Welcome to the final installment of Atlas. Sorry for the delay, I decided to re-work a few things and it took longer than I intended. Thank you for all your kind reviews! Two more weeks people!

-Cat


Part III

It did not take long to realize Tony was missing.

It did, however, take long to realize that Tony was not the only one. Steve's feet pounded the gravel, his heart and breath roaring in his ears. Not loud enough because he could still hear Bucky's confused, "Steve." He pushed harder.

At least Tony was back. And in one piece, according to the Colonel.

Rhodes found Steve in the kitchen with Natasha. It was late and Steve could feel his control slipping. He hated the feeling. Like taking a nosedive into icy water, except this time it wasn't his choice. For weeks he'd remained what he thought people needed. Calm. Unbeaten. Strong. All it took was a day of Stark's madness to crack the facade.

"I told him we'd do it together, Nat," he had snapped at Natasha when she asked him if he was okay.

"Do what?" she asked, though she did not seem surprised by his sharpness. It was like she'd seen this coming and Steve couldn't stop the rest.

"LOSE!" he shouted. He saw the clarity on her face and knew she remembered. "He was so convinced, Nat! He tried to tell us but we weren't listening. Why didn't I listen? I am-I was the leader of the Avengers! I failed us, Nat. I failed him."

"Did you really imagine this when Tony talked about holes in space, Steve?" Natasha demanded.

"God, no," Steve breathed. "I never thought it would be like this."

Natasha sat down on one of the stools, her face blank. "I wonder if Tony thought it would," she murmured.

Steve hoped not. Six years was a long time to bear the weight of this kind of future.

"Steve-" she started, but then stopped. Her eyes went over his shoulder, to the entrance. Steve spun around from the community kitchen counter. Rhodes was in the doorway. His prosthetics were off and he sat in a wheelchair, sending a jolt shooting through Steve's spine. Rhodes' face revealed nothing. How long had he been listening?

"He's back," he said simply.

"Thank you," Natasha said when Steve couldn't speak. "For letting us know. You didn't have to."

"I know," Rhodes agreed. His dark eyes pinned Steve down. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure," Steve said automatically. At this point, he was willing to do anything.

"Wait until tomorrow before you lay into him." At Steve's surprised look, he added, "Yes, I'm letting you at him. But go easy. And if he feels like talking, shut the hell up and maybe listen to him for once."

"I will," Steve promised. This time, he would listen.

Rhodes shoulders relaxed. His hands went to the wheels to roll backwards, but they stilled on the steel rims. "I think," he began. "I think he really is back this time. He did what he needed to do."

Steve lapped the compound, nearly cutting his regular time in half. Where had Tony been all day while Steve was struggling to keep it together? Half-formed images of Tony drunk and alone marched across his imagination. But they were at odds with Rhodes' statement. "I think he really is back."

Steve knew that closure could not possibly be at the bottom of a bottle. Numbing pain didn't make it go away.

But then, Tony was made of something different than Steve.

Eventually, he had to slow to a jog, heaving on the frigid air of morning. A mist of rain was beginning to fall. Steve hated the film of dust that it left on his skin, so he forced his legs to move faster until he was indoors. The showers were empty, but then, most of the rooms in the compound were. He kept the shower quick and efficient. As the burning in his lungs faded, he couldn't stop the rest of the conversation from flooding back.

Natasha studied Steve once Rhodes was gone.

"What did he mean, really is back?"

Steve was not sure how to explain the conversation he'd had with Rhodes in the weight room. "He means… he means Tony Stark. Iron Man."

Natasha's stare went from the door hissing shut behind Rhodes to Steve's face. Steve tried to smile, he really did. But Natasha was not a super-spy for nothing. She had been with him too long, watched him from behind her cool mask. He knew she'd seen him turned inside out.

"And what about Captain America?" she probed. Her gaze was steady, unblinking.

"He's still around somewhere," Steve deflected as casually as he could with his voice constricted by empty lungs.

"Liar," she retorted. "He's been gone for years."

Steve looked away. Becoming Nomad had been natural after Siberia. Besides, the red, white, and blue would attract attention. But to put on the uniform again after…

"This has to do with what happened Siberia?" she asked, chillingly accurate.

