Sam was relieved they were able to catch a Preventer flight back to the States. They didn't know the pilot, which apparently made both Duo and Chang antsy. Chang dealt with it by apparently keeping busy on his phone; Duo, Sam planned to entertain.

That wasn't that big of a problem. Sam wanted to talk to Duo anyway.

"You looking forward to seeing Stark?" he asked.

Duo leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "Are we really going to do this?" he asked.

"Do what?" Sam replied, doing his best to be a picture of innocence.

"You realize I put head shrinkers in the psych ward, right?"

"Excuse you. I am a counselor."

Duo rolled his eyes, but Sam could see the grin tug at his lips. "Dirtsider, earther. Same thing, different name."

"No one from Earth calls themselves an 'Earther,'" Sam said.

"Are you sure about that?"

"I am very sure about that. And you are trying to distract me."

This time when Duo rolled his eyes, it wasn't amused. "I don't know why you think we need to have this conversation."

"We need to have this conversation because you are behaving like someone going to their own execution—"

"As someone who has actually had to do that before, I promise: you're exaggerating."

Sam stopped midthought, closed his mouth, then glared. "You're trying to distract me," he said.

"I'm not lying," Duo said.

Remembering that Duo had been a Gundam pilot, he didn't doubt it. "I didn't say you were. You don't lie, you deflect. We got a long flight ahead of us. Do you really want to do this the whole way, or would you rather just have this talk?"

"Option C," Duo replied quickly. "None of the above."

Sam sighed. "Duo—"

"Look, why do you even care?" Duo asked, finally focusing on him. "As far as I can tell, you don't even like Stark."

"Whether I like him or not isn't the point—"

"Shouldn't it be, though?" Sam sighed again, but before he could say anything, Duo continued, "No, seriously. You want to convince me to give Stark a chance, to give him the benefit of the doubt. I need to understand why you want me to do that if you don't even like the guy."

It was a fair question, if Sam were being honest—though he didn't much want to be. "I came into the Avengers on Steve's side, so I'm obviously biased toward him"—He raised a hand to stall Duo's interruption.—"And I know you don't like Steve. But just because Steve and… Tony," he tripped over the unfamiliar address a little, but he was trying to make a point, "had a disagreement, doesn't mean they aren't still friends."

Duo raised a droll eyebrow at him. "A disagreement?" he asked. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Ha, ha."

"If that were a disagreement, I should hate to see what an argument looks like," Chang chimed in from Duo's other side.

Leaning forward to glare at him, Sam said, "Can you not?"

"You are trying to convince Maxwell that he should give a narcissistic asshole with a borderline savior complex a chance."

"Hey, slow your roll," Sam interrupted. "I thought you were here to help."

Sam had no idea where Chang got off calling Stark an asshole, because he had the market cornered on lofty arrogance.

"I am here to support Maxwell, regardless of the outcome."

"So you're here because you expect this to become a flaming dumpster fire, you mean?"

"I said I am here to support," Chang repeated in the exact same tone of voice.

Reminding himself that he was not a violent man, Sam had to wonder why Duo had such a problem with Stark when Chang was apparently one of his best friends. Sure, Stark was often an ass, but at least he admitted it.

"Hey, no arguing over me," Duo said, waving them both off. "Sam, I get what you're trying to do, but here's the thing: it's not about Stark." Surprised, Sam focused his attention back on Duo. What he saw on Duo's face was old pain, old hurts. He took a deep breath and plowed on ahead anyway, even though he was braced as if ready for more pain. "People don't want me, okay?"

"I don't believe that," Sam said automatically.

Duo shook his head slightly like Sam was the one not getting it. "Oh, they think they do," he said, eyes going distant. "The smart, pretty kid. The kind they think'll make 'em look good. And then they realize that a smart kid is an independent one. One who knows how to get into stuff they don't want gotten into. One that fights back 'cause no one else gonna." He laughed, but it was a laugh that made Sam think of breaking glass. "They didn't want me when I was just too smart and too stubborn. Why the hell should anyone want me now? When I've got something like fifty thousand deaths on my hands?" He shook his head again, as if just the thought were wrong, then met Sam's eyes. "Got nothing to do with him being Tony Stark. It's never been about him."

"You were a kid," Sam tried, but Duo started shaking his head again.

