[ tony is still speaking inside his helmet by the time the gion returns, outwardly silent in juxtaposition to his gesticulating hands and slow, aimless pacing, but soon he's wrapping up the call. turns out his white lie to pepper last night about the armor being damaged works in his favor now. he told rhodey his armor is on the fritz and he needs transport out, so if rhodey mentions anything to pepper she'll unknowingly collaborate. he silently apologizes to her for making her job so much harder, especially lately. the work he performs as iron man outside of, well, work is just so important and no one else will or even can do it. he can't trust them to.
coordinates and the specifications for the crate ("and straw. or packing peanuts. there's delicate circuity in here," tony said, to which rhodey deadpanned, "i thought it was armored," and tony submitted, "fine, i don't want to scratch the paint") given, tony hangs up, but not before he exclaims, "i appreciate you!" down the line as his goodbye. because he does. he really, really does appreciate james rhodes, even if rhodey laughs it off as tony just blowing air. he hasn't told rhodey it nearly enough over the years. if rhodey didn't blow him off that time in the airbase, before tony started building the mark ii, he'd be the one flying the suit.
finished, iron man clomps to the lip of the cave where the shade and light clash and sits down, legs bent in front. he rests his helmeted head back against the rock. ] All right. Take a load off. Helo'll be here in a couple hours.
Yyyup, [ tony answers. for a period of time, the armor sits there unmoving, but hidden by it, tony is watching the gion curiously. now that they've a moment where they're not plagued by the danger of discovery, the oddities about simba that've piled up bug tony: the morality, the seemingly random knowledge of the human world, the (new york?) accent. tony needs to know more about him and not just to unveil the mystery. he's caring a lot more about people in general these days, or rather, caring more about making connections. real ones. he doesn't want to be a man who has "everything and nothing". maybe that's why he offered up his home.
whatever. he can armchair psychologist himself another time (or never). right now tony wants to figure out his upcoming houseguest. ] So what's your story? [ he asks bluntly. he figures it's not a happy one. he can sympathize. ]
[He can't say he's surprised by the question. It's simple human curiosity, after all - and Tony's giving him a home, which means, at the very least, he deserves to know something about him, even if it's just a reassurance that he won't kill him in his sleep.]
I don't remember a lot. I know I wasn't always like this, but - [he spreads his hands.] I don't remember before. It's on purpose. They didn't want me to remember anything. I was just supposed to kill when they wanted me to. I spent the rest of my time locked up, and when they needed me, they'd put drugs in my food. I'd wake up, they'd aim me at the target, and they'd drug me again.
One day, there was this little man visiting. A German. He taunted me, and it was like he'd known me before. He had me taken out and paraded around to humiliate me. [He smiles grimly then, something dark and full of teeth.]
He said the wrong thing, and I ripped his throat out. He was already dying - I could smell it in his blood. They tried to shoot me with darts, but I kept fighting, right down to the very last man.
[He's pretty sure that'll just give Tony more questions to ask. Maybe, if Tony's lucky, he'll even get some answers.]
[ "supposed to kill when they wanted me to," simba says and iron man lifts his head from the rock with a mechanical whir, more attentive and alert. the mask betrays nothing, expressionless and designed to intimidate (designed to carry the anger tony bears toward the ten rings; toward himself). his fingers twitch, his palms feeling warm. though the mask stares at the gion, the anger is directed elsewhere. ] Who were they? [ tony asks gruffly. if they're still operating, he's adding them to his shitlist. holding someone captive and telling them to kill (to build what'll be used to kill). their stories are just parallel enough to feel it.
'course, simba could be trying to gain sympathy. tony has more people than just himself to worry about, but he wants to believe in the gion who saved his life and won't even eat livestock because people here already "work hard enough". ]
I don't remember. Russians, mostly. They hid within the government, but they were more. Bigger.
[He wishes he could remember, wishes he could root them out around the world. Maybe they've disappeared over the years, but he doesn't think so - not with the way they could hide in plain sight.]
I knew them before, I think. I'm not sure. [He flexes his claws, and they scrape against the rock. God, he hates the way his memory works, the way things hover just out of reach no matter how hard he tries.] But they weren't Russian. Then, I mean. I don't- [He shakes his head.] I told you, my memory is...strange. I can remember stuff without really thinking about it, concepts and things. I don't even remember learning Russian, but I know it. But my life is just- [He waves a hand.] I know it's there somewhere, but I can't get it.
