ext_34821 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cap_ironman2008-08-06 12:09 am
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-08-06 12:09 am
Entry tags:
Classic-verse 1.5 - Tony Stark - Murderer? 2/3
Title: Classic-verse 1.5 - Tony Stark - Murderer? 2/3
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG
Pairings: Hank/Jan. Eventually Steve/Tony.
Warnings: This fic is not quite so fluffy as the previous ones. The general PG-level rating is probably closer to PG-13 on this one. No slash yet, although hints are starting to show through.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Author's Note: Plot blatantly stolen from Iron Man volume 1, issue #124-128. Yes, we're compressing timelines kind of a lot introducing this arc while the Heinrich Zemo storyline is still going on, but come on, you knew it was coming from the first moment Justin Hammer showed up.
Summary: The Avengers' trust in a team member and in their financial sponsor is tested when Iron Man is accused of murder.
As always, our thanks totavella for the great beta job; this would be full of hideously embarrassing spelling errors if not for her.
Chapter Two
Technically speaking, Tony had a very expensive and spacious apartment near the Stark Industries complex. He almost never used it, except for when he brought a date home for the night, preferring to sleep in his workroom, or, sometimes, at the Avengers Mansion. Except that right now, he wasn't sleeping at any of those places, because he couldn't sleep.
Cap had told him that he ought to get some rest, and Cap was generally right about these sorts of things, especially considering that Tony hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. Every time he tried, he kept remembering the way Sergio had been laughing at his stupid joke only second before he died. No, being honest, only seconds before Tony had killed him.
He could still smell the scent of charred flesh. It had been over a day, and he could still smell it.
Being in his workroom, surrounded by his equipment and the armor, ought to have made him feel better. It was where he went to decompress after long days at work, or hard fights. It wasn't working this time, though. This wasn't something he could escape from.
He had been lying down on the cot in one of the darker corners of the workroom, trying without success to fall asleep, but he'd ended up lying there for nearly an hour without any luck.
He'd eventually decided to enlist some assistance. The Napoleon brandy he kept stored in his office in case some important visitor needed schmoozing was very expensive and very good, but thus far, hadn't proved very helpful.
Now he was sitting up on the cot, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the way the light from the room's various computer screens reflected in his half-empty glass, and trying once again to figure out what had happened to the armor yesterday. He still had no idea what he had done wrong. Obviously, he'd done something wrong, because Sergio was dead, but what?
The armor lay in a neat pile on the nearest lab bench, the red and gold metal gleaming mockingly. Tony had checked it for every kind of damage, maintenance failure, or design flaw he could think of. As far as he could tell, it was perfect, flawless.
This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was an engineering genius. He was even better at mechanical design than he was at convincing women to get naked and horizontal with him. Or sometimes naked and vertical. Or convincing men to get naked with him, regardless of position.
Happy thought someone had set him up. Happy always believed in Tony, even though he usually didn't deserve it.
Thor hadn't blamed him either, but Thor was probably just being nice, and in an extra forgiving mood after the incident with the Enchantress.
Jan thought it was an accident, that old Shellhead had screwed up. Hank thought Tony Stark had screwed up. And worst of all, Cap thought that he'd done it on purpose, or at least, was worried that he might have.
Cap thought he was capable of murdering a man in cold blood. Of ordering his bodyguard to murder a man in cold blood.
Tony finished the rest of his glass of brandy in one long swallow. The heavy crystal decanter was sitting on the floor beside the cot. It was overly ornate, a relic of his father's tenure as head of SI.
He needed to have it replaced, Tony mused, as he refilled his glass. Something more streamlined, less Victorian. Maybe that would help make people stop comparing him to his father all the time and finding him wanting.
On the other hand, killing someone on the steps of the UN was definitely something Howard Stark had never done. The only blood on his father's hands had been third-hand, the blood of people killed by SI's weapons. If his father had ever killed anybody, it was probably for selling him faulty materials, and he would have done it via hired thugs. Good old Howard certainly wouldn't have done it by accident.
Rhodey didn't think it was an accident, either. Rhodey had called earlier, in spite of the fact that he was busy being a test pilot at one of the overseas plants and they hadn't talked in over a week -- time differences, and a consequence of the fact that they both had busy schedules. He thought it was, "a damn big coincidence that your gauntlet malfunctioned just in time to kill the ambassador of Carñelia. Come on, tell me there's someone who doesn't profit from that."
Maybe Rhodey and Happy and Thor had a point. Not about it not being Tony's fault -- it was his armor, he'd built it, anything it did was his fault -- but about someone having set this up.
Who would benefit from offing Carñelia's ambassador? The Mandarin liked anything that caused international discord, since this furthered his goal of eventually conquering all of Asia, if only by making the rest of the world less likely to interfere, but the Mandarin could never have gone this long after successfully pulling off a scheme without calling him up to gloat. Titanium Man would never have been this subtle. He stuck to purely physical attacks, usually while bragging loudly about how much bigger and stronger he was than Iron Man, which invariably made him look like an idiot when he lost. The Scarecrow had only been interested in stealing things. The Phantom had been hell bent on discrediting SI, but he was in jail. The Melter had it in for SI, too, or at least, had it in for Tony, but Cap and the others had taken him down and sent him packing off to Rykers Island as well.
The brandy was very good, but Tony couldn't even taste the smooth burn of it anymore. Dreadful way to treat good alcohol, of course, but he needed something to make the sight of Sergio's body go away.
It had helped after Afghanistan, when he couldn't relax because he'd had terrorists watching him for three months, ready to shoot him if he made the slightest slip, and had needed to be able to laugh and smile and charm people at parties to keep them from thinking that Tony Stark had gone over the edge while he was tied up in a cave. He couldn't be the force of personality that Howard Stark had been, so he had to be charming and personable, or at least confident. It had helped after Afghanistan, but it wasn't helping now.
Normally, he found that alcohol helped to dull things. Dull was good. Dull didn't hurt.
Maybe it wasn't about him. Maybe this was about Carñelia. Who would've had it in for their ambassador? There weren't any uprisings or impending military coups in Carñelia; that's why the board had agreed to let him put a factory there. So, not other Carñelians. Unless Sergio had some skeletons in the closet that no one knew about.
The whole factory and mining deal was off, obviously, and chances were any alliance with the US was off, at least for the foreseeable future. Somebody must have wanted to prevent America from increasing its presence in South America. Which was... most of South America, probably. But especially Vespugia, because they wanted to continue their efforts to strip mine half the Amazon jungle without people telling them that they couldn't use what was effectively slave labor when they did so.
Maybe it was Vespugia. From what he'd heard about the place from Fury, he wouldn't be surprised. Maybe it was old Mandy, and he was branching out from Asia. Hell, he didn't know anymore.
Whoever it was, they must have tampered with the armor in some way. Remote signals, maybe. He might have over-looked that, since he'd been looking for mistakes and not outside interference.
Given how many people had suggested the possibility, it was incredibly stupid of him not to have looked for it earlier. He needed to go over the armor again.
Tony set his empty glass down very carefully on the floor. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood, one hand braced against the wall, then sat again abruptly as the floor tilted under him.
Woops. Two days without sleep was clearly catching up to him. He would look at the armor tomorrow. Maybe if he gave himself a few hours away from it, a few hours of sleep, he'd be able to look at it with fresh eyes and figure out what the hell had been done to it.
If he knew what had happened, then he'd know who.
Cap hadn’t answered him when Tony had asked him if he really thought he was guilty.
The alcohol was supposed to make him numb. Anes... anesthetize things. Why wasn't it working?
Maybe one more drink would help. Maybe then he'd finally be able to sleep.
***
Stark Industries was a subdued place this morning; you could practically sense the employees' fear over the state of their continued employment as they hurried silently through the hallways, heads down.
Justin Hammer, observing it, felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Stark Industries stock was at rock bottom, lower than it had been since its dramatic drop after Howard Stark's death. Even Anthony Stark's ill-considered decision to cease producing munitions hadn't caused market shares to plummet this far.
Hammer had seen many a company collapse in his time, generally just before he bought the entire firm out lock, stock, and barrel, and SI had that feel to it now, the feel of desperation.
It was beautiful to behold. Originally, he'd simply planned to drive Stark out of business so that he'd stop interfering with Hammer Industries' contracts, but as he strode through the long hallway of the SI complex's main building, it occurred to him that once this entire business was through, SI would be ripe for a hostile takeover.
There was a certain justice to the concept, given the amount of business both Starks had stolen from him over the years.
The door to Stark's office was firmly shut. The man's red-headed snip of a secretary tried to bar him entrance, insisting that no one got in to see Mr. Stark without an appointment. Hammer ignored her, easily sidestepping her attempt to physically bar the door and throwing it open.
When he was occupying Stark's office, he decided, the minimalist modern desk would be the first thing to go, followed by the framed TIME Magazine cover photo of Iron Man on the wall, not to mention the giant bookshelf of engineering manuals.
The floor-to-ceiling picture window behind Stark's desk was impressive, but the entire office was too plain, barren, obviously the workplace of a man who had other priorities than business, who cared more about impressing supermodels than making the proper impression on prospective business partners.
The set of cut-crystal decanters by the side wall could stay, though, he decided. They must be a hold-over from Howard Stark's tenure as CEO; they'd clearly been chosen by a man with taste.
Stark glanced up when he entered, a look of blank surprise on his face. There was a pale, greyish cast to his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. The stress of the past two days was obviously taking its toll.
"I came to offer my sympathies," Hammer said, giving Stark a smile that he was sure had all the warmth of frostbite. He could be polite, but pretending to actually like the little brat was beyond him. "Who would have guessed that your bodyguard was capable of such a thing?" he went on, before Stark could respond. "I suppose SHIELD will find that someone was paying him off, or that the man simply snapped under the strain of being a superhero."
"SHIELD is handling the investigation." The secretary's voice came from behind him, loud and pointed. The woman had followed Hammer into the room, and was now standing by the doorway, one hand on her hip and a look of annoyance on her face. "They've requested that we not discuss it with the press, or with anyone else who isn't directly involved in the investigation."
"Of course, of course," Hammer said smoothly. "My mistake. I didn't mean to pry, but you can forgive a man some curiosity, I'm sure. I guess it just goes to show that superheroes don't make for the most reliable of employees." Neither did supervillains, in his experience. Once a man put on a mask and stared calling himself by a funny name, he tended to get above himself and forget who was holding the purse strings and giving the orders.
Not that that had happened with Iron Man, as far as he knew, but it had happened often enough in Hammer's experience with super-powered employees to be a trend.
"Such a shame you're having such trouble, Stark," Hammer went on. "Now that you've got all these legal trouble on your plate, all of those military and government contracts might prove too time-consuming and difficult to meet. Naturally, I'd be more than happy to take them off your hands."
