Chapter Text
It’s late, by normal standards at least.
Quiet, to normal hearing at least.
Peter’s on his computer, always on his computer, navigating through hundreds of files with an expertise only time can lend. Jason is sitting on the other end of the couch, nose in a book, humming under his breath in that way that often makes Peter wonder if he notices himself doing it. The moment hangs, and Peter can’t shake the feeling that something horrible is about to happen. The worst part is that he’s not sure if that fear comes from his spider sense or his unfortunate past with Parker Luck™. Regardless of whether it’s rational or not, the feeling sits uncomfortably in his chest, constricting his lungs and making his head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton.
He’s no stranger to disassociating while working, far from it, but he realizes it’s probably far from his smartest decision, especially when he realizes the document he just went over has a mistake in it.
“Mother…” The swear sits on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it back.
“You know you’re allowed to swear right?”
Peter doesn’t need to look at Jason to know he’s smirking. (Does that man ever stop smirking? Is it some kind of shield?)
“Please,” He mumbles distractingly, “My aunt would have my head if I did.”
Jason doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t resume his humming either.
Peter’s almost certain he didn’t go back to his reading, and he’s proven right not even a minute later by the dull thud of Jason’s book (quite aggressively) hitting the table.
Peter’s almost tempted to make a joke about Jason disrespecting art but he swallows it back, knowing by now that if Jason is letting his aggression show, it means he’s not in the mood for humour.
The man doesn’t say anything either, and Peter looks up from his work to see him glaring at the wall like it just called his mom a hoe. Jason’s head is tilting to the left like it so often does when he’s thinking, his hands running up and down his thighs like he can’t quite figure out what to do with them. His teeth grind against each other like he’s angry, but when he finally opens his mouth, it's carefully measured.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Okay,” Peter closes his laptop and sets it on the table in front of him, not liking his tone one bit, “What’s up?”
The two men turn towards each other, Jason’s eyes boring into Peter’s like he’s looking straight into his soul, but whatever he planned to say is cut by the shrill ring of Peter’s phone.
“Jesus, what now?” Peter looks down at his smart watch to see who’s calling him, only to reel back in surprise when he sees CLARA’s name in bright letters.
“Who’s calling you?” Jason’s frowning, but Peter can’t quite pin down the emotion in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter, what where you—”
“It can wait. Answer your phone.”
He’s about to argue, but his phone is still ringing and one look at Jason’s face tells Peter the other man won’t budge, so instead he apologizes, grabs his phone off the media center and rushes out the room.
“Hello?”
There’s a slight static like noise before CLARA’s clear robotic voice comes through the phone. “Hello, Peter. You have a call request from Miss Harrison, shall I put her through?”
“Yeah, go ahead and do that.”
(CLARA doesn’t usually ask, she usually only announces the caller, especially when it’s Juniper…)
“Hello Mister Stark.” If Peter didn’t know any better he’d say his PA sounds nervous.
“Hey Juniper, what’s with the formality?” Whatever it is, it's making Peter second guess his decision to take the call in the hallway. “And whilst we’re at it, why call me through CLARA? You have my number, you can use it.”
The woman sighs. “I didn’t think you’d answer my call.”
Peter frowns. “Why? I always answer your calls.”
“Well… You are on vacation, and considering your new,” Juniper pauses like she can’t quite find the word she’s looking for, which is unusual considering the woman's ease with public speaking and regular press work, “social status, forgive me for assuming you might be otherwise occupied.”
Peter feels the heat rise to his face at the way she emphasizes the word ‘occupied’, but he decides the innuendo was unintentional and in a show of incredible self control he steadies his voice to a perfectly natural level to ask her why she called.
“The company’s bleeding money.”
Peter pushes the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder. “You’ve noticed it too? I thought it might have been an accounting mistake, but this isn’t a one time thing.”
“No it’s not. I don't want to start pointing fingers or anything, but this looks suspiciously like embazzelement.”
He sits down on the top step, his back to the door. “Can I assume you’ve looked over all our recent donations already?”
“I did. Nothing is out of the ordinary, I even compared them to last year's numbers, but nothing flagged up.” There’s a rustling sound from the other end.
Peter can picture her pinching her nose bridge in that exasperated way that reminds him a little too much of Pepper.
