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A full club always put an extra bounce in Tony’s step. He swept into the rapidly filling hotspot, commandeering all the attention. Dapper in his white suit coat and impeccable tie and cufflinks with his black hair perfectly styled, he picked up his whiskey on the rocks at the bar. The bartender, Rhodey, nodded at him while he glad-handed his customers. Gorgeous, red-headed Russian ex-pat Natasha was setting up her music on the piano and warming up for her performances. Tony could only smile as he surveyed his domain.
He had built his club into a showplace from the dive he found when he arrived in Madripoor fleeing ghosts and whispers of war. He offered the finest wines and hard liquor and had hired the best chef and greatest entertainment in the city. It all paid off. Anybody who was anybody had to be seen at Tony’s Place.
Tonight was no different. The club was nearly bursting at the seams, surprising on a weeknight. Happy groups of well-dressed people in suits, jewels, and satin dresses sat at tables, ordering up wine, champagne, steak and fish. He’d have to keep an eye on one of the tables in the front as a boisterous group of young men was ogling the curvy Natasha. Tony’s attention was diverted as he caught a glimpse of Happy negotiating with a desperate couple in plain clothes.
He knew why they were there and why Happy would eventually let them in. Tony had no illusions about what went on in the dark corners of his club. Money laundering, cheap forged papers, drug trading, smuggling, black marketeering, spy work. It all went on at Tony’s Place, best nightclub in Madripoor.
The only cloud on Tony’s horizon was the delay in shipments of French wines. There was a war starting in Europe and Asia that was just now washing up on Madripoor’s shores. More refugees, more desperation, more Nazis. He preferred the sad couple to the group of five Nazis that was just seated at one of his best tables.
He downed his drink, set the empty glass on the bar, and headed off to make the rounds of his club. He immediately bumped into Fury and his shadow, Hill. “Chief,” Tony greeted him.
Fury didn’t wait on pleasantries. “Where’s Banner?”
“Banner? Bruce Banner?” Tony shook his head. “Haven’t seen him for days.”
Hill sighed as she glared at the club party goers. “We have it on good information that Banner works out of your club selling his forged papers.”
“Shocked, shocked I tell you that anyone is doing anything illegal in my club,” Tony said. He doubted that Police Chief Fury or flunky Hill would believe him. Tony could acknowledge that Fury had a difficult job tamping down on the criminal element. He just preferred that Fury do it outside his club walls.
Fury gave him a long, appraising look. “Right. If you see Banner, tell Hill here.”
“Drinks on the house?” Tony offered. “Rhodey serves up a mean cocktail.”
“Another night,” Hill said sharply. “Sir, we have to go.”
Fury looked around the club again. “Tony, remember I have my eye on you.”
Tony did wait a decent amount of time before hunting up Bruce, who was having a quiet drink in the kitchen with Clint. “What did you do this time?” Tony asked a disheveled Bruce.
Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Might be those forged gold securities,” Clint suggested. Clint did a very successful business in selling Bruce’s forged documents. They had helped out Tony before when he was in a tight spot, so he had a soft spot for his fellow Americans.
“Don’t bring it here,” Tony warned. “I can’t afford to have Fury tear this place apart looking for you.”
Natasha was in the middle of her first performance as Tony returned to the main room. Her fingers flickered over the piano as her beautiful voice flowed like honey through the smoky atmosphere of the club. Tony leaned against a pillar to listen. It had been a real coup for him to lure Natasha away from Justin Hammer’s club. Then he watched as Gene Khan arrived to a small fanfare from neighboring tables, and the Nazis stopped by to pay their respects.
Tony gritted his teeth. He could tolerate Fury and his cops, but he had to put up with Khan even though he despised the man. Khan outright owned a nice chunk of Madripoor and probably owned the rest through shell companies. One didn’t cross the man and live. Recently he had deigned to give Tony’s club his patronage, coming in late and demanding the best table. Tony took a deep breath, thinking of what Pepper would do to him if he managed to insult the most powerful man in the city. It wouldn’t be pretty.
He eventually found himself at the bar, mulling over another whiskey. He looked up to see a man and a woman waiting at the bar entrance. Tony had never seen them before, but that wasn’t a new thing. Lots of people passed through the club once or twice, never to be seen again. But they were waiting for a friend who joined them; a tall, blond man.
