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Chapter Text

"Where's the medical picture? I wanted it on my desk twenty minutes ago," Stephen yelled as he stalked over to the nurses.

Christine went through the stack at the nurses' desk and pushed the file into his hand. She received no thanks. Why should he thank her when she was just doing her job?

"This is the third time Becky has forgotten something. You should think about firing her," he suggested.

Christine scolded, not tolerating that kind of talk in her department.
"Maybe you should take that attitude somewhere else. Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes, actually, there is. I'd like you to assist me with a hypothalamus surgery." He didn't even look at her, flipping through the file instead.

"I will - if you ask nicely."

Stephen Strange had been working at Metro for three weeks, and Christine was the only nurse who wasn't afraid of him and didn't put up with his shenanigans. It was refreshing, and after they clashed a few times, he started to like her.
"I'll send you an official invitation."
With a flirtatious wink, he turned and left.

Life was good. Stephen Strange was a great doctor and neurosurgeon. He had come a long way from Nebraska, worked hard to get into college, and then gotten a good job.

Good, but not great, so he worked more, was successful, and got a bit of a reputation. He had a no shit tolerance, but a 100% success rate. Was charming enough - when he wanted to - that you could overlook his attitude.

So it was no surprise that one day a letter fluttered into his home offering him a job at Metro General Hospital in New York. As the head of the surgical department.
Within two days, Stephen had packed his bags, signed the contract, and given notice to his landlord. There was nothing holding him back, no partner, no commitments. At most, his colleagues would miss him professionally; he had built no personal relationships with them.
The new job came with a better apartment and he had just put a down payment on a new car - a sports car.
Nothing stood in the way of a brilliant career.

~~

Stephen had clock out. His shift ended half an hour ago and he was tired. It has been a long day – most of his days were – and he was looking forward to take-out food and his couch.
He was on his way to the front of the hospital, when half a dozen bloodied men in dark coats busted through the entrance doors.

Strange recognized one of them instantly. He had seen his face on the evening news and in the morning papers. Tony Stark was the New York underground boss, former CEO of one of the largest arms manufacturers, now a self-proclaimed protector of the city. Some would say underground dictator, but never out aloud for all their life’s worth. A man whose father was the number one weapon manufacturer and exporter and was killed as a result.

"Where the fuck is Cho?" Stark barked, his Italian accent very present. He wiped away some blood dripping off his forehead.

A broad, tall man with blond hair and a self-righteous face stepped forward as Christine appeared with a stretcher. Strange saw the crumpled ball of a person in the man's arms, saw the blood dripping from his fingers leaving a trail behind them.
Strange's instincts kicked in sharply. Even from across the hallway, he knew exactly what happened. He smelled the sweat and the gunpowder, could taste it on his tongue. He rushed over and even managed to get one hand on the bleeding body - and Jesus Christ, it was just a kid – before a black fellow with the tiniest hint of a gap between his upper front teeth pushed in his way.

"Fuck off," he growled. "Where's Cho?"

"Doctor Cho’s not here," Stephen snapped and Stark's eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Who are you?" His voice was so sharp it felt like ice. Starks' eyes were hard and furious, but there was also concern in them.

"Tony," the blond man warned, his bloody fingers pressed against the bullet holes ripped in the kid's shirt.

"He's going to bleed out," Stephen pointed out.

Stark looked down at the boy with the ruffled hair on the stretcher, at his clammy, chalk white flesh. Stark’s entire body tensed once before he gestured to the black guy to step aside.
Stephen let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

"Cap, supervise.”
The blond man nodded sternly and Strange's focus immediately wandered to the boy. He pressed his fingers against the vein of his throat, while he helped steer the stretcher to the ER.
There was still a pulse, but just barely.

The kid's name was Peter. He got a blond mob of hair glued together with tacky blood and barely looked old enough to be up this late.
When Strange cut open Peter’s shirt, he was genuinely surprised to see faded ink etched into his skin. There were several tattoos. Black hidden under a lot of red. Strange might be new to New York, but he was no idiot – he knew gang tattoos when he saw them.

Strange's worked on gunshot victims before, mostly hunting accidents, but nothing's ever been quite as bloody as what he was doing now. Christine was assisting him. Usually her hands were almost as sure and steady as his own, but right now they shook like a rattle. If her eyes weren’t on the heart monitor, they were on Cap, watching every twitch of his face.
She was absolutely terrified.

By the time Strange stabilized Peter, his heart rate was holding strong and the front of his doctor overall was crusted with dried blood. Only when a bottle of O+ were halfway gone and the color returned to Peters's cheeks, did Christine take her first easy breath since the men bursted into the lobby.
When Strange allowed Peter to be wheeled to the recovery ward, three gorillas of men took his stretcher and guarded him like gargoyles. Christine directed them to a private elevator that led to the top floor and a private recovery room.
Strange's been at Metro for three weeks and this was the first time he's heard of the room. Looking at the poorly concealed guns the men are packing, he figured that might be the reason why.

By three a.m. in the morning, Peter was officially out of the woods.
Strange was exhausted. His adrenaline completely drained and left him with stiff joints and blurry vision. He quickly jotted Peter's vitals on his chart and was about to leave when the door to the recovery room audibly clicked shut.
Strange turned to see Tony Stark leaning against the door frame.

Stark noticed Stephen staring and his smile instantly sharpened. His eyes whipped across Strange's body, leaving him feeling violated and naked in their wake. There was an edge to Stark's gaze that reminded him of a starving lion. He was dangerous to just be around.
"Are you going to tell me what happened here?" He gestured toward Peter's body, wondering what kind of elaborate lie Stark will have at his disposal.

"Hunting accident," Stark countered with ease, right on cue.

"With nine millimeter handguns?" Stephen snapped. Stark shrugged, way too innocent, and Stephen let his annoyance build around him like a shield. "Do you think I’m stupid?"

Stark smiled with pearly white teeth, gracefully pushing off the door frame. He made his way to Strange and leaned in without any regard for his personal space.
"Either stupid or brave. I haven’t decided yet." The amusement in Stark's voice was smoky – inviting – his tongue seductively wetting his lips.

But Strange didn't focus on the path of that pink tongue. This close, all Strange could see are the beads of sweat that dot Stark's forehead, the smell of blood strong and spicy like his expensive cologne. Strange ignored the dark of Stark's eyes and looked down, saw Stark's right hand tucked under the jacket.
Strange gritted his teeth, wondering how long Stark was planning to let his wound go unattended.
"You idiot," he hissed and grabbed Stark above the elbow. He managed to steer Stark backward a step – toward the closest bed – before Stark unceremoniously shoved a gun to Strange's stomach.

"You must seriously have a death wish, Doctor." Stark's playful attitude vanished, his features twisting into the scowl from before.

"I'm not the one walking around with a bullet hole in my side," Strange growled. "Do you want to die of sepsis?"

For his part, Stark made no further move. He stared into Strange's eyes like he was assessing the situation, as if he was trying to figure out if he could trust Strange. As if the last three hours of Strange's life didn't involve him pulling chunks of metal out of Peter's body.
"You're not scared," Stark observed, finally retreating the weapon.

"I grew up on a farm," Strange said flippantly. "If you think this is the first time I've had a gun pointed at me you'd be wrong."

Stark laughed – loud and rich and hearty but he didn't holster the weapon. Instead he drew his hand from beneath his coat. The blood slicking his fingers didn't surprise Strange at all. Stark's expensive, designer dress shirt was soaked through on the left side, the stain still spreading.

"Sit and lose the shirt. Now," Stephen commanded. Stark did, popped the buttons open with one hand, let the fabric part around his tanned torso. Strange continued. "And the pants."

Stark's chuckle was a decadent sound. He loosely hooked his right leg behind Strange's knees, pulled him in, and lifted his hips off the bed in blatant invitation. "Not before the second date."

Strange came dangerously close to violating the Hippocratic Oath. He settled for jabbing Stark with 5cc's of morphine.
The cold tip of the gun instantly sled under Strange's chin, forced his neck back uncomfortably. Stark's expression was steely and menacing, his handsome features twisted.
Strange's temper boiled, his irritation flooding through him like an internal bleed. He got bold, curled his fingers around the gun and pulled it from under his chin, kept his eyes level with Stark.
When he licked his lips, Stark's attention instantly dropped, focused there with genuine lust pooling in his brown eyes.

"You play dirty, Doctor," Stark tsked like a disapproving elementary school teacher, his eyes glassy. He didn't sound angry, more fascinated. Like Strange was the first person to disobey him. "But distracting me with that pretty mouth will only work once."
Stephen was about to snap at Stark, when the man shut him down immediately.
"Get to work," Stark commanded, abrupt and cold. All traces of his former playfulness vanished.

Stephen narrowed his eyes, but finally focused on Stark's injury. He pushed Stark's pants low enough to get to the bullet hole. Luckily it wasn’t very deep, but the skin around the wound was an ugly black, burnt and infected. Strange was not a betting man, but he'd wager every penny in his bank account that if he were to line Peter up with Stark, their bullet holes would match.

Stark remained silent, a nice change. It may be because he fell asleep the second Strange pressed a sterile bandage against his skin.

Chapter Text

Stark and Peter were gone by the time Stephen started his next shift. Christine carried on as if last night had never happened, handed him his charts with the same even professionalism to which he had become accustomed, and promptly disappeared for the rest of her shift.
The entire staff behaved so normally that Stephen wondered if he had imagined it all. Maybe a fever dream after a long shift, maybe a bad bagel. There was no sign of Peter or Tony Stark and his men. It was broad daylight and everything was as it should be.

Sometime in the late evening hours - the sun had not yet set - Strange made his way to his office for a break and nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt when the light illuminated the room before he could turn it on.
Stark was sitting in Stephen's chair with his feet propped up on the desk. Right next to him was Sam, grinning broadly and with eyes shining with curiosity.
Strange instinctively squeezed his coffee cup tighter.

Stark smirked at him and snapped his fingers. Sam immediately handed Stark a folded piece of paper before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Stark stared at Strange, licked his lips and smiled like a shark. "This," he shook the paper, "is a shut-your-mouth-check. You get to keep it, if you, well, shut your fucking mouth."

Strange twitched. He was so offended that for a minute only blind rage and indignation welled up inside him.

Unperturbed, Stark continued. "You're not going to file any official reports, you're not going to tell anybody about this. You didn't see anything last night. In fact, last night never happened. Are we clear, doctor?"

"Get the fuck out of my office." Stephen's voice was even and flat, betraying nothing of the feelings crawling under his skin. He didn't think he had ever been so insulted, so patronized in his entire life.

Stark's expression immediately darkened.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Strange," he warned sternly.

"I'm not on your payroll, Stark. I'm not going to put my goddamn medical license on the line like some back-alley doctor just because you expect me to roll over at your fucking command."

Stark rose from the leather chair and walked around the table. What he lacked in height, he made up for in charisma. His posture was upright, proud and dominant, someone who knew he didn't need to hide, with an undertone of danger. Intense brown eyes focused exclusively on him.
Stephen's throat suddenly felt dry and he tried to swallow inconspicuously.
There was no denying that Tony Stark was an attractive man. His face was finely cut, not too angular but not too soft either, his goatee neatly trimmed. The tailored suit hugged his body like a second skin, broad shoulders highlighted by it, with a subtle promise of a trained body beneath.
"I don't expect you to," Stark purred, letting his eyes wander hungrily up and down Strange's body. "But a guy can always hope."

Strange's patience finally snapped at the innuendo in Stark's voice. He opened the door and stared at him unblinkingly. "Goodbye, Mr. Stark."

Instead of leaving, Stark quickly wrapped his hand around Strange's shirt collar and pushed him back against the wall. Strange's coffee fell to the floor, and Stark pressed against it, letting his body slide against Strange's – their thighs stuck together like a vacuum seal.

Stark slipped the folded check into the front pocket of Stephen's white coat, dragged his fingers down Stephen's chest and made his entire body tense. When Stark glanced up at him through the fan of his dark eyelashes, he looked like an invitation to every sin his grandmother used to pray against when he was younger.

Stark licked his lips and Strange zoned in on his shiny pink mouth, could practically feel the slippery heat against his pants.
Stark smiled like he'd won the lottery. "I'll see you round, Doctor Strange."
He was out the door before Stephen could suck in air for his starving, burning lungs. He yanked the check out of his pocket and ripped it into several pieces.

Strange got home after the longest double he's ever pulled. He was so exhausted he hit his bed fully dressed and slept for eight uninterrupted hours.
When he woke up, he was achingly hard and sweaty and there was a lingering, haunting longing that burned deep and dark in his gut.
He purposefully avoided looking at the newspaper and seeing Tony Stark's handsome, square face, and spent the whole day haunted by dreams of a certain tongue and lips.

The days passed and the memories of the incidents faded. Stephen's daily routine caught up with him, the usual grind of early and late shifts, surgeries and gross cafeteria coffee that barely deserved the name.
Until one day Stephen was walking down a hallway in Metro, reading a chart of one of his patients, when he heard Stark's laugh – and stopped dead in his tracks. He looked around but couldn't spot the face. He was beginning to wonder if he was going crazy and sensed the devil lurking around every corner. When he actually stepped around the next corner of the hallway, he saw Stark standing by the department desk. Stark laughed again, perhaps at a joke the nurse on the other side of the desk had cracked. Except that the nurse’s smile was forced and he was visibly uncomfortable.

Stephen's feet moved instantly.
"Mr. Stark."
The man turned to him and greeted him with a smile presumably usually reserved for the Press. It did not impress Stephen. The nurse took the opportunity to move himself out of the situation.
"Can I help you?" the doctor demanded to know, the unspoken stop harassing my staff hanging in the air.

"You haven't cashed your check," Stark still smiled insufferably wide.

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Pretty hard to cash something in pieces."

Stark was silent for a long stretch of time, like he hadn’t expected this answer. Then he asked curiously: “Did you even look at it?"

"Of course not," Stephen snapped, affronted.

For a minute, Stark didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't even look at him.
"Huh," Stark simply replied before muttering a low, “Fascinating.”

"How's the kid - Peter?" Stephen asked and Stark's gaze darted to him.

"Surviving," Stark replied candidly.

"I want to see him again."
Strange had secretly been keeping a close eye on the obituaries, prayed each day he didn't find the name of a teenage boy removed from his medical care far sooner than he would have personally and ethically allowed.

Stark quirked an eyebrow, his lips a thin line on his face. "That so?"

Stephen felt the air rippling around him, crackling dangerously. He held his ground. "Yes."

Stark crowded Strange's personal space, stared at him with a blank, even expression that seemed almost annoyed if not disappointed.

"Fine," he agreed simply. "But now, you owe me."

Stark was long gone before Stephen realized the innuendo.

That very night, there was a car waiting for him. Stephen discovered it only by chance when he looked out the window and wondered whether it had really been a good idea to move to New York. Other cities also had excellent hospitals and medical facilities, but certainly less psychopathic citizens. It could still be his plan B to pack his few belongings and leave. On the other hand, that went against his pride, which Stephen had always held very high. He wouldn't run away from anyone, and certainly not from Stark. Besides, he also had to admit that the man made his life more interesting.
More interesting and more dangerous.
Maybe Stephen should have himself thoroughly checked out, since that little fact alone didn't make him want to drop everything and run for safety.

A man was leaning at a gorgeous car, polished so brightly it stung Stephen's eyes. He looked up at him and their eyes met. The man made a gesture of impatient waiting. Stephen frowned, but put on his shoes and jacket and left the house.

"Mr. Stark sent me to get you," the man said, a little annoyed that he had been standing here for quite a while. But it wasn't Strange's fault that he hadn't rung the bell.
Strange remained rooted to the sidewalk. The man turned to open the passenger door and Stephen spotted the beginnings of a tattoo on his neck above his collar.
The man sighed as he looked at him. "Now's really not the time to be stubborn, Doc."

"How do I know you really work for Stark? I don't even know your name," Stephen asked.

"Oh, he got himself a smart one this time." The hint of an honest smile spread across the driver's face. "The name’s Happy. Now get in the car."

Stephen relented and got in. Happy said nothing as he threw the car into drive and sped off.
It wasn’t a long drive, barely fifteen minutes, before he pulled up to a tower. Happy rolled down his window and reached outside to plug in a security code that made the massive door to an underground garage.

The car was parked next to others, all in similar top-notch condition. Stephen had barely gotten out when a woman approached him from the elevators. She was dressed in an elegant pencil skirt and high collared white blouse, her long ginger hair pulled exquisitely from her gorgeous face and cascades down her back.
"Doctor Strange," she greeted him with a firm handshake, revealed a delicately inked, thick band of tattoos around her wrist. "Pepper Potts. Please, follow me."

The elevator took them to the tenth floor, and from there Strange was led through winding hallways adorned with tastefully selected artwork and Persian rugs. The building screamed opulence. Pepper stopped in front of a cherrywood door, knocked twice before she twisted the knob.
Stark, Cap and Peter were inside, all looking up at Strange's arrival.

Cap instantly removed himself from Peter's side, while Stephen moved toward the bed, placed the back of his hand on Peter's forehead, then neck – searched for any signs of fever.

Stark stepped to his side. "Satisfied?" He'd swapped his usual dress shirt for an AC/DC T-shirt today.

"I want to examine him." He looked Stark in the eye, not intending to budge.

Stark pondered his request, snapped his fingers and Steve and Pepper closed the door behind them.
There was a stethoscope on the bedside table next to a bottle of painkillers Strange knew he absolutely did not prescribe. He listened for any signs of irregularity, but Peter's heart pounded away, steady and even. There was no infection around the wounds, the scar tissue sensitive and healing.
Medically, Peter was in near perfect health for someone who took four to the chest and almost died twice under Strange's hands. The tattoos still troubled Strange. They emphasized how pale his lithe body was.

Stephen had looked up the one tattoo he remembered the clearest, a cobweb on his chest. He knew it had a positive meaning, a symbol of hard work and dedication.
He also had a large capital A in a circle on his left side.

"Any discomfort, kid?" Stephen finally asked once he can't justify being in the room any longer.

Peter shook his head and blinked his large, fawn eyes.
"No, Sir." It was the first time he had heard the boy speak. His voice was rough from his exertions, but not weak enough to cause concern.

"Curiosity satiated, Doc?" Stark asked, and Stephen nodded, rising to accompany Stark outside.
As they left the room, unease crept up Strange's spine, making him nervous. Stark was too close to him, directly responsible for the sinking in Strange's belly, the tingling in his crotch that snatched away the oxygen in his body.

"How's your injury?" Stephen asked quickly, just to say anything to distract himself from his thoughts. Although the thought of Tony Stark with his shirt open, close to him as he stitched him up, didn't help matters. Since when did he have this medical kink? Normally, he was very professional. But his patients didn’t usually have those dangerous brown doe eyes and a gun in his hand while he treated them.

"Fine."
Stark’s answer was short and could mean anything from it heals accordingly thanks for asking to that’s none of your damn business.

Stephen took the hint and actively chose to ignore it.
"Come by next week to remove the stitches."
Stark was his patient, whether the man liked it or not, and Stephen would treat him as such. He hasn’t been afraid of Stark's antics before and he wouldn't start now.

Tony eyed him with open interest, as if he had just been challenged. He said nothing in reply, but escorted Stephen personally to the elevator to the underground parking garage.

Chapter Text

"No, absolutely not..." Tony's eyes watched the passing houses without really looking at them. Part of his attention was focused on the phone call he was having, but the other part of his attention - the larger part - wondered why he bothered at all. It was a waste of time. "I don't care how much money they offer. I don't want that stuff in my city.... Well, if he asks again, tell him - and you can quote me on that - to shove it up his-…"

"We're here, boss," Happy interrupted him from the driver's seat. His bodyguard got out and circled the car while Tony cut the call short. He had more important things to do.

"I don't even know why you're still bothering me with this, Obi."
He ended the call and got out as Happy opened the door for him. Tony closed the top button of his jacket and peered over the rim of his sunglasses. It was a plain neighborhood, not run down, but his expensive car still stood out. And so probably did he himself, but he did that everywhere. Tony Stark was not one to blend in with the crowd. And he embraced it, used it to his advantage.

He entered the Asia restaurant in front of which they had parked. There were few patrons. There was no one to greet them, just an old lady behind the counter who was scowling at him, when Tony stepped to her and interrupted her watching a soap drama.
"Hi, can I get a number five and number twelve with beef?" Tony glanced at Happy, who followed him a step behind, as usual. "Do you want anything?"

"No."
Happy sounded annoyed that Tony was getting distracted. They weren't here for the food. But to be honest, despite his name, Happy often sounded annoyed no matter what Tony was doing. It probably came with his job, to bodyguard one of the most dangerous and most feared men in the city – maybe even in the whole country.
His eyes scanned the room they were in and even if there were no immediate treats to be seen here, he didn't relax. Righteous so. They were out of their territory.

Happy's eyes settled on a young man who stepped out of the kitchen.
"Mr. Stark," he greeted them as if he had been waiting for him. "Please follow me."
With an implied bow, he waved him along and turned to lead him through the kitchen.
Several men stood working at the stoves. They sneaked curious glances at the strangers, but otherwise made no further comment on their presence. They wore aprons around their waists and bandannas around their heads and sweaty foreheads. One of them was wielding a wok over an open gas flame, and there were the smells of various spices in the air.

At the other end of the kitchen there was a door that led them into a back room with no windows. It was well lit and there were several round tables. They were all unoccupied except for one in the middle. There sat a young woman with a black bob and a neutral expression.
The man who had brought them in motioned Tony to take a seat in the only other chair, across from the woman. He himself stepped up to a side table and fetched some tea, paying no further attention to Happy.

The bodyguard was content to remain standing near the door, his arms crossed.
It was always dangerous to enter enemy territory. Even if it had come with a polite invitation. He liked to keep tabs on the situation, to be able to interfere, if necessary. Reading the room, the vibes weren't hostile but somewhat strained.

This kind of meeting between families was nothing unusual for Tony. Over the years, he had met different members of the most influential dynasties from all over the globe.
He has never sat in front of Xialing, daughter of Wenwu, from the Ten Rings.

The area where the restaurant was located was not directly his dominion, but it was still part of his city. He didn't know what to make of the fact that he had been summoned here. It could be interpreted as rudeness or at worst a declaration of war. Especially since the woman in front of him was so young. Young people had a tendency to stick their heads into things that were too big for them. Mainly if they came from one of the biggest families, were direct heirs of the head and thought that everything should be handed to him on a golden platter.
That being said, Tony had had his own experiences in this regard, and wanted to hear what she had to say to him.
He was curious like that.

Tony waited until a cup of steaming tea was placed in front of him and Xialing before he raised his voice.
"Last time I spoke to someone from the Ten Rings, they blew my house up. Which is a shame because I really like that house."
He knew that especially the Asian families, had a tendency to hide their true feelings and only hint at them with a few words. He, however, made no secret of his displeasure and set the tone for this meeting.

A smirk appeared around Xialing's lips. According to Tony's information and research, she had grown up in mostly Hong Kong and Macau, but by the way she held herself and her style of dress, he suspected she had been exposed to her fair share of Western culture.
She brought her cup to her mouth and took a sip, as if to demonstrate that there was no poison in the tea.
"And I would apologize for it, but that was actually someone who used the name of the Ten Rings without permission."

"That's even worse." Tony leaned back in his chair and let his eyes wander. This room was normally used for illegal gambling. Every other Tuesday night, if his informant was any good. Mahjong and Pai Gow were most popular among the guests.
"You've quite the nerves, calling me here, after everything your family did."
Tony reached for his cup and drank the tea, just to show that he didn't care and certainly wasn't afraid. It was a nice blend of jasmine. Fine quality.

"My father," Xialing pointed out, "lost his focus in the last few years. I assure you, that won't happen with me. Children shouldn't be held responsible for the actions of their parents, don't you think?"
That was a smart move. It was common knowledge that Tony had a difficult relationship with Howard during his lifetime. He had taken a different path than his father would have liked, and probably many had secretly hoped that the dispute would weaken the Stark’s name in the process. It hadn't, but Tony had worked hard for it, had a lot of backlashes before he came into this position of power he now held.

He was interested to hear that the rumors about the old Wenwu were apparently true. It was said he had been out of his mind, had never gotten over the death of his wife many years ago. And now, apparently, his children had taken his place.

"The name Ten Rings is more than just a family," Tony reminded her. Actions had consequences and someone has to assume the responsibility for what happened.
"What do you want from me?" Tony asked directly. Because there had to be a reason. This wasn't just a courtesy call, not under these circumstances. No more small talk. It was time for facts, time to find out if this little trip had been a waste of time.

It was hard to tell whether Xialing was annoyed or amused by his directness. Her face remained neutral, her eyes glancing from him to the tea in her hand.
"You're familiar with the routes between New York and Hong Kong?"
It was a rhetorical question. It was one of THE main trade routes between East Asia and North America by sea.
"For some time now, people have been disappearing - too often for my liking. You control all goods coming in and going out. Keep your eyes open and inform me if you notice anything funny and I'll pick it up. I know you don't want this kind of business in your city, so it's in both our interests."

That was true, but Tony didn't like her tone. She had too much matter-of-factness. He swirls the tea in his cup.
"But what is in it for me?" he asked. "Sure, I'm doing my job and it's good for the people, but there's also the risk of upsetting whoever does this. I really don't want to lose another summer residence."

Xialing smiled, for now it was only a matter of price.
"I'm sure we will come to an agreement."

~~

Half an hour later, Tony and Happy left the back room. The young man from earlier led them out through the kitchen and saw them off with a polite bow.
The old woman behind the counter pushed a bag of the ordered takeout into Happy's hand - Tony didn't get handed things, that was a matter of principle. The food was on the house. Tony tipped anyway.

"Back home?" Happy asked as they both sat back in the car and Happy steered down the street.

"Stop at Metro's."

Happy raised his eyebrow.
"You sure visit that new Doctor quite often." Normally Stark avoided physicians unless it was an absolute emergency. Or if it involved family, like with Peter a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the boy was feeling better by now and was back on his feet.

Tony didn't say anything, whether because he didn't seem it necessary or because he hadn't been listening at all. His eyes were fixed on his phone. There was always work to do and he only put it in the inside pocket of his jacket when they parked in front of the hospital.
Tony told Happy to wait in the car and entered Metro like he owned the place. He could afford it, if he wanted to.
"Tell Doctor Strange, I'm here for my appointment," he told the woman at the front desk as he walked by. She was on the phone and only saw him out of the corner of her eye. Frowning, she turned after him, then saw who had spoken to her and hurried to carry out the order.
Tony was already gone. He knew the way to Strange's office and walked to it without being bothered. Nobody dared to question his presence or even stop him. Nobody wanted to suffer through the consequences.

Today, Tony did not sit in Strange's chair, but took a seat on the visitor side of the table. A sign of his good will.

Stephen's face remained neutral as he entered his office. This time he had been prepared for Stark's presence.
"I'm actually surprised you came."

"My doctor told me so."
Stark had the audacity to wink at him. His biting, wary behavior was gone as if he had suddenly decided Stephen was not a threat. That he liked him, the way you like a pet you keep as some kind of entertainment. Stephen fell in a shark tank but the shark decided that he was no food - at least not today.

Stephen wondered what sick game fate had devised that Tony Stark had apparently chosen him out of all the people working in this facility. Of course, it was his own fault, since he had thrown himself in Tony’s path the first time they met. Only because he had wanted to save a patient. It was his job, sure. But there were other doctors, his shift had been over then, but he couldn't fucking helped himself.
And now he had to live with the consequences. Stark in his own twisted way seemed to take a liking at him. Stephen didn't know if he should be happy about it, maybe flattered. Or whether he should be afraid and scared for his life.

Tony Stark, the only son of the former mafia boss and weapon manufacturer Howard Stark - the man who built the city, the man responsible for the sharp increase in crime, the man who was a business genius and who controlled every single street in the city.
When Howard was shot outside the courthouse in a gang-organized hit, the entire city was relieved but also feared what to come next.

Stephen took him into a room next door, an actual medical exam room, not Stephen's office. Stark lost his jacket and shirt and pushed down his pants an inch for good measure.
The gunshot wound had healed well. A scar would form, but it would be a clean white line. Stephen had worked with precision.

He removed the stitches and now had more time to look at his torso more closely, since for once he was not threatened by a gun. He noticed that Stark had several tattoos. The most noticeable was probably the one on his chest, it was large and round and the only one that was colored. Some smaller tattoos reminded him of ones he had seen on Peter. Among them was a capital A in a circle over Stark's heart. Next to it were six small dots emblazoned in different colors.
He had to keep himself from running his fingers over them.
Get a fucking grip, Stephen scolds himself mentally.

Stark was watching him like a hawk, just waiting to find a weakness in his defense and strike. He had already made up his mind.

Every glance Strange sent his way, lit his core. He desired to possess this man for his own. Such an exquisite being was wasted on any other human being. But he would have to proceed with precision. Stephen was not so easily impressed like the common people. He was special.
So Stark just sat there, waiting.

The clean up was quickly done and Stark shucked on his dress shirt, his pants still riding low on his hips. Strange pointedly looked at a chart - not Stark's. Stark had no medical record. Stephen looked for it - and bit the inside of his cheek raw. Tony really was a temptation incarnate for him. He stepped to the door to get some physical distance between them.

"How about lunch together?" Stark suddenly asked and Stephen's eyes shot up. "I got Chinese in the car."

Their eyes met and the question hung in the air between them. It took Stephen a second too long to find his voice again.

"Be careful at future hunting trips, Mr. Stark."

Stark left without another word, without lingering around. His suit perfectly again, his appearance spotless. Nothing about him betrayed what was going on in his head.

Happy drove him back to the tower. Tony carried the bag of takeout to the living room, where he found Peter. The boy was still on bed rest, but had moved to the couch and was working his way through Netflix.

"What are you watching?" Tony glanced at the big screen. "Demon Slayer? Move over."
He settled down next to the boy on the couch and slid him one of the food boxes. Peter pounced on it. Even though he was no longer growing, he always seemed hungry lately. Perhaps because of his regeneration.
"Next week your tutor will be back. Then the vacation will be over," he informed the boy.

"Sure."
Without any enthusiasm, Peter stabbed his noodles.

Tony eyed him from beside.
"Aren't you glad? You told me just yesterday that it's boring to sit around all day doing nothing."

"I am glad. Mr. Spencer is nice," Peter muttered.

That comment made Tony put his box on the table and turn full on to the boy.
"What did he do?"
It was like a switch was turned. When it came to his ward, he took everything serious.

"Nothing," Peter quickly rebuffed, knowing how Tony behaved. "It's just… it's gotten boring."
He had already moved on to his own studies. His tutor could hardly teach him anything he didn't already know.

Tony relaxed at this explanation.
"I guess, it's time you look into colleges then."

"MIT!"
The answer came so quickly and promptly that Tony had to smile at it. Maybe there was a little fatherly pride in it, too. He reached for his box again.

"Good choice. Consider it done."

"No!" It was rare that Peter actually objected to something he said, and even so directly. "I don't want your influence for that. I want to get in on my own."

Tony considered it. He remembered a similar conversation he had with his own father. Peter was a good kid, despite all the circumstances and the environment he had grown up in.

Peter bit his lower lip nervously and waited for Tony's response.

"Alright, Peter. I'm proud of you. You've come a long way."

