Thanks again, and AGAIN, for all the lovely Favorites, Follows, and Reviews.
Real quick, I want to address one big "Plot Thing" :
I noticed after the fact that I had Coulson in the story, as well as Bruce and Tony already working together in the Tower, so where this falls is still up in the air. Either this is a situation where Coulson survives, or this is set in a pre-movie universe where the Avengers Initiative was pushed through early (and the events of the film pushed back by a few months).
Disclaimer: Don't Own, so please DON'T SUE. Also, I should mention Spoilers for both series (I am including all the separate Marvel Avenger tie-in films in this warning, as well).
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Chapter Two: Oh, No. Now There's Two of Them
After Harry had sat, bored, in Stark's lab for a good two hours, he had finally begged a pen off of Bruce and managed to get some parchment from Agent Phil. Of course, Stark had stared at him as he wrote, and then stared some more (with an annoying little smirk and head tilt) when he'd given the letter to the fussy post-owl the calm Handler had brought in to the lab in a huge, awkward cage. Once his letter to Sirius was sent, he was left to twiddle his thumbs, literally, which wasn't as amusing as it sounded. Though he was still utterly pissed at the bullshit about James and Lily Potter not being his parents (Not Fucking POSSIBLE), he was glad that he hadn't lost his shit and thrown a tantrum in the lab.
He could have said it was because he didn't want to piss off the manic Stark, but he'd be lying. Once he found out that the mild-mannered Bruce shared an unusual commonality with Remus (their mutual destructive potential), Harry had backed down. Quickly. He loved Remus as much as he was coming to like the cool, collected Mr. ("just call me Bruce, kid") Banner, but you didn't test Remus' patience at "that time of the month"...you just didn't...just like you didn't push Bruce to the point of him turning you into pate a la human.
After the third round of thumb wars between his left and right thumbs, Harry gave it up. He was officially fucking bored, and he wanted a damned cigarette. He may be a temporary prisoner in this beast of a tower, but that didn't mean that they had to hold his cigarettes hostage, or keep him from a distraction that wouldn't bore him to tears.
"So. Anything to fucking do around here if you aren't a science genius?"
"Uh...sit there and look pretty? You can do that, can't you runt?"
Harry clenched his jaw and shifted on his perch. Keep your cool. Don't piss off nice Mr. Banner.
Said "nice Mr. Banner" gave Stark a quelling look, and the younger genius raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking, as he wandered to the other side of the lab to fiddle with more of his science thingies. "Uh, well...you probably can't do much here, but I think that Steve might be around, if you want some company. He's not much for science, but he can keep you distracted for a while, at least."
"I'm sorry, who?"
Harry scowled at the stares he received from both scientists. It wasn't as if he'd just confessed to being Merlin, or turned one of their little gizmos into a frog, or anything. Well, if this "Steve" was as famous as he was starting to think he might be (if the stares were anything to go by), then he should probably know who the Hell the guy was. Damn. He'd probably screwed himself over, but was too fucking BORED to care at the moment.
"Steve. Steve Rogers. THE Cap. Captain America, Super-Soldier that helped win World War II. Seriously, how can this not be ringing any bells? I think he's an annoying...spangly and annoying...Capsicle, but even I know who he is."
Harry was starting to understand how this guy had earned the Hawk-eye bastard's nickname of "that fuckin' Stark," with as much as he ran his mouth. Hermione would have told him it was the pot calling the kettle black. Ron wouldn't have understood the obviously muggle reference, but would have agreed with the sentiment. Even so, neither were here, so he could be as hypocritical as he wanted about finding Stark's smart mouth annoying.
"Just...where can I find this Steve? I'm desperate for a cig, but since no one in this fucking tower prison will give me one, I want a fucking distraction."
"Do I count? I think I do, or I should." Harry whirled around at the sound of the man's voice, and stared. He was sure that he looked about as intelligent as Crabbe and Goyle combined (so, not very...at all), but he didn't really care.
"What, YOU?! What the fuck are you doing here?!"
The man smirked.
…
Remus loved Sirius. He really, really did. Not like everyone (even James, at one point) assumed he did, but with the deep, abiding, (platonic) love of the dearest of life-long friends. Even so, he was going to bloody well kill the bastard, soon.
From the moment Sirius had found out that Remus was taking them to New York, he hadn't had a fucking single moment of silence. Even when Sirius shut up long enough to catch his breath, he was twitchy and fidgeting, jerking his knee in nervous, frantic movements that made the things around them vibrate and rattle. To make matters worse, Remus knew that they'd have to travel part of the way Muggle-style, at least until they were across the channel and out from under the radar of the Ministry and Death Eaters, alike.
So, add uncomfortably tight quarters, a stiff chair, and a flimsy meal tray into the equation, and you get Remus, ready to beat Sirius with his "floatation device" (read: the rock-hard seat cushion that wasn't so much a "cushion" as a torture device for the ass) as he jerked and fidgeted, making the entire row of seats rattle and vibrate.
"Honestly, Paddy. Statute be fucking damned, but if you don't sit still for FIVE minutes, I'm turning you into a vomit bag." As their dosing aisle mate looked decidedly green around the gills, this was a valid threat and more than enough to get Sirius to stop moving. For a while, anyway.
"It's just...how much longer will we have to be on this...contraption?"
"An aeroplane, Sirius. Aeroplane. It's not rocket science."
"Rocket science?"
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. "Never mind! It shouldn't be too much longer till we land in Paris, and then we can do the rest of the trip...our way."
"Good! I want to see Harry."
Remus can feel a muscle in his jaw twitch as the desperately bites back an annoyed, exhausted snarl. "We have to meet up with Coulson first, remember? We won't know where to find him, otherwise."
"Oh, right. THEN we go see Harry."
Remus just rolled his eyes and slammed his head back into the punishing head rest. Honestly, it was like speaking to an impatient toddler when Sirius got like this. He would focus on that one thing, and then blank out everything else. This worked well when they were kids playing pranks on Snape, but not so much now, when focus on more than one thing, on more than the final result, was required.
If it came down to it, he'd fucking drug Sirius for a while, and then continue on when the man was lucid again. Though he didn't make a habit of dosing Sirius, Remus was at the point were he'd hold the bastard down and force a potion down Sirius' throat for even twenty minutes of restful quiet. It was really (really) fucking tempting, but he'd wait and see how much further Sirius pushed his "impatient child" act before he decided, either way.
Still...just five hours of uninterrupted sleep, especially after Sirius' rude awakening earlier, would be just lovely.
"Harry, Harry, we're going to see Harry in NEW YORRRRK~!"
Remus twitched. Sirius was fucking singing, now. Fuck it. As soon as they landed, Remus had a dose of Sleeping Draught with Sirius' name on it.
-[End Chapter]-
