Fic for nerak_rose: Escape is Overrated | Steve/Tony | PG-13
Title: Escape is Overrated
Author/artist: absoluteforever
Recipient's name : nerak_rose
Rating: PG-13
Universe: movie
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony, Natasha, Clint
Word Count: ~7000
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All the characters in this belong to Marvel.
Summary: The Avengers are sent to capture villain Iron Man, but (like always) there’s more to it than that.
Notes: Please enjoy!
2013
Fury’s call had come in the afternoon, telling Steve that he was needed and a plane would be by to pick him up from wherever he was, as long as he provided the coordinates. Steve was surprised that Fury hadn’t kept tabs on him, but Fury had promised him peace to explore the country, hadn’t he? So Steve, unwillingly, had driven his motorcycle to the closest town’s outskirts (Martinez, California) and got on the SHIELD jet.
It had been a year-and-a-half since Steve had been in SHIELD headquarters. The last time he was here was during the Chitauri invasion, right after he had woken up, and that was not a time Steve was in any hurry to remember. His steps echoed down the hallway eerily, and he ducked his head as a SHIELD agent turned to watch him pass with every footfall.
Immediately upon stepping into Fury’s office, it was clear that Fury was in a good mood. Steve was unaccustomed to Fury’s happiness. It was…it was almost like Colonel Phillips’ vindictive glee at making inexperienced recruits jump, but somehow worse. Steve tried to imagine Fury genuinely smiling and almost tripped on a chair leg. He sheepishly pulled the one out across from Natasha, who merely arched her eyebrow. Steve tried not to cringe.
Fury coughed obtrusively in an obvious ploy to gain everybody’s attention. “We’ve finally got the fucker,” Fury grunted, slapping down a picture of an incredibly flashy red-and-gold robot. His eye darted around to stare at the assembled members of the Avengers, as if daring them to refute his statement.
“The tin can?” Clint piped up from thumbing the arrows in his quiver. He looked unchanged, save for perhaps the slightly haunted expression that dogged him.
Steve coughed, embarrassed. “Can you give us a full description?” He hadn’t exactly been going after big-name criminals in his time off.
“Iron Man,” Natasha stated coolly, “a recent villain. He mostly targets Stane Industries’ weapon silos, but he also goes after Hammer. Fights in a full-body metal suit that is capable of massive destructive force.”
“He’s pretty good at explosions,” Clint added, a maniacal glint coming into his eye. “If I could get my hands on his tech, maybe I could have exploding arrows-“
“Quiet, Barton!” Fury barked, but immediately calmed down. “We know Iron Man’s identity.” He produced another photograph from his black leather coat and slid it into the middle of the glass table.
All four of them leaned in to catch a glimpse. Steve had to stop a sharp intake of breath. Howard? But he would’ve been at least 90 years old by now, and Steve had read the files. Howard was long gone. So this man must be…
“What, Stark?” Clint looked disgruntled.
“Nobody else could have access to the amount of money necessary to build Iron Man,” Natasha noted, and then as an afterthought, added grudgingly, “or the expertise.”
Maria Hill, previously a silent presence at Fury’s side, caught sight of Steve’s expression. “Tony Stark. Formerly the CEO of Stane Industries-then Stark Industries-but he went missing, formerly believed killed, a few years ago in an unexplained attack that killed Pepper Potts, his personal assistant, and wounded Obadiah Stane, now the head of the company.”
“Didn’t his company lab blow up with him inside it?” Clint yawned, looking bored again. “Is that why he hides inside his suit, he’s horrifically ugly from the incident?”
Fury glared and Clint pretended to look intimidated.
“Why did you need to call me in for this?” Steve asked Fury, pointedly. “I think Clint and Natasha are more than enough for this.” Steve caught Clint’s smirk, but Natasha only tightened her blank look.
Fury narrowed his eye. “We didn’t want to take any chances. Iron Man is a serious threat.” He paused, and then added, “Besides, you do better in numbers. Or do you not remember the Chitauri?”
Clint and Steve winced, and Natasha looked angry. Manhattan had nearly been atomic dust had it not been for the combined efforts of the Fantastic Four, the X-men, and the Avengers. And now, with Thor gone, Steve could somewhat understand Fury’s anxiety. But there was still something the man wasn’t giving away…
Fury interrupted Steve’s thoughts. “Stark is currently holed up in one of his underground labs in central Wyoming. You have one day to prepare.” He swiveled his chair so he could stare at each one of them directly. No matter that it was at least the third time he had done that to them; Steve still found himself
involuntarily straightening his spine. “Get him alive and bring him back.”
Exactly one day later, at twenty hundred hours, Clint, Natasha, and Steve were circling around the perimeter of the large ranch that concealed Stark’s underground hideaway.
“Entering the building,” Natasha’s clipped voice came from the bud in Steve’s left ear before the connection shut off with an abrupt crackle. Steve grimaced. That either was a bad sign or she had simply decided that they would be nothing more than a distraction to the mission objective.
“Hawkeye, check on Widow.” Steve commanded as he edged his way into a window. Clint’s response was cut off as well. Steve sighed. There must be some sort of field that stopped electronic communications.
The second he had contorted his entire body enough to fit through the window, loud alarms started flashing. Steve muffled a curse and started running to the center of the complex, hoping that he would make it there before Iron Man found him.
Steve turned a corner and almost ran straight into a woman with fiery red hair and a menacing look on her face. “So, how much did Stane pay you?” She spat.
“I-excuse me, ma’am?” Steve sputtered, derailed by her sudden appearance.
She gave him a critical once-over, and Steve could almost feel her opinion of him drop. “Really? Captain America? Of all the ways to conceal your identity, why choose the tackiest one?”
Steve almost began his token protest of “but I am Captain America” when a synthetic voice interrupted him. “Really, Pep, I was so worried about you and here I find you flirting with the enemy.”
Steve turned around instinctively and narrowly blocked the incoming blast with his shield. He winced as the heat from the-laser ray, or whatever it was-singed his cheek, but the mild burn healed almost instantaneously. Steve looked up, and lo and behold, it was the same tasteless robot as from the picture. “Iron Man, I presume,” Steve muttered.
“Sorry, I don’t know any guys who would willingly wear full-body spandex,” the suit replied and fired two more blasts at him, which Steve somersaulted away from. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noted that the woman was long gone. So she was a ploy, he thought sourly.
Steve tightened his grip on his shield, ready to throw at a moment’s notice. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come into our custody, Mr. Stark.”
To his credit, the robot didn’t seem fazed at all. Steve fancied that if he could see Stark’s expression, it would’ve been a sarcastic grin. “Oh, so Fury isn’t as slow as he seems. I’m surprised that-“
But his next words were cut off with a deafening roar coming from farther within the complex. Steve
chanced a quick look, and in that brief instant, Iron Man fired another round of shots that Steve barely evaded with a flying leap to the side. “What have you done to the others?” Steve demanded.
Iron Man watched him, cocking his head to the side. “They’ve probably found my resident chemist,” he shrugged, and blasted forward to tackle Steve.
The two of them ungracefully snowballed across the hallway and Steve slammed his head into a metal wall. Blinking the black fuzziness away, he saw Iron Man raise a fist to punch him. Steve quickly grabbed his shield, where it had clattered to his left side, and bashed Iron Man in the head with it. Iron Man’s head-helmet?-reeled backwards and Steve took the chance to score another solid dent where the shining light on Iron Man’s chestplate was.
Iron Man started tottering unsteadily and Steve wriggled himself free and bashed Iron Man again. “Please surrender,” Steve said as firmly as he could, only slightly out of breath.
“I think I’ve seen this scene in a porno once,” Iron Man commented and shot another blast, propelling forward right behind it. Steve reflected the blast right at Iron Man, but he swiftly weaved to the right and executed a mid-air kick to Steve’s side.
Steve flew across the hallway. The shield, still in hand, left a dent in the wall. Peeling himself off the wall, he threw the shield with a great heave a few meters to Iron Man’s left.
“I’m disappointed.” Iron Man taunted. “I heard all these great stories about your-“ he was abruptly cut off as the shield rebounded into his side.
Steve spared himself a brief moment of satisfaction before lunging after Iron Man. He landed a kick straight on Iron Man’s chest and saw, in confusion, as the triangular light on it flickered. Was that a bad sign?
His train of thought was abruptly cut off as he heard another roar. Steve looked up to his left and saw something vaguely resembling a green tank approaching, and then saw no more as it vaulted right on top of him.
Steve had almost forgotten what it was like to wake up with a hangover, but the splitting headache pounding in-between his temples was a very close approximation of the feeling. He opened his eyes cautiously, and was almost disappointed when he was not met with the sight of iron bars and a dank cell. Steve sat up slowly, massaging the back of his head, and cautiously got off the bed he had been sleeping in. His shield didn’t appear to be anywhere either.
“So I see you’re awake.”
