Chapter Text
Monday, July 13th, 2016
10:36 PM
Stark Tower, NY
Tony Stark was tired.
Currently, he was entering hour 27 of lab time. Hunched over a table, focused on the scraps sitting on the smooth metal. His eyesight was a little blurry, but he could still work. It was fine.
He had slept a little bit, cheek pressed against the workbench, a few hours ago. Better than usual, actually. Nightmares had woken him up, and he went straight to work. And hasn't stopped since.
(Rogers slamming the shield down into his sternum. Again, again, again. He didn't stop. Tony could feel something cracking, breaking, snapping—)
“Fri,” he called out to the ceiling. “Turn it up a little?” His eyes didn't budge from the wires in front of him.
“Boss…” The AI began. “You have been down here for more than 24 hours. Ms. Potts’ protocols do not allow this. It would be detrimental to your health for you to continue.” Tony frowned and put the pliers down. “My own AI,” he grumbled. “Betraying me.” FRIDAY stopped the music completely. “Boss, I'm afraid I must insist. You have not eaten in over 8 hours.”
Tony let out a deep sigh, and leaned back in his chair, face turned up towards the ceiling. He let his eyes slip shut. He knew that if he didnt get out of the lab, FRIDAY would call Pepper. And that was...not preferred. Ever since Siberia, he had been avoiding her. And Rhodey. And Happy. Hell, he wasn't even talking to the Spider-kid. But Happy could handle that. Tony had important things to do. Rhodey's braces, to start. This was the third version he was working on in as many weeks. They weren't perfect, but he was getting close.
Rhodey was going to be fine.
Just fine.
He could still see him falling, remember powering his suit full throttle to try and catch him, but it didn't work, and he hit the ground so hard Tony thought-
“Boss.”
His eyes snapped open. “What, Fri?”
“You...seem to have a visitor.”
The engineer frowned. If it was Pepper or Rhodey, FRIDAY wouldn't announce them like that. Happy never came to the lab.
“I'm sure whatever it is, someone else can handle it. I'm busy. Pepper is CEO for a reason. Direct whatever it is to her phone.”
He could hear the hesitation in her voice. “You are being asked for specifically.”
Tony threw a hand up. “Unless it's an alien, zombie, or self aware robot with a penchant for murder, I don't care. Get someone else.” There was a moment of silence.
“Actually, Boss...” she trailed off.
Tony looked up, eyes wide. “You're shitting me.”
He stood up, wiping oil off his hands and onto the sides of his pants. “Please tell me nobody is dead. I can't deal with this shit.” He muttered, saving the half-constructed prosthetic design.
“Nick Fury is currently waiting in your lobby. He wishes to speak with you.” There was a pause, and then she added “In private.”
Tony took a deep breath. “I'll be damned. A zombie.” Fury was alive. Of course he was. Did he come back to life, or did he never actually die? Was it a decoy Fury? A stunt double? Or was the whole accident faked, for whatever shady reason?
“Let him up, but make him wait a few minutes. Give him the runaround. I want him to sweat a little longer.” He ordered. FRIDAY sounded amused when she answered. “Sure thing, Boss.”
Tony stepped into the elevator. What the hell could Fury want with him? SHIELD was in complete shambles, but he wouldn't put it past the man to have a secret organization inside a secret organization.
The billionaire took his time changing and brushing his teeth, washing the grease off his face, and hoping he didn't look too much of a mess. He sat down on one of the couches in the lounge, a bottle of water in hand. Waiting.
“Incoming!” FRIDAY warned.
Nick Fury stepped out of the elevator in all his eyepatch glory. He certainly didn't look dead. “Stark.” He greeted.
Tony rolled his eyes. God, and people thought he was dramatic? “Pirate.” He returned. “You seem to be missing a tombstone. You're dead, didn't you hear the news?”
Fury tipped his head a little. “News tends to exaggerate.” Tony scoffed, but gestured with a loose hand for him to sit. The ex-director (current director? Of a secret, other, organization?) sat across from him, looking very out of place. “How have you been doing?” he inquired.
