The 21st Century did not have the best start for me, personally. In fact, New Year's Day was kind of one of the worst days of my life. Not worse than Mom and Dad getting killed, but in the ballpark.
I came to awareness with a blinding headache, dry mouth, feeling sore and sticky in my rear end, and the sensation of naked flesh against my own.
My eyes blinked open, and it slowly sank in that this wasn't a dream, but a real morning after. My panic at that realization was a lot faster in coming.
"No no no no," I started to hyperventilate, desperately wishing it wasn't true. But the physical sensations repeatedly being sent and processed by my brain insisted that yes, I was hungover. I cast my mind to last night, but the only thing I could remember was a phone call with Tony in Bern before his presentation at a technical conference. That had been around 3 pm, though, and the morning sunlight was shining through the window. Great, I'd blacked out, that was promising (not).
I got out of the bed, noting that at least I was in my bedroom in the New York mansion. I got into the bathroom and stumbled into the shower. I turned the water as hot as it would go, hot enough it hurt, and it still wasn't hot enough to make me feel clean. I sort of sunk to the shower floor and began to rock and silently mourned my sobriety.
Well, on the one hand, I'd lasted almost 30 years in this lifetime alone. I could do it again, I could make it so this was a fluke, a solitary incident never to be repeated. Still, it felt like failure, and like I'd lost something precious. And I'd had sex while intoxicated, that could have life-changing consequences if I was unlucky.
I had my moment to just fall apart and feel miserable and wallow in my pain. Then I stood up and got back on the clock. I lowered the temperature of the water to something more reasonable and did my morning routine. Wrapping a towel around my waist after drying off, I went back to the bedroom.
Not one but two nude men were still dead to the world in my bed. A white twink of a youth, looking college age if that. Seriously, I might be facing statutory charges, that's what I thought when I looked at the boy. The other man was a big, black muscle daddy. I noticed an actual leather harness discarded on the floor. Very worryingly, a glass pipe was laying on the bedside table. I took a deep sniff, and a chemical odor hung in the air, probably coming off of us as we sweated it out.
Ok, putting together the pieces. At some point before, during, or after the opening of the Stark Expo, alcohol or some other drug had been introduced to my system. I'd gone somewhere, probably a gay bar or club, and picked up or gotten picked up by these two. We got here, not necessarily even our first stop, and then had a party with Tina. The sticky residue that had leaked out my ass made the case we hadn't used condoms.
Nightmare, yes. Easily fixable, no. But I was a fixer, just how I was. I couldn't do the equation without all the variables, though.
Letting my two new friends sleep off the drug-fueled threesome, I went digging through the clothes thrown around the room. I found my phone and went back to the bathroom. I turned it on and spoke. "JARVIS, you there?"
"For you, sir, always," came the reply from the AI I'd helped give birth to back in October.
"I seem to be unable to recall anything between waking up this morning and a phone call with Tony in Switzerland yesterday. Please give me a timeline of events involving me to the best of your knowledge," I requested politely.
"You concluded your audio call with Tony at 3:04 pm Eastern Standard Time on December 31st, 1999. You attended the formal reception of the first week presenters for the Stark Expo 2000 at 4:00 pm. You gave the opening speech for the Expo at 8:00 pm to the attending audience and the world press. You were coherent in speech, but I conclude there is a 73% probability you were intoxicated for the duration of the presentation. Your Wootz departed from the Expo grounds at 9:37 pm. It is worth noting that you were alone, and based on the messages sent by Mr. Luccio you left without warning him of your agenda. You drove into Manhattan and parked in a public garage at 10:02 pm. Location tracking from there is spotty, but based on internal communications in Stark International's public relations department, there are a number of photographs of you caught engaging in illegal and/or disruptive behaviors at a number of bars and clubs. You returned to the Wootz at 2:47 am, accompanied by 2 unidentified gentlemen. You drove, under the influence for the record, back to the mansion. What you and said gentlemen got up to when you reached your bedroom is none of my business, of course. It is currently 10:09 am on January 1st, 2000." JARVIS paused for a beat. "With all due respect, sir, what were you thinking?"