The boy beamed at him.

"I'm still paying for your tuition fees," Tony said and this time no objections came. A rich family had to have some advantage, after all.
Together they sat on the couch and watched Demon Slayer.

~~

Tony hadn’t been expecting much when he cleared out the traffickers trying to encroach on his space. They were sloppy at best and had drawn unwanted attention to all of the bosses in the area as they kidnapped people that would actually be missed. It was practically a public service to remove them.

“Hey Tony, we got a problem,” Rhodey said, coming up beside him

“I thought we just took care of the problem,” Tony retorted.

“Well, yeah, but they had merchandise. You might wanna see this.”

“Alright, this better be worth it,” Tony said, gesturing lazily for Rhodey to lead on.
Tony followed him - his bodyguard Happy at his side - through the warehouse until they came to a series of rooms. Most of them were empty, but in the corner of one room sat a boy, a teenager, who looked bruised and battered but very much alive.
“Fuck”, Tony muttered and louder he said: “Back up, boys. I take care of this.”

His men retreated, only Happy remained standing near the door. Tony pulled a knife from his pocket, popping it open as he walked over to the boy. The boy made himself as small as possible.
"Hey kid, can you look at me?" Tony asked, his voice sounding more neutral. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He waited patiently, but the boy didn't look up. Tony grabbed his arm and cut the cable tie that bound his hands. Then the one on his legs.

That earned him a look from the boy. He looked at him with wide eyes, scared. His eyes wandered to the door where Happy stood. Before Tony could say another word, the boy jumped to his feet, knocked him over and darted forward. He got exactly three steps before his legs gave in and he crashed to the floor.
Happy had immediately started moving to rush to Tony, but the man raised his hand and stopped him.
"I'm fine," he said, wiping the dirt off his suit. It would need cleaning after this, but that was fine. He's dirtied them for far less good reasons than helping a kid out. “We do need a first aid kid, though. Can you get it from the car? And preferably a bottle of water. He is probably dehydrated.”
Happy hesitated for a moment, which is why Tony added, "Look at him. He's not going to kill me in the next five minutes. But I'd like having him alive."
Happy nodded and left.

The boy, meanwhile, had worked his way back up to a sitting position and turned to face Tony. He looked startled as he realized he couldn't escape. But then his look took on something determined, and somehow Tony had a feeling he would continue to fight back anyway. He was a fighter.
For safety's sake, he kept his distance, yet crouched down to be at the boy's eye level.
"Alright, no hard feelings here. I understand you guys want to leave this shithole. Again, we're not here to hurt you. On the contrary, we hurt the scum that brought you in here and you’re free to go."

"Are you a cop?" the boy asked. His voice was hoarse, as if he had shouted too much. Tony's expression darkened more and more the longer he thought about it. The end he had given these men had been far too lenient.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm right the opposite of a cop. I’m Tony, by the way. Mind telling me your name?"

The boy regarded him for a while, and Tony was beginning to think he didn't have enough spit left to speak, until he opened his mouth again.
"Peter."

Tony gave him a smile that he usually saved for the press. Happy returned and Peter eyed him suspiciously. Tony caught the water bottle he had brought and handed it to the boy.
"Here. Just a few more quick questions, okay, Peter?"

The boy nodded as he drank and promptly choked. He coughed, but Tony didn't make the mistake of helping him. Peter had made it clear that he didn't want to let anyone into his personal space. So he simply waited until the boy had calmed down.
"Where does your family live?"

The boy hesitated with his answer and when he did, his voice was no more than a whisper.
"I have nowhere to go back to."
Peter managed to shrink into himself even more as he answered, and Tony couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

"You're an orphan, boy?"

The boy nodded dejectedly. The matter was more complicated than Tony had thought.

"They turned you in, didn't they?" It wouldn't be the first time Tony had heard of such a thing. Teenagers were known to cause trouble and run away from orphanages, even if they were well run. With the crappy system that was in place there, it would be easy to hide kidnappings among the missing children.
He looked at the boy's bruised skin and remembered how he had winced every time Tony so much as moved his hand. He knew the signs of abuse when he saw them. Tony felt a twinge in his chest, even as a pang of anger ran through him. He didn't tolerate traffickers or child molesters, not on his turf.
"You don't have to go back if you don't want to. Honestly, the system sucks. How about we patch you up and when you're better, you decide where you want to go, all right?"

Peter's face was incredulous and still suspicious. Tony couldn't blame him. His offer probably didn't sound clean, but it was the best he could give. He could turn the boy over to the police, but they would just put him back in foster care. He had meant what he said, the system sucked.

"What do you want for your help?" Peter asked.

Tony had the sudden urge to hug him. The kid wasn't stupid. There were plenty of people who would have taken advantage of this situation. Tony felt disgusted just thinking about it. He might be a gangster, but he wasn't scum.
"I want you to smash some of the faces that got you here. But not until you're strong enough not to break your knuckles doing it."
Tony winked at him, stood up and held out his hand to Peter.
"Come on, Peter, let's get you cleaned up."

The boy stared at him, still shaking and probably scared, but he reached out anyway and took Tony's hand.
"Okay."

Chapter Text

Stephen set his scalpel aside.
„Stitch it up,“ he told Christine, his second during the surgery, and stepped outside, removing the gloves from his hands and the mask from his face.
The brain tumor was fully removed from the patient, the surgery successful. It hadn‘t been an easy one by all means. An operation of the hypothalamus and pituitary gland. The odds of death had been high. A challenge even for Stephen. But he was efficient and slowly became the best in his field.
He washed his hands and met Christine a few minutes later in the hallway.
"That went great," she smiled. The adrenaline washed off slowly, leaving a weird mixture of being tired and high awake behind.

"Routine."
It really wasn't, and they both knew, but Stephen liked to humble brag. They arrived at the elevator. Stephen's shift was over, the surgery the only thing scheduled for today, while Christine allowed herself a break before heading back to work.

"Is dinner still on?" she asked him.

"Of course. We need to celebrate that my success streak is still over 95 percent."

Christine rolled her eyes. One day he would fall flat on his face with his arrogance.
"See you at Frevo's then. Your treat," she said instead.

Stephen's shift was over, but he spent another hour in his office doing paperwork.
After that, he got his groceries and then went home to shower and change. He was in a good mood, almost catching himself whistling softly to himself as he walked through the aisle looking for toast. It was a successful day, life was good.

Just in time for dinner, he entered the restaurant downtown. Frevo’s was his choice, a small room hidden in an art gallery and very exclusive. He had made the reservation well in advance and Christine had sucked in her breath sharply when he told her about it and invited her. But he liked to treat himself. He deserved nice things. And so did Christine.
She proved to be a great colleague and somewhat of a friend. They worked together great. Stephen had briefly been tempted to see in her something more than just platonic friendship, but she had shut that down immediately. He was actually thankful for that, because he knew better than to date a colleague. You don’t shit where you eat. Besides, his preference lay elsewhere.

Christine wasn't there yet. Stephen sat down and ordered a drink - non alcoholic for now. Just as it was placed in front of him, his phone vibrated with a text message from Christine.

Sorry, have to fill in for Nicole. Won't make it. Rain-check.

Stephen frowned. He was considering whether to leave or stay when the chair across from him was pulled out.
"Fancy seeing you here, doc."
Stark sat down and looked at him over the rim of his sunglasses before taking them off.

"I was just leaving," Stephen replied before even thinking about it.

"Nonsense. You haven't even eaten yet. Let's order. Scusi!" He waved to the waiter with two fingers. "Two steaks and whiskey, per favore." His charm was fully turned on and he used his accent in an intriguing way.

"A red wine for me instead. A syrah varietal if you have." Stephen waited until the waiter had left before directing his next question to Stark. "What are you doing here?"

"Enjoying a meal. This place has great yelp reviews, although it's not what I usually prefer."

Stephen knew that the steaks Stark ordered were worth a week's salary of a middle class worker. He wondered what his usual preference was.
"You eat alone?" he asked instead, because he didn't see any of Stark's men standing anywhere nearby, no company, not even a free table he had reserved. For all he knew, Tony could have just walked in, seen Stephen and decided to sit with him.
The waiter reappeared at the table, presenting Stephen with a bottle of wine. He took only a quick glance at it and nodded his approval. The drink had become a triviality.

When they had their glasses in front of them, Stark continued the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.

“Just like you apparently.”

“I was meeting with a friend,”Stephen replied snappishly.

"Ow, did she stand you up? Good thing I could fill in." Tony raised his glass to Stephen.
There was something about the tone with which he said it, or maybe his glance. But Stephen just knew Stark had something to do with it. He had to. It was no coincidence that the man had shown up here. And Stephen had never mentioned that his friend was female.

Was Christine involved in this? He didn't think so. Nothing about her behavior earlier had indicated it. It wasn't unusual for her to take over a shift for a colleague. He could only hope that Nicole would be back at Metro’s.
Stephen watched Stark over the rim of his wine glass - it was a really good one, not too dry.
The man had tried to set him up for dinner last time, but that time Stephen had dismissed it as a meaningless phrase. But a man like Tony Stark was used to getting what he wanted.

"So, you were the top of your class at Columbia, worked in Boston and now New York." Tony's voice drew Stephen's attention back to reality. "I heard you are some kind of protege in neurosurgery."
He clearly did his homework. Of course, someone in Stark's position didn't let just anyone work on his people. Except maybe in an emergency.

"It's hard work, but it pays off. I'm ambitious and like to keep my goals in sight."

The food was brought and the steak looked truly wonderful. Perfectly medium rare.

"A trade I admire," Tony admitted, "I too have my sights set on my goals." His eyes were fixed on Stephen and his grin resembled that of a predator stalking its prey. That had been an unmistakable statement.

Stephen merely raised an eyebrow, not letting on what he was thinking. He reached for his cutlery and cut his steak.
In truth, he was flattered that someone of Stark's power and influence was flirting with him - because there was no other way to call this behavior. Stephen felt less nervous about it outside the hospital. Perhaps because he was able to shed his own professionalism and not act exclusively as a doctor. He was more relaxed.

Tony had turned on his charm full blast. Stephen knew it was a dangerous game. He had seen the guns Tony’s men carried. He was the reason for many of the patients in the ER. Not to mention his business in the city. Stephen had seen, with this lunch today at the latest, just how far Tony’s influence reached. One wrong word could probably end Stephen's career quickly. A fact that just urged him not to roll over at Stark's command.

"I should be honored that you take your precious time to dine with me. I heard you're a busy man."

"You should," Tony replied. "Lucky you I just happened to be around."

Stephen couldn't help but snort at that. As if.

"Do you call me a liar?" Tony's voice was sharp. He challenged him, curious to see how far the doctor would go.

"I'm not throwing around any names." Stephen didn't elaborate, but he smirked. "Not in public."

"Maybe I should book a private appointment then."

They were definitely flirting. It was easy, Stephen even enjoyed it. He had finally met someone who could keep up with his wit. He chuckled thinking about it, shaking his head. It was absurd.
But Tony seemed to like his reaction, because he rewarded him with a bright smile.

Stephen had to admit: the dinner was great. Excellent food, wine and even the company. But all good things came to an end. Tony paid - he insisted - and Stephen allowed it, because after all it was Stark's fault that his plans with Christine had fallen through.
They parted ways without any further innuendos. Maybe that was it, Stephen thought. Stark got what he wanted and now let him live his life in peace.

Except that was not it.

Stephen entered the coffee shop near the hospital before his morning shift. It was far too early to be awake, yet the morning rush was already in full swing. Stephen stood in line and waited for his turn, his eyes fixed blankly on the board above the counter. On some days, he needed a well-made coffee, not just the junk from the cafeteria. Because of its proximity to Metro, this coffee shop was well known among the doctors and nurses.

"Their hazelnut coffee is great," a voice behind him recommended.

Stephen turned this head and in his not yet fully awake state, it took him a moment to recognize Tony Stark. And he looked far too good for this time of day. A sharp suit, the coat casually thrown over his shoulders. His eyes flashed brightly as their gazes met.

"What the fuck are you doing here?”
Apparently Stephen had no filter at five a.m. in the morning.

"Getting coffee before work," Tony replied with a grin.

"Don't you have an intern for that?"

"They never get my order right and my insurance doesn't cover casualties."

Stephen stared at him. How could anyone say such a thing so calmly? He didn't notice that the line in front of him had cleared and the barista was looking at him, waiting.
Tony stepped forward.
"For me and my friend each a hazelnut latte and a blueberry muffin." Tony glanced at the doctor. "Extra shot of espresso in his. He looks like he needs it."

Stephen just blinked at him stupidly, but managed to get his card out before Tony.
"You're not paying again."

Tony hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged and tipped hundred percent anyway.
"Fine, but next one is on me."

They stepped to the side to wait for their drinks.

"So, any interesting surgeries coming up these days?" Tony asked casually.

"A cardiac constriction of the cerebellar cortex, interfering with blood supply to the hindbrain," Stephen muttered. He could talk about his work at any hour of the day, no matter if he was awake or still half asleep. And normally when he threw around some medical words, people would shut up, being intimidated, impressed or confused. "And then there's a meningioma, but that's a routine surgery. It's so easy, even Nick could do it."

"Just working on the big stuff, huh? Though, I'd want the best for a brain tumor Even if a meningioma is technically not a brain tumor."

Stephen side eyed him.
"When did you get a PhD?"

"I like to read, when I got the time for it. You know, light reading to pass the time." Tony shrugged and picked up his to-go cup and the muffin that had just been placed on the counter. Stephen reached for his own.
They walked another block in the same direction, chatting about the various methods of fixing a punctured blood supply in the hindbrain.
Stephen was surprised to find out he enjoyed talking to Stark about it.

Later that day a young teenager came into the ER. He had a cut lip with dried blood and a swollen eye. In a few hours it would turn dark. He took it bravely; there were no remnants of dried tears.

For the nurse at the front desk, a boy who had obviously been in a fight was not an uncommon sight. But they rarely came here alone - usually they had at least one friend with them, or a parent who was less than happy about the incident and dragged their child to the hospital.
"Please take a seat and fill out this form."
She slid him a clipboard and pen.

"I need to speak to Doctor Strange." The boy's voice was low but firm.

The nurse took a quick glance at her screen to confirm what she knew: Doctor Strange didn’t work at the ER.
"Please take a seat and fill out this form," she repeated, tapping the clipboard.

Something like irritation washed over Peter.
"Yes, I understand that and I will do that, but first I need to talk to Doctor Strange."
It was unusual how polite the teenager remained. Boys his age who came here with these injuries usually had some kind of aggressiveness in them. This one seemed to have all the patience in the world, yet he didn't back down.

"Doctor Strange doesn't work in the ER."

"Where can I find him?"

A discussion between them started because the woman at the desk refused to provide him with details, although the boy insisted on it. It grew louder until Christine, who was on her way to her lunch break, heard it and joined in.
"What's going on?"

The boy repeated his request like a mantra.
"I need to speak to Doctor Strange."

Christine eyed the boy closely. "You need to get your face looked at. Why Doctor Strange?"

The teenager paused. What was he supposed to say? That the man who was like a father to him trusted no one else? That if anybody else touched him and did just as much as the slightest error, this man will have their head? Peter was thankful for Tony and everything he did for the boy, but he also complicated things.
"Please tell him, I'm here. He will know," he asked and finally took the clipboard.

“And what’s your name?”

“Peter.”

Christine escorted the boy to an exam room and instructed him to wait there while she went off to look for Stephen.
The nurse is curious. The boy looks vaguely familiar and she ponders if she's seen him before. But there were so many faces going in and out of this hospital every day that it was hard to keep track. His name didn’t ring a bell either, and she was sure she would have remembered it if Stephen had mentioned him before.

She finds Stephen three floors up in the hallway to radiology. Waving, she drew his attention, and he stopped to wait for her.

“There’s a young man in the ER, who refuses to talk to anyone but you. He says his name is Peter.”

The doctor pondered for a moment until realization struck him.
"Peter? Are you sure?"

"I got a total of three pieces of information from him and that was one of them. So, yeah. I'm sure of it. Who is he?"

Instead of responding to her question, Stephen pushed the folder he was carrying into her hand.
"Can you consult Mrs. Cedar about her upcoming MRI?"
With that, he started moving with long strides toward the stairs.

"Hey," Christine called after him. "You owe me an explanation. And dinner."

Stephen entered the examination room where Peter was sitting. From what Christine had told him, he was concerned. The last time Peter had been in the ER, he almost didn't make it. But when Stephen looked at him now, he noticed that the boy didn't seem too bad. At least not life-threatening.
Relieved, he exhaled.

"Let me take a look at that."
Peter didn’t say a word while the doctor disinfected the cut on his lower lip and the bruise on his eyebrow. The boy took it bravely and didn't even flinch when Stephen dabbed the cotton with the antiseptic on the wound.
When asked if the boy had any other injuries, Peter shook his head. He was also otherwise quite silent and reserved.
Thinking about it, he was basically the exact opposite of Stark, and Stephen wondered for the umpteenth time what the relationship between the two was.
First, though, he needed to know something else.

"Is it a recurring event that you get beat up?"
If so, he needed to have a serious talk with Stark. He could handle a lot of the man's antics, but he drew the line at endangering a teenager.

"No! No." It was the first time Stephen had heard the boy raise his voice loudly. "Mr. Stark is trying to keep me out of his business. Since the shooting, I'm not even allowed to leave the tower. He doesn't know anything about this ..." Peter pointed to his face, then looked pleadingly at Stephen. "And maybe it can stay this way?"

Stephen tilted his head, trying to grasp the situation and whether he believed the boy. Surprisingly, he did.
"I'm not going to call him and tell him about you. But if he asks me, I won't lie."

Peter nodded. That was as good as it got.
"Thank you, Doctor Strange," he smiled, but winced when his lip hurt.
He found the doctor's direct nature refreshing. He didn't beat around the bush like many other people in Stark's circle. Peter liked that quality, and he knew Stark did, too. Peter could understand why his mentor trusted this man.

Stephen put everything away.
"My shift ends in an hour. I can drop you off at home if you want," he offered.

"I'll take a cab."

The boy was still leery of getting into another man's car. Stephen couldn't blame him.
"Of course. Do you need money? Or food? I can't recommend the cafeteria, but there's a decent pizza place around the corner."

"I can manage, but thank you, Doctor Strange." Peter stood up. "I can understand why Mr. Stark said you're alright for a doctor. Don't tell him I said that, though."

Stephen caught himself smiling.
"That secret I can keep.”

Chapter Text

A phone call jolted Stephen out of sleep in the middle of the night. Instinctively he picked up, only to have his first coherent thought the next moment: he wasn't on call.

"Strange, I need you at the docks."
It was Tony's voice, getting straight to the point without a greeting. That was alarming enough for Stephen to get right into his doctor mode.

"Are you shot?"
His eyes fell on the digital display of his alarm clock. It was 1:12 a.m. He could make it in twenty minutes if there wasn’t significant traffic. Mentally, he was already going over the fastest route while Tony spoke again.

"No, but I still need you as a doctor."

Groaning, Stephen dropped back into his pillow and pinched his nose.
"What the hell, Stark? If it can't wait until morning, call a fucking ambulance like a normal person."

"Can't do that." Tony sounded annoyed now. He was losing his patience. "We found a container with people who were shipped overseas. Human beings who need medical help ASAP. I don't trust anyone else with this."

Just the fact that he got an explanation at all, and then such a detailed one, was a testament to how much Tony trusted him. But Stephen wouldn't realize that until much later. Now he was far too distracted by the information and drew in a sharp breath.
He shouldn't go.
He should call the police, roll over and go back to sleep. He had made it clear to Tony several times that he wasn't on his payroll. And this was definitely illegal business.

"Text me the address," he groaned and climbed out of his bed. He was awake about eighty percent, but that was enough to function. The long years of his studies, especially during his residencies, had conditioned him well. He grabbed the first clothes he could find: dark jeans, a dress shirt from the previous day and a sweater. He threw a jacket over his arm as well, because the night was probably chilly.
From the back corner of his closet he pulled out a full stacked doctor's bag. It had been a gift from his doctoral supervisor after he got his PhD. It was a bit old-fashioned, but made of genuine leather and was one of the few things he owned he was actually fond of and that had already gone through several moves with him.
It was packed for emergencies, but he threw in extra sedatives and water bottles, because he had no idea exactly what to expect.

Eight minutes after his phone rang, he drove off, arriving at the docks after another twenty-one minutes. He got the GPS coordinates via text from an unknown number, which was enough to make him wary. Stephen parked a short distance away in a commuter lot and walked the last bit.

He saw Happy standing between two dark Audis, tensely watching the area. When he recognized Stephen, he relaxed and let him through, pointed to the container yard and the doctor continued in that direction. Halfway he met Steve – Stephen realized how many of Tony's men's names he was now familiar with – who led him between the cargo.

Even from a distance Stephen heard muffled voices, but when he saw the actual scene, he was shocked: one of the containers was open, probably welded judging from the cuts on the door. The stench of people, who hadn’t showered in a long time and who had been crammed together in a tight space, hit him. He counted a total of seventeen adults of various ages, Asian, sitting and lying huddled together on the ground.

Stephen cursed softly. "This is a nightmare."
He spotted Tony nearby, but ignored him. Stephen was still upset that he had been dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night, but he will do his fucking job.
He approached the people, who looked at him suspiciously. Of course they did. Who knew under what circumstances they had ended up in this container and where their onward journey was going. Stephen put his bag down and raised his hands defensively.
"I'm a doctor," he clarified, but no one responded. They merely stared at him with dull eyes. "Does anyone here speak their language?" Stephen asked loudly, his head halfway turned to Tony.

"Nat."
The man snapped his finger, whereupon a woman detached herself from the shadows. Stephen hadn't noticed her before.

"I don't quite speak their dialect, but they understand what I mean."

That was as good as it got.
"Tell them I'm here to help them and examine them. Are there any injured or sick people?" He glanced at a man leaning against another container, barely conscious and shivering badly. Probably fever, if Stephen had to guess. He opened his bag and pulled out disposable gloves while Nat talked to the people.
Without waiting for her translation, he walked over to the shivering man, placed a hand on his forehead and examined his pupillary response. Definitely a fever. Not so high as to be worrisome, but the man should get out of the cold.
"I need a blanket," he instructed no one in particular, raising his voice again. From his doctor's bag, he grabbed a water bottle and helped the man drink.

Nat stepped at his side.
"They are reluctant to talk," she explained. It didn't surprise Stephen. He wouldn't trust anyone, either. No matter if he had made such a crossing voluntarily or not. People involved with this business were always shady.
"Two have fever," Nat continued. "The other’s can't say for how long. From what we saw, water and food were scarce." Hesitantly, she pointed to a person lying near the open container door who so far had shown no reaction. "They say he's sleeping." From her tone Stephen could hear that she wasn't really convinced by that explanation.

Stephen nodded and told her to hand out more water bottles. He himself got up and went to the unresponsive man. He didn't look that old yet, from what Stephen could see in the little light provided by the few flashlights and an area lamp nearby. Maybe in his early thirties. Still, his hair was receding and his eyes were sunken. Next to him, a woman - presumably of similar age - crouched and leaned protectively over him as Stephen approached. She spoke short, rapid words that he didn't understand.

Nat, who had stayed near him, helped him out. "She says her husband is just a heavy sleeper. He has a fever and is resting. But there's no need for you to..." She needed a moment for the right translation, "put your effort into him. She says she takes good care of him."

"I'll be the judge of that," Stephen grumbled. He knelt beside the man and reached out with his fingers to open his eyelids. The woman's hand shot forward and grasped his. Stephen didn't need a translation to understand the pleas in her eyes.
He shook her off and opened the man's eyelids to examine his eyes. Then he put two fingers to his neck. There was no pulse.
He glanced at the wife, who was watching him anxiously.
They had been shipped together, but her husband had died en route, for whatever reason. Dead weight was usually disposed to save time and resources. The ocean was vast and its waters deep. No one would ever see this man again should the sea swallow him up. There would be no grave.

Stephen stood up.
"Tell her he is in good care with her. He doesn't need my help."
There was nothing he could do. The living passengers needed him more urgently, and he went to the other fever patient, a woman sitting leaning against a container.
One by one, he examined everyone, distributing water and antibiotics.

"How bad is it?" Tony asked, stepping at his side.

"They should be in a hospital or at least out of the cold. Four of them need IVs. They're emaciated and dehydrated and all of them are in desperate need of a shower and soap."

Tony merely nodded. He will pass the information on to Ten Rings. It would be best if he moved the cargo until they got picked up. It was an inconvenience, but durable because Tony was fucking disgusted by human trafficking.
His cell phone vibrated with a message and he stepped aside while Stephen continued his work.

"Cazzo!" Tony suddenly cursed loudly and several heads turned to him. "We've got company coming. We need to move now!"

It took Stephen a few seconds to react, not quite knowing what to do. But by then several figures appeared between the containers, guns at the ready.
"FBI! Everybody freeze!"

Stephen wasn't stupid enough to resist. He turned to face the newcomers and put his hands on his head as a sign that he was unarmed.
Tony had a firearm in his hand instead of his phone and had moved himself between the doctor and the agents.

"Put your weapons down and put your hands up!"

The passengers huddled together. They didn't understand the words, but probably realized that some kind of police had shown up. It didn't seem to calm them any more than Stephen's appearance.
Steve - also armed - looked waitingly at Tony, Nat had apparently disappeared, at least Stephen couldn't see her anywhere, but he didn't dare to fully turn his head.

With slow movements, Stark laid his gun on the asphalt. Only then Steve did the same.

They were all arrested and individually read their rights.

"Ross, it's been a while," Tony said nonchalantly to the agent who was attending to him. "How are your wife and kids?"

"Very funny, Stark." Ross looked at the people from the container. "That's a new low, even for you."

Tony's gaze darkened instantly, turning ice cold.
"You know my lawyer's number."
He was handed off to another agent and led away. Ross stayed behind, shaking his head, watching the paramedics tending to the poor people from the dumpster. They were surprisingly suspicious of the help. But that didn't fall into Ross's department.
He headed back to his own car. All of Stark's people would be driven back to headquarters individually so they weren’t able to communicate with each other. Four arrests, all without resistance and no injuries. It had been a good night.
"Doctor Strange," he greeted the one man he didn't yet know. According to his information, a new member of Stark's ranks. He took over the doctor from another agent.

The doctor's face was neutral to sour.
"And you are?" he asked back.

"Ross, FBI."

"Can I see your ID?"

Ross showed it to him, not even annoyed at the request. He opened the back door of his car and Stephen got in without complaining, his hands cuffed. The agent sat in the front and drove away from the docks, toward downtown. As he wove in and out of the traffic trying to find the right lane, moving at the speed that he wanted, he noticed Stephen twitching in his seat.
"Not too tight, right?" he asked as he turned his head to look at the doctor.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Stephen complained.

"Okay, okay," Ross placated as he turned back to the traffic, looking somewhat amused. Still, he kept glancing up to check on his passenger. "Control freak, huh?" he asked.

The doctor gave him a quick, annoyed look before turning to stare out the window.

"Now the silent treatment. That's fine. When we get back to the office, there's a nice room waiting there just for you and me so we can talk comfortably," Ross said as he turned onto a main road.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Ross pulled into the underground garage and got himself and Stephen out of the car. As the door shut, it reverberated across the cavernous space interrupting the silence. Ross kept his hand on the small of Stephen’s back as they waited for the elevator to arrive. Just below his fingertips were the cuffed hands of Stephen. Ross noted that he had clasped his hands together instead of letting them hang loose like some people did; fingers curled up so that Ross could see his short nails, clean and freshly trimmed. Someone had removed his disposable gloves. They were now evidence.

Chapter Text

"Well, that's a pretty interesting company you've gotten yourself into." Ross had taken a seat across the table with a coffee mug and was eyeing Stephen. "You moved to New York two months ago and immediately started working for Tony Stark. How did he recruit you?"

"I work for the Metro General Hospital."
Stephen sounded annoyed, but not intimidated enough for someone who had just been arrested in a raid for human smuggling. And certainly not for someone who, according to his records, had no prior experience with the FBI or even the police.

"Look, I don't care how much he pays you, all right? You're of no interest to us. I want Tony Stark. If you cooperate, I can make sure nothing shows up on your record and you get to keep practicing."

Stephen was not only angry, but also offended, as he always was when someone suggested that he was being paid by Stark.

"Why were you in that warehouse, doctor?" the agent asked, trying a different approach when Stephen didn't answer.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," Stephen replied.

"Those are some very interesting patients you have there," Ross remarked.

"If you say so."

"You know they're dangerous. Don't you think it would be beneficial to have us in your corner to watch out for you?" he offered.

"You've already looked out for me enough," Stephen replied as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. At least he wasn't handcuffed anymore. That had been embarrassing enough.

Inwardly, Ross sighed, but outwardly he didn't let on and took a sip of his coffee.
"Is medical care for the Italian mafia really what you want to do?" urged Ross.

"I'll remember that I'm not treating a fever or a cancerous growth, but a sick person whose illness can affect his family and his economic stability. My responsibility includes these related issues if I am to take proper care of the sick," Stephen quoted.

"What is this, the Hippocratic oath? What about the people they beat up the next day because you doctored them?" countered Ross. "What about the victims' families?"

"The people on the docks didn't look like they were beating people up. Besides, I'm a doctor, I treat everybody. I might even have to treat you someday," Stephen said. He was losing patience. If the clock in the large office they passed on the way to interrogation room number five, where he was currently sitting, was anything to go by, he had arrived at three in the morning. Ross had kept him waiting for quite some time before finally rejoining him for a conversation. The interrogation room had no window, but Stephen bet it was almost early morning. He was tired and grumpy and had not even offered a cup of coffee.
"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

At that moment, the door opened.
"That's what I'd like to know!" Pepper Potts entered the room in all her business splendor. "Have you even read my client his rights?"

"They have," Stephen said. He wasn't sure what she was doing here, but he wasn't going to complain about it. She had made a competent impression on him from their first meeting. Anything was better than a public defender. He did have a lawyer from the hospital for cases involving his work, but the hospital was the last place he wanted to inform about this incident.

Pepper nodded at him with professional distance.
"Good."

Ross's demeanor changed to scowling. He looked at Stephen as if it didn't speak well for him that Tony Stark's personal attorney was representing the doctor.

Pepper stepped up to the table at Stephen's side. "Why did the FBI arrest a doctor while he was performing first aid?” Offense was the best defense, and Pepper was fearless and combative.

"He's involved in a case of human trafficking." Ross wasn't intimidated by her. He knew her skills, but he'd been working this case too long to show weakness.

"He got a call about a medical emergency. He only did his job."

"Why him? Why not an ambulance?" Ross asked the same questions Stephen had asked Tony. "Why didn't anyone call the police?"

The doctor answered more quickly than Pepper.
"These are good questions. I usually ask them after I treat my patients."
He got a sharp look from the lawyer, but she couldn't fool him. The corners of her lips curled. At least one of them was having fun at this ungodly hour.

