j.v. hearts13: thanks, glad you're liking it! i'm so in love with that commentary, and you're right, Robert was fantastic...but that's to be expected from him :)

movieholic: a gem! well hey, thanks! :) yeah, i'm a fan of the way Perry and Pepper's names sound together, too, there's a nice ring to 'em.

listened to while writing this chapter: Manic Street Preachers. Now there's some good music.

Two of the guys I got acquainted with earlier come charging into the room, dragging another unconscious guy in between them. This new guy, Jesus, he looks like a wreck. His hair is all messed up and it looks like someone gave him a couple of good punches to the face.

That's always something I've never understood, even though I just said it—how can a punch to the face be good? I mean, do they mean good as in "effective," "nice form," what? Because I'll tell you, when I think of punches, the first thing that pops into my mind sure as hell isn't "good."

One of the guys, who I've come to recognize as Carl, notices me watching them and smirks. "Having fun, Lockhart?"

"It's a dream." He kicks me hard in the knee, and I suppress a string of profanity the size of an anaconda.

"Well, now you've got some company," he tells me as he jerks the new guy down next to me and handcuffs him to the pole next to mine. How convenient is it for them, two poles right next to each other, two kidnapped dudes? Hell, you'd think they'd planned this. "Lockhart, meet Stark."

I glance at my new neighbor, whose head is lolled to one side, and then look back at Carl. "Uh, thanks?"

"Don't mention it. G'night, Lockhart."

I wait until I'm sure the door is closed before I mutter, "Let the bedbugs bite."

After about twenty minutes, dude next to me still hasn't regained consciousness, and I'm even more uncomfortable than I was when I was alone. I nudge Stark with my knee lightly while trying to remember where I know his name from.

I think I got hit by a train. Goddamn it. I force myself to open my eyes, and once I do, I wonder if I'm blind. The room I'm in is pitch black, but then I notice a tiny nightlight nearby and a few candles, and my blindness fears are quelled. My head is killing me, but when I try and rest it in my hands, I realize that they're handcuffed behind my back.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I mutter.

"Oh, hey! You're awake. About time, man. Seriously."

"Jesus!" I yelp, jumping back from whoever's next to me. I can feel the metal from the handcuffs dig into my wrists, and I flinch.

"You're like, a superhero, aren't you? What are you—Batman? Spider-Man? The Hulk?" the guy next to me presses. I roll my eyes.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Harry Lockhart. Looks like we're hostage buddies, pal. So, uh, what's your first name?"

"Tony."

"Tony Stark! Right. I knew your name sounded familiar."

I wish I was handcuffed across the room from this guy, instead of right next to him. "What are you doing here?" I ask after a slightly awkward silence.

"Being a captive."

"C'mon, Harry, you know what I mean." At least, I hope he does.

"I have no idea. I mean, I have an idea about what you mean, I just have no idea why I'm here. I mean, do you know why you're here? I don't think it's really something they brief you on before they kidnap you, y'know?"

"I have an idea."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"It probably has to do with the fact that I'm a billionaire."

Harry whistles. "Good call."

"Yeah. And, I'm kind of Iron Man."

"Jesus, you've got it all, don't you?" Not really, no. "Hey," he adds suddenly, "since you're Iron Man, you must be really good with metal and shit, right?"

I shrug. "I know my way around."

"Can you get us out of these?" He jangles his handcuffs hopefully.

"Not without a key, or something to pick the lock, sorry to say."

"Well, that's a bummer, dude."

"Yeah, I'm not too thrilled about it, either."

"You don't have, like, laser eyes or anything like that?"

I stare at Harry, dumbfounded. "Do I look like I'm wearing the suit right now?"

"Well, it's kind of dark." He needs a clue for this. My God.

"You can't handcuff Iron Man, dipshit." I'm usually not this bad, I swear to God.

"Oh, right. Iron Man's wrists are too fat," he dishes.

I can tell I'm not going to be able to deal with Harry Lockhart much longer.

