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, especially Cedric, 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.
Many, many thanks to Cincoflex,
whose patience is boundless, and Laura27md, who has sharp eyes.
:D Love you both, ladies.
Note: what I describe regarding the water is entirely possible; I've
done it.
*********
Virginia woke after another long stretch of restless dreams, but she
didn’t move. There didn’t seem much point.
Getting up meant only that she would have to sit in the chair, or
stand--there was nothing to do and nothing but another low-grade meal
to anticipate.
She did open her eyes and blink at the wall a few inches from her nose,
but that was all. I wonder if
they’ve delivered the recording to Tony yet.
It seemed likely; again, it was hard to tell the passage of time, but
it felt like she’d been sleeping for hours. She bit her
lip, imagining his reaction. Rage, to be sure; guilt; even
fear. He did care
about her, she knew that--he’d nearly killed himself saving her
from Stane.
And the image of him beside himself at her abduction made her throat
hurt. Tony was careless, selfish, impulsive, and often clueless,
but he was also a man who felt deeply and trusted rarely. In her
years of working for him, Virginia had become aware of the fact that
she had earned a trust he didn’t often bestow, and had even been
honored by it. Because as frustrating as the man could be, he
was...special.
She’d seen him design bombs and missiles, create robots that
could kill more efficiently than any human, program targeting
satellites capable of pinpointing a square inch of earth. But
she’d also watched as he tossed off plans for cheap water
purifiers, better medical lasers, and improved spacesuits, and had
delivered to charities checks that bore his scrawled signature and
enough zeros to make a banker weep.
She’d realized very early on that he was, underneath the hype and
the ego, a decent man. His choices weren’t always the best,
but then-- Whose are?
Everyone makes mistakes.
In the stillness of her cell, Virginia realized sadly that while he had
come back from captivity greatly changed, she wished he had changed
just a bit more.
I can respect him.
But...I don’t think I can trust him not to hurt me.
Finally her bladder made her get up. She used the facilities and
brushed her teeth, more for something to do than anything else, and ran
her brush through her ruined hair. It looked strange to her eyes;
it had been many years since she’d worn it so short.
Her blouse and slacks, hung over the curtain rod to dry last night,
were still a little damp, but Virginia was encouraged. Her
lingerie was dry, and she
slipped it back on, wishing for deodorant and socks but counting her
blessings for what she did have. The stockings were beyond hope,
snagged and laddered from the concrete floors, so she left them in a
heap under the sink.
Restless, she found the pen again and wandered back to her art
wall. She wasn’t in a caricature mood; instead, Virginia
found herself sketching familiar faces. Rhodey frowning, her
assistant Cedric looking surprised, Tony with that quirky look he got
when he was amused. She took her time over them, being as careful
as the medium and canvas would allow, trying to bring out the essence
of each man rather than aiming for perfect detail.
The images made her wistful. I
wonder if I’ll ever see them again.
As she put the finishing touches on Tony, Virginia heard the voices
again. She took a deep breath to conceal her thrill of interest,
and straightened, stretching a little as she wandered as casually as
possible back to the chair. Her purse still lay on the table, and
she opened it, fishing out her little bottle of lotion and applying
some to her hands, rubbing slowly and straining her ears.
She didn’t have to strain much; they were louder this time.
One and Three, she realized, arguing.
“What the...mean, wrong one?”
“...what he said. It’s all over the news.”
“No way...fucking way.”
The voices made goosebumps rise on Virginia’s arms. They
sounded furious, and instinct stirred, telling her that their anger did
not bode well for her.
“...Stark?”
“Are you kidding? You want to...Iron Man?”
The next phrase was incomprehensible, but then Three spoke again, his
voice cold. “Fix it.”
The argument ceased. Virginia sat very still, her mind racing,
fitting the fragments together. She didn’t know what had
gone wrong, but the last two words were enough.
I think I just became a
liability.
She tucked the bottle away, and glanced up at the camera.
The red light was out.
She stared at it for a moment. No
light. No video.
No witnesses.
Virginia stood up. She felt calm and urgent at the same time, the
near-Zen state she could achieve when crises came calling and action
had to be both swift and precise. There was no time to break the
mirror, unfortunately, but she still had her keys.
Moving quickly, she slung her purse over her shoulder and across her
chest, pushing it behind her to get it out of the way. She
snatched down her blouse and slacks and dumped them on the cot, piling
the blankets over them in a rough attempt to make it look as though the
bed were occupied.
The keys were tucked into the waistband of her scrub bottoms.
Virginia pulled them out and gripped them in her right fist, blades
poking out between her knuckles, and went to stand behind the door.
She was anticipating a wait of several minutes at least, but she had
hardly reached her goal when the lock clicked. She stepped back
as the door swung open, grateful that her feet were soundless on the
hard floor, and let Two walk past before she moved.
