Chapter Text
Tuesday, May 24th
Tony was seriously regretting having come out for this so-called "mission".
"I am seriously regretting coming out for this so-called mission," he told JARVIS.
"As you say sir," JARVIS replied.
"Do I detect a note of sarcasm, JARVIS? From you? That is low." The outline of the building he was circling at a respectable distance trembled and refolded, as the sensors bounced off the walls, revealing more details inside, and all of them were adding up to everything they already knew, so score one for accuracy of intel, probably. Just a giant building filled with stuff. It was a glorified stake-out, at best.
"I do believe that would be due to subroutine that-dash-is-dash-low, an integral part of my core code."
"Never heard of it."
"You outlined most of my selective assessment of subjective statements protocols on December 24th, 2005, during a party, and compiled it by the end of the year."
"That doesn't sound like me."
"You attended a Christmas Eve party at the Met, which you left early with a young gentleman and his young wife, then proceeded to ignore them both while you wrote the subroutine in the limousine en route home."
"That does sound like me."
"May I also trouble you with the information that the left knee wiring is due for an upgrade and I wouldn't recommend the classic landing?"
"Noted."
So, not only was there nothing substantial to shoot, he wouldn't even get to pull of his favorite dramatic landing. It was like the Avengers didn't even need his talents on this particular venture, which, to be fair, was described a hit and run, to borrow a phrase, rather than anything else, so he couldn't even sue for false advertising.
Tony completed the final round, marked the positions of potential hostiles, and slowed the suit down to a hover over a rooftop with a good enough view. The air around the compound stilled. Or at least it should have. Tony was about to launch into a slow-motion sequence, and no pesky air vortex would cramp his style. "JARVIS, dial down the heat vision sensitivity."
"Of course, sir."
"What is the plan, Cap?" Tony's vantage point afforded him a good view of the graffitied shutters blocking the entrance to the warehouse, behind which a couple of people-shaped heat sources idled. "The guys look like they are about to exit the building."
The tiny speck-o-Steve in the corner of Tony's heat signature cam visibly turned his head, raised his hand to his ear. "Copy that. Natasha, Sam," Cap said, and although he was whispering, his voice carried through the com unit like an aria. "What's your status?"
"In position," Natasha's tinny voice replied, echoed immediately by Sam's. Tony could just barely make her out, skulking behind corner, and that was only because he had a direct line to infra-red. Strange how many things got revealed when you looked at them through heat vision. Cap's head, for example, burned up the screen like his hair was on fire, and that's on top of his core temperature being on the high end of normal range, which was funny, because people tended to call Tony the hot head. If only heat vision was part of the visible spectrum!
In that moment the smoking hot American head was turning, taking in the expanse of the parking lot before him, and, just as the door by the warehouse shutters opened, Cap breathed into the com: "On my signal. Go."
Tony let loose the ancillary "distraction only" hand cannons. These were one of his favorites totally useless things: the projectiles emitted light, and loads of it, but the actual missile collapsed upon contact and released billows of hot smoke backwards. Very dramatic, very smoke-screen, did not actual harm. Tony tested them personally: getting hit by one point-blank resulted in minor burns, so really, potential hostiles, flailing on the ground was just a touch too dramatic.
A blast of hot air tore through the empty lot, upending a car, giving Falcon a boost into an impressive aerial display, sending him far above the warehouse. Why wasn't Falcon taking the flying point on this venture was quite beyond Tony. So his leg didn't have time to fully recover, big deal. Tony was flying with incomplete knee wiring!
"JARVIS tells me it's not so much incomplete as it is frayed," Falcon's voice rang in Tony' ear. "And we suspected explosives and guns, which is your wheelhouse."
"JARVIS, why is that bird reading my mind?"
"You talk to yourself, sir."
"On open coms. Signed, that bird." High in the air the Falcon did a flip and a twirl. "I have multiple hotspots showing on my scanners."
"You and me both."
On the ground Cap pirouetted through the hot cloud, and sent his shield flying. It ricocheted from a lamppost, hit the very un-vaporized door and came flying back, just as the Man with the Plan leapt over a still flailing hostile, grabbed the shield mid-flight and knocked the goon out as he landed, before turning to face the remaining hotspots rushing out of the building.
The shield cut through the air at impossible angles returning precisely to Cap's hand, sliding through the billowing smoke and at least one evil asshole's plans for a headache-free evening. Tony watched the spectacle with a certain amount of math-derived satisfaction, until he was quite certain the warehouse was empty, before hiking up his metaphorical pants and diving through the itty bitty window high on the wall. He landed in the clear space in the middle, stood, and looked around.
"Tony, where are you?" Steve asked, just as Tony, in a flash of panic, did his best impression of a Swan Lake, whirling on his toes to get picture of everything that was around him before the ominously blinking lights, glaring at him from all around, made good on their terrible, terrible promise.
"Inside – you might want to keep out of this one, Capsicle."
