Swimming With the Sharks
Oct. 15th, 2020 08:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerWatching Yakuza playthroughs + the realization that there’s a resemblance between Tony and Goro in some pictures + the Dresden Files short story Even Hand (POV John Marcone).
Headcanon 1: this Tony is actually trans. It’s part of why he feels like he has to be so much in control. Surgery was the first thing he went for after the deaths of his parents, only he made it out like he was grieving so much he couldn’t be seen in public and was blindingly drunk most of the time. That last part might actually have been true. He’d pretty much blackmailed Howard into letting him bind and saying he had a son, unless he wanted some nasty rumors about the abuse to float around. He was five. He’d also been kidnapped for his first time a few months before that point. Before that, Howard “went along with” the “crossdressing” thing because of Maria, but was planning to put a stop to it.
Headcanon 2: he was also nursing a headache through this whole fic. He doesn’t put in the artificial eye when he’s in pain, because the extra signals can make it worse just like really old/really new glasses. It’s also why he’s drinking. Usually, he keeps a tight control on his alcohol intake, because the last thing he wants to be is his old man, but it does help dull the pain of the missing eye in a way that other medications haven’t been able to do (at least, he hasn’t found the right one through experimentation).
Headcanon 3: Pepper's a lot better of an agent than you see here. She was working off bad intel, and didn't expect her employer to stab her in the back. Then again, Stark just makes her nervous for very good reasons. If he hadn't put her on the defensive almost immediately, the conversation would probably have gone very differently.
Headcanon 4: He's also not a sociopath. He's just ruthlessly practical and has found that business tends to go better if he pretends he is.
None of these headcanons make sense to actually appear in the fic itself, but they’re important.
(I'm also kind of surprised more Mob AUs with Tony being the mob boss don't exist. On Ao3, anyway.)
Main Points:
Iron Man Mob AU (one of the AUs that's going to show up in Self-Made Hero)
Summary: A different first meeting for Stark and Potts.
Word Count: 2265
Rating: Teen (offscreen violence)
“Thank you. You can go back to watching your soap operas,” Stark states, glass of wine in his gloved hand, looking every bit the polished gentleman Pepper knows he’s not. Oddly enough, despite the clear purpose, he doesn’t sound dismissive. Like he actually cares about his employees. It’s…intimate and real and so very strange. Today, it appears, he hadn’t bothered to put in the mechanical eye, eyepatch contrasting with the sharply fitted suit and wine-colored undershirt. A souvenir of an early kidnapping attempt when he was a child; so the papers say. But then, they’re not entirely the most reliable source of news about a supposedly upstanding businessman (minus the scandalous rumors, but somehow, he’d managed, every time, to stay above all of that, unlike his father).
“Boss—” ‘Happy’ tries to argue, glancing at her again, only Stark’s smile grows, every inch the ruler of his domain. A predator.
“Brucie’s just down the hall, and besides, I can do some heavy lifting of my own now and then. Oh, and be a dear and let Rushman know my 9 o’clock’s here. Now, shoo. Go. Be free.” He actually makes a shooing gesture, still smiling.
He waits until they hear the footsteps, then gestures for her to sit. She shakes her head furiously, and he shrugs, not looking too put out by it, sitting himself, sipping at the wine almost daintily (another surprise, given what she’d read about alcoholism in the family). “You won’t get away with this,” she hisses, and that actually catches him by surprise if the sudden break in his carefully constructed façade is any indication.
They sit, for a moment, in stunned silence, before he throws his head back and laughs, teeth flashing like fangs. He might be wearing a sheep’s clothes, but he is still every inch a predator and she knows it.
“I won’t get away with this? Me? What a cliché thing to say. My dear Pepper—I can call you that, can’t I?—please don’t act like a clueless five-year old, when we both know you’re so much more. You’re not that naïve. Oh, and you can lose those cuffs now.” She pauses, shaken, because she’d been planning to rush him the moment they were off. He knew? He takes what could be called a smug sip. “Let’s just say I am a little in love with your professional reputation. In this business—both of them, really—it pays to know who you’re dealing with, and I’ve never heard a thief manage to get away using only pepper spray before. That getaway was inspired. The handcuffs were merely a token gesture—though, admittedly, they did double duty.” At her raised eyebrow, he elaborates, “Well, I’m sure they think this is just some consensual kink between two informed adults. It’s not like it much matters, since none of them know who you really are, anyway.”
