Fanfic: What We Could Become | 1 of 4
Sep. 7th, 2011 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blastellanosTitle: What We Could Become
Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dangwhyme
Author:dinahqueen
Rating (both art/fic): R[fic]/G[art]
Universe: Iron Man movie-verse AU
Word Count: 26,050
Warnings: Violence, implied sexual content
Beta:shariangel
Art Thumbnail:
Fic Summary: When a close friend of his dies under suspicious circumstances, Steve Rogers creates an alter-ego with which to investigate the accident and determine what really happened. What he discovers is more complicated than he could have imagined.
Link to Art: What We Could Become [Art]
Link to Fic: What We Could Become [AO3]
It wasn't all clandestine meetings and secret telephone calls. Some things worked better when done face to face, and this particular case was certainly no exception. Leaving a paper trail wasn't the smartest idea, of course, but it was a little difficult to exchange blue prints over the phone. Going to warehouses in the middle of the night for secret drops seemed a little too dramatic for Obadiah Stane. So he had set up a meeting here, instead, a small coffee house about twelve blocks south of Stane Industries. He did not normally frequent this one and the atmosphere here was quite different than what he was used to. Instead of other businessmen, there were a lot of teenagers and college-aged people lingering about. There was a woman working on a shiny, presumably new, laptop. The next table over there was teenagers joking about something, though he hadn't caught what it was they'd been discussing. There was also a couple, sharing some sort of iced drink, staring longingly in to one another's eyes. Obadiah curled his fingers around the patterned mug he had been drinking his coffee in and looked out the window.
The name of the coffee shop was painted in big, bold, bubble letters and he could only see slices of the street through the gaps in the paint. There were cars trying to make it through the morning traffic and pedestrians milling about, hurrying down the streets with seemingly important things to be done. He was halfway finished with his mug of coffee, making theories about the couple arguing across the street, when the bell from over the door rang and the man he was waiting for entered the shop.
He was tall, with a strong jaw, perfectly styled blond hair, and cold blue eyes. His skin was pale but his cheeks were chapped red from the cold. Obadiah gave the man a grim smile. The man sat down across from him, withdrew a folder from the interior of his black woolen coat, and wordlessly slid it across the table. Obadiah took another sip from his coffee and then set it down to pick the file up. He thumbed through it and his smile widened.
"This is perfect," Obadiah said with a gleam in his eyes. The other man smiled back but it was obviously forced and it lacked warmth. Not that it surprised Obadiah, he wasn't much familiar with the man, but he didn't seem the type to smile very often. The man gave a one-shouldered shrug and folded his gloved hands on the tabletop.
"I had thought that you'd like that one," The man replied. There was a faint accent to his words but Obadiah couldn't place it. He wasn't that good with accents to begin with and this one was barely a hint lilting his words. Obadiah nodded slowly to his words as his eyes tracked over the technical specifications and the blueprints. He smoothed his finger over one of the lines and gave the other man an approving nod. He grabbed his cell phone and sent a quick message.
"This is excellent work," Obadiah praised, "Perhaps we can work together more in the future." Obadiah reached out and shook the other man's hand. The glove was cold, leather, but the other man's grip was firm. This fact pleased Obadiah; a strong handshake spoke things of someone's character. The man nodded to him in acknowledgment.
"Perhaps we can, Mr. Stane." The other man stood and withdrew his phone, dialing a number and pressing it to his ear. Obadiah figured he was calling his own bank to ensure the deposit for his services. Obadiah tucked the folder in to his briefcase and picked up his coffee to finish it.
With Tony Stark out of the picture, and these design specs, things were going to start turning around for him very soon.
* * *
Jovan smoothed out the creases on his lab coat as he walked down the hall and towards the cafeteria. Though Jovan worked in the building across the parking lot, he preferred the cafeteria in the main building. His colleagues were suspicious, paranoid people and eating lunch with them was not always a pleasant experience. Most of the people who worked in the main building were office personnel. The marketing division, design, public relations... those were the types of employees in the main building. Very different from the scientists he generally worked with.
It would be too difficult to find the person he needed if he were to look in the community board in the building he worked in. This one was more ripe for the picking however. In between the offers to sell pets, the motivational notes, and the flyer about a Fourth of July picnic that was at least four months old, he found what he was looking for. It had yesterday's date written in the corner, and it looked hastily written. There wasn't a lot of information on it either; but the general feeling of the note reeked of desperation, and Jovan's mouth twisted in to a cold smile.
It would be perfect. He took the flyer with him, folding it and tucking it in to his pocket. The number was burning a hole in his pocket, but he sat through lunch with a pretty, dark-haired woman from public relations, who told him about the difficulties of keeping good press... first with Tony Stark's outrageous lifestyle, and now, with Tony Stark's disappearance, and the interim CEOs refusal to budge on her investigation in to where he wound up.
Jovan made all of the polite noises and pretended to be interested, but he honestly couldn't care less about the billionaire who'd gone missing in Afghanistan. Jovan was not a compassionate man and he never had been. He was excellent at pretending. He managed to go without mentioning that he worked in the weapons division, and left the cafeteria with the woman, who asked him if he'd like to get lunch together again some time.
He agreed with no real intention of eating with her again.
When he returned to his office, he dialed the number, and while it rang, he re-read the flyer.
Looking for roommate, no smokers, pets up for discussion. Half-rent/utilities. Call for more details..
The handwriting was neat and even, no hesitation. The person advertising answered the phone on the fourth ring. The man on the other end had a warm voice. He seemed very nice and though he was in the middle of working, he set up a meeting with Jovan for that date, to show him the place.
Jovan agreed of course and got the address. As soon as he hung up, he looked the address up and saw how close it was to the office, and he nodded. He spent the rest of the day trying to rework the shell casings on a weapon, so that they no longer melted when the weapon fired, and rendered the weapon useless. It made the day go by incredibly fast with a breakthrough in what might have been going wrong. He clocked out and headed for the designated meeting place.
Jovan was surprised when he saw the man who he'd spoken to on the phone. He was only slightly taller than Jovan, but he was much wider. His shoulders were almost twice the width of Jovan's own, and the dress shirt he was wearing (no tie, the top two buttons undone) did little to hide the muscle on his body. There was a faint hint of metal through the white dress shirt. While he didn't seem nervous, Jovan noticed he was twisting a ring on his right hand ring finger.
It was a class ring, inset with a red gem. It was large, traditional done in some light metal- silver or white gold. His fingers obscured the year and school name, mostly, but Jovan decided it wasn't that important anyways. Though he did wonder.
"Steve?" Jovan inquired, just to make sure, and the man smiled brightly at him and held his hand out. Yale University, and he was sure his degree was in art, he'd mentioned on the phone he was in advertising.
"Hey, you must be Jovan." Jovan smiled at him and nodded in agreement, "It's nice to meet you. Alright, so, half the rent will be about six-hundred dollars, but it's a nice apartment. Balcony, I cleared the office out so you could have a room of your own." Steve smiled and then beckoned him to follow.
The apartment was on the third floor and the balcony had a few plastic chairs on it. There was a potted plant sitting just inside, probably pulled in to prevent it from frosting over while the winter blew in. Steve showed him the room he'd have. It walls were white with beige carpet and a window that overlooked the street below.