Since he'd begun losing business to Stark Industries six months ago, Hammer had dreamed of the day he'd find himself standing in Stark's office with the tables turned. The reality was even sweeter than he'd imagined. Stark stared at him blankly, obviously too overwhelmed to even make an attempt at saving face. He had to know his company was on the verge of collapse, and was too shaken and defeated to even make an attempt at salvaging the situation.
"You can gloat on your own time, mister," the secretary snapped. "You might have so little business over at Hammer Industries that you can afford to spend half the day hanging around here, but we've got work to do. Happy, escort this gentleman out and see that he stops wasting Mr. Stark's time."
The doorway to Stark's office was suddenly filled by a tall, broad-shouldered individual who had "thug" written all over him; his flattened nose looked like it had been broken multiple times, and his suit fit him with an awkwardness that indicated a man not accustomed to wearing expensive business attire.
"With pleasure, Miss Potts," he said, eyeing Hammer with a sort of mournful dislike. He, like the employees in the hallway, had clearly seen the writing on the wall and knew that his days of steady employment were numbered.
Hammer offered the secretary his most charming smile. "You misunderstand me, Miss... Potts, was it? I simply came to offer Anthony here my condolences, as one businessman to another." They both knew that wasn't the case, but the forms had to be observed. "But as I can see that he's preoccupied, I'll see myself out."
"Good," Stark's thug said shortly. "You can come with me."
It was, Hammer sensed, time to leave before he overstayed his already thin welcome. He had come to see Stark's defeat for himself, not to get himself thrown out by Stark's bully boys.
Ah, well. He would be back.
Hammer could sense the bodyguard's lumbering presence behind him as he retraced his steps down the hall. This time, an engineer in a grease-stained lab coat looked up as he passed, presumably because of his hired-muscle escort. The engineer smirked at him.
Hammer marked the man's face, so that he would know who to fire first once he had absorbed the place into Hammer Industries.
He had won. Stark was on his way out, and he had no idea that Hammer had been the mastermind behind his downfall.
After weeks of trying to find himself an in at Stark Industries, Hammer had had the good luck to come across Dr. Birch, a physicist in SI's R&D section who had been frustrated at his situation. Apparently, he'd nursed a growing resentment of Stark over the fact that the man's series of technical and scientific breakthroughs had stolen the limelight away from his own more modest scientific achievements.
It had been all to easy to convince Birch to sabotage Stark's equipment, and though that strategy had unfortunately come to dead end, thanks to Iron Man's interference, Birch, during his fight with Iron Man, had been able to observe Stark's armored bodyguard in action. Thanks to the apparently delayed reaction of one of the man's gauntlets, he had been able to use his own equipment to spot the armor's energy signal changing just before it fired.
Birch was in a cell on Rykers island now, but Hammer had paid him well, and he had kept his mouth shut about who had hired him, pretending the entire thing had been his idea. More importantly, he had passed along the information about the gauntlet.
A team of Hammer's best computer scientists had used the information to devised an electronic signal that could trigger the gauntlet to fire, though it only functioned at very close range. He had needed Heinrich Zemo's assistance to get a man in place in the Carñelian delegation, but since Vespugia stood to benefit considerably from Ambassador Larocca's death and the subsequent breakdown of US-Carñelian relations, El Presidente had been more than happy to oblige.
When the camera flash had gone off and the transmitter inside the camera had triggered Iron Man's gauntlet, Hammer had felt a sense of satisfaction that he'd previously only derived from closing billion-dollar business deals.
The fact that El Presidente Zemo now owed him a favor of considerable size was only the icing on the cake. Unlike Zemo, who in spite of all his ranting and threats hadn't so much as managed to touch Captain America, Hammer had now dealt with his major opponent.
Hammer climbed back into his limo with a light heart and the satisfying sense of a job well done. Howard Stark's spoiled brat of a son would be a thorn in his side no longer.
***
Hammer strode out of Tony's office as if he owned the place, which was a difficult feat to pull off when you were being escorted out of a building under guard. Tony had known that all of his business rivals had to be secretly celebrating the disaster his life had turned into, but none of the others had felt the need to actually come to his office in person to gloat.
Who actually did that? Who in the name of God did Hammer think he was, Montgomery Burns? Even Norman Osborn had contented himself with sending a smug email.
"I'm so sorry," Pepper said.
Hammer imported half his raw materials from Vespugia, and probably exported not a few weapons through them as well, including Fury's Latverian adamantium.
"He just burst in," Pepper went on, "and I-"
"It was him!" Tony surged to his feet, feeling energized for the first time in days. "That arrogant old--" he broke off, vocabulary temporarily failing him, and started to pace, too angry to keep still. It all fit together so neatly. Hammer and his Vespugian buddies frame Iron Man for Sergio's murder, all diplomatic relations between the US and Carñelia grind to a screeching halt, Carñelia's attempts to get the US to join in a trade embargo against Vespugia fall apart, and Hammer gets to continue to keep his costs low by buying cheap Vespugian metal ores and oil, meanwhile, Tony Stark and Stark Industries go down in flames, and Hammer gets the opportunity to puts in bids for all of those defense contracts again, including the SHIELD Helicarrier. There was no way in hell Fury was going to give that one to him, but Hammer wouldn't believe that, of course. "It has to be him!"
Pepper was staring at him, he realized. Tony forced himself to come to a halt, to stand still. He probably looked a little crazy right now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The armor had been sabotaged. It wasn't something he had done.
"Mr. Stark," Pepper said, peering at him with obvious concern, "Tony, are you feeling all right?"
"He's involved up to his neck in Vespugian exports and he's trying to drive my company out of business," Tony explained, starting to pace again. It took four steps to go from his desk to the book case. Four steps in the other direction took him to the door of his workroom. "You heard him going on about all those contracts we took out from under him."
Pepper eyes widened as she picked up on his meaning. "You think he got to Iron Man somehow, bribed him to-"
"What?" Tony blinked at her, temporarily derailed. He knew Pepper wasn't crazy about Iron Man, but she couldn't actually think that he would take bribes from the likes of Justin Hammer, much less kill a man. "No! Of course not," he snapped. But Cap had believed he might have. "No," he said again, more quietly. "He sabotaged the armor somehow. Damn it, I still don't know how. Hold all my calls, Pep; I'll be in my workroom."
Pepper looked less than thrilled. Tony ignored her irritated expression, ducking quickly into his workroom and closing the door behind him. She generally looked like that when he made that kind of announcement.
Half an hour later, Tony's sudden burst of energy was gone, the dull headache he'd had all morning was back, and he was no closer to understanding what the hell Hammer had done to his armor than he'd been last night.
"He has to have done something!" Tony shouted, flinging a screwdriver against the wall with enough force that it bounced halfway across the room and skidded to a stop against the far edge of the lab bench. "What is it and how the hell did he do it?"
Approximately two seconds, Pepper's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Stark, a reporter from the Daily Bugle wants to talk to you. For that matter, so do two of our main communications customers, not to mention half the board of directors."
"Tell them I'm busy," Tony snapped. He knew exactly what the board of directors would have to say to him; there was a reason he'd been avoiding them for the past day and a half.
He knew it was Hammer. It had to be Hammer. And that meant that Hammer's people had to have manipulated that gauntlet into firing somehow.
Tony's shoulders sagged, the brief surge of anger draining away as his earlier energy had. He stared dully at the disassembled repulsor apparatus, which remained stubbornly unbroken and un-altered in any fashion that he could discern.
Until he could find whatever Hammer had planted in his armor, or undo whatever had been done, there was no way he could wear it. Iron Man was off limits and he was stuck being plain old Tony Stark. And apparently he could even do that properly anymore.
He was supposed to be an engineering genius. There weren't supposed to be technological problems that he couldn't solve.
Tony sighed, and went to pick up the thrown screwdriver. Before he could return to his increasingly pointless work on the armor, he heard the hollow click of the intercom activating once more.
"Colonel Fury is on the phone, sir," Pepper informed him. "He wants to know, and I quote, 'What the hell is up with that god-damned fake armor you gave him.'"
"Oh," Tony said. "That." He had almost forgotten about Fury. He had expected to have figured out how the armor had been tampered with by this point, to have some kind of proof to hand Fury when he showed back up to demand an explanation, even if it was only proof of exactly how Tony had screwed up.
"Yes. That." Pepper said, voice absolutely level in a way that Tony knew spelled danger. "Tony, I like you, and you pay me very, very well, but one of my new career goals is to not end up testifying in front of a grand jury. My mother would never let me live it down."
"Don’t worry, if it gets that far, I'll probably be extradited to Carñelia anyway." He'd meant it to be a joke, but it probably came out sounding bitterer than he'd intended. A joke or two at his own expense was usually an effective distraction from questions he didn't want to answer, but the charming playboy act was getting a lot harder to pull off these days. It took more energy than he currently had.
"You know, I hear Oscorp is hiring these days."
Pepper sounded dead serious, but Tony knew it was a joke, because if she'd truly meant it, she would have named Rand Corporation, or some other company whose president she didn't actively hate. He couldn't help but feel pathetically grateful that she was letting him get away with shifting the conversation onto lighter ground.
"But do they have a dental plan?" he asked, forcing himself to sound as if this were any one of the many times Pepper had threatened to leave him for another employer, as if the possibility of Tony standing trial for Sergio's murder were no more serious than the time she had walked into his office and caught him and Veronica Vogue in flagrante delicto.
"An excellent one," she informed him solemnly. There was a long pause, while Tony tried to think of something clever to say in return, and failed utterly. Then she sighed, and when she spoke again, the solemnity in her voice was real. "This isn't a joke, Tony. SHIELD engineers say that the armor you turned over to Fury doesn't have enough circuitry in it to operate independently, so unless Iron Man is actually a robot that you operate by remote control, which they're not ruling out, by the way, you gave them a stripped-"
"Remote control!" It was so obvious. Tony could feel his whole body stiffening, a flash of his long-lost energy suddenly returning. Why hadn't he seen it? "Oh my God, I'm an idiot. Thanks, Pep. Remind me to give you a raise."
"What about Fury?" Pepper failed to sound mollified at the prospect of a raise.
"Stall him another day or so, can you?" Tony said, already returning his attention to the armor. If Hammer's people had somehow found a way to trigger his gauntlet remotely...
"What am I supposed to do when the SHIELD agents come to arrest you?" Pepper's voice broke in on his thoughts once again.
Theory wasn't enough, though. He needed proof.
Hammer was too arrogant, too self-confident, to cover his tracks completely. If he were the kind of man who took pains to eliminate all electronic and physical evidence, he wouldn't have come here to gloat.
If Tony could get into Hammer's office, into his files, he'd be able to find the proof he needed. He was sure he would. But if he was going to do that without the armor, he was going to need some way to defend himself in the event that he was caught. He couldn't ask anyone else to accompany him, not when he was planning to illegally break into Hammer's office and hack his computer, but might, he acknowledged reluctantly, be time to ask for help.
Tony shrugged, though he knew she couldn't see it. Fury wouldn't send agents to bring him in for at least another twelve hours; he needed to act quickly, but he wasn't completely out of tine yet. "Tell them it was Justin Hammer. I'll have proof for them by then."
