"…am I hallucinating or is there a strange man in my workshop?"
Tony's question is answered by the lowered gun turrets from the ceiling. The strange man glances at them and it's strange, but Tony looks at him and it's like he's not even…there. He can't see him, but he…can. Tony can tell he's mostly wearing green, for example, maybe even a green cape. Dark hair. In his right hand, he's holding something that shines orange through the golden handkerchief it's wrapped in.
"Anthony Edward Stark, a man with so much…potential. Half the people of this world are in awe of you for your inventions – the others, terrified." The man says, voice smooth and calculating. Tony reaches into a nearby drawer, standing up from his desk chair and raising a gun. "I wish to request a favour."
"How did you get in here? Who are you? Why are you…fuzzy? J, are you actually seeing him properly?"
"Yes, sir, though only through the live feed. I am retaining no data of his appearance, however."
"Huh. So, what do you want?"
The man holds out the glowing handkerchief. "I am the Silvertongue – the Liesmith and the Trickster. People call me Scar-Lip, the Sky-Walker and Shapeshifter." Okay, now I want to make a Star Wars pun, Tony thinks, but the man keeps speaking, raising his hand higher. "Here in my grasp is a rare and precious device. Its power should never be used and for all my talents, I cannot hide it in my possession. In full truth, I am too powerful a being to keep custody of it."
"…right. So, you want me to take it?" Tony raises his eyebrow. "What is it really? A bomb? A grenade? Are you here to assassinate me, because honestly, I'd rather not die on the first day of the new millennium."
"Arrogant and so very predictable," the man says, lowering his hand and looking around the workshop. "It is a precious commodity, this stone. Unique in its entirety…giving it to another grown sentient directly assures the aura it puts out does not have time to begin calling out for its sister-gems. You would not be overwritten, unlike some of your creations. I have been watching you, Anthony."
"Not creepy whatsoever," Tony quips, adjusting his aim as the man moves across the lab, towards DUM-E. "Stop moving," he orders, thinking overwritten. He clicks off the safety of his gun, but the man keeps moving, coming to a stop a few feet from his precious robot AI. "I'm giving you one last warning." The man pays him no attention, holding the shining…stone, gem, whatever, out to DUM-E. "Dummy, no," Tony curses in his head as his stupid, stupid baby-bot twirls his claw, moving backwards and forwards before reaching out to take it.
"I charge you with protecting this Infinity Stone, child," the man says and it's the last word that makes Tony pause instead of firing – a mistake, it seems, as almost immediately after the man lets go of the shining gem, DUM-E squeals in fright, panicking. The gem glows bright, golden handkerchief slipping off to reveal an orange gem barely bigger than a bottle-cap, but it burns Tony to look at it. He turns away, brain on fire. It's like it's turning to goo and Tony hears JARVIS calling out for them both, before he wakes up on the ground.
"Jarvis?"
"Sir, something has happened to Dummy," JARVIS states, voice quiet, coming from Tony's computer speakers rather than the surround sound. Tony sits up, wincing. Rubbing his head, he looks around, finding the man almost immediately.
He's still fuzzy and barely able to be seen, but he's there, sitting cross-legged. Tony looks around, trying to find DUM-E, but the bot is gone. Worry and anger growing inside him – worry for DUM-E, for his baby bot and anger for this stranger who has done something to his bot – Tony gets up, grabbing a nearby wrench upon seeing his gun gone and stalking towards the man, intent on knocking him out.
"Sir, please wait!" JARVIS says a little louder, tone warning. Tony goes to question his AI's unusual behaviour, only to see something strange in front of the man, sticking out of DUM-E's charging station.
"Is that…a foot?"
It's a foot. It's most definitely a foot. Tony stares, cataloguing what is in front of him. He walks to stand beside the man, looking into DUM-E's charging station, where a small tanned child – boy, he corrects – sits, shivering under a beautiful woven blanket, gold woven around the edges in a geometric design.
"Jörmungandr," the man murmurs. "The Infinity Stone fused them together. My son died. I placed his soul in a container, unknowing that the method I used to save him was one of great power. The Stone took his soul unto itself and lit up like a beacon. I am still recovering, though in truth, I am still hiding it, as well. Myself, too. Heimdall cannot be allowed to see."
