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When it happened, Tony's first (insane, irrational) thought was: This is Pepper's fault.
Okay, so the clean slate protocol used destroy all his Iron Man armors had technically been Tony's idea. Pepper hadn't known about it, or ever asked him to use it. Whatever. It had been Christmas, and he was trying to be romantic. The armors were sick, or had come from a sick place in his mind--Look, it didn't matter. The armors were gone now, but the important thing was he's still Iron Man where it counted.
Tony spent the last six weeks since the president's kidnapping working on a fix for Pepper's buggy Extremis virus. Which he did, because he was a genius. It went so well, in fact, he planned on using a version of it on himself in a few days to regrow his entire sternum when he went under the knife to remove the arc reactor.
And okay, yes, it was Pepper's job was to make sure he actually attended investor meetings, which he'd been ignoring for the past eight weeks months awhile.
Still, when the door to the boardroom burst open and an armed man strode in, muzzle-like mask, sunglasses, and all greasy-haired glory, Tony's first thought had been: I shouldn't even be here. This is Pepper's fault.
"This is a private party," Tony heard himself say, over the gasps and startled cries of the boardroom executives. "The S&M appreciation council is down the hall and to the right."
The gunman's masked face jerked in Tony's direction. Then, with a too-easy leap, he landed on top the boardroom table and strode down its length, scattering papers, tablets, and phones in his wake. He had an old STARK special nine mil handgun on his hip, a second semi-auto slung between his shoulders.
Tony guessed he wasn't here to discuss the stock-dip.
Rising from his chair, Tony's hand flew to his pocket for a locator bracelet. Empty. And even if he had one, there weren't any armors left to call. Stark Tower was still under reconstruction from the Chitauri attack-- he'd rented a room on the New York Life building for this meeting. JARVIS wasn't installed here to call for help.
That's why they called Tony genius. It took him all of a split-second to realize exactly how screwed he was.
It took only a fraction past that for the gunman to reach him. One hand clamped like a vice around his throat, and lifted Tony up to his toes.
"You're not him," the man said flatly, almost distantly.
Tony choked and pounded at the man's elbow joint, but it was solid as steal under the glove and long-sleeve. Gauntleted?
The man lifted him higher, cutting off his air. Tony was vaguely aware of the room emptying around them, people fleeing for their own lives while the gunman was distracted.
That's fine. I'll just hang here, Tony thought. Black dots gathered at the corner of his vision, and he kicked without hitting anything vital.
"Where is he?" the man demand.
Tony struggled and made a sound he hoped conveyed, "I'd like to answer you, but I really need air." Flailing, he more or less accidently knocked the sunglasses free of the man's face.
The man's eyes were steel gray and so wide the white showed around the edges.
Perversely, it reminded Tony of something he hadn't thought of in years: As a boy, he'd visited Tiberious Stone's house. Ty was a prick -- his whole family were pricks, and did typical rich-boy prick things like Dressage with horses. There had been a gelding who was bred for it, but couldn't take Ty's brand of rigorous "training". Tony remembered seeing the gelding ridden under pain of a whipping quart, every line perfect in his gait, but his eyes wide and terrified; an animal tortured to perfection.
This man had that same look in his eyes.
"Where is he?" the man repeated. Then, unceremoniously dropped Tony.
It was only luck Tony didn't brain himself on the edge of the table. His throat was on fire, and for a moment it was all he could do to lay on the floor and suck air.
He felt thumping footsteps vibrate up through the floor before a new voice demanded, "You! There in the mask! Put your hands up!"
Calvary, or at least the building's security, had arrived.
The masked man whipped around, drawing his handgun. Tony had followed Rhodey around enough military bases to recognize professional stance, and trigger discipline when he saw it.
The security guards were just on the other side of the boardroom's double doors, maybe thirty feet away . No way the gunman should have missed, but his shots went over the guards heads. They yelled and scattered down the hall.
Snarling, the gunman -- the Soldier because that's how he moved, every movement efficient and purposeful -- stalked to the doors. The hinges were half-broken from being busted open, but the Soldier grabbed one curved door handle and twisted it to wrap around the other. With his bare hand.
Tony sat up, rubbing at his bruised throat, and took stock. Alone inside a conference room with a gunman? Check. No suits, or a way to call them if he did have any? Double check.
"Whatever--whoever you want. You're not getting it," Tony rasped. "I've been through this song and dance before."
The Soldier whipped around, again giving him that wide-eyed tortured-animal look. It was almost as if he'd forgotten Tony was there at all.
Tony slowly rose to his feet, hands outstretched to show he was unarmed. "Just saying: the last, well, two times someone took me hostage it didn't go so well them. And I've got friends in high places. Heard of the Avengers?" Granted, he hadn't seen them since shwarma, but the Soldier didn't need to know that.
The Soldier only stared. "You're not him," he said for a third time.
Tony shoved back a bite of impatience. Name dropping the Avengers should have earned him some credit. "I'm not who?"
"Howard Stark."
An unpleasant tingle went down Tony's spine. "You're not wrong," he agreed, then looked closer. Hard to tell with the mask, but what skin he could see around the Soldier's eyes was free of wrinkles. His lank brown hair didn't have any gray.
"You're about twenty years too late to meet him," Tony said. "Sorry."
The Soldier said nothing.
Normally when people took Tony captive -- and what was even his life that he could say that? -- Tony wasn't the one doing the interrogating. Luckily, he was adaptable.
He took a step forward. "Why are you looking for Howard?"
"Repairs."
"Let me guess, for a weapon?" His voice went cold. "You're late for that, too. Why don't you put down your gun--guns," he amended. "So far, all you've done is break down a door and scare my board of directors away. I can afford to fix the first, and would have paid you for the second."
Nothing from the Soldier. Not that Tony could see much of his face under the mask.
Tony sighed, "Listen, kid, whatever's going on, it's fixable. I'll find you a doctor--"
The Soldier flinched, and a second later Tony was backed up against the wall, a six inch blade at his bruised throat.
"No," the Soldier snarled, "No more refurbishments."
"Okay, okay! No need to get stab-happy." And where had that knife even come from?
Tony held up his hands, showing peace. After a moment, the Soldier lowered the blade, and Tony swore he could hear a tick-tick whirl sound from the man's left side.
"I'm Tony," he said, "Tony Stark. I mentioned that, right?" Pause. "What's your name?"
The Soldier was silent for a long, long moment. His head slightly tilted, scanning Tony up and down. "They call me the Asset."
"Ominous."
That got him a blank stare.
The rapid thump thump thump of a helicopter blades sounded from outside. The Soldier turned from Tony and stalked over to the large window to shut the blinds. While he was turned, Tony sipped a pen into his jacket. In real life, a pen wasn't mightier than the knife or gun or freakish super -trength, but maybe it would give him a second of distraction
"So your friends who call you the Asset. They wanted you to take me to repair something?" he asked, hoping to distract him.
"No."
"Howard then. What did you want him to repair?"
The Soldier did not meet his gaze. "Me."
