— iii. Legacy | How to Parent
synopsis: while you deal with an unimaginable loss, tony comes to terms with the truth
warnings: death, cannon kidnapping, cannon torture (but nothing too extreme), cannon violence, basically just angst, spelling & grammar
a/n: fist off thank you guys for the support so far :) second, thank you for being patient with me, last few months have been a lot. finals is upon us college/uni students so expect some more updates soon. ALSO!! comment to be added to the taglist!
word count: 10k
masterlist || next part
tony stark x daughter!reader
[gif from pinterest]
When Pepper told you that Tony had been kidnapped you threw up. For the first time in hours you let go of your mothers hand and ran into the adjacent bathroom, shoving your face into the sink and letting your guts spill whilst Pepper held your hair. First your mom and now Tony? What was going on? Why was this happening to you? Did the universe have some sort of agenda against you?
Eventually, you fully emptied your stomach and rinsed out the foul aftertaste in your mouth and took your place at your moms bedside. Pepper placed a bottle of water at your side and a fruitbar from the hospital cafeteria, “you should eat.” She spoke softly, face heavy. You turned your head, suddenly hyperaware of your dry throat and growling stomach. You give her a soft ‘thanks’ and twist open the bottle and practically chug half of it down.
You set the bottle back down, “you should go.” Your eyes flickered down, “you haven’t slept in hours and I doubt this was part of your job description–” Pepper softly says your name, hand on shoulder “–seriously, Pep, you don’t have to babysit me, just go home–” she says your name again, firmly this time and you finally stop.
“I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re mom’s going to be fine and Rhode’s going to find Tony, but until then I’m going to be right here.”
Your bottom lip starts to quiver and before another tear falls on your face Pepper pulls you in, face pressed against her shoulder while one hand soothingly rubs your back. Your body shakes with exhaustion, heart heavy and on the verge of breaking.
This wasn’t fair. None of it was.
Pepper held you even after your tears had stopped flowing and your face had gone dry. The sound of footsteps coming towards you was what made her pull away, eyes red you noted, and faced the door where Happy stood. He looked between you, Pepper, and your mother, and nearly debated turning back around, but the look on your face and the lump in his throat made him stay.
Carefully, he entered the dim room and hesitantly placed a hand on your shoulder before taking a seat. He sat there, hands fidgeting and knee bouncing, with his head down and a ball of anxiety settled in his gut. He didn’t know what to say, to you, to your mother. He’d just been coming to terms with the news of Tony’s kidnapping, and now this? The sight of you broke him.
Happy had known your mother briefly, but he’d met her in passing when he’d just started working as Tony’s chauffeur and bodyguard. She was a bright woman who could match Tony’s wit, and sometimes be able to outwit the man. She was running an art gallery in New York City, in one of the most bougiest areas, when she and Tony had met. There was a private viewing of the newest installation that he was invited to and that’s where everything had changed. At first, Tony had only approached her because he was physically attracted to her, but by the end of the night he went home alone feeling a buzz he hadn’t felt in years.
Happy still remembers your mothers biting wit, the way she could disarm an entire room with just a smile, and most importantly he remembers her big heart– her generosity and compassion. And now, she was reduced to nothing but this– hooked to possibly every monitor in the room. How could someone that’s breathing look so lifeless?
He feels like he should say something, anything, but he’s afraid that if he does it’ll mirror a eulogy. So instead you three sit there in silence.
–
Three days. You’d been in that room for three days. Pepper and Happy would come and go, but you stayed right besides your mother afraid that if you looked away she wouldn’t be there anymore.
“You need some fresh air, a shower, change of clothes, and food.”
“I’m fine, I ate this morning.” You replied. You and Pepper have had this conversation almost twenty times in the past three days, and despite her best efforts to get you to go home and actually rest you would not budge.
“You had a yogurt cup and gatorade from the cafeteria, that’s not food.” She sighed, placing her hands on your shoulder, bringing your attention towards you. “One hour. That’s all I need. One hour and then you’ll be right back here.”
You hesitate, that unpleasant feeling in your gut deepening. “One hour.”
“One hour.”
–
The first thing you did was take a shower, a long and much needed shower. The second was having an actual meal that Pepper had made for you. The past few days had finally caught up to you and coupled with the comfy couch (as well as a warm meal) it was obvious that you’d start to doze off. Pepper gently placed a fluffy throw blanket over you so that you could get some actual sleep, even if it was on the couch.
Soon, one hour turns into two, and then into three. You finally wake up, blurry eyed and well rested, but then the looming anxiety you’d had for the past few days returns. You throw the blanket to the side, eager to leave and head back to the hospital, but stop in your tracks when you see a man sitting across the room.
Obadiah.
He sat there reading a book, lifting his head when he heard you shuffling. He holds your gaze for a moment– his expression unreadable– and then he blinks, his face morphing to a sympathetic frown. He sighs, closes the book and sets it aside. You watched him confused and on edge. Why is he here?
He says your name slowly and softly, like a parent who says their child's name after they've gotten hurt. You watched as the frown on his face deepened and he slowly stood up and walked in your direction. Your body moves on its own and you quickly stand up from the couch, the blanket falls and pools around your feet.
Obadiah sighs with a pained expression. He opens and closes his mouth as if he was trying to find the right words. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.” He brings his hand up to rest on your shoulder and a shiver runs up your spine.
Your shoulder flinches at the sudden physical contact. His hand is heavy on your shoulder. His big hands and fingers held a firm grip around you, anchoring himself so that you couldn’t easily shrug him away like you’d wanted to.
“I promise you, I’ll do whatever I can to bring Tony back.”