Steve.
Of all the places in the world, of all the nightclubs, of all the hidey-holes in the world, Steve had managed to walk into Tony’s dark corner. Closing his eyes, Tony took a deep breath to pull himself together. But then Steve was gone, lost somewhere.
He looked over at Rhodey. “I saw him too,” Rhodey stated. “You’re not imagining him.”
Whatever peace Tony had gained in the years since he fled Paris evaporated in the smoke and alcohol and thick crowds of the club. He combed through the club looking for Steve. He finally found him and his friends deep in conversation with Clint.
Big, blond, handsome Steve looked the same. Maybe a little older and little more worn and in ill-fitting clothes. But he was the same man who had disappeared from Tony’s life over a year ago. Tony was immediately worried. Steve had to be in some sort of trouble if he was talking to Clint. He took a step forward to offer help. But he stopped himself just in time.
He wasn’t ready to see Steve, whom he had lost in Paris. Maybe he’d never be ready. But not now, not in these circumstances.
That night, back in his luxurious apartment above the nightclub, Tony poured himself another whiskey and stared out at the night and the bright lights of a city that never slept. He couldn’t sleep, but even awake and well on his way to being blacked-out drunk, he couldn’t escape all the memories flooding back.
God, Steve, Paris, that tiny little café off the beaten path with the flaky croissants and ever-flowing wine. That way Steve smiled at him as their fingers brushed. The way they talked all day long, wrapped up in each other. The warmth of Steve’s hand on his back and the sun on his skin in the bed they shared.
To be honest, Tony’s life hadn’t gone as planned. He had been born to wealth and privilege and his father pissed it away in alcoholism, poor business choices, and lawsuits. His father’s final failure cost the lives of several of Stark Industries workers, and the scandal and his father’s public suicide drove Tony out of the States and into a life of wandering and aimlessness.
Somehow he had ended up in Paris living off the tiny remainder of his fortune. He loved the café life and the nightclubs and all the beauty of the City of Lights. Nothing mattered though, after he came across a handsome blond artist selling his art in Place du Tertre. At first it was nice to meet another ex-pat American in the throng of the city. But it was Steve’s smiling blue eyes that kept Tony coming back that long time ago among the trees and spring rains of blooming Paris.
In the end, Steve was so much more than the sweet, struggling ex-pat artist. When Hitler and war became household words and fears, Steve wanted to fight and Tony to flee.
And now Steve was here in Madripoor, in his own club, and most likely in trouble.
Tony finished his drink and stumbled off to bed, feverishly hoping when he woke in the afternoon that this all had been a dream.
~~~~~
The miserable cold autumn rains of Madripoor were not cleansing rains, just a way for the grease and filth to coat the roads more efficiently. Glad to be out of the weather, Tony shook off his wet overcoat and hat as he entered the calm of the club in early afternoon. Pepper was doing the books near the bar, piles of papers and invoices covering the table. “Hi, Pepper,” he said.
She smiled at him. “Good news, we’re supposed to be getting that shipment of Italian wine tomorrow.”
“But the French order?”
She frowned. “No news there. We’re going to have to raise prices on the Scotch whiskey – our supplies are getting low and it’s going to be pricey to replace our inventory with what’s going on in Europe.”
“We’ll work through it,” Tony said wearily. He sat down at the bar where Rhodey was washing glasses. “Talking about whiskey –“
“Sure thing.” Rhodey poured a glass and put it down. “Steve, huh?”
Tony passed the glass back and forth in his hands. Rhodey and he went way back, back all the way to the United States. But no one came here because they wanted to. Life and circumstances brought the damaged and the unlucky to Madripoor, and Rhodey was no different from Tony or Pepper. Following Tony through his adventures, Rhodey ended up managing Tony’s bar.
He couldn’t have asked for a better bartender or friend. But right now, Tony didn’t want to think. “My eyes were playing tricks on me,” Tony lied.
“Steve stands out in a crowd,” Rhodey continued, wiping a glass dry. “No mistaking that six foot, two inch guy.”