Tony's kind of a snarky little priss. Snarky Stark. That sounds like some weird breed of bird. Do birds even come in breeds? Clans, maybe? Clusters…nah, those only remind me of peanuts.

I mean, there's not much else to do here but make small talk, and he's not even open to that. Well, hell, I'm fresh out of options.

"So, are we just gonna sit here, then?"

He shrugs. "Do you have anything else to talk about?"

I pause. He cuts in before I can answer with, "Besides the fact that my wrists are too fat to get handcuffed?"

"So it is a fact?" So sue me; he asked for it, I couldn't resist.

"They're fat enough to knock you out for a week, Lockhart."

"Really?"

"I can make it a month, if that suits you better."

"No, a week's fine."

"All right, then."

I'm about to give up on this guy and try and get some sleep when something light, light blue catches my eye.

"Hey, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"That…blue thing."

"Blue thing?" I can't tell if he's mocking me, or really has no idea what I'm talking about.

I squint at it for a few seconds, but still can't figure out what the hell it's supposed to be. "The blue thing sticking out of your fucking chest."

"Eh, arc reactor."

"Excuse you?"

"Shit," he mutters under his breath. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

This is the wrong thing to say, it just piques my curiosity even more. "We don't tell anyone about this because…?"

"Because I'll sue your ass to kingdom come."

"Okay, enough said. What is it again?"

"An arc reactor."

"That sounds important." This, my friends, could be total bullshit. I have no idea whether or not an arc reactor is important, it could just be an overhyped and badly named Christmas ornament, for all I know. But judging from what Tony tells me next, it's pretty damn important.

"You heard on the news about how I was captured, right?"

"Yeah, I heard something about it." Yeah, I caught one of the ten million newscasts on the subject. It wasn't too hard.

"Well, uh, this—" He jerks his head down at his arc reactor "—this is keeping my heart beating."

I stare at him. "You're shittin' me."

He shakes his head. "I shit you not. There's shrapnel in there, and the only reason it's not going into my heart and killing me right in front of you is because of this little guy."

"Huh." Perry would like this. I'm not sure if he's into science or anything, but hey, anyone would like this. It's cool.

We've actually got a nice connection here, a little flow going, when Carl and one other guy whip the door open and trudge towards us. I heard Carl refer to him earlier as Brett, so Brett he is.

Brett sighs and bends down in front of Tony. "You're first, pal," he says, unlocking Tony's handcuffs briefly, dragging him to his feet, then locking them back into place. "Let's go."

Carl does the same for me, and we're off.

I feel like the whole world already knows about my chest issues, and it's always a jerk back to reality when they look at me as if I told them I'm a superhero.

He's got his hands around my wrists for added security, supposedly, which seems ridiculously stupid to me, and he's constantly tripping over his own feet. Harry's next to me with the other guy, who could really care less about him. He's just walking behind Harry, not laying a hand on him, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. I don't want this guy's hands on me.

We're led into a little room with a couple of couches and a fridge, which might seem kind of cozy if it weren't for the fact that they belonged to Brett and Carl. The leader of this whole shebang, I'm assuming, is sitting on one of the couches, a cigarette laced between his fingers. He grins when he sees Harry and me.

"Mr. Stark," he greets, standing and getting ready to shake my hand. When I don't return the gesture, he looks down at where my hands should be and giggles to himself—he literally giggles—as if he's made some huge joke. "You weren't as hard to kidnap as we'd predicted."

I don't know what to say to this, what the hell would you say to this?

"Can I let you in on a secret, Tony?" he asks.

"If you want."

"We actually were going for your assistant, there. We figured she'd be easier to get a handle on, but you, oh boy. You just cut out the middle man for us. So, thanks."

"What the hell d'you want?"

"Right now," he says, pulling out his cell phone, "right now, I want you to talk to your lovely little gal pal. Tell her you're okay, all that jazz, but don't give too much away. That'd just ruin the fun." My eyes widen as I realize that's not his phone; it's mine. Holy shit. Do I have password protection on that? My mind draws a blank as I watch him hold the phone up to his ear. After a second, though, he pulls it away and puts it on speaker.

