Two weeks had passed since the team had moved in, and Tony had spent the entirety of the last week in his lab. It had been a rough, his days plagued with flashbacks and nightmares; harsh thoughts, and cruel demons continuously eating at his mind.

He was currently skipping another meal with the team, opting instead for some instant oatmeal, or what he liked to call "sawdust." At least he was eating though, he had worked through all of his meals the day before. See, he told himself, I don't need someone telling me when to sleep and eat. I'll do it eventually.

It wasn't that he didn't want to hang out with everyone, but Tony was an emotional wreck—unsure of his feelings for Steve, and distrustful of himself to be around his friends. He wanted to keep them all safe, and because Tony felt like a TNT stick lit on both ends, safe meant keeping away from everyone who could get hurt by collateral damage.

Sure it was lonely, but Tony had convinced himself that it was better this way.

He had spent a lifetime practicing, becoming who he had to be to survive. Hiding in plain sight, always acting, always playing a part. There were times when Tony feared that he'd lose himself—his true self—in the haze of the façade. Maybe he already had. But that fear doesn't matter to anyone besides myself.

Tony sighed and choked down another bite of his hearty breakfast, and tried to push past his pain, into other thoughts. In his week of isolation, he had been doing a lot of thinking. As always, he was trapped in his mind. Between inventions, nightmares, memories, worries, and goals, Tony's mind was constantly churning.

Recently his thoughts had been centered on Iron Man.

It wasn't in an egotistical way: he wasn't reveling in Iron Man's greatest moments. Not even in an industrial way: he wasn't trying to build more suits. No, Tony was thinking of the big picture: how Iron Man had affected himself, and others.

The suits had been a wakeup call—taking him from warmonger to life-saver. His cave creation was a blessing; the miniature arc reactor one of his greatest achievements.

But then Tony had watched as Obie ripped it from his chest. Then he was being poisoned to death. Then he was attacked by Whiplash. Portals opened up. Aliens invaded. Pepper was abducted; his house blown up. Ultron created, Jarvis killed. Sokovia destroyed, Avengers dismembered.

Tony was growing nauseous the longer he thought about it. Because hanging over every one of those memories, was an even scarier vision—one of the future. One that featured all of his friends, dead; their cold bodies, grotesque and lifeless, piled upon each other.

Iron Man had been powerless to stop it. He wasn't enough.He and his suit, had failed.

The suit had been his way of protecting people, but the more Tony thought about it, the more he realized that Iron Man was at the center of almost all his issues. Once people had seen the tech he had created, they tried to replicate it—or steal it from his body.

But Tony was Iron Man. As he had told many people, many times, you couldn't separate the two. But maybe that's the problem, Tony's racing thoughts came to an abrupt halt, honed in on that idea.

He wasn't a hero, and destruction followed his feeble attempt to be one.

Tony stood, determination in his eyes. It took only a split second for life to go horribly wrong; it took a lot more to make things go right. And to fix the mess that was his life, Tony needed a thousand things to go right.

The distance from one bit of luck to the next felt as great as the distance across oceans to Tony. His eyes hardened and he stood up, tall and strong. In that moment, Tony came to a decision. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He was done feeling helpless.

But will bridge that distance, again and again, until I win. I will not fail. In that ocean of grief, maybe there were islands of grace, moments in time where Tony could learn to remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

He would fight to find those times, because Tony desperately wanted to be whole again, to feel like he wasn't a danger to the team, to mend his relationship with Steve. But he couldn't do that until he fixed himself—rebuilt the man that he used to be.

And that was who he really was. Not a man in a mask, or a sorrowful backstory. Not a forgotten son or a self-assured jokester. Not just a genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist.

No, he was much, much more.

He was Tony Stark: a confident, selfless man. A mechanic. A builder and a fixer. And I'll be damned if I can't fix myself. Tony pulled out his phone and dialed. The man on the other end picked up on the first ring and Tony didn't give him the chance to say hi, "We need to talk. Now. Face to face"

Less than an hour later, Tony was storming into one of SHEILD's meeting rooms. Fury was standing there, intimidating as ever, and typing on his phone heatedly. He nodded his head, indicating Tony should start, despite the phone's distraction.

"I've had a realization, Nick."

"This should be good."

"The fight between Steve and me—"

"The media's calling it a Civil War." Fury called out the title with a laugh; Tony paled at the more than accurate description.

"—Civil War, whatever. It's impacting work. It's impacting the team."

Fury finally looked up from his phone. "Tony…" Nick said in an unsure voice, not knowing what was coming next.

"So I've decided to remove myself from the Avengers. Effective immediately." His words kept pouring out, thinking that if he stopped talking, he'd lose his courage and take everything back: "I was only a consultant anyway, and you've got plenty of superheroes to protect the world even without Iron Man on your side. I won't give you, or anyone, the suits, of course. But I would refrain from using them, and I know you—"

"Are you done yet" Fury interrupted. Exasperation sharp in his voice, whittling away at Tony's certainty.

Fury started to talk, but Tony wasn't listening. He would be leaving this room as a civilian and nothing else. Iron Man had caused everyone nothing but trouble, and he couldn't take it anymore. Sometimes, the only way to set things right is to do what is difficult.

"You haven't heard a word of what I've just said have you?" Fury said in astonishment.

"Sorry what was that?" Tony countered. He was on autopilot, which happened to be defensive sarcasm. Tony tried to focus. "Nick, there is no way out of this but my way. I already signed the papers. And even if you shred them, I'll just stop reporting for missions. Want to detain me for disobedience? Fine. That will really make it hard to put on the suit."

Tony's voice was ice as he finished his speech, "There is no scenario where I come out of this as an Avenger. I'm not Iron Man anymore." I'm barely Tony Stark.

Fury looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and anger. It was an expression Tony had gotten too used to seeing. Fury sounded tired when he spoke next, "I expected more from you, Stark."

Tony wished he had a quick one liner to shut Fury up; something that was witty or suave, and would enable Tony to laugh through the pain. But the truth weighed down words: "It's not the first time I've been a disappointment." Tony turned to leave. "And I'm sure it won't be the last."

He left without waiting for Nick's response.

Fury's eye twitched, the movement betraying his usually unreadable face. He was genuinely surprised at Tony's admission. Things were clearly worse than he had anticipated they would be after the Civil War.

He pulled out his phone and made a call. Tony wouldn't listen to Fury.

But maybe he would listen to his captain.