virginscotchAnother day, another press conference. It was practically run of the mill for him these days, had been even before the Iron Man drama, it just seemed even more common since that all started. Still, it was almost worth it for every second he got to fly. Every swoop and dive, however bittersweet they were for what they reminded him of, made every inane question and accusation worth it.
He always hoped, though, every time, that maybe he'd be there. Tony knew Clark had become a journalist, it didn't take a genius billionaire to figure that out - and given that he was a genius billionaire, figuring it out had been very, very easy - and every time he held another press conference in another city, he scoured the crowd for sign of his face. He didn't want to hope he was there, he wanted to not think about him at all - Clark seemed to be managing just fine not thinking about him - but still he scanned the crowd, and still he downed an extra glass of scotch at the end of the day, and still he hoped.
This time he was rushed, just off a plane (he should have taken the suit, he told Pepper he should have taken the suit) and hustled into the room when it was already full, cameras flashing and keeping him from seeing the faces, and then he had papers shoved in front of him that he was supposed to have read and before he knew it the first question had come and a figure had stood up. Tony looked up, still slightly blinded from the flashes, and froze.