Los Angeles - Sa Night
The hospital room was private, expensive, and drowning in flowers.
Tony Stark lay propped against a mountain of pillows, his chest wrapped in bandages, his face a fading canvas of purple and green bruising. Monitors beeped. An IV dripped steadily into his arm.
He looked terrible.
He also looked bored out of his mind.
"You know," a voice murmured from the shadows, "most people try resting after nearly being turned into scrap tal."
Tony jumped, then imdiately winced as his ribs protested. He squinted into the dark corner of the room.
"Jesus, Arthur. Do you own a bell? Or do you just enjoy lurking like so kind of vampire?"
Arthur stepped into the light, looking impeccably fresh in a casual suit, carrying a brown paper bag. "I prefer to think of it as maintaining an air of mystery." He held up the bag. "I brought cheeseburgers."
Tony’s eyes lit up. "You are forgiven. Hand it over. If I have to eat one more bite of hospital food, I’m buying this entire facility just to fire the chef."
Arthur passed him the bag and pulled a chair up to the bedside. Tony unwrapped the burger with sothing approaching reverence and took a massive bite, groaning in appreciation.
"So," Tony said through a mouthful of beef and cheese, "what took you so long? You said you were ’on your way with support.’ I an, I’m not sure exactly how you could’ve helped at the ti, but I am—" he chewed loudly, "—a little disappointed."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "After watching a woman with a pistol save your life and put down Stane with a single shot, you still think I wouldn’t have been any help?"
Tony froze mid-chew.
"Hold on." He swallowed. "Back up. How do you know what happened?"
"Because I was there."
Tony blinked. "There where?"
"During the battle." Arthur gestured vaguely toward the window. "I was on a rooftop in the adjacent building. Excellent view. Saw everything." His tone was infuriatingly calm. "I was just about to intervene when—"
He made a finger-gun and clicked his tongue. "Bang. Scene over."
Tony let his head flop back onto the pillow. "Join the club. I’d already accepted my tragic, heroic death. My entire life was flashing before my eyes. And then—bang. Roll credits." He stared at the ceiling. "Most anticlimactic fight in history."
"I always thought villains dying because they monologued too long only happened in movies," Arthur mused. "Turns out it can happen in real life too. A valuable lesson."
"I’ll keep that in mind if I ever switch to villainy." Tony squinted at him. "But wait—so you were just up there? Watching get my ass kicked? That’s your big contribution? Observational moral support?"
"I was monts away from helping."
"Sure you were." Tony’s skepticism was practically a physical presence in the room. "And what exactly were you planning to do? Throw a briefcase full of money at him? No offense, Arthur, but I don’t think there was much you could’ve contributed to that situation."
"I could have done quite a lot, actually," Arthur said lightly. "There just wasn’t any need."
"Done a lot. Uh-huh." Tony narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"
"For starters," Arthur replied, "I could have pulled out a gun."
Tony snorted. "Right. And that only worked because Obie made the idiotic decision to open his cockpit for a villain speech. What would you have done if he’d kept it closed?"
"I have my ways."
Tony waited for elaboration. None ca.
"You’re not going to explain, are you?"
"Not tonight."
Tony made a frustrated noise. "Fine. Keep your mysteries. But if you were there the whole ti, why didn’t you at least co down afterward? I could have used help getting off that rooftop."
"I thought you’d prefer being attended to by three beautiful won," Arthur said innocently. "Why would I ruin your mont?"
Tony considered this. "Okay. Fair point."
"Also," Arthur continued, his tone shifting to sothing more businesslike, "I had the clean-up done for you."
"Clean-up?"
"I located where your uncle built that suit. A warehouse in Moscow. I sent people to handle it. All the suit designs, reactor specifications - everything’s either destroyed or secured. No one will be able to replicate what he built."
Tony’s eyes widened. "What? How did you even find it?"
"I have my ways."
"That’s not an answer."
"No," Arthur agreed pleasantly. "It isn’t."
Tony opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head. "You know what? I’m too tired to argue. What else did you find?"
Arthur reached into his coat and produced a slim folder, placing it on Tony’s lap.