"I could make the rent myself," Steve said, "But I think it's more economical this way. Electricity and heating are included. I have cable and internet, but I'll keep paying for that since it's in my name anyways." Steve was standing in 'at ease' position, feet spaced apart and hands behind his back. Jovan nodded a little.
"Rent is due at the first of the month, so I've already paid it." Jovan smiled at Steve. The room was fairly large and it looked clean, except for a smear of blue paint on the floor. "This was where I had my art studio, but I moved that in to my bedroom." He pushed open the door to show him.
It was a bit in disarray, but like the note, Jovan figured it was because this hadn't been something he'd been expecting. He finished the tour, showing him the bathroom and the kitchen, and everything else. The place was neatly kept, well decorated, and the location was perfect. Steve still had his company badge clipped to his belt, and Jovan smiled wider.
Absolutely perfect.
"This looks great. And it's close to work," Jovan said. Steve grinned.
"One of the reasons I chose it." Jovan looked around the apartment once more.
"Do you have other people you're showing it to?"
"No, you're the only one who called." Steve smiled again, wide and friendly. Jovan smiled back.
"Great, when can I move in?" Steve looked surprised.
"You don't need time to think about it?" Jovan shook his head.
"No, it's perfect," Jovan told him, "And I'm sort of looking for a place as soon as possible." Steve nodded in understanding.
"Alright, well..." Steve rubbed his hand over his chin and looked thoughtful. "I'll be out of town this weekend, but I have more vacation time, so I could take a few days off of work to get you settled in."
"That sounds great," Jovan said, he smiled, "How about dinner to celebrate?" Steve grinned.
"Let me get my coat."
* * *
Steve tossed his wallet and keys on the table and headed in to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, and checking in to see what he might want to have for dinner. The day had been unremarkable, but he felt more tired than he ought to, and didn't feel like making anything. He wound up fixing a ham sandwich, and then kicking back on the couch.
He settled in, feet propped up on the coffee table, and he clicked the television on. He turned to one of the local stations, which was showing re-runs of some popular sitcom that Steve didn't watch very often. He'd caught a few episodes and found it marginally humorous. He kept it on as background noise and ate his sandwich, before leaning over and grabbing a drawing pad from the side table, and a pencil.
Steve had a project for work, designing some merchandise prints for key chains and insulated coffee mugs, for important visitors to the building. The logo was easy enough to draw, that hadn't changed since he'd begun working at Stark International... over two years ago when he'd gotten an unpaid internship for his design classes. But he wasn't sure what to accent it with.
As it was, he was just sketching preliminary designs, a few things and then the head of marketing would have a few choices... he'd found that she preferred that. It was generally not a hardship, but when he was having troubles with making one design, making multiples seemed like a daunting task. He frowned a little and crossed out the first preliminary design, and started on another one.
He focused entirely on his drawing pad, the sounds of the television fading in to the background as he worked. In fact, he probably could have completed at least one of the designs, except the dramatic sound bite that indicated breaking news broke him from his reverie. He looked up and the ticker at the bottom surprised him.
Anthony Edward Stark, CEO of Stark International, Found!
Steve turned the volume up on the television.
"... passed over a lone figure walking through the desert. Upon closer look, they discovered that it was Tony Stark, billionaire industrialist, who'd gone missing a few months prior after an unfortunate incident during a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. We've gotten news that he's on his way back to the states, but acting CEO Virginia 'Pepper' Potts and the man responsible for the discovery, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes refused to comment on the rescue mission." The reporter then introduced their field correspondent, who was at the airport.
There was a flurry of motion on the cameras and Steve found himself leaning forward, as the correspondent discussed the airport for a bit, until an incoming airplane drowned out the sound. Steve bit his lip, recognizing the Stark International logo on the side of the plane, as it rolled to a stop not far from where the reporter was making his broadcast. He jogged over as they released the hatch.
There wasn't much to be said, though. Tony Stark declined to comment and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes shooed the news cameras away, even as Pepper Potts entered the picture. Steve watched Rhodes wrap an arm beneath Tony's armpits and hold him up, while the reporters voices mingled with one another, to the point where he could barely hear Tony's cracked, scratchy voice saying- "No comment."
It went back to the newsroom with rampant speculation. But Steve just sat there, stunned. Even though Pepper had kept looking, there was news in the company newsletter that someone from corporate sent to all employees' e-mails about the ongoing search, there had been a few memorial services after the first month.
People had said the company would go under if Stark wasn't found, but the newsletter had always been optimistic. He supposed it was because most of the people, not Pepper, were convinced that Tony had died. It was a logical conclusion.
After all, Steve knew the conditions over there, better than many other people. Steve had served a tour of duty in Afghanistan, when the war was newer. It had been hellish. He felt for Tony Stark, he really did. Steve turned the news off after a moment, but he couldn't return to concentrating on his drawing.
He was curious as to how Stark had survived and he pursed his lips. He supposed it didn't matter, really, he was just relieved. He didn't feel anything in particular for Stark, but it was always a blessing when someone, no matter who they were, came home safe.
* * *
Tony was still bandaged up, since he'd come right from the airport, to this press conference that he'd had Pepper set up for as soon as he returned to the states. Happy had been at the airport to take them there... himself and Obadiah and Pepper. Obie had had his own car, but he had wanted to drive with Tony and make sure he was okay. Tony wasn't okay, of course, but he was doing a good job pretending.
His movements were languid, he had drank quite a bit on the plane. Not as much as usual to get him drunk,
but going three months without any kind of alcohol at all had lowered his tolerance significantly. He had forced Happy to stop on the way to the building so that he could buy some food. He was starving, he'd barely been fed, but even if he had... he needed something to remind him that he was home, definitively.
Pepper had gone in to the restaurant to get it and Tony hadn't cared about being polite, as he took it out of it's Styrofoam take-out container and ate it without offering any of it to anyone else. He even kept eating it as he'd stepped out of the car, and through the makeshift aisle the reporters had made, still telling them no comment.
His voice was a little better now. The water he'd been drinking steadily had helped clear out some of the parched feeling in his throat, and let him feeling a little more on an even keel. Not exactly, because his head was swimming with the alcohol and maybe a concussion.
He had lived but he wondered if death would have been easier. He had no clue what he was going to say to these people either. As he wove through the throng of reporters, Happy keeping people at bay, and Pepper stationing herself in the back. It almost felt normal. For a few moments, Tony stared at the podium and instead, he turned and sat down, leaning against one of the support pillars and eating his hamburger.
The reporters were mostly behaving, being quiet, and waiting for him to say what he was going to say. He waved his hand a little and beckoned them all to sit down. He saw their looks at him, like he was being strange. He thought he had a right to want to sit down. To not want to look up at people, because the idea of being down here while everyone else was up there was almost nauseating.
The next bite of his hamburger tasted like ash in his mouth. He smelled fire and he thought about Yinsen. He tightly closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. He was drunk, he was traumatized, they couldn't really expect him to be... eloquent. He finished his hamburger, even though it tasted like failure. Tony watched the reporters sit down.
Tony wasn't sure what he'd meant to say at this press conference. But suddenly, he knew what he needed to say. He wiped the grease from the hamburger and the sweat from his palms on his pants, and then tipped his head back, resting it against the pillar.
"You know, I never got to say goodbye to my father," Tony said. His words were slow, carefully enunciated, in a way that made them seem carefully chosen. "There's questions I would have asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts." Tony frowned and then scoffed.
