Iron Before Steel

Strange Visitor: Iron Before Steel

Chapter 9 – The Outstretched Hand

His eyes slowly opened as he fought off the haze and confusion he was swimming in.

Where am I? My men… I was in the tent.

He began to blink rapidly as he gained more awareness of his surroundings and finally managed to bring the world into focus. He was in a room that was blindingly lit. Everything was bathed in a fluorescent glow; the surfaces gleamed in polished metal. It was all cold and sterile.

I’m in a hospital… no, that’s not right. It’s too empty. Too quiet or cold. A lab! Yes, this is someone’s lab.

He cleared his parched throat, trying to keep from gagging as the tissues of his esophagus scraped against one another. He coughed softly, trying to keep from choking. He attempted to sit up to observe and assess the situation fully but only lifted his head and neck from the inclined “bed” he was lying upon. It was more of a hospital gurney than anything and much to his dismay, he was strapped securely to it.

I need to find my men. We were attacked. Betrayed.

Only his head and neck had complete freedom of movement; as he looked down, he could see three straps tightly stretched across his chest, stomach, and hips while his elbows were also strapped to the branched extensions of the bed. His knees were also strapped down, and his wrists and ankles were cuffed with fabric-covered bands of metal.

He wasn’t getting up on his own; that much was clear.

He swiveled his head, trying to get a view of the wall behind him. He had just enough range of motion between his neck and shoulders to see a door in the wall behind him at the edge of his peripheral view.

How did he end up here? He couldn’t recall who had taken him.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to pull up previous memories of what could have landed him in his current predicament. With effort, they began to surface.

Stark’s escape months before. The destruction of his base, men scattered—the demon.

Those memories were months old now. After that, he had gathered the men of his cell that remained. Stark had killed many as he broke free from his confinement. He could hardly begrudge the man for that. Strangely, many men had been unharmed in the conflict. They had been rendered senseless or unconscious but, beyond a few broken bones and bruises, they had been left intact. Few knew what had fallen on them, but he had seen.

Those glowing eyes that melted steel like butter. Bullets that shattered and folded like paper against impenetrable skin. He was sure he’d come face to face with the devil himself.

After it was over, and they collected what wits remained, he ordered most of his men to scatter into the surrounding area and hide, giving them a location to regroup after a day or two. Perhaps they could find Stark before he fell back into the hands of the Western military. It was an unlikely hope, but that was all that was left to them then.

The rest of the men he had collected what few weapons remained and headed for their secondary location. He had no illusion that they would avoid an attack from US forces in the area. Stark had done a thorough job of eradicating the stockpile of weapons they had amassed. There was nothing left but small arms and a few scattered explosives. One of them had gone off while they were moving it, killing four more of his men.

What Stark had left behind, though, was a stack of welded iron plates strewn about the entrance to the base. The bastard had done an admirable job of sabotaging the electronic components before he departed, but the entire suit was salvageable. His men collected the pieces quickly and tossed them in the vehicle he was commanding. Only a handful of trucks and jeeps were left in working order, but it was just enough to take the men remaining in the desert toward their hastily assembled backup base.

They had examined the armored suit for months as they licked their wounds. His best men, which sadly wasn’t saying much, could barely piece the thing back together, but they had arranged it in close to working order when…

Stane. Obediah Stane, that is what happened. That is why I am here now!

Stane and his group of mercenaries had tracked them down in the desert. They had been overcome by some Stark sorcery - a sound - and he’d been immobilized. Even more thoroughly than he was at this moment tied to a bed.

Stane had done this, and Raza was now at that monster’s mercy. He needed to find a way out of here and back to his men.

“Mister Raza! It would appear that our time together is not quite finished.” The oily voice of the grizzled American businessman filled the room as he strolled through the now-open doorway. “I was told you’d woken up, and I wanted us to sit and talk for a spell before we make any decisions about our… partnership. I hope you understand the precautions I’ve taken to ensure this meeting remains civil."

Stane now stood before him, an infuriating grin on his face as he looked down at Raza, trapped in his tiny prison.