Tony hesitated, then opened it. His eyes moved across the pages—photographs, docunts, technical diagrams. His expression shifted as he read, cycling through confusion, recognition, and finally sothing heavier.
"So the Arc Reactor..." Tony’s voice was quiet. "It wasn’t my dad’s work alone?"
"No," Arthur confird. "Anton Vanko and your father created it together. Stane found him and used his help to recreate it."
Tony stared at the folder for a long mont.
"You cleaned up that warehouse," he said finally. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I’m a major shareholder in Stark Industries now," Arthur replied. "I can’t have Arc Reactor technology being copied by everyone."
"And here I thought you did it for your friend."
Arthur’s smile was faint. "You know . I always care about my business."
Tony gave him a dead-eyed look. "You’re a terrible person."
"I’ve been told."
Silence settled between them. Tony looked back down at the folder, his jaw tight.
"I always figured people were decades away from replicating my tech," he said. "And Stane pulled it off in months. With help from an old man in a wheelchair."
"Genius isn’t a monopoly, Tony," Arthur said quietly. "It’s a resource. And resources can be found in unexpected places. You shouldn’t underestimate the world."
Tony nodded slowly. "I won’t. Not again."
"Good."
"So—" Tony shifted, wincing. "Do I need to worry about another suit being built? Another Vanko situation?"
"Possibly." Arthur’s tone was asured. "I cleaned out the warehouse, but Anton had a son. Ivan. He may have copies of his father’s work. He could potentially recreate the reactor."
"And you didn’t deal with him?"
"Because I’m not an evil man, Tony." Arthur’s voice was quiet but firm. "I have lines I refuse to cross. Ivan had nothing to do with what happened tonight. So I left him alone."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "But you just said you cleaned up the warehouse so the tech wouldn’t leak. If you were really that worried, shouldn’t you have made sure no one could copy it?"
Arthur’s eye twitched. Almost imperceptibly. But Tony caught it.
A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"Just admit it."
"Admit what?"
"You did the clean-up for . Not for business. For ." Tony’s grin widened. "Arthur Hayes, secret softie. Had people fly all the way to Moscow because he wanted revenge for his best friend."
Arthur’s expression remained perfectly neutral. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"Sure you don’t."
"It was purely a business decision."
"Uh-huh."
"I’m leaving."
"You flew people to Russia, Arthur. In the middle of the night. To clean up my ss." Tony was grinning so wide it had to hurt his bruised face. "Just say it. Say ’Tony, you’re my best friend and I care about you.’"
"Goodbye, Stark."
"Coward!"
Arthur was already walking toward the door, but Tony caught the faint smile he couldn’t quite suppress.
"But seriously," Tony called after him, his tone shifting. "Is Ivan capable? Could he actually rebuild the reactor?"
Arthur paused at the door. "Yes. From what I found, he’s a genius in his own right. Are you worried?"
Tony was silent for a long mont. He looked out the window at the LA skyline, then down at the Arc Reactor glowing faintly beneath his hospital gown.
"Let him have the notes," Tony said finally. "If he wants to build a reactor to power a city? Good for him. If he wants to build a suit to co after ..." His eyes hardened. "I’ll be ready."
"That’s the spirit." Arthur stood, buttoning his jacket. "I’m rooting for you, Iron Man."
Tony frowned. "Iron Man?"
"That’s what they’re calling you. On the news."
Tony turned the na over in his mind. A slow smile crossed his battered face. "Iron Man. I like it. Has a nice ring to it."
"I thought you might."
Arthur moved toward the door. "Get so rest. You’ve earned it."
"You’re leaving already?"
"You need sleep, not conversation. I’ll bring the family when you’re back on your feet."
"Looking forward to it."
Arthur gave a small nod. "Rest well, Tony."
He slipped out the door, leaving Tony alone with his burger and his thoughts.
The first Chapter of the hero’s journey was over. The wall had been hit, the lesson learned.
Would Tony face another villain soon? Would Ivan Vanko beco the Whiplash of another tiline?
Only ti would tell.
But Arthur wasn’t worried. Now that Tony knew about Ivan, he would be prepared. He didn’t need Arthur to fight his battles.
He never really had.
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