January 18, 2010 – Private Jet en route to Malibu

The Stark jet was currently a flying nightclub. Champagne flowed freely, music thumped at a tasteful volume, and the mood was lighter than air.

Tony sat in the center of the main cabin, Pepper tucked against his side, his hand occasionally drifting to his chest as if to confirm again that the hole was really gone. The engagement ring on Pepper’s finger caught the light every time she moved, drawing his attention like a beacon.

Across the cabin, Arthur and Eileen occupied a comfortable settee, watching the exchange with the quiet satisfaction of people who had been hoping for this outcome for years.

Killian had declined the invitation to celebrate – too much work to do, he’d said, too many plans to implement – but he’d sent a bottle of wine that was currently being appreciated by Maya Hansen, who had decided she deserved a break after the most intense week of her professional life.

Happy sat near the cockpit watching Tony with an expression of profound relief. He’d been worried about his boss for months. He had seen the tremors, the fatigue, the quiet desperation that Tony thought he was hiding. Seeing Tony whole, healthy, and genuinely happy was worth more than any bonus.

“A toast,” Arthur said, raising his glass. “To Tony and Pepper. May your marriage be filled with fewer explosions than your courtship.”

“That’s a low bar,” Pepper replied.

“I believe in achievable goals.”

The jet continued westward, chasing the sunset toward California.

—

Stark Residence, Malibu – Later That Evening

The Malibu mansion was lit up like a Christmas display when they arrived.

Tony had called ahead to have the staff prepare for a celebration, but what greeted them exceeded expectations. The terrace had been transformed into an elegant party space, with string lights overhead, a fully stocked bar, and enough food to feed a small army.

What Tony hadn’t arranged, and what made Arthur smile, was the presence of four children racing across the terrace the moment the group stepped outside.

“Daddy! Mummy!” Elena and Tristan launched themselves at their parents.

Pietro and Wanda followed at a more dignified pace.

“How did you all get here?” Pepper asked, looking around in confusion. “We only landed twenty minutes ago. You were supposed to be in New York.”

“Winky brought us,” Elena said matter-of-factly. “She said there was a party and we weren’t allowed to miss it.”

Tony glanced at Arthur. “How?”

Arthur smiled. “I planned ahead. Knowing you, I expected a party. So the travel was pre-arranged.”

It was a lie, of course. He had informed Winky just an hour ago to get everyone ready and bring them here.

Tony grinned. “You really do know me.”

The party that followed was exactly what everyone needed—low-key by Stark standards, which meant only moderately excessive by normal standards. The children chased each other around the terrace while the adults talked, drank, and gradually unwound from the tension of the past week.

—

The Next Day – Stark Residence, Malibu

The sun was shining, the ocean was blue, and Tony Stark was looking for a fight.

“Come on, Happy,” Tony said, bouncing on his feet in the center of his home gym’s boxing ring. Hit me. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

Happy Hogan, wearing headgear and protective pads, looked hesitant. “Boss, you just had major surgery like, three days ago. Ms. Potts will kill me.”

“I healed in three minutes, Happy. The surgery was just the setup. Now come on!”

Happy sighed and threw a jab. It was a professional punch—fast, technical, practiced.

In the past, Tony would have flinched or stumbled trying to dodge. Today, he saw it coming in high definition. He slipped the jab, stepped inside, and threw a hook to Happy’s body.

Thud.

Happy grunted, stumbling back against the ropes. He looked at Tony with wide eyes. “Okay. That… that had some real power behind it.”

“I told you!” Tony grinned, looking at his gloves. “I feel faster. I feel stronger. Let’s go again.”

They went three rounds. Happy had the technique—decades of boxing experience—but Tony had the physical advantages now. The Extremis treatment had elevated his reflexes and strength to peak human levels. He wasn’t Captain America, but he was certainly no longer just an engineer who did cardio on occasion.

By the end of the third round, Happy was winded, leaning against the turnbuckle. Tony was barely sweating.

