Was not a star on our side

As long as Tony is in the hospital he doesn't really feel anything but numbness.

When he comes back and reads the cards he is happy and it's a warm amazing feeling in his guts and he's smiling, but it can only last for so long.

He manages to sleep somehow, thank heaven for the pills, even if it feels more like being unceremoniously knocked into unconsciousness rather than real sleep, but it's efficient and right; he wakes up in the morning less tired and feeling a bit more like himself, even though all that will be a thing for some time, he knows it will.

Dealing with Pepper: easy. Masks perfectly in place. Tony plays his role and it's an Oscar-worthy performance, but it's the second act of the play so he already has a lot of experience other than all those years he's been practicing all secretly. Before –

– before Happy knew.

Now he has to talk with Happy, when the man comes from wherever Tony has told him to go, he can't really recall. He's been avoiding talking in the hospital, but he can't, he can't, he can't avoid it forever even if that sounds like something he'd want. Usually making bad decisions is easier, Tony knows a thing or two about that; it's not time to allow himself that now, though.

Happy comes back with food. It's a simple chicken soup and some fresh warm bread rolls; all according to doctor's orders: even though there wasn't any real surgery, Tony is a convalescent for the next few days and he's supposed to rest a lot and eat light food and visit the hospital every two days to have a nurse look at the angry red line on his abdomen.

'Before you say you are not hungry, boss, let me tell you that I don't care and you're more responsible than refusing to eat when you know you need the strength,' Happy states before he even manages to put the food on the table and take shoes off. Tony looks up from where he is sitting on the sofa – see, he's been resting like a good boy, only partially because it hurts – and nods at his friend.

'Okay,' he replies, making a face. 'Okay, mama bear.'

'That's not even remotely funny,' Happy replies loudly from the other room and a moment later he comes back without shoes and coat. He issmiling a bit though. Tony sticks tongue at him and moves to stand up and drag himself to the kitchen table, but Happy gestures at him to stay down and disappear again. Tony obeys. A few minutes later Happy brings hot soup in giant mugs and the bread rolls with generous amount of butter and some fresh herbs.

'You in pain, boss?' Happy asks, handing Tony the mug and sitting down next to him. Tony doesn't reply, just takes a reluctant sip of the almost tongue-burning soup; it's the prefect taste, of course, Tony recognizes straight away where Happy got it from. 'I thought Levy managed to get into that thick head of yours that if you're in pain, you are supposed to take painkillers that she gave you.'

'Mhm,' Tony murmurs into the mug and continues to sip the liquid. Happy sighs deeply on his left, but doesn't get up.

They eat in silence and Tony is proud of himself for almost finishing his soup and a bread roll; he honestly hasn't expected to be able to eat that much, but maybe it was a mixture of stress, feeling nauseous for too long and what little remained of his appetite; the warm liquid soothes his stomach, though, and it is a pleasant feeling.

Happy takes the mug from his hand and stands up to take them to the kitchen; Tony watches the man, unblinking, as he takes even big steps and disappears behind a corner – and comes back two minutes later. Tony doesn't know why, but he hasn't really expected that.

'Don't go,' he realizes he's just said that aloud and looks away.

It's not something Tony Stark does, but Tony doesn't know who he is at the moment. It doesn't feel like he is Tony or Iron Man or Nate, it doesn't feel like any of the masks is on – and he doesn't really know what is left underneath. It's raw and painful and confusing.

'I wasn't planning to,' Happy replies and comes to sit on Tony's left again. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Tony doesn't acknowledge those words. They sit in silence for what feels like a second, but Tony knows it's twenty-seven minutes because he checked the time.

'Why are you still here?' Tony asks Happy when the numbers on the clock change to a full hour; it's good to see four zeros at the end of the number, it seems orderly and right, and Tony likes order a lot.

'You asked me not to go,' Happy replies easily. 'For one. And I don't want to be anywhere else.'

'That's romantic,' Tony murmurs weakly. It's difficult to talk and it gets only more difficult as the sun is moving on the sky and crawling slowly into the room with its long and surprisingly warm rays. The room is so still and the air is so thick that Tony can swear he can see the tiny pieces of dust swimming around lazily, never falling to the ground.

'You can keep dreaming, boss,' Happy replies, also quietly, but his voice seems booming in the still space anyway.

