Chapter 2
Chapter 2
James isn’t sure what he was expecting Tony Stark to be like just from reading the reports prepared for him by his secretary, but the guy that saunters into the Oval Office 15 minutes after his scheduled appointment time, looking equal parts disdainfully reluctant and bafflingly self-assured, like he goddamn owns the place, is definitely not it.
He sweeps a quick and decidedly bored gaze around the room, seeming patently unconcerned about the two secret service agents that stand guard at the door behind him, their eyes boring holes into his back. Directs a genuine smile at Happy, giving him a conspiratorial wink as he comes to stand beside him and seeming to take an almost childlike delight in the way the other man seems to shrink in on himself, visibly discombobulated by such an open show of familiarity and disregard of protocol. And only then does he deign to direct his gaze to where James is sitting, acknowledging his presence with a cool nod.
“Mr. President.”
James leans back in his chair, narrows his gaze at the dark-haired suit-and-tied insolence before him. “You’re late,” he points out, dry and just this shy of caustic.
The corner of Stark’s mouth upticks minutely. “My apologies, Mr. President,” he says, sounding anything but contrite. “I overslept.”
“You overslept,” he repeats, unimpressed, flicking a questioning glance at Happy, who looks like he’s ready to have the ground open up below him and swallow him up. “Are you frequently in the habit of napping in the afternoon, Mr. Stark?”
“Only on my days off, Sir,” the other deadpans, nonplussed, but there’s a hint of mirth in the honey brown eyes that stare calmly back at him. “I have a stressful job, I try to relax when I can.”
James stares at him a moment longer, lips pinched with annoyance. Wonders not for the first time if Obadiah was right, if this guy is nothing more than a washed-up asshole who has no business guarding anything more valuable than a bottle of cheap booze at a liquor store. Has half a mind to call this joke of a meeting to a close and send this guy back to whatever hole he crawled out of.
An awkward cough brings his attention back to Happy, to the earnest, desperate plea in his faithful bodyguard’s eyes, and he relents. Letting out a heavy sigh to forcefully release some of the tension, he shifts forward a bit, reaches for the folder on his desk. Flips it open, making a show of scanning the contents.
“I have your file here, Mr. Stark. There seems to be an inordinary number of complaints against your person at your current work.” He looks back up at the man over the rim of his glasses. “Care to explain?”
Stark shrugs, nonchalant. “The only ones who complain are those that get caught breaking the law. I’m fairly certain you won’t find any complaints there from shoppers that don’t indulge in illegal activities or otherwise threaten the safety of others.”
And that is just the opening James needs. He relaxes back into his chair, steeples his hands underneath his chin, pinning the man before him with a steady, attentive stare, determined not to miss a single tell. “Is that what Senator Hammer did?” he asks with feigned insouciance. “Was he indulging in illegal activities or threatening the safety of others?”
The change that comes over Stark is immediate: his posture stiffens, brown eyes growing instantly, uncomfortably cold. “I’m sure you already have all the information pertaining to that particular incident in front of you, Mr. President,” he responds, his voice carefully, carefully neutral.
There’s a warning there, James can hear it – a barely polite request to let it go. He isn’t quite ready to do so, however.
He hums pensively, allows himself the tiniest of smiles. “I’ve been doing this job long enough, Mr. Stark, to know that there is usually more to the story than what is allowed to leak onto the pages of any given report. And this particular report, while it describes in great detail the injuries sustained by the senator, is suspiciously lacking in motive behind your assault.”
Stark blinks and pulls his gaze away, choosing to stare at the oversized windows behind James’s back. And James can see the telltale hardening of the man’s jaw, can virtually feel the tension in his body.
He pushes on.
“I also know that sometimes seemingly unrelated events have a much deeper underlying connection than may be readily apparent. For instance….” He reaches for the folder again, pulls it toward him. “There’s a resignation letter here from a Ms. May Parker, Senator Hammer’s secretary, filed on the same day that you had your altercation with her boss…” He trails off, brows knitting in curiosity as he sees Stark flinch at his words. Notes the way the man’s right hand clenches momentarily into a fist at his side before relaxing once again. Notes the uncharacteristically worried, sympathetic expression on Happy’s face as he glances Stark’s way.
