Darkness surrounded Tony as he heaved open stiff and painful brown eyes, a dull ache consuming his head, his thoughts, all of them rattling around in a chaotic mess like grains in a salt shaker, a deep sluggishness slowing his entire body. A gag rose in his throat, the sharp taste of plastic shoved down his neck, and Tony picked at his nose, yanking the tube stuck with tape, shivers running down his spine as it slid out with a horrible squelching noise, grunting as he yanked out the final bit and tore away the tape, rubbing at his nose with his grimy sleeve.
Tony stretched out gray gloved fingers, the holes frayed, and reached for the metal cup sat beside the creaky metal cot he lay on, his unsteady grip knocking it out of reach and spilling the crisp water onto the dusty floor. Dammit. Leaning slightly to grab it, eyeing a taller, balding man stood shaving before a shabby mirror, dressed in a creased brown suit, Tony tried reaching for the canteen only to find something stopping him. Inquisitive fingers pulled at the wires entangled beneath the bandage over his chest.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." the man warned casually, a slight accent to his voice.
Tony ignored him, gripping the thick wire coiling from the bandage, fingers following it to a dusted up car battery, the line connecting between the battery and something digging into his chest. Tony felt it each time he drew a clunky breath, the pull of metal, of something that definitely didn't belong, the heavy pressure making each breath a curse. A panicked groan escaped his lips, stubbled jaw clenching and unclenching, fingers trembling as they ripped away the clean bandages, ripping them apart until he peered down at the weight cutting into his chest. If it didn't hurt so much, Tony would be hyperventilating, his heart racing inside, beating hard enough to make up for the ragged breaths, the agony of simply moving. The ever present wheels in his head turned rapidly, the calculations, the observations, all of them scattering every reasonable thought in his panicked mind, scattering with fear and panic at the thing sat in his chest.
"Calm yourself." The man said and stepped over to Tony's bedside, helping the jittery man into a sitting position and handing him the mirror.
As if looking at the damned thing would help him. Tony almost had a heart attack just seeing it that first time, did he want to look at it again? Of course he did. Tony grasped the mirror and the man neatly cut away the rest of his bandages, wrapping him in a suspicious smelling hoodie before kneeling in front of the fire. It took a moment but Tony finally angled the mirror, studying the thing, the seamless insertion, the way the wires pierced his chest, and the jagged metal machine work. All of it causing his skin to crawl like tiny rats scampered over his body, bile rising in his throat, his mind desperately trying to puzzle it out. "What the hell did you do to me?" he finally breathed.
The man glanced, fire flickering in his wire rimmed glasses, and he chuckled. "What I did?" he stirred the pot in the firepit. "What I did is to save your life." Tony averted his eyes, twisting the mirror slightly as the man explained. "I removed all the shrapnel I could, but there's a lot left, and it's headed into your atrial septum."
Tony let the mirror slip away. "Here, want to see?" The man offered, "I have a souvenir." He left the pot to stew, retrieving a small glass vile to hold it up against the harsh light, giving it a little shake so the tiny metal fragments jangled around inside. "Take a look."
Tony didn't get a chance to refuse. The man tossed him the vial, his dirty fingers catching it absently, the fire catching in the smudged glass as the metal shards clinked. "I've seen many wounds like that in my village." The older man commented, as Tony twisted the vial between his fingers. "We call them the walking dead, because it takes about a week for the barbs to reach the vital organs."
Another gag rose in Tony's throat but he suppressed it, suppressed the thought of the shards eating their way towards his heart, as if he could feel them clawing their way through his flesh. "What is this?" Tony asked instead, voice dull, lifeless, as his hand dropped, brown eyes falling with it and finding the clunky battery.
"That is an electromagnet hooked up to a car battery." The man returned to his pot, not so disinterested in Tony's plight, only wondering why a man with his mind didn't recognize an electromagnet when he saw one, let alone a car battery. "And it's keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart."
Finally, he set down the vile, avoiding the sight of the jagged shrapnel as he did, stiff fingers zipping up the faded hoodie to hide the beating magnet. Out of sight, out of mind… Tony's eyes flickered to the blinking red light in the corner of the cave, not so out of sight.
The older man noticed him looking, glancing at the camera too, "That's right, smile." He gave a small one himself, gradually stirring the pot once again, sensing the anxiety rolling off his cellmate in waves. "We met once you know, at a technical conference in Bern." The old man recalled, perhaps a poor attempt at distraction.
Tony didn't care. "I don't remember." He studied the cave instead, staring, observing, and yet couldn't puzzle out a thing.
"No, you wouldn't." the man chuckled to himself, "If I had been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a lecture on integrated circuits."
"Where are we?" Tony demanded, ignoring everything he said, ignoring his own thoughts and his useless study of the natural prison.
He was about to discover exactly how useful that information would be.
"Come on, stand up. Stand up!" the man ushered softly, shuffling to Tony's side, placing a hand under his arm to hurry him.
A loud clanging sounded just outside, the thick scrape of metal along stone, startling the older man into action. He tugged Tony towards the door a few steps, "Come on, put your hands up."
Tony was slow to copy, arms sore from the attack, his mind firing a thousand times faster than usual, mixing with the panic and fear of not knowing. Tony hated not knowing. He had his hands over his head by the time the doors swung open, their creaking echoing along the cave walls, and Tony's eyes sought a glimpse of the outside but the empty doorway quickly filled with a dozen guards. Three bulky men sauntered into the room, tanned skin smudged with dust, scraggly beards unkept and their heads covered with dark patterned scarves, itchy fingers clutching… "Those are my guns." Tony stuttered in disbelief, "How did they get my guns?"
