One Punch MCU

[TheLastDreamer]

Morning light shone through the glass windows of the Stark mansion underground workshop.

Tony stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling whiteboard, holding a dry-erase marker. The board was covered with his writings. Near the center, a single number was circled four times.

A cold cup of coffee sat on the workbench behind him.

The door slid open and Happy walked in carrying two fresh coffees. He stopped to look at the board.

"You didn't sleep," Happy asked.

"No," Tony said, his eyes fixed on the board.

Happy set the coffee down. "Still thinking about Pajama Man?"

"Happy, that guy punched another into the Hudson," Tony said.

"Yeah..."

"Without any buildup." Tony capped the marker and tossed it onto the bench. "Like I said physics doesn't negotiate, Happy. So why'd it make an exception yesterday?"

The door slid open again. Pepper Potts walked in holding a stack of manila folders.

"The legal team has been up since four," Pepper said, setting the folders down. "NYPD wants a statement about the gala, the insurance adjusters are asking about the taxicab, and two board members are asking why our security couldn't stop four guys in an SUV."

Tony kept staring at the whiteboard.

Pepper looked at the dark circles under his eyes. "You're looking for him."

Tony picked up a fresh marker. "Already found him."

Pepper blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"Lost him again," Tony muttered.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tony, there was an attempted kidnapping on Manhattan soil. We need to handle the press."

"Happy's handling it," Tony said, walking past her toward the elevator.

Happy looked up. "I am?"

"You're driving," Tony said. "Let me know when the press gets here."

...

The Maybach rolled slowly down a street on the Lower East Side.

"Where do we start?" Happy asked. "New York's got eight million people."

"Anywhere cheap," Tony said from the backseat. "A guy who worries about a cheap hot dog isn't hanging out at the Plaza."

Two blocks later, Happy slowed the car.

Outside a Japanese grocery store, Saitama stopped walking. Stacked behind the glass were packages of instant udon. He pulled out his wallet and looked inside. He closed it, then opened it again as tho money might magically appear inside the empty leather pouch. He looked up at the price tag printed on the window sign and let out a quiet sigh.

"...Too expensive," Saitama muttered.

Tony opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk. He walked up beside him, leaning against the wall.

"Hungry?" Tony asked.

Saitama didn't look over. "...Udon."

"Get in," Tony said, gesturing toward the car.

Ten minutes later, Tony sat in the booth of a Midtown restaurant. Saitama sat across from him in his yellow suit.

A waiter approached, handing over two leather-bound menus. Saitama opened his, stared at the dense rows of English words for three seconds, on realizing he couldn't read a single letter he quietly closed it.

"Order whatever you want," Tony told him.

Saitama looked up at the waiter. "...Udon?"

"Yes, sir," the waiter said.

Saitama nodded. "...Okay."

"Bring him a big bowl," Tony added. "Hot broth."

The waiter took the menus and left.

Tony pulled a silver pen from his pocket, grabbed a cloth napkin, and began sketching lines.

"...No recoil," Tony muttered, drawing an arrow. "...No crater." He drew another line. "...No pressure wave." He looked up. "...Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

Saitama pulled a pair of chopsticks apart as the waiter set down a massive bowl of noodle soup. Saitama's eyes brightened for a second. He leaned over and pulled a heavy clump of noodles into his mouth.

Tony looked up from his napkin. "Why'd you hit him?"

Saitama swallowed. "...Hot dog."

Tony waited. "...The hot dog."

"...He hit," Saitama said.

"...So you launched him into the Hudson."

Saitama shrugged, taking another bite. "...Lunch gone."

Tony looked back down at the napkin, drawing another line. "...Are you listening?"

"...Can eat and listen," Saitama said, before immediately slurping a long strand of noodles.

Tony clicked his pen shut and tossed it on the table. "I have a job opening. Work for me."

Saitama paused with his chopsticks. "...Pay?"

"Yes," Tony said. "Stand near me. Bodyguard stuff. Someone shoots, you hit."

"...Dangerous?"

"...Sometimes," Tony said. On seeing him hesitate Tony pivoted to. "Apartment. Your own place."

Saitama's chopsticks stopped.

"...Big?" Saitama asked.

Tony blinked. "Compared to?"

Saitama thought for a second. "...Closet."

Tony laughed. "Yes. Real bed. Kitchen."

Saitama set his chopsticks down, looking at him with actual interest.

"Food, too," Tony added. "How much do you eat?"

"...A lot."

"I noticed," Tony said. "As much as you want. I'll cover it."

Saitama thought it over. "...Food first."

Tony smiled. "Deal."

From the entrance, Happy watched them. He started walking over.

"Tony," Happy said.

Tony ignored him, watching Saitama drink the broth.

"Tony."

"...Tony!"

Tony looked back annoyed. "What?"

"He's your bodyguard now?" Happy asked, pointing at Saitama. "What about me?"

"You're still my bodyguard, Happy," Tony said.

"Then what is he?"

Tony gestured toward Saitama, who was tipping the giant bowl back to get every drop of soup. "Congratulations, Happy. You have help."

Across the street, a black sedan sat along the curb.

Agent Phil Coulson sat in the passenger seat with a cup of coffee. He lowered his binoculars.

The agent driving turned around. "Target is inside with Stark. Should we move in?"

Coulson took a sip of coffee. He watched through the restaurant window as Tony spoke to the man in yellow.

"No," Coulson said.

"Sir?" the driver asked. "Director Fury wants this individual contained."

"He's not causing a disturbance," Coulson said, adjusting his tie. "And right now, Stark is doing our job for us. Let's see what Mr. Stark thinks he's doing."

Tony slid a sleek, embossed black business card across the table.

"My office," Tony said. "Be there at nine tomorrow."

Saitama picked up the card. He turned it sideways, then upside down, squinting at the raised lettering.

Tony watched him.

"...You don't know where that is."

Saitama looked up.

"...No."

Tony sighed.

"Give that to any cab driver."

Saitama looked at the napkin.

"...Cab?"

Tony blinked.

"Taxi."

"...Ah."

Saitama nodded, and slipped the card into his wallet beside the stack of yen.