Chapter Three: This Must Be the Work of Fiendish Scoundrels
Tony squinted through his shades at the peach stucco façade of the Admirals' Club. The immaculate gold letters of the sign winked in the noonday sun. He passed right by. It was bright and breezy, perfect Malibu weather, the street was practically empty, and his actual destination was about four blocks away. The Stark Industries grapevine had been crackling lately about The Crab Shack, an under-the-radar joint right here in Malibu that boasted a skuzzy exterior, famously grumpy waiters and the best seafood south of the Bay. Therefore, he and Jim Rhodes were walking in its general direction.
Jim's duties as an Air Force colonel had recently escalated into a week of overwhelming mayhem, so he was taking a well-deserved sick day and playing hooky. Pepper, hearing of this, had cleared Tony's schedule for five hours so they could have some "guy time." And when Tony figured out what she'd done, he'd ordered her to take the rest of the day off, and not return home without a decent-sized shopping bag that contained at least one pair of ridiculously overpriced shoes. She left at eleven that morning with a smile and a quiet, "Thank you, Mr. Stark," and soon after, Tony called Jim and announced that he was dragging him out here for a little R&R in the form of good tap beer and fresh buttered lobster. Then he called Happy and gave him the day off, and went to pick up Jim himself in the R8.
And here they were. Both men were windblown and ruddy-cheeked, completely at their ease as they strolled down the street. The proof was in the jeans (Tony's holey and Jim's spotless) and the t-shirts. Tony had wrapped an ace bandage over his arc reactor to hide the glow and thrown on his absolute favorite, a faded brown one that read, "National Sarcasm Society – Like We Need Your Support." He topped it with a blazer to at least give the impression of being put-together. Jim ambled along next to him, enjoying the sun, hands in his pockets. He wore a smirk-worthy number under his bomber jacket that proudly announced "Wingman" in silver letters, with three stylized jets taking off. Tony had given it to him last year.
Jim had yet to get the joke. "So how's she doing with it?" he asked.
"She flies like a bird," Tony said proudly.
It had been two weeks since he'd taken Pepper up those first terrifying six feet of air, but since then, whenever she'd worked from the mansion she'd been going on "coffee breaks" – i.e. sneaking off to fly around in her super suit – on a regular basis. Jarvis had the security tapes to prove it. Tony wasn't mad, though. Far from it. She still got all her work done, she was clearly enjoying herself, and he was getting a kick out of the whole thing. In fact, the first time he saw her zip past the living room window and soar out over the Pacific, taking care not to fly too high (safety first!), he had to pretend very hard at dinner that nothing was amiss. It was sort of a miracle she hadn't caught him smiling into his Chinese take-out.
"You should see her," he went on. He'd made sure to catch Jim up on the ride over here, informing him about the birthday present and Pepper's progress. Since his best friend piloted the gleaming War Machine armor, it was only fair that he know about all this. "It's beautiful."
Jim smiled. "What kind of capabilities does the suit have?" He figured this was a rhetorical question – no way would Tony build something for Pepper that could be dangerous.
"Oh, ya know, this n' that," Tony shrugged. "Flight, super-strength, flares, chest cannon, arm cannons, missiles, targeting system… Don't worry, she doesn't know to access any of the really crazy stuff –"
"Whoa whoa whoa," Jim interrupted, stopping them both cold. "Hold up. Arm cannons? Missiles? Are you kidding me?"
Tony looked at him, completely nonplussed. "No, I'm not kidding. What's the problem, Rhodey?"
Jim stared. "What's the problem?" he repeated in disbelief, shuffling into an at-ease stance and putting his hands on his hips. "Tony, she's a civilian. She's your assistant, man, not a soldier! She has no training to handle firepower like that."
"Hey, neither do I," Tony pointed out.
No such thing as a free lunch, the colonel thought as he closed his eyes, 'Cause there's free aggravation while you wait. "It's a little different with you. You know that," he explained patiently, trying to keep his cool. "You built the thing. You know how to use it responsibly. Plus, you have a top gun pilot, namely me, flying another thing you built."
"So?"
Jim gritted his teeth for a second. "So, you and I know how to take care of business in those suits. Pepper. Does. Not." When Tony failed to react, he shook his head in disgust. "Dude, you are unbelievable. What the hell were you thinking?"
