A/N: I'd like to thank all the people who've taken the time to share their thoughts with me so far - it's really rewarding and I appreciate it! Thank you to Sekiya1997, Fawkes83, Shadowlove'scookies, It'sTimeForYouToBeEqualized, gandalf537, Katdog272 (rant away all you like - it's interesting to read your thoughts!), Iron Lady, Guest of honor, Abbi04 and one guest for reviewing chapter 6. Special thank you to It'sTimeForYouToBeEqualized whose review on chapter 4 made me want to give Vision one more paragraph in chapter 6.

Here we go with another chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!


After hiding the cords underneath the potato hills, Tony's next priority was to look after his wounds the best he could.

Carefully, swearing out loud, he removed the glass from his skin. As he didn't have any water in his cell to clean the wounds with, he grated several potatoes against the rough walls and then applied the raw potato grates onto the various cuts and wounds on his skin. He could only wish that the potato grates would be enough to fight off any possible infection until he would be able to go see one of his private physicians - he couldn't recall which one of them had the expertise for these sort of things, but he figured Pepper would find that out on his behalf.

Studying his handiwork, Tony felt sad that there was no-one there to see what a good nurse he had been to himself. He was undeniably the sexiest nurse who had ever nursed him, Tony decided – he wasn't even wearing a shirt! He was like something out of a sexy nurse fantasy, if one didn't take into consideration that he was also the patient, covered in grime and blood and scorpion spit and potato grates.

Was it disrespectful to have fantasies of sexy nurses? Tony hoped it wasn't because he didn't mean to be disrespectful to nurses, no, sir, not at all. He was Iron Man, but nurses were made of steel, that Tony had concluded a long time ago, and he just so happened to have a thing for people who were made of steel, like Pepper.

"Perhaps I should become a nurse," Tony muttered to himself – he would need to tell all about this to Rhodey later, Tony mused, momentarily distracted by the thought of sexy nurse outfits.

Some people might have thought it odd that he was thinking about sexy nurses moments after experiencing torture, moments after a giant scorpion had eaten a puppy from top of him, but it was one of Tony's more unorthodox coping mechanisms and it helped him to get a grasp of reality, to ground himself with an ounce of normalcy.

The glass shards were still green and bright in the dim lantern light, despite of the blood on them. Tony studied them warily, albeit with curiosity. Moving glass objects were undeniably fascinating and although Tony would have been more than happy to blast them out of existence, he was also interested in figuring out how they worked, what made them move, where they had come from.

With his mind busy coming up with possible theories about the scorpions' origins, Tony's body took over and he began to "mind walk": He took his socks off and, wearing one of the socks on his hand like a glove to protect his skin, he carefully gathered all the glass into a neat pile. Then, he put the biggest potato he could find inside the other sock and tied a knot at the base before sticking the shards into the potato through the sock's fabric, thus making himself a club.

It was primitive as far as Tony's usual weaponry went and clumsy – at best – as far as clubs were considered, but at least he now had a weapon on him. All that now was needed was a chance to use it.

The kidnappers had been gone for quite some time now, having left Tony after their recorded torture session - "the questioning", as the kidnappers had had the nerve to call it – and since then, Tony had been in his cell alone. It must have been hours now, Tony was certain of it, and although he wasn't in any hurry for the men to come back, the possibility that The Scorpion might wonder to his cell when he was on his own made him more anxious than he cared to admit even to himself.

His kidnappers might have considered The Scorpion something divine, but Tony hadn't seen anything divine. All he had seen was an animal with primal instincts, an animal that had learnt that it would get an easy meal if it followed the sound of humming, or whatever it was that The Salivating Scorpions used to call for it.

Tony didn't know why The Scorpion hadn't eaten him, too, when he had laid there on the altar on display, he didn't know why it had only satisfied its hunger with the puppy - it must have had something to do with the presence of the kidnappers – but he was positive that if The Scorpion was to encounter him in the tunnels under different circumstances, it would want to eat him like the predatory animal it was.

And if it found Tony in the locked cell? Well, Tony could only hope that the bars were secure enough to keep a giant scorpion at bay – and how ironic was that, to hope that the bars keeping him imprisoned were as secure as possible!

Now, alone in his cell, Tony could hear the distant roar of the Atlantic Ocean coming from above him. It was a constant deep rumble, a constant reminder that he might drown at any moment, if the engineering of the underground compound failed and the water began to pour in. It would only take one small crack, Tony knew, one small crack and nothing would stop the ocean from flooding the tunnels and his cell – if it were to happen when Tony was alone in his cell, the chances were that the cell would become his grave since he didn't believe the kidnappers would under such circumstances run to unlock the door for him.

