Chapter Two: No More Great Adventures
You've got to tell him. Like or not, you got to tell him. He won't like it. Hell he'll sulk for about a month. Maybe two. Then he'll be good about it, once he knows we all still love the goof. But I'm worried the next mission will be too much for him.
I don't want to have to pick up the pieces.
This was what kept stirring in Steve Roger's head, even during the excitement and fervour of the party. He could barely concentrate on anything in fact, other than the thoughts burning through his mind like acid.
He was a man who was not afraid of many things.
He was capable and secure in his own abilities and strength, and hardly ever let anxiety rule him for any amount of time, even when it might at times play with the minds of the other members of his team. There was times when he doubted, for he was only human, but he was a man of action, much like Tony himself, and preferred to express himself through those notions instead. After all, a problem wasn't often a problem at all once confronted. But this was a problem that gnawed at him at sudden, unexpected moments until he felt fairly sure he would break the tall glass of cool beer that he held in his hand.
To quell this problem, he had to confront it.
It was the only way.
What rode it all was what happened during the very last mission they did with Tony Stark. Ironically it was nothing to do with anything Tony did. In fact he had performed perfectly; doing his utmost to shield and/or evacuate citizens while Hawkeye and Banner fought to find and diffuse the bombs loitered around the city. It was excruciating work, and it was terribly slow as Black Widow hunted down each bomb with her electronic radar and Bruce and Clint battled to work fast behind her lead. But one bomb – the very last bomb – went off. They were too late to diffuse it. Tony had zoomed straight into the explosion in a mad, red streak of screaming metal, and Steve was almost catatonic in his shock, fearing that Tony had dived straight into it by sheer accident. They had all seen him do it.
The bomb detonated regardless of course, showering the city in smoke, debris and panic. People were shouting and screaming. Bruce hulked out, and danced into a mad frenzy in the wreckage as if grief was already upon him.
Steve ran to the wreckage and started shifting slabs of building aside; sure that Tony had been in this location just as the bomb went off. It made little difference to Steve whether Tony was in the Iron Man suit or not. Sure, the suit protected him against a lot, but the suit had been beaten up already from shrugging off bits of building, and he was all too aware then that the man inside was now a much frailer man since when they first met.
Steven felt terrible, closing-in panic that day, especially when nothing else living shifted in the rubble. Black Widow was shouting at Tony through the intercom, a tightly secured communications line that was state of the art technology. And there had been no response.
Steve shifted through the heavier bits of crumbling wall and unearthed a huge sheet of concrete to discover Tony beneath the rubble. Steve froze, his left hand taut against the metal as he pushed upwards. Tony's helmet was gone: it had either fallen off somewhere or the idiot had removed it by his own hand, hence the silent reciprocation when Black Widow demanded a response.
Held in Tony's arms was a boy no younger than five years old, his face dirty and covered in snot and tears, but otherwise totally unharmed. How Tony had seen him, and got to him in time remained a mystery, even now. Tony was covered in blood, and he was wary when Steve and he looked at one another, as if the crazy billionaire expected a chastisement for his acts. Instead Steve helped pull him out, and let the rubble slide where it pleased once he and the boy were safe, and he hugged Tony that day. It was an awkward hug, and it was seen before the other Avengers as they came forwards in their drips and drabs, but the moment had been immense and provoking. Ever since then however, Steve had felt a new fear inside him: of losing his best friend.
The child, cute and dumpy, had been returned to his mother after Tony had reluctantly let him go.
But the events had set off a united decision to expel Tony from the team. It was a harsh choice, and it was in no way discrimination. Tony worked hard, and was one of the more reliable fighters despite his tendency to rebuke the rules and do whatever the hell pleased him. So the decision, when it came, was a hard one to swallow, and so, to keep Tony in the dark awhile and stall the news, they had gone to do various missions without him, intending it as a bit of a holiday for Tony. And Tony had bought it.
It was fair, he kept reminding himself. Tony was fifty one years old now, and had lately got slower in his duties. There was no real retirement age for the Avengers. Fury never really saw it as something important enough to be debateable. Clint was forty eight, and hardly attended missions now anyway. But Steve was implementing it now. Enforcing it was another thing entirely.
Official retirement was still a reality. And if he cornered Tony, and got him to agree, there was the possibility of getting him to sign a 'remissions' certificate to enforce his decision.
