Disclaimer: I don't own AWOLNATION. Have I said that already this fic? I'm losing track. Also, I don't own Iron Man. I did throw them both in the pothole in front of my house. I wonder if the city can sue me for that?
Chapter 16: A Man in the Dark
AWOLNATION- Sail
She woke sweaty and panting, a cry held back between her clenched teeth. Angela allowed her tense muscles to go lax as a tired grunt escaped her. Blearily, she wondered when her conscience would stop torturing her. It'd been five months exactly since she'd gained consciousness in an Italian hospital.
Eventually the lingering unease prompted her out of bed. She rolled to her feet, thumbed the screen awake on her cell phone, and noted it was just after three in the morning. Angela glanced back at her bed, knowing she should crawl back under the covers for a few more hours rest. Instead she turned and headed into the living room for her laptop. The muted glow of her arc reactor through her t-shirt provided more than enough light to navigate by.
She dropped her phone onto the wide, white, coffee table and stood for a short time, eyes closed. The drone from her fan and the muted sounds of traffic were the only things that disturbed the quiet of her apartment.
Opening her eyes, Angela leaned forward to grab her wrap from the back of the couch. She tossed it over her shoulders, picked up her computer, and headed out onto the balcony.
Half an hour later she gave up mindless TV as a distraction and switched to work. In the week since they'd started on the design for the stabilizers, she and Tony had been discussing suit articulation. He had promised to send her design specs to go over. She'd grab anything to keep her mind busy with both hands.
Logging into her email, she found the pertinent file and sank into examination. Almost immediately she noticed a problem. The abdomen of the suit didn't have enough flex. Thinking of layered interlocking plates, she pulled up the dialogue box for JARVIS and asked if Tony was in the shop. Receiving a positive reply, she opened up a video call.
A corner of her screen resolved into a close up of Tony's slightly scruffy face. "I'm starting to think you never sleep," he greeted. "Why do you leave again?"
"Your continued good health," she quipped.
He leaned away from the camera with a sharp, "Ha. Don't lie, Panda." A wicked smirk spread over his face. "You just can't quit me."
Unwilling to continue bantering, she spoke over him. "I read through your ideas for the body armor. There's an issue." She laid out the problem as she knew it.
After her explanation there was a beat of silence and Tony's face took on a considering look. "You know the dimly lit, bedroom eyed, balcony scene exposition is working for me," he teased, voice deeper than usual.
Angela rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply when a dim, yellow light shone through the glass doors to her living room. "Hold up," she murmured.
"What?" Tony frowned, tilting his head.
Sliding to her feet, Angela kept her attention on the shaft of light as she edged toward the doors. The rectangle of illumination was briefly interrupted by a shadow, and then slivered into nothing as her front door closed. Her whole body momentarily froze.
Pressing her fingers against the cool exterior wall near the rubber seal of her patio doors, Angela leaned forward to peek around the door. A shadowy figure stood in her entryway.
"Panda?" Tony called from behind her.
She jolted and crossed back to her deck table in two strides. "Tony," she hissed. "Someone's in my apartment."
On the screen she could see him suddenly lean back into the camera. "What? Seriously?"
"Yes," she whispered. With a wince, Angela realized that her phone was in on the coffee table. "My phone's in the apartment. I can't get to it. I need you to call the police."
"Right. JARVIS?" His voice unwittingly rose and Angela jammed her finger on the mute button above her keyboard.
She glanced around her balcony, trying to decide the best way forward in her situation. There was no way down; she was on the tenth floor. Her teeth sank into her lower lip and she crept back to the edge of the patio doors. Peering through the glass, she had to squint to make out anything passed the reflections.
In the moments she'd been talking to Tony, the indistinct figure that had been at her door had made its way into her living room. Angela ducked back, fearing being seen.
Curiosity almost immediately had her stealing a look around the edge of the door again. She expected to see the person unhooking her television, instead the silhouette turned the corner toward her bedroom. Her eyes widened in shocked horror. They were looking for her.
