AN: To be honest, I have a real excuse for not getting this out when I said I would. I, as well as sixty-three other people, am in the middle of my school's high school musical. We're doing The Music Man. I play Mrs. Paroo. We have lots of practices and I'm doing this as well as working, being president of Spanish club, a member of French club, a show choir member, and preparing to graduate high school and become a college student. It's a lot of time consuming work. I'm trying. I know this is late but here it is….the next chapter might be late too. Sorry. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
One never gets used to the idea that there is nothing one can do. –The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis
Clint had all but paced a hole in the hotel room floor. No calls, a black screen on the iPad, and Clint had never been good at being out of the loop. What he would give to know what was going on right now?
Clint swore and not for the first time. He'd never been the kind to sit around and do nothing and yet Kline seemed determined to make him do just that. He was tired, sore, and if he admitted it to himself…a slight bit hungry. With another angry curse born more from frustration and impatience than anything else, he pocketed his two phones and hid the iPad. He gave a last glance to the hotel room and went downstairs to the restaurant. It was fairly fancy, Clint had not held back for the hotel room, and Clint immediately felt very uncomfortable among the rest of the patrons. Natasha would tell him he was being silly, that he fit in with the crowd as much as he wanted to. Clint, however, knew that he didn't belong a table away from a man in a three thousand dollar suit and two tables away from a woman with an eleven hundred dollar purse. Clint barely passed for well dressed in his black pants and white shirt that he'd changed into after stripping of the bloodied and wrinkled clothes from before. As long as he didn't open his mouth too much it was likely no one would bother looking long enough to ask questions.
The hostess led him to a table complete with a white table cloth and a candle in the center. It seemed like bit much for a single man's dinner but every table in the restaurant was decorated similarly. After a moment a young man came over to take his order. "Can I start you off with a drink sir? Wine? Liquor?"
"I'll take a Black Russian and then a bottle of Lykhny," Clint replied. It was a favorite of Natasha's and Clint really needed something of her right now.
The young man nodded. "Right away."
Clint's gaze glanced at the menu without really looking at it. The reality was that he would rather stay in his hotel room awaiting Kline's call than be down here at all. Belatedly, he realized he could have simply ordered room service. He dropped his head into his hands feeling very out of it, in a daze. The waiter came back with the Black Russian, which Clint quickly downed, and then poured a glass of the Lykhny for him. "Are you ready to order sir?"
He hadn't actually even bothered to read the menu. He glanced at it again and ordered the first thing on the menu. Once again the waiter walked off and Clint was again left to his thoughts.
He ran the scenario through his head again but there never seemed to be a good way out of this. Kline appeared to be watching him like a hawk – the irony of that statement was not lost on him – and Clint felt truly and utterly alone. All Clint had ever done is what he was told to do. He did what his father told him, he did what his brother told him, he did what his circus mentor told him, and the one time he had ignored his mentor he'd paid dearly for it, then he'd followed SHIELD's orders…even Loki had given orders that Clint, no matter how reluctantly, had followed. Now Kline was dishing out orders and Clint had to wonder if it was just easier to follow them then to cause a fuss. No matter how much Clint regretted it now once upon a time he'd killed for money. Was killing one person so bad if it meant saving the Avengers? That was a moral question Clint didn't think a nobody born and raised in Iowa should ever answer.
Clint swallowed his food as fast as he good, paid the bill, and left. He darted up to his room while trying to avoid as many people as possible. As he locked the door behind him he vowed not to leave this room unless he had to for the hit. Right now he just felt too damn vulnerable.
Clint checked the iPad again and was pleased to find Kline had finally assembled the team in the same room. They still looked bored out of their minds but the relief on each of them was very visible. Together they were a hundred times better. Clint's phone rang, the phone from Kline. "Yes?"
"Have you gotten on the site lately?" Kline asked.
"You know I have," Clint guessed.
Kline seemed not to take the bait. "I'm going to assume that means you're on now. You'll see that I've held up my end of the deal? All your team members, safe and sound."
"That might be pushing it, Kline," Clint said.
"It's an unstable situation," Kline admitted. "But for now, they're safe."
"Their safety, of course, hinging on me," Clint said.
Kline replied calmly, "I've never claimed any different."
Clint frowned. "Let one of them go."
"Only if my life depended on it," Kline said. After a moment's pause he added, "And it doesn't."
"You'll still have several people I care about," Clint snapped. "What's one less?"
"Rich men do not give away a dollar each time they get one more," Kline said. "I certainly will not give away wealth without gaining wealth in return."
