I'm astounded I managed to write an entire chapter in one day. Funny how I posted ch 18 on the 18th and ch 19 on the 19th. I hope you enjoy it.
Stark's lab is underground, but is otherwise unlike the labs the Asset James is accustomed to. It is well-lit, with windows looking out from the cliff covering one wall. Sleek, chrome cars line the sides of the shop, and some part of him wonders if any of them can fly. Their owner has made flying, weaponized armor.
The Asset James has to ignore the inner voice's elated rambling about how incredible the lab is, how it's better than Howard's. That does not make sense. Howard was, evidently, the man he'd assassinated in a car crash, not the owner of a lab. His brain is starting to mix up memories as well as forget mission details.
Something about Stark seems... familiar, but the Asset James cannot place it.
He does not see a maintenance chair in the room, nor a cryogenic chamber. He will not be fully repaired until they find the Batcave.
Stark claps his hands. Loud, thumping music with screaming voices- similar to the monstrosity on the car radio- pounds throughout the room. Harry the Handler covers his ears, stating matter-of-factly that it is "hoodlum music"
"Geez, who ruined your taste in music? This is the best." Stark says, as the music drops to a volume that does not threaten the listener's auditory senses. "J, why'd you lower it? We have to fix this poor kid's musical taste. He's impressionable, right, we can turn this around."
"I am not sure blowing out their eardrums is the best method to foster an appreciation of Black Sabbath, Sir." the invisible British voice replies in a dry tone. The Asset James is dissatisfied about his inability to locate the speaker. He should be more observant.
He spots several cameras and speakers hidden throughout the room. Jarvis must be observing them from another location. This does not reassure the Asset James at all.
"Fine, whatever." Stark spreads his arms in a grand gesture at the lab. "This is where the magic happens."
"...You're a freak?" Harry the Handler blurts out, clinging tighter to the Asset James. "But Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vewnon and Dudley like you... an' m-magic's not real."
"It's not magic, it's science!" Stark declares with a grin, glancing back at them. "Come on, I'm expecting to see more excitement! I don't let just anyone into my lab."
Harry the Handler looks around. After 4.9 seconds, he says "It's not the Batcave."
"Of course not." Stark sounds vaguely offended, more so than when he was called a freak. "It's cooler. Batman wishes he had my lab."
Harry the Handler looks as if he highly doubts that statement, but remains silent.
Three large robots, each with one clawed appendage, roll around the room. One approaches them, beeping in what appears to be excitement. Robots cannot feel things, cannot malfunction as the Asset James is.
The Asset James is ready to attack if the robot is hostile. His knives and the giant's umbrella with the weaponized stick had disappeared as they were teleported here. Can he take the robot down with his prosthesis in its current state?
He glances around. There are all sorts of tools and items of furniture that can be turned into weapons at a moment's notice.
"Back, Dum-E." Stark orders, and the robot beeps and slowly retreats, its claw lowered. The man waves his hand toward a rolling chair, which has little resemblance to the Chair. "All right, take a seat, Terminator. Let me have a look at that arm of yours."
The Asset James sits, frowning under his makeshift mask. His back is exposed. He scoots the chair until he is against the wall, where he can observe all parts of the room.
Harry the Handler climbs into his lap, snuggling against his chest. The boy leans against the prosthesis, stiffens, and shifts over to the flesh arm without a word.
"Where did you even get that arm?" Stark never seems to stop talking. "Certainly not Hammer Tech. Justin can't engineer his way out of a paper bag."
The Asset James remains silent. It is classified information he is never to reveal. But he is not HYDRA's asset anymore, he is Harry's.
Stark raises an eyebrow. "If you hadn't threatened me earlier, I'd wonder if you could even talk."
The man is quite pointedly waiting for a response. The Asset James glances at his handler.
"He can talk," Harry says to Stark, as if he's dumb. "Just not lots."
"Well, buddy, you're gonna have to talk to me. I can't figure out what's wrong if you don't tell me."
"Functionality of the prosthesis decreased to 45%. Jamming occurs at inopportune moments."
"Sir," the invisible British voice speaks up suddenly. "Our guest is showing signs of distress. His heart rate and blood pressure are elevated."
Stark pauses. "Which one?"
"The self-proclaimed Batman, sir."