"Do you understand me?" the man spat desperately, "Do as I do."
The man in the middle, his head round and bearded, his bely even rounder, swept forward clutching a rolled up paper in one hand, speaking with a thick Arabic accent, his tone friendly, Tony might've even said charming if they weren't standing in a dank cave, and the old man translated. "He says 'Welcome, Tony Stark, the most famous mass murderer in the history of America.'"
Tony's blood chilled, his expression hardening an inch as the man continued to translate. "He is honoured." The Arabic man gave an insincere smile, unrolling the paper in his hand to reveal a grainy image of a Jericho missile. "He wants you to build the missile, the Jericho missile that you demonstrated." The Arabic man tapped it excitedly. "This one."
The man's friendly expression dissolved into a demand quicker than Tony could blink, glancing only briefly at the image, his mind made up even before the first missile knocked him out cold. "I refuse." These men, these murderers, would get nothing from him.
Hands grabbed at him, angry and bloodthirsty hands, bustling him over towards a menacing barrel in the corner that had Tony's battery charged heart pumping faster, his adrenaline spiking as soon as his face hit the water and he struggled against it. All he could see, as his screams went unheard, gargling in the water, was black. A darkness that would envelope him if he didn't quell the panic controlling his body, thrashing and struggling to free himself.
The air in the stale cave tasted finer than caviar on the canals of Venice as they pulled him back up, gasping it down, drinking in as much as he could before they plunged him back into the darkness, the electromagnet catching on the edge of the harsh barrel and a jolt of pain vibrated through his chest. All while the Arabic man looked on lazily, picking at something in his teeth as if this happened every day, as if Tony's rejection were a simple bump in the road. Bothersome, but not permanent.
When they yanked him back up, water streaming down his weathered features, his black hair plastered against his head, they thrust a burlap sack over his head, barely giving him a second before he was stumbling along awkwardly up a sandy path through the caves. Pricks of light streamed through the tiny gaps in the sack, a bare improvement to the dark cave and Tony couldn't make out anything through the needle sized holes, he could barely keep a hold of his desperate thoughts, still swimming from the barrel, and keep track of where he put his feet. A dozen times he tripped over his own feet, unyielding, harsh hands yanking him this way and that until they were tugging the sack from his head all at once, the sunlight blinding him, burning his dark eyes.
A hand shoved him forwards as his eyes adjusted, narrowed to bare slits, his battery tucked under one arm as he slowly stepped down the rocky ground, gaze roving over the numerous crates and boxes scattered about the makeshift camp. Beige camouflage nets were slung over poles hammered into the dusty ground, disguising the dozens of armaments, the supplies, the equipment, all of it branded with his name, all of it stabbing at his heart till it numbed from the pain.
The Arabic man stopped him soon enough, the old man still translating. "He wants to know what you think."
Tony took a shaky breath, trying to keep his expression neutral but the longer he saw this… this… god, if only the old man had let him die, then he might not have seen all this, the fallout of his so called empire. "I think you got a lot of my weapons." He finally admitted dismally.
The Arabic man started pacing around Tony as he spoke, forcing Tony to turn and follow like some kind of dog, brows knitted together anxiously. "He says they have everything you need to build the Jericho missile." The older man translated, "We wants you to make a list of materials."
Tony hung his head as the Arabic man spoke again, gesturing at the weapons, at everything. "He says for you to start work immediately," the Arabic man made a congenial gesture, "And when you're done he will set you free."
Free? Tony glanced up, fixing his hard look on the Arabic man, he doubted these men even knew the meaning of the word. Looking around him now, at all the destruction they surrounded themselves with, he knew the word had no place in his mouth.
The Arabic man held out a hand for Tony to shake and he took it hesitantly, curving his lips in a tight smile. "No he won't." Tony shot back defeatedly.
"No, he won't." the older man agreed as the Arabic man's bearded face broke out in a toothy white grin.
Without saying a word, Amelia dropped into her chair, lips parted, unblinking, as Pepper began to argue with the Dean. Your father, his convoy was attacked during the return from the missile demonstration and they took him, some insurgents in the area, they call themselves the Ten Rings. She clutched the arms tightly. The Ten Rings, a terrorist group working out of eastern Europe, Amelia remembered reading about their tactics, their demands. Money, mainly. Besieging towns, forcing the men they take into doing their dirty work, their fingers stuffed in dozens of illegal pies. All to make a little bit of coin.
Is that why they took him? One of the richest men in the world, they'd surely make a quick buck ransoming him off. Then again… Amelia covered her mouth with a hand at the sinister thought, would they just sell him off to the highest bidder? The press labelled Merchant of Death, who knew what destruction he might reap given the right motivator.
"I can give you every assurance Miss Stark's safety is our utmost concern right now, Miss Potts." The Dean promised, reasoning with Pepper and Happy both, Amelia was only half listening.
Amelia leant her elbows on her knees, combing her hands through her hair. Oh, god, would they even find him? Amelia felt sick at the unbearable thought.
Suddenly the discussion grew louder, a single decibel from being called an argument, and Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out. What did it matter if Amelia was safe? She wasn't the one cowering in some dungeon somewhere, if he was even still…
Amelia swallowed down the gag in her throat. "Excuse me." She blurted, grabbing her belongings, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she darted from the office in a blind rush, brown eyes stinging.
