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Chapter Text

It was a bright and sunny day in the heart of the Afghan desert, one with not a single cloud in the sky. In this dry and arid landscape, the only sound to be heard was the whisper of the wind as it blew sand across the tops of the innumerable dunes. 

But then, the wilderness’ peace was shattered by a booming crack. Off in the desolate mountain range barely visible on the northern horizon, some kind of explosion had occurred. The flare could be seen from miles away, as well as the smoky trail that shot upwards into the sky in the explosion’s aftermath.

The unexpected sound had startled a pair of lizards, who emerged from the safety of their rocky burrow to investigate. These tiny creatures were the only apparent observers as the trail which had erupted from the explosion’s site changed.  It faded and grew intermittent; before vanishing altogether just as it reached its apex.

After a moment, however, something else marred the clear blue sky. This time, it began a tiny – barely visible – speck high overhead. The speck grew rapidly, eventually resolving into a roughly human-shaped figure falling rapidly downwards towards the desert.

A whistling became audible; caused by air rushing past the falling object. It grew louder even as the figure finally reached the sand-strewn surface. Slamming into the side of a nearby dune, the mysterious object sent a massive plume of debris out in all directions.

From his place inside of the mystery object at the center of the impact crater, Anthony Edward Stark, the newly escaped former hostage of the Ten Rings, let out a pained groan.

Slamming into the solid earth at high speed was definitely not a pleasant experience, regardless of the protection around his body. His bastardized armor – originally shaped in a roughly human form – had borne the brunt of the impact, or he would likely have died. Still, he didn’t entirely avoid injury from the fall. Bruises and scrapes were likely, especially around where his chest was still compromised from the open-heart surgery that had saved his life.

After several months of near-constant pain, though, Tony had become a pro at pushing through the debilitation of intense physical discomfort. He never would have survived his time with the Ten Rings otherwise. Sucking in a breath of smoky air with a cough, Tony pulled his arms out of the armor’s upper appendages and brought them into the construct’s torso.

Many of the mechanical supports – whether welds or bolts – used in the armor’s assembly, had been damaged by the combination of extreme heat and hard impact with the ground. Now, all Tony had to do to free himself from his destroyed creation was to apply a bit of torque.

Using the armor’s shoulder joints as leverage, Tony oriented his palms in opposite directions. Then he braced his hips against the armor’s waist and twisted his upper body sharply.

Once… twice… three times.

The tortured metal gave with a high pitched groan. Sand began to pour into the opening at Tony’s waist as the last remaining supports snapped and the upper part of the armor began to rotate.

With a slight change of position, Tony was able to readjust his leverage. Now he pushed up. The armor split apart like a plastic Easter egg. As sand poured into the openings in the armor, gravity and the fact that Tony had landed on an incline came to his aid. The additional weight dragged the ‘legs’ of the armor downwards, even as Tony squirmed upwards.

Good thing I designed that feature… Tony thought as he worked his way out. I would have been trapped in here otherwise.

After all, the tools that Tony and his former companion and fellow prisoner – Ho Yinsen – had used in constructing his armor were not around. No, presumably they had been destroyed during the escape and ensuing firefight. And of course, even if they had survived, they were now miles away. So Tony was limited to the ‘basics’ in managing his extraction.

Eventually, though, his efforts paid off. The gap between the two parts of the suit grew wide enough to allow Tony’s evacuation from its protective embrace. Pushing through the pain, he contorted his body and pushed free. 

---

Taking his first breath of un-contaminated air, Tony gasped at the influx of much-needed oxygen to his desperate lungs. A hot metal enclosure isn't exactly the best air exchanger in the world, he mused. Then he snorted, and added, no duh.

His wry amusement only lasted a moment, though.

All too quickly, Tony’s mood changed. His heavy gasps became wrenching sobs as the anger and focus that had sustained him died out. Now, he had nothing to distract from the memory of recent events.

Yinsen.

The older man’s death during the escape had been a spike to Tony’s heart. Intellectually, he knew that their apparent close connection over the last several months was artificial, a consequence of shared pain through imprisonment and torture. Learning the truth of the man’s long dead family was evidence of that fact.

Still, he couldn't help but mourn the loss. Yinsen had been the reason that Tony had survived the worst months of his life. Life-threatening injuries and torture aside, life in the Afghan caves was tough. It was only through a massive amount of disassociation and drive that he'd survived.

And this was just another challenge. He wouldn’t let an emotional breakdown stop him, not when he was so close…

Working through his sobs, Tony began to pull the shattered armor apart. One piece at a time, he demolished his work, tossing the pieces out as far as he could manage in his weakened condition.

No one else deserves to see Yinsen’s final project; especially not our captors. Not if I can help it.

Eventually, though, the emotional fit passed. Taking one final deep breath, the genius engineer shook off his oppressive grief. Focus on the present, Tony, he thought. Dwelling won’t help you survive this.  

--

Tony and the armor had fallen into a depression between two sand dunes. From that vantage, all that he could see was an ocean of sand and the clear blue skies overhead

So, the first thing that Tony needed to do was to get oriented.

Climbing to his feet, he clumsily made his way up the nearest crest. Ascending the shifting surface wasn’t easy. Sand displacement constantly pushed Tony down, forcing him to retrace his steps multiple times.

 Eventually, though, he did manage to reach the dune's summit. With the benefit of the additional height, Tony could now see the distant mountain range from whence he had come. On one peak, residual smoke from the site of his former prison could still be seen.

Turning and looking in the opposite direction, Tony caught a glint of what looked like water.

It’s probably a mirage, he thought. Still, it is a destination.

Placing his back to the mountains, Tony began to walk.

---

In this land, the sun is a merciless foe; more deadly than the greatest of fighters.

The memory of Yinsen's words echoed in Tony's mind as he moved. At first, the heat had been a welcome change from the pervasive cold of the cave, but now it was beginning to grow uncomfortable. With a muffled groan – his stressed muscles protesting against the movement – Tony pulled his stiff jacket off of his back. The jacket had been protection, cushioning, against the hard sides and sharp edges of the armor. Now it was just an additional layer of fabric; one that would only make the heat from the sun worse.

He left his bottom layer – a thin, long-sleeved t-shirt – on to protect both his pale skin and the arc reactor from the sun's rays. Meanwhile, he placed the jacket over his head, using the garment's arms to tie it in a turban-like shape atop his skull.

Doubtless, he looked ridiculous, but at that moment he simply didn't care. Survival was all…

As he finished assembling his ‘turban', Tony noticed a small oblong object tucked inside one of the jacket's inner pockets. Curious, he pulled it out. Once in Tony's hand, it was easy to recognize as a simple USB stick; metallic and unobtrusive.

Looking at the device jogged Tony’s memory, reminding him of a conversation that he’d had a few weeks ago.

---

"What's that?" Tony asked, glancing over at the ancient machine where Yinsen worked. A remnant of the '90s, the computer which they had been given was barely even capable of running the basic programming that they needed for their work. And of course, it definitely didn't connect to the internet.

He had seen the older man writing on the word processor before, a log of some kind. From what Tony could see from his seat, the document wasn’t written in English or any other familiar language. Given Yinsen’s fluency as a linguist, it wasn’t inconceivable, merely an irritation for a curious mind.

“It is nothing, Tony Stark, merely a record.”

“A record, huh?”

“Of the things that I have seen, that I have heard; what goes on in this place.”

Tony frowned, “and me, am I in your little record?”

“Nothing that you have spoken of in confidence, I assure you,” Yinsen replied, voice dry as dust as he pulled his sweater closer against the cave’s chill. “Merely a record of our captivity and our appalling treatment during said period. Also a listing of all that they possess.”

“Aaah,” Tony replied, “you’re a spy, then.”

Yinsen froze for a moment before continuing the conversation, but Tony was paying attention and caught the flinch. “Spy is such a common term. I much prefer procurer of information.”

His tone clearly indicated that this was not a topic which he wanted to continue discussing.

Fine, Tony thought as he nodded. I can accept that… for now.

He turned back to his soldering, leaving Yinsen to his ‘log’.

---

An unexpected rock in his path caused Tony to stumble, nearly sliding off the crest of the current dune. It was a meandering path that he walked, following the ridgelines. He’d rather move in a straight line, but that was not practical. Instead, he was forced to weave back and forth, making slow progress in his movement away from the crags.

With his physical injuries and the heat of the desert, Tony’s sense of time had become entirely unreliable. It felt like an age since he had begun to walk, and yet, when he looked back the mountains seemed no further away than at the start.  

Tony's body ached from myriad cuts and bruises caused by the fight with, and escape from, the Ten Rings encampment. His lips and throat were cracked and parched from lack of water. The skin under his eyes was dark from lack of sleep. In short, he was a mess.

Still, he was determined to keep walking for as long as his body would hold out. He refused to let the desert beat him, not when he had survived the Ten Rings.

The sun blazed high overhead while Tony walked onward; one foot in front of the other.

---

“How did you end up here?” Tony asked absently, his mind mostly focused on the finicky work in front of him.

“I… my family come from a location near to this place, a small town called Gulmira. You have seen my skills, the Ten Rings thought I would be useful, so…” Yinsen’s voice trailed off; leaving Tony’s mind to fill in what went unsaid.  Yinsen lifted his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose absently.

“Life in this place, it is not easy. My people, we are used by so many. The Ten Rings are merely the latest in a long line of conquerors.”

 “And that’s why you write?”

“Yes. Perhaps if I can make enough of an impression, it will be enough to make those in power want to protect my people.”

Tony hummed, understanding Yinsen’s motivation even if he thought the man idealistic at best. From his extensive experience with the US military and government, he knew that those institutions would take without giving proper recompense unless someone in a position of power forced them to do so. This was especially true with native populations in areas of conflict.

Still, if they did escape, maybe Tony could provide the leverage that Yinsen needed to help his people. It would be appropriate payment for the help that the other man had given him.

“That is a noble idea, Yins-y. Heh, Yins-y, I sound like the guys from the plant in Pittsburgh when dad took me on a tour there as a kid… But sometimes noble ideas are not enough.” Tony patted the older man’s back lightly. “Maybe, when we get out of here, I can help.”

“That is a most generous offer, friend Stark,” Yinsen replied.

"Not at all," Tony said, trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. "After all," he waved his arms, "I'm Tony Goddamn Stark – Billionaire, Playboy, American Royalty!" He threw Yinsen his patented media smile, hamming it up for an imaginary audience.

With the ease of – now – habit, Yinsen ignored Tony’s antics, focusing instead on the thought behind the younger man’s words.

“Still, I thank you.” Yinsen offered his hand, and Tony, dropping the act, gave it a decisive shake.

“Then we have a deal.”

---

Now Yinsen was gone, his grand ideals rendered null by his meaningless death in the caves. But Tony remained, and if he could just get home, he could make Yinsen’s sacrifice worth something.

---

Thwap, Thwap. Thwap.

The barely audible sound of an approaching helicopter impinged upon Tony’s consciousness. At first, the exhausted man dismissed it as a hallucination; brought on by his overheated, exhausted mind. But then, instead of disappearing, the sound became louder and more distinct.

Could it be? Tony thought. Almost involuntarily, he began to hope. At that moment, Tony didn't care who was coming. All he knew was that he couldn't survive out here for much longer. He had to get out of the merciless desert.

Shouldering the last of his waning energy, Tony raised his arms above his head. Waving them as well as he could, he tried to signal the as yet unseen chopper. He could only hope that his efforts were enough to grab their attention.

Remember, Anthony Stark. This is your life. Live it for yourself, and not for anyone else. Yinsen’s words echoed in Tony’s ears as he collapsed against the side of a dune, his energy now completely spent. He had nothing left.

---

After what seemed like no more than the time it took to blink twice, the gusts of wind from the helicopter’s landing began to buffet Tony’s collapsed frame.

To be fair, Tony found himself thinking absently as he winced at the sand blowing over him; it had probably taken more than that for the helicopter to arrive. I just missed it.

A moment later, he began to catch hints of human voices overlaying the chopper’s mechanical sounds.

“Oh… My God, it’s him!”

The words were English, English with an American accent; the familiar sounds music to Tony’s ears.

He sighed, allowing the muscles that had begun to tense up to relax once more. In less than a minute, the owners of the voices reached his side. A shadow fell over Tony’s face. Someone stood over him, blocking out the rays of the merciless sun.

“So. How was the fun-vee?”

Despite their positions preventing him from reading his friend’s face, Rhodey’s dry tone was just what Tony needed to hear. Letting out a sigh, his lips turned up in an involuntary smile before he surrendered to the exhaustion that swamped him and fell back. He was saved.

---

As the soldiers that accompanied Rhodey loaded him onto a stretcher, Tony grabbed his friend’s hand.

“Don’t let them take it out,” he insisted, placing the other man’s hand over the reactor in his chest.

“What-?”

“It’s necessary.”

“Tony, what are you-“ Rhodey began, and then interrupted himself, “Never mind. Rest, Tones, I’ll make sure that it stays there.”

He’s just saying that to humor me, Tony thought. Still, he knew that his old friend would do his best to live up to his promise. With that thought in mind, Tony accepted the encroaching blackness that he’d been holding off by sheer will.

We did it, Yinsen, was his last thought for a long time.

Chapter Text

The noise of the chopper's rotors ramping up in preparation for the flight was a comforting backdrop as Colonel James ‘Rhodey' Rhodes re-settled himself in the co-pilot's seat. From his place at the front of the copter, he could no longer see the stretcher which held Tony's unconscious form.

Despite the younger man being unconscious and out of his line of sight, James couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

Tony was alive!

It had been over three months since the attack on the convoy which had led to Tony’s kidnapping, and – in all honesty – James had nearly given up hope of ever finding him.

---

“Colonel Rhodes.”

“Sir.” James stood straight, holding himself in formal parade stance he came to stand in front of the desk.

“Have a seat, Colonel. You’re giving me a crick in the neck standing there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

James did his best to hold his composure as he took a seat across from his base commander. Having been under the man’s authority for the past three months, he had a great deal of respect for the General’s skills as an officer. Still, there was only one reason for him to be summoned to the older man’s office at this time of day. Something had changed – something to do with the hunt for Tony Stark.

“At ease, Rhodes, you’re not in trouble here.”

Despite his tension, James did his best to relax his shoulders in obedience to the order. Looking across the desk, he could see that his companion was somber but not stressed.

“As you are no doubt well aware, it has now been just over ninety days since Mister Stark’s convoy was attacked while returning to base from the demonstration site. The last viable intelligence gathered came from the bodies of those assailants who our people managed to take out before they were overwhelmed. Our analysts determined that the attackers were affiliated with a local terrorist group – possibly the Ten Rings – but nothing beyond that fact.”

“Since then, our information gathering efforts have been less than successful. We still have yet to identify exactly who ordered the attack and possible kidnapping. In fact, there has been no communication at all on that front. No ransom note, no claiming credit, nothing to even hint that Mister Stark is still in the land of the living.”

“I understand that sir, but-“

James was interrupted before he could finish speaking.

"I'm not finished yet, Colonel. Now, my superiors in the United States Armed Forces have allowed this search, extensive consumption of resources and manpower, to continue for an impressive amount of time. Their reasons for doing so were extensive.  For one, retrieving kidnapped citizens is a part of our mandate. Besides, Stark Industries has a long-standing professional relationship with the US Military, one which we would like to continue."

“However, we cannot afford to waste resources forever. Stark Industries’ Board has recently informed the brass that they are getting pressure to have Mister Stark officially declared dead. With their CEO missing-in-action, certain high-level decisions simply cannot be completed. Their company bylaws are set such that the CEO’s formal approval is required for the business to move forward.”

The General offered James a sympathetic look as he continued.

“Thus, I have been ordered to cease our primary efforts in searching for Mister Stark. Our HumInt resources will continue to search, but their efforts will be directed towards identifying Mister Stark’s possible fate. They will operate under the assumption that he is likely no longer in the land of the living.”

“Sir.” James’ did his best to maintain a poker face, but he knew that any attempt to speak would reveal his true feelings. Clearly, his efforts at disguising his emotions were a failure, or his superior understood his dilemma, for he continued speaking as if James hadn't interrupted.

“Given your long-standing relationship with Stark Industries in general and Mister Stark in particular, it is understandable that you may be reluctant to accept this decision. So, I have made certain arrangements that you may be interested in accepting.”

“From your reputation, and from what I have seen over the past three months, I know you to be an excellent officer. Indeed, I am happy to have you under my command, despite the reasons for your presence. With our mandate here in Afghanistan, we could certainly use a pilot of your caliber in our patrol roster.”

“Thus, I have put in a request for you to be assigned to my base’s fighter division. While you will be expected to take on the position’s customary responsibilities, including regular patrol flights, you may also continue a personal search for your friend during your leisure time.”

“Sir, -“

James was inclined to immediately accept the older man’s offer immediately, but the General held up a hand to prevent such a response.

“Don’t give me a response right away, Colonel. Take the afternoon to think about it first. If you’re going to be under my command, I need you to take the job seriously. You cannot neglect your duties to your fellow servicemen in your desire to find your friend. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Good. Now, take the rest of the afternoon off. I expect you in my office first thing tomorrow morning with an answer.”

With that, the General picked up a document from his cluttered desk and began to read. Recognizing that the interview was at an end, James climbed to his feet to leave.

As he opened the office door, he glanced back at his superior. “Thank you for your candor, sir, as well as the offer. I know that you must have pulled some strings to make it possible.”

Then he turned and strode out, nodding absently at the officer’s assistant as he passed the man’s desk on his way.

--

Several hours after leaving the General’s office, James found himself in another depressing conversation. This time, it wasn’t a face-to-face meeting. Instead, James was in one of the cubicles in the Afghanistan Forward Operations Base’s communications building. Using one of the Base’s dedicated secure lines, he had reached out to Tony’s mentor Obadiah Stane.

While he did trust the base commander, he needed further confirmation of the man’s words. As Chairman of SI’s board and the company’s former CEO, Stane would know exactly what was going on with Stark Industries.

---

"I am afraid that your superior's words were correct, Colonel Rhodes. While I do not want to give up on Tony any more than you do, I am afraid that the shareholders disagree. We've already taken a hit to our business because of Tony's absence; if we don't move forward now the damage to the company may be catastrophic. Now, the lawyers tell me that there is a way to handle things that will allow for a reversal if our assumptions are proven incorrect and Tony is recovered alive. I swear that I personally will not believe that Tony is dead until I see his body. In fact, I have personally pledged funds to pay for the limited search that the military is continuing."

James sighed and nodded. "Thank you for that, Mister Stane. I know that Tony has always relied on you, especially after his parents' death, and I can do nothing less."

“Indeed, and you can call me Obadiah, Colonel Rhodes.”

“I am James, then, I suppose, sir. Will I be remaining SI’s military liaison with the transition?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Stane – Obadiah’s – smile was avuncular as he nodded at James.

“Now, pardon me if the question is inappropriate, but what are you intending to do about your commander’s offer?”

“No, no. If I’m still the SI liaison you need to know. I will be accepting it; with the understanding that it is a short term position up for re-negotiation should things change.”

Obadiah’s face grew distracted as he glanced at something just off the screen.

“Good. I will keep the Board informed. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting in a minute,” he said genially.

“Of course. Have a good day, Mister Stane – Obadiah.”

 “You as well.”

With that, the screen went black.

---

Obadiah would be thrilled to hear that his careful arrangement with SI’s lawyers would be needed. Tony Stark could now officially be brought back from the dead.

Still, James knew that the adjustment would not be easy. After all, Tony had been gone – presumably held captive given the circumstances of his recovery – for an extensive period of time.

Besides, being a Prisoner-Of-War was not something that one could simply brush off. James had known fellow soldiers who spent time in captivity. All of them were irrevocably altered by their experiences, though the level of change varied. And those were trained men.

As a civilian, Tony had never had such training. James could only hope that his friend would be able to recover, both physically and mentally. Regardless, he would be there for Tony, no matter what.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Tony’s arrival at the Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany.  Despite the short time, he was already sick having to explain the Arc Reactor embedded in his chest. Every single time he had a medical visitor he was forced to go through the same exact spiel.

I mean, Tony thought, how hard was it to understand?

I have an electromagnet powered by an experimental energy source embedded in my sternum. Its job is to keep the shrapnel in my chest – which came from one of my own missiles, by the way – from reaching my heart and killing me.

But no… it was all…

“Why did you get open heart surgery in an Afghan cave?”

"Hmm… let me think… because otherwise, I would have died."

Or…

“How could you trust some random ‘doctor’ to perform such a risky procedure?”

“Well, golly, I was kind of unconscious and dying… and a prisoner of terrorists. I didn’t exactly sign an informed consent form here.”

Or… and this was his favorite response…

“But why would you put an experimental energy source in your body?”

"Um… because otherwise, I would never have been able to escape. It's not like I could take out the terrorists with a car battery strapped to my chest."

Morons.

 ---

It really was much easier when the doctors focused on the multitude of other injuries that he had sustained. Between his torture, the cold cave, the firefight and finally his desert walk, Tony's body was a mess. Not only was he suffering from dehydration, heat-stroke, and second-degree sunburns, but the flesh around the arc reactor was infected.  His brief flight had also given him bone-deep bruises and a cracked collarbone. To make matters worse, the waterboarding and the chilly conditions in the caves had left Tony with a case of walking pneumonia.

He had been both amused and appalled when one of his doctors proposed doing an MRI on his chest to evaluate his lung function.

Really, magnetic imaging on a man with a metal object embedded in his sternum keeping him alive. That makes perfect sense… Idiot.

Fortunately, not only was that moron shot down immediately by his peers; but he was then promptly removed from Tony’s case.

---

For now, Tony was trapped in a hospital bed in Germany. His case of walking pneumonia – made worse by compromised lung function – would take some time before it reached the point where further travel was advised.

So there Tony sat, bored out of his mind. Even the television on the wall couldn't distract him for long. It was almost all in German. Even if it wasn't, the television content was of little interest to the injured billionaire.

Tony had requested his friend Rhodey, who’d accompanied him to Germany, to bring him a computer as a distraction.

But no, the traitor had refused, saying: “You need to focus on getting well, Tones.”

“Rhodey… Honey Bear…” Tony had given the older man his best puppy dog eyes, but the grump had stood his ground and refused to budge.

"Fine," Tony had huffed, crossing his arms and conceded – for now. He'd just have to try again later or find another strategy.

---

Tony’s disgruntled musings were interrupted by a knock on the door to his hospital room. He didn’t bother responding. He knew whoever it was would come in anyways.

Sure enough, after a moment, it opened and a woman walked through. Dressed in mint green scrubs, at first glance the woman who entered looked like yet another nurse. Though, admittedly, this one was younger and much more beautiful than his normal attendants. Given her dark skin and beautiful thick hair up in some kind of complicated braid… thing, Tony would bet that she had Central African heritage.

Watching as she walked over to pick up his chart, Tony’s close examinations of her figure - What, it was just appreciation of a beautiful woman! He’d been without such sights for months of late, after all.  -  altered his opinion.

His first impression had clearly been a bit off the mark.

For one, the scrubs that the woman wore were the wrong size, as they fit awkwardly on her elegant frame. Besides, she was evidently unaccustomed to such garb.  Her movements also more closely resembled that of a dancer than a medical professional who worked long shifts on her feet. She walked on the balls of her feet, ready for quick movement, instead of remaining flat footed to minimize energy consumption.

Sure enough, once she had the chart in hand, the faux nurse didn’t follow the normal procedure. Instead, she looked up and met his eyes directly – capturing his gaze with intent.

"Mister Stark, I apologize for the intrusion, but I simply must speak to you. I know that you are recovering from a no-doubt horrible experience, but…" she hesitated for a moment and then continued. "... You are my only hope."

Tony raised a single eyebrow but didn't otherwise interrupt. He didn't want the encounter to end. After all, this was better entertainment than he'd seen in days.

“My name is Mercy Mthosi. My cousin, who works here, mentioned that you were in treatment after having escaped from the Ten Rings.”

Tony tensed, hoping that this wasn’t another attempt to get an ‘exclusive interview’. It wouldn’t be the first time that the press used a beautiful woman as a foil. The blonde from right before he left for Afghanistan – Carrie? – was a recent example of that strategy.

Well, if that was the case it wasn’t gonna work. Not this time. The story of Yinsen’s life and death is not some journalist’s prize.

While he was momentarily distracted, his visitor had continued speaking. “… I have never managed to find anyone who has escaped from one of the Ten Rings’ Afghan compounds before. I am not a reporter, and I am not looking for information about your time in captivity. I am only looking for the answer to one question. Did you see any women in the camp while you were there?”

The question came as a surprise.

Women? As if. Tony snorted. No woman would be stupid enough to voluntarily spend time around that bunch of savages.

But that thought triggered another.

What if the women weren’t there voluntarily?

“Human trafficking?” He asked, uncertain.

Mercy nodded. "I work for an organization that tracks the trafficking of women across the world. My focus is on those taken from Central and Southern African nations. From our research, we've found that certain branches of the Ten Rings act as a clearinghouse for all manner of illegal activity in that region, including human trafficking. They don't necessarily capture the girls, but they do move them."

That explains the accent. She must be from one of those nations. South Africa, maybe? She seems well educated.  

Tony shook his head. “I don’t recall seeing any women, directly. However, I was kept pretty tightly locked up and the camp where I was kept was fairly small and focused on the military side of things.”

He paused for a moment and then mentally shrugged. The distraction was better than sitting there being bored.

And besides, he thought, Yinsen did mention a few things while we were together.

“Would you be willing to tell me more about what you’ve learned? If we pool our knowledge it could reveal things otherwise buried in my subconscious.”

She hesitated, obviously weighing the pros and cons, and then looked down at her costume.

“I might be caught if I stay for too long,” she said, raising a single eyebrow. “But I suppose we could talk for a bit.”

---

For Tony, the discussion with Mercy proved educational, and an excellent distraction from his own depressing circumstances.

The pair ended up talking for hours; going from the Ten Rings’ operation and extending further into a general discussion of human trafficking and terrorist organizations. From there the conversation turned to the multitude of challenges that those from the developing world, and especially Africa and the Middle East, faced on a daily basis.

Tony’s initial impression of Mercy’s educational background had proved correct, as she easily kept up with him when the conversation jumped between topics. In some ways, the conversation reminded Tony of the hours in the Afghan cave as he and Yinsen did their best to keep themselves distracted from their current state.

Though, Tony couldn’t help thinking, she offers a much more attractive face to admire than Yinsen’s ugly mug.

---

At Tony’s behest, the conversation that they enjoyed was only the first of several visits from the African beauty. Mercy managed to sneak in several more times over the next few weeks. Each time she stayed several hours, discussing a wide variety of topics, and updating Tony on what he had missed during his captivity. Her visits also came with certain ‘presents’, as she brought both non-hospital food and reading materials to keep Tony busy after she left.

Somehow she always managed to evade the notice of both the hospital staff and the military ‘watchers' who had been assigned to him. They had even managed to trick Rhodey when on one occasion he stopped by during her visit.

“Tony,” he had said when he realized that there was someone else present in the room, and a beautiful woman at that. “Stop flirting with your nurses and let them do their job.”

After she had left the room he had added in an aside, “not that I blame you for trying. She’s gorgeous.”

Oh, Honey Bear, you have no idea. Tony thought as he smirked as if in agreement with Rhodey’s aside. Mercy is far more than just a pretty face.

---

Thinking of that incident made Tony grin yet again.

By now, he was pretty sure that Mercy was more than just an aid worker. No simple aid worker would be so proficient at avoiding notice. She might even be a spy for some foreign government.

Still, no one could fake the type of passion that she showed when discussing the plight of the women trapped in the cycle of human trafficking. At least that part of her story was true.

So, when she stopped right before he headed off to the States, he made her an offer.

“I know that there’s more to your work than what you’ve shared,” he said as their conversation for the day reached an end. “But, you’ve been a great help for me in my incarceration.”

Tony’s words had the woman raising her eyebrow in a now customary manner. The idea that his stay in the hospital was another form of imprisonment had become a running joke between them.

“Assuming that your employer cares about the same things that you clearly do, I would like to make an offer. With my own personal resources and the reach of Stark Industries, combined with the infrastructure that I believe your organization possesses, there exists an excellent opportunity. I have confidence that we could build an alliance that will be of mutual benefit to both our interests.”

He waited, but she gave no response. Shrugging internally, he continued.

“Obviously, I have some things to sort out when I get home first. However, if you would pass the offer along, I would be happy to accept a meeting request once things have stabilized. Just contact my assistant, Ms. Virginia Potts, and tell her that it’s regarding...” he thought for a moment, and then came up with the perfect reference. “… Gulmira.”

Mercy rose from her seat and gave him her usual nod of farewell. As always, Tony was struck by how elegant – almost regal – her bearing became when she did so. Deep in the recesses of his brain, he wondered if she was perhaps African royalty of some kind.

What an idea, he thought as she left the room, sounds like something out of a movie. Oh, well… it's a nice thought. But now… now I am finally going home.

The thought warmed his cyborg-ed heart.

Chapter Text

“…and for those reasons, Stark Industries will begin shutting down its Weapons division, effective immediately.” The words of Junior’s press conference were cut off as the video shrunk and shifted to a small window in the upper left corner of the screen. As it did so, the remainder of the screen filled with an expertly made-up female host dressed in a bright suit, her teeth gleaming as she spoke.

“That was the announcement made by Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark during the press conference held three days ago. The conference had been called immediately after his return to the United States for the first time since the attack that led to his three month disappearance. While we here in the Studio are sympathetic to Mr. Stark’s horrifying experiences, do they really justify such a drastic move for his multi-billion-dollar company? Let us turn to our experts to weigh in."

As the screen split yet again to show another talking head, this one a man in a somber, navy suit, Obadiah shut off the television in the car with a snarl. Junior's announcement had been run on all of the news channels – major and minor – for days. His shocking announcement had caused Obadiah's phone to blow up with calls from partners and customers on both sides of his business – legal and illegal – alike. Everyone was outraged at Stark's unilateral decision and many were concerned that their profit, or product, would dry up.

Once again, the spoiled brat makes a mess, and I’m left cleaning up. It’s no wonder I decided that it was time to get rid of him. After all, it’s not like he’s going to be my golden goose anymore from the sound of things.

“We’re here, Sir.”

His driver’s voice distracted Obadiah from his thoughts.

“Good. I should be a while.”

Scowling at the valet who opened the door, Obadiah stepped out of his town car and strode through the doors of his favorite local club. Inside, the hushed atmosphere of the exclusive establishment was a balm to his senses.

“Good Afternoon, Mister Stane.” The host’s bland tone gave away nothing as he greeted one of his institution’s most influential members. “What can we do for you today?”

“Tell the bar to fetch my usual. I’ll be in the library.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Excellent service, as always. Respectful without being obsequious, Obadiah thought as he headed down the hall.

There was a reason that this was his preferred club on the West Coast. The wood-paneled hall gave way to a large room lined with floor to ceiling bookcases. Inside them, elegant collections of books with jewel-toned covers gave the feel of an old-fashioned library. Scattered around the room were a number of leather chairs, some solitary while others were set in groupings of two or three.

Obadiah strode over to one of the solos, a large burgundy armchair with a high back.

He had no sooner taken a seat than a server arrived with a glass of his favorite scotch and the latest copy of the New York Times, both of which were set on the side table beside him.

Picking up the glass, Obadiah scowled down at it absently before taking a sip. The burn hit his throat, cooling his rage for a moment as he appreciated the quality liquor. That was one thing he did appreciate about the Starks, they always had a good eye for booze. The brand which he currently held was one that had originally been recommended to him by Stark Senior – back when the older man was alive.

Now that… that had been an exemplary job. Not only had the target been taken out, but it had been done in such a way as to make it look like an accident. Even Howard’s precious Peggy Carter had no idea that it was members of ‘her’ organization who had arranged for her friend’s assassination.  

Smirking slightly at the thought of the old woman’s current state, Obadiah took another sip. When he’d heard about the Carter woman’s diagnosis, he’d laughed aloud. She’d been a pain in his ass from the beginning, often managing to turn Howard away from his ideas for the business. While she’d never managed to discover the truth, her suspicions had kept him for acting openly for a long time. It was only after she was forced to retire as Director of SHIELD and was replaced by Alexander Pierce that he finally had the freedom to act.

And act he did.

He had had over four years of total control over the company, in accordance with Howard Stark’s will, before he was required to hand the reins over to Junior.

Obadiah had used that time well, establishing himself with the Board and the investors as a capable successor to Howard while placing his own people into key positions in the Company. Meanwhile, he had carefully groomed his godson in preparation for when the younger man would come into his inheritance.

Using carefully curated stories from Howard’s past, Obadiah had encouraged Tony’s reckless playboy tendencies. Then he took advantage of the – sometimes arranged – scandals to set himself up as a somber and reliable alternative to the feckless child.

On the other hand, he also made sure that Tony’s focus within the business was on the Research & Development side of things. After all, it was well known that Tony Stark was an engineering genius. Obadiah merely directed that energy into the areas that were most important.

When the younger Stark turned twenty-one, Uncle Obie had – outwardly happily – handed control of the company over to his godson. In the eyes of the public, Stark had stepped into his father’s shoes and taken over as CEO. Of course, the reality was that Obadiah still controlled the company. He simply did it now as Tony’s right hand instead of as CEO himself.

At first, it hadn’t been too bad being the ‘man behind the curtain’. But over the years, as Tony received praise and frequent accolades for the work that Obadiah had done, the older man grew tired of being a puppet-master. He craved the spotlight that he once had possessed.

That year’s Apogee award was the last straw. Junior was once again being recognized for work that he, Obadiah Stane, had done. So he had decided. It was time for Stark Industries to once again cope with a tragic loss – and come out stronger with Obadiah Stane at its head.

Why couldn’t Junior have been dealt with as neatly as Senior? But that’s what happens when you hire amateurs instead of relying on the true professionals. Too bad Pierce has decided that he’s too busy to take my calls.

---

Obadiah's musings were interrupted by a server arriving with a second glass, this one with a pour of high-class bourbon

“What’s this?” he asked, with a snarl at the interruption.

“From the gentleman over there,” came the server's deferential response, combined with a gesture across the room.

Following the server’s wave, Obadiah spotted that greasy annoyance, Justin Hammer, seated beside yet another familiar figure. The man, whose short gray cut contrasted his perfectly pressed Army dress uniform, waved his hand toward a third chair in the grouping. 

This could be promising… or problematic.

Giving a nod of acknowledgment, Obie finished off the glass of Scotch that he had been nursing, picked up his new drink, and walked over.

 “General,” he said with a nod as he took a seat beside his old ally, General Thaddeus ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross.

“Come now, there’s no need for formality between two old friends is there, Obadiah?”

So that’s how he wants to play it.

“Ted, then. What can I do for you?”

"Your golden boy has really stepped in it this time, hasn't he?" Ross replied, the corner of his mouth curling in a brief sneer. Beside him, Hammer gave a sharp giggle.

“Don’t remind me,” Obie said, ignoring the younger man. “It almost makes me wish he’d stayed missing. The company was just starting to find its footing after the disappearance, and now this.”

“But surely you’re happy to have your pride and joy back, Obadiah? After all, he’s your golden goose, isn’t he?”

Obadiah snorted. “Yours too, Ted. He is the one who built all of that ‘special armament’ that you’ve been using to hunt that beast of yours, remember.”

Ross’ smug grin faded at the reminder and Obadiah crowed internally.

Point.

“Not that they worked.” Ross reminded him.

“Yes, and I’m sure that we could do much better,” Hammer tried to interject. The other two men ignored him.

Rebuttal.

“Now, now, Ted, you can’t blame the tools. Stark Industries’ equipment always performs as promised. It’s not our fault if your troops failed to use them properly,” was Obadiah’s response.

Counter. I do love a good volley.

“Don’t remind me. That monster has given me nothing but problems.”

