One Month Later
Rhodes moved across the tarmac with purpose. His flight had been delayed due to weather and as it stood he was forty minutes late for his meeting already and he had only just landed. With his briefcase in hand, he hurried his pace stopping just short of full out running to where a vehicle should be waiting. He tensed slightly at the metallic thump and breaking of ash vault behind him.
He turned to find a formidable Iron Man standing there staring at him. "Tony?"
Stark didn't even bother to flip his faceplate up; this was business, not personal. "I want my weapons Colonel."
Rhodes frowned, a sinking feeling that some young upstart with delusions of Colonel had a brilliant brainwave to try and commandeer Stark Tech. "What's going on Tony? What weapons?"
"Stark Industry weapons. I want everything the government stockpiled."
"You want what? You think the government is just going to hand that kind of weaponry over and in that quantity after they bought it? What's going on?"
Stark moved to flip his faceplate up and after the second attempt finally managed to get it. If it wasn't for the suit holding him up he probably would have fallen over by now. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but he tried to stare down his friend.
Rhodes took a long hard look at the man standing before him. He'd seen Tony in many states: happy, sad, irate, cocksure, angry, blissful, and distraught. It had been a long time since he'd seen him so drunk the man could barely stand. Stark was a champion when it came to consuming alcohol, taking a lot to throw him off his game. This man standing before him was a lush on a bender that was quickly coming to an end. "Are you drunk?" accused Rhodes.
"I might have had a pick me up," defended Stark. "I have a lot do. Promises to keep and miles before I sleep and what not."
"I heard about some unauthorized action in the middle east that was tentatively attributed to you."
Stark just shrugged, but didn't correct Rhodes' suspicion. "I told you I'm looking for my weapons. I don't care who has them, they're mine and I want them back, before someone else gets hurt."
"Is that what this is about, Hawkeye? That wasn't your fault Tony." The Colonel place a hand on Iron Man's shoulder, only to have his friend shake it off with one large step back.
"Just start making calls about my weapons," pushed Tony, flipping his facemask down.
"You know I can't do that, Tony." It wasn't an apology of sorts, but it was sympathetic and deep down he knew Stark knew it wasn't going to happen. Iron Man blasted off, tearing through the sky in a straight line due to JARVIS, leaving Rhodes standing there alone. He had never seen Tony looks so haggard, broken and splayed open for the world to see.
He pulled out his cell phone and tapped in the familiar number. "Come on Pick up," he mumbled, listening to it ring. "Hey Pepper, I need to talk to you, it's about Tony."
Leaving the lights off, Natasha made her way to the supply cabinet in Stark's makeshift medical room. The routine was so familiar, she could do it with her eyes closed now. The lights of the city gave just enough illumination that the room wasn't a complete black void.
Gingerly pulling her shirt off, she began her well rehearsed dance of tending to her wounds. They were never life threatening to catch the eye of her fellow agents and land her in a proper medical facility where too many questions would be asked. They were more than bumps and bruises though, suggesting that her stealth, grace and overall competence wasn't what it used to be. By all rights, a medical professional should be the one tending to them, but that would draw unwanted attention and good intentions. She couldn't continue on as she was if people grew concerned.
Steve would put an outright stop to it if he found out she had gone behind his back, practically begging Fury to give her something, anything, worthy of her skill set. Being around Clint had forced her to feel, to come out from herself imposed ice fortress that guarded her heart; she had let him in and now he was gone. Without him, there was only what she was before a young cocky kid with a bow saw something worth salvaging; she would be that cold proficient spy again. This time she could do it without any reservations, give herself one-hundred percent and not worry about saving anything for the return. There was nothing to come home to anymore; those that had stolen from her would pay for their sins, even if it cost her her soul. Vengeance, it would end with their deaths or hers.
With deft fingers she threaded the needle and began to suturing the gash in her side. Natasha had taken to forgoing any type of freezing; pain reminded her that she was alive. Sometimes that was an important distinction when the numbness of the gaping hole within her threatened to swallow her up.
The pain also drowned out Clint's voice. The constant commentary from the archer telling her to stop, that she didn't need to do this just created fractures in her resolve. She had been weak by letting him in, she would not make that mistake again and let his death cause her to fall apart. The Black Widow did not cry, she did not give into world crushing grief. She needed work, to walk along that edge of life and death in some attempt to catch glimpses of the thing she lost.
Pushing herself beyond her limits with mission after mission gave her anger a release. The subject of her anger was dead, he couldn't feel her wrath, but a world full of enemies of SHIELD were ripe for the picking.
"Natasha."
Romanoff's hand flinched as her head snapped up. She knew she was off her game, but she didn't realize how much until Banner managed to sneak up on her. "Bruce." There really was no cover for this, no way to explain what was displayed out in front of him.
Stepping further into the room, he pulled up a stool and sat down beside her. Taking the needle and gauze, he asked, "How long are you going to keep doing this?"
