15

Chapter Text

It didn't take very long for Tony to do the actual setup for the algorithm to search for the Scepter. It'd taken more time to fix or jury-rig everything necessary to get the job done, actually. Nothing special, but the incredulous looks some of the agents shot him as they passed through the corridor still made him bite back a smirk as he peeled off yet another strip of duct tape and hammered at the console to get it back up to par, meanwhile Banner pulled up a list of fellow academics and ask them to calibrate their gear for the search.

Once Tony was done with his short-term fixes, he straightened up, and had a very strong deja vu moment, as he stared at the lab—same equipment, same Helicarrier, heck even same scientist who he wasn't very well acquainted with.

Tony was the sole difference, it felt like.

Then he blinked, and the spell was over. No, this wasn't a deja vu, he realized with a kernel of dark humor, this was a D.S. al Coda, repeating a few bars but nothing more. The sparking mass spectrometer in the corner was more than enough evidence of that, of history's not repeating itself, after all, as was the exceptionally rushed patch jobs Tony noticed everywhere he looked. The deafening, deathly silence in the room only compounded his realization, really— normally, Tony'd try for conversation, try to fill the gap and ease the tension, but.

But it'd been a long day, and his ribs ached and he doubted Banner even wanted to be here, not when he could clearly see it in his eyes. And really, they'd never been friends, and Tony was too tired to even pretend otherwise at this point, so he didn't. Their conversation was slightly stilted, as they discussed options and search parameters and not much else.

Overall, it hadn't taken very long to set up the search for the Scepter, and as soon as Banner finished what he could, he rushed out of the room, presumably to rest.

Tony, meanwhile, let his shoulders relax just a tad as the other man made his way out, and set to work on finishing his portion of the job so as to do the same. When the door finally closed from Banner's exit, he waited three beats before speaking up. "I know you're in here, don't think I didn't see that impressively shitty patch job in the corner. So who's the agent behind drywall panel number three?"

[Former] Director Nicholas J. Fury was vaguely amused as he stepped away from the gap made by the rushed patch job. Took him long enough, he mused as he looked at the man who'd casually readjusted his grip on the improvised blowtorch he'd used to get the displays functional in the time it'd taken Banner to leave.

Stark didn't blink, but put down it down when he realized who it was. "Looking good for a dead guy, Fury. Hey, what is it with SHIELD and Schrödinger, anyway?"

"Long time no see, Stark." He replied calmly, and raised an eyebrow at the the other man's disbelieving scoff. What? It was true—wasn't as if going to ground left many options for anything else, and he was counting Stark's attendance in the background of his own funeral. [Which had been touching, really, if he was to be honest.]

"We've shared lab space for nearly…half an hour, now? Wow time's flied."

"And you've been busy, too." He observed.

"Okay, you just summed up my life in a nutshell, you know. These past few months especially—and next time you offer me a spot in your boy band, pass. I've got enough to deal with on my own."

"I can see that," He barked out a laugh, "you've been pretty damn active lately, you know. Some of the headlines aren't as kind about it, either. And that's without the whole mess with…whatever caused Johannesburg." Oh, that was only the tip of the iceberg, really. He'd seen Howard's son grow up in bits in and pieces, his kindness only better hidden over time. He suspected that if it weren't otherwise he might've already sounded the alarm, what with his contacts' increasingly-unnerved reports on Stark's progress and actions. As it was, however…

"What, because being the owner of a Fortune 500 company, and the guy who privatized world peace won't net me enemies? Pull the other one. Actually, no, don't, my quota for enemies has been filled for the current biannual calendar. Can I pencil you in for never? Never sounds great."

He frowned at Stark's incredibly bitter tone. "Yes, but that's what the team's for, so you can take care of them together. Though I've heard you've been doing a solid job on your lonesome."

[King of understatements, right there. But that's what they'd assembled the team for, really, what was his problem? They both knew the consultant thing was but a formality at this point, and they both knew better than to hold such petty grudges in the face of dire prospects, but…this didn't make sense.]

Stark couldn't help but scoff, at that, even as he set to fixing another monitor. "Haven't your super-spy buddies kept you in the loop? The World Security Council's been having powwows, and they keep wanting to invite me. There's only so many ways to politely tell someone to fuck off and leave me alone, you know. I've only ever been a consultant for the Avengers, and no, I don't want in."