"Yes, well, I'm afraid that we won't be able to help in the future, assuming that Tony's agenda is allowed to proceed as planned."

Set the hook.

“And what are you planning to do about it?”

"I'm still working on it. In the short term, I can stall him with the Board…"

And…

“…but that’ll only work for so long,” Ross finished with a sigh. “The Joint Chiefs are already buzzing about it. So far all that they have come up with is the existing contracts – which will only last in the short term – and using their liaison. What’s his name, Rames?”

“Rhodes.”

 “Yes, the Air Force Colonel. Stark’s friend.”

Nice try, pretending not to know anything, Ted. You know exactly who he is, old ‘friend’. I know that you’ve been cozying up to Rhodes recently, wooing him for your ‘mission’. He told me so, himself, not that he knows the truth about either of us.

Obadiah snorted. “Rhodes is useless. He has never managed to talk Stark out of anything… at least as far as I am aware. They’re old college buddies, you know, that’s the only reason that he has the job.”

Come on, take it. Take the bait.

“So then, what are you thinking? We can’t have America’s military capabilities crippled because one man decides that he wants to become a pacifist.” Ross slammed his fist into the arm of the chair where he sat.

That's it...

"You know," Obadiah offered, faux-casually, "I'm not sure it is pacifism. After all, Tony was in the hands of the terrorists for months. Who's to say that he wasn't… turned."

The pair of conspirators exchanged sharp-edged grins as Hammer sat there, looking wide-eyed in shock. Clearly, this kind of discussion was new to him. Not that Obadiah was worried about Hammer causing trouble. He knew Hammer from the past. The man was an opportunist. He wouldn’t say anything. Not if keeping silent would work to his advantage.

 "Indeed. That certainly is something worth considering." Ross took a sip of his drink and then continued. "I will have to broach the idea with my contacts."

Hah. Gotcha!

 “As will I. Who knows what the Agencies might uncover.”

Chapter Text

The dulcet sounds of AC/DC greeted Tony as he woke with a grunt. Last night’s exciting adventure into the upper atmosphere had left him with a massive headache, no doubt caused by the changes in air pressure that were the result of his rapid fall. Complete atmospheric integrity hadn’t been a priority in that design. Well, that would change.

“Good morning, Sir. It is 9:24 AM here in Malibu, and the weather outside is a balmy 79 degrees Fahrenheit with sunny skies. I trust that you slept well after all of the excitement yesterday.” Despite its artificiality, JARVIS’ voice managed to hold just a hint of sarcasm.

Oh, baby boy, you’re all grown up and sassing me.

"I have already arranged with Ms. Potts to have the damage upstairs done by contractors from the approved list. I have informed her that the damage was caused by an experiment gone awry, and she expressed her disappointment and lack of surprise. Meanwhile, DUM-E and the others have been hard at work downstairs doing clean up. Also, the results from last night's tests are compiled for your perusal."

“Excellent work, J, as always. I’ll be down in a minute.” Tony replied absently, already flipping through the tabulated results.

“May I remind you, Sir, about the Gala this evening? You have arranged with the lovely Ms. Mercy to be your date.”

“Ah… yes, thank you, JARVIS. What would I do without you?”

“Muddle through, somehow, no doubt, Sir.”

---

In the months following Tony’s return from overseas, he had thrown himself into work. He had two projects to conduct, both linked to his experiences in Afghanistan.

The first and more public project was tied to the woman that he had met in Germany.

As he had suspected, Mercy Mthosi was indeed much more than she had originally claimed. She was an agent of the African country of Wakanda, a fact that Tony had only been able to ascertain when his investigation via JARVIS had run into that country’s impenetrable firewalls.

Stark Industries and Tony, in particular, numbered among a select group of individuals or organizations aware that the apparently impoverished country was more than it seemed. While he'd never managed to actually infiltrate said country's network, he had been able to identify the unique ‘flavor' of its technology. Thanks to his father's obsession with Captain America, he even knew that said technology was in some way connected to Vibranium.

Unlike his earlier probes, which had been ignored after being rebuffed, this time his contact with the Wakandan firewall yielded a response. Less than twenty-four hours after his probe, Tony had received a surprising visitor.

--

“Sir.” JARVIS’ voice had interrupted Tony in the middle of a design binge. “We have an unexpected caller at our doorstep.”

“Who’s at the front gate, J?”

“Not the front gate, Sir, the front door.”

Tony blinked. His security had been set up to keep unannounced visitors from even approaching the house. The fact that there was someone at the front door indicated a hack. Not only that, but the hacker had managed to get past JARVIS and then stopped at the front door.

Interesting.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to see who has come to call.”

Tony climbed the stairs that led from his lab to the front door, having snagged a weapons prototype off one of the lab benches on the way there. If he had unexpected company he wasn't about to go unarmed.

“I may have an answer to that, Sir,” came JARVIS’ surprising response. “Our visitors did introduce themselves as the Dora Milaje.”

Tony stopped for a moment, his mind racing. “Bodyguards to the Wakandan royal family? Do I have royalty visiting, J?”

Holding his weapon at his side, Tony approached the front door. Sure enough, the camera installed there showed a pair of statuesque African women dressed in rather impressive looking red armor. From what he could make out through the gaps between their bodies, there did appear to be more figures present, as well as a vehicle of some kind.

“Go ahead and open it, J. After all, we wouldn’t want to be rude to royalty, now would we?”

Tony could almost hear the virtual eye roll as JARVIS replied. “Of course not, sir. That would be inappropriate.”

He couldn’t help himself. Tony snickered. But then he sobered again. This was serious business.

As the door swung open at JARVIS’ command, the two bodyguards stepped inside, scanning the entry before moving to either side. One of them spoke in a surprisingly deep, somewhat raspy voice that reminded Tony of some of his mother’s old friends. Unlike those women, however, Tony was sure that this lady’s tone did not come from excessive cigarette smoking. Rather, it was probably the result of an old fighting injury.

“Presenting, his royal Majesty, King T’Chaka of Wakanda.”

Pasting on his most diplomatic smile Tony strolled forward to greet the other man. He stopped, nonplussed when he recognized the young woman who stood at King T'Chaka's side.

“Mercy?” he asked, confused. It was one thing to have suspicions about his new friend, another to have them confirmed quite so blatantly. “What are you doing here?”

Tony’s blunt question broke the formality of the situation. Both Mercy and her companion smiled.

“Anthony Stark, it is a pleasure to see you again as well.”

Mercy’s smile turned wry, as she gestured to her companion, “I believe that you are aware of my employer, King T’Chaka.”

"Of course, it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir, though I must admit that it was a bit of a surprise to have you show up here at my doorstep."

“Not surprised enough, though,” his royal Epicness said. “After all, you did manage to determine my dear Nakia’s connection to Us.”

Who?

“Who?”

King T’Chaka gestured towards Tony’s former conversational sparring partner.

Oh, shit, was I flirting with a Wakandan Princess?

“Do not worry, Mister Stark,” T’Chaka says, apparently reading Tony’s mind. “Nakia is not one of my children. She is merely a close friend of the family.”

He smiled at the young woman. “Besides, it would do my son good to have some competition, even if it is with an older man.”

Son?

“Nakia is beloved of my eldest child, T’Challa.”

Beside the King, Tony noticed Mercy – or rather Nakia, apparently – rolling her eyes.

“Stop it, Malume,” she said with a smile. “You know that T’Challa has not yet admitted any such thing.”

“To you, perhaps, but we all have witnessed his… attempts.”

To Tony’s surprise, even the previously stoic bodyguards smiled at that comment, breaking the somber atmosphere.

Huh, I must be okay, then. He thought as he relaxed.

“In that case, if I may be so bold, what can Stark Industries do for the country of Wakanda?”

Easily sliding into salesman mode, Tony gestured towards his living room. His body language was a clear invitation to continue the conversation in a more comfortable setting.

King T’Chaka was agreeable, and as the group moved forward, he spoke.

“It is not what Stark Industries can do for us, but rather what we may be able to accomplish together.”

---

If meeting the Wakandan King had been a surprise, the proposal he brought with him was even more astonishing.

It turned out that the Wakandans had been searching for a way to help their neighbors – without giving away their secrets to the rest of the world – for decades, if not centuries. While Tony was a white man, a ‘colonizer' as some of the Wakandans called him, his status and plans also provided the perfect smokescreen. By arranging a partnership between Stark Industries and the organizations which the Wakandans currently used to funnel aid into the other countries, they would have an ideal excuse for an influx of both new funds and new technology into those organizations.

On the other side, the Wakandans’ contacts and organizations provided Tony with a pre-existing structure that he could use to pursue his new mission of helping the Developing World. As penance for his role as the ‘Merchant of Death’, he had already begun exploring ideas for how he could help those who’d been hurt or killed by weapons that he’d created.

Then there was the tech exchange. Tony had been offered limited access to the Wakandan network and ridiculously advanced technology, access that he was fairly certain few outsiders had been given. He was able to work with scientists and engineers at his own level, trading ideas and exchanging information. The Wakandan scientists had been particularly interested in JARVIS, as artificial intelligence was not an area in which they had focused. In fact, Tony was certain that they were giving his AI even greater access than he was allowed.

And then… then there was the Arc Reactor.

---

A few weeks after the partnership was arranged, Tony had a visitor arrive at his Malibu home. With JARVIS’ help, she had made her way down to the lab where Tony was hard at work.

“Nakia!” Tony called, waving his free hand. His other was trapped inside his current project, a boot for an upgraded version of the armor that he’d built in Afghanistan. “Grab a seat, I’ll be right with you.”

He turned back to the boot and made an adjustment. One of the exterior gears shifted.

“I just need to get this bit done, first.”

“No rush,” she called back as she greeted DUM-E. Tony’s Wakandan liaison, Nakia had been by the house several times. Thus, she had previously met the Bots. “And call me Mercy, remember. We wouldn’t want you making a mistake in public, now would we?”

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “But still, it seems a shame not to use your beautiful name.”

“Flirt.”

“Shameless, I know. So, my darling… Mercy, what brings you to my humble abode on this particular day?”

“I come bearing a gift.”

“Oh,” Tony replied absently, having finally managed to extract his hand. Grabbing a rag, he cleaned the worst of the grease off his hands.

“For little old me?  My lady, you shouldn’t have.” Using his now clean right hand, he lifted hers up for a kiss.

“I didn’t.”

Tony raised his brows.

“I believe that you’ve been discussing your new energy technology with our scientists?”

Nod.

“Well, you must have mentioned to one of them that you have a version of the reactor embedded in your sternum.”

The mention of his prosthetic made Tony compulsively rub his chest, right below the lower rim of the Arc Reactor. Though the site had healed, it still ached on occasion, especially given the extra weight on his damaged rib cage.

“One of your contacts is wed to a doctor. So, when she mentioned how you were using Palladium in the energy matrix, her husband brought up the issue of heavy metal poisoning.”

Nakia's comment was enough to make Tony wince. The possibility of such contamination was something that he'd hypothesized, but so far there had been no significant signs of damage. Besides, he had had no luck in finding an alternative source that wasn't equally toxic.

“Ah,” Nakia nodded, having caught his wince. “So you are aware. Good, that will make this easier.”

She pulled out a small package from her purse and offered it to him. “This is a gift from my people. Refined Vibranium, of the type used by my people for energy generation purposes. Unlike your Palladium, it is not harmful when placed inside a human body. However,” she warned, “there is only enough here to power YOUR prosthetic. Any other reactors that your company produces will have to use more conventional sources.”

Vibranium, Tony’s eyes widened. I never thought of that. Isn’t that supposed to be impossible to get outside of Wakanda – besides Captain America’s shield, that is?

“Please convey my thanks to your people,” he said, accepting the package. “Even if they hadn’t already been so helpful, this alone would have been enough to make me indebted to your country.”

“But of course, Tony Stark,” Nakia agreed easily. “This is merely the first step in our partnership. And as for the next, that is easy.” She offered a smooth smile. “You must act as my escort for the upcoming Stark Industries Gala. This will be an easy way to make our alliance public.”

“You in a dress, me in a tux, schmoozing the rich folks. Sounds like fun, babe,” Tony said, “I can do that in my sleep.” Seeing her frown, he backpedaled rapidly, “Not that I could ever be bored with you around.”

“Nice catch.”

"But of course, Ms. Mercy. Sir is always the epitome of tact." JARVIS' voice made both of them jump. "And I will ensure that Ms. Potts knows to keep Sir on task and ready for the event in question."

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

---

Even as Tony embraced working with the Wakandans, he also had a second project. He wanted a second version – Mark II – of the armor which he had built in Afghanistan. It was this project that had kept him busy the night before. After three months of work, the Mark II had finally been ready for its first test flight. The test had gone remarkably well, despite the icing scare.

Of course, it did, Tony thought to himself, after all, I was the one who designed it.

He ignored the little voice in his head expressing its skepticism. It reminded him of all the lab incidents in his past. It was not uncommon for Tony to push his experiments too far during the testing phase and uncover new failure modes.

Still, JARVIS had been careful to ensure that Tony didn't accidentally double book himself on this or any other day when he had Wakandan related business. According to J, It simply wouldn't do to offend such excellent new allies with his maker's bad habits.

What would he do without JARVIS?

Given that the Gala was this evening, it had been important for the first test flight to occur on the previous night. JARVIS was well aware that Tony handled important social events best in the immediate aftermath of a key experimental test run. That way he could run the calculations about improvements in the back of his mind whenever he started getting distracted from the ‘boring’ business of public relations.

---

This Wakandan alliance has proven to be even more of a boon than my – and J’s – best estimates, Tony mused later that evening as he waited for his date to arrive.

Not only have they helped me find purposeful ways to fulfill my new mission, but the announcement of our new partnership has also helped the company bounce back from the disaster that my – admittedly uncharacteristic – press conference caused. With well-known organizations as partners, my plans to focus on the other side of SI and further development of our non-weapons branches like the agricultural division and digging into clean energy are more acceptable to the stockholders.

Tony frowned as a black town car pulled up in front of the house. Still, it is concerning that the Board has been such idiots about the whole thing. I thought that Obie had them in hand better, or at least so he claimed.

As the driver of the town car, his friend and driver Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan, opened the vehicle’s back door, Tony’s musings came to a screeching halt. First came a spectacular gold heel, followed by a shapely leg, and then a slim hand accepted Happy’s arm and Nakia/Mercy emerged from the vehicle. Dressed in a shimmering gold dress that matched the heel that Tony had first seen, the young woman was a vision of grace and beauty.

“Close your mouth, Boss.” Happy commented drily as he stood in place beside the car door.

Rebooting his brain, Tony turned on the charm that he’d lost. “My dear Mercy, you look simply spectacular this evening. All eyes will be on you, instead of my humble self.”

Holding out an arm, he escorted his date over to a second vehicle parked there in the driveway. It was his favorite cherry red convertible, whose top he had raised out of consideration for his date’s hair. After helping her into her seat, Tony hurried around the front of the car to claim his own place in the driver’s seat.

"Okay," he said as the vehicle headed out, Happy's town car trailing behind them, "so, the game plan for tonight. The press has already heard rumors about SI's new partnership with the Usapho Foundation, among others. Today we will be making the formal announcement, and talking about our first initiative, a microloan program that is being done in collaboration with the Maria Stark Foundation. The program targets women who have been rescued from sex trafficking rings such as the one coordinated by the Ten Rings, offering them startup funds to build new lives and find purpose outside their forced trade."

“Yes. I will take the lead on that one, while you talk about the technology development side.”

“Right, the grant program for researchers to develop technologies intended to improve basic living in the Developing World. It will be required for each grant proposal to include a testing phase to be implemented locally in one of the areas where Usapho has been working, and priority will go to proposals which include local researchers.” Tony smirked as he added, “I managed to sell that to my board by including a limited right to patents from the grant research in the contract paperwork.”

 "Yes. I know that my people have already begun discussions about projects to propose. My King mentioned that his younger daughter and her middle-grade class are even talking about trying for a grant."

That idea made Tony choke in surprise, though on second thought he approved. “I take it the Princess is scientifically minded?”

“Yes. She is a prodigy, a bit like you at her age, from what I’ve heard. But it is not just the Royals. Many in our community, especially the young, have been searching for a way to make a difference for our less fortunate brothers and sisters around the world.”

“You included,” Tony said, recalling Nakia’s passionate arguments during the early days of their acquaintance.

“True.”

They sat in silence for a while, before Tony turned the conversation to more casual topics. It seemed like no time before he pulled up outside the Gala venue.

“Ready?”

Nakia nodded.

“Right.” Tony let out a breath before shutting off the car and stepping out of the driver’s door. He was nearly blinded by the flashes from numerous cameras as the press outside car screamed questions at him. Tossing the keys to the valet, he strolled around to the passenger side door and helped Mercy – getting into character – out of the car. Offering her his arm, the pair strode up to where Obie stood on the plush carpet, speaking to several reporters.

 Working like a well-oiled machine, the pair of co-conspirators hijacked Obie’s conversation with the reporter and claimed the spotlight.

---

When they finally made it inside the venue, Tony was giddy, riding high off his success. So, when he spotted the lovely Pepper Potts, he didn’t hesitate in heading her direction. His executive assistant was dressed in a beautiful green gown that hugged her curves nicely. Tony was so focused on his goal that when a man in a cheap suit approached his side, he almost didn’t notice.

“Mister Stark,” the man began. Tony interrupted him.

“Not now,” he said brusquely. He brushed past the interloper and continued on toward his intended target.

“Good evening, Ms. Potts,” Tony said as he reached her. “Don’t you look beautiful this evening? I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress… especially from the back.”

“Mister Stark!” Pepper smacked him with her purse, scolding him for his inappropriate words. Then she asked, “So how did it go outside.”

“Brilliant. Mercy and I managed to twist the press around our fingers.” The red-head had managed to bond with Mercy through their joint exasperation at his antics, a fact that Tony appreciated even as he moaned about them ganging up on him. “I’m headed for the bar to grab us a drink and celebrate. Would you care to join us?”

Pepper nodded, and Tony offered her his arm to escort her towards the open bar. However, when he turned around he was once more assaulted by the same individual who had tried to bug him before.

“Mister Stark,” the man said, “I am Agent Coulson with…”

“I said not now,” Tony again interrupted. “If you have business with me, call the office and make an appointment.”

“Sir, I have been attempting to do so for the past three months, to no avail.”

Recognizing that the man wasn’t going to let up, Tony sighed in annoyance. “Fine, fine, if you call tomorrow morning Ms. Potts will see to it that you have an appointment later this week. Now, will you please leave us alone!”

Thankfully, the nuisance accepted this assurance as sufficient. He backed off. Relieved, Tony escorted Pepper over to where Mercy waited with a smile.

 They get along a bit too well at times – Tony thought with a grimace as the pair greeted each other. They’ve already started teaming up – with JARVIS’ help, the traitor – to get me to do things.

“Ladies, what can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a Martini, dry, three olives,” Pepper replied easily.

“And I’ll just get a glass of the Champagne that’s going around,” Mercy added with a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to overburden yourself, after all, Tony.”

Acknowledging the hit with a grin, Tony headed for the bar. He had just ordered his and Pep’s drinks and was waiting for the bartender to finish making them when a body shoved in beside him and slammed a folder on the bar top.

“You know,” a familiar voice spoke in his ear. “I would have bought it, this ‘turning over a new leaf’ that you were selling out there. You’ve certainly gone out of your way to make it look real.”

Tony turned to see his current press nemesis, Christine Everhart, standing beside him.

“But we both know better, don’t we?” She hissed.

“What are you talking about, my dear Charlene?”

“Christine!”

“Whatever. I have been nothing but honest in my recent statements.” Tony smirked as he took a sip of his drink.

“Then how do you explain the situation in Gulmira?” Christine asked with a sharp sneer.

Gulmira.

The word sent a shiver down his spine. Tony had to work to keep his face calm and his hand from reaching up to touch the arc reactor.

“What are you talking about?” He said as coolly as he could.

Christine flipped open the folder that she had dropped onto the bar top, showing a drone surveillance shot of the Afghan village. It was in shambles, the result of heavy bombardment.

“Oh, haven’t you heard. Your favorite customers are once again acting out.”

Chapter Text

Squinting, Ted rubbed the bridge of his nose as he swept the reading glasses off his face with a groan. Despite his long-standing interest in the subject, scientific papers like…. Ted glanced down and read out the paper’s title.

REGULATED GAMMA RADIATION AS A NOVEL NEW STRATEGY FOR AFFECTING BENEFICIAL MAMMALIAN MUTATION

Ugh.

Even on the dozenth reading, most of the paper was nothing more than gibberish to his ‘uneducated’ eye.

The paper, an old treatise authored by his daughter Elizabeth and her partner, Robert ‘Bruce’ Banner, was what had originally brought the rogue scientist to Ted’s attention. He’d made a habit of keeping informed of his daughter’s research despite their estrangement. The ideas proposed in this paper and others like it had been immediately attractive as a way for the US Army to potentially gain another Captain America. The fact that it would also give Ted a chance to re-connect with his daughter had just been a nice bonus.

However, it didn’t take long for the experiment to take a turn for the disastrous.

Despite the early promise, Elizabeth and Banner had failed to deliver anything substantial after three years of work. Frustrated, Ted had pushed back, demanding results or the project would be shut down.  The scolding that he’d gotten from Elizabeth as a result had been bad enough, but then… then there was an accident.

Somehow, that imbecile Banner had managed to make himself a guinea pig, an unstable one at that.

Now, Ted’s reputation among his peers was irrevocably damaged. Banner’s monstrosity had rampaged through multiple locations and, to make matters worse, he still didn’t have any real results. The Hulk had disappeared, off in hiding somewhere beyond the reach of Ted’s people.

Meanwhile, most of Banner’s research had been destroyed by the unstable scientist.

 The only good thing was that Elizabeth was safe and out of the line of fire back at Culver. Ted was going to make sure that it stayed that way.

---

His reassignment back into the Sandbox had been a direct consequence of the Banner fiasco.

The Brass had informed him that they needed time to clean up his messes and that he needed to be out of sight in the meantime. It had only been thanks to Ted's extensive network of favors that he'd managed to avoid a demotion or something worse, instead.

Being stationed out in the field was bad enough. The only good thing about Afghanistan was that it made a better site from which to search for the still missing Banner.

Things had finally started to stabilize. He’d begun repairing some of the damage to his reputation. Finally, the Hulk mess wasn’t the first thing that came to his superiors’ mind when they heard his name.

And now, once again, a mad scientist – or in this case, engineer – was threatening Ted’s career through his ill-considered actions.

Gulmira. What a mess.

Damn that Tony Stark, Ted thought with a snarl. I’ve already been working with Stane on damage control for his stupid plan with SI, now I have to deal with him ruining our plans in Afghanistan as well? I should have told Stane to push things harder. That man is quite ruthless when needed, but Stark does seem to be his soft spot.

There was no doubt in his mind; the bogey that had shot through his interdiction zone and dropped into the town of Gulmira had something to do with Stark. It carried all the hallmarks of the – admittedly – genius weapons design that Stark Industries was famous for producing. That, plus the fact that Gulmira’s attackers had publically claimed membership in the Ten Rings, made it obvious.

Now, Ted was stuck waiting for updates while Stark did God-knew-what. No doubt blundering about getting people – including one of Ted’s – killed in the process and ruining the op that he’d spent the last three days setting up.

---

Jabbing the intercom button on his phone, Ted barked.

“Stevens. Get Colonel Rhodes over here. Now.”

"Yes, Sir." Ted could hear the sound of typing. "Um… There's a problem, sir?"

"What?" Stevens, who usually manned the night shift, wasn't used to dealing directly with his boss, and it showed. He was quite capable of manning his duties during the off hours, which was why Ted had allowed him to stay, but it was a bit irritating at times. It was a shame that his usual admin was currently out – supervising preparations for the op that Stark had ruined – but needs must.

“Well, um, ” Stevens spoke with a bit of a stutter. “Colonel Rhodes, he’s been flying night patrols this week. He just got off-shift a few hours ago…”

“I don’t care if he’s off-duty. He’s Stark’s… ‘liaison’, it’s his job to deal with that man’s antics.”

“Stark, sir?”

“Never mind that, Stevens. Just get him here, pronto.”

Damnit.

Ted slammed the receiver back down and attempted to get back to his reading. It didn’t help. He couldn’t stop fuming over all the ways that this could go wrong.

After what seemed like an age, Ted’s fuming was interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Enter.” He barked.

The door opened, and Colonel Rhodes entered with minimal fuss.

Unlike what Stane had implied to him, Ted knew that the African-American officer was far from incompetent. He wouldn’t have been able to work his way up to such a high rank in the Air Force if he was, regardless of who he had as a friend. It wasn’t as if the position of SI liaison required a high ranked officer. Rhodes had held that position since he was still just a Captain.

Instead, the younger man was – by both reputation and Ted’s own observation – a fine officer. Upstanding and capable both in and out of the cockpit. Indeed, Ted had already begun wooing Rhodes into his sphere of influence back when Stark was believed to be deceased. It was a decision that he’d yet to regret.

Now, though, the black man was a stand-in for his current nemesis. So, regardless of his approval of the Colonel, Ted couldn’t help but snap.

“Sit down, Rhodes.”

Watching as his companion took a seat, Ted noticed signs that the man had likely just woken. Softening a bit, he jabbed the intercom button.

“Stevens. Fetch coffee for both the Colonel and myself.”

“General.”

“I know you’ve just woken up, Rhodes, so I’ll be blunt. There’s been a new development in the Gulmira situation.”

Ted’s statement had Rhodes leaning forward, intent.

“Another video?” He asked astutely. The reason that the press knew that the Ten Rings were the ones in Gulmira was thanks to a recent video that had been sent out by a man claiming membership in that organization. In the video, the man asserted that the deaths in Gulmira were in response to the “unjustified attack” on the Ten Rings base – in other words, Stark’s escape from their custody.

“I wish,” Ted said with a sigh. “That would have been simpler to deal with. No, we’ve got an unidentified bogey that has infiltrated the site and is currently engaging with the Ten Rings’ forces there. Its electronic signature indicates that it was likely built by SI, presumably a prototype of some kind.”

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers as he looked at Rhodes. “Tell me, Colonel Rhodes, have you heard from your friend, Mister Stark, lately.”

"Damnit, Tony," Rhodes muttered under his breath and rubbed his temple. Then he replied.

"I have not, Sir, not for several weeks. If he is involved with your bogey I was unaware." He hesitated and then continued. "However, from what he has told me there is a link to Gulmira. Something about… another captive of the Ten Rings, I believe. One who died during the escape?"

“I see. Well, then, I believe you have a call to make.”

“Yes, Sir.” Rhodes stood up, preparing to leave the room.

"While you are doing so, Rhodes, I want you over in Flight Command. I'm putting you in charge of intercepting the bogey when it leaves Gulmira. I want answers, you hear."

“Yes, Sir.”

The look on Rhodes’ face clearly indicated his willing agreement. He also wanted answers, like any good soldier.  If I can just get him away from Stark, Rhodes really would be a useful tool in my collection.

Chapter Text

Soaring through the upper atmosphere at Mach 3, Tony could feel the eddies in the air around him as he sped his way back home. The Mark II armored suit had performed well in the field, standing up to the long flight at supersonic speeds and battle against armed terrorists with no serious issues. Tony, on the other hand, was still coming down off the adrenaline high that had kept him from panicking about his return to the Middle East.

Dealing with the Ten Rings in Gulmira had been both incredibly cathartic and emotionally draining. It was liberating in that he had the chance to take down a few more of his captors and their organization. But, it was difficult in that the wreckage of that little Afghan town reminded him of Yinsen and his stories about his home village. The older man had been so proud of the fact that his people had persevered despite their hardships and Tony had been planning to send relief funds to the community as a part of his new aid program.

He still would, of course, but now it would be in an effort to repair some of the damage caused by the Ten Rings’ attack and his own battle with their forces.

I wish that there was some way that I could figure out who was trustworthy there, who I could offer support and not have it used for the wrong things. The thought reminded Tony of Yinsen’s mysterious flash drive, hidden in the lab since his return to Malibu. If I were to crack it, I bet he has a list of good contacts buried in there.

Tony stopped this train of thoughts, and shook his head, taking care not to move the suit as he did so. At this speed, he had to control the suit's motion carefully to ensure that his flight path remained steady. No, I won’t violate Yinsen’s trust in that way. He deserves for me to follow that last request.

Then he chuckled, perhaps that suit from the party – what was his name, Carlson? – is the contact? He sure fits the part.

Tony’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone echoing through the headset.

“Ha, ha. Very funny, J,” he said. “Who is it?”

“Colonel Rhodes for you, Sir.” Despite the noise of the wind rushing past from outside, JARVIS’ voice came through loud and clear.

“Put him on.”

There was a click.

“Honey Bear!” Tony exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today. What’s up, homes?”

"Tony…" Despite there being no visual element to the call, Tony could easily imagine the face his best friend was making that moment. "Tell me that wasn't you."

“What wasn’t me? Rhodey, darling, you’re not making sense.”

“Gulmira, Tony. The Afghan village near where you were being held. The Ten Rings who had taken it hostage were taken out by some kind of experimental weapon. Sound familiar?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I’m not in the weapons business anymore. I had a press conference about it and everything. It simply wouldn’t do to go back on my word like that.”

“Tony!”

“What?”

"Tony, be serious. We know it's there and no one here knows whose it is. Please tell me it's not your version of revenge because I'm already on thin ice after my insistence on keeping up the search for you."

Tony scoffed, before turning up the mic's pick up to increase the sound of the air rushing past. Lowering his voice, he said, "sorry… canyon… breaking up…," with long pauses between words letting the wind fill in the gaps. Then he ended the call.

“That should take care of that,” he said with a smirk. “J, any sign of trouble ahead?”

“No sir, we should have smooth flying…” JARVIS’ voice cut off for a moment before a radar schematic appeared in Tony’s heads up display. “Correction, we have two aircraft rapidly approaching our position. We are being hailed.”

"Unknown bogey, this is the United States Armed Forces. You are currently passing through restricted air space. Redirect your course to the transmitted heading, and prepare to be escorted to the landing site. If you deviate from these orders in any way you will be assumed a hostile and fired upon."

“Well, that’s not good,” Tony said wryly. “J, give me distances and estimated time to intercept.”

Information was added to the heads-up display, even as Tony began to brainstorm.

“Unknown bogey, respond now or prepare to be fired upon.”

Once again, the American military transmission echoed through the suit.

“Sir, we have been targeted by the aircraft. Two missiles on approach”

“Can you shake them, J?”

“Firing decoys now, sir.”

The suit braked, redirecting its flight path to avoid the missiles. At the same time, JARVIS sent off a series of short-range flares designed to act as decoy targets for missiles and the like.

Initially, it looked like the decoys had worked, as one of the missiles detonated upon impact with a flare. However, the second corrected course and turned back towards the suit.

“JARVIS, call Rhodey back!” Tony yelled as he dodged and weaved, doing his best to shake his tail.

“Dialing, sir.”

“Tony.”

“Rhodey, tell them to stop shooting. It’s me.”

“I knew you were lying. But it’s too late. You should know better than to send a drone into contested space.”

“No, Rhodey, you don’t understand.” Tony just managed to dodge in time as the missile screamed past him. “Your bogey, it’s not a drone. It’s ME.”

“What?”

Before Tony could say anything else, the phone connection dropped. Then the missile came blasting directly towards him. Waiting until the last second, Tony had JARVIS release one final flare and then drop into free fall. The missile went off in a fireball as Tony used the distraction to latch on to the underside of one of his pursuers.

As he used the smoother ride to catch his breath, Tony began contemplating what had to be happening back at whatever Air Force command center was responsible for this region. Confused questions being yelled across the room as the techs tried to figure out what had happened. Meanwhile, Rhodey would be standing at the back, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to get Tony back on the line.

Tony swallowed the hysterical giggle that almost emerged from his throat, even as the plane to which he was attached began to move in a sweeping curve. Must have been ordered to fly a search grid, Tony thought.

But then, suddenly, the plane’s motion changed. Instead of a smooth glide, the plane’s motion became erratic, spinning and twisting until even the enhanced grip strength of the suit wasn’t enough to keep Tony in place.

The suit shot off the bottom of the plane, spinning end-over-end for a moment before Tony managed to engage his flight stabilizers. Tony was just reaching equilibrium when a massive explosion nearby sent him flying once again.

“What just happened, J?” Tony asked; dizzy from the repeated sharp course adjustments.

JARVIS’ voice was subdued, “It appears, Sir, that when the fighter’s pilot shook us off, the reaction force threw him directly into the flight path of the other jet.”

Tony blanched. “Tell me I didn’t…” he swallowed. “JARVIS, tell me that I didn’t just get more American soldiers killed.”

The AI’s voice was calm, in contrast to Tony’s panicked cry. “Regretfully, Sir, I am unable to do so.”

The suit’s interior was quiet, as Tony struggled to process what had just happened. The joy that he had felt at taking down the terrorists had turned to ashes.

“Sir, I believe it may be best if we vacate this location,” JARVIS’ voice broke the silence after a moment. “The military is unlikely to be reasonable if we are intercepted for a second time.”

"You're right, as always, J," Tony said. "Okay, baby boy. Take us home, quickly and quietly."

"Yes, Sir. Calculating a route now."

Even as JARVIS spoke, the suit began to act without any effort on Tony's part. For this kind of long-distance travel, JARVIS' skills as a co-pilot were invaluable. It would have been far too tedious if Tony had to do all of the necessary calculations on his own.

Going supersonic, the suit rapidly accelerated, flying in a straight line until it had passed beyond the range of the US military’s radar capabilities.

From there, JARVIS took a round-about path to avoid any possible tracking, alternating between ground-level and high-altitude flying as needed. He even hacked into multiple commercial aviation companies' databases and used their flight paths to disguise his own as they flew an arc near the North Pole on their way back to the United States.

With JARVIS handling the suit, Tony spent the hours that it took to return to Malibu deep in thought, avoiding Rhodey’s increasingly frantic calls and sinking into a spiraling funk.

I’m cursed. Tony thought at one point. Even when I try to turn over a new leaf and do better; all I do is hurt others.

---

As the JARVIS-controlled suit turned on its final approach toward the California coast, Tony sent a single voice message to Rhodey. In it, he outlined the entire incident, from his initial contact with the reporter, Christine, to the fight with the Ten Rings’ goons, and then the tragic collision. He closed the message by saying that he would be returning to his Malibu home shortly.

“Should the United States Military wish to speak to me further about today’s events, they are welcome to call upon me at my Malibu residence at their convenience. I will be available any time in the immediate future.”

Chapter Text

“Head up, Colonel.” The General’s face was sympathetic as he strode up to James’ side. “The incident was not your doing. The blame for the accident is entirely in Stark’s hands.”

“Thank you, sir,” James replied automatically, though his heart wasn’t in it.

The past eight hours had been a roller coaster of emotion. He was still in shock at the turns that his day had taken. Woken from a sound sleep in the midst of his ‘night’, he’d been summoned to General Ross’ office.

Once there, he had learned that Tony’s actions had once again managed to wreak havoc on James’ life. This time, the – still traumatized – billionaire had interfered with an ongoing military action for his own personal vendetta. Tony may have initially tried to deny it, but he had been James’ friend for far too many years.

James knew exactly what Tony's voice sounded like when he was up to something and wanted to hide it. He sounded just like that one time when he'd wanted to thank James for his help with some muscle-bound idiot who'd been harassing the underage Stark heir. James had stumbled upon the bigger man trying to convince the genius to do all of the work on their group project. When Tony had refused, the bully had threatened violence. Without thinking about it, James had immediately stepped in, protecting the kid.

In a very typically Tony response, the kid had convinced a couple of his groupies, co-eds who hovered over the boy in an attempt to get a piece of his fortune, to help him out. With Tony’s help, the two women had snuck into James’ empty dorm room, undressed, and waited – naked – in his bed. When James returned from his evening lab and opened his door, the sight had him gaping in shock.