And tonight of all nights had just reinforced his ultimate decision after months of regret. For when Steve saw Tony after weeks of absence, his stomach dropped. The man looked frailer than ever, despite Tony's best efforts to hide it beneath his impressive midnight attire. And he was now walking with a cane. That spoke volumes, considering that Tony was a man of pride, elegance and appearance. Either Tony had implemented the cane as a sort of crude joke, or it showcased the man's very real weakness.
Tony had left early as well, which also spoke volumes when the man himself had barely spoken a word to him. Tony had always been a party-man, who doused himself in alcohol and loose women at every opportunity. Then, before the food was even presented, the man had simply left, explaining in guilty haste that Pepper had hurt her ankle in the shower. Steve was no fool, and suspected it to be a lie. Tony was usually full of them: mainly to keep his friends at arm's length.
At about half eleven, after his birthday cake had been cut and his guests were enjoying alcoholic smoothies, Steve took his phone out of his pocket and went upstairs where it was quieter to prove the authenticity of Tony's story. Alas he had not really got the hang of the modern phone. In fact even the word 'phone' was being dropped for something even more technical like ipad, or iphone. He could barely wrap his head around it. Still, Bruce had been kind enough to give him one of his older models to get used to the buttons and screen. Fortunately it wasn't one of those nuisance touch-screens. Steven surely would have snapped it in half if it had been.
He dialled Pepper's number, again something that took time, and put the phone to his ear as he listened to the dull dial tones. After about ten seconds, she picked up on the other side.
"Oh hi there, Mr. Rogers." She said pleasantly enough. She must have seen his name and number come up on her screen on her end, another thing he wasn't entirely used to. "Happy birthday."
"Thanks." He said without meaning it. It's not that he didn't want to be polite; he just found the topic distracting.
"Sorry I couldn't make it. To your birthday bash I mean." She added in a bit of a rush. "I had lots of business errands to do, you know, since Mr. Stark dumped them all on me. Is he there, at the party I mean? Getting customarily drunk?"
Her spew of information ironically gave Steve all the answers he needed. And he hadn't even asked a thing. Pepper was a bit like that, waffling out gossip quite unintentionally.
"Yes, he was here. Then he left early. Said you slipped in the shower and hurt your foot."
"Oh, he did, did he?" She didn't sound that much surprised. "My knight in shining armour is becoming more imaginary by the day."
"Why would he lie about something like that?"
There was a pause on the other end, and Steve almost believed that she had hung up on him. Then he heard her sigh. "Who knows why he does anything. Maybe he just got sick of the music being playing at your party? You know what he's like sometimes, Mr. Rogers."
"Yes, I know. And please, call me Steve." It was far too personal to ask if they were currently still living together, because he already knew from the information Pepper had expelled that they weren't together, or hadn't been for some time. The break up had been news to him too, but sadly he had paid little attention to it. This little fiasco had occurred a few months back, at the time the Avengers were dealing with Matthews Peer: an alleged scientist who was creating 'literal' monsters. There was many a time when he simply wanted to ask 'why' Tony and Pepper had split, but he couldn't gather the right courage or opportunity to say it. Pepper might fall into a depressive silence and turn cold towards him, and Tony might just blow up in his face. None of the other Avengers knew either, except Natasha, who knew something, Steve was sure, but she was loathe to say anything about it. And why Natasha? Had she and Tony been talking about it without his knowledge? What else did she know?
The fact that Tony confided in her hurt, just a little. Brothers were supposed to share each other's burdens, weren't they? Or did the modern day man simply not operate like that anymore?
"Well, thank you for calling, Steve. But no, I'm not hurt." Pepper said, sounding resigned. "I'm going to bed now. Enjoy the rest of your party."
"Thank you, I will. Goodnight."
But he didn't enjoy the rest of the party.
He thought only of the promise Tony had made to him of calling him back to let him know Pepper was all right, and never delivering that promise. He thought of the building that had collapsed on Tony, and of the small boy shielded in his arms.
Something's wrong, he thought, but he couldn't fathom what.
He returned to dine with his guests, and Bruce asked if everything was okay. Steve nodded and things got back to normal. More or less.
