So they were watching the extended editions. Bruce didn't realize they were, until the "Concerning Hobbits" scene began to play out of nowhere and left him reeling. It was a rather cute scene, going into the lifestyle and culture of hobbits. In any other setting, he would have happily sat back to watch.
Thor's quiet presence next to him, still and silent, was distracting him.
To be completely honest, it had terrified Bruce when they started snapping at each other; it felt as if the words were yanked from his mouth against his will. And he'd been scared shitless when Thor grabbed the front of his shirt to snarl at him, almost tilting over the chair. He could still feel the fabric tugging around his neck. Times like that, Bruce was acutely aware that Thor could probably literally crush his skull with his bare hands.
"We're fine, right?" Bruce said softly.
After a pause, his attention still divided between Bruce and the screen, Thor nodded. "Yeah," he said. He cleared his throat awkwardly and added, "Sorry."
"It's fine."
"That was good!"
"Let's get another one!"
Gandalf swooped in to pinch their ears and drag them off to do the party's dishes. That scene never failed to make Bruce smile - a bit sadly, knowing what was to come for the two, but it was still entertaining.
Thor spoke.
"They remind me of my brother and me," he said softly. The other man's eyes had drifted from the screen, and he was now looking at Bruce with an unreadable expression on his face. "When we were young."
Bruce swallowed, and gently reached out to pat Thor on the shoulder. Thor's gaze returned to the screen.
In front of them, Rocket reached for a pen.
The screams of a tortured creature sliced through the theater. Rocket hugged his knees to his chest and glared at the screen, tapping his pen against his leg.
"Shire! Bagginssss!"
Blech. D'ast thing sounded like a drowning Orloni. The Nazgul rode from the creepy-ass green building, and the background music throbbed in Rocket's skull. He slid off his chair, crawled under the table, and walked over to Kraglin's end of the row. Kraglin seemed transfixed enough by the movie, so Rocket quickly swiped his bag of Cheetos and went back to his seat. Terran junk food was pretty good. Hopefully Nebula would be a good enough shield, if Kraglin noticed and went apeshit.
He hopped back on his seat and braced the bag between his legs. Without looking at him, Nebula snapped her fingers and held out her hand; Rocket dutifully put a few Cheetos into it and focused on the screen again. The old dude was now sitting in the middle of a giant pile of papers, skimming through them and muttering to himself.
Old Guy picked up a piece of paper, and began to read it.
"The year 3434 of the Second Age… here follows the account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, and the finding of the Ring of Power."
Quick zoom, flashback, wham bam. Rocket yawned, and shoved a handful of Cheetos into his mouth.
"All those who follow in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate," said Old Guy's voiceover. "I will risk no end to the Ring."
"Ain't that a fuckin' Asgardian thing to say," Rocket muttered. Nebula exhaled sharply - probably a laugh, then. He briefly worried that he'd been a bit too loud; the air, though, didn't crackle the way it did when Thor got pissed off, which was a relief. Rocket wasn't referring to Thor personally - just the whole Asgardian self-righteous legacy bullshit.
Then the camera panned down to some script, in an ornate language that vaguely reminded Rocket of Tsyranian with all its loops and swirls.
"The markings upon the band begin to fade…"
Rocket sat up straight.
"The writing, which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared...a secret now that only fire can tell…"
Rocket's face screwed up. "Hmm," he murmured, and dragged a piece of paper towards him. In sloppy Galactic Basic, he scrawled, Light ring on fire. See letters?
"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
Tony uneasily watched the screen - Frodo, and Gandalf, and the Ring on the table between them. Beside him, Bruce munched cheerfully on his popcorn.
"They are one. The Ring and the Dark Lord."
He cast an uneasy glance at Wong's now-empty chair, and rubbed the top of Stephen's sling ring.
"...Always remember, Frodo, the ring is trying to get back to its master...it wants to be found."
Gandalf, Frodo and Sam stood in the orchards on the borders of the Shire. The wizard's words made Shuri frown, and she hastily scribbled a few questions down.
