A Warm Heart

Obadiah Stane sat in the car.

The car headed toward Tony's home. He sat in the back seat, leaning against the seatback and staring at his phone screen.

A surveillance recording played on the screen, documenting Pepper from the moment she entered his office until she left. Obadiah stared expressionlessly at the screen, as though considering how to deal with it.

How much did Tony know? What had Pepper taken? How much time did he have left?

Twenty minutes later, his car stopped in the driveway of the Malibu mansion, where he waited for his men to cut off JARVIS's servers.

"Boss, it's done."

The lab was downstairs. He walked down the metal stairs, his footsteps echoing through the stairwell. He was not walking quickly—if anything, he was walking slowly, as if out for a stroll. He had been here countless times and knew every corner of the place. He had come here when Tony's father was still alive, back when the room held old-fashioned workbenches and bulky equipment. Now, it had been replaced by Tony's things: more advanced, more precise, more expensive.

But also more fragile. Just like Tony himself.

He and Howard Stark had been friends, and he had once regarded Tony as a son. When had everything changed? When Tony had mocked him without mercy? Or because he had envied Tony's heaven-gifted talent?

He descended the last step, turned the corner, and saw Tony.

Tony was sitting on the workbench.

One leg was bent, his foot braced against the chair's support post, while the other dangled in the air, swinging lightly. He held a tablet in his hand and hunched over it as he worked through an idea. The screen displayed dense data and 3D models.

Hearing the footsteps, Tony looked up and saw Obadiah coming down the stairs. His gaze lingered on Obadiah's face for a second before the corners of his mouth lifted into a lazy smile.

"Obie? It's late." He set down the tablet, though he was instantly on guard. "Why aren't you asleep? What are you doing here?"

His tone was light and teasing, as it had always been.

In an instant, Obadiah put on a warm, kindly smile. As he approached, he said, "I was passing by, so I thought I'd check on you. I was worried you'd lock yourself up for three days without eating again, like last time."

His voice carried the concern of an elder as he drew closer step by step.

Tony's lips twitched. He relaxed his guard, picked up the tablet again, and turned his gaze back to the screen.

"Pepper told you?" he asked casually, swiping a finger across the display.

"Yeah. She also asked me to come check on you whenever I had time." Obadiah walked to the other side of the workbench, two or three steps away. His gaze swept across the room before finally settling on the Arc Reactor in Tony's chest, carrying a trace of admiration. "How's the new core? Stable?"

"Stable." Tony did not even look up, a hint of pride in his voice. "Thirty percent more powerful than the old one."

"That's good." Obadiah nodded, then looked at the silver-white Mark Two in the corner. "What about that? Still tuning it?"

"The Mark Two has already had its test flight." Tony sounded even more pleased, the corners of his mouth rising higher. "A few minor issues, but it's basically done. The Mark Three is in the final stages. Weapons systems, flight stability, armor protection—improved across the board."

"Just by yourself?" Obadiah's voice rose slightly, his brow furrowing. "That's too dangerous. What if something happens?"

"Nothing happened," Tony said. "Besides, I'm not alone. I've got a friend nearby."

Obadiah's eyes shifted slightly. "A friend?"

"You don't know him." Tony lowered his head and swiped at the tablet. "He's new."

Obadiah did not press further. He nodded, walked around the workbench, and headed toward Tony. His pace remained calm and unhurried as he said, "You've had this habit since you were a kid—carrying everything yourself. Your father was the same..."

As he spoke, he reached Tony. Less than a meter separated them. Tony sat on the workbench, half a head taller than him, looking down as he fiddled with the tablet, completely unconcerned by his presence.

Obadiah's face twisted for an instant as he pulled his hand from his pocket.

Tony caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. It was natural enough—pulling out a hand, raising an arm, reaching forward—as if gesturing at something, as if emphasizing what he had just said. Yet Tony's heart suddenly skipped a beat. He could not explain why. Maybe Obadiah was standing too close. Maybe his fingers were clenched into a fist. Maybe there was something wrong with the light in his eyes.

He looked up, opening his mouth to say something, but he was too late.

Obadiah's hand had already reached his chest. Thick, powerful fingers, like iron pincers, clamped around the edge of the Arc Reactor.

Tony's eyes widened.

"Obie? What are you doing?!"

Before he could finish, Obadiah's fingers tightened. Tony instinctively raised a hand to block him and braced himself against the workbench with the other, trying to pull back, but Obadiah was too strong. His hundred-plus-kilogram body bore down on him, while his other hand seized Tony by the throat.

In the struggle, Tony's back slammed into a storage rack with a dull thud, and assorted objects clattered to the floor. The back of his head struck a protruding edge, and his vision went dark for a moment.

He grabbed Obadiah's wrist, his nails digging into the man's skin, but that hand did not budge. He felt the core in his chest being pulled free. The clasps warped, and metal shrieked.

"Obie! Stop... stop!"

Obadiah did not stop. He twisted sharply.

Crack!

The metal clasps snapped, the sound like bones breaking. The Arc Reactor was torn free, several thin wires ripped apart and dripping electrolyte. Obadiah raised the glowing core high, as though admiring a gemstone.

Tony clutched his chest with a muffled groan and collapsed onto the floor. His face twisted, his lips turned white, and veins bulged across his forehead. His breaths came fast and shallow, as though someone had hold of his throat. Like a fish thrown onto shore, he opened his mouth but could barely draw in any air.

His fingers scraped twice against the floor, his nails dragging over the concrete with a piercing squeal.

Obadiah looked down at Tony.

He held the still-hot Arc Reactor in his hand, white light leaking through his fingers and flickering bright and dim. There was no expression on his face. No guilt, no triumph.

"If you'd listened to me sooner," a cold voice said, "perhaps we wouldn't have come to this. Your time is over, kid."

Tony lay on the floor.

Waves of searing pain came from his chest, as though someone had stuffed a handful of ground glass into his ribcage. Every breath stabbed. He knew he did not have much time. Without that large magnet, the shrapnel would travel through his veins into his heart.

He had seen that kind of death in a cave in Afghanistan. A man wounded by an explosion who had not had the shrapnel removed in time suddenly convulsed, then his eyes froze open and never blinked again.

He could not die here. He had a replacement core, on the rack above him.

He struggled to raise his hand, reaching desperately for the display case in the center. Once, twice—then his arm fell limply, and he slumped against the rack.

Just then, a mechanical arm extended the box before him. Inside was the old Arc Reactor. The silver metal ring reflected a faint gleam beneath the lights, and the words engraved on its base were clearly visible.

"Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart"

The old core's glow illuminated his face.

"You finally got the right thing." Tony smiled weakly and slammed the glass display case against the floor.

Shards flew everywhere, glittering beneath the lights like a miniature meteor shower. Some grazed his fingers, cutting several tiny wounds. Beads of blood seeped out and ran down from his fingertips. He did not care. He pulled the old core from the broken glass and, trembling, pressed it against his chest.

Click.