Ross did not have a valid charge to keep Stephen at headquarters. There were only unsubstantiated accusations, but they were not enough to hold him and so he had to grudgingly release the doctor. Stephen got back his doctor's bag, which someone had brought, and left FBI Headquarters with Pepper at his side. Morning was already dawning, turning the sky on the horizon in a soft orange. Stephen had never been so glad to have a later shift.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?", Pepper asked him. She had the audacity to not even look guilty about what happened. Sure, she had nothing to do with it, as far as everyone who was involved with Stark had nothing to do with what happened last night.
Stephen was simply unhappy with the overall situation. He was grumpy that he had been woken up in the middle of the night. He was disgusted with whatever had happened at the docks. And he would be downright furious if he weren't so tired that he was arrested by the FBI.

"Sleep," he said. "I need sleep."

Without paying any further attention to her - she probably had more work to do here anyway - Stephen walked away. He had no idea where he was, his car was still at the docks and he had left his wallet at home.

Just fucking great.

Stephen got the bare minimum of sleep, not even nearly enough of what he actually needed after such a long night. He showered, ate and then went to his shift at the hospital. His mood was at an absolute low.
His thoughts were constantly circling around last night. He was thinking about the people at the docks, wondering what had happened to them after the FBI appeared. His hope was that they had been taken to a hospital, as Stephen had suggested. They were not at Metro's, however. But there were enough other medical facilities in New York and it was actually not surprising that they were not taken to where someone worked who might be involved in the case.
On the other hand, Stephen doubted that these people carried any papers or had health insurance.
He thought of the wife who was afraid to let anyone near her dead husband and his mood dropped even further.

His colleagues stayed out of his way. After he snapped harshly at Becky for handing him a wrong chart that she turned away with tears in her eyes, they kept their distance and made only the most necessary interactions with him.
Stephen would have preferred to stay in his office, to do paperwork or to sleep with his head on his desk. Unfortunately there were patients waiting for him.
He had to tell Mr. Reese that he had not suffered a stroke, but amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. At best, he would have four years left in which he would slowly lose all of his motor skills. Without giving the man any time to process this information and what it meant for his life, the doctor enumerated various treatments. All of them only slowed the progression of the disease, none could stop it.
Christine, who for some reason stayed by his side most of the day - the only person who could stand to be in the same room as he - and acted as a buffer between him and the rest of the world, stared at him in bewilderment.
"Doctor Strange, can I talk to you for a second?"
Her tone brooked no argument. She walked out of the room, but did not stop there. Instead she kept moving until they came across an unoccupied storage room, into which she pulled Stephen.

"Christine, what are-...," Stephen began, but the nurse whirled around to face him, her face more angry than he had ever seen her.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? I know you can be a brick sometimes but this was highly unprofessional and outright cruel. What’s your problem?"

Stephen, taken aback by this sudden outburst, became defensive.
„Nothing.“

The nurse crossed her arms, not taking the bullshit.
„Try again, Stephen.“

They stared at each other but for once Christine was the more stubborn between them.

"I will take you off that upcoming pediatric cervical spine surgery you were so keen on if I feel your bad mood is affecting your performance," she threatened, at which Stephen snapped.

"You can't do that. I'm the best for it."

"I can and I will."
Christine was a woman who stood by her word, Stephen knew that. He swallowed his anger, which wasn’t even directed at her, and rubbed his face. She waited while he considered how much he wanted to tell her.

"Something happened. The FBI interrogated me about Tony Stark and it was rather... unpleasant." He wasn't going to drag her into this as far as telling her about the incident at the docks and the arrest. But she knew the dangers that came with the name Tony Stark. She had stood by his side when he had performed emergency surgery on Peter, and he had seen the fear on her face back then.

Her face fell. "Shit." She leaned against the shelf in the back, her former demeanor gone. "Stark won't be happy about that. You have to be careful!"
A new kind of worry came over her. She knew what Stark was capable of, knew what his men were capable of.

A question came to Stephen's mind that he had asked himself a few times before but always pushed aside because he was afraid of the answer.
"What happened to Doctor Cho?"
She had been his predecessor and the one Stark had asked about when they brought in the injured Peter..

Christine looked at him, trying to follow his train of thought.
"She moved away. There was something about marriage and money."

"Did she move away or was she moved away?"

The nurse hesitated for a moment, thinking about it.
"I don't know." She sighed. "I will look into that. Be careful until then, okay? Better stay away from Stark."

Stephen snorted softly.
"I'm not sure if I have a saying in that," he muttered. But he did feel a bit better, knowing he had Christine on his side. They left the storage room - he didn't even want to know what that looked like to colleagues who happened to be passing by - and went on with their shifts. The doctor's mood lifted only slightly, but at least the rest of the day was calmer. He pulled himself together and, whenever it was possible, handed over any further contact with patients to colleagues.

It was already late evening when he headed for his office. Visitors had left for the day and a certain quietness spread through the corridors as everyone prepared for the night shift.

Over the past few weeks, Stephen had so often found Stark unexpectedly in his office that he was no longer surprised to see him leaning against his desk. Crossing his arms, Tony raised his eyes as Stephen entered. He wasn’t here alone, but had two of his men - Steve and Sam - with him. It had been quite a while - except for last night - since Stephen had met Tony with one of his goons. The last few times they had always been alone, and Stephen wondered what that meant for his own safety.
Pepper Potts had obviously done her job as a lawyer pretty well, bailing Tony and Steve out of the claws of the FBI. Both looked well rested or at least maintaining the appearance that nothing had ever happened. Tony's suit was sharp as always.
"We need to talk."
Tony’s voice was less aggressive than full of anticipation. It sounded almost soft. Did the man have a guilty conscience? Stephen doubted it, but it gave him the confidence he needed.

"I agree." His eyes darted to the two bodyguards. "Alone."

The men didn't move an inch until Tony waved his hand at them.
"It's alright. Wait outside."

Steve still looked skeptical, but followed Sam out after the slightest hesitation. Tony waited with his next words until they had closed the door behind them.
"Look, this wasn't planned to hap-..."

"First, I’ve got a question," the doctor interrupted him. "And your answer is really important to how this conversation will go."

Tony looked irritated at being interrupted; he wasn't used to it. Stephen wondered if he had gone too far, but Tony motioned him to continue. He was sure that any other person would be taught a lesson for this kind of insolence.

Stephen looked at Stark.
"Did you ship those people in the container?"

Tony stared at him, actually offended.
"What?"

The doctor took a step closer.
„Was this your doing?“ he repeated.

„Are you wired? Is the FBI listening?“
Tony’s whole demeanor changed, became almost defensive. This was not how he thought this talk would go.

Stephen shook his head, not quite following.
„No.“

„Prove it.“ Tony asked as he went to stand up straight and took a step towards Stephen.

„Answer my fucking question.“

Tony went from defensive to pissed off in about a millisecond. Stephen involuntarily backed off as Tony stepped towards him and leaned into his personal space.
“No, I got a tip and came to rescue these people.” Tony spoke to Stephens chest, exactly to where a wire would normally be taped. “I’d never do something remotely like this.”

“Are you sure? Because from what I heard, you’re right up in illegal stuff.”."

“Gotta draw the line somewhere. I protect the city in a way the police can’t.” Tony was back talking to his face, but Stephen snorted at this explanation. Tony ignored it.
“Okay, my turn. What did you tell the FBI?”

Of course, Stephen thought sourly, that was the reason for his visit. "Well, I didn't lie to them, that's for sure." He watched Tony walk back to the desk and lean against it as he had earlier. Stephen followed him, stopping right in front of him.
“By the way, I don’t need your lawyer to bail me out.”
He actually did, but he hated that it was necessary.

Tony threw his hands in the air.
“That was a courtesy, because we got you in that situation.”

“Which is another thing we need to talk about. What were you thinking, calling me at one in the morning?”

„Why?“ Tony growled at him. „Did I take you from your lover‘s arms?“

All Stephen knew was that the next thing he did was kiss the man, pushing him against his desk. The one man that he had been thinking of on a regular basis for a couple of weeks. The scary part was that he was being kissed back and at some stage he wrapped his arm around Tony’s back and was gripping his ass. He had also slid his other hand down so that he could wrap his hand with Tony’s.
All this came to him when Tony pulled away from the kiss. Lips disengaging and Stephen just wanted to chase after them again.

“What were I supposed to do?” Tony asked, his voice a husky breath against Stephen’s lips. “Let these people die? They needed medical help and you’re the best.”

The doctor had trouble actually listening to him, while being so close to the man, inhaling his scent. He didn’t want to talk about last night anymore.
“Do you ever shut up?”

Tony smirked. Strange walked right into that one.
“Make me.”

It was like they were trying to meld their bodies into one, be it via their hands, their lips or their hips. Stephen sucked at the tongue invading his mouth and could feel the beard rubbing against his face as they moved back and forth trying to find the best angle. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. Teeth clashed and they sometimes didn’t quite fit together perfectly but Stephen only wanted more.

Tony slid his palm up, maneuvered it under Stephen's shirt and found bare skin. Hot, bare skin. He groaned into the doctor’s mouth and pressed in harder with everything he had. Stephen heard nothing but white noise, could feel nothing but hot breath and smooth skin. All he could think was that this better not end. Ever.

Something fell from the table, hitting the floor with a loud clatter, and there was a demanding knock on the door.
Annoyed at the interruption, Tony turned his head.
"I'm fine, boys."

That gave Stephen time to sober up enough to see where they were, and he backed away as Tony looked back at him.
"No."

"No?"
Tony raised his brow questioningly, his eyes locked on Stephen's lips.

"I'm not doing this here in my office like some horny teenagers."

Tony followed him, as the doctor backed off some more, cornered him at a shelf on the wall. „It sure feels like one.“ He put his hands shamelessly in Stephen's crotch, stroking the bulge with his thumb. Stephen grabbed his arm and pulled it up.
„I forgot, the good doctor has standards,“ Tony actually purred, licking his lips and watching Stephen's reaction. „How about another dinner date? Tomorrow?“

"I don't think it's wise after last night for the FBI to see us together."
It was an excuse, but a good one. Tony thought about it for a moment, but silently agreed with him.
"I'll find a way," he promised Stephen with a wink.

Stephen should say no. It would be best if he left the city right away and moved somewhere else, like Doctor Cho. Had she fled from Tony Stark, too?
He didn‘t know what he got himself into, but he knew for sure that nothing good would come out of it. He mustered his best scowl.
„Get out of my office.“

Tony grinned broadly, not the least bit intimidated by it.
„Get out of my office, please.“
He ignored the glare of the doctor, but took a step back. He flattened his clothes and then left.

Stephen found himself still standing in the mess he just made five minutes after Stark left him, almost choking on the humiliation that tried to strangle him. He swiped at his face, mentally chastised himself for acting like a teenager at a frat party and marched out of his office to get himself a coffee.

So much for staying away from Stark.

Chapter Text

Stephen was glad when his shift was finally over in the early morning hours. It had been a quiet night shift, unfortunately. He was tired, but sleep was out of the question, even in one of the bunk beds in the on call rooms. Stephen had tried, but his thoughts had kept wandering to Tony Stark. To his lips, his cologne.

Sighing, Stephen had risen from his uncomfortable bed, and thrown himself into work. Except there wasn't much to do. No emergency to which he had been called. Nothing to distract him. Even Christine was gone, her shift having ended before Tony had shown up.
There was only Stephen and the watery coffee from the cafeteria.

The sun was already rising when he finally drove home.
He got out of his car and approached the front door when a figure detached himself from there and approached him. He was a tall man with dark, back combed hair, wearing a sharp, all black suit. He looked as if he stepped right out of a commercial for Hugo Boss.
"Doctor Stephen Strange?"
He spoke with a foreign accent, and with his confident and flawless demeanor, he was reminiscent of another version of Tony Stark. All alarm bells were ringing in Stephen. This man was dangerous. Only his years spent in the ER, which had trained the doctor to remain at least outwardly calm, enabled him to keep a neutral expression.
"Yes?" he asked warily.

"I need your medical expertise."

Stephen eyed the man without any real interest. All he wanted to do was to go into his apartment and fall face first onto his bed.
"You look fine to me."

The man rolled his eyes.
"It's about my father." He sounded impatient, irritated that the doctor was being difficult.

Stephen didn't care.
"Is it an emergency?"

"Not directly-..."

"Then call my office," Stephen interrupted him, circling him to walk to the front door. "Make an appointment."

The man turned around and followed him, definitely annoyed now.
"Look, if this is about money..."

Stephen slammed the door in his face. What was with these people pestering him and trying to buy him? There were perfectly fine doctors at every hospital in New York, who were available 24/7.

~~

Steve and Natasha entered a club in Boston together.
Loud and generic music greeted them. The club was furnished in a dark style. It gave the impression of the underground scene, with industrial ambiance. It was a current trend: the more run-down, the better. The lack of taste continued in the outfit choices of the female guests. There was a lot of skin. Natasha saw more than a pair of breasts under fabric that was so translucent it didn't even deserve its name. She felt almost overdressed with her short dress, but was glad it covered everything important.

There were two levels. The main area had a large bar, a spacious seating area with armchairs and small tables, and a dance floor. The club was very crowded, a local hotspot for scene kids that were looking for fun.
The VIP area was on the second floor and they had to get through a bouncer to get there, but that was easy enough. They were invited.

It was rare that Tony sent his people out without him. But he himself was too busy in New York. Besides, it was just a first meeting with a potential business partner. On such occasions, hands were shaken and pleasantries exchanged. People sniffed at each other like dogs in a park, without discussing important things. Tony didn't need to be present for such things. His men (and women) were just as capable of it.

People saw Steve's physical stature and immediately thought he was a thug. Muscles over brains. That was only partially true and sometimes it was good to be underestimated.
And as for Natasha; she could step into any role.
Together, the two of them made a good team and this wasn't the first job they'd done together. They were efficient, Natasha more subtle, while Steve was more blunt.

They had barely taken a step into the VIP area when their contact approached them. He had dark hair and a scruffy beard. He was dressed in a suit and on his hand, which he held out to Steve, he wore several rings.
"Mr. Rogers. It is so nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Volkov ."
Steve grabbed his hand and shook it with no small amount of force, but the man didn't let on. Rather, he seemed to like Steve's display of strength.

"Please, call me Aleksei," he told Steve in his heavy accent. "We're meeting here to make new friends."

"Only if you call me Steve."

Aleksei grinned broadly and then turned for the first time to Natasha, who had so far stayed out of the conversation.
"And who might you be?"

"I'm Nat." She said teasingly, acting like a piece of jewelry being carried out on Steve's arm. "I'm just here to look pretty."

"And you're doing a great job." Aleksei gave her a wink. "But why don't you go downstairs and have fun for a while? I'm sure our business talking will just bore you."

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look. The plan had been for her to stick around, at least for a while, to distract the Russian, maybe pry some information out of him. But if he sent her away so directly, it would be suspicious if she resisted. And she didn't want to make him suspicious.
Like Steve, Aleksei Volkov was not the head of the Russian family that ran this business. But he held enough power to conduct negotiations.

Steve nodded subtly at her. She could leave him alone, he had everything under control. Besides, they could communicate with each other via a hidden comm device in their ears, should it be necessary.
She gave him a seductive smile, which was mostly a show for Aleksei, and then let his arm go.
Satisfied, the Russian led Steve to a private booth in the back of the VIP area and ordered them some vodka.

Back in the main area on the first floor, Natasha disappeared into the crowd of dancers, to shake off potential curious glances. The change of plan wasn't dramatic. It just meant that she had more time for phase two.

There was another door that was guarded by a bouncer. It was near the bar and she made her way through the crowd. On the way, she switched her comm to mute so that Steve would not be distracted by the noises.
She went to the bar near the door and ordered a drink, keeping an eye on the bouncer. The drink she got had a color gradient from yellow to red and was decorated with skewered fruits. She put them between your lips and pulled out the skewer as she waited for an opportunity.
It didn't take long until she took a sip of her drink, before she abandoned it and slipped through the door while the bouncer was shortly distracted.

Behind the door was a short corridor. From the other end she heard another music, an upbeat house rhythm. She walked through an open door and stood in another world.
Lightly dressed women and young men moved between the patrons, who sat in groups in various seating areas. They poured them alcohol or discreetly handed them other sensory-altering substances. The air seemed fogged with the smoke of cigarettes and shisha, making everything seem even more surreal.

This was the club's secret drug den.

The guests were mostly men and Natasha picked up a wide variety of languages. She couldn't make out any individual words, the voices were muffled. It was a hidden world that one should only enter if they had a plan B to get out, because otherwise it would eat them, swallow them and never spit them out again. It was dangerous.

The staff was a mix of young women and men - some of them almost still children - who kept the guests company. All of them were selected because of their physical features. Now and then they laughed when a guest made a joke or they entertained them with a dance. Some of the guests had a whole crowd of the pretty accessories gathered around them, getting their shoulders massaged by one, while another giggled on their lap and handed them their cigarette, and a third fed them.
Natasha knew exactly where this was going when a few more dollars changed hands and some hot words were whispered in one ear.

And she was exactly heading for one of these men. She recognized him immediately from the description. Constantine Zimin was neither handsome nor particularly rich. In fact, he had a tendency to be a little bit overweight, had thinning hair and a hideous mustache. Nevertheless, he had gathered around him three young, pretty women who read his every wish from his eyes. He was a black market trader and sold about anything for just the right price.

Natasha couldn't let on that she was tense. She had to give the impression that she knew exactly what she was doing. Only then her plan would work. She had to look like she belonged here.
After she had briefly assessed the situation and found it to be good, she walked purposefully toward the group. On the way, she pilfered a plate of snacks and small treats, which she brought, her hips swinging.

Cheekily, she settled down next to Zimin, offering him the small selection of snacks. "Would you like something?" she asked in a tone as sweet as the treats on her tray.

Zimin only looked briefly at the food and then eyed Natasha with much more interest.
"That really looks delicious," he commented, taking a date and slipping it between his lips before putting his arm around her waist.
Normally, he would have a gun to his throat for that. But now she put on a fake smile and put her hand on his shoulder after setting the tray aside. With her other hand, she secretly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a microchip. To make it disappear hidden in her cleavage from the eyes of the others, she leaned over to him and playfully pressed a kiss on his cheek. Then she grabbed her tray again and stood up.
Zimin reached out to keep her with him, but she was nimble and out of reach before he could lay a finger on her.
He had no need to call out to her. There were enough other women around him to give him their attention.

She made a slight detour to avoid attracting attention while heading for the door to the front club area. She had almost reached it, when she suddenly heard an angry shout from behind. Turning her head a bit, she saw that Zimin had jumped up and was scanning his pockets. His gaze scanned the room as he failed to find what he had lost, and his finger pointed accusingly and angrily at Natasha when he spotted her.
Shit, she was busted.
Immediately, she started running, no longer caring about being subtle. A man in dark clothes put himself in her path, no doubt a guard. She dropped the snacks from her tray and hurled it in his face like a Frisbee. It distracted him enough for her to dive off the side of him and then slid through the door into the narrow hallway.

The guards must be connected via comm, because before she even reached the other end of the hallway, the door opened and along with the music, two more guards appeared. They wanted to take her out before she disturbed the other club patrons.
Natasha silently cursed her much too short dress. It was not designed for a fight and revealed a lot while she was moving. She would be an amateur, though, if she let that stop her.

She was at a disadvantage because she didn't have any weapons with her, but the security did. Natasha jumped and landed on the shoulder of one of the guards, using the momentum to acrobatically twirl around him. Now the man had no weapon and Natasha tasered him in the neck. He gave a short gurgle and fell to the ground like a puppet without strings. Natasha rolled elegantly and dodged a punch from the other guy. They met in a hand to hand combat fight from which the young woman emerged victorious.
She took the pistol from his belt, even though she didn't plan to use it in the club. Too many civilians were present. But it was always good to have a backup plan.

Back on her feet, she unmutes her comm.
"Steve, we might have a problem."

She had not paid attention to the voices in her comm during the two minutes that the fight had lasted. But now she heard shouts and the breaking of glass from his end.
Natasha hurried through the crowd in the club toward the VIP area, but before she reached the door, Steve approached her. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along.
He clearly had already given out a few punches - his hair was disheveled and a button was missing from his suit. They had arrived together – as far as Volkov knew, Steve had only be a distraction for her scheme.

"What happened?" Steve asked as they quickly made their way through the guests. Some of them noticed the commotion and unrest was spreading. But not enough for panic.

"I had a disagreement with someone."
That was as vague as it was meaningless.
Steve said nothing but it was clear that he disapproved of her actions. But now the damage was done. No need to shed tears over it. Time to get out.

Together they rushed to the main entrance. Just as they stepped into the cool air outside, they heard the boots of more guards. Shots were fired and Natasha and Steve duck behind some cars. The people that stood in the queue waiting to get inside, screamed and chaos broke.
Steve heard a low whirring sound before an arrow hit one of the guards. A second followed immediately. Clint sat in the building across the street as backup. Keeping his eyes open, he was supposed to watch their backs in case something didn't go according to plan.
It gave Natasha and Steve the seconds they needed. Gritting their teeth, they kept running. There was no alternative. Stopping means dying. Or worse.
They managed to escape in the darkness of the night.

Chapter Text

When the nice lady behind the front desk informed him that his two o'clock was waiting in his office, Stephen looked at her blankly. He hadn't put an appointment on his calendar for today.
"Who is it?" he huffed. Maybe it was Tony, and the thought made his heart beat faster. Whether out of anticipation or fear of what might happen, he wasn't sure. But Tony usually didn't make appointments. He just showed up whenever it suited him.

"Odinsons."

That told Stephen nothing. Well, he'd find out in a minute. It wasn't unusual for new patients to ask for his expertise. Maybe it was someone who wanted a second opinion or was simply looking for the best treatment. And Strange was one of the best in his field. He had performed some really difficult and complicated surgeries recently, almost all of them successful. And that kind of reputation travels fast.

In Stephen's office sat two men, one of whom Stephen recognized immediately. It was the dark-haired man from yesterday. Today he wore a suit that looked no less expensive and looked sourly at Stephen.
Oh well.
The other man was even taller. He looked like an exotic version of Steve, one of Tony's most trusted men. He was gorgeous, with long blond hair and a beard that reminded Stephen of a modern viking. He also wore a similar expensive suit and an air of power surrounded him.
He rose as the doctor entered and extended his hand, which Stephen shook.

"Good day, Doctor Strange. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I believe you already met my brother, Loki Odinson." The black-haired man snorted at the memory. "I am Thor Odinson."

"What can I do for you?"
He motioned Thor to take a seat again and walked around his desk himself, settling into his leather seat.

"This consultation is about our father. We were in the United States for business. Our father is already very old, but insisted on coming with us. He recently suffered a collapse and is currently receiving medical attention, but we would like to get a second opinion on his condition. And we heard you are the best."

Stephen looked at the two men, scrutinizing. He didn't even want to know what business they were in. The two brothers looked as different as night and day, but both of them carried a similar aura around them Stephen had noticed at Tony and his men. As if they ruled the world. Stephen seemed to be attracted to these kinds of men lately.

"Where did you hear that if you're not from here?" he asked with honest curiosity.

Thor smirked.
"Words on the street."

That was cryptic enough to be unsettling. Stephen wondered if the Odinsons were competitors of Stark. He had never heard of them, but was also unfamiliar with the various circles of the international mafia. Stephen had no intention of getting involved in those things, either. He wasn't exclusively owned by Stark nor by anyone else.
Maybe he was doing them wrong and they were respectable businessmen of a big family business. Perhaps he was beginning to suffer from paranoia and saw illegal activity in everything, even where there was none.

Thor seemed to notice his hesitation.
"We understand that health care works differently in your country than in ours. Of course, we will compensate you accordingly for your efforts."

That wasn't what bothered Stephen about the request.
"It's not about the money," he retorted sharply. "I don't do house calls."

"Well, we heard something different." Loki raised his voice for the first time today and earned a sharp look from Stephen for his words. He turned to Thor. "He's clearly not interested, brother. Why waste more time with someone who's clearly already on another man’s paycheck."

It was always coming back to this. Who was paying whom. Stephen's gaze darkened. He was sick of it. Sick of people assuming certain things about him.
"Alright," he spoke before thinking. "I'll do it."

"Excellent." Thor beamed at him. "We really appreciate that. Thank you." He nudged his brother, who also said his thanks but less enthusiastically.

Thor gave him a card with the address of a hotel they were staying at and Stephen promised to visit on the same day after his shift ended. The Odinsons left afterwards and Stephen was alone in his office.
He took a deep breath. Then he reached for his phone and googled their names. He certainly wouldn't go into a shark's tank without preparing himself. He wasn't that dumb.

~~

Natasha entered Stark's office. He was standing at the panorama window, hands in his pockets, watching the outside world. It was a wonderful view of the city, high up in the sky. It was a powerful feeling, standing above everything and everyone, looking onto the city like a king onto his realm.

After a while of silence, Natasha raised her voice.
"You wanted to see me?"

"How long have we known each other?" Tony asked her, sounding like he was deep in thought.

"Eight years."

"Eight years," he repeated. "I was skeptical at first. You had quite the reputation. A Russian orphan child trained to fight and infiltrate. But Clint and Nick Fury vouched for you. And you proved to be a reliable asset." He turned around to her. "I consider you family."

Natasha's expression remained neutral. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. She usually adapted to any situation. But she didn't offend Tony by playing innocent or unaware of what this was about. She also betrayed no other feeling.
The only thing she said was, "I've never felt more home than here."

"Then why did you disobey my orders?" he asked, his voice as stern as his face.

"I did not disobey your orders."

"Don't throw technicalities at me!" Tony yelled, his finger raised accusingly. His collected demeanor disappeared. She had rarely seen him so angry and knew him well enough to know that it came from a place of hurt. "You can't talk yourself out of this, Romanoff," he growled. "The Russians are furious. I won't be able to set a foot into Boston for the rest of my life. I want to know what exactly you stole and why!"
He wasn’t angry because she had blown his business. Whereas that alone was a reason why someone would find themselves with one hand less. No, it was the fact that she was doing things behind his back he didn't know about. Things that affected him and his family. She had embarrassed him and he didn't even know why. What had been so important, so secret, that she didn’t tell him.
If he hadn't known her for so long, it would be a reason to get rid of her.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. It hit her harder than she wanted to admit that he was using her last name. He was right though, she couldn't talk herself out of this one, because she couldn't give him the answers he wanted.
"You have to trust me, Tony."

Tony snorted. "How can I trust you, when you act behind my back?"

"Fury trusted me."

"Fury is dead!" The silence that followed that simple sentence was deafening.
Their eyes met and Natasha saw the conflict in Tony's. They had been through so much together over the years. She had helped him get to where he was now. Had been by his side through his rise and his setbacks. But there had been incidents that cast a shadow over things. He felt his position was more threatened than ever before, even if he didn't see it yet. It had started with Nick Fury's death and the attack on Tony and Peter the other week was just the recent of many events that raised uncertainty in the ranks of Tony's men. He wasn't just as sure who he could trust anymore.
"You have to give me something here, Nat."

She let her gaze wander around the room. There were no personal belongings of Tony's, no photos or anything else that indicated relationships with the people around him. It was his office, but all sorts of people walked in and out of here. Personal items displayed weak spots. He couldn't display them. But Natasha knew that Tony was a very caring man. He would do almost everything for his family.

"Constantine Zimin has documents about my past," she explained.

Tony tilted his head. "He has ties to the orphanage where you grew up?"
She didn't answer, but her look spoke volumes.
Tony sighed. He sensed she wasn't telling him everything, but he knew it was no use to press. Still, he would keep an eye on her. As well as one could keep an eye on Natasha Romanoff.
He dismissed her with a gesture.

She turned and walked to the door, already having her hand on the handle when his voice stopped her once again.
"Was it worth it?" he asked.

Natasha didn't turn around for her answer.
"I believe so."

~~

The business card Thor had given him led Stephen to a five-star hotel in Manhattan. The Odinsons were staying in the penthouse. He checked in at the front desk and after the polite clerk made a quick phone call, he was directed to an elevator that would take him directly to the top floor.
When he stepped out, Stephen was greeted by three bodyguards in suits. One of them was a tanned woman with long, black braids who patted him down and took a look in his doctor's bag. He scolded her and she threw him a fake smile before letting him through.

The penthouse was an open room concept: a luxury living room with a kitchen area, a dining area and a bar. One of the walls was a panorama window with a magnificent view over the city. Several doors led to the private rooms.
Thor and Loki were sitting at a marble-patterned table, talking quietly, but looked up when he entered. Thor rose and greeted him.

"Hello, Doctor. Thank you for coming." He gestured in the direction of a door. "Please follow me. My father is this way."
He led Stephen into a spacious bedroom, the centerpiece of which was a queen sized bed. On it lay a man with white hair and an impressive beard. His face was sunken and wrinkled; he wore a patch on his left eye.
An IV was hooked up to his arm and a heart monitor gave a soft, steady beep.

Stephen set his doctor's bag down on an empty chair and opened it. Thor stayed in the room with him, watching him as he put on disposable gloves. He stood near the wall to give him space to work, but did not take his eyes off him.
The father's name was Odin. Stephen checked his vitals, examined his pupil reaction and various other indicators. At the same time, he questioned Thor about his father’s medical history.

Over his years as a doctor, Stephen had learned to keep a neutral expression. Even when he had bad news to deliver.
"You should make arrangements." Stephen had grabbed his bag again and discarded his gloves before turning his attention to Thor. "If – and that is a very big if – he regains consciousness, say to him what you have to say. It may be the last time.”
Thor closed his eyes for a moment as the doctor confirmed what he had already suspected. Odin was dying.
“I’m sorry,” Stephen offered him. “If you want, I can leave something here in case he will be in pain."

"Is there nothing we can do?" It was Loki who asked the question as he stepped forward. Stephen hadn't noticed him entering.

"Life-prolonging measures would be possible, either in a hospital, or even here. But it just delays the inevitable." The doctor’s voice is almost apologetic. "It's not a matter of when but where he will die."

Odin was old. And it was up to the brothers to decide where he would spend his last days.
It was a common situation in the hospital Stephen worked at. There were people who couldn't stand death, couldn't cope with it. They would order to do anything to keep the patient alive. There were options, but they had consequences. The process could only be slowed, but never stopped. It was not uncommon for a patient to face his end alone.
And then there were those people who stayed by their loved one's side until the end. Whether in the hospital under the eyes of the nurses and doctors or taking them home to nurse them themselves. It was not an easy task, both physically and emotionally. Death never was easy.
Stephen knew what it looked like. Whether it came creeping slowly or suddenly and unexpectedly.

Thor and Loki looked at each other, there was some silent communication going on between them. They seemed to agree, because in the end they nodded and Thor turned back to the doctor.
"Thank you for your expertise."

Stephen handed him a business card with his personal number.
"Call me when the time comes. I'll take care of all the necessary steps."

The man put the card in his pocket and walked to his father's nightstand, from whose drawer he pulled a checkbook and pen. Immediately, Stephen raised his hand.
"The hospital already pays me enough."

"I understand." Without further argument, Thor put the checkbook away again and walked Stephen to the door, where he shook his hand once more.
Stephen thought Tony could take a cue from that.

Chapter Text

Stephen rarely cooked in his kitchen. It was less due to a lack of time - between his work as a doctor and surgeon he had enough of that and his free time was mostly filled with reading. He simply lacked motivation to cook for just himself. Mostly he picked up take out on his way home after work or made use of convenience food. It was efficient, even if it wasn't the most healthy option.
Today was one of those rare exceptions. It was a day off and he got groceries earlier today, stocking his fridge.

