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It was easy to think having all the information meant you have all the answers. Once upon a time, Tony Stark believed religiously in the sanctity of facts. Math and physics were his bread and butter and, as an engineer, he lived by their rules, worshiped at their alter.
In the light of recent events, Tony was starting to see the error of his ways. Two days ago. the sun had set on his illusionary world and cruel, bitter darkness had filled his once solid convictions.
People really did look different when you knew all their secrets.
Combat boots fell solid upon the ground, the sound heavy as it bounced and echoed back to him in the cold concrete room. There were four man station around where he was sitting down, tightly bound to a chair. It looked like a compass, with him in the middle and the four guards spread out like points on the dial, each in a different direction.
Every three minutes one of the armed man would separate from the pack to run a check of the surrounding area before returning to his post, only to have the next one take his place.
Tony wondered why they bothered. The warehouse was huge and bare, so the chances of someone making it in without being heard or seen were slim to none.
It was intentional, of course. Tony was coming to realise Obadiah Stane never did or said anything without intent.
No one is coming for you, the space whispered. Shadows crawled like fingers along the stone floor as moonlight streamed in from the windows. It was Tony’s second night here and he was starting to dread the moment when the light disappeared.
That was always when Obi came. Cloaked in darkness, as if he could only do this to Tony if he couldn’t properly see him.
It was a lie, of course. Obi might have been worried about someone discovering what he got up to at night, how all those R&D products that were putting Stark Industries in the Fortune 500 companies, but he wasn’t worried about what he did to Tony.
If fact, Tony was 99.9% certain he was enjoying it. Exacting some vicious form of revenge against him, finally taking off his masks, turning his back on any pretences and unleashing the cruel, power hungry man beneath the benevolent godfather.
Oh, how he’d fooled Tony. Wormed his way into his life after his parent’s death, pretended to care, to support Tony.
And, like a fish on a hook, like a child lacking a father figure, Tony had taken the bait. Allowed himself to be mentored, guided into place and shaped to the whim of a man too cruel for words.
A man who, as Tony had discovered two days ago, was the reason he’d been orphaned.
His fists clenched where they were tied to the stool’s arm rests, the skin around his knuckles tight and pale. He was sure if he could see his palms, there would be small half-moon marks where his nails had dug into his palms.
Despair, pain and anger all rolled into one and threatened to drown him. He would have hummed if he wasn’t afraid he’d take another rifle to the face. His right eye was still swelled shut and there could taste dried blood staining his lips from where his nose had nearly broken.
What he wouldn’t give for some music right about now. It would serve to mute his brain and alleviate the never ending barrage of thought and emotions warring within him.
He recalled how Pepper had protested the eardrum shattering decibels of his AC/DC songs. She had even tried to convince JARVIS to side with her and help Tony transition to “a level of noise normal people listened, serials Tony”.
It had worked before, the two of them were two of three members of the an alliance against Tony, hell bend on monitoring his sleep habits and food patterns, basically turning him into an experiment. Or so he complained.
They’d called it being a normal human being.
He held back the chocked noise that threatened to escape his mouth as the memories surfaced.
Pepper’s warm, soft hands on his shoulders, kneading the tension away in the rare moments when he wasn’t maddening and she wasn’t prickly.
Claps on the back and big bear hugs whenever Rhodey was around.
JARVIS’s smooth British accent as he woke Tony up every morning, rattling on about the weather.
U and Dummy’s chirps and beeps.
He’d left them. He’d just left them all there in his haste to escape.
Tony tried to sink further into the chair, fold in on himself like a map, but the restraints were too tight, a relentless reminder of just where he was and who put him there.
Willing away the panic attack, Tony filed his lungs with air, breathing in like a last gust before a big dive. His vision cleared. He lifted his head an inch or two, just to asses his guards positions.
Not that there was much point. He’d been here two days and had made no plans for escape. Or, he’d made one too many plans, all necessitating one very important resource he was lacking: outside help. There were too many guards for him to take on alone, not that he could take out even one being tied to this chair like a pig for on a roasting stick.
He was alone, utterly and completely, and in lieu of all the time he’d chosen to be by himself, the need to have someone here with him was like a drug, all encompassing and consuming, until it was all he could think about.
He must have made a noise or something, maybe let out some of the frustration and misery he’d submerged himself in, because, as the guard on his right took his turn around the room, the one standing at his twelve o’clock turned his head in his direction before looking forward again.
