"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."
~ Frank Sinatra
Steve and the Nosy Teammates
"Right then," Tony said as he sat in front of a display. The door to his lab was locked, the window clarity had been set to opaque and he was ready to do something highly illegal (because laws were for losers).
"Tell me your secrets, oh faceless government organisation," he muttered, fingers flying as he started to hack into SHIELD's database for the umpteenth time.
He hadn't really needed to do too much snooping since he'd been on the helicarrier a few months back, asides from when he could tell Fury wasn't spilling all the beans, but "Mister Potter" was something that definitely warranted his attention.
It wasn't long before he struck gold.
""Lord Harry James Potter, born July 31st, 1980"," he read aloud to JARVIS, who was saving everything to a highly encrypted drive, ""Died May 2, 1998, 12th of August 1998, 5th of November 1998... Holy crap, there's a fucking list!" Tony stared at the screen in awe; this guy had died more often than all the villains they'd tried to kill put together! ""Further deaths after departing England unknown; subject is highly skilled at remaining hidden from SHIELD operatives and tracking devices alike.""
"Shit," Tony murmured as he moved on the biography section. It, too, was sketchy after the man's shift to America, but Tony was enraptured by what he did find out.
A wizard, the guy was an honest to god, wand-waving, broom-riding, autograph signing wizard. In a world as backward as this place seemed to be - and as Tony read further it got more and more backward - where no one knew his name, it was good to know that the public couldn't keep themselves from harassing someone. Humanity never changed. Okay, so the last bit was not expected, but apparently the guy was a celebrity hero, somewhat like Tony - rich, powerful family, orphaned. Two peas in a very strange, very mutated pod.
And then there were the deaths. He had been seventeen the first time, and afterwards had been knighted - the guy probably had tea with Her Majesty the Queen on weekends (something that Tony had done on occasion as well). The second was a retaliation murder for the death of the terrorist that Harry had died killing the first time (and holy crap did that sentence make his head spin!). The rest were either revenge attacks, heroic deeds gone awry or a strange incident with a malfunctioning joke-shop trick, all except for the last one. In a particularly gruesome turn, some psychopath had invaded Lord Potter's manor during the night while he slept - thankfully on a night that his adopted son had been at his grandmother's - and had literally ripped him to pieces and scattered them across England. Said attack was reported when Harry himself came in to work late the next morning - the guy was a wizard cop, go figure - chucked the guy in question at his partner's desk and threw his badge on the floor. He was quoted as saying, "I quit! Do you have any idea how long I had to talk to Hela while my body pulled itself back together?"
Tony grimaced at the image; to have had him in ship-shape by morning the bits must have been bolting across the countryside like demented woodland creatures all night long.
"TONY!" a shriek cut his thought off before it could get any weirder, "IF YOU ARE LATE FOR THIS MEETING I WILL NEVER ENTER YOUR BEDROOM AGAIN!"
Tony promptly got off his arse and pulled on a suit jacket, opening the door to grin at a very irate Pepper.
"I was researching?" he attempted with what he knew was his best "innocent" grin.
Pepper glared at him for three whole seconds before her face softened into a fond smile, "You could spend the rest of your life in there "researching" and I'd never see you again," she told him as she led the way out of the labs and towards the exit.
"I'd always come out for you, Pepper."
"Oh god, people, get yourselves a room," Clint called from down the hallway, and Tony flipped him off from behind Pepper's back.
"We have an entire tower, bird-brain. JARVIS, please cut off the air conditioning in Mister Barton's room and whatever training facilities he uses today."
"As you wish, sir."
"Tony!" Pepper chastised.
"Just a bit of fun, Pep, nothing to worry about."
Half an hour later, in the shooting range, Clint cursed the name Stark so hard that even people in Zimbabwe heard him.
Tony couldn't help but double-take when he saw what looked like Loki taking a stroll in Manhattan. A long black coat, overly long gold scarf and black hair that was swept into a tight, low ponytail. Shorter strands stuck out here and there, though still elegantly; Loki was nothing if not elegant.