Raza looked up from beneath his hooded eyes, his glare signaling the total understanding of the “precautions” and the fact that they were quite warranted. “I will flay you alive one day for this, Stane. Once my men can find –”

“I’m sorry to say that your men aren’t in any position to help anyone at this juncture.” Stane interrupted Raza’s impromptu diatribe. “Being that they’re all dead and buried in those worthless sands you seem to enjoy so much.” A smug grin rested on the man’s face as Raza’s glare intensified. “Your men had served their purpose for both of us, and I needed to start tying up loose ends.”

Raza tried to control the rage rising in his chest. Damn. He needed those men if he would attempt to recapture Stark at some point. It wasn’t like the man bothered to hide. Plus, he only kept a single bodyguard on his person. Who did that after being kidnapped and held for ransom for two months?

“You murdered my loyal soldiers because they were no longer of use to you, is that it? Betrayer!”

Before he could build much of a rant, Stane interrupted him again. The grin on the man’s face vanished instantly, replaced by anger of his own.

“I’m the betrayer? Me? Remember when you took a job from me, a well-paid-upfront job, to kill a target of my choosing? And then you failed to complete that job!” The man was pacing now, anger turning his face a bright red as he shouted at Raza.

If he was going to get out of here, he needed to man to make a mistake. The best way to do that was to make him angry. Raza resisted the urge to smile.

“Not only did you fail to complete it, you double-crossed me and tried to extort me for more money because of who I wanted dead. That was a choice you made, wasn’t it? You could have killed Stark a thousand times; you had him for over two months! But you didn’t. You thought you could make him build you something better while at the same time forcing more money and materials out of me. Well, Mr. Raza. How did that turn out, hmm?”

Stane’s hands now rested on his hips in an absurd parody of a mother scolding an unruly child, though he stopped sadly, just out of reach next to the gurney bed.

“Well, I’ll tell you. You got your ass handed to you, didn’t you? Tony Stark got away and destroyed all those beautiful – and functional – weapons that I provided you with as payment. Then he just walked out the front door, like he was clocking out after a long day at work.”

Raza looked around to see if there was any way to close the distance between them while Stane ranted. The wheels on the gurney seemed to be locked in place. He couldn’t use his momentum to shift it at all as he squirmed under his restraints.

“But… and it’s a big ‘but,’ let me tell you, Raza. It turns out that your fuck-up might have been the best thing to happen to me in a very long time.”

Raza stopped and looked back up at Stane, who was grinning again. Stane disappeared to his right momentarily before coming back into view, dragging a small chair. He set the chair down, the seat facing away from Raza, and straddled it as the man leaned forward and braced his arms across the chairback’s top. He looked like an unruly student about to mouth off to his teacher.

And again, just out of reach of Raza’s restrained hands.

“I was poised to take complete control of the world’s premier weapons manufacturer. I was in the catbird seat! I was the closest thing Stark had left to family, with no one – and I mean no one – placed to contest me for total control and ownership of Stark Industries. Now, you might think that SI isn’t all that valuable without Tony. But you’d be wrong. Tony may make the best weapons on the market, but he’s not our only designer. Plus, our system has enough back catalog to pump out new weapons for another decade. At least we did before Tony deleted it all. And that’s on you, Raza.” Stane stared at him intensely now, eyes focused and unblinking in his accusation.

“But there’s a silver lining to this massive mistake. Do you want to know what it is?” Stane’s head cocked slightly to the side as a small smirk appeared on his face. “Because by failing to kill Tony Stark, you might have inspired him to create his best weapon yet. The world’s greatest weapon.”

Stane’s smirk only grew. Something dark and covetous hid behind the man’s eyes.

“You’ve just handed me the original prototype for the Iron Man weapon, I believe. We collected the parts from your camp when I killed your men. People have been talking about who it could be under that armor for weeks, but I’ve suspected since he first appeared.”

Raza looked at Stane in confusion. “Iron Man? Is that what you are calling the suit Stark used to escape?”

Stane dared to laugh out loud at that.

“You guys have been off the grid for a bit now, haven’t you? That suit you had was old news. Tony built a new one! A better one. A weapon of complete dominance and control if the person who wields it does it properly. You’ve handed me the keys to the kingdom. I’ve already sent the prototype to our best engineers here. They’re redesigning and improving it as we speak. Before the year is out, we will have a new suit that will be able to rival the one Stark is currently using to play hero and clean up the mess you and I created all over the globe.”

