12304/The Stark Files: Chapter 4

The Stark Files: Chapter 4
Date of Scene:	07 October 2020
Location:	Tony Stark's Private Jet
Synopsis:	Squalls! Squabbling! Scotch!
Cast of Characters:	Iron Man, Peggy Carter
Tinyplot:	Stark Files

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Iron Man has posed:
"I'm trying to remember whose fault this is... a pretty significant portion of my brain is telling me it's your fault, but I have like this nagging suspicion that maybe I'm somehow at least partly to blame. In some small way, at least."

With his bare feet propped up on the seat cushion, and his expensively-tailored suit jacket doubling as a neck pillow, Tony Stark is sprawled out on the floor of his private jet with his arms to the side and a cup of scotch balanced precariously on the Arc Reactor that's hidden beneath his mustard-colored shirt.

Mustard isn't usually a great look on most people, but with the red tie and the black suit, it kind of works. Or if it doesn't, don't tell Tony. He'd be crushed.

"You're lucky that you're from so far back in the past. There's no way that you'll ever find out that your father was some sort of sketchy Nazi collaborator, or... whatever it is that his weird files seem to be intent on revealing."

The jet's stewardesses are as attentive as usual, but they seem to be giving Tony a pretty wide berth this flight. Probably wise, any time he needs to elevate his feet it usually means that he's having some sort of emotion that he doesn't know how to process, or that he's about to invent something revolutionary.

Strewn around Tony's head, some dusty old files from the 40s and 50s have been opened and rummaged through. Judging by the number of dossiers and surveillance photos, these files were probably not intended to end up in the hands of anyone, let alone Howard Stark's emotionally-neglected binge-drinking son.

Peggy Carter has posed:
In uncovering Howard Stark's things, Peggy has gotten rather close to his son. She's now seeing all the differences, not just the similiarities. And she still puts up with him like no one else short of, maybe, Pepper. She is truly an expert at dealing with Stark men, it just took a little bit longer with Tony. He's balancing scotch, but she's got a small cup of tea. Her own blend she had him order, or maybe brought herself aboard. She's picky about these things.

"Tony, my father was a farmer in northern England. Besides, he fought the Germans the first time around. Just my brother and I picking up the mess for the big one. Runs in the family, I guess." Peggy comments casually, as if it weren't a big deal she fought in the second world war, or that she's been around so long her father was in the first. She flips open another file, giving a little sigh.

"And your father was many things, but he wasn't a collaborator. Not in the least. If he hid things this well, it was because he was scared the collaborators would get ahold of it..." She then sits a bit straighter, looking deeper at the file in front of her. "...this looks like a... chemical formula. But those aren't real elements... None of them..." She passes the sheet off to him.

Iron Man has posed:
"Ugh..."

Tony has to do about half of a crunch in order to reach up and take the file from the International Woman of Mystery. It's more exercise than he was planning to get during this flight, by the look of it.

Fortunately, he manages to do this without spilling his scotch. The Arc Reactor makes an okay coaster, but better to not risk ruining the shirt he was planning to wear when they touch down. Sure, there's some Emergency Wardrobe onboard, it's Tony's jet, after all. But he's dipped into the Emergency Wardrobe pretty often the past few months, and it's down to just the pajamas and athleisure wear...

"Well of course they're not real ELEMENTS... these are MOLECULES." Looking at the sheet for about a second, he's already figured out the problem. Or at least he thinks he has.

"Well, ONE molecule, it looks like. Something organic, but uh... organic chemistry isn't exactly my jam."

Holding the sheet with one hand, and his cup in the other, Tony absorbs the facts from one and the liquid from the other.

"Huh. You're right though... Pretty sure that whatever this molecule is made from, it doesn't occur naturally on Earth. Probably something his Hydra buddies made up with their Budding Supervillain's First Bunsen Burner."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The last comment crosses a line with Peggy. Through all of this, she's not actually gotten angry at him, but that just pushed a little too far. She sets down the manila folder she was reading and her coffee cup, staring hard a him, no amusement in her voice. "Tony. Can you stop? Really? For one day, can you... cease this senseless set of accusations about your father? It's bad enough I spent my first ten years in this country having to hear the same damn things from my superiors, the SSR, and most of the US senate. Now, 70 years later, I'm getting it from his son? Your father was a bastard, and a womanizer, and probably a shitty, awful father. But he wasn't a Nazi. We spent our whole damn lives fighting those people..." Then she stops. Maybe the smallest trace of pain across her face, echoing the sharp, very British but very presnt anger that is there.

