While There's Still Something Left

Way Down We Go

Norman Osborn. 48 year old Chemist, electrical engineer, and business man. He was smart, sure, but Tony was not a fan.

Admittedly, in their youth, the guy hadn't been too bad. Tony ran in to him at some of his dad's extravagant parties and at first they'd talked about nothing of actual importance. Then as time went by they discovered that they had more in common with each other than they originally thought, but it wasn't until Norman witnessed Howard practically drag Tony outside and yell in his face for being an embarrassment that they became companionable. Norman could've left. It wasn't his problem, but instead he sat outside with him and shared the six pack he'd bought off of one of the kitchen workers.

From that point on, if Tony knew Norman was coming, he would grab some of his dad's alcohol and they would bond over how crappy their dads were in the handicap stall of the bathrooms. When Tony saw the bruises Mr. Osborn left, Tony finally felt like he'd finally found someone in his dad's world he could breathe around.

Young Norman was still like all the other guys he'd grown up with; wealthy, affluent, and frankly a bit of a douche and that was to be expected, but unlike the others, he didn't enjoy spending all his parent's money gambling or hookers. Norman certainly didn't have as bad of a reputation as Tony did in his younger years. He was relatively well-rounded, and everyone had great expectations for him. However, where Tony seemed to get better as he got older, the opposite was true of Norman.

What started as a company with good intentions molded Norman into someone bitter, angry, and greedy. It was rumored that Norman framed his mentor and co-founder of Oscorp of embezzlement so that he could have sole ownership of the company. Cancelling promising trials on the basis that they wouldn't yield enough profit and hiring people to participate in trials he knew weren't ready for human testing was just the tip of the iceberg of problems that Natasha was able to dig up. It would be a PR nightmare if not for the bookoos of money he paid the media off with.

Tony was almost not surprised he was (probably) recruited by Hydra.

Walking through the building, he could feel heads turning in his and Nat's direction, whispers following them despite the disapproving looks they were getting from their superiors, and he almost wished they'd dressed in civvies, or at least less like themselves. Tony was used to the attention, but this was probably his least favorite kind (less loving, adoring fans, more angry rivals). Not that he was worried, per se. He'd been hated for a long time by a lot of people and knew that there was nothing these people could do to him he hadn't been through already.

Natasha, amazing little enigma that she was, took their circumstance lightly, almost as if she didn't noticed them at all. She walked as calmly and confidently as he'd seen her walk around Stark Tower, where he'd like to think she felt at home.

Norman's office made Tony snort out loud. If he'd been ask to draw what he imagined it to be like, people would have deemed him a psychic. It was basically a glorified hospital room with a desk. Fitting, he guessed, considering the research Norman's company did, but unsettling nonetheless.

Norman was wearing a tailored black suit with a pinstriped brown vest, probably trying to look sophisticated in the expensive ensemble but coming off just-well, boring. He stood from his desk as they entered, wearing a smile that was just this side of too enthused.

"Tony Stark. It's been a while."

"Yep," Tony agreed popping the p sound. "Nice place you've got here. Very white."

"Yes, well. Unlike the designers at SI, we aim for a cohesive design," Norman replied. "How have you been? Still partying?

"Only when it suits me. What about you? Still kissing ass to get what you want or are you finally the one bending over?"