(Fe)
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Chapter 2
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There had been a time in Toni's life, back when she'd been five and it'd been Antonia (not the babyish Annie, not the grown Toni), and she'd loved Captain America.
Then Howard had told her how she'd never live up to dear old Cap, how she'd never be good enough, how that was his greatest creation.
She tore down all the Captain America memorabilia that night.
(Never, not even in her dying days, will she admit to revisiting the Howling Commandos to crush hopelessly on Bucky Barnes. She was fourteen and stupid, it doesn't count.)
Only, now that she's faced with that killer jawline, those frosted blues, the goddamn broad as fuck shoulders, it almost feels like she's stumbled back into that time of impossible crushes, curious exploratory fingers and an overactive imagination fixated on the Brooklyn accent.
Hell, she's not even sure if this is actually Bucky Barnes. It can't possibly be... only, Toni's read her Father's old notes on the HYDRA tech from back in his heydays, read about all the science developments that were kept close to the chest and the ones that were implied in the sub-context and now when she looks at Handsome... she wonders.
"Miss, I honestly believe you should contact Mr Stane, or perhaps Miss Potts-"
"Zip it, J. Obi and Peps've probably for themselves tied up over me, or so I like to think; one more day isn't gonna hurt." One more knot won't hurt.
Besides, she needs to set Handsome up wit some credentials, FBI Proof credentials. And see if she can source some kind of cover for the sweet arm he's lugging about. God, she can't wait to sink her teeth into that technology (so to speak), can't wait to rip it apart and make a better one. Sleeker, more efficient; superior in every which way it could possibly be.
Hell, Toni's not got much of an idea on how to thank the guy who's probably saved her life (or at least, saved her from a lengthy stay in the army's medical wing) other than this. True she could always throw money at Tall, Dark and Handsome, but she gets the feeling he wouldn't know what the hell to do with it all.
Guy doesn't even know his own name. It's not exactly like he'll have a bank account she can start pouring funds into. Speaking of which-
"J, set up an account in the name of James... Alloy." Alloy'll do for a last name; that arm has to be an alloy but she's not sure what particular breed. Not yet anyway. She'll figure it out.
Regardless, James Alloy; good temporary name. James of course because, hello, this might be Bucky motherfucking Barnes. Low possibility or not, the chance is there. It is only through sheer willpower (the kind of willpower that keeps tongues still as water surges and lungs scream for air, that clenches teeth when hands roam before a tight voice reminds the fingers that they don't want her suicidal) that Toni doesn't squirm in her seat.
Speaking of which; Toni twists at the hips to stare at her latest... project.
The newly dubbed James Alloy, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, her knight in shining prosthetic, had taken one step into the lab and retreated to the darkest corner it possesses. He's yet to venture out. Every so often, his eyes will scan the room, searching for... well, something.
Toni's got no idea what he's looking for, but she's a'okay with his eye-candy status. What she's not so cool with is the eyes. It's not quite panic, but it sure as hell ain't the dead blues she's become sort of almost accustomed to. There's emotion in there and it certainly ain't the good kind.
"You know, I think I quite like the stubble look on you, less clean-cut Bucky Barnes and much more rugged dirty desert dweller, say, what were you doing in the desert anyway?" Handsome (James, it's James for now, they'd- well, she couldn't wait around until he remembered his name, Toni's found important people tend to frown when you introduce someone on a descriptive nickname only) gives the same reaction as all the other ones he's offered up so far; blankness.
Blankety blank blankness.
It's a good thing he's pretty.
Still, fingers working the blowtorch, Toni rambles on, "I mean, you certainly weren't dressed for desert work. I should know, been 'round the army long enough, and that uniform doesn't showcase shoulders, not like the slick leather get-up you'd been decked out in." It was the first thing they'd done on getting here; changed clothes and showered. Toni'd been so relieved to peel all that nasty off her, to scrub her skin raw (all but her chest, her chest that has that- that thing inside it; she needs to make a better one of that, has to, must make it her own, it's why there's a blowtorch in her hand and alloys before her) that she'd not even considered inviting Handsome to shower with her.
