Warning: graphic depictions of panic attacks.
Summary: Natasha informs, Pepper dwells, and Tony has lost all hope.
Work is hard.
Coaxing a former patriotic symbol/super-soldier vigilante to return to the U.S. to supply information is harder.
They sit at a corner cafe in Manhattan, swallowed up by the lunch rush. It's hot, shimmering waves of heat and dazzling sunshine hinting at the beginning of summer. "You know, if I wanted something so watery, I would've just ordered coffee instead of water," Natasha muses, glancing at her companion out of the corner of her eye.
Steve keeps his gaze fixed on the street, eyes scanning. "That so?"
It's been over a year since the Accords were signed. A year since Captain America and his allies have gone underground, picking off leftover HYDRA agents and fending off random extraterrestrial attacks. A year since she and Tony were left as the last Avengers, since T'Challa returned to Wakanda with the Winter Soldier in his custody. At least, that's as much as she knows, since Tony managed to bring her back out of hiding. Tony had known, still knows, that he's never matched up to what Steve is to her, and had been smart enough to clam up, keeping what little information he had out of her reach. She wouldn't be surprised if he knew, or had guessed, what she was doing, but she was surprised that he hadn't confronted her about it yet.
She hadn't hesitated, all those months ago, when she'd finally found Steve after months of searching, offering insider information. She'd arrived in Peru with Stark, prepared to fight off a band of enormous bird-like creatures, only to catch sight of Wanda before the girl disappeared, leaving a decimated flock of birds that took less than an hour to round up and destroy. After giving Stark the slip, all it had taken was a few calls and retracing her footsteps, and she'd run—literally—into Clint just outside of Lima and convinced him to bring her to Steve.
Just to keep you updated, she'd said. To be honest, she was surprised when he agreed so readily. There was a small, bitter part of her that had doubted, knew how little he trusted her. She wonders, sometimes, if she'd lost it, or if he'd never really given it to her to begin with. The thought made something ache in the pit of her stomach.
Not that it mattered. These days, no one trusted anyone.
Natasha sighs, nudging her coffee away with a faint air of disgust. "Come on, Rogers, I'm sure Sam would have already noticed if I were being followed." She cocked her head. "Good to see you, Sam. Well, sort of."
She knew he was watching from the building across the street, armed just in case. Natasha imagined him greeting her back with a nod, and briefly wondered if he'd grown a beard. Doubtful that he'd been given much chance to shave.
Steve looks down, a wry, tired smile briefly crossing his expression. "This isn't easy, Nat."
She waves a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, worried about Stark catching on—" She ignores his brief flinch, "—worried about Captain America getting caught. Can't I enjoy this?"
He raised a brow, fingers flickering across the surface of the table. "You seem to have forgotten that some of us don't have that luxury anymore. No thanks to you." Or Tony, his gaze says.
She looks away. "How's Clint?"
"You're stalling."
"Steve." He sighs.
"Fine. Little worn out, but we all are these days." She grips her mug, swirling around its dark contents.
"Not much to report this time," she says. "Fighting off all those little green men, same as you. Bit tough, but we get by. Neither of us are team players." Steve mumbles something under his breath. Stark's been trying to recruit, but … Not a lot of support for people like us these days." She swallows. "I can tell it's harder on him then he's willing to admit."
Steve raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "You know we'd come back if he asked."
"Come on, Rogers." Nat leans forward, determined. "None of us are doing well. I'm desperate. Stark's desperate, even if he'll never admit it. You know these attacks are getting worse."
We are, she thinks absently. Since the first time the Avengers had fought together—the Battle of Manhattan—there had always been strange things, new monsters to fight, aliens and conspiracies, mutants and experiments, but the past few months had shown a strong uptick in hostiles of the extraterrestrial kind. As much as she'd pried and wheedled and charmed, she hadn't been able to get more information beyond rumors, none of which led to anything more than dead ends.
"If Tony still has that burner phone—"
"You're assuming he hasn't thrown it away already, and that he wouldn't be too proud to use it," Natasha interrupts, frowning at him. "You didn't make things easy, either, Rogers."
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. It's been difficult lately."
"You're running out of places to go. You don't have to do this."
He laughed, but it was a bitter thing, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're right, we shouldn't."
"You could come back."
"Nat." His voice is firm. "I'm not going to sign the Accords. Not after—"
"After Barnes?"
Steve is silent for a moment, gaze distant. "If there's nothing I need to know, I need to get going," he says. "If you or ... Tony need us, for real, then just ... give me a call. But I'm not going to waste my time where I'm not welcome."
Much as she knows her face doesn't show it, Nat wants to bang her head against the table in frustration. "Bucky's in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody."
