Peter's First Day
Yinsen wasn't the only one who came out of the jeep that day. He had been surrounded by his fawning, mindless soldiers. With them, they held a body.
But that fact had been unknown to Tony at that time. The only thing he could concentrate on was protecting the Mark from being seen. Within the few second window of time he had, he covered the machine with a tarp. He had proceeded to add scrap metal to the sight, labelling it as a junk-pile.
Yinsen and his men had not been remotely suspicious. They weren't even interested. They were instead occupied with the mangled body of a young soldier.
Tony remembered how aghast he had been when he saw the American army uniform bloody and ripped. He distinctly remembered how his throat had closed up and choked him. He remembered standing completely still, unable to move, paralyzed in fear.
One of the men had kicked the soldier in the stomach. The soldier coughed up blood. Yinsen gave an order, and he was dragged across the cave floor. The soldier was hurled onto the false scrap pit, crashing into lumps of metal and scraps. He was grimacing.
Tony had said something, something unplanned, something sudden, something to stop them. He was slapped across the face.
They were advancing in on the both of them. Tony stood in anxiety; if they came any closer, they could get to him, they could discover the Mark I, they could hurt the soldier again. But Yinsen told them something-something Tony couldn't understand- and the men stopped.
He had been left alone with the soldier.
The soldier opened his eyes. His eyes were blue. He lifted his head and gazed around.
Tony had watched in curious interest.
The soldier found his gaze, and said something.
Tony had said something, too.
Are you alone? the soldier then asked.
Yes.
Not for much longer.
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but you want me to do what?"
The kid's name was Peter. He was skinny, short, and not Pepper. Any assistant who is a Not-Pepper tends to annoy Tony to an unimaginable extent. Peter hadn't been here for more than five minutes, and he's already bothered him to the point where Tony developed a migraine.
"I said I want a coffee with one shot whiskey, two shots tequila, and whipped cream with a cherry on top."
"So… you want it cold?" Peter asked. He wore on him his college backpack, even though he was additionally wearing nice dress clothes. Either he didn't care about his expensive button-down shirt or he was too dumb to care about it gaining wrinkles; plausibly both.
"I want the alcohol cold but the coffee hot," Tony said through gritted teeth as he marched down the hall. Peter was hovering over him like a clueless child, switching from peering over Tony's right shoulder, to his left, and back again. He was scribbling notes down on his clipboard in small, cursive handwriting. At this point, Tony wouldn't be surprised if the kid dotted hearts over all the i's and j's.
"Okay, Mr. Stark, I'll have someone get that for you," Peter mumbled politely.
Tony paused in his tracks, huffing, "Why can't you get it?"
The kid blushed, "I-I'm underage, I can't bring it to you."
"Look, underoos, I'll pay your bail if you go to jail. Just get me my coffee. Can't you see I'm exhausted?"
Tony wasn't exaggerating: he was dead on his feet on the verge of collapsing. He hadn't gone to sleep because had been awake all night studying. Rhodey had said that he would research what he could on the soldier, so Tony decided it was best that he studied too. So Tony spent all night watching videos of experts explaining how to play pool with an open textbook next to him. He didn't even know what kind of textbook it was, it could have been his first puberty textbook for all he knew.
"Yes sir, I'll get it right now," Peter nodded and hurried off, speed-walking with his head down.
Tony squinted his face in annoyance as he took a right down the hall. He came upon the silver door to the room he had booked, he let himself in without knocking.
"Here she is, Miss America," hummed Tony as he took a seat and propped his feet up on the table. Rhodey was seated across from him, looking at two computer screens and taking notes.
"Good afternoon, Tony."
"I just woke up."
"Yes. In the afternoon. Is the sun not bright enough for you?"
"The Sun is about 93,000 lumens per square foot, which makes it approximately 400,000 times brighter than a full moon," Tony said.
Rhodey blinked, "Yeah."
