Chapter Text
He's out of time.
It's not that he didn't see it coming. He did. With all the practice he's had these past few years, he's becoming something of an expert in worst case scenarios. He might not see the details with any kind of clarity, but you don't need the raindrops to see the storm.
"Boss."
Friday's voice is just this side of frantic (when had she learned that?), but just. "I know, kiddo," he soothes, continuing to type without so much as a glance toward the door. "The villagers are at the gates and they brought their sunday-go-meetin' pitchforks."
Golly gee.
Good thing, then, that he's a genius and a genius with some friends left. The plan's ready and Fry'll can see it through to the end; no matter what else might come to pass.
"Shut down the defenses and let 'em in." She'll lock everything down just as soon as they take him out anyway. Enough innocent blood's been shed over this. Not a chance in hell he lets Ross and his flying monkeys at the stuff he's got locked downstairs. Not a chance in hell Ross gets any of it. "Ready."
"Speak for yourself," Friday sighs. "I don't know about this, Boss."
"You'll be fine," he says, wondering if he's imagining the sound of combat boots in the stairwell. "Just follow the plan and do what I told you. You've got this, kid."
It's probably bad that he's so calm about this, but whatever. Rhodey and Vision are safe at the compound, Pepper's currently in Malibu with all the deniability an ex-girlfriend and current CEO could ask for, and everyone else...
Well, for them, Fry's got a list.
Not much else he can do now, but wait...and almost wish he were the kind of man that prayed because this is going to suck.
*
He's halfway to the lobby, a black hood over his head, when he hears the faint sound of alarms beneath his feet. They didn't wait to try and get in the lab then. He grins to himself when the shouting gets just a little frantic.
They're too late, anyway. Friday's got the suits, the data, it's all gone and safe in her invisible hands.
If there's one thing Tony's sure about it's that the women in his life have always been the ones with their shit together.
*
They'd better be. He's banking everything on them.
*
She wakes up to a polite knock at the door. A polite knock with a faintly metallic, very familiar ring. It's not the first time Sharon's woken up to one of Tony's suits at her door. It's not even the single digits, to be honest, she's lost track beyond that though the time he'd sent one for her birthday and nearly blown her cover with Steve stands out as memorable.
Rolling out of bed, she grabs a gun as she goes, just in case. Tony keeps absolutely godawful hours, but even he knows better to send them to her door at this hour of the night.
There's absolutely no chance that this one's here to party.
When she opens the door it's to the sensation of panic in her chest. It's the most recent suit. His best one. "Good evening, Agent Thirteen," Friday says, soft and, to Sharon's ears, scared.
Oh god. "Good evening, Friday," she says, lowering the gun. She steps back to let the suit into the room. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"I do not believe so," Friday says, and then it's Tony's voice she hears. It's a recording, tinny and echoing, but the tension is unmistakable. "Okay, Pipsqueak, you've already guessed that this visit isn't for funsies. Ross figured out about my little Siberian side-trip."
Sharon drops onto the sofa. She has the presence of mind to keep hold of the gun when she does, but it's a near thing. Ross knows. Ross knows.
"Good news is that he thinks the Raft was also me. Bad news is that he's apparently taking it personal." Tony sighs and Sharon goes from scared to terrified. "His goon squad's on the way up so by the time you get this, I'll probably be enjoying the general's hospitality at the black site of his choice and it has to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I know what you're thinking, Pipsqueak, but don't. Right now, the son of a bitch thinks that you're a good little soldier and I'd like him to keep right on believing that. The last thing I need is Aunt Peggy rising from the grave to kick my ass for dragging you into this."
Sharon throws a pillow at the suit. "What about dragging yourself into it, moron?" God forbid he actually care about himself for once. Aunt Peggy will haunt her until the end of time if she even thinks of abandoning Tony to his own goddamn martyr complex.
His getting back from Siberia on his own was bad enough, but this?
"...anyway, by now you're probably done swearing at me," Tony says, smart-ass to the end. "The Tower and the Compound are locked down to anybody but authorized personnel only, not that there's much left there to find. Friday's got the suits and my data. She'll keep those out of Ross's hands while you, Rhodey, and Vision play nice for a while. I'm not in any hurry for roomies."
He pauses and she can almost pretend he's really in that suit. Almost. Her brain's already running through the scenarios of what Ross will do to him and every one is worse than the last.
"Don't worry, Pipsqueak, I'm not throwing myself on any swords yet, but I'm not willing to risk any of you yet and that includes Pepper. Don't breathe a word of this to her, okay? Stall. Dance. Do whatever you need to do to keep her from finding out a damn thing. The less she knows, the less a subcommittee can grill her about."
The suit edges closer to her, bending over, and Sharon raises an eyebrow. "I swear to God, Tony, if yo--" which is wasted breath because even as she speaks, the suit curls up fingers and gives her the gentlest of noogies. "Stay safe, Pipsqueak. Please?"
Sharon absolutely doesn't sob. She does not.
What she does is get off the sofa. She hasn't listened to a thing Tony Stark's told her to do in her life and there's absolutely zero chance that she's going to start now.