Pepper tried calling after her, the cry a muffle to Amelia's ears, but she was already skipping down the stairs, barely catching the concern in Pepper's voice. The motherly worry. The administrative offices were always quiet no matter what time of the day, Amelia could hear her sneakers slapping against the floor as she made for the doors, the robotic sound of a television from the college café stopping her dead in her tracks. "Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries has been confirmed missing after an attack on his military convoy…" the reporter stared straight into the camera, crisp papers clasped between her hands, as a picture of her father appeared on the screen.
Tears pricked in her eyes and Amelia sniffed, rubbing them with the edge of her sleeve as she pushed open the door with a shoulder, letting the glass slam shut behind her in her hurry.
"Wow, hey."
Amelia bumped straight into her godfather on the way out, her bag slipping free, the contents spilling over the pathway and she released a dramatic curse that had Rhodey raising lined eyebrows. "Hey." He bent down beside her as she began to frantically gather her notes. "Amy, hey." He caught her elbow, long features falling when he saw the tears shining in her eyes. "Calm down, it's okay."
Amelia sucked in a breath, her head hanging from her shoulders and she sat back on the paving stones, a stack of notes crumpled in her hand. "I don't…" She shook her head, sniffing again as the sentence fell away.
Rhodey sat down on the slabs beside her, crinkling his freshly pressed Air Force uniform, and wrapped one arm around her weak shoulders. "We'll find him, Amy." Rhodey promised and she let him pulled her into a hug, wrapping warm arms around her, "I won't stop looking."
After a moment, Amelia pressed her head into his chest, his colourful ribbons scratching at her cheek, clutching his arms tightly and letting his familiar scent, of jet engines and fresh air, wash over her. "Do you think they've hurt him?" Amelia choked out the question before she could stop herself, "What if he doesn't come back, what if they…?"
"Stop it." Rhodey cut her off, holding her tighter as if to squeeze the thoughts from her mind, and he ran his hand down her black hair in soothing motions. "I don't want you thinking that." He drew back to arm's length so he could look into her eyes, reassurance rolling off him in waves, "I'm gonna bring him back, but I gotta make sure you're safe first."
"Me?" A small frown creased her forehead, "I don't understand."
Rhodey lifted himself into a crouch, gathering up the rest of her things. "You're his daughter, Amy."
It hit her like a slap in the face. "You really think they'd?..."
"I don't just think." Rhodey paused to turn back and look at her, "You're the only thing that could make Tony do anything."
So many crates. It's all he could think about. Why so many? How so many? So many of his weapons, it left Tony feeling hollow and numb inside and he clutched the blanket around his shoulders tighter. How did men like this get their hands on so much? Had Tony's grip on the company loosened that much? Had he become so out of touch he failed to see the wrongdoings behind his back? His own company, selling to terrorists seeking to burn and destroy, to murder so inhumanely and without justification.
"I'm sure they're looking for you, Stark." The old man assured him though it did little comfort, "But they will never find you in these mountains." Tony shoved a grey beanie over his head, covering his ears, trying desperately not to listen. "What you just saw, that is your life's work in the hands of murderers." The old man took a seat at Tony's side, staring into his blank face, "That is your legacy."
"No." he objected without even thinking about it. He didn't need to think about it. His legacy was safe, secure. Protected. Those weapons were nothing but work.
Not her. Never her.
"Is that how you want to go out?" the old man asked as if he hadn't heard him. "Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark or are you going to do something about it?"
"Why should I do anything?" Tony breathed weakly, "They're going to kill me, you, either way." He shook his head, "And if they don't I'll probably be dead in a week."
"Well, then, this is a very important week for you, isn't it?" the old man muttered, "Don't you have something left to protect?"
"You wanna take me where?" Amelia exclaimed furiously.
"Until we can locate your father, we need to keep you somewhere safe." Pepper said softly, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind Amelia's ear, her voice full of concern.
Amelia had no words, a series of strangled noises escaping her lips. Tony had been gone a month now, just a month, and they'd found nothing. Loose trails of information, a ransacked village every now and again, either that or they just didn't want to tell Amelia anything, and she could barely concentrate on her work. She turned in an essay last week written the day before it was due. Amelia didn't do that, Amelia never did that. Now they wanted to take her away from the college? Away from the library and the books and all the studying she had to do? As if more isolation would help?! They already had Happy and another bodyguard by the name of Sutton, a surly man who had a knack for making bets he couldn't win, following her around like a pair of puppies, now they wanted to hide her away on a military base?
Amelia kept shaking her head, "But, I have finals… I have." She stuttered, "I'm supposed to be graduating this year, I can't…"
As strange as it sounded, studying was the only thing keeping her sane at the moment. The only distraction that worked.
Rhodey took her arm, forcing her to look him in the eye. "The longer Tony's gone, the more dangerous it becomes for you." Rhodey softened his tone when he saw the startled look in her eye, "Tony wouldn't want anything happening to you."
Tony never wanted anything happening to her. Good, bad, ugly or just plain normal. "Live your best life, Amy." Obadiah would always say, "Just not in the public eye."
Her dad's words, no doubt, and said through a kind smile to soften the blow, but they came from his mouth nonetheless. Never do anything to overshadow him, to overshadow the company.
Yet the thought numbed her into an odd silence. That her own father, held at gunpoint in some cave in the middle of nowhere, might be worrying more for her than his own safety, and she found herself nodding automatically.
Rhodey did the decent thing and allowed her to finish out the day on campus, Happy and Sutton both trailing along behind as Amelia went door to door to speak with her professors. They all wore the same look, pity, sympathy. "I can't imagine what you must be going through." Became the word of the day and Amelia gave each the same tight smile. "Anything you need, you'll have it."
