Chapter Text
2011 -- Paris
Ten minutes ago, the Musée de l'Armees ballroom had glittered with faceted gemstones and polished cufflinks, crystalline light fixtures and sparkling wit. Now the gala had fractured into terrified guests surrounded by soldiers in dark blue uniforms that looked like full body haz-mat suits. Even their weapons seemed color-coordinated, with energy packs straight out of Hollywood glowing a brighter blue.
The lights had gone out just before the gala had been invaded. They hadn't come back up, either. Instead, the intruders had set out a grid of battery-operated lanterns that gave off a sharp-edged white light. That and the blue of the invaders' guns were the only lights in the room.
Quiet was mounding up in the room, deeper here, shallower there, but everywhere it was the wrong kind of silence at any event, much less a charity fundraiser. Pointed rifles had silenced the string quartet and Opera Paris' lead baritone. The occasional nervous chatter of the guests rose in the gaps between the patrolling soldiers and died sharply when guns shifted to point at those who'd spoken.
What worried Rebecca most were the four-person squads sweeping through the guests far too efficiently. They were confiscating all electronic equipment -- cell phones, Blackberries, watches with too many functions, the occasional tablet that some of the men had had concealed in their jackets -- and they weren't taking no for an answer. One woman was going to have a black eye, and she was holding up a companion who needed a doctor soon, judging from the amount of blood pouring down from his head wound to ruin the satin lapels on his tux and clash with the cerise walls.
Rebecca balanced in her heels, grateful she'd ignored Amanda's opinion and stuck to a sensible height. She hadn’t seen Amanda or Marcus yet.
Rebecca couldn’t decide if that was a good sign. Either she had help on the outside… or the soldiers had kept Amanda out, which would require more force than Rebecca wanted to consider.
She shoved that thought aside and traded a glance with Sean. He looked away from her to the guns, let a faint frown shift his mouth and went neutral again in the space of half a second. Rebecca gave him the faintest of nods, set her face to show a shallow calm over nonexistent panic, and surrendered her cellphone when the soldiers got to them. She might as well; it wasn't receiving any signals just now.
Sean surrendered his as well, watching the soldiers as closely as Rebecca was. Unlike the other confiscations, the soldiers paused in front of them. The two immortals stilled, watching and waiting to see which contingency plans would be needed. Rebecca wasn't entirely surprised when one of the soldiers grabbed her arm.
His grip was tight enough to leave bruises later if she'd been mortal. She might yet regret this sleeveless gown, although she'd thought the blue and green shading too gorgeous to resist. His rifle slid over his shoulder as he reached for her face with his other hand. His fingers held her jaw tightly as he angled her face up to the light, turning it from one side to the other with an equal lack of interest in her comfort or consent.
"You'll come with us." He looked at Sean, gestured to his partner, and they grabbed Sean, too; two of them for Sean. Not nearly wise enough, that, but neither of the immortals was fool enough to start anything yet. "Resist and hurt," he said flatly.
Sean went with them quietly enough, his steps soundless on the black and white tile floor. He fell in by Rebecca's side and surprised her by staying silent.
She had little attention to spare for that though, however; the mercenary 'escorting' her tried to yank her off balance.
Fortunately, Rebecca had expected it and moved with him. He huffed a frustrated sound and kept up his quick pace, trying to haul her along by sheer speed, which also didn't work. His final attempt to assert some control was predictable, fortunately; he tried to shove Rebecca into two women being held at gunpoint in front of some French doors.
The shorter woman's coloring wasn't quite right for her shalwar kameeze. Her hair was dark enough, and her skin tan enough that she could reasonably claim to be Sri Lankan, at least. But to Rebecca's eyes, she wore the outfit like a bodyguard who'd chosen formal wear she could fight in. Given her companion, she almost certainly could.
The taller woman with her was a strawberry blonde in a deep blue gown who looked like she and Rebecca must be sisters or cousins, which might explain the guards' reactions. Rebecca had no offspring and had long since lost track of her adoptive family's tree, but she would normally be pleased at the possibility of being distantly related to the newest CEO of Stark Industries. Just now, she was hoping to be able to do something to protect the woman backing Stark's pullout from weapons design and manufacture.
Without having to discuss it, Sean shifted to block Pepper Potts into the middle of the group. She was taller than the rest of them, but Rebecca liked the look of her face and the lines of spine and shoulders; she strongly suspected Pepper would duck if it came to shooting and keep her composure to run if she got a chance.
A pile of confiscated electronics had accumulated in the center of the ballroom. When the last mercenary tossed a final StarkPad onto it, a man Rebecca had tentatively identified as the second-in-command threw something onto the heap. It flashed blue light instead of the usual crack of explosive powder, and left behind a smell closer to ozone than cordite. It also destroyed the pile.
