[Malibu, Stark Mansion] Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

"This isn't going to work." The words echo back at him from the empty hall and the glass under his face fogs up a bit. Weary, dark eyes watch as the helicopter hovers a few feet above the landing pad before it finishes descending. Tony Stark is so fucking skeptical that this will work, but what choice does he have? Admit that he has a medical problem that is turning his blood into a deep blue, toxic sludge?

As if.

His company would crumble and the foundation he's been using to cure himself would fail with it. No. He's the smartest man he can trust at this time. Ms. Allard climbs from the helicopter with words to spare for the pilot and Tony tries to steel himself. This isn't going to be easy and owning up to needing help will feel like eating glass. But, he's running out of choices and Tony isn't ready to die yet.

The front door opens easily under his hand and the combined sound of ocean and slowing helicopter blades fills his head. Part of Tony wants to go out to greet her, to ensure he dots his I's and crosses his T's. However, taking a step forward almost undoes him and it is only years of walking around drunk that allows Tony to make the movement seem purposeful. Arms folded across his chest, Tony leans on the doorframe and tries his best to look stronger than he feels.

In another time and another place, Tony could easily see why people threw themselves at her feet and prayed she used them to walk forward. Here and now? He's just glad that he can even make her part of the way between the door and the heliopad. He...God, Tony hopes she can help him.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Allard," he says in a tone stronger than he feels, offering her a hand for a handshake. It is such a practiced motion. A simple glance would assure her that the worn, brown leather gloves are clean. However, they are an interesting choice considering he is both home and the weather is nowhere near cold enough for them.

"Being persuasive is only of my better talents, you'll find." Tony smirks a bit to himself as he starts to lead the way back to his home. "Well, I have heard that you are the person to go to when you just can't figure something out. That you're an inspiration to many."

His breath is just a bit winded as he continues, "You could say I just need a little inspiration. How much detail do you need?"

Tony barks a laugh at her reply. It is, perhaps, the first honest laugh he's had in longer than he can remember. "My worst are humility, if you can call that a talent, and golfing. If you say all the right things, you can give the impression that you're only losing because you're choosing to lose."

"I assure you, this is a project for myself." He seems to weigh his words, not for how truthful they are or how convincing. No, Tony is trying his best to frame things in a way that does not imply his intentions are devious. "Ms. Allard, this cannot get out to the public. It truly is something that only has my life in the immediate balance."

Tony does not wait for her to walk into his home first, instead leading the way past the front door and into an open-concept living room. A wall of glass showcases the ocean so far below them. His white couch groans as he plops down on it, relief washing across his features now that he doesn't need to hold himself up anymore. Tony sinks ito the couch before looking at Des.

"I'm dying."

"Death," Tony says shortly, simply. He puts his feet up on his little coffee table, his worn vans leaving dirt on it as he does so. Either he doesn't see it or he doesn't care about it. "Poisoning."

One hand rubs his chest under where his arc reactor sits and, if she were to lean just a little, Des would be able to see its faint blue glow. Tony's chin touches his chest as he looks down at himself and carefully undoes the last few buttons on his shirt.

"This little guy here keeps some wonderful shards from piercing through my heart and making me bleed out. Trick is," Tony says, tone not unlike an underpaid middle school science teacher trying to engage a rowdy class. "It is made with palladium, which is most often used in weapons. The kind that explodes and level villages."

"Palladium is not meant to be used in a pacemaker and it's getting into my bloodstream. That's bad." He leans his head against the back of the couch again, his little speech having taken more energy than he was expecting. Everything takes more energy than it should.

"You fit in because I've heard how you help people be better. I need to figure this out, but I've been slamming my head against the same table for months now. I don't think I have much time left." He finally turns to look at her and, not for the first time, it's clear this isn't quite the same man he shows the rest of the world. No. This is what happens to that man after he has been suffering on his own and has come to the terrible realization that he needs to ask for help.

"Is that something you can do, Ms. Allard?"

Tony glances at where she's tucked her shoes off to the side before she starts asking questions and making assumptions. They aren't the wrong questions or incorrect assumptions. It's oddly refreshing as the only people he's talked to about this thus far have been JARVIS and his favorite screwdriver, Charles. Neither are particularly great conversationalists.

"They cannot be removed from what I have seen, not to mention that the surgery would require the removal of my reactor. That alone would put me at death's door." He answers quietly, shifting in his seat to face her. "A bit of both. The metal is increasing my blood toxicity and, well."

He pulls at one of his gloves, the leather giving easily as he removes them. When he stretches out his fingers and lays his hand on the couch between the two of them. Tony's nailbeds are a very faint shade of blue.

"It's affecting how much oxygen is going through my system. Everything is harder than it should be," Tony admits, put out. For a topic shrouded in his impending doom, he still seems to be very flippant about it all. Almost like he's already given up and is now just going through the motions.

"Dialysis will likely help, but it would be impossible to pay a doctor and their crew enough to keep their silence. If word about this gets out, Stark Industries will take a heavy hit and I won't be able to fund this little project."

There is a moment where he seems to be examining his memories for further information to give and then he gasps just a little for breath. Her power washes over him and, instead of pulling him down, seems to push him higher and closer to the warmth of the sun. He's panting by the time Des leans closer to him, her hand reaching out to his reactor.

He can't even fathom denying her request at this moment. Tony merely nods.

A shudder rolls through him as the strength of her power wanes and Tony sinks just a bit more into his couch, rubbing at his chest with his bare hand. There are a million things that come to mind in a brief moment of silence. Tony licks his lips, cracking a wry grin.

"That was perhaps the kindest way someone's tried to kill me. Everyone failed to mention that you were an assassin, Ms. Allard." He snorts, shaking his head even as he reaches for a blanket behind the couch. It's almost to distract from the trembling in his hands. Tony wraps the faded red blanket over his shoulders. "You're the Operations Director for this little endeavor. I'll fund whatever you think we'll need. I only have one requirement for this whole thing."

"Well, I have a few, but this is something I have been meaning to do. I can't- I am the smartest man I can trust, Ms. Allard. However, this computer needs more processors," Tony says, sounding reluctant but also like he's practiced this speech a few times. Perhaps to convince himself it is true. "I need more smart people I can trust, but there is only one person I can even start to think would help me without exposing me. Just. Oracle has to have an in on this."

"We can start at any time, Ms. Allard. I'll have JARVIS give you access to everything."

He only just manages to think twice about reaching out to pat Des reassuringly. Instead, Tony forces himself to sit up straighter, pulling his feet from the coffee table. Upon noticing the dirt, he reaches out to brush it to the floor. It is not much better, but it is better.

"Well, I doubt you really wanted to touch me anyways, Ms. Allard," Tony jokes lightly. He's not quite sure how she manages to hover while keeping her distance. "Orcale is..."

His fingers tap on his knee as he thinks. "She is one of the smartest people I've met with an eye for this brand of science. We've worked together in the past and, despite all of my charms, we are not best friends. I don't think reaching out to her will be an issue, but she may try to take control of the situation."

"She's usually in control. But, that's why I'll leave that in your hands, Ms. Allard. After all, you're the Operations Director."