Fandom:
Iron Man (movieverse)
Rating: PG-13 (may change later)
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.
Cincoflex is responsible
for the best parts of this story, and Laura27md for the clearest!
*********
Pepper’s phone lay discarded in the trash and weeds
next to the highway. Tony bent to pick it up, ignoring the effect
Iron Man was having on the traffic passing by, and scrolled delicately
through the menu; fine dexterity was difficult in the suit, and if he
wasn’t careful he could break the phone just by squeezing.
Missed calls flowed by on the screen, his own among them. It
looked as though Pepper hadn’t answered any since seven-thirty
that morning, which fit the timeline Happy had given him.
“So how did it get here?” Tony muttered to himself.
“Did they toss it? Did she?”
That was a heartening thought, that Pepper was trying to leave some
kind of breadcrumb trail, but Jarvis broke in. “Most likely
it was her abductors who discarded the phone, sir. They were
probably aware of its GPS chip.”
Tony growled. “Will it help any?”
“It might. There may be fingerprints on its surface that
could help identify the perpetrators.” Jarvis sounded
admonitory. “However, for that you will have to involve the
police.”
“What, you can’t hack the print database?” Tony
pressed a small indentation on his right thighpiece and set the phone
into the opening that appeared, then pressed again to close the
pocket.
“Given time, yes. But it would be more efficient to do so
through official channels.”
“Let’s catch up to the limo first.” Tony
straightened and activated his repulsors, heading straight up.
“Give me a bead on it and then get me Rhodey.”
Jarvis guided the suit into a long climb, and Rhodes’ voice spoke
in Tony’s ears. “Any luck?”
“Found her phone,” Tony replied tersely. “They
tossed it by the side of the road. I’m going after the limo
now.”
“Yeah, all right, I’m on your tail.” Jarvis had
taken over the GPS system in Rhodes’ truck as well, and was
guiding the colonel along Tony’s trail. “Just be
careful, okay? They have to know you’re coming, and you
can’t just blast in there if they have Pepper.”
“I know that.” Tony couldn’t forget
it. All the power and destruction he carried would be absolutely
useless if they pressed a knife to Pepper’s throat.
“They might not know,
though. In which case I intend to make the most of the element of
surprise.”
“Give ‘em hell then.” Rhodes cut the
connection, and Tony turned his attention back to the landscape and the
task ahead. He was on his own on this one; Rhodey was at least
ten miles behind him at this point, and the distance was growing
rapidly. And Tony didn’t know if Pepper was even still in
the limo.
Either way, I’m going
to find out.
Another ten minutes of flight brought him within sighting distance of
his goal. The limo had stopped moving about half an hour before,
Jarvis had informed him, and now the suit’s HUD flashed a beacon
on one car among many.
“A Wal-Mart? They parked in a Wal-Mart lot?” Tony said in
disbelief. “Are they crazy?”
“I take it that is a rhetorical question,” Jarvis answered
pedantically. “Please watch out for innocent bystanders,
sir.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He dropped out of the sky without
flourish, because the sinking feeling in his stomach was telling him
that this was another false lead. The limo was near the far end
of the lot, so there was no one nearby, though Tony was sure someone
had spotted him coming in. “Scan, Jarvis.”
The information flickered up before his eyes, overlaid on the vehicle
and repeating what Jarvis was telling him. “No
explosives. No heat signatures.”
“Empty.” Tony closed his gauntlet on one door handle,
prepared to rip it open out of sheer temper, but it wasn’t
locked. There was no sign of struggle in the expansive back seat;
nothing at all. It was as neat as if Happy had vacuumed it out
that morning.
He checked the front as well, and had Jarvis signal the trunk open, but
there was nothing, not even a note.
Dead end.
Tony closed the doors with deliberate gentleness and stepped back from
the vehicle. “Jarvis, make a note of the location so we can
send someone out to pick it up,” he instructed, and again took
off for the sky, maintaining a very tight grip on his temper and his
panic. “Rhodey--”
“Nothing, huh?” The colonel’s voice was
miserable.
“Not a thing.” Tony didn’t even try for levity;
nothing about this situation was at all amusing. “Might as
well turn around.”
“Yeah.” Rhodes hesitated. “You going to
call the cops now?”
The fear was bitter on the back of his tongue. “I
don’t think I have a choice.”
