chapter xiii.
(  iron man  )

i can't drown
my demons,
they    know
how to swim
can you feel my heart ─── bring me the horizon

malibu, california
may 12, 2010

Then the thrusters ignite and he's flying again, swooping away from my view. I let out an exhausted sigh of relief. The binoculars drop from my face as I hold them at my thighs. I'm seriously considering doing a happy dance when I hear a sudden crumble above me. I look up only to see a large metal suit crash through the ceiling, demolish my piano, and then break through the floor below it.

I scream in horror before I hear car alarms go off following another loud crash. I sprint over to the large hole in the floor, staring down as a metal suit lays on top of the blue sportscar below.

"Holy crap!" I shout.

Dummy then proceeds to spray the metal suit with the fire extinguisher. I run down the stairs and towards the suit to watch the man inside slowly shift around, proving that he is still alive. I let out a sigh of relief before remembering how exactly furious I am. So I bend down, pick up a nearby scrap of metal, and hurl it at the metal helmet.

Suddenly the metal suit jolts and I hear an alarmed, "Ah!"

Still groaning and muttering, Dad yanks off the mask, throws it off to the side, and then turns back to glare, "Seriously?!"

"Quite frankly, it serves you right," I cross my arms across my chest.

He opens his mouth in astonishment, "Excuse me? Did you not just see me crash through three stories?"

"Oh no, I definitely saw that," I scowl, "You tried flying without me around! What were you thinking?!"

He winces, "Sorry. I didn't think you'd be okay with me going ahead and doing it so early."

"Well, we can both see why I'd be right," I gaze up at the holes that lead me to a starry dark sky, "What on earth were you thinking?!"

"Lees, do you not see how absurd it is that I have just made history and yet here you are, grilling me?" Dad frowns, standing, "That just doesn't make any sense."

"Sense? You're talking about not making any sense?! Hey, okay, let's put things back into perspective, shall we?! You were the one who just decided to take off in a tin can and fly through the starry night sky. How's that for sense, hm?!"

Dad and I irritatedly glance at each other as he moves to the machines that are supposed to get him out of the suit.

"Who helped create said 'tin can' again?" Dad says, grimacing at the rough procedure of taking off the suit, "Right, you."

"And whose original idea was it?" I point a finger at him in blame.

"That's right," he agrees, very astutely, "And as the ideaman, I think that I am entitled to trust my work."

I scoff and decide to yell at him about something else, "Why are we hiding this from Pepper? You seriously couldn't think she's not trustworthy, could you?"

"Of course not!" Dad grunts as the machines pull off the final piece, "It's honestly to just keep her safe. The less anybody knows about this, the better. Less accountability; that sort of thing."

He then walks across the workshop in his tank top and pants. He winces as he bends in front of the mini fridge and pulls out an ice pack. He pushes it against his head and leans back against the wall to look over at me. My arms are still crossed over my chest and the resentment hasn't left my features yet.

Dad sighs and moves over towards me, "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? Like I said, I just figured it would be best to be on my own for it. In case," he stops and looks over at the work tables.

I clench my jaw, "In case something happened. In case you fell to your death, you mean, right?"

He frowns and nods, "I didn't want you around for it, on the off chance that it were to happen."

"But I was around for it and it almost did happen. I had a great view from our terrace out back of you plummeting through the sky, looking like you were about to become the human equivalent of a pancake!"

He smiles faintly.

"I'm serious!" I sigh, "Dad, I need to be around for things like that, so I can help you,"

He nods again and, at this point, I'm figuring he's just going to agree with anything I say to appease me.

"Okay, I'm done," I shrug, "And I'm done 'grilling' you too."

He smiles wider and kisses my forehead, "Good, because we have work to do."

"It's not what I actually think, you know," I say as he starts walking over to the computers, "About the suit. I didn't mean it when I said it was a tin can."

He glances back, "I know, Smalls."

I sigh, "Well, why did your suit give out anyway? That was the reason you fell, right?"

"Ice," he answers simply, gliding into his chair, "Right, Jarvis?"

"An very astute observation, Sir," Jarvis responds snarkily.

"And the main transducer feels sluggish at plus forty altitude," Dad grunts a little as he leans forward in his seat.

I wince for him, "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he grunts again as he sits up straight, "Yes, mhm."

"I'll grab another ice pack," as I walk over to the mini fridge, I add, "How you managed to survive twenty years without me is unthinkable."

He chuckles as he turns on the TV, "Just as unthinkable as how you managed to survive two without me."

"That's true," I say quietly.