Steve whirled around to face the voice, but there was nobody there. Some kind of speaker system? Steve scanned the burgundy walls for any sound device but could find nothing. Steve clenched his fist, missing the familiar leather grip of his shield. He bent his knees, readying himself for another attack-
“Chill, man.” The voice sounded amused. It was obviously masculine, so it couldn’t be that red-headed woman Steve had ran into in the hallway. “You know, I was surprised when we found out that you were actually the Capsicle himself. Physiological impossibilities aside, I guess that means you’re a government lackey instead of Stane’s or Hammer’s.”
Steve frowned. “You must be Anthony Stark,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“You sure?” The voice laughed, but it was a bitter, clipped thing. “I think he’s been dead for a while.”
“We aren’t here to kill you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, but there was no response.
Steve waited for a few brief seconds but turned his attention back to surveying his surroundings once it became clear that the voice-probably Stark-wasn’t going to say anything more. Steve checked once more for his shield, allowing himself a modicum of hope, but resigned himself to the fact that there was no villain alive stupid enough to grant Captain America his main weapon in captivity. All four walls looked completely even; no door outline or knob was visible. There was a bookshelf full of books against the wall across from the bed, and a small passage that led to a bathroom.
All in all, his jail was more comfortable than the house he had grew up in.
Steve supposed his main objective was to get out. He could try punching a wall, but had the sneaking suspicion that that would only result in bruised knuckles. On the other hand, it wasn’t like bruises lasted for more than twenty-four hours on his body. Steve eyed a wall speculatively, and raised a hand to punch it-
“I would not recommend such, Captain.” Steve flinched.
The voice, this time, was something so synthesized and digital it was impossible to mistake it for something human. Steve forced himself to relax and look, once more, for a speaker hidden in the room. “Who are you?”
“My name is JARVIS. I am the monitoring system for this complex. May I ask you to please refrain from self-injury?”
Steve eyed the wall speculatively. “What’s it made of?”
There was no reply. Oh well. Steve readied his fist, and slammed it into the wall.
The pain was immediate and sharp. “Agh,” Steve muttered.
“Shall I fetch first-aid supplies for you, sir?” The robot voice-or JARVIS, he supposed-had a disapproving lilt to it.
“I’m-uh-fine. Thanks,” Steve said. Chastised by a robot! He would’ve been ecstatic at the experience were he not trying to escape imprisonment.
Now it was time to start thinking about other escape venues. There weren’t any windows, and the walls were made out of something so reinforced that even Steve couldn’t break it. He headed to the bathroom, and eyed the toilet speculatively. If he ripped it off, the water pipe would burst and flood the room. Since his captors seemed to have a vested interest in keeping him alive, they might open the door and evacuate him to another room…
Steve put a hand to his chin, speculating, when the base of his wrist touched something around his neck. He followed the ring of-plastic? metal?-around his neck-a collar, then. A shock collar? It could even be an intimidation tactic. Steve closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. There were so many variables, and he still had no idea what had knocked him out or where Clint and Natasha were.
“Captain,” a new voice intruded, female this time. Could everybody see into this room?
The voice was reminiscent of the red-haired woman. Steve cast his thoughts back to the files, and-Pepper Potts, formerly presumed dead. Steve tried to keep his voice under control. “You must be Ms. Potts.”
“That’s an interesting conclusion, Captain. But this really isn’t about me.” The voice was as cool and level-headed as Natasha’s. Steve almost reflexively flinched. “We know you’re working for Fury. What does he want from us?”
“This really isn’t about what we want, ma’am,” Steve said, trying to match her earlier unflappable tone. “We’re just trying to stop a villain from endangering any more lives.”
That set her off. “Oh, so you’re just the law-abiding American Hero, hm?” Her voice cut like shards of glass. “In that case, mind telling us why you came with flash drives at the ready just to steal our tech?” Her voice peaked at the end, and there was some fuzzy rumbling in the background.
Steve hadn’t been embarrassed in…well, not so long ago, but he was astonished. “Ma’am,” he began, voice uncertain, and then stopped himself. He had to be Captain America. “Ma’am,” he said, this time sounding unshakeable, “We wouldn’t-“
“Ugh!” The voice fizzed again. “You hypo-“ and the connection was abruptly cut off.
Steve let himself slouch against the wall. He almost preferred a dank cell to the continuous interruptions in this comfy one. At least the former he could break out of.
Steve wasn’t terribly sure how many days had passed, but if the meals delivered to his room were any indication, it had been about three. He passed the time by reading, brooding, and mainly engineering more escape attempts. One was attempting to see if he could splinter the wall around the small conveyer belt opening that delivered food to his room. Another was trying to break the water main-but some sort of drainage system in the bathroom had prevented a total flood, and thus JARVIS had not intervened.
He wasn’t quite desperate, but he was getting there. Steve put his copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy down and flopped against the headboard of the bed. He stared morosely at the wall across from him, the one with the bookshelf against it. The scenery hadn’t changed: bookshelf, crack in the wall, deep burgundy walls-wait.
Steve strode over to the crack, just left of the books. He backed up and delivered a kick with all his force-
--and nearly stumbled forward as the crack widened to reveal a door. Steve staggered out but quickly regained his balance, praying that (presumably) Stark or Ms. Potts wouldn’t comment, despite the fact that they seemed to have a constant visual on him.
Steve checked his surroundings. The hallway looked like it had been constructed of metal; its surface was smooth and reflected a distorted version of things. There weren’t any seams in the soldering that Steve thought he could exploit. Expertise, huh? Steve thought, remembering Natasha’s comment. He focused on making his steps as light as possible and tensed his body, ready for a fight.
He wasn’t as so foolish as to believe the opening had been accidental. It was like he was being herded…and yes, at the end of the twisting corridor, there was a room with a door open just a hair. Steve took a quiet breath and strode it, footsteps nigh inaudible.
Inside the room...was a glass table. Almost identical to the one on the Helicarrier. It was surely a coincidence, but…Steve narrowed his eyes. If Stark was as good at engineering as his files suggested, then what was to stop him from having equal talent in espionage? Even the chairs were the same-right down to the one with the cracked wheel Thor had broken when he had first arrived.
A screen flickered into life, hovering in the space where Fury usually sat. It was still dark, but emitted sound. “Sit down,” Stark’s voice chimed, and it added belatedly, “please.”
Steve eyed the chair beside him suspiciously. Stark must’ve still had a visual on him, because the next thing he said was, “C’mon. It’s a familiar environment, see? Animals are supposed to be calmer in familiar environments.”
Steve took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper. He lowered himself into the chair and stared straight at the blank screen. “Where are the others?”
“Your superspies are fine, if that’s what you’re asking,” Stark replied. “But let’s talk about you.”
“You’ll need to assure me of their safety before I’ll comply.” Steve tried to speak as Captain America, but mostly succeeded in feeling even worse.
“Why? Everybody loves to talk about themselves. I love to talk about myself.” Stark’s voice was jittery, uncontrollable.
Steve grit his teeth. It was a different type of infuriating than Red Skull-where he had been mostly a solid force of evil, Stark was something else, all mirrors and smoke. A new evil to suit a new millennium, Steve supposed. “Then why don’t you start by telling me what you intend to do with us.”
“Well, you’re a pretty good bargaining chip to get Fury off my back. He adores you, you know. All that patriotism.” A clunk and whirr sounded in the background, and Steve heard Stark mutter, “Not now, Dummy.”
“So you’ll hold us for ransom until Fury gives you what you want?” Steve’s disgust was rising.
“Who says I’ll give you back then? Maybe I’m hot for Captain America too. Actually, I write horrible slashy fanfiction about us all the time-I’ve got one called the ‘Stark Spangled Man,’ I’m really proud of it-“
Steve stormed out.
It was a couple of days before the crack in the wall appeared again, this time on the wall to the left of the bed. Steve considered not getting up-Stark hadn’t made an attempt to contact him again after their disastrous chat in that other room-but figured that he could use another opportunity to demand for the whereabouts of Clint and Natasha. He pinked at the thought of how he had just lost it, but Stark had somehow managed to anger him beyond reason, and he didn’t even understand half of what Stark was saying.
The new hallway led to the same room, however. It was just Steve’s luck that he was trapped in a movable fortress.
“Hey, gramps!” The blank screen crackled at him merrily the moment Steve took a step inside.
Steve glared at it. “Mr. Stark,” he said as frostily as he could.
“Sit down--we’ve been over this, seriously.”
There was nothing Steve would like to do less, but he complied anyways. He clenched his fists tight in his lap; his uniform growing more ragged by the day.
“Not that I’m one to judge, but I don’t think staring at your package is going to make it any bigger.”
Steve closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. “What do you want?” His tone was a lot less controlled than he aimed it to be.
“I thought we could have a chat!” Stark’s voice went pitchy, as if he was excited, giddy almost, at the thought of talking. “Open up, open up! Tell me all your darkest secrets.”
“I won’t yield to you,” Steve replied stubbornly.
“Ooh, feisty! Those ones are always the best.”
Steve thought he might actually succeed in grinding his molars down into fine dust. “I will never cooperate with you until you let me see my teammates.”
“Aw, you’re making me blush.” Several loud rattling sounds came from the screen. “Wanna see? I can turn on visual. We can have a bonding moment--”
Steve left at that point.