Though really, it doesn't seem like he'll be getting the hints she's throwing anytime soon.
For all that he looks like sex-on-legs (and really, that arm alone is enough to get her going, engines revving, va-va-vaoom), he's oblivious to the sexual intent that rolls off her words in tsunami-like waves.
Not that it matters. Toni could pick up any guy she wanted, any other guy would respond with a smile (sleazy, charming, quite unable to believe their luck, or anywhere between the three), any other guy...
Any other guy would flip if they saw her post-night terrors. Hell, even mid-night terror would freak 'em all out.
Handsome hadn't even batted an eye.
Plus, the very idea makes her skin crawl.
(She hasn't got trust issues, she hasn't. It's just that Handsome's saved her a hospital stay and it's not just a little girl thing, developing a crush on a guy who helps you. She hasn't got trust issues. She hasn't.)
"I don't know." Don't know- oh right, the uniform.
"You don't know it highlights your shoulders? Because let me tell you, it does. I could ride those and still have room for a friend." Not even a sharp inhale at the implication of being between her thighs, or the hint of a potential threesome.
Then it clicks; they're having two different conversations.
"Whoa, hang on, wait. You mean you don't know why you were in the desert?! For real?"
Toni hisses as her fingers slide a little too close to the hot metal in her excitement, but her eyes are all on Handsome. Handsome who watches her clever fingers work with cautious eyes.
"Well shit. J, what have you got for me on that, baby boy?"
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It's blurry photos, the kind of quality that'd have a tinfoil-hatted nutcase raving he'd known Big Foot was out there all along. Yes, the photo quality is that bad, all grain and fuzz and none of the sharp crisp lines that JARVIS usually offers her.
But it's also the only set of photos her baby boy has been able to find on Handsome.
A silver arm, red star (though it's colourless, a dark tone in these black and white photos) coupled with those familiar bug goggle and muzzle-like mask?
Yeah, it's her guy. It's Handsome, unquestionably Handsome, buried deep in the files of dear old Pop's little side project. Toni doesn't want to touch that with a five foot stick. Hell to the no. She does not need to go poking around in SHIELD any further. Knowing her guy is an assassin though... he's been operating as an assassin for more years than he looks to have been alive. And suddenly that Bucky Barnes theory sprints into first place. Huh.
"Sooo, assassin work, that's, that's a little less cool than saving damsels from deserts, Terminator."
There's something wrong with Handsome. And oh boy, does she mean wrong. There's scrunching confused brows at 'assassin' (not the tenseness of 'I've been found out', but genuine hazy 'I don't understand' emotion) yet it's the puzzlement at 'terminator' that trips Toni up.
What she needs to do is look at the facts right now. Think logically. She's a Stark, it's what she's good at. Because when Pepper or Obadiah come knocking, when they listen to her rambles enough to realise what she's housing, Toni knows she'll need a damn good explanation on why she's keeping Murderbot McGhost-Story in her household. One that's stronger than 'pretty blues, Pepper, pretty blues!'.
Fact number one: Handsome carried her across a desert, to his own detriment.
Inference: he could have done her harm, but didn't. Could have left her to die, but didn't.
Conclusion: Handsome has no personal intent to harm her.
Fact number two: Handsome can't even remember his own name.
Inference: amnesia; from blunt force trauma, medical condition, or something more sinister.
Conclusion: Handsome has nowhere to go and no idea what he's doing.
Fact number three: Handsome's been running the gauntlet for longer than Toni's been alive.
Inference: there's some way to halt or slow the ageing progress, given that Handsome's not exactly been seen out and about much, it's probably something that requires he remain still. Entrapped.
Conclusion: most likely cyrofreeze, as absurd as that technology being around for years (decades) sounds.
Facts four and five: Handsome is a facial recognition match to Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes was declared legally dead but remains were never recovered.
Inference: Bucky Barnes may have survived and... and what, because an assassin? A politicians' professional boogeyman?
Conclusion: ...requires more hard evidence.