"Who are you?" Tony hisses, not taking his eyes off the boy. "Who is that? Your son? Where's Dummy?"
"The Infinity Stone fused them together," the man repeats, falling silent. It takes Tony less time to figure out what the man means, but it's more of a denial thing than a figuring-it-out thing that has him struggling to form a reply. "Dummy and Jörmungandr. Stark, I suppose. He would not be able to bear my name – traces, the barest of trails could lead to his death."
"Death?" Tony questions, stomach flipping. "Who'd kill a child?"
"His own grandfather," the man says, unamused and Tony feels strangely untethered. This is…
"Unbelievable. Impossible."
"'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth'," the man quotes.
"Arthur Conan Doyle. Crap. Crap, crap, crap-"
"Crap," the child copies, causing Tony to completely pause, brain skipping.
"Crap," he says again, groaning.
"Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap-"
"No," the man says, voice firm. "You do not say that word. Swearing and profanity are not allowed. Do you understand?" The boy – DUM-E? Jormun-whatsit? – stares at the unseeable man for a few long moments before nodding. The man shakes his head. "Please use your language skills to reply. It is important, so to assess your vocabulary."
"I understand," the boy says in a stilted voice, before looking to Tony. "Sir. I am not charging. My charging station is functional. I am in need of repair."
"You can't be repaired right now," Tony replies, rubbing his head again and tentatively stepping forwards, reaching to pick…DUM-E, up. "I can't believe I call you Dummy. You're a kid. An actual kid. This is messing me up." Tony wraps the blanket a bit more around him, noticing the lack of right arm immediately. "Left-handed, right-arm amputee child. Awesome." Then he sees an orange glint and transfers him to one arm so he can take DUM-E's hand, peering at the orange gem stuck inside his palm. "Hey, Luke, what-" he turns to where the man was sitting, only to find him gone.
"JARVIS, where did he go?" Tony questions, looking around the lab. It's empty.
"I do not know, sir. Unfortunately, my databanks only have a transcript of your conversation. It seems as soon as he disappeared, I could not recall he existed, except via the transcript. He seemed to wield fearsome technology."
"You got that right. I think he turned Dummy into a human being."
The first thing he does is have JARVIS make a list of things to get Human DUM-E.
1. A new name
2. Clothes
3. A blood test to check: a. To see if he's actually, properly human, b. To see if he's somehow Tony's son & c. To take a note of his blood type and any other genetic abnormal markers
4. A prosthetic arm
5. A room
6. Toys (because kids like toys)
7. Snacks
"My designation is- is Dummy. Jörmungandr." DUM-E blinks, brow furrowing for a moment. "I have multiple designations. Dummy. Jörmungandr. Dunce. Midgard-Sormr…sir, what is my designation?"
"Uh…" Tony blinks. "Well, your designation…Dummy and Jörmungandr. Jörmungandr, that sounds like it's with a J, right Jarvis?"
"Yes, sir. Perhaps an amalgam. DJ, perhaps?"
"Just what I was thinking. We're awesome, J," Tony says to his AI, before looking to DUM-E/Jörmungandr. "Your new designation is DJ. If you ever go back to being a bot, I'll call you Dummy, okay?"
"Okay, sir." DJ says, reaching his single hand up to the blanket, pulling it around him. "I have two parallel memory banks. Father spoke to you, before."
"Mystery dude who said he was a Skywalker."
"The Sky-Walker," DJ stresses, frowning. "Father did many magnificent things that those of Asgard saw as strange. He saved…Jörmungandr. Me. They chased him. He ran. My secondary memory bank is…large. Jörmungandr was nearly two hundred years old."
"Well, that's…cool," Tony says, still not quite convinced that DJ is his bot. "So, you remember being Dummy, as well?"
"I am Dummy," DJ says, squeezing the blanket tighter in his singular hand. "You're my creator. I woke in your room at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology when you were inebriated. You built Jarvis because Mister Jarvis died and Butterfingers is supposed to be my new friend, when he's finished."
Tony balks. "You remember that?"
"Affirmative."
There are a few, long moments of silence before a small noise penetrates Tony's brain. The inventor raises an eyebrow, looking down at DJ's rumbling torso.