After another space of two days (and another series of escape attempts) Steve awoke to find a new set of clothes on the bookshelf. He eyed them suspiciously, and then picked at his blue spandex. Oh well, he sighed. It was better than nothing. And even if they were poisoned, he did have resistance, right?
On second thought, Steve reconsidered and kept his spandex on, torn as it was.
Almost in sync, a door appeared in a wall. Steve was almost beginning to get the pattern, but shelved that information away and got up. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that there wasn’t a good reason as to why Stark kept calling him out to another room--he had full visual in this one, didn’t he?
The hallway this time was longer and sloped gently downwards. Steve tried to mark it--so as to perhaps divine the nature of the ever-changing complex--but the walls resisted all attempts at such.
“Capsicle,” Stark greeted him, and internally, Steve sighed.
“Stark.”
“No ‘mister’ this time? I’m hurt.”
Steve clenched his fist: once, twice, and then rose.
“Wait!” Stark sounded punchy, as usual. “Uh. Sorry. Please. Sit down,” and although the content of his message was polite, his tone was more of an order than anything.
“You already know my terms.”
“Right. Yes. You uh...you’re still wearing your uniform. Not that it’s awful or anything--no, that’s a lie, it’s pretty terrible--but it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Isn’t something I would’ve expected from Captain Chastity, but hey...”
Stark, Steve was faintly bemused to note, was rambling, as if he was nervous. He sounded like...Steve, actually, the first time he had ridden with Peggy to Dr. Erskine’s lab...and he filed that memory away quietly.
“...anyways, wear the clothes I gave you. Because they’re not, I don’t know, full of evil Nazi technology or whatever you’re thinking.”
“Alright,” Steve agreed slowly.
“Good, right, that’s good. Okay. So. You should...go back now. Right.” The screen abruptly flickered off, and Steve, bewildered, trudged back.
As soon as he was back in his room, he stared at the provided clothes for a moment. They were reminiscent of what people wore these days--jeans, t-shirts. He ran his fingers over the cloth, trying to imagine super-villain Tony Stark shopping for clothes.
(He wore them.).
The thing was--the problem was--it was that Stark acted more like an overgrown puppy than an evil kidnapper. He had, in the intervening two weeks, built Steve a gym, got him art supplies, replenished the books, customized the meals to suit his tastes, and talked to Steve in his room more frequently than ever. (Steve, alarmingly enough, was starting to respond with more enthusiasm than ever.)
He wondered, periodically, if Fury would ever make an attempt at rescue, but the thought grew farther and farther away. Stark, too, had begun to show Steve recordings of Natasha and Clint on request. It didn’t seem doctored, and Steve had asked often enough that unless that was the sole thing Stark was working on, he wouldn’t have the time to do so anyways.
“Capsicle, hey,” Stark’s voice chimed. “You busy?”
“Of course, there’s so much I need to do,” Steve replied dryly.
“Oh, a joke--somebody give you a medal, seriously--so, you in?”
Steve dog-eared page 127 of Dune. “At your service.”
“Fantastic, awesome--alright, get your old joints moving, c’mon--” a door opened, and Steve opened it to the hallway it led to unquestioningly.
“What do you need?” Steve asked aloud.
“Only you, darling--” and Steve strode through an opaque glass doorway to the sight of Iron Man. Steve stopped short, and almost took up a defensive position, but Iron Man’s stance was placating.
“Mr. Stark,” Steve nodded, still feeling jittery.
“C’mon, Cap.” The suit made a beckoning motion. “I won’t mess up your pretty face too much.”
Steve edged into the room nervously. It seemed like...like a messy room, actually. Gadgets and nuts and bolts were scattered across the floor. “How may I be of service?”
Stark (presumably inside the suit) pointed towards a beam. “Lift that for me?”
Steve headed over and hefted it over his shoulder, but made sure that he was still facing Stark. “What’s this for?”
“It’s the new battery for this complex. Self-renewable source.”
Steve looked at the complex arrangement of beams, all connected to a single, pulsing light in the middle. “Right,” he said skeptically.
Stark looked up from where he was soldering something together. “I know it might be hard for you to tell, being from the 1800s, but if it were a weapon it would have some sort of control mechanism besides an on/off switch. Which it doesn’t.”
“Oh?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Yup,” Stark replied, attention already elsewhere. “Alright, I’m done. You can go back to...” he frowned and looked up. “What do you do anyways?”
“Plot my escape,” Steve said, half-joking, half-serious.
“Your most creative one was with the water pipes, and that was three weeks--two?--ago. Didn’t that serum do anything for your brain?”
“That’s classified. How would you know about that anyways?”
Stark froze, but quickly returned to his work as if nothing had occurred. “Common knowledge, don’t flatter yourself. You gonna try and run from here too? I’m hurt.”
Steve looked at the walls of the laboratory. “I might. Walls thinner here?”
“Try and find out.” Stark shrugged, juggling a wrench.
Steve, obligingly, slammed his foot into a wall and only ended up with a sore toe. He bit back a curse and heard the faint sound of Stark snickering. “You were waiting for that to happen,” he accused Stark.
The mask was really the best poker face. “Going senile in your advanced age?” Stark retorted. “Maybe you should try the one over there.”
“Is that what you kidnapped us for? Testing the structural integrity of your...” Steve waved a hand around to illustrate his point.
“My evil fortress? Among other things.” Stark took on a lascivious tone and Steve fidgeted uncomfortably. He had a feeling that that was where Stark might’ve waggled his eyebrows.
Steve took a few tentative steps towards where Stark was standing. “Like what?”
Stark turned to look at him. Even in the suit--or perhaps because of the suit--Stark’s full attention was formidable. “Wanna find out?”
Steve couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was in his original body again, on the cusp of pitching over sideways due to lack of oxygen. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid, and--
“Sir, Ms. Potts is calling.”
JARVIS broke the spell. Steve backpedaled, bumping into a shelf full of assorted nuts and bolts. “Agh-!”
“Real smooth, Twinkletoes,” Stark drawled, and tossed a wrench his way. Steve caught it, fumbling it in his hands. “Stay there and be good, hm?” With that, Stark briskly exited through the glass doors that Steve had just come in through--and of course, a shell of metal immediately encased them, locking Steve in.
Of course, Steve sighed, but couldn’t find it within himself to be entirely irritated. He shuffled around the cluttered area, trying to find a spot to wait, when a pale hand shot out from underneath a pile of junk and grabbed his ankle.
“Wha--”
“Shush,” Natasha reprimanded wearily as she slunk out under a heap of metal.
“Ah--Natasha.” Steve swallowed his surprise and embarrassment. He glanced around the room, searching for hidden cameras, but she shook her head. “Taken care of.” Steve had to assume that it was Clint’s doing.
“I’m glad you’re safe--”
“Hm.” She cut him off efficiently, cool eyes regarding him with--was that amusement? “Stark seems to like you.”
“What? No, I--”
“Oh.” Natasha looked truly interested now. “And you like him too.”
Steve was reduced to spluttering.
“I’m here to inform you that we’ll be leaving in three days. We’ve accomplished our mission.”
“We have?”
Natasha flashed a brief, predatory smile. “We’ve obtained the information we came here for. We were uncertain if we’d be able to distract him, but...” she eyed him again. Her smiles were starting to disturb Steve. “I suppose that’s what Fury called you here for.”
In spite of the air conditioning, it suddenly felt a bit too hot. “I--I was unaware this was an intel mission.”
“Recruitment, actually, but we’ve concluded that Stark would not be a viable asset.”
“Really?” Steve countered. “We could use another long-range fighter. And he doesn’t seem like he’s bent on world destruction--isn’t his only crime destroying weapon silos? We could persuade him.”
Steve only had to look at Natasha’s expression once to see that he had inadvertently stepped into her trap. “You defend him well,” she said, and the worst part was that she delivered it without any inflection at all--and still Steve knew that Clint would hear about it later. “But we can’t use him--he comes with several tons of green baggage.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ll debrief you later. I should go.” Natasha looked around the room, once, twice, and then refocused on Steve. “But if you think you can persuade him...” Natasha raised one eyebrow, and Steve flushed a deeper shade of red.
“Two days, got it. What’s the signal?”
“We’ll break you out.” Natasha gave him a brief nod and got on all fours again to slither back under the junk heap. Steve watched, bewildered, and considered shifting the pile to see if she had drilled a hole to tunnel through or if she was simply lurking there for a good opportunity.
Either option was frightening.
A time limit gave him somewhat of a perspective--and sent Steve into a cold sweat. He had talked big at Natasha, but how would you go around persuading somebody that evil wasn’t the way to go? It’s good for your soul! And at any rate, Stark wasn’t anywhere near the same level of corruption as the other villains Steve had faced recently.
“Looking a little pale there. Your age finally catching up to you?”
Stark had begun to broadcast his face (although still helmeted) on the holographic screen in the SHIELD-esque conference room, and Steve now often journeyed out of his room in order to watch how Stark’s emotions played out even through a mask of metal.