"What are we looking at?" Steve asked, but that was roughly when the entire building lit up like a flare. The fire wreaked havoc with his heat displays, but the experimental echolocation vision kicked in, shutting down all external audio, showing him that Steve raised his arm and Natasha came huddling under his shield, until entropy did its work and the air assault passed. "Everyone okay? What happened? Tony?"
"There may have been explosives."
"May have been explosives? Tony—"
"I did not blow them up, if that's what you mean," Tony said, walking out of the burning warehouse in his highly advanced armor made of indestructible titanium alloy painted a hot red-and-gold. He would wager a fortune this was the kind of shot for which movie makers paid their helper monkeys in solid gold bananas.
"So dramatic," Natasha told Steve quietly.
"If I didn't have to worry about fire and shock waves I would do it all the time." Steve was being honest, Tony could tell. He opened his mouth to tell JARVIS to collect footage from the nearby cameras, to make into everyone's screensavers, when a siren cut through the crackle of flames.
"Someone called the fire department?" Tony asked, making a mental note to call the fine people of the NYFD right back, and offer commendation for quick reactions.
"NYPD! On the ground, now!"
Wrong NY-asterisk-D.
A surprisingly slim man was stalking their way, gun in his extended hands, a golden badge gleaming right above a very nicely proportioned thigh. One of the hands was a very handsome metal prosthetic, mostly out of view thanks to a combination of shirt rolled up to the elbow and riding gloves, whose shifting plates reflected the fire. Michael Bay would try and fail to adequately convey the nuance of this sight his CGI guys, because it wasn't just sight, either: the faint hum of the machinery inside told a fascinating story all on its own. "JARVIS, make a note to look into prosthetics, that sound doesn't sound like it needs to be there."
"Get on the ground!"
The human component was not happy to see them, Tony put together out of context.
"Easy there, Harry," Tony started, holding his hands up.
"Stop fucking talking."
"Sir, please calm down," Steve said. The man barely looked at him, sweeping his gaze across the lot and to the burning warehouse, taking in the flames licking up at the window from the inside, and the slightly stunned Hydra personnel. "The warehouse was a Hydra secret field base."
"Geez, Rogers, anyone ever tell you what a secret is?" Natasha muttered, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
"I think I can puzzle it out for myself."
"Pal, I've got backup incoming. You might want to put your hands on your head and shut the fuck up." The gun remained in place, muzzle dangerously level with the general whereabouts of Cap's chest.
"You maybe chill there, Robocop." Tony's faceplate swung open. "The signature hour is not for another week."
"You maybe treat this seriously, tinman." Robocop told him, eyes still fixed on the fire. "The lot of you are under arrest."
"Son," Steve began, and stepped up, raising his hand. "We're sorry if we've overstepped—" and too late Tony saw the calculated predictions on the inside of his helmet kick in, a breath too late: the gun feigned left, as did Steve's arm in a simple block, that was exactly the millisecond a booted foot struck out, missed Cap's legs, came back under the knee, while the metal hand tangled in the shield's harness, around the shoulder. Suffice to say Steve ended up face-down on the ground, looking mightily confused.
"You have the right to remain silent," Robocop told him, to the usually quite arousing tune of a pair of handcuffs being slapped into place. "Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand these rights?"
Captain America was on the ground, being handcuffed. This was the greatest moment of Tony's entire life. "JARVIS, please tell me you are recording this."
"Easy there," Natasha said. The words came out accompanied by a faint hiss and crackle of her sticks, which again: Tony was fairly sure someone dropped the ball making those. He could hear them from… well, six feet and a with the aid of a com unit tuned in to monitor weapon frequencies, but in principle! "Let him go."
"Or what?" The policeman looked up, one knee digging into Steve's back, cast a quick look at Tony and then back at the Black Goddamned Widow, like she was your average pot dealer. "You'll fire? Shoot me in the face with a laser beam? Go ahead, make my day. Assault a police officer, in full view of all the cameras in the neighborhood, I am begging you. I'm sure your overworked PR team will love spinning that."
Miracle of miracles: the Black Widow hesitated.
"Hey, okay, I have actual experience with getting arrested, so let me." The armor hissed and spat and Tony stepped out, stretching his fingers. "Look here, Officer Hot Stuff. We're just doing our civic duty—"
"You've just torched my crime scene, and my warehouse of evidence, and quite possibly my informant. But I'm sorry, you were explaining how you were not obstructing justice?"
Okay, there was possibly maybe a slight miscalculation involved. "I have pictures of the insides, you can see the contents clear as day—"
"Stand down," Steve told the cement under his face.
"Steve?"
"Stand down."
The officer stared at Steve's unmoving back for a moment, then Captain America was unceremoniously yanked up by the harness on his uniform and helped to his feet, albeit roughly. Natasha's hands were empty and they were down, and Tony was standing in front of his suit with his arms crossed, still unconvinced, because goddamned Hydra, punk.
"Look, I'm not saying Dunkin Donuts here is insane or anything, but we are sort of busy? Saving the world and all? I would love to go downtown, but normally I would prefer the outing to include a restaurant, I'm just saying."