"He was an engineer, not a doctor." But suddenly Tony got a bad feeling about what lay under the man's long sleeve and gloves.
"He was..." The skin around the Soldier's eyes crinkled, as if he were snarling under the mask. "He said the scientists were hacks. From now on I should come to him. Only to him when there was a malfunction."
It was the most the Soldier had spoken at one time, and it left him breathing heavily. Tony, meanwhile, felt like he lost the plot somewhere.
"You can't have known Howard. What are you, early thirties?" Tony said.
"He said he can't be my handler," the Soldier said, nonsensically. "He has a wife -- a son who's too curious."
"...That's right." Tony felt like the world had shifted around him a few degrees. Hesitantly, aware that the Soldier was still armed and dangerous, he stepped forward. "I'm his son, and whatever Howard did, I can do better,"
The Soldier's eyes had gone wide again and his gaze flicked around the room. Like he was scared of Tony -- like Tony had power over him.
Tony decided to test that.
"It's the arm, right? Yeah, I heard something under there. Off with the shirt." Tony flicked his fingers. "Mask too. I need to see what I'm dealing with."
The Soldier stared at him, and Tony felt the moment lengthen and become brittle. Either Soldier was going to comply, or kill Tony. No in between. So Tony pulled himself up straight, summoned the kind of command in his voice he'd seen Steve Rogers and Rhodey use, with a dash of Stark battiness thrown in for good measure. "Time's wasting. Chop-chop. I've agreed to your repairs, and you don't want to know my hourly fee."
The Soldier blinked at him, then slowly raised one hand to unclip the mask. The face underneath was whole, had a scruffy five-o'clock shadow, and was utterly blank. He also looked younger than Tony had figured, and Tony revised his estimate of his age to twenty-eight or so. A hard lived twenty-eight.
All those thoughts flew out of his head when the Soldier unzipped his jacket, and removed the bulletproof vest and simple black t-shirt underneath.
Tony had been expecting something akin to the Iron Man's gauntlets. An exoskeleton or other tech over living flesh. He wasn't expecting what looked like a completely functional cybernetic arm, complete with pitted scarring around the shoulder where it joined to the flesh.
"They heat sealed that to your skin, didn't they?" Tony asked. His own hand came up to tap at his own arc reactor.
The Soldier said nothing, but Tony didn't need an answer. "You know, I don't think your friends are your friends."
There was some kind of damage over the upper arm, one of the chrome metal plates had dented in, leaving a scorch mark. Taking his life in his hands, Tony closed the final step and gestured to the mark. "Is that where it hurts?"
"There is no pain." The Soldier's voice even sounded a little younger, not muffled by the mask.
"It's an expression." Tony reached to the arm. He couldn't help himself. His fingers only touched one of the steel plates before the Soldier grabbed Tony's hand in his flesh one. The grip was hard, but not painful.
Tony met his eyes. "If we're doing this, you're going to have to extend me a little trust."
The Soldier's expression didn't change, but he stiffened a little, like the word 'trust' was not in his vocabulary.
Honestly, Tony was still on the fence if this was some kind of trick, or the man was on all the PCP... except he'd never seen anything like that arm before. And what the hell, it wasn't like the existence of his ARC reactor was a secret. Plus the surgery to get rid of it was scheduled in less than a week. "I know a little something about body enhancements." He pulled down the collar of his shirt just a little to expose the arc reactor and his own scarring.
The Soldier's eyes fixed on it, then hesitated.
A noise from the other side of the closed double doors made them both jump.
"NYPD!" shouted a voice. "This is William Grayson from the NYPD. I'm a hostage negotiator."
The Soldier stiffened. His eyes went flat and dead.
"Don't," Tony said quickly, trying to recapture his attention again. He stepped between the Soldier and the door. "I meant what I said before: No harm, no foul. Let's get out of here in one piece -- it'll be a couple hours of paperwork, but my lawyers are the best. All my toys are in the workshop, anyway. I'll need them to work."
The Soldier looked at him. "Why?"
"Because I have a soft spot for hard luck cases. No? Not buying it? Okay, because you look like you're twenty-five, yet you say you know my father. Color me intrigued. But mostly it's that." Tony nodded to the arm. "Never seen anything like it, and I make it my business to know technology."
The Soldier caught his own metal wrist in his flesh hand, then stared at Tony. "No tricks."
Tony held up a hand. "Scouts honor."
The Soldier hesitated for another long, long moment, then nodded once.
Exhaling, Tony plastered his best for-the-press smile and went to the double doors. The bent handles held it firmly shut, but one door was slightly askew on its frame, cracking it open an inch. Tony looked out to see a wall of NYPD behind riot shields stationed at the very end of the hall.
Tony waved. "Hey, it's me. Don't shoot."
One man stepped out from behind the shields. Tall, with dark hair and eyes. He had an NYPD bullet proof-vest, and held up the megaphone. Probably the negotiator, Grayson. "Mr. Stark, are you injured?"
"Fine! I'm fine -- we're both fine. Tell Pepper that. I know she's worried I'll die again and leave her as CEO. But my new friend here has got himself stuck in a corner."
"He was there," the Soldier murmured, practically in his ear.
Tony nearly jumped out of his skin. "Geez!" he snapped and stepped to the side, out of view.
"Mr. Stark? What's going on?" Grayson demanded.
"Nothing! Give us a second!" Tony turned to the Soldier. "Give me context. Who was where?"
His gray eyes were vague. "The man calling himself Grayson. He was in the room when I was activated." The Soldier tilted his head a little, "Rumlow, Brock J. SHIELD operative, access level seven. Co-Commander of specialized STRIKE team."
"So, you're saying he's SHIELD? That's... not unlike them. Infiltration is what they do best. Remind me to tell you about Natalie Rushman." But Tony didn't like the way the wind was blowing. The Soldier used words like "activation" and "refurbishment" like it was normal to tie them to a man and not a machine.
Tony thought he'd uncovered all of SHIELD's dirty little secrets onboard the helicarrier, but apparently he'd missed some important details.
Or the Soldier was crazy. That was a distinct possibility.
"Okay, do you trust me?" Tony asked then winced. "Strike that. Stupid question... I need to make a phone call -- more of a text message, actually, and I need to know I'm not going to get stabbed if I do it. Okay? Are we good?"
The Soldier had a look on his face that a lot of people eventually got around Tony -- not sure if they should be amused or frustrated, but mostly they were confused. Tony was used to it.
"That's... acceptable," the Soldier said.
Tony still kept his motions slow (for him) as he went back to the conference room table and scooped up one of the abandoned phones left behind when the executives fled -- A HammerTech Droid. What the hell, didn't anyone have any loyalty anymore? -- and composed a text with the right keywords.
It took all of a minute for JARVIS to brute-hack his way in the phone. Tony was so proud.
Tony had technically said one text, but the Soldier didn't seem to be getting twitchy. Still, he thought lines of communication were best kept open. Tony flashed the screen the Soldier's way and said, "My AI, JARVIS, has access to SHIELD's server systems, including personal files. He can't go too deep without alerting the system admins, but basic HR records will be a synch." He typed. Make me proud, baby. Get me the dirt on Brock Rumlow.