“I’m technically younger than you,” Steve pointed out absentmindedly.
“Wow, somebody paid attention during his briefing. Should I be flattered?”
“I don’t think your ego needs any more inflating.”
“You wound me deeply.”
There was a lull in the conversation, punctuated only by Stark’s continuous fidgeting, and Steve decided that this was a good time as any. Or rather that there would never be a good time, and he had to do it before he chickened out completely. “Have you ever thought about...joining SHIELD?”
“Can’t say I have. Fury is a grabby little bastard.”
“Well, I mean--” Steve winced. He was probably going to mess this all up-- “--once we leave, wouldn’t it be nice if we still...talked?”
Steve was wrong. He hadn’t messed it up. He had completely destroyed whatever progress he had made. (In some corner of his mind, he wondered if it wasn’t strange to think that he was concerned about the sentiments of villains.)
Stark was silent for a moment. “You seem pretty confident that you’re going to be able to escape, Capsicle.” His voice was mocking, but not in the soft, gentle way that Steve had become accustomed to. “You already have some new and improved plan?”
“That’s not what I--”
“I’ll be looking forward to it, then.” And the screen went dark.
Steve contemplated smashing his forehead against the table, but mournfully concluded that it would only destroy the pristine glass.
One day to go, and Stark still refused to talk to him. His room-cell hadn’t opened a pathway to the conference room, and Steve was starting to become nervous.
The more he had thought about Stark being on his team, the better the idea had sounded to him, until Steve was embarrassingly committed to the idea. To him it was worth at least one last shot, or as many shots as it needed.
“Stark?”
Silence.
Steve took a deep breath. He tried not to feel too stupid, talking aloud to somebody who wasn’t even in the room. And JARVIS could hear him. “Tony.”
Nothing.
Steve groaned and flopped back onto the bed. He’d be out of here in less than twenty-four hours, and surely the Avengers would fight against Iron Man...they would cross paths again. Eventually.
“You called, Cap?”
Stark’s sudden voice startled Steve and sent him shooting up. In his haste, Steve smacked part of the headboard, but the headboard merely crunched a little. “Stark.”
“And here I thought you were reasonably intelligent,” Stark’s voice mock-chastised.
“Uh--Tony. I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have--”
“I’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome, but this is the first I’ve seen it in action.” Stark--or Tony--was still guarded, but a modicum of his old humor had crept in. “But you are planning on making your great escape, hm?”
“Can’t stay here forever,” Steve shrugged.
“Why not? I’ve always wanted a kept man.”
Steve allowed himself to blush. “I don’t think I’d be very good at that.”
“You’d be fantastic arm candy.”
Pause. “So, if we were to hypothetically escape...you wouldn’t come with?”
“You’re strangely curious. Should I strengthen security?” But Tony’s voice was light and unassuming. “Nah, probably not. Too much do-gooding gives me hives.”
“Oh.”
Steve was halfway through Good Omens when Natasha kicked a portion of the left wall down. He put the book down hastily, sighing when Clint stepped in after Natasha and gave a slow whistle.
“Nice place you got here, Cap.”
“Let’s go,” Natasha interrupted, and strode back out the way the two spies came.
Steve gave a surreptitious look at the room as he left. He never did figure out where the cameras were. “What’s the plan?” He asked.
“This place changes, right? So our best bet is to just go up, like so--” and Clint proceeded to fire an arrow at the ceiling a few meters in front of them, where it promptly exploded along with a portion of the ceiling.
“Pretty impressive weaponry you’ve got there,” Steve commented.
“Stole it from Stark. Let’s go!”
The three clambered out onto another floor, and Clint repeated the process. On the third floor, Natasha tensed and gave a quick hand signal. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Was barely out of Clint’s mouth before a rampaging green...giant came flying from the left, denting the tunnel as its swinging arms hit it.
“Not again,” Clint muttered and nocked an arrow. “Go on Cap, we’ll meet you up topside.”
Steve hesitated, but did as Clint said after Natasha gave him a very unimpressed look. He clambered out, inhaling sharply at the sight of a starry night sky. “That’s that,” he said flatly to the scenery.
“Fairly obvious, but I guess it’s something coming from you.” Tony’s voice called to Steve behind him, and Steve turned around to face him, clad in the Iron Man suit.
“Tony,” Steve greeted, feeling fairly awkward.
“You ready for round two, then?” Tony tossed him a familiar round object, and Steve felt his heart lighten as he recognized it as his shield.
“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely.
“Didn’t want you to use that as an excuse when you lost.” And with that, Stark was off, propelling himself at Steve’s chest.
It was harder to maneuver in the jeans and t-shirt Tony had provided in place of his suit, but Steve managed. He reflected all of Tony’s blasts and rolled on the ground to avoid a full-body tackle. From his position on the ground, Steve chucked his shield at Tony’s chest, feeling hollow satisfaction as it thwacked him solidly and rebounded into Steve’s hand.
Tony wobbled from the impact and that was all Steve needed. He rushed Tony and pushed him over with a great heave. Tony hit the floor and Steve straddled him, angling the edge of his shield to meet Tony’s chin. “You can say that I had my shield,” Steve offered.
“Can’t say I imagined us doing this a little differently, but hey.” Tony’s voice, synthesized, still had his casual tone. To emphasize his point, Tony gave a little pelvic thrust and Steve nearly fell over himself from the shock.
“Not what I had in mind.”
“‘Cuz you’re not imaginative enough.” Steve could practically hear the grin in Tony’s voice. “So, we’re doing this?”
“No,” Steve said firmly, and repeated it, more panicked, as he heard the distant whir of helicopter blades. He tried to rise, but found that Tony’s gauntlets had firmly locked around his thighs.
“Let go, Tony.” Steve commanded.
“I love it when you take charge, o my captain.”
“Tony!”
“You afraid that Fury’s going to catch Captain Wholesome hooking up with the enemy?”
“You don’t have to be the enemy,” Steve said softly.
Tony looked at him through glowing eyes. It was almost romantic save for the fact that Steve could hear the sounds of Clint and Natasha trying to subdue the green...whatever-it-was. He could also hear the helicopter approaching, ever closer.
“I’ll pass, thanks.” Tony paused. “I don’t think I could handle being Fury’s crony.”
“Well then,” Steve said primly. “I’ll just take you into custody then.”
“Will you now?” Tony flicked his gaze upwards; the helicopter was coming into view. “Bold words.”
Steve gripped his shield tighter, but all Tony did was pop the faceplate up. Foolishly, Steve’s first thought was he’s just like his picture but then Tony was curling up, pressing his lips against Steve’s. His beard was itchy and Steve fumbled, nearly banging his forehead on the faceplate, but it was...
...it was right.
From a faint distance, Steve could hear Clint wolf-whistling and he winced. Tony slowly separated from him, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll see you around,” he mock-whispered, and touched Steve’s throat gently. The collar fell open in a heap at the ground.
Steve heard the thrum of blasters activating as Tony unentangled himself from Steve, gave him a brief nod, and flipped his faceplate shut before blasting off into the night sky.
The SHIELD helicopter didn’t even make an attempt to chase after him. Instead, it landed in the open field, right next to Steve, still stunned and on the floor. Clint and Natasha jogged up, both sporting smirks. “Too bad, Cap,” Clint said, amused, “your persuasion didn’t work as well as you had hoped.”
“I can give you some tips later,” Natasha grinned, bright and fierce.
And in usual fashion, Steve turned bright red.
“What’s this?” Clint bent down and picked up the remnants of the collar. “Didn’t know Stark was into S&M.”
Natasha inspected it critically. “It’s just plastic,” she concluded.
Clint looked at Steve, his shit-eating grin visible even in the dark. “That’s cute.”
“That’s enough,” Steve snapped, but without heat. “I’ll take it.”
Clint visibly held back a remark and dropped the two halves into Steve’s open palm. “A souvenir, Cap?”
“We can have SHIELD analyze it,” Steve lied.
As far as he was concerned, nobody had to know he was going to keep mementos from his captor.
One Year Later
“Where’s Cap?” Spiderman asked.
“It’s Tuesday,” Clint pointed out. “We fight Iron Man on Tuesdays.”
“Iron Man already left, though.” Spiderman looked around the rubble of what was formerly two street blocks.
Natasha silently raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“They left together,” Clint explained, as if talking to a particularly slow child.
“Wha--! Does anybody else know about this?”
Clint and Natasha looked at each other, then at Spiderman. “Haven’t you noticed how Cap’s extra sore after fighting Iron Man?”
“Or how Iron Man always ignores us and goes straight after Cap?”
“Or how Iron Man has kidnapped Cap at least ten times?”
“Or--”
“I don’t want to hear anymore!”
And flying over the city in Tony’s arms, Steve sneezed. “I think somebody’s talking about me.”
“I was thinking about how fantastic your ass looked today,” Tony offered.
“Not...quite what I was talking about, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Speaking of appreciating...” Tony said slowly as they reached a nondescript car parked in a nondescript parking lot. He placed Steve down and gave a quick verbal command to JARVIS, removing the suit and folding it into a briefcase.