It wasn’t until one of the women spoke, “Come to bed, handsome. My friend and I could use a little filling in our sandwich,” that he was able to react.

When James had recovered from his unexpected, but enjoyable, encounter, he had immediately called Tony.  While the boy had tried to claim innocence, his tone was smugly pleased, just as it had been earlier that day.

Clearly, the billionaire had once again done something that he was proud of; something that he knew James would scold him for but reluctantly approve.

So, James had answered his friend’s call fully expecting the man to claim credit for the ‘drone’. Instead, Tony’s voice was panicked, frantic. He had only just realized what Tony was saying when the call dropped just as the bogey – Oh God, Tony! – disappeared from the Command Center’s radar display.

He had maybe a minute of thinking that he’d just gotten his best friend killed, and then all hell broke loose. James watched and listened in horror as one of his pilots tried to shake Tony’s craft off his plane’s belly, and then upon succeeding, slammed into his wingman’s nose.

The audio and visual feed from both pilots turned to static, even as an explosion disrupted radar tracking over the region. When the shock dissipated, the area was empty. Both the fighters and Tony’s mysterious aircraft had vanished.

---

The next few hours had been occupied with the consequences of the disaster. The second pair of fighters, sent out from the base after the crash, confirmed the presence of aircraft wreckage scattered across the landscape near the coordinates where the explosion had occurred. A convoy had also been sent out hoping to recover something useful from the wreckage. Meanwhile, analysts both on base and beyond were pouring over the footage searching for any and all advantageous material.

James had heard rumors that the General’s people on-site in and around Gulmira had also reported in, sharing tales of an armored suit. The suit had apparently fought the Ten Rings’ soldiers on the ground and in the air.

Sounds like Tony, James had thought, almost hysterically, he always was one for flash.

Then, fifteen minutes ago, he finally got a message from his friend.

While James was relieved to know that the younger man had once again managed to avoid facing his own mortality, it didn’t change what had happened. Thus, he had immediately passed the message along to his superiors, which had led to this moment.

---

James and General Ross had been summoned to join a video conference already in progress. They were there to provide witness testimony.

Reaching forward, Ross opened the conference room door. His body language showed no signs of hesitation, but rather only spoke of confidence. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, James followed suit.

The room was dominated by a massive video screen that covered one wall, its display split to show multiple views. In one, James recognized the bald dome and fixed visage of Obadiah Stane, his expression set and serious. Yet another showed a conference table with a number of senior military officials, likely a room in the Pentagon, while a third was –

James suppressed a gasp. The third was the Oval Office. He recognized President Ellis, of course, alongside the Secretary of State – what was his name, Pierce?

As he came to a stop, James’ body straightened up almost automatically, following the routine that had been trained into it over the years. James’ hand snapped up in a salute, honoring both his superiors and, more importantly, the Commander-in-Chief. Out of the corner of his eye, James noticed almost absently that the General was doing the same.

“At ease, General. Colonel.” Even distorted by the medium of the digital screen, the President's visage demonstrated a palpable sense of gravitas. "Thank you both for taking the time in this no-doubt stressful situation to debrief. Now, then, give me the latest update. What do we know?"

James listened as General Ross spoke, providing additional details when prompted. The General was blunt but fair in his assessment of the situation. Regardless, the story told was damning for James’ best friend. It was clear that if the President so desired, charges could be raised that would see Tony in prison for the rest of his days.

“If I may,” Stane – Obadiah – interjected when the General had finished. “I believe that we should not judge young Stark too harshly. As anyone who has been following the news from the last several months knows, he has not exactly demonstrated the wisest choices of late.”

Nods came from several of those on the call, particularly the military contingent.

"I believe that his time in Afghanistan may have done serious damage to poor Tony's psyche, above and beyond the physical toll on his body."

“That may be,” Secretary Pierce interrupted, briskly, “but it is no excuse. Past tragedies do not justify future crimes.”

James’ heart sank.

“I have a proposal for this august body. Let us have an independent party – someone from the intelligence community, perhaps – debrief Stark. Get his version of events. After all, we do need to know how he managed to evade our radar and wreck so much damage on the terrorists in Gulmira. We can postpone a decision at least that long.”

Everyone in attendance in the conference agreed, and James murmured a brief prayer under his breath as talk turned to the public announcement.

Please, Lord, let Tony take this seriously for once. I can’t lose him, not again.

Chapter Text

Less than four hours after Tony’s return from Afghanistan he received the expected ‘knock’ at his front gate.

“If that’s the government guys, go ahead and let them in J,” he said quietly. Upon his arrival in Malibu, he had taken a quick shower and cleaned himself up. With the help of JARVIS and the Bots, he had also performed basic first aid on his bruises and scrapes, including wrapping his bruised ribs and swallowing a few painkillers. Then he had headed down to the lab.

Given what had happened, Tony knew that the cat was out of the bag with respect to his suit. Keeping that fact in mind, he wanted to present it in the best possible light.

 With JARVIS’ help, he had already begun analysis of the Mark II’s performance in the field, identifying areas of weakness and possible adjustments for future designs. Meanwhile, Tony and the Bots had begun maintenance on the existing suit, replacing compromised components and cleaning off the assorted junk that had managed to adhere to the metal and get stuck in the crevices during the various bouts and long flights.

By the time that Tony’s visitors had arrived, they had managed to repair the worst of the damage. There was still plenty of work to be done, but at least the suit was presentable.

Wanting to make the best impression, Tony took the time to thoroughly clean his hands and arms, wincing as he scrubbed across a few scrapes. Covering his grease-stained t-shirt with a long-sleeved collared shirt; Tony did up the buttons along the front. Snagging the tie that hung beside it, he wrapped a quick knot and pulled it snug under his neck. A glance at the mirror over the lab sink and a quick adjustment to his collar and Tony was ready to meet his visitors.

Making his way to the lab door, Tony walked through, closing and locking it behind him as he did so. Grabbing the suit jacket which hung on the wall beside the lab door, Tony swung it on, settling his shirt sleeves inside as he climbed the stairs to the main floor. Then, as he walked over to the front door and opened it, Tony pulled out his usual sunglasses from the jacket's pocket and slid them on.

The sunglasses served two purposes. For one, they completed Tony’s transformation into his public persona. For two, they hid his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles underneath them from casual view.

Stepping out into the bright California sun, Tony found himself facing a trio of black SUVs with tinted windows pulled up in a line in his driveway. As he stepped forward onto the blacktop, Tony couldn't help but put one hand into his jacket pocket. From there, he could feel a lump along the bottom seam. Inside the jacket's hem, Tony had hidden the USB that Yinsen had entrusted with him. Given the nature of today's meeting, there was a good chance that he would finally be able to pass it off to the appropriate parties.

Across the driveway, the driver of the second SUV opened his door and stepped out. To Tony’s surprise, he was not dressed in uniform despite his obvious military bearing. Instead, the driver wore a black suit not dissimilar to the ones which Happy wore while driving Tony around. All that was missing was the driver’s cap.

The man’s fair head was uncovered, which revealed a familiar military buzz cut. As he moved forward, the driver’s motion shifted his jacket, allowing Tony to catch a glimpse of his holstered sidearm.  Reaching out, the man opened the passenger door as Tony approached the vehicle. With his arm, he gestured for the approaching genius to climb inside.

Please don’t let it be Rhodey. Please don’t let it be Rhodey. As he followed the unspoken command, Tony mentally begged that his companion for the trip would be anyone other than his African American best friend. He wasn’t ready to deal with the Air Force officer’s disappointed face.

When Tony's eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he was relieved to see that his companion was in fact not Rhodey. Instead, the man seated beside him was only vaguely familiar. Just like his driver, this man was dressed in a nondescript suit and gave the first impression of being an average bureaucrat. It took Tony a moment before he realized why he recognized the face.

“Agent…” he began before pausing.

What was his name again? Began with a C…

"Coulson," the man finished, giving Tony a polite nod in acknowledgment. "You remember me from the other night, then. Good. I know that we were supposed to be meeting next week, but given yesterday's events we thought it best to move the appointment up."

"I see." Tony hid his confusion behind his usual ‘public' face. "And when you say 'We', you mean…"

“Right, I never did get a chance to finish that introduction, did I?” the other man gave a wry smile. “Well, then, I am Agent Coulson, and I represent the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” Tony blinked, nonplussed, and Agent sighed, and then added, “also known as SHIELD.”

That rang a bell. Something that Tony had overheard when Aunt Peggy used to visit Howard. Plus, Yinsen had mentioned something about a ‘shield to protect the world, Mister Stark.’

“SHIELD?”

“Yes, we handle matters of Global importance. Anything that is too big for a single country to handle is our purview.”

“And my… situation qualifies?”

“For several reasons,” Coulson said with a nod. “SHIELD is often the agency of choice when it comes to matters which transcend national boundaries, including terrorist groups. We have been working with the CIA in combatting the Ten Rings for a number of years. Besides, SHIELD has a long history of handling Stark Industries’ covert affairs.”

“I see.”

Looks like I might indeed finally be able to hand off Yinsen’s drive.

By the time that the SUV pulled up in front of a generic office building somewhere in East Los Angeles, Coulson had managed the start of a fairly thorough debriefing of Tony’s time as a hostage. Working from the interview that he’d given to – according to the last guy – the CIA, Coulson had managed to draw out details that even Tony had forgotten. Details about the Ten Rings’ operations, his own experiences, and even a bit about the technologies that he’d developed – the miniaturized arc reactor and the suit.

“That was impressive Agent C,” Tony commented as the SUV parked in an underground lot. “You’re very good at that.”

"Thank You, Mister Stark, I do try," Coulson replied. "Now then, if you'll come with me."

The pair was escorted to an elevator, and Coulson hit the elevator for the fourth floor.

“Where are we going, then?”

“You have a meeting with my superior, Director Fury. He needs to discuss more recent events with you.”

Despite his best efforts, Tony couldn’t fully suppress the flinch that Coulson’s comment caused. The deaths of those pilots weighed heavily on his conscience. From his pants’ pocket, he felt his phone vibrate. It was JARVIS’ way of comforting him without words.

“Thanks, J,” he whispered under his breath, knowing that the AI would hear his words through the phone’s enhanced audio pickup, before turning to his companion.

“And just what does this Director… Fury, was it? What does he intend to do?”

“Nothing more than a discussion,” Coulson replied. “After all, you are an American icon, on American soil. You have nothing to fear, Mister Stark.”

Ri-ight, and you’re Mister George ‘I cannot tell a lie’ Washington, you are.

But given recent circumstances, Tony wasn't quite up for his usual snappy come-backs. Instead, he kept his skepticism to himself, merely shrugging in response.

“We’ll see.”

The group in the elevator settled into an uneasy silence, the quiet broken only by the tinny sounds of smooth jazz coming through the compartment’s speakers and the creaks and groans of the elevator’s mechanisms.

After a minute, the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open with a groan.

Coulson gestured to Tony that he should exit first, and then followed him out of the compartment. Their guards stayed behind as the elevator doors shut once again.

“They have other tasks,” Coulson explained when he noticed Tony’s glance towards the closing doors, “and I am perfectly capable of escorting you from here.”

The Agent led the way down the corridor, passing a number of closed doors before they reached an open area. To the right, a large collection of cubicles were filled with workers, while to the left a glass door looked into a large conference room.

It was through this door that Tony was led. Coulson gave a brief knock before opening the door. As he did so, the large chair at the head of the table spun around to reveal an imposing figure in black.

Tony was taken aback at the sight of – he assumed – Director Fury. He had expected based upon Coulson's disarmingly mundane appearance that the SHIELD director would be similarly bland and unremarkable. Instead, he was confronted with a severe-looking man dressed in black leather, one whose countenance was partially hidden behind a black leather eyepatch.

"Director Nicholas Fury, may I introduce you to Mister Anthony Stark." Coulson's tone was matter-of-fact as he led Tony around the side of the large conference table and approached Fury's chair. Out of habit, Tony held his arm up for the older man to shake.

Fury’s handshake was perfunctory and firm, just as Tony had anticipated.

“Stark,” he said with a nod toward the chair beside him, “take a seat.” Then he turned to Coulson and added. “You’re dismissed, Coulson. I’ll page you when you’re needed again.”

“Yes, Director,” Coulson said with a nod. He strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him as he left.

“Now then, Tony Stark, what am I to do with you?” Fury asked rhetorically.

"Let me go?" Tony said brightly, faking confidence he didn't feel.

Fury turned back to the low cabinet mounted to the wall behind him. Grabbing a stack of folders from its top, he set them on the table; one folder at a time

"Anthony Stark, the winner of this year's Apogee award, heads to the Middle East to demonstrate his company's newest line of missile-based armaments."

“Terrorist group known as the Ten Rings attack a US Military Convoy.”

“An extensive search, conducted by an international task force, fails to find any evidence of the missing industrialist Anthony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, either dead or alive.”

“Explosions at a Ten Rings encampment in the Afghan mountains result in the rescue of the missing billionaire.”

“Physical examination of the recovered captive shows significant damage due to torture and harsh conditions for an extended period.”

“CEO Stark returns to the US and immediately starts the process of shutting down his company’s weapons division.”

“Instead of focusing his efforts on improving the lives of the American public, Stark now turns his attention overseas with new partnerships and international aid targeted towards the same regions where his former captors are based.”

“A reclusive Stark locks himself away in his home, only allowing a few visitors.”

“Rumors spread of strange sounds and odd sightings outside Stark’s Malibu home.”

“A Ten Rings splinter cell attacks the small village of Gulmira, armed with SI products and taking hostages to prevent counter-attacks.”

“An armored figure frees Gulmira’s survivors/hostages from the Ten Rings’ insurgents.”

“Internal Report: Mysterious weapon from Gulmira causes American casualties when intercepted leaving the Afghan interdiction zone.”

With each statement, Fury sets down a folder onto the table. By the time he is finished, the entire stack has been transferred from the cabinet to the conference table.

“Well, Mister Tony Stark. You have certainly had a busy year so far.”

Busy! How dare…

Tony huffed in disbelief. “Busy…. Yeah, I guess that you could call being kidnapped, tortured and almost dying… busy.”

“To be sure, the attack on the convoy was regrettable, and your experience in those caves was… unfortunate. Still, you have to admit that to the outside observer your actions since your return have been…”

Fury allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.

Wha… But… he can’t possibly think?

Tony gaped at the other man in shock as Fury leaned back in his seat.

“You aren’t suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting, are you, Director?”

“That depends.”

“Depends?”

“On what you think I’m implying.”

That… bastard… He’s going to make me say it.

“It sounds like you think that I’ve been… turned… or something. Like their torture worked.”

Leaning forward again, Fury placed his elbows on the conference table and steepled his fingers together.

“And did it?”

“No!”

Tony winced as his voice cracked on that single word.

“So you say. I have to admit when I was first approached with the idea from a couple of my contacts I was skeptical. After all, Stark Industries has been an integral part of the American military and economy for decades. You’ve been an important part of that work in since you took over the position of CEO. Still, SHIELD’s mission meant that I had to investigate, and the more we looked, the more concerned I became. Yesterday’s incident was the final straw.”

Fury’s single eye bored into Tony’s. “Tell me the truth, Mister Stark. Did you meet someone in that Afghan cave, someone who might have convinced you to act contrary to our nation’s best interests? Or were you merely Icarus, burned by the sun that you flew too close to?”

The reference was the final piece of the puzzle, as Tony felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You... you know… about Yinsen?”

“Yinsen?” Fury’s severe demeanor faded, becoming more neutral. “Oh, yes, Yinsen. The informant whose body was recovered from among the dead left in the Ten Rings’ camp after your escape. He was a part of our network, an asset who had been thought long lost. I take it that you two were acquainted?”

“Yes.” Tony sighed. “He was the other prisoner in that cave. My translator and my assistant.”

“The one who you failed to name in your previous interview – the one conducted by the… CIA?” Fury’s voice held a hint of scorn as he spoke the name of the other intelligence agency.

Interesting. Leverage? Tony thought as he nodded. Any handle that he could get on the other man would be a help.

"He spoke of a shield for the world, but I had assumed that he was speaking metaphorically. Yinsen was the one who kept me from dying in that place. I would never have made it out of that desert without him. I owe him my life."

Tony took a breath and then continued. "He did influence my recent decisions, but not in the way that you're implying. His words… they inspired me to look at my life and find ways to do better, to be a better man. Everything that I have done, it has been with that goal in mind."

By the time Tony finished his speech, the Director's frown had faded. He was almost smiling as he nodded his agreement. "An excellent sentiment, indeed," he said. "But unfortunately sentiment will not be enough after what happened yesterday. Tell me, is there anything else that you can offer as proof?"

Should I? Tony was torn. Could he trust that this man, a person who he’d just met, was the correct recipient of Yinsen’s legacy?

He did give the references. Tony reminded himself. That has to count for something.

Taking a deep breath, Tony nodded. “I have something. Something that Yinsen left me. His legacy if you would.”

“And what is that?” Fury leaned forward yet again as he asked.

“Information.”

“Information?”

“Evidence that he’d collected during his forced stay with the Ten Rings. Right before he died, he asked me to see that it made it into the right hands. From what you said, Director Fury, I believe that you are the hands that he meant.”

“And where is this – data?”

Tony smirked. “I was surprised when your goons did not bother to search me before I was brought to this office. I suppose that they thought the scanner embedded in the elevator was good enough.”

Fury’s single visible eyebrow rose as he took in Tony’s words. “You have it with you now?”

Tony nodded. “I just need to borrow a pair of scissors – or a knife – and it’ll be in your hands in a moment.”

Before he could say more, a small folding knife was on the table between him and Fury.

Picking up the knife, Tony flicked it open with a thumb, and then, with all the theatricality of a stage magician, he slit open the pouch in his jacket hem. Holding his other hand open with the palm facing up, Tony let the USB drive drop into it. Then he re-folded the knife and placed both objects on the table.

Reaching over to the conference phone set on the table, Fury barked out a quick, “get in here, now.”

Seconds later, another anonymous suit entered the room. Like Coulson, the woman appeared to be dressed to blend in rather than stand out. Despite the three-inch heels that Tony spotted on her feet, she was very efficient in her movement as she hurried over to Fury's side.

Tony couldn’t hear everything that Fury said to his assistant, but he caught enough to know that the drive was going to be mined for any and all viable information.

“While we’re waiting for me to hear back from my people, tell me about yesterday.” Fury said as he pushed a tray with an insulated carafe, mugs, and all the coffee trimmings over to Tony’s side of the table.

Tony felt surprisingly comfortable as he began to tell the older man about the Mark II; something about the situation familiar in a fundamental way.

It was only after an hour – and a lunch of sandwiches brought by another suited peon – that Tony realized why. Fury’s approach was very similar to the way that Aunt Peggy had used to get him to ‘tell her stories' after certain incidents. As a child, he hadn't thought anything of that, but when he'd grown up he had realized that it was the older woman's way of debriefing him after critical events. Going through his father's papers after his parents' death, he had found references to how ‘Peggy's questioning of Tony yielded critical information about the kidnapping attempt.'

In fact, when he thought about it, Tony was fairly sure that Fury had been one of the unnamed agents prowling the Stark estate after his parents’ death.

He must have observed Aunt Peggy’s interviews or even been trained by her at some point. Tony mused as he sipped his coffee.

The older man had excused himself a moment before, presumably to talk to his minions without Tony listening in to the conversation. Whatever. Tony could use the time to check in with JARVIS.

 He pulled out his phone. “How’s it going there, J?”

"Very well, sir. We've had a few extra eyes on the property. Oddly buff joggers, government vehicles driving past the gate, and I believe that there is a military team camped out on a nearby cliff doing long-distance surveillance. Otherwise, things have been quiet since your departure."

“As long as all they’re doing is passive. You know what to do if someone tries to force their way inside.”

“Yes sir, the house protocol is engaged.”

“Good.”

Tony was scanning through the results from JARVIS’ simulations of yesterday’s incident when Fury finally came back from his ‘break’.

“Gotta go, J, old one-eye has returned,” Tony said as he snapped his phone off and tucked it away in a pocket.

“So,” he added, climbing to his feet, “what did your techy minions say? Am I in the clear?”

Fury nodded distractedly, his mind obviously already focused on the information that Tony had dropped off.

“You’re good, Stark. There’s just some paperwork that we need you to sign, validation of your statements, and then we’ll see you home. Just wait a minute; the secretary is printing things out now.”

Tony simply nodded. He was ready to get home, and if being polite would get him there quicker, he could play nice.

“By the way,” Director Fury turned back from where he stood at the conference room door. “The files make mention of an unnamed man, some high ranked individual who was the real shot caller, above even the Ten Rings’ leadership. But the techs haven’t managed to find a name for the leader so far. Yinsen didn’t happen to tell you that name, did he?”

After their comfortable discussion earlier, the question seemed normal enough. So, Tony had no qualms about answering. “Let me think for a moment.”

Digging through his memories, already brought to the surface by Fury and Coulson’s interviews, Tony managed to find the necessary reference. “I’m not certain,” Tony said hesitantly, “but I do remember Yinsen mentioning one name.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“Pierce. Something Pierce.”

At the sound of that name, Fury’s whole body froze for a single brief instant.

Huh, must be someone that he knows.

“Something?”

“Yeah, I didn’t catch the first name, but I think… I think that it started with an A?”

The SHIELD Director’s face was impassive, but Tony could tell that the nonchalance was an act. Something about that name was important.

“Thank you for your time, Mister Stark. If you will just wait here for a moment, Agents will be in with that paperwork shortly.”

With a nod, Fury swept out of the room in a swirl of black leather, leaving Tony alone once again. As he flopped down in the conference room chair, putting his feet up on the table, Tony’s mind raced.

Pierce. One more name for JARVIS to investigate.

Caught up his thoughts, Tony didn’t notice the odd smell that began to permeate the room until it was too late. Against his will, he lost consciousness. The last thing he thought was…

Why?

Chapter Text

“Ah. Nicholas, good to see you.”

Alexander Pierce’s public smile was all-too-familiar to his former subordinate as the SHIELD Director approached the table where the man was holding court. 

Ostensibly the former SHIELD Director and current Secretary of State was in Los Angeles as a part of his tour of the US’s military facilities in the West Coast.  Thus, it was no surprise to find the man surrounded by admirers and sycophants alike. Nick easily recognized several of the local military brass – both by reputation and their polished dress uniforms – as well as representatives from defense contractors like Boeing and Northrup Grumman and even Hammer Industries.

Of course, Director Nick Fury was one of the few who knew the true reason for Pierce’s trip. Pierce was on the West Coast for the same reason that Nick himself was there – Anthony Stark.

“I believe that you’ve met General Campbell and Admiral Croft,” Pierce said, gesturing to two of his companions.

“Indeed,” Nick said with a nod, offering his hand to the men. Following Pierce’s lead, he allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation, easily slipping into the discussion like the trained infiltrator that he was.

To those not in the know, SHIELD was a government think-tank which specialized in international affairs and global politics. As such, Pierce’s transition from SHIELD Director into the Secretary of State position was publically known, as was Fury’s status as the organization’s new Director. This allowed the pair of master spies to interact with each other socially without comment.

---

It was over an hour before both Nick was able to extract Secretary Pierce from the ballroom, pulling him aside into one of the nearby libraries for a private conversation.

The Secretary’s smile faded the moment he was out of public view.

“Update me on the Stark situation,” he ordered abruptly, forgoing any illusion of propriety now that they were no longer in public.

"As requested, SHIELD took custody of Mister Stark following his return from the Middle East," Nick stated. "Having conducted a thorough interview with Mister Stark, I am satisfied that he was not suborned during his captivity."

Pierce frowned, but before he could say anything, Nick continued. “That being said, I am afraid that the rest of the news is not so positive.”

“Well?”

“As you know, Anthony Edward Stark is, in fact, a genius. His skills as an inventor and engineer are on par with if not beyond those of our top researchers at SHIELD.”

Once again Pierce frowned, displeased at the implication, but nodded his agreement.

"If he weren't the Stark heir, he likely would have been recruited into our ranks back when he was still at MIT. But between Howard Stark and Peggy Carter's insistence that he not be involved in SHIELD and the well-known playboy personality he projected, Mister Stark was viewed as an unacceptable risk, at least as a recruit."

Nick knew that Pierce was well aware of these facts, but the reminder was always useful.

“Even after Howard and Maria Stark were murdered by the Winter Soldier, the decision was made to keep Stark Junior in the dark about his father’s involvement in our business. Instead, you as the new Director chose to use Obadiah Stane as our connection with SI.”

This time it was Nick who frowned when he recalled the investigation into the Starks’ murders. He had been merely an Agent at the time, and despite his team’s best efforts they had been unable to identify who had ordered the Starks’ deaths. The most that they’d been able to determine was that it was a murder and that the assassin used was likely the Winter Soldier.

At the time, newly promoted Director Pierce had ordered that the murders were covered up due to the circumstances surrounding the murders. He didn’t want it known that not only had SHIELD had access to a version of Erskine’s Serum, but that it was stolen without the culprits being apprehended or even identified. Pierce had even ordered the truth be kept from former Director Carter, using the older woman’s recent diagnosis with Alzheimer as an excuse.

"For the past two decades, Stane has managed to keep Stark unaware of the full extent of SI's arrangement with our organization."

“Indeed. I take it that there is a but?”

“Yes, sir.” Even though he didn’t officially work for the Secretary anymore, Nick couldn’t help the reflex. “Stark’s time in captivity, while it didn’t manage to suborn him, did redirect his rather impressive intellect. We’ve already seen the public side of this change, but it’s more than that.”

Nick hesitated for a moment, deciding which direction he wanted to go. Stark’s mention of Pierce’s name in connection to the Ten Rings had pinged his radar and he didn’t want to tip the older man off about his suspicions.

“He’s managed to link himself to the Wakandans, and we both know that they’re far more than the impoverished African nation that they portray to the public.”

"How did he manage that one, did he say?" Pierce asked, curious. SHIELD had been trying to get an in with the secretive country for decades but had never managed more than the most cursory investigation. They certainly hadn't built a public alliance like the one recently announced between the Maria Stark Foundation and the Wakandan-controlled Usapho Foundation.

“Not in any detail,” Nick replied. “He indicated that they were the ones to reach out, but refused to provide any further information. Stark played like he knew nothing, but there is no way that he is unaware of the truth.”

“And you didn’t press?”

“It wasn’t the time, sir, as we were still using the soft approach.”

“And that’s changed?”

“Yes.” Nick had finally gotten to the important part of his debrief. “The soft approach turned out to be the right choice in this matter. It seems that Stark had a companion in the caves, one who was not a part of the Ten Rings’ organization.”

With a pained grimace, Nick paused for a moment before continuing. “Stark’s companion was one of ours.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow.  “There was a SHIELD agent in the encampment? Why is this the first that I’m hearing of it?”

“Not an agent, precisely. More of an… asset,” Nick said. “Doctor Ho Yinsen. He was a part of our intelligence network, an informant who passed along relevant data about the Afghan region in general and the Ten Rings in particular. When Yinsen’s entire family was murdered by that terrorist organization last year, we assumed that he’d died as well. According to Stark, the Ten Rings had decided to keep Yinsen instead due to his usefulness as a doctor and translator. They kept him locked up inside their encampments at all times. It was only thanks to Yinsen’s actions that Stark survived at all, a fact that the man easily admitted.”

"And this… Yinsen was it?… mentioned SHIELD to Stark?"

“Not explicitly, sir. However, Stark is not a genius for nothing. He made an intuitive leap based on something that the older man had said during their time together. Or at least that is what Stark claims, anyways. Furthermore, Stark handed over a hard drive to me during the interview, one which he said came from Yinsen. The drive is an absolute gold mine of information about everything happening in the Middle East at present, including our missions and presence.”

Nick could see that Pierce caught the implications as fast as he had.

“And did Stark say anything about the drive’s contents?”

“Well, he claims not to have read them…”

“…but you doubt that.” Pierce finished Nick’s sentence for him. “I see the problem. Where is Stark now?”

“We’ve neutralized him. He’s in custody, right now. Under sedation.”

Pierce paced for a moment, deliberating. Nick was certain that the Secretary would reach the same conclusion that he had already come to, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility that Pierce would be more aggressive than his successor.

“Stark is too well known to simply have him disappear without questions being raised,” he eventually said.

“And we can’t afford for the military to take custody, not since we don’t know what all he knows.” Nick nodded. “My people have a proposal.”

“Go on.”

“Why not use Stark’s recent public behavior to our advantage. Being held by terrorists could break anyone, after all.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared on Pierce’s face.

"You have a good relationship with Obadiah Stane. With his help, it would be easy to sell the idea that Stark had a mental break, and that he has voluntarily checked himself into a facility for treatment. Then all we have to do is keep him under wraps. The Sandbox, perhaps?"

“I like it,” Pierce said with a sharp nod. “Killing Stark now would be suspicious. But holding him in one of our facilities, that’s good. After all, he might be useful someday.”

Nick didn’t bother finishing Pierce’s thought. He knew that the Secretary was thinking of leverage with Stane. While the unscrupulous businessman was an ally of SHIELD’s right now, that could always change.

“I’ll leave the whole matter in your excellent hands, then, Nick.”

With that, Pierce strode out of the room, clearly intending to return to the ballroom.

Nick spared a moment to regret the waste of a brilliant mind. Tony Stark could have been a very useful asset for SHIELD if managed correctly, he thought.

Then he shrugged. But not now.

He swept out of the library. As he walked, his leather coat billowed around him. With rapid steps, Nick made his way out of the building and into his waiting vehicle.

There was much to do.

Chapter Text

When Tony awoke, he was no longer in the conference room where he had been rendered unconscious – gassed?

Instead, he was lying on a thin mat that lay on one side of a rather small room. The room’s walls, including ceiling and floor, were covered in hexagonal tiles that – Tony though – probably acted as a sound absorbent. There was a solid door set into one wall, its sides sunk far enough into the doorframe such that there were no gaps between them.

Sitting up, Tony noticed that it wasn't just his location that had changed. During his bout of unconsciousness, he had also been stripped of his suit and all accessories. Instead, he was now dressed in loose-fitting casual wear. A t-shirt and elastic waist pants – both in navy blue – as well as socks and underwear, were all that he'd been given.

The room was warm enough that he didn’t need any further layers, but still, the fact that he’d been changed was concerning. Who knows what kinds of things they might have done to him while he was under sedation.

Taking a careful assessment of his physical condition, Tony didn't notice any new sources of pain beyond the still healing injuries from his recent flight. In fact, his bruises actually ached less, and the bandages on his ribs and other scrapes were professionally done.

Looks like this time my captors want me healthy. Tony thought, choking back the hysterical laughter that he could feel bubbling up in the back of his throat. But why? Why take me as a prisoner? I thought that Fury believed that I was innocent.

Tony’s mind raced as he tried to find an explanation.

Pierce. There has to be something about that name. Still, whatever it was, it wasn’t something that can be legally prosecuted. Otherwise, they would have had me arrested, not gassed.

After a few minutes, Tony’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of a visitor.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good, that will make this easier.”

The person who opened the door was yet another figure in a suit, this one with the same military haircut and bearing as the driver from earlier. Like with the driver, Tony caught a glimpse of a gun holster on the side of his belt when he moved. Since he was still feeling a bit dizzy from whatever they used to dose him, Tony didn’t bother to stand. Instead, he leaned back against the cell wall and crossed his arms over his chest with a frown. The position was not only his way to show his displeasure with the situation, but it also allowed him to cover his vulnerability – the reactor – at least partially.

Shutting the door behind him, Tony’s visitor continued speaking in a diffident tone, as if uncaring of his audience.

“Based on recent events, it was decided that you would be safer remaining in SHIELD custody instead of returning to the dubious security of your own home. For your own protection, your exact location – and indeed the fact that you’re in SHIELD’s hands – will be considered top secret. Instead, your identity for the duration of your stay with us will be as a John Doe.”

Tony couldn't help but scoff at the idea that he could be mistaken for an anonymous figure. He was a public figure, after all, one whose face was known worldwide.

Correctly interpreting Tony's scoff, the Agent continued. "In order to maintain this ruse, you will be hooded any time that you are moved between secure locations. The number of personnel aware of your true identity will be limited to a small handful of guards, those few like me who you will interact with directly. To the rest of the Agency, you will be yet another faceless prisoner, a warm body."

“But…” Tony began to speak.

“Don’t bother to protest. Your fate has already been set at the highest levels. As far as anyone outside the Agency is aware, you suffered a nervous breakdown – a delayed response to your recent captivity – and have been checked into a private treatment facility. Control over your affairs has been placed into the hands of your mentor, Obadiah Stane, who has already stepped up to re-take the position of CEO.”

At that, Tony’s captor gave a sneer.

“All of your actions since your return have already been reversed, especially the shutdown of Stark Industries’ weapons division. In his press conference, Stane claimed that since your decision-making ability has proven to be compromised, he will be assessing all decisions that have been made and only allowing those which act in the company’s best interests to continue.”

The Agent turned to leave the room, and then glanced back at Tony. “You’d best make yourself comfortable, Stark, as this is your reality now.”

With that ‘cheery’ thought, he left the room, making sure that the door shut tightly behind him.

---

Over the next several hours, Tony could do little more than sit and fume. After everything that he’d done to escape from the Ten Rings – even beginning the process of becoming a better man – all of that had been wiped away. He was once again trapped, this time behind a façade of protection.

With nothing else to do, Tony's mind searched for an explanation for his latest captivity. The SHIELD bureaucrat's answer was too pat. There had to be something more than just ‘protection' driving them.

Gulmira's aftermath was one possibility. Perhaps someone in the US military was particularly offended by his actions in deploying the Mark II?

Or it could be the shutdown SI's weapons division. Certainly, Rhodey had gotten plenty of flack about that issue and had passed it along to his friend.

Or maybe it was Obie or someone else from the Stark Industries’ Board? After all, the company did take a fairly substantial series of hits during recent events.

Tony didn’t like to think that Obie was capable of that, but his old mentor had been glaring at him behind his back a lot lately.

What about the Wakandans? Sure Mercy/Nakia had become a friend, and King Shaka-laka had been impressive, but the country was notorious about keeping its secrets. Had he managed to push the wrong button there?

The possibilities were endless.

Eventually, the vibration that Tony had felt through his cell’s floor began to change. Wherever his cell was, it was on a vehicle of some kind. Now, that vehicle was in the process of changing its trajectory. Given the direction of the force that Tony could feel on his back and legs – and everywhere else – he would bet that he was inside of a plane. The motion was too smooth and three-dimensional for anything else.

Thud.

And… there was the jolt that came from an abrupt course change. The plane had come in for a landing.

---

After a few minutes, the remaining vibration ceased.

Engine shutoff, Tony thought distantly. Looks like we are going to be here for a time. Wonder if that means I’m getting out of this cell?

Despite his captor’s words, Tony couldn’t help but hope that the move out of his current accommodations would provide an opportunity for escape – or at least information.

 Tony Stark was a genius – one who had escaped from Afghani terrorists. Surely a secret government agency couldn’t be any harder?

Of course, the obvious dome of a camera in the ceiling of the cell made any physical attempt futile at this time. Still, preparation was key. Tony sharpened his focus and waited.

---

Sure enough, the door to the cell opened once again a short time after the engines had been turned off. Tony’s smirking guard had returned, along with an even larger and more muscular sidekick. Given the odds, Tony knew that it was futile to try and fight at this time. Instead, he submitted, allowing the larger guard to cuff his hands behind his back without a fuss. The next item, though, made Tony protest.

“Wha… No…” he tried to back away, but the second guard was behind him, holding him in place. Before Tony could say anything more, a gag was shoved into his mouth.

“It’s just a precaution,” Tony’s original guard said with a sneer. “It would be a waste if we hid your pretty face only for someone to recognize your voice.”

