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darsynia · 2 years ago

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Trust Fall | Ch 26a

gif found at @just-dreaming-marvel

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Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, a very ill Tony fears what Obediah will do to him in this state, and Emory confronts the reality that the scientist she's been fearing isn't who she thought.

Length: 2,680

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne @thorfics @chibijusstuff

Excerpt:

Before Tony can stop him, Obadiah Stane arcs a large arm around Tony’s back, hauling him to his feet.

“Gentle with the merchandise,” Tony mutters. “JARVIS? Beddy Bye protocol, okay? No roses.”

“Protocol implemented.”

There’s no such thing, but JARVIS is smart, and by adding a reference to womanizing, Tony hopes he’s concealing Emory’s importance to him. He sneaks a glance toward his computer as he’s guided toward the stairs, seeing that every screen is black, with no power indicator lights. Once they step onto the landing, the basement lights even shut off completely.

Stane adjusts his grip-- and Tony can totally picture the fall, the push. He’ll end up laying there in the dark while Happy makes things worse in a jail cell, while Pepper and Coulson are attacked by one of Stane’s cronies back in California. Emory’s mission will fail the next day because some idiot will share the news of Tony’s ‘accidental death’ and erase her ability to use her powers.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Solar Eclipse

“Sir?”

Tony comes to with his head pillowed on his arms on the too-low computer desk. His back is bent at an unnatural angle and as soon as he straightens up, his stomach lurches sickeningly.

“Sir, Mr. Stane is requesting entry at the gate. There appears to be a member of the press who is observing and snapping photos whilst speaking on a cellular phone.”

“Open it up; s’the lesser of two evils,” Tony says blearily. He hopes he’s right. “Where’s Happy? Should be here by now,” he adds, checking his empty wrist for a watch before moving the mouse to wake his computer for the time. It’s nearly five PM, which is crazy. He’d decided to take a twenty minute snooze at two. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Frankly, sir, you needed the rest. Everything you set in motion is incomplete, as yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony says. “Fuck, this is terrible. How do chronically ill people deal with this shit? I feel like my stomach is about to turn inside-out.”

“You do have a fever. There’s some medication for that in the--”

“Upstairs bathroom, with the Pepto, yeah. That’s what I need Hogan for. Meds might as well be on the moon.” He feels shitty, and when he feels shitty, he is shitty. Maybe it’s a good thing Emory’s not around for this.

“Mr. Hogan is currently detained by the Transportation Security Agency. He appears to have made some comments that were not taken well, according to the preliminary police report.” There’s a pause, during which Tony tries to decide whether he wants to laugh or cry at this new development, before JARVIS says, “The report states that his companion refused to vouch for whether Mr. Hogan could be dangerous. That companion is currently making his way to the basement by my direction, via the speakers. I will send all further private messaging to your phone, sir.”

A chill goes through Tony that has nothing to do with the fever. JARVIS doesn’t like to split vocal focus because it goes against the idea that he is Tony’s singular ‘robot butler.’ He hardly ever breaks that illusion. As for Happy, he and Stane have never been friendly, so there's a 50/50 chance that Obie saw the detention as a way to spend an afternoon free of Happy’s interference.

It could also be a way to spend an afternoon free of Tony’s bodyguard.

He’s in no condition to argue for Hogan’s release, which means he’s on his own. The possibilities spiral out like fear fractals spinning in all directions, and bile shoots the wrong way up Tony’s throat. He coughs it back down and gets up to greet his possible adversary.

“Your expression is exactly as I pictured it,” the scientist says, her creased face breaking into a pleased smile. Her accent is solidly Eastern European, but fluid, as though she’s long accustomed to speaking English. “As soon as I found out who you were, I couldn’t wait to meet you! Come closer, settle in!”

As Harris wheels Emory closer to the desk, the reason for the dimness around that area becomes more clear. Though the room has a higher ceiling at that end, there are no lights on except the lamps beside the desk. Compounding that, the wall to their left is taken up by a large, darkly dyed stained-glass window that lets little of the morning sunlight through. It’s hard to make out the design, as though some sort of awning has been constructed on the outside of the building to protect it, with a side effect of blocking most of the light. All she can discern are multiple robed men standing over a line of supplicants with their heads bowed.

Emory’s so caught up by the strange window and its looming figures that she’s startled when the wheelchair stops a few inches from the desk. She hurriedly looks up, and the scientist leans over and pins Emory with a smile that’s halfway between Horror Movie Grandmother and Friendly Librarian. The old woman’s soft and pillowy looking bun had looked healthy and slick from the doorway, but up close Emory can see that it’s rigid, practically lacquered in place.

