Driving With the Top Up

Summary: With the world in question over the identity of Iron Man, Tony Stark has even more at risk than his company. A new villain, new allies, and a romance that can never be. Tony/Pepper. Movieverse.

Disclaimer: I don't own the toys, I just like play with them. (a.k.a.- I don't own anything here and it won't get me a dime. I really ought to get myself a real hobby. Like one that actually makes money.)

Reviews: Keeps me happy, motivated, and we all find out what happens next sooner, so please do.

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Wormwood

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The television screen flickered with draining life. It was old, with faux wood around the 25" screen, and the only light in the small room. Low key, the man would have called it, but in truth he just liked the hands-on earthiness to the antique. It suited him, as he shifted his long legs so that one boot crossed over the other, hands folded together on his lap in the gray-colored couch. A cockroach skittered across the ground between his dark form and the screen.

"…I am Iron Man." The voice rang from the box with a smug smile to his tone and the dark man's lips turned with a sneer. The voices rose, drowning out the speaker. It nearly hid the knock at the door as well, but the man raised his remote and pressed the pause. The device was put back in its place one the coffee table under his feet before he picked up the next. It was slender, smooth in a way that rivaled the latest mobiles. A flick of the button later and the screen lit up to reveal three suited men standing outside the door.

Stringy hair fell down the sides of his face when he looked up at the clock on the wall. 8:05. They weren't due until nine, but all the better. Slender fingers lingered over the buttons. The metal was cool, but it wasn't enough to encourage him to turn up the heat.

The man stood, letting the object fall into his pocket along the way to the apartment door. When it opened, neither party smiled. The occupant never offered them passage, instead leaning against the rugged frame, arms crossed and blue eyes narrowed.

"You are early," he stated in English. The Russian accent was heavy in his words, but it was the most common language between the two parties. He didn't know a stint of Chinese and there was nothing worse than listening to his home language with the taint of theirs.

"You knew we would be," the man at the head responded. He wore thin glasses that did not improve his age. "You have had ample time, Mr. Dregg."

He had asked for a week and they were now standing at the door three days prior.

"Yes," the man agreed. They had been right in one respect, he had been expecting them. "But the offer does not satisfy. I want twenty million Euros. Ten upfront, ten more when all is said and done."

The surprise was quickly followed by anger, "But that is double what we…"

"I know," Grigori Dregg interrupted, pushing away from the wall casually. One of the lackey's looked uncomfortable standing in the hall, but he knew there was nothing to worry about from behind these walls. No. The only listening ears knew better. "You want subtle and you know my record."

The messenger raised his chin, "You think you are the best?"

"No, but Lou does," the Russian grinned. "And I know the profit he will receive after I'm done."

"He will never agree."

Grigori's face darkened. The longer they took, the wealthier his portion, but he did not like wasted time. "Thirty million."

"You are a fool if you think you are worth that much," the man said angrily, motioning for the other two as he turned away. "We are done here."

"I do not think we are," the assassin said finally from his place in the doorway. "Fifty million…and I give you the antidote."

All three paused and looked back, the middle seemed the only one to fully understand the implications and the fear showed on his face.

"That is right," Grigori smiled widely, teeth smooth and perfectly straightened. It seemed strange to see something so white from the grime of his chosen atmosphere.

"What have you done?"

"Right now, Mr. Jia is probably in the Blossom Suite, sipping a cup of sake while the other Chairs laugh and smoke at his recent success in the East Shore takeover. He will notice a slight upset at first," he motioned to the stomach with a half-circle display. "…but not enough to end the night early. His mouth will taste like metal and he'll blame the meat: cooked a little raw."

The light from the television flickered back to life, and he could have cursed at the glitch as the VCR turned itself off and the local news began their gibberish. Still, he continued, "By eleven fourteen, p.m., our Lou will have a sharp pain in his side. By midnight," he paused. "He will be dead."

He had the men's full attention but they seemed to have nothing further to say. Questions, they couldn't dare bring themselves to ask.

"I am the best, Mr. Yuen," he stated smugly and leaned against the frame once more. "Bring me twenty-five million Euros within the hour and I will give you the antidote. There is no time to hunt for a doctor. Even if you could, the poison is one of my own."

The messenger stared at the man, eyes wide behind the lenses. They had underestimated. Badly.

"I am certain you understand what that means."

He knew, and he would bring the money.

"One hour," the man repeated with finality as they turned away. His gaze caught one that turned back just briefly for a last look. There were no smiles.

Grigori Dregg stepped back into the darkness of his apartment and closed the door. The frame shuttered under the contact.

He made a smooth swoop and picked up the familiar remote, clicking the screen back to the VCR and pressed play. Some had been skipped, so he issued it into reverse until he found just the right place.

"The truth is…" the figure on the recording paused once again, as it had a hundred times before. "…I am Iron Man."

The crowd roared into commotion and Grigori Dregg held the remote with purpose. He knew exactly what he was looking for. The camera moved just right and the ginger came into view. He paused it again, this time at the right instant as the assistant's face showed for just the briefest moment. Her face. He had come to know the name well, Virginia Potts.

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