"If it's not fifty thousand yet, it will be," he said. "Because it's not going to stop. Because I'm not going to stop. Death walks with me, Sam. It always has, and it always will. Nobody in their right mind wants to be associated with that. He's gonna see that, he's gonna figure it out, and that's all that's going to matter. Maybe it's all that should matter."

Before Sam can think of anything to contradict Duo's argument, Chang said, "You walk a path mired in violence, but so does Stark. Even apart from the weapons he's created, his hands are not clean, and they will never be so as long as he chooses to walk his current path."

"So?" Duo asked, as if it didn't mean anything. But it did. It was exactly what Sam was reaching for and struggling to find the words for.

"So maybe Stark is the person in the best position to understand the road you've chosen and support you through it," he said. Duo gave him an openly skeptical look. "No, really. Give it a chance. Give Stark a chance."

Tense silence hung between them for a long moment before Duo said, "Why?"

"Why give him a chance?"

"Why does this matter to you so much? As established, you don't even like the guy. Why do you care? Why are you pushing so hard for this? You want me to give him a chance? I need to know why."

Sam poked at it himself. This was important to him, even if he wasn't sure why. He knew it was more than just his instinct to try and fix things. It was more than that, more important than his need to fix and be right. "Because people call us heroes and hold us to impossible standards and forget we're human. They don't understand how it feels to be lauded for the horrible things you have to do. They aren't there when the blood on our hands feels like it'll never come off. They have no comprehension of what it's like to have the world watching as you do your best to protect them all. Whatever else I think of Stark, he's an Avenger, he is an ally, he is someone I can trust at my back when the world stands against us. I think you're one of us, and I don't think you can have too many people at your back."

Something seemed to move in Duo's eyes. "What if you're wrong?" he asked. "What if I'm not a hero? What if I'm what you're all protecting others from? What if the best thing for Stark is to forget I even exist?"

"That's not how he's wired," Sam said. "And he wouldn't be the man I think he is if could turn his back on his son."

Sighing, Duo rubbed his hands over his face as if it could make Sam's words make more sense.

"I think you're wrong," he said after a moment, hands folded together as if in prayer, fingertips resting on his chin.

"You didn't say I had to convince you, you just said I had to tell you," Sam pointed out.

"The world believes that heroes are shining beacons of light," Chang began softly. "We know better. Perhaps… Stark does as well."

Duo turned a betrayed look on Chang. "Not you too!"

Shrugging, Chang said, "Blood is not everything. I believe that in many ways, the bonds we have chosen are more meaningful than those that have been forced upon us. We have chosen them, and that matters. But it is still easier to walk away from them, because what we have chosen, so we can choose to leave. While I know you do not value blood, Stark clearly does. I think, if Wilson is correct, that it would be good for you to have someone who feels that way in your life."

"I'd rather someone leave than stay because they're obligated to."

"I don't think Stark would stay out of obligation alone," Chang admitted. "But I do think it means he would think very hard before he does."

Duo slumped in his seat and rubbed his face again, mumbling "Fine!" through his hands before dropping them into his lap. "I'll give him a fucking chance not to fuck me over on this, but if he does, you both just fucking let it go. Am I clear?"

"Fair enough," Sam said, as Chang replied, "Of course."

Rubbing at his eyes again, Duo grumbled, "I am so going to fucking say 'I told you so,' when he punts me from the nearest airlock sans suit."

Correcting the idiom seemed petty, especially since he had basically just won. Before he could sit back and enjoy it, Chang caught his eye. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His face said it all.

You had better be right.

Sam hoped he was.

Stark's personal chauffer picked them up at the airport, which Maxwell seemed neither surprised nor pleased by. He didn't argue though. Wufei took that to be more a symptom of Maxwell's overall exhaustion with dealing with civilians than a sign of acquiescence. Wilson, at least, seemed grateful.

They hadn't talked much on the long flight, and they didn't talk much on the ride to Stark Tower.

Except for the chauffeur, Mr. Hogan, the ride would have been quiet.

"Mr. Stark will be happy to have you home," Mr. Hogan said, glancing at Maxwell in the rearview mirror.

"If you say so," Maxwell replied curtly. Wufei could see the driver frown in the mirror, looking almost hurt at Maxwell's dismissal.

"He will," Mr. Hogan insisted.

Maxwell propped his chin on a fist and turned his attention out the window, not deigning to respond.

It was odd, even after several days of exposure to it, to see Maxwell so contained, so quiet.