Steve never told her. At least not everything. He never told anyone and as far as he could tell, neither had Tony. But he was too exhausted to fight the truth now. It welled in his mouth like blood. "After he found out about Bucky… his parents… He wouldn't stop. I had to stop him, I had to…" The words died in his throat. She knew this. But the rest…

"Tell me," she said.

He forced himself to meet her eyes.

"I slammed the shield into his chest piece. I destroyed the arc reactor."

Natasha's blank expression did not shift, but something in her posture did. That, she'd never known.

"He said I didn't deserve it. So I left it there." Painfully, he added, "I think that he might have been right."

"You were defending a friend." But Steve could hear the hitch of doubt in her voice now.

"Does that justify what I did?" he asked. He shot her a self-deprecating smile. "Don't answer that. If I haven't figured it out in two years, I don't think I ever will."

"Do you regret what happened?"

"Do I regret being loyal to my friend?" Steve clarified. "No. But I regret losing the other."

He escaped before she could respond.

He shouldn't have unloaded on her. Truthfully, he'd never been that vulnerable with anyone except… Bucky. Bucky, who'd already seen him at his weakest, who wouldn't be shocked that Captain America was not always strong.

He headed through dim hallways to the kitchen, hoping for a sparse, solitary breakfast. But as he approached, he heard low feminine voices conversing over the gurgle of percolating coffee. Feeling like he would be interrupting, he stayed in the shadow of the doorway and listened.

"...thank you, Natasha. For letting me know. I'm afraid I've been too exhausted to hear him wake up lately."

"Least I could do," replied Natasha's smooth alto. Steve began to retreat, recognizing that he would not be welcome in this conversation. "We… uh… we did a number on him, didn't we?" He paused.

"You aren't surprised though," Pepper stated. Her voice was flat.

"No, I'm just… I regret what happened. I am sorry, Pepper."

Pepper's soft sigh brushed through the kitchen and into the hall. "You did what you had to do," she said quietly. "And he found peace, for a while. At least, as much as he could manage. He fixed Rhodey's legs and stirred up politicians and built a suit that surpasses modern technology. And he had… other projects."

"The kid," Natasha murmured.

"The kid," confirmed Pepper.

"I don't think I realized..." Natasha began. Then she hesitated once more. It was unlike her to stumble over her words. She picked the next ones carefully. "He really cared about him."

"Yes," whispered Pepper. Steve could hear her fishing out coffee mugs and setting them on the counter. The conversation seemed to be over. The fridge was opened and closed, creamer was poured, the coffee pot signalled the brew was ready.

He was about to enter, pretending he heard none of it, when Natasha said suddenly, "He'll be good."

It was an odd thing to say. Steve froze in the doorway, fully visible. Natasha's gaze swept over to him. Her green eyes gave away nothing, but her lips twitched in greeting. Pepper turned and saw him as well.

"Good morning, Steve," she said cordially. Her hair was mussed with sleep and she was wearing one of Tony's Black Sabbath t-shirts. She retrieved another coffee mug, the obnoxious one Tony bought for him years ago that said, "God Bless America." Tony had added "Captain" in sharpie, plus a few doodles. She poured him a cup just as he liked it (simply black), then made her exit, pressing it into his hands.

"Thank you," he said, instead of the millions of other things he wanted to.

"Talk to him," Pepper replied gravely. Earlier, after the devastation and before they knew what happened to Tony, she'd been angry with him. He knew exactly what she thought about his behavior in regards to the Accords and Tony and Bucky Barnes. But after that first week, she'd softened and accepted his help when he could offer it. But her protective streak remained. That she was giving him her blessing to approach her fiance meant a lot.

Pepper stared hard at him until he nodded and said, "I will."

She smiled, a small, sharp edged thing. "If you mess up, you know who you answer to," she warned him. Steve swallowed. Then, she turned to Natasha, the edges fading into something tender. "I know he will. He already was." Her voice caught on the last word. Then she was gone.

Natasha, it seemed, was leaving too.

"Wait, Nat."

He caught her arm gently before she could pass him, two mugs in hand. He glanced questioningly at the second.