Stane stood back up and wandered away again. “That brings me back to what I am going to do with you.”

Raza scoffed. “If you have any sense in that shiny head of yours, you’ll kill me and be done with it.”

Stane shook his head in disapproval. “A bald joke, really? Kind of a pot and kettle situation there, don’t you think? No, Mr. Raza. I don’t think I need to kill you because of two reasons.” The man turned and paced away several steps before spinning back to look Raza in the eye. “First, I think you would like a chance to even the score with Tony, am I right?” Stane’s raised eyebrows indicated he expected Raza to respond to that.

And it was true. He did owe Stark a debt of blood, both for escaping his doom and all the trouble the man had caused him and his organization with those Stark-built weapons that had been battering them for years. He hated the man almost as much as he hated the one smiling down at him now in anticipation. He also needed a chance to escape his current situation, and if Stane was going to offer him one...

Raza humored him with a polite nod.

Stane’s grin widened as he continued to walk around Raza’s bed, finally stopping just a few steps away to Raza’s left.

“And two, I’ve taken one more small precaution to ensure your good behavior.” Stane smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver sphere, no bigger than a fingertip. He held it aloft so that Raza could see it.

“And what is that supposed to be?”

Stane chuckled before answering. “That is one of our more recent projects, come to fruition. One Tony didn’t design, so he doesn’t know anything about it, and one we’ve kept off our books at my express direction. It doesn’t look like much. Would you believe me if I told you that this tiny ball could blow a hole the size of your fist through an inch-thick steel plate?”

Raza squinted his eyes to look at the small explosive. There was no reason to doubt Stane. Weapon making was his business. But a tiny spark of worry began to grow in his mind.

“You probably haven’t noticed yet due to the drugs we put you on before surgery, but very soon, you’ll start noticing a throbbing pain at the back of your skull. If you were able to use your hands, you’d be able to feel a tightly secured bandage covering a good portion of the space where your skull meets your neck. It's protected against forceful detonation, so getting knocked in the head won’t set it off. It’s remote-controlled and can be detonated from across the planet. I won’t go into the specifics, mostly because I don’t want you trying to find a way to neutralize it.”

That spark had blown into a full raging fire now.

“I wanted to make sure that you were compliant for the foreseeable future, so I had several of my surgeon friends go ahead and implant one of these little guys just inside your skull. Now, you don’t need to worry; they are very good at what they do, and as you can see, it really is a tiny hole that we made to get this fella in there. We’ve got plenty of pain and antibiotics for you, totally at our expense, of course, so you don’t get an infection.”

Stane wore an expression of victory now as he stared down at Raza.

“If you so much as think about double-crossing me again, or if you step out of line beyond what I find acceptable, then I give the word, and your head becomes an expanding cloud of pink mist that ruins the décor in whatever room you happen to be standing in."

Raza seethed as he looked at the smirking Stane, wanting nothing more than to tear the flesh from the man’s face and leave him to bleed out slowly.

“You’re mine now, Raza. You will do exactly as I tell you, or you’ll join your men in that unmarked sandy grave in Afghanistan. Do we understand each other?”

Raza knew he had little choice at the moment. If he hoped for revenge against Stark, Stane, or the demon, he would have to be patient and wait for his moment. “We understand each other all too well, Mr. Stane. I will follow your orders.”

“Good!” He spun away, the jovial mask he showed the wider world now firmly in place again. “Because I’ve got big plans for the two of us, Raza! Big, ironclad plans!”

__________________________________

September 15th, 2009 – Malibu, CA

Stark Residence/Workshop/Temporary Daycare Center

“No running! It’s a rule. Only I get to run in the shop. And JARVIS.”

Giggling was the only answer as two small heads rushed past the edge of his holographic work table.

“It’s nice to be included, sir. How generous of you,” JARVIS snarked at him from the ether. Or the surround sound system he had installed throughout the entire house? He wasn’t sure which was more accurate.

Tony looked across the room at the playing children. Their faces split with bright grins as they laughed and screamed in delight. A moment of melancholy struck him as he realized how few memories he had like that from his childhood.

Thanks, Dad.