“I’m at a loss.”
“I’m not surprised, whatever’s going on… whoever is messing with our money, they know what they’re doing. I looked into it a little last week, but I haven’t really had time.” Peter rubs his temple to alleviate the pressure building. “I’m sorry Juniper, I shouldn't have left you like that, I thought— it doesn’t matter what I thought, this is my responsibility, I’ll find our leak.”
“Boss, with all due respect, you’re an idiot.”
Peter almost drops his phone in shock. “What?”
“You’re a genius engineer, and somehow a competent business man” “Hey!” “But it’s literally my job to handle SI when you’re on vacation. Do you know what you pay me for? This. This is why you pay me, and considering this is the first time in three years that you’ve gone on vacation: enjoy it.” She sighs again. “I didn’t call you to ask you to come back, or to handle this, I called because there’s a permission I need you to grant.”
“I’m listening…”
“I want to initiate SWORD.”
Ah, System Wide Overhaul Reboot Directive. It was one of the first protocols Peter had written for SI. A way to protect not only himself but the company itself if an employee was to use property irresponsibly.
(Sue him, he was a little paranoid after the Quentin Beck incident.)
It was mainly a backup plan to protect patents or unique resources though, not money, meaning that it was perhaps a bit… extreme. Essentially, SWORD’s job is to force a total reboot of the entire system, causing every file in the servers to be re-evaluated like it’s a new file. The program serves to run a check over the entire system, employees included, in a complete overhaul that takes 48 hours even for an advanced AI like FRIDAY or CLARA.
The thing is, during that time frame, every other system needs to be un operational. Every system. They need, just to initiate SWORD, to run a separate program that does a server checkup first, freeze all their bank accounts, stop operating their foundations and close down all offices (which requires them to provide all employees with 48 hours paid leave since they need to deactivate all active security measures).
If there’s a leak, SWORD will find it, the question is: at what price?
(If Peter authorizes the protocol, they'll have answers in 48 hours, but he’d be putting SI at risk. If he doesn’t, they’ll probably still find answers, it’ll just take longer, which Juniper knows, so why is she pressing to get answers so hard? It doesn’t make sense… unless….)
“How much are we looking at?”
“A few hundred thousand,” (Small amount for a company that makes almost a trillion yearly), “not much for the company but…”
“But it’s a dangerous amount for an individual to have, it could supply a small militia.”
“Exactly.”
That’s the real problem, isn’t it? Not Stark Industry losing money, since it’s barely enough to dent their numbers, but what this individual plans to do with said money. Best case scenario: it’s a rich prick trying to get even richer. Worse case scenario: some crazy crook with dreams of power that now has the money to supply himself.
“Juniper.”
“Yes?”
“Copy all my files onto Karen’s server, then delete the originals.”
“All of them?” Even through the phone, she sounds incredulous.
“Everything that requires a level A1 clearance. I'll have CLARA grant you admin access.” He takes a deep breath, “Once that’s done, put Karen on total lockdown and initiate SWORD.”
“I’m on it.”
Peter nods, despite knowing Juniper can’t see him. “Good.”
“Oh, and Boss? Congratulations.”
“Huh?What do you—”
“Peter, Miss Harrison has disconnected the call.”
Peter blinks down at his phone. “Ooookayyy…” He shakes his head. “I should have known this day was gonna go to shit…”
The brunette sits there for a second longer before getting back up and rushing back to the hotel room. He has an admin access to grant after all.
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About eight minutes after his phone rang, Peter rushes back into the room. His hair is tussled like he ran his hands through it and his eyebrows are creasing in a way that tells Jason’s that whatever the call was about, it wasn’t good news. The man goes straight to his laptop, aggressively typing something while muttering under his breath.
“Bad news?”
Peter’s hands still and the keyboard and he throws his head back with a sigh. “You could say that. You remember that accounting thing I told you about?”
“No?”
“Seriously?”
Jason shrugs his shoulders. “What? You say a lot of things, you think I remember all of them?”
(That’s bullshit, he does in fact remember. He also remembers it was a 3 am conversion a week ago, which begs the question, why is Peter suddenly bringing it up?)
