This chapter is basically a continuation of the previous, so I'm posting it a little early. Enjoy!

Chapter 17: He is Afraid

Tony's victory at getting Nat to smile was interrupted by Happy stopping in to alert her it was chemo time. Tony remained where he was, unsure if he'd be welcome, but Natasha grabbed his wrist and pulled him after her.

"Bringing company today?" Happy asked her, glancing at Tony.

"Yes," she stated. Tony followed silently, unsure how to react to being invited to a chemotherapy dose that wasn't part of his traditional Gravesen initiation. He sat in the armchair across as Natasha was prepped and hissed in sympathy when the needle went in. He'd forgotten how long and sharp port needles looked.

"Man up," Natasha told him, picking up on his obvious discomfort. "This is not your first time. No nerves."

"Sorry. I can't exactly help it," he said. He'd just been told to man up by a girl five years his junior. It certainly wasn't a highlight in the life of Tony Stark. But what ensued was even worse.

An hour or so had passed and Tony tried not to focus on the grey tinge Natasha's skin had adopted. He regretted suggesting she eat breakfast earlier. Everything she hadn't eaten came back up, followed by a bout of unproductive dry heaving. Tony didn't know what to do, how to offer even a semblance of comfort in this situation. Nick or Clint was usually here receiving chemo alongside her, but he had scans scheduled for today instead of a dose. Thinking about Clint's scans reminded Tony of his conversation with Steve, something he certainly didn't want to be thinking about while watching Natasha as she became so sick from the very thing preventing her from dying. There was really nothing graceful about cancer, was there? At least Tony's treatment left him with the majority of his dignity.

He heard footsteps approaching and hoped it was one of their friends, someone to diffuse the awkward energy hanging between him and Nat. Or maybe a nurse here to administer something to help these horrific side effects. Tony certainly didn't expect his parents to walk through the door of the chemo clinic.

"Tony?" His father's unmistakable voice.

"Dad?" he blinked heavily, still not sure the sight before him was real and not a figment of his imagination. His father looked not only surprised to find him here, but terrified. Why that would be the case, Tony had no idea. Howard Stark's gaze flitted between his son and Natasha, his eyes filling with an emotion Tony couldn't identify.

"They told us you were in here. What are you doing?" he asked coldly.

"I'm just keeping Natasha company," Tony replied, indicating the girl across from him. She gave a weak wave and a half smile.

"That's nice of you," his mother said. His father said nothing. Maria Stark sat down beside Tony, practically dragging her husband behind her and forcing him into the next chair down.

"Natasha, these are my parents," Tony introduced.

"Nice to meet you," she said weakly. An audible gasp of horror escaped his father's mouth. He stood defiantly and looked down on Natasha as if she'd robbed him of his entire fortune. Howard Stark could be frighteningly imposing when he wanted to, and Natasha cowered beneath his scrutiny. What the hell was going on? Before Tony could question his father's behavior further, Howard wrapped a strong hand around his upper arm and yanked him to his feet.

"No," Howard growled. "This is not something I will allow to happen."

"What?" Tony cried. What did he mean? He wouldn't allow what to happen? Natasha watched helplessly as Howard forcibly dragged Tony out of the room. "Mom!" he called frantically, hoping she would do something to stop her husband from doing whatever this was. She only looked at him sadly and moved to take his seat across from Natasha. He met eyes with Nat one last time before Howard pulled him around a corner and he lost sight of her. She didn't look confused or afraid. Natasha looked like she understood exactly what was going on. What did she know that Tony didn't?

"What the hell was that all about?" Tony questioned, seething. "She wanted me to keep her company, so I did. Why are you mad at me for that?"

"I'm not mad at you."

"Then explain this." Tony rolled up his sleeve and revealed the harsh red marks where his father had gripped him so tightly.

"I needed to get you out of there," he explained.

"Why?!"

"I don't want my son associating with people like her. Especially in a place like this."

"What do you mean, people like her?" Tony asked. An inkling of an idea presented itself in the back of his mind, but he didn't want to consider it. He hoped that even his father would never stoop so low.

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Because she's Russian? Are you really so bigoted? That's low even for you." He didn't retort as Tony feared he might. Howard closed his mouth and pursed his lips into a flat line. "Thanks for putting me in the awkward position of explaining to my friend that my father physically dragged me away from her because he's prejudiced," Tony spat. He stalked away without another word. Without consciously thinking about it, he carried himself to Bruce's door. He stopped just short of knocking. Why did he come to Bruce? He'd barely spoken to the guy beyond their occasional shared walk and school, yet he ended up storming here in his rage. It wasn't meditation time, so Tony dared to knock. Bruce didn't verbally invite him in, but stepped up and opened the door himself.

"Tony? What's wrong?" he asked immediately. Tony took a deep breath, knowing he must look pretty flustered for Bruce to so quickly ask him that.

"My father."

"Oh boy. You'd better sit down." Bruce stepped back and gestured to a comfortable chair in the corner of his room. Tony had never seen inside Bruce's room either, but it reminded him somewhat of what he suspected a monk's chambers would look like. He took a seat and Bruce sat before him, staring blankly and waiting for him to talk.