The sound of the lock opening woke Virginia, and she sat up with a
gasp, panic flooding through her. A tall man was shouldering into
the room, and all the horrors that she could experience kaleidoscoped
through her mind, rape, torture, death--
The man wore a windbreaker and a black ski mask, turning him into a
caricature. He carried a tray with something on it. Another
man, also wearing a mask, stood outside the door, arms folded.
Virginia braced herself against the wall behind the cot, knowing
herself practically defenseless but unwilling to cower.
But neither seemed very interested in her. The one with the tray
walked over to set it on the table, then turned back towards the door
without a word. Halfway there he hesitated and looked back.
“You need anything?” he asked in the voice of Number
Two.
Still frightened, she shook her head numbly, and he left, pulling the
door shut behind him. The lock clicked home.
Virginia held herself rigid for several moments, afraid they would come
back, but they didn’t. No sound came to her from beyond the
door. Gradually, she forced her taut muscles to relax.
It’s
okay--they’re gone--
Eventually the smell of the food on the tray caught her attention, and
Virginia realized she was starving. Unwinding herself from her
blanket, she stood on slightly shaky legs and went to
investigate.
It was a cheap microwave dinner, the sort of thing she would have
turned her nose up at normally. Beggars
can’t be choosers. Live with it.
Beside it stood a mug of coffee, unsweetened and black, but she drank
it anyway, welcoming the harsh burst of caffeine. And the food,
she found, did taste reasonably good, with hunger for spice.
As she finished her meal, Virginia felt better, and berated herself for
her reaction to her captors' appearance. It seemed a bit
excessive now, and besides-- You
could have asked for a comb, or a toothbrush, or a change of
clothes...
Setting her plastic fork down, she resolved to do better the next time,
whenever that might be.
Her meal finished, though, Virginia found herself with nothing to
do. She wasn’t used to being idle--the job of Tony
Stark’s personal assistant had very little down time--and even
when she wasn’t working she usually had a book or her sketching
to keep her occupied. But here she had nothing at all.
“Look on the bright side,” she told herself, under her
breath in case someone was listening. “It could be a whole
lot worse.”
But that didn’t make the time pass any faster. She returned
to her cot--the chair wasn’t very comfortable--and sat with her
back against the wall, wrapped up against the chilly air. And
thought.
It really did look like her captors meant what they said. They
were taking relatively good care of her so far, and while they
hadn’t exactly been gentle with her they hadn’t gone out of
their way to be brutal either. You’re
a commodity to them. They don’t want to damage your
value.
It wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought, but Virginia was
determined to be practical. She didn’t have a lot of
options at the moment; escape seemed an unlikely prospect.
Sitting tight and waiting for rescue or release went against the grain,
but she wasn’t sure what else she could do.
Think, at least. You
have a brain. What do you know that can help you?
For starters, there had to be at least three people involved, Virginia
reasoned, given that she’d heard a muffled conversation when
she’d woken the first time and yet there had been someone in the
room with her. Three men, she decided tentatively; the third
voice hadn’t sounded like a woman’s.
Obviously this had been planned, given the setup and the way
they’d managed to take Happy down. She winced at the memory
and hoped again that he was all right--and free. Be sensible. Iron Man’s
personal assistant is a reasonable prize, but why take his driver
too?
She wondered what they would demand of Tony, or of Iron Man.
Money, weapons, influence? It seemed an insane thing to do, given
Tony’s personality and impulsiveness, but then she supposed that
such things wouldn’t necessarily be obvious to an outside
observer. Particularly if they were blinded by what they thought
they could get out of him.
Tilting her head back against the wall as if she were drowsy again,
Virginia let her eyes drift half-closed and examined the room from
under her lashes. The food, and her body’s metabolization
of the gas, had cleared her head somewhat, and it was easier to
concentrate, to pick up details that she had missed before.
The room was painted white, but not recently; it had a slightly grubby
air though the floor was swept clean. Light came from a set of
fluorescent tubes overhead, set in the kind of bare-metal fixture seen
in offices and warehouses the world over.
The door was wood, and it looked very sturdy. The hinges were on
the inside, but they were heavy and large, and she didn’t think
she could budge them without tools, camera or no camera. Possibly not even with tools, she thought
ruefully. They looked as though they had been painted over.
There was a ventilation grille up near the ceiling over the table,
which explained why the air in the room wasn’t stale, but it was
about the size of a breadbox. Even assuming she could pry the
grille off the vent, she couldn’t get out that way.