His being late to the party…made sense, unfortunately; his people had shrunk in number, so he didn't have as much of an ear on the ground as before, and Stark Industries was about as easy to crack as a Swiss bank account anyway. [Less, actually, now that he thought about it.] Though why Stark sounded so surprised as to why the WSC would contact the guy who'd clearly taken charge of the situation after he was dead, he didn't know. And the sheer venom in Stark's voice was uncharacteristic of the man; he'd heard him talk about Hammer in a friendlier voice. [What gives?]

"The Avengers Initiative—"

But Stark cut him off, and suddenly he was reminded of Howard's more ruthless edges in the way his voice hardened. "Look, I'm trying to keep the world safe, long after we're all dust and ash, and this super-secret club you tried to form keeps telling me to not bother, so save it, take it to someone who cares."

That was…several red flags, right there.

"What do you mean." His tone had gone from casual, to deadly serious in the span of a second, but Stark didn't seem impressed. [Which...fair enough.] But just what had his people missed? This wasn't trouble in paradise, this was something else, and not knowing what was wrong with SHIELD's original initiative grated on his nerves—

Stark, with a smile that could not be confused for anything other than the Merchant of Death's signature, coldly replied, "I mean, that when the alien who's our current pain in the ass made his debut, everyone in your little boy band blamed me for having the tech available. Damn thing near killed one of my oldest friends, and all they could say was that I shouldn't have been looking into it anyway, even though we've had two invasions, not counting Puente Antiguo, in the past five years. And yeah, I want to make us redundant, want to make sure the world doesn't need us for safety in this bigger universe—but apparently, they don't."

What the—he was too old for this crap, he was not getting paid nearly enough for this, how the hell was it his problem? Though at least it explained why Stark was falling back onto his old habits—he hadn't heard that particular tone in years. [Good to know it was still there, though. In case of emergency, that particular brand of 'don't get in my way, you'll be annihilated' might come in handy.]

There was a reason he'd called Stark, and not anyone else, when word of the nuke got out; and apparently, the rest of the team had missed the memo, this entire time. But that still didn't make sense; Rogers at least should've seen the appeal of contingency planning, not to mention—

"What, did Hill not tell you?" Stark shook his head at the look he shot him, "For a spy, you're really out of the loop."

Hah. As if she said a word more than what was necessary for her job, when it came to Stark. They could approach anyone from his company, and get the same damn spiel about company secrets and pay grades and 'not my division' each time. [Though why that last one was said in that particular semi-amused tone, nobody in SHIELD understood.]

He took a moment to get his thoughts in order, then quietly replied, "Director Fury's dead, Stark. I'm just an old, tired man who wants to leave the world in better shape than it was when I entered it. And we don't have ears where we used to. Hill's one of yours, she shares intel as necessary for a liaison to us, but HYDRA screwed everyone over good."

"Paranoia's the name of the game for you, isn't it." Stark observed wryly.

"Damn straight." Even more so than ever before, and he hadn't known that was possible.

"Okay, then, Director Schrödinger," Stark finally put the hammer down, and leaned onto the now-slightly-less-dinged console, "here's a freebie: if you hadn't guessed before, I'm quitting your super-secret club. Don't worry, I'll be nice, but it's not me, it's really them, and I need to focus on my career anyway. The planet won't save itself, you know."

This…was not good. Stark was supposed to temper Rogers' more idealistic stance on some things, was supposed to be the counterpoint to and help smooth out any harsh edges Strike Team Delta may have when integrating into their initiative, he was supposed to be an integral team member. The money wasn't even the issue, here; as the world has just seen in Johannesburg, Stark was possibly the only one on the team capable of dealing with the Hulk on a level that their semi-resident god could possibly match, and more reliable at that [for all that the media said 'Stark' and 'reliability' didn't compute when in the same sentence].

But…he looked at Stark, and saw the Merchant of Death showing through the cracks of his current mask and exhaustion. 'Try me,' the certain look in his eyes promised even as his smile belonged on magazine covers, 'but know this will end in fire, and that's a promise.' SHIELD, and the WSC, couldn't afford to alienate him, and they all knew it: even now, when the man was running on fumes and caffeine, he was a force of nature, and benevolent at that.

Between that, and the revelation that his attempt to help safeguard the Earth had failed [because it wasn't the Avengers, but Stark, the purported 'wild card', that had done the work, these past three years]—well. It was an incredibly bitter pill to swallow, that they'd been wrong. That even in this, SHIELD had failed, and only sheer dumb luck was the reason why it hadn't crashed and burned yet.

Only decades of being a spy kept his voice steady, and he knew he'd probably taken a little too long in his response to that particular bombshell.