"For Clint," she explained succinctly. "He didn't sleep again. Tony could use some as well."

"Nat… about last night-"

"Steve."

Her tone cut off what he was planning to say.

"You messed up," she said firmly. But gently. "But underneath all that muscle, you're only human. Don't apologize to me for being strong enough to show it sometimes."

Steve did not understand what she meant. He'd forced a share of his burden onto her, hadn't he? He opened his mouth to say so, but she silenced him with an angled eyebrow. He swallowed and asked instead, "You saw Tony?"

"He was up early. I never went to bed."

"You should probably get some slee-" he started. She cleared her throat, cutting him off. "Yeah, nevermind. He talk to you?"

He was relieved when she answered, "Yes. In his own way."

"Did he tell you where he went?"

"I didn't ask."

Steve had to admire her restraint. But Natasha had an instinct for these things that Steve lacked.

"I can't undo what happened."

"No."

"Then what can I do?"

She stared down at her two mugs of coffee as she thought. Steve almost accepted that she was going to leave his question unanswered. Around them, the kitchen was very quiet, except for the rain that spattered against the windows.

"You and Tony were always giants, Steve," she finally said in a soft voice. "I used to think Fury was insane, putting you two in the same room together. But you worked. Somehow, you balanced each other and it was that balance that kept the rest of this team together. Without it… well, you know what happened. The Avengers need both of you, especially now. I may not know what Tony needed to do yesterday, but I think I know what you need."

Steve looked at her sharply. She gave him a rare, but sad smile.

"Things may never go back to the way they used to be, but they can be better." She gestured with her head, since her hands were occupied with coffee. "He's in the lab."

She left him in the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps barely audible above the rain. He listened until his enhanced hearing couldn't penetrate through the facility walls. Then he steeled himself. He took a minute to pour a second mug of steaming coffee, also black. It was a practiced, but long unkept routine. Once, he'd always brought the engineer coffee after his morning run. Before.

As he descended to the workshop, he could hear Nebula's sharp, clipped tones.

"It was stupid, taking off without telling anyone."

"I'm a big boy, Little-Girl-Blue. No need to blow your horn."

"You're still healing-"

"Yeah, I'm going to get this lecture from everyone else in this place, so I'm just going to cut you off right there-"

"You can't die."

"Don't be a drama-queen. That's my department."

There was a clattering sound as Tony dug around his tools.

"You could have. You could have aggravated the wound. Or been attacked. Your terran people can't decide whether to love or hate you."

"Welcome to Earth, where reputation matters more than fact."

"Terrans change their minds too often to be trusted."

"Preaching to the choir, Smurfette." The clattering stopped.

"I don't understand that saying."

"Nevermind."

"The wizard wanted you alive, Stark." Nebula's voice was low again. "Act like that means something."

"I am," Tony retorted. Then he added, softer, "I am now."

Then her mechanical footsteps were heading towards Steve. She glared at him with void-like eyes as she passed. Steve tried not to take it personally. The robot woman was unfriendly with everyone.

Inside the workshop, Tony was leaning back in his swivel chair, staring off into the distance. The glowing implant from his chest was abandoned on the workbench, diagrams and diagnostics hovering around it. His legs were slowly propelling the chair back and forth on the axel and his fingers tapped a rhythm on the empty spot where the arc reactor used to go. Just from the loose posture Steve knew that Tony had not yet noticed him. So when he stilled suddenly, Steve froze.

"Friday, pull all footage from the battle on Titan. And get the Wakanda stuff from the Hulkbuster."

"Looking for anything in particular, boss?"

"The gauntlet."

"Got it." Blue screens populated the air, filled with images of deep orange and green.

"Also… also access Karen's memory archives. See if she got anything from Titan. Don't wake her. Dummy, get over here." There was brief second that Steve thought that Tony was calling him over. But there was a crash in the corner of the workshop and the clawed robot came whirring over, beeping enthusiastically.

"Clean up. We're starting over," ordered Tony. Dum-E whistled happily and started tossing items on the workbench into random receptacles. "Hey, don't touch my housing unit. Friday when you're done, start collecting any research into the infinity stones. Has anyone heard from Thor?"

