Change Your Mind, Change Your Life
CHAPTER THREE
“Lord Protector Von Doom?” He looked up from the customs official to see a very…plain…gentleman coming toward him, dressed in a fairly decent, yet nondescript suit and tie. A receding hairline, worry lines around his eyes, he wore a professional smile as a mask. “I’m Director Philip Coulson. I spoke to your --“
“Seneschal,” Doom agreed. “Martin. Yes, I was informed you and your associates were to act as my escort.”
“Security detail, your Grace,” Director Coulson gently corrected. “Not that you need one, of course.”
“No. I don’t,” Victor replied. “But I am…loath to disrespect the hospitality and courtesy of the United States and the United Nations, and so I accept your gracious offer.”
“Thank you, your Grace. Did you bring an entourage?”
“No; I have no need of such things. The Latverian Embassy will see to my needs and desires,” Victor said, signing the last paper with a flourish. “I must wait for my baggage, Director, and then I will be ready to leave.”
“Of course. May I ask if you were wishing to do anything else during the time you’re here? I know your advisor told me you’d be in New York for a week, so…” Director Coulson let his sentence fade.
“I do not know. I had hoped perhaps to have a word with Iron Man, and King Namor is to arrive tomorrow; we may wish to see a show. I have heard very good things about this Hamilton play.”
“Hamilton’s amazing,” Director Coulson said, his smile becoming larger and much more genuine. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure.”
“Your President had made some noise of wishing to meet with me, but I really rather would not; I have dealt with Mr. Trump before in business matters, and found him to be boorish and inelegant. I rather doubt that attaining the presidency has changed matters.”
“President Trump is currently at Mar-A-Lago, your Grace. I’ll inform you if that changes,” the director offered, his mouth closing, lips becoming thin; ah. Victor could read between those lines very well; there was no love lost, but the man would say nothing against his ruler. Good.
Several more agents joined them as the Director led the way through a private hallway, two women, one whose very essence radiated danger, much as the Black Widow; the other was younger, but she moved with an efficiency close to the first. Probably her protégé. “Agent May, Agent Johnson,” the director introduced them. “Agent Mackenzie is waiting outside.”
“Excellent. One moment, if you would?” At the director’s nod, Victor gestured to the two diplomats waiting for him. “Have my luggage delivered to the embassy; the Director has come to collect me himself, and I do not wish to insult him.”
“Yes, Lord Protector,” came the expected answer, and a few minutes later, he was in the bulletproof limo with Agent May and Director Coulson. Agent Johnson was in the front passenger seat beside Agent Mckenzie. The ride passed pleasantly for some few minutes before Director Coulson cleared his throat, leaning forward from the rumble seat.
“I don’t mean to presume, Lord Protector, but I wonder if you’d be willing to talk about the incident last week? In the bay?”
“What is it you wish to know?” Victor answered pleasantly; the man was courteous and deferential enough, it was of no matter to speak to him about the occurrence.
“Dr. Richards’ actions,” Director Coulson began. “Iron Man described them as being dangerous. Would you agree with that assessment?”
“Reed is an obnoxious twit,” Victor replied. “We have been at odds for a very long time, and unfortunately, I do not see that set of circumstances ever changing.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of your common history,” Coulson nodded. “But Iron Man claims, and the footage bears it out, that he was willing to go through Iron Man to get to you.”
“That is Richards’ problem. Not mine. Not unless he makes it mine,” Victor said, closing his eyes at the sound of the edge to his voice. “Forgive me. We do have a great deal of agitated history between us, and it is easy to slip into old thought patterns and habits when speaking of him or his possible intentions.”
“Of course. I have the same reaction when it comes to certain people,” Coulson said easily. “I simply want to avoid any unpleasantness between you and the FF during your stay if we can at all.”
“I give you my word, Director Coulson. Any unpleasantness that arises will find the blame laid at their feet, not my own. I am…I dare not say a new man. But I am endeavoring to become a better man than I have been, and a large part of that change means that I do not begin physical altercations. I may well finish them,” he added, chuckling, “but I refuse to allow others the satisfaction of knowing that they provoked me into swinging first, as it were.”
“Fair enough,” Coulson agreed, nodding. “Okay.”
His heart, the heart he hid as best he could, fell as he saw the protestors outside the Latverian Embassy. Dozens of them, holding signs that protested his reign over his country. L.A.F.F., Latverian-Americans For Freedom. He knew of the group. Most of the time, they held non-violent protests, though his intelligence said that there had been a few altercations with his diplomats and the robots that guarded the embassy over the last few years.
“I hope that after tomorrow, they’ll be celebrating,” Director Coulson said softly as the gates of the embassy opened, the robot guardians keeping the protestors away.
“That is my hope as well, but I dare not count on it,” Victor sighed. “They will instead begin a conspiracy theory that I am doing this only for good publicity, and that I must have some sort of nefarious plot, that I am drawing the wool over the U.N.’s eyes. It is a fair assumption for them to come to.”
