A/N:I goofed in the first chapter. It had been my intention to at least loosely adhere to a MCU time frame starting out, but then I had people pulling out cell phone cameras. Cell phones weren't ubiquitous in the '90s. I know this. And I still did it. Ack. Anyhow, for the general timeline here assume that 1) the modern characters were born about ten years later than MCU canon and/or 2) cell phones and such became common and popular a lot sooner than in reality. Both is good. Either way, assume we're somewhere in the 2000s.
Chapter Two: Bringing Home Strays
#
It was a very good question the billionaire was posing. Tony had been wondering why he and the man shared a face since the day he'd found out two years ago. (And if he'd accidentally technically stalked the man during that time, no one need know but Tony himself.) Barring them being twins separated at birth - unlikely since they'd been born a month apart on separate continents - there was no real reason for it. They just… looked alike.
Still, Tony wasn't exactly keen on the idea of Stark knowing he existed.
"You're drunk. And probably high," he reminded the man blithely. "We don't look alike at all. Honestly, I might not even be here. The mind's a weird place."
Stark stared at him for a long moment, all the while holding onto his wrist. "So. What you're saying is that you're my subconscious and I'm imagining you here so I have someone to talk to."
"Sure," Tony agreed after a beat, "and I think you should sleep it off. And hire a bodyguard."
"No!" Stark protested, tugging on Tony's arm so abruptly he nearly tumbled into the man's lap. "No. No, you - you're here because you're the only one that understands. Only one who cares. No one else cares."
Well, that sounded potentially depressing. He really shouldn't humor the guy in his current state, nevertheless, Tony still found himself asking, "What doesn't anyone else understand or care about?"
"Jarvis," Stark answered, voice choked with emotion. He slumped back in his seat, grip finally releasing Tony's arm.
"Jarvis?" Tony echoed, brows drawing together. Who was Jarvis?
"Yeah. Today-" he scrubbed his hands over his face, sucking in an unsteady breath. "It's the anniversary. When he died. He was just a butler, so no one cares. 'cept me. And you, but you're me, so… so, yeah. It's just - sometimes, it seemed like he loved me better than Howard did, y'know? Like, like, like it was enough. If I was just me. Jarvis cared anyway."
What...
What exactly was he supposed to say to that ? It wasn't like he could relate. If anything, Stark had had something Tony had never known to wish for. Love? No one loved an asset in Hydra, no matter how young they were. Sure, Jude had looked at him with something akin to pride, sometimes, but that had always been in relation to something he had achieved, more often in response to someone praising Jude rather than Tony himself. Tony couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his father (it had been five years, seven months, twelve days, and approximately nineteen hours).
From the sounds of it, Arno Stark had had multiple people who'd cared about him. Who had ever truly cared about Tony?
Smooth, cool fingers gently helping him to his feet while the handler's back was turned...
A new offensive maneuver telegraphed just enough that he could avoid serious injury...
Calloused fingers gently brushing against a trembling young hand when he'd accidentally triggered the pain receptors in the arm…
Soft words - so soft, barely there - " Good boy ," murmured in Russian…
Oh. Oh .
"I'm sorry you had to lose him," Tony said, wondering whether he hadn't had a Jarvis of his own, missing the man regardless.
"Me, too," Stark whispered hoarsely. The man's eyes were shut and he was still long enough that Tony was certain he'd drifted to sleep.
Tony turned to leave once more, resisting the urge to snoop around. It occurred to him that this may be his only chance to really see how his double lived in person. When else would he get the opportunity to snoop around freely? An argument could be made that he had saved the man earlier that night. Surely that meant it was okay if he took a peek behind the metaphorical curtain.
Before could decide one way or the other, Stark abruptly appeared in front of him, eyes alert and hair in disarray. "We should work on the thing!" he exclaimed.
"Jesus Christ!" Tony yelped, jumping back in surprise. "I thought you were sleeping!"
Stark waved off his response, swaying slightly with the movement. "No time. Better things to do," he declared. "Now, listen - we should… What was I saying? Right, right, right - we should work of the thing."
"The thing?"
"Yeah, the AI system I've been working on. I'm so close! I just can't seem to… to… Look, I think I just need a second set of eyes," Stark tried to explain, sounding rather reasonable for a man who was still obviously trashed. "And really, who better to ask?" He made an encompassing gesture at Tony.