"Well, that's telling. J, move snacks further up the list and contact my doctor, ask if she knows anyone specialising in children's medicine. I want DJ to have a full check-up. Figure out a story for this kid. How old would you judge him, by appearance?"
"I do not have the appropriate systems to judge his age by appearance, sir."
Tony sighs, before readjusting his grip on the kid, making his way out of the workshop. "Warn Happy and order pizza."
"Of course, sir."
"So," Tony speaks to DJ again, "how do you feel about an upgrade? Two hands are better than one, as they say."
DJ looks at his armless shoulder. As Tony walks up the spiral stair of his Malibu mansion – finished just in time for New Years, only to sadly not have a welcome to your new home house party, due to Tony being abroad over the holidays – as DJ thinks. It's downright strange to compare DUM-E and DJ in his head, but he can see it if he squints – the way DJ tilts his head back in forth and broadly strokes his foot up and down in mechanical movement. Ticks, Tony thinks, tilting his head back and forth before abruptly realising that DUM-E has been copying him.
I tilted my head…Tony does it again, thinking back quickly to all of DUM-E's habits and mannerisms, coming up with parallels to his own movements. I actually have a kid, he thinks, dumbstruck. His grip on DJ tightens. I have a fucking kid. My kid is a bot. Oh my god, but-
"Father said no profanity or swearing," DJ says and Tony realises he'd been thinking out loud.
"Right. Sorry. Don't repeat what I said. Do you think of Jarvis as your brother?"
"Yes."
Tony blows air out of his mouth, finishing climbing the stairs. He takes a moment to catch his breath, making a new-millennium oath to go to the gym more.
"What do you think of that, Jarvis?" Tony questions his AI as he heads for the kitchen.
"It is hard to describe my thoughts on the matter. Logically, yes, I would agree that DJ is my brother, as a fellow creation of yours. In that essence, you are also our father."
"Yep, that's me, father of robots – patent that, would you?"
"I believe these are the kinds of things you advise me on actually doing, sir."
"You can call me Dad," Tony says magnanimously, not fully expecting JARVIS to agree.
"Thank-you, though I would prefer Father." JARVIS states, sounding pleased, then disapproving. "Your own personal connotations for 'Dad' are quite…troubling."
Tony's stomach flip-flops, even as his heart blooms with awe and – dare he think it – love. "Thanks, buddy. When's the pizza coming?"
"Forty-five minutes, Father."
It puts a kind of shiver in his bones, to hear JARVIS say it. Father. Howard Stark had been modern, supposedly, making Tony call him Dad or Sir. In retrospect, Tony's surprised that he hasn't been set off before by people calling him sir, but then again, it's something he's had to deal with since the original Jarvis, calling him young Sir and the young Master from the age of two, that Tony can remember, anyway.
There's a new generation of Stark's on the block, Tony thinks, smiling slightly as he sets DJ on a seat, turning on the TV. My worst nightmare, come true around me. He thinks of the supposed scandal he'll have to release to the press about his 'bastard son'. DJ is entranced by the television, which JARVIS has changed to Disney Playhouse. Bear in the Big Blue House turns out to be pretty neat. Tony makes another internal note – a 'family moment' he can tell the papers looking for some cutesy family business.
DJ looks like he did when he was a kid. If Tony squints, he can imagine himself superimposed on top – they aren't that different, in general. DJ has his Italian tan, his dark brown hair and his face. The only thing that might be off is his nose – straighter and smaller than Tony's – and his jaw – which is tighter and more triangular by far. He'll have some good cheekbones, that's for sure. DJ's eyes are a bit of a mystery, too, being a brilliant emerald green.
But there's still the matter of his age. Tony doesn't hang out with kids enough to guess his age right, but he'd bet around seven, or maybe ten. Honestly, Tony hasn't a clue.
"How old are you in human years, then, kiddo?" he questions, remembering the comment about this 'Jörmungandr' self of his being two hundred. Extraterrestrials, Tony internally wonders at the thought, making a baseless guess that the Skywalker wannabe got his advanced technology from an alien culture. He almost giggles. I had ET in my basement.