“Doesn’t matter. Point is: we have a leak. My assistant called, she looked into it on her end but she came up short, so we’re using an emergency protocol to see if we can sniff it out.” Peter runs his hands down his face like it’ll ease the tension there. “It’s a huge security risk, but I've given Juniper the go ahead and the access to execute it, I'm just hoping it won’t come back to bite me.”
Jason nods, it reminds him of Tim and his business dilemmas, how the young man would constantly rant to the family about it despite being the first to point out NDA’s and— (Wait a minute)
“Peter?”
“Hum?”
“Should you be telling me this?”
Peter turns his head slightly to look at Jason. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, isn’t this information supposed to be confidential?”
Come to think of it, Peter had never been one to hide his work from Jason. He had always just worked wherever he felt like it, and though Jason didn’t doubt the other man sometimes worked whilst he was asleep, he had seen him on his computer enough to assume he just didn’t mind Jason knowing.
It’s strange now that he thinks about it, especially considering that 1: there’s no way someone like peter got as far as he did without protecting his intellectual property and 2: Tim had mentioned several times that Stark Industry was ahead of Wayne Enterprise when it came to cyber security, going as far as saying that they might be ahead of the Justice League security.
Peter blinks at him for a second before laughing softly. “I mean, it is. You just have clearance.”
Jason lifts an eyebrow, not entirely sure what Peter finds so funny about the situation. “I have clearance?”
“Of course. You co-own the company after all.”
“I WHAT?”
Jason is standing, he doesn’t know when he stood up, but he’s standing now.
“Jason. We’re married.”
Maybe, just maybe, Jason hadn’t thought of that when he proposed they get married.
“Wait, wait, wait. What the FUCK? Peter? Peter, why do I co-own your company? You built it before we got married, shouldn’t it stay your fucking property? Did you know this when we got married? You must have. Wait, actually, why did you agree to marry me then? This feels like a a big fucking deal! I mean this is your shit, your legacy, why wou—”
“Jason.” Peter is standing now too, every line of fatigue in his body seemingly gone. “We got married in Nevada. State laws are essentially built for meaningless marriages between rich men and their barely legal secretary, of course they don’t automatically transfer ownership of the company.” He bites his lips like he’s bebatting saying this next part. “I had my personal lawyer do that. Obviously you don’t technically co-own the company since you haven’t actually signed the paperwork for it yet, but it’s been finalized and I’ve already signed off on it. I did also make you my next of kin, that way if something happens to me, SI goes straight to someone I trust.”
It’s all Jason can do to stare at Peter as he wrings his hands together anxiously. “You wouldn’t have to run the company, at least not right away, I have protocols in place for that and Juniper will automatically be named CEO, but yeah, I don’t exactly have anything to hide from you.”
“ ‘I can guarantee you that as long as you stay true, I will never ever lie to you. Any story you wish to hear I will tell, any question you have I will answer, and if there is ever a day I can't, I will search the world for a way to do so.’ ” Jason whispers the words so quietly he isn’t even sure he’s said them out loud.
Peter huffs. It sounds watery.
“Damn, pulling out the wedding wows now? That’s playing dirty Mr Todd.”
Jason doesn’t bite though, he doesn’t respond to the teasing at all, just looks Peter up and down like he’s seeing him for the first time. “You kept your word.”
“Did you think I wouldn't?” The question is genuine, not accusatory like Jason expected.
Honestly, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised, Peter’s never accusatory. He’s the polar opposite of Jason’s family: Humble, honest and trusting where they’re prideful, sneaky and paranoid. It would come off as naive to someone not paying attention, but Jason had looked into Peter’s eyes long enough to know better.
“You’re fucking weird, you know that?”
Peter laughs. “Come on! We were having a moment!”
Apparently the universe decided that their ‘moment’ really was over, because not even a second after Peter’s exclamation the brunette’s laptop lets out a loud ding.
“Really? Et tu Brute?” Peter somehow manages to look otherly betrayed.
“You gonna check that?”
Is Jason saying that just to avoid having to continue this conversation? No. He also finds Peter's attempt to glare at him hilarious, the emotional cock blocking’s simply an added benefit.
“It’s just an email notification, probably nothing too urgent…” It really goes to show how much of a workaholic Peter is, that even as he says that he’s bending down to go check his laptop.
