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.
For those of you who were wondering, yes, Donovan and his
team are not my own characters, but there are few out there who will
recognize them. What can I say...I miss the undercover
folks!
Thanks again to Cincoflex and
Laura27md for sterling betaing skills!
*********
She had no idea how much time was passing. Without a watch or a
window, she seemed stuck in some kind of limbo, a null pocket of
space-time where the only clock was her body. When she ran out of
both speculation and adrenaline, Virginia sank into a near-meditative
state, letting her thoughts drift idly.
It was better than letting her worry and fear wear grooves in her
mind.
Tony had to know she was in trouble by now. Sooner or later even
he would notice that she hadn’t come downstairs to nag him into
something he was trying to avoid. And Virginia was pretty sure
that he would at least be concerned about her absence, given that she
wasn’t in the habit of disappearing without a word.
Tony.
Her thoughts, unguided as they were, kept returning to him. It
wasn’t surprising, really; he had been the center of her work
life for years now, and a dismayingly large part of the rest of her
life too. She knew she had let her job take over too much of her
time and attention, but she did
enjoy it. It’s good to
be needed.
And Tony definitely needed looking after, that had been clear the first
week she’d known him. Even now, when he’d learned a
little responsibility, he still needed her to stand between him and the
flood of demands that came his way, to winnow out the wheat from the
chaff. To make him eat, to patch him up after his missions, to
remind him that he needed to make nice with the Stark Industries board
of directors.
Sometimes, in the private depths of her heart, she wished he needed her
a little bit more.
Oh, he’d made an advance or two beyond his incessant flirting,
sure. She could hardly count that absurd near-kiss at the
Firemen’s Family Fund benefit; that had been mostly her own
fault, a brief insanity. But his egotistical, half-teasing query
before his explosive press conference had actually tempted her, as
silly as she knew it would be to give in.
Virginia knew herself, and she valued herself. She didn’t
date often, because her life as it was didn’t leave much time for
a serious relationship, and she really wasn’t interested in a
string of casual dates. If she was going to put time and effort
into a relationship, she wanted it to be worthwhile. And she
wanted a partner who valued her as well--for herself, not for what she
did for him.
Long-term relationship
wasn’t even in Tony Stark’s lexicon. And while he had
changed a great deal since escaping from captivity, Virginia
hadn’t seen anything that led her to believe he was looking to
expand his vocabulary.
Still, trapped in a cell by unknown captors, her future a frightening
blank, she found herself wishing she’d stayed crazy just a few
seconds longer and found out what kissing him was like.
I’d probably have
regretted it. But it would have been nice to know.
This time when the door opened, Virginia stiffened, but kept herself
under control. By her best estimate, at least five hours had
passed since her meal had been brought, though she wasn’t at all
sure of her own accuracy. The tall Number Two, still masked, came
in alone, carrying another tray.
Virginia watched him warily as he closed the door and walked the couple
of yards necessary to switch out the new microwave meal for the remains
of the old one, but he didn’t even look at her beyond the first
initial glance upon entering.
He was Caucasian, to judge by the skin of his hands, and had wide
shoulders but a rather bony build. The windbreaker was gone; he
wore jeans and a checkered flannel shirt, which made the mask look even
more incongruous, and heavy workboots. Something about the way he
moved--and Virginia was good at reading body language--told her he was
young. Younger than me,
anyway.
As he turned back towards the door, she swallowed and spoke.
“I need a toothbrush,” she said, trying to keep her voice
level. “And my purse. Please.”
Number Two glanced back at her, clearly startled, then ducked his
head. He hurried back out the door, and Virginia was left staring
at the barrier and listening to the lock click home, feeling
baffled.
At least I tried.
She put aside the blanket and rose to go to the table. She
wasn’t particularly hungry, but-- It won’t taste any better
cold.
She was halfway through the uninspired meal of bony fried chicken and
fake mashed potatoes when the sound of the door opening again made her
start. No one came through; a hand tossed her purse onto the
floor, followed by two small, narrow boxes, and then pulled the door
closed.