He was not wearing the mask this time, and she caught a glimpse of
brown hair and a thin young face. He was just starting to turn as
she drove her key-spiked fist into his lower back as hard as she could.
Two yelped, staggering, and Virginia twisted past him and out the door,
slamming it shut behind her. She didn’t have time to figure
out the lock; she bolted right, hoping desperately that she’d
been right in her calculations.
She had. The end of the corridor was no further than the width of
her cell, an outer door with a crash bar blocking her way. She
didn’t bother slowing down.
As the bar gave way, she heard someone shouting furiously behind her,
and she stumbled out onto a concrete sidewalk that bordered a stretch
of asphalt. Beyond that was scrubby-looking woodland.
Heedless of her bare feet, Virginia raced for the trees, not even
daring to look around for help. As she reached the line of brush,
she heard the door slam open again behind her, and she shoved
frantically through the bushes, trying to reach the shadow of the trees
beyond. More shouts rose, accompanied by a popping noise, and a
tree trunk ahead of her seemed to spray splinters and bark. Hell, they’ve got guns--
She ducked, and kept running--staggering, slipping on the rough ground
and pine needles, her feet already on fire, but never stopping.
More shots sounded, though she didn’t see any more bullets land,
and she didn’t have breath or balance to spare to look behind.
Can’t keep this up much
longer--got to find someplace to hide--
She wished breathlessly that she’d changed back into her damp
clothes. The dark slacks and jacket would have stood out much
less than the sky-blue scrubs.
The ground was sloping downward, steeper and steeper, and at one point
it actually became easier for her to sit and slide rather than try to
keep herself upright. She could hear the yells still, threats
that made her shudder, but they weren’t yet on top of her--
The slope leveled off suddenly into sand, and Virginia halted.
Her way was barred by water. More than a creek, less than a true
river, the stream ran brown and clear, carrying snowmelt from the
mountains down to the sea.
There was no choice. She waded in as fast as she could, gasping
as its chill hit her abraded feet, and dropped down to try to swim to
the other side. The water wasn’t deep, only about five
feet, but swimming would be faster than trying to walk across the
streambed.
It was when she was about halfway across and fighting the current that
the idea dawned. Virginia had played in similar watercourses as a
child, and she knew their characteristics.
Turning over to face the way she’d come, she saw two men
clambering down the hillside to the water’s edge. One held
a pistol of some kind.
As he stopped and took aim, Virginia dove underwater and kicked,
aligning herself with the current. At this width, it wasn’t
very strong, but it carried her along faster than swimming alone, and
she opened her eyes and peered through the sparkling water, grateful
for the sunlight that lit it. If her pursuer fired, she
didn’t hear it.
She was a good thirty yards downstream before she had to surface for
air. She stroked forward hard, aiming for the cluster of rocks
she could see ahead of her, keeping herself as low in the water as
possible. The current sped up as the water forced itself between
the big boulders, and she twisted around so that her feet pointed
downstream.
The rocks were smooth, and velvety with algae--downright slippery, in
fact. She slid through the gaps, sliding and bouncing down with
the rush of water, bruising herself as she pushed off and around the
hard rounded shapes. The stretch of little rapids was not long,
but it took her quickly away from her pursuers, and when she reached
quieter water and glanced back, she couldn’t see them at all.
Whew.
Virginia let herself relax a little, floating instead of swimming, but
she didn’t strike out for either shore. The stream looked
to be more of the same ahead, shallow rapids easy to slide through and
another length of calm water. Probably
a good idea to keep going for a while. This is easier than
walking, for one thing.
The cold had eased some of the pain in her feet. She rolled over
and swam forward again, aiming for the next set of rapids and keeping
her ears open for both pursuit and the roar that would mean a steeper
fall than she wanted to handle. Her waterlogged purse dragged a
little, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, and
she didn’t want to give up its contents.
She was slightly cold, but as long as she kept moving she knew she
would be fine. The top layer of water was warm where the sun hit
it, but chillier just below, golden-brown in the sun and sparkling with
mica dust. It smelled fresh and clean, and the trees overhead
were outlined sharply against the bright sky.
It was really beautiful.
Pointreaux had actually brought him ginger ale. Tony sat on the
steps and held the glass in one hand, though he couldn’t bring
himself to taste the stuff.
“Sorry about your bushes,” he mumbled, and Pointreaux
patted him distractedly on the shoulder.
“Believe me, I understand. When I thought it was
Sylvia--” He shook his head.
Beyond him, Donovan and his people were talking in low urgent
voices. Happy leaned against the wall next to the door, arms
folded and his bruised face garish in the sunlight, and Rhodey stood
watching the agents. Tony swallowed sourly and tried to breathe
deeply, reminding himself that there was no blood on the ponytail, no
sign that Pepper had actually been injured--
And she was alive when they
made that recording.