"Fuck them," Tony said out loud, just to get something else to listen to but the constant sound of the roaring ocean above him. "Fuck them all. With no lube."

No-one answered, not that he had been expecting an answer.


By the time the kidnappers came back from lunch, Tony had located several green potatoes because he knew they contained solanine, a poison, and although he didn't have either the time or the equipment to isolate the solanine, he figured he might use the green potatoes for something if ever the opportunity showed itself.

Or rather, he had been terribly bored and had needed something – anything – to do.

Hearing approaching steps, Tony's first instinct was to grasp his club, but as soon as he could distinct that several people were approaching, he swore to himself, coming to the decision that the odds were too much against him - he needed to wait for a better opportunity to use the club or he would simply be overpowered and the club would be taken from him – and so he quickly hid the club underneath the potato hills, just as he had done with the green potatoes and the cords.

When Henson, Gregory, Mole, the photographer and two goons appeared, Tony was already sitting near the door, munching a raw potato with as much gusto as he was able to summon while shivering, shirtless, and wearing drenched trousers with the smell of the puppy's blood still lingering around.

"I'm on a lunch break," he told the kidnappers as soon as they came to a halt on the other side of the bars. "Come back later, or better yet, contact my people and schedule a meeting. I'm a busy man."

"We did indeed contact your people," said Henson jovially. "Even if you won't give us what The Scorpion needs, perhaps your people will be more reasonable when they see how unpleasant your stay with us has been so far."

Tony's anger flared up at Henson's words.

"What did you do? he demanded, jumping up to his feet, grasping the bars for support when the sudden movement made his head spin. "What the hell did you bastards do?"

"We sent your friends in the Tower some image files and a video of the questioning," Mole said with a smirk. "They must have received them by now."

Anxiety and worry coursed through Tony, as the mental image of Rhodey and Vision seeing him battered and bloody hit him. It had been but hours since they had seemingly witnessed his death and now they would have to see him tortured – the idea made Tony feel helpless and guilty, even though it wasn't his fault that he had been kidnapped, and he hated the kidnappers for what they were making his friends – his family – go through. At least, Tony tried to reassure himself, at least Rhodey and Vision and Pepper would have proof that he hadn't been dead when he had been taken from the Tower, they would have proof that the scorpion figurine hadn't killed him after all.

Tony could only hope that Spider-Man had had the sense to not look at any of the material the kidnappers had provided for them. Peter shouldn't be subjected to such things – Tony had long since forgotten what it had been like to be innocent and, if truth be told, he didn't place much value on such things, but nor did he want to be the cause of Peter becoming more hardened, more cynical, more… like Tony.

Peter was better than that. Way better.

Peter was even better than what Tony had – mistakenly – believed Steve to be.

"I'll let you know that my parents were happily married when they had me, Stark," grumbled Gregory. "I'm no bastard, so refrain from calling me that from now on."

"I didn't know siblings were allowed to get married in Miami."

"Do not insult my Dearest," said Henson in the most threatening tone Tony had heard him use thus far. "This is not personal, so don't make it personal."

Tony stared at Henson with disbelief.

"You kinda made this personal when you took me from my own fucking bedroom," he said, unable to hide the anger from his tone. "You made this personal when you made my friends believe I was dead. You made this personal when you made my friends suffer! If I want to call your 'Dearest' a product of incest and accuse you of bestiality since your 'Dearest' looks like a gorilla, then I-"

That was as far as Tony got before he was yanked forward by the throat and pulled against the cold metal bars painfully hard.

"You're full of shit, Stark," Gregory snarled at his face so furiously that spit flew out of his mouth onto Tony. Up close, Tony could see Gregory's split lip clearly, it looked like it had to smart – Tony wished he had kicked the man harder. "You're full of shit and you don't deserve to ever even mention my husband. So stop annoying me – I already want you fucking dead."

"So now necrophilia is your thing?" the words were out before Tony had managed to think them through. And because he had a terrible impulse control and he just couldn't hold his tongue, even if he knew he would later pay for it, he added, "Sorry, buddy, but I'm not going to be playing along with your fantasies."

"I have warned you, Stark," Gregory hissed, "I have warned you that I don't like jokes."

"How come you married one then?"