"You want to know how many of those guns were riffs on Iron Man armor?" Dunkin Robonuts checked the handcuffs one more time and holstered his gun. "Because I can offer a pretty accurate count, wise-guy, and I, for one, would love to know how proprietary Iron Man designs got out onto the streets. Because I'm sure that happened without your knowledge."
"What—Is—"
Tony half-turned his head, which coincidentally let some fumes invite themselves into his gaping mouth, to find an elderly man with his head bent so low it was practically between his knees. He was holding both hands up though, and one of them was wrapped around a gleaming golden badge.
"Barnes—" the old man wheezed. "You run so—fast. Why take—the car?"
Robocop waited, politely, until the man's breath slowed from a death-wheeze to an average old person wheeze. "You got your handcuffs?"
"Whatchu need handcuffs for?"
Barnes shot the man a flat look.
"I'm extremely kinky, and burning warehouses turn me on. What do you think?"
"You're arresting them?"
"Fucking A."
"But they are the Avengers!"
Finally, a policeman with sense! "Yes, thank you, I was just saying that—"
"I am not in the mood. You are under a fucking arrest, and really, Mr. Stark, with your rap sheet, you should know: mouth should be shut until your piranhas get here."
Tony's mouth did close at that, and his eyes felt like they were about to bug right out of his skull. Piranhas! No one disrespected his team of goddamned megalodons! Speaking of, he really hoped JARVIS was ringing them right now. "Excuse you—"
"You are veering into resisting arrest now. No skin off my ass, but you should know that doesn't help."
"You cannot arrest the Avengers!" the elderly detective protested, even as he reached into his back pocket and handed over the extra handcuffs, so thanks for the air support, Detective Old Detective.
"Fucking watch me," Officer Murder Thighs said, and slapped the bracelets on Natasha without blinking an eye, and okay, Officer Murder Thighs was growing on Tony. A little. Maybe. Still, this was not the time to get arrested, and where was the Falcon, for that matter? Natasha was giving the detective a polite, disinterested look that could mean no less than she knew exactly where Sam was, so Tony sidled to her and waggled his eyebrows, while concealing a cawing noise with his fist.
When he finally stopped Natasha tilted her head and Tony heard a whispered "Uh—Steve?" flowing out of her earpiece.
"It might be wiser to cooperate with the arrest, Tony," Natasha said then, eyebrows raised, metaphorical riding crop in hand. An even fainter "roger that" sounded in her ear. So Wilson would not be joining them, solid choice.
"Smart," the detective grunted and turned to Stark. "You gonna live up to how smart you brag you are, or are we going to have a problem?"
The light in the suit blinked once, on the right side, and went off. Good old JARVIS. He knew exactly when to call for legal aid. "Just so you know, I have already called my lawyers."
"Happy to hear that. They normally advise you to resist, or…?"
"I'm cooperating," Tony said, holding out his empty hands for inspection. "I am cooperating all over."
"Good to know."
"Barnes—"
"Lee, either help me, or shut up."
"Kids," Detective Lee told Steve, while shaking his head. "Back in my day the young had respect for their elders."
Cap smiled at that, just a little, with the very corner of his mouth. "Sir, I can tell you from direct personal experience of the past that is definitely not true."
"Damn straight it ain't." Barnes smirked, then caught himself in the act and switched gears to glare at Steve instead. "Didn't expect to hear you say that though."
"I did get arrested—"
"Six times, I can read. I just didn't think you were gonna bring that up."
"Hold up, hold up—Captain Tightpants got arrested?"
"Keep that up and I will add disrespecting Captain Tightpants to your charges." Barnes raised the metal hand to his shoulder and pressed a button on the relict of prehistorical remote communicators. Seriously, when was that thing form, dinosaur age? "Dispatch, where's my backup?"
"Two cars, first ETA one minute," the radio crackled on the last word, before the signal could stabilize, and good god, how did those people even work. "You got the scumbag?"
"Sort of. Can you add the fire department and an ambulance to the order?"
"Hey!"
"This ain't a pizza joint!" A long-suffering sigh followed. "They are on their way as well. Are you okay?"
"You're the best, doll! Yeah, me and Lee are both fine, but four suspects are out cold."
"Don't call me doll," said the crackling female voice on the other end. She sounded like she was smiling, which, fair enough – Detective Questionable Judgement Except Thighs lived up to his name, and he had a face that Tony was finding attractive, and Tony was a straight man. Well. Mostly straight. Maybe a one on the Kinsey scale. Although there was that episode in college, and Rhodey, but that thing with Rhodey didn't count, they shook on it. And yeah, he spent that night with that nice young couple, even though he was distracted by JARVIS, and—holy shit, Tony was a little bisexual.
"Never to your face, promise," the detective said, smiling, which really didn't help Tony's minor sexuality crisis.
"Barnes, I have serious reservations about this," Detective Lee said. "They are the Avengers!"
"Yes, thank you, Lee, I do frequent the cereal aisle, I know who they are."
"Yeah, listen to your elders," Tony said. "Arresting us is not smart, what if the world is in peril?"
