Chapter 6: Rehab
I: Tony
Tony Stark had never been to rehab, but he doubted that most of them were like The S.H.I.E.L.D. Masked Operative Rehabilitation Complex in San Diego.
The MORC was the most high tech, high class and state of the art facility of its kind, as it was designed to keep the people who kept America and it's allies safe in good working order, both mentally and physically, in the most top-secret way possible.
There was nothing around it for miles but brush and desert; it was constructed so you couldn't get out and they, whoever "they" might be, couldn't get in.
The facility was staffed completely by fellow superhero volunteers and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel.
His tour included gyms, two target shooting ranges, swimming pools, a bowling alley, a restaurant, a movie theatre, the entire medical complex, several sunrooms, common rooms, a library and suites that rivalled those in the best hotels.
He signed up for the Moderation Program, in which you were still allowed a certain amount of drinks per day.
You stayed for five to eight weeks.
The first week and the second, no drinks.
At all.
Then you were allowed a total of four drinks per day.
You could even keep the stuff in your room, but for every drink you had over the four drinks, you had to stay another week.
Then, in three more weeks, home you went.
They gave him a lovely suite, and Tony was determined to think of it as a vacation at a resort for superheroes, except with lots of cameras everywhere, and he was able to play it like that for the first day or so, and then withdrawal started to set it.
The shakes were pretty bad, so bad that he couldn't keep his hands still. He kept seeing things, things he knew weren't there, and he found himself in a constant state of panic.
None of which was as bad as the unfulfilled desire to have a fucking drink.
At the MORC, on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Moderation program, they believed in sweating it out of you; you went cold turkey and that was that.
A doctor came to see you once in the morning and once at night, to make sure you were alright, but that was it; you weren't getting medicine unless you were having grand mal seizures and you weren't getting a drink, no fucking way.
On the third day, Tony took to his bed, he just laid there all day, naked and shaking and sweating it out.
He wanted to scream and scream again, but he didn't, and eventually, he fell asleep.
By the fifth day, he felt well enough to at least put on boxers and an undershirt, and he began to show interest in food, again.
They were giving him soup and crackers, and ginger ale, and pudding, which was good, because his stomach was a wreck.
Thankfully, the room had a TV, and he sat in front of it for much of the fifth day.
On the sixth day, he actually took a shower before putting on his boxers and undershirt, and parking himself in front of the TV.
It had to be Sunday, because there were swoony, weepy melodramas all over the TV, and Tony, who had been rather emotional, lately, was embarrassed that he sat there and cried through them, blowing his nose and snivelling and blubbering like a maudlin housewife.
Thank God they put an old John Wayne war movie on, he was running out of both pride and Kleenex.
The Duke was just single-handedly killing half of the Nazis in Europe when there was a knock on his door.
That was probably dinner; he took it as a good sign that he was hungry and that his hands were no longer shaking when he put them on the doorknob.
"Hey, you're doin' good for the sixth day! Of course, I hadda lotta other shit wrong with me. I got your dinner. You watchin the Duke, too? I love this movie. Maybe we'll get a Western on, next. Notice I ain't dragging my leg, anymore? It's finally better…"
It was Napalm with dinner.
Napalm didn't ask if she could come in, but that was alright with Tony.
She'd already seen him at his worst, and what did he have to hide from her, and besides, he was glad for the company.
"I hope so. You know, this morning, I was watching Magnificent Obsession and crying like a baby."
"Yeah. Me too. You get so emotional, in this joint. With no booze."
"But you went through almost the whole program? Why won't they let you have your three to five drinks?"
"I dunno. Spite. Let's eat."
They ate their dinner, and a Western did come on afterwards, now it was the Duke telling Henry Fonda to stay away from those Apaches.
"You know who this movie reminds me of? Me and Steve. Except when I get on my high horse, I let Steve pull me down from it. When are we allowed to have visitors?" Tony asked.
"We're not."
"Phone calls?"
"Not unless somebody in your family dies."
