Tony flexed his arms experimentally, the servo motors whining softly as the armor responded to his movements. Behind the faceplate, his grin was audible. "So? What do you think?"
Smith circled the armored figure once more, genuine appreciation coloring his voice. "It's incredible. Mecha, that's every man's dream right there."
He gestured toward the crude Mark I standing sentinel in the corner. "That first one's definitely rough around the edges, but this?" His hand swept toward the gleaming Mark II. "This is gorgeous, Tony. Are you planning to manufacture these? Because if you ever start selling them, I want first dibs. I'd love to have one for my collection."
Tony's response came swift and absolute. "NO. Not happening. This is my personal property, it doesn't belong to Stark Industries, and it's never going on the market."
Smith had expected the refusal, but asking cost nothing. Truth be told, he wasn't particularly worried about acquiring powered armor. If he really needed it, Bulma could probably engineer something comparable. The genius inventor's talents extended far beyond capsule technology.
"Fair enough," Smith conceded with a shrug. "Makes sense anyway. Start mass-producing these, and you're right back in the weapons business. Defeats the whole purpose of your moral awakening."
"Exactly." Tony's helmeted head nodded emphatically. "This belongs to me. Just me. Now, " The excitement crept back into his voice. ", let me show you what the Mark II can really do."
The next moment, Tony demonstrated what Smith could only describe as a 'flailing takeoff maneuver.' His repulsors fired in slightly uncoordinated bursts as he adjusted to the armor's responsiveness, arms windmilling for balance before he found his equilibrium. Smith bit down on his lower lip, fighting to suppress the laugh threatening to escape.
Then Tony shot forward out of the garage, and Smith didn't hesitate. His ki flared as he invoked the Air Dance technique and followed.
"Wooooo!" Tony's voice echoed across the Malibu coastline as he soared above the cliff face. "Haha! This is flying! This is actually flying!"
JARVIS's calm British voice cut through Tony's exhilaration. "Sir, I should note that Mr. Smith has followed you and is currently maintaining formation at your three o'clock position."
Tony banked slightly, spotting Smith floating effortlessly beside him, no visible means of propulsion, just a man suspended in midair like gravity was a polite suggestion he'd chosen to ignore.
"Smith! Let's see who's faster, and who can fly higher!"
Smith's competitive streak sparked to life. "Now you're speaking my language. You're on."
"I'll count it down," Tony announced, his thrusters already building power. "One... two... THREE!"
Tony rocketed forward, the Mark II's repulsors burning bright as he accelerated. Smith exploded after him, ki surging through his body as he poured energy into the chase. They wove through the sky like dueling fighter jets, banking around imaginary obstacles, trading positions as each pushed their capabilities.
"This is almost like a dream," Tony murmured, watching the Pacific spread below them like hammered metal reflecting the afternoon sun.
"Sir," JARVIS observed, "you have not managed to distance yourself from Mr. Smith."
Tony glanced to his side. Smith kept pace effortlessly, his body cutting through the air with practiced ease. No thrust trails, no visible strain, just smooth, impossible flight.
Pride flared in Tony's chest. "Well, let's show Smith what the Mark II can really do."
He angled upward sharply, directing all thrust skyward. The Mark II screamed toward the heavens, g-forces pressing Tony back into the armor's internal frame.
"JARVIS, what's the record for Air Force reconnaissance planes?"
"The altitude record for fixed-wing aircraft is eighty-five thousand feet, sir."
Tony's grin widened behind his faceplate. "Records are meant to be broken. Keep climbing!"
Smith watched Tony's silver form shrink as it rocketed upward, then followed. The air grew thinner with each passing second, and Smith found himself focusing more intently on regulating his ki flow. His power level barely scraped two hundred, manageable for sustained flight, but not exactly comfortable at these altitudes. He had to be more deliberate with his energy expenditure than Tony, who just needed functioning thrusters.
"Haha! Smith!" Tony's voice crackled through external speakers. "Maybe I can't naturally fly like you, but the suit I built is finally superior!"
Smith's eyes narrowed as frost began crystallizing across the Mark II's surfaces. White ice spread like a creeping disease across the silver plating, and JARVIS's warning tone activated immediately.
"Sir, ice is accumulating rapidly. Suit integrity may be compromised."
"Keep climbing," Tony commanded, dismissing the concern.
Smith's transmigrator knowledge screamed warnings. Tony hadn't implemented anti-icing countermeasures, hadn't even considered the problem until it was too late. This was the moment from the movie, playing out in real-time before his eyes.
Well, Smith thought with dark amusement, looks like I'm about to save Tony's life again. Wonder what I can leverage from this one.
Tony pushed the Mark II harder, demanding more altitude, more speed. Then the leg thrusters sputtered and died. The chest repulsor flickered. Within seconds, every propulsion system went dark, frozen solid by the extreme cold.