[ tony purses his mouth. this brings up more questions than answers, but every answer the gion can give will likely be a resounding IDK or have too many holes. unless he's lying. or hiding things, tony's self-preservation warns, but he's never been good at listening to it. none of this changes how he feels. it just makes helping simba possibly more complicated than simply finding him a forever home. ]
Well, keep thinking on it, okay? I might be able to track them down and get some of the answers you're missing. [ he rolls his shoulders, trying to stretch his chest and back out. ow. you don't really appreciate not having a chunk of metal in your sternum until you do. ] Or not. Your call. New place, new you, if you want. [ he's no stranger to leaving the past behind. ]
[For now, he's happy leaving well enough alone - and there's the fear that Tony will draw their attention by doing the wrong thing. They'll find both of them, and-
He's not going to think about that, he decides. Better to focus on one problem at a time.]
You think I could get some real pants? [he asks instead. The loincloth is a little too Tarzan for him, okay?]
[ a beat, and then tony chuffs, tilting his head. the amusement comes through even with the mask. ] Probably not at House of Bijan, but I can have something made and modify it.
[ tony's amusement at simba is discolored by a wave of anger at those russians-but-not. how could they treat this guy like a wild animal when he acts so human? then all the other questions come tumbling in after: why does he act so human? was he created and raised by humans? did he fall into the wrong hands, or was a murder cat always their goal? when he says "before," does he mean before he was captured? before he was "like this"? what's "this"? distrustful and reclusive, or–something else? was he huma–no. it's not possible to splice living genetic code like that. enhance it, sure, like the super soldier serum, but splice?
pants. tony can handle pants. ] You won't be buying anything off the rack around me, [ he boasts to sound more sure and cocky than he feels. ] Everything custom-made or tailored. You'll be living like a real king of the jungle.
[He lets out an amused huff at Tony's boasting. Sure, only a rich guy is likely to be flying around in something like Tony's suit, and he's made comments about being well-off before, but he doesn't have any sort of comparison for that. He remembers being poor keenly enough, being hungry and cold and sickly. He remembers threadbare clothes patched together with love - and if he strains, he can almost remember his mother, her love worth more to him than any amount of money.
God, he hasn't realized till now just how lonely for any sort of companionship he is. Maybe that's what has him agreeing to this crazy plan more than anything else - Tony seems to like him, treats him like another human being, and the promise of more of that is seductive as hell.]
Hope you got a discreet tailor, [he quips, and his accent thickens for a moment. He doesn't really believe Tony's going to risk everything by bringing someone in to take his measurements.]
Oh, sure, [ tony plays along, waving a hand. ] He'll outfit you right. [ a beat, then he adds with a pleased grin, ] Maybe a blue tailcoat with gold lining. [ like disney's the beast. heee's hilarious. ]
[ that's okay, tony appreciates his own jokes just fine. ] Oh, this old thing? [ he returns, faux-modest, looking down at himself and hand splayed out in presentation. ] Just something I threw together in my basement. You like it? [ a chance to talk about the suit? of course he'll take it. by the way, there's a wrong and right answer here. his question had a casual but earnest pitch. ]
[He looks amused and a little uncertain of what to say about it, but at least he seems to honestly like the suit. Something in the way Tony shows it off resonates in those buried memories of his, the flippant behavior, the search for approval.]
I'd ask how it works, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't understand any of it. It's impressive, though.
[ must've been the right answer, because iron man's body language unfolds, his legs spreading out flat in front and arms limp by his sides like someone sunbathing without a care. ] You should see the first model, [ tony hums. ] It's a graceless tree trunk, but it did the trick. [ he pauses. explaining more will open him up to questions, but turnabout's fair play. ] Got me out of a bad situation, [ he murmurs. ]
[Predictably enough, he tilts his head and furrows his brow slightly.]
A bad situation?
[He knows what it's like to not want to talk about things, so he'll understand if Tony chooses not to elaborate; his question leaves it open-ended to say as much or as little as he wants.]
