Chapter 8: The Paradox of Wrong
"You fiend."
"Why, thank you."
"Pray tell, how is it that you manage to trump my every move?"
"I dunno, guess it's all in the wrist."
"…That's odd, I thought this game to be one of skill."
"And I thought by now you would've learned not to take what I say so seriously." Thor's naivety knew no bounds.
Thor and Tony were having a game of holographic chess, courtesy of Tony. The images hovered above a thin and portable projector, and for the demigod, it was… interesting. Undoubtedly, it took some getting used to.
"Check." Tony pointed to his bishop and smirked, amused at his friend's irritation.
"I truly believe this game is rigged for failure."
"Yeah. Your failure."
The blonde demigod stood. "I will play this no longer. What say you and I have a sparring match?" He smirked, folding his arms. "Let us then see who the better man is." The billionaire stood as well, hands raised in defense. "Hey, you have your brawn, I have my brains and brawn. No big deal."
Everyone was gathered in a reserved lounge, dressed fairly casually. Natasha was conversing with Steve in the corner, the two completely engaged. Seems their relationship was picking up. Clint sipped casually at his glass of red wine, expression unreadable. He hadn't realized his firm grip on the upholstery beneath him, or that his glances at the soldier and spy grew progressively more frequent.
"Your snarky remarks never cease to irritate me, Tony Stark."
Tony shrugged. "What can I say? I like to do a thorough job. But enough about me and my amazing work ethic," he stood as well, retrieving a small holo-projector from the table, "how're things in Asgard?" The demigod spoke briefly of the unfortunate events that took place there some time ago. Tragedy was never far away.
The Asgardian's blue eyes immediately softened. "The loss of my brother and mother still weighs heavy on my heart, but Asgard fairs well. We will rebuild from the ashes as Mother would have wished. What of the rest of you?" He turned to the other three Avengers.
All shared the expression of having seen better days. But that was fine. Things were still settling down. Everyone was coping. Each had their share of dark days, and this was their chance to be human about it. Or… as human as an Asgardian, two high-ranking spies, a soldier, and a genius could be.
The stoic Natasha was the first to speak. "My missions so far have been excruciatingly simple. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wouldn't mind another alien invasion." Her dry humor fell upon untrained ears.
"Be careful what you wish for, 'Tasha," Clint chimed in, "with our luck, we just might get one."
"I'd say I've had my fill." Steve added, clenching and unclenching his fist. "A good break is in order, considering this past year alone." For once, Tony agreed with him. The world seemed to need them more than ever. The group chatted on for a long while.
Later…
Tony made it back to the Tower. It was nice to see the others under more normal circumstances. He leaned against the wall of the elevator, eyes set on the floor. Jarvis notified him of the time, insisting that he get some rest. But he somehow knew that sleep would be a difficult thing to get tonight. The doors opened with a quiet ding, and he stepped out on the 94th floor.
He needed a drink. A good one.
Switching the lights on, he found a glass, setting it on the counter in front of him.
It was funny, what alcohol could do to people. It made some giddy. It made others bitter and others still into utter messes. But for Tony, the intoxicating drink quieted his mind. It made him calm. It made him somewhat dependent on its effects. Alcohol had been an issue for him long before he met the people he knew today. It had gotten better over the years, his new life closing a few dark chapters of his past. He'd hidden it well behind his many ruses, but there were times when he just needed his mind to go blank.
He picked his poison. He poured it into the glass. He drank to forget.
A soft sigh passed his lips as he took his first sip. Letting go was easy. That was never the problem. Coming back from it was the difficult part.
To the public eye, he had some semblance of collectedness; he liked to tell himself that, too. Even Pepper wasn't entirely aware of his internal conflictions. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter.
"Jarvis. Music."
"Sir, I strongly advise you to refrain from further—"
"Music." After a few seconds, the AI complied.
Satisfied, the billionaire shut his eyes as he brought the glass to his lips a second time. One pour quickly turned into two. Then three. Everything mattered a little less now. He wasn't Tony. He wasn't Mr. Stark. He wasn't Iron Man. He was just Anthony. He could truly think.