If the Ring in the movie held a piece of Sauron, did that apply to theirs? And did it want to be found in the same way? And besides, the Asgardian homing spell on it seemed a bit… odd. Who was to say that the Ring's original owner didn't have a similar thing on it? Who was to say that their Sauron, if he was out there, couldn't call the Ring to him at any minute?
Shuri glared down at her paper, at the questions filling it, and shoved it away. Things weren't lining up.
Gollum appeared on the screen again, tortured on the rack. James saw Rocket visibly cringe, fold into himself, and he unthinkingly put out a hand to put him at ease. Rocket snapped wildly at his fingers, his snarls drowned out by pounding hoofbeats. James drew away.
Behind him, someone snored.
He twisted and saw Bruce tilted back in his armchair with the footrest up, head lolled backwards. Completely out for the count. Beside him, Thor's eyes slid from the screen to Bruce, and lingered for a long time. The stare stretched far longer than was polite.
Tony noticed him watching the two, and met James' eyes. One eyebrow crept up; he tilted his head towards the two, and both eyebrows wiggled suggestively. James made a face at Tony and turned away. That had been awkward as hell; he felt that was a private moment that nobody should have intruded on.
Tony had better leave Bruce the hell alone. The man needed his rest.
Guess Clint had a point, after all. The chair was just too damn comfy.
Bruce fell asleep as Frodo fled the Shire, and awoke to the sound of leather creaking beside him. On the screen, Gandalf rode to Orthanc, and he muttered something derogatory under his breath as the four-pronged tower rose over the trees. Saruman: great character, terrible fucking person.
Speak of the devil - the wizard himself strode down the stairs of Orthanc, giving Gandalf a prideful stare down his hooked nose. Thor glanced at the screen, then back at Bruce. "I don't like him," he said of Saruman, and Bruce had to agree. He reached for a sandwich and carefully bit into it, keeping one eye on the screen. Thanks to Tony, he'd seen this movie so many times that he could practically recite it word-for-word.
On the screen, Gandalf and Saruman marched into a new room, and Saruman's clawlike hands snatched a cloth away from -
"What the hell is that?" Rocket said out loud.
The Palantir gleamed on the pedestal: a miniature cloud-swirled planet, ominous and black.
Everyone shushed him, as Gandalf explained:
"They are not all accounted for, the lost seeing-stones… we do not know who else may be watching!"
"That don't answer my fuckin' question, what is that thing?" Rocket said, standing on his chair to look around the room. "It's a freaky, spooky stone that even the fucking wizard doesn't trust, guys. If that don't fit the profile of an Infinity Stone I don't know what does -"
There was an uproar. Nebula and Kraglin looked at each other. At the end of their row, Steve started furiously scribbling notes. Clint brandished his coffee cup and said, "Quiet down, quiet down, guys. Write down your questions, we'll go over them soon." Rocket sat down with a huff and returned to his bag of Cheetos.
Bruce already knew about the Palantirs; curious one night, he'd looked them up on Wikipedia and immediately gotten sucked into reading The Silmarillion. But how did they fit into this narrative? Did they exist in the real world, as some kind of magic-based Skype, like they were in the books?
Or were they the Infinity Stones?
Bruce frowned and picked up his pen.
At the end of the row in front of him, Kraglin reached for an empty stretch of table and cursed loudly in an alien language. Thor snorted.
Goddamn that stupid rodent. Damn him to hell. Kraglin looked over at Rocket, who was grumpily munching on the pilfered bag of Cheetos, and fingered his arrow. He could get him from under the table. Nobody would ever know.
Nebula glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Kraglin stared back. "Make him give 'em back," he said.
Her look sharpened, into something deadly, and she deliberately crunched on a single Cheeto. Kraglin gritted his teeth and looked back at the screen. Traitor. He crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the Hobbits flee through the woods, hunted by the Nazgul. The music for the scene seemed real fucking dramatic, but it did its job.
He enjoyed a good dramavid. Wasn't a cinema snob, but he'd watched enough to know good from bad. They had thousands of 'em stored on the drives in the ship, from when long journeys through warp space got boring as hell. In his opinion, the best ones weren't the vids chock full of holograms, flashy space battles, and sex scenes. He had enough of that in his daily life.