There was a whisplike knock on the door before it opened, revealing the shy little assistant with a tray of beverages.
"Okay, Mr. Stark your coffee and other drinks are all here," he said as he placed the tray on the table.
"Sorry it took so long. I got a little lost," he said, laughing gently.
Tony's eyes widened in disbelief, "You separated them?"
On the tray, each cup contained a different substance. The coffee was in a mug while each other drink was in a glass. The whipped cream and cherry were in a dessert bowl with a spoon. Tony was horrified.
Rhodey chuckled into his hand and patted Peter on the back. Peter smiled back, but was incredibly confused.
"Alright you two," Rhodey said, "It's about time y'all got to work."
"What are we doing, Lieutenant Rhodes?" Peter asked, excitement in his eyes.
"Looking for…" his eyes glanced up to Tony. He was occupied in eating the whipped cream, "a lost friend."
"A lost friend? Like, someone you haven't seen in awhile, or like a missing person?"
"Unfortunately, that is unknown to us as of now. And kid," Rhodey smiled, "Just call me James."
Peter smiled back, "It's awesome-I mean, a pleasure, Mr. James."
Rhodey chuckled again, laughing with the kid. He liked Peter. The kid had already managed to get on Tony's nerves; and Rhodey loved it. Peter seemed smart, too. And Rhodey definitely needed someone smart right about now.
He had been given very limited information on Tony's mystery soldier. All Rhodey knew was that his eyes were blue and he was from New York. That was incredibly limited and the information hadn't helped Rhodey much at all.
His frown returned as he looked to and from the computer screens.
On one was a list of POWs who have been missing for the past three years. Sadly, there were a lot of them.
On the other screen laid Rhodey's contacts within the military who might be able to help. For the past hour, he had been obsessively emailing all the trustworthy officials. He had barely any responses.
"Can I get you anything, Mr. James? Coffee?" Peter asked.
Rhodey distractedly waved his hand, "No, no, I'm fine."
Peter peeked over Rhodey's shoulder, curiously looking at the screens. He pouted his lip, thinking, "You know, when I'm trying to remember lessons for college, I go to the library."
"Come again?"
"I make my my surroundings look like the place where I learned the lesson. I change the environment so I can remember."
"That… should work," Rhodey said, "But let's just say that the environment where we last saw this guy wasn't the prettiest. It wouldn't be the best place to recreate."
Peter hung his head, "I'm sorry, Mr. James, I was just trying to help-"
"-I know that, kid, I know that," Rhodey said, he lightly pointed to Tony, who was impatiently waiting for the last speck of whiskey to drop from the shot glass' rim, "Your boss 'as been through a lot, you know. Don't let his... ambiguous-ness get you down."
Peter clutched the straps of his backpack, "Oh geez. I-I didn't say anything insensitive, did I? Oh geez, I'm sorry."
"Stop saying sorry. It's your first day on the job for Chrissake!"
Peter smiled in gratitude, "Thanks, Mr. James."
Rhodey couldn't suppress smiling, too, this kid was annoying.
"Child, quit calling me 'Mister.' As of now, my name is James. J-A-M-E-S. You gon' remember that, ain't you?"
"Yes sir, like James and the Giant Peach. That'll be easy to remember."
Rhodey pointed a finger at the kid, "Tones, you hired yourself a winner right here!"
Tony, who was nursing the cherry puffed up inside his cheek like a squirrel, pouted, "Pepper hired him."
"Well she's got eyes for people. Remind me to thank her."
Tony huffed and swallowed his cherry.
Cherries require six to ten hours of sunlight a day in order to become sweet. If the cherries are sour, they are called pie cherries. But Tony knew better. His cherry was a maraschino cherry, something produced on a farm but then artificially preserved and inorganically sweetened in order to become a small ice cream topping. Maraschino cherries don't require sunlight.
Do people require sunlight?