A typical HR quality piss-poor headshot appeared on the screen. Sure enough, it was the same man as the negotiator.
Tony sucked in a breath. "Change of plans," he said, then headed back to the door.
Grayson/Rumlow was still there, looking annoyed. Now that Tony was paying attention, Rumlow did have the square jaw, 'yes, I stepped out of GQ, and I can shoot the eye out of a crow at 100 paces' vibe SHIELD seemed to cultivate in its employees.
"Hey," Tony waved through the small gap in the door. "Okay, I'm back." Rumlow opened his mouth, but Tony had been playing this game for a long time. He didn't let him get a word in. "First, you really need to tell Pepper that I'm okay. Got it? And my new friend has a list of demands: One. A soldering iron, an eyeglass repair kit, one sheet of titanium alloy. Uh, one cubic foot should be enough, an OM meter, a 3/4 inch wrench. A pastrami sandwich-- no wait." He glanced back at the Soldier, who was looking on with a blank expression. "You strike me as a pastrami guy, am I right?" He turned back to Rumlow. "Two pastrami sandwiches, from Ray's down the street. A couple bottles of water. You get all that?"
Rumlow kind of looked like he was chewing nails. "Mr. Stark, our only plan is to resolve this peacefully--"
"It will! Don't forget the food. Can't negotiate on an empty stomach. Good? Are we good? I think we're good."
He closed the door, then turned back to the Soldier, eyebrows raised.
"I don't understand," the Soldier said.
"You came for repairs, and as it happens my afternoon's clear," he replied. "And yeah, okay, I don't like the way the wind is blowing. If SHIELD's minions get their hands on you--"
A troubled expression finally crossed the Soldier's face. "I'll be refurbished."
"And that sounds ominous enough to keep me up at night," Tony said. "So you work for SHIELD?"
"No."
"Not!SHIELD then. But I'm guessing you know all about SHIELDs dirty secrets."
The Soldier said nothing, but Tony took the blankness in his expression to be a yes.
He shrugged. "I'm always up to tweak Fury's nose."
*****
Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at the curb. :)
Steve tried not to be annoyed as he got into Natasha's sleek black car. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to make a connection to anyone outside SHIELD. It figured that work would come calling the moment he had. Though... Sam Wilson's questions were becoming a little too pointed.
"What's the situation?" Steve asked as he shut the door.
Natasha sighed. "Buckle up. We're going to New York. You were about to be called in to assist with a rogue pirate vessel, but something else came up. Stark's got himself in trouble."
Trust Tony Stark to get into more trouble than a ship full of pirates. "Did he give another terrorist his address?"
"No. A gunman's taken over the New York Life building, and he's inside."
Concerning, but nothing Stark should be able to handle. "What about his suit?"
Natasha snorted, and smoothly shifted the car into a higher gear, weaving it in and out of traffic like a deadly predator. "What suits? Our intel suggests he really did destroy them all over Christmas. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture. Fury thinks it's only a matter of time until he caves and builds more, but until then--"
"Until then he's vulnerable." Steve sighed. "His father was given to grand gestures, too."
"Didn't work," Natasha said. "Pepper dumped him."
Steve frowned. "That's on SHIELD's list, too?"
She gave him a look. "Everything's on SHIELD's list."
Steve looked out the window. It's a brave new world, he thought not without some bitterness.
*****
Flying commercial, the flight took from DC to New York took just over an hour. The jet SHIELD supplied took half that.
"Hail hail, the gang's all here," Natasha murmured as she and Steve exited onto the tarmac. Following her gaze, Steve spotted a familiar figure lounging against the side of the building, his arms crossed.
"Clint," Steve greeted, giving him a nod. He hadn't seen the other man since shortly after the Chitauri invasion. The hollowness around his eyes was gone. He looked relaxed, though the long pack he slung over his shoulder no doubt contained bow and arrows. "Fury called you in, too?"
"I was in the area," Clint said, turning to join Natasha and Steve as they walked by. "We already have boots on the ground. Rumlow inserted himself in the ranks as an NYPD negotiator. He's been in contact with me."
"Any news?" Steve asked.
"Nothing good. Rumlow says the suspect's made Stark communicate a list of demands for him." He passed over a tablet to Natasha.
She scanned it and her eyebrows rose. "That's interesting." she said, "You mix some of those chemicals in the right way..."
"And you've got the start of a bomb," Clint said. "And Rumlow says SHIELD's radiation detectors are pinging loud and clear. We're looking at a possible dirty bomb scenario."
Steve frowned. "I have a hard time believing Stark would make a weapon under duress, unless it's something set to explode in his captor's face."
"Also possible," Clint allowed.
"Tell me about the suspect," Steve said.
"Ah, that's where it gets interesting." Clint glanced to Natasha. "Stop me if you've heard this before: masked man, just over six feet tall, brown hair, initial shot analysis say he's using soviet arms with no rifling, and he's got a metal arm."
Natasha actually stopped in her tracks. He face went milky white.
"What is it?" Steve asked in alarm. "Natasha?"
She ignored him and looked at Clint. "Are you sure?" Her smoky voice came out in a croak.
"I think that's why Fury brought me in, too," he said, gaze flickering to Steve, "I think he's back to finish the job."
"We never confirmed the Starks were the Soldier's hit," Natasha said.
"Fits his MO, though."
Unbidden, a flash of memory struck Steve as he remembered Loki at Stuttgart, sneering, as he said, "The Soldier" as he laid eyes on Steve for the first time.
"Either of you wanna fill me in?" he asked, not bothering to keep the impatience out of his voice.
Natasha turned to him. "The Winter Soldier is said to have been behind over had twenty-four high level assassinations over the last fifty years."
"He's a ghost story," Clint said, "but one that's sorta true. Natasha tangled with him, once."
"What does this have to do with Tony Stark?"
The two exchanged a look. Natasha was the one who spoke, her voice almost gentle. "Stark's parents deaths were suspicious. I've suspected the Winter Soldier -- he often targets his victims in moving cars, snipes them from a distance. It was never confirmed."
"And now we have a man who fits the Winter Soldier's description, who has taken Tony hostage, and somehow convinced him to procure bomb supplies." Clint shook his head. "I don't know what the connection is, but I'm not liking it."
"Me neither." Steve swallowed past a lump of emotion. He knew Tony was on the outs with Howard, but he'd been a friend. Thinking of him dying, much less in some horrific way hurt more than he liked to admit.
"What we need to do is talk to Tony. Figure out what's going on," Steve said.
"This isn't the STRIKE team. Rumlow's the mission leader here," Clint said. "Officially we're here as backup."
He'd worked with Rumlow a few times, and he was a solid team member, but not one to be careful about casualties. Steve straightened. "Tony's an Avenger. That puts him under my command."
Natasha shook her head. "He's not Iron Man anymore, Cap. He's retired -- even made it official with SHIELD."
He turned to look at her. "You were there, fighting along with him in New York. You know he doesn't need the suit to be a hero. Dangit, Nat, I'm not sitting this out because of bureaucracy."