The Asset James is certain he's hidden any signs of discomfort, which he is not supposed to feel at all. He's remaining still and compliant for the technician, because his handler decided he needs maintenance.
Harry the Handler peers around the room, looking for the voice's source but not asking the question aloud.
"Jarvis is an AI." Stark explains. "Kind of like my digital butler, so if you're looking for a guy in a suit, you're going to be disappointed."
"Where is he?" Harry presses himself tighter against the Asset James, expecting protection for asking questions.
"All over the house, in my other properties too." Stark replies, picking up a screwdriver.
Harry shakes his head. "No, Alfred. Where's Gof-fam?"
Stark snorts. "You know Batman's not real, right?"
"You're real." Harry the Handler replies with finality.
Stark runs a hand over his hair, then instructs the Asset James to demonstrate the flexibility- or the current lack thereof- of the prosthesis. At last, they are getting to the maintenance.
Harry watches the prosthesis clunk and grind. After 1.4 minutes, he slips off of the Asset Jame's lap and approaches one of the robots, which is wiping a table with a stained cloth.
"Hey, kid, don't touch anything." Stark jabs a finger at the handler. "This lab isn't childproof, and if you die down here, Pepper will have my head."
IF THE HANDLER DIES, THE ASSET WILL GET TO YOU FIRST.
Not that he would ever let his handler die. Yet, at the rate he is malfunctioning, he might reach a point where he is unable to protect his handler. He needs maintenance to ensure his handler's safety.
"Kid, what are you doing?" Stark asks as the boy grabs a rag and starts wiping down the table alongside the robot. He has to stand on his toes to reach the top.
"Earnin' my keep. Mr. Stark, sir." the boy answers hastily. "I can clean."
"I've got bots for that. Just get back on your dad's lap where you can't break anything." Tony gestures to the Asset James. Harry the Handler smiles, rushing back to clamber on his lap again.
The warm feeling blossoms in the Asset James's chest, even when the boy mumbles that he isn't his dad.
Stark mutters, seemingly to himself, about how he didn't expect a "creepy cyborg terminator" or "Oliver Twist" to show up at his house.
Harry the Handler looks just as confused as the Asset James. "Tornadoes are twisty. I don't like being in them."
Stark raises a brow. "What, are you Dorthy, now, Oliver?"
Harry turns to whisper into to the Asset James's ear. "He doesn't know I'm Harry."
"Should I know you?" Stark studies the boy. All the enemies had known who Harry was, but Stark seems completely unaware. "I'm sure you know me, of course."
Harry the Handler nods.
"Start the repairs." the Asset James orders. Stark should be more efficient. For all his excitement about the prosthesis, Stark hasn't started working on it in the 3.7 minutes they've been in the lab. He is wasting critical time. "Do you need to be threatened again?"
Stark curls in a smirk at the question, then purses them. "You're looking way too jumpy right now. I'm not big on causing people pain, or traumatizing them."
"The Batman's pain is irrelevant. A functional prosthesis is essential for mission success."
Stark stares for 2.9 seconds before speaking. "Okay, you proved me wrong- you can get creepier. What even is this mission, I mean-"
The Asset James glowers at the man. "Fix it."
Stark throws his hands up. "All right, Jarvis, let's start with some scans."
Several floating blue images and models materialize in midair. Harry the Handler gapes, and Stark grins. "See, Oliver? Better than Batman."
"You made da doe!" Harry's green eyes widen in realization.
"Doe?" Stark frowns, perplexed before turning to spin a transparent, blue model of the prosthesis. His gaze becomes razor sharp, rivaling even the Soldier in intensity and focus as he studies the projection.
"Jesus, what is this monstrosity?" Stark's excitement over the prosthesis has morphed to horror. "It's burning you up."
"The prosthesis is heating his arm to 102.4" the computer Jarvis says. Is that Celsius or Fahrenheit?
The man launches into a tirade about the prosthesis, which confuses the Asset James. The former handlers and technicians had never explained what was wrong with it. They made sure he'd need to return to them for maintenance.
"We're gonna have to open this up, get the heat down so it's not burning you." Stark shakes his head.
The Asset James says nothing, tense as Stark picks up tools to open the plate by the shoulder.