"I presume the dire state of the world is why you're now in the business of chasing muggers?"
"A warehouse full of unregistered weapons is hardly—"
But Steve was ducking his head, which meant he was guilty as sin of the crime in question.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Tony threw his hands in the air so hard he almost dislocated his shoulders. "Seriously?"
"They stole an old lady's bag."
"Yeah, woe is the fate of the planet while kittens still climb trees." Detective Robocop Barnes rolled his eyes and pointed the prosthetic at the warehouse. "Lee, you mind having a look around whatever part of the rubble is least on fire?"
"With my lungs!?"
"I'm not asking you to climb into it! Just go and check on those unfortunate assholes, I'd like to interrogate at least one!"
"Kids these days," Detective Old Detective grumbled as he ambled away.
And then there were more sirens and a police car rolled into the flaming lot, spitting out a couple of uniformed men, closely followed by an ambulance.
"You have got to be kidding me," said the first man out, a tall, burly ex-circus performer – clearly – with a surprisingly flattering handlebar mustache. He was in a proper cop uniform, the one exception being a bowler hat, which frankly worked very well with the mustache, kudos to that man's stylist. "Barnes, you crazy motherfucker!"
"Flatter me later, Dum Dum."
"You—"
"I'm gonna tell you what I told Lee – fucking watch me."
The man referred to as Dum Dum, and who absolutely should change his name to Officer Handlebar Mustache, shared a look with his unequally mustachioed driver and wordlessly opened the car door. "Um. Captain. If you'd be so kind…?"
Steve shook his head, but he seemed to have committed to this farce. Natasha stepped up and slid into the backseat all the way to the opposing window, and Steve followed. An extra pair of cuffs materialized and forced Tony to evaluate its potential to excite, though not by much. He would say that the ones he owned were infinitely more comfortable, but then he eyed the back of the police cruiser and shuddered. Three people in a back seat. This was inhumane treatment.
Still, Cap ordered the stand down, so down he would stand. Well. Sit. He started towards the scant inch of space beside the Captain, only for Detective Robocop to stop him.
"What about the tin can, you gonna leave it here?"
"It won't fit in your tiny car."
"So your plan is to leave a weapon stuffed with lasers and bombs just laying around a parking lot regularly visited by secret terrorist organizations? Is this one of the famous Stark Industries giveaways?"
Tony straightened his back and, unfortunately, still had to tilt his head up far enough to look Detective Asshat in the eye. "I will have you know that this suit will stand here, unmoving, until I personally show up and take it away. And I know this for a fact, because biometric locks are a thing, and anyway, it won't move without me."
"So it will stand right here until probably tomorrow."
Tony rolled his eyes. "That's what I said."
"Just making sure." Barnes reached into the front of the car, pulled out a sheet of yellow paper, scribbled a few lines on it, tore the page out, folded it in half and dropped it into the open mask. "This being a restricted zone, parking is only permitted for delivery and overnight parking requires special dispensation by the dock authorities." He dropped the pen and the rest of the paper on the seat and stalked off, to where Detective Old Detective was making notes by the light of the fire.
The Facial Hair brigade was clearly the same kind of night Tony was, which is to say one straight from that British comedy thing that took things way over the top. Tony was in no way surprised that they opted to keep their eyes on Robocop throughout – someone definitely should.
"Dugan, Barnes just wrote Iron Man a ticket," said Officer Forgot to Shave.
"Seems that way."
"Is this the real life?"
"Is this just fantasy?" Officer Handlebar Mustache crooned back, a huge grin on his face.
"Caught in a landslide—"
Detective Robocop returned, bearing with him the twisted reality cloud that clearly loved following him around. "Everything good? They didn't spray you with some alien shit yet?"
"Not yet."
"Take them back to the station. I'll wait for the other car, have them take the other bozo, then I'm gonna have a look around."
The two officers exchanged looks and then both directed their gaze at the detective.
"Uh—I don't mean to be rude or anything, but what do you want us to do with…" Officer Handlebar Mustache indicated Steve an Natasha with his thumb, while Barnes stared at him blankly.
"Book them."
"Right. Okay. But what specifically—"
"Get them into holding, take down their names and identification."
"Right, right. And if anyone asks…?"
Barnes kept staring at Officer Handlebar Mustache without blinking a touch longer than Tony was reliably informed social convention allowed, before switching to Officer Forgot to Shave and repeating the process. "Seriously?"
"I'm just—" Officer Handlebar Mustache began, but the other officer beat him to it.
"Barnes, all due respect, but they are the Avengers. We can't just arrest them!"
"We just did," Barnes replied, then, in the face of obvious feet dragging, sighed in defeat. "Fine, whatever. Wait ten minutes, I'll have a chat with the budding arsonist squad, then I'll go with you."
Tony was sure they were all a little gratified to see both the officers exhale in relief once the creepy cyborg detective dude stalked off in pursuit of the arsonist squad. NYPD truly was committed to diversity. Who knew?