"You don't have to doubt it so much, you know," Wilson said, gently admonishing. Wufei watched Duo's eyes swing over to him, but he didn't turn his head. It felt like a quiet threat. As they traveled, Maxwell had gone quieter, until he was barely speaking at all. A silent Maxwell was a dangerous Maxwell. "You said you'd give it a chance," he reminded.

He didn't reply to Wilson, and Wilson raised an eyebrow at Wufei, as if asking him to continue holding up the conversation.

Wufei ignored him, settled back, and spent the ride meditating. He was sure he was going to need to be centered when he finally met Tony Stark.

When they got to Stark Tower the elevator stopped at a floor. Maxwell sighed.

"FRIDAY," he said in the kind of tone that Wufei usually associated with parents scolding recalcitrant children. Maxwell punched a button on the elevator, but the doors stayed open and didn't move. "FRI, please. I just want to go to my room and lay down."

"Everyone is looking forward to seeing you and Staff Sergeant Wilson," a softly Irish-lilted voice informed from the speaker.

Wilson gave Maxwell a pointed look and stepped off. Wufei could see heads beginning to lean around and try to see them.

"Sam," a man greeted Wilson, though Wufei couldn't see him, he could hear the usual trading of hand clasps and back slaps, and raised an eyebrow at Maxwell.

"I can take the stairs," Maxwell said to thin air.

"You might find that difficult today," the woman's voice replied. Maxwell looked like he wanted to bang his head on the wall.

"I'm going to reprogram you," he said. "See if I don't."

"You can certainly try," the woman's voice said, though there was an undertone of satisfaction in it.

"Reprogram?" Wufei asked as Maxwell ground his teeth before squaring his shoulders and stepping out.

"FRIDAY is an AI. She runs the Tower," Maxwell said shortly, which explained both why he threatened to reprogram it and why he was seemingly irritated at it entirely. Wufei couldn't say he was any happier with an AI that could be that easily mistaken for a real person. Wufei followed him into a large room that looked like part kitchen, part living area. It appeared that nearly every Avenger had decided to meet them.

Every Avenger except Stark, that was. Wufei frown, pushing out his qi sense a little bit. All of the lives in the room were bright in their own ways, but the one that most reflected Maxwell's wasn't on this floor.

"Duo," a man with long hair and a broad build said, looking over Maxwell in a way that was somewhere between a status evaluation and elevator eyes. It took Wufei a moment to place him as the Winter Soldier.

"Bucky," Maxwell returned, mimicking the man's tone that was part question, part confirmation.

"All in one piece?" the soldier—Barnes, he recalled—asked.

"As much as I ever am," Maxwell replied. "Everyone, this is Chang Wufei. Chang, the Avengers." He gestured broadly to the group before him.

He was so startled to hear Maxwell so casually address him as Chang that he turned to stare at Maxwell. A glance at the ready wariness in Maxwell's frame told answered the question before he could ask it.

These people who most would try to assure him were friendly if not friends, were not considered allies by Maxwell. They were not trusted.

"Glad to see you're all in one piece." Wufei recognized Captain America easily enough. He also saw Maxwell's knees bend a hair more, saw him shift his weight to the balls of his feet as if he were preparing to coil and launch himself. What had Sally sent him into? These were meant to be heroes, the good guys. Why was Maxwell on borderline full alert? Especially after the talk Wilson had given him.

"Are you now?" Maxwell replied. Captain America frowned as if the response bothered him.

"Is Mr. Stark going to join us?" Wufei asked, then watch the discomfort and tension race through the group.

"Tony's been working on a project since he got back," a red-haired woman said. Wufei recognized her from the press conferences and from Sally's not-so-quiet admiration. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanov. "I'll go down and grab him. I'm sure he's just tuned FRIDAY out."

Maxwell's hand darted out toward her as she began to pass, and she pulled back before he could touch her, but it succeeded in stopping her forward momentum. "If he doesn't want to see me," Maxwell said, meeting her eyes squarely, "there's no need to go get him."

"You're his son," Romanov said. "He'll want to see you."

Then why isn't he already here? Wufei could read the unspoke question in Maxwell's eyes. His qi stayed bright and steady, but Wufei would almost swear he could feel a slight chill in the air. Maxwell's qi was normal for now, but a heartbeat would be all it would take for it to wink out and for Shinigami to stand before them. It shouldn't have been something to be worried about, here in the heart of heroes.

"Give me ten," she said, and this time when she moved to pass them, Maxwell let her go without challenge.

