Don't Mention It
C01 – "Rapunzel, Get A Haircut."
Ever hear the statement that starting a story is the hardest part of the journey? I have, and they weren't really joking. Granted, I could've started it any other way, or even gotten J.A.R.V.I.S. to write it for me – you know, get it out of the way – but this story I have to write on my own I think.
Then again, how hard could it be? A pile of choice words, weld together a heap of sentences and program in a plot and you have a story right? Piece of cake.
This brings us back to the issue of starting thing out again though, doesn't it? Honestly, it could have started anywhere. Hell, this story could start in my childhood, or the bastards who tried to kill me on my 'trusty uncle's' orders – that's a good spot too. But it's a bit far back – even... then is a bit too far back. You know, gods, aliens – I still don't really want to think about it honestly. Just because these attacks have laid off over the last two years doesn't mean I'm A-Okay with mentioning it.
Let's just leave that topic alone.
Anyway, this is basically the story about how I mostly recovered from the whole god part of New York... see, I said it – happy?
…
I think I know how to start this now. If I remember correctly, it wasn't sunny... or was it?
~!DMI!~
"Look, Pep', I'm fine – yes, I picked them up today – I know, just- don't 'k? Look, I'm in the middle of something- yes, yes, ye- Pep. I'm taking care of myself, I'm fine – bye- yeah yeah I know – bye Pep'," Beep. "Worry much more and your hair'll turn white, or whatever the saying is – Jarvis, let's get some good music playing, 'k?"
"Of course sir,"
A harsh, yet not beat began to fill the room at a four by four tempo as a clattering echoed in the workshop, now somewhat muffled by the newly introduced sound. Tools, prescription drugs, hacking scripts, blueprints and stained coffee rings stained the expensive desk's surface, evidence of many long nights and little sleeps in between – though the small pillow leaning against the side of the desk suggested that he'd not been able to make it out of the lab before passing out on numerous occasions.
The brown stain on one side of it suggested he'd had a little accident with one of his many cups of coffee as well – that must have been unpleasant, sleeping in coffee. His face must've looked hilarious the next time he awoke.
The man in question was in the centre of the clattered underground workshop, playing with holographic screens and blueprints, before his brown eyes were drawn to the clock like the following groan was drawn out of him. Yawning, he grabbed his most recent cup of coffee, two of the little pills from the Prozac box and popped them in his mouth, downing the coffee with it.
In the background, the news was going on about how there was a sudden thunderstorm in the Miami area, but the inventor barely blinked an eye in it's direction, too busy shaking off the effects of sculling a cup of hot coffee to really care about the weather.
It wasn't like he was upstairs or outdoors anyway – who cared?
"Risin' up back on the street, did my time, took my chances," He sung along to himself as he grabbed a small headset and walked over to the centre of the room where he had two of his latest suits standing – one painted blue and the other red, you know, for no reason really. "Alright kids, time for Papa to show you a new trick – Jarvis!"
"Right on it, sir," The voice replied tiredly as the billionaire place the headset on, making sure it was secure before the holographic screen appeared in front of his eyes.
"Is it my birthday? Because I think I just got spoiled – by myself, of course." A smirk laced the statement as he jumped off the platform, "Mark JIV vs Mark LVI, you may begin!"
The music rose to it's original volume where it made the floors vibrate, the tempo making everything give off an impossible to hear hum while the brunette leaned against his desk, keeping a slightly strained, yet straight face as he intensely watched the red Mark LVI while it blocked, jolting slightly at each movement, restraining himself from moving his body to go along with it – like, well, he did when the out-of-body controls were through implants in his arms. This time, he was trying something new, something he'd been working on for a week now in between building the Mark LVI and Mark JIV – the Neuropsychiatric Internal Thought System. In other words, 'N.I.T.S.' - yes, he named it after head lice.
How... him.
The instrumental of the old 'Survivor' song echoed throughout the workshop as the genius behind the room's inventions twitched a bit, before twitching again... and again... and- "Shi-!"
