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The rest of Tuesday night’s shift passes by quickly. It stays busy with non-stop patients, and Alicia bitching about a full moon that isn’t while Susie rolls her eyes. Lucas seems to be in better spirits, too, by the time first shift arrives. Because of the unexpected longer break that he took, Stiles stays a half hour later to help get patients settled.
When he steps outside, it’s cold and overcast. The sky is full of clouds that look suspiciously like snow clouds. He checks his phone and sees that it’s 39 degrees, which means it’s likely to be rain and some sleet but not snow. The temperature isn’t cold enough, thank God. While he actually does like snow, it means even more falls and broken limbs, which requires consultations with Ortho that ruin his shift.
Wrapping his scarf around his neck twice, he starts walking home. He’s made it half a block when he realizes there’s a dark car crawling along the sidewalk nearby. Richie’s warning is still in his mind when he changes his usual walk home by crossing the street. When he notices the car follow, he flexes his fingers and considers how he wants to handle this.
“Dr. Stilinski, can you please get into the car?”
The question is unexpected, and he turns to see the passenger’s side window rolling down. Bending slightly, he sees the driver and relaxes. It’s Hogan, from earlier today. “I thought you were the people following Richie,” he says, wondering if Hogan realizes how close he came to being attacked as a threat.
“Oh, sorry,” Hogan says, grimacing. “I didn’t think about that. I just didn’t want to alert you until you were away from the hospital just in case someone was watching.”
“There are eyes and ears everywhere, according to Richie,” Stiles says, walking over to the car. “Are you planning to take me to see him?”
“The boss wants to see you,” Hogan tells him. “Richie is settling in fine. You can see him after meeting with the boss.”
Stiles doesn’t want to meet with Stark, who he assumes is the boss that Hogan is referencing, but he knows he needs to because he fulfilled his end of sending a lifeline. It very well could have saved Richie’s life, so he can endure Stark for a very brief meeting. “Fine, I must,” he says, opening the door and sliding inside. “What?”
“You’re supposed to get in the back,” Hogan says, giving him a confused look. “I’m revisiting my chauffeur roots this morning.”
“Not with me, Hogan,” he says simply. “This isn’t an Uber, so I can sit in the front. You helped get my friend to safety, so why would I sit in the back alone and make things awkward?”
“What if having a stranger sit in the front with me is even more awkward?” Hogan asks, looking between Stiles and the backseat. “I might prefer riding alone.”
“The passenger seat is empty,” Stiles points out. “No briefcase or discarded sandwich wrappers. There’s also a butt indention on the seat. That means you’re used to someone sitting up here, at least enough that the seat has changed shape. If it’s awkward, just think how close we’d be to being finished with the drive if you were actually driving instead of debating a hypothetical.”
“You’re not going to move, are you?” Hogan asks, giving him a long-suffering look that seems well-used. “Figures you’d be as obstinate as Tony.”
“Wait, what do you mean by that? ” Stiles asks, glad when he starts driving because sitting around disputing seating arrangements isn’t high on his list of fun activities to do during the hours between work.
“Mean by what, Sir?” Hogan smirks slightly as he changes lanes. “I’ve worked with Tony Stark for years now. I’m immune to glares, bluster, threats, and attitude. If you’re not careful, I’ll just call you Mini Tony despite the fact you’re a few inches taller than he is.”
“I changed my mind. You aren’t a nice guy for helping Richie,” he says, reaching for the radio. “You’re as big an ass as your boss, who I am not alike.”
“Touch it and die,” Hogan warns when Stiles starts to change the channel. “Not alike, huh? Goes to show that you must not know Tony well at all. He isn’t the public persona that he puts on for the press. It’s as much of a costume as his suit.”
“I’ve met him once, and I didn’t see much acting on display since it was an audience of one,” Stiles says dryly. “I understand that he’s your boss so you have to defend him, but he isn’t mine. He’s an arrogant jerk who thinks he controls everything around him.”
“Don’t tell him that or he’ll just buy your hospital so he is your boss,” Hogan warns, grinning when Stiles gives him a look. “For whatever reason, Tony gave you his private number. He doesn’t share that with just anyone. I haven’t figured out who you are yet, Dr. Stilinski, but you’re on Tony’s radar, so that means you’re someone I have to keep an eye on.”
“Nah, you can keep your eyes to yourself,” Stiles tells him. “And it’s Stiles, not Dr. Stilinski. If I’m being kidnapped by Stark’s henchman, you can use my first name.”
