Title: Resurrection, Reconstruction, and Redemption, 4/13
Authors: seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony. Various canon ships. Sharon/Winter Soldier.
Warnings: Denial fic. Blatant shipper fic. One non-canonical het pairing in later chapters. A dire lack of porn.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Note: For a rundown of where this fic departs from current continuity, see the notes at the end of chapter one. Familiarity with the events of Captain America #25 and Civil War is encouraged.
Thank you to angelofharmony for the wonderful beta job.
Chapter Four:
The last time Steve had been on the Helicarrier, he'd had an armed escort and titanium-steel shackles on his wrists. This time, the handcuffs were gone, but the armed guards were still very much present, hovering nervously at the door to the SHIELD officer's lounge and trying to pretend they weren't guarding the New Avengers -- and that they weren't scared of them. They weren't having much success at either effort.
Steve wasn't entirely sure whose benefit the guards were for -- theirs, or SHIELD's -- considering that they hadn't actually tried to stop Spiderwoman from leaving the room a few minutes ago. She hadn't said where she was going, but Steve gotten the strong impression that she was going to go and find Carol; she had glared unsubtly at the other woman the entire way back to Fury's Helicarrier.
They had had to stop on the way back to pick up MJ and the baby. If they were really throwing their lot in with SHIELD and the Mighty Avengers for the time being, they could hardly leave them alone in Strange's Sanctum Sanctorum, particularly since Strange apparently had a habit of disappearing for days at a time, and none of them knew exactly where he was, researching ways to take down Doom.
Of course, the fact that they couldn't leave MJ and the baby on their own, without telling them where they were going, hadn't made Luke, Jessica, or Peter feel any better about the situation. They were sitting in the cloth-covered chairs that lined the room. There was a pool table in one corner, a dart board with the Hatemonger 's picture on it hanging on one wall, and low, steel-frame tables with a scattering of magazines on them.
Luke was holding the baby, and had an arm around Jessica's waist, and both had been glaring fiercely at any SHIELD personnel who made the mistake of getting too close, or looking at the baby for to long; Luke had decided that they only wanted them there because his baby made for a good hostage.
Sam was standing in the far corner of the room, watching the guards almost as suspiciously as Luke. Redwing was perched on his shoulder, ruffling his feathers, and glaring with much the same expression as Sam.
Peter, meanwhile, was clinging to MJ's arm with a white-knuckled grip that probably hurt. He seemed convinced that they were going to try to dissect him. Or possibly MJ; he hadn't been entirely clear on the matter.
Steve would have told him not to worry, but given the things SHIELD had proven willing to do without Fury at the helm -- bombing Madripoor, handing Peter over to their telepaths for interrogation, sending their cape-killer units against kids -- it might not be a completely baseless fear. Tony was in charge now, and not Maria Hill, but that didn't necessarily mean that things had gotten better.
He'd thought he knew what to expect from Tony once, but Steve didn't even know who he was anymore.
He hadn't even spoken to the New Avengers -- hadn't spoken to Steve -- since the New Avengers had boarded the helicopter. SHIELD agents had escorted them to the officers' lounge, had taken Luke and Peter to Strange's mansion to pick up MJ and the baby, had taken Nick, Bucky, and Sharon off somewhere for "debriefing." Tony had been conspicuously absent for all of it.
It had been hours since they had arrived on the Helicarrier; it had to be night, by now. Two SHIELD agents had brought them food a few hours ago, after Luke had announced that Iron Fist needed to eat. Since then, they had mostly been left alone.
The girl by the door, who had been staring nervously at Luke -- she had made the mistake of telling him the baby was cute -- came to attention and saluted. Her male companion, who apparently hadn't been paying attention, belatedly came to attention and saluted, too.
"Nice, Johnson. Real observant," Dugan said as he came into the room. He was holding a large, canvas case, and looked smug. The last time Steve had seen Dum-Dum look that pleased with himself, he had just beaten Fury at the marksmanship re-qualifications.
"Rogers, I have something that belongs to you." Dugan held up the canvas-wrapped object, and looked, if possible, even more smug. "The divers pulled it out of New York Harbor this morning; it was the only thing that survived the explosion intact," he said, handing the case to Steve.
