Fandom:
Iron Man (movieverse)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Summary: It will not be long, love...
Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong
to Marvel Comics, Fairview Entertainment, Dark Blades Films, NBC, and other
entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement
is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others
belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first.
Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Yet another cliché; I can't seem to resist 'em. Heaps of abject thanks to Cincoflex
for putting up with this thing for over a year now, encouraging,
poking, rereading, admonishing, and generally being the wonderful
enthusiastic person that she is! Many thanks also to Laura27md
for last-minute reassurance and a parallax view. Please note, I
did not always take their excellent advice! Also, the rating may change later.
Cincoflex also did the perfect banner, of course! :D
*********
The voice mail icon was blinking at him. Again.
Tony ignored it the same way he had ignored the five previous ones, but
it went on flashing with mindless patience, almost as irritating as the
man who’d sent it. But Tony was completely uninterested in
talking to Agent Phil Coulson, so when he’d finished the latest
round of soldering he leaned over to slide a forefinger across the
touch screen and drop the icon into the trash.
I told Fury nothing doing until I clean up Stane’s mess. SHIELD can go fuck itself.
“Jarvis,” he said absently, “shunt all further voice
mails from any member of SHIELD straight to the trash. And
don’t let them get through on Pepper’s number at
all.” If he wasn’t careful she’d schedule him
for a meeting with that pack
of weirdos, and Tony just didn’t have the time to spend right
now. In the back of his mind he thought it could be kind of a
nifty idea, if it were run right, but he had bigger fish to fry at the
moment.
He was so busy that it took him another hour to notice that Pepper hadn't yet appeared.
Normally she came down to the workshop and nagged him about something
by midmorning if he hadn’t gone upstairs already, but when he
looked up from the suit schematics it was almost noon and there was no
sign of his normally annoyingly punctual personal assistant.
He frowned, puzzled. “Jarvis? What’s Pepper up to right now?”
“I do not know,” the AI answered. “She is not in the house.”
That made Tony sit
back. “What do you mean? Is she running an
errand?” It wasn’t like her to go someplace without
at least telling Jarvis first.
“She has not yet arrived at the house today,” Jarvis said. “No reason has been given.”
No reason? “What exactly did she say when she called?”
Jarvis’ tone was patient. “Pepper has not called any of the lines this morning.”
Tony frowned, unease stirring. Pepper always calls. What the hell, is she sick?
The thought alarmed him, because a Pepper too sick to call and let them
know she wouldn’t be in was a Pepper dangerously ill.
“Call her.”
A moment’s pause, and then-- “Her phone is going directly to voice mail.”
“Home phone,” Tony ordered. “And put it on speaker.”
Jarvis complied, and Tony listened to the four rings before the voice mail click. “Hello, you have reached 310-555-4310. I’m not available, so leave a message.”
When the beep came, Tony spoke. “Pepper, where the hell are
you? Call me.” Standing up, he reached for a shirt to
cover the arc reactor poking through the hole in his sleeveless
tee. “Jarvis, save and close. I’m going over
there.”
He half-ran up the stairs while Jarvis shut down the holographic display. I don’t like this at all. Pepper was important, whether
she wanted to acknowledge it or not, and he was suddenly having visions
of her fevered or unconscious or both, passed out on her bathroom floor
or too sick to move.
He went directly to the little office she’d set up in one of the
suites. Tony didn’t usually mess with Pepper’s desk,
but he knew her, and there had to be a set of spare keys in there
somewhere--she was just too careful to not have at least one
backup.
The first desk drawer he opened held office supplies and letterhead,
but the second had more personal items. Tony pulled out a shallow
box that held a hairbrush and various elastics, and grinned as he
spotted the keys underneath. Grabbing them, he dropped the box
back into place and shoved the door shut.
As he left her office, though, Jarvis spoke again. “There is an incoming call from Mr. Hogan.”
“Take a message,” Tony directed, heading for the stairs. “I’ll drive myself.”
“I suggest you do otherwise, sir. He says it is an emergency.”
“Ngh.” Tony stopped, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, patch me in.”
“Sir?” Hogan’s voice was hoarse and uneven, and Tony’s concern suddenly doubled.
“I’m here. What’s the matter? You okay, Happy?”
“No...I mean, yeah, I’m all right, but it’s not...we got carjacked, sir. This morning.”
Tony frowned at nothing. “Carjacked? Where are you
calling from? And what--wait a minute, what do you mean we?”