Speaking of that thing, Jason is convinced Peter put at least 30 passwords on it, because there is no reason for Peter to need 2 minutes to access his email on a computer of that caliber. Like at this point he’s 90% sure the man’s laptop is more encrypted than the Pentagon’s wifi.
“That's weird.” Peter is squinting at something on the screen and looking very much like a man missing his glasses despite the fact that Jason knows for a fact he has super vision.
“What’s weird? The only strange thing I see here is you.”
“Excuse you!” Peter’s voice cracks in offense, which only results in making Jason want to tease him more. “OH MY GOD!”
“What?” Jason sinks into a defensive stance before the word even leaves his mouth, years of instinct kicking in as he looks over the man in front of him for any sign of distress.
“That’s what Juniper meant by ‘congratulating’!”
Jason looks at Peter for a good second before rolling his eyes and droping down on the couch next to Peter. “Okay, I’m lost.”
“Our wedding license!” Peter tilts the screen sideways to give Jason a better view and, sure enough, there’s an email there with an attached picture of their license.
“So it’s official official now?”
Peter nods. “Yup. It’s as official as it’ll even be… husband.”
“Good.”
They share a complicit look and Peter goes to shut down his laptop.
Jason barely gives him the time to close it before he’s on him, hauling over his shoulder and into the entryway. The man goes without complaint, easily shrugging on his coat at Jason's instructions and following him outside like it's the most normal thing in the world. Hell, they’ve been walking for almost five minutes when he finally asks Jason:
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t know. The closest place we can get drunk.”
“Ah.” Peter’s eyes are trained upwards, his frame holding a certain tension, probably dread. “What’s the occasion?”
“We’re officially husbands in the eye of the law, that’s worth celebrating…. and I need a drink to forget the absolute shit show of a roller coaster I just went through.”
“Fair enough.” He sighs, his shoulders hunching in a little.
It’s clear that whatever is going on with Stark Industry, it’s worrying Peter more than he’s willing to admit. Jason doesn’t know the whole story, but he can imagine the kind of stress someone running a company is under 24/7 is nothing to sneeze at. Especially someone who built their empire from scratch, and built it as fast as Peter. The man has to have enemies, there's no way he doesn’t, and his network and social backing can’t be that strong, since he’s not a legacy baby….
(Maybe Jason should give Timothy a call, WE would certainly benefit from working with SI…)
“You have an enhanced metabolism right?”
Peter gives him a curious look before nodding.
“When’s the last time you got black out drunk?”
“Last night,” he deadpans with the most sarcastic tone Jason has ever heard from the man.
“I’m serious, Pete, answer the question.”
“Is it depressing if I say my mentor’s funeral?”
Jason almost runs into a wall, only saving himself at the last second by sheer reflex. To say he hadn’t expected that is an understatement.
“A funeral? Really?”
Peter tries to shrug it off nonchalantly, but it does little to hide the clear shame in his face. “In my defence, I was sixteen.”
Jason barks out a laugh. “What kind of person gave a sixteen year old alcohol at a funeral?”
“Why do you assume it was given to me, huh? Maybe I was just so smooth I sneaked it, you think of that?”
Peter’s defiant tone only serves to make Jason laugh more.
“I think we both know you have an aversion to being smooth.”
Maybe Jason shouldn’t be making fun of a man who can probably snap every bone in his body without breaking a sweat, but the man makes it too easy. Or at least that's what Jason thought, before the hairs on the back of his hair stood on end and the world around him just… shifted.
He’s not sure what or how it happened, but one second he was walking down the street and the next his shoulder was being pressed into hard brick, his leg giving out as a sharp kick connected to his shin, leaving him on his knees in front of an arachnid that had no business looking that smug.
“How’s that for smooth?”
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After having worked in a bar for nearly fourteen years, he really shouldn’t be bothered by the loud atmosphere anymore. And for the most part he isn’t, but tonight is different. It really feels like just about every person in town decided to go party today, which is strange for a weekday, but even stranger is the intensity of the crowd. Like every person in here is trying to drown themselves in music and liquor, not a soul dreading hangover.
“Honey buns, another round!” Some blond woman calls out to him, her whole body swaying to the music and the warmth in her blood.
He silently pours out another set of Tequila shots and pushes them in her direction. Four ladies gather around to chug them back like they’re going out of style, barely sparing him a glance as they laugh themselves to alcohol poisoning.