"Or maybe he was every inch of man we remember from the newsreels. I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability." Tony shook his head, a frown tugging at his lips.
"Mr. Stark!" A young reporter called out and Tony turned his gaze to him. "What happened over there?" He asked. Tony was quiet for a moment, a stretch of time that seemed eternal. Obadiah was right next to him. Pepper and Rhodey were looking expectant. The reporters reminded him of vultures, like he was going to soon be the next kill. But instead, Tony raised his chin, and felt something like defiance make its way through the alcohol haze.
"I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I had more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International." Tony pushed himself to his feet.
"That's all," Tony said, favoring them all with a bright grin, and he had Happy clear the way for him again, as he ignored the questions that followed in his wake.
* * *
News of Tony Stark's decision to shut the weapons division down was something of a surprise to the people, especially the shareholders on the board, and to the people who worked for that particular division. The news of it spread like wildfire. It was all that the news networks seemed to be talking about and most of what the e-mails in Jovan's inbox wanted to talk about as well. Jovan could feel Steve's presence, hovering nearby.
He quickly closed out the e-mail he'd been working on. He turned in his seat to peer at Steve, his brow raising in silent question. It looked like he wanted to talk. He seemed almost nervous, his stance suggesting that whatever conversation they were about to have, it was going to be awkward.
"Jovan, do you have a moment?" Steve finally asked. Jovan nodded a little and wondered what he wanted. Scenarios danced in his head. But he didn't let most of them take firm hold, he just waited, cool blue eyes fixed on Steve's face.
"Of course, Steve," Jovan replied, gesturing with his hand to sit with him. Steve perched on the edge of Jovan's bed and fiddled with some of the loose threads on the seams. Jovan watched intently, wondering just what was going on here. Steve seemed to be steeling himself for something.
"Look, I know that you'll probably find something soon, a job. Because you have work experience and I'm sure you've got good references," Steve started and Jovan looked more intrigued. He wondered if maybe Steve was kicking him out.
"But I know finding a job isn't always easy so just... don't worry about anything. I've got some extra and I can keep us on the level while you search for something new," Steve said. He raised both hands in a defensive gesture. "It's just something to keep in mind." He didn't wait for Jovan to respond.
Jovan was more than a little surprised by the offer. It made him smile and a plan began to form in his head. He finished the e-mail he'd been writing and sent it. It wasn't of anything of real important, just asking after an old professor who had been quite instrumental in his development.
Jovan waited until he heard the sound of a door closing and he knew Steve had retreated to his own room. He picked up his cell phone and flipped it open, dialing a number he couldn't save in his contacts, but he knew by heart. Someone answered on the second ring.
"Mr. Stane," Jovan said with a wide smile, "I have given some thought to us doing business together once more and I have something of a business proposal for you." He paused while he waited for Stane to reply and he nodded a little, grabbing a pen and writing down the address Stane gave him.
"Yes, I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes," Jovan promised. He snapped the phone shut and stood, tucking the device in to his pocket. He stopped by Steve's room, knocking on the wooden frame.
"Come in!" Steve called out cheerfully. Jovan opened the door and leaned on the doorframe. Steve's room was neat, with a few photos of family and friends, except for the mess that still made up his art studio part of the room. Jovan smiled.
"I think your offer is very generous and I'd be a fool not to take it," Jovan said and he watched as Steve relaxed and smiled back at him. "In fact, I thought I'd get an early start on job hunting, strike while the iron is hot and before they snatch up all of the other soon-to-be unemployed workers in my department." It was difficult to keep the bitterness of those words a secret.
"That's a great idea," Steve said, in an earnest manner. Jovan nodded a little.
"I'm going to go now," Jovan explained. He didn't joke with Steve today like he usually would. Today, he was a man on a mission. One that was going to make him rich.
* * *
Steve stepped out of his apartment and pulled the door shut tight behind him. He drew his keys from his pocket and spun them on his index finger, while holding the strap of his bag on his shoulder with the other hand. He pushed open the door at the end of the hall that led from the apartment building to the attached parking garage. He had parked his car a little ways away from the door and he headed for his vehicle.
The blue Pontiac Aztek with a small American flag decal on the back window was parked where it always was. Steve opened the back end and threw his bag in there, when a familiar voice made his ears prick. He turned but the shadows partially obscured them. The lights in the garage were dim to begin with and the ones that they were standing under had been busted. One man was tall, somewhat heavyset, balding, but Steve couldn't see his face, at least not any distinguishing features.
But even in the dimmed lights, Steve recognized Jovan, and while he couldn't make out everything that was being said, their words were definitely heated. He was paused, the trunk of his car open, and trying to be unobtrusive as he listened to the unfamiliar figure. Most of his words were low, but he distinctly heard something about a warning, and how unfortunate things would become for Jovan if he didn't deliver.
It made Steve wonder what sort of people Jovan had been dealing with. Steve had a hockey stick in the back of his car and while he didn't think he would have to use it on anyone, he gripped it tightly, to use as a weapon, if he had to. He turned to head over there, he'd be casual about it, ask Jovan if he was up for a game of street hockey. But just as he'd made one step towards them, Jovan had turned and stalked to the doors. And the other man disappeared in to the shadows, ducking in to one of the exits that led to the streets.
Steve frowned and set the hockey stick back in his trunk. He thought about calling the police, but there wasn't really anything he could say. He couldn't identify who had been threatening Jovan... and if his friend was dealing in less than 'on the level' business, he wanted to talk him out of it, before he got the police involved and possibly investigating.
There weren't many options and by the time Steve had thought to follow the man, he couldn't spot even the vague characteristics he had seen with any of the people still out on the open on the street. Frowning, internally berating himself for not thinking quicker, he headed back to the car. He did still have to turn up for work. His division hadn't gotten shut down.
Steve worried about Jovan most of the day, something about the fight wasn't sitting right with him. There was something familiar about the other man that Steve kept having fleeting thoughts of, but couldn't quite place, like he'd seen that silhouette before. Those characteristics- but a slightly heavyset balding man could be anyone. It could be the guy in accounting or his sometimes design partner who wasn't much older than Steve but was already losing his hair.
The fact of the matter was, the whole thing had been odd, and Steve felt like he hadn't made the right decision. He'd missed the moment to actually do something about what had happened. He focused half-heartedly on his work, while he made the decision to question Jovan tonight, if he didn't want to talk about it, Steve would have to tell him if he didn't, he was going to call the police. It was the best he could do.
Jovan had said he'd been out looking for work, so it didn't actually surprise Steve, overmuch, when he returned home that evening and Jovan wasn't there. He ate a frozen dinner and dozed off watching some ridiculous sitcom, until the sound of someone knocking roused him from his nap. He yawned and headed to the door. And he was really surprised to see Sharon Carter standing there.
"Sharon?" Steve was surprised to see her. Her mouth was pressed in to a thin line, police badge clipped to her belt, and her partner lingering back a few steps- arms crossed over his chest. He was intimidating, Steve didn't know who he was though. Sharon sighed quietly.
"I'm sorry, Steve," She said quietly to him. Steve was confused, his brows raised and he waited. "There was an accident at Stark International's weapons lab, and I'm here to inform you that your friend, Jovan Shani, perished in the incident. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Steve stood there in stunned silence, as Sharon told him how they hadn't found a body, but that there had been a host of volatile substances, some of which had been improperly stored. But all Steve could think about was the fight he'd witnessed earlier. He'd never heard when the deadline was. In his gut, however, he was convinced it wasn't an accident.