“Kidnapped would indicate violent force,” Hogan points out. “You got into the car willingly and even chose your own seat. And it’s Mr. Henchman to you. Or you can call me Happy, if you want. It’s what Tony’s friends usually call me.”
“I’m not one of Stark’s friends; I’m not even an acquaintance,” Stiles says. “If you want me to call you Happy because it’s a name you use, fine. It won’t be due to some mythical connection with Stark, though. For the record, kidnapping doesn’t necessarily require violence. One can be kidnapped with an unspoken threat, such as having a boss who is a deadly superhero.”
Hogan snorts. “Deadly superhero if you’re a bad guy targeting innocent people, but not to aid and abet in a kidnapping of an upstanding young doctor. It wouldn’t stand up in court, MT.”
“The right lawyer would make it work,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at the use of MT. Mini Tony is not a nice nickname. “Where are we going? If this isn't kidnapping, our destination should be able to be shared freely.”
“We’re going to Stark Industries,” Hogan says. “Tony and Nat are waiting for you. See? Shared freely.”
“Nat’s going to be there? Good. I know what it’s about then, and I needed to give her new information anyway,” he says. He also knows it’s more likely to stay on topic if Nat is there because he can still meander sometimes, and Stark is worse than Stiles has ever been.
“I also wouldn’t be surprised if Pepper doesn’t drop by to see who woke them up at five in the morning,” Hogan says, shrugging when Stiles looks at him. “Like I said, Tony doesn’t give out his private number to just anyone.”
Bucky said that Pepper likes him; that’s how he was able to borrow a plane to go to DC. Stiles thinks she has questionable taste since she chose to marry Tony Stark, but she’s fond of Bucky, so she must have some redeeming qualities, too. Personally, he hopes that suspicion of Hogan’s is wrong because he’d like to focus on the information he learned before Richie showed up and not having to play nice with a civilian who is technically Lydia’s new boss.
Thinking about Bucky makes him check his phone. There aren’t any messages, which means he’s probably on the way home. He opens their text thread and types a message.
Been kidnapped by Happy the Clown. Being taken to SI for forced contact with a jackass and a scary redhead. Be safe. See you soon.
He sends the message and then bites his lip.
I miss your stupid face.
After sending that text, he puts his phone up and looks out the window to see that they’re close to Central Park. Traffic sucks because it’s New York City, but they’re making good time. He looks at Hogan and asks, “Was Richie okay after you left the hospital? Sometimes, he can have these spells.”
“He was fine,” Hogan says, glancing at him. “We got him warm clothes and a shower, which he mentioned he hadn’t had in a while.”
“The shelter system sucks,” Stiles says simply. “Too many people without houses, and not enough rooms for all of them. Not to mention the lack of resources for programs that many homeless need. Mental health and addiction are prevalent on the street, and those who do want to get jobs are often caught in a horrible cycle because they have no address and limited access to technology that’s needed to even apply to jobs these days. Don’t even get me started on veterans resources, or lack thereof, in a country where there are a select few individuals who hold the majority of money in the country.”
“You should talk to Tony. He’s one of those select few individuals, and he donates a lot of money to various charities,” Hogan says. “This is obviously a topic that matters to you, so maybe he can put some money somewhere to help. I know SI has donated money for medical equipment for a homeless coalition project, and, more recently, to an emergency department that needed updated technology.”
“Yeah, no thanks. I’m not good at sucking up to people to get money out of them,” he says, making a face at the idea of being forced to fundraise. “I didn’t even sell candy bars in school because I figured if someone wanted candy, they’d buy it. Sales is not my forte.”
Fortunately, the conversation is interrupted by the SI building in front of them. Stiles hasn’t paid it much attention because it’s just another building in Manhattan, and he doesn’t give a crap about the whole Iron Man woo thing like so many fanboys. Now, though, it’s a building that Lydia is going to be working in, which makes it much more interesting to him. He wonders which floor she’ll be on, and he hopes the gossip about Stark rebuilding with nearly indestructible materials after the alien invasion are actually true.
“Where’s research and development?” he asks Hogan. “Which floors, I mean?”
Hogan glances at him, obviously suspicious of the question. Stiles just looks at him stoically, not telling him why he wants to know. “The main tower is 93 floors, with the top eight being residential space and training rooms for Avenger related activities. The following ten floors are R&D with labs,” Hogan says finally. “Tony considered selling it a couple of years ago, but it’s something he decided against.”