"Good thing you're on the case, then, Stark." He managed, and knew he'd said the right thing as the defensive line of the man's shoulders shifted [even if only out of surprise], "It was good having you, we chose who we knew was the best, accept no substitutes…When're you planning to leave?"

Stark was eyeing him warily, clearly caught off-guard by the compliment, but answered anyway. "I've working on Plans B and C at the moment, since A's clearly falling through. Once this mess is over, that's it. Ultron's a bigger threat, but I can't stand being on a team of overgrown jocks and nobody in my corner. And before you ask, no, Banner doesn't count, the man's about as willing to stick up for himself as a blade of grass."

He paused, looked at Stark, and barked out a laugh. "It ends where it starts, then?" He gestured at the battered lab, and knew Stark got his point.

"No," the man replied while running a hand through his hair, nearly done with the last monitor's wiring, "I was never on the team, remember? This is just me…reminding the world of that."

They both knew he wasn't lying, or telling the full truth. Stark had gone above and beyond any and every expectation and hope he'd ever had, including what Howard had said and what he'd seen. Part of him was still smarting from the realization that the Avengers had managed to do what so few others had accomplished in alienating one of the most charismatic people on Earth, and losing a major player...But the rest of him was so, very proud, and wished his old friend could see his son now, resolve in every line of his body despite the exhaustion he obviously felt. Even battered from a round with the Hulk, and surrounded by people he didn't trust, that Stark had managed to accomplish so much was remarkable. And he...he couldn't fault him for leaving, not really. Not when he himself had chosen to fake his death when some of the people he'd trusted had turned out to be HYDRA.

This moment felt like a precipice of some kind, a gravitas in every second of their talk as he got up to leave. Stark was nearly ready to do the same, wrapping up his patch jobs and keying in the algorithm for the Scepter and gearing up to sleep as well. He took a deep breath, let it out, and decided to go for broke.

"You know Ezekiel 25:17?" He asked, a hint of amusement as he remembered the passage he'd wanted—and gotten— for his own funeral.

"Rings a bell, not sure from where. Mom was always more into religion than the old man or I were, though."

"It fits you, and what the team was supposed to be. Right in there in the name, actually…Want to hear it?"

"Shoot."

He tamped down on all the memories it brought up, and let his voice take on that familiar cadence. "Goes like this: 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.'"

And with that, he swept out of the dilapidated lab, into the vacant corridors of the Helicarrier.

JARVIS was most displeased to find that the storage facility SWORD had managed to stash the pinnacle of biotechnology so far had been breached, and even less pleased to find that surprise, surprise, it'd been stolen.

On the other hand, he'd expected it, with the two largest threats to Sir collaborating, and the volunteers had been told to prioritize hiding Dr. Cho and survival over anything else, so that would buy them some time. [It would have been catastrophic, if she had been captured alongside her creation.] However…a quick check told him that yes, the tracker —of the kind Sir had used to hack into the Helicarrier oh so long ago—was fully functional, and moving in a highly suspect direction.

Well…at least it wasn't New York, or Los Angeles: both locations had been ordered to offline and secure their arc reactors until the crisis had passed, to prevent either city from becoming Ground Zero from any invading force. JARVIS set to scanning for any unusual readings, and possible power source alternatives, but kept coming up short. Dr. Foster's input had been valuable as well, helping narrow down possible locations, none of which matched Ultron's current trajectory.

So, then just why was Ultron headed to Sokovi—wait.

Another, more in-depth check informed him that no, not all the salvaged Chitauri relics had been confiscated, that some had been too large or simply too alien to safely transport, and judging by Ultron's remarkably linear path towards Sokovia, the realization hit JARVIS like a stone.

No—he couldn't even intercept, the airspace was currently negotiated by SI Legal and multiple very paranoid countries, and tip his hand in regards to his power too. No, wait…he pulled some processing power from one of the various subroutines he had at hand, and focused on the current situation at hand. Okay—he could intercept once they got past the contested area, separate Ultron from the Cradle and whatever was making it give off those strange readings. The Scepter's energy signature had warped, sometime in the past few hours, enough that he'd had to adjust Sir's current algorithm to be able to accurately track it.

He alerted Officer Hill with his findings, as well as forwarded his findings to Sir's phone to not disturb his very well-deserved rest. It'd take several hours for Ultron to make a move, anyway, and the Helicarrier would take some time to get there in the interim.