She knew she had only a brief time before they noticed no one was in the bed. Once that happened she had no clue what they would do. The apartment was not large. If they wanted her, they would find her. Even before she registered her decision her fingers had crept to the handle of the door.
It was a short, straight shot from the patio to the front entrance. If she was careful, she could slide the door open quietly. After that she would need to sprint. There would be precious seconds between when her footfalls were heard and the person in her apartment reacted.
The door glided open with a subdued rolling sound. Angela took one quick, furtive glance toward her bedroom, and lunged. Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears she couldn't tell if anyone was chasing her. Sweaty fingers grasped the entryway door knob and pulled. It was locked. In the breath it took her to flip the deadbolt open, the intruder had caught up with her.
A large hand grabbed her left wrist from behind. She ripped her arm back and to the side, latching her own hand around the rough skin of their wrist. Jerking forward on their arm made them stumble, and Angela used the time to pivot and punch her attacker in the head. There was a grunt as he staggered sideways into the kitchen counter.
She spun back to the door and managed to open it before pain shot up her scalp. The man flung her backwards by her hair and she tumbled down onto the carpet. Angela had already pushed herself up into a crab walk pose when she heard a quiet click.
"Stay down," the man ordered.
Her gaze tracked up to the gun in his hands. Slowly, she lowered her butt back to the floor.
"Good," he commented.
The wrap she had been wearing outside had fallen loose and was barely hanging by her shoulders. Between the dim glow of the arc, and the city lights outside, she could make out that the man's face looked familiar.
'He didn't bother to cover his face,' a small, cold, part of her pointed out.
"Lift up your shirt," he commanded.
Her mind blanked. It couldn't process the demand.
The gun lowered a fraction closer to her. "Do it."
The long, black tube of a silencer angled down toward her. In the poor lighting she could still see the point where metal gave way to a circular hole. Her hands shook as she reached for the hem of her sleep shirt. She inched it over her belly.
"Higher," the man sneered impatiently. "To your neck."
With a reflexive swallow, Angela complied. She lifted the fabric, exposing her unbound breasts, and held it up under her chin. A spark of loathing burst to life in her chest. It expanded rapidly when the man's lips parted in a smile. Angela promised herself that the minute the perverted son of a bitch gave her an opening, she'd kick his ass.
He leaned forward and she tried to brace herself for his hands. Instead he arrogantly tapped the muzzle of his weapon against her arc. A muted clink sounded between them. "That's a damn shame," he mused.
That close to the blue glow of the revealed reactor she was finally able to see his face well enough to place it. Jason Bein had shaved off his shitty thin beard.
"I was really hoping to just be able to kill you," he muttered wistfully.
Angela's attention stuttered over his words.
Abruptly he stood upright and demanded, "Get up."
She dropped her shirt, but hesitated.
He waggled the pistol at her. "Come on. Up," he cajoled. "I don't have to kill you to shoot you," he informed her. "It'd be a hell of a thing to drag you out of here on one leg, but it might be worth it."
The carpet fibers tickled between her fingers as she pushed off the floor. He kept the gun trained on her, and once she was standing, fisted her hair again. Involuntarily her neck arched back, trying to relieve the strain.
"Start walking," he lazily ordered.
The soles of her feet heated as she unwillingly shuffled to the door.
"Open it," he instructed. "And don't make a fucking sound." The muzzle of the silencer pressed cruelly into her kidney.
Stiff fingers grasped the knob and turned it. Bein stepped back as the door opened inward. A sharp tug on her hair brought her back into contact with his chest.
She hoped Tony had called the police.
He prodded her toward the opening with his weapon before pushing down on her head. She had no choice but to bend forward. Teeth clenching, she tried to ignore the warm weight of his body as he bent over her to peer out into the hall.
Bringing them both upright he commanded, "Walk."
Angela inched forward, guided like a horse by the mane. Once out in the hall, Bein momentarily released his grip on her hair to close the door.
She thought about running then. Her eyes darted around the hallway, seeking escape. But it was a straight shot in either direction. He would easily shoot her before she reached any cover.
Grabbing her again, he directed her toward the stairwell door. As they made their way down the hall, her brain spun, trying to find a way out. She had no doubt the man behind her would happily kill her. That he was choosing to abduct her instead, somehow seemed worse.