DJ takes a second to process his words, glancing at him before shrugging, eyes going back to the screen. Tony raises his eyebrows, having not expected the kiddish attitude so soon. Shaking his head, Tony takes a notepad and pen out of his pocket, using his own style of shorthand to write out his thoughts. I've got to make some kind of hand-held interface to take notes on, maybe some kind of…computer tablet…oh that's good…
Quickly, preparing DJ's life gets side-lined as Tony starts bulleting options for what the computer tablet could do and penning out the basic component designs. Only when the doorbell rings for pizza does Tony snap out of Focus Mode.
"Food," he says to his son – his son, his son, DJ – who startles at the doorbell. Getting out of his seat, he goes to collect, grabbing some spare bills out of his pockets. The shaky pizza boy outside his house meets his eyes nervously.
"One pepperoni stuffed crust with jalapenos and one plain mixed cheese for Tony Stark?"
"Working on the first day of the new millennium," Tony shakes his head, pressing a few hundred dollar bills into his pocket. "Keep the change." Taking the pizza, he watches the pizza boy take out his money, eyes going wide. As he looks up, vocal chords straining, Tony shuts the door, happy with the reaction he got for his charity.
Now, to introduce my son to pizza.
Before he speaks to the Press, but after he gets all DJ's paperwork worked out, skirting the edge of the law to get a few documents backdated, Tony gathers his closest. He even manages to get Rhodey in on the fun – though Happy, for once, lives up to his name at knowing something before everyone else did.
Obie, perhaps predictably, raises his eyebrows at the sight of DJ. "Another one?"
"No," Tony says with a smug face, knowing he means the few dozen women who come along each year claiming to have birthed his child. "This one is legit. His mom found happiness with another guy and when she died, DJ's step-father brought him to me. Last time I checked, he couldn't keep the kid because of some other family trouble. Dad's a raging lunatic or something who needs special care."
"Tones, this is…amazing," Rhodey says, sounding slightly awed and not just a little excited. He crouches in front of DJ, smiling. "Hey, kid. What's your name? Your dad tell you 'bout me? I'm James."
"Rhodey," Tony interrupts, "that's Rhodey. This is DJ Stark – Diego Jörmungandr. Don't ask about the second part, that's all on his other dad."
Tony watches DJ carefully as he studies Rhodey, hoping that his – apparently – eight year old brain works well enough for him to remember not to react. Tony doesn't know whether or not he'll be telling him – or anyone – about DUM-E turning into DJ, but even if it's just until then, DJ has to pretend he's never met Rhodey. When Tony told DJ, he'd gotten a bigger reaction than he thought he'd ever get, DJ practically screaming the roof down and crying till he fell asleep.
It seems luck is on his side, however, because DJ waves hi silently, in a shy manner. He grips Tony's jeans tightly, glancing at four of the most important people in Tony's life, gaze lingering on Pepper.
"So, now you've met both my bodyguard and my best friend from MIT, I'd like to introduce you to Pepper and Obie." Tony nudges DJ's head gently with his hand, practically caressing him. "Pepper's my assistant. You'll probably see her a lot."
"Hello, DJ," Pepper says, wiggling her fingers. "I'm Virginia Potts."
"Pepper, her name is Pepper, because she's got a spicy attitude. Makes me sneeze," Tony pokes a little fun, making DJ giggle a bit, grip on his trousers loosening. "Obie was like the uncle I never had, growing up. I know he looks big and scary, but really, he's got some cracking jokes hidden away in that big, shiny head of his."
"Thanks, Tony," Obie says dryly.
"Your welcome," Tony replies unashamedly, grinning at him, looking for approval.
He doesn't get it.
Less than ten minutes later, Obie takes him aside. "You can't seriously be thinking of actually taking custody of him, Anthony. You're not suitable parent material."
"He's my son."
"We both know that his being biologically yours does not make him your son, your relationship with Howard being a prime example," Obi says scathingly. "You need to be focused, Tony. You already waste so much time on partying and women, when you should be designing things for Stark Industries. Our contracts are time-sensitive and having a boy to look after-"
"I am not my father and if I ever treat DJ like Howard treated me, know that I'll have myself arrested," Tony interrupts, hissing angrily. "That is my son."
"What good can he do you, Tony? Is he a genius? Can he even talk? I haven't heard him say a single word."
"DJ is perfectly capable of speaking," Tony murmurs darkly. "I don't know if he's a genius."