"So out of idle curiosity," Tony asked, staring after the detective, "Are there hot cops calendars?"
Down in the car Cap swallowed a bug which fought for its life and prevailed, emerging from his mouth with a bark of "Stark!"
"It's a reasonable question, the man fills out his pants in a way that is aesthetically pleasing."
"I'm afraid not, sir, the commissioner felt it would undermine our authority."
"The fire department does it," Natasha pointed out.
"They get to rely on the threat of fiery death to be obeyed, ma'am."
"I suppose that's reasonable."
"Now what?" Steve asked quietly, probably leaning towards Natasha.
"Don't ask me; you gave the order."
"You verified the intel!"
"Are you questioning my intel?"
"I don't know, is it unquestionable?"
"Hey," Officer Handlebar Mustache said, leaning down. "I dunno if you lot have been arrested before, but the Miranda rights continue to apply, so I'm gonna have to testify that I heard you questioning your own intel. Sir."
"You just helped to arrest us." Natasha stuck out her neck and blinked. "We were just doing our job."
Officer Handlebar Mustache puffed out his substantial chest so hard his mustache flexed. "All due respect, ma'am, but so are we."
"So there's no chance you'll open the side door and let us out?"
"Sorry ma'am," said Officer Forgot to Shave. "Can't do that."
"I can pull some strings, maybe get the paperwork down to a minimum."
"Detective Barnes is the arresting officer, it's his call."
"There could be an urgent call to action any minute."
"Yes, probably, but that would leave me to deal with Detective Barnes."
"Detective Barnes seems to have too much of a temper for a police officer."
It was at that point that Officer Handlebar Mustache went from a run-of-the-mill doughnut lover to a potential recipient of a Rhodey Award for True Public Servant in Tony's estimation. "Nice try, ma'am, but I'm not falling for that."
"So what you're saying is Detective Barnes scares you more than I do?" Natasha offered the man the smile of a cobra peeking out of the mouth of a doe. Many a man had skittered in fear when faced with the prospect of that face continuing to smile, but Officer Handlebar Mustache just grinned.
"Eh, he's alright."
Welcome to the goddamned upside down!
"You're recording all that, aren't you?" Steve asked the other cop, who seemed to be just as transfixed as Tony himself was, and also in possession of a body cam. He seemed equally committed to getting this moment preserved for future generations, going by the way he was angling his chest to record both his partner and Natasha, a difficult filmmaking feat.
"Yes sir. Sorry sir."
Rogers let out a long sigh, which, if Tony knew the man at all, meant he was also shaking his head.
The second car arrived meanwhile, and Tony was unceremoniously invited to make himself comfortable in the back, which he did, with gusto, while the Facial Hair Squad updated their colleagues on the proceedings. There were a lot of unflattering things said about their mutual friend, the detective, quite a few of them conveyed via facial ticks and hand gestures, but not enough to stop the police from slamming the door on Tony and getting into the car themselves.
"I have to tell you, I am not loving being arrested," Tony said, pursuing the instant rapport he used to have with his arresting officers.
"Sorry to hear the service is not up to your standards, sir," the cop in the driver's seat said, grinning wide. He also had dealings with Team Facial Hair, because his upper lip spouted the most French of all mustaches, which rather complimented the way he dropped his Rs.
"I don't suppose you have a minibar back here?"
"I'm afraid not. But if you have a music preference, I would be happy to oblige you."
Where it not for the handcuffs, Tony would have enjoyed the ride a lot more, once the positively mediaeval iPod hooked up to the radio started blaring AC/DC. The precinct, on the other hand, was unbelievably boring. Part of it might have been because it was late, and the few zombie cops were wandering about and staring at nothing, though that changed when the first neuron fired and the entire station stopped in its zombie tracks to stare as the Avengers were marched in, cuffs and all. Which, okay: this was not a first for Tony. Not the cuffs and incidentally not even the being marched into a station. Tony lead a rich life. He had never visited this particular station though, given that most of his misdemeanors occurred either in Cambridge, or Upper Manhattan, where the standards were a little higher, the floors a little cleaner, and the company a little less… street. He made a mental note to avoid committing crimes and/or misdemeanors in Brooklyn. Good god, he could get mugged at this police station!
"What the fuck?" asked the second most British voice Tony had the pleasure of hearing in his daily life, just as Tony's pair of cops nudged him forward, into a depressingly photogenic lineup.
"Nothing to see here, good people of the 107th, Barnes will be along shortly; he'll probably want to make a statement, I know nothing," Officer Handlebar Mustache announced, gesturing for Captain America to enter the monkey cage, filled with hookers, pick-pockets and drunkards. "Please don't sue."
"Barnes—Is he out of his frigging mind?" A blonde bombshell hissed, coming towards them. "He arrested the Avengers?"
"Oh look, Detective Barnes!"
"Lorraine, I need them processed now," Detective Robocop barked at the woman.
"They—"
"Yes, them."
"… can we do that?"
Robocop's eyes flashed a shade of silver hitherto only seen in thermometers and skies about to spit out the kind of thunder that levels buildings. "Can you cite me a ruling that indicates the law doesn't apply if you're wearing fetish gear?"
