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darsynia · 1 year

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Trust Fall | Ch 16b

ARC image by Eury Escodero | gif by 'visnja' found on pinterest (no account sry)

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Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony makes Fury's day miserable, and Clint and Natasha do their best to get Emory the things she needs at SHIELD.

Length: 2,845

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

"Janice over in research wanted to know if field ops’ landlines were tied up too, but I told her I wasn’t up there.” Clint seems like he’s just immune to the oppressive, fondant-thick tension wrapped around all of them, but it seems more like his behavior is the icing on Fury’s anger cake.

“All of them are,” Fury says, jerking his arm forward to reveal that he’d been pulling a suitcase.

...Emory recognizes it. It’s hers, the one she’d taken to Afghanistan. She shoots a begging, terrified glance toward Natasha. The other woman’s expression softens as she nods; it’s almost too subtle to notice, unless you’re a frightened, demoralized kidnapping victim in desperate need of both reassurance and clean clothing.

Emory takes a deep breath to fortify herself for the task of pulling focus, but Clint’s phone rings again. Instead of the default ringtone this time, though, it’s a custom one. Bon Jovi’s Shot Through the Heart.

Everyone looks at him.

“I need to take this,” Clint says, grinning.

Chapter Sixteen: 5:44 AM to 8:27 AM in Washington, D.C.

A half hour after his call cut out so abruptly, Tony’s in one of his cars on the way to Stark Industries. He’s called back multiple times, only to be fobbed off with increasingly desperate and insulting excuses. The problem with shadowy government agencies is that they’re designed to obscure the difference between a genuine lack of information and utter fucking incompetence.

Emory is probably okay, but that doesn’t help much. The things she asked him to say right before losing the connection had been both cruel and effective. Tony needs to tell her he loves her and he’d only said them because she’d asked him to. She’d screamed that it needed to sound real, and, well, Tony’s an overachiever.

The bitch on the phone at SHIELD probably isn’t making enough money for her spectacular talent at giving zero information in the most neutral tone of voice possible-- and now they’ve stopped even picking up. The thing is, it’s nearly seven in the morning. Tony has all day to use his not inconsiderable influence to find out what the fuck is going on. He’s going to tie up every single available phone line at the company, for starters.

When the phone company opens for business, Tony will personally call their marketing department and find out how many lines he can rent for the day. If SHIELD wants to waste time blocking thousands of California numbers, they’re welcome to. If they sic the law on him, Tony can blame the kidnapping for his criminal harassment, offer to pay for a full ride for a hundred children disadvantaged by terrorist acts or kidnapping or telephone mishaps. Whatever is necessary.

Tony parks in his designated spot, lets himself in the building, and jitters his way through the elevator ride. Ten minutes later, every single external line at SHIELD headquarters is busy with long-distance calls, and the two remaining fax machines that are still hooked up start printing.

They get surprisingly far before they’re challenged.

To Emory, it seems like whoever Natasha is, she’s got the kind of seniority that is both earned and granted from on high. The person who finally does stop them from reaching the front doors of the building is a young security guard whose Adam’s apple is bobbing so quickly it could inspire a techno beat.

“Pardon, I mean, excuse me, Agent Romanoff. You’re, you’re not authorized to leave the build-- the premises.”

“You want to back that up with some kind of proof?” Natasha says, crossing her arms.

“Come on, Nat, you know what he means.” Clint saunters up from behind the large metal statue that serves to break up the vastness of the large entry area. “You’re welcome to leave. By yourself.”

“I don’t see how taking her with me will be much different. She’s got no training, has no knowledge of the mission-- she doesn’t even have any clothes or personal belongings. She’s a nobody. A ghost.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Emory mutters under her breath.

“Unless she can dematerialize, she’s going to need authorization. Unless…” Clint grins and winks at Emory, still directing his words at his partner. “Did you know Howard Stark was one of the founders of SHIELD?”

Emory’s heart leaps at the last name, only to crash like a lead weight through the rest of her organs, leaving bile and pain in its wake. A cruel voice in her head taunts her. ‘Tony wasn't lying about not wanting to be around you. He's probably grateful that you're not in California!’ Stop. Stop! she tries to tell herself, mentally struggling to slam the storm doors shut. Clint is still talking, and she refocuses on what he’s saying.

“--embedded a clause in the code of conduct. Trial by combat. So, you want to leave with her? Kick my ass.”

“The floor here is marble, Barton. I have no specific desire to make an omelet out of your head, I actually like working with you,” Natasha says, sounding supremely irritated.

“You won’t get that far,” Clint shrugs.

Natasha’s shoulders slump for a moment in seeming defeat before she leans over and rips the sock off of her foot. Clint’s expression is initially baffled, but he performs an impressive dodging spin backwards to avoid Natasha’s sudden leaping kick. That slight delay is enough for her to connect, grazing him with the toe of her boot. She drops to a fighting stance so fluidly that Emory despairs of ever being helpful to either of these people.