Steve's entire demeanor changes. She almost smiles at the way his eyes glisten, lips just barely parted, whole body trembling. For a man so large, he almost seems fragile. "You—"
"T'Challa decided to relinquish custody of him to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Natasha tells him. "He's back in the States, though I can't exactly tell you where." She sighs. "Look, I know how much Bucky means to you. I really do. But—before you do anything stupid, please stop and think, okay? Everyone is expecting you to go after him. Think this through."
Steve doesn't answer. His eyes are distant, longing, and for a moment, Natasha almost regrets telling him the truth. Then he's rising to his feet and nudging his cap lower. "Sam's getting nervous."
No, scratch that, she does regret telling him the truth. Still, Natasha doesn't stop him, still swirling her watery coffee. "You could stay for lunch."
"Not looking for trouble." Then he's gone, walking off without looking back. Natasha watches him disappear into the crowd, staring long after she loses sight of him.
"Right," she grumbles under her breath. "Because you know all about looking for trouble, don't you, Rogers?"
In retrospect, Tony thinks wearily, it probably would have been a better idea not to come in the suit.
Not that he'd had much choice. He'd spent the morning blasting at hordes of odd, reptilian creatures in France, and had barely finished another exhausting debriefing when F.R.I.D.A.Y. had alerted him that Morales was waiting and that he was fifteen minutes late to their meeting.
Even so, he regrets not at least washing the suit down, as it's covered in rather foul-smelling purple goop, which, considering they're sitting at a bench in the middle of Central Park, means the two of them are given a very wide berth.
"I'm not joining the Avengers." Miles crossed his arms, staring Tony down with a stubborn glare. From his uniform and backpack, it's clear he's just come from school. "Hate to break it to you, but I enjoy my privacy. And, uh, not imprisoning everyone who disagrees with me."
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to punch the kid in the face. "Listen, Underoos. You weren't my first pick, either. I wouldn't be asking if—"
"If you weren't desperate?" He scoffed. "I knew you were going to ask. Word on the street is you've been asking everyone on your little list. I only came here to tell you no."
It's not my list, Tony wants to scream. "Morales—"
"Not on your life." Miles stands, shouldering his backpack. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm missing chess practice." He turns on his heel.
"I'm leaving the Avengers."
Miles freezes, turning back slowly. Tony shuts his eyes. If he were honest, he'd admit why, but instead he says, "You may have noticed we're not doing so hot with me in charge." Tony's laugh is as bitter as the lie tastes, and he clears his throat. "Funny story, I used to just be a consultant. I only became an Avenger when they were out of options for people to throw down against a couple aliens. Saved some lives, you know. Now I'm in the one in charge, and we're out of options again."
"How long?" Miles' voice is quiet.
"One year, tops. Two, if I'm lucky." He opens one eye. "In case you were wondering why I seem, uh, desperate."
"I …" Miles seems to hesitate. Around them, people are starting to notice that Iron Man is sitting in the middle of Central Park, and a crowd is forming. "Man, I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't be." Tony straightens as someone starts to jeer. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got places to be, people to terrorize. You know the drill. Later, Underoos."
Before Miles can say another word, he lowers his face mask and shoots up, ignoring the drinks and wrappers that are flung after him with sneering shouts of "liar" and "government whore" and "murderer".
He's used to it by now, after all.
"Boss, Colonel Rhodes has returned from his latest physical therapy session and is awaiting you in the penthouse," FRIDAY tells him. "His Royal Highness T'Challa is with him."
"Got it. Thanks, FRIDAY." Tony takes a deep breath. "Do me a favor and have a cup of coffee ready for me when I get back."
T'Challa is standing politely by the elevators, listening intently to a laughing Rhodey when Tony arrives back at the tower, landing a bit too hard. Tony forces a smile, spreading his arms as the suit comes off. "His Royal Pantherness, in the flesh."
"Mr. Stark." T'Challa laughs lightly, shaking Tony's hand and patting his shoulder. "I do wish you wouldn't call me that."
"Right, right." Tony keeps his smile plastered. He turns, heading into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"
"No, thank you." T'Challa follows him, calm as ever.
"Saw you on the news," Rhodey said casually. "How was Nice?"
"Good. Fair weather. A bit too scale-y for my taste, but what can you do." Tony shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on his mug as he inhales his coffee.
There's a tense silence. Tony hasn't spoken with the Wakandan king since he'd learned the man had granted the others amnesty in Wakanda. There wasn't anything he could do—at the time, he was too busy tracking down Natasha and convincing her to come out of hiding and rejoin the Avengers to try to contact any of his former teammates, let alone pick any fights. Now, however, with his time dwindling, fully aware Nat would leave him for his teammates in a heartbeat, he's desperate. T'Challa speaks, clearing his throat. "I know why you called me here, Mr. Stark."
