cat_13145

ring the Civil War (sometime after Titans 47)

Cat’s tip about Lukin had paid off in spades. It was nice to know that someone was doing their job.

If she hadn’t told him, the mission today would have been a disaster. The kid wanted to go after him, not that Fury blamed him. But now wasn’t the time.

It was however a good time to thank Cat and the simplest method Fury had found over a long friendship was with food, which was why he stood in the filthy corridor facing Cat’s door.

Her small flat was in one of the worse areas of New York, surrounded by thieves and druggies. Yet Cat loved it and pointed out that her neighbours helped disencourage unwelcome guests. Fury only hoped he wasn’t on that list.

He knocked on the door. There was pause, too longer one, then he heard the bolts been drawn back.

“Fury.” She said firmly. “This isn’t a good time.” Her face was pale, and her fists were clenched. But there were none of the bruises he would have expected if she had been in a fight.

“Your information was right on the ball. As usual.” He held out the pizza box. Cat shrugged.

“Yeah. Well. Just doing my job.” She attempted to close the door, but Fury jammed his foot in the door.

“You and the kid have fight?” he asked. Cat moved slowly letting the door open.

He can see into the apartment now. There’s a kid lying on the day bed. Youngish, with black hair. A tattered scrap of black fabric, that looks a bit like a mask is on the kitchen table. Fury’s been in the game long enough to recognise a kid passed out from pain.

“No.” Cat said gently. “Just got a friend who needs help.”

Fury nodded calmly. “O.k. Here.” He handed the box over. Cat nodded her thanks.

It had been a long night. The Joker had broken out of Arkham, again, and three days of surveillance later they were no nearer catching him.

On top of that, there was someone new in town, robbing banks while calling himself Mr Money. His costume consisted of a (probably homemade) mask with a dollar sign on it. Robin had nearly been shot by him, he was laughing so hard.

All he wanted to do was to get up stairs and sleep for about a month. But Bruce Wayne had a ten o’clock tomorrow, so he’d have to do with about three hours, four if he was lucky...

A small sound of a foot broke through his revelry. Instinctively, he dropped into an attack position.

“Now, Really Mr Wayne.” The owner of the voice stepped out from behind a consol. “there is no need for any unpleasantness.”

She was tall for a woman, with dark hair cut short and green eyes. Next to her, stood Jason Todd, with a smirk on his face.

“Agent Cat. SHIELD.”

It must have been the exhaustion that made him ask, “SHIELD?”

“Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage Logistics Directorate.” Jason supplied.

The lack of sleep must be addling his brains, or maybe it was the presence of his middle child back in the Cave, barely five yards from his memorial, as he said “Cute.”

“I’ll pass on your compliments.” She followed his glance to the way he came in.

“We came in quite legitimately, Mr. Wayne. Via the front door.”

She moved across to the chair.
“I’m not here for a fight Mr. Wayne. What you do on your own time, is your business.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m here because I need a favor.”

The brown eyes never left Jason. The young man laughed.

“I told you it was a waste of time me coming with you.” He addressed the woman. “He doesn’t believe you.”

Cat sighed. “As I told you, Mr. Wayne, I have no interest in your private life. However, I will reassure you that Alfred is fine.”

“As is the Replacement.” Jason added.

“You are welcome to go upstairs and check on either of them.” Cat continued, as though Jason hadn’t spoken. “But I would prefer that you didn’t as time is of the essence.”

“I don’t work for the government,” Batman snarled, pushing past her.

“I’m not here for any government, Mr Wayne. At least... not directly.”

As he headed up the stairs, she called after him.

“I’m here for Antony Starks.”

In spite of his best efforts, he froze.
“I believe you know him.”

A memory came, fighting its way to the surface.

He was exhausted. It’s hard playing a part. It’s harder playing two.

Alan Greeves was an exchange student from...he’s so tired; he can’t even remember what he told the professor. He’s got curly brown hair that springs in a halo effect around his head. His eyes are blue, but you can’t tell that behind glasses that are about two inches thick. He stands out from the students here, as he wore jeans and waistcoat with a bold checked shirt. For all that, He’s bright. So bright that old Housecroft nearly offered him a scholarship. That would have been...interesting.

“Hello Bruce.” A voice comes softly from the darkness. He spins around, to see Tony Stark lounging on his chair, watching him with an amused expression on his face.

“What do you want Stark?” He asked.

Tony Stark, in most people’s opinion is an irritating little fly. He’s nearly five years younger than everyone else on campus, and seems to breeze through the course with no effort. Add to that the Stark family name, and its connections both with money and the Defence Force, the kid had few friends. Except that Tiberius Stone, who Bruce frankly found creepy.

“Or should I say howdy Alan?” Tony continued his face unmoving.

Kentucky. That was where he had said Alan was from.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Kid!” he snarled in response.

“Oh Really?” Tony said, very deliberately not moving “you said that Kentucky was a major manufacture for the defence force, ‘specially for the Navy.”

He can’t help it, he bites,

“So?”

“So, Kentucky is landlocked.” Tony said, with a triumphant smile on his face. He gets to his feet, now, nearly as tall as Bruce. “But in Gotham, and Wayne Enterprises, they do a lot of work for the Navy.” The smile was bewitching as he added. “You’re just lucky that Housecroft failed geography.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked softly. If Tony went to the dean, he was sure he could pass it off as a prank. Might require a fairly sizeable donation to the administrators and a lecture from Leslie, but it could be done.

“Nothing.” Tony replies, sinking back into the chair. “Just curious as to why.”

“Knew him.” Batman’s voice was still there, through Bruce Wayne was fighting to get through. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”
“I know.” The woman’s voice was urgent, “He needs your help.”