Irons had Tony’s father beat by a mile in the caring parent department if the past three months were any indicator.

Tony had been out dealing with hostile takeover boardroom bullshit for the past couple of days. That backstabbing snake Obi was still fighting him for control of the company, and it was seriously pissing him off. He didn’t think it was ‘for his own good.’

The man had been a better father to him than Tony’s actual father, and now he was trying to steal his company out from beneath him so he could go back to making weapons again. Death was forever the Stark legacy as far as Obediah Stane was concerned. And the almighty dollar.

Thankfully, Tony’s new best friends - Richards, Kord, and Luthor - had done a spectacular job of countering the influence Stane had built up over the years. He was still in charge, for the moment at least, and the battle in the courts looked to last a while longer.

Oh well. That’s what he paid the lawyers for. Hopefully, they’d take care of it. In the meantime, he would keep up his full-court press against the Ten Rings and anyone else who had received Stark Industries weapons shipments. He was going to erase those bastards.

More importantly than that, he had to track down who was providing the weapons in the first place. Someone had sold Stark Industries out, sold him out, and for what? Money? Influence? Chaos? There was a long list of reasons why someone would do it, but only so many people on the payroll could pull it off.

And he was starting to think he already knew who had done it. He just wanted to know why.

He’d have to devise a plan to get the evidence they’d need to bury him, but once he did, he just wanted to look Obediah Stane in the eyes and ask him why he’d wanted to destroy everything he was trying to do.

And he wouldn’t take any of that crap about it being for his own good. Or money. Obi was fabulously wealthy, just like Tony.

He’d need to talk to Pepper. She could get into the office without drawing any suspicions. He’d have to mock up a program to hack into Stane’s computer, but that was a non-issue.

I’m Tony Fucking Stark. No problem.

“Alright, now that the reaction control issue is ironed out in the thruster assembly, what’s next on the list? And you two, no running! What have I said? Sharp corners everywhere in here!”

Tony looked up to see Irons striding across the shop floor toward him. "Hmm. Good question. It's not really a list, more of a running tally I keep in my head.”

Irons rolled his eyes and punched something into the keyboard on the table control panel. A list of items popped up on the holo display in front of them.

“Holy shit, there’s an actual list.”

JARVIS took the opportunity to horn in.

“Yes, sir. Dr. Irons began the list several weeks ago. We’ve reminded you on more than one occasion that it exists. And I expect we shall do so again shortly.”

“Sounds like me.” Tony walked around the table to look at the list from the front rather than the mirrored words on the backside he’d been staring at from his vantage point.

Irons highlighted the top entry and spoke. “Looks like it’s time to test the upgraded sensory response program and HUD. Should be easier on your eyes and less stressful.”

The big man walked toward the door at the back of the room where they kept the Mark III when it awaited its next upgrade. Tony stopped as the girls slowly passed by the two men riding on DUM-E, who somehow looked happy to be used as a show pony.

Which was difficult for a robot without a head. It was damn impressive.

“What does this one do?” Natalia asked him as the girls waved from their hijacked ride. “And does he go faster?”

Tony shrugged. “Not really. I wasn’t considering travel time when I built him. And what he’s doing now is probably the most productive thing ever. I’m seriously impressed.”

“Does he have a name?” the other one, Riri, asked.

“Did you two just get here? How have you not met DUM-E since your dad started working here?” He looked over at Irons, who had stopped at the doorway to shake his head.

Natalia answered. “This is only the second time Daddy has brought us! And you named your robot dummy? That’s mean!” She gave him the disapproving parent look, which was devastating coming from a six-year-old.

“It’s appropriate. He’s about as smart as your average toaster.” DUM-E squealed mournfully, damaging Tony’s assessment.

“I think he’s great! And fun to ride. Can we take him outside in the driveway?”

“Only if you stay in the driveway, he’s not rated for the roads. JARVIS, supervise.” Tony barked at his digital valet.

“Gladly, sir.”

Irons stepped through the door as DUM-E made for the small service elevator on the other side of the shop, both girls still giggling on their claimed mount. Tony followed closely behind, only to stop in shock at the sight before him.

The Mark III stood proudly in the center of the room. Its red and gold shining surfaces easily drew the eye. It was what stood next to the Mark III that had him staring like a college freshman who walked into the wrong dorm shower.