She was startled by how much the sight of her own belongings
mattered. Virginia sprang up and snatched up the bag as if
someone might return and take it away, and then bent again to gather up
the boxes. They contained a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste,
both new, and she smiled at her prizes.
Ignoring the food for the moment, she dumped the contents of her purse
out on the cot for inventory. Her phone was gone, which she
expected, but her hairbrush and hair elastics were a welcome
sight. Her wallet seemed to be intact, which surprised her a
little, but her small pocketknife was missing.
Everything else was there. Lipgloss and blusher, breath mints,
aspirin, receipts, a tube of lotion, and half a granola bar; a packet
of tissues, two tampons, a felt-tip pen, a small sewing kit, and her
keys.
Virginia turned the keyring over in her hand, running her thumb briefly
over the tiny stylized Iron Man mask dangling from its chain.
Tony hadn’t exactly given
it to her; she’d just found it on her keys one day on leaving the
mansion, a red and gold oval no bigger than her thumbnail.
Like the card she left him every Christmas Eve and his habit of
bringing her cups of tea the first day of her period, it was something
they never discussed; she’d just left it in place, amused and
secretly touched.
She put everything neatly away but the brush and an elastic, and took
them and the boxes into the bathroom. It was a few minutes’
work to brush out the tangles from her hair and pull it back, and she
returned to her cooling meal in a better frame of mind.
So they will listen to
me. That’s good to know. She finished her meal
thoughtfully, wondering how much she could ask for, how far she could
push. For one thing, I’m
going to need a change of clothes pretty soon.
She could sponge-bathe using the sink, Virginia knew, but the thought
of having to put dirty clothes back on afterwards definitely
didn’t appeal.
It wasn’t until she was brushing her teeth that she realized that
her captors had inadvertently left her a weapon of sorts. My keys.
They weren’t much, but held poking through her clenched fist they
could wound, assuming she could land a punch. She had taken a
self-defense course in college, and while she was currently severely
out-muscled--
“You never know,” she mumbled foamily, and rinsed out her
mouth using the plastic coffee mug. Which she left on the edge of
the sink, her new toothbrush sticking jauntily out to dry.
The airline mask still lay where she’d left it on the back of the
toilet. Virginia ignored it and went out to pick up her purse and
bring it back into the bathroom with her.
Eyeing the tampons, she was grateful that her period had just finished,
because despite her success she really
didn’t
want to have to request supplies. She left them in place and
picked out her keys again, slipping them into the pocket of her slacks
where she could get to them right away if she had to.
And then it was back to the cot, to sit and wait.
And wait.
And wait...
The lights never went out, but at some point she curled up on her side
and succumbed to sleep once more.
*******
The setting sun was nearly below the horizon, striping the sky with a
riot of color, but Tony didn’t see the beauty. The managed
chaos in his home had subsided somewhat, leaving a half-dozen cops, the
kind-of-FBI team, and Rhodey.
There were mostly-empty cartons of Thai food in the kitchen, growing
cold on the big table, and open bottles of designer water
everywhere. The office held a number of wiretap devices and
computers that Tony normally would want to examine, but at the moment
he simply couldn’t summon any interest.
Pepper’s kidnappers hadn’t called.
He stared out the window, playing idly with the icons on the display,
moving files around without really doing anything and ignoring
Rhodey’s low-voiced conversation with Agent Donovan behind
him. The waiting was intolerable, but there was nothing else he
could do.
“Jarvis,” he breathed, too low to be overheard by anyone
but the AI. “Run another diagnostic on the phone
lines.”
Infinitely patient, Jarvis chimed at him, then spoke a moment later,
equally softly. “There is still no damage,
sir.” Just like the last
four times, the computer refrained from saying, but Tony
couldn’t help checking again and again.
Abruptly he turned and strode over to his old friend and the
agent. “Tomorrow morning. Press conference,” he
broke in, knowing he was being rude and not caring about that
either.
“Mr. Stark.” Donovan’s gaze was sober.
“If Ms. Potts’ kidnappers took her to gain information,
they will not give her up for a reward.”