Of course, most of the people on the street were giving him equally confused looks; what the hell was Loki doing, casually walking around the city he had nearly destroyed like he owned it?
He shot a glance at Pepper, who nodded that she'd keep the people in the boardroom occupied, before slinking off in the direction that Loki had headed, his Suit Case™ in hand.
There he went; he was headed for Central Park. Tony suddenly wondered if he could go back to the building he'd been having his meeting in and grab a car; he didn't want Loki aware of his follower, so the suitcase suit would be way too obvious. Unfortunately, that meant walking if he didn't want to lose his quarry.
Nearly fifty minutes later, Tony was definitely regretting his foray into espionage. He was certainly learning some new skills - he didn't think he'd ever gone so long unnoticed by the object of his attentions - but the extended period of "bad guy in sight, don't shoot him" was making him ridiculously antsy. He hadn't realised how much he enjoyed shooting at shit until that moment.
And then, suddenly - finally - the villain entered a driveway... into a high school.
The man was picking up a kid! Oh em gee, Tony had just stalked a random stranger around Manhattan; how had he not noticed this? He wondered if he was getting old; maybe he was going senile? Senility was certainly a better option, in his mind, than admitting that his brain had momentarily shorted out and misplaced the entire section that controlled facial recognition.
"Dad?" someone called, and Tony realised with dawning horror that not only had he followed this guy around the city for practically an hour, but school was now out - and he had absolutely no reason to be in the area.
"Hey kiddo," replied the man in what was undeniably a British accent - but not Loki's voice, "I was in the neighbourhood, so I decided to come pick you up."
The boy laughed, and Tony blinked at the strange colour of his eyes, "Dad, you practically never leave the house unless Aunty P comes and drags you out somewhere. If you were in the area, then I'm Captain America."
"Nice try at rhyming," said the father, obviously smiling (though Tony couldn't see it from where he was), "But you of all people should know that since last week he's been calling himself "America"."
Tony took this moment to turn and, as discreetly as possible, sprint for Central Park.
'That was "Mister Potter"!' he thought to himself, 'The guy that Fury was after! Why the hell is Fury after a Loki-look-alike with a family?' His mind whirled with questions and hypotheses, but none of them made much sense. Tony blamed his apparent rapid-onset senility.
Tony, and the rest of his team, for that matter, had been under the impression that Fury discounted any heroes with family members out of hand. Familial connections were a liability; even people like Pepper were technically a no-no, but Tony Stark was not going to give up the best thing in his life because Fury said it wasn't "professional".
And then something struck him - according to Steve, his dead friend Harry had black hair, green eyes and a thing for long black coats.
"Oh. My. God," he breathed.
Natasha lay atop a building across the way from Potter's son's school, watching with bored eyes the very mundane exchange.
Admittedly, watching Tony flee the scene had been amusing but it wasn't why she was here. The reason why she was lying flat on her stomach with a magazine and a notebook in front of her and a set of binoculars in her hand was still talking to his son and not doing anything interesting at all.
It remained this way until Potter the elder slung his arm over Potter the younger's shoulders and they started walking away. They ducked into an alcove that anyone on the street would have trouble seeing into and Natasha wondered what the hell they were doing until-
Potter looked right up at her and grinned. Then both man and son disappeared.
Natasha made a note.
"Steeeeve," came the call from the kitchen, and said man sighed and popped his head over the top of the couch.
"Yes, Tony?"
"Does the Mister Potter that Fury was after have black hair, green eyes and a startling resemblance to Loki?" he asked innocently. He was completely unprepared for the snarling mass of man that flung itself over the couch at him.
He swore violently and ducked out of the way as Steve lunged for him, rolling in the general direction of safety before getting to his feet and bolting for the elevator.
"STARK!" Steve all but screamed behind him.
"I found out by accident, please don't kill me!" he yelled over his shoulder, not stopping until he was in the elevator and JARVIS had shut the doors behind him.
