Chapter Nineteen: Resolve
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When Tony got up to his room, Clint was talking to JARVIS who had Stane's company bio, several articles, and what appeared to be a background check displayed across the windows. Tony blinked bemusedly before stepping in and quietly closing the door.
"So," he began as he took a closer look. That was definitely a background check. Looked like Stane wasn't a very safe driver. "What do you think of Stane?"
"Haven't met the guy," Clint replied. "Seems to like telling Stark what to do with his company, though. Figure something's hinky about the dude if you dislike him that much."
"It's not that I dislike him," Tony denied.
"Right, and I've got perfect hearing in both ears. You distrust him, Tony. You tend to dislike the people you don't trust," Clint pointed out.
The brunet gingerly eased himself down onto the bed. "Okay, I don't like him. But Arno trusts him. He's known the guy since he was a kid."
"So?"
Tony blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "So? So, Arno…" he tried, but the only arguments he had felt flimsy even in his own mind.
"So, Arno was supposed to die in Afghanistan, if you ask me," Clint opined, "but you survived and the captors got greedy. Or do you really think it was all some sort of coincidence? I mean, I don't believe for a second Stark's itinerary wasn't kept secret for his own protection."
"There was someone behind it."
"You tell me."
"I am," stressed Tony, the idea increasingly obvious the more he thought about it. "Someone was behind it all. I mean, I met some of the leaders of the group holding me, people that were definitely in charge, but it still seemed like there was something more going on."
"So, what I think is Stane likes trying to tell Stark how to run his business and you don't like him," concluded Clint. "Also, in the absence of another heir or a will designating someone else, guess who's most likely to become Stark Industries' CEO if something were to happen to Stark?"
"Obadiah Stane."
"Funny how that works, huh?" the archer drawled.
Tony stared at the documents pulled up on the windows, a hand rising to tap idly at his chest. "Yeah," he murmured as he turned over everything he knew about Stane in his head, "funny."
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Eventually, Tony did lay down to get some more rest. After the past couple of days and the horrible months preceding them, he was exhausted. Even then, it was only the security of knowing Clint and JARVIS were keeping watch in the place he considered home that allowed him to slip easily into slumber.
He roused briefly at one point to cool, slender fingers threading through his hair, a familiar voice speaking softly to him in Russian, "Peace, Antoshka."
"Natalia?" he murmured, eyes opening to a dark room, although he couldn't be certain whether it was night or if JARVIS had darkened the windows.
In answer, the assassin settled beside him, curling protectively around him. It was nice. Comforting. "If you ever scare us like that again, I will murder you," she informed him.
"I'll do my best not to," Tony replied sleepily, eyes falling shut again after locating Clint's sprawled out form on the other side of the mattress.
The next time Tony woke, the room was brighter. He blinked away the bleariness, noting that Clint had left at some point. When he turned back towards Natalia, he found her green eyes watching him.
"Hey," he said. "You really did come."
"Of course, I came," Nat replied like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I wanted to."
"You're here, now."
Her lips curved up into a small smile. "I am."
"I missed you, Natalia," Tony told her.
"I missed you, too, kotyonok."
"Am I a kitten, now? Should I call you 'bunny'?" teased the brunette.
Natalia gave him a sharp-toothed smile, "Only if you dare."
Tony pressed his head back into his pillow and laughed. "I think I've had enough near-death experiences these last few months. I'd better pass," he said.
The redhead hummed in agreement as she carded her fingers through his hair. For a few minutes, Tony just enjoyed the sensation and Natalia seemed just as content. Physical affection had never been something either of them excelled at, their upbringings having dissuaded such behaviors. Tony was certain Nat enjoyed such demonstrations as much as he did.
"Should I call you Natasha, now?" Tony asked in English when he felt himself start to drift off again.
Fingers still combing soothingly, the woman answered in kind. "If you like. It is what I've been going by."
"But do you like being called Natasha?" he asked, eyes watching her face.
To her credit, she considered his question carefully, rather than trying to brush it off. She had never lied to him that often––at least, not that he was aware. There was plenty she simply didn't say, same as he had, but seldom a flat out lie.
"I like it," she finally replied, "but I like Natalia, as well. Natalia is the name I had when I was young, but Natasha feels… warmer, I guess. I don't know."
"Maybe I'll call you both."
"Maybe you will."