"Jesus, what is this?"
"Superhero Prison. Why d'you think I broke out?"
"You wanted a drink?"
"Naah. I was gettin' my three to five drinks a day, by then. No, I broke out because I was really fuckin' horny. Like a really bad case of the hangover hots. And I didn't want to make an ass of myself with any of my fellow masks here I didn't know so well. How you doin'?"
"They started yesterday. I still had the shakes, too, so that made relief very…interesting."
Liv laughed.
"Most people don't get that way."
"Lucky us, huh? Napalm, look, I know I look disgusting, and I'm in really bad shape. I don't need you to do me any favors."
"Who's doin' you a favour? I'm horny, too. I'll take what I can get. Just watch the movie."
Tony?
Go away, brain. Napalm gives the best head on Earth, and I am trying to enjoy myself.
But there's cameras everywhere.
Oh.
Tony lifted up his glass of tonic water and raised it towards the nearest mirror, winking slyly.
***
Tony slept through the seventh day, and in the wake of his rather sordid encounter with Napalm, he began to have weird sex dreams, unpleasant and Burroughsian dreams that were more nightmare than fantasy.
He awoke from one of them, in the middle of the night, sweating so profusely that he had the sheets were soaked, choking on a strangled scream of terror, and feeling like there was a tree growing out of his crotch.
He went and took a shower, but that didn't really seem to calm him down, much, so, knowing that he was at least free to go wherever he chose in the MORC complex, he went to Liv's suite.
Tony could hear the TV was on; it was three in the morning, and she wasn't in bed.
He knocked, softly.
"Napalm? Napalm, it's Tony."
He could hear her trip on the way to the door, drop something, swear and then she unlocked the door.
"What are you doing here, in the middle of the night?" she asked.
Tony dug deep and found his reserve of savoir-faire.
"Well, for starters, I was thinking about demonstrating to you that, although I may not be your favorite monster Eddie Blake, I do have a certain amount of brute strength by tearing your tank top in two. Then, I was going to pull off your shorts with my teeth. And after that, I figured, I'd improvise. At any rate, I brought you a present. Would you like to unwrap it?"
"I'm really glad I saved your life, Tony."
"So am I. Can I come in?"
"Fuck yeah!"
Tony walked in, and slammed the door and locked it, and Napalm immediately untied his robe.
"For me? Oh, you shouldn't have."
Tony tossed his robe onto her couch and headed for the bedroom.
"How did you get such a big bed? You could fit two of my bed in this bed!"
"I asked for it. I knew you were going to be here, and yunno, hope springs eternal."
"Why's that? Are we not allowed to fuck in this place? What, do they have a little alarm that goes off in a sensor that detects human pheromones?"
"No. But they do have cameras everywhere. And in the bathrooms. They're only supposed to check on you, briefly, to see if you're mainlining over cleaner or some shit, but if you had your choice between flashing from room to room and watching a grown mask cry and act out The Lost Weekend, or watch some nasty porno superhero fucking, which would you do? And think how much those tapes would be worth. Sorry, Tony, but I'll have to look but not touch."
"Oh no you won't, my dear. Who, pray tell, do you think made the cameras for this lovely facility?"
"I know who made them. Stark Industries."
"Precisely. And all cameras made by Stark Industries have a special override mechanism, activated by retinal pattern analysis by their dear creator. Me. I look into the camera and, voila! Until me and my soulful blue eyes have made our departure, the camera is off. Any Stark Industries camera anywhere in the world."
"Why does that sound so familiar?"
"Because I stole the idea from your wonderfully paranoid stepfather. Actually, it was a businesses deal, but I'm not in the mood to talk shop. Are you? Now, time to disable Big Brother."
He walked over to the mirror.
"Where do you think the cameras are? Behind the mirrors?"
Tony walked over to the mirror, and struck a few poses.
"Oh, you handsome devil! Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the dirtiest of all?"
"What a performance! Too bad you're not playing to the camera."