The best ones were the vids where you could see the blood; where you could feel the wind skating over your skin; where you could smell the rain-soaked earth and taste the fog.
This? Now this was a good vid.
The practical effects held up under scrutiny; it looked real, down to the blood around the nail driven through the horse's cloven hoof, and its red eyes; down to the screams of the Nazgul, harsh and high as a Skrull battle cry. He knew that orcs weren't real, and that the Terrans must've had to create the fake faces for them by hand - but they almost fooled him. And the flame of Sauron's eye blazed like a dying star.
He wondered if Sauron was out there right now. Their Sauron. And who were his Nazgul?
On Nebula's other side, Rocket grabbed a massive handful of Cheetos and shoved them into his mouth, scattering crumbs everywhere. Kraglin sighed, scowling, and sullenly propped his elbows on the table.
Then the Hobbits hit Bree. Laughable security, honestly, just a tall wooden gate with shitty hinges. The bar had the aura of a Ravager's watering hole, though it was a bit less bloody and a hell of a lot more relaxed. But the camera angles made it look weird as hell. Well, that was just cinematography, wasn't it? Everything was freaky and dangerous when you were three feet tall and ain't ever left your home.
In the corner, the coals lit Strider's eyes. Kraglin's lips twitched. Now that was a good disguise. Sure knew the importance of dramatic costuming. He'd pulled that trick before when waiting for contacts, the hiding-but-not-really-hiding thing. Look ominous enough to tell people to fuck off, but just noticeable enough to make people looking for him do a double take.
The Ring spiraled through the air, twisting and turning in the dark of the bar, and slipped onto Frodo's hand. Behind him, Steve Rogers groaned with audible disappointment. Kraglin rolled his eyes and knocked back some Terran soda.
The Nazgul rode again.
Weathertop's broken turrets gnawed at the cloudy sky like an array of broken teeth.
Beside him, Bruce scribbled notes about the Palantirs, occasionally casting glances at the screen. His hands skimmed across the paper; they were oddly elegant, ethereal shadows in the half-light from the screen and Tony's small conjured light. Thor watched the light bob between the two men, casting a gentle light over their tables. Tony was starting to get the hang of magic, which was rather impressive. Given time, and he could be as great as Strange - or -
No.
Thor sighed and grabbed the last sandwich from their plate.
On the screen, the Nazgul bore down on the Hobbits: faceless cloaked men in a ring, their faces black abysses - holes into another, terrifying reality. Metal rasped on metal as swords were drawn. The music made his skin crawl unpleasantly: all descending ladders of minor notes, harshly whispered words in a language that even the Allspeak could not parse.
The Ring whispered. A cloaked figure stepped forth, and drew its sword. In his panic, Frodo slipped on the Ring, and the paleness of the spirit realm washed over him once more. To his right, Steve made a faintly exasperated noise.
All Thor could do was stare at the paleness of the spirit realm - the roaring wind, the flame-like wavering consistency of every shape. A world on the edge, about to be blown away at any moment. The faces of the Nazgul wavered somewhere between flesh and bone: hollow and skeletal, like victims of famine. They were twisted and withered by the power of the Ring, nothing more than shells filled with the malice of the Dark Lord.
If this was what the Ring did to lesser men… well, the tales of his cruel, hard, warmongering ancestors made much more sense now.
Horses, charging through a forest, running, running -
"Give up the Halfling, She-elf!"
"If you want him, come and claim him!"
Steve was on the edge of his seat, notes forgotten, as Arwen faced off against the might of the Nazgul. Steel scraping on steel ground through the theater; the water flowed faster, roaring along the rocks. Arwen lifted her sword and called out, the Elvish words ringing through the room like a gong.
Then Frodo choked, slid from the saddle; his irises were pale, pale as death, face bloodless and cold. Arwen gathered him into her arms, tears streaming down her face -
"What grace is given me, let it pass to him…"
The screen faded to white.
"Let him be spared."