Tony clenched his fists. The idea of Pepper being tortured for
information made him sick and furious, and he wanted to hit
something. Or someone. “Somebody has to have seen something. A press conference
is the fastest way to find out.”
“Not yet,” the agent repeated firmly. “Give
them a chance to make their move. We are not in control here, and
we don’t want to spook them.”
Rhodey put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “He’s the
expert, Tony. He knows what he’s doing.”
They were right, though it took every scrap of his reason to admit
it. Tony met Donovan’s eyes. “If I find out
that we waited too long, I will hold you responsible.” It
was a promise, not a threat, quiet and firm.
Donovan didn’t flinch. “So will I, Mr.
Stark.”
Their stare was broken by the sound of footsteps, and Tony turned to
see his chauffeur coming slowly into the room, still pale and very
sleepy, but looking much better despite the bruise spreading out from
his temple. Happy was well on his way to a black eye, but the
greenish tinge was gone from his skin.
“Anything?” he asked, anxious, and then his face fell as
Tony shook his head.
“Not yet. How’re you feeling?”
Hogan rubbed the back of his head gingerly. “I’m
better...”
He blinked as if dizzy, and Tony raised a brow. “You sure
about that?”
Hogan shrugged. “Really, sir, I’m fine. I must
have slept for hours.”
Off to one side, Rhodey caught Tony’s eye and tilted his head
towards the kitchen. Good idea,
Tony thought, and shooed Happy in that direction.
“You’d better eat, if there’s anything
left.”
Hogan let himself be herded. Tony made him sit down at the table
and found him a clean plate and a fork, and rummaged through the fridge
until he came up with an unopened bottle of water. Fussing over
his chauffeur felt a bit odd, and judging from the discomfort on
Happy’s face it was no easier for him either, but it gave Tony
something to concentrate on rather than the endless loop of rage and
fear.
Hogan’s color improved as he made his way through cold noodles
and beef with broccoli. Tony poked idly at some cashew chicken,
more to keep Happy company than because he was hungry; his appetite was
nonexistent. Pepper would at least have tried to make him eat by now,
but--
Pepper--
Tony set the carton down with careful precision, and then deliberately
snapped the bamboo chopstick he held into two pieces. The other
one met the same fate, and Tony lined the four fragments up on the
table, parallel to one another, concentrating on keeping them exactly
the same space apart.
Concentrating hard.
“She’ll...she’ll be okay.”
Hogan’s voice was quiet, and Tony glanced up. Happy never
had much to say; he managed to maintain a species of deference towards
Tony despite the latter’s casual disregard of protocol.
Now, he met Tony’s gaze with eyes that were worried, but that
also held hope.
“She’s strong, sir. Tough. She’s a
survivor.”
“Yeah.” Tony nudged one splinter with the tip of his
finger. “She is that.”
Happy laid his fork across his plate slowly, as though it were
important to get it just so. “She said the same thing about
you, when you were gone.”
That made Tony blink, because he had barely mentioned that time to
Pepper, and never spoken of it with Happy at all. Hogan pushed
his plate a little ways away, and looked down at his hands.
“She never gave up on you. Said that she wouldn’t
believe you were dead until she saw you in a casket.” His
lips twitched slightly. “And maybe not even
then.”
The words made a wave of totally inappropriate amusement curl up in
Tony’s chest, because he could just hear the exasperation in
Pepper’s voice, and he had to admit that she did know him,
because he wouldn’t have been above playing a coffin prank if the
opportunity presented itself.
“What else did she say about me?” he asked, curious.
He knew she’d wept at his return, but he hadn’t asked her
what those three months had been like.
There’d hardly been time.
And he was a little afraid to open the subject, though he knew it would
have to be broached eventually if they were ever to break out of their
holding pattern.
“Besides the bad words?” Hogan actually smirked, and
Tony had to grin a little, because Pepper in a true temper was both
stunning and eloquent. “Mostly she called you an idiot for
getting taken in the first place. But I don’t think she put
down her phone at all, even to sleep.” Hogan shifted,
fingering the bruise at his temple uneasily. “She
didn’t sleep much.”
