Author's Notes:
Hi all! It's TheBriggsWay, and I am presenting you with The Assassin's Way. This is my FIRST EVER story, so if it sucks that's why lol. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so if you see anything that needs fixing, please let me know, just be kind about it :) Umm, yeah, timeline-wise, this is pretty soon after the events of The Avengers 2012 (though I'm having a couple of Tony's suits being built a couple years in the future, sorry lol). As for the DC side of things, I have absolutely no clue- I am new to the fandom and have no idea what happens when, so if something is blatantly wrong, pretend it's an alternate timeline or whatever because! I am a helpless case! Thank you for your, patience, and I hope you enjoy what you read!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE FABULOUS MARVEL COMICS, MCU, DC COMICS, DCU, WHATEVER OTHER CATEGORY THIS FALLS INTO. THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.
Chapter One: Preparation
"Remind me again why we're going to this gala? I thought I explicitly stated that I wanted no part in anything Wayne."
Pepper sighs, slightly exasperated, and reaches up to adjust her partner's bowtie with a few quick tugs, "Because it would be good for Stark Industries to branch out with other companies, and this gala is the perfect place to get our foot in the door." The look of utter horror Tony shoots her way suggests that this is the first time he is fully comprehending what this implies and is not happy about it. Pepper simply rolls her eyes in response. It's not like she's told him this reasoning once already. Or twice. Or four times.
"But it's Wayne," Tony counters, spitting out the name as if it were poison. Pepper simply hums a distracted reply, finishing up the final touches of Tony's outfit before stepping away. She gives him a quick once over to make sure nothing is out of place and is happy to find nothing wrong. In fact, the grey pinstripe suit he sports masks the shine of his arc reactor (his only irregularity, according to the press) masterfully, the faint aqua glow barely visible beneath the thick fabric. Satisfied with her work, Pepper drifts over to a neighboring cabinet, plucking two golden earrings out of her jewelry dish, and glances into a mirror, attempting to both end the discussion with her silence and complete her attire for the evening. Tony, not one for being ignored, indignantly follows Pepper across the room with slightly wounded pride. He plants himself behind her and forces her to meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
"Wayne," he emphasizes again once he is certain he has Pepper's attention, forcing as much loathing into the name as he can. Pepper snorts, unamused, and her gaze flicks back to the jewelry in her hand.
"I still don't see why you hate that man so much."
Tony's lip curls back in disgust, faded memories making their way to the forefront of his mind, "Well, for starters, he stole Charlotte from me-"
"You were seven and didn't have her in the first place."
"-and he's just an ass! Honestly, all he does is sleep around and waste his money on stupid parties."
Pepper fixes Tony with a deadpan stare, a lone eyebrow quirked, before returning to her work. Tony, reading the meaning behind her look, releases an irritated huff and averts his gaze to the ceiling. This only lasts a moment as a beat of silence passes. Then:
"Okay, but seriously, Wayne?"
"Oh, for the love of God!" Pepper exclaims, slamming her open palms on the red wood cabinet with a thud. She stands to her full height and whirls around, squaring off against Tony's now somewhat-terrified frame.
"You will go to Bruce Wayne's gala, you will try to get a deal with him, and you will be on your best behavior," Pepper orders, jabbing her finger against Tony's arc reactor at the end of each phrase, "or so help me I will work with JARVIS to change the password to your lab, do I make myself clear?"
Tony wisely does not comment about how that is technically impossible to do because he programmed JARVIS to listen to his orders over everyone else's, but he nods anyway. A sheepish grin manages to slip on his face, a hand running across his neck nervously, "Yeah, sure, Pep, whatever you say."
"Good," Pepper asserts, her hands resting on her hips, "because I definitely will follow through with my threat."
"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Tony laughs easily, and he means what he says. As impossible as it may be, Pepper would find a way around the system he set in place, even if it meant she would not get sleep the rest of the month. When Pepper sets her mind to something, there is no stopping her. Tony bets she would even go as far as contacting Banner for information if it meant locking him out of the lab.
So, to the gala I go, Tony sighs, still dreading the idea entirely but not willing to sacrifice his lab time. Honestly, he does not understand why everyone is making such a big fuss over this. Sure, there would be innumerable benefits for both Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises should a deal be struck between the two, but that is what meetings are for. He should merely approve of whatever deal is made, nothing more, nothing less. "Making friends" is not his forte. Furthermore, the party isn't even in New York; it's in Gotham. That city full of crazies, both on the good side and the bad. Muggers and mobsters run rampant throughout the day, stealing and killing as they please, and that alone keeps most people away. But then the sun sets, and all hell breaks loose. Scarecrow gases the city with breathable fear; the Joker dances around town as if he owns the place, his very laugh sending chills down any sane person's spine; even the superhero Batman works outside of the law, defeating criminals in an effective yet terrifying manner. Tony may be Iron Man, but even he quakes a little at the prospect of staying in that city for anything longer than a couple hours. As an unsettled knot forms in Tony's stomach, he wonders whether or not he can convince Pepper to let him keep Mark 5 on standby as a precaution. He shoots her a quick glance, noting how her jaw is set stubbornly and how her eyes are daring him to object anymore, and he decides that he is just going to do it anyway, not in the mood to fight her on it right now. Will she be furious if -no when- she finds out? Absolutely, but as he watches her slowly return to her routine to get ready, his heart swelling with a deep desire to keep her safe, Oh God, please let nothing happen to her on this trip, he accepts that her anger is something he is willing to face. The feeling of her wrath would be nothing compared to the feeling he would undoubtedly experience should he lose her, especially when he was there to protect her.
