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_ironman2008-10-08 03:16 am
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-10-08 03:16 am
Entry tags:
Classic-verse 1.6 - To the Ends of the Earth 3/4
Title: Classic-verse 1.6 - To the Ends of the Earth 3/4
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Hank/Jan. Eventually Steve/Tony.
Warnings: This fic is not quite so fluffy as the previous ones. 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: Much delayed, and un-beta'd due to real life insanity. Still this will be going up on our regular schedule of Wednesdays and Saturdays come hell or high water.
Summary: Steve finally comes face to face with Baron Zemo. Also, there are ants.
Classic-verse 1.6 - To the Ends of Earth
Zemo was standing on the far side of the room, beside a large, complicated looking control panel covered in buttons and switches. He had his right thumb resting lightly on one of the buttons, and a familiar sneer on his face.
Intellectually, Steve had known that it had been six decades since he and Zemo had last come face to face, but he hadn't expected Zemo to look so old.
The last time Steve had seen him, Zemo had been a powerfully built fair-haired man in his mid-thirties. Now, the blond hair was thin and white, his face was lined with age, and even his voice sounded different; it had lost the resonant quality Steve had heard him use to command his SS subordinates. The slight German accent and penchant for melodramatic posturing hadn't changed, though.
"There are five of us and one of you," Steve told him. "What makes you think we'd surrender just because you have a red flashing button?" He took a step forward, and Zemo held up his left hand and snapped,
"Halt where you are, Captain America. I have only to depress this button, and my death ray shall wipe this entire city off the face of the earth, killing everyone in it."
Damn. His disintegration rays were certainly more than capable of that. He should have foreseen something like this.
"Including you," Steve pointed out. He knew as he said it that it was a hollow protest. Zemo might be a monster, but he had never been a coward, and he wasn't the kind of man who made empty threats.
Zemo's sneer deepened. "I'm ninety-six years old. I am going to die soon anyway. At least this way, I will have the pleasure of taking you with me."
"And you don't care about the thousands of innocent people who you'll kill in the process?" Jan asked. She was standing on Hank's shoulder, hands up and ready to launch her stinger blast at the first sign of movement on Zemo's part.
"Not especially, no." Zemo actually chuckled, a dry, wheezy sound.
"No, of course not." Iron Man had both gauntlets held up, palms outward; as he spoke, his repulsors flickering to life. "I've read the reports on your mining facilities. If China and Latveria weren't blocking all motions to send a UN fact-finding investigation into your slave-labor-based environmental nightmare of a national industry, there would have been American troops in the streets of your capital years ago." There was a whining sound from the gauntlets as the repulsors powered up, their blue glow brightening. "As your buddy Justin Hammer might have told you, I can fry you with these before you'd even have a chance to push that button."
The whining noise from the armor reached crescendo, then abruptly stopped, and the light from both replusors flickered and died. The power core set in the center of Iron Man's chest plate dimmed noticeably, and he put one hand to his chest. "Oh, come on."
Zemo's lips twitched. "What a shame. It looks as if your power source is damaged. I was disappointed at how ineffective my anti-tank weapons seemed to have been, but it looks like my disappointment was premature."
All right, so Iron Man's high-powered weaponry was out. He was still stronger than an un-armored man, and Thor and Jan still had their full powers at their disposal. And Hank was still wearing his Ant-Man helmet. Maybe he could have ants come short out this computer, too.
He would need time to accomplish that, though. And Steve needed to communicate the idea to the others, without letting Zemo know.
"Oh, your giant guns were very scary," Steve assured Zemo, letting all the disgust he felt for the man color his voice. "Until the ants ate your pretend SS squad's jeep." He laid the slightest of stresses on the word "ant," and saw Hank's slight nod from the corner of his eye.
Zemo raised his eyebrows. "And now you've stooped to threatening me with insects? Out of ideas without your little sidekick to help you, Rogers?"
Steve took another step forward, suddenly not caring about Zemo's finger on that button. "This ends now, Zemo. You're not getting away again." He felt a distant surprise at how cold and angry his voice sounded.
"Go ahead, Rogers." Zemo beckoned him forward with the hand that wasn't touching the button. "Kill me. Condemn all of us to death. It doesn't matter. Whatever you do, I've still won. While you spent sixty years in a block of ice, I survived Germany's defeat, seized Vespugia for my own, and made sure that my Furher's dream, that my dream, lives on. I've ruled this country for forty years, raised it from the dust, molded it in my image, and made it great. Kill us all now, and I will leave behind a country, a son, a grand legacy, while you," he spat, "are still going to die at twenty five."
He was right; taking him down now wouldn't change what had happened all those years ago. It wouldn't change the fact that Zemo had been gloating enjoying his freedom for decades while Steve had been trapped in the ice and Bucky had been dead. But taking him down now would at least stop him from spreading his evil any further.
"It is better to die with honor as a young man than live decades as a base, depraved craven man whose throne is built on the bodies of his subjects, and whose evil poisons the very earth his kingdom rests on," Thor rumbled.
"Power has its price." The red light of the alarm was still flashing, turning Zemo's white hair the color of blood. "You of all people should know that. My ancestors hanged men and cut their lungs out to win your father's favor."
Thor's eyes narrowed. "But not my favor."
Something tiny and dark crept across Steve's foot. An ant. There was a thin, dark trail of ants moving along the edge of the room now, toward Zemo and the death rays' controls.
"You should have been hanged," Steve spat. "Years ago, alongside all the other Nazi war criminals." Zemo's voice might be cracked with age now, but the malice in it was no less strong for all that. If he closed his eyes, it might have been the war once more, with him and Bucky chained up in Zemo's headquarters, at his mercy. Zemo had been smug then, too.
They had broken free, gotten away in time to get themselves aboard that plane, and they had stopped it, but it had cost Steve everything. Cost Bucky his life.
The fingers of his right hand hurt. Steve realized distantly that he was gripping the strap of his shield so tightly that the edges of the leather were cutting into his fingers.
Why hadn't Hank's ants gotten to the computer yet? Standing here listening to Zemo's taunts was like having salt rubbed on a wound, and as long as Zemo had his finger on that button, he didn't have any choice but to stand still and take it.
Zemo twitched suddenly, brushing at himself with his free hand. Hank hadn't been sending his ants at the computer at all; he'd sent them at Zemo.
Zemo brushed at his clothing once more, more fiercely this time, and now Steve could make out the tiny black dots of ants crawling over the tunic of his Nazi-style uniform and under its high collar.
In an instant, Jan had left Hank's shoulder and was hovering in mid-air, ready to attack. Steve flexed his finger, and shifted his weight, preparing to throw his shield, eyes glued to Zemo's hand on that button.
Zemo was laughing as he brushed at the ants. "I don't believe it. I had thought you were joking. Do you expect a minor inconvenience like this to stop me, Rogers?"