The gauntlets' firing mechanism was activated by an electromagnetic signal triggered by Tony's subvocalised command -- or by the manual override he'd build in just in case -- and transmitted to the gauntlet via a series of electrical impulses. If Hammer had somehow learned the applicable energy signatures, he might have been able to broadcast a signal that mimicked the armor's internal commands. If it was close range, and powerful enough...
***
"I thought I told you to go and rest."
Stark might have vanished from the mansion yesterday, but looking at him now, Steve doubted that he'd actually gone home and gotten some sleep, as Steve had suggested. His suit was neatly pressed and he had clearly remembered to shave this morning, which put him one up on the last time Steve had seen him, but the dark circles under his eyes were still there.
"I did," Stark said. "Look, Cap, I... came to ask a favor."
Steve blinked, feeling himself start to frown. What kind of a favor could Tony Stark possibly want from him? He'd promised to call Stark if SHIELD told the Avengers anything new about their investigation, but he and the others had heard nothing from Nick since he'd confiscated Iron Man's armor.
He'd made his suspicions of Stark plain the last time they had spoken -- more plain than he really felt comfortable with, now that he was face to face with the other man again. He owed Tony Stark a great deal, and while he couldn't afford to ignore the possibility that Stark had been responsible for the Carñelian ambassador's death... looking at him now, he didn't look like a man who would use a friend to commit cold blooded, calculated murder.
He looked like a soldier who'd been in combat too long. Steve had seen too many men stretched almost to the breaking point, men who jumped at small sounds, men whose hands shook, who jerked awake gasping from nightmares, who couldn't relax even when they were faraway from the front. Stark had the same sort of look in his eyes now, like it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.
"What kind of favor?" Steve asked.
"You may have noticed that I'm minus a bodyguard at the moment," Stark said, lips twitching into a rueful smile that was gone almost before it formed. "And considering how many people out there don't like me, I wouldn't mind knowing how to look after myself a little better."
Meaning what? Steve gave Stark a careful, considering look. As far as Steve could tell, he appeared to be unarmed, and since Bucky had been adept at hiding surprisingly large blades inside his clothing with barely a wrinkle or bulge in sight, Steve was good at spotting that sort of thing.
"I'm not going to hire a new bodyguard while Iron Man is," Stark hesitated, "away. Talk about a vote of no confidence." He shook his head, the motion causing a piece of hair to fall down across his forehead. "I wouldn't do that to him."
Steve offered him a smile for that. It made him think better of the man, that he wanted to avoid making any gestures to distance himself from Iron Man, despite the fact that he had to know that it would go better for him with the press if he did. Apparently, Stark stuck by his employees, and his friends, even when they were wanted for murder.
"I could give you a crash course in self-defense, if you want," he suggested. It was he least he could do, given that he'd been living in the man's house for a month.
"I'd... like that," Stark said, offering Steve another faint twitch of a smile. "Actually, that was the favor I was going to ask you for."
Some fifteen minutes later, the two of them were facing one across a wide expanse of mat in the Avengers' gym. Stark had traded his suit for sweatpants and an over-sized blue t-shirt with "MIT" written across the front. Steve had never seen him out of a suit and tie before; it made him look younger, like some college boy who ought to be taking sorority girls out on dates rather than the billionaire head of a major corporation worrying about threats on his life.
Steve himself was in his costume, complete with mask, but he'd left his shield leaning against the wall when he'd come in. He wasn't going to need it for this.
"Go ahead," he told Stark, as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, bringing his hands up in preparation for whatever Stark might be about to do. "Give it your best shot."
Stark's punch was clearly telegraphed, but his form was better than Steve had expected. It didn't do him any good, though, because Steve leaned sideways, out of the path of Stark's fist, grabbed Stark by the wrist and upper arm, and flipped him over his shoulder and into the gym wall.
Stark slide down the wall to the floor and sat there, blinking up at Steve, looking dazed and considerably impressed.
"That's your first lesson," he told Stark, doing his best not to sound smug. This was more fun than he'd expected. "If anyone offers you a sucker punch, they've probably got a reason. Don't fall for it."
"Right," Stark wheezed. "Noted." He climbed to his feet again, wincing slightly, and Steve made a mental note to use a little less force for the rest of the lesson. Stark was new at this, and he didn't have the benefit of supersoldier serum enhancing his endurance.
"Okay," Steve said. "First, we're going to teach you how to take a fall. You tensed up before you hit the wall. You don't want to do that; it makes the impact worse."
"I know, I know." Stark rotated his neck carefully, then stretched, like a man checking to see that everything was in proper working order. "Happy's told me that a dozen times. But you try not to tense when you're suddenly airborne with plaster coming at your face."
Steve raised his eyebrows.
Stark made a face. "Fine. You're perfect. Let's move on."
Stark was, overall, better than Steve had expected. He was in decent shape, for one. Actually, more than decent shape. He was on the thin side, yes, but there was solid muscle in his arms that must have been from welding, something all of those button down shirts and suit jackets usually concealed.
For another, someone had taught him at least the basics of boxing; he knew how to throw a punch. What he didn't seem to know was how to dodge one.
It wasn't until third time Stark took one of Steve's blows full on, without so much as trying to deflect it or move out of the way, that Steve realized what he was doing. He was trying to absorb the blow without flinching and catch Steve off guard while he was still off balance from throwing the punch (or, the third time, kick). It was something Steve had seen Thor do multiple times, something he'd seen Iron Man do as well, though it frequently resulted in Iron Man getting the stuffing beaten out of him, since even in the armor, he didn't have Thor's mass.
Stark, without either mass and partial invulnerability or armor, had even less success with this tactic than his bodyguard did.
"You've picked up a bad habit from your bodyguard," Steve told him, as he helped Stark to his feet again. "Both of you need to learn some self-preservation."
Stark frowned, straightening his shirt. Steve found himself idly wishing that he would just take it off, rather than continually trying to keep the fabric from getting rucked up or twisted. It was almost as if he were trying to hide his upper body, though there was nothing wrong with it as far as Steve could tell. Was he embarrassed by the fact that he didn't have rippling biceps or a perfect set of flat, defined stomach muscles? This was Tony Stark; surely he knew exactly how attractive he was?
The few glimpses he got of Stark's shoulder blades, of the curve of his back, of the edges of his collarbones, which peeked over the neckline of the shirt when he moved just right, were more distracting than they ought to have been. It was a shame the sweatpants were so loose.
Most men, he knew, didn't enjoy looking at other men, unless they were the sort who were given blue discharges for sexual misconduct. Steve had never been most men, but since the U.S. Army didn't care what kind of pin-ups you liked to look as long as they never caught you doing anything, he'd never had any trouble over it.
Steve had always avoided the issue by never doing anything but look. Girls might be significantly more intimidating and often, not quite as interesting once you stopped talking and started kissing, but they didn't draw attention to you. Well, not that he'd done much more than look with women, either, but there had been that one time in Paris with the Howling Commandos, a few French girls, and a lot of alcohol. That had been a lot of fun, especially the next morning, when Steve had been the only one who remembered everything that had happened the previous night. Marie-Rose had been very nice, very pretty, and able to keep a completely straight face when she backed up Steve's assertion that he'd seen Dum-Dum Dugan dipping Nick Fury in the middle of a drunken waltz to plant a kiss squarely on his sergeant's lips.
Nick still didn't know that Steve had made it up.
Stark tried a kick this time, and Steve hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him tumbling to the mat. This time, Stark landed properly, rolled, and came up in a crouch, left hand held up toward Steve, palm out. It was a gesture that was teasingly familiar, but before Steve could place it, Stark looked at his hand, blinked, and let it drop, climbing back to his feet and shifting into a defensive stance.
His dark hair was disheveled and damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, his chest was heaving as he panted for breath, and he was grinning widely, the same grin he'd worn when he told Steve about his plans to build SHIELD a flying aircraft carrier. "That's what I have a bodyguard for," he said, panting slightly, "and what Iron Man has armor for."
"Well," Steve told him, "until you get your bodyguard back," if he got his bodyguard back; if Iron Man was actually guilty, neither Stark nor Steve would be working with him again, "that's what you're here to learn."
Stark's grin faltered, and Steve found himself wishing he could take the words back. Now that they had both been reminded of the reason behind this sparring lesson, the fun seemed to go out of things.
"Right," Steve said, pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, "now I'm going to teach you something a little bit more exotic than a right hook."
Stark raised his eyebrows. "You do realize that that thing where you kick your feet higher than your head is not something that most of us are ever going to be able to do, no matter how much we practice?"
Steve shook his head. "No, what I'm going to show you is how to fight when you're up against someone who physically out-classes you, which is going to be just about anybody that someone's hired to come after you, because they're going to be professionals." And Stark wasn't exactly bulky.
Stark picked up the couple of judo moves Steve showed him much more quickly than he had how to fall properly. "It's all about leverage and momentum," he said, when Steve pointed this out, "which are some of the basic building blocks of mechanical design. I'm good at that kind of thing."
Steve climbed to his feet -- he'd allowed Stark to throw him, so that he could learn how it was done -- and straightened. He could feel himself grinning again. He hadn't been able to do this, spar with somebody like this, in far too long.
Stark was on one knee on the matt, head down; as Steve watched, a drop of sweat fell from the ends of his hair to land on the matt. He drew in a deep breath, then stood, wincing visibly at the movement.
"I think we're done for today," Steve said. Stark seemed more than ready to keep going, but it wouldn't do to overdo things on his first lesson. If Steve was being honest with himself, they probably ought to have quit a good fifteen minutes ago, but he'd been enjoying himself, and had allowed the lesson to go on longer than he otherwise might have; Stark had finally been allowing himself to relax again.
"My bruises are grateful," Stark said, with the self-deprecating little half smile that Steve had initially thought looked like a smirk. "I don't imagine you get much call for this sort of thing. No one out-classes you."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Steve offered him a grin, and handed him a towel. "I ran into a few German ex-boxers during the war who were built like Panzer tanks, including one guy that I'm pretty sure was actually a troll."
Stark's not-quite-smirk widened a little, turning into something honestly amused. He thought Steve was joking.
"He was green," Steve added.
"I'm not doubting you, but in my experience, that's usually a side-effect of radiation, not of being some kind of mythical creature." Stark buried his face in the towel, wiping away the sweat. "Thanks for the lesson," he added, the words slightly muffled by the cloth. "I'm sure it will come in handy under the current circumstances." He looked back up at Steve, amusement gone now. "Before Iron Man can come back, I have to figure out what's going on. It's too bad real life isn't like a Sherlock Holmes story, where everything has a logical solution and all I'd have to do to figure it all out would be to notice a set of suspicious scratches on someone's cufflinks."
"Things are never that easy." Real life, in Steve's experience, was always considerably messier than fiction. Life didn't have to have a happy ending.