The tiny red light on the camera seemed to mock her. It was an
evil eye, even more so than the lens, a glowing reminder that she could
do nothing without being observed.
Fingers moving idly, Virginia explored the blanket wrapped around her,
trying to make it seem as though she were just fidgeting. It was
cheap navy fleece, the kind that could be picked up at any big
store. There were two more sitting on the end of the cot; one was
the same, and the other was rougher, a heavy scratchy wool in a muddy
khaki that told her it was probably from an Army surplus store.
Nothing I can use as a
weapon, or a tool.
She might dismantle the chair, or even the cot, but not without her
captors knowing.
Virginia unwrapped herself and pushed to the edge of the cot, wanting
to stretch but suddenly unwilling to do so if hostile eyes were on
her. Rising, she went into the tiny bathroom and pulled the
curtain across the opening. It left an inch of gap on either
side, but she didn’t think that the camera could peer that
closely.
There was nothing in the bathroom that could be taken apart. She
eyed the mirror dispassionately. I could break it if I had something heavy
enough.
In fact, that she might be able to conceal for a while, if she left the
curtain closed and no one bothered to look in.
Virginia considered the thought, then set it aside for the
moment. The truth is, no
one’s offered to hurt me yet.
She hadn’t even been threatened, really; Number One had implied
consequences if she didn’t behave, but nothing overt.
As much as she wanted a weapon, something
to give her a little power, she decided reluctantly that
at the moment it was wiser to play her captors’ game. Remember, you have value to them.
Tony will want proof that you’re alive.
She made use of the toilet again, flushed, washed her hands, took her
time. But all too soon she had to return to the main room and her
scant furnishings.
Virginia resumed her seat on the cot, once again shrouding herself in
the blanket. It made her feel better as well as warmer, as if it
actually concealed her from the camera’s view. She crossed
her legs, steadied her breathing, and tried to remain calm.
Waiting, after all, was a lesson already learned.
She’d had three months’ practice.
The mansion was a sort of semi-chaos, with what seemed to Tony to be
half the Malibu police force moving around and speaking in low and
urgent voices. Rhodey, smart man, had taken over directing them,
and was currently explaining with only a small trace of exasperation
that Jarvis could handle a tap on Tony’s phone lines better than
the police technicians could.
Rousing himself from his own dark thoughts, Tony spoke up from the
couch to which he’d retreated. “Jarvis, can you run a
tap simultaneous with theirs?”
“Of course,” came the answer, startling several of the
cops, who looked around with wide eyes for the source of the
disembodied voice.
“Do it then,” Tony ordered shortly. He met
Rhodey’s eyes briefly across the room, and the colonel nodded and
let the technician pass.
Tony subsided back into his slump. Rhodey and Jarvis had both
been right; it was time to call in the police, and Tony had done so as
soon as he’d gotten back to the mansion and out of the
suit. The response had been gratifyingly swift; there were times
when it was useful to be one of the wealthy and powerful.
The detectives in charge had questioned Tony for half an hour,
demanding the same information over and over again, and he’d hung
onto his temper with an effort. The momentum had carried him
through to calling his personal attorney, Josh Squire, and arranging to
gain access to as much cash as possible at a moment’s notice, in
case it became necessary. Squire, horrified, had started the
process, and Tony knew that angle, at least, was handled.
But with no other tasks on his list, a strange lassitude now held him
in place. His throat was tight and aching, and there was a knot
behind his chest piece that simply wouldn’t subside. And in
the back of Tony’s mind one word was repeating.
Pepper. Pepper.
Pepper.
He really didn’t know how to survive without her. All he
could see was her face, a thousand times over--smiling, frowning,
exasperated, frightened; angry or tired or laughing out loud.
Tony had known for months now that she was what he wanted; he
hadn’t quite realized how much she was what he needed.
She has to be okay.
He stared blindly at the people invading his house. They were
setting up some kind of staging area in the den he never used, jargon
flying past about time elapsed
and suspects and who the hell is checking out her apartment,
but it seemed all at one remove.
He had to do something.
There wasn’t anything to
do.
Pepper and her abductors had vanished as completely as a puff of
smoke--as neatly as he’d been removed from view in
Afghanistan. All the control lay with them now, and all he could
do was wait. And if there was one thing Tony hated more than
waiting, it was knowing that his actions were dependent on the will of
someone else.
A fresh commotion near the door resolved into Hogan, still looking
unwell but at least able to stand up straight. Tony sprang to his
feet and strode over to his chauffeur.