Though his words seemed reassuring, his tone and that look in his eye, the one that's left you unnerved since the first meeting, said something entirely different. You don’t reply, momentarily stunned by his sudden appearance and his stomach-turning vibe. The front doors opened and the sound of heels clicking against marble grew closer– Pepper. Obadiah’s lips pulled back to a smile and he gave your shoulder a final squeeze as he leaned in.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
A sharp shiver runs down your spine, a hot-and-cold sensation that you’ve never felt before– one that sends a wave and anxiety and nausea over your entire being. Pepper rounds the corner just as he pulls back. They fall into easy conversation whilst your feet are firmly planted to where you stand. Much of their conversation is mundane and could be summarized as ‘Just checking in. We’ll find him. Call for anything,’ He leaves as quick as he came and Pepper moves around the room, resetting the couch, turning off the TV, and folding the blanket.
“Why was he here?” You finally asked the questions that’d been dancing on your tongue since you’d first seen him.
“He was worried about you and wanted to check in,” she says as if it was the obvious answer. As if in the short time you'd been here you’d gotten to a point in your ‘relationship’ with the mean girl was that a sort of kinship.
“I said I didn’t want to see anyone.”
“I know, but Obi’s the only one who knows what you’re going through and he thought that he could give you some support–"
“I don’t care.” Your voice comes out firm. Pepper stills, sets the blanket down and turns to face you. “I told you that I didn’t want to see anyone, let alone him.” Your irritation grows with every word as you relived the brief encounter and the feeling of anxiety you felt around him. “And I said an hour, not three. I can’t be in this damn house while my mom is in a hospital bed.”
Pepper silently watched as you simmered from your sudden burst of emotion. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to do or say. She was an assistant (and at times a glorified babysitter of a grown man who happened to be her boss), not a nanny. She didn’t know how to deal with kids your age, let alone kids who were going through the things you were. She was barely keeping her composure at the thought of Tony being kidnapped, so the fact that you hadn’t totally spiraled from your troubles was beyond her.
But, she did know one thing. And that was that your burst of emotions wasn’t just an example of teenage emotions, but a cry for help. She knew that the anger that simmered inside of you was fear of the worst.
“Alight, I’m sorry. I’ll have Happy bring the car around.”
True to her word, Happy quickly brought the car around and the three of you were back at the hospital in no time. The three hours away felt like three years of hell. When you stepped back into the hospital room, a wave of dread fell over you and settled deep into your gut. Your chest felt tight and your breath caught in your throat.
That entire night you didn’t peel your eyes away from her, your hand wrapped firmly around hers. The past few days couldn’t compare to the anxiety you felt in the past 24-hours, waiting for something to happen– for the inevitable. You’ve known by now that the feeling in your gut was more than just a ‘feeling’ and something more.
So you sat there, hand clutching hers, eyes glued to her form on the bed, and prayed that you were wrong.
At 6:35 in the morning, you felt her squeeze your hand, soft as a feather but there, you were sure of it. You squeezed her hand back, tears welling in your eyes and brought your hands up to your lips, planting a firm kiss on the back of her hand.
By the time the sun peaked over the sun, she was gone. The monitors surrounding her flashed and beeped as she took her final breath. Doctors and nurses rushed in with their equipment and the words ‘Code Blue’ kept repeating itself. Pepper held you as you watched with tears cascading down your face. They worked like a well oiled machine as they tried to bring her back, but you knew– you knew the moment she squeezed your hand. That was her Goodbye, I’m sorry, and I love you, all rolled into one.
You choked out a sob, voice broken and rough, and ran to her side, pushing everyone away. You held on to her hand as the room silently watched as you begged and pleaded for her to open her eyes again. But every plea, every shout and scream was met with silence.
She was gone.
—-
Tony flickers awake, disoriented and head spinning like it was heavy as lead. His eyes barely open and his vision is blurry as it adjusts to his grim and dark surroundings. There’s a dull nagging ache all over his body and he could feel a light pressure on his nose, or maybe in his nose?
As his senses slowly come back to him, so do the memories of him arriving at the Airbase in Afghanistan, the demonstration, and the ambush. But what also comes back to him is the garbled voices, the stabbing lights, him restrained down. It’s like an out-of-body experience that he’s seen in the movies. He sees the bloody scalpel, the blood covering his heaving chest, and his screams.
His hand travels up to his nose and he feels it, a thin tube inside his nose. His hands are quick and he starts to pull, audibly groaning at the unsettling feeling. He finally yanks it out and tears string the corner of his eyes. He looks to his side and sees an old steel glass and reaches for it with shaking hands. He barely manages to get his hands on it before it, and the water inside it, falls to the ground and rolls on the floor.
Tony coughs and manages to roll to his side where he sees a man in his early 50’s and wearing glasses, shaving with a broken mirror tied to a pillar. Tony pauses, but the itch in his throat is so bad that he moves his attention from the man and to the jug of water that's across from him. He moves a little bit more, his hands almost there and then– he stops, held back by some unknown force.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man says,
Tony’s eyes travel from his chest, where a wire peaks out of his clothes and onto the other side of him where a car battery is sat. He grasps the wire in his hands as his eyes follow them to his chest. He groans aloud as his hand taps against the center of his chest, above his heart, and feels something hard. The dull ache starts to grow and Tony claws at his chest as if a hundred pounds had all of a sudden been placed on there. He rips away the bandages that covered the thing at his chest, revealing a big ugly and raw wound with a metal device protruding out of his chest.
Tony’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes wide and staring right up at the ceiling. He feels the room spin and before he knows it, Tony faints.
Hours later, he wakes up only to see that he was, in fact, not dreaming, that all of this was real, whatever this may be. He sits upright on his cot holding what looks like another broken piece of a mirror and examines the thing in his chest.
The man from before stands a few feet away from him by a makeshift furnace stirring something in a pot. What was that, beans? Chilly meat? Whatever was boiling in the pot wasn’t any of Tony’s priority as his eyes stayed glued to his new accessory on his chest.
