The Little Hero (Part 1)

"You're saying you plan to shut down Stark's weapons manufacturing division?" Schiller asked.

"But you shouldn't be coming to me about this," Schiller continued.

Stark rubbed his forehead in frustration, saying, "Because of what you guys did, Pepper's received thousands of employee complaints these past few days. She's had to completely rework the entire employee benefits system and is swamped."

"That's not the main point, actually," Schiller said. "If you want to talk, she's always willing to listen."

Stark touched the bridge of his nose, not replying.

After a moment, he said, "Alright, I know how much pressure this decision will put on her. I know I'm a selfish bastard. I know she's already helped me more than enough. I know I shouldn't do this, but I have no other choice."

Schiller spread open the notebook beside him and said as he wrote, "Let me think, what you want to do now is like sentencing a gun to death."

"But my weapons have killed many people."

"Weapons also have no choice," Schiller said.

"Do you expect them all to be like Jarvis, able to speak and protest to you? Do you think they enjoy going to that hellhole in Afghanistan? Or do you think a bullet, once manufactured, has a lifelong ambition to kill people on the battlefield?"

Stark sat opposite him in silence, saying somewhat vulnerably, "I admit, I blame the weapons for all of this because I know I'm the real culprit, but I can't judge myself."

"But I also know, Mr. Stark, that you can't judge yourself not because you want to cling to life, but because you believe you have the ability to make amends. When a crisis arises, only you have the power to save the world, to turn the tide. It's out of this sense of responsibility that you've done these things."

"But to be blunt, have you ever considered that insisting on finding a responsible person or thing for an event and judging them is actually a rather arbitrary and reckless idea?"

"But every event has its root cause."

"But this root cause isn't necessarily right or wrong. You should understand better than I do that the world isn't black and white. Finding the thing you believe is responsible hasn't made the situation any better. You think weapons should be responsible, so you want to shut down the entire weapons manufacturing division, causing Pepper sleepless nights, making many employees unemployed, and even those on the battlefield won't thank you."

"Is the pain caused by digging for the root cause really worth it?"

Stark looked pained, his features contorted. If Spider-Man's transformation was like a grand fireworks display, then Stark's transformation was perhaps an inward collapse of a terminal star.

Stark didn't know yet how he would argue with Steve over the same issue, thus destroying the entire Avengers.

"My brain tells me I can't not think about right and wrong," Stark said.

"Alright, if that's the case, then your brain must be responsible for it. If it won't let you go, you should go bother it. That's the theory you're sticking to, isn't it?"

"Ask your brain if there's a way to achieve what you want without hurting the people around you. That's the answer it should give you because it's precisely what's causing you so much pain."

Stark didn't feel any better. He leaned back in his chair and said, "Look at me, you idiot. I hired a devil doctor, a Satan, for a million dollars an hour..."

"Your damn psychological therapy has never brought me any positive changes. Every time I leave you, I feel worse."

Stark said through gritted teeth.

Schiller, uncharacteristically, didn't joke with him. He said, "You can think of me as a catalyst. You'll understand later..."

"Thinking always brings pain; no one is exempt. I'm giving you a preemptive shot, and you'll be much better later. You'll thank me."

Stark made the sign of the cross over his chest and said, "If you keep talking such big words, you'll almost surpass Howard in my heart."

"This is the first time you've voluntarily mentioned your father, and it's strange. Most people tend to call for their mothers when they're in pain."

Stark slammed the table hard, not wanting to admit he'd brought up his father out of distress.

He wasn't some fledgling needing protection. That eagle that flew away from the cliff and never returned wasn't someone he should think of in despair and pain.

Schiller said, "Perhaps that's why you built yourself an Iron Man suit. You wear that metal shell everywhere you go, believing only it can protect you, that only by wearing it are you the most powerful Iron Man.

"But I must say, if you can't learn to take it off, you'll never become the true Iron Man."

Schiller had thought before that Stark and Batman were quite similar. Their upbringing and educational backgrounds were eerily alike, and their methods of dealing with certain problems were astonishingly consistent—

They built themselves weapons that no one else could, then armed themselves with them, believing they were invincible. Then, when they realized this couldn't solve everything, they fell into a painful struggle.

Schiller was writing and sketching in his notebook. Stark asked, "What are you writing?"

"Steve's psychological therapy just ended, so Natasha retrieved the listening device. I have to write your case notes by hand."

Stark narrowed his eyes and said, "Did you write down everything I just said?"

"Not everything, but I remember that one time you called for your dad very clearly."

"Five million dollars."

Schiller threw the notebook directly in front of Stark. Stark picked up a lighter, ignited it, and muttered, "How could I have trusted a damn vampire doctor?"

