Time seems to have been hamstrung; it comes screeching to a halt, silence crashing down around him in a muted cacophony. Ivan isn't sure if he feels sick or stunned or furious; all his motor functions seem to have failed, leaving him standing there with this silk-and-lace burden that weighs down on him, heavier than any jailhouse shackles.
"Ivan?" Tony's voice echoes down the stairs. "You down there?"
Vanko remembers to breathe just in time, answering. "Da. Coming."
"Not yet, I hope," Stark calls suggestively, laughter tingeing his reply.
Ivan glances around almost guiltily, stuffs the underwear into his pocket and heads back up.
"There you are!" Tony is practically buzzing with excitement, stripping off the form-fitting undershirt and briefs he's wearing and stepping forward to press against the Russian when he enters the bedroom. "What were you doing?"
"Feeding Bird." Ivan can't quite bring himself to look at Stark yet; he thinks if he looks at him right now he'll either punch him or turn and run.
"Is that thing still using Dummy as a perch?"
Vanko nods, feeling numb as the hero leans up and nuzzles a path up his neck. Of course, Tony, damn him, notices immediately and draws back.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Whiplash says automatically. "Not... feeling well."
"Oh." Ivan orders himself not to look at Stark's face, to see the disappointment there. The billionaire nods, smoothes his hands down the villain's chest. "You should lie down."
"Mm." Vanko steps out of the American's embrace and settles on the bed, turning over on his side to face the wall.
Tony stands for a few moments, hands opening and closing, sensing something is wrong but unable to do anything. "Okay. Well. Um. I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed... there's that party tonight."
"Da."
"Do you..." He clears his throat. "Do you want me to cancel it? I can; there's still time, if you're not-"
"No. Don't cancel; Pepper will kill you." Ivan's hands curl into fists against his chest. His mind churns and he hates himself for it; why does he feel so angry, so fucking betrayed? He shouldn't be angry; it's not like they're...
The hero chuckles. "Good point. Okay, get some rest." He walks over to the bed, runs a hand down Vanko's tense arm before turning and disappearing into the bathroom.
Ivan stares at the wall for another hour before falling asleep, his face frozen in a scowl.
Time: Several Hours Later
Location: Tony Stark's mansion
Occasion: Independence Day Party
Fun Fact: Everyone is hammered/partying like it's 1999!
Tony is drunk. This is nothing special; to say that Tony Stark is drunk is like saying that the Earth orbits the Sun. At the moment, he's leaning against the bar in the main room, enjoying the music and the glass of scotch in his hand, but honestly not having the best time. Not that he isn't fond of a party, the first he's held since his birthday- which didn't really count since he wasn't conscious for it- but this party is definitely lacking. He knows exactly what it's lacking, too: six grouchy, antisocial feet of Russian supervillain. Said villain is currently holed up in the bedroom, reading Nightwatch and scaring off drunken couples. Tony tried, at the beginning of the party, to convince him to at least come out for a few drinks, sit on the couch, socialize, but he was promptly shot down by an icy stare.
So here he is, the great Iron Man, sulking in the corner while beautiful people twist and gyrate to the base around him. He spots Rhodey at the other end of the bar, laughing at a joke. Pepper is nowhere to be seen; Stark thought he spotted her earlier dancing with some brunette, but he's pretty sure that was a drunken hallucination.
There's sudden movement to his left; he looks up to see a tall, leggy blonde, an Appletini in one hand, beaming at him as she leans against the wall next to him.
"Mr. Stark," she says, one foot lifting slightly off the floor, and he's done this dance so many times that it's as natural as breathing.
He smiles. "Please, call me Tony."
She does, murmuring his name like she's committing it to memory, like everyone in this house doesn't know who he is."I'm Alyssa," she croons.
She's boring, Tony realizes after about twenty seconds of conversation. But she's just like all the other women he's slept with; how did he never notice how boring they all were? It's not that I didn't notice, he thinks, I just never cared.
More motion to his left; he glances up to see her leaning in, eyelids lowered, collagen-puffed lips parted. Whooaa hold up! He quickly places a hand on her hip, ready to push her away, and for a split second his eyes flick up and lock onto the figure in the doorway on the other side of the room.