'Mhm,' Tony murmurs absentmindedly again. 'I didn't want you to know,' Tony says. Happy looks at him sharply. 'I don't want you to know. I don't want anyone to know.'

'That is stupid thinking,' Happy comments, eying Tony uncertainly.

'I know,' Tony admits weakly. 'I'm a genius, I know, but I don't want to –'

'Why?'

'I don't want to talk about it,' Tony replies quickly, burying his face in his knees.

'You never want to talk about anything,' Happy counters, never tearing his gaze away from Tony's smaller figure. 'The only person you ever tell things is JARVIS.'

Tony doesn't reply, but he loves Happy so much for being one of these few people who call the JARVIS a person and not just an A.I. or a computer or nothing at all.

'And you talk to JARVIS only when you –'

'Don't you start to psychoanalyze – and patronize me, not you too,' Tony cuts in, still talking into his knees, his voice muffled and low.

'I'm not going to. I'm going to do nothing but tell you that you are being stupid, but well, you know that very well. I told you that when you decided not to tell Pepper or Rhodey.'

'I don't want to talk about that –' Tony repeats stubbornly, feeling as if someone was making a hole in the middle of his abdomen; the emptiness it overwhelming, but he is not going to break his word, a word he gave himself, and it would only make everything worse.

Just a few months. A few, a few.

He can't imagine telling them anyway; it's easier not to because he knows what they will be like; they will panic and coddle him and try to act normally but won't manage to be convincing enough to fool him. He might act fooled – they always expect it – but he never is. Genius, remember?

Then, suddenly, he realizes that there is a hand on his shoulder and he's feeling lightheaded and his breathing is strange and too intense – don't, just don't, he tells himself but it's just words and he knows perfectly that he is hyperventilating but he can't stop.

'Tony,' Happy's voice cuts through the buzz in his ears, 'Calm down, boss, okay? I've got you here. I've got you.'

Tony knows, but knowing and acting, knowing and persuading his body that it is real it not easy when your head is fuzzy and you've got lights dancing in front of your closed eyes and –

– Happy's big arms wrap around Tony's shoulders and it's like a magical barrier.

'Tony, calm down,' Happy says is the same flat patient voice; Tony can feel the man's heartbeat, slow and regular and so different from his; he can feel the man's chest moving regularly and breath by breath he tries to follow the pattern. It makes the noise and the lights disappear after a few minutes, Tony knows it's a few minutes. 'Boss, you with me? Are you okay? Do you want me to call Doc?' Happy asks slowly, his voice clear, the words easy to pick out and Tony hates it, even if it genuinely helps.

He doesn't want to need special treatment.

'Are you going to be okay?' Happy asks and Tony snaps; he knows that it's wrong and cruel and terrible of him but he can't stop himself, it's just all the anger, all the frustration, all the fear building up –

'Of-fucking-course I will be okay!' Tony shouts, wriggling out of the man's grasp and moving to the end of the sofa; he knows it looks more pathetic than anything else, scrambling backwards like that, running away like that, but he can't stand this – everything. 'Stop pitying me!' he shouts, too, and looks away not to see Happy's face.

'I don't pity you,' Happy counters firmly, but doesn't move, not even a slightest shift.

'Of course you don't,' Tony mocks; he doesn't know why, but his throat hurts a lot. And his head.

It's just all so pointless.

'No, I don't, but I can't you believe me when I say that –'

'Can you go away now?' Tony interrupts because it suddenly seems like a great idea: he would be okay if he was by himself. He would be okay if there was no one to look at him like that and no one to ask questions and it'd just be calm.

'I won't.'

'You what? Can you get the fuck out of here? It's my house and I – I want to be left alone!' Tony shouts again, surprising himself: he isn't the one to do so normally, but – this is everything but normal –

I just want to be alone, Tony almost wails, but he stops himself, somehow, just a moment more –

'Don't you understand, boss? I'm not going away anywhere,' Happy states calmly and a moment later he's next to Tony and tries to wrap his arms around him again; Tony kicks and tries to move away but he is too weak still, and too hurt, to put up a real fight or resist truly, and a moment later he finds himself almost in Happy's lap, face buried in the man's clothes – and crying.

