When Sean saw Tony, Iron Man was dressed like a plumber and enjoying a tuna sandwich. He had just come out of a burger joint with a kid, wearing faded jeans, a grimy coat, and sporting a mess of unkempt hair. There was nothing about him to suggest he had once been a famous billionaire.
"Stand right there. Let me take a picture first. The Daily Bugle will definitely love putting that look of yours on the front page."
A Porsche Panamera was parked by the street. Sean leaned against its hood like some rich guy out at midnight fishing for hot women. His demeanor drew plenty of envious and contemptuous looks; the former because six girls had approached him within ten minutes, and the latter for exactly the same reason.
"Thank God. Not only did you get my message, but you came in person. I'm touched."
Tony rubbed the kid's head beside him, then symbolically wiped at the corner of his eye. His exaggerated performance perfectly conveyed the insincere, perfunctory thanks.
Honestly, he had not held out much hope. He had long prepared himself to be isolated and fight alone. Even without the Iron Armor, Stark would still find the Mandarin and uncover the truth behind the bombings by himself.
That was the pride buried deep in his heart. Tony had never been someone willing to retreat. Even when his life had hung by a thread, he had never given up the identity of Iron Man.
"Yeah. A direct flight from Iceland to New York takes six hours, but I only took three and a half to get from the other side of the planet to this tiny Canadian town that even Google Maps has trouble finding."
Sean shrugged, his casual tone practically saying, "It's no big deal, so