"What do you need done? You were willing to make a deal last time, what will it take to get you to let one of them go?" Clint asked. He knew he sounded desperate but one of them getting out might be the only chance SHIELD had to step in and help him.
"I'm not going to let one of them go, Agent Barton. Anything else you want to deal for?" Kline asked.
Clint ground his teeth together. The problem was how calm this whole conversation was. Clint wanted Kline to start yelling or to speak crazy. Instead, he was dealing with a man who was reasonable. That's what made it so hard to work around it. Kline had set this up to create the least amount of problems. Clint was failing to find a loophole. He sighed. "Take the handcuffs off Bruce and Natasha?"
"No," Kline replied. "As long as the danger is present you are much more cooperative, Agent Barton. The cuffs stay on."
Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I want to talk to them."
"Talk to them," Kline repeated.
"Yes," Clint said. "I want to reach them on the phone and hold a conversation with them."
"What would you talk about?" Kline asked. He sounded genuinely curious.
"I don't know," Clint replied honestly.
There was silence and Clint was sure he was going to get a resounding no. Instead, Kline replied, "Alright."
"Alright?" Clint asked.
"Alright," Kline repeated.
Clint barely held in a sigh a relief. "What do I need to do?"
"Right now?" Kline asked. "Go to bed. We'll discuss your instructions tomorrow."
Clint wasn't sure he could actually sleep right now. "Are you sure it's not something I could do right now?"
"If it was something you could do right now I'd be sending you to go do it. Instead, we wait," Kline replied.
"Alright, we wait," Clint said.
"Get a good night's rest, Agent Barton. It'll be a long day tomorrow," Kline said.
Clint hung up without another word. He put the phones on the end table, checked the iPad one last time, and then lay down on the bed. He remembered thinking that he was never going to get to sleep before he surprised himself by drifting off almost immediately.
Pepper finally finished up her work and gathered her things. She slung her purse on her shoulder and put the stray papers she couldn't leave in her office in her leather briefcase. It had her initials on it in gold; it'd been a present for her from Tony. Speaking of the devil, she checked her phone. There was still no call from him. Pepper took a deep breath and put the phone away. Worrying about him like this was ridiculous. She would worry herself to death, to say nothing of going gray, for Tony. He was a grown man who was very competent. Sure, he didn't know his own social security number but that didn't mean he couldn't survive a day in his own house.
Pepper walked past her empty assistant's desk on her way out and rode the elevator down to the bottom floor before finally exiting the building. Happy was there, waiting patiently, with the door open. He knew her routine sometimes better than she did. "Hello, Happy."
"Evening, Miss Potts," Happy replied. He helped her into the car and then closed the door behind her. Once he himself got into the car he asked, "How are you this evening?"
"I'm fine," Pepper replied. She chewed her lip, unsure whether to bring Tony's technological absence up. "Happy? Have you heard from Tony today?"
"No ma'am," Happy replied. "But he hasn't left the Tower for a couple days. He's likely just overworked himself. You know how he is."
"Yes, I do," Pepper replied. She gave him a nervous grin. "Let's just try to get home fairly quickly. I could use some reassurance."
"No problem, Miss Potts," Happy replied and she felt the car speed up just the slightest.
Pepper's phone rang. She recognized the number as that of a particularly persistent reporter that had all but begged for interviews from the Avengers. Pepper wasn't sure how the man had gotten ahold of her number but if she found the person who gave it out she was going to make their lives very, very unhappy. "This is Pepper Potts."
"Hello again, Miss Potts," Antonio said. "How are you doing this fine evening?"
"It was good until you called," she replied. "What can I do for you now?"
"Don't worry. The Avengers saving New York is old news now. I'm on to fresher material," he said.
Pepper rolled her eyes. "And yet for some reason you're still calling me."
"Well, fresher in a loose sense. I'm calling to talk about our friend Mr. Stark," he said. "How is he?"
"Mr. Stark does not consider you his friend, Antonio," she replied.
He replied shortly. "Mr. Stark has gone missing of recently."
"Excuse me?" Pepper asked.
Antonio gave an exaggerated snort. "What? You mean you don't know? No one has seen or heard from the man in nearly five days."
She rolled her eyes. "Mr. Stark frequently stays in to work on projects and inventions. This is hardly fresh news."
"In the hours from Tuesday at eight in the morning to last night at eleven in the evening Mr. Stark released no less than one hundred and twenty Tweets, sixty Facebook posts, and sent out nearly eight hundred text messages. As of the last twenty four hours he has not made contact with the world be it physical or cyber at all. No ingoing or outgoing anything," he said. "Now tell me again…how is Mr. Stark doing?"
"Where are you getting this information?" Pepper asked.
