Duo shot the notes off to Quatre, asked FRIDAY to tell Wong's to expect two helpers, and set his mental clock to expect them about 7:00 with dinner. That done, and dressed in more than just the sweats he'd slept in, something he'd heard Stark say was niggling.
Stepping out of his room, he asked, "Hey, FRIDAY?"
"Yes, Duo?"
"Where's Stark?"
"He's in his workshop."
"Is it all right if I go see him?" he asked.
"Boss would be delighted! Go get on the elevator—I'll let him know you're coming."
Duo sighed but did as asked. There probably wasn't any point in arguing with an AI.
When he stepped off the elevator, Stark was already perked up and looking far more hopeful than any man his age had a right to. Damn Mei for wringing that fucking promise out of him.
"Hey," he offered, hands in his pockets as he moved into the room a little more, eyes darting around to take in the Iron Man suits and all of the tools and odds and ends in the room.
"Hey, yourself," Stark replied, but he offered a nervous smile. It was the first time Duo was willingly interacting with him, so Duo supposed it was fair for him to be nervous. "Finally decide to come down and see where all the magic happens?"
"Gotta admit, it looks like somewhere I could disappear to for a few… years, probably." He shook himself. "But I came down to ask you something."
"Go for it."
"When you and Rogers were arguing, you said you were hooked up to a car battery?" he asked, still not sure he'd heard right no matter how many times he played it back. His audio recall wasn't as good as his visual recall, but nothing he could come up with made even a little bit more sense. He could probably research, but he'd promised Mei he'd give Stark a chance, so he decided to go straight to the source. Besides, he could just tell it was going to be one of those nagging things stuck in his head till he got answers.
Well, if he didn't have Stark's full attention before, he certainly had it now.
"What do you know about my kidnapping?"
"Not a lot," Duo admitted. He'd been a little busy at the time, what with the war and all. He came across a box holding something mechanical and said Proof Tony Stark has a Heart. The hell?
"I was visiting a base in Afghanistan, and we were bombed. Shrapnel fragments ended up in my veins, going to my heart." Duo stared at him because that had been six years ago, and Stark was still standing. His amazement must have shown on his face, because Stark gave a humorless laugh. "A doctor hooked me up to a car battery as a jury-rigged magnet to keep them out of my heart." He tapped his chest, then nodded at the box Duo held. "They wanted me to build weapons for them, but I built an arc reactor instead so I didn't have to be hooked up to the battery."
Duo sat on the first stool he could find, set the box down, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let me make sure I understand this right: you built a miniature arc reactor in a desert cave, and put it in your chest to keep shrapnel out of your heart?"
"To power a magnet to keep the shrapnel out of my heart, but simplified, yes." He pointed at the box again. "Specifically, I had that in my chest."
Duo stared at the size of the device and mentally tried to put it into Stark's chest. Stark might be bigger and more built than Duo—not that the bar was set that high if Duo was the baseline—but he knew rib cages and how they held people together. He was also intimately familiar with all the vulnerable organs they protected.
"This thing?" he asked, picking up the box again. "This was in your chest?"
"Yup."
He sat the box down again, a little harder than intended, but he needed to be up and to pace. To his credit, Stark let him. "Was it like… under…?" He mimed the ribcage. Not that he could figure out how that wouldn't have been more dangerous, not less.
Stark rucked his shirt up. He had a few scars, none of them as gruesome-looking as some of Duo's. Not a surprise that Tony Stark could afford the very best plastic surgery. Right in the center of his sternum was a discolored, slightly sunken area in a perfect circle. "It's still healing," Stark said, tapping it. "Sternal reconstruction, and the plastic surgeons did a great job minimizing the scarring, so if you didn't know it was there…"
"How are you even alive?" Duo asked.
Stark pulled his shirt back down and shrugged. "I had a very good doctor," he said simply. From his tone, Duo knew without asking that the "very good doctor" had not survived their ordeal.
Rather than let Stark get his head buried in Afghan caves, Duo asked, "No, seriously—how are you alive? Do you know how compromised your entire rib structure must be? How were you flying around in your person-sized tin can getting punched in the chest on a regular basis without it collapsing on you?"