Before Tony could reply, Fury arrived with Johann Schmidt in tow. “Stark, office, now,” he commanded. Tony followed them into his office, ready to not help with whatever Fury wanted. He was furious that the man ordered him around his own club and brought in that slime of the earth Schmidt in full Nazi gear to boot.
He didn’t offer them a drink but jumped right into business. “So what’s this about?” he asked, leaning against his desk.
Schmidt started. “We’re asking for your help in tracking down a fugitive from Germany. He escaped from prison and is a wanted criminal.” Schmidt gave a thin-lipped smile. “Everyone comes eventually to your club.” He waved a picture at Tony.
“Not everyone,” Tony replied coldly. He took the picture and recognized Steve’s defiant face. He managed to hide his shock and asked, “Who is this?”
“Steven Rogers. The world press calls him Captain America.” Schmidt sneered. “Don’t pay attention to the name. He’s known as a dangerous man in my country.”
“Rogers is probably traveling under a different name,” Fury suggested. “Dyed his hair, grown a beard, anything to hide his appearance. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
Tony never hated Fury more than he did right now. How could Fury find it in himself to help out Nazis, especially uber-Nazi Schmidt? He tossed the photo on his desk. “I’ll think about it.”
Schmidt didn’t like that answer. “Mr. Stark –“ he snapped.
“I have to ask you to leave now. We’re cleaning up the club for tonight’s opening and we have to take the trash out.”
Anger crossed Schmidt’s face before he got ahold of himself. “I expect cooperation, Mr. Stark. This is a serious matter, and we will find Rogers with or without your assistance. Anyone who fails to render assistance may regret it.”
Tony could only glare at Fury and Schmidt’s backs as they left the office. Then he worried about Steve, and if he knew his life was in danger from the likes of Schmidt.
~~~~~
Another wildly successful night at the nightclub, Tony observed morosely from his station near the bar. Natasha had the audience eating out of her hand, Rhodey was entertaining a group of talkative sailors at the bar, and Pepper seemed pleased with the night’s revenue. So far, so good, he guessed.
He couldn’t shake the sense of impending disaster. But Tony was at his best flying by the seat of his pants.
Pepper, who kept up to date with news from Europe, filled Tony in on the exploits of the special operative called Captain America. Tony couldn’t quite see how the gentle artist he had known had turned into a one-man-Nazi-wrecking-machine. Schmidt had a reason to hunt Steve down.
Tony hoped against hope that Steve had bought his papers from Clint and was long gone on one of many merchant ships that sailed out of the city daily. Any illusions he had were ripped to shreds when Steve showed up with his friends.
Steve was breathtakingly handsome in a borrowed suit, looking for all the world like a newly minted, dashing movie star. With his brylcreemed hair, bright smile, and wary eyes, Steve followed the maitre d’ to their table. The small group made a big splash with their entrance and parade through the club.
Tony sighed when he noticed club guests taking an interest in the new arrivals. It would have been better for all concerned if Steve and his friends snuck in like they did the night before. And it would be far worse if they were meeting with Clint, who was officially unwelcome in the club, even though that never stopped him from his business calls.
At least the maitre d’ seated them at one of the tables in the back where they’d be ignored. Tony had a waitress serve Steve’s table one of the best bottles of wine on the house. If Steve was determined to court doom, he could at least go out in style. And he wouldn’t be going alone, as the woman with him demonstrated the most blatant flirting that Tony had ever seen.
The image of the blonde woman in her clingy white silk dress, leaning in, her hand on Steve’s arm, laughing at whatever Steve said burned into Tony’s memory. He had lost Steve but he never thought that Steve had moved on. Now Tony was thinking uncharitable thoughts about a woman he had not met who could be a perfectly decent person. But she was breathing the same air that Steve was, and Tony couldn’t forgive her for that.
Stung with the sudden pangs of jealousy, Tony busied himself with tasks around the club so he wouldn’t keep staring at Steve. A part of Tony was dying a terrible death because he didn’t dare go and say hello to the man he had shared a couple of years with.
It got worse. Tony did a sweep past the tables, warmly greeting his regular guests and checking on his employees. He loved a smoothly operating nightclub. Passing by Steve’s table, he took a double take. Steve was indeed meeting with Clint. And Bruce. Every police officer under Fury’s command was searching for the elusive forger. And here he was sitting in plain view in Tony’s own club.
