Chapter Text
The sun was bright and warm, and the sounds of waves crashing on the shore was the perfect white noise for a bit of reading. In the mottled shade of a palm tree, Tony was reclining in a lounge chair, a glass of iced tea within easy reach to his right, the Rubber Ducky suit of armor on the left.
“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Tony?”
Tony looked up from his dog-eared copy of The Martian Chronicles, and was suddenly very, very thankful for dark sunglasses. They meant nobody could see the way his eyes had just widened, drinking in the view of Steve, barechested and clad in bright, Hawaiian print board shorts. Steve and Clint were carrying surf boards, about to head out for another day in the waves. Today, however, they had apparently decided that the water was warm enough to leave their wetsuits back in the bungalow.
Did it count as ogling if it was his boyfriend?
“I’m good,” Tony squeaked.
“You didn’t want to go snorkeling with Sam and Nat either.” Clint bent down and swiped Tony’s iced tea. “If you wanted to sit in a chair and read, you could have done that at home. C’mon Tony, what is it? Did you forget to bring a swimsuit?"
Tony hadn’t set foot in the ocean willingly ever since the ordeal with Neptune’s Trident. He and Steve had only narrowly escaped a huge vortex, and sometimes Tony still woke up at night gasping for breath, the sensation of being sucked down beneath the waves lingering long after the nightmare had faded.
It was strange. No other mission had wormed beneath his skin like that. One theory Tony had developed was that the nightmares had a link to the magic of the broken trident. He’d asked Steve once if he had the same sort of dreams. Steve had looked at him, politely puzzled, and said no.
Tony flashed Clint a smile that was too toothy to be wholly sincere, and held up his identicard. “I’m also monitoring threats.”
“Isn’t that why the Fantastic Four are housesitting at the tower?” Clint raised one eyebrow and eyed the suit of armor. “Steve,” he said, in mock whisper, “I’m beginning to think the great Tony Stark can’t swim.”
“I’ve completed five triathlons, thank you very much,” Tony sniffed.
Ever the intermediary, Steve tried to make the teasing a moot point. “If Tony’s happier sunbathing, that’s his call, Clint. There are plenty of ways to enjoy the beach.” Even so, Tony didn’t miss the stress Steve put on if, like he doubted that that was the whole story.
Tony sensed a heart-to-heart coming later from Mr. Greatest Generation about fear and fear itself.
“Oh c’mon, Cap! It’s not sunbathing if he’s not even wearing shorts!”
“HEY!”
All three men winced at the Hulk’s shout. Down the beach they could see him kneeling in the sand. His ire seemed to stem from that fact that Thor was standing on a large pile of sand.
“YOU STEPPED ON HULK’S CASTLE!”
“Friend Hulk, you called that mound a castle? I will show you how to build a sand kingdom to rival Asgard, fit for Odin himself.”
“NO! YOU WANT TO DECORATE EVERYTHING WITH STUPID SEASHELLS!”
“On second thought,” Clint said, shaking his head, “maybe it’s better if someone stays on the beach to supervise.”
In a gratifying twist, Tony’s Identicard went off just as Clint and Steve were shouldering their surfboards to head down to the water.
“Hope your costumes are clean, boys,” Tony grinned, climbing into the armor. “That’s Sue. She says an AIM sighting just came in, and they’re only a few miles from here.”
#
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Clint grumbled as he let a net arrow fly, taking down three yellow rubber suits in one go. “We’re on vacation. Does that mean nothing to you people?”
“Crime never takes a holiday, Hawkeye,” Steve said, blocking some sort of acid projectile. The beekeepers above had to reload cumbersome fluorescent green cartridges into their guns, and their divided attention was enough of an opening for Natasha to take them down from behind.
“This would be a lot easier if I could use my Bite,” she grumped, long red hair tied back, still damp with salt water.
“Is that another vote for Team Dry Land?” Tony asked, voice sing-song light as he rocketed past overhead, a beekeeper dangling by one leg in his grasp. He deposited the squirming flunky in a large, crusty tank that looked like it had been drained and fallen into disuse long ago--hard to tell if that would have been before or after AIM started squatting in the warehouse. It looked like the beekeeper infestation had been going for some time now.
“If it is, I think that automatically puts Thor on your side too,” she replied.
A large machine with grasping claws crashed through one of the warehouse doors, and Tony had to bank hard left to avoid one of its shiny pincers.
