#I actually wonder if he’d have any conflict with having Pepper as his secretary if he was in a full-fledged relationship with her

[starkerforlife6969]

Secretary Peter, Boss Tony. With a twist ;)

Tony’s the best goddamn salesman in the office. Hell, in Wallstreet. He can move stocks, he can sell stocks, he can throw a life raft to the drowning man or sink the ship himself. 

He’s charismatic, handsome, and about as in style as his tailored three piece suits, which is to say- very and always in style. He’d graduated from desk jockey to cubicle drone to glass corner office in three short years and he has a floor full of people desperately in awe of him, vying for scraps of attention or pieces of wisdom. 

And Tony loves his job. He loves talking to people, he loves working his charm, he loves winning and he loves money and he loves not having to answer to anyone. 

And he doesn’t answer to anyone, except from- aside from that one pesky exception- in Nick Fury. 

He owns the whole company, so technically Tony reports to him, but Nick’s practically never here so Tony’s the one in charge. 

Apart from this week, apparently, because when he walks in on Monday morning it’s to see Nick in his office, that trademark furious glare that’s really poorly concealed behind what Tony supposes is meant to be a welcoming smile. He doesn’t break stride though, just saunters into his desk and grins. “I see you helped yourself into my office.” He says cheerily. 

“It’s not your office, Tony.” Nick growls, closing the door and standing in front of it like he thinks Tony might run out. “They’re all my offices. Every thing in this building is mine, do you understand that? Even those ugly ass lion statues in the lobby, they’re mine.” 

Tony sighs and eases into his leather desk chair. “That’s unfortunate. Maybe give ‘em to charity or something.” 

“Stark.” Nick’s tone is flat, unamused, and Tony looks up at him with his best ‘I’m listening’ face. “I was able to just waltz into your office because I notice- you don’t have a PA.” 

Tony’s eyes flicker to the desk just outside his office. Sure enough, it’s empty. “I wondered why I wasn’t getting any messages.” 

Nick is, again, unimpressed. 

“Pepper’s off on maternity leave,�� Tony shrugs, tossing his stress ball into the air and catching it again. “I can go without a PA for a year, Nicky.” 

“Don’t you ever call me that again, and no, you can’t. Do you know why I’m here-” 

“-I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me-”

“I’m here because none of your sales have been recorded and stored, none of your hours, none of your billables. I haven’t had a hard copy receipt of any of your transactions and that makes you liable, Tony. And you may be one of my best workers, but I do not give a shit about you. But you being liable, makes me liable, which makes my company liable. And we wanna work as a team, don’t we?” 

“That seems like a rhetorical question.” 

“You are so backed up and you don’t even have a clue.” Nick growls, massaging his temples like he’d very much like to annihilate Tony right on the spot. 

Tony feels a little bit bad. He may have forgotten about those pesky little paper trails. “It’s not like I’m breaking the law, Fury, c’mon-”

“Oh, I’ll just tell the bank that you’re not breaking the law and send them on their merry fucking way, shall i? Or, should you get a secretary?” 

“Hire me one, then,” Tony rolls his eyes, bored with the conversation and reaching forward to grab a random sheet of paper off his desk. He peruses it idly. It’s a shopping list, and scanning the items, he’s not entirely sure what for. A baby shower? There’s too much alcohol for that- someone’s birthday? Whose list even is this? Is it in here by mistake?

“Do you know how many secretaries you went through before Pepper, Tony? Over a hundred. You have to hire one yourself. I do not want to be sued for abusive language again-”

Tony looks up sharply. “She was being an imbecile, Fury, and I stand by what I said-”

Nick lifts a hand to cut him off. “Hire a secretary before the week is out, Stark, or it won’t be such a friendly visit next time.” 

He leaves in a whirlwind of leather and disapproval and Tony stares bemusedly. 

He doesn’t even have to touch his phone before it buzzes and he sees the text from Pepper. Heard someone got a nasty visit. I’ll have someone for you before Friday. 

Tony smiles softly. He misses her, he should buy her something- 

suddenly, he remembers what the shopping list is for.  

When Tony gets into the office on Friday morning, he’s riding on a bit of a high. Everything’s been going so well recently. He’s signed more clients than ever in a three day span, one of his biggest competitors missed a big meeting and Fury hasn’t left any menacing phone calls. Pepper had liked her presents, people still stare after him, and- life all around is good. 

He’s in his office, just taking a moment to savour how triumphant and successful he is, when he reaches out for a sip of his coffee. 

It’s a fucking delicious blend. Expensive and Italian and the stuff that you can only get from a very pretentious cafe on the other side of New York and-

He pauses in his drinking. 

He never got himself coffee. 

He looks at the cup in his hand and lowers it marginally. It’s hot and just the way he likes it. He looks around his office then too, and suddenly all the differences appear and slap him in the face. His desk is clear- not just clear, clean, and his laptop keys are shiny and polished like new. His papers are organised and there are highlights and annotations and his certificates are hanging on the wall and not crammed into a box in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet where he left them. In fact, his whole fucking office looks professional and goddamn nice. 

His dry cleaning is hanging neatly in the corner too. He gets up, and looks at the desk outside his office. 

Sure enough, there’s someone sitting there. 

A male from what Tony can see, with short brown hair and a headset on. He's typing into the computer and diligently scribbling onto a notepad. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

Who the hell is he?

Tony’s laptop pings and he looks down to see a new email from Fury. 

Well done, Stark. Everything looks to be in order. I knew you could be reasonable. 

He clicks on the attachments, already knowing what he’s going to see. All his backlogs, all his logged hours, all his receipts, ordered and neatly filed and chronologically placed and there are even little notes underneath each one with extra details and- how the fuck does his new secretary know that yes, actually, the Milton case had required an extra emergency meeting when they’d discovered a conflict- Tony hadn’t made a note of it anywhere. 

Curiosity truly peaked now, he takes his perfect coffee and saunters out, walking around the front of the desk. 

His new secretary looks up and Tony’s penis twitches a little. Okay, yes, Tony Jr approves. He’s young, maybe twenty, with brown hair and big brown eyes, cream skin and a delicate nose. He’s slender, but in shape, in a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, giving a lovely view of those sharp collarbones. He’s wearing black trousers and the the microphone wire against his cheek and in his hair contrasts nicely with his pale skin. 

He looks up at Tony and smiles pleasantly. “Mr Stark, is there something I can help you with?”

Tony spots a calendar on the corner of the desk. He picks it up and flips through it. His meetings and deadlines for the next six months are all neatly pencilled in. The most important ones are starred with a red pen. He sets it down carelessly and watches as the young man straightens it without a word. “So, how long have you been here, Mr...” 

“Peter Potts, Sir.” Peter says, and ah, this makes sense. The only way Peter could be so clever was if he had the Potts gene. “I started on Tuesday.” 

Tuesday, fuck. No wonder things have been going so well. “Pepper’s little brother?” 

“Half brother,” Peter corrects, “and soon to be uncle.” 

Tony can see the resemblance. The soft skin, the sweet eyes. “Well, Peter and Pepper. That’s cute.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything to that, but his pretty pink lips twitch in amusement. 

But Tony doesn’t have any qualms. Peter is quite clearly capable, he’s related to Pepper, he’s eye-candy, and he’s gotten Tony his favourite coffee. So, the older man simply tips his head and goes back into his office. But as soon as he’s sitting down, his curiosity flares up again. He presses the button on his intercom and clears his throat. “You go to college, Peter?” 

He watches through the glass as Peter’s chair swivels around, and the boy talks into the microphone with an intrigued smile. “Yes, Mr Stark. Top of my class at Harvard.” 

“What did you study?” 

“I majored in Engineering with a minor in Journalism. Graduated last year.” 

An early bird then, Tony can relate. That Potts gene really is something else. “And what have you been doing for the past year?” 