Clint and Bruce usually knew to conduct their business when Tony couldn’t see them. He would have to send Pepper over to get them to leave. No one needed to go to jail tonight.
Tony’s heart skipped a beat when Schmidt and his mouth-breathing entourage arrived with Gene Khan. Tony held his breath as the maitre d’ showed them to the best table in the house, far from Steve’s table. Best news he had that night.
He was momentarily distracted when a table of his best customers called him over to talk wine. So he didn’t see when Bruce’s elbow clipped a passing waiter. The noise of shattering wine glasses brought the room to a stop as people rubber-necked the accident. He whipped around to see an apologetic waiter wiping off a standing Bruce.
With a picture-perfect view of concerned Steve.
Disaster struck. Tony watched Fury’s men and Schmidt’s officers all heading towards Bruce and Steve. He glanced over at Natasha and Pepper. Pepper was already in action, all but running towards the table.
Natasha grabbed one of her back-up musicians and stuck him on the piano. She cleared her throat dramatically, drawing the attention of the room. Then smiling, she said, “The boys and I have a little something special tonight. For those who love a free France. Hit it.” The band struck up La Marseillaise.
As Natasha sang, the audience joined in, singing and then standing. A large woman in tears blocked Schmidt’s men just long enough for Pepper to get to Steve. Catching her quick head jerk, Tony headed to toward the kitchens. Bruce and Clint took the opportunity to flee.
Tony held the kitchen door open while Pepper hustled Steve and his friends through the club towards him. When he reached the door, Steve hesitated. “Tony?” he asked, his eyes wide in surprise.
“Go, go, go,” Pepper urged. “There’s a cab waiting for you.”
Steve reached for Tony. “Tony, I never thought –“
“Steve, go,” Tony snapped. “Schmidt will find you if you wait any longer.”
Then Pepper pushed Steve through the door, into the kitchen and out to the alley. Tony stood in the doorway, watching the cab carry Steve away.
~~~~~
Lost in thought, Tony played a slow song on the piano in the quiet dark of the club. The only noises were the piano and the soft sounds of Rhodey wiping down his bar and the janitor sweeping the floor. He could feel the weariness in his bones, too many late nights, too much alcohol, too many compromises. He had barely been able to save Steve from a furious Schmidt. And now, he feared what the morning would bring. Probably Fury calling for his head or Schmidt ripping apart the club. Not enough alcohol in the world to drown his sorrows.
“Tony?” a familiar baritone voice asked.
Tony raised his bleary eyes up to see Steve walking towards him. “Steve, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe,” he protested. But to a parched man, Steve sure looked like drink of cold water in a hot desert.
Steve only smiled in return. “I checked. I wasn’t followed back here.” He took off his hat and overcoat and put them on a table. He ran his hand through his blond hair, pushing it back into place. “It’s been too long, Tony, since Paris.”
Paris was a long time ago, before the Nazis. “Things happen when you flee in fear of your life from invading armies,” Tony said nonchalantly. He looked up at Steve in a rumpled suit now leaning against the piano.
“How did you end up here?” Steve asked.
“Madripoor?” Tony shrugged. “Couldn’t stay in Paris.” He breathed in Steve’s clean scent. Memories flooded back. All of them good.
Steve put his hand over Tony’s on the keyboard. “I hoped you went back home.”
Tony felt a shiver go down his spine at Steve’s touch. “There’s nothing for me back there. And there was nothing keeping me in France,” Tony said bitterly. He strained to ignore the allure of Steve’s concerned voice, the warmth of his touch, and the love in his eyes.
Steve’s face fell. “Tony, you know I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.”
Tony knew, boy, did he know. In those last days, Tony found Steve fuming and sputtering over the morning paper and getting into fierce conversations with their neighbors. He dreaded going to the movies, where he would watch Steve seethe during the newsreels. At night in their bed, Tony ran his hand through Steve’s hair, whispering in his ear how much he loved him as he held him tightly, knowing he was losing him as the days passed. In the end, Steve left to join the French Resistance. He asked Tony to come with him. Unable to face the war and Steve’s inevitable death, Tony ran as far he could.