Tony speared him with a glare. "Well, let's see. I was thinking that missiles are good for repelling bad guys, and Pepper should have some, because I refuse – shut up," he cut in when Jim tried to speak, "I refuse to let someone important to me fly around in a shiny, attention-attracting suit without any way of defending herself. You know as well as I do that she's safer for it. You would take that away from her?" He pulled out his own brand of slightly overdone disappointment. "I am appalled, Rhodey. Just appalled."
Jim puffed up indignantly at the notion that he somehow didn't have Pepper's safety in mind, and said the first thing that occurred to him. "You're a fucking idiot."
Tony crossed his arms. "Oh yeah? Bring it, sky pussy. Come on."
But Tony and Jim had known each other for so long that stupid insults like these had lost their kick. More words weren't necessary anyway; they'd each said their piece, and now a silent stare-off would determine the victor. It went on for a good minute and a half while Tony postured and Jim glared and it eventually ended in a draw, because Jim's stomach burbled loudly enough for Tony to hear and they looked sheepishly at each other. The high ranking military officer shook his head in embarrassment, the CEO of Stark Industries smoothed down his wrinkled t-shirt, and they continued on their way.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tony teased. "Come on, let's go get some grub. I didn't get breakfast."
Jim rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth for the moment and went along with it. They walked in silence towards the seafood joint. Tony was staring straight ahead, hunting for the place. Jim glanced all around while thinking furiously about Pepper's suit, which, come to think of it, he had yet to see. Maybe after a few drinks he could convince Tony to make some modifications to the damn thing.
They were fifteen feet from the restaurant … when suddenly they weren't.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Pepper twirled before the full-length mirror in Just Cavalli at the Beverly Center while a perfectly coiffed young man, ruthlessly pressed into his lightweight sweater and slacks, walked over to her with a few more dresses. She'd been so preoccupied with shopping that she'd put off lunch, and it was now 3 PM so her stomach was trying to get her attention by growling. She ignored it and shot herself a narrow-eyed, come-hither look in the mirror. The sales associate gave her an appraising glance and said "Rowr!" over his armfuls of fabric.
She turned around and grinned. "You like?"
He nodded. She "liked," too. She'd been interested in getting her hands on something a little more fashion-forward that could work for the office and transition to an evening engagement, and she bit her bottom lip while she admired herself. The dress alone – a gorgeous black number with short sleeves and huge, deep pink orchids exploding across the knee-length skirt – cost over a grand. The adorable leather jacket that went with it was nearly three times that. Fortunately, working for Tony Stark had effectively immunized her against sticker shock, and he'd probably appreciate seeing her in this anyway.
"You know, I'm so close to just taking this one, but let's see what else you found," she said kindly, gesturing at the associate's finds.
He lit up with excitement. "Sure!"
Just as he began to spread out his loot on a nearby table, a jazzy little tune started up in Pepper's purse.
"Oh, excuse me," she said, clicking over in her heels and plucking out the cheerily ringing cell phone. She frowned slightly at the picture attached to the caller ID. It was Tony, which didn't make any sense. Wasn't he out with Jim eating shrimp, or something? What the heck was he calling for? To add to the strangeness, she realized she was holding her work phone, which he never used to reach her. But then again, there was no accounting for Tony's weirdness. She just rolled with it and hit Send. "Yes, Mr. Stark, what is it? Do you and the colonel need a lift home from the restaurant?" she asked sweetly. Aaaand … pause for witty rejoinder …
"Hiiiiiiiihhhh…"
Pepper pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. What the…? Apparently Tony had lost his phone and Darth Vader had picked it up.
"Um, hello?" she asked cautiously, pulling the phone back up. The labored breathing, which almost sounded like static, continued. "Tony, if this some kind of prank, I swear to –"
"Virginia Potts," said a voice on the other end. It sounded scrambled. Pepper had been around enough techno-doodads to recognize what that distinctive "there's a woofer and a tweeter speaking at once" vocal stamp meant. "We have abducted Mr. Tony Stark and Colonel James Rhodes. Do not contact Stark Industries, and do not contact the police. We are monitoring you remotely and if you try either, they will be put to death immediately."
WHAT? Her heart started to pump painfully. Just the word "abducted" was tempting her halfway into a panic. But Pepper, as a high-level employee of Stark Industries, had been trained to deal with worst-case scenarios like this and she managed to keep her cool for a critical thirty seconds. First things first: take care of business and get the hell out of here so she could deal with this mess in the privacy of Tony's house.