Further testing... necessary, but caution advisable... probably best not to mention the whole 'Winter Solider' ghost stories mess that JARVIS dug up until she's got some way of defending herself (She's played it too close to the line with one mention of assassin's work already).
So, suit first. But a new suit needs a new power source, a better power source, hence, a better arc reactor. Out with the old, in with the new.
Well, out with everything but the potentially vintage hottie she's got filling her lab's corner with hulking broad shoulders and haunting blue eyes. Eye candy. Yum.
Oh so dangerous; oh so delicious.
Working the last of the metal into place, Toni blows quick and hard on the design. It does nothing for the work, but the satisfaction of knowing its complete nestled low in her stomach like a warm ache. Perfect.
"Right, so don't freak out, but you know if I suddenly kneel over, shove this thing in my chest, got it?"
Handsome's confusion is more evident than ever. He still nods in agreement which, you know, is good enough for her.
What isn't good is the momentary pause, the slight tremors to her hand when she hovered over the obsolete battery in her chest. The phantom pain of her ribcage being split open, of metal replacing it all... fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
No, unacceptable. She might not have asked for it, but the electromagnet is part of her now. Like hell she's ever gonna cringe away from something that's a part of her. She's Toni Stark, the Stark of Stark industries. Whatever was done to her in that cave, she's gonna make it her own. She'll strip clear every part, replace it with her own design, her own creation, until they've got no god damn hold on her anymore. Until it's just her, until there's no marks left but her own.
"In your chest."
Toni jumps.
"Christ on a circuit!"
Recoiling away from the sudden invasion of her personal space, Toni forces her best glare out to cover sudden rapid breaths and a thumping heartbeat.
"You need some bells, Roboman." Lots of bells, bells gallor. Deck the Handsome in bells entirely, fa-la-la-la-la and all of that. Hell, that was way too quiet, she'd not even noticed him move from his little corner. Her heart's under enough pressure already, she doesn't need silent n' stealthy keeping that up.
Twisting to get a better look at Handsome, Toni presents the new arc reactor to her only company, grinning all the while.
"Well I don't like to brag," lie, "but this is probably the best invention of the year." Decade, maybe. Until she gets the suit going, but even then, this will have more applications that just powering the Mark II. "It's also going to keep me alive," Toni underlines, meeting Handsome's gaze as she finally finds the willpower to clamp on hand down on the obsolete model.
Ice chips cut deep against her stare before Handsome flicks a quick glance at the very thing soon to keep her alive.
"You need that in your chest. Forever." It's... it's not posed as a question, but Toni nods anyway.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Handsome nods, that strong jawline (so alike the one she's spent teenaged days fantasising about) tense.
It feels like something significant just happened, but for all her genius, Toni cannot even begin to guess what that was.
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The Asset has no idea what the... thing is. All he knows is that it is of upmost importance. That the girl (Toni) will die without it.
'Right, so don't freak out, but you know if I suddenly kneel over, shove this thing in my chest, got it?'
The mission parameters have been adjusted, clarified.
'Well come on, us 'stranded in the desert losers' need to stick together'.
Stick (define 'stick'; 1. push a sharp or pointed object into or through... incompatible. 2. Insert,thrust or push... incompatible. 3. adhere or cling to something... compatible, correct definition) with the woman (desert loser; Toni). Ensure the thing ('probably the best invention of the year') remains in her chest.
Protective detail... not the Asset's usual modus operandi, but not outside of his skill set.
There's no handler. Is the woman(Toni) the handler?
(She's not like the others)
He waits, watching with sharp eyes as she releases the device (obsolete, inefficient, the beta model), clearing out gunk from within the cavity. She struggles to replace the defunct model. She does not request help so the Asset waits, watches. Fingers tremble, still curled around the upgrade, yet she slots the creation into the chamber. Thorax expands, a harsh, hard exhale follows.
The woman(Toni) appears capable. Knowledgable with metalwork too. A potential mechanic for the arm; skill evident.
"Well, that was shit." A huffed breath (she makes no move to hide her emotions, does not wear a mask as the other handlers did). His brain, his memories... they're insufficient evidence. Maybe the handlers did showcase emotion. Maybe they made him forget.