“What the hell do you do to me?” For the first time in ever, Tony's voice comes out soft, totally unlike how it used to be loud and boisterous. It sounds exhausted and weak, a reflection of his own emotions.
“What I did?” The man repeats with a light chuckle, his wired voice carried by an accent. “What I did is to save your life. I removed all the shrapnel that I could, but there’s a lot left and it's headed into your atrial septum.” He lets go of the wooden spoon and picks up a small glass jar with small pieces of jagged metal. “Here, wanna see?” He lifts it up to the light for a moment and then tosses it to Tony. “I have a souvenir. Take a look.”
Tony rotates the small glass jar in his hand while letting his gaze settle on the small shards that still had some traces of his blood on them. He counts around ten, maybe fifteen, small little shards around the same length as grains of rice.
“I’ve seen many wounds like this in my village.” The man turns back to the pot. The walking dead we called them, because it took at least a week for the barbs to reach the vital organs.”
“What is this?” Tony asks, somber.
The man doesn’t need any clarification. He offhandedly motions towards the thing in Tony’s chest. “That is a electro magnet, hooked up to a car battery. And it’s keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart.”
Suddenly insecure for the first time in his life, Tony zips up his borrowed hoodie all the way up. He glances at the man, and then passes him into a corner where he sports a surveillance camera. The man looks over his shoulder and then back to Tony, “that’s right, smile.” He sounds almost jolly, like this was how he spent his Tuesdays– in some dingy cave like the cavemen with a camera watching his every move.
“We met once, y’know, at a technical conference in Bern.”
“I don’t remember,” Tony replied whilst his eyes scanned his surroundings.
“You wouldn’t.” The man chuckles, not at all offended as many people would have been. “If I’d been that drunk, I wouldn’t have been able to stand, much less give a lecture on integrated circuits.”
Tony looks off to the side towards a set of doors. “Where are we?”
The door-slat suddenly flies open and a pair of dark eyes glare at the two men. There’s a command that comes from the other side of the door in a language Tony doesn’t understand. The man, who’d been as cool as a cucumber, suddenly rushes to Tony’s side, hyperaware of the door and who was behind them.
“Come on, stand up,” He urges Tony to stand as his eyes flicker from the billionaire to the doors. “Stand up! Do as I do.” His voice is hushed, but the tone of his voice is stern. Tony slowly rises to his feet with the man’s hand on his arm. The yelling outside grows louder as the man brings Tony closer to the door.
“Come on, put your hands up.” The man raised his hands up to his head. Confused, Tony does the same. The yelling subsides and the doors slowly open. Three men enter, two of them armed and pointed at Tony and the man. His eyes wander from the men to the guns in their hands.
“Those are my guns– how did they get my guns?”
“Do you understand me, do as I do,” the man says, panicked.
The third man that entered raises his hands up in the air and begins speaking in another language– Arabic from what Tony could gather. He continues talking and walks closer to the two. His eyes settle on Tony when he utters the words ‘Mr. Tony Stark’ in a thick Arabic accent.
The man from before glanced between the three men and Tony. “He says 'Welcome Tony Stark, the most famous mass murderer in history of America’.”
The man speaks in Arabic again while the one from before translates.
“He’s honored.”
The man keeps speaking while motioning with his arms and hands to get his point across. Tony’s eyes stay glued to the man speaking while the one next to him softly translates.
“He wants you to build the missile– the Jericho missile that you demonstrated.”
The man holds out a surveillance photo that looks like it’d been taken a far distance away from the missile in question during the weapons demonstration from however long ago. The three men watch in anticipation for Tony’s answer. The billionaire glances between the photo, the three men, and the man next to him. The longer he puts off his answer, the more the tension builds.
Tony looks him in the eyes. “I refuse.”
The main man, who’d been speaking, shifts to stand straighter as his face hardens with anger.
The next few minutes go by in a rush. The two armed men grab onto Tony, while two more appear in their place to stand guard as they drag him away. He tries to fight them, thrashing and kicking in their hold, but none of it helps. They drag him out of the dingy cave and into another chamber that’s dimly lit. He’s hoisted onto his knees as a bucket full of water is placed in front of him.
Dozens of men now surround Tony and they all reach out, pull him by the hair and push it down into the freezing cold water. He screams and thrashes in their hold, fighting with all his might to break free and get the upper hand, but none of that works. The torture goes on for what felt like hours, but what for sure only a few minuets. He’s drowned and pulled back up, gasping for air over and over again. They pull him back one final time and place a dirty burlap sack over his head– one that he faintly remembers from possibly a hostage video– and is pulled up to his feet. They put something heavy and solid in his hands, the car battery connected to the machine in his chest he quickly realizes, and is blindly marched around the cave.
They come to a stop and the sack is pulled off of his face. Tony winced as the sudden bright light stung his eyes. He blinks back the light, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness and is met with an open sky and large mountains surrounding them. Down below him is a small makeshift camp and sort of compound made up of dozens of men. Tony’s suddenly pushed to walk forwards and follow the man from before all while he examines the scene before him.
They walk further away from the entrance of the cave and into the camp. The place was littered with weapons; guns, missiles, artillery, grenades. Some of it even dated back to the 80s, he noticed. Tony’s eyes darted from palette to palette seeing only one name on the weapons: Stark Industries.
They come to another stop in front of a crate of missiles. The main man speaks and Tony glanced at the man from before. “He wants to know what you think.”
Tony looks back at the man, his voice low and somber. “I think you’ve got a lot of my weapons.”
The man starts to speak again, walking around as his tone fluctuates as he honed in his points. He motions to the weapons around him as he speaks, coming to a full circle in front of Tony.
“He says, uh, they have everything you need to build the Jericho missile. He wants you to make a list of materials. He says he wants you to start working immediately and when you’re done, he will set you free.”