"It shouldn't," one of the prostitutes said flatly, arms crossed over her leather somewhat-clad chest.
Robocop rolled his eyes. "Laura, we've been through this, once a guy passes out that's a hard 'dolphin' on the flogging, I don't care what your pimp wrote on the wall."
"Dolphin, really?" Officer Forgot To Shave asked. "Wasn't it 'crabcake'?"
"It's 'Skynet' these days," Laura said. "We changed it after the last raid. Guess why."
"Fetish gear!?" Tony hissed in a voice too high to be legally allowed to have come out of his lungs, and to his immense relief the blond police lady seemed to be about as close to losing it as he was.
"I'll book 'em," Officer Handlebar Mustache said, quite possibly saving the woman from combustion. He turned to the monkey cage, mustache trembling. "Captain Rogers, if you could come with me, please?"
Steve, the precious boy scout that he was, stepped up, head high. Goddamned be his golden hair and steel resolve.
"Everyone's a goddamned Mary fucking Poppins all of sudden," the detective muttered, hands folded.
"C'mon, Bucky—" Mustache Man whined, hand hovering right by Steve's elbow, respectfully, at a distance.
"Fine, whatever, I'll go with you. In the meantime, Lorraine, I think the rest of them will really enjoy the story of your auditions for American Idol." Barnes actually grinned at that, and Tony was not liking that grin. Please let the woman be offended, he begged as Cap was hauled out and down the bullpen to get his perfect hands dirty. This station probably still used ink, the Neanderthals.
"You are an asshole, Barnes," Officer Bombshell yelled, pulling out her phone. "A complete and total asshole. It's a shame you didn't go with us, because Simon Cowell, oh my god. You have no idea. I always thought that was a pose, but that man would snark at the Queen for not being royal enough. So anyway, we spent the whole day in line, the whole day, you have no idea…"
"Is there any way we can shut her up?" Tony asked, because six minutes in the story was gaining steam and the line, apparently, had only moved six feet.
"Offer her money and fame," Natasha quipped, and settled on a bench next to a sleeping drunk. "Or maybe don't, it could backfire."
"I am holding you responsible."
"Relax." Natasha's eyes were closed, head tipped back against the seat.
"We have been arrested! I got a ticket!"
"How much was it?"
"I don't know, a banana? A thousand dollars? I don't normally get ticketed!"
"I know for a fact that's not true."
"What?"
"Happy gets ticketed on the regular, he's got to staple the tickets together, sing the requests, and send them to your personal ticket accountant."
This was new information. "I have a personal ticket accountant?"
"Who did you think handled your fines?"
Fair point. "How do you know?"
"I slip my tickets into his piles. It's less work than putting them through SHIELD."
"SHIELD pays your tickets?"
"Up until it had to be set on fire because of the whole Hydra mess, yeah. Now I don't exactly have more time to find parking spots, hence Happy's ticket pile."
"Barnes is going to love this," one of the cops muttered to Officer No Facial Hair, the one who hummed along to AC/DC and was therefore Tony's pick for unnamed American Idol contestant number four, and they both sniggered.
"But, we were supposed to be quiet. Sorry fellas."
"It's alright, ma'am."
"…and that was not a good move, trust me, because there were clowns in front and behind us…"
Steve was ushered back by the Robocop himself, after the clowns in front of the line reportedly whipped up their false noses, but before the clowns in the back of the line allegedly took up the whipped cream containers, and Natasha was whisked away in his place.
"…so Dugan starts to hum, and that man knows his humming notes. We're a barbershop quartet, quintet occasionally, Barnes is easily the third-to-second best singer, on his really good days, but he is also depressingly married to the job, and he is not fond of clowns, which was a good thing, as…"
"I take it I missed the best part?" Natasha asked Steve when the officers brought her back to the cell, and waved at Tony.
"Debatable. We are about to hear where the pies went."
That definitely wasn't fair, Tony also wanted to know where the pies went! Instead he was treated to even more standing still as an amateur photographer took a moment to adjust lighting, snap a few reasonably flattering shots, and scan his fingerprints.
"Full name, please. Do you have any ID on you?"
Tony has never been so insulted in his entire life.
"You know who I am!"
And to make matters worse, Officer Bombshell was still going on when Tony was returned to the holding cell, thoroughly traumatized by the blatant show of disrespect.
"Can anyone here shoot me, please?" he muttered, collapsing onto the bench by Natasha, who was already snoring. Not team spirit. None. Tony was alone, awash in the wild sees of being the genius the society just wouldn't accept as one of its own, forever doomed to stand guard over those unable to appreciate his work.
"…and then the dogs just run off, you know, like they were trained to do. It was amazing, did you know five chihuahuas can literally cause a riot? Anyway, so Gabe—" she gestured to the officer who actually shaved, "—is allergic to dogs, and Monty refuses to accept chihuahuas as dogs—"
His life would come to tragic end at a dirty police station, he would die surrounded by people PT Barnum pretended to care about for a buck, nothing would make this better, nothing ever.