Steve rolled his eyes, but kissed him anyways.
Author/artist: absoluteforever
Recipient's name : nerak_rose
Rating: PG-13
Universe: movie
Pairing/Characters: Steve/Tony, Natasha, Clint
Word Count: ~7000
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All the characters in this belong to Marvel.
Summary: The Avengers are sent to capture villain Iron Man, but (like always) there’s more to it than that.
Notes: Please enjoy!
2013
Fury’s call had come in the afternoon, telling Steve that he was needed and a plane would be by to pick him up from wherever he was, as long as he provided the coordinates. Steve was surprised that Fury hadn’t kept tabs on him, but Fury had promised him peace to explore the country, hadn’t he? So Steve, unwillingly, had driven his motorcycle to the closest town’s outskirts (Martinez, California) and got on the SHIELD jet.
It had been a year-and-a-half since Steve had been in SHIELD headquarters. The last time he was here was during the Chitauri invasion, right after he had woken up, and that was not a time Steve was in any hurry to remember. His steps echoed down the hallway eerily, and he ducked his head as a SHIELD agent turned to watch him pass with every footfall.
Immediately upon stepping into Fury’s office, it was clear that Fury was in a good mood. Steve was unaccustomed to Fury’s happiness. It was…it was almost like Colonel Phillips’ vindictive glee at making inexperienced recruits jump, but somehow worse. Steve tried to imagine Fury genuinely smiling and almost tripped on a chair leg. He sheepishly pulled the one out across from Natasha, who merely arched her eyebrow. Steve tried not to cringe.
Fury coughed obtrusively in an obvious ploy to gain everybody’s attention. “We’ve finally got the fucker,” Fury grunted, slapping down a picture of an incredibly flashy red-and-gold robot. His eye darted around to stare at the assembled members of the Avengers, as if daring them to refute his statement.
“The tin can?” Clint piped up from thumbing the arrows in his quiver. He looked unchanged, save for perhaps the slightly haunted expression that dogged him.
Steve coughed, embarrassed. “Can you give us a full description?” He hadn’t exactly been going after big-name criminals in his time off.
“Iron Man,” Natasha stated coolly, “a recent villain. He mostly targets Stane Industries’ weapon silos, but he also goes after Hammer. Fights in a full-body metal suit that is capable of massive destructive force.”
“He’s pretty good at explosions,” Clint added, a maniacal glint coming into his eye. “If I could get my hands on his tech, maybe I could have exploding arrows-“
“Quiet, Barton!” Fury barked, but immediately calmed down. “We know Iron Man’s identity.” He produced another photograph from his black leather coat and slid it into the middle of the glass table.
All four of them leaned in to catch a glimpse. Steve had to stop a sharp intake of breath. Howard? But he would’ve been at least 90 years old by now, and Steve had read the files. Howard was long gone. So this man must be…
“What, Stark?” Clint looked disgruntled.
“Nobody else could have access to the amount of money necessary to build Iron Man,” Natasha noted, and then as an afterthought, added grudgingly, “or the expertise.”
Maria Hill, previously a silent presence at Fury’s side, caught sight of Steve’s expression. “Tony Stark. Formerly the CEO of Stane Industries-then Stark Industries-but he went missing, formerly believed killed, a few years ago in an unexplained attack that killed Pepper Potts, his personal assistant, and wounded Obadiah Stane, now the head of the company.”
“Didn’t his company lab blow up with him inside it?” Clint yawned, looking bored again. “Is that why he hides inside his suit, he’s horrifically ugly from the incident?”
Fury glared and Clint pretended to look intimidated.
“Why did you need to call me in for this?” Steve asked Fury, pointedly. “I think Clint and Natasha are more than enough for this.” Steve caught Clint’s smirk, but Natasha only tightened her blank look.
Fury narrowed his eye. “We didn’t want to take any chances. Iron Man is a serious threat.” He paused, and then added, “Besides, you do better in numbers. Or do you not remember the Chitauri?”
Clint and Steve winced, and Natasha looked angry. Manhattan had nearly been atomic dust had it not been for the combined efforts of the Fantastic Four, the X-men, and the Avengers. And now, with Thor gone, Steve could somewhat understand Fury’s anxiety. But there was still something the man wasn’t giving away…
Fury interrupted Steve’s thoughts. “Stark is currently holed up in one of his underground labs in central Wyoming. You have one day to prepare.” He swiveled his chair so he could stare at each one of them directly. No matter that it was at least the third time he had done that to them; Steve still found himself
involuntarily straightening his spine. “Get him alive and bring him back.”
Exactly one day later, at twenty hundred hours, Clint, Natasha, and Steve were circling around the perimeter of the large ranch that concealed Stark’s underground hideaway.
“Entering the building,” Natasha’s clipped voice came from the bud in Steve’s left ear before the connection shut off with an abrupt crackle. Steve grimaced. That either was a bad sign or she had simply decided that they would be nothing more than a distraction to the mission objective.
“Hawkeye, check on Widow.” Steve commanded as he edged his way into a window. Clint’s response was cut off as well. Steve sighed. There must be some sort of field that stopped electronic communications.
The second he had contorted his entire body enough to fit through the window, loud alarms started flashing. Steve muffled a curse and started running to the center of the complex, hoping that he would make it there before Iron Man found him.
Steve turned a corner and almost ran straight into a woman with fiery red hair and a menacing look on her face. “So, how much did Stane pay you?” She spat.
“I-excuse me, ma’am?” Steve sputtered, derailed by her sudden appearance.
She gave him a critical once-over, and Steve could almost feel her opinion of him drop. “Really? Captain America? Of all the ways to conceal your identity, why choose the tackiest one?”
Steve almost began his token protest of “but I am Captain America” when a synthetic voice interrupted him. “Really, Pep, I was so worried about you and here I find you flirting with the enemy.”
Steve turned around instinctively and narrowly blocked the incoming blast with his shield. He winced as the heat from the-laser ray, or whatever it was-singed his cheek, but the mild burn healed almost instantaneously. Steve looked up, and lo and behold, it was the same tasteless robot as from the picture. “Iron Man, I presume,” Steve muttered.
“Sorry, I don’t know any guys who would willingly wear full-body spandex,” the suit replied and fired two more blasts at him, which Steve somersaulted away from. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noted that the woman was long gone. So she was a ploy, he thought sourly.
Steve tightened his grip on his shield, ready to throw at a moment’s notice. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come into our custody, Mr. Stark.”
To his credit, the robot didn’t seem fazed at all. Steve fancied that if he could see Stark’s expression, it would’ve been a sarcastic grin. “Oh, so Fury isn’t as slow as he seems. I’m surprised that-“
But his next words were cut off with a deafening roar coming from farther within the complex. Steve
chanced a quick look, and in that brief instant, Iron Man fired another round of shots that Steve barely evaded with a flying leap to the side. “What have you done to the others?” Steve demanded.
Iron Man watched him, cocking his head to the side. “They’ve probably found my resident chemist,” he shrugged, and blasted forward to tackle Steve.
The two of them ungracefully snowballed across the hallway and Steve slammed his head into a metal wall. Blinking the black fuzziness away, he saw Iron Man raise a fist to punch him. Steve quickly grabbed his shield, where it had clattered to his left side, and bashed Iron Man in the head with it. Iron Man’s head-helmet?-reeled backwards and Steve took the chance to score another solid dent where the shining light on Iron Man’s chestplate was.
Iron Man started tottering unsteadily and Steve wriggled himself free and bashed Iron Man again. “Please surrender,” Steve said as firmly as he could, only slightly out of breath.
“I think I’ve seen this scene in a porno once,” Iron Man commented and shot another blast, propelling forward right behind it. Steve reflected the blast right at Iron Man, but he swiftly weaved to the right and executed a mid-air kick to Steve’s side.
Steve flew across the hallway. The shield, still in hand, left a dent in the wall. Peeling himself off the wall, he threw the shield with a great heave a few meters to Iron Man’s left.
“I’m disappointed.” Iron Man taunted. “I heard all these great stories about your-“ he was abruptly cut off as the shield rebounded into his side.
Steve spared himself a brief moment of satisfaction before lunging after Iron Man. He landed a kick straight on Iron Man’s chest and saw, in confusion, as the triangular light on it flickered. Was that a bad sign?
His train of thought was abruptly cut off as he heard another roar. Steve looked up to his left and saw something vaguely resembling a green tank approaching, and then saw no more as it vaulted right on top of him.
Steve had almost forgotten what it was like to wake up with a hangover, but the splitting headache pounding in-between his temples was a very close approximation of the feeling. He opened his eyes cautiously, and was almost disappointed when he was not met with the sight of iron bars and a dank cell. Steve sat up slowly, massaging the back of his head, and cautiously got off the bed he had been sleeping in. His shield didn’t appear to be anywhere either.
“So I see you’re awake.”