Tony took his second shot of tequila and proceeded to stand up. He walked over to Rhodey's computer screens and peered into them, "Did you find anything?""A little bit," Rhodey said, "There's not a lot of information here. You could look at all these names of POWs, but that would be time consuming."
"I have time."
"Then go wild," Rhodey said, retreating to the other screen with his emails.
Tony read through the screen, groaning. Unfortunately, the list was in chronological order by date of disappearance, rather than alphabetical by last name. Tony had no idea when his soldier had-
Holy bizarre. There were so many. So many prisoners of war. So many people who have been in captivity away from home. So many people who had been afraid. So many people who had been just like him.
There were so many. It's like they were mocking him.
He briefly glanced at Rhodey and the kid, to see if they were staring at him; they weren't. Rhodey was typing away at his computer while Peter flipped between pages of his clipboard.
Tony bit his lip to regain his composure. He rolled his shoulders back. He clicked on the mouse and began to scroll down the names again.
They remained like that for hours: Rhodey frustratedly typing and clicking, Peter wavering around without much to do besides bring in more shots, and Tony staring cluelessly at the names.
After a while, Tony had forgotten what he was looking for. He had fallen into a routine of scrolling down after every five names. He watched the tiny words flicker up like insignificant fireflies, little images with no meaning.
Eventually, he blinked. His eyes really hurt.
"Not-Pepper!" he called.
The kid just sat there, scribbling notes on his clipboard.
"Not-Pepper," Tony repeated.
The junior assistant looked up and glanced around, "Mr. Stark, are you talking to me?"
"Yes."
"My name is-" he paused, "What is it you need?"
"Bring me my Offspring album CD. It's called Smash. It's in my office."
The kid blinked.
"Don't tell me you're too young to know what a CD is."
"No, Mr. Stark. I know, I know," he got up and left.
Rhodey remained indifferent, angrily responding to an email, "Tones."
"Yeah?""I know how you are when you talk about this guy. But there's just… no info. People are trying to help, really they are. They need more context," Rhodey was almost sad to say it, "I need you to tell me more, dude."
Tony shrugged.
"Tony. Had you told me three years ago, the man woulda already been found by now. The delay is all on you; do you realize that? So I need you to tell me more."
"I told him I wouldn't."
"You wouldn't… what?"
"I told him I wouldn't tell."
"Tony-"
"Rhodey."
The anger in the lieutenant's gaze was undeniably inevitable, "We will talk about this later. Keep reading your damn names."
Peter had tried to memorize Stark Industries' map the day he had received it from Ms. Potts. Not only did he want to impress the kind (and also very pretty) ginger woman who gave it to him, but he also wanted to be a good junior secretary. Ms. Potts had trained and hired him for a reason; so Peter was not planning on letting her down.
But, of course, he didn't memorize the map entirely. Maybe like 75% memorized it.
So he had to check his map three times to make sure he was at the right office door. Peter unlocked it with hesitance, examining the whole room before stepping in. In the corner laid a rack of CDs ranging from the Grunge Era to Woodstock to artists like Moby.
Obviously, Peter was oblivious to the content within the CDs. He had never before listen to any of this music. But he didn't let that stop him from picking up the case with a burning skeleton on the cover. He didn't know what The Offspring sounded like, but he could guess that it wasn't his style.
Peter tapped on the plastic awhile, procrastinating so that he could look around his boss' office. It had the potential to be vast and spacious, but was cluttered with scrap metal, posters, and man-cave junk. There was even a mini bar against the South wall.
Peter sighed, "I wish I'd come here for the drinks, I woulda saved a whole ten minutes of walking."
In his self-pity, he slumped down on a barstool, lying his face against the cool surface of the table. Maybe he should grab his boss a drink while he's here, to apologize for taking so long. Having made up his mind, Peter climbed over the table to the bartender's corner and then stood on the tips of his toes so he could look amongst the shelves of drinks and glasses.
That's when he spotted something out of place. In between two glasses, something was shining. It was small and silvery, but Peter couldn't deter its shape. It just seemed so… wrong in its place. It didn't belong in between the glasses.