Suddenly, the brunette was collapsed on the ground, holding his head – specifically over the N.I.T.S headset as he clumsily pushed the headset's side three times, the device sparking and hissing all the while. As the Mark JIV pinned the Mark LVI in victory, the genius tossed the headset aside in frustration while forcing himself into a sitting position, forming the hand movements to shut down the suits in a quick succession whilst demanding the classic hit be shut off, leaving the room in a dead silence.
Which, by default, didn't last incredibly long.
"Jarvis, how's my nits – still biting?" He asked the empty room with a slightly strained voice, holding the side of his head where the headset had been resting. He couldn't help but frown to himself at the fact that the test run failed – granted, it was the first run, but he was Tony fucking Stark – he was supposed to better than first time failures. Honestly – and he was so close, too.
"The Neuropsychiatric Internal Thought System is in need of being repaired, however it is salvageable, sir," The A.I. responded in kind – Tony simply grunted in response as he shakily stood up, making a mental note to get his brain scanned for any possible damage in case the N.I.T.S. messed with his nerves more than intended. You can never be too careful after all – he didn't exactly intend for it to fry either.
Fingers worn from both age and decades of hard work picked up the sparking device as he walked over to his cluttered desk, pushing the majority of the clutter aside (some small items like a screwdriver and some metal shards fell to the floor as a result). After picking the screwdriver up from the floor, he quickly cracked open the small device and, using tweezers, pulled out the sparking miniature motherboard with a somewhat disgusted, yet annoyed expression.
He was quick to put the sparking thing on a small light blue, glowing tray.
"Jarvis, I want a detailed scan of this chip, 'k? This nit isn't supposed to scratch – and book me in to the local hos- actually, scratch that – I'll be fine. Time, Jarvis?" The genius babbled as the chip was encased in a clear dome before gravity seemed to just abandon the small chamber and it began to float.
As Jarvis scanned the chip for where the faults were, hard-working hands went to work with the holograms for a few moments before he was looking at his lab's security feeds. He had the camera zoom into the side of the head to show he had what looked like a small scorch mark, as well as several smeared red spots from where the nerve reader attached to his temple. He quickly wiped away the red spots.
"Shall I book you a C.A.T. Scan just in case, sir?" Jarvis piped up, startling the tiring genius as he shook himself out of the minor daze the small fry put him under.
"Didn't know that was a time, Jarv' – and I'm fine," Stark responded with a roll of his eyes, running a finger through his hair, moving some of the longer strands over the area the headset latched onto to try make the tiny scorch mark less notice-able. After the time appeared on a hologram, Stark just rolled his eyes at the fact only four and a half minutes had passed since he last checked. Depressing, really.
Catching himself in a yawn, the man decided now was the best time for the cup of coffee, so doing what any (in)sane genius would do, he walked over to the coffee machine sitting in the corner of the room and made it start giving him coffee.
It took him a few moments to realise he was just wasting quality caffeine when he noticed that he failed to put a cup on the tray for it to put the coffee in, so it was just effectively going down the drain. Rubbing his eyes a bit, mentally noting the pills were probably mixing with the fact he hadn't slept in 53 hours, he grabbed the nearest mug and put it on the tray. The 'I Love Iron Man' print on the side never failed to make him snicker a bit as he pressed the cappuccino option again... only for nothing to happen. He repeated the notion about three times before Jarvis' kind reminder.
"I believe you are out of milk, sir – perhaps it is time for a visit to the real world?" Stark rolled his eyes at the A.I., muttering under his breath 'no shit, Sherlock' as he somewhat clumsily began to make his way out of the room.
But not before walking into the glass door – damnit, he really needed his caffeine hit.
~!DMI!~
A sky that looked like it was bleeding red into the night electrocuted the earth one again as the thunder of it's laugh followed not even a second after – in fact, the sound almost collided with the strike. The hues of the sunset made the view spectacular as you could see the red, orange and pink bleeding through the occasional gap in the clouds.