The hand around his neck tightened and Tony no longer had enough air to breathe, let alone to talk. His sight turned foggy due to tears of pain and he clawed at Gregory, trying to force the man to let go off him, but his arms were grasped from behind - the kidnappers must have opened the cell door – and they were pinned behind his back in an effective arm lock.

"For someone supposedly intelligent, your behavior certainly is stupid," said Henson. "What on Earth are you trying to achieve by antagonizing us? Are you suicidal, is that it? Let him go, DT. We still need him alive."

The pressure around his throat disappeared and Tony gagged and gasped and wheezed, trying to get air in his lungs.

He wasn't suicidal, no, but he had a tendency to build walls around himself with words, to mask his pain and fear and uncertainty behind walls of words. He rather had his captors see him as infuriating than for what he really was - helpless and afraid and completely at their mercy.

He also had a sort of bad impulse control, he had to admit, and if a comment popped into his head, it likely popped out of his mouth as well.

"In all honesty, I had expected you to be more co-operative," said Henson when Mole and the two other goons had dragged Tony into the tunnel to face Henson and a seething Gregory. "I had actually even dared to hope that seeing The Scorpion would entice you as it has enticed us – I had dared to hope that you might want to join us in Her service. I now see, however, that you will never be one of the enlightened ones, you will never become a Salivating Scorpion. Your wealth and your skills would have been great advantages for us, it's such a pity."

"We want you here even less than you want to be here," Henson continued, "but The Scorpion needs blood suitable for Her, strong blood, and we believe that only your friend can provide it for Her. Tell us where to find your friend and all this will be over and you can go home. Until we have your friend, you will be the one to provide the blood for Her."


Eventually they stopped asking questions.

They stopped asking questions when it became obvious that Tony wasn't going to give answers, but they still brought him into the storage room every now and then to "remind him of the situation", to remind him that he could be free and return to his tower any moment he liked to. By way of "reminding" him, they would cut him with knives and pour salt onto the wounds, they would held his head underwater in a barrel until he saw bright spots.

"You can end this," Henson would say when they did it. "We don't need to do this. This is your choice, you have chosen this – you can also choose to be free."

Tony didn't want to be like Obadiah, like Steve – he didn't betray people. He let them down and was overall disappointing, sure, but he didn't betray them. Stubbornly, Tony refused to give in, he refused to betray someone whom he had once considered one of his best friends and so he didn't tell the kidnappers a thing about Steve or Wakanda.

Sometimes he thought he heard his mother whispering in his ear, telling him that it wouldn't be betrayal if he made the pain stop by giving the kidnappers answers. It wouldn't be betrayal, she insisted, it wouldn't be comparable to Obadiah's deeds or to what Steve had done. Save yourself, my darling, she begged and Tony always turned his head away from her with tears on his cheeks.

Sometimes, a few times, Tony wondered if any of it was even real – he wondered if Steve and the rest of Steve's people had captured him and if this was Wanda's way of tormenting him, if this was one of the nightmares Wanda had Tony to endure. He knew she hadn't forgiven him for the things she blamed him for and although he wasn't sure if she still hated him so much that she would do this to him, he knew she was childish in many ways and might not fully understand the dire consequences her actions could have. In any case, in his mind hazy with pain and exhaustion, there remained the stubborn resolution to not give in, regardless of whether the kidnappers were real or something Wanda had created.

"Steve Rogers was the best of men," his father's voice would tell Tony while the kidnappers held his head underwater. "I'm sure you're aware that you, Anthony, of all people, could never compare to Captain Rogers, but be as it may, you are now being foolish. Captain Rogers can look after himself - and so must you. I created the serum, I know it can keep Rogers safe, but even if it wouldn't, my greatest creation is you and your safety is more important to me than his. Tell them where to find Rogers and save yourself, my boy. Or will you disappoint me by dying here, by dying like this, underground, already buried like a trapped rat?

When the kidnappers felt like they had "reminded" Tony enough, they would drag Tony to the altar. They would make him bleed and then they would hum and The Scorpion would appear from the shadows to lick the blood off of him.

"Your blood, or your friend's? It's your decision," Henson would tell him afterwards, but Tony – terrified, crying, often having a panic attack – couldn't ever even find the breath to curse at him.


"He was building a bomb!"

Exasperated, Tony looked up at KT from where he was being held against a wall right outside the cell door with his cheek pressed uncomfortably against the rough, cold stone. Mole had a gun pressed against his neck, and even though Tony doubted the man would actually shoot him, he wasn't going to test that theory any time soon – no, sir, thank you, sir – and not only because that might earn him a concussion and Tony couldn't afford getting a concussion under the circumstances - he was planning on escaping, after all, and a concussion would be a hindrance.