He doesn't speak for a moment, realizing what he just said. It kind of is a miracle that I survived those first two years of my life to finally get to Dad. I doubt I would've survived as long as I have if I had been without him for these past twelve years. I don't really want to discuss that anymore and he doesn't seem to want to either. We just leave it alone. Dad keeps going on about making improvements and adjustments to the suit, most of which I don't even understand. Technology is kinda my thing, but not in the same way that it's Dad's. I'm usually pretty lost whenever he goes into deep detail.

"Tonight's red-hot red carpet is right here at the Disney Concert Hall, where Tony Stark's third annual benefit for the Firefighter's Family Fund has become the place to be for L.A.'s high society," the reporter on the screen says.

At the sound of his name, Dad leans over the side of the computer screen to see the TV and he blinks, confused.

I walk back over and press the ice pack against his arm, "Oh yeah, this is the thing Pepper's going to."

Dad pulls his head back a bit, making that intrigued but mischievous face of his, "I don't remember any invitation for that. Jarvis, we get an invite for that?"

"I have no record of an invitation, Sir," Jarvis responds.

I sit down on his desk, "Pepper says she thinks that Obie doesn't want you to go. He probably thinks you'll suggest blowing up the weapons arsenal next, but, I have to say, that'd be quite the show with the amount of nuclear ones we have in there."

He doesn't crack even a little smile at my flat joke, he's too engrossed in the report.

I turn to watch the screen as the woman on the screen continues on, "...hasn't been seen in public since his bizarre and highly controversial press conference."

"Well, there you go, summed you up in three words: bizarre and highly controversial."

He at least smiles now.

"Neither has his fourteen year old daughter, Lisa Stark, been seen since her interview with Vanity Fair. Some claim he's suffering from post-traumatic stress while she is dealing with the early stages of pregnancy," he scowls at this and I look down at my lap, "and both have been bedridden for weeks. Whatever the case may be, no one expects an appearance from the remnants of the Stark dynasty tonight."

I scoff and push myself off of the desk. I move over to the screen that shows the rendering of the suit. It's now a shiny gold and it reminds me of a gangster's gaudy necklace.

"The render is complete," Jarvis announces.

"A little ostentatious, don't you think?" Dad asks.

"What was I thinking? You're usually so discreet," Jarvis jabs.

I laugh.

Dad glances at the roadster we were working on together before Afghanistan, uh, happened, "Tell you what. Throw a little hot-rod red in there."

I whirl back around to him, "Okay, you know how I said 'highly controversial' describes you, well, here's where it plays in. Hot-rod red is cool, but it's not very practical."

"And when have you ever known me to be practical?" he asks, spinning in his chair.

"And hence the 'bizarre'," I sigh, "Alrighty, but I decide which colors go where."

He concedes and I quickly get to work on organizing the red and gold until I like it.

Jarvis then says, "The render is complete."

Dad quickly goes, "Hey, I like it. Fabricate it. Paint it."

"Commencing automated assembly," Jarvis tells us, "Estimated completion time is five hours."

I rest my elbows on the desk, getting ready for the long wait.

"Hey, how long will it take for you to get fancy?"

"Huh?" I look back at him, confused.

"We're going out," Dad stands and takes the ice pack off of his arm, "Come on."

"'Out'?" I repeat as I follow him towards the workshop door, "'Out' as in out for pizza? 'Fancy' as in, like, out of my pajamas and into jeans and a shirt that doesn't belong to you?"

"Eh, no, I mean 'out' as in to a certain party and 'fancy' as in floor-length," he tells me as we round the corner into the living room.

"The Benefit? You want to go to the third annual," I forget the title.

"Benefit for the Firefighter's Family Fund," he completes for me as he jogs up to the next floor and I follow sluggishly behind.

"Yeah, that," I begin to whine, "Please, don't make me go to that."

"Why not? It'll be fun."

"No, it won't," I frown and follow him into his big bedroom, "Listen, you know I'm all for supporting the company, but this isn't that. This is making a statement, and I am not in the mood for reporters and cameras and people who don't like me."

"Everybody likes you."

"No, everybody pretends to like me because they know you will fire them if they don't. And by 'fire', I mean set on fire, not just put them out of a job."

He laughs.

"I'd much rather stay here with Jarvis and oversee the paint job."

He pulls a suit out of his walk-in closet, "You need to get out of the house. You're a teenager. Start acting like one for once."

"I'm trying, okay?" I throw out my hip and rest my hand against it, "I'm not going. That's it. That's final. You're not in charge of me and nothing that you say or do can force me into going."

He raises an eyebrow in my direction.

"How was that for being a teenager?" my face crumbles in question.

