Precious Cargo, Part Four: The Agreement
Summary:
Tony gets into trouble at the local Christmas market — and unfortunately, Morgan is with him.
(In case you missed it: Part One // Part Two // Part Three)
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The Agreement
The moment Tony saw Morgan napping in Theresa’s arms, his heart started skipping, his vision greying a little at the edges. His precious little miss seemed unharmed — but there was only one way to know for sure.
“Bring her here.”
Too shaky. Get it together, Shellhead. Don’t let them see your fear.
Like Zits, Theresa was young, oddly fragile — and by the looks of it, strung out on something illicit. But the delicate gold chain draped around her collar suggested she’d had a real home once — and maybe even parents who cared. Could Tony appeal to that? Could he make this girl understand a father’s need?
“Let me hold her.” Tony coughed and lifted his chin, squarely meeting Theresa’s uncertain hazel gaze. “Please? I need to make sure you haven’t —”
“I believe I agreed to show you your crotch fruit, Mr. Stark,” Casper interrupted, lifting his hand to stop Theresa in her tracks. “I said nothing about touching her.”
Tony’s rage returned — and with it, the fine tremor in his hands abruptly ceased. “And do you remember what I said? If I find one hair out of place on my daughter’s head —”
Crack! Casper slapped Tony hard across the face, snapping his head back and driving his teeth into his bottom lip.
“That — was a reminder. If I didn’t find your defiance so amusing, I’d ask the Children to yank your fingernails one by one. But make no mistake, Stark: you have no power here. No room to maneuver. And you will do exactly as I say if you wish to keep your pathetic little family intact.”
Tony spat blood on the floor — then smoldered, saying nothing. Best not to taunt the lunatic ‘til he loses it completely. Especially since you’re not alone here. Watch and wait.
“Excellent,” said Tony’s captor after a beat, satisfied. “Nice to see an egomaniacal asshole like you still has some common sense.”
Yeah. Yay me. I get an A+ in adulting.
“Now let me explain exactly why you’re here, Stark. You’re here — to be my Paul.”
“Not sure I follow, Casper.”
“St. Paul. Apostle to the Gentiles.”
“Oh. Sorry. The last time I went to a CCD class was in 1983. But go ahead and continue your monologue. I’m all ears.”
“St. Paul was one of Judea’s most devoted opponents of Christianity — until he met Jesus on the road to Damascus. Then he became one of Christ’s most devoted - and prolific - evangelists.” Casper criss-crossed his arms behind his back and began to pace. “To turn a former opponent? Well, that gives a movement a great deal of credibility — the sort of credibility we need if we’re to move beyond bank hits and minor acts of terrorism.”
“And what mumbo jumbo are you trying to sell to the masses? I may have stopped going to church a long time ago, but even I know you’re no Jesus.”
“No, of course not,” Casper replied with an impatient wave of his hand. “Jesus was far too soft. Healing the blind and lame? Caring for the poor? The Sermon on the Mount was a recipe for disaster — along with every other charitable religious code. Jesus, Muhammed, Buddha — they are the reason we needed Thanos to cut down our teeming hordes. You were once a California man, Stark. Surely you remember the hell that was the 405?”
“So you’re cheerleading the death of half the universe because you hated the traffic in LA?”
“I’m” — air quote — “‘cheerleading the death of half the universe’ because Thanos was right,” Casper burst in irritation. “If anything, he didn’t go far enough — and not just because of petty shit like the traffic. Every living thing will have more room to breathe once we get rid of all of the useless surplus. Oh, there will be a period of adjustment, of course — a little roughness in the road. But in time, the rest of us will be better off.”
“Tell that to the friends and families of the Vanished. Proclaim that at the Central Park memorial. I double dog dare you.”
Casper took a knee, grabbed Tony’s left forearm, and pulled. Tony couldn’t help it: he released a strangled, incoherent howl. In her corner, Theresa winced and covered Morgan’s ears.
“You’re the one who will proclaim it, Iron Man. Maybe then, the people will finally listen.”
No. Fuck you. I won’t join your crusade.
Tony leaned over and spat again to clear the taste of iron and sickness in his mouth. “Do — whatever you want — to me — you sick bastard,” he panted as the pain in his ruined shoulder crested — and then waned. “An innocent kid — died in my arms — because of your ‘savior.’ Since then, I’ve woken up screaming at least one night a month thanks to the memories of that moment. Better off?”
Not without Pete. Never without Spiderman. To this day, Tony could never understand how Peter had managed to wade through his “mentor’s” fifty tons of issues and bullcrap without getting tainted. That kind of decency? That was rare — and Thanos had destroyed it with one snap of his fingers.
No time for your grief, Tony. You have to set it aside.
With effort, Tony swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat. “Don’t make me laugh,” he finished once he’d successfully re-harnessed his animating ire, hoping like hell no one in the room had noticed the other - and weaker - emotion that had gathered in his eyes.
“Ah, I see. Despite your reputation, you’re all heart. But that’s quite all right, Stark. A genuine conversion would’ve been convenient, but I don’t really need it. Your capacity for sentiment will provide all the leverage I need.” Casper stood, brushing the dust from his trousers. “The choice I’m offering you tonight is quite simple: in exchange for your sprog’s life, you will read a pre-prepared statement in our video studio renouncing your former commitments and endorsing the Children of Thanos.”
“And if I don’t accept your terms?”
“Then you and Morgan will not leave this room alive.”
“You’re a fount of creativity.”
“Creativity is overrated. What works — is what works. Right, Stark? Are you ready to become a social media sensation? Are you ready to sacrifice your own pride for your child’s sake?”
Tony ground his molars until his ears began to ache. He knew damn well that Casper and his entourage of misfits could never voluntarily let him go no matter what he did — not if they wanted to prevent Tony from blabbing and scuttling their entire propaganda operation. No: as soon as this amateur TV production was in the can, these people were going to kill him — or, if they were feeling merciful, they were going to lock him up and throw away the key. But Morgan? Morgan still had a chance.
And you do too. If Nat is watching the feeds. If you can remember what Barton taught you in Kiev. And if nobody notices what you’re doing with your hands.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Casper.”
“I knew you’d see reason — if you were properly pushed.”
“So — am I doing this skyclad, or —?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Casper picked up the diaper bag Theresa had set down by her feet and tossed it in Tony’s direction, hitting Tony smack in the forehead. “There are clothes in there for you to put on — once you’ve cleaned yourself up. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you stink of sweat — and there are flecks of barf stuck in your beard. Not a good look for our new spokesperson. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Mock me all you want, Tony thought darkly, an unfamiliar heat crawling up the back of his neck. You haven’t won yet.
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