"I was just…"
"Don't lie to me," snapped the doctor.
Natasha looked Bruce dead in the eyes. "I miss calculated a dismount in the gym." There was an edge to her voice, like she dared Banner to challenge it.
Bruce finished tying off the thread before slamming the instruments on the table. "We both know you're more graceful than that. Even if it happened once, you're honestly going to stand there and tell me it's happened eight other times? And that's just based on what I can see. Tell me Natasha, what kind of injuries are you sporting on the rest of your body?"
"SHIELD business doesn't concern you Dr. Banner," she warned.
Bruce let out a huff. The blatant disregard for her life was infuriating, especially after they were all reminded just how fragile life was. "There are no SHIELD missions, Steve has us on stand down, so stop with the lies."
She grabbed her shirt off of the table and put it on, ignoring the way her fresh stitches pulled. "What I do, is none of your business," spat Romanoff.
"We're still a team. What happens to you is all of our business," countered Banner, his voice rising to counter the bite in hers.
Something snapped within Natasha. How dare he stand there and claim that this group of misfits would have her back when they didn't even know her. They didn't know her history, see what she had been through and offered her a hand and way out despite the blood on it. These virtuous people would turn their back on her if they had the first clue about the fires that forged her soul and somehow they were going to fill the hole left by the archer? How dare they try. "Leave it alone," she shouted, shoving the other man hard.
Bruce took a step back under the force, but not willing to relent, he moved even closer to the angry assassin. Natasha immediately started throwing punches; blow after blow landing on his chest. It was a recipe for a Hulk out, but she didn't stop and Bruce never hit back. He grit his teeth and let her hate and frustration pour out, determine to keep the green guy in check, and surprisingly he agreed.
"I hate you," she screamed, not pausing in her strikes. She didn't fear the Hulk, not because she believed Banner had the strength to keep him locked away under such an assault, but because she had nothing left to lose. If suicide missions for SHIELD couldn't accomplish the task, the Hulk could. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate him." Her voice finally cracked and with it all the energy she was using to keep herself going. Bruce's arms wrapped around her and they both sank to the floor. "How could he just leave me here alone?" she sobbed.
"Killing yourself won't bring him back," whispered Bruce.
It was oddly comforting being in Bruce's arms; it felt safe despite the constant threat that the monster lurking within might make an appearance. "I've spent so much of my life trying to wipe the slate clean, to make up for everything and be worthy of the chance Clint took on me, that was my purpose. And when we were done, and the bad guys were finished, and I proved myself deserving of his love and devotion, we were going to be like normal people. Grow old on a porch and watch the kids play. Even though riding off into the sunset wasn't really going to happen, I just don't know how to go on without him."
"What you're doing, it's not the answer. He didn't do it to hurt you and given any other options, he would have chosen to walk away that day. You can be mad at the injustice of it all, mad at the unfairness, but don't hate him and don't hate yourself. He wouldn't want that for you.
They sat there huddling on the floor together, long into the night, Bruce's arms wrapped tightly, holding her together. "Sometimes I think he's here."
The tower was quiet. It was thick like a blanket smothering everyone residing within. The depressing atmosphere had become a staple, becoming the new normal and that made it even more depressing. Steve wandered through the common rooms, chasing the shadows of what was once the tenuous embrace of a makeshift family. The team was hurting and there was nothing he could do to ease their suffering. Clint was gone and even if they didn't like it, they would have to experience the learning curve that was moving on without him. There were times though, that it felt like the archer was there, just out of sight, lurking around a corner but there was never anything there but disappointment.
His friends had become ghosts. Natasha had disappeared after their final farewell in the cemetery, though he had it on good authority that she occasionally passed through the tower in the depths of night every few days. Thor, before he left to spend time with Jane, had been grumbling around the tower, demanding that Steve lead them in glorious battle against those who had slain their brother. Steve wished he had someone deserving of Thor's wrath to point the god at. With Thor away and Natasha MIA, the team was splintering. Tony was an in house ghost and Pepper has disappeared into her office. Out of everyone, her efforts were the most noble, creating a worthy legacy in the archer's name. On paper, Bruce would appear to be an ally, except that he was a self contained black hole, sucking in everyone else's emotions but giving none in return.
Steve had spent so much time and energy trying to protect what was left of his team, to make sure they were alright, that Clint's death hadn't really hit him yet. Logically he knew Barton was gone and the thought left a painful sting deep in his gut, but his heart kept telling him to buy into the lie that the archer was just away on a mission. Everything was normal, he would walk through that door one day like nothing had been out of the ordinary and Steve wanted to believe it. It was a game of make believe he wasn't ready to give up.
The soft backsplash lighting was on in the kitchen painting it in warm dim light. A place that had once been the heart of the tower, and more recently a cold forgotten space, was occupied. All four Avengers looked up as Steve walked in the room, their conversation falling silent at his apparent intrusion. "Guys, Natasha," he greeted self-consciously.
