AN look i wrote this before civil war so there are Some Things in here that's just gonna twist the knife. i know. it's rough. i didn't intend this, but here we are.
(but seriously who am i kidding I WROTE THIS CHAPTER TO HURT.)
iv.
"Mr. Stark."
"Mm, yeah? Wes, could you make it snappy, I'm kinda busy at the second."
Wesley trailed after Tony as he swung through the main floor of the mansion. Tony normally moved in a flurry, with purpose. Now he was almost frenetic, picking things up, putting them down, glancing over them for two seconds before tossing them aside.
"Mr. Stark, might I ask what you're looking for?"
"I dunno, just making sure I didn't leave anything before I went back downstairs."
"Before you go, there are some things—"
"Seriously, Wesley, I've got maaaaybe two minutes before I need to get downstairs and keep my science-y science stuff from overheating."
"Then after you keep your 'science-y' stuff from exploding, could we talk?" Wesley asked, hurrying after Tony to the workshop.
"Uh, melting, actually. It'd melt. Through the table, through the floor, through the bedrock, probably." Tony opened the workshop door and swung in, leaving it to nearly close on Wesley.
Wesley let out a sigh through his nose, trying to unclench his teeth. Speaking to Tony had become impossible the last few days. Last couple of weeks, if he was being honest. He had become almost myopic since Manhattan.
Since handing the company over to Pepper, Tony had played an active part in R&D, inventing and creating new things to help the company switch over to clean energy. Now he had turned his tinkering toward SHIELD's aims, or rather, the Avengers'. Tony still distrusted Fury and his methods, but he gladly helped his new unwieldy team. It was the only thing he seemed willing to do.
Tony channeled his restless energy to his desk, focus laser hot as he worked. Wesley watched for a few moments, then pressed closer.
"Mr. Stark…I've received some alarming reports about your activities."
"Yeah? Like what?" Tony asked, not looking up from his work.
"Like you not sleeping."
"Okay, that's not dramatic." Tony gave Wesley a face as he rifled through a tray, hands skittering over tools.
"JARVIS has informed me that your sleep schedule has turned erratic. You're not sleeping a solid five hours more than once every couple of days, you're consuming frankly horrifying amounts of caffeine, constantly running dangerous tests…"
"See, you say that like it's a new thing."
"I say that like you've never done it more than a week straight, which you haven't. When was the last time you slept, Mr. Stark?"
"I don't know, when I slept last? You gonna march me up to bed and tuck me in?"
"I'm not above it."
"See, Jarv, this is why we have a no snitch policy in this house," Tony said, raising his voice as though JARVIS hadn't heard the whole conversation.
"Mr. Wesley inquired about your health and I simply answered his question. Everything I told him could have been concluded from basic observation."
"Which I don't need because I'm a grown man. You know," Tony said, finally pausing in his work, "this is kind of why I bought myself a great big house and haven't asked you to stay with me; so I can be alone."
"Which is why Ms. Potts moved in several months ago."
"Yeah, but she's not mother henning me every other second, so."
Wesley let out another sigh. This was not good. This was not good on at least a dozen levels, and Tony's stonewalling didn't help. It wasn't like when he had been dying of heavy metal toxicity, there was no desperate, terrified edge to his voice. He wasn't quietly begging Wesley for help. He trying to shoo Wesley away before he noticed too much.
"Is there anything I can help with, Mr. Stark?" Wesley asked, softening his voice to show this wasn't a perfunctory question. Tony watched him for a few long moments, studying Wesley in a way he didn't have to.
"No," he said faintly. "I don't think so."
Wesley left the workshop.
"Keep me updated on Mr. Stark's condition," he told JARVIS as he climbed the steps. "I don't like where this is going. I want to head anything off before it becomes huge."
Wesley unlocked his phone and called Pepper before he left the mansion. He waited as it rang, stalking through the ridiculously bright sunlight to his car. It was after Thanksgiving, and yet it felt like July, as always. Normally, Wesley was at peace with Malibu (pretentious and sprawling as it was, it wasn't the cluttered hellhole called New York), but sometimes the pervasive heat made him crave his native Seattle.
"Hello, Wesley?"
"Ms. Potts, hello. I was just calling about Tony."
"Oh? What has he done now?" she asked, using that no nonsense CEO voice he liked so much.
"Nothing, to my knowledge, I was just concerned about some of his living habits."
"Like what?" Her voice became a touch more worried. Questions about Tony's wellbeing flagged everyone's full attention, now.
"He's not sleeping," Wesley sighed, buckling and turning on the damn AC. "I tried asking him about it, but he deflected. He seemed…chaotic, though. At first I thought he couldn't focus on anything, but when we got down into the workshop all of his attention was on his latest project."
"That doesn't sound good," Pepper hummed. "Have you noticed anything else?"
"No. That was why I was calling you. Has he seemed…off?"
"Well…I don't know. I want to say no, he's just been obsessed with whatever he's working on for the Avengers or SHIELD, but he hasn't seemed bad. Certainly not palladium poisoning bad."
"No," he said. His chest tightened at the way she pressed back the fear from her voice. So she had noticed things, too. "No, I think this is something…in his head. Every time I turn around he seems to be making something new. I have to wonder if Fury's war mongering hasn't gotten to him."
"Well, it's not really war mongering if war was attempted," Pepper pointed out.
Wesley grimaced. Stark Industries had channeled endless resources into the Manhattan reconstruction project. Months had gone by, but still the world felt wounded. Aliens made everyone reconsider things. Wesley hadn't missed how SHIELD conveniently stepped in to fill the gaps that suddenly existed everywhere. The World Security Council that governed SHIELD certainly knew how to play the game.