Now here in one of the dark corners of the world, Tony could feel the weight of his cowardice and all his failures in the light of Steve’s bright sun. “Captain America, right?” he deflected.
Steve shrugged. “Only reporters call me that. It means that people like Sharon and Sam can work without being noticed.”
“Sharon and Sam -- the people you’re traveling with?”
Steve nodded. “My friends. I met Sam in Belgium, and Sharon has been spying for the Army for a few years now.” Seeing a fleeting worry flash across Tony’s face, he added, “She’s my government contact, and that’s all.”
Not willing to admit that he was relieved, Tony shifted to one side of the piano bench. “Why here, Steve? Madripoor is full of people who’d sell you out to Schmidt in a heartbeat.”
Steve sat down on the bench. “We had no choice when we fled Germany. Sharon and Sam sprung me from the Nazis and our connection could only secure us safe passage to here.” He looked down at his hands and then looked around the empty club as if enemies were waiting in the shadows. “I found out about the Nazi science division – a group called HYDRA. They’re worse than Nazis. Johann Schmidt is one of them. I have to get back to the United States with my information.”
Tony slumped against Steve, leaning his head on his shoulder. Of course Steve would be up to his neck in danger. “How are you planning to leave?”
“We have no documents and the government can’t officially recognize us. When we arrived here, we found our contacts killed or missing. Banner gave us letters of transit. We’re on a ship out of here tomorrow evening.”
“A ship?” Tony asked. “Seriously, a ship? A slow, likely full of leaks, and vulnerable at sea ship?”
“We’re fine, Tony. We have a plan,” Steve said reassuringly. “I saw you here last night and had to see you again before I left.”
“I didn’t think you saw me.”
Steve pressed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “I wanted to say something, but you were always talking or working. Thank you for helping me tonight. Schmidt’s plans don’t involve jail.”
Tony involuntarily shuddered. He knew what Schmidt was capable of. “It’s still not over.”
“No,” Steve reflected. He slid an arm around Tony’s waist. “I think of you all the time, about Paris, our apartment.”
He was falling all over again for Steve. Melting at Steve’s touch, Tony looked up into Steve’s eyes brimming with fondness and love as he talked about Paris and what they did there.
“Do you still work on your inventions?” Steve asked.
Steve remembered. “When I have time. It’s hard to get the right machined parts here,” Tony admitted. “Want to see my workshop?”
“You have a workshop?” Steve asked.
“It’s a room in my apartment,” Tony replied. “It’s upstairs, not far.”
“Lead on.”
On the way up to the apartment, Steve grabbed Tony, lifted his chin in both hands, and kissed him, pouring all his longing into the embrace. “If you keep doing that, we’ll never leave this hallway,” Tony joked.
Upstairs, Tony showed Steve the small room filled with his tools, parts and unfinished projects. “See? This room is the best thing in Madripoor …”
Steve leaning with his arm on the door jamb said, “I’m looking at the best thing in Madripoor.”
“You know I’m too old to blush, right?” Tony replied.
“Come here, and I’ll show you what blushing really is.” Steve pulled Tony close and into his arms.
A few more kisses, a little exploration, they shrugged off their clothes, learning about each other all over again. When Steve stripped off his undershirt, Tony looked over and paused. Reaching out, his fingers traced over new scars on Steve’s arm and back, mementos of Steve’s war.
Steve brushed Tony’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m here now, don’t think about the past,” he whispered. Tony surged up to kiss Steve furiously, not wanting to think that he might never see Steve again.
They ended up in bed, reminiscing. Tony forgot how Steve could tease and touch him in all the right places and his surrender to Steve was complete and utter. Afterwards, lying in each other’s arms, heated skin against heated skin, limbs intertwined, Tony knew that he belonged to Steve and would always.
“Come with me,” Steve begged. “Come back home.”
He hugged Steve tightly, not wanting to ever let him go. “Yes, of course.”
~~~~~
Tony loved solving problems. And he had a problem. Several actually. Unlike Steve, he had no faith that Steve and his friends could lie low in their safe house long enough to avoid Schmidt. Especially if Fury was helping him. Then there was that ship.