Feeling slightly humiliated, she does as he asks, because they’re starting to chafe, anyway. The sound as they fall to the floor is almost noiseless, which tells her a little about the precautions he’d taken. She would bet real money he could shoot someone in here and no one would hear. Her employer had been convinced his reputation was all the work of a talented spin doctor, but no, it appeared he really was as sharp as he sometimes appeared.
“Would you like some wine?” he offers, getting up to the liquor cabinet, and her revulsion is immediate.
“I’d rather drink poison, if I have to drink with you.” She’s going for cold and contemptuous now, only apparently he’s not put off by that either.
He shrugs. “I could certainly arrange for that, but it’d be such a waste.” She’s tempted to rush him right now, as his back is turned, but while it’s almost certain he has a power, no one’s certain what it actually is, and she hadn’t missed the mention of Dr. Banner, scientist and potentially green bodyguard. She misses her chance, as he comes back to sit in front of her. “Again, it’d be easy enough to get away with. Alcoholic comas, particularly with a coroner on your side, are so easy to come by with such impressive parties.” He waves off her panic, which shockingly doesn’t make her feel any better. “Relax, I’d love it if we don’t have to go there. I’m still upset Whitney had to force my hand in the first place, but it’s the whole principle of the thing. Like love is permission for betrayal.”
Whitney Frost, also known as Madame Masque, her slightly panicking mind supplies. Former head of a Maggia family. Also dead. And, if she’s not misreading things, there is just a hint of regret in his voice, that most people would use to fondly talk about an old ex. He might quite possibly be insane.
He continues like he hasn’t even noticed. “Of course, you could easily just set this entire floor on fire, but I’ll warn you Brucie and I are big boys. We can handle a few flames.”
Panic. White-hot, blinding. She thinks she catches a concerned look on his face shortly before all she can concentrate on is the breathing.
When she finally feels herself start to relax again, she guesses it’s been a couple minutes, because the glass of wine is emptied and Stark’s not sitting in front of her anymore. She doesn’t have to wonder where he’d gone, though, because she can hear the piano music filling the room. It takes her a second to realize that she’s pretty sure he’s playing a classically remixed version of an AC/DC song.
“I’m sorry, I think I pushed a little too hard, there.” His hands don’t even falter as he speaks. She wasn’t aware he was able to play piano, much less was any good at it. That’s certainly not something that’s leaked into his public persona. “I should’ve remembered you’re not as fond of your little trick as I am. I mean, Brucie’s the same way; you’d think a genius like me would’ve noticed.”
“Well, you’re full of yourself.” She’d thought a remote office would be far enough from his eye to catch any attention, did her best to behave herself and not speak her mind during the party celebrating the opening of the Tower, but if he’d been onto her from the very beginning she might as well not have bothered.
“It’s one of my charms,” he responds smoothly, though there’s just a hint of his amusement in his tone. “I can give you the name of the man who used you as a cute little guinea pig,” he continues, just as smoothly, like it’s no big deal, and no wonder he’d been considered an excellent business negotiator. She’s starting to wonder how much her client had actually told her that was true.
“I’m sure you’d want something in return. I’m not desperate enough to be making deals with the devil.” Her heart’s hammering, and she can feel the fire just under her skin, but she keeps it there, walking over to see his expression, because she wants to be armed with every piece of information she can find.
“Oh, telling you is enough of a reward. I’m curious—would you kill him? Make him suffer? Turn him in to the authorities? Any way you handle it, he’s out of my hair.” The little flourish on the piano says he’s showing off. Like that wasn’t already clear. He still has that regal, detached look. “Justin Hammer, the little copycat. I wouldn’t care as much—imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, or whatever—but he’s such a classless little weasel, and he had to steal my nanotech of all things and reprogram it. I might be a criminal, but I do have my own Rules, and No Terminators or Unwilling Lab Rats are on that list.” That’s a definite smirk, now, but at her worst she’s seen the slight hint of ire in his eye now, reflected back at her from the mirror, no matter how much she’d like to deny it. “I’d have gone after him already, but it’d be rude not to give you a crack at him first.”