“I live on the sixth floor, and that’s high enough for me,” Stiles mutters. He can’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong in a building this size, not to mention the fact it’s owned by a pompous superhero.
Hogan snorts. “Anything over ten floors sways, and that creeps me out,” he admits, grimacing. “Not the height, but the way the building moves.”
“Hogan, my man, you speak my language,” Stiles says solemnly, holding out his left fist.
“It’s Happy,” Hogan says, bumping his fist with his own before putting his hand back on the steering wheel.
They drive around to an entrance to private parking, which has a very strong gate and a box with a speaker. It’s not code controlled but actually manned by someone. That level of security bodes well for Lydia’s safety while at work. Even his dad would be impressed since code boxes can be hacked much easier than someone could be bought off for entry without leaving a trail of some kind.
Hogan pushes the button, waiting for a beep before he says, “Jarvis, it’s Happy. Number 9145.”
“Welcome back, Happy,” a smooth voice says. “I see that you’ve brought Dr. Stilinski with you. I’ll let Mr. Stark know that you’ll arrive in the control room shortly.”
“So, that Jarvis guy?” Stiles asks slowly. “I’m pretty sure Stark mentioned him this morning when I called because I was wondering who was sharing a bed with him and his wife.”
“Jarvis goes everywhere with Tony,” Hogan says after a moment of silent staring. His lips twitch slightly. “I’m sure that Tony will introduce you.”
“Ah cool. I’m all for polyamory and alternative lifestyles,” Stiles says. “I’m too possessive to share myself, but I’m supportive of anyone who chooses that for themselves.”
“I’m sure Tony will appreciate your open-mindedness,” Hogan tells him, his expression amused. He parks the car in a space marked with his name, and Stiles arches a brow at the bright yellow smiley face. “Tony couldn’t sleep one night, and I came to work the next day to find that painted before my last name.”
“Working for Stark sounds like it’s—“ He trails off because he knows he could very well be just as bad if he hadn’t been possessed and regurgitated in a way that made him more calm and quiet.
“Never a dull moment,” Hogan says with a grin. “If you’re ready, Stiles, we’ll go on upstairs.”
“Let’s get it done,” he says, opening the car door and getting out. He takes his bag with him so he can just leave from the front when either the meeting is over or he decides he’s done.
The elevator that they get on doesn’t have buttons. There’s a call button, an emergency stop, the door open and door closed buttons, and that’s it. Hogan pushes the button, and that same dude greets him. “Jarvis, we’re going to the 88th floor.”
“Of course, Happy,” Jarvis says. The elevator begins to move.
“Yeah, I couldn’t handle this,” Stiles admits, not caring who is listening. “I need to have some kind of control over things, like the freedom to push the floor button myself, even if this might be the most secure way of doing things.”
“This is the only elevator that I control completely, Dr. Stilinski,” Jarvis says. “Personal identification codes are required to access the upper levels of the tower when using the other elevators.”
“It’s because this one goes to the private parking,” Hogan explains. “It’s also an escape route if the upper levels are attacked because the programming has an override built in to go to the parking level if the override is triggered.”
“You know, that’s a lot of private information to share with someone you don’t know who isn’t part of your secure circle,” Stiles points out. “I could probably sell that intel and pay off my student loans with money leftover.”
“Stop threatening to sell my secrets, kid,” Stark says over the speaker. “Your student loans aren’t that high anyway because you had scholarships and an anonymous benefactor who covered tuition for med school. I did my research, remember? Jarvis, did you ever find out who the anonymous benefactor is? Besides, you’re too wrapped up in JimmyB to be a threat to my security.”
“The anonymous benefactor is none of your business, Stark,” Stiles says firmly, cutting Jarvis off before he can answer. “Anonymous is a word used for a reason. If the person wanted to be identified, they’d have sent a card.”
“Ah. You know who it is then,” Stark says, sounding curious. Stiles has never even told Peter that he suspects him of being his anonymous benefactor, and he certainly isn’t telling some stranger. “Jarvis, disregard that search. Happy, what took you so long? Nat and I have been bored.”
“It’s morning rush hour in the middle of a weekday, and I was driving from the Bronx,” Hogan says patiently. “Next time, you and Nat are welcome to make the drive with me if you’re worried about boredom.”
