The Pacific winds whispered through Stark's Malibu estate, wrapping themselves around the sprawling mansion with the scent of salt and the promise of clarity. But no amount of ocean air could untangle the storm that brewed in Tony Stark's mind.
He stood in his workshop, surrounded by technology that could change the world—and yet, his focus wasn't on the arc reactor model hovering mid-air in a blue light. It was on a black business card.
HANDYMAN—that was all it said. That, and a number that seemed to exist outside every known area code Tony could track.
He rolled it between his fingers, feeling the textured weight of something that wasn't supposed to exist.
"Jarvis," he said, not taking his eyes off the card, "find everything you can on Handyman. Cross-check with keywords: Young, tall, black-ops, freelance contractor, mercenary, shadow ops."
"Already completed, sir," Jarvis replied. "Results are minimal. Aside from an anonymously run humor blog titled 'The Handyman's Toolbox,' which includes entries such as 'Top Ten Ways to Kill a Drone Using Only a Rubber Band,' there are no official records."
"Cute," Tony muttered. "Encrypted communication hidden inside a joke site?"
"Correct. The comment section uses military-grade cyphers embedded in memes. The blog appears to be a disguised review node."
Tony sat back in his chair. "So our guy is a punchline and a spook. Fantastic."
He turned the card over one more time. Still nothing. Just black.
He needed answers, and there was only one person he knew who had them.
Pepper was in the living room, seated beside a tray of untouched lunch and scrolling through reports with one hand and her phone in the other.
"Pep," Tony said, stepping in with the card still in hand, "you've been holding out on me."
She looked up without surprise. "You mean about the Handyman?"
"I mean about this." He held up the black card. "You've got my curiosity piqued and my paranoia tingling."
Pepper stood and walked to a side drawer, pulling out a second card from a file. Identical. Same texture, same number, same gold letters. She handed it to him like a warning.
"One of our old business partners from Jakarta handed it to me after a board meeting. Told me, very quietly, that it's not to be used unless everything else fails. Said if you dial the number and the job is 'green,' then the Handyman will get it done. Always."
Tony squinted. "That sounds more like a ghost story than a business model."
"Well, the ghost pulled you out of a cave, Tony."
He didn't argue. He just frowned, looking down at the card like it might bite.
"So no one hired him? Not the government? Not SHIELD? Not Rhodes?"
"No one but me."
"And he came just like that?"
"He came fast. And clean."
--
Later that day, Tony found Glenn exactly where he expected: lounging in the lab with his feet up on a million-dollar diagnostics table, eating from a can of mixed nuts.
"You break it, you buy it," Tony said.
"You already paid me in peanuts," Glenn shot back, chewing casually. "Literally. This is your snack bar, right?"
Illyana leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, silent. She gave Tony a small nod.
"We need to talk," Tony said.
"Ooh, here it comes. The heart-to-heart. Hold on—let me find my emotional support wrench."
Tony ignored him. "I've been doing some digging. And I don't like what I didn't find."
"Then you'll hate the truth," Glenn said, standing. He offered a mock bow. "I don't usually give my name but if it's you, I guess I'll make an exception. You can call me Glenn Peterson also known as 'The Handyman'. I fix things. People, places, problems, policy messes. Usually the mess belongs to someone with too much power and not enough subtlety."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "So you're some kind of ultra-expensive janitor?"
"The best ultra-expensive janitor," Glenn grinned. "And yes, I charge. Everything has a price."
"Including pulling me out of a terrorist hellhole?"
"Especially that," Glenn said. "But don't flatter yourself—I didn't do it for charity."
"Why? What's in it for you? I mean aside from the price you asked."
"The same thing that's in it for every person who takes a job seriously. I don't play hero, Stark. If I take a mission and it's green, it gets done. Not because I believe in people, but because I believe in completion."
Tony crossed his arms. "And if it's not green?"
Glenn shrugged. "Then I ignore the call. Or I bury the phone. Depending on how annoying the client is."
Illyana chuckled under her breath.
"So what made me green?"
"The person who called," Glenn said, giving a nod toward the ceiling. "Pepper's the kind of person who doesn't scream unless it matters. I like that. Doesn't happen often. Plus, I'd never rescued a billionaire playboy engineer before. Crossed that off the bucket list."
Tony walked toward the table, pulled up a chair, and dropped into it. "You still haven't answered why you risked your life."