He cut chicken while waiting for a pot of water to boil. The music of a playlist on shuffle was playing softly in the background.

Since the incident at the docks and his last conversation with Tony in his doctor's office, several days had passed in which he had neither seen nor heard anything from the FBI or Stark. He had calmed down enough to be rational about what happened. He doubted that he had dropped off the radar of either opposing group. In fact, since he had started paying attention to his surroundings while being out on the streets, he noticed a car following him. Sometimes they parked on the other side of the street when he looked out of his apartment‘s window. Then he spotted the same car with the same plate on the hospital‘s parking space. Then again on the highway, slightly behind him.
He didn‘t know if it was the FBI keeping an eye on him, trying to understand his relationship to Stark. Hell, even Stephen didn‘t know what kind of relationship they had. But he didn‘t deny any longer that he wasn‘t all hot and bothered by Stark and his antics.
Maybe the car keeping tabs on him belonged to Stark‘s men, trying to make sure he was safe. Maybe it was a third Party Stephen haven‘t met yet.
He had been concerned for two days after noticing the car. But since nobody approached him, tried to coax him into anything or arrest him, he simply stopped worrying. Still he took a photo of it, whenever he had the opportunity for it and a free hand – so not while driving. The car’s windows were tinted. No matter how much he tried to zoom into the photos, he didn’t see any faces.

Stephen set the chicken aside and cut the onion next. He did this with precision, like performing surgery. He tried not to breathe through his nose, so his eyes wouldn't water with tears. The knife in one hand, the other hand pressing the halved onion onto the cutting board, he cut first fine slices and then cubes.
He was so absorbed in his work that he did not hear the knock on the door until it was repeated louder. Frowning, he peered through the peephole and was surprised to discover Tony staring at him impatiently, as if he knew full well that Stephen was just on the other side of the barrier.
Stephen opened the door, but before he could ask the other man why he was here, Tony stepped past him into his apartment.

“You’re more difficult to meet than some mafia heads I know. You’ve quite the shadow on your tail.”

That confirmed Stephen's suspicion that the car following him belonged to the FBI. Tony told him he would find a way so they wouldn't be seen together and apparently he had succeeded. A Stark kept his word.

Curious, Tony looked around his apartment and noticed the music and his preparations in the kitchen. "You're making dinner?"

"Pasta."

Tony's face lit up when he mentioned it. It has been a while since he had had good pasta and his Italian heart congratulated him for picking today of all days to visit Strange. "Awesome. What kind of pasta?" But when he saw Stephen's blank face, his hopes sank for a good meal. And one look into Stephen's kitchen confirmed his fears. The water in the pot was finally boiling, waiting to cook the pasta, while the sauce was still spread in its separate components on the counter. Tony knew he had to step in before this ended in a disaster.
"Okay, move over. I'm making the sauce. You're not ruining this. What did your Mamma even teach you growing up in Nebraska?"

"Hey-" Stephen started his protest, but Tony stopped him right there with an uplifted hand.

"No! Silencio." He glanced at the meat and onions. "You can cut the vegetables."
And with that the kitchen was now Tony Stark's declared territory. First he turned the boiling water down to a lower setting so it was just simmering. Then he looked in the fridge and pushed more ingredients into Stephen's hands: carrots and peppers. He would have preferred more shallots or tomatoes, but he had to make do with what he found.
Afterwards he raided the cabinets.
"Where's your oregano?"

"I don't think I have that."

Tony threw his hands up in the air, defeated, muttering something that was very likely some Italian curse words. "How do you even enjoy your meals without any real spices?"

Somehow Stephen figured that mentioning he had salt and pepper and that it was enough for seasoning, would only make it worse. But Tony didn't seem to expect an actual answer, because he had already turned to the stove.

It should annoy Stephen. It should annoy him how Tony just entered his apartment, his home, as if he belonged here. The way he talked to Stephen, complaining about his supplies in the kitchen.
But Stephen wasn’t annoyed. There way something playful in their banter. Stephen had met Tony with his guards up, full of mistrust and calculating power. Now he moved so carefree in Stephen's kitchen, searching the cupboards for olive oil – it was a sign of trust and it warmed Stephen's heart.

They worked in a comfortable silence. While Stephen cut the vegetables, Tony put a pan on the stove and fried a spoonful of butter. He was clearly more in his element than Stephen, his every move confident and purposeful. He seasoned the tomato sauce with whatever he had on hand.
It was getting warm in the kitchen under the simmering of the sauce and pasta and the gentle roasting of the vegetables. Tony had taken his jacket off. He undid his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, and Stephen couldn't help but admire the movement of his muscles. The tanned skin of his muscular forearms contrasted with his crisp white button up, the top three buttons undone. It hugged him tightly and it was not hard to imagine what was underneath.
He looked all the way like an exotic model. Stephen wondered if he was as feisty in bed. He shook his head and concentrated on pulling out plates and cutlery.
He placed them on the table and went to get some red wine while Tony was serving. He took the wine bottle from Stephen's hand when he returned and examined the label critically. Nodding, the choice met his approval and he handed the bottle back to him.

"Well, then. Go on and dazzle me, farm boy" Tony said while slipping into his seat.

Stephen huffed at that nickname but poured them each a glass and then sat on the opposite side. It really felt like an actual date. The lights were dimmed, soft music still reached her ears from the kitchen. All that was missing was a lit candle on the table to complete the ambiance.
Stephen reached for his silverware. "How was your day, darling?" he asked sarcastically, wanting to see how Stark responded. He dipped his spoon into the food. After the first bite, he was sure that was the damned best pasta he ever had.

Tony chuckled, but his eyes took on a different expression at this term of endearment. Something Stephen couldn't interpret. "A lot of meetings. Very boring. But no talking business during dinner. It spoils the food."

That was fair.
"How's the kid doing? Peter." Stephen hadn't seen the boy since he'd shown up at the hospital with the bloody lip. And even though Peter had assured him that his injuries had been an exception, it would still reassure Stephen to know that he was okay and, more importantly, that he was alive.

Tony gave him a scrutinizing glance. He was always careful when it came to the boy. Stephen had no idea if Peter had told him that he had been to the doctor. But he couldn't imagine that the boy managed to keep his busted lip and the black eye a secret from Tony for long. On the other hand, their relationship was still a mystery to him.

"He's doing fine," Tony finally said. "He got into the college of his choice and wants to move out when it starts."

"And?" Stephen asked, because something in Tony's voice told him that he disapproved.

"That's way too dangerous. You saw my line of work. He'll be vulnerable if he's on his own." Tony stabbed a farfalle with his spoon. Somehow they were talking business now anyway, but presumably these two aspects - family and business - were inseparable in the life of a Stark.

"How was it for you when you were in college?" Howard Stark had been as infamous back then as Tony was these days. So the situation was quite similar.

"That's different," Tony objected. "My best friend was military trained and my father agreed to make him my bodyguard in our second semester."

Stephen raised his eyebrow. "And you think you befriended him by chance? No meddling of your parents involved?"

Tony's eyes shot up at him. "He was my roommate. A student, not a..." He stopped, actually thinking about how fast he became friends with Rhodey. How Rhodey was somehow always at his side, took part in all his stupid ideas. And Tony had a lot of stupid ideas back in his college days.

He felt like he was having a stroke and put his spoon down. "I need to make a call..."

"What happened to no business during dinner?" Stephen asked with a chuckle.
Tony gave him a dirty look – which Stephen didn't take seriously – and stepped outside for a moment, while the doctor continued eating unperturbed.
He could only imagine that it was not easy for Peter to be a protégé of someone with the influence of Tony Stark. He wondered if Tony had felt the same way with his father back then. What was it like for a child to grow up in an environment of guns and violence?
He heard muffled Italian curses from next door.

After a few minutes, Tony returned, still a scowl on his face. He put his phone down on the table, but didn’t return to his seat. "I can't believe I never saw that."
Stephen hoped he hadn't sealed the poor guy's fate. But Tony's attention was already back on something else: him.
"I've lost my appetite for pasta. How about we switch to dessert?" Tony’s eyes were hungry, his voice dropped low. Stephen returned the look, and without averting his eyes, he reached for his wine glass to empty it. Then he stood up.

“Let me give you a tour of my apartment: couch, table, kitchen counter,” he pointed at all the things he listed and walked towards the doors, “bathroom with a shower, bedroom… with a bed.”
It wasn’t lost on Tony, what kind of things the doctor listed. He had followed him to the bedroom door, right up in his personal space. There was a whole apartment for the two of them to be in and yet they both were in this small space that would normally satisfy one person.

Tony smiled as he crushed their hips together and moved his against Stephen's – slow and easy – Strange's eyes rolled in back of his head at how fucking good it felt, how bad he's been aching for this.

"I know you want this as much as I do. I can see it in you every time we're in the same room. You want me to make you feel good. And I can," Stark's eyes were dark brown and sincere, "I will."
Stark's words were like liquid lead in Strange's veins, made his body sizzle and push against Stark's hardening dick, made him pant and squeeze his eyes shut when the world spun around him so quickly he went dizzy.

They kissed – finally. Stephen leaned in, a needy noise coming from the back of his throat as Tony’s talented tongue worked its heady magic on him. He could feel the temperature of his skin rise. Everything became a blur. Everything became a need.

They stumbled to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor until they were fully naked. For all they had danced around each other these past weeks, they now moved at a rapid speed. Like sparkles that were suddenly on fire, burning high and fast.
Tony was nothing if not insistent, demanding, passionate. There was no question, no hesitation, no uncertainty in the way he pulled at Stephen’s collar, roughly pulling their lips together, fingers dragging all along his back.

He licked a strip up the doctor’s throat. Stephen’s breath hitched. He could feel the warm blood pulsing under Stephen’s skin as he grazed his teeth against it. Tony bit into the underside of his jaw and sucked on a mark. A whine left Stephen’s lips, wanting to feel more of him. His hips grind against Tony’s and without even thinking his fingers clawed into his dark hair.
Tony moaned, following Stephen’s movement by putting his head back in his neck.

Then Tony’s mouth went dry when Stephen’s gaze sharpened, and suddenly Stephen was pushing Tony down by on the mattress, gentle but insistent. Tony allowed it, the smirk cutting off in exchange for another moan and shivers all over as Stephen climbed onto the bed over him. He ran elegant hands all over Tony like he couldn’t decide where to start. The glide of warm skin against Tony’s bare chest was intoxicating and he arched into the touch, groaning at the caress of his ribs and gasping when thumbs trace the edges of his nipples.

Stephen chased the lines of Tony’s tattoos with his lips, nipping at their edges, trying to burn them into his memory. Some of them were more sharp, the ink not as long under the skin as others, that began to bleed out. The one on Tony’s chest was his favorite, he decided, even if he didn’t know what those blue lines and symbols meant. He noticed that it concealed a scar that lay underneath, a deep pattern of uneven skin that looked like somebody tried to punch his rib cage open, ripping his heart out.
Stephen had enough medical knowledge to know how deep that wound must have been.

Tony demanded his attention again, cupped his face and pulled him up to seal their lips in another kiss. It was a distraction to turn them and now he was straddling Stephen's hips.

"Lube?"

"Drawer." Stephen turned and fetched the requested item himself. It wasn't so easy with the weight of Tony on his lap, who refused to let go of him. He pushed the small bottle into Tony's hands, but was surprised when Tony grabbed Stephen's hand and spread lube over his fingers.
“Open me up.”
Stephen looked at him in awe.

People feared and envied him. He was untouchable, not afraid to take what he wanted. Yet when Stephen pushed his first finger into him, he moaned in pleasure, throwing his head back. Stephen’s long, skilled finger worked him open, a second and a third following soon.

Tony hummed approvingly, bucking his hips as Stephen slowly and methodically moved his digit against him, peppering tickling kisses over his collarbone and throat. “You look gorgeous,” he muttered against the tanned skin. “If anyone could see you now.”

“Shut up, Strange,” Tony growled as he lifted his head and sucked Stephen’s lower lip into his mouth.
Stephen did shut up as he was a little preoccupied with his mouth again. He withdrew his fingers and clawed them into Tony’s hips.

Tony was still in charge. He lifted himself ab and onto Stephen’s throbbing cock with one fluid motion. The stretch and heat of it had him gasping, arching his back just right so he really felt it.
Stephen’s eyes followed his every movement, intrigued, then moaning. Feeling Tony around him lit up every nerve in his body.

They moved, with each other, against each other. Their hands were on every inch of skin they could find: shoulders, arms, back, tights, hips.
Tony panted and said things he wasn’t quite aware of, mostly Italian words. Their lips were teasing, incapable of closing that final distance. Moans and groans filled the room and then Tony yelled. There was a flash of white behind his eyelids as his orgasm hit him and he pulsed and shuddered his way to completion.
Stephen was thrusting his hips harder now as his head pushed into the crook of Tony’s neck and then he too was coming.
They sat entwined together, sticky and heaving chests as they tried to regain the oxygen that had been lost from their bodies at their pleasure.

Stephen eventually rolled him off and lay at his side, one arm covering his eyes and breathing deeply.
Tony watched his chest rise and fall as Stephen’s chest moved upwards. They lay that way in silence for a while, Stephen hiding behind his arm and Tony watching him, his eyelids dropping tiredly over his eyes every now and again.

"Stay here tonight," Stephen half ordered, half asks. He didn’t know if Tony meant this to be a one time thing but hoped it wasn’t. Or even if it was, that he could play pretend until morning rose and the light showed the truce.
Tony didn’t reply, but he didn’t move away either and that was answer enough.

It wasn't long before they both fell asleep exhausted.

Chapter Text

Stephen was a light sleeper. He was used to waking up at any hour, should he be on call and his pager or phone rang. It didn't matter if he was sleeping in the hospital or at home. He had simply trained himself to do it.

So he woke up when someone next to him moved and whispered. Tired, Stephen blinked and turned. The space next to him was empty but still warm. It was dark. The only light came from the display of Tony's phone, which he had pressed between his ear and shoulder while he collected his clothes from the floor. He hung up and used the flashlight on his phone to help him find his shirt. As he did so, he noticed that Stephen was awake.
"There's some business I need to take care of." It almost sounded like an apology. Almost.

The doctor merely grumbled tiredly and stared at him, his brain not fully functioning yet. Just because he easily woke up, didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Tony buckled his belt. "What about lunch?" he asked.

„Huh?“

Tony stepped to the bed, still shirtless. He smirked as he noticed Stephen focusing on his still bare chest, not listening. He put a finger under the doctor‘s chin and turned his head to face him. „On your next free day.“

„What ‘bout the FBI?“

„I‘ll take care of it,“ Tony promised. „So, are you in or do I have to kidnap you? Because I know some guys who are really good at that.“

Stephen closed his eyes, groaning. „Sure, whatever.“’It couldn't get any weirder anyway and he was tired. Besides, he didn't want Tony to make his words come true. He could well do without a kidnapping.
He didn‘t see the smile Tony flashed. It was an honest one.
„Great. I‘ll call you.“ He let the doctor go and stood straight.

Stephen opened his eyes again. „Don‘t even bother, if you‘re sneaking out without a last kiss, douchebag.“ He grabbed Tony at his belt and yanked him forwards onto the bed. They crashed into each other and Stephen claimed his lips, before the other man could protest.
It was a kiss that would lead to more if Stephen wasn‘t as tired and if Tony hadn‘t been needed elsewhere. For now it just remained a promise for another time. But it was a close call.

All of a sudden Tony let go and pushed away. “I need to go, doc. Otherwise I’m never leaving,”

Stephen took a deep breath and nodded slowly, dropping his head down on his pillow. “Yes, you should.” He looked back up at Tony. “Really, should be going.”

Tony just bit his lip as he stood away from Stephen, the tension evident in his shoulders.
“Right, going,” he said as he turned and headed for the front door.

~~

Christine was surprised and somehow also worried. She had never seen Stephen in such a good mood. The man was a changed man, unrecognizable. Even when Becky accidentally brought him the wrong file and replaced it a few minutes later with many apologies, Stephen just told her to pay more attention next time. Everybody in earshot did expect an angry outburst, but none came.

They took a joint break and walked to the coffee shop on the other side of the road. Every once in a while they needed a break from whatever the cafeteria claimed to be coffee. "What happened?" She asked curiously. "You seem kinda chipper today."

"So? What's the problem? By the way, you should wear your hair like that more often. It suits you."

Christine raised her brow. "Did you fall on your head? Are you dying?" She sounded seriously concerned.

"Funny," Stephen commented. He knew she wouldn't let up; she was a stubborn one that way. "Fine, if you need to know, I had a dinner date the other day and it went well."
More than well, even though Stephen hadn't known before that he would have a date that evening. With Tony, you never knew what to expect.

"Oh, that's great." Christine seemed genuinely happy for him and her curiosity was satisfied for now. She didn't want to pry too deeply into his private life.
This resolution lasted exactly seven minutes until they left the coffee shop with their cups.
"Who was your date?"

"That, Doctor Palmer, is none of your business." His words were sharp, but he hid his smile by taking a sip of his hazelnut latte. He would never tell Tony that he now ordered that drink every time it was offered.
Christine smirked but kept her tongue for once.

They entered the hospital but were stopped at the front desk.
"Doctor Strange, these were left for you."
He was handed a bouquet of flowers, which he stared at in surprise in his hands. Christine's eyes widened as well. Sending a bouquet this size in New York was not a cheap affair.
Stephen spotted a card and fished it out to read. "I'm having lunch tomorrow," he muttered. The card was machine-printed and signed only with initials, but it wasn't hard for him to guess who T.S. was.

Curious, Christine looked over his shoulder. "With whom?" she asked, but when she caught sight of the initials, she turned pale. She, too, could put one and one together. She knew from Stark's visits to the hospital that Stephen was his favorite doctor, the only one he talked to. He had told her about the FBI thing.
"Tony Stark?!"
Stephen gestured for her to lower her voice and pulled her a little away from the cautiously curious looks the two were getting.
"Stark is wooing you?"

"He is not wooing me," Stephen denied, because the choice of words didn't suit someone like Tony. But he heard the doubt himself from his words.

"Lunch, flowers and you went all school girl blushing earlier talking about your date." Christine shook her head. "Shit, you're in deep. That man is dangerous, Stephen!" Now she was seriously concerned. Immediately about his physical as well as his mental health. No one in their right mind voluntarily got involved with someone like Stark. This was madness. It couldn't end well.

"I know. I will be careful," Stephen tried to reassure her, but failed. That he didn't even continue to deny it told her she was right. She put her hand on his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes.
"I don't want to see you on the coroner's table."

"You won't." He sounded confident, but deep down he knew it was a promise he couldn't keep. It was beyond his control. It wouldn't stop him from declining Tony's invitation, though.

~~

Obidiah entered Tony's office with a plate in his hand and placed it on the table in front of him, blocking whatever Tony was working on. "Thanks," Tony mumbled absently, pulling a document he was reading from under the plate. It was a clear dismissal but Obidiah didn't leave.
"Come on, you need to eat."

"I had breakfast."

"It's evening now."

Perplexed, Tony looked at the window and noticed that the sun was indeed already approaching the horizon again. Oh. He hadn't noticed that at all.
As if on cue, his stomach growled, glad to finally have the man's attention. He took a piece of sushi and shoved it between his lips.

"I don't know why you hired a chef when you don't eat," Obidiah said, shaking his head.

Tony shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone else appreciates him." He stretched and his sore back complained about sitting hunched over at the table all day. But that's fine. Not unusual.

"You're working too hard, Tony," Obidiah sighed. The worry was evident from his words. "The business is just fine. Why don't you take Peter on a vacation to Marche before he goes to MIT. It might be the last opportunity for the two of you to do that."

In Marche, Italy stood a summer home Tony had inherited from his mother. Tony loved that place, but hadn't been there for quite a while.
His mother Maria had been a full-blooded Italian woman from an influential family. After marrying Howard she followed him to the States, but never lost her love for her mother country. Growing up Tony learned English as well as Italian - it was in his blood - much to the chagrin of his father, who had no say in the matter.
Tony still had distant family in Italy but after the early death of Maria he had little contact there. Especially since he followed in his father's footsteps.
Obidiah had already worked under Howard. He had been his advisor, right hand man and friend. And godfather to Tony. He was at Tony's side, had always been, helped him when Tony inherited the business after Howard died. After Tony almost died. After Tony decided to shut down the weapon manufactures and move his focus to other businesses. With success. He pretty much controlled the entirety of New York.

"I'll think about it." Tony plopped another piece of sushi in his mouth and pushed the plate aside.

"You deserve it." Smiling, Obidiah shoved a stack of papers in front of him. "Here, I need your signature. Pepper went over the contract with the Guardians. Everything's fine. They agreed to open the routes for us."

"Great." Tony picked up a pen and put his name on various dotted lines. "This will open new possibilities for us."

"It will," Obidiah agreed.

Chapter Text

Stephen parked his car in the tower's underground garage to meet Tony there for their lunch date. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was better than meeting in public in case the FBI still had him under surveillance.
Happy stood in the elevator to pick him up and took him to his floor.

"The boss is still in a meeting. He will be with you shortly," Happy informed him. Stephen was convinced by now that the man did not deserve his name. He had never seen the man as much as smiling, let alone seeming happy. There had to be a joke somewhere in it.

He was not exactly pleased that he had to wait, but still somehow understanding. He himself wasn't always on time with his work either, and he didn't even begin to think about what all was on Tony's plate.

They passed a door in front of which Sam stood, acting like a guard. He nodded briefly to the Doctor in greeting, but otherwise didn't move. Happy led him into an open space living room. There was a big L shaped couch and a flatscreen. On the other side was a large wooden dining table, probably teak, at which Peter sat. He had several books and papers spread out in front of him. He looked up as the two men entered.
"Hey, Doctor Strange."

"Hello Peter." If Stephen was going to wait, he might as well talk. He stepped to the boy's side and noticed that some of the books were biology textbooks. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, just a summer project of Mr. Stark and I." Peter blinked and seemed to remember something. "He told me you're a neurosurgeon… maybe you can take a look at this."

To Stephen's surprise, the boy showed him plans of prototypes of a prosthesis with A.I. technology. It had a software that was directly linked to the CNS. Stephen pulled up a chair and flipped through the documents. The project was still in the early stages, more of a thought experiment, far from actual implementation. But it was enough to spark interest in him.
Peter talked him through everything written down in the notes and some reference papers the doctor had to offer on the topic. It amazed Stephen what a quick grasp the boy already had for his age.
He was so absorbed in the matter that he didn't even notice when Tony entered the room. Only when Peter acknowledged him did he realize how much time had passed.

"Mr. Stark." Peter beamed at his mentor and Stephen looked up as well. He saw Tony leaning against the door frame, arms folded, watching the two with soft eyes.

"Ciao," he greeted them, now that he finally had their attention. The corners of his mouth twitched up and he pushed himself off the door frame, coming closer. "Snooping business secrets?"

"Just making sure this project has a minimum level of medical success." It was easy to fall into their regular banter. Their tone was light, yet there was always a spark of truth behind their words.

„Are you doubting the kid?“ Tony asked in a mockingly offended manner, but his smile gave him away.

Stephen chuckled. „He‘s smart, but he does not have a MD nor a PhD.“

"I'm going to my room. This is getting weird." Peter packed up his papers, obviously didn't want to be near the two flirting men any longer.
Tony and Stephen turned their heads toward him. They had only had eyes for each other, almost forgetting that he was also present. Even though they had been talking about him.
Tony put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's fine. We're leaving you alone." He looked at Stephen. "I hope you're hungry. I ordered the finest food for you to dine."
He had planned to dine with the doctor in his office for privacy anyway. The entire floor was accessible only to him and his staff, but someone from them was always wandering through the living room.

Stephen followed him - the office was the room Sam had stood guard in front of before - and huffed amused when he saw the lunch on the table. Tony had ordered cheeseburger and fries. Wendy's to be precise, if the paper backs were any clues of the origin. It was an unexpected but not unpleasant surprise.

„I hope you like it,“ Tony said casually but side eyed him to watch his reaction. „It‘s my favorite.“

„It‘s perfect.“

Each of them with a burger in their hands, made themselves comfortable in the small sitting area, where Tony normally talked to his business partners. The fast food was greasy and definitely not what Stephen expected when he arrived.

Tony slid the fries to him. „So… Nebraska.“

Stephen paused. Tony had the habit to pinpoint any sore spots. „Yepp.“ He popped the p, not really in the mood to talk about where he grew up.

Tony reached in one of the paper bags. „I got you ranch dressing for your fries.“

Stephens‘s eyes lit up and he laughed. This was the most unreal date he ever had. Sitting with some kind of mafia boss in his office, eating fast food and getting stereotyped. He never knew what to expect when meeting Stark. Stephen reached for the dressing and stole a kiss from Tony while at it. Tony seemed satisfied. The conversation flowed naturally after that. They stayed with light topics, Peter‘s project and their past week. Until a knock on the door interrupted them.

“I’m sorry to butt in, Boss, but Justin Hammer is here and he’s refusing to schedule an appointment or come back later,” Happy said, his tone clearly apologetic but also frustrated.

“What’s so important you haven’t just kicked him out?” Tony asked, not impressed with Hammer`s actions at all. Then again, he was never impressed with that idiot.

“He won’t say, just keeps demanding to see you and saying it’s important,” Happy replied. “I still would have kicked him out but he brought a whole crew and they’re packing. Didn’t want to cause a commotion.”

Tony nodded. Even though he knew that his team could easily take down Hammers’s men, Stephen was here and he didn’t want him to get in the middle of an incident. He was classy. And a brawl between muscles wasn’t classy. “I’ll take care of it, Hap. In the meantime, can you take Stephen to the lounge?” Tony asked.

“Of course. I’ll let Hammer know you’ll see him,” Happy said, signing Stephen to follow him.

“No need, I can show myself in,” Justin said as he pushed into the room. “So sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I’m sure your latest man whore can wait for your dick for once, Tony.”

Stephen’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t even so much as flinch at the vulgar words thrown at him. Tony however was downright pissed. “You should wait for an invitation, Justin. And you definitely shouldn’t insult my guest,” he said, voice deadly soft. “I don’t appreciate this sort of behavior in my house.”

“Oh, please, like you ever care about their feelings,” Justin retorted. “This one isn’t even that pretty. And once you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand why it couldn’t wait.”

Tony’s blood boiled as he stood up.

“Now, Tony, come on, business before pleasure,” Justin said, not getting the murderous vibes from the business man. “I have a proposition from the government of Sokovia itself to sell them weapons.”

“We’ve been over this before,” Tony said, stepping over to his desk and pulling on a pair of brass knuckles discreetly. His voice was a matter of fact – way too calm. “I don’t deal with weapons anymore. We shut down the manufactures years ago.”

“Oh, come on, Tony, why are you still hung up on that?” Justin asked. “We can rebuild it. Think of the money we could make. I’m sure-… ”

“You don't get it, did you?” Tony interrupted him as he stepped closer to Justin. “Let me spell it out for you.” Before the other man could open his mouth again, Tony’s right fist whipped out, hitting Hammer right in his face. He had not been prepared for this and fell backwards onto the floor.

“Now, listen carefully. I’m only going to say this once,” Tony said, pulling Hammer’s head up by his hair. “Are you listening?”
A whine came out of Hammers throat.
“No one disrespects me or my family. No one disrespects my guest. And no one walks unannounced in my office while I’m having a lunch date.” He took a second swing, just for good measure and because he was still angry.

“Anthony,” Stephen called out to stop him before the brass knuckles made contact with Hammer's head and possibly cracked the skull.

“What is it, bellino?” He shot Stephen an exasperated look over his shoulder as he ran his hand through his hair. It had been the first time the doctor called him by this full name – hell he rarely called him anything but Stark – and Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about the interruption.

Stephen hesitated only for a moment. His gaze flickered briefly to the man lying on the ground, then back to Tony. He didn't know it now, but that was the point at which he made an important decision. But he would only understand that many years later.
“Unless you want to kill him, you’ll want to hit his thorax. Broken ribs hurt like hell, but he’ll live. Keeping a punctured lung as a reminder.” He leaned back in his seat, crossed his legs

“Thank you, bellino.” He turned back to Hammer with a wicked grin. “Isn’t he something special, Justin?”

The man screamed right as the brass knuckles hit right in his chest. Tony let Hammer fall back to the floor then stood, slipping the brass knuckles off and scoffing at the pathetic man whining on the floor. His jar was broken and at least a rib. “Hap, tell Steve to clean up.”

His bodyguard nodded while Tony reached for a cloth handkerchief and wiped the blood from his fingers. He grabbed the brass knuckles back into the drawer and then sat down as if nothing had happened. "I'm sorry, you had to witness this," he apologized to Stephen. His gaze drifted to the doctor. This was the first time Strange had witnessed the brutal aspect of his work. It hadn't been sunshine and roses before, but he knew it was different to witness such a reminder of manners.

Stephen stared at the bloodied man on the floor, but felt unexpectedly little remorse. He had possibly saved the guy from certain death, because if Tony had hit him again in the head, the skull would have been open and then there wouldn't have been much that could have been done for him. But Stephen was a doctor. He was supposed to help the man, not to encourage Tony.
Yet he didn't move a finger. His behavior probably would have worried him if Tony hadn't demanded his attention by putting his hand on Stephen's arm. "Let's go somewhere private."

Stephen gladly complied and rose on his feet. He followed Tony out of his office and to the elevator. They went three floors up to what seemed to be Tony's penthouse. It was more modest than the opulent lower floor, but no less expensive. Stephen didn't see too much of the interior though, because Tony led him almost straight to his bedroom.

It was almost frightening how easily they fell over each other. Maybe that was their thing: food and sex. Stephen certainly wouldn't complain about it.

As Tony raked his fingernails lightly down the center of Stephen’s chest, slowly making his way to the waistline of his pants, he said in a low rumble, “Mouths are so versatile, don’t you think?”
He punctuated that by dipping his head down, brushing his lips against the hollow of Stephen’s throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the skin. “So many applications for use,” he whispered, dragging his mouth to Stephen’s shoulder and sucking lightly, fingers holding Stephen’s hips to the mattress when they bucked up for friction.
Stephen moaned, a rough sound that was so audibly desperate that he wanted to hide his face in embarrassment but the stronger urge to bury his own fingers into Tony’s hair again won out.

“Normally I don’t do this. See it as an apology for what that skunk said about you.” Tony took Stephen’s half hard length in his hand. Stephen opened his mouth to say something but Tony wrapped his lips around his cock before he could utter a word and all that came out of his mouth was a gasp.

Tony moved his head, his fingers. His tongue – hot and wet – licked the shaft and he tasted a drop of pre-cum. Stephen rest his hand on Tony’s head, gripping a tuft of his hair. All the little sounds that escaped Stephen were music to Tony’s ears.

“Fuck, that’s it.” His hand gripped Tony’s hair more forcefully when he swallowed around his cock. Stephen enjoyed his doing, very much. His gaze wandered down to Tony and the sight of him between his legs gave him an incredible feeling.
He had this powerful, fearful man on his knees.

The sound of his phone buzzing across the counter almost broke Stephen out of his blissful haze, blinking slowly as he turned your head to look at the offensive object.