It is pianissimo, piano piano, stifled choked sobs when he is shouting and then suddenly, with Happy holding him, it's forte and there is no stopping the tears; Tony hates himself so much for showing such a weakness that there are no words to express it, he hasn't been like that – ever, probably ever – but he can't stop.

His chest starts hurting too soon, around the reactor, and his back and the stitched abdomen and his head, he feels bile and tears in his throat but it's okay, he swallows it and doesn't throw up all over the carpet, accomplishment of the day, but the tears make it hard to breathe.

'No, Tony, calm down, I know it's difficult to breathe but go with me, okay? Like me,' Happy instructs calmly and if Tony was not so in denial he would notice the concerned unsure note in Happy's voice. 'You see, this is what you always do. You always want us all to leave you alone, so that you could deal with whatever is on your mind on your own, and I'm not letting you – no one should have to do this alone,' Happy continues. 'You've got to let it out at some point, Tony. I know you never did after Afghanistan, you didn't last year when all this started…'

'Hate crying,' Tony mumbles, but nevertheless he can't stop.

Happy tightens the hug and doesn't seem to mind the way Tony is trembling.

'I know you do, boss, but sometimes you just need it.'

Tony says nothing.

It takes him a full hour to calm down enough to be able to breathe normally and speak without choking on tears, and Happy hasn't said anything more and hasn't done anything but hold Tony and stroke his back reassuringly. Tony hates that it helps, but doesn't say that out loud because they both know it.

When Tony finally moves from his leaning-on-Happy position, he takes a few moments to breathe and get used to sitting up; he doesn't feel like fainting, another success of the day.

'I'm not going to make you talk to me or anything,' Happy says, observing Tony closely, 'and I won't suggest that you talk with a psychologist or anyone, I just – it really just helps to say some things aloud, Tony. It's not the matter of answers, it's just the matter of letting some words out… Talk to JARVIS, maybe, or to yourself, if that helps, just don't – don't try to put on a smile now and bottle it up. It's not gonna work.'

'And when did you become so skilled in makeshift psychology?' Tony asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He's sick of being tired all the time, including after all the sleep he's got recently.

'You pay me to stay behind, unnoticed, and observe people. I might have picked up a thing or two, and besides, you know it very well – you're messed up, boss. Most people are piece of cake to read, compared to you, and during that decade I've been working for you, I had to come up with my own Tony Stark handbook…'

'I am a fucking mess,' Tony admits almost inaudibly, but he knows that Happy knows him well enough that he doesn't really need to hear those words spoken to know what Tony is thinking. 'I am scared,' Tony adds, not moving. It feels strangely bitter, saying those words aloud.

'Well, of course you are –' Happy starts, but Tony doesn't let him continue. It's about something else, right?

'No, you don't get it – I am scared,' Tony repeats, saying the words more slowly and firmly. 'I haven't been scared like this during any of Avengers missions, I haven't been the previous time, I – I haven't been scared like that in Afghanistan, even, I was desperate and angry and focused and it was all well beyond being scared, I figured I'll just die quickly and with purpose and it's – two to three years, Tony, fuck –' Tony stops right there, choking down another sob and before he can try to stop himself, he's crying again and he's embarrassed and in pain and there is nothing he can do – that's the big thing, there is nothing he can do, there is nothing that can be done at all, by anyone, he is just supposed to somehow go on while being aware, every second of every hour, that right under the stitched cut and later the scar on the abdomen, that there is something there, killing him from the inside that can't be helped, can't be removed, and nothing can be predicted, really; all that only makes his stomach feel like turning inside out.

And Tony really feels like he is being irrational, it's not like he is going to die tomorrow, at least it's not any more likely than it's been his whole life. It's just that – there are so many things he has to take care of now. Soon. Sometime soon. And even just thinking about that seems impossible.

It takes Tony two days before he really stops. He honestly doesn't remember crying that much ever and it's silly because he is just wasting the little time he has left while he should be up, out, doing something –

– and instead, he tells Pepper he's working on a project and can't be disturbed and spends most of those two days in bed and on the big sofa in the living room, in a fetal position because it makes his chest and abdomen hurt less. Happy brings him food and coerces him into eating and sits with him for hours, but seems to know exactly when to leave him alone.

