It had been an unusual night in that he didn't wake at all in the middle of it and, as far as he could remember, no dreams haunted his rest. Tony was up by half past seven and feeling sufficiently awake that he didn't head straight to the kitchen for coffee; instead, he headed to the workshop to do a few small things before breakfast. It was a satisfying start to the day, and he hadn't had one of those for a while.
His upbeat mood lasted through breakfast and until he pulled out his phone to check on the decryption program's progress on the newest documents and instead found a reminder from Dr. Mann that he was due back at the hospital in two days for another set of tests. 'To see how you're healing', she said, but Tony knew the better question was if he was healing. Given the results last time, he couldn't be optimistic even though he'd been doing his best to abide by the rules she had set.
One thing allowed within the rules that he hadn't done as regularly as he should was exercise, so he resolved to remedy that. Conveniently, it was a team workout day. The official plan involved going for a run outside, which Tony was not allowed to do and was not sorry to miss. So he spent time on a treadmill while Rhodey worked with the physical therapist.
According to the usual routine, team training should have happened in the afternoon, but Natasha had to do something related to getting their PR person and she'd asked Wanda to join her, and Rhodey was beat from his time with the physical therapist.
After Rhodey fell asleep on the couch, Tony found out from Friday that Steve was alone in the training room and he decided to do something that was possibly reckless.
He slipped into the room unnoticed, then stood and watched Steve silently for several minutes, waiting for the right opportunity. Abruptly he called out, "Hey Cap, catch!" and flung the shield toward him.
Steve reacted instantly, reaching for it, then changed his mind and struck a glancing blow so the shield skidded to rest on the mats a short distance away. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, breathing heavily.
Tony sauntered closer. "Encouraging you to get back on the horse."
"I can't."
"Then is it all right if I melt it down? I've always wanted to try adding vibranium to my suit."
"No!" Steve cried, aghast, then looked sheepish. "I mean, isn't it still the government's property?"
"Nope," Tony said smugly. "With the Avengers officially under U.N. purview, the U.S. government owning Avenger gear is a no-go. Part of the bargain to get everything back from Ross involved the transfer of ownership to the Avengers organization. For a price, of course."
"So . . . the shield and Sam's wings now belong to the Avengers?"
"And Rhodey's suit and Natasha's tech and Barton's arsenal, yeah."
"No wonder Ross is unhappy."
"Yeah, well, he can thank himself for starting this ball rolling in the first place."
Steve stared thoughtfully at the shield gleaming several feet away. "Why don't you ask T'Challa for some vibranium?"
"I have. He is the one person on earth who doesn't need anything I can offer in trade."
"No, you can't melt down the shield," Steve said. "Did you notice that you called me Cap? You haven't done that since . . . haven't done that for months."
"It just slipped out," Tony said with a practiced nonchalant shrug. He had noticed and wasn't sure what to make of it. Consciously, he'd been avoiding that label ever since Siberia.
Steve went over to the shield and picked it up with both hands. He adjusted his stance, then threw the shield against the wall a couple of times. It bounced right back to him, as always.
The clanging sound as it impacted the wall made Tony flinch, but he tried not to show it. He inched away from Steve and toward the door.
Steve stared down at the shield for a moment, then turned quickly and flung it at the corner. It struck one wall, then the other, then sailed across the room toward the corner behind him. Tony found himself directly in its path and he only barely ducked out of the way in time. The shield bounced off the other corner and returned to Steve, who turned to catch it.
"I hope that wasn't intentional," Tony said, his heart pounding.
Steve looked at him, then frowned. "I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't realize you'd moved."
"Right. I'll leave you to it, then." He turned quickly on his heel, hoping to clear the room before the anxiety gripping his chest made it impossible to breathe.
There was another clang just before the doors closed and he shuddered, his skin clammy and his throat dry. His memory conjured the concrete missile silo, two angry super soldiers teaming up against him, the sound of the shield impacting his suit repeatedly. He made it around a corner before he had to stop and lean against the wall, then slid awkwardly down it.
He tried to think of Pepper and how she would have him focus on his breathing, in and out, then more slowly. He imitated that as best he could when he was also noticing the fluttering of his heart and worrying that he was doing more damage.
It took several minutes, but not only did he manage to pull himself out of the episode without assistance, he didn't feel ill the way he had the last few times. He hoped that meant he was getting better, though he wouldn't know for certain until after Thursday.
The possibility of the tests going poorly and his recovery time being extended yet again caused a different sort of anxiety and a looming sense of despair. He forced his attention away from that and onto climbing back to his feet, straightening his clothes, and continuing down the hallway like he hadn't just been a literal ball of anxiety against the wall.
