Chapter Text
Apparently the past doesn’t just bite you in the ass: it follows you around like the plague, a disease that eats you slowly from the inside, manifesting a new symptom just when you think you’ve purged the last of it. There is no cure, no way of telling when it will remind you that it’s there, and no way to tell if it’s gone.
The best medicine is to work on the suit. So here Tony is, as usual, sitting in his lab working on his latest Iron Man upgrade. Having the suit fly to him and assemble around his body is a pretty badass idea. Credit where credit is due.
This is not going as smoothly as he’d like. Tony drops his wrench and wipes grease from his fingers, reaching instead for the screwdriver. With the component cradled in his hand, he slides the instrument through the cracks to adjust the motion sensors and trackers newly embedded in the hardware. Once these tweaks are done, it'll be time for another trial run. Tony grins to himself.
“Sir, Director Fury is calling,” JARVIS pipes up helpfully.
Tony makes a point about groaning, even though the AI never gives him the satisfying reaction that Pepper does. “What does he want.”
“I cannot say,” JARVIS replies calmly. “But I suggest you answer it. His direct attempt to contact you can only signify urgency.”
Fine. “Put him through,” he sighs.
“Stark.” Why does Fury always sound so accusing? And angry? What’s in a name? "We’ve got something for you. SHIELD needs you on this.”
“I told you, Cyclops, you can’t afford me,” Tony flashes a charming smile at the phone, even though he knows the director can’t see him. “I don’t work for you.”
“No, you work for yourself, and this one is on your conscience. So I suggest you do yourself a favor and get your ass up here. Or I’ll come to you.”
Tony would really rather Fury not pay him a visit, in his own home. “You’ve got yourself a date Prince Charming. Where’s the venue?”
“Avengers’ Tower. You have until noon to get here.” There’s a click.
“Or what, you’ll arrest me? Kinky.” Tony throws down his screwdriver and stands up, arching his back. The excitement of the impending trial run sours. But he packs up anyway, and goes to the clear space in the middle of the room. The trackers are already embedded in his skin, so all he has to do is raise his arms and gesture with his hands.
The suit is reluctant to respond, and even more so to obey. But it flies at him eventually, the parts whizzing around the room and smacking into his body fast enough to knock him over. Before he can open his mouth to give the command to slow this show down, the arrival of the breastplate smacks the words from his chest.
It actually works. Tony blasts himself to his feet and laughs. “Should I bring flowers?”
“Bring your best behavior, perhaps.”
“Such a flirt,” Tony grins, and jets up through the hatch into a clear sky.
Fury's unwelcome call can't take away all the thrill of flying. The combination of speed and closeness far surpasses the thrill the fastest car could provide. No car could create a shield the way the Iron Man suit does, built to fit, to smooth over every flaw and build a wall between all that precedes 2008. The whole world watched Iron Man fly into a wormhole and save New York from aliens. That has to be worth something.
The Avengers Tower, newly-refurbished, glows among the other sky-scrapers, currently not housing any Avengers. The team disbanded, separating those deadly chemicals Banner had described them as. It was probably for the better. Even with catastrophic events to bring them together and forge friendships, things were bound to go off at some point. Fury is smart enough to think to unite them, so he must be smart enough to know that it's for the best that they go their separate ways. It’s been a while since Tony’s visited. Sometimes he comes up here, usually to hang out with Bruce in the lab. The tower would make a good base of operation, though he hopes there’s never a reason for the Avengers to reassemble.
Tony lands outside on the redesigned pad and walks down the gangway. He walks through the open doors and steps out of the suit. It peels away and hangs back to stand sentry.
“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS greets over the PA.
“I’m surprised you showed,” Fury is already there, a drink in his hand, leaning on the bar. Beside him, dressed in his blue stealth uniform, hands clasping his belt and his expression just as serious as always, is Steve Rogers.
Captain America’s shield is resting on the floor against the bar, perfectly shiny and smooth, just like its owner. Steve’s pale skin and golden hair glow in the daylight streaming through the windows, blue eyes fixing on Tony intently.