As he spoke, he made an abortive movement to swat at the ants with both hands, and that was all Steve needed.
"No," his shield was already in the air, sailing towards Zemo's arm in graceful arc. Zemo was spun sideways by the impact, and then Thor and Jan were moving. "I expected it to distract you," Steve finished, as Thor grabbed Zemo by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet, and Jan swooped down to remove the gun at his belt.
"Iron Man," Steve jerked his chin at the console, "take care of that."
"I'm on it," Iron Man responded, moving towards the console. He was walking slowly, one hand still held against the center of his chest. Had he broken ribs when the armored car's explosion had slammed him into the ground?
There wasn't time to worry about it now. He was still standing, which meant that Zemo was still the number one priority.
"How do you expect to leave this country after breaking in here and killing me?" Zemo sneered. He seemed totally unruffled by the fact that he was currently dangling from Thor's grasp with his perfectly polished boots a foot off the floor and his right arm hanging limp, obviously broken.
"We got in, didn't we?" Hank said smugly.
Their quinjet might have been destroyed, but the five of them were standing in the middle of Zemo's main communications center, with Zemo himself at their mercy. They were a long way from out of options.
Thor gave Zemo a slight shake. "What would you have me do with this?"
"Do you want me to beg for mercy? To swear to you that I feel remorse for my 'war crimes?' To call out for someone to come and help me?" The words were a sneer. Zemo was almost smirking down at Steve, his eyes glittering with a cold hate. "I did what I did for the glory of my country and my race and I regret none of it. Tell me, did your little partner cry to you for help before he died?"
The ringing in Steve's ears had never stopped, but now he could actually feel himself shaking. He wanted to beat Zemo to a bloody mess, feel Zemo's bones breaking under his knuckles, hit him again and again until he stopped moving, preferably forever.
If Zemo had still been the physically powerful man he remembered, with his perfect Aryan bone structure, his perfect, blond Aryan hair, and his perfect, muscled boxer's build, then Steve would have done it, would have thrown himself on Zemo barehanded and would have felt a deep satisfaction with every blow that landed, beating the record of Zemo's atrocities into his body. Knowing that it was justice, because it would have been a fair fight.
But Zemo wasn't the man he had been, and even though Zemo had earned it a thousand times over, Steve couldn't beat an old man to death. Zemo would have no hope of defending himself; it would be murder. That wasn't what good Americans did.
"No," Steve said, as much to himself as to Zemo. "I want you dead, but not here, not like this. I want everyone to know what you are, what you've done. I want your loyal Vespugian citizens and international allies to hear about the prisoners you worked to death to build weapons for Hitler, the French resistance fighters you tortured, the men, women, and children you had shot and thrown into a ditch to rot just for being Jews and Slavs. I don't just want to destroy you; I want to destroy your 'legacy,' too."
"I should have known you were too much of a coward to finish the job," Zemo spat. "What do you plan to do with me, then?"
Steve hesitated; he didn't know what he planned to do with Zemo, actually. He'd never really expected to get this far.
"We're going to turn you over to SHIELD," Iron Man said, before the silence could grow too long. His fingers were flying over the control panel's black keyboard, which had more keys than Steve thought a normal keyboard was supposed to have; even when he looked up to speak, they hadn't slowed down. "I'm sure Nick Fury will be thrilled to get his hands on you."
That was... brilliant, actually. Steve should have thought of if himself; not only did Nick have the connections in international politics to see that Zemo was dealt with as he deserved, he also would be able to send a SHIELD team in to extract them, which would solve the problem of how the hell they were going to get out of Vespugia without the quinjet.
"All this time and you still need other people to do your dirty work for you," Zemo hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You're pathetic, Rogers, still the same weakling you've always been! Always so concerned about getting your spotless American hands dirty. Not what one would expect, from a man who keeps company with robots and mutants and other subhuman beings."
Thor gave Zemo a sharp shake. "Mind your tongue, old man. It is not wise to speak ill of those who are companions to a warrior of Asgard."
Zemo wasn't necessarily talking about the Avengers - these were long-familiar insults. The robotic Human Torch, the "mongrelized" Howling Commandoes, and the half-human Namor had all been favorite targets of Zemo scorn. "Jim Hammond was four times the man you ever were," Steve said, through gritted teeth. "And Namor is a better ruler than you could ever dream of being." Namor might be an arrogant bastard who thought all non-Atlanteans were beneath him, but he was a man of his word, who lived by his own code of honor, and he didn't kill people simply for the crime of being the wrong race or religion. Steve knew nothing about what Namor's reign in Atlantis had been like over the past few decades, but he knew without even having to ask that it hadn't involved slave labor.
"Release me! Who are you to judge me? I am the leader of Vespugia, a general of the thousand-year Reich, and you are nothing!" Zemo was shouting now, stiff Prussian composure forgotten. "A worthless puppet who mindlessly serves his debased and weak-willed Jewish masters."
"We're not going to judge you. Some kind of war crimes of human right violation tribunal will." Hank was still seven and a half feet tall, still wearing his faceless silver helmet. It made him more imposing than he otherwise might be. "Judging you would be if I brought the army ants back and let them eat dinner."
On the heels of his words, the wailing of the alarm suddenly stopped, and the flashing red light went dark. "The disintegrator ray is offline," Iron Man said, as half the monitors in the room shut down. "I'm going to call Fury now."
"Nein!" Zemo shouted. "I have lived through a hundred battles; I survived the bombing of Dresden and the fall of Berlin! I am the twelfth Baron von Zemo! My ancestors were ruling Europe while yours were rooting in the muck in an Irish bog! You will not hand me over to that filthy, illiterate peasant!" There was a flash of silver in his left hand as he struck upwards, and Thor let out a shout and dropped him.
Then he was coming at Steve, an eight-inch dagger in his hand. "I will see you ended!" he screamed. "I will not fail a second time. Meine ehre heisst treue!"
Steve grabbed him by the wrist, halting the dagger's descent a foot away from his chest. It took less effort than he had expected, almost shockingly little.
Zemo twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away, and that, too, was easy to prevent.
"You don't begin to know the meaning of the word 'honor.'" Steve told him.
When all of the soldiers and death rays and political power were stripped away, Zemo was nothing but one solitary old man -- an arrogant, evil man, but just a man nevertheless. Not someone to wake Steve up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and palms sweating. Not something to be haunted by.
"You don't know the meaning of the word 'justice,' either," Steve went on, "but you're going to learn."
Jan landed on the ground beside Thor, growing back to her normal height as she did so.
"Sorry, gorgeous. I should have checked him for weapons more thoroughly."
Thor examined his bleeding wrist with a small frown, then shrugged. "It is of no moment. The Enchantress's frog stuck me a far greater blow."
The largest of the screens flickered back to life, offering them a three-foot-high version of Nick Fury's scowling face. "What the hell are you people doing?" he barked, before any of the Avengers had a chance to say a word. "Trying to start a war by dicking around in Vespugian airspace until ya actually goaded them into shooting ya down?" He stabbed an unlit cigar at them and went on, "You are this close to getting the United States into a war with half a' South America."
