"Now, please get ready. The plane is waiting for you," Pepper said with a serious tone.
"Fine, you win," Tony muttered, finally tossing his grease-stained rag onto the workbench. He strode over to the deep industrial sink, aggressively scrubbing the motor oil from his hands. Grabbing a brown leather jacket off a nearby rolling chair, he slipped it on over his t-shirt. Combined with his blue jeans, it instantly transformed his look from a greasy mechanic back into the casually arrogant billionaire playboy.
"Adam, please escort Mr. Stark to the private airfield, please," Pepper stated.
"Of course, Miss Potts."
"Sir, if we could," Adam prompted, his voice carrying the exact frequency of polite urgency needed to maintain momentum. As Tony's eyes drifted toward a disassembled motorcycle, Adam smoothly stepped into his line of sight, physically blocking the distraction and subtly guiding the billionaire's trajectory toward the stairs. It was a masterclass in psychological redirection, executed with absolute professional detachment.
Pepper watched them go and heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
They emerged from the subterranean cool of the workshop into the blinding, golden glare of the Malibu sun. Happy Hogan was already waiting by the silver Audi R8, pulling the door open so Tony could slide into the driver's seat. Tony sat down and revved the engine. Adam sat down in the passenger side. They left for the private airfield with Happy following in a Rolls-Royce Phantom.
***
The sleek silver Audi tore onto the private tarmac of the airfield, the tires protesting slightly as Tony brought the sports car to a halt near the massive, customized private jet. A second later, Happy Hogan pulled up behind him, looking visibly stressed.
Tony stepped out of the car, looking amusedly at his panting bodyguard. "You were good. I thought I lost you back there!" Tony said casually.
"You did, sir," Happy sighed, getting bags out of the trunk. "I had to cut across Mulholland."
"Ah, I got you. I got you."
Standing at the top of the jet's mobile stairs was Colonel James Rhodes. Adam stepped out of the passenger seat, his eyes immediately locking onto the Air Force liaison. Through his abilities, Adam could read the tension in Rhodey's shoulders and the high-running frustration radiating from him.
Tony tossed the car keys to Adam. "Here, kid. Take the beauty home, but be careful, I don't want a scratch on her." With that, Tony walked toward the mobile stairs with Happy trailing behind him, weighed down by a ridiculous amount of luggage.
"What's wrong with you?" Rhodey demanded, his voice echoing across the tarmac.
"What?" Tony asked innocently.
"Three hours?" Rhodey marched forward.
"I got caught doing a piece for Vanity Fair."
"For three hours," Rhodey repeated, his jaw tight. "For three hours, you got me standing here."
"Waiting on you now," Tony deflected effortlessly, patting Rhodey on the shoulder as he walked past him inside the jet. "Let's go. Come on."
Adam watched as the jet's engines roared to life, and within minutes, the massive aircraft was climbing into the sky. 'The start of everything is here. I just hope I didn't change the major events.' With a sigh, he got in the driver's seat of the Audi R8 and took it to the Malibu mansion.
***
Inside the plane.
The Stark Industries private jet was less of an aircraft and more of a flying five-star hotel. Colonel James Rhodes sat stiffly in one of the plush leather seats, trying to ignore the billionaire across from him.
"What are you reading, Platypus?" Tony teased, peering over his sunglasses.
"Nothing," Rhodey ground out, refusing to look up.
"Come on. Sour face."
"I'm not sour."
"Don't be mad."
"I told you, I'm not mad," Rhodey replied, snapping his dossier shut. "I'm indifferent, okay?"
"I said I was sorry."
"Good morning, Mr. Stark," a flight attendant smiled, stepping seamlessly into the cabin.
"Hi," Tony greeted her brightly, gesturing to his friend. "I told him I was sorry, but he doesn't believe me."
The flight attendant just gave a sweet smile in return. "A hot towel?" The attendant offered.
Rhodey finally lost his patience, leaning forward. "You don't respect yourself, so I know you don't respect me. I'm just your glorified babysitter. And so, you know, when you need your diaper changed, …" Rhodey reached for the hot towel offered to him by the attendant. "Thank you."
"...let me know, and I'll get you a bottle, okay?"
Tony didn't even flinch at the lecture. He just looked past Rhodey to the flight attendant. "Hey! Heat up the sake, will you?"
"We are not drinking," Rhodey snapped. "We are working right now. You are constitutionally incapable of being responsible."
"It would be irresponsible not to drink. I'm just talking about a nightcap," Tony countered smoothly.
A second flight attendant appeared, holding a small ceramic pitcher. "Hot sake?"
"Yes, two please," Tony replied with a smile.
"No, just—I'm not drinking," Rhodey protested, putting a hand up.
Three hours and several drinks later...
There was music everywhere. Tony sat on the side couch as Rhodey leaned on him.
"That's what I'm talking about. When I get up in the morning, and I'm putting on my uniform, you know what I recognize?" Rhodey said, clearly drunk.
Tony took a sip of his drink, sneaking a glance at the flight attendants. Their hair was delightfully messy, uniforms rumpled as they danced to the heavy bass of the stereo.
"I see in that mirror that every person…"
"Oh, boy, here we go."
"...that's got this uniform has got my back."
"Hey, man, I just, I'm… You know what? I'm not like you, I'm not, I'm not cut out…" Tony muttered awkwardly.
"No, no, you don't have to be like me!" Rhodey stated. "But you are more than what you are."
"Can you excuse me? I'm a little bit distracted here," Tony said while looking at the dancing attendants.
"You don't see it. No, I... you can't be distracted right now! Listen to me!"
Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan.
Tony stepped out of the jet, buttoning his crisp suit jacket. Having swapped his casual leather for Stark Industries corporate armor during the flight, he confidently descended the mobile stairs.
"Welcome, Mr. Stark." Tony shook the man's hand.
"General."
"We look forward to the weapons demonstrations," The General stated.