Déjà Vu
Chapter notes: From here on, elements of Marvel Cinematic Universe, especially The Avengers and Thor, begin to intrude, though not with the same pushed-back dating as the ones for Stargate. And speaking of Stargate, I will only use select elements, and everything has been pushed back 10 years from canon. - Rey
Central Park, 19th May 2004
“Do you think we should go to Mister Jackson’s symposium, Sai’yo?” I ask quietly as Sai’yo and I manoeuvre our respective remote-control boats on the large pond, along with other players. “Well, I guess what I should ask is: Are you interested?”
We talked until quite late at night… or more properly rather early in the morning… with Daniel Jackson, after we explained about the contract and he signed it – with much less reluctance than Ms. Langford. It was firstly at the restaurant where we dined, then our hotel room. He even kipped on an extra bed there, seeing that he could barely open his eyes when I – at long last – cut off our conversation, when the two of us yawned too much for coherent conversation – not Sai’yo, though, that “Superman.”
He doesn’t know that the United States keeps a Stargate around, as it is Ms. Langford’s story and part of her contract that we must keep, but he does know that there are means to go to other planets from one point to another… and it ignited his spirit to burn higher than before. So, now I am…. Well, the question is: Is he going to be even more convinced to tell this seemingly mad idea to the whole wide world, if Sai’yo and I attend his presentation? Humans naturally fear the unknown, after all, and so they might fear him should he go on with presenting his hypothesis, with his confidence renewed by all the things that we discussed, the things that he is forbidden to speak of.
He might lose his credibility in the community and for a job that he so loves because of that lack of further evidence, and it would be partly because of us.
It doesn’t mollify me any when Sai’yo throws the decision back to me, citing that he is just keeping me company as a good servant would.
I glare heatedly at him, for that. “So the ice cream just now was just ‘keeping me company’?” I point out sarcastically. “One would think you would enjoy it less if you’re just keeping me company.”
“Keeping someone company is not always a chore, my lord,” he smiles, unperturbed, his eyes warm.
I blush and look away, moved by the look. – Damn. Sometimes I rue his rising confidence in himself and the subsequent emergence of his dorment assertiveness.
As retaliation, I seek to capsize his remote-control boat, with increasing desire as he continues to evade me with previously unforeseen skill.
Aaand we become a spectacle, as the other players cheer and laugh us on, also providing us some obstacles to go through with their own various mini water vehicles.
If all geniuses are gits like this, I truly dread working with Mr. Jackson after his presentation next week, as he promised us this morning….
O-O-O-O
“You like remote-control toys much?” I observe, amused, as Sai’yo now moves a mini jeep across the grass and fallen foliage nearby the shaded bench we’re seated on.
“You bought them, my lord,” he reminds me. “I simply make use of them, as you allow it.”
“Allow,” I echo, scoffing, nudging his ribs with an elbow. “You kept your eyes entirely on the thing when that boy had a test-drive at the toy shop! If that’s not some strong wish, I’d eat your jeep.”
“A jeep-shaped cake, perhaps? Otherwise it would be unpleasant and far too dangerous for you,” he ripostes.
I jostle the hand that holds the remote control, in retaliation.
Accordingly, the poor jeep zips up somebody’s all-too-good dress shoes, before flying off and rolling round, ending up on the lush grass with its futilely-moving wheels on the air.
“Oops, sorry,” I tell the owner of the shoes, who is a short man dressed in a sharp three-piece suit alien to a park like this.
He cocks his head, his brown eyes laughing but sharp with curiosity, just like Mr. Jackson’s yesterday at the museum.
“I can make it better,” is all he says.
I blink. “The jeep?” I clarify. “Well, maybe, but we bought this in a toy shop, just for fun. Never played it before.”
He picks the whirring jeep from the grass near his shoes, deactivates it manually, then looks thoroughly at it without any more word, as if unable to hear me… or not wanting to. And beside me, Sai’yo shifts, as if restless or displeased.
“I can make it better,” the stranger proclaims at length, repeating himself triumphantly, while thrusting the toy forward but not returning it to either of us.
I huff. “Yes, maybe,” I emphasise each word, “but that is ours, and we would like to resume playing.”
He joins us on the bench, in response, while still holding on to the jeep. “The remote, the remote, I need the remote, gi’m gi’m gi’m that,” he blurts out quickly, excitedly, flicking his fingers at the remote control still grasped loosely in Sai’yo’s hand.
He simply grabs the thing from Sai’yo when the latter, seeming to be quite flabbergasted, still keeps a hold of it.
I gape. But, oddly, not because of how rude and blunt and forward this odd, unknown man is.
He just… feels… familiar, somehow, despite me knowing not even his name, now that we sit so close to each other.
And he chatters on and on and on, obliviously, rather like Mr. Jackson but about engineering details instead of archeological or linguistic ones, while fiddling with the remote control.
I exchange flummoxed looks with Sai’yo.
The strange paralysis only breaks when the stranger tries to pry open the casing of the remote control with his fingers.
“Hey! That’s ours!” I grab both the remote control and the mini jeep away, instinctively, then just as instinctively shrink away, closer to Sai’yo, suddenly remembering how mad the Dursleys were when I grabbed something away from Dudley when we were small, regardless whether it was mine or his.
But, unlike the Dursleys, the man just… raises his eyebrows, looking rather nonplussed. And then, in the same manner, he blurts out, “Jees, kid, no need to act like a scaridy cat like that. I don’t bite, y’know.”