Ice filled his veins as Hogan answered, the chauffeur’s voice
full of pain. “Ms. Potts and I. Her car
wouldn’t start so she called me to pick her up. We got
jumped on the back route...” His voice faded for a
moment. “I woke up but I don’t know where she
is. She's not here.”
He’d been scared before. He’d gotten to know fear
very well indeed in Afghanistan, but never had it felt quite like
this--like the earth was opening right in front of his feet. The
deadly calm of his own voice surprised him. “Where are you
now?”
“Queen of the Valley...sir, I’m...”
“I’ll be right there.” Tony made a cutting
motion he knew his computer would pick up, and ran back down the
stairs, only hitting every other one.
“Jarvis...”
“Sir, I do not think the suit is an appropriate response at this time,” Jarvis said uneasily.
Tony didn’t slow down. “The hell it’s not, but it doesn’t do me any good without a fucking target.”
He skidded to a stop next to the Audi and flung the door open, dropping
into the seat and deliberately belting up, because the speed he
intended to employ required safety measures. “Get on
this. Find out what you can. Hack the police bands if you
have to, I want every possible scrap of information available.
Relay to me as soon as you have something.”
He slammed the door and revved the engine, and left marks on the floor peeling out.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of fast lane changes and angry
honks. Tony spared only as much attention as needed to driving,
the rest of his mind racing furiously.
Pepper.
Extrapolating from what Hogan had said, the limo had been ambushed and
Hogan knocked out. Pepper’s location was unknown. It
was completely and totally unacceptable,
and the screaming fear and rage in his head and chest was only just in
check, because until he had more data there was nothing Tony could
do.
Fortunately for his fraying temper and the hospital’s legal team,
Happy was in a regular bed, not the ICU, which meant he could have
non-family visitors. The chauffeur was Tony’s employee, not
Stark Industries’, but he had the same health insurance that SI
executives got, and that meant a private room.
Happy was sitting on, not in, the bed when Tony blew into the room; his
face was greenish pale and he sported a bandage over one ear. His
expression was agonized. “Mr. Stark--“
Tony held up a hand. “First things first. How are you?”
Happy shrugged, and winced. “Head hurts. I’ll live.”
Tony nodded. “Take it from the top.”
The chauffeur rubbed the back of his neck. “She called for
a pickup when her car wouldn’t start. I got there just
before seven; the highway was a parking lot so we took the back
way.”
Tony knew the route Hogan was talking about; it was a coastal road that
went through some pretty uninhabited stretches. Hogan lowered his
hand and continued. “We were the only car for about a mile,
I guess, when we got pulled over by a motorcycle cop. At least
that’s what they wanted us to think.”
He looked up at Tony, eyes full of more pain than that of his
injuries. “It was the usual thing, license and
registration, and Ms. Potts rolled down the divider to ask what was
going on. He tossed something in, some kind of fumer, because it
stank like hell and we both started choking.”
Tony’s hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t interrupt. Hogan was the best lead he had.
“I jumped the sonofabitch and we both went down, but he got in a
lucky hit with his nightstick. When I opened my eyes the limo was
gone and there was a whole van full of migrant workers standing around
me.” Hogan’s mouth twitched slightly.
“Two of ‘em held me still until the EMTs got there. I
wasn’t too pleased at the time but I wasn’t thinking too
straight either.”
A small part of Tony’s mind made a mental note to find out who
the good Samaritans were, because in his book people who helped his people
deserved a reward. But most of his attention was elsewhere.
“Did they see where the limo went?”
Happy started to shake his head and then clearly thought better of it. “No, it was long gone.”
With Pepper inside--and, it seemed, gassed. “All
right.” He thought rapidly for a moment. “The
limo has GPS and a tracker, and Pepper’s phone has a locator
chip. That’s a start; they might toss the GPS but I doubt
they’ll know to look for the car’s tracker.” He
needed to call Jarvis right now. “If you think of anything else--“
Hogan pushed himself to his feet. “Sir, I’m coming with--“
Tony put a quick hand under Hogan’s elbow as the chauffeur swayed dizzily. “You’re staying here, at least until you can walk without your eyes crossing.” He gave Hogan a stern look.
“You’ll need help.” Hogan wasn’t giving up easily, but he was clearly unwell.
“I’ve got Jarvis. I’ll get Rhodey.
You’re staying until the doctors say you can leave.”