When they reached the top of the first flight of stairs, Bein released his hold on her hair. Another nudge of the gun got her started heading downward. Together the two traversed one flight after another. At each hallway landing she willed the door to open and someone to step out. That same hard part of her from earlier reminded her that would only end with the hapless person dead.
Approaching the third floor she heard voices in the hall. They were muffled by the door, but very real. Her heart jumped up into her throat. The muscles worked, but she couldn't swallow. Bein again fisted her hair and jerked her to a halt.
They stood there in the dimly lit stairwell, listening, for what felt like a full minute. What they were waiting for she didn't know. The voices did not go away, but neither did they come closer. Eventually, Bein prodded her on. Once they crossed the landing, he released his grip.
Angela strained her ears for police sirens. Surely the Santa Monica PD had been given sufficient time to reach her. Though she wondered if, at hearing the sirens, Bein wouldn't just shoot her.
Moments later, her bare feet hit the ground floor landing and she stared ahead at the door to the lobby. If she went out there it was a matter of meters before she was outside the building. If she went outside the building, she was not coming back in alive. The gun, which had taken on her body heat where it had been pressed against her, suddenly felt cold.
At her hesitation the muzzle of the weapon was lifted to fit behind her right ear. "I will shoot you right here and now," Bein warned. "I'd actually prefer it. So you're either going to do what I tell you unquestioningly from here on out, or my night's going to end a little early."
By degrees, her feet carried her toward the door. Her mind flashed through a dozen different ideas, all with better chances of getting her shot than free. Slowly her options for action were whittled down to one that was crazy to try.
He was going to kill her, there in the stairwell or later. For all that she might have a cleaner escape if she bided her time, the voice in her head, which sounded like her self defense instructor, reminder her of the horrific things that could happen in the interim.
She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, and then deliberately flexed her right hand until it stopped shaking. She'd done crazy before.
The trip across the ground floor landing seemed to take an age. When she was about four feet in front of the door, she thought she heard the far off wail of sirens. It was the last push she needed.
Her left leg had been in the motion of taking a step forward. When her foot landed, she pushed off the ball, throwing her weight back and to the side. Her body connected with his chest, jarring them both. The gun slipped over her right shoulder.
Desperate to control the aim of the weapon, her right hand darted up and grabbed the barrel. The metal bit into her palm as terror gave her strength. She yanked down, twisted, and Bein's first finger caught in the trigger guard. A popping crack of bone sounded near her ear.
With a breathy holler, he stumbled back. The resistance on the gun was suddenly gone and she realized he'd let go. She was left holding it by the muzzle. Sweaty hands fumbled the weapon before getting it in to a working grip.
Angela spun toward Bein, teeth bared in hatred, and aimed center mass. The man across from her stumbled to a stop mid lunge. Green eyes narrowed, her entire face screwed up in determination. "Move and I will fucking shoot you," she promised in a guttural voice.
Bein remained still, cradling his right hand in his left. His eyes raised to hers, and the anger in them made her brace the hand holding the gun with her other. An eerie calm spread through her. She could feel the way her whole body was vibrating.
"I will not miss," she solemnly informed.
And she did hear sirens, growing louder by the second.
…...
Tony had been frightened before. He had very recent experiences with the kind of terror that made your balls crawl back up inside your body. When Angela had moved off screen the second time, Tony had been too busy directing the police to her to protest. It hadn't stopped the chill that rolled over his skin and raised the hair on his scalp.
He hadn't waited to see if she came back into view. He was out of the garage before he'd even gotten off the phone. The entire way to her apartment, a torturous thirty minutes, he regretted ever allowing her to leave his house.
When he arrived, the parking lot of her apartment had police vehicles crowded around her building's entrance. Their red and blue lights shone across the pavement and reflected from the windows and doors. Stepping out of his car, his gut churned with the ideas of what he might find.
A huddle of people stood off to the left, some hastily dressed, some still in sleep ware. He had just moved into range of their quiet murmurs when an officer approached him.
