Man of Iron, Child of Magic

4

Harry had dozed or slept most of the way from Privet Drive to … wherever they were now. He hadn't realized just how tired he'd been - both physically and emotionally - and not for the first time since the accident, he wished for a pain relief potion. Maybe even some Skele-Gro, no matter how nasty it tasted.

Shifting in his seat, he craned his neck, looking at the city around him.

"Docklands," Stark said from where he sat across from Harry. "Dad invested fairly heavily in the redevelopment of the area, including building the Stark Docklands Tower."

Harry nodded as though he had any idea what the other man was talking about. He only occasionally heard part of the newscasts Uncle Vernon insisted on listening to, and since he hadn't gone into the city proper other than on occasional trips in primary school, he had no idea what "Docklands" actually meant.

Still, it wasn't Privet Drive, so it was all good.

The car pulled into an underground parking garage, and Harry let Rogers assist him out of the car and over to the lifts nearby. Behind him, Stark gave orders to have Harry's trunk brought up to the residential floor, whatever that meant, and then came to join them.

"Hungry?" he asked as they stepped into the lift - which had opened just as Stark arrived. "Wait - what am I saying? You have to be hungry - teenage boy, stuck in the hospital with certainly good for you but horrible tasting food. Pizza?"

"I've never had it," Harry said absently.

"That is a travesty," Stark declared. "J, order us some pies. Anyone got a preference?"

"It could be interesting to try the English interpretation of a New York style pizza," Rogers said. "But I'm not picky."

"One New York style, one with everything," Stark said, then looked at Harry. "Unless you have allergies?"

"I don't think so," Harry said.

"I have placed the order, Sir," JARVIS said. "They estimate half an hour for delivery."

"Thanks, J," Stark said as the lift doors opened into an entryway that was larger than Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive.

"Five-cent tour," Stark said, breezing past Harry and further into the flat. He pointed to the right. "Kitchen, breakfast bar, and dining room that way. Living area straight ahead, and four bedrooms with en suite baths to the left. Far left bedroom's mine. Either of you have preferences for the other?"

"I can sleep anywhere," Rogers replied. "Harry?"

"Wherever you want," Harry replied. "I don't want to be a bother." Which, he reflected, was a silly thing to say, since the man's life had been uprooted because of Harry.

"You're not a bother," Stark said fiercely, and Harry turned to stare at him.

"I've upended your life," Harry protested.

"No, this," he tapped his chest, where Harry could see a faint blue light beneath the black T-shirt he wore, "and how I got it upended my life. The alien invasion a couple of months ago upended a lot of people's lives. You - no offense, kid, but you're … what do the Brits call it?" He paused, frowning thoughtfully.

"A spot of bother," Rogers supplied. "Or that's what Peggy would've called it. Then again, she called the Blitz an inconvenience."

Stark laughed. "Sounds like Aunt Peggy."

Before Harry could wonder, let alone ask, what they were talking about, a brisk, almost impatient, tapping sounded.

Harry turned as quickly as he could, hampered by crutches and casts, and by that time, Rogers was in a defensive stance - in front of him? Harry boggled - and Stark stood with his arms out, which made Harry frown. What did the man think he was doing?