“Did you call me here to help you read some 10-year-old report, Mr. President?” Stark asks finally, his gaze still firmly fixed on some indeterminate point beyond. “Because I can find much better use of my time.” He shifts his gaze finally, directs it back at James, and the latter has to fight an uncomfortable urge to squirm away from the undisguised cold fury he sees there. “All due respect.”
James didn’t get to where he was in life by squirming away from uncomfortable situations, however. And he isn’t about to start now. Besides, he has to admit, the man intrigues him despite all of his reservations. There’s a darkness to him, an undeniable edge of danger that should be enough of a reason to stay the hell away, and yet he finds himself being drawn closer instead.
“I can read just fine, Mr. Stark,” he waves him off, putting just enough hardness into his tone to remind the man who he’s talking to. “What I would like from you is a certain clarification. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the reason behind Ms. Parker’s abrupt departure.”
He watches Stark intently as he speaks. Doesn’t miss the subtle tightening of the skin around the man’s eyes, the stubborn jut of his chin.
“It’s not my story to tell,” Stark denies coldly, ignoring Happy’s hissed out warning of “Tony!”. Raises an eyebrow in silent challenge – to James, to Happy, to the whole world. “If that will be all, Sir…”
James shakes his head slightly, not sure whether to be offended by this man’s impudence or impressed by it. He surprises himself by deciding on the latter.
“Do you know why I called you here today, Mr. Stark?” he asks, dropping the obviously touchy subject for the time being.
Stark shrugs again. Shoves his hands in his pockets with feigned ease. “I came as a favor to a friend.” He tilts his head in Happy’s direction, his eyes never leaving James’s face.
“Right.” James glances at his bodyguard, suppressing a smile at the man’s flustered expression. “Would you mind telling me why you refused to do so when it was my Chief of Staff that called you to arrange this meeting?”
Stark doesn’t bat an eye. “Mr. Coulson asked if it would be convenient for me to meet. I didn’t find it convenient. Frankly, I don’t understand why you felt the need to call on me in the first place. …Respectfully.”
The audacity momentarily leaves James speechless. He blinks, huffing out an incredulous breath. He can absolutely see why a man like that wouldn’t last long on Justin Hammer’s security detail. And he honestly doubts he’d be able to work with this guy without resorting to fisticuffs. And how would that look – a president and his bodyguard going at it like a couple of schoolyard punks.
Still…
“Happy tells me you’re the best there is.”
Stark holds his questioning gaze, calm and unblinking. “I am,” responds, and that’s not a boast, James realizes, the man simply states it like it is – a fact.
“Care to demonstrate?” he challenges, feeling a glee of anticipation deep in his belly.
Stark tilts his head slightly to the side, looking bored. “I can neutralize Happy here and your two dress-up dolls there by the door in under three minutes with my hands cuffed behind my back,” he offers with a careless twitch of his shoulder. “But I can’t be held responsible for potential damage to your fancy furniture here.”
“That’s alright,” James allows, motioning for one of his agents to come forward. “I’d like to see what you can do.”
Stark doesn’t resist as the agent pulls his arms back, clasping the handcuffs around his wrists with perhaps a bit more force than necessary judging by the way Stark flinches minutely.
“Touched a nerve there with the dress-up comment, Doll?” Stark quips, eyes glistening with dangerous amusement.
The agent snarls, tugging sharply at the chain around the cuffed wrists, and James winces in sympathy, because that had to hurt. And in the next moment all he can do is gape in mute wonder as Stark moves with quick, catlike grace, dodging, weaving, striking – his movements beautiful, sharp and precise like notes in a perfect symphony, a deadly rhythm that crescendos with the crash of a broken lamp and the sound of three bodies thumping heavily onto the floor, and then stills, punctuated by the diminuendo of heavy breaths.
Stark straightens out, casually fixing the tie that got twisted during his brief scuffle. Walks up to the desk, demonstratively placing the apparently useless cuffs on the smooth surface. “Good enough?” he asks, a smirk twisting his lips.
James can’t help but return it. “Come work for me,” he offers. And is only slightly surprised (and quite a bit disappointed) when Stark shakes his head in the negative.
“Sorry, Mr. President, but I like it where I am now just fine.”
Stark turns, walks back over to where Happy is slowly collecting himself off the floor. Helps the man up, steadying him with gentle hands and an apologetic look that Happy brushes off with a genuine if exasperated smile. Claps the bodyguard lightly on the shoulder and walks out without so much as a backward glance.