Unfortunately he hadn't taken into account the extent of Steve's ire; the super-soldier literally pried open the elevator doors. Tony could hear them creaking open above him, and he urged JARVIS to make the elevator go faster. Suddenly there was a loud "bang!" on the roof of the elevator car, and then the ceiling hatch opened and Steve slipped inside, advancing on Tony with the air of a mother bear defending his cubs.
"You will tell no one, do I make myself clear?" he asked. He hadn't laid a finger on Tony, but the physical reminder was unnecessary in the face of that glare.
"Crystal," Tony said, grinning somewhat uneasily.
There was an extended moment of silence during which Tony watched the numbers above the door tick lower and lower before he turned back to look at his teammate; "Do I get to meet him?"
Steve shot him a look, "Even if I say no, you'll follow me anyway, won't you?"
"Probably."
He glared at him, probably hoping he'd back down. Tony didn't. He sighed, "Fine."
"Awesome! JARVIS, take us back upstairs and pick out something for me to wear. Oh, and contact someone to fix the elevator."
"Of course, sir," the AI replied calmly, as if homicide hadn't just nearly been committed within range of his all-seeing sensors.
"And remind me to update your emotion protocols; sarcasm is one thing, nonchalance in the face of your creator's death is another."
"Not today, Tony," Steve told him, still frowning.
"What? Why the hell not?" he all but whined, previous near-death experience forgotten.
"I'm seeing him tomorrow-"
"Then-"
"- but you can't come then, either."
Tony pouted.
"I'll take you to see his bar sometime, will that do?"
Tony's smile glowed brighter than the arc reactor.
It was as she followed Steve and Potter around on a Saturday that Natasha got that tingle down her spine that just screamed "the Avengers need to assemble, right now!" and she spun around to see what was happening.
What met her eyes made her groan; on the end of the street stood one of Doom's robots (the big "D" on its chest gave it away). People were already scattering every which way, but the thing was just standing there. And it was looking straight at...
"Captain, DUCK!" she yelled as she threw herself to the side.
The good Captain's reflexes had him on the floor in a second, Potter with him, just a moment before a shot whizzed over their heads.
Steve's head popped up, and Natasha could see that he was looking for something to use as a shield; she wished she'd had the forethought to bring his along.
She turned her attention back to the robot, pulling out her pistol and moving to cover. The civilians could handle themselves.
And then Captain America was there - admittedly out of uniform and technically not "captain" anymore, but who cared? The guy was a super hero, rank or no.
The shield he was holding matched his Vibranium one almost exactly, and Natasha made a mental note; Potter was apparently Steven Strange's long lost twin brother or something. Or Loki's.
The man in question was grabbing people left, right and centre and pulling them into cover or getting them off the street entirely if he could.
Natasha made another note; the guy didn't seem big on fighting, more of a pacifist really. She doubted he would fight for SHIELD if they promised all the money in the world in exchange for his services.
She erased that note when Cap got hit on the shoulder. All the glass still intact between Harry and the robot suddenly shattered, and Potter shifted gears so quickly that Natasha wondered if he suffered from dissociative identity disorder.
He flipped the hood on his coat up and probably did some magical thing to make his eyes shadowed like that; but even without being able to see them you could tell with only a glance that he was as pissed as Clint defending his "nest" on laundry day.
The robot shot repeatedly at the blur that was Harry Potter, but for naught. The guy moved like he'd been doing this for years - Natasha noted that he probably had - and was effortlessly throwing bolts of light at the thing from his hands.
"Widow, get Steve to cover!" he yelled, and she wondered how she was supposed to lift that much muscle; despite her training, she was still much smaller than the blonde.
Thankfully, Steve's legs were still working, and they got behind a somewhat smouldering car in time for another two robots to make an appearance.
"Really?" Potter cried, annoyed.
"Hit them in the neck!" Steve yelled, "It's usually a weak spot!"
Potter dodged another shot and grumbled as he flung a bolt of light at the original robot's neck. It crumpled to the floor instantly, head completely detached from its body.