"There's something I should tell you," Tony said quietly. "You and Clint, that is. Something I should have told you a long time ago, but I just… I didn't really want to think about it myself, so I never did."
Natalia frowned minutely, giving his hair a gentle tug before soothing the lock back down again. "Clint went downstairs mumbling about coffee," she told him.
"Tell you both after we all find some sustenance?" Tony suggested.
"That would be acceptable," she agreed. She gave his hair one last stroke before pressing a brief kiss to his temple, murmuring softly in his ear, "Thank you for coming back, Antoshka."
"As long as I have strength to fight, I couldn't leave any of you," he responded honestly, earning himself one of Natalia's rare full-faced smiles. Giving his cheek a quick pat, she pushed up off the bed and wandered into his bathroom. Tony levered himself up and stared at the closed door for a moment, then decided to take care of his own needs in the guest suite.
Nat always had been a bathroom hog.
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Breakfast turned out to be a spread of cereals and fruit with toast and scrambled eggs. And coffee, of course, since the majority of those present were addicted to the substance. Tony's meal was accompanied by the meds the docs in Bagram had prescribed for his various infections which Pepper handed to him along with the forearm splint he was pretty sure he had 'lost' under one of the couch cushions.
Since he found himself with not one, but two redheads watching him like a hawk, Tony downed the pills and put on the stupid brace. At least no one had foisted the damned sling on him again.
Arno stumbled up from the workshop partway through, no doubt lured by the smell of coffee. His hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. That, combined with the lines on his face, pointed to the fact that he had undoubtedly fallen asleep at his desk rather than in his bed.
The man grumbled in lieu of saying good morning, making his way straight to the coffee pot. He was halfway through his second cup before he noticed there was a stranger in his kitchen. "Wait, who's this?" he blinked. "Intruder. How'd she get in here?"
"In through the window," Nat answered calmly, taking a sip of her orange juice. Clint promptly choked on his eggs and Tony reached over to pound his back with his good arm, an amused smirk on his face.
"What, you don't remember Natasha coming by?" Rhodey asked guilelessly. "You talked for hours last night."
"We did not," Arno denied, looking between his best friend and the newcomer. "Did we?"
"Miss Natalia did, in fact, enter via the southeast window on the second floor last night," JARVIS put in helpfully. "From there, she proceeded directly to Master Tony's room, where she remained until this morning."
"You really came in through the window?" Tony asked in amusement. "I'm sure J would have let you in through a door."
She shrugged a shoulder. "Seemed more direct at the time," she replied.
Conversation remained light for the rest of the meal. It was almost easy to believe they were just a group of friends and acquaintances getting together for breakfast. Tony was loath to break the illusion and everyone else seemed to feel the same way. Eventually, however, there was more talking to be done and Arno was the one to point it out.
"So," the billionaire began as everyone's plates were moved to the sink, "is it safe to assume that everyone here is on the list to hear what happened? I mean, if you're not ready for that, it's fine. Of course, it's fine. It just… It seems like it might be easier to just have to tell the story once."
Tony let out a shaky breath, running his right hand through his hair. "No, you're right," he said. "I'd rather not have to repeat myself and just be done with it. Now's as good a time as any, right?"
"Only if you're sure, Tony," Pepper reiterated. "No one here is going to blame you if you don't feel up to talking, yet."
"I want to," Tony assured, eyes moving over the people he considered his friends. "I want to tell you guys what I–– I'll tell you what I can."
As they settled back into the living room, Tony proceeded to do just that. He started with the attack on the convoy, the brave young men and women who'd died, the moment of blind horror as he recognized not only the missile, but the logo stamped upon it. He described waking up in a cave with an electromagnet in his chest connected to a car battery. There, he paused to lift his shirt to let them see the scars from the shrapnel and the following surgery, as well as the arc reactor he made to power the magnet, instead.
He also gave Pepper a moment to cry on his behalf.
Next, he spoke of Yinsen, his savior, and his captors' demand that he build the Jericho for them––and his initial refusal. He skimmed over the torture, sparing what details he could while still being coherent. Even then, the details were more than sufficient. (He didn't mention his lost time, at all.)
Then he told them about how he came up with a plan to escape. He described how he and Yinsen worked tirelessly through continued threats and maltreatment, half-expecting to be caught before they succeeded. Tony told them about the final ultimatum Raza issued and how, when the time came, Yinsen sacrificed himself so that Tony could make it.