"Dim the lights. Eighty percent."
As the lights faded, the pale light of the moon filtered modestly through the curtains of a cracked window. A satisfying buzz filled the man's head, and he resisted another sip. This was the perfect time to stop. He couldn't be completely inebriated. He wouldn't be able to enjoy this. Putting the drink away for another day, he took a seat and simply listened to the music. It wasn't long before he was moving with the rhythm, his head unabashedly bobbing up and down. Then the music stopped.
"Sir." The AI's voice was more insistent. Sigh.
"Yes, Jarv?"
"The doctor seems to be having… complications again. I suggest you remedy the issue. Or will you disregard that as well?"
"Sass? From you? This is new."
"Hardly, Sir. You programmed me this way."
"I did, didn't I? Remind me to kick myself later."
"I believe you are stalling, Sir."
Damn right he was. He knew the moment he saw the doctor that familiar sinking feeling would return, nauseating him. And more importantly, it would ruin his buzz.
Still, he had to go.
…But not without another drink.
….
The Other Guy—Bruce—had done it again. Green ate at him… swallowed his skin, consumed his mind, his sense of control. Everything was rubble at his feet, anonymous joys reduced to sorrow. He had an audience to his destruction… Everyone he had hurt, everyone he feared he would hurt. They stared up at him unwaveringly, with such contempt. Their haunting faces… He remembered every one.
"You think you can change?" A voice chimed from behind. No. Anyone but her. An external force brought him to turn around and face a woman he hadn't seen in a decade.
"Betty… I never wanted—"
"—You're a coward, Bruce, always running from your mess. Just like your father." Her words cut deep, voice sweet and venomous. Strong as he was, even he hadn't the will to close his ears. It was true. He knew it was true. An ocean of betrayed eyes stared at him almost expectantly.
Burning. Everything burned away, but their glare remained. "Look at your good work. Just look and tell me I'm wrong, Bruce. Bruce… Bruce?"
"Bruce." The man lunged forward, gasping. His eyes opened wide, a small spell of dizziness following. Glancing around, he found himself on the couch, fingers digging into the leather material. Temples beaded with sweat, he loosened his grip, blinking away grogginess. When had he fallen asleep? He looked to his right. There Tony stood, glass of alcohol in hand. "You have a bedroom, you know."
"I'm aware." Bruce replied shakily, rolling his neck. Glancing at his watch, he raised a brow. About 4 hours had passed since his little excursion. "I don't remember dozing off."
"Jarvis detected the usual unusual. Nights still difficult?" Tony brought the glass to his lips.
"Yes. But I'll manage." The doctor stood and stepped away, stealing a curious glance in Tony's direction. "How did it go?"
"Pretty good. Steve and Natasha seem to be getting good and cozy as of late, Thor's hanging in there, Clint's still Clint. But apparently we all need a break from the hero thing. Too bad that kind of thing's out of our hands."
Bruce shrugged a shoulder. "It all comes with the territory. Besides, you love the attention."
"A lot of people think that." Tony took another sip, briefly catching the other's gaze. "A lot of people are wrong." A long pause.
"Really? I never pegged you as the introverted type."
"Uh, no, that's your department. I'm just a man who very much likes his sanity and intends to keep it."
"Understandable. Still, that public face of yours is impeccable."
"I know." Tony downed the rest of the drink. His tongue flicked across his lips and his gaze darkened. Without another word, he turned and headed for the exit.
"Since you're here I might as well ask if your issues are now worth talking about."
Tony froze. "…No more questions, Bruce."
"I'll take that as a 'no'." The doctor took a few cautious steps forward. "Whatever it is, Tony, just—talk about it to someone. Anyone."
"Sure. That's what I'll do."
"I'm serious. You've been—" The billionaire finally turned to face him, a look of mild rage leaving Bruce in slight shock.
"Look. I'm asking you in plain English to let it go. So let it go."
Lidded, dark eyes stared into Bruce's, lacking their usual intensity. The scent of rum carried through the air, tipping him off to just how much the other had been drinking. "That's a bad idea."