It was so beautiful, a photographer would be out there snapping a million photos and the artist would be sitting there with his easel painting this creation into eternal beauty. But the inventor was neither a photographer nor an artist – he didn't see in the rule of thirds nor the colour wheel. Hell, he didn't really understand any of that crap anyway – he was an inventor, and a damned good one.
Leave the creative stuff to the creative people – he had his own stuff to work on.
Another crash of lightening attacked the nearby shore as the waves battled it out to see who'd reach the sand first, but Tony didn't notice any of that – he was too busy walking into the modernised kitchen and brewing some more caffeine in the espresso machine sitting on the kitchen bench for when he surfaced from his rare sleep.
Or when he surfaced from his lab in general – the man practically lived, drank, spoke, sang and breathed caffeine these days – he was bound to have a heart attack sooner or later, but as those idiotic teenagers say these days 'you only live once', so he's going to live his life the way he wants to.
Well, as much as he can anyway – he can't deny that Pepper having moved out into her own apartment again last week was a bit of a burn to his psyche. While she was adamant that it didn't mean they broke up or anything, it didn't change the fact his most precious person leaving with all her bags was painful – well, at least he remembered why he's been up over 50 hours this time.
He gave himself a tired slap in the face at the thought train, the sound drowned out by a ridiculously large thunder clap and the coffee machine beeping to signal his beverage was ready.
"Snap out of it," He hissed to himself as he felt along the counter a little before grabbing his coffee, squinting to see past the blur of his tired state as he quickly downed the whole cup, spilling some down his jaw and onto his shirt, as well as over his hand.
After a finished cup, a few quick curses and a lot of flailing and wiping to try and get the hot liquid off him, he just sat down on the floor under the coffee machine and sighed. While he was already a little more alert, no one could really deny he was also tired as shit, and it's already been about 10-15 minutes since he took that Prozac – so it only really just started taking effect as well.
But that aside, Tony could admit he needed a little break. His vision was swimming a little, he had a killer headache, and his temple where the N.I.T.S. was hurts as well. A brief thought occurred to him that maybe that thing fried his brain a little, but he just passed it off – he was tired as shit, better yet, he was a tired shit. He looked like shit, he probably smelled like shit, he was drowsy as shit – Tony Stark, right now, was a giant shit just sitting on his kitchen floor staring up at the flickering ceiling lights.
"Great. Jarvis, get the back-up generators online!"
"My apologies s- sir, but the lightning has destroyed the con- connection -tion. I believe we- we are about to experience a blackout -out. Sir." The distorted A.I. responded, his voice cutting and fizzling like a giant computer glitch to hit when a video game character was trying to speak. Stark could practically imagine his colours going haywire and everything, but that thought wasn't that important – probably brought on from his over-dosed system, really.
"Fuck – connect yourself to the J-" Stark began before the house systematically went black, "-VI... Jarvis? Jarvis? ...Fuck."
Shaking his head to get the mental lag out of the way, the billionaire forced himself up to a standing position of sorts. Frowning to himself, the man felt his way around to the sink and turned on the cold water tap. A few good splashes to the face woke him up well enough stand as straight as he normally would and internally curse the fact he didn't need to wear his arc reactor any more (so he didn't).
The damned thing would be a much better light than the false latex skin he had over the empty metal cylinder left behind in his chest (it would be too dangerous to take it out as his rib cage, breathing track, lungs and everything had grown accustomed to the part – according to the doctor, he could literally fall apart or something. He wasn't really listening too much at the time – too busy staring at the pretty patterns on the ceiling because morphine man, morphine).
So, like any (in)sane person would do in this situation, the middle aged man decided that going out into that shit-storm where there was a good possibility of getting his ass fried by lightening so he could fix the back-up generators would be a good idea. It took him a good amount of fumbling and an unknown amount of time, but eventually he had his age-old urine yellow poncho on over his workshop clothing, as well as his tool kit and a flash light.