As soon as he touched it, Steve knew what it was, but he couldn't help holding his breath as he tore the canvas off.
The red, white, and blue were just as bright as the day he'd been issued it. The heft and balance were unmistakable; it wasn't a copy, or a fake, it was his shield.
Steve ran his hand lightly along the rim of the shield, and for a moment, he was surprised to find himself blinking back tears. He looked down at the shield for a long moment, then cleared his throat. "I take it the amnesty came through?"
"Stark is still hashing out the details, but it's going to. Do you think we would be giving you your weapon back, otherwise?"
"So we should all trust you, 'cause you gave Cap his shield back?" Luke asked, managing to look menacing in spite of the fact that he was cradling his daughter gently against his shoulder.
"Let's put it this way," Dugan said. "Do you really have a choice?" He turned to Steve, and nodded at the shield. "I'll just leave you two alone together."
Steve realized that he was still running his hand over the curved face of the shield, and made himself stop.
Dugan saluted, then tipped his bowler hat at Steve and left the room.
After Dugan's footsteps had faded, the male guard pointed at the shield, and asked, "So, that's made of vibranium, right?"
Everyone in the room stared at him; it was the first time either of their guards had dared to speak to them since the girl had complemented Jessica's baby.
"It's actually a vibranium/steel alloy," Steve said.
"You know Agent Carter, yes?" the female guard asked, looking wary. She had a French accent, and looked like she might be of Middle Eastern descent. She also looked younger than Peter. "Is it true she had Agent Taylor murdered?"
Before Steve could answer, the male guard jumped in. "I heard she tortured him, and dumped him in the Hudson. When they found him, he didn't have a face."
"That's because the fish ate it," the girl said. She looked as if she really wanted to roll her eyes.
"Carl from tech said --"
"Carl from tech," the girl interrupted, "thinks Director Stark can spy on you through security cameras, and that Colonel Fury was a robot."
"He can spy on you through security cameras," Peter said. "It's creepy."
"See, I told you," the male agent said.
"Man, why are you talking to them?" Luke said with exasperation. "They're supposed to be the enemy."
Jessica Jones cast her eyes heavenward for second. "Luke, they're twelve."
"Actually, Ma'am, I'm twenty-four," the male agent said. His companion looked pained.
"See, my point." Jessica said.
Steve stayed silent and let them argue; he didn't want to think about the things Sharon might or might not have done while he was gone. He knew Sharon was an experienced SHIELD agent, but just as he couldn't make his memories of the cheerful, good-natured kid Bucky had been fit with the idea of someone who'd been an assassin from the age of sixteen, he couldn't make himself picture Sharon torturing people.
"Carl says --"
"Carl is an idiot."
"Carl is not an idiot. He's made it to the final level of Halo. And he totally hacked it."
"World of Warcraft pwns Halo," Peter said. He had relaxed enough to let go of MJ's arm, and was now perching on the back of his chair."
"I thought we weren't talking to them," Danny said.
"I'm going to take a walk," Steve announced.
The two guards exchanged glances.
"I am allowed to do that, right? Since we're not prisoners?" Steve said, folding his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow at the guards.
"Yes, sir," the girl said. "Actually, we are here to watch you because the security cameras are down, not to keep you from leaving. Director Stark had them ripped out, so the bugs could be removed."
Steve walked past the guards into the hall; the fact that they had given him his weapon back, and were allowing him walk around freely, was a good sign.
Anyway, if Dum-Dum Dugan said that things were on the level, they were; Dugan had never been able to lie worth a damn.
Steve slung his shield across his back; the familiar weight was reassuring. He turned a corner into a more deserted section of the Helicarrier; only every other light was actually lit in this hallway. The Helicarrier had always been filled with people, and buzzing with activity. As empty as it was now, it felt hollow and abandoned.
If Tony had been serious about the amnesty, why hadn't he come to see them? They had all been his friends at one time or another; surely he owed it to them to tell them himself.
Did he think that they wouldn't listen if it came from him? Or did he really just not care anymore?
He had known that there was something wrong with Tony before, had known the Extremis was still affecting him. The last month and a half didn't seem to have changed anything.
