Author's Note: Hello Everyone! If you are reading this, it is most likely because you follow my bestie sithkillagal99. Isn't she amazing? Kinda disturbing at times, and she keeps forgetting about my wedding, but still amazing! Please enjoy and comment what you think. I mean if you hate it and you start crying in a corner, I don't want to torture you, so I'll stop. ;) I'm babbling, so I'll leave you be now.....
P.S- this is set in the final scene of Iron Man 1. The POVs switch often, so be mindful.....
++++++ TONY'S POV ++++++
"I AM Iron Man."
I look around, gauging reactions to what i just said. Everyone has jumped to their feet, completely refusing my request to sit down. How could i be so stupid? I hold my alibi in my shaking hands, wondering why i might've done this. My enemies, new and old, are sure to come. Pepper is in danger. As my best friend, i have to look out for her. What if something happens? Ugh, i need some scotch. Something must be wrong, or i would stop putting myself in these situations. I'll have J.A.R.V.I.S run a neuro scan when i get out of here. I know Rhodey is trying to calm the press. Maybe telling them it's only post- stress. From the accident. It was no accident. They are still out there. Hiding. With my father's weapons, they can do much more than this small inconvenience to me. My technology may be advanced, but I cannot bring back the dead. All the reporters around my are chattering into mics, or taking furious notes. I look down at them, wondering why they think this matters. They are all so indifferent to real problems. They only see the outside. Now they see me as Iron Man, who isn't Iron at all, it's actually a titanium alloid. I expect this to be in the press for week--- wait. There is one Woman, all alone with only a digital camera and a notepad. How did she get in here?
Her dark brown hair was pulled into a bun that defied all laws of gravity AND the latest issue of VOGUE. I would know, they put Pepper on the cover. A few strands were trying to escape and lay against her face or sticking out the top, daring to be defiant. I doubt she uses hairspray.Instead of the usual ballgown-type outfits of the other reporters with curled, dyed, and pressed hair along with impossibly long and thin features that can only be from unhealthy eating habits or not eating at all, she looked like she wouldn't scoff at a Big-Mac every now and then She was wearing slacks and a simple red button-down top with the sleeves pulled over her wrists and wrinkled like she was ready to work, not get a Mani-pedi. Her adorable red-framed readers had slid down to her nose, but she didn't seem to notice. Red. My favorite color. She stands out in the sea of formal tans and blacks. She was tall and seemed like she would love to laugh. She seemed like she didn't care what others thought, only what mattered to her. Maybe a game of laser tag instead of botox. She is a real person who didn't seem like she would put up a stupid front for the movie cameras, instead go in a photo booth with silly hats and not care what others think when she makes herself laugh. But behind those eyes, there was sadness. Something she tried to hide but ruled her life daily. I know the feeling. She needed someone to assure her, to set her free and let her be herself without worries, then who knows what she could do. She wasn't HOT, or SEXY as i called my other "relationships", she was beautiful. She was real. She seemed like she would understand.
But, Instead of scribbling furiously about the impact of my statement or snapping embarrassing photos for her gossip column, she was just looking at me, brown eyes shining through the pain, muttering something like " He was right. He was always right. " But she isn't a Model. She isn't someone i would meet in a nightclub. See, that's me. It's who i've become. It is now my "Identity". I have seen so much bigger things compared to identity. I have an identity, as well. Anthony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, weapons designer extraordinaire, for now. But i could move to Antarctica, become an Eskimo, call myself Bill Cosby from now on, and it wouldn't be wrong if no one knew better. Identities are not real. why do we say someone cannot do something because of who they are? it's like a rule. A barrier. I was born to break rules. Wait, What am i thinking?!? Maybe those cheeseburgers are getting to me. Or maybe i just need to follow my arc reactor in this case.