* * *
Tony knew he should have taken some more time to recover, but he felt a little stir crazy, so he'd taken back the reins of his company as soon as he could. He was drinking a scotch that he'd found in his office, and paging through reports. He was regretting his decision to come back to work however, as this was somewhat boring. The reports were dry, giving valuable information, but nothing that was especially interesting.
Something caught his eye, however. It was the cataloguing of the inventory from the weapons lab in the New York satellite. It was a comparison of what they'd gone in with, what they'd developed, what had been sold, and what was still in inventory. But things weren't adding up exactly right. They were missing things that hadn't been sold.
This was exactly the sort of thing that he'd been worried about since his announcement. Though, to be fair, he thought it'd be more people breaking in and stealing things. But there hadn't been any news about it, which was curious, and somewhat frustrating. It meant that something was going on.
Some of the things that had been taken were very dangerous. Things that Tony had almost been slightly ashamed to admit that they'd had in development. Nanite technology to emulate chemical and biological warfare. Weapons that could level entire cities and make sure nothing was left standing. Tony had built his reputation on being the guy who made weapons you only had to fire once.
But this was unsettling. The only light at the end of the tunnel was the fact that the things that had been taken were primarily weapons research and that they had some time to figure out who the culprits might be before they could start producing them. Some prototypes were missing. Coupled with the e-mail he'd gotten earlier about an incident involving the same weapons labs things were going missing from. Tony picked up his cell phone and texted Happy to get the car ready and call down to the airfield.
It appeared he would be going to New York.
* * *
The weapons lab at Stark International was cordoned off with police tape, but instead of crime scene tape, it was just a police line, do not cross. Clint was almost one-hundred percent sure that the tape had more to do with not knowing what type of dangerous things were lurking, than any actual investigation. The news had covered it pretty thoroughly, citing unsafe storage procedures and unattended lab equipment as the cause for the explosion. At least it provided easy access, and Clint ducked beneath the yellow tape and through the hole that the explosion had caused in the side of the building.
To be fair, Clint wasn't sure how he'd gotten involved with all of this. First, he'd been attempting to help a woman with a purse snatcher, then the police had started to run him down, and a mysterious man in an expensive business suit had rescued him from the pursuit, and offered him a small job.
It seemed harmless enough, too. Just going to some locations in the laboratory and picking up some files that had been stored there, that were no longer accessible due to the weapons developers having had to turn in their key cards on that final day when the doors had been officially closed. The price he was being offered was more than Clint had seen at one time, so he was certainly not turning down the offer.
It didn't seem entirely legal, but the man had assured him the research was his own and it'd just been left behind, due to the sudden nature of Tony Stark's announcement of the closure. Clint wasn't entirely trusting of the man, but he didn't ask too many questions when the level of work versus the level of pay had that much disparity. Besides, the man had rescued him from the police.
Inside the building, it smelled like an accelerant, acrid and smoky, with a sickly smell of burnt chemicals lingering in the air. Clint pulled his jacket up over his nose and frowned behind the cloth, wondering just what the hell had happened here. Of course, all of those smells were probably natural in a weapons lab explosion. Clint put his bow around his arm, and looked at the sheet of paper that was a crude hand drawn map with engineers handwriting detailing where things were hidden.
He studied it, tucked it back into his pocket and moved on. He managed to snag one of the pieces of research, a thick project folder that he found hidden in an air vent, before the night watchmen started to unlock the doors to the lab and do his rounds. Clint hurried out the way he'd come in and towards the designated meeting spot. He was paid only a small amount of what had been promised, with the assurance that when he brought the rest, he'd get the rest of the money.
Clint wasn't completely unobservant, however, and something bothered him. The hand that Clint had shaken upon getting this idea in action hadn't exactly felt like the hands of someone who made weapons. There was no scarring, no burns from accidents, no working callouses. It was possible that he had the marks of his work on his other hand, but most people tended towards shaking with their dominant hands. He tried not to let it bother him too much though.
He returned to the weapons lab the next night to secure more of the hidden research, and collect more money. Each time he left when he heard the night watchman coming in to do his rounds. Tonight, he was in a corner of the room, trying to move a rather heavy bookcase, where he'd seen the edges of the folder, but accidentally knocked it back too far behind the case.
He was so focused on that, he didn't even know someone had approached him until he felt his arm being wrenched behind his back, and heard his bow being tossed away. He thought it was the night watchman, but he seemed too strong for just that, fingertips digging in to his elbow. The man wrenched him backwards, away from the bookshelf.
"You're trespassing," A voice said, low and urgent. He didn't sound angry, perhaps concerned. Clint tried to wrest his arm away and whoever was holding him let go. Clint turned to face his attacker, pulling a gun from where it'd been tucked in to the front of his pants.
The man was tall and well built, with wide shoulders. But he definitely wasn't a security guard. Instead of the polyester, pseudo-cop uniform, the man was dressed... oddly. Wearing a pair of khaki cargo pants, a blue hooded track jacket with red and white stripe up the sleeves, and a makeshift mask. He appeared to be unarmed, but he also didn't appear to feel threatened by Clint's gun.
He remembered seeing the man on the news, which was why he looked familiar. Some choppy video from a cell phone of him stopping a thug from beating up a couple, the man had taken the video and thanked him profusely, even while the cops said vigilantism was illegal and that there was a warrant for his arrest.
He wondered why he was here.
"Maybe I'm supposed to be here," Clint said, voice not wavering. The man frowned and shook his head.
"I don't think so."
"I will shoot you."
"I don't think you'll do that either." The man sounded so sure of himself that Clint wondered if he had a death wish. But he was being paid to gather things, not kill anyone, and despite the questionable legality of this activity, he wasn't going to murder someone. Clint scowled at him. They called him The Captain, not that Clint had any idea why.
"What makes you so sure?"
"You don't look like a murderer, actually, you don't look like much of a criminal at all," The Captain said and he crossed his arms over his chest, and he was frowning. Clint wasn't a criminal he was just... he wasn't sure what this was. He was retrieving, though the more he thought about it, the more he realized that that research might not actually belong to the man who was paying him. Clint didn't lower his weapon though.
"What're you doing here?" Clint asked instead, classic misdirection.
"A friend of mine died in this explosion and I have a very strong feeling it wasn't an accident," The Captain explained, his frown deepening. Clint looked around at the lab to try and see any obvious signs of foul play. There wasn't any and he was willing to bet that The Captain was just blinded by his own grief at the loss of his friends.
Clint lowered the gun anyways. The Captain was right about one thing, he wasn't a criminal.
"Let me help," Clint said, he could at least be objective. He'd already figured that no matter what he did, he wouldn't be getting his payday for this. The Captain was looking at the bookshelf that Clint had been trying to move and Clint nodded.
"There's something behind there, papers," Clint explained and The Captain nodded.
"Well, let's figure out what they are, shall we?"
* * *
Artist:
dangwhymeAuthor:
dinahqueenRating (both art/fic): R[fic]/G[art]
Universe: Iron Man movie-verse AU
Word Count: 26,050
Warnings: Violence, implied sexual content
Beta:
shariangelArt Thumbnail:
Fic Summary: When a close friend of his dies under suspicious circumstances, Steve Rogers creates an alter-ego with which to investigate the accident and determine what really happened. What he discovers is more complicated than he could have imagined.
