Iron Man
Chapter 37: Strange Bedfellows
Pepper Hogan-Potts stood in the doorway of the file room staring at her ex-husband. It was obvious he was unaware of her arrival, and for a moment she considered not saying anything to see just how long it would be before Happy Hogan realized he was not alone.
But then realizing that he wasn't aware of her somehow made her sad. I shouldn't be feeling like this, she admonished herself. We were long done for years...
She bit her lip and added, maybe it's not him I'm missing.
She kept quiet, observing Happy pour over files with an intensity she never saw before. His movements bespoke of an...eloquence and grace she hadn't noticed in all her time she was married to him. Had that diocese, Pepper mused, affected him so much?
Finally, when curiosity gave way to discomfort, she coughed.
Happy looked up, and for a moment, it looked like he was upset--even angry. but then the intensity left his eyes and he smiled lopsidedly. "Hello, Pep. Spying on me?"
Pepper hesitated. Her hand went to push back a lock of her. "Well, I have to keep on top of things when Tony's away, right?"
"You always were," Happy replied. He put aside the papers and stood up. "I've been out of the loop for a while, so I thought I'd bring myself up to speed."
"You could've asked me or Bethany, or Mrs. Arborgast--"
"Or Rhodey." Happy shrugged. "If I went to one of you, the view I would get would be skewed. Here I get it raw and unvarnished." He walked toward her, and Pepper swore something changed in his eyes again. He was looking at her the way he used to when they were in the bedroom...only without the warmth he always allowed her to see.
And at that moment, it suddenly occured to Pepper what it was that bothered her about her newly returned ex-husband. As they exchanged friendly smiles and Happy murmured his goodbyes, she knew this man was...off somehow.
She stood outside the file room, going through the conversations they had since his return. Slowly, she entered the library to look in on what he was actually reading.
The full realization of why Pepper thought her ex-husband was off hit her as she realized what he may be planning.
She was on the phone immediately. Somebody needed to know.
Tony strode up aside them in the aisle. "We're about to touch ground. You three better buckle up."
As the other two men prepared to strap themselves in, Brednan O'Doyle locked eyes with his employer. "You should have allowed Wilson t' tell the lad."
Tony blinked and shifted his cane from one hand to the other. "Excuse me?"
"About the other armor. Ye did nae have t' tell me; I'm not the one guardin' ye directly. But Gill, he's your last line. He deserved t' know his trainer is also his emergency back-up."
"Donnie is an employee," Tony said quickly without missing a beat. "My having an emergency back-up in case he is incapacitated--which he and you were--is my business and my business only."
Donnie leaned forward in his chair. "None of my business?"
"Yes," Tony replied levelly. "Maybe if you knew, you wouldn't work as hard to protect my interests."
Donnie's hands went to his seat belt. His fingers scrabbled to release himself, but Brendan stayed him with a slightly raised hand. "One thing I learned as mercenary is don't keep secrets from your men. You continue keepin' secrets from us, you may regret it," he said, his eyes hard as steel.
"I can always find other men to fill the armor, O'Doyle.'
"Aye, that's true," the Irishman replied as he turned from his employer. "But maybe ones not as loyal t' you. Think about it."
Bambi Arborgast looked both ways, lowered her eyeglasses, and whispered, "Happy Hogan is what?"
Pepper found herself doing the same thing, looking around to make sure they weren't being watched. She worried that her paranoia had increased. "I'm not quite sure what he is, but that man poking around the offices isn't my husband."
Mrs. Arborgast took Pepper by the shoulder and led her into her private office. She locked the door and motioned for Pepper to take a seat. "Are you sure about this?"
Pepper nodded her head. "You know he's been in the company files, right?"
"Well, it's no secret that a number of people--you, Happy, Mr. Rhodes, Ms. Cabe--have unlimited access to the grounds. It's always been that way."
"Well, let me tell you something, Mrs. A," Pepper said, barely containing the nervousness in her voice. "my ex-husband has always been a great guy, but smart is one thing he's not. And
what I've caught him looking at is something Happy wouldn't know what to make sense of, let alone want to read."
"And that is...?" Bambi asked, sliding behind her desk.
"Patents. Plans. Electronic schematics. Diagrams." Pepper leaned forward. "All the time I spent with Tony, all Happy could appreciate these things are as weird lil' pictures...and he looked like he was understanding it all. Not only that, he seemed...offended and upset that I was looking in on him."
Bambi took a moment to take it all in. Finally, she said, "Okay, so he's taken on some strange interests...why come to me?"