Even across the room, separated by a sea of shifting bodies, the raw pain in Ivan's eyes hits Tony like a physical blow. He shoves Alyssa away, ignoring her drunken protest, and presses his way through the crowd, never taking his gaze off Vanko. The hurt in the Russian's eyes twists, turns to black fury, and he turns and storms back toward the bedroom.
Shit shit shit- Stark breaks through the partygoers and stumbles toward the door. "Ivan- wait!"
He's barely inside the bedroom when the villain's fist connects with the wall right next to his head. The plaster cracks, tiny crumbles falling onto Tony's shoulder as he freezes.
"Сукин сын!" (son of a bitch!) Whiplash is inches away, his gaze burning rage.
The hero raises his hands defensively. "Ivan, please, listen for just a-"
The taller man snarls, his fist still punched through the wall, and Tony sends an urgent message to his groin, telling it to stand down in spite of how much he's enjoying being pinned against a wall by the big Russian. "Ivan, I didn't- I wasn't gonna do anything! I swear, she was just drunk."
"You're drunk," Ivan growls.
"Of course I'm drunk," Tony says, slowly bringing his hands up and placing them on Vanko's shoulders, attempting to calm him. "But- listen- but even drunk I'm not gonna- I'd never..."
Like someone's flipped a switch, the furious glare fades from Ivan's gaze and he turns away, pulling his hand free with another shower of plaster chips.
Tony pushes himself off the wall, following the ex-con. "Ivan."
Vanko stands facing the wall, hands in fists at his sides, shoulders slumped. Taking a risk, Iron Man reaches out and touches his arm, turning him. The look on the physicist's face comes as a shock- rather than anger, his expression is one of absolute defeat. His deep-set eyes are hidden by dark circles, and the lines beaten into his face by his life are like slashes in his skin. He looks exhausted, resigned.
"Ivan," Stark says again, still holding the villain's wrist. "What is it?"
Whiplash shakes his head. "Noth-"
Tony tightens his grip, not enough to hurt but enough to get Ivan's attention. "Don't say nothing; something's been bothering you all day. I know you're a big, tough criminal that doesn't talk about his 'feelings', and I'm kind of emotionally retarded, but c'mon. What. Is. It?"
"Earlier..." Ivan begins, then coughs and shakes his head again.
"Look, that girl wasn't-"
"Not just now." Vanko tries to shake his arm free, but Tony is persistent. "Earlier. In garage. This morning."
The hero frowns; when Ivan is upset about something he speaks in short sentences. When he starts speaking more in Russian than English, he's really upset. Tony is thankful that at least they haven't hit that warning sign yet.
At last, the scarred man sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the scrap of black silk. "Found these."
Tony takes the underwear, still frowning, turns them over and looks back up at Vanko, uncomprehending. "They must be... from the party last month, people tend to forget they're in someone else's house at parties and they get carried away-"
"In garage," Ivan finishes, looking away.
"In..." Stark falls silent. No one but the two of them and Pepper have the combination to the garage. "Oh."
They're both quiet, Vanko staring at the wall and Tony frantically trying to come up with an explanation. Horrible realization hits; he spent a solid week being blind drunk while Ivan was in jail. He doesn't remember anything. He looks up again to see Ivan watching him, waiting for an explanation. Hoping for one. The sick silence that fills the air is like a third person in the room with them. Finally, Whiplash nods slowly and steps away, pulling his arm free.
"Well," he says, not meeting the American's helpless stare. "Was only matter of time."
The words are eerily reminiscent of what Hammer said the day of Ivan's release; it's enough to knock Tony out of his paralyzed stupor. "What do you mean?" He asks hollowly.
"What do I mean? Cмотрите на меня!" (look at me!) Vanko turns suddenly in a rage, slamming his palm against the headboard so hard the bed shakes. His voice drops, anger gone in an instant. "Что я должен предложить?" (What do I have to offer?)
Once again, Tony is stunned into speechlessness for a few beats. "Ivan..."
The Russian sighs again, eyes closing for a moment, and then turns toward the door.