What follows is the kind of fight sequence that people pay millions to choreograph, light, film, and edit. A small crowd gathers, cheering each hit no matter who connects. Rather than being a liability, Natasha’s bare foot is an asset, allowing her increased traction on the smooth marble as she steals lightning-fast jabs at her partner. For his part, Clint seems to know everything about Natasha’s outfit, enough to flick open two separate pockets that cause objects to fall out while they fight. She kicks both of them away, but the distraction is powerful both times.

Their battle is clearly a joy rather than a dispute. Both are smiling, and when Clint gets a phone call, the two back away from each other so he can answer it.

“Am I supposed to use this as a diversion?” Emory hisses over to Natasha.

The redhead smiles enigmatically. “No, it’s for--”

“What in the Sam Hill is going on?”

Director Fury’s voice booms in the wide open lobby space.

“--him.”

A few suited agents scatter to reveal a frowning, trenchcoated figure stalking towards them from the glass doors.

“You going to make me repeat myself?” he demands.

“Phone call,” Clint says lightly, holding up his smartphone and actually wiggling it back and forth to reveal the ‘call ended’ screen. Behind the words is an image of purple flames.

“Does hell want you back? Because I’d be happy to oblige,” Fury says ominously.

“Nah, Janice over in research wanted to know if field ops’ landlines were tied up too, but I told her I wasn’t up there.” Clint seems like he’s just immune to the oppressive, fondant-thick tension wrapped around all of them, but it seems more like his behavior is the icing on Fury’s anger cake.

“All of them are,” Fury says, jerking his arm forward to reveal that he’d been pulling a suitcase.

Everyone looks at him.

“I need to take this,” Clint says, grinning.

“Get the fuck out of here. All except you and you,” Fury growls, pointing at Natasha and Emory. In less than ninety seconds, they are the only three in the lobby. He turns to Natasha. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Sir, you pulled me off of a mission halfway across the world so I could start training her three days early. That extraction definitely cost more than a pair of shoes, so I’d say ‘what in the Sam Hill is going on’ is an excellent question,” Natasha notes.

Emory has spent years knowing how to watch Rory Fall’s body language for signs that she was anxious, at her emotional limit, or fronting, and for the first time, Emory has that sense about Natasha. There’s a twist in the angle of her hips, like she’s planting her foot not to show her seriousness but in preparation to dash away to safety. Unlike Clint, whose blithe unconcern had seemed both manic and strangely self-assured given the circumstances, Natasha is uncertain.

She’s sticking her neck out for Emory, even though Natasha’s probably spent more time reading her file than talking to her.

“Money isn’t the problem. Policy is. Her belongings were recovered from the attack site, but once the platoon was informed of her--” Fury’s expression twists into disdain. “--‘release,’ military guidelines allow the owner seventy-two hours to claim their items before they can be destroyed.”

“What if I had spent that whole time unconscious?” Emory asks, aghast. Fury turns the rolling suitcase so he can push it toward her. When she rests her hand on the handle, its warmth is somehow comforting. “They didn’t inform us about that. I would have thought that Rory--”

She breaks off, grief surging unchecked upwards through the chasm her sinking heart had created. Rory had left the country without her, without anything that belonged to her, and she’d probably done it in an angry huff, too. She would have seen Emory’s absence as a betrayal.

A surge of guilt now chases the grief. There isn’t much point in asking if there have been messages left for her, because after years of working with Rory, Emory has pulled back from everyone. Even her parents have been trained to accept minimal contact, and isn’t that one of the most awful silver linings one could come up with for a long-term kidnapping?

The mental suitcase she’s been shoving inconvenient truths into is going to burst open pretty soon, if she keeps this up.

Natasha has stepped closer to Fury and is now speaking quietly to him. Emory doesn’t blame them; she’s overwhelmed and overstimulated and basically useless, right now. Even standing in the lobby area with its huge expanse in either direction and high ceilings is making her feel nervous. She almost wants to ask if there’s a chance they can just forget everything and send her back to her room for another sandwich. Not for the first time, Emory wonders what the fuck she’s doing here. At least I’ve been too confused and upset to generate power, she thinks to herself. Natasha’s spare sock is nearby, and impulsively Emory grabs it, turning her suitcase sideways to sit on it and take off the agent’s boot, replacing it with the sock.

“Agreed,” Fury says to Natasha, his voice raised loud enough for Emory to hear it. “Emory?”

“Present,” she calls out, channelling Tony, but she gets up, holding the boot out for Natasha to take.

“Agent Romanoff would like to take you out for breakfast and to speak to you about the mission,” Fury says sourly. Emory gets the impression that this had been a compromise.

“I’d like that, but… can I talk to Tony first?”

“No you may not,” Fury snaps. She steps back, stung, and he holds up a hand. The gesture is part frustration, part consolation. “I don’t care what tricks he picked up in Afghanistan, I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Stark’s shut down every single phone line in the building, and access to you is the only leverage I’ve got.”

