Chapter Text
I swear, sometimes I wonder how Pepper Potts still has any hair. As fond as I am of Tony Stark, if I had to ride herd on him around the clock, either I’d be bald, or he would. Clearly, she is made of far tougher stuff than I.
I sat in a hotel room in Washington DC, snacking on sesame sticks and watching the grand opening of the Stark Expo from New York City. No standard opening ceremony was good enough for Tony, oh no. As crowds whooped and cameras panned across the night sky, a plane flew over the expo grounds and a tiny spot of light dropped from beneath it. For a few eternal seconds it plummeted in freefall, then ignited and shot off into flight, swooping through the air past exploding firework shells, toward a stage filled with dancing girls in football-cheerleader-ish costumes. The cameras zoomed in and the spot resolved into a figure by now familiar to America and the world, a figure in brilliant red and gold armor: Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark.
He made a perfect three-point landing and emerged from the suit…in a tux, no less…to the roar of the crowds. Damn, he soaked it up like dry ground in a rainstorm. I couldn’t blame him, I supposed. Everybody wants praise, and though you might think a billionaire engineering genius would get more than his fill, he always seemed to have room for more. Sure, he had an ego, but he also had that incredible charisma. Even beyond that, as I listened to him talk to the crowd about making a better future and leaving a legacy, I was reminded that under it all, Tony Stark had a huge, caring heart.
Heaven knew, he had been working hard on that legacy. It had been barely six months since he revealed himself as Iron Man, and I could have had a full-time job doing nothing but covering him. Among other high-profile activities, he had helped fight wildfires up the California coast, brought an airliner into LAX safely when two engines failed, participated in the rescue of the crew of a stranded experimental submarine, and lent a hand to resolving several political dustups in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. Oh, and he continued running Stark Industries, now focused on sustainable solutions to humanitarian issues. And Time magazine named him Person of the Year. And now, he was launching a revival of the worldwide showcase for technical innovation originated by his father.
All things equal, I would much rather have been there, probably poking fun at him, than here. Hopefully, sometime in the next year, I could get Pepper to slip me a pass. I was sure somewhere, unseen, my friend and Tony’s assistant was quietly working her magic to make everything run smoothly. That way, I could go and enjoy all the crazy techno-wizardry that filled the exhibit buildings to overflowing, without being on the clock writing something up for the magazine where I worked. Not that I disliked my job; far from it. Sometimes, though, I just want to be me, instead of being told what to do.
Case in point, where I was at that moment in time: in DC, chasing a warmonger. Sound familiar? Yep, same place I’d been almost a year before, pursuing someone I disliked for the sake of a scoop. Only this time, my target was all too happy to be caught. Justin Hammer was doing his level best to fill the gap left in US military planning when Stark Industries pulled out of weapons manufacturing. As we would say back in Tennessee where I grew up, the government said frog, and Hammer jumped.
He had some kind of top-secret meeting scheduled for the next morning, a committee meeting filled with classified information, no doubt. I didn’t really know why he had insisted I come, when I was just interviewing him and writing an article, except to show off his connections. Hammer had twice the ego Tony did, and a vanishingly small fraction of the charm. It was kind of sad, really.
I got some sleep and got into my own suit of armor in the morning: neat skirt suit, professional pumps just the right height, and small purse with all the tools of the journalist’s trade inside. My hair and makeup and nails were on point. I looked into the mirror and Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair’s ace interviewer, looked back at me. Chrissy the mechanic’s daughter from Carroll County was tucked away as I hailed a cab to the Capitol.
Hammer met me on the front steps. He had what my mother would have called a plain pleasant face, and might have been handsome if he hadn’t been such a jerk. I put on my best fake smile and let him lead the way into the iconic building and to a hearing chamber on the Senate side. “We need to wait out here,” he told me in a fake stage whisper at the closed door. “I’m a surprise witness, you see. A surprise for an arrogant asshole.”
“That sounds like a great morning’s entertainment,” I agreed, hoping the asshole in question might be one Senator Stern of Pennsylvania. A couple of my colleagues from the Philadelphia Inquirer had had unpleasant run-ins with him, and the prospect of watching one jerk bring another down made the day seem brighter. That lasted until the chamber doors were opened. Hammer strode in like he owned the place. I slid around the back wall to get a good vantage spot and figured out instantly that Stern wasn’t the putative asshole Hammer was going after. That dubious honor belonged to the man sitting at the witness table…Tony Stark.