"No boss. He's still searching for the remaining Asgardians."

"Fine. Keep your ear to the ground. Nose to the grindstone. Eyes on the prize… You need something, Rogers?"

Tony was spinning towards him on his chair, toying with a small flathead screwdriver in one hand, tossing it up and down. Steve was struck by the realization that Tony had known he was there the whole time.

"I-"

"That for me?" Tony interrupted, pointing with the screwdriver towards the steaming mug.

"Yes."

Tony tilted his head suspiciously, but gestured to the workbench. Steve crossed the lab and set it down, then retreated a respectful distance. With a side-glance in his direction, Tony snatched it and sniffed.

"I haven't drugged it," Steve said half-humoredly.

"Can't be too careful," Tony responded. Steve couldn't tell if he was serious. But he took a large gulp and turned away from Steve. The-what had Tony called it?-housing unit lit up his face with a familiar blue glow that made Steve's hands grow cold. Struggling to shake the guilt loose, he tried to interpret the screens over Tony's shoulder. Red highlighted damaged areas, nanoparticle loss was indicated at 78%, a blinking warning light that showed system failures. He didn't recognize the systems… then noticed that Tony was still watching him surreptitiously, spine tense. His dark eyes fluttered away from contact and he muttered softly, "Jesus, I thought Nat was joking about the shifts." He spun back around and made a shoo-ing motion with his hand, announcing, "Thanks for the coffee, Rogers. I'm good now, so… go do your patriotic duty anywhere that isn't here-"

"Tony, we need to talk," Steve said firmly.

"Do we though?" Tony asked.

"We do. Us not talking is what caused all the trouble in the first place."

"You mean, you not talking."

"Yes," Steve agreed, guilt mixing with a bit of annoyance. "Tony-"

"Don't make that face. You said sorry, I said sorry. End of story." Tony shrugged, but his tone was taut as a bowstring. "I'm a little busy now, so unless we have another meeting where everyone sits around with no fucking clue what to do next-"

"Tony-"

"I know, bad language word, geez. But if you could sneak donuts into the meeting without Pepper knowing I promise I'll attend like a good boy-"

"Tony, that's not why-"

"Wait. I remember why I don't eat donuts-"

"Tony. Where did you go yesterday?"

"That's what this is about?" Tony rolled his eyes and kicked sideways on the ground, causing his chair to revolve in dizzy circles. "I'm not sure, but I think it's none of your business."

"Stark."

"So it's Stark now? Interesting… was it the part about this being none of your goddamn-"

"This is about you not communicating. You should have told someone you were leaving," Steve interrupted, raising his voice. He couldn't help it. Tony was being… well… more irritating than usual. Like he was trying to start a fight.

"I told Friday," Tony replied.

"Then disabled the tracking devices on your vehicle."

"I have a right to my privacy, Rogers," Tony replied. Whatever joking tone he'd dredged up was fading. Steve heard the warning, but chose to ignore it. Too much was boiling under the surface.

"You're still recovering. Anything could have happened."

"And yet here I am. Look, Avatar-ess already gave me this part of the lecture-"

"Yeah, well it sounds like she didn't get through. Suppose, for a second, that something did happen!" Steve demanded. Tony's eyebrow quirked, but Steve plowed on, struggling to keep from shaking him. Didn't he understand? "You're alive," he snapped. "You're alive and disappeared with two bottles of booze. You're alive and you are wasting it!"

Tony's entire body went utterly still (Steve flashed to the only time he'd ever seen Tony that still. Only now his eyes were open and blazing). "I am not wasting it," Tony hissed, so cold that Steve felt like he was back in the ice once more. Tony stood haltingly, tense and fists clenched. "Get out. I'm done with this conversation."

"Well I'm not done."

"Stop talking about things that you don't understand then!"

"What don't I understand?!" Steve shouted.

"Everything!" Tony screamed. "We lost Steve! And guess what? That's on us. On you and me."

"You think I don't get that?!" Steve snapped. "You think I haven't spent every day blaming myself?!"

"Oh, right, 'cause Captain-fucking-America always takes responsibility for his actions!" Tony retorted, his voice dark with sarcasm.

