Henry stared at the new element quietly floating inside the reactor core. The smile on his face gradually faded, replaced by a complicated mix of emotions.
"I have to say, this thing is practically revolutionary," he said softly.
"I really can't imagine how Dad, back in that era—working only with vacuum tubes and punch cards—managed to come up with something like this out of thin air."
Tony also stood frozen, staring at the small but infinitely powerful miracle before him. His brain seemed to stall.
He had always believed he'd surpassed his father, but now, this tiny element felt like a silent slap across his arrogant pride.
Henry's thoughts were no less conflicted.
He couldn't figure out how much of a genius Howard Stark truly had to be, to conceive such an advanced theory in an age so lacking in technology.
Watching it in a movie was one thing. But once you actually understood what it meant, you realized just how insanely brilliant men like Howard had been.
He hadn't even had the equipment to verify his idea. All he could do was hide this great design inside an ordinary-looking city model, waiting for his son to discover it one day.
Maybe Howard really was the one and only true genius.
As for him and his equally narcissistic brother—well, maybe they were just inheritors standing on a giant's shoulders.
Of course, that wasn't entirely fair. Tony's brilliance couldn't be ignored. But in this moment, Howard truly deserved such recognition.
"Not bad, I guess."
Tony's smug voice broke the silence in the lab.
"The design is a little outdated, the structure's a bit simple, but… it's passable. Still, compared to me, it's way behind. If I'd designed it, at least it wouldn't be hidden this ridiculously well."
He took a deep breath, raised his brows, and gave an excited order.
"Alright! Now that the new element is complete—Jarvis! Contact the best surgical team in the world! The best! I want this pile of scrap metal that's been living in my chest gone as soon as possible!"
"Yes, sir," Jarvis responded immediately.
"Screening the world's top one hundred thoracic surgeons, performing background checks, and arranging schedules…"
"No need, Jarvis."
Henry's lazy voice cut in.
He stepped up to Tony, giving him a look reserved for idiots, and said mercilessly, "Tell me, Tony—did that reactor chamber fry your brain and turn it all into muscle? Did you forget something important?"
"Forget what?" Tony blinked, clearly lost.
"I remember everything just fine. For example—you lost our bet earlier."
"That's not what I meant!" Henry felt his blood pressure rise again. He jabbed a finger at himself, expression saying are you blind or what?
"With me here, why the hell would you need a surgeon?! Are you insulting me? Or do you really think those old men with scalpels—who can't even stop their hands from shaking—are more reliable than I am?"
"Why?" Tony shot back. He had no clue where Henry was going with this.
"When did you even get a medical license? Don't tell me Hydra trained you in surgery while they had you locked up?"
Henry didn't bother answering. He was already pulling up Tony's full-body scan on the console.
"Because I'm the best surgeon you'll ever get." He kept working as he spoke.
"And my surgery doesn't need anesthesia, doesn't need a scalpel. Remember that not-so-scientific thing I mentioned before—a bio-force field? Don't tell me you forgot already."
"You forgot how I brought Banner and that soldier back from New York? You thought I really carried them in my arms for thousands of kilometers? Please—I don't have that kind of weird hobby."
Tony froze.
Of course, he remembered.
When Henry had explained it, Tony thought he was joking. He'd even been curious about researching that so-called force field.
Later, he realized why Henry, despite his overwhelming strength, could always keep collateral damage to a minimum.
Still, he hesitated.
"Do we really have to do it this way?" Tony's eyes carried unease.
"Maybe we should be safer. You know surgery takes a lot of energy. As your brother, I don't want you overexerting yourself."
Henry stopped typing, turned, and looked at Tony's awkward expression. He couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh? Is that so?" he teased.
"Funny—I think you're just scared this unlicensed doctor might slip up and crush the little light bulb in your chest. Relax, I have a very steady hand."
He patted Tony's shoulder.
"Stop acting like a kid. Just sleep a while. When you wake up, everything will be fixed. Besides—you're America's favorite ass. Your body heals like a cockroach, you won't die."
Saying that, he casually pushed Tony down onto a prepared medical platform.
"Hey! Wait a sec!" Tony watched Henry raise his hand and made one last desperate protest.
"I just think we should—take a shower first, change clothes, grab a meal, then—"
"Relax." Henry cut him off with a grin.
"Captain America didn't die from a little injury like this. You won't either."
Before Tony could squeeze out another complaint, Henry tapped a finger against his forehead.
Darkness swallowed Tony, and he instantly blacked out.
"What a chatterbox," Henry muttered, shaking his head at the unconscious Tony.
He turned toward the air and said, "Jarvis, surgical tools—ready?"
"Right behind you, sir."
Henry glanced back. A robotic arm had already unfolded a sterile platform, where simple surgical instruments lay neatly prepared: tweezers, clamps, sutures, and a new arc reactor powered by the fresh element.
The reactor would be used, though most of the other tools probably wouldn't. They were just backup.
Henry didn't need complicated equipment. He was the most precise instrument in the world.
His bio-force field could directly pass through Tony's skin and muscles, like invisible hands. It would carefully wrap around the shrapnel lodged near Tony's heart, removing them without causing the slightest damage.
"Jarvis, run another deep scan of Tony's body," Henry said, hovering his hands above Tony's chest.
"I want the exact position of every blood vessel, every nerve."
***
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