#INY Chapter Thirty Two | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evien-stark · 5 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 32

While somewhere deep in your unconsciousness you were resolved to stay in bed for the entire day, not having slept this long or this well in quite some time, the smell of food dragged you out of your slumber. Not just the smell but the sound. Something sizzling away in the kitchen- not your kitchen- not at the house. Right. You remembered.

In the penthouse suite in Manhattan.

Because you and Tony had nearly died last night at the Expo. Because of Justin Hammer. Who was probably out on bail by now. And Ivan Vanko who was no longer alive at all. Right right right.

The house in Malibu was still destroyed, no doubt. The two of you could throw money at it to get it fixed all you wanted, it would probably still take a couple weeks before it was livable again. Which got you thinking.

Wasn’t it strange that Stark Industries had no headquarters in NYC? One of the biggest cities in the United States. At least then you could have sectioned off a small floor for bare bones living quarters. Something more familiar and desirable than- well… you couldn’t really complain about waking up in the luxury you were surrounded with.

Grabbing an overly plush robe from the hook on the bathroom door, you padded over to the kitchen, where Tony was humming away to some song playing on his phone and flipping what looked to be a quite fluffy pancake. Feeling bold, you wrapped your arms around him. “Good morning.” Your voice a mere croak.

“Good morning. Relatively speaking. I was just about to start contemplating calling a hospital.”

Moving aside him, you propped yourself up to sit on the counter. “Why’s that?” You didn’t feel worse for wear- and he seemed peachy keen.

All smiles, in fact, as he looked at you. “It’s one o’clock. You were pretty far gone.”

“One o’clock?!” You’d never slept so late in your life. Well. Not your professional adult life anyway. “How is it one o’clock?!” There was too much to get done for it to be that late in the day.

“Well, you know. You had a pretty big day yesterday.” Ah, yes. Finding out Tony may have just had a chance to come back from dying. Not having slept the night before- ...and the night before that? Was that right? How is it you hadn’t collapsed? And then being whisked away to meetings and then- oh yes, almost dying again. “And a pretty big night.”

The grin he was aiming at you earned him a little smack to the arm. Something he chuckled at as he turned the burner off on the stove. “You still shouldn’t have let me sleep that long.”

“Yes I should have. Which is why I did.” Said in that matter-of-fact way of his when he was sure he was right about something. And the only smart person in the room. He tilted the pan over on the opposite counter, plating the one pancake he’d been cooking on top of a large stack.

You ran your hands through your hair and then rubbed your face. “No.” Simple as that.

“I let you sleep in, I cook you breakfast, I set up the press briefing for this evening and the SHIELD debrief for tomorrow, get started on the clean up of the Expo, put our lawyers to work on the case against Hammer- and this is the thanks I get?” He lifted the plate, jamming a fork into the stack, digging out a piece, shoving it right into his mouth. Still full as he said, “If that’s how it is I’ll just eat these myself.”

You were sure you must have been glowing with happiness as you touched the sides of your face in a mock gasp. “You did all that?” Despite the expression, you were actually genuinely surprised.

“You guys act like I’ve never run my own company before.” In the process of taking a second bite.

Narrowing your eyes, only playfully so, “But did you really though?”

He pointed his empty fork your way. “I’m gonna let that go. Because it might be a fair point. But because I’m letting it go, we won’t discuss it.” Finally he handed over your plate, which you gratefully accepted, but he turned to the counter and then dipped back to you to offer you a glass of orange juice. “Wash it down with this.”

Pursing your lips to the side, you gave it a squint. “It’s not a screwdriver is it?” You doubted it. But one could never be too sure with him.

“No. Just your average run of the mill orange juice Plan B cocktail. Very tasty.”

The two of you shared a long, long look before you grinned, accepting the glass. “Why aren’t you just the most romantic gentleman in town.” Not even going to question where the hell he got his hands on that. But, on second thought… “Did you actually drink some??”

He smiled back, propping his hip on the counter, reaching over to a little open tub of blueberries, popping a handful in his mouth. “I had to make sure it tasted good. I’m not going to serve you the best pancakes known to man with a glass of bitter orange juice.”

Tony Stark may have just been the most ridiculous man in the world. Truly. “Well thanks for looking out for me.” Down the hatch it went.

“Any time, honey.”

About as much discussion as you needed for not only why he had the pills in the first place, but why he was giving them to you. Maybe sometime in the future- the very far future- you’d revisit it. Until then… orange juice cocktail it is.

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While Tony had actually done the work he’d claimed to do while you were knocked out, setting up a briefing in one of CNN’s borrowed press rooms, he hadn’t bothered to start writing pointers out for himself. Which was why you knew it was extremely important that you do all the talking, and write your own speech. Letting him go off the cuff had gotten you in a lot of trouble twice now. There was no need for a third time.

The noise outside was bothersome, though, despite the private room. You really only had to focus on a few key points- most of the important ones being blaming Justin Hammer for everything. Because it absolutely was all his fault, and letting the public know you were pursuing him.

But as your hands stilled over your laptop, a sigh escaping just as two interns collided with each other in the hallway, Tony looked up from his phone. “You want me to yell at them?”

At this you couldn’t help a brief smile. “We don’t work here. They’re doing us a favor.” Though that really wouldn’t stop him if you said yes. And they’d probably run off all the same. “That is an interesting thought, though.”

His brows went up. “What? You want me to buy CNN?”

“Why doesn’t Stark Industries have a building in the city?” It made perfect sense. An expansion. And having a dedicated place to go when you actually had to work here would be wonderful.

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“I think we should.” Nodding in agreement with yourself as you went back to your brief on the laptop screen. When he didn’t follow up, “It’d be good for press. It’d be good to have a place to go when we come here- and we do. A lot.” More often than you’d like to mention. “With the Expo, too. We could put a lot of people to work… open a whole new bout of research and development… and maybe we could start looking into all that clean energy...”

Though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel his grin. “You don’t have to ask me, you know. If you want to start looking at land, that’s well within your rights as CEO.”

“Who said I was asking?” Coy as you shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe I’m just talking out loud.”

He stood up from the stool poised at the makeup table, moving to come behind you and put his hands on your shoulders, leaning in. You looked up. “Keep talking.”

“I think it’s a great idea.”

“Me, too. Big tower. Huge. With Stark in big letters on the top.”

A half giggle half snort escaped you. “Now I feel like you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

“Too on the nose?” His smile warmed you to your core, but more so was the kiss he pressed to the tip of your nose as he leaned down. As if making a point.

Only encouraging more giggles. Probably his goal, as when he pulled back he looked mighty pleased. “Not as much as that, maybe.” Reaching up you put a hand over his on your shoulder. “Let’s look for a spot after the conference. We’re here for a few more days, anyway.”

“Let’s do it.”

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The lights were white hot as the two of you stepped out onto the press stage. Cameras had been going the second you stepped into the room. Voices lulled to a murmur. Tony only leaned into the podium to say, “I’m gonna uh… I’m gonna let her do all the talking this time. Less trouble that way.” Getting a laugh across the room.