“Let me guess—I go after him, and in return you’d like me to forget to report to my employer,” she guesses, hands shaking, and he—
He just glances up at her, eyebrow quizzical. “What employer?” he quips, and she frowns—is this a cheap tactic to get Stane’s name out of—
Stark’s phone rings. He doesn’t even glance at caller ID, just brings the sleek mostly-glass phone to his ear. “Great work as always, Nat,” he compliments, and but for the timing she’d almost be convinced this was a regular work call. “Bid on it, and send me a photo. I want to hang this one on my wall.” He pulls the phone away, opens the attachment the second it comes in, and shows the image to her. It’s a little hard to make out, given how crumpled the metal is, but from the license plate there’s no mistaking it. That’s Obadiah’s car. As she sits in stunned, horrified silence, he smirks again, returning the phone to his ear. “I think you’ve earned a bonus for a job well done. Go on. Treat yourself.”
When he hangs up, she still doesn’t have a clue of what to say. Which is why she doesn’t blame herself for the very cliché, “You killed him,” that slips from her mouth. Fortunately, he doesn’t scold her this time.
“I had him killed,” Stark corrects gently. “In a way, that’s poetic justice. After all, he had my parents killed in the same way.” The edge bled out of him somewhere along the way. He looks…thoughtful. Nostalgic, maybe. “In a way, he saved me. Abuse and all. I would’ve almost been willing to reward him, if not for my mother, so at a compromise I was going to do my best to look the other way, but…” A shrug. “Principles, what can I say. Trying to turn the other board members against me, plotting a little assassination…he should’ve known that was the point of no return.”
Stane had known—some of it, anyway. He knew about the criminal connections, but clearly didn’t think Stark was this vicious, or ruling the empire with an iron fist. He definitely wouldn’t have hired someone for corporate espionage if he’d known, even if he might not have cared if she made it back (judging from Stark’s comments, which might or might not even be connected to the truth; she’s sure he’s a practiced liar and good actor). Her other employers…well, mostly they were just trying to locate the Widow. Easy enough, if Stark hadn’t been in control of the entire situation, though she supposed she’d managed to confirm her position anyway.
“And you’re not scared I’ll talk?” He hadn’t said that she couldn’t get away if she spontaneously combusted, just that it wouldn’t kill Dr. Banner or himself…but then, if he had an assassin on payroll, maybe it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay awake forever.
The sudden grin is boyish and no less terrifying for how deceptively innocent it looks. “What, to the police? Please. I mentioned that at the beginning—I’ve made a thorough read of your professional career. Better than my Playboys.” So he might not know. She carefully doesn’t shift uncomfortably. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid. Or rather, you still got paid. I hacked his account a few days ago and wired the agreed-upon amount to yours, as a final warning and to draw suspicion away from you. I was hoping he’d get the hint, getting kicked out of my company, but then, I suppose that was asking a little too much. His greed’s always been bigger than his common sense. As for SHIELD—double-dipping, you naughty girl—I don’t care what they learn.” His voice is careless, but it’s still terrifying, because what doesn’t he know? He’s better than some of the best spies in the program. “You can tell my fellow fashionista that I’ve sent the information about Obi’s own dealings under the table, and if they keep having me doing their dirty work and getting my lovely leather gloves messy I’m going to start charging a consulting fee.” To drive the point home, he taps at the eyepatch with one leather-clad hand.
She almost doesn’t dare move.
“Game, set, match. Thanks for playing, Miss Potts.” He waves slightly and closes his eye, going back to the piano playing. She walks to the door, own mask back firmly in place (she can panic, again, later), though the strange thought occurs to her—he didn’t touch her. Not once. Didn’t stare. He’d used the innuendoes in a way that suggested he was perfectly content if nothing happened. That, oddly enough, matched the few rumors she’d dismissed about him being a gentleman. Another of his Rules, she guesses now.
“H-hi. I’m supposed to escort you out of the building.” There’s Dr. Banner, tweed and a light purple shirt that’s probably from the exact same tailor as Stark’s. He looks like he’s ready for a party, too, but he definitely doesn’t have the same poise. “Tony was worried you’d get lost.”
She rolls her eyes and sees him smile, just a little bit, at that. “Oh, trust me, a tour is the last thing I want right now.” He smiles, but it’s oddly…relaxing, walking down the stairs after that ordeal. Nick won’t be happy, but then, he rarely is.