Then a fabric bag was placed over Tony’s head, covering everything down to his shoulders. The mouth of the bag was large enough that the excess fabric draped over his chest, acting as additional camouflage to hide the arc reactor. Despite everything, Tony was grateful that SHIELD was at least keeping his new prosthetic in place and under wraps. If they had let their scientists extract it during his recent bout of unconsciousness, he would have died.

Of course, Tony was certain that the spy agency had performed a full medical examination in that window between his being gassed and waking up on the plane. It was what he would have done in their shoes. That was; if he was someone who made a habit of taking innocents into custody ‘for their protection'.

Anyways… Dropping that particular thread, Tony focused on the here and now.

He was led out of the cell and into the hallway beyond. With his feet now covered only by socks and soft slippers, he could feel the solid metal surface beneath them. He was led by the arm down a corridor; then a flight of stairs; then through a larger, more echo-y space, and then finally out into a dry, hot outdoor space.

The feel of the weather reminded Tony a bit of Afghanistan. However, the scents that he could pick up beyond the overwhelming stench of hot metal and gas, the normal aroma of a recently landed plane, were similar to the US military bases that Tony had visited.

Despite the muffling effect of the bag over his head, he could hear the general tenor of the conversations occurring around him. There were the usual calls of the ground crew, refueling and performing routine maintenance for the plane.

There was the harsh, strident sound of a drill sergeant combined with the repetitive thump of marching feet, familiar to Tony from his on-site visits to Rhodey. He even caught a few calls of greeting for his guards.

“Prisoner transport duty, huh?” was one such yell. “Sucks to be you, Brad.”

"Tell me about it. The most boring job there is." This was Tony's tormenter, not the silent guard who had his hand on Tony's arm.

“Special circumstances?” The other man asked, presumably about the hood.

“Above your pay grade.”

“Sure, sure, whatever, man. Stop showing off your promotion, would you.”

“But Nate, how else would you recognize how superior I am?”

Tony longed to interrupt, but the gag stuffed in his mouth kept him silent and the hand on his arm kept him stationary.

---

After a far too long interlude of inane conversation, Tony and company continued their trek across the – apparent – tarmac. Then they crossed a metal threshold. Transitioning into the indoors didn’t do much to the noise level, as it seemed that they were passing through a large lobby area. Still, it was a break from the dry heat and wind of the outside.

The hand on his arm led him across an expanse of concrete, and then onto an elevator, which began to descend shortly after they entered it.

As they descended, the elevator made a number of stops, with people getting on and off at each one. From the snatches of conversation that Tony heard, it seemed that he was at one of SHIELD’s main bases, a place called ‘the Sandbox’.

The name made sense given the desert environment that Tony had noticed outside. He wondered where on Earth it was located. Given the length of time that he’d been locked in his plane cell, plus whatever time had passed before he’d awakened, the location was somewhere overseas – the Middle East, perhaps. Idle speculation, but it kept him focused on the present…

---

Finally, the elevator stopped at Tony and company’s designated floor.

He was shoved forward through the crush of people in front of him, before coming to an abrupt stop before some kind of desk.

“Checking in?”

The voice in front of them sounded bored.

“Yes. Prisoner transfer to the isolation ward.”

“Roger that. Just sign in, here and I’ll buzz you through.”

Tony’s guard did so. Then, driving him along, they walked through the heavy gate and down a series of corridors.

As Tony followed his guard’s forceful guidance, he did his best to count turns and distances in his head, just in case he managed to escape his eventual cell and needed to make his way back on his own.

----

When they finally removed his hood, Tony once again found himself in a cell. This time, however, it was not the high-tech room from before. Instead, the cell was a simple construction of steel and concrete, the door solid steel with a viewing window at head height and a slot below for deliveries. Looking around, Tony was careful to not dwell on anything in particular for too long. He didn’t want his guards to realize how much the room’s furnishings gave him to work with.

Tony’s new home’s furniture included a folding bed anchored to the wall, a desk and chair, and an aluminum sink and toilet combination. Illumination came from an exposed fixture installed in the ceiling, accessible if he stood on the chair.

That’s promising. Tony thought with an internal grin.

"Welcome to SHIELD's detention center in the heart of the Sandbox."

To Tony's surprise, it wasn't the first, snide Agent who spoke this time. Instead, the words came from the other guard, the one who had remained silent until now. "Because of secrecy of your situation, you are being held in our isolation ward. As such, you will not be allowed to mingle with the general population. Instead, your meals will be delivered three times a day, through the slot on the door.”

“Like the rest of our isolation prisoners, you will be given individual time slots for breaks. These will include yard time lasting for an hour every other day, shower time twice a week, and a library visit once a week. At all other times, you will remain in your cell."

This guard’s tone was professional and polite, in direct contrast to the other man. “As the staff member assigned to your case, I will be your escort for all excursions outside of this cell. Besides me, all other contacts will be done through the cell door. Further, you are not permitted to talk to any of the other guards that you may glimpse passing through the halls."

Gesturing towards the window, he added. “You’ll notice that the window on your door is opaque. This is so that no one besides myself or other approved guards may see your face.”

Having removed the cuffs and gag from Tony, he tucked them into his pockets. Then, reaching under the bed, he pulled out a plastic crate. “Like all of our other guests, your accommodations include basic supplies such as a blanket, toiletries, a change of clothes, even paper and pens. If you would like to request additional items – or replacements – you may ask when I visit. Or, you may leave a note with your meal tray. Of course, there is no guarantee that any request will be granted, but I am permitted to provide additional resources – within reason.”

"Better than you deserve," the abusive guard muttered under his breath from where he stood leaning against the cell door. The reminder that the bully existed had Tony glaring in response. He knew that the Agents were likely playing roles – good cop/bad cop – but he couldn't help how the ‘bad' cop put his back up. The man was really pissing him off.

“Now then, I’ll leave you to settle in. The next meal – which is dinner – should be arriving in a few hours.”

With that, the two guards left, closing and locking the door behind them with a clang.

Collapsing onto his new bed with a sigh, Tony dropped his face into his hands. He still found it hard to believe that this was indeed happening to him… again.

Chapter Text

Climbing into the driver's seat of the rental car, James Rhodes stared out the front windshield with unseeing eyes. In his mind, the dreary cemetery before him became a view of Gin as he'd seen her last.

---

The sound of heels on tile disturbed James' contemplation of his beer. Glancing up, he smiled at the red-headed woman who stood before him. Dressed in a sharp business suit and the Louboutin heels – doubtless one of the pairs that Tony had bought her as apology presents – at first glance, the younger woman looked much the same as she ever did.

 But when James took a second look, he realized that his first impression was incorrect.

Though well hidden under careful makeup, Gin's eyes were bloodshot and there were signs of dark circles underneath. Her suit might be sharp, but it also fits her poorly, a sign that she had lost significant weight, and not in a healthy way.

Besides her purse, Gin clutched a leather portfolio to her chest. Clearly, it contained something very important.

“Gin,” he said with a nod. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“Jim.”

In response to Tony’s ridiculous nicknames, Rhodey and Pepper, the pair had long developed the habit of calling each other by the nicknames that their mutual friend had dismissed as ‘too common’.

It felt oddly appropriate that their old nicknames were so similar – Gin and Jim – and referenced types of hard liquor.

"I don't mean to be rude, Gin, but this isn't exactly your usual type of place," James said, gesturing around him.

A loud yell sounded from the bar, as the bank of televisions above it displayed a professional football game. Glancing at it, James saw that the offense had just scored a touchdown. An instant replay was already running, showing the moment on repeat.

“I know. It’s just…” she hesitated, and then went on. “It’s just… something about Tony’s breakdown… it doesn’t feel… right. I didn’t know who else to talk to, but Tony’s your friend and I thought… I thought that you might be willing to help.”

Holding out the portfolio, she offered it to him. James set it down on the bar table, flipping it open to see the hard copy of an internal Stark Industries memo.

“Mister Stane took control over things far too quickly. Tony hadn’t been gone more than a day before he had already dismissed all of the changes we’d made. If it weren’t for the fact that the contracts with Usapho had already been filed with the lawyers, I’m certain that Mister Stane would have eliminated that work as well.”

James hummed, scanning the documents, as Gin claimed the other chair at his small table.

“Then there’s the house. He had the Malibu mansion mothballed and the utilities shut off within a week of Tony’s absence. We didn’t even power things down after three months last time.”

She sniffed. “Happy and I both got termination letters this morning. Stane is using his status as temporary Guardian to get rid of all of Tony’s allies.”

Pulling a tissue out of her purse, Gin dabbed at the sides of her eyes. “Did you know that they won’t even tell me where Tony was placed? I wanted to send him a care package, you know, some things to remind him of happier times. When I asked her, Stane’s secretary informed me that I wasn’t allowed to know. Me!”

Reaching out, James wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him with a sob. Waving the waitress over, he asked for a glass of water. Then he ordered a fresh drink for himself and one for his companion.

“It’s tough, I know, Gin. We just got him back, and now he’s gone again. But that’s no reason to assume foul play.”

“But…”

“Look. I love Tony, but he wasn’t himself after he got back from Afghanistan. Isolating himself in the house; making foolhardy decisions about the company; even running out of the Gala to…” James stopped himself. Gin didn’t have the clearance to know about the Gulmira incident.

"This really is for the best. Tony can focus on getting better."

He frowned for a moment, waiting as the waitress dropped off their drinks, before continuing. "Now, I was given a postal address where I can send things for Tony. I'm not sure why you weren't given the address, maybe the secretary was confused, but in any case, I'm happy to share it with you."

"Okay Jim," Gin's smile was watery but present.

“As far as the job thing, you know that I’d be happy to write a reference for both you and Happy if you need. I have been the SI Air Force liaison for as long as you’ve been there, you know.”

Her smile grew stronger and she nodded.

“Besides, you are massively overqualified to stay as a personal assistant forever. Use this as a chance to try something new.”

"Thanks," she said and sniffed wetly.

“And don’t let your brain run away with you,” James said as he shut the portfolio. “It will do more harm than good.”

He ignored the frown on her face as she reclaimed it, tucking it away in her purse. He didn’t want to get into another argument. Instead, he turned the discussion to more pleasant things.

They had ended up spending an hour or so visiting before James had to leave for another meeting.

---

James had hoped that his words had been enough to dissuade Gin from continuing her foolish investigation. Indeed, the next few days seemed to indicate that was the case.

He had gotten a call from Tony’s former driver, Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan, confirming the offer of a reference the following morning. During the call, the other man had thanked him for talking ‘Ms. Potts’ down. Hogan had commented that he thought Stane had rushed things a bit, behaving insensitively, but that such actions were not inconsistent for the older man. Stane did have a reputation for putting business before all else.

“I’d already been putting a few feelers out before we got the letters,” he admitted to James. “After all, there’s no reason for a man in an institution to have a driver. But thanks, again, for the reference offer. It should help ease the transition.”

---

But then, a few days later, another call came in.

“Colonel Rhodes?”

“Who is this?”

The voice on the other end of the line was female and clearly upset. From the sound of her voice, it seemed that she was barely holding back tears.

“It’s Evelyn, Ginny’s mother. You are James Rhodes, right, Mister Stark’s friend?”

“Ginny?  Oh, Gin – Ms. Potts. Yes, this is James Rhodes. What can I do for you, Mrs. Potts?”

"There's been…" Evelyn Potts choked back a sob and then continued. "There's been an accident. Up in the Hills. Happy, you know, Harold Hogan, Mister Stark's old driver… Well, he was driving Ginny home last night and…" she faltered and sobbed again.

“I got the call this morning. A passing motorist noticed the damaged railing this morning and called it in. They… they found the car down in a ravine, and…” Her voice went high as she sobbed. “… she’s dead. My baby’s dead. They’re both dead.”

What?!

“The cops said that they’re still investigating, but it looks like it was just a stupid accident.”

Between the pounding in his ears and her sobs, James could barely understand what Mrs. Potts said next.

Dead? That couldn’t be.

Almost absently he thanked Mrs. Potts for letting him know while offering his sympathies for their shared loss. He asked to be kept in the loop about any funeral arrangements before ending the call.

Seconds later, he was placing calls of his own, wanting, no, needing answers.

In the end, it was just as Mrs. Potts had said. Hogan had been driving the pair home on one of the winding roads that led through the Los Angeles Hills. The car had suffered a blow-out, sending it careening through the guard-rail and down into the ravine.  Despite clear evidence of Hogan’s attempts to regain control, the car had hit a boulder on its way down, flipping it over and sending it tumbling end over end until it finally came to a stop at the bottom. The vehicle’s mad tumble was enough to render both driver and passenger unconscious and pin them down inside the wreckage. There was some indication that Hogan managed to regain consciousness, trying and failing to extract himself or call for help before succumbing due to blood loss. Gin, on the other hand, appeared to have landed badly during the fall and died without ever reawakening.

As Hogan lacked any close relatives, James had made his funeral arrangements. He was able to convince SI’s HR department to pay for Hogan’s costs despite the recent dismissal. He then had Hogan interred at a local Los Angeles cemetery.

Meanwhile, Gin’s body had been claimed by her grieving parents, who had brought it home to the Northeast. It was there, in a suburb outside Boston, that James currently sat. He had flown out for his friend’s funeral, standing in for an absent Tony Stark.

---

James had been unsure about informing Tony about Gin and Hogan's deaths, and in the end, he had decided to leave it up to Tony's doctors. So, he wrote two letters, placing one inside of the other. The outer letter, which was addressed to the institution, outlined what had happened. James explained that he wasn't sure if knowledge of the tragic accident would cause a setback, and asked to be informed which option the doctors advised.

‘If you feel that it would be alright for Tony to know,' the letter read, ‘please deliver the second letter to him.'

This second, inner letter addressed to Tony was James’ best attempt at writing something that would comfort as it informed his friend of the horrible news. Even after numerous drafts, James was still unsatisfied with the final product. Still, it was the best that he could do given the situation.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter.  James received a response to his request a few days later. The institution had decided to keep Tony in the dark – at least until he was in a better place mentally.

‘Your letter will be placed in Mister Stark’s file for delivery when the doctors feel that he is ready to read it. We will, of course, let you know when such an event occurs.’

While James was sad that he couldn’t see his friend, and visit him in person, the correspondence reassured him that Tony was being well cared for wherever he was staying.

---

The honk of a horn shook James out of his thoughts. It seemed that the owners of the vehicle that had parked behind him couldn’t move forward until he did. Wiping away the tears that he hadn’t even noticed falling, James drove forward. He followed the narrow road out of the cemetery and back into the Massachusetts streets.

---

Two days later, James found himself again lost in memory as he followed the driveway towards Tony's Malibu home. He would be heading back to base shortly. But, he had felt the need to visit the Stark mansion. He hoped that the visit would help him get final closure.

Despite the fact that the house was closed, the grounds looked as well kept as ever. James assumed that was because Stane's people had arranged for Tony's gardeners to continue their work despite the lack of a resident. Still, even in the bright California sun, the house felt oddly eerie.

It made James shiver as he climbed out of his car and walked toward the front door.

It just doesn’t feel right, James thought as he pulled out his wallet to retrieve the house key that Tony had given him right after the edifice was built. Having to use an actual, physical key to get inside. With JARVIS online, doors just… open when needed.

The main floor of the house had been properly closed down, with dust covers over all of the furniture and all of the detritus of Tony's normal lifestyle cleared away. With the power down, the only light present was the natural illumination that came through the tinted glass windows. This gloom, combined with recent events, made the entire space feel haunted. James hurriedly made his way towards the staircase to the lab.

Despite the near pitch blackness, James had taken those stairs often enough that he managed to make it down without falling. He reached the glass wall that separated the lab from the rest of the house and peered through the dim interior. A bit of sunlight made it down in the lab thanks to the recessed skylights that Tony had included in the house's design. In that dim light, James could see no sign of life. Even the lights of the lab server racks – including JARVIS' tower – were out.

There should have been enough power stored in the computers’ batteries for JARVIS to do a controlled shut-down for the system when the power was shut off, James thought. I cannot imagine him doing otherwise.

In one corner of the lab, James caught a glimpse of the bots – DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers – in their charging docks, presumably having also run their batteries out. The sight of the trio made James smile on reflex.

At least Tony will still have his children waiting for him if he ever gets better and comes home. I’m sure that JARVIS will be there as well; ready to serve his Master once more.

James' smile was rueful and tinged with sorrow, but it was present as he turned on his heel and returned to the main floor. Going to the bar, he poured himself a slug of gin – the one which Gin preferred – and raised his glass in a salute to his lost friend.

"Don't worry, Gin, I'll be there for him even if you can't be anymore." Throwing back the slug with a single swallow, James set the used glass back down on the bar and turned to walk out of the ghostly mansion.

As he did so, his phone rang.

“Colonel Rhodes.”

“…”

“Yes, Sir, I’m on my way back now.”

“…”

“Understood, Sir, I’ll head over there immediately.”

“…”

“Don’t worry, Sir, I won’t let my history with Mister Stark get in the way. I’m sure that I can continue in the liaison position despite the change of leadership.”

As James left, locking the front door behind him, a single red light blinked in the hall, a sign that the house’s surveillance system was still actively recording despite the lack of power drawn from the municipal system.

Chapter Text

Strolling down the dim corridor between two guards, Tony considered the past few months. He’d been held at the Sandbox for the duration, spending all of his time in the same ward of their ‘lock-up’. Now, however, he was finally being moved.

The move came in the aftermath of his second escape attempt; one which had gotten decently far, he thought. His first attempt – a few days after his arrival – had been much less successful.

To be fair, it had been more of a probe than anything; an assessment of the prison’s capabilities. Tony had managed to modify the wiring from the light in his ceiling, using the electrical current running through it as an impromptu Taser and knocking the visiting guard unconscious. The guard, who had arrived to escort Tony on his second shower visit, had been on his own. This fact gave Tony his opportunity, one which he eagerly grabbed. With the guard out of commission, Tony snagged his gear, locking the other man inside of the cell as he headed out.

On that occasion, Tony hadn’t managed to make it past the end of the isolation ward. Unfortunately for Tony, the ward’s exterior door required a passcode to open. Tony had been in the middle of hacking the control pad when another guard showed up on the opposite side of the door on his way into the ward.  Despite Tony’s best efforts, he was recognized as a prisoner immediately and taken back into custody, being returned to another cell on the same block.

The only impact of this first escape attempt was the assignment of a second guard whenever Tony was allowed to leave the cell. It seemed that Tony’s actions were typical, as SHIELD’s common practice was to assign a single guard initially to evaluate prisoner abilities. Or so one of the guards told Tony gleefully the next time he was escorted to the library.

“You won me a fair bit in the pot,” he said with a grin. “I was certain that you’d manage to find a way to overpower Dave with tech. Some of the others thought you were harmless, but the chatter that I’ve heard says otherwise.”

“Glad I could help,” Tony said wryly. He was unsurprised by the betting. “Any other pools that I should be aware of?”

“Not now, but I’ll let you know if something comes up.” The guard replied. “Inside information is always useful.”

“Thanks.”

---

This friendly guard, Jack, was the one who ended up giving Tony his second chance at an escape. One day, when Jack stood guard over Tony in the bathroom, the genius overheard him grumbling about his phone’s recent difficulties.

"And I'm stuck on the base right now. It'll be months before I have a chance to get a new one," Jack said with a groan.

“You know, I might be able to help with that,” Tony said as he stepped out of the shower. “I am an engineer, you know.”

“Really?”

Jack was skeptical, especially given that the detention block was sealed. “No transmissions in or out,” Jack commented. “Part of the security system here.”

“Sure. Genius, remember, I don’t need a Wi-Fi connection to debug anything,” Tony assured the other man. “Besides, that security means that there’s no risk in my trying, right?”

“Okay. But no one else can know.”

Tony nodded, hiding his exultant cry behind his teeth.

“I’ll bring it on your next library day. I’ve already been assigned for that rotation.”

---

As promised, Jack delivered the cell to Tony two days later. With a little bit of finagling, Tony convinced the guard that he'd need some time – and the privacy of his cell – to work. Jack agreed reluctantly and helped Tony to smuggle the device back to the cell.

“Just remember. No funny business,” he’d told Tony in a hissed whisper as he left the cell behind his partner for the day.

Tony held up his hand. "Scout's honor," he replied, even as he struggled to keep a straight face. Anthony Stark was not and had never been, a Boy Scout.

“Right.”

With that, the cell door had slammed shut, locking both Tony and the tech inside.

Working swiftly and carefully, Tony had embedded a virus inside of the phone’s operating system, a virus designed to open a path between the cell and the detention center exit. The virus would automatically be uploaded into the Sandbox’s Wi-Fi the next time that the phone was taken out of the detention center’s zone of influence and was set to activate the next time that the facility had a major incident. Tony would be alerted five minutes before the doors were unlocked by a specific sequence of disruptions to his cell lights’ power.

As a back-up, in case things went wrong, Tony also input a second prong. If Tony failed to send a kill command within 24 hours of the escape attempt, the virus would attempt to send a message to the outside world, or more specifically, to JARVIS. Given Tony’s uncertainty as to the identity of the people who had betrayed him, JARVIS was the only guaranteed choice.  He was fairly certain that Pep and Rhodey could be trusted, but he didn’t want to risk someone having access to their accounts.

Yes, J was best, Tony had thought as he put final touches to the code. Jack and his comrade would be arriving shortly to take Tony for his shower and Tony could use his dirty clothes to do the phone exchange.

 I hope this works.

---

It took two days of a nerve-wracking wait before the cell lights finally flickered in the set pattern.  It was nearly time for lights out, maybe an hour after dinner was delivered, and Tony had been doodling ideas when he caught the flicker. Shoving his chair back, Tony almost frantically pulled on his slip-on shoes and started to pace the extent of the cell. When he heard the click of the lock disengaging five minutes later, Tony nearly tripped in his lunge for the door.

Using Jack's stories as a guide, Tony made his way to the guards' break-room without incident, though he did catch the sound of someone yelling from a ways away at a couple of points during his walk. Once there, Tony snagged a spare uniform that hung near the door and pulled it on over his prison scrubs. Due to the lack of spare boots anywhere, Tony was forced to stick to the slip-on shoes, a fact which he hoped that no one would notice.

He then strolled down the hall towards the exit, crossing his fingers inside of his pockets as he walked.

It wasn’t like he was superstitious or anything, Tony thought wryly as he walked, just an old habit from childhood.

---

As he approached the main entrance, Tony had his first encounter with other people. The uniformed staff moved efficiently, focused on whatever had stirred them up. As they passed, Tony did his best not to tense up. He knew that any deviation in his body language would be an obvious tell. He had managed a half-dozen or so contacts and had reached the entry room when things fell apart.

“Hey,” a voice from behind Tony had called. “You forgot to sign out.”

Doing his best to act nonchalant, Tony turned and gestured ‘me?’ hoping that the game wasn’t up.

“Yes, you,” the desk worker said with a sigh. “Doesn’t matter if you’ve gotten called to another duty station, you still have to sign out like normal.”

“Sorry, forgot,” Tony said, walking over to the desk.

“New?”

“That obvious?”

“Not too bad. You’ve got the walk almost right.”

The non-sequitur threw Tony for a moment. Before he could reply, a voice spoke from right behind him. “Yes. SHIELD training causes its people to carry themselves in a very specific manner. It’s only noticeable if you’ve served as a trainer, but it is there.”

Tony spun around. He found himself face-to-face with the guard who had originally brought him into the detention center.

“Shit…”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Now, then, let’s get you back to where you belong, shall we.”

Knowing that there was no point in trying to protest, Tony sighed and nodded. As they walked down the halls, the guard commented. "I'm impressed, Mister Stark. Very few of our prisoners have ever managed to make it that far."

Instead of taking him directly back to his cell, the guard captain – for that was who the man was – brought Tony to his office. Once inside, Tony was ordered to take a seat on a chair in one corner while the captain placed a call.

From what Tony could hear, the call was all about him. It sounded like he was about to be transferred out of his current residence.

But would the new place be better… or worse?

---

After maybe ten minutes of Tony sitting in the corner, while the guard captain worked on paperwork at his desk, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” the captain called.

Two men walked in, larger and beefier than his usual guards. One held a pair of cuffs, while the other had something that made Tony groan.

“Not again.”

“I’m afraid so, Mister Stark. Now, do we need to gag you to keep you quiet, or will you follow directions.”

"I can be good, I promise," Tony said with an insincere smile.

His host looked skeptical, but he nodded. “We’ll see. Now stand, and turn around. Place your hands behind your back.”

With a few efficient motions, the new guards cuffed Tony and then placed the now customary bag over his head.

"I wish that I could say I'm sorry to see you go… but I'd be lying. Goodbye Stark."  Tony's – former – warden spoke with a dry voice, and despite the muffling caused by the bag over his head, Tony could tell that he'd already been dismissed from the man's mind.

Reluctantly, he accepted the hand around his upper arm as it guided him out of the office. From what he could tell, they had headed back the way that he'd come during his previous stroll. They were returning to the main entrance of the detention center.

Where am I going? Tony thought. Wherever it is, please let it be inside this base. Otherwise, J’s message will not be enough of a guide.

---

Tony’s two new guards led him to the elevator out of the detention section, and they rode it down, down, down… He lost count of how many times it stopped and started – changing passengers – as it continued in its drop.  Despite the hood’s muffling effect, Tony could hear snatches of conversation, as the agents discussed current affairs – the latest in America’s ‘War on Terrorism’,  global economic tensions, etc. – and recent missions. Much of the conversation was less useful, typical office politics about dating couples, hook-ups, the latest media events. Still, Tony drank it all in, thrilled at the exposure to new information.

Eventually, however, Tony and his escorts were the only ones left inside the elevator car. They made one final drop, and then he was finally guided forward. This time, there wasn’t a receptionist present like in the detention center. Instead, Tony was led down rough concrete floors, passing over a few metal thresholds as he followed the non-verbal commands of his captors.

When Tony's guide stopped abruptly, the change in velocity almost knocked him over. With brusque movement, the guard removed the cuffs and pulled off the hood with a single, smooth motion. Then a hard shove between his shoulder blades forced Tony forward. The force of the push made him stumble a bit as he moved across another threshold. Then, he caught himself.

At first glance, the room in which he had been shoved reminded Tony of the cave in Afghanistan. Its walls and ceiling were made of unfinished stone with a similar color and texture, while the floor was flat poured concrete. The only furnishings in the room were an aluminum toilet and sink, similar in style to the ones that Tony had used when he'd been thrown into drunk tanks during his misspent youth, and a ‘bed' made of a solid concrete shelf with a pallet laid over top.

When Tony turned around, though, the illusion was broken. The fourth wall of the cell was constructed of clear acrylic, with small circles cut into its surface for air circulation. It reminded Tony of the scene from The Silence of the Lambs when Clarice visited serial killer Hannibal Lector. He found it odd to think of himself in the same terms as that villain, but here he was. It seemed that the entire wall acted as a door, dropping down from a recess in the ceiling. His ‘escorts’ were already lowering said door when he turned, the two goons in black with a SHIELD patch on their arms.

Their glares dared him to try and dart back under the descending wall. Tony resisted the impulse. He knew that this wasn't the time to make an attempt, not when they were on alert. Instead, he would have to wait, for a while anyway, until his guards grew complacent. It had nearly worked once after all, in his previous residence. Maybe it would work again.

So, Tony took a seat on his new ‘bed’, hiding a wince when he realized how thin the mattress was. It wouldn’t make for a comfortable sleeping surface, that was for sure.

Looking over at the goons through the now mostly closed door, he snarked, “thank you for your escort, gentlemen. It was most appreciated. I hope that I haven’t been too much of an inconvenience to your daily routine – threatening people seems like such tiring work.”

The glares deepened.

"Still, I do wonder where the agency finds such obvious stereotypes – Henchmen-R-Us? You'd think a 'Super Secret Agency' wouldn't be so blatant." He tapped his finger on his lips. "Ah, but perhaps that is why you're stuck working here. You're too obvious for the good jobs."

Tony leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he stretched leisurely. After all, faking confidence was old hat to him.

One of the goons snarled, but his partner placed a hand on his arm.

“Just ignore him, Jerry, he’s reaching.” The smarter goon gave his own smirk. “After all, he’s the one in the cage.”

Turning on their heels, the two men strode back down the corridor, leaving Tony to stare out the now fully closed door.

Through the thick acrylic he could see the corridor, apparently lined on both sides with cells like his own. From what he could see, the walls between the cells were quite thick and made from solid stone. Of course, from his position, Tony’s range of view was limited to the cell directly across from him and small bits of the cells on either side of it. He walked forward as far as he could go, but that didn’t change much. Instead, he just caught sight of the edges of few more of the cells along the row.

To Tony’s disappointment, this time there were no lights in his cell for him to fiddle with. 

They must have learned their lesson from the last two times.

Instead, the only light in the area came from the exterior corridor. There, in the ceiling, a bank of fluorescent lights ran along the center of the passageway. Interspersed with the lights were a set of vents, presumably the only source of air control in the desolate space. It seemed that this set of cells had been designed for prisoners who were adept at utilizing any resources in an escape attempt – in other words, people like Tony himself.

Another unusual aspect of his ‘cell block’ was the lack of technology present. As far as Tony could tell, and he could tell a lot, there was no sign of surveillance equipment in the area. He could find no evidence of video or audio recorders or indeed any complex electronics at all. The lights were simple, old-fashioned electronics, and the cell doors appeared much the same. From watching them work, Tony thought that they likely functioned off similarly simple mechanical/electronic circuits that wouldn’t be out of place in the early 1900s.

“Huh,” he said. “This is an odd place.”

As if his words were a trigger, Tony spotted movement in the cell across from his. He had assumed that the lump on the bed-shelf thing there was just a crumpled mattress, but it seemed he had a neighbor.

---

The voice that emerged from the lump was male, well-spoken with a posh British accent that reminded Tony of Aunt Peg.

“If you would not mind, some of us are trying to get some sleep here.”

Tony realized that he’d been narrating his observations about his prison aloud, an old habit from years of working with JARVIS. No wonder the other person had commented.

“Sorry,” he called. “Didn’t realize that there was anyone else here.”

“Well, now you know.”

Tony tried to keep quiet, but now that he knew that he had a companion, he simply couldn’t be patient. He needed answers.

“Sorry, again, but since I’ve already woken you up would you mind answering some questions?”

The other man groaned and then sighed before pulling off the thick blanket he lay under and sitting up. Despite the shadows from the odd lighting, Tony could make out a few details of his fellow prisoner. He appeared to be male; tall and slender, with dark hair and pale skin. Like Tony, he was dressed in simple clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and drawstring pants in a muted khaki color.  SHIELD's standard prisoner gear.

Unlike Tony, however, he also wore an odd set of jewelry. A collar of what looked superficially like hammered gold inscribed with Norse runes sat around his neck, visible above his shirt. When he reached up to stretch his arms, Tony caught a glimpse of similar cuffs around his wrists when the sleeves of his shirt drooped.

The man climbed to his feet and walked – or rather stalked – to the front of his cell. When he reached it, he leaned one shoulder against the stone wall beside the transparent front and gave Tony a smirk. An equal opportunity admirer, Tony admitted to himself that despite the unfortunate environment his companion was incredibly attractive. Despite his male voice, his companion was nearly androgynous in his appearance, with an ethereal beauty that stunned the viewer.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” Tony purred, pulling out all the stops. “I’m Tony. And you are…?”

The other man’s smirk deepened, and he met Tony’s flirting head-on. “Hello, yourself. And you can call me… Silver… Yes, that will do nicely.”

"Okay, then… Silver. Any chance you know where we are? My companions were fairly close-mouthed. I mean, I caught a few glimpses of a fairly technologically advanced facility on the way down here, but this," Tony indicated their surroundings with a gesture, "is oddly tech-free, despite these pretty walls." He gave a tap to the acrylic with that last comment.

“Ah, well, there I am afraid I cannot help. I am not familiar enough with your realm of Midgard to recognize the location when I was first brought here. However, my – our – jailors have mentioned that this facility is known as the Sandbox, and our delightful accommodations are known to the staff as ‘the Oubliette’.”

The name caused Tony to wince. "I knew we were in the Sandbox. But as for the other, well, that's unfortunate."

“Why?”

“Do you know what an Oubliette is?”

A shake of the head was the only response from Silver.

“It’s a type of prison that used to be used in the Middle Ages in Europe. Basically, it’s a deep hole in the ground where you put prisoners who you want to forget about and have no intention of retrieving.”

Tony’s explanation only got an unsurprised nod as a response. “The idea corresponds with my experience here. I was only moved to this prison after my captors failed to extract any useful information out of me in their facilities upstairs. Rather, my sheer presence was causing disturbances to their primitive technology, hence the lack of such things in this space.”

“Really?” Tony asked, curious.  Silver’s words made little sense, that is, unless there was something more to it. Perhaps the other man was like him, skilled at turning technology to his advantage. 

“Indeed. Despite the suppression bands, the mere existence of my seidr was enough to do damage.” The man held up his arms, showing off the odd bracelets, as he spoke.

“Seidr?”

“What do you call it here on Midgard…? Ah, yes, magic.”

That word made Tony scoff. He was a materialist, and magic belonged to the world of mystics and charlatans. In his experience magic was just another word for trickery.

His companion smiled thinly as if he understood the response. "Don't be so closed minded my new friend. There are many things which your realm has yet to discover. Just because you don't know something, doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."

That made Tony huff, though he had to admit that Silver had a point. But… Magic… It was all so… wishy-washy…

As if he could hear Tony’s thoughts, Silver laughed. “You Midgardians, so certain that you know all that there is to know, when in fact you know almost nothing…”

Midgardians. That sounds vaguely familiar.

Tony wracked his brain, trying to figure out where he’d heard that word before… Oh, yes, that Swedish supermodel that he slept with for a hot minute back in the nineties.

Spectacular tits, that one, and all natural too.

She had a bit of a kink for Norse mythology, liked to role play in bed. If he remembered correctly, Midgard was what the so-called gods and demons in the tales referred to Earth by. Tony supposed that his new companion had a similar obsession. It sounded like the man thought he was some kind of Norse god, or at least not human…

“So, Midgardians…” Tony commented mildly. “Does that mean that you’re not from Earth?”

Silver smirked. "Well, you are much cleverer than these other mortals, are you not? It took them far longer to figure that out."

He gave a well-practiced, mockingly formal bow.

"I am Loki Odinson, the second prince of Asgard, often called Silvertongue. I was stranded on this realm through the machinations of another being from beyond your realm. Our captors, the agents of the organization known as SHIELD, found me shortly after my arrival. They then took advantage of my weakened state to take me hostage."

Amused, Tony decided to play along. He gave his own exaggerated bow in response. “And I am Anthony Edward Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, commonly referred to as the Merchant of Death.” He hesitated a moment and then added. “Placed here due to the machinations of my former allies, including, I believe, my former mentor, Obadiah Stane. SHIELD, the mysterious agency that my father happened to have helped to found, seems to have become corrupt. Its Director, instead of being another ally, has imprisoned me ‘for my own protection’ and is treating me as a threat.”

The pair exchanged matching thin smiles before the sound of a heavy lock disengaging echoed down the corridor. Apparently, they were about to have visitors.

Tony and Silver – Loki – had the same response. They turned and headed back to their respective ‘beds’, adopting similar poses of nonchalance.

Neither man was willing to grant their mutual captors a single millimeter of leeway that the guards did not already possess.

Chapter Text

From his place backstage, James waited in anticipation for his cue.

 In the aftermath of last year's mess – Tony's kidnapping, return, and then mental break – Stark Industries had been in desperate need of a publicity coup. Thus, at the advice of his PR department, CEO Obadiah Stane had decided to hold an Expo. A throw-back to the era of the World's Fairs, the SI Expo was being held on the grounds of the original Stark Expo. Just as in the old days, the Expo not only featured semi-permanent exhibits for visitors to see but also a series of presentations by tech companies from around the world. 