The Asset must be operational. Must be capable of completing the mission.
The Asset does not need to think.
To think is to be. The Asset is unsure how 'to be'.
"Hey, Handsome. Want a nightlight?"
The device is thrown once, twice, thrice, into the air, no more than a foot above her hand and it seems a natural thing. As if that hadn't just been the product keeping her alive, keeping her functioning. Outdated, outmoded and outmatched by it's better alternative.
There are other Winter Soldiers, the Asset recalls. Now he has his mission, will they be summoned into service instead?
"Yes." The confirmation escapes his mouth before the certainty truly settled into his bones. The device keeps the woman(Toni) alive. Should the present model fail, so too shall the Asset's mission. A back-up is necessary. The woman(Toni)'s well-being comes first.
Her dark eyes are startled, focused upon him from the (unexpected) answer and the Asset waits, still and steady.
Catching the 'nightlight' is no hardship and he places it upon the desk. It is not his business to look upon it, just another component of the mission; his eyes find it anyway. The bright light, a white so fine it borders upon blue, tickles at the back of his mind. Why does this seem familiar?
"Not sure why you'd wanna keep that piece of junk, but whatever helps you sleep at night, Baby Blues. Unless you'd like some company?" Full brows wiggle at him, a grin that's even more familiar than the blue light. All it provides is a sensation of familiarity, nothing more. It still has the corners of his mouth twitching up and that in itself is the most unfamiliar thing of all. He's used to waking up in different places, to difference circumstance, different handlers.
Never before has he been anything less than fully operational. Never before has he had to search for the handler. Never before have the handlers asked after a name.
Watching the woman(Toni) watch him, the Asset feels the strange form of his lips return to a neutral rest.
Certainly never before has there been a handler to name him.
(James Alloy. Alloy is... strange. Even stranger is that James feels... not quite right, but not far from wrong either).
"Ah ha! So you do smile, it's not always terrifying shadow scowls and bold in blank. You're pretty, you know that, Handsome? J, isn't he pretty."
J (artificial intelligence, she'd explained) sighs, more humane a sound than the Asset could manage, produced from speakers the Asset cannot locate.
"Aesthetically, Mr Alloy would qualify as pleasing, especially given Miss' preference for 'tall, Dark and handsome'."
"M-my preference? What the hell, J? You selling me out already?"
The words stir tension within the Asset (betrayal already?) but the tone halts any hasty movements. It's light, carefree... teasing. That's the word (the tone is familiar but he cannot recall any of the prior handlers exhibiting such a lilt) though the Asset is unsure how it springs so easily to mind. Observing the woman(Toni) who he now protects, the Asset takes stock of what he has to work with.
Current location had been proclaimed 'the lab' upon entry.
Defensibility: inadequate; glass wall offers no protection or cover and muffles sound produced in the corridor/stairwell. Multitude of vintage cars offer reasonable cover while under attack, but positioning (lined-up along the far wall) results in a half-hearted 'kill-zone' whenever the woman(Toni) is within the centre of the room. Which, evidenced from the location of equipment and desks, is often.
Armaments: acceptable; far from lacking, though the Asset may be forced to resort to creative measures. Regardless, the woman(Toni)'s work-tools alone would be capable of significant damage.
The Woman (Toni): dangerous; evident genius level intellect, physical threat low. Overall potential threat level: (The Asset recalls a flash of metal armour falling from the sky, an explosion in the distance) significant. Weaknesses: the device (to remain in chest cavity at all costs), physical body (muscle mass indication of waned fitness but no presence of a training).
Mission: 'Stick' with the woman (Toni). Ensure the device remains in place-
"-in there, Handsome? I'm still nowhere near ready for the rodeo that Peps and Obi will saddle me up for, but I'm a social person, need some interaction, you know? And a drink, I definitely need a drink. Probably shouldn't, but- hey, you want a drink, Handsome?"
Mission: 'Stick' with the woman (Toni). Ensure the device remains in place. Interact with the woman.
Asset Capabilties: assured for 'sticking' to the woman and protection of the device. Capabilities for interaction... insufficient. Adjustment needed. Skill set must expand.