"A good reporter never reveals his sources," Antonio said.
She wanted to growl at him. "Find something better to report on."
"This is the news, Ms. P-" Antonio started but Pepper hung up before he could finish.
Pepper gripped the phone tight in her hands. Worry tied knots in her stomach. "Happy, quicker please."
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
She chewed her lip a moment or two before answering. "I don't think so."
Pepper played with her phone. She contemplated calling one of the other Avengers. Surely one of them could go in on Tony and check on him, right? Pepper scrolled through her contacts. Dr. Banner still hadn't gotten himself a phone so the first contact on her list was Agent Clint Barton. After a short hesitation she hit call. The phone rang for a while and Pepper thought maybe Barton wouldn't pick up but then the phone stopped ringing and a deep voice asked, "Hello?"
"Agent Barton? It's Pepper," she said.
"Oh, Miss Potts, how are you?" he asked.
"Good, I'm fine, everything's doing well," she said. She realized she was rambling.
He gave a soft chuckle. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yes," Pepper said. "Maybe, I actually don't know."
"Why don't you tell me what I can do and I'll see if I can do it," he replied.
She took a deep breath. "How's Tony doing?"
There was a pause. "Fine."
"Are you sure?" Pepper asked.
"Yeah, everything's great. Tony's hard at work," Barton said.
Pepper frowned. "Already?"
"What?" he asked.
"I just talked to him early yesterday and he'd been up for nearly four days. I guessed he'd be sleeping now," she said. "You're telling me he's already up and working again?"
"Oh," he said. There was another pause before he replied, "He got an idea. I think Bruce told him to write it down quickly and then go back to bed."
Pepper relaxed a bit into the seat. "Oh, I'm glad Dr. Banner is looking out for him. Tony's going to work himself into an early grave."
She heard Agent Barton mutter something like; I know the feeling, before he replied clearly, "I'm sure he'll be fine. Just give him some time and he'll be back on his feet and worrying you about his working all over again."
Pepper smiled. "You know, Dr. Banner is really good at this calming stuff but you could give him a run for his money."
"I've had a lot of practice keeping calm," Agent Barton replied.
"Thank you," she said. "Have a nice evening."
They hung up and Pepper let out a deep sigh of relief. Happy asked, "Are we still heading to the Tower?"
"Yes, Happy," she replied. "I just need to make sure."
"No problem," he said.
Just under an hour later Happy pulled into the parking lot and then right up to the door. The building was fairly empty inside, unsurprising since everyone but Tony and the team went home at ten. As typical, she could see a few floors at the top of the building glowing with light but the rest of the floors were cast in darkness. Pepper marched up to the front doors and let herself in. The elevator was to the back, down the hall, and she walked there with confidence…until the ninja fell from the ceiling. Looking back on that moment, Pepper would logically realize that the man in black was not in fact a ninja. However, in the heat of the moment a man dressed entirely in black that dropped in from out of nowhere brought back memories of old Asian action movies. She screamed and took a step away as he reached for her.
He seemed to curse and reach again when a pop sounded from behind her. Suddenly the ninja was holding his stomach where his black suit was growing wet with liquid. Blood, she realized. An arm fell around her shoulders causing her to scream again. To be honest, when she looked up and saw Director Fury staring at her with the black leather jacket and the eye patch it wasn't exactly a calming sight but it was nonetheless better than anonymous falling ninjas. "Miss Potts, are you okay?"
She couldn't speak yet, the fear had taken full control of her vocal cords, but she nodded exuberantly. He ushered her back out the door. What had once been an empty parking lot was now full of SHIELD agents. "We were hoping we wouldn't have to show ourselves so soon but we didn't know you were coming so it seemed pointless to tell you what's going on."
"What is going on?" she asked.
"Someone, other than Mr. Stark of course, has taken control of the tower," Director Fury explained. He gave her a look. "We think that Mr. Stark is up there along with Agent Romanoff, Dr. Banner, and Captain Rogers."
"But Tony can't be up there," Pepper said. "I just talked to Agent Barton. He said Tony was fine."
Director Fury frowned. "Yeah, we're trying to figure that out too."
"What do you mean?" Pepper asked.
"Miss Potts, Agent Barton was at a safe house last time we checked but when we went to make sure he was okay he was no longer there. We believe he's rogue right now," he said. "SHIELD isn't sure what part he has in this but he has a part. That much, we are sure of."
AN: So….that's it. I'd really like it if you reviewed. It'd be nice. If I had cookies I would give you one for a review. Unfortunately, I don't have cookies. But it's the thought that counts…right? Oh well, review please?