Tension and awkwardness hung in the air. "All right," a man said, and it took Wufei a moment to pick Dr. Bruce Banner out of the milling heroes. "What's going on here? What aren't we being told?"

And Wufei got to learn firsthand that Captain America was a terrible liar. "Nothing," he said, trying to turn an innocent expression on Dr. Banner. It didn't look convincing to Wufei, who didn't know the man at all, and Dr. Banner looked similarly unimpressed.

"I believe the tension is from the revelation that Duo was a Gundam pilot," a man with a red face and an upper-crust British accent commented.

"Vision!" Captain America said in a tone of reprimand.

"I'm sorry. Were we not supposed to speak of it?" Vision asked. "I already told Wanda…" His face seemed oddly stiff, but his brow still appeared to furrow as if distressed. "I apologize, Duo, I didn't mean—"

A little bit of tension went out of Maxwell, and he held up a hand to settle the man. "It's fine, Viz," he said. "I didn't expect it to stay a secret when half the team already knew."

"You were at Sokovia, then," the other woman, the one who must be Wanda Maximoff, said in a curious tone.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Maxwell said, "Yeah. I was."

Her qi tickled over Wufei's senses, seeming to stretch beyond her body, but it came up just short of touching Maxwell, pulling away as if spooked. "Thank you," she said. "Things would have been…" She paused, visibly searching for a description before settling on, "much worse had you and the other Gundams not been there."

"Happy accident," he told her, which was actually true. "We just happened to be moving the Gundams to prep them for destruction when that happened."

"Where are the Gundams now?" a man that Wufei didn't recognize well enough to know asked.

"Secure," Maxwell replied. "Between the Mariemaia Incident and Sokovia, we decided that it was probably safer to keep them."

"And who gets to decide—"

"Clint!" Wilson interrupted. "Lay off, okay? The Gundams belong to the pilots."

The man identified as Clint, crossed his arms and glared. "And I was asking who decided that and who had the right to decide that."

"We decided," Wufei said, deciding to step in. He wasn't going to listen to ignorance be willfully spouted. "For many of the same reasons that your Captain America didn't trust registration clauses in the Sokovia Accords, we decided not to trust the Gundams to any hands but our own. Four Gundams remain. Four people with united causes are more likely to be able to come together quickly and make decisions. We are also willing and able to take action outside of traditional frameworks when necessary."

"You mean illegal action," Banner said.

Wufei inclined his head. "If needs must. I think all of the Avengers have gone against traditional laws on multiple occasions when you thought the need was dire enough."

Maxwell put a hand on his shoulder. "'Fei, just… stop. Please. I'm not in the mood for an argument." When Wufei turned to face him, he could see the lines of stress around his eyes, could see the disappointment there. Wilson had argued that Stark would want Maxwell, would want to see him, would still trust him, but now that they had arrived, he was nowhere to be found.

Biting back the string of particularly vicious pejoratives he'd like to fling at Stark, he nodded, letting the matter rest. There was no reason to further stress Maxwell out by arguing.

"I didn't mean to be accusatory," Banner said, not quite an apology, but close. "I just wanted to be clear."

Absently, Wufei tracked what must have been Stark's qi as he came up, so he turned to see the elevator open behind them and Stark step out.

"Did I hear someone say they wanted clarity on something?" Stark asked. His eyes ran over Duo quickly, assessing, a hint of relief flickering through them before his gaze hardened a bit. If Wufei saw it, there was no doubt that Duo did, and he could feel a sense of readiness settle around his friend. Stark strode forward. "Tony Stark," he introduced himself to Wufei.

"Chang Wufei," he replied. "We've spoken." He let his voice carry exactly how he felt about those previous times.

"Nice to put a face with a name," Stark said. "So did I hear you confirm you were a Gundam pilot as well?"

Wufei gave him a flat look. "You did not," he said, very certain because he knew where Stark was when he said that.

"Okay, I didn't hear you, FRIDAY told me."

Maxwell sighed. "Just… assume if you say it in the Tower that FRIDAY is listening."

Startled, Wufei turned to look at Maxwell, who fidgeted, obviously unhappy. He wasn't surprised that Maxwell was unhappy; the idea of being watched all the time, even by an AI—maybe especially by an AI—was unnerving and made even him itch, and he was not the most paranoid of the pilots by a longshot. "Noted," was all he said.

"So, Duo," Stark redirected his attention. "I guess everything's out in the open now. Unless you have any other big secrets you want to spring on me?"

