From a peak of 3500+ daily readings, it has now dropped to less than 800.
I'm a little discouraged...
Steve remained silent for a long time.
He looked into Tony's eyes, as if to confirm whether the "let's fight" was just an impulsive outburst, and whether there was still any lingering hatred in those eyes that had just recovered from anger.
Tony stood in front of him, his coat draped over the back of the chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his expression not exactly calm, but at least no longer the stiff, almost shattering curve of the first time.
Steve didn't see anything amiss. The Tony Stark he knew was adept at using sarcasm and arrogance to mask everything, but the man standing before him now was hiding nothing. He said he wanted a fight, and he really meant it. Not revenge, not venting, but a simpler, more primal way. Probably the only way Tony Stark could accept to settle all those unspoken things once and for all.
"Okay," Steve said, his voice low, "But I have one condition. Lynn and Wanda can't participate. Instead of having them both fight, we'd be better off each getting a gun; it'll save us the effort of fighting."
Tony raised an eyebrow slightly. He hadn't planned to call Lynn anyway; Lynn's mere presence exuded a mocking aura of "I'm watching your show," let alone actually getting him to make a move. As for Wanda, Tony didn't want to drag her into this personal feud.
"Agreed," he said.
The two men exchanged a glance, then Steve turned and opened the door, with Bucky following behind him, his steps a little lighter than when he arrived.
Tony sat in the lounge for a while longer. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair, shook it a couple of times, and put it back on. Then he left the lounge, walked down the hallway, turned into the elevator, and pressed the button for Lynn's apartment floor.
When Lynn opened the door, he was holding an unopened bag of potato chips. He glanced at Tony's face, which held a subtle expression that was hard to define—a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
"You've come at the right time; Natasha just baked a tray of cookies." Lynn stepped aside to let him in. "The experiment failed?"
"The experiment was a success." Tony walked into the living room, threw himself onto the sofa, stared at the plate of freshly baked, still steaming cookies on the coffee table for a moment, then reached out, picked up a piece, took a bite, chewed it twice, and placed the remaining half on the edge of the coffee table, as if he were organizing his thoughts.
Lynn sat down opposite him, tore open the bag of potato chips, and ate them slowly while waiting.
" Steve just came to see me," Tony finally spoke, "With Bucky."
"Um."
"They told me everything about Howard. The exact details—which highway, the weather, how it happened. Not a single word was missed."
"Um."
Tony looked up at him, a hint of displeasure in his voice, "You knew all along."
"Know."
"You know you told Steve, but you didn't tell me." Tony leaned forward, tapping his finger on the coffee table, emphasizing each word. "You made Steve investigate, made him dig up the evidence himself, made him bring Bucky to confess to me. You planned every step perfectly, except for telling me directly. Did you think I couldn't handle it? Or did you think I didn't deserve to know immediately?"
Lynn placed the bag of chips on the coffee table, brushed the crumbs off his hands, and looked up at Tony. His gaze was calm, without any attempt to explain, avoidance of eye contact, or impatience at being questioned.
"You know in your heart that this is the best solution. It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's that telling you would be pointless. If I were to say, ' Tony, Bucky killed your dad,' what would you do after hearing that? Would you go after someone you personally rescued and fought alongside for years? Or would you take your anger out on a Hydra who's been dead for decades?"
Tony didn't speak. His fingers hovered on the edge of the coffee table, his knuckles slightly arched, but he didn't retract them.
"I had Steve investigate because he needed to see the evidence with his own eyes. He needed to personally confirm that his best friend had indeed done those things. He needed to be prepared to face you before Bucky confessed. And Bucky needed to say it himself, to tell you everything, one by one. That's more effective than any third-party intervention."
Lynn leaned back on the sofa and picked up the potato chips again. "Don't you think this is the best solution?"
Tony remained silent for a long time. Then he picked up the half-eaten cookie that was resting on the edge of the coffee table, put it in his mouth, chewed it, swallowed it, and then spoke.