Hogan looked dazed at the ongoing fuss. “Sir--” he
said hesitantly. “I just wanted to know
what...”
He trailed off, and Tony took his elbow, leading him forward through
the throng. “Malibu’s finest are doing their
best,” he said, not entirely sardonically.
“We’re...kind of waiting for developments at the
moment.”
Hogan grimaced, and not, Tony thought, from the pain in his head.
“Nothing?”
Tony hesitated, then shook his head. “We found her phone
where they threw it out. Oh, and the limo. But
no...nothing.”
Hogan seemed to shrink a little, as if the bad news took away some
invisible support. “Sir--Mr. Stark--”
They reached the hallway, which was a little quieter. “What
is it?”
“You have my resignation, sir,” Hogan said with a painful
dignity.
“The hell I do.” Tony glared at him, raising a hand
when Hogan opened his mouth. “Shut the fuck up.
You did your best, but like you said, they were pros.”
Hogan’s mouth twitched, but Tony cut him off before he could
marshal an argument. “Besides, if Pepper finds out I let
you do that, she’ll kill us both, and I like living.”
That made the chauffeur snort faintly. “She does...she does
have firm opinions.”
“Among other things.” The double entendre was
automatic. Tony glanced past Hogan and down the hall.
“Now come on. You can have one of the guest
rooms.”
“Sir, I can just go home--” Hogan protested, then
wobbled slightly. Tony tightened his grip on the man’s
arm.
“Sure, if you want to cut yourself out of the loop here.
Besides, I think the cops are going to want to talk to you if they
haven’t already.” He tugged, guiding Hogan to the
nearest unoccupied bedroom and opening the door. “See, home
away from home. Now save me from the wrath of my assistant and
take it easy for a bit. When we know something...”
Hogan nodded gingerly, detached himself from Tony’s grip, and
limped into the room. Tony closed the door gently behind him and
went back to find out what was going on. He felt awake
again--still furious and frightened, but ready to light some fires if
things weren’t being accomplished swiftly enough.
“Tony! There you are.” Rhodey waved from across
the room, beckoning. “The FBI is here.”
Tony made his way over to the new arrivals by the door. “I
don’t remember ordering any Feds.”
“You didn’t,” said the tallest, an imposingly
handsome man with close-cropped black hair and penetrating black
eyes. He held out a hand. “Frank
Donovan.”
Tony tilted his head back a bit--the agent was very tall indeed--and
traded handshakes. Donovan’s grip was firm but not
competitive, and his gaze was cool and assessing. “This is
my team. Agents Alex Cross, Monica Davis, and Jake
Shaw.” The three people ranged behind Donovan all nodded;
two women and a man, all with the closed look of the professional,
though each wore street clothes. “Our technician is already
working on the tap.”
Tony sighed. “Look, we’ve already been invaded by a
zillion cops. I’m not going to fight extra help, but
I’m not sure what you can do.”
“Leave that to us.” There was just a hint of
compassion in the agent’s voice. “I understand your
chauffeur witnessed the abduction?”
“Tried to stop
it,” Tony corrected sharply. “Yeah.”
“We need to talk to him too.” Donovan regarded him
steadily.
“He’s in the first bedroom on the right.” Tony
jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But take it easy with
him. He’s still in pretty bad shape.”
“We’ll be careful,” the shorter of the two
women--Cross--said, her voice unexpectedly soft. She and the
other woman exchanged glances, and both set off in the direction Tony
had indicated.
“I need to talk to you also,” Donovan went on.
“Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little
quieter?”
“No.” Tony wasn’t about to allow any of these
people down into his workshop, not even federal agents. Especially not federal
agents. “Couch or nothing.”
The third agent, Shaw, was talking quietly with Rhodey. Donovan
tilted his head in acceptance, and Tony led the way to the far corner
of the living room, which offered at least an illusion of
privacy.
Donovan folded himself onto the couch with ease, and Tony sat a few
cushions away, wondering tiredly if this was going to do any good at
all.
“Mr. Stark.” Donovan had a hint of accent, and
whatever it was, it didn’t match his name; it certainly
wasn’t Irish. “Do you have any idea who might have
abducted Ms. Potts?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” Tony
snapped. “I’d be dangling the fuckers by their ankles
at thirty thousand feet until they gave her back.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t take issue with
Tony’s statement. “A man in your position always has
enemies.”