“Odd jobs,” Peter says evasively. “But when Pepper said she needed my help, I was all too happy to oblige. I’m a very big fan of yours, Mr Stark. There’s no bigger name in Wallstreet.” The phone rings and Peter shoots Tony an apologetic, but polite smile, as he picks up the phone. “Tony Stark’s office.” He nods, turning to the computer as the person talks. “Yes, I can see that here. No problem. Thank you. Yes, yes, Mr Butler, I will let him know.” Peter chuckles and Tony stares: amazed. “Alright. Thank you, goodbye.” 

“Mr Butler?” Tony shakes his head, “That was Jerry on the phone?” 

“Yes, Mr Stark. Would you like me to get him back on the line for you?” 

Jerry Butler is the coldest man in the world. He doesn’t laugh with secretaries. He’s no reason for any smile ever. But Peter had chuckled like he was talking to an old friend. Not even Pepper had achieved that. “No, no.” Tony frowns, “you carry on.” He clicks off the intercom and strums his fingers against his desk thoughtfully. Something doesn’t feel quite right- if something seems too good to be true...his mind warns. 

Maybe the catch is that he can’t sleep with Peter and the more he talks to the boy, the more he wants to. 

He does his best to ignore it for now. 

Things continue to go brilliantly. Life is even more effortlessly amazing than it was before. Nick even drops the hints of a promotion in the future if things keep going like this. When Tony gets to work, his favourite coffee is waiting, sometimes even a bagel or a croissant like Peter magically knows when Tony hasn’t had breakfast. He eats or drinks in his office as he checks emails, before Peter comes in with a notebook and a rundown of the days events, and then Tony gets to work. Peter comes in throughout the day, silent and unobtrusive and sets down water or coffee or occasionally- an apple- and sets it by Tony’s elbow and leaves again. 

When Tony steps out to meet a client for lunch, he sees Peter taking his lunch break at his desk- his headset is still on, and he’s still scribbling away, but it’s into an old worn science textbook. In his other hand is a sandwich he’s nibbling on. 

Tony prods at the book as he pulls on his coat. Peter had it dry cleaned specially and waiting in his office before Tony even knew he'd be out for lunch. There’s probably already a cab waiting downstairs. “What’s this?” Tony asks, trying to peek at the cover. 

Peter lets him easily. “It’s a bio-chemistry textbook. I’m thinking about taking some night classes. Work towards a masters, or if I don’t qualify- a second degree.” 

Tony may not have much pull in the science world, but his father sure did. He knows that name and money can go a long way, and Peter’s been exceptional. “I can get you in for a Masters anywhere you wanna go.” He assures, and Peter looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“Mr Stark-”

“It’s not a problem. Now, who am I meeting?” 

“Mrs Aberelle. She loves shrimp and it was her granddaughter’s birthday last week.” 

Tony’s not sure whether he wants to ruffle Peter’s hair or give him a filthy kiss on the mouth. He settles for neither. 

Mrs Aberelle practically gushes and swoons in her seat when Tony orders her the shrimp platter and asks how her granddaughter’s birthday was. She makes a higher bid than Tony even asked for. Peter’s a godsend. 

The next day, the CEO of of another major competitor comes down with the flu, and Tony’s pitch goes down brilliantly. 

He’s on cloud nine. 

Careful, a voice warns, when you’re this high, there’s only one way to go. 

It sounds suspiciously like his father, but he listens to it. “Hey, Peter,” he greets one morning as he strolls in. Peter’s in his office, just setting down his coffee and a- fuck, a danish pastry. He might be in love. “I got you a little something.” 

Peter blinks in surprise, but smiles sweetly, and crosses his hands in front of him as he waits. Tony sets his briefcase down and clips open the gold clasps and lifts out a brand new, just released bio-chemistry textbook. Peter takes it with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Mr Stark...” he whispers, shaking his head, “this was- I know for a fact that this was over a $100. I can’t accept this-”

“Kid,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s pocket change. Besides, I’m not giving it to you for nothing.” 

Peter’s eyes flash to his and Tony’s a little surprised by what he sees. Peter looks almost-fuck, almost dangerous- but it’s gone in a flash, replaced with that sweetness and hardworking, subtle smugness that’s usually there. 

“I want you to attend the meeting with Lawson tomorrow. As a sit in, alright?” 

Peter nods immediately, but frowns. “Is there any particular reason why, Mr Stark?” He’s clutching the book to his chest almost reverently. 

“Not really,” Tony admits, rubbing his chin, “just wary. You up for it?” 

“Always.” Peter murmurs, and Tony thinks he must be imagining the demure little almost-wink he gets. 

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it again that night. 

He shakes Lawson’s hand in the morning as the man and his associates sit opposite him at the large oakwood table. Tony and Peter on one side, Lawson and his men on the other. Peter has his notebook out and is writing away- he always seems to be writing, Tony has no idea what- and then they start talking. 

Tony’s not sure what he was worried about. The contract is brilliant, more lenient than expected and has nothing but benefits for both sides. He’s giving Lawson a hard time, but that’s just part of the game, and he’s about to seal the deal when-

Peter slides a piece of paper over to him without looking up. Tony frowns at him, but Peter doesn’t make eye-contact, continuing to write, and Tony looks down. 

He’s lying. Don’t sign. 

Well fuck, that’s a fucking thing to write. What is Tony supposed to do with that? He sets it down and tries to look unaffected as they keep talking but when Lawson’s side slide over the contract, Tony pauses with the pen in his hand. Peter isn’t making a sound. 

“Let me just talk to my secretary real quick,” Tony grins, wearing his best winning smile, “why don’t you fine gentlemen wait outside, take five, catch a breather, and then we can come back and sort this out.” 

They look a little confused, but they leave and then Peter and Tony are alone. 

“What the hell is this, Peter?” 

Peter looks up bravely, his jaw locked. “I don’t trust him, Mr Stark. There’s something not right-”

“I’m gonna need a little more than your hunch, kid. No offence, but I’ve been in this game a lot longer than you. You don’t know the contract, it’s a good deal-”

“It’s too good a deal,” Peter insists, lifting the thick contract up. “I’ve read through it, Mr Stark. I read through all the contracts you’re about to sign and there’s something about this that doesn’t add up. Why would they offer such a beneficial claim with us? Why not one of your competitors?” 

Tony shrugs a little smugly. “My competitors haven’t been stepping up to bat, lately.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I’m serious, Mr Stark. When things or people are too good to be true, they usually are.”

There’s something in his tone. Something...something Tony’s unsure of. 

“Did you see anything in the small print that can back up- what is at the moment- just a feeling?” 

Peter’s shoulders slump in defeat, and he shakes his head. “No, Sir.” He whispers. 

The older man sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Only Pepper or Peter could ever make him feel like this- torn between the rational, sensible option, and listening to their fucking hunches-

“He knows!” A voice outside the door hisses, and both Peter and Tony look up sharply. 

“He doesn’t know, Lawson-”

“He must know! Why would he tell us to leave like that? He knows about our deal with Oscorp! I knew Norman couldn’t make this go away, the dirty son-of-a-bitch-”

“There’s no way Stark knows, just calm down-”

The voices disappear again, down the hall, and Tony stares in amazement. Peter just looks earnest. “Do you believe me now, Mr Stark?”

“How the hell did you know?” He whispers, collapsing into one of the chairs.

Peter bites his bottom lip. “Sometimes i just get these feelings,” he says, as he scribbles on the paper in front of him. 

Unfortunately, knowing that Lawson has a back door deal with Oscorp is not something that can be easily proven, and when Fury finds out that Tony blew would could be one of the biggest contracts of the year, he reacts with, what is understandably, a lot of anger. 

Tony does his best to get Peter to screen all his calls as the two of them work all night to try and find a way to prove what they heard. Tony wants to think that maybe his word will be enough, but Nick’s always been a stickler for the rules and Tony...has not. 

Even as absorbed in papers and numbers as he is, Tony can still appreciate Peter here beside him. The kid’s saved him a huge one here. And he’s still here, when he should probably be at home sleeping or watching Netflix, helping Tony try to prove the unprovable. He’s smart and quick and for someone who’s never worked with stocks like this before, he sure knows his way around it. 

“Hey,” Peter whispers when it hits three am. “I bet they keep a hard copy of all their emails in a data storage room.” 

