Peachy Keen

Chapter 3

Tony had never had much cash on him in person at one time. Most of the time he didn't have any,
really, so he was slightly taken aback by the volume of space that much paper took up. A U.S. dollar
bill is .0043 inches thick, but that depends on the bill being brand new and lying absolutely flat. Most
of the money was in small denominations, because hello, petty cash. The attaché had helpfully
provided a money belt and an inexpensive wallet, and Tony stuffed some of the bills into the toes of
the overly large shoes donated by one of his doctors. He felt better after he'd put the t-shirt over his
scrub top, but still felt lumpy and attractive to the wrong sort of person. Tony Stark could be killed
by a mugger for a measly fifteen grand, which would be sad for so many reasons. The attaché had
apologized that it wasn't more, but they'd been entertaining various ambassadors and their staff,
trying to set up the beginnings of cultural and commercial alliances for Wakanda, and had spent
much of the monthly budget already.

He had to make a decision quickly. He was self-aware enough to know that if he didn't find a
productive job, something to keep him occupied, he'd have too much time to dwell on the fact that
he'd pretty much given up and wouldn't it be a good time to take a drink or a few thousand? No, he'd
tried diving into a bottle before, and he wasn't going to repeat his mistakes. He was going to make all
new mistakes!

So, a job. Justin Hammer somehow had got out of jail and still had his company, plodding along
with really pathetic products. Tony's stomach turned at the very idea of working for Hammer, even
as an outside contractor. Hammer would keep him a secret, and take whatever Tony wanted to give
him, he had all sorts of ideas S.I. wasn't using, so it wouldn't even be competing with Pepper. But.
HAMMER. God, no. Hammer would fuck up whatever Tony gave him, even if it was a simple
kitchen blender. And associating with Hammer would crush Tony's very soul. The hot dog he'd
eaten was uneasy at the thought.

Tony tapped at his telephone, thoughtfully, and moved to a new rock, where he could watch
snapping turtles munch on pond vegetation. He admired their jaws and their armor was pretty cool,
too.

Ok, put his thoughts in order, go over the people he knew wouldn't be watched by the government,
and could possibly use his talents.

Laura Barton had enough stress with a fugitive husband and three small children to look after. She
had struck him as a very capable person, so he was sure she had plans in the event Hawkeye never
returned, but those plans hardly included taking in strays, even ones that could fix her tractor.

Fury was out there, somewhere in the wind, but even if Tony could reach him, he sure wasn't going
to work for Neo-SHIELD or whatever organization had Fury pulling strings. Fury had too many
times been willing to use indiscriminate weapons of mass destruction.

God knows, and Tony huffed a little at the inadvertent pun, only God knows where Thor was. Jane
had told him, during one of their Science Sibs bitch sessions over coffee and donuts, that Asgardians
thought of Earth's people as disposable as goats. And even if Thor had become enlightened-- Tony
rubbed at his throat, feeling once more a self-proclaimed god's hands on him-- even if Thor invited
Tony to Asgard and flung open the doors to their workshops, their science relied on entirely new
technology. Sure, he could learn it, Tony hadn't met any science he couldn't learn, but would their
scientists be willing to share secrets? They hadn't wanted to with Jane, even when they needed to in
order to save themselves.

He had no idea where Bruce was, not that it would help to join forces even if Bruce felt like teaching
Tony how to live on the run. Tony didn't know how Bruce had lived without using his skills as a
scientist. Tony couldn't even fall back on doctoring the poor. He could fix their cars, though. He
liked working on cars. He could do that, couldn't he? He hadn't had time to tinker in years.

Natasha was either in the wind, or with Rogers. T'Challa hadn't mentioned her, but then Tony hadn't
asked. She'd turned coat so many times Tony wouldn't trust her not to turn him in, either for a
personal advantage, or simply for Rogers' approval.

And Rogers. Even if Rogers had any resources beyond his innate nobility and shining purity of
spirit, Tony would die in FIRE before he'd ask Rogers for a glass of water.

So that left..."Friday," Tony said into his phone, "I need suggestions. Where can I go?" he knew it
was ridiculous to expect Friday to answer. She was young still.

"Can you give me some parameters, Boss?"

Tony sighed. "I have less than fifteen thousand dollars, and no tech beyond this phone. I need a
place where I can... reinvent myself. If I'm not Iron Man any longer, who am I?"

"Reinvent yourself, Boss?" Friday's confusion was obvious.

Tony ran his hand through his hair. One of the turtles grabbed a duckling from underneath, pulled it
under, and ate it. He didn't admire them so much any longer. "I need to work with my hands, but I
can't be caught applying for a hi-tech position with any company. I don't have enough start up funds
for much beyond the basics. A workshop with adequate tools, low profile, and totally relaxed hiring
standards would be great. Also, I'll need a new identity, but it'll take time to set up the background
and insert the data everywhere so it'll hold up. Once I decide who I want to be, we'll work out the
details, and you can do that.

"But that's for later. Right now... I need a place to start. It'd be nice if you could also make sure I
don't wind up in a nest of Iron Man haters. I'm a little tired of that, right now."

"Yes, Boss," Friday said. She made humming noises, and flipped through images and scrolled data
too fast for him to read, as her way of telling him she was working. After a few seconds the images
stopped scrolling, freezing on one image, a black and white scan of a page from a glossy flier, a
small town supermarket handout by the less than professional look of it. "Boss? Is this a possibility?"

Under the heading 'Tennessee Home Handyman' was a photograph of a four-fingered Iron Man
hand. A telephone number, address, and 'We're connected' was written on the bottom.

Tony sat up straight. "Harley," he said softly. It had been... what, five years. Harley must be eighteen
by now, at least. He'd sent Harley an entire workshop, and made sure a full-ride M.I.T. scholarship
awaited him, but kept away after that. He shouldn't drag Harley into his mess... but maybe a visit.
Just... long enough to use his tools, make himself a half-decent computer, see how Harley was doing.

Just a brief visit. That's all. Just to see.

"Friday, figure out the safest, quickest way for me to get to Rose Hill, Tennessee." Tony smiled. It
would be good to see someone whose life he hadn't ruined.