"Unless he says something useful, Friday, kill the replay, I want to talk to you."
One of the perks of growing up as Tony's de facto bratty baby cousin is the personalized gear. It's been a while since she's had a mission where she could actually use it and, god, she's missed wearing it.
"With pleasure, Agent 13," Friday replies. "Am I to assume you intend on ignoring Boss's instructions?"
Sharon holsters her gun and grins. "My answer depends on what he told you to do if I say yes."
Friday sounds downright angelic when she says, "I'm afraid my audio sensors experienced some interference at that particular moment, but I believe Boss told me to render all assistance possible within the parameters of my current mission."
"Keeping Tony's toys out of Ross's hands?"
"Not precisely how Boss phrased it, but yes."
Sharon snickers. God, she'd pay money to hear what he had said. She'll have to ask him first chance she gets. "Good. We can work with that. Has he told you about the Midnight Bark Protocol?"
Friday sounds imminently satisfied when she says, "Activating now."
*
The last thing anyone expects to hear as they sit down to breakfast is the sound of Tony Stark's AI.
And yet... Friday's voice fills the air just as Steve's reaching for the juice.
"Excuse me, Captain Rogers, but if I may interrupt your morning, I have a message for you."
Across from Steve, Clint's face has gone hard and angry. His hand flexes on the table with the urge for a weapon he hasn't touched in weeks. Steve understands.
Sam and Scott both get up, circling the room to head for the windows, looking for the Iron Legion. By now, Tony's probably got it back to full strength. Steve can't imagine he had any other choice without the Avengers and that isn't a thought that'll ever sit easy.
He gives it a ten count then looks to them and both shake their heads. It should be confusing, but instead a lump of apprehension settles into his stomach like lead.
Why hadn't Tony called himself?
"Captain?" Friday's prompting voice draws him away from the niggling fear. "I'm afraid I don't have much time. The Wakandan Security Forces have already detected my presence. They seem most...annoyed."
Clint shakes his head, but Steve needs to know. If Tony's reaching out this way, whatever it is, he needs to know. "What is it?"
"The Boss was taken last night and Agent 13 has activated the Midnight Bark protocol. All available assistance is required."
Steve flinches. Tony's been taken. He remembers his promise and closes his eyes. So much for always being there. "Taken? By who?"
"Secretary Ross arrested him for violations of the Accords; specifically Siberia and the Raft Extraction." Friday doesn't wait for him to react before adding, "Agent 13 has yet to find any official record of his arrest and believes that he has been taken to the Raft or another site similar in nature."
"And you expect us to, what, spring him?" Clint snorts a laugh. "Fat chance. I seem to remember him saying a whole lot about choices and consequences. Sounds to me like it's his turn at bat."
Wanda doesn't quite laugh at that, but the sound she makes is the closest to it that Steve's heard since they got her out of that goddamn collar. He looks at her, watches the hint of a smile, and it shouldn't feel reassuring to see her take some measure of pleasure out of this...
But it is.
"You are refusing, then, Captain?" Friday's voice frizzes in and out, static clouding her words. He can almost pretend he can't hear the shock and disappointment in her voice and since when did a computer's opinion cut like that?
He shakes his head. "It's--"
"Just desserts," Wanda says. "Perhaps makes me a monster to say so, but--"
"Human," Sam interrupts. "It makes you human. Stark fucked up. Maybe he didn't mean to, maybe there's a lot we're not seeing, but he fucked up and you paid for it. Seems to me being conflicted about this, even enjoying it a little, is a pretty damn human reaction to have."
She does smile at that. Relief, Steve thinks. He envies it. He's not sure he'll feel anything like it ever again. He certainly doesn't feel it now. There's a part of him, small and mean, that's enjoying this. The idea of Tony cooling his heels in a prison of his own making...yeah, there's something about that which, after everything, is far more satisfying than he's comfortable admitting, even to himself.
And yet he feels it, doesn't he?
"We're not refusing," he says, at last, "but it isn't as easy as jumping on a quinjet anymore. We need time to think. Time to plan." Time to figure out what the hell he's going to do and if any of them will even be willing to try.
No one answers.
"Friday?"
"Guess the Wakandans finally caught up with her," Sam says, sitting down again. "Is it weird to be worried about a computer?"
Steve pictures Redwing. Tony had been so damn proud of that bot.
"Hey," Clint says, interrupting the moment, like always. He pokes Steve with his foot and fakes a grin (badly) when Steve looks up. "You're not worried about him right? Stark did three months in a cave in Afghanistan. A couple weeks in the Raft will be like a trip to the beach for him. He'll be fine."
Steve doesn't know that he believes that, but this isn't the Avengers anymore. None of them are themselves anymore and he has no right to ask anything of them. He's not the man they followed. He thought he was okay with that. Thought he was okay with the fact they're not following him.
But right now...
Right now, he doesn't know.
"Yeah," he says, his smile wrong and awkward on his face. "He'll be fine."
So, why doesn't he believe that?