Tony sobered, though the news pleased him more than would the
revelation that she’d slept soundly and well every night he was
gone.
“She kept me on,” Happy went on thoughtfully.
“I mean, I was driving her some of the time, but Mr. Stane kept
hinting that she should shut up the house and let me and the
housekeeper go, or at least put us on indefinite leave. But she
wouldn’t do it.”
Tony swallowed. Again, he hadn’t really had time to think
about how his home had been kept while he was gone from it; he was just
relieved to find it pretty much as he’d left it, and too
exhausted at the time to question. But Pepper, as his executor,
had apparently taken her duties very seriously.
There is no one I trust more.
And out of all of those he held dearest, she was the only one who had
proven worthy of that trust. Even Rhodey had turned away for a
while. Pepper never had.
He didn’t count her decision to quit when he’d asked her to
play spy for him. That argument had only proven how much she
cared for him.
Cared about him, even.
Maybe. He still wasn’t sure--
Tony looked back up at Hogan, who was peeling the label from his empty
water bottle. Simple, steadfast loyalty wasn’t something to
be taken lightly, either, even if Happy had no part in Tony’s
penance or his deepest secrets.
I don’t deserve it, any more than I deserve Pepper.
But he had it, and Tony had already learned not to take such gifts for
granted.
“Thank you,” he said abruptly, and Happy looked up.
“For trying to save her.”
The familiar guilty look came over Happy’s face. “I
didn’t--”
“You tried,” Tony
interrupted, staring the other man down. “Yeah, they had
superior force. But I know no one would have fought harder to
protect her.” Except
me.
Or, judging from the misery in Happy’s eyes, maybe not.
Tony closed his own, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. He wanted
Pepper safe and unharmed, but he also wanted her there, with him, so badly that he ached with
the longing.
As soon as she’s safe,
we’re going to deal with this.
She’d better be safe. Or there’ll be
hell to pay.
And the road to hell would go through Iron Man.
*******
Virginia opened her eyes to the same unchanging view, bare cinderblock
and cement. She didn’t move, trying to separate dream from
reality; her sleep had been light and her dreams vivid.
Then she heard voices again, and realized that the sound had pulled her
from slumber.
She let her eyes close again and rolled onto her back to free up both
ears, but the sounds remained maddeningly incomprehensible, a jumble of
muffled syllables. Number One, she thought, and the third,
as-yet-unseen voice.
She risked a glance at the camera. The red light still glowed,
and so she stirred and stretched a little, as if only just now waking
up, and then sat up.
Her clothes were wrinkled and stale-smelling, but she ignored that and
stood, yawning deliberately before sauntering towards the table.
Virginia sank into the chair and rested her elbows on the table,
avoiding the last meal tray, then propped her chin in her hands as if
both sleepy and bored.
Here, under the ventilation grille, the voices were a bit
clearer. She couldn’t make out every word, but scraps came
through as the tones rose and fell.
“--ording. They’ll demand proof.”
“You think...operate?”
“Yeah.”
It was hard for her to discern the speakers’ emotions, but
something about that one short word made her spine crinkle
unpleasantly. She didn’t move; just closed her eyes,
pretending to succumb to drowsiness.
The next sentence was undecipherable, but sounded like an order or an
instruction. Number One made a noise of agreement, and then she
heard a door close, and there was silence.
She kept her frustration to herself and didn’t move. The
conversation hadn’t been enlightening, but knowing that she could
hear something outside her prison was a prize indeed. It was
something she would have to guard carefully.
No further voices came, so after a while she stood and went to use the
bathroom and get her hair out of her eyes, pulling it up into a
ponytail. Refreshed and rehydrated, Virginia realized that she
was faced with another stretch of empty time.
I want a shower. So
much.
She thought about that sponge-bath, but wasn’t quite ready to
attempt it; she could, in theory, wash her clothes as well, but she had
nothing else to put on in the meantime and she wasn’t about to
make herself vulnerable by wrapping up in a blanket and nothing
more.
And wearing her clothes while
they dried absolutely did not appeal.