Naturally, as the host, SI got two prime slots, opening and closing the Expo. For the opening, SI had teased SI’s non-military work, including their growing alternative energy department. According to Stane, it was the only thing that Tony had done well during the throes of his breakdown. The idea of diversifying the SI brand was one that Stane had embraced whole-heartedly, and the work that the department was doing with the Arc Reactor was a part of that.

Indeed, the grand announcement on that front was the reveal of the plan to build a new prototype. SI’s New York offices were getting an upgrade, a brand new building powered by an arc reactor in its basement.

Of course, James knew that this upgraded arc reactor was based upon the work that Tony had done during his imprisonment in Afghanistan. Stane had somehow managed to convince Tony, despite his condition, to provide SI’s R&D department with the basics of how he miniaturized the reactor. From there, the engineers had managed to build a working model that – while at a similar scale to Tony’s creation – produced a fraction of the power that James knew Tony’s original device was capable of outputting.

Still, it was impressive; James had to admit.

The Arc Reactor formed the core of SI's second big announcement. This announcement was the reason that he was standing backstage, wearing a less-than-comfortable costume, and waiting for Stane to call him forward.

“Stark Industries has long been a leader in weapons development, beginning from the work that Howard Stark did back in World War II. In recent years, our focus has been on long-range weaponry, missiles that can be fired from a distance. But, as our beloved former CEO’s recent kidnapping showed, sometimes it becomes necessary for our troops to do battle directly.” Stane’s words washed over James as he was reminded of the chaos of the Ten Rings’ attack on the convoy.

“Thus, SI has begun a line of personal protection devices for our troops, starting from advanced kinetic armor…”

From their place beside James, a line of soldiers began to move. They strode out onto the stage behind Stane.

“… which can be worn over or under uniforms and provides a broader range of protection than traditional Kevlar.”

Behind Stane and the troops, James caught a glimpse of the video being shown to the audience. In it, carefully spliced test footage showed the capabilities of the armor.

"Then there are the drones."

A series of humanoid robots tramped onto the stage. They had previously been stationed on James' other side. "Each of these bots is synced to an operator backstage, which can control their movement through wireless communication."

On the screen, James knew that a live feed of the drone control room was being shown. "Placed in the hands of our troops, the drones provide a way for our troops to infiltrate hostile environments without risking their own lives."

---

“And finally.” Stane’s voice rose. “The crown jewel of our latest collection. The armored suit.”

That was his cue. Engaging the servos that allowed him to move, James marched forward, dressed in a full suit of armor. “Much like the knights of old, our suits are intended for only the most talented individuals. With the ability to move…”

James strode down the center line of the auditorium.

“… fight…”

With a sub-vocalized command, the turrets on the armor’s shoulders rose, showing off a machine gun and missile launch tube.

“… and even fly.”

Having reached the cleared area in front of the stage, James activated the suit’s repulsors, lifting off from the ground. James’ suit had been re-designed from a combination of data scavenged from the suit that Tony had used to escape from Afghanistan, recordings collected by the US Air Force from the tragic incident over Gulmira, and insights from the entire R&D department at Stark Industries. When James had first delivered the Air Force records, he had asked the team why Tony hadn’t been at least consulted for his actual designs.

“Mister Stane informed us that we cannot speak directly to Mister Stark,” the design lead had explained. “Apparently the doctors feel that any reminders of his experiences in Afghanistan would be detrimental to his health. Unfortunately, whatever designs Mister Stark made after his return were locked behind his private server’s robust firewalls. All attempts to gain access to those files without Mister Stark’s aid have failed.”

“Do you have the access here?” James had asked. “Let me see if my code will give you access.”

---

However, it had turned out that when Stane’s people had shut down power to the Malibu house, they had also locked access to Tony’s private server. Without JARVIS online, James was unable to even reach the login prompt.

So, the suit design team had been forced to work without those resources, and it showed. Despite his extensive hours in the suit, James still struggled with anything more complicated than simple movements. Realistically, the armor needed an AI co-pilot, but James knew that without Tony’s genius development of such an AI had slowed to a crawl. AI really was Tony’s specialty, an area where no one else in the world could truly compete.

Just look at DUM-E or the other bots, James mused, they were groundbreaking back in the 90s, and are ahead of the curve even now. Then there’s JARVIS. As far as I know, no one else has even come close to a true AI quite like him.

So, James was stuck with a suit that had significant limits. At this stage, there were only so many things that he could do simultaneously. He could fly, sure, but it required his full focus to do so. Thus, when he flew, his ability to fire weapons was practically non-existent.

But, James thought, shaking himself out of this spiral, that’s not the point of today’s demonstration. Today is all about showing potential.

Coming to a landing on the stage behind Stane, James allowed the face plate of the armor to flip up, showing his stoic visage to the audience. As he did so, the crowd cheered their approval.

“…All piloted by America’s best and brightest. Airmen like our pilot here, Air Force Colonel James Rhodes.”

There was a second cheer, which increased in volume when James raised his hand to wave at them.

“With this new launch, Stark Industries once again is proud to demonstrate their continuing loyalty to our great nation. God Bless America.”

The stage lights dropped, and James and the other men walked off stage to the sounds of the still screaming audience.

---

When he reached the ‘changing room’ set aside for the suit, James was surprised to be greeted by the man himself. Obadiah Stane slapped his hand against the armor’s shoulder as he brushed past James to collect a bottle of water from the table.

Gulping down a long swig, the older man turned to James with a proud grin.

“Excellent work, Colonel Rhodes. Excellent work indeed. I must admit that when Ted recommended keeping you on as liaison after last year's mess I was a bit skeptical. After all, your loyalty appeared to be to Tony as an individual above all else. But, you've proven your commitment to obeying orders, as well as your skill as a test pilot far above expectations. I know that if Tony were capable of it, he would be proud of what you've done." 

As always, Stane’s avuncular tone was a bit disturbing for James to hear. Still, the man had done his part in caring for both Tony and his company, so James bit back his discomfort. Instead, he nodded acceptance of Stane’s words. Then, he began the tedious process of extracting himself from the armor. 

Patting him on the shoulder, Stane left the room. He was doubtlessly off to schmooze with the VIPs who had attended the presentation.

James had one gauntlet off and was working on the other when the crackle of the suit's radio distracted him.

“Attention, all personnel,” the voice spoke calmly but with clear tension. “We have an unauthorized demonstration in progress on the main stage. There are a number of humanoid drones bearing Hammer Tech logos that have crashed through, scaring the remaining audience members.”

The voice paused for a moment and then continued. "Preliminary estimates indicate that Expo security will be insufficient to disable the interlopers. Colonel Rhodes, you and your people have been asked to intervene."

“Acknowledged,” James said absently. Anticipating the request, he had already begun the process of re-initializing the armor. “It’ll take me a minute to get over there. Captain Fordham, I want you and your men to work with the Expo Security in evacuating the civilians. Be prepared to provide cover if needed. Major Lawrence, have your techs deploy the drones around Hammer’s interlopers, driving them off stage as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, Sir,” two voices sounded. As James continued working, he could hear snatches of chatter over the communications line.

“Come on, gentlemen.”

“It’s not safe here ma’am.”

“Major! The Hammer drones…”

“I see them. Shield positions boys.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’re firing on the civilians!”

Screams came through the coms, presumably from the evacuating audience.

“Please remain calm, sir, and exit in an orderly fashion.”

“I’m hit!”

“Ramirez is down!”

“Man, those things pack a punch.”

“Medic!”

The calls overlapped, as the soldiers did their best to follow James’ orders.

Then, just as James finished his re-arming and headed for the door, there was one final call.

 “There’s someone in the middle of the drones!”

Stepping out onto the stage, the auditorium looked drastically different from the sight just a few minutes before. James could see burn scars – presumably from some kind of laser-based weapon – cutting across the walls of the auditorium, as well as the tracks of what looked like machine gun fire. The last of the civilians were just disappearing out the rear doors of the auditorium, with the exception of a few clusters scattered around the back section. Each cluster included both soldiers and the black-garbed Expo security. James assumed that those were early casualties.

At the front of the stage, a collection of androids, each possessing a boxy chassis and articulated limbs in a similar style to the SI drones, stood in a ring. The Hammer drones were armed with machine guns or what James assumed were those laser weapons. In a larger ring around them stood the SI drones, with numerous gaps where a drone had been taken out by weapons fire.

From James’ perspective at the stage rear, he could just barely spot the figure at the center of the Hammer drones. The man had his head exposed, but looked to be wearing some kind of strength-enhancing armor on his body.

As James stepped forward, out of the shadows, the man pushed aside one of the Hammer drones to meet him.

“Ah, Co-lo-nel Rhodes. Hero of the American people. Friend to Anthony Edward Stark.”

A pair of thick cables dangled from the sides of the man’s arms, extending three or four times their length. They reminded James a bit of the bullwhip that Indiana Jones used in the Raiders of the Lost Ark, and he tensed. Since his one-and-only planned task for the day was a demonstration, his weapons systems were loaded with blanks. Thus, his only choice was a direct confrontation.

“Do I know you?”

The man grinned, showing off a mouth of teeth that were stained or covered in metal caps. In combination with his scraggly, greasy hair and the tattoos that peaked up above his shirt collar, he looked like a gang-banger. Besides that, he spoke English with an Eastern European – maybe Russian? – accent, its existence providing James with a clue about his identity.

“I doubt it, Comrade. Your beloved Howard Stark doubtless hid any evidence of my father and his family long ago. Too bad about the Starks; father dead, son crazy. It’s almost poetic justice.”

James cocked his head, visually telegraphing his confusion. Beyond the man, he could see his troops evacuating casualties with impressive efficiency.

“Keep him talking,” a sultry female voice spoke in James’ ear. “We’re tracking the control signal for the Hammer drones now, and we’ve got troops inbound with proper gear. If you can just keep him busy for a few minutes, we can avoid further casualties.”

“Who is this?”

“Never mind that, focus on him.”

James turned his attention back to the armored man in time to hear him give his name.

“Vanko, huh. Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Searching now,” another voice, this one male spoke into his earpiece.

“My father was Howard Stark’s partner, the true designer of the Arc Reactor – that bauble that you have powering your suit. Stark betrayed him; stole his designs.”

“Got it,” the voice spoke again. “Vanko’s father was a Russian expat who apparently defected to America during the Cold War. When he was caught spying, he was sent back to the U.S.S.R., where he was exiled to Siberia for the rest of his days. Vanko the younger, meanwhile has been in and out of prison since he was young.”

“… and now, I shall get my revenge, taking down this symbol of Stark’s power.” The man waved his arms, indicating the Expo as a whole.

“Well, I can’t let you do that,” James said seriously. “I take my duties to protect the people of this country seriously.”

“We shall see. Tell me, Comrade Rhodes, what special armament does your little toy possess?” As he spoke, he flicked the cables – whips – sending power down them until they crackled with electricity. “Are they any match to my beauties?”

One of the whips cracked out, nearly ensnaring James’ arm. He managed to pull it in, but not before the whip glanced across the armor plating. The shock made the nerves in his arm tingle.

Crap.

The SI drone nearest to James swung between him and Vanko, blocking the second strike from hitting him. Instead, the drone’s arm was ripped off by Vanko’s weapon.

At that moment, James was thankful for his armor's faceplate, as it kept him from showing nerves. Spooling up the machine gun, he let out a burst of weapons fire aimed directly at Vanko's head.

The man flinched, ducking behind one of the Hammer drones for protection. Vanko’s hesitation only lasted a moment, as the villain quickly realized that James was firing blanks.

“Naughty, Naughty, Colonel, trying to trick me like that. It seems that you’re just like your country, all show.”

Stepping forward, he sent both whips out in tandem, ripping the drone that had been protecting James apart.

“Now then, let’s dance.”

“There’s no one left in the auditorium, sir. Get out of there.” Major Lawrence’s voice was enough to get James moving. Activating his suit’s repulsors, he launched himself straight up and out of range of Vanko’s whips.

Sadly, this proved to be less than effective as a strategy. Both Vanko and his drone allies were also flight capable.

The battle became an aerial game of tag, as Vanko and the Hammer drones pursued James, while the SI drones ran interference. The SI contingent’s lack of offensive armament made the battle uneven, as more and more of James’ allies fell.

But then, suddenly, just as James was losing hope, the Hammer drone right on his tail dropped as its power died. Looking around, James realized that it wasn’t just that drone. All of the Hammer drones had dropped. It seemed that his mysterious female contact had managed to shut down their connection to their controllers. Unfortunately, James’ moment of inattention was enough for Vanko to get one of his whips around James’ ankle. Electricity coursed through the suit, giving James a severe shock and knocking out power to the boot’s repulsor. The combination sent James flying through the air, tumbling end-over-end with Vanko in hot pursuit.

James could hear screams and thuds – the Hammer drones hitting the ground – as he fought to regain control of his suit’s motion. He had just managed a semi-stable hover when Vanko dropped down right in front of him.

Shit. Well, I guess that this is it.

“You’ve got me, Vanko.” James’ words were projected out through the suit’s speakers. “Now what?”

“Now, Co-lo-nel Rhodes…” Vanko’s right arm swung back, “… you die.”

But before he could swing again, a burst of machine-gun fire boomed out from James' left. Vanko's body shook and flailed, before beginning to fall; even as James stared in shock. Despite the muffling effect of his suit, James caught the sound of an engine in the close vicinity. He could feel the buffeting of the wind, its gusts caused by the displacement of a large object nearby. However, he still couldn't see anything. The night sky around him appeared empty.

Then, right in front of him, a rectangle of light appeared. James swallowed a shout as the rectangle grew to reveal the rear compartment of a small cargo plane.

Invisible jets. What is the world coming to? James though rhetorically.

He knew that there was no way that he could land the suit in its current condition, so he was stuck, hovering, as a pair of figures muffled in flight suits, harnesses, and protective gear walked towards him. Throwing out tow cables for him to catch, they helped slowly pull the suit into the safety of the plane.

The moment that he felt the change in his repulsors’ that indicated contact with the plane’s floor, James initiated a gradual shut down sequence. It was his hope that using a more gradual transition would help in landing safely. Sure enough, within two minutes, James and his suit were landed – with only a brief dip in the plane’s position when the repulsors finished disengaging – and the cargo door was closed.

James’ erstwhile rescuers rushed over to his side, helping him to roll over and open his faceplate. As he took large gasping breaths, all that he could say was –

“Thank You.”

Chapter Text

“Breathe in.”

 Tony inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with as much air as they could manage given their compromised condition.

“Hold it. One.”

Shutting his mouth, Tony held his chest as still as he could.

“Two.”

Relaxing his muscles, he settled further into the tailor’s seat that he held.

“Three.”

Despite the pillow between them, Tony could still feel the chill of the stone below emanating up into his legs and butt.

“And release.”

As he allowed his mouth to open, releasing the extra air in his lungs, Tony relaxed further, dropping his back slightly.

“Good. Now, what did you feel?”

Opening his eyes, Tony stared through two sets of thick acrylic walls to meet the green gaze of his teacher.

He sighed. “Nothing.”

The other man raised a single eyebrow as he repeated Tony’s word.

“Nothing?”

“Yes, nothing. Nada, zilch, zip. Whatever mystical powers you claim that I possess, clearly you’re mistaken.”

“Nonsense. Even in my compromised condition, I can see the aura of magic that surrounds you. You have the potential for great things, Anthony Stark of Midgard.”

Tony sighed. "Maybe… maybe not… but potential doesn't mean squat down here, Loki-Doki." Dropping out of his tailor's seat, Tony stretched his legs out to either side and leaned forward. One good thing about being locked up with nothing else to do; he was now in better physical condition than he'd been in years.

Some of that was thanks to his companion, the alien sorcerer named Loki. As a part of the training that the self-proclaimed Norse god had offered, the pair followed a regimen of daily meditation and structured movement that reminded Tony of Yoga. As a result, not only had Tony gained greater mental control, but his physical strength and flexibility had increased to a standard well above his previous experience.

While he was grateful for the training and companionship, Tony still wasn’t convinced that this magic stuff was anything more than his friend’s delusions. But there was no harm in playing along.

“Perhaps,” Loki agreed. “Still, it does no harm for you to try again?”

“Fine.”

Returning his legs to their crossed position, Tony closed his eyes. Following the green-eyed man’s directions, he focused his attention inwards, listening to the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat. Then, in one instant, as the two came into perfect sync, Tony caught a glimpse of something else. It was a warm glow that seemed to emanate from the center of his body, a light that flickered even as he watched it. Surrounding that luminescent core was a shell, colored a familiar shade of blue.

Drawing his focus onto the shell, Tony felt like he was zooming in towards its surface. As he got close, he realized that it was not a solid shell. Instead, the blue was composed of a complex lattice structure.

Vibranium! Tony thought, astonished. The lattice is like the crystalline structure of solid Vibranium.

This recognition was enough to pull Tony out of the moment. His vision spun away from the light display, and he found himself once more aware of his physical body. Tony’s still closed eyes shot open, and he stared across at his tutor.

“What the hell was that?”

From his seat in the opposite cell, Tony’s mentor in the mystic arts merely raised an eyebrow.

“That… that… light show!”

“I am afraid that whatever you saw was private, Anthony. You will have to be more specific.”

“I saw a glow, surrounded by a net of blue.”

“Ah, your magical core.” Loki flashed Tony a teasing smile. “Excellent. Now, let us see if you can find it again.”

It took a few more hours, but by the time that the dinner delivery interrupted their practice, Tony could find – and touch – his core with little effort.

---

After the guards had delivered their meals and left, the pair of SHIELD prisoners resumed the discussion that had been interrupted.

“So, this core thing. What does it do, exactly?” Tony asked. That afternoon’s experiences had broken through his doubts, and now he was convinced. Magic – or at least, what Loki called magic – was real.

“Your magical core is a form of… what does your science call it? Oh, yes, potential energy. All things in the universe possess magical potential; it is merely a question of how much. Users of magic, or seidr, are those who have learned to tap into this potential, and channel it into a more active path.”

Holding up one arm with an elegant flourish, the alien noble allowed that sleeve to fall, exposing one of his ever-present bracelets. “My shackles prevent me from accessing my own seidr, or the stores found in other objects, but they cannot remove it from my body. Even now, the seidr in my core is at full capacity. Indeed, were I to permit it, another seidrmadr – Sorcerer, I believe you called them – could tap into my extensive stores to act as a battery of sorts.”

Even if he didn't entirely understand the mechanism, the concept was all too clear. The mere notion of existence as nothing more than a battery caused Tony to shudder. It reminded him far too much of Afghanistan, and the Ten Rings' attempt to make him their personal mechanic and weapons inventor.

The other man flashed a wry grin at Tony's expression and then nodded. "You understand, then. The one who placed these shackles upon me hoped that I would be sufficiently weakened by the lock on my seidr to make me vulnerable. Fortunately, my Mother and other tutors over centuries of training ensured that my seidr was under my sole control, even under the direst of conditions."

The pair shared a smirk.

"He was most disappointed when his scheme failed," Loki said. "However, Svadilfari's power was sufficient to keep me prisoner for a time, before he cast me out from Yggdrasil." Loki's visage grew pale as he stared at nothing. "I fell for an eternity, with only my own mind for company, before I passed through a hidden portal and crash landed on Midgard…"

“Where SHIELD picked you up.” Tony finished.

“Indeed. My mind and body were in such terrible condition that it took some time before I realized SHIELD’s true intentions. Thankfully, my training in diplomacy and subterfuge were sufficient to keep me from revealing secrets in my weakened state. All of their vaunted skill; and SHIELD’s knowledge of the Realms – Asgard especially – is virtually nonexistent. As far as they are aware, I am either an alien of some kind, or one of this Realm’s enhanced, or perhaps a member of Midgard’s magical community.”

The pale, surprisingly young-looking man sighed and then added. "And that is all that they will ever know, even if I never manage to escape from this place."

“Don’t worry, ET, together we are the ultimate team. We will escape one day. And when we do, I’ll help you phone home.”

Chapter Text

“Coffee?”

The offer distracted James from his melancholy thoughts. Looking up from his desk, where he had been apparently staring at a random file, he saw the familiar red curls of Natalie Rushman. The beautiful woman – officially Stane's girlfriend – was actually the CEO's liaison with SHIELD and occasional bodyguard when needed.

Natalie – or rather Natasha – had officially introduced herself to James in the aftermath of the Vanko affair. Since then, the two had formed a good working relationship. With James officially stationed at Stark Industries full time these days, it was common for the pair of government liaisons to meet and grab coffee or lunch.

---

While Vanko's demise had simplified some aspects of the Expo mess, the repercussions were still being felt over six months later.

Justin Hammer, who had recruited Vanko as an engineer and thus given the Russian criminal access to the resources that he needed to conduct his attack, had found himself in extremely hot water. Stane, as CEO of Stark Industries, had used his legal department to act as the primary in a massive lawsuit against Hammer and his company, suing for damages.

The other tech company had already been forced to declare bankruptcy and shut down, and Hammer himself had only managed to avoid prison time by the narrowest of margins. Justin Hammer had been fortunate in that there had been no evidence that he was aware of Vanko's plans. Instead, he merely looked incompetent and naïve.

In the letter that James had sent to Tony after the trial, he had described Hammer’s antics extensively for his old friend’s amusement. After all, the pair had hated each other since their boarding school days. James had thought that the story might give Tony a bit of a laugh.

It was a bit frustrating that he never letters back from his old friend, just a few brief notes and incomplete blueprints.

At least the doctors were willing to keep him somewhat informed as to Tony's condition. According to that correspondence, Tony would have periods of lucidity – though he often woke believing that he was in the past – before succumbing to a manic state that made him dangerous to both himself and others. The manic state could be triggered by anything that reminded him of past traumas, including the most innocuous things. Thus, it simply wasn't safe for James to see his friend face-to-face.

---

Realizing that he had kept Nat waiting because of his scattered thoughts, James pasted on a smile. "Sounds great. Just give me a second to get this done."

Turning back to file he was working on, James filled out the last couple of boxes. Then he dated and signed it with a flourish before placing it in a folder and filing it into his outbox.

“Ready.”

Climbing to his feet, James headed for his office door. As he rose, he gestured for Nat to lead the way.

"So," he asked, faux-casually, as they walked down the hall, "where did you have in mind?"

“That place across the street makes pretty good mochas. I have lunch with Obie later, so I don’t want to fill up too much.”

“Sounds good.” 

The pair made their way through the maze of cubicles and offices of Stark Industries’ headquarters.

SI, as Stane had pushed for the company to be called, had grown in recent months. The new branding was Stane’s idea, a way to divorce the company from its namesake and his struggles. James had been saddened by the move, though he did understand the motivation. The name ‘Stark’ just didn’t have the positive meaning that it had once held.

---

Reaching the elevator, they headed down to the main floor, and the building’s exit.

As always, Nat was dressed to impress, in a slinky gray sheath dress that managed to look somewhat professional while drawing all eyes towards her as she passed. James barely managed to roll his eyes at the amount of drool – both real and metaphorical – he spotted on the faces of his colleagues. He had been fortunate in that extended exposure to Nat and her true abilities as a fighter had helped to break his own tendency towards the same thing.

Reaching the café, James and Nat ordered their usual drinks and then found an out of the way spot to sit and talk. From their position, they could see the main entrance to both the café and the SI building across the way, an excellent vantage point.

“So…” James said, dragging out the single word. “Is this just a social call, or does our dear Director have something to pass along?”

“Can’t it be both,” Nat said with a flirty smile.

“Nat…”

“James…”

“Fine.” James let out a sigh. “How are you this lovely morning, Nat?”

“I am simply splendid, thank you for asking. Things are busy at work, though.”

“Oh?”

The two professionals paused, waiting, as a server brought their drinks over to the table.

“Indeed. Certain… events have had the geeks all stirred up. Something about threats from… above.” Nat’s eyes shot upwards, a hint that she meant more than simply high ranked individuals.

“Okay. But what does that have to do with me?”

“The Director would like for you, for the Iron Soldier, to be on-call in case of an incident.” Withdrawing a file from her purse, Nat slid it over to James. When he opened it up, the term ‘Avengers Initiative’ stood out in bold type. “I’ll leave this for you to peruse later.”

She paused, taking a sip of her mocha. “Excellent, as always,” Nat said with a small smile. “Sometimes it’s the little things that are the most important.”

Setting her cup down on the saucer, Nat dabbed at her lipstick before continuing. "Besides what's in that," she said, gesturing to the now-closed folder, "there's one other thing."

"Oh?" James asked as he took a drink from his own coffee. "And what is that?"

“I know that you are aware of General Thaddeus Ross?”

James nodded, recalling their past dealings.

“As well as his dangerous obsession?”

Another nod. With his time in Afghanistan with the General, he had been well-educated regarding the entire Hulk SNAFU. He’d also heard the rumors of the price that the General had paid for allowing the mess to occur at all. 

"Well, we've heard rumblings that he's gearing up for another go at capturing Big and Green. We've also heard that he may reach out to Stane to recruit the Iron Soldier to help with the mission."

James frowned. While he could appreciate the compliment to his skills, he knew that Stane's suit was of limited use against such a target. Given the rumors about the green beast's capabilities, he was fairly sure that the creature would tear the suit – and the man inside it – apart if he was foolish enough to engage him directly.

He didn't think that his mentor would be foolish enough to use him in such a manner, but he also knew that obsession could make fools out of the wisest men.

“Are you certain?”

Nat smiled. “Not absolutely, of course, that is the nature of rumors, as you are well aware. Still, we thought it best that you were not taken off guard.”

“Thanks for the warning,” James nodded.

He would have to phone the General’s office, see if he could get an update under the pretense of catching up with friends. It was better to be prepared.

---

Sure enough, a few days later, James was called in. The Iron Soldier was assigned to General Ross, for support in the capture of Dr. Bruce Banner, aka The Hulk.

For better or worse, James’ task was air support, which meant that he managed to avoid a direct confrontation with the beast. Instead, he got to watch as Dr. Banner’s alternate personality escaped from Culver University, with his old girlfriend in his hands, after the General’s ill-conceived assault on the monster.

As he eyed the sonic tanks and smirked a bit at their lack of success, James wished he could bury his head in his hands.

Instead, he was forced to obey as his mentor allowed his obsession to blind him to the disturbing behavior of James’ fellow asset, the soldier named Emil Blonsky. The General was so focused on Banner – and his daughter Betty – that he only noticed Blonsky’s willingness to take any advantage to confront the Hulk and not the man’s growing focus on building up the strength needed to defeat the green beast in a hand-to-hand battle.

By the time that James found himself again in the Iron Soldier suit, this time hovering near the campus of Empire State University, he had a very bad feeling about the whole situation.

He stood on-watch as the General took custody of the currently human-appearing Banner and his girlfriend/Ross' daughter Betty, loading them into an Army chopper.

“Orders, sir?” James asked through his suit, noticing that the General had donned a headset.

“Rhodes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep watch. Be ready in case Banner attempts to jump.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before the General could say anything further, their conversation was interrupted by the sound of screams through the open channel.

“What was that?”

“Report.”

James’ question and his superior’s order overlapped, as a soldier on the other end of the line started screaming about a Hulk attack.

Hulk? James’ suit vision quickly zoomed in on the open door of the chopper. But Banner is right there.

Using the suit’s repulsors, he shot straight up, hoping to get a better view. Sure enough, he could see a monster rampaging on the roof of a nearby building. But this creature… wasn’t green.

Before James could get a closer look, a flurry of motion in his peripheral vision caused him to turn around just long enough to spot Banner drop out of the hovering chopper.

“Orders sir?” He said, not wanting to act without all the information.

“Let him go,” Ross’ voice was furious. “It seems Mister Blonsky has decided that the serum we gave him wasn’t good enough.”

If he could have, James would have slapped his hand over his face. When he’d met the other officer prior to the Culver incident, he had been disturbed by the soldier’s determination to ‘defeat the beast’. Seeing the man’s injuries later that day, he’d been unsurprised that the clearly vicious fighter had attempted a direct confrontation – and ended up permanently wounded because of it.

Then, when Blonsky had been up and ready to go only a few days later, James knew that there was something suspicious. Someone had taken advantage of Blonsky’s obsession with Banner to use him as a guinea pig for some variation on the serum that had created the Hulk. Still, it was impressive to see a man who should still be confined to a hospital bed up and ready to work.

“Sir?”

“Damn fool injected himself with the cocktail that that idiot Sterns cooked up,” James heard the General mutter, obviously uncaring of who was on the other end of the radio.

As the sound of screams, combined with the thuds and crashes of two enhanced individuals doing battle, grew, James spoke once again.

“Sir? Should I…?”

“What? Oh, Rhodes. Forgot about you for a second.”

 The speakers hissed white noise for a moment, and then the General continued. “Right. I want you to be my eyes in the sky. You are to position yourself such that you can see both combatants. If you find yourself in a position to take Blonsky out without civilian casualties, you are to do so immediately. If, on the other hand, the Hulk prevails, I want you to attempt to track him until he reverts to Banner. Clearly, I need him if I want the serum to work properly.”

“Roger that, Sir.”

In obedience to his commander's orders, James began to move, flying up and forward until he reached the roof of a nearby high rise. Since his suit's targeting abilities were much improved when he was stationary, James landed there and took up a perch in full view of the street below. There, two massive beasts were duking it out like some kind of bizarre MMA fight.

Only, they weren't limiting themselves to hand-to-hand. First the new Abomination, and then the Hulk began making use of the wreckage left by their fight as weapons.

Just as it seemed that the Hulk had been defeated – and as James armed his missiles – the General’s helicopter flew into view, the machine gun mounted to its side firing straight at Blonsky’s roaring alter-ego.

James cursed. The chopper had positioned itself in the direct line of sight between him and the creatures, which meant that he was useless.

“Sir, you’re blocking my targeting system,” he called down the mic. “… sir?”

Before he could say or do anything further, the chopper began to move again. This time, however, it was clear that the pilot wasn’t the one doing it. Instead, Blonsky’s abomination had grabbed ahold of one of the chopper’s landing struts and was trying to pull it out of the sky!

Shit! James thought, I’m going to have to get in there, aren’t I.

Resuming an upright position, he prepared to launch himself off of the roof. Before he could do so, the chopper lurched yet again. James realized that the Hulk had grabbed onto the Abomination’s leg, and was attempting to pull him off of the chopper.

Maybe…

With the monster stretched out, between the chopper – whose pilot was actively trying to shake his hold – and the Hulk, he might be able to take a shot.

He could feel the recoil as the missile launched from his shoulder, targeted toward the Abomination’s wide-open torso. Given that his original mandate was to capture the Hulk, he had been armed with the missile equivalent of the shotgun bean-bags used by riot squads.

With a loud thud, the low-velocity missile slammed right into the transformed Blonsky's sternum, making contact with his armored skin. The impact was enough to loosen the monster’s grip, sending the Army chopper flying down the street in the opposite direction to the other two combatants. James shot the chopper a quick glance, just long enough to see it go skidding into a crash landing on the streets of Harlem.

Then he turned his attention back to the fight.

During James’ moment of distraction, the Hulk had managed to use the momentum from his shot and the recoil from the helicopter’s release to slam his companion down hard onto the street. As Blonsky’s Abomination shook his head, clearly concussed, the Hulk grabbed a nearby street light that had been downed by the fight.

James watched in awe as – with a grunt of effort – the Hulk wrapped the metal pole around the Abomination, tying him up as if with a rope. The Hulk grunted once more, and then, with a nod at James and a longing glance down the street towards the downed chopper, leaped off.

---

In accordance with his earlier orders, James did his best to follow the Hulk as he headed in a north-west direction, into the woods and mountains of Upstate New York.

Of course, even with the Iron Soldier suit’s best efforts, James once again lost sight of the green beast once the Hulk reached the forested mountains. If he was honest with himself, James didn't try that hard to follow. As far as he could tell – both from his own work and from discussions with Fury and SHIELD – Banner was pretty harmless when left alone. All of the incidents that he'd heard about came from when the General or one of the others hunting for him had attacked the scientist.

“God speed, Doc, and may you find a safe place to land,” James murmured under his breath. Then, taking a wide arc, he turned the suit back toward Harlem and General Ross.

He could only hope that the older man wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Chapter Text

“So,” Tony said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the floor. “Let me make sure that I’ve got this straight. Asgard and Earth – Midgard – are two of the nine Realms along Yggdrasil, a wormhole junction that your people have managed to gain control over using a complex system known as the Bifrost.”

From his seat on the floor of his cell, Tony’s impromptu tutor nodded. In response, Tony continued his summary.

“Right. Now, this Bifrost thing – which uses a combination of your magic, seidr, whatever, and advanced technology to work – has allowed your people to gain power over the other Realms. Of course, these so-called Realms are actually scattered planets, many of which have their own native inhabitants. Besides Earth and Asgard, we have Niflheim – a massive gas giant whose gravity acts as an anchor for one end of the wormhole. Muspelheim – a planet whose extensive tectonic activity makes it a mass of volcanoes and lava flows, the home of the infamous fire demon Surtur. Vanaheim – your mom Frigga’s homeworld – a nice planet full of people who specialize in the study of seidr. Alfheim – the land of the light elves – a paradise planet whose elegant species live in peace thanks to Asgard’s protection. Helheim – a lifeless planetoid that has been used by your leaders as a prison for particularly dangerous individuals. Svartalfheim – a mountainous planet formerly inhabited by so-called dark elves – now a lifeless husk thanks to the actions of their former leader. And last, but not least, Jotunheim – an ice planet – home of the Jotunns, a species commonly known as Frost Giants.”

“Indeed, Anthony, your summary thus far has been correct.”

"Great. But what about the rest of space? Are the planets on your little wormhole thing the only places where life exists?"

Loki scoffed. “Of course not.” He said with a smirk. “A man of your knowledge should know better than that.”

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Chuckles," Tony replied, waving one hand. "I mean, come on, it's not like my people have even managed to leave our solar system yet. As far as most people are concerned, we have yet to find absolute proof of the existence of other races."

“Fair enough,” his friend agreed.  “Midgard has been under the protection of my Realm for centuries, and besides, the Nova Corps has designated the planet as an interdiction zone. Any contact would have to have come from criminals or the desperate.”

“Nova Corps?” Tony perked up at the new term. “Some kind of interstellar military?”

Once again, the alien prince nodded. "There is indeed a multitude of other inhabitable planets beyond the Nine Realms, and the Nova Corps – headquartered on Xandar – are the primary overseers of your region of the Galaxy. As a part of Asgard's arrangement with them, they keep interlopers away from all of the Nine Realms, not just Midgard."

"I… see," Tony said. "So – not part of the wormhole system – that means… spaceships!?"

“Correct. Many of the races present in the galaxies make use of space-going vessels to travel.”

“Awesome!”

Tony’s mind was already whirling at a mile-a-minute, trying to imagine what technologies interstellar spaceships might hold. Oh, to have access to just one.

“I fear that the details of the mechanisms which are used by such craft are outside of my range of knowledge. However, if you ask specific questions, I will do my best to answer.”

---

At that moment, Tony and his companion were unexpectedly interrupted. For the first time in months – if not a year, Tony had honestly lost count of the days – the corridor entry opened at a time outside of the normal routine.

After a shared glance, both prisoners deliberately re-located themselves from their obviously conversational positions. Tony claimed a seat at his desk, absently resuming work on a blueprint that he’d been laying out earlier. The designs that he drew were one way that Tony did his best to  irritate his captors. He had no doubt that all of his scribbles – which were collected on a weekly basis – were being studied by SHIELD scientists. So, he deliberately created useless things – designs that appeared viable but were either missing important elements or required impossible materials to work. Describing what would happen if someone tried to follow his designs was a common source of amusement for both Tony and Loki.

Perhaps they’re finally tired of my little game? Tony thought with a hidden grin.