Even so, his memory would occasionally revisit the scene when he had stood by Tony, asking him if he was 'keeping well.'
"I am." Tony had said, with cold indifference marked into his hazel eyes. Steve had seen that look before: that hard defensive look.
A new dawn blazed high over the horizon, reddening the paling sky with keen warmth. The autumn leaves on the maples blazed golden and the wind blew through them, snapping a few of those leaves from the mother branch as lecherous discards.
Tony did not turn to watch the leaves dance haphazardly across his large front room window. Neither did he so much as notice the dawn. He didn't even pay the dark no mind, or notice the change in lighting, for Jarvis had that covered, and adjusted the room's temperature ambience and lighting where necessary without instruction or comment.
Jarvis was good like that. An invisible butler that made many things comfortable for Tony. And he was discreet as well as cordial.
Sprawled before the billionaire on the long table and floor were tools, pieces of armour and coiled intestinal plugs. He was doing his usual tinkering, unscrewing this, fixing that, soldering this. He was busy adjusting and customizing his suit: his only Iron Man suit. He was making it lighter, and as a result, making the exterior flimsier, but for good reason. The weight was well-calibrated, and adjusted to his body strength so that the suspension in the suit took most of the weight for him. But lately his own endurance, shrinking with time, had made the suit feel too cumbersome, and it strained him. Jarvis had suggested small improvements to the shell overall and changing minimal components for lighter additions. This had taken him weeks to perfect, as he was constantly changing his mind as he often did with his Hot Rod car.
However, his concentration was broken when Jarvis suddenly started to natter to him like always. "Sir, may I remind you that you have not had anything to hydrate your body in the last twelve hours, and neither have you consumed any nutrition."
"Yes, yes Jarvis. In a little while."
"That's what you said eight hours ago, sir. You haven't slept either. If you continue this way, you'll end up making mistakes in your project, of which you will discover later."
"I don't make mistakes." He said, realizing yet again as he did without fail that he was arguing with a disembodied program.
"Oh, and another thing sir."
"Yes, what is it Jarvis?"
"Captain Rogers is at the door. Shall I let him in?"
Tony hesitated at his work: the first hesitation he had shown since he began this project upon returning home from the party last night. But the vacillation was short, and he went about his work as before. "Ignore him. I'm not in."
Tony expected the whole dilemma to come to an abrupt end.
It did not.
Within minutes Jarvis had come back to him, saying: "I've let Captain Rogers through, sir. I know this is most unorthodox, but..."
"You disobeyed me, Jarvis. I didn't create you just so that you could run the show!" He thought of throwing a spanner at the speaker in the ceiling, and then went against the idea, knowing how pointless the act would be.
"He wrote a note, sir, explaining the situation."
"He did? Secret messages again? How old are you Jarvis? On second thoughts, don't answer that question."
Tony could not help but groan. It was not the excuse he was willing to hear. Before he could reprimand Jarvis any further, Steve Rogers come to stand in the parlour doorway, looking as unprepared for this encounter as he was.
"Hi, Tony." He said in a friendly way that somehow bothered Tony. But it was his eyes that said more than his mouth did. He was looking at the mess in the room, and at Tony himself, who, in the space of his own privacy, had just decided to wear black pants and a tank top. He sweated when he worked, and wanted to wear something appropriate. However, the clothing did very little to conceal the bones on display.
"Yes, Steve. Most convenient of you to come." He drawled, helplessly leaning on his sarcasm. "Is there an emergency or do you just like to surprise me?"
Steve decided to cut the bullshit. Neither of them enjoyed small talk, even at the best of times. "You lied to me." Tony frowned, confused. As far as he was concerned, he had practically lied all night.
He still knelt by his littered equipment, and hadn't yet stood. His cane rested up against the table, ready and waiting for his hand.
"I rang Pepper up last night." Steve continued.
"Yeah?"
"She never fell in the shower and she certainly never hurt her foot."
Tony was sure he had missed something. "So?" He said, ignoring the fierceness of Steve's expression. Though, he was beginning to feel no different from a child who had just got into trouble with the headmaster. It made him feel sick with rage, but he wasn't intending to show it just yet. He wanted to know where this was going first, so he could justify his anger later.
"Why'd you lie? Was it because you couldn't stand being my guest?" Steve didn't look all that annoyed: just disgruntled as if he had just caught his finger in the door.