He had to admit, he didn't expect to find the flash light – old age technology like that tended to not see the light of day in the inventor's homestead – but then again, this was a relatively old home compared to his favoured (and currently being reconstructed) home in Miami. He kept this old place as upgraded as he could over the years, but at the end of the day, he wasn't all that fond of Los Angeles – too many bitches and not enough brains.
And considering he was supposedly in a committed relationship, the 'bitches' were useless, so the lack of brains was annoying. Jarvis was better conversation any day, and he was a computer program. Just A Really Very Intelligent System – and forever his favourite, too.
But they weren't the issue – it was that damned storm messing with his technology that was. Honestly, if that was Thor's doing... not that he was going to go down that thought path right now.
Granted, he didn't really care about Thor himself, but the man had some connections with a fair few memories he was in no state to tango with right now.
The moment he opened his front door, the 5'8" male almost wanted to just give up on the idea of fixing the generators tonight and just go to sleep, but after fighting off the freezing cold wind by shivering on the spot for a good five to ten seconds, the inventor decided that he'd rather a heater to a black out – and Jarvis too. Jarvis was the main reason, but the heater sounded fantastic as shit right now.
"Out of the frying pan and into the... ice cold realm of freeze-your-dick -off as they say..." He muttered to himself as he picked his tool box off of the floor, the item of which being momentarily forgotten in the Ben 'n' Jerry's freeze-your-nuts-off thunderstorm surprise. It's so cold is a new ice-cream flavour – sheesh.
Dragging himself out past the protection of the back veranda's awning was hard enough, but it was hell and a half resisting the persistence voice in the back of his head saying 'you can live without Jarvis for one night, just go to bed, your nuts are safer under three fat blankets and near a battery-operated heater' as he took each soaked-sneakers of a step into the insane storm.
Wind tore the hood of his poncho off not even ten steps out, letting the rain bash up his already aching face and give him a good and entirely unwanted cold shower along with it. After the fifth time the hoody was whipped off, the inventor just gave up on the lost cause, internally glad he didn't decide to sacrifice one of his umbrellas to the storm instead.
A massive crash echoed through out the area, putting Tony off on the his walk somewhat as he dropped the toolbox to cover his ears from the sound's resonance. Next thing he knew, he had to run and skid out of the way of a massive tree branch crashing onto the spot of which his toolbox now occupied.
"FUCK!" The inventor yelled angrily as he pushed his way back to the place where his tools were now trapped, angrily kicking the branch, which only made him weak against the harsh winds and caused him to trip, landing on (and lightly skinning) his poor kneecaps like a clumsy child who ran too fast. Hissing to himself despite the fact the winds, rain and storm muted anything below a shout, he tried to push the branch out of the way.
Due to the fact it was more of a mid-weight branch with a lot more annoying smaller branches, leaves and twigs sticking off it like a maze instead of being a heavy-as-hell log which would've demolished the poor toolbox, Stark managed to finally get it out of the way, though he had a fair few scratches and leaf-style bitch slaps on his way before he managed to get his damned toolbox.
Pushing his drenched hair from his face back, the middle aged inventor continued to stubbornly push his way through the storm until he was finally in the proximity of the shed of the back-up generator.
It wasn't until he got inside and looked out the window (everything's clearer when wind, rain and who knows what isn't whipping you in the face like the girlfriend who just caught you cheating would) that he discovered that lightning had actually managed to send a damned tree onto the power line, and because the tree was one of those massive oaks, it brought the cable and the post support it, down with it.
In other words, it wasn't going to get fixed tonight.
"Peachy," Stark muttered under his breathe as he used his hand to shake out as much water from his hair as possible, "I got a bath for nothing – fucking peachy,"
After putting his toolbox in a spot he'd remember, the man then forced his way back through that shit storm and into his abode, where the first thing he did was get that battery-operated heater he knew he had shoved in some desolate closet, his fattest quilt, dried off, changed clothes and his wireless Stark Pad for entertainment.