"Weak, at best. I'd give it maybe a 12%."

I groan and slide over to him, "Daddy,"

He laughs again, "Go get changed, I mean it."

"Fine, but be aware that being a teenager does not mean going to a party full of stuffy old people who yack about business and nothing else."

He agrees sadly, "Unfortunately, that's true."

Luckily, Pepper always makes sure I am prepared for instances such as this. I already have a freshly-pressed and dry-cleaned dress and a pair of shoes waiting in my closet. I do my best to make my hair look at least close to being fancy, but I have to wear it down to cover the parts of my lower shoulders that shows some of my scars. That's always been a major challenge for me, finding things that cover my scars adequately. Whether it is bathing suits or formal dresses, it has always been my main concern. I practically bathe in perfume and it feels like I've forgotten how to put on makeup after not using it for so long.

After about twenty minutes, there's a knock on my door and Dad's voice rings out, "You are like every other woman! Are you almost done?!"

I open the door and scowl, "Women are slower because men make them feel like they need to do more by putting on makeup, doing their hair, and all of that other crap that makes them 'attractive'. Don't blame my gender for what yours requires."

He looks surprised, "Well. Okay."

I blink, "Sorry. I hate makeup and I came up with that entire rant in my head while I was putting it on. It just kind of came out."

He shakes his head and smiles. Naturally, he insists we drive one of his most expensive cars to the party. I'm wincing the entire time he drives us there too because I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill us by the speed he's going.

When we pull up, the valet welcomes us and eagerly accepts Dad's wad of cash. Dad smoothly jumps up the curb as I trip on it. He catches me gracefully and gives me a smile that shows that he's laughing at me. I elbow him lightly as we continue to make our way up the red carpet. He puts his hand on my back as the reporters and other random people practically lunge at us. When he glances at a few of the interestingly dressed women that we pass, I elbow him again.

"What?" he asks, glancing down at me with a faux innocence.

A few women try to flirt with him as we walk by, but I give them each a good scowl that at least gets them to shut up for now.

"Hey Tony!" one bottle blonde pipes up, wearing a stupid grin as we pass, "Remember me?"

"Sure don't," is all he replies.

Awkward.

Dad gives an old man a pat on the back, saying, "You look great, Hef."

"Was that," I glance over my shoulder as we pass him and the women he's around.

"Who?"

"Nevermind," I shrug.

Obie comes into view and Dad slows our pace a little, slowly walking up to him. I hike up my skirt so not to trip on it as we reach him.

"What's the world coming to when a guy's got to crash his own party?" Dad asks with a slight smile.

Obie laughs a little, but speaks in an oddly insincere tone, "Look at you two. Hey, what a surprise."

"Yeah, doesn't Lisa look great?" Dad asks, smiling at me, trying to break the tension between us all.

I smile back and give that typical response that everyone's expecting, "Dad, don't embarrass me."

Yep, that one.

"Yes, she does," Obie also smiles down at me, "Lovely as ever, Sweetie. So much like your grandmother,"

I was ten years old and Pepper was taking me to a big art show that was in town. Dad and I had recently had another real spat, our first since when I was five and it was again not an actual full-blown argument, but it still wasn't sitting with me well. We moved on from it pretty easily, but neither of us discussed it, leaving a big elephant in the room. This irrational fear kept nagging at me, saying that he was going to get rid of me now that I had argued with him. I was so scared I could hardly sleep or eat.

I kept my eyes trained out the car window when I asked, "Pepper, what do you think he saw in me? That very first day. In the hospital."

"What?" Pepper looked over at me, "Who? You mean your dad?"

I nodded only a little, "There was something," I paused, "something that he saw. Something that made him know."

It had been bothering me for the longest time. I could tell something changed in him when we locked eyes for the first time and I wanted to know it what it was.

She was quiet for a long moment, "It's funny. One morning, before you woke up, I came to the house and found him sitting at the kitchen table. He was staring out the window with this look of determination that just surpassed anything I had ever seen in him. I finally decided to ask him what you just asked me. I could see that something happened, something changed in him after what I had seen in the magazines, I just didn't know what exactly."

I looked at her seriously, needing to know the reason why he kept me around back then and why he would hopefully keep me around still, "And what did he say?"

"He said he saw his mother," she responded with another smile, "The only person on earth he was certain who loved him, and he saw her in you. And he knew that no matter what, you belonged to him and he to you. Lisa, from day one, he knew that you two had an unbreakable bond to one another. If there were any two people on Earth who were meant to be with each other, it was you and your father."

My smile is actually genuine when I respond, "Thank you, Obie. That means a lot."