"I never said that, just that we may need... an alternative route." Natasha's smile was a touch wicked as she turned to Clint. "They still have land lines in the New York Life building, don't they?"
*****
The repair job on the arm was really more of a patch job, with the quality of tools Rumlow/Grayson provided, but Tony had done worse with less. Once the supplies (and sandwiches) arrived, he was somehow able to convince the Soldier to take a seat. Using a pair of pliers, he tentatively pulled up the bent metal plate.
"Tell me if this hurts."
"There is no pain," the Soldier said, but beads of sweat were already collecting over his temple.
Tony gave him a look. "If you've got sensation in that getup, there's pain."
The Soldier said nothing, but neither did he flinch when Tony fully removed the bent metal plate. He'd been half-hoping there was a flesh arm under there, but even at first glance he could see it was all mechanic.
Every engineer had his quirks, his way of soldering, of arranging power rigs to specification. Tony had spent his summers in his father's workshop, hanging around for hours -- days -- for moments when Howard would pay attention to him, show him something cool, some cutting-edge trick that wasn't in the books. He knew Howard's style, and it had been a long time since he'd seen one of Howard's true inventions.
This arm was absolutely, 100%, his father's construction.
Tony sat back, blinking away a hundred -- a thousand -- memories.
The Soldier glanced his way, his handsome face young, his eyes blank except for a slight apprehension. He didn't ask if everything was al lright, but he might as well have.
"Honesty hour time," Tony said, forcing his slightly trembling fingers to take a new grip on the soldering iron. He wasn't adjusting anything, but it made for a useful probe to poke around a little. "How did you know Howard?"
"I... don't remember."
"Convenient. This," he flicked the arm with his free hand, "is his making. I'd know his embellishments anywhere. But up until a few years ago, STARK industries was a weapons manufacturer. We weren't working in prosthetics."
"The Asset is a weapon."
Tony blinked. "Oookay. How's that working out for you?"
The Soldier's lips thinned. He turned away.
That's what I thought. But Tony wasn't one to let things like brain/mouth filters get in the way. "Howard died twenty years ago, and from the size of this arm, you didn't get it when you were five. So... do you have an explanation for why you look so young? Botox? If so, I'd like the name of your doctor."
Wrong thing to say. The Soldier ripped away from his grip. "No doctors," he snarled.
"Hey! Hey!" Tony held up his hands, the soldering iron clutched between one forefingers and thumb. "No doctors, I get it. It was a--nevermind. Not important." He needed to get control of the situation. "Why don't you sit back down? I thought we were having a moment."
Soldier regarded him with suspition. "You were having a moment," and there was something different about those words. Looser. Less mechanic than they'd been before.
"Wow, what's that? My sass senses are tingling." Tony patted the chair next to him. "C'mere. I don't bite."
The Soldier's eyes narrowed. Then slowly, slowly, he retook his seat.
Tony tried to be good. He really did, but working in silence wasn't his thing. "But maybe you could fill me in on how this ties in with SHIELD--or doesn't? Rumlow works for SHIELD. Howard was also a director there. That's recent news to me, by the way. I was his only son. It seems like he could have shared that, but nooo..."
"You got a mouth on you, you know that?" The Soldier's words came out free of flat monotone, laced with pure New York. One of the boroughs, unless Tony missed his guess.
"So they tell me," Tony said. As he spoke, he'd cut out a flap from the titanium sheet. The square of tritium sheeting wasn't an exact fit. Tony could make it fit well, but it would need a cutter he simply didn't have access to here. It was a patch job at best, and a rough one, but when he had the Soldier move his arm up and down and rotate it, the patch moved smoothly with the other scales.
Then the Soldier looked him straight in the eye, a slight frown on his face. "I'm still malfunctioning."
"It's a patch job." Tony shrugged. "Best I could do under the circumstances."
The Soldier frowned and looked down at his arm, then back at Tony. "No, my arm is functioning within parameters."
Tony forcefully bit back what he wanted to say, but made himself say the second thing that came to mind instead. "Maybe you could share with the class the nature of your malfunction?"
"I..." His lips tugged down at the corners. "I found the mission parameters unacceptable."
He was getting a headache. "What mission parameters?"
"Classified."
"All right, well who gave them to you?"
"Classified."
Tony threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Thank you doctor Riddles."
"It--" Again the Soldier's face twisted, and both hands clenched. "It's... it's wrong. Monstrous. And I can't do it, you hear me? I can't. I won't. Fuck. Fuck." The tone of his voice increased with every word, until he grabbed his head in his hands.
Weirdly, a part of Tony wanted to give the man a hug. That was a stupid idea, even he knew it, and wasn't it a little early for Stockholm syndrome to be kicking in? He stayed still, unsure what to do until the Soldier dropped his hands and stared at Tony, dully.
"They say it will unite the world," he said.
"That's... good?" Tony tried. "Unite the world under what?"
"Peace," the Soldier said. "But I don't see how the Insight Helicarriers will bring peace."
Finally, something he could latch onto. "I know Insight, SHIELD contracted me to--Wait, helicarriers? As in, plural? The specs for the arc-orbiter were for one Helicarrier," Tony said. "How many are SHIELD launching?"
"Three helicarriers. The Asset's orders were to..." His mouth worked for a few moments as if trying and failing to come up with the right words. " It's unacceptable...Wrong. I can't..."
Can't say it aloud, Tony mentally finished. "Well," Tony said. "It sounds like your malfunction is your conscious." And I'm the furthest thing from a therapist you can get.
The Soldier lifted one shoulder in a shrug, looking miserable.
Three helicarriers. Tony turned away, anger rising. "Sonofabitch," he muttered. "That one eyed son of a bitch! I gave the usage of my reactor tech for one arc orbital device. Fury signed off on it himself. In triplicate! Why would they need three? Are they building a fleet? No, never mind. Don't make that face. I know you can't tell me."
Either way, SHIELD was launching a small fleet of helicarriers. There was a SHIELD agent playing NYPD negotiator, and their SHIELD 'living weapon' was looking for Howard for repairs. Tony was a genius, but he figured even an idiot could connect those dots.
He turned to the shuttered windows, frowning. "I could really use an armor right about now."
The Soldier gave him a look.
"Iron Man?" Tony suggested, and hooked a thumb to his own chest. "I kinda saved the world... a few times. Really? Not ringing a bell? Where have they been keeping you?"
"Cryogenically frozen." The Soldier's voice was as dry as tinder, that hint of thick New York peeping out, and for the life of him Tony could not figure out if he was joking or not.
Suddenly, the forgotten phone on the desk rang.
Tony nearly jumped three feet in the air. Without thinking, he grabbed it up. The Soldier didn't move.
"What do you wanna bet it's your NYPD not!SHIELD friend," Tony muttered, putting the recover to his ear. He summoned his best secretary voice. "Ghostbusters. Whattya want?"
There was a long pause, then a familiar voice said, "Ghost-what?"