A second suit of gleaming silver was displayed next to the Mark III. It appeared to be a good deal taller than his armor, indicating to him that mischief was afoot. Which Tony Stark was usually a big fan of, but only when he was included.

“I see they can multiply now. I didn’t program that in, did you?” He looked over at Irons, quirking an eyebrow at his unofficial partner in the grand endeavor they’d undertaken.

“Hell, yes, I built it. And I’d do it again, too! You didn’t think I was gonna sit in the garage all the time while you took the system out for a spin, did you? Not a chance. And since I won’t fit in your exo-shell, I had to fabricate one big enough for my frame.”

Tony took a deep breath. He should have expected this. Of course Irons wouldn’t just sit on the sidelines; he’d also want to test the platform. Hell, he’d designed his version when Tony was still in his twenties and… doing whatever Tony couldn’t remember doing for most of that decade.

He really should cut back on the booze.

“Not even upset. I’m super impressed with the initiative here. But we are going to have to talk about proprietary rights and ownership at some point. I’m out there dealing with weapons I designed proliferating throughout the world without my permission and knowledge - ” Tony was interrupted by Irons before he could finish the sentence.

“I get it, man. Trust me. I was thinking about these issues fifteen years ago when I was dreaming this up. I won’t step out and try to put this thing up on the black market or eBay. But I want to get out there too, Tony.”

“Why is that, by the way? Maybe I should have asked before adopting everyone on your block and moving them hundreds of miles away, but I am curious. Why did you start this project? What’s in it for you? Besides a massive paycheck and the chance to play with all my very cool toys, those are givens.”

Irons got a strange look on his face, both wistful and painful. Or it could have been constipation. Tony wasn’t sure just yet.

After several long seconds of silence, the man began to speak, powerful emotion lacing his words. “I barely remember my father. I was almost four, I think, the last time I saw him. I can count my memories of the man on one hand, maybe two. But one thing I do know is that he loved us – my mom and I. He wanted so much to do right by us.”

Tony remained silent as Irons crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against one of the stainless steel work tables in the room.

“He was drafted into the Army in 1969. Vietnam. He wasn’t born a warrior or a soldier. He didn’t want to go halfway around the world to fight in some godawful war to kill people he’d never met. But he did. He went over there because it was the law, and he was convinced it was his duty as an American.”

Irons took a deep breath and continued. “I will remember forever the faces of those two uniformed officers as they came up the walkway just over a year later. I can see them even now, almost forty years after the fact. The way the sun glinted off their medals and buttons. How crisp the folded flag that they handed to my mother was. And the way she cried. I’ll never forget that either.”

Tony met Hank Irons' eyes and nodded sadly to commiserate on the loss, something in which they both had plenty of experience.

“I found out much later that his unit was separated during an offensive. They got caught behind the enemy's advance and didn’t have the equipment or supplies to force their way back to friendly territory. We never got his body back. All I was left with in place of my father was burning anger. Rage. My mother worried about me after that. I was always getting into fights with kids bigger and older than me. I looked for trouble and, more often than not, found it.”

Tony understood anger. It was burning in him even now. The trick was finding an outlet. To direct the rage toward a source that deserved it. Irons kept sharing.

“Football proved one release for me. I channeled a lot of that anger into the game. Heh, just ask some of the guys I played against. But I also had a plan. A long time ago, I decided to do something to protect men like my father—the everyday soldier. The ones brass don’t give a damn about. I wanted to build them something so that more kids wouldn’t end up like me. That’s why I went into engineering. That’s why I started ‘Steel Soldier’.”

Now that Tony could respect. Look out for the little guy. It had a nice ring to it. Not that Tony would ever be accused of being the little guy.

Hey, he could have layers.

“Lemme guess: the decision by the DoD to cancel ‘Steel Soldier’ for budgetary reasons didn’t go over well,” Stark smirked as he imagined Irons in a small room with three or four generals as they told him the project was canceled.