Iron Man was a Sherlock Holmes fan, too. He'd leant Steve one of Stark's old books on Steve's first night at the Mansion, a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories inscribed "Happy 8th birthday, Tony." He'd said it was one of his favorites. One more item on the growing list of things Iron Man and Stark had in common.
Stark was staring off into space now, shoulders slumped, the towel hanging forgotten in one hand. "God, I hope it's all over soon," he said, softly. "I don't think I've gotten any real sleep since all of this started." The smile he flashed Steve was the same painful one he'd worn when Fury had come to confiscate the armor. "Though with the workout you've given me, maybe I'll be tired enough tonight that I'll actually be able to get some rest." He had that haunted, strained look in his eyes again, the one that reminded Steve of soldiers with battle fatigue.
"Doing something helps," Steve offered. "Sitting around and thinking just makes it worse."
Another attempt at a smile. "I guess those dreams about your partner are still keeping you up nights, too, huh?"
Stark knew about the nightmares? How the hell did Stark know about the nightmares? He'd told him about Bucky, but he'd only mentioned the guilt, not the dreams. The only person he'd spoken to about those was Iron Man. He couldn't very well deny that he was having them, though. Not when it was true, not when Stark obviously already knew.
"I can hear him yelling my name while I fall. I didn't really, but when I dream about it, I always do." It was strange to hear himself admitting it, especially here, to this man. Even stranger that it didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. He liked Stark, but he'd never expected to find himself comfortable enough with him to admit to something so personal. Something that might make Stark, a man whose goodwill he was currently dependant on, think less of him.
Stark clearly didn't think less of him, though. He'd brought the nightmares up himself, as much as admitted to having some of his own. Iron Man must have mentioned them to him, unless... he couldn't imagine that Iron Man would have told anyone what Steve had confided in him during those late-night conversations, not even Stark.
Iron Man was left-handed, too. That moment, earlier, when Stark had flung up his left hand in front of him, palm out -- he'd seen Iron Man do that in fights more times than he could easily recall. That's why it had seemed familiar, and also why it had seemed slightly strange. It wasn't a normal defensive move from someone fighting bare-handed. It was the move of someone wearing a repulsor gauntlet.
He had to be jumping to conclusions. Stark couldn't actually be... Stark was staring at him, frowning, a concerned look on his face.
Steve looked away, rubbing uneasily at the back of his neck, and hoping that Stark couldn't tell what he was thinking. "If I could just get my hands on Heinrich Zemo..." he said, deliberately returning his attention to the conversation and not the suspicion suddenly filling his thoughts. They'd sworn not to ask about one another's secret identities, though admittedly, Iron Man was the only one who had one. "He's the reason we were on that plane in the first place." As distractions for himself worked, it was a good one. He could still see the gloating look on Zemo's face, just before the plane took off. If there were any justice in the world, Baron von Zemo would have been the one to perish in that explosion, not Bucky. It had been his plan, his explosives, his fault that Bucky had never gotten to see the end of the war, never gotten to go home. "But the war's been over for decades. I don't even know what happened to him in the end."
Stark shrugged. "Considering how many war crimes as he committed, he must have been dealt with years ago." He glanced down at the towel in his hand, seeming to notice it for the first time since the conversation had started. "I should go take a shower and get out of here before Fury comes calling."
Steve didn't want to know why Stark wanted to avoid Nick. If Stark told him, and Nick did in fact come looking for him, Steve would be obligated to pass the information along. Technically, he ought to mention his suspicions, too. Iron Man was officially a fugitive from justice.
If Stark was really Iron Man, Steve decided, there was no way he could be guilty. He was too obviously shaken by what had happened. True cold-blooded killers weren't haunted by their crimes. Steve had met enough to know.
Stark was at the door now, about to leave the room.
"I want you to know," Steve started, and Stark stopped, turned to look at him, and Steve suddenly realized that he wasn't really sure what he'd been about to say. "I, um, want you to know that you've got my full support if you need anything, and," he hesitated, unsure if he should continue, but then decided that it needed to be said even if he was right, maybe especially then, "tell Iron Man that I've still got his back."
Stark closed his eyes for a second, face twisting, then his expression smoothed out again. "Thank you, Cap," he said, voice rough. "You don't know how much -- I'll tell him that."
He looked... relieved. An open, raw relief that Steve didn't think Iron Man was guilty. That look confirmed Steve's suspicions. No one was that relieved to hear that you didn't think their employee was guilty of murder.
It explained so much; why Stark and Iron Man both talked with their hands, why Iron Man knew so much about Stark Industries technology, why Stark knew little things like how Steve took his coffee despite having spent comparatively little time around him. He'd eaten breakfast with Iron Man more than once.
Iron Man, like Stark, never had anything but coffee. Steve had initially thought that that was because he wouldn't be able to eat without taking off his helmet -- he'd drunk the coffee through a straw -- but now he knew better.
Tony Stark was Iron Man. Tony Stark was the man he'd been talking to when he couldn't sleep, sharing his past with, the one who shared Steve's taste in radio shows, the one who'd introduced him to the Lord of the Rings and taught him how to make the Avengers communications equipment work and...
"Mr. Stark," he said, trying to keep his new knowledge out of his voice, "at this point I think you might as well call me Steve."
Stark smiled at him, a real smile this time, and held out a hand. "In that case, forget the Mr. Stark business. Call me Tony."
Steve took the offered hand, shaking it solemnly. "I'll see you this time next week, Tony. For lesson number two."
Tony nodded, still smiling, though a trace of that haunted look still remained in his eyes. "Count on it."
***
Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three
Authors:
seanchai and elspethdixonRated: PG
Pairings: Hank/Jan. Eventually Steve/Tony.
Warnings: This fic is not quite so fluffy as the previous ones. The general PG-level rating is probably closer to PG-13 on this one. No slash yet, although hints are starting to show through.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Author's Note: Plot blatantly stolen from Iron Man volume 1, issue #124-128. Yes, we're compressing timelines kind of a lot introducing this arc while the Heinrich Zemo storyline is still going on, but come on, you knew it was coming from the first moment Justin Hammer showed up.
Summary: The Avengers' trust in a team member and in their financial sponsor is tested when Iron Man is accused of murder.
As always, our thanks to
tavella for the great beta job; this would be full of hideously embarrassing spelling errors if not for her.Technically speaking, Tony had a very expensive and spacious apartment near the Stark Industries complex. He almost never used it, except for when he brought a date home for the night, preferring to sleep in his workroom, or, sometimes, at the Avengers Mansion. Except that right now, he wasn't sleeping at any of those places, because he couldn't sleep.
Cap had told him that he ought to get some rest, and Cap was generally right about these sorts of things, especially considering that Tony hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours. Every time he tried, he kept remembering the way Sergio had been laughing at his stupid joke only second before he died. No, being honest, only seconds before Tony had killed him.
He could still smell the scent of charred flesh. It had been over a day, and he could still smell it.
Being in his workroom, surrounded by his equipment and the armor, ought to have made him feel better. It was where he went to decompress after long days at work, or hard fights. It wasn't working this time, though. This wasn't something he could escape from.
He had been lying down on the cot in one of the darker corners of the workroom, trying without success to fall asleep, but he'd ended up lying there for nearly an hour without any luck.
He'd eventually decided to enlist some assistance. The Napoleon brandy he kept stored in his office in case some important visitor needed schmoozing was very expensive and very good, but thus far, hadn't proved very helpful.
Now he was sitting up on the cot, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the way the light from the room's various computer screens reflected in his half-empty glass, and trying once again to figure out what had happened to the armor yesterday. He still had no idea what he had done wrong. Obviously, he'd done something wrong, because Sergio was dead, but what?
The armor lay in a neat pile on the nearest lab bench, the red and gold metal gleaming mockingly. Tony had checked it for every kind of damage, maintenance failure, or design flaw he could think of. As far as he could tell, it was perfect, flawless.
This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was an engineering genius. He was even better at mechanical design than he was at convincing women to get naked and horizontal with him. Or sometimes naked and vertical. Or convincing men to get naked with him, regardless of position.
Happy thought someone had set him up. Happy always believed in Tony, even though he usually didn't deserve it.
Thor hadn't blamed him either, but Thor was probably just being nice, and in an extra forgiving mood after the incident with the Enchantress.
Jan thought it was an accident, that old Shellhead had screwed up. Hank thought Tony Stark had screwed up. And worst of all, Cap thought that he'd done it on purpose, or at least, was worried that he might have.
Cap thought he was capable of murdering a man in cold blood. Of ordering his bodyguard to murder a man in cold blood.
Tony finished the rest of his glass of brandy in one long swallow. The heavy crystal decanter was sitting on the floor beside the cot. It was overly ornate, a relic of his father's tenure as head of SI.
He needed to have it replaced, Tony mused, as he refilled his glass. Something more streamlined, less Victorian. Maybe that would help make people stop comparing him to his father all the time and finding him wanting.
On the other hand, killing someone on the steps of the UN was definitely something Howard Stark had never done. The only blood on his father's hands had been third-hand, the blood of people killed by SI's weapons. If his father had ever killed anybody, it was probably for selling him faulty materials, and he would have done it via hired thugs. Good old Howard certainly wouldn't have done it by accident.
Rhodey didn't think it was an accident, either. Rhodey had called earlier, in spite of the fact that he was busy being a test pilot at one of the overseas plants and they hadn't talked in over a week -- time differences, and a consequence of the fact that they both had busy schedules. He thought it was, "a damn big coincidence that your gauntlet malfunctioned just in time to kill the ambassador of Carñelia. Come on, tell me there's someone who doesn't profit from that."
Maybe Rhodey and Happy and Thor had a point. Not about it not being Tony's fault -- it was his armor, he'd built it, anything it did was his fault -- but about someone having set this up.
Who would benefit from offing Carñelia's ambassador? The Mandarin liked anything that caused international discord, since this furthered his goal of eventually conquering all of Asia, if only by making the rest of the world less likely to interfere, but the Mandarin could never have gone this long after successfully pulling off a scheme without calling him up to gloat. Titanium Man would never have been this subtle. He stuck to purely physical attacks, usually while bragging loudly about how much bigger and stronger he was than Iron Man, which invariably made him look like an idiot when he lost. The Scarecrow had only been interested in stealing things. The Phantom had been hell bent on discrediting SI, but he was in jail. The Melter had it in for SI, too, or at least, had it in for Tony, but Cap and the others had taken him down and sent him packing off to Rykers Island as well.
The brandy was very good, but Tony couldn't even taste the smooth burn of it anymore. Dreadful way to treat good alcohol, of course, but he needed something to make the sight of Sergio's body go away.
It had helped after Afghanistan, when he couldn't relax because he'd had terrorists watching him for three months, ready to shoot him if he made the slightest slip, and had needed to be able to laugh and smile and charm people at parties to keep them from thinking that Tony Stark had gone over the edge while he was tied up in a cave. He couldn't be the force of personality that Howard Stark had been, so he had to be charming and personable, or at least confident. It had helped after Afghanistan, but it wasn't helping now.