Doc comes, too, and Tony is too tired to sit up and pull the masks back on. But Doc has seen him being a mess like now probably more than anyone but JARVIS.

'I want to punch you now, but that would be unethical,' Doc tells Tony when he's doing the stiches check-up, since Tony doesn't feel like going to the clinic or inviting some nurse into his home.

'Why?'

'Because I know you are feeling indulgent and guilty and it's dumb, because you simply can't understand that you can't rush yourself now, can you? You've got some irrational feeling that you owe something to the humanity and you're wasting time on yourself, and might feel true, but it'snot. Right now, there is nothing – nothing, you got it? – that is more important than you. Give yourself a week or a month or a fucking year, if you need it.'

Tony considers.

But it only makes him more assured that he's been doing the right thing all along: disappear. Being someone other than Tony Stark means there will be so much time he'll have for himself, to – figure things out.

Doc doesn't react when Tony cries and Tony is incredibly grateful for that.

After those two days, Tony spends the morning packing three suitcases if (of) items he will need from the house and gives them to Happy, asking the man to take them to Nate's future flat. Happy agrees reluctantly and admits that he doesn't feel like leaving Tony alone, but in the end he drives away.

Tony puts on a hoodie with the hood over his head, a baseball cap and sunglasses, an insulated jacket and old jeans and a pair of worn-out sneakers. JARVIS told him, giving the weather overview in the morning, that it's sunny and snow-less but cold. Tony likes that; it makes going incognito only easier.

'Tell Happy that I am okay and that I went for a walk,' Tony says before leaving the apartment.

It's a better cover than most: no one expects Tony Stark to walk anywhere, especially in the morning and dressed like that.

A week to Christmas, Tony realizes when he's out of the building. There are so many people around, much more than normally, almost all bearing bags and boxes and more bags, wearing thick gloves and big scarves and winter boots. There are decorations everywhere, too, lights and tinsels and trees, Santas and reindeer, red and green, silver and gold, everything flashing, blinking, moving, and everything so fucking shallow.

Tony is tempted to go back as honestly, it's all overwhelming and he is nursing a headache, but he doesn't.

Instead, he keeps walking for a few hours, until his feet hurt and he feels strange, as if he was a ghost passing among all those living people. Dragging his feet and body clad with the big and uncomfortable clothing is tiring but he manages, he always does, that's what being a Stark means. No matter what it's about, he manages, because letting yourself fail at the small things makes you fail at the big ones, a natural consequence.

The Christmas atmosphere has never felt so unfitting before, and that's saying something as Tony has never really celebrated the holiday after he was sent away to boarding school when he was seven.

Back home, he slowly starts to pack other things; there are still some weeks before moving out, but he needs it all to be slow and subtle and thorough. Happy helps, the bots pick things up for him and place them in suitcases and boxes, excited and just a tad anxious – if someone calls robots anxious, it's Tony, of course – and then help to pack them into the car.

During the next few days, more and more little things disappear from the rooms and a whole lot more does from Tony's personal spaces where no one but him enters so no one will ask questions.

'It's only completing the whole big process,' Tony tells JARVIS when he's packing some tools he's not going to use anytime soon. 'It feels like that, everything around disappearing piece by piece. Seems fitting.'

'You will be the same person even when you change your name,' JARVIS replies – well, comments, since there wasn't any question and it's more of an opinion than anything else. 'You are still a whole.'

'Only four people in the universe know that, though,' Tony notes. There will be some more when Tony tells the few people in hospital he has totell, but that's job for January. 'Three corporeal – one of which is me – and one you,' he adds, flashing a smile at the nearest camera.

'Is it… difficult, sir?'

'What do you mean, J?' Tony asks, frowning, but keeps organizing the wrenches in the metal box neatly, movements mechanical and sure.

'Betrayal.'

Tony looks up sharply at the word and blinks a few times, trying to figure out if the vowels and consonants he's heard make sense. But JARVIS never makes mistakes.

'Betrayal?' Tony repeats and then snickers. Is that what the whole situation is, objectively? 'You mean, I'm betraying the whole world, or the whole world has betrayed me?'

His voice is clearly amused and Tony knows JARVIS would frown if he could.

'I don't know, sir – probably both.'

Tony laughs, but it only makes his recently all-the-time-sore chest hurt more.