Alive, and probably unhurt--she’d sounded scared to death, but
without that hitch that meant she was in pain. Tony hadn’t
heard it often, but he knew that sound by heart.
I can’t believe this,
though--she was kidnapped by mistake?
He wasn’t sure if that was hilarious, sickening, or both.
Donovan paced over to Pointreaux. “Sir, there’s a
possibility that the kidnappers aren’t yet aware that
they’ve taken the wrong woman...”
Pointreaux nodded quickly. “Anything I can do to help,
Agent Donovan, I will do. Do you think we should put together the
ransom?”
Tony tilted his head back to look up at both men.
“I’ve already got that under control.” Squire
and his people were still standing by, and fifty million wouldn’t
be difficult to amass, given a few hours.
Donovan nodded too. “That’s probably wise.”
Tony waved a hand. “We can work out the details when we get
back to the house.”
Donovan’s cellphone chimed, and he plucked it from his belt,
murmuring an apology and stepping away. Almost immediately,
Tony’s went off as well.
Setting the glass aside, Tony answered the device, curiosity warring
with the remnants of nausea when he saw the ID.
“H’lo?”
Jarvis’ cultured tones filled his ear. “Sir, Agent
Donovan’s team has just completed a list of Nyblom’s
possible associates. They appear to have a number of
locations.”
The jolt of adrenaline was almost painful, and Tony welcomed it.
He pushed to his feet. “Sweet. Where?”
“A first destination has not yet been chosen. I believe
Agent Donovan intends to return here to examine the data in
person.”
“All right. We’ll head back too. Prep the suit,
Jarvis, I think we’ll be going hunting.”
He snapped the phone shut and stuck out a hand to Pointreaux.
“We’ve got to get moving. Thanks
for...everything.”
Pointreaux returned a firm shake. “I hope you find her,
Stark. As I said, anything I can do to help.”
Tony nodded once, and headed for the truck, fishing out the keys.
Rhodey caught up with him halfway there, plucking the keys from his
hand. “I’m driving back.”
Tony eyed the handful of metal, debating a snatch. “Says
who?”
“Says the legal registered owner of this vehicle. Besides,
if you think I’m going to let you drive in this condition you
need to adjust your thinking.” Rhodey’s tease was
half-serious, and Tony admitted to himself that he really didn’t
feel well enough to drive safely just yet.
“Fine, just get a move on.” He circled around to the
passenger side, waiting impatiently as Happy clambered into the
back. As Tony slid into the passenger seat, Donovan and Cross
appeared, blocking his reach for the door.
“Mr. Stark, I’d really like to know how you’re
accessing our information.” The agent’s eyes were
hard, though his tone was still polite.
Tony squinted at him. “You set up your operations in my house, and you hooked into
its power and phone system. My AI has been watching every move
you make.”
Agent Cross, on Donovan’s left, snickered, eyes crinkling.
“Cody did warn you.”
Donovan closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, the most human thing Tony
had seen him do yet. “So he did. Very well, Stark,
but we’re in charge of
any rescue operations, do you understand that?”
The truck’s engine roared to life, and Tony grabbed the
door. “Uh-huh,” he said, and pulled. Donovan
stepped out of the way, and Rhodey barely waited for Tony to slam it
shut before speeding down the drive.
The return trip wasn’t quite as fast as the first one, but they
still made it back in a reasonable time. Tony spent it leaning
against the window glass, cool against his aching head, trying to keep
his stomach settled and struggling to plan for unknown contingencies.
Pepper. Hang on.
He had a timing-itch, now. They had a deadline--whether it was
the kidnappers’ tomorrow at
noon or something sooner, Tony didn’t know, but it was
there, and it was making his skin want to crawl off and do something.
He wondered what would happen when the abductors realized they had the
wrong woman, if they ever did. Would they latch on to the
possibilities Tony Stark represented for ransom, or would they panic
and try to get rid of the evidence?
He very much feared it would be the latter.
Rhodey drove straight to the garage this time, and Tony was out of the
truck almost before it had stopped. “Jarvis, status
report.”
“Suit diagnostics are all green,” the AI replied as Tony
headed for the closet where he kept the neoprene liners he wore
underneath. “May I suggest delaying until a destination is
decided upon?”
Tony ignored that and chose a liner. “Rhodey, did you get a
look at the return address on that package?” Normally he
himself wouldn’t have overlooked such a detail, but he’d
been severely distracted.
“Yeah, inputting now.” Rhodey busied himself at one
terminal, then stepped back as Jarvis analyzed the address and threw it
up on the big screen. The map was superimposed over an aerial
view, and showed what looked like a very large sandy pit.