"If it helps," Iron Man said, "we've captured El Presidente Heinrich Zemo -- maybe you remember him? -- and we're currently speaking to you from the secret command center for his weapons of mass destruction."
"Wait, you won?" Nick grinned, sticking the cigar back in his mouth. "Why didn't ya say so? That, I can work with." Then, after a momentary pause, "What do ya mean, Heinrich Zemo? I thought that bastard died years ago."
Steve moved a few feet to the left, dragging a still-struggling Zemo with him, until he was within Fury's probable line-of-sight. "Look, Nick," he said, forcing a smile he didn't feel, "it's our old friend, Herr Zemo."
"Damn," Nick whistled. "It is him. Surrender our buddy Heinrich to SHIELD custody, and I might be able to get ya out of the mess you've landed yerselves in."
Jan stepped forward, so that she was within Nick's line-of-sight as well. "We're also going to need some kind of transportation out of here, since Zemo tested his WMDs on our quinjet."
"I can have an extraction team there from Guantanamo in eight hours," Fury said, making a series of hand-gestures to someone offscreen; Steve recognized several of them as hand signals the Howling Commandoes had used during the war, so Nick had to be talking to Dugan. "Stay where you are and don't talk to anyone or shoot anything."
"Technically we haven't shot anything yet at all." Hank pulled his helmet off, revealing rumpled and sweaty blond hair, and shook his head. "None of us have firearms."
Fury rolled his good eye. "Or bludgeon anything, or blow anything else up. SHIELD has contacts in place with the Free Vespugian government-in-exile in Carnelia; we can claim your actions were part of a planned attempt to overthrow Zemo after the US government learned that he had weapons of mass destruction and was responsible for an act of terrorism that caused the murder of a Carnelian diplomat on US soil."
There were holes in that explanation big enough to drive a tank through, but it was probably more convincing than the truth would have been. Zemo redoubled his efforts to break free, snarling at Steve in German, and Steve forcibly escorted him to a chair that stood in front of one of the banks of computers and pushed him down into it, placing both hands on his shoulders and holding him there. "Someone get me something to tie him up with."
Hank produced a handful of yellow string from inside the same pocket he'd concealed the shrunken Ant-Man helmet in, then held it out in front of him while it grew into fifteen feet of bright yellow nylon rope. "I wanted to practice shrinking and growing inanimate objects on something less irreplaceable than my helmet, and I forgot to take it out of my pocket," he said with a slightly embarrassed shrug.
He brought the rope over to where Steve had Zemo pinned to the chair and wrapped it firmly around Zemo's arms and torso, tying him in place. There was just enough rope left over when he was done to tie Zemo's ankles to the chair legs.
"You are still doomed to failure, Rogers," Zemo snarled. Some of the fight had gone out of his voice; his broken arm had to be hurting him by now. "Do you honestly imagine that you can hold out here for another eight hours? Here, in the heart of Vespugia, against my entire army?"
"We have you as a hostage." Steve was already standing as he said it, turning away from Zemo and back to Nick now that Zemo was securely tied up. "I think our chances are pretty good."
"We are inside an impregnable fortress that even my hammer could not gain us entry to," Thor said, tapping Mjolnir against his palm for emphasis. "We have only to close the door behind us once more to be as secure as if we were behind the walls of Asgard."
"I can help with that." Iron Man had been tinkering with some small electrical device ever since he had successfully shut down the weapons system and contacted Nick; now he held it up for them to see, then tossed it to Thor. "Take this to the door and have Hank attach it to the damaged locking mechanism. It will enable the current to bypass the burned-out circuitry and the lock will re-engage."
"Good thinking, Iron Man." Steve nodded at Hank and Thor. "You two go secure the entrance." It had to be Tony Stark under that armor. Who else would have had the engineering know-how to throw that kind of thing together in no time at all, not to mention successfully disarming Zemo's death rays? He hadn't even hesitated when Steve had ordered him to take the weapons system offline; he had just tossed off a confident "On it," and had buckled down and done it.
"Ya have proof he's got adamantium, too?" Nick's grin split his entire face now. "Hot damn. This is like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. The SHIELD team will be there in eight hours, and you better have the same number of hostages when they get there."
It was almost a relief to have someone else taking charge for now; the entire responsibility for this whole mission was no longer resting solely on Steve's shoulders. This didn't mean, however, that he didn't have a few qualms with Nick's plan of action. "And what's the American government going to say when they hear about all of this secret maneuvering that's supposedly been happening behind their backs?"
Nick shrugged. "Trust me, the only parts the administration is going to hear are the magic words 'terrorist act' and 'weapons of mass destruction.'"
That was the third time someone had used that phrase. It wasn't one Steve was familiar with, though the meaning was obvious - from the way everyone kept repeating, it must have some significance he wasn't picking up on. A political slogan, maybe, or something from a propaganda film or famous speech?
Iron Man made an amused noise, and Steve could practically see Tony's little half-smirk. "The American government didn't even know he was getting his own flying aircraft carrier until Tony Stark had already finished the plans and submitted SI's bid to construct it."
"Yeah, about that." Nick raised his unscarred eyebrow at Iron Man. "Remind yer boss that his final blueprints for the flight deck and hydraulic catapult system are overdue. We're supposed to start construction this month. And as for you," and this last was directed squarely at Zemo, "I know some people in Tel Aviv who've wanted to get their hands on ya for a very long time."
The screen went dark before Zemo could reply - not that he would have been capable of doing so in the first place, given that Hank had gagged him.
"Hands up everyone who thinks we should gift wrap him," Jan said brightly.
"What, you think we should put a big, red bow on his head?" Glancing at Zemo, securely bound and gagged and looking thoroughly defeated, Steve felt an almost giddy sense of relief. It was over. Zemo was finished. He couldn't haunt Steve anymore. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, not the Avengers or anyone else. After a lifetime of evil, he was finally going to pay the price for it.
Bucky could rest easy now; his death would finally be avenged. And maybe Steve could rest easier now, too.
"God, I'm glad that's over with." Iron Man was leaning one hip against the side of the computer console, one palm flat against its smooth plastic surface. His left arm was wrapped around his ribs - definitely broken, Steve thought. Broken ribs were not something to fool around with; they could splinter and drive jagged ends of bone into a man's lungs. Iron Man had been going non-stop since being flattened in that explosion, fighting and flying without showing any apparent care for whatever injuries he might have under that chestplate.
"You were hit pretty hard back there," Steve said, stepping forward and laying a hand over the cool metal of Iron Man's shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down now."
"Not yet." Iron Man shook his head. "I need to find a power outlet. The armor's almost tapped out." He pulled away from Steve's grasp, taking a single step away from the console, then swayed.