“I’m a weapon,” Tony declared, hopping over the ropes. “I’m a lethal weapon now.”

He looked around the gym. Arthur was sitting on a bench, watching the sparring session with mild amusement.

Tony’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, Arthur,” Tony called out. “How about a spar?”

Arthur looked stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Tony leaned against the ropes. “I think you’ve been hiding things from me since the day we met. Skills, knowledge, abilities—all of it tucked away behind that pleasant smile.” He gestured vaguely at Arthur’s seated form. “I’ve seen you move, Arthur. Nothing obvious, nothing flashy, but the way you carry yourself… that’s not how a hedge fund manager walks. That’s how someone with training walks.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And fighting me is the way you want to find out what I’m capable of?”

Tony grinned. “Yes.”

Eileen, who was reading a magazine nearby, didn’t look up. “Tony. Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll embarrass you.”

“I don’t know about that, Eileen.” Tony flexed demonstratively. “I’m feeling pretty unbeatable right now.”

She turned a page. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Arthur stood up. He wasn’t wearing gym clothes—just slacks and a loose dress shirt. He walked to the ring calmly.

“One round?” Arthur asked, climbing through the ropes.

“One round,” Tony agreed, raising his fists. “Don’t hold back, Arthur. I want to see what you’ve got.”

Arthur settled into a stance that wasn’t quite any martial art Tony could name. Too relaxed.

Tony didn’t wait.

He launched himself forward, using his new speed. He threw a straight right, aiming for Arthur’s chest—fast, powerful, enhanced.

Arthur didn’t block. He didn’t even duck.

He simply took a half-step to the left.

As Tony’s fist passed through the space where Arthur had been, Arthur’s hand shot out, gripping Tony’s wrist. With his other hand, he grabbed Tony’s shoulder. He pivoted his hips, dropped his center of gravity, and pulled.

WHAM.

The gym floor shook.

Tony stared up at the ceiling lights, the wind knocked out of him. He lay flat on his back, Arthur standing over him, not a hair out of place.

“I win,” Arthur said calmly.

Tony scrambled up, his face flushed. “You caught me off guard. Another round.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was careless. I underestimated you. Let me try again.”

Tony circled this time. He feinted left, then lunged right, trying to use his superior speed to flank Arthur.

Arthur turned with him, flowing like water. When Tony committed to the strike, Arthur’s leg swept out—a gentle, precise tap against Tony’s ankle at the exact moment his weight transferred.

Tony’s legs went out from under him. He hung in the air for a split second, defying gravity, before gravity remembered him and slammed him face-first into the mat.

Thud.

“Center of balance,” Arthur observed, as if delivering a lecture. “The foundation of all movement. Control it, control your opponent.”

Tony rolled over, groaning. He looked at Happy. “You try.”

Happy’s voice came from the doorway. “I saw the last round. I’m not getting in that ring.”

“What? Come on. I need data. I need to know if he’s that good or if I’m that bad.”

“He’s that good.” Happy hadn’t moved from the doorway. “I watched how he moved. That’s not boxing, Tony. That’s not any single martial art. That’s someone who’s trained in things I don’t have names for.”

“Just one round. For science.”

Happy sighed heavily, but he climbed into the ring and assumed a professional boxing stance. He approached Arthur cautiously and threw a testing jab.

Arthur caught the fist in his open palm. He twisted his wrist, stepped in, and with a movement too fast to follow, flipped Happy over his shoulder.

Happy landed next to Tony with a heavy thud.

The two men lay there side by side, staring at the ceiling.

Arthur stood over both of them, not even breathing hard. “Are you both satisfied? Or would you like to continue embarrassing yourselves?”

“I think we’re good,” Tony managed.

“Definitely good,” Happy agreed.

Arthur stepped gracefully over the ropes. Eileen smiled at him without looking up from her magazine.

“I told you,” she said.

