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It's been a little longer than Obadiah might have liked since Milliways's last appearance - long enough that the bites on his neck have healed over with shining new scar tissue. They can be mostly hidden with a carefully arranged collar, and he does that during the day, especially at work. His disappearance created enough gossip as it was. No need to provide fresh material.

He's not doing that now, though. He's loosened his tie and tugged down his collar, because here there are certain parties whose reactions he's very interested in.

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In the office, James asks Howard,

"You going to play nice if I let you sit, or should I just bung you in the cell right off?"

His tone is mild, even polite. Howard doesn't strike him as the type to keep being a problem.

"No, I'm done."

James is very right. Howard is in no way inclined to continue the fight, if you could call one and a half swings with an empty beer bottle a fight.

"All right."

James lets go and steps behind the desk, gesturing to the chairs in front of it.

"Have a seat, then, both of you."

He rummages in the desk drawers for a form and a biro.

"All of space-time to choose from," he grumbles, "and we're still stuck with the paper part of paperwork . . . Right." He points the biro at Howard. "I'll have your side of it first. And your name."

He heard what Howard was shouting and he's far from unsympathetic.

"Howard Stark," he says, dropping into a chair and gesturing sharply to Obadiah without looking at him. "I'm dead. Got drunk and drove off a cliff with my wife in the car. This asshole just told me he arranged the cliff. Because I didn't listen to him often enough."

James didn't react to recognizing Obadiah Stane, but he does respond to Howard's name - his expression softens from official to genuinely serious as he makes the connection.

Tony and Sherlock's dad. Doesn't that just bloody figure.

"All right," he murmurs, jotting down notes in shorthand.

When he looks up again, the look he turns on Stane is none too friendly. He understands a bit better now why Cal told him so coolly that Stane deserved his fate.

"Your turn."

Obadiah doesn't care what kind of look he's getting. He's in the clear. He can't be punished for anything outside of Milliways here.

"That's more or less accurate," he says. "There are a couple people here who know the truth, so I thought he may as well hear it from me. I didn't realize he'd react so badly."

He casts Howard a sweetly concerned glance.

"Don't be too rough on him, he's not usually the violent type."

"Neither are you," he snorts. "Too chickenshit to just shoot me—had to blow out a whole road instead."

"Oh, don't think I wasn't tempted," Obadiah says. "At least once a week. But if I had a nickel for every time someone thought about shooting you, I could have just bought the company right out from under you."

Howard has to laugh.

"You got that right."

"All right," James interposes, "that's all I need."

He jabs the biro at Stane. "You get out. And keep your bloody nose clean because I will be waiting for an excuse."

He turns to Howard. "Unfortunately, Mr Stark, that's violence and outside business I've got you on, so I'm going to have to keep you a bit longer."

He likes doing security at Milliways almost as much as he likes (used to like) working for Torchwood, but he hates when situations like this crop up. The letter of the law versus the spirit. Unfortunately, unlike with Torchwood, this is bullshit doesn't count as a loophole.

Obadiah stands with a certain kind of smug dignity.

"Believe it or not, Howard," he says, "it was good to see you again."

And then he strolls out.

Howard shakes his head.

"Yeah," he mutters when Obadiah is well past the door, "you too."

Then he gives James a shrug. "Whatever, it's not as though I've got somewhere to be."

"Minimum I can give you is a day," James says. "It's not too bad. Worst complaints I get are about the boredom."

He signs his name to the document and puts the biro down.

"If it helps," he says, "he got sucked into hell in my world a few months ago."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"Not really," he says after a moment, "but thanks."

James smiles. (He doesn't mentiont he part where Tony saw it happen.)

"You're welcome," he says. "You know, it's a small multiverse. I teach biology back home, I've had both your boys in my class. Tony graduated last May, year early with high honors. He's at MIT now."

He's doing well, is the implication, despite Stane's best efforts.

"...Okay," he says slowly, "I know I wasn't the greatest father, but I do know how to count. Both?"

James pauses.

He knows the obvious answer, of course. Different universe, different outcomes. With all the infinite possibilities on the table, it's not hard to believe that Maria Stark ended up carrying two fetuses in some and just the one in others.

But James's Torchwood sense is tingling.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Twins. Tony's brother is - well, the story goes that he didn't handle yours and your wife's deaths as well as Tony did. Changed his name to Sherlock Holmes, took on the persona."

He hesitates, debating his phrasing, then says,

"If there was ever anyone else under there, I've never met him."

. . . it hadn't even occurred to James before now that he might, in fact, not believe that Sherlock was ever anyone other than Sherlock. But now he's said it out loud, he realizes he's never believed otherwise.

"You're telling me my son multiplied while I wasn't looking?"

And as soon as he says it like that, it clicks.

Howard chuckles.

James gives him an inquiring look.

"Hey, what do I know? I was dead before mystery twin decided he was Sherlock Holmes, apparently."

His money is totally on clone. The only question is whether Tony managed it before or after.

Tony managing to pull a previously unseen twin brother out of his ass and convince the public that his parents just forgot is a depressingly plausible scenario. So, for that matter, is his managing to hide a clone from Howard for God knows how long. He could've raised an army of them in that junk-filled workshop of his and Howard never would've noticed.

. . . James shakes his head a little.

"Must be different universes," he says.

He's not entirely convinced of that. But he's still on duty and he should be putting Howard in his cell and going back out front for his shift. He doesn't have time to sort through this until he finds what it is that's setting off his alarms.

He can do that later.

"Maybe."

The Stark poker face is notoriously terrible.

The hell with it.

James's stern biology teacher face, conversely, is excellent.

"Are you going to share with the class?"

"No."

He looks a hell of a lot like Tony, right there. A hell of a lot.

Of course, that would have been too easy, wouldn't it?

"You're not much bloody good then, are you?" James says cheerfully. "Never you mind, then, I'll sort it out myself. You've got a jail sentence to carry out."

He gets up to escort Howard to the cells.

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tookhimtoschool - 2011-04-03 03:07 (UTC) - Expand

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