The Mark II became a very expensive, very heavy coffin.
Tony flipped end over end, tumbling earthward in an uncontrolled descent. He plummeted past Smith, who'd been ascending more cautiously, their trajectories crossing with brutal clarity.
"JARVIS!" Tony's voice carried genuine panic now. "I'm frozen! Everything's offline!"
Then, louder, desperate: "SMITH! SAVE ME!"
Smith didn't waste breath responding. He killed his upward momentum instantly, pivoting in midair with a burst of ki, and dove after Tony's falling form. The assassin in him calculated angles, velocities, intercept points. Tony was accelerating, terminal velocity in that armor would be catastrophic, but if Smith could catch him before the suit thawed enough for systems to reboot...
Smith poured everything into the dive, his ki blazing as he pushed past his comfortable limits. The wind screamed around him, pressure building as he accelerated beyond what should be possible for someone at his power level.
Tony's tumbling form grew larger. Smith stretched out his arms, adjusted his trajectory microscopically, and,
Got you.
His arms locked around Tony's armored torso just as the world seemed to lurch. The combined momentum of Tony's fall and the Mark II's considerable weight slammed into Smith like a freight train. They plunged downward together, Smith gritting his teeth as he fought to arrest their descent.
His ki flared, straining against physics and gravity. The Air Dance technique wasn't designed for this, but Smith forced it to work anyway. His energy reserves drained rapidly as he gradually, painfully, converted their vertical plummet into a controlled descent.
"Haha!" Tony's relieved laughter came muffled through the armor. "Smith Doyle, you saved my life again!"
Smith's response was to lightly punch the Mark II's chest plate. The impact shattered the accumulated ice instantly, fragments scattering like frozen confetti. Systems rebooted with a cascade of cheerful beeps as warmth returned to the armor's internals.
"JARVIS is back online," Tony announced, relief flooding his voice. "Smith, I've got control again!"
Smith released him immediately, floating backward as Tony's thrusters reignited with their characteristic blue glow. They hovered there for a moment, two figures suspended against the sky, one in gleaming armor, one through sheer force of will.
Then they descended together toward Tony's villa.
Tony landed on the rooftop platform first, touching down with considerably more grace than his ascent. "JARVIS, power down."
The command proved premature. Tony's legs buckled as the armor's weight redistributed, and he crashed straight through the supposedly reinforced roof section, plummeting into the garage below with a tremendous crash of metal on metal. He landed squarely on one of his vintage cars, the vehicle crumpling beneath the Mark II's mass like aluminum foil.
Smith descended through the Tony-shaped hole in the ceiling, touching down with barely a whisper of displaced air. He found Dum-E already responding to the crash, the robotic arm spraying fire suppressant foam enthusiastically across Tony's prone form.
"Tony," Smith called out, unable to suppress his grin, "what exactly are you doing down there?"
Tony lay sprawled across the ruined car, foam covering his faceplate, his voice carrying pure defeat. He'd wanted to impress Smith, to demonstrate technological superiority over impossible ki-based flight. Instead, he'd frozen solid at altitude, needed rescue, and face-planted through his own roof.
The embarrassment was almost physical.
JARVIS and the automated systems assisted with armor removal, mechanical arms carefully extracting Tony from the Mark II's embrace. He emerged looking disheveled, his hair standing at odd angles, his arc reactor glowing steadily beneath his oil-stained shirt.
Smith crossed the distance between them, slinging an arm around Tony's shoulders with the easy camaraderie of someone who'd just witnessed spectacular failure. "Hey, once you solve the icing problem, this suit will be unbeatable. Seriously." He held up a thumbs-up, his grin genuine. "You're onto something incredible here."
Tony managed a weak smile, his bruised ego slowly recovering. The embarrassment was temporary, the data was permanent. He'd identified a critical flaw, and now he could fix it.
They made their way back to the main workshop area. Tony spotted the coffee mug on his workbench and grabbed it possessively, taking a long drink before pointing at Smith with mock severity. "Pepper made this for me. You don't get any."
The territorial declaration was so absurdly petty that Smith couldn't help but laugh. His eyes drifted to the two wrapped boxes sitting beside the coffee mug, and his grin turned sly. "Not just coffee, either. Gifts too."
He leaned against the workbench, eyebrow raised suggestively. "Tony, is your secretary trying to seduce you?"
Tony nearly choked on his coffee. "Seduce me? What? No! If anyone's doing any seducing, it would be me seducing her."
But curiosity got the better of him. He set down the mug and reached for one of the boxes, the smaller one, rectangular and carefully wrapped. His fingers tore through the paper with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.
Inside, nestled in a custom-cut display case, sat his original arc reactor. The one Pepper had removed from his chest when he'd upgraded to the Mark II version. Beneath the glass, a small engraved plaque bore a simple message:
Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.
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