Something in Stark's eyes changed. He went from tentatively open to distant, jaw tight in remembered pain, and he wasn't looking at Duo anymore. "I had—have—I have the chest of the armor super reinforced. Most protected place in the armor," he explained, but he still wasn't with Duo, not entirely.
Duo followed his eyes, but there was nothing obvious, just a glass-encased, red and gold armor suit. Stark looked away from it, as if caught doing something wrong, so Duo walked over to it. The suit looked shiny and well cared for, but it had seen action. Not all of the dings and damage had been completely removed. The chest plate looked perfect.
Too perfect.
He turned back to look at Stark. "So who smashed the chest plate so badly you had to replace it?" he asked.
"It's not important," Stark said, turning back to his table and pulling up multiple screens.
It couldn't have been some random bad guy, because if it were, Stark wouldn't have any reason to lie about it.
He was curious but not curious enough to risk some quid pro quo. He filed away the thought and went back to the bench to pick the box up again. There wasn't much to see from the outside. Ignoring the fact it used to be in Stark's chest, it looked unimpressive, but Duo understood how much power that little thing must pack. It could probably run a Gundam for a little bit if it had to. It was basically—
He blinked.
"Do you run the armor off of this?" he asked.
"I have a different reactor I use that powers the suit now, but, yes, a reactor powers the suit."
Duo stared. "The arc reactor," he began slowly, "that used to be in your chest," he shook the box, "and kept shrapnel out of your heart, you also used to power your armor?" he asked. If he sounded like he thought Stark was crazy, it was because he did.
"The electromagnet took very little of the arc reactor's power," Stark said, looking and sounding defensive. "It had plenty to power the suit."
Duo rubbed his eyes. "Why do I attract suicidally self-destructive idiots?" Visions of Heero setting his own fucking femur ran through his head even as his engineering brain tried to figure out how the damn thing worked. "How'd you solve for the palladium?" The question was out of his mouth before he quite realized he'd gotten there.
It was Stark's turn to stare—they were making progress at least. "How did you know about the palladium?" he asked.
Duo raised an eyebrow, his conscious mind having caught up to the background processes. "Process of elimination? I mean, the reactor's got to be powered with a metal, right? Given its energy output, I'm assuming the arc reactor is—if not literally—then very close to cold fusion, and palladium has been the favored metal in cold fusion theory for decades because of its ability to absorb hydrogen. It's common enough for your thugs to get a hold of, and bonus points for a low enough melting point that you could work it with relatively unsophisticated equipment, palladium fits the bill. Except that it's totally toxic."
Stark was still staring, and Duo didn't get it. "Am I way off base or something?" he asked.
"People who are not geniuses don't usually get there," Stark said, sounding somewhere between pleased and thoughtful.
Oh. Damn. He was usually better at playing dumb than that. He didn't like the calculating look that entered Stark's eyes.
"How smart are you?" Stark asked, drawing the question out. "Exactly."
"Apparently not that smart, because if I were right, you'd be dead of palladium poisoning."
"No, you're right. The original reactor used palladium, and poisoning was a problem. I just… manufactured a new element for it. A better one. I wanted to call it badassium, but legal got their panties in a collective bunch—"
"You just… manufactured a new element?" Duo asked. "Here I thought you were going to tell me you found out a way to manufacture Gundanium on earth and had used that!"
"Gundanium is hyperstable and nonreactive. It'd be a terrible power source. It's not even magnetic enough to be picked up in metal detectors—even if the manufacturing wasn't impossible in a gravity well," Stark said quickly. Duo allowed himself a mental sigh of relief. Dirtside, Gundanium was nearly as mythical as vibranium, and few people knew enough to speak about it with any authority. He nearly swallowed his tongue when Stark said, "Anyway, I answered your question—I made a new element to overcome the palladium poisoning. How smart are you?"
Duo sighed, annoyed with the question. "I don't know."
Stark threw his head back. "Oh, come on! That's such a cop out!"
