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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
((Goodness...what to say about this chapter. I'm not entirely fond of the fight scene. But...well the more I tried to mess with it the worse it got...I'm sorry. Try to see it with a lot more flash and damage...))
Jack Harris had been Justin Hammers assistant for many years. He had never had the same acclaim that Pepper Potts had but her had been just as punctual, just as organized, just as discrete as she had been for Stark. In all truth Jack had gone above and beyond Pepper Potts. He hadn’t just helped with business. He had been secretary, cook, and publicist for the somewhat misunderstood Justin hammer. He had served Hammer for almost 20 years, beginning his tenure as assistant when Hammer had inherited his company at 16. Twenty years of steadfast assisting.
And now he didn’t know what to do.
He had been keeping Hammer Industries together for four months. And he had been lost.
It should not be misconstrued that Jack was in love with Justin. It wasn’t quite that simple. Justin hammer gave Jack a reason for living. Jack was a perfectionist to an extreme sense. Everything must be ‘just so’. Justin was the wild ray of light that kept him from being just a bit….too perfect. They were a balance. Justin had the flashy lifestyle and the charming grin that has schmoozed many and offended even more. Jack was the silent keeper of Mr. Hammer. And now Hammer was gone.
Jack was laying in his simple twin bed, starched sheets pulled up over two thirds of his body. Folded down neatly. His pajamas had been ironed perfectly before he put them on for bed. His phone was exactly three inches from the edge of his bed, the light was three inches to the left from his phone. His alarm clock was directly in front of the lamp with a smooth one inch space between them. There was not a spec of dust on anything. His slippers were to the left of his bed. Everything was in it’s place.
Everything but Justin.
All the lights in the house were off. The alarm was set. The dishes form dinner had been cleaned and sanitized and placed in their places. The black and white musical that he had watched after dinner had been placed back in its case and put back on to its shelf. Television switched off, remote placed upon the table right next to the current issue of Delicious. A cooking magazine that Jack favored.
All of his laundry had been pressed and hung, just so, in the closet. Everything was exactly how it should be.
Jack closed his eyes and began to count backwards from fifty. He would be asleep before he reached 21. Everything was just about perfect.
He was at 30 when he heard the three chirps of the alarm being disengaged with a pass code.
That was not as it should be.
Jack sat up suddenly, folding his blanket to one side. He stuffed his feet into his slippers and prepared to phone the police.
“Jack?”
Jack felt his throat go dry. Justin was home.
“Sir?” Jack slipped on his bathrobe and pushed opened his bedroom door. There Justin was, sitting at the perfectly white island/bar combo in the middle of the massive kitchen.
“I want some ice cream, Jack.”
Jack tried hard not to smile and moved to ready a bowl for Justin. Everything was just as it should be.
~
Who the heck was Agent Romanov? Sylvia looked back and forth between the two women who were having a silent conversation amongst themselves. She felt like an outsider looking on a fierce drama.
“I beg your pardon?” Sylvia asked. Looking from her friend to the lover of her lover’s enemy.
“You don’t know?” Pepper asked, a tight smile crossed her lips and she shook her head, “What are you doing here, Natasha?”
Nadja looked down at her plate of sushi and then back up, “I’m sorry, Sylvia.”
Sylvia blinked, Nadja’s normally thick Russian accent completely disappeared being replaced by a voice that could have come from…well…anywhere. Sylvia felt suddenly very intimidated.
“What’s going on here?” Sylvia asked.
Pepper crossed her arms, “I’d like to know that as well.”
“Sit down Pepper,” Nadja…Natalie…Natasha….whoever…said in that cold neutral voice.
Pepper paused for a moment, and then slid into the high barstool like chair next to Sylvia. The tension between them turned down by about half, a backround noise rather than an abundant simmer.
Nadja looked at Pepper and then slid her eyes to Sylvia. “My name is Natasha Rominoff, and I am an agent for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D, we are a group who travel the world looking for people with…extraordinary talents and seeing if they can be recruited or if they need to be taken down. My main mission within the organization is to assess the mental and physical abilities for recruitment purposes.”
“Umm…okay.” Sylvia felt incredibly confused. So…she wasn’t here to get Ivan?