"Good evening."
Oh thank god, Maria Hill was here.
"I understand there has been a problem at the docks?" she asked, prim, proper, and put-together despite the hour, totally confirming Tony's theory that she was, in fact, a robot, one that slept under her desk, plugged into a socket.
"Good evening, ma'am. Yes, I'm afraid there has been a problem." Officer Handlebar Mustache stood to greet her, all smiles and mustache. "Can I help you?"
"I'm taking the Avengers with me."
"I would like to state upfront that it was not my fault," Tony said, holding up his hands, the same hands he was having sterilized to hell and back after he got out of here. Who knew who's been touching the fingerprint scanners, murderers and jaywalkers, or worse. "It was not my idea to target that particular ware—"
"Anything you say, Stark," Natasha said, jamming what felt and tasted like her entire leather glove into his mouth. "That's a pretty memorable line."
"I have nothing to hide!" Tony protested once he managed to spit the glove out.
"Consider trying," Barnes snarked under his breath, which immediately put him on Hill's radar.
"I understand you are the arresting officer?"
"Indeed."
Maria offered her most charming smile. "Would you be so kind as to open this door?"
Robocop folded his arms once again and stared her down. "I do not believe you are a solicitor, and I don't think you have an order signed by a judge."
"I think we can trust the Avengers to sign their own recognizance."
"One, I'm still gonna need that order, and two, Stark has skipped bail before."
"I was twenty! And drunk! And in the middle of my PhD!"
"…three, considering they just took out a warehouse along with the surrounding property, I have concerns about letting them loose on the town. Ma'am."
"Detective, I appreciate your concerns—"
"Um—Barnes?" Officer Bombshell raised her hand from her desk. "You have a phone call. It's the captain."
Barnes glared in Hill's general direction, before stalking to the woman and taking the receiver from her hand. They must have been really worried about crime at this station, the receiver was tied to the rest of the phone with a string, Tony thought, before a vague, barely used corner of his memory supplied information about landlines. Good god, technological progress was amazing.
"Captain," Robocop said into the receiver, while a loud, insistent voice from the other end, muffled by the inefficiency of the telecommunications via outdated technology, seemed to be delivering a blistering series of commands.
"Yes, sir." Barnes set the phone down, without further ado, and turned to the enraptured crowd. "The captain of this precinct would like to relay his regards, and, as a gesture of good will, offers to accept recognizance in lieu of bail," he intoned.
"Ten bucks say there were at least three 'fucks' in whatever he just heard," Officer Handlebar Mustache muttered, grinning inanely.
"Four," Officer No Facial Hair quipped, and shook his pal's hand.
"Thank you, Detective," Hill said.
The crowd of uniforms, as one, breathed out. Barnes did not move, and clearly was not going to move, so it was Officer Handlebar Mustache who had to open the holding cell and usher Tony, Natasha and Steve out into the open.
"Well, that was a fun adventure. Let's never go there again." Tony told Natasha, as the blond cop set paper forms before them. "I did not agree to participate in a trial."
"He's kidding," Hill said immediately, and through the combined force of hers and Natasha's glares Tony signed the paper promising he will, in fact participate.
"That precinct could do with a little more funding," Natasha told Steve, when he was signing for his shield, confiscated as they entered the station. The man behind the crate handed it over with a reverent glow in his eyes, stroking the edge in a way that would have been creepy, were it not for the tear-filled buttery glow in his wide eyes. At least someone's night was going well.
"I've seen worse."
"So have I, doesn't mean this one was adequate." Natasha signed her name with a flourish and collected her two guns, a knife, battle bracelets, and two electric sticks in return. "Thank you, officer."
"They made me sign my name on paper. Paper! What is this, the middle ages?"
"It's a fun story."
"Am I the only one concerned we just got arrested?"
"Nothing will come out of it," Hill said.
"Yeah, but, we got arrested. Shouldn't we have diplomatic immunity?"
"Are you a diplomat?"
"Well, no, but—"
"There you go, then."
"Can they actually charge us?" Steve asked. "I know we did blow up that warehouse, but it wasn't intentional."
"Depends how stubborn that detective actually is," Hill said, opening the back door of a limo. Happy, propped against the driver's door, waved his hand over the roof, covering a yawn with the other.
"Well, at least I know someone is not a robot."
"Get in the car, Stark."
Tony got in the car. He sat, he stared out the window, he got out when prompted, he got into the elevator, up into his suite and into bed, right by Pepper, who definitely did not snore, not even a little bit.
And then, just as he was teetering on the edge of sleep, a stray thought wandered in and bit him on the ass. Tony sat up in the bed, struck. "JARVIS! The suit!"
Tuesday, May 31st
Early morning was the kind of chore that should excuse a man from participating in whatever followed. Tony sleepwalked to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup, which he cradled in his palms and treasured, and would have continued to treasure, had it not inexplicably ran out. He filled it again and didn't make the mistake of putting down the pot this time.
