Tony Stark was many things—genius, billionaire, and definitely not a morning person—but patience was not among his strong suits.
The lab was littered with tools, bits of alloy plating, disassembled gauntlets, and wires spilling like metal veins across the floor. Sparks flared as Tony, goggles slipping down his nose, welded a seam onto the new chest piece of his upgraded armor. He leaned back, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist, eyes narrowing at the flicker on his tablet's diagnostic screen.
"Come on, you piece of—"
A puff of smoke hissed, followed by a sad whirring noise as the right arm module short-circuited again.
Tony threw down the welding tool with a clatter, dragging his hands over his face, breathing hard. His heart no longer had the heavy pulse of the arc reactor, but the phantom weight was still there, reminding him of what had been lodged in his chest for so long.
He could feel the absence, the empty space reminding him that death had nearly claimed him more times than he could count.
"Sir, your blood pressure is increasing. Shall I play the calming playlist?" JARVIS' smooth voice cut into the silence.
"Don't you dare," Tony snapped, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Play the damn playlist."
Soft instrumental jazz filled the air. That's not what he wanted but at this point, Tony just doesn't care.
Tony slumped into the nearest rolling chair, rolling himself back as he glared at the half-finished armor. It was supposed to be stronger, faster, better. Instead, it was testing every ounce of his control, each miscalculation like a personal insult.
"Tony…" his father's voice whispered in his mind, the memory of that video surfacing unbidden.
Just days ago, after dealing with another painfully mind-numbing meeting with idiotic board members trying to tell him how to run his company, Tony had found himself driving toward the old Stark residence.
For fuck sakes, Tony knows how to run his company! They just are afraid that he is shutting off their toys. Geez, what a loyalty.
He had avoided that house since his parents' deaths. The memories were too loud there—echoes of fights with Howard, the cold dinners, the silence his mother tried to fill with forced smiles.
But something in him needed to see it, needed to confront that ghost.
The house smelled of dust and old leather. Covered furniture stood like tombstones, white sheets draped over them. He wandered from room to room until he found the study, untouched, the smell of cigars long gone but lingering in his memory.
The old projector had caught his eye, the box of tapes next to it labeled in Howard's handwriting. Tony had almost left them, but something pushed him to watch.
And there, in the flicker of grainy footage, was Howard Stark, looking directly at the camera, talking to him.
"I'm limited by the technology of my time," Howard's voice crackled, "but one day you will figure this out, Tony. And when you do… I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the man you will become."
Tony had sat there long after the tape ended, the dark screen reflecting his damp eyes.
It was in that same office, just after the video, when he had reached for a book on the shelf to steady himself, and the shelf had clicked, swinging inward so suddenly that Tony had nearly fallen over in shock.
"Did he had a secret Wine stash here?" he had muttered, pulling out his phone to use as a flashlight as a cold draft swept from the hidden passage.
The narrow staircase led him down into darkness, the air thick with the smell of earth and rust. The lights flickered as he found the switch, revealing a hidden lab that was older than he was.
Dust lay thickly over everything—old computers with blinking lights, glass canisters, files stacked in metal boxes, and a workbench with strange-looking tech prototypes half-completed.
It was a time capsule of Howard's paranoia and brilliance.
Tony moved around slowly, his light catching on a box labeled "Project AB." Curiosity overrode the unease creeping up his spine as he pulled it open, finding blueprints, handwritten notes in Howard's sharp, scrawling hand and vials of a preserved.
Tony's jaw clenched as he gathered the files, stuffing them into a duffel bag along with the blueprints, vials, and a few of the tech devices he couldn't leave behind.
As he exited the hidden lab, he took one last look around, feeling like he was saying goodbye to a ghost. To the father who never said he loved him out loud but had tried in his own, distant, broken way.
Now, sitting in his tower lab, Tony's fingers drummed against the tablet as he replayed the blueprints in his mind, already considering how to refine and adapt the ideas, to make something new.
"JARVIS, contact Sirius and Remus. Tell them to get here as soon as possible," he said, standing.
"And Johnny?" JARVIS asked.
"Yeah, tell Johnny to pick me up. We've got work to do."
Because if there was one thing Howard Stark had taught him, it was that their legacy wasn't just about weapons and technology—it was about protecting people.
And Tony would do follow that path gladly.
