Hokay, so I'm not a hundred percent on this chapter. I may change it depending on the response. Regardless, here it is!

~::~

"What?" Tony glances rapidly from face to face, gun to gun. "What are you talking-"

"I said raise your hands, Vanko! Step away and slowly make your way over to agent Fury!"

Ivan groans, half-stands, and Stark turns his head to shoot Fury a look of incredulous rage. "Are you crazy? He's bleeding out; get the hell out of the way!"

The one-eyed man shakes his head, mouth a thin line. "Can't do that, Stark. You knew the rules from the start: he stays in your house or he goes to jail. He's not in your house. So he's gotta go to jail."

Three SWAT guys step forward, wary, one holding handcuffs, and Vanko lifts his head, sneers at them but makes no move to reactivate the whips. It's Tony, surprisingly, that raises an arm and aims his glowing palm at the closest man. "Don't try it, guys."

They freeze, but Fury immediately produces a Beretta and points it at the wounded man's head. "Don't make me do this, Tony. If he comes quietly we'll dress the wound on the way."

Ivan coughs again, and Iron Man wonders for a fevered second if the wound that thing gave him is poisoned, and then the Russian spits a clot of black-red onto the ground and grunts in a voice like a chainsaw, "Не будьте настолько гребаные глупый, Тони." (Don't be so fucking stupid, Tony.)

Still clutching his side with a gore-soaked hand, Vanko pushes himself away from Stark and takes three dragging, laborious steps toward Fury, his face contorted with effort. He halts, swaying, and the man with the cuffs quickly comes up behind him, snapping them around his free hand. He grimaces and pries his bloody hand away from the wound, lifts it, and extends his middle finger at the Avenger. "Трахните Вас, американского осла." (Fuck you, American jackass.)

Then he collapses face-down in the dirt.

It takes four SWAT guys to haul the unconscious Russian into the chopper, and another ten to keep Tony from grabbing him and flying away.

"Goddammit, Fury, you don't have to do this. He didn't do anything, except save my ass from getting killed!" Iron Man paces like a caged tiger, trying to think of some way to get between Ivan and that Beretta.

"I don't have any say in this, Stark. It's not my call." Nick says sternly, keeping his gun leveled at Vanko.

The copter takes off in a whirl of grit and smoke, leaving only Fury and Tony and the still-distant crowd.

"Try to calm down," the man in the eyepatch says. "They'll stitch the injury and get him taken care of before they arrive at the prison." He tilts his head, considering. "You're overreacting, Tony. I'm surprised you're not relieved to be rid of the responsibility."

"Look, you don't get it; he's- we-"

"Oh, I know all about that," Fury states in that same monotone. "We knew your intentions the minute you paid his bail; it's not our duty to judge or condone. What matters is that he broke the rules of his... parole. You knew those rules when you sprung him."

The billionaire grits his teeth in frustration. Screw the rules, I have money! I should be able to buy us out of this. "There's gotta be someone I can talk to."

"Not til his court date is decided." There's that contemplative, monoptic gaze again. "Didn't you say from the beginning that you planned on having him for a week, no more? That you were going to, and I'm quoting here, 'put him back when you were done playing with him'?"

Did he say that? That was the plan, wasn't it? He's not sure. That's always been his plan before. Wasn't he supposed to say "You're hot, that was amazing, it's never happening again, have fun in prison"?

He can't remember.

"Look," Fury sighs, seemingly relenting to the lost expression on Stark's face. "Go home. Get some rest. Screw a secretary or three. Leave Vanko to the proper authorities."

Tony snorts. "The proper authorities. I hate that phrase."

"Go home," the Avenger repeats. "There's nothing you can do."

For the second time that day, Iron Man considers opening fire on a US government official. He holds Fury's stare for a long moment.

"Yeah," he says finally. "I guess you're right."

(Five Days Later...)

"Tony!" It's Pepper, stopping by like she has been every morning since "The Incident" to make sure that Stark is still breathing.

"Uhnguhwaayyy."

"Tony, are you still in bed?"

"Hngrghh."

A pause.

"Uh, Tony, are you aware that there's a cockatoo attacking your door?"

"Kill it," he groans, burying his head under a pillow.

The door opens, and the bird immediately comes shooting into the room. It lands on the bed and begins plucking at the blankets, like it's expecting to find its owner hiding under them.

"Go away, bird," Tony growls, waving irritably at it. It snaps at his fingers and continues to savage the bedding.

Pepper's shoes click across the floor; he can practically hear her wrinkling her nose at the bottles scattered over the carpet. Suddenly there's the sound of the curtains being thrown open, and daggers of sunlight assault Tony's eyeballs.

"Nooooooo..." He burrows into the sheets, but Pepper grabs them and rips them away.

"Aaargh-" Stark tries to curl in on himself, hiding his eyes under his arm. "Leave me alone! Can't you let me die in peace?"

"Nope," she goes to his closet, starts flinging clothing at him. "You need help; it's my job to help you. If that entails kicking your ass out of a drunken stupor, so be it."

"Leeme 'lone," he complains. "I'm fine."

"Tony. You missed your own birthday party."

"Really?" He lifts his head, blinks, drops it. "Did anyone notice?"

"Get up," she orders.

"Whyyyy?"

"So you can visit him. Where did all your ties go?"

"'Him'? Who 'him'? I have no clue who you mean."

"What are you, five?" Pepper's voice scolds him from the closet. "There they are- okay, seriously?" She comes out, holding up the noose that Tony has fashioned out of neckties. "This is not healthy."

"I thought you said I wasn't allowed to visit him," he snipes, rolling over in hopes of finding a stray blanket.

"You weren't. Not for the first three days-"

"It's been five days!"

"-and then he spent two days in the infirmary-"

Tony's head pops back up. "The infirmary? What happened? Did they get the wound stitched in time? Did someone shank him?"

"-and now you can visit him, since he's been declared in 'decent health' by the prison doctor." She hands her old boss a pair of socks. "Decent enough to stand trial, anyway."

The hungover billionaire is already out of bed, trying to pull his clothes on and run down the hall at the same time. "You couldn't have just told me that when you came in?"

"Maybe I was having too much fun watching you wallow in your misery." She says with a little half-grin. "Oh, Tony," she calls.

"What? I'm in a hurry!"

The grin grows. She holds up a bundle of cloth. "You may want to put on some pants."