Glancing across the hall, he saw that the taller man had taken a tailor’s seat on his bed and was apparently meditating. Since it was Loki’s common practice at meal times, this would not be out of character from the guards’ perspective.

“Hello, Mister Silvertongue… or should I say, Loki.”

The harsh tone of the voice; American accent and a forcefulness that Tony associated with career military, had him shivering. Growing up with a father who worked in the weapons industry, he’d been surrounded by such voices his entire life. As a child, Tony had found that words spoken that way were common precursors to one of Howard Stark’s drunken rages. While he’d managed to push past that involuntary response as an adult, the combination of Afghanistan and his stay with SHIELD had brought it back.

Once he had his involuntary reaction under control, Tony glanced over at the ‘door’ of his cell. There were four figures standing in the hall between the cells facing his friend. One of the men, the only one even glancing in his direction, was a normal guard. The other three were a rare sight in this place: two beefy younger men in black bracketing an older man whose short haircut and posture gave away his extensive time in the military. He was the one who had spoken.

“Herr Mister Garrett.” Loki’s voice was low with menace. If he had to bet, Tony was guessing that this was one of Loki’s former interrogators. “What a surprise to see you again… I had thought that after our last visit you were never going to return. Wasn’t that what you said?”

From the sound of his next words, Garrett’s face now showed a sneer. "I did indeed. But circumstances are prone to change. Now… what can you tell me about this?" Tony caught the sound of paper against glass before he heard Loki shift in his seat.

“That?” It was only thanks to his friendship and extensive time in close quarters with Loki that Tony could tell the other man recognized whatever he had been shown. “It looks like some kind of odd lamp. Other than that, I have no idea.”

“So you say, so you say…” Garrett’s voice was calm, almost dismissive, “and what if I were to tell you that our best scientific minds disagree. They report that this object has an extra-terrestrial origin. In addition, it gives off radiation whose spectrum is a match to data recorded recently in the skies over the Sonoran desert in New Mexico.”

“Then, I would say that your people clearly have no idea what they’re doing.” Despite being unable to see his friend, Tony could hear a hint of a smirk in Loki’s voice. “After all, if this radiation signal matches something here on Earth, it couldn’t possibly be extra-terrestrial, now could it?”

Tony smothered a chuckle of his own. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Glancing over at his regular guard, he saw the other man do the same.Interesting. I guess he isn’t a fan of Mister Marine either. I’ll have to keep an eye on that.

"Of course it is extra-terrestrial," Garrett snapped peevishly. "You know that; I know you do."

"If you say so," Loki's voice took on a sing-song quality, even more obviously mocking. Clearly, riling this man up was an entertaining hobby.

Garrett snarled, “Fine, if you want to be that way about it.” Turning to the Oubliette's guard, he snapped an order. "I want him on starvation rations, one meal a day until he agrees to talk." Then he turned and stomped off down the corridor, followed by his unspeaking minions.

“Sorry,” the friendly guard mouthed before turning to follow the trio. 

Looking over at his companion, Tony raised an eyebrow.

Loki waited until they heard the sound of the corridor door close before he responded. “It was a long time that I was alone down here with just the guards for company. I had to entertain myself somehow.”

 “Fair enough,” Tony said in reply. “So… what was in the picture?”

The Liesmith’s face turned grim. “Something that your people are not meant to mess with, something far beyond their ability to handle.” He paused and then added, “Something which the All-Father hid on Midgard many centuries ago. It’s called… the Tesseract.”

---

Garrett’s first threat proved fairly harmless. It turned out that even without his magic an alien Loki possessed a level of physical stamina miles above the average Earth human. Even water deprivation, followed by severe beatings, weren’t enough to get Loki talking. Despite being escorted from the Oubliette corridor several times by Garrett’s two stooges, and then returning hours later a mass of cuts and bruises, Loki remained visibly unaffected.

Still, with his new magic senses, Tony could tell that Garrett’s torture was taking a toll on his friend and mentor. He only wished that he could do something, but even after a year of tutoring in the mystic arts, the most that he could do was… see.

Ultimately, the thing that finally broke Loki was when Garrett added temperature to his torture repertoire.

---

One day, Tony was pacing his cell when Loki was dragged back, as usual, by Garrett’s goons. At first, it appeared to be just another day of fun, but then Tony noticed a difference. This time, instead of sniping at the goons, Loki looked defeated.

“Agent Garrett thanks you for your cooperation,” goon number one said with a sneer as he tossed Loki on his bed with a thump. On the other side of the transparent wall, Tony winced. He could see growing dark spots appearing on Loki’s clothes. It seemed that the sharp movement was enough to open multiple wounds.

"Perhaps we will return soon," Goon number two added as his partner gave a bark of laughter.

“Then again, if you’re lucky, perhaps we won’t.”

As soon as the corridor door clanged shut, Tony hurried over to the front of his cell.

“Loki!” he hissed frantically. “Loki!”

After a moment, the lump on the bed began to move. Tony could hear the sound of popping joints. Then, a surprisingly limber form sat up and stretched without any sign of difficulty.

Tony blinked.

“Are… are you… blue?”

The figure on the bed leaned forward, showing off red eyes and a host of what looked like tribal markings of some kind.

"Why yes," the figure's smile was sharp as the transformed Loki pulled himself onto his feet. From what Tony could tell, the already tall man appeared to have added several inches to his height in addition to the other changes. "… yes, I am."

As he cracked his neck with upraised hands, Tony noticed that the various cuts and bruises – remnants from previous encounters with Garrett - had all but disappeared.

"I apologize for startling you, Anthony, but your responses were necessary to sell the deception. I knew that Garrett would never believe it was I to break immediately. Instead, I manipulated him into using the one form of torture that would help – not injure – me. Only then did I ‘break', giving him just enough information to hang himself with."

“So…” Tony asked, is the blue thing some kind of sorcerer trick, or can all of your people – what did you call them, Aesir – do that?”

If it were possible, Tony would have said that the red-eyed man’s grin grew even sharper at that question.

“Indeed not, my Anthony. Nay, this form,” Loki waved a hand down his body, “comes from my birth parents, not my adopted ones.”

Tony blinked, puzzled by his friend and mentor’s words.

"Did not I mention it? You see, the All-Father is not the father of my birth, nor did my beloved mother Frigga carry me. Instead, I was a war prize, an infant taken by a victorious Odin at the end of the war between Asgard and Jotunheim."

Loki's smile thinned. "If the All-father had had his way, I would yet be in the dark about my true nature. However, my tutor, whose wisdom far exceeds the King's – though neither of them would ever admit it – recognized that leaving me ignorant could have severe repercussions in the future. Once I came of age, he revealed to me the truth, a tale which was later confirmed by my mother. I am a full-blood Jotunn seidrmadr, one whose skill at shape-changing was unparalleled, even as an infant. Thus…"

Here Loki once again gestured towards his exposed skin. “… the blue, as you said.”

“Wait, but you said…” Tony’s voice trailed off as he realized what that meant. “Oh, brilliant! I take it that you are recovered from your ordeal then?”

Loki smiled and resumed his more human form. Dropping into a customary tailor's seat, he simply said, "Take a look."

And, doing the same, Tony did. 

Chapter Text

“How are you doing?” James asked as he held the heavy duty punching bag still for his companion. “Adjusting okay?”

Mister Steven Grant Rogers, the recently resurrected Captain America, shrugged. It had been several weeks since he’d been recovered from the Arctic ice and brought back to SHIELD’s New York facilities. Since then, he’d struggled to deal with the fact that everyone he knew was either extremely old or dead and the war was long over.

Thanks to a recommendation from Nat, James had been brought in as a mentor to help the suffering quasi-nonagenarian adjust to the modern world.

---

After throwing another punch into the bag, Steve shrugged again. “I suppose. It’s tough, though, the war’s been my life since before I changed, and now… Now it ended without me even bein’ there to see it.”

Shaking out his fists, Steve bounced a bit on his heels, adjusting his stance as James watched. “Bein’ here, with SHIELD I mean, helps a bit. Knowin’ that this place was Peg and Howie’s legacy, you know.”

Steve’s words made James smirk.

“What?” The other man asked.

“Still can’t get over you calling Mister Stark by that name… Howie, I mean.” James’ smile grew nostalgic. “He was always such a serious man, even in Tony’s stories.”

“Right, you are a friend of Howie’s son, the one who’s sick?”

James’ smile faded. “That’s right. Met in college. Tony was younger than everyone there, smarter too, but innocent about certain things. I kinda took him under my wing, and we’ve been close ever since.”

Glancing over at the other man, James saw Steve's smile. "Sounds a bit like Howie. Genius, but he gave the worst advice about women. Peg almost shot me because of him once."

“Really?”

"Yeah. He had me down showing off prototypes of the shield, when one of his secretaries, pretty girl that she was, decided to give me a kiss. I found out later that it had been Howie who had suggested it to her. Anyways, Peg walked in just as she laid it on me, and boy was she mad. That dame had quite the temper on her and wasn't afraid ta show it. Nothing doing, but that she pull out her revolver and test the shield by firing right at me."

James snorted. “Sounds like something Tony would do. He was always getting me drunk, especially when I’d go to extract him from an engineering binge. Used to call me all kinds of nicknames, but his favorite was the very first.”

“What was that?”

“The first time we met, despite being drastically underage he’d somehow managed to get into a frat party on campus and had gotten plastered. I’d been dragged to the party by my roommate of the time, though we’d arrived much later than Tony. I had just grabbed my first beer and walked into the lounge, when what do I see? Some little kid passed out on the couch, blackout drunk.” James snorted. “Being the good big brother that I am, I snag a bottle of water off the counter and head over there. With a little bit of luck and a lot of coaxing, I manage to get the kid’s name and address off him, and then end up escorting him home.”

Lost in the memory, James went on.

“Given how drunk he was I didn’t feel comfortable just leaving him there, so I made myself comfortable on his couch and kept watch. The next morning, when he emerged from his room, he was so confused to find me there. It took a bit of prompting, but he did manage to remember meeting me. Still, his previous drunken state meant that he had forgotten my name. Instead, he called me that Roadie guy, a play on my last name of Rhodes. Even when I reintroduced myself, he insisted that I ‘wasn’t a Jim’. So, I became Rhodey.”

“Do you prefer that name, then, Colonel Rhodes?” Steve asked, quietly. “Only, you introduced yourself as James…”

James shrugged. “Ever since Tony was committed, I haven’t been able to use that name. It just… doesn’t feel right.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Then we’ll stick with James.”

Stretching out his hand, he offered it up for a shake.

“It’s nice to meet you again, James,” he said with a wry smile.

“You as well, Steve.”

---

The moment was broken by the sound of a single set of hands clapping. Turning toward the noise, James was surprised to see that they had been interrupted by none other than SHIELD Director Nicholas J. Fury.

“Good to see you getting along, gentlemen,” he said as he walked forward. “But unfortunately, I’m going to have to interrupt your little workout session.”

From under the crook of one arm, he pulled out a pair of folders and offered them to James and Steve. "I'm afraid that we have need of the Avengers."

Despite Fury’s impassive expression, James could practically feel the tension radiating off of him.

"What's the situation?" He asked before Steve – Rogers – could. James was pretty sure that the other man had yet to be briefed about the Avengers Initiative, or SHIELD's work in general. However, it seemed that whatever was going on right now, Fury felt that it was big enough to require Captain America. If it was Avengers business, though, then James would be taking the lead. After all, he was the most experienced soldier on Fury's little roster. He had already been named as leader before Rogers' discovery and refused to be dislodged from that spot.

Fury apparently recognized James’ intentions, as he turned towards the Air Force officer before he spoke.

“We have a situation. Less than twelve hours ago, our facility in New Mexico was attacked by a mysterious figure. This figure arrived through a portal – a wormhole of some kind according to my scientists – and then proceeded to abscond with a valuable artifact. At the same time, she used some kind of mind control on a number of my people – including Agent Barton – bringing them with her as she demolished the facility.”

“So… search and rescue?” James asked, beginning to flip through the packet. He knew that Barton was one of the candidates for the Avengers Initiative; hence Fury’s calling him out in particular.

Beside him, James could see Rogers doing the same. “And the Avengers because…?”

“Because she’s not human, and because she’s more powerful than my regulars can handle.”

“Fair enough. Are you calling in the rest of the potentials?”

Fury nodded. “Agent Romanoff has gone to fetch the Big Guy. We think that Doctor Banner may be able to help with the tracking side of things, besides the potential of his alter-ego. In addition, we’ve got another surprise member. One of the scientists taken by our visitor; when he found out her father has demanded that he be allowed to help with the recovery. As he is a skilled scientist and has a history with SHIELD, I have agreed to let him work with Doctor Banner on the search side. He is on his way to the carrier as we speak, and I would like both of you to join us there."

“Yes, sir,” both James and Rogers responded like the trained soldiers that they were.

---

Hours later, James was shaking his head as he extracted himself from the Iron Soldier suit. The situation was utterly ridiculous, even for him.

Initially, Fury's call out had proved fairly mundane. James' main task was to serve as an interface between the scientific geniuses – Doctor Banner and Doctor Pym – and the rest of the group while they worked on isolating the radiation signal from SHIELD's missing artifact. Pym especially had proven to be a challenge to work with, given his intense hatred of Howard Stark. He and Rogers had even managed to get into a shouting match, one which James had to navigate before their mysterious alien visitor had shown up on SHIELD surveillance.

Her location: Stuttgart, Germany.

---

Despite the rapid travel time made possible by SHIELD's advanced technology, there were still multiple casualties on the ground before James arrived in Germany. He had traveled in one of SHIELD's Quinjets, along with Nat, Rogers, and a SHIELD team for back-up, which had flown rapidly across the Atlantic.

From what James could tell, the woman – whose name was apparently Nebula, based upon some of the comments that she had made – was a cyborg whose body was mostly composed of robotic components. As such, even Rogers had difficulty in keeping up with her in hand-to-hand combat. In fact, she was in the process of –well – kicking his ass when James and Nat managed to lock her in their combined sights.

Loading her onto the Quinjet went smoothly, as Nebula accepted the restriction of the SHIELD-issue cuffs with little more than a hoarse snarl. James was just glad that he wasn’t responsible for dealing with the clean-up. He had little doubt that negotiations with the German authorities would not be pretty. Instead, he and the rest of the team headed back to the Helicarrier, moving at high speed to shorten flight time.

---

Despite their high velocity, the Quinjet only made it as far as Greenland before it was intercepted. This was when things took a turn for the bizarre.

Instead of belonging to another nation or Earthly organization, the intercepting plane was, in fact, a space-ship. Not only that, but its crew was composed almost entirely of aliens, ones who looked dramatically different from the average human.

It turned out that their captive, Nebula, was apparently the sister of one of the crew – a fierce warrior woman named Gamora whose green skin reminded James of the Orions from Star Trek. Of course, this woman was nothing like an Orion in personality, but the physical resemblance was there.

Then there was the nominal captain of the ship – a half-human man named Peter – as well as another roughly humanoid man whose grey skin and extensive red tattoos made it clear that he was not the same species as the people of Earth.

Those were the easy ones to handle. More difficult were the last two members of this crew. One – their engineer and weapons-master – looked like nothing more than a large raccoon that was dressed in clothes and walked on its hind feet. The other was a tiny walking tree whose only contribution to any conversation was the statement ‘I am Groot’.

After forcing the Quinjet to land on the snowy ground, the odd-looking crew had initially attempted to steal Nebula from James and his team. Fortunately, after a bit of a scuffle James had managed to convince them to desist.

It helped when Nebula told her sister that she was trying to “claim this land for Father.” That news put Gamora’s back up, and she agreed to help SHIELD in recovering their stolen artifact.

“I would not want our Father laying waste to your home planet,” she said to her captain, and the rest of the crew had concurred. From there, Gamora and the Raccoon – Rocket, apparently – had remained on the Quinjet to help guard Nebula. Meanwhile, Steve and one of the SHIELD crew had boarded the alien ship in exchange. James was a bit jealous of the opportunity to see an alien space-ship in real life, but duty took priority. So, he remained at his post.

---

Gamora spent the entire flight back seated across from her ‘sister’, focused intently on the other woman.

Rocket, on the other hand, was much more engaging. At first, he merely wandered around the cargo compartment, poking his snout into things and muttering under his breath. Soon, however, his examination grew more physical, and James felt the need to interrupt.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Would you mind not messing with that?”

In response, Rocket glanced over to where James stood in the suit. One of the negatives of the SI design was the fact that the armor was too bulky for James to be able to sit on the narrow benches that lined the cargo bay. Instead, James was stuck standing for the duration of the flight. That is unless he wanted to sit on the floor, which he didn't.

Rocket took his paw off the panel that he had touched before moving over to another part of the compartment and repeating his earlier action.

“I said. Please don’t touch that.” This time, James allowed his tone to be a bit more forceful.

“Rocket,” Gamora snapped.

Despite the fur and animal features, James recognized the look on Rocket’s face. It was just like Tony’s when he found a new button to press. The bipedal raccoon sauntered over to where James stood, letting his eyes sweep up and down the suit.

“Well now, that’s a fine piece of work you’ve got there. Are you stuck in there, or just choosing not to come out?” Rocket asked.

Muffling his sigh, James popped the faceplate of his suit open. “I can remove myself, but I prefer to do so once we’re in a secure location.”

Gamora, who had glanced over when James had moved, merely nodded and then turned back to her sister.

 Rocket, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“So you are just another Terran, then? I have to say, that makes this suit of yours even more interesting. Did you build it yourself, or are ya just the pilot?”

“Bit of both,” James admitted with a smile, allowing Rocket to take a closer look at one of his gauntlets. “The initial design was not mine, but I have a bit of engineering training, enough to handle some of the maintenance and repairs if needed.”

“Careful,” he added when Rocket’s hands got too close to the repulsor port. “My repulsors have a bit of a kick and I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself.”

Rocket's eyes gleamed as he nodded an acknowledgment.

"Thanks, Terran. You're alright, for an ape-descendent."

Before long, the pair had been drawn into an engineering discussion, talking power sources and armor.

It turned out that there were certain alloys not yet developed on Earth that might help with the Iron Soldier’s over-heating problems. Rocket had sketched out the formula and tempering process for James on one of the SHIELD tablets that were sitting around right before the jet landed.

Once they were anchored to the Helicarrier, the group had split apart – Nat escorting the sisters down to the detention block, where Nebula could be locked away. Rocket went off with one of the SHIELD agents, who had been charged to bring him to the main conference area. Finally, James took himself to the locker rooms, where he could remove and secure the Iron Soldier suit.

It really is a whole new world out there, James mused as he stripped away the gauntlets. Here he was, an ordinary soldier, removing a mechanized suit, standing on an invisible, flying aircraft carrier that belonged to an espionage agency, and preparing for a strategy session with a team of aliens, spies, scientists, and super soldiers.

If Tony were still himself, he would be in the middle of this, I just know it.

Chapter Text

Bong

Tony was sound asleep on his ‘bed’ when the feeling hit. It was like he was standing right in the middle of a massive, ringing bell. Aural vibrations pummeled him on all sides. But it wasn’t a true sound, not something he could hear with his ears. Instead, the feeling came from the same new sense that Loki had been training him to use.

“Wha…?” Tony said unintelligibly. He was still groggy from the unexpected wake-up call.

Unsurprisingly, when he glanced across the corridor, he saw that not only was Loki awake, but he appeared to have been in that condition for quite some time.

“I wondered if that would awaken you,” the other man commented mildly. “You did feel the last pulse, but that was when you were conscious.”

Loki’s comment helped to clear some of the cobwebs from Tony’s brain.

“Wormhole?” he asked with a grimace. The backlash from the unstable closure the last time had given him a headache.

“Indeed. It seems that whoever opened the portal has decided to give us a repeat performance,” the experienced seidrmadr said with a nod. “I do wonder who it might be…”

---

As they recovered from the effects of the first wormhole’s abrupt closure, the pair of prisoners had discussed possible culprits.  According to Loki – the ‘Walker in the Sky’ – the portal did not match any that he’d encountered in the past. Instead, he thought that it may have been the creation of a reckless Midgardian sorcerer or perhaps… perhaps SHIELD had done it.

“The Tesseract is legendary for its ability to manipulate space,” Loki had said. “It is possible that their experimentation inadvertently opened a portal.”

“Well, if they did I doubt they liked what happened next.” Tony had said with a wry grin. “From the feel of that backlash I’d say that the wormhole made a bit of a mess when it closed.”

“I would agree, my dear Anthony. Still, it is troublesome. I would hate for us to lose our lives because of SHIELD’s foolish experiments. And the Tesseract is most certainly capable of such destruction.”

---

Now, the likely Tesseract-generated wormhole had once again been opened.

“It does feel like the same type of wormhole as before…” Tony said absently as he processed the information that was flooding into his body, “…but at the same time, not.”

“List the differences you notice,” Loki said. He was clearly in instructor mode.

“Well… Um… the ‘sound’ is louder – stronger in some way – and its… holding still… stable?”

As Tony answered his mentor's questions, the resonance that he was assessing changed. It began to pulse, manifesting irregular fluctuations. Tony thought that these were like a second, smaller knocker impacting the resonant ‘bell'.

“… and now there’s… instabilities… but they aren’t affecting the background sound.” Tony paused, and gulped. “whoop… that was a big one…”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You’re hypothesis?” He asked.

“Well, the fact that it’s stronger means that the wormhole is bigger. The consistency of the underlying sound would imply stability, I guess? So it shouldn’t… collapse… the way the last one did?” Tony said, before muttering under his breath. “At least I hope it doesn’t anyways.”

There was a bit of a twitch in the rosebud lips, but the older man otherwise ignored Tony’s muttered comment.  “And the instabilities?”

“Transit,” Tony’s second response was instantaneous.

"I agree." Loki's response came with a sharp nod before the experienced sorcerer shut his eyes in a precursor to entering a meditative state.

With a groan, Tony copied him. "Please don't backlash while we're like this…" he murmured as he drifted off.

---

In the end, the portal – wormhole – remained open for several additional hours. During that time, the irregular fluctuations that indicated transit continued and even multiplied in frequency. Tony had lost count fairly quickly, a consequence of his lack of experience with his new senses. Loki, on the other hand, managed to get a decent count. By his reckoning, over five hundred of the smaller objects and at least a dozen of the larger ones had passed through the portal.

Then, suddenly, a different kind of fluctuation occurred. The change in ‘tone’ likely indicated travel in the reverse direction from the previous transits. First one small object, and then a second larger one, passed through the portal in that direction.

“Who on Earth would dare…?” Tony said, absently, expressing his surprise, but before he could say more, the underlying Bong of the portal began to fade.

Unlike the last time, this portal’s closure was more gradual. Thus, it didn’t leave Tony with a backlash headache. Instead, just as the last remnants of the portal vanished Tony caught the edge of a shockwave – something on the other side of the wormhole had exploded.

---

It wasn’t until several days later that their questions were answered – at least in part. The least despised of their regular guards – the one who had been so sympathetic when Garrett and his goons had been torturing Loki – had been assigned elsewhere for an extended period. Now, though, he was back. On his first meal delivery after his return, the SHIELD Agent asked Tony a question.

“You know Colonel James Rhodes, right?”

Tony was startled by the question, and a bit concerned. Had something happened to Rhodey? Warily, he nodded.

“Wicked…. The man’s a legend.”

The guard went on to explain that Rhodey – or Colonel Rhodes as he called him – was currently serving as the pilot of the Iron Soldier, an armored suit designed and built by SI.

Based upon the scraps from the Mark I, I guess. Tony thought when the guard described the suit. Obie must have scavenged them from the desert. Bastard. At least there’s no way that they’ll get ahold of the Mark II, not with JARVIS on task.

 According to the guard, the Iron Soldier was the leader of the Avengers; a SHIELD-organized response team. Other members of the team included SHIELD specialists and – the guard gushed – the miraculously resurrected Captain America.

Huh, guess dad’s great white whale wasn’t as impossible as I always thought, Tony mused.

The portal that they’d sensed was the work of some alien chick. She’d unexpectedly appeared at a SHIELD facility some days earlier – the first portal?  Then, after attacking SHIELD’s flying headquarters, she had opened up a massive wormhole in the skies over Manhattan.

Powered by Mr. Freeze’s Tesseract? Tony’s respect for Loki didn’t protect the older man from his jokes, even if he usually kept them in his head.

---

According to Tony’s gossipy guard, several waves of an alien armada had made it through the wormhole. Once across, they had laid waste to New York City and many of its suburbs. Despite their best efforts, the Avengers and their new allies – some other aliens who had arrived on a space ship with general support from both SHIELD and the US Military – were constantly on the defensive. But then, finally, someone managed to figure out how to shut down the portal.

"Luckily, the alien dudes managed to keep our esteemed leadership from nuking the whole area in the midst of the chaos," the guard added in a confidential tone. "One of my buddies on the carrier said that the Council had ordered a nuclear strike right before the portal closed. The half-alien dude, what did he call himself…? Oh, yeah, Starduke or something like that…. He redirected the nuke through the wormhole thing right before it was closed. That weird team of his followed him through on their space ship. Now that thing was a beauty." The guard sighed.

“They even took the evil alien chick with them when they left,” he said. “Kind of left us holding the bag, you know?”

Glancing over at Tony, who was clearly engaged in his tale, the man gave a wry smile. “I’m just lucky that I was merely on assignment for the emergency. I feel bad for the poor schmucks who’re going to be stuck on clean-up duty. Even with the alien soldiers all suiciding after the wormhole closed, it’s still a giant mess. Dunno if the City will ever be the same.”

“You from there?” Tony asked, curious.

“Kind of,” the other man replied. “Wasn’t born there, but I did spend a fair bit of time around NYC in the past. It grows on you, ya know.”

Tony’s smile was nostalgic as he nodded in agreement.

“Well, this is fascinating,” Loki’s voice said drolly, interrupting, “but I am still awaiting my meal here.”

Both of the men shook their heads, and Tony shot a confused look at Loki.

Why would Elsa interrupt the man when he was giving us prime information? Then his brain caught up. Of course, wouldn’t want to draw too much attention – show our hand, so to speak.

After nodding his understanding of Loki’s gambit, Tony followed the other man’s lead. Reaching out, he snagged the delivered tray from its usual slot and moved it over to his desk. Then, he snatched up his water glass and took a sip.

It only took a moment before the guard completed his task. Then, he headed off down the corridor, whistling as he went. And with that, Tony and Loki were alone once more.

Chapter Text

Stretching his hands above his head, James groaned. He felt more than heard the bones and muscles in his back pop and shift with the movement.

Fighting – or drills – in the Iron Soldier suit had proved to be a work-out like-none-other. Even with Stark Industries' ongoing improvements, the artificial intelligence that acted as James' co-pilot could only do so much. Many of the suit's controls were driven by James' body movements. And, with the resistance provided by the suit's bulk, every single motion required an extensive effort. Thus, despite his flight hours in the suit reaching the triple digits, James' body still felt the impact every time he flew.

Returning his attention to the screen in front of him, James resumed typing. This time he was working on a brief documenting the Avengers’ most recent training session.

In the aftermath of the New York disaster, the triad of SHIELD, SI, and the US Military had engaged in a bit of horse-trading. As a result, Colonel James Rhodes had been transferred to the reserves.

This allowed him to transition into a full-time position as the commander of the Avengers, which had become its own separate division within SHIELD.

The Avengers team included himself, Steve Rogers aka Captain America, and a rotation of SHIELD agents. James’ agents included such skilled assets as Nat (Natasha Romanov aka the Black Widow) and Clint Barton (also known as Hawkeye), the expert marksman and archery specialist who'd been suborned by the alien attacker Nebula in the lead-up to the NYC disaster.

When the mind control that had caused him to be turned had been removed, Barton had immediately demanded a place in the fight against his former ‘boss’. Barton’s skills had proved quite useful in the fight, impressing James. Thus he had been agreeable to the man’s inclusion on the Avengers’ roster. 

In brief, the Avengers were established as a first response team. While there was an entire division within SHIELD whose job was to conduct research and unearth intelligence regarding the invading aliens, James’ team had a different purview. The Avengers were to be deployed in cases of possible extra-terrestrial attack or when the scale of the battle required their specialized talents.

---

Manhattan had been completely demolished during the alien invasion, with untold property damage and a death toll that was still rising. At last count, the casualty list stood at over ten thousand people and millions – if not billions – of dollars in destruction. By the time that the wormhole had finally closed, the area directly beneath it had been completely obliterated. Only rubble remained in that area.

In addition, small squads of the alien invaders had pushed their way past the NYPD and SHIELD's perimeter. From there they had attacked other parts of the New York Metropolitan Area. It was only the fact that aliens had some kind of ‘suicide’ trigger, dying when the wormhole closed, that had prevented a worse catastrophe.

The public formation of the Avengers Taskforce was a direct consequence of the attack. People demanded better protection, and the team who had – mostly – held their ground against the aliens were an easy option. Everyone hoped that a team which had been specially trained for such events would have better success in mitigating damage and minimizing casualties than a thrown together group.

 James had agreed, in theory, and had signed on as a member. Being named the Avengers’ Commander was a bit of a surprise. He had initially expected Captain America to slot in that role. It was only after several discussions with – among others – Mister Stane, Director Fury, General Ross, and even the President – that James understood.

While Captain America was an excellent choice in terms of the public, as well as an excellent tactician, he had little to no training on the other responsibilities that came with a command. Besides, Rogers was still struggling to catch up to modern times. This included some of the military and law enforcement structures that James had spent half of his life following.

It was possible that eventually, with enough training, Rogers could be brought up to the point of command. For now, though, James was the logical choice.

Another thing that surprised James was the absence of Dr. Bruce Banner, aka the Hulk, as a member of his team. The green berserker had been extremely useful in battle, despite his bad reputation. Besides, James had immense respect for the scientist's intellectual abilities.

But, when he had asked, James was told that Dr. Banner had rejected the offer of Avengers membership. Thus, SHIELD had returned Dr. Banner to his previous location, the escort a way to show their appreciation for his help. According to Agent Coulson, James’ SHIELD liaison, the dual-natured scientist had asked to be left alone. He would only accept a call-up if the need was truly world-ending.

"Banner was concerned about the amount of collateral damage that his alter-ego caused during the battle," Coulson had said. "Besides, his original bargain had been predicated on the demand that the Hulk was not to be roused. Obviously, we failed to live up to our side of the arrangement. So, it seemed only right to accept his requests."

"Understood," James had replied. And he did. Understand that is. He wasn't unfamiliar with PTSD and similar conditions and suspected that Dr. Banner's choice of escape was his coping mechanism. He wouldn't want a reluctant teammate, not for this job.

---

James’ musings were interrupted by a knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he called, glad for the interruption. Paperwork really was his least favorite part of the job.

The door opened, and Agent Coulson stepped inside. Dressed in an unremarkable navy suit and tie, with thinning hair and an unprepossessing figure, the Agent looked like just another bureaucrat.

James, however, knew better.  According to the stories from their mutual co-workers, the man was a certified badass, one who used his mild-mannered persona as a mask. Even his love of all things Captain America, while true, was designed as a way to make him less intimidating. How he had managed to maintain a low profile – and non-threatening persona – despite his high rank in SHIELD was one of the office’s greatest mysteries.

“Hey Phil,” James said, “What do you need?”

“Got a call from the Director. He needs to see us upstairs?”

“Us? The Avengers?”

“Not everyone. Or at least not yet. Just you and I for now.”

Nodding, James pushed his desk chair back. Coming to his feet, he snagged his suit jacket from a nearby hanger and settled it into place as he followed the other man out of his office.

Now that had been an adjustment, changing his work wardrobe from his customary air force uniform to civilian business wear. The process had made James think of Tony, especially when he dug some of the ties that the other man had given him over the years out of his closet and put them into circulation. Tony had a habit of picking ties with some kind of joke detail hidden beneath the surface. While unremarkable at first glance, many had a hidden message that only a discerning eye would notice.

For example, the one that James currently wore was made of a fabric printed with a stylized blueprint of the first SI-designed fighter that he’d flown. Of course, to the uninitiated, it was merely a pale blue tie with random darker blue lines scattered across its surface.

Agent Coulson had seen the tie before, but he still smiled in appreciation as the two men strode down the corridor leading from James’ office over to the elevator.

“The latest drill went well from everything that I’ve heard,” he commented casually. “It seems as if your team is coming together nicely.”

“For the most part,” James agreed. “There’s still a bit of adjustment to do in terms of tactics for specific environments, but we’re growing more accustomed to working as a cohesive unit.”

Coulson hummed an agreement.

---

Director Fury was indeed waiting for them in the conference room, along with Deputy Director Hill and a couple of agents who James didn’t recognize. At a guess, they were scientists or analysts of some stripe.

“You have a mission for us, sir?” He asked, coming to attention out of habit as Fury turned from his conversation with Hill.

"At ease, Rhodes, you know I don't stand on ceremony," Fury waved them towards the conference table. "At this stage all we have a possible… but I wanted you read in, just in case. Gentlemen?"

After a momentary stutter, one of the unknowns began to speak.

"Um, the science team has been using the network that Dr. Banner and Dr. Pym set up to track the Tesseract as a monitoring system. With it, we've been getting sporadic hits scattered worldwide. Nothing strong enough to indicate an actual wormhole, mind you. More of a… weak spot, a place where a wormhole could be created with less energy. If you had the right technology, anyways."

With a tap on his computer, the man put up a map on the screen. The screen covered half of the conference room wall, while the map’s span covered the entire globe, Mercator style.

"Here are all of the sites where we still have detectors running." A large collection of green dots were added to the map projection, each one marking a different spot. Most of them were in obviously populated regions, but there were also scattered detectors that had been placed specifically to fill gaps in the coverage. Another click and the dots disappeared, to be replaced by an even spread of orange dots.

“This is all of the hits prior to about six weeks ago. Notice that they’re pretty evenly spread, and relatively dim in intensity.”

Everyone nodded, James included.

“Well, over the past six weeks we’ve seen an upswing in the frequency of hits, as well as an increase in their intensity. Not only that, but the spread is no longer even. Now there’s a clear epicenter.”

The second set of dots, these ones crimson, were plotted overtop of the orange ones. In comparison to the barely visible orange dots, some of the red lights practically maxed out the screen's capabilities. Sure enough, James could see the pattern that the speaker referenced.

“We’ve done a careful geographic projection. By our calculations, the epicenter is in the United Kingdom, Southern England to be exact.”

The map zoomed in to that section of the world, even as it showed a simulation of the mapping process.

“We haven’t yet been able to narrow it down too far, but we’re hopeful that with a few more days of data we should be able to give you a more precise location.”

Here the scientist paused, and his colleague took over.

"With our algorithm, we've been able to identify possible future sites, and have been deploying field teams to investigate. Of the roughly two dozen possibilities, so far three have yielded results of some kind. At two of the sites, the portable scanner picked up the same radiation spike that the monitoring network has seen in the past at roughly the predicted intensity. But it was the third that had us pushing things further up the chain."

He swallowed heavily and then continued. "According to our team on-site, they located an open wormhole."

---

"Barton. Status report," James said in a bark.

 The archer was the only Avenger on-scene at the wormhole site. He'd already been in the area for a routine SHIELD mission. So he had simply hitched a ride with the SHIELD locals to get there.

The rest of the team was en-route via Quinjet.

Nat was at the helm of the Quinjet with James.  Rogers paced in the back already decked up in his Captain America gear.  They were accompanied by a full STRIKE team, led by Agent Brock Rumlow. STRIKE would work with Rogers in the case that ground action occurred.

The Iron Soldier suit was strapped in the Quinjet's rear compartment as well, but for now, James was flying co-pilot while monitoring chatter from those ahead.

“Well, it’s not like the other ones we’ve seen. It’s not actually, properly visible for one. The science types are able to see it with some of their equipment, but that’s it.”