Tony awkwardly rose to his feet: the occasion called for it, and he reached for his cane, which he held delicately, planting its base between his shoes. He felt he didn't have to give an explanation. Steve wasn't his boss. But he had walked out on his best friend's party.
"I liked your party." He said, "It was flamboyant, busy. Loud. I just had other things going on. Yes, I lied about Pepper. I didn't want to upset you."
Steve knew he was evading the question: the real reason he had absconded. But he couldn't really stay mad. As he surveyed the place, he became more attuned to the state of Tony's health. For a start, this room was a mess. There were untidy piles of documents and files along the back walls, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuses and what could only be cigarette smoke. He never remembered Tony smoking, so he wasn't so sure.
Nearly all the windows were curtained off, making the room appear dingy and dark, despite the fluorescent lighting. There were packets of cough medicine and tools on the table, and empty coffee mugs. If Pepper had seen this, she would have thrown a fit. As for Tony himself, he stood propped up against his cane, looking very skeletal. His arms were lines of hard bone, and Steve could see the top of his ribcage above the V-neckline of his tank top. Even his collarbone jutted forwards, creating its own shadow against his white skin. His hair was tangled and sticking up in angles and there were heavy lines of grey that the Captain had not noticed before.
At least his arc reactor, hardly ever overlooked, shone bright through the thin skin of his tank top. It was always comforting to see the arc reactor glowing defiantly.
"What's the real reason you're here?" Tony finally said, feeling invaded and ultimately, judged. He had worked hard to hide his evident health, and now Steve had gone and destroyed it all. There was no more hiding now. He could only curse Jarvis, and wonder at the trick Steve had pulled to get in. He had never imagined that a simple written note could thwart security. Jarvis would get an earful later.
The feel of the air seemed tense as if the room was slowly filling up with poison gas. Tony tried to remain poker faced as usual, when his phone vibrated in his pocket, giving him a start. His phone was always bleating: like a tamagotchi wanting to be fed. He ignored it.
He was ashamed at himself for spooking at such a mundane thing.
At last he could take Steve's scrutiny no longer. "So what are you here for? A picnic?"
"I came to check up on you. Everything good?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't it be? Worried I might be spawning monsters? Don't worry I left them under my bed. They're only menacing at night."
Steve did not sound impressed or in a particularly good mood. "Heard from Fury lately?"
"No. What, does he want a catalogue of all my recent endeavours?"
"There's no need for alarm, Tony."
"I am not alarmed!" He said, trying to sound indifferent. Instead he just came off sounding pissed about it.
"You never call headquarters."
"Yeah, because you all act like teachers. And I'm the naughty child."
"Tony..."
"No, no it's okay. I get it. I'm the smallest, and the loudest. It's fine."
Steve drew in a heavy breath. The time to tell him that the Avengers had ultimately evicted him fell to the Captain, and he knew this. Fury may call the shots, and finance them, remind them what's at stake should they falter, but Rogers was the team's leader. It was his duty to evaluate and therefore judge the team's capabilities.
However, telling Tony now seemed poorly timed. In fact, any day was probably going to be just as hard. And putting it off only made it even harder.
But, looking at Tony now made the decision come to some fruition at last. The physical state he was in was enough to make it easier on Steve, at least in terms of professionalism. After all he couldn't hold it in much longer, and he was going to be a man about it. Tony would take it hard at first, but in the long run, Steve hoped he would eventually come to accept it, and maybe even prefer it.
"Look, Tony, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about..."
"Yeah, and what's that? I'm pretty sure that leaving parties early isn't a felony. And I did happen to buy you a luxurious gift." Tony defended, sure it would earn him another rebuke. As a matter of fact Steve had rather liked the present, though he had no idea at the time what to make of it. It was a robotic Alsatian with Stark Industries written down its left hind leg. 'One of a kind, love Tony' was the only message in the box that came with the dog. As of yet Steve had not turned the robot on, afraid of what the gift would mean, and he had left it, sitting still inside the partly opened box in the foyer.
As much as he wanted to discuss the strange gift, he could not make Tony distract him yet again from the heart of the matter. "It's about your role as an Avenger. We're cutting you from the team." His chest broke through the cage holding it tight and he could breathe. There, he had said it.