"Well, by what scale are we talking about? How do you even measure it? I've been tested, but I was never told the results. They just said 'smart enough' and started teaching me shit. I passed my general equivalency test to join Preventers by the skin of my teeth." That was sadly true. With almost no formal education, he bombed the general knowledge section of the test. He had no formal writing instruction, so the written part had been a disaster as well. He scraped by on the math, science, and reading comprehension.
"You had to take some kind of standardized tests in school. How'd you do on those?"
Duo gave him a look like he was crazy. "I didn't go to school. Or do you not remember the part where I was fighting a war at fifteen?"
"I know the records for 'Duo Maxwell'"—he made air quotes around Duo's name—"don't start until you're sixteen, but elementary education is mandatory both in the colonies and any civilized nation on earth."
"Most of L2 could qualify as a third-world nation," Duo said with a flat look. "The part I grew up in could. I did maybe a year of formal schooling when I was about seven. That's it."
"Doesn't Preventers do some continuing ed programs? Considering how many agents qualified under the Old Souls Statute…"
"They do," Duo conceded. "But they're mostly work-related, not 'find your place in the world' related." The pilots did have their own specialties, and they didn't know everything, but Duo learned that he and a traditional classroom setting were never going to get along well after a couple of classes. He simply picked up material too quickly, then got bored. He was a decent teacher—going by how in-demand his courses were when Une said he had to offer them—but not a traditional student.
Stark opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by FRIDAY. "Boss, dinner's here."
"We'll be there in—"
"FRIDAY," Duo talked over Stark. "Was it delivered with some extra people?" he asked.
"It was, Duo. Just as you requested!"
"Thanks," he said, not letting Stark get a word in. "We should probably go."
Stark looked like he wanted very badly to object, to ask Duo more questions, but Duo didn't hesitate, already walking toward the elevator. He heard Stark sigh, then jog to catch up.
"So… Quatre Winner," Stark said, feigning nonchalance as the elevator rose.
"Uh huh," Duo agreed.
"You gonna tell me how that happened?"
"I'll let Quat tell you."
"Of course you will."
.o0o.o0o.o0o.
The elevator opened up a floor below the common one.
"Mr. Winner thought it might be best to meet you privately first," FRIDAY said. "The food has already been delivered upstairs."
"Thanks, FRIDAY," Duo said, getting off, forcing Tony to follow him.
Whatever Tony had expected when meeting Quatre Winner, he didn't expect him to be in a laughably too-small Wong's uniform with giant glasses and a terrible black wig. It did succeed in getting a bark of laughter out of Duo.
"Really, Quat?" he asked around a smile. It was the most at ease Tony had seen him to date.
Winner pulled off the wig and glasses, smiling a bright, innocent, little-boy grin that made him look all of twelve. The man who must be Trowa Barton hung back a little, half of his face hidden by a fall of brown hair. He practically screamed "bodyguard."
The minute Duo was in arm's reach, Winner dragged him into a tight hug and the innocent mask fell, replaced by genuine relief. "Praise Allah, Duo. It's so good to see you," he said into Duo's ear, but Tony was close enough to hear it.
Duo hissed, and Winner released him like he was on fire.
"Gun shot," Winner said, wincing, keeping his hands on Duo's shoulders as if he couldn't let go.
"Gun shot," Duo agreed, but he was smiling.
Winner looked at Duo, really looked, taking in every inch of him, then he cupped Duo's face in both hands and bent his forehead down to touch Duo's.
"I'm safe," Duo said, as if reading his mind. "I'm here in one piece."
"For two years I've had nothing to go on but my heart and a single report from Wufei. You are never allowed to do this again. Ever. Am I clear?" The demand might have been comical if not for the near desperation in Winner's voice. He wrapped his arms over Duo's shoulders, pulling him back in tight.
"Quatre…"
Tony was shocked to see tears on Winner's cheeks. He sniffed, then straightened, but he seemed reluctant to stop touching Duo.
"Crybaby," Duo told him, reaching up to wipe the tears away for him.
"Guilty as charged," Winner replied, smiling.
This was not at all what Tony had expected when he realized Duo was friends with Quatre Winner. This was more than friends—deeper. It wasn't romantic, but it was intimate enough to make Tony uncomfortable watching the exchange.