Steve whirled around to face the voice, but there was nobody there. Some kind of speaker system? Steve scanned the burgundy walls for any sound device but could find nothing. Steve clenched his fist, missing the familiar leather grip of his shield. He bent his knees, readying himself for another attack-
“Chill, man.” The voice sounded amused. It was obviously masculine, so it couldn’t be that red-headed woman Steve had ran into in the hallway. “You know, I was surprised when we found out that you were actually the Capsicle himself. Physiological impossibilities aside, I guess that means you’re a government lackey instead of Stane’s or Hammer’s.”
Steve frowned. “You must be Anthony Stark,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“You sure?” The voice laughed, but it was a bitter, clipped thing. “I think he’s been dead for a while.”
“We aren’t here to kill you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, but there was no response.
Steve waited for a few brief seconds but turned his attention back to surveying his surroundings once it became clear that the voice-probably Stark-wasn’t going to say anything more. Steve checked once more for his shield, allowing himself a modicum of hope, but resigned himself to the fact that there was no villain alive stupid enough to grant Captain America his main weapon in captivity. All four walls looked completely even; no door outline or knob was visible. There was a bookshelf full of books against the wall across from the bed, and a small passage that led to a bathroom.
All in all, his jail was more comfortable than the house he had grew up in.
Steve supposed his main objective was to get out. He could try punching a wall, but had the sneaking suspicion that that would only result in bruised knuckles. On the other hand, it wasn’t like bruises lasted for more than twenty-four hours on his body. Steve eyed a wall speculatively, and raised a hand to punch it-
“I would not recommend such, Captain.” Steve flinched.
The voice, this time, was something so synthesized and digital it was impossible to mistake it for something human. Steve forced himself to relax and look, once more, for a speaker hidden in the room. “Who are you?”
“My name is JARVIS. I am the monitoring system for this complex. May I ask you to please refrain from self-injury?”
Steve eyed the wall speculatively. “What’s it made of?”
There was no reply. Oh well. Steve readied his fist, and slammed it into the wall.
The pain was immediate and sharp. “Agh,” Steve muttered.
“Shall I fetch first-aid supplies for you, sir?” The robot voice-or JARVIS, he supposed-had a disapproving lilt to it.
“I’m-uh-fine. Thanks,” Steve said. Chastised by a robot! He would’ve been ecstatic at the experience were he not trying to escape imprisonment.
Now it was time to start thinking about other escape venues. There weren’t any windows, and the walls were made out of something so reinforced that even Steve couldn’t break it. He headed to the bathroom, and eyed the toilet speculatively. If he ripped it off, the water pipe would burst and flood the room. Since his captors seemed to have a vested interest in keeping him alive, they might open the door and evacuate him to another room…
Steve put a hand to his chin, speculating, when the base of his wrist touched something around his neck. He followed the ring of-plastic? metal?-around his neck-a collar, then. A shock collar? It could even be an intimidation tactic. Steve closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. There were so many variables, and he still had no idea what had knocked him out or where Clint and Natasha were.
“Captain,” a new voice intruded, female this time. Could everybody see into this room?
The voice was reminiscent of the red-haired woman. Steve cast his thoughts back to the files, and-Pepper Potts, formerly presumed dead. Steve tried to keep his voice under control. “You must be Ms. Potts.”
“That’s an interesting conclusion, Captain. But this really isn’t about me.” The voice was as cool and level-headed as Natasha’s. Steve almost reflexively flinched. “We know you’re working for Fury. What does he want from us?”
“This really isn’t about what we want, ma’am,” Steve said, trying to match her earlier unflappable tone. “We’re just trying to stop a villain from endangering any more lives.”
That set her off. “Oh, so you’re just the law-abiding American Hero, hm?” Her voice cut like shards of glass. “In that case, mind telling us why you came with flash drives at the ready just to steal our tech?” Her voice peaked at the end, and there was some fuzzy rumbling in the background.
Steve hadn’t been embarrassed in…well, not so long ago, but he was astonished. “Ma’am,” he began, voice uncertain, and then stopped himself. He had to be Captain America. “Ma’am,” he said, this time sounding unshakeable, “We wouldn’t-“
“Ugh!” The voice fizzed again. “You hypo-“ and the connection was abruptly cut off.
Steve let himself slouch against the wall. He almost preferred a dank cell to the continuous interruptions in this comfy one. At least the former he could break out of.
Steve wasn’t terribly sure how many days had passed, but if the meals delivered to his room were any indication, it had been about three. He passed the time by reading, brooding, and mainly engineering more escape attempts. One was attempting to see if he could splinter the wall around the small conveyer belt opening that delivered food to his room. Another was trying to break the water main-but some sort of drainage system in the bathroom had prevented a total flood, and thus JARVIS had not intervened.
He wasn’t quite desperate, but he was getting there. Steve put his copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy down and flopped against the headboard of the bed. He stared morosely at the wall across from him, the one with the bookshelf against it. The scenery hadn’t changed: bookshelf, crack in the wall, deep burgundy walls-wait.
Steve strode over to the crack, just left of the books. He backed up and delivered a kick with all his force-
--and nearly stumbled forward as the crack widened to reveal a door. Steve staggered out but quickly regained his balance, praying that (presumably) Stark or Ms. Potts wouldn’t comment, despite the fact that they seemed to have a constant visual on him.
Steve checked his surroundings. The hallway looked like it had been constructed of metal; its surface was smooth and reflected a distorted version of things. There weren’t any seams in the soldering that Steve thought he could exploit. Expertise, huh? Steve thought, remembering Natasha’s comment. He focused on making his steps as light as possible and tensed his body, ready for a fight.
He wasn’t as so foolish as to believe the opening had been accidental. It was like he was being herded…and yes, at the end of the twisting corridor, there was a room with a door open just a hair. Steve took a quiet breath and strode it, footsteps nigh inaudible.
Inside the room...was a glass table. Almost identical to the one on the Helicarrier. It was surely a coincidence, but…Steve narrowed his eyes. If Stark was as good at engineering as his files suggested, then what was to stop him from having equal talent in espionage? Even the chairs were the same-right down to the one with the cracked wheel Thor had broken when he had first arrived.
A screen flickered into life, hovering in the space where Fury usually sat. It was still dark, but emitted sound. “Sit down,” Stark’s voice chimed, and it added belatedly, “please.”
Steve eyed the chair beside him suspiciously. Stark must’ve still had a visual on him, because the next thing he said was, “C’mon. It’s a familiar environment, see? Animals are supposed to be calmer in familiar environments.”
Steve took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper. He lowered himself into the chair and stared straight at the blank screen. “Where are the others?”
“Your superspies are fine, if that’s what you’re asking,” Stark replied. “But let’s talk about you.”
“You’ll need to assure me of their safety before I’ll comply.” Steve tried to speak as Captain America, but mostly succeeded in feeling even worse.
“Why? Everybody loves to talk about themselves. I love to talk about myself.” Stark’s voice was jittery, uncontrollable.
Steve grit his teeth. It was a different type of infuriating than Red Skull-where he had been mostly a solid force of evil, Stark was something else, all mirrors and smoke. A new evil to suit a new millennium, Steve supposed. “Then why don’t you start by telling me what you intend to do with us.”
“Well, you’re a pretty good bargaining chip to get Fury off my back. He adores you, you know. All that patriotism.” A clunk and whirr sounded in the background, and Steve heard Stark mutter, “Not now, Dummy.”
“So you’ll hold us for ransom until Fury gives you what you want?” Steve’s disgust was rising.
“Who says I’ll give you back then? Maybe I’m hot for Captain America too. Actually, I write horrible slashy fanfiction about us all the time-I’ve got one called the ‘Stark Spangled Man,’ I’m really proud of it-“
Steve stormed out.
It was a couple of days before the crack in the wall appeared again, this time on the wall to the left of the bed. Steve considered not getting up-Stark hadn’t made an attempt to contact him again after their disastrous chat in that other room-but figured that he could use another opportunity to demand for the whereabouts of Clint and Natasha. He pinked at the thought of how he had just lost it, but Stark had somehow managed to anger him beyond reason, and he didn’t even understand half of what Stark was saying.
The new hallway led to the same room, however. It was just Steve’s luck that he was trapped in a movable fortress.
“Hey, gramps!” The blank screen crackled at him merrily the moment Steve took a step inside.
Steve glared at it. “Mr. Stark,” he said as frostily as he could.
“Sit down--we’ve been over this, seriously.”
There was nothing Steve would like to do less, but he complied anyways. He clenched his fists tight in his lap; his uniform growing more ragged by the day.
“Not that I’m one to judge, but I don’t think staring at your package is going to make it any bigger.”
Steve closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. “What do you want?” His tone was a lot less controlled than he aimed it to be.
“I thought we could have a chat!” Stark’s voice went pitchy, as if he was excited, giddy almost, at the thought of talking. “Open up, open up! Tell me all your darkest secrets.”
“I won’t yield to you,” Steve replied stubbornly.
“Ooh, feisty! Those ones are always the best.”
Steve thought he might actually succeed in grinding his molars down into fine dust. “I will never cooperate with you until you let me see my teammates.”
“Aw, you’re making me blush.” Several loud rattling sounds came from the screen. “Wanna see? I can turn on visual. We can have a bonding moment--”
Steve left at that point.