“I do not understand the quarrel,” Thor said, hurling Mjolnir at the robot. It smashed through the metal above the right claw and came hurling back to his hand through cloud of oily smoke. “Why must there be sides?”
“Because some people think their idea of vacation is better than others.” Tony rocketed into two yellow suits who were taking aim at him with yet another strange weapon, a poorly designed bazooka number. Thank goodness AIM only attracted the most incompetent of weapons designers.
Tony knocked the two beekeepers through one of the flimsy particleboard walls in a rain of brittle plaster and wood splinters. The abrupt crash landing left him dizzy, but otherwise unhurt-- thank you, yellow rubber. The beekeepers, by contrast, were left in a groaning heap on the floor.
The room that Tony found himself in was distinctly different from the rest of the warehouse. Where the majority of the wharf was comprised of burnt-out buildings housing the scattered bones of a canning operation, this room smelled of salt, and hummed with water pumps.
Curious, Tony peered into tanks as he walked among them. The first he approached housed a cloud of silver minnows, and the one next to it held fat, striped bass that turned lazily, sidling up to the side of the glass and turning yellow, curious eyes on Tony. Clear tubing had been assembled above the tanks, creating a drip line that oozed something viscous and brown into the water, and there were paper logs hung on the glass of each enclosure, carefully charting weights by day. Tony really hoped that whatever AIM was piping in for the fish, that it was food. He didn’t want to imagine what else it might be.
Further in among the rows of tanks, Tony turned and recoiled. A large length of glass ran across the back wall, big enough to house a mixed aquarium. Inside this one, a large humanoid--like a blue version of the Creature from the Black Lagoon--floated listlessly. It had been quite some time since Tony had last seen an Atlantean, but there was no mistaking the thing for anything but that.
Nasty scratches gouged the length glass, and Tony saw a thick padlock the size of his fist keeping a grate above the aquarium firmly in place. After the incident with the trident and the attempt to flood New York, Tony had no love for Attuma or his henchmen. But keeping an Atlantean imprisoned like this was just barbaric.
“Hello?” Tony tapped on the glass, trying to get its attention.
The Atlantean opened it’s eyes and looked up at Tony, and a cloud of bubbles escaped its mouth in surprise. It cringed and held up its hands defensively, as though it expected Tony to hurt it.
Inside the armor, Tony frowned. Then he realized the armor might be the problem. If the Atlantean had never seen something like the armor before, it might think he was the one who looked as strange as a B-grade movie monster. Tony flipped up the faceplate and waved, hoping the gesture was universally friendly. “Hi! I’m Tony. I’m here to help.”
He had no idea if it could hear him or if it spoke English. But maybe it could read lips. Couldn’t hurt to try, he figured.
The Atlantean lowered its arms, and its silver eyes softened. Tony relaxed a bit too, now that it seemed to understand that he wasn’t here to hurt it.
He switched on his comm. “Guys, I think I’ve found a hostage.”
“Where are you?” Sam asked.
“Back of the warehouse. Look for a big hole in the wall.” He shifted his attention back to the trapped Atlantean. “I’m going to blast the lock,” Tony said, pointing at the offending bit of metal. Silver eyes followed his finger. It nodded.
“It’ll make a loud noise,” Tony warned it, and readied his repulsor.
But before he could, the Atlantean opened its mouth wide, letting loose another stream of bubbles. This close to the glass, Tony could hear the muffled scream through the water, right as something crashed into the back of his head.
The brown ichor that he’d seen earlier splattered across the glass like a spray of blood. Tony wheeled around, bringing a gauntlet up to block the next blow.
He succeeded. But the beekeeper had thrown another beaker of the weird substance at him, and the glass broke on the titanium-gold alloy of the armor. Bits of glass stung his cheeks--or maybe that was the brown substance? He was fortunate that no shards got into his mouth or eyes, but the ichor did. Tony choked on it--would have gagged from the smell alone--and tried to aim his repulsors at the scientist. His vision was blurring though, and he couldn’t catch his breath--
He was at point-blank range though. Tony fired a repulsor, blasting the beekeeper went tumbling backwards.
Ordinarily, Tony would breathe a sigh of relief.
It still felt like he was choking though. If he could only throw up. But it felt like there were hands on his throat, strangling him, and the armor seemed to be constricting around him. Tony set the command to release him from the armor, but as he tumbled out onto hands and knees, he still felt violently ill.