“Don’t you dare.” Tony mumbled when Stephen reached for the phone, diving back in and sucking at his dick before sliding his tongue on the full length.

“Jesus, Tony!” Stephen managed to say, the interruption already forgotten.

Tony grin, but it faded, when the phone buzzed again and he growled against Stephen's member.

“It’s work.” Stephen had managed to catch a glimpse of the caller ID. “They wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.” He took the device and pressed it on his ear. “H-hello?”
He felt quiet and listened to whoever was calling, trying to catch his breath while Tony tried his best to mercilessly wrack him.

"I'll be... there sh-shortly." He struggled to get the words out and quickly hung up. Dropping the phone carelessly, he buried his fingers in Tony's hair.
"Fuck, Anthony…" All the muscles in his body seized as his orgasm washed over him, finally relaxing after trying to keep composure while being on the phone. He was breathing heavily, taking a moment to come down from the bliss. Normally he would return the favor to Tony as soon as he collected himself, but unfortunately there wasn't time.

"It's your free day," Tony growled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked gorgeous with his swollen lips and tousled hair. Stephen felt guilty about leaving him and cupped his face almost tenderly.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against his lips, not quite touching them. "I'm going to make it up to you."

"You better, doc," Tony murmured, before Stephen claimed his lips. It was a slow and seductive kiss, full of promises.
Alas, far too brief. Stephen stood up, collected his clothes and put them on, tucking his cell phone into his pocket last. When he turned back to Tony, he was also fully dressed again, a neutral expression hiding his displeasure. Their eyes met, but Tony didn't make a move toward him.
Something stood between them. Stephen could feel it. There were a lot of unspoken questions. Stephen had the urge to say something, to give Tony something. But he couldn't think of any words.
The right moment went by, unused, and Stephen turned to the door and left.

The date hadn't been bad, but it hadn't gone the way Stephen would have liked. The truth was, however, that this was the reality. Tony's business involved violence and blood, while Stephen lived for his work and jumped whenever it called. Time would tell if they could come to terms with that.

Chapter Text

Stephen entered the penthouse the Odinsons were currently living in. After their call, he had made a short detour home to get his doctor bag and to appear somewhat professional. He had been called because Odin had died. Stephen would be the doctor to confirm the death.

The mood was understandably somber. Loki didn't even acknowledge him when Stephen entered, his eyes remaining fixed on the table where he sat. His older brother's sadness was also evident, but as soon as he caught sight of the doctor, he put on a neutral mask and stood to greet him.

"Thank you for coming, doctor." His voice was strained, his former happy-go-lucky demeanor gone.

"My condolences to you and your brother." Stephen didn't linger on too many words. There was nothing he could offer the man. He could not take away his pain; it was part of death. Besides, he was an outsider. He had not known the dead man, had never spoken to him, and knew nothing of him except part of his medical history. Stephen was doing what he was here to do: his job.

Odin was still in the same room as when Stephen had last seen him. The machines had been turned off and silent. Someone had opened the window, as far as it was possible this high up here, and lit a candle on the small table beside the bed. Stephen recognized it as a ritual for the soul to find its way out well. Stephen did not wonder at this superstition – it seemed to fit in with this family.

Thor waited at the door while Stephen did his work, efficiently but respectful. His moves were practiced – in the hospital he often had to deal with death. As far as modern medicine had come, there wasn't a cure for everything.
Filling out the death certificate, he asked Thor a few questions about his father's condition of the last days. They were mere formalities, there was nothing to indicate that his death had a non-natural cause.

The father was to be cremated - that was the decision he had made when he had been conscious, and that was apparently the tradition of that family. The sons would return home with the urn, to take care of the future of the company that now fell into their hands.
Normally a cremation could take quite a while; in a city as large as New York, many people died every day. But Stephen had a contact at the crematorium, whom he called and arranged for Odin to be picked up that same evening. Money would not matter, as Thor had assured him.

"If you need anything else, call me," Stephen said before he left. He didn't know why he was doing this. As he had said before, he didn't really make house calls. These men were practically strangers, they didn't advance his career, and Stephen refused to get paid by them. He gained nothing from this.
All because of a stupid comment by the younger Odinson and Stephen's pride.
But somehow the doctor didn't mind. Maybe because he had learned to look behind the facade of powerful men. He saw two brothers, overseas and far from their home, grieving. He just felt that this was important. That it was the right thing to do.

Thor nodded and handed Stephen a business card. "I know you said you don't want money. But if you find yourself ever in need of something, we will be happy to help. A favor for a favor."
It was a simple card with only a name and personal phone number on it. Stephen tucked it in his doctor's bag before saying goodbye with a few words and leaving.

While Stephen waited for the valet to pull his car up, he glanced at his watch. It was early afternoon. This was not like he thought his day would go. He thought he would stay over at Stark's place. It wasn't too late, he could call Tony and see if he was still available.
But Stephen wasn't in the mood. Death tends to dampen it, even with no attachment to the patient. In medical school, doctors were taught how to deal with death. But that was all theory. Unfortunately, the reality was different.

He called Christine as he got into his car. Both hands on the wheel, he put her on speaker. "Hey, are you free later? I still owe you dinner."

There was a pause before she answered. "Isn't it your free day? You said you had plans."

"Well, they changed." Stephen kept his tone neutral, not revealing what the reason for the change was. He knew she would understand - Christine probably faced death much more often since she worked a lot in the ER. But Stephen didn’t want to talk about his day. He wanted to be distracted.

"I love being your second choice." There was no bite to her words. "See you at seven."

Stephen grinned. Christine was a good friend and he was glad to have her.

When he later met her outside the restaurant – a cute Greek place someone had recommended to him – and greeted her with a hug, he didn't notice that he was being watched. He hadn't noticed that someone had followed him from his apartment, because it wasn't the usual FBI's car. It was someone entirely different.
Stephen and Christine got a window seat and were so engrossed in their conversation, they hardly glanced outside. So they didn't notice the camera in the car window across the street, which was quietly sounding click click...

"I was talking to Doctor Cho."

Stephen raised his eyes questioningly. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Christine picked at her vegetables and glanced up at him. "Found her contact in the records and consulted her for a difficult case of BID."
Private contact information of current and former hospital employees was sensitive data and not officially available to colleagues – unless one had a really good reason. Stephen doubted there wouldn’t have been anyone in New York she could consult about this case.

"And?" he asked, curious but also anxious about what she had found out.

"It was a video call. She lives in Florida now. Married, has a dog." The alive hung unspoken in the air and Stephen let out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding.

He reached for his wine glass and took a sip. "Thank you, Christine."

~~

Tony met Obidiah in the kitchen. The chef had made chicken and potato salad and even though Tony didn't stick to the general meal times, he always got a portion set aside. He also paid the chef a lot of money.

"Ah, Tony," Obidiah greeted him. "I wanted to talk to you. You know the children of Wenwu, the Ten Rings, right?"

Tony chewed on his chicken. "I met the daughter a while ago." He hadn't had any contact with her since, but he now owned a new mansion in Northern California. Maybe he'd take Stephen there for a little get away. That would be nice.

"Well, her brother Shang-Chi wants to meet up. A courtesy call to formally introduce himself. We can probably expect a business proposal or something similar soon."

Thoughtfully, Tony tilts his head. The Wenwu's were a difficult family, not easy to categorize in their goals.

"I made a reservation at Claire's," Obidiah continued. "For this afternoon. I'm looking forward to hearing what he has to say."
Obidiah held - after Tony - the most power. He was his closest confidant - along with Pepper and Rhodey, but their workspace was outside the tower. Claire's was a bar that was frequently used for more or less illegal meetups between two parties. To most of the people it was some kind of neutral ground and with a reservation no other patrons would be there.

"I'll go," Tony decided, following a sudden streak of intuition.

"Are you sure?" Obidiah asked.

"You're doing enough already. Happy will drive me."

"Alright then. Thank you." His godfather patted him on the back while Tony texted his bodyguard.

Claire's was a bar like any other, probably a little more nondescript. Located in a side street, with a green facade and a wooden interior. The windows were tinted, so you couldn't really tell who was inside. The sign in the door said CLOSED, but Tony opened the door anyway. A soft ringing sounded.
A quick glance told him Shang-Chi wasn't in yet. He stepped to the counter and ordered a scotch. The bartender was the only other person in the room. He would lock up when the second party arrived, then disappear into a back room for the duration of the meeting for privacy.
Tony took his drink and set it down on his preferred table in the middle of the bar. But he didn't sit down, instead stepping up to a jukebox against the wall. While he waited, he might as well pass the time. So he skipped through the selection of songs.

Happy, meanwhile, waited in the car, watching the entrance to the bar. He'd rather be right by Tony's side at the meeting, to keep an eye on everything.
His cell phone rang and Happy frowned, pulling it out of the inside pocket of his jacket. A glance at the display showed him an anonymous ID. Unusual. Not many had his number and usually he was only called in an emergency.
He answered it and heard a click as the caller hung up. Weird.
His eyes wandered back to the street. A person opened the door of the bar. Happy's eyes widened, because it wasn't the Asian guy they were waiting for.

He jumped out of the car, his hand moving to his concealed weapon. Behind him he noticed a movement and just managed to dodge it, so that only his shoulder and not his back was stabbed with a knife. Happy winced, took a swing with his elbow and hit someone behind him. It was not enough to free himself. He was pinned against the car and yelled out in pain as his already injured arm was twisted.
All resistance was futile as he was tasered.

Most of the songs in the jukebox were old classics. Tony spotted one by ZZ Top and reached for his wallet to find a quarter. He heard the soft ringing of the front door. That had to be Shang-Chi. Tony held a ten dollar bill between two of his fingers. "Can you change that? I don't have any coins on me."

Instead of getting an answer, two shots rang out in quick succession and Tony froze for a moment. Then he whirled around, saw a strange man with no family resemblance to Xialing – he wasn't even Asian. He held a gun in his hand, which he pointed at Tony. His eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped dead to the floor. Behind him stood Natasha, a gun raised herself. Her gaze was fixed on the bar and the blood there on the wall told Tony that the second shot had been aimed at the bartender.
His gaze darkened and he put his money back in his pocket. "What the actual fuck is going on?" he demanded to know, not sure where he stood with Natasha.

She put her gun back in its holster - it calmed Tony only slightly. He straightened his shoulders, not saying another word until he got an answer. Natasha was calm, her movements purposeful. With a soft click, she locked the door.
"They are Hydra." She stepped to the man with the gun and pulled aside his shirt collar, revealing the tattoo of a skull with six tentacle legs.

Frowning, Tony stepped closer and looked at the man. He was unknown to him and he was wondering when this scum of an organization got into his city.
"This meeting was a trap," he realized. The question was whether Hydra and the Ten Rings were working together, or whether Hydra had used the meeting as an excuse to meet him alone. No, to meet Obidiah alone, Tony corrected himself. Tony had just happened to be standing in for him. But getting rid of his godfather would also have been a major setback.

"That's correct," confirmed a new voice that was also familiar to Tony. One he didn't think he would hear again.
When he turned around, he saw Nick Fury step out of the shadows in the back. Tony was very close to laughing out loud. "Son of a bitch, you're alive? I need another drink!" Suddenly he remembered something and turned back to Nat. "Wait, what about Happy?"

"He got tasered, but he will be fine. Maria Hill is with him."

So the whole old gang that his father had started was reunited. Tony could only shake his head at this. He stepped behind the bar and reached for a bottle of scotch and a fresh glass. He wouldn't drink anything this bartender had touched.
"You guys want a drink too?" he asked the other two over his shoulder, but got only silence in response. He got two more glasses anyway. Ignoring the two bodies on the floor, he sat down at a table and filled all three glasses two fingers' width with alcohol.
"So...," he looked at Fury, "you're not dead. That's good, I guess."

Fury sat down across from him, Nat taking a seat at Tony's left side. "I had to keep a low profile for a while to clean up. There were traitors in my ranks and there are too in yours," Nick explained.

Tony swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it spin. "Obi was set for this meeting. They wanted his head."

"They want everyone close to you. To weaken your defense, before they destroy you."

That's what it always came down to. It was an aspect of Tony's position that he despised. His men knew the risks of working for him, of standing by his side. That they still didn’t leave him, he credited them. For him, his closest circle was family. And he resented an attack against his family more than an attack directed against his own person.
Tony glanced briefly at Nat and realized something. "During that gig in Boston, you worked for Fury, didn’t you?" He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse, but it explained why she hadn't told him.

"I didn't lie, when I told you, he had information about me and my past," she said truthfully. "But Zimin also had files about some other people."

Fury pulled a tablet from his jacket pocket and gave it to Tony. He read the names of various folders. Names that were familiar to him. There was one for Pepper, one for Rhodey, Natasha, Steve... and one in particular that caught his eye. With a touch of his finger he opened it and stared at various photos and files. On any single one of them he read the name of Doctor Stephen Strange.
It took him a few seconds before he found his voice. "What am I looking at?"

It was Fury who answered him. "The collected data of people close to you and therefore of interest for them. They will most likely try to deduce the weakest link."

Tony pinched the back of his nose. This was definitely a disturbing turn of events. He would think about what he could do about it. But one thing was definitely certain: "We need to get ahead of them."

Chapter Text

Stephen gave the key of his sports car to the valet and put the card he got in return in the inside pocket of his jacket. As he walked up the steps to the gala’s location, he adjusted his cuffs. He showed his invitation to a man with a suit and tablet, then entered the hall through the large doors.
The gala was already in full swing. He had been careful not to arrive too early, preferring to jump into the action.

Immediately he was handed a flute of champagne. "Good evening, Doctor Strange." He was greeted by a handsome young man, whose sole purpose seemed to be to greet guests with their names. Stephen answered with a short nod of his head.

The theme of the gala location was simple elegance. Black and silver. A string quartet played in one corner. There were two open bars. Stephen counted about a hundred people mingling. He saw the dean from Metro’s, as well as some influential businessmen and politicians he had only seen in tabloids before.

A few days earlier, the Doctor had found the invitation to this gala in his mail. It was in a hand-addressed envelope without a stamp. The event had no occasion, just a gathering of the rich and successful of the city. And it was without press. Stephen was flattered to be counted among them. He had gotten himself a new suit especially for the occasion – which had cost him quite a bit on such short notice. But it was worth it. As he mingled, he got curious looks from some ladies – and gentlemen, too.
He joined a group that included an investor, the owner of an art gallery and a best-selling author. It was easy for him to fit in. Turning on his charm, he contributed to the conversation, cracking jokes or expressing his approval at appropriate moments. Stephen enjoyed the company, the atmosphere, and the prestige. This was what he always wanted. What he had worked hard for the last few years.

The author took his leave for the bar after a while and Stephen also decided to move on when the dean joined him. "Strange, why am I not surprised to see you here?" Grinning, the man extended his hand to him and Stephen shook it.
The dean was a man in his 50s, his hair already more gray than blond. Stephen found him to be a pleasant, if gossipy, man who was committed to his hospital, but also never lost sight of the numbers. For that, he was exactly what a dean should be. At least his success was reflected in Metro's reputation.

"Good to know, there are some actual people with a brain in here. Not just people who like to hear themselves talk." On the one hand, it never hurt to compliment his boss, but on the other, Stephen was actually glad to know someone with whom he had common topics of conversation. While he had no problem making small talk with complete strangers and to rub elbows, he knew listening to the boring, self-centered drivel of others for hours on end could get tiring.

The dean – obviously pleased with the compliment – put his hand on his shoulder. "You know, it was one of my best decisions to hire you. Never regretted it once. You're worth your money, Strange."

Flattered at these words, Stephen was about to retort something when he was distracted by a group entering the room. Tony Stark had arrived at the gala. Stephen had hoped he would be here as well, but seeing him left him speechless. He was the epitome of expensive.
The Alexander Price suit was such a dark shade of blue that it would only hint of the color if caught in the right lighting, sateen pinstripes subtly. Hand tailored for him, it fit as comfortable as a second skin and accented all of the best features he had to offer. It alone cost six months of salary for the average middle-class citizen. Beneath that, a white Prada dress shirt made of cotton so fine it rivaled silk. Adorning his neck was a silk Kiton black tie.
Upon his wrist, a Glashutte Original watch in a brushed stainless steel - the accessory itself costing more than everything else combined. And finally at his feet, a pair of black leather dress shoes that he'd paid a cobbler in Italy handsomely for.

At his side were Pepper – who stepped away to whatever important people she had spotted – and a man Stephen had never seen before. He was tall and dark, with a serious face and a military haircut. He and Tony were close and Stephen couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy in his chest, seeing them together. They talked quietly. Tony had tilted his head toward the other man, punctuating his words with expansive gestures. If Stephen had to take a guess, he'd say he spoke with this mix of English and Italian Stephen loved about him. Something Tony only did when he was relaxed and comfortable around someone. Or extremely angry. But that was definitely not the case.

The dean’s gaze had followed Stephens's eyes and had spotted Tony Stark in the crowd as well. "Try to stay on Stark's good side," he said. "The hospital could use a new MRI machine."

For a second Stephen's face fell and the grip on his glass hardened. "If you have a request for Mr. Stark, ask him yourself. I'm not your messenger," he growled between his teeth, quietly enough that bystanders couldn't hear it.

"Of course," the dean hastened to say. He seemed to realize he had hit a sore spot and tried to smooth the waters. "I'd never assume that."

But Stephen's mood was sour enough that he turned away and left. He didn't care that he left his boss standing there. He didn't head straight for Tony, not after the dean's words, but he kept his tabs on him.

Tony was walking through the crowd like Moses through the sea. People were making way for him, knowingly or subconsciously. Tony stopped every now and then, shook hands or exchanged words with business partners and acquaintances. He was doing business with the whole city.
He wasn’t the host of this gala, but with as much money he invested in buying invitations, it might as well be.

Recent events, however, had made him take precautions. In addition to Rhodey, who remained by his side as his personal bodyguard tonight, a handful of his men mingled with the guests to ensure his safety, as well as Pepper's and Stane's.
His involuntary encounter with Hydra the other day at the bar had made him wary. More so what Nick Fury had shown him on his tablet. It was still a secret that the man was actually alive. He operated best from the shadows, but promised Stark to keep him updated on anything that regarded him.
Tony let his gaze wander around the room. He had already spoken to many people, but not the one he was waiting for.

"You're unfocused tonight," Rhodey observed from beside him. "That's not like you." He knew his friend well enough to know that it wasn't anxiety. From what he'd heard – and Tony had always been bad at hiding things from him – it wasn't hard to guess who he was hoping to meet. And Rhodey was curious to meet the doctor he heard so much about.

"Just impatient," Tony replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, that's nothing new."

The corners of Tony's mouth twitched upward. Rhodey's presence calmed him, but also reminded him that he wasn't just here for fun; he had work to do. Still, it didn't stop him from scanning the room.

"Looking for me?" he heard Strange speak closely into his ear.
Tony turned around and looked Strange up and down as best he could considering how close they stood. Dark grey suit, crisp white button up and a tie in an accentuated color. He instantly wanted to peel everything off the man and devour him.

"You'll do," Tony replied. Strange snorted in response, but Tony ignored it, just grinned broadly. He pointed to his bodyguard. "Stephen, this is Rhodey. The guy who befriended me in college because my father told him so."
Suddenly the closeness between them Stephen had noticed earlier made sense.

The two men looked at each other and shook their hands.
"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Rhodey replied. "Heard you ratted me out." There was something like amusement in his voice and Stephen was glad the man didn't hold a grudge against him for revealing what had apparently been a secret for many years. It gave him the confidence to continue with banter.
"Everyone with a brain could have added one and one together.

"Hey," Tony protested at Stephen's words. "I'm right here. Can't you at least pretend to be nice to me?"

"Nice doesn't seem to hold your attention span for very long," Strange observed.

"He's got you there, Tony," Rhodey smiled.

Tony grumbled, but secretly was glad the two men got along. Rhodey was family, has been for many years, and his opinion mattered to him. "You're lucky you have a pretty face, doc."

At that moment, Pepper joined the trio and her face was business. "Tony, Senator Vice is waiting for you. And I don't want to hear any excuses from you again." Her eyes drifted to Stephen and she gave him an apologetic smile, knowing she was interrupting them. "Hello Doctor Strange."

"Miss Potts," he greeted her with a nod.

Tony gave a theatrical sigh. "Fine, I will speak to him. Rhodey, you're coming with me. I don't want you and the doc to team up against me." He winked at Stephen. "I'll see you later." It was a promise.

Stephen didn't stay alone for long. As if waiting for an opportunity to meet him alone, a middle-aged man joined him. He was bald and wore glasses, but his gaze behind them was sharp.
"Doctor Strange?" Contrary to the event they were at, he was all business and extended his hand to him, which Stephen politely took. "My name is Jasper Sitwell. I’m an associate of the UCSF Medical Center in San Francisco."

Now that was interesting. Stephen eyed him curiously. "Nice to meet you. If you don't mind me asking, why are you all the way in New York? I'm sure San Francisco has similar great parties."

Sitwell smiled but even though it reached his eyes, it seemed forced. Not a man of humor then. "Business," he simply explained. "I like to combine work with pleasure." He took a sip of his champagne. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, how do you like your position at MHC?"

"Why? Are you trying to lure me away?" Stephen asked jokingly, but Sitwell answered with a simple, "Maybe." and that got the doctor shut up and took a sharp breath. The UCSF was one of the best Hospitals for Neurology and Neurosurgery in the whole northern hemisphere. Top notch.

"I heard about your success with a pediatric cervical spine surgery and the unusual method you used," Sitwell added.

That was a surgery Stephen was proud to have successfully performed. He tried to keep his tone neutral, however. After all, he was an expert in humble bragging. "Well, halfway through the surgery the patient's spine became unstable. We had to improvise and insert two plates and five screws to help stabilize it. I used a technique similar to the Schubert method. It was similar enough that I could adjust the parameters."

"You improvised on the fly," Sitwell correctly summarized.

"A calculated risk, but a successful one." His patient – a boy of nine years – didn't even suffer from so much as the occasional neck pain.

Sitwell clarified his words. "I meant it as a compliment. Your quick thinking saved the patient from a life in a wheelchair. This is the kind of doctor I want in my facility."

"Thank you," Stephen said honestly. Both for the compliment and for the indirect job offer. "Although I have to say, I'm very happy being the head of the surgery department here in New York." He was ambitious, and even though UCSF was an excellent institution, he wanted to move up, not down, in his career. He wasn't about to trade his position for a lesser.

"I'm sure we can work out the details." Sitwell handed him a business card. "Call me if you consider moving."

Stephen nodded. "I'll think about it." He pocketed the card and – after Sitwell bid him farewell with a nod – headed for the bar. This was news he needed to digest. It could be a huge step in his career. But he decided to think about it later and enjoy the party for now. And boy it had turned out to be a good party. He felt like he was walking on air. It might have been due to Sitwell's words and his offer, but Stephen had rarely felt so well entertained. The catering was excellent and a general exuberance was in the air. Quite a few couples danced to the music.

At the bar, he let a group of three ladies go ahead before he ordered himself. They were young; probably spoiled daughters of rich parents. They thanked him with giggles and sneaked some glances in his direction. Even when their glasses were already in front of them, they lingered at the bar. But college girls really weren't Stephen's cup of tea. After he got his whiskey, he turned to the other direction.
On his other side was a man who was also getting a new drink. He looked up briefly and nodded politely at Stephen, raising his glass in greeting. Stephen returned the gesture.
"Nice gala," he said in a general non-committal manner.

"Indeed. I'm Samuel Hill by the way." The man was shorter than Stephen and an aura of restlessness surrounded him, as if he had never learned to stop and savor the moment. He had short, blond hair and blinked more than average.

"Doctor Stephen Strange."

"Fancy. What kind of doctor are you?" Hill asked.

"Neurosurgeon," Stephen replied curtly. It was a conversation he probably had a dozen times today, and admittedly it was getting boring.

"So, brains and stuff."

"Yeah. Brains and stuff." Sarcasm resonated in Stephen's voice, but Hill didn't notice.

"I work at Wall Street," the other man told him, unprompted. "Just the other day I managed to..."

Stephen listened to him with only half an ear. His eyes had found Tony in the crowd, as they had so many times tonight. It was inevitable. Stephen circled around him like a planet around its sun.
A group of people had gathered around Tony, hanging on every word that came from his lips. Stephen could relate. There was something about him that was fascinating. And he looked ravishing, the epitome of casual elegance others could only dream of.

Tony looked at him, and they locked eyes across the room. Tony waved and Stephen scoffed affectionately, turning his attention back to the man beside him.
"...I'm just happy I was able to snag two invitations. It wasn't exactly cheap. Unfortunately, my fiancee broke her ankle last week and couldn't accompany me."

Stephen frowned. He had obviously missed part of the conversation and didn't catch what they were talking about. He made a sound of agreement and a universal gesture of 'well, what can you do?'. It seemed to be the right response, because satisfied, Hill ordered them both new drinks.

Tony's eyebrows raised as he watched Stephen interact with the other man, who was clearly being too friendly with his doc. The muscles in his jaw tightened, the shine of his eyes dulling ever so slightly at this intrusion. To him, it was an intrusion.
He took a slow sip of his martini before he started moving. The glass still in his hand, he navigated through the crowd and carelessly interjected himself into the conversation.
"Hi. I'm Tony Stark," he introduced himself, interrupting whatever the other man was talking about.

"Oh, nice to meet you, Mr. Stark. I'm very- …"

Tony didn't let him finish. "Much holding up my date when I want to dance with him." He put his empty glass on the bar and grabbed Stephen by the wrist, pulling him along with him, away from Hill, who was looking after them, puzzled.

"Date? I don't remember arriving with you." Stephen sounded rather amused than annoyed.

"Maybe, but I don't plan to leave the event without you." The look Tony gave him over his shoulder was dark and promising. Stephen swallowed hard and a warmth settled inside him. Even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to stay away from this man. He was drawn to him almost magically.

"We seem to have the same plan." They had reached the dance floor and Tony took Stephen's right hand into his left, wrapped his other hand around his waist and pulled him close to his body. Presumably closer than it was decent for this event, but Tony didn't care. There was no press here and no cameras or even phones. It was a private party and only the other guests were witnesses.
The curious eyes watching them both suited Tony just fine. He wanted to show them that it was he who snatched this handsome doctor. No one would try again to touch Strange tonight.

"For your interest: Hill is straight," Stephen informed him, remembering Hill's fiancée, whom he mentioned. Tony's jealousy had not escaped him. It was endearing and flattering.

"Spaghetti is only straight until it's boiled."

Stephen forgot to set his next step and Tony stepped on his foot. It took him a moment to get back in step. "You're unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh, believe me when I say, I won't share you." Tony's grip around Stephen's waist tightened and he pulled the doctor a little closer. "I should take you out more often. You look ridiculously handsome in this suit. It's unfair."

Stephen was amused about his words because he thought the same thing about Tony. "That's easy for you to say. I bet your Glashutte watch alone costs more than some people here can afford. And there are some very rich people at this gala."

"You're a fan of watches? I should show you my collection at home." Playfully Tony winked at him and it was more than clear what he was alluding to.

Stephen went for the game and even went one better. He tilted his head until his lips were close to Tony's ear and his voice dropped another octave. "You should show me what's under that suit of yours instead."

Tony's eyes went dark, became hungry. The chase was on and he was the predator. Stephen shuddered, but he didn't break eye contact, challenging Tony. The two had stopped dancing and stood still.
Surprisingly, it was Tony who took a step back first. "Let me finish the crowd work and then get out of here. Ten minutes. Twelve tops."

A smile graced Stephen's lips. He didn't know where he got the confidence – all the flattery tonight must have gone to his head – as he lifted Tony's hand, still in his, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "See you in nine at the front door." With that, he winked and turned to leave. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but it was fun. Thrilling.

Tony watched him for a moment, congratulating himself for the catch he made with the doctor. Then he turned in the other direction. Pepper would kill him if he left the gala without talking to the mayor at least once.

If Tony had known what could go wrong in nine minutes, he would have immediately grabbed the doctor and dragged him to the car.

Stephen had lost his interest for the party. He was full of anticipation and no longer wanted to settle for boring small talk. He made a quick visit to the restroom and then decided to wait for Tony in the hallway. The music from the ballroom reached his ears softly and the air was less stuffy. Waiters with full and empty trays walked past him on their way to or from the kitchen. Stephen ignored them and strolled slowly back to the front door. In his jacket pocket he still had the note from the valet. He would probably have to pick up his car tomorrow, since Tony was surely going to drive. Stephen was totally fine with it.
Suddenly a door opened right next to him and almost hit him in the face. He just managed to step aside. As a tall and bald man stepped out.
"Huh?"
Behind him, Stephen noticed Jasper Sitwell leaving the same room, who quickly turned away and walked in the other direction. Before Stephen could think about it, his attention was claimed by the first man.
"Doctor Strange?"

"Yes?" Stephen was wary, had no interest in a conversation. He wanted to get to Tony.

The man smiled broadly. For some reason it looked grim, even if his words were friendly. "Ah, we haven't been introduced yet. My name is Stane. I'm the godfather of Tony and his business partner."

Stephen remembered hearing Tony's name and shook Stane's hand. The two seemed close. For Stephen's taste, Stane talked a bit much, but with that he matched Tony’s energy. Even if it seemed distracting coming from that taller man.
"It's nice to finally meet you. Have a fun night?" continued Stane, and Stephen could only nod in response before Stane continued. "Yeah, always the best for Tony's lovers." He chuckled and Stephen didn't like the sound. "He has the tendency to fall for people who work for him. Though the fallout with Mrs. Potts was a mess. I'm glad this time he at least got one with his own field of work." He looked pointedly at Stephen who didn't know what to say. "Don't get me wrong, you seem like a decent man. Are you in for the prestige? Well, it's really none of my business. I'm happy Tony bought an invitation for you. So I finally got the chance to meet you." Stane glanced down the hall. "Well, I gotta go. Despite all the party, this is still work for me."
With that, he left, leaving a perplexed Stephen standing there.

The doctor was taken aback from what just happened. From what he just heard. The way Stane put it, it sounded like Stephen was just the latest conquest in a long line. He had been wondering for some time exactly what he and Tony were. But he hadn't questioned it, because the glances from Tony seemed honest. Like he really adored Stephen.
On the other hand, Tony Stark was the head of the mafia. Stephen had seen at least a part of his line of work. At the hospital when Peter was shot. At the docs when they found the container. In Tony's office the other day when Hammer barged in. It was a brutal world. Full of illegal stuff. Why shouldn't Tony be a master of deception? He took what he wanted, when he wanted it. Apparently he had wanted Pepper Potts in the past. Stephen felt sick at the thought. Pepper was beautiful, sharp. She tolerated no bullshit and was very professional from what he had seen so far. Some of those traits were terribly familiar to Stephen.
He didn't like the thought at all. His stomach turned as if someone had punched it.
Without paying attention, he started moving again and walked to the front door. Outside, fresh air and Tony greeted him. Of course, he promised to be there and he was a man of his word.

"Ready to go?" Tony asked.

Stephen felt anger bubbling up because Tony acted as if nothing had happened. Well, technically everything was just fine for Tony. But it wasn’t for Stephen.
"Did you buy my invitation?" Stephen's voice was sharp and Tony frowned. He noticed the hostile vibes coming from the doc, but couldn't explain them.