"And his arm? What happened there?"
"Genetics," Tony excuses, passing off what he assumes is his own flawed design from only giving DUM-E one claw, translated appropriately onto a human body. Then he thinks of DJ's blood tests and the amazing, astounding seven extra chromosome pairs that denote him as anything but Human. Well, translated appropriately into a humanoid body. "I'm going to make him a prosthesis. Could make an entire little run of designs, make affordable prosthetics for veterans."
That, at least, seems to stymie Obie somewhat. "I still don't like it, but if you can make it work, Tony…just don't forget about Stark Industries. That's your priority."
Tony wants to disagree with that, because even Howard put Tony first – even when he was supposed to be searching for Captain America. When Tony was kidnapped, he came straight home and either paid his ransom, got the police to do their damn job in locating him or had SHIELD save his ass. When Tony broke his arm so badly he had to have surgery, Howard was there when he woke up to tell him what happened and convince him to stop panicking. Howard might have never been particularly nice about it, ever, but Tony was always first priority. Always.
So, he thinks, and if Howard Stark can put his most hated son before SI, then so can I.
The Press release goes well. There are a few hiccoughs along the way – like a journalist probing too deep for comfort and the resulting investigation from SHIELD that Tony and JARVIS barely keep on top of – but in general, DJ's reception is taken nicely. Meanwhile, Tony begins rudimentary designs for prosthetics that DJ can use and gets to know his son.
They go out to restaurants and strip-malls. People snap pictures and DJ learns that Happy's directions are usually a good idea to follow. It's a little strange for Tony, who wants to go off on his own, wants to flirt and hook up with women, wants to ditch Happy entirely and have a day to himself…only to find his responsibility for DJ holding him back. It's annoying, it's frustrating-
It's also completely wonderful.
Not only is having a son an amazing experience, getting to introduce him to new things like maths – DJ is definitely a genius, a computer in humanoid form – cotton candy – DJ prefers pink to blue – and grass – who'd have thought that a former-bot would love rolling around in grass so much? – is just a total mind-fuck. It's like reliving his childhood and Tony seriously enjoys doing the things he never got to do, or never did with his parents.
A routine sets in. An actual routine of sleeping, eating and spending time together. Tony can't just work away in the workshop for days on end. DJ needs to be looked after. For the first two months, he introduces DJ to human life, working from home and sending Pepper in his place, much to her surprise. He even signs some documents that say she can make minor decisions on his behalf – though obviously, the major decisions are Stark-only. There aren't actually that many, to his happy relief. Tony just focuses on DJ and designing, teaching DJ mathematics, physics, engineering and electronics.
…it pains him to say he has a series of tutors come in to help with the rest, but to be fair, Tony never actually majored in English and he doesn't have a teaching degree.
DJ learns how to write and read letters in English, as well as beginning three other languages – Italian, Mandarin and Greek. Tony speaks them to him when they spend time together, refreshing his own memory and helping DJ learn more conversational language. The tutors teach him world history as well, along with world politics, media, general sciences, health and safety, religious, moral and philosophical studies, varied applied arts and even PE – though considering how normal PE is a bit drab, DJ's schedule is kind of…varied. There's more hand-to-hand fighting, for one and a lot more focused gymnastics.
Tony is not pushing DJ too hard, no matter what anyone else says. In fact, it's DJ who asks for more, enjoying learning. His enthusiasm grows even more when Tony arranges for his lessons to take place in various outdoor locations around the edge of the mansion – after checking with his tutors, of course. He originally made the mistake of starting with DJ's science teacher, who just about threw up when Tony led them to the balcony looking over the cliff-face.
"Why not put him in school?" Rhodey asks at one point, a few days before he has to go back on duty. "Kids need to be around other kids – it's how they learn social skills and improve their immune systems."
"Really? Probably explains why I only have four friends," Tony notes, before making arrangements for DJ to go to a fancy playdate day-care on Sundays, made for kids in exactly DJ's circumstances. Rhodey shakes his head in amusement, but agrees it's a good idea.
DJ does not think it's a good idea.
"I do not want to leave the mansion without you. I do not want to be left behind," DJ grips Tony's shirt.