“Ugh, I forgot it was the Bronx,” Stark says. “Did you make it out with the car still intact? Our insurance will go up if there are bullet holes.”
“Hey, Mr. Midtown Mogul,” Stiles says, scowling at the mirror in front of him. “The Bronx isn’t any more dangerous than other parts of this city, especially during daylight. The assholes down on Wall Street are bigger crooks than any of the addicts in my neighborhood anyway.”
“Touchy, touchy,” Stark says, sounding delighted. “Do tell me more about your opinions of Wall Street assholes.”
“You realize that you’re one of them, right?” Stiles asks, looking at the camera and arching a brow. “I think I’ll be polite to my boo’s work colleague for now.”
Stark starts laughing over the intercom. “Jarvis, effective immediately, change JimmyB’s call sign to My Boo,” he demands. “I also want the song by Alicia Keys with that title to play every time he walks into a room in the tower.”
The idea of Bucky having that old song following him around the tower makes Stiles grin because it is a funny prank and completely harmless. He catches Hogan smirking at him. “What?”
“Nothing at all, MT,” Hogan says with that smug look. “Just wondering how Barnes is going to like Usher.”
“I take my fistbump back, Hogan,” he says, scowling at the use of MT. “As for Bucky, he can take a joke, I’m sure.”
Before Hogan can dispute that, the elevator doors open. Stiles steps out and looks around curiously. A door opens halfway down the hall, and he sees Nat standing in the doorway.
“You wouldn’t happen to know why Tony came in just now singing some awful song about being boo’d up, would you?” Nat asks, staring at him intently. “He said it was, and I quote, the good doctor’s fault.”
“Don’t look at me,” Stiles says, shrugging. “I don’t know the man, and I’m certainly not responsible for anything going on in his mind.”
“He referred to Barnes as his boo when speaking with Tony,” Hogan tells her. He raises a hand when Stiles glares at him. “No offense, but I’m more scared of Nat than you.” He gently moves Stiles forward. “I’ve delivered the doctor to you and Tony, so my work is done. I’m going home to take a nap should you need me.”
“I’m not a UPS parcel,” Stiles grumbles, entering the room that Nat’s in and stopping as he looks around wide-eyed. “I think I’m in love. Tell Bucky I’m sorry but that I’ve found my soulmate and it’s this beautiful glass murder board.”
Nat snorts. “I don’t think the glass will keep you very warm at night,” she points out, following him into the room. “And I know it doesn’t kiss as well as James does.”
“You don’t understand the love between a man and his dry erase planning board,” he says in a snotty tone that Lydia would be proud of, ignoring her remark about kissing Bucky because she’s not the one kissing him now. “I was just wishing I had one of these last night, and now it’s here. Like a dream come true. Where are the markers? My fingers are itching to start compiling information.”
“My mind's telling me one thing, but I guess I should listen to my heart,” Stark is singing as he walks in from another room. He’s wearing a ratty Van Halen t-shirt that looks older than Stiles, and he’s singing the song like it’s AC/DC instead of some r&b thing. “Boo'd up, boo'd up Grab me by the waist, baby, pull me closer—Kid! You’re finally here. Nat, why is he fondling my project planning board?”
“I think I’m going to go downstairs and stand in traffic,” Nat says dryly, looking at the ceiling like she’s praying for patience.
“Uh, sorry,” Stiles says, stepping back from the pretty glass with perfectly lined tape and its own compartment for post-it notes. “I really was wishing I had one of these last night, though. I also haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours.”
“I was sleeping until someone decided to wake me up at five this morning,” Tony says. “At least, it was for something important because it took me thirty-six hours before I was ready to rest this time.”
“God, there are two of them,” Nat mutters, shaking her head. She walks over and picks something up off the counter before she makes her way to where he’s standing. “Here. Write all over it.”
“I knew you liked me,” Stiles says, looking at the assorted dry erase markers she’s just handed him.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nat says, arching a brow. “Now, why don’t you summarize your connection with this case because Richie mentioned several things that were completely new information to me.”
“What did he say?” Stiles asks sweetly. He isn’t about to say more than he has to because he doesn’t want them to realize he’s the one who subdued Stasia for Bucky to capture. Richie doesn’t know about that, thankfully, but he does know about Stiles having those photos of Jose.
Photos. Oh fuck. That reminds him that he’d been in the middle of research when Richie showed up at the hospital. He gets his phone and opens his photo app, scrolling down until he reaches the images he’d had on screen earlier this morning.