His mind feels disconnected during most of the procedure. He stays still, half-hearing Stark's horrified comment about the prosthesis being screwed to the bone, only distantly feeling Harry's too-light weight in his lap as the boy clings to his flesh arm.
He thinks he might hear a low, gentle piano melody surround him, or his mind might be malfunctioning again.
He snaps back to attention, seeing Stark's concerned expression in front of him. "Hey, how's it feel?"
The Asset tests the joints, which still stall and grind ominously. "You did not repair the functionality."
"That's gonna take more than one session." Stark runs a hand through his dark hair again. The Asset James frowns. Repairs are always one agonizing eternity, never broken into short sessions. "Does it feel cooler, like it's, you know, not burning you?"
"What are the coordinates of the Batcave?" Perhaps there, the other Batman will properly fix the Asset James. This lab does not even have proper wiping or storage equipment and the technician is not following an adequate schedule.
Stark rolls his eyes. "Okay, I get the kid not distinguishing between fantasy and reality, but you? Well, it wouldn't surprise me if you had some screws loose, but let me spell this out for you. Batman. Is. Not. Real. If you go looking for the Batcave, you'll never find it. Capiche? Comprende?"
Harry the Handler stares at Stark blankly, clearly not believing a word.
At 0338 local time, the house is dark but not silent. He can hear Stark's horrid music thumping below him, though the sound is surprisingly muted.
The Asset James cannot rest. He'd swept the mansion for security threats, despite Stark's assurances that it is one of the safest places in the world. Harry the Handler had taken a more literal approach to sweeping until Stark confiscated the broom, muttering "I'm not calling you Oliver Twist to have you act like him."
The Soldier silently observes the 70 square meter bedroom Harry was given. Stark had given the Asset James his own room, but he had remained by his handler. Harry is curled into the farthest corner of the bedroom closet. He'd been obviously overwhelmed by the size of the room, unable to settle in the large bed.
CHECK FOR THREATS keeps pounding in his head even as the same voice commands him to PROTECT THE HANDLER.
The Asset James waits. If he were in optimal condition, he would think of nothing but the mission. He had missions where he lay in position for days, his focus never wavering from waiting for the perfect shot, or waiting for the target to show up.
Now, his thoughts switch sporadically, from flashes of visions back to the mission, which has some unforeseen difficulties.
He half expects the enemies with the weaponized sticks to materialize at any moment. The doe that had brought them to Stark had used the same teleportation method that the enemies had used when capturing them. Had the doe been an enemy? Harry the Handler had clearly trusted it.
Part of him itches to go to the lab, demand Stark work on the prosthesis until it is fixed. Stark is supposed to be the most capable engineer in the world, but HYDRA's techs might have been finished by now.
Harry the Handler lets out a soft cry from the closet. The Asset James is crouched by his handler's side in an instant. Before he's even thought of it, he runs the flesh hand through the boy's messy black hair.
After 2.3 minutes, the boy mumbles something about green light, scooting back into the closet and shutting the door. He does not seem fully awake.
Then there's the fact that Stark had said that Batcave is not real, which would mean that the mission objective is pointless. They cannot get to a location that does not exist.
The Asset James should trust Stark. His handler obviously views him as an ally, but his handler had been disbelieving about the nonexistence of the Batcave.
"Are you all right?" the computer Jarvis speaks softly, whether to him or Harry the Handler, the Asset James is not sure. He still tenses, and the computer apologizes for startling him.
He does not answer, but continues to stand guard by the closet, his thoughts whirling faster than the teleportation that brought them here.
Harry slowly blinks awake, staring at the thin strip of light coming under the crack between the door and floor. He waits for his aunt to bang on the door, demanding he make breakfast, but the feet are much too large to be his aunt's.
Harry's breath gets caught in his throat. It must be Uncle Vernon. Harry must have slept late, hadn't made breakfast for his uncle and cousin. He waits for the lock to click and the door to swing open, for his uncle's huge hand to grab him by the collar and pull him out of the cupboard. He knows he's in for a thrashing this time.
"Harry," the voice is not his uncle's roar or his aunt's shrill shout. This voice is deep but quiet, robotic but gentle at the same time.