Tony sat up, rubbing his shoulder. “I thought maybe he knew some self-defense. Some weekend martial arts classes. Not…” He gestured at Arthur. “Whatever that was. What else are you hiding?”

Arthur said simply, “A lot.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. “When I have the new suit ready, let’s have another spar.”

“Sure.”

Tony blinked. “What? No protest? No concerns about fighting the Iron Man suit? Are you enhanced? Some kind of super soldier? Alien?”

Arthur’s smile didn’t waver. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. It isn’t.”

Tony limped toward where Pepper stood. “I need to hurry and get that new suit ready.”

The redhead assistant stepped forward, offering Tony a bottle of water from a small tray she’d prepared. “Mr. Stark.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, taking it. He glanced at her. “You’re new.”

“Natalie Rushman,” she said professionally. “Ms. Potts’s assistant.”

“She’s excellent,” Pepper added, finally looking up from her tablet. “Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to manage the company during our impromptu Miami adventure. She handled everything.”

Natalie returned to Pepper’s side, efficiently organizing the documents they’d been reviewing. She moved with quiet competence, anticipating what Pepper needed before being asked.

Arthur accepted a water bottle from Eileen, his eyes briefly meeting Natalie’s. A small nod of acknowledgment passed between them.

The Black Widow. Or, in this timeline, Ariadne’s mole inside S.H.I.E.L.D., who was currently spying on Tony Stark for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a complicated web, but Arthur had no complaints.

Tony was still nursing his bruised ego and several other bruised things. “Did you at least see how fast I was? Before the throwing?”

“Very impressive, sir,” Natalie said with perfect neutrality, already turning back to her work.

Pepper fixed Tony with the look that had been running his company for years. “Are you done trying to prove you’re a superhero? Because we have actual work to do.”

“I am a superhero.”

“Then act like one and sign these contracts.”

Tony groaned but followed her toward the exit, still rotating his shoulder where he’d hit the mat.

—

Later That Afternoon

Tony sat on the terrace, staring at the ocean. The physical high of the spar had faded, replaced by the gnawing reality of his other problem.

Arthur walked out, carrying two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to Tony and settled into the adjacent chair.

“You’re brooding,” Arthur observed.

“I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.” Tony tapped his chest. “The hole is gone. I’m healthy. Even the palladium poisoning is reversed. But the moment I put the suit back on and use the arc reactor, the poisoning starts again.”

Arthur said, “So it’s time to fix the arc reactor itself.”

“The only solution is finding a better replacement for palladium. But it doesn’t exist. I’ve checked the periodic table. I’ve checked theoretical elements. Nothing works.”

He turned to Arthur with the particular look of a man grasping at straws. “I don’t suppose you have another miracle tucked away somewhere? Maybe an element that doesn’t exist yet, conveniently sitting in your pocket?”

Arthur took a slow sip of his lemonade. “I don’t, no. But your father did.”

Tony’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Howard Stark.” Arthur looked out at the horizon, where the sun was beginning its descent toward the water. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about him, Tony.”

The words hung in the air. Tony set down his glass, suddenly very focused.

“What do you know about your father’s work during World War II?” Arthur asked.

“The basics. He worked on the Manhattan Project. Developed weapons for the military. Helped create Captain America’s shield and worked on the super-soldier serum.” Tony’s voice carried the particular flatness of someone discussing a parent they’d never truly known. “He talked about the war sometimes, when he was drunk enough. Mostly about Steve Rogers.”

“Did he ever mention an organization called the Strategic Scientific Reserve?”

“Once or twice. Some kind of military research division. Why?”

“Because after the war, the SSR evolved into something else. Something larger.” Arthur set down his glass. “Your father was one of the founding members of an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Tony blinked. “S.H.I.E.L.D.? The spy agency? The one that keeps trying to recruit me?”

“The same.”

“You’re telling me my father, Howard Stark, weapons manufacturer and professional workaholic, was a founding member of a global intelligence organization?”