Steve grabbed him by the elbow, steadying him, a sharp pang of alarm running through him. He should have checked on Iron Man earlier, shouldn't have let it slide.
Jan stepped forward to take Iron Man's other arm. "Cap's right. You need to sit down. You were hurt in that fight, weren't you? Take the armor off and let us see; you can leave the helmet on if you need to."
Iron Man shook his head again. "No, I just need a power source, I-" he broke off, doubling over and pressing a hand to the center of his chest plate, "I need-"
He fell heavily to his knees, armor clanking loudly on the concrete floor. Steve dropped to kneel beside him, still holding onto his arm, conscious of Jan mirroring his actions on Iron Man's other side.
"It's okay," Steve said, forcing down his rising panic. "We've got you. Jan, help me get his helmet off." He might be choking, coughing up blood from damaged lungs, might have any of a hundred things wrong with him inside that metal shell.
"No, don't-" Iron Man tried to push himself to one knee, then collapsed back against Steve, sagging against him heavily. "...just need to recharge," he repeated faintly. Then his head lolled against Steve's shoulder, metal brushing Steve's cheek, and he was silent.
Jan was already fumbling at the helmet, pressing her fingers against the seams. "I don't know how it comes off."
"Iron Man!" Thor's voice boomed from the doorway.
"What happened?" Hank demanded almost simultaneously, pushing past Thor's elbow to re-enter the room.
"I don't know." Iron Man -- Tony, he knew he was Tony -- wasn't moving. Steve wasn't even sure he was breathing under that helmet. "He just fell over!"
"I knew he had suffered an injury earlier." Thor knelt down beside them, gently brushing Jan's fingers aside to grab Iron Man's helmet. "I should have insisted he spare himself."
With a single, smooth motion he wrenched the helmet loose -- Steve could actually hear the metal groan in protest-- and tossed it aside.
Tony Stark's handsome, angular face was ashen, his lips blue. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat-soaked, and his eyes were closed, long lashes dark against his pale cheekbones.
Steve felt his heart turn over in his chest. He had known the truth for the past week, but now, looking at Tony's colorless face and hearing the way he was gasping for air, he wished that he had been wrong.
"Tony," Hank said, voice low. "I knew it! What's wrong with him?"
"I think it's his ribs," Steve forced out, the words sounding strangled to his own ears, "but I'm not sure."
"Nay," Thor shook his head, his expression grave, "mark the blueness of his lips. It is his heart. When the debris from the explosion struck him in the chest it must have damaged it." He was reaching for Tony's hand now, wrenching the glove loose as he had the helmet. "See, his fingernails are also blue. I fear there may be naught we can do."
"No." Steve fumbled at the fastenings of the armor's breastplate. "He's having trouble breathing. We need to get the rest of this thing off him." The weight of the armor couldn't be helping.
He lifted the piece of armor away. It was surprisingly light for its size, no heavier than his shield.
What was underneath was... Steve didn't know what it was. A circular piece of metal with a glowing blue core had been implanted in the center of Tony's chest, directly over his heart. The skin surrounding it was covered in a tracery of scaring, pink and raw-looking and obviously recent.
"Something happened to me about a year ago," Iron Man had told him, that first night in the library, when Steve had asked him why he was doing all of this. "I should have died, but I didn't."
Hank swore. "What do we do?" he asked, almost angrily. "I don't even know what that is."
The... thing in Tony's chest glowed with the same blue light as the circular inset in the center of his armor's chestplate -- the one must be designed to hook into the other, somehow -- but where the one in the armor usually glowed brightly, this one was faint and flickering, like a flashlight with a nearly-dead battery.
Steve didn't know what the little device was doing, but he had a sickening feeling that if it ran down completely, it would be very bad thing.
He had thought, initially, that the reason Iron Man never took his armor off was because it was the only thing keeping him alive. He had rejected that theory when he realized that Iron Man had to be Tony Stark, who clearly could take the armor off any time he wanted to; it looked like he had been right after all.
Sometimes, Steve hated being right.
"He kept saying he needed to recharge." Jan was leaning forward over Tony's chest, staring intently at the metal device and biting at her lower lip. "Maybe he meant that thing." She poked the edge of the metal ring with one finger, tentatively, as if touching it might damage it or cause it to explode.
"Recharge," Steve repeated. "Right! How do we recharge it?" He wasn’t going to just sit back and watch a teammate die, not when there was a chance he could do anything to prevent it.
Tony's breathing was coming in irregular gasps now; he wasn't going to last much longer like this. He almost looked dead already, skin washed-out and cool to the touch. He was going into shock; Steve had seen it happen to men before when they were badly wounded, more often than he cared to think about. "How do we recharge it?" he demanded, aware that he sounded slightly panicked. Tony was dying because he had some kind of robotic thing is his chest that was supposed to be keeping him alive somehow and now wasn't anymore and Steve didn't know what it was or how it worked or what he was supposed to do to fix it.
"We need to get him to a power source," Hank said, looking up from Tony's body to glance around the room. "With all this equipment there's got to be one here somewhere."
"What if it needs be a certain kind of power?" Thor was gripping his hammer in both hands, its head resting on the floor between his knees. He looked as worried as the rest of them. Steve wasn't sure he'd even seen Thor look afraid before. "The wrong kind may do more harm than good."
"He's dying anyway," Steve said harshly. "We don't have a choice."
Hank was examining the discarded chestplate now, running his fingers over the circuitry inside. "This slots over that and the power couplings link together," he said. "I think I can run a charge into the armor's power core here," he brushed his fingers across the dead circular panel in the chestplate's front, "and it should feed back into the device in his chest. That, or electrocute him. There's a lot of damage here and I've never seen anything like this circuitry before." He shook his head. "It's like a transistor, a computer chip, a car battery, and a set of Tesla coils had an orgy. I wish Reed Richards were here. I'm a biochemist, not a rocket scientist; this is way out of my field."
"Enough talking," Steve snapped. "Do it."
Thor carried Tony over to the far wall, where the command center's main adaptor and circuit board was, and laid him down gently on the floor. His head lolled sideways, cheek resting against the concrete. Steve wished they had something to put under him, a blanket or something. The floor was cold, and Tony was already going into shock.
It seemed to take forever for Hank to re-attach the breastplate and hook it into the main power outlet with one of the computers' power cords.
Steve was braced for failure, half-expecting it to do nothing and half-expecting Tony to go into violent convulsions, arching up off the floor as the current went through him.
At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but after an endless minute, the armor's power core flickered back to life and began to glow steadily once more, gradually brightening to something like half its usual radiance.
As the light grew brighter, Tony's barely audible breathing strengthened, evening back out into a normal rhythm.
Steve sighed, then drew in a long breath; suddenly realizing that he'd been unconsciously matching his breathing to Tony's. He was almost afraid to let himself feel relief. It seemed like every time he did, some new, unexpected disaster was waiting for them.