"I saw it myself," KT kept going on, his tattooed arms gesturing wildly from Tony to the remains of the potatoes he had smashed with the heels of his combat boots. "There was a ticking sound coming from it, I could hear it!"

Tony rolled his eyes.

"I might have saved The Scorpion by destroying the bomb!"

"Um, excuse you for just a minute there!" Tony had to put in because, seriously? That was just insulting. "That's just insulting. If I had been building a bomb, you couldn't have been able to get rid of it by stepping onto it. My explosives do what they have been designed to do – they explode, therefore it should be easy to conclude that that wasn't a bomb."

"Then what was it?" KT demanded, marching to Tony, leaning so close that Tony could smell the coffee in his breath. "Tell us, Stark, what the hell were you doing? And don't try to give us any of your usual bullshit."

"I built a water clock," Tony answered honestly. "It was a fucking water clock. As I was telling you before you began to stomp on it."

Measuring time reliably was difficult when you were underground, being tortured. Based on the scruffy stubble already ruining his immaculately groomed goatee (much to his chagrin), it had now been at least five days since he had been kidnapped. By now, approximately five days since his kidnapping, Tony had lost his sense of time. There were no clocks, no sunsets, no sunrises, no stars, no Moon, nothing but his bodily functions, his heartbeats and the growth of his facial hair, but none of those were reliable enough methods for measuring time, especially as his internal clock was used to his erratic way of living and hadn't therefore ever truly adapted to going to bed at a certain time or getting routinely up at the same hour.

In any case, they were too subjective, the depth of his hunger and thirst and the need to pee, and his heart beat too irregularly, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, and counting one hundred heartbeats when he woke up didn't necessarily take the same amount of time as counting the same amount of heartbeats would when he was brought back to his cell.

Measuring time underground reliably might have had its challenges, but – but – it wasn't impossible, which Tony had proved by building the water clock: Tony had hollowed out potatoes and joined them by using a finger joint, by interlocking fingers. He had then poured some of his scant water resources (one full glass) into it and the clock had worked perfectly, beautifully, just as Tony had known it would. It had given him a sense of reality, the clock had proved to him that time was still passing even if it had almost started to feel like it didn't, that all this was actually happening, that it wasn't one of Wanda's nightmares. In that sense, too, the water clock had worked perfectly – that was, until KT had walked by and had happened to see it.

"A water clock my ass," KT now said, spinning around to face Henson and Gregory who had both followed him into the tunnel from Tony's cell, where they had been studying the remains of the water clock. "I heard a ticking sound, I swear I did! There was a ticking sound coming from it!"

"Water drops," Tony snapped, losing his patience. "It was the sound of water drops, you imbecile. God, how stupid can you get!"

The gun on his neck was pressed deeper into his skin and Tony bit his tongue to keep quiet.

Gregory gave Tony an impassive look, but other than that he and Henson didn't seem to be paying Tony any mind – even though he was their current topic of conversation.

"We underestimated him," stated Henson, taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples as if he was having a headache. "It's quite a feat that he managed to build anything in his current circumstances and obviously he couldn't have been building a bomb out of potatoes, but this nevertheless goes to show that he's innovative and won't let a lack of resources affect his creativity."

"He's more trouble than he's worth," Gregory might have looked impassive, but his voice was full of venom and ice. "We leave him alone with some potatoes for a little while and the next thing we know: a potential bomb threat! There must be an easier way for us to reach our goal, sweetheart. I say we feed him to The Scorpion and get rid of this problem for once and for all."

"After all the trouble we've been through to get him?" Henson shook his head slowly. "No, Dearest, as tempting as that might be, we must let our heads rule our hearts. He's more useful to us alive than dead."

Henson gave Tony a calculated look.

"From now on," he said, "we will not let him alone for a moment. From now on, someone will be guarding him at all times."

Tony cursed himself for having made the mistake of giving his kidnappers a demonstration of his potential – he should have at least waited until he had the materials to build a bomb for real.


They didn't feed Tony to The Scorpion. Instead, they made him empty the cell of all potatoes, every single last one of them. He was given a sack and he filled it with the potatoes, carrying the filled sack further down the tunnel where he emptied it before going back for more potatoes.

The kidnappers didn't move a finger to help him, but when they noticed the cords and the clumsy club Tony had tried to hide underneath the potato piles, they became aggravated and, again, accused him of "attempted bomb building". KT and JN ended up moving the last of the potato hills from the cell to the tunnel, while Tony was taken to "further questioning".

