Guess who finally has some time to update! I'm so sorry for the delay. I've been in a time of transition lately, but I finally managed to find a few spare moments to get this chapter posted. Thank you all for your faithful readership despite these delays. This is quite possibly the longest chapter of the story, so I hope that makes up for it's tardiness to some degree. Enjoy!

Warning: Mild language and descriptions of violence in this chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Not So Easily Discarded

She heard the door and the voice simultaneously. "Pepper, get up."

Pepper scowled and tiredly brought a hand up to rub her eyes when he rudely flipped on the light. She inhaled deeply and propped herself up onto her elbow. "What's going on?" She asked in a sleep-heavy voice.

Coulson went straight to the closet and pulled out a suit. "Hostiles have taken a museum and are holding civilians hostage in an effort to draw Iron Man out. Looks like it's working."

Pepper sat up in bed, now fully awake. "Tony is there?"

"Yep," he said blankly. "Suit's in bad shape, but he's there. They need backup."

Pepper flung the covers to the side and got out of bed. "Is that where we're headed?" she asked, grabbing some clothes from her boxes and heading towards the bathroom.

"No," Coulson answered, turning and throwing the suit onto the bed as he undressed. "That's where I'm headed. You are going to be dropped off at HQ until all of this is sorted out."

"But what if I can help?" came her muffled voice from behind the bathroom door.

"Pepper, you're still a civilian and I'm not taking you to a battlefield. That's not happening."

"Change of plans," he said, dropping the phone from his ear as they sped down the street. "I'm taking you to a battlefield."

"Really?" Pepper asked, holding onto the armrest as Coulson took a sharp turn. "But I thought-"

"They've called me to the scene 'without delay'. I don't have a choice." He looked over his shoulder as he aggressively changed lanes to avoid slow traffic. "But you're staying in the car with your head down until I or another agent comes for you."

"Or Tony," Pepper added without thought.

"Yeah," Coulson echoed lowly. "Or him."

Pepper glanced over at the man driving, regretting her quick correction. Usually, there was more processing time between her thoughts and her words, but she failed to apply that filter this time. Insults and injuries were both ghastly things, especially when applied together, and there was no reason why Phil should have to feel any worse than he probably already did.

Pepper could still taste last night's kiss on her lips. Something clenched in her heart when she recalled the wounded look in his eyes as he pulled his hand from hers. Pepper had been growing rather fond of those eyes and hated the idea of their brightness being dimmed on account of her. In the whirlwind of the morning, they hadn't discussed the night before, but Pepper was determined to do so at some point. "Phil," she began. "Are we-"

"One thing at a time, Miss Potts." He heard the heavy sigh at his use of the title, and in his periphery, he could see her turn to look out the window. He didn't mean to cut her down like that. He reverted back to the formality more for his sake than anyone else's. He needed the reminder. He needed to keep his thoughts and feelings in check, and that type of compartmentalization helped him achieve that. But he also didn't want her to think he was trying to push her friendship away. That was the last impression he wanted to give.

"Pepper." He had nothing else to say. No extra comment to attach. He simply spoke her name. That was all.

And it was all she needed. Pepper looked back over at him and smiled softly. He hazarded a short glance to catch the smile, and returned it with a tiny smirk of his own.

Pepper was just about to reach her hand over to touch his as it rested on the center console, but he pulled it away that instant to grab hold of the steering wheel.

"Hold on," he said, and cranked the wheel to the right.

Within five minutes, they were pulling up to the museum. Coulson barely put the vehicle in park before he was climbing out.

"What about me?" Pepper asked.

Coulson turned back and bent to see her through the opened door. "I told you, stay in the car. Keep your head down and don't move."

"But what if-"

"In the car, Pepper," he commanded firmly, closing the door and heading towards his team.

Aside from the leagues of government vehicles, the scene looked like any other day. The bright morning sun was just reaching a steady height. The grass, which could probably use a mower in the next couple of days, was swaying in the light breeze. There was a crispness to the early April air. It would have been a nice day for practically any outdoor activity.

Except for combat, that is. It was never a nice day for combat.

"Situation," Coulson ordered as Barton approached him.

The marksman handed his superior an earwig and gave the briefing. "Perimeter secured at a block out. We've got five hostiles: identify themselves as 'The Discarded.' Apparently they were some of the leading employees of Stark Industries' weapons production. It fits with our intel from the bombing suspect. My guess is: They're all a little pissed Stark laid most of them off when he shut down his weapons division a couple months ago. They want revenge."