“Iron Man?” He heard Sam call out, not far away. The youngest Avenger touched down beside him and immediately put a hand on Tony’s hunched back. He’d had to stabilize Tony before when the arc reactor wasn’t working--he knew the warning signs all too well.
More footsteps followed at a run, then Steve’s voice. “What’s wrong? What happened to him?”
“I don’t know...something with the arc reactor maybe.”
Everything felt too warm, like Tony had a fever. Definitely not the arc reactor. Tony gasped and clutched at his throat, pointing to the ichor on the glass.
Sam frowned, then pried Tony’s fingers away from his neck. “Are those what I think they are?”
“What in the world…”
“Your friend is in trouble.” The voice was soft but insistent. The Atlantean had swum to the surface of the tank. “They dosed him with a serum they were developing. Give him to me.”
Steve’s mouth thinned. They had few choices in the interim for dealing with the situation, though. A hard bash with his vibranium shield made short work of the lock. The Atlantean pushed the grate aside, and between the three of them, they hoisted Tony up and over, feet first into the salt water.
As his waist hit the water, Tony struggled. The feeling from his nightmares of being sucked down into the water hit him full force, and his heart started racing. “No--” he gasped.
“Tony,” Steve said, sliding in with him, one hand on the edge of the tank, the other on Tony’s shoulder, urging him down. “Tony you have gills.”
What? Tony’s mind did somersaults. How was that possible? Oh no, did that mean...
“You must breathe as you would, but under water. Our tadpoles have the same trouble.” the Atlantean said, confirming his worst fears. “You cannot get enough oxygen from the air.”
“I’m here for you, Tony,” Steve said softly--too softly for Sam to hear-- and wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist. “I won’t let you drown, I promise.”
Tony’s vision was graying around the edges. If they didn’t do something quickly, he was going to suffocate.
If there was anyone that Tony trusted to get him through a bad situation, though, it was Steve. He slide the rest of the way into the water, let Steve’s arms come up under his arms and support him. Then Steve took a large gasp of air, and then sank them both beneath the surface.
Opening his mouth and sucking down a lungful of water was the hardest thing Tony had ever done. It violated the greatest instincts the human body had. Eventually, though, the compulsion to breath won out over the fear of drowning.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, and fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders, Tony took a breath. Water flowed in and down his throat, heavy and unpleasant. It exited through the new gills on his neck, ruffling the folds of skin there. It was strange and wrong, but it did rid him of the gray spots around his vision.
Tony looked up into Steve’s face and gave him a wavering smile. He was absurdly lucky to have someone like Steve who understood so much, but never rubbed it in--at least not the important things. He might still be fighting tooth and nail and rapidly running out of oxygen, if not for his big-hearted boyfriend.
Steve smiled back, gave Tony a hug, and after Tony fought back the instinct to hold tight to him, Steve carefully let go, and kicked his way back up to the surface. Tony followed, careful to keep his nose and mouth beneath the water. By tilting his head slightly, he was able to keep one ear out of the water to hear.
While Steve had been coaching him through breathing, the rest of the team had arrived, having cleaned up the rest of the warehouse of its AIM infestation. Meanwhile, Sam had started gathering goo samples. His nose was screwed up in disgust, and having experienced the smell close up, Tony couldn’t blame him.
“We should take him to Atlantis,” the Atlantean suggested. “The King will know what to do.”
Steve balked at the idea. “To Attuma? Why would he help us?”
The Atlantean cocked his head. “Attuma? The Renegade Warlord? He is not the King.”
“Well if fin-face isn’t, who is?” Clint demanded.
The Atlantean cocked its head at the derogatory nickname. “His Highness is called Namor. He is part homo mermanus, part human. If your friend has been hybridized, no one will be better suited to help him than the King.”
#
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, taking a seat next to Tony in the back of the AIM submersible that the Avengers had commandeered.
How was he feeling? He was trying not to hyperventilate, or cause a scene. Rationally, he knew that he could breathe underwater now, but that still didn’t do anything to ease the feeling of dread as they descended into the deep.
Tony grimaced, and scribbled on a pad of paper, Like maybe I should have stayed on the beach and let the rest of you search the warehouse. He thought wistfully of his chair in the sun. Any luck?