"Thank you," he said, his voice much lower than before, with a frankness that was unusual for Tony Stark. "We've known each other for so long, and you've helped me so many times. This time is no exception."
Lynn looked at him and chuckled. "Alright, stop being so mushy. How are you planning to resolve this? You're not just going to go your separate ways after this conversation, are you?"
Tony's expression instantly brightened. He sat up straight on the sofa, a smug and eager smile playing on his lips—a smile Lynn knew all too well. "I've arranged a fight with them. I've wanted to beat up Steve for ages. They've delivered this opportunity to me themselves; it would be a shame not to seize it."
"You're going to take on both of them by yourself?"
"I'm not stupid," Tony said matter-of-factly, shrugging. "There are two of them, and I'm planning to call one more. Two against two. Win or lose, the past is the past."
Lynn leaned back on the sofa armrest, watching Tony's rapidly returning Stark- esque smug smile, and gently shook her head. "Given your personality, you wouldn't bring this up if you didn't have an idea. You already have one, don't you?"
Tony's smile widened slightly, but he didn't say anything, only giving him a "keep guessing" look.
Lynn looked at him speechlessly, thought for a moment, and then sighed. "Just the person you're thinking of will do. Although he's young, his combat strength already meets your needs."
Tony paused for a moment, then the smugness on his face turned into a deeper smile. "You really do know everything."
"I know a lot more." Lynn crumpled the bag of chips into a ball and tossed it precisely into the trash can next to the coffee table. "Go ahead. Say hello to him for me."
When Peter Parker returned home from school, he had no idea what he was seeing in the living room.
He stood in the entryway with his backpack on, one foot just slipping off his sneakers, the other foot not yet following, and he froze as if a pause button had been pressed. Aunt May sat on the sofa, holding a steaming cup of black tea, tilting her head to talk to the man next to her in a dark gray casual jacket and sunglasses, a subtle smile on her face that Peter hadn't seen in a long time, a smile that was somewhere between excitement and nervousness.
The man turned around, took off his sunglasses, and gave Peter a smile he would never mistake. "Hey, Mr. Parker."
Peter's brain went through a three-stage leap in a fraction of a second: from "This is a dream" to "This is not a dream" to "Oh my god, Tony Stark is in my living room." His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, and the strap of his backpack slipped off his shoulder and landed on his other shoe, which he hadn't had time to take off yet.
" Mr. Stark." Peter finally managed to find a voice, then turned to Aunt May and forced a grim smile. "This is... this is Tony Stark. The Stark of Stark Industries."
"I know," Aunt May said with a smile.
"Yes. The September Foundation." Tony picked up the conversation naturally, turning slightly to Aunt May, his tone polite and composed. "Your nephew submitted an exceptionally strong application." He paused, then added in a very subtle tone, "Especially his performance in physics."
Peter swallowed hard.
Tony stood up from the sofa, looked at Peter, and then glanced at Aunt May. "Would it be convenient for us to talk privately?" He said this with his usual perfectly polite tone, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that only Peter could understand.
Peter followed Tony into his room, instinctively kicking a few comic books scattered on the floor under the bed with his heel. Tony stood in the middle of the room, not sitting down. His gaze swept from the old computer on the desk to the Star Wars poster on the wall, then from the makeshift experimental equipment he had assembled to the nearly dead succulent on the windowsill. Then he pulled a smartphone from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed.
"Have a look."
The screen lit up, and a video started playing automatically. The footage was shaky, taken from a hidden camera angle. In the darkness, a figure in a red and blue striped bodysuit weaved through the buildings of Queens. The next second, an out-of-control car veered wildly through the street, about to crash into a fire hydrant. The red and blue figure descended from the sky, his hands firmly bracing the front of the car. After the screeching of tires and the groaning of metal, the car, weighing at least a ton or two, was brought to a screeching halt.