After another space of two days (and another series of escape attempts) Steve awoke to find a new set of clothes on the bookshelf. He eyed them suspiciously, and then picked at his blue spandex. Oh well, he sighed. It was better than nothing. And even if they were poisoned, he did have resistance, right?
On second thought, Steve reconsidered and kept his spandex on, torn as it was.
Almost in sync, a door appeared in a wall. Steve was almost beginning to get the pattern, but shelved that information away and got up. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that there wasn’t a good reason as to why Stark kept calling him out to another room--he had full visual in this one, didn’t he?
The hallway this time was longer and sloped gently downwards. Steve tried to mark it--so as to perhaps divine the nature of the ever-changing complex--but the walls resisted all attempts at such.
“Capsicle,” Stark greeted him, and internally, Steve sighed.
“Stark.”
“No ‘mister’ this time? I’m hurt.”
Steve clenched his fist: once, twice, and then rose.
“Wait!” Stark sounded punchy, as usual. “Uh. Sorry. Please. Sit down,” and although the content of his message was polite, his tone was more of an order than anything.
“You already know my terms.”
“Right. Yes. You uh...you’re still wearing your uniform. Not that it’s awful or anything--no, that’s a lie, it’s pretty terrible--but it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Isn’t something I would’ve expected from Captain Chastity, but hey...”
Stark, Steve was faintly bemused to note, was rambling, as if he was nervous. He sounded like...Steve, actually, the first time he had ridden with Peggy to Dr. Erskine’s lab...and he filed that memory away quietly.
“...anyways, wear the clothes I gave you. Because they’re not, I don’t know, full of evil Nazi technology or whatever you’re thinking.”
“Alright,” Steve agreed slowly.
“Good, right, that’s good. Okay. So. You should...go back now. Right.” The screen abruptly flickered off, and Steve, bewildered, trudged back.
As soon as he was back in his room, he stared at the provided clothes for a moment. They were reminiscent of what people wore these days--jeans, t-shirts. He ran his fingers over the cloth, trying to imagine super-villain Tony Stark shopping for clothes.
(He wore them.).
The thing was--the problem was--it was that Stark acted more like an overgrown puppy than an evil kidnapper. He had, in the intervening two weeks, built Steve a gym, got him art supplies, replenished the books, customized the meals to suit his tastes, and talked to Steve in his room more frequently than ever. (Steve, alarmingly enough, was starting to respond with more enthusiasm than ever.)
He wondered, periodically, if Fury would ever make an attempt at rescue, but the thought grew farther and farther away. Stark, too, had begun to show Steve recordings of Natasha and Clint on request. It didn’t seem doctored, and Steve had asked often enough that unless that was the sole thing Stark was working on, he wouldn’t have the time to do so anyways.
“Capsicle, hey,” Stark’s voice chimed. “You busy?”
“Of course, there’s so much I need to do,” Steve replied dryly.
“Oh, a joke--somebody give you a medal, seriously--so, you in?”
Steve dog-eared page 127 of Dune. “At your service.”
“Fantastic, awesome--alright, get your old joints moving, c’mon--” a door opened, and Steve opened it to the hallway it led to unquestioningly.
“What do you need?” Steve asked aloud.
“Only you, darling--” and Steve strode through an opaque glass doorway to the sight of Iron Man. Steve stopped short, and almost took up a defensive position, but Iron Man’s stance was placating.
“Mr. Stark,” Steve nodded, still feeling jittery.
“C’mon, Cap.” The suit made a beckoning motion. “I won’t mess up your pretty face too much.”
Steve edged into the room nervously. It seemed like...like a messy room, actually. Gadgets and nuts and bolts were scattered across the floor. “How may I be of service?”
Stark (presumably inside the suit) pointed towards a beam. “Lift that for me?”
Steve headed over and hefted it over his shoulder, but made sure that he was still facing Stark. “What’s this for?”
“It’s the new battery for this complex. Self-renewable source.”
Steve looked at the complex arrangement of beams, all connected to a single, pulsing light in the middle. “Right,” he said skeptically.
Stark looked up from where he was soldering something together. “I know it might be hard for you to tell, being from the 1800s, but if it were a weapon it would have some sort of control mechanism besides an on/off switch. Which it doesn’t.”
“Oh?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Yup,” Stark replied, attention already elsewhere. “Alright, I’m done. You can go back to...” he frowned and looked up. “What do you do anyways?”
“Plot my escape,” Steve said, half-joking, half-serious.
“Your most creative one was with the water pipes, and that was three weeks--two?--ago. Didn’t that serum do anything for your brain?”
“That’s classified. How would you know about that anyways?”
Stark froze, but quickly returned to his work as if nothing had occurred. “Common knowledge, don’t flatter yourself. You gonna try and run from here too? I’m hurt.”
Steve looked at the walls of the laboratory. “I might. Walls thinner here?”
“Try and find out.” Stark shrugged, juggling a wrench.
Steve, obligingly, slammed his foot into a wall and only ended up with a sore toe. He bit back a curse and heard the faint sound of Stark snickering. “You were waiting for that to happen,” he accused Stark.
The mask was really the best poker face. “Going senile in your advanced age?” Stark retorted. “Maybe you should try the one over there.”
“Is that what you kidnapped us for? Testing the structural integrity of your...” Steve waved a hand around to illustrate his point.
“My evil fortress? Among other things.” Stark took on a lascivious tone and Steve fidgeted uncomfortably. He had a feeling that that was where Stark might’ve waggled his eyebrows.
Steve took a few tentative steps towards where Stark was standing. “Like what?”
Stark turned to look at him. Even in the suit--or perhaps because of the suit--Stark’s full attention was formidable. “Wanna find out?”
Steve couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was in his original body again, on the cusp of pitching over sideways due to lack of oxygen. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid, and--
“Sir, Ms. Potts is calling.”
JARVIS broke the spell. Steve backpedaled, bumping into a shelf full of assorted nuts and bolts. “Agh-!”
“Real smooth, Twinkletoes,” Stark drawled, and tossed a wrench his way. Steve caught it, fumbling it in his hands. “Stay there and be good, hm?” With that, Stark briskly exited through the glass doors that Steve had just come in through--and of course, a shell of metal immediately encased them, locking Steve in.
Of course, Steve sighed, but couldn’t find it within himself to be entirely irritated. He shuffled around the cluttered area, trying to find a spot to wait, when a pale hand shot out from underneath a pile of junk and grabbed his ankle.
“Wha--”
“Shush,” Natasha reprimanded wearily as she slunk out under a heap of metal.
“Ah--Natasha.” Steve swallowed his surprise and embarrassment. He glanced around the room, searching for hidden cameras, but she shook her head. “Taken care of.” Steve had to assume that it was Clint’s doing.
“I’m glad you’re safe--”
“Hm.” She cut him off efficiently, cool eyes regarding him with--was that amusement? “Stark seems to like you.”
“What? No, I--”
“Oh.” Natasha looked truly interested now. “And you like him too.”
Steve was reduced to spluttering.
“I’m here to inform you that we’ll be leaving in three days. We’ve accomplished our mission.”
“We have?”
Natasha flashed a brief, predatory smile. “We’ve obtained the information we came here for. We were uncertain if we’d be able to distract him, but...” she eyed him again. Her smiles were starting to disturb Steve. “I suppose that’s what Fury called you here for.”
In spite of the air conditioning, it suddenly felt a bit too hot. “I--I was unaware this was an intel mission.”
“Recruitment, actually, but we’ve concluded that Stark would not be a viable asset.”
“Really?” Steve countered. “We could use another long-range fighter. And he doesn’t seem like he’s bent on world destruction--isn’t his only crime destroying weapon silos? We could persuade him.”
Steve only had to look at Natasha’s expression once to see that he had inadvertently stepped into her trap. “You defend him well,” she said, and the worst part was that she delivered it without any inflection at all--and still Steve knew that Clint would hear about it later. “But we can’t use him--he comes with several tons of green baggage.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ll debrief you later. I should go.” Natasha looked around the room, once, twice, and then refocused on Steve. “But if you think you can persuade him...” Natasha raised one eyebrow, and Steve flushed a deeper shade of red.
“Two days, got it. What’s the signal?”
“We’ll break you out.” Natasha gave him a brief nod and got on all fours again to slither back under the junk heap. Steve watched, bewildered, and considered shifting the pile to see if she had drilled a hole to tunnel through or if she was simply lurking there for a good opportunity.
Either option was frightening.
A time limit gave him somewhat of a perspective--and sent Steve into a cold sweat. He had talked big at Natasha, but how would you go around persuading somebody that evil wasn’t the way to go? It’s good for your soul! And at any rate, Stark wasn’t anywhere near the same level of corruption as the other villains Steve had faced recently.
“Looking a little pale there. Your age finally catching up to you?”
Stark had begun to broadcast his face (although still helmeted) on the holographic screen in the SHIELD-esque conference room, and Steve now often journeyed out of his room in order to watch how Stark’s emotions played out even through a mask of metal.
“I’m technically younger than you,” Steve pointed out absentmindedly.