There’s a snapping of fingers, and suddenly he’s is facing a group of grumpy blue collar looking guys.
“Beer. For all of us.” The man standing in the front puts down a wad of cash, his expression defiant like he expects the bartender to pick a fight with him.
He doesn’t of course, just nods and serves them, the man having no intention of getting himself killed tonight.
Another group walks in, he ignores them. It’s not his job to control the crowd or greet the customers, his only responsibility is to man the bar.
He still takes the time to scan the establishment regularly however, he’s seen too many would be assaults not too. On nights like this, there's always a dread washing through his bones.
On his next sweep of the bar however he makes eye contact with another man. Twenties, brown hair, average height, nothing out of the ordinary though even from a distance he can tell he’s an attractive guy. The man had come in a few hours ago with a tall ravennette, and to be frank he’s surprised both of them are still standing straight.
“He’s cute.”
He turns to see one of the ladies sitting at the bar with a mischievous glint in her eye. Out of all the regulars, she’s about the only one that he actually tolerates making conversation with. If people find it weird for their bartender to give them the silent treatment, well, he hasn’t had any complaints yet. At least not any serious ones.
“I’m serious, you should talk to him, get his number.”
Did he say he tolerates her? He takes that back, she can go to hell.
“He also looks taken.”
She quacks, not unlike a duck. “What? No he doesn’t! You see any girl around him?”
The bartender rolls his eyes. “The dark haired man. They’re together.”
The woman turns back in her chair, very indiscrily, she’d make a terrible spy, and looks directly at the pair for an uncomfortable amount of time before replying.
“I don’t see it.”
He rolls his eyes, but he knows better than to argue with her, knowing she’s a sore loser at best. He makes her a moscow mule, like always, she never drinks anything else when she’s working.
For a bar so full, not many people are coming up for drinks, so he has very little to do while his regular sashays around the room with her drink in hand.
The brunette from earlier comes up to him, a kind smile on his face and politeness on his lips as he orders another round. He walks away from the bar as soon as he has his drinks, but not before giving another smile.
There’s no flirtation in his eyes, and more surprisingly, no notice of the alcohol no doubt ravaging his system considering the night he’s been having. The expression ‘life of the party’ seems appropriate here.
“Sooooo, he seemed nice.” The woman of the night batts her eyelashes like a kid trying to get their parents to give them candy.
“He was certainly nicer than you.”
She sighs. “Spoilsport.”
The bartender lifts an eyebrow at her and takes her empty cup, used to her bullshit by now.
“Rowndy’s on his usual shit…”
He hum. “If he’s bar hunting then at least the girl’s gonna be legal.”
“Barely,” She scuffs with distaste. “Have you seen the blonde he was feeling up earlier? looked 20 at best.”
He actually agrees with her sentiment, he’s seen enough old men hitting on children to want to punch anyone who tries it, but he knows better than to get involved in this man’s business, after all: he’s not trying to die tonight.
“Cute boy incoming,” She coughs into her glass like she’s being sly.
He doesn’t react, doesn’t give her the pleasure, just serves the guy like he would any other customer, because that's what he is: another customer.
His patron seems disappointed, but she clearly has bigger fish to fry, and after getting a top off, she’s off doing her rounds again.
She is, after all, another one of those people with inhumane alcohol tolerance.
The bar is only getting busier though, so the next time she sunders over to her usual seat, it's been a good 45 minutes (She probably went outside with a client, come to think of it). Her head is lolling along to the music and her steps are… dangerous, especially in those precarious heels she insists on wearing because they, quote, ‘pay for her drinks’.
“Honey, baby, I need a top off.” She sets her glass down with enough force that he fears she’s going to break it.
“I’m not sure that’s in your best interest right now.”
She snorts. “You refusing business, barman…”
“I don’t want to be accused of murder when the alcohol poisoning finally gets to you.”
The woman glares at him, to which he only glares back. The staring context lasts for all of half a second before she’s sighing dramatically and walking away from the bar, more or less towards the door.
Her swaying is getting worse, and he notices too late how bad that is. Between one second and the next her body is crashing towards the floor, completely limp. He watches on in horror as she falls, seemingly in slow motion as his brain conjures images of the woman’s head cracking against the floor like a final destination movie, but before the impact, before the landing, a man catches her.