A cursory glance from his jailor wouldn’t normally strike him as weird. But, as those eyes turned to face the front, Tony suddenly realised something.
Blue. The eyes that had looked at him were blue.
Tony knew Rumlow’s guys, had pulled every record he could find on them as well, when he’d hacked into SI’s secured servers and dug up the Obi’s (‘Obadiah’s, damnit’) dirty laundry.
Tony wrinkled his nose at his own comparison before lifting his head to stare more at the unusual guard.
Broad shoulders stretched the tight, black, long-sleeved shirt the soldier was wearing. The black ops military vest was weighed down with a multitude of firearms and knifes, every pocket seemingly bursting with items. It looked like Tony’s drawers in the workshop. All clean and pristine until you opened them up and were swallowed by an avalanche of bolts and screw drivers.
And his torch. What he wouldn’t give for a torch right now.
Still, the curiosity in from of him engaged his brain and, although Tony could divulge title more then ‘tall, well build and probably vicious’, settled some of the nerves as the shadows in the room moved, bringing with them Obadiah’s favourite time.
Steve’s POV
It was getting dark. A little too dark to see properly, so as he took his place in front of the prisoner, Steve couldn’t help the need to turn and make sure he was there.
Not that he could escape. The ropes wound around the slim body like snakes, coiling over well soaped legs and too thin wrists.
Chin resting on his chest, the prisoner was nothing more then a dark head of curly hair as he stood unmoving in the deserted warehouse.
This whole thing sat very well with Steve, guild eating away at him, picking at his conscious, tripping over each other in their haste for his attention.
He was former military, sworn to protect his country and every man, woman and child too weak to protect themselves.
So what was he doing aiding and abetting the unlawful detainment of this kid. Because, God help him, as he’d turned around he’d laugh a glimpse of bright blue eyes, the other bruised and swollen shut, plump lips and the trace of what ones he was sure had been a stylish goatee.
Emotions tore at him, a storm threatening to crumble the wall he’d placed between himself and his mission.
But Obadiah Stane had what Steve needed, held the last chance Bucky had at survival, and, loath as Steve was to do this, he had little choice.
‘Bucky wouldn’t want this.’
Steve cringed at the thought. He knew that to be true, knew his best friend would be appalled at even the idea of Steve’s plan.
But Steve didn’t care anymore. He’d tried to find another way, tried to fight the injustice and prejudice in this world with ethics and reason.
People didn’t listen to reason. So Steve had learned to listen to them.
Obadiah Stane was the leading name in biomechanics in the world. And he’d promised Steve to expedite Bucky’s waitlisted application to the top, if Steve helped him find someone.
With little information on who the intended target was, Steve hadn’t been sure he was up for the job, but he was determined, and great brain for tactics, and was indeed, desperate enough.
Finding the guy holed up in some futuristic looking tech bunker had been no walk in the park, but a pray who didn’t cover it’s tracks deserved to be caught.
Or so Steve tried telling himself.
Now, looking at the forlorn expression and taking in the lithe body, beat up and tied to a chair, his resolve was crumbling like a wet paper bag.
What the hell was he doing? Bucky was his best friend. How was he going to be able to look him in the eyes again while knowing what he’d done to get him the help he needed?
As he swam in a pool of misery and indecisiveness of his own making, the heavy wooden doors of the warehouse’s entrance rattled before opening.
Stepping through it was the man of the hour himself.
Obadiah Stane was dressed in three piece suit, obviously expensive and glaringly out of place among the decrepit building and the soldier clad in black. Black Italian loafers sat gently on his feet, like a pair of pure bred kittens, costly and nothing more then decoration.
Still out of place for this place. Steve thought the man was making a statement. He wasn’t sure to whom, yet.
Stepping right behind him was Rumlow. The leader of the STRIKE team working for Obadiah Stane. Steve’s leader.
Officially, all of them were star employees of SI’s defence team. Unofficially, they were attack dogs. And Rumlow was the most vicious of them.
Both man made their way to the centre of the room and Steve and the rest of his fellow guards took a step back, opening up a space so Stane could pass.
“Hello again, Anthony. How are you today?”
To anyone else those words would have been a polite greeting. But Stane’s face was clouded, the grin on his mouth showing a little more teeth, the gleam in his eyes like a hunter poised to kill.
Steve felt worry spike through him. He’d never been here for one of those sessions. As soon as he’d found the guy he’d been instructed to return to his post and wait for further contact. After two days of information blackout, he’d had enough.
