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The Love of Ivan	By : miladygrimm Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Iron Man Views: 3144 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, X-men (comics) Omega Red, Marvel, or Paramount Pictures, nor do I own any of the characters from the comics or the movies, this is a work of fiction and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 12
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- 14
Hammer was sitting in the Warden’s office. His eye was black and blue and his mouth bloodied. He felt incredibly alive. He licked the corner of his mouth. The thick taste of copper and skin slid over his tongue. He thrilled. Justin had never gotten into an actual fist fight before. He had goons to do that sort of thing for him. Even in school he’d learned which beefy bastard would be the easiest to manipulate. They’d done the fighting. Hammer had watched.
Twenty minutes ago, thanks to the not so subtle manipulations of Gomez, Justin Hammer had partaken of his very first fist fight. He should have done it sooner. It tasted good.
Now he sat in a creaking wooden seat that was bolted to the floor in front of an angry Warden Michael Harris. His orange jumpsuit was loose enough to hide the chains that held him in place.
Most of the guys tried hard not to piss of Harris. It wasn’t just the beating they’d probably get. It was the fear of having the few luxuries you were afforded taken away from you, of getting a cell transfer with Big Ben, all kinds of petty shit that could make an already crap life unbearable. Justin had put himself in this position on purpose.
Harris slipped off his uniform hat, setting it to one side. It was his 'I'm serious' motion. He pulled his nightstick out of its holster and gripped it between both hands over his desk. His crew cut hair looked strange on his rounded face. A constant red flushed his cheeks made him look a bit like a half cooked pig. Not that anyone would say that to Harris’ face. “I’m not a fucking fool, Hammer. You pulled this shit on my cell block and I want to know why.”
Justin watched Harris run his fat thumb over the smooth end of his nightstick. He'd seen that stick smash someones face open and the Warden would still stroke it like his favorite plaything.
Justin smiled, his cracked lip opened and he felt the stiff sting spread. It was a pleasurable feeling. A feeling of being alive. He was beginning to feel like his old self again. Sure, Hammer still had a scraggly beard and uncut hair, but there was a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Wow, nothing gets past you, does it Mike? You don’t mind if I call you Mike, do you?”
Warden Harris continued to look unamused.
Justin held his hands up, palms flat, chains dangling, facing out as if to say that he was unarmed. “Alright Mike, here’s the deal. I know what’s going on.”
Harris sat forward slowly, placing his meaty hands still half cupping the nightstick upon the desk in front of him. Hammer could see a small bit of red creeping up the Warden’s neck. A sure sign that he was loosing his patience.
“What’s going on, Hammer?” He asked slowly, enunciating every syllable with a deep growl that had been crafted to put down riots. It was a warning to back off and Hammer ignored it.
Justin tried standing, pulling at the thick chains, “Honestly? Are these necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Fine fine….but…you keep acting like this and I wont tell you how I can help you…what I’ve got to help you.”
“What you’re going to have is broken bones here in a second from the fall I’m about to give you.”
“You’ve got a gambling problem,” Justin said.
He did not have a chance to get out anything else. That fat meaty fist struck out grabbing Justin’s wounded face faster than Hammer would have thought Harris was capable of. Justins lip began to bleed again, a trickle that went over his chin. “I don’t know where your getting your fucking information Hammer….” He said, his grip tightening till Justin felt fresh bruises blossoming. His jaw was starting to crack in its joint.
“550,000 dollars is a lot of money to owe. You could buy a house with that…not as good as my house…but a house none the less. I could help.”
“Spit it out.” Harris said, his grip rolling the bones unrelenting.
“I could get you out of debt…get you a good ton of money so you wouldn’t have to worry.”
Justin felt the fingers release him suddenly and he restrained himself from rubbing the darkening skin.
“What do you want?”
Justin smiled, “Well now that you mention it...”
~
December was a white month in Russia. It fell in a heavy bitter cold. The streets of Moscow were colored with thick sheets of snow on top of snow and the weather held around 10 degrees. Ivan trudged through it all. He had received a message; one he could not ignore. One that he had to keep from Sylvia. It was a little after 11 and she was tucked away in sleep. Ivan had given her a kiss and let her know he was going out. She had just smiled and mumbled something sleepily. It was never easy to leave her. Tonight more than usual.