"You're asking yourself to give your project a second look?" Tony deadpanned. He reached out to catch Stark by the arm as he started to tip over backwards.
"Yes," Stark agreed emphatically.
"A bit vain," Tony muttered, then more clearly, "Didn't you already make an AI? Back when you were in college?"
It wasn't an obsession. It was curiosity.
Honest.
"Of course, I did, but this is different," said Stark. "I was so, so drunk when I made that thing."
"You're drunk right now."
"You're not wrong. Look, can we just look it over? Please ?"
Was the man really whining at him? He was. Arno Stark was whining at him - well, at himself, really - to look at some undoubtedly secret project. Of course, Tony was going to say yes, if for no other reason than he was curious (ie: nosey).
Keeping a stabilizing hand on the man's arm, Tony let Stark lead him through his house and down a set a stairs that led into what was clearly a workshop area set-up in the corner of a garage full of expensive cars. He briefly wondered if maybe he should not have left the other one parked out in the drive. It also almost made him miss the lab Hydra let him work in. Almost. Tony really missed having a dedicated lab. Maybe he ought to set one up in the next place he went.
When they reached the bank of computer monitors on the cluttered desk, Stark ushered Tony into the chair before shuffling over to sit on the arm of the battered couch nearby. Obligingly, Tony turned on the system and waited for it to boot up. Naturally, it was password protected.
Stark thought nothing of rattling off the non-intuitive alphanumeric code.
"Has anyone told you that you are way too trusting?" Tony asked.
"How am I supposed to keep myself from knowing my own password?" Stark countered.
And well, the man had a point. He was just lucky Tony had no interest in actually taking over his life. Even if it might have been beneficial in a lot of ways.
It was only another moment before Stark had directed him to the relevant folder and he'd begun opening up the various files.
"Holy shit," Tony mumbled to himself. He read through it all with increasing astonishment.
What he was looking at not only required intelligence and ingenuity, but also creativity - imagination . That was never something Hydra had encouraged to any real degree. Tony could figure out any weapon or technology put in front of him, improve it even, but only in the ways requested by his handlers. There was no real room to branch out. They hadn't wanted him to get ideas.
So, Tony never would have conceived of something like the complex work of technological artistry illuminating the screens in front of him, but he could see how it all pieced together. He could see how it could - how it should - work. It was, for lack of a better word, incredible .
"You really are a genius," he breathed aloud, following a line of coding with his fingertips in front of a monitor. It seemed there was also merit to Stark asking for another set of eyes, because Tony could see where some of the problems were, the kinks that were keeping the system from becoming functional. "Hey, if you-"
A loud snore snatched his attention away from the computer. Stark had slumped down onto the seat of the sofa, well and truly dead to the world.
"Entirely too trusting," Tony declared, shaking his head. He stared at the billionaire for a long moment.
He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. For one thing, he was supposed to be leaving soon. For another, he just shouldn't.
Well, maybe just a bit. A few lines of code here and there, a couple well placed nudges in the right direction. Stark would really just think he'd done himself, wouldn't he? In fact, he might not even notice if Tony did things right.
What were the odds the man would even remember he'd been there?
Just a few minutes of work, then. Except that a few minutes soon became several more than that, then even more, until more than three hours had passed and Tony really did need to leave immediately if he wanted to go collect his things and catch his flight. He'd have to 'borrow' Stark's car, but it would probably be better if he just parked it right back where he'd found it, in any case. After all, as drunk as he'd been, Stark most likely would have taken a cab home.
Stark muttered in his sleep suddenly, the sound finally wrenching Tony away from the project. He quickly pulled up a new document to type down a few notes not unlike the handwritten ones scattered around the work space, thoughts on things to implement and kinks still needing to be worked out. Hesitating a moment, he added two final notes:
Just A Rather Very Intelligent System
Hire a bodyguard.
The billionaire shifted in his spot on the couch and Tony practically lunged out of the seat. He glanced over his shoulder, confirming that the man hadn't actually woken, yet. He hurried out of the garage and up the stairs, sliding behind the wheel of the car in the drive a couple minutes later. Then he drove away into the predawn hours of the morning.
Tony hoped that Stark would finish JARVIS soon. The AI was already an incredible piece of work.