Using his still active pass to S’s security, he’d appropriated a uniform and snuck his way into this place.
If he didn’t he’d never find peace again.
The dark head that had previously bee slumped over the guy’s chest lifted slowly, blue gaze roaming over Stane until it found his face. Pure rage shone in those stormy depths.
If the guy was free, he would be brutal in his attack.
Steve asked himself if he was still on the side of the angles in this.
“Didn’t your lackeys update you, Obadiah? Are they slacking? Maybe you should fire them, do some of the dirty work yourself?” Anthony sneered, voice rough. Now that his head was up, Steve could see his neck and the bruise adorning his neck. It looked like someone had wrapped a hand around it and squeezed. By the deep purplish-blue, Steve could tell they hadn’t let go until the guy’s fainted.
“Is that sentimentality, Tony? Are you missing your dear godfather telling you what to do?”
Tony’s jaw clenched before he winced and Stane zeroed in on the movement, one corner of his mouth twitching into a perverted smile. Tony stayed silent, defiant in the face of Stane’s mocking.
“Nothing to say? How unusual for you, Tony. You used to take such pleasure in being the snarkiest, mouthiest little shit in a room. Did we beat the bite out of you?”
“The audience isn’t up to my standards, why waste witty quips on a bunch of low intelligence lapdogs?”
The hit came so fast, even Steve would have had a difficult time ducking. As it were, with Tony tied to the chair, he stood no chance of avoiding it. His lips, already chapped and cracked split easily under the assault. Tony’s head whipped to the side and he was unable to keep the grunt in.
Rumlow’s hand was still raised as he stepped back. Eyebrows drawn in and mouth in a frown, he lowered his arm, resting it on his sidearm again, nothing giving away the attack he’d launched.
Steve marvelled at how easily cruelty could be kept hidden. Eyeing the chair subtly, trying not to give himself away, he followed the swipe of a pink tongue as the guy licked the blood off his lips. He whimpered a little, spit tuning into acid on his abused mouth.
And then he laughed. It wasn’t pleasant, or happy, or even cruel. Just raw, unrestrainedness and taunting.
“So brave your toys are, Obi. They have to tie me up to beat me. Am I really such a threat?”
“You’re a means to an end, Tony. A golden goose that still has a few eggs to give me. As for them tying you up - the don’t need to, but you look so good held down, Tony. I just let them have their fun. I’m sure they enjoy smacking you around after all the trouble you’ve caused them.”
Steve wondered what Tony could have done to deserve this.
He refused to ask IF it was deserved. He was already trembling with the force of holding back.
Ever since he was a little boy, and he’d been really little, all boney and thin, Steve Rogers had stood up against bullies. The reason didn’t matter. The victim didn’t matter. All that mattered to the small Brooklynite with the smart mouth was protecting the weak against the string. Even if it meant becoming a walking bruise and Bucky having to bail him out 8 out of 10 times. And that’s only because someone else had stepped in the other 2.
To stand still while someone took this amount of abuse atop marks of pervious assault was causing little Steve rogers to rage against the confines of his brain, banging on doors and screaming himself hoarse.
“They have yet to get anything from me, though.” Tony said, satisfaction colouring every syllable.
Down in the gutter but looking at the stars, Steve had once heard. They used to say that about him.
Now he supposed someone else owned up to it.
“They will,” Stane said, conviction strong in his voice and his body. He stepped up to the the chair, now only a foot or less away form his prisoner. “They will take everything you have and bury it, Tony. They will break you and when they do, I’ll come back to put you back together. Oh, you’ll be so pleased, so happy to be away form the pain you’ll be begging to work for me again. You’re a spoiled brat, born with a golden spoon and pampered. Your will is not strong. Your old man used to say Stark man were made of iron, right? We both know he never meant you. Tony. You were nothing to him, a disappointment, an embarrassment. Forget the past and let’s make the future easier on each other?”
Anthony. Tony. Stark.
Tony freakin’ Stark.
Steve ran the name a few more times in his head until he could make himself believe it.
The child prodigy that whose parents were lost in a car accident a few years ago. He remembered the articles, news reports, wakes for the lost of a genius industrialist Howard Stark. Had read all about his wayward funk of a son who refused to go to his parents funeral, too bitter and too wasted.
Now he wondered if any of that was true. If this child (he remembered Tony’s age to be about 16 when the accident happened) hadn’t been trapped all this time with no means to escape the cruel tyranny of the only person left to take care of him.
Did fate have so little regard for the suffering of others? Didn’t Tony deserve a break.
