For advance 40+ chapters patreon.com/TranslationGod?
The flight from Afghanistan to the United States took fourteen hours.
Marcus spent most of it staring out the window of the military transport, watching clouds scroll past in endless white formations. The C-17 was loud, uncomfortable, and smelled like jet fuel and stale coffee. After two months in a cave, it was paradise.
Tony slept for the first eight hours, crashed in a fold-down seat with a blanket someone had scrounged up, snoring softly. The man had survived torture, captivity, building a suit of armor, destroying a terrorist base, and crashing from two hundred feet up. His body had finally said enough and shut down for mandatory maintenance.
Yinsen dozed fitfully, jerking awake every hour or so with the look of someone expecting to find himself back in the cave. Each time, Marcus watched him realize where he was—safe, free, alive—and watched the tension drain from his shoulders before he dozed off again.
Rhodes spent the flight coordinating with various military and intelligence agencies via satellite phone, his voice a constant low murmur of reports, debriefings, and carefully worded non-answers. Marcus caught snippets: "...three civilians extracted... situation contained... full report pending..."
As for Marcus himself? He felt... nothing. Still. Just that same empty cold where emotions should have been.
He'd escaped captivity. He'd survived. He'd completed Phase One of ensuring the MCU timeline proceeded correctly. Tony Stark was alive and would become Iron Man.
He should feel something about that. Relief. Satisfaction. Pride. Anything.
But there was nothing. Just the clinical awareness that objectives had been achieved and new objectives needed to be established.
I'm broken, he thought distantly. Something fundamental in me is just... gone.
But broken tools could still be useful. And Marcus had work to do.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, Tony woke up. He blinked groggily, looked around at the cargo hold interior, and seemed momentarily confused about where he was. Then memory caught up and he slumped back in his seat with a long exhale.
"We're really out," he said to no one in particular. "This isn't a dream."
"Not a dream," Marcus confirmed from across the hold. "Though if it were, I'd have requested better in-flight snacks."
Tony laughed—actually laughed—and something in Marcus almost felt warm at the sound. Almost.
"When we land," Tony said, "first thing I'm doing is getting a cheeseburger. An American cheeseburger. The real thing, not whatever the hell they tried to serve me at those base cafeterias overseas."
"Ambitious," Yinsen said, awake now too. "I was thinking shower, clean clothes, and a bed that doesn't have rocks poking through it."
"Also valid priorities," Tony agreed. He looked at Marcus. "What about you, Marcus? What's first on your freedom agenda?"
Marcus considered. "Not getting shot at sounds nice."
"Setting the bar pretty low there, buddy."
"After the last two months? Low bars are all I've got energy for."
They fell into comfortable silence after that, the kind that only came from surviving something terrible together. Rhodes eventually joined them, done with his phone calls for the moment, and they played cards with a worn deck someone found in a storage locker. Terrible cards—Go Fish and War—but it was something to do, something normal, and normal was exactly what they needed.
When the plane finally touched down at a military airfield in New Jersey, Marcus felt the landing gear engage and thought: Phase Two begins now.
Stark Industries Headquarters, Manhattan
Pepper Potts was in the middle of reviewing quarterly projections when her phone rang. Not her cell phone—her direct line, the one that only rang for genuine emergencies or when Tony was being particularly Tony.
Given that Tony had been missing for two months and seventeen days, she'd been existing in a state of barely-contained panic, maintaining the company facade while internally screaming.
She grabbed the phone. "Yes?"
"Ms. Potts." It was Colonel Rhodes's voice, and he sounded tired but happy. "I found him. Tony's alive. We're bringing him home."
Pepper's vision swam. The papers in her hand fluttered to the desk. Her throat closed up.
"He's—" She couldn't get the words out. "He's really—?"
"He's beat up, he's cranky, and he's already complaining about the base food," Rhodes said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "But he's alive, Pepper. He's coming home."