“We became aware of Mr. Vanko during my initial study of Tony Stark and the Iron Man unit. Initially we had him flagged as a take down. However, recent actions have come to our attention.”
“Recent actions?” Pepper asked.
“Ivan Vanko has been spending his nights and weekends taking down the darker parts of the Russian Mafia.”
“WHAT!?” Sylvia asked suddenly. “He’s been…what? You must have the wrong Ivan. Ivan isn’t a hero…” Sylvia felt a small twinge of guilt at thinking that. But it was true. The man killed…with his bare hands. Sylvia was more than aware of that.
“That is not what my recon has been saying,” Nadja shrugged pulling her sushi back to her.
Pepper remained quite, she scanned a menu that was brought to her and ordered her own sushi.
“What recon?”
Nadja, or was that Natasha, pulled out a gray file and slid it over to Sylvia. Pepper frowned and looked over Sylvia’s shoulder as she flipped through clippings of Russian newspapers. Of course, Sylvia couldn’t read a damn word. However, she saw the faces of tattooed men laid out on the snowy ground. Dead.
“You’re sure that Ivan Vanko did this?” Pepper questioned.
“Positive. I saw him do this.” Nadja shrugged. “It seems he may have switched sides.”
Sylvia closed the file and went quiet. Why hadn’t he told her? If he had been doing something illegal that would make sense…but…this? Why hadn’t he said something to her? She would have been proud. Correction, she was proud.
“We cannot ignore what Vanko did at the Expo,” Pepper said crossing her arms.
“My psychological profile is that Ivan Vanko took the recent death of his father…poorly.”
Pepper snorted.
“He blamed Tony Stark for his father’s poor life and worse death. He took his retribution to an extreme level. However, after events I have not been made aware of he began to atone for his sins. After arriving in Moscow he spent several hours each day at a local church. He did not speak to anyone…he only sat there and played with an onyx beaded rosary. After this he would wander, and then he began to seek out what I would presume to be…old friends…these friends did not survive meeting with Ivan.”
“Why?”
“Unknown.” Nadja frowned, “This will sound…cliché Sylvia, but I think it was you.”
Pepper shook her head. “So the love of a woman made Ivan Vanko go good?”
“Ivan wasn’t bad to begin with,” Sylvia said flatly. “He just needed a wake up call.”
“So what are you going to do about him?” Pepper asked, “Because after the wedding Tony will begin looking for him again.”
“Please…don’t let him.”
Pepper raised her brow, “Have you met Tony? There is no one in the world who can stop him from doing what he thinks is right.”
“Then show him it’s wrong.”
Pepper sighed deeply “I don’t know how.”
“Make him believe it’s his idea,” Sylvia said suddenly.
“What?” Pepper and Nadja asked in unison.
“You said that no one can stop him when he thinks he’s right…then let him see what Ivan is doing. Show him what’s going on. Maybe he will see what Nadja has seen…that Ivan is doing good.”
“Well…maybe…” Pepper said looking down at her food. “I’ll see what I can do.”
~
The warehouse was empty save for a few broken down palettes and some busted machinery that was easier to leave behind than sell and cart away. Rust had gotten to the corners so that the dingy brown-red of it wove it’s way across the large expanse of gray like a poor patchwork quilt. Tonight was going to be rough.
Ivan wore a pair of old black jeans and his combat boots. A thin white shirt could be seen beneath his brown bomber jacket.
The warehouse was empty…but only on the surface. Behind the palettes there was a steel door. A basement that had been carved out after the warehouse was built. No easy task, but worth it to the guys who needed a bit of privacy for themselves.
When gambling had been made illegal in 2009 this place popped up like an unwanted erection.
Ivan used his boot to stop on one of the doors, he waited and stomped again. The door swung open and Ivan found himself staring into the face of a muscle bound tattooed guy. The two curling marks beneath his ears marked him as a bouncer and an enforcer. Not a surprise. But the marks on his hands said he’d killed a couple of people he was supposed to enforce. Now there was nice information.
The man sized Ivan up, there were no cheesy passwords, just a couple of looks. The bouncer gestured with his head and let Ivan by.