He's probably never actually seen her angry before. Not this angry. But she goes dead quiet for just a second. Then she stands. She starts gathering up the mess of files around them. "No, you know what? I'm done. Just give these to me and I'll handle cleaning up the last of Howard's messes. I don't need your help. You can go to Europe, womanize, find whatever distractions you like... I'll sort through this on my own and tell you what happens when I'm done."

If he lets her take the other files, she gathers the stack into her arms and turns on the ball of her foot, stalking for some -- ANY OTHER -- area of the plane where she can sit alone and mostly distanced from him.

Iron Man has posed:
Suddenly without any dusty old files around him, Tony seems grateful, almost relieved: She didn't take the scotch.

It's a pretty room jet, with plenty of space to get away from Tony. Especially if one doesn't mind hanging out with the pilot or a stewardess. Due to simple spatial realities, a lot of the space serves more than one purpose, which is why the center aisle is also the dance floor and the furniture all folds up. But in a tasteful way.

For a moment, it looks as if Tony's going to be perfectly fine with her leaving in a huff, his mustache forming an almost perfect horizontal line as he makes up his mind not to follow.

But, slowly, he takes his feet down from the chair and rolls over to his side, peeking out from behind the furniture like a sideways Wilson from Home Improvement.

"Hey uh..."

His voice sounds more meek than usual, a bit chastened. The way men usually sound when they've just been yelled at by a woman who may or may not be carrying a gun.

"I uh..."

"Sorry."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Well, she didn't exactly have a whole other office room to stalk off to, but there was a pretty good distance between pockets of chairs, and she's in the set the farthest from where he'd set up with his scotch. She's still working over the files, though the one with the strange molecules has been set aside. There's a small pile of things that she's going to need outside help with, and ones she can puzzle through on her own.

For the moment, she's unaware she's being looked at. She's not expecting him to really care, or take the chastizement to heart. She looks the faintest bit more pale, a cross of slight pain on her face, though it might be emotional hurt more than anything. She's keeping eyes on the files.

When he finally speaks, she does blink up to him. She straightens her body more than before, hiding any trace of pain as she stares coolly across the aisle to the peaking, younger man. The apology isn't something she expected. It's not something his father ever did. "You..." She takes a steadying breath in through her nose. "...You're... Sorry. Good. You should be. But... fine. Forgiven. I still won't force you to work on this mess but... Don't call us sympathizers while *I* do. Howard and I worked closer than anyone in the world. Neither of us were sympathizers. Just... don't again."

Iron Man has posed:
Whether or not Howard Stark ever apologized, Tony certainly doesn't make a habit of it. This might have been maybe the... fifth time in his entire life. Which is probably why it sounds so awkward and stilted, as if he isn't exactly sure how to do it.

With seeming effort, he rolls over the rest of the way, and gets up to his feet. He seems pretty steady, but walking on a plane is slightly more difficult, even one that's flying as smoothly as this one.

Must be clear skies outside.

Making his way over toward Peggy, he drops his glass off at the nearest hostess, who takes it off to... wherever the drinks are stored. Tony probably thinks they're summoned magically.

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Old war buddy stuff. And maybe you're right, maybe there's some sort of justification for all the weird shit we've been finding that I just haven't thought of yet."

The intercom suddenly beeps, and the pilot's voice can be heard. A female voice, kind of young, sounds a bit ditzy, but let's not jump to conclusions about her qualifications to fly this jet.

"Tony, we're uh... pretty close to Japan. Like, maybe twenty minutes? You should probably buckle your seats soon, the weather there looks crazy."

Okay, maybe we should jumpt to some conclusions.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"The justification is that just because I wasn't a sympathizer, and he wasn't... we couldn't be certain all of SHIELD was clear. In fact, he trusted some of our new hires less than anyone. Things got messy after the war. ... Pardons were signed, when they shouldn't have been. He didn't want the things he did falling into the wrong hands -- Ever. So he left them with you. His son. Someone he could trust beyond words. And some with me... because, even if he didn't trust SHIELD, he trusted me. That's what this is. It's because he *wasn't* a sympathizer and he hated every dirty bastard who was." Just like her. The tone of her voice cuts deep. This issue goes far deeper than just some old anger. These are scars and betrayals of war. Bone deep hate. Cultural trauma.

Shen the looks back down to the file, about to turn pages again, when she hears that announcement. Her brows furrow, looking up to the intercom. "...You trust this pilot, yes? She should have exact timing on her screen somewhere. What in the bloody hell does crazy weather mean?"