"Si."

"I fucking told you I'm not buyable. I can't believe it. You've got your hands in everything!" Stephen clenched his fingers into fists and relaxed them again.

"What are you talking about?" Tony asked, still trying to understand Stephen's sudden change in behavior. Everything was just fine ten minutes ago. "Why are you so angry? I thought you had a good time."

"I did," Stephen admitted, but bitterly remembered Stane's words. "But I'm not just a notch on your bedpost. You'll have to find someone else for that." He turned to leave, but Tony held him.

"Stephen, wait! Don’t you dare just walk out of me." Tony muttered some Italian curses between his pleading. "Stay. Talk to me."

The doctor turned his head toward him and looked at him coolly. "I'm not your property you can boss around, Mr. Stark. So, I'd prefer if you let me go and kindly fuck off."
Tony's face was so hurt and confused that Stephen almost changed his mind and thought Stane had lied to him. But then Tony put on a neutral mask and pulled his hand back, his lips tightly pressed together. Testily, Stephen took a step back. When Tony didn't try to follow him, Stephen turned and left.

Chapter Text

The next three days Stephen ignored any text and call from Tony.
Then the gifts began to arrive.
At first, it was a tall mug filled with coffee. Stephen thought Christine was kind enough to leave him before rounds. The mug seemed custom fit to his grip, had a thick handle and wide rim. It didn't burn his palms the way the paper cups in the cafeteria did.

The following day, the staff room had a brand new espresso machine that came with coffee so rich and dark Stephen found himself licking his lips all day trying to savor the taste.

The cafeteria changed food supply companies three days later and the grey gruel disguised as the basic elements on the food pyramid disappeared and were replaced with meals patients actually are instead of dumping it in the trash next to them. Stephen considered actually eating at the cafeteria for the first time he worked here.

A week later, the dean showed up as Stephen was signing the delivery slips to a brand new MRI machine the hospital desperately needed, but he couldn’t find a purchase order for anywhere. The dean lingered by the door, hands shoved his pockets. His eyes met Strange’s and he nodded very pleased with the latest addition of tech. “Good job.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stephen replied, highly confused.

“Of course not.” The dean winked at him. “After all, you’re not a messenger.”

Stephen dropped the pen to the floor. I couldn't be! It had to be a stupid coincidence. It was probably the dean's revenge for Strange being so snappish with him at the gala. The dean must have placed the order himself. An MRI was way too expensive; only he had the authority to spend that much of the hospital money.
Stephen picked up the pen and dismissed it as a bad joke.

For lunch he met with Christine at the cafeteria. He hadn't told her about the UCSF offer yet. The business card was lying on his work desk at home; he hadn't dialed the phone number on it yet. Funny. Not long ago he would have accepted the position on the spot, packed his bags and left New York behind. Stephen saw himself as someone who was focused on his job, his career.
The fact was, it was still in his focus, but he felt he had built something here. New York felt like home, which was ridiculous, because it was a giant, chaotic city.
He chose fish for lunch, because it looked like real fish and not some cheap and mashed together fish-like something. The MRI machine came back to his mind as he looked at his plate. He told himself it was a coincidence. The hospital had clearly made good profits this year.

The next day, Stephen showed up later than usual for work. His only appointment today was a surgery. A routine procedure and he didn't need to prepare for it other than to be rested and re-read some details. Putting his jacket and bag down in his office, he spotted a small box sitting on his desk. That was odd since his door has been locked.
The box was square with a logo of Arnold & Son. When he opened it, he found a piece of art of mechanism and titanium. Elegant and sleek. Stephen was sure that if he tried the watch on, it would fit perfectly on his wrist.

He walked to the station office on the same floor, which was also responsible for making his appointments in his absence, functioning as some kind of secretary. "Has someone been here to see me today?"

Billy glanced up from his computer. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"There's something on my desk I didn't put there."

"Oh yes!", Billy remembered, snipping with his finger. "A delivery was left for you at the front desk. I put it in your office."

"Do you know who dropped it off?"

"Sorry, no. You have to ask Sarah."

Stephen turned around and chased down Sarah from the front desk. But she could not help him either. The watch had been brought by a private courier. The nondescript, generic type.
Back in his office, Stephen stared at the watch. He remembered Stark's joke to show him his collection. But Tony had stopped calling him, after Stephen refused to talk to him.

Despite the expensive gift, Stephen still didn't call Tony back. He wouldn't even know what to say.

Two days later it was raining. Stephen drove his car to work as usual. He was running late, the streets were crowded. More people than usual were driving their cars, trying to get less wet on their way to work than by any other means. So Stephen's mood was not at its peak anyway. Then, arriving at the hospital, he saw that his personal parking space was occupied. He stared at the flashy sports car that had the audacity to stand in the space that was clearly assigned to him by a badge. The color of the Porsche 918 Spyder was so obnoxious that Stephen was sure it was a special paint job.
He knew of only one person who would drive such a car and who liked to sneak into his personal space. Grumbling, the doctor parked elsewhere – farther away from the main entrance, getting a lot wetter, although he hurried into the building with long strides. He went directly to the front desk.
"Someone is parking in my spot." Already in a mood he was willing to have the car towed. It was Tony's own fault to provoke him like that.

Sarah's face lit up as soon as she saw him. "Doctor Strange!" Her voice was a singsong even though she had no right to be this cheerful on such a rainy day. "Something's been dropped off for you again. And I also believe it's the solution to your problem."

Before Stephen could ask what the hell she meant, she pushed a jingling car key into his hand. Hanging from it was a personalized leather keychain with his initials. There was no mistake. Still, Stephen stared at the thing, taking a moment to realize what it meant. He blinked before looking back at Sarah. "Is someone waiting in my office for me?" He was wondering if Tony finally showed up. This was a way too expensive gift to not deliver it personally.

Sarah frowned – she probably expected a different reaction – and double checked the digital calendar. "No. You don’t have any appointments this morning."

Stephen turned away with a muttered "Thanks." With the key in one hand, he pulled out his phone with the other. He needed to talk to Tony. It couldn't go on like this. He couldn't put off a conversation with the man any longer. No one could tell what Tony Stark would do next. So he dialed his number.

Surprisingly, no one answered. Stephen waited until he was transferred to his voice mail. So he tried again. Stephen had never called Tony before. They had always just texted. He knew Stark was busy, but normally he always got back to him as soon as he had a free moment.

Stephen scoffed in irritation. After going to so much trouble to get Stephen's attention, you'd think Tony would be waiting for a message from Stephen.
Only on his third try in a row, Tony finally answered. "Stephen, bellino, are you alright?" Tony sounded concerned – probably because it was so unusual for Stephen to keep ringing – but also curt. As if Stephen were bothering him. That, in turn, bothered Stephen.
"Yes, We need to talk about the 'presents' you're sending me."

A brief pause arose and Stephen heard something in the background from Tony’s side. "Can I call you back?" he asked. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

Stephen snorted, feeling offended. "No! Your meeting can wait for five minutes or I'm changing my mind about talking to you altogether."

Tony sighed silently. Holding his phone to his ear, he gestured with his other hand, in which he held a gun, to Steve, to keep the rogue group of a rivaling gang at bay, while he stepped to the side. "Alright, tesoro, I'm listening."

"You have to stop sending me stuff. It's getting ridiculous."

"Didn't you like the watch?" Tony asked.

"It's a nice watch," Stephen admitted. "But that's not the point…"

"I can get you a better one."

Stephen was losing patience. He felt like they were having two different conversations. Why was he talking to Tony about watches? "No, Tony. I don't want a watch. Do you even know why I'm angry with you?"

"Of course, you said-… hey! Who allowed you to get up? I'm trying to fix things over here..." Gunshots rang out and Stephen stared at his phone in horror before hearing Tony's voice again. "Sorry, doc. Some people just have no sense of decency. Where were we?"

"Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Aw, are you worried about me?" The smile on Tony's face sounded in his voice and Stephen sighed loudly.

"Can we meet?" he asked.

"Sure, I'll send Happy to get you after I'm finished with the scum here."

"I'll come to the tower after my shift." Stephen didn’t need the driver, he had his own car. Two of them actually, thinking of the key that he was still holding in his hand.

~~

Stephen parked his car – his own, not the new Porsche, thank you very much – outside and entered the tower through the lobby. The receptionist nodded politely to him before Stephen stepped into the elevator that took him upstairs.
He had noticed on previous visits that the entire tower was monitored by video cameras and suspected that nothing happened inside without Tony himself or his men knowing about it. So it didn't surprise him when Happy picked him up from the elevator. "Hello doctor. The boss is still in a meeting. He asked you to wait in the living room."

He took him there and Stephen sat down on the couch. Happy himself didn't seem to want to keep him company and disappeared into the hallway and out of Stephen's sight. The doctor crossed his legs, not happy about having to wait. He was impatient, feeling antsy. It wasn't like him at all. But ever since he'd met Tony, he wasn't even sure what was like Stephen anymore.
He propped his elbow on the backrest and rested his head in his hand. Mentally, he reviewed the evening of the gala. After Stane's words, he had become quite upset, possibly overreacting. What he had heard had surprised – and hurt – him. He should have at least let Tony explain it.

The sound of clicking heels approached him.
"Doctor Strange." Pepper looked at the empty coffee table in front of him. "Can I get you a drink? Coffee, tea…something else?"

Stephen's first instinct was to decline. He didn't want to talk to Pepper, didn't even want to see her. Then again, he had no idea how long he'd have to wait. "Coffee would be nice," he therefore said.

Pepper nodded and stepped into the kitchen. Stephen heard the sound of a coffee maker.
Shortly, she returned with a tray on which were two cups, as well as milk and sugar. She set one of the cups down in front of the doctor. The second she took herself and sat down on an armchair opposite him. "I wanted to talk to you," she told him, but first turned to her coffee and weakened it with plenty of milk. Her eyes darted him a pointy look, before she settled back and took a sip.

Stephen added some sugar to his coffee and waited for what she had to say.

"I'm Tony's lawyer. So almost everything that concerns him also concerns me," she said. "I'm also his friend, so that doubles that statement."

Stephen raised his eyebrows and suppressed the jealousy that was rising inside him. On the outside he managed to maintain a neutral demeanor. "I heard once you were more than friends."
He felt like Pepper was indeed sitting as a lawyer in front of him and Stephen was her latest case. No. Tony was the case. And Stephen was on trial.

Pepper watched him calculating. In their last meetings she had displayed a polite friendliness towards him, but now she was all business.
Fine. Two could play that game, Stephen thought. As a doctor, he often had to deal with difficult patients. And even if it was not one of his favorite tasks, he had acquired a professional business attire of his own over time.

"We were," Pepper told him. "But we realized quickly that we work better just as friends." She tilted her head. "That was quite a while ago and shouldn't concern you."

"It does if it's a regular occurrence that Tony falls in bed with people who work with him," Stephen objected. They were Stane's words but they haunted him.

Pepper looked as if she suddenly understood something, and her gaze softened a bit. "I've known Tony for many years and I've only seen him falling in bed exclusively with the same person a few times. And he never talked about them as much as he does about you."

To this Stephen doesn't know what to say and he looks down at his sweet but untouched coffee.

"Why are you here?" Pepper asked suddenly. "Do you want to end things with him?"

"I wouldn't even know what it is I would end." Stephen snorted, but it was true. "I don't think he does even know why I was angry, and he bought me a goddamn sports car anyway." He pinched the bridge of his nose, still not understanding the behavior of Tony.

Pepper made an amused sound. "Have you even told him why you started that fight?"

It didn't surprise Stephen that Tony had apparently told her. She probably wouldn't be sitting here in front of him otherwise. He thought about her question, though. Stephen hadn't told Tony, but really it should be obvious – shouldn't it?

"Tony does talk a lot," Pepper continued when Stephen didn't answer. "But honestly, communication isn't always his strongest point. Sometimes you need to spell things out for him. You, on the other hand, should finally start to listen – to truly listen – to him."

Stephen tilted his head as Pepper put down her empty cup. "Why are you telling me this?"

„Like I said: I‘m a friend of Tony and I hate seeing him like this. You are different. You‘re not intimidated by him. I like that about you. It would be a shame if I had to change my opinion about you.“ She said the last sentence with emphasis. Pepper Potts was not someone Stephen would want as an enemy. In the short time he had known her, he already respected her a great deal. He could well imagine that she had the same reach of influence as Tony, but she was more subtle about it. Like a cobra waiting in the tall grass until her unsuspecting prey was close enough to attack.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Tony entered the spacious living room and both heads turned to him instantly. He stopped, not sure what to make of the fact that his lover doctor and his lawyer had obviously talked about him. The sudden silence that greeted him was loud enough.

Pepper smiled knowingly and stood up gracefully. "I'll leave you two to it." She gave Stephen one last look and then left the room.

Tony approached, his face emphatically neutral. "You wanted to talk?"

Stephen nodded slowly. "Can we go upstairs?" He preferred to talk to Tony in his penthouse, where they wouldn't run the risk of someone barging in.

"Sure."

They made their way up in silence and it was kinda awkward. At least, that's how it felt for Stephen. Tony was unusually quiet. He kept his fingers to himself, respecting Stephen's personal space. It was very different from what they were used to – even before their first kiss in the doctor's office.

Once in the penthouse, Tony headed straight for the bar. "Drink?" he asked Stephen over his shoulder. The doctor declined, and Tony poured himself two fingers' worth of amber liquid. He swirled the glass and waited for Stephen to start talking

Stephen thought of Pepper's words and maybe she was right. Maybe he had to spell it out loud.
"At the gala I learned that you and Pepper were a thing in the past. And that you have a thing for replacing your lovers rather quickly."
They had never talked about being exclusive. Neither Tony nor Stephen thought about themselves to be men that were looking for something serious. And yet they stood here, not sure where this argument left them. What it made them.

"You accused me of buying you." Tony's voice was bitter. He didn't care if someone accused him of something he had done. But when he was accused of something he had been so careful not to do – not even for his own sake, but because he had listened and wanted to do better – it hit him all the harder. "I want you to think about it: after that first check you ripped oh so gloriously, did I try to give you another?"

"No," Stephen admitted. "But people are not only bought with money. All those gifts from you… that's called bribing."

"Is it?" Tony crossed his arms, no longer caring about the drink. "So, if I – like you said – pay you, what do I get in return?"

That was the question, right? What did Stephen have that Tony could possibly want? He wasn't bribed to be his physician. Stephen had declined that money and the gifts hadn't started until way later. Was it sex? Maybe. But Tony wasn’t the type of man that needed to bribe people into having sex with him. There were plenty of willing women and men.

"Who told you?" Tony asked when Stephen said nothing, not wanting to hear the silence. "At the gala, who told you about me and Pepper?"

"It was...you know, never mind, that's not important." Stephen wouldn't mention that it was Tony's own godfather who had told him. He didn't want to start another argument. "Maybe I overreacted slightly."

A snort escaped Tony, half amused, half scowling. But it was probably the closest thing to an apology the doctor had to offer.

Stephen suddenly had another question burning on his tongue. One he had had for some time, but had not yet dared to ask it. But if this was the point of all or nothing, then why the heck not as well try it. “What are we?” Because it has been fun and games so far. And yes, also blood and anger and passion. But at the end of the day, when Stephen thought about ending things with Tony and walking away – he didn’t like that thought.

After their fight at the gala, Tony had really made an effort in reaching out to him. If it wasn't a bribe and not a payment for just casual sex, then what was it?

Tony, ever the business man, returned, "What do you want us to be?"

It was so unusual to have a conversation with Tony Stark without him taking up Stephen's personal space. And maybe that was the point. From day one, Tony had marched into his life and claimed his attention. Maybe that was the reason Stephen hadn't felt the shift of whatever they had into being something genuine. He had always assumed that Stark took what he wanted and Stephen was just along for the ride. He hadn‘t even thought about Tony being serious. But now he was standing there, several feet away from Stephen, waiting for him to make the decision. And accepting whatever outcome occurred.

The doctor bridged the distance between them with a few steps, invading the space Tony occupied at the bar. When he licked his lips, Tony's attention instantly zoomed in. "You play dirty, Doctor,” he murmured. And wasn’t that just a deja-vu of their very first meeting. Just sans the gunshot wounds, fortunately.

“What if I want more than you’re willing to give?” Stephen’s voice dropped an octave.

“Bold of you to assume how much I’m willing to give.” As if Tony hadn’t just given him a ridiculous expensive car this very morning. But Stephen wasn’t talking about money.
Tony still didn’t lay a finger on him, but his eyes – dark and hungry – spoke volumes.

“Maybe I want all of you.” Finally, finally, Stephen kissed him. It was slow and sweet and very different from what they were used to.
Tony reacted immediately. His fingers sneaked under Stephen's shirt, yaking him possessively against him until their hips were sealed. They kissed until their lips were swollen and their cheeks sported a faint red.
It wasn’t the end of everything they had to talk about, merely the beginning. But they were at an understanding that this was more than they both thought it would be. Stephen would have thought that this fact scared him – surprisingly, it didn't. It felt natural.
He arched, planting small kisses and soft bites along Tony’s jaw.
A small moan tried to escape Tony’s throat, only held back by his teeth – Stephen heard it anyway – while Tony tried to form his thoughts in actual sentences. “I didn’t want to buy you.” It was very close to rambling. “Fuck, I probably have never respected someone more than you. You’re not shy to tell me off. You’re intelligent, gorgeous and very tempting. But don’t ever tell me to not pamper you with nice stuff. You deserve it. I’d love seeing you wearing the watch I bought you. Love seeing you enjoy it. I don’t care about the money.” Tony looked at him and Stephen had him never seen so open, so vulnerable like right now. “Let me take care of you. You can pay for dinner, if you insist, I don’t care. But don’t reject a gift from me. It’s like you stab me with a knife. And I take stabbing very personally.”

His words were very dramatic yet very Tony. And Stephen understood. He understood the sentiment behind them and where Tony came from.
“I won’t.” He kissed Tony’s collarbone then wandered higher to his lips, halted right in front of them without touching them. “If you promise me not to get over the tops with the gifts.”

Tony took his well-deserved kiss. "Bellissimo, have you met me?" He looked at the Doctor, a mischief twinkle in his eyes. "I'm always over the top."

They didn't make it to bed. Yet it felt more intimate than ever. It wasn't hungry and hot headed like usual when they fell over each other. Instead, they took their time, moving slowly. The air tasted sweet with desire and full of feelings. It was both addictive and infectious.
Stephen was the most handsome man that Tony had ever laid his eyes upon. That, he would admit without hesitation. Tony forced himself to keep his eyes open and watch as Stephen threw his head back and let out the most luxurious cry as he came hard.

They stayed on the couch, tangled together, afterwards.

Stephen's fingers chased the tattoos on Tony's body. They were all on his torso and not visible when he wore a shirt. The amount of colors would have surprised him when he treated him back then after his gunshot wound, if he hadn't already seen a similar view on Peter and hadn't been so tired after his shift plus the emergency surgery.
Tony was a piece of art. He belonged in a gallery next to the greatest painters and stone carvers. Yet Stephen was selfish enough to be glad that this view was only for him.
He traced to outlines of colorful and elegant flowers sitting right above Tony's navel.

"Those are Camellia flowers." Tony's eyes followed Stephen's fingers. Their eyes met for a moment before both looked again at the painting. Each of his tattoos had a special meaning. He understood when someone got a tattoo for aesthetics, for the sake of art. For him, every image on his skin was a reminder. A sign that he did not forget and won’t ever for as long as he lived. "They were my mother's favorite."

"They are beautiful." Stephen examined more tattoos, taking time for each to look closely at the colors and patterns. They had fascinated him from the first day he had seen them. "Is this a code?" Questioningly, he pointed to a number block of 0s and 1s.

"It's the name of my first friend in binary."

"That's a long ass name."

Laughing, Tony cupped his cheeks and pulled him up for a kiss, to which Stephen was only too happy to respond. Then Stephen moved the kisses further down and covered each tattoo with one, starting with the great, blue centerpiece on his chest. He wasn't sure what the circle and lines represented, but it was familiar to him by now, as were the scars underneath that it hid. It belonged to Tony.
Stephen's finger settled on the capital A, which he had also seen on some of Tony's men, if it was placed visibly. "A for Anthony?"

"Maybe." Tony chuckled. "Would be fitting for me, wouldn't it?" His fingers brushed through the doctor's dark hair, chasing the lighter streaks on his temples. "Nah, too easy. The FBI would love it though."

"Then what does it mean?"

„Avengers. Don‘t laugh! It started after my parents died. I was in a dark place back then. Angry. But the name was fitting. Still is for most of us,“ „Steve and Bucky are ex-military. Bucky lost his arm in action and they both suffer from PTSD. It was hard for them to find a place to fit in. They only know war and function best under stress. Clint was a kid from the streets. Circus runaway gone rogue. He tried to steal from me but I caught him. He taught me some basic ASL. One day he brought home Natasha. An orphan, born in Russia. Somehow found her way overseas. I made her residence legal.“
Every single one of his most trusted people had their own story. And few of them were happy stories.

„What about Peter?“ Stephen asked in a quiet voice, almost as if he was afraid of the answer. They all had their past, sure, but Peter was still so young.

„He had nobody left when I found him. He deserves so much more,“ Tony explained as Stephen snuggled up next to him, still listening. Tony sighed. He had made the traffickers, in whose care he had found the boy, pay. It still hadn't been enough, in his opinion. It never would be.
"I met most of that weird bunch of people after I became head of the business." After his parents died. "Did you know I was shot too that day?"

Stephen looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"They were ricochets. Three shards in my chest." Tony put his hand on the blue ink. "Two inches to the side and they would have been in my heart."

"That's… how did you survive?" It was incredible. Gunshot wounds like that were mostly lethal.

"I don't know. Luck I guess. Maybe someone up there had other plans for me." Tony shrugged his shoulders as if to dispel the thought. With a naked Stephen next to him, partly spread across him, he didn't want to think about those old stories.
"Has anyone told you about the six aspects of the Avenger's yet?" he therefore asked to change the subject. As he did so, he pointed to the colored dots next to the capital A. Stephen shook his head. "They are time, space, reality, mind, soul and power. Every member of the Avenger's earns their aspects for their use. Time, for long time members. Reds, Reality, are the executive force in the streets. People who implement plans and actually change things." Tony slid his fingers to the top, purple dot. "Currently there are only three people beside me who got this one. Stane, Rhodey and Pepper. If anything happens to me, they are the next in line of command. I trust each of them with my life."

Stephen suppressed the stab of jealousy that briefly ran through him at the mention of Pepper's name. He can't help it. But he had come to understand that she was no competition for him. To Tony, she was family.
Smiling, he looked at Tony – the man that chose him, Stephen.
"Thank you for sharing this with me."

Chapter Text

Stephen strolled through the city center, as he had no desire to spend his day off just sitting in his apartment. Instead, he indulged in the hustle and bustle of the crowd and took the opportunity to shop at the men's outfitter of his trust. He bought two shirts and a pair of leather gloves for the coming autumn. Just as he was heading to the checkout, a tie and pocket square combination caught his eye. Black with camellia flowers. Admittedly not the prettiest combo, but it reminded Stephen of Tony, of what he had told him about his parents. Without giving it much thought, he bought it. Ever since their talk, Stephen had realized that giving gifts was a way for Tony to show his affection. Even if the gifts were outrageously expensive.

Leaving the store, Stephen put the leather gloves he bought in his jacket pocket. The days were already getting colder, and he would need them soon.

On the way home, he stopped briefly at a coffee shop to treat himself to a well-deserved coffee. But his good mood vanished when he saw Peter sitting on the steps of his front door, and he was instantly worried.
"What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Peter stood up when he saw him. "I'm fine," he reassured the doctor.

Stephen eyed him closely, but could not see any obvious injuries and decided to believe him. He told him to follow and held the front door open for him. "Then what can I do for you?"

Peter stared at his shoes as he went inside. It hadn't been hard to find out where the doctor lived. Peter knew how to work his father's network.
He stayed silent until they had entered Strange’s apartment and closed the door behind them. "When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Stark?"

"A few days ago."

"When exactly?"

Stephen put his shopping bags on the table and turned to the boy, his brows raised in wonder. "Why do you want to know?" Peter hesitated, avoiding his gaze, which is why more pressing asked, "Peter, what is going on? Did something happen?" He was back to being worried. Especially when the boy was nodding.

"He disappeared," he said in a hushed voice as if he was afraid that someone was listening in. "We think he's been kidnapped."

A cold shiver came over Stephen and he had to brace himself with one hand on the table. "What?" It couldn't be. There had to be a rational and plausible explanation.

"There hasn't been any messages from him and when we try to call him it goes straight to his mailbox. First we thought he was on a getaway with you." Peter gave him a meaningful look. "But I guess we can rule that out."

Stephen's mind went miles. "We last talked three days ago." He checked his phone to confirm it. They had sent several texts back and forth. It was a mixture of banter and nonsense. Stephen had sent him two more messages the days after, but they hadn't been read yet. So far he had assumed that Tony was just busy with work and would get back to him later.

Peter's phone rang and the two glanced at each other. Hope sprouted in Stephen. Peter noticed, but shook his head when he saw the caller ID.
"Hey…" Peter turned his back to the doctor and lowered his voice a bit. "I'm with Doctor Strange… No, he hasn't seen him either." He took a few steps to the window and looked out. Stephen didn't even try to give the impression, not to eavesdrop. "Yes, I'm sure we can trust him." Peter ran his fingers through his hair. "… I just know, okay?… Yeah, sure. See you soon."
Peter hung up and took a deep breath. Worried, he bit his lower lip, his gaze still fixed on a point outside.
There was no mere teenager standing there. It was a young man who had seen a lot in his short life. More than others did in a lifetime. And who was worried about his father figure.
Peter turned his head and looked at the doctor. "If you really want to help, you can come along.”

Stephen didn't have to think about it for long. "I do."

They took his car and the boy navigated him to an uptown apartment, into which they were led by a rather disgruntled Rhodey.
"Why did you bring him?" he asked without a greeting. "He is not even part of the crew."

"I told you I trust him," Peter said defensively and kinda recalcitrantly. "And we need all the help we can get."

Rhodey snorted and gave Stephen a look that clearly told him he was keeping an eye on him.
Peter led the way down a narrow hallway – he seemed to know his way around – while Rhodey let Stephen go second. Presumably he didn't want to turn his back on him. Fort was the friendly banter they shared at the gala. It didn’t surprise the doctor. If Tony was really in danger, Rhodey would do everything he could to find him. And Stephen couldn’t assume that he himself was not among the suspects, no matter what Peter said.

They entered a living room that looked tidy and kinda bland. Pepper was sitting on a beige couch, greeting them with a professional, neutral expression. At least, that's the impression it gave on the outside. When Stephen looked closer, he noticed that her eyes were slightly red as if she had cried a lot in the past days.

Rhodey stepped to her side and put a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. It made sense. They were longtime friends. These people here were not only family to Tony, but also to each other.

Peter asked the doctor to repeat what he knew about his last contact with Tony, and Stephen told everything that seemed relevant. In return, he got an overview of what had happened: sometime three nights earlier, Tony had disappeared without a trace. He had not informed anyone, not even Happy, who usually knew Tony's whereabouts 24/7. The weird thing was, that there wasn't proof that he left the tower. Security cameras showed him in his workshop, fixing one of his favorite vintage cars. Probably with some loud music playing in the background, because every now and then he nodded along with the beat. But then the tapes must have been manipulated, because from one second to the next he disappeared from the frame.
This was quite disturbing, since the tower had its own high security. A hacker had to be very familiar with it and use direct access.
Rhodey and Pepper told Stephen about the earlier attack attempt at Claire’s, revealing that they had suspected for some time that there was a rat in his ranks.

Stephen was shocked to hear how many times Tony's life had been in danger. "I didn't know about that!"

"He didn't want to worry you or get you involved," Pepper explained with a shrug.

"Well, now I'm worried and involved anyway."

Rhodey crossed his arms. "You can still walk away."

"Yes, I could." Stephen stayed where he was, glaring stubbornly and challengingly at the man. He would have to be removed by security.

"Has there been a message or ransom demand by now?" Peter asked Pepper, ignoring the other two men. Nothing in his behavior spoke of a simple teenage boy anymore. He spoke like an adult and was treated as such by Pepper and Rhodey. His posture and gestures reminded Stephen of Tony and he saw a glimpse of the man he fell for in the boy.

Pepper shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"Could it be another organization?" It would be the most obvious explanation for Stephen. Someone who felt threatened by Tony's power and influence and wanted to get him out of the way, before taking a piece of the pie.

"Maybe," Pepper said slowly. "But not necessarily. Tony has suspected for some time that weapons were being sold under the table in his name. There hasn't been any concrete evidence, but might have something to do with that."

Stephen recalled his lunch date at Tony's office and that guy that came barging in. He was talking about selling weapons to east Europe. But Tony had long ago closed the manufactures. At least that was what he said.

Suddenly, a muffled sound came from the next room and Stephen and Peter froze. They thought they were alone in the apartment.
"What was that?" Peter asked Pepper and Rhodey, who exchanged a look. Neither of them seemed to be wanting to speak up.

"You better explai-," Stephen started, but Peter bolted towards the other room. Rhodey grabbed his arm, but Peter wriggled out of his grip. He leaped over the couch and reached the door first, wrenching it open. He stopped rooted to the spot.
"Who is that?"

The adults had followed him. Rhodey and Pepper for damage control and Stephen because he was curious. Peter was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, where he saw a guy tied to a chair with zip ties. He looked vaguely familiar to Stephen, but he couldn't tell from where. Tape over his mouth prevented him from speaking. With a panicked look in his face and a black eye he stared back. He had a laceration on his jaw with some dried blood and his clothes hung messily on him, as if he had been in a fight with someone.

Peter turned to Rhodey when nobody said a word. "Who is that and what does he have to do with Tony's disappearance?" he demanded.

"Peter…" Pepper put a hand on his arm to reassure him, but the boy snapped his arm away.
"No! I want an answer!" His posture now was angry, almost feral. He looked like he was going to pounce on someone at any moment, but hadn't yet decided whether it would be this very suspicious guy or Rhodey. Tony was more than a simple father figure for him. He would be devastated if he lost him.

Rhodey seemed to understand that, too, and he gave in. "We believe we found the rat," he explained in short words, but stood in the doorway, blocking it when the boy tried to get into the bathroom. "Peter."

Clenching his jaw, Peter looks up at him. "If he knows something..."

"Then we'll find out."

"I can help!"

"No." Rhodey raised his hand before Peter could protest any more. "Absolutely not. Yes, you can help with the investigation because we all know you would do it anyway, even if we forbid it." Stephen didn't know that, but could easily imagine it. "But I draw the line at this."

"I'm not a kid anymore."

"This has nothing to do with your age. Tony will kill me, if he ever finds out I let you do this." His expression was serious and he stared Peter down until the boy finally stepped away from the door, grumbling.

"I'll go with you," Stephen said suddenly, and Peter glanced at him. Rhodey looked like he was about to object again, but before he could even open his mouth, Stephen added, "I'll make sure you don't kill that guy before he tells us what we need to know."

Rhodey shrugged. "Suit yourself. But it won't be pretty."

"I worked in the ER long enough."