She felt logy and restless both. Not enough exercise,
she deduced, and out of sheer frustration started pacing around the
room. It wasn’t really big enough for the task, and she had
to reverse direction at the end of each round to keep from getting
dizzy, but it was something to do and it got her blood moving.
Virginia kept her pace slow, she didn’t want to get sweaty, but
she kept walking until her muscles were warmer and her head
clearer.
She had just finished round seventy-six, with an eye towards quitting
after one hundred, when the door opened. Virginia started, and
flung herself around to face it.
Number Two’s rangy form stepped inside, carrying the now-familiar
tray. What little of his expression she could detect didn’t
seem surprised to find her elsewhere in the room, but he didn’t
move away from the door until she backed up to the cot. Then he
crossed to the table to switch out her meal.
Virginia didn’t sit, but she watched him carefully until he was
finished and back out the door. He didn’t look armed to
her--there was no bulge of a holster on him, and if he carried a knife
it was in a pocket or a hidden sheath. And she hadn’t seen
anyone in the corridor this time.
That doesn’t mean there
isn’t someone there, though.
And even if she were able to dart out the door while Number Two’s
back was turned, all he had to do was raise his voice to attract
attention. Making a break for it without knowing where to go was
either stupid or desperate...and
I’m not desperate.
Yet.
The meal gave her no clue as to the time of day; it was another
dinner-style meal, accompanied by the same cheap coffee. She ate
macaroni and glutinous cheese sauce and yearned for a salad, or even
just a piece of fresh fruit. At
least they’re feeding you...
She was expecting another set of long empty hours, so when the door
opened just as she stood up Virginia froze, uncertain and--to her
dismay--frightened again. This time Number Two carried what
looked like a white ribbon in one hand, and another masked man stood in
the doorway, waiting.
“You need to come with us,” Two said, sounding almost
apologetic through the small hole of the mask.
“Blindfold,” the other man snapped, in the voice of Number
One.
Two looked at her expectantly, and Virginia licked her lips.
“It’s in the bathroom,” she said, her voice quieter
than she wanted it to be.
“Get it,” One ordered.
She did, because there was obviously no point in arguing.
Plucking it off the back of the toilet, Virginia emerged from the
bathroom and stopped, not sure what to do next.
“Put it on,” Two told her, his tone not as hard as his
compatriot’s.
She almost balked. Making herself vulnerable in front of her
captors made the fear surge towards terror. But the alternative
seemed to be having them do it for her, and she didn’t want
either of them touching her if she could help it at all. Slowly
she lifted the scrap of cloth and elastic, and slipped it over her
head.
It wasn’t total blindness; a little light seeped through around
the edges. But the mask was big enough that she couldn’t
actually see anything, even with her peripheral vision. She could
hear, though--hear Two coming closer.
Everything in her wanted to bolt away, or strike at him. Virginia
held herself very still.
“Hands behind your back,” he said, more briskly this
time. Reluctantly she complied, clasping one hand around the
other wrist.
Two moved behind her, and unclasped it, pressing her wrists together
back to back. His fingers were cold and impersonal.
Something thin was snugged around her wrists, and as the quick zipping
sound reached her ears Virginia realized that the ribbon Two had
brought with him was the sort of binding used by riot police.
Quick to put on, easy to cut off.
Then his hand was on her elbow again, urging her forward.
She was more awake this time, more prepared. Virginia counted
steps and turns, and as far as she could tell she was taken back past
the room she’d woken in, past another that held a TV--she could
hear a sports announcer--and into a third on the other side of the
corridor. There Two guided her to a chair and shoved her down
into it, not roughly. “Stay,” he said, as if to a
dog.
One was there also, she’d heard his footsteps accompanying
them. She held still, twisting her wrists against their
binding. Not too tight, and she sent a small blessing Two’s
way for that, but again too snug to remove.
A third set of footsteps came into the room, and One spoke.
“Can she see anything?”
Cloth rustled near Virginia’s head, and then Two replied.
“Nope.”
“Good.” More rustling, footsteps, sounds she
couldn’t identify.