Barton’s voice was matter-of-fact, but James could hear the tension hidden underneath. He knew that the scene reminded the archer of past events. If he'd had any other choice, James would not have had Barton be the one up close to the site. However, the circumstances were what they were.

The sound of a snicker broke James’ train of thought.

“…Even with the best sensory network in the world for such things, we still didn’t manage to be the first ones here. When the first group showed up, there were already a handful of kids playing with the thing.”

“… playing?” James was shocked. After everything with New York you’d think that people would know better.

"Yeah. Turns out, the wormhole isn't consistent. It doesn't always lead to the same place. Some of the time it actually loops back on itself. The kids were throwin' junk into it and figured it out when sometimes the stuff they tossed into the vortex came shooting out from another place nearby. Cool, huh?"

"Right… Cool… идиот [idiot]," Nat's dry sarcasm cut through Barton's amusement. His tone sobered up. James knew that if he'd been in the room Nat would have smacked him upside the head to get the same effect.

"Heh… sorry. Anyways, according to the science dudes, the wormhole has some kind of barrier. It makes things so that they cannot get information about the other side. We tried sending a probe with a lead attached so that we can pull it back through, but the cord snapped. So, they're assembling a set of probes in the hopes that at least one will manage to hit during a loop period."

There was a bit of static, as Barton continued. “Meanwhile, I’m on watch duty, monitoring for any sign of visitors. Fingers crossed I’m not needed.”

He was about to say more when there was a second, more intense, burst of static. It calmed after a moment, but when it did Barton was gone. James immediately tried to get the agent back on the line. There was no response.

---

It wasn’t until several hours later that James finally got ahold of his missing team member.

After Barton’s com had failed to re-engage, James immediately reached out to one of the other SHIELD Agents on site. According to them, Barton had been standing close but not right next to the wormhole when there was a sudden flash of light and radiation. The light had emerged out of nowhere, blinding everyone. When they could see again, Barton was gone.

----

Despite his concerns, James had stayed focused on what he could control. Directing Nat to pick up speed, he gave Rogers and the rest of his onboard team a quick update. Then he called Headquarters.

Even with the limited monitor resolution, James could tell that Agent Coulson's calm appearance hid the truth. The other man was very upset by the news.

Not that it’s surprising, James mused, Phil has been working with Barton for years. It’s only natural that they would share a close bond.  

Director Fury, on the other hand, seemed more upset about the lack of information than anything else. He ordered them to, “get me something concrete, damn it.”

However, he did authorize James to “reassign additional local assets as needed in case Agent Barton’s disappearance was a precursor to another invasion.”

As he ended the call, James made one final comment. “We’ll get him back, Phil. Never leave a man behind, remember.”

In response, Phil – Agent Coulson – gave him a small smile and a nod. “God speed, Colonel Rhodes. And good luck.” With that, the screen went dark.

From her place in the pilot’s seat, Nat had already ramped up the Quinjet’s acceleration when James finished his call. Like James, she wanted to get to where Barton had disappeared as quickly as possible. Indeed, the change ended up shortening their flight time by over an hour.

Thus, the main Avengers team arrived on-site roughly ninety minutes after Agent Barton’s disappearance.

----

While the Avengers were still in the air, the SHIELD advance team took further precautions in securing the site. The entire shipyard where the wormhole anomaly had been discovered was put into lockdown. All civilians present were evacuated and placed into SHIELD quarantine, while the science team continued their data collection – though they were careful to keep some distance between themselves and the wormhole's entrance this time.

 At the same time, SHIELD troops were deployed around the perimeter of the quarantine zone, ready to provide backup as needed. Select individuals within the British government and law enforcement hierarchy were also notified regarding the situation. SHIELD did ask that the locals be placed on standby, but they were not incorporated into the on-site team. 

Thus, the Avengers’ Quinjet was able to land right outside the abandoned building where the wormhole was located without any problems. From there, James and the rest of the team went straight to work.

A series of probes were sent through the wormhole, each with a slightly different design. All of them carried a coded message for Agent Barton. The message was simple – RETURN AND REPORT. James could only hope that at least one would make it through.

---

It was maybe two hours later that there was another burst of radiation and light and Agent Barton reappeared. James had begun contemplating strategies for sending troops through the portal, which he thankfully canceled.

To the naked eye, Barton appeared to be in much the same condition as before he had vanished. The science team’s instruments – still pointed toward the wormhole and thus Agent Barton – told a different story.

Intense levels of radiation with a signature similar to, but slightly off the Tesseract or Scepter were emanating out in all directions from Agent Barton’s body.

“Clint,” Nat called, stepping into the other agent’s view. “What happened?”

“Nat?” the recently returned agent replied with a question of his own. “How’d you get here so fast? I thought you guys were still two hours out.”

Natasha Romanov gave her comrade a tight smile. “It’s been over four hours, Clinton.”

“Wha-? But-?” Barton stumbled over his words, “I was in there for maybe five minutes.”

Interesting, James thought. Time differential… or memory loss.

“Agent Barton. Report,” he said briskly, wanting to keep Barton focused. A straightforward task would keep him from spiraling. Besides, he could use whatever information that Barton could give him.

“Yes, sir.”

It was clear that the normally relaxed agent understood the seriousness of the situation. He drew himself up to attention. “I was just speaking to you, sir, while monitoring the portal from a distance of a half-dozen feet. There was a flash of light, which blinded me. When my vision returned, I found myself in an underground cavern of some kind. While it was mostly dark, there was some form of natural illumination that made it possible to make out the general shape of things. Fortunately, my kit includes a small flashlight.”

Here Agent Barton patted his pants pocket, where his flashlight was stored.

“Using the light as a guide, I located a pillar maybe ten feet in front of me. It looked like an obelisk of some kind, with each of its four sides roughly twenty inches across and its height extending beyond the range of my light. The entire surface was covered with carvings – some kind of rune-type language it looked like.”

He hesitated and then continued. "I could… hear… a sort of hum which emanated from it, encouraging me to approach. Regrettably, I admit that I couldn't resist the draw. I quickly found myself standing directly in front of the closest surface. As the hum's intensity increased, I put out a hand to touch."

Barton looked down at his right hand, whose palm and wrist was covered by a leather guard, leaving only the last third of his fingers exposed.

"The moment that my fingertips made contact it was like they had been super-glued. I couldn't pull free. Even worse, I accidentally got my other hand stuck while trying to dislodge the first." Barton grimaced in memory. "I was still trying to pull free when I felt… something. It was almost like a shock; like I'd accidentally touched a live wire, but not quite. It poured into me until I could almost see this dark, black lightning flickering over my fingertips."

“After what felt like ages – but also just a second – my fingers were released. I immediately headed back to where I had been deposited into the cave. I took one final step forward… and found myself here.”

As Barton finished speaking, there was another flash from the wormhole site.

“The portal’s radiation signal, it’s dissipating,” one of the science team called.

“I guess its purpose… was complete?” another hypothesized hesitantly, her tone uncertain.

“Or it just faded like all the others,” the first scientist rebutted. “We’ve already observed that previous weak spots were of short duration. It would make sense that even a full wormhole would follow the same pattern.”

"Sir," a third scientist summoned James to his side, gesturing at his monitor. "The signal from Agent Barton… It's not fading."

“Damn it.” James shook his head with a sigh. "Barton, it looks like you're in for some more fun. Agent Rumlow, I want your team to escort Barton back to London HQ for testing."

“Sir,” the STRIKE team acknowledged James’ command in sync.

“And Rumlow,” James added, “make sure that no one harasses him along the way. We wouldn’t want another incident like last time.”

Agent Barton had already received a certain amount of flak from his fellow agents in the aftermath of New York. Those who’d lost friends or were injured during the Helicarrier attack. There had been one or two STRIKE members among that group.

“Yes sir,” Rumlow agreed. “My men know better, but some of the locals could be trouble. We’ll make certain that nothing happens to Hawkeye on his way to the lab.”

Chapter Text

“Anthony… Tony…”

Despite the background noise of Loki’s speech, the bulk of Tony’s attention was focused upon the page before him. As a reward for his progress in mastering the basics of magic – still a weird thought – the Frostling had introduced his protégé to a specialized field that was certain to capture the engineer’s imagination.

Runic magic.

With their rigid, logical structure and common use amongst craftsmen and Armorsmiths, the engineers of Asgardian society, runes were easier for Tony to pick up.   As such, Tony had already begun to incorporate runic elements in the designs that he sketched as a hobby/distraction from his imprisoned state.

 This particular design was a modified version of the armored suit that he’d used in Gulmira, one of many that Tony had sketched out over the years. This particular design was intended as a stealth suit, as the runic sequence that Tony was trying to plan out was intended to direct attention away from the object. If successful, it would be a sort-of ‘notice-me-not’, as the term from Harry Potter went. 

“ANTHONY EDWARD STARK.”

This time there was no ignoring Loki’s voice. It practically boomed down the entire corridor.

“What?!” Tony replied, exasperated, as he looked over in his friend’s direction.

The green-eyed man was standing right up against the front of his cell, those spectacular orbs locked on the space directly before the front wall of Tony’s cell.

“And why are you staring at my wall like that?” he asked, confused.

“Look.”

“I don’t see anything, Princess. Just the same old boring walls we’ve had for years.”

The master sorcerer sighed. “Not with your eyes, little mage, but with your Sight.”

Oh.

“Right.”

With a nod, Tony reached down inside himself to find that little twist which activated his mage sight. After over two years of study, it was the work of a moment to pull it up.

“Huh.”

To Tony's Sight the section of the wall that Loki had indicated glowed. A jagged crack trailed diagonally for maybe eighteen inches, with a bright golden light leaking through it. The light's intensity varied; as if the crack was deeper in certain sections.

“Okay. That is some freaky Doctor Who-looking thing, that is. What is it?”

Shaking his head, the alien sighed. “Your Midgardian references are baffling at the best of times, my apprentice. That… is the beginning of a naturally occurring portal. A weak spot in the fabric of the Cosmos."

“And that means…”

“It is a sign. The Convergence approaches. But more importantly, it is an opportunity.”

Tony frowned. What could his buddy mean?

“Do you recall what I told you about Heimdall?”

“Your mentor dude, the Gatekeeper of the Bifrost, right? He’s the one who helped you learn magic and deal with your dad’s bullshit. An all-seeing god. One who watches over the nine realms from his place at the edge of the rainbow bridge? But what does that have to do with this crack-thing?” Tony gestured towards the odd view.

“Do you recall what I told you about Heimdall’s vision and these…?”Here Loki gestured towards the gold cuffs, which had been exposed by his upraised arm.

“Um… they block his ability to See you, right frosty?”

"Indeed. However, that facet of the cuffs has a limited range. If, for example, I were to be relocated to another SHIELD facility, Heimdall would be able to see this cell. Now, if you recall another name for a portal is…"

“Wormhole! You mean… we can travel through…”

“No, Tony. That portal is far too small. But… YOU CAN send a message through. If we imbue it with the right magic, once the portal vanishes, Heimdall’s sight will be drawn to it. With his knowledge of seidr, he should recognize its significance and send someone to retrieve it.”

“Excellent…” Tony couldn’t resist the chance to use the classic line as he tapped the tips of his fingers together. Then he grew serious. “So… How are we doing this?”

“We begin with meditation…”

With a sigh, Tony pushed the page before him away and rose from his seat. Taking three steps to one side, he settled himself onto the bed in his now customary pose. Despite its usefulness in the practice of magic, meditation would never be his favorite activity.

But even the possibility of escape? That… Well, that was worth almost anything.

Chapter Text

“Incoming!”

As James dodged, an energy blast slammed into the wall behind him. The impact left a large burn scar across its surface. Looking back towards where it had come from, James could see a host of pale creatures in dark leathers pouring through the hole that had just been blasted in the opposite wall.

“Well, that’s just great,” he murmured to himself.

---

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Clint – Agent Barton's – return through the portal carrying an unexpected passenger.

In that time there had been four manifestations of its presence.

The first had been an accident. One of Rumlow's men had been a bit too abrupt in escorting Clint toward the transport. That had been relatively minor, as a quick, directed burst was the only visible effect. The burst was a bit like an electric shock; one that quickly dissipated.

The second was more emotionally driven, the result of certain whispers that Agent Barton would normally have been able to ignore. But with his sensitivity driven up by his passenger, the comments were a trigger. The levels of esoteric radiation that his body emitted began to grow, invisible at first before gradually transitioning into a dark red-black fog. Those who found themselves in the fog showed physical symptoms such as nausea, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, sweating; all signs of hysteria or a panic attack.

It took a call from Agent Coulson to calm Barton down enough to lower the emanations to reasonable levels. But the emission levels had remained higher than in the early readings – understandable given the emotional drain on the man.

Manifestations three and four were a direct result of some of the lab tests, as the SHIELD scientists did their best to gather data. The energy protected its host from outside harm, including any attempt to collect blood or other material samples. Despite this complication, Medical was able to determine that while the energy was protective in some ways, it was harmful in others. 

Agent Barton’s physical condition was deteriorating with every minute that the mysterious energy remained inside his body.  From what James had seen, if they couldn't find a way to extract Barton's parasite he'd be dead within a week.

---

Down in the basement, the science geeks had been working frantically since this whole mess started. They were searching for ways to either destroy or extract the parasitic energy, with no success. It was simply too ‘alien’. 

And now… now they were under attack.

A few minutes ago, a wormhole had opened up in the lobby of the London branch of SHIELD. In appearance similar to the New York City wormhole, though drastically smaller in scale, this time the alien invasion came in the form of infantry.

---

James had been standing guard over Barton when the call came in about the attack.

In an effort to protect the rest of the agents from the parasite’s emanations, Barton had been placed inside of an isolation room as a temporary holding cell. In solidarity for their teammate, James, Nat, Rogers, Rumlow and the others had volunteered to take turns ‘standing guard’ – keeping him company, really. The attack had begun in the middle of James’ shift.

Since Barton was a likely target, James had decided to remain where he was.

Still, as the ground commander for the Avengers, he had to direct the field of battle. He assigned Rogers to lead the charge against the enemy. At the same time, he donned the Iron Soldier suit and took up a guard position at the entrance to the labs.

Despite the heavy opposition that Rogers, Nat, Rumlow and the rest of the STRIKE team, as well as the general SHIELD personnel, had offered, it seemed that the alien intruders had managed to infiltrate through headquarters and had reached James’ station. They must have a tracker of some kind, one that was leading them straight to Agent Barton.

---

"Shit," James said as he returned fire, blasting the foremost attackers back. "Rodgers, I've got hostiles at my position."

“Copy that, Colonel.” Rumlow was the first one to respond. “Captain’s busy at the moment, trying to push the latest wave back. I’ve got a squad headed your way. They should be coming through the stairwell doors any second now.”

Sure enough, the nearby door slammed open, and half-dozen black-suited men rushed out. Taking up position on either side of James, they poured heavy fire into the swarming aliens.

It was clear that this batch of invaders was more intelligent than the last attackers. These aliens withdrew to the other side of their manufactured entry instead of simply charging forward into the heavy fire. James was certain that they were merely regrouping and waiting for reinforcements before resuming their attack. Still, he did appreciate the opportunity to re-deploy his group more efficiently.

Using the strength of the Iron Soldier suit and the excess of rubble scattered around the room, James and his team placed themselves in prime positions for defending the entry behind them – the only way down into the lab.

"We can't let them get to Barton," James said over the com. "Who knows what they want with the power that he carries."

“Yes, sir,” the agents chorused.

There was a crackle on the radio and Rogers’ voice rang out.

“We’ve got new incoming! These ones flashed down from the sky, landing just outside the main entrance. Hold on… the new arrivals… they’re attacking the original invaders.”

Allies? Or just a different set of invaders?

Rogers’ voice faded out as the sounds of hand-to-hand combat echoed through the coms. James could hear the clanging sound of metal on metal. It seemed that at least some of the invaders fought with blades instead of guns.

Through the hole in the wall across the way he spotted movement and tensed up, but it seemed like his direct adversaries were retreating. Still, James and his squad kept their focus despite the absence of further attacks.

Meanwhile, over the coms, they could hear the invaders being pushed back by SHIELD troops working in concert with the new arrivals. From what he could tell, these warriors spoke what sounded like English as they shouted imprecations at the pale, pointy-eared hostiles.

---

It took another half-hour before the intruders retreated. Their wormhole then vanished in a flash, leaving devastation and dead bodies in its wake.

A fresh squad of SHIELD combat troops came down to James’ position, giving him the freedom to join Rogers, Nat, Rumlow and their tentative allies in one of the upstairs conference rooms. The head of the London office, an Agent Hand, was present. The newly-arrived Agent Coulson, who had been in transit from the Helicarrier in the US, also joined them.

---

Stepping into the conference room, James was reminded of the Renaissance Faire that he’d visited with Tony back in college. The new arrivals were dressed in leather and metal armor and carried bladed weapons – swords and the like. It was clear that the design was functional, not decorative, as both the armor and the weapons showed evidence of use in the recent conflict.

The clear leader of the group carried a massive war hammer wrapped around one wrist, one whose surface flashed as if it carried static electricity in its core.

“Greetings to you, Warriors of Midgard,” the tall blonde said in a booming voice. “I am Thor, Prince of Asgard, and these –.” Here the Prince gestured behind him, where four other foreigners stood, “are my comrades at arms.  Sif,” the only woman inclined her head; “and the Warriors Three. I bring greetings from my father, Odin All-Father, and offer our services defending your realm against the dastardly attacks of the denizens of Svartalfheim, the Dark Elves.”

It was this final word – elves – that finally triggered James’ memory.

Back in high school, he had, for a short time, played a certain fantasy card game. The game had used Norse mythology as an inspiration, including the gods of that pantheon as well as several non-human races. James had even played as Thor on a couple of occasions.

“Wait…” he interrupted the blonde. “Thor. As in, Norse God of Thunder, Thor?”

“You have heard of me, armored warrior? That is excellent news. My father was unsure if this Realm was still aware of our existence.”

“As a myth, yeah,” James agreed, raising the face-plate on his suit so that he could look the other man directly in the eye. “But myths are no guarantee of friendship.”

Glancing around at the rest of the humans present, James could see that they were ready to back his play, so he continued. “Our legends speak of Thor’s visit over a thousand years ago. How can you possibly be the same person?”

“Ah, I had forgotten that Midgardians held such short life-spans. Tis true, I was no more than a stripling in those days, a mere apprentice in the warrior arts. Still, the All-Father and his army protected Midgard then from Frost Giants, as they do now from Dark Elves.”

With an internal shrug, James decided that acceptance – or at least the appearance of it – was the best approach… for now.

“And we do appreciate your assistance. Forgive me; I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Colonel James Rhodes, Iron Soldier and representative of the Earth and the agency known as SHIELD, in whose facilities you currently stand. My team, known as the Avengers, are those who you have recently joined in the battle against the – what did you call them – the Dark Elves. They include Steven Rogers, Natasha Romanov, and Brock Rumlow." 

As he spoke, James waved towards each of the other Avengers in the room. The men, and woman, each offered a nod when their names were mentioned. "We are also joined here by Agents Victoria Hand and Philip Coulson of SHIELD, our hosts in this facility."

Moving toward the conference table, James gestured for the visitors to take a seat. "I am afraid that the attack means that many of our readily available resources are limited, but can I offer you all some water?"

Nat and Agent Coulson pulled bottles from the room’s mini-fridge, passing them around as everyone claimed a chair. James was nervous at first whether or not the wheeled chairs would be able to handle the weight of his suit. Fortunately, the chair that he had claimed did little more than groan and sag, as his weight pressed its castors down into the floor quite severely. He wouldn’t be able to move much in the chair, but it did manage to keep him upright.

“Now then, shall we discuss today’s events?”

---

It took a couple of hours, but James and the others managed to hammer out initial terms for a temporary alliance with the Asgardian visitors. The terms would have to be ratified by Fury and the other higher-ups and would be subject to further negotiations, but James was at least comfortable that the two groups would be able to work together for now.

At the very least, the terms would stand in the likely case of the so-called ‘Dark Elves’ return. While Agent Coulson had volunteered to escort the ‘healer’ in Thor’s group, a woman named Eir, to the lab so that she could evaluate Agent Barton’s condition, James and the others had a different task.

They were to make friends.

---

Having extracted himself from the bulk of his suit, James – and Nat and Rogers – had volunteered to escort Thor and his companions down to the SHIELD facility’s main cafeteria.  There, they would be able to replenish their energy with a much-needed meal.

Since the site had not been in the line of fire earlier, it remained mostly functional in the aftermath of the attack. Now, it was packed full of SHIELD agents, both the London locals and the fresh reinforcements – who had been trickling in from other bases – including the rest of James' team.

Given the number of visitors and the disruptions, it was unsurprising that the kitchen staff had decided to outsource some of their work. Off to one side of the room, the cafeteria's serving tables were packed. They were filled with a sprinkling of their normal offerings as well as stacks of take-out from several local restaurants. James spotted pizza, sandwich trays, fresh curries, and many more.

Those Asgardian warriors who had not been a part of the negotiations were already in the room, seated with the SHIELD troops whom they had fought alongside. From the looks of things, they had already been enjoying the food and company.

“A feast!” Prince Thor boomed from his place beside Rogers, "a fitting way to seal our new agreement. Come, shield-brothers, let us share in this bounty."

Leaving Rogers – who had bonded with the fellow-blonde – and Nat to entertain the Prince, James instead chose to escort the beautiful female warrior, the woman Thor had named as Sif.

“Tell me,” she asked James once they had collected their food and sat down. “Are there many female warriors here on Midgard, or is she an exception?”

She looked so hopeful that James couldn’t help but smile. “Well, Nat is one of a kind.”

Her face began to fall, but he held up a hand to forestall a response and continued. “However, we do have numerous female agents here at SHIELD and most of Earth’s – Midgard’s? – countries have some female troops. Men still far outnumber women in the military, especially in direct combat roles, but it is not too shocking these days. Not in the way that it used to be.”

“That is excellent.” Sif’s voice had a bit of a rasp, likely the result of past injury, but it didn’t subtract anything from her beauty. While he was not the ladies’ man that his friend Tony used to be, James still appreciated a handsome woman. Indeed, the dark-haired warrior was very attractive; her muscular form appealing in its fitted armor.

Catching himself staring, he cleared his throat and responded. “I take it that such is not the case on your world?”

Sif shook her head. “Nay. It is customary for all young persons to receive some training in the fighting arts. However, once one reaches their adolescence the expectation is that one will focus solely on such areas of study as are required for one’s adult career. Since women are forbidden from taking up positions in the Einjerhar – our army – it is expected that we receive no further training for battle. There are few exceptions. At one time, there was once a branch of shield maidens who fought for the All-Father – the Valkyries – but they were disbanded eons ago."

“Then,” James hesitated, “how did you-?”

The woman warrior flashed him a sharp-edged smile. “I was stubborn. As a youth, I had been one of several young noble maidens included among the princes’ companions; those who shared their tutors. Thus, I received my basic training alongside Thor. I excelled, doing better than many of the young noble sons, and thus drew the older prince’s eye. When the time came for our group to transition into more specialized training, I was determined that I would follow in the path of the Valkyries. I would become a warrior.”

Her smile grew wistful; as if recalling a fond memory. "The Prince – and, though I didn't know it at the time, his younger brother – was one of the few who encouraged me in my ‘unwomanly' pursuit. He would share his instructors' tips when I was banned from the training fields; even sparred with me in secret when my parents forbade me from continuing my studies."

"Eventually I managed to convince my parents of my sincerity. To be honest, the main reason that they agreed was that they realized that my field of study would put me in closer contact with the Prince. It is their fondest wish that we would be betrothed. Instead, Thor has named me one of his companions, a warrior who fights at his side. It is a place that I am proud to be even now."

James was fascinated by this look at an alien culture. He had no doubt that Sif was a formidable fighter and one who was fanatically loyal to her prince. Given that the relationship had begun in childhood, it was unlikely that the apparently un-subtle Asgardian royal had done it for manipulative reasons, but James would bet that the Prince’s parents were not unaware of the situation.

"So," he said casually, redirecting the conversation. "Tell me. Is your prince always so… boisterous?" He gestured over to where Thor was regaling his tablemates with a story. It must be an exciting one, given the quantity and intensity of his body movements and exclamations.

“Prince Thor has always been one to embrace passion,” Sif admitted with a wry grin, “though he has grown more temperate in recent decades.”

Temperate? That’s restrained?

“Oh?”

“The younger prince, Loki, was taken from us by a most perfidious villain two decades ago. After my Prince’s intemperance caused the monster’s death before he could be interrogated for information on his brother’s whereabouts, he determined to change. Since that time, the search for his brother consumes my liege’s thoughts. He has also become more dedicated to the preparations for his future role as the All-Father in honor of the missing prince.”

James was intrigued.

A mysteriously lost alien royal, how curious. Sounds like something out of a fairy tale. But then we do live in a world that would not be out of place in a work of fiction.

Chapter Text

“Brace yourself, my apprentice, the Convergence arrives.”

Loki’s voice was tight, a sign of the stress he was under.

Tony snorted and muttered, “No shit, Sherlock,” under his breath as he nodded before pressing his back into the padded corner that he’d created. Set where the wall of his cell met the base of his slab ‘bed’, all of the hard surfaces had been covered as best as Tony could do with his limited supplies.

He had been feeling the build-up to the Convergence for the past two days.

It had started as a nearly sub-sonic drone that Tony could feel in his teeth. From there it had grown into a nearly constant thrumming, one whose intensity made it nearly impossible to function. Though the sound was not physical in and of itself, the stress it caused gave Tony an unbearable tension headache. According to the more experienced sorcerer, Tony’s sensitivity to the event was a natural consequence of his current level of training. He had opened up his awareness of magical phenomena and had not yet learned to construct the necessary shields to block it back out.

Normally, an apprentice's master would be there to provide shielding during this period. However, with Loki's magic constrained by the shackles that he wore, he was unable to do so. Thus, Tony was forced to suffer through the pain with meditation the only possible (limited) source of relief.

Across the hall, Tony could see his friend suffering through a different, though equally painful, problem. Normally, the Frost Giant’s magic would be celebrating the arrival of the Convergence. For sorcerers across the Realms, such a mystically powerful event was a source of strength. Their magical pathways were flooded with ‘free’ energy and their reserves were drastically enhanced.

However, the bands which held Loki captive had a poor response to his instinctual attempt to gather ‘free’ energy. They interpreted the involuntary action as an attempt to nullify their power. Thus, not only did they prevent the imprisoned alien from claiming the bounty, but they also offered punishment. Loki was continually being hit with the magical equivalent of an electric shock, one whose intensity only increased as the Convergence approached.

Groaning as a sharp cry of pain broke his concentration, Tony’s eyes slit open just enough to see through the double layer of Plexiglas.

In the other cell, Loki’s prone form had bowed upwards, as if going through a seizure. Despite the haze of pain, the genius could see that Loki had reverted to his natural form. He caught a hint of rich blue and a flash of ruby eyes rolled back in their skull.

How much longer can we last? Tony couldn’t help but wonder. We have to be reaching the peak of the Convergence soon!

As if his thoughts were the trigger, a second later Tony’s sense of the Convergence began to spike. He barely had time to catch his breath before everything… changed.

At that moment, Tony found himself thrown out of his body, his mind traveling instantaneously to far distant places.

---

He was with Rhodey…

The older man was fighting pale alien warriors in a modified version of Tony’s suit in the atmospheric halls of the observatory in Greenwich, England. While the Air Force officer fought proficiently – clearly well accustomed to the armor – he was not as smooth as Tony had been with JARVIS as a co-pilot.

At Rhodey’s side were a number of other fighters. Most of them wore uniforms that were recognizable to Tony, thanks to his time in their custody. They were Agents of SHIELD.

Then another man strode up to Rhodey's side. Tony glanced over and then did a double take.

Was that… Captain America!? Incredible. Dad would be ecstatic.

Besides the human fighters, Tony noticed that Rhodey and the others battled alongside a number of warriors in quasi-medieval garb.

With his mage sight active in this state, however, Tony could see that they were far from human. Both the warriors and their weapons were aglow with light from embedded enchantments, the work of multiple mages.

These warriors were led by a beefy blonde wielding a blocky stone hammer that absolutely blazed with the scale of its enchantments and sparked with lightning to even the uneducated eye. From Loki's stories, Tony would bet his ass that this was his friend's beloved foster brother, Crown Prince Thor of Asgard.

---

A blink and Tony was gone from Rhodey and the fight in England…

Instead, he was now in the main boardroom of SI’s New York office, where Obie was meeting with the company’s board of directors. The battle in England was streaming in the background as the table full of old white men discussed business. They were talking about a new product line of drone soldiers, which were in appearance clearly inspired by Tony’s (Rhodey’s) suit.

Looks like Obie completely threw away everything I promised after Afghanistan, at least as far as the business was concerned. Not that surprising, I guess. He clearly wasn’t happy about it even before I ‘left’. Still, I hope he didn’t derail everything. The Foundation work that I began with Nakia and the Wakandans has a clear publicity benefit, so it may have been left intact.

As Tony was reading over Obie's shoulder, an email popped up on the screen in front of the CEO. It was from Director Fury of SHIELD, a ‘request' for technical support from SI. Along with the request, Fury included a vague threat of exposing ‘the truth about Stark'. When Obie's only response was a small grimace, Tony knew that his suspicions were confirmed. At the very least his old mentor knew that whatever lie had been told to the public was wildly inaccurate.

---

As if the mere thought of Fury were enough to summon him, Tony found himself hurtled off to a new location…

This time he landed on a futuristic-looking bridge of a massive vessel. Through the massive bank of windows that ran across the front of the space, all Tony could see was a blue sky dotted with clouds. Below him were rows of SHIELD workers at computer stations, their uniforms clearly marked with the organization’s logo.

Tony found himself standing beside the ‘captain's place, right next to the ever-impressive Director Nicholas Fury. Unlike the rest of the agents on the bridge, Fury did not wear a SHIELD uniform. Instead, he was clothed all in black, including what looked like the same trench coat and matching eyepatch that he had worn the last time that Tony had seen him. 

From his position beside Fury, Tony could easily spy on the various SHIELD crew members as they worked at their stations. Reading their screens, he soon determined that the space in which he stood was a mobile command center for SHIELD, the bridge of a massive, flying aircraft carrier, a Helicarrier.

At that moment, the Helicarrier was en-route to England, where they were preparing to reinforce the agents who were on the ground in Greenwich. Tony caught a few snippets as agents swapped updates about casualties and damage on the ground. Of course, not all of the agents were hard at work. For instance, off to one side of the bridge, Tony spotted a bit of furtive movement from one of the stations. The agent seated there was clearly bored, as he was switching between his nominal monitoring station and a game of Galaga, keeping a wary eye out for anyone else spotting his delinquency.

Even SHIELD agents can’t all be drones, huh? Tony thought with a smirk.

He would have spied a bit more, but once again he felt himself being pulled away…

---

This time, he found himself in a very different space from the previous visitations. He was standing in the corner of a small cinderblock-walled cell, one that was much like where Tony himself had been kept back when he first arrived in the Sandbox.

Just as in Tony's cell, there was little present other than a single bed covered with a lumpy mattress, threadbare blanket, and flat pillow. Seated on the bed was the cell's occupant, a middle-aged man dressed in rumpled olive green pants and a t-shirt, his hair a tangle of dark brown that showed clear signs of being slept in.

As Tony watched, the cell door swung open abruptly and a trio of visitors strode into the cell. There was an Army General in perfectly starched dress greens and a full chest of adornments, followed by a pair of privates, low ranked soldiers armed with odd, massive guns.

“Banner,” the General barked, “it’s time to earn your keep.”

Moving slowly but evenly, the rumpled prisoner rose up from where he sat on his bed. Tony was surprised when the two armed soldiers tensed up quite dramatically the moment that the detainee began to move, it seemed like an over-reaction for such an ordinary action.

The General continued to speak.

“Keep in mind,” he said firmly, “that my men are armed with advanced stun guns fully capable of knocking you out before you could even begin to transform into the monster.”

His captive, the man apparently named Banner, simply sighed in response.

“I am well aware of my situation here, General Ross. You hold all of the cards. Besides, I am the one that least wants the other guy out.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Your heroics in New York may have earned you some good will, but not enough to pay for all of the damage that you’ve caused. You are mine, Banner. Mine for whatever – long or short – remains of your miserable life.”

With that, General Ross turned on his heel and marched out of the cell. Though clearly reluctant, Banner followed, passing in front of the two guards as he moved forward. Once he had passed, the pair of armed guards immediately turned and followed, keeping their weapons hot and ready to shoot as they did.

Before Tony could follow the odd train, he once more found his perspective changing…

---

This time, he didn’t settle on a single spot. Instead, he was given a multitude of flashes.

His lab in Malibu, empty and abandoned, with the bots covered in dust sheets and all of the lights on JARVIS’ server out.

The village of Gulmira in Afghanistan. Once home to Tony's Afghan mentor and colleague Yinsen, now it was nothing more than a pile of rubble. There was no sign of any inhabitants. 

The manufacturing floor of a Stark Industry plant, where a line of missiles under construction ran alongside another line filled with half-complete drone warriors.

An overhead view of New York City, its skyline still marred with damage done by the alien invasion even though it had been more than a year since the attack had occurred.

Afghanistan once again, or at least somewhere in the Middle East. This time a cave filled with women in traditional Muslim garb including long robes and hajibs. It was clear from the shape of their garments that they were not there by choice. Among them, Tony caught sight of a familiar face: Nakia!

---

The images kept coming faster and faster until they blurred into a grayish haze.

After another moment, Tony’s consciousness was once more thrust outward. This time, instead of jumping through space, he found himself thrown to another time…

---

Scenes appeared, filled with the younger forms of those who played a significant role in his life.

Tony watched as his father powered up the vita rays; a part of the experiment that would create Captain America. He saw the friendship that developed after the war between Howard and his Aunt Peggy, watched them work together to build the organization that would become SHIELD.

He saw his second father, Edwin Jarvis, as he came into Howard Stark’s service and his involvement in that entire affair.

Tony watched as a young Obadiah Stane worked his way into Stark Industries until he stood at Howard’s side, all the while whispering ideas into Howard's ears.

He watched his parents meet and fall in love, Tony's own conception, and birth, as well as several miscarriages.

He watched as a young Tony grew up with a loving mother, an absent father, a beloved butler (father), and a mountain of expectations.

He winced his way through the painful years in boarding school, cheered as MIT came and Rhodey – in all of his collegiate glory – entered the scene, taking his place at Tony’s side.

Then came that fateful December night… If he had been corporeal, Tony would have hidden his eyes from view. Instead, he was forced to watch as Howard and Maria climbed into the car, a briefcase placed inside of the trunk by a distracted Howard. He waited reluctantly for the expected crash, but then… Wait, what was that? That wasn’t an accident. That was murder!

Tony strained his senses, trying hard to identify the mysterious assassin, but before he could do so the scene changed once more.

Wait. Go Back! He tried to scream, but it was no use.

Tony watched, disconsolate, as the timeline continued to move forward.

Even the sight of DUM-E and his other early creations, followed by life as the Merchant of Death and the creation of JARVIS, were not enough to distract him.

It was only when Pepper Potts appeared that he finally re-focused.

He hadn’t seen her earlier, had he?

Tony watched as the young Pepper confronted his own younger self with her discovery, winning his respect and becoming Tony Stark’s greatest personal assistant and friend.

Obie had better have treated her right. Tony thought as he watched his younger playboy self. That young man was thoroughly enjoying the high life, wasting so many opportunities to do better.

Then came Afghanistan, and the attack on the convoy.

Tony shuddered as he watched the SI missile – the cause of his permanent jewelry – explode. His spectral eyes widened as he watched Obie – Stane – meet with the Ten Rings and realized that his mentor had been the initiator of the entire thing.

Then came the camp, open-heart surgery, Yinsen, the Arc Reactor, the Mark I.