Something you smiled at as you put both hands on the side, and then took a deep breath. “Thanks everyone for coming. The events last night at the Stark Expo were shocking and appalling, to say the least. It is only with the efforts of the police force and firefighters of New York City, Iron Man, and Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes piloting the Iron Man Mark II suit that nobody was severely hurt, and we owe a lot to them. At this moment in time we will be shutting down the Stark Expo for cleanup and reassessment, but we will be reopening the gates in October of this year. Anyone who purchased tickets will be able to get a refund through the Stark Industries website, or you can hold on to your passes and they’ll be redeemable later in the year.

Stark Industries is also setting up a family fund for those effected in the events last night. Anyone that needs medical bills looked after can contact our fund through our website and we will handle everything and anything you need. No questions asked. In addition to that...” Another deep breath.

You’d have to be as calm as possible for this one, no matter how much you felt otherwise. “Justin Hammer has been taken into police custody, and Stark Industries is now pursuing him to the fullest extent of the law. His absolute negligence- his disgusting need to try and show up Stark Tech led him to act wildly, aiding and abetting the criminal Ivan Vanko in order to secure stolen plans for a primitive version of the Arc Reactor. To power primitive suits that in no way could stand up to the force of Iron Man himself.

Let me be clear about this, every one of those suits was destroyed last night. Ivan Vanko lost his own life as a result. Justin Hammer will face a life behind bars, make no mistake. And it is why Stark Industries is also assisting any family, any individual, that wishes to file in a class action lawsuit against him for his rash and vile actions. Our lawyers are at your disposal. Pro bono.

We are deeply saddened that Justin Hammer used the Stark Expo, a venue that was about coming together to create technologies that help the world, as a playground for destruction. Stark Industries will do everything we can to make it right.” Pausing, taking a breath, and then opening the floor for them. “I’ll take only a couple questions.”

Even doing this was dangerous. Now that you were done, you’d much rather take off and not have to deal with any more of this at the moment. But you could only control the headlines so far with an impassioned speech like that.

Pointing at one of the reporters at the right of the room, she stood up. “How is it that Justin Hammer was able to get this dangerous presentation together without either of you being any the wiser?”

You figured this one was coming, so at least you were ready. “While in what little credit Justin deserves, I don’t believe his intent was to cause mass hysteria and violence last night. But his negligence in doing so anyway, and the means he took to get there, is not going to be looked the other way on.” When she tried to speak over you you raised your hand to stop her. “I’m not finished.” Because you weren’t dodging her question. “His presentation on the docket had been severely altered to hide its true nature. He only allowed his own workers on stage to get it ready, and bribed one of our Expo managers to get it rushed and to look the other way on the coordination. This is why we are shutting down the Expo at this time and reassessing.”

“And that staff member?”

“Will go unnamed for right now. But be assured they will also be punished.” Breath in. Breath out. You picked another person in the back.

“Excuse me- are the rumors true that you and Tony Stark entered into a romantic relationship before the co-assignment of the company?”

You allowed the utter disgust to take hold of your expression. “I’m sorry- are you asking me about my personal life after people were hurt last night? Is that really your focus?”

The man in the back tried to speak up, but Tony took hold of one of the little mics on the podium and leaned in again. “I’m right here, you know. If you wanna ask, ask.” But when the guy tried to talk again Tony cut him off. “Are you really just asking if I’m single because you wanna take me out? Because I’m flattered at the offer. Really.”

Taking the mic forcibly from his hand, you pushed it back into its position forward. “What Tony is trying to say is that trying to assess either of our romantic lives after the events of last night is incredibly tacky and short-sighted. And, frankly, I’m embarrassed for you. We’re done. Thank you, everyone else, for your time.”

Hands and voices all raised to get over one another. Shouting hundreds of other questions. You left the stage, Tony following only after you stepped down. The walk through the back halls to the green room again was a short one, but even so you felt exhausted again once there. “We really should say something. Eventually.” Another reason you really wished someone had not asked that. You didn’t need him thinking about it.

“You want to?” Then again… You slung your laptop bag over your shoulder and picked up your purse from the table. “Are you really sure about that? What if your image can’t survive playboy being shaved from your title?” Teasing. Mildly. You were slightly concerned- or at least concerned that he would be concerned. ...should be concerned? Now you were getting yourself confused.

It was hard to tell anymore.

He put his hands in his pockets as you came over to him by the closed door. “I can survive anything.” Little smirk, self assured.

You squinted your eyes at him. Scrutinizing. But more putting on a show than anything. “So you say. Why now, Tony?”

“It’d be easier to get through pressers if you weren’t always asked about it. Or me. Either. Because if someone just asks me while you’re not around I’m liable just to say yes.” Being the smart ass that he was. You believed he really would, too.

Reaching up to lay a hand over his chest, you sighed. “Not that I’m saying you’re right-”

“Oh. But you are.” Grinning widely.

“Not that I’m saying you’re right.” You doubled down. “But you may… have a point. A small one. Very minor.”

Taking your hand, he pulled it further up to lay a kiss to the back. “Uh huh. A point. So what should we do about me and you?”

Turning your hand over you cupped his cheek in your palm. “I’d prefer something subtle...” Not especially his forte.

“Hm. So no big banner on the back of the jet?”

You couldn’t help the snort. “No. Don’t you start getting tacky on me, too.” If not something completely subtle, it at least had to be tasteful. Slipping your hand down to take hold of his own, you opened the door, finding Happy waiting with a nod on the other side to escort you out of the building. People already knew. There really was no point in hiding it anymore. “What about the gala after Basel?”

He hummed out a thought. “The art show? Look- I’m not interested in buying back all those pieces-”

“Neither am I. But...” The art show in Switzerland, at least the after party where all the media would be poised out front, and all the rich people that you loathed cavorted… “I’m picturing you in a nice suit. And me in a beautiful dress. You can lead me by the hand out of the car, and we’ll go up the steps arm in arm and dance the night away...” Ah. What a blissfully wonderful life.

“Painting quite the picture, aren’t you?” A light chuckle in his voice as the two of you exited the building and he held the car door open for you.

“It’s better than a banner in the sky. Or a press release. We’ll let them feel like they’ve finally caught us.” Pretending you were going to throw the media a bone.

It was his smile that told you you’d gone too far in your head. Because he was already half leaned in the car, hand on the door, too close to you, with cameras flashing on the sidewalk fifty feet away. His voice was low and warm. “Haven’t they already?”

The car door blocked the pictures snapped thousands at a time, and the rush of raised voices faded as he kissed you. In that easy way of his making the rest of the world disappear. No matter what trouble he was causing.

Damn him.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Thirty Two

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Sanctuary - Chapter 58

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thunderintheshadows, @valkyrie-of-the-light

The team meeting/breakfast is scheduled for nine am; out on the roof top patio of Tyler's hotel. He's the last to arrive, hair still messy from sleep, laces of his boots undone, sunglasses covering his tired eyes. He'd finally managed to fall asleep shortly before three am, only to wake up every hour on the hour in a panic, body drenched in a cold sweat because of the nightmarish images that his brain just couldn't shake. He'd been dying for a drink; tempted by the unlocked mini bar in the corner of the room. The irrational side of his mind telling him that he'd be okay with just one or two. That he'd be able to just put the bottle down and walk away when he got even the smallest bit of buzz going on. Only to be talked out of it by the more mature and rational part; that he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd drink until he was fall down drunk and then all of his progress, even in such a short period of time, would be for nothing. Instead he texted his wife and been brutally honest. That he was having a hard time and so close to slipping. That the situation in Christchurch was way worse than it originally seemed and he was legitimately scared; that he wasn't going to make it home to her and his kids. And she'd called him right away to talk him down. Never scolding or nagging. Just quiet and supportive. Strong.