"Before we get to your demands," she said quietly, eyes riveted on the back of her assistant, who was absorbed in laying out the rest of the dresses, "I want proof of life. Send a photo." And she hung up her phone with a snap, not giving the kidnapper another chance to speak. It was Negotiation 101. The first play was over and the ball was in the criminal's court. Basic protocol. Didn't stop her from shaking, though. She had to get out of here.
Her assistant looked up curiously from where he was still arranging the dresses, with a sweet sort of "Hmm?" expression. He hadn't heard her. Good. "Miss?" he asked. "Is everything all right?"
"A-Absolutely," she said, with a gentle smile. "It's just that I've been suddenly called away."
"Oh, that's not cool," he said, and actually pouted.
Pepper turned on the charm. "No, it isn't. However, this dress is coming with me, and so is the jacket. In fact, I think I'll wear it out. Could you, you know," she turned around, "Cut the tag? I really do need to be on my way."
The eager salesman hurried off for a pair of scissors. Two minutes and a credit card swipe later, Pepper was hurrying off juggling a purse, a Cavalli bag with a jacket in it, and her work phone. It lit up and started to play music, announcing that "Tony" was calling again, just as she reached the marble-floored elevator for the parking garage and pressed the button hard. The doors shot open and she got in alone, face going white as the phone continued to ring. The doors slid shut. As soon as she was alone, she flipped her phone open. She almost dropped it.
"Oh my God!"
There on her screen was a photo of Tony and Jim. Both men were on their knees on a cement floor and affixed – she wasn't sure how – to a metal water pipe running between them. Jim was blindfolded and gagged. Tony wasn't blindfolded or gagged, but only because he had much bigger problems. He was listing to the left, clearly unconscious. Blood trickled down the side of his face and dripped from his nose and mouth.
Pepper felt her heart slamming against her ribs. For all the emotional blocks she put up to protect herself and for all the bimbos Tony brought home (although to be fair that seemed to have stopped), he was a lot more than just her boss and she was a lot more than just his employee. And she'd seen enough terrifying footage of him in a hostage situation for the rest of her life, thank you very much. Blood on his t-shirt (the funny one she'd given him a few years ago, she noted ruefully), jaw slack, Jim trussed up next to him like a turkey… She shook her head. How did this happen? These two healthy, strong men hadn't been able to put up enough of a fight to escape. And between Tony's iron will and Jim's combat training, they really should have managed something that didn't end with them tied to a pipe.
So these kidnappers were obviously pros. She bit her lip as she squinted at Tony's rapidly swelling right eye. Whoever they were, they weren't above roughing up a famous face to prove a point. They meant business. So what the hell did they want?
The elevator continued its descent into the parking garage and the phone buzzed again, announcing another incoming picture message. This time, the number was Restricted. Of course with her luck, it was probably also prime coded or backshot or triple-bounced or whatever the latest word was for making something untraceable. With a shaking finger, Pepper steeled herself and hit the button to open it. It looked like a shot of a computer screen. The type was black against a white background and read:
WE HAVE GIVEN YOU PROOF OF LIFE.
WE DEMAND THE SUIT IN EXCHANGE FOR THE LIVES OF ANTHONY STARK AND JAMES RHODES.
CALL 411 TO INITIATE CONTACT. DO IT WITHIN TEN MINUTES.
The "or else" part was left unwritten but Pepper's imagination was already producing it in lurid Technicolor. She leaned against the back wall of the elevator and stared with a dry mouth and rabbiting heart at the lowering numbers on the floor display before flipping back to the sad picture of Tony and Jim. Things were making a depressing amount of sense, now. The suit. It all came down to the damn suit. The kidnappers clearly knew about Tony's amazing invention – not to mention its creator – because Idiot Man, with his super-powered Lack of Self-Control, had announced his secret identity at a freaking press conference last year.
Thinking about that conference and the following media relay she'd run still made her mad, so she focused on the present as the elevator inched its way down. Well. The kidnappers wanted the Iron Man suit. They'd obviously asked Tony to give it to them. He'd obviously said no, and they'd obviously punched him in the face a lot to express their displeasure. So there were two things she needed to do. She had to get back to the mansion and get Jarvis to help her with this. But first she needed to hurry up and call 411 – this was so surreal – which would somehow put her through to the kidnappers. (She wasn't quite sure how that would work.) And then she'd have to figure out how to negotiate this lunacy so that Tony and Jim wouldn't be sent back to Stark Industries one piece at a time.
Level G3 couldn't come fast enough. The elevator doors opened and she bolted for her car.