Saving Grace

Twenty Six

On the TV, the Mandarin speaks. It's a short speech. "True story about fortune cookies; they look Chinese, they sound Chinese, but they're actually an American invention. Which is why they're hollow, full of lies, and leave a bad taste in the mouth. My disciples just destroyed another cheap American knock-off — the Chinese Theater. Mr. President, I know this must be getting frustrating, but this season of terror is drawing to a close. And don't worry, the big one is coming — your graduation."

Happy was at that theater when the explosion occurred, and he had to be taken to the hospital. When Tony told Grace, she insisted on going to see him, and he couldn't argue with her. She wouldn't let him.

He covered her face with a jacket and held her close when they entered the hospital — there wasn't as crowd as no one knew he would be there.

They've been here ever since. Happy is asleep — he hasn't woken up since he got here — and so is Grace. She's in Tony's lap, her face tucked into his chest with his jacket covering it and most of her top half. They're in a dark corner of the room, which is why the nurse doesn't see them when she goes to turn off the TV — the one that was playing the Mandarin's broadcast.

"Hi," Tony says, startling the nurse a little. "Do you mind leaving that on?"

"Sure," she replies.

"Sunday night's PBS Downtown Abbey. That's his show, he thinks it's elegant," he says, referring to Happy. Grace stirs, and he stands, holding her. Her face is still covered. She's getting too old for him to carry, but he doesn't want to wake her. He goes to leave. "One more thing... make sure everyone wears their badges. He's a stickler for that sort of thing — plus my guys won't let anyone in without them."

The car is out front, and Grace is in his arms and well-covered. The media is outside, expecting at least an appearance. He goes out the front door anyway; it's the easiest thing to do.

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!" a reporter shouts. "Our sources are telling us that this is another Mandarin attack. Anything else you can tell us?" Tony says nothing.

"Is that your daughter?!" As if that's the most important question to be asking right now. He reaches the door of the car and opens the backseat.

"Hey, Mr. Stark!" another reporter shouts. "When is somebody gonna kill this guy?"

He stops, turning. Rage is welling up inside him. He already hurt Pepper, and now Happy is hurt and might not even wake up. And that last part wasn't his fault. "Is that what you want?" he says. "Here's a little Holiday greeting I've been wanting to send to the Mandarin. I just didn't know how to phrase it until now.

"My name is Tony Stark, and I'm not afraid of you. I know you're a coward, so I've decided that you just died, pal. I'm gonna come get the body. There's no politics here; it's just good old-fashioned revenge. There's no Pentagon; it's just you and me. And on the off-chance you're a man, here's my home address: 10880, Malibu Port, 90265. I'll leave the door unlocked." He turns to get back in the car.

"But your daughter-!" another reporter starts.

"What about my daughter?!" Tony shouts. He's worked himself up now. She moves under the jacket. She's awake. He continues anyway. "My daughter — and her mother and her age and her name and anything about her that you people keep asking me — is no one's business but mine and those I'm closest to. And I am so tired of getting asked these questions everywhere I go because, by now, you should all know you're not getting answers from me. She didn't ask to be Iron Man's kid, but she is, and I want to keep her far away from danger — like you people and your stupid cameras and recorders and magazines-"