It was six in the morning when they'd finally hung up. And he'd managed to fall into a somewhat restful sleep; successfully talked down off the ledge, both mind and body ready to let him rest. Then the phone had gone off at eight thirty and he'd immediately panicked; thinking that something had happened and he'd be needed to get home as soon as possible. Only to discover that it was the kids. They'd just gotten home and after an excited and joyful reunion with their mother, had wanted to call him. Excitedly blabbering about all of the fun things they'd done with Ovi and Chloe while they were on 'vacation', all the cool new foods they got to try, the trips to the zoo. But they'd been sad too; they'd missed home and everything that came with it. All the toys and their own beds and their backyard and even the chickens and the goats. Most of all, they'd missed their mom. Her kisses and her hugs and the way she cuts the crust off their sandwiches. And they'd been hopeful when they'd seen her that it had meant he was home too. Only to be heartbroken and disappointed when they found out he was still working.

So now he's late. By a mere five minutes. But he sees the way Mark glares at him as he approaches. There's no love lost between them. And Tyler seriously considers what Yaz had said the day before; about waiting until the job was over and then just dragging Mark out into the street and laying the beating of a lifetime on him.

“All good?” Yaz asks, as Tyler takes a seat beside him, then slides a cup of steaming black coffee towards him.

“All good.”

“Things are okay at home? With...well you know...”

He nods. “Things are fine with that. She's fine. Kids finally got back. They called wanting to talk to me, so...”

Across the table, Mark gives a derisive snort, shaking his head as he pretends to be immersed in his menu.

“What the fuck now?” Tyler asks. “You have an issue with me talking to my kids?”

“We don't have time for you to be dealing your personal shit, Rake.”

“They're his kids,” Yaz forcefully reminds Mark. “Who he isn't seen in almost a month. He's not supposed to talk to his kids now? Get out of here with that shit. They wanted to talk to their dad. What is wrong with you?”

“You either leave your shit back home or you don't show up,” Mark reasons.

“They're kids,” Nathan pipes up. “Little kids. They're not allowed to talk to their father?”

“We don't have time to be dealing with wives and girlfriends and kids and whatever the hell else. Are we not here to work? How are we supposed to get any shit done when some of you are too busy dealing with personal crap? Stow that shit and get on with business.”

“Sounds like someone is just bitter they don't have a personal life to worry about,” Yaz remarks, as he goes back to his own menu. “Because my sister was smart enough to move on to someone else.”

“There was never anything between me and your sister,” Mark informs him. “It was just...a thing...”

Tyler smirks. “A thing, huh? So that's what the kids are calling phone sex these days. Don't be mad, Mark. That some of us are actually having real sex while you're resorting to handling things on your own. We won't hold it against you. Just don't expect me to shake your hand though. I don't want to be touching something that's been attached to your dick.”

Yaz smirks and coughs noisily beside him.

“And I'll talk to my kids whenever the fuck I feel like it,” Tyler adds. “When I talk to my kids or my wife has nothing to do with you. Or is that what the real issue is? The fact that she's my wife and not yours. You fucked that up, buddy. That was over long before I came around. I'm just the one that cleaned up your goddamn mess.”

“Hey, if you like someone else's sloppy seconds, that's your business,” Mark retorts. “You two are made for each other. You're both fucking train wrecks.”

“Just admit you're pissed off that your ex moved on to bigger and better,” Yaz says. “That you screwed things up and now you've got to live with that and he gets to live with her. Not his fault you're a cheating, wife abusing bastard.”

“Cheating, narcissistic, wife abusing bastard,” Tyler corrects. “You left out narcissistic. Just let it go, Mark. I'm not in the mood for your shit. I'm never in the mood for your shit. But especially not now. I haven't seen my kids in almost a month, my wife isn't doing well and just got out of the hospital, and I'm here putting up with your crap. So how about you just sit there and shut the fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “She was in the hospital? Why?”

“Oh now he's worried about her,” Yaz scoffs. “Not when he was beating the shit out of her. But now. Now that she's with a guy that doesn't do that kind of shit. Why was she in the hospital? How about it's none of your goddamn business.”

“She hasn't been feeling well and thought maybe there was a problems with the baby,” Tyler casually explains, sipping his coffee.

Mark's frown deepens. “Baby? What baby?”

“The one that I put inside of her almost four months ago. That baby.”

“Say what you want about the man, but he's got seriously talented sperm,” Yaz digs a playful elbow into his friend's ribs. “And lots to spare, apparently.”

Congratulations go up around the table; followed by his personal cell phone being passed around in order to proudly show off the ultrasound photos that his wife had sent to him. It isn't his first rodeo; he's been this round four times now. But each time feels just as amazing as the last; seeing the pictures, watching her grow bigger with their child, his child, thinking about how incredible it is that despite all of their issues, they managed to create another human being together. And it's bittersweet in a way. That this will be the last one. The last chance that he has to go through the experience with her yet he here is, thousands of miles away.

A waitress comes to take their orders and talk eventually turns to the job at hand. Most specifically, his talk with Heather McMann the day before.

“Think she's trust worthy?” Yaz inquires. “Did she seem on the up and up?”

“Seemed that way,” Tyler replies. “But then so did her husband and look at how that ended up.”

“Definitely not your brightest moment,” Mark snidely comments.

Tyler chooses to ignore it. “Unless she's a really good actress, there is no way she was lying. It was too real; the emotion on her face, in her voice.”

He realizes how much he sounds like Esme; when she's going on about how there's times where he communicates more effectively with his facial expressions and his body language than with actual words. She always knows what he's feeling...what he's thinking...long before he ever verbally expresses them. That is how it had been with Heather McMann. It wasn't what he'd heard. It was what he'd seen. And everything told him that it was very, very real.

“And the kids are in there?” Mark asks. “In that shop?”

“In the basement. She says it's like an underground bunker down there. Just like the one back home. It would look like this...” he snatches the pen that Yaz has tucked in the breast pocket of his short sleeved button down, and then grabs the unused napkin underneath his own cutlery. “One long hallway...” he speaks as he hastily draws the layout. “...there's a room immediately to the left of the stairs. Small. Five by six, if that. Another room about four feet down the hall, to the right. Slightly bigger. I'm saying about seven by eight, maybe. Five more rooms after that. Directly across from one another. The first three are the same size; eight by nine. Last two are bigger. The one where Esme found the chair was eleven by twelve. The one where I found Erin Ferguson was large. Thirteen by fifteen. There's a door, at the end of the hall; just leads to a small cold storage area. No other entrance or exit. Just the main one. Hallway is three hundred and fifty feet. Give or take a couple of inches.”

“And you were able to know all of this...all these measurements...even though it was dark down there?” Mark smirks. “How?”

“Because I have two fucking feet and I know how to count without having to use my fingers. That's how. I walked that entire place. We walked it. I know exactly how many feet there were.”

Just like he'd known exactly how many it took to get as far as he did on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Because he'd counted down every single one; each step taking him not only closer to freedom and safety, but to her. A number that...as soon as he'd been healthy enough...he'd had tattooed on the inside of his right bicep. Along with each of the kids' first and middle initials and their dates of birth.