Now there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that no other disaster befell them before Nick's people could get there.
* * *
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Authors:
seanchai and elspethdixonRated: PG-13
Pairings: Hank/Jan. Eventually Steve/Tony.
Warnings: This fic is not quite so fluffy as the previous ones. 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: Much delayed, and un-beta'd due to real life insanity. Still this will be going up on our regular schedule of Wednesdays and Saturdays come hell or high water.
Summary: Steve finally comes face to face with Baron Zemo. Also, there are ants.
Zemo was standing on the far side of the room, beside a large, complicated looking control panel covered in buttons and switches. He had his right thumb resting lightly on one of the buttons, and a familiar sneer on his face.
Intellectually, Steve had known that it had been six decades since he and Zemo had last come face to face, but he hadn't expected Zemo to look so old.
The last time Steve had seen him, Zemo had been a powerfully built fair-haired man in his mid-thirties. Now, the blond hair was thin and white, his face was lined with age, and even his voice sounded different; it had lost the resonant quality Steve had heard him use to command his SS subordinates. The slight German accent and penchant for melodramatic posturing hadn't changed, though.
"There are five of us and one of you," Steve told him. "What makes you think we'd surrender just because you have a red flashing button?" He took a step forward, and Zemo held up his left hand and snapped,
"Halt where you are, Captain America. I have only to depress this button, and my death ray shall wipe this entire city off the face of the earth, killing everyone in it."
Damn. His disintegration rays were certainly more than capable of that. He should have foreseen something like this.
"Including you," Steve pointed out. He knew as he said it that it was a hollow protest. Zemo might be a monster, but he had never been a coward, and he wasn't the kind of man who made empty threats.
Zemo's sneer deepened. "I'm ninety-six years old. I am going to die soon anyway. At least this way, I will have the pleasure of taking you with me."
"And you don't care about the thousands of innocent people who you'll kill in the process?" Jan asked. She was standing on Hank's shoulder, hands up and ready to launch her stinger blast at the first sign of movement on Zemo's part.
"Not especially, no." Zemo actually chuckled, a dry, wheezy sound.
"No, of course not." Iron Man had both gauntlets held up, palms outward; as he spoke, his repulsors flickering to life. "I've read the reports on your mining facilities. If China and Latveria weren't blocking all motions to send a UN fact-finding investigation into your slave-labor-based environmental nightmare of a national industry, there would have been American troops in the streets of your capital years ago." There was a whining sound from the gauntlets as the repulsors powered up, their blue glow brightening. "As your buddy Justin Hammer might have told you, I can fry you with these before you'd even have a chance to push that button."
The whining noise from the armor reached crescendo, then abruptly stopped, and the light from both replusors flickered and died. The power core set in the center of Iron Man's chest plate dimmed noticeably, and he put one hand to his chest. "Oh, come on."
Zemo's lips twitched. "What a shame. It looks as if your power source is damaged. I was disappointed at how ineffective my anti-tank weapons seemed to have been, but it looks like my disappointment was premature."
All right, so Iron Man's high-powered weaponry was out. He was still stronger than an un-armored man, and Thor and Jan still had their full powers at their disposal. And Hank was still wearing his Ant-Man helmet. Maybe he could have ants come short out this computer, too.
He would need time to accomplish that, though. And Steve needed to communicate the idea to the others, without letting Zemo know.
"Oh, your giant guns were very scary," Steve assured Zemo, letting all the disgust he felt for the man color his voice. "Until the ants ate your pretend SS squad's jeep." He laid the slightest of stresses on the word "ant," and saw Hank's slight nod from the corner of his eye.
Zemo raised his eyebrows. "And now you've stooped to threatening me with insects? Out of ideas without your little sidekick to help you, Rogers?"
Steve took another step forward, suddenly not caring about Zemo's finger on that button. "This ends now, Zemo. You're not getting away again." He felt a distant surprise at how cold and angry his voice sounded.
"Go ahead, Rogers." Zemo beckoned him forward with the hand that wasn't touching the button. "Kill me. Condemn all of us to death. It doesn't matter. Whatever you do, I've still won. While you spent sixty years in a block of ice, I survived Germany's defeat, seized Vespugia for my own, and made sure that my Furher's dream, that my dream, lives on. I've ruled this country for forty years, raised it from the dust, molded it in my image, and made it great. Kill us all now, and I will leave behind a country, a son, a grand legacy, while you," he spat, "are still going to die at twenty five."
He was right; taking him down now wouldn't change what had happened all those years ago. It wouldn't change the fact that Zemo had been gloating enjoying his freedom for decades while Steve had been trapped in the ice and Bucky had been dead. But taking him down now would at least stop him from spreading his evil any further.
"It is better to die with honor as a young man than live decades as a base, depraved craven man whose throne is built on the bodies of his subjects, and whose evil poisons the very earth his kingdom rests on," Thor rumbled.
"Power has its price." The red light of the alarm was still flashing, turning Zemo's white hair the color of blood. "You of all people should know that. My ancestors hanged men and cut their lungs out to win your father's favor."
Thor's eyes narrowed. "But not my favor."
Something tiny and dark crept across Steve's foot. An ant. There was a thin, dark trail of ants moving along the edge of the room now, toward Zemo and the death rays' controls.
"You should have been hanged," Steve spat. "Years ago, alongside all the other Nazi war criminals." Zemo's voice might be cracked with age now, but the malice in it was no less strong for all that. If he closed his eyes, it might have been the war once more, with him and Bucky chained up in Zemo's headquarters, at his mercy. Zemo had been smug then, too.
They had broken free, gotten away in time to get themselves aboard that plane, and they had stopped it, but it had cost Steve everything. Cost Bucky his life.
The fingers of his right hand hurt. Steve realized distantly that he was gripping the strap of his shield so tightly that the edges of the leather were cutting into his fingers.
Why hadn't Hank's ants gotten to the computer yet? Standing here listening to Zemo's taunts was like having salt rubbed on a wound, and as long as Zemo had his finger on that button, he didn't have any choice but to stand still and take it.
Zemo twitched suddenly, brushing at himself with his free hand. Hank hadn't been sending his ants at the computer at all; he'd sent them at Zemo.
Zemo brushed at his clothing once more, more fiercely this time, and now Steve could make out the tiny black dots of ants crawling over the tunic of his Nazi-style uniform and under its high collar.
In an instant, Jan had left Hank's shoulder and was hovering in mid-air, ready to attack. Steve flexed his finger, and shifted his weight, preparing to throw his shield, eyes glued to Zemo's hand on that button.
Zemo was laughing as he brushed at the ants. "I don't believe it. I had thought you were joking. Do you expect a minor inconvenience like this to stop me, Rogers?"
As he spoke, he made an abortive movement to swat at the ants with both hands, and that was all Steve needed.
