Taryn watched Thor grab Loki none-too-gently and wrench him to his feet, her heart in her throat. Despite all his memories of defeats and punishments, she still found it hard to watch him being taken away to face whatever new torments the Æsir could concoct for him this time. For a moment all he'd endured in the past swamped her in a wave of agony and hopelessness that left her swaying on her feet.

When she managed to come back to herself, Thor was railing against Loki's nonchalance after decimating New York City, and Steve Rogers and Barton quickly joined in the verbal abuse. An enormous roar of rage from the green… thing… alien, she didn't know… was all it had to offer. Stark, however, stayed just as quiet as Taryn. Watching the play of emotion on his face, she abruptly remembered that he, too, had known torture.

She wondered if Stark understood what that façade of bravado cost Loki just then as well as she did, knew exactly how it felt to cling to pride when it was all there was left.

Just as Taryn was doing now. Because very soon someone would notice her there and want to know what had happened, and someone would put two and two together and realize why she'd been locked in a bedroom in Loki Central during the battle, or perhaps JARVIS would even tell them and remove all speculation. She wasn't sure she could handle the humiliation once it became common knowledge exactly what she'd offered Loki to call off his invasion.

Especially since he'd taken her up on the offer and then invaded the planet anyway.

Thor pulled Loki into the elevator, Rogers, Barton, and Natasha cramming in behind them. The enormous green monster–could that really be quiet, unassuming Bruce?–jumped right out the window as if the fall didn't matter at all.

And when Stark turned and met her eyes, she realized he'd known she was there all along–known and said nothing because she'd been right. He understood all about clinging to pride. "Hey," he said softly. "You all right?"

Tears abruptly welling in her eyes, Taryn wrapped her arms around herself, swallowed hard, and forced herself to nod. She wasn't sure if she was lying or not but there was no way she was going to whine to this man who had just fought off an alien army to save the planet. And from the look of the Iron Man suit, it hadn't been a cakewalk by any stretch of the imagination. "You?" she managed to reply.

Stark's gaze slid away from hers and jumped around the room for a moment before he scrubbed a hand over his sweat-spiked hair. "Honestly, I've been better," he admitted, and Taryn unexpectedly laughed. He glanced up in surprise before his warm chuckle joined hers. "I think we've both been better, yeah?"

"You could say that." The smile still lingered on her lips even as she dashed the moisture from her eyes. Perhaps it trembled there–he didn't comment and she could have kissed him for that. She gestured at his dented, scorched suit. "Not that I have a clue how I would help you, but do you need a hand getting out of that?" she asked.

He let his head drop back with a groan. "You know what, that's actually a pretty good idea," he said, straightening and looking over his ruined suit. "I don't actually know if it'll come apart at this point. Might be fused in a couple places, possibly radioactive, I have no idea. You ever use a cutting torch?"

"No, but I like fire," Taryn replied, and then they were laughing again, neither commenting on how shaky the other sounded, and when he went to a different elevator, she followed.

As the elevator doors slid open at their approach, JARVIS spoke up for the first time. "You are not radioactive, sir."

Stark let out a breath in clear relief. "Good to know. Thanks, Jarv."

"My pleasure, sir," the cultured, British voice replied. Taryn braced herself against the wall as the elevator plummeted. "Although the suit's sensors were damaged considerably during the battle and diagnostics are significantly crippled by both the EMP and the damage to the faceplate assembly, it also appears that use of a cutting torch will not be necessary."

This time it was Taryn who sighed in relief. Stark winked at her. "No playing with fire for you, what a shame."

"Are you kidding? I'm terrified of what Pepper Potts would do to me if I burned you!" she retorted. The red-headed CEO of Stark Industries had a ball-busting reputation for taking absolutely no shit and mowing down any and all competition.

"Probably give you flowers and a thank-you card," he said, and then the doors were opening, revealing a room that looked like some kind of mad cross between Star Trek and Dr. Frankenstein's lab. He stepped out, the suit audibly clonking and hissing with every movement, and she trailed behind, feeling like Alice in a technological Wonderland. "Hey, just do me a favor, don't touch anything," Stark said over his shoulder as he walked with clear difficulty toward a raised platform surrounded by intimidating yellow robotic arms. "There's a bar over there–" he pointed to the left, "–grab a drink, get me a double of whatever you're having, make yourself comfortable."

"Absolutely," she agreed. Honestly, she was terrified to touch anything even by accident–she would certainly not be touching anything on purpose. She walked to the bar as loud mechanical whirring started up behind her. None of the heavy crystal decanters were labeled, but she was certain they were filled with only the very best liquor, so she just picked up the first one and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into two glasses. At this point she didn't even care what it was. Never had she sought comfort in a bottle, but if she was ever going to start, after today she could certainly be forgiven for choosing to do so now.

Forgive me… I had no choice…

Loki's voice, tormented, echoed in her mind. She shuddered at the unexpected intrusion of everything she was trying so hard to force out of her mind and lifted her glass, tossing back its contents in one gigantic gulp. She shuddered all the way down to her toes as the liquor burned down her throat and turned her stomach into a fireball. "Whoo," she gasped, eyes tearing up, but within seconds she felt the alcohol hit her nerves and that explosion of numbness–was it even possible for numbness to explode?–was worth the burn.