"I'm not here as Captain America right now!"

"THEN WHAT ARE YOU?" Tony roared back.

They came to a screeching halt. Tony was breathing heavily where he stood, nose to chin with Steve. His question lingered in the air like the smell after fireworks. Suddenly his gaze shuttered and he took a few stumbling steps backwards to lean heavily on his workbench. Steve took the respite to breathe away the panic that was skittering through his heart. He wanted to answer, but his tongue was numb. This was not going how he had planned. Natasha had been easier to deflect, because she allowed him to. Tony wouldn't. Tony needed to take things apart, examine their insides. Obsess, study, create, repeat, repeat, repeat…

Maybe that's what Natasha had meant. "I think I know what you need."

"I actually really don't want you to answer that," Tony whispered suddenly.

"Why?"

"Because then I'll know." And I'd have to fix it.

Tony could take him apart.

Mechanics didn't just leave things disassembled. They fixed. They assembled.

So Steve answered anyway.

"I don't know anymore," he said. And added what he used to know. "I used to just be the skinny idiot who wouldn't back out of a fight. Who did right. Steve Rogers was enough." Stevie.

"Huh," Tony breathed out. Betrayal flashed across his expression, but he said nothing else. Just leaned a little more heavily on his bench, perhaps. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Steve was already regretting saying so much. Too much. Feeling raw and a little mortified, he tried to reel it back.

"We aren't here to talk about me," he said, and he tried to sound strong. Steady. "This is about us. Both of us. We apologized, but we still can't talk to each other without shouting. So can we just… focus on that please?"

"On this?" Tony straightened motioned between the two of them jerkily. Then he let out an inelegant snort and turned away from Steve. "I think we've had enough for one day. And it's not even 8 am." The dismissal was blatant and abrupt, as it always was with Tony. And, since Steve knew better by now, it probably wasn't sincere. There was hesitation in those calloused hands as they went for tools and flipped through drawers.

"No," Steve decided. "Why did you leave yesterday?"

Tony glared at him, slamming whatever drawer he had open shut. "Back off, Rogers." He meant it. There was no hesitation now, only anger.

Steve opened his mouth to tell him that he had no intention of doing so, but was interrupted.

"Tony."

A deep voice resonated above the tinny recorded sounds of battle from Friday's footage. Tony flinched. The fire in his gaze sputtered and his eyes flitted to one of the nearest blue screens.

"There was no other way."

The man on the screen began to fade to ash and Steve averted his gaze. His throat hardened to stone. It was just like Bucky all over again. Tony was transfixed until-

"Mr. Stark? I don't-"

"Reduce all screens. Cut audio."

Tony's voice was broken glass. He sank down into his chair, lower his head into his hands. Without the screens, the workshop was dim and utterly silent. Steve took one step that echoed on the concrete floor. Tony did not move, so he took another and another until he was right in front of him. There was another stool, and Steve pulled it over and sat down.

"It was for someone else," Tony said suddenly, voice muffled by his hands.

"What?" Steve's brain was still processing the ominous proclamation from the projectors. Then the voice that followed, so, so young. And familiar like Brooklyn only… Queens…

"The booze. I drank apple juice like a good boy." Tony was sitting up again, but his eyes were suspiciously pink around the edges.

"Oh," Steve uttered monosyllabically. Then he was caught up, and a feeling of shame followed. God, he'd spent all day thinking… angry because he'd believed… "Oh. Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed-"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Considering my history, it was not a totally idiotic conclusion. But then, you've had nothing to do with my history for two years. Whatever. Apology accepted."

"Who was it for?" Steve asked after a beat.

"It really is none of your business, Steve," Tony answered wearily.

"Right. Can we… start over?"

"Depends on how back you want to rewind, Cap."

"Just the last few minutes. I think that's probably all we can handle right now."

Tony stared at him, then started to chuckle. "Got that right."

Steve observed with a mixture of sadness and amusement. "You seem…" He trailed away, unable to find the right word. That was often his problem. He could see the lines in Tony's face. Recalled a past version, hollowed out and dying, sending a promise to Pepper. A promise that she would be the last thing he thought of. Even now he was far too thin. Steve could see his collarbones, jutting out sharply beneath his dark tank top.