I wonder if anyone has ever been deafened by human shouting? Hank could do it…

“Oh man, I thought they were gonna lock me up after I gave those old SOBs a piece of my mind. When they canceled it because a US soldier’s life wasn’t deemed worth the cost? I blew up. The other reasons they gave were excuses - I knew the bottom line was the big problem. Since that moment, I’ve been trying to find a way around all the other issues. Right up to the point you stepped into the picture.”

Tony grinned. “I have that effect on people. Call me what you will. White Knight. Genius with a savior complex. Smartest man alive. Two-time winner of People’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

“Lunatic with an ego the size of a planet?”

“That too.”

The rollicking banter was suddenly interrupted by a shout from the workshop floor.

“Tony! Are you aware that two children are in your driveway riding DUM-E like a horse? And that he likes them more than both of us?”

James Rhodes looked around the workshop, his eyes finally landing on Tony as he waved to his oldest friend and beckoned him through the vault door. Rhodey casually walked in, shaking his head in bewilderment as he looked at Tony, and suddenly stopped when he realized there was someone else in the room.

Tony dived in head-first. “Hey Platypus, remember when I offered you a spot on the team? Told you I was workin’ on something big? Well, I got my mind right, and I know we haven’t talked since the plane incident –”.

“You still owe me a plane, by the way,” Rhodes interrupted. Stark ignored him and continued.

“You can officially meet my new best friend. And partner. Or employee. Both. We haven’t ironed out all the details yet. Just don’t ask about any light treason we may be committing.”

Rhodes was still staring at the newcomer across the table from him. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear the word treason come out of your mouth, Tony.”

“Great, that makes things easy. James Rhodes, I’d like to introduce you to mister -”.

“Hank Irons. Are you kidding me, Tony? I know who he is. Everyone knows who he is.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Is football that big a deal these days?”

“He did the Superbowl Shuffle, Tony. I remember watching the video at your house. What planet have you been living on for the last twenty years? Did Happy not tell you?”

“Hmm. Obviously, I need to do a little research. Was that like the Wobble you taught me last year?”

“I can’t even talk to you right now. Mr. Irons, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. I would be stunned if anyone would willingly subject themselves to Tony Stark’s company unless there’s a substantial amount of money involved." Rhodes shook Irons’ hand as he greeted the former celebrity and sports figure.

Irons smiled as he answered. “Not a problem. I got used to those kinds of antics hangin’ around McMahon on the Bears. He was an acquired taste, too, but once you settled in around him, it was a lot of fun.”

Tony didn’t like being excluded, so he jumped right back in. “And this is what you came to see, isn’t it, Rhodey-bear?” Tony gestured to the Iron Man suit displayed on the rack before them. “Well, they're cousins, I guess you’d say. We haven’t tested the big one out yet, but I’m sure she’ll shake out just like the Mark III.”

Rhodes drank in the vision of the two armored suits before him. The smaller one stood out due to the red and gold paint that covered it, and the Colonel recognized it from the incident with the F-22s two months prior. The other, taller and slightly bulkier, hadn’t been painted. The alloy it was made of nearly sparkled in the limited light of Tony’s workshop. Rhodey couldn’t help but want to take it for a spin. He turned back to Tony and asked the question.

“So, what’s an Air Force Colonel gotta do to place an order for one of these bad boys?”

Tony looked over at him and smirked. “Well, first, he won’t be able to share it with the military. I wasn’t kidding about that, Rhodey. I’m done making weapons that other people can use to demolish anything. Non-negotiable. But if you feel you can compromise on that, then we can talk. You know there’s always a place for you at SI. In the meantime, Irons and I could use some help with something. I’ve been out there dropping the hammer on all the scumbags who’ve been using my tech to run amok, but what I want is the son of a bitch who’s been giving them those weapons to begin with.”

Rhodes and Irons leaned forward, their hands braced on the tabletop as they listened to what Tony had in mind.

__________________________________

September 17th, 2009 - Ali Masjid Fort

15 miles west of Peshawar, Pakistan, 10 miles to the Afghanistan Border

Dirt and debris rained down on them from the explosion less than 50 feet from their position. She ducked under the stone awning covering them from the worst of the incoming fire, dragging Barton back with her. The fool was going to get himself killed one of these days. It was dumb luck he hadn’t already, and she had promised Laura that it wouldn’t happen on her watch.

Overall, it wasn’t the greatest way to head into the weekend.