She burst into tears right there in her office, not caring about the mascara running down her face or the way her carefully maintained professional composure shattered completely. Tony was alive. After months of nightmares about funerals and empty caskets, about never seeing him again, about having to run his company without him—he was alive.
"When?" she managed to choke out. "When will he be here?"
"Landing at JFK in about six hours. Can you—?"
"I'll be there," Pepper said immediately. "I'll handle everything. Just—just bring him home safe, Rhodes."
"Already done, Ms. Potts. Already done."
After she hung up, Pepper sat there for a solid five minutes, just breathing, letting it sink in. Then she pulled herself together with the iron discipline that made her one of the most capable executive assistants in the industry, wiped her face, fixed her makeup, and started making calls.
Happy would need to bring the car. Security would need to be coordinated. The media would need to be kept at a distance—oh God, the media were going to lose their minds when word got out. She'd need to prepare a statement, schedule a press conference, coordinate with PR—
Her phone rang again.
"Ms. Potts, this is Obadiah Stane."
Pepper's spine straightened automatically. Obadiah was Tony's business partner, technically his mentor, and someone Pepper had never quite trusted despite his avuncular charm. There was something about the way he looked at Tony sometimes—like a man calculating profits and losses rather than seeing a person.
"Mr. Stane. Have you heard—?"
"That Tony's alive? Yes, I just got the call from the Pentagon." His voice was warm, genial, pleased. Everything it should be. So why did Pepper's instincts prickle? "Wonderful news. Simply wonderful. I'll meet you at the airport, of course. We'll need to coordinate his return, manage the media narrative, reassure the board..."
"Of course," Pepper said smoothly, already thinking three steps ahead. "I'm handling the logistics now."
"Excellent. I always knew we could count on you, Pepper. See you at JFK."
After he hung up, Pepper stared at her phone for a long moment, frowning.
Something in Obadiah's voice had been... off. Just slightly. Like an actor hitting the right notes but not quite feeling them.
She shook it off. She was probably just paranoid after two months of stress. Obadiah had been Tony's father's partner, had helped build Stark Industries into what it was. Of course he was happy Tony was alive.
Still, she made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Just in case.
Obadiah Stane's Office, Stark Industries
Obadiah hung up the phone and immediately swept his arm across his desk, sending papers, pens, and a coffee mug crashing to the floor.
"Fuck!"
He stood there breathing hard, hands clenched into fists, rage boiling through his veins. Tony was alive. That incompetent band of terrorist idiots had not only failed to kill him, they'd somehow lost him.
Months of planning. Months of careful arrangements with the Ten Rings. A perfect opportunity to eliminate Tony and take full control of Stark Industries. All of it, wasted.
And now Tony would come back, probably traumatized and clingy, needing Obadiah's guidance more than ever. Which meant Obadiah would have to play the supportive mentor for even longer, waiting for another opportunity that might never come.
He forced himself to breathe slowly, to master the anger. Control. He needed control. Losing his temper accomplished nothing.
Tony was alive. Fine. That could still be worked with. Tony was emotional, impulsive, likely to make rash decisions after his ordeal. Obadiah could use that. Could guide him into mistakes, into public relations disasters, into giving Obadiah more control "for the good of the company."
And if Tony became too much of a problem? Well. Accidents happened all the time. Especially to traumatized billionaires who might develop substance abuse problems after surviving captivity.
Obadiah smoothed his tie, straightened his jacket, and put on his best warm smile. Time to go welcome home his dear friend's son. Time to be Uncle Obie, supportive and concerned.
Time to plan.
The Triskelion, Washington D.C.
Nick Fury looked at the report on his desk and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
"Tony Stark extracted alive," he said to the empty office. "Well, well. That's going to make things interesting."
He picked up his phone. "Get me Agent Coulson."
A moment later: "Director?"
"Coulson, change of plans. Stark's coming home. I want you on a plane to New York within the hour. Meet him at JFK if you can, but don't push it. Let him get settled, then make contact within twenty-four hours."