“The address given is in fact a construction site,” Jarvis
announced. “Work there has been halted due to a conflict
with the city zoning board.”
“So it’s abandoned?” Tony asked, stripping out of his
clothes and not caring about the other two. Rhodey had seen him
change before, and Happy drove
him. Which had sometimes meant ferrying around two--or
more--people having sex in the back seat of the limo. Tony
didn’t think watching him change clothes would faze the man.
“Unmanned, rather,” Jarvis corrected. “Am I
correct in assuming this is the location specified for delivery of the
ransom?”
“Yeah, you got it.” Tony yanked the neoprene past his
knees. “Anything useful?”
“The deadline’s tomorrow, Jarvis,” Rhodey
interjected. “I don’t think there’ll be anyone
there right now.”
“Not at this time, but Agent Donovan’s team is running
cross-checks on the property and those associated with it.”
“Good. Keep me posted.” Tony shrugged the liner
over his shoulders and zipped it up, then tossed a sweatshirt on top of
that to hide the arc reactor from view. He was going to start
sweating soon, but that always happened anyway.
“In addition, Agent Donovan and his people have just
returned,” Jarvis informed him.
“Let’s go find out what’s going on, then,” Tony
said, turning for the stairs.
Rhodey snickered as he and Happy followed. “You going to go
up dressed like that, man? It doesn’t leave much to the
imagination, you know.”
Tony glanced back as he jogged up the steps, raising a brow.
“What? I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
Happy coughed, and Rhodey just rolled his eyes.
“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Agent Davis’ expression did get somewhat rigid when they reached
the living room, but Tony had no time for extraneous details.
“Where?” he demanded as soon as he saw Donovan.
“Patience, Mr. Stark,” the agent said, barely blinking as
he took in Tony’s attire. “We’re only
human.”
“Yeah, so’s Pepper,” Tony snapped. “What
do you think they’ll do if they figure out they’ve got the
wrong woman?”
Donovan grimaced. “If we’re lucky, they’ll
shift their plan. Or just abandon her. If these are
professionals, they won’t have allowed her to see their
faces.”
Tony glared up at him, saying what the other man wouldn’t.
“Or maybe they’ll just dispose of her and get out.
Which is why we don’t have any time to waste.”
“Mr. Stark.” Donovan managed to loom without taking a
step forward, an impressive achievement. “I understand that
you are worried about Ms. Potts, but you have to let us do our
jobs.”
A skinny man with curly hair appeared in the hallway leading to the
study where the police had settled. “We got a hit!
The upstate place.”
Tony stiffened. “Jarvis?”
“I have it, sir,” the AI answered.
Before Tony could move, Donovan grabbed his arm. “This is
an FBI operation, Mr. Stark. Stand
down. There is no room for civilian--”
Tony threw off his grip, irritated. Donovan took that step, and
suddenly Happy was between the two of them, blocking the agent’s
path to Tony.
At once, Cross and Davis had their guns in their hands, aimed at
Happy. “Back off!”
Cross shouted.
For an instant no one moved. Then Rhodey raised his hands.
“Hey!
People! Calm down. We’re all on the same side here,
remember?”
Happy, who hadn’t moved, stared straight at Donovan. The
two were of a height, though Happy was wider, and for a long breathless
moment neither blinked.
Then Donovan inclined his head, and stepped back slowly.
“At ease,” he said calmly. “Colonel Rhodes is
correct.”
The two agents exchanged glances, and lowered their weapons. Tony
let his hands, which had clenched into fists the second he saw the guns
come out, relax. Fresh rage filled him at the sight of weapons
drawn in his house, not to
mention threatening his driver, though technically Happy was also a
bodyguard. But now was not the time to deal with it. I can file a lawsuit later.
“Gentlemen,” he said to his friends, his voice even.
“Come with me please.”
Happy turned first, after a last glare at Donovan, and then Rhodey
lowered his hands. Tony spun and headed for the stairs, knowing
that neither man would let him go third.
As soon as they were safely through the door, he tore off the
sweatshirt. “Lock it down, Jarvis,” he growled.
“And let’s go.”
“Agent Donovan is calling for air backup,” Jarvis noted
mildly as the assembly ‘bots began to move. “It would
appear that he intends to keep you from leaving the ground.”
Tony snorted. “How long does he think this takes?
Rhodey, Hogan, you’ll have to tag along with them.”
He stepped into the embrace of the ‘bots and let them wrap the
suit around him, every movement an addition of power and strength.
When the assembly was complete, Tony glanced back at his friends.
Rhodey was smirking just slightly, but Hogan’s eyes were wide,
and it occurred to Tony--a little late--that Happy had never actually
seen this part of the process before.