[ tony doesn't know why he even brought it up. they were talking about the suit, and they're sitting in a cave, and simba told his cruel captivity story, but it's pointless to dwell on what happened. tony got out. that's all that matters. ] Uh-huh, [ he says, but it sounds weirdly distant and his skin feels charged. he hasn't talked about his captivity with anyone, really. some bare-bones debriefings. he doesn't want–it's pointless to– ]
I'm gonna catch some Z's, [ tony declares too loudly, head swinging back to simba. ] Do whatever business you gotta do. Once I wake up, we set to work. [ he leans his head back and shuts his eyes. ]
[Golden eyes blink slowly, cat-like, at Tony, and he nods. Reaching out, he rests one hand on his shoulder for just a moment before drawing back again. He at least has the distance of years between him and captivity, while Tony's wounds are fresh and raw. If he wants to talk about it, he will in his own time.
He curls up like a cat to sleep, holding the pack against his chest, his tail wrapped around him. Like a cat, he drops off to sleep quickly, his chest rising and falling in silence as he breathes.]
[ some time later, the gion might be awoken by whirs and clanks. tony says nothing. the whirs and clanks pass by, reverberating through the cave floor, farther into the darkness. another stretch of silence passes, long enough to fall asleep again, before the first clonk sounds out, somewhat muted; tony is making only half-hearted attempts to be quiet. more periodic clatter ensues, a couple times punctuated by tony: a whispered "whoops" when metal on rock rings out louder than others and "shi–!" when there's a duller thud before the clonk.
eventually, tony calls from around the bend in the cave, voice echoey, ] Hey, Lion-O! You up? [ a short wait for an answer. ] Some natural predator you are if you're not. Stop lazing and come give me a paw.
["Lion-o?" he mouths with confusion. He's quickly coming to understand that Tony makes a lot of jokes that go over his head, presumably just for his own amusement. Slowly, he stretches, then rises to his feet, padding through the cave.]
What are you doing? [He yawns, his mouth gaping wide to reveal a truly impressive set of fangs.]
[ the outside light is enough to make out tony's form with the white-blue beaming from his chest. he's standing amidst pieces of the armor removed from his person; only the torso and arms really remain. underneath he wears tight, black neoprene like a diver's. ]
Getting ready, [ tony says, distracted as he removes the second pauldron. he drops it without looking (clonk) and digs his bare fingers under the edge of the cuirass at his collarbone, wincing. ] Gonna need you for this part, [ he hisses. ]
[His pupils are wide in the darker area of the cave, and his eyes shine in the small amount of light emitted from Tony's chest. Unsurprisingly, sight isn't much of an issue for him right now.]
All right. [He steps closer, right up into Tony's personal bubble, but doesn't reach out to touch just yet.]
[ tony doesn't seem bothered, despite barely reaching the curve of the gion's shoulder while out of the armor. ] See the flaps on my back? [ still feeling inside the cuirass, he twists around. four in total, the panels are partly lifted from tony's shoulder blades. ] Four of 'em. There're switches inside. Push each of 'em up; order doesn't matter. And... mmh–ow! Got it, [ tony says triumphantly, shaking his hand after he frees it and then sucking on his pointer and middle fingers. ] One side down, [ he mutters and repeats the process above his right breast. ]
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coordinates and the specifications for the crate ("and straw. or packing peanuts. there's delicate circuity in here," tony said, to which rhodey deadpanned, "i thought it was armored," and tony submitted, "fine, i don't want to scratch the paint") given, tony hangs up, but not before he exclaims, "i appreciate you!" down the line as his goodbye. because he does. he really, really does appreciate james rhodes, even if rhodey laughs it off as tony just blowing air. he hasn't told rhodey it nearly enough over the years. if rhodey didn't blow him off that time in the airbase, before tony started building the mark ii, he'd be the one flying the suit.
finished, iron man clomps to the lip of the cave where the shade and light clash and sits down, legs bent in front. he rests his helmeted head back against the rock. ] All right. Take a load off. Helo'll be here in a couple hours.
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[He eases down into a crouch.]
I've seen them from a distance. [He's probably been in them as cargo, but he'd always been sedated and caged when traveling.]
And then a plane? [Something about that makes him nervous, but he can't figure out why, so he ignores it for now.]