Tony looks up and rubs the bleariness from his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Peter breaths, getting to his feet, more energetic now, “a lot of stock companies do it. It’s an automatically backlog, it can stop you getting into a lot of trouble. All we have to go is get in.” 

Tony shakes his head, but gets to his feet, knees groaning. “How? I’m the most recognisable face in Wallstreet.”

“But I’m not.” Peter insists, already heading for the door. Tony’s hot on his heels. “I can talk my way in.” 

“Not that I doubt your ability, because you’re a Potts, but do you really think you can just waltz in and-”

Yes, as it turns out. Tony just stares in awe as Peter plays the apologetic, desperate intern who just has to get this work done for his brutal boss Norman Osborn. Tony’s hiding behind a potted plant as he watches Peter’s performance. “I’m so sorry,” Peter weeps, eyes shining with tears as the large, female security guard clutches at her heart through her shirt. “I’m such an idiot, and it’s only my first week and I forgot my keycard and- I’m gonna get fired and I deserve it and-”

“Oh, no, honey,” the security guard croons, already unlocking the barrier for him. “No, baby, it is not your fault, okay?” 

Peter sniffles, eyes red and smile grateful. “Thank you so much, I-you have no idea what this means to me and-”

She blows him a kiss. “Go, honey. Go.” Peter waves at her, and jogs around the corner. 

They have to wait about fifteen minutes till she goes to the bathroom, before Tony runs out and Peter lets him through. “How did you- wait- how did you even unlock the door-”

“I pickpocketed her,” Peter whispers, as they get into the elevator. Tony stares at Peter in shock. 

“Shit, kid. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Peter gives him a look. “We’re breaking into one of the most famous companies in the world, Mr Stark. I don’t think now’s the time.”

“Sure- I guess-” Peter grabs his hand and tugs him out of the metal doors as soon as they get to the right floor and shit- how did Peter even know what floor- before Tony knows it, Peter is picking the lock of a storage room and- seriously, what the hell-

and then he’s hacking into a computer and downloading a memory stick onto it. 

Tony is staring in slack-jawed awe. “Seriously, Peter.” He whispers, as Peter scans through emails. “What the fuck?” 

“Tony,” Peter murmurs, a little irritated, as his eyes flicker across the screen as he scrolls rapidly. “Not the time.” 

“Not the time? You- you cried on cue. You knew all this stuff about me, you pick-pocketed her- you got into that locked room, you just hacked into a computer and a memory stick, are you- were you a criminal or something? Like a tech-whiz kid? You can tell me, I won’t judge-”

“I know you won’t,” Peter says softly, and suddenly there’s that doe-eyed, cocky secretary who smirks whenever Tony ends up liking whatever weird type of sushi Peter brings him when he’d insisted he wouldn’t. “But not right now. Later, I promise- ah! Look!” 

There’s the email. It’s not explicit, but it’s interaction between Norman and Lawson which can’t easily be dismissed. Peter sends it to the printer and the two of them are waiting for the damn thing to connect, when footsteps sound along the carpeted floor around the corner. 

Peter shoves Tony into a stationary closet and Tony watches through the crack as a middle-aged man comes around with a stack of papers to photocopy. The man blinks at the sight of Peter, surprised, and Peter half smiles. “Hey,” he greets casually, and Tony is seriously in awe of this kid’s acting. “All nighter for you too, huh? Osborn’s a real dick.”

The man chuckles, nodding, and comes to join Peter by the printer. “Yeah, I know. I’m Barney,” 

Peter takes his hand. “Lucas,” he says easily, “It’s nice to meet you. You couldn’t help, could you? The damn thing’s not working.”

Lucas peers at the printer, and smiles good-naturedly. “You have to enter your user access code.”

Tony pales and if Peter panics at all, he doesn’t show it. “Fuck,” he sighs, smacking his forehead, “I forgot mine. I keep it written down on this post it- shit, I’ll have to run downstairs, unless-” he looks up at Barney hopefully, “I could use yours? Save me the run.” 

Barney looks torn. “We’re not supposed to...”

For a second, Tony thinks Peter might pull the same crying act he used with the security guard, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, Peter steps forward, lifts his chin and catches his plush bottom lip between his teeth. 

Shit. Shit. Tony and Barney are both hypnotised. “Maybe we could forget the printer altogether,” Peter murmurs, his hands drifting to Barney’s belt as he fiddles with the loop. “Working for Norman gets me so stressed, you know? Sometimes you just want some-” he sighs a little, and the sound goes straight to Tony’s dick. “-some stress relief. You ever feel like that, Barney?” 

Barney looks utterly besotted, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. 

Peter pushes impossibly closer, tilting his head up more. “You can touch me, if you want,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I want you to. Right here.” He grabs one of Barney’s hands and places it on his perfect ass. 

Tony’s leaking in his pants. 

Barney grunts with desire, grabbing at Peter’s ass gracelessly, his other hand coming to do the same as Peter presses their groins together. “What’s your access code?” He whispers into Barney’s ear, palming at his crotch. 

Barney looks like he might cum any second. He’s probably a virgin, Tony thinks. Or maybe Peter is just that hot. Either one is plausible. “A-ah, it-it’s 4598-”

Tony lets out a cry of surprise when Barney falls heavily to the floor. 

Peter turns and taps in the code to the printer as Tony bursts out of the closet. “Holy shit,” he whispers, staring at the man. There’s no blood which is...a relief? “Is he dead?”

Peter rolls his eyes as the printer starts chugging out paper. He grins victoriously. “No, Tony, he’s not dead. I don’t kill people. He’s just unconscious.” He gives Tony a look like the older man is acting a bit slow. 

There’s a wet spot on Barney’s pants, Tony feels for the guy, but there’s more pressing matters. “Peter, what the fuck, seriously-”

“Oh, come on, Tony.” Peter snaps, whirling on him with righteous indignation. His pupils are blown wide and Tony wants him so bad it hurts, but he’s also- he’s also confused out of his mind. “You’ve known this whole time. What- you think it’s coincidence that all your competitors have been missing meetings? Falling sick? You think these new clients are just falling into your lap? I’ve been doing all of this for you. You know that.” 

Jesus Christ. Tony stares. “I-I don’t- how-”

“I like seeing you succeed. It gets me even hotter for you than I already am.” 

Tony can’t form words. 

“I know you like me too. I’d have to be blind not to- aha!” He lifts the papers happily, all printed and sorted. “As much as I’d love to have you fuck me right here on this printer, we need to leave.” 

Tony’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to form words, but fucking Peter is something he’d very much like to do. 

“We’re gonna go back to your office, and you can do me right up against the glass, okay?” 

Tony has to pinch his arm to not cum right then and there. Peter notices, and smirks, tiptoeing to kiss him lightly. 

“Come on, Mr Stark,” he grins, his eyes twinkling with a satisfying mixture of innocence and mischief, as he guides them towards the door. “You have work to do.” 

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 2

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Monday, April 1st (continued)

“Is this legit?” Rose asked under her breath, smiling brightly.  “I mean, it’s April Fools.”

Mel nodded, curls bouncing.  “Totally,” she whispered back, before kicking Rose’s leg.  “Rude.”

“Uh, hello, Your Highness,” Rose greeted the Princess, feeling out of her depth if this wasn’t a prank.  She’d had celebrities and politicians as clients, some fairly recognizable names, but royalty?  She folded her hands tightly to help stop the sudden trembling.  It’s just like any other potential client interview.  Keep it together.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Princess Donna said regally, and Rose swallowed her nerves.

“And you, such as it is.  How may I help you?”  Off to the side Mel waved to catch her eye, holding up a post-it reading Ma’am.  “Ma’am,” she dutifully added, forcing her smile brighter.

The Princess gazed at her speculatively, clearly evaluating Rose as Rose was her.  “My brother the King is in… a bit of a situation.  He must find a bride and marry her on or before his coronation, or he will have to forfeit the throne to me, something my husband and I want under no circumstances.”

“And how can I help?”  The post-it waved off to the side, and Rose bit back a sigh.  “Ma’am?”