"Yes. Too bad. Because you know I take great pride in my performance."
Actually, Tony was a little worried about his performance, for the first time since he was 15, because it was the first time since he was about that age that he had been stone cold sober during it.
Fortunately for him, he was so unbelievably ragingly horny that he couldn't think about it too much.
Liv laughed, and stood in front of the mirror with him.
"It's a big mirror. I'll bet that's where the camera is."
He grabbed two fistfuls of her tank top, and ripped it in half, then dropped to his knees to make good on the other part of his threat.
Liv smiled at the mirror, and winked, running her fingers through Tony's hair.
"I love bein' a superhero." She smirked.
***
His heart still beating much too fast, Tony crawled up onto Napalm's much bigger bed from the floor, and stretched across it.
She soon followed.
"Well, other than the rugburn all over my ass, I gotta say, that was a good one." She decided.
Tony wasn't saying anything.
"Feels completely different when you're not drunk, don't it?"
"I think I'm going to like sobriety. What do you mean, you asked for it?"
"What?"
"The bed."
"I just asked for a suite with a bigger bed. Director Fury gave me a real funny look and asked me why a little girl like me needed a bigger bed, and I told him that if I wasn't allowed to drink, I had to do something, and I got this bed."
"And we didn't even use it."
"I guess there's always tomorrow."
"What about right now?"
"Man, you got it bad! Well, they say the third time's the charm."
***
Tony was in his third week when Napalm was scheduled to go home, and, all things considered, the second week was not so bad, with her around.
Then, three days before she was supposed to go home, Tony went to see Liv in her suite and discovered she wasn't there.
All her things were neatly packed, but she wasn't with them.
He did a little detective work, and found out that Napalm was being held in one of the rubber rooms in the sub-basement.
Naturally, Tony didn't have permission or a security clearance to go there, but he made his way down under cover of night.
He found Napalm through trial and error.
They didn't have a straitjacket on her, but they were keeping her, naked, in one of the padded white rooms, and when Tony looked in, she was serenely sleeping on the floor.
"Pssst! Napalm!"
"What are you doing down here?"
"I'm helping you break out."
She just laughed.
"Go back upstairs. They think this is going to hold me? This joint is cake to bust out of. The problem with all of thse cats is, they're heroes. What do they know about bustin' out of the joint. My father's a supervillain. He's busted outa Arkham. I know more about makin a new door in a joint like this than most masks ever forgot. I'll see you the night before I'm supposed to be discharged. To say goodbye. The hard way. Then you'll see me going over the wall. So, what's this? Dress up?"
"Not exactly. But I brought your jester cowl and mask, and my helmet. And I'm going to put this mask on, under it. Hank Pym lent it to me. He's here for his bad back."
"Do you have an evil plan, Tony?"
"Yes. I figured that you were considering going over the wall, again, and with them locking you down in the violent ward, it might throw a monkey wrench into your plans."
"Well, now that you mention it, I was having a little difficulty coming up with a plan that didn't involving hurting somebody. So, tell me, what kind of eeee-villl can we do with your helmet, my cowl, and Giant Man's extra mask?"
"We can get on candid camera right now, and I can play it back the night you escape. That is, if you don't mind being a temporary porn star. The goons will be so busy watching the free show while you take a powder, they won't be watching you."
"Why the masks?"
"In case I can't get the tape back, and somebody distributes it. That, and I've always wanted to do it in the suit, and this is the closest I can get. Now, I'll call you Harlequin, and you call me Iron Man. No names."
"You know what, Tony? Doing it incognito for an amateur porno in a rubber room? That's a kick I haven't tried."
"Amateur? I beg your pardon, Napalm! There's nothing amateur about either of us. Okay, masks on. Good. I'll take off my robe and we're on in 3-2-1…NOW!"
"Why Iron Man! What a big crank you have! I'll bet you came here to get some oil for your machine, stud."
Cheesy dialogue?
They were doing cheesy dialogue?
Why not?