“You didn’t even tell me your name, or why you’re here,” I point out, rather more defensively than I would like to sound. Sai’yo has risen to his feet, meanwhile, with a hand on my shoulder which somehow feels like a message that says: Violence towards the stranger is near at hand.
The man looks even more nonplussed, for a moment. But then the look is slowly but surely replaced with one of utter glee.
“You don’t know me?” he checks, then, “Cool!” he crows, when I shake my head.
And, “Well, not as cool as I want. I’m famous, after all, but it’s awesome to introduce myself once in a while and look at people and see them clueless about me and you mightn’t even know my name if I tell you so… I’m Tony Stark. Ever heard of me?” he jabbers, with barely three breaths – if even that many – in-between all the words.
Damn. We had to deal with Daniel Jackson yesterday, and it is Tony Stark today… whoever he is.
I shake my head, flabbergasted and dismayed.
He seizes my right hand and pumps it up and down energetically several times, in response.
And, judging from how tightly Sai’yo clenches my shoulder, however briefly, Tony Stark is only a hair’s breadth away from being pummelled by the usually mild-mannered Jaffa.
Damn. The situation is rapidly getting out of hand. And I thought we’d just spend a lazy day in the park today, to make up for the helter-skelter ride we had all day yesterday.
This man won’t leave till we get to the bottom of why he’s here, though, most likely; similar to Mr. Jackson. So, “Why are you here and watching us, Mister Stark?”
And… the man pouts, complete with crossed arms and a petulant expression, and a flippant remark of “I do whatever I do, Mister Kiddy Somebody.”
Huh. An overgrown spoiled child.
Almost like Sirius was, when he wasn’t being haunted or depressed.
Eh. I would take Daniel Jackson any time. His attitude was… less bratty.
But, judging from how Tony Stark is dragging me to my feet and trying to tow me away to… somewhere, the option of us being left alone by him isn’t on the figurative table, sadly.
Starbucks Café, 19th May 2004
Tony Stark turns heads wherever he walks. I guess, his claim of fame is not an empty boast, after all. And he does seem to both expect the attention and… somewhat revel in it.
This prevalent attention from total strangers makes me uneasy, though. It feels too much like the first days and weeks of my re-entrance to the British Wizarding World. And judging from how closely Sai’yo positions himself to me and watches out for me, he shares the feeling.
“Umm, can’t we pick a quieter place, at least?” I plead at length, as we seat ourselves round a table at one of the more crowded coffee-serving café that the not-so-sane famous somebody picked.
The man cocks his head and peers closely at me, in response. And then he asks in an unexpectedly rather serious tone, “Expecting trouble, kid?”
I begin to shake my head, then think better of it. “Yes,” I decide to say. “We are not good with crowds.”
“They’re just interested in me. The attention will pass.” He waves a hand; a clumsy attempt to soothe the nerves of his semi-willing guests, it seems.
I do shake my head, now. “You don’t really like it, yourself,” I point out, uncaring of how blunt the statement is, by this point. “Why pick a crowded place? We could have picked our hotel room or your house, or a quiet restaurant, or even a park like the one you found us at.”
Something passes across his eyes – surprise? You-caught-me? Irritation? Defensitveness? I don’t know. It’s a jumble of many things, probably all the aforesaid emotions, and it makes him suddenly pretty unreadable. He says nothing, at that, just standing up and moving over to the purchase counter.
Sai’yo and I exchange flummoxed looks again.
“Let’s just… order something, then we talk while walking or something,” I suggest, at length, while dazedly thinking through the options. Because, surprisingly, Tony Stark’s most recent reaction to my words makes me wish to know more of him; and, coupled with the increasing sense of familiarity, it makes me reluctant to skedaddle while the madman is distracted and away, unlike before.
We stand up just as the said madman returns with three steaming cups of coffee.
Puzzled, I look at the long queues before the counter, then at him and his purchases, then at the queues again. “You… just went there, didn’t you? So… how?” I stutter.
“Money talks,” he grins, though it looks more wolfish than mirthful to me.
I raise my eyebrows. Automatically accepting one of the cups from the tray, I readjust my view of him into: a not-so-sane, famous, possibly millionaire or even billionaire overgrown spoiled child of a man.
Not a good or appealing curriculum vitae, that.
And still, my heart urges me not to run far, far away from him so soon. Damn inexplicable familiarity.
Well, if Sai’yo and I cannot escape his presence for whatever reason, I had better try to dictate the terms of our… encounter, right now, though usually I’d rather not. So, “Shall we just walk? I’d like to see whatever we can see here.” It’s not really a lie, either, as it’s my first time – and Sai’yo’s, too – visiting a huge shopping mall which dwarves Harrods in size, though apparently not in completeness of items and services offered.
“All right, then,” he agrees easily, before steering me to the exit by way of an arm round my shoulders.
And, just so, something – a memory, a mental message from somebody nearby, or perhaps just my overactive imagination at play – surfaces in my tired mind, before drowning me completely in it.
“All right, then. Fine,” an androgynous voice agrees easily, sounding as if through a thin wall, with the same inflection and weight as the words that Tony Stark uttered, though I don’t know if I hear it in my mind or my ears. “Fine. Go cuddle with your dam and ignore me. But if so, do not seek me for a fun game when you are born and grown up little Laufeys. Last chance, little twin. Come greet your sire.”
And, as if moved by an invisible hand, I raise my own hand and tap softly against a membrane that seems to bar me from the owner of the voice.
And the voice crows, just like Tony Stark.
Huh.