Tony shrugged. “Competitors. Terrorists. Enemy
nations. Ex-girlfriends. You name it, I’ve probably
got it.” His fists clenched. “But this
isn’t about revenge...is it?”
The agent hesitated. “It’s not as likely. Has
it occurred to you that she may have been taken for information she
possesses? As your assistant, she would know a great deal about
Stark Industries, and your...other business.”
Ice choked Tony’s veins. He hadn’t even considered
the thought, he’d just assumed that her abductors wanted a handle
on him. Ah, no...Pepper,
no...
For an instant phantom water flooded his nose and mouth, pressing away
his air, pushing him down towards a bottomless darkness-- No! Not her!
And there were worse things. His own captors had needed him in
good shape, but if Pepper’s just wanted to wring her dry of
secrets...
Tony found himself on his feet. “If they haven’t
called by tonight, I’m calling a press conference to offer a
reward for her safe return,” he said flatly, and walked away, his
feet automatically seeking the haven of his workshop.
Closing the door behind him cut off the babble upstairs and enclosed
him in blessed hush. Tony’s conscience told him he should
go back up and at least make himself available to the investigators,
but he didn’t think he could stand another minute of feeling like
a fifth wheel.
“Jarvis, how’s it going?” he asked, slumping down
onto a stool.
“If you mean the surveillance set-up, it has improved
considerably since the FBI agents arrived,” his AI replied.
“The young man is quite the expert.”
“Yeah, good for him.” Tony stared blindly at his
roadster. “Who are these people, anyway?”
“Searching.”
The AI was silent for quite some time. Tony let him hack, and
played idly with a pair of calipers, trying not to think of what Pepper
could be enduring, trying not to imagine her in pain, or screaming, or
glaring defiantly at a shadowy captor.
Or limp and still and bloody, beyond pain or anything else.
When it came, Jarvis’ voice made him jump. “Frank
Donovan and his subordinates are not strictly FBI. They are an
elite undercover team that concentrates on high-profile or especially
dangerous criminals.”
Tony blinked. “Then what the fuck are they doing
here?”
“Donovan is an expert at handling kidnapping cases although he no
longer does so on a regular basis. His retrieval rate is quite
high at 84 percent.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Tony
frowned. Was the government trying to put a clamp on him in case
the kidnappers demanded tech or weapons instead of money? They can try, but nothing is going to
stop me from getting her back. “Does he come out of
retirement often?”
“No, I called in a favor.”
Tony spun on the stool. Rhodey was just stepping through the door
into the workshop, and as Tony watched he closed the glass panel behind
him. “One of my ex-bosses used to work with Donovan when he
ran the FBI’s Crisis Negotiation Unit. He’s
top-flight, Tony. If anyone can get Pepper back unharmed,
it’s him.”
Tony managed half a grin at his old friend. “Then I owe you
one.”
Rhodey’s answering smile was weak at best. He walked over
to lean against the back of the old leather couch.
“We’ll get her back safe, Tony. She’s got to
know we’re looking for her.”
“Yeah.” Tony had to look away. Pepper was
brave--he knew that first-hand--but no matter how well her abductors
were treating her, it had to be terrifying.
Rhodey sighed, and ran a hand over his scalp. “Did you give
the police her phone?”
“No.” Tony straightened off the stool, cursing
himself for an idiot. “Dammit, I forgot. Jarvis,
bring up the bottom half of the suit.”
“Take it easy, man. It’s been a hell of a
day.” Rhodey folded his arms and regarded him
sympathetically.
“Yeah, well, hers was worse.” Tony snatched up a
relatively clean rag from a workbench and stamped over to the assembly
platform. The suit ‘bots had lifted up the bottom
components of the suit and were holding them in mid-air like an
exploded graphic, and Tony opened the right thigh pocket with a quick
press. The phone still rested within, and he plucked it carefully
out with his cloth-wrapped hand, then closed the pocket and turned for
the stairs. Behind him he could hear the ‘bots returning
the suit pieces to their rest.
“Do you want me to take it up?” Rhodey asked, but Tony
shook his head.
“I’ll do it. I should be up there
anyway.” He was beginning to have a nasty suspicion that
Donovan’s interests and Pepper’s might not quite be the
same thing. If they try to
block me...
“Yeah. You should.” Rhodey thumped him once on
the shoulder, and Tony keyed the door open, his ears already listening
for the phone.
Call, dammit.
Call.
Call...
|