The next moment, I spotted Pepper sitting in the row behind him, and his best friend James Rhodes, in full military uniform with his ton of medals and all, beside him. That boded well, until I registered the profound disapproval on Pepper’s face. Lord, there was no telling what Tony had just said; the chamber was abuzz with mingled amusement and horror. Rhodey was cutting his eyes toward Tony with an expression that said ‘you fuckin’ nut, I love you’. If I’d had to bet, I would have said Tony had just insulted someone who deserved it, in an exceptionally witty way. (Later, when I looked the broadcast of the hearing up online—and wait just a minute, where did that super secret hearing Hammer was talking about go?—I discovered I was right.)
Hammer started to declaim about what a threat Tony and his Iron Man were. It sounded like, unbelievably, Stern was trying to force Tony to give the suits to the government, and Hammer was helping him. It figured. I don’t know a lot about tech or weaponry, but I had picked up enough to tell Hammer wasn’t nearly the innovator or entrepreneur Tony was, so the only way he was getting any trade from the Feds was picking up Tony’s leavings. I slipped my phone out and quickly texted Pepper. ::Hey gal! don’t turn around, I’m in the back of the chamber. I’m stuck doing a piece on that ranting loon up front.::
I watched her glance down at her phone, smile a little and reply. ::you already wrote about Tony::
::lol. Not that loon:: She did have a point though. Tony was fiddling with his phone, and in a few seconds the images being shown on big screens changed, to something of his choosing, apparently. With visual aids marshalled, he charged forward with narration and talked over any and every challenger. There was video of several failed attempts to make Iron Man-type suits, and Hammer himself even appeared in one!
By the time Tony was done, the chamber was in full frenzy. He stood up, put his shades on, and blew a kiss toward the bench. Stern CUSSED him, with cameras from every cable news channel pointed right at his fat bronzer-smudged face. ::that’s gonna have to be bleeped:: I texted Pepper with a hint of smug satisfaction.
Tony worked the crowd on his way out. Pepper looked a little fed up, and honestly Rhodey did too by then. (I checked later and found out Rhodey had pretty much been forced to testify for the government case. The friends would get past that, though, if I knew either of them, which I did, at least enough to say that.)
::sigh:: Pepper replied. ::that’s done at least. Stern may want to take Tony to court, but we have the documentation and the lawyers. I think his suits are safe.::
::good enough. Wish we could hook up for lunch but I have to go follow this numbskull around::
::I have to follow mine back to NYC for expo::
::Hard being long distance friends, but way better than no friends at all.:: I returned. Most of my contact with Tony lately was through my ongoing friendship with Pepper, but I also talked to Happy Hogan, Tony’s driver, and to Rhodey. Somehow, this whole crazy bunch had wormed their way into my life. I liked them all, but I was determined not to let that color my professional judgment. I didn’t need any help to figure out Justin Hammer was a dumbass, anyway.
I hung back while Tony and his entourage swept out the doors with flashes flashing and reporters yelling. Hammer stomped behind them, being totally ignored (except for a couple of military bloggers I knew slightly) with the pout of a petulant preschooler. Playing the dumb-blonde card, I asked, “How did it go? You know I’ll need for you to explain all of that to me, so I can explain it to our readers.”
“Tony fuckin’ Stark!” he snarled.
“I’ve heard that so often, I swear, if it wasn’t a matter of public record otherwise, I would think that was the man’s actual middle name.” As wound up as he was, I wasn’t going to get anything usable out of him if I didn’t soothe him and suck up a bit. That usually worked well, especially with males. I should have known my relationship with Tony was going to be unusual when my suck-up attempt on him totally failed. I put my arm through Hammer’s. “Let’s go get some lunch, someplace nice, and you can process and talk it out to me. I’m a very good listener.”
He brightened up slightly, and snapped his fingers for a cab. “Let’s do that. I want to talk to you about coming to Europe with me.”
“Europe?” I gulped. Not that I wouldn’t love to go to Europe, or even go to Europe and work on this assignment. I just wasn’t all that sure I wanted to go with him.
“Monaco! The Grand Prix Historique. I want you to see what Hammer Industries does for fun.” I suppressed a mental sigh and waited for the inevitable come-on. “We can take my private jet.”
Yeah, and at some point on that lengthy flight, you’ll want us to take advantage of the big bed on that private jet, I thought. It could be worked around, though. Guys didn’t know better. “I’d love to be your guest at the race! I have to fly commercial, though. Company regulations and all.” Thankfully, he didn’t push. Hammer wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and not one I wanted to get overly close to. I had done that once, and the results complicated my life at times, although I certainly wouldn’t call meeting Tony Stark and his inner circle a mistake!