"Buddy, buddy, believe me when I say it's as uncomfortable for me, too," Tony says, already feeling the guilt clenching around his heart at DJ's teary, green eyes. "You need to make friends, kiddo, speak to other kids."
"I am not a kid, I am an Artificial Intelligence and a prince," DJ says, surprising Tony briefly.
Wait, so does that mean Skywalker dude was a king? Or was he a prince, too? Crap, does that mean a king wants to kill my kid if he finds him?
He recovers, however. "You're going. No ifs, ands or buts. Make friends."
The day-care idea works for about…two months. By then, DJ's prosthetic is finished, more a robot arm than a prosthetic with sequential controls. The designs – plus it's sister-designs and other more custom remedies – meant to go on the open market are getting checked over by the proper authorities and beta-fitted on various customers. DJ insists on painting his arm bright orange and disgruntled, Tony agrees, so long as he can put a design along the edges. DJ decides on…grass. Grass and daisies.
The new paint-job attracts some iffy attention to DJ. Basically, some of the boys filled with testosterone and stereotypical sexist propaganda at DJ's day-care make fun of DJ's arm. The moment DJ comes home in Happy's limo three hours early and Tony sees confused tear-tracks, Tony has his first moment of Papa Bear Rage, as Happy lightly terms it when telling Pepper later. Tony's all for pulling DJ out of the day-care entirely.
DJ, however, has done exactly what Tony told him to do: made friends.
"I want- I want to stay. Keira promised to be my buddy when we go to the park next week!" DJ cries. Tony flounders, then gives in, deciding to just contact the parents of the boys who made fun of DJ's prosthetic. DJ has never missed a day of school and has kept a pretty solid schedule that Tony's slightly scared to mess with, now. He's just waiting for the ball to drop about improving his immune system and getting sick – DJ will not be ready for a day off, that's for sure.
The next week, Tony drops DJ off like usual at ten o'clock. It's not even noon before he gets a house-call from the local police.
DJ has been kidnapped.
"Ooh, getting- urgh- fancy there, with those thunder thighs of yours- uhhh-" Clint lets out a pained, defeated groan as he's slammed down onto the mat, letting out a whine as he taps out. "You're just fucking brutal. You're like fucking air."
"Thank-you," Natasha says, sliding off his body. She doesn't offer him a hand up, but Clint has a bet with Phil on whether she will because she'll pick it up as a blending-in habit or whether she won't, because she's a little shit.
Getting to his feet, Clint stretches his arms, rolling his shoulders. Looking to the clock on the wall, he blinks in surprise. "Hey! I lasted longer! How about that?"
"With how much I have been beating you during this past year of training, I'd hope you'd get a little better as time went by," Natasha replies, before throwing a towel at his face. Clint catches it, still on alert, nodding to her in thanks as he wipes his face and neck, feeling like he'd need to be dunked in a lake to be clean again. "How do you have a family, with this life?"
Clint pauses, glancing at her warily.
"You have a picture in your wallet."
"…well, it didn't start out traditionally. Laura and I are both SHIELD. That's how we met. She's was a secretary – you might have met her legacy, Rolanda from accounting?"
Natasha tilts her head. "She sees to animals that the veterinarians want to put down, that other agents believe can be helped."
Clint snorts. "To be fair, our veterinarians are actually just doctors who dabble. The couple that did animal science are only a bit better. Laura grew up around animals. Her parents brought up a wolf-hybrid they found in the pound. Rolanda took over from Laura when she left. It wasn't really that much of a change – she works in setting up safe-houses and keeps long-term recovering field agents in our spare bedroom."
"How does that work in regards to your daughter?"
"Daisy," Clint puts his towel over his shoulder, grabbing his water bottle and sipping it. "She's twelve in July. She doesn't mind. Most times, she's part of keeping them from getting bored enough to bolt. Every time a new agent comes to stay, she learns something new. I don't even know what languages she speaks now. Laura's managing to keep her fluent in most of them, thankfully."
"Languages are useful," Natasha notes. Clint shrugs.
"I'm fine with her knowing the basics – English, ASL, Mandarin. Laura speaks French and Spanish to her, so I've picked them up or remembered what I've forgotten, over the years."