Fair enough. Rhodey had no further objections, and Stephen followed him into the bathroom. It was decorated in neutral white and navy blue and looked very modern. There was a corner shower and a bathtub. The single sink under the mirror showed that it was a single apartment. But there were so few personal items – in the whole apartment actually – that Stephen doubted anyone lived here at all.

The chair the guy was tied to – it looked like a simple wood chair from the kitchen – was in the middle of the room, taking up most of the free space.
Rhodey placed himself directly in front of him – wide-legged and arms crossed, he sported his best scolding glance. "Quentin. I've got one question for you, and you're going to answer it. This is your one chance, so make it count." Rhodey ripped the tape from his face in a single motion. Stephen knew that this couldn't be a pleasant feeling. But he didn't care - if this man really sold information to Tony's enemies. "Who's paying you?"

The guy – Quentin – licked over his chapped lips and swallowed audibly. Being gagged for however long was certainly not pleasant. Tape was still the better choice than a gag. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice sounded dry and croaky.

“Oof, wrong answer.”

Rhodey tsked at him mockingly before driving his fist into his ribs, knocking all the air out of him. He gave Stephen a quick glance, as if to see how he reacted. The doctor didn't flinch, his face a stone mask. Rhodey turned back to the guy. "Let's try again. Who's paying you?"

"I'm not..."

"This is going to be a long and very hurtful day for you." The next two blows hit Quentin in the face; left and right cheek. Blood trickled from his knuckles as Quentin's skin cracked. "Last chance, Quentin. I gotta tell you, I'm torn. If you can't give us any answers, you're no use to us." He wiped the blood from his hand and pulled a knife from a pocket of his cargo pants.

The man turned his eyes to Stephen and gave him a pleading look. "Please, help me."

"He can't help you. Answer the fucking question, Quentin."

"I don't know anything!" It was obvious that the guy panicked. He bit his lip as if physically trying to keep his answers to himself. It wasn't until the knife in Rhodey's hand came dangerously close to Quentin's wrists that he squinted and screamed, "Wait, fuck! I'll talk!"

"Oh, nick of time!" Rhodey didn't move an inch, holding the knife right into Quentin's face now. "Who's paying you?"

"He goes by JS. I've never met him personally but he once called me from a number in San Francisco."

"How long?"

"Nine months."

Stephen, who had been watching the whole thing from the wall next to the shower, suddenly thought of something. "Jasper Sitwell."

Rhodey turned his head to him questioningly, while Quentin's eyes widened at the mention of the name. He immediately tried to look away, but he had given himself away.
Stephen stepped closer. "You spoke to him at the gala," he recalled.

"Beck was one of the men who was attending undercover for Tony's security," Rhodey confirmed.

"I talked to a lot of people there," Quentin quickly defended himself. "I don't know all of their names."

That was obviously a lie.

"You're right. It was certainly just a coincidence." Stephen took the gloves he bought this morning out of his jacket and put them on. He stepped up to Rhodey and motioned for him to make room. "May I?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow, but took a step back, curious to see what the Doctor was up to.
Stephen turned to Quentin, leaning down so their faces were at eye level. "You're one of Tony's men, so I'm sure you know the good Rhodey here is army trained. I bet he knows ways to make you talk. After you screamed in pain. And there will be a lot of pain if you don't tell him what he wants to know." He spoke clearly, perhaps a little slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure if Quentin's was a little dull. He patted his cheek, keeping his hand on it. "But I'm a doctor. I don't need those methods to ruin your life." With those words, he grabbed Quentin's jaw and pressed his fingers painfully into the soft skin. "I will find your family, parents, siblings, kids, pets, anyone you ever loved. Even your granny. Do you want me to find them?"

It was hard for Quentin to speak as his jaw was rudely held in Stephen's grasp. "You're bluffing." His voice was pressed.

Stephen smirked. "Think about what I just found out in a moment's time with that little information you gave us. And then think about what I can find out with the influence of a name the size of Tony Stark. And I got his lawyer, who will gladly back me up."

Quentin squirmed. His eyes flickered briefly to Rhodey, who still looked like he would love to take his frustration out on him with brute force. "Fine, okay… okay. It was him," he finally relented. "The guy offered me money in exchange for information about the boss and those close to him. The gala was only the second time I'd met him in person."

"Did he mention who he works for? Or other names?" Rhodey chimed in, now back in charge of the interrogation.

"No…" Quentin shook his head and before anyone could threaten him, he quickly added, "I swear he didn't. But… the way he phrased it, he wanted to meet someone else that night, who might have been involved."

Suddenly Stephen remembered something and it ran ice cold down his spine. Jerkily, he turned his head to Rhodey, his gaze betraying the discomfort the thought gave him.

"What?" Rhodey asked.

But the doctor silently told him with a tilt of his head to go back to the others. What he had to say was not meant for the ears of a traitor.

Pepper and Peter waited in the living room. The boy is sitting on the couch, restlessly bouncing his leg. He jumped to his feet as soon as the two men left the bathroom and looked toward them, waiting. Neither said a word. Rhodey waited for what the doctor had to tell them, but Stephen first regarded the small group. Tony's Family.

"You are all here, because you're the only people you trust at the moment, right? Pepper and Rhodey, you are both in high ranks of power in Tony’s business." He looked at the two. He didn't voice his theory directly, wanting to know what they would say about it when he hinted at it first. "But there's a third one there with you and it's not Peter. So… why isn't Stane here?"

The two frowned questioningly.
"You think Stane is involved in this?" Rhodey was the first to understand what he was getting at. "He is family. Heck, he basically raised Tony and Tony trusts him. We all do."

"I don't." All heads turned to Pepper in surprise. "I can't explain it, but there's something about him." Her gaze was fixed on Stephen. "But if you accuse him, I need proof from you." It was her lawyer's voice.

"It's a leap, but Jasper Sitwell - the contact who paid this Quentin guy - had contact with Stane."

Rhodey grabbed Stephen by the shoulder and looked at him seriously. "Are you absolutely sure?" If what he said was true, they had probably found the root of the evil – and it was far worse than any of them had suspected.
Stephen thought back to the night of the gala, when he had run into Tony's godfather. When Stane had spoken to him. It had been more of a monologue, a rather distracting one. But he clearly remembered that Sitwell had stepped out the room behind Stane and ducked in the other direction – as if he didn’t want to be seen.

"I am."

Rhodey took a breath. "Okay." He shook his head. "Shit, that’s not good."

Pepper slumped back on the couch, staring at a spot on the floor. She was torn between personal anger and trying to think about the situation rationally. "If this is true, there has to be traces of his involvement. Whether it be the sold weapons, the sold data or Tony's kidnapping. There has to be something. We need access to his computer."

"He's running the business in Tony's absence. It won't be easy to get past him without making him suspicious. We need to be careful and not arouse his suspicion."

Stephen was amazed by their reaction. They didn't argue, didn't fight with him. Although he just had accused one of their own of the highest treason possible. Stephen, who was, as had been pointed out to him many times before, 'not even part of the crew'. He had laid out the facts, but hadn't been sure if they would simply disbelieve him on principle. But they did believe him. More even, they started making plans right away.

Rhodey looked to the only one who hadn't spoken a word since he and Strange returned. "You okay there, Pete?"

The boy had remained silent during the conversation. Stane had been like an uncle to him, and the alleged accusation hit him hard.
"Do you think he would...?" he trailed off, not daring to finish that sentence. He didn't even want to think about what happened to Tony. If he was still alive or…

Rhodey put a hand on his shoulder. "We will find Tony. Whatever it costs." They could only hope that it would be too late.

~~

Tony was leaning against a cold metal wall. His head was heavy from whatever drug they had put into him. He couldn't see his surroundings, the room was pitch black. He had been awake for quite a while, at least it seemed a while to him. He wasn't really sure how much time had really passed. One time he heard noises from outside, but without being able to define them more precisely.
He was not tied up, and shortly after he had regained consciousness, he had taken a walk around the room – it was more long than wide – and tapped the walls. It sounded tinny. They didn't seem thick, but solid. Like a sort of metal bunker. He had called for help, but there had been no response. No one had reacted – not even a kidnapper that told him to be quiet.

Tony's last memory was of changing the ignition plugs on his oldest AUDI in his garage. Tony loved working on cars, it was his favorite hobby. Therefore he had set up his own little workshop in the tower. Over the loud music blasting from the speakers he hadn't heard that the door opened. Someone had stepped up to him. He had felt the presence more than seen it. Something had been pushed in his face, it had smelled funny, then everything had gone black.
There were only a few people who had access to Tony's workshop. So it had to be someone from his family. Someone who had detailed knowledge. The thought of betrayal pained Tony almost worse than his current condition.

With a sigh, Tony heaved himself back on his feet to investigate the room once more. There had to be something.

Chapter Text

Stephen looked out the window of the private jet, seeing almost nothing beside the dark night. There was just a faint stripe of light at the horizon. It was certainly not his first time flying, so him being nervous had nothing to do with him being on a plane.

It had been three weeks since Peter had shown up at his house and asked him about Tony. Three long weeks in which they hadn't heard a word from Tony or his kidnappers. In which they hadn't found out anything. It was as if Tony had vanished from thin air.
The only comfort was that no body had turned up. It was a small comfort and the uncertainty was almost worse.

Peter visited him a lot in these three weeks. The first time he had sat outside Stephen's apartment door – not the front entrance of the building complex. Stephen just took one look at him, before he told him to move his ass inside. They had ordered pizza and watched a movie. Since then the boy had appeared at least twice a week for a movie and food. He talked about his college plans and Stephen told him stories about his time at the university. They never talked about Tony.

Until two days ago.
Pepper had called him and told him to come to her place. Rhodey and Peter were present – Stephen had expected that – but so were some other people from Tony's inner circle: Steve, Sam, Natasha and Clint. Stephen was surprised but he trusted Pepper enough not to question it.

They had found out that Stane paid a cargo ship that left the same night as Tony's disappearance. It was via offshore bank accounts and he covered his tracks pretty well. But they were determined to find Tony and tracked down all the details. Everything pointed to human trafficking. Where to?

"Fredrikstad, Norway."

Stephen couldn't believe his ears. "Why the fuck Norway?"

"We don't know," Pepper admitted. "But there are big transshipment centers that go to east Europe. And lots of people get lost there."

"The problem is we have no influence in any of the Scandinavian countries," Rhodey added. "We can't just barge in there."

"Why not?" Stephen asked.

They explained to him in a few words, how family structures worked internationally. Since it involved Tony Stark, it was officially a family business and thus had to be done through official channels. Norway was foreign territory. If they operated there without asking, they would get into real trouble. So they needed to make an official request to one of the influential families. But even if they pleaded the importance of the case, it would take time, especially since it was a first contact. And that would mean they would miss the arrival of the container by a long shot.

Stephen's mind was racing, hearing all these hindering procedures. "Okay, I'm not an expert in these things. So if we had a contact on site, it would help us to get to Tony in time?"

"Correct."

"I need to make a call." With those words, he got up and left the room.

And that single call was the reason he was sitting in this private jet. Rhodey, who had been raiding the bar for snacks, sat down in the seat across from him – on the seat next to him, was Stephen's doctor's bag.
"I still can't believe you know the Odinsons. You're full of surprises, Doctor Strange."

"If it helps us getting Tony home."
The streak on the horizon had grown brighter. They were heading toward it, and so the sunrise was coming faster than usual. Stephen had thought about getting a drink or five to calm his nerves, but he wanted to keep his head clear for this. It was bad enough that this was an overnight flight and he was barely getting his eyes shut. Quite the opposite of Natasha, who accompanied them because she spoke the language, and who had stretched out across another row of seats further back. With two of those thin blankets that seem to be the same on all flights whether economy or private on her, she slept peacefully as if they were on their way to a vacation. Stephen envied that trait.

They landed in the early morning hours at what didn't look like an official airport near Fredrikstad. As they descended the steps from the plane – Natasha had woken up just minutes before and was now walking behind Stephen - they saw a dark car waiting for them. A woman with tanned skin and pulled back braids in a suit stood next to it. Stephen recognized her as one of the security guards of the Odinsons. Val, if he remembered correctly. She opened the car door and Thor Odinson himself stepped out. He closed the top button of his jacket and looked toward them, his expression serious.
"Welcome to Norway," he greeted the trio, "Good to see you again, Doctor Strange. Unfortunately under these circumstances."

"Seems like we're making a habit of circumstances." Stephen shook his hand. "These are James Rhodey and Natasha Romanoff."

"Thanks for helping us," Rhodey added politely, while Nat remained silent.

"Of course. The doctor called in a favor. Plus, I hope that we may talk about business in the future."

"Well, I can't make promises in Tony's name, but if we're successful today, it will be due to your help."

"Well said." Thor patted Rhodey on the shoulder, then directed them to get into the car. "I have arranged everything. We will drive to the port immediately."

The car was an SUV limousine, big enough that they could all sit in the back, while Val took the seat at the wheel. The doctor was wide awake now. He had a distant feeling of jet lag, but like during a long surgery, he pulled through.

Thor's cell phone rang and he answered it, exchanging a few words in Norwegian that probably only Nat understood otherwise. But since they were all sitting together in a confined space, she didn't translate. Besides, Thor himself told them the most important news himself: "We found the cargo ship. It is waiting for you."

"Do you have eyes on it?" Rhodey asked, and Thor nodded.

"My people are boarding as we speak."

And Tony, hopefully, too.
Under other circumstances, Stephen probably would have been admiring the scenery on the drive. The airfield where they had landed was outside the city and they passed beautiful forests and fields. But he couldn't concentrate on nature.
Fortunately, the drive didn't take long.
The port of Fredrikstad was bustling, but Val steered the car between the people and pallet transporters. Some of the dockworkers gave them nasty looks when they just happened to be in the way and Stephen was pretty sure that they were not allowed to drive here with the car. Val didn’t seem to care.

Even though the place was crowded, it wasn't hard to figure out which ship they were heading for. It was the only one in the whole port without any activity. Even though it was fully loaded with containers, there were no dock workers busily walking around on deck tending to the cargo or bringing the necessary paperwork and documentation on and off the ship.
There were three SUVs parked nearby that looked suspiciously similar to the one the Americans were sitting in. As they parked, a man walked down the plank and looked toward them, waitingly. He wore a coat over a Norwegian sweater and, with his blond-styled hair, he looked more like a fashion model than a dock worker. An MP strapped across his torso told that he was one of Thor’s men.
At the bottom end of the plank, he stopped and greeted the new arrivals with arms outstretched. "Welcome, friends from overseas." His gaze lingered on Natasha and he winked at her. The scowl he got back was usually enough to scare any man off, but this guy didn't seem to notice it.

"Did you run into any problems, Fandral?" Thor asked. Apparently he already knew his antics well enough and didn't think they were worth mentioning.

"Nei, everything went smoothly. The captain is waiting for you." With a broad grin, Fandral turned and led them to the ship.

Stephen fell a few steps back. Until Tony was found, there wasn't much he could do. He didn't speak the language - Nat was there for that - and left all negotiations and conversations to Rhodey, who acted as Tony's second in command.

The captain of the ship was - understandably - not overly happy about his crew being kept from their work. If he had anything to do with the kidnapping or knew about it, he showed no remorse. He argued loudly with Natasha and even Thor. Rhodey stood next to them, had the most important things translated and, when the cue came, pulled out the correct papers that identified him as the owner of the container they were searching for. They were fake but a pretty damn good one.

More words were exchanged, but the captain soon realized that the quickest way to regain control of his ship was to cooperate. And so he finally instructed his first mate, who was standing nearby, to take the foreign men to their damn container.
The mate took the papers from Rhodey and led them to the cargo.

A container ship was an impressive craft. Wider and more heavily built than any ship Stephen had ever set foot on - admittedly, it hadn't been many ships - it carried hundreds of containers that took up almost the entire surface of the deck. The large metal boxes were lined up and stacked on top of each other and could only be moved by cranes. It was a feat of engineering that this mass of metall managed to cross the Atlantic safely.

They were lucky: the container of their papers was in the lowest row, so it was one of the few that could actually be accessed without a crane. Some of its red paint was already peeling off, but otherwise it still made a very sturdy impression.
They had no key for it. For Thor, however, this posed no problem, as he instructed one of his men, "Volstagg." He snapped his fingers and a big guy stepped forward. Where the others had slung firearms across their bodies, he carried some sort of mobile metal circular saw. He slid a pair of sunglasses from his hair on his face and turned the device on. With loud, screeching noises and flying sparks, he easily cut through the center seam of the doors.
Rhodey helped to open them and was also the first to take a step inside, closely followed by Stephen.

The smell that hit them reminded the doctor of the night he had spent on the docks in New York. Before the FBI had arrested them all. It was the stench of people who hadn't showered in a long time.

"Tony?"

There was no answer. Someone flashed a light into the dark corners of the container. There was a wool blanket and remnants of canned food and water canisters. But otherwise the space was empty. Stephen's heart sank. They were at the right address, they had to be. But they were too late. Tony was no longer here. His gaze found Rhodey's, who returned it grimly.
They had been so close. Stephen could feel Tony's presence still lingering.

Thor started talking to the first mate and seemed to be pelting him with what sounded like questions. But the man merely pointed at the container and didn't seem to be much help.

"Now what?" the doctor asked Rhodey, for he had run out of ideas. Rhodey took another closer look around the container to see if anything indicated where Tony had disappeared to.

Suddenly they heard a shout and stepped back out into the daylight. Natasha came with long strides - Stephen hadn't even realized she had left – with a struggling ship's worker in tow. Val followed right behind them, a hand on her gun, making sure the guy didn't do anything stupid.
When Nat caught up to them, she shoved the ship's worker to Thor's feet. "He says a helicopter picked someone up from the ship last night."

Immediately, everyone perked up. Stephen was pretty sure that helicopter rides were very unusual on cargo ships.
The guy was still relatively young, maybe in his early twenties, at least the lack of beard growth gave that impression. He was clearly intimidated by the group that had so rudely taken over the ship, more so probably by their displayed weapons. He looked back and forth between Thor and Volstagg, the two largest men, and spoke very quickly. Fear resonated in his voice.

Nat stood between Rhodey and Stephen and quietly translated for them both.
"The ship anchored in the open waters last night. He heard a helicopter and looked and saw that someone had been picked up. It looked like a medical transport, but no one from the crew was missing. He noticed that and thought it was odd."

Thor asked the man a question, to which he responded after a moment's thought.

"The helicopter went north along the coast." Natasha looked to Thor, who knew the land best. "Where could they have been headed?"

Thor patted the young ship worker on the shoulder and said a few words to him. The man shook his head hesitantly. Shrugging his shoulders, Thor turned away from him. Only then did he answer Natasha. "There are many possibilities. If you're right and Stark is to be taken to Eastern Europe, my money is on a freight yard and a train route to the mainland. Ships and trucks are checked much more often, especially through Germany and Poland. The train routes are well connected and it's much easier to hide someone there."

"Where's the nearest freight yard in the north?" Rhodey asked.

"Oslo."

It was the only lead they had, and since the only alternative was to return home empty-handed, they took it. They weren't going to give up that quickly. Even if it was a shot in the dark.
If it really had been Tony who had been taken off the ship last night - and that seemed quite likely, because if there really were as many controls as Thor said, it was wise to get him off the ship before it reached port - then he had a head start of several hours. In that time, there were certainly dozens of trains coming in and out of the station. If it was even the right station they were headed for. If he was to be put on a train at all. That was a lot of whens and ifs. But it was all they had at the moment and so Stephen clung to it. In his mind he was with Tony, calling out to him that they were on their way to get him. He had to wait for them just a little longer.
At least, it seemed that the kidnappers were anxious to keep Tony alive, and that was worth something.

It took them an hour to reach Oslo and then another half an hour to arrive at the train station.
It was huge; bigger even than the port and also much more chaotic. There were dozens of parallel tracks, transshipment halls and customs buildings. And in between, cranes lifting pallets of goods or cars onto or off trains.
It would be impossible for the small group consisting of Rhodey, Stephen, Natasha, Thor and Val to search everything here on their own. But fortunately, the two locals knew how to handle the situation as well. They asked their way to the control center, where they bribed a supervisor who could tell them which freight trains would be in question between last night and today. And after slipping some money to the guy who was sitting at the surveillance, they were even allowed to go through the video recordings.
There were several hours of footage. It would take forever to look through it all, even with increased speed. But it was their only lead.

Since Thor couldn't do anything else for them and he had other business to tend to, he and Val said their goodbyes. He had already done more for them than was necessary for a simple favor anyway. Still, he promised them that no matter how the search went on, there would be a car waiting for them.

"Thank you so much for your help." Rhodey shook the Norwegian's hand in farewell. "We won't forget that."

"It was my pleasure. I hope to hear from Stark soon."

And wasn't that true for all of them.
Thor and Val left and the group turned back to the screens. They were allowed to use a workstation that was currently unoccupied. The persuasive skills of Nat and more money from Rhodey were convincing enough that they were left alone in the process.
Stephen had always been vocal about his opinion about bribing in the past, but at this moment he was very glad that some people didn't share his sentiment.
"I'm going to find us some coffee," he told them, because there was no way he would be functioning further without any caffeine in his system.

Rhodey just nodded, his eyes already glued to the screens. He didn't need to tell the doctor to hurry. Stephen knew himself that six eyes saw more than four.

He left the control room and headed back down the stairs to a lobby they had come through earlier. He hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, but he remembered seeing a kind of break room, which he was heading to now.
It was lunchtime and a lot of people were walking in the hallways. Some had a take-out bag in their hands, others were apparently changing shifts. Only a few paid attention to him, and if they did, it was usually only with a quick glance. Most people were simply minding their own business, and Stephen was glad of that.

He found the room without any trouble and actually discovered a vending machine that offered kaffe next to some tables and lockers. He didn't even need to know the local language to find the right buttons. And he could even pay with a card.
Stephen drew three cups of coffee, which he took back to Rhodey and Natasha.

They divided the video footage among three screens and each reviewed one. The videos were switching between different cameras. Stephen was sure that not the entire train station was being monitored, but only the areas where goods were stored or trains were loaded. He watched a sequence of forklifts loading pallets from a rack into a train wagon. Then a crane lifted heavy metal parts onto a train.
Surely dozens of trains were being handled every hour. And with the head start the hijackers had.…

"I've got something!" Nat suddenly exclaimed. She rewound and replayed the last few minutes she had watched. According to the time, it had been in the early morning hours, when the lanterns had already gone out, but the sun wasn't shining that brightly yet. Probably around the time they had landed with the jet. The video wasn't very good. Still, it clearly showed a small group of people hoisting a suspiciously human-shaped package into a wagon.

Rhodey called over the supervisor who had helped them earlier. "Where is this train going?" he asked him. Natasha had to repeat the question again in Norwegian before the man properly understood what they wanted. He looked at the recording and then flipped through a folder with his lips pinched together. It seemed like the man was not a fan of human trafficking right under his nose.
Impatiently, they waited for him to find the right page. Whatever he found there, he typed into a computer, and a small message appeared.

"The train is going to Beldgrad, Serbia, via Berlin," Nat translated the supervisor's words.

"We need the exact route," Rhodey urged them. Perhaps they could catch up with the train at its next stop. No one knew for sure if Tony was to arrive at the final destination or if he would be taken off before. The sooner they reached the train, the better. The different countries they had to travel through could pose a problem. But this close to the finish line, Rhodey wasn't about to give up. He was willing to take advantage of any contact he had in Europe if it meant they found Tony. "Ask him about departure, stopovers, arrival time..."

"It hasn't departed yet," Nat suddenly interrupted him on the supervisor's next words, running for the door. "It's due in twelve minutes. Platform 318."

Stephen grabbed his doctor's bag and ran after her and Rhodey. "Delay the departure!" he was shouting to the supervisor, but he wasn't sure the man understood him well enough or even had the authority to do so. They had to hurry.

They ran like crazy, not caring about the looks they were getting. Again and again workers had to jump out of their way and became unfriendly. Stephen recognized curses even in an foreign language when they were directed at him. His gaze was fixed on Natasha, who seemed to know the way. Though he was fit, he soon found it hard to keep up with her. She jumped down steps and over boxes as if she were an athlete on the course. His only consolation was that while Rhodey was also faster than him, he was nowhere near as nimble and agile as Nat.

Running across the tracks, Natasha led them to a train that had to be it. It had many wagons of different types. The engine was already running and two workers were standing next to it, looking wary at the approaching trio. Nat stopped at them and spoke to them in quick words. The men seemed unwilling to cooperate until she drew a gun from under her jacket. The workers raised their arms in the air defensively and one of them started walking when Nat gestured forward with her gun.
"That one is kind enough to open the doors for us."

That was easier said than done. Since they didn't know exactly which wagon Tony was in, they had to look in all of them. This time the engineer at least had the keys.
They were able to skip the first three wagons. They contained building material and had no doors, which could only be filled from above. After that came several wagons loaded with pallets of kids toys.

They had already exceeded the twelve minutes until departure. It was highly possible that the police had already been informed that some lunatics had hijacked a train. They could only hope they had enough time to find Tony before someone arrived who would not be intimidated by their guns.

Wagon number nine was empty at first glance. Stephen used his phone’s flashlight to get a better view. There was something on the floor back there. The doctor recognized a dark mop of hair. Immediately, he jumped onto the wagon.
"Tony!"

Tony was bound and unconscious, but breathing, Stephen was relieved to find as he put his fingers to his neck. Possibly drugged, considering the dilated pupils. His clothes were dirty and sweaty, and yet Stephen had never found the sight of him more beautiful, simply because Tony was here and alive.
Stephen tenderly stroked the hair from his face and gently patted his cheek. Tony was probably dehydrated – he looked pale and his face was sunken. Stephen made a mental note to set up a diet plan after the malnutrition Tony had certainly had for the past three weeks.
He turned to his bag to look for a water bottle, but Rhodey beat him to it. He was kneeling on Tony's other side, already holding the water out to Stephen. With a grateful nod, the doctor took it and wet Tony's lips with it. The man’s eyes fluttered and he started stirring.
"Tony," Stephen murmured to help him wake up. "We're here. You're safe."

"Stephen?..." His voice was rasp and his lips so dry that they had to hurt with every movement. Stephen was so happy to hear him that he could cry. "Am I dreaming? They hit me up with the good stuff this time."

Rhodey, meanwhile, was cutting Tony's cable ties with a knife. Not that Tony had the strength to move his numb hands and feet afterwards. "Shut up, we are rescuing you." Rhodey's face was nowhere near as mean as his words, and Tony twisted his mouth into a smile.
"Hmkay, sounds good..."
He slipped back into being unconscious. Stephen checked his pulse, which fortunately remained steady. Rhodey exchanged a look with him and relief was evident in both of their faces.

"Let's get him out of here."

They both tackled carrying Tony off the train. He was frighteningly light, and when they stepped out into the sun, Tony’s normally tanned skin appeared even paler. But that was fine. He would be fine. The important part was that they found him.

Stephens was so focused on his patient, his lover, that he didn't notice much of his surroundings. A car with a driver from Thor was waiting for them and took them back to the airport. Once in the plane Stephen hooked Tony directly onto an IV and used the time to examine him more closely. He was so lank that his ribs showed. His skin just a pale canvas for his tattoos. But except for the red marks on his wrists and ankles where he had been tied up, he had no external injuries. His abductors had probably knocked him out mostly with the drug. And that would hopefully dissipate quickly from his body with the added fluid from the IV.

Stephen took Tony's hand in his. He was dead on his feet. With the little sleep he had before the trip, the time difference, and the whole adventure in Norway, he was exhausted. Still, he stubbornly refused to leave Tony's side. He trusted Rhodey to handle everything else. That he would inform Pepper and arrange everything necessary for Tony's return.

Stephen's eyes fell so slowly that he didn't even notice. The last thing he saw was Tony, who was right where he belonged: with him.

Chapter Text

Stephen's sleep had been so deep that he didn't wake up until hours later, when something moved next to him. Blinking, he lifted his head. He had fallen asleep sitting at Tony's bedside, and his back immediately told him how unhappy it was about that fact. But it was worth it, because he noticed Tony was awake and watching him.
Immediately Stephen's tiredness was gone and he straightened up. "How are you feeling?" His hand sought Tony's again and squeezed it gently.

Tony's lips twisted into a smile, which was still a bit dopey. It hadn’t been enough time to flush the drugs entirely out of his blood system. "I'm great. Remind me to never go on a cruise ever again. Zero out of ten stars. Hated it." He licked his lips. They were still brittle, but his voice sounded better already. Stephen suspected that someone had given him water in the meantime. He himself had been so knocked out that he hadn't even noticed anyone enter or leave the small cabin room. A glance at the round window and the hum of the engines told him they were still in the air.

"Rhodey told me what you did for me," Tony said suddenly, his voice much more serious than it had been a moment ago.

Stephen looked back at him. "I did nothing. Just helped a bit." And that was true. He could never have done this alone. He would never have found the rat in Tony's ranks, hadn't even known there was a traitor until Rhodey and Pepper had dragged him in. He was just lucky that he knew Thor and had a favor to collect.

Tony looked up at him knowingly, but didn't argue with him. "I'm gonna buy you a new watch for your collection."

"I don't have a collection."

"You should start one. It's fun." Tony's gaze fell on their interlocked fingers and he grew thoughtful. "Or maybe I'm gonna put a ring on that finger."

Stephen paused. He wasn't sure if Tony was still high on drugs and talking nonsense or if he was being serious. "One second thoughts, a watch is just fine," he finally replied evasively, because that was something they'd better discuss when they were both fully sane and definitely not high.

Tony laughed. "Told you." He brought Stephen's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. "I'm gonna give you something better than a ring," he promised him.

"If it's another car, I need a bigger garage." Stephen really hoped it wasn't a new car. He really had no use for another one.

~~

As soon as they landed in New York everyone was very busy. Pepper had been managing the business and the tower in their absence, making sure everything was ready for Tony's return. She had even made sure that no one outside of Tony's inner circle was aware of his absence. Still, it was necessary for him to reappear in public as soon as possible, so that the whispering voices that always crept around positions with power would be silenced.

She had also taken care of Stane. Stephen did not know what awaited the traitor, but Rhodey had told him with a scowl that there won’t be much left to make the papers. Stephen knew better than to ask questions.
The name had been mentioned only once in Tony's presence, and the expression on his face had been enough to keep them from making that mistake a second time. It had to be hard for Tony to be stabbed in the back by someone so close to him. Stephen hoped that one day they would be able to talk about it. But the wounds were still too fresh and too much work awaited Tony.

So, too, did Stephen. He had taken a few days off from the hospital, but he knew emails were already piling up waiting for him again. Even if Christine had assured him she would fill in for him. He hadn't told her the reason he'd had to travel to Europe on short notice. But she was a smart woman and overheard enough in the time since Tony's disappearance to count one and one together.

Despite everything, Stephen had taken it upon himself to officially promote himself to Tony's personal physician - not that anyone expected anything different. He learned that the tower had some well-equipped medical rooms. And anything he was missing was instantly ordered.
His work at the hospital kept him from staying by Tony's side 24/7. He did, however, check in on Tony daily, who, of course, was not sticking to his prescribed bed rest.