"Yeah," Dad skirts around him, apparently done with the conversation now, "We'll see you inside."

"Hey. Listen, take it slow, all right?" Obie turns to talk to him quietly, "I think I got the board right where we want them."

"You got it. Just cabin fever," Dad moves us towards the entrance, "We'll just be a minute."

"Liar," I mumble as we quickly move up the steps.

"Sh," he teasingly grits his teeth in faux worry.

"What's with you and Obie though, seriously? I can tell something's off,"

He stops and turns his body right and left, looking for someone, "We're at a crossroads, I think. He wants to go one way with the company when I want to go the other. He's struggling seeing my new direction."

"And is that why you don't trust him with your arc reactor?"

He gives me a strange look, "I never said I didn't trust him with my arc reactor."

"You didn't exactly say you did trust him with it either," I shoot back, "You don't trust him with the suit either. You think he'd use them as weapons if he got his hands on them."

He smiles a bit falsely, "I think you're a little too insightful for fourteen. Now go have some fun," he nods to the dancefloor, "Dance with somebody."

"Ew," I tell him.

"Go on," he nudges me with his shoulder and points with his chin.

I heave a sigh and slip in with the crowd, picking up his not so subtle hint at wanting a few minutes to think alone. I step off to the side and try to blend in, wanting to disappear. Unfortunately, I am not so lucky. Many board members and other notable members or contributors to Stark Industries come up to talk with me. I wasn't wrong when I said that all they pretty much want to talk about is business. I engage surprisingly well, doing my best not to seem as I really am at the moment. Uninterested. Bored. Rude. I slip away from them with a polite 'excuse me', in search of finding someone I actually know. Like Pepper. Or Dad. Those are actually the only two people I know here who I can talk to. I should probably avoid Obie though.

Unfortunately I see a face that makes me want to do something violent.

"Lisa Stark," Christine Everhart smiles as she walks over to me.

I don't resist the scowl that takes over my features, "Oh dear, should I start watching my words and actions right now? Who knows what else you'll take blatantly out of context?"

She laughs, but it's completely fake, "I hope you understand that it was all just part of my job. Besides, the news cycles are very quick to change," she motions her hands around, "That has been buried deep under numerous stories by this point. It really will fade quickly, I can assure you."

"No, it won't," I put on a disbelieving smile and I shake my head, "Thanks to you, that story is now forever plastered on my reputation like a tattoo on my forehead. That'll be good for my future career as a CEO," I turn to walk away before deciding I have more to say, "And you know what else? Even if it is just part of your 'job', where in the world was your human decency when you decided to write that piece? I am a fourteen year old girl! You somehow thought that it was okay to lie and tell the entire country that I was raped and impregnated by my kidnappers?"

She grits her teeth and I then see how much she really hates me, "Listen here, you little spoiled brat,"

"No, you listen!" I snap, glaring into her eyes, "For a reason that only God knows, you are considered a respectable reporter. People believe your stories. So, now exactly 67%, I found a poll online by the way, of the American population believe that the heir of Stark Industries is pregnant with a terrorist's child. So, thank you," I give a low and sarcastic bow of the head, "The next time I meet some poor soul who has been recently released from captivity and wants to become the spectacle of the nation, I'll know exactly whose number I should give to them."

Satisfied, I turn and march away. Letting out a deep breath, I nod in pride of what I just said. I stood up for myself and it felt good. I catch sight of strawberry-blonde hair and I see a familiar figure leading Pepper out onto the balcony. Huh. Dad and Pepper are about to go talk alone. I can't help the smirk that touches my cheeks.

"Miss. Stark?" a voice asks from my side and a hand drops on my bare arm.

My palms go sweaty and I feel dazed as I slowly turn to see him standing there.

His face is as cruel and simple and sleek as I remember. He has a small smirk playing at his thin lips and his eyes are as watery blue as ever. I want nothing more than I scream in terror at the sight of Edgar Frost standing beside me, but I physically bite my tongue so hard that it draws blood. My breath trembles as I pull it in.

"Dance with me," he doesn't ask as his tight grip pushes me out onto the dancefloor.

I cringe and my lip trembles as he takes my hand in his and puts his other hand on my waist. I catch my breath at the feeling of his hands on me once more. Terror works like a dagger in my chest. We step with the music, back and forth then side to side. I can't feel my legs and it scares me that I'm letting him guide me. The scars on my stomach and back burn worse than ever.

"Oh, come now, Dimples, say something," he whispers in my ear, "I've heard of your miraculous recovery when it comes to your vocal cords. Surely, you'd want to show it off."