“And I never once mentioned that it was dark down there,” he adds. “How did you know that?”

“So maybe it wasn't completely dark,” Mark corrects himself. “Just the rooms. The hallway had light.”

Tyler scowls. “But I never mentioned that. To any of you. This is the first time I've talked about what it was like down there since it happened. How'd you know that the only light was in the hallway?”

“I guess I just assumed,” Mark shrugs. “I mean, there's only so many options when you're underground, right?”

“You absolute motherfucker,” Tyler's eyes darken, his voice becoming menacing as the reality sinks in. “It was you. You're the one that told McMann we were going there. When Esme asked you to distract him so we could go there and poke around.”

Mark gives a dry laugh. “Okay, that's really reaching, Rake. Your brain really is messed up if you can jump to shitty ass conclusions like that so fast.”

“She trusted you. I trusted you. You told him as soon as you met him up with him, didn't you. That's how he was able to get things together so quickly. He knew exactly how long it would take us to get there. It gave him enough time to get his people there and have someone fuck up the comms. Or was that you, too? FBI would know how to do shit like that, right?”

“You're crazy,” Mark declares. “You've officially gone right off the deep end. Snapped that last shred of sanity you've been hanging onto. I told Esme this would happen you know. That one day you'd just lose it all together. I'm glad it didn't happen when you were at home. You'd probably be one of those guy's that would go completely psycho and kill his entire family...”

“Listen you little fuck...” there's a loud clatter of silverware and china as he leans across the table, a fist snatching Mark by the front of his golf shirt. Around them, conversations and laughter all come to a stand still as every eye on the place zeros in on the altercation taking place before them. “...for the last time, leave my family out of this. Don't talk about them, don't even think about them.”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz once again resorts to playing peacemaker. “...I get you want to kill him, but we're in a public place and the last thing we need to do is draw attention to ourselves. So please calm the fuck down.”

Tyler releases his grip on Mark's shirt, but roughly shoves him back into his chair. “I trusted you. I took her word for it that you wouldn't totally fuck us and you did. You knew she was going with me. You knew she'd be there. And you told him. Do you know what could have happened to her? If I hadn't have told her to leave? Do you have any idea the sick shit they would have done to her? Or didn't that matter to you. As long as you got rid of me, you didn't give a shit what happened to her.”

“Is this true?” Yaz asks. “What he's saying? Were you the one that told McMann about Tyler and Esme going there?”

“I never said a goddamn word. He's crazy. Certifiably crazy. We all know his issues. How fucked up in the head he is. Doesn't this prove that?”

“I'm fucked up in the head?” Tyler retorts. “You're calling me fucked up in the head yet you're the one that knew what would happen to her if they got a hold of her? You hate me that much that you'd let that happen? You'd let them do that her? To my wife?”

“Is it true?” Yaz presses. “Just tell us that. Were you the one who told McMann that they'd be at the house? Yes or no.”

Mark sighs heavily. “Yes.”

“Jesus...fuck...” Yaz mutters, as Nathan throws his hands up in surrender of the whole screwed up situation and walks away from the table. “...you can't be serious. Why the hell?”

“Money,” Mark simply replies. “He offered me a lot of money.”

“Holy shit,” Zak shakes his head in disbelief and gets up from the table as well. “This is fucked. You're fucked, Mark. We're supposed to be a fucking team! You brought us here to help and you're going around doing shit like this? For money?”

“He needed help,” Mark says. “He'd already screwed up once when it came to killing you. He thought for the second time would work.”

“And it didn't matter that she was with me,” Tyler states. “It didn't matter what they do to her. None of that mattered to you.”

Mark shrugs. “Collateral damage.”

“You didn't care if my kids were left without their father or their mother?”

“Whatever had to be done to take you out. If that meant she went too...” he shrugs once more.

Sighing heavily, Tyler shakes his head and leans back in his chair, elbow on the arm rest; palm pressed against his forehead as he closes his eyes.

“Guess things were really fucked once we grabbed McMann, huh?” Yaz inquires. “Guess that's why you were hell bent on getting Tyler to change his mind about wanting to torture his ass. You didn't want anything to happen to your boss. In case there was a chance to make more money.”

“Are you kidding?” Mark laughs. “I was glad when we got rid of him. Means I didn't have to worry about him anymore.”

“You mean you didn't have to worry about him ratting you out,” Yaz concludes. “You realize that we're going to have to cut you loose, right? That this goes way beyond fucking things up. You were going to kill one of your own teammates. Or have someone else kill them. Like what the hell man? For what? Money? Or did this go beyond that? Was this a more personal thing? All because you didn't like the fact that your ex moved on?”

“I gotta get out of here,” Tyler pushes his chair away from the table, taking money from his wallet and tossing it down.

The anxiety is too far out of control; chest tightening, sweat beginning to gather at the small of his back and the nape of his back, the faint quell of nausea as bile sits in his throat. And he's vaguely aware of the sarcastic, cutting comment Mark makes at expense as he leaves; strides long and purposeful as they take him across the busy roof top patio and through the restaurant. Needing to get the hell away...away from the noise...away from the bright lights...away from all the people. Jamming his finger repeatedly against the down button for the elevator; muttering curses and wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm and trying to force himself to breathe.

“You okay?” Yaz is suddenly at his side, a concerned look on his face. “What's up? Talk to me?”

“I can't...it's like I can't fucking breathe....”

“Just take it easy. That was a lot to fucking hear. You got meds on you or....?”

“I don't need meds. I just need to get out of here. Where there's less noise and less people and...”

Yaz frowns as he glances around the empty hallway. “There's no one even out there. You want me to go with you? You don't look so good.”

He shakes his head. “I'll be fine. I just need to go...I don't know where I need to go...I just know I can't be here...”

“You're not going to do anything stupid are you? I mean, you've got all those guns in your room and...”

“I'm not going to fucking kill myself. I might kill him,” he nods in the direction of the restaurant. “But I'm not going to kill myself.”

“You should call home,” Yaz suggests. “Talk to Esme. She'll know how to talk you down.”

“I don't need to call home. I don't want her fucking worrying about this shit. She's got four kids to take care of and a baby to worry about...”

“And you're the father of those kids and that baby and she deserves to know when you're feeling like this. Call home. Or I'll do it for you.”

“Stay out of it, Yaz. I know you're trying to help. But stay out of it. I'm trying to keep shit from falling apart. And the more I put on her, the more I'm going to push her away and the more it is going to fall apart.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. Go back to your room, call home, talk to your wife.”

The elevator finally arrives; allowing several people off before stepping into the empty cab.

“Call her!” Yaz orders.

“Stay out of it,” he shoots back, and slams his finger against the close door button.

****

By the time he returns to his room, the photos from Heather McMann have arrived; tucked in a brown paper envelope and stuck between the door and the frame. He'd expected an email or images sent through a text message, so he's surprised -albeit pleasantly- to find that she'd through such efforts to make sure he got exactly what he needed. Once inside he takes half a dozen anti anxiety pills and two Prozac instead of the normal one. And he feels no guilt or shame when he swallows them down with half a bottle of whisky from the bar, leaving the rest on the nightstand as he dumps the contents of the envelope onto the bed. Some of the photos have sticky notes on the back of the them; pointing out small details that he may not notice at first but she felt he needed to know about. And while the photographs are promising and should be leaving him with more answers than questions, they just aren't enough. They don't put his frantic mind to rest; the conversation with Mark replaying in his mind, the feelings of rage and betrayal, the sense of doom that hangs over him like an ominous dark cloud.