"Aaaaand, cut," called Clint, and Shuri hit pause on the movie, cutting inelegantly into the ethereal music.
Several people groaned, and Rocket threw a pen at Clint, beaning him right in the head. Steve straightened indignantly. God, he'd been so caught up in the story that he'd forgotten to take notes or anything. His sentiments seemed to be shared; Thor seemed a bit miffed that they'd stopped here, and Kraglin was sulking in his chair.
"Okay," Clint said to the room, "we're about an hour and a half in, with two more to go. Take a bathroom break or get snacks if you need to - just be back in, oh, five or six minutes. Go, shoo." He waved his hand vaguely and took a long drink from his coffee.
People filtered out. Only Queen Shuri remained in her seat, staring at the screen with her head propped on one hand. Rocket balled up the empty bag of Cheetos – which Steve was a hundred percent sure had been Kraglin's – and launched it into a trashcan with surprising accuracy. While the others left, Steve descended on the snacks table, his stomach suddenly gnawing at him. He picked up a Wakandan sandwich – some kind of grilled meat, covered with vegetables and a tangy sauce – and put it on a plate, with a handful of sweet potato fries and some miniature pretzels. The rattling of the pretzels seemed loud as gunfire in the empty theater.
"Captain."
Steve glanced up, and saw the young queen staring at him, the light from the paused movie glimmering in her eyes. "Your Highness," he said politely.
She sat eerily still in her chair. "Did you feel it?" she said softly.
"Pardon?"
"When the Ring appeared," she said. "Just before Wong left. You felt it, right? That… that pressure in the air, the cold rage. The tension."
"...Yes," he said, gripping his plate. "I - it got to me, I'm sorry."
Shuri did not acknowledge his last words, merely looking at her hands. "What sparked that?" she said at last, looking up. "Did you see something? Did you feel something?"
The memory of that foreign anger, blending with his own, made him sick. Something righteous, yet twisted. "Just… anger," he said softly. "Rage, annoyance, despair. And - none of it felt mine, it was…" He swallowed, and looked down at his plate. "I didn't see anything, though," he said to the sandwich. "Just… memories."
Shuri nodded slowly, and returned her gaze to the screen. Rivendell lay before them, waterfalls frozen, wind petrified between the trees.
"Did you see anything?" Steve asked hesitantly.
She took a deep breath, and did not speak for a while. "I saw death," she whispered at last. "I looked into the past, and I saw death - my people on the battlefield. My guards in the lab." Shuri's eyes drifted to him again. "My brother," she said. "You."
He frowned.
"I saw you and Vision," she said, and Steve's stomach rolled. Her eyes still glittered, but now they held the cold, flat glare of a prowling tigress. She lifted her chin and said, "You said to him that you don't trade lives. Well, then. Captain. Why did you trade Vision's life for the lives of my people?"
Silence fell. Steve realized that they were not entirely alone in the room; Tony, in his wheelchair, was still sitting at the back of the room, munching on a plate of carrots. Watching them.
"I know," Shuri said, voice low and dangerous, "that you had no other choice but to bring Vision here, to remove the stone from his head. But that brought Thanos here, it brought his army here -"
"He was going to come here regardless," Steve said. "As long as the Stone was on Earth, he would have torn the planet apart searching for it."
Shuri raised an eyebrow. "But he didn't tear the planet apart," she said. "His soldiers tore apart Wakanda. They swarmed Birnin Zana, they killed my guards, they killed my people. You," she said sharply, jabbing a finger at him, "asked our people to lay down their lives in order to save one robot. You sacrificed them for him."
"Vision was going to sacrifice himself! I - I couldn't let him do that, when there was another way!"
"And we were that other way? A means to an end?"
"Your people were soldiers," Steve insisted. "They dedicated their lives to saving their country." He jabbed himself in the chest. "We are soldiers, Vision was a soldier. He agreed to come here - and your brother let us in!"
Shuri froze. "Well," she whispered. The steel in her voice made Steve reel backwards. "Maybe he made the wrong call. You put him in a position he never should have been put in: trading the lives of his people for a shiny rock. Who knows what would have happened if Maximoff had the strength to remove the Stone, when she had the chance?"