He gave the man a nod--the only thanks he knew Hogan would
accept. Happy straightened, and nodded back, and Tony flipped
down his faceplate and let Jarvis take him up and out the garage
tunnel.
It was a relief of sorts to soar up into the sun. Whatever aerial
support Donovan had called for had not yet arrived, and Tony arced up
and away, putting space between himself and his home. He
didn’t have time to waste dodging choppers.
“Let’s go, Jarvis,” he repeated. The map
flashed up on the HUD, and Tony grinned fiercely and left the sound
barrier behind.
On the way he placed a call to Squire, telling the man to start putting
together fifty million dollars in cash and to contact Donovan for
further details. Tony didn’t like the agent, but if paying
the ransom--or using it as bait--was what it took to get Pepper back,
he had no problem playing along.
The flight was ridiculously short, in fact. Jarvis explained as
Tony flew; the address the police had found was just over a hundred
miles away, a little abandoned industrial building up in the mountains
that had suddenly had its power and water turned back on despite the
lack of a new lease. Just one of many such installations, Tony
thought as he slowed down; for whatever reason, it hadn’t managed
success, and whoever had built the space had departed, leaving it
empty.
And, apparently, the perfect space for someone with keys to use for
unsavory purposes. The building was tucked off a two-lane road,
barely standing out from the pine forest that covered the surrounding
hills. “Give me a reading, Jarvis,” he said, coming
to a hover some fifty yards overhead; he wasn’t quite ready to
let those inside know he was there.
“Two heat signatures.” Jarvis pinpointed them on the
HUD, colored blobs superimposed on the roof below. There was no
way to be more precise at that range, and Tony dropped lower, trying to
decide whether he should go in the front door, the back door, or the
roof.
As he watched, one of the heat signatures moved towards the back of the
building, and then a figure emerged from the back door, immediately
turning left and heading for the car parked at the end of the back
driveway.
Oh no you don’t.
Tony let himself fall out of the sky, trusting the repulsors to take
the shock as he landed between the person and the vehicle.
It was a man, medium height, probably in his mid-thirties, with a hard
angry face that went dead pale at the sight of Iron Man. Without
hesitating, he yanked a gun from his waistband and began firing.
They always try that, and it
never works.
The man’s aim was good, but the bullets simply ricocheted away,
hardly even denting the metal of the suit. Normally Tony would
have blasted the man backwards with one pulse, but he most definitely
wanted him in a condition to talk, so he took three quick strides
forward and backhanded the gun away.
He tried to keep the blow light, but the man’s arm still flew
wide and he yelped. Tony grabbed a fistful of his shirt and
lifted him off his feet. “Where’s
Pepper?”
The man laughed. Tony
shook him, his rage swelling, and the man yelped again, trying to pry
Tony’s grip loose. “Tell
me,” Tony hissed.
“Gone,” the man finally gasped. His face
twisted. “You’re too late.”
Tony wanted very, very much to throw him into the nearest wall.
Instead he looked around, spotted an old and battered Dumpster a few
yards away, and strode over to it. Lifting the lid, he dumped the
man inside, slammed the lid shut, and crimped it closed with a squeeze
of both hands along the rim. Then he whirled and headed for the
door from which the man had emerged.
It was closed, and yanking the handle made it snap off in his
gauntlet. Tony dropped the useless piece of metal and dug his
fingers into the edge of the door for a good grip before pulling.
The lock gave way, and Tony let the door go and stepped inside.
There was no one in the hallway ahead of him. Tony took one step
forward, hesitated, and turned back.
It was a moment’s work to turn his repulsors on the car,
pulverizing the engine block. Tony didn’t want his
remaining target escaping while his back was turned.
The hallway had several doors opening off of it at irregular
intervals. The heat signature was in the first room on the right,
and Tony strode forward, his boots thudding on the concrete floor.
The door wasn’t locked. When he shoved it open, the
room’s inhabitant didn’t move, and it was pretty obvious
why. The rangy form in a flannel shirt lay discarded in the
middle of the room, most of the contents of his head redistributed
along the floor and wall beyond him.
He can’t have been dead
for very long--he’s still giving off a lot of heat.
Tony gave the corpse one cold glance and left it behind; right now the
only thing he wanted to know was what had happened to Pepper, and the
room was empty but for the body.
He went back outside, striding over to the Dumpster and prying it open
again. His captive was sitting on the empty, rusted floor, and
squinted up at Iron Man with a mixture of defiance and fear.
“Incoming aircraft,” Jarvis said in Tony’s ears.
Tony ignored him for the moment and extended one arm with deliberate
slowness, bringing the repulsor up to its ready glow. “Tell
me where she is,” he growled.