"Cap!" Tony cried, delighted. "They dug you up just for little old me?"
"Tony? Are you all right in there? What's your status?"
The Soldier's face had become a mask. "Hang up the phone."
Tony flapped a hand at him. "I got this--No, I'm very, very far from all right. SHIELD is--"
There was no warning. A moment later the phone was ripped out of his hand and Tony found himself flat on his back, the Soldier let out a scream of rage and pain.
*****
"No, I'm very, very far from all right," Tony's voice came through the phone. "SHIELD is--"
There was a sudden clatter on the other side of the line. "Tony?" Steve demanded. Then, through the phone came a scream that raised the hair on the back of Steve's neck. It sounded familiar. Tony? No, but why did it sound like...
The line went dead.
"No sounds of gunfire," Natasha said. Her voice was cool and collected, though her body was tight with tension. A spring about to coil.
"Chances are, the Winter Soldier needs Stark alive," Clint confirmed. He didn't look happy. None of them were. Best case scenario, their teammate was getting smacked around as they stood around talking about it.
Steve slung his SHIELD between his shoulders. "We're going in."
To his surprise, Natasha shook her head. "He's never been shown to be impulsive," she said, surely meaning the Winter Soldier because 'impulsive' was Tony's middle name. "This has the makings of a trap."
"For the Avengers?" Steve asked, and the sinking feeling in his stomach told him she might be right.
"Rumlow has his men stationed at strategic points," Clint said, looking vaguely like he was sucking on lemons. "We'll have to get through them to get to Tony."
That was something Steve could work with. "We don't need to go through his men. Just Rumlow."
*****
Rumlow had been expecting the call for the better part of an hour. When it came, it was almost a relief. "Grayson," he answered, keeping to his assumed identity for this mission. He was down the hall from the NYPD, but not all were under HYDRA's control. It was best to avoid complications.
"Status report," Pierce said.
"Rogers and Romanov appeared on site with Barton. Fury gave the orders. I fed them the line about dirty bombs, and they bought it. They're holding until I give the say so."
"Good. And the Asset?"
"We haven't gotten close enough to feed him the kill switch commands. Glimpses from sniper scopes indicate Stark is adjusting the arm."
Pierce was silent for a moment. "You can't have your men take the kill shot because if Stark dies, the Avengers will be put on alert."
"Yes."
Another short silence. "The risk is negligible. The Asset has become a liability. Eliminate him."
"Sir?"
"With project Insight active, his services will no longer be needed. If you can take also Stark out, the better. He's been a thorn in our side for too long."
Rumlow was dismayed. It was assumed after Pierce retired, he would be come the Asset's new handler. But to question a HYDRA officer was to sign one's death warrant. "How do you suggest we do that without alerting the Avengers?"
"Why, have them do it, of course."
Rumlow smiled. "Yes, sir."
He disconnected the call.
Then, as if HYDRA needed a further omen to put a stamp on their glorious cause, one of the NYPD officer's rushed up. "Sir! Captain America is requesting to speak to you."
Rumlow tucked the burner phone away. "Then by all means, let's talk."
*****
The Soldier shoved Tony back flat against the desk with one hand, and slammed his metal fist on the phone. Plastic pieces rained in every direction. The Soldier struck the same spot again and again past the point where there was no phone anymore, his face twisted and agonized.
Tony never fully understood the phrase 'at war with oneself' until now. The Soldier looked like didn't want to do it, but couldn't stop.
What did they do to you? he thought, then mentally corrected himself. What did Howard do to you?
But the hand holding Tony down was steady, flat on his chest. Firm, but not painful.
Tony did the only thing he could think of, and covered the hand on his chest with his own.
The Soldier's head snapped up, gaze fixed on him. Feral.
Tony licked his lips. "At ease, Soldier."
The Soldier sagged as if strings had been cut from his shoulders. He didn't offer explanation or apology. His head bowed, his lank hair falling across his face.
"Not a Captain America fan?" Tony asked. There wasn't a response, but the air in the room was brittle. "I get it," Tony continued. "He's a little self-righteous in the comics, and trust me, he's worse in reality, but it turns out everything else they say about him is true too. He's one of the good ones -- one of the best. He-- "
"He is my mission," the Soldier said quietly.
"Mission? The kill-type mission?"
The Soldier nodded once and shut his eyes. "But I can't... I can't..."
Oh sweet mother of... "When they gave you your mission, you malfunctioned. You refused, and... fled? Escaped? That's how you damaged the arm." Tony licked his bottom lip. Every iota, every particle inside really didn't want to ask the next question, but... Even though he knew the answer, he had to know. "When you malfunctioned... before. When you came to Howard for repairs. He sent you back to not-SHIELD, didn't he?"
"The Asset is allowed no doubt, only resolve," the Soldier said in a dead voice. "Wisdom is gained through pain."
"Yeah. All right." The implication of that was too terrible to take in at present, and as much resentment Tony felt towards his father, he wasn't sure he could grasp all of this. Not right now. Not when the Soldier was looking at him like Tony was either his salvation or doom. Had he looked at Howard that way, too? No, better not go there.
There was only one thing Tony could do. Tentatively, he squeezed the hand that still laid over his chest. "You're done, okay? No more killing. No more missions. No orders, unless you want that, if it's your thing. What I mean is, I can't undo what's been done, but this is me... helping."
The Soldier just looked at him, and Tony couldn't read the expression on his face, or if there was any at all. Maybe he just didn't understand Tony's words.
"I'm getting you out of here." Cautiously, Tony sat up, and the Soldier allowed it. "You're not working for... whoever, anymore. You're now a STARK employee -- benefits are great. You'll love the 401k."
Something must have gotten through because the Soldier tilted his head. "What will I do?"
"Official phone destroyer? I dunno. Maybe you can be a consultant on SHIELD's misgivings -- but not freelance. That's a scam this next generation's buying into, and if you learn one thing from me it's that you should never work for free-- am I losing you? You look lost."
"I..." the Soldier started, then snapped his mouth shut. He looked baffled and overwhelmed and more than a little frightened.
Staring at him, Tony thought, I'm taking care of you. Whatever my dad did, your problems are over.
"You don't have to accept now. Save it for later," Tony advised. "The first step is to let Cap know I'm still alive. He might be worried." He glanced meaningfully to the parts of the phone. "Can you not go ragey again? It's for a good cause."
He looked doubtful. "I... maybe if I stand back?" the Soldier suggested after a moment, and moved ten feet away.
"Square deal. Let me..." Tony reached to the HammerTech Droid he'd used to contact JARVIS earlier.
No signal.
"Huh," Tony said, then picked up another phone left abandoned on the table. Same thing.
Tony started to get a very bad feeling. He tried another (Samsung -- what the hell, this was almost insulting). Same thing. "The cell signals' being blocked, and I'd bet money it's from an outside source. Why would someone set up a signal jammer?" he asked aloud, not really expecting an answer.
The Soldier gave one anyway. "Isolation."
Tony glanced at him. "Go on."