Pepper's voice floods into the room, high-pitched and panicky. "Tony!" she cries. "Tony, where the hell are you?"

"How're you doing, there, Miss Potts?" he asks.

She's silent for a few seconds. "Where's Tony?" she asks gravely. "What'd you do with him?"

"He's fine, right next to me actually, as we speak."

"I want to talk to him." Good old Pepper, right to business, always. Even on her birthday.

"That'll come soon enough, Miss Potts. First, we've gotta lay down some ground rules, okay?" He doesn't wait for her to answer before he continues. "The police do not get involved in this, right?"

"It's already all over the news."

"That's how it's gonna stay. You're not calling the police after this. You're not tracking this call. Right?" That doesn't make any sense.

"Right," she sighs.

"Do you want to talk to Tony?"

"Yes."

He motions for me to come closer, and Brett shoves me forward a little. I bend down as he holds the phone closer to me, and we meet in the middle.

"Heyay, Potts."

"Are you all right?" Her tone's all business again.

"Could be better, honey. But I've got a friend here."

"Rhodes?"

"What? No. Harry Lockhart. You've never met him. But hey, he's here too," I tell her, trying to enunciate that, in case someone is looking for him, too.

"You're giving just a little too much away here, Mr. Stark," he tells me softly.

I can't think of anything else to say. Why don't Pepper and I have any cool code words or anything? Why didn't I think of that?

"All right, that's enough," he says, taking the phone back.

"What was the point of that?" Brett asks. I roll my eyes. This is definitely his first time in this game.

He shrugs. "To let Miss Potts know that her boss is still alive." He turns his attention back to Pepper. "So, uh, call you later?"

"Wait, can—" Pepper begins, but is cut off as he snaps my phone shut.

I can hear Harry mutter something along the lines of, "Well, that was eventful" from the back of the room.

"Okay, that's it," he says, waving a hand for us to leave. When he thinks I'm not looking, he flicks my phone open again and starts fooling around with it.

"I want that," I tell him.

He looks at me and grins. "Oh, right. I forgot this is yours." He gets to his feet and walks behind me. I crane my neck to see what he's doing when I feel the phone brush my fingertips. I make a grab for it, but he jerks it away at the last second. "You can't always get what you want, Mr. Stark."

As we're walking back to that lovely room, Brett tries to strike up a conversation with me.

"Hey, Stark."

"Hey."

"I've got a question for you."

"I might have an answer."

"Might?"

"Depends on the question."

He snickers to himself before continuing. "That assistant of yours, is she as foxy in person as she always looks on the cameras? 'Cause damn, man, you've got yourself a catch there. That girl is fine."

I freeze, but he shoves me forward. "Don't talk about her like that," I tell him through gritted teeth.

"Oh, hey, sorry. Didn't realize she was your property," he mutters, his voice saucy. "But seriously, what I wouldn't do to get her in bed with me—"

I whip around and make an attempt to punch him in more than one place, more than once. He takes a step back and watches me for a second, then bursts into laughter, grabs my elbows, and turns me back around.

"Don't you ever talk about her," I growl. "Ever." I realize now that I could have kicked him, and wonder if it's still possible to do so effectively.

"I can talk about her all I want, Starky-boy. It's not like you can do anything about it."

"I'll kill you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"You stay away from her." I don't like that he's behind me, that I can't see him.

"Ooh, that sex toy of Tony Stark's…she's a sexy bitch. She's his bitch. She's a tramp, he found her in Vegas and felt badly—"

Harry interjects. "Bad."

Brett stares at him. "What?"

"You feel bad."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Badly's, uh, it's an adjec—no, it's an adverb. And if you said you feel badly, that means that the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken," he explains quickly, with a trace of pride in his voice.

"Uh, you've gotta shut up," Carl tells him.

Maybe it's good that Harry broke up that argument. Then again, maybe not. I can't think of anything else to say as Brett and Carl re-handcuff us to the poles and shut the door again.

I need my phone. Right now.