He sat in his office trying to call in favors to find a plane. But for the first time in his time in Madripoor, people weren’t answering his calls. Or they had nothing to offer Tony. He wondered what was going on. Pepper’s leads evaporated mysteriously as well.
Steve had barely slept before he kissed Tony before dawn and said he had to go. Tony had the feeling that Steve had risked far too much just to see Tony again. He refused to tell Tony where his safe house was, leaving Tony with the impression that Steve was trying to protect him. But Tony was in up to his neck just like Steve.
He wasn’t going to give up yet. He had to get Steve out of Madripoor as soon as possible. The papers of transit meant nothing if Steve ended up in Schmidt or Fury’s clutches.
Pepper popped her head into Tony’s office. “You have a visitor,” she announced.
Tony shook his head. “Tell them some other time.”
“It’s Khan,” she said. “He won’t leave unless you see him.”
She was right. Tony sighed, stood up, and straightened his suit coat. Hoping he’d found his charm and equilibrium by the time he reached the club floor, Tony forced a smile on his face. “Mr. Khan, pleasure to see you,” he said to the man, seated at a table.
Khan waved off his bodyguards. “Tony Stark,” he stated as he pointed to a chair.
What was this with people ordering him around in his own club lately? But Tony sat down without protest. “So how can I help you?”
Khan flexed his ring-laden fingers. “I understand you have a problem ….”
“If this is about the French wine I ordered, I’ve been told there’s not much I can do about it,” Tony bluffed.
“Please, Mr. Stark, I’ve always had the understanding that you are an intelligent man, as I am. Much like yourself, I am a man of business, so don’t waste my time.”
Adjusting his sleeves, Tony sat up a little straighter, sensing that Khan wanted to negotiate. “Then what is this about?”
“You need a plane, I have a plane. I don’t care about your reasons, leave that to Schmidt and his cronies. All I care about is what you can offer me in return.”
So that was why Tony couldn’t find a plane. “I have a few things I’m willing to trade for access to a plane,” he replied, opening negotiations.
Khan picked a piece of imaginary lint from his camel coat. “I know your situation, Mr. Stark. Let’s cut the chase. You want to help a dear friend of yours. I want your club. Sign ownership of your club over to me and you have your plane.”
“No. Club’s not for sale.”
“Not even to save the life of Steven Rogers?”
“Steve can take care of himself.”
“No doubt. His activities in Europe are legendary. Yet here, there are different rules. You know that.”
Tony cursed silently. There were lots of people would sell out Steve for only twenty dollars American. It was only a matter of time before someone handed Steve over to Schmidt. It could be happening even now. He looked around his club and thought of Steve curled against him, the flashing light in his blue eyes as he told stories about fighting Nazis in France. Schmidt would kill him as soon as he got his hands on Steve.
He could start over. He always could. A little warning to his staff and he could slip away in the night with Pepper and Rhodey. But he couldn’t bring a dead Steve back to life.
“Fine, the club’s yours. But the plane --”
“Will be fueled and waiting for you at 6 tonight.” Khan took out a contract. “I assume that you will hand over the club, contents and contracts after you take the plane.”
Making of show of reluctance and distaste, Tony signed the papers. He had his plane and now he could move forward on his plans.
Assuming Steve would agree. That could be the sticking point.
“I am a man of my word, Mr. Stark,” Khan reassured him. “I will send my people to consult with Miss Potts about the inventory later.”
After Khan left, Tony went over to the bar and poured himself a glass of the most expensive Scotch whiskey he had. He sat in a chair, putting his feet up on the table. Felt like closing a chapter so he wanted to reflect a minute.
Only a minute though. “Pepper!” he shouted. “Pepper! I need you!”
~~~~~
Tony angrily packed the few personal belongings he wanted, a few favorite tools and some clothes in a battered suitcase. He had dispatched a tight-lipped Pepper to find people and retrieve money from hidden spots. He shoved his passport and travel documents into an inside pocket. He was ready to go.
Keenly aware of time slipping away, he rushed through his workshop. He stuffed a canvas bag full of various bits of hardware and anything he could use to slow down or stop pursuers. He wrecked the remains. He shut the apartment door for the last time and went downstairs.