Bile rose up in his throat and he could taste it on his tongue. His stomach roiled at the thought that he had been a wiling part of life’s cruelty as well.
Silence stretched thick and deafening, like the world was submerged in water. For a second, Steve implored Tony to reconsider. To end this punishment.
Then he remembered the stubbornness, in those blue eyes, darker then his own but no less hardheaded.
“I will never invent another thing for you. I will never let my creations to be used against out country just so you can make a buck. I will never advance your tech or work on any biomechanics or prototypes for you, Stane. You’ll just have to kill me.”
Blood flooded Stane’s face but as Rumlow took a step to deal out punishment again, Stane’s hand came up, fingers pointing straight up in a users sign to stop.
Good thing, too, because Steve was hanging on a very steep precipice, poised to jump off at any moment.
Stane had lied to him. He might have had the money to pay for Bucky’s operation and the complicated procedure to attach a biomechanics arm to replace the one his fiend had lost in combat. But without Tony there was nothing. That’s why he’d been so desperate to involve Steve.
That’s also why he’d tried to keep Steve away form this place. Because he knew once Steve learned the truth, he’d be pissed.
And he was right.
“No killing you yet, Tony. You know what, tonight I’m not even going to have them do any more convincing,” Stane said making the last word sound better then it was.
Tony’s eyebrows jumped until they almost touched his hairline. Then, he frowned, bracing for the next blow, for the lie, for the fib.
By the widening of his eyes and the fear that leaked into his face like water form a broken dam, a second hit would have been more welcome.
“No, I think tonight I’m going to go visit Pepper. See how she’d doing. Don’t look at me like that, boy. You’re the one that got her involved. I would have preferred that she lived.”
The threat settled like concrete in the air and Tony’s shoulders slumped. He trashed wildly against the rope, chair scraping against the stone floor. Obadiah turned his back to the Tony, taking his leave knowing he’d won this round if Tony’s livid struggles and curses were to be an indication.
Who ever Pepper was, Steve hoped she was long gone by now.
He asked himself, one more time, what the hell he’d gotten mixed up into where people talked about murder so freely.
As the doors to the warehouse closed and his fellow soldier took their places back around the chair, Steve had to do a double take. He could have sworn he saw a small, triumphant smirk grace Tony’s face.
It was a stark contrast against the black and blue of the bruises as well as the blood tickling does from his still torn lip, but it was there.
Stane might have left here believing he had the upper hand. But, Steve thought, as he took his place in front of Tony to start his watch again, Tony might just have a few aces up his sleeve.
And he might not be as alone as he thought.
Steve wondered, as he took in the layout of the room and his measure against the three other guards, if he couldn’t go back to the side of the angels after all.
His new mission will begin soon. He’d wronged Tony Stark in ways he couldn’t yet comprehend and even if the guy himself didn’t know it, Steve would make sure to atone for his sins.
After he let Bucky yell at him for a while for getting involved in yet another sticky situation.
Tires scraped out gravel as a van sped away from the warehouse.
Get to work, Rogers.
Tony’s POV
Tony slumped back into his chair, feeling his heart beat increase, like a hummingbird’s.
He tried to reason, to assure himself that Pepper was OK, she’d been warned, hidden away in preparation for this exact scenario.
Still, the nagging worry circled around in his head like a bird, unwilling to rest for even a second.
Rhodey was with her, he’ll keep her safe.
Although it still felt like putting a bandaid over a deep gash, the thought soothed him somewhat. He trusted Rhodey with everything he was.
His hands were still clenched though, tension coiling his body even when his mind was finding peace. He had avoided a beating and Obadiah was never going to find Pepper.
He had at least another 24 hours to come up with a plan. Obadiah was a stickler for schedules, he wouldn’t visit twice in one night, especially not until he thought he had gotten the leverage he needed to finally break Tony.
Ostensibly a long time, Tony still couldn’t see a way out.
The sound of something thick sonf heavy hitting the ground reverberated around the room. Tony nearly toppled off the chair in his haste to see what was happening.
A black costumed body lay on the floor a few feet from Tony, disarmed and clearly unconscious.
Before any of the other two soldiers could react, their colleague had taken the cement of surprise to his full advantage.
He charged at the first one, body slamming him with such force he was hurtled into the second, who didn’t even have time to take out his side arm. The guy attacking his comrades slammed his first into the closest guy’s head, and with a fleshy thump, the guy was out like a light.