Mission parameters: set.
"Come on, Tall n' Dark, follow the leader; what's mine is mine and mine to share."
The Asset complies.
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Toni's managed to clobber together an easy Italian dish (there's no scars there, for all that Mommy dearest had been Italian, there'd never been any secret family recipes to share, what Toni knows she developed herself) when the J announced a guest.
Handsome, who'd appeared quite lost in the alien environment of the kitchen, transforms. Gone was the quiet, large but comfortably-present man. Now she's looking at the assassin JARVIS had uncovered in top secret files. For the first time since she'd met him, she can see what Rhodey must have from the start, what Happy must have seen when he'd picked them up.
What does it say about her, that such a look, that the posture she sees, makes her perk up and take note?
"Who's at the door, J?" Toni tilts her head back (force of habit, JARVIS answers to his name but it just feels more real, like she's actually addressing him because of course JARVIS would be located above her, watching over her) for a second, a single second. But in the space of that second, Handsome disappears, the only indication of his former presence being the boots she'd forced him to kick off before coming anywhere near her quality rug. Pepper'd kill her is she found mud/blood/oil/murder-juices on there.
"Mr Stane is at the door, Miss."
"Great," Toni matters under her breath, tone as dry as the very desert she has just finished wiping from her body, "just who I wanted to see." Not. Even if he's been tipped off (be it by Rhodey or Happy), couldn't the man just give her a single day to recuperate? One day after months of captivity. Is that so much to ask?
Sucking in whatever courage and steel she can, Toni takes one quick look around the room and makes for the front door. Its useless to pretend she's not looking for Handsome (for James, for a man who may or may not be Bucky Barnes but who unquestionably carries more issues on his shoulders than Toni'd have perceived possible about, oh, six months ago); why has he just... upped and disappeared? Is that it, another person run out of the shitshow she gets to call her life? Oh, it's got it's plus points, that for sure, but excuse her if she's feeling a little down from several torture sessions and far too much time beneath a desert sun. When Obi strides into the hallway, just the sight of his familiar face is almost enough to make her forgive him. Almost.
"Toni! Toni, my girl!" The arms are out, the strides longer, purpose in every move. Even though she can see it's a hug, even though Obi's hugged her before... she still locks up, limbs tight and frozen. It takes her a few seconds to remember she's suppose to return the gesture and by then, we'll it's just awkward. Obi, thank god, does his best to push past, probably writing it off under the headline of 'socially awkward genius'. Just like he's done until he past with all her... eccentricities. And just like always, the second her mouth's open, she's rattling off on one, a mile a minute.
"It's good to see you too, Obi. Great, fabulous, all those other flowery words we can throw out there. I mean, I wanted a few days to get my head on straight, you know, but I suppose the big wheel of business just keeps on turning, waits for no man. But I'm not a man, am I? I'm a woman, I can do what I want- so, was it Happy or Rhodey? You know, the one who ratted me out, the dirty traitor. We're gonna have to have another look at that secrecy contract if there's such glaring loopholes they can slip right through." Running a hand through her hair, Toni grins as softly as she can. But she's always been made of metal, of iron, and now she's all bent out of shape and nothing seems to be fitting right across her features. See, this is why she needed the day off.
Obi blinks, one slow motion before that salesman charm breaks across his face, like the crack of an egg and runny innards slipping out. Ew.
"Okay, Toni, maybe you do need a bit of a break before we tackle the press. But there's no secrets between me and you, are there Toni? We're part of the same team, me and you. Just like how it was with your dad. We do great things together."
Toni's smile strains, tight and uncomfortable on her lips. She takes a step back into her home (the one place she's safe, where JARVIS sees all, where there's no one digging, no one trying to sink their claws into her) and offers a tight nod.
"Yeah, a few days, that's good-great, better than great even."
"So, lets have a talk about what went down out there then." And Obi's blowing past her, heading for the couch as Toni's heart (that poor, battered organ) clenches like a vice. Because- fuck, talk? Talk about Afghanistan? No fucking thanks.