Link to Art: What We Could Become [Art]
Link to Fic: What We Could Become [AO3]
It wasn't all clandestine meetings and secret telephone calls. Some things worked better when done face to face, and this particular case was certainly no exception. Leaving a paper trail wasn't the smartest idea, of course, but it was a little difficult to exchange blue prints over the phone. Going to warehouses in the middle of the night for secret drops seemed a little too dramatic for Obadiah Stane. So he had set up a meeting here, instead, a small coffee house about twelve blocks south of Stane Industries. He did not normally frequent this one and the atmosphere here was quite different than what he was used to. Instead of other businessmen, there were a lot of teenagers and college-aged people lingering about. There was a woman working on a shiny, presumably new, laptop. The next table over there was teenagers joking about something, though he hadn't caught what it was they'd been discussing. There was also a couple, sharing some sort of iced drink, staring longingly in to one another's eyes. Obadiah curled his fingers around the patterned mug he had been drinking his coffee in and looked out the window.
The name of the coffee shop was painted in big, bold, bubble letters and he could only see slices of the street through the gaps in the paint. There were cars trying to make it through the morning traffic and pedestrians milling about, hurrying down the streets with seemingly important things to be done. He was halfway finished with his mug of coffee, making theories about the couple arguing across the street, when the bell from over the door rang and the man he was waiting for entered the shop.
He was tall, with a strong jaw, perfectly styled blond hair, and cold blue eyes. His skin was pale but his cheeks were chapped red from the cold. Obadiah gave the man a grim smile. The man sat down across from him, withdrew a folder from the interior of his black woolen coat, and wordlessly slid it across the table. Obadiah took another sip from his coffee and then set it down to pick the file up. He thumbed through it and his smile widened.
"This is perfect," Obadiah said with a gleam in his eyes. The other man smiled back but it was obviously forced and it lacked warmth. Not that it surprised Obadiah, he wasn't much familiar with the man, but he didn't seem the type to smile very often. The man gave a one-shouldered shrug and folded his gloved hands on the tabletop.
"I had thought that you'd like that one," The man replied. There was a faint accent to his words but Obadiah couldn't place it. He wasn't that good with accents to begin with and this one was barely a hint lilting his words. Obadiah nodded slowly to his words as his eyes tracked over the technical specifications and the blueprints. He smoothed his finger over one of the lines and gave the other man an approving nod. He grabbed his cell phone and sent a quick message.
"This is excellent work," Obadiah praised, "Perhaps we can work together more in the future." Obadiah reached out and shook the other man's hand. The glove was cold, leather, but the other man's grip was firm. This fact pleased Obadiah; a strong handshake spoke things of someone's character. The man nodded to him in acknowledgment.
"Perhaps we can, Mr. Stane." The other man stood and withdrew his phone, dialing a number and pressing it to his ear. Obadiah figured he was calling his own bank to ensure the deposit for his services. Obadiah tucked the folder in to his briefcase and picked up his coffee to finish it.
With Tony Stark out of the picture, and these design specs, things were going to start turning around for him very soon.
* * *
Jovan smoothed out the creases on his lab coat as he walked down the hall and towards the cafeteria. Though Jovan worked in the building across the parking lot, he preferred the cafeteria in the main building. His colleagues were suspicious, paranoid people and eating lunch with them was not always a pleasant experience. Most of the people who worked in the main building were office personnel. The marketing division, design, public relations... those were the types of employees in the main building. Very different from the scientists he generally worked with.
It would be too difficult to find the person he needed if he were to look in the community board in the building he worked in. This one was more ripe for the picking however. In between the offers to sell pets, the motivational notes, and the flyer about a Fourth of July picnic that was at least four months old, he found what he was looking for. It had yesterday's date written in the corner, and it looked hastily written. There wasn't a lot of information on it either; but the general feeling of the note reeked of desperation, and Jovan's mouth twisted in to a cold smile.
It would be perfect. He took the flyer with him, folding it and tucking it in to his pocket. The number was burning a hole in his pocket, but he sat through lunch with a pretty, dark-haired woman from public relations, who told him about the difficulties of keeping good press... first with Tony Stark's outrageous lifestyle, and now, with Tony Stark's disappearance, and the interim CEOs refusal to budge on her investigation in to where he wound up.
Jovan made all of the polite noises and pretended to be interested, but he honestly couldn't care less about the billionaire who'd gone missing in Afghanistan. Jovan was not a compassionate man and he never had been. He was excellent at pretending. He managed to go without mentioning that he worked in the weapons division, and left the cafeteria with the woman, who asked him if he'd like to get lunch together again some time.
He agreed with no real intention of eating with her again.
When he returned to his office, he dialed the number, and while it rang, he re-read the flyer.
Looking for roommate, no smokers, pets up for discussion. Half-rent/utilities. Call for more details..
The handwriting was neat and even, no hesitation. The person advertising answered the phone on the fourth ring. The man on the other end had a warm voice. He seemed very nice and though he was in the middle of working, he set up a meeting with Jovan for that date, to show him the place.
Jovan agreed of course and got the address. As soon as he hung up, he looked the address up and saw how close it was to the office, and he nodded. He spent the rest of the day trying to rework the shell casings on a weapon, so that they no longer melted when the weapon fired, and rendered the weapon useless. It made the day go by incredibly fast with a breakthrough in what might have been going wrong. He clocked out and headed for the designated meeting place.
Jovan was surprised when he saw the man who he'd spoken to on the phone. He was only slightly taller than Jovan, but he was much wider. His shoulders were almost twice the width of Jovan's own, and the dress shirt he was wearing (no tie, the top two buttons undone) did little to hide the muscle on his body. There was a faint hint of metal through the white dress shirt. While he didn't seem nervous, Jovan noticed he was twisting a ring on his right hand ring finger.
It was a class ring, inset with a red gem. It was large, traditional done in some light metal- silver or white gold. His fingers obscured the year and school name, mostly, but Jovan decided it wasn't that important anyways. Though he did wonder.
"Steve?" Jovan inquired, just to make sure, and the man smiled brightly at him and held his hand out. Yale University, and he was sure his degree was in art, he'd mentioned on the phone he was in advertising.
"Hey, you must be Jovan." Jovan smiled at him and nodded in agreement, "It's nice to meet you. Alright, so, half the rent will be about six-hundred dollars, but it's a nice apartment. Balcony, I cleared the office out so you could have a room of your own." Steve smiled and then beckoned him to follow.
The apartment was on the third floor and the balcony had a few plastic chairs on it. There was a potted plant sitting just inside, probably pulled in to prevent it from frosting over while the winter blew in. Steve showed him the room he'd have. It walls were white with beige carpet and a window that overlooked the street below.
"I could make the rent myself," Steve said, "But I think it's more economical this way. Electricity and heating are included. I have cable and internet, but I'll keep paying for that since it's in my name anyways." Steve was standing in 'at ease' position, feet spaced apart and hands behind his back. Jovan nodded a little.
"Rent is due at the first of the month, so I've already paid it." Jovan smiled at Steve. The room was fairly large and it looked clean, except for a smear of blue paint on the floor. "This was where I had my art studio, but I moved that in to my bedroom." He pushed open the door to show him.