"No," his shield was already in the air, sailing towards Zemo's arm in graceful arc. Zemo was spun sideways by the impact, and then Thor and Jan were moving. "I expected it to distract you," Steve finished, as Thor grabbed Zemo by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet, and Jan swooped down to remove the gun at his belt.
"Iron Man," Steve jerked his chin at the console, "take care of that."
"I'm on it," Iron Man responded, moving towards the console. He was walking slowly, one hand still held against the center of his chest. Had he broken ribs when the armored car's explosion had slammed him into the ground?
There wasn't time to worry about it now. He was still standing, which meant that Zemo was still the number one priority.
"How do you expect to leave this country after breaking in here and killing me?" Zemo sneered. He seemed totally unruffled by the fact that he was currently dangling from Thor's grasp with his perfectly polished boots a foot off the floor and his right arm hanging limp, obviously broken.
"We got in, didn't we?" Hank said smugly.
Their quinjet might have been destroyed, but the five of them were standing in the middle of Zemo's main communications center, with Zemo himself at their mercy. They were a long way from out of options.
Thor gave Zemo a slight shake. "What would you have me do with this?"
"Do you want me to beg for mercy? To swear to you that I feel remorse for my 'war crimes?' To call out for someone to come and help me?" The words were a sneer. Zemo was almost smirking down at Steve, his eyes glittering with a cold hate. "I did what I did for the glory of my country and my race and I regret none of it. Tell me, did your little partner cry to you for help before he died?"
The ringing in Steve's ears had never stopped, but now he could actually feel himself shaking. He wanted to beat Zemo to a bloody mess, feel Zemo's bones breaking under his knuckles, hit him again and again until he stopped moving, preferably forever.
If Zemo had still been the physically powerful man he remembered, with his perfect Aryan bone structure, his perfect, blond Aryan hair, and his perfect, muscled boxer's build, then Steve would have done it, would have thrown himself on Zemo barehanded and would have felt a deep satisfaction with every blow that landed, beating the record of Zemo's atrocities into his body. Knowing that it was justice, because it would have been a fair fight.
But Zemo wasn't the man he had been, and even though Zemo had earned it a thousand times over, Steve couldn't beat an old man to death. Zemo would have no hope of defending himself; it would be murder. That wasn't what good Americans did.
"No," Steve said, as much to himself as to Zemo. "I want you dead, but not here, not like this. I want everyone to know what you are, what you've done. I want your loyal Vespugian citizens and international allies to hear about the prisoners you worked to death to build weapons for Hitler, the French resistance fighters you tortured, the men, women, and children you had shot and thrown into a ditch to rot just for being Jews and Slavs. I don't just want to destroy you; I want to destroy your 'legacy,' too."
"I should have known you were too much of a coward to finish the job," Zemo spat. "What do you plan to do with me, then?"
Steve hesitated; he didn't know what he planned to do with Zemo, actually. He'd never really expected to get this far.
"We're going to turn you over to SHIELD," Iron Man said, before the silence could grow too long. His fingers were flying over the control panel's black keyboard, which had more keys than Steve thought a normal keyboard was supposed to have; even when he looked up to speak, they hadn't slowed down. "I'm sure Nick Fury will be thrilled to get his hands on you."
That was... brilliant, actually. Steve should have thought of if himself; not only did Nick have the connections in international politics to see that Zemo was dealt with as he deserved, he also would be able to send a SHIELD team in to extract them, which would solve the problem of how the hell they were going to get out of Vespugia without the quinjet.
"All this time and you still need other people to do your dirty work for you," Zemo hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You're pathetic, Rogers, still the same weakling you've always been! Always so concerned about getting your spotless American hands dirty. Not what one would expect, from a man who keeps company with robots and mutants and other subhuman beings."
Thor gave Zemo a sharp shake. "Mind your tongue, old man. It is not wise to speak ill of those who are companions to a warrior of Asgard."
Zemo wasn't necessarily talking about the Avengers - these were long-familiar insults. The robotic Human Torch, the "mongrelized" Howling Commandoes, and the half-human Namor had all been favorite targets of Zemo scorn. "Jim Hammond was four times the man you ever were," Steve said, through gritted teeth. "And Namor is a better ruler than you could ever dream of being." Namor might be an arrogant bastard who thought all non-Atlanteans were beneath him, but he was a man of his word, who lived by his own code of honor, and he didn't kill people simply for the crime of being the wrong race or religion. Steve knew nothing about what Namor's reign in Atlantis had been like over the past few decades, but he knew without even having to ask that it hadn't involved slave labor.
"Release me! Who are you to judge me? I am the leader of Vespugia, a general of the thousand-year Reich, and you are nothing!" Zemo was shouting now, stiff Prussian composure forgotten. "A worthless puppet who mindlessly serves his debased and weak-willed Jewish masters."
"We're not going to judge you. Some kind of war crimes of human right violation tribunal will." Hank was still seven and a half feet tall, still wearing his faceless silver helmet. It made him more imposing than he otherwise might be. "Judging you would be if I brought the army ants back and let them eat dinner."
On the heels of his words, the wailing of the alarm suddenly stopped, and the flashing red light went dark. "The disintegrator ray is offline," Iron Man said, as half the monitors in the room shut down. "I'm going to call Fury now."
"Nein!" Zemo shouted. "I have lived through a hundred battles; I survived the bombing of Dresden and the fall of Berlin! I am the twelfth Baron von Zemo! My ancestors were ruling Europe while yours were rooting in the muck in an Irish bog! You will not hand me over to that filthy, illiterate peasant!" There was a flash of silver in his left hand as he struck upwards, and Thor let out a shout and dropped him.
Then he was coming at Steve, an eight-inch dagger in his hand. "I will see you ended!" he screamed. "I will not fail a second time. Meine ehre heisst treue!"
Steve grabbed him by the wrist, halting the dagger's descent a foot away from his chest. It took less effort than he had expected, almost shockingly little.
Zemo twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away, and that, too, was easy to prevent.
"You don't begin to know the meaning of the word 'honor.'" Steve told him.
When all of the soldiers and death rays and political power were stripped away, Zemo was nothing but one solitary old man -- an arrogant, evil man, but just a man nevertheless. Not someone to wake Steve up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and palms sweating. Not something to be haunted by.
"You don't know the meaning of the word 'justice,' either," Steve went on, "but you're going to learn."
Jan landed on the ground beside Thor, growing back to her normal height as she did so.
"Sorry, gorgeous. I should have checked him for weapons more thoroughly."
Thor examined his bleeding wrist with a small frown, then shrugged. "It is of no moment. The Enchantress's frog stuck me a far greater blow."
The largest of the screens flickered back to life, offering them a three-foot-high version of Nick Fury's scowling face. "What the hell are you people doing?" he barked, before any of the Avengers had a chance to say a word. "Trying to start a war by dicking around in Vespugian airspace until ya actually goaded them into shooting ya down?" He stabbed an unlit cigar at them and went on, "You are this close to getting the United States into a war with half a' South America."