"Threat level?" Coulson asked, inserting the small communication device into his ear.

"Heavily armed with Stark tech, some of it's stuff that never even made it to distribution. Got hostages, too."

"How many?"

"Fourteen."

"Any of 'em kids?" Coulson asked, already dreading the answer.

Barton nodded solemnly, "Eight, sir."

"Damn," was Coulson quiet reply. He gave a soft huff. It was always worse when kids were involved. "How are sights in there?"

"Tricky. Lots of walls and tall exhibits blocking my lines," the archer informed. "The last I was in there, I had shots for two of the hostiles coming from the north angle, but the other three were pretty well concealed."

"Tandem units?"

"North's nothing to brag about, but the other angles are even worse. I was the only unit with a shot."

Coulson nodded absently. "Then we need to draw them out. Where's Stark?"

"He's in there now, trying negotiations."

"He on coms?"

Hawkeye gave a curt nod.

"Then call your position, Barton."

Hawkeye smirked. It was his favorite thing about working with Coulson. Other higher-ups wanted to manhandle every part of an operation. But Coulson trusted his judgment and always let him choose his own angles. Barton pointed to a rooftop and Coulson turned to examine it.

"Fine," the senior agent said, "Get a second unit on the opposite rooftop. I want one more to stick with the northern angle. Give me one unit on this street and... one on that one over there."

"Yes sir." Barton said and left to carry out his orders.

Coulson turned back to the museum and raised a finger to press against his ear. "Mr. Stark, good morning. This is Agent Coulson, do you read me?"

"Like Tolstoy," came the radioed response. "And I'd say you have a pretty low standard for mornings there, Agent."

Coulson smirked. "You get used to it."

"So are you the guy they sent in to run this show or what?"

"Afraid so."

A blast of machinegun fire was heard from within the museum. Coulson pressed his com-link further into his ear. "Status Stark," he ordered.

"Yeah. I hate to break it to you, Agent, but I don't think these guys want to schedule a meeting with you either. They're not exactly chatty and I'm running out of ideas."

"Don't worry, Mr. Stark. This isn't-"

"I know, I know. This isn't your first rodeo."

Coulson just smiled in response. "And speaking of meetings, I'd like the chance to debrief you after this. You've managed to be off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar for a while which, I might add, is not an easy task."

"Oh yeah, that. It's a doozy. Pretty daring escape if you ask me. Better than Afghanistan, even. You'll be on the edge of your seat for the whole thing."

A small explosion rumbled from the building. Based on the calm-ish tone of Tony's replies, Coulson guessed it was probably under control in there, despite the clamor that periodically punctuated the agent and hero's conversation. But for Pepper's sake, Coulson still hoped that Stark was keeping his head down in there. "Escape from whom?" Coulson asked when the echo from the explosion died down.

"Wasn't sure at the time, but I'm beginning to think it was these guys. Or at least, that they were connected somehow. "

"Hmm," Coulson hummed in thought, "that explains why these 'Discarded' were so inactive while you were MIA. They had you in custody."

"But I escaped yesterday afternoon and have been making my way back here," Stark observed.

"So they're acting up again. Makes sense."

"Yeah, well, I've just about had it with these guys. I'd like them out of my hair. So what's your call, Agent?"

"I want you to stand down. A confrontation with you is exactly what these people want. Right now, you're our best bargaining chip. They want to talk to you? Fine, but they have to surrender all of the hostages before they get to do that. Kids first and then the adults. Then we need to get the hostiles out in the open. We've got backup for you if it comes down to a shoot-out, but I'm not interested in sending my men down a bottleneck. See if you can draw them out."

"Yeah, about that," Stark began skeptically. "I seem to've left my fife in my other suit so, how exactly do you suggest I get them to follow me outside?"

"Focus on getting the children out first, Mr. Stark. And after that? You have a unique personality. I'm sure you'll find some way to persuade them."

"I have an offensive personality," Tony corrected.

Coulson just smirked, "Like I said, I'm sure you can persuade them."

There was only a brief pause on the other end of the radio before Coulson heard a "Roger that, Agent," from the billionaire.