If he got the tape, and they could release it, all the while publicly claiming someone else had, well, they could make a small fortune.
And besides, this promised to be fun.
Eddie Blake, he was a lucky man.
Liv was one dirty little bad fairy from Hell.
"That's right, Harlequin. You won't be laughing when I start working my well-oiled piston in your superheated engine block."
"No, I'll be screaming with delight! Time for your tune up, sugar."
"The joke's gonna be on you, baby. All over you."
***
Tony took off his helmet and let it roll away.
"Tony?"
"I need a moment of silence, Napalm."
"Why?"
"For the ultimate intersection of my mojo and my genius. You bring out the best of the worst in me, Napalm."
"Thanks. You better go back up to your room. Listen, I have lunch at Grossmann's, on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, at noon. And I hate to eat alone. Okay?"
"Next time I see you, I'm buying. Napalm?"
"Yes?"
"How serious is this Eddie Blake thing?"
"Tony, that big, mean son of a bitch is my fate. But, I'm not the monogamous type. And neither is Eddie. Seeya at Grossmann's."
"See you at Grossmann's."
***
Sure enough, late the night before Liv was supposed to be discharged, while the guards in the violent ward were raptly watching Iron Man and the Harlequin put on a professional porny performance, Tony was awakened by what sounded like every alarm in the building going off.
Like every other mask in the place, he ran to his window, opened it, and stuck his head out to cheer the rapidly moving blur of red hair and white skin that was heading for the gate, toting, improbably, her adamantium machete.
Tony, of course, had placed it for her, out on the grounds, the day before, while he and Hank Pym were taking a little walk, and Tony was flashing those baby blues for the camera.
The guard dogs were running with her rather than after her, joyfully yipping and barking and howling, and Napalm was laughing and howling as she threw the unbreakable machete at the electrified fence, creating a shower of sparks.
Once it was neutralised, she scaled it quick as a monkey, pulled her machete out by its non-conductive wooden handle on the other side, sliced through the non-electrified barbed wire, and, after climbing down the other side, she saluted her fellow masks who cheered her from behind the fence.
Then, as she leapt into the brush, she began to sing.
An old Chuck Berry tune.
"You can't catch me/No you can't catch me/Cause if you get too close/I'll be gone like a coooooool breeze…"
III: Nick
"Do you always personally congratulate your charges when they finish the program, Nick?"
Director Fury let out a puff of cigar smoke like the smokestack of a steam engine.
"Yes I do. But, before you go, Tony, I just wanted to tell you, that I know you were in with the Harlequin on her second escape. Not that I didn't expect her to go over the wall a second time. Now, I don't give a rat's ass about that. But, I know for a fact that, when she ran out of here, she ran directly into the ever-loving arms of one of the most dangerous sons of bitches on God's Green Earth. Her partner. The Comedian. I don't have the particulars on whether he's sealed the deal, or not, and maybe they'll have to bounce each other off the walls a little, but this is a done deal. Eddie's not a sentimental man. I can only think of one dame he ever called "my girl" other than Liv, and you know who that is. So, you better watch your ass, Tony, playin' footsie with the Harlequin. Eddie will kill you. He'll make it look like somebody else did it, but either way, you'll be dead. You get me?"
Tony Stark laughed.
The crazy son of a bitch actually laughed.
"I'm not a child, Nick. And neither is Liv. Or Eddie Blake. Now, I happen to know that the Comedian and the Harlequin, though they are, whether they know it or not, madly in wild ultraviolent love, neither of them has a monogamous bone in their bodies. And, whereas I will step aside until the fur stops flying, I'm sure there will still be a place for me in Napalm's black little heart, whenever all is said and done."
"Too bad that's not what you're looking for."
Tony frowned.
"You're right. What I'm really looking for is that wonderous intellect of hers. Someone like her, and somebody like me, if we could get our heads together…well, who knows what would happen."
"I'd rather you were just in it for the pussy. Watch your ass, Tony."
"Oh, I'll try."