Next Tony saw his escape, Yinsen's death, ‘Mercy', and the return to the US.

After that, there was the press conference, Obie scheming with that General from earlier… Ross?... the visit from King T’Chaka, the Mark II…

Scenes flashed by ever faster. Gulmira. The dogfight. SHIELD. The present was coming ever closer.

Now scenes of Tony’s time in the Sandbox came, interspersed with events in the lives of his loved ones.

There were Pepper and Happy, driving down a road in hills above Malibu, when… No!... What looked like the same mysterious assassin who had killed Tony’s parents once again took the lives of those he loved.

Meanwhile, there was Rhodey, apparently unaware, willingly continuing to work with Obie and taking on the… Iron Soldier, really, that’s the best that they can do? It’s not even iron!...

There was the infamous attack on New York, with the atomic bomb that was nearly dropped on the city. Tony’s vision followed the missile on its redirected path up and through the wormhole for just a moment, catching a glimpse of the armada beyond, before the scene changed once more.

Following a trail from Tony’s first meeting with Loki, he was granted a view of the Realm of Asgard, an incomprehensible sight to his logical mind. The idea of a Realm on a flat disk, like something out of the mind of Terry Pratchett, still baffled him, but as he ‘flew’ closer, he could see layer upon layer of enchantments that held the Realm together.

Tony passed through the castle, spotting the All-Father, King Odin, on his throne before he moved onward along the rainbow bridge and approached the portal – where the Gatekeeper, Heimdall, watched over the Nine Realms.

As Tony sped by the guardian, it almost seemed as if the gold-eyed man sensed his passing. Tony didn’t stay long enough to know for certain.

He was thrown forward, down the Bifrost’s normal pathway through the cosmos until he once again found himself on Earth.

Tony had reached the present. Looking down from above, he could see his own unconscious body, propped up in a sitting position inside his cell. Nearby, Tony’s companion had been caught mid-convulsion, as he suffered through the Convergence’s grip.

With his mage sight, Tony could see how much the bright green of Loki’s magic – his seidr – was being corrupted – damaged – by the bronze glow of the manacles he wore.

---

But the Convergence was not done with Tony yet.

He moved onward, this time continuing forward in time beyond the present. There were flashes of a multitude of future paths that Tony’s life could take. He saw life, death, vengeance, defeat, joy, sorrow. All of these were possible conclusions for Tony’s tale.

But the journey didn't end there. Onward Tony went, this time speeding past eons in the blink of an eye until he witnessed the end of the Earth itself. The sun had grown brighter and brighter, rendering the Earth uninhabitable long before it reached the end of its own lifetime.

As Tony watched in both awe and dismay, the sun’s evolution reached the point when rapid expansion and increase in illumination finally destroyed what remained of his beloved home planet before it too succumbed to its own loss of mass and energy.

At that moment, Tony truly understood his own place in the universe, both all-important and insignificant at the same time. He fell back into his body with an inaudible thud.

The Convergence had ended.

Chapter Text

The streets of New York City were crowded and snow covered, packed with commuters and tourists alike. People jostled and shoved past each other, uncaring, in a hurry to reach a multitude of destinations.

The anonymity suited James, a fitting environment given his mood. In the aftermath of recent events in England, he’d taken a leave from work – ostensibly to visit his family for the holiday. Of course, the reality was far more complicated. As he walked the route that he’d once taken to and from school, James thought back to certain recent conversations.

---

"Friend James, son of Rhodes," Thor's booming voice startled James. The Asgardian Prince, larger than life, as usual, strode up to the café where James had stopped for a brief coffee break.

With all of the damage done to Greenwich and elsewhere in Britain during the Convergence, SHIELD had all hands on deck in the clean-up efforts. To be honest, James would rather be one of the workers who were out doing manual labor. Instead, he was stuck dealing with the reams of paperwork that came with his position as the team leader for the Avengers.

"Thor," James said with a nod of greeting. To James' surprise, the Asgardians had stayed beyond the end of the Convergence, even offering aid in the recovery efforts. Now they were preparing to return to their Realm, and James was surprised at how much he would miss his new friends.

 There was an honest quality about Thor and the others, one that lacked the Rogers' frustratingly stubborn naivety. It was a refreshing change from the air of deception that he'd become accustomed to experiencing while working for SHIELD.

The Asgardians were real, in a way that James couldn’t fully explain. Still, with the Aether successfully extracted from Clint and sealed away for transport, there was no reason left for them to remain. From the sounds of things, the Asgardian Prince had other responsibilities waiting, after all.

“I am glad to have found you, shield-brother,” the blonde stated warmly. “I had hoped to speak with thee before our departure.”

“Oh?” James was intrigued. He had just seen Thor earlier that day, how was this different?

“Away from thy companions,” Thor clarified. “There is a sense of deception in their demeanors, one which thou lack.”

James flushed. “Thanks for the compliment, your Grace, but I assure you that SHIELD has no interest in deceiving you.”

“Perhaps… perhaps not…” Thor rumbled. “My people have told me of certain questions which were asked during our time here; troublesome inquiries.”

“Oh?”

“Questions about my people’s ability to heal; to withstand damage.”

James frowned. It could be harmless, simply data to help in the case of injuries in future battles. Then again, it could be something far more damaging.

 He hummed noncommittally, and Thor took the cue and continued.

"Eir believes that the questioning was related to the healing of those injured during the battle, but I am less certain. The… tone… of certain questions, as they were recounted to me, was odd. Fandral, in particular, was most concerned."

That was one of Thor's companions. He was the one who most reminded James of Tony. His playboy façade hid a keen intelligence. Fandral was also the one who'd stepped up most to fill in the role of Thor's missing brother, the primary gatherer of information, in the stories told by Thor and others.

James had noticed how much certain SHIELD agents had perked up whenever the missing prince had been mentioned. It wasn’t anything specific, merely a sense that they were taking mental notes. While it could just be that the silver-tongued prince was a trickster god, an excellent avatar for SHIELD’s line of work, it was still worth marking.

“I see.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I can assure you that as far as I am aware SHIELD has nothing but positive intentions regarding Asgard. We do have an excellent new treaty, after all.”

“I hope that you are right, friend Rhodes. Still… I did not wish to leave a new shield-brother without a word of warning.”

"And I do thank you for that, Prince Thor." James hesitated and then turned the conversation to a more relaxed topic. "Now, when do your people depart?"

“Heimdall is awaiting our call. I believe that Eir is conducting one final examination of your Agent Barton. She wished to make sure that he is recovering properly from his experience with the Aether. Then we will be calling for the Bifrost.”

“Well then, shall we get you back to your men?”

James tossed his cold coffee in the nearby trash can and climbed to his feet. Together the two allies strode out of the shop patio, heading back to the SHIELD facility.

---

Despite the snow blanketing the ground, the scars from the alien invasion over a year before could still be seen in James’ Harlem neighborhood. While the devastation was nowhere near as bad as in Manhattan, the scattershot signs of battle – scorch marks along the sides of buildings, entire lots that remained little more than piles of rubble, little memorials marking places where heroic civilians had made brave last stands – were almost worse.

Unlike in Manhattan, where the government and wealthy corporations like Stark Industries had used the destruction as a chance to remake the city in their own preferred image, Harlem stood unchanged. Little had been done beyond clearing rubble out of the streets and into designated lots. There just wasn’t enough public attention to force the government to do the job. 

To be fair, James knew that his family and others who had grown up in the area did in some ways prefer the lack of attention. He had heard the stories about how the government had forced those people who lost their homes in Manhattan but couldn’t afford the cost to rebuild to sell their land for a pittance of what it was worth. There was no room in the new Manhattan for the lower or even lower-middle class.

But that was an unfortunate reality of ‘gentrification’ all over; the lower classes were always those who suffered. 

James’ thoughts turned from Thor to another odd conversation, this one with his SHIELD teammate.

---

“Clint! How are you feeling?”

A weak smile was the only response that the archer gave. The other man was leaning against James’ office door, a welcome interruption from the endless paperwork.

“Better than before,” he said non-committedly.

“That wouldn’t be hard.”

“Fair enough,” Clint said with a shrug, “… but the Director’s concerned. I’m two for two now.”

"Huh?" James was confused for a moment before he got it. "You have had bad luck with alien encounters, haven't you?" He agreed wryly.

“Yup. Nat says I must give off some kind of pheromone or something.”

“That sounds like her.”

"Yeah. Anyways, I've been reassigned. Apparently, I ‘need to spend some time out of the field’. I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking a leave of absence from the Avengers in person."

“I… see.” James nodded. “Well, I will certainly miss you; though perhaps not as much as some.” He raised an eyebrow and watched as Clint blushed.

“Jerk.”

“Brat.”

Clint sobered. “In all seriousness, man, watch your back. There are some nasty rumors going around here, whispers of SHIELD being more proactive about planetary defense in the future.”

Really? James thought.

“You’re an honest man, Colonel Rhodes; you’re not cut out for the life of a spy. Don’t let the agency break you down.”

“So serious, Barton, you sound like you’ll never see me again.”

Clint sighed. “I’ve learned the hard way, Rhodes. Waiting until tomorrow almost always leads to tragedy. If a warning will keep you safe, it’s worth it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Yeah.”

Turning on his heel, Agent Barton strode out the door; back the way that he had come.

---

Sure enough, Barton had disappeared into the bowels of SHIELD the next day. Even Nat claimed not to know where he had been reassigned. The formerly Russian Agent had grown more distant from James; focusing her attention on other things. In particular, James noticed that she was cozying up more with Captain America and spending more time as Obadiah Stane’s ‘girlfriend’.

And on that note, James’ mind was drawn back to the previous day’s meeting.

---

“Rhodes! I’ve been expecting you. Come on in, Colonel.”

“Mister Stane.”

“Obadiah, remember.”

“Of course, sir,” James said as he walked into the office of the Stark Industries CEO in downtown Manhattan.

“Good. Now, tell me, how did the suit hold up during the recent excitement?”

“Well…”

For the next half-hour, James proceeded to update Obadiah Stane on the performance of the Iron Soldier suit. Along the way, he shared details of his time at SHIELD almost unwittingly. It was clear from their conversation that the older man wanted James to maximize the suit’s potential. After all, the Iron Soldier was ‘free’ advertising for Stark Industries’ products.

It was only as the discussion neared its end that the tone of the conversation changed.

“You know, the biggest limitation of the suit is in the AI,” James said, offhandedly. “Has there been any progress on that front?”

“Unfortunately, our engineers are stalled there. It has proved impossible to develop a predictive algorithm capable of handling the necessary calculations in real time while still fitting within the suit. The other option, which would be to host the AI on a machine here at headquarters and then communicate in real-time, has potential. However, the team in R&D is worried about latency when you're out in the field, as well as the potential for a signal drop in the middle of a fight."

“Tony could do it,” James said almost absently, having seen JARVIS in action.

Stane’s smile froze.

“Yes, well, I am afraid that is not an option.”

“Why?” James went on, “I would think that it would be an excellent distraction from his situation, working on such a problem. In fact,” he mused absently, “Tony’s letters to me have grown stilted and lack his usual engineering flair. It’s almost as if…”

Stane sighed, interrupting James’ train of thought.

"I've been waiting to tell you this for a while now, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. The reason that young Anthony's letters have been odd in the past several months is that they are not actually from him."

“What?!?” James leaped from his seat in shock. “What do you mean, not from him? Where is he? Is he alright?”

"We've been keeping it a secret in order to avoid further media attention, but around the time of the attack on New York, there was a setback. One of the staff at the center had the television on, watching the battle footage live. Prompted by concern for those of us who work in the city, he demanded answers from the on-call doctor. In particular, he wanted to know about you and Ms. Potts."

The thought of Gin had James glancing down for a moment, the grief no less despite the passage of time.

“Since the doctor on-call wasn’t one of his usual team, the woman was unaware that the truth about Ms. Potts death was being kept from Tony. She found your letter in his file and offered it for the boy to read. As he was already in a manic state, the shock of learning about Ms. Potts’ death was enough to do untold damage to his already fractured psyche. I am afraid that he fell into catatonia. The doctors are unsure that he will ever emerge from that state.”

Obadiah offered what was clearly intended as a comforting smile, though it was far too stiff to feel genuine.

“For now, all I can do is to instruct the staff at the institution to keep him comfortable. Meanwhile, our job is to make sure that if Anthony ever wakes up it won’t be to the discovery that he has suffered further losses. Can you help me to do that, son?”

James’ spine straightened out of habit at Stane’s commanding tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, I believe that we have finished our discussion?”

“Yes,” James nodded absently, his mind a whirl of thoughts. Tony, catatonic? How could this be?

“Sir,” he asked, as he stood up to leave. “Please ask the doctors not to keep up the charade in my case. I’d much rather be kept informed than protected from distressing news.”

“Of course, son. I’m certain that young Anthony would appreciate your concern if he were able.”

“Good day, Mister Stane.”

“To you as well, Colonel Rhodes.”

---

Catatonia, really? James’ brain simply refused to process the idea. Instead, it had begun to grow into an obsession, one which was in competition with everything else going on in there. SHIELD acting odd, there were gods and aliens out in the world, and now he had practically incomprehensible news about Tony?

It was no wonder that James was in desperate need of a break.

He had reached the entry to the old high-school, and as James looked up at the brick façade, he wondered.

What will the next year hold?

Chapter Text

“As you request, Mister President,” Alexander nodded at the Secret Service agent holding open the door as he stalked out of the Oval Office. His meeting with President Ellis had gone well, as he had expected. With the alien attack in England, terrorist activity in the Middle East, and other carefully curated rumors of conflict around the world, the President of the United States had quite easily been swayed into agreeing with Alexander’s plans.

Military preparedness was at an all-time high, and SHIELD would be granted increasing oversight powers, just in time for the launch of Project Insight. What had once seemed impossible now appeared inevitable.

True global domination was now HYDRA’s to claim. And Alexander was the one to finally make the dream a reality.

Oh, Alexander knew that he was not the sole leader of the organization. HYDRA had been designed for compartmentalization, after all. That was what had allowed it to continue after the fall of the branch under Johann Schmidt during World War II.

While Alexander’s branch had grown from the cadre of individuals like Armin Zola who had infiltrated the United States military and intelligence communities after the war, other branches had followed different paths. There was Baron von Strucker and his branch down in Argentina - the most directly Nazi branch. Then there was the Red Room and its partner institutions in Russia, Madame Hydra's little assassins, and many others. 

In fact, Alexander was fairly certain that the entire World Security Council were really the heads of the various HYDRA factions, not that he would ever confirm that fact. Plausible deniability was important.

Still, Alexander was proud to say that he had oversight of not one, but three heads of the Hydra these days.

There was the SHIELD branch, with its many tentacles worming their way around Director Nicholas J. Fury. Alexander had been worried at first that Fury’s morals would get in the way of HYDRA’s agenda, but the African-American man proved to be more ruthless and pragmatic that Alexander had expected. Just look at how he’d handled the Stark situation, after all.

Speaking of Stark; that man’s fate brought to mind the second of Alexander’s areas of oversight. The branch under Stark Industries’ re-instated CEO, Obadiah Stane. Back when Alexander had still been the SHIELD Director, he’d seen Stane as nothing more than a pawn for use in furthering HYDRA’s aims. However, events in Afghanistan and beyond changed things. Stane had become the head of a brand-new HYDRA cell, one which was focused on war profiteering. Alexander really was proud of his ‘protégé’, the way that he’d parleyed the Iron Soldier’s reputation into a publicity coup was a work of art. Besides, Alexander enjoyed the way that Stane tweaked Baron Von Strucker’s nose during their infrequent meetings. The pompous German bastard deserved a little ragging with all of his proclamations of Nazi superiority. The Nazis had been a failure, a costly one at that. But the Baron’s pride would not let him accept that fact.

The third branch of Alexander’s strategy was the most dilute; a web of cells within the various branches of the United States military behemoth. Like with SHIELD, this branch was not consolidated under a single leader. Instead, it was made up of a multitude of stand-alone cells, each with their own mission.

For example, he had a team keeping watch over General Ross and his work with the super-soldier serum, especially given his recent re-acquisition of the Hulk. If the general managed any true success in his experiments, it would immediately be passed up the chain to Alexander. As it was, the Hulk was of little use to Alexander, which was why he had allowed Fury and SHIELD to first protect and then sell the creature as they desired.

---

"Amy, what do you have for me?" Alexander asked as he reached the edge of the Secret Service perimeter, where one of his personal assistants waited. A statuesque blonde, Amy Marks was a ‘former' SHIELD agent who had been removed from field service due to injuries taken on a mission that had gone wrong. As such, she was well trained in using her physical appearance to her advantage. Alexander was certain that she had used her time waiting at the perimeter with the Secret Service and other politicians' staff wisely.

Agent Marks' area of responsibility was the inter-connected web of favors and horse-trading that was the American Capitol. As such, she was his usual companion for visits to the White House and other government buildings. She had collected an invaluable amount of intelligence through the gossip that happened when numerous junior staffers were trapped waiting for their principals to finish with various ‘important' meetings.

"We've got a confirmation from the Pentagon about your recent proposal. They're fully onboard with the placement of one of Project Insight's carriers in the skies over D.C."

“Excellent.”

“The President’s staff has also already reached out regarding a statement to the American people.”

“You know the talking points. Go ahead and pass those along.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alexander offered his subordinate a sharp grin, which she easily returned.

Good staff really are such a treasure…

The pair climbed in the back of the subtly armored black town car that was Alexander’s usual mode of transportation.

“Where to next, Ms. Marks?”

Looking down at her ubiquitous tablet, the younger woman didn’t bother to hide her grimace.

“The Wakandan Embassy, Sir.”

Alexander’s grimace was a match to his companions.

Wakandans. Ugh. How he hated those smug bastards. They hid behind their façade of being just another impoverished African nation while deploying their agents all over the globe. If they had been amenable to HYDRA’s goals, it would be one thing, but the Wakandans stubbornly refused to get involved with those that they called ‘Colonizers’.

The closest that Alexander had gotten was back in the '90s when SHIELD had managed to infiltrate the Oakland, California Black Supremacist group led by an undercover Wakandan prince named N’Jobu. However, when N’Jobu was killed, apparently by his own people, that connection had been lost. SHIELD still had a mole in Klaue’s organization; that particular black market weapons supplier had had more success in infiltrating the secretive nation than any other. Otherwise, they had little leverage.

It really was a shame that the young Stark had to be taken out of play, Alexander mused. Before his removal, he’d managed to build a connection to Wakanda with the Maria Stark Foundation’s joint projects with the Wakandan-run Usapho Foundation. That the program had remained intact despite Stark’s absence was a strong indication that the billionaire could have been an excellent link if he hadn’t been pulled from the board.

Still, the trade-off with Stane and SI was worth the inconvenience.

“What do we know about the reasons that the Wakandans have called for this meeting?” Alexander asked.

“Well…”

---

“King T’Chaka, this is a surprise,” Alexander said with a smile, offering his hand to the African monarch. “Your people gave no indication that you yourself would be present for this meeting.”

From their places beside the Wakandan king, his female bodyguards stiffened at Alexander’s approach.

Protective, aren’t they.

“As I only arrived in your country earlier today, this is not a surprise.”

T’Chaka’s voice was deep and even, the tone of a man long accustomed to power and comfortable in his place on the world’s stage. As much as he disliked the man, Alexander did have to admit that he was a formidable adversary. He was near the top of the Project Insight list for a reason.

Even once the Project launched, Alexander knew that they wouldn’t be able to pursue a Wakandan target for anything other than surveillance in the initial stages. With their tech advantage, there was simply no way to ensure that all of the targets were taken out, and even the hint of an attack would prompt retaliation.

 No, for the greater good it was necessary to for SHIELD and others to keep their distance. So, Alexander was stuck doing business with the other man.

“Your people were less than clear about the reason for this meeting. Tell me, your majesty, what can the United States of America do for your country?”

“The United States? Nothing,” T’Chaka’s words were blunt and to the point, “but the World Security Council? That is another matter.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Our country was a bit concerned by the way that your ‘secret’ organization handled recent events in the United Kingdom. Negotiations with visiting aliens should not have been handled by SHIELD alone. The United Nations would have been the proper place for such matters.”

Alexander offered an insincere smile. "I entirely agree with you, your Majesty. However, there simply was not the time to arrange such a formal negotiation. Director Fury made the most reasonable call that he could."

"That may have been true before the battle, but what about afterward? I happen to know that the aliens remained for some time after the fighting ended this time, unlike in New York."

Damn it. The Wakandans must have had people on site in Greenwich and London.

Alexander ground his teeth.

“Prince Thor and his party were merely a scouting party, a war band of sorts. Things did not advance to the point of formal negotiations at this time. Should a more formal diplomatic party from Asgard appear at some point in the future, the UN will be brought into the negotiations at that time,” he said reluctantly.

“Very well,” the Wakandan king nodded his acceptance of Alexander’s promise. “On to other matters…”

---

By the time that Alexander finally escaped from the Wakandan embassy, it was evening and he was in desperate need of a place to release his anger.

“Take me home,” he ordered his driver abruptly. Perhaps arranging an assassination would cheer him up.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?” Tony called out quietly.

Ever since the Convergence, things had changed in the Oubliette. While SHIELD knew better than to try and add electronic surveillance measures – between Loki’s seidr shorting things out and Tony’s skill with tech that was just asking for a breakout – it didn’t keep them from using more direct efforts.

Unlike in the past, when guards only showed up to provide meals, now the peace of the corridor was interrupted by random ‘patrols’ at all hours. In addition, the guard rotation had multiplied dramatically. Besides the quartet of familiar faces, Tony had counted at least two dozen strangers passing through the halls.

I guess secrecy has taken second place to information gathering. No doubt a consequence of Thor’s appearance on Earth, Tony mused.

He had told his mentor about his visions during the Convergence, and the older man had easily confirmed that his brother was the one seen.

“My value to SHIELD has increased exponentially,” Loki had commented idly during one of the interludes between their new visitors. “It’s too bad that they won’t get the results that they’re seeking.”

---

In the weeks following the Convergence, the Jotun sorcerer had failed to bounce back from the ordeal that he had suffered as a consequence of his magical bonds. Though the man was careful to hide his worsening condition from their visitors, with his mage sight Tony could see clear scars in Loki’s aura. It was likely that another such attack would mean his death.

With that in mind, Tony had begun to push himself still harder in his training. The Convergence had caused a breakthrough in internalizing both his magic and his place in the Universe; now he had to figure out how to translate his new-found self-awareness into magical prowess. Sight simply wasn’t enough. He needed to be able to manage either illusions, kinetic manipulation, or both.

Loki had been encouraging, though Tony was fairly certain that the alien did so because he wanted to offer his apprentice as much as possible before he passed. But Tony was determined. He would not let his mentor die; not again.

---

Loki glanced up from where he sat cross-legged in his own cell, apparently deep in meditation. In reality, Tony knew that the alien sorcerer was trying to marshal his limited strength, boosting his diminishing resources as best he could manage.

Flashing a wry smile, he replied, “better than I have been of late. Chaos is on the rise, my young apprentice. Even with my powers bound, I can sense its arrival on the wind.”

“Oh?”

"You do recall what I told you of my titles on Asgard. Those are much more than simple words, Anthony. I am the God of Chaos, and as such, I can sense its presence, especially when located nearby."

“Okay?” Tony was skeptical, but he’d learned to trust Loki above his own rational mind, at least where magic was concerned.

“Indeed.”

Before they could say anything further, Tony’s ears caught the sound of distant feet and the doors to the corridor being opened.

Unlike the usual pairs of guards marching in step, this time their visitor was alone and moving fast. The visitor approached the point where he could be seen and paused for an instant before proceeding. It was one of the friendlier of the new guards, a man who had been introduced to them as Agent Barton.

Reaching the controls to the cell doors, Barton reached into his pocket. Tony caught a glimpse of what the man held. It was a severed finger!

Even as Tony gaped in shock, processing, Barton then proceeded onwards. With a gloved hand, he flipped open the metallic cover, breaking the Faraday Cage that protected the electronics inside from Loki’s magic. Then, he entered a code into the numeric keypad before pressing the pad of his grisly prize on the accompanying sensor. With a groan, the wall of Tony’s cell opened for the first time since he’d been placed inside.

“Wha-?” Tony asked.

Barton flashed a wintry smile. “Let’s just say that I’m paying a debt,” he said, before turning to repeat the process with Loki’s door. “Everything’s in chaos right now. SHIELD is fighting itself. It turns out that a branch of HYDRA has been hiding inside of its nominal conqueror since before the organization was formally established. Now, I have my own plan for getting out of this clusterfuck, but I simply couldn’t leave either of you here to the tender mercies of whoever wins. I owe your brother,” he said with a wave at Loki before turning to Tony and adding, “and your friend that much.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, sincerely. Sweeping up those few of his encoded notes that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, he stepped out into the corridor.

That first step, crossing the cell’s threshold, caused a mental jolt, but Tony did his best to hide the reaction. Reaching out, he caught his mentor in a quick embrace. The moment that they came into physical contact for the first time, there was a shock and then a sense of recognition. Tony pushed what energy he could into Loki, needing to bolster the other’s flagging strength for the – likely – fight ahead.

“Come on, we’ve only got so long,” Barton urged. “Brett’s managed to put the cameras on a loop, but that’s only good for as long as no one shows up.”

So their friendly guard was Barton’s helper. That boded well.

Tony shot Loki a sharp grin as they took up positions flanking their new friend and strode down the corridor and out of the Oubliette. Despite the drabness of the slate grey concrete walls beyond, the change in perspective was exhilarating.

Barton led them in a fairly straight line, passing by a number of sealed doorways similar to the one that had lead into their prison.

“What’s behind those?” Tony asked, out of curiosity. Barton snorted. “Nothing that concerns you, Stark.” Then he shrugged, “oh, what the heck. I know that you’ve heard the term Oubliette for your little prison, right?”

They nodded.

“Well, it’s not just people that SHIELD keeps locked up down here. Behind those doors lie any number of things that the organization has collected over the years. It’s a dumping ground for anything that SHIELD wants to keep out of sight. Records, artifacts, trash… Who really knows?”

Catching sight of Tony’s intrigued look, he added, “-and no, we can’t go snooping. We’re on a tight schedule here, and besides, even my little friend here,” he patted his pocket with a grimace, “wouldn’t have access.”

Tony sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he said, with an over-exaggerated pout.

Barton laughed. “You’re just like in James’ stories, Stark.”

That made Tony perk up. “Rhodey?” he asked. “He sent you here?”

“Nah. I only found out about you after I got stuck here," Barton admitted with a grimace. "I may not have been locked in a cell right next to you, but it was a close thing. I'm considered damaged goods."

“You’ve been the host of something… powerful, haven’t you?” Loki asked, sweeping his gaze over the agent’s body. “It’s left its mark on your aura.”

“You could say that, yeah,” Barton agreed. “I’m just lucky that your brother’s people know their stuff. I thought I was a goner, for sure. Still, the Director wasn’t convinced that it was fully extracted. So he stuck me down here for ‘observation’ between guard shifts.”

"Ugh," Tony said, sympathetic. He and Loki had already noticed Barton's mystical scars and had spent some time discussing them. The Aether really was a rather nasty little artifact.

The trio reached a guard post, where Barton’s ally waited. In one corner, a slumped over form and blood-stained floor showed evidence of earlier fighting. Fishing his grisly trophy out of his pocket, Barton tossed the severed finger back to its owner.

“Any activity?” He asked.

“Lots of chatter on the radios, but nothing coherent. There are people announcing ‘Heil HYDRA’, others shouting about traitors, it’s a mess.”

“Then we should be able to make good time.”

Picking up a stack of fabric from the top of the console, Barton tossed them at Tony. “Both of you go ahead and change into these.”

The fabric turned out to be basic SHIELD uniforms, like those that the guards wore. “Boots are there.” He added, waving over to a corner.

---

Once the pair was in costume, the quartet headed out. Both guards bore a brace of weapons, including a sidearm strapped to one calf and a larger gun on the opposite side.

“We’d normally take the elevator instead of climbing the stairs,” Barton commented as they made their way up. “But with the mess, there’s no knowing who might be on the other side when the doors open. This is safer.”

When they reached the appropriate doorway, Barton glanced over at Tony before pulling his sidearm. “You know how to use this?” he asked.

“Second-generation arms manufacturer, what do you think?” he replied, checking it over. “Besides, if I hadn’t already, Rhodey would have taught me.”

“Fair enough. I can trust you at my back, right Stark?”

“As long as you’re helping me out.”

"Good. And you." Here Barton glanced over at his fellow guard, and then pulled a rather wicked looking knife from a hidden sheath. "I understand from your brother's stories that you're an expert wielder of these things."

Loki gave a wintry smile. “You could say that,” he admitted. “Good balance,” he added as he flipped it around.

The other agent sighed, and then offered Loki his own knife. “I’m going to want that back at some point,” he said as he passed it over. “It was a gift.”

“But of course,” Loki agreed easily.

“Now then, follow my lead.” And with that, the quartet headed out into the fray.

---

The main floors of the Sandbox were an absolute mess. Tony caught glimpses of labs, firefights, and even straight up brawls in the hallways as Barton hustled them through. At one point they ducked behind a column, hiding from Loki’s old nemesis – Garrett – as he led a troop of those proclaiming their HYDRA allegiance.

“Shocker, there,” Tony whispered to his companions, as Loki gave a grim nod. “Torture-happy fiends.”

“They may be headed down to your cell, then,” Barton advised. “Let’s get a move on before they sound the alarm.”

---

The last bit, getting into the hanger, was the toughest. Both Tony and Loki were forced to defend themselves, protecting Barton as he made his way over to one of the sleek black aircraft parked there. His partner had diverged from their side, headed over to the control center to make sure that they were able to get out of the facility.

“I’ve got my own exit strategy,” he said as he left them. “Just promise me one thing. Make sure that you don’t judge all of us on the actions of a few. There are good people in SHIELD, people who followed orders and found themselves in the midst of a mess not their own. I was a proud American soldier, but this… this is not what I signed up to do.”

“I understand,” Tony said with a nod, offering his hand. The other man clasped it, and then stalked off.

“Right,” Barton barked. “Come on, Stark, I want you in the copilot’s seat.”

---

Between their man in the control booth and Barton’s skill as a pilot, they managed to clear the Sandbox’s airspace with little trouble.

"That's the extent of my plan," Barton admitted wryly. "Do either of you have an idea for a next step?"

Tony and Loki exchanged a glance. While Barton seemed genuine, neither of them was inclined to trust anyone beyond each other. Finally, Loki spoke. “Head for these coordinates,” he said, rattling off a set of numbers.

“What’s there?”

“A safe-house,” was the reply, but from the look on the mage’s face, Tony was pretty sure that he knew the truth. The coordinates were probably a blind alley, the site of one of the many passages between the Realms that his mentor had once used to reach Midgard.

“Okay, then,” Barton said laconically. “Not sure why you want to go into the depths of the Kyrgyzstani Mountains, but whatever floats your boat – metaphorically speaking, that is. It’ll take us a couple of hours in this beauty, so feel free to make yourselves comfortable.”

 “Thanks, Barton,” Tony said with a nod, before climbing out of the copilot’s seat. “I’m going to grab the head and then see what I can scrounge back there. We missed dinner in all the excitement earlier.”

“Should be some water, maybe some power bars or MREs, but I wouldn’t expect anything gourmet,” Barton replied with a shrug. “When you’re done, bring me whatever’s left would ya.”

“Sure thing.”

Once Loki crossed the threshold of the pilot’s compartment and left Barton’s view, he sagged. Tony immediately hurried over to catch him, helping him towards one of the benches that lined the walls of the cargo compartment.

“Oh God,” he said as he eased his mentor down onto the cushioned surface. “What can I do, Lokes?”

Loki reached up, placing one hand against the side of Tony’s face.

“I’m afraid that today’s excitement was more than my body could handle in its weakened state,” he admitted reluctantly. “I just need to rest.”

But Tony knew that Loki was lying. Rest simply wasn’t enough anymore. He was dying…

No. I refuse.

Reaching down into his core, to that stock of power that Loki had helped him to find and access, Tony delved deep. Wrapping one ‘arm’ around a thick section, he pulled it up to the surface. Then, just like he would when working with metal, he formed the power into a spike. He placed the pointed end against one of the nodes that made up the Svadilfari’s working, the chains which kept Loki bound.

Then, with all of his might, he slammed the bulk of his mystical strength against the other end of the spike.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

A third time.

This time, there was a crack. Not an audible one, no, but one that he could hear in his bones. Opening his Mage Sight, Tony spotted the source. A tiny fracture had appeared at one point within the web.

Encouraged, he kept at it, pounding away again and again.

Cracks continued to form, propagating out from the fracture point that he’d made. Still, it wasn’t enough. But Tony refused to give up.

Marshaling up the last of his strength, he released one last strike.

With a massive crash, the web shattered. As blackness encroached upon his vision, Tony smiled. He’d done it!

---

“Stark,” a hand at his shoulder woke Tony. Looking up blearily, it took him a moment to recognize Barton’s concerned gaze.

 “Barton,” he said muzzily. “Shouldn’t you be flying the bird?”

“We reached your friend’s coordinates an hour ago. Once I landed, I came back and found you both passed out here. I’ve been trying to wake you up ever since.”

“Loki!” Tony cried.

“He’s still unconscious, but his breathing’s steady. In fact, he looks better than he did,” Barton commented as Tony climbed to his feet and rushed over to his mentor’s side.

“I don’t know what it was that you were doin’ back here earlier, but I could feel it,” he added, rubbing his chest. “Whatever it was, it was powerful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what’s outside?” Tony asked, not wanting to talk about what he’d done. Not until he knew for sure if it had worked.

“Nothing much. We’re in the heart of the mountains, with peaks all around us. I did find this little landing platform in front of a cave right at the coordinates that your buddy gave, so that’s where I parked.”

Glancing out the open rear hatch of the aircraft, Tony could see the cave’s entrance. To his Mage Sight, it glowed with seidr in Loki’s distinctive green.

"Look, Barton, I appreciate all of your help, but right now I just need us out of SHIELD's hands entirely. I don't trust your little organization not to have an auto-recall or at least a tracker on your craft here."

“Wait, you want to go out there, in the wilderness, with an unconscious alien as your only companion?” Barton asked, startled.

“Yup. Trust me, there's more to this spot than can be seen with the naked eye."

“Yeah, the hairs on my arms told me that,” Barton agreed, “but you’re no alien magician Stark, you’re an engineer.”

Tony shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Fine,” Barton huffed. Pulling out a collapsible stretcher, he helped to load the unconscious Loki onto it, and then the pair carried the surprisingly heavy alien into the mouth of the cave. As they crossed the boundary ward that carried the mark of Loki’s magic, the man stirred. Tony could see his seidr reaching out to absorb the residual energy that the ward had held. As it did so, Loki's core flared. It was weak but was already starting to show signs of recovery.

The sight made Tony grin.

He’d done that.

---

After a bit more negotiation, Tony managed to convince Barton that they would be best served if he left, taking the jet with him. If he could confuse the trail, any pursuers would be looking for Tony and Loki in all of the wrong places.

“If it comes to it,” Tony said to Barton as he left, “I want you to tell anyone who comes looking for us that we died due to injuries taken during the escape.”

“Even the Colonel?”

“Even him.”

“Okay, Stark. But I hope that you know what you’re doing.”

Barton headed up the ramp and onboard his vessel. When he turned to close the door, he offered one final word. “God speed, Tony Stark. And good luck.”

---

Once he was hidden from view by the closing hatch, Tony spun on his heel and headed back into the cave. He didn’t bother to watch as Barton flew the last bit of SHIELD out of sight. He had promises to keep.

Now, what was the name of that place that Loki had mentioned in the Himalayas? Oh yes, Kamar Taj…

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART II

Chapter Text

These are the Cast Collages that I made for this story.