"Wanda couldn't do that," Steve said through gritted teeth. "She loved him. He was all she had left in the world, she couldn't kill him."
"And my brother loved his people," Shuri replied. "And yet, somehow, he was able to sacrifice them to keep the Stone safe. All in vain."
In the gloom of the theater, they stared at each other. Steve realized that the young queen hadn't risen once from her chair, but was still able to put him in his place.
Shuri swallowed, her eyes flicking away and down. "Anyway," she said softly, "that was what the Ring made me feel. Anger. Betrayal. Hatred, even."
"I'm sorry," Steve croaked.
"I… I know now," she said, "that there were greater things at stake than my brother let on. It was hard to believe the world was at stake, until I saw it crumble to ash. Everything," she said, "is crumbling. Have you heard? The jungles are dying, crops and livestock have vanished. Even certain types of bacteria are gone."
Steve shook his head. "No," he said. "No more. Not for long. We'll find a way to fix this." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Before him, Shuri grimaced and folded her arms. Steve realized how young she was - not even eighteen yet, and she had to rule what was left of the mightiest country in the world. Too young, to bear such a burden.
People began to filter back in.
"You're going to be fine, you know," Steve said.
Shuri's eyes flicked back up. "I don't need you to tell me that," she said, a bit sharply.
"I didn't mean to offend you," Steve said quickly. "I'm just saying. If there's anyone qualified to take your brother's place, it's you.
Shuri slowly shook her head, and stood up. "With all due respect, Captain," she said heavily, "that merely speaks to how much you do not know." With that, she stepped around him and went to the snacks table, her clothes softly rustling. Even now, she wore the Black Panther necklace around her neck; it gleamed dully in the light from the projector.
"Okay, okay," Clint called from the front of the theater, gesturing with his travel mug for attention. "We all done? Hydrated, et cetera?"
"Hail Hydration," Thor said sarcastically, a bit too loud. Steve's whole body froze up. He doubted that Thor knew what had happened over the past couple years - the mess with the Winter Soldiers, the Accords, Siberia. That didn't make the comment sting any less.
The whole room turned to glare at Thor, and Bruce elbowed him hard in the ribs, hissing something that even Steve's enhanced ears couldn't pick up. "Considering present company," Clint said, gesturing at Steve, "that joke is in very poor taste, big guy." Thor gave an apologetic grimace and hunkered down in his chair. Steve ducked his head and awkwardly shuffled across the room to get to his seat.
"Sorry," Thor said to him, when Steve sat down with his plate.
"It's fine," Steve said, a bit too sharply. He gave Thor a polite nod, hoping that would take some of the bite away.
Shuri said to Clint, "Should I…?"
"Yeah, hit it," Clint said, sitting back down. Perhaps it was another trick of the light, but Steve again saw a golden gleam dancing through his eyes, along his cheekbones. The moment passed when Shuri pressed one of her beads, and Rivendell exploded into living color once more. It reminded him of Wakanda, seen from above - its waterfalls, its greenery, ageless beauty spread beneath the sky.
Steve leaned forward, sandwich forgotten, and drank it all in.
The lines between fantasy and reality blurred; the chill of Moria, its dust and death, clung to everything in the theater. It left a cold numbness in Steve's chest that he could not easily name. The sight of the Fellowship, walking through the crypt Moria had become, was too close to recent events for comfort.
Bulbous grey eyes loomed over grimy fingers.
"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance."
"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand."
Gandalf looked at Frodo, eyes sad and grim beneath his thunderous eyebrows.
"Many that live deserve death, and many that die deserve life..."
There was a dull finality to Gandalf's voice that sunk into Steve's chest and made his eyes sting. The theater was breathless, watching Gandalf and Frodo speak in the shadows.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."
Time. What Steve would give to have more time.