"Still. Keep an eye on him," Wesley said. "It doesn't help that Happy has been paranoid since he was appointed head of security. He's probably fanning the flames of whatever this is every time he speaks to Tony."
"He's trying to feel useful," Pepper said. "I mean, when I brought up the promotion he told me that he'd been thinking about changing jobs since the Avengers were announced. He knew before the rest of us that Iron Man doesn't need a body guard. Everyone kind of viewed Tony like a cartoon hero, but then after Manhattan…"
"It changed the game."
Wesley had also felt the pressure Happy was feeling. The fact had been at the back of his mind as he watched the hole in the sky through a newsfeed, had slowly constricted around Wesley's gut as he realized his job of fixing things would almost impossible in its entirety. But that was the difference between him and Happy. Iron Man still needed problems to be patched up and smoothed over. He didn't need a good chauffeur and a solid right hook.
"And it doesn't help the Ten Rings have come back," Pepper whispered, like saying their name might bring them down on their heads. Wesley's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
The terrorist group had been largely silent over the last six years. After the annihilation of the cell that had captured Tony, they had disappeared. They had slunk into the shadows as the war on terror took a more aggressive, personal, red and gold form. But they had reared up yet again, running anti-West campaigns and slaughtering western supporters in the Middle East. The alleged Mandarin had yet to identify Tony as a threat or a target, but that didn't mean much. They could have been ignoring his existence as easily as they could have been planning a surprise attack. Wesley just hoped Tony had been too busy with his incessant tinkering to notice.
"They're not going to try anything," Wesley said, in spite of his own fears. "Tony's bigger than a large ransom and an information cache, now. He's in another league. They may be insane enough to ignore the sky falling down, but they're not insane enough to try destroying one of the people that saved the earth."
"I don't know," Pepper said. "They were quiet before they kidnapped Tony. What're they going to do now that they have the world's attention?"
"We can't dwell on that."
"You're right. You're right," Pepper said, dragging in a breath. He could practically see her putting on her sleek, capable, business veneer. "Anyway, I've got a meeting in a few minutes and I still need to review some things, so I'll let you go."
"Of course," Wesley said. No one thought about Pepper, now that Tony Stark had become less interesting than his mechanical counterpart. Which was a shame, considering the woman beside him was also clad in iron.
Wesley's phone jerked him from sleep. He fumbled for a moment, disoriented as the phone hummed and chimed at him. He answered the call, eyes barely registering Tony's name on the mini supernova that was the screen.
"Hello?" he grunted, pressing a hand over his eyes (it did not help smother the image burned into his retinas). "Mr. Stark, what—what is it, what do you need?"
"Holy shit, Wesley, I messed up. I'm messed up. I don't even—this wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, I thought I was bad after Afghanistan, after the Ten Rings got ahold of me, but now they're back and it's like my life is falling apart all over again. But this didn't happen last time, I didn't lose my damn mind. It happened at the bar but that was a one off thing, right? With the crayon and creepy Ralphie Parker kid asking me how I didn't die—"
"Mr. Stark—"
"—but then I told Pepper what's going on and that's supposed to make things better, right, talking's supposed to stop whatever crap you're dealing with but now—holy shit I could have killed her, I could have killed Pepper and I wasn't even awake, what am I doing—"
"Tony," Wesley said, propping himself up on one elbow. He didn't feel tired now. He felt afraid. "Tony, tell me what's wrong. What happened?"
"You were right," he gasped, his voice scared and small through the speaker. "You had me pegged from the beginning, I've got issues and sleeping doesn't help, I just see it over and over and I can't do anything. Fix it, Wesley, please, tell me how to make things better."
"Tony," Wesley repeated, making his voice calm even though his heart was screaming in his chest. This didn't sound like Tony. It didn't sound like him when he was angry or dodging missiles or trying to outstrip metal poisoning. Wesley sat up straight, forcing himself to be collected and self-assured even as his life tumbled around him. "Breathe. Take a moment and just breathe. Stop talking. Are you breathing?"
"…Yeah."
"Okay. What happened?"
"I—I was having—I called the suit in my sleep and when Pepper tried to wake me up…it viewed her as a threat."
Wesley was half out of bed before Tony could finish. His heart froze for a terrible second as he processed the last few words. "Did anything happen? Do I need to come over there?"
"No, no, she's fine. I powered the suit down, she's fine. She's—she's downstairs, sleeping on couch. But I could have killed her and never even—"
"Tony, no, listen to me. Tell me what else happened. Why did you call the suit in your sleep, what are you not saying?" Wesley finished standing up and hurried to his closet, fumbling in the dark for a shirt and pants.
"I keep seeing it," he whispered, voice dropping from a panicked ramble to a horrified whisper. "I flew into that wormhole and I keep seeing it. I carried a nuke on my back and I died to save everyone."
Holy fuck.
"And that's happening every time you close your eyes?" Wesley breathed, hand frozen on the sleeve of a shirt.
It made sense now. The lack of sleep, the obsessive need to make more weapons, make more protection, Wesley now realized. That was why he had turned away everything not relating to SHIELD, not relating to the world's literal defense...
"Yeah. Every time I go to sleep, I see it. The aliens, the army, the explosion, me falling…Wesley, I see it all."
"Have you told anyone else?" he said, letting go of the shirt sleeve.
"Pepper. Kind of. Not really. She knows I can't sleep, I came clean to her about that. But I couldn't just—I couldn't say it out loud. The words wouldn't come, I couldn't make myself—"
"It's okay, Tony. It's—"
"No. Don't just tell me that, Wesley, please, for the love of anything, don't tell me that 'cuz I'm freaking you out. I need you mean it, you can't lie to me right now."