~~

A week after their return, Tony invited Stephen to the tower.
When the doctor arrived, Tony was sitting at the large marble dining table in the common living room. Stephen knew he had cleaned up vigorously among his people, probably still figuring out who he still trusted and who he didn't. He was all the more pleased to see that most of his inner circle had passed the test. Rhodey and Steve were both sitting on the couch nearby, talking quietly. They nodded to Stephen in greeting. Nat stood by Tony at the table, clearing various equipment from a bag: disinfectant, rubber gloves, a can of Vaseline, small cans of various colors, needles, and then something Stephen finally recognized as a tattoo gun.

Tony stood up and gave him a fleeting kiss as a greeting, which Stephen was only too happy to return before looking at all the stuff with a raised eyebrow. "What's that all?"

Tony grinned broadly at him. "I told you, I will give you something better than a ring. A ring can get lost or taken back or whatever. But tattoos are for life." He glanced at Stephen from under his long lashes. "That is, if you let me have one for you, tesoro."

Stephen looked at him in awe. That was… nobody had ever made such a statement of commitment for him. He put his hand on the back of Tony's neck and pulled him close, to close their lips. He was lost for words but tried to show him his feelings with a kiss.
He would have been satisfied with anything Tony wanted to give him. He didn’t need anything in return for his assistance in his rescue, had just been happy to have Tony back. But Tony was ready to take the next step and who was Stephen if he wouldn't follow him?
"Can I have one too?" he therefore asked against his lips. "For you?"

Tony groaned, kissing him again and pushing him against the table. "Amore, if you do that, I will fuck you on this very table afterwards."

"Please don't do that while we're all here," Rhodey called from the couch, reminding the two that they weren't alone in the room.
Tony winked at Stephen as a silent sign that the last word on the matter had not yet been spoken. But he did take a step away from Stephen, who instantly missed his warmth, and started to unbutton his shirt.

"I thought of a Rod of Asclepius. You know, because you're a doctor and it looks cool. And most people mistake it for Hermes's staff" At Tony's explanation, Stephen made an amused sound. "Maybe on the crook of my neck." Tony pointed to the spot on his neck. "Just so you can see a bit of it above the collar."
None of Tony's tattoos were visible when he was wearing more than a T-shirt. So the fact that he made an exception for the very tattoo he was dedicating to Stephen made it clear to the doctor how serious he was and that he was ready to show it to the whole world.
A warmth spread through Stephen that he had never known before. He felt home.

Stephen grasped Tony's hand and turned his forearm upward. With his finger, he drew a circle below the crook of his arm. "Or here," he said. "Where you can actually see it and think of me." There were few things sexier than Tony in a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Without breaking eye contact, he raised Tony’s arm to his lips and pressed a kiss to the spot.

Tony shuddered, Stephen felt it quite clearly, but all he said was, "Your wish is my command."

Nat had already made a template. It was the simplified image of a single snake winding around a rod. She adjusted a few more details and then transferred it to Tony's skin before disinfecting the tattoo gun and reaching for the paint.
Tony sat back down and Stephen pulled up a chair to stay beside him. It was his first time watching a tattoo being made and, fascinated, he watched Natasha's skilled hands. It was obvious that she was a professional and Stephen suspected that she was responsible for many other tattoos of Tony and his men.

After she finished it, she applied some cream and taped it off so it wouldn't get infected.

Tony turned to the doctor. "Have you decided what you want yet? You're welcome to take some time to think about it."

"I was thinking about an A." Stephen's fingers touched Tony's chest above the heart, where he knew his Avengers tattoo was. "For Anthony."

"You sure?" Tony's voice was raspy as he looked up at the doctor. "You won't be able to deny your connection to me to the FBI anymore."

"Absolutely," Stephen replied without a doubt. "I want this." He kissed Tony, not caring that his men were still around. He had only eyes for one.

It was only fair that he let Tony decide the place for the tattoo and after a moment's consideration, he chose the rib just below the heart.
"It's for my eyes and my eyes only," Tony murmured in his lover's ear.

Natasha didn't even need a stencil for this one. She had drawn it often enough. She quickly sketched the size with a pen and then reached for the tattoo gun.

"It's your first one, right, doc?" she asked, the tool inches away from his skin.

He nodded. He knew it was going to be painful. But he was a doctor; he knew his way around needles.

"Si," Tony added. "be careful popping his cherry, Nat."

Stephen rolled his eyes. Tony knew exactly how to push his buttons. "Just do it," he told her.

She wiped the spot one last time with an antiseptic and then started. Feeling generous - or just for helping him to get used to the feeling - she started slowly with a few lines before pausing for a moment and reaching for her water bottle to take a sip.
No doubt, a tattoo on the ribs was very painful. It was only logical, the skin was very thin in that area and besides, just below the surface there was already the bone. But having a medical explanation did nothing to Stephen to ease the pain. Nat continued and it felt as if she was drilling directly into his bone with her tool. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in and out in a controlled manner.

"I've scheduled a meeting with the Odinsons," Tony mentioned casually, grabbing his hand. "They proposed some promising businesses."

"Great." Stephen couldn't get many words out. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from making a sound of pain.
But that didn't stop Tony from continuing talking. Stephen didn't know if it was anything important, because he was barely listening. But Tony’s voice was just enough to distract him from the needle on his chest.

Fortunately, it didn't take Nat long to finish the A and set the black ink aside. Stephen took a breath as he got the small break.

"Which colors?" she asked Tony, sorting the little bottles.

Tony didn't even hesitate before saying, "All of them."
That got him the attention of everyone in the room. Even Rhodey and Steve looked at him in surprise, but didn't dare to question his decision. As for Stephen, he was speechless. He hadn't expected to get any of the colored dots at all, but had simply wanted to express his affection for Tony. After what he had just been through, the betrayal of Stane, Stephen knew that Tony did not give away his trust lightly. He was all the more moved by his words. Forgotten was the pain on his ribs.

"Make the last one a heart," Tony instructed her in a burst of spontaneity.

Nat nodded and continued her work. The little dots needed only seconds to appear.

Stephen then stood up to relax his tense muscles. Natasha held a small mirror in front of him so he had a better view of his tattoo. The skin was reddened and the black color of the letter stood out thickly. It fascinated him and he wondered if more images would be added in the future.
He remembered something and without taking his eyes off his skin, he said to Tony, "When you meet the Odinsons, be careful with Loki. He's short tempered and easily irritable."

Tony stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around him. "You're the best trophy wife I could ever imagine."

Stephen twisted in his grip. "Call me that again and I-..." His voice trailed off as soon as he saw Tony's hungry eyes.
Satisfied with that response and that he had silenced him, Tony twisted his mouth into a smile. Then he crushed their lips together, pushing the doctor backward against the table.
Stephen leaned in, a needy noise coming from the back of his throat as Tony's talented tongue worked its magic on him. He could feel the temperature of his skin rise. Everything else became a blur.

"Everyone out." Tony's words were sharp, while he had only eyes for his lovers. His. "I promised my trophy wife to fuck him on this table."

Chapter Text

Stephen spent more nights in the tower than in his own apartment. He had no other excuse than that he simply preferred Tony's company. The tower was even a bit farther from the hospital. On the other hand, Tony had the better coffee machine. It was downright ridiculously expensive - as was almost everything he owned - and the coffee was heavenly.
Whenever Stephen had to go to work in the morning, his first steps after getting up led him straight to the kitchen. There he was now, operating the device, when Tony walked into the kitchen, talking on his phone.

“No, we’re not moving this meeting again.” It sounded like something had pissed him off in the eight minutes since Stephen left the bed. But Tony still took the time to steal a quick kiss from Stephen. It was a tactful distraction to steal Stephen's coffee that was just done. “If those Westcoast fuckers want to move their product through our port it’s tonight or nothing.”

It was upsetting how good he looked, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep and his Armani pajama bottoms slung low on his hips as he moved to grab a sandwich from the fridge. Stephen had trouble staying mad at him for stealing his coffee while he ogled the tattoos that ran over his torso. Especially his latest addition on his right forearm.

“Fucking ridiculous. Figure it out, Nat, I don’t have time for this shit.” The phone clattered on the counter where Tony tossed it after hanging up, finally turning to Stephen and smiling. “Morning, bellissimo.”

“Good morning. Busy day?” Stephen wasn't usually one for breakfast, but he stole a bite of Tony's. Simply because he could.

“It better be. I’m sick of these dodgy fuckers.” Tony’s fingers ran over his face in frustration as he watched Stephen biting into his sandwich. “They have already canceled twice.”

“Sounds like you need to finish this deal if you want these dodgy Westcoast fuckers out of your hair and your brilliant mind.” Stephen smirked and leaned down, ghosting his lips against Tony’s but never fully kissing him. His breath was fanning against his face. He moved his hand and took his mug out of Tony’s hand, before turning away and leaving.
It took Tony a second, before he realized what just happened.
“Oh, figlio di… !”

Stephen managed to defend his coffee until he had emptied his cup. A few minutes later he was dressed and had his jacket over his arm.
"I guess I won't see you later?" he asked Tony, who was deciding on cufflinks. Stephen took small golden ones from the drawer and gave them to him. They continued to keep their work separate. Tony did not insult the doctor by trying to involve him in his business.

"Not if their word is any good." He set aside the cuff links and pressed a kiss onto Stephen's lips. One of his arms sneaked around Stephen's waist, the other ran through his freshly styled hair. Disgruntled, Stephen turned his head aside, for he had no desire to go back to the bathroom to fix it. But Tony buried his fingers in the back of his head and held him while he spread little kisses on his jaw. "I'll call you when I'm back."

"Hmm...you better." Stephen suppressed a moan, but then pushed Tony away from him because he really needed to get going to work. Not that that had stopped Tony from pulling him back to bed on other days. Or onto the couch. Or the table, the kitchen counter… Nothing has been safe from them.

"Be safe," Stephen told Tony before he left, because he needed him to be.

~~

It was a long day at the hospital. Mostly because Stephen was working overtime. Just because he was dating the richest man in the city – probably the whole state – didn't mean he was cutting back on his hours. Being a doctor wasn‘t just a job. At least for him.

It was late in the evening as he walked across the parking lot to his car when his phone vibrated. It was a text message from an unknown number. That wasn‘t unusual. Tony's men often communicated with him this way. Usually when it was about something they didn‘t want the FBI, who still hadn't given up on tailing Tony, to follow up on.
But as soon as Stephen read the message, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Medical emergency: Boss got shot.

An address was added. Stephen immediately rushed to his car, not even taking the time to reply. That was the worst case scenario. Something must have gone wrong with the job Tony had talked about in the morning.
Stephen knew that Happy was always by Tony's side. And Happy was a pro in first aid. He just hoped it was enough until Stephen arrived. He chased through city traffic, made reckless maneuvers and basically ran every red light he could get away with. People honked, Stephen didn't care. His sole focus was on Tony.

The address led him to a warehouse near the harbor. Either the job must have been brought forward, because night was just falling, or there had been trouble with the preparations. He grabbed his doctor's bag, which he always kept in the car for emergencies, and got out. There was still enough sunlight out here that he didn’t need a flashlight to spot the warehouse door ajar.

If Stephen hadn't been so panicked, he would have noticed how unusual it was that none of Tony's men were present to greet him. That none of Tony's cars were to be seen.
But Stephen wasn't paying attention to such details right now. Driven by the certainty that every second was precious, he entered the warehouse. Inside it was darker and he needed a moment to adjust his eyes. Someone stepped up to him from behind, but before he could turn around, something was suddenly held to the back of his neck right above his collar and an electric shock ran through his entire body. Unable to let out a cry of pain, he collapsed to his knees. The world blurred before his eyes.

Cruel hands gripped his upper arms, fingers digging into his skin. They dragged him roughly forward. The desire to kick and scream rode him hard, but he was slow to react. Still, his movement seemed to surprise his attackers and for a brief moment the hands disappeared. Stephen flailed his arms, his nails meeting resistance as he scraped skin.
Then something hit him with force in the back of the head and his body fell motionless to the floor.

~~

Everything hurt.
It was the first thought that came to Stephen’s mind when consciousness rudely interrupted his solace of oblivion.
Slowly he opened his eyes but he saw barely more than before because someone put a bag over his head. It blocked most of the light and fresh air and either it also dulled the noises around him or everything was silent.
Tight bonds rubbed harshly against the bare skin of his arms as his wrists were bound behind him. Every slight attempt at movement was cut short by stinging pain.
Blood pounded in his head and nausea roiled through his gut, triggering a migraine. Sucking in deep breaths, he tried to breathe slowly through the pain, his entire body twitching with every excruciating pulse in his brain.
Staying awake was simply not worth it. He felt almost relieved when the bliss of nothingness hugged him close.

~~

Everything still hurt.
How much time had passed? Hours? More? The concept of time ceases to exist in Stephen’s universe, one where the world still contained no more than the small space in the bag he saw. The last thing he remembered was the fake news - obviously a feint to lure him into a trap. Perhaps he would have figured it out sooner if his concern for Tony hadn't blinded him to any danger.

Slowly Stephen sat up. His wrists and ankles were still bound. Apparently with something plastic, perhaps cable ties. The surface was soft, it felt like a mattress lying on the floor. It wasn't very encouraging, but it was better than the bare floor, he guessed. His movements were so restricted by the restraints that he could not explore his surroundings further. He didn't even know if he was alone in this room. It all sounded quiet and no one had approached him yet, but you never know.

He prayed for help, for a miracle. The truth hit home then, the harsh reality of the situation bringing a new kind of clarity. Nobody had an idea he was gone, let alone where he might be.
Tony was busy with his business meeting in the night. He would be alarmed, if Stephen didn’t answer his calls. And eventually he will figure it out. Stephen trusted Tony’s capability. But for now, Stephen was on his own.

Concentrate, he told himself sternly.
The soft creak of a door sounded in that moment, turning his blood to ice. The stomp of heavy boots clicked across the concrete floor and the rough hands returned. They pushed Stephen's legs and then his ankle cuffs were suddenly cut. Without a word, he was dragged on his feet and out of the room.

He yelped as blood rushed back into his legs and he stumbled more than walked, trying to keep up. The hand that guided him prevented him from falling. Whoever it belonged to was not gentle about it. Light fell through the fabric of the bag above his head, but it was only just enough to make him aware of movement around him.

They were in a hallway and there were the sounds of life. Occasional murmuring voices but no word was spoken to him. The chirp of electronics. Apparently, the sight of someone walking with a blindfolded and cuffed man raised no alarms, which was a whole other issue.

He heard a door being opened and then he was unceremoniously pushed onto a chair. His handler now finally removed his handcuffs and took the bag from his head before leaving again.
Stephen squinted his eyes, facing too much light all too suddenly. Blinking, he looked around. He had been taken to a small room that seemed to be some kind of office. There was a wooden table with a laptop and some papers. The other chair behind it was empty. Opposite the door at his back and directly in his field of vision, was a large window. He noticed that they were several stories up and that it appeared to be noon. At least the sun was high in the sky. Not far away was a complex of buildings that looked like a research facility. The windows were mirrored, so you couldn't see what was going on in there, but Stephen had done enough internships during university to recognize the architecture for these kinds of buildings.
In the background, he caught sight of the tall trees of a forest. A whole lot of forest.

Stephen turned his head further and saw a file cabinet and next to it a man, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was staring at him.

“Welcome, Doctor Strange,” the man said when he saw that he got his attention. He had an accent Stephen couldn’t place yet. His head was throbbing.

Stephen had no idea what he was supposed to say – would he prefer a response? Should he know that guy? He didn’t seem familiar at all. Instead, he rubbed his sore wrists.

„My name is Schulze and you are here because my boss thinks you‘re one of the best neurosurgeons in the country. See it as a compliment. He selected you personally for a special upcoming task.”
Schulze was a man in his 40s with dark short hair and beard. He wore all black tactical gear, that was definitely no office wear. With his wide stance and broad shoulders he probably had a military background or something similar.

“Tell your boss, I’m not interested.”

“That’s not up for discussion. Maybe if you see what we are working on, you will be interested.” The man pushed himself off the wall and walked to the table, where he threw a file in front of Stephen. “I also took the liberty and borrowed your phone and told your frequent contacts that you are on your way to a medical conference overseas, to fill in for a co-worker on short notice. They won’t miss you anytime soon."

Stephen saw his chances of Tony rapidly sinking. He gave the man - Schulze - a darting glance and then reached for the file. It was unlabeled, the cover adorned with just a simple logo of a skull with six tentacles in a circle.
Stephen opened the file. It was a medical report of a project about prostheses. Neurally linked artificial limbs as a perfect replacement for lost limbs that worked like robot arms and legs. There were various sketches, even photos of prototypes. They seemed ready for the test phase.
Stephen continued to browse and found a list of subjects ready for surgery.
Whoever did the procedure had to be an expert in neurology. Stephen's mouth went try as he realized what he was here for. He lifted his head and saw Schulze's gaze resting on him, waitingly.

"This is highly experimental," he stated. No doctor worth their medical license would risk that very same thing to participate in this clearly questionably legal offer.

Schulze was unhappy with his answer. "Can you do it or not?"

Stephen stared at him. His fingers ran over the margin of the papers in his hand.

“Doing such a delicate procedure with an unfamiliar surgery team…” Even with a good team it was a difficult procedure. “I’d need scrub nurses, an anesthesiologist, technicians and an engineer. Maybe a couple more medically-inclined personnel to assist. All people who have been in the OR before.” He needed a room that had filtered air conditioning and restricted access. He hadn’t seen the other rooms in this building, but it was important that the OR was scrubbed down and all instruments were sterilized. What they needed was a fucking hospital. “I can’t recommend it; that’s my medical opinion.”

Schulze dismissed all his concerns with a wave of his hand. “I will sort out these details.”

Stephen stared at him. Those weren't just details. He also realized if he was here involuntarily, other people involved probably were too. "Are the probands even willing to undergo this?" he asked, aghast.

"Don’t worry about that."

“This is unethical! No doctor that is right in their mind would do this. Not like this!”

“See, my boss is a fan of your work.” The man came closer until he was entirely too close to Stephen for his comfort. He had to raise his head to look at him. “But I am indifferent to you. To all doctors he hired.” There was a short pause. “I hate arrogance, and you’re full of it. I know who you lay with and that you’re used to walking and speaking like a king.” He was leaning down and talked close to Stephen’s face now. “Perhaps you have not yet grasped the gravity of your situation.”

Stephen’s blood froze as the man drew a gun from his jacket and held the cold metal against the side of Stephen’s head. He caught his breath somewhere high in his throat as he forgot to breathe. Schulze began to apply pressure against his head, forcing it down until Stephen’s head was pressed against the top of the table. His right temple was against the wood while the barrel of the gun pushed against his left.

Schulze was making it quite clear how much he disliked him and that Stephen was very much replaceable.

“This is a better look on your face,” the man said. “I don’t need you. If you refuse, I can get another doctor any time. It would be annoying, yes. But maybe that other doctor is more willing to work with us.” He applied further pressure, and Stephen inhaled sharply. “So, I ask you one last time: can you do it?”

“I need to do research.” Stephen's voice war raspy. His breaths felt constricted and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. “I can do it, but it requires precise planning.”

With one last sharp push of pressure, the man finally removed the gun from his head, and an involuntary shudder went through Stephen’s whole body. He didn’t dare straighten.

“I guess you won’t give me access to the internet, so medical books will have to do,” Stephen added, cautiously and with hesitation. He didn’t want the man to put his gun anywhere Stephen again.

“Make a list. I will have it checked.”

He was presented with a pen and paper and began to write. He wrote slowly and legibly to stall for time, since he had to organize his thoughts first. But he didn’t want to miss anything he might need later. There was no way he was asking for more in case he forgot something.

When he was finished, Schulze gave him one last assessing look before turning to the door and knocking on it. Stephen hardly had time to catch his breath, before the bag was back on his head and he was dragged out of the chair and back to his cell. The door was kicked open and after removing the bag, the doctor was tossed on the floor. Stephen landed face-first against the concrete.

With a numbing finality, the door bang shut, and the world was quiet once more. And now, terror began to rise, small trembles blooming into full body shudders, until his entire body was convulsing on the floor.
In the silence, Stephen finally allowed a gasping sob to break free.

~~

There was food and some water waiting for him, but his appetite was all gone. He was trying to process what just happened. And there was a dark thought coming from deep in his mind: if he did what they told him to do – and even if the surgery was a success – they might as well just kill him afterwards. A dead man could spill no secrets.
The more Stephen thought about it, the more he found it the most likely outcome. There was little hope of surviving this situation.

He put his hand on the rib below his heart, where he knew the tattoo connected him to Tony. It pained him to know that he might never see him again. That Tony might never know what happened to him. And if he did, it might already be too late.

Besides his bed, which was really just a mattress on the floor with a pillow and a blanket that was far too light, there wasn't much in his cell. Not even a window. Light was provided by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The tray with the food stood on a rickety plastic table near the door and a toilet bowl was installed on one wall.
Everything was very spartan. They hadn't even bothered to paint the floor and walls, bare concrete looked back at him.

Stephen noticed that the file had also been brought to his cell - it was next to the food - and for lack of anything better to do, he studied the file more closely. It kept his thoughts from spiraling down.
He was familiar with both endoprosthesis and exoprosthesis in medical terms, but hadn't done any surgeries yet. Exoprosthesis - arms and legs - were usually removable and only in rare cases permanently attached to the body. Especially not neural. There were implants, hearing aids or anything regarding visual impairment that had a direct connection to the brain. But whole limbs… all the nerves and tendons were very complex. Attempting to connect all the right transmitters would be like solving a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded.
It was a challenge that would be right up Stephen's alley – if he wasn't kidnapped and forced to do it.
Of course there was always a choice, but Stephen didn't have a death wish. And Schulze had made clear what the consequences of a refusal were.

But if he could pull this off, it was a huge medical breakthrough. And a small part of him was curious. If he really would be able to do it. Stephen looked from the file into his windowless cell and what little euphoria he felt evaporated.

~~

Time passed slowly in his cell. At least that was how it seemed to Stephen. The fact was, without any indicator, it was hard to tell how much time was passing.

Stephen slept barely and only very fitfully. He rolled from side to side and dreamed a lot without remembering. Whenever he awoke, he was not even remotely rested, but he did not feel safe enough to close his eyes any longer than necessary. He ate a little and thirstily emptied his water glass.

The lodging was mediocre, but at least there was room service.

The door to his cell opened with a squeak and soon Stephen was familiar with the sound. It always brought him on edge. Stephen sat waiting on his mattress, watching a man in similar tactical gear as Schulze’s as he placed a new tray of food on the plastic table, taking the empty one with him. Stephen didn't move a bit so as not to trigger his captors. He waited until he was alone in his cell again before standing up and inspecting the food. It looked like pureed soup, green and probably very bland. If Stephen had to guess, he'd say it tasted like peas and nothing. It was worse than yesterday's potatoes. Boiled potatoes were boring, but at least you can't do anything wrong with them.

The brief encounters were Stephen's only contact with the outside world. At the same time, the abductors with guns around their shoulders were a constant threat. Stephen always stayed in his corner of the room, as far away from the door as possible. He didn't address any of the men and they didn't speak to him.
Until one of them stepped right up to him. "Come with me!" He grabbed Stephen and pulled him to his feet. Then he collected the pages of the file that the doctor had spread on the floor, and both - file and Stephen - he pulled out of the cell. This time he had no bag over his head, but he kept it low anyway.

The hallway was painted in a dull pigeon gray and off-white. There were several doors and few people - most of them wore tactical suits and carried weapons. No one looked at him, they all gave Stephen and his handler a wide berth.
They went around a corner and then entered Schulze's office. The man stood at the window, with early sunlight streaming through. "Good morning, doctor." He eyed him – Stephen tried to keep his gaze as neutral and non-arrogant as possible – and seemed pleased with what he found. "You've got some reading to do." He pointed to a table at the wall that hadn't been there last time. There was a stack of books on it, and Stephen recognized the medical books from his list. "You'll do your research here. Under supervision. If you're done, you will be allowed to talk to the other doctors involved in the project for any further questions."

It looked like he was being watched closely in everything he did. Understandable, considering the importance of the project. Unfortunately for Stephen, who wasn't used to justify every single move he made.

At Schulze's prompting, he sat down at the table and looked through the stack. Everything he had asked for was there. Even a notebook and a pen. When he had gone through the file in his cell, he had had to rely on his memory, which fortunately never let him down.
Stephen opened the first book and began to work through it. He made notes and cross-references.
It was uncomfortable sitting with his back to the room. He could hear the keys of the laptop that Schulze was probably typing on - he didn't dare turn his head to look. It felt like the man was breathing down his neck, which was probably the point of his seating.

Most of the day passed like this. Now with the window available Stephen could at least see the sunlight through the window and kept the feeling of time.

One time Schulze stepped out of the room and in his place stood a guard with a hand on his holster at the door, so Stephen wouldn't get any stupid ideas.
His situation was very very surreal, but diving into work helped him. Doing research was something familiar. It gave him a sense of security - a small area over which he had actual control.

He was absorbed in a text of the medical procedure that described how to interconnect nerves with foreign tissues, and at first he didn't hear the sounds from the hallway. Only when loud gunshots and shouts rang outside did he realize something was very wrong.

Schulze already had a gun pointed at the door when it was kicked open. Steve appeared with a machine gun at the ready. Schulze fired and Steve took cover in the hallway.

Stephen held his breath as he realized what this meant. But by then Schulze was already at his side, pulling him to his feet, cursing. "Those bastards..." He held Stephen in front of him like a human shield and pressed his gun in the side of his jaw. "Try to shoot me and the doctor will get a bullet in his head," he shouted loud enough for anyone outside to hear. There was a pause, during which Schulze and Stephen slowly moved farther away from the door. Stephen was forced to walk backwards, taking each step carefully so as not to trip. He didn't want Schulze to accidentally pull the trigger. They came to a stop in front of the window.
He heard footsteps in the hallway and his heart fluttered when someone other than Steve was standing in the door frame. "Tony," he whispered with a hurt smile.

Tony had a gun in his hands - as did seemingly everyone beside Stephen. Their eyes met for a moment. Tony’s eyes - darkened by the reason he was at this very place - held a gaze more fearsome than a tiger.

"Drop your weapon or I will shoot him," Schulze told him, his head right next to Stephen's.

"Shoot him and I'll blow your head off."

It was a classic standoff. None of the men did back off. Schulze was the first to speak again after a brief pause in which the two stared each other down.
"Well, how do we solve this?"

"How 'bout you give me the doc and we leave."

Schulze laughed and it rang loudly in Stephen's ear. His body still shielded his abductor's and he clenched his fists. He was in direct field of fire. If Tony shot it was most likely he hit Stephen.

"How about you and your men leave and I will consider keeping the doctor alive." Stephen doubted Schulze’s words. The man's anger about the incident was evident. He would probably be only too happy to take his wrath out on Stephen. If he didn't do it on Tony first, who was standing there without cover. Steve and Happy were close behind him, giving him fire cover from the hallway. They were just waiting for his signal.

"Don't move, doc," Tony instructed Stephen. "Keep still for me, will you."

Stephen didn't even nod, afraid to move an inch. Schulze pressed the barrel of his gun a little harder into Stephen's skin.

"Of course he won't move. Not until you-… "

There was a high-pitched sound as something broke through the glass, then a dull phlob and a short noise of pain before Schulze fell silent. Silence spread, almost some kind of white noise - maybe it was only in Stephen's head. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted an arrowhead sticking out of Schulze's forehead.

The man slumped lifelessly.

It took Stephen a few seconds to understand what had just happened. He stumbled away, putting distance between himself and the body of his abductor. He did not notice the small hole in the window, the barely cracked glass. There was a motion on the roof of the other building, where Clint was already waiting with another arrow ready.

"Stephen."

His focus shifted to Tony, who was suddenly in front of him and took his mouth with his own, forcing an open-mouthed, tongue-in kiss. It helped Stephen to ground himself in the present, shaking off the shock he knew he was under.

Tony cradled his face. His neutral mask had fallen, and in its place was concern and relief. His touch was gentle, as one would do with a timid animal that one wasn't sure would respond with fight or flight. But Stephen knew he was safe with him.
He wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck, releasing a breath he didn't noticed he was holding. "Tony," he murmured into the fabric of his jacket.

Tony answered with a tight hug of his own. "I'm here, amore. You're safe now. Tutto va bene." He soothes Stephen with small endearings and Italian words he didn't understand.

"How did you know?" he asked with a small voice. How did Tony know where he was? That he was even missing in the first place? He moved his face away from Tony to look at him, but kept his fingers buried in the fabric of Tony's jacket.

“You know that friend of yours, the nurse…”

“Christine?”

“Si. She came barging into my office – god knows how she managed to sneak behind Happy – and demanded to know what I did to you. She was the one who told me, there wasn’t any medical conference you could have possibly gone to.” There was a smile on his lips. “She was almost as scary as Pepper.”

Stephen chuckled at the notion. "Seems like we're prone to have scary female friends." Pride filled his chest at the thought of what Christine had done for him. If Tony had really been responsible for his disappearance, she would have jumped right into a shark's tank with that.

"I promised her to get you home safely."

Stephen was still in shock, he had to be, because that was the only explanation he could think of for saying out loud his next words, instead of just thinking them. "You are my home."

Tony's gaze softened at his confession. They rarely talked about feelings. It wasn't that they were unsure of their love for each other, they had long since moved past that point. Tony expressed it with his nicknames and with actions. Stephen with his loyalty, with the trust he placed in him. But they lived in a dangerous world and could not afford to be vulnerable.

Tony pressed a short kiss on Stephen's lips, full of devotion.

Natasha appeared beside them. Perhaps she had been here longer, but Stephen didn't register her until she pressed a file into Tony's hands. "Boss, you want to see this."

Tony wasn't pleased with the interruption, but they were still in enemy territory and had to be on guard. And he knew she wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important.
Frowning, Tony flipped through the pages of the file. There were photos of Stephen: at lunch with Christine, in Tony's company on various occasions, alone entering or leaving the hospital. Along with them were detailed notes on his daily routine, his favorite places and routes.
It reminded Tony of what Nick Fury had shown him long ago. The day Tony learned the man was still alive and that Natasha had not betrayed him.
"They were following you for a while." He turned his head to Stephen and noticed that he avoided looking at the folder. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to be hurt because of my work."

"It's not your fault." Stephen put his hand on Tony's arm. It felt so good to feel him close, to reassure himself that he was really here. "Really," he added at Tony’s doubtful look. "Now let us go. Please."

Tony nodded - who was he to refuse this simple request of his lover? He handed the folder back to Nat. "Look around if they have more information about the doc. I want every trace, every note they have of him deleted." With Stephen's hand in his, he turned to the door, where his men still stood. "Happy, call Pepper as soon as we're out of here, and tell her to send the coordinates to Ross. I'm sure the FBI will have a field day, raiding a Hydra lab."

Both of them nodded and got to work. Tony knew he could rely on them. He himself had a more important task: bringing Stephen home.
Rhodey stayed by their side as they walked down the hallway toward the elevators. Bodies littered their path. They had fought their way up here through the ranks of Hydra members.
Tony had been fuming from the moment he found out what happened to Strange. Rhodey had never seen him so angry, so determined. If they had somehow lost Stephen, Rhodey had been afraid that Tony would go berserk. And that would have ended in hatred, murder and a lot of blood. Nothing and nobody would have ever been safe again.