"I wasn't. That's kind of what happens when you introduce intoxicating substances into your brain, you stop thinking. What I want to know as bad as you is why I had that first drink in the first place," I sighed. "Well, time to face the music. 3-way call with Alma and Nathan, please."
"Of course, sir," JARVIS replied.
"Oh, gracias, a Dios," breathed my secretary when she picked up a few seconds later.
"Greg, where the fuck are you?" Nathan demanded as soon as he accepted the call.
"I'm sorry for worrying you both. I'm sorry, period. I'm at the mansion, and we all need to do some damage control," I said.
"Stay right where you are. Don't move an inch, I swear, Greg," Nathan said, sounding pissed, before hanging up.
"Ah, nieto, what happened?" Alma asked, sounding more concerned than angry.
"I really don't know, abuela. I somehow got blackout drunk, and according to JARVIS and the wreckage of my bedroom did some really stupid shit whilst drunk. But no use crying over spilled milk, just got to try and come out swinging from this disaster," I said, trying to sound more confident than I really was.
"You always burn so bright in the darkness, Greg. It's what I admire about you," Alma said warmly, though she still sounded worried. "I'll handle the business side of things for now, take today for yourself and recover."
"Si, abuela," I agreed before hanging up. Then, with great reluctance, I dialed Tony.
"Hey, Greg, good timing! I'm making a lot of nerd friends over here, and I've got this idea. Well, actually got it from this adorkable guy that all but begged me for funding, but what's your take on a private think tank? 4S is my tribe, but we all focus mostly on commercial applications. What about a separate team just for fun stuff, science for its own sake? Aldrich wants to call it 'Advanced Idea Mechanics' or AIM," Tony said in his usual energetic rush.
"Set it up, get our people in touch with his people," I said distractedly. Hopefully not getting snubbed and some oversight by Stark International would stop Killian from becoming The Mandarin. I'd barely been thinking about all that when Tony told me he was attending Bern 2000, the butterfly effect and the fact this was a different universe meant I hadn't been sure those events would even happen. "Listen, Tony… I got bad news."
"Greg, what is it?" Tony asked, switching from happy to nervous.
I blew out a breath. "Know how Dad's dad died of alcohol poisoning before we were born? And how half our cousins on Mom's side of the family have been to rehab?"
"Um, no, I certainly did not know about that," Tony said pointedly.
I blinked. "Really? Dad never mentioned it to you? He brought it up with me. And I helped Mom handle the financials when all her nieces and nephews begged her for money and help. I could have sworn you knew addiction runs in our family. Didn't you ever wonder why I was so adamant on staying clean and sober?"
"I thought it was an Aspie thing, you literally call nips 'poison' so I thought you just took recreational drugs way too seriously. I didn't know you had actual genetic concerns over substance use. And why are you bringing this up?" Tony asked.
"Don't play dumb, Tony," I sighed. "My working theory is I had at least 1 drink at the reception for the Expo yesterday. I decided to experiment, I forgot to say 'virgin' to the bartender, someone slipped me something, I don't know. I'll need a urine and blood screen to see all of what ended up in my system, but I basically rang in the new century in a very reckless, dangerous way. Including unprotected sex with two guys and a meth pipe. Nathan's ready to wring my neck, Alma is putting out the media fire, and now I'm calling you to let you know about my bender."
"You did chemsex with two NYC gay men? Greg… but you already know you might have caught something, you think of everything," Tony said, sounding miserably resigned.
"I'm praying to anyone who'll listen to an agnostic that neither of them have HIV or AIDS, but we have to be prepared for the possibility," I said, already resolved and accepting of it.
"Shit, Greg. What… what if you do have the bug?" Tony asked, sounding more scared than I'd ever heard him.
"Well, even a blood test won't detect it for at least 18 days, if then, so we need to wait a few weeks to find out," I said plainly. "And if I do have it, I can certainly afford to do the best HAART regimen medically possible. If that doesn't work, technically AIDS isn't lethal by itself, it just makes it so everything else becomes lethal. I can spend the rest of my life working in a sterile bubble inside the Castle. This isn't a death sentence, Tony. I'm not worried."
"You know how I can tell when you're lying? You jump a half octave when you talk. You were practically falsetto on that last part," Tony growled.