"Because...Bethany Cabe still en route from China with Tony, Rhodey is in New York helping finalize the transfer of Stark Enterprises, and Casper Sitwell is occupied doing clean up of some of the remaining Stark Invasion hot spots. That leaves you...the one person close enough to Tony to believe me, and trustworthy enough that I can feel safe watching my back."
"So you don't want me helping you because of my superior filing skills?"
Pepper chuckled unsteadily. "Well, you were in the Marines, right?"
"Army, but I'll forgive you this once." Bambi Arborgast leaned in, giving the meeting a bigger sense of conspiratorial introgue. "So let's say I'm willing to explore this theory...where do we go from here?"
He smirked. The joy he was feeling made his new name almost appropriate.
Poor, innocent Happy Hogan...if it was up to him, he would have called him something more fitting--like Naive, or Gullible.
He ran his fingers--his young, strong fingers--through his hair. Sadly, he could not escape the skunk patch that he acquired as a result of the experiments that super-charged his brain all those years ago...back before Stark's henchman had intervened and took his daughter away. Still, he suppose he could use it as a badge of honor, of superiority.
He was right. Everything he had read of Stark during his period of poverty and humiliation indicated that he was a pack rat; the man was incapable of discarding any of his old innovations, no matter how dangerous or useless.
Including this one.
He made note of the location. His brain--Happy's brain, technically, but still super-stimulated due to increased electrical impulses to the point of being like his--stored it, ready for easy access. He marked up the schematic with the notations necessary to affect the proper change and rolled them up, slipping them under his jacket. It had been a long time coming, but he would have his revenge...
As Tony hobbled down the staircase to the tarmac, the burly Englishman named Tarr was waiting for him, arms folded. On either side were two younger men, both agents of MI-5.
"Mr. Stark," Tarr began before Tony touched the ground. "We need to have some words about what happened."
"Mr. Tarr," Tony said, trying his best to pull himself up to his full height while still leaning on his cane, "I have been through a lot of trauma these last few days. When I am relaxed, I will gladly write up a statement recounting my experiences with the Si-Fan, but right now I need to go home and try to put this behind me.
Tarr scowled. "You're the first bloke to have contact with Fu Manchu in years."
"Lucky me." Behind him, Bethany Cabe was descending from the stairs.
"You can provide valuable insight into tracking this man down, Mr. Stark. Surely ending this man's reign of death and misery should appeal to your sense of obligation, if not your sense of justice. At the least, you should do it out of gratefulness for our coming to help you."
"If I recall correctly, Mr. Tarr, I didn't ask you to come save me. I have my own security, thank you."
"What, those poxy Iron Men of yours? Where were most of them?"
"That's for me to know, not you," Tony motioned with his cane. "If you'll let me by."
Bethany placed a hand on Tony's arm. "Tony, Blackjack volunteered--"
"Blackjack Tarr volunteered because he knew I could be used to draw his Golden hind out of the brush," Tony snapped. "Mr. Tarr, unless I'm wrong, MI-5 has no jurisdiction here. I have promised you a statement in due time, but until then, I have to ask you and your stooges to leave."
Blackjack Tarr's eyes narrowed. "This isn't over, Yank."
"Now it is," Tony replied. "Good day to you."
He sneered at the presence of the SHIELD agent guarding the elevator to Stark's private workshop--the so-called 'Skunkworks.' The agent looked half his age, a whelp more suited for joyriding and going to prom, not wielding deadly weapons. To his credit, though, the agent kept his eyes straight ahead in true military style.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hogan."
"Good afternoon, Agent...?"
Only when the agent realized he was waiting for some sort of response did he say, "Valenotti, Mr. Hogan."
He smiled weakly. "Good afternoon, Agent Valenotti. I've been asked to retrieve some equipment for Mr. Stark. I guess I'll need a transport, and maybe a few extra hands to help me?"
"The workshop is presently under limited lockdown, Mr. Hogan," Agent Valenotti replied. He realized that part of what made the boy look so young was due to a smattering of acne scars dotting his cheeks. "It suffered serious structural damage."
He chuckled. "You do know I've been with Mr. Stark for a long time? And that I've made my way through broken ground more dangerous than what's below?"
"It's for your own safety, Mr. Hogan." The agent kept his eyes ahead, his posture straight. "We have no reliable assessment of how much damage Mr. Stark's workshop has incurred."
For a brief moment, Happy's hand seemed to move toward the agent's neck, fingers curled. But then he lowered his arms and grinned. "Well, if you really want me to tell Mr. Stark to tell Deputy Director Bridge he no longer has access to valuable equipment because of one agent who's got his nose stuck so far into the book his lower brain has papercuts..."