“Not yet. It’s a pretty complicated serum and physiology was never my strong suit. Sorry Tony.”
I know you’re doing your best.
That wasn’t an exaggeration. Sam had already done a ton. He’d been able to jury-rig one of the AIM diving suits into what amounted to a portable fish bowl that would let Tony breathe--an apparatus that fit over his nose, mouth, and upper neck. The catch was that he had to be hooked up to a tank of water, much like a diver needed a tank of air. And he could only talk by removing the facemask, which interrupted his breathing. It was tricky business talking, which was probably the worst part. Snarky replies lost a little something when they had to be handwritten.
The Atlantean, who had asked to be called Balen, said it was ordinary for their tadpoles to struggle in the air. The amphibious nature of the lungs developed over time, and Balen was not sure how the serum that Tony had been exposed to would change him. He suggested that it might mimic an Atlantean’s development.
Tony had privately been horrified at the thought of changing any further into something that wasn’t human. Rather than risk offending their new friend, however, he kept that to himself.
Sam patted Tony on the back. “I know this is a lot less fun than sitting on a beach, but we might not have found Balen if you hadn’t been with us Tony.”
I know.
It didn’t change the fact that this was awful, but Sam was right. The Atlantean had been incredibly grateful to them for finding him.
“It was so lonely,” he’d told them. “For a long time, my only companion was a Giant Sturgeon. I was so sad when they took her away.”
“Why? It’s just a fish,” Clint said. “She probably made lots of sushi lovers happy.”
“She was no bigger than a cubit--” Balen’s disgust was plain.
“That doesn’t sound gigantic.”
“She was just a baby. And far too valuable to be turned into sushi.” His face contorted in disgust. “I’d hoped to return her to the Royal family. No doubt there’s a reward. The King is the only person in all of Atlantis with breeding pairs, so they’re quite rare. If you helped me find her--”
“First we see to Tony,” Steve had put his foot down. “Then we can look for pet fish.”
Clint sniggered. “Pet fish. On the surface we keep cute pets. Ever seen a corgi?” he asked the Atlantean.
“Clint, you’re dangerously close to getting fish search and rescue duty.”
“But--”
Steve adopted his patent disapproving face, which shut Clint up.
And that was how how they’d all wound up on the sub, making their way to Atlantis.
#
“Have there been any further changes?” Steve asked as they left the sub and Balen conversed in a rapid, high pitched language with fellow Atlanteans dressed in golden armor. It made Tony itch for his own.
Tony shook his head, watching as Steve pulled on a diving suit. Next he helped Tony into the straps of a portable water tank. Balen had warned them that the castle was a sometimes unpredictable mixture of water and air. The Avengers had been puzzled by this; Balen had shrugged and said they would see for themselves. He also assured Tony that it would be easy to accommodate his need for water. They could easily find a suite of family rooms with mixed environments--all wealthy homes had them.
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” Steve finally confessed. Tentatively, he added, “Does it hurt at all?” His face was so open, so concerned, and he stroked the side of Tony’s cheek tenderly.
Tony promptly revised his list of reasons that this situation was awful. He would have given anything to just lean over and kiss Steve.
Tony pulled out his pad of paper, No, it’s just frustrating.
Steve scanned the note, and seemed relieved. “I’m glad. For me it…” he trailed off then shook his head as the guards, satisfied that they were not an invading foreign force, waved them through. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Tony wanted to press him on that. To Tony, it sounded an awful lot like when he’d asked if Steve had nightmares. But they were on the move, and Tony didn’t want to draw attention by fumbling with his pencil and paper as they were shepherded through the palace.
Later, Tony resolved.
Namor’s castle beneath the waves was made of smooth, pale green stone that glittered in the sunlight. The walls of the main hall were carved into great sloping cliffs--as though the palace were a collection of waves frozen in stone. Here and there the architect had inset stripes of polished green and blue seaglass to catch the shimmering light that filtered down from the vaulted glass ceilings. Many of the outer walls also had floor to glass windows that gave them spectacular views of Atlantis. The underwater city sprawled out before the castle as far as the eye could see.
“This palace was shaped using the old knowledge by the councelors centuries ago,” he explained. “Short of becoming a warlord, a counselor to the King is the most powerful position an Atlantean can rise to, and one of the highest of honors. You surfacers already know one of the greatest: Myraddin, though he went by Merlin among you.”
Magic, Tony realized. Well, that explained the underwater air pockets.