#
Later that year, September
Tony had, despite a rather loud part of himself advising against it, found himself in New York. He'd tried living in Arizona for a few weeks, but it had been too dry. Kansas had been alright while he was there, at least so far as the weather, but then there had been that trouble with a university and unauthorized access to top secret government files.
Needless to say, Thomas Whittle was not an alias he'd soon be using again.
So, now, Tony was in New York, Brooklyn to be precise. It just felt easier to melt into the dense populace. He spoke most of the languages spoken by the people who lived in the area and was eager to learn the ones he didn't. As a bonus, he'd only been mistaken for Stark once and only briefly. Growing out his hair had helped - as had the fact that Stark had taken to having facial hair. It was probably only a matter of time, though.
It was early in the morning. Early enough, in fact, that not of people were out just yet. Tony was making his way to scope out an office building. Word on the street was that the company on the fourth floor had some interesting new tech designs and Tony had become acquainted with a person who might know a person who'd be interested enough to make it worth a closer look.
Also, it apparently had a new security system. Those always made a job more interesting to perform. Actually, Tony was rather more interested in studying said security than stealing designs for a potential buyer.
A quiet moan coming from an alley had Tony stopping to backtrack a few steps. He cast a wary look down the passage, frowning to himself. People ended up in these alleyways more often than many liked to believe. The sick, injured, hungover, those with no better options.
"Hello?"
And damn if his sense of self-preservation wasn't lacking. He should walk away. He knew he should walk away. Whoever it was, it was not his problem. Honestly, the last time he'd followed noises into an alleyway, he'd had to go toe to toe with a Hydra agent and he still wasn't sure he would have been able to take the man if he hadn't had a few drinks.
There was no answer to his quiet call, so naturally he had to move further into the alleyway. Because of course he did. For a supposedly smart guy, Tony found himself making some pretty dumb moves, sometimes.
Another soft groan drew him to the open mouth of a dumpster. A blond man was sprawled out amidst the garbage, bruises and cuts along every bit of visible skin. Tony stared a moment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Obviously, a person lying in trash. Maybe less purple?
"Hey." No answer. Tony reached in to poke at the guy. "Hey, you alright?" Stupid question, but what was he supposed to ask?
The guy cracked an eye to glance at him before closing it again. Tony gave him a light shake.
"Hey - what are you doing in the trash?" he asked a bit louder.
"Huh?" the guy lifted his head off a cardboard box to peer at Tony. "Wha?"
"Why are you in the trash?" Tony repeated as clearly as he could.
His head flopped back onto the box as the guy shrugged a shoulder. "Happens sometimes," he offered unhelpfully.
"Right," said Tony. "Do you need any help?" The guy seemed to have drifted off, so Tony shook him again.
"Dude, can't a guy dumpster nap in peace?" the blond grumbled.
"Maybe when I'm sure you're not dying or something."
"Totally can't hear you right now," the dumpster man informed him, opening his eyes to look up at him. "Aid's 're dead. Or gone?" He raised a hand to fumble at first one ear, then the other. "Left is dead. Right is gone. Aw. Righty, no. That was my backup. Shit."
Tony waved to get the man's attention back on himself. " I vote we get you out of there ," he signed to him, hoping the guy knew ASL.
The blond seemed to brighten. "Oh. You sign. That's nice. A lot of people don't do that."
"Are you always like this?" Tony asked aloud and with his hands, "Or are you concussed?"
"Yes," the man answered seriously.
"Come on." Tony reached out an arm and this time the guy reached to take it.
The man gave a pained grunt as he was hauled out of the bin but seemed to be able to stand well enough, although he was favoring his left leg a bit. He was wearing an outfit Tony could only describe as some sort of lightweight body armor, sans sleeves though it was (in purple of all colors; Tony really hadn't expected the purple and he couldn't say why that was the thing he was having trouble getting over). A leather guard covered his left forearm while he wore what appeared to be a wristband with extensions for his three middle fingers on his right.
Tony turned back to the dumpster, shifting things around as he searched.
"Dude, don't even bother," the man told him, "that hearing aid is gone, and I'm not sure I'd put it back in my ear even if you did find it."
The brunet paused to address him, letting him see his lips and hands both. "I'm looking for your bow," he said.
"What?" the other squawked, blue eyes going a bit wide.