"Mm." Tony tilts his mug towards the man. "Pepper's already told you. Honestly, I'm surprised with how we're progressing in the clean energy industry. You'd think we'd be doing better, but the market's always a been a bit shaky, if you know what I mean—"
"Mr. Stark." T'Challa's voice is firm. "I cannot join your team."
Tony takes another sip of his coffee. It burns and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Not enough sugar, he thinks. "What makes you think we need your help?"
T'Challa inclines his head, eyes intent. "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm not at liberty to accept it. You must understand, my country needs me, Mr. Stark. I cannot abandon my people for the sake of taking up a role created for a single goal."
Tony waves him off. "Duty calls, a responsibility to your people, blah blah blah. Well, it was worth a shot." He downs the rest of his mug. "Now, I'm pretty sure Pepper's got a mile of paperwork I need to sign, so if you'll excuse me."
T'Challa moves forward before Tony can sidestep him and grasps his arm gently. "My country's advancements have always been … separate from the outside world. Even as an outsider, Stark Industries would be most compatible with my people in terms of both technology and philosophy."
Tony forces a smile, shrugging him off. "Thanks for the heads-up, Pantherness. I'm sure you've got places to be."
The king sighs, nodding slightly. He pauses for a moment, opening his mouth, then shakes his head. "You must know—I have spoken with S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says quietly. "They have offered to take custody of Sergeant … the operative. I believe they intend for him to return to the United States."
Everything seems to tunnel out from beneath him. "Huh." Tony tries to force his hands to stop shaking. "Seems a bit funny, all this moving around."
There was a time when Tony would have wanted the man who killed his parents to face justice, to stand trial for his crimes after everything he had done. Even with Natasha's constant hinting and encouragement, he doesn't know if he can ever accept the idea that Barnes is truly innocent. Tony would never admit it aloud, but—he's afraid. And how could he not be? Brainwashed or not, Barnes still destroyed his life, violently and through the death of his parents. Howard had never been innocent, but his mother had never deserved to die the way she did, and Jarvis ... More than anything, Tony just wants the Winter Soldier to be far, far away from him, not a threat to anyone or anything. Wakanda hadn't been his first option, but it was better than nothing, even with his old teammates lurking there. Bringing him back to the states would guarantee that ... Rogers would drag his team after Barnes and wake him up.
"You understand, Mr. Stark, that I have chosen to accept their offer, for security reasons, of course. I'm sure you're aware, recently, in my country, of your friends—"
"He's not my friend," Tony snarls, then clenches his jaw, inhaling deeply. "I get it. Hey, thanks for the heads up. If you'll excuse me."
Without another word, he—walks, Tony Stark does not flee—to the elevator, ignoring Rhodey's calls and mashing at the buttons with trembling fingers. He sags against the wall as the doors close and exhales shakily, trying to calm himself down.
A flash of red and blue—
No. Tony tries to shake himself. Not now.
A silvery glint, the smell of blood. Metal fists slamming against the joints of his arm, the arc reactor on his chest, sharp and harsh and unrelenting, pain blossoming along his arms, his spine—
And he's watching his mother screaming in terror, in agony, and he can feel nothing but rage, washing over him in waves, drowning him—
There are voices, and he can't focus, there is metal everywhere, glass, and the hands take everything from him, destroy his repulsors, and he's trapped, cowering as they break his spine, as they aim for his chest, tearing at his reactor, heart racing frantically as the shield slams against it over and over and over and he can't breathe, he can't breathe—
Vaguely, he can hear someone saying something to him, steady and calm, and he grasps desperately at it, struggling to inhale. Something in him is screaming at him to breathe, but he can't.
The voice is saying something, soft and soothing, and it's Pepper. She's telling him to breathe. Inhale, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. Inhale, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He is not at the outpost. He is at his tower, with Pepper and Rhodey and all of the good people who work there. He is safe.
Pepper's face swims back into view. She's smiling, but her eyes are red, and he can see traces of anger in them. "Hey, Tony. You're safe," she whispers, and he stares at her.
He's on the ground, out of the elevator, on the twenty-second floor of his tower. Around him is a tiny crowd of people, ever-watchful. Sarah, a worker from the mailroom. George and Akiko, who work in communications. Jose, one of Pepper's assistants.
"Are you all right, Mr. Stark?" someone asks—Sarah—and he opens his mouth, but no words come out.
"Breathe, Tony," Pepper murmurs, stroking his arm, and he shudders, trying to comply. "You're safe, okay? Inhale, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. He'll be fine. Let's give him some more space. George, go get some water."
"Yes, Ms. Potts."