Harry pushes the door, realizing it's unlocked. "Mr. A'set James!" he sighs in relief. He remembers everything that's happened since the Dursleys. He's in Iron Man's house right now.
"Good morning, Master Harry." Jarvis speaks up. Harry frowns in confusion. Why's Jarvis calling him that, like how Alfred calls Batman Master Bruce on the telly? He's not a superhero. "I hope you slept well, though I do not understand why you relocated to the closet."
The room seemed too big, like anything could be lurking and grab him. He knows that's dumb, because his Batman was right here, but being in a small place felt safer. He always knew he was alone in his cupboard, except for the spiders.
Harry walks out of the bedroom, which is bigger than even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Tunia's room, across the massive living room and toward the kitchen to start breakfast. Mr. Asset James follows him silently, watching as Harry digs a pack of bacon out of the fridge and twists the knob to turn on the cooker.
The fire doesn't come on. Harry frowns in confusion, wondering why it's broken. Of all people, he would've thought Iron Man had a working kitchen.
"I'm afraid you're too small to use the stove, Master Harry." Jarvis says. That makes no sense, Harry has been using the stove since he was even smaller.
"I haf' ta make breakfast." Harry explains. Does Jarvis want him to get in trouble?
"If you're hungry, there's plenty of food available which does not require the use of dangerous appliances."
"But I gotta make it."
"Do you know how to make toast, Master Harry?" Jarvis asks. Harry almost laughs. Toast is so easy even a baby could do it! Wouldn't Mr. Stark want everything? Eggs and black pudding and bacon, all the stuff Uncle Vernon and Dudley ate? Dry toast is for bad boys like Harry.
He slides bread into the toaster that looks much more impressive than the one at the Dursleys. His gaze drifts to the freezer. "Do you really go in there, Mr. A'set James, sir?"
"The Batman is not stored in a freezer." Mr. Asset James replies as he twists the cooker knob. The fire turns on for him.
Harry pulls up a chair, standing next to his Batman, who seems determined to make sure he doesn't burn himself. Now that Uncle Vernon isn't here to press his hand to the flames, he doesn't.
By the time he hears stumbling footsteps coming up the basement stairs, they have made eggs, sausage, toast and are in the middle of pancakes. Harry made a mess with pancakes at the Dursleys, but it's easier with his Batman's help.
Mr. Stark emerges looking like a zombie.
"Good, you're not dead." the man groans, heading straight for the coffee pot. Harry winces. He hadn't even thought of coffee. Before he can fix it, Mr. Stark pushes a button and the machine starts making coffee.
Harry has just finished flipping a pancake when the coffee finishes. Mr. Stark fills an Iron Man mug and gulps it down. Harry pushes a plate of food at him, which he ignores until he's finished two cups of coffee.
Harry wonders if he should risk asking if he can have some toast, or if he should just wait for Mr. Stark to decide. Mr. Asset James had fed him even when he'd been bad, but Mr. Stark might be more strict.
"Kid, you've got to stop with this Oliver Twist act." Mr. Stark fixes him with a look while pushing a plate of eggs at him. "I don't want to add child labor to my laundry list of sins."
He has a laundry list? Was Harry supposed to do that, too? "I'll do laundry. I promise."
Mr. Stark eyes him. "That's just an expression. You don't have to do laundry."
"But Uncle Vernon says I have to-"
"Your uncle sounds like a complete bast- uh, bad man."
"Vernon Dursley has been eliminated."
Mr. Stark whirls around at the sound of Mr. Asset James's voice. "Where the hel...heck did you come from?! Warn a guy next time, geez! I've got a heart condition here." he taps his glowing chest.
Harry's Batman says nothing, seeming to blend into the kitchen. He'd be the best at hiding from Dudley and his friends, not that he'd have to hide. He could just stop them, since he's an adult.
"You just keep getting more and more disturbing." Mr. Stark shakes his head. "Eliminated, god. What are you, some kind of mercenary? You know, I never caught your name, Terminator."
"He's James." Harry smiles. "Like my daddy, but better, 'cos he doesn't eat people."
"You know, I wouldn't've ben surprised if you did eat people." Mr. Stark turns back to Harry. "Jarvis said you spent the night in the closet. My rooms are worth more than five stars, why are you hiding in a closet? That's just wrong."