'I don't think it is betrayal on either side,' he says in the end, closing the box and handing it to You to be put with other things to take to Nate's place. 'They just do, viciously but okay, they just do what they think is their job. And I run away, that's a bit cowardly, but we've been through that –'

'Indeed, sir.'

'I don't feel like I am leaving a lot behind,' Tony muses, offering JARVIS another smile, this time a real one. 'Funny thing, right? Genius, inventor, billionaire, playboy and owner of what, one tenth of the U.S., hmm? And I don't feel like I am leaving anything important behind. I'm – I'm fuckingforty-one now. Forty-one and a half and I leave behind everything I have ever done – besides Iron Man, okay, but still – and it feels like nothing, it's not even a difficult decision,' Tony says and laughs harshly, feeling tears in his eyes again, and takes a few ragged breaths to calm himself down. Again.

But it really isn't difficult, running away.

It's interesting to think what things would be like if one of the variables was different: if there was no madness about SI, if there was no Iron Man, if there was no Afghanistan and its consequences, if there was no cancer and no dying… But it's all just speculation.

And Tony doesn't like anything but facts or theories he can prove.

'I only want you to be happy, sir.'

'Do you even know what it means, happy?' Tony asks curiously. Logically, the A.I. should grasp the concept, but not feel it, not get it, but JARVIS is more than anyone could have ever dreamed of.

'I don't really feel human emotions, sir, you know that,' JARVIS says before giving the real answer; Tony knows it's almost true. 'I believe it's the opposite of what flashed through my – system – when you told me you will be gone thirty years sooner than statistically expected for your health, nationality, social class, et caetera. I – there will be no one and nothing out there world for me and at that point, nothing in the world will really matter when you are not there, sir. Not even to me, I believe, a programmed being.'

'I don't know how yet, but I won't let anything like that happen,' Tony promises and knows that JARVIS knows that he is going to keep his word.

On Christmas Eve, Tony wishes Pepper happy holidays, takes the suit and flies to Malibu because he needs to think and he needs – the ocean. He needs the ocean.

During the flight, he calls Doc and asks tells him he has decided to try the radiation.

'That's the best Christmas gift, kid, even if I don't celebrate Christmas –'

'Why?'

'Well, I think it means I get to fake-wish you Merry Christmas next year, too,' Doc explains, making Tony smile just a bit. Yes. It probably means just that.

The first thing Tony does when he arrives to Malibu is leave his bags and then go to walk by the shore. It is juts morning and it's ridiculously warm compared to New York, almost – almost like early autumn.

The wind engulfs him as soon as he gets down the cliff: it brings little drops of water and then makes them dry, leaving salty marks on his face. He licks them from his lips and it feels funny, like tears; rain is not like tears – but the breeze of a sea is.

After some time he lays on his back, feeling an immediate ease in his spine and chest around the reactor, what feels like his body is happy with the rest it can finally get. Tony's hands go under his head and he know too well in a few minutes his arms will be all numb but it is the least of his worries. When he shifts the sand is moving under his body not unlike water mattress in his bed.

It takes some time, even with the comforting sounds, before he falls asleep and when he wakes, it is to the sound of waves crashing frantically and the sky being covered with dark grey clouds talking of storm. He draws a deep breath, so deep that his lungs start to hurt. He imagines he can feel the molecules of air coming through his mouth and nose into his lungs, then moving into his blood cells, being carried to every single cell in his body, to his bones, muscles, and nerves, and it makes him shiver inwardly.

The weather, the ocean, they capture Tony's whole attention and he focuses on them and shivers shivers shivers and gives himself to the wind, letting it flow in his veins. His heart is pounding and his head starts hurting and he can feel the rhythm the firm ragged beats in his temples; that is good. After those few weeks of being almost in a different world he feels real, he finally feels real.

Tony gets up and suddenly finds himself running through the sand, slipping on the moist ground but he likes it and laughs mirthfully, like a little baby who just learned how to walk; then he falls and remains laying for a few minutes, eyes closed because the wind makes them dry and hurting.

Tears start coming again, but this time – to cleanse – and it's just like salty water of the ocean, and amidst that storm he feels happy.

'Why do I have to choose,' he whispers to himself. 'Why do we all have to choose and can't just do things like this all the time.'