After refilling her glass, she looked back toward Stark. He swore under his breath as two robotic arms tugged and twisted at his left leg, the only part of him still armored. "You want your drink now or should I wait until your machine finishes tearing your leg off?" she asked, wiping her forearm over her eyes to erase the stinging in her eyes.

"Are you kidding? I want that drink fucking yesterday," he growled. He reached out a hand, swaying dangerously on the single foot still on the floor, and wiggled his fingers. "Dum-E, take the glass from the lady, you have no idea how bad I need that."

Taryn huffed a little laugh but carefully crossed the lab toward him–that had probably been a triple-shot, and not only had she barely eaten today, she had never been much of a drinker. She was already feeling more than a little unsteady on her feet. A different mechanical arm, this one mounted on wheels, zoomed over to take the glass. "Yeah, you know what? I think I do," she said, reaching with exaggerated care to place the glass into the robot's grasping hand, and she pretended he wouldn't notice the slurring she could already hear.

Dum-E reversed, turned, and held out the drink to Stark. He took the glass but to her surprise, he didn't immediately empty it as she had. Instead, he held her gaze steadily despite the continued tugging at his leg. "Loki is a fucking idiot," Stark suddenly said. "You know that, right?"

Taryn stumbled when she tried to step back, and simultaneously the machines finally got Stark's leg armor undone. It hit the ground with a loud clang that made her jump and nearly caused her to spill her drink. She tossed half the second drink back and hoped the burn of it would erase the shame and humiliation that swamped her at Stark's pronouncement. "Yeah, right," she coughed, turning away, wondering if people really could die of embarrassment. Knowing that he'd likely guessed what she'd planned to offer Loki and having that confirmed were two very different things.

She heard the soft clink of Stark's glass on the desk before his hands closed over her shoulders. "I mean it, Taryn," he said, his voice still vehement, but gentler now. "He should've picked you. What's Earth got that's more important than–"

She pulled away sharply, lost her balance, nearly fell. Only a quick grab that luckily caught one of those yellow arms stopped her from landing on the concrete floor–had that arm been there before, or were Stark's machines programed to compensate for people with alcohol-impaired balance? "One person isn't worth a planet, Mr. Stark," she told him harshly. "I'm the idiot for thinking otherwise."

"Tony, remember?" he reminded her. Grasping her shoulders again, he guided her to a chair and made sure she didn't miss it when she sat down. She took another big gulp of whatever the liquor was–bourbon, whiskey, she had no freaking clue and didn't really care–and he frowned a little. She clutched the glass to her chest as if afraid he'd try to take it, but he didn't. Instead, he picked up his own glass and poured half of it into hers. When she looked up, surprised, he smiled a little. "Honey, I understand needing a little help to deal," he said with more gentleness than she would ever have expected. "You'll get no judgment from me."

Unexpected tears burned her eyes again. This time she couldn't choke them off. His understanding was the last thing she'd anticipated, and she had no defense against it. She covered her face with her free hand and sobbed. "Ahh, hell, don't do that," Stark–no, Tony–groaned, and he took both glasses and put them down beside her before hugging her tight. "I'm far superior to most men in every other respect, but I still hate a pretty girl's tears kill me just as much as the next guy."

His egotistical statement startled a laugh from her–watery but genuine. "My plan was so stupid," she whispered, trying to choke back the tears that still fell down her cheeks. "I actually thought he would pick me over ruling the freaking world. What the hell was I thinking?"

"He is a fucking idiot," Tony repeated more forcefully this time. When she shook her head, he pulled back and made her look at him. "Look, for all intents and purposes, I have the world, okay? I'm rich, powerful, by any measure on top of the world. Anything I want, I can have. But you know what money and power don't buy? The love of a good woman."

"I don't love him," she protested, but between the tears and the alcohol, she didn't sound very convincing.

"Maybe not," Tony said, not arguing the point. "But you understood his past and you stood up for him. You defended him to Thor and to me, and both those took some serious balls. For someone without anyone on his side, that's a precious gift. You were prepared to stand beside him and all he had to do was agree. I'm telling you, he's an idiot."

She lifted the glass, looked at the liquor within, then put it back down. Her sudden drunkenness wasn't as great as she'd hoped it would be. "Yeah, well, at least you succeeded where I failed," she said, dragging the heel of her hand over her face again, wiping her tears away. God, she was a mess. She tried to smile at him. "You're the hero, Tony. You and the rest of them. You saved the world. All I did was get locked up in a bedroom."

He gently wiped away the tears she'd missed. "Not true," he said, smiling at her. "You faced a supervillain all by yourself. Face it, sweetheart, you're Supergirl. We're just your sidekicks."

She laughed again. "I prefer Wonder Woman," she said, sniffling a little but actually starting to think she might survive the humiliation she'd suffered.

"Ooh, yeah, me too," Tony replied with a smirk. "She got tied up at least once in every issue of the comics. I'm convinced that's why she carried that lasso–not to catch bad guys, but to get tied up. Sexy as hell, man. Be Wonder Woman, by all means!"