He went in search of Rhodey, who was still on the couch where he'd left him, though now he was awake. Rhodey was on board with his suggestion to spend some time on his suit, checking the diagnostic scans and discussing how it responded during the mission, so they headed down to the armory.
On their way in, they encountered Steve on his way out. "Done already?" Tony asked with some surprise.
"I appreciate the gesture, but I can't do it," Steve said evasively. "Rhodes," he greeted Rhodey with a nod, then continued past them and down the hallway.
Tony didn't say anything as they went to the War Machine niche and Rhodey opened the doors, the suit gleaming in the light. Tony began tapping the panel to review the scan results from after the armor returned.
"What was that about?" Rhodey asked finally.
"Just an idea that didn't pan out," Tony said absently; everything looked fine, and there was no damage from the fight. "So, any comments about handling, weight, range of movement, stuff like that?"
Rhodey didn't answer for long enough that Tony finally tore his gaze away from the results he was skimming to look at him. His shoulders were squared and he wore his solemn 'we need to talk' face. "What?" Tony demanded.
"You don't even see the problem, do you," Rhodey said flatly.
"What problem?"
Rhodey sighed heavily. "That's what I thought. Let me lay it out for you: Rogers is a mess and that mission was a disaster."
"What are you talking about? We got their intel and blew up the base. What's wrong with that?"
"We accomplished what we hoped, but how it happened was a mess. The guy that was supposed to be leading us went unarmed into a firefight. He made himself our weakest link, putting the rest of the team and our objectives at risk, and he let us launch the mission without saying a word about it."
"Rogers was unarmed?" Tony repeated. "Obviously he didn't have the shield, but-"
"He had nothing on him but his uniform. That should not have happened and it cannot happen again," Rhodey said vehemently.
"He's a lethal weapon even without any kit. I should know."
"He should be benched for what he just pulled. He doesn't have the right to put everyone else at risk because he can't get his shit together."
"What do you want me to do? Me telling him that he needs to get his shit together is the pot calling the kettle black, and the HYDRA takedown is his business more than anyone else's."
"Are you in charge or not?" Rhodey challenged. "You told him that you are. Either step up and do what has to be done or step aside and let someone else handle it before somebody gets killed."
Tony took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let it out slowly. "All right, all right. There isn't another mission planned yet, so we all have some time to deal with our demons. When we get another one, I'll talk to him, make sure he goes prepared or not at all."
"See that you do, because if you don't, I will."
"I'm sure you'd enjoy pulling rank on someone who appreciates that sort of thing," Tony said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Damn right I would," Rhodey said with a firm nod, then grinned. "The best part of that mission was being out in the suit again."
And with that, the topic of conversation returned to what Tony had intended. He listened with half an ear as Rhodey commented about the feel of the suit and especially how it felt to walk in it, making the right noises in the appropriate spots and tapping some notes into his phone for later. The rest of his mind was whirling from Steve to the shield to his upcoming tests to his suit to Pepper to the team-that's-not-quite-a-team to Ross to the Accords and on and on and on until he had to tell Rhodey, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you just said."
"Yeah, I know. You zoned out on me like five minutes ago, so I stopped talking."
Tony rubbed his forehead as he looked anywhere but at him. "Sorry."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I just . . . I've got a lot on my mind."
"Would it help to talk about it? You know I'm willing to listen."
"Oh, really? I seem to remember the last time I tried to talk to you, you told me to talk to a therapist."
"You should do that, too. Have you sat down with Dr. Tanya yet?"
Tony glanced at him, then looked away again. "No."
"You should. She's a good sort."
"What, are you going to tell me you've talked to her?"
"I have, and I will again."
"Huh. Wouldn't have pegged you as the type."
"It's no big deal. I've talked to therapists before, sometimes required, sometimes not."
Tony didn't say anything, the idea of talking to Doc T having been added to his mental noise. That, too, inspired some anxiety, but if Rhodey and Wilson were to be believed, it might also help.
"Should we come back to this later?" Rhodey prodded.
"That depends. How much did I miss?" He read back the few notes he'd jotted down, adding a few details from what he did remember of the conversation.
"That will do for now," Rhodey said, inputting the command to lock it all up again. The doors silently swung closed. "I'm going to find Wilson. You can tag along if you want."
"Friday, locate Wilson."
"Sam Wilson is outside at the shooting range with Vision and Clint Barton."
"Sometimes you take all the fun out of things," Rhodey teased. "Are you coming?"
"No, I'll stay here to take care of a few things."
"Suit yourself. You know where to find me."
He nodded and they parted ways, Rhodey toward the doors and Tony toward his workshop. Once he was safely ensconced where only a select few could bother him unannounced, he sat heavily in his chair and put his face in his hands. Recently he had been lamenting the absence of his multiple mental trains of thought; now they were back in spades and he couldn't filter through the noise.
