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letterbladePost 43! Technitium! Yaaaaaay!
*****
Vietnam, Quang Ngai Province, spring of 1971
Somebody's reached into her chest and torn her heart out.
She should be looking for Ty down the hallway. Tell him to give her the fucking heart back, he's got the rest of her, why does he want that? He's put the top-secret folders in her hands and sent her abroad. Glorified secretary. The folders are full of her work with his name on it, and only she knows enough to make the presentation, and that doesn't explain why somebody's torn her heart out.
She's lying on sticks.
She's jostling along in the forest. Men watching the jungle with their hands twitching on their rifles, and she stifles in the heat and wants something on the rocks. Take fucking lemonade on the rocks right now. Then there are the tailfins she designed two years ago, the tailfins she put that exact spin on, and Stone Industries with the swoosh, and the whine that means it's two seconds from blowing.
There's a roof. Bamboo. She's pretty sure that's now. She squints at it a while, turns her head, and pain racks through her chest. So that's now. She's had trouble with the whole now thing before. Blackouts between parties and the morning after Rob or Youngman or Ian dropped her off. That didn't involve pain like this though, which means the whole heart torn out thing is now too, and that makes her gorge rise in panic.
"Lie easy, Madame Stark."
She doesn't know the voice. It's quaint and creaky and thick with a clusterfuck of maybe three or four accents.
She tries to say something coherent, and instead it comes out something close to oh, fucker. The roof's bamboo. Her mouth's bone dry; she opens it and gulps air so humid it's like drinking. Tongue still feels like leather.
"Your convoy was attacked. These men found you. You were badly injured."
"Gahck." She gets a hand to her mouth, and it comes away bloody. Oh, that would explain that. Spits hard. "Who."
"Vietcong. A splinter group, I think."
Quaint creaky voice is an old man. Chinese, she's sort of sure. Long thin white beard. Kindly sort of look.
She tries to sit up, realizes that was a bit of a mistake.
"As I said, lie easy."
"Fuck that hurts."
He holds up a coke bottle, label torn off. Shakes it, and shreds of metal jingle. Frag pattern that goes with the tailfins. She'd designed that too, signed it over to Ty.
She manages to look down.
There's a little red stripe every damn place he's pulled shrapnel out. Delicate stitches here and there. Scattered like bloody grass cuttings down her sternum, bigger and jagged over the soft bits, over her breasts. Blood's come up, drowning out Ty's bruises.
She almost doesn't register for a moment that there's something else there. Big clunky circle. Sewn into her skin, almost over her heart.
She's pretty sure she screams.
"Madame Stark." The little old man has a hand on her shoulder. She's naked to the waist except for the bandages and the sheet. Bloody grass over her breasts, yeah, she screams. "Madame Stark, please, lie easy. Your life is in danger."
"T-120," she gasps, drops her head back.
"Pardons?"
"T-120. I designed that thing. Frags, shrapnel tends to work its way." She coughs. "In. Did you get it all out?"
Little old man bows his head. "No. Under your sternum, far too close to your heart to operate."
Oh.
"I'm going to die." She doesn't sound particularly worried about it, she thinks.
"Perhaps," he says. "Perhaps not." He touches the heavy bit of metal nested between her breasts. Lightly; even then, the tiny motion burns.
"What the fuck did you do to me," she croaks.
"Saved your life, Madame Stark, and quite possibly your honor."
"What makes you think I have any?" she mutters.
"That's an electromagnet."
She squints down at it. "Oh. So it is, then." Raises her eyebrows. "That's kind of clever, really."
"It can't work forever. It's not fine-tuned. I'm not an engineer."
"I am." She contemplates it. Interesting challenge. Her head's too pounding with pain to think of anything more than that.
"I know. I read your papers, before these men took me. Quite a few of them, really. You invented most of Stone Industries line, right?"
"Yeah. Contract, I don't have the rights."
"You are perhaps the best engineer in the world," he says mildly. "You should. But I told these men this so they would spare your life, so they would not just violate and shoot you. Another problem arises. They would like your work."
"They should get in line," Andrea mutters. Now is starting to come together. This means it's about time for a drink.
"Sadly, they have no manners."
"Eh. Manners. What's your name?"
"Ho Yinsen, Madame Stark."
"Yinsen, okay. Stop calling me Madame. I'm not one."
"What are you, then?"
"I'm an Andrea. Can I get up yet?"
"I would say no."
"Damn."
Head back on the pillow, which she's pretty sure is just a folded bit of cloth over the slats. Kind of like she's pretty sure it would've been better if they'd left her for dead.