I need to finish this god damn year, Amelia thought. Anything just to get her through her studies, to keep up the distraction, and not let the darker thoughts push through. She thought, after that first week, things might get easier. Tony's abduction no longer hit the headlines, no longer plastered across the front page, merely stuck to the side, the lesser news channels still reporting, and yet Amelia's anxiety had only grown. Did they somehow think, after a month, that her father's disappearance wasn't important anymore? Did they think it somehow got easier for her, if no one remembered?
Of course it didn't. Amelia still remembered, Amelia still had to live with the fact her father was god knows where, having god knows what being done to him. It lingered in the back of her mind all day, making it hard to concentrate during classes, making everything from studying to showering seem like a chore.
They waited in the apartment she shared with Ruth as Amelia packed some things. Rhodey had the car running downstairs, waiting too, and yet Amelia could only stare at the open suitcase as a nasty thought drilled to the forefront of her mind.
How long?
How long would Amelia be away? How long should she pack for? Amelia didn't know. Every week Rhodey got in touch with her, at least once in person if he could, and yet he brought her nothing but the same. "We're trying, Amy."
Not hard enough. Twice, she came close to saying that, twice she let her anxiety, her worry, slip, and twice she'd bitten her tongue hard enough to draw blood.
"Where are we going again?" Amelia sighed, watching the car merge into traffic.
She'd ended up just throwing any old thing into the suitcase and just hoped for the best. Maybe, if Amelia only packed lightly, enough for a couple weeks, some miracle would pull through and bring him back. A stupid wish, Amelia felt like a little girl thinking it, but she had to keep at least one candle burning.
"Virginia."
Amelia's eyes snapped wide, "Virginia?!" she exclaimed, "We're going all the way to Virginia?!"
Rhodey caught her in a deadly serious glare, "I'd have you with me at the air base if it was possible so count yourself lucky."
Amelia propped her elbow on the car door, rubbing at her eyes and wrinkling her nose at both prospects. "You know I don't like Virginia." Amelia hissed.
The last time she'd been hadn't ended well. A lot of not knowing what was happening, being passed around from one general to the next like some prize trophy and tons of flashing cameras. Too much, for an eight year old child at least. Tony Stark's adorable, charming little girl gave the legend himself a human edge the press just lapped up like sponges. It had been Obadiah's idea, to use her as some kind of prop, yet Tony still went along with it. Virginia had been the first in a long list of things her father had used her for, all at the cheap cost of her childhood innocence. She didn't even know why, what it was for, she just remembered a lot of flashing cameras, a lot of empty smiles and all the noise. God, so much noise. Amelia clutched her hands a little tighter at the bitter memory. At how scared she'd been.
Throughout the whole thing all she wanted was to be at her father's side, not have all those strangers poking questions at her, cuddling her cheek or patting her head, and yet when she'd run from her keepers to latch onto her father's leg all he did was pry her off, pick her up and pawned her off on Pepper.
Amelia suffered two and a half years of that, of watching her father rather speak to a journalist, a stranger, than his own daughter, before she was sent away to boarding school in New York. Safe to say Virginia was the beginning of a terse relationship with her father, an apt reason for never wanting to go back.
But if Uncle Rhodey had his way, she'd be under his keen eye every hour of every day. He'd no doubt have her running drills on the base before the week was out, and it was only Thursday. So, between the air base, and whatever plastic safe house they cooked up, Amelia knew which she'd prefer. At least with one she'd have a modicum of privacy, some independence. But with the other…
Amelia furrowed her brow and glanced at the stoic man. At the intent look on his dark, oval face as he took out several files from a briefcase, the sound of his pen scribbling away in his rough hands filling the silent car. With the other, she wouldn't be alone. Uncle Rhodey never shirked his duty as godfather, he did it very well and Amelia knew one day he'd make a great father to kids of his own. This wasn't the first time he'd come to her rescue, albeit the last time it had been a creepy date gone wrong not a scary terrorist gang. He listened when she needed it, gave her advice when she asked and scolded her when she did something wrong. He even took the blame when Amelia broke one of Tony's glass ornaments when she was twelve, as small and insignificant as that seemed it meant a great deal to Amelia.
"This won't be for too long, Amelia." Rhodey assured her as they broke free of New Haven, as if reading her thoughts. "We'll have him back before you know it."
Amelia couldn't help it this time. "That's what you said a month ago."
"Still haven't told me where you're from." Tony pointed out as Yinson took the dice and began shaking his hand.
"I'm from a small town called Gulmira." Yinson replied, studying the board as he threw the dice from the cup. "It's actually a nice place." He moved a few pieces on the board as Tony poured from the water canteen.
"Got a family?"
"Yes, and I will see them when I leave here." He glanced up from the board, "And you, Stark?"
The water sloshed in the cup as Tony passed it, gaze flickering between Yinson's curious eyes and the board, fixing a cup for himself. Tony hadn't stopped thinking about her since he got here, however long that had been. Did she worry for dear old dad? Did she even care? Tony wouldn't be surprised for the latter.
"A daughter." Tony finally revealed once the cave grew quiet.
"How old?" Yinson asked innocently enough, nodding in understanding when Tony consumed himself with pouring from the canteen.
He held the cup to his lips, taking a swig of the stale water, and shook his head defeatedly, "She doesn't need me."
"Her mother?" Yinson nodded again as Tony clenched his hand around the cup. "Perhaps then that is something you told yourself, to make it easier."
It never made it easier. If he regretted anything, it was Amelia.