Normally, he found that alcohol helped to dull things. Dull was good. Dull didn't hurt.
Maybe it wasn't about him. Maybe this was about Carñelia. Who would've had it in for their ambassador? There weren't any uprisings or impending military coups in Carñelia; that's why the board had agreed to let him put a factory there. So, not other Carñelians. Unless Sergio had some skeletons in the closet that no one knew about.
The whole factory and mining deal was off, obviously, and chances were any alliance with the US was off, at least for the foreseeable future. Somebody must have wanted to prevent America from increasing its presence in South America. Which was... most of South America, probably. But especially Vespugia, because they wanted to continue their efforts to strip mine half the Amazon jungle without people telling them that they couldn't use what was effectively slave labor when they did so.
Maybe it was Vespugia. From what he'd heard about the place from Fury, he wouldn't be surprised. Maybe it was old Mandy, and he was branching out from Asia. Hell, he didn't know anymore.
Whoever it was, they must have tampered with the armor in some way. Remote signals, maybe. He might have over-looked that, since he'd been looking for mistakes and not outside interference.
Given how many people had suggested the possibility, it was incredibly stupid of him not to have looked for it earlier. He needed to go over the armor again.
Tony set his empty glass down very carefully on the floor. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood, one hand braced against the wall, then sat again abruptly as the floor tilted under him.
Woops. Two days without sleep was clearly catching up to him. He would look at the armor tomorrow. Maybe if he gave himself a few hours away from it, a few hours of sleep, he'd be able to look at it with fresh eyes and figure out what the hell had been done to it.
If he knew what had happened, then he'd know who.
Cap hadn’t answered him when Tony had asked him if he really thought he was guilty.
The alcohol was supposed to make him numb. Anes... anesthetize things. Why wasn't it working?
Maybe one more drink would help. Maybe then he'd finally be able to sleep.
Stark Industries was a subdued place this morning; you could practically sense the employees' fear over the state of their continued employment as they hurried silently through the hallways, heads down.
Justin Hammer, observing it, felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Stark Industries stock was at rock bottom, lower than it had been since its dramatic drop after Howard Stark's death. Even Anthony Stark's ill-considered decision to cease producing munitions hadn't caused market shares to plummet this far.
Hammer had seen many a company collapse in his time, generally just before he bought the entire firm out lock, stock, and barrel, and SI had that feel to it now, the feel of desperation.
It was beautiful to behold. Originally, he'd simply planned to drive Stark out of business so that he'd stop interfering with Hammer Industries' contracts, but as he strode through the long hallway of the SI complex's main building, it occurred to him that once this entire business was through, SI would be ripe for a hostile takeover.
There was a certain justice to the concept, given the amount of business both Starks had stolen from him over the years.
The door to Stark's office was firmly shut. The man's red-headed snip of a secretary tried to bar him entrance, insisting that no one got in to see Mr. Stark without an appointment. Hammer ignored her, easily sidestepping her attempt to physically bar the door and throwing it open.
When he was occupying Stark's office, he decided, the minimalist modern desk would be the first thing to go, followed by the framed TIME Magazine cover photo of Iron Man on the wall, not to mention the giant bookshelf of engineering manuals.
The floor-to-ceiling picture window behind Stark's desk was impressive, but the entire office was too plain, barren, obviously the workplace of a man who had other priorities than business, who cared more about impressing supermodels than making the proper impression on prospective business partners.
The set of cut-crystal decanters by the side wall could stay, though, he decided. They must be a hold-over from Howard Stark's tenure as CEO; they'd clearly been chosen by a man with taste.
Stark glanced up when he entered, a look of blank surprise on his face. There was a pale, greyish cast to his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. The stress of the past two days was obviously taking its toll.
"I came to offer my sympathies," Hammer said, giving Stark a smile that he was sure had all the warmth of frostbite. He could be polite, but pretending to actually like the little brat was beyond him. "Who would have guessed that your bodyguard was capable of such a thing?" he went on, before Stark could respond. "I suppose SHIELD will find that someone was paying him off, or that the man simply snapped under the strain of being a superhero."
"SHIELD is handling the investigation." The secretary's voice came from behind him, loud and pointed. The woman had followed Hammer into the room, and was now standing by the doorway, one hand on her hip and a look of annoyance on her face. "They've requested that we not discuss it with the press, or with anyone else who isn't directly involved in the investigation."
"Of course, of course," Hammer said smoothly. "My mistake. I didn't mean to pry, but you can forgive a man some curiosity, I'm sure. I guess it just goes to show that superheroes don't make for the most reliable of employees." Neither did supervillains, in his experience. Once a man put on a mask and stared calling himself by a funny name, he tended to get above himself and forget who was holding the purse strings and giving the orders.
Not that that had happened with Iron Man, as far as he knew, but it had happened often enough in Hammer's experience with super-powered employees to be a trend.
"Such a shame you're having such trouble, Stark," Hammer went on. "Now that you've got all these legal trouble on your plate, all of those military and government contracts might prove too time-consuming and difficult to meet. Naturally, I'd be more than happy to take them off your hands."
Since he'd begun losing business to Stark Industries six months ago, Hammer had dreamed of the day he'd find himself standing in Stark's office with the tables turned. The reality was even sweeter than he'd imagined. Stark stared at him blankly, obviously too overwhelmed to even make an attempt at saving face. He had to know his company was on the verge of collapse, and was too shaken and defeated to even make an attempt at salvaging the situation.
"You can gloat on your own time, mister," the secretary snapped. "You might have so little business over at Hammer Industries that you can afford to spend half the day hanging around here, but we've got work to do. Happy, escort this gentleman out and see that he stops wasting Mr. Stark's time."
The doorway to Stark's office was suddenly filled by a tall, broad-shouldered individual who had "thug" written all over him; his flattened nose looked like it had been broken multiple times, and his suit fit him with an awkwardness that indicated a man not accustomed to wearing expensive business attire.
"With pleasure, Miss Potts," he said, eyeing Hammer with a sort of mournful dislike. He, like the employees in the hallway, had clearly seen the writing on the wall and knew that his days of steady employment were numbered.
Hammer offered the secretary his most charming smile. "You misunderstand me, Miss... Potts, was it? I simply came to offer Anthony here my condolences, as one businessman to another." They both knew that wasn't the case, but the forms had to be observed. "But as I can see that he's preoccupied, I'll see myself out."
"Good," Stark's thug said shortly. "You can come with me."
It was, Hammer sensed, time to leave before he overstayed his already thin welcome. He had come to see Stark's defeat for himself, not to get himself thrown out by Stark's bully boys.
Ah, well. He would be back.
Hammer could sense the bodyguard's lumbering presence behind him as he retraced his steps down the hall. This time, an engineer in a grease-stained lab coat looked up as he passed, presumably because of his hired-muscle escort. The engineer smirked at him.
Hammer marked the man's face, so that he would know who to fire first once he had absorbed the place into Hammer Industries.
He had won. Stark was on his way out, and he had no idea that Hammer had been the mastermind behind his downfall.
After weeks of trying to find himself an in at Stark Industries, Hammer had had the good luck to come across Dr. Birch, a physicist in SI's R&D section who had been frustrated at his situation. Apparently, he'd nursed a growing resentment of Stark over the fact that the man's series of technical and scientific breakthroughs had stolen the limelight away from his own more modest scientific achievements.
It had been all to easy to convince Birch to sabotage Stark's equipment, and though that strategy had unfortunately come to dead end, thanks to Iron Man's interference, Birch, during his fight with Iron Man, had been able to observe Stark's armored bodyguard in action. Thanks to the apparently delayed reaction of one of the man's gauntlets, he had been able to use his own equipment to spot the armor's energy signal changing just before it fired.
Birch was in a cell on Rykers island now, but Hammer had paid him well, and he had kept his mouth shut about who had hired him, pretending the entire thing had been his idea. More importantly, he had passed along the information about the gauntlet.
A team of Hammer's best computer scientists had used the information to devised an electronic signal that could trigger the gauntlet to fire, though it only functioned at very close range. He had needed Heinrich Zemo's assistance to get a man in place in the Carñelian delegation, but since Vespugia stood to benefit considerably from Ambassador Larocca's death and the subsequent breakdown of US-Carñelian relations, El Presidente had been more than happy to oblige.
When the camera flash had gone off and the transmitter inside the camera had triggered Iron Man's gauntlet, Hammer had felt a sense of satisfaction that he'd previously only derived from closing billion-dollar business deals.
The fact that El Presidente Zemo now owed him a favor of considerable size was only the icing on the cake. Unlike Zemo, who in spite of all his ranting and threats hadn't so much as managed to touch Captain America, Hammer had now dealt with his major opponent.
Hammer climbed back into his limo with a light heart and the satisfying sense of a job well done. Howard Stark's spoiled brat of a son would be a thorn in his side no longer.
Hammer strode out of Tony's office as if he owned the place, which was a difficult feat to pull off when you were being escorted out of a building under guard. Tony had known that all of his business rivals had to be secretly celebrating the disaster his life had turned into, but none of the others had felt the need to actually come to his office in person to gloat.
Who actually did that? Who in the name of God did Hammer think he was, Montgomery Burns? Even Norman Osborn had contented himself with sending a smug email.
"I'm so sorry," Pepper said.
Hammer imported half his raw materials from Vespugia, and probably exported not a few weapons through them as well, including Fury's Latverian adamantium.
"He just burst in," Pepper went on, "and I-"
"It was him!" Tony surged to his feet, feeling energized for the first time in days. "That arrogant old--" he broke off, vocabulary temporarily failing him, and started to pace, too angry to keep still. It all fit together so neatly. Hammer and his Vespugian buddies frame Iron Man for Sergio's murder, all diplomatic relations between the US and Carñelia grind to a screeching halt, Carñelia's attempts to get the US to join in a trade embargo against Vespugia fall apart, and Hammer gets to continue to keep his costs low by buying cheap Vespugian metal ores and oil, meanwhile, Tony Stark and Stark Industries go down in flames, and Hammer gets the opportunity to puts in bids for all of those defense contracts again, including the SHIELD Helicarrier. There was no way in hell Fury was going to give that one to him, but Hammer wouldn't believe that, of course. "It has to be him!"
Pepper was staring at him, he realized. Tony forced himself to come to a halt, to stand still. He probably looked a little crazy right now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The armor had been sabotaged. It wasn't something he had done.
"Mr. Stark," Pepper said, peering at him with obvious concern, "Tony, are you feeling all right?"
"He's involved up to his neck in Vespugian exports and he's trying to drive my company out of business," Tony explained, starting to pace again. It took four steps to go from his desk to the book case. Four steps in the other direction took him to the door of his workroom. "You heard him going on about all those contracts we took out from under him."
