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Stephen sped down the narrow cliffside road, turning his windshield wipers up a notch to compete with the rain that poured from the dark skies above.
His phone rang, and he turned to put it on speaker.
“Billy! What have you got for me?”
“I’ve got a 45-year-old Air Force colonel. Crushed his lower spine in some kind of experimental armor. Lumbar and sacral vertebral fractures, lacerated spinal cord.”
“Well, I could help,” said Stephen, “but so can 50 other people. Find me something worth my -“
“Excuse me?”
An indignant male voice interrupted him from the other end of the line.
“Billy, you didn’t tell me we had company.”
“Billy knows better than to say no to a free Starkphone,” replied the mystery voice.
“Well, congratulations on bribing my assistant. Such a noble feat, keep clapping yourself on the back for that. And you are?”
“The Stark who made that phone.”
“ Tony Stark?”
“Considering all my other relatives are dead, it shouldn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out my first name. Of which I hear you’re the best.”
“Relative?” snarked Stephen. “I had no idea I belong to one of the richest families in the world.”
“Cute. Brain surgeon.”
“You’re right. I am a cute brain surgeon. And the best one. So, what can I do for you, Stark?”
“Skipping the honorifics already? Not one for much propriety, are you.”
“Well you may be the richest man in the world, but you’re the one coming to me for a favor. Which is…?”
“Take the case.”
“What case?”
“The Air Force Colonel with a ... crushed spine.”
The hesitation in the billionaire’s voice was almost imperceptible, but Stephen heard it.
“Who is he to you?”
“Can’t I be advocating for this man out of the goodness of my own heart?”
“It’s possible, but improbable.”
“Such a cynic.”
“I prefer the term realist. You’ve tracked me down and bribed my assistant, and I assume you’re going to offer me some sort of incentive as well. It’s true that you consider yourself a superhero, but still, that seems like an awful lot of effort to go through for one injured stranger.”
Stephen steered his car around a sharp curve in the rain-slicked mountain road. He felt the wheels lose traction for a moment just as another car whizzed by in the opposite lane. He eased up on the gas pedal and the car steadied, but Stephen half-wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t been paying attention when he hit that curve.
“- don’t you think?”
Stephen shook his head to clear it. “Say that again?”
“Dozing off there, doc? I thought my offer of unlimited grant funding would be enough to keep you awake.”
For a moment, Stephen was speechless. “Who is he?” the surgeon asked again, his tone more serious than the first time he’d asked the question. “I’m not saying no, but I need to know what I’m walking into here, Stark.”
The man at the other end of the line sighed. “Hang on.” There was a sound of rustling fabric. “Could you give us a minute?” the billionaire asked, voice fainter than before. Stephen almost snorted when he realized that Tony Stark was kicking Billy out of his own office. “Play your cards right and I’ll throw in an as-yet-to-be-released Starkpad.” A huff of frustration. “Yeah, fine, an autograph for the kids too. Shut it on your way out.”
Another rustle of fabric and Stark’s voice returned to its normal volume. “Your assistant drives a hard bargain.”
“My assistant has enough experience dealing with desperate family members to recognize one when he sees them. So, Stark, I’ll ask for the third and last time. Who is this colonel in experimental armor?”
Tony sighed. “His name is James Rhodes. Better known to the public as War Machine. And the armor isn’t experimental - it’s mine.”
Stephen froze. “What happened to him?”
He heard the other man chuckle darkly. “Haven’t checked the news recently, doc? Two days ago, Captain America and some of the other Avengers went rogue. They beat me to a pulp, and Rhodey… fell. From real high up.”
“As much as I’d like your grant money, Stark, why me? As I said before, there are 50 other surgeons who could help him get fitted with prosthetics.”
“I need someone who can do more than help him. I need someone who can help me fix him. Look, I’m building him state-of-the-art neuroprosthetics with a direct CNS interface. To move his own muscles, not have a piece of metal do it for him. They haven’t been released to the market yet, Rhodey’s the first patient who will receive them, but if they work… it’s going to revolutionize neurosurgery.”
“You sound rather full of yourself.”
“Says the surgeon who brags to the tabloids that his hands are the steadiest in the world.”
“They are.”
“And I don’t disagree. You’re the best of the best. Which is why I want you to operate on my friend. You’ll get grant money, fame -“
“- I’m already famous. It’s how you found me in the first place.”
“Famous in medical circles, yes, and enough for a tabloid or two. But do you want to be on the cover of TIME? Do you want a Nobel Prize? Because this is how you make that happen.”
“... I’m listening.”
“Take the case, doc. I’ve done all I can on the prosthetics end with the R&D docs at Stark Industries. I need someone of your caliber to give input, and when you think it’s ready, to perform the surgery. You’ll get unlimited access to my technology, fame - for fixing a superhero and for pioneering this revolutionary technology - and once it’s done you’ll have research funding for the rest of your life provided by yours truly.”
Stephen chose his words carefully. “You must really want my help, Mr. Stark.”
“Oh, so now I get called ‘Mr.’? Does that mean it’s a yes?”
“...I’ll examine him. I’ll meet with you, and study your technology. But if I’m not absolutely sure it will work, I won’t do the surgery. I’m not going to screw up my perfect record, Mr. Stark. Not even for you. And I refuse to take the blame for paralyzing a hero, if it comes to that.”
The dark edge to the billionaire’s voice was unmistakable. It sent an unexpected twinge through Stephen’s heart, to hear such a powerful man so full of self-hatred as he said, “It won’t be your fault if he stays paralyzed, Dr. Strange. It’ll be mine.”
There was a pause. Stephen pulled into the long driveway of the elegant hotel which was hosting the Neurological Society dinner that evening.
“My people will send details to your people. You start now.”
“Now?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Make it Tuesday. I‘m about to give a very important talk, and I already have a surgery booked Monday.”
Stark made a show of sounding exasperated, but his voice was tinged with just a tiny bit of … humor? “Fine. Tuesday. Whatever.”
The line clicked as the billionaire ended the call unceremoniously. A small smile curled at the edges of Stephen’s lips.
This was going to be fun.