It was a measure of Hogan’s injuries that Tony was able to push
him back down on the bed. Every nerve was screaming at him to go
find Pepper now, but he had a responsibility to Happy too.
Hogan swallowed hard and relented, closing his eyes and turning greener
still. “They were pros, sir,” he said, barely above a
whisper. “It was smooth.”
Tony nodded tightly, even though Hogan couldn’t see him.
“Right.” He patted the man’s shoulder
once. “Rest up. We’ll keep you
posted.”
“Thank you.” Hogan seemed to melt into the mattress. “You find her.”
Tony whirled, and left the room at a pace just short of a run.
If the drug made him sick, what’s it doing to Pepper?
The thought was another coal in his fear-fueled rage. He fumbled
for his phone, cursed when he saw one of the signs that forbade its
use, and picked up speed.
As soon as he had the engine running, Tony activated the voice-response
system and called Jarvis, telling him to scan for the tracking
devices. Then he called Rhodey.
The colonel was not pleased to be interrupted in the middle of a
meeting, but he snapped to attention at the news. “Damn,
Tony. Pepper, she-- Have you called the cops
yet?”
“What are they going to do that Jarvis can’t?” Tony
snapped. “This has to be a ransom snatch, or they would
have just killed her on the spot.”
“Yeah.” Tony could hear the doubt in Rhodey’s
voice, but he refused to pay attention. The same doubt was
lurking in his own mind, steadfastly ignored--the idea that Pepper
might have been taken as part of a revenge scheme. Killing
someone immediately didn’t offer the same opportunities as
dragging hope out. “I’m on my way--where are you
now?”
“Headed back home. Jarvis should have something by the time
I get there.” Tony swerved deftly around a slower
car. “Meet me there.”
He beat Rhodey to the house, but not by much--the colonel’s truck
pulled up in the garage just as Tony was climbing out of his own.
Tony didn’t spare him a glance. “Jarvis,
report,” he ordered.
“I have located both Pepper’s cellphone and the
limousine’s tracker, though the GPS appears to be
off.” Jarvis’ voice was crisp. “The phone
is stationary, approximately thirteen miles north-northeast of
here. The tracker is some seventy miles further, and is
moving.”
“Good. Load both sets of coordinates into the suit and
let’s get going.” Tony yanked open the drawer where
he kept the neoprene liners he wore underneath the armor.
“You sure you don’t want to call the police?” Rhodey
asked uneasily. “They have a lot more experience in this
kind of thing.”
Tony bared his teeth at his friend. “I’ve been
kidnapped, Rhodey, that’s plenty of experience.” He
started stripping down on the spot. “We don’t have
any time to waste. You’d better follow me on the
ground.” Tony could, if necessary, carry a passenger while
flying, but only if the passenger were conscious enough to hold
on.
“Gotcha.” Rhodes headed back to his truck. Tony
briefly considered offering him a faster vehicle, then decided against
it; the truck could handle going off-road, if it came to that.
The assembly platform was opening as Jarvis prepped the armor.
Tony shrugged into the liner, zipped it up, and strode over to put
himself in his robots’ appendages.
Hang on, Pepper. I’m coming.
Don’t, Virginia thought to herself sternly. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
In the uncertainty behind her closed eyes, the admonition could mean
many things. Don’t panic, don’t move, don’t
vomit. To a degree it meant all of them. Virginia lay very
still, trying to cultivate limpness, and clenched her teeth on the
nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
The tape over her mouth could kill her if she lost control over her
stomach, and she breathed as deeply and as silently as she could
through her stinging nose. Fortunately, the air she sucked in was
cool, and her stomach settled a little.
She didn’t need to know what was going on; Virginia remembered
all too clearly Happy being stopped by a motorcycle cop who
wasn’t. She even remembered him tackling the fake officer,
but that was when the gas had taken her out. I hope he’s all right--
Her throat was dry and her mouth tasted terrible; whatever gas
they’d used seemed to have burned her nose. But she
couldn’t detect any other injuries.
Virginia took as much stock of her surroundings as she could
without moving. She was lying on something relatively soft, if
lumpy, and her hands--bound behind her back--were pressed between
herself and something equally soft. A couch?
The air was cool, yes, but had a closed, indoor sort of smell.
And there were voices, muffled slightly by distance or a barrier.
But before she could concentrate enough to try to make out what was
being said, they fell silent.
There was something over her eyes as well, Virginia realized; something
light and loose. She opened her eyes cautiously, and saw nothing,
her lashes brushing the blindfold. Well, that’s reassuring. Sort of.