Worse, none of the things clamoring for attention could be resolved by him, if at all. Were it a matter of an idea that needed to be designed, he could do that and the idea would cease to niggle at him. But everything running through his mind was either out of his hands, may never have a complete resolution, or both. And then there was Rhodey's advice to bench Rogers. He resisted that idea but couldn't put his finger on exactly why.
He dropped his hands and stared dully at the blank screens, a far cry from his satisfied, productive self that morning. On impulse, he had Friday display Doc T's calendar. Her next open appointment was first thing the next morning. He almost had Friday put his name down, but closed the display with an abrupt motion. He still wasn't ready for that.
He had just remembered that he needed to add coming up with a way to see through his stealth tech to his to do list when Friday spoke. "Boss, Natasha Romanoff would like to speak with you."
For the barest moment he hesitated, debating whether he wanted to deal with her, but decided it would be easier to handle the whatever-it-was in private than have her corner him at the dinner table. "Let her in."
The click of high heels entering the room and coming to a stop just inside the door was the only response to his statement. When Natasha didn't speak, he lifted his eyes from his feigned study of his (still blank) screens and found she wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the floor in front of the table where he sat and he only just resisted the urge to peer over the top of his monitors to find out what she was looking at.
"What do you want?" he demanded, the words coming out more harshly than he had intended. He wasn't sorry.
She looked up just long enough to meet his gaze before her eyes skittered away again. "I came to apologize."
"Really. For which part?"
"It was unfair to draw the conclusions I did about the situation with the shield," she said slowly, almost uncertainly.
"You don't say," he shot back.
Her hesitance fled as she grew angry. "Dammit, Stark, I'm trying to say I'm sorry. Stop being a dick about it."
"You want to dictate how I'm supposed to respond to your half-assed apology? I'm sorry, that's not how this works. Remember your line about having to win trust back? You're a long way from having won mine so no, I'm not going to 'stop being a dick' about your assumption that I knowingly sent Rogers on a mission unarmed." He didn't raise his voice but there was no mistaking the anger in his tone.
After a moment, she said simply, "You're right."
Somehow the admission wasn't particularly satisfying. He didn't respond, watching her shift slightly, and realized the other shoe was about to drop.
"There's something else you should know," she admitted at length. "I knew about your parents, too. I didn't say anything because I thought Rogers would. I didn't know he hadn't until recently."
He had to look away, look down at his clenched fists as he focused on breathing slowly and deeply. The shock of his parents' murder had been blunted somewhat by time, so he could see past it to acknowledge that Natasha hiding the information wasn't a surprise. Her behavior was consistent with what he knew of her, which was more than he could have said of Rogers. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asked quietly when he could look up at her again.
She lifted one shoulder slightly in a shrug. "Because if I didn't and you found out later, I don't think you'd ever trust me again."
"So you do want me to trust you? With everything that's happened, I wasn't sure," he said sourly. "You're not going to play the double agent card again?"
"Would I be here if I didn't think we could make the team work again?" she countered. "If you're not sure about trusting me, why am I the one doing the hiring?"
"You're the best of us at reading people, so I trust you'll find someone competent. I just don't trust that you'll have my back."
She seemed vaguely unhappy. "There seem to be a lot of things that I've read wrong lately," she said quietly. "And you've borne the brunt of it."
"Yeah, well, it seems we all misjudged Rogers, so we have that in common."
She drew herself up straighter. "I am sorry about all this," she said. "I don't know how to prove it to you, but I am."
He sighed. "How about starting with the assumption that I can be a decent human being? I even make breakfast for people from time to time." He meant for his words to sound joking, but he just sounded tired.
A brief smile flitted across her face. "That, I can do."
"Then leave me alone. I have work to do."
"I thought you weren't supposed to be working. Doctor's orders," she said with mild reproach.
"Inventing isn't real work, now shoo," he retorted, waving her toward the door and turning away as if preparing to type on the nearby keyboard.
She hesitated, then her heels clacked their way out of the room.
He sighed heavily, set an elbow on the table, dropped his chin into his hand, and resumed his study of the blank screens, his mind whirling. So Rogers might need to be benched, Romanoff wanted to make up, and he'd find out if he even had a superhero future in two days' time.
Sometimes he wondered why he was still trying to coexist with the others, or at least why he hadn't listened to Pepper's suggestion of going somewhere else for a while. It might be nice to be where he didn't have to be on his guard all the time.
A/N: I will be traveling for work so the next chapter won't be up until at least April 3rd. Apologies, but since fanfic doesn't pay the rent... ;-)