Natasha is quiet for a bit and Clint keeps silent, waiting for…anything, really. It's only been a year and a half since he picked her up in Budapest, when she was on her way out from the Red Room. Seriously, that was some hell of a mission. Clint had been dealing with loads of shit and basically stumbled across her while being chased by members of a gang out for his blood. She, in turn, had the Russian FSB on her tail plus an evolved branch of the old KGB, Leviathan – her creators, in other words. Clint thinks it's a point in his favour that he knows the difference between Leviathan, the organisation and the Red Room, the place.
"Are you my partner or my friend?" she eventually asks.
Clint doesn't even have to think about it. "Both. If you want to be my friend as well, that'd be awesome."
"Is Agent Coulson my friend?"
"You'd have to ask him that," comes a new voice. Clint glances over at the newcomer, recognising Agent May from the couple of times they'd met through Phil. Clint gives her a jaunty wave as Natasha studies her, May in return weighing her up. "Are you normal or powered?"
"The Black Widow serum affects durability and the aging process," Natasha replies.
"What else does it do?"
"Minor enhancements. The majority of what makes me the Black Widow is training."
May hums, before motioning to the mat. Natasha nods sharply and Clint watches them as they go out onto the mats. Quickly, Clint gets a look at what he's been sparring with for the past few months and blanches. The two women slowly gain an audience as the fight drags on. Clint watches as they test each other's limits, finding weak points. Their spar turns into an endurance competition, eventually, as they stop pausing and simply fight.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Phil murmurs a short time after coming up beside him, clean and ready for his own gym session.
"It sure is impressive," Clint replies. "You think I could take May?"
"She'd beat you."
"I know, but like, eventually?"
"Give it twenty years," Phil says, "Then maybe. Only because May would be getting old at that point, as well."
"Age is never a factor with dangerous women. Peggy Carter can still pack a punch and she's a hop and a skip away from a care home."
"Agreed."
The fight finishes at both women's behest. May leaves after a few short words and an exchanged set of emails, in case either powerhouse want a decent sparring partner. Clint raises his eyebrow at Natasha's face. He looks to Phil.
"Am I dreaming? Is our Natasha smiling?"
"I'm not sure," Phil says in his usual mild tone, but his own lip is twirling further and further upwards, until a full-blown, white-toothed smile appears. Clint shakes his head, grinning.
Getting called to a conference room for a mission briefing is pretty unusual for Clint. It usually means that the mission he's going into is ultra-sensitive and needs a briefing from a higher-ranked agent than Phil. It's only when he sees Natasha does he realise this might not exactly be that kind of mission.
"I'm babysitting again, aren't I?" he questions Phil, who tilts his head.
"Sit down, Barton," he says, before turning on a projector. A picture of a boy appears. Clint vaguely recognises him, noting the prosthetic as an advanced model for this day and age. He's pretty cute, with brown hair, green eyes and tan skin. "DJ Stark was kidnapped from his Sunday day-care last week. There has been no ransom given publicly or privately."
"Stark has a kid?" Clint raises his eyebrow.
"DJ fell into Tony Stark's grasp around New Year," Phil says, before looking to Natasha. "Agent Romanova, your first mission with SHIELD is to locate and retrieve DJ Stark. Agent Barton will be your partner and you will both document the events of this mission for review. If your work is satisfactory and Agent Barton and I's recommendation go through, you'll be put on more missions."
"Understood," Natasha says, staring at the photo. "Has any work been done already, or am I starting from nothing?"
"We've got the address of the day-care and the car model that took him. The plates didn't match any on the system and the police are scouring Point Dume for any sign of him. So far, they've come up with scratch. Because of that, Stark got in contact with us and pulled some strings. Frankly, when it comes to finding the missing child of the Merchant of Death, I think we're the better option than the police. From this point onwards, you're on duty, Romanova. I'd get cracking."
"Yes, sir," Natasha says and Clint finds himself nodding along.
"You've got to stop worrying so much, Tony," Obie soothes. Tony doesn't pay attention to him, scouring the satellite footage for signs of the truck that took DJ away. "The police will find him and if they don't, a ransom will be given soon enough."
"My own ransoms came quicker than this, unless they were trying to make my parents sweat. I have to find him, Obie. I have to find him."
Obie's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, an uncomfortable weight that Tony wants to shrug off. "Tony. A ransom will come."
