Conversation 6: Extrication

Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark

The arm around his midsection was like a steel band tightly pressing his back against a well muscled chest. He was aware of it; as aware of it as he was of the arm half wrapped about his head, fingers in his hair which were stroking at his scalp and a gravelly voice in his ear. He couldn't hear what the voice was saying through the rushing sound but it was there just the same. His body was wedged between a set of powerful thighs and someone's leg was looped over his ankles to keep him from struggling. That should have made his panic worse; it should have made him struggle and fight, but the fight from earlier had already gone out of him. Now he was struggling to breathe, to ground himself and figure out who was holding him and why.

Bare feet were in his peripheral vision, someone standing above him while he was sitting on a cold floor; the kitchen floor judging by the tile. It had to be the kitchen floor because there were utensils spilled out everywhere. There were pots and pans littering the floor; a spatula, a strainer and other utensils he didn't remember buying but most definitely led him to believe it was a kitchen. Why was he in the kitchen? Why was he sitting on the kitchen floor being held by someone? The panic rose again and dark spots threatened to block out Tony's vision as he tried to get his bearings. The foot of the leg that was draped over his ankles was also bare and the leg it was attached to was draped in grey sweats that looked a bit worn and faded.

The other feet, the pair in his peripheral vision, were partially hidden at the top by blue and white striped fabric; pajama pants, Tony's mind supplied. Someone was standing next to him in their pajamas. He could also hear that voice above the rushing in his ears but it was still too soft to make out words. The arm wrapped around his head shifted slightly and a warm, fleshy hand pressed against his forehead, pressing his head back against someone's neck and shoulder. That gravelly voice was still talking, still murmuring in his ear. He could almost make out words now, though they didn't seem to form coherent sentences, not yet.

"Relax...shh...that's...breathe..." The gravelly voice murmured; hot breath against Tony's ear told him how close the person speaking was.

That softer voice , the one above him, chimed in, breaking the gentle cadence of half formed sentences. "Loosen...can't ...let...breathe..."

He felt the arm about his chest loosen some and then slide slightly away though now Tony could feel fingers splayed on his side. There was something alien, wrong about the fingers; they felt heavier than they should have, different. One of his hands came up and touched the arm attached to them; metal, cool metal moved beneath his fingertips. He startled slightly at the feel of it, head tipping just enough to get a look at the gleaming metal arm which was holding him back against a chest. Someone was pressing him back against a muscled chest; he'd known that earlier so why was he just realizing it now? Time, was he losing time?

"Tony." The voice in his ear was back, a nudge of a nose against his cheek as he heard the soft whisper. "You back with us?"

Had he gone somewhere? Was there somewhere to go? All he remembered was the ticking; the tick-tick-ticking. It kept ticking and he couldn't find the damned clock it was attached to. His eyes closed as he struggled to breathe against the tightening in his chest that was threatening to overwhelm him again. Heart, it's in the heart, or the brain, it might be in the brain and he needed Jarvis to tell him, to let him know that it wasn't his heart. Because, goddamnit, he wasn't going to go out like this, not to a heart attack, not to the ticking of that clock. It was still tick-tick-ticking. He had no idea he'd said it aloud, had told the one behind him or the one hovering above him that the ticking just wouldn't stop.

"Banner, the sink..." Gravelly-voice, so dubbed because Tony couldn't remember his name, murmured to Ankles, the one standing next to him.

Ankles had moved out of his line of sight now and then, blessedly, thankfully the ticking noise stopped and Tony slumped bonelessly against Gravelly-voice. It was Clint's fault; it had to be Barton's fault because he was the type to prank people and hide things like clocks in places that people couldn't find them. His fingers dug in to the metal arm and how did that even happen? It was metal and metal was unyielding and still Tony felt like he was digging his fingers in to it, watching them sink in to the shine of it. That wasn't true though; the arm shifted beneath his fingertips and twisted just a bit because the metal fingertips were rubbing lightly against his ribs. Grounding, it was a grounding sensation and he focused on it.

"Breathe, doll, slowly...feel my chest, when I inhale..." The chest behind him moved as its owner took a deep breath, "you inhale. When I exhale," The chest deflated as the breath was let out. "you exhale."