They were on equal ground now, but the second guy had managed to wrestle form under the first and was aiming his gun at the attacker. Before he could shoot, however, the attacker sank to one knee, taking hold of a round slab of metal and hurtled it at the guy. His aim was true and the gun was out of play.
Using the confusion, Attacker Guy rushed forward, brought up his knee and slammed it into the chest of the last guy standing. Not for long, though, as the hit slammed his back into one of the steel pillars littering the space.
He was out, too.
Tony looked around, three freshly knocked out bodies spread around him. His gaze flickered to the trip one. As if sensing eyes on him, Attacker Guy turned his face in Tony’s direction.
Blue eyes.
The new guy then.
Tony stayed silent, waiting out the guy’s next move. When he headed for Tony, his body grew rigid. The guy had knocked out the rest of the merry band of lapdogs, but it didn’t mean he was good. In fact this whole thing could be a cruel test form Obadiah, give Tony hope of escape only to recapture him and use it to break him further.
Tony could handle a lot out of spite, but even he’d have a hard time recovering form such a cruel trick.
Attacker guy took out a knife from a holster on his hip. Melting the distance between them with a few wide strides, he let the knife do a quick work of the ropes, setting Tony free.
Tony was still calculating the possibility of this being a trick. Didn’t mean he couldn’t buy himself time or ty to take advantage of the situation.
“So now what?” He asked because he was an idiot who had a hard time taking things at face value and had yet to grasp the concept of ‘in over your head’.
“Now we run.”
Oh, the timbre, the baritone, the cruelty.
In another life, under different circumstances, Tony would be melting. As it were, he was cursing all bad guys and their proclivity to be handsome and badass.
Exactly Tony’s type.
Tony also knew he had a very bad taste in men. Pepper had said so, and Pepper was always right.
“Excuse me for being unwilling to follow a guy who was my jailer until a minute ago? Why are you doing this? Who are you? If you think I’ll fall for some trick where you pretend to help me escape so I can incur additional punishment or be laughed at for failing…”
“No, no, I swear, this is not a trick.”
Let’s assess the situation.
Number one - the guy was terribly rude to interrupt Tony in the middle of his rant.
Number two - he also sounded sincere. And Tony would know after all the phoney pleasantries the last few days where someone would smile at him just to dunk his head back under water.
“Swear to someone else. I’m not trusting you. Who are you, anyway?”
“Steve. Steve Rogers.” The guy, Steve, introduced himself and grew quiet, as if his name was supposed to mean something to Tony.
Silence grew for an uncomfortable minute. Steve broke first, like Tony knew he would.
“No, nothing? I work security at SI.”
“Bang up job, soldier.” Tony scoffed. Ok, so maybe he was a little shit. Sue him.
Red bloomed across Steve’s cheeks like a rose, spreading down his face to his neck and ears.
Belatedly, Tony realised Steve’s was was off and he was, in fact, looking at his entire face.
High cheekbones. Straight nose. A row of perfect white teeth.
Why did nature give so much to the bad guys?
“I’m not a bad guy.” Steve commented, his voice taking on an edge. Tony realised that he’d said that last thing out loud, and would have been embarrassed if he had the strength to care.
“Not form where I’m standing, Steveroo. Seem like a bad guy to me, helping to kidnap and torture someone.”
His words had the desired effect and Steve sagged into himself more. He recovered quickly, though, because next thing Tony knew, he was being grabbed by the hand and dragged toward the exit.
They were going out through the front?
As if reading his thoughts, Steve stopped abruptly, nearly causing Tony to crash into his back. His hand ended up braced on Steve’s shoulder. Before he could push himself back, Steve was invading his space, face uncomfortably close.
Or was that comfortably?
“Look, I know you don’t have a reason to trust me. I helped find you, I stood guard while someone beat you up. But I promise you, this wasn’t what I signed up for. And I will make it right. Just come with me, let me take you far away form here and then you can go. Wherever you want, and you’ll never see me again.”
Blue clashed with blue and Tony wanted, desperately, to believe. To place his trust in someone and have it rewarded, like it happened for so many other people.
Was he not deserving of it?
He supposed he’d find out as he nodded his assent and followed the soldier out of the doors.
He’d been given a chance where one seemed beyond reach and he was not going to waste it.
And if the light that shone in Steve’s eyes as Tony had agreed to (temporarily) trust him had anything to do with the surge of his pulse, Tony chose to ignore it.
He had a wicked godfather to beat. Then he’d deal with the soldier.