The court is absolutely silent for exactly three heartbeats.
One.
Tony pulls a breath into his lungs, his throat still raw and sore from the deadly coil the creature had around it, the blackness that would have killed him if not for Vanko.
Two.
He slams his palms against the seat in front of him, pushes himself up, trying to catch Ivan's gaze, waiting, in this suspended moment, for the villain to smirk or wink. Stark needs to be reassured that this is all part of the Russian's plan somehow.
Three.
Ivan's eyes flick up for just an instant, locking onto Tony's for the slightest fraction of a second, and Tony sees-
nothing.
There's no smirk, no nod, no indication. There's just a horrible, wrenching emptiness. Stark recognizes it; it's the look he saw in Whiplash's eyes as he tried to choke the life out of Iron Man at the racetrack. Something is lost in that look.
And then the world explodes in a burst of voices and scraping chairs and stomping feet as the uproar fills the room. The judge slams the gavel down, calling at first for order, then for the bailiff to escort the prisoner back to his cell when it becomes apparent that 'order' is not going to happen.
The guards grab Vanko's shoulders and haul him away through the back door, but his eyes are still locked on Tony's. His gaze slips for a second, falls to someone sitting in the front row- Tony can't see who it is, but he recognizes that ash-blonde slick of hair. Ivan's hollow stare twists, transforms into a look of raw, absolute loathing for whoever-it-is, and then the bailiff gives him a shove and the door closes behind him.
The blonde head turns.
"Son of a bitch," Stark shoots a glare of his own at that face.
Hammer- of course it's Hammer, recognizable in spite of the mottled facefull of bruises and the nose splint- nods at his business opponent in greeting. He tilts his head slightly, raises an eyebrow, and grins. Tony does not like that grin at all. It's a grin that says "for once I have the upper hand, and I intend to use it to my full advantage". It's a look that says "kiss your Russian goodbye".
The day before...
Ivan would never admit this, not even under the worst torture the Russian mob could come up with, but he's been looking forward to a visit from Tony. No, of course he didn't miss the American; that would be like admitting that he enjoys his company. He just... doesn't like being separated from him. At all. So when he walks into the visiting cell, ready for another session with his state-appointed lawyer who doesn't understand a word he says, and sees Stark standing there looking like a highschooler waiting for his prom date, Ivan can't help but feel a little shock of surprised pleasure go up his spine. Then Tony asks how he is, gets worried about his arm and actually seems to be genuinely concerned about his well-being- which is something no one's done since his mother died. So yes, maybe he's a little pleased to see the spoiled, rich playboy. And yes, maybe he's more than a little anxious- worried that maybe Stark is here to tell him that "it's been fun, you're a great lay, have fun in prison"- but no way in hell is Tony going to know that. Ever. It's this mindset that makes him hesitant when the billionaire rushes forward and kisses him, paws at him like a horny teenager, but within moments Ivan is kissing back, because he can't help himself and because maybe he can convince Tony this way, convince him to keep Vanko around a little longer, to bail him out one more time.
He shouldn't have worried, he realizes, because after a few heated seconds of mouths and hands, the hero pulls away and says with intense sincerity, "I'm gonna get you out of here. You know that, right?"
If he were a weaker man, he'd be grinning like an idiot. But he's Ivan Vanko, so he satisfies himself with a half-nod and a silent thanks. Pepper Potts comes in, and it's weirdly nice to see her too. She reminds Ivan of the vague memories he has of his neighbor's daughter, who used to babysit him as a child until she was sold by her parents to the mob. She had red hair, too, he remembers, and used to make him jam sandwiches and show him American movies (his favorite was Bonnie and Clyde). Pepper explains the details she's gleaned, and Ivan half-listens for a few minutes, watching Stark's reaction to the charges.
Then the door opens again and in walks the man that seems determined to win the gold medal in mood-killing.
Hammer and Stark exchange false pleasantries while the posse of guards the younger man brought re-cuff Vanko and surround him. He's so removed from it all, distracted by the wealthy Americans' banter and the lingering taste of Tony, that he doesn't even glare at them as they snap the locks back on. Stark and Pepper depart, Tony casting a glance over his shoulder back at the Russian, who can't help but smile a little, feeling reassured in spite of himself.
"Morning, Mr. Vanko," Hammer beams, all enthusiastic poison and salesmanship, almost hiding the quick dart of his eyes over the rumpled prison uniform, the way they narrow at the villain's tangled hair and the red mark that is still livid on his neck. "Well. I see we've been having a nice visit with Mr. Stark, hmm?"