The man confidently sticks his hand out for Tony to shake, confident that he won’t be refused, after all what option did he really have? Tony slowly brings his hand up to him. They firmly shake their hands as Tony puts on one of his faux smiles that could fool anyone. He stares into the main man's eyes whilst speaking to the other one, “no he won’t.”
The other man has a fake smile of his own plastered on his face. “No he won’t,” he agreed with a nod.
–
You’re back in San Francisco, like how you wanted for the last few months, but not like this. Rain pours down onto the ground as you watch from under the porch. Between the crying and sleeping you don’t remember what happened the last few days. But what you can remember is that your mom is dead and Tony is kidnapped.
The noise from the inside of the funeral home comes out muted, but a constant reminder that this wasn’t some nightmare. Everything just felt too much. The rain, too much. The people inside, too much. The black clothes you’re wearing, too much. You felt everything, but at the same time nothing.
The pit in your stomachs has been replaced by the lump in your throat and the sharp claws of anxiety on your shoulders. You don’t even know what to think, or what to feel. What are you supposed to say to all those people? What are you supposed to do? You know that by logic children bury their parents, but not when they’re fourteen.
Eventually, you walk back into the funeral home to where all of your friends and family waited for you. You did your best to carry yourself with the same grace and humility your mom did, thanking people for coming and for their condolences, hugging relatives you hadn’t seen in decades rather than questioning where they were while she fought the cancer alone. In those four walls you did your best to be the best daughter.
The rain hadn't let up by the time they carefully brought her coffin out. Someone stood next to you, holding out an umbrella to protect you from the rain. Sabrina maybe, or maybe Pepper, you couldn’t tell. Your attention stayed on your mothers coffin being lowered further and further underground. Your eyes never left even when the priest said a final prayer, or when someone else gave the eulogy.
There was a dull ache in you and it was never going to go away.
–
Tony sits by a makeshift fire, the same one the man from before– who he later learns is named Ho Yinsen– made their “breakfast”. Since shaking the terrorists hands and seeing the reality of his situation, Tony had been quiet. He stares off into the fire, his only warmth, wrapped in a fleece blanket and an old beanie on his head as Yinsen speaks.
“I’m sure they’re looking for you, Stark, but they will never find you here.” He says, taking a seat across from Tony. He speaks as if he knows it's a truth that he’s come to terms with, and considering he’d been here longer than Tony, maybe he was right. “Look,” he speaks softly, “what you just saw, that is your legacy, Stark. Your life's work in the hands of those murderers. Is that how you want to go out? Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? Or are you going to do something about it?”
“Why should I do anything, they’re gonna kill me, you. Either way if they don’t I’ll probably be dead in a week.” Tony speaks uncharicteristically somber, almost surprising Yinsen.
“Then this is a very important week for you, isn’t it?”
Yinsen's words seemed to give Tony the final push that he needed. His glossy eyes light up with an idea.
That night Tony lay awake in his cot, unable to speak. The day's events keep him from sleeping, but more importantly he lays awake as his mind repeats Yinsens words.
‘That is your legacy, Stark.’
Legacy?
Tony knew a lot about legacy– it’s all he’s ever known. He was the heir to Howard Stark's legacy, a man who was a hero during WW2 and after. He forged his legacy in the image of his father. The phrase ‘it’s how Dad did it’ is uttered almost every time he makes a decision. He wore the title ‘Merchant of Death’ like a badge or honor because Dad would have. And for some time he was fine with it– relished in it, even. Who were they when he was the great Tony Stark?
But then he didn’t.
For the first time in a long time, Tony stopped and looked around. He looked at what he’d created, his so-called legacy, and then looked at you. You, who he abandoned before you could even take your first breath. You, who hated his guts more than anything. It was then, while Tony laid awake on his cot did he realize that you were his legacy, just as he’d been his fathers.
He still remembers the promise he made before he left that morning afternoon to tell you the truth, to sit down and, for the first time since his parents death, be open and vulnerable. As Tony lay there awake in that dim and dingy cave, handing over the machine keeping him alive, he made a promise to himself–and you– that he’d come back alive.
The next morning, Tony put his plan in action. He had Yinsen call the man from before, Abu, and started to list the things he needed for his work. Dozens of men came in and out of the cave carrying missiles, explosives, and weapons as Tony read off his list to Abu.
“I’m gonna need the S-30 explosive tritonal, and a dozen of the S-76. Mortars: M-Category 1, 4, 8, 20, and 60. M-229’s, I need eleven of these. Mines: the pre-90s Ap 5s and Ap 16s.” Yinsen stood beside him as he simultaneously translated everything to Arabic for their captor. Abu listened closely, his eyes darting between the two men. He motions for two men to go gather the supplies.
“If this is gonna be my workstation, I want it well-lit. I want welding gear, I don’t care if it's acetylene or propane. I need a soldering station. I need helmets. I'm gonna need goggles. I would like a smelting cup. I need two sets of precision tools.”
Eventually, after hours of gathering supplies the men leave Tony and Yinsen in the cave again, locking the heavy doors behind them. Tony quietly works on taking apart a rocket, pulling open a missile-housing and removes the glass ring from the inner workings.
“How many languages do you speak?”
Yinsen watched Tony work, “a lot. But apparently not enough for this place. They speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian.”
“Who are these people?” Tony asks, reaching into the missile and pulling out its inside mechanisms.
“They are your loyal customers, sir. They call themselves the Ten Rings.” Yinsen follows Tony around while he works, holding the car battery that’s keeping the billionaire alive. “You know, we might be more productive if you include me in the planning process.”
“Uh-huh,” Tony sets down the drill and forces the head of a missile off, giving it a good few hits before it separates from the body. He reaches in and pulls out its inside mechanisms and brings it over to his work station, Yinsen trailing behind him. He uses a pair of skinny tongs and pulls out a piece of metal. “Okay, don't need this,” he throws the rest of the mechanism over his shoulder.
“What is that?’