"Long night?" Natasha asked, perched on a barstool with a mug of tea in one hand, a tablet in the other.
"I haven't slept yet."
"And that fact doesn't concern you."
"My booster system was significantly improved, so no, it doesn't."
Tony took a sip of his coffee, and looked at her again.
"You're wearing your bathrobe."
"It's still early."
"You aren't usually out of your rooms in the altogether."
"I am wearing a bathrobe."
"I meant the thing you do to your face to make it all uniform in color."
"Does my mild acne offend you?"
"No. Not even a little."
"Glad to hear that." The tea was rocked, swirled, sipped. Tony attempted the same with his own mug, succeeding in narrowly avoiding a spill.
"Why, though? You have your own kitchen."
"Ran out of tea."
Another neuron fired. "Why are you here though? Groceries are delivered."
"I prefer to get my own."
Tony wouldn't even know where to begin getting his own groceries. He had some theories it involved the very colorful and weird lit place two blocks away.
"Fair enough." Sleep, the sneaky asshole, was catching up to him, and would not be persuaded to let up for another hour. Or twenty. "I think I'm gonna turn in, actually," he said.
"Lo and behold. I'm sure Pepper will be grateful."
"Why would she?"
"You have a date tonight, at that new restaurant."
Oh fuck. Tony scrambled madly for his phone, realized he didn't have it, opened his mouth to ask JARVIS, remembered that Pepper had been very empathic in regards to discussing their private plans in public, and the designated Avenger floors definitely counted as public, and continued to fumble for a few moments, until Natasha took pity. "The date isn't for twelve hours. Go get some sleep, you'll be right as rain."
"Right. Thanks. Coffee."
She slid from her perch, steaming tea balanced in her hand, and started towards the elevator. Tony yawned and followed, hugging the coffeepot to his chest.
"This coffee isn't very strong," Natasha said as the elevator door dinged open. "Don't you have an espresso machine in the lab? My floor, please."
"I needed a medium-sized coil for a project."
"When was this?"
With the nature of time who could say exactly, so Tony merely shrugged. That was also when the elevator came to a stop, a little earlier than it should have, considering that yep, only Natasha specified a destination. Much more concerning was the fact that the door opened to reveal Detective Robocop, all dolled up in a fancy uniform, a cap under his elbow, standing right next to a barefoot, gym-attire wearing Steve.
"Oh god, you are not here to civilly forfeit my coffee, are you?" Tony asked, pressing the pot against his chest until the clink of glass against metal reminded him he shouldn't.
"Has it been involved in any crimes?" Robocop said amicably, stepping into the elevator after an initial period of silent staring. Rogers followed for some reason, shoulders stiff.
"JARVIS, the common room please."
"Of course, Captain."
A jaunty little tune filled the space, and Tony's very reasonable worry about the caffeine supply and the long, sticky arm of the law did a somersault when the elevator reversed direction and started going up, back to the common floor. He tightened his grip on the coffee pot and inhaled the contents of the cup, just in case.
"So, did the questioning go well?" Natasha said, taking a long, judgmental sip of her tea, staring the detective down.
Steve, inexplicably, went a little red around the ears. "Yes."
"Wait, what questioning? The charges were dropped! I got a long lecture from Hill about it." Tony unfolded his arms, sloshed the contents of the cup onto the wall, refilled, and looked up to see the reshuffling of the elevator had brought Steve into his immediate vicinity, while the detective was giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look over Cap's shoulder. "If the police have any business with you, tell them to contact the lawyers first. No offence, Robocop, but them's the breaks."
"I will keep that in mind," Robocop said.
Natasha hummed.
Steve huffed.
The elevator dinged. "Common room," JARVIS announced merrily, as the door slid open.
"Coffee?" Steve asked, gesturing to the kitchen area. "We have the machine that steams the milk, too."
"A cappuccino would be great, thanks." Robocop set the cap on the counter and Tony withdrew back into the elevator, still hugging his coffeepot.
"Jesus, not even the lawyers come around this early, and I thought they represented robot-Americans."
"Detective Barnes strikes me as an early riser."
"Still, Steve shouldn't talk to the police without a lawyer. I'm not admitting to anything, but there are some illegal substances in this building."
"Relax, Stark," Natasha said, as the elevator dinged and opened onto her floor. "Steve has Detective Barnes well in hand."
"Clint left a bong in Cap's apartment as a joke last week."
Natasha sipped at her tea and smiled. "I'm sure nothing Detective Barnes is holding against Steve is admissible in court."
"You are seriously underestimating prosecutors, Romanoff," Tony yelled, before the door slid closed. "JARVIS, please call my legal team and let them know Robocop was here, will you?"
"The appropriate parties will be notified, sir. Now, I would strongly recommend at least six hours of sleep before any further engagements that require cognitive functions."
"Right you are, JARVIS."
Tony got out of the elevator, brushed his teeth, and got into his bed, coffee safe on the bedside table, and clapped his hands to kill the lights. He had a date tonight. Let Rogers deal with the police, if he was so keen.