The scene went silent as Coulson and the other agents waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Tony stopped responding on the radio. Coulson called for updates from the unit stationed at the northern angle. Their reports seemed to suggest that the hostiles were conferring about something. That was a good sign. About two minutes after that, Stark was flying out of the building.

"All good?" Coulson asked when Iron Man landed beside him a moment later.

"We'll see," he replied. "I told them the only way I'd come back again is if they surrender the hostages. They were starting to fight with each other when I left. It looked like at least two of them were talking about letting the people go. I don't think those two want any one to get hurt...except for me, of course. They're all pretty pissed with me."

"Good work," Agent Coulson commended. "Looks like they might take the bait, then."

It was another waiting game after that. Coulson called for more updates from the unit that still had visuals through the Northern window, but all the reports were the same. The five Discarded were arguing amongst themselves, but after twenty minutes of this, the situation was escalating. Coulson was just about to consider changing tactics when the Northern unit's leader rang in his ear.

"They're headed your way, sir."

"Roger that," he replied.

"Sir," a junior agent called a second later, his assault rifle poised towards the museum entrance. "Hostile in sights"

Coulson looked at the entrance of the museum. Sure enough, one of the hostiles was coming into view. The fool didn't even clear the corners before exposing himself completely in the doorway. These people were clearly not trained soldiers, but they were certainly armed to the teeth. The man (who was now fully visible) was clad from head to toe in a strange metallic suit, and he held a weapon that appeared to weigh at least eighty pounds.

"Hold your fire," Coulson ordered preventively over the radio. Then, turning his head slightly towards Iron Man, he added, "Tell me about the gear."

Stark squinted at his design as his suits' AI ran the schematics. "The suit's purely defensive. Not many bells and whistles, but it's durable."

"Vulnerabilities?"

"Wherever you see skin."

"So, face. Got it," Coulson chimed, his voice making a half-hearted effort at a light-hearted tone.

Iron Man continued, "Gun's got a double barrel. Two grenades loaded in the bottom chamber, and the top fires 5.56mm automatic rounds. A single mag holds 40 rounds, and he's probably got spares. Doesn't look like he has a scope, though."

Satisfied with the report, Coulson focused his attention back on the enemy, watching as the man nervously aimed his gun back and forth until he was confident that no one was trying to shoot him.

"Where's my megaphone?" Coulson asked, holding his hand out behind him. A few seconds later, he felt the familiar plastic slipping into his hand. Pulling the trigger back, he held the device up to his mouth.

"Good morning," the agent greeted, watching how the man flinched and aimed his weapon in the direction of the noise. "On behalf of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, I order you to surrender your hostages and stand down."

"How do I know you won't just kill me if I do that?" the man yelled in reply.

"Sir at this moment, you are standing in the crosshairs of the best marksmen in the world. I can assure you, if S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted you dead, you would be dead."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" the man asked.

"We don't want to hurt you. We just want to make sure all those innocent people make it home to their families tonight," Coulson informed, the megaphone masking his voice with a scratchy, inhuman quality and glossing over every consonant with an ambiguous static noise. "Mr. Stark has agreed to speak with you if you release the hostages peaceably."

The negotiations continued for a little while, but eventually, the man passed a hesitant look over his shoulder, back towards the museum's entrance. He waved for someone to come out.

"Extraction team, move into position," Coulson ordered into the radio. A unit of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents approached the entrance and stopped at about thirty yards out, waiting to receive the hostages.

One by one, the civilians began to exit the building, hands on their heads and tears streaming down their cheeks. The children came first, three girls and five boys. They appeared to be no older than ten years old, and Coulson held his breath until each one was safe in the custody of the other agents. After that, the adults came. Coulson watched the steady stream until all fourteen civilians were safely removed from enemy hands. The extraction team quickly funneled the group behind the S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical van and around a corner to a safe location.

It was now clear to Coulson that he was dealing with amateurs. Any experienced villain would have known not to surrender the whole group. Whatever leverage these Discarded once had was now completely gone, but they didn't realize it. They were making this up as they went along. These men were just disgruntled civilians, trying to get revenge on the selfish billionaire who left them jobless. If they had handled this in any other way, Coulson might have felt bad for them. But they harmed innocent people and put their own problems above the safety of others, and Coulson didn't appreciate that. Plus, they were using unlicensed weapons technology, and that was a pet peeve as well.