Pepper eyes widened as she picked up on his meaning. "You think he got to Iron Man somehow, bribed him to-"
"What?" Tony blinked at her, temporarily derailed. He knew Pepper wasn't crazy about Iron Man, but she couldn't actually think that he would take bribes from the likes of Justin Hammer, much less kill a man. "No! Of course not," he snapped. But Cap had believed he might have. "No," he said again, more quietly. "He sabotaged the armor somehow. Damn it, I still don't know how. Hold all my calls, Pep; I'll be in my workroom."
Pepper looked less than thrilled. Tony ignored her irritated expression, ducking quickly into his workroom and closing the door behind him. She generally looked like that when he made that kind of announcement.
Half an hour later, Tony's sudden burst of energy was gone, the dull headache he'd had all morning was back, and he was no closer to understanding what the hell Hammer had done to his armor than he'd been last night.
"He has to have done something!" Tony shouted, flinging a screwdriver against the wall with enough force that it bounced halfway across the room and skidded to a stop against the far edge of the lab bench. "What is it and how the hell did he do it?"
Approximately two seconds, Pepper's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Stark, a reporter from the Daily Bugle wants to talk to you. For that matter, so do two of our main communications customers, not to mention half the board of directors."
"Tell them I'm busy," Tony snapped. He knew exactly what the board of directors would have to say to him; there was a reason he'd been avoiding them for the past day and a half.
He knew it was Hammer. It had to be Hammer. And that meant that Hammer's people had to have manipulated that gauntlet into firing somehow.
Tony's shoulders sagged, the brief surge of anger draining away as his earlier energy had. He stared dully at the disassembled repulsor apparatus, which remained stubbornly unbroken and un-altered in any fashion that he could discern.
Until he could find whatever Hammer had planted in his armor, or undo whatever had been done, there was no way he could wear it. Iron Man was off limits and he was stuck being plain old Tony Stark. And apparently he could even do that properly anymore.
He was supposed to be an engineering genius. There weren't supposed to be technological problems that he couldn't solve.
Tony sighed, and went to pick up the thrown screwdriver. Before he could return to his increasingly pointless work on the armor, he heard the hollow click of the intercom activating once more.
"Colonel Fury is on the phone, sir," Pepper informed him. "He wants to know, and I quote, 'What the hell is up with that god-damned fake armor you gave him.'"
"Oh," Tony said. "That." He had almost forgotten about Fury. He had expected to have figured out how the armor had been tampered with by this point, to have some kind of proof to hand Fury when he showed back up to demand an explanation, even if it was only proof of exactly how Tony had screwed up.
"Yes. That." Pepper said, voice absolutely level in a way that Tony knew spelled danger. "Tony, I like you, and you pay me very, very well, but one of my new career goals is to not end up testifying in front of a grand jury. My mother would never let me live it down."
"Don’t worry, if it gets that far, I'll probably be extradited to Carñelia anyway." He'd meant it to be a joke, but it probably came out sounding bitterer than he'd intended. A joke or two at his own expense was usually an effective distraction from questions he didn't want to answer, but the charming playboy act was getting a lot harder to pull off these days. It took more energy than he currently had.
"You know, I hear Oscorp is hiring these days."
Pepper sounded dead serious, but Tony knew it was a joke, because if she'd truly meant it, she would have named Rand Corporation, or some other company whose president she didn't actively hate. He couldn't help but feel pathetically grateful that she was letting him get away with shifting the conversation onto lighter ground.
"But do they have a dental plan?" he asked, forcing himself to sound as if this were any one of the many times Pepper had threatened to leave him for another employer, as if the possibility of Tony standing trial for Sergio's murder were no more serious than the time she had walked into his office and caught him and Veronica Vogue in flagrante delicto.
"An excellent one," she informed him solemnly. There was a long pause, while Tony tried to think of something clever to say in return, and failed utterly. Then she sighed, and when she spoke again, the solemnity in her voice was real. "This isn't a joke, Tony. SHIELD engineers say that the armor you turned over to Fury doesn't have enough circuitry in it to operate independently, so unless Iron Man is actually a robot that you operate by remote control, which they're not ruling out, by the way, you gave them a stripped-"
"Remote control!" It was so obvious. Tony could feel his whole body stiffening, a flash of his long-lost energy suddenly returning. Why hadn't he seen it? "Oh my God, I'm an idiot. Thanks, Pep. Remind me to give you a raise."
"What about Fury?" Pepper failed to sound mollified at the prospect of a raise.
"Stall him another day or so, can you?" Tony said, already returning his attention to the armor. If Hammer's people had somehow found a way to trigger his gauntlet remotely...
"What am I supposed to do when the SHIELD agents come to arrest you?" Pepper's voice broke in on his thoughts once again.
Theory wasn't enough, though. He needed proof.
Hammer was too arrogant, too self-confident, to cover his tracks completely. If he were the kind of man who took pains to eliminate all electronic and physical evidence, he wouldn't have come here to gloat.
If Tony could get into Hammer's office, into his files, he'd be able to find the proof he needed. He was sure he would. But if he was going to do that without the armor, he was going to need some way to defend himself in the event that he was caught. He couldn't ask anyone else to accompany him, not when he was planning to illegally break into Hammer's office and hack his computer, but might, he acknowledged reluctantly, be time to ask for help.
Tony shrugged, though he knew she couldn't see it. Fury wouldn't send agents to bring him in for at least another twelve hours; he needed to act quickly, but he wasn't completely out of tine yet. "Tell them it was Justin Hammer. I'll have proof for them by then."
The gauntlets' firing mechanism was activated by an electromagnetic signal triggered by Tony's subvocalised command -- or by the manual override he'd build in just in case -- and transmitted to the gauntlet via a series of electrical impulses. If Hammer had somehow learned the applicable energy signatures, he might have been able to broadcast a signal that mimicked the armor's internal commands. If it was close range, and powerful enough...
"I thought I told you to go and rest."
Stark might have vanished from the mansion yesterday, but looking at him now, Steve doubted that he'd actually gone home and gotten some sleep, as Steve had suggested. His suit was neatly pressed and he had clearly remembered to shave this morning, which put him one up on the last time Steve had seen him, but the dark circles under his eyes were still there.
"I did," Stark said. "Look, Cap, I... came to ask a favor."
Steve blinked, feeling himself start to frown. What kind of a favor could Tony Stark possibly want from him? He'd promised to call Stark if SHIELD told the Avengers anything new about their investigation, but he and the others had heard nothing from Nick since he'd confiscated Iron Man's armor.
He'd made his suspicions of Stark plain the last time they had spoken -- more plain than he really felt comfortable with, now that he was face to face with the other man again. He owed Tony Stark a great deal, and while he couldn't afford to ignore the possibility that Stark had been responsible for the Carñelian ambassador's death... looking at him now, he didn't look like a man who would use a friend to commit cold blooded, calculated murder.
He looked like a soldier who'd been in combat too long. Steve had seen too many men stretched almost to the breaking point, men who jumped at small sounds, men whose hands shook, who jerked awake gasping from nightmares, who couldn't relax even when they were faraway from the front. Stark had the same sort of look in his eyes now, like it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.
"What kind of favor?" Steve asked.
"You may have noticed that I'm minus a bodyguard at the moment," Stark said, lips twitching into a rueful smile that was gone almost before it formed. "And considering how many people out there don't like me, I wouldn't mind knowing how to look after myself a little better."
Meaning what? Steve gave Stark a careful, considering look. As far as Steve could tell, he appeared to be unarmed, and since Bucky had been adept at hiding surprisingly large blades inside his clothing with barely a wrinkle or bulge in sight, Steve was good at spotting that sort of thing.
"I'm not going to hire a new bodyguard while Iron Man is," Stark hesitated, "away. Talk about a vote of no confidence." He shook his head, the motion causing a piece of hair to fall down across his forehead. "I wouldn't do that to him."
Steve offered him a smile for that. It made him think better of the man, that he wanted to avoid making any gestures to distance himself from Iron Man, despite the fact that he had to know that it would go better for him with the press if he did. Apparently, Stark stuck by his employees, and his friends, even when they were wanted for murder.
"I could give you a crash course in self-defense, if you want," he suggested. It was he least he could do, given that he'd been living in the man's house for a month.
"I'd... like that," Stark said, offering Steve another faint twitch of a smile. "Actually, that was the favor I was going to ask you for."
Some fifteen minutes later, the two of them were facing one across a wide expanse of mat in the Avengers' gym. Stark had traded his suit for sweatpants and an over-sized blue t-shirt with "MIT" written across the front. Steve had never seen him out of a suit and tie before; it made him look younger, like some college boy who ought to be taking sorority girls out on dates rather than the billionaire head of a major corporation worrying about threats on his life.
Steve himself was in his costume, complete with mask, but he'd left his shield leaning against the wall when he'd come in. He wasn't going to need it for this.
"Go ahead," he told Stark, as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, bringing his hands up in preparation for whatever Stark might be about to do. "Give it your best shot."
Stark's punch was clearly telegraphed, but his form was better than Steve had expected. It didn't do him any good, though, because Steve leaned sideways, out of the path of Stark's fist, grabbed Stark by the wrist and upper arm, and flipped him over his shoulder and into the gym wall.
Stark slide down the wall to the floor and sat there, blinking up at Steve, looking dazed and considerably impressed.
"That's your first lesson," he told Stark, doing his best not to sound smug. This was more fun than he'd expected. "If anyone offers you a sucker punch, they've probably got a reason. Don't fall for it."
"Right," Stark wheezed. "Noted." He climbed to his feet again, wincing slightly, and Steve made a mental note to use a little less force for the rest of the lesson. Stark was new at this, and he didn't have the benefit of supersoldier serum enhancing his endurance.
"Okay," Steve said. "First, we're going to teach you how to take a fall. You tensed up before you hit the wall. You don't want to do that; it makes the impact worse."
"I know, I know." Stark rotated his neck carefully, then stretched, like a man checking to see that everything was in proper working order. "Happy's told me that a dozen times. But you try not to tense when you're suddenly airborne with plaster coming at your face."
Steve raised his eyebrows.
Stark made a face. "Fine. You're perfect. Let's move on."
Stark was, overall, better than Steve had expected. He was in decent shape, for one. Actually, more than decent shape. He was on the thin side, yes, but there was solid muscle in his arms that must have been from welding, something all of those button down shirts and suit jackets usually concealed.
For another, someone had taught him at least the basics of boxing; he knew how to throw a punch. What he didn't seem to know was how to dodge one.
It wasn't until third time Stark took one of Steve's blows full on, without so much as trying to deflect it or move out of the way, that Steve realized what he was doing. He was trying to absorb the blow without flinching and catch Steve off guard while he was still off balance from throwing the punch (or, the third time, kick). It was something Steve had seen Thor do multiple times, something he'd seen Iron Man do as well, though it frequently resulted in Iron Man getting the stuffing beaten out of him, since even in the armor, he didn't have Thor's mass.
Stark, without either mass and partial invulnerability or armor, had even less success with this tactic than his bodyguard did.