"Tony. It's okay. People deal with things like this all the time."
"If you say 'trauma', I swear, I'm going to lose it," Tony warned, a borderline hysteric laugh in his voice. "I'm sitting here in a cold sweat with the pieces of my suit laying around me, and if you say anything about trauma, I'm going to lose my mind."
"No, Tony," Wesley said. "I'm not going to say it."
"Okay," he said, voice turning uncertain. This was where he started pulling back in on himself. This was where Tony regained his senses and retreated to someplace safe. "Okay, good."
They were quiet a few moments, breathing into the phone and wondering what to do next. Wesley stood there in the mouth of his closet, torn. His gut was screaming that he needed to get over to the mansion right now, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Tony didn't need human touch just then, not when he was jittery and on edge. He needed calm, he needed an anchor, he needed something to keep him balanced, even if it was just a voice through a phone.
Tony had been dealing with all of this alone, as usual, and it scared him more than death. Death was obvious, death was unavoidable, death wasn't special. Neither one of them could count how many times Tony had brushed against various forms of death. But now the genius, charming, show-stopping Tony Stark was suffering through something that geniuses, charmers, and show-stoppers weren't supposed to face.
"Don't hang up," Tony whispered. "I can't—it's a bad idea for me to be alone in my head right now."
"Of course. I'll stay here as long as you need me to."
Wesley left the closet as they continued speaking, threading his way through the apartment to the counter. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down, letting Tony's anxiety play itself out.
"I just—it's unfair to Pepper," Tony admitted. "I mean, it looks like she's got it so good, I clean up my act, I fix the palladium poisoning, but then this happens and it just—it's like I'm always going to be broken. Why doesn't she just leave, why doesn't she go find someone like Aldrich Killian or something?"
"Aldrich Killian?" Wesley asked, frowning.
"This…I don't even know what he is. He was a nobody. I met him thirteen years ago, self-starter that shouldn't have gotten off the ground."
"But he's back now?"
It wasn't often things from Tony's past resurfaced. In the eight years Wesley had worked for him, nothing managed to catch up to Tony's whirling dervish of a life.
"Yeah," Tony said bitterly. "He's here and he's got nice teeth and cutting edge technology and a big company and she'd be fine with him. He's got everything I have, just without the damage."
"Pepper doesn't want to be fine," Wesley said, partly because that was what he was supposed to say and partly because it was the truth. "No one stays here because they want 'fine'. It doesn't exist with you."
"Yeah, it's either opulence or insanity."
"Often both."
There was another moment of silence, then Wesley cleared his throat. "Would you…like me to call in Reina until things get settled?"
"No, I don't need her to see me like this."
"She was your nanny for six years. I doubt you could surprise her by this point."
Tony was quiet, and then, "Yeah, maybe. See if…see if she can come up on weekends or something. She can, I don't know, vacuum and sweep or something, make her feel useful."
Wesley had always thought how profoundly sad it was that the closest thing Tony had to a mother's touch was his old nanny. But now he was more taken by how tragic it was that Tony always needed to appear strong.
"I'll see what can be done."
"Okay. Okay, thanks. And James?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for—y'know, for staying. I get that you could be off somewhere else with someone easier. I poached you away from your old job in Hong Kong, I get that. And I know I always say that I did because your old boss spilled a drink on my shoes, but…really, I knew how good you were from the beginning. Don't think I don't value—that I don't get—I'm just glad you're here, okay?"
Wesley smiled and leaned back in the bar stool. They both knew Wesley probably would have been helping some crime boss solidify his hold over a city or area or country had Tony not scooped him up. His life could have been so, so very different.
"I didn't come because you doubled my paycheck," Wesley said, and he could have sworn he heard Tony smile.
The hospital room felt so sterile. The machines hooked up to Happy beeped and hummed and took up space, constantly reminding them that he was not okay. Tony stuffed himself into the corner, while Pepper sat at Happy's side and Wesley stood at the foot of his bed.
"What was he even doing there?" Pepper asked, probably for the tenth time. "He doesn't even like the Chinese Theater. Why would he…why was anyone there? How could someone look at that and think it's a good target for…?"
Wesley was glad she didn't finish the sentence. Mentioning the Ten Rings just then would have felt like sacrilege. Tony shifted in the corner like he felt the thought in the air, haunting him with every breath he took.
Wesley didn't know what to do. He felt out of place at the foot of Happy's bed, waiting and worrying. He didn't particularly like Happy outside of the cordial working relationship he strove to maintain with all of his associates. He wasn't like Pepper, where Wesley would gladly grab a drink with her after the day had ended (probably because Pepper liked quiet, upscale places, while Happy preferred somewhere with hot wings and sports on a big screen). Just days ago he had been criticizing Happy's zeal at defending Stark Industries.
And now there he stood while Happy lay almost dead.
Wesley had done what he always did; he personally fixed things while keeping the problem at arm's length. He arranged for Happy to get a private room in the hospital, banned the media from the building, contacted both FBI and SHIELD agents, alerted Happy's parents and two sisters of what had happened, then paid for their plane tickets (hearing Happy's mother try to laugh through her fear had been an unexpected gut punch, the words 'merry Christmas' ringing so ironic and false).
He couldn't heal Happy, but he could make things better. Slightly.
"Are you going back to work?" Tony asked softly. He had been almost catatonic since Wesley had walked into the room. He just sat there and stared at the tv screen. Downton Abbey was playing, which Wesley vaguely recalled as one of Happy's favorites.
