Avengers: The King of Hearts.
Summary: "There's no "I" in "team" … and that's probably for a really good reason." It seems that nothing's been sitting well with the Avengers these days. After a year without Thor since his disastrous fight-n'-flight in London, Rodgers and his new birdman pal out looking for a ghost that may very well just be that, Banner's abrupt disappearance, Barton and Natasha AWOL, and Stark still reeling from S.H.E.I.L.D's unprecedented ("but still totally expected") betrayal, none of them are prepared for what's coming… or for what's already here. HYDRA, in all its dying glory, isn't quite ready to call it quits yet, and they're about to get up close and personal (again) when Cap accidentally brings more than a ghost story home – starting with a very literal "bang" that just might catch everyone's attention. But with the clock still ticking, and with a dark and very personal secret looming over their heads; it's going to take a whole lot more than plain old "teamwork" to save the world this time... in fact, when it's all said and done, they may just turn around and find it had already ended while their backs were turned.
Warning: This story is part of a main three-part series called "The Kings Trilogy," and while it is highly recommended that you go and read those first, it's not absolutely necessary here. You can read all three on Fanfiction or AO3 – whatever floats your boat – under the name "NothingSoSpecial" … or not. Anyway, this story will be Rated "T" for: Violence, language, depression, suicidal thoughts/actions, and references to mental/emotional/physical torture, PTSD, mild sexual themes, alcohol use, and other mature themes. Also: keep in mind that this story takes place one year after "Thor: The Dark World," and "The King of Nothing," during the events of "The King of Everything," and one year before "The King of Kings." It also takes place roughly two years after "Avengers"and "Iron Man 3," a year and a half after "Iron Man 2," and six months after "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" … and before of "Age of Ultron. Obviously."
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any supporting characters. Don't ruin my day and think I do.
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to TheFGnat. Congratulations!
N._.s._.S
Chapter Seven: Cold Calls & Cooler Comforts.
"You got to be careful on the phone. You leave yourself wide open."
Bono.
October 30th 2014, Thursday.
Brooklyn, New York, USA.
Handy Apartments, Room 19 A – 5:11:09 P.M.
58 Days, 7 Hours, 49 Minutes, and 51 Seconds until the Black Hunt Arrives.
"Steve."
It's the odd, tense tone in Wilson's voice that instantly grabs Cap's attention, rather than his name, and he looks over his shoulder, frowning as the former counselor comes into the living room. He's holding Cap's cell to his ear rather than his own, and Cap realizes for the first time he must have forgotten it somewhere again.
"What is it?" Cap asked in alarm as he got to his feet and quickly crossed the room, "Wilson, What−?"
"− Is he going to be okay, though?" Sam asked, abruptly, much to Steve's alarm, into the phone, putting up a hand to silence his companion, "… Thank God. Okay… yeah, he is – okay, sure… Here."
"Steve," Sam repeated, holding out the phone at last, "Here, you really want to hear this, man."
Cap took the phone without replying.
"Hello?" He asked into it, keeping his eyes on Wilson's as he added, "This is Steve Rogers. Who is this?"
"Yes, hello, Mr. Rogers," An oddly pleasant, slightly accented voice on the other line chirped, "This is Dr. Julian J. Grey, calling from Malibu General Hospital? I've been asked to call you on behalf of Tony Stark."
Hospital? Something in the pit of Cap's stomach dropped, What the hell is this?
"Tony?" He replied, blankly.
"That's right," Grey answered, kindly, as though he thought that Cap was a small child that he had to placate, "There was an incident late last night that resulted in your friend being placed into my care. He wanted me to let you know now that he's okay; probably before the paparazzo makes it sound worse than we think it is."
"Tony," Cap repeated, slowly, stumbling back against the wall in shock with the realization as Wilson backed away, adding in a tone louder, harsher tone than he meant to, "He's in the hospital? What happened?"
"Your friend's AI – I think Stark said his name was 'J.A.R.V.I.S;' what a spectacular invention he is – called emergency services when Mr. Stark began having seizures," Grey reported, his voice growing grave as he continued, "My team arrived on the scene within ten minutes and, with J.A.R.V.I.S.' help, we were eventually able to stabilize him. Stark was admitted to the ER with a fever of approximately 104.5 Cᵒ, at 11:20 P.M. Pacific Time."
"God," Cap said, slowly, looking up at Wilson, "Sam, he was sick the whole time, and I never… I thought…"
"You didn't know, man," Wilson began, cautiously, "There's no way you could have –"
"– Hello?" Grey's voice cut Wilson off, "Mr. Rogers, are you still there?"
"Yes," Cap answered, quickly, "I'm still here, Dr. Grey. Is he all right? Tony, I mean?"
"I won't lie, it was a close; a temperature like that. I'm surprised we weren't called any sooner, and by the time we did reach him, he was already unconscious and seriously dehydrated – the AI told us he'd been refusing to eat or drink anything for two full days before falling unconscious and seizing," Grey answered, carefully, deliberately keeping his voice slow, "Luckily, we were able to remedy that while in the ER, intravenously. Since then, his temperature has fallen to about 102 Cᵒ."