"Can I help you, sir?" The cop was young, mid-twenties perhaps.
Tony swallowed. "My…" His what? What was Angela to him? His employee? His friend? The woman he might be slightly obsessing over? He finally managed to spit out, "I called you. My partner was on a call with me when her apartment was broken into."
The younger man's gaze sharpened before he glanced back at a knot of uniforms closer to the doors. "Your name?" He asked.
A wry feeling of incredulousness broke through Tony's worry. He arched an eyebrow. "Really?"
The officer nodded, as if Tony had confirmed his identity. "Wait here please, Mr. Stark. The detective will want to get your statement."
"Sure," Tony muttered.
He tracked the officer's retreat across the lot to a grey haired man in a suit jacket. Next to the man a slight form shifted, drawing Tony's attention. The female raised a hand to impatiently brush messy dark hair from her face and Tony's spine slumped in relief.
Angela's familiar profile was difficult to discern in the low, flashing lights. He tried to scan her for any sign of injury, but was too far away. She was outside, bundled up in that ridiculous wrap she liked, standing and talking like she was completely fine. Anxious to find out what had happened after he lost sight of her, Tony shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot.
The officer gestured in his direction and Angela turned her face towards him. When she spotted him, he could see her sag from halfway across the parking lot.
…...
The detective kept her and Tony long enough to get their statements before he disappeared back into the building. Guided to a bench in the lobby by another officer, she and Tony sat to complete their incident reports. Around them officer's moved about their business as the other residents of the building slowly trickled back to their apartments. The ding of the elevator and wheezing click of the stairwell door punctuated the various conversations.
When she had completed the last of her forms and the investigation had wound down, she was given the all clear to head back to her apartment. Feeling watery and strained, Angela made her way to the tenth floor. Tony followed with her. He was being unusually quiet.
They reached the hallway outside her apartment to find the detective waiting for them. Had it been less than an hour before that she'd been forcefully guided down the dark grey carpet? "Ma'am," he greeted politely.
She no longer twitched at the address. But she didn't think she'd ever hear that word without thinking of Jimmy. Beside her, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Hello again, Detective Carlton," she greeted tiredly.
The elder man gave her a sympathetic grin. "Before we leave you to get on with your morning, I wanted to let you know that we've checked your building and apartment. The area is clear." He waved his hand toward her closed apartment door. "But we had a young man come forward regarding an unknown individual who prevented him from entering the stairwell. The timing coincided with your assault." he explained gravely.
Angela blinked at the news. A bubble of cynical frustration rose through her muddle of fear and fatigue.
"Now, I've asked for a unit to be placed nearby to keep up surveillance in case this individual returns. But it might be best to find someplace safe to stay for a few days," he advised.
Angela's lips parted to reply when Tony inserted himself into the conversation. "This guy, you have a description? Who should we be looking out for?"
Carlton dipped his chin in a curt nod. "A middle aged white male, around five eleven, dark hair, medium build. The witness described the man as having a scar on the left side of his face that covered his ear and went into his hairline."
Remembering the voices on the third floor, Angela felt her stomach quiver. To distract herself she asked a question that had been bothering her since Bein was safely back in handcuffs. "Detective, Bein was in jail. How did he get out?"
Head bobbing as if he'd been expecting the question, Carlton assured, "We'll be looking into that. If we have any more questions, or any updates to your case, we'll contact you," he informed her. "If you have any further issues, please call."
"Thank you, Detective." She managed a tight smile.
He left the two of them standing outside her apartment door.
Angela started at the plain grey expanse for a moment, feeling irrationally angry at the place. Returning to her apartment after Italy was supposed to get her back on level. All it had done was show her how bent out of shape her life was.
Tony turned to look at her. "Ready?"
"Yeah." She pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold, eyes quickly skimming the fully illuminated kitchen and living room.
It was strange. The only sign something unusual had happened in there was the open balcony door. A breeze caught the edge of an old birthday card propped on an end table. It tumbled to the carpet. Looking away, Angela headed for her bedroom.
"I read your statement," Tony admitted, coming up to stand next to her.