————
Tony Stark moved through the office with purposeful restlessness, the kind that made even the sleek glass walls of his tower feel like they were pressing in. The boxes he had dragged from the old Stark house sat stacked in the corner, mocking him with dust and the heavy weight of a dead man's secrets.
He had work to do—real work, not the board meetings or the constant drivel from shareholders who barely understood what they were investing in. His call with one of his engineers was wrapping up, Tony's sharp tone softened only slightly as he confirmed delivery schedules and prototype tests.
Across the office, Johnny stood quietly near the windows, arms folded over his dark wizard robes hidden beneath a tailored black jacket, a sleek black mask covering the lower half of his face as Tony insisted.
"You look like a discount Darth Vader," Tony had quipped earlier, earning an eye-roll from Johnny. "It's for your own protection," Tony had added, raising a brow. "My building, my rules."
Now, Johnny's wand hand rested casually by his side, his eyes scanning the floor below as he stayed on alert, looking every bit the silent, stoic bodyguard Tony claimed he was to the staff.
Happy had taken one look at Johnny and muttered, "Great, another one," before stomping off to check the perimeter.
A knock came at the office door.
Tony's brows lifted, and he called out, "Enter."
The door opened, and in swept Natalie Rushman—Natasha Romanoff. She wore a fitted cream blouse and black pencil skirt, her red hair tied neatly back, but her eyes were sharp, the kind that missed nothing.
She was, however, visibly frustrated, her arms straining as she dumped a heavy stack of files onto Tony's glass desk with a thud. A few sheets slid off, fluttering like defeated pigeons to the floor.
Tony cocked a brow as he leaned back in his chair, glancing from the papers to her with faux innocence.
"Light reading, huh?" he quipped, reaching down to pick up the stray papers. "Did I forget to tell you I like everything triple-checked in triplicate, Natalie?"
Natasha's eyes flicked to Johnny, assessing him silently before turning back to Tony with a tight, professional smile. "I've completed most of the backlog you assigned. I would like to take on something more substantial, Mr. Stark."
Tony flipped through a few of the papers, eyes skimming the graphs, calculations, and business reports without missing a beat. "More substantial? What's next, Natalie? You want to run the company?" His voice was light, but his eyes stayed sharp.
"I'm capable of more than paperwork," she replied, maintaining her calm, her eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Tony shut the folder with a snap and stood, placing it back on top of the stack. "That's great. Really. But here's the thing—no one gets special treatment here. You work like everyone else, even if you look better doing it." His eyes twinkled as Johnny snorted softly behind the mask.
"If you want more, take it up with Pepper," Tony continued, brushing invisible lint off his black T-shirt. "She's the boss around here. I just sign the checks."
Natasha's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded, "Understood."
Tony smirked, eyes twinkling with layered amusement and a hint of hidden taunt. "Good talk, Natalie."
He glanced back at the boxes, the dusty edges peeking out from under the cloth drape, and felt the weight of what lay inside—Howard's files, and things that Sirius and Remus needed to see. He needed to clear his schedule and get out of this tower before someone noticed what he was really up to.
"Johnny grab that box, please"
Johnny wanted to say 'Why did you even bring it here in the first place for?' Nonetheless, He walks over and picked it up.
Tony turned to Natasha, fixing her with a look that seemed casual but was precisely calculated. "Oh, and Natalie," he added, "tell Pepper I'll be working from home for the next few days. I've got some guests arriving."
He saw it—just a flicker of interest in her otherwise perfectly controlled expression. Her posture shifted, curiosity piqued, eyes sharpening like a predator catching the scent of prey.
"Understood. Guests?" she echoed lightly.
"Yeah," Tony said with a half-shrug, "old friends, you know how it is."
It was almost too easy, the way the bait dangled, and Tony felt a twinge of regret that she—and by extension, SHIELD—would never get the show they wanted.
Because Sirius and Remus would never walk through the front door.
As Natasha left to deliver the message to Pepper, Tony exchanged a glance with Johnny, who raised an eyebrow behind the mask.
"You're enjoying this too much," Johnny said dryly.
Tony grinned, grabbing his jacket and briefcase. "Guilty as charged. Come on, Johnny, let's get out of here before she tries to plant a tracker on me."
Together, they exited the office, Johnny sweeping the room with a subtle detection charm to ensure they were clean before stepping into the private elevator.
As the doors shut, Tony let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. This game with SHIELD was amusing, but the real work was waiting—and it was work that could not afford to fail.