“Don't act like you don't know.” Was the flat reply.
Fury shrugged. Fair enough.
“What the hell do you want, Nicky?”
The nickname made his eye twitch, as it always did. “I have...an offer of sorts.” Tony stiffened. “Yeah, no. Your last offer? Didn't go too great. You guys got anywhere on catching those pesky war criminals yet?” Fury's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. “Didn't think so.” he muttered, looking down at his water bottle.
“It's in your best interest.” Fury tried.
“Yeah, because you know all about that. Again, I point you to the last time we had this discussion. Tell me what you actually want, or get the hell out.”
The spy worked his jaw for a minute. His eye was focused on Tony, narrowed a little in thought. Then, he let out a slow breath. “Fine.” he leaned back on the sofa. “You're a liability.” He said flatly. Tony raised a brow. “Yeah, great selling point. Listen, I got work to do, so—” He moved to stand. Fury's words stopped him.
“You're not safe here.”
Tony narrowed his eyes, still not looking at the spy. “A bold assumption that I ever was.” He noted, keeping his voice level.
“Stark, listen to me. Even since Project Insight failed, Hydra has been trying to recreate it. We don't know how far along they are, but we do know that they will get there. SHIELD is in shambles, the Avengers Initiative has gone to shit. There's nobody to stop them. Their hit list isn't changing, either. The Avengers, or former Avengers, are still at the top. And you? You are the easiest to find.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I can handle myself. Besides, what are you going to do? I wouldn't trust a single one of your agents, and I very much doubt you are going to stick around here yourself.”
Fury nodded. “True. I have things I need to do, as do you. You can't afford to be focusing on weeding out Hydra.” Tony didn't trust that agreeable tone.
“But, I have someone who can.”
There it was.
Tony crossed his arms, and sat back down. “Did you completely miss the whole I don't trust your agents further than I can throw them bit? You didn't have a clue who was a traitor then, and you don't know now.”
“That's...true enough.” Fury forced out. He clearly didn't like being called out. The words seem to physically pain him. “I have someone. Someone I know for sure isn't Hydra.”
“Yeah?” The challenge was clear in the billionaire's voice.
Fury nodded. “Yeah.” He echoed.
Tony leaned forward. “And how, exactly, do you know that?”
The response nearly threw him off. “Because he isn't SHIELD, either.”
Once again, Tony narrowed his eyes. Unconsciously, he had been leaning forward a bit. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I find it hard to believe you trust somebody who you don't have tucked in your little trench coat pocket.” While Tony didn't really know Fury—he doubted anyone really did—he did know that the man didn't put faith in anyone he couldn't control. Hence the whole consultant thing.
“I knew you would. That's exactly the reason I chose him. I didn't think you would appreciate—”
“Natalie Rushman: Act 2?” Tony interrupted.
Fury looked pissed at being interrupted, but nodded regardless.
“So,” Tony probed, “He's, what, a loose cannon? I didn't take you for a betting man, Nicky.”
The spy raised a brow. “I'm not.”
Tony shifted, biting the inside of his cheek. If Fury’s special person wasn't SHIELD, then what? The man in front of him didn't have a large friend group. It's not like there were many options.
Said man seemed to read his mind. (Which was actually a thing Tony looked into. He didn't find anything, but maybe he should take another look.) “He was SHIELD. A while ago. He quit.” Tony turned his head a little. A touch mockingly; “Spy life not as glorious as he imagined?”
Fury clenched his jaw. Honestly, the man was going to start grinding his teeth down to nothing. He better have good dental insurance. (Well...he was dead. So. Probably not.)
“Agent Jackson quit because he didn't trust his coworkers.”
Tony took that statement in. Agent Jackson, huh? Sounded generic enough. Then, it clicked. “Wait a minute, are you telling me—”
“That he believed some of my agents were moles? Yes.” Again, the confession seemed to pain him. “Hydra moles, specifically. Nothing of the accusations warranted an investigation. There was no concrete evidence. But…”
Tony let out a half gleeful laugh. “Are you seriously telling me you had an agent tell everyone that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD, and you didn't even look into it? Not even a little?” As he spoke, his voice grew louder. “So all that was avoidable? The helicarriers that I designed, that you took and weaponized—you didn't even do a good job, might I add,—didn't have to be destroyed? And that you didn't have to dump all of SHIELD's files on the internet?”