The resulting hours – the pain, the torture – felt endless and afterwards Tony couldn't quite recall how it all had begun, even if he knew it had to do with time and potatoes.


Tony laid on his back on the ground. He was shivering and he could tell that he was starting to develope a fever. He had a headache and he wanted little more than to sleep, preferably covered with a blanket. Unfortunately, no blankets were given to him and his sleep was disturbed by the sounds coming from the tunnel right outside his cell.

"As a general rule, I don't mind kinky stuff," said Tony, staring sourly at the ceiling. "If all parties involved are into it and if there's consent all around, I admit I'm not entirely against some good old-fashioned voyeurism and a bit of light-hearted exhibitionism, but I have to say it's so not my thing to be held underground against my will while two of my kidnappers get it on outside my cell. I mean, a little consideration here, guys!"

If Tony hadn't guessed it before, he would have found out that Henson and Gregory were a thing, a couple, an item – interested in fucking each other, frankly put it – when Henson had appeared from the shadows some moments earlier to "cheer up" his "Dearest", who had been standing on guard outside Tony's cell since Tony – bloody and sobbing – had been dumped into it after their latest torture session. Based on what Henson and Gregory had been moaning to each other the past few moments, it had been weeks since the last time they had had sex and so Henson had decided to "seize the first opportunity" the two of them were "alone" – apparently they didn't consider Tony a person enough that it would have bothered them to have a quick fuck while he was present.

"The room service here sucks ass," Tony said, trying to block out the obscure sounds of pleasure coming from behind him. "Quite literally. Seriously, at least get me some earplugs."

They didn't. Instead, their voices grew louder and soon enough the smell of sex mixed with the earthy, dank smell of Tony's cell and the smell of iron that had been following Tony for quite a while now due to his bloodied state, much to his displeasure.

"I've made a mental list of the crimes you've committed against me," he let the two men know in a matter-of-fact voice, addressing the ceiling, "and I'm pretty sure that this counts as some form of sexual offense, so I'm going to add this to the list."

"Can't you shut up for one minute, Stark!" Gregory's snarl echoed in the tunnel. The man sounded out of breath. "I swear I'll come in there to beat the shit out of you, if you d-"

"Better not 'come in here', lover boy," Tony shot right back, cutting the man off – it wasn't probably his wisest move to antagonize Gregory on purpose, but enough was enough and being forced to listen to his kidnappers have sex was just crossing the line. "That might disappoint your husband, although considering he married you in the first place, he must be used to disappointments by now."

There was a furious growl and Tony tensed, fully expecting the man to wrench the cell door open at any moment. He prepared himself for the kick he expected to get from his words, but before anything of the sort could happen, Henson said, "Ignore him, Dearest. He'll pay for those comments later, but ignore him for now and focus on me," which was apparently enough for Gregory to push Tony out of his mind for the time being since Tony didn't get tossed around after all.

"I've missed this, I've missed us," Henson was gasping but a moment later. "Oh, Carl, let me feel how strong you are, mm, yes – I love how big you are all over."

"Put your arms around my neck and I'll lift you up like this."

"Size kink," Tony muttered. "Figures. And for the record, too much information."

Tony did pay for his comments, later.

After Henson and Gregory were done with their shared moment of passion, Henson stayed outside Tony's cell to get his breath back, while Gregory instantly left only to return later carrying a large bucket full of blood.

If Tony had thought that the smell of dry blood around him had been bad before, now the poignant musty smell felt overpowering in his confined cell. Usually the metallic scent of iron reminded him of his work shop, his tools as familiar to him as his own hands, of home, but here, underground, unable to escape the ruddy smell, it felt raw and reminded him of cruel actions, of the weapons he had once designed in his workshop, of the gaping hole in his chest when he had lied on the ground in Afghanistan believing he had met his death.

"Is this your version of cuddling after sex?" Tony barely heard his voice from the sound of his pounding heart. "Because if it is, I don't want to know what you consider spooning."

"I don't cuddle," said Gregory without an ounce of humor. "Or spoon. This is an improved version of water torture - I do recall you saying something about water torture being 'last decade'."

The bottom of Tony's stomach seemed to drop.

"To each their own," he managed. "Just make sure your partner consents."

"This is not for him," stated Gregory, grinding his teeth. "I would never hurt him! Apart from The Scorpion, he's my only love."

"You sure have a thing for venomous creatures."