My eyes squeeze shut, "I-I can't think."

"Yes, well, excitement does tend to do that to people."

I open my eyes to see if he's serious. I can't honestly tell.

"Excited?" I repeat, "Why would I be excited to see you?"

"Usually little girls are excited to see their fathers. After all, I am the only father you knew for those first two years of your life, remember? I'm sure you do. You have a better memory than anyone I know," his hand lifts from my waist to brush a lock of hair from my face.

His fingers brush my cheek and I recoil at his touch.

"You're not my father," I whisper, sharply.

"Hmm, no, but I used to be," his pale eyes lift from my face to scan the room, "I wonder where your darling daddy is now."

I hurriedly crane my neck around to find him. I need him. I need him to come help me. I need him to take me away from this man. He's nowhere to be found. He must still be out on the balcony. With Pepper. Even Obie's a no show. I'm all alone.

"Probably needed a break from you," he says.

I think of how Dad tried to get me to dance. He did need a break.

"Three months alone in a cave with you is unimaginable."

I look away from him, not responding.

"Still not showing yet, hm?" his hand slides from my waist over to my stomach.

Everything in me wants to shove him away and run, but I'm frozen. It's as if he has this power and control over me that I can't break.

"It," I whisper, "it wasn't real. There isn't a baby. There isn't anything."

"I wonder how he feels, how guilty he must feel to have let this happen to you," his lips touch my ear as he continues to whisper, "how he let any of this happen to you."

'Any' insinuates that he means more than just being kidnapped and whatever else he imagines that went on in Afghanistan. He means when I was a little girl. He means when Mama was raising me and beating me. He means when he himself hurt me. He believes my father just let that happen?

"It-it wasn't his fault,"

"Oh, I agree," he says, tilting his head to the side a little, "We both know whose fault it really is, don't we?"

Tears fill my eyes.

Me.

I do blame me. I thought it before and I still think it. I was the one who convinced Dad to take me to Afghanistan. If I wasn't there, then he would have never had to worry about me. He would have only had to worry about keeping himself alive. He wouldn't have to feel all of that fear and guilt. He and Yinsen wouldn't have had to rush at the very end to finish Mark I if I wasn't there and Yinsen would probably be back home in Gulmira. Everything that happened in there was my fault.

"Yes," I can't believe the word leaves my lips.

"Why don't we take a walk, hm?"

"No," I work out.

His hand digs into my waist and he's pushing me across the dancefloor and into a more secluded area. We're walking down a long hallway and no one is around anymore. My whole body is shaking as he keeps a hand on my waist, forcing me to go wherever he wants.

"What do you want?" I finally ask, "Money, is that it? Is that what all of this is for?"

He laughs lightly, "Money is useless to me. Liars, beggars, and thieves strive after money. I am none of those."

"No, you're just a child-abuser," I say harshly, but then I'm proud that I actually said it out loud.

He laughs again before suddenly wrenching me around and slamming me up against the wall. I cry out and his hand claps over my mouth. I struggle against him, kneeing and fighting, but it's no use. He is much bigger and stronger than I am. He always has been. Tears slide down my cheeks as I stare into his watery eyes.

"'What is all of this for'?" he repeats my question mockingly, "This is for you, Dimples. From the first moment I met you and your pitiful mother, I knew that you had one destiny. You were born to die."

My eyebrows furrow in pain.

"But I liked your spirit, your resilience. I suppose it must have been from your father though because your mother had none of that," he says thoughtfully.

Suddenly I see a glint of a knife in his hand. I start screaming and thrashing harder than before. I beat my body up against him and the wall, trying to get him either to free me or for someone to hear me. I feel a sharp pain slicing across my flesh and I scream louder into his hand. Blood trickles down my collarbone and it hurts so much.

"Now doesn't that remind you of old times?" he questions, "Just put yourself out of your misery, Dimples. Your mother hated you and threw you away. Your father seems to do everything he can to get away from you, from when you were conceived until now," I sob, "And from what I hear, instead of friends to keep you company, you only have nightmares. Isn't it just too painful to go on? Wouldn't you just rather be done?"

He pulls away from me and I slide down to the floor, pushing a hand up against my newest slice. He crouches down and then leans forward. He presses two kisses against my cheeks, one on each stream of tears.

"Remember what I said," he whispers into my ear.

*screams* Edgar!!!! He's one of the big baddies in Lisa's life. Thoughts now that you've (sort of) seen him in person? He is so stinkin' creepy, gosh! And he's also super important. And did ya catch Lisa's slight recognition of Stan Lee as they were entering the party? I thought it'd be fun to add it in.

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