Tony holds the metal up to the light. “That’s palladium .15 grams. We need at least 1.6 so why don’t you go break down the other eleven?”
The two work in tandem, Yinsen works to pull apart the missiles and hand off the inside components to Tony who would pull them apart and harvest the pallidum inside. Once that was done Tony had Yinsen melt the pallidum in the crucible while he casted a mold into the silica sand with his hands.
Tony watched as Yinsen carefully picked up the hot crucible with a pair of tongs and slowly moved to the workbench where the cast was placed. Tony followed closely, holding the car battery in his hand. “Careful, careful. We only get one shot at this”
Yinsen's attention stays on the hot crucible, hands steady as he walks. “Relax. I have steady hands. Why do you think you’re still alive, huh?”
Tony sets the car battery down on to the table. Yinsen moved carefully and steadily as he poured the melted palladium into the mold. Soon enough, the metal cools and Tony carefully picks up a palladium ring with a pair of tweezers while Yinsen watches with intrigue. He placed the ring into a circular base and began working on the next steps. He soldered wires together, wrapping them in copper and connected them to the ring. Eventually, after a few days, he finished on his mystery project.
Yinsen watched as he connected it to the generator and flipped on the switch. The lights inside the cave flickered and the round device on the table came to life, glowing a fair blue-ish hue.
“That doesn’t look like a Jericho missile.”
“That’s because it’s a miniaturized ARC reactor. I got a big one powering my factory at home. Should keep the shrapnel out of my heart.”
“What could it generate?”
“If my math is right, and it always is, three gigajoules per second.”
“That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes.”
Tony hummed. “Or something big for fifteen minutes."
Their eyes meet for a moment. Tony flips the switch off and moves with Yinsen behind him. He grabs a set of blueprints he’d been working on the last few days and placed them down onto a spotlight.
“This is our ticket outta here.”
Yinsen picks up a few of the papers to get a better look, but comes up with nothing and sets them down.“What is it?”
“Flatten them out and look,” Tony says. Yinsen does as he suggests and there it is– the blueprints to some suit.
–
You don’t speak much after the funeral. You spend the day in your room, only leaving whenever Pepper drags you out (more like ushering you out with her words and sad face) for food and sunlight. She spends most of her days at the mansion only going to work when it's absolutely needed too. Happy comes by a lot too with food and anything else he thinks might cheer you up. You even got a call from Rhodey, who’d given his sincerest condolences and promised to bring Tony home. Thankfully, Obadiah stayed away.
But honestly, you couldn’t care.
You couldn’t care if you went without food or sunlight, you couldn’t care about what gossip went around the celebrity world, you couldn’t care if the world would end right now. You stopped caring when her heart stopped beating.
It’d been a month by now, since her death and the kidnapping. A month of constantly being around people who kept uttering the words ‘We’ll find him, don’t worry,’ ‘I’m here for you,’ ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through,’ A month of constant noise while your brain is filled with static. Thankfully, after days, Pepper and Happy were out of the house leaving you all alone. You saw the hesitation on Pepper's face, but thankfully she’d left allowing you a moment of actual silence.
You found yourself down in the workshop, absentmindedly strolling through the half finished projects scattered around. The place was quiet for once, something that you would have loved only a month ago. You didn’t know how to feel about this whole situation around Tony. Yes, he’s your father, but you’ve only known the guy for a few months and the only time you do speak to him all you do is bash heads. It’s not like you’re some cold heartless bitch, or anything. You do feel bad that he’s been taken, and you do want him to return safe, but you don’t know how to behave during something like this. Were you supposed to cry? Any daughter would, but again, you’ve only been living with him for a few months.
You end up in front of a computer and without thinking, you speak. “JARVIS, show me the video.”
There’s silence, and for a moment you think that the AI has gone to sleep. “I’m sorry Miss, but I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”
He’s right, you thought. There’s no need for you to watch the video of Tony being ambushed and taken, but something deep down tells you that you have to so that you can see for yourself and not hear from another third person.
“I don’t care. I need to see it.” The words come out pointed, but you can’t help it.
Eventually, the computer screen in front of you shifts to the onboard footage from one of the humvees. They drive down the desert road when there's a loud explosion and the camera shakes. Within moments, there’s yelling and gunfire and more explosions, and in the corner you can see Tony, dressed in a suit, unconscious and being dragged away by armed insurgents.
Bile raises in the back of your throat and you make a dash for the small kitchenette at the side of the workshop and empty your stomach. Tears well your eyes and you quickly wash out the acidic taste in your mouth.
“Again,” you gasped. “Again. Another angle. I need to know.”
You sat there in front of the computer for hours, watching and rewatching almost every angle you had available to you– on board, bodycam, and even satellite– you watched until you’d practically memorized what had happened. You had tried to hold onto some semblance of hope, but your mind had settled on the only logical option: Tony was dead.
—
It’s been a few days since Tony had replaced the electromagnet that was powered by a dying car battery with the mini ARC reactor and so far it was going well. Now that he was able to move around more freely it had gotten easier to start on their escape plane. Night had fallen as the cave grew more chilly. Tony and Yinsen sat at the table playing backgammon after Tony had mentioned that he was the backgammon champ at MIT for four years.
“Oh, good roll,” Yinsen commented as Tony moved his piece on the board.
“Still haven’t told me where you’re from,” Tony pours himself a cup of tea while Yinsen rolls the dice.
“I'm from a small town called Gulmira. It’s actually a nice place.”
“Got a family?”
“Yes.” Tony could hear the joy in his voice when Yinsen thought of his family. “And I will see them when I leave here.”
“And you, Stark?”
Tony paused. His mind trailed to you, who he knew no doubt were alone in that mansion perched over the Malibu cliffside. Were you two family? He was your dad and you were his kid, but was that it? He stayed away from you for your entire life over some petty disagreement with your mom. He had every opportunity to see you, to try to make up for lost time before she called him and begged him to take you in, but he didn’t.