His prisoner held very still, eyes fixed on Tony’s
gauntlet. For a long moment, he didn’t move, and then he
spat a curse. “Don’t know.”
The rhythmic thunder of blades filled the air. Tony looked up to
see three military helicopters dropping out of the sky to land in front
of the building, and swore himself.
Stepping back, he shut down the repulsor and gestured. “Get
out of there.”
His prisoner stood shakily, but his arm was hanging at an odd angle and
Tony realized that he’d probably dislocated it when he’d
hit the man. He stepped back as various uniformed personnel
charged around the side of the building, most of them bearing weapons;
his prisoner cursed again, and clutched his wounded shoulder with his
other hand.
Among those approaching were Rhodey and Donovan, both of them jogging
towards Tony and each looking as though he was trying to beat the other
without being obvious about it. Exasperated and angry, Tony
allowed the uniforms to take his prisoner. He couldn’t
really cross his arms in the suit, but he didn’t raise his visor;
the smooth shell was useful to intimidate.
Donovan was white-hot furious, that was obvious. “Mr.
Stark,” he began as he and Rhodey reached Tony, his voice tight
and very controlled. “Do you have any idea how many
regulations you’ve violated? Vigilante justice is
not--“
“He said she’s gone.” Tony cut him off without
a qualm, turning instead to Rhodey, whose preoccupied glance at Donovan
turned into a sharp stare at Tony. “I haven’t had
time to check the place yet, but he said she’s gone.”
Rhodey’s face hardened. “Let’s make sure,
then. There’s only one?”
Tony jerked his head towards the building. “There’s
another inside. He was dead when I got here.” He
turned to go back, and Donovan raised his voice.
“Stark, you can’t ignore--“
“Tell it to my attorneys.” Tony didn’t bother
to stop.
It wasn’t until they were entering the building that Rhodey
spoke. “Playing hero overseas is one thing, Tony, but I
think you just got yourself in a whole load of trouble.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
Tony passed the room with the corpse and tried the next door, stepping
into the room beyond. “One of them was leaving when I got
here. If I’d been here sooner, the other one might not be
dead.”
The room held three camp cots with wrinkled heaps of blankets, a couple
of piles of clothing, and a small TV. Tony backed out and went to
the next door, across the hall. “If Donovan had cooperated
from the start, we might have gotten here before
Pepper--whatever.”
The second room had a couch, a chair, and a small table with a mess of
magazines and empty soda bottles on it. An open door showed a
small empty washroom, not very clean.
The third door had a lock, and Tony gritted his teeth before opening
it, because with each door his fear that he would find Pepper gone on the other side increased.
The lock wasn’t engaged, however. The knob turned easily.
At first glance the room beyond looked like the others, with a messy
bed-cot and a table and chair. But Tony knew. “This is where
they kept her,” he muttered, and raised his visor.
The curtain hung to block the washroom was askew; there was no one
there. But with his face bare Tony could smell her, a ghost of scent in the
air.
“I think you’re right.” Rhodey slipped past him
to peer into the washroom, then stepped inside. “Looks like
hers.” He held up a hairbrush.
Tony shook his head numbly. “Where is she?”
Marks on the wall caught his eye, and Tony went over for a closer look.
He knew Pepper drew; he’d seen her with a sketchbook a time or
two on long plane rides, and she had a habit of doodling when meetings
got excessively boring. But he’d never seen the results.
Behind his shoulder, Rhodey laughed, the sound unexpected.
“Would you look at that.”
The little cartoons made Tony’s lips tug up even in the midst of
his fear. She had captured them all, even herself, and he had to
admit the situations were funny. The image of him propositioning
his own car--
“When we get her back, I’m gonna ask her to do me one of
these.” Rhodey tapped the picture of himself straddling a
plane. “I didn’t even know she could draw.”
“Hidden talent,” Tony muttered, bending for a closer look
at the portraits a few inches further along the wall. The three
faces, done with such loving care, put a lump in his throat.
Voices in the corridor made him straighten. Tony frowned at the
cot, then lifted the blanket to reveal a badly wrinkled blouse and
slacks half-hidden beneath. “What the hell?”
His stomach knotted. “Why are her clothes here?”
The implications of Pepper stripped naked were absolutely horrifying.
Rhodey frowned as well, fingering the blouse, then pointed to the
table. “I think she changed. See, there’s a set
of scrubs, and this is damp.”
“You think that’s--” He couldn’t finish
the words, and Rhodey shot him a sharp glance.
“Let’s hope not, man. Either way--”
If they’d hurt her, assaulted her, he was going to kill
them. Whoever was left. Tony realized his fingers were one
movement from bringing up his repulsors, and forced them back through
the shutdown sequence.
Footsteps moved past the door, the agents passing through.
“I’ll see if I can find out what they know,” Rhodey
said absently, and jogged after them. Tony growled impatiently.