“If it’s about his drinking,” Batman began, but Cat interrupted. “It’s not.” She sighed, evidently unhappy with the situation. “He needs same help you gave him back then.”

There was silence, before Bruce Wayne answered, “Give me a minute to pack.”

Cat smiled. “I think Alfred may have already done so for you.”

Natasha was worried.

Firstly they had landed in Gotham, which was formally on Nick Fury’s list of “f*cked up Places you don’t visit unless it’s an absolute emergency and even then never alone.”

Then Cat had left her in the craft, with strict instruction not to leave.

Then just as the sun was coming up, Cat had arrived, with three men and a boy, and ordered them to leave.

She allowed her eyes to wander over to their passengers, as they entered normal cruising speed.

The one nearest to them was an old man, dressed in a smart suit. There was something in the way he had moved as he climbed aboard that suggested that he was a former agent.

Opposite the old man sat another, approximately her own age. He was dark and, yes, that was only word for it, brooding. He hadn’t said a word or even looked in her direction since they got on board, just sat there in an imitation of the Thinker.

The boy, seventeen at a maximum, had stumbled on board, and fallen asleep as soon as he sat down. Cat had muttered a curse and got up to check on the seatbelt. Natasha had looked surprised, but Cat had shrugged.

“We’ve both done it.” She said.

The fourth passenger was the only one she had a name for. Cat had called him Jason. He lounged back in the seat, the only relaxed person in the crate. And yet...there was something in his relax manner that made her think of Cat or Bucky.

Slowly, she moved her eyes back to Cat.

“There’s some rough weather ahead, you might want to keep an eye on the instruments.” She seemed aware of Natasha’s unease. “What’s up?”

Slowly, Natasha spoke. “Who are these people?”

“You should be careful.” Cat said, softly. “Alfred was one of us, and speaks Russian fluently.”

“And the others?”

Cat shrugged.

Natasha repeated her question.

“Alfred is an old friend. Jason is a friend. Tim is Bruce’s son. And Bruce...”

“Yes?” Natasha asked.

Cat turned to face her, “Bruce is my hail Mary pass.”

It was soon after the incident with Sunset Bain that he noticed it.

They’re lying on the bed in Bruce’s room, studying. Or that’s what they would claim; even through the books had long since fallen off the bed.

Tony lies beneath him. His hands are everywhere. The man is a slut for touch, more so than anyone Bruce had ever met.

He reaches up, undoing the buttons of Tony’s off white grease stained shirt, and eased it off, revealing the fine lines of the clavicle. He thought it was just his imagination that they felt sharper than usual, but as his hands ran down the chest he realized he was wrong.

He pulls back, to get a good look at Tony. There are huge dark circles around his eyes; his skin’s pallor is harsh. That’s not makes him stare through. Even now, He thinks that if he had tried he could have count every one of Tony’s ribs.

Tony realizes that he’s under scrutiny, and pulls away, buttoning up shirt, apologizing. Saying that he knows his body is disgusting.

Bruce isn’t stupid. He’s not a child genius like Tony, but he is a detective and half an hour added to his usual midnight raids on the library furnish him with all the information he needs.

He’s heard of eating disorders, who hasn’t? But he’s always associated them with girls and to be fair most of the literature he finds deals with them in females. There is however a note made in most that 10% of sufferers are male.

It’s a couple of weeks later, having not seen Tony that he runs, almost literally into Tiberius Stone.

It’s more out of desperation than anything else, that he invites him for a drink and comes away feeling like he’s done ten rounds in the ring. For all that, for all the junk he dealt with, he learns some facts. That Tiberius has also noticed the amount of weight Tony’s lost, and that he’s heard Tony making himself sick a couple of times. He also agrees that Tony needs help; through he warns Bruce that he’ll never accept it.

That night, Tony doesn’t have a choice. He’d been raiding Langley Hall, just managed to get out before the security guard caught him, and he was making his way back across campus.

It’s as he nears the engineering labs, that he notices the lights on, and remembers Tiberius mentioning that Tony had been spending most of his time in there.

The windows are child play to gemmy open.

Tony’s lying in the middle of one of the labs, a long cut running along from his shoulder down almost to his wrist.

It’s not deep, but it is jagged.

Two hours later and twenty stitches for Tony, he admits to himself the truth. If he doesn’t say something now, if he doesn’t interfere, he’s going to lose the closest thing to a friend he’s got on campus.

He gave the doctors the name Wayne Thompson, and told them that he and Tony were brothers. He isn’t sure they believe it, but they let him into Tony’s room without any problems.

Tony looks so small and so fragile, lying there on the bed, that he’s tempted to leave it. To tackle this when he’s stronger. Then he remembers that if he doesn’t tackle this now, Tony may not get stronger.

Sinking into the chair next to the bed, he turns to look at him.

“Why?” he asks, his voice unnaturally deep. “Why, Tony?”

The blue eyes stared desperately up at him, like a wounded animal, pleading with him not to try. But he had too. 'Cos that’s what a hero did.

“Why Tony?”
“Fasten your seatbelts.”

Agent Cat’s voice pulled him from the past with an unpleasant jerk.

“Huh?” he managed, realizing that it’s now light and that the sky line coming rapidly up to meet them, is definitely not Gotham.

“I say Fasten your seatbelts.” Cat replied, her eyes never leaving her instruments. “Looks like we’re in for a rough landing.”

He did as he was told, tired fingers almost fumbling over the straps.

Suddenly what appeared to be a huge dinosaur! Flew at the craft, missing them by inches. Neither of the pilots appeared concerned.

“Guess they save some for us.” The red head observed.