“I’ve heard you’re a miracle worker, and what we need is certainly that.  My brother must take a wife in the next four weeks, and she must be of the highest caliber with the potential, ability, and willingness to bear children – otherwise we’re simply delaying my own coronation, and I’d prefer to avoid it at all costs.”

Rose blinked, waiting for the 'gotcha!’, but none came.  “I see,” she said, even though she didn’t. “May I ask- Normally I deal directly with the client?” she trailed off expectantly.

The Princess nodded, looking serious.  “I understand.  But I had to speak with you first.  I want my brother to find happiness and love of course, but I also need him to find a wife.  I won’t lie, it’s a heavy undertaking, but you come highly recommended.  If you can pull this off, you may name your price.”

And if I don’t, then my life and reputation are in shambles.  I’ll have to move back in with Mum!  “Can you give us a moment to confer, please, Ma’am?”

Rose’s tense smile lasted just long enough for her to mute the audio and kill the video, double checking the Princess couldn’t hear before she turned on her assistant.  “What did you do?!”

“Nothing!” Mel protested, holding up her hands in peace.  “I just answered the phone!  This woman, Sarah Jane, said she might be looking to hire us – sort of – but it was complicated and delicate.  Next thing I know, I’m Skyping a Princess!”

“I can’t do this,” Rose said bluntly.  “There’s too much riding on it.  If I fail, we’re done.  And how do we pull this off in four weeks?!”

Mel smiled sympathetically.  “I’m not sure turning down the chance to work with royalty will be much better.  We just… have to do it.”

She was right, and they both knew it, but Rose wasn’t quite ready to admit it.  “What do we do?”

“We put on a brave smile, trust the process, and go be the guests of royalty in an actual palace for the next four weeks!”

“It’s not that easy,” she hissed.  “We’ve never had that quick of a turnaround before!”

Mel rolled her eyes, leaning over her to do a quick Google search.  “Look at this.”

Within seconds a picture of a beautiful medieval castle filled her screen, like something out of her little girl princess fantasies.  “That’s not fair!”

“You’re keeping the Princess waiting.”  Before Rose could argue, she reconnected with the impatient-looking redhead.  “So sorry for the delay Your Highness.”

“Well?” the woman demanded, arching an eyebrow.  “Should I book you plane tickets?”

Rose took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.  “Yes, we would be... delighted to help.”

“Sarah Jane will call back with the arrangements within the hour.  I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

Wonderful.

-

Donna disconnected the call with a satisfied grin, glancing over at Sarah Jane who hovered just out of view.  “What did you think?”

“I like her,” Sarah Jane said decisively, nodding.  “Oh, yes.  From what I’ve heard, if anyone can find the perfect Queen it’s her.”

“Even for Ian?”

“Even for Ian,” she laughed.

Donna sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling.  “God I hope so.  She’s our last hope.  He said he’d figure it out, but he’s perfectly happy to abdicate and go back to playing doctor.  More than- we both know he’d prefer it.”

“He knows his duty,” Sarah Jane shook her head.  “He’ll come through – kicking and screaming.  He loves Gallifrey too much, regardless of what he says.”

The door to Donna’s office burst open, Ian striding in without consideration.  “What’s going on in here?”

Donna stood, smoothing her skirt as she met her brother’s eye head on.  “Trying to find you a queen.”

He grimaced, bracing himself on the back of a visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk.  “Oh, goody. I hate to interrupt that, but I have a country to run.  I need Sarah.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, my apologies.”  Sarah Jane curtseyed, deeper than strictly necessary.  “I believe the Education Secretary is due soon for an audience.”

Ian nodded sharply, turning towards the door.  “Donna, don’t do anything stupid or I’ll abdicate just to spite you.”

Donna made a face at his back, waving goodbye to Sarah Jane as she hurried out after Ian, closing the door behind her.  Sinking back into her chair, she pulled up the Bad Wolf Matchmakers website again, clicking to the bio for Ms. Rose Tyler.

I need a miracle.  Can you pull it off?

-

Tuesday, April 2nd

Rose flipped anxiously through her book as they made their way through the Gallifrey train station, two porters trailing behind with their luggage.  “Why are there so many rules for working with royals?” she fretted, a tightness in her chest that had settled there after the call with the Princess the day before and had yet to budge.

“Because they’re royal?  It’ll all be fine!”

Rolling her eyes, Rose handed the book to Mel.  “You’re too optimistic.  Right, quiz me again?”

“Name and title?”

Rose rolled her eyes.  “His Majesty King Ian of Gallifrey.  Forty-five years old, never married, came to the throne last spring.  Must marry before his coronation, must be coronated by the first anniversary of his accession.  Give me something difficult.”

“What degree does he have?”

“Doctor of medicine.  Has mainly worked overseas, Africa, that sort of thing.”  They wound their way through the station as Mel peppered her with questions.

“Favorite things to do?”

“Travel the world, practice medicine, play the guitar?”

“Why hasn’t he ever married?”

Rose bit her lip at that as they reached the parking lot.  “Self-proclaimed bachelor.  That’s all I know.  Ooh!  That’s us,” Rose added, spotting a driver holding a sign reading Rose Tyler.

They giggled as they climbed into the town car decorated with state flags, oohing and aahing on the drive to the castle.  It was only fifteen minutes door to door, but they had gorgeous views of the Alps and forest on the way.  The kingdom of Gallifrey, or so Wikipedia had claimed, was a micro-nation nestled between France and Switzerland.  A constitutional monarchy, the family line stretched back nearly a thousand years.  By virtue of their size and proximity to Switzerland they had managed to avoid getting dragged into any of the major conflicts of the last century, remaining neutral and nearly forgotten.

The scenery itself was gorgeous, the first hints of spring budding on the trees even as snow clung to the mountaintops in the distance.  Rose considered herself a city girl through and through, having never lived anywhere but London, but this… I could get used to views like this.

-

The palace appeared out of nowhere around a bend in the road, perched high up on a hill and making both women gasp in delight.  It was stunning, well maintained, and enormous.

“Rose,” Mel breathed, tapping her arm, and she faced forward again only to gasp.

“Oh my God.”  They stared up at the courtyard as the car came to a stop, the driver opening the door for them.  It looked like a traditional medieval castle, built with clean-cut gray stone.  Every doorway in sight was arched, with several turrets and towers reaching towards the sky, and it reminded Rose of her favorite architectural features of Windsor Castle at home.  “This is beautiful.”  The word didn’t do it justice, but it was all she had as she stepped out.

“Hello,” a voice chirped, and she spotted a boy standing in the nearest doorway.  He was dressed fairly formally, in black slacks and a blazer, but had an open and friendly face.  Early teens, he was still all gangly limbs but would clearly be tall.

“Hello,” Rose smiled, trying to take in the view while not being rude.  “How are you?”

“Well, ma’am, thank you.”

A woman hurried out of the door behind him them, gently moving him to the side.  “Luke!  Don’t badger them already,” she scolded, approaching Rose. “Sorry, my son Luke.  I’m Sarah Jane Smith, His Majesty’s personal assistant.  I believe we spoke on the phone?”  She directed the last bit towards Mel, who had joined Rose on the near side of the car.

“Yes, Melanie Bush,” she introduced herself, shaking her hand.  “This is Rose Tyler.  It’s lovely to meet you in person.”

“You as well,” the woman gushed, shaking Rose’s hand as well.  “We’re thrilled you’re here. Please, come with me.”

They followed her into the palace, her son trailing behind only to break off after a minute, disappearing down a corridor.

“How long have you known the King?” Rose asked as they made their way through the halls.  She tried to keep track of the twists and turns, but was hopelessly lost after the third.

“All his life,” she smiled over her shoulder.  “His mother was my sister, actually.  I worked as an investigative reporter, but after I adopted my son about ten years ago I retired from that – I didn’t want to be away from him so much.  She convinced me – begged, really – to come keep Ian- His Majesty- in line.  I manage his day-to-day; the schedule, who sees him, who doesn’t.  I’m the gatekeeper, especially off the palace grounds.  In return Luke and I live here, spending time with family.  It might be somewhat unconventional, but it works for us.”