In a monotone voice he said, "Project Insight is the most powerful gambit yet, and also the most dangerous. If it succeeded their domination will be complete, but until it launches the Asset is the fist of power. Right now, they are weighing if they should eliminate him, or refurbish him and reattempt the mission with a clean slate."
Tony didn't bother pointing out that the Soldier was speaking about himself in third person, like he wasn't even human. And clean slate?
"Okay, that's you. What about me?"
The Soldier made a show of eyeing Tony up and down, and if he were any other man in basically any other situation, Tony would have thought he was being scoped. "Your intelligence and resourcefulness may prove useful to the new order," the Soldier said, then added, "or they may grow tired of your mouth and eliminate you."
"I'll have you know my mouth won me People's Sexiest Man award. Twice," he snapped.
The Soldier tilted his head, considering. "It is doubtful you can be trained into silence--"
"Damn straight--"
"-- so Pierce will most likely side with removing your tongue. He favors efficiency."
"Fantastic. Wait," Tony said, "Pierce?" Why did that sound familiar? He racked his brains for a moment before it came up. "You wouldn't be talking about Alexander Pierce, would you? One of those assholes on the World Council who sent a nuke to Manhattan?"
Something flickered in the Soldier's face. He turned to the windows suddenly, one hand outstretched as if to the skyline.
"What'ya talkin' about? Nuke Manhattan?" And the New Yorker was back.
But even thinking about it brought a familiar tightness in Tony's chest. For a moment he thought he could hear the whistle of air outside Iron Man's helmet, until it went silent in favor of blank space, trillions of miles in every direction... no air...
He clenched his fists, biting back the rising dread. He couldn't give into this. Not now. Someone had to be stable in this room. He couldn't afford a freak out. "Nevermind, I don't want to talk about it," he snapped. "Did you mean Alexander Pierce? Yes or no?"
The Soldier's moment had passed, too, because when he turned back his face was blank. The New York accent gone. "Yes."
If he was right, and at this moment all signs were pointing to yes, all or part of SHIELD had jumped onto the world domination bandwagon. Actually... that wasn't hard to picture.
Tony paced around the table -- funny how the conference room suddenly felt like a cage. "I don't know about you, but I'm not going to sit around and wait to die."
"All points of entry will be blocked," the Soldier stated, but not as if he were arguing. It was a fact.
Tony ran his hand back through his hair. I need to fly out of here, he thought. But it would still take ten hours of fabrication time to build an armor, even if he could get the message out to JARVIS.
The Soldier crossed the room, then opened a panel marked Fire Emergency. Inside was a wrapped up fire hose. "We could use this to repel several stories below, then break back in through a window."
Tony, as a rule, was not afraid of heights, but that seemed like fifty stories of bad idea. "Let's put that down as a maybe." He looked back at the phone. As a rule, signal frequency jammers weren't foolproof. They were made to block cellular signals from a limited area, but if a signal had enough power to override the static...
Tony's gaze drifted to the Soldier. Specifically, his arm. Human limbs ran off tension in the tendon and muscles, but an artificial arm would require a power source.
"Got it," Tony said. "I have a way to call out, but I'm going to need a hand. Specifically," he added, pointing, "your hand."
*****
Steve had to focus to relax his death grip around the straps of his shield. He hated this. Every inch of him wanted to be out there, get to busting heads and making this Winter Soldier character pay -- but this wasn't his op, and the fact of it was there had been times when he'd taken a back seat, too, with the Howling Commandos.
But those had been recon missions, where Bucky had been in charge. There was no one Steve had trusted more.
Rumlow... was no Bucky.
Yes, his reasoning for keeping distance was solid. Steve had only relaxed when one of the snipers had reported Tony as working again on the 'device' that was tripping all of Rumlow's devices. There was little doubt: They were working with a dirty bomb scenario.
The possibility of having it set off in New York was too terrible to imagine. Rushing in with brute force was not an option.
"Still have a solid visual, Cap," Clint said. His tone was almost bored, for all he'd been perched crouched with his bow in ready position for the better part of forty-five minutes.
Per Rumlow's orders, they'd taken position in the building next to the New York Life, one floor up from where Tony was being held. Even with his enhanced vision, Steve couldn't see through the nearly opaque glass, but seeing things no one else could was Hawkeye's forte. Apparently, there was an inch gap between a blind and the window frame. It was tiny, but enough.
It was only Steve's faith that Tony had some kind of plan up his sleeve let him agree with Rumlow's decision to put them up here. Steve had automatically gauged the distances. With a good long strong leap, he could probably make the second building, crash through, and be there in seconds.
Hold steady, he told himself. There's still the bomb to think about. All of SHIELD's best brains are working on neutralizing it.
"Any change?" Steve asked for perhaps the fifth time that hour.
"Stark's stepped out of view, but last time I saw him still working on the arm -- he was hooking something to it. Wires."
Steve glanced at Natasha, who shrugged.
"What are you up to, Iron Man?" Steve wondered aloud.
Natasha's cell phone rang.
That in itself wasn't unusual, but on Rumlow's orders they were supposed to be on total communication lockdown. The only communication was on SHIELD's channels, and Steve had seen her mute her phone an hour ago.
Natasha withdrew it from her pocket and looked at the screen. Her eyebrows rose. She turned the phone to Steve, where Tony Stark's sunny face beamed at him from her contact list.
Steve snatched it from her hands and swiped to answer. "Tony?"
The answer was a crackle of static, and a small tinny voice answered, "...ap?... hear.... me....?"
He had a vivid recall of some of the dodgy communications on the front line, made by teletype and radios you had to hoof around yourself on your back. Honestly, wasn't the new century supposed to be past this thing? "Tony? I can barely make you out."
If Tony gave an answer, it came out as static.
Gritting his teeth, Steve turned in place as if that would somehow give the signals a... boost. It didn't. "Tony, if you can hear me, Natasha and Clint are here, too. We're going to get you out. Sit tight." Fat chance. Tony Stark was about as likely to wait for help as the world was to stop spinning.
Natasha touched her ear the moment the SHIELD communicator crackled to life. Rumlow's voice came loud and clear. "Team: We have radiation levels spiking."
Steve glanced at Clint, who shook his head. No change from the Winter Soldier that he could see.
"Copy," Steve said tersely, then concentrated on the phone. "Tony, whatever's going on in there, I need you to shut it down. Help is coming. I repeat. Help is coming."
"... helicarrier..." crackle "some... launch... fishy as hell..."
You're damn right it is, Steve thought, casting a desperate look to the New York Life building and the drawn shades. Something was off, here. Tony building a bomb for his captive? A captive that may have killed Howard? A crackly, distorted cell signal from Tony who had more mechanical knowhow in his pinky finger than any two SHIELD agents?
"Radiation levels are increasing," Rumlow warned in Steve's other ear. "We're reaching critical. Does Hawkeye have a shot?"
Again, Steve and Clint exchanged looks. Clint nodded once, but he said, "I don't like this, Cap."
Steve didn't either. "Can you shoot the Winter Soldier, and not Tony?"
Rumlow's voice came with a thread of impatience. "Captain, report. Do you have eyes on the target?"