He may as well play with some old blueprints to see if he can upgrade them or anything until the Stark Pad ran out of batteries.
~!DMI!~
By the time he'd upgraded a suit's blueprint so that it could forever be heated with the perfect temperature, as well as drew up some plans for rewiring that back-up generator under the house instead of old-fashioned telegraph poles (proof alone he tended to ignore this place) and put around a few of Pepper's old candles for light, the Stark Pad finally died just after Stark saved the heating blue print.
A sigh that screamed age was released from the man's tired lips as he slouched on the extravagant lounge, turning his attention to out the window, where the dark landscape continued crashing around like a toddler's tantrum. The lightning continued to attack the surrounding area, thunder matching the bolt, proving the ridiculously close proximity – in fact, he was about to turn away from the annoying light show when a massive bolt struck the middle of his backyard.
Over-worked hands flew up to hide the man's blurring vision from the flash of light, and then just as quickly they returned to his ears to protect from the boom of lightning that followed.
Not really wanting to open his eyes to see what the storm did this time, he did so anyway and he had to take an immediate double-take at what was presented to him.
A man, a rather lanky one at that, temporarily stood where the lightning struck before he collapsed on the ground. Silhouetted by the darkness, Stark almost had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but none the less, when the next lightening bolt flashed and thundered, the collapsed man was lit up for just that split second.
And that was a split second long enough to convince Tony that there was, in fact, a guy in his backyard who came from a fucking lightning bolt ho could die of hypo-fucking-thermia if he ignored it.
"You've got to be kidding me," The man muttered under his breath as he got up and pulled the windcheater he'd put on to keep warm, tighter. It didn't take him long to have his boots on and the hood secured to his damned face before he was out into the backyard and pushing his way through the gale forces to get to the collapsed figure.
Rain was pelting down gallons at a time, the ground was minutely flooded by about an inch and a half for crying out loud. Using his gloved hand to try and keep the water off of his face, he finally managed to make his way around the fallen branch and over to the collapsed figure who, up close, both looked over six feet tall and anorexic as shit.
Long, absolutely drenched ebony hair hid his head from view, while his torso was covered by a clearly thin, long-sleeved green shirt of sorts. Brown, thin track pants and no shoes were what made this stranger's outfit, and he all in all looked pitiful as anything. For a second Tony contemplated that this could be related to Thor somehow, but the thought was booted out of his brain faster than you can say 'bananas'.
"Hope you've got health insurance, buddy," The man muttered to himself as he lifted the sickeningly light man up over his shoulder, shaking his head a bit to both fight off the rain and the sense of deja vu that was trying to creep over him like a spider into your mouth while you're sleeping.
The thought had him make a spitting motion, not really liking the fact that practically everyone's snacked on a spider while sleeping – not that he really cared about spiders, but more because, well, it's rather unappealing. If he has, well, who cares really, come to think of it. He's done worse.
After a few good whiplashes of angry wind-to-the-face, the most painful face-wash in the history of face-washes and a near-slip because he, at one point, paid a little too much attention to his shoulder-warmer than the ground. It was rather exhausting, having to deal with bath number two like that, but hey, things could be worse.
It felt like forever until he managed to get back inside his dark abode, the storm raging all the while as wet boots were kicked aside and the stranger was dumped on the sofa without a care as to what the water damage would do to the expensive thing. But then again, it was Tony Stark's couch – he'd probably just buy a better one to replace it if he wanted to.
He was quick to turn up the heater and set it on the table so the long-haired stranger could warm up (if Stark wasn't half asleep, irritable as anything and had headaches upon headaches – enough head pain that he just felt numb and dizzy, he'd say the man was almost literally blue in areas), before he tossed the wet windcheater aside and left to go retrieve himself a nice fat quilt as he gave the one he'd been using momentarily to the stranger on his couch.