"You've picked up a bad habit from your bodyguard," Steve told him, as he helped Stark to his feet again. "Both of you need to learn some self-preservation."
Stark frowned, straightening his shirt. Steve found himself idly wishing that he would just take it off, rather than continually trying to keep the fabric from getting rucked up or twisted. It was almost as if he were trying to hide his upper body, though there was nothing wrong with it as far as Steve could tell. Was he embarrassed by the fact that he didn't have rippling biceps or a perfect set of flat, defined stomach muscles? This was Tony Stark; surely he knew exactly how attractive he was?
The few glimpses he got of Stark's shoulder blades, of the curve of his back, of the edges of his collarbones, which peeked over the neckline of the shirt when he moved just right, were more distracting than they ought to have been. It was a shame the sweatpants were so loose.
Most men, he knew, didn't enjoy looking at other men, unless they were the sort who were given blue discharges for sexual misconduct. Steve had never been most men, but since the U.S. Army didn't care what kind of pin-ups you liked to look as long as they never caught you doing anything, he'd never had any trouble over it.
Steve had always avoided the issue by never doing anything but look. Girls might be significantly more intimidating and often, not quite as interesting once you stopped talking and started kissing, but they didn't draw attention to you. Well, not that he'd done much more than look with women, either, but there had been that one time in Paris with the Howling Commandos, a few French girls, and a lot of alcohol. That had been a lot of fun, especially the next morning, when Steve had been the only one who remembered everything that had happened the previous night. Marie-Rose had been very nice, very pretty, and able to keep a completely straight face when she backed up Steve's assertion that he'd seen Dum-Dum Dugan dipping Nick Fury in the middle of a drunken waltz to plant a kiss squarely on his sergeant's lips.
Nick still didn't know that Steve had made it up.
Stark tried a kick this time, and Steve hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him tumbling to the mat. This time, Stark landed properly, rolled, and came up in a crouch, left hand held up toward Steve, palm out. It was a gesture that was teasingly familiar, but before Steve could place it, Stark looked at his hand, blinked, and let it drop, climbing back to his feet and shifting into a defensive stance.
His dark hair was disheveled and damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, his chest was heaving as he panted for breath, and he was grinning widely, the same grin he'd worn when he told Steve about his plans to build SHIELD a flying aircraft carrier. "That's what I have a bodyguard for," he said, panting slightly, "and what Iron Man has armor for."
"Well," Steve told him, "until you get your bodyguard back," if he got his bodyguard back; if Iron Man was actually guilty, neither Stark nor Steve would be working with him again, "that's what you're here to learn."
Stark's grin faltered, and Steve found himself wishing he could take the words back. Now that they had both been reminded of the reason behind this sparring lesson, the fun seemed to go out of things.
"Right," Steve said, pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, "now I'm going to teach you something a little bit more exotic than a right hook."
Stark raised his eyebrows. "You do realize that that thing where you kick your feet higher than your head is not something that most of us are ever going to be able to do, no matter how much we practice?"
Steve shook his head. "No, what I'm going to show you is how to fight when you're up against someone who physically out-classes you, which is going to be just about anybody that someone's hired to come after you, because they're going to be professionals." And Stark wasn't exactly bulky.
Stark picked up the couple of judo moves Steve showed him much more quickly than he had how to fall properly. "It's all about leverage and momentum," he said, when Steve pointed this out, "which are some of the basic building blocks of mechanical design. I'm good at that kind of thing."
Steve climbed to his feet -- he'd allowed Stark to throw him, so that he could learn how it was done -- and straightened. He could feel himself grinning again. He hadn't been able to do this, spar with somebody like this, in far too long.
Stark was on one knee on the matt, head down; as Steve watched, a drop of sweat fell from the ends of his hair to land on the matt. He drew in a deep breath, then stood, wincing visibly at the movement.
"I think we're done for today," Steve said. Stark seemed more than ready to keep going, but it wouldn't do to overdo things on his first lesson. If Steve was being honest with himself, they probably ought to have quit a good fifteen minutes ago, but he'd been enjoying himself, and had allowed the lesson to go on longer than he otherwise might have; Stark had finally been allowing himself to relax again.
"My bruises are grateful," Stark said, with the self-deprecating little half smile that Steve had initially thought looked like a smirk. "I don't imagine you get much call for this sort of thing. No one out-classes you."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Steve offered him a grin, and handed him a towel. "I ran into a few German ex-boxers during the war who were built like Panzer tanks, including one guy that I'm pretty sure was actually a troll."
Stark's not-quite-smirk widened a little, turning into something honestly amused. He thought Steve was joking.
"He was green," Steve added.
"I'm not doubting you, but in my experience, that's usually a side-effect of radiation, not of being some kind of mythical creature." Stark buried his face in the towel, wiping away the sweat. "Thanks for the lesson," he added, the words slightly muffled by the cloth. "I'm sure it will come in handy under the current circumstances." He looked back up at Steve, amusement gone now. "Before Iron Man can come back, I have to figure out what's going on. It's too bad real life isn't like a Sherlock Holmes story, where everything has a logical solution and all I'd have to do to figure it all out would be to notice a set of suspicious scratches on someone's cufflinks."
"Things are never that easy." Real life, in Steve's experience, was always considerably messier than fiction. Life didn't have to have a happy ending.
Iron Man was a Sherlock Holmes fan, too. He'd leant Steve one of Stark's old books on Steve's first night at the Mansion, a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories inscribed "Happy 8th birthday, Tony." He'd said it was one of his favorites. One more item on the growing list of things Iron Man and Stark had in common.
Stark was staring off into space now, shoulders slumped, the towel hanging forgotten in one hand. "God, I hope it's all over soon," he said, softly. "I don't think I've gotten any real sleep since all of this started." The smile he flashed Steve was the same painful one he'd worn when Fury had come to confiscate the armor. "Though with the workout you've given me, maybe I'll be tired enough tonight that I'll actually be able to get some rest." He had that haunted, strained look in his eyes again, the one that reminded Steve of soldiers with battle fatigue.
"Doing something helps," Steve offered. "Sitting around and thinking just makes it worse."
Another attempt at a smile. "I guess those dreams about your partner are still keeping you up nights, too, huh?"
Stark knew about the nightmares? How the hell did Stark know about the nightmares? He'd told him about Bucky, but he'd only mentioned the guilt, not the dreams. The only person he'd spoken to about those was Iron Man. He couldn't very well deny that he was having them, though. Not when it was true, not when Stark obviously already knew.
"I can hear him yelling my name while I fall. I didn't really, but when I dream about it, I always do." It was strange to hear himself admitting it, especially here, to this man. Even stranger that it didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. He liked Stark, but he'd never expected to find himself comfortable enough with him to admit to something so personal. Something that might make Stark, a man whose goodwill he was currently dependant on, think less of him.
Stark clearly didn't think less of him, though. He'd brought the nightmares up himself, as much as admitted to having some of his own. Iron Man must have mentioned them to him, unless... he couldn't imagine that Iron Man would have told anyone what Steve had confided in him during those late-night conversations, not even Stark.
Iron Man was left-handed, too. That moment, earlier, when Stark had flung up his left hand in front of him, palm out -- he'd seen Iron Man do that in fights more times than he could easily recall. That's why it had seemed familiar, and also why it had seemed slightly strange. It wasn't a normal defensive move from someone fighting bare-handed. It was the move of someone wearing a repulsor gauntlet.
He had to be jumping to conclusions. Stark couldn't actually be... Stark was staring at him, frowning, a concerned look on his face.
Steve looked away, rubbing uneasily at the back of his neck, and hoping that Stark couldn't tell what he was thinking. "If I could just get my hands on Heinrich Zemo..." he said, deliberately returning his attention to the conversation and not the suspicion suddenly filling his thoughts. They'd sworn not to ask about one another's secret identities, though admittedly, Iron Man was the only one who had one. "He's the reason we were on that plane in the first place." As distractions for himself worked, it was a good one. He could still see the gloating look on Zemo's face, just before the plane took off. If there were any justice in the world, Baron von Zemo would have been the one to perish in that explosion, not Bucky. It had been his plan, his explosives, his fault that Bucky had never gotten to see the end of the war, never gotten to go home. "But the war's been over for decades. I don't even know what happened to him in the end."
Stark shrugged. "Considering how many war crimes as he committed, he must have been dealt with years ago." He glanced down at the towel in his hand, seeming to notice it for the first time since the conversation had started. "I should go take a shower and get out of here before Fury comes calling."
Steve didn't want to know why Stark wanted to avoid Nick. If Stark told him, and Nick did in fact come looking for him, Steve would be obligated to pass the information along. Technically, he ought to mention his suspicions, too. Iron Man was officially a fugitive from justice.
If Stark was really Iron Man, Steve decided, there was no way he could be guilty. He was too obviously shaken by what had happened. True cold-blooded killers weren't haunted by their crimes. Steve had met enough to know.
Stark was at the door now, about to leave the room.
"I want you to know," Steve started, and Stark stopped, turned to look at him, and Steve suddenly realized that he wasn't really sure what he'd been about to say. "I, um, want you to know that you've got my full support if you need anything, and," he hesitated, unsure if he should continue, but then decided that it needed to be said even if he was right, maybe especially then, "tell Iron Man that I've still got his back."
Stark closed his eyes for a second, face twisting, then his expression smoothed out again. "Thank you, Cap," he said, voice rough. "You don't know how much -- I'll tell him that."
He looked... relieved. An open, raw relief that Steve didn't think Iron Man was guilty. That look confirmed Steve's suspicions. No one was that relieved to hear that you didn't think their employee was guilty of murder.
It explained so much; why Stark and Iron Man both talked with their hands, why Iron Man knew so much about Stark Industries technology, why Stark knew little things like how Steve took his coffee despite having spent comparatively little time around him. He'd eaten breakfast with Iron Man more than once.
Iron Man, like Stark, never had anything but coffee. Steve had initially thought that that was because he wouldn't be able to eat without taking off his helmet -- he'd drunk the coffee through a straw -- but now he knew better.
Tony Stark was Iron Man. Tony Stark was the man he'd been talking to when he couldn't sleep, sharing his past with, the one who shared Steve's taste in radio shows, the one who'd introduced him to the Lord of the Rings and taught him how to make the Avengers communications equipment work and...
"Mr. Stark," he said, trying to keep his new knowledge out of his voice, "at this point I think you might as well call me Steve."
Stark smiled at him, a real smile this time, and held out a hand. "In that case, forget the Mr. Stark business. Call me Tony."
Steve took the offered hand, shaking it solemnly. "I'll see you this time next week, Tony. For lesson number two."
Tony nodded, still smiling, though a trace of that haunted look still remained in his eyes. "Count on it."
no subject
I loved the sparring scene, with all the little explorations of Steve's nascent attraction and the fighting habits that Tony picked up from being Iron Man.