"If it helps," Iron Man said, "we've captured El Presidente Heinrich Zemo -- maybe you remember him? -- and we're currently speaking to you from the secret command center for his weapons of mass destruction."
"Wait, you won?" Nick grinned, sticking the cigar back in his mouth. "Why didn't ya say so? That, I can work with." Then, after a momentary pause, "What do ya mean, Heinrich Zemo? I thought that bastard died years ago."
Steve moved a few feet to the left, dragging a still-struggling Zemo with him, until he was within Fury's probable line-of-sight. "Look, Nick," he said, forcing a smile he didn't feel, "it's our old friend, Herr Zemo."
"Damn," Nick whistled. "It is him. Surrender our buddy Heinrich to SHIELD custody, and I might be able to get ya out of the mess you've landed yerselves in."
Jan stepped forward, so that she was within Nick's line-of-sight as well. "We're also going to need some kind of transportation out of here, since Zemo tested his WMDs on our quinjet."
"I can have an extraction team there from Guantanamo in eight hours," Fury said, making a series of hand-gestures to someone offscreen; Steve recognized several of them as hand signals the Howling Commandoes had used during the war, so Nick had to be talking to Dugan. "Stay where you are and don't talk to anyone or shoot anything."
"Technically we haven't shot anything yet at all." Hank pulled his helmet off, revealing rumpled and sweaty blond hair, and shook his head. "None of us have firearms."
Fury rolled his good eye. "Or bludgeon anything, or blow anything else up. SHIELD has contacts in place with the Free Vespugian government-in-exile in Carnelia; we can claim your actions were part of a planned attempt to overthrow Zemo after the US government learned that he had weapons of mass destruction and was responsible for an act of terrorism that caused the murder of a Carnelian diplomat on US soil."
There were holes in that explanation big enough to drive a tank through, but it was probably more convincing than the truth would have been. Zemo redoubled his efforts to break free, snarling at Steve in German, and Steve forcibly escorted him to a chair that stood in front of one of the banks of computers and pushed him down into it, placing both hands on his shoulders and holding him there. "Someone get me something to tie him up with."
Hank produced a handful of yellow string from inside the same pocket he'd concealed the shrunken Ant-Man helmet in, then held it out in front of him while it grew into fifteen feet of bright yellow nylon rope. "I wanted to practice shrinking and growing inanimate objects on something less irreplaceable than my helmet, and I forgot to take it out of my pocket," he said with a slightly embarrassed shrug.
He brought the rope over to where Steve had Zemo pinned to the chair and wrapped it firmly around Zemo's arms and torso, tying him in place. There was just enough rope left over when he was done to tie Zemo's ankles to the chair legs.
"You are still doomed to failure, Rogers," Zemo snarled. Some of the fight had gone out of his voice; his broken arm had to be hurting him by now. "Do you honestly imagine that you can hold out here for another eight hours? Here, in the heart of Vespugia, against my entire army?"
"We have you as a hostage." Steve was already standing as he said it, turning away from Zemo and back to Nick now that Zemo was securely tied up. "I think our chances are pretty good."
"We are inside an impregnable fortress that even my hammer could not gain us entry to," Thor said, tapping Mjolnir against his palm for emphasis. "We have only to close the door behind us once more to be as secure as if we were behind the walls of Asgard."
"I can help with that." Iron Man had been tinkering with some small electrical device ever since he had successfully shut down the weapons system and contacted Nick; now he held it up for them to see, then tossed it to Thor. "Take this to the door and have Hank attach it to the damaged locking mechanism. It will enable the current to bypass the burned-out circuitry and the lock will re-engage."
"Good thinking, Iron Man." Steve nodded at Hank and Thor. "You two go secure the entrance." It had to be Tony Stark under that armor. Who else would have had the engineering know-how to throw that kind of thing together in no time at all, not to mention successfully disarming Zemo's death rays? He hadn't even hesitated when Steve had ordered him to take the weapons system offline; he had just tossed off a confident "On it," and had buckled down and done it.
"Ya have proof he's got adamantium, too?" Nick's grin split his entire face now. "Hot damn. This is like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. The SHIELD team will be there in eight hours, and you better have the same number of hostages when they get there."
It was almost a relief to have someone else taking charge for now; the entire responsibility for this whole mission was no longer resting solely on Steve's shoulders. This didn't mean, however, that he didn't have a few qualms with Nick's plan of action. "And what's the American government going to say when they hear about all of this secret maneuvering that's supposedly been happening behind their backs?"
Nick shrugged. "Trust me, the only parts the administration is going to hear are the magic words 'terrorist act' and 'weapons of mass destruction.'"
That was the third time someone had used that phrase. It wasn't one Steve was familiar with, though the meaning was obvious - from the way everyone kept repeating, it must have some significance he wasn't picking up on. A political slogan, maybe, or something from a propaganda film or famous speech?
Iron Man made an amused noise, and Steve could practically see Tony's little half-smirk. "The American government didn't even know he was getting his own flying aircraft carrier until Tony Stark had already finished the plans and submitted SI's bid to construct it."
"Yeah, about that." Nick raised his unscarred eyebrow at Iron Man. "Remind yer boss that his final blueprints for the flight deck and hydraulic catapult system are overdue. We're supposed to start construction this month. And as for you," and this last was directed squarely at Zemo, "I know some people in Tel Aviv who've wanted to get their hands on ya for a very long time."
The screen went dark before Zemo could reply - not that he would have been capable of doing so in the first place, given that Hank had gagged him.
"Hands up everyone who thinks we should gift wrap him," Jan said brightly.
"What, you think we should put a big, red bow on his head?" Glancing at Zemo, securely bound and gagged and looking thoroughly defeated, Steve felt an almost giddy sense of relief. It was over. Zemo was finished. He couldn't haunt Steve anymore. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, not the Avengers or anyone else. After a lifetime of evil, he was finally going to pay the price for it.
Bucky could rest easy now; his death would finally be avenged. And maybe Steve could rest easier now, too.
"God, I'm glad that's over with." Iron Man was leaning one hip against the side of the computer console, one palm flat against its smooth plastic surface. His left arm was wrapped around his ribs - definitely broken, Steve thought. Broken ribs were not something to fool around with; they could splinter and drive jagged ends of bone into a man's lungs. Iron Man had been going non-stop since being flattened in that explosion, fighting and flying without showing any apparent care for whatever injuries he might have under that chestplate.
"You were hit pretty hard back there," Steve said, stepping forward and laying a hand over the cool metal of Iron Man's shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down now."
"Not yet." Iron Man shook his head. "I need to find a power outlet. The armor's almost tapped out." He pulled away from Steve's grasp, taking a single step away from the console, then swayed.
Steve grabbed him by the elbow, steadying him, a sharp pang of alarm running through him. He should have checked on Iron Man earlier, shouldn't have let it slide.