"Ok, fine, I'm scared shitless. I don't want to get sick. I don't want my one slip up to end up killing me. I don't want to have to live in a clean room environment, getting visited by people in hazmat suits just so I don't keel over from the tiniest germ touching me. But if that's what happens, then I need to be ready for it," I sighed.
"I met someone, Maya Hansen. She gets genes the way I get engines. She showed me some research she's doing on basically hacking DNA with a virus and upgrading it. She calls it Extremis. I watched a ficus grow back a branch in 10 seconds. I mean, it exploded right after, but she's on the right track. Let me bring her in and pour half the budget into using her brains to find a cure," Tony informed me.
"A quarter of the budget, max. And don't hyperfocus on HIV, I want this Extremis applied to every ailment in the human body. And I'll put this in legalese for internal policy if I have to, but focus just on getting a human to baseline health instead of jumping straight to roughing out the first generation of transhumans and the next stage in evolution," I said firmly.
"Yeah, yeah, crawl before you walk before you run, I get it," Tony huffed. "You going to be ok, Greg?"
"I'm going to have a very awkward talk with Nathan and then my two bedmates, then I'm going straight to the hospital to get checked out. I'll visit again in a month to see if I got the virus or any other STD. Otherwise, business as usual," I said firmly.
"Heaven forbid you take a break from trying to fix the world," Tony said in a bit of a harsh joke.
"I love you, Tony. We'll get through this, no matter what," I said firmly.
"Don't fucking die on me, Greg. Promise me," Tony said, abandoning all pretense and sounding so desperate.
"I promise. Even if I have to cure death, I promise," I found myself saying.
"I'll hold you to that, Greg," Tony said, in an echo of that December night back in '91. Then he hung up.
I sighed, but didn't put my phone down. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, sir?" asked the AI.
"Shoot a memo to the Stark Arctic Research Center. Tell them to send a team to investigate that gamma anomaly they found a few months back."
"Very well, sir," JARVIS agreed.
"Also, get in touch with the right people, see about upping our philanthropic efforts in sub-Saharan Africa. Especially Wakanda, Dad did some shady business with them and I want to make up for it."
"Of course, sir."
I put down the phone. Helen Cho was already part of 4S. Between my existing team of geniuses, Maya Hansen with functionally unlimited funding, 'resurrecting' Captain America to get our hands on his blood, and just possibly a chance to work some kind of deal out with Wakanda and their future tech, I was feeling pretty good about my health, all things considered.
Really. Honest.
I left the bathroom and got dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt. I had just finished putting on socks when Nathan burst into my room. The slam of the door seemed to stir my two most recent lovers.
"What. The. Damn. Hell. Greg?" Nathan demanded, taking in the whole room with one sweep and then pinning me with the ultimate look of the judgmental big brother.
"I had a drink, which turned into many drinks, which turned into anything I could get my hands on. At least, I'm guessing. I literally don't remember the last 19 hours or so," I said, not able to look him in the eye.
"Right. Hospital, now. We need to find out what the hell happened to you. No way you went this crazy from your first taste of alcohol," Nathan growled.
"I mean, it's a legit possibility, but I'd like a tox screen just to be safe anyway," I nodded. "Um, I'd like to introduce you to these two, but I fail to recall their names. Or even if they're good in bed, total blackout," I said, shooting for humor and probably just making things awkward.
Nathan turned to the bleary-eyed twink and the muscle daddy who was up and had an arm protectively wrapped around the younger's waist. "Names. Ages. Legal histories. Now," he barked.
"None of your business," the big black bodybuilder frowned.
"Are we in trouble?" the painfully young boy, probably a teen with a fake ID, asked nervously.
"Nathan, play nice," I sighed. "Gentlemen, sorry if we already covered this part, but I'm Greg Stark. This is Mr. Luccio, my Head of Security. He's just trying to do his job, but he can do it much nicer. Could you both please just give us some basic information? If we let you go with nothing but your clothes, the media will rip the two of you apart when they track you down. It's in your own best interest to cooperate with us."
"Just had a fun night, who would care about us enough to cause trouble?" the larger hunk asked, though he seemed less defensive at my 'good cop' approach.