Pepper glanced at Wesley, unsure who Tony as addressing. She took a leap and said, "Yes, for a little while. I ran out of the office as soon as I heard, but there's still some things…I'll be back at the house soon, though. I don't…I don't think I can work after this."
She bit her lip and stood. Pepper glanced at Wesley for reassurance, then edged a little closer to Tony.
"We can sit on the couch and watch a movie or something," she continued. "Reina can take the night off, I'll make popcorn, and we'll just…wait it out."
Tony gave a dull nod. Pepper glanced at Wesley again, silently begging for him to step in and offer advice. He looked away. He was just as lost as her.
"Well, I should...I'll get going, then," Pepper whispered. She touched Tony on the shoulder, then left the hospital room.
Wesley turned to face Tony, feeling that he had to say something as well. What could he say, though? The Ten Rings had stabbed out, somehow yet again injuring the cobbled together Stark team. Happy was unconscious, Tony was barely there, Pepper was anxious, and Wesley was off center. This wasn't supposed to happen. After all the safe guards and precautions that had been taken, no one was supposed to be able to hurt Tony Stark like this. No one other than Tony himself.
This was a new kind of helpless, one that legal documents and money and suits of armor couldn't prevent.
"Mr. Stark…"
"It shoulda been me," Tony said, eyes still on the screen.
"I—excuse me?"
"It shoulda been me," he repeated. "If someone here should have been hurt by the Ten Rings, it should have been me. If I'd just died in that cave—"
"That's ridiculous," Wesley said firmly. "This wasn't a strike against you. They attacked a public place. This was propaganda. Happy…he might have been there regardless."
Tony rubbed his face with his hands. "That's really not doing a lot for me right now, Wes."
"I know," Wesley sighed. "It's not doing a lot for anyone."
Tony leaned forward on his elbows and gave Wesley a long look. "How do you do that?"
"Do what, sir?"
"Stay so damn…composed. I just…I'm not…how do you do that? Ever since I first met you, you've been polished every second, always on stage. I've never seen you just…lose it."
"In my experience, the few people that refuse to lose it are that much more valuable when everyone else does."
Tony scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Everything's business, everything's about the best edge. What about those pierced ears, those a calculated risk?"
Wesley managed to crack a smile. Of course Tony had noticed the single hole Wesley had had poked into his ears as a teenager. Nothing escaped his notice.
"The only calculated risk there was trusting the piercing gun not to give me a disease."
Tony smiled and leaned back in his chair. The smile lingered for a moment, like Tony had forgotten he was doing it and moved on to thinking about something else.
Wesley cleared his throat gently enough to keep from startling Tony. "Sir, if you need, I can put off my trip to Seattle."
"Hm? No, no, you're…you're leaving in a few hours, right?"
"Yes. I can easily push that back…"
"No, you're fine. You see your mom rarely enough, between work and hiding your home life from the world. Go enjoy some organic coffee and pretentious hippies."
"I believe 'hipsters' are the main inhabitants, now."
"Whatever. Go. Enjoy the rain."
"You're certain?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Do you…need anything else?"
"No. I'm fine. Kiss your mom, wish her merry Christmas for me."
"I'll be sure to do that," Wesley said. "And try to get some rest."
"Yeah, sure thing."
"Dammit," Wesley snarled, yanking on his seatbelt as he tried to call Tony. One hour. One hour in which he had left Tony alone, and yet he had managed to issue not only death threats to terrorists, but also deliver his personal address. Wesley had naively thought that not even Tony could do something that stupid in so little time. Had it been a month, a few weeks, hell, even a day, Wesley would have certainly worried. Tony had made a robotic suit of armor, kept himself from dying, even stopped an alien invasion in that generous time frame. This was a new record.
Wesley actually growled as Tony didn't answer. He swung out of the parking garage to his apartment, barely biting back the need to race down the cluttered Malibu streets to Tony's mansion.
He had told terrorists where he lived. On television. To a billion news stations. Anyone could use that information now.
"JARVIS, call Tony again," he snapped. He listened to the phone ring out, teeth grinding until he had a headache.
"Sir, it appears that Mr. Stark does not wish to be contacted. Either he is ignoring his phone or the lines are currently blocked. Given his latest media stunt, I'd imagine everyone who knows the number is trying to speak to him."
"For damn good reason!" Wesley half-yelled, then reeled himself back in. He needed to calm down. Like he had told Tony earlier, he needed to be the level head when everyone was panicking. He had dealt with terrorists before. That had been worse, much, much worse. Tony had actually been in their possession then. Wesley hadn't known where he was or if he was alive. And even though this was a different cell, it was the same group. Wesley knew how they operated. Things would be okay.
Wesley tried calling three more times before he gave up. He even tried Pepper for good measure, but she didn't respond, either.
"Bring up a newsfeed," he barked, hands clenched tight around the wheel."
"Any preference, si—"
"Any about Tony! There must be at least a dozen crews at the mansion right now."
Wesley tore his attention from the road just enough to grab his phone from where he had thrown it into the passenger seat. He fixed it to the dash as JARVIS brought up a news station. His eyes flicked to it compulsively, bouncing between the screen and the road. He sprang around cars, pressing higher and higher above the speed limit.
"…again, Tony Stark personally issued a death threat to the terrorist operating under the name 'The Mandarin'," some news woman was saying. Her extra emphasis on the hot button words made Wesley's blood pressure rise.
He glanced away from an aerial shot of the mansion as he took a corner. He had five, maybe ten minutes before he reached the mansion. Wesley glanced at his speedometer. More likely five minutes. It would be okay, it would be okay, he would be able to reach Tony's mansion and wrestle him bodily away from the danger zone before anything—
"What is that—it looks like a—oh my gosh," the newswoman said, yanking Wesley's attention back to his phone. "It looks a missile has been fired at Tony Stark's—"
An explosion farther down the road lit sky.