“You were wrong, Nat,” he says, looking at each photo of a business card that he took when he was breaking into Wash’s office. “Erra Lagren Inc does actually have a connection to this case.”
“Kid, don’t ever tell a woman that they’re wrong,” Stark says, making a noise with his tongue. “Even if they are, saying it that way just pisses them off.”
“How was I wrong?” Nat asks, her tone frosty, which seems to back-up Stark’s advice. “I searched and didn’t find anything useful at all.”
“I got as far as researching Erra, and I found a connection in the first link,” he admits, looking up from his phone. “Don’t feel too bad. It was easy to miss. It was a random reference on a Wikipedia article for some metalcore band from Alabama.”
Nat narrows her eyes at him, still looking annoyed in a way that is vaguely reminiscent of Lydia. “I saw the band results when I searched the name of the company, but I didn’t read the articles because it has nothing to do with Hydra. I focused on the names I discovered instead.”
“Erra is an Akkadian plague god,” Stiles says, unfastening one of the markers and writing the name down on the glass board. “From what I was able to find, I believe that Lagren is an anagram for Nergal, who was a major god worshiped throughout Mesopotamian history. He was the god of war, death, and disease.” He looks at them both. “Erra was assimilated to Nergal at some point.”
Stark whistles. “So Hydra was funneling money to a prominent Infectious Disease doctor using a company named after death and plague?” Stark looks at Nat. “You’ve got to admit, the kid did good.”
“It’s also the name on this flier,” Stiles says, removing the flier that Richie gave him. “Sponsored by Erra Lagren. He and I suspect that they are obtaining test subjects from the homeless population under the guise of a clinical test trial.”
“That’s what got him on their radar, isn’t it?” Nat asks, looking at the flier then back at him. “Amateurs shouldn’t be involved in something this large and deadly. He could have been killed, Stiles.”
“He made his choice, Nat, and I’m not going to be condescending enough to tell a former soldier what his limits are,” Stiles says simply. “He knew the risk and offered to track down the information because he’d have access to the community that the rest of us wouldn’t.”
“How did you get involved in this, kid?” Stark asks, fortunately cutting off any further attempts by Nat to make him feel guilty for Richie’s involvement.
“There was a missing homeless kid. Richie and a friend of his asked me to keep an eye out for him,” Stiles says honestly. “There’s a detective that I spoke to about him, and I was contacted when a John Doe washed up on shore matching the kid’s description. I took pictures of the file he showed me, but I heard that the detective was attacked soon after, so I didn’t go around showing anyone other than Richie once. The body that washed up was the missing homeless teenager, and that’s when Richie told me about the clinical studies.”
“You heard that he was attacked,” Nat says, studying him closely. “Did James happen to mention that he stumbled upon the detective and a high ranking member of Hydra at an opportune moment to save the detective and capture the agent?”
“I assume that’s part of the whole classified thing that we never talk about,” Stiles says, meeting her gaze without blinking. “I didn’t tell him about Richie and the fliers because I wasn’t aware that the missing kid was part of the Hydra issue. I thought it only involved Dr. Wash and whatever he’s been doing through my hospital.”
“Jarvis, did you hear anything off in that?” Stark asks suddenly. Stiles looks around because he doesn’t see anyone else here.
“No, sir,” Jarvis says, and Stiles looks around again. “His pulse is steady, his breathing even, his sentences structured with detail, and he is not perspiring.”
“Okay, that’s creepy but also cool. What the hell is it?” Stiles asks, thankful that he spent so many years learning to lie to werewolves that it’s now effortless to say things that are half true to bypass any type of lie detector. From the wolfy kind to whatever Stark has.
“That’s just a rather very intelligent system,” Stark says proudly before looking at Nat. “Jarvis said the kid’s being honest. What do you think?”
“I think that he bends the truth in a way that is skillful yet misleading,” Nat says bluntly. “What was his IQ in that research you did?”
“I’ve never taken an IQ test,” Stiles says, giving her an annoyed look. “I’m right here. You can ask me. I’m a genius, but I never tested well when I was young because you had to sit still for too much and my mind would wander.”
“Standardized testing is a bunch of bullshit,” Stark says vehemently. “So this dead homeless kid is what led Richie to Hydra’s clinical trial? Makes sense why he wanted to get involved. Don’t give me that look, Nat. You spoke to him, too. He’s an honorable veteran with some fucked up mental health courtesy of the damn government.”