"I'm extremely selective with who I let into my bed in normal circumstances. Yesterday was an exception to the rule. My business rivals would all but kidnap you for details about anything you saw or heard me mention about work, the gossip rags will want tell-alls about the first 'gay billionaire' and what he's like in bed. Hell, with how much power and influence I have in America and abroad, you might even become persons of interest to foreign intelligence. You need to work with us so we can protect you best from the consequences of being associated with me," I explained patiently.
"You didn't warn us about all this last night," the youth said accusingly, though he was visibly trembling with fear at my words. Christ on a crutch, what had drunk/high me been thinking?
"Last night, I wasn't in my right mind. My apologies for not forewarning you properly. But no going back, only forward. So please, can you answer some questions for me and Mr. Luccio? You can refuse to answer, but I'm warning you now that life will be much harder if you insist on stonewalling us," I explained.
The bigger man hugged the smaller one tight, seemingly holding him together and offering comfort. I got the sense they were an established couple and I'd been a one-night addition. "I'm Hitch Lawson, aka Pitch Black. I'm a DJ who works the gay club circuit," the big guy finally said.
"I'm Jack Frost. Yes, that's my legal name, my parents had sucky humor. I live with Pitch," the twink explained.
"Address?" Nathan prompted, though his tone was gentler this time around.
Hitch named an apartment in Harlem. Nathan nodded. "I'll have a team go check to see if anyone's scoping it out. I'll get the info to PR to run a background check and start to handle an official statement. Have any of you eaten?"
"Nope, tell Remy to get a light brunch for 3 ready, please, Nathan," I ordered softly.
"And then the hospital. I'm not kidding, Greg," Nathan frowned, before turning on his heel and stalking out the bedroom.
"Yeesh, what's with him?" Jack asked, though he visibly relaxed when the door closed.
"His job is to keep me alive and safe. Me vanishing last night and doing various drug-fueled activities made his job much harder, and if anything happens to me he would take it personally. He's more mad at me and himself than either of you," I told Hitch and Jack.
"Why would anyone be watching our apartment? I get you're rich, but that's insane," Hitch asked.
"I'm told I made quite a scene last night, and I've explained why certain parties would be interested in you just for being seen with me. Paparazzi would have followed me last night, possibly seen me leave with you two, and then certainly have asked around to learn everything about you two. Granted, the gay community is pretty don't ask don't tell when it comes to press, but everyone wants their 15 minutes of fame. It's just smart to assume someone gave up your address and it's being staked out," I answered.
"Not sure you were worth all this trouble. No offense," Jack said a bit breathlessly.
"None taken," I sighed.
"So… you don't even remember us?" Hitch asked with a raised brow.
"My memory cuts out around 3 pm yesterday. Sorry, I don't. For what it's worth, I hope you both had fun, but I wish we had met under different circumstances if at all," I said.
"Ooh, sex during a blackout? All the risk, none of the fun. Sorry, man," Jack said sympathetically.
"Are you both clean? I'm getting tested at the hospital along with a drug test. You're both free to get checked out on my dime while I'm there," I offered.
"Was clean when I started dating Jack," Hitch shrugged.
"And I'm good. Feel perfectly normal, guess I'm just lucky," Jack grinned.
I frowned. "Jack, you are aware some people are asymptomatic, right? Just because you don't express symptoms doesn't mean you don't have something and can infect others. Like Typhoid Mary."
Jack frowned in confusion while Hitch turned as pale as his midnight skin would allow. "What do you mean? Sick is sick, right?" Jack asked with uncertainty.
"Jack, you never went to the clinic and got checked?" Hitch demanded.
"I mean, I didn't think I had to! I didn't have bumps, it didn't burn when I peed, I thought I was fine!" Jack protested his innocence.
I sighed. "Ok, you both can settle this on your own time. But free food and a trip to the hospital are on the table if you stick with me for the rest of the day."
"Definitely," Hitch said, his tone making it clear to his boyfriend that disagreeing wasn't an option.