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $235 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!
*****
Vietnam, Quang Ngai Province, spring of 1971
Somebody's reached into her chest and torn her heart out.
She should be looking for Ty down the hallway. Tell him to give her the fucking heart back, he's got the rest of her, why does he want that? He's put the top-secret folders in her hands and sent her abroad. Glorified secretary. The folders are full of her work with his name on it, and only she knows enough to make the presentation, and that doesn't explain why somebody's torn her heart out.
She's lying on sticks.
She's jostling along in the forest. Men watching the jungle with their hands twitching on their rifles, and she stifles in the heat and wants something on the rocks. Take fucking lemonade on the rocks right now. Then there are the tailfins she designed two years ago, the tailfins she put that exact spin on, and Stone Industries with the swoosh, and the whine that means it's two seconds from blowing.
There's a roof. Bamboo. She's pretty sure that's now. She squints at it a while, turns her head, and pain racks through her chest. So that's now. She's had trouble with the whole now thing before. Blackouts between parties and the morning after Rob or Youngman or Ian dropped her off. That didn't involve pain like this though, which means the whole heart torn out thing is now too, and that makes her gorge rise in panic.
"Lie easy, Madame Stark."
She doesn't know the voice. It's quaint and creaky and thick with a clusterfuck of maybe three or four accents.
She tries to say something coherent, and instead it comes out something close to oh, fucker. The roof's bamboo. Her mouth's bone dry; she opens it and gulps air so humid it's like drinking. Tongue still feels like leather.
"Your convoy was attacked. These men found you. You were badly injured."
"Gahck." She gets a hand to her mouth, and it comes away bloody. Oh, that would explain that. Spits hard. "Who."
"Vietcong. A splinter group, I think."
Quaint creaky voice is an old man. Chinese, she's sort of sure. Long thin white beard. Kindly sort of look.
She tries to sit up, realizes that was a bit of a mistake.
"As I said, lie easy."
"Fuck that hurts."
He holds up a coke bottle, label torn off. Shakes it, and shreds of metal jingle. Frag pattern that goes with the tailfins. She'd designed that too, signed it over to Ty.
She manages to look down.
There's a little red stripe every damn place he's pulled shrapnel out. Delicate stitches here and there. Scattered like bloody grass cuttings down her sternum, bigger and jagged over the soft bits, over her breasts. Blood's come up, drowning out Ty's bruises.
She almost doesn't register for a moment that there's something else there. Big clunky circle. Sewn into her skin, almost over her heart.
She's pretty sure she screams.
"Madame Stark." The little old man has a hand on her shoulder. She's naked to the waist except for the bandages and the sheet. Bloody grass over her breasts, yeah, she screams. "Madame Stark, please, lie easy. Your life is in danger."
"T-120," she gasps, drops her head back.
"Pardons?"
"T-120. I designed that thing. Frags, shrapnel tends to work its way." She coughs. "In. Did you get it all out?"
Little old man bows his head. "No. Under your sternum, far too close to your heart to operate."
Oh.
"I'm going to die." She doesn't sound particularly worried about it, she thinks.
"Perhaps," he says. "Perhaps not." He touches the heavy bit of metal nested between her breasts. Lightly; even then, the tiny motion burns.
"What the fuck did you do to me," she croaks.
"Saved your life, Madame Stark, and quite possibly your honor."
"What makes you think I have any?" she mutters.
"That's an electromagnet."
She squints down at it. "Oh. So it is, then." Raises her eyebrows. "That's kind of clever, really."
"It can't work forever. It's not fine-tuned. I'm not an engineer."
"I am." She contemplates it. Interesting challenge. Her head's too pounding with pain to think of anything more than that.
"I know. I read your papers, before these men took me. Quite a few of them, really. You invented most of Stone Industries line, right?"
"Yeah. Contract, I don't have the rights."
"You are perhaps the best engineer in the world," he says mildly. "You should. But I told these men this so they would spare your life, so they would not just violate and shoot you. Another problem arises. They would like your work."
"They should get in line," Andrea mutters. Now is starting to come together. This means it's about time for a drink.
"Sadly, they have no manners."
"Eh. Manners. What's your name?"
"Ho Yinsen, Madame Stark."
"Yinsen, okay. Stop calling me Madame. I'm not one."
"What are you, then?"
"I'm an Andrea. Can I get up yet?"
"I would say no."
"Damn."
Head back on the pillow, which she's pretty sure is just a folded bit of cloth over the slats. Kind of like she's pretty sure it would've been better if they'd left her for dead.
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is
wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $235 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!