It was one in the morning and the black sky had stopped spilling snow. He had wrapped himself up in a pair of thick boots, sturdy jeans, and his heavy brown leather jacket. No one knew how to dress against the cold like a Russian.
The snow crunched under his feet as he made his way to Diva’s, a strip club located deep in Moscow. At this hour the place was packed. A pulsing techno beat, a Siren song to the lustful and the desperate, wafted through the icy air as the doors opened. Ivan slipped into the club, uninterested in the nearly naked dancers taking up the three semi-circular stages set up around the square building.
He scanned the room, looking for the darkest table in the place. The messenger would be there. He was sure of it. He caught a glimpse of perfectly blond hair in the neon lights and knew that he had found what it was he was seeking.
It was a man at the table. A man who, when standing, was near six and a half feet tall, and looked like he was carved from alabaster. His skin was white, not a natural Caucasian peach, but the shade of snow that still clung to Ivan's boot. Behind the dark glasses, Ivan knew, the man's eyes were a perfect soviet red. His blond hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that swung to and fro when even the slightest movement. It wasn't moving now. The man was eerily still in his chair. It was unnerving. Ivan tucked a toothpick between his lips and took a seat.
“Ivan,” the man said in a strange unearthly voice, like gravel over ice, making the harsh Russian language sound creepy and musical all at once.
“Arkady,” Ivan said hunched over. He waited a long moment before continuing. “I got your message.” Ivan said trying to hurry the conversation along.
“So I assumed, since you are here.”
“What is it you want?”
“I do not want…anything.” Arkady smirked his attention turning back to the stage where a long legged female was bending in a fascinating way.
Ivan did not like where this was going. Arkady Rossovich was a science project gone wrong. Built to be a super soldier for the Soviet Union the man’s mind was stuck in a time that had long since passed. Russia was no longer a Soviet state. But Arkady, called Omega Red, was a Soviet soldier through and through. A crazed man with accelerated healing, enhanced strength, speed, and dexterity. A product of technology that no man should bother with…messed with the mind too much. Man had no business attempting to perfect itself technologically. Arkady was the personification of that ideal.
Not to mention carbonium tentacle whips housed within his own arms. The fact that both men were Russian and both men used whips was where the similarities began and ended. Arkady was a fanatic, a crazed soviet loyalist. Loyal to a time that had come and gone. Arkady clung to the vestiges of a dark memory that many would rather learn from and leave behind.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because…a call has gone out, among those of us who listen. A call for blood…”
Ivan was quickly loosing interest in this freak. “I did not come for games.” Ivan teased the toothpick along his lip and stood up.
“Does she know you, Crimson Dynamo? Does she know who you are and what you did? I wonder…would she still look at you so fondly.”
Ivan felt his blood freeze in his veins. He stared coldly across the table at the pale skinned lunatic and had to suppress an image of slamming his face into the strippers stage until those red eyes clouded with death. “You speak in riddles.”
“You used to enjoy a good puzzle.”
“You used to make sense.”
Arkady laughed, throwing his head back so that impossibly long blond hair brushed along the ground. The sound was unnerving, like metal scraping over glass. “Once upon a time….” He tittered. “But it is in lieu of those times that I am here, Ivan.” Arkady’s face went from gleeful to stone cold in the blink of an eye. “The American has been trying to find you…”
Ivan wondered which American Arkady spoke of. Ivan decided to remain quiet.
“The Hammer crosses you…how wonderfully ironic…are you a sickle Vanko?”
Ivan continued to tease his tongue along the tip of the toothpick in his mouth, making it dance across his lower lip. “He’s begun to stretch out his fingers…I’d be careful if I were you.”
Ivan didn’t bother to ask Arkady why he cared. Ivan knew that Omega Red had always wanted to test himself against Crimson Dynamo. They never had. And if Ivan got his way, they never would. Ivan liked fighting for the right reasons. Arkady liked fighting for any reason.
Ivan shook his head, dragging his fingers through his hair. “What do you want Arkady? Talk now. You prattle on like old woman.”
“Just to tell you that Hammer wants you hurting…and then he wants you dead.”
- 12
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- 14
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The Love of Ivan