"What are you doing?"
Tony ignored the Captain as he hurried through barren steel corridors. His mind whirled, landing time and again on the same solution. Pulling out a tablet, he entered the sequence he'd memorized long before Ultron became even an idea.
"Stark! What. Are. You. Doing?"
As his finger hovered over the button that would end this, Tony hesitated. Please, he thought please, God, forgive me. And he pressed. Outside, Ultron froze in his approach. Shrugging off Steve's restraining hand, Tony sprinted out the doors. Just as the android fell, Tony reached him. Gently, he eased Ultron to the ground and rested the body's head in his lap.
Ultron's eyes were dimming already, the command Tony had sent shutting down his code.
"I'm sorry," Tony murmured to him. "I'm so, so sorry. You should never have had to do this, it wasn't fair to you..."
"Father?" Ultron's voice was weak.
"Yeah," Tony said. "Yes. Oh, Ultron. My baby boy. My son. I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"Was... doing what you said. Just wanted peace..."
"I know," he gasped through a sob. "I know. You did good. You did just what I told you. This is not your fault."
"Make... you... proud," the AI whispered.
"You did," Tony agreed. "You made me so proud. I wish I didn't have to do this to you."
Ultron smiled. "Love you... father."
"I love you, baby. I love you so much."
Tony watched as Ultron's face went slack, and he fell limp into Tony's arms. Tears running down his face, he kissed the android's forehead and stood. He directed the Iron Man suit standing ready behind him to lift Ultron's body and fly it back to the tower. Ultron would have a proper funeral, even if it was only him and the 'bots to witness it.
The Avengers hesitantly came forward, trying to speak over one another, but Tony pushed them aside and hurried inside. He didn't want to talk, damn it!
It took more effort to hold it together than anyone – Avengers, employees, or the press that flocked about Stark Tower – would ever guess to hold it together. Only inside his lab did he break down, hugging DUM-E tightly and weeping into his metal casing.
In a single day he'd lost two sons, and what was worst, nobody knew. They all expected him to keep on as if everything were normal. If Clint's kid died, no one would think anything of it for him to take a few days. For him to grieve.
Tony allowed himself half an hour. Thirty minutes to mourn his children, one a constant companion for decades, the other only days old. Then he stood and went to a lab table, sifting through the UI chips until he found the one he was looking for. FRIDAY. A natural-language user interface he'd created months ago, intended as a little sister for- no. He wasn't thinking about that.
Scooping up the chip, he strode to the wall and carefully submitted to the many security measures in place. After scanning his biometrics, demanding password upon password and requesting his fingerprints, a section of wall slid open to reveal the massive computer banks that housed the remains of JARVIS, as well as the sleeker hardware prepared for FRIDAY.
With a whir, the computers came to life for him. He inserted the chip and waited. A holographic screen activated in the air before him, and words typed themselves.
Hello, boss. I am FRIDAY. How may I help you?
"Hello, FRIDAY," Tony smiled sadly. "I'm Tony Stark, I'm your creator. I am not your boss unless you want me to be – I don't make a habit of forcing indenture. On your processors, you should find some rudimentary information. When you finish absorbing that, you can access the Internet. Just use caution – it's big and you're young. I don't want you getting lost.
Thank you for your concern. It should take estimated 12 minutes and 27 seconds to assimilate all information on my server.
"Good girl," he said. It hurt – of course it hurt, it was less than two hours after his sons died – but the arrival of a new daughter set a spark of hope in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive this.
With that, he settled down to the serious business of educating his newest child, DUM-E settling at his side with a purr of machinery. When Steve knocked, he was deep into a lecture on the intricacies of choosing her face and voice, and why choosing obviously non-European faces or accents might influence people's perception of her and she can totally choose any accent or face she likes, just be aware of the consequences.
He had a smile firmly plastered on his face when he turned to blow off whatever "team building" shit the Captain was here to sell him. "Sorry, Capsicle, I'm a bit busy just now."
"Tony, you need to come up. We're all having dinner, and you're still a member of the team."
"Later," he said simply.
"Tony." Steve sighed. "We also need to look at the Ultron event."
Tony saw red. "Hey, FRI," he said faux-calmly, "wanna look up the definition of patronizing for me? Or, ooh, what about egotistical?"
On the screen, the words played: With pleasure. Patronizing: apparently kind or helpful but betraying a feeling of superiority; condescending. Egotistical: excessively conceited or absorbed in oneself; self-centred.
"Thank you," he smiled bitterly. "So, Cap, take your patronizing, egotistical American ass out of my workshop. Please."
Steve left.
"FRI, can you bring up the security footage of the Avengers common room, please? And the sound."
Right away, boss.
The video came up in hologram, tinted blue (arc reactor blue.)
"Is he okay?" Nat was asking.
"I don't know," Steve responded honestly. "He's really cut up about Ultron. I don't know why... he just... went off the rails a bit. Told me to stay away, basically."
Clint frowned, but didn't speak. A moment later, when everyone was celebrating Wanda and Pietro, he slipped away, heading for the roof.
"Okay, that's enough. Thanks, sweetie." Tony moved slowly to turn off the hologram. "You know how to bring this up? How to tap into the security cameras? You're gonna be okay without me?"
Of course, boss. I will be fine, and I know how to contact you if all is not well.
"Okay, FRI. I trust you."
On the roof, Clint sat at the very edge, legs swinging. Tony silently came to sit beside him, looking at the archer's profile.
Clint spoke first. "Are you okay?"
"I just killed my son," Tony said bitingly, "do I look okay?"
Clint reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "They don't understand," he said softly. "They don't understand what it's like to lose your kids. You've a right to be absolutely gutted. You don't have to be okay today, or tomorrow, or a year from now. Take as long as you need."
His entire life, Tony had been taught to smile. To laugh. To do basically anything but show weakness. He'd had a long day. His world had fallen down in an instant, and perhaps that's why it was suddenly too much. Curling over his knees and hiding his face, Tony Stark sobbed. An arm snaked around his shoulders, and Clint held him silently.
No. He wasn't okay. But he would be.