“Jarvis. Is there any trace of what might have happened to
Pepper?”
“Difficult to say,” his AI answered. “There are
no signs of violence aside from the death in the first room, and the
blood spatter there indicates that he was the only victim.”
“So they moved her--took her out, maybe, into the
forest...” Tony gazed at the scrubby trees that backed onto
the asphalt lot. He didn’t like that idea either, Pepper
forced into the wilderness for--what? An execution? Simple
abandonment?
Would a shallow grave show up on Jarvis’ sensors?
He swallowed thickly. “I think we’re going to need a
search and rescue team.”
“Agent Donovan has already called for one,” Jarvis
said. “ETA is ninety-five minutes.”
She could have been driven
away, Tony reminded himself. We need to find out if they had more than
one vehicle.
But as he faced the wild land, he had a sinking feeling that Pepper was
farther away than ever.
Virginia stayed in the river a long time. It was much easier than
trying to force her way through the brush on either side, and it would
make it that much harder for her pursuers to track her--if they were
even bothering.
I don’t want to find
out the hard way.
She still had no real idea where she was, aside from someplace high
enough in elevation to have pine trees, and she knew that she might be
traveling further away from whatever civilization was to be found in
the area, but Virginia didn’t want to stop just yet.
There were stretches when she had to wade, or carefully pick her way
among the tumbled rocks of a rapids too shallow to swim through, but
she made steady progress downstream. When the sun began to shine
in her eyes, however, she decided that it was time to get out of the
water. I need to dry off
before nightfall.
It took a little while to find a likely-looking landing spot on the far
side of the river, but eventually there was a slope gentle enough that
it wouldn’t be too hard to climb, and a wide flat boulder by the
water’s edge. She hoisted her dripping self up onto the
sandy expanse and shivered.
Glancing around out of habit, she pulled off her scrubs and wrung them
out as best she could, then squeezed water from her hair and laid the
clothing out to dry for a bit. It felt indecent to be in the open
in her underwear, though it covered more than some bikinis.
“Relax,” Virginia muttered to herself, dumping out the
contents of her purse. “Who’s going to see
you?”
Her keys, which she’d tucked into the bag as soon as she’d
gotten out of range of her pursuers, were fine, as were the lotion, the
tampons, and the sewing kit in its sealed box. The makeup, breath
mints, and aspirin she wrote off at once, and the receipts and tissues
were hardly more than handfuls of pulp. The soggy granola bar she
tossed into the water to surprise some lucky fish, though she kept the
wrapper rather than trash the landscape.
Her wallet was waterlogged. She opened it carefully and pulled
everything out; the cards were probably fine, but her checkbook was
ruined. She used her change to weigh down the thirty-three
dollars in bills so the sun could work on those too.
As her skin dried, Virginia began to feel less chilly. I’ll probably have a sunburn, but
there’s no helping that.
She examined her abraded feet as she waited, and winced. Both her
soles had sustained cuts--shallow ones, but painful. They had
long since stopped bleeding, but she knew she would quickly acquire
more if she didn’t protect her feet somehow.
She considered her meager assets, spread out on the rock. I could tear the sleeves off the top, but
I don’t think they’d last very long.
The only other alternative was her purse. She sighed at the idea
of taking it apart, but it was already ruined, and it was big enough
that she would have enough leather to wrap around her feet.
Retrieving the little sewing kit, Virginia extracted the tiny scissors
that her captors had overlooked. Or ignored; they were flimsy
things. Pulling the soggy purse onto her lap, she opened the
scissors and began ripping at the seams.
By the time she had separated the bag into two halves and turned the
damp sleeves of her top into tie strips, the sun was sinking below the
treetops and the air was starting to chill. She pushed her bangs
out of her eyes and blinked, a little dizzy.
Well, no wonder, silly.
You haven’t eaten all day.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she could help at the
moment. Thirst was a bigger problem; her mouth was sticky and her
throat dry.
Virginia eyed the river she’d just swum down, terribly
tempted. It seemed clean--certainly it was unpolluted enough to
be full of life--but despite having gotten a little in her mouth on
some of the rougher rapids she wasn’t sure it was safe to
actually swallow in any quantity.
Finally she sighed, and dipped up some to cool her hot face. It
smelled sweet and fresh, and she cupped her hand and sipped
cautiously. It’s not
like I have a lot of choice. The odds of finding a spring around
here are slim even if I knew where to look.
The water tasted fine, at
least, though it was a bit gritty. She drank several mouthfuls,
enough to soothe the edge of her thirst, though not enough to really
satisfy her. It’ll have
to do for the moment.
