Thaw

Thirteen

Flashbulbs gave Tony anxiety attacks.

Clamouring crowds also gave her anxiety attacks. And board members, and dresses. And don't even get her started on board members in dresses.

Ever since Tony had come to the painful understanding that she could not go to her parents for any emotional support whatsoever, she had gotten really good at getting it from a bottle, and really, really good at appearing as though she didn't need it at all. She became an actress of Streep-like proportions, entirely unrecognized by the academy. Her façade provided a small measure of protection for the secrets of her heart. Her literal heart, especially.

To everyone save a select few, Tony Stark was the embodiment of flamboyance and extravagance - wild, brazen, and reckless, with scandal and outrage trailing at her coattails. No one could deny she was brilliant, and most acknowledged her as a force to be reckoned with, but that didn't mean they thought of her in a remotely favourable light. She was used to this. For the most part, she wanted it - being selfish and irresponsible was a good alibi against the charges of heroism. But a part of her always felt those nasty jabs from the media, those disapproving looks from every corner, those whispered accusations of home-wrecking and fraudulence. The art of misdirection was a tricky one, and an excellent tool. But it came at high cost for Tony.

"Another day, another gala, huh?," asked Happy as Tony slumped into the car after exiting Stark Industries. Signing off on clean-energy project reports on her desk, approving updated schematics for building security, and making last minute adjustments to the evening's schedule had eaten up her morning. She was late to pick up her dress from Valentino, and she hated being late almost as much as he hated her being late.

"Another gala, another circle of hell," grumbled the heiress, as she looked out the window to see press agents still shouting questions through the closed door. Mirrored aviators hid the truth in her eyes as she faked a smile and blew them kisses from a cherry-red mouth. "The damn thing hasn't even started yet and I'm already fending off sharks."

"Now, what self-respecting pap wouldn't try to catch the first shot of the great Ms. Stark's evening attire?"

"What did I tell you about the Ms.? What did I say, Happy? No Ms.! No. Bad."

"Have you got a date yet?," her security detail/driver/wingman asked, ignoring the chastisement. "I could make some calls."

"No more setups. Not after Giovanni."

"You two would have made beautiful little Italian-"

"Unbelievable."

"-cannolis! I was going to say cannolis, I don't even know what you were thinking."

"Shut up," Tony laughed, her mood clearing slightly. Happy always knew how to cut through her gloominess. He earned his moniker at their first encounter, forged from irony. He'd been an uptight, downright surly security detail attached to her by Obadiah of all people. After nearly thirteen years, calling him Happy wasn't just a smartass retort from Tony "Fight Me" Stark - he'd become key to her happiness just as much as Pepper.

"Fine," he sighed loudly. "I'll go with you, stop grovelling." He cast a serious eye to the rear view mirror. "Man, I'm so good to you."

His companion responded with a smirk. "Aww, Happy. That you would bend down to my level and gift upon me your presence, it means so much."

"I know."

"I'm truly honoured."

"As you should be. I'm a catch." Snorting laughter came from the back seat. "It's true, really! I'm the total package. Ask my mom."