“Hey, birdbrain. Try to keep your head down and out of the line of fire, will you?”

Barton tossed a smirk back her way over his shoulder as he popped back up and fired off another arrow toward one of the enemy positions across the highway. An explosion echoed back, along with several screams, indicating it was one of his “fun” arrows.

“You always gonna be a pain in my ass, Tasha? I’m just getting into the zone here.” He peppered several more arrows out across the dusty expanse between their emplacement and the closest group of Pakistani mafia gunmen currently trying to murder them.

Natasha joined him in standing and squeezing off several rounds from the pair of Glock 26s, hearing a pair of screams for her efforts. They ducked back beneath the stone wall in front of them before the return fire started.

“Just keeping a promise. You know the drill,” the Black Widow smirked at her crouching partner as he shook his head next to her hunkered form.

SHIELD had received intel that a Pakistani mafia gang had acquired a ‘problematic’ amount of uranium from a sympathetic figure in the Pakistani military. While the Pakistan Army had immediately taken care of their traitor, they couldn’t locate the fissionable material.

The Chotu cartel had been expanding for a while, from simple drugs and kidnapping up to gunrunning and smuggling now. They’d moved north from their base of operations in the Rajanpur district to Peshwar. There, they’d made contact with Taliban insurgents from Afghanistan, who wanted to buy the uranium from them. Or rather, trade it for a massive amount of opium.

SHIELD had narrowed the location of the radioactive isotope to somewhere along the Khyber Pass. An old series of forts ran the length of the pass, and a number of them had fallen under the control of local gangs and displaced Afghani terrorists.

Fury had tasked her and Barton with distracting the rank-and-file members with a surprise assault. Which, in her estimation, had gone beautifully. They’d wiped out two entire squads of killers at one of the forts before moving on to the next one, where they had encountered heavier resistance.

But nothing they couldn’t handle.

"Yeah, yeah. Any word from our handler about how much longer we have to keep these idiots busy? If you ask me, we could have been in and out ourselves with the package in half the time it’s taking for us to play decoy here instead!” Clint’s voice increased in volume as he wanted Coulson to hear how pissed off they both were about being the distraction team for this particular mission.

Frankly, she agreed with Barton. This took too long. They could have been in and out without anyone knowing they’d been there within an hour.

Unfortunately, someone upstairs above Fury wanted a message sent in this case. And that message was, ‘Anyone trying to give nukes to terrorists will have a bad day.’ She didn’t oppose that message, but it would have been easier if they’d also sent in Strike or more of their Avenger task force. Agent May, or Hill would have been greatly appreciated right now.

Fury said they wouldn’t need it. He had someone else who could get into the well-defended facility right under their nose while Barton and Romanoff bloodied it at the same time.

Natasha had activated the send button on one of the comm earbuds just after Barton had started his rant, happy to let him pass on the message for her. She expected to hear Coulson’s even tone reply but was surprised to hear Fury’s voice come through the earpiece instead.

“What’s wrong, Barton? You getting’ too old and cranky to handle some wanna-be gangsters with delusions of grandeur these days? Maybe you got somewhere better to be than doing your damn job?”

Romanoff scoffed at her boss’s flippant tone. Like they weren’t currently under surprisingly heavy fire, waiting for word that their unseen partner had completed the mission so they could finally stop fucking around and kill these punks.

Hmm. Maybe she was feeling the strain a bit too.

Barton didn’t need her to relay the message. His hearing aids also functioned as comm receivers as well, so he heard Fury’s sarcastic ass response and couldn’t help but rise to meet it.

“Me? Noooo, I’m just peachy out here, Nick. I love being stuck in 95-degree heat and sweating my ass off while morons who can barely figure out which way the rifle goes try to kill me,” he popped up again to let loose another arrow, earning another shouted cry in response. “I’m thinking of buying a home out here to retire. You know anybody in real estate in western Pakistan?”

Natasha shook her head. Her partner was a sarcastic asshole. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fury’s response came quickly.

“Cute. If I thought for a minute it would get you outta my hair, then I’d make a phone call. Until then, keep up the pressure. I just got word from Ghost that the package will be in hand momentarily. As soon as it is, you have permission to cut and run. Coulson is waiting a click west of your current position in a cloaked quinjet. We’ve got two SHIELD snipers set up and ready to cover your extraction. Be ready to move on my signal. Fury out.”

