t had time to offer my condolences.” The deep, compelling voice intruded so absolutely on his pensive withdrawal, it shook him out of his stupor and made him look up into the frankly piggish little eyes of what had to be the most grossly obese man he’d ever encountered in his life. He only stared for a moment, trying to recall if he’d ever met this besuited beluga before. He couldn’t imagine, even in his most drunken daze, meeting and failing to recollect this man.
He was easily three-hundred pounds at the very least, all so elegantly stuffed into stylishly tailored pinstripe, his chubby hands and neck looking like swollen water balloons squeezed by the snug-fitted cuffs and collar of his suit. It seemed to be an immense effort for the man just to support his massive girth on his two stubby legs; he was short-winded, his chins quivering in sweaty agitation simply from trying to hobble over to Tony as quickly as he could move, leaning heavily on a cane. Gold glittered on every plump finger, from his ears and around his wrists; he seemed to shimmer with it in the rays of the California sun, jewelry and ornaments of all kinds.
Krissy followed in the wake of this colossal whale of a man, suggesting she’d been speaking to him only moments before; she shot Tony an unhappy, wary look as he shook the hand that the elephantine gentleman had proffered. “Thank you,” Tony said simply, feeling both cross at having been interrupted and helplessly at a loss.
“Mordecai Midas,” Pepper murmured in Tony’s ear in an undertone when the giant was contented that he’d adequately expressed his commiserations and had moved on.
“The Greek futures magnate?” Tony said, astonished. “Wow, I just never imagined he’d be so-“ He coughed into his hand diplomatically. He arched an eyebrow. “Midas?” he scoffed.
“Don’t think he doesn’t just adore that affectation,” Pepper informed him, clucking her tongue.
“The golden touch,” Tony noted, quirking his head to the side. “And he was a business associate of Obie’s?” he asked, his tone both suspicious and sickened as he watched Midas converse with Krissy; she was tense, tersely formal in her side of the conversation.
“Not exactly,” Pepper replied with a wince. “To say he’s fascinated by the technological innovations of Stark Industries is the understatement of the century; he’s nearly fanatical.” She lowered her voice. “He’s not interested in weapons, Tony; he’s interested in your mind, your designs and vision. Obadiah either saw no usefulness or value in your creations or didn’t want to share.” She shrugged. “Midas wasn’t in bed with Obadiah, Tony; as a matter of fact, from what Krissy’s said, their association was one of enmity.”
“The enemy of my enemy,” muttered Tony pensively, frowning as he ran his hand over his half-beard. “Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Or is he my enemy as well?” He scratched his head, twining his fingers in his slicked hair, tugging slightly as he attempted to clear his brain. “I gotta get back,” he sighed, pursing his mouth. He abhorred questions, problems without neat, finite solutions; that’s why he liked his work, the answers were always so plain to him, there to decipher and interpret.
He created human chaos around him in an attempt to control it, because he couldn’t understand it less and was frustrated by his inability to contain it. Because it wasn’t an equation he could solve. Of course, lives fit together as readily as machine parts, but there was no configuration, no formula or fixed patterns to calculate the outcome, which was unpredictable at best, and had the potential to be as destructive as the missiles and land mines he used to invent.
“And hide yourself away down in that garage again?” said Pepper with a bit more tartness than she’d intended. “Happy’s waiting to muscle you through that lot,“ she sighed, gesturing with her shoulder towards the press of lensmen gathered at the edge of the lawn, standing as a barrier between the cemetery and the parking lot. “Try not to make…more of a spectacle of yourself than is strictly necessary.”
“Who?” His countenance was the very essence of innocence and ingenuousness, as he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, and adjusting his lapels. “Me?”
TBC
Peace, Ghani