"I always knew he had a strong patriotic streak, but this took it to a whole new level," Tony said.

"You're going to have to elaborate. Tell me the whole story from the beginning."

"You sure? I don't want to take up too much of your time; I know how important it is to you."

"You're just as important," he assured. "Besides, it'll be nice to be on the other side of this kind of conversation for once. Too much self scrutiny isn't good for anyone, it helps to focus on someone else every once in a while. This is my chance to utilize everything I've learned from spending so much time with the Falcon."

"Okay, here goes. I accompanied Natasha to her chemo because Clint's busy with his parents and scans and she didn't want to go alone. I didn't even know my parents were coming to visit today, but they came into the chemo clinic and my dad just completely lost it. He literally dragged me away and said I shouldn't be associating with people like her."

"What did he mean by people like her?"

"He didn't specify. But he didn't react until after she spoke, so my best guess is that he doesn't like the fact she's Russian."

"He does know it's not the fifties anymore, right?"

"I certainly hope so. He's the head of a big weapons manufacturing firm, which I guess is in direct competition with Russia, but I don't understand why he would hate a little girl who happens to be from there."

"Is he generally paranoid? Maybe he thinks she's a spy."

"My father is many things, but he's definitely not stupid. No country would make spies out of kids with cancer."

"That's what makes them the best spies," Bruce remarked. "Nobody would ever suspect them."

"Do you really think Nat's a Russian spy?"

"Of course not! That's ridiculous. I was making a joke."

"Sorry. I'm not quite in the right headspace to pick up on humor," Tony admitted. The fact that Bruce genuinely made a joke, though, that was encouraging as far as the other's boy's recovery went.

"Understandable."

"Bruce, you should have seen the way he looked at her. He looked like she'd taken something from him just by existing. It's one thing for him to look at me like I don't deserve to be alive, but I will not abide by him looking at my friends like that," he stated firmly.

"Wait a minute, your dad looks at you like you don't deserve to be alive? Tony, that's concerning."

"Nah." Tony waved him off. "It's just the way he is. I'm pretty certain he didn't want kids—too much of a distraction from his work and all that—but I came along, probably by accident, and he got stuck in the role of father. I've accepted that I'll never gain his approval, but I certainly don't want him extending that apathy to anyone else."

"Well I'm glad you've made peace with this unfortunate fact, but even if your dad didn't want kids, it's a pretty bad sign if he makes it that obvious to his kid."

"That's his problem."

"I guess so."

"My problem is I don't know what to say to Natasha after my own father looked at her like that and bodily hauled me away from her."

"Did she seem upset?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But I can't imagine how she could not be upset. I'm pretty upset. My father has no right to dictate who I spend time with, especially on the basis of nationality."

"You're right, he doesn't. Exactly how is he planning to enforce this?"

"He didn't say, but I have no doubt he's capable of doing so. I just hope he doesn't have me transferred to another hospital."

"And away from Dr. Rhodes? Do you really think he'd do that?"

"I'm not sure. My happiness and well-being have never really been a top priority of his."

"Tony, I think this is over my head. You really need to talk to Dr. Wilson about this…and probably your dad too."

"I'm not sure he's going to be willing to speak to me after I called him prejudiced and stormed off on him."

"At least you spoke your mind. I've never really been brave enough to do that."

"Bruce, you're one of the bravest people I know," Tony said honestly. Whenever he tagged along on a walk, he admired Bruce's quiet courage and drive for self-improvement despite the perilous obstacles his mental illness set before him.

Bruce waved him off, "There's no way that's true. You know, like, five people fighting cancer. I just sit on the sidelines and fight with myself."

"That's what makes it all the more commendable."

"You really think so?"

"Of course."

"It's rather ironic you're here for a faulty heart because it's clear you have one of the best there is."

"Thanks Bruce." Tony felt said heart warm with such kind words. He knew he needed to put it to good use and attempt to make amends with Natasha. "I'm going to go back to Nat and try to fix things."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." He swung by the chemo clinic only to discover she'd already finished her infusion. Grateful he didn't have to watch that any longer, he turned back and headed to her room. She answered his knock in a barely audible whimper. He eased the door open and stepped inside. Natasha was curled up in bed beneath her black and red blanket, arms wrapped around her stuffed black cat. Her port remained accessed, but connected to bags of fluid and blood instead of chemo.

"Hey," he greeted, unsure how to proceed.

"Hi," she clipped back.

"So…I came to apologize for what my father said. I don't know what got into him, but I want to make it clear that I have no intention of following any stupid rules he attempts to lay down."

"He hurt you," Natasha remarked, pointing to his arm where the red marks emerged past his sleeve.

"It's just a little bruise." Tony tugged his sleeve down in an attempt to cover the marks.

"Why did he make you leave?"

"He didn't want me to hang out with you," Tony explained.

"He is afraid."

"Yeah. He works with a lot of people who remember the arms race and there's some lingering hostility between our countries, and he assumed because you fit into that group you qualify as an enemy—"

"No," she cut him off. "He was afraid before I spoke. Before he knew."

"What? How do you know that?"

"I could see it in his eyes."

"But why else would he not want me near you?"

"I do not know. He is your father."

That was true, though sometimes Tony wished he wasn't.