Drowning, drowning, drowning in blood.

In his mind, Tony was screaming and crying and begging for mercy, but he never uttered a word out loud. Couldn't have if he had tried to, as Gregory and Henson never gave him the chance. By the time they were done with him, Tony was unconscious.


They wrote a message to Rhodes. It contained the kidnappers' demands and informed Rhodey that he would get Tony back in exchange for "SR" whilst also stating that Tony would suffer in "SR's" place if Rhodes refused to co-operate.

"Sign the letter," Henson ordered Tony. "With your initials only, mind you - that's how The Scorpion prefers it now that you have been purified."

Tony was seething - and afraid, afraid for Rhodes, afraid of how Rhodey would react, afraid Rhodey would do something hasty and get in trouble along with Tony. He didn't want to sign, he really didn't, but he was exhausted and so, so cold and hurting and if he just put his initials on the damn letter, the men would leave him be.

Rhodey would understand if Tony signed the letter, that Tony knew. Rhodey wouldn't think he was weak. And they were just his initials, right? It wasn't like he would betray Steve if he put his initials on the letter.

Resigned and more than ready for rest, Tony reached for the pen and the letter. He scrawled "T.S." on the bottom of the letter and even behaved so well and politely that he tried to hand the pen back over to Henson. Therefore it was quite a surprise to him when Henson slapped him and told him to use his "blessed initials".

Sighing, Tony drew a line over "T.S." and wrote "A.S." beneath it – only to get slapped again, this time by Gregory.

"Stop kidding around," Gregory told him, holding him by the hair. "Your blessed initials, now, before I lose my patience."

"A.E.S. for Anthony Edward Stark? You should've told me you wanted the middle name, too," Tony muttered, which earned him yet another slap.

"Why is everything so difficult with you?" sighed Henson. "Just sign with 'SK' and stop messing around."

"SK?" Tony echoed with a snort. "Those are not my initials. What do you think they stand for, Sony Kark? My name is Tony Stark, therefore my initials are 'T.S.', or 'A.S.', if you want to go with Anthony Stark."

"No," said Henson slowly. "That's not the way of The Scorpion. According to Her, your initials are 'SK' - the first and the last letter of your surname, like the beginning and ending of the night when The Scorpion rules. That's why I sometimes call Johnson 'JN' and Dearest 'DT', for instance, and the same rule applies to all those who have either been purified or whose blood is strong and pure enough without the purificiation, such as your hiding friend's. In written documents, these people should only ever be referred to with the use of their blessed initials."

"For the record," said Tony, "that's idiotic and makes no sense. So I suppose it all suits you, come to think of it."

Tony signed the letter with "S.K." as he had been instructed, too tired to use his energy to fight over such a minor thing. He needed to spare his strength for when it was truly needed, he knew, and fighting over initials in such circumstances would have been rather a waste of strength and energy.

That's when the thought hit his tired mind and he quickly recalled the letter The Salivating Scorpions had sent him.

Where is SR, your ever so loyal friend? You may tell him that hiding is
as useless as his efforts to "do good".
We are hungry and we are coming.
We are salivating for blood.
Whose shall it be?
His?
Or yours?
That depends entirely on you, Anthony Stark.

"Hold on a second," Tony said. "If you use the first and the last letter of the name for your version of 'initials', wouldn't the initials for Steve Rogers be either 'S.E.' for Steve or 'R.S.' for Rogers?"

"That's correct," said Henson, "although I fail to see what that has to do with anything. Are you suggesting that we should write a letter to Steve Rogers as well, that he might be more likely to co-operate on your behalf?"

"No," said Tony quickly. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "But if you think Rogers' initials would be 'R.S.', whose initials are the ones you used in the letter you sent me, whose initials are 'S.R.' if they don't stand for Steve Rogers?"

Henson gave him a slow look as if he thought Tony had just lost his mind.

"Your friend's, of course," Henson answered. "His blood would obviously be the most suitable for The Scorpion, strong as it is - and, more importantly, that's what scorpions like to eat: spiders. 'SR' obviously stands for Spider - your friend who cannot be found, your friend who hides his identity, your hiding friend. How hard did you hit him? I think he's become confused."

The last two sentences were said to Gregory, but Tony barely heard them. His mind was roaring, he wanted to scream; the situation had just gone from bad to worse.

His kidnappers didn't want Steve Rogers.

They wanted "Spider".

They wanted Peter.


A/N: If you're having thoughts, I would LOVE to hear them. ;)