Iron Man has posed:
Nodding somewhat pleasantly, despite his obvious misgivings, Tony seems to be back on board the 'Find the Clues' train. Gives him something to do on a Wednesday, if nothing else, right?

"You're going to mess up our whole schtick if you keep up all this 'Believing in Howard' stuff. You're supposed to be the hardened skeptic, Scully, and I'm supposed to be the eccentric but charming..."

The plane shakes suddenly, tilting sharply to one side. Not sharply enough to send Tony flying across the cabin or anything, but suddenly enough to make him wobble and have to spread his arms out for balance.

"Don't worry. Janelle was a pilot in the Air Force. Or... maybe it was the Navy"

Tony looks in the direction of the cockpit and calls out, at roughly conversational deciblage "Hey Janelle, were you in the Air Force or the Navy?"

There's a slight pause, and the voice sounds a bit timid on the other side of the intercom.

"Uh... neither? I told the lady in HR that I was in the Coast Guard Reserves. But I've been practicing every day with the simulator like you told me to."

Tony winces, his right eye continuing to twitch for several seconds after the wince is fully ended.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"...Janelle is very pretty, isn't she? Or you didn't help interview her?" Peggy knows Stark men. She smirks deeply, but as the plane jerks again, her eyes go a little wider. Hands white knuckle against the edge of the seat's arm.

"Look, Janelle, do you need some... assistance up there? I have been trained in these as well." Granted, Peggy doesn't have many hours on a modern plane either, but probably more than the woman. No matter how she was feeling earlier, and it wasn't great, she's got to push that aside now. Worries in order of crisis that will kill them fastest. A plane going down? It will.

When they rock again, Peggy curses and starts unstrapping herself, "Get the files somewhere...Safe. If you have a sealed case, all the better. I'm going to help her get this safely down..." She orders the man across from her, no longer worried about messes with his father.

Iron Man has posed:
For a second, it looks like Tony is about to take offense at the suggestion. His mouth is open and everything, as if he's got a defensive response ready to go. But he seems to think better of it at the last second, his mouth closing and his expression turning into something very like a rueful grin.

"Actually I could..." For another second, it looks like Tony is about to offer to fly the plane himself. But the scotch decanter is noticeably less full than it was at the beginning of the flight, so he probably shouldn't get behind the wheel, much less the controls of a jet.

"Yeah, sure, I'll get 'em cleaned up." Tony had never bothered actually strapping himself in, so it won't be a problem for him to get up and around. He's been in way more dangerous spots than this, which seems to have done nothing but exaggerate his natural arrogance.

Standing up, he slides past her as they head in separate directions, doing the awkward thing where he starts to go around her one way, then pauses and goes the other way when it looks like that's the way she's moving. Fortunately, it only lasts a half second.

"Hey... Janice, was it? Can you get these files cleaned up? Just put 'em under my bed. That thing's been reinforced with gold-titanium bolts."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"And then get yourself *strapped in*, Stark!" Peggy half snaps at him, worry behind her voice. If this plane goes down hard, she could probably get them into water. She couldn't save him from a broken neck. So, with that, she weaves past him, grabbing his shoulders a moment as they are in that dance and forcably turning him the right way. Past! She's dodging up front to the scared cock pit crew, staring down at the too pretty blonde who is panicking over the controls.

"*Leave*. Did you even try auto pilot? Too late now. Just, get back there." She snaps to the woman, huffing a bit as she swings down into her seat and starts flicking on a few other sensors, and OFF the auto pilot. She'd rather fight these winds herself. She drags on the head set to start talking with ground control as she tries to get them into less turbulant wind instead of fighting up and down through it all, the way the girl was.

The kick of adrenaline is a lot. Normally, she can handle it. The little flickers of something going wrong, issues of circulation, all those hints that she's not as hale and hearty as she's always been, they've been easy to ignore. Now, as that fighting instinct floods her body with hormones and kicks her pulse into double time, it falters. Spots of blackness around the corner of her vision. It's hard to keep the controls steady with numb fingertips. But she fights through it, forcing herself to breathe even. She'd get them down, hell or high water.

"Ground control, we've taken some wind damage. Landing gear may be damaged... we... We need an emergency landing now..." Peggy's just starting to set in some auto-pilot coordinates, now that she's gotten them through the worst band of the storm, when the controls completely go out of focus. Her hands try to finish it on muscle memory alone, but this isn't her plane. In another second, she's slumped forward on the controls. Ground control's calling back to her. No one responds.