Steve reached over his shoulder, and brushed his fingers lightly along the edge of his shield. Tony had been his friend and teammate for such a long time that no longer being able to count on him was like going into battle without his shield. He kept reaching for something that wasn't there.
"Don't think that just because Cap is back and we have bigger enemies doesn't mean I don't still think you people sold out!" Jessica Drew's voice echoed through the empty hallway.
Steve stopped, listening. Jessica must have found Carol, and it sounded like the discussion wasn't going well.
"We were trying to protect you, all right?" Carol's voice was strident. "I don't expect you to like us for it, but could you at least get off my back?"
"Why the hell should I? You've spent the last three months trying to put me in prison."
He shouldn't be listening; this was obviously a personal argument, something more than the general grievances that the New Avengers had against the pro-registration group, something just between Jessica and Carol.
"No, we've spent the last three months trying to bring you in. Does this look like prison to you?"
"Do you really think there's a difference?" Jessica demanded.
"There is! If we didn't get you, they would!"
"Who the hell are 'they'? And what difference would it have made who threw us in jail?"
"You and Spiderman wouldn't have been in jail!" Carol snapped. "You'd have been on a lab table somewhere! Why the hell do you think Tony let Peter go? There are people in the government who have wanted to study superhumans for years. It's not a coincidence that the House Unregistered Superhuman Activities Committee has one of Reverend Stryker's old cronies on it, or that they put a trigger-happy hotshot like Maria Hill in charge."
The thought of Peter on a dissection table made Steve feel sick. He'd wondered why Tony had allowed Peter to escape. If there were really plans to experiment on superhumans... How could Tony have worked with people like that?
And if he'd really been trying to protect people, why the hell hadn't he said anything?
"So you're protecting us from the poorly defined government conspiracy by jailing us?" Jessica asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh my God!" Carol shouted. "You're not in jail! We're pardoning you! We were trying to protect you!"
"Like you protected Cap?"
That was when Steve realized that he really, really shouldn't be listening to this. In fact, he should probably be as far away from it as possible.
There was a loud thud, as if one of the women had thrown the other against the wall.
It was definitely time to leave now.
Steve's footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the empty hall, but Carol and Jessica were making too much noise to hear him.
If Maria Hill had been working for the registration people all along, that put a lot of things into perspective.
Maria had been brought in as soon as Nick left; registration must have been on the table well before Stamford.
And Tony had known. He had said something about Project Wideawake, when they had met in the burnt-out shell of the Avengers Mansion, but Steve had blown it off as just one more empty justification.
Oh God, Tony had said something, and Steve had been too angry to hear it.
He had been right, he knew he had been right, but maybe there had been a better way to handle things.
He had told Ben Urich that he had made errors in judgment, but he was only just beginning to realize how deeply those mistakes had affected everyone. If he had been willing to listen to Tony, maybe they could have worked out a way to deal with Carol's Superhuman Activities Committee that didn't involve collaborating with them.
As much as he didn't want to believe it, maybe he had been reacting as much to Tony's betrayal as to the principles he thought he was defending. The way Jessica was obviously still too hurt and angry over Carol's betrayal to listen to her.
In a way, he had let everyone down by refusing to compromise, or even listen to what the other side had to say. There was still such a deep divide in the superhero community, even after a month and a half, and maybe if he hadn't been so driven by emotion it wouldn't have gotten this bad. Tony had a point; people did look to Steve, even though he had never really understood why. He had had a responsibility to be a leader, and he hadn't lived up to it.
No wonder Tony wouldn't talk to Steve now; the one time it had really mattered, Steve hadn't been willing to talk to him.
None of them had the luxury of fighting amongst themselves anymore; the Mandarin had already destroyed half of SHIELD, Red Skull's bombings had started riots all over the country, and Doom's robots were rampaging through the streets. And right now, the two groups of Avengers couldn't even talk to each other like reasonable adults.
He and Tony were the leaders of their respective sides; it was up to them to work out some kind of solution. Even if they couldn't be friends any longer, they needed to be able to work together.
He had to track down Tony, and make him understand that. Make him understand that Steve was ready to do that now.
If he were Tony, and was trying to avoid his responsibilities, where would he go?
An intimidated-looking lab technician -- Steve wondered if his name was Carl, but didn't ask -- told him that Director Stark had just left, but that he could try the quarters down the hall.
