Disclaimer: Nothing I own, young Jedi.
-HEALING BEGINS-
by Tenth Avenue North
So you thought you had to keep this up
All the work that you do
So we think that you're good
And you can't believe it's not enough
All the walls you built up
Are just glass on the outside
So let 'em fall down
There's freedom waiting in the sound
When you let your walls fall to the ground
We're here now
This is where the healing begins, oh
This is where the healing starts
When you come to where you're broken within
The light meets the dark
Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away, and what are you?
Tony took a swig of whatever alcoholic beverage he was holding in his hand as Captain America's words echoed in his mind. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said to that, but it had probably been something witty. It'd probably made people laugh.
What no one realized was that that jab had hit home. The captain had hit a sore, not-yet healed chink in his armor of sarcasm and pretense of not caring.
But no one knew that, because Tony was a great actor.
"Tony."
The billionaire whirled around, some of his drink splashing onto the kitchen floor. Then he saw who had spoken. "Oh. Hey, Cap."
Steve slowly made his way toward his almost-drunk teammate, his usual crisp steps now sluggish. He finally stood directly in front of Tony, his blue eyes boring into Tony's brown ones.
Tony, growing uncomfortable under the unwavering gaze of his teammate, was the first to look away. He looked down and realized, sadly, that his glass was empty. He held it out and told JARVIS to refill it for him. As JARVIS was complying, he tilted his head toward Steve. "So, Cap, do you have any particular reason for sucking all of the fun and, you know, happiness out of this room?"
Steve took a deep breath. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
Steve gestured helplessly as a tinge of red colored his cheeks. "For what I said on that . . . er, flying ship. It was not my place to say those things abou-"
Tony held up a hand, stopping the flow of words. "Cap. It's okay. It didn't really matter anyway." He gulped down another mouthful of the stuff in his glass.
"Yes it did."
Tony's head jerked up to look Steve in the eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.
Steve refused to back down. "I know that what I said hurt you. You try to hide behind your attitude, but I know."
Tony's face remained impassive, but he felt a surge of panic rise in him. No one had ever gotten past his defenses before – how did Captain frickin' America manage to do just that? "I don't know what you're talking about."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you do, Tony. You shove all of your problems under a rug and refuse to bring them up or talk about them because you won't even admit that they're there. You just make a joke out of everything!"
Tony turned his back on the other man and started walking, albeit unsteadily, toward his bar.
Yet the idiot didn't seem to get the obvious, neon-flashing message Tony was giving. He put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Tony . . . ."
Tony was fed up with Mr. Perfect trying to fix his life. As if it was broken or something. Why couldn't the dude just leave him alone? "What do you want me to say?" he shouted, whirling on the super soldier. "That I don't get close to anyone because I'm afraid they'll leave me, like my father did? That every time I look at you, all I see is the thing my dad spent his whole, miserable life chasing after? That I'm scared I'm becoming more like him every day? Well, guess what? I'm COMPLETELY FINE!" He stopped, his chest heaving.
Steve looked shocked, but then he actually had the nerve to smile. "Progress, Tony." he said before walking out of the room.
Tony stared at the retreating form, incredulous. Then he sat heavily down on a chair. How the heck was that progress?
Although . . . he felt like some of his emotional burden had been removed. It was definitely still there, but it didn't feel quite as heavy as it used to.
Of course, he'd rather throw himself in a pit of boiling lava than admit that to anyone.