"Glad you could join us Steve," offered Bruce, looking a little relieved that someone else was joining their conversation.
Romanoff was a stone statue, more fixated on the marble countertop than anything else going on in the room. Thor, who had somehow gotten the memo when Rogers hadn't, seemed to be in line with whatever agenda Stark was pushing, that Bruce clearly didn't seem to agree with.
"What are we talking about?" asked the Captain, trying not to feel left out, to feel even more alone than he already did. Apparently he didn't even warrant being informed when Thor had returned to the tower.
"The topic of most of our discussions: Charlie," snarled Tony, hostile and bitter in turn.
The blond grit his teeth together, clenching his jaw. It wasn't that he didn't want to track down this elusive enemy for everything he had done to them, but there was more to consider than running around half cocked. Charlie had proven to have resources and allies, the team and SHIELD couldn't even fathom. Steve, Tony, Clint and Bruce had been taken hostage, had their memories erased and almost convinced into betraying everything they were told was a delusion. No other adversary had been that successful against them or that elusive. They had a name but no face; he could have been a ghost for all they knew. Now Charlie had pulled off a feat only dreamt about by every enemy that had face the Avengers, he had killed one. Steve wanted nothing more than to tear this man apart. He could picture a million ways to make him suffer but it would break a part of his soul and it wouldn't change anything. The risk, that such a venture would put the team within Charlie's reach wasn't worth it. He had hurt them once already, Steve couldn't let him do it again. "We've been over this. We don't know enough about him to take any action against him. We just don't know what we're up against."
"I got a lead on the whereabouts of some of his hired thugs, I say we start there and work our way up," countered Tony.
"What if they don't give him up? What if it's a trap?" argued Rogers.
"If you're afraid, you can stay here, but trust me, when we get through with them, they won't be protecting their boss." There was hate in Stark's eyes, dark and deep. The sentiment was echoed in Thor.
Steve could feel the situation spiralling out of control. They were on a wire, one false step was going to send anyone of them tumbling into darkness, never to emerge. "This isn't how this team operates."
"I'm going to go out and get some revenge. Who knows, it might help me sleep better," declared Stark, storming towards the door.
Steve clamped his hand down on the billionaire's shoulder, forcing him to stop. "This team isn't about vengeance. We're not in the business of revenge."
"No, but we do avenge. It's kind of our deal. Who's with me?"
"Aye, I would take great pleasure in inflicting vengeance on those who have stolen our brethren," announced Thor, leaping off his stool in eager anticipation.
Bruce rolled his eyes and took a step closer towards the door. They were an angry mob calling for blood; monsters didn't do so well in those situations. Natasha's icy gaze was firmly fixed on the same spot on the table as it had been through the whole conversation; her deathly red lips as silent as the grave.
"Looks like some of us are Cap." A vindicated smile washed over Stark's face. He wasn't completely alone in this idea. Thor wasn't one to back a loser, and with him on his side, the idea couldn't be as insane as it sounded.
There would be no stopping them if Steve couldn't come up with a convincing argument. There was a small list of people that Rogers wanted to wrap his hands around their throats and squeeze until the light went out of their eyes, but then that line that separate the good guys from the bad guys would have been crossed. They couldn't defend the helpless if they were no better than those they were defending against. He was the team leader, it was his job to protect his people, even their souls. "Barton wouldn't want this."
"He's dead, he doesn't get a vote anymore." Tony's voice rose with every word. "We're tired of sitting around doing nothing while these people get away..." His words were cut off with a giant clang as a large frying pan tumbled off the wall, crashing to the floor. The billionaire glared at it as though the tower that he designed and helped build was siding with Rogers. Yet another thing he created defying him. A little calmer, he spat, "And does it hurt to be so self-righteous all the time?"
"Tony." It was a half felt warning, that both knew Steve wouldn't act on. The worst case scenario, Captain America would leave with hurt feelings but he'd never deliver the blow Stark knew he had coming.
"No, I'm serious. I was considering it, but now I'm not so sure."
"I don't know what to do! Is that what you want to hear?" The scream echoed off the walls, sucking all the sound out of the room. The damn holding in all of Rogers' frustration had broken.
Of all the people he actually wanted to gut, Steve wasn't on the list. Watching someone else in pain, sucked all the air out of Tony, but apologise wasn't in his vast vocabulary. "Normally, I would take pleasure in your ineptitude, but not this time." It had killed the mood to be reminded that each one wasn't the only one hurting. With nothing left to say, Tony stormed out of the room, Thor hot on his heels.
Steve looked towards the door Bruce had been hovering near to find that the doctor had vanished at some point in the conversation. Looking back at Natasha, who was now staring at the pan on the floor, he asked, "Are you going to say anything?"
"No."