“Wow, somebody paid attention during his briefing. Should I be flattered?”
“I don’t think your ego needs any more inflating.”
“You wound me deeply.”
There was a lull in the conversation, punctuated only by Stark’s continuous fidgeting, and Steve decided that this was a good time as any. Or rather that there would never be a good time, and he had to do it before he chickened out completely. “Have you ever thought about...joining SHIELD?”
“Can’t say I have. Fury is a grabby little bastard.”
“Well, I mean--” Steve winced. He was probably going to mess this all up-- “--once we leave, wouldn’t it be nice if we still...talked?”
Steve was wrong. He hadn’t messed it up. He had completely destroyed whatever progress he had made. (In some corner of his mind, he wondered if it wasn’t strange to think that he was concerned about the sentiments of villains.)
Stark was silent for a moment. “You seem pretty confident that you’re going to be able to escape, Capsicle.” His voice was mocking, but not in the soft, gentle way that Steve had become accustomed to. “You already have some new and improved plan?”
“That’s not what I--”
“I’ll be looking forward to it, then.” And the screen went dark.
Steve contemplated smashing his forehead against the table, but mournfully concluded that it would only destroy the pristine glass.
One day to go, and Stark still refused to talk to him. His room-cell hadn’t opened a pathway to the conference room, and Steve was starting to become nervous.
The more he had thought about Stark being on his team, the better the idea had sounded to him, until Steve was embarrassingly committed to the idea. To him it was worth at least one last shot, or as many shots as it needed.
“Stark?”
Silence.
Steve took a deep breath. He tried not to feel too stupid, talking aloud to somebody who wasn’t even in the room. And JARVIS could hear him. “Tony.”
Nothing.
Steve groaned and flopped back onto the bed. He’d be out of here in less than twenty-four hours, and surely the Avengers would fight against Iron Man...they would cross paths again. Eventually.
“You called, Cap?”
Stark’s sudden voice startled Steve and sent him shooting up. In his haste, Steve smacked part of the headboard, but the headboard merely crunched a little. “Stark.”
“And here I thought you were reasonably intelligent,” Stark’s voice mock-chastised.
“Uh--Tony. I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have--”
“I’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome, but this is the first I’ve seen it in action.” Stark--or Tony--was still guarded, but a modicum of his old humor had crept in. “But you are planning on making your great escape, hm?”
“Can’t stay here forever,” Steve shrugged.
“Why not? I’ve always wanted a kept man.”
Steve allowed himself to blush. “I don’t think I’d be very good at that.”
“You’d be fantastic arm candy.”
Pause. “So, if we were to hypothetically escape...you wouldn’t come with?”
“You’re strangely curious. Should I strengthen security?” But Tony’s voice was light and unassuming. “Nah, probably not. Too much do-gooding gives me hives.”
“Oh.”
Steve was halfway through Good Omens when Natasha kicked a portion of the left wall down. He put the book down hastily, sighing when Clint stepped in after Natasha and gave a slow whistle.
“Nice place you got here, Cap.”
“Let’s go,” Natasha interrupted, and strode back out the way the two spies came.
Steve gave a surreptitious look at the room as he left. He never did figure out where the cameras were. “What’s the plan?” He asked.
“This place changes, right? So our best bet is to just go up, like so--” and Clint proceeded to fire an arrow at the ceiling a few meters in front of them, where it promptly exploded along with a portion of the ceiling.
“Pretty impressive weaponry you’ve got there,” Steve commented.
“Stole it from Stark. Let’s go!”
The three clambered out onto another floor, and Clint repeated the process. On the third floor, Natasha tensed and gave a quick hand signal. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Was barely out of Clint’s mouth before a rampaging green...giant came flying from the left, denting the tunnel as its swinging arms hit it.
“Not again,” Clint muttered and nocked an arrow. “Go on Cap, we’ll meet you up topside.”
Steve hesitated, but did as Clint said after Natasha gave him a very unimpressed look. He clambered out, inhaling sharply at the sight of a starry night sky. “That’s that,” he said flatly to the scenery.
“Fairly obvious, but I guess it’s something coming from you.” Tony’s voice called to Steve behind him, and Steve turned around to face him, clad in the Iron Man suit.
“Tony,” Steve greeted, feeling fairly awkward.
“You ready for round two, then?” Tony tossed him a familiar round object, and Steve felt his heart lighten as he recognized it as his shield.
“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely.
“Didn’t want you to use that as an excuse when you lost.” And with that, Stark was off, propelling himself at Steve’s chest.
It was harder to maneuver in the jeans and t-shirt Tony had provided in place of his suit, but Steve managed. He reflected all of Tony’s blasts and rolled on the ground to avoid a full-body tackle. From his position on the ground, Steve chucked his shield at Tony’s chest, feeling hollow satisfaction as it thwacked him solidly and rebounded into Steve’s hand.
Tony wobbled from the impact and that was all Steve needed. He rushed Tony and pushed him over with a great heave. Tony hit the floor and Steve straddled him, angling the edge of his shield to meet Tony’s chin. “You can say that I had my shield,” Steve offered.
“Can’t say I imagined us doing this a little differently, but hey.” Tony’s voice, synthesized, still had his casual tone. To emphasize his point, Tony gave a little pelvic thrust and Steve nearly fell over himself from the shock.
“Not what I had in mind.”
“‘Cuz you’re not imaginative enough.” Steve could practically hear the grin in Tony’s voice. “So, we’re doing this?”
“No,” Steve said firmly, and repeated it, more panicked, as he heard the distant whir of helicopter blades. He tried to rise, but found that Tony’s gauntlets had firmly locked around his thighs.
“Let go, Tony.” Steve commanded.
“I love it when you take charge, o my captain.”
“Tony!”
“You afraid that Fury’s going to catch Captain Wholesome hooking up with the enemy?”
“You don’t have to be the enemy,” Steve said softly.
Tony looked at him through glowing eyes. It was almost romantic save for the fact that Steve could hear the sounds of Clint and Natasha trying to subdue the green...whatever-it-was. He could also hear the helicopter approaching, ever closer.
“I’ll pass, thanks.” Tony paused. “I don’t think I could handle being Fury’s crony.”
“Well then,” Steve said primly. “I’ll just take you into custody then.”
“Will you now?” Tony flicked his gaze upwards; the helicopter was coming into view. “Bold words.”
Steve gripped his shield tighter, but all Tony did was pop the faceplate up. Foolishly, Steve’s first thought was he’s just like his picture but then Tony was curling up, pressing his lips against Steve’s. His beard was itchy and Steve fumbled, nearly banging his forehead on the faceplate, but it was...
...it was right.
From a faint distance, Steve could hear Clint wolf-whistling and he winced. Tony slowly separated from him, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll see you around,” he mock-whispered, and touched Steve’s throat gently. The collar fell open in a heap at the ground.
Steve heard the thrum of blasters activating as Tony unentangled himself from Steve, gave him a brief nod, and flipped his faceplate shut before blasting off into the night sky.
The SHIELD helicopter didn’t even make an attempt to chase after him. Instead, it landed in the open field, right next to Steve, still stunned and on the floor. Clint and Natasha jogged up, both sporting smirks. “Too bad, Cap,” Clint said, amused, “your persuasion didn’t work as well as you had hoped.”
“I can give you some tips later,” Natasha grinned, bright and fierce.
And in usual fashion, Steve turned bright red.
“What’s this?” Clint bent down and picked up the remnants of the collar. “Didn’t know Stark was into S&M.”
Natasha inspected it critically. “It’s just plastic,” she concluded.
Clint looked at Steve, his shit-eating grin visible even in the dark. “That’s cute.”
“That’s enough,” Steve snapped, but without heat. “I’ll take it.”
Clint visibly held back a remark and dropped the two halves into Steve’s open palm. “A souvenir, Cap?”
“We can have SHIELD analyze it,” Steve lied.
As far as he was concerned, nobody had to know he was going to keep mementos from his captor.
One Year Later
“Where’s Cap?” Spiderman asked.
“It’s Tuesday,” Clint pointed out. “We fight Iron Man on Tuesdays.”
“Iron Man already left, though.” Spiderman looked around the rubble of what was formerly two street blocks.
Natasha silently raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“They left together,” Clint explained, as if talking to a particularly slow child.
“Wha--! Does anybody else know about this?”
Clint and Natasha looked at each other, then at Spiderman. “Haven’t you noticed how Cap’s extra sore after fighting Iron Man?”
“Or how Iron Man always ignores us and goes straight after Cap?”
“Or how Iron Man has kidnapped Cap at least ten times?”
“Or--”
“I don’t want to hear anymore!”
And flying over the city in Tony’s arms, Steve sneezed. “I think somebody’s talking about me.”
“I was thinking about how fantastic your ass looked today,” Tony offered.
“Not...quite what I was talking about, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Speaking of appreciating...” Tony said slowly as they reached a nondescript car parked in a nondescript parking lot. He placed Steve down and gave a quick verbal command to JARVIS, removing the suit and folding it into a briefcase.
Steve rolled his eyes, but kissed him anyways.