"Understood, sir. What's the approach?"
"Soft touch. He's been through hell. We want information about his captivity, about how he escaped, about any... unusual circumstances." Fury's one good eye narrowed. "And Phil? Reports say there were two other men extracted with him. Civilians who helped him escape. I want full backgrounds on both of them."
"Already running them, sir. Dr. Yinsen, physicist, family deceased. And a Marcus Reed—at least, that's the name on his new documentation. Story is he was trafficked to the Middle East, captured by the same group."
"Reed. That name sounds fabricated."
"It probably is, sir. But he helped save Tony Stark's life, so unless he's a threat, we're inclined to let it slide."
"For now," Fury agreed. "But keep an eye on him, Phil. Anyone who can survive two months with terrorists and come out shooting like an action movie hero? That's someone I want to know more about."
"Will do, Director. Anything else?"
"Yeah. When you talk to Stark, see if you can figure out what he's going to do next. He's unpredictable on a good day. After this? He could go anywhere. And I'd rather be ready for it."
Fury hung up and turned back to the windows overlooking the Potomac. Tony Stark was alive. The son of Howard Stark, one of SHIELD's founders, was coming home from a terrorist kidnapping.
Something told him the fallout from this was going to reshape a lot of things. And Nick Fury intended to be at the center of it, guiding it in the direction that best served SHIELD's interests.
He smiled again. This was going to be fun.
JFK International Airport, New York City
The private Stark Industries jet touched down on the private runway at 3:47 PM Eastern Time. Inside, Marcus unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of joints that had been compressed for too long.
"Gentlemen," Tony announced, standing up with the careful movement of someone who was definitely still injured, "welcome to New York City. Greatest city in the world, terrible pizza, please keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times."
"That's not how that works," Rhodes pointed out.
"I'm jet-lagged and traumatized, Rhodes. Let me have this."
They disembarked down the stairs—Tony first, then Yinsen, then Marcus, with Rhodes bringing up the rear. The tarmac was warm with summer heat, and the smell of jet fuel mixed with the distant scent of the city: exhaust and hot asphalt and life.
Marcus looked around at the New York skyline visible in the distance and thought: I made it. I'm in the MCU. The real thing, not just knowledge in my head.
There was a small crowd waiting for them. Airport security. Some men in suits who were definitely intelligence agents of some flavor. A few people who looked like Stark Industries employees.
And standing slightly apart, a woman with strawberry blonde hair and a man built like a bouncer.
Tony's whole face lit up when he saw them.
"Pepper!" He started forward, limping slightly but moving with determination.
Pepper Potts—Marcus recognized her from the movies, though she looked younger here, less polished—rushed forward to meet him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clearly fighting back tears.
"Your eyes are red," Tony said when they reached each other. His voice was gentle, concerned. "Is it because of your long-lost boss?"
Pepper laughed, but it came out as half-sob. "No, it's because I'm happy. Now I won't lose my job."
The joke fell flat between them, both knowing it was cover for deeper emotions. Tony's expression shifted to something more serious, more real.
"The vacation's over now," he said quietly. "I'm back to work."
They stood there for a moment, close but not quite touching, years of unspoken feelings hanging in the air between them. Marcus looked away politely, giving them privacy despite being twenty feet away.
"Single people shouldn't have to watch that," Yinsen murmured beside him.
"Agreed," Marcus replied. "Makes me feel even more emotionally deficient than I already am."
While Tony and Pepper had their moment, the other man—Happy Hogan, had to be—approached Marcus and Yinsen with a professional smile and two manila envelopes.
"You must be Marcus Reed and Dr. Yinsen," Happy said, his Brooklyn accent thick and comfortable. "Mr. Stark asked me to rush-process these for you. Identity documents, social security cards, the works. All legal and proper."
Marcus took the envelope with genuine appreciation. Inside would be his ticket to existing in this world without immediately getting flagged by every government database. A new identity, carefully constructed and properly documented.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "This... this helps a lot."