Pepper was waiting with Natasha. Tony almost did not recognize Natasha in her street clothes, a simple brown suit, hat and gloves, a far cry from the glamorous chanteuse.
“Where’s Steve?” he asked Pepper.
“Safe,” Natasha replied. “I filled him in on the plans.”
Of course Natasha knew where Steve was stowed. Natasha knew all the secrets worth knowing in Madripoor and then some.
Pepper said, “We’ve had a change of plans, Tony. Natasha and Sharon think it’s a bad idea to meet up at the safehouse.”
“Schmidt’s men will follow you the minute you step outside,” Natasha continued. “Clint has a bolthole we can use.”
“You know Clint?” Tony asked.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Natasha picked at her gloves. “We should go. Is Hogan ready?”
They didn’t take Tony’s pride and joy, the imported Jaguar. Instead Pepper loaded Tony into the back seat of a nondescript ancient Chrysler Hogan had dug up. They barely made any progress through the late afternoon streets filled from curb to curb. Tony twisted his gloves in his hands in impatience.
He would later learn that Happy had taken the long way to the safehouse in order to lose Schmidt’s men. They turned off suddenly down a dark alley.
Bruce was waiting for them at a metal door. Natasha went in with Bruce. Clint pulled up behind them in another nondescript car. Tony turned to Pepper. “It’s fine, Tony, we’ve worked it out.”
After an interminable time waiting, Steve’s friends finally came out and went to Clint’s car. Natasha pushed Steve into Tony’s car. Bruce handed Steve a package. “Don’t lose that, Steve.”
“What about you and Clint?”
“We’re driving out on the ferry tonight. When we get back stateside, I promise to look you up,” Bruce said.
Natasha finished giving directions to Happy. “Good luck,” she said.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Pepper asked.
“There’s more to do,” she answered cryptically.
Tony looked over at Steve, who squeezed his hand. Even in the dim light of the alley, Tony could see a fresh cut along Steve’s jaw. “What happened?”
“We were out scouting earlier,” Steve offered as the only explanation.
After they left the alley, Happy shifted through traffic, eventually breaking free. Clint peeled off in the opposite direction. Happy raced through the crowded streets of Madripoor towards the airport just on the edge of the city. Steve sat tight-faced in the backseat, holding onto Tony. Pepper sat on the edge of the seat, her hand on Hogan’s shoulder.
Tony’s mood lightened as it looked like they would be able to escape with no interference.
Then Happy said, “This is easy. We have clear sailing to the airport.”
Steve gave him a look. “Never say that. We’re not on that plane yet.”
“But it’s going well! We’ll be there any minute now,” Happy said cheerfully.
Tony glanced over his shoulder. “Not any more,” he said grimly. Four black cars were now following them.
“Schmidt,” Steve hissed. He drew out a gun and readied it.
Happy floored the gas pedal and the car surged forward. It wasn’t good enough. Schmidt and his minions were breathing down their necks. Tony fished through his canvas bag for smoke bombs. A couple of well-aimed bombs immediately shrouded their fleeing car.
Broadly smiling, Steve slapped Tony on the shoulder. “A few more of those and we’re home free.” Tony grinned back.
Then one of Schmidt’s cars rammed the back of their car, shoving the car abruptly forward, Pepper screaming. Tony found his packages of tacks, nails and sharp metal pieces and threw them out the window. Steve shot out a tire. That bought them a short reprieve.
“How close are we?” Pepper asked.
“Not far,” Happy reported through clenched teeth.
Another car raced forward. And crashed right into a large truck which came out of nowhere. Tony caught sight of Hill waving them on. The accident blocked the road in both directions.
“See, I said we had friends,” Steve said.
Happy drove right onto the airport runway. Tony was never so glad to see Rhodey leaning against the airplane staircase. Sam and Sharon had already arrived. Happy stopped the car right in front of the plane.
“We made it,” Steve said, throwing an arm around Tony and kissing his temple.
They scrambled out of the car. Steve’s friends were climbing the stairs as Tony went to the trunk to grab his suitcase. Steve had nothing but the clothes on his back. Rhodey had started up the engines.