Stiles really wishes Stark wouldn’t say things like that because it’s hard to keep disliking him when he’s not wrong about some stuff. “Yeah, when he mentioned it to me, and I saw that name on the flier, I knew it had to be involved with Wash somehow. I would have called Bucky, but he’s in an undisclosed location, so it had to be Stark.”
“Because someone underestimated the kid and didn’t give him their contact number,” Stark says with a look at Nat.
“I didn’t underestimate him,” Nat mutters, looking at the information Stiles wrote on the glass board. “I just didn’t expect him to find anything that we couldn’t see considering we’ve been working on this for months.”
“Oh, this is it,” Stiles says, enlarging the photo that he finally found. “I knew I’d seen it somewhere.”
“What?” Nat asks. “It’s a business card, isn’t it? How is this important, Stiles?”
“So, hypothetically, I might have been bored one night at work and broke into Wash’s office,” Stiles says, looking at them, “and searched his desk. In this entirely hypothetical situation, I might have taken photos of a stack of business cards that I found in his drawer and then forgot about taking said photos until last night when I scrolled too far.”
Nat sighs and rubs her temples while Stark grins.
“Yeah, I’ve seen those expressions on plenty of peoples’ faces over the years,” he admits. “The bottom drawer of Wash’s desk was empty, like he took all of the files out of it in a hurry. The business cards didn’t seem important, and, honestly, I didn’t want to hear Bucky bitch at me for doing something so stupid, so I didn’t think about them after.”
“Hypothetically,” Stark adds gleefully. “You forgot that part, kid.”
“What does this have to do with Hydra, Stiles?” Nat asks. “I assume it must since you were looking for it to show us.”
“The name on the card is Sibitti Corp,” he says, moving back to the board and writing the name down. “Sibitti was mentioned in my research in Erra. The seven sons of heaven and earth who were assigned a destructive destiny. They called on Erra to lead the destruction of mankind.”
“What does the fairy tale about gods and plagues have to do with this?” Stark asks. “I get that Hydra is obviously doing something with biological weapons, but is there a purpose in their linking it to some old stories or not?”
“Hydra started as a cult in ancient times around Hive,” Nat says thoughtfully. “It’s possible that the members of this particular cell wanted to harken back to the cult days with something more appropriate for their current mission.”
“Yeah, not all of Hydra are crazy Nazis,” Stiles says. “Some of them are just crazy fanatics. I can’t say what the connection is because I seriously just found these breadcrumbs this morning, so I’m still trying to follow them and need to do more in-depth research to see if there are other pieces of the puzzle to help make a connection.”
“Alright,” Stark says, hopping off the table he’s been sitting on. “Jarvis, help the good doctor research. Whatever he needs, find it.” He nods at Stiles. “Jarvis has access to databases that your little phone can’t even dream about. You can use the room and the board for as long as you need to. Nat, let’s go look into this Sibitti Corp while the kid gets nerdy.”
The idea of being able to research using all of this tech and Jarvis is too irresistible for Stiles to refuse. He bites his tongue to make sure he doesn’t make any rude remarks about Stark continuing to call him kid like he’s in high school or the whole nerdy thing because, yeah, he’s about to totally get his research geek on.
Nat hands him his phone back and arches her brow, which is either something she does a lot normally or is something he makes her do because he’s seen it often whenever they’ve conversed. “I put my number in your phone. If you find anything, tell Jarvis, and he’ll contact us.”
Stiles scrolls until he sees the entry labeled Nat. He edits it to Scary Sasha so no one looking through his phone will recognize the name. Scary redhead doesn’t work since Lydia is scarier than Nat is, so it’s Sasha for her. He scrolls up to edit the entry he made for Stark earlier, revising Jackass to Genius Old Man. When he looks up, Nat and Stark are gone.
“Uh, Jarvis? Do I just talk to you like this?” he asks, still a bit creeped out but also incredibly impressed by the AI.
“Yes, sir,” Jarvis answers.
“Okay, that’s not going to be good for me,” he says. “You can call me Stiles, ok? Sir is going to make me look for an adult.”
“Human adults are considered to be between the ages of twenty and thirty-nine, Stiles,” Jarvis tells him, and he thinks maybe the damn thing is making fun of him.