Winner seemed to remember where he was and gathered himself with the skill of someone who was used to being under a microscope. "I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Quatre Raberba Winner," he pressed his hand to his chest. "And my partner, Trowa Barton." He indicated the other man. "Thank you so much for allowing this intrusion."
Tony stepped forward and reached out his hand. "Not at all. Any friend of my son is welcome in my home."
Winner took his hand, and Tony was a little surprised to realize he nearly looked Tony in the eye. Just under six feet then. Winner had soft hands, a businessman's hands, and he enveloped Tony's as though he were someone precious, placing his other hand on top of them.
While he formally met Winner, Duo had wandered over to his partner. Two Bartons in the Tower was going to get confusing, and Tony kept forgetting the guy was there, which was not cool. He was surprised to see Tall Barton reach out, pull Duo's braid over his shoulder, then run his hand down it until he got to the end, where he twisted it around his wrist. Tony would bet good money that Duo did not let just anyone handle that braid. Duo gave him a wry look, but bumped their shoulders together. For the first time since Tony had met him, Duo's guard was down. They weren't talking, as far as Tony could tell, but they were holding a conversation in expressions and body language.
"Uh, the rest of my—the Avengers," he turned and directed Winner's attention back to the elevator. "We should probably go up and introduce you."
"We've held up everyone eating!" Winner suddenly exclaimed, as if horrified by the rudeness.
Duo chuckled softly and moved away from Tall Barton, who let the braid slip from his fingers. He then took the moment to pull the Wong's tee over his head, leaving him in just a green turtleneck and jeans.
"I'm honestly surprised that worked," Tony commented on the disguises.
He was surprised when it was Tall Barton who answered. "People see what they expect to see." His voice was soft, lighter than one might have expected for a man who was probably 6'6", but he followed Tony and Duo back into the elevator, up to the common floor.
Winner did the publicity rounds while Duo and Tall Barton were content to take a backseat.
"How did you meet?" Natasha asked, steering the conversation, and Tony could have kissed her for it as they moved to the kitchen and found seats so they could begin dishing up their own plates.
"During the First Eve War," Winner volunteered. Tony was starting to get annoyed by how many mysteries seemed to come from that single year.
"I know your dad—sorry for your loss—died during the Eve War," Wilson said, settling in at the counter. "I didn't realize you participated."
Winner blushed, and really, he was Duo's age, so like twenty-two, and he really was too tall to look that boyish. "Not officially," he admitted, sounding embarrassed. "My 'participation' such as it was, included mostly resources for the Rebellion."
"Is that where Duo learned to cook?" Vision interjected. Winner looked surprised. "He said that he spent time in the kitchens of wealthy supporters."
Winner slid a glance over to Duo. "So that's where you were hiding?"
Duo shrugged, unashamed. "You employ excellent chefs."
Winner gave him a look like he didn't think that was the whole reason, but he turned back to Viz. "Yes. I provided Winner properties as safe houses for Rebellion personnel."
"How'd your dad feel about that?" Tony wondered. He had met Winner Senior on several occasions, and he couldn't have been happy about it.
Grief chased across Winner's face before he got it under control. "My father was a true pacifist. I'm afraid it was still a bone of contention between us when he died."
Short Barton—Tony's inner asshole grinned at that—decided to break the tension by tossing a question at his namesake. "How about you? How'd you get into that mess? I mean, you were all, what, fifteen?"
"I was a mercenary," Tall Barton answered, neither his voice nor his body language gave anything away. Viz was more animated and alive than Tall Barton seemed to be. It was creepy.
"A mercenary?" Barnes this time. "At fifteen?"
"Younger. I was an experienced mercenary at fifteen."
He could see the soldiers in the room trading suspicious looks.
"So, why Rebellion?" Short Barton wondered.
Tall Barton shrugged, a European gesture that could mean anything and everything. "They had the best toys."
Duo laughed. "I feel like this is the beginning of a terrible joke. A mercenary, a billionaire, and a thief walk into a bar..."
That got a chuckle out of Winner and a smile out of Tall Barton.
But Tony was stuck on "thief." Duo was a hacker—he had no doubt about that. But he had self-identified as a thief.