"Affirmative," Steve answered. He dropped his comm wrist from his mouth and focused on the phone. "Tony, I don't know what's going on in there, but the bomb is live. Repeat, you need to shut it down."
"Go for kill shot," Rumlow ordered.
If they take out the Winter Soldier, Tony could possibly undo whatever was building up in there. But... this was wrong. It didn't feel right at all.
Clint wasn't looking away from his target, but neither had he moved. He wasn't going to fire, he knew, until Steve himself gave the order. Natasha wasn't speaking, either.
Steve remembered, vividly, making another hard call. The world or one man. He'd made the right decision, then. Tony had gotten out of the portal in time. He'd have to trust that his teammate would again.
"Take the shot, Clint," Steve said.
*****
The wires Tony scrounged from the broken landline phone weren't meant to handle the energy load from the Soldier's arm, and the cell phone was becoming dangerously hot in Tony's grip, but it was working. Sort of. The signal was spotty at best. Tony had the Soldier stand closer to the window by the window, but he could only catch a word or two out of every sentence. Cap was worried about a bomb?
He took a moment to fiddle with the connections, then replaced the phone to his ear in time to hear Rogers say, clear as a bell, "Take the shot, Clint."
Tony's gaze flicked to the window, the slight gap in the blinds. He didn't think. He shoved the Soldier to the side.
He heard more than felt a dull THWAP strike at an angle left of the arc reactor. Tony fell back a step: A part of his brain was calculating angles and velocity of an arrow, and the poundage he'd seen Hawkeye draw. Fatal strength.
The rest was staring at the shaft of an arrow coming out of his chest.
He must have fallen because the world tilted and he felt himself being dragged to the side. The Soldier's face, angry and horrified, appeared over him.
"Why," the Soldier snarled, fisting his metal hand in Tony's shirt.
It was hard to breathe, which might be a punctured lung or maybe the arrowhead disrupted the casing of the reactor. Didn't matter. Either way, the rest of his life was going to be counted in minutes. "Seemed... like a good idea... at the time," he gasped.
The Soldier swallowed, his hand fluttering over Tony's chest to his throat and back again. The machine-like gunman who had ripped through the boardroom was gone. He looked young. Lost, and torn up with guilt.
"No, hey," Tony managed. "Not your fault."
"Save your breath," the Soldier snapped. His hand cupped Tony's jaw. "Idiot."
Tony smiled, tasting blood. "Been over this... Keeping quiet... not my thing."
They both heard a crash of shattering glass downstairs. The thump, thump of rapidly approaching feet. Not!SHIELD was coming.
He squeezed the Soldier's wrist, pulled him close, and said, "Listen... here's what you need to do..."
*****
"No!" Clint yelped.
Steve had never seen Clint try to pull a shot before, his hand reaching as if to grab the arrow after it left its quiver. The archer's eyes fixed in horror on something only he could see through the inch-wide gap in the blinds the next building over.
"Stark jumped in the line of fire!"
"Is he hit?" Steve demanded.
Clint's turned to him. Eyes haunted. "I never miss."
Something in Steve snapped. He nodded once, took a new hold on the shield, and did what knew he should have done from the start: he backed up, took three running steps and launched himself off the side of the balcony.
He was on the fifty third floor, and the space between the two buildings was only a street length apart. He still fell a few stories before he hit the window of the New York Life building, and crashed through. Rolling through the tinkle of shattered glass, he came back up on his feet and rushed to the stairwell.
Rumlow's NYPD officers had set up a base of operations on the next floor up. The smart ones saw Steve barreling towards them and got out of the way. One blockhead stood in his path, and was knocked aside.
Two more stories up, and Steve came to a set of double-doors. Those, he kicked open.
The conference room was in shambles -- pieces of plastic and metal parts and tools scattered here and there. Sharp, cold wind blew in from a man-sized hole in one window -- what looked like a fire hose dangling out of it, as if someone had used it to repel down...
Steve rushed to the window and looked out in time to see a masked man hanging from the end, several floors down. The metal arm gleamed briefly in the late afternoon sun.
Steve touched his earpiece. "The Winter Soldier's escaping! He's two floors down. Natasha! Clint! You copy?"
There wasn't an answer, and a moment later the Winter Soldier broke back into the building from the outside, probably taking Rumlow's NYPD officers by surprise. Why the devil wasn't the earpiece working?
A low groan from the other side of the room caught his attention. Steve rushed over to see Tony laying on his side in recovery position. A thick arrow shaft stuck out of his chest, the area soaked with blood.
"Hawk guy's fired..." Tony slurred.
Steve knelt by his side. "Don't move, Tony," he said, nonsensically. This was his fault. All his fault. "I'm calling for backup."
"Don't bother... communicator's jammed."
Well that explained a thing or two. Steve looked around. "Where's the bomb? Did the Winter Soldier take it with him?"
Tony's eyes cleared for a second. "What... bomb?"
Oh no, Steve thought.
Then Tony gasped, his eyes going unfocused.
"Stay with me. You hear me, Iron man?" Steve said.
Tony made a movement like he was trying to shake his head. His skin was gray, making his eyes and the blood on the bottom on his lip stand out. "Cap..." he gasped, "Stop..."
"Sorry." He was holding him hard. He relaxed his grip.
"No," he snarled and reached up to his collar and dragged Steve down. Tony sucked in a breath that rattled and said slowly, through clenched teeth, "You need to... stop Insight..."
"Insight? What're you talking about?"
Tony shook his head and coughed wetly.
"Tony? What's Insight?"
"SHIELD's... " Wincing, Tony clutched at Steve as if trying to pull the words out "...compromised..." His eyes were glazing over, tipping into unconsciousness.
"Tony, stay with me. That's an order!"
Steve should have known better. Tony had never taken to orders well.
*****
Tony was:
1) Surprised to even wake up, all things considered.
2) Equally surprised that it was to the soft, mellow croon of Marvin Gay.
"What?" he said, or rather, would have tried to say had not a helpful but annoying oxygen mask not gotten in the way. "Who's gettin it on, now?"
He opened up his eyes to see he was in a hospital room. Also, he was not alone.
Steve Rogers was in the bed opposite, looking like death warmed over.
Tony must have made a noise because Steve opened his eyes, smiled through a cracked lip, and said in a raspy voice, "You coulda been more specific on Insight, Stark." Then he tipped his head back against his pillow, exhausted.
After a moment's thought (and pressing the helpful painkiller button by his bedside) Tony decided to do the same. The who/what/when/where/why would come later, he knew. This was the probably the best sleep he'd gotten in ages.
And while he was out he had a dream (it had to have been a dream, right? No one was stealthy enough to get past Captain America, injured or no) of the cool weight of a metal hand resting briefly on Tony's chest as if to check that he still breathed. Fingers carded momentarily through his hair.
*****
Later, he got the full story courtesy of the new guy, Sam Wilson.