Yet despite the distance, physical and emotional, Tony learned in these last few days he’d been held captive that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.
The promise he made still sat fresh in the back of his mind, and he knew that too much time had passed, but the time he did have he wouldn’t trade it for the world– even if he had no idea what he was doing.
“A daughter.” He replied. “It’s.. it’s a bit complicated. She hates my guts, can’t even be in the same room as me, but,” he sighed, “I made a promise to her– first one, and I don’t want to break it.”
“Daughters are like that,” he says, fondly remembering his own. “They look like their mothers, but act like their fathers.” He gives Tony a sympathetic smile, as the father of another stubborn daughter. “I’m sure she’s eagerly waiting for you.”
He gives a nonverbal answer to Yinsen, letting his words linger in their air. Tony’s eyes flicker from him to the board in front of them. I’m sure she’s eagerly waiting for you, but was she? It’s no surprise that Tony was a confident man– overtly confident even– he commands the room he’s in, even after he’s left, but all of that washes away when it comes to his fourteen year-old daughter. He could read every parenting book, blog, or Facebook post by some middle aged soccer mom that’s ever made and he still wouldn’t know where to start. Tony inwardly sighed, moving his piece on the board. Whether it was true or not, Tony knew that he needed to escape not just for himself, but for you as well.
His hand stills over his piece as he just realized what he’d just thought, ‘but for you as well’. He could almost laugh, not because the thought was so outlandish, but because of how in a few short months with you he’d started feeling somewhat paternal. What a father I am, Tony thought bitterly.
The next day wasn’t any different. They were awoken to bangs on the door signaling that the sun had risen, ate whatever bits of food was given to them and went straight to work. Tony sat by the soldering station where he welded pieces of metal together while Yinsen worked on the finer details of their machine.
The door-slat flies open and Abu peers through, barking orders to stand. The doors open and Abu along with a group of men with guns walk in, aimed and ready. Like clock-work, Tony and Yinsen slowly stand to their feet with their hands up on their heads. Abu steps to the side and a bald man, who Tony assumed was the real leader, walks into their ‘room’.
His eyes gloss over the cave dwelling and then onto Tony, “relax.” Tony glanced at Yinsen who was already wearily looking his way. Slowly and carefully, they lowered their arms. The man walks up to Tony, his hand reaches out to touch the mini ARC reactor fixed on his chest.
“The bow and arrow,” the man began, eyes locked on the unknown contraption in front of him. “Was once the pinnacle of weapons technology.” He pulls back and begins to walk around to the work benches, “it allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine.”
He moves the schematics around, looking at scattered blueprints. “An empire twice the size of Alexander the Great,” he walks back to Tony. “And four times the Roman Empire.”
Tony nervously watches the man as he grabs a set of blueprints. “But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands.” He sets them down, slowly turning and his voice pitching down, “and soon… it will be my turn.”
He stares down Tony, like a predator glaring at its prey. He speaks again, but this time in another language. Urdu, from what Tony can gather, but not understand. Although his gaze is locked onto Tony, his question is directed towards Yinsen, no doubt. Yinsen replies back, nervous and sounding almost rehearsed as if he’s trying to convince both the man and himself of his answer.
The man turns from Tony, now shifting his focus from the billionaire and onto the older man. Like before, he stalks his prey, sizing Yinsen up as he steps closer. They exchange more words, but whatever Yinsen says doesn’t convince the man. He orders two guards to bring Yinsen down onto his knees while he walks up to the furnace, grabbing the metal tongs. Tony nervously watches the man pick up a piece of coal from the furnace and anxiety shoots through him. The man brings it up to his lips, blowing on the hot coal as he approaches Yinsen who’s anxiously panicking himself.
“What does he want?” Tony nervously blurts out. The man brings his other hand forwards and grabs Yinsen's head, pushing it down onto the anvil and interrogates Yinsen on what actually was going on.
Yinsend stays steadfast in his answers, repeating the only word Tony’s been able to understand: Jericho.
He quickly catches on. “Wh-what do you want a delivery date?” He takes a step forwards and the rest of the men who’d been keeping watch order Tony to stop in his tracks. They aim their guns at him and he brings his hands up to show that he’s not going to do anything. The man stops, the hot coal just inches away from Yinsen's face.
“I need him.” Tony says. “Good assistant,” he adds, hoping that it’s enough to convince the man. Yinsen watches as the tongs grip on the coal loosens and drops onto the anvil an inch away from him.
“You have until tomorrow to assemble my missile.”
The man gives his final command, and threat, and throws the tongs to the side. He fixes Tony with one last glare before leaving, but not before giving another command to his men to keep an eye out on the two. Eventually, everyone else leaves as well. The two men who’d been holding Yinsen down, let him go with a shove as a warning before the doors closed shut.
The man’s words lay heavy on the two men, the both of them understanding that unless they wanted to die a grim and painful death this was the time to escape.
Hours drone by as they assembled the suit in a desperate race against the clock. Tony stands over the same anvil that Yinsen's face was on just a while ago, hammering together the faceplate of the suit. It stared back at him with every precise strike of the hammer and Tony knew that this was going to be it.
Tony prepares himself as Yinsen manages the crude suit of metal on the makeshift stand. He binds his hands and shrugs on any thick layer of clothing that he could. Yinsen helps Tony put on the protective “padding” around his arms, hands, body, and neck before lowering the main chestplate section of the suit onto Tony. Every move is meticulous, making sure that nothing out of place and that everything is firmly secured. Next is the arm pieces, first the upper is secured then the gauntlet is secured after making sure that Tony’s able to move his hands. Piece by piece, the suit is assembled and its necessary add-on’s are equipped where they need to be.
“Okay, say it again.” Yinsen says, carefully attaching the pieces together.