"It's getting late, you should go back. The argument with Miss Pepper isn't something you can resolve by hiding out here," Schiller said.

Stark clearly didn't want to leave. He said, "That Spider-Kid can live here with you, so why can't I? I don't even mind your rundown place, and you're lucky enough to make breakfast for the genius Stark."

"Yes, and then Miss Pepper is working overtime alone in Stark Tower. The employees have already left, and the building is dark and cold... Oh, Jarvis might be keeping her company. I heard Jarvis has developed emotions, so perhaps he understands Miss Pepper's disappointment better than you do."

Stark immediately became restless. He jumped up from his chair and put on his jacket, saying, "I'm not going to compete with my own AI butler, absolutely not."

Schiller opened the clinic door for him and said, "Yes, of course, of course. God bless Jarvis."

After Stark left the clinic, he was in a very bad mood, his thoughts a tangled mess.

He had long accepted the fact that geniuses were lonely. He had lived most of his life that way. He had always felt he was living well – rich, intelligent, with enough capital to realize his life's value. An excess sense of responsibility didn't bother him. But never before today had he felt such a profound need for companionship.

He uncharacteristically didn't call for his armor and even turned off his phone. He walked slowly down the street to a dilapidated bus stop. The driver of the last bus had a strong smell of smoke that made Stark uncomfortable, but he still got on and found a seat.

Thanks to Schiller's fearsome reputation, few people dared to loiter in the nearby blocks. Stark safely took the bus out of Hell's Kitchen and hailed a taxi on the streets of New York.

"Stark Tower," Stark said.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, unable to recognize that this was the owner of Stark Industries. After all, Stark always looked so spirited on television, whereas now he resembled a dejected, middle-aged stray dog.

The taxi weaved through New York's cold neon lights, the street scenes blurring past. The jazz music playing in the taxi perfectly complemented the deep autumn chill of the city. Stark sat in the back seat, hands braced on his knees, covering his face.

He thought to himself, Alright, alright, I'm just a fragile little boy, not some great hero at all. Right now, I just want to see Pepper and give her a hug. Let saving the world go to hell.

Stark never liked to admit his immaturity; he preferred to call it childlike innocence, a innocence unique to geniuses.

But he had to admit, everyone needs someone in their life who plays a certain role, like a homing eagle sheltering its fledglings beneath its wings.

Pepper was just an ordinary person, not some eagle or raptor. Yet, when Stark, like a hungry fledgling, felt the cold, he still wanted to burrow under her feathers.

Getting out of the taxi, Stark practically rushed into the building. He knew the top-floor office would still be lit; Pepper always worked there until late at night.

Stark hurried to the elevator. He didn't know what was happening to him; he felt like a green, inexperienced kid. In the elevator, he nervously rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth. When the doors opened, he quickly rushed out.

He wanted to say something to Pepper. He really should say something.

But there was no light on the entire floor. Stark spun around, unable to see any lit offices. This was highly unusual.

"Pepper, Pepper, are you there?" Stark called out loudly.

His only response was the layered echoes from within the offices. Stark slammed his fist against a glass door next to him and then shouted, "Jarvis? Are you there? Jarvis, where did you go?"

The same silence answered him.

Now Stark was truly panicked. If Jarvis didn't respond, it meant he had likely been hijacked or his power source cut off. If someone had done this, their target would surely be Pepper.

Stark ran frantically through the offices, heading to Pepper's usual workspace.

But without his armor, Stark was just an ordinary person. He had no night vision, and without Jarvis's response, the entire office's smart lighting system wouldn't turn on.

As soon as Stark rushed in, he tripped over an office chair lying on its side. After getting up, he realized he couldn't see his surroundings clearly, let alone check for any details.

He opened his mouth to call for his armor, but without Jarvis, the armor's smart remote wouldn't respond either.

Stark was on the verge of breaking down. He suddenly realized that everything he thought he had under control didn't actually belong to him. Without that outer shell, Iron Man was just an ordinary person, blind in the darkness.

His voice trembling slightly, he began fumbling blindly on Pepper's desk, trying to reassure himself as he whispered, "Damn it, she'll be fine... This is Stark Tower, no one can breach its defenses. I'm Stark..."

Suddenly, the lights on the entire floor flickered on. Stark shielded his eyes, momentarily blinded. He turned around, covering his eyes, and saw Pepper standing at the office doorway holding a remote control. Stark froze.

Before Pepper could speak, Stark rushed forward and hugged her. Pepper had never seen Stark so terrified.

She heard him repeatedly murmur, "I knew you'd be fine... Of course you'd be fine..."

Pepper sighed. This fledgling, now almost larger than an eagle, was so unsightly, yet so utterly irresistible.

Let's rewind a bit, to shortly after Stark left the clinic, when Schiller received a call from Pepper.