“Among other things.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, processing. It made a certain kind of sense. Howard had always had secrets, always disappeared for weeks at a time on “business” that was never explained. The connections to military and intelligence circles had been obvious even to a child.

But founding a spy agency was something else entirely.

“Okay,” Tony said slowly. “So my father was involved with spies. What does that have to do with palladium?”

“Decades ago, Howard discovered a new element. A theoretical replacement for palladium. Massive power output, zero toxicity. It was the key to making arc reactor technology truly safe.”

“If he found it, why isn’t it on the periodic table? Why isn’t it everywhere?”

“Because the technology of his time was too limited,” Arthur explained. “He could theorize it. He could model the atomic structure. But he couldn’t synthesize it. The tools simply didn’t exist.” Arthur turned to meet Tony’s gaze. “But he believed that one day, they would. And he believed that you would be the one to finish what he started.”

Tony felt a lump form in his throat. “He said that?”

“In his own way.”

“But why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I know about any of this?”

“His death,” Arthur said quietly. “It was sudden. Unexpected. Whatever plans he had to pass this knowledge on to you directly… those plans died with him. But the work still exists. The research, the blueprints, the models—they should still be in his things somewhere.”

Tony shook his head. “I went through everything after he died. The house, the office, the storage units. There was nothing like what you’re describing.”

“You went through everything at your home. But most of his work materials stayed with S.H.I.E.L.D. Research materials, prototypes, anything that might contain sensitive information. If the blueprints still exist, they’re in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s archives.”

“So I need to get into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s archives.”

“Yes. Call Fury, or better yet, pay him a visit. I’m sure he’ll give you access to your father’s things without too much trouble.”

Tony slumped back in his chair, processing everything.

His father had been involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. A founder. A genius who had theorized an element decades ahead of his time. And apparently, he’d believed Tony would be the one to complete the work.

It was more faith than Howard had ever expressed while alive.

“How do you know all this?” Tony asked quietly.

Arthur just looked at him, that infuriatingly pleasant smile firmly in place.

Tony sighed. “Right. My fault for asking.”

—

Two Hours Later – New York

The Hayes family was back home, the children already racing through the halls with the boundless energy, when Arthur’s phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller.

Arthur answered on the first ring. “Hello, Fury.”

“You—” Nick Fury’s voice was a low growl with several expletives woven in.

Arthur smiled. “I assume Tony just showed up at your door?”

“He just stormed into a secure facility and demanded Howard’s crates. Do you have any idea how much planning went into my strategy? I was going to use my agents to evaluate him, then slowly introduce the father angle to build emotional connection—”

“You were playing games, Fury,” Arthur cut him off calmly. “You were trying to manipulate him into becoming an asset. Tony doesn’t need manipulation. He needs his father’s work.”

“You ruined my strategy,” Fury complained. “Now he thinks he can just show up and demand things from S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“He can. He’s Tony Stark. And more importantly, those are his father’s belongings. You’ve been sitting on them for decades.”

“They’re classified—”

“They’re personal. There’s a difference. Even you know that.”

Silence on the line. Arthur could practically hear Fury’s jaw tightening.

“You should have been direct with him from the start,” Arthur continued. “Tell him about Howard. Tell him what his father believed about him. Give him the crates. Be honest.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Arthur smiled. “Unless you’d rather have him as an enemy?”

“I’d rather have him as an asset I can control.”

“Tony Stark will never be controlled, Fury. The sooner you accept that, the better your relationship with him will be.” Arthur’s tone carried a hint of warning. “Work with him as a partner. Respect his autonomy. You might be surprised how much cooperation that earns you.”

Another long silence.

“You’re very confident,” Fury finally said, “about things that aren’t your business.”

“Everything is my business, Fury. I simply choose which parts to involve myself in.”

“We’re not done, Hayes.”

“We never are. Goodbye, Nick.”

Arthur hung up, slipped the phone into his pocket, and went to join his family.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep