Steve wasn't sure if Tony was living or on autopilot. He'd wake up, eat something small and dry, like a cracker or toast with no butter. Got a shower, got dressed and stared for the rest of the day.

If someone made him something, he didn't eat it. And Steve watched over the passing days as the weight struggled to stay on him.

Pepper had taken over the company, and was running it fine. There were no problems there. Research and development had took a standstill without the inventors brilliant mind, but they had the Arc blue prints and had begun to set up in major cities for clean energy.

Pepper tried talking to Tony. She's told him about what he'd missed, and how sad she was. She expected Tony to jump right out of it, smile, and tell her the next wave of ideas. But he just stared.

She cried that night, and there was little they could do for her.

Sail

III

Marble.

"Are you sure he spoke to you?"

"Yes."

"Just those words?"

"Yes."

"Was it more of a groan? Or a noise?"

"I know what I heard, Doc. Tony spoke."

The psychiatrist seemed annoyed with Steve. He would have given her an apology, but she was being condescending. He stared at her and the sullen expression plastered across her face. Another hour of Tony just sitting there, saying nothing.

Steve's eyes fell to him; he'd taken it upon himself to bring Tony here, every other day. It didn't matter how busy Steve was, he'd find the time to bring the man here.

Tony sat, exactly where he had been for the last hour, staring at his hands. His fingers had been relieved of bandages now, the same for the ones that fell across his head. He was healing slowly, but getting there.

"Well, he won't speak a single word to me." She flicked the chestnut hair from her shoulder and folded her arms. It was clear to Steve that she wasn't used to not getting her own way - and more annoyed that Steve coaxed some words out of him.

"He hasn't said anything to me since. He just said that he wouldn't tell me anything."

"That's what worries me," She added plainly. Her eyes drifted to Tony, how never stopped staring, like he was reading something invisible in his palms. "I know he's out of…Where ever he was, but his head isn't."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, I think Tony has retreated inside his head somewhere. Somewhere so deep that any voice that reaches his ears is his captor." She turned back to Steve, a faint smile ghosting across her lips. "He thinks he's still there, and we're fishing for information."

Steve could believe that. In the war, he'd seen men break in two and go crazy. Most scratched at walls or screamed frantically. But Tony just sat there, calm, staring - and it was unnerving.

"How do we get him out?"

"That's the question." She gave a small sigh, looking at the inventor. "The mind is as big as the creator makes it, Mr. Rogers. Mr. Stark could be so far in there's no recovering from it. I need a bit longer to examine him, if he needs shock treatment or something else. If you can get him to talk, try a more… 'Captain America' approach. Something that deduct as you."

He walked Tony to the psychiatrists. There and back, hoping that the familiar streets and walkways would spark something in him.

Steve once bought him a hotdog, but like all the food he was given – he didn't eat it.

It was cold, on the brink of winter. Breath seemed to condense in the air and Steve tugged the collars of Tony's coat – tucking in his scarf to give him some warmth.

Tony would follow you, Steve found out. If you said his name and walked, so would he.

The streets were icy, causing kids to run as fast as they could and slide across the iced tarmac with a competitive grin to the other. Steve couldn't help but be hit with a little nostalgia. When he was younger, he'd watch Bucky do the same.

He never got the chance though.

He watched the kids, laughing, one slipping onto his side causing high pitched roaring laughter from the others. The soldier couldn't help but smile with them, and turned to Tony to see if by some miracle, he was smiling too.

But he was gone.

Panic surged somewhere inside of Steve, glancing horribly through the frosted trees and grass of central park; looking for the dark mess of hair, the blank expression, anything.

But he was alone.

"Tony?" He called out, eyes scanning the area. He couldn't have gotten far – and he wouldn't consider that from right under his nose he was snatched away again. Even if he were, what would they get from him now?

"Tony!"

He shouted louder this time, hoping for some stupid call back, or for the billionaire to follow him like he usually did. Adrenaline fell across his stomach as he wanted to run – but where? What direction could he have gone to? He took a few desperate steps with his head snapping left and right.

Then his eyes found a hunched figure, the same black coat and high collars that he'd fixed before. Steve's leg pushed him, half slipping in slight desperation but was cautious. It wasn't uncommon for people to have the same coat.

The familiar bed of messy black hair and healing hands was enough for the soldier. He moved his hand to Tony's shoulder, squeezing it with a small sigh of relief.

"You scared me," Steve confessed. "Why would you wonder off like that?"

Silence wasn't uncommon, and Steve had learned to hurt less when Tony didn't answer him. But he was crouched on the floor, elbows moving every so often and Steve frowned. This was the first time he'd seen Tony actually do something other than stare.

Shifting across his side, he couldn't help but soften his features.

A grey cat lay on it's back, pawing gently against Tony's fingertips. The billionaire had just enough 'smile' on his face as there probably ever was going to be in his current state. The cat rolled, determined to hit at the billionaire's fingers as he pawed at his fingers.

"I never knew you liked cats, Tony." Steve smiled, crouching down next to him. The cat was owned, a thick jeweled collar across it's neck in which Steve deducted the cat was a she. Moving his hands to the cat's collar, he caught a flicker of the name-tag. "She's called Marble."

"Marble." Tony repeated. "I like her."

Steve took a good, long look at him. His thoughts returned to the psychiatrist, who was persistent Steve heard noises instead of words – but those were words.

"She's cute," Steve smiled, passing off the conversation as if it was normal. "Her coat's so shiny. Her owner must love her very much."

"There's a theory involving cats," Tony muttered. The cat had given up trying to paw at his fingers, and instead purred loudly as she rubbed her head against his knuckles. "Schrödinger's theory." The kids soon erupted with laughter, causing the ears of the cat to perk up and glance in the direction – and Tony just watched her, carefully. "A cat in a box. Alive and dead. Both theories exist at the same time, rather than if we look into the box, the cat is either, or."

He paused, Marble soon scampering away causing the broken genius to stand and watch.

This was the most words he'd heard Tony say since captivity. He was babbling a theory Steve had never really heard of before, but it made sense.

He took Tony home after that; sub consciously made him a hot chocolate that he knew he wouldn't touch. Placed a blanket over his sitting form on the sofa and watched Tony drift into the same staring empty man he was earlier.

He sat opposite, waiting for something, maybe. The low babbling of some Sunday morning Cartoons played off in the background and Steve just watched Tony.

Without looking in the box, the cat could be alive or dead.

Both theories existed at the same time unless you looked.

This difference between 'and' and 'or'.