Step one was achieved.
The front room was partitioned off with a few well placed wooden slabs. The front room looked like a shady bar, with thick wooden tables, being served by scantily clad girls who probably worked for more than tips.
He had no interest in drink right now.
Ivan moved into the second area and smelled the thick scent of blood and sweat. A large chalk circle was scratched unto the floor. Most nights there was a fight here. Not right now, but the time was close. Bookies were mingling with people who were wearing pretty clothes and guns for accessories. He looked over them…but the one he was looking for wasn’t here.
His chest felt hot. He smiled.
Back behind a dark haired crowd he saw a slip of blond hair. That moon colored face. Those red eyes. Arkady couldn’t hide. Arkady didn’t like to hide. Arkady liked to be in the thick of things. The experiments that had been done to him hadn’t just given him above average reflexes and hard as diamond whips. They’d mess with his bodily systems enough that Arkady no longer produced the proper pheromones to keep him going. The only pheromone that he could produce was a toxic spore that drained the life from his victims.
The bodies had been piling up.
Their eyes met across the room and they both knew what was going to happen now. Ivan slid out of his bomber jacket, revealing what looked like techno bracelets on either wrist, and gave a near imperceptible nod. It had come to this moment.
Ivan had seen Arkady do terrible things. Things that had nothing to do with right and wrong and everything to do with hate. Arkady was everything that Ivan didn’t want to be, but had nearly become. Where had that thought come from? Apparently Ivan had more reasons to do this than he had thought. Good.
The two men eyed each other across the ring. Ivan stretched his arm out and felt the long cold line of his whips snake down his arms and hit the ground. Arkady, known as Omega Red, mimicked his movement. But Ivan knew that Arkady’s whips weren’t hidden beneath a jacket. They had come out of his skin.
They stepped up to the thick white circle. Ivan was dimly aware that the people who had been mingling around the ring were now sizing the two men up. Whispers of confusion and the hush of money exchanging hands. Gamblers…they’d bet on anything.
Ivan hit the twin buttons on either handle of his pair of whips. He felt the heat on his chest build and the blue light shine through the thin white fabric before it burned the old t-shirt away. Blue arc-energy fueled through his whips and he stepped into the circle.
Arkady gave a wicked laugh and stepped into the circle. The two men tested one another. Flicking their weapons this way and that. Testing one another. Ivan knew he was outclassed…Arkady was faster, stronger, and could take more damage. Ivan needed this to be over quickly. He didn’t have the stamina to fight Arkady for a prolonged period of time.
Arkady struck first. His whip wrapping around Ivan’s leg tripping him to the ground. Ivan rolled before the second whip could rip him in half. Ivan flicked his wrist and felt the whip wrap around Arkady’s arm he pulled backwards using the movement to stand and pull Arkady’s arm out of it’s socket all at once. Arkady was down one weapon…and he hadn’t shown pain.
“You are faster than I thought you’d be.” Arkady licked his lips and struck once more with his good arm. Ivan felt like his side had burst open, the wet thick cracking sound of ribs being broken filled the room. He felt blood running down one side and soaking the brim of his jeans. He couldn’t take much more like that. Getting hit by a car was one thing. Getting lashed in the side by carbonadium whips…different thing altogether.
However, Arkady wasn’t the smartest man. He didn’t notice things besides his pray. That’s why Ivan had waited till Arkady would be at the fighting ring. Ivan lashed his arm upwards grabbing one of the long square wooden rods that kept the ceiling in place. He ripped it out of the wall and lashed his good arm upwards. The ceiling gave and then tumbled down. Arkady didn’t move fast enough. The cement of the floor above crumble on him…it hadn’t killed him…Ivan hadn’t intended it to. He surged forward and whipped both electric length around Arkady’s neck and ripped backwards, decapitating him.
Ivan took a long deep breath and looked around, seeing the look of shock and awe register on peoples faces. He powered down his whips and coiled them slowly around his shoulders. He fetched his jacket, slid it on, and walked out the door. He wanted to see Sylvia…maybe she could make his ribs stop hurting.
- 17
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- 19
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The Love of Ivan