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, though her stomach clenched at what wasn’t said.  Is he really that difficult, you can’t find an assistant?  What have we gotten ourselves into?

They stopped at a set of tall double doors, Sarah Jane turning with a smile.  “This is you – a suite normally reserved for visiting dignitaries or royals.  It’s far closer to the King’s quarters, giving you better access.  Hopefully it will suit your needs.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Rose promised, then the doors swung open and her heart stopped.  “Oh my.”

She entered the ‘room’ in a daze, mouth falling open as she took in the space.  It was the height of two stories, pristine white walls with gold crown molding.  The furniture was delicate and sparse, exactly what she’d expect in a royal palace, with a sturdy wooden desk situated at the far end of the room by the windows.  Two windows covered most of the outside wall, letting in plenty of sun.  They reached from waist-high to just below the ceiling, and were simply breathtaking. In all, everything she had seen so far was what she imagined castles looking like as a child.

“This will do,” she said faintly, making Sarah Jane laugh.

“Excellent.  There is a bedroom on either side of this room, and I’ll give you a few moments to freshen up before your trip.  His Majesty has fifteen free minutes soon, and I would like to introduce you to himself and the Princess Royal.”

Rose nodded, heading for one of the doors leading out of the room.  Stepping inside she found a bedroom similarly decorated to the first room, with a four-poster bed littered with fluffy pillows.  “Is this heaven?”

“It certainly seems it,” Mel said, amused, peering in over her shoulder.  “D’you want this one? Either is fine, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”  Still in a daze, she meandered towards the en suite.  It was elegant, if a bit old-fashioned, but she didn’t care – she was in love.  Taking a minute to freshen up, she was just checking her teeth in the mirror when Mel knocked on the door.  “Yeah?”

“Sarah Jane is back, she’d like to take you to meet the Princess then the King.”

“Thank you.”  Smoothing her hair one last time and refreshing her lipstick, she met Sarah Jane in the main room.

“Ready?”  The woman asked kindly, and Rose pasted on her brightest smile.

“Of course!  I’m so excited to get started.”

“Excellent.”  Sarah Jane guided her out into the hall, leading her towards the right.  “Once I leave you with the Princess I will work with Mel to get everything you need arranged.  As my duties are to tend to the King, one of my staff has been assigned to you.  Bill will see to anything you need; you only have to ask and she’ll arrange it.  She will also serve as your chauffeur should you need to leave the castle.”

Rose rubbed her hands on her thighs as they neared the most imposing set of double doors yet, knowing she was moments away from meeting royalty.  “That’s very generous, thank you.”

“Miss Tyler- may I call you Rose?”

“Of course.”

“Rose, I just want to take a moment to reiterate the importance of your presence here.  The future of our country depends on you.  But more importantly, my nephew’s happiness does.  I believe with the right bride he could happily face a lifetime of being king, but at the moment… Donna, the Princess Royal and his current heir, does what she can to step into the ceremonial duties of Queen, but that’s not sustainable.  It is critical that we find him the right woman.  I won’t lie and say it will be easy, but you will have everything you require.”

Swallowing harshly, she did her best to meet Sarah Jane’s gaze head on.  “I understand, and will do everything in my power to help.”

Nodding sharply, Sarah Jane opened the door.  “Miss Tyler, Your Highness.”

-

Rose walked in with her head held high, heading towards the redhead she’d Skyped with just yesterday.  “Good morning, Your Highness.”  Curtseying slightly, she noted the approving tick upwards of the woman’s lips before they settled into a firm line again.

“Thank you, Sarah,” the Princess directed at her aunt, who nodded and closed the door, leaving them alone.  “Thank you, Miss Tyler, for your haste in arriving.  I fear you may have your work cut out for you, and there is no time to squander.”

“I’m happy to be here, Your Highness,” she said politely, waiting until the princess gestured to sit.

“Please, help yourself to some tea,” she invited, and Rose did so, carefully pouring herself a cuppa.

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping at their teacups, Rose waiting for the princess to speak.  She, naturally, didn’t have much of a daily interaction with royalty, though Princess Diana had visited her primary school when she was young.  Still, she knew enough and rubbed elbows with enough high-profile people through her work to know to follow the other woman’s lead.

While she waited, she stared around the room in awe.  Everything was done in white and gold, from the carpets to the furniture to the walls.  Archways were everywhere, a vaulted ceiling over head, from which hung a magnificent chandelier.  It was the picture of luxury, and exactly what she would expect a royal palace to look like.

“Do you have any questions?” the princess finally offered, and Rose jumped at the chance.

“Yes.  If I may, why has he not taken a wife before now?”

The princess sighed heavily.  “May I be frank?”

“Of course.  The more I know about him, his life, his preferences and personality and likes and dislikes, the better I’ll be able to narrow down the candidates.  There is no time to dance around it, honestly.”

She lowered her teacup to her lap, fiddling with the handle as she stared down.  “Ian… has always been his own man.  He knows his own mind, and his greatest goal has always been to help people – that’s why he went to medical school.  His view on the crown is that he would have to give up that dream; to me, it’s just implementing it differently.  He may not be checking vitals, but it’s his responsibility to steer this ship still, and produce an heir to inherit from him.  His patient is no longer a person, but rather a country.”

“And if he doesn’t…”

“Then it will come to me, or my children if I’m gone.  We- my husband and I- don’t want that.  I prefer working behind the scenes, going unnoticed.  As it stands I am acting as consort for my brother, and it’s bloody exhausting.  I’d rather help shape policy as needed and be home with my kids for dinner and homework.”

“You don’t live in the palace?”

The Princess smiled.  “Technically.  We have a house on the grounds, closer to the lake – it’s still part of the palace, but we have more freedom and room there.  We wanted to give them as normal an upbringing as possible.”

Rose opened her mouth to respond, when the doors to the room swung open and a man stalked inside.

“Donna, what are you up to now?” he demanded, and Rose took her first proper look at him.  For being only in his mid-forties his hair was gray going white, his features sharp and intimidating.  “Who’re you?”

“Rose Tyler, Your Majesty,” she stood hurriedly, curtseying.  “The matchmaker.”

His expression, if possible, grew stormier as he went still, eyes narrowing at his sister.  “What. Did.  You.  Do?”

The princess held fast in the face of his anger, standing as well and smoothing her skirt.  “I told you I wouldn’t stand idly by.  Now, play nice – she’s here to help.  Miss Tyler, my brother King Ian.  Ian, Rose Tyler.  I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

And she swept out of the room without a backwards glance, leaving Rose alone in the room with the furious king.

“Um, hello,” she smiled nervously, eyes wide at his irate expression.  “You have a beautiful palace?”

It was official – she was in trouble.  Damn you, Mel!

[tonystarktogo]

An Unwise Murder (An Inconvenient Survival)

Summary: “Someone within SHIELD sold out an Avenger. That was their first mistake.” When Avenger Steve Rogers is declared killed in action, everyone expects his best friend and fellow agent Bucky Barnes to go on a rampage. It’s the quirky mechanic with a sharp tongue and a secret talent for less-than-legal hacking that throws the whole agency for a loop. Featuring: A dead Steve (but when is Steve ever dead), a very pissed off, fucked-up secret agent Bucky (so basically your usual Bucky), and a very civilian Tony (who is exactly as harmless as you’d expect Tony Stark to be).

Read on AO3

Here is, as promised, the first part of the Double-0-Bucky/Hacker-Tony fic! To most of you, this part will probably be familiar already, but we have to start at the beginning *shrugs* and don’t worry, the next part will follow soon. Enjoy!

Part I 

Funerals aren’t meant to be a pleasant event, so Bucky doesn’t bother to put on a show.

His face could be carved in stone for all the emotion it conveys, and his muscles are tense, coiled, trembling faintly with the desire to grab his gun and pull the damn trigger.

Bucky isn’t sure if he’d stop shooting once he starts though. Not with how many tempting targets currently surround him. Not with how it would finally shut Pierce the fuck up. People tend to talk a lot less after you’ve emptied a magazine or two into them  — and Bucky has always been a man who appreciates silence.