Peter stepped on the tips of his toes, stretching his arm to its extent, scrambling for the object. He felt metal. A chill soared from his fingertips to his spine and shook him. He fit his fingers around the metal and pulled it down, clutching it to his chest.
Suddenly, a vision.
It was hot and dusty, he could barely see. He found that he couldn't move either, not fully. He could move his head, though. He lifted it up and peered around. Everything was murky.
There was a person, an American, watching him. He seemed afraid. He was hunched over like an animal; it frightened him.
Peter blinked. He unfolded his hands to reveal a necklace of sorts. A silver ball-chain necklace with two rectangular metal charms. Upon further inspection, Peter realized that he was holding dog tags.
His uncle Ben used to wear dog tags in the Navy, a long, long, time ago. But now he kept them as a prized possession in a glass case.
Peter smiled, cradling the dog tags. He hadn't known that Mr. Stark had served. But now, he felt an unique attachment to his boss. Military families click with military people. That's just life.
He put the tags on the plastic CD case like cuisine on a silver platter.
Mr. Stark will be thoroughly impressed.
Hopefully.
Mr. Stark with hopefully be thoroughly impressed.
Peter may or may not have attempted a happy-dance on his way back to the booked room.
"Mr. Stark? I have your CD," Peter chirped as he opened the door. He found a stereo on a nearby coffee table and inserted the disc. After pressing "play," a deep, smooth voice came humming through the speakers.
Tony gave the kid a thumbs-up in thanks. He didn't look Peter in the eye, however. He and Rhodey were in the middle of bickering.
Peter stood there a little awkwardly, "Excuse me, I also found your-"
"Will you stop yelling at me? I told you, I just can't-I'm not-"
"Tony," Rhodey snarled, "I am not yelling at you. I'm not even mad at you! I am simply asking for a little reassurance-"
"You never asked! You demanded! There's a difference!"
"Stop throwing a fuss and listen to me for just one minute-"
"Rhodey, this isn't-"
"Isn't about my opinion, I understand that, I-"
"No, you don't understand. You want to force this on me! I can't believe-"
"C'mon. You're being ridiculous."
"I'm being ridiculous?"
"Where did your brilliant mind disappear off to?" Rhodey accused.
Tony stilled, "Where did your loyalty go?"
Rhodey opened his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the junior assistant hovering in his place nervously. He put his shaking fist down to his side and let a long breath escape him, "We'll pick this up later, Tony."
Tony glared into the wall, "That's what you always say.""That's what you always do."
Peter sneezed.
Tony snapped back to reality, his eyes flickering around. He adjusted his tie and shifted around in his seat. He was thirsty.
"Not-Pepper!"
"Yes, Mr. Stark?"
"Bring the thing I ordered earlier. Except mix it up this time. Also a little more caffeine. And something for my buddy," he said systematically. Whenever he wanted to avoid shame, he always switched subjects unrecognizably, with no pattern and sense. Doing this, he always avoided getting into deeper trouble. Though, he would never admit that he was consciously doing it.
"No, I'm okay," Rhodey said.
"Oh, and Not-Pepper?"
Peter looked up, wide-eyed, "Yes sir?"
"Can you bring a Rubix cube?"
Rhodey's expression was unamused, "To prove you were in a Rubix-solving club?"
"To prove you're a dick."
Peter could have sworn he heard Rhodey sigh. But the lieutenant's face expressed nothing but mild worry. He picked up his clipboard and hid it into his backpack, "I'll get right to it," then he hurried down the hall again.
He removed the dog tags from his pocket, swiping the metal in between fingers. He held them under the StarkTech light, watching in fascination as the surface glimmered and shined. But as he kept looking, he felt something sink in his stomach. The hairs along his neck and arms stood up, and he stopped in his tracks.
No, no, that couldn't be right.
The tags said Rogers, Steven G.