She heard someone moving around to stand in front of her. The
smell of cheap cologne reached her nose. “You feeling okay
today, ma’am?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
The words were pleasant, but Virginia heard a tinge of scorn in the
words, as if the speaker--Number
Three, I guess--would rather she answered in the negative.
But she nodded hesitantly.
“Glad to hear it,” the voice drawled, though she
hadn’t actually spoken. “Sorry about the rough
accommodations, but times are hard. I’m sure you
understand.”
The mockery was more open now, but Virginia didn’t let herself
shiver. She bit her lip and decided she had to ask.
"Is...is the chauffeur okay?" It felt weird not using Happy's
name, but she wasn't even sure her captors knew it.
Three made a dismissive noise. "Fine, if he woke up before he was
roadkill." Hard fingers grabbed her chin, and she flinched.
“We’re going to make a quick recording here to let your
friends know you’re doing well. When I tell you, you say
you’re okay but you want to go home, got it?”
Anger beat back a little of the fear, and Virginia tossed her head,
making him lose his grip. “What if I
don’t?”
Three laughed unpleasantly. “Then we’ll change your
mind. You won’t like it. Crying works
too.”
A picture flashed into her head, Tony listening to a tape, eyes wide
and face still with that dangerous look. Virginia had no doubt
that Three could do exactly what he threatened, and in her mind Tony
heard her crying. And the pain that twisted his face stopped her
breath in her chest.
“I’ll--I’ll do what you want.” It was
less humiliating, and wiser, and it was no good telling herself that
her imagination was getting the better of her, because some small part
of her knew it wasn’t imagination.
It was knowing him.
“Smart.” The oppressive sense of Three retreated
slightly, and there were more small sounds. She recognized the
whir of a computer drive starting up, and guessed that the recording
was going to be digital.
“Just so you know we’re taking good care of her,”
Three said abruptly. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and sucked
in a breath, trying to control her voice.
“I’m...I’m all right. They haven’t hurt
me.” She hesitated, and the tap came again, harder this
time. “I want to come home.”
She swallowed back the please that rose to her lips. She
didn’t want to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing how
frightened she was.
“You heard the lady,” Three said with dark
satisfaction. “Be smart, and you’ll get her back
safe.” He paused. “There. We’ll
splice the rest of the audio in.”
“That’s it?” Two asked.
“Almost.” A rustle of cloth, a snapping sound.
“We need a bit more proof.”
Virginia jumped as someone grabbed her ponytail and pulled.
“Hold still,” Three snapped, and she froze, mind racing as
she tried to anticipate what they were going to do--
Several small yanks, and then the pull gave, making her head rock
slightly. It was suddenly lighter, and she knew what had
happened. “That’ll do,” Three said just to her
right. “Take her back.”
Virginia was tugged unceremoniously to her feet and guided back towards
the door. She tried to concentrate as she was guided, and though
the TV was gone she figured out that they were going back to her
cell. Once again the bonds were removed, and she fisted her hands
to keep from ripping the blindfold off, but as her guide stepped away
she spoke.
“Is there--could I have some clean clothes?”
A second of silence, and then-- “Um. I’ll, uh,
ask.”
The door shut behind Two, and Virginia yanked off the mask and threw it
across the room. Her hands flew to her head, running down over
her scalp, and sure enough her ponytail was gone.
She growled. “My hair--”
Furious and sick, she stamped into the bathroom. The spotty
mirror confirmed what her hands had found--her hair hung ragged and
loose, not even brushing her shoulders any longer.
She stared at her reflection. It wasn’t that bad a job, a
trim would make it manageable, but the fact that they had stolen it
from her made her feel violated.
It was pretty clear what they wanted it for, too. They
weren’t just going to send Tony a recording of their demands,
they were going to send him her hair as well, proof positive that they
had her. Virginia’s fingers curled around the rim of the
sink, and then she was cursing, choking, hot tears spilling down her
cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned away, sat down on the
toilet and buried her face in her hands, weeping with rage and terror
and loneliness.
I want to go home.
And whether home was her own quiet apartment or the huge cliff house
that held the man who was, in a way, responsible for her predicament,
she couldn’t quite say.
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