"Why do bad guys always send groups of three?" he asked, finishing off the other two quickly once that he knew how to. Natasha now knew exactly why Fury wanted this guy tailed; that kind of power was not good in the wrong hands. Doom was the perfect example of this.
The sudden quiet on the street was almost deafening in it intensity, but Potter ignored it like it was normal. Maybe it was for him. He walked over to their spot being the car and knelt before Cap, mouth scrunched in what Natasha assumed was worry.
"You okay, Steve?" he asked, examining the blast wound.
"'M fine," Steve assured him, flinching away when Harry poked at the wound.
"You heal almost as fast as me," Harry told him, lips turned up, before putting a hand over the damaged flesh,
A soft white light emanated from his hand, and in four seconds flat Steve's shoulder was good as new. He flicked his hand and the ashes that had once been his uniform floated from the floor and rearranged themselves to make his suit whole once more.
"Brilliant," Harry murmured, standing. He jumped at the sudden round of applause and spun around to find a crowd of people cheering.
Natasha noted that he didn't try to cast a spell; he was apparently used to asking questions first and shooting later, which was something very much valued in a SHIELD agent, and something she could appreciate.
"Er, hi?"
Things like "amazing" and "totally awesome" were being shouted out, and Potter just smiled and took it; he was a celebrity already, Natasha knew.
"What're you called?" one person asked, and he shrugged.
"Isn't it usually the public and the press who chooses our names?" he asked sagely, "Iron Man, the Hulk, heck, even Cap Am. Just... nothing too weird, please."
Back at the Dragon's Tongue (which Harry had closed for the night) and Steve was grilling Natasha like her answers would determine the fate of the planet.
"I can't accept that you were just there, Natasha. You are not the type of person who wanders New York for no reason, and especially not on a weekend when you usually spend time with Clint. Fury put you up to this, didn't he?"
"Don't fret so much, Steve," Harry told him, placing a drink in front of each of them and seating himself beside Steve at the table, "I knew she was there."
"What?" he asked, eyes snapping to his friend's calm countenance.
"Why didn't you call me out on following you earlier?" she asked, and Steve's penetrating stare instantly fixated on her.
Harry smiled, "Allow me make something clear, Widow; as long as you don't hurt me or mine, I don't care how you spend your time."
They finished their drinks faster than one would expect (mostly because both Natasha and Harry really wanted to get away from Steve's demanding eyes) and were at the door when Harry addressed Natasha again.
"Oh, and Widow?" she turned to face him, "Don't go near my son again. I may not be fond of killing people, but when it comes to him my moral priorities tend to shuffle around a bit."
"What do you have to report, Agent?" Fury asked once Natasha had closed the door behind her.
"Harry Potter is someone who can be defined as a wildcard," she began, staring at the wall behind Fury's head as she related the week's events.
"Any recommendations on action?"
"For now, Capt- Rogers seems to have him under control," she easily lied; Potter was, in truth, about as under Steve's control as the Hulk while throwing a tantrum, "Further surveillance is probably required to assess the extent of that control and how far we can push before he shoves back."
Really, Natasha just wanted an excuse to stalk the man some more; he was interesting.
"Thank you, Romanoff. Dismissed."
She nodded and left, and Fury sighed in frustration. What the hell was the world coming to when brats like Potter could lead his agents around by the nose?
He needed a drink.
""The Black Hood"," Steve announced as he walked into the pub. Harry grinned.
"I know; these people have no imagination whatsoever."
"At least it's not Shadow Face or something," Steve said in their defence - a terrible rebuttal, Harry thought.
"Nah, Shadow Face sounds too villainous. Shadow Cloak, maybe. Anything with the word "face" just reminds everyone of Scarface, and that is not a thing to base your heroes on."
The customary shot was placed before him, along with a pure white cocktail. Steve refrained from asking what "Scarface" was.
"So, Harry, now that you've been bestowed a super hero name..."
"I'm not joining the Avengers, Steve," Harry hastily cut him off, looking slightly panicky, "I was never more relieved in my life than I was the day I decided to flip off the Wizarding World and move far, far away from England."
