Marvel: A.T.L.A.S. - Ghost Protocol

Stark Mansion, New York - September 1987

The Emperor Eye tracked micro-vibrations from Tony's workshop three floors below. Even through solid walls, Caspian could feel his friend's restless energy—the rhythmic pounding of metal, the whine of precision tools, the occasional curse when something didn't align perfectly.

"He's been down there for thirty-six hours," Howard said from his study doorway, tumbler of scotch untouched. "Won't tell me what he's working on. Just says it's... important."

Caspian caught the hurt beneath Howard's casual tone. The growing distance between father and son felt like a physical thing, widening by degrees.

"You could ask him," Caspian suggested quietly.

"He doesn't want—" Howard stopped, shoulders sagging slightly. "Sometimes I look at him and see... everything I could lose. Everything that could go wrong." A bitter laugh. "But you understand that now, don't you? After the vault?"

The frost stirred in Caspian's blood at the memory. Six weeks since the incident, and still the cold lingered. Adapted. Evolved.

"Sir." Walter's voice through his secured comm interrupted the moment. "Director Valemont requires an update on your recovery status."

"Understood." Caspian headed for the basement stairs. "Howard... try talking to him. Before the distance gets too wide to cross."

Tony's workshop was organized chaos—projects in various stages of completion covering every surface. The Emperor Eye caught subtle patterns in the apparent randomness. Everything had its place, its purpose.

"If you're here to drag me to another black-tie function," Tony called from beneath a complicated apparatus, "I'm going to remind you about Budapest. And we both know you don't want that story getting out."

"Your father's worried."

"My father's always worried." Tools clattered as Tony emerged, grease-stained and tired. "About the company, about his contracts, about his legacy. About everything except—" He stopped, running a hand through disheveled hair. "Sorry. Not your problem."

"Tony."

"Don't use that tone. The one that says you understand everything." But there was no heat in it. "How's the recovery? And don't give me the sanitized version."

Caspian let a small amount of frost form on his fingertips. "Adapting. Learning to control it."

"Show me."

The next hour was spent running tests—Tony's brilliant mind approaching the ice's changes from angles A.T.L.A.S. scientists hadn't considered. No questions about the source, about what happened in the vault. Just problem-solving, brother helping brother.

"The molecular structure is fascinating," Tony muttered, studying readings. "The way it integrates with your cellular matrix... it's like nothing I've ever—" He stopped suddenly. "This is what dad's been obsessing over, isn't it? These kinds of things. The secrets he won't share."

"Tony..."

"No, I get it. Family business. Classified. Need to know." A tired smile. "At least you tell me that much. He just... pretends everything's normal. Like I can't see what it's doing to him. What he's carrying."

The Emperor Eye caught the subtle shift in Tony's posture. The weight of being excluded, of watching a parent disappear into darkness.

"He's trying to protect you."

"By lying? By drowning himself in work and whiskey?" Tony's laugh held no humor. "Some protection."

"From things that change you," Caspian said quietly. "Things you can't un-know."

Something in his tone made Tony look up sharply. The Emperor Eye caught the moment of understanding—that whatever had happened to Caspian in recent weeks had left marks deeper than frost.

"You know what your problem is?" Tony's voice softened. "You carry everything alone. Like it's somehow noble to shoulder the weight without help."

"Tony—"

"Shut up and listen." He pointed a grease-stained finger. "You're my best friend. My brother in everything but blood. So next time something tries to kill you? Call me. I don't need to know the classified details. Just... let me help."

The silence that followed was comfortable. The kind only possible between people who truly understood each other.

"Now," Tony clapped his hands, "help me test this new alloy. It's supposed to be cold-resistant, and since you're apparently generating your own personal winter..."

They worked through the night, frost and metal and friendship forming something new. Through his secured comm, Caspian heard Walter noting his location, updating his mother. But for these hours, he wasn't Agent Valemont or the Valemont heir.

He was just a brother, helping his brother build something beautiful.

In Howard's study above, the scotch remained untouched as he listened to the sounds of his son's work. The distance was there, growing wider. But perhaps, with Caspian's help, not impossible to cross.

Not yet.