The line went silent again as Natasha double-clicked the activator on the earbud, killing her end of the connection. It would stay open for receiving, but she and Clint could speak casually while waiting for their next order. She’d seen Clint do the same on his set.

“You know, I had been getting pretty bored trying to track down our friend in Manhattan for all those months. I thought, what the hell, let’s jump at the chance to get back into the field again once Fury offered it up. But I’m starting to think he’s right. I am getting too old for this shit. Maybe it’s time to talk to the boss about retirement. Or a promotion. I can do what Coulson does, right?” He grinned at her at the question.

He had started talking about retirement more lately as they’d gotten back into the action. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t want a new partner, that fact she was sure of, but the thought of Clint not being around all the time was also… troublesome.

His grin got wider as he spoke again, chatterbox that he was. “How quickly do you think he would deal with this?”

Natasha’s brow furrowed at the odd question. “Who, Coulson?”

Barton shook his head and laughed. “No! Him. The Marvel. Or whatever you want to call him. He’s got a different name in every neighborhood in New York—the Angel of East Harlem, the Soho Superman, the King of Queens. Oh, the Bronx Boomer, that one's funny. Like he's some sixty-year-old retiree with too much time on his hands! I think my favorite is the Saint of Seventy-Seventh Street. The alliteration is on point there.”

That was not a question she had been expecting either. They did talk about him, the whole team, and Fury had let on that they were working on a way to track him across the country. But usually, it was locker room talk or gossip in the mess.

“I hadn’t thought of it. Probably pretty quickly,” her thoughts went immediately to another dusty road months prior. She hadn’t told anyone about what had happened in Odessa. Fury had classified the mission specifics but was adamant that she not mention that especially. Most of her missions were. But something in her pulled, wanted to force the words out of her. She felt like she needed to tell someone about it. And Clint or Laura were the best options. Trust came hard to a Black Widow, if ever at all.

If she couldn’t trust Clint, she’d never be able to trust anyone. She threw a nod at him, “Your comms off?”

He quirked his head, a question visible on his face. He nodded in response. “Yeah, receive only. It’s muted.”

She took a deep breath, then suddenly jumped up behind the stone barrier and fired off a dozen rounds. She counted three more down, and the others sneaking up on them scurried back to their cover across the road.

“Back in January, in Odessa? He was there.” She finally admitted it to someone. Technically, she might have committed treason by doing so, but she'd worry about that later.

He flinched back, his eyes confused and brown furrowed. “Wait, what? You mean, him him? He was there? How the hell is that possible?”

She softly nodded. “Yeah, he came out of nowhere. I think he’d been following me for quite a while, no clue how or why. I got ambushed on the road. I’m pretty sure I would have died there if he hadn’t shown up.”

Barton looked pensive for a moment. “I didn’t think there were any big problems on the mission. What happened?"

And she told him. She explained about the ambush, the Winter Soldier, and how, at the last moment, something or someone had stopped it. She even told Clint about the fear and how it had taken hold of her, which surprised even Natasha. She didn’t like to look or feel weak, but admitting that to Clint didn’t give her that feeling.

Something else for her to process.

After several moments, he shook his head and uttered a single word. “Shit.”

Natasha stared at him for a second and then just laughed.

“Nice, Barton. I spill my guts, and that’s all you have to say, huh?”

He grinned back. “I’m a man of few words; what can I say?" They both laughed at his lie.

The radio crackled to life then, and Fury’s voice announced that this Ghost agent had completed the task. Barton and Romanoff were free to withdraw to the safety of Coulson’s quinjet.

They quickly took stock of their weapons and looked at each other as they prepared to bolt out of their position and head west.

A thought occurred to Natasha.

“I think my favorite name for him is the Brooklyn Blur. It reminds me of Odessa. That’s all I saw of him, a blur. Plus, I shot him like twelve times, so I’m pretty sure he’ll remember me.”

Clint laughed at that before he nodded at her and counted down.

“You ready? We break on three. One...two...three!”

Their opponents gave up following well before they made it back to the quinjet.