"After that, I blasted out of there," Tony concluded after what felt like hours of talking to his hands, not quite able to look any of them in the face. Not that he actually recalled blasting his way out, but that's why he had Rhodey and Clint.
"Yeah, and you took out a bunch of their people and their entire weapons stockpile when you went," Rhodey spoke up, right on cue. "If it weren't for the resulting explosion, we might not have found you."
"Nothing like a big ball of flames saying 'look over here' to hasten a search-and-rescue," added Clint.
"Thanks again for finding me. Both of you," Tony told the two men.
"Like hell any of us were about to leave you out there," retorted Rhodey.
"What about next steps?" Arno questioned aloud. "Obviously, T, you've got some healing to do, and I know I'm not the only one in this room who's here to help you do that however I can. Why I ask is because my weapons are out there. You told me last night that they've been out there for years, which means someone has been illegally selling them right under my nose––right under my dad's nose. I can't… I make weapons to protect people, but if they're out in the wrong hands, that means innocent people are dying, the people I'm trying to protect are dying, and that's on me."
"Arno, you can't––" Rhodey protested.
"Can't what?" he cut him off. "Can't blame myself? Why not? Sure, I didn't personally put them out there, but they're my designs. It's my company's logo, its reputation. Someone has to be accountable, don't you think? Clearly, I have dropped the ball, and Tony's the one who paid for it."
"I think it's great that you want to be accountable," Pepper interjected smoothly, "but what Rhodey means is that the person ultimately responsible for all this is the same one who has been selling them on the black market."
Clint took the chance to jump in, "Tony and I were discussing that just night, actually. Pretty sure we've got a likely suspect."
"You do?" Arno inquired.
Tony fidgeted in his seat, head dipping just a bit further down. The logic made sense. Everything he knew and had been able to find fit. Nevertheless, he knew Arno wouldn't like it. How could he just say––
"Obadiah Stane," Clint announced.
There was a beat of silence, then Rhodey let out a curse. Pepper frowned deeply as she considered the pronouncement while Nat solemnly tracked everyone's reactions. Arno gaped, words failing him for a moment, before he shook his head.
"No," he denied, a trace of doubt in his tone. "No. Obie… I've known the guy since I was a kid––"
"Which means he's been around long enough to know how to redirect a few shipments and accept under-the-table payments without looking suspicious," Clint drawled. "Hey, wasn't he your dad's business partner before he became yours?"
"Arno, the logic tracks," Rhodey pointed out. "Out of everybody, Stane had the most to gain if something were to happen to you."
"You know, like getting killed by terrorists," the blond chimed in brightly.
Arno stared for a long moment, stricken, blue eyes moving from Rhodey to Clint before finally settling on Tony. "Tony?" he asked. "I know you never liked the guy, but… You really think Obie could have done this? Any of it?"
For a long moment, Tony was helpless to do anything more than stare back. He could see the impending heartache behind the other man's eyes, the way he hoped for any other possibility. Tony remembered Arno saying how Stane was like a second father to him.
Tony opened his mouth, but it was Pepper who spoke next.
"His response was off," she said, soft but certain. "When you told Obadiah about Tony and what had happened in Afghanistan, there was just something about his response... I wasn't sure what to make of it until now, thought maybe it was just part of his surprise. But he was angry––furious––just for a moment, but it was there. Arno, Obadiah wasn't just upset that you'd been lying to him about Tony, he was angry that you weren't where you were supposed to be."
Arno's eyes fell shut, head drooping down between his shoulders. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, throat working compulsively. He sucked in a breath and forced it back out.
"I really did want to trust him, Arn," Tony offered quietly, apologetic.
"I know," the billionaire replied just as quietly, mouth twisting into a pained grimace. "I know you did, T."
It was quiet in the room, Tony's story and the suspicions against Stane weighing on everyone present. After a few minutes, or perhaps a few hours, Rhodey was the one to break it.
"So, what are you going to do, Arno?" he prompted.
The billionaire's head lifted, eyes glinting with resolve. "Well, first things first, I'm shutting down weapons production. It's time the company went a different direction, anyway," he declared. "And then, we're going to go digging for evidence. Whether or not it's Obie, there's a rat in my company, and I'm going to root it out."
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To be continued...