Fuck, Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s here for. He doesn’t attend mandatory events. It simply isn’t done. The few weeks of the year that Bucky spends in his own country, he wastes drinking and sleeping around, often both at the same time. What’s to stop him from walking straight out of this impersonally sterile room filled with people he doesn’t trust, and go back to his favourite rundown bar to knock back vodka until he can’t feel the cold on his skin anymore?

Oh right. His best friend just got himself killed in action. The lucky bastard.

On a fucking nightmare of a mission in France of all places. If it had been Russia or Iran or North Korea or even just Sokovia (and really, it takes skill to be wanted by all four sides of the conflict), Bucky could have dealt with it.

But France? Bucky takes that as a personal offence.

Avengers don’t get killed in France. Avengers get killed the way they kill: brutal and messy, with no one left behind who’d bother to avenge them. Because justice is a fairy tale, and every act of peace is built on the actions of someone smart enough to wash the blood off their hands before they step in front of a camera.

At least the acknowledgements are short and free of false sentimentality. A whole lot of bullshit, sure, but it’s not like there is another choice. Not when the truth amounts to Steve Rogers died on a mission we weren’t authorised to give, in a country he wasn’t supposed to be in, over intel that we won’t admit exist.

Bucky doesn’t laugh. Barely huffs a a breath, but the people on both sides of him twitch tellingly.

Like all Avengers, Bucky has sought out the back of the room, where he can keep his back to the wall at all times, has a clear view on all available exists and a good excuse to keep an eye on the crowd of mourners.

The thought that one of them — multiple ones, possibly — are faking their sorrow makes Bucky clench his fingers against the urge to start an interrogation right now, Avenger style.

“Don’t kill anyone you might need to sign you off on field work again,” Barton mutters to his left, the words barely audible.

Bucky forces the tense muscles in his shoulders to relax, adopts an at-ease position that won’t fool the other Avengers, but at least won’t traumatise the attending techies and lawyers. The psych department always makes such a fuss when you break their precious, civilian employees.

There’s no point in fooling his colleagues though — if the Avengers can even be called that. It’s not like he meets them for brunch or goes out drinking with them in his downtime. They’re the elite of a internationally operating spy organisation for a reason, and it’s certainly not their ability to play well with others.

Just hours after having one of their own killed in a SHIELD-issued safehouse, all the Avengers are on edge. More so than usual. That the entire op smells like foul play all the way across the Atlantic does about as much to deescalate the situation as throwing a hand grenade into a room filled with weaponized uranium.

Someone inside SHIELD sold out an Avenger.

That was their first mistake. Their second was taking Steve out without killing Bucky as well.

There’s a shift in Bucky’s peripheral vision. Natasha Romanoff, codenamed Black Widow, looks as affected of recent events as she always does: not at all.

Is she the traitor? Bucky wonders as he tilts his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. The rivalry between Black Widow and Steve is no secret. It isn’t a friendly one either, not that any of the Avengers are the sort of person one might associate the word “friendly” with. She betrayed the Red Room at eighteen. What offer would it take for her to turn on a fellow agent? An Avenger at that? Is she tense because she expects me to do this country a favour by killing Pierce or is she afraid to be found out?

The service lasts barely twenty minutes — unsurprising, considering how much isn’t said, can’t be said, because living within the specter of the highest security clearance makes for a shoddy eulogy — but to Bucky it feels like forever.

It doesn’t help that half the people around him are waiting for him to fly off the handle in either grief or blind rage. Blind rage admittedly being the more likely outcome.

It doesn’t help that the other half undoubtedly suspects him to be the traitor — who better to kill Steve Rogers than his best friend, after all? Especially when Avengers so clearly don’t have best friends — though Bucky can’t fault them for the sensible assumption.

He’d suspect himself too. The black hole that is four years of being held as a POW on his résumé hasn’t left him with what one might call a solid standing within the agency. Or a stable life in general.

Bucky has simply been lucky that Avengers don’t have much use for stability as it is. (Also, Steve was planning a revolt, should they stop attempting to recover Bucky. Not that anyone likes to acknowledge that. Pierce’s secretary still pales every time she catches sight of one of them.)

He’s been lucky that he’s too useful to be killed.

That might change now — Steve Rogers’ death changes a lot of things — but if it comes to that, Bucky will make damn sure to take the traitor with him. Another outcome isn’t acceptable.

And Bucky is very, very good at getting what he wants.

But first, he needs to find someone clean — meaning unaffiliated with SHIELD in any way — who can take a look at the USB flash drive he’s found in one of his dead drops two days after Pierce declared Steve KIA.

Fuck, but the first thing Bucky is gonna do when he sees Steve again is punch him in the fucking face.

*

Tony has always had an interesting way of making friends.

For example, Tony meets his best friend Pepper during a hostage situation when he’s sixteen. He’s never before seen a girl throw high heels at a guy’s head with such a deadly accuracy. Suffice to say Tony likes her immediately — and promises to buy her all the shoes she needs to knock stupid people down, naturally.

They keep in touch afterwards, and it’s the start of something great.

He meets his brother in all but blood much the same way, only Tony barely remembers that one because those kidnappers were smart enough to drug him before trying anything funny. Luckily, Tony has Rhodey for the straight thinking part — or at least he does after that episode.

On another, memorable occasion, Tony befriended one of his kidnappers.

In his defence: they were some pretty alright people, for being criminals holding him for ransom. No unnecessary threats or bodily harm, and they actually gave him drug-free food too. Also, you have no idea how mind-numbingly boring being kidnapped is. Well, not the getting kidnapped part but the staying-kidnapped-whilst-your-kidnappers-fail-to-get-their-money part.

Sadly, some people still believe that Stark Industries will pay for the disowned heir Tony Stark’s safe return. And usually they don’t react too well to being proven wrong. That time being one of those rare exceptions. In no small part thanks to a certain member of the crew whose identity Tony will protect until the day he dies. Or something.

Never mind.

The point is, Tony is used to meeting cool people under very hazardous, extraordinary circumstances.

Which is why — as he will later explain to a very exasperated Rhodey and an even more distrustful Pepper — when Tony locks up his garage at 7.40 pm after a long day of changing oils and busted tires, only to suddenly find himself face to face with a hooded stranger — after he’s already locked the doors, though he won’t share that part with his friends — he doesn’t panic.

He greets the guy — there’s a twenty percent chance Tony knows him, okay, hiding their faces as they track him down isn’t exactly a rarity — like a civilised person instead.

“Hi there,” Tony says with his best customer smile. “How may I help you?”

The guy — who definitely has more upper body strength than Tony, not that he notices or anything — doesn’t so much as twitch. He just stands there, body turned towards Tony, face shadowed by his hood. Tony really should have switched out the broken light bulb ages ago, maybe then he wouldn’t have to squint at his visitor like a sceptical squirrel, trying to make out the guy’s features.

“Anthony Stark?” the guy asks after a moment, voice low and rumbling, like gathering clouds on the far end of the horizon, as a violent storm approaches.

It’s that specific, unfairly nice sound that decides it: Tony definitely doesn’t know this guy. There’s no way he would have forgotten a voice like that.

Tony lets his smile brighten a little because if he’s about to be kidnapped — is it that time of the month already? Tony wouldn’t know, his last calendar sorta had a small accident involving a fire and DUM-E using up all the fire extinguisher on Tony rather than the actual fire. It was a pretty sweet, protective gesture, actually. Tony may or may not have teared up, just a little, but that didn’t change that half his equipment had to be replaced — then he’d like to start their working relationship on a good note. The kidnapping attempts tend to have less violent endings that way.

Additionally, Tony really doesn’t want to start a fight in his garage. This is his work place — which is basically holy, ask anyone. His cars are in here. They are not acceptable collateral damage, no matter what Pepper says.

“Do you know a Steve Rogers?” is mystery guy’s next question.

Which is a damn shame because it takes all of Tony’s not inconsiderable self-control to not tense at that particular inquiry. Steve Rogers.

God fucking damn it.