It was a bit in disarray, but like the note, Jovan figured it was because this hadn't been something he'd been expecting. He finished the tour, showing him the bathroom and the kitchen, and everything else. The place was neatly kept, well decorated, and the location was perfect. Steve still had his company badge clipped to his belt, and Jovan smiled wider.
Absolutely perfect.
"This looks great. And it's close to work," Jovan said. Steve grinned.
"One of the reasons I chose it." Jovan looked around the apartment once more.
"Do you have other people you're showing it to?"
"No, you're the only one who called." Steve smiled again, wide and friendly. Jovan smiled back.
"Great, when can I move in?" Steve looked surprised.
"You don't need time to think about it?" Jovan shook his head.
"No, it's perfect," Jovan told him, "And I'm sort of looking for a place as soon as possible." Steve nodded in understanding.
"Alright, well..." Steve rubbed his hand over his chin and looked thoughtful. "I'll be out of town this weekend, but I have more vacation time, so I could take a few days off of work to get you settled in."
"That sounds great," Jovan said, he smiled, "How about dinner to celebrate?" Steve grinned.
"Let me get my coat."
* * *
Steve tossed his wallet and keys on the table and headed in to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, and checking in to see what he might want to have for dinner. The day had been unremarkable, but he felt more tired than he ought to, and didn't feel like making anything. He wound up fixing a ham sandwich, and then kicking back on the couch.
He settled in, feet propped up on the coffee table, and he clicked the television on. He turned to one of the local stations, which was showing re-runs of some popular sitcom that Steve didn't watch very often. He'd caught a few episodes and found it marginally humorous. He kept it on as background noise and ate his sandwich, before leaning over and grabbing a drawing pad from the side table, and a pencil.
Steve had a project for work, designing some merchandise prints for key chains and insulated coffee mugs, for important visitors to the building. The logo was easy enough to draw, that hadn't changed since he'd begun working at Stark International... over two years ago when he'd gotten an unpaid internship for his design classes. But he wasn't sure what to accent it with.
As it was, he was just sketching preliminary designs, a few things and then the head of marketing would have a few choices... he'd found that she preferred that. It was generally not a hardship, but when he was having troubles with making one design, making multiples seemed like a daunting task. He frowned a little and crossed out the first preliminary design, and started on another one.
He focused entirely on his drawing pad, the sounds of the television fading in to the background as he worked. In fact, he probably could have completed at least one of the designs, except the dramatic sound bite that indicated breaking news broke him from his reverie. He looked up and the ticker at the bottom surprised him.
Anthony Edward Stark, CEO of Stark International, Found!
Steve turned the volume up on the television.
"... passed over a lone figure walking through the desert. Upon closer look, they discovered that it was Tony Stark, billionaire industrialist, who'd gone missing a few months prior after an unfortunate incident during a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. We've gotten news that he's on his way back to the states, but acting CEO Virginia 'Pepper' Potts and the man responsible for the discovery, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes refused to comment on the rescue mission." The reporter then introduced their field correspondent, who was at the airport.
There was a flurry of motion on the cameras and Steve found himself leaning forward, as the correspondent discussed the airport for a bit, until an incoming airplane drowned out the sound. Steve bit his lip, recognizing the Stark International logo on the side of the plane, as it rolled to a stop not far from where the reporter was making his broadcast. He jogged over as they released the hatch.
There wasn't much to be said, though. Tony Stark declined to comment and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes shooed the news cameras away, even as Pepper Potts entered the picture. Steve watched Rhodes wrap an arm beneath Tony's armpits and hold him up, while the reporters voices mingled with one another, to the point where he could barely hear Tony's cracked, scratchy voice saying- "No comment."
It went back to the newsroom with rampant speculation. But Steve just sat there, stunned. Even though Pepper had kept looking, there was news in the company newsletter that someone from corporate sent to all employees' e-mails about the ongoing search, there had been a few memorial services after the first month.
People had said the company would go under if Stark wasn't found, but the newsletter had always been optimistic. He supposed it was because most of the people, not Pepper, were convinced that Tony had died. It was a logical conclusion.
After all, Steve knew the conditions over there, better than many other people. Steve had served a tour of duty in Afghanistan, when the war was newer. It had been hellish. He felt for Tony Stark, he really did. Steve turned the news off after a moment, but he couldn't return to concentrating on his drawing.
He was curious as to how Stark had survived and he pursed his lips. He supposed it didn't matter, really, he was just relieved. He didn't feel anything in particular for Stark, but it was always a blessing when someone, no matter who they were, came home safe.
* * *
Tony was still bandaged up, since he'd come right from the airport, to this press conference that he'd had Pepper set up for as soon as he returned to the states. Happy had been at the airport to take them there... himself and Obadiah and Pepper. Obie had had his own car, but he had wanted to drive with Tony and make sure he was okay. Tony wasn't okay, of course, but he was doing a good job pretending.
His movements were languid, he had drank quite a bit on the plane. Not as much as usual to get him drunk,
but going three months without any kind of alcohol at all had lowered his tolerance significantly. He had forced Happy to stop on the way to the building so that he could buy some food. He was starving, he'd barely been fed, but even if he had... he needed something to remind him that he was home, definitively.
Pepper had gone in to the restaurant to get it and Tony hadn't cared about being polite, as he took it out of it's Styrofoam take-out container and ate it without offering any of it to anyone else. He even kept eating it as he'd stepped out of the car, and through the makeshift aisle the reporters had made, still telling them no comment.
His voice was a little better now. The water he'd been drinking steadily had helped clear out some of the parched feeling in his throat, and let him feeling a little more on an even keel. Not exactly, because his head was swimming with the alcohol and maybe a concussion.
He had lived but he wondered if death would have been easier. He had no clue what he was going to say to these people either. As he wove through the throng of reporters, Happy keeping people at bay, and Pepper stationing herself in the back. It almost felt normal. For a few moments, Tony stared at the podium and instead, he turned and sat down, leaning against one of the support pillars and eating his hamburger.
The reporters were mostly behaving, being quiet, and waiting for him to say what he was going to say. He waved his hand a little and beckoned them all to sit down. He saw their looks at him, like he was being strange. He thought he had a right to want to sit down. To not want to look up at people, because the idea of being down here while everyone else was up there was almost nauseating.
The next bite of his hamburger tasted like ash in his mouth. He smelled fire and he thought about Yinsen. He tightly closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. He was drunk, he was traumatized, they couldn't really expect him to be... eloquent. He finished his hamburger, even though it tasted like failure. Tony watched the reporters sit down.
Tony wasn't sure what he'd meant to say at this press conference. But suddenly, he knew what he needed to say. He wiped the grease from the hamburger and the sweat from his palms on his pants, and then tipped his head back, resting it against the pillar.
"You know, I never got to say goodbye to my father," Tony said. His words were slow, carefully enunciated, in a way that made them seem carefully chosen. "There's questions I would have asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts." Tony frowned and then scoffed.
"Or maybe he was every inch of man we remember from the newsreels. I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability." Tony shook his head, a frown tugging at his lips.