Fury didn't answer. He was staring intently at the coffee table between them, guilt written on his usually expressionless face.
The file dump didn't just have names and projects, it had missions, current and completed, aliases, addresses, locations. So, basically, everything you needed to know to start killing undercover agents, going after retired ones, or getting into facilities.
Great job, Romanoff.
Hundreds of agents, active and retired, old and young, in and out of the country, died. Tony had done his best to take the files down, enlisting FRIDAY to help, but it was too late for the majority of those in the line of fire.
He didn't say any of that, though. Fury knew.
He did, however, say; “So, what, you asked real nicely and the guy agreed to come back? Where's he been all this time? I very much doubt he would be happy to see you again.” Fury pulled himself out of whatever quiet guilt party he was throwing. “Jackson recognized the importance of this mission, one of my agents or not. And he's been...traveling.”
“Traveling?”
“As a mercenary, to be specific. Quite rightous for one, though. Didn't take missions that he didn't seem to agree with.”
Tony looked unimpressed.
Fury sighed, and stood. “Listen. Working with us, for us, or avoiding us completely,— you, Stark, are one of our greatest assets.” He sighed. “Especially now. If Hydra managed to kill you? God knows what they could do. Even worse, capture you? Get their hands on your work? You saw what they did with just the helicarriers.”
“Yeah,” Tony rebutted, “the helicarriers that you were supposed to keep safe. The helicarriers you weaponized. If I had known about Project Insight, I wouldn't have given you jackshit. You knew that, that's why you didn't tell me.”
Even as he said it, the billionaire knew Fury had a point. Tony ran one of the biggest companies in the world for a reason. He was good at what he did. The thought of Hydra getting their grubby little hands on just a piece of the Iron Man armor? He pushed down a shiver.
Fury gave him a look. Again, doing that dumb mind reading thing. “You're a liability. I am the kind of man who takes care of those. So, the way I see it, you take this file,” he pulled out a folder from his coat, “look through it, and make up your mind about Jackson. Then, you either accept him, let him do his job, and keep you safe.” Tony didn't reach for the file, and Fury dropped it onto the table in between them. “Or,” Fury shrugged, “I do my damndest to keep you alive regardless, by whatever means I deem necessary. SHIELD may have fallen, but we both know I still have a few cards up my sleeve.”
Fury smoothed down his coat. “Make your choice. You know which one I would advise on, but I'm not here to be your life coach.” He turned on his heel and stode to the elevator.
As the doors were closing, Fury called out, “Oh, and Stark? Have your AI pull that shit again, and the fate of the world be damned, I'll kill you myself.”
At that, Tony couldn't help but grin. At least FRIDAY had come through on that.
“I had him go through numerous captchas, to confirm he was not a robot.” Her innocent voice came through the speakers. Tony laughed. “A stunning performance, Fri, thank you.”
His mirth disappeared as he looked down. The file sat on the table, closed. It was a regular old manilla folder, not too thin, not too thick. He could get one of the bots to shred it, probably. Toss it down the garbage chute, use it as repulsor target practice. As he contemplated its demise, he slowly reached towards it. He didn't have to read it. He didn't.
...But then again, he recalled Fury's other option. He really didn't want Natalie Rushman: Act 2. Pepper was stressed enough as is.
Pepper!
She was a pretty good decision maker. She had also probably slept in the last 24 hours. But first.... He would take a peek. Just a little look.
He pulled the folder onto his knee, and cracked it open. Nothing super special, at first glance. A picture of him was paperclipped to the front, and Tony pulled it out. Agent Jackson --- Perseus Achilles Jackson, actually, and hoo boy if that wasn't a name—was a 24-year-old Brazilian-Hawaiian man, with dark hair and green eyes. In the picture, looking vaguely like a mugshot, he stood, facing the camera. His face held a flat, unimpressed expression. A thin scar across his left brow added contrast, along with… Tony held the picture a bit closer to his face, squinting.