He considers just packing it up and going home. Handing everything off to Yaz and telling him that he's done. Get someone else. That he's not feeling confident enough to get the job done. That his brain is too fucked up to fully focus on what needs to be done. That would be more dangerous than anything else; if he couldn't get his head on straight and commit himself one hundred percent, both he and those kids would die. There was no question about. It would be best for everyone if he just left; if he accepted defeat just this once and admitted that he wasn't in any shape to carry this job out.

His private cell phone vibrates against his leg and he slips it from the side pocket of his cargos. At first he considers not answering; he's almost done the bottle of the booze and he's considering opening another and once he starts talking to her, he'll confess all his shortcomings and admit to all his bullshit and then it will cause a big old thing between them. She'll be pissed off. Disappointed. Not meaning to call him a failure but making him feel like one nonetheless. He reminds himself that that's just bullshit; his brain trying to convince him that everyone...even her...is out to get him. She's never...even in the midst of his biggest fuck ups...made him feel like he was a complete and utter disaster.

So he answers it; catching it on the last ring before it goes to voice mail.

“Everything okay?” he asks in way of greeting. “You and the kids okay?”

“What the hell is going on, Tyler?” her response is straight to the point. Yet it's not anger in her voice. It's hurt. Confusion. “Yaz just called. What is going on over there?”

“What did he tell you?”

“Something about Mark being involved with McMann and being the one that told McMann that we'd be at the house that day. That McMann offered him money for information? What the fuck, Tyler?”

“Okay, I'm going to need you to calm down. Less stress, remember? So just take it easy...”

“How the hell am I supposed to take it easy? You're thousands of miles away, getting ready to walk into some pretty dangerous shit with no proper help and no proper back up and...”

“Esme,” his tone is firm. “Calm down. We shouldn't even be talking about this. The kids...”

“The kids are outside with Ovi and Kyle. They can't hear a thing I'm saying. You need to start talking. You need to tell me what the fuck is happening before I get on the next plane to New Zealand. Because you damn well know I'll do it and I know it's the last thing you want. So you either start telling me what the hell is happening or I swear to God. Tyler, I will show up on your doorstep and there won't be a goddamn thing you can do stop me.”

“Are you going to calm down?” he inquires. “Because I'm not saying shit until you do. So you either calm down or you hang up and call me back when you have your shit together.”

“Don't fucking talk to me like that. I'm not one of your soldiers from your military days that you can boss around. I'm your wife. So don't be a condescending asshole and...”

“Esme!” he snaps. “Calm down or I'll hang up and I won't answer when you call back, understand me?”

“Don't..”

“Understand me?” he presses, and it's then that she takes a long, deep inhale, followed by a shaky, uneven exhale. “Are you good? Are you done flipping your shit on me? I need you stay calm. And that baby needs you stay calm. Do you want something happening? Because I don't”

“Of course I don't. But I also don't want anything happening to you. And if what Yaz said is true...”

“McMann gave Mark money...or at least offered him money...to tell him that we were going to be at the house.”

“But why? For what purpose? To kill you? So McMann wouldn't have to get his own hands dirty?”

“Apparently. And he told him even though Mark knew you'd be with me. Meaning if they'd gotten a hold of you...”

“And that's what really set you off. Yaz said you had a panic attack.”

“He should have kept his mouth shut.”

“No. He shouldn't have. You should stop assuming that I'm some weak and fragile little girl that can't handle these things. I've been handling them for five and a half years, Tyler. I spent months sleeping in a chair in a hospital, dealing with a lot worse than this. Having people constantly telling me that you weren't going to survive or that if you did you'd be brain damaged and I'd spend the rest of my life taking care of you. You think this is bad? This isn't half as bad as the things I heard and the things I was prepared to do. You always go on and on about how strong I am. Well start treating me like I am!”

He's surprised by the forcefulness in her voice.

“You get so caught up thinking you constantly need to protect me. And I understand why you're like that. I do. We've been through a lot of together. We've been through some terribly shitty and scary things. But you don't need to be this way. It's frustrating and it's annoying and it's suffocating. And I don't know why you can't see that. You need to stop. More importantly, I need you to stop. Stop protecting me and start trusting me that I can handle things.”

'You're right,” he reluctantly admits. “I know how much you hate it. The whole overprotective thing. And I don't mean to be that way. But I also can't help it. I can't stop wanting to keep you safe.”

“I'm not saying you need to stop. I'm saying you need to tone it down a bit. I'm not one of the people you get hired to get out of shitty situations. Dhaka was five and a half years ago. You did what you needed to do. I survived. Now you need to start acting like we're not still stuck back there and you're still trying to find a way to get me out of there. You always tell me I need to let it go. Maybe there's parts of it you still need to let go too.”

He sighs heavily, then reaches for the bottle of whisky and drains it.

“What's going to happen now?” she asks. “With Mark??”

“I don't know. Nik can take care of that. She brought him into this, she can take him out of it.”

“I never should have asked him for help. If I'd never asked him...”

“Don't do that. This isn't your fault. You didn't know he was going to turn around and do something like this.”

“Still, if I hadn't have asked him...”

“Esme...stop. This isn't on you. You didn't know he was going to turn out like this. Let Nik take care of it. There's nothing either of us can do about him.”

“You could always kick the shit out of him.”

“I'm tempted. Believe me. Beyond tempted, even.”

“But you're okay, right? Because that's all that matters to me. That you've calmed down and you're okay.”

“Yeah,” he glances over at the empty whisky bottle. “I'm okay.”

“Is there any good news? Are you any closer to getting those kids and getting the fuck home? Because we kind of miss you here.”

“I miss you guys too. And I'd come home right now if I could. And maybe I should. Maybe I should just say 'fuck this' and tell Nik to find someone else. Because I'm so sick of this shit. I'm tired and I'm sore and I just want to see you and the kids. I've had enough. I can't do this anymore. This life. I just can't.”

“Tyler....”

“I can't...” he insists, and his voice finally cracks under the weight of the emotion that he's been carrying around. Is it weeks? Months? Years even? He doesn't know for sure. But the burden has been huge and heavy, and despite his best attempts, he just can't carry it any longer. “...I can't do this...mentally...I just can't...I need to come home. I'm no good to those kids if I stay. I can't get them out of there. Not when I'm like this.”

“Tyler...”

“It'll just make things worse,” he continues, letting both the words and the tears flow. “I can't get past it. What's going on in my head. There's so much going on and it won't leave me alone. It never leaves me alone. It's never quiet up there anymore and I can't take it. I need it to be quiet. I need it to leave me alone and it won't if I stay here. It'll never leave me alone. And I can't live like this any longer. I just can't.”

“Come home,” she says. Simple. Straight to the point. “You need to come home.”

He nods in agreement, using the back of his hand to clear the tears off his face.

“You've done enough. For other people. Now you need to come home and get better.”

“I can't do it by myself,” he admits. “I know I can't.”