The tone was somewhere between casual and baiting, and it was, in fact, a tone that Wufei had heard Maxwell use on more than one occasion. It was the kind of tone designed to dig under someone's skin, and he wasn't sure how he felt about the obvious connection between two men who were still little more than strangers.

Maxwell's eyes narrowed, and he put his hands in his pockets in what appeared a deliberate attempt to seem less threatening. Wufei wasn't sure it worked, but Stark mirrored the posture, and Wufei was again struck by their similarity.

"I've got a few other secrets, but you've got the big ones now," Maxwell said, as if it weren't important. In Wufei's experience, Maxwell's secrets were usually important, but trying to pry them out when he didn't want to share was also usually an exercise in futility.

He could feel the tension in the room grow, the almost-frizzle of agitated qi he could only sense when this close to people, as Maxwell and Stark faced off.

"Pilot 02, huh?" Stark asked.

"Yup," Maxwell replied, drawing the word out, popping the p. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not," Stark said. "I mean, I guess it'd be kind of a crapshoot no matter which pilot you were—whether you were 05, whose claim to fame is killing Treize Khushrenada, 04, who blew up a civilian-populated colony, 01, whose the most famous for his big, fancy shooting, but also for killing a whole planeful of pacifists." He spoke in a clipped, quick tone, still almost casual, if not for the words he threw out like borderline accusations as he began to pace deliberately. "I couldn't actually find much about 03 specifically, so I guess he would have been the least—"

"Objectionable?" Maxwell interrupted, cutting Stark off.

Stark barely missed a beat. "Problematic." He stopped in front of Maxwell, just out of arm's reach. Maxwell's qi flickered dangerously for a moment, and Wufei prepared to step in.

"And then there's me. Pilot 02," Maxwell said, and if Stark had been on the border of baiting, Maxwell had leaped straight over the edge.

"Tony…" Wilson said, the name sounding odd, as if he weren't used to saying it, but the tone of warning was universal.

It wasn't Stark who spoke though, it was Maxwell. He stepped forward into Stark's space, tilting his head back, leaning into him like Wufei had seen him do to too many fools who thought Maxwell was too pretty to be dangerous. "According to your research, what problematic thing have I done?"

The room seemed to go still, as if everyone were afraid to breathe while waiting to see what Stark would say. Would Wilson be right? Would Stark do anything to try to keep Maxwell close?

"You're responsible for a full third of all Gundam-attributed fatalities during the Eve Wars," Stark said.

Wufei wanted to close his eyes and look away. He didn't want to watch as Maxwell smiled, rueful and yet victorious. This was what he expected, after all, what he told Wilson would happen. No one wants me, he had said, and now he'd been proven right.

"Tony—" Captain America began, a plea.

"Stay out of this," Stark said sharply, not looking away from Maxwell as he said it. "I want to say that it doesn't matter. Hell, if you look at all the collateral from the weapons I created and built, that number's probably just a drop in the ocean." He walked past Duo, heading behind the long breakfast bar, but he went to one of the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of some sort of liquor and a glass with it.

"It matters, though," Maxwell said. "Because I'm not you. I didn't just create the weapons, I am the weapon."

Stark shook his head, pouring a generous amount. "It's not even that," he said. He took a large drink before continuing. "I've been going over all the information I dug up about the Gundam pilots. The stuff I looked into when I was trying to figure out who the pilots were because I wanted to thank you for your help in Sokovia." He took another quick sip, then added, "Thank you for your help by the way. You really saved my ass out there."

"No thanks needed," Maxwell said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. "So, what's the hitch? The catch? What else did you find that has you this bent out of shape? Did you run the calculations again? Find out they're wrong, and it's more like 40%?"

The eyes of the other Avengers were heavy, watching the train wreck in motion, as helpless to stop it as Wufei.

"No," Stark said almost sadly. "What you did… it was war. I don't like it, and I don't really understand it, but I do know that in battle, we don't always have choices. And while your total casualty count is… a lot, Secret Agents 1 and 2 probably aren't that much better, never mind the One-armed Wonder there."

Before a bit of hope, a sliver of optimism—that maybe, somehow Wilson might be right—could take root in Wufei's chest, Maxwell said, "But?"

"What I don't understand, what I just can't wrap my head around, what keeps waking me up… is how eager you are for it."