No, Tony shook his head unconsciously, guilty for even thinking that. He couldn't regret Amelia, not like that, not when everything she did caused pride to swell inside him. All until the guilt rammed it back down his throat, reminding him she did that all on her own. Without him.
"So you're a man who has everything," Yinson twisted his cup and added after a pause, "And nothing."
"Amelia wasn't supposed to…" Tony scratched the back of his head as he searched for the right word, unsure he even knew what he was trying to say. "She was just a…"
"Mistake?" Yinson finished for him, his expression surprisingly blank. How was this man not judging Tony for all of this? "And that makes her nothing?"
"No." Tony blurted without thinking, he didn't need to think to know that answer. "It makes her complicated." Even so, he'd rather Yinson think him a terrible father than ask after the truth. The truth always gave Tony the worst headache, even on the days it made sense. "Amelia was barely a year old when she came to me, and without her mother, I mean, what was I supposed to do with a child?"
"Love them." Yinson answered surely, "Love them unconditionally."
He did. Of course he did, Tony loved Amelia with every bone in his body, it was showing it that always proved a problem. "We should…" Tony cleared his throat, gesturing to the work bench, "I should carry on with…"
Tony stood from the tiny box he used as a stool, returning to their project, their mission, tugging on a pair of welding gloves and securing the blunt mask over his face as he retrieved a metal sheet and the blow torch.
Obadiah always said Tony did the best job he could, given the circumstances. Tony thought so too, keeping Amelia with him when he had to travel for the company, when he had to do press junkets or meet and greets. He didn't want to leave her behind, like his father always had. He kept her close, always within eyesight, as she'd been a terribly shy little girl. He wondered back then where she learned that, certainly not from him and definitely not her mother. Rebecca had been one of the most confident, outspoken, people he'd ever met. Tony just didn't understand it, until it was too late. Until he realized his mistake. Tony had spent far too long trying to be a better man than his father, to do the things Tony wished Howard had done, that he'd forgotten it wasn't himself who needed it. Amelia needed it, she needed her father, and Tony had been so caught up trying to be anything but Howard Stark that he'd forgotten that. He'd been selfish, like always, and it wasn't till Amelia left for boarding school that he'd realized.
God, how she'd yelled at him. The anger, the fury, reflected back in his own eyes, it left him speechless. Cowed into shame, into the guilt of his selfish mistake. Then Obadiah had swooped in, scolding Amelia for being disrespectful, ungrateful for everything her father did, much to his own expense, and unwittingly made it all the worse. If it hadn't been for Pepper smoothing over the cracks all these years, Amelia might never have spoken to him again. There were still times Tony feared she wouldn't speak to him, the way she always went to Pepper first, or Rhodey. Never him.
The sound of the metal doors screeching open rattled through Tony's mind and he switched Off the blow torch before he made a mistake, lifting off the mask and folded his arms behind his head without even thinking about it.
As always, a swarm of Middle Eastern men poured in, armed to the teeth with assault rifles and patterned scarves, their black beards knotted, their sluggish eyebrows curved downwards angrily. Tony expected the Arabic man to totter in after them with that same glowing smile, seeking a progress report. In his head, Tony had taken to calling him the Fat Cat due to his round belly and shoes that always seemed shiny despite the dusty ground. Instead, another man, bald with oily skin and penetrating eyes followed the swarm.
"Relax." He urged with a smooth accent and Tony glanced at Yinson, gradually lowering his arms as the new man stepped closer. He smelled like dirt and something else… what was that? Tony wanted to say books, but it seemed impossible all the way out here. These men had struggled to even bring him note paper, let alone a book.
The man used a single finger to tug down Tony's dirty gray shirt, peering down his nose at the arc reactor and Tony kept his shoulders straight. "The bow and arrow once was the pinnacle of weapons technology." The man spoke cryptically, eyeing the disassembled rockets on the work table. "It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine, an empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and four times the size of the Roman Empire." His unnerving eyes returned to Tony before he stepped over to the work table. "But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands." Tony shot another glance at Yinson as the man lifted their schematics, the flimsy paper left carelessly on the counter top, and Yinson gave him the barest nod of assurance. "And soon, it will be my turn." The man slowly stepped back in front of Tony, holding his gaze darkly, threateningly, as he began speaking in a language Tony didn't know.
Yinson replied, quietly at first, then spoke more surely as the conversation bounced back and forth. Two men grabbed him, discarding their rifles, yanking his arms straight, and shoved him down onto his knees causing Tony to suck in a hot breath. His panic flared, jolting the heavy ache in his chest, as the man grasped the steel tongs tightly, retrieving a glowing hot coal from the firepit. "What does he want?" Tony fretted as the man pressed Yinson's head to the black anvil.
Did he not say it loud enough? Did they not hear past the quiver in his voice? Yinson kept repeating the same work, Jericho, as the cryptic man's demands grew louder, as he bared the coal as if he intended to use it and suddenly Tony's panic overwhelmed him. "What do you want?" Tony interjected, stumbling towards him, "A delivery date?"
The guards shouted, metal rattling as they raised the butts of their rifles and Tony immediately recoiled, holding up two defensive hands, brown eyes flickering wildly around the cave until they fell on Yinson's fearful features. "I need him." Tony admitted desperately, watching the smoke curling off the hot coal. "Good assistant."
An unbearable silence hung between them, penetrated only by the sizzling of the coal as he dropped it onto the anvil beside Yinson's wide eyes. "You have till tomorrow to assemble my missile." He chucked the tongs back where he found them and Tony deflated, his relief only lasting a second before the man invaded his personal space to speak low and threatening. "Or it will be your daughter's head on that anvil."