“Vodka? Before lunch? I underestimated you,” Tony ignores America’s boy scout and walks over. “Maybe we could get along after all.”
“This is water,” Fury’s eyebrow leaps. “Gotta keep hydrated in this heat.”
“Yeah, you do lose a lot of water through your head,” Tony tucks his hands in his pockets, finally affording the Captain a glance. “’sup Spangles.”
Steve doesn’t budge. He seems very guarded, more-so even than when they’d first met. The scepter had injected all of them with a certain amount of hostility, helping them judge and jump to conclusions and ultimately make a Hell of a mess (correction: Hulk of a mess), but in the end Steve had loosened up, showing that he was made of more than legend. Right now, in his SHIELD-issued uniform, Steve looks like he carries a little notebook full of rules in his utility belt.
“SHIELD has intel that someone is building weapons on a remote island, and selling them on the black market.” Steve jumps to the point, which Tony appreciates. “We’ve been tracking down buyers and working our way back to the dealers.”
“Sounds like SHIELD’s business to me,” Tony saunters around the bar. Steve’s voice makes him want to put his head through a window, though Loki’s already thrown him through these, so he doesn’t fancy breaking them again. Their presences are going to stress-test his recovery from alcoholism. He can’t possibly deal with these two unless he’s got a few units in him.
Fury watches as the inventor takes the top off a bottle of whisky and tosses a cup in his hand, catching it the right way and starting to pour. The second the bottle is back on the shelf and he’s about to take a sip, Steve’s huge frame leans across the counter and plucks the drink from his hand.
“It is,” the soldier agrees, “but these are your weapons being built.”
“Someone got old blueprints off the internet, or the black market, or somewhere ,” Fury explains. “Inside info reports that their security measures are too advanced for our tech experts to crack. So yes, it is your business.” He takes a sip of water.
Tony looks between them. “I’m flattered you think so highly of my hacking abilities, even if it’s in comparison to yours, but can’t you just bomb the place?”
“We have no idea how much firepower they have,” Fury disagrees before a deeply-frowning Steve can protest. “There’s a good chance they have nukes stored at the facility. We need to take this down more discretely, sneak in and shut down their operations.”
“Don’t know if you noticed, or if that information was on your blind side while you were reading my file, but I’m not a spy, or a trained mercenary, or even a soldier,” Tony explains.
“That’s why you’re going with him,” Fury gestures to Steve with his thumb.
Tony has to say the Captain doesn’t look pleased about this either. “You want me and Big Blue running an op together." The engineer can hardly believe it. Surely Fury isn’t this dumb. Or maybe he wants to get rid of both of them at once, because surely this can only end in disaster.
“Yes, I do. Now suit up. We’ll brief you on the helicopter.” Fury empties his water glass and sets it down, turning on his heel in a swirl of black.
“At least let me have my drink,” Tony reaches for the glass he’s already poured, desperate for something to take the edge off if he has to spend the next however-long with Captain Scowl-Face.
Steve pulls the glass further out of reach. “No drinking on the job. Let’s go.”
“It’ll go to waste,” he argues.
So Steve drinks it, tips the alcohol into his mouth without missing a beat, and sets down the empty glass. “Time to go.”
Tony gapes. That was... that was a beautiful spiced whisky, imported... And he just... Bastard won’t even appreciate the buzz. Or the flavor. What a waste. Still, he has to appreciate the balls.
But that’s it. He won’t appreciate anything else as he follows Steve out onto the helipad. This suit does the good Captain much better justice than the crap he wore just a year-and-a-half ago against the Chitauri. Still, Tony knows he can do better. He waits to appraise Steve from top to bottom until the faceplate is secured and he’s safe to let his eyes roam where he wants. They roam all over Steve's broad shoulders and tapered waist that accentuate his ass. Yeah, but it’s all steroids. Tony’s ass is all his.
The suit. He’s trying to look at the suit. He knows that with a few tweaks he can improve the design, strengthen a few areas while easing back on others. The way Rogers moves suggests it’s stiff in the shoulders. Tony could fix that. He could probably improve the polymer, too. Make the fabric more agreeable. Improve how it slips on and off. I’ll propose it, as a peace offering, if things get out of hand. They likely will. How soon? That depends on how annoying Steve is.