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whatever. he can armchair psychologist himself another time (or never). right now tony wants to figure out his upcoming houseguest. ] So what's your story? [ he asks bluntly. he figures it's not a happy one. he can sympathize. ]
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I don't remember a lot. I know I wasn't always like this, but - [he spreads his hands.] I don't remember before. It's on purpose. They didn't want me to remember anything. I was just supposed to kill when they wanted me to. I spent the rest of my time locked up, and when they needed me, they'd put drugs in my food. I'd wake up, they'd aim me at the target, and they'd drug me again.
One day, there was this little man visiting. A German. He taunted me, and it was like he'd known me before. He had me taken out and paraded around to humiliate me. [He smiles grimly then, something dark and full of teeth.]
He said the wrong thing, and I ripped his throat out. He was already dying - I could smell it in his blood. They tried to shoot me with darts, but I kept fighting, right down to the very last man.
[He's pretty sure that'll just give Tony more questions to ask. Maybe, if Tony's lucky, he'll even get some answers.]
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'course, simba could be trying to gain sympathy. tony has more people than just himself to worry about, but he wants to believe in the gion who saved his life and won't even eat livestock because people here already "work hard enough". ]
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I don't remember. Russians, mostly. They hid within the government, but they were more. Bigger.
[He wishes he could remember, wishes he could root them out around the world. Maybe they've disappeared over the years, but he doesn't think so - not with the way they could hide in plain sight.]
I knew them before, I think. I'm not sure. [He flexes his claws, and they scrape against the rock. God, he hates the way his memory works, the way things hover just out of reach no matter how hard he tries.] But they weren't Russian. Then, I mean. I don't- [He shakes his head.] I told you, my memory is...strange. I can remember stuff without really thinking about it, concepts and things. I don't even remember learning Russian, but I know it. But my life is just- [He waves a hand.] I know it's there somewhere, but I can't get it.
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Well, keep thinking on it, okay? I might be able to track them down and get some of the answers you're missing. [ he rolls his shoulders, trying to stretch his chest and back out. ow. you don't really appreciate not having a chunk of metal in your sternum until you do. ] Or not. Your call. New place, new you, if you want. [ he's no stranger to leaving the past behind. ]
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He's not going to think about that, he decides. Better to focus on one problem at a time.]
You think I could get some real pants? [he asks instead. The loincloth is a little too Tarzan for him, okay?]
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pants. tony can handle pants. ] You won't be buying anything off the rack around me, [ he boasts to sound more sure and cocky than he feels. ] Everything custom-made or tailored. You'll be living like a real king of the jungle.
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God, he hasn't realized till now just how lonely for any sort of companionship he is. Maybe that's what has him agreeing to this crazy plan more than anything else - Tony seems to like him, treats him like another human being, and the promise of more of that is seductive as hell.]
Hope you got a discreet tailor, [he quips, and his accent thickens for a moment. He doesn't really believe Tony's going to risk everything by bringing someone in to take his measurements.]
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Sounds awfully fancy - and I think you're more a fancy suit guy than I am.
[Eh? Ehhh?]
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[He looks amused and a little uncertain of what to say about it, but at least he seems to honestly like the suit. Something in the way Tony shows it off resonates in those buried memories of his, the flippant behavior, the search for approval.]
I'd ask how it works, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't understand any of it. It's impressive, though.
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A bad situation?
[He knows what it's like to not want to talk about things, so he'll understand if Tony chooses not to elaborate; his question leaves it open-ended to say as much or as little as he wants.]
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I'm gonna catch some Z's, [ tony declares too loudly, head swinging back to simba. ] Do whatever business you gotta do. Once I wake up, we set to work. [ he leans his head back and shuts his eyes. ]
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He curls up like a cat to sleep, holding the pack against his chest, his tail wrapped around him. Like a cat, he drops off to sleep quickly, his chest rising and falling in silence as he breathes.]
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eventually, tony calls from around the bend in the cave, voice echoey, ] Hey, Lion-O! You up? [ a short wait for an answer. ] Some natural predator you are if you're not. Stop lazing and come give me a paw.
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What are you doing? [He yawns, his mouth gaping wide to reveal a truly impressive set of fangs.]
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Getting ready, [ tony says, distracted as he removes the second pauldron. he drops it without looking (clonk) and digs his bare fingers under the edge of the cuirass at his collarbone, wincing. ] Gonna need you for this part, [ he hisses. ]
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All right. [He steps closer, right up into Tony's personal bubble, but doesn't reach out to touch just yet.]
What am I supposed to do?
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