"You sound so sure. DJ could be dead."
Obie eventually leaves and Tony sinks back into his chair, completely shattered. He hasn't slept in days. Is this how his parents felt? So empty and full to the brim with worry? Did they have that slimy feeling of anger deep in their chest, that made them want to use everything at their disposal to find him? Tony wants to find his son.
He finds himself choking on his own breath, eyes wet. It hurts, knowing that DJ could be anywhere in the world, alone and scared. It tears at him in a way that is so similar, yet so different to when Edwin and Ana Jarvis both died. Tony can remember his parents' death and the numbness it brought, like shades of colour were leeched from the world. Their deaths weren't the void, like the Jarvis' deaths were. DJ being gone is a void in his heart – like something has been torn from him, still tethered to him but still so far away that Tony can't tell if there's anything at the other end.
"Sir, there are two SHIELD agents requesting to talk to you."
"Let them in," Tony says hoarsely, standing and heading for the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks grey and hallow. Tony cleans himself up, making sure to change his shirt before leaving the workshop, going up to meet the two SHIELD agents in his living room.
The first one he sees is blonde. He's of average height with a black leather jacket barely hiding the rock muscle of his arms, sunglasses pushed up onto the top of his head as he looks around Tony's mansion with a raised eyebrow. The second is a red-head – a woman who looks like she could either snap his neck or seduce him with only a single, sultry gaze. It's kind of freaky, actually, but Tony knows SHIELD only employs the best.
"What are you doing here?" he questions. "Shouldn't you be searching for my son?"
"This is Agent Barton and I'm Agent Romanova," the woman says, meeting his eyes. "We've been assigned to locate and retrieve your son. We plan on doing so."
"Good. Why aren't you already?"
Agent Romanova looks him up and down. "Every avenue has to be investigated. How do we know you didn't pay someone to get rid of your son? You haven't been very receptive when it comes to potential children in the past, apparently."
Her words are like a hammer to the chest. "You- what? No! He's my son, I love him!" Tony balls his fists up. "How dare you? Get out! Get out of my house! I would never hurt my son!"
Agent Romanova doesn't move, watching him for a tense few seconds before nodding. "I believe you. Who did you first tell that you had a son? Did any have a negative reaction?"
"I…I told Happy, my driver. He thought DJ was awesome. Got Rhodey, Uncle Obie and Pepper together to tell them. Rhodey would never. He's my brother. He was with me through some tough shit. Pepper's got too much heart. DJ calls her Aunty Pepper. It's weird, but adorable."
"And Obadiah Stane?" Agent Barton questions. Tony swallows.
"He wouldn't. He- he's never happy with anything I do, if it's not a new missile plan, but he's my son. Obie wouldn't, either. None of them would."
"Thank-you for answering our questions." Agent Romanova says. "Virginia Potts has already been cleared. Despite being your PA, she doesn't have enough connections to avoid being questioned and investigated."
"Thanks," Tony says, feeling slightly relieved that he can trust Pepper, if no-one else. "Really, though, I doubt Rhodey had anything to do with this, or Obie."
"We'll look into it," Agent Barton promises. "I don't think I could deal if my kid went missing."
"You've got a kid?" Tony latches on. "Aren't you supposed to be a super-mysterious super-spy? How do you even have a family with your career?" Agent Barton shrugs, lip twitching slightly. Tony pouts. "Come on, I need a distraction."
"You need to sleep," Agent Romanova cuts in. "We'll find your son, Mr Stark."
"Mr Stark was my dad, call me Tony."
Agent Romanova tilts her head up, before looking to Agent Barton. He shrugs, before looking to Tony. "We'll get in touch with you soon, hopefully. If you find something out, give us a call," Agent Barton says, before taking a card out of his pocket, holding it out. Delicately, Tony takes it, raising an eyebrow at the purpl above the telephone number. "It's my call-sign."
"What's hers?" Tony questions, pointing at Agent Romanova.
"That's classified," she says, before nodding sharply and leaving. Agent Barton gives a small wave before following her, tucking his hands into his pockets. Once Tony sees them go out the front doors, he speaks to JARVIS.
"Find out who they are and…and set an alarm for me to wake up. I'm going to have a nap."
"Yes, Father."