Pulling on her damp clothes, she looked up the slope she’d
chosen. It was strange to find herself in the middle of what
looked to be wilderness, without resources or even shoes, but she had
to admit it beat the alternative. Still, I need to find someplace to sleep
before it gets totally dark. Without a light source she
would have to stay in one place until morning.
Her makeshift shoes proved trickier than she had hoped. The
leather pieces wrapped around her feet easily enough, but securing them
in place was much more difficult; the ties simply slipped off as soon
as she took a few steps. Finally, desperate and desperately
annoyed, she sat back down and bored crude holes in the edges of the
leather, cursing it and the intractability of her scissors under her
breath.
Though when the scissors broke apart halfway through the first piece,
it actually made the boring process easier.
The light was beginning to fade by the time Virginia laced the leather
onto her feet. The results were sloppy and loose, and hard to
walk in, but they protected her soles and kept the sand out of her
cuts, and she was willing to settle for that.
She reassembled her wallet--still damp at the seams but it
couldn’t be helped--and stretched out the front of her top to
form a shallow pocket. Into it she placed all the items
she’d taken from her purse. It wasn’t an ideal
solution at all, but she didn’t want to leave anything behind.
You never know what will turn
out to be useful.
The shadows under the trees were getting deeper. Virginia
scrambled carefully off the rock, crossed the tiny strip of beach
beyond, and began climbing the hill, placing her slipshod feet with
care and holding out her free hand for balance. The other one
clutched her makeshift pocket closed.
Progress was slow. She ducked under branches and stepped over
tangles of plants, and lost her footing twice, though the litter of
leaves on the ground saved her from more than a scratch or two.
When she reached the top of the hill, she straightened and looked
around, breathless.
There was little to see in the twilight--just more of the same, trees
and brush descending slightly and then climbing again to form another,
steeper hill. She grimaced; she had been hoping for some sign of
civilization.
She leaned against a convenient tree, suddenly drained. She was
starving and tired and still damp; her feet hurt and her nose was
sunburned; she’d had week from hell
so far and it didn’t look to be improving any time soon.
She swallowed back the frustrated tears that threatened to betray
her. That won’t help
anything. Think! You can’t do anything until morning,
so find a place to sleep.
The temperature was dropping as night came on. Virginia pushed
away from the tree and faced the problem. Looking around at the
forest floor, she found a stick that was at least three feet long and
picked it up, and then went looking for a boulder or an outcrop that
she could put her back against.
She didn’t find one, but she did step in a hollow concealed by a
drift of leaves, and when she was done swearing, Virginia realized that
it could be the answer to her dilemma. Squinting in the dusk, she
poked into the dry leaves with her stick until she was satisfied that
there was nothing inhabiting them, and then lay cautiously down.
It was by no means comfortable,
but the leaves provided both a thin cushion and, with some wriggling, a
cover of sorts. She very carefully didn’t think about bugs,
instead concentrating on the way the leaves trapped her body heat, and
the fact that they actually smelled fairly nice--woody and sweet.
She laid her head on her arm and stared into the darkness, hoping that
her empty stomach would let her go to sleep.
This time, when the tears pressed, she let them escape, trickling
silently down her cheeks to drop into her leafy mattress. Hunger,
cold, and exhaustion all took second place to an aching sense of
loneliness.
Virginia had no family left, and few close friends. But her life
was filled with people--she was constantly interacting with colleagues,
contacts, anyone and everyone as her job demanded. She
communicated all day, interfacing between her boss and the rest of the
world, making and taking calls, texting, e-mailing--even when she
wasn’t speaking, there was a constant stream of words.
It was silent now. No, not quite--there were rustles and taps and
the constant hissing hush of the river--but none of it was addressed to
her.
She sniffled, and wondered abruptly what this adventure would be like
if Tony were a part of it. And her tears gave way to a giggle,
because he would be impossible.
He’d probably be up
half the night trying to construct a treehouse to sleep in. And
complaining. And setting the forest alight trying to start a
campfire. Tony was a genius, and remarkably good at coping
with odd situations, but he didn’t do well with no access to
technology.
If she had to be stuck in the forest with someone, she thought, Rhodey
would be a better choice; he had survival training and was a good deal
more patient.
In her mind’s eye, though, Tony materialized, sitting with his
back against the tree closest to her, his chest piece giving off almost
enough light to read by. “Come
on, Potts,” he coaxed, smirking at her. “You know we have to snuggle to
conserve body heat.”
Like you ever snuggled with
anyone,
her imagination retorted. But the vision was a tempting one;
feeling him slide into the leaves behind her and press up against her
back, his warmth soaking into her spine and his arm sliding over her
hip.
Somehow she knew he would be warm.
Comfort in the darkness, guard against the unknown, because Tony would protect her whether she
liked it or not--
Virginia closed her wet eyes tightly, and waited for dawn.
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