By the time Tony reached the Tower, he had access to every record that was even remotely related to Martha Jones. He poured himself another drink and settled in to sort through the information.
Martha Clivina Jones, born March 20, 1986. The second of three born to Clive and Francine Jones. Excellent student. A-levels in Biology, chemistry, physics and English literature. Completed foundation training at London's Royal Hope Hospital. Recruited by UNIT at age twenty-two. Promoted to Chief Medical Officer within two years of recruitment. Served as Torchwood liaison.
A few hours' worth of research had painted a picture of the kind of person that Martha was, but it still didn't tell Tony what he wanted to know. Her medical records were no help either. She more or less had a completely clean bill of health save for a broken arm when she was four and UNIT mandated therapy sessions. Otherwise, there wasn't as much as a cavity in her medical history.
Deciding to try another angle, Tony turned his attention towards UNIT. As it turned out, the Unified Intelligence Taskforce was an intelligence agency and military organization with connections to the United Nations and whose main purpose was to investigate and combat paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to the Earth. It definitely wasn't what Tony was expecting to find, but his previous conversation with Martha made a lot more sense in retrospect.
Still, there was one thing he didn't understand.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., pull up everything you can find out about Harold Saxon," Tony requested. Once the information was spread out in front of him on the holographic display, he crossed his arms over his chest and did a quick scan of the headlines. "Alright, now filter those results using the words 'Valiant' and 'alien.'"
"Search inconclusive, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. responded.
"Smells like a cover up to me," Tony said. "Alright. Let's see what they don't want us to know."
After coming up empty using traditional sources, Tony hacked into UNIT files where he hit pay dirt and located classified documents detailing what had gone down with Harold Saxon aboard the Valiant. Tony's sense of accomplishment was short-lived because as he began reading, he wished he never would have gone digging.
According to the UNIT file he found, Harold Saxon was an alias of the renegade Time Lord known as the Master. Saxon had created a phone network called Archangel which subliminally influenced the UK population into voting him in as their Prime Minister. Under the guise of making Earth's first contact with an alien race known as the Toclafane, Saxon created and activated a paradox machine opening a massive rift above the Valiant and allowing six billion Toclafane to descend upon earth. One-tenth of the Earth's population was killed in the initial assault and within a year humanity was on the verge of extinction. And somehow, remarkably, no one remembered a second of it.
Tony's head felt heavy under the weight of all the information he had digested, but he kept reading. Even after he finished with that initial file, he kept searching learning more and more about the alien visitors that UNIT had dealt with over the last few decades.
From the sound of it, the Chitauri were just the tip of the iceberg. Time Lords. Daleks. Cybermen. Adipose. Sontarans. Autons. Racnoss. Toclafane. Not only were alien invasions old news, and apparently being systematically covered up by the world's governments, but some of them were able to integrate themselves into human society and take on positions of power like this Master asshole.
Tony downed the rest of his drink in a quick gulp and closed his eyes for a moment. After Aldrich Killian was defeated, Tony had destroyed all of his suits, but in the time since things had ended with Pepper he found himself with an undeniable need to rebuild. "J.A.R.V.I.S., bring up the plans for the Iron Legion," he requested. Deciding to distract himself with his work, he made his way to his workshop.
Tony wasn't sure why he did it. The suits. The work improving the Helicarrier with S.H.I.E.L.D. The more he thought about it, it was all for naught. If some alien species hell bent on destruction wanted to take them all out, there wasn't much humanity could do to protect itself. So what meaning did his work have?
There was a time when he used to feel like he could make a difference. Back when he made weapons he knew the power of his inventions. One touch of a button could change the course of a war. One button could bring terrorists to their knees. One button could be the different between subjugation and salvation. He felt untouchable. Invincible. Dare he say…godlike.
Then there was the ambush of his convoy and his time in the caves with Yinsen. Maybe that had been the start. The first moment of vulnerability. Captured and outnumbered. Shrapnel in his heart. The deck had been stacked against him, but Tony persevered. He survived. He changed course, pushed forward and found new meaning. So why the hell couldn't he do that now?
After more than a few drinks and limited progress on his latest project, Tony headed to bed and drifted off into a restless sleep. The nightmare began as it always did. Tony intercepts the missile that the World Security Council launched at Midtown and takes it through the wormhole toward the Chitauri fleet, where battalions of them are prepping to rain chaos down on the city. His suit loses power and he's suddenly freefalling. While he's dropping he secretly wonders if it's the end for him. Will this be the time he fails? The time he dies? The time he lets everyone depending on him die?
Tony woke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. "Not again," he groaned and ran both hands through his hair roughly. He stayed there for a long while before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pushing himself up onto his feet. "J.A.R.V.I.S., try that number for Dr. Jones."
"Right away, sir," the AI responded.
Tony made his way back to the bar while he waited for the call to connect.
"Hello?" Martha's voice came through loud and clear.
"I'm not keeping you from you beauty sleep, am I, English?"
"No, I was up."
"Good. Not that you need it anyway."
"I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon," Martha confessed.
"But you still expected it?"
"When I got a call from the head of UNIT demanding to know why a security breach of UNIT servers was traced back to an IP address belonging to Tony Stark, I figured there was a decent chance."
"She needs better firewalls if she's gonna keep her secrets secret," Tony quipped into his glass. "Tell her to give me a call. I know a guy. I'll hook her up."
"I'll pass the suggestion on, but just so you know, the real secrets archived in a place even you can't touch."
"Don't challenge me, Doc," Tony retorted playfully. "I'm contrary by nature."
"I'm assuming you didn't ring me up to prove your excellence."
"No, but reminders never hurt," Tony joked.
"Was it a nightmare?" she asked, wiping the smirk off his face in the process. "The reason you rang I mean."
Tony fell silent and tried to force the images that jarred him awake out of his mind. "So how does this work?"
"I can come over if you want to discuss it," Martha suggested.
"Do you usually make house calls or am I special?"
"Special in your own mind I'm sure," Martha said with a quiet chuckle.
"Textbook narcissist," he assured her. "Come on over. I'll pour you a drink. I doubt I'm getting any sleep tonight anyway."
"Alright, give me about fifteen minutes. In the meantime, try not to drown in any pools while loving on your reflection," Martha teased.
"No promises," Tony shot back quickly before the ending the call and reaching for a second glass for her drink.