"Thief, huh?" Natasha asked.
"L2 orphan, Red," he told her, lightning quick and with more good humor than Tony knew he had. "It's damn near a prerequisite."
"How good are you?" Short Barton asked with honest curiosity. Since he was a more than passable pickpocket himself, Tony understood the professional interest.
"Save the tricks for after dinner!" Winner pleaded.
Duo grinned, a wicked, devil-may-care expression, and said, "I guess you'll have to see, won't you?"
Judging by the look on Short Barton's face, challenge accepted.
Winner sighed, then shot a reprimanding look at Short Barton. "I want you to know, that when this gets out of hand, it will be entirely your fault."
"Who says it's going to get out of hand?" Short Barton asked with a grin.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.
It might have gotten out of hand, not that it bothered Natasha. Maxwell and his friends were careful to keep topics of discussion away from the war and their history, but Winner and Barton were up for sharing "stupid politician" stories, both updating Maxwell on what they had been doing and entertaining the rest of the Avengers, most of whom had their own stupid press and politician stories to share without getting too personal. The food was shared as liberally as the good humor. Natasha tried remembering the last time everyone had been so relaxed in the Tower but was drawing a blank.
Throughout the meal, Clint and Maxwell had moved around the room, playing pickpockets and trying not to get caught. By the time the evening wound down, it was time to take stock. Natasha had been tracking Maxwell and Clint both carefully, and she suspected Tony had FRIDAY doing the same, but she still thought Clint had an edge.
"All right, kid," Clint said, pulling out an odd assortment of things he'd picked off people throughout the evening. A few knives, a gun, a ring—Sam's—and a watch—Vision's, then a Starkphone, that he looked at in confusion.
"Oh, sorry, did you think you grabbed my phone?" Maxwell asked, pulling his own cheap phone out and waggling it.
"Wait, you slipped this to me?"
Maxwell shrugged. "Not like you could check without being obvious," he said, then pulled out another Starkphone. "But as for this," he said and began to play with the screen. It only took him about ten seconds before he made a triumphant noise, and unlocked the screen. "Whoa!" He turned it off immediately and tossed it at Barton, who had been searching his pockets. "Hasn't anyone told you there are things you shouldn't keep on your phone?" He laughed, as if embarrassed. "Save that shit for a personal device."
Natasha frowned. She knew Clint, and she knew he didn't have anything inappropriate on his phone. From the way Maxwell was acting, it seemed like he'd found porn on it, but could he be covering?
"People don't usually get into Starkphones in thirty seconds," Clint snarled, defensive as he got back into his phone, checking it to see if Maxwell had put anything on it.
"Not usually, no, but you live with Tony Stark. I would think that would make you more sensible to how vulnerable tech is, not less," Maxwell pointed out, still looking flustered as he leaned back. "Plus your password is predictable."
"It's random!" Clint defended, still flipping through his phone, though he still looked confused.
"It's a six-digit PIN yeah, but you've got it set up to swipe in a pattern so it's easy to unlock and you don't really have to think about it. Seen you swipe it before, so I knew the general motion. You tried to be clever, so you started with 8. So, 8-5-2-1-5-9. I suggest you change that now, by the way."
Everyone stared at him.
"That's some Stark-level hacking," Sam said.
Maxwell rolled his eyes. "It's observation and logic. Stealing phones is useless if you can't get into them, so I got good at getting into them, and most of the time, people aren't as clever as they want you to think about protecting their shit. Most protections on phones aren't going to stop someone determined anyhow. You really just shouldn't keep anything on them you wouldn't want someone to find," he said, then added, "Your taste, man," as if it were embarrassing.
Barnes and Sam exchanged curious glances, while Bruce and Cap looked suitably disappointed and Tony looked like he was looking forward to hacking Clint's phone and soon. He was going to be disappointed.
"That's just unrealistic these days," Tony said. "Everyone has everything on their phones. You had ringtones for your contacts," he pointed out to Maxwell.
"I actually hacked my own phone so it would play certain ringtones when certain numbers called, but they're not tied to contacts."
