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Thanks to Snoweylily for her review, and to daeb for following the story!

Some few hours later, after Steve and I had had quite a quite laughs (who knew throwing fistfuls of punching bag stuffing at Captain America would be so fun?), the door opened. We both turned.

Tony Stark was standing awkwardly at the door.

"Hello Tony," Steve said cheerfully.

I just glared at him.

"Nat wants you in the gym, Steve. She sounded pretty pissed," he smirked, but didn't look at me.

"Why?"

"Something about you not cleaning up after yourself after you massacred your punching bag and got dust in her guns," Tony explained.

"Damn," Steve said, jumping up from the bed that we were both sitting on. He turned to look at me. "Keep practicing, I'll be back as soon as I can get away from Natasha Romanoff's evil rants and terrifying glares."

I smiled at him, "Sure," I said before getting up and turning back to the fifth punching bag we had gone through in three hours, expecting Tony to leave.

He didn't.

I turned around. Steve was gone, but Tony still stood at the door awkwardly, twisting his fingers anxiously. "What is it, Stark?" I asked irritably, turning to the punching bag again and giving it a vicious kick.

He pursed his lips together anxiously and remained silent.

"Stark, you either say what you came here to say, now, or I kick your sorry ass out the door." I whipped around angrily to face him. "Which one will it be?"

He opened his mouth, and no sound came out. He cleared his throat. "I...um... I-"

"Spit it out." I glared venomously at him.

"I wanted to apologise," he blurted out.

Whatever I was expecting, that was not it. I was dumbfounded. "Apologise?"

"Yes," he sighed in relief that I didn't start screaming at him, "For when we were kids." Now that he had started, it all came out in a rush, "And for now. Honestly, Clint, Bruce and I had no idea that Fury knew you or anything. He just told us to get you because he said you were going to the press about some big dark secret about the Avengers that would ruin us forevermore. You know the one we immediately thought of," he took a deep breath, "Look, I was a messed up kid, and it's pathetic it has taken me this long to realise that. I'm messed up, full stop. I was angry for a long time, and I took it out on you. You just seemed so happy all the time, and it felt wrong that someone could be so happy when my own world was falling apart. That was sick and wrong, and I apologise. I really am so, so, sorry. I never wanted you to actually die, you know that... right?" He trailed off, looking up at me hopefully. I was recovering from the actual shock of him apologising, and what he was saying was starting to sink in.

"You're sorry," I said stupidly.

He smiled in relief, "Yes," and his smile seemed genuine enough.

I didn't care.

"You're sorry," I repeated, raising my voice, "You're sorry, that my body is covered in fifteen year old scars that will never go away? Constantly reminding me what you have done? Of the mark you have left on my life?"

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

"You're sorry, are you, that I wake up most nights, screaming from nightmares of you beating me up until I couldn't stand anymore? You're sorry that my parents are dead because of you?" I had worked myself up too much stop. "Because, Stark, you can be sorry for that. You are happy that you ruined my life, because you are a malicious bastard. If it wasn't for you, my parents wouldn't be dead, or better yet, I'd be dead with them!" I screamed at him, my eyes blazing and my face red with rage. He shrank back as if I had slapped him. I took a deep breath. "Get out," I said in a low tight voice, "And don't come back. If I'm stuck here for the rest of my life, I don't want to spend it looking at you, you complete and utter bastard. Get out!" I screamed at him when he didn't move. I started towards him, and he backed away, towards the door, but just before he left, he said," I had no idea. I'm so sorry." With tears in his eyes, he turned away and left the room.

"Yeah, Stark," I screamed after him, "You'd know exactly how hard it is to lose your parents. Both at once!" With a scream of frustration, I kicked over a chair and sat down against the wall. I buried my head in my knees as I wrapped my arms around my knees and sobbed. Tony had reopened the pain, the pain I had tried so hard to conceal and bury, of losing my parents all over again. I sucked air into my lungs and willed myself to stop crying, but the tears still slipped down my cheeks. I wiped them away with my hand. I would not let him win.

No.

So I got up and took it out on the punching bag.

Bye!

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