To: All SWORD Members [all branches]

From: Hill, M. Head Intel Officer [Communications, New York branch]

Subject: STATUS UPDATE—Still Red Alert, Sitrep; Ultron's On The Move

You've all probably heard the news by now, but something went down in Johannesburg, and we've been getting erratic readings indicating something's going to go down in Sokovia. Again. The local Iron Legion's gearing up in preparation, but anyone nearby, be ready to mobilize within the next 12 hours, according to JARVIS' estimate. Anyone with intel flow/ management skills would be very much appreciated to help the PR department, as boss' planning on officially cutting ties with the current Avengers roster once this is over, and wants them in working order after, with minimal mud until they're out of legal limbo because he's too kind like that.

The Enhanced woman, Wanda Maximoff, is a threat who can influence minds not unlike the Scepter, and has recently shown to be allied with the alien entity we're chasing. Her brother, Pietro, has enhanced speed. Do not engage, if at all possible: triple security on the locked-down biotech, but do not engage, she was the source of the Hulk's appearance in Johannesburg.

Everyone, keep a close eye on your readings, if anything else spikes let us know stat.

—Hill

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To: Lopez, K. Secretary [R&D, Los Angeles branch]

From: Greene, M. Technician [Security, Berlin branch]

Subject: You Know I Hate Memes And Puns, But

Such a cinnamon roll, too sweet, and way, way too generous.

Why's the call even necessary for PR, again? They handled the 'hey we're a weapons company that's not making weapons anymore' clusterfuck, and the 'our CEO is Iron Man' and 'yes we hired a shitton of burned spies, what's it to you?' bombshells just fine.

I want to know why they want me to help the assholes who put my kids' names and address online, dammit. I mean, I'll do it, but why's it even necessary?

Thoughts?

—Greene

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To: Greene, M. Technician [Security, Berlin branch]

From: Lopez, K. Secretary [R&D, Los Angeles branch]

Subject: Get The Popcorn Ready

Don't you get it? This is it.

Johannesburg's shaping up to be a clusterfuck of the highest magnitude, and we still need to deal with the latest alien menace, but after this, the Avengers won't be our problem anymore. This is the boss' going away present, trying to make things as tidy of a break as possible.

Sure, he'll still be required to supply their gear, but Iron Man's off the team, and now officially won't be affiliated with the Avengers. This includes the bulk of cleanup, and anything to do with their public relations, and once Legal's done they won't be our problem at all. No wonder the PR department needs all hands on deck, if they want them to come out without being eaten alive by the media. Going by their track record, well…

Seriously, get the popcorn ready, this'll be good.

—Lopez

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To: Lopez, K. Secretary [R&D, Los Angeles branch]

From: Greene, M. Technician [Security, Berlin branch]

Subject: You Still Have That Program, Right?

The one for recording and compiling the highlights? I remember you used it for some of the briefings, back before the Nazis fucked everything up. I'm asking, because could you please make a DVD or something when it happens? I'm pretty sure the guys in Legal would appreciate it.

Good luck

—Greene

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To: Greene, M. Technician [Security, Berlin branch]

From: Lopez, K. Secretary [R&D, Los Angeles branch]

Subject: The Program

Buddy, I've already got a waiting list and requests coming in. Didn't know Legal had *that* big of a grudge against Romanov and Rogers, but the more you know, right?

Once more unto the breach,

—Lopez

Notes:

The D.S. al Coda is a musical term, Tony remembers it from the few piano lessons his mother taught him during the rare days they both had free time. It's basically 'go back and repeat this section for a bit, then return to the present and play towards the end'.

Bruce was really out of it, what with Johannesburg and all; Tony only noticed Fury because he's the one who designed the lab in the first place, so he knew the dimensions were off the moment he set foot in it.

Yes, that was me referencing That Quote from Pulp Fiction. [Sorry, couldn't resist.] But it fit so well! And as a bonus it gives another reason for the name of the Avengers Initiative, so. Plus, yes, Fury is that dramatic.

Also, he's seen Tony growing up, from both Howard's quietly proud 'wow my kid's awesome' talks [but never in front of Tony, because if there's one thing they share, it's communication issues], and the news [which...yeah]. If anyone's curious as to my approach, I'll ramble about it on tumblr once life's calmed down a bit.

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This was posted as a celebration of my surviving round one of finals. At least someone'll have a good day, and as a bonus this is helping distract me from that essay for my lit class because it's turned in but my brain keeps fixating on it anyway, so...you know, enjoy. Brace yourself for erratic updates, and all that.