This hallway, like so many of the others Steve had walked through, was empty, with only half the lights lit. One of the doors was slightly ajar, and Steve saw the line of light stretching from it across the hallway before he heard Tony's voice.
"You said I had twelve pardons and I'm using them." Even from outside the door, Tony sounded tired and frustrated. There was a lengthy pause, while whoever Tony was on the phone with spoke, and then Tony said, "Go ahead. You seem to be under the impression, Congressman, that I actually care. And let me remind you that I can hack any computer system on earth and see through satellites. I can make it pretty damn uncomfortable for you, too." There was another pause, shorter this time, and then Steve heard Tony mutter, "Idiot."
Steve reached over his shoulder to touch his shield again, then pushed back his cowl, and knocked on the door jamb.
"Damn it," Tony swore quietly. There was a moment of silence, then Steve could hear him crossing the room. Tony pulled the door open the rest of the way, then froze.
His hair was damp, and curling slightly, he wasn't wearing shoes, and his shirt was half-way unbuttoned; he'd obviously just gotten out of the shower. Steve still wasn't used to seeing Tony even partly shirtless. For a few years, there had been the artificial heart, and the scars had been there for as long as Steve had known him. They were both gone now.
After an endless silence, Steve screwed up his courage, and asked, "May I come in?"
Tony stared at Steve for another endless moment, then stepped back, giving him room to enter.
The room was small, with a single bed bolted to the wall, a similarly fastened desk in the far corner, and worn carpeting on the floor.
Getting out of the hallway didn't make things any less uncomfortable. They stood an awkward four feet apart, while Steve wracked his brain for something to say that wouldn't get him thrown back out into the hallway. "Did you really just blackmail a congressman?"
Tony blinked at him, then said, "Technically, I only threatened to." There were dark circles under his eyes; he was unshaven and unusually pale, and looked almost bruised. "He thought I'd back down and do what he wanted if he threatened to bring charges against me over what that punk made me do with the Armor."
"You were under mind control then," Steve said, frowning. It had never occurred to him that that might cause trouble for Tony, when he'd so obviously been just another victim.
"Amazingly, the FBI has trouble with that concept," Tony said wryly, half-smiling. Then his eyes went shuttered, and he looked down at the floor.
For a moment, things had almost felt normal, but now the charged atmosphere was back.
Steve stared at Tony, who stared at the floor. This wasn't going as he'd planned. Actually, maybe this would have gone better if he had planned it.
Tony was still staring at the floor; with his shirt open like this, Steve could see his collarbones, more sharply visible than he remembered them. Along with the socked feet, it made him look strangely vulnerable. Finally, Steve said, "Fury was right before. We have to work together on this, or Doom, Skull, and the Mandarin are going to win."
Tony looked up at him sharply, then looked away. "Red Skull already won," he said, voice low and defeated.
It wasn't like Tony to give up this easily. "He's not going to stop with Los Angeles," Steve said, stepping forward. Tony took a step back.
"I wasn't talking about that," he said, finally meeting Steve's eyes.
With a jolt, Steve realized that Tony hadn't been talking about D.C. or L.A. He had been talking about him.
It was petty to be glad that Tony had been hurt by his death, but he couldn't help it. Even at the worst of it, Tony's death would have destroyed him; even at the height of the final battle, when Tony had stared up at him, and told him to finish it, he had found himself frozen, unable to move.
Everyone else -- even people like Danny, whom he'd barely known -- had been glad to have him back. Tony hadn't even looked at him, and he'd thought... it didn't matter what he'd thought.
"We need to formulate a plan of action," Steve said.
Tony closed his eyes and put a hand to his face. "Go talk to Dugan," he said, swaying slightly. "Or, hell, talk to Fury. He probably knows more about what's going on with SHIELD than I do, and he hasn't even been here."
Steve frowned to himself, starting to feel seriously alarmed; the Tony he knew would never have handed off a responsibility like that. There had been something wrong with him since he had gotten the Extremis; Steve had thought the new abilities were making him sociopathic and power mad, but maybe it was more complicated than that.