--
To squeeze a few more minutes of peace out of his day, Tony flies alongside the helicopter. He lands at the SHIELD base and walks right in, leaning on the big eagle metalwork in the lobby while he waits. People stare as they walk by, but he ignored them, tapping a metal finger on his hip as he waits for his cohorts to catch up.
They do, finally, striding right past and leading the way up to a meeting room. Tony leaves the armor in the corner, Steve sets his shield against the opposite wall. Everyone gathers around the table, a handful of SHIELD operatives joining them, and the brief begins.
It’s horrendously boring. Tony really wishes he could have a drink right now. He wishes Steve wouldn’t sit so tightly upright in his chair, memorizing every detail perfectly like he always does, with his perfect hair, and his perfect face. Bastard.
“It’s too dangerous to send you two in with your usual uniforms,” Fury is explaining. “We’ll get both of you something stealthier.”
Oh no, he’s not leaving his suit behind. “Iron Man’s coming with me, sorry Jolly Roger.” There’s room to negotiate this, he knows it. SHIELD wouldn’t drag him into this unless they had to. They need him, and he can get what he wants.
“No.” Fury is firm. “Too shiny, and too obvious. If they realize the Avengers are onto them, it could shut down the whole circle and we’ll lose our leads.”
“And sending Tony Stark himself isn’t shiny and obvious?” he leans back in his chair.
“With luck, they won’t be seeing your face,” the director reaffirms.
The suit’s coming. Tony just smiles. He’s not walking into a mission without it. Unlike Steve, he doesn’t have any magic healing potion. God, I wish.
Fury says nothing more, passing off bags of clothes to Tony and Steve and sending them off to change. Tony slips into the empty office across the hall and opens the bag.
The style isn't his first pick, but the black palette is workable. Tony strips out of his jeans and AC-DC shirt and changes into a pair of dark green cargo pants and a sturdy black shirt. There are knee pads in here. Tony puts them on and grumbles to himself, debating leaving them behind out of spite.
Over top goes a bullet-proof vest. It won't fit so well under Iron Man, but he can strip it off as soon as they're on that island and out from under Fury's eye. By then they'll be stuck, and Steve can protest to Tony's rule-breaking all he wants.
To his surprise, there’s a gun in here, and extra magazines. Tony hesitantly pulls the weapon from the bag and straps it to his waist. It’s reassuring to know SHIELD doesn’t expect him to go unarmed (though he suspects ‘arming’ him is meant to mostly mean pairing him with Steve), but he hopes this mission doesn’t end in a firefight.
The final touches are some heavy combat boots, and a pair of rugged gloves. The clothes are surprisingly comfortable, though he feels naked. Tony zips his previous outfit into the bag and walks out, staring longingly at Iron Man waiting in the corner. Soon.
Steve is already dressed, his huge frame packed into an identical outfit. The curves of his arms are on full display, barely contained in the short sleeves of his shirt. Without his uniform and shield, he looks scarier. There’s no star, no red white and blue (though SHIELD had skimped on those first two), and no shield. He’s armed too, and probably a lot more than Tony is.
Fury is waiting, appraising the two of them with satisfaction.
“Everything you need is in these,” Fury explains, and an agent hands over two packed bags. “You’ll find basic tools and some electronic equipment,” he explains to Tony. “We’ve also given you enough supplies to last you a couple of days. That includes a tent, food, water, fire-starting supplies, blankets, and first-aid. There are distress beacons in your left breast pockets. If things go to shit, you can call for an extraction as a last resort. We’ll be thirty minutes out from your location.”
The larger bag goes to Steve, and he shoulders the weight effortlessly. His whole body is buzzing, ready for a fight. That’s what it’s made for, Tony supposes. Fighting, moving, working. Tony knows the feeling.
“Everybody move out,” Fury orders, and starts to lead the way to the hangar. Tony flicks his wrist, and Iron Man strides along behind them. It gives him great pleasure when he spots the apprehensive faces of the agents escorting them. This whole mission may be worth it just for that.