"Mr. Stark!" A young reporter called out and Tony turned his gaze to him. "What happened over there?" He asked. Tony was quiet for a moment, a stretch of time that seemed eternal. Obadiah was right next to him. Pepper and Rhodey were looking expectant. The reporters reminded him of vultures, like he was going to soon be the next kill. But instead, Tony raised his chin, and felt something like defiance make its way through the alcohol haze.
"I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I had more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International." Tony pushed himself to his feet.
"That's all," Tony said, favoring them all with a bright grin, and he had Happy clear the way for him again, as he ignored the questions that followed in his wake.
* * *
News of Tony Stark's decision to shut the weapons division down was something of a surprise to the people, especially the shareholders on the board, and to the people who worked for that particular division. The news of it spread like wildfire. It was all that the news networks seemed to be talking about and most of what the e-mails in Jovan's inbox wanted to talk about as well. Jovan could feel Steve's presence, hovering nearby.
He quickly closed out the e-mail he'd been working on. He turned in his seat to peer at Steve, his brow raising in silent question. It looked like he wanted to talk. He seemed almost nervous, his stance suggesting that whatever conversation they were about to have, it was going to be awkward.
"Jovan, do you have a moment?" Steve finally asked. Jovan nodded a little and wondered what he wanted. Scenarios danced in his head. But he didn't let most of them take firm hold, he just waited, cool blue eyes fixed on Steve's face.
"Of course, Steve," Jovan replied, gesturing with his hand to sit with him. Steve perched on the edge of Jovan's bed and fiddled with some of the loose threads on the seams. Jovan watched intently, wondering just what was going on here. Steve seemed to be steeling himself for something.
"Look, I know that you'll probably find something soon, a job. Because you have work experience and I'm sure you've got good references," Steve started and Jovan looked more intrigued. He wondered if maybe Steve was kicking him out.
"But I know finding a job isn't always easy so just... don't worry about anything. I've got some extra and I can keep us on the level while you search for something new," Steve said. He raised both hands in a defensive gesture. "It's just something to keep in mind." He didn't wait for Jovan to respond.
Jovan was more than a little surprised by the offer. It made him smile and a plan began to form in his head. He finished the e-mail he'd been writing and sent it. It wasn't of anything of real important, just asking after an old professor who had been quite instrumental in his development.
Jovan waited until he heard the sound of a door closing and he knew Steve had retreated to his own room. He picked up his cell phone and flipped it open, dialing a number he couldn't save in his contacts, but he knew by heart. Someone answered on the second ring.
"Mr. Stane," Jovan said with a wide smile, "I have given some thought to us doing business together once more and I have something of a business proposal for you." He paused while he waited for Stane to reply and he nodded a little, grabbing a pen and writing down the address Stane gave him.
"Yes, I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes," Jovan promised. He snapped the phone shut and stood, tucking the device in to his pocket. He stopped by Steve's room, knocking on the wooden frame.
"Come in!" Steve called out cheerfully. Jovan opened the door and leaned on the doorframe. Steve's room was neat, with a few photos of family and friends, except for the mess that still made up his art studio part of the room. Jovan smiled.
"I think your offer is very generous and I'd be a fool not to take it," Jovan said and he watched as Steve relaxed and smiled back at him. "In fact, I thought I'd get an early start on job hunting, strike while the iron is hot and before they snatch up all of the other soon-to-be unemployed workers in my department." It was difficult to keep the bitterness of those words a secret.
"That's a great idea," Steve said, in an earnest manner. Jovan nodded a little.
"I'm going to go now," Jovan explained. He didn't joke with Steve today like he usually would. Today, he was a man on a mission. One that was going to make him rich.
* * *
Steve stepped out of his apartment and pulled the door shut tight behind him. He drew his keys from his pocket and spun them on his index finger, while holding the strap of his bag on his shoulder with the other hand. He pushed open the door at the end of the hall that led from the apartment building to the attached parking garage. He had parked his car a little ways away from the door and he headed for his vehicle.
The blue Pontiac Aztek with a small American flag decal on the back window was parked where it always was. Steve opened the back end and threw his bag in there, when a familiar voice made his ears prick. He turned but the shadows partially obscured them. The lights in the garage were dim to begin with and the ones that they were standing under had been busted. One man was tall, somewhat heavyset, balding, but Steve couldn't see his face, at least not any distinguishing features.
But even in the dimmed lights, Steve recognized Jovan, and while he couldn't make out everything that was being said, their words were definitely heated. He was paused, the trunk of his car open, and trying to be unobtrusive as he listened to the unfamiliar figure. Most of his words were low, but he distinctly heard something about a warning, and how unfortunate things would become for Jovan if he didn't deliver.
It made Steve wonder what sort of people Jovan had been dealing with. Steve had a hockey stick in the back of his car and while he didn't think he would have to use it on anyone, he gripped it tightly, to use as a weapon, if he had to. He turned to head over there, he'd be casual about it, ask Jovan if he was up for a game of street hockey. But just as he'd made one step towards them, Jovan had turned and stalked to the doors. And the other man disappeared in to the shadows, ducking in to one of the exits that led to the streets.
Steve frowned and set the hockey stick back in his trunk. He thought about calling the police, but there wasn't really anything he could say. He couldn't identify who had been threatening Jovan... and if his friend was dealing in less than 'on the level' business, he wanted to talk him out of it, before he got the police involved and possibly investigating.
There weren't many options and by the time Steve had thought to follow the man, he couldn't spot even the vague characteristics he had seen with any of the people still out on the open on the street. Frowning, internally berating himself for not thinking quicker, he headed back to the car. He did still have to turn up for work. His division hadn't gotten shut down.
Steve worried about Jovan most of the day, something about the fight wasn't sitting right with him. There was something familiar about the other man that Steve kept having fleeting thoughts of, but couldn't quite place, like he'd seen that silhouette before. Those characteristics- but a slightly heavyset balding man could be anyone. It could be the guy in accounting or his sometimes design partner who wasn't much older than Steve but was already losing his hair.
The fact of the matter was, the whole thing had been odd, and Steve felt like he hadn't made the right decision. He'd missed the moment to actually do something about what had happened. He focused half-heartedly on his work, while he made the decision to question Jovan tonight, if he didn't want to talk about it, Steve would have to tell him if he didn't, he was going to call the police. It was the best he could do.
Jovan had said he'd been out looking for work, so it didn't actually surprise Steve, overmuch, when he returned home that evening and Jovan wasn't there. He ate a frozen dinner and dozed off watching some ridiculous sitcom, until the sound of someone knocking roused him from his nap. He yawned and headed to the door. And he was really surprised to see Sharon Carter standing there.
"Sharon?" Steve was surprised to see her. Her mouth was pressed in to a thin line, police badge clipped to her belt, and her partner lingering back a few steps- arms crossed over his chest. He was intimidating, Steve didn't know who he was though. Sharon sighed quietly.
"I'm sorry, Steve," She said quietly to him. Steve was confused, his brows raised and he waited. "There was an accident at Stark International's weapons lab, and I'm here to inform you that your friend, Jovan Shani, perished in the incident. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Steve stood there in stunned silence, as Sharon told him how they hadn't found a body, but that there had been a host of volatile substances, some of which had been improperly stored. But all Steve could think about was the fight he'd witnessed earlier. He'd never heard when the deadline was. In his gut, however, he was convinced it wasn't an accident.