Forty five minutes later, he's huddled in Pepper's office, half-buried in the enormous fluffy blanket she's kept in there for nearly a year, with Pepper coaxing him to take little sips of his cup of water. He's barely sitting up, swaying where he sits, trying to form apologies even as his voice refuses to cooperate.
"Angry," he finally manages, and Pepper sighs, tugging him into a firm hug.
"Yes, Tony. But not at you, okay? Never at you."
"S' my fault. M'sorry."
"No." Her grip tightens. "No, Tony. This is not your fault, okay? Don't blame yourself for this." Tony shakes his head, and she exhales softly, pulling the blanket tighter around him. "I'm gonna go get you some more water, okay? I'll be right back."
Pepper Potts is not a forgiving person.
Certainly, she's not the type to hold grudges. Being CEO of Stark Industries doesn't allow much time to hold them, especially as of late. After the mess with the Accords, she'd been far too busy trying to keep the company from going under, fighting against the miles of negativity and sneering from the general public that hated Tony and everything to do with him. If it wasn't "Tony Stark signed the Accords" or "Tony Stark is terrorizing the good heroes of the world", it was "Tony Stark hurt good old Captain America" or "Tony Stark destroyed the Avengers". Sometimes, it was even "Tony Stark used to sell weapons", "Tony Stark is a womanizer", or even simply "Tony Stark is an asshole". It was endless, it seemed, and despite all of Pepper's efforts, Stark Industries has fallen so low that bankruptcy is fast becoming the only future for the corporation.
Pepper is used to dealing with Tony's antics, but he was not a bad man. She knows that better than anyone else. He didn't deserve a fate like this—to die with nothing, not a penny or a friend. He was frustrating and he drank too much and he'd dumped her and he still threw himself into battle despite knowing how it was hurting him, hurting her—and she wasangry. But not at Tony. Never at Tony.
She remembers the look on Tony's face when the doctors had told him his fate, the utter hopelessness when he learned that the damage to his heart from the fight at the outpost was permanent, that without the strength of the arc reactor, he wouldn't last more than a few years. She'd watched as he'd given up, throwing himself into his work, and then into trying to save his company and the Avengers, and she saw him now, time ticking. She knows he thinks she hasn't found crumpled drafts of the will he's been trying to write for months new. She's not stupid—dating or not, she knows how much he's left her, or at least, what little he has left. She has watched him break, and has broken herself, knowing there is nothing she can do to stop it.
Pepper doesn't hate anyone, never has and likely never will, but she has never been so close as she is now, and the thought of Steven Grant Rogers makes her want to pull out her hair and scratch at her skin and scream.
Now, several hours after calming Tony down from yet another panic attack and putting him to bed, she's back in her office, nursing a light headache. More than anything, he wants to track Rogers down herself and force him to look at everything he's done. To Tony. To her.
Not that it would matter, Pepper thinks bitterly. She clenches the pen in her hand a little tighter, ignoring the way it creaks ominously in her grip. You can't force a person to care about what they've done to someone else.
There's a knock on her door, and Jose pokes his head in. "Ms. Potts? Colonel Rhodes here to speak with you."
"Thanks, Jose. Send him in."
Rhodey looks exhausted, grey suit creasing at his elbows, new lines deepening in creases around his eyes. He isn't wearing his legs, so Pepper hurries to his side and lets him take her arm. "James. Something happened, didn't it?"
"Pepper." His grip is tight on his cane, mouth taut. "Yeah, something happened, all right."
"I knew it." She sighs as she leads him over to the couch. "I sent T'Challa up to speak with Tony, and he came down panicking. What—what did he say?"
"Nothing good." Rhodey massages his temples, taking a deep breath. "Sergeant Barnes is returning to New York."
"What?" The air seems to flee from the room then, and she swallows, realizing she has risen to her feet. "Why?"
"Apparently," Rhodey sighs, "there have been sightings of Captain Rogers and his accomplices near the facility where Sergeant Barnes was being held. For security reasons, the World Security Council has decided to remove him from Wakanda and place him in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody."
"Oh, God." Pepper sinks back down, hand coming to rest in a tight fist on the arm of the couch. Of course.
Rhodey laughs bitterly. "I can't believe this. After everything that's happened—everything that they did to Tones, they're going to bring him back." Pepper rubs his arm with trembling hands. "Tony's made a lot of mistakes, but he doesn't deserve this. Not now."
They sit in silence for a moment, Pepper staring at her hands and gnawing at her lower lip. Rhodey clears his throat.
"We got a message from headquarters." Pepper looks up. "Miles Morales came in looking for Tony. He says he's willing to join the team."
Miles Morales is canon MCU Spider-Man and no one can tell me differently.
Comments and criticisms are appreciated.