Tony jerks his head to the side in an attempt to clear his mind of such dark, wayward thoughts. No. He will not lose her- he would die before he let that happen. He couldn't imagine the overwhelming sense of loss that would overtake his life should he fail to keep her safe or, God forbid, alive.
Tony shakes his head a second time, the weight in his stomach sitting heavier than before. Snap out of it, Stark, he berates himself, his hands fidgeting with the cufflinks at his wrists, Nothing is going to happen. We will go to the party, have a couple drinks, share a dance or two, talk with Wayne, and then leave. At this point, Tony's fidgeting has since shifted from his hands and has taken control of the rest of his body, his slow, controlled pace around the room in stark contrast with the speed of his racing thoughts.
Worst comes to worst, I could fly her back to New York with Mark 5. We'd have to stick to the lower altitudes to keep her warm, but that shouldn't be an issue if-
"Tony?" a concerned voice cuts through his haze, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He stops mid-step and turns to face the only other occupant of the room, hastily trying to school his features from betraying his inner thoughts. Apparently he is unsuccessful, for a worried crease pinches between Pepper's eyebrows as she reads his tense posture.
"What's wrong?" she asks, taking a delicate step towards him.
Tony gulps. He's never been good at lying to Pepper; not only does he hate doing it, but she picks up on it faster than a mom noticing her kids are doing something they shouldn't. Hell if he didn't try it anyway, though.
"It's nothing," Tony responds tersely, waving a dismissive hand, "I just have a lot on my mind." There. Not a complete lie, at least.
If Pepper sees through his lie, she decides not to comment. Instead, her eyes soften, and she reaches up to cup Tony's cheek. He stiffens initially at the sudden contact before melting into her presence, all of the stress he feels about the situation momentarily put on pause.
"Tony," she repeats softly, and, as if she knows exactly what he is thinking, says, "we're going to be okay."
And then it is as if a dam exploded, "You can't know that for sure, Pep- I mean, it's Gotham of all places! Lord only knows what happens there on a daily basis. Do you know how many people die there, Pep, die every single day? That city is a madhouse!"
"Oh, there is no denying that," Pepper concedes, "but that does not mean that we should let it scare us away." Tony has the gal to look offended.
"I'm not scared," he replies, partially in denial, "I just want to keep you safe!"
"And you will," Pepper counters calmly, no heat in her voice, "because if I know you the way I think I do, you were already planning on bringing a suit as backup, correct?" She doesn't even wait for an answer as she walks out of the room, a sly smirk on her face.
"I think Mark 5 would be a little too obvious- I'd keep Mark 42 on call if I were you!" she suggests over her shoulder from the hallway, her voice fading as she drifts farther and farther away from the bedroom.
Tony releases an ear-splitting grin, resolving to never break up with this wonderful woman he is dating before bounding out of the room after her, shooting Happy a quick text to get the car ready as the couple makes their way to the elevators to leave for the night.
"Remind me again why I'm going to this gala? I thought I explicitly stated that I wanted no part in any of father's ludicrous parties," a young, rough voice calls out, irritation woven into each passing syllable. The owner of said voice sits atop of the room's king-size bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in frustration, his gaze following the room's only other occupant with bored, if not slightly calculating, emerald-green eyes. The older individual, for his part, does not stumble at the sudden outburst, but rather continues with his work as if nothing has happened, replying with practiced ease:
"Because, Master Damian, your father has requested your presence. You should need no more of a reason than that." The boy scowls.
"I will need more of a reason than that, Alfred," Damian snaps, sliding off the bed and silently moving towards a nearby desk. He absentmindedly hefts a red face mask off of its placeholder and bounces it deftly between his hands before facing the aged butler once more, "I have no intent in participating in an event if there is no purpose behind it, for then it is just a waste of my time, especially on a patrol night."
Alfred nods, fully taking in what the ex-assassin explained as he places a child-sized tuxedo on the bed. He knows that there is no real use in arguing with the boy- he is just as stubborn as his father. However, if there is one thing that will get both Waynes to concede a point, it is appealing to their sense of logic; if there is unshakeable reasoning behind something, they will follow through with it to the end. Hence the dressing up as bats and running around the city at night fighting crime. So, in an effort to appeal to this mindset, Alfred chooses his next words carefully.
