Tony sat on the couch in his workshop as he watched Dr. Cho prepare his injection.
"So, I know med compliance has been an issue for you. How are you doing with it?"
Tony debated whether to be honest or not. He wasn't doing great, but he had taken them before bed and again that morning, so he shrugged. "I've taken them."
"I spoke to Pepper, Tony," she said softly. "I know you haven't been on them for a while now. This injection is probably the only thing keeping you remotely level. Is there a reason you don't want to take them?"
Tony thought for a moment. "I don't like being drugged, and sometimes it's like I start feeling better, and I don't feel like I need them anymore."
She nodded like it made perfect sense as she put on gloves. "How's therapy going?"
Tony suddenly found his nails very interesting. "I … uh … kinda fired her."
Helen sighed. "Tony, you don't just have bipolar to deal with, you have PTSD as well. You can't deal with this alone."
"I'm not alone," he argued. "I have people. I'm fine."
"You know, most people who say they're fine, usually aren't. I'm concerned. A therapist could not only help you with your PTSD but also help you come to terms with your bipolar."
"Can we just not talk about this?" Tony asked. "Just give me my shot and let me feel like crap for the next week."
She leaned back against the table. "I know you don't like the injection, but we need to give it time. If in a few more months you still have side effects, we'll try something else. Your habit of noncompliance has led to injections being the only real option here, Tony. It's narrowed the field a lot."
He knew she was right, though he was loathed to admit it. He'd brought this on himself.
"Alright, it's ready," she said, holding the syringe.
Tony sighed but pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to the table, leaning against it.
"You know, if you relax, it won't hurt as much." He could practically hear the smile in her voice.
"It's an inch and half long needle," Tony replied. "It's gonna hurt either way."
She hummed as she tugged the hem of his sweats and boxers down enough to expose his hip, and then after a quick swipe of an alcohol pad, she stabbed in the needle. Tony held his breath, tensing the whole time. He hated needles.
"There. All done," Helen said, putting a band-aid over the spot.
Tony tugged his pants back up and turned to face her. "Thanks."
She smiled weakly. "I know you're going through a stressful time right now. It can't be easy, so I would like to ask Friday to track your habits for me again like we did before. I want to stay ahead of any possible problems. Is that okay with you?"
"Yeah, sure, why not," he sighed. "Friday, you heard the lady. Initiate Missing Marbles protocol."
"Protocol initiated, Boss."
"Alright, Tony," Dr. Cho said. "I think I've bothered you enough for one day. I'll be in touch, though, and Tony, you're not alone—not anymore. If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out. You don't need to suffer." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'll see you soon. Call if you need anything."
He nodded and watched her walk out of the room.
He already had knot forming from the shot. She'd stabbed higher than usual, practically on his hip. The hem of his sweats rode perfectly on the spot, irritating it even more. It was going to be a long month.
xXx
Bucky watched as Dr. Cho slipped out of the building. He was curious about why Tony needed a doctor. Was he sick? Bucky didn't like to think that something was wrong with the man who T'Challa had said actively tried to clear his name. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around why Tony had wanted to help him at all. After what he'd done, after what Winter had done, the last person Bucky ever thought who would want to help him would be Tony Stark, yet against all his assumptions, the man proved him wrong. He had given Bucky another chance—a chance some would say he didn't deserve.
He heard footsteps coming up behind him. He didn't need to look to know they belonged to Steve; he had a familiar stride and certain weight to his step Bucky would recognize anywhere.
"The doctor leaving?" Steve asked, slipping an arm around his waist.
Bucky nodded, leaning into Steve's side. "What do you think she wants with Tony?"
"Maybe they're working on a project together," Steve suggested.
Bucky considered that for a minute. He supposed Steve could be right, but the way the engineer looked, the frailness to him when they arrived, told Bucky otherwise. He looked like a breeze could blow him over. It was strange, but he was worried about the man that he'd barely met.
"Maybe," Bucky replied, turning to look at Steve. "But you think if he were sick, he'd say something to us, right?"
Steve drew a breath, then sighed. "Honestly, I doubt it. Tony's never been one to let people take care of him, even when he needed it. I think he prefers to handle things alone, so don't worry about it. I'm sure he's fine. You don't know him like I do. You'll get used to it."
"With everything he's done for us, even after we what we did to him, leaving him there in the bunker, I feel like we owe him more," Bucky said. "I owe him more. If it weren't for him, I would probably be locked up on the raft."
Steve leaned in, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple.
"It's just … I know it isn't going to be easy, but I think we need to fix this. Something's wrong, Steve. I feel it."
Steve sighed. "You're right. We came here to make things right. We all did. Tell you what. I'll try talking to him."
Bucky leaned in, kissing him. "Thank you."
"Not a problem," Steve said, running a hand up and down Bucky's back. "Tony and I need to talk anyway. We didn't exactly leave things on great terms. I don't like having bad blood between us."
He nodded and gave Steve a weak smile. "That's all I'm asking. I'm gonna hit the gym. You wanna come?"
"No, I'm gonna go make sure the others are settled," Steve said. "Then maybe go down and check on Tony. Ma always told me not to hide from my problems—might as well test the waters."
xXx
Steve walked down to the workshop. Reaching out, he tried the door, but it was locked.
"Friday?" Steve asked.
"Afternoon, Captain Rogers," the AI spoke. "What can I assist you with?"
"I came to speak with Tony, but his workshop's locked. Any chance you could help me out with that?"
"I'm afraid not, Captain," she replied. "He has initiated a lockdown."
"What? Why?" Steve asked. "Is he okay?"
"He is in no immediate danger and is being monitored. That's all I'm at liberty to say."
Steve sighed. "Is he sick? Is that why the doctor was here?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that. I suggest you speak to him directly."
Steve didn't like the sound of that at all. It gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Thinking back on what Bucky had said, Tony hadn't looked well. He looked thinner, and his skin was paler. Tony looked worn out—run down. Tony always kept a neat appearance, but this morning his hair was a mess, his clothes were too big, and the way he looked at them all … Steve swore he saw a flash of fear in his eyes. It hurt him to think Tony was afraid of them—of anyone. He was always so strong.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there in thought before the door to the workshop opened.
He looked up and saw Tony standing with his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. The room was a disaster. There were tools, scraps of metal, and parts scattered across the floor. There were coffee cups upon coffee cups sitting everywhere, and his bots were whirring around, pushing the debris across the floor. The man standing in front of him looked like a stranger—only a shade of the man he once knew.