He found himself mimicking the motions of the chest behind him and slowly, by degrees, it became easier to breathe. Tony didn't feel the need to suck oxygen in to his lungs any longer. Instead there were slow, deep breaths and the dark spots began to lessen and allow him to see once more. Bruce's face was the first thing to come in to view; he was crouching off to the side, watching Tony. He was wearing striped pajama pants in blue and white; ankles, Tony's mind supplied. The curly mop of hair on Bruce's head was in disarray which meant he'd been woken in haste before coming up to deal with this. Still, there was no irritation in his eyes only concern, worry in the lines of his face.

"That you, Jolly Green?" Tony's voice sounded hoarse. His eyes were on Bruce as the man nodded, reaching out to touch Tony's ankle, squeezing it. "What happened?"

Bruce's eyes lifted and went over Tony's head to look at whoever was behind him then back to Tony's face. He was hesitant, not sure he should say anything but at last brushed a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. There was no point in beating about it and to be honest, Tony thought he already knew the answer. He'd had an anxiety attack. It was the ticking noise; the tick-tick-ticking noise. That was what had caused it. He'd been trying to lay down and get a nap because he was beyond exhausted. Why had he come up to the penthouse? Usually he'd just lay down on the couch downstairs for a nap but something had brought him up to the penthouse tonight and then he'd heard the ticking. He'd been laying in bed, in the silence, and there had been that ticking.

"Uh, not sure...was hoping you could tell us. FRIDAY woke me up, said you were...not acting like yourself. That you seemed to be...having a panic attack." Bruce brushed his hand through his hair again trying to smooth it out to no avail; the hair sprung right back in to messiness. "When I got up here, Barnes was already here and you were throwing kitchen utensils around."

Barnes; gravelly-voice, the person that was currently holding him, who hadn't let go yet. It wasn't uncomfortable and at the moment Tony wasn't certain he could stand up or handle trying to get to his feet. For the moment he felt warm, though very drained and tired. Alright, there had been the ticking noise and he distinctly remembered thinking that it must be Clint's fault because he didn't have a mechanical clock in the penthouse, but he had watches. Still, no, those were all locked away in his wardrobe and he couldn't hear any noise from them. His hand lifted, having to loop his arm around Bucky's, to rub at his forehead as he tried to get that sound out of his head.

"I was trying to find the clock. Hey, did you find it? It's not ticking any more." Tony rubbed at his forehead again, missing how Bruce exchanged a look with Barnes before looking back at him. "I kept trying to find it...it just kept ticking. I couldn't sleep with that sound." His breath was hitching again and that band was tightening back across his chest.

Bucky's metal hand splayed across his chest and he drew in a deep breath, silently urging Tony to follow suit. It took a few more inhales and exhales before the engineer began to settle again, to relax. The ex-assassin didn't seem to be in any great hurry to let him go so for now Tony just surveyed the damage to the kitchen. There didn't seem to be any broken glass which meant that he hadn't made it to those cabinets when he'd been stopped at least. The last thing he wanted to see was smears of blood all over the floor where he'd stepped in the glass and kept going. That might almost count as a manic episode and that couldn't be good.

"It...it wasn't a clock, Tony, it was the sink. It was dripping." Bruce murmured, his hand squeezing Tony's ankle again before he pushed up and disappeared from view a moment.

The faint squeak of the sink handle before the water came on and he could hear that tick-tick-ticking again for just a few seconds before the water came on full blast then shut off again. Bruce returned with a glass of water, offering it to him wordlessly. There were no pills to go with it, but Bucky's arm loosened so that Tony could take the glass and drink it. Still, he could feel the muscles tensed behind him as though the man were expecting him to lose it at any moment. The water helped though it tasted a bit odd to him, almost metallic, which caused Tony to realize that some point he'd bitten his tongue and it was bleeding a bit.

"Wow, yeah, okay. That's...that was really loud. I could hear it all the way back in the bedroom." He pressed the glass to his lips again, taking another drink of the water. "I think you can let me go now, Bucky-bear, I think I'm okay."