"You can't do that," Tony said. "I might be able to do that, but—"
"Well, you can't do it with your fancy Starkphones. The programs of the cheapos aren't nearly so well protected," Maxwell admitted.
"Is that why you don't have a Starkphone?" Tony asked, curious.
"Besides they're fucking hard to jailbreak? That's one reason."
"He also goes through phones like some people go through socks." The dry comment came from Barton, which startled Natasha. That was the third time this evening she'd lost track of and forgotten about him. She didn't like it at all. "At least I assume that's still the case."
"Well, the cheap ones are easy to hack, but they also don't tend to take a lot of abuse, and I have a job that I take a lot of abuse in."
"To be fair," Winner said. "Heero broke a lot of them too."
It was the first time all evening Maxwell's old partner had come up, and Natasha was certain that Winner had done it on purpose. He'd taken too much care to that point to have it be an accident. Maxwell's hands tightened on the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white before saying, "Heero broke a lot of shit."
He pushed away from the counter, and Winner and Barton traded a glance that Natasha couldn't read. "Anyway—Red's necklace is in Stark's pocket." Natasha's hand automatically went to her throat, and she gave Maxwell a rueful look when her fingers found nothing. "Two of Sabrina's rings are in Viz's shirt pocket, Cap and Red each have one of Terminator's knives." Natasha immediately reached down into her boots, and sure enough, found a knife that wasn't hers slipped into the side. Her estimation of Maxwell's skills went up as she watched the other patting their pockets and finding the lifted items. "…and Doc's glasses are in Robin Hood's vest."
He sauntered toward the stairs, then paused at the door, waiting for Winner and Barton to get caught up with him. They each had a single duffle that had been hidden in Wong's bags. "Pretty sure that means I win. See ya'll in the morning," he said with a cocky grin, before yawning before and slipping through the door.
"It was very nice to meet you all," Winner said before following Maxwell. Barton paused to nod his head before bringing up the rear.
The others had discovered the lifted items in the places that Maxwell claimed in the meantime. Under other circumstances, Natasha would have been amused at the range of perplexed expressions.
"When the hell did he?" Clint asked, pulling Bruce's glasses out even as Tony found Natasha's necklace in his pocket and handed it back to her. Natasha didn't remember him doing more than pass by her, and he only did that once.
"He passed the necklace off to Mr. Barton," Vision said. "He showed it to me when he had gotten it from Ms. Romanov."
"Your kid is like scary good," Sam said firmly.
"Did Tall Barton lift anything else?" Tony asked.
"I did not see Mr. Barton lift anything. And the necklace is the only thing I saw him plant."
"I think he's right, Clint," Natasha said, fiddling with the knife she'd found. "He definitely had you beat."
"Has he stolen anything while he's been here?" Sam wondered.
"He doesn't need to," Tony and Bruce said at the same time, and Tony motioned for Bruce to explain.
"He doesn't need to," Bruce repeated. "If he needed to, he would never have shown us what he's capable of. If he needed something, he could literally walk down any New York street and probably get it. There's no reason for him to steal anything from the Tower, where the risks of being caught or making us distrust him are so high. Even in this game, the only one he took something from that he kept was Clint—and Clint was playing the game so he was a fair target. Everything else he took, he dropped off with someone else."
"I thought we caught him several times," Steve said, frowning.
"We saw what he wanted us to see. If we didn't catch him at least a few times, we would have gotten even more paranoid and attentive. Catching him made us relax, feel like he wasn't beating us," Tony explained. "In other words, he's not just good, he's a master." He then turned and looked at Clint. "What did he find on your phone?"
Natasha considered it a sign of personal growth that he asked instead of hacking it himself.
Clint frowned. "Nothing," he said. "Just pictures of Laura and the kids."
"He felt bad about finding pictures of your family?" Bruce asked.
"He said 'you really shouldn't keep anything on it you don't want someone to find,'" Wanda said thoughtfully. "He acted like it was porn, but he meant your family." It was an unusually insightful, but given what she had lost, it made sense that she would make the connection between the family and risk.
Silence fell over the team for a moment until Natasha broke it. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Tony, but I don't think your kid is just a hacker."
He gave her a flat look. "Yeah, I got that, thanks."