Drumming up her best smile, the one that's always satisfied the papzz but seems to be failing her now (iron forced out of shape, she needs time to smooth it all over, to fix it up again) Toni swings round to face Obi again.
"I'd invite you in, Obi, but Happy only thought to buy enough supplies for two."
"Two," Obi parrots dully, a wry smirk on his lips and that's when Handsome appears from wherever he's been hiding. And he makes himself known. It's cool, the kind of ice cool composure that Toni can only wish she'd be able to copy. The sassy, murderous strut that oozes with self-confidence as Handsome twists one of the short blades from her workshop between his fingers. The left hand is pocketed and with that long-sleeved shirt, you can't tell the difference.
That Obi watches Handsome with such wary eyes... well, Toni supposed she'll have to get used to seeing those kind of expressions. Because until he say he wants to go, she's kinda totally set on keeping this man who's got zero fucks to give. Handsome reclines into his previously claimed chair with all the self assurance of a king and none of the pomp. Like a lion before his pride, a panther before his prey. If only she weren't so traumatised, (if only he weren't so traumatised) she'd be climbing that man like a tree right now. The way he spears a piece of pasta and draws it slowly from the blade conveys all the intentions of a tiger peeling skin from its catch.
"Obi, Handsome, Handsome, Obi. He was just leaving." Handsome doesn't even look to her, instead continuing to stare challengingly at Obi. Daring him to argue.
"Rhodey said you'd picked up a stray, Toni."
"Ah, so it was Rhodey then?"
"How sure are you-"
"She asked you to leave."
Toni hasn't got a clue how he did it, if he'd got JARVIS in on it to dim the lights or what, but Handsome tilts his head just so, until his hair curtains one side and shadows take the other, leaving only two icy blues staring Obi down. It's intimidating as hell and Toni wants lessons, pronto.
"Toni-"
"It's cool, Obi. I trust him. Give me three days, call a press conference as I'll hop back up in the bucking bronco that's the business, all dressed up and ready to impress. I mean, how could I not impress? I'm Toni Stark; not even terrorists and their dark-ass cave can hold me."
She doesn't breath a word of her intentions and, thankfully, Obi doesn't ask.
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"I want the Asset found!"
There's a roar of unanimous agreement and HYRDA operatives scuttle about in all directions.
Brock Rumlow watches them all go with hard eyes, recalling more of the few missing faces. Two fools who'd been in charge of the search for Toni Stark (because what a boon it'd be to HYDRA if they could get her on side, willing or not) and then the single idiot who'd signed the Asset off to be used as a sniffer dog for the very fools he doesn't see among the crowd.
No doubt they're all dead. The world's better off without their kind of stupidity. HYDRA is better off without their astounding level of stupidity. Using the Winter Soldier as a hunter, to hunt down Toni stark of all people. She's not that important; sure the girl can crack out some impressive tech, but HYDRA techies aren't that far behind her. She's far from indispensable. The Soldier on the other hand-
"This better be good news," Pierce threatens, his voice low and menacing and Brock can tell by the grunt's face it's not. That's why it's this particular fool offering up the bad news; they higher-ups are too aware of the situation to date stick their neck out, never mind doing so to deliver bad news.
"Sir, we've just hear whispers from the military that Toni Stark is back on American soil... she fought her own way out."
Pierce slams his hand against the desk and Brock can relate.
So they've not only lost the Asset, but have sent him on chasing smoke.
While they'll probably have to re-evaluate Stark's profile now, there's no way they'll manage to get close to her. Girl's too high profile a target, the opportunity for that has passed now. She'll be one watch constantly.
"-report from the army that she's already acquired a new bodygua-"
"I don't give a fuck about some spoiled rich princess with half a brain! Pool all resources into securing the Asset. He's too valuable to be lost."
Well, it's probably about damn time he goes and starts his own search now. A search in the desert.
Sometimes, Brock hates his job.
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Still alive. Absolutely knacked, but alive. All wrote on I-pod, so excuse errors please. Back to planning now, I'm afraid. Sorry this took so long; hope you enjoy it.
Tsume
xxx