God, Tony, Cap thought, his brows furrowing in concern again, Why didn't you say something?
"What about now?" Cap asked.
"Now I'm happy to report that your friend is asleep in the recovery unit," Grey answered, his voice regaining its chirpy bounce now that the worst of the report was evidently over, "Tony awakened the first time only an hour ago, but the first thing he asked me to do was to make sure his friends knew he was all right."
"And… and his recovery? He'll be okay, right?"
"I expect he will be, given enough time. Of course, how long it will actually take will be totally dependent on whether or not he decides to follow the health procedures and diet suggestions I'm working on," At this, Grey paused, and Cap heard a ghost of a chuckle as he explained, "… Though I've heard that might be a problem later on."
"Knowing Tony, maybe," Cap answered, "But you said he's asleep now, right?"
"That's correct," Grey affirmed, "Shall I call again if there are any changes to his condition?"
"I − yes, of course," Cap agreed, "Thank you for calling and letting me know, Dr. Grey."
"You're welcome," Another pause, "Have a good day, Mr. Rogers."
Click.
Cap let his hand fall when it became clear that Dr. Grey had hung up. He and Wilson stared at each other for a beat of silence before Cap slowly drew a hand through his golden blonde hair.
"I am a terrible friend," He said, simply, to break the silence, "He was sick and I didn't even notice."
"No, you're not, Cap," Wilson insisted at once, his old counselor's voice kicking back in as he leaned and peered into his friend's eyes with a small smile, "Listen, just breathe, okay?You heard Grey, Tony's going to be okay."
"What if he hadn't been?" Cap challenged, as he pushed his way past Wilson and into the kitchen, putting down the cell on the kitchen table and turning back and demanding, "What if he hadn't made it? What if he'd died? He had a fever of 104 – do you have any idea how bad that is?"
"First off, you're talking what if's again; which you know I can't answer because it didn't happen," Wilson answered, defiantly, folding his arms, "Second of all, yes; actually I do. I probably know what that means better than you, because I know for afact your medical expertise doesn't get past the '40s."
That was actually a pretty ballsy thing to say, all things considered, and it was a battle between cool, steely grey and endless dark eyes as Cap and Wilson stared at each other; Cap with his fists on the table, jaw set in anger, and Wilson's crossed over his chest, heavy brow calmly raised.
And for a long time, neither said a word.
If it hadn't been for Cap's cell going off a few minutes later, the two men probably would have stayed standing there for a long time, had the tension not lead to blows. After throwing a terrible look at Wilson, Cap grabbed it and, raising a brow at the unknown number, answered it after a split−seconds' pause.
"This is Rogers." He said, rather crossly, into the phone, "Who is this?"
"Well look who finally got a phone. Long time no see, Rogers." The all−familiar, snake−smooth accent made Cap's blood chill and he snaps his head back up to Wilson, eyes narrowing, as the voice he'd long since stopped trusting added, as though he hadn't been missing since April, "How's the search going?"
It was Fury.
N._.s._.S
October 30th 2014, Thursday.
Malibu City General Hospital, Malibu CA.
Recovery Care Unit, Floor 4, Room #408 – 1:58:56 P.M.
58 Days, 11 Hours, 2 Minutes, and 4 Seconds Until the Black Hunt Arrive.
The world doesn't come back kindly for Tony Stark. In fact, it comes back slowly, almost painfully so. Luckily, however, it's dim enough in the room he wakes in that he isn't instantly blinded by light as soon as he opens his eyes; and what little there is streamed through a billowy white curtain that blocks out the worst of it. Stark's limbs feel heavy and limp, and moving alone ignites the dull ache in the back of his head. He grimaces, and swears thickly, past a dry mouth and parched lips.
"Easy," A kind, though stern voice said, suddenly, stopping Stark from any further moment by placing a strong, warm hand over his chest and pressing down, gently pushing him back down into the pillows, "Easy now,Tony. Here, drink this..."
Something cool, cylindrical, and metallic is slid into his shaking hands, and pushed upward to his mouth. Stark, weakened from fever and God knew what else by now, barely resists, and when he realizes it's just water, he swallows, obliged to drink it all to ease the burning in the back of his throat. When it's finished, the cup is taken away again, and Stark distantly hears the familiar sound of metal hitting metal, and he starts to get up again, only to be stopped at once, once more.
"Sorry, don't get up yet." Then, "There, that's not so bad, is it?"
The drink sharpened his vision and made most of the pain go away, so the man's words are clearer now. When Stark turns his head toward it, he is greeted by an unfamiliar, blurry face, glinting with some sort of silver, leaning in towards him. His eyes haven't adjusted to his surroundings, all bright and clean, so he has to squint – but even then the doctor's (if that's what he was) face remained blurry and unfocused, barring Stark from getting a full glimpse of his new companion anytime soon.
"I can call you that, right?" The man asked, with a smile, and a casual shrug of thin shoulders covered in a loose, spotless white physician's coat, "You can say 'yes' or 'no' − and I you, I promise I won't be offended if you say 'no,' okay?"
"Yes." His voice is soft, weak, and barely audible even to his own ears, but the doctor seemed pleased with it anyway.