Glenn picked up a socket wrench and twirled it like a drumstick. "Tony, you need to understand something. I never risk my life."
Tony stared. "You walked into a secured hidden base full of armed militants."
"They were at risk. Not me."
"Arrogant much?"
"No. Honest. You think I walk into situations I can't control? I've pulled jobs out of collapsing embassies, airborne freighters, volcanic bunkers. If I show up, it means the math is already on my side."
Tony was both irritated and impressed.
"You're like some freelance Batman."
"Without the guilt complex, yes."
Tony sat back, watching him. "You talk like you've seen a lot."
"I've cleaned up a lot. Governments come to me when the red tape strangles the mission. CEOs come to me when their boardroom leaks turn into hostage situations. And sometimes, I rescue smart guys who like to build bombs and grow consciences."
"I didn't grow a conscience."
"Sure you did. I smelled it the second I dragged your burned butt out of the sand."
Tony rubbed his face. "You know, I'm not sure if I should be insulted or grateful."
"You can do both. Just don't confuse the order."
Illyana pushed a bottle of water toward Tony. "He doesn't mean to offend. He just does."
Tony smiled faintly. "Noted."
Glenn stepped closer and leaned on the table. His voice dropped a touch.
"Look, Tony. I don't care about your reputation, or your press conferences, or what you build. I care that you keep your end of the deal. The arc reactor. That was the price."
"A working model, miniaturized, self-sustaining," Tony said.
"Yup. Preferably without blowing up my bedroom when I put it in my stereo. By the way, I've already received the money."
Tony nodded slowly. "You know, you're surprisingly practical for a guy who sounds like he narrates action movies."
Glenn smirked. "You should hear me during karaoke night."
The conversation drifted into silence, filled only by the soft hum of Jarvis monitoring diagnostics. The tension that had initially filled the room eased into something more curious. An understanding.
Tony tapped the card against the table again.
"So how many people actually have this card?"
"Not many. Maybe a few dozen. Maybe more. I don't advertise. I don't need to. If someone gets one, it means they know someone I saved—or someone I shut down."
"Ever think about working with them?"
"Who? Oh you mean, those agents from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?"
"Yeah, them."
"Working for them? Nope! Never gonna happen. I like my blood pressure under control."
"Fair."
Glenn glanced around. "By the way, your robots are creepy."
"You should see the prototype that makes omelets."
"Does it kill intruders with eggs?"
"It tried once. We had to recalibrate the yolk cannon."
Illyana sighed. "Every day with you two would be a pain in the ass."
Tony and Glenn simultaneously replied, "You're welcome."
Outside, the sun dipped low, painting the Pacific in warm gold. Inside, the arc reactor glowed like a second sun.
And for once, the man who never trusted anyone had found someone who didn't need trust—just terms.
--
The workshop was alive with the gentle hum of energy. Light glinted off polished steel, scattered papers, and translucent holograms that hovered like spectral blue jellyfish above the lab tables. It had become the heart of the Stark estate again, and in that heart, two men stood at opposite ends of the same arc.
Tony Stark, dressed in a tank top with a thin film of oil smudged across his collarbone, tapped away at his console. The arc reactor in his chest blinked steadily—an unnatural heartbeat made of light and metal. A few feet away, lounging on a half-assembled steel support frame, sat Glenn, also known as the Handyman. He wore aviator sunglasses indoors and was eating a popsicle as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You know," Glenn said, kicking his boots up onto a steel girder, "for a genius billionaire, your wiring looks like something I saw in a Taco Bell bathroom in Guatemala."
Tony glanced over his shoulder, expression dry. "And yet here you are. Still loitering in my house."
"Not loitering. Supervising. There's a difference."
"Oh, you're supervising now? Should I put you on the payroll or just deduct the cost of your sarcasm from the final invoice?"
"Please do. I'd like that in gold bars."
Tony shook his head and returned to his work. The mini-arc reactor design hovered in front of him, slowly rotating in midair. He was making progress—slow, meticulous progress—but the presence of Glenn had become something of a strange constant. The man was equal parts absurd and dangerous, and Tony wasn't entirely sure which side of him was more valuable.
Glenn had not asked again about the payment. He didn't need to. The expectation hung in the air like an unpaid tab at a mob-run bar.