The bartender only distantly realizes it’s the man she was eyeing earlier, his head too preoccupied with the sight of her closed eyes to pay attention to anything else. The brunette is lowering her to the ground and checking her heartbeat, but the bartender doesn’t know if his own heart is still beating. He thinks it might have stopped when she plummeted towards the ground. Something is said about ‘too slow’ and ‘an ambulance’ but he’s not paying attention, his eyes are trained on her figure but his soul is looking at god, praying. He’s not religious, not one bit, but his strength is lacking and he’s desperate.
It's both a moment and an eternity later when the shrill scream of sirens reach his ears. He hears it, knows what it means, but still by the time he processes it the ambulance is already gone, and with it his friend.
Logically, he knows she’ll most likely be perfectly fine, but still guilt and shame twist inside him as he listens to the conversations being mumbled around him in the now practically empty bar.
“God, she can’t afford this…” He doesn’t think he spoke loud enough to be heard, but he’s proven wrong when he feels a light hand on his shoulder and turns to see the man, the brunette, looking at him with concern .
“Do you know her?”
He nods, his throat still tight with unnamed emotion. “Yeah, she, hum, she’s a regular.”
The man smiles softly and hands him a black business card with a phone number and the name PETER B. STARK printed in silver across the front. “I’m not usually one for business cards, so it's a little… crude, but it has my number, tell her to call me, I’ll arrange for her stay to be paid for.”
His jaw is probably on the floor by now, his eyes roaming from the card to the man, the name ‘Stark’ echoing in his mind . Apparently nothing gets you out of a shitty headspace like a good shock. “Why? I mean, I know money means nothing to people like you, but you don’t know her.”
The man, Mr Stark, turns serious. He takes a second to scan what’s left of the crowd (most of the people having ran at the risk of police), before gently grabbing him by the upper arm and dragging him out of earshot. “I saw a man slide something in her drink earlier. I was about to tell her when she” He takes a breath, his face darkening in anger, "I should have done something, gone up to her earlier, I just, I didn't want her to get the wrong idea, to scare her or something… god, I should have..”
He’s silent for a moment, “Who was it?”
“He left already. Dark hair, purple shirt, dressed in full leather, looked like a real piece of work.”
“Ronwdy.” He spits his name with a venom he didn't know he had.
If Mr Stark is surprised by the anger, he doesn't show it. He simply nods. Before he can add anything though his partner from earlier comes back, a grim look on his face.
“Jason?” There’s a question there, one the bartender can’t even begin to guess at.
“It's been handled P, don’t worry .”
If he was less shaken, he might have noticed the glowing green of Jason’s eyes or the fresh blood still adorning the man’s knuckles, but he doesn’t, he just takes the drink silently offered to him and chugs it, the strong alcohol not even fazing him at this point.
“I needed that, thanks.”
Jason nods. “No problem,” He tilts his head towards Mr Stark, “He’s paying anyway.”
The man in question laughs along like the attitude is a normal occurrence, and maybe for them it is.
“Is your shift over? You should head home after something like this.”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather not.”
“Ok.” The brunette gets up without another word, and walks towards the bar, leaving the two other men at the table. He’s talking to the general manager (the man having come down at the sound of sirens), his face is set in a pleasant smile that looks plastic to anybody who knows what to look for.
The conversation barely lasts a minute, maybe two, before Mr Stark is walking back to the table with a tray of shots and a much realer smile.
“Good news, you're off the clock,” He slams the tray down, “Better news, we’ve got a few hours to keep you company.”
He stares at him in disbelief. This man, this genius billionaire, someone who has no business being in a bar in the middle of nowhere on a Thursday, is going to drink with him. (Is he high?) “You serious?”
Jason chuckles, the sound dark and sarcastic. “Oh, he's serious alright.”
Mr Stark shoves him gently. “Ignore him, he's being silly because he's drunk.”
The dark haired man scuffs. “Not all of us can outdrink sailors, pretty boy.”
“I can” He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but by the disbelieving and gleeful looks he gets from the two men, he definitely did.
“Oh, we are going to see about that.”
Even after 14 years of bartending, he’s rarely seen someone as excited at the prospect of getting drunk as Mr Stark is right now, so there’s obviously only one answer he can give the man:
“Bring it.”