"Perfect," His smile broadened as he get up so he could look Stark in the eyes, blocking out the light as he stood, revealing himself to be a surprisingly normal−looking, middle−aged man; with dark brown eyes hiding behind thick−lensed glasses, unevenly tanned skin, and a head of dark grey hair, which framed his head and trailed into a long braid down his shoulder, "Boy, you gave us quite a fright for a while there, Tony, but you pulled through in the end, and I guess that's what's important. You're a tough guy – managed to impress my coworkers, even, and that's a hard thing to do. But not a lot of people can handle seizures and a 104 C˚ fever at the same time, either. Of course, not a lot of med crews get an AI to help, either."
Stark's brow furrowed at that. J.A.R.V.I.S.
"Called 9−1−1, huh, J.A.R.V.I.S?" Stark mumbled, half–sarcastically, "Good job, buddy."
"Is that it's name?" The physician asked, "The AI?"
"His," Stark corrected, instantly, looking back over at the physician, "His name. Yeah."
"I see," The man nodded and smiled again, "I'll remember that. Now, Tony, where do you suppose we are?"
The odd question startled Stark enough to make him look around for the first time.
"We're in the hospital," He said, taking in the linin curtains, "No, I'm in the hospital."
"Right again. Good to see that fever didn't fry your brain," The physician chuckled – much to Stark's amusement – before turning and moving the chair aside, against the wall, so he could stand freely next to the bed again, with Stark warily watching his movements, the entire time, eyes narrowing in suspicion as the physician turned his back on him once more, "Yes, you're in Malibu City General Hospital. My name is Julian J. Grey, and while I'm afraid that I don't hold as many doctorates as you, I'd wager an M.D. from Harvard University might satisfy you for now?"
Stark snorted at the doctor's nerve and let his shoulders relax, "I hope so."
Thank God this guy's funny, He thought in relief, I know too many cold−face jerks…
"I'm glad you agree." Julian Grey answered, interrupting his thought, "You won't believe how many people I get who don't believe I actually graduated from there until I show them my certificate. I bet some people think I'm just some crazy old man from the Stone Ages, just because of my hair.
"How old are you, then?" Stark asked, as Julian picked up the chart that lay on the bedside rollaway table with an empty glass. And flipped through a few pages, "Don't tell me you're an assistant?"
"Ha! Thirty years ago, maybe," The physician looked over at him and winked, "Let me give you an idea, kiddo: I'm the guy your dad probably called back in the day when he wanted to get rid of his hangover."
Stark snorted again as Dr. Grey set the clipboard down again and turned back to face him.
"As much as I'd like to set you free, I think another day or two here will help, since you're still scoring a little lower on the hydration scale than I'd like," He told him, shrugging apologetically, "Plus, your fever is still hovering up around 100 C˚, and I can't have you running off until it goes back to normal."
"So I'm stuck here, then?" Tony added, without much disappointment (mostly because he'd expected it), "Taking the Hippocratic Oath seriously, Dr. Harvard M.D.?"
"Not really, no," Grey shrugged again and smirked as he opened up the curtains, letting the light flood into the otherwise dim room at last, bathing it in soft evening light, and allowing Stark's eyes to adjust a little better, "Nothing so noble. I've just got this terribly, terribly underappreciated superpower."
"Oh, yeah?" Stark peaked a brow in interest, "What's it called?"
"Common sense, Tony," Grey answered, tapping his forehead twice before looking over his shoulder at the door and placing one hand on his hip, "Plain old common sense. And a class or two of psych back in school helped. Now, speaking of which, it's almost time for me to go check on my cohorts. I don't like to leave them alone for too long –"
"– Hey."
Grey looked back over at him, brows raised, caught off guard by the outburst, "Yes?"
"Think I could call someone?" Stark asked, finally managing to sit all the way up without the doctor's protest, "If anyone has a semi–upgraded phone in this place, I can probably get –"
"Consider it done," Grey interrupted, "Your AI gave me a list of people to notify earlier this evening."
What the hell, J.A.R.V.I.S?
"Great," Stark paused, "Thanks?"
"Don't thank me. My goal is to make sure you rest as much as possible before you inevitably get up and wander off again, after all," Grey answered, voice growing solemn again, dark brown eyes flashing as he turned back to face him, "You've got quite a reputation, Tony, and I'm afraid it's not just for your smarts – you've been known to neglect yourself as much as you help others. Now, I'm afraid, as you're my patient now; it's your turn to be helped."
Stricken and open–mouthed in shock, Stark watched the doctor make his way across the room. He opens the door, but pauses just as he puts one foot out the door and looks back at him.
"And Tony, try not to wander off, will you? I'd hate to have to go looking for you," Grey added, with one last grin before closing the door with a sharp snap, "I'll be back within the next half–hour to check on you."
Stark flopped back onto his back and sighed, rubbing his eyes.
"Classic, J.A.R.V.I.S," He murmured, a soft, though genuine smile tracing his tired face as he closed his eyes, "Out of all of the doctors you choose from, you stick me with the one smartass with the balls to stand up to me. Fantastic."
N._.s._.S