"You could've moved further," Steve pointed out, before taking the shot. The world in front of his eyes swam for a moment before a sleepy haze seemed to spread over his thoughts and he blinked sleepily. "I mean... you could've gone-" he yawned, "to Japan or Australia... or something..."
Harry chuckled, "Yes, but I rather like the English language, and Australia, while lovely, just didn't make me all warm and fuzzy when I thought about it. Speaking of warm and fuzzy, how are you feeling?"
"Very... very fuzzy. What the hell did you feed me?"
"Morpheus, Greek god of dreams. Don't worry, it'll wear off in a few more seconds."
It did, thankfully, and Steve frowned now that he had full possession of his faculties once more.
"You sell that to people? Is that even legal?"
Harry shrugged, "No, that's one from my personal collection. Stuff like that isn't really date rape material, but you never know with people these days..."
"Anyway, you changed the subject," Steve scolded, jumping right back into his last topic, "Why aren't you willing to join us? And don't give me the "I've served my time" excuse either; I saw you the other day. You can't help being a hero."
"Drink the cocktail, Steve."
"... What is it?"
"Epona. Celtic goddess of horses, and also the goddess of dreams. Because the only time I'm becoming an Avenger is in your dreams."
Extra #1: Cactus Fury
"What the hell is that?" Fury asked, coming to a sudden halt upon entering his doorway.
Phil Coulson peeked over his shoulder and his eyes lit up with suppressed laughter.
"That, sir, would be a cactus," he informed his boss with an absolutely straight face. Fury turned to glare at him.
"I can see that, Agent," he ground out, "What I want to know is, why is it on my desk?"
Phil moved forward, as casually as if he wasn't walking into dangerous and potentially life-threatening territory, and picked up a small note from next to the cactus.
"Give me that," Fury snapped, snatching the note out of his subordinate's hands before he could read it. Phil took this moment to escape into the night.
Fury's hands tightened on the edge of the heart shaped paper as he read:
Hey Fury, nice office you got here. Not as nice as mine, but my standards are probably a lot higher.
Anyway, happy birthday and lots of love from me and Pepper! I got you this cactus to add to the collection already shoved up your arse.
Lots of love,
Tony Stark™
Approximately thirteen seconds after Phil had left the room, a bellow that sounded like the coming of the apocalypse ripped through the base; "STAAAAAAAARK!"
Back on the mainland, Tony laughed himself hoarse as he watched the footage that was streaming though SHIELD's hacked security feed.
AN: I nearly didn't post this chapter today; you should all feel special that I did (it's 11:32, it's still Sunday, damnit). Next one will probably be a couple of days from now.
IN OTHER NEWS:
I said this was going to end quickly, right? I think I lied. Reviews keep coming in, Fury keeps taking my plot and adding to it (screw you, you slave driver!), and someone (anon, why are you anon?) sent me an idea for a pairing – not slash! – that I found intriguing. So if this story spirals out of control and goes on forever then you can blame that anon.
IN YET MORE NEWS:
... I think Harry's past is going to be fleshed out through a mix of character's snooping, him revealing bits to various people and extra parts like the one above.
IN RESPONSE TO REVIEWS (oh look, I rhyme):
Since anons keep posting really frigging good reviews to my story, I'll just have to reply to their reviews here. Hopefully they will see them.
Anon: ... I have boy-love over in my Digimon fic, and that's where it's going to stay. :3
Anon Guest: That is a very good idea for a pairing actually. If this story goes longer than I intend it to, I think I can honestly blame you, because I kinda want to explore that...
Anon: The drinks are completely made up. Despite being nearly nineteen I don't drink much (Australian legal age is eighteen) and I don't really want to, so I have absolutely no idea what you would have to put into a glass if you wanted to replicate these babies. Sorry!
The irony of someone who doesn't drink writing a story with an alcoholic Muse is not lost on me. XD
THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME, I LOVE YOU ALL.
THIS TIME YOU GET HULK COOKIES!
(I have not given Bruce enough love in this story...)