"Now give us Stark!" the man demanded.

Coulson raised the megaphone to his lips once again. "Surrender your weapons, and Mr. Stark will come out."

"That wasn't part of the deal!"

"There's no reason for anyone to get hurt. Surrender your weapons and we will work all of this out."

"Fuck you, liar!" the man exclaimed, spraying a half dozen unruly shots in Coulson's direction before running back into the building.

Coulson and the other agents on the ground ducked behind the line of vehicles while the rooftop S.H.I.E.L.D. units opened fire.

"Hold your fire," Coulson ordered, and the shots subsided. "Our hostages are safe, but that doesn't mean this needs to be a kill-shot scenario. I want as many of these guys in custody as possible for questioning. Only use lethal force if necessary. Northern unit..."

"Yes sir?"

"Smoke 'em out."

A series of smoke grenades were fired into the building a short moment later, releasing a steady flow of toxic gases into the air. In a hurried fit, the five assailants came bursting forth from the museum, coughing and rubbing at their eyes. Coulson rapidly noted that not all of the men were clad in the same head-to-toe armor as the first, but there wasn't time for another rundown from Stark this time.

"Move in," Coulson ordered, and the two nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. units began to close in on the hostiles, ordering for them to drop their weapons and get down on the ground. Two of the men complied. But as the unit came closer, the remaining Discarded opened fire. An agent fell to the ground while the others took cover and tried to pull their comrade to safety.

"Guess that's my cue," Iron Man said, taking off into the air. His frenzied flight caught the attention of the three hostiles and they changed their aim to follow him. Iron Man targeted the weaknesses of his own designs and was quickly maneuvering the small clump of hostiles into a corner.

Just when it looked like they might have no other choice but to surrender, the largest of the men fired a small missile which lodged itself into Iron Man's breastplate. Iron Man tore the small device from his armor and threw the weapon as quickly as he could. The missile traveled about two feet out before exploding in midair and roughly throwing Iron Man backwards from the blast. Stark crashed onto the hard ground and skidded to a stop.

Coulson aimed his weapon at the cluster of assailants and fired off several shots. He incapacitated one of the men before the other two could return fire. Coulson and his surrounding agents took cover while a supporting wave of arrows whizzed down from the rooftop.

The next time Coulson lifted his head above the protection of the car, he noticed three things simultaneously: firstly, that two of Barton's arrows had taken one of the men to the ground; secondly, that Stark had managed to recover from his blast and was once more engaging the enemy; and finally, that the final hostile was opening fire on Iron Man with everything he had.

Coulson lifted his hand to his ear, intent on demanding "Give Stark some cover!" over the radio, but at that moment, he was stunned into silence.

The last of the Discarded fired a grenade from his weapon, aimed straight at Iron Man's chest. At the very last moment, Stark gave an extra jolt to his feet thrusters, boosting himself into the air just as grenade reached its target. The explosive seemed to fly past in slow motion. Coulson's gaze followed to trajectory of the grenade as it hit the street and bounced away...slipping beneath a parked Acura. Coulson's heart stopped.

"Pepper!" he whispered into the radio.

The explosion shook the ground, painting the air with harsh streaks of yellow, orange, and white as the car was catapulted into the air in a fiery cascade. The vehicle made a single turn in the air before crashing to the ground, its four wheels marred into ghastly contortions and staring up at the sky.

After that, all thought left Phil Coulson's mind.

He stood from his crouched position, fully exposing himself to enemy fire, aimed his weapon, and slowly started walking forward, towards the final assailant. Phil unloaded.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Coulson altered his aim to follow as the enemy slumped to the ground. The agent never faltered in his steady march forward.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.

The chamber of his gun shifted open, signifying that he had run out of ammunition. It was only then that Coulson recaptured his bearings, staring down at his fallen enemy, watching the slow pool of blood expand on the pavement. Iron Man was soon landing at his side.

"Damn, Agent," he said, flipping back his mask.

Coulson didn't respond, just returned his gaze to the car. Ejecting his empty clip onto the ground, Phil broke into a full run towards the burning wreckage.

"Pepper!" he yelled as he brought his arms up to protect his face from the flames. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to grasp the burning handle and unlatch the door. He had to wrap his arm through the broken window and pull against the frame with the leverage of his elbow to force the bent metal slowly open.