As they were led through the cavernous halls of the palace, Tony spied the curious mixture of rooms. Many of the common areas, like the halls they walked in now, were dry. But several side chambers led to stairs that descended down into crystal blue waters.
Namor’s throne room was another dry area: a large room, sporting more of the glass ceiling motif from wall to wall. As the Avengers were lead in, Tony gaped as he looked upward at a whale swimming lazily by overhead.
“Surface dwellers? Why have you brought air-breathers into my presence?” Namor asked of the guard waspishly, reclining on a gold and pink throne with carvings that made it look like the spiral of a conche.
He was a lithe man, tall and sharp-faced, with jet-black hair and curiously pink skin. Tony had never seen an Atlantean who was anything other than blue or green, like the handful of advisors flanking the throne, as well as the guards.
“Sire,” said one of the guards, “The air-breathers have returned one of the palace staff--the one who went missing.”
One of Namor’s thin, pointed eyebrows rose. “Where do they say he was found?”
“On the surface, Sire.”
Namor tapped at his pale lower lip with a slender finger. “Is this true, Balen?”
Their Atlantean friend’s silver eyes grew big at being directly addressed by his king. “Yes, Your Majesty. I was going home for the night when a bag was thrown over my head. By the time they took it off, the yellow monsters had already taken me to the surface. These air-breathers freed me.”
“But why did you bring them here?”
Balen gestured his long arms at Tony. “During the rescue, one of the monsters changed this one. He has grown gills, like us. But like a tadpole, he founders in air. I suggested that we seek your wisdom on the matter.”
Namor regarded Tony with a cool and inscrutable expression for several moments. “What am I to do? He is not broken. Gills are a gift that the surface world was never worthy of.”
“I--” Balen stuttered, not sure what to say next. “Yes, Sire, but--”
That was when Steve butted in. “Your highness, no one said there was anything wrong with gills. But Tony’s our teammate. We need him. And we won’t rest as long as this condition keeps him from living on the surface.”
Tony’s heart fluttered a little at that.
Namor, on the other hand, literally sat up and took notice of Steve. “And who are you? The leader of this motley gang?”
Steve glanced at the other assembled heroes. “Well, I wouldn’t say motley. Steve Rogers, sir.”
“Steve Rogers…” The King of Atlantis abruptly shifted from the barest of tolerance for their group, to intrigued. “Rakaa,” he called, and a wrinkled old Atlantean in billowing white robes startled as her name was called. “Give me your counsel.”
Rakaa’s milky white eyes narrowed as she looked at Tony. “I think we should cure him and be rid of the air-breathers as quickly as possible, my Lord.”
Namor’s eyes slid to the other side of the hall to the other white-robed counselor. “Gellis?”
This Atlantean, a round and bulbous male cleared his throat. “This good deed only cancels the wrong the other air-breathers inflicted against our kingdom. Why should we help? Have them escorted to the surface without any aid.”
Namor smirked at the suggestion and stroked his chin.
After a bit of rumination, Namor stood. However, instead of pronouncing judgement, he gestured for the Avengers to follow him into an antechamber lined with shelves and cupboards.
Once the door was firmly shut, he turned and addressed Steve. “There’s wisdom in both my counselor's advice. So I shall take both. I will do what I can for your friend, Steve Rogers. But you must help me first. The yellow men could not have orchestrated a kidnapping in Atlantis without help. Find me the traitor that colluded with them, and you will have all the knowledge Atlantis has to offer. Fail, and your friend will have to find his own solution.”
Steve looked less than pleased. But, short of a breakthrough from Sam, Tony knew they didn’t have much of a choice.
“Deal.”
“Excellent,” Namor said. “One small matter that may aid in your work.” He opened one of the drawers and pulled a tattered scrap of white cloth from it.
Steve took it from him, examining the rips. It had once had swirls of gold embroidered into the hem, but most of the stitches had been pulled out, leaving only frayed bits of the shimmering thread.
“This was found at the site Balen last remembers.”
“Is it significant?”
“The fabric is from a councelor's robe, you can tell by the gold trim,” Namor explained. “The two you met today are the only ones regularly at the palace. And you so see, I have reason to believe that one of them is misleading me. I look forward to what you find.”
It was a dismissal, but before the Avengers could leave, Namor caught Steve by the shoulder, something almost predatory in his gaze. “I wish to have further words with you, as one leader to another. Meet me here tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a request, and Tony bristled at the ego.