"And what if I were to tell you," his accented voice finally responds, fully filling up the space of the open room, "that, by throwing galas, Master Bruce can further business deals in a social setting when people are more, shall I say, tipsy and open to new ideas, thus earning Wayne Enterprises more money? More money for the company means more funding for your nightly activities, I do believe. Everything Master Bruce does, he does with a purpose, Master Damian."
"I never said that wasn't true, though I still don't see why I must be dragged into his schemes," Damian grumbles, slowly caving to the butler's point but too proud to admit defeat. However, he is willing to let the subject drop; if the party, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, supports his outings every evening, then he should be there for his father to make sure it runs as smoothly as possible. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, of course. There is one question that continues to bother him, though.
"So, who's watching Gotham?"
It isn't Alfred that answers, "Well, Dick is caught up in Blüdhaven, Tim's on a mission with the Titans, and I'm pretty sure Jason will ignore everything I tell him, so, currently nobody." Both Damian and Alfred turn towards the newcomer, neither very surprised at the unexpected addition to the conversation. Though Bruce Wayne moves as silent as a shadow, as quiet as a ghost (an occupational hazard, it seems), both have since ceased to be startled by his sudden appearances; it is hard to surprise those who have been trained to move in the same way.
"However," Bruce continues, stepping further into the room, the lithe silhouette of a great dane at his legs, "the gala ends at ten, so I don't foresee there being too much of an issue if we head out a little later tonight. But only," Bruce pauses, fixing Damian with a stare, "if you behave yourself." Damian purses his lips.
"Yes father."
Bruce doesn't budge, the red light of the setting sun streaming through the windows, "I mean it, Damian. A lot of important people are coming tonight- I expect you to be on your best behavior." The muscles in Damian's back tighten and his hands close into fists at his side as he repeats:
"Yes father."
Satisfied, Bruce, reading his son's tense posture, dips his head in submission, effectively stopping the conversation, "Very well- I didn't expect you to act up, anyway. I just needed to be sure." Damian's fists loosen somewhat at this, and his stance relaxes as relief floods his system.
Good. So father doesn't think of me as a failure waiting to happen.
Now appeased, Damian turns his attention to his dog, which has since made its way across the room and leaned its heavy weight into his side. The great dane looks up to Damian expectantly, and Damian sighs, scratching the dog vigorously under the chin, "You're getting spoiled, you know that, right Titus?" Titus simply wags his tail in response, and Alfred chuckles.
"And that would be no thanks to you, Master Damian," Damian shoots the butler a glare as Bruce grins, Damian's cheeks flushing pink.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Damian demands, venom lacing his words. He catches the look in his father's eye, however, and reluctantly dulls the heat of his scowl. Alfred chuckles again.
"I meant no offense besides that you give that dog the most affection out of the family. I see nothing wrong with that," the butler appeases. When the glower remains plastered on Damian's face, Alfred hums, then addresses the other adult in the room.
"My, my, Master Bruce, I do believe he picks that up from you." Now it is Bruce's turn to frown as the old butler releases a hearty laughs in response, "Come now, I'm only joking, Master Bruce. You have a much more frightening glare." At this, even Damian lets a small smirk overtake his scowl at the sight of his father's deepening frown. Slight digs aside, Alfred does know how to ease the tension in a room. Now that he thinks about it, Damian notes that, though both he and his father were insulted, he, at least, feels lighter now, less on edge, than when his conversation with Bruce ended. One look at his father, and Damian can tell that, despite what his facial expression might say, he feels the same way.
And maybe that was his plan all along, Damian muses to himself, still massaging Titus as he observes Alfred push past Bruce towards the open door. Once Alfred's hand reaches the handle, he stops and spares a glance at his wristwatch.
"It's high time you got dressed for tonight, Master Damian- you don't want to be late, now do you? That would not leave the best impression on the visiting executives. Master Bruce, if you would follow me out, if you may." And then Alfred is gone, exiting just as silently as his master entered.
Bruce shakes his head, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. His gaze lingers on the spot Alfred just stood, "I still don't know how he manages to do that." Damian pinches his eyebrows.
"Do what?"
Bruce shifts his ice-blue gaze from the door and settles it on his son, his eyes crinkling in the corners, "Manage to manipulate a situation like that, particularly because we are trained not to fall for it." Damian snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"He's Pennyworth. Are you really that surprised?" Bruce laughs, beckoning Titus to him and exiting the room.
"I guess I really shouldn't be. We leave in an hour."
The click of a closed door follows his father's leave, and Damian is left alone. He does not move immediately from his position as he mulls over what just occurred. With a shrug, he glides back over to his bed and stares at the tuxedo laid on it.
"Now where is the best place for me to hide a couple of batarangs . . .?"
Aaaaaaaand, that's a wrap! For chapter one, at least. If you made it this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME. Remember, reviews are appreciated, but please keep the hate to a minimum :) Also, you are in NO WAY obligated to leave a review, a favorite, a follow, etc. Though those would be very kind of you, the fact that you finished what I wrote means the world to me, so thank you! I will update whenever I get the next part out, which will hopefully be sooner than later, and I hope you have a great rest of your day/afternoon/evening!
TheBriggsWay