IRON RESOLVE

"Tony… hey, Tony, we've landed."

He wakes up with a start, momentarily disoriented. But just as quickly, he remembers. Tony Stark opens his eyes and groans, looking up into the smiling face of his best friend—one Colonel James Rhodes. Rhodey. Though… no, not Colonel. Not yet. Still Lieutenant Colonel for a couple more years.

That kind of mistake, now that he's back, could endanger everything. Even as he files that away, trying to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through him, and he has to bite back a cry. Maybe coming back to this moment was a mistake too.

"Whoa, hey… easy. Slowly now, man, you've been through a lot."

Rhodey is all over him, acting like a proper mother hen. Not that Tony can blame him. As far as Rhodey knows, Tony has just spent the last three months as a prisoner in Afghanistan, tortured and held captive by terrorists.

And, well… that's not entirely untrue. His body, his scars, his exhaustion—all of that confirms what Rhodey believes. But his mind… heh. His mind is something else entirely.

It had worked.

Well, no. That wasn't right. He knew it would work. The math had been sound.

"…I'm fine, Rhodey. You get what I asked for?"

Rhodey eyes him for a moment longer before letting out a defeated sigh.

"Yeah, Tony. I got your suit."

There's a pang at those words. Not that suit, of course. Rhodey's talking about the Armani suit Tony had asked for the first time around.

Yeah. First time around.

Time travel was real. Who would've thought?

Well, Tony wouldn't have—until he got desperate enough to make it real. Things had gotten so bad in the future that he'd traveled a decade back in time.

A decade. That was all he had to fix things. To prepare.

As he grimaces and winces, struggling into his clothes, he wonders, briefly, if he should have picked a different moment. He could've come back to before the kidnapping. Or a year after. There were a million points in time he could have returned to, and most of them would have been kinder to him than this one.

But he didn't want kind. He didn't want easy.

He wanted to remember.

The pain, the dehydration, the gnawing hunger, the ache in his chest where the arc reactor sat—it was like an ice bath, keeping him sharp. Keeping him focused.

He'd gotten here because of his own arrogance.

Never again.

Once he's dressed, Rhodey insists on the wheelchair. Tony allows it—up to a point. When the plane's loading ramp finally opens, revealing U.S. soil, Tony draws the line at actually being wheeled off the damn thing. Rhodey, thankfully, doesn't push it.

Stepping onto the tarmac, Tony breathes in the California air, remembering how relieved he'd been the first time. He'd been angry, too. On a warpath. But back then, he hadn't even known who the enemy was.

He knew now.

And he wasn't going to let anything get in his way.

Then, there's Pepper.

God.

She looks so young.

Pepper Potts stands there, looking every bit the consummate professional—business attire crisp, red hair in its usual tight bun. But she's fighting a smile. Trying not to break.

He remembers their conversation from last time. The teasing about the red around her eyes. Her dry joke about job hunting. He could recreate it word for word if he wanted to.

But this time…

"God, Pep, I missed you."

Before she can respond, before she can even think, Tony closes the distance between them, cupping her face and kissing her.

It's deep. It's real.

And yeah, they have an audience.

And yeah, technically, they don't have this kind of relationship yet in this timeline.

But Tony doesn't care.

Pepper has been by his side for years. Cleaning up his messes. Handling his business. Taking care of him. She's already proven she's more than capable of being his girlfriend. More than that.

Too fast? Too soon?

Maybe.

But she doesn't pull away. She even leans into the kiss for a second before freezing. And Tony—Tony pulls back before she can decide to push him away.

Her lips part slightly, as if wanting to follow his. Her fingers hover at her mouth, touching where he just kissed her, and she looks completely thrown.

Butterflies. He has to remember the butterflies.

Plenty of things were going to change. Plenty of things needed to change. But the more he altered, the less he could rely on his foreknowledge.

Already, this was different.

He lets her process and turns toward Happy, who stands by the car, holding the door open. The man meets his gaze in the rearview mirror as he slides inside.

"Where to, boss?"

Tony pauses, waiting. Last time, Pepper had insisted on a hospital.

This time?

He glances at her. She's staring at her lap, fingers still on her lips, lost in thought.

Hah.

Well, if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

"Cheeseburger first, Happy. And then… a press conference."

That snaps Pepper out of her daze.

"What—Tony! A press conference? You need a hospital!"

He shakes his head.

"Press conference, Pep. Get it set up."

She doesn't argue as long as she had last time. That's probably a good thing.

Later: The Press Conference

"There he is!"

Obadiah Stane leads the welcoming party, arms spread wide in fake enthusiasm. Tony barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

The snake.

He plays along, letting the man hug him, even as Stane whispers, "Thought we were meeting at the hospital."

Tony smirks.

"Do I look like I need one?"

Of course, he does, but projecting confidence has always been his greatest weapon. And now that he knows Stane is a traitor, he wields it like a blade.

Then, the press conference.

Last time, he'd gone off-script, shutting down the weapons division.

This time?

He steps up to the podium, flashing that trademark Stark smile—dangerous, self-assured, all teeth.

"Hello, everyone. Been a while, hasn't it?"

A few nervous chuckles.

"I won't bore you with the details of my vacation—"

More laughter, hesitant. They don't know whether to be amused or horrified.

Tony likes that.

"But I will say this. It was… enlightening."

He pauses, watching them hang onto his every word. Then:

"Effective immediately, Stark Industries is expanding. Not just weapons. Not just defense. We're entering new markets.

Stay tuned."

He steps off the stage. No announcement about shutting down weapons. No opportunity for Stane to panic.

The man sidles up to him, smiling too wide.

"So. New markets?"

Tony claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard.

"You'll see, Obi."

Then, he walks away.

One decade.

That's all he had.

And nothing—nothing—was going to stand in his way.