Smith and Tony emerged from the hearing chamber into the harsh sunlight of the Washington afternoon. The steps outside were crowded with journalists shouting questions, camera flashes strobing in their faces, but security kept them at a distance.
As they reached the waiting vehicles, Tony paused and turned to Smith. "Hey man, I'm planning to attend a car race in Monaco next week. Want to come?"
Smith studied Tony for a moment, noting the energy in his movements, the clarity in his eyes—such a stark contrast to the poisoned, dying man from just days ago. "Hasn't the chest issue been initially resolved? Why are you still planning adrenaline-junkie activities?"
Tony's grin was pure mischief. "I scheduled this before the whole poisoning crisis. Besides, racing is fun. Even superheroes need to remember to enjoy life occasionally."
He clapped Smith on the shoulder. "Come on, it'll be good. Monaco, beautiful weather, fast cars, international celebrities. What's not to like?"
Smith shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "Since you're inviting me so enthusiastically, I suppose I can reluctantly accept."
"Excellent!" Tony pointed finger-guns at Smith. "I'll send you the details. We'll fly out together."
Tony turned toward his waiting car where Pepper stood by the open door, then looked back. "Thanks again for the medical pod. Life-changing doesn't begin to cover it."
"Just remember to actually find that replacement element," Smith called after him. "The pod buys you time, not immortality."
"Working on it!" Tony slid into the car beside Pepper, and Happy pulled away from the curb.
Stark Malibu Residence - Later That Evening
The drive back to Malibu had been quiet, Pepper reviewing documents on her tablet while Tony stared out the window. But the moment they entered Tony's beachfront villa, Pepper's professional composure cracked.
"Why," she said, her voice tight with controlled frustration, "are you donating our entire modern art collection to the Boy Scouts of America?"
Tony winced. Right. That decision. He'd made it three days ago when he'd been convinced he had weeks to live and was trying to put his affairs in order. The art collection had seemed unimportant in the face of mortality.
Now, saved by Smith medical technology and no longer dying, the donation felt... premature.
But retracting it would be front-page news. Tony Stark Takes Back Charity Donation wasn't a headline he wanted to see.
"The Boy Scouts are a very meaningful organization," Tony said, injecting false enthusiasm into his voice. "Building character, teaching survival skills, all that wholesome stuff."
He moved toward the bar, suddenly needing a drink. "Besides, I didn't personally check all the crates before they were shipped. Surely we kept some pieces back?"
"No," Pepper said, her voice rising. "We didn't. The entire collection. Gone."
She followed him across the room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "Do you have any idea how much work I put into cataloging and organizing that collection? Ten years, Tony. Ten years of my life spent tracking down pieces, verifying authenticity, managing insurance, arranging storage."
Her voice cracked slightly. "I put emotion into that work. And you just... gave it all away. Without asking. Without even telling me until it was done."
Tony's jaw tightened. Eight thousand pieces. Yeah, that was... that was a lot. Several hundred million dollars' worth of art, probably. Maybe more.
But admitting mistake wasn't in the Stark playbook.
"Look, it's a tax write-off," he said, pouring whiskey with perhaps more force than necessary. "Major deduction. That's just good financial planning."
Pepper's expression suggested she was reconsidering her employment choices. "Tony, you don't donate to charity for tax benefits. And if you were trying to optimize taxes, you'd donate to your own museum or foundation, not an external organization."
"Well, it's done now," Tony said, taking a drink. "Can't exactly call them and ask for it back. 'Sorry, changed my mind, dying crisis averted, can I have my Pollocks back?' That would make me look ridiculous."
Pepper took a long breath, clearly counting to ten internally. "Fine. The art is gone. I'll... process that later."
Her expression shifted to genuine concern. "But at the hearing, Smith mentioned something about your chest problem being resolved. What did he mean?"
Tony set down his glass and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it open to reveal smooth, unmarred skin where the arc reactor cavity had been.
Pepper's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god. What... how is this possible? Where's the reactor? The shrapnel?"
She stepped forward, her hand reaching out tentatively to touch his chest, confirming it was real. Her fingers traced where the reactor housing had been, finding only warm skin and steady heartbeat.
"How did you do this?" she whispered. "Is this what Smith was talking about?"
Tony re-buttoned his shirt, enjoying her genuine shock. "They have a medical treatment pod at Smith's base. It's revolutionary. Beyond anything in current medical science."
He moved to sit on the couch, suddenly tired despite his restored health. "The device removed all the shrapnel, healed the cavity in my chest, repaired accumulated tissue damage I didn't even know I had. I feel ten years younger. Maybe fifteen."
"But it's not cheap," he added. "Fifteen million per session. Remind me to have accounting transfer the funds when we get back to the office."
Pepper sank into the chair across from him, still processing. "That money is absolutely worth it. You're not going to die from shrapnel migration. You're not slowly poisoning yourself with palladium."
She looked up sharply. "Wait, was that developed by that teenage scientist? Bulma?"
"Has to be," Tony confirmed. "Smith doesn't have that kind of technical expertise, and I can't think of anyone else in his organization with the knowledge base to create medical nanotechnology this advanced."
He leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. "Pepper, if news about this treatment chamber gets out, every wealthy person on Earth will go insane trying to access it. We're talking about genuine life extension—reversing aging damage, repairing injuries that are considered permanent, curing diseases that are currently terminal."
"The ultra-rich would pay anything," Pepper said slowly, understanding dawning. "Hundreds of millions. Maybe billions."
"Exactly. Which is why Smith's smart to keep it quiet." Tony paused. "You should try it. One session. The chamber resets your body to peak physical condition. It's essentially adding years to your life expectancy."
Pepper's eyes widened. The implications were staggering.
Then her professional instincts kicked back in. "Speaking of things you've started and should probably manage—the Expo. It's becoming a logistical nightmare. Shouldn't we shorten it? A full year is excessive."
Tony's expression closed off immediately. "Nothing is more important than the Expo right now. It's my primary focus."
"I don't understand," Pepper said, frustration creeping back into her voice. "The Expo is essentially an exercise in vanity. Meanwhile, Stark Industries is in chaos. You haven't shown up to headquarters in weeks."
Tony stood and headed toward the stairway leading to his workshop. "My stock price has skyrocketed. That's what matters."
Pepper followed, her heels clicking rapidly. "From an operational perspective, the company is a mess! Departments can't get decisions, projects are stalling, executives are fighting over jurisdiction—"
Tony opened the workshop door, the familiar smell of motor oil and solder greeting him. "Let's talk about something else."
"Fine," Pepper said tersely. "What about the contracts? We secured the wind farm project—"
Tony waved dismissively. "Wind. Don't even mention wind. I'm already bored with it."
"—and the emissions treatment facility," Pepper continued, determined. "That was your idea, Tony. You pushed for it. Now you won't even review the implementation plans?"
"They're all your projects now," Tony said, examining a partially-disassembled repulsor assembly on his workbench. "Liberal causes, environmental initiatives—they're noble but boring. I don't care about them anymore."
He picked up a wrench, then set it down again, turning to face Pepper fully. "Actually, I just had an idea. Just came to me this second."
"What idea?" Pepper asked warily.
"You run the company," Tony said.
Pepper blinked. "I... yes? I'm already doing that. I've been doing that for months while you play with cars and fight terrorists."