"The power to stop a moving car with your bare hands." Tony crossed his arms. "I saw online that you hung on a truck with Silk at 45 miles per hour. Your hoodie was pretty creative, but seriously, your goggles were fogged up. Didn't you think about getting a new one?"
Peter's lips moved several times, but he finally gave up all struggle. " Mr. Stark, I... I can explain."
"No need to explain. Your secret identity is probably only worth three seconds of confidentiality to me. I'm not here to expose you; I'm here to recruit you."
"Recruit?" Peter blinked. "To... what for?"
"Come with me to beat up Captain America," Tony said casually, as if inviting him to a weekend tech expo.
Peter instinctively tightened his grip on the ballpoint pen he'd grabbed from the desk, and began his signature rambling. " Mr. Stark, I'm truly honored, really. You've always been my idol, but I'm not entirely sure if I'm the right person for the job. I don't know your friends, and I don't want to get involved in any superhero factional infighting. I mean, I just catch thieves in Queens, occasionally stop a robbery—last week I helped an old lady find her cat, something like that, nothing serious. Uncle Ben said that if you have the ability to do something and don't, then when something bad happens, it's your fault. But..."
Tony raised a hand. Peter immediately shut his mouth.
"Then I'll just have to let Mei keep an eye on you."
He turned and walked away, his tone now more serious, "Also, your hoodie is too tattered. It makes me uncomfortable."
Peter used his web to pin Tony's hand as he tried to open the door, looked him in the eye, paused for a moment, and then asked softly, "So... will I get paid?" He immediately regretted the words and waved his hand hastily, "I mean, as an intern? Because I told Aunt May it was an internship, and if it really is an internship, there should be some kind of payment..."
Tony raised an eyebrow, a familiar, confident smile playing on his lips. "Of course. Who do you think I am? I'm Tony Stark. Your gear upgrades, travel expenses, and your well-deserved salary—not a penny less." He pulled a metal disc from his pocket and casually tossed it to Peter. Peter scrambled to catch it, nearly tripping over his own sneakers. He looked down at the cold metal object in his hand; it was smooth to the touch, its edges gleaming with a faint blue light.
"Your new uniform." Tony had already reached the doorway and waved to him with his back turned. "Don't keep me waiting too long. Also, change out of that old hoodie; we're going to have a big event."
The door clicked shut. Peter stood there, clutching the cold metal disc in his hand, his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his throat. He glanced down at his faded T-shirt, then at the darkening sky outside the window.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, a smirk playing on his lips, " Mr. Stark, you'll regret this."
In the living room, Tony was making his final diplomatic moves with Aunt May. He handed Aunt May a printed internship agreement and explained the details of the Stark Industries September Internship Foundation in an extremely professional tone: all-inclusive room and board, 24/7 mentorship, access to all experimental equipment, and a stipend that was "quite substantial for a high school student."
When he said the word "quite considerable," Aunt May glanced at the figures in the agreement and nearly dropped the dishcloth.
"Of course, if you have any questions, you can always call the contact number on the agreement." Tony straightened his coat collar and gave Aunt May a perfectly timed smile. "We'll make sure your nephew receives the best care here."
Peter peeked out of the room and witnessed this scene. He had never seen any billionaire like Tony Stark, who could use such a subtle approach—between sincerity and business acumen—to make his fabricated internship project sound so real.
Stepping out of his apartment building, Tony stood in the old Queens hallway, the air filled with the aroma of stewed meat from his neighbor's house. He glanced down and straightened his cuffs, the smile still lingering on his lips. He picked up his phone and sent a message to Lynn.
"Nailed it."
After sending the message, he leaned against the railing at the entrance of his apartment building, looking at the New York evening sky. A wisp of dark orange afterglow lingered at the edge of the gray-blue clouds. The streetlights were not yet on, and occasionally a car would roll over a speed bump, making a dull thud.