“You don't have to. You know that. You're not alone in this. I'll help you. And I wish I was there right now. I'd do anything to be there with you. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that.”

“Just come home, Tyler,” she says. “It's time to come home.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #sanctuary #extraction #chris hemsworth character

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celticnoise · 4 years

Link

FIFTY-FIVE years ago, Celtic beat Dunfermline 3-2 to win the Scottish Cup – the club’s first trophy success in eight agonising, barren years.

Midfield mastermind Bertie Auld, who netted two goals that day before Billy McNeill’s memorable winner, insists the barrier-breaking success was even more important to the Hoops than the historic European Cup victory over Inter Milan in Lisbon two years later.

To mark the anniversary, CQN are presenting the entire EXCLUSIVE chapter from Auld’s acclaimed autobiogarphy, ‘A Bhoy Called Bertie’, co-authored by Alex Gordon.

Enjoy the trip back of a lifetime as Bertie reveals all.

MY dad Joe would never have claimed to be one of life’s great philosophers, but there were occasions when he would make a remark that would make you sit up and listen.

After we had started the silverware landslide by beating Dunfermline 3-2 to lift the Scottish Cup in 1965, he said to me in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘You know, son, if Celtic keep playing like that, I’m going to be forced to leave an hour earlier to get my place in the Jungle on a Saturday.’

He could have said something vague along the lines of, ‘Celtic are playing well,’ and that would have been enough, but he always enjoyed putting his own particular spin on things. My dad and his pals had their own particular place on the terracing opposite the main stand. Older fans will surely remember the rusting ramshackle Jungle with affection.

Supporters used to cram in there and Celtic, for decades, never did anything to upgrade the place. A fan I knew said he could have found his place in this part of our ground blindfolded if it was raining. ‘How?’ I asked innocently. He answered, ‘Because there’s been a huge hole in the roof above me and it’s been like that for years. I get soaked when it’s pouring down.’ I countered, ‘Why don’t you shift?’ I was met with an incredulous stare. ‘Because it’s MY spot!’

My dad, you should know, could have got seats in the stand courtesy of his son, but he never took me up on my offer. He preferred to be with his pals in The Jungle.

I’ve touched on our victory over Dunfermline all those years ago and, for me, it was the breakthrough to all the good things that were awaiting us. Actually, that was one helluva game that see-sawed throughout a dramatic 90 minutes. I couldn’t have had a clue as to what was around the corner when we went a goal behind in only fifteen minutes of that Cup Final.

Our defence failed to clear their lines and the ball fell kindly for Harry Melrose to hammer into the net past our grounded keeper John Fallon. We could have thought, ‘Here we go again.’ Things, under Big Jock, had changed somewhat dramatically, though. I looked at my team-mates and I realised they felt to a man just like me, ‘We’re going to win this one’ seemed to be the unified message.

Sixteen minutes later I was lying on my backside in the Fifers’ net, but I wasn’t one bit upset. The ball was also sitting there beside me. I had equalised. I remember the goal like it was yesterday. John Clark slid a pass to Charlie Gallagher and he took a couple of steps forward, shaped to play it wide, changed pace and then sent a thunderbolt of a shot towards their goal from about thirty yards.

Jim Herriot, the Fifers’ extremely competent goalkeeper who would become a team-mate of mine at Hibs later on, threw himself at Charlie’s effort, but he failed to divert its course and it thumped against the face of the crossbar. I saw my chance as the ball swirled high into the air. Herriot was on the ground and was desperately trying to get back to his feet as I moved in for the kill. The ball seemed to be suspended by an invisible hand. It appeared to be up there for ages.

I was aware of their right-back Willie Callaghan coming in at speed from my right. He was wasting his time – I was never going to miss this opportunity. The ball came floating back down after what seemed an eternity and I launched myself at it to head it over the line. One-one – game on!

It was never like this Celtic’s side to do anything the easy way. It even took us a replay against Motherwell to reach this stage; drawing 2-2 in the first game before winning 3-0 in the second encounter. Once again, we gave ourselves a mountain to climb when we gave away a daft free-kick smack in front of goal about twenty yards out. There was only a minute to go until the interval. Could we hold out? No-one should have been unduly surprised when Melrose touched the ball sideways and their big centre-forward John McLaughlin toe-ended it through our crumbling defensive wall.

From where I was standing, it still looked saveable, but it managed to elude the grasp of our keeper, low down to his right. Bang on half-time is an awful time to hand the iniative to your opponents for all the obvious reasons. They go in buoyed up by the goal and we get to the dressing room wondering if the fates are conspiring against us again. The one thing I recall vividly in the interval team-talk is that not one of us believed we would lose. The worst we thought we could get was a draw and another game as they had replays in those days. Thankfully, we didn’t need it.

‘Get that early goal,’ ordered Big Jock as we left the dressing room for the second-half. ‘Get that early goal and we’ll win this game.’ Prophetic words, indeed. Seven minutes into the second period and Tommy Gemmell turned the ball to me and I swiftly passed it to Bobby Lennox. He took off like a sprinter on the left and I chased into the penalty area. Bobby couldn’t have hit a sweeter pass into the danger area and I arrived on the button to first time a right-foot shot low past the helpless Herriot. Two-Two – we’re going to win!

It couldn’t have been scripted better. With nine minutes remaining we were pushing for the winner and it looked as though the Fifers were the ones who would have been happier with a second chance. We won a corner-kick out on the left and Gallagher trotted over to take it. We were all making nuisances of ourselves in the box, darting this way and that, in an effort to leave a gap for Big Billy to expose. Charlie duly delivered with sublime accuracy, Billy was exactly where he should have been and he did precisely what we wanted him to do. Our skipper soared high above everyone to get his head to the ball as Herriot frantically grasped thin air behind him. There was perfect contact with head and ball and there was the very satisfying thud as the sphere reached its destination and strangled itself in the net. Three-Two – we’ve won the Cup!

I’ve always maintained that was a massive victory for Celtic. I will never think otherwise. It shows you how much things have changed in football when you look back at the crowd for that game – 108,800 was the official figure, but I think more than a few extra thousands must have scaled the walls. The receipts were a record at the time – ú36,973. Celtic and Dunfermline each got ú14,397. An average Premier League player wouldn’t get out of bed if that was his weekly wage these days.

This triumph was not about cash, though. It was about bringing back that winning feeling to Celtic Football Club. We succeeded and that sparked the most sensational and spectacular period in the club’s history.

I’m glad I got to play a part.

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 132

Tony was literally elbow deep in work. Converting panels on the walls into mechanized processors took a lot of patience, but it was good, clean work that kept his mind preoccupied. He’d been working on turning the upstairs ports into a machining hub for a while. Better to do it now than to have to rely on the same type of handiwork to repair every suit in the Iron Legion when it got damaged. However, it was the worst time to get the kind of call that he did. The lights flooded out of the room, replaced with darkness tipped in constant red flashes. Bruce made some sort of agitated yet nervous noise, hands raised. Tony tipped his head back, pulling his arms from the wall, and lifting his head. “JARVIS-”

“Red alert on penthouse level.” His blood went ice cold. Already he was pulling back, on his feet, and running. But that feeling of fear was nothing compared to what hit him when JARVIS spoke next. “Steve Rogers is attacking Ms. INY. The private elevator has been immobilized. I’ve called a suit for you.”