* * *
Tony knew he should have taken some more time to recover, but he felt a little stir crazy, so he'd taken back the reins of his company as soon as he could. He was drinking a scotch that he'd found in his office, and paging through reports. He was regretting his decision to come back to work however, as this was somewhat boring. The reports were dry, giving valuable information, but nothing that was especially interesting.
Something caught his eye, however. It was the cataloguing of the inventory from the weapons lab in the New York satellite. It was a comparison of what they'd gone in with, what they'd developed, what had been sold, and what was still in inventory. But things weren't adding up exactly right. They were missing things that hadn't been sold.
This was exactly the sort of thing that he'd been worried about since his announcement. Though, to be fair, he thought it'd be more people breaking in and stealing things. But there hadn't been any news about it, which was curious, and somewhat frustrating. It meant that something was going on.
Some of the things that had been taken were very dangerous. Things that Tony had almost been slightly ashamed to admit that they'd had in development. Nanite technology to emulate chemical and biological warfare. Weapons that could level entire cities and make sure nothing was left standing. Tony had built his reputation on being the guy who made weapons you only had to fire once.
But this was unsettling. The only light at the end of the tunnel was the fact that the things that had been taken were primarily weapons research and that they had some time to figure out who the culprits might be before they could start producing them. Some prototypes were missing. Coupled with the e-mail he'd gotten earlier about an incident involving the same weapons labs things were going missing from. Tony picked up his cell phone and texted Happy to get the car ready and call down to the airfield.
It appeared he would be going to New York.
* * *
The weapons lab at Stark International was cordoned off with police tape, but instead of crime scene tape, it was just a police line, do not cross. Clint was almost one-hundred percent sure that the tape had more to do with not knowing what type of dangerous things were lurking, than any actual investigation. The news had covered it pretty thoroughly, citing unsafe storage procedures and unattended lab equipment as the cause for the explosion. At least it provided easy access, and Clint ducked beneath the yellow tape and through the hole that the explosion had caused in the side of the building.
To be fair, Clint wasn't sure how he'd gotten involved with all of this. First, he'd been attempting to help a woman with a purse snatcher, then the police had started to run him down, and a mysterious man in an expensive business suit had rescued him from the pursuit, and offered him a small job.
It seemed harmless enough, too. Just going to some locations in the laboratory and picking up some files that had been stored there, that were no longer accessible due to the weapons developers having had to turn in their key cards on that final day when the doors had been officially closed. The price he was being offered was more than Clint had seen at one time, so he was certainly not turning down the offer.
It didn't seem entirely legal, but the man had assured him the research was his own and it'd just been left behind, due to the sudden nature of Tony Stark's announcement of the closure. Clint wasn't entirely trusting of the man, but he didn't ask too many questions when the level of work versus the level of pay had that much disparity. Besides, the man had rescued him from the police.
Inside the building, it smelled like an accelerant, acrid and smoky, with a sickly smell of burnt chemicals lingering in the air. Clint pulled his jacket up over his nose and frowned behind the cloth, wondering just what the hell had happened here. Of course, all of those smells were probably natural in a weapons lab explosion. Clint put his bow around his arm, and looked at the sheet of paper that was a crude hand drawn map with engineers handwriting detailing where things were hidden.
He studied it, tucked it back into his pocket and moved on. He managed to snag one of the pieces of research, a thick project folder that he found hidden in an air vent, before the night watchmen started to unlock the doors to the lab and do his rounds. Clint hurried out the way he'd come in and towards the designated meeting spot. He was paid only a small amount of what had been promised, with the assurance that when he brought the rest, he'd get the rest of the money.
Clint wasn't completely unobservant, however, and something bothered him. The hand that Clint had shaken upon getting this idea in action hadn't exactly felt like the hands of someone who made weapons. There was no scarring, no burns from accidents, no working callouses. It was possible that he had the marks of his work on his other hand, but most people tended towards shaking with their dominant hands. He tried not to let it bother him too much though.
He returned to the weapons lab the next night to secure more of the hidden research, and collect more money. Each time he left when he heard the night watchman coming in to do his rounds. Tonight, he was in a corner of the room, trying to move a rather heavy bookcase, where he'd seen the edges of the folder, but accidentally knocked it back too far behind the case.
He was so focused on that, he didn't even know someone had approached him until he felt his arm being wrenched behind his back, and heard his bow being tossed away. He thought it was the night watchman, but he seemed too strong for just that, fingertips digging in to his elbow. The man wrenched him backwards, away from the bookshelf.
"You're trespassing," A voice said, low and urgent. He didn't sound angry, perhaps concerned. Clint tried to wrest his arm away and whoever was holding him let go. Clint turned to face his attacker, pulling a gun from where it'd been tucked in to the front of his pants.
The man was tall and well built, with wide shoulders. But he definitely wasn't a security guard. Instead of the polyester, pseudo-cop uniform, the man was dressed... oddly. Wearing a pair of khaki cargo pants, a blue hooded track jacket with red and white stripe up the sleeves, and a makeshift mask. He appeared to be unarmed, but he also didn't appear to feel threatened by Clint's gun.
He remembered seeing the man on the news, which was why he looked familiar. Some choppy video from a cell phone of him stopping a thug from beating up a couple, the man had taken the video and thanked him profusely, even while the cops said vigilantism was illegal and that there was a warrant for his arrest.
He wondered why he was here.
"Maybe I'm supposed to be here," Clint said, voice not wavering. The man frowned and shook his head.
"I don't think so."
"I will shoot you."
"I don't think you'll do that either." The man sounded so sure of himself that Clint wondered if he had a death wish. But he was being paid to gather things, not kill anyone, and despite the questionable legality of this activity, he wasn't going to murder someone. Clint scowled at him. They called him The Captain, not that Clint had any idea why.
"What makes you so sure?"
"You don't look like a murderer, actually, you don't look like much of a criminal at all," The Captain said and he crossed his arms over his chest, and he was frowning. Clint wasn't a criminal he was just... he wasn't sure what this was. He was retrieving, though the more he thought about it, the more he realized that that research might not actually belong to the man who was paying him. Clint didn't lower his weapon though.
"What're you doing here?" Clint asked instead, classic misdirection.
"A friend of mine died in this explosion and I have a very strong feeling it wasn't an accident," The Captain explained, his frown deepening. Clint looked around at the lab to try and see any obvious signs of foul play. There wasn't any and he was willing to bet that The Captain was just blinded by his own grief at the loss of his friends.
Clint lowered the gun anyways. The Captain was right about one thing, he wasn't a criminal.
"Let me help," Clint said, he could at least be objective. He'd already figured that no matter what he did, he wouldn't be getting his payday for this. The Captain was looking at the bookshelf that Clint had been trying to move and Clint nodded.
"There's something behind there, papers," Clint explained and The Captain nodded.
"Well, let's figure out what they are, shall we?"
* * *
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Date: 2011-09-09 03:18 am (UTC)Jovan was properly sociopathic (it's all in the little details), and I loved your Steve.
Clint was nice too. I suppose it's good of him to recognise he's in over his head. :P
Off to part 2
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Date: 2011-09-09 04:18 am (UTC)I'm a little sad he came off as sociopathic that early, but well! XD The details are there so people can put them together. Yay, Steve! \o/!
I know my Clint isn't perfect, he was a mish-mash of canons I knew him from, so his voice was off; but I'm glad you liked him too! :3
Enjoy the rest!
no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 04:30 pm (UTC)