"Don't mention it," Happy said with a shrug. "Boss takes care of people who take care of him. That's just how he is."
Marcus opened the envelope and scanned the documents inside. Driver's license with a photo that looked reasonably like him (where had they gotten that?). Social security card. Birth certificate listing him as born in San Francisco twenty years ago. Passport. Even a credit card with a $50,000 limit.
The identity was solid. Marcus Reed, American citizen, unfortunate victim of human trafficking who'd been rescued along with Tony Stark. Self-taught genius who'd helped Tony escape.
It was a good cover story. Parts of it were even true.
"The backstory's airtight," Happy continued quietly, clearly having been briefed on what to say. "You were trafficked overseas three years ago, held by various groups, ended up with the Ten Rings. Everything's documented and verified. Anyone who checks will find exactly what they're supposed to find."
Which meant Tony had pulled serious strings with serious people to create this identity. Probably called in favors with the CIA, FBI, State Department, maybe even higher. The kind of strings only a man like Tony Stark could pull.
Marcus made a mental note to thank him properly later. This was... more than he'd expected. More than he'd dared hope for.
Yinsen was examining his own documents with a similar expression of relief and gratitude. His situation was more straightforward—real identity, real history, just needed proper documentation to be in the US legally. But it still represented freedom, a chance to start over.
"Mr. Stark would like to know if you'd be interested in attending a press conference with him," Happy continued. "No pressure, but he'd like to introduce you two as the men who helped him escape. Give you some credit for what you did."
Marcus and Yinsen exchanged glances.
"What do you think?" Yinsen asked.
Marcus considered. A press conference meant publicity. Publicity meant scrutiny. But refusing might seem suspicious, might make people wonder why he wanted to hide.
"Whatever Tony wants," Marcus said with a casual shrug. "We're here anyway."
"Sure," Yinsen agreed. "Might as well see it through."
Happy nodded approvingly. "Good men. Boss will appreciate that. Come on, cars are this way."
They walked across the tarmac toward two waiting SUVs—black, expensive, probably armored knowing Tony's usual security protocols. Tony and Pepper were still talking, his hand on her arm, her eyes still suspiciously bright.
Rhodes was speaking with some of the suit-wearing intelligence types, handing over reports and probably beginning what would be a long series of debriefings. He caught Marcus's eye and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Marcus nodded back.
As they approached the vehicles, Marcus's enhanced awareness—that same superhuman processing power that NZT had given him—picked up on something.
Another man was approaching. Older, late fifties or early sixties, completely bald, wearing an expensive suit and an avuncular smile. He moved with the confidence of someone who belonged here, who had every right to be here.
Obadiah Stane.
Marcus recognized him instantly from the Iron Man movie. Tony's business partner. His father's old friend. The man who would later try to kill Tony and steal the arc reactor technology.
The man who was, right now, walking toward them like a concerned uncle rushing to greet his long-lost nephew.
"Tony!" Obadiah's voice boomed across the tarmac. "Thank God! Thank God you're safe!"
He pulled Tony into a hug—genuine-looking, warm, exactly what it should be. Tony returned it, smiling, clearly glad to see a familiar face from his old life.
"Obie," Tony said warmly. "Good to see you."
"You had us all worried sick," Obadiah said, pulling back to grip Tony's shoulders and examine him like a concerned parent. "Two months! We didn't know if you were alive or dead. But you're here. You're home. That's what matters."
His performance was perfect. Every word, every gesture, every facial expression exactly what a concerned mentor should display. If Marcus hadn't known better—known the future, known what Obadiah would become—he would have believed it completely.
But Marcus did know better.
And watching Obadiah's warm smile and caring eyes, Marcus thought: You're good. Really good. But I've seen how this story ends.
Obadiah's gaze shifted, noticing Marcus and Yinsen standing nearby. His eyes were sharp, assessing, calculating even while his smile stayed warm.