“You were in that cave with Tony Stark, weren’t you?” their bizarre hostess asks slyly.

Their plan hinges on this woman believing that Tony wouldn’t help her. “I haven’t seen him since we escaped,” Emory says sadly, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. Her powers hover at the back of her mind, waiting for a strong emotion (it’ll be fear, she’s certain) to spark into usefulness.

“It’s just impossible to hear you, child!” Clapping her stick-like hands, the scientist addresses the number of uniformed ‘staff’ lurking nearby. “Leave us. I will speak of Sasha with these two. Alone.”

A tall, muscular man stops to rest a meaty hand on the old woman’s chair. ��Babi Iulia, vei fi în--”

“Yes, I’ll be safe, yes! Go away, Draga,” the woman says, sounding both amused and annoyed. Once her staff had all withdrawn, she adds, “Ten years without any family, you build your own,” she shrugs at Emory and Harris. “Too long, and they think they’re owed your safety! Ai!”

“I’m glad you mentioned Stark,” Agent Harris says.

The old woman smiles. “Yes. He is the key to everything.”

“Jesus, Tony, you’re a mess!”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Doctor Phil,” Tony says, his hand still up by his ear. He’d remembered the Sonic Taser thirty seconds ago, and if the custom earplugs hadn’t been in his desk drawer, there would have been no chance of getting them in without suspicion. As it is, he can’t quite get the second one situated; it’s just a hair too large. He’s forced to palm it, cramming the thing into his pocket. With trepidation further roiling his already upset stomach, Tony leans back in his chair and turns to face the business partner he’s grown to mistrust enough to wear protection.

“If I’d known you were this fucked up I’d have made sure Pepper was on the plane! Anything I can do for ya? You know, an hour ago I’d have said pizza was the cure for all ills, but not after seeing how green you look!” Obie leans towards him, and it’s all Tony can do not to recoil.

It’s unseasonably cool in the city today, and Stane hadn’t hurried to see him. So why is he practically drenched in sweat?

“You’re a sight yourself! You get a TSA interrogation of your own?” Tony jokes, leaning back in his chair for effect.

Stane whips out a handkerchief from his pocket, and a small black object flies out, bouncing on the concrete floor. Tony doesn’t get a good look at it before it’s stuffed back in, but Obie looks rattled.

“This from the man who looks like death warmed over? Come on, ya big baby. I’ll help you up into bed. Lord knows your dad has enough of ‘em in this house.”

Before Tony can stop him, Obadiah Stane arcs a large arm around Tony’s back, hauling him to his feet.

“Gentle with the merchandise,” Tony mutters. “JARVIS? Beddy Bye protocol, okay? No roses.”

“Protocol implemented.”

Will the subdural hematoma kill him slowly or will Stane lose patience and help things along?

“Tony, did you hear me? Pick a room before I kick the door down!”

Tony hiccups and reorients himself, almost shocked that his depressed vision isn’t actually a reality. He’s standing in the upstairs hallway, still held upright by his business partner’s sturdy arm. He’d daydreamed his way up two flights of stairs.

In a strained voice, Obie says, “Tone, I like my shoes. If you throw up on ‘em, I’m gonna leave you in a heap in the hallway.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.” Tony staggers forward to the door they’re stopped in front of. “This one.” It’s the one he’s been sleeping in, which is not the Master Bedroom. Did Stane know that?

He swivels slowly to look at Obie. Vomiting on the guy is definitely on the table. Too late, he remembers that the armored suit is downstairs, and there aren’t speakers for JARVIS up here yet. He’s been outmaneuvered.

“You got a bucket somewhere to stick beside the bed?”

“What, for all the blood?” Tony grumbles, stumbling into the room. Stane brushes past him toward the bathroom.

“If there’s blood, you should wait and call a doc later. Do it before the evening news and BOOM! You’ll be lookin’ at substance abuse rumors, just in time for the broadcast,” Stane says, his voice obscured by the sounds of running water. Tony collapses onto the bed with his pants half-removed. He kicks them the rest of the way off and pulls the blanket up, wondering if asking for the bucket would make him look too vulnerable.

A Dixie cup is thrust into his line of sight.

“Is it poisoned?” Tony asks, sincerely, because fuck it. He’d connected Phil Coulson to Pepper hours ago. The data transfer to hack into Stark Industries’ systems went off without a hitch, according to JARVIS. Everything is already in motion, he’s just riding the Consequences Mobile as it cruises along on autopilot.

“Look at you! It wouldn’t need to be. Go to sleep, Tony,” Stane chuckles before downing half the water in an ostentatious gulp. “Your dad used to get paranoid and fatalistic when he had a fever, too. Made designing with him kinda fun, sometimes. I’ll stop by in the morning.”