The billionaire knowingly glanced at the empty glass in his hand. "We all have our share of unhealthy practices, Doctor. As long as it works it's fine by me."
"Is it?" The doctor queried.
"Is it what?"
"Working."
"Not anymore." Tony rolled his eyes, resignation slowly replacing aggravation. "You ruined it."
"I… 'ruined' it." The doctor repeated incredulously. A tired smile spread on his face as he mindlessly toyed with the cuff of his shirt. Tony was definitely out of it. "I doubt it was my fault."
"You doubt wrong."
"Well, that could certainly be different, now couldn't it?"
Tony blinked, seeming to marinate on their little back and forth. For the longest of moments, he stared through Bruce, almost ignoring the entire fact that he was there. Then he stepped forward. Directly in front of the other, he sighed, his furrowed brow betraying his otherwise unbothered countenance. He rested a hand on the other's shoulder, finally meeting his gaze. "Bruce… I'm afraid, alright? I admit it. This is nothing Pepper knows about. This is nothing anyone knows about. I don't know where the hell this is coming from and I don't know why." Bruce remained silent, not quite following. "All this? The frustration, the aggression, the drinking? You make me do it. I shove you away so I can think. So I can understand—" Tony paused and stepped away mid-sentence.
"Why'm I even explaining… I can't do this."
"I, uh… I don't follow."
The billionaire shifted his weight to his good leg, examining his glass disappointedly before setting it down on an accent table. "Of course you don't, Doctor. This is me, drunk and out of my wits. I'm not making any sense right now."
"You're making some sense, surprisingly. What exactly are you trying to understand?"
Time seemed to demand attention through the quiet ticking of Bruce's watch. It was an expectant and almost mocking sound. Tony wanted to throw the damn thing out of the window.
"…It's fine, Tony. I'll leave it alone." The doctor raised a dismissive hand, turning to retrieve his glasses resting on a nearby countertop.
"No," The other finally jumped in, "it's not fine with me. I'm not letting this bother me more than it already has. Look…" He took a step forward. "There're some things I've been… grappling with recently. Involving you." The doctor turned, eyes narrowed with a curious look. Tony sighed, the alcohol finally loosening his tongue. "Remember the time I said I was fond of you? I may've underestimated just how 'fond' I am." The perplexed expression on the other's face only made him smile. There was no point in stopping now. "Not the answer you were expecting? Me neither. Of course, there's a problem here, having… strong feelings for two people at once." It was Bruce's turn to smile. "You're joking, right?"
"Sure, Banner. I'm joking." Tony stepped closer, eye to eye with the other. There wasn't a hint of humor in the man's gaze.
The smile on the doctor's face quickly faded, hands searching for something to do. He tore his gaze downward, wiping imaginary dust off the lens of his glasses. "I don't know what to make of this, Tony." He really didn't. He didn't want to believe it, either. But it… made sense. If he looked up, he would see it. That glint in Tony's eyes. Thinking back, he'd seen it a couple of times during his stay. Now he knew what it meant. But he didn't deserve that look. The billionaire snatched the spectacles from his hands, putting them up to the light. "Seem clean to me. Keep at it and you're gonna pop a lens out."
Bruce frowned. "I should go."
"You should stay." Tony handed back the glasses. "I said what was on my mind. It's your turn." The doctor said nothing, rigid as a pole. "What? Fair is fair. What're you afraid of all of a sudden?"
"…I'm afraid you're going to do something you'll regret."
"Yeah?" Tony stopped inches from the other's face.
"You don't know what you're doing."
"Not my fault."
"Tony—" The billionaire's lips pressed gently against his, silencing him. The doctor was paralyzed, arms hovering over the other's shoulders. He saw it coming. He could've moved. His eyes shut. He could be moving right now. But he was… enjoying this. His lips moved against Tony's, much to his objection.
He shouldn't be enjoying this.
The moment was brief, cut short. Tony quickly pulled away, realization filling his eyes with disbelief and shock. "…I'm sorry." Avoiding the doctor's gaze, he turned and left.
Bruce didn't stop him.
AN: There you have it, people, Chapter 8! Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! 3