Wesley stopped breathing. The newswoman was still reporting. Her words filtered through the muted booms from Tony's mansion. Smoke plumed against the hideously sunny sky. Her horrified commentary was a few austere seconds behind what was actually happening.
Wesley didn't remember stopping. He didn't remember skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. He didn't remember turning off the news footage. He didn't remember rolling down the window so he could hear and see the destruction better.
He couldn't do anything. He couldn't stop people from firing missiles, he couldn't protect the people he cared about from fire or falling rubble. He couldn't even make himself pretend long enough to keep driving.
Other cars were slowing down, stopping behind him or pulling off to the side of the road. People were getting out of their cars, staring and pointing and talking talking talking.
Wesley stared through the windshield for a few moments, then tore forward, tires screaming as he left black marks on the highway. There had to be something he could do. Someone might have gotten out or…bodies to identify or…something.
Wesley was thankful to find Pepper outside of the smoking mansion. She was there with some other woman, but the moment Wesley locked eyes on her, Pepper was the only thing that mattered. He flung himself from the car and sprinted toward her, yelling questions as he went.
"Wesley!" she gasped, tears and soot smudging her face. "James, it just happened out of nowhere, Wesley, Tony, Tony he—"
"Are you alright, are you okay?" he demanded, nearly knocking her down as he grabbed her by the shoulders. He looked her up and down, searching for blood or bruising. Nothing. She seemed fine. Terrified, but fine.
"James, Tony, he was in the house, there were helicopters firing missiles and—Tony was in the house."
Wesley tore his eyes from her face and looked toward the water. His stomach constricted. He couldn't believe that. No matter how possible, how likely—he needed a body. Wesley had to have a body laid before him. He needed proof before he made assumptions.
"James…I don't know what to do."
"I'll take care of it, Pepper. I'll take care of everything."
He turned to the other woman, a tall brunette that had taken more damage than Pepper. She looked rattled and was dabbing at the cut on her forehead like the presence of blood didn't make sense.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I—I don't know, she just showed up here, she knew Tony, I don't…I don't know, it just went so fast."
"What is your name?" Wesley said, letting go of Pepper and turning to face the woman. She blinked, as though surprised by Wesley's appearance.
"I…what?"
"Name, what is your name."
"M-Maya. My name's Maya."
"Why're you here?"
"I—uhm, I don't, uh...I'm sorry, I just…holy crap, they just…"
Wesley rolled his eyes. He wouldn't be able to get anything out of her until the shock passed. "Stay here. Wait until emergency responders come."
Maya gave a dull nod, then winced as she pressed a hand against her cut. Wesley turned back to Pepper.
"It'll be fine," he said. It was the most gilded lie he knew and Pepper swallowed it every time. She nodded, dragged in a deep breath, let it out. But the exhale came with tears and she was suddenly crying into his shirt.
Wesley clenched his teeth and held her. They would make it through this. They'd done it once before.
Terrorist attacks left him useless. It had been six years, and yet somehow Wesley had neglected to prepare for this happening ever again. Stupid. He was astonishingly stupid. But he put on a good face. He always did. He always, always made things look as good as possible.
Wesley was reluctant to leave Pepper, but once the police, ambulance, and fire department came (apparently they had been on standby since Tony's declaration hit the air), he knew he had to leave. He was there just long enough to clear the police's questions, reassure Pepper, and throw Maya a warning look before he climbed into his car.
He had to get a handle on this. He had to get back to his apartment and dam up as much of this as possible. He couldn't head off the reporters, Tony's home had been blown up, but he needed to do damage control. A statement needed to be made as fast as possible. He had to contact whatever federal agency might be coerced into helping him…do something, then he needed to get ahold of SHIELD. If he had to kick down the doors of Nick Fury himself with a lawsuit, then God as his witness, Wesley would do it. Terrorists might not have grabbed SHIELD's attention, dreadfully boring as they were compared to aliens and gods and WWII icons, but what the hell good were they if they couldn't even take care of their own?
The hours drizzled by. Wesley cleaned up as many mini catastrophes as he could, ensuring all the help as he could muster. He barely noticed that he had missed his flight to Seattle as he stood in his kitchen and argued with some so and so from the FBI.
The most wrenching call had been with Reina. She had phoned the moment she heard the news, terrified but controlled. He hadn't expected much less from a woman who had raised Tony Stark.
"He's such a good boy," she murmured. "I taught him Spanish, you know. He loved learning, though I think he just wanted to know what it was I muttering under my breath sometimes. But after Spanish it was Italian, Portuguese, French…so intelligent, but he doesn't always think things through. That's what got him into trouble this time, isn't it?"
"I believe so."
"He's such a good boy," Reina repeated. "Tell me…tell me when they know if he's…if he's okay, please. I don't think I can stand hearing it from the news."
"Of course, Mrs. Velasquez. You'll be the first person I call."
And on it went. Wesley didn't let himself rest. He couldn't take a moment to think and process just what this meant for him. He couldn't. Wesley couldn't imagine a world, his world without Tony Stark. If one of them were to die, it was always, always, always supposed to be Wesley. He was supposed to make things better, not be left behind.
Wesley was dead on his feet when Pepper called him, but he couldn't sit down.
"Hello?" he said. His voice sounded like little more than a rasp.
"James, he's okay!"
"What?"