They fought the cave troll. Frodo was saved from beyond the grave by Thorin's mithril jacket. Legolas's skills were finally displayed, and Steve finally, finally understood Clint's old call sign. As they charged over the bridge of Khazad-dum, Clint whipped around and scooted his desk chair into the aisle - his was the only chair that Wong didn't change before the movie. He propelled himself backward, barely missing Kraglin's foot in the aisle, and drew up next to Steve.
"Spoiler alert," he muttered.
"Don't wanna hear it," Steve said curtly, eyes glued to the screen.
"Gonna tell you anyway. Gandalf falls a long-ass way down a cliff." Steve stared at him. Images of a snowy canyon, train tracks and ziplines, flashed through his mind. He took a deep breath and nodded. Clint patted him on the shoulder. "Just thought you might want a warning," he said, and scooted back to his seat. Now Steve watched the screen with even more trepidation than before.
Even with Clint's warning, Frodo's scream of anguish still made Steve nearly double over in his seat. The absence of any words - just the swelling music, laid over the party collapsing in grief - was so painful that Steve had to look away from the screen.
Then what was left of the Fellowship entered a forest, carpeted with dying leaves. Great gray trunks supported a canopy of golden leaves. It seemed like a peaceful place, though the threat of orcs following behind made the forest's beauty too stark.
"Stay close, young hobbits...they say a Sorceress lives in these woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell…"
A vaguely familiar voice whispered.
"Frodo…"
The elves led the Fellowship among the trees, across bridges and over hills; the great elegant treehouses glowed among the branches like lanterns. As the two royal (?) elves descended the stares, Steve heard Bruce inhale and say, "Oh, fuck."
An elegant blonde woman appeared on the screen, all wide sweeping cheekbones and long blonde hair.
Thor inhaled and half-rose from his chair; Bruce literally tackled him back. "Thor, she's dead," he hissed, and Steve gave them an alarmed look. So did Tony, his eyes wide. "This is just an actress. Okay? You hear me, they're not the same person."
"Thor, what the hell?" Tony said, though he looked worried. Steve couldn't remember the last time Tony had looked worried about anything. Thor sighed and sank back into his seat, his fists clenched, and Steve subtly shifted away from the lightning crackling around his knuckles. Nebula twitched in the seat in front of Thor, and whacked the side of her head a couple of times.
Tony's eyes flicked away from Thor and met his.
As Galadriel spoke with the Fellowship on screen, he and Tony stared at each other across the row. Tony's eyes narrowed briefly, and Steve blinked, glancing away and looking back. Tony gave him an odd half-shrug and looked back at the screen. That was the second time that had happened. Maybe Steve was imagining it, but that last glance seemed longer than before. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but still. It was odd.
Thor was still and stiff on his chair, watching Boromir and barely blinking.
"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn?"
Boromir's voice was earnest - desperate, even. Longing.
"The White Tower of Ecthelion ,glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze...have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"
In the front row, Clint slipped out of his chair and ran, doubled-over, to the coffee dispenser on the snack table.
In Boromir, Steve could see some of the old Thor - the Thor he knew in years past, speaking of Asgard's beauty and its people - but he couldn't tell yet if it was a good thing to compare them. He thought of how Boromir took far too long to return the Ring on Caradhras; he thought of how Thor tried to take the Ring from Wong in the forest.
At the snack table, Clint was trying to refill his coffee without removing the mug's lid. Steve sighed and leaned back, watching the Fellowship leave Lothlorien behind.
They sailed down the river, followed close by Saruman's orcs, and the Argonath loomed above the water, hands outstretched in warning. The great feet dwarfed the boats; beyond lay the plunging mist of the waterfall. The shots alternating between Boromir and Frodo, and Legolas's suitably ominous remarks, made Steve's skin crawl - and when Boromir fell victim to the Ring, Rocket let out an audibly disappointed sigh.
Though Boromir's death was expected, it still stung. Even to the end, he still fought to redeem himself. It took three arrows to kill him. Their fellowship was broken, torn to all the corners of the world; Merry and Pippin in the hands of the orcs, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli running after them, and Frodo and Sam running off to destroy the ring.
Frodo and Sam. Sam and Frodo.