“You’ve never gone this far before,” Agent May spoke for the first time. “You’ve never come to the U.N. to ask for aid before in anything, not even after the earthquake several years ago.”
“No,” he agreed; that natural disaster had been horrible, especially in some of the mountain region villages. “No. Latveria takes care of its own.” Weeks of rescue efforts, then years of rebuilding. He had refused all offers of aid, setting the robots to find and rescue those trapped under rubble, had rushed doctors from the hospitals of Doomstadt, including his own personal doctors, to the sites where they were needed.
The car stopped, the door opened by one of the robots, the ambassador to the United States, Aleksander, coming to greet him, dropping to one knee deferentially as he got out of the car. “Lord Protector.”
“Aleksander. You may rise,” he nodded graciously. “Have the rooms I ordered prepared for King Namor been so?”
“They have, my Lord.”
“Excellent. The salt-water pool?”
“Is ready for him.”
“Good. Director Coulson, I will expect you and your agents tomorrow morning at nine-thirty; my appointment with the Council is at ten-thirty.”
“Yes, your Grace. See you then.” An acceptable answer, as the car drove on to the circle to turn around he entered the embassy building, going directly to the throne awaiting him and taking his seat.
“Report.”
“The U.N. is curious, of course, and is already gathering the teams necessary for your request, my Lord. We have received several invitations for you from the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies, and a request for an audience from Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers.”
“Iron Man and Captain America,” Victor said thoughtfully. “When did that arrive?”
“Yesterday evening, sire.”
“Inform the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies that I would be happy to visit and renew my acquaintance with Lady Finitaz and Mr. Daru at their convenience, after tomorrow. Inform them I will ask King Namor to accompany me, but he may or may not do so. Do you have the number for Mr. Stark?”
“I do, sir.”
“Bring me a telephone.”
Darcy put her makeup on very, very carefully the next morning, trying to keep her hands from shaking too much as she applied her eyeliner. She was going to the U.N. to observe the meeting between Von Doom and the Elections Committee, along with Tony, Steve, Natasha and Clint, as the political liaison for the Avengers Initiative. Her navy blue suit still fit her like a glove, accentuating her hourglass figure, her wire rimmed glasses adding a hint of sophistication, her eyes looking just a hint bigger than usual thanks to a clever trick with her makeup.
The Avengers away team, as she was thinking of them this morning, were all in mufti; Tony in a divine cream colored suit with a sky blue tie, probably Italian, Natasha in a suit not unlike hers, though she was sure that ‘Tasha’s had special pockets for hidden weapons. Clint and Steve both wore suit pants and blazers, though they had both skipped the ties. ‘Tasha smiled when she saw Darcy coming, holding up a hand and twirling a finger; dutifully, Darcy slowly turned around. “Lovely. You are lovely and professional this morning,” Natasha began, then looked down at her feet. “And those are good shoes. Expensive enough to respect, cheap enough to leave behind if you have to run.” Darcy looked down at her Sandro Mary Janes with a sad smile.
“Yeah, that was kind of my thought,” she sighed in agreement. “But better to lose the shoes than my head, right?”
“Exactly,” Natasha nodded before turning on the men. “We will meet you all at the car.” Darcy took Natasha’s left arm, and the two women walked on toward the elevator, leaving the men slightly gobsmacked before they caught on and caught up with them.
They entered the building through a private underground garage, riding up in an elevator that smelled slightly of freesia. The floor they got off on could have been in any luxury office building, the carpet a soft muted gray, the walls fairly nondescript, a muted green wallpaper with a darker green zigzag line pattern. The art that was hung here and there were landscapes, for the most part, though they passed by more than one photograph study as well, again, landscapes. The Sahara. The Congo. Madripoor. The Alps.
They weren’t the first arrivals in the conference room they were led to; a few diplomats were already seated at the long oak table. They looked up as the group entered, but turned their attention back to the laptops and tablets in front of them when it was obvious they were observers rather than participants. Tony took a seat in one of the chairs lining the inner wall, and the rest followed suit, Darcy at the end farthest from the door and away from the windows at Clint’s insistence.
While they waited, Darcy took a selfie for her Instagram and Twitter, #U.N. #she blinded me with political science, then switched to her audio recorder app; she wanted to record what was said so she could go over it later. It was only about another five minutes before the room started filling up, other diplomats arriving both as more observers and the committee itself. And then they walked in.
Darcy had never met Namor or Doom, but the moment they entered, the room fell silent. Both men carried themselves with a regal presence, aware of their importance, aware of their stature, they both had a confidence in their body language that could easily be mistaken for cockiness. Doom was, of course, in his armor, but instead of the normal green cloak that he seemed to be so fond of, he wore a deep royal purple tunic and cape over it, the tunic belted at the waist, his metal boots and gloves trimmed in ermine. A heavy looking, thick linked golden chain hung around his neck, a medallion falling from it square in the midst of his chest; the crown jewel of Latveria, his chain of office.