"Tony's okay, he left me a message, I heard it in one of the helmets that survived—"
"He's okay?" Wesley repeated, bracing himself against table. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," she said, laughing through her words. "I'm sure, he's alright. Oh my gosh, it was terrifying to think, but…he's okay."
Wesley sank into a chair, shuddering out a breath. "He's alright. Where is he? How is he? What—"
"I don't know," Pepper said, easing over his questions. "He didn't give me details, he just apologized for not listening to me. I think he was more letting me know he was alright. I mean, there are already papers out about this. Tony Stark, an Avenger attacked on his own turf and presumed dead…it's bad."
"I know."
"Of course, of course you know. You've probably been dealing with it since you left. Right, I forgot. It's just…I don't know, it's been a haze here."
"Get somewhere safe," Wesley told her. He was already pulling himself together, strapping his armor on tight. Wesley hadn't lost his head because he thought Tony had died and he certainly couldn't lose it because he was alive. He had a job to do. Things had to be perfect for when Tony came back.
"Yes, I was just thinking that," Pepper said, still with that tinge of a laugh in her voice. "If nothing else, I need to get somewhere quiet."
"Don't go to any of your usual places. No vacation houses, no hotels you normally choose. You don't have to go to ground, but just…be smart."
"Yes, definitely. I'm going to bring Maya."
"Maya? Why? Have you figured out why she was at the mansion?"
"No," Pepper sighed. She sounded every bit as exhausted as he felt. "But she wanted to get Tony out of there as much as I did, so it makes me think that she knows something. Plus, very few people actually make it to Tony's door without a good reason, so if nothing else her story's going to be interesting."
"Alright," Wesley said, adding a background check on this Maya woman to his already lengthy list. "Be careful, Pepper. We don't know what rules they're playing by, now."
"I know. You be careful, too. They could be coming after you, too."
Wesley pressed his lips together. She was entirely right, of course. Either one of them made extremely tempting targets. If the Ten Rings wanted to make it personal, they would go after Pepper. If they wanted to keep it about business, they would go after Wesley. He needed to be careful.
"What are you going to do?" Pepper continued.
"Sleep, first. It's…it's been a long day. You get some rest, too. Call me when you settle in for the night."
"Will do. Stay safe, James."
"You too."
It took a devastating amount of effort, but Wesley got to his feet. He stumbled into his bedroom, drew the blinds, then fell on the bed. His hands were clumsy as he pulled off his glasses, kicked off his shoes, and loosened his tie. He didn't even care that his left leg was on top of his overnight bag. In the morning he would leave, he would take all of the proper precautions and move somewhere safe. Now, he just needed to sleep.
Wesley allowed himself a few hours' sleep. It probably wasn't enough, but he rolled off his bed and started to get to work. He scrolled through the messages and voice mails on his phone as he picked out a fresh set of clothes.
Text from Pepper. We're on the road. Text you when we reach the hotel.
Missed call from the acting head of Stark security.
Voice mail from his hotel and transport in Seattle.
Email from the director of the FBI.
Voice mail from a reporter at CNN.
Voice mail from a reporter at NPR.
Text from Pepper. Checked into hotel in LA.
Voice mail from Tony.
Wesley froze, hand clenching around a new shirt. Then he was playing it, barely daring to breathe as he listened to Tony.
"Hey, Wes, sorry for going AWOL. Things have been…crazy. I'm in Tennessee right now, suit's down, I'm barely scraping by. I met this kid who's a pain in the ass, but he's been helping me. There are some people after me…I dunno what they are. They're not terrorists, not like on the news. They're vets and they've been modified somehow. Aldrich Killian's behind it. I don't know all the details, but I'm piecing it together." There was a pause as Tony let out a slow sigh. He sounded ragged. "It's been…I've been…guess it's a good thing I'm not really sleeping, lately, 'cuz I need to drive to Miami. Anyway, I'm taking care of things. Try and get in touch with Rhodey. Don't get lazy and fall off on your end. I need you to keep things okay over there, James. Watch out for Pepper."
"Of course," he whispered. He set his phone down, mind springing ahead as he undressed.
Killian had people chasing Tony. So he was in league with the Mandarin. That was unsurprising; unscrupulous business men were getting into bed with terrorists and crime lords every day (when they weren't turning into them themselves). Why had Killian brought himself into the picture, though? His meeting with Pepper, that made no sense. If Wesley was helping to orchestrate a terrorist attack, he would have done it halfway across the world with as many competent people between him and the actual crime as possible (clearly, Killian needed a better fixer). What stake did Killian have in this brutal game?
Wesley had to keep Pepper safe. Sending her out alone was no good, not with such a local threat. Wesley needed to find her, he needed to find someone to protect her. Wesley felt fine on his own, he could handle himself in a firefight, but Pepper fought with words and iron will, not with fists and lead.
Wesley climbed into the shower and washed off. He needed to get on a plane. He needed to leave California and start looking into this. He could work on the private jet, but those were probably major targets for the Ten Rings. Which meant public transport. Wonderful. He would go to Seattle, he could use the arrangements he had set up for the day before. He'd need a new hotel under a different name, just to be safe, but Seattle was definitely the easiest choice…
He got dressed quickly, skipping his tie and belt in favor of his shoulder holsters. He scanned through his phone for the old travel information. He saw a newer message from Pepper, one that had come in during his shower. It didn't make sense at first, a flurry of typos making it hard to read. But as he re-read the message, his stomach tightened.
b e caredul may not safeshe workig wih Lillian an his herr.
Be careful Maya not safe she's working with Killian and he's here.
Pepper wasn't safe. Killian had Pepper. Wesley needed to get out of there.
He slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and forced his feet into his shoes. Wesley grabbed his keys from the counter as he stalked from the door. He was already calling SHIELD when he sailed out the door. Tony was relying on his help, even if it was only to call in bigger guns.
Gunshots tore through the hallway. Wesley dropped to the ground as bullets ripped through the air around him. He grabbed for the gun in his shoulder holster, firing off just enough shots to give him the cover he needed to get to the stairs.
He clenched his phone in his hand, the call forgotten as he took the stairs three at a time. Wesley vaulted down the stairwell as bullets screamed above his head. Two floors. He had to go down two more floors and then he was clear.
More shots pinged off the rails and walls around him, one hissing past his cheek. Wesley gasped as the metal burned his skin, flinching his face into his shoulder. He was supposed to be done with this. He was supposed to have left the guns and the thugs and the danger back in Hong Kong. He wasn't supposed to be running for his life in a stairwell because terrorists had a vendetta against his boss.
Wesley braced himself and fired off another set of shots to his attackers. One tore through a man's shoulder, making him gasp in pain. And then it was like the wound was cauterizing itself, an ember-like burn spilling from the wound and up into the man's face. Wesley shoved himself down the last flight of steps, head spinning at the sight of the man's pupils lighting up with an unnatural glow.
He threw the empty gun aside and burst through the doors to the lobby, hands raised and face panicky as a host of armed guards faced him down.
"There are men with guns in the stairwell!" he yelled, skittering out of their way like he was some innocent frightened bystander. The guards enveloped him, accepting Wesley as a fearful and well-paying tenant. Clearly, they hadn't noticed the second gun he still had in his shoulder holster.
Someone ordered Wesley outside and he obediently ran out to join the inhabitants of the freshly cleared lobby. People were scared, huddled together and trying not to break into hysteria. One of the guards inside shouted at the gunmen and then there was a slew of gunshots.
The crowd scattered, the false calm broken into terror and screams. Wesley ran with them, using the mess of bodies as cover to get to the parking garage. Wesley took the risk of using his own car, favoring convenience over the anonymity of a cab. Also, his car was bulletproof. Although, bullets seemed to be fairly low on his scale of worries. People with fire in their veins seemed a touch more pressing.
Wesley threw his bag into the passenger seat as he got in. He realized his phone was still clutched in his hand when he went to turn on the car.
"Sir? Sir, hello? Are you there?" Agent Hill was asking, using the forced calm he imagined 911 operators perfected.
"I'm here. I'm being chased," he said, tearing out of his parking space and roaring through the garage. If he hit one of the assholes trying to kill or capture him…well, honestly that would be very satisfying. Wesley had never pretended not to be a spiteful son of a bitch.
"Are you safe?" she asked. Nothing ever seemed to throw her. Every time Wesley had spoken to her, she had been unimpressed and to the point. He could have kissed her for nonchalance.
"For the moment," he said, whipping onto the street.
"Who's chasing you?"
"I'm imagining someone working for the Ten Rings." He wove through traffic, trying to calm himself as he drove. He put the phone on speaker and took a deep breath. "Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and I have been targeted by their agents. I believe they have been provided by Aldrich Killian."
"Were they the ones responsible for the attack on Stark?" she asked, a harsh edge of strain in her voice.
"I believe so. He is alive and safe for the moment. He's driving to Miami from Tennessee. Ms. Potts, however, has been captured. I don't know how she is."
"I'll dispatch a team to investigate. Tell me about Aldrich Killian."
"He's a businessman without the grandeur of Mr. Stark. There isn't much on him personally, but his company prides itself on cutting edge technology bordering on fringe science."
"The men he sent after you, did they have any of this fringe science with them?"
"The men were modified in some way," Wesley said, taking a sharp corner to avoid a red light. "I managed to clip one in the shoulder and he healed instantly. It looked like he was on fire from the inside."
"I…see," she said. "Mr. Wesley, where are you right now?"
"I'm driving to the airport. I'm getting out of the city to somewhere safe."
"I'm sending a team to you. We need to make sure at least one of you is safe. Is there anyone else you think might be a target?"
"No, not on our staff. And you can send a team to me once I've landed."
"And where will that be?"
"I'll tell you once I get off the ground. Send someone in to help Tony. He shouldn't have to deal with this alone," Wesley said, then hung up. He took the exit for Los Angeles, his nerves easing slightly as he sped up to join the highway traffic.
Hopefully SHIELD would be able to do something while he was traveling. In a few hours, Wesley would be safely tucked away in Seattle, and then he would be able to properly move heaven and earth to aid Tony. But for the moment he had to calm down and collect himself after being shot at.
Wesley took a moment to check the burn on his cheek. It wasn't too big, but the skin had turned an unhappy red. Hopefully that would fade. He glanced over his bag, scowling when he saw that there was a bullet hole in it. It better not have damaged any of his clothes.
A sickening thought entered his head. He looked down at himself, then sucked in a breath.
Those fuckers had put two bullet holes through the side of his favorite suit. There would be hell to pay.
Wesley only realized it was Christmas when the SHIELD agents greeted him at the airport. Between escaping Killian's men, flying to Seattle, and planning what he was supposed to do next, he had completely forgotten about the date. He blinked at the agent who spoke, trying to process the 'Merry Christmas, sir' he had just received.
"Er—thank you. Merry Christmas. What arrangements has Agent Hill made?" he asked, resuming his brisk pace. The two agents fell into step behind him, the man answering his question while the woman was silent.
"She's approved your accommodations. There are no trails connecting you to Mr. Stark, so unless a tracker has been slipped onto you, you're safe."
"We can search for one after we leave the airport. Any word on Mr. Stark?"