Tony's jaw clenched, his fingers clenched, his entire body clenched as a fresh wave of terror flooded through him like a tsunami, a spark of rage flaring in his eyes as the man held them. "Don't you touch my daughter." Tony knew it was a risk, he knew the dark note in his voice could land him with a beating, or worse, but he didn't care.
But the man swept from the room without another word, taking his goons with him and leaving Tony with a fresh bought of determination, springing into action as soon as the bolt slid boomed shut behind them. "We go." He decided, retrieving the blow torch with renewed vigour.
Please, god, let her be safe.
Once again, Amelia found herself lying and staring at the pockmarked ceiling of her little room in northern Virginia, her leg propped against the wall, chucking a ball up and down. Another month passed, a whole month she'd been holed up doing nothing but eat, sleep, repeat. Most of the time she spent studying. Every week, Sutton brought her more work from her professors as they weren't allowed to send post or even email, and Amelia poured over the work like a hungry predator over a meal.
Every morning a woodpecker drilled into the wooden cellphone post just outside her bedroom window, it's shrill call acting as Amelia's unwanted alarm clock at six in the morning. The first week, she'd just rolled over, stuffed the pillow over her ears and gone back to sleep but once she adjusted to the pattern it became more and more difficult. Now, Amelia pulled herself from the covers and worked out her frustrations with a morning run whilst the streets were still relatively empty. Sutton said a repetitive pattern would risk her safety but Amelia didn't care, she let him pick the route each morning, running along different streets every day, just as long as she got to run. Showering and making breakfast when she got back, Amelia sat watching the television for an hour or two. She'd even taken a few online courses over lunch, anything to break up the sameness of every day, as if Amelia were Tom Hanks in Groundhog Day, reliving things over and over again. In the space of three weeks, Amelia had learned all about Greek mythology, taken a beginner first aid course and memorized American weather patterns, she'd even started learning to speak German.
Happy gave her a few boxing lessons in the afternoon, anything to break up her monotonous routine, and they had a few board games scattered about. The three of them, including the other two bodyguards who replaced them at night, had played all of them and resolved to shove the Monopoly box in a dark corner where it could never be seen again. Amelia was mean when it came to Monopoly, with hotels galore, none of them ever stood a chance.
Uncle Rhodey usually dropped by around dinner, never gave any prior warning, just appeared in the little apartment whilst Amelia was cooking.
"We're out of ginger." Amelia whispered to herself as she gathered the ingredients for tonight's meal.
She checked every cupboard first, reaching right to the back, before dusting her hands off on her jeans and making an executive decision. Ground ginger was vital to making a good chicken madras, Amelia decided, and if they didn't have any well she'd just have to pop down to the shop and get some.
With Rhodey preoccupied getting the weekly report from Happy, they'd barely notice her absence, and she'd probably be back before they did. No reason to get them involved, even if Amelia was breaking Happy's number one rule; don't go anywhere alone.
What harm could a little trip to the shops do? Amelia stole a couple bucks from Rhodey's wallet, closing the front door quietly behind her, and trotting down the single flight of stairs to the lobby and bursting into the cool spring air. She tugged the sleeves of her black and white striped top lower over her arms, crossing them over her chest tightly against the sporadic wind that ruffled the black strands of her hair. One thing she definitely didn't like about Virginia was the inconsistent weather. Yesterday, gray skies dropped an unrepenting drizzle on their heads all day, barely letting up for five seconds, and yet today Amelia headed into the sun as it dropped low over the local high street. At least with California, even New York, you had some consistency.
"Excuse me, Miss, sorry." A younger man holding a dog leash, his eyes apologetic, a blush coloring his pale cheeks as if he were ashamed, stopped Amelia as she cut through the park. "Any chance you saw a black Labrador nearby?"
Amelia smiled and shook her head as he held up the limp leash, "No, sorry, have you tried calling for it?"
"Over and over again." The man shrugged, "He never listens to me, he's my girlfriend's dog you see."
Amelia nodded, "What's his name?"
"Barney."
"Where did you last see him?"
The man pointed over to a crop of trees. "Just over there."
Amelia walked over, cupping her hands around her mouth and called the dog's name a couple times and when he didn't come, she began to grow nervous. The longer she stayed out, the longer she risked getting in trouble.
At last the dog came bounding from the bushes, tongue lagging as he trotted over to Amelia and she bent down to scratch him behind the ears.
"Thank god." The man breathed, "You're a life saver."
Amelia smiled at him, giggling as Barney pushed at her, nudging her hands and she stroked her hands down his face, along his back, his collar jingling and the tag caught in the little light of the park.
Hang on. Amelia caught the tag as Barney sat, tongue still hanging, and a frown creased her forehead as she read the name. "I thought you said…"
A gloved hand clamped down over Amelia's mouth before she could finish her sentence, the Labrador running off to its real owner as another arm hooked around Amelia's waist, dragging her backwards towards the tree cover as the man tied her wrists with the leash. She tried to scream, getting a mouthful of foul tasting cloth, digging her heels into the soft earth and bit down. The hand fell away with a snarl, the arm tightening around her waist as a scream slipped her lips. The leash tightened around her wrists and her scream was silenced as someone shoved a gag in her mouth. The two spoke rapidly in a foreign language, their grip tightening on her again, and Amelia started to kick out. She leaned back with all her strength, catching the dog man in the chest and sent the other sprawling backwards.