“For my corpse, right, Mark Callaway?”

“Wrong Undertaker. See ya.” Stane pats the foot of the bed twice with the flat of his hand, then walks out, leaving the bedroom door open behind him. “Get better!” he calls out, jogging down the stairs.

Tony doesn’t relax until he hears the front door close. The bed is ten, maybe twenty times more comfortable than his cot in the cave… but he’s more frightened for his life now than he ever was back then. He lays still in the darkness for many long minutes, trying to settle his breathing until the distinctive sound of Stane’s car revving up and driving off persuades him to attempt some much-needed sleep.

Emory’s mission relies on being a supplicant, so she’s grateful the mask covers her reaction to hearing the woman speaking so confidently about Tony Stark.

It’s not enough.

“Stark has hooks in you!” the woman addressed as Iulia laughs. “Good! You kept him alive, no doubt. Assistants turn the world; I know, I was my husband’s lab assistant many years. You could do that diva’s job for her if you trade bodies, and I could do almost everything my husband Max did, after a few years. Not that anyone would believe me!” She jabs a wizened finger toward Emory. “You know.”

This is not going well, but Emory nods, pulling comfort from the feeling of potential energy that’s started to gather in invisible layers around her.

“She fired you for being kidnapped, I hear! HYDRA, just as bad. Max and I worked on their stolen serum for years, and always they thought it was for them. Ha! What we built, it was for Sasha, our daughter. She was born with problems, many problems. Struggled to walk, but mind as sharp as the both of us.”

The old woman’s eyes glaze over, caught up in memory. Emory looks up at Agent Harris, trying to convey worry without seeming suspicious. Their plan to beg the shady scientist for mercy is falling apart, but they’re a captive audience. Emory needs the serum, no matter what.

“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter,” she says, putting as much compassion in her voice as she can. Privately, Emory suspects that this is manipulation, a way to derail her own sympathy ploy. She’s certainly not going to play oppression olympics with someone who’s trying to ruin her life.

“You aren’t, not yet,” Iulia says. “These HYDRA bosses, they had us in the very heart of a factory. Working, hiding-- and then one day a man showed up to change everything. ‘For the better!’ he told us. Demanded to know why there was no special powers serum for him after so long we had been working! When he did not like our answers he took prototype and injected it into Sasha as punishment. ‘Now you will have to make it perfect! I will be back in three days to see your results,’ he told us.” Iulia’s whole body is rigid, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“What, you didn’t want her to have the serum dependence that you rely on so much for money now?” Agent Harris asks, her words as poisonous as her tone is sweet. Emory wonders if the other woman is picking up on the same ‘something is off’ feeling that’s been growing in the pit of her own stomach. The layers aren’t strong enough to affect the airflow around her yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

“That came later,” the old woman says dismissively, as though the jibe has glanced right off of her. “No, we were working to direct the mutation. Sasha’s was… incompatible with life. It took a time to understand what it had done, and in those three days Max and I created complete second set of research, one that would never, could never work. At dawn on the third day, I left to hide away our life’s work-- but before I returned, the factory was destroyed in huge explosion.” Iulia lifts her chin and pierces Emory with the directness of her gaze. “Sasha’s last act made worldwide headlines. That brought much scrutiny, forced HYDRA to back off and lick their wounds. As for Sasha, at least she had Max with her at--” she breaks off, pressing a shaking fist to her lips.

“I’m so sorry,” Emory whispers, dismay causing her to drop the mask she’s been holding to her face. It’s more important to let this woman see that her expression is genuine, even though she is an adversary. Breaking through the concern is a stronger feeling of wrongness, though. “Was the factory here in Sokovia?” she blurts out. It’s almost like she’s able to think more clearly now without the stale trickle of oxygen from the tank-- and her first thought is that she remembers a factory explosion in Sokovia. Except, the one she recalls wasn’t in the 40’s or 50’s, when the world’s governments were still searching for secret HYDRA cells to stamp out.

It was in 1998, the year she’d met Rory Fall.

Emory grips the arms of her wheelchair, transfixed on the look of sly calculation that has replaced the grief on Iulia’s face.

“Sokovia, yes,” the woman says quietly.

Emory’s energy increases, the circling layers strong enough to flutter at her loose strands of hair. Behind her, Agent Harris shifts positions. In a stiff voice Harris says, “Are you telling us that a new wing of HYDRA was active there in the nineties?”

Iulia reaches down to open one of the drawers at her desk. She pulls out a padded white envelope and some folded pieces of notebook paper that seem to be completely covered in handwriting. “They never left.”

Next chapter, everything goes to hell for them both...