And oh, the drinking arc, I can see it building. :-O *hugs Tony*
I am amused at how often it is the villain's arrogance and vengeful nature that is their downfall. But I like how you handled it here--it makes considerably more sense than Justin Hammer kidnapping Tony from a public beach with a horde of Hydra agents and cackling out his plans on a mobile man made island. *g*
no subject
And it only took him a hundred and two pages to do it!
The sparring scene was so much fun to do that it ended up being the longest scene in the entirity of Classic-verse (including the currently-in-progress fic that follows this one).
oh, the drinking arc, I can see it building. :-O *hugs Tony*
*nods* The fluff content is going to take something of a hit from here on out, due to that and some other things. The drinking arc is going to build a little more slowly here than it does in canon, though (much like the molasses-slow progression of the slash).
I like how you handled it here--it makes considerably more sense than Justin Hammer kidnapping Tony from a public beach with a horde of Hydra agents and cackling out his plans on a mobile man made island.
We were trying to come up with a way for him to gloat over Tony and have Tony realize it was him that wouldn't sound quite so, um, stupid. Even though this is the "glory in the awesome of the silver age" 'verse, mobile man-made islands might be a little too silver age.
no subject
no subject
I look forward to the next part, where Hammer will hopefully get what's coming to him. And perhaps Tony will find out that Steve knows already? Or will Steve become the one with the secret? I have goosebumps just thinking about it! OH THE ANTICIPATION!!!
no subject
Oh Steve, I'm so proud of you! I think this is the first time I've seen him solve the mystery himself! And with so many clue at hand I would be smacking my forehead if he DIDN'T!
*grins* We tried to make it as easy for him as possible. In the original sparring scene in the comic, it kind of sounds like Steve has already figured out that Tony is Iron Man (Steve: "You're in surprisingly good shape for a desk jockey." Tony: "I, um, play a lot of tenis." Steve: *with knowing expression* "Uh-huh") so we wanted to have Steve clued in by the end of the scene.
Ooooh, and the WOBBIE!!! The bonding just really GETS to you! And that Steve didn't just turn around and sing to Fury like he was promising himself he would.
Nobody does woobie like Tony does woobie ^_^. Early Iron Man especially is a treasure-trove of Tony woobieness, so it's good to hear we're at least coming close. And Steve couldn't tell Fury after
he and Tony had homoerotically bondedhe'd figured out that Iron Man was Tony. It totally proved Iron Man was innocent -- somehow! (mostly, he probably just really can't believe that either Tony or Iron Man is guilty, so pairing the two of them up makes it even easier to decide he must be innocent and excuse not handing him over to Fury).edited to fix my inability to copy-paste properly
no subject
Also I'm so glad you posted this tonight. :D
no subject
(And you've, of course, seen it by now, since I'm replying to reviews late, as usual). The fight scene is probably one of my favorite parts of the whole fic, and I think
Also I'm so glad you posted this tonight. :D
August 6th was my birthday, so all of the comments were like birthday presents!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Oh, good -- I'm glad that worked and wasn't too non-actiony. Some of Tony's best villains are the evil corporate types (Obediah Stane, Tiberius Stone, other people whose last names start with S...) and Hammer does an awful lot of gloating in the original storyline (of course, he also wears a smoking jacket and has a floating island there -- we obviously didn't keep everything).
Steve was hit with a clue by four and totally wants Tony
Now he just has to figure out that Tony a) also likes guys and b) likes him. It should only take about, oh, about three hundred more pages ^_^.
<3 I love classicverse and this is great!~
Thanks so much!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
did i mention i loved this fic??? update soon please! =D
Emily
no subject
Thanks so much, and sorry for taking so long to reply. We wanted to have Steve be the most suspicious because he's the one with the most tactical experience (well, Thor has a lot, too, but Thor is loyal and does not believe such false rumors about Iron Man!) and we is used to having to face harsh realities -- and also because his doubt would cause Tony the most angst.
We decided to make Steve pretty blase about liking guys (if not too keen on telling people about it) because it occured to us that NY in the 1920s and 30s was a very cosmopolitan place, with a reasonably visible gay and lesbian population, so Steve wouldn't be unfamiliar with the concept (even if sexuality was defined slightly differently back then which might be fun to play with eventually). And this way we didn't have to make it another source of angst.
no subject
I loved the fight scene, particularly the bits about Tony's hand going up for the Repulsor blast, and *not* taking off his shirt during the fight (and of course Steve *wanting* him to take off his shirt was great too).
no subject
The fight scene was our favorite bit to write, so it's especially awesome to hear that people liked it! Steve recognizing Tony as Iron Man at least partially from the way he moved in a fight is a concept both of us really liked (I swear we mention this sparring scene as the point when Steve figured out Tony was Iron Man somewhere in the 400+ pages that comprise Resurrection-verse -- that, or it's in the Roughest Day or King of Infinite Space).
*grins* In the comic Tony's actually wearing a suit and tie for his hand-to-hand combat 101 lesson. I suspect the same sort of principle that lets female comics characters kick ass while wearing spike heels may apply there.
no subject
Now I'm wondering how long it's going to take Tony to figure out it was the photographer which triggered the blast...
ETA: An edit, but a necessary one. This:
Stark made face. "Fine. You're perfect. Let's move on."
Made my night.
no subject
*So* nicely done, drawn out enough to savor and tease, yet the pacing continues to move things forward at a good clip. Always a joy to read, and since I'm a big fan of discovery!fic, this part will always hold a special place in my heart.
There can never be too much Discovery!fic -- it think it may share some kind of key element in common with my favorite kink of A Character is Terribly Misjudged, because I love it, too.
And thanks so much on the pacing complement -- plot and pacing are one of the things we have to work harder on, not one of the things that comes more easily, like dialogue.
no subject
He was even better at mechanical design than he was at convincing women to get naked and horizontal with him. Or sometimes naked and vertical. Or convincing men to get naked with him, regardless of position.
Tony's special skill set. :)
Even Norman Osborn had contented himself with sending a smug email.
Heh. I keep forgetting Marvel is so integrated.
as if the possibility of Tony standing trial for Sergio's murder were no more serious than the time she had walked into his office and caught him and Veronica Vogue in flagrante delicto.
Tony, office sex, *brain melty*
Stark made face. "Fine. You're perfect. Let's move on."
Glad you've noticed, Tony. ;)
Steve found himself idly wishing that he would just take it off...This was Tony Stark; surely he knew exactly how attractive he was?
Steve is also noticing. This is going very well. :D
he'd seen Dum-Dum Dugan dipping Nick Fury in the middle of a drunken waltz to plant a kiss squarely on his sergeant's lips.
Damn, this should be true!
He had to be jumping to conclusions. Stark couldn't actually be...
FINALLY!!
I'm so excited about this fic. :D
no subject
The Norman Osborn line was
no subject
Still lovin' the Classicsverse. Also enjoying the nice, slow build up to the drinking arc (and eventual slash). The slower pace makes the progression feel natural without being drawn out. My favourite detail is probably Tony being so out of it that he forgets to properly censor himself in front of Steve.
no subject
*grins* Steve may be kind of oblivious at times, but he eventually gets there.
Still lovin' the Classicsverse. Also enjoying the nice, slow build up to the drinking arc (and eventual slash). The slower pace makes the progression feel natural without being drawn out.
Yay, thanks! It's good to know that the slow build-up isn't making the storyline drag or feeling forced (both things we've worried about).
My favourite detail is probably Tony being so out of it that he forgets to properly censor himself in front of Steve.
This whole fic is an excercise in lovingly drawn-out Tony angst on our part - so of course there had to be demonstrations of his screwed-up-ness *grins*
no subject
I love the fighting scene! XD That had to be in there of course, and you two did a brilliant job orchestrating it so that Steve was slowly putting the pieces together throughout their exchange.
Whenever there was a mention of alcohol and of Tony drinking I winced because, yeah, we know where that's headed. *wibbles for Tony*
I eagerly await more, and until that time I will have to resort be gnawing on my bedpost in anticipation to distract from the withdrawal symptoms.
no subject
Thanks! OMG, we were struggling to come up with physical actions for them to perform by about half-way through that (it's like sex scenes -- though coming up with new ways to say "and then he hit him" is nowhere near as hard as trying to fnd non-cliched ways to say "and then A stuck his tongue in B's mouth"). We wanted there to be a kind of slow build-up of Tony is Iron Man, Damnit! clues throughout the scene, so the readers would (hopefully) be able to see Steve putting it together -- it's really good to know it worked.
Whenever there was a mention of alcohol and of Tony drinking I winced because, yeah, we know where that's headed. *wibbles for Tony*
Things are not going to go well for Tony for the next few fics, alas. *grins* I had the same reaction during the Iron Man movie, whenever we saw Tony with a drink in his hand (which is a lot the filmmakers having done an awesome job of putting in shout-outs to comics fans).
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Glad Steve finally did!
I loved that bit about Tony's instinctive move with his hand as if he was wearing the gauntlet.
And hiding what's under his shirt, poor dear.
And, yes, Tony, Steve is perfect. ;)
no subject
I loved that bit about Tony's instinctive move with his hand as if he was wearing the gauntlet.
Everyone seems to like that one ^_^.
And hiding what's under his shirt, poor dear.
Comics canon never really addresses the fact that Tony -- post a chestful of shrapnel and multiple heart surgeries -- ought to have some pretty obvious scarring all across his chest (maybe it would have been too hard to draw?), but I imagine Tony would be very aware of it -- and of course in this 'verse, there's his movie-verse-inspired heart device that mimics the Tales of Suspense breastplate, so he can't let people see his bare chest.
And, yes, Tony, Steve is perfect. ;)
I can attest from anecdotal evidence that Steve's perfection is such that even women who don't like big, bulky linebacker types or even, you know, men, can agree on his hotness.
no subject
I like the idea behind this. I love how Tony convinces himself that the whole thing is his fault. I also love the different characters' perspective on it. Who believes in who.
Also, it's great that Steve finally realised that Tony is Iron Man. I did like that he didn't know but, to be honest, nobody can be that clueless.
I also really loved that little scene between Pepper and Tony.
no subject
All reviews are good reviews! And trust me, no review could possibly be later than my replies.
I like the idea behind this. I love how Tony convinces himself that the whole thing is his fault. I also love the different characters' perspective on it. Who believes in who.
Different characters' having different opinions on what was going on was something we really wanted to make sure we included (to avoid straying into "now everyone will be Mean To Tony and Think He Must be Guilty even though they're his friends" territory -- I mean, I know that plotline has happened in canon, but still...). So we're really glad you noticed and appreciated!
Also, it's great that Steve finally realised that Tony is Iron Man. I did like that he didn't know but, to be honest, nobody can be that clueless.
No, you're right -- much longer would have started to strain credability. Alas, the identity pr0n couldn't go on forever.
I also really loved that little scene between Pepper and Tony.
Thanks! We were trying to work some Iron Man supporting characters into this one (with Happy & Pepper), because early Iron Man is love (sadly, there wasn't room to work in Bethany Cabe).