The two of them toppled to the ground and Amelia was silently thankful for yesterday's rain, the soft earth cushioning her fall somewhat. Amelia scrambled to her feet, brown eyes wide as she broke off into a run, her sneakers kicking up grass and mud as she shot across the park.
"Amelia!" Sutton's deep voice caught her attention, waving frantically at her from across the park and she plowed to a halt, twisting towards him.
"Sutton." She cried as he caught her arms, shielding her even as he started ushering her away.
A single gunshot rang out in the growing night, disturbing a flock of pigeons in the trees, and Amelia flinched, shoulders knotting tightly as blood sprayed across her arm, her cheek.
"Go." Sutton coughed, shoving her away from him, struggling to draw the gun from the holster at his waist, "Amelia, go."
Another gunshot sounded and Amelia gasped, fear filling her wide brown eyes as Sutton dropped in front of her, a gaping red hole between his white eyes.
Shouts echoed across the park but Amelia was frozen to the spot, staring at Sutton's still body, waiting for him to move, to do something but he never did. His unblinking eyes just stared at the soles of her shoes.
Screeching tires jolted her awake as a nondescript white van rolled up beside the park, cornering Amelia, and panic laced her veins. Her feet carried her forwards as two men jumped from the back of the van, the shine of handguns at their waists, and Amelia scrambled to take Suttons. "I'm sorry." She whispered shakily, her trembling fingers wrapping around the gun, "I'm so sorry."
A scream fell from her lips as she began to run, a bullet ripping into the earth a single pace from her, and she heard her pursuers yelling again. "No, we need the Stark alive!"
Amelia shoved the handgun into her waistband, vaulting over a fence and out of the park, her black hair whipping around her face as she glanced left and right, barely able to make any kind of decision with her thoughts so frantic.
The situation decided for her as the man with the leash appeared after her, forcing her into another run and she banked right, towards the high street. Someone will have heard her scream, if not the three gunshots, someone must've called the cops by now, if she just made it to the shops.
Amelia rounded a sharp corner, shrieking as she ran headfirst into someone's back, knocking her backwards and she tripped on her own feet, falling onto the sidewalk in a tumble of limbs, the gun sliding along the concrete.
For a moment, she thought the person might help her, then he pulled a plastic zip tie from his pocket and Amelia started crawling backwards. Hands grabbed at her arms, yanking them backwards, as dog man caught up to them, and Amelia tried to gain some ground, her training finally kicking in after the panic subsided. Adrenaline pulsed in her veins, it drove her forwards as she stamped down hard with one foot, knocking dog man off his balance as her heel dug into his toes. The blow knocked Amelia forwards, throwing her arms out to catch her feel, palms scraping against the concrete and her head caught on a loose slab.
Pain sliced through her forehead and everything suddenly blurred, her dizzy vision failing to focus on anything until she felt hands grabbing at her, the van pulling up by the roadside, doors thrown open wide.
No, no, no, no. The panic surged again as Amelia kicked, catching someone in the nose, shoving him back and she made a reach for the gun. Fingers wrapped around her ankle, yanking her down, and Amelia grunted as her thoughts blurred together, suddenly feeling extremely light headed. She shook away the fuzziness, making another desperate reach for the gun, scraping up whatever dust and dirt from the ground as she could and momentarily blinded her attacker. It gave her the distraction she needed to slip free of the groping hands, crawling across to the gun and wrapping her fingers around the handle.
Without thinking, Amelia pulled hard on the trigger and the next thing she knew her attacker dropped, a single shot ringing loud and clear in Amelia's ear. For a second, all Amelia could do was stare at the body, even as the van doors banged shut, as the van shot away from the scene, all she could do was stare. Did she…?
Bile rose in her throat and Amelia covered her mouth with her free hand, her mind screaming at her to throw the gun away, to get rid of the nasty thing but instead her fingers just locked tighter around it.
"Amelia?!"
She whipped around, kneeling amongst the dirty concrete slabs, and pointed the gun towards the voice, her heart beating wildly inside her chest, sucking in breath after shaky breath as she pointed the barrel towards a familiar face.
"Happy?" she quivered, hands trembling around the gun.
"It's okay." He assured her gently, hands held out to her and he took slow steps, "Amy, you're okay, just put down the gun."
The gun? Amelia's brown eyes flickered to it as Happy's shot to the body behind her, masking it with another step closer as Amelia suddenly exhaled deeply. She threw the gun aside, the air gushing from her lungs, and she desperately wiped her hands along her shirt as if she could wipe away the feel of it in her hands. Happy shot forwards as soon as she released the gun, her senses suddenly overloaded with her surroundings. The blare of sirens, the stench of the smoke coiling from the gun and Happy's cologne, the bright red and blue lights from the cop cars as officers swarmed the area.
"Is he…?" Amelia coughed out, eyeing the body before they could take it away, and Happy positioned himself between her and the dead man.
Happy held tightly to Amelia, getting her to her feet and walking her over to the ambulance as paramedics dashed over to take her. They set her down slowly on the back, wrapping a thick orange blanket around her shoulders. Plastic gloved hands flipped open a case, the noise making her flinch, and Amelia's fingernails dug into the blanket.
"It's not mine." She whispered anxiously as they checked over her shoulder, looking for where all the blood came from, and her eyes lifted to Happy's as tears swelled.
Amelia could do nothing to stop the tears from sliding across her cheeks, barely flinching as the paramedic saw to the cut above her eye, slicing through the corner of her eyebrow. Even though the rubbing alcohol stung, even though prickles of pain rippled through her when the gauze touched the scrape on her forehead, Amelia merely stared ahead with wide eyes, barely able to keep her hands from shaking.