Turns out, they'd had a major HYDRA problem. Yeah, whoops. They hadn't gone down with the Nazi's all. Steve, Nastasha, Clint, and Wilson as aerial support had taken down the three Insight Helicarriers in the nick of time, but not without loss. Fury and Pierce had gone mano e mano, to Peirce's death. He wouldn't face trial.
In the end, SHIELD had been razed to the ground.
"You really know how to make a statement," Tony said, feeling a little windblown.
Steve's smile look like it pained him. "No way of telling for sure how far the rot spread." Then the smile died. "Tony, I'm sorry. Rumlow played me for a fool, and I made the wrong call. I got you shot."
Tony hated apologies -- both the giving and receiving. So awkward. He shrugged, then regretted it as it pulled on healing muscle. "Not needed, Cap, but I expect an epic fruit basket from Hawkeye."
"Still," Steve insisted.
"It shouldn't have been needed at all. If I had my suit -- a lot of things would have gone differently." He could have gotten the Soldier out of there. Or maybe he would have blasted him without hearing his story. Who knew.
"I have work to do," Tony said. "You're on notice: as soon as I'm out of here, I'm back to building. Now SHIELD's gone, you're not allowed to have all the fun."
"That's good to hear." And Steve sounded like he meant it, too. He made an effort to sit up in his hospital bed. "I'm guessing the Winter Soldier was the one who told you about Insight. Was he working for HYDRA or against them?"
"Both. Neither." Tony resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He didn't know what he wanted. They had him so twisted around. When he first--He was... looking for my dad," Tony took a breath, "for repairs."
It took to the count of three for that to truly sink in. "No," Steve said, flat out. "Howard wouldn't--He'd never. HYDRA? Never."
Tony didn't know what to say. For all his faults, Howard had been his father. "I wouldn't have called that one, either," he said quietly. His eyes stung, and he blinked to keep the moisture away.
Steve gave him a sharp look, then seemed to deflate. Maybe remembering Tony was his son.
"You all right, Iron Man?"
"Painkillers," Tony managed, "making me woozy."
Steve nodded, playing along with the polite fiction. He gave Tony a moment and asked, "Where do you think the Winter Soldier is now?"
"I don't know," Tony lied.
*****
Steve got out of the hospital first, of course. Even though Rumlow managed to shoot him three times in the abdomen, they weren't too much for the serum. And they weren't as bad as, say, an arrow through the left lung.
The arc reactor casing had stopped the tip of the arrow from travelling to his heart. Had Tony had a regular sternum and chest cavity, he would have been dead. That was twice the arc reactor had saved his life. He wasn't a religious man -- didn't believe someone up there was trying to tell him something, but once was lucky. Twice was more than coincidence.
Tony didn't like to dwell on it, so as soon as he convinced Wilson to give him a StarkTablet he got down to business. The device was woefully underpowered, but after he over clocked the processor and accesses JARVIS it's serviceable.
It helped that Widow dumped all of SHIELD's files on the net, including past and present employee records.
It took an hour for Tony to design an algorithm to search out a former or current SHIELD/SSR employee with a birthplace in Brooklyn who also had a connection to Howard Stark.
Why Brooklyn? Hard not to finally place the boroughs accent after sharing a hospital room with Rogers.
The algorithm spat out three names: Agent Peggy Carter could be ruled out for obvious reasons, as could Steven G Rogers. The last file with a sepia tinged photo of a handsome man in a WWII dress uniform, his cap tilted cheekily.
And suddenly, Tony knew why the Soldier 'malfunctioned' when he was told to kill Captain America.
*****
Tony was discharged from the hospital the day he was originally scheduled to have the arc reactor removed. There was something poetic about that, he thought as, wincing, he buttoned a dress shirt over the glow.
"Back home, boss?" Happy said as he escorted Tony from the hospital. Pepper had offered. So had Steve. Tony declined both.
Wincing at the bright spring day, Tony slid on his sunglasses and tried not to look like he was hobbling too much toward the limo. "Doctors prescribed rest and relaxation. I'm in the mood for the Long Island house, Happy."
His driver gave him a puzzled look. Tony hadn't been back to that particular bachelor pad since his Malibu house had been built and he'd abandoned the East Coast in favor of a better climate.
Tony didn't offer an explanation, and Happy was good enough not to ask.
"Sure thing, Boss," he said.
Because it was a home Tony owned, the door secured with a bio-scan and/or keypad 20 digit code. Waving goodbye to Happy, Tony staggered in and rested for a moment against the front door.
He staggered at the first step.
A figure melted out of the shadows and caught him in one metal handed grip.
"I'd be surprised," Tony said around a wheeze, "But JARVIS keeps track of who goes in and out of here."
The Winter Soldier said nothing, only provided a steady hand to guide him down to the sunken living room. Tony sat on the couch, wincing.
The Soldier looked... better. Like he'd washed sometime over in the last couple days, and shaved. His hair was put up in a simple band, and he wore one of Tony's deep hoodie with 'Metallica' written across the front.
Tony's heart may or may not have flipped under his arc rector. He covered it with a mock scowl. "I thought I told you to take the cash and untraceable credit cards from the strongbox, and get the hell out of Dodge. You have been eating, right? I can't believe there's anything left in the kitchen."
"I got by," the Soldier said. He sat next to Tony, their thighs a hair's width apart. He cocked an eye at him
"Why are you here?"
"HYDRA is scattered," the Soldier said, and maybe it was progress that he could actually name them aloud now. "Pierce is dead. Where would I go?"
"Somewhere tropical with lots of pretty people in very small bathing suits? The world is your oyster."
"No." His lips pressed in a thin line. "I'm not hiding."
Yeah. The man Tony read about in old SSR files didn't seem like the type to duck his head in the sand.
"And," the Soldier said, "A crazy man told me I was now a Stark employee."
"You want to work for me?" Tony asked.
The Soldier looked at him, his gray eyes blazing. "I require--I want... purpose." His hands clenched on his thighs. "And I need answers about... my creation, and who I was. Before."
Those were big questions, and Tony wasn't sure either of them were going to like the answers. "Okay, new employee -- and this is an at will position, I'll tell you that right now. You're free to leave whenever, got it?" Though he hoped he wouldn't. The longer the Soldier stayed, the more Tony could help.
The Soldier nodded. "No more killing. No more missions," he said, parroting back what Tony told him in the tower. He tilted his head, considering Tony. "No more orders."
"That's right. Or at least, nothing you can't say no to."
He hesitated, eyes sweeping over Tony's face as if weighing him. Trusting him. "That's acceptable," he said at last.
"Then you are officially my new go'fer/bodyguard."
"Gopher?"
"Sure. Go for this, go for that. Most of Howard's files are still hardcopy -- paper -- in the Fifth Avenue house. We should go through them." He took a breath, plunging in. "But... as it happens, I've been doing some research on my downtime. And I've found something. About you."
Tony pulled his phone from his pocket. He held it out, asking without words if the Soldier was ready.
The Soldier slowly nodded and Tony slid the phone into his trembling hands.
"Your full name," Tony said softly as the picture of the cocky young Sergeant came up, "is James Buchannan Barnes. Your friends call you Bucky."
End.