Tony forces the memories, the reflexive questions — a bloodied, broken body, screams of pain, narrowed, blue eyes glaring at him even as strong hands push him out of the line of fire — down immediately, takes care to keep his expression calm and clueless instead. He’s got lots of practice doing that. It’s just like being confronted with an obnoxious reporter who won’t stop bothering him with stupid questions about why he denies his father’s legacy. Bloodthirsty reporters, bloodthirsty assassins, it’s really just more of the same.

Tony has been handling shit like this since he was nine. If mystery guy expects him to trip up and give up even a single piece of information the easy way, he’s got another thing coming. Tony Stark doesn’t do easy.

Especially not when it concerns people he almost considers tolerable. Those gems are hard enough to find as it is — well, among the boring, totally legal working crowd at least — Tony will protect them with all he has. Not that he wouldn’t do the same for people he doesn’t like, he just wouldn’t be as happy about it.

Mystery guy is in for a surprise.

“Rogers?” Tony furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “That doesn’t ring a bell.” Close enough to the truth to count.

Then, the grin slides completely off Tony’s face and his eyes narrow in open suspicion. “Not that it matters. I don’t make a habit of handing out contact information to strangers who can’t be bothered to introduce themselves. Client privileges, I’m sure you understand.”

And yeah, some sarcasm may slip into those words, but can you blame Tony? He’s been working for almost ten hours in that special place reserved in hell for customer service, and, frankly, Tony is done with the world for the day. That he’s most likely dealing with what’s either a very diligent mercenary or a very strange kidnapper does little to lighten his mood.

Both options are far less appealing than mystery guy’s sexy voice initially indicated. Tony feels a little cheated.

“Oh, I understand,” mystery guy murmurs ominously.

When Tony squints, he can literally see the shadows behind the guy blacken. On an unrelated note, he really needs to stop binge-watching those horror flicks. Clearly it’s messing with his mind.

Not that this keeps Tony from bristling at Mystery Guy’s threatening tone — if anything, it has Tony reflexively square his shoulders because he does not fold.

Mystery guy snorts, and Tony has the fleeting impression that the stranger has the gall to be amused by him. He kind of wants to deck the guy just for that.

“I can see why he liked you.”

Something in those words freezes Tony into place long before his brain has puzzled through their meaning. By the time his mind catches up to the past tense that refers to a person it should absolutely not refer to, mystery guy has already taken a few steps towards the only functioning light bulb in Tony’s garage and slips his hoodie back.

The bleak light reveals a pale, handsome face with a strong jaw and icy, blue eyes. Absently, Tony approves of the way the hoodie has messed up Mystery Guy’s wild hair into something untameable and unfairly attractive, but it’s kind of hard to melt into a puddle of appreciative goo when you’ve just learned of the death of a friend.

Or well, acquaintance maybe. Rhodey always reminds Tony that he can’t just go around, adopting friends left and right just because he wants to. And with Steve it’s hard to say. The guy is almost impossible to read.

Still, it’s Steve they’re talking about. And whatever mess he’s gotten himself involved in, Tony doesn’t doubt for a moment that Steve thought he was doing it for the right reasons. He’s annoyingly self-righteous like that. It sucks even more when you listen to him rant and realize he’s got a point, not that Tony will ever admit such a thing to his face.

Which will be hard to do if Steve is actually—

Tony presses his lips together and defiantly stares up at Mystery Guy. Who is, in fact, taller than him. There really is no justice in the world.

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?” is what Tony settles on to summarize the maelstrom of confusing emotions wrecking chaos inside him.

The man takes a threatening step closer. Of course, it’s not that hard to come across as threatening when you’re half a head taller and made of muscles and steel. Still. The guy could at least try to keep his looming on the downlow.

Not that Tony does him the courtesy of giving up an inch. This is his garage, damn it. No one makes Tony feel afraid in his own home.

Mystery Guy growls and there is a lethal coldness in his eyes that Tony doesn’t think a human should be able to portray.

“I was Steve’s best friend. And you’re going to find the people who killed him so that I can return the favor.”

Thoughts? 

[name-me-regret]

Saving Grace - Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Merchant of Demands Summary: Steve Rogers meets Tony Stark... Prompt 15: Cameras; social media; misunderstandings Read it on AO3.

- - - -

“We’re a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea, but as long as you are with me, there’s no place I’d rather be.

I would wait forever. Exhausted in the scene, and long as I am with you My heart continues to beat...

It’s a shot in the dark, but I’ll make it...”

~Rather Be (feat. Jess Glynne), Clean Bandit

- - - -

“I don’t really care, sir,” the blonde man told his commanding officer, standing at parade rest in front of his desk. It was more subordination than he had ever shown, since despite his reckless nature, he obeyed his superiors.

The older man sighed as he rubbed his tired eyes with a wrinkled hand. General Philips thought that he was getting too old for this, but he’d gone the career route in the Army when he’d joined at eighteen, so it was all he knew. In all those years, he had never met a more stubborn man than Captain Steven Grant Rogers. He supposed that it was a good thing, since there were a few men still alive because of that stubbornness, including the one that was being discussed at the moment.

“Captain, you have your orders, and those orders are to ship out tomorrow with your unit,” he told him again. “If you aren’t on that plane at 0700 hours, then you can guaranteed that you’ll be arrested and court marshaled.”

The tilt of his jaw and the pressed lips made the General think that there was no way he would be obeying those orders. “Sir, Buc... Sergeant Barnes is out there, scared and alone. He is part of my unit, part of the unit that went through hell getting the information of the location of Hydra’s camp. Because of that, many US soldiers were able to be saved, and now you expect me to leave Sergeant Barnes fending for himself on the streets of New York suffering from PTSD that he has because of serving his country?”

“I expect you to follow orders, Captain,” the man snapped. “You are an officer and have to lead by example!”

Steve stared at him a moment before he snapped to attention and then proceeded to take off the rank pins on his lapels. He tossed them on the desk. “Then I respectfully decline the rank of Captain and all that entails. That also includes any awards I received or will receive while wearing the rank of Captain.”

General Phillips was flabbergasted at the man’s actions. So, he did the only thing he could at the moment, he called the MP and had Captain... Private Rogers escorted to a cell. When they had left, the blonde’s eyes showing no regret, he sighed as he sat back, fiddling with the Captain pin, wondering what he was going to do with Rogers.

The next day he was interrupted reading his morning reports as he was buzzed by his secretary. “Yes?” he asked.

“General, Dr. Stark is here to see you,” the young woman told him. Philips eyebrows rose in surprise. “Should I sent him in?”

Philips didn’t think he had a meeting with the man, and he couldn’t think of why he’d be there. “Yes, send him in,” he told the woman.

A moment later, Tony Stark strode in, sunglasses in place, and wearing his usual tailored suit like armor, and knew this was not going to be a pleasant meeting. “General, how are you?” the man asked, shaking his hand and then sitting down. “Let’s talk business.”

He sat down after having stood to shake his hand. “What is this about, Stark?”

Stark had on his press smile almost every time he saw him, charming and disarming, which always got people to trust him. However, Phillips knew the man was a shark, and that’s what he wore right now. A sharp shark’s smile, all teeth, and he was still wearing his glasses. He was sure he wasn’t going to like the outcome of this meeting at all.

The billionaire took something out of his briefcase, a stack of papers that he tossed down on his desk. “The contract the military has with Stark Industries for weapons manufacturing.”

General Phillips took it, frowning as he looked it over and it was indeed that. He also saw that there were a few highlighted paragraphs. “As you can see, I took the liberty of highlighting a few pesky clauses.” He shrugged as he crossed one leg in front of the other. “Nothing too important. It states, in laymen’s terms, that if the weapons produced for the US Army are compromised, or rather, used against the very soldiers they’re supposed to protect, the contact can be broken without any penalties.”

The man scrambled as he flipped to the pages where this was indicated, which was actually a condition set up by the US Government, so that way they could break break away from Stark Industries. It also worked in reverse though. “What the hell are you talking about, Stark?” he demanded. “No weapons sold to the government have been used by terrorists.”

