Precious Cargo, Part Eight: Hello, Armor, My Old Friend
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 // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven)
“I thought you destroyed all your pre-2013 armor.”
“Everything I’d connected to the server, yes. But this?” Tony tapped his metal-enclosed hip with one gauntleted fist. “Turns out I left this baby autonomous — just in case.”
It was quite amusing to watch the astonished look on Rhodey’s face as the decade-old suitcase armor unfolded and clicked into place. But the reason Tony had kept it at Avengers Tower - and kept it “dumb” - was really quite simple: the risk of sabotage. As convenient - and literally life-saving - as it was for JARVIS to run the rest of his armory back then, there was always a chance that Hydra - or some Justin Hammer type - would successfully take out the Starknet and all of its associated hardware. And if that occurred? Tony certainly didn’t want to be caught with his pants down.
“And I take it you didn’t bother to report this to Secretary Ross?”
“After the shit-show with Ultron, I forgot all about it — until Pep and I moved to the lake.”
“Uh huh.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Sourpatch. I’m telling the truth 100%. Besides, you and I both know Ross was a dick. Who cares if he didn’t know?” Plus, what can he do to me now? He’s probably clogging up an air filter at the Pentagon somewhere. The thought was morbid - and disrespectful as hell - but after the three years Ross had been a burr on Tony’s ass, Tony’s less admirable side couldn’t help but give it life.
Satisfied for the moment, Rhodey returned Morgan to Tony’s waiting arms. “You sure you can hold onto her while you fly?”
“Yep.” Tony was already tying Morgan’s sling to his armor as tight as he could. “Don’t tell the missus, but I’ve already tried it.” And Morgan loved it. She was her daddy’s girl through and through.
Rhodey shook his head, then closed his helmet. “Of course,” he chuckled, his voice echoing over the external speaker. “I don’t know why I doubted you.”
--*--
Before Tony followed Rhodey out the door, there was one last thing he had to do. Grabbing a Post-It off the desk in the den, he scratched out a quick, awkward letter of apology to the rightful inhabitants of this home he’d burglarized:
Sorry for taking your sweatshirt. And your socks. And your first aid kit. And your towels. And sorry for the mess in your downstairs bathroom. And sorry I disassembled your stereo.
If anyone ever finds this note, please feel free to send a bill to Stark International. You weren’t here to agree to the arrangement, but you provided shelter when my daughter and I needed it most. I’m grateful for that — and for as long as I live, I will remember your names.
Sincerely, TS.
Tony knew he was being irrational. He’d already committed the country address to memory; assuming he survived the next few hours, he could come back and straighten out what he’d disturbed. But on the off chance he didn’t make it out of this nightmare alive and intact, this at least would assuage the spectors that whispered in his ear. This, at least, would be a plan B.
Because Tony Stark always needed a plan B — and a plan C through Z. That’s who he was: a man who tried to account for every possible contingency.
After sticking his missive to the front door, Tony smiled wanly at Morgan. “Okay, peanut. Ready to go for a ride?” And Morgan graced Tony with a doe-eyed stare so infinitely trusting that Tony’s heart very nearly stopped beating at the sight.
Pushing down all the pain and sorrow and anxiety that conspired to weigh him down, Tony clanked his mask shut and activated his jets. Immediately, his HUD flashed red as the limited on-board operating system took note of each of his injuries. “Tear in the left rotator cuff and severe inflammation of the left bursa. Damaged left circumflex axillary nerve. Hairline fractures of the ninth and tenth ribs, left side. Multiple contusions —”
“That’s enough, LOBOS,” Tony replied, cutting off the litany. “Believe me, I already know what’s broken. Just hit me with the morphine and the stims and keep me upright. Capisce?”
JARVIS or FRIDAY might’ve objected to Tony’s order — but this was the first spin around the block for LOBOS, who pricked Tony’s arm with the requested needles without complaint. Tony closed his eyes in relief for a moment as the drugs flooded through his bloodstream and gradually took the edge off.
“Okay. Point us at that clearing up ahead and take it slow. We’ve got a baby on board.”
--*--
“Good to see you, Tony.”
Tony gently touched down on the Quinjet’s on-ramp and opened his face plate. “Good to see you too, moya malen’kaya gaich’ka.” He stepped inside the cabin, wincing when his feet revolted.
“Need any help?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
“He’s flexing, Nat,” Rhodey tattled as he fiddled with one of Natasha’s widow’s bites. “The idiot hiked twenty miles through the woods and ice in his bare feet. The bruises on his face are one thing, but his toes look like they’ve been put through a meat grinder.”
Natasha turned back to Tony and raised her eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
“He’s not wrong,” Tony admitted with a sigh. “But I just took a shot of medical espresso. That should buy me another few hours at least.”
“You don’t have to come with us, Tony,” Nat pointed out quite sensibly. “Once you direct us to the right location, you could stay on the jet with Morgan.”
“Hell no,” Tony bit back, in no mood to be coddled. “If you’re going after Casper’s little Manson family, I’m joining the party.” And don’t at me. You can’t change my mind.
“Are you sure that’s wise, Stark?” Nebula cut in from inside the cockpit. “You do not look well.”
Tony sucked air through his clenched teeth in an attempt to keep his temper in check. “I appreciate the concern, Smurfette. I really do. But those bastards put my kid’s life in danger. And I guaran-damn-tee you that nothing on this earth is going to keep me from taking them down.”
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