Jan stepped forward to take Iron Man's other arm. "Cap's right. You need to sit down. You were hurt in that fight, weren't you? Take the armor off and let us see; you can leave the helmet on if you need to."
Iron Man shook his head again. "No, I just need a power source, I-" he broke off, doubling over and pressing a hand to the center of his chest plate, "I need-"
He fell heavily to his knees, armor clanking loudly on the concrete floor. Steve dropped to kneel beside him, still holding onto his arm, conscious of Jan mirroring his actions on Iron Man's other side.
"It's okay," Steve said, forcing down his rising panic. "We've got you. Jan, help me get his helmet off." He might be choking, coughing up blood from damaged lungs, might have any of a hundred things wrong with him inside that metal shell.
"No, don't-" Iron Man tried to push himself to one knee, then collapsed back against Steve, sagging against him heavily. "...just need to recharge," he repeated faintly. Then his head lolled against Steve's shoulder, metal brushing Steve's cheek, and he was silent.
Jan was already fumbling at the helmet, pressing her fingers against the seams. "I don't know how it comes off."
"Iron Man!" Thor's voice boomed from the doorway.
"What happened?" Hank demanded almost simultaneously, pushing past Thor's elbow to re-enter the room.
"I don't know." Iron Man -- Tony, he knew he was Tony -- wasn't moving. Steve wasn't even sure he was breathing under that helmet. "He just fell over!"
"I knew he had suffered an injury earlier." Thor knelt down beside them, gently brushing Jan's fingers aside to grab Iron Man's helmet. "I should have insisted he spare himself."
With a single, smooth motion he wrenched the helmet loose -- Steve could actually hear the metal groan in protest-- and tossed it aside.
Tony Stark's handsome, angular face was ashen, his lips blue. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat-soaked, and his eyes were closed, long lashes dark against his pale cheekbones.
Steve felt his heart turn over in his chest. He had known the truth for the past week, but now, looking at Tony's colorless face and hearing the way he was gasping for air, he wished that he had been wrong.
"Tony," Hank said, voice low. "I knew it! What's wrong with him?"
"I think it's his ribs," Steve forced out, the words sounding strangled to his own ears, "but I'm not sure."
"Nay," Thor shook his head, his expression grave, "mark the blueness of his lips. It is his heart. When the debris from the explosion struck him in the chest it must have damaged it." He was reaching for Tony's hand now, wrenching the glove loose as he had the helmet. "See, his fingernails are also blue. I fear there may be naught we can do."
"No." Steve fumbled at the fastenings of the armor's breastplate. "He's having trouble breathing. We need to get the rest of this thing off him." The weight of the armor couldn't be helping.
He lifted the piece of armor away. It was surprisingly light for its size, no heavier than his shield.
What was underneath was... Steve didn't know what it was. A circular piece of metal with a glowing blue core had been implanted in the center of Tony's chest, directly over his heart. The skin surrounding it was covered in a tracery of scaring, pink and raw-looking and obviously recent.
"Something happened to me about a year ago," Iron Man had told him, that first night in the library, when Steve had asked him why he was doing all of this. "I should have died, but I didn't."
Hank swore. "What do we do?" he asked, almost angrily. "I don't even know what that is."
The... thing in Tony's chest glowed with the same blue light as the circular inset in the center of his armor's chestplate -- the one must be designed to hook into the other, somehow -- but where the one in the armor usually glowed brightly, this one was faint and flickering, like a flashlight with a nearly-dead battery.
Steve didn't know what the little device was doing, but he had a sickening feeling that if it ran down completely, it would be very bad thing.
He had thought, initially, that the reason Iron Man never took his armor off was because it was the only thing keeping him alive. He had rejected that theory when he realized that Iron Man had to be Tony Stark, who clearly could take the armor off any time he wanted to; it looked like he had been right after all.
Sometimes, Steve hated being right.
"He kept saying he needed to recharge." Jan was leaning forward over Tony's chest, staring intently at the metal device and biting at her lower lip. "Maybe he meant that thing." She poked the edge of the metal ring with one finger, tentatively, as if touching it might damage it or cause it to explode.
"Recharge," Steve repeated. "Right! How do we recharge it?" He wasn’t going to just sit back and watch a teammate die, not when there was a chance he could do anything to prevent it.
Tony's breathing was coming in irregular gasps now; he wasn't going to last much longer like this. He almost looked dead already, skin washed-out and cool to the touch. He was going into shock; Steve had seen it happen to men before when they were badly wounded, more often than he cared to think about. "How do we recharge it?" he demanded, aware that he sounded slightly panicked. Tony was dying because he had some kind of robotic thing is his chest that was supposed to be keeping him alive somehow and now wasn't anymore and Steve didn't know what it was or how it worked or what he was supposed to do to fix it.
"We need to get him to a power source," Hank said, looking up from Tony's body to glance around the room. "With all this equipment there's got to be one here somewhere."
"What if it needs be a certain kind of power?" Thor was gripping his hammer in both hands, its head resting on the floor between his knees. He looked as worried as the rest of them. Steve wasn't sure he'd even seen Thor look afraid before. "The wrong kind may do more harm than good."
"He's dying anyway," Steve said harshly. "We don't have a choice."
Hank was examining the discarded chestplate now, running his fingers over the circuitry inside. "This slots over that and the power couplings link together," he said. "I think I can run a charge into the armor's power core here," he brushed his fingers across the dead circular panel in the chestplate's front, "and it should feed back into the device in his chest. That, or electrocute him. There's a lot of damage here and I've never seen anything like this circuitry before." He shook his head. "It's like a transistor, a computer chip, a car battery, and a set of Tesla coils had an orgy. I wish Reed Richards were here. I'm a biochemist, not a rocket scientist; this is way out of my field."
"Enough talking," Steve snapped. "Do it."
Thor carried Tony over to the far wall, where the command center's main adaptor and circuit board was, and laid him down gently on the floor. His head lolled sideways, cheek resting against the concrete. Steve wished they had something to put under him, a blanket or something. The floor was cold, and Tony was already going into shock.
It seemed to take forever for Hank to re-attach the breastplate and hook it into the main power outlet with one of the computers' power cords.
Steve was braced for failure, half-expecting it to do nothing and half-expecting Tony to go into violent convulsions, arching up off the floor as the current went through him.
At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but after an endless minute, the armor's power core flickered back to life and began to glow steadily once more, gradually brightening to something like half its usual radiance.
As the light grew brighter, Tony's barely audible breathing strengthened, evening back out into a normal rhythm.
Steve sighed, then drew in a long breath; suddenly realizing that he'd been unconsciously matching his breathing to Tony's. He was almost afraid to let himself feel relief. It seemed like every time he did, some new, unexpected disaster was waiting for them.
Now there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that no other disaster befell them before Nick's people could get there.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
no subject
A smell a conclusion close at hand. Shall this be the end! (HORROR!)
no subject