He had a sinking feeling the man knew more than he should, if the grin spreading across his face was any indication. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, General.” He took his phone and pulled up his twitter amp, scrolling to a tweet published by CNN. He felt a sinking in his gut as he read it. ‘U.S. Weapons in the Hands of Terrorists’. “Does the name “Brock Rumlow ring a bell?” Tony asked. He pulled up the CNN amp where there was a live boardcast happening even now, and Phillips didn’t need to hear what was happening, since he could see the headline and the picture of the mentioned man.

“His company has a private miliary contract with the US Military,” he told Tony. The man had been part of the Army Rangers, but had left after his tour had finished and then started his own company. Because of the man’s connections in the Army, he had gotten contracts with the Army quickly, and his company was used in armed conflicts and gathering intelligence. He was trustworthy, or at least, those that had hired him trusted him.

Tony pulled up something else on his phone, which he made appear behind him like a screen and he always forgot how advanced Stark Industries technology was compared to the rest of world. That’s the reason he could terminate the contract with the military without batting an eye, and SI’s stocks would likely not even budge.

The hologram were the schematics of the newest concussion weapons, as well as tactical gear looked a bit more high-tech than the General would have thought. As he watched, the man took it like a piece of paper and balled it up, tossing it to the trash icon. “Guess that won’t be needed any longer.”

“You’d put my men in danger by pulling your weapons and gear,” he growled. Stark Industries not only provided weapons, but specially made Kevlar that was light and twice as durable, and judging by those schematics he’d seen, it would not only be breathable, but have it’s own cooling system. There were also all other types of hidden weapons that the man provided that one felt like a freaking spy instead of a soldier.

Stark snorted. “Spare me the guilt tactics. My father was a patriot, he served his country well, and I have continued his legacy despite my reluctance on making weapons. I shut down the weapon manufacturing for this very reason, so the weapons my company used would not fall into the enemies hands. So our soldiers wouldn’t be dying on the end of my missiles, my guns.” He brought up the concussion weapon again, tapping on it and it showed a model of what damage a blast from the weapon could cause. “This isn’t something I want used against us, so I’d rather kill it.”

“Then what about the countries that will eventually have these weapons? Do you honestly think we won’t be targeted if our enemies get their scientists make this first? It’ll be like 9/11 all over again,” he said as he slammed his hand on the desk.

The other man’s face had gone cold. “Don’t talk to me about September 11. I was there, one of my buildings was affected by the fires after the plane crashed into the North tower,” he snapped. He leaned forward as he snatched the glasses off his face. “I made sure every single employee was evacuated, I was the last one to leave the building even when Pepper was screaming for me to get out. I made the missiles that were used to shoot down Flight 538 in 2007 when terrorists high-jacked the plane with the intend to crash it into the White House. The same plane that was labeled as having gone down due to a mechanical failure.”

His smile was vicious at seeing the General’s stunned face. “Oh yes, I know, General. You’d shudder at the amount of classified things I know, and thank whatever God is out there that I’m a patriot.” He waved his hand to dismiss the holoscreen. “Now, I’m willing to continue the contract on two conditions. The first one is obviously to capture Rumlow and all his co-conspirators, and the second is that I want the Army liaison changed.”

General Phillips cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with Clarence?”

“Besides the name Clarence? He’s a weasel, and he annoys me.” He leaned back in his seat all casual again, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, who do you have for me? Hit me with it.”

The older man pressed his lips in annoyance, trying to glare the man into submission, but Tony Stark just looked back at him, waiting. Phillips blew out his breath and leaned back in his seat, and he caught sight of the ‘Captain’ pins that Steve Rogers had removed from his lapels yesterday. “Alright, Stark, I have the perfect man for the job.”

He leaned forward. “Not to be shallow, but I’d rather he or she be hot. You gotta give me some eye candy to work with.”

Phillips sighed as he rubbed his wrinkled face with his hand, dialing the number for the holding cells. “Get Captain Rogers and bring him here,” he told the soldier that answered.

The MPs led the blonde man in, who came to stand besides Stark chair at attention. Phillips saw Stark glance over with interest, leaning back a bit, and he wondered what he was doing. He soon learned and shook his head. “I have to say, Captain Rogers, that uniform does nothing for your ass,” Stark said, grinning up when Steve looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“General, what’s going on?” Rogers asked, turning back to his commanding officer.

“Captain Rogers, this is Antony Stark, CEO-“

“Head of R&D, actually. Pepper Potts is CEO. Best choice I ever made, to be honest.”

“-of Stark Industries. He has a contract with the Military to produce weapons and tactical gear for us. You will act as his liaison,” he said, raising his hand when Steve opened his mouth to protest. “By doing do, you will remain at the New York base until further notice.”

Rogers snapped his mouth shut, which was the best thing for the moment since Phillips was getting a goddamn headache dealing with these two in so many days. “You will also search for a man by the name of Brock Rumlow as you conduct your search for Sergeant Barnes.” He knew he couldn’t stop him from looking for Barnes, but at least while he was doing that, he could also look for Rumlow. “If you find Rumlow, contact me directly. Do not engage.”

He passed him the pins, waiting for him to take it. Finally, he stretched out his hand and took them. “Yes, sir. I won’t fail you,” he said with a sharp salute.

Phillips returned the salute. “Good, see that you don’t. Now, both of you, get out of my office.”

Outside, having passed the secretary with nothing more than a nod, Steve studied Tony. “So, let’s officially introduce ourselves,” he said with a grin. “Antony Edward Stark, but call me Tony,” he said as he held his hand out.

The Captain eyed the man’s hand a moment before he took it, giving it a firm shake. “Captain Steven Grant Rogers,” he returned. “Steve is fine.”

Tony blinked. “Geez, you have a firm grip there,” he hummed as he looked him over. “You’re in pretty good shape there. What’s your secret? Pilates?”

Steve frowned. “What?” He didn’t know what the man was saying. And what the hell was even Pilates?

“Anyways, we’ll be working together from now on, I guess. I wonder if they’ll let you move into my tower, since that would make things easier for me.” He took his phone and sext a quick text faster than Steve had ever been able to handle his own phone. “So, let’s get to know one another,” he continued on as they walked down the hallway. Once outside, it was easy to see which car belonged to Stark, since it was the flashiest one there.

He turned on the car before shifting into reverse as he backed up, hit the breaks, shifted back to drive and came back into the parking spot. “By the way, who is Sergeant Barnes?”

- - - -

Steve knew that he should just accept the situation as it looked, but he was kind of having a hard time doing so. For one, he had grown up with Bucky on the poor side of Brooklyn, and nothing had ever been given to them for free. That’s what he was use to; working and putting effort to gain something. So, he was thrown to not only have a room in Tony’s tower (his own floor, really) even if he had to live on base, and that he was also helping Steve look for Bucky.

“Well, he served his country and finding him is the least we can do it make sure he’s getting the help and benefits he deserves,” he said, shrugging nonchalant. Then he’d walked off with a frown, as if talking about feelings or anything related to it made him feel constipated.

Steve wasn’t sure about the man’s intentions. They’d already had an argument on somethings. Steve had read the file they had for him and assumed this was the type of man he still was, that partied and didn’t care for others. It had been a huge misunderstanding, but Tony had just shrugged and said he was use to people thinking they had him all figured out. He was a bit thrown by that, but had decided to drop it. Steve would eventually get to know the man better over time, and maybe not let himself be too riled by his attitude and actions.

He turned to the two boards before him, a scattering of pictures, printed social media posts, and hurriedly scribbled notes in his handwriting were pinned to them. The one on his right was where he’d been trying to track Bucky’s movements, and the one on the left were for Rumlow’s.

On Bucky’s board there was a written note he’d written about a place called ‘F.E.A.S.T.’, which meant “Food. Emergency. Aid. Shelter. Training”. It was located in Chinatown, New York City. It was a well-known place for helping the homeless of New York, and according to Tony, it was owned and run by a man named Martin Li.

He strode toward the door, pulling his jacket on and grabbing the small camera that he'd bought for investigating purposes. He also snagged the keys of his bike, Bucky’s bike really, but he was holding onto it for him. Steve would return it to him when he found him, and he would find him.