“You could ask her for advice about that,” Natasha suggests, her face hidden as she zips her boot.

“It’s too early for this shit,” the director mutters. “You two: go eat, get caught up. I’ve got a threatening email to compose.”

“Does Stark Industries make cell phones?” Emory asks, right as Fury starts to walk away. She can feel a tiny buzzing hum at the fact that Tony didn’t just give up trying to reach her. It could barely blow out a match, but it’s something.

Fury stops, but he doesn’t turn.

“I guess bribing him to stop is more like a reward for bad behavior,” Emory realizes aloud, blushing.

“If your boyfriend hasn’t shut down our internet, you can order some shoes when you come back. Maybe that’ll prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth.”

With that, Fury stomps off.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Natasha says with an elegant shrug. “If it helps, my orientation was worse.”

When Tony finally does get through on one of his 492 rented phone lines, it’s ninety infuriating minutes later and he’s bought and canceled three different cross-country flights on two separate airlines, having waffled between the in-person brute force approach and a remote one.

“Stark, I am not a relationship counselor,” Nick Fury says in exasperation. The speakers in Tony’s office really do capture a lot of nuance in tone.

“You don’t like that job? Put her back on the phone.”

“I don’t care if you buy up the entire telephone network, Stark. I said once a day, I meant once a day! You’ll be down to once a week if I get one more goddamned call--”

Tony makes a cut-off gesture, but even JARVIS can’t prevent an already-ringing phone from continuing to ring.

“Well, look at that, a call from Stark Industries.”

“That was initiated ten seconds ago, Director Fury. Sir,” Tony tries, but Fury is having none of it.

“You heard me. Once a week.”

“It was already ringing!” Tony explodes.

“All those phone lines, and what did it get you?” With that, Fury hangs up.

Exactly thirty seconds later, Tony gets an email with a weekly fucking schedule of times for their calls, all set to occur at 6 AM EST. There’s also an admonition that SHIELD will be monitoring his travel and will adjust the attached schedule should Tony take a plane (or train, or bus, or motorcycle, or, or, or) to Washington.

“Keep calling, JARVIS,” Tony grits out. “All day. If anyone answers, blast them with something really annoying.” He snaps his fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the song Captain America sold war bonds with. His dad had always said that hearing it a few times in a row was enough to drive a person crazy. “The one about Captain America and his…” Tony makes a gesture that’s unintelligible, even for him, as he searches for the right word. It’s right on the tip of his-- “Bling,” he finally says.

“Could it be ‘The Star-Spangled Man,’ sir?”

“Yes! That’s it. Every time they answer, blast ‘em. No one gets to use the phone at SHIELD today.”

“I’ll add criminal harassment to the list, then.”

He doesn’t tell JARVIS he’d already planned on that one. There isn’t much point.

Tony drops into his chair and stares at all three monitors. As he watches, the status bars showing the call progress blink on and off as they attempt to connect. Vindictively, he wants to add other SHIELD offices to the list, maybe even shut down the entire agency, but there’s a kernel of value in what Emory said about stopping that scientist.

He blows out a frustrated sigh and spins the chair sideways so he isn’t looking at the evidence of his tantrum. When the consequences are a value dip in his stock, that’s something he can bear. It’ll go back up. When he loses a business deal because they’re too uptight to deal with his arrogance, that’s fine. He’ll make a better one with someone else. None of the people he really cares about, none of the people he loves have been at risk like this before.

Tony can almost hear Rhodey’s chuckle. “I thought you liked learning new things?” he’d probably say.

He doesn’t want to learn new things anymore. He wants to enjoy the new thing he’s already learned, how to love someone and want the best for them. He wants to learn how to be better at doing that. Taking something he is already pleased with and improving it is one of the things he truly enjoys.

He has never tried to do that with a relationship before.

That thought brings up a different one. According to the email from Director Nick Fury of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, Tony Stark is being told not to use airplanes, trains, busses, cars, motorcycles, horses, or mules to travel to Washington to see Emory Autumn. If Fury had simply written that Tony was to stay out of the city, that would be one thing. But the man had gotten cute.

Tony can get cute, too.

“JARVIS, clear this stuff off my monitors, it’s time to reconstruct the tool I used to escape that cave, see if I can’t enhance its flight capabilities for the Mark II version.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Why does that feel like snark to me?” Tony asks, stretching his arms out and twisting his wrists to limber them up for the schematic-drawing he’s about to engage in.

“I can’t imagine where I might have picked up that trait. You wrote me to be a model of respect and decorum.”

“Just for that, do an analysis of any and all footage of Agent Phil Coulson. Figure out his shoe, shirt, and suit size. Even if I get this thing built within a week and get out there, that’s still a week of not knowing what’s going on with Emory. I need to sweet-talk that information out of somebody, and it’s not going to be Nick Fury.”

Next chapter, Tony has a talk with Pepper, and Emory has a talk with Natasha.