"Of course, but if it were him, he'd definitely say—"
Leon dragged out his words in a pitch-perfect imitation: "Pepper, I have many habits, but nostalgia isn't one. So take this thing and deal with it—smash it or burn it, your call."
"Pfft—" Pepper burst into laughter, the mimicry so spot-on her shoulders shook. She cradled the Arc Reactor in her hands, her gaze lingering.
"That is exactly what he'd say." Her smile softened. "Where is he now?"
Leon shrugged. "Sleeping. Pulled all-nighters researching. So I knocked him out."
"Days without rest? God, Leon, you did the right thing. Is he in his bedroom?"
"Yep. Go check on him."
"On it!" Pepper hurried off, her steps light yet urgent. At the lab door, she turned back. "And you—get some rest too, understand?"
"Got it, got it!" Leon flashed a grin. "Once I finish tinkering with these gadgets, I'll hit the sack."
Pepper gave an approving nod. "That's my boy!"
As her footsteps faded, Leon exhaled.
"Haaah... crisis averted."
JARVIS chimed in: "Sir, was this truly advisable? Mr. Stark never actually—"
"What's the big deal? If I weren't here, Tony would've handed Pepper that Reactor anyway. My lines were 90% accurate." Leon waved dismissively. "Run your simulations—am I wrong?"
The AI stuttered. "Bzzt... Analyzing Mr. Stark's behavioral patterns... 83% match probability."
"See? Just... streamlined the process." Leon spread his hands. "Pepper's happy, Tony's alive, I get free time. Triple win!"
JARVIS deadpanned: "Mr. Stark will undoubtedly express gratitude."
"He better." Leon cracked his knuckles. "Now—let's build some armor."
——————
When Tony finally awoke, reality felt... off.
Pepper had turned unnervingly gentle.
JARVIS kept asking about his "emotional well-being."
And Leon? That little weasel had banned him from his own lab.
His. Own. Lab.
Probably can't finish his armor and wants to hide the embarrassment, Tony grumbled internally after discovering he'd slept 26 hours straight.
"Fine!" He stormed into the garage, wrench in hand. "Even without the lab, I'll crush him in two days. Then pour heated Coke down his throat!"
"Dum-E! Bring the stabilizers! You too, U—" Tony froze. The garage echoed emptily. "Dum-E? Where are my robots?"
A horrifying realization struck. "He stole them! Even my tools are tainted by his grubby hands!"
After an hour's negotiation (read: shouting match), Tony reclaimed his mechanical "assistants" from Leon's lab. Super strength might be cool, but torque wrenches still required hydraulics.
——————
Two days later.
Los Angeles coastline.
Sunlight fractured across waves, transforming the Pacific into liquid crystal. Sailboats dotted the horizon—a postcard scene utterly wasted on the Stark estate's subterranean warzone.
Leon strode into the garage, backlit by noon sun that haloed his hair gold. Across the concrete divide, Tony lurked in shadow, a fedora pulled low over his eyes.
"I'm here," Leon intoned.
"Took you long enough." Tony's voice rasped beneath the brim. "Should've stayed in bed. Now you'll lose publicly."
On cue, throbbing electronic beats erupted from hidden speakers—Extreme Ways from The Bourne Identity.
"What the hell?!" Tony leaped up, fedora tumbling. "JARVIS! Since when do we have a deathmatch playlist?!"
"Sir, Mr. Leon programmed this selection. He described it as 'motivational ambiance.'"
Leon smirked. "Sets the mood for your defeat."
"Defeat?" Tony jabbed a screwdriver at him. "Unless you're planning to Jason Bourne me with a stapler, turn that crap off!"
"Relax, old man." Leon crossed his arms. "Where's your armor? Hiding behind excuses?"
Tony spread his arms wide. "You show yours first. Or did you cobble together a toaster oven?"
"Patience." Leon wagged a finger. "Ladies first, per international protocol."
Tony's eye twitched. "I taught you that phrase for MIT mixers, not to mock your elders!"
"Correction—" Leon leaned against a workbench, "—you used it to steal my graduation speech slot. Ladies first, remember?"
"That was twelve months ago!"
"And the lesson stuck." Leon's grin turned feral. "Don't worry—this courtesy applies exclusively to you."
Tony spun away, muttering curses into his coffee. Somewhere beneath the garage, two armors hummed to life—one crimson-gold, the other gunmetal-gray. Outside, the Pacific kept its peace. For now.