Taryn smiled at him. She retrieved her glass and raised it in a toast. "Your Pepper is a lucky woman," she said, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. "To you, Tony Stark. Hero and all-around nice guy."

He cleared his throat, cheeks actually pinkening as he touched his glass to hers. "C'mon, Taryn, knock it off," he muttered, trying to pass it off but clearly touched. "Merchant of Death, remember? I've got a reputation to live up to." They drank, then Tony took both empty glasses and set them aside. He looked closely at her for a moment. "You know I'm not going to let you leave in this condition, right? You're staying the night."

Closing her eyes, Taryn nodded. It sent her equilibrium on a long, slow roll. "I might lose my mind later," she replied, not really kidding. "I'm not the only one in there. That okay with you?"

"Not really, but whatever you need to do," he said. "Not like I haven't seen it before with Bruce, anyway."

The mention of Bruce reminded her of the monstrously huge man who'd jumped off the balcony. "That green giant," she said hesitantly. "Is that–"

"Yeah, that's our mild-mannered Dr. Banner," Tony replied before she could even finish the question. "See why I didn't want you to Lokify him? That's what he calls the Other Guy and what we affectionally call the Hulk–mean, green, indestructible rage monster. Get him pissed off enough to lose his cool and that's what you get. But don't judge him too much for it. It wasn't his fault and he's a good guy."

"I know he is," she said, flabbergasted but somehow not surprised. After all, she'd watched some major bad-asses all treat him like he was the human equivalent of a nuclear bomb on a hair-trigger. "I knew there was more to him than it seemed." She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not exactly in a position to judge anyone, you know? I have a million miserable lives lived by a god destined to destroy everything in existence in my head. What's a little thing like green-giant-disorder got to compare with that?"

Tony laughed a little. "When you put it that way…"

He took a slow, deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "Well, let's start by getting you spectacularly drunk," he suggested. "Only the best–God knows I've got enough of it. Then we'll talk to Pepper tomorrow. She's a fixer, Pepper, best there is. Bruce, too. Between them, I'm sure we'll figure something out. I've got all the scotch you could want. Just so you know, this stuff you're drinking like water is around $3000 a bottle," he added, a teasing note in his voice. "If you want to get hammered in style, you chose well."

"Oh, God," Taryn said, eyes flying open. "You're not serious."

Tony nodded, still smiling. "Dalmore single-malt Scotch whiskey," he said, "forty years old. I have more expensive than that, if you like. You shot it down like a woman on a mission."

"Trying to silence the voices he put in my head," Taryn admitted in a whisper. She made herself meet his eyes again. "Tony, I don't know how I'm going to function after what he did to me. The memories, I mean. What am I going to do?"

"Look, don't give up, okay?" Tony urged, squeezing her hands as if reading the thought on her face. "Promise me that. I've got considerable resources and I'm going to help you. I don't think I could handle it if I woke up tomorrow and you'd… done something drastic. Okay? Promise me."

She knew what he didn't want to say. "I promise, Tony," she whispered. He smiled and squeezed her hands again–she could barely feel it after all the scotch.

Then he pulled her to her feet, steadied her for a moment, and finally steered her toward the bar. "Good girl," he said warmly. "Now, for the booze. I could use another drink or five myself. Have you ever wanted to be an astronaut, Taryn?" he asked, seemingly from nowhere. She frowned, then shook her head. "Good. Because I can tell you right now, it's overrated as fuck." He guided her to another chair, made sure she sat down without mishap, then went behind the bar. "What would you like first on your tour of ridiculously overpriced booze, then? Want to stick with the scotch or would you like to try some rum? I think this one–" he pulled out a sleek crystal decanter topped with an ornate silver stopper– "cost something like $25k. Haven't opened it yet, been curious. Want some?"

Taryn shook her head at him. "How on Earth could you spend that much on a bottle of rum?"

He smirked at her. "Haven't you heard, sweetheart? I'm stupidly rich. Gotta spend it on something, right? Stimulate the economy and all that? Pass your glass over here, we're having rum." Then he narrowed his eyes at her. "Actually, I'm having rum, you're having water. You don't look like you abuse your liver as much as I do. You're going to hate me tomorrow if you don't hydrate because it doesn't matter what it costs, it still kicks your ass if you're not used to it." He pushed a bottle of water over to her. "Down it all, then you get your rum."

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of water doesn't have the same ring to it," she muttered, but she guzzled down the water anyway.

"Atta girl," he praised, pouring her a generous measure of rum. "Here's your reward. Here's mud in your eye and all that." He tossed his back at one gulp, then grinned while she shuddered at a sip of hers. "Nice! I like it. Let's see what else we have. I think there's some cognac from the 1860s here somewhere… I keep all the best stuff here, the bar upstairs is too open…"

And as the rest of the afternoon passed in an increasingly tipsy blur of ridiculously expensive alcohol, Taryn blessed her unlikely new friend for giving her exactly what she needed right now–a shoulder to cry on (despite his protests), a complete lack of judgment, and most importantly, the promise of hope.