“You asshole. You stupid goddamn dumb motherfucker. I fucking hate you and how fucking stupid you are.”
There’s a second of quiet and then a painful, “Ow.”
She reaches inside my coat and pulls open my shirt. Looks at the armor and then at me.
“What the hell is that?”
“Protection from crazy girls who say hello with their fists.”
“I have not yet begun to kick your ass. You run off for a weekend in Hell and don’t come back and we don’t hear anything. Then who shows up but some baby-face hippie version of you who’d rather save the whales than have a drink with me?”
“So you met the prodigal asshole.”
“And then we figure it out. He’s some kind of Hellion practical joke. A monster sent here to take your place. That’s when we know you were dead.”
I try to put my hands on her shoulders but she bats them away.
“I’m sorry about everything but this is me and I’m not dead.”
“Well, fuck you and your good news. You’re probably just a different stupid monster they sent up. What’s your gimmick? You going to macramé us to world peace?”
“I’m my own monster and I sent myself up.”
“Why?”
“To find you.”
She looks away. Digs the toe of her Chuck Taylor into a squashed piece of gum by the door, trying to loosen it. Inside, the Ludere and a couple of patients watch us like a flesh-and-blood reality show.
She says, “I let Stark go because he was being all noble and I wanted to be noble too so he would remember me when he found Alice. Dumbest thing I ever did.”
I get closer.
“How could I forget about you and you torturing me with those stupid robot sunglasses? If you think I was playing house with Alice all this time, you’re wrong. I sent her home the day I found her. It’s me here. Not that other guy. Alice and Hell and all the rest is over and done with.”
She crosses her arms.
“How do I know it’s you?”
“When I said I came back to find you? I lied. I came back for the knife I loaned you. Hand it over.”
She looks at me and furrows her forehead. Her eyes get a little red. Not like “Oh, my God. Godzilla is going to step on me.” More like tears red. But she doesn’t actually cry. She’s a monster and a killer like me. We sometimes tear up but leave the crying to the suckers we hit.
She comes over and puts her hand on my chest. Then slides it over to hug me. Through the armor I feel her body as she lays her head on my chest. She punches me in the side. Lightly this time, so it’s barely a punch at all.
“You ever take off like that again, you take me with you.”
“Deal.”
She takes a step back, looking at the armor.
“What’s the story with the Iron Man gear?”
Then she smiles.
“Oh my God. Stark. It all makes sense. You’re really Tony Stark. You’ve been Iron Man all along.”
“Oh God. I can see this joke isn’t going to die anytime soon.”