The next noise out of Bruce was one of complete bafflement. “Steve is? Tony- what-”

“Get the team upstairs. Now.”

Already suited up, already taking off in a leap from the lab deck. Bolting up straight into the air and curving up and around to the windows that looked into the penthouse living room. There his HUD zoomed in on a sight that sent him into immediate rage. Steve atop her. Her clawing at his wrists. Struggling not to die as he choked the life out of her.

There really wasn’t much thought floating inside of his brain after that. He shot through one of the plate windows and dropped down inside. Just as Steve seemed to be stopping- and she wheezed- Tony held both of his hands up and aimed a charged repulsor blast into Steve’s back, sending him flying. He was there in the next second, on his knees next to her.

He put his hand at her back, helping her lean sideways as she coughed and wheezed- painfully tried to draw any breath in that she could. Though it seemed like the immediate threat had waned, he felt just slightly better hearing the rest of their team busting up through the stairwell entrance. Yet his attention was stolen by the chirp of her phone ringing.

Uselessly she seemed to be trying to reach for it. “Don’t-” A sharp twist of a cry.

One that slid the pieces into place. The person really responsible for this was on the other end, no doubt about it. So he had to ignore her pleas, which broke his heart. This had to stop. Now. Picking the phone up, “JARVIS run a trace.”

She fought through sobs. “Please don’t…”

He then slid the call onto speaker. “You have five seconds.” Hoping to bait their villain of the month into giving him some monologue.

Everyone in the room stilled. The silence was unbearable. But not more so than the sound of that laughter. And then, that voice he had long since committed to memory on that one night he’d heard it, “Don’t worry puppy. We’ll be together again soon. I’ve got many more surprises for you.”

The screen flashed as the call disconnected, and JARVIS stated the obvious. “Trace incomplete sir.”

He had no time to let guilt and disappointment soak him through. She was moving, onto her hands and knees. He put one hand on her shoulder to try and steady her. Her crying grew harsher, deep and heavy. Agonizing sobbing. And he struggled to keep himself together. But when she directed her line of sight across the room, Tony did too. Looking over at Steve.

Steve looking at her.

Damn it all. She’d known. She was right. Even when she doubted herself. She was always right.

The air in the room was stifling, even for him. The team was falling to pieces, all turned away. Maybe some of them didn’t want to witness such a low moment, but really it was probably more that they were biting back tears they wanted nothing to do with. In order to clean up… he had to get her away from them. A problem that had been growing. Quietly. One he’d been working on. Even quieter.

She just seemed unable to move. Which made this messier. Bent forward on her hands and knees, face pressed into the carpet, breathing with a wheeze that sounded terribly painful while she still choked through sobs. It was killing him. He could sense a spiral was imminent. But he had to hang on. He had to get to work. He had to fix this for her. Because nobody else was moving.

It felt absolutely awful to just leave her there on the floor, but he had to. Standing up, he went to the group huddled closer to the elevator. “Everyone down in conference room one. Now. We obviously need a few minutes, but I’ll bring a briefing to you.”

Steve couldn’t even look at him. Which was a shame. There was such a dark fire burning inside of Tony at that moment. Facing him head on might have soothed it. If only a little. “Briefing on what? That I nearly just-”

“Get a grip.” As hard as he could make the words leave him. Steve’s black-or-white, mile high guilt complex over doing the wrong thing could not be tolerated right now. “Yeah. You nearly just murdered her. So what you’re gonna do now is sit your ass down in the conference room and start telling JARVIS everywhere you’ve been for the last week so that we can start figuring this out.” When Steve finally found that soldier’s courage to meet his eyes, Tony’s narrowed. “Understood?”

Tony found himself extremely lucky when Steve nodded. “Understood.” Because he didn’t have time to clean up two messes right now. And if he did… well. His priorities were elsewhere.

He didn’t wait for the shuffle of feet back towards the stairwell to go to her again. She was sitting up on her knees at that point, though still not really there. Stepping out of the suit, finally, he took a knee next to her, putting a hand gently on her back. Her pain was cutting him in swift slices, and he had to take a steadying breath to keep himself together. “Take it easy, honey. If you’re not okay to walk, I’ll carry you.” Tone dropping low and careful.

She tried to say something but it escaped in a choked gurgle that led into a coughing fit. Her hands raised, blood spattering against her cupped fists. Worse yet- I’m sorry... Tony wasn’t prepared enough for this shiver of words that he felt so deep inside him. Echoing beyond his ears. Wrapped around his brain. Hand inside his heart. He wasn’t used to hearing her like that- like this. Words like that had usually been reserved for… quieter moments. Intimate and careful. Now she was in agony. And he was five steps away of falling into that hole with her.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s alright.” He willed himself strong for her. Calm. Not knowing if it ever helped, especially in moments like this, but he hoped so. “Let’s just start with- just… take a slow breath…”

It didn’t matter how long it took, how long the team was waiting for him downstairs. She was far more important. And it did take a decent chunk of time to back her off that edge. To cool her down. Clean her up. Get her into bed. He thought maybe he’d gotten lucky, and she was just so gone she might slip asleep, but as he moved to leave her side at the bed her hand shot out to grab his wrist.

He remembered this. He remembered exactly this.

“Don’t- don’t go- don’t leave-”

She was begging, not for him to stay in that room, maybe, but for him not to leave the Tower. Because the Tower was safe. And outside was no longer safe. Simple concepts. A madman was lurking around outside. Had grabbed Steve from somewhere. And had promised to do even more than that. She’d begged Fury to leave them alone, to not send anyone out that night, too. For a reason just like this.

He sat back down, hand moving over her forehead and then smoothing down, holding her face in his palm. “I’m not going. We’re alright. We’re okay.” She eased, eyes slipping closed. “I’ll talk with the team. We’ll make a plan.” Speaking slowly. Softly. Talking her back down for a second time. “I’ll get the penthouse cleaned up. Work on the elevator…” Easy things to think about. To hold on to. And as he listed off his new workload, she drifted off. Further and further until finally she was gone.

Even then… even then he had trouble leaving her. He stayed maybe longer than he should have. Just watching her. Hand raising over his eyes as a breath hitched in his chest after another moment. Allowing himself just this small bit of time to exert some weakness. Where no one else could see it.

---

He took five more minutes to clean himself up after that, splashing cold water on his face. Taking a long look in the mirror. Then after drying off he headed towards the stairwell. Steeled himself. And pushed on. “JARVIS we making any progress with Rogers?”

“Not much, sir.” The answer came echoing. And… almost a little annoyed sounding. As much as JARVIS usually could, anyway.

“Start a playback of as much Tower surveillance at ground level as you can. Anyone that’s not Stark ID’ed lurking around I wanna know about.” This guy picked Steve up somewhere. And if he wasn’t going to be of help in figuring out where that was, Tony would have to figure something else out.

As always.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pull the data on Jones and… the incident before this, too. Put it all up on the screens. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Everything is waiting for you.”

That was slightly unexpected, but if JARVIS was one step ahead of him, it just cut out some of the useless work. Always nice. “You’re my rock, JARVIS.”

“What would you ever do without me?”

Just as he put his hand on the exit door to the floor with the conference rooms, he hesitated. “...keep an eye on her for me, JARVIS.” So quiet that it should have been impossible for any other AI to pick up a voice command.