He could see her inside the vehicle. Still buckled into the seat, Pepper hung upside down as she sobbed and begged for help. "Thank God," Coulson gasped when he saw she was alive. But Pepper was burned and had several large gashes on her head and body. She weakly reached a bloody hand out towards him.

"Hold on," Coulson begged, desperately struggling with the door. "Just hold on." Everything within him wanted to pull her away from that wreckage and hold her close. Deliver apologetic kisses to her and tell her he was so sorry for leaving her alone. Tell her she was safe now and he would never let anything happen to her again. And he would beg her to live.

Coulson was making slow progress on the door when he felt a heavy, metallic hand on his shoulder, roughly shoving him to the side. Iron Man ripped the door from its hinges in one fluid motion and threw it somewhere behind him. He reached inside the burning vehicle and freed Pepper from the seat, pulling her out from the wreckage.

Iron Man carried her away from the car and then stumbled to the ground with her in his arms, leaning back against the side of a building. He flipped back his mask and to no one's surprise (except maybe a few of the junior agents), there were tears in Tony Stark's eyes.

"Shhh, shhh," the billionaire soothed, stroking her hair lovingly as she leaned back against his metal chest. "I'm so sorry," he said, punctuating his words with small kisses to her head and cheek. "I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

Pepper sobbed and moaned in pain.

"I know, shhhh. It's okay," Tony continued. "I'm here. You're safe. It's going to be alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

Phil stood dumbfounded as he watched Pepper rest in the arms of the man she loved. How he wanted to be the kisses she felt and the voice she heard. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. But instead, he stood there, agape and powerless. And all he could do was watch another man say his words and deliver his kisses.

"It's going to be fine. Just stay with me, okay? Please Pep, you've got to work with me here. I need you to make it through this."

"Sir?"

The quiet voice pulled Coulson's mind away from the sunken feeling in his chest. He looked up at the same moment he noticed the soft hand placed on his shoulder, and the look on Barton's face was one of hesitant concern.

"Are you alright?" the archer asked.

Phil looked back at the wounded woman and her lover before forcefully turning his gaze away. He spun around and started walking briskly away from the scene that still played out behind his back and in the vivid detail of his mind. He wasn't sure which was more anguishing, seeing Pepper in pain, or watching Stark get to love her. Both ate at his insides in a way he couldn't describe.

"Fine," he answered gruffly as Barton quickly followed at his heels. "Get a med team here, now."

"They're on their way," Barton informed, still concerned for his superior officer. He had never seen the older agent act that way. Sure, Phil was always upset whenever innocents were injured, but this seemed different. Barton had never seen anything get personal for Coulson, but this one felt personal somehow. He had never seen him react quite like that. And he had certainly never seen the seasoned agent disregard his own orders by destroying a potential capture. This was all entirely new.

But before Barton had the opportunity to question the other agent further, Coulson had slipped back into business mode. The orders were coming out of his mouth before he had even fully returned to his assembly of agents.

"I need a team in that building for a clean sweep from top to bottom. I want every closet searched, every door opened. Tell me there are no more hostiles in that building. Hold the perimeters until every inch of this territory has been secured. I want a complete headcount of victims and assailants, alive or dead, and everyone of the hostages needs to be on an ambulance and taken to a S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital for medical and psychiatric attention."

With every order, Coulson pointed to a new agent, who would each dutifully listen to his instruction, nod a prompt, "Yes sir!" and then hurry away to his task.

"Sir," Barton began, "Are you sure you're-"

Coulson turned his pointed finger on the marksman quickly. "Radio headquarters and tell them to clear my skies of any news helicopters. I don't want to see a camera lens anywhere near this scene unless it's got our logo on it. You understand?" Phil burrowed into Barton with his gaze, silently ordering him to keep his questions to himself. There was a dead seriousness in his eyes.

Barton nodded. "Yes sir," he said softly.

Coulson kept the gaze firm for a few more exaggerated seconds, his lips pinched together in a tight frown. Then, stepping away from Barton, he lifted his voice to be heard by his whole team. "Let's get this mess cleaned up, gentlemen," he said, marching farther away from the burning car, and the woman who had been rescued from it.

There you are! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. For those of you who have been patiently waiting for Tony to make his appearance, he's finally here! And don't worry, he's in the next couple chapters as well.

Meanwhile, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I always appreciate hearing from you wonderful readers!