“41 steps straight ahead. Then 16 steps, that’s from the door, fork right, 33 steps, turn right,” Tony repeats the way out of the cave after months of memorizing.
The man from before carefully watched through the surveillance monitor as Yinsen worked on something that was hidden by a partition. His eyes scanned the various monitors searching for Tony but coming up empty. Knowing that something was wrong, he orders his men to go find him.
The slats at the door soon open and the guard calls out to the two, no doubt suspicious of what they were doing. “Yinsen! Yinsen! Stark!”
Yinsen continues to quickly work as the shouts grow more persistent. “Say something,” Tony whispered, “say something back to him.”
Yinsen fidgets, “he’s speaking Hungarian, I don’t..”
“Then speak Hungarian,” Tony says, like it’s obvious.
Yinsen makes a gesture with his hand, as if to convey ‘bro, how? I don’t speak Hungarian.’
“Okay, I, uh, I know.” He shouts something back to them hoping that through the limited Hungarian he knew he’d be able to tell the guard, ‘go away, nothing to see here, pinky promise.’ But of course, nothing goes their way, and after having enough the guards go to have the door opened. Unbeknownst to them, the entrance had been rigged to explode.
The door barely opens before it erupts into a fiery explosion, knocking the two men back and incapacitating them. The explosion damages the camera, leaving the one of the many monitors to display static snow. At the sound of the explosion that echoed through the cave, and the lost video feed, panic takes hold of the men that held Tony and Yinsen hostage. They all rushed to grab their weapons and to storm the two men's dwelling to see what just had happened and to riddle them with bullets.
“How’d that work?” Tony asks as Yinsen leans to the side to see how much damage was done.
“Oh, my goodness,” He marveled, resuming his work quickly. “It worked alright.”
“That’s what I do.”
“Let me finish this,” Yinsen grabs another tool.
Tony shakes his head, "initialize the power sequence. Now.”
He puts the tool down and turns to the monitor and keyboard, “okay, tell me. Tell me.”
Tony walks him through the steps. "Function 11. Tell me you see a progress bar. It should be up right now. Talk to me.”
Yinsen squints at the screen, “I have it.”
“Press Control ‘I’.”
“Control ‘I’,” Yinsen repeats to himself.
“‘I’ ‘Enter’.”
“Got it!”
“Come over here and button me up.”
Sweat coats Yinsen almost all over his body as he rushes to put the finished touches on the suit. The guards' voices grow louder as they get deeper into the cave. Ironically, the man who’d been calm all these months begins to grow further and further anxious.
"Every other hex bolt,” Tony reminds in a surprisingly calm voice. “Nothing pretty, just get it done.”
“They’re coming!”
“Just get it done.”
Once finished, Yinsen turns back to the monitor only to see that the progress bar is only half way loaded.
“Make sure the checkpoints are clear before you follow me out, okay?”
But Yinsen doesn't hear Tony, “we need more time,” he says to himself. He turns back, suddenly calm, “hey. I’m gonna go by you some time.”
“Stick to the plan!” Yinsen moved away from Tony, his decision already made and unwavering. “Stick to the plan!” Tony shouts aloud, panicking.
Yinsen grabs a rifle from off of a guard's body, letting off two shots into the air to draw attention towards himself and away from Tony.
“Yinsen!” Tony calls out, but there’s no use. His heart hammers through his chest and reverberates against the chestplate as he quietly listens to Yinsen's footsteps get fainter and fainter. Bleary-eyed, he watches as the progress bar fills to completion.
Power in the cave diverts to the suit and plunges the cave into its natural darkness. Dozens of armed men strom through the entrance, but stop just before the blown doors, suddenly hyper aware of the unsettling darkness. Despite their fears they maintain position, guns drawn, and steadily approach the workshop. A guard stops and slowly turns and is thrusted into a wall. His scream and the sound of him colliding with solid rock grabs the attention of the others by the entrance. They let off a burst of bullets into the open workshop, cautious of whatever was lurking in the shadows. The bullets let off short flashes, allowing them to see small alcoves inside, but not enough to quell their fears. The second they stop a tall, shadowy figure with a light fixed at its chest appears before them and throws them into the wall with brute force. A guard shoots the thing, but he’s met with a fistfull of metal to the face, knocking him down onto the ground.
Tony peers out of the slits of the suit’s mask as he moves forwards. He counts every step of the way to the entrance, even when dozens of men shoot bullets towards him. Surprisingly, the crude suit does a good job of deflecting the bullets and absorbing their impact. The men charge towards the suit, guns and fists raised, but it does nothing against Tony as he’s able to send them flying back dozens of feet with a swing of the suits arm.
He follows the plan, 41 steps, even as bullets fly his way and as he knocks the guards back and into the cave walls and slumped onto the cold ground. 16 steps from the door. Some of the men panic and run behind the door, as if it would save them from the near seven foot tall figure. Screams of their comrades are heard through the iron door, but then it abruptly ends. They quietly wait, guns drawn, and slowly take a step back.
Bang.
The door shakes. Another step back.
Bang.
A dent forms in the middle of the door. Step.
Bang.
It grows larger, and then another, and another. One guy bolts.
Another bang, and the rest of them run away as Tony kicks the door open.
The door, and its metal framing, go flying back sending everyone into more of a frenzy than before. Fork right, Tony tells himself, and he does, coming to face a guard. He brings his arm down onto the guy's head, sending him down and lodging his armored arm into a small crevice in the cave wall. Tony tries to carefully dislodge his arm and a guard takes the opportunity to sneak up behind him, weapons raised at the suit's head. He lets off a shot and the bullet ricochets and hits the man in the head instead, sending him to the ground. Tony turns his head to look down at the other body by his feet and pulls his arm free with a firm tug. 33 steps, turn right.