A heavy sigh escaped her. Of course he had. He'd been standing over her shoulder while she wrote it out.
"When'd you become Jet Li?" He asked.
"1997," she grumbled, retrieving her suitcase from the closet. When she turned around Tony had his eyebrows raised in question, so she elaborated. "The intern incident."
"What'd you take?" He wondered. She turned to her closet and pulled out a stack of shirts. "Krav Maga? Kung Fu?"
Had she been mentally complaining earlier because the man was being quiet? She dropped the shirts into her bag.
"A self defense course taught by a very frank ex airwoman," she answered. Her instructor had spared no detail in explaining exactly what could happen if you weren't willing to fight with all you had.
Tony glanced out her bedroom window before commenting, "Well, sign me up. Still, that was awhile ago."
"Happy made me practice after the Hammer mole." Then with more seriousness she admitted, "I got lucky tonight. He wasn't expecting me to fight back."
A million different little things went her way that night. The specters of what could have happened swam through her head. Angela worked her jaw, struggling to hold back the sudden burning in her eyes.
"Then he obviously didn't know you," Tony replied softly.
She squeezed her eyes shut harshly. When she felt her voice would be somewhat steady she asked, "Could you step out for a minute? I need to change."
Instead of innuendo, Tony answered with a swift, "Sure." He left the room and closed the door behind him.
Angela hunched half in her closet and clamped a hand over her mouth. She didn't know if it was to keep in a scream, a sob, or both.
…...
"Hotels have security," Angela argued.
Tony eased the Audi out of her lot and headed for the Pacific Coast Highway. "Mine's better," he declared.
Beside him Angela shuffled back in her seat. "Even if I conceded that your security is better," she began.
"It is," he assured.
"There's still no reason I can't drive myself," she finished.
"Happy would frown," he reasoned flippantly. The truth was that Angela was shaken up. He suspected that she'd left something out of the official report.
A grunt of disbelief rose from his right. He glanced over to see her cross her arms like a petulant child. It was adorable.
"What? You don't want to hang out with me?" Tony joked. "I'll have you know, I'm a good time."
He knew he'd succeeded in amusing her when he heard a little huff of breath leave her nose. "I'm sure you've heard that a lot," she drawled.
Tony grinned. "I have," he admitted proudly.
From the corner of his eyes he caught her shaking her head.
They passed through the Palisades. The lights of the city slowly fading behind them until the glow of the San Fernando valley peeked over the hills. The muted road noise of the Audi filled his ears.
Tony allowed his mind to ponder the night's events and their possible future outcomes. Above them the sky lightened to a shade off black.
"Thank you." Angela's quiet voice broke into his thoughts. He glanced over at her, seeing her looking back at him.
"Sure. Not a problem," he demurred.
"For calling the police and for coming to get me," she continued.
"Well, I couldn't just leave you there." It never crossed his mind to not go get her.
She made an amused sound in her throat. "I have been rather burr-like lately."
"Yeah, but you're… He groped for a word. "Useful. A useful burr. Building the Mark II, laying the foundation for my Clean Energy department," he elaborated. "It's not terrible having you in my shop."
"Wow. I feel special," she deadpanned.
"You should," he shot back. Anyone allowed in his shop should feel all kinds of shiny.
She sighed at him and tilted her head back against the headrest. "You know, if Bein did have an accomplice it may take awhile for the police to find him," she commented.
"He did," Tony insisted. Besides the story about the lurker with the scar, there was a more obvious reason Tony believed Bein had assistance. "How else did he get out of jail?"
…...
Notes: OMG I rewrote this a bagillion times. Major rewrites where the scene was completely different. I ended up shuffling and rewriting portions of four chapters to accommodate the changes. I had to redo my timeline! *screams* I just couldn't get the realism I wanted and when I did, Angela came off like Chuck Norris. I hope I've managed some balance. *Bites nails* Just as comparison the first draft of this involved a wine bottle, a parking lot, and Bein acting like an expositional idiot. Also there was a Whole Foods. (Incidentally that was the inspiration for Thor Goes to Whole Foods. Because I needed a break after that shit.)