A blindfold meant that her captors didn’t want her to see them,
which might mean that they intended to release her eventually. A
small hope, but it was something, anyway.
Whatever was binding her wrists was tight and thin--not so much as to
cut off her circulation, but enough that she couldn’t wriggle
free. Her ankles were bound too, she realized, and couldn’t
suppress a shiver. I’m effectively helpless.
Her shoes were gone, but as far as she could tell she was still wearing the same clothes, which was also reassuring. It’s a good thing I chose slacks this morning instead of a skirt...
A voice nearby almost made her flinch. “She awake yet?” Cold, male, brusque.
A younger voice, also male, answered. “She was moving a minute ago, but she stopped.”
The first voice grunted. Virginia heard footsteps, and managed to
keep from reacting when a hand gripped her shoulder and shook
her. Then fingers were fumbling along her cheek, and with a
brutal tug the tape was ripped away.
Virginia couldn’t help her gasp. It felt like the top
layer of her skin had been pulled off with the tape, but it was a
relief to take a deep breath. The grunt came again, this time
satisfied. The hand on her shoulder tightened--not cruelly, but
just short of it. “You awake now?”
There didn’t seem any point in denying it, so Virginia licked her
dry lips--the adhesive tasted bitter--and spoke.
“Yes.” Her voice was a croak.
“Good. Listen up. We don’t want to hurt you, so
as long as you cooperate, you’ll be fine. Just do as
you’re told and don’t make trouble, and you could be home
in a day or two.” The hand squeezed.
“Understand me?”
Virginia nodded jerkily.
“Good,” he said again, and let go. The footsteps
retreated, and a door closed. Virginia lay still, knowing that
there was still someone in the room, but her throat was as dry as her
lips and eventually she had to ask.
“Can I--can I have something to drink?”
Her voice didn’t even sound like her own, and Virginia realized
that below her veneer of logic was an absolute cold terror.
“Yeah, I guess so.” The younger male sounded more
bored than anything else. She heard a few unidentifiable rattles,
and then the click of a bottle being twisted open. A moment later
an awkward arm slid under her, lifting her upright on the couch.
It was hard to balance with her hands behind her back and her ankles
together, but Virginia managed, feeling chilly concrete under her
stockinged toes but more focused on the promised drink than anything
else. She felt the mouth of the bottle brush her lips, and angled
her head as the man tilted it.
Water--warm, but sweet. Virginia wanted to gulp, but her stomach
was still uneasy, so she settled for a few swallows. A couple of
drops dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, and she licked them away
hastily. “That’s enough.” After a second,
she added “Thank you.”
Being polite was about the last thing she wanted to do, but it might make a difference.
“Yeah.” The man moved away, and judging from the
sounds sat down again. A faint rustle of paper hinted at a
magazine.
Virginia smothered a belch from her unhappy stomach, and tried to breathe slowly. Hyperventilating is not going to help.
Her mind was still spinning, trying to process what had happened.
It was pretty clear that she was being held for a reason, and the
target was more than obvious. Tony.
Virginia wondered if he even knew she’d been taken.
She wondered if Happy was all right, or hurt, or dead--or a captive as
well. She wondered what Tony’s response would be when he
found out she was being used as leverage against him.
She wondered if she was going to get out of this alive. And if she would ever even see anything again.
“The man with me,” she ventured a while later. “Can you tell me if he’s all right?”
The flip of a page reached her ears. “I’m not
s’posed to talk to you,” the voice said
disinterestedly.
Nice try. It was
hard work sitting up with little balance and no sight, and her head
hurt. Slowly, guessing, Virginia lay carefully down on her other
side, trying to angle herself so that her face was outward. The
couch still wasn’t very comfortable, but horizontal was better
than vertical, and Virginia tried to relax.
If Tony has any sense, he’ll tell them to kiss off. That would be the practical, if cold-blooded, thing to do.
But she knew her boss too well. If nothing else, Tony would see
her abduction as a blow to his pride, and she very much feared that the
kidnappers had just unleashed a mechanized suit of super-armor driven
by a very angry man.
They have to know. They have to have prepared for Iron Man. And the thought made her
blood run cold, because that either meant lethal force on a scale she
didn’t want to even consider, or it meant that she was so well
concealed that even the combined might of Tony Stark and Stark
Industries--and presumably the police--couldn’t find her.