Something seized Steve's heart, crushed it like a tin can.
"I'm going to Mordor alone."
"Of course you are. And I'm coming with you!"
I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Stevie.
Steve pressed a hand do his mouth, hard, and tried to stop it from shaking.
Sam sank down, down, and Frodo dragged him back up.
That was more than Steve had ever done for Bucky. God, Bucky would have loved this, to sit here and watch these with him. He loved a good story. He was far more of a bookish type than Steve ever was, though he tried often to hide it - but Steve knew. Oh, he knew.
"Sam - I'm glad you're with me."
The Shire theme played, the screen faded to black, the credits rolled. Shuri dismissed the movie, and the lights came up.
"Okay, everyone," Clint says, standing up. He stretched, his whole body cracking and popping, and rolled his neck from side to side. "Oof. Ouch. Okay, hope you took notes and stuff, because starting in, uh... two days we're going to start tackling the books. Right. We good?"
He gave the room a questioning thumbs-up, and received a vague murmur of assent in response. "Great. Okay, shoo. You're dismissed - unless your name is Kraglin, Thor, Shuri or Bruce, would you mind meeting me outside?"
Everyone filtered out. Steve stayed in his seat, staring at the blank movie screen. The silence of the room pressed on his eardrums, made his chest ache, and all he could do was breathe. Outside, there were soft voices in the hall.
"You know, I used to think it would be like this forever."
Steve's head turned so fast he felt his neck crack.
At the other end of the row, in the silent empty room, Tony sat in his wheelchair. The half-shadow of the theater lights blurred his edges, and for the first time in two days Steve truly saw how tired Tony was. "Back then," he said to the table. "Those days after SHIELD fell, and before Ultron. That was… good. When you all finally moved in."
Steve's breath slowly left him. "Yeah," he said softly.
"You know, I had those rooms built right after New York?"
"I didn't know that."
"And they sat empty for two whole years." Tony huffed and scratched his nose. "Once you all moved in…"
"You felt vindicated?" Steve ventured.
"No," Tony snapped. "I…" He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists on the arms of his chair. "I felt like we were really a team," he said softly. "A family."
Steve swallowed.
"Thought it would last forever," the other man said again. "But you know. Dreamed a dream in time gone by, and all that." His words hung in the air like a quote, heavy and cold, in a way that made Steve's stomach turn with guilt. "Guess it wasn't meant to be."
"It wasn't?"
And Tony turned to him, finally, his face gaunt and empty. "No," he said softly. "It wasn't."
He held his gaze for a few more moments, before clearing his throat and gathering up his paper notes. The two-fingered ring glimmered dully on his hand. "You know, if you had told me that HYDRA had my parents killed," he said, aggressively tapping the papers on the table to straighten them, "things would've been really, really fucking different. But you know what?"
"Tony -"
"I've forgiven him."
Steve froze.
Tony lifted his chin defiantly. "I've forgiven Barnes," he said coldly, and somehow that did nothing to soothe the ache in Steve's chest. "I forgave him a long time ago. I know he was brainwashed, and I know he had no choice; believe it or not, I know a little about people messing with my mind. I just never got a chance to say it to his face, because that would mean dealing with you. You ever wonder how things would have gone, if I had a chance to forgive him before the Accords? If you'd told me? Push the timeline back, think about it."
He slipped the papers into a pocket on the side of his wheelchair, and put his hand on the joystick. "I forgave him," he said sharply, "I just haven't forgiven you yet. You're just as much to blame as I am."
And with that, he backed away from his desk and drove away. "That's why this was never meant to be," he said over his shoulder. His jaw was clenched so hard it was a marvel that he could even speak. "I trusted you, Steve. But you never returned the fucking favor."
The door opened, then slid shut, and Tony was gone.
Steve's gaze lingered on the closed door for a long, long time. The empty chairs and empty tables around him pressed closer, the vacancy searing his soul.
Author's Notes:
Surprise, double update! Hopefully I'll be able to get a chapter out by next week. My internet situation is getting kinda wonky, so I'll be working around that. Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear anything you have to say. Thanks!