If Maxwell's smile were any more rigid, it would break. "Of course," he said like he expected nothing else. Wufei's chest hurt with the weight of the unspoken I told you so. "You can forgive a mass murderer, but not an eager one."

Stark set the glass down on the stone counter hard enough that Wufei almost expected it to break. "You killed people because it was expedient. It's like they don't matter—"

"If they put themselves in my line of fire, they don't," Maxwell shot back.

Stark stared at him, as if what Maxwell had just said were in a language he didn't speak. "That's it? They're just… disposable to you—"

Maxwell took two long strides toward the bar. "Look, you do not get to stand there and tell me what I'm allowed to do to defend myself—"

"They're people—"

"I'm not apologizing for defending myself—"

"Vision was defending himself—"

"And letting me get shot at while I was trying to disarm a nuke." Maxwell's qi flared up, so bright in Wufei's other sight that he almost shielded his eyes. "You, who grew up with all of this." He made a general motion to their surroundings. "Who never thought anything of the consequences of what you built until they directly impacted you, do not get to stand there and tell me that the way I choose to protect myself isn't okay."

"You're enhanced!"

"Now!" Maxwell shouted, then took a calming breath. "Now I'm enhanced. I wasn't always, and I don't know if you're aware of this, but being enhanced has its limitations. I'm still 5'5" and borderline scrawny. Skill and strength only make up for so much. I don't have the luxury—"

"Luxury!"

"Yes, luxury! I don't have the luxury of risking someone getting back up because size fucking matters. I don't have the luxury of assuming that just because I put someone down once that I'll be able to put them down again."

Emotions that Wufei couldn't wholly read chased themselves across Stark's face as he processed what Maxwell said, before twisting in frustration.

Taking a step back, Maxwell's righteous fury seemed to go out of him. "Look, this is real simple. If someone stands in my way, they are my enemy, and I am going to put them down and make sure they do not get back up. I'm also not going to lose any sleep over it. If you got a problem with that, there's an easy solution."

"You're not just walking away," Stark told him, the frustration on his face contorting into something like loss.

Maxwell watched him with eerie calm for a long moment before saying, "Then I guess you're going to have to figure out how to live with it. But let me be clear—we're not going to have this argument. You say you want me, want to have a relationship with me? This is part of the deal. Either find a way to live with it, or I'm out." He spun on his heel and made a beeline for the glass door of the deck on soundless feet.

Everyone in the room stood as if frozen until the soft click of the deck door broke the silence. Stark leaned heavily on the counter before him, burying his face in his hands. His movement spurred others into action, and both Wilson and the Captain made a move toward the deck. Wufei ignored them for the moment, closing the distance between himself and Stark.

"What am I supposed to do?" Stark asked. He probably didn't expect a response, but Wufei was going to give him one.

"Decide whether Maxwell's pragmatism and willingness to kill are something you can live with," he snapped. Stark looked up at him, dropping his hands away. His eyes might be the wrong color, but they were the same shape as Maxwell's, big and deep, rimmed by lashes thick enough to be called pretty. Wufei didn't appreciate the reminder that this man was indeed Maxwell's blood.

"You didn't hear him on that—"

Wufei interrupted him with a derisive snort. "You think I haven't seen Maxwell at his absolute worst? Seen him mired in the throws of true bloodlust? You think I don't know what he is? He was OZ's boogeyman! They were afraid of us all, but they feared Maxwell." He took a breath, trying to find his center. "If you really researched us as well as you said, you already knew that though. So what is your real issue?"

Stark's eyes hardened, resolve coming into them. "It's that he's not sorry—!"

He let out a long breath that was more disdainful than a sigh. "Would it truly be better if he were?" he asked.

"I don't—"

"You killed how many Chitauri in the Battle of New York?"

Stark blinked at him. "I don't know."

"Are you sorry you killed them? Or are their lives simply worth less because they weren't human?"

"What—? No. I—" He stopped, visibly trying to gather his thoughts. "They had to be stopped. We didn't have a choice." He watched the understanding begin to bloom in Stark's eyes, and he hung his head again, running a hand down his face.

"Enhanced or not, that is how Maxwell feels each time he steps into a fight. He cannot trust that his opponents will stay down or run away. If his hands are bloody, they are no more so than your own. Are you willing to lose your son over it?" He saw Stark flinch as if struck when his words landed.

Satisfied was the wrong word, but he'd said his piece. Turning, he saw Wilson and the Captain had made their way to the door where they were still talking, and braced himself for another battle.