Well, that was at least the plan as the inventor knelt next to the passed out male after having put the blanket over his freezing form. He'd be a freaking alien if he didn't get hypothermia, though considering he just appeared after lightning fucked with his backyard for the umpteenth time that night, it wasn't a completely ignorable possibility.
But Stark would be damned if he didn't ignore it, so he passed it off as a foolish thought while he shoved a pillow under the man's head. Speaking of his head...
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let your hair down... or get a hair cut," He muttered to himself as he not-so-gracefully pushed the shoulder-length, dripping locks aside to reveal the man's face. And damn – Stark had to remember to breathe.
Being that pale was unnatural – he definitely had hypothermia, he had to. His lips were almost freaking blue for crying out loud – just being near the stranger made Stark cold, and he was a generally warm person. Being warm blooded was kind of his thing, being human and all. Then again, it was freezing out there, and the only source of heat in the room was a blanket and a small battery-operated heater that the inventor was questioning as to how it was even working.
"Who are you?" The billionaire muttered to himself as his mind flashed back to a rather unappealing series of events that passed in 2011 in a certain city which caused him to flinch rather violently, though he simply shook it off as he repeated the question to himself mentally while coming to a stand.
Thor, S.H.E.I.L.D., brother- "Get a grip, Tony," He muttered to himself as he rubbed his temples, keeping in mind that one side was tender from the N.I.T.S. as swayed a bit, the drowsiness from a ridiculously long time awake, the antidepressant trying to pull him to a slumber and now this – fucking New York- aliens, Banner, Hulk, tesseract, gods, magic- "Damnit,"
Trying to keep his body under control as he breathed in and out in short puffs, the man tried to manoeuvre his way across the room and at least make it to the hall but the memories began to rain down harder than the rain and the trauma mixed with them, the falling, falling, falling- slapping his harder than the wind. His mind felt like it was trying to expand and explode, but trying to shrivel up and die at the same time.
His body felt too hot and at the same time too cold – almost feverish, and his legs couldn't even hold him up anymore as he collapsed halfway across the room, holding himself up with shaky arms. His mind threw scene after scene at him like an old movie where someone had tampered with the film reel. He was seeing white, his vision was as blurred as one's would be underwater, his eyes stung, and it was suddenly way too damned hot. The floor was hot ice, his vision swam, falling, chitauri, New York, New York, place to fucking be- he couldn't control it as he fell to the left, shoulder banging on the floor, but did he notice? Not one bit.
Hands flew to his head, pulling, tugging, pressing – trying to get the feeling of falling out, the images, the fears, the chitauri, gods, falling, space, aliens, Asgard, tesseract, Loki, Loki, LOKI-!
And suddenly it was morning, there was a distinct lack of wet man on his couch and he was under his favourite, currently a little bit damp quilt as a couch cushion questioning to himself drowsily 'what the hell just happened?'. This made him take a double take at the distinct of passed out, wet man on his couch and he sat up quick enough to almost want to fall back down with dizziness again.
"Where's Rapunzel?"
NOTES:
Hey!
I just wanted to give you all an awesome thank you for reading the first chapter of 'Don't Mention It'! I promise things will start getting heated up in a sense come next chapter - the charms of Stark currently being in the dark and all~ Also, while seemingly insignificant, I am a straight guy who's writing this, so don't expect any hardcore sex scene or anything - this is a IronFrost/FrostIron story, but you can't blame me for wanting to keep the bedroom door shut XD This is only my OTP because I'm a sucker for sarcasm and intelligence mixed in a giant pool of 'WTF?' - haha.
Also keep in mind that this is 100% movie-verse here, so if it hasn't happened in the movies prior to Iron Man 3/Thor 2 Trailer, it hasn't happened here. I'm going to try and keep Loki's story as vague as I can until Thor 2 comes out because I do want to incorporate that. :)
So yes, I hope you'll all like this story of mine, and if this is a ship you want to sail on with me, welcome aboard!
- Xander
PS: I'm Australian, so expect some words to be spelled 'weirdly' if you're not from Aus/UK/etc. :)