But JARIVS, of course, was no ordinary AI. “Always, sir.”

He keyed himself into the conference room and then on the opposite side panel blacked the windows out. It wasn’t like there was a lot of staff wandering around on this floor, but this was sincerely a team-members-only meeting. Romanoff, Barton, and Thor were standing in the front by the two holo-screens displaying all of the detailed information that JARVIS had started pulling.

Steve and Bruce were sitting at the end of the table. Bruce had his laptop, working on something. Good man. Steve was… just sitting there. Arms crossed. Thousand yard stare. Tony started with a wave of his hand and an exuding of confidence he didn’t actually quite own in this moment. “So. May 2013…” Taking a deep breath. Going through the cursory information. Not that he needed to. From the way everyone’s eyes averted they all remembered.

She was taken. For three months. Disappeared without a trace. No sign. Snap of someone's fingers and she was just gone. And then those three months later she called for backup (kind of) and ran. He’d taken to pacing around the table as he spoke. “Fury wanted to send her and everyone else for surveillance. She made the call that that wasn’t appropriate. She’s seen what he can do. Apparently all it takes for this guy to pick anyone up off the street is saying a couple of words.” His eyes strayed to Steve, just to catch the reaction. The dip of his head and the darkening of his eyes wasn’t quite enough.

Tony continued, “January 2014. An enhanced individual by the name of Jessica Jones politely informs us that the man’s name is Kilgrave. And that he’s supposedly dead.”

Natasha looked up. She’d sat down some time ago. “Enhanced how?”

“Super strength. Took a punch from one of the suits with almost no problem. While she was incredibly intoxicated, no less.”

Barton scoffed. “I thought you said this was a polite encounter?”

“No one got hurt. That’s as polite as it gets in this world.” Especially with a matter like that.

Bruce took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But. Clearly this guy’s not dead.”

Tony resisted the urge to cluck his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Clearly. Which brings me to March of this year. Jessica Jones makes another unannounced appearance to tell us her intel was a little wrong.” Moving to one of the screen windows he swiped through until a picture of Hope came on the screen. “This girl, Hope Shlottman, murdered her parents under direction of Kilgrave. Jones’ involvement is messy, but she brings a guilt-ridden vendetta to our door.”

To his surprise, Steve was not the first one to object in the usual manner. Instead it was Thor. “And when were you planning on telling us this, Stark? Does this man have a weapon with the means of mind control? Like the scepter?”

This time Tony couldn’t help the roll of his eyes, glad he had his back turned. “No toys. His usual song and dance seems to just be creeping out of the shadows and saying something into your ear- speaking of. Rogers?” Half turning with an arch of his brow. “Remember anything?” At Steve’s continued silence, Tony pressed. “You’re our next point on the map. So if you’ve got any ideas for the class, now’s the time to raise your hand.”

Finally Steve broke, head tipping up sharply. “You know- you seem pretty calm for what just went on. Are you even taking this seriously?”

White hot anger flashed intensely inside of him. How dare he. Turning around and leaning in, Tony’s hands went down on the table a little harder than he meant to. Staring Steve down. “If I were any less calm you’d be in the holding cell in the basement.” Or… worse. “I’d count my blessings, if I were you.” There were a few seconds there where his brain had lit up a path of destruction. If it were her or Steve? ...yeah. It’d be her. And he’d live with that blood on his hands for the rest of his life.

This broke Steve from whatever self righteous horse he was trying to ride in self defense. “Maybe I should be.” But this was not any better.

Natasha was the voice of reason. “Your guilt over this is not going to help anyone. It’s terrible- to be sure- what happened. But-”

As usual, Barton had the layup for her. “He took you for a ride for one day. He had her for three months. Can you even imagine what he might have made her do?”

Suddenly all eyes were cast up on Tony. Waiting. Waiting for answers. Wanting to know. What terrible things had she done under Kilgrave’s thumb? As if it were any of their business. He couldn’t help crossing his arms and half turning back to the board. “You had two years to ask her. Don’t look at me.”

Thor stepped into his peripheral. “Barton has a point. Lady is clearly not well. Is this a remnant of his hold over her? Should we consider her dangerous as well?”

Bruce, thankfully, spoke up. Thankfully because Tony’s tight control was loosening. He’d brought them here to figure out a solution to this and now they were laying into her? Dangerous, considering how wound with anger he still was. “Thor… she was tortured for three months. I don’t think it’s a power thing. I think it’s a…”

Natasha’s voice was very quiet. “A human thing.”

A heavy silence hung over the room for far too long. Tony still had to steady himself, not quite ready when Steve finally spoke up again. “I was on a run in the park this morning.” Everyone’s attention redirected, Tony turning almost a little too quickly to zero in on him. “I stopped at one of those carts to get some water. Someone with a newspaper called out to me. When I turned he said…” Struggling as he tried to get it all back- or maybe struggling with the weight of everything that had just happened in this short window. “He said- follow me. And I just… did.”

The setup was obvious. Tony shook his head. “He stole you out of Central Park to go to a quieter location. Loaded you up with commands, and sent you on your merry way. JARVIS, retrieve all the footage from all security cams in the park from this morning.” They had to get an ID on this guy.

Thor’s sense brought him to the same line of thought. “We still do not know what this man looks like?” Frustrated. He’d have to get in line.

Tony turned back to the board. “The night she was taken he erased all footage. Seems easy, right? When you can walk into any place you like and just demand people do whatever you want?” That was what made him so dangerous. He could get away with anything. Anywhere.

Natasha chanced a smile. “Out of everyone in this room, I think you’re the closest to knowing what that’s like.”

JARVIS interrupted. “I’m retrieving the footage now, sir, but I have some other pertinent information for you about the Tower security footage.” When Tony pointed a finger towards the front board to direct the data there, still frames of a man lurking around on the other side of the sidewalk opposite the building with a phone in hand- just about one out of every three days and always pointed at her whenever she left. He looked pretty strung out. Clothes worn and dirty. Face and hair a mess. Easy to miss. Just someone else that faded into the background noise of this city. “This is Malclom Ducasse.”

Trying to be the voice of reason, Bruce asked, “We’re sure this guy’s not just paparazzi?” Clearly not wanting to go after some random citizen if they weren’t implicated in this.

JARVIS sent the room cold, “His current address is the same building as one Alias Investigations.” Flashing the information on screen.

A bitter puff of air left Tony. “Jones. How about that.” Nodding to himself he started walking to the door, though he shifted to give a point to Natasha. “Romanoff, you’re with me. Let’s show the detectives how it’s done.” He was sick of this. He was going to drag Jessica Jones in here and make her talk. No matter if she liked it or not.

It was time for this to be over. If she was working with Kilgrave, Tony would find out. And if that was the case…?

He’d ask for the opinion of one of the only women in this world that mattered to him. What to do. Or, better put- what she would like him to do. Because at this point… at this point… Tony would live with whatever guilt she asked him to, to put an end to her suffering. Without question. Without hesitation.

His heart was burning with pain still. And at the door as Natasha got up, he and Steve shared one last look.

He’d gotten so incredibly lucky she’d been able to break him out of it. And Tony knew, as Steve was looking at him now…

Steve understood that, too.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Thirty Two

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