But there was a slight change of value in the shadows beneath his eyes. Like he'd finally gotten a few hours of sleep. Like something that had been crawling under his skin had finally dissipated. And there was a spark now that had been absent. Steve gestured uselessly with his hand.

Tony raised a single dark eyebrow. "Better?"

"Not really," Steve said, frustrated with himself.

"Ouch."

"Better's just the wrong word," Steve amended.

Tony snorted. "Right again."

"I just think… whatever you were doing… I'm glad you did it."

Tony leaned back with his old grace except for an odd hitch. He fixed Steve with a calculating stare, stroking his goatee. Then, with a bluntness only Tony Stark could accomplish, he said, "I was telling a friend that her nephew was dead. Thought she could use a drink."

"Oh. God, Tony I'm-"

"Sorry?" Tony finished for him with a cutting grin. When would they ever stop using that word? "He begged me, you know. Didn't want to die and I couldn't do a damn thing. But I guess everyone in the world knows what that's like now. Same sob story."

"That doesn't diminish it," Steve said, though he was still trying to convince himself. "You mean Spiderman, right? Rhodes said that you'd grown close."

"Peter. His name was Peter." He caught Steve's eyes, brief as striking lightning. Because that's how it always felt to look Tony in the eye when his guard was down. Then the contact was gone and he added in a soft voice, "I'm… I'm sorry about Barnes."

Steve's throat clenched.

"He was the last connection I had-" he started thickly, but couldn't finish.

"I know," Tony said, much more gently than Steve would have expected. For the first time, the silence between them was not uncomfortable. It settled over the lab, filled with a hum of machinery and the bustle of Dum-E.

"Video compilation and analysis of the gauntlet complete, boss," announced Friday.

"Thanks, Fry." Tony sipped at the coffee Steve had brought him and leaned back in his seat. He looked at Steve. "I have a plan. Half of a plan. Okay maybe like… 12% of a plan. And I have a request."

"Anything," Steve said firmly. And meaning it.

"That skinny idiot that Bucky Barnes believed in? I'd like him back on my team."

Steve's teeth clicked together as his jaw snapped shut. Pure shock jolted through him, and suddenly, everything seemed sharper. Brighter. But he managed a nod.

"Good," murmured Tony. His gaze drifted. Steve followed it to the smaller bench, the one covered in the kid's-Peter's-things. "Half of all living things," Tony breathed out.

"Do you think there's a chance we could get them back?" Steve asked.

"Maybe. Either way, we're the avengers, right? Those people are our weight to bear."

"Some people would say we should move on," Steve pointed out.

"But you don't think that."

"No. I don't."

Tony considered him, before saying, "I didn't go into the city to tell May about Peter because I needed closure. She deserved to hear it from me. Before we bring them back. Or…"

"Or die trying."

"Or die trying," Tony repeated. "Though for the record, I'd prefer if we didn't."

"That's a first," Steve pointed out sardonically. "You aren't going to pull anything self-sacrificial last minute?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "As long as you don't. I've seen that future and would prefer a different outcome."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Friday, unit 17-B, please," Tony ordered.

Steve knit his eyebrows, but with a look from Tony, he bit off the question. They sat waiting, until the workshop doors opened and a rectangular steel safe rolled in on a cart. It stopped between them. There was a lock on the side, consisting of a keypad and a scanner. Tony stood and grabbed his glowing chest piece from the workbench. The holograms blinked away. The piece clicked into place, familiar and whole and blue, just above Tony's heart. "I'm going to find Pep, make sure she's resting between video conferences and saving the world. I'll be back. You should test that out. Balance is better, claw-marks repaired."

"Wait." Steve stared at the box, chest constricting. "Wait, Tony-"

"Code is 070476, Boy Scout," he called over his shoulder when he reached the exit. "Scan your thumb after entering it."

"Tony…" Steve started in a strangled voice, seeing the dimensions of the box. "I can't-"

"You can," Tony stated firmly. "Besides, you already promised you'd be on my team. The world needs Captain America."

"Tony-"

"And so do I."


A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little story! Please leave a review if you have the time!

For my sister.