I took one look at their, for lack of a better word, clothes and offered them their pick from my own wardrobe for Jack and Nathan's room here in the mansion for Hitch. We went down to the kitchen, where even the customary foodgasms to be had at Remy's 3-Michelin-star cuisine couldn't lighten a very somber mood. That done, Nathan led us to the driveway. He took one look at my sloppily parked Wootz and took us to my Urukku SUV instead. We got in, and he drove us into the city to Mount Sinai Hospital. Between my high-profile status and the healthy grants I awarded each year, I'd gotten a private consultation with one of the best doctors on staff.
By that evening, with the rush order done on the lab work, we had our answer.
"Rohypnol, alcohol, MDMA, cocaine, and methamphetamine for me. Trip, the clap, and HIV for you two and probably me since I had unprotected sex with both of you, but it's too early to detect on my end," I explained to the two of them in the private office I'd asked for.
"Motherfucker!" Hitch roared in fury.
"Oh, Pitch, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Jack started to sob.
"Fuck you, bitch! I shoulda let you starve in that alley instead of taking you in!" Hitch snarled at the kid.
"There's no need for hostility," I frowned.
"Fuck you, asshole! You can afford all the fancy medicine, I'm a dead man walking! This fag bitch killed me!" Hitch screamed. Before I could respond to that, he turned and stormed out the room.
Jack curled into a ball and began to rock. I noticed him start to do some complex gestures with his hands.
I'd had an inkling grow over the course of the day and our conversations. This confirmed it for me. "You're autistic too?" I asked gently."
"Y-y-yeah. I was always the weird kid in school, and my parents had a real hard time dealing with me. When they caught me kissing the neighbor boy they kicked me out. I hitchhiked here from Minnesota, did what I had to to get by. I thought Pitch loved me, but guess I was just a free trick. And now I'm gonna die and I killed him and I killed you too and you're so nice and… gah!" Jack said in a barely comprehensible string of syllables.
"You didn't kill me. Like Hitch said, I can afford the medicine. And if and when he calms down, I can offer it to him. You can have it too. We're all in this together," I said reassuringly.
Jack looked up, eyes already red and big and wet. "R-really? Why would you help us? Why would you help me? I'm the idiot who got the 3 of us into this mess."
"You didn't know about asymptomatic infection. You weren't an idiot, you just didn't know better. You're a bit at fault for not getting checked earlier, but so am I for agreeing to have unprotected sex with a stranger, high or not. The point is, playing the blame game won't solve anything. I'll do whatever I have to for my own health, and in my mind it seems the least I can do to help you and Hitch with your own," I laid out.
"Huh. You're cool, Greg. I mean, I already thought you were pretty cool, I mean, you're an autistic billionaire and all, and you seemed real cool last night and you're great in bed but seriously, you're cool. Ice cold, even," Jack said in a slightly hysterical stream of thought.
"Thank you for the compliment," I nodded.
"Oh, what am I going to do about Pitch?" Jack worried, doing the hand things again.
"If he wants nothing to do with you or me, that's his choice. I'll offer him medical coverage, but he might not be prepared to be rational about it quite yet. With all due respect, your relationship with him is none of my business. I'll give any advice you want, but you have to ask," I said.
"I think he made how he felt about me pretty clear just now," Jack said, despondent. "Guess I'm homeless again. No way he'll let me keep crashing with him after this."
"You really think I'd offer to cover your medical bills and still let you live on the streets?" I asked rhetorically. "You can stay with me until we get you sorted, don't worry about anything but getting better and back on your feet, ok?"
Jack gulped. "Why?" It was a simple question.
I had a simple answer. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Jack got a small, watery smile. "Chillier than Antarctica, Greg."
"Now you're laying it on a bit thick," I chuckled.
Jack frowned. "Rohypnol… isn't that the date rape drug? When would that have gotten into you?"
"That is a good question, and I'm determined to find out the answer," I frowned, reading the results again.
Seriously, who had benefited from me making a total idiot of myself? If it had been slipped to me at the Expo reception, how had I ended up on stage in time for the opening speech? If it had been during my drunken bar crawl, why had I ended up home with Jack and Hitch and not someone much meaner or more nefarious? It was seriously bugging me.
Well, there was that three hours between the reception and the opening speech. Someone could have had their wicked way with me then and then all that followed was my own drugged shenanigans. But again, who, what, when, where, and why?
Well, I might never figure it out. But I'd give it my honest best to work out the answer.