“What are you trying to say, Jarvis?” he asks, tapping the marker against the table.
“Perhaps we should begin our research by cross-referencing Erra, Nergal, and Sibitti,” Jarvis says.
“Uh huh,” he says slowly. “Sure, let’s start there. Time to get our research groove going, Jarvis.”
Stiles gets sucked into a research haze. He doesn’t even realize how long he’s been working with Jarvis until he suddenly hears Usher singing. It startles him so much that he drops the cap of the marker that he’s been chewing on.
“What the hell is that, Jarvis? It’s not funny anymore,” Bucky bitches as he rounds the corner. He sees Stiles and blinks. “Doc? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Buck,” Stiles says, sliding off the table and walking over to him. “What time is it? You’re back already. God, I missed you.” He leans up and kisses Bucky, reaching up to hold his jaw as he deepens the kiss.
Bucky returns the kiss, licking into his mouth and pushing him back against the table. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you,” Bucky says in between kisses, “but what are you doing in Stark’s control room? That text you sent me was hours ago.”
“Jarvis and I became research buddies,” he says, tilting his head slightly so Bucky can nibble on his neck. “Didn’t we, Jarvis?”
“Research besties forever, Stiles,” Jarvis says in that posh accent that makes the words sound even funnier.
“Huh, I could have skipped the life or death requirement if I’d just researched with you?” Bucky asks, scraping his teeth under Stiles’ ear in that sensitive spot that makes him moan.
“Gentlemen, Mrs. Potts-Stark would like for me to let you know that, while she would greatly enjoy the free show, Mr. Stark will be annoyed if you use his table for such activities,” Jarvis says. “She suggests coming upstairs for a glass of ice water to help cool things off.”
Bucky chuckles against his neck before raising his head. “Caught in the act,” he murmurs, waggling his eyebrows. “Jarvis, please tell Pepper that we appreciate the offer, but I’m going to take my boyfriend home so he can get some sleep before he has to be at work tonight. We’ll have that water together another day.”
“I haven’t slept since DC,” he admits, smiling sheepishly. “I got used to sharing a bed with you, and it just felt empty and cold and uncomfortable.”
“Can your research stop for now?” Bucky asks. “And don’t think you’re going to flutter those pretty brown eyes at me to distract me from the fact that you met with Stark and Nat and seem pretty comfy here with Jarvis. I’m going to expect some answers once you’ve slept a few hours.”
“Yeah, Jarvis, can you put a bookmark in our current place? I’ll see if Stark will let me come back to finish,” he says before looking at Bucky. “I plan to fill you in on everything, Buck. No secrets, remember? Classified work the only exception.”
Bucky leans down and kisses him, keeping it chaste since they apparently have an audience consisting of Mrs. Potts-Stark. “I wasn’t able to sleep, either,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against Stiles’ forehead for a moment. “It’s almost three. It isn’t much time, since I know you need to be at work by seven, but we can go to my place to sleep. You left some scrubs over there last time you slept over.”
“Sleep sounds wonderful,” he says, the hours of being awake catching up to him now that Bucky’s back. “So does pizza. Can we order one on the way? I could eat a whole one myself, I think. As Alicia pointed out, I was missing my lunch and snacks last night. She made me go get food because she didn’t want my boyfriend mad at her.”
Bucky grins when he says boyfriend. “Damn right. Glad someone up there is looking out for you when I’m not here,” he says. “We can get a couple of pizzas on the way home. If you’re ready, let’s go.”
“Wait, did you come here for something?” Stiles asks. “You seemed surprised that I was still here, so it wasn’t for me.”
“Stark sent me a text when we landed saying that I needed to stop by to collect my things from the command center,” Bucky says dryly. “I assume he meant you since I don’t see anything else of mine around here.”
“Then I’m ready to go eat and sleep before I have to go back to work,” he says, taking Bucky’s hand after he grabs his backpack. “Bye, Jarvis. Tell Stark thanks for letting me borrow you.”
As they enter the hall, he hears Usher beginning to sing from the overhead speaker. He bites his lip to keep from laughing as Bucky glares at the ceiling. “What the hell is this stupid song? It’s been playing since I got here.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure, Buck. Maybe there’s a glitch or something,” he says thoughtfully, glad that Jarvis doesn’t call him out because Bucky looks slightly annoyed at the song. So, okay, maybe there can be one secret between them, he decides, humming along to Alicia Keys’ part when they enter the elevator.