That caused the agent's resolve to flicker. His uncertainy lasted only for a moment, but that was all Happy needed. "But the danger--"
"I've face more danger than you need to know about, son," Happy snapped. "Now why don't you get a few of your fellow agents to help me move what I need out of here..."
Donnie Gill stood before Clay, arms folded. Clay couldn't help but notice that the young man hadn't even gotten into the 'coolsuit' that helped keep him comfortable while in the Iron Man armor. "I'm not putting it on."
"Oh, come on, Donnie--"
"No. It's been two days, and Tony hasn't said anything to me. It's like the moment we stepped off that plane, we were nothing to him. And maybe with Brendan going back to LA, I can force him to tell me what's going on."
Clay sighed and massaged his temples. "You do know that a lot of projects got slowed up while we were dealing with this Si fan thing, right? And that the British government is giving Mr. Stark Hell for not cooperating?"
Donnie shook his head and went to the coatrack, retrieving his leather jacket. "Don't know, don't care. He wants me on the team, he gotta come clean." "That's not very fair to everyone else," Clay pointed out.
"Why? He's got you if I walk."
"I wasn't talking about the Stark people." Clay leaned against The Docket. "Tony offered me the armor before he came to you, Donnie, and I turned him down. I had some problems with it the last time I wore it...
He shook his head. "But in the months I've been working with you, Donnie...look, you're good. You're really, really good. And I'm proud to be there as your support staff. I think that, knowing your history, both our lives won't be as good if you walk away. And the people we've saved so far...I'm sure they'd like to keep you around."
Donnie paused, rubbed his neck. "I don't like taking this big a risk and having people conceal things from me. It happened too much when I was Blizzard."
"Believe me, I know," Clay replied. "Look, why don't you go take a spin in the armor and think really deep about what you want to know. And when you come back, we'll go together and force Tony to tell us what we need, okay? Provide him with a unified front. Deal?"
Donnie was quiet for a long moment. For a moment, Clay thought he had lost him before the young man nodded and mumbled, "I'll get in the suit."
And once he was outside, Clay Wilson let out the deep breath he had taken in anticipation.
Tony Stark sat in his temporary office, the lights lowered, and contemplated his next move.
He was aware that people were talking. He was very much aware of how his secretiveness was upsetting those around him--not to mention Black Jack Tarr at MI-5 (first Latveria and now Great Britain; he was going to end up International Enemy #1 literally as well as figuratively if things kept up). But he had to devote attention to this one thing before it was too late.
And it would be too late sooner rather later. Even though they said the vest would keep him healthy in perpetuity, Tony imagined he heard the technovirus slowly, achingly making its way through his tissue. He imagined when the lights were out how it was making his red and pink tissue black, and how the glow of the organic wires that replaced his veins were glowing under his skin.
But he had a possible solution...not just for him, but for many of the people of the world. If only he could crack the code...
But to crack the code, he would need help. He was a very intelligent man, yes, but his area of expertise was in engineering, in electronics and mechanics. This required something more...
He smiled.
Something organic.
Slowly, he reached for the phone.
He stopped in front of the man slumped in the doorway next to the decrepit dry cleaner's. He sneered at the sight of the man in a ski jacket so filthy he couldn't tell what color it was originally, a knitted skull cap with a smiling Mickey Mouse sewed on it too small for his wild-maned head. The stench was overwhelming, a mix of stale sweat and excrement that made him sick.
"Sully," he finally said, wondering if he was going to have to kick him awake.
Sully snorted and stirred, coughed and hocked up a ball of green phlegm so diseased it made him look sick. He wondered how he could have lived amongst them for so long after being released from prison, after abandoning his attempts to locate his daughter. Red, rheumy eyes open and looked up.
A smile half-full of blackened stumps broke on the vagrant's face. "Hawpy," he slurred.
"Hello, Sully. What are you doing here?"
The vagrant seemed to flop about until his back was against the peeling paint of the door leading to the upper floors. "Nowhair to go since tha wah."
"Well that's changed," he said. He hesitated for a moment, but forced himself to extend his hand. "I found a new place for the shelter. I'm taking you there now."
"Rilly?" Sully said as he hauled himself to his feet. He felt ill as he noticed that Sully had foregone shoes--his feet were nothing more than leathery, cracked flesh. "You always good ta us, Hawpy."
"I know."
"You gon make sure they don't take my stuff, right?" Sully asked.
"Of course," he answered with a smirk. "You just need to do one thing for me."
Donnie flew along the Puget shoreline, the only sound the muffled roar of his boot jets.