The rest of the way is thankfully clear. Tony turns right and he spots an injured Yinsen laying on a pile of sacks from the helmet. “Yinsen!”
“Stop! Stop!” Yinsen chokes out a warning, but it’s too late. Tony turns his head to the entrance and spots the man from before, the leader, aiming an RPG at him. The weapon goes off and Tony barely manages to lean back and dodge the attack. It hits the cave wall behind him, letting off dust and debris everywhere as the cave shakes and echoes.
Tony quickly raises his left arm, the one Yinsen had been carefully working on, and primes his own version of a makeshift RPG out of a grenade. He pulls on the pin and it goes flying forwards, hitting the wall beside the man and erupts into a burst of flames. The shockwave sends the cave wall, and part of the ceiling tumbling down along with the man.
“Stark,” Yinsen breathes out as Tony moves towards him. He lifts the suit's mask revealing his face covered in sweat and dust. “Come on. We got to go. Move for me, come on. We got a plan. We’re going to stick to it.”
“This was always the plan, Stark.” Yinsen’s breathing gets shallow and the color drains from his face. He slowly blinks up towards Tony who just shakes his head.
“Come one, you’re gonna go see your family. Get up.”
“I am going to see them again. They’re waiting for me.”
The realization hits Tony, sending a wave of nausea over him.
“Go, Stark. Your promise, fulfill it to your daughter.”
He gives him a small smile and nods, “thank you for saving me.”
“Don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life.” Tony stays with Yinsen as he takes his final breath and finally reunites with his family.
Outside the cave entrance, dozens of men wait with their guns drawn and pointed forwards. Loud footsteps echo outwards and a small circular light comes into view with every approaching step until finally, Tony emerges out of the cave.
Bullets fly towards him, and like before, they do nothing against the behemoth that was the suit. Round after round, Tony stands firmly at the entrance. And when the chorus of bullets finally ends, to the horror of the men, Tony replies, “my turn.”
He aims both of his arms at them, and lets off the twin flamethrowers that were equipped. The men and the encampment, along with the Stark weapons, are all engulfed in flames as Tony moves further along. Suddenly, heavy artillery is fired from up along the mountain's sides from multiple angles, bringing Tony to his knees amidst the flames. He aims at one of the men firing towards him and sends a cloud of flames his way, but it doesn't minimize the assault on him. Knowing that this was the only chance he has, Tony carefully stands up, opens a metal flap on his arm, and flips a red switch. The suit lets out a whine that quickly morphes into a roar, and Tony angles forwards as the heel boosters of the suit glow white hot and kicks up desert plumes– and then he blasts off line a missile into the air like a missile.
The remaining men that were able to escape Tony’s fire (literally) watched dumbstruck as the suit of armor and Tony in it climbed hundreds of feet and arcs across the sky towards the mountain pass. But it's short lived as one by one, the weapons and ammo that had been scattered across the camp ignites one by one into a sudden ball of flames.
Tony can hear the explosion beneath him, and he feels the heat of the chain of explosions reach further into the air, but he manages to escape and clears the mountain range, soaring through the air, and then– his boosters clip off, suddenly spent and send him plunging downwards into the desert like a human cannonball.
The suit falls apart at the sudden descent and the earth starts to tumble as Tony spirals down, screaming until he thuds into the sand and chunks of his armor splits away. A cloud of sand forms around him, lowering his visibility and ability to breath. Dazed, and no doubt injured, he struggles to free himself from the exo-skeleton of the suit. He staggers onto his feet, pulling off the multiple layers of clothing and ‘padding’. Tony lets out a groan, wincing at the realization that the suit wasn’t as impenetrable as he thought, and clutches a bullet wound by his shoulder. Despite it, he starts moving, not wanting to risk getting caught again after just escaping.
He walks for what he can only assume to be hours, staggering down dunes and dying from thirst. He’s wearing an old tattered pair of pants and a wifebeater with an old shirt wrapped around his face to shield himself from the sand and sun. He grows more and more dazed until finally behind him a USAF Blackhawk suddenly raised over the lip of the dune. Tony gazes up and lets out a sigh of relief and falls over at the sight of the chopper and the familiar red white and blue flag.
Tony raises his hand up with a peace sign as the chopper lowers onto a clearing and a winded and grinning Rhodey emerges from the chopper. He dashes towards Tony, “how was the fun-vee?” Tony softly chuckles, still dazed. “Next time, you ride with me, okay.” Rhondy kneels in front of him, hand on his non-injured shoulder, giving it a squeeze and pulls him into a hug, the both of them relieved that it was finally over.
–
Pepper watched the USAF C-17 descend and land while she held her breath. Despite her well put-together appearance, one look at her face can tell that she’d spent a good few hours crying at the news that Tony had been found, alive and relatively well. Behind her, Happy stands next to the Rolls Royce he’d dropped Tony off in all those months ago. He’s wearing his signature suit and a pair of glasses, no doubt to hide his own red rimmed eyes (though if you ask him about them, he’ll vehemently deny that he’d cried when he heard the news).
The ramp slowly lowers and reveals Rhodey dressed in his formal Airforce attire and standing next to Tony, who wore a new clean suit, a sling, and sported a brand new wheelchair, no doubt at the behest of Rhodey and all the dozens of doctors he had to see. Rhodey helps him down the ramp, holding Tony’s good arm to relieve any stress, “watch it, coming up here.”
EMT’s roll a gurney over towards the pair as they step off the carrier. Tony glances over and shoos them away, “are you kidding me with this? Get rid of them.” He pivots out of Rhodey’s hands and walks towards Pepper. “Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long-lost boss?”
She suppresses a smile (and fails). “Tears of joy. I hate job hunting.”
“Yeah, vacations over.” His eyes flickered from her to Happy, then to the Rolls parked up in front of them, and then back to Pepper. “The kid, where is she?”
Pepper goes rigid and nervously swallows. “She ran away.”
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