Despite the shouting cops, the grating whispers of curious onlookers and the blare of sirens around her, all Amelia could hear was that single shot. Over and over again, it echoed in her ears, ringing through her mind like a sounded gong. She could still feel it in her hands, the cold metal of the handle, the rattle of the kickback, all of it so familiar to Amelia and yet so hateful, so disgustingly hateful, she started rubbing her hands along the blanket again.
How many times had she held a gun in her hand? How many times had she taken that shot? Bragging to Uncle Rhodey about her aim improving, whining about easy targets and his slow teaching methods. All of it just show, just practice, nothing at all like the real thing.
Amelia held a hand to her mouth again, gagging.
Rhodey raced up to them soon after, a storm in his eyes that gentled as soon as he saw the haunted look darkening Amelia's sharp features, the blood drying on her shirt.
"You were right." She whispered as Rhodey leaned against the back of the ambulance beside her, pulling her against his shoulder. "They wanted me."
"I didn't want to be right."
"But you were." Amelia insisted, ashamed of the shake in her voice and another tear slipped out. "And now Sutton's dead."
Amelia heard the gunshot once again, louder, and flinched, clasping her hands so tightly together to keep them from shaking.
Rhodey shook his head vehemently, "This wasn't your fault."
"Oh, but it is." Amelia cried, "I just wanted some ginger."
Rhodey wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest as Amelia burst into sobs, burying her face, hiding it in his military jacket so they wouldn't see the tears.
"This wasn't your fault." Rhodey repeated, quieter, softer, this time, but Amelia didn't hear him.
How could it not be? Amelia broke a rule, she disregarded everything just for some crappy ginger. She went out alone and risked it all, everything Rhodey was trying to protect, for her own selfish need and it got Sutton killed. All because he was trying to keep her safe. All because Amelia posed a threat, because she could be used as leverage against Tony Stark himself. At least he wasn't here to see the shame in her as she broke his rule too.
She got Sutton killed. Amelia freaking Stark.
The dreadful realization piercing through Yinson's old eyes sent a spike of fear running down Tony's spine. "We need more time ." The old man muttered, glancing up from the computer screen with an expression that had Tony rattling to get free of the clunky suit.
"Stick to the plan!" Tony exclaimed, panic bleeding into his voice but Yinson was already running to the door. "Yinson!"
Bullets echoed through the cave but all Tony could do was wait, flexing his fingers in the stiff leather gloves until the screen pinged and darkness fell.
The shadows hid him well, the four guards who came stumbling through the emaciated metal doors glancing about nervously, clutching their rifles a little too tightly and Tony couldn't help the smirk quirking his weathered features behind the silver mask.
He shot forwards, slower than he'd have liked, and the guards fired as soon as the brittle light from the corridor fell on him, bullets pinging every which way, denting the panels. He surged forwards, throwing down the guards with a single weighted punch, smacking them into the chipped cave walls and leaving their shouts in his wake.
Tony counted his steps as he left the cave, per Yinson's instructions, taking out anyone who ran at him with ease, bulky footsteps echoing down the dark rocky tunnels until a metal door blocked his path. It took three kicks to break it down and Tony gnashed his teeth together when the arm got stuck in an outcropping. Come on, come on. Tony tugged at it, the echo of shouts mirroring the beat of his pulsing heart, the sudden ping of a bullet as it ricocheted off the helmet and into a mans chest startling him.
With a final sharp tug, Tony freed his arm, the rock crumbling after him, and left the young man bleeding amongst the dust as he picked up his place in counting the steps. It brought him to a more rounded chamber, fresh light spilling from the caves gaping entrance, and Tony's searching eyes found Yinson there, strewn across several thick sacks, his shirt stained a growing red, crying his name.
"Watch out." Yinson warned weakly, trying to point but Tony already spotted it.
He angled backwards as a rocket flew past, exploding in a shower of dust and rock behind him, some of the tunnel roof crumbling down and sending shudders throughout the entire system.
Tony undid the cannister in the arm of his suit, the missile broken down from one of his dismantled weapons firing towards the cryptic man and bathing him in a cloud of fire and smoke, his pained cry cut off as the blast knocked him unconscious.
"Stark."
Tony thrust a sack away, planting himself on one knee beside Yinson, his mask snapping up to get a better look at the blood, the bullet wounds. "Come on, we gotta go." He fretted, "Move for me, come on, we got a plan, we're gonna stick to it."
"This was always the plan, Stark." Yinson whispered.
"Come on, you're gonna go see your family, get up."
Yinson shook his head weakly and Tony's breath stopped, "My family is dead, I'm going to see them now, Stark." Yinson paused and Tony blinked a dozen times as Yinson managed the smallest smile despite the pain he must be feeling. "It's okay, I want this."
Tony forced out his breath, desperate to return the smile, to make this as easy as he could for someone he owed so much. "Thank you for saving me." His voice came out brittle, pained.
He didn't want to do this. Oh god, don't make me do this.
"For your daughter, she will always need you." Yinson coughed, "So don't waste it, don't waste your life."
Tony's lip wobbled, his throat swelling as he tried to say something, anything, as Yinson's head rolled to the side, his eyelids heavy as they closed excruciatingly slowly behind his dirty spectacles.
No. Tony set his jaw. This man just died for him. Yinson saved Tony's life, his hands curled into fists, and he couldn't save his in return. All he could do was shoulder that guilt, strap it to his back, and pay attention to what the man said.
"I won't waste it." Tony growled as he turned to the bright entrance with fury curling in his brown eyes. "For my daughter."