In keeping with Clay's desire to give him some time to think, he had not entered the Docket and would only take his position as Donnie's advisor if there was trouble. It was one of the first times Donnie got a chance to appreciate the joys of flying in what amounted to his own personal fighter plane...
Well, Mr. Stark's personal fighter plane. Donnie wondered how much longer, if he decided to stay, he would keep the job. And if his tenure as the Golden Avenger ended, would Mr. Stark keep him employed? He knew the man had an interest in his well being early on going back to when Justin Hammer first gave him the Blizzard uniform...but how long would that last?
That, to Donnie, was his biggest fear--that Mr. Stark's interest would wane and Donnie would once again end up on the street, tempted to turn back to metacrime to make ends meet...
And thinking about his criminal past only brought more anger at what he discovered about Clay's third set of armor. All his career as Blizzard, Donnie had come up against villains who lied to him, who betrayed him, who offered him up as a sacrifice when their plans went awry. Oddly enough, the only criminal 'mastermind' who treated him with respect was Justin Hammer--but he was dead, which meant...
Donnie suddenly felt very light-headed...just as his field of vision seemed to sparkle...
Sully seemed frightened once he led the vagrant to the Enervator.
He could understand why; the device was both confusing and intimidating. No longer having access to an entire island's resources, he had to improvise. Thus, the vaguely gun-like device that housed the Enervator was altered with a crisscross patchwork of wires, circuit boards and computer components that hung around the room like high-tech bats. Even he worried that the cobalt element, having been unused for years, might have cracked in the intervening years and condemned him to an early grave.
But then he realized that the body he was in was Happy Hogan's, and not his...and that made him smile.
He felt Sully resisting, pulling at him. "Wha's that?" the man said, red-rimmed eyes wide as saucers.
"It's called an Enervator. My boss made it to help people. It'll make you better...heel all that sickness and disease. Hey, it helped me twice, and my buddy Eddie once."
"I dun--dun know! Lemme go!" Sully cried out.
He sighed. He so hated to do this--he has no idea how the effects of the Enervator would change in response to a subject being exposed to another form of energy...
He pulled out a small disc the size of a poker chip--something that Iron Man had recovered from an enemy and brought to his employer, evidentally. He slapped in onto the vagrant's spine, and Sully's eyes instantly went blank, his grimy and rotting body suddenly pliant. Slowly, he led the man to the table in front of the massive device. He laid him down and strapped the man in securely. From a heavily barred door behind him, he heard Sully's compatriots pounding constantly.
He took a position behind the radiation shield and put on protective goggles. "It will make you better," he told the unconscious Scully. Something behind the door screamed, something deep and bassy and not even remotely human.
He turned on the Enervator. The giant barrel of the acceleration tube came to life. The nozzle glowed a harsh blue. "Better for my plans..."
"Better," he said, "For the Evil Doctor Strange."
And as the beam of the Enervator shot out to bathe Sully in its energies, something behind the door roared. And the roar sounded like thunder.
The commlink chirruped to life as Clay looked over the schematics for the new Stark Enterprises' transport system. He tapped on the Blue tooth device and asked, "What's up?"
"Mr...Mr. Wilson... something's...wrong."
Clay got up from his chair. "Donnie, calm--"
"I--I seem to be fading in and out!" And indeed, to Clay it did seem like Donnie's voice rose and fell unevenly like he was disappearing.
"Donnie, you need to calm down...I'm going to The Docket, and we're going to figure this out."
He was two steps to The Docket's hatch when he heard Donnie cry out--a cry that ended abruptly,
...and was followed by the sound of something hitting the water.
"What the Hell happened here?"
Pepper Potts raked her flashlight over the uneven ground of what looked like an auditorium. Cheap plastic chairs and broken parts of fiberboard tables littered the broken ground, and the smell of mold and must was heavy in the air.
"I would think that was obvious," Bambi Arborgast replied. "The Stark happened."
"There has to be some clue here," Pepper said. She stepped carefully, steadying herself with one hand on the filthy words. "If whatever happened to Happy happened, it would have to be here."
"It might not be here anymore, Mrs. Potts. War has a habit of eradicating the past. Just ask Dresden."
"But we need to--wait!"
The flashlight landed on a corner of the room. Curled up was a filthy looking old man with scraggly hair down his back. He looked bad; what was exposed of his face was swollen and bruised.
Mrs. Arborgast put a hand on Pepper and moved past her. "Let me handle this. I have first aid training. Who knows how long he's been here."
Suddenly, the man turned onto his back. And what he said chilled Pepper's bones.
"Pep?" the broken old man asked. "What happened to me, doll?"