Ivan doesn't answer; he shoots the younger man a look so cold that three of the guards take nervous little shuffles back.
"Ohh, c'mon, now, fellas," Hammer gestures at the bound prisoner. "Is all this really necessary? Mr. Vanko and I are pals. Aren't we, buddy? Pals don't need to be handcuffed around other pals, do they?" He smirks. "Well, maybe sometimes. But I think a little trust can be afforded, can't it? Mr. Vanko will behave himself." As if the Russian has much choice- he's a criminal but he's not stupid, and between his broken arm and the eight armed thugs, he knows he could only land one or two punches on this smug American bastard before he'd get hauled away and beaten half to death.
A guard steps forward and undoes the cuffs once more, and the blonde takes a seat next to him. "So, Ivan- can I call you Ivan?- tomorrow's your day in court, huh? You all set? Bit nervous? Nah, you're not nervous; you're an old hand at this, aren't you? Had plenty of practice over in good ol' Russia. From what I've looked up, you've spent nearly as much time in prison as you have out of it." He grins again, but Ivan's expression remains the same. "Well," Hammer coughs. "I gotta say, I think it's a shame that Stark got to you before I did. We coulda really done something; coulda made waves. I mean, my funds, your brains? We coulda taken the world by storm. Know what I'm saying?"
Vanko just maintains his glare, wondering what it is that makes Americans so damn chatty.
"Actually," Justin scoots a little closer, leans in conspiratorially. "I'm here to help you out."
No response. Not even a twitch.
"See... what's gonna happen is, you're gonna go to jail. That's not something anyone, even the great Tony Stark, can do anything about at this point. However," the grin grows a few teeth, "if you accept my offer, you'll only be in jail for a few days. And," another pause, dragging it out, "your precious Tony won't have to go to jail at all."
Ivan squints.
"Ahh, a sign of life, at last!" Hammer throws his arms into the air in mock-victory. "I was beginning to wonder if Stark had bothered to teach you English at all. That's right, I'm here to make a deal. It goes a little something like this: you go to prison. I bust you out of prison. You come to work for me. I have all the resources and money you could need; everything you ask for. It's all at your disposal, and all I need from you is a design or two. And in exchange, I won't let certain... personal information leak to the public."
The squint becomes a frown.
"Oh, I know. You know exactly what I know. And what I know is that what you and Tony have been up to, it sure as hell isn't what the judge intended. In fact, what Tony's been doing, it's what's known as 'collaboration with a known terrorist'. You know what that means, Ivan? That means fifteen to twenty years in a federal prison. You know what that's like. Tell, me, Ivan, how well do you think the almighty Iron Man would do on the inside? All alone, separated from his fancy suit and his money and his tech and his new Russian bodyguard, in that big cold house with all the men he's helped put there. How long do you think it would take for them to break all his teeth? How long do you think it would take them to start taking turns on him? How long do you think it would take them to kill him?"
Ivan is a statue.
"Yeah, that's about what I thought." Hammer nods, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "So, then, we got us a deal? I think we got a deal." He offers a hand.
Ivan remembers Tony offering him a hand, eager and smug and almost hopeful, offering him safety with that hand. Offering him freedom. Now this man, this Hammer, is offering the same things. More, even. And in exchange for the same things- he claims he wants ideas, designs, but Ivan sees the way those pale eyes scroll over him. It's not so different. It's not.
"I'll take your silent glare as a 'yes', and I'll look forward to your performance in court tomorrow." The blonde lowers his hand, triumphant.
Ivan miscalculated- he manages to land three solid punches to Hammer's clean young face, feeling the liberating crunch of cartilage and glasses and bone under his knuckles, hearing the shocked yelp of the American. Then four guards are hauling him back, twisting his broken arm back and down until he roars through his teeth, falls to his knees. A steel-toed boot slams into the stitches in his gut, and another strikes his kidneys from behind, sending him coughing to the floor. The kicks continue, interspersed with blows from their nightsticks, and from the blurred, reddened field of his vision he sees Hammer scrambling away, clutching his bloody nose and shattered glasses. His arm is twisted again. A foot stomps down, hard, on his throat. He spits a tooth, blinks blood from his eyes, and knows that the moment of victory he felt when he hit the smug bastard is only fleeting. He knows that he has no choice.