Bucky hesitated behind him; Tony could feel the way the muscles coiled a moment before they began to relax. Slowly, by degrees, he found himself released from the tight hold and sitting on the kitchen floor as Bucky scooted away from him. His free hand lifted to rub at his eyes, trying to wipe away the last of the anxiety or maybe yank his own eyeballs out. There was a massive headache forming and it was going to settle in his temples and slightly behind his eyes, Tony just knew it. Show's over! The quip was on his lips but it died there because he just didn't have the energy for it. His head finally lifted and he fully surveyed the damage.

"Shit..." That free hand covering his mouth a moment, trying to hold the water down or maybe just the anxiety. "Shit. I'll...I'll clean this up."

Bruce's hand was on his shoulder, pushing just enough to keep him sitting. "We've got it. Just sit there, keep breathing. We can clean this up." He made a motion, to Barnes no doubt, with his head in a 'come on' way before pushing up and starting to pick up the utensils.

The only sounds around Tony were the sounds of drawers opening and utensils neatly being put back in place. Someone opened the dishwasher and put something, probably utensils, in it before the door was closed again. There was movement all around him but all he wanted to do was sit and curl in on himself. Soon enough the kitchen was cleaned up and hands, one warm and one metal, were under his arms, carefully dragging him to his feet. The flesh arm remained wrapped around his midsection as he leaned in to Bucky. Somehow the glass had disappeared out of his fingers as he'd gone from sitting to standing. Maybe Bruce had taken it?

"C'mon, Tony. You c'n sleep downstairs either on my floor or in tha shop." Bucky murmured near his ear, causing Tony to hum softly in response.

Bruce was padding after them as Bucky guided Tony toward the elevator. "Do you need anything to help you sleep?" The doctor was asking and though Tony shook his head, he heard Bucky answer 'no' for him.

"Shop or my floor?" Bucky asked, this time making it a question rather than a suggestion.

The shop would be the obvious answer and Tony said so which made the larger man grunt but nod. He kept Tony close, not letting the engineer out of his grip as they leaned back in the elevator. They must have gone past Bruce's floor because when the elevator doors opened the group had come out on the shop level and FRIDAY already had the lights on and the door open. He must be losing time because hadn't they just gotten in the elevator? Bruce had a hand on the small of his back as Bucky helped him forward, propelling him but also making sure he didn't topple over.

He was steered to that battered and worn couch before being allowed to sit, to slide down on it and topple over on to his side. From above Tony came an exasperated sigh, but he was hard pressed to guess if it had come from Bucky or from Bruce. A worn blanket was tucked over him and then a heavy weight settled at his feet, which were lifted and settled in to a lap. Someone was planning on staying with him for a bit, though he wasn't sure why. He was just going to sleep, after all, nothing interesting.

"You're almost my three favorite people, but Rhodey's not here, so...you're only...no, wait I forgot Pepper...you're almost my four favorite people..." Three fingers were held up, but then he realized that was wrong and held up two more; no, that still wasn't right. "Don't tell Pep I forgot her, she'd never let me live it down..."

A deep rumbling chuckle met his words and he lifted his head enough to see that it was Bucky sitting at the end of the couch and Bruce had taken a seat on nearby chair. Yep, definitely his five most fav...no, four, definitely four most favorite people in the world, except Pepper and Rhodey weren't there. The lights in the shop dimmed around them and it grew very quiet, but not lonely. He didn't feel alone at all and the warm, hard muscle beneath his bare feet reminded him that someone was very nearby. There were hushed voices speaking above him but those were just helping to lull him to sleep. He caught snatches of the conversation, pieces out of order.

"I'll get someone to clean up the rest of the penthouse. He doesn't need to see it..." That was Bruce; the voice almost too quiet to catch even in the silence.

The other voice had a vibrating rumble that tickled his toes, being they were close to the chest producing the sound. "It took FRIDAY a minute to find a loophole ta call us. I don't like it."

FRIDAY; his FRIDAY? She didn't have loopholes; there weren't loopholes. It was perfect, too perfect, her code wouldn't let her have loopholes except she did and Tony knew she did. There was a shushing sound and a hand ran over his ankle, soothing his thoughts. Sleep, right, he needed to sleep and then he would work out FRIDAY's loopholes. That's what he would do. Tony had no idea when he stopped hearing the voices or when he fell asleep but at least the damned ticking noise had stopped.

-End-