Illyana sat silently near the back of the lab, legs crossed in a yoga pose atop a crate marked FRAGILE: DO NOT BREATHE NEAR. She watched everything with calm detachment, like a panther in a zen garden.
"Did you seriously break into a terrorist compound wearing sunglasses?" Tony asked suddenly.
"Would you believe me if I said they were night-vision enabled?"
"No."
"Then yes."
Tony paused, then smiled despite himself. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're welcome."
The design process wasn't fast. Even with JARVIS assisting in calculations and simulations, miniaturizing an arc reactor without compromising its stability—or, more importantly, blowing out every power line in the tri-county area—was a delicate affair. But Stark lived for delicate affairs.
Every mistake mattered. Every correction brought him closer. And through it all, Glenn offered commentary.
"Hey, if you invert the magnetic lens there, the flux decay stabilizes."
Tony blinked. "Wait. You know this tech?"
"I know enough to not electrocute myself when touching it. Which is more than I can say for your last intern." Glenn said seriously.
But Tony didn't know that Glenn used Voice of all things.
"I didn't have an intern."
"You do now."
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
Glenn stretched, yawned, and tapped the arc diagram with a popsicle stick. "Not until you finish my glorified glowstick. Carry on."
----
Meanwhile, at a secure SHIELD compound buried beneath an open building, a phone rang.
Agent Phil Coulson picked it up and listened silently.
"Understood," he said at last.
He hung up, turned to the digital display on the wall, and pulled up the dossier labeled HANDYMAN – UNKNOWN REAL NAME – FREELANCE BLACK ASSET.
"Still no records," he muttered. "But he's moving again."
A junior agent stepped in. "Should we approach Stark?"
"Not yet. Let's see what the Handyman wants first. If it's just the arc reactor, maybe it ends there."
"And if it doesn't?"
Coulson stared at the empty photograph slot on the profile. "Then we'll have to call in the big guns."
----
Back in Malibu, Tony soldered another connection, sparks dancing like fireflies in a storm.
"Okay," he said, "run the circuit. Let's see if this one melts."
JARVIS replied, "Running sequence now."
The prototype reactor began to glow. Softly at first. Then stronger. More stable.
Tony held his breath. Glenn did not.
"Ten bucks says it blows a hole in your wine cellar."
"Make it twenty. I reinforced the walls."
Illyana exhaled slowly. "Boys."
The test completed without explosion. Tony exhaled in triumph.
"Okay," he said. "That's iteration number seventy-four. Might not kill you when you put it beside your bed as night lamp."
Glenn raised his popsicle in salute. "You really know how to flatter a guy."
--
That night, Tony found himself alone in the lab, studying a previous version of the arc reactor design. The flaw in the magnetic field containment was subtle—barely visible—but it could mean the difference between a lifetime of energy and a room full of scorched glass.
Behind him, Glenn reappeared like an unwanted ghost with sarcasm and snacks.
"Staring at it won't make it love you, you know."
Tony didn't look back. "I thought you left."
"I did. You have terrible security. Also, your fridge was out of root beer."
"Thanks for the update."
There was a pause. Then Glenn said, more softly, "You're doing good work here. This thing? It's more than just a battery. It's potential."
Tony finally turned. "That supposed to be encouragement?"
"Think of it as a compliment. I don't hand those out unless someone's dying. Or unless I want something."
Tony smirked. "And which one is this?"
"Still figuring it out."
——
The following week brought setbacks and success in uneven waves.
A failed test caused a partial blackout across the estate. JARVIS took most systems offline for safety, and Glenn mockingly offered to read blueprints to Tony by candlelight.
Illyana, ever the silent shadow, took notes in a leather-bound journal no one dared to look into.
In another test, a near-breakthrough nearly caused a plasma surge that vaporized the bench.
Tony leapt back, and Glenn simply said, "Cool. Let's not do that again."
By week's end, the prototype was viable.
Small, sleek, and stable enough for external use.
Tony handed it to Glenn with a half-smile. "One mini-arc reactor. Don't drop it."
Glenn took it, examined it under the light. "Oh good, now I can finally power my evil doomsday machine."
"You'd need two for that."
Glenn winked. "I'm halfway there."
They both laughed, just slightly.
A sliver of trust, forged through shared effort.
And outside the estate, parked inconspicuously on the coast road, SHIELD surveillance teams took careful notes.
The Handyman was still a ghost to them.
But now, they had coordinates.
And that meant shadows were closing in.