Harry looks down at the table, not sure how to answer. Mr. Stark doesn't let the silence last long. "All right, official rule. Everyone who sleeps here has to sleep in a bed."
"While I agree with your sentiment, sir," Jarvis says. "That's a bit rich coming from a man who passes out in his lab eighty-five percent of the time."
"When does maintenance start?" Mr. Asset James asks.
Before Mr. Stark can reply, Jarvis speaks up. "Sir, Miss Potts is due to arrive in two minutes."
Harry stands up, feeling torn. He knows he's supposed to do the washing up, but he also knows the rule for when guests come. Hide in his cupboard without making a sound.
He rushes back to the closet, noticing his Batman following swiftly behind him.
"Tony, are you even listening to me?" Pepper demands.
"Not really," Tony answers bluntly. Pepper sends him one of her death glares, and he holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, you said something about a board meeting."
"Yes, at one. You'll be there, won't you?" Pepper demands.
"Can't make any promises." Tony says. He's got far more interesting things to think about. Like the weird cyborg and child hiding in a closet.
Which... would sound really weird if he said it aloud. Which is why he doesn't tell Pepper, even though he probably should. She's good at handling, well, anything really. But Tony really doesn't feel like the lecture he'd get from her, so for now, his two houseguests are his little secret.
Tony's always loved puzzles and things that kept him interested and engaged. His two new guests definitely qualify.
Granted, the prosthetic arm is a lot more horrifying than he'd originally realized, but his mind is already racing with ideas on how to improve it, or rebuild it from scratch.
The man attached to the arm is almost equally horrifying. Everything about James screams danger, and one of the reasons Tony hadn't slept at all last night (apart from being busy) was because he would've expected to wake up and find the guy looming over his bed or something.
Speaking of beds, hearing the boy spent the night in a closet was a real downer. Harry shows some obvious signs of abuse, and Tony has to wonder what he's been through. He surreptitiously looks up Vernon Dursley on his phone while Pepper talks. Initially, he appears to be a regular company man in a boring suburban place called Little Whinging. Or, appeared, since there is an obituary saying that the Dursley family- Vernon, Petunia and Dudley, died in a fire caused by the stove being left on.
Somehow, Tony doubts that's the real cause.
Pepper is too busy running his company to stick around, leaving Tony in peace.
"All right, Jarvis, call our guests down."
Less than a minute later, Jarvis announces their arrival. Tony is quite glad, since he never would have noticed the man's arrival. That guy is silent, seeming to appear out of nowhere much like Natalie... Natasha had.
"Miss Potts is your handler." James says slowly. Figures the guy would be hiding in a bedroom yet still somehow be aware of what is going on around him.
"Well, she keeps my life in order. But I'm technically her boss. Are you SHIELD?" Tony asks, wondering if they'd sent other spies to observe him. If this is SHIELD, though, they've gone way overboard. Sending Natasha as an assistant was at least sort of normal- sending a cyborg and a child is decidedly less so.
Something sardonic flashes in James's grey-blue eyes for an instant before they're lifeless again.
Stark frowns at him. "Why are you still wearing that mask? There's no smog here, trust me. Jarvis provides great air filtration. Come on, take it off, relish in the ocean breeze." He glances at the window, which Jarvis helpfully opens. The sound of the surf and the smell of salty sea air drift into the lab.
The man hesitates, glancing at Harry as if asking for permission. Tony voices his disbelief. "Are you taking orders from a two-year-old?"
Harry frowns at him. "I'm four." He even holds up four bone-thin fingers, which is more heartbreaking than endearing. Tony doesn't know much about kids, and Jarvis could provide accurate data, but he's pretty sure most four-year-olds are far bigger than Harry.
Slowly, James reaches up with his flesh arm and removes the cloth covering his mouth.
Tony's glad he isn't holding anything fragile, because he would have dropped it in shock. Tony's rarely at a loss for words, but he's completely speechless at the the indisputable face of Bucky Barnes.
Sorry there's no Snape in this chapter. Some readers asked if he'd stick around, but I couldn't figure out where to fit him in here. Maybe he's finally getting some much needed sleep and will reappear later. Or he's making sure Dumbledore won't notice his absence.
This now officially takes place after Iron Man 2, but before Steve's found in the ice.