"None. We are still searching for Ms. Potts and Maya Hansen."
"Right. What are your names?"
"Agent Cassani. This is Agent Jeong," the man said, gesturing at himself, then the woman behind them. "Agent Pike is with the car."
"Am I correct in assuming you will be with me until we reach the other side of this?" Wesley asked, allowing Cassani to direct him to the parking garage.
"Yes, sir. We have the adjoining room with you in the hotel. I must insist that one of us—"
"If you need to stay in the same room as me, fine, we'll open the door or something," Wesley said, waving his hand. "I don't plan on the leaving the room."
"Concerned about your safety?" Cassani gave him an appraising look as he pressed the button for the elevator.
"I'm concerned about Mr. Stark's," Wesley said, not looking at him. "I need to use every second I have to help him."
"Understood. Your electronics will have to be checked for bugs, but there should be no issues."
"Good."
Wesley kept his eyes forward as he walked to the car, the reassurance of a job to do and two SHIELD agents at his back. Things would be fine. He would help Tony however he could and make things as difficult for Killian as possible.
Things would be fine.
For once, things actually turned out as well as Wesley hoped. While Wesley had been furiously making calls and sending emails and menacing and pleading and wrangling things into order from his end, Tony had been fighting for his life against mutants with an army of sentient armor. It sounded ridiculous. It sounded terrifying. It sounded like a headache.
As reports of the battle flooded in, Wesley quickly adjusted his attack plan to absorb the damage. He arranged political statements, cleanup crew, philanthropy groups, anything to help mop up the mess. The SHIELD agents largely left him alone, though they did keep him apprised of their own efforts to help Tony, and even leaned on various government groups for information. In general, though, they seemed amazed at the brutal efficiency shown by one man and the AI he had installed on his phone.
And then, a little later, he got a call from Tony.
"Hey," Tony said. He sounded exhausted.
"Everything go well, I hope?" Wesley asked, finally relaxing into the chair he'd made his center of operations. Agent Cassani raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'That Stark?' Wesley nodded, making the man smile and go for his own phone.
"Yeah, I guess. All my suits are gone, though, so…"
"And that was…roughly fifty?" Wesley asked, fishing through his brain for the number JARVIS had given up a few hours ago.
"Yeah. Well, it's only a few billion down the drain. What's it matter to a mogul like me, right?"
"Is that all the damage, though?"
Tony was quiet for a few minutes, then said, "Killian turned Pepper into whatever he and those soldiers were. She's still her, still my old Pep, but…I dunno. More Extremis-y."
Wesley held his breath for a long second. That sounded…not great.
"Is it reversible?"
"Yeah, sure, totally. It's gotta be."
Wesley nodded. The fear and doubt in Tony's voice was so, so obvious. "We'll put all efforts into helping her. You've done more with less."
"Yeah," Tony said. He let out a slow sigh, then forced his voice back to its usual flippancy. "Anyway, we got the President secured, Killian and all the Extremis soldiers are dead. Oh, and put Roxxon on our watch list, in case they try to come back and screw me later."
"Why?" Wesley asked, sitting up straighter. Roxxon was one of the biggest conglomerations on the planet. They were not someone to take lightly.
"Oh, no reason, just a little mishap with one of their mistakes. It should be nothing, but precautions, y'know? Don't want them saying I gave them bad press because of the whole Norco SNAFU."
"The oil rigger…?"
"Yeah, just something to keep an eye on."
Wesley shook his head and sat back again. "Certainly, I'll add it to the list."
"Alright, thanks buddy."
"Before I forget, I have the information for the architect that made the mansion. He's in retirement now, but if you want any changes done to it, I can convince him to redesign it."
"Y'know what? I think we'll just leave it be."
"Fair enough, I'll contact a construction crew first thing in the—"
"Not like that, Wesley. I'm tired of Malibu. It…I dunno, call it enabling an addiction. I'm starting fresh, everything's a do over. We're gonna make this whole thing work right."
"So you're…moving?"
"Yeah. I've got a few hundred stories of the Tower I could use up, and honestly California's really just not doing it for me anymore. I want something a bit spicier."
"So you're going to New York," Wesley said, utterly failing to muzzle his distaste. "Which means I'll be moving to New York."
"You don't have to. You'll only be a phone call away."
Wesley rolled his eyes and didn't even deign to respond.
"Anyways, yeah, I think New York's the place I need to be."
"In that case, do you mind if I spend a few extra days here in Seattle? I need to fully prepare myself before dedicating myself to…Manhattan."
Tony broke into a full on laugh as Wesley said the word, the first genuine sound of amusement he'd given in a long time. Since the Avengers formed, probably.
"Yeah, sure thing, detox yourself as much as you need. I need you sharp for when we get back to work."
"And what will that be? Reconstructing the suits Killian destroyed?"
"Hm? Nah, I torched those. Christmas gift to Pepper. I mean, I'll have to make one for me, and then one for Rhodey, too, but I'm thinking right now we could get into something a little less life-in-crisis-y. Maybe get around to building SHIELD some new engines for their helicarriers or something, 'cuz the ones they have now suck."
"Do they? How do you know that?"
"Oh, I, uh, got a personal tour back in May. Anyways, gotta go. Our rides kinda blew up, so we've all gotta get to steppin' if we're gonna make it to New York before we die of old age. Pepper sends her love. I'm guessing Rhodey does too, but he's busy moping over not getting a selfie with the president."
"No I'm not, don't tell him lies like that," Rhodey said, voice muted on the other end of the phone.
"Yeah, yeah. See you soon, James. Get some rest, you probably need it. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, sir."