The words are lost to the roaring wind and the music it plays; it feels like there is nothing but Tony himself on the earth now, it's so easy to forget.

He gets up and runs faster even though his legs are weak, his whole body is still weak, but he does not feel that really, he is over such weakness – that's what being a Stark is a about, again, again, always, even if he's not going to be a Stark for long now – he is over everything, it's like flying, blending in the dark water.

When he's finally out of breath he stops and sits down, wrapping his arms around himself; then he lays on the sand again and curls in a ball and laughs, the laughter is hard and bitter and free. It is all like walking in a mist, or being at the edge, between two worlds, one is behind him and it is grey and brown and white, everything he's done and been before – and the other is in front of his eyes, it is the enchanting ocean and unending sky and the horizon, and everything farther, other countries, continents, planets, stars, galaxies, universes…

'I see the shaded part on one side where the sleepers are sleeping,' Tony mouths soundlessly, 'and the sunlit part on the other side, I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade, I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as my land is to me.'

Then this thought comes to his mind, that he could go there forever, it would be so easy, to easy, almost too easy, just keep going forward without hesitation and they the darkness would claim him and he would wake up in a different world –

– a sirens' song, he is being called, they promise rest, and calmness and comfort, everything he's dreamed of, everything – so he gets up and walks slowly even though his thoughts are racing and he's dizzy, but he keeps going, puts his feet forward and cold water claims them and then his calves and his knees and his thighs and hips and abdomen –

– everything suddenly goes quiet.

He can't hear the wind anymore, or waves or gulls, there is only the ringing noise in his ears getting louder and louder until it is too much and starts to hurt.

Tony puts his both hands into the water and cleans his face; the water is so salty and bitter, his eyes sore from it. He can feel the pull of air around his chest and arms and head but it seems to be silent.

'What have I done,' he whispers. 'What I would have done…'

It is not what he wants, and even if it was, Tony – he would never kill himself, he knows he is too close to death anyway, but it is so enchanting, so great, the rush in his body, the trembling with excitement and anticipation… A whim, a mistake, he can't say why he would even step into the water but he wants to stay there forever –

– and when he thinks forever, everything snaps back in place because it's like a fucking punch these days, it's a trigger these days: there is no future, no planning, no in a few years, certainly no forever.

Everything snaps back in place: the wind is howling around him again and he is shivering more and more when the high waves keep coming; he chokes on the air and blinks countless times when the tears come.

He turns around tries to run thru the thick water to the shore and when he finally manages to get out of the sea's grasp his steps unexpectedly feel so light, like flying, and the freezing sensation hits him. He takes a few more steps and falls and this time it hurts, but – being free always hurts.

'I can't do that again,' Tony tells himself but it doesn't help and he starts crying so much that it is hard to breath, tears keep running down his throat: suddenly it all feels so definite, so fucking impossible to accept: that there will be so few nights like that. That instead of decades he has years now – even if he's never expected to live for so long, probably, but he's never expected to die so soon, either – and everything seems finite. That he cannot stay here forever and even forever would not be long enough.

His arms and legs feel too weak, the body exhausted with all the recent events refuses to do anything at all and he has no strength to get up; it feels like being dead and resigned and free, at the same time, so free.

Tony manages to smile, close his eyes and ignore the cold; it takes him a long time to calm down enough to fall asleep again.

When he wakes up it is probably the middle of the night and he can see the most beautiful starry sky he could have ever imagined, something he always misses when he's not here.

'It was worth it,' he says to himself, words sounding strangely firm. 'It was all worth every pain, wasn't it?'

He doesn't move. The clothes have dried on him and now feel itchy from salt but Tony can hardly notice anything but the stars, and he makes the only right decision: to forget about everything for now and give himself to them.

'I will make things right,' he tells the night sky. 'I still don't know how exactly and I should know because I don't have enough time to waste on thinking, but… Iron Man will make things right. Nate will – I will.'

A/N: First of all, thank you for the comments! I was so happy to read you enjoyed the last chapter, I hope this, even though more introspective than plot-driven, was to your liking too. I will love you forever if you keep giving me all the incredible feedback!

Beta-ed by Quaxo, all remaining mistakes are mine.

The next installment, I sing your restless longing, will be a closer introduction to a certain Nate Rives :)