Well, he certainly didn’t envy Steve his role in all of this. It seemed there were worse things in the world than having gills after all.
#
Despite his cold and aloof attitude toward them, the quarters that Namor gave the group to use was a spacious and luxurious suite of rooms branching off of a common area. Perhaps there were no other sort in the castle, Tony mused, short of dungeons. Did sea castles have dungeons, he wondered? He would have to find out before they left.
Each of the Avengers had their own room, and the split-level architecture of their common area meant that there was a submerged half that Tony could use without being sequestered from the others. So that mothers can keep an eye on their tadpoles, Balen had explained the design. Which instantly made Tony less enthusiastic about the set up.
He pulled off the breathing apparatus and sank down into the warm water, letting it rise up around him but keeping an ear on the surface. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was relaxing in a lukewarm jacuzzi at Avengers tower.
Almost.
The constant spill of water down his throat was a an ever present reminder that he was deep in the heart of the ocean. There was also the lack of the all-too familiar sounds of Thor, Hulk, and Clint shouting at each other over video games. Instead they were arguing about who got the room with the biggest bed.
“Thor should take the room with the seashells.” Hulk was very adamant about this.
Thor snorted derisively. “Perhaps you would appreciate their beauty more if you stayed in the room. You have a propensity for delicate things, as I recall.”
“Double bed is too small for Hulk! Hulk needs to stretch out to fall asleep.”
Tony heard Steve’s long suffering voice, breaking up their argument so that they could turn to the serious matters at hand. “I’ll take the seashell bedroom. Balen, can you show us where you were kidnapped tomorrow morning?”
“If you wish. I am afraid that the task the King has set will not be easy.”
“It’ll be somewhere to start.”
“In the meantime, what exactly is there to do for fun around here?” Clint asked.
Tony tuned the rest of the conversation out. Steve’s optimism was nice, but Tony found himself fixated on the what ifs. What if Namor’s task was impossible? They were, after all, dealing with important people that had magic power. Surely the counselors would have lots of tools to cover their tracks. And what if Namor didn’t keep his word to help Tony? What if the other Avengers were sent away and Tony was trapped here--or exiled to fend for himself?
Tony thought about being cast out into the vast reaches of the ocean and panic began to grip him.
He’d never be able to fend for himself. And without a suit like the Rubber Ducky, he’d never be able to find his way home again.
Tony’s heartbeat became uncomfortable in his chest, a heavy thudding, and if his body hadn’t been submerged in water, he probably would have had the sweats. Then it got worse. A numbness swept over his fingers, followed by a wave of pins and needles.
Tony looked at one hand and gasped.
He had webbing between his fingers--honest to god, translucent mud-gray webbing. “S-sam!” he stammered and burbled around the water in his mouth. Next thing he knew, Sam and Steve were wading into the waist high water to check on him.
“More changes…” Steve said darkly as Tony held up a hand.
“But it was stable until now.” Sam frowned, scanning Tony’s vitals. “An elevated heartbeat and blood pressure are the only things I’m seeing. Tony, was there anything else that might have triggered it?”
Tony shook his head, then trembled as silvery scales started to appear on his hands and up his arms.
“Tony, the changes might be influenced by distress. Is there a way that you can calm down?”
“Maybe...Hulk has some advice?” Tony choked around the water, partly from talking, partly because he was on the verge of hysterical laughter.
He heard the green guy snort up above on the dry level. “Find your happy place.”
Tony screwed his eyes shut, trying to determine where and what exactly that was. His lounge by the beach? He tried to picture himself there, imaging the feel of the sun warming his cheeks, the smell of salt, and the roar of the ocean--
“You’ve grown more scales, Tony.” The worry in Sam’s voice so did not help.
The lab then? Tony thought about pouring over projects, designing with a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, the high stakes of racing against deadlines…
No. It was fun, and he’d always liked the adrenaline rush, but it certainly wasn’t a stress-free environment.
Tony cast about his mind for another space, and came up blank, which was depressing more than anything else. He led such a busy hectic life that he didn’t even have a calm mental space to retreat to.
Tony’s eyes shot open as he felt arms encircling him. He found himself nearly nose to nose with Steve.
Steve smiled guiltily. “It seemed to help with the first transformation.”
