Missiles, Misery, and Malibu Mayhem
Tony Stark was having what he could only describe as a truly spectacular, no-good, very bad day.
It started with the early morning alarm Pepper had JARVIS set for him, pulling him out of the rare half-hour of sleep he’d managed to snag after a night of alien-fueled nightmares. Since New York, sleep had been scarce, every time he closed his eyes, he was back there, flying through the wormhole, bracing himself for death as he gazed at the endless expanse of an alien army. He thought he’d be used to the nightmares by now, but every time they got a little sharper, a little closer to real. He could almost smell the scorched air, feel the electric hum of that alien tech buzzing around him.
He’d thought some sun and a return to his beachside solitude would shake off the looming dread, help him reclaim the carefree version of himself that had existed before Afghanistan, before he was Iron Man. But even that version seemed like a distant memory these days, more ghost than reality.
After New York, he’d tried just about everything to shake off the lingering weight pressing down on his chest. But coming back to Malibu hadn’t helped. Not yet, at least.
Instead, he’d been thrown into back-to-back meetings, most of which he barely managed to stay awake for. His mind drifted during the presentations, numbers and charts blurring together as his focus wavered. Stark Industries was doing fine under Pepper’s management, more than fine, actually. She was a natural CEO, even if their relationship hadn’t quite survived the transition. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared. Hell, he’d cared a lot. But he also knew he couldn’t be the person she needed him to be. Not anymore. Not after everything.
“Sir, the conference call is waiting,” JARVIS’s voice cut through his thoughts, a gentle reminder that Tony’s schedule was far from finished. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he rolled his eyes at the digital clock glowing in the corner.
“Can’t it wait? Maybe until… next year?” he muttered.
“Unfortunately not, sir.”
He’d come back to Malibu hoping for some reprieve, maybe a chance to slip back into his playboy billionaire habits. A few parties, a few nights out, a bit of liquor or more to take the edge off. He craved that old, reckless version of himself, the Tony who didn’t have responsibilities, who hadn’t been dragged into battles that left scars far deeper than the shrapnel in his chest. But that guy was gone, and Tony knew it, no matter how much he tried to chase the ghost of him.
His phone buzzed, jarring him back to reality and he glanced at the screen to see Pepper’s name flashing. She was probably calling with a status update, some numbers he could barely bother to skim over.
“Potts, I thought we said no work before noon.”
“Oh, right,” Pepper’s voice chimed, light and teasing. “Sorry, but I didn’t want you to miss out on the latest gossip from the office.”
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a laugh. “This better be good.”
“Well, the quarterly reports are looking excellent,” she began, her tone brisk as always, but then there was a pause, and her voice softened. “And, oh, by the way, you might want to know, someone called earlier claiming to be your son.”
Tony snorted, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”
“Yep. Called and said, ‘I’m Tony Stark’s son.’” Pepper chuckled, clearly amused.
Tony rubbed his temple, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Great. Some kid thinks I’m his long-lost dad. That’s exactly what I need right now.”
“I’m sure it’s just a prank,” Pepper said, dismissing it with a laugh. “Or maybe another charity case hoping to catch your attention.”
“Perfect.” Tony let out a breath, rolling his eyes. “Just another day in the life, right?”
“Right,” Pepper agreed. But then she grew serious again, her voice steady. “Take it easy, Tony. Don’t work yourself to the bone out there and don't be late for that conference call.”
“Got it, Mom,” he quipped, earning a groan from her before she hung up.
Shaking his head, Tony set the phone down and turned back to his desk, trying to shake the unease that had settled over him. It was nothing, he told himself. Just one more layer to his already insane day. If he could just get through a few more hours, maybe he could take a break, drink himself into oblivion, and hopefully sleep for more than an hour at a time.
But the peace he’d hoped for was shattered a second later.
The phone vibrated again, and this time, it wasn’t a call. A loud, jarring alarm sounded through the room, and screens flashed red as JARVIS’s voice echoed through the mansion.
“Sir, I strongly advise you to look outside.”
Tony didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted to the floor-to-ceiling windows, squinting into the sun, scanning the horizon for anything out of place. And then he saw it, a missile streaking across the sky, aimed directly at him.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony muttered, adrenaline surging as he turned on his heel and shouted, “JARVIS, suit now!”
Within seconds, he felt the familiar weight of the Iron Man armor locking into place around him, the reassuring hum of power charging up as he moved into position. But even with the suit, he had only seconds to act, barely enough time to brace himself.
And then, it hit.
The missile struck the mansion, and everything went white-hot, heat and force slamming into him like a freight train. The ground tilted, his vision blurring as the walls disintegrated around him, glass and metal ripping apart in the explosion. Tony barely managed to brace himself, calling on every ounce of power in the suit to shield him from the worst of the blast.
But before he could even process it, he was airborne, spiraling down, down, until his armored body crashed into the cold depths of the Pacific Ocean.
He was certainly going to miss that meeting.