Across his temple, eyes, and bridge of his nose, was either a strange scar or birthmark. It looked almost like a splatter of paint, pale and stark. If it was a scar, Tony wondered what could have caused it. Fire, maybe? It looked too pale to be a burn. Chemicals? An accident, most likely when he was younger. He considered the fact that he might have gotten it on a SHIELD mission, but dismissed it quickly. It looked pretty old, healed over fairly well. And, according to the paper in front of him, Jackson had only worked for SHIELD for a few years, ages 21-24.
Placing the picture back down, he flipped through the pages. First, a few notes. Father unknown, stepfather missing, expelled from multiple schools. After that, a few more in depth pages. At age 12, he and his mother were both kidnapped. Car found flipped over, with goat hair inside. A trail of blood, like someone had been dragged out of the car. Jackson's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano (now that was a horrible name) accused Jackson of being involved. You know. The 12 year old.
It went on to say the kid had been spotted all across the country, from New York to Los Angeles. A statement from a waitress in Denver highlighted that he was with 2 other kids, and a strange man, who was described as “The scariest man she had ever seen”. Eventually, Tony flipped to a police report. The vaguely confused conclusion was that Jackson and his mother had both been kidnapped. They were then separated, and Jackson was taken cross country with the two other kids.
Once they reached Los Angeles, he proceeded to steal a gun from his captor, and start a shootout. Once they were all recovered, and the police took their statements, Gabe Ugliano was cast in an...unfavorable light. It didn't help much that he disappeared almost immediately after.
The pages continued on like that. Strange occurrences, with a murky explanation. Eventually it started to give Tony a headache. He pulled out the next papers, clipped together. Mission briefs, mostly. Information and objectives he was given, and then reports he wrote, summarizing the mission. He skimmed them, eyes flicking over the tops. They were all successes, except one.
About two years ago, he was paired up to go on a mission to Costa Rica. A barge, which supposedly had a Chitauri weapon store. The details were conflicting. In Jacksons report, while he was following an order to investigate the shipping containers— the ones that intel told them were full of scraps from the Battle of New York— comms went dark. Soon after, something blew in the room with him. He described it like a bomb, something decidedly not Chitauri. Man made. He hit the water, along with debris from the boat. A miracle he made it out alive.
The other report said that Jackson turned off his comm and went in to look at the shipping containers, against orders, without the room being cleared as safe. Some of the contents were unstable, and one of the energy cores blew up. Unfortunate, and very much his fault, combined with the bad luck of the energy core blowing.
Tony frowned at the reports. He flipped back to the first page, and—
Oh.
There it was. The first written by P.A.Jackson, and the other by the mission leader; a certain B.Rumlow.
A lot more made sense, suddenly. Tony could piece it together, like a strange but captivating puzzle.
So, Jackson gets orders to poke around the shipping containers. He goes into the room after getting the clear from Rumlow, and then suddenly, comms go out. An unfortunate malfunction, he is told. But he knows that the comms can be disconnected manually, by the mission leader. The same mission leader who gave him the all clear, even though there was an explosive in the room, which would have been pinged on the scans Rumlow said he did.
The bomb blows, taking Jackson with it. It's pure luck he survives, and boy is he pissed. He probably confronts Rumlow, or some of the other team members. They deny everything. Then the STRIKE team all write reports that say the pure opposite of Jackson’s.
The mission was dated a few months before he quit. So either that was the catalyst that formed his mistrust of his fellow agents, or it was the last straw that confirmed everything. He sticks around a bit, trying to get Fury to look into what happens. His request gets denied, and he quits.
Quite the story.
He stood, closing the folder with a snap. “Fri?” He called, “Can you get this whole thing digitized? Private server, please.” He waved the folder above his head.
“Sure thing, Boss.” The AI affirms.
He puts the file down on a nearby counter as he walks. One of the bots will get it later.
If he's going to talk to Pepper, he should probably shower first.