Namor, on the other hand, was sin on two legs. His black hair was slicked back, and he smirked as he looked around the room, wearing a dark gray suit, Hugo Boss, if she wasn’t mistaken, though his feet were bare, as was his custom due to the wings that sprouted from his ankles. He took a chair just to Von Doom’s left, and Darcy noticed as he passed behind Doom that one hand rose, just a bit -- was he actually patting Doom on the back? Giving the man reassurance? Interesting. “Namor his friend? Patted his back maybe prior 2 conf. Consider later,” she scribbled on her notepad.
“I wish to thank the council for granting me an audience on such short notice,” Doom began, still standing at the head of the table, his voice rumbling and deep, and oh God maybe Namor was sex on LEGS, but Doom’s VOICE was sex for her ears. “I understand that this was very much an inconvenience, and I wish you to know that I personally, and the Latverian people, appreciate your time.” He took a seat beside Namor, and the committee began questioning him directly. What did he want to see happen? How long a time frame did he project from beginning to end? Would he allow investigational and educational teams into Latveria? Those questions and more in the same vein went on for about an hour, Doom answering them all patiently, sometimes taking a few seconds to consider his words before he responded, but never once becoming short or irritable so far as Darcy could tell.
When the meeting was officially over, some members of the committee lingered for a few minutes, speaking to Doom or Namor quietly before leaving the room with the other observers. Darcy gathered her things, but Clint brushed against her arm, flattened his palm and pushed out; wait, that motion meant, so she didn’t get up. Finally, the only people left in the room were Doom, Namor, and the Avengers group. Tony got up first, extending his hand. “Ruler Protector Von Doom.”
“Mr. Stark.” The two shook hands, and then Tony shook with Namor as well before Doom spoke again. “I was very glad to see you and your colleagues here. But I do not think I recognize the young lady beside Mr. Barton? Have the Avengers grown again?” Darcy’s mouth grew dry as Tony turned, jerking his head. Slowly, she rose and went to stand beside him, barely remembering to drop a discreet curtsy before the two kings; well, Doom was practically a king, wasn’t he?
“Our political analyst, Darcy Lewis,” Tony introduced her. “She’s a firecracker.”
“Indeed,” Namor murmured, his sea green eyes deep, but just a little cold, if she didn’t miss her guess. Aww, sexy, no. “You have a way of surrounding yourself with beautiful women, Anthony.”
“It’s a gift,” Tony smirked.
“An honor to meet you both, your Majesty, your Grace,” Darcy managed to say as Namor took the hand she extended, raising it gently as if to kiss the back, though he never actually did so. “I’m so glad to have the opportunity.” She offered her hand to Doom next; he didn’t affect the same flirtatiously courtly manner as Namor, however, only shaking firmly. He had brown eyes behind the mask, she noted, and they looked very tired.
“A pleasure, Miss Lewis.”
“So,” Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “did you both get the invitations?”
“We did,” Namor replied, inclining his head. “I do not speak for Victor, but I for one would be happy to attend your soiree, Anthony. You always throw the best parties.”
“Awesome, show up anytime between eight and ten. How about you, Doom?”
“I…appreciate the invitation, though I must reluctantly decline; let us be frank, Mr. Stark, my presence might cause your other guests some discomfort.” Doom’s mask tilted downward just a fraction as he spoke, and Darcy could read between those lines. She could read between those lines all too well. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and rightfully so; he had done horrible things. More, he knew he had done horrible things. And, she realized, he was ashamed.
“Lord Protector, perhaps just a token appearance?” She heard herself say before she thought. “At least amongst the main party. Tony’s penthouse is huge, surely we could find a quiet space for you to people watch, at least. And I would love to hear more about the changes you’re planning in Latveria.” His mask shot towards her, those tired brown eyes flaring, seeking, searching through her long enough that her lips parted, intending to apologize for the intrusion.
“Perhaps, Miss Lewis. I will at least consider it. And I do indeed appreciate the invitation, Mr. Stark.”
“Call me Tony, Mr. Stark was my dad,” Tony said, a little flippantly. “You’ve got my number; if you plan on flying, call first so I can have the security measures turned off on the jetpad. See you tomorrow night.” He flipped his glasses back down, giving both men a grin, before taking Darcy’s arm and heading for the door, the rest of the group following them out of the conference room and toward the elevator. “Good job, Sparky,” he said lowly. “Did you see what I saw?”
“I think so,” Darcy breathed. “He’s tired, Tony. And he’s lonely.”
“Everybody’s lonely, honey. In their heart of hearts.”
“Yeah. Yeah, but…but you’ve got Pepper now, and you’ve got us,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see how close the others were. Still about five feet back. “And you’re loved, Tony. You really are.” She couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but his lips and nose twitched, just a little, and his grip on her arm tightened.
“Thanks, Artoo.”
“No problem, Threepio.”
“Dammit, I’m Han,” Tony sighed as the others caught up. “Or maybe Lando.”
“You are so wrong about that. You’re a suave-ass con, all right, but you can’t pull off a cape.” Clint snickered, Natasha smirked, as they all boarded the elevator.