"I don't know what's happened to you over the past month," he said. "I don't know what this Extremis thing has done to your head, but I need you to snap out of it. We need Tony Stark's brain on this one." Maybe having something constructive to concentrate on would snap him out of it. God knew it was true enough; they did need him.
"You think the Extremis is still affecting my decisions?" Tony said, voice oddly flat.
"I think it's affected every decision you've made since before this whole thing started." Steve said, gesturing sharply with one hand. The last time they had talked, he had tried to say something like this, but it had come out all wrong, come out as an accusation. "I should have realized it earlier," he went on. "Maybe I could have done something. Instead I just reacted, until the entire thing escalated out of control."
Tony shook his head, making a slashing motion with his left hand. "It wasn't Extremis. I knew what I had to do long before --" he broke off, then went on, more quietly, "it wasn't Extremis."
"Then what was it?" Steve asked, doing his best not to sound accusatory. This time, he had to do this conversation right. "We need your help on this, Tony, and you're not... Look, if it's because of the way I left things between us, I realize I made some mistakes, and I'm-"
Steve broke off. Tony had turned away from him, and was leaning against the wall, hiding his face with one hand. He made a quiet broken noise. "Tony --" Steve started.
"You, you didn't do anything but what I expected from you," Tony said to the wall, voice hoarse, a ragged catch to the words. "I knew you wouldn't compromise, you never..." He trailed off, shoulders shaking.
He was crying, Steve realized. He should leave; Tony wouldn't want Steve to see him crying.
He couldn't just leave Tony like this, though. Not when there was so obviously something wrong with him. Steve reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, and Tony stiffened, then jerked away. He walked across the room and collapsed onto the edge of the bed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, sitting there with his face buried in his hands.
"You were dead," he said, almost inaudibly. "I saw your body."
Steve froze, not knowing what to say; Tony was crying because of him. "Tony, I'm --"
Tony didn't seem to hear him. He kept talking, as if he couldn't stop. "I did what I had to do, and I didn't... I had no choice, but God, God, I didn't mean for you to..." He broke off, sobbing. Steve went to stand in front of Tony, putting a hand on his shoulder again; he couldn't just watch Tony in this state and not try to do something. It hurt to see anyone this upset, let alone someone who had been his friend for so long.
Tony reached up, and grabbed Steve's forearm, latching on to his waist with the other hand. Steve had the feeling that if his costume had had enough give for it, Tony would have been clinging to his shirt, clutching the fabric.
"It wasn't worth it," Tony said, voice breaking on the words. "It wasn't worth it."
He leaned forward, resting his head on Steve's chest. Tony was crying soundlessly, but Steve could feel his whole body shuddering; fine, convulsive tremors that he couldn't seem to stop.
The only time he had ever seen Tony fall apart this completely, he had been drunk, and he felt just as helpless now as he had then; just as useless in the face of this kind of pain. Steve wrapped his free hand around the back of Tony's neck, rubbing circles with his thumb. Tony's breath was coming in shuddering gasps; he almost sounded as if he were choking.
Seeing him on the news after the Helicarrier had blown, Steve had worried that Tony was emotionless, that the Extremis had somehow shut that part of him down. But this was almost worse; he couldn't even think of what Tony might do once he stopped crying. If there had been any alcohol in the room, he would have poured it out.
Steve sat down on the bed next to Tony, without letting go of his shoulder; he didn't think he could have pried Tony's fingers off his arm, anyway. He pulled Tony forward, so that his entire weight was resting against him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, running a hand up and down his back.
He could feel the hard knots of Tony's spine, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades. Tony had always tended towards the lean side, but now he felt almost fragile, the way he had when Steve had come to confront him about the drinking, and ended up carrying him out of a burning building instead. He had been able feel his bones then, too.
Steve wasn't sure how long they sat there before Tony finally stopped shaking. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into Steve's costume. "You were dead. You didn't need me crying on you."
"It's all right," Steve told him. The words sounded inadequate, but they were all he could think of.
"It's been a bad couple of days."
"It's been a bad couple of months," Steve said. Probably the worst of his life.
Tony didn't respond. His breathing had slowed, and evened out; it took Steve a minute or so to realize that he had fallen asleep. He kept sitting there, Tony's head on his chest, for longer than that, though, staring at the wall, unsure what to do next.
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