Either way, it didn’t look good. Not for Tony, not for the kidnappers, and not for her.
Closing her straining eyes, Virginia tried not to shiver.
She was more than half-dozing when the door opened again and someone
stomped in. “Get her up,” the cold voice ordered, and
Virginia mentally dubbed him Number One.
The second man, Number Two, thumped closer. The bonds on her
ankles were cut through with a snap, and then she was being hoisted to
her feet. A hand wrapped around her bicep in a tight grip, but
she was grateful for the support as she stumbled. Then he was
propelling her forward, not too fast.
Virginia remembered.
The main floor was dark but
for the flicker of the fire in the grate and the arc reactor’s
glow. She’d gotten caught up in work in her office in the
mansion, and only her stomach had reminded her how late it was getting,
but she’d thought Tony had gone out for the evening.
Virginia hadn’t expected to find him sitting slumped on his own
couch.
There was enough light for
her to make out details. His shirt was unbuttoned. The
glass in his hand was mostly ice. His eyes were wide but
unfocused.
“Tony? Are you all right?”
“Forty-four
steps,” he announced, in a voice whose mood she couldn’t
name but that tightened her throat. “I had it all
memorized.”
Every so often, Virginia went
on instinct. She walked over to the couch and sat down, not too
close but not far away either. “What did you
memorize?”
And he told her. Not a
lot; just a few rambling scraps that she tried to pull together into a
whole, caves and tunnels and using his ears and his memory because they
never let him see where he was going.
And between one word and the
next he fell asleep, snoring softly. Virginia pried the glass
from his fingers and eased him down to the cushions, and covered him
with the soft blanket that lived on the back of the couch. And
she went home.
Remembering.
It was the same thing now. Turn right out of the door. A hallway probably. Fourteen steps--ow--fifteen--turn right again. Another room-- It sounded different, at least.
The hand on her arm led her a few feet further, then abruptly let
go. “Don’t move until we close the door,”
Number One warned, and hands fumbled at the binding on her
wrists. Then that too was gone.
Virginia stood obediently still until the door clicked shut behind
her and the lock scraped. Then she raised shaking hands and tore
the blindfold off.
The light made her eyes water, but she rubbed them clear and looked
hastily around. There was no one else in the small room.
The blindfold in her hands was one of those light sleep masks that came
in airplane goody bags; it even had a pair of stylized eyes printed on
one side.
Virginia took a deep breath and tried to calm her shaking, then
took another, longer look. The room was clearly set up as a
cell-slash-bedroom; there was a small folding cot with a pile of
blankets, a flimsy chair and a small table, and nothing else.
There were no windows, and the only other exit had the door removed and
a cheap shower curtain hung in its place. When she pulled it
aside Virginia found a small but functional bathroom beyond, sink and
toilet--not new but reasonably clean. There were even a couple of
towels and some soap.
She looked around for cameras. There was one, quite obvious,
mounted in the corner to the left of the hallway door; it would cover
most of the room, and while she could pull the door curtain for
privacy, whoever was on the other end of the feed would know where she
was. The bathroom, she was relieved to see, had no such
device.
Well, it could be concealed. But why bother, when the other one’s out in the open?
Besides, it didn’t make much difference anyway. There was
nothing she could do about the surveillance--at least, nothing that her
captors couldn’t undo.
Virginia made use of the toilet and washed her hands, staring at
herself in the spotty mirror. There was no color in her face
except for the red rectangle where the tape had been, and her hair was
frizzing out from her half-destroyed bun. She looked terrified
and sick. That fits. I feel terrified and sick.
But more water, cupped up from the faucet in her hands, made her feel a
little better, and a gentle pass with the soap took off some of the
remaining adhesive, though it made her skin burn. She dismantled
her hairdo, wishing for a comb, and rubbed her scalp to take the ache
out.
Her watch was gone, so she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Hours, probably, to get me wherever I am.
The walls were cinderblock, painted over, and the floor concrete, which
felt more industrial than residential. Virginia realized that she
couldn’t hear anything--no traffic or sirens, no voices.
Maybe it’s nighttime. Maybe I’m in an inner room. Maybe--
But it was all speculation. Without more data, she was only guessing.
Her throat swelled. Moving on instinct, Virginia went to the cot,
shook out one of the blankets, and lay down, wrapping herself up and
covering her head. Cocooning herself.
She didn’t cry. But only because she locked every muscle tight until sleep stole in.
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