“Come on, Tony,” Steve urged. He ran over to the airplane.
They were too late. Schmidt arrived with fifty Nazis. Clint was already out of his car, pulling out a bow and arrows. He shot the arrows as fast as he could. Steve aimed his gun. Chaos broke out with bullets and arrows flying.
Steve had to escape. He was so close to the plane. Tony could see Rhodey urging them all to get going. He grabbed his canvas bag of tricks.
He ran towards the plane. But when he got to the plane, he could tell that they were losing the battle against Schmidt. Tony could put a crimp in their plans with his little devices.
Steve had to escape. All that they had done that day was to save Steve, because the information he had could change the course of the war. And they were losing.
All Tony could guarantee was delaying the inevitable. If Steve missed his chance, got stuck in Madripoor ….
Tony had no choice but to get Steve on that airplane and get the hell out of here. “Go, Steve,” he shouted over the sound of the airplane engines.
“Tony!” Steve shouted. “Not without you!”
He reached the plane and prodded Steve up the stairs. “Please, Steve,” he begged. “Just go!”
Steve gripped his hand. “Come with me.”
“I can stop Schmidt, but my bomb could have a negative effect on the plane. You have an important mission.” Inside, Tony was dying, but he knew he was doing the right thing.
Sharon ran down the stairs and tugged Steve backwards. Tony could see the tears in Steve’s eyes. “Go, Steve, go. I’ll find you. Just go,” he implored Steve. “You know that this is bad.”
Steve struggled for a minute, then let Sharon pull him into the airplane. Rhodey kicked the stairs away and sealed the hatch. Tony could see the plane inch forward. He could see Steve’s face plastered against a window. And Tony’s heart broke.
He pulled out his experimental bomb. Based on his calculations, this explosive could shut down all electronics in a 100 foot radius. Schmidt was shrieking in German at his soldiers.
Tony threw his bomb. It shorted out Schmidt’s cars, radios, anything that used electricity. But not the guns.
He saw the plane launch into the sky and relief flooded over him. Steve was safe. But he was not sure how he was going to escape. Clint ran over to him and tugged at his sleeve. They could drive away.
Then Fury arrived with a large contingent of well-armed police. Clint smiled grimly. “It’s all over now,” he said.
Tony was lost as Fury directed his police officers to arrest Schmidt and his soldiers. He could be on that plane with Steve right now. And Steve was gone. Steve’s devastated face would haunt Tony forever.
“Hold it right there, Stark,” Fury commanded. “You’re with us.” He nudged Tony towards the back of his car as Hill ordered Happy to put Tony’s suitcase into the truck of Fury’s car.
Getting into the car, a confused Tony asked, “What’s going on here, Fury?”
Fury, with his ever-present cigar, slid in right next to Tony. “We have a Navy ship to catch, you and me.”
“What about Happy and Pepper?”
Fury pointed at Hill. “She’ll take care of them.”
Hill whispered to Pepper. Pepper leaned through the window and said, “We’ll be fine, Tony.” She squeezed his hand.
With that, Fury tapped the shoulder of the driver. Once they were on their way, Fury lit his cigar. Blowing a smoke ring, he said, “Long story short, Rogers told me all about you. And I’m not leaving a man of your vast talent in the clutches of the likes of Khan and Schmidt. Off to the United States you go.”
Tony looked out the back of the car window, watching the fog envelop Hill, Pepper and Happy until they were lost to his sight. He had a lot of questions.
Fury continued. “After all, can’t let Rogers down. He won’t forgive me if I lose his best guy.”
“You -- you -- you were in on this from the beginning!” Tony accused.
“Maybe,” Fury replied with a sly grin. “But don’t think I’m going to say something dumb like this is the start of a beautiful friendship. That would be ridiculous.”
Tony was too exhausted to get a righteous anger going. “You’ll take me to him?”
“Yeah, he’ll be back home before we are. But yeah, you’ll see him.”
Worn out, Tony took a deep breath and collapsed into his seat. He soon fell asleep to the rhythm of the car, dreaming of Steve on the dock stateside waiting to throw his arms around him.
This time it would all turn out differently. This time, he swore, he would find a way to stick by Steve’s side.