"Your bow. You're an archer - you've got your finger tab and guard on, so I assume you had it with you. Good bows are expensive. Judging by the muscles in your arms, you're no amateur, so you probably have a good bow."
"Right." The look he was giving Tony now had become speculative. "Wasn't in there with me. I think it's still on the roof."
"You fell from the roof ?!" Tony exclaimed.
"Sort of?"
"You need to go to the hospital - you could have internal bleeding."
"No. No hospital," the guy said. "I didn't fall all the way from the roof. At least, not all at once."
Tony stared at him, but also didn't press. It wasn't like he was in any position to judge. He avoided hospitals and other such places himself. "It's your funeral," he offered with a shrug. "Which roof were you on?"
"Uh…" the blond started to tilt his head to look up, only to grimace at the movement. Supporting the back of his neck with one hand, he tried again, then gestured with the other. "That one."
Maneuvering the guy to a somewhat sturdy-looking box, Tony helped him sit. "You alright to wait here while I go look for it?" he asked.
The man's eyes narrowed and he gave Tony a long look. "Okay, who are you?" he demanded, continuing solely with his hands, " And why are you helping me?"
Tony took his time to consider the questions. Well, the second one, anyway. He wasn't sure the first one had a proper answer. The second question clearly mattered to the man, so Tony needed to answer it accordingly.
"You seem like you're having a rough day," he finally settled on, hands more hesitant than his voice as he replied. "I know a bit about rough days. Also, I hate losing my stuff. Be right back." He started towards the nearest fire escape.
"Hey," the archer called out and Tony looked back at him over his shoulder. "You never gave me a name." And he noticed the wording, that the man specified 'a name' as opposed to one that specifically belonged to him. It was deliberate, he was sure of it.
"Tony," he told him, making sure to spell it out, " T O N Y. " It was both honest and not because it was short for his given name but the name he was going by was Antonio Rinaldi. He decided the semantics probably didn't matter much.
"Tony," the blond repeated, like he was weighing the name in his mouth, testing how it fit. It must have seemed right enough because he gave a nod. "I'm Clint."
"Good to meet you," Tony said. "I'll be right back."
Finding Clint's bow went rather quickly, bows tending to stick out in an urban environment and all. If there was a case for it around somewhere, though, Tony couldn't find it. He eventually went back down to the alley.
Clint was where he had left him, his head leaning back against the rough brick of the building. The blond seemed young like this, bruising around one eye and swelling around the split in his bottom lip. It reminded Tony of himself when he was small. When a handler or a trainer had lost patience with his questions or his attitude or they had just been in a bad mood.
Yeah, Tony knew about rough days.
He gently nudged the toe of Clint's shoe causing the other man to startle, eyes snapping open. "It's just me," Tony said aloud, trying not to talk too fast since his hands were occupied. "I got your bow."
"Dude, I could kiss you," said Clint, reaching out for said bow.
"Promises, promises," Tony grinned and handed it over. "You're welcome. Do you live around here? Got any family or friends to watch you for a bit?"
"Ah, no, I'm just passing through. I'll be fine."
"I'm pretty sure you've got a concussion. You should have someone keep an eye on you for a few hours, at least," Tony argued. "Look, if you really won't go to the hospital, at least let me take you back to wherever you're staying. Or even my place. It'd be a shame to dig you out of the dumpster just to have you die of a head injury or something."
Clint gave an amused snort. "Cheery," he said. "Fine, but we should go to your place. My motel probably isn't, um, secure."
"Sure thing," Tony agreed easily, helping the blond back to his feet. "You can stay as long as you need to."
"You make a habit of bringing home strays you find in the dumpster?" the man asked.
"No. You'd be the first."
"So, you're not usually this trusting of strangers."
It sounded too skeptical to really be a question, but Tony shrugged and answered anyway, " Not usually ." For his part, Clint just let out a scoff. Tony could have explained that he didn't trust him so much as he was certain he could take him or at least avoid him if need be - at least in his current condition, if nothing else. That was a lot of words, though, so he just focused on helping the other man along.
Clint would only be around until Tony was sure the man would be alright. A day, two at most, and the archer would be on his way again leaving Tony to his own. It wasn't like he was really bringing home a stray. They weren't going to become friends or anything.
Even Tony knew friendships didn't work like that.
To be continued...