Rebecca shifted just enough to trade glances with Sean; his tuxedo jacket brushed her bare shoulder as she did. He gave her a barely perceptible nod, sober and worried for the mortals, and murmured, "Amanda?"
So he hadn't seen Amanda either. Rebecca shook her head and asked, equally quiet, "Marcus?"
"Not yet."
Behind them Pepper exhaled, sounding more resigned than frightened, and said softly, "Here we go again."
Sean glanced at Pepper Potts and asked softly, "Enemies of your company?"
"Whoever they are, I'm pretty sure they're everyone's enemy," she said calmly. "But no, I don't know who they are." She frowned a little. "And with weapons like that, I really should."
Rebecca considered her, faintly amused by how much they looked alike. Not twins, but close enough in another era -- much the same height, the same cheekbones and mouth, hair within a shade or two, which had become simple enough to match. Unfortunately, this era also had ubiquitous cell phones and cameras, so they probably couldn't pull off a trade. "Your face is a little too well known for us to trade gowns."
Pepper first looked surprised, then considering. "We could pass for sisters, I think, and we're almost the same height… but I doubt we'll get a chance, or that you'd want to."
Sean said mildly, "Oh, I imagine there will be people coming for both of you. I think we'd better keep the rest of the guests calm."
Without a touch of irony, Pepper agreed, "Absolutely."
"Quiet." The order came from the second-in-command, who turned, hand resting deliberately on his holster. It was a pity their uniforms didn't have name tags. Rebecca could have made use of that. Of course, given a chance, she'd apply the evil overlord rules about anonymity too.
Sean said calmly, "Are we allowed to sit down, sir?"
The second-in-command turned to consider them more carefully, then looked between Rebecca and Pepper, frowning. He raised a hand to his ridiculous-looking headpiece -- really, those oversized masks were going to make them fish in a barrel if either immortal got them away from the hostages -- and then received his orders. "Right there." He pointed to a small table by the wall with four chairs.
It was already occupied, but the blue-uniformed men made short shift of hauling the two older women out of their chairs, which drew indignant protests from their escorts and children. The women just took offered arms to get away from the soldiers.
This table wasn't the best choice the soldiers could have made. It still had a tablecloth on it, as well as a wide flower arrangement which blocked much of their sightlines. Rebecca sat down before the idiot soldier could change his mind. Sean, Pepper, and Pepper's bodyguard all took seats of their own before the man could try to tell them he only wanted his two targets.
Sean sat nearest the soldiers; Rebecca inched her chair back after Pepper sat down, which nudged Pepper closer to the wall and gave Rebecca more room to cover her. The bodyguard, who hadn't said a word yet, took the other chair by the wall. Like Rebecca, she scooted just that little bit back, hedging Pepper in.
Pepper waited until the blue-clad man had turned away again to say quietly, "Not that I don't appreciate it, but this really isn't safe for you."
Rebecca held her face from matching her voice when she promised, "It will be a great deal less safe for them when their grip on this slips." The bodyguard glanced between her and Sean, which made Rebecca wonder how much those sharp eyes had noticed about Sean and herself, and did something which startled Sean into a smile.
Only for a moment, then it was gone again as Sean said softly, "Soon now, very soon. This was the wrong population sample to try this on."
Other gala participants were arguing for seats now, for themselves or for others. The cello player who was at least eight months along was settled at a table first. Rebecca gave it two chances in five that she'd go into labor as soon as this was over, but that problem would have to wait. Madame Hebert, who was ninety if she was a day -- and only admitted to seventy-five, if severely pressed by a 'mannerless lout' –- was next, then the two who were injured. An heirloom silk velvet shawl was ruined, as was the table linen, but his bleeding had slowed.
Pepper buried her face in her hands for a moment, doing a credible impersonation of a worried woman as she said softly, "Jarvis, headcount is forty--"
Her bodyguard leaned into Sean flirtatiously and murmured, "Forty-six."
Pepper corrected immediately, "--forty-six so far, wearing dark blue dive suits with hazmat helmets, carrying blue-light energy weapons including grenades. No idea how they got in. Motive still unknown. Tell Phil immediately when you get through the jamming and get this."
Rebecca said softly, "Tell your friends to contact Marcus Constantine for a site expert."
Pepper barely had time to add that before the second-in-command turned back to them. He glared at them, either intrinsically suspicious or just worried about the things a woman who could run one of the top five tech firms in the world might be up to.
Rebecca reached over to cradle Pepper's hands under hers, an extra protection for her vulnerable, mortal skull. She also gave the mercenary the same glare she'd given him for yelling at Madame Hebert.
He finally snapped, "Sit up, Miss Potts. Hands on the table at all times or you'll be shot -- and not somewhere immediately fatal."
Of course, then he had to deal with the panicky responses of the other gala attendees.
Idiot.