"And these must be the brave men who helped you," Obadiah said, extending a hand. "I understand we owe you both a debt of gratitude."
"Dr. Yinsen," Yinsen said, shaking hands. "Just glad we all made it out."
"Marcus Reed," Marcus said when Obadiah turned to him. Their hands met, and Marcus felt the strength in the older man's grip—trying to dominate, to establish hierarchy, even in a handshake.
Marcus matched the pressure exactly. Not more, not less. Just enough to show he wouldn't be dominated.
Obadiah's eyes flickered with something—surprise, assessment, recalculation. Then his smile widened.
"Marcus. What an extraordinary young man you must be, to help Tony escape. I look forward to hearing the whole story."
"It's not that interesting," Marcus replied mildly. "Mostly just a lot of running and not getting shot."
"Modest too." Obadiah chuckled. "I like that. We'll have to talk more later. For now, let's get Tony home and settled."
As Obadiah turned back to Tony, continuing to fuss over him, Marcus caught the briefest flash of something else in the older man's eyes. Something cold and calculating that didn't match his warm uncle act.
He's already planning, Marcus realized. Already figuring out how to use this situation. How to control Tony. How to eliminate any threats.
And Marcus, as someone with no documented history, no family, no ties—someone who'd mysteriously appeared in the right place at the right time to help Tony Stark—would definitely register as a potential threat to a man like Obadiah.
Great, Marcus thought. Just what I needed. A supervillain taking interest in me.
But he kept his face carefully neutral, just another grateful survivor, as they all headed toward the waiting vehicles.
"Where are we headed?" Tony asked as they reached the SUVs.
"I've arranged for a press conference at headquarters," Obadiah said smoothly. "The media have been camped out for weeks. Better to address them now, control the narrative, let them see you're alive and well."
Tony grimaced but nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let's get it over with. Just... keep it short. I'm exhausted."
"Of course, of course. We'll make it brief. You'll say a few words, reassure everyone, then you can rest."
They divided into the two SUVs—Tony, Pepper, and Obadiah in the first one; Marcus, Yinsen, Happy, and Rhodes in the second. As they pulled away from the airport, Marcus watched the New York skyline grow closer through the tinted windows.
Phase Two, he reminded himself. Establish yourself. Stay close to Tony. Monitor Obadiah. Watch for the Iron Man development. Don't get killed by any of the various threats that are about to start appearing.
Simple, right?
Yinsen was quiet beside him, looking out the window at the city with an expression Marcus couldn't quite read. Wonder, maybe. Relief. The look of a man who'd thought he'd die in a cave and was now driving through Manhattan.
"You okay?" Marcus asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Yinsen admitted. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up back in the cave. That this is all a dream."
"I know the feeling."
"Do you?" Yinsen's eyes were sharp, searching. "Because you don't seem to feel much of anything, Marcus. You haven't since... since you killed those men."
Marcus held his gaze steadily. "Would you prefer I break down crying?"
"I'd prefer you act like a human being instead of a machine."
"Maybe I'm still processing." It was a lie, but a useful one. "Maybe I just handle trauma differently than you do."
"Maybe," Yinsen said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe there's something about you I still don't understand. Something you're not telling us."
"Probably," Marcus agreed easily. "But right now, let's just focus on getting through this press conference. We can worry about my psychological issues later."
Yinsen studied him a moment longer, then sighed and turned back to the window. "Fair enough."
In the front seat, Rhodes was on his phone again, coordinating something. Happy drove with the casual confidence of someone who did this route a thousand times. And somewhere ahead of them, Tony Stark was heading toward a press conference that would change everything.
Marcus leaned back in his seat and watched the city roll past. New York. The MCU. Phase Two beginning.
Let's see how this goes, he thought.
And despite everything—despite the emptiness where his emotions should be, despite the danger he knew was coming, despite all of it—he felt the faintest flicker of something that might have been anticipation.
The story was just beginning.
[End of Chapter 19]
1000 Powerstones for extra chapter.