“Heart rate’s down to 90. It seems to be working,” Sam chimed in.
“Yeah,” Tony looked into Steve’s blue eyes. “But you can’t stay here all night.”
Steve raised an eyebrow at him, as if Tony had issued a challenge. “Watch me.”
“NO CUDDLING IN COMMON AREAS.” Hulk objected, only to be shushed by Natasha.
Tony was so touched by Steve’s ardent insistence on staying with him that he reached for an old standby: humor. “If you stay in the water that long, you’ll get as wrinkly as a real 90 year old.”
His own skin, perhaps due to the effects of the serum, seemed unaffected. He wondered if the serum flowing in Steve’s veins might do the same for him.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll manage.”
After the others had all gone to bed, Tony shifted in Steve’s arms.
“Did it hurt for you?” he asked, mind running back to their truncated conversation.
“The serum? Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
The water rippled as Steve ran a thumb across the back of Tony’s neck. “It was a long time ago. I’m just glad it isn’t for you.”
Yes, but would Steve still love him if he was turned into a blue, scaly Atlantean completely?
Tony decided not to ask and drifted off in Steve’s arms.
#
The next morning, Balen rejoined the Avengers with breakfast. He had a bag of eighty gold coins stamped with a picture of Namor’s cocky face, the King’s gift to help them negotiate the city. Balen also carried a large abalone platter piled high with scallops wrapped in seaweed and spongy oblong things that looked a bit like a purple, spiky kiwi. It was sweet and tender, Balen insisted, but Tony didn’t have the stomach to try it.
Hulk did though. And he ate them so fast that Balen had to ask a guard to send for more. Then they got down to business.
Steve stood at the head of their table while the rest of them sat, still munching on what remained of breakfast. Well, except for Tony. Sam’s breathing apparatus wasn’t designed to let him eat while wearing it.
“I think I speak for us all when I say that we want to cure Tony as soon as possible and get home.” The others nodded in agreement. “With that in mind, I think it would be better if we split into teams to gather information. And, seeing as how we have an expert on that, I think it would be best if we all took our cues from her. Natasha?”
He yielded the head of the table for her.
She started out by questioning Balen. “Like Steve said, we should send someone to the site you were taken. Where would that be?
“Near the royal fishery. I was cutting through the palace grounds to go home.”
“Do many people go out to the fishery? Would there be any witnesses”
Balen shook his head. “Mostly it’s just the keepers, Udu and Odo. But the fish keep them busy.”
“Steve, why don’t you take Clint and start looking there before your meeting with Namor.”
“What! Why don’t I get to come with you?” Clint protested until Natasha glared at him. He gulped and slid a little lower in his seat, lips zipped shut. “Nevermind.”
“Next, we should talk to the counselors, see if they have a motive.”
“Why would they have a motive?” Balen asked.
“The King’s hunch,” Steve explained.
“So what do we know?” Natasha continued. “Can we narrow it down? One is openly hostile toward humans, Gellis, and the other, Rakaa, just wants us gone.”
“Perhaps Gellis fears what may be learned about his chicanery, and hence wishes to turn Tony out without further inspection,” Thor offered.
“Or maybe,” said Clint, “Rakaa wants to cure him and get rid of us as fast as possible so that she can sweep everything under the rug.”
“Or maybe they both just hate humans,” the Hulk grunted.
Natasha cocked her head to one side, then said, “Thor, Hulk, why don’t you talk to Gellis. None of them like humans, but he’s the harder nut here. Maybe you can appeal to him for some information on Meta-Human level.”
“It shall be done, my lady.”
“Sam--”
Sam looked up, mid-bite into one of the seaweed wraps, and then back down at his hand-held scanner. The device had practically become attached to his arm ever since Tony’s exposure. Now he was running comparison of Tony’s blood from the first episode and comparing it to a sample he’d taken last night.
“I was wondering if I could stay here and keep running Tony’s samples. I think I’ve found a cluster of foreign proteins in the new sample, and I’m cross-referencing them with the blood samples that Balen gave me.”
“Okay,” Natasha agreed. “Stay here and keep him company. If whoever helped kidnap him knows he’s returned, they might come back again.”
Then she turned to Tony. “Which leaves you and me. We’re going to try appealing to Rakaa.”
Tony held up his pad of paper, Sounds like fun.
Man, he really missed effortless speech. Sarcasm lost a lot in written form.