Tony dawdled as he changed and made his way to the training room but he still managed to be on time. Pepper would be amazed.

He arrived as Rhodey was stepping out of his suit in the nearest corner of the room. "I thought I'd even my odds a little bit," Rhodey said.

"I wish I could," Tony replied ruefully. He always felt out of his league around the likes of Steve and Natasha, with their extensive training. Wanda was the only other untrained person in the lot, but her actual abilities could blow any of them away.

As if on cue, Wanda appeared, followed closely by Sam. "What's your biggest weakness fighting hand-to-hand, Stark?" he asked with a grin.

"Fighting hand-to-hand," Tony said. "There's a reason I have a suit that flies."

"So if I took you on right here, what would happen?"

"You'd win. Eventually. I like to think I'd get a few good hits in first."

Rhodey scoffed.

Tony turned to him. "What, you don't think I could land a few? Some best friend you are."

"Being your friend has meant rescuing your ass when you get in over your head. It's happened a few too many times in my book."

"You make me sound like some damsel in distress. I can hold my own."

"Oh, yeah? Want to prove it?" Clint challenged as he joined them.

"Isn't that what we're here for?" Tony said evasively.

Steve and Vision arrived and put an end to the conversation before Clint could needle Tony any further. Tony was more than a little relieved; taking on Barton solo and sans suit probably wouldn't end well for him. Barton could be an annoying little shit but he knew how to fight.

After some warm ups-which included jumping jacks, how retro-they started with one-on-one unarmed fights that Tony and Rhodey merely watched. Vision watched, too, since no one but Wanda could do anything against his density-shifting ability. As they watched they commented on the performance of their teammates, mostly sarcastically.

Then they shifted to two-on-one, still without weapons. Clint and Sam held up pretty well against Steve, as did Sam and Wanda, but Steve was hardly even breathing heavily when they were done. Clint nudged Tony. "You think we can take him?"

"What, you and me?" Barton wouldn't have been his first choice of partners, but Rhodey couldn't spar without the suit, Sam had already gone two rounds, and he wasn't sure what he and Wanda could try that would be at all effective.

"Yeah. Or do you think you won't be able to hold your own?"

Tony looked at Steve calculatingly. Their odds weren't that good, but having the chance to punch those perfect teeth was hard to pass up. "Let's do it. You have a strategy?"

They murmured back and forth briefly, then fist bumped and stepped forward onto the mats.

Steve watched them warily, his hands curled into loose fists. "You sure you don't want a third person on your side?"

"Legolas here seems to think we can do it," Tony said conversationally, taking a defensive posture while Clint moved a little closer to Steve, also in a defensive posture. "And it's not like he cares what I think."

Clint attacked first, managing to land a few blows on Steve's torso before going low, as planned. Then Tony moved in and got a good shot in at Steve's face while Steve was distracted. After that Steve started fighting back and it devolved into something more like a bar brawl than a training exercise. But they got Steve off his feet and onto the ground, so Tony considered it a win.

When it was over and they were sitting on the mats, Tony shook out his hand as Steve rubbed his jaw. "You got me pretty good," Steve said grudgingly.

"You know I've been wanting to do that for a while," Tony said with a grin as he got up and offered him a hand up.

"Is that what this was about?" Steve said as he accepted the offer and sprang to his feet.

"Nah, it was just a convenient opportunity."

Clint lightly punched Tony's shoulder from behind. When he turned, Clint had his fists up. "C'mon, you and me."

"I don't think I like that idea."

"So you'll fight with me but not against me."

"Yes, that's exactly right. Far less chance of injury that way." As he spoke, he quickly activated his watch and sheathed his hand in the gauntlet, hoping Clint wouldn't notice.

"How about if I call you a damsel in distress?"

"I've been called much worse, and by people better than you," Tony said reasonably, then stepped forward, his left hand feinting toward Clint's face while he brought his knee up. He wasn't too proud to resort to dirty tactics.

Clint caught his hand and nearly managed to dodge the knee to his groin, then went on the offensive.

Tony caught his punch and then held on to his hand with the gauntlet while he struck Clint repeatedly with his left hand, landing a lucky strike to his solar plexus.

Winded, Clint withdrew. "You learned that from Nat," he wheezed, bending over with his hands on his knees.

"The hold and punch thing? I sure did. Would've worked better if I had been punching with the other hand, though."

"It worked well enough," Clint said, straightening and approaching him again.

Tony had thought they were finished, but he was proven wrong when Clint swept his legs out from under him as soon as he was close enough. He went down with a yelp and struggled as Clint tried to press his advantage. Tony stunned him with the flash of light from the gauntlet and then rolled over, pitching him off. There was some flailing after that, which only stopped when Clint began bleeding profusely from his nose.

"Ow!" he complained, both hands coming up to his face to feel the damage. "I think you broke my nose with your armor hand. Cheater."

Steve hurried over with the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and passing it to Clint.

"Pretty sure it wasn't that hand," Tony said defensively. His immediate reaction was guilt that he had hurt someone in a situation that didn't call for it. And yet, it did matter which hand he'd used, because if he had managed to do some damage even without the suit, that proved he had a chance of holding his own on his own.

"That doesn't matter," Steve interjected. "Barton, go to medical to get it checked out. Stark, put that thing away."

Wanda helped Clint up and went with him as he left. Tony silently started stowing the gauntlet, still kneeling on the mats. "Wait," Sam said. "Stark, what's it do?"

"Half a sec," he said, letting it fold itself away, then unfolded it again, wrapping his hand in gleaming red metal. "It can emit pulses of light or sound for disorientation, or, if I exhaust the power source, it can manage a short repulsor blast. Also, it's bulletproof," he said, remembering his brief face-off with the Winter Soldier in Berlin.

"Is that the same watch you used to muck up the audio on the Raft?"

"The one and only," Tony replied, letting the mechanism fold away again and grateful for the diversion.

"Why don't you make a whole suit like that? Fold it up, put it in your pocket, bam, you're good to go."

"I tried that. It takes too long to assemble." He got to his feet and addressed Steve. "So are we done here, boss?"

"If you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you." He said, sounding resigned.

"Then I'm going to tap out." Tony didn't wait for a response and headed for the door. It was too early for lunch; Rogers had probably intended for their sparring to last longer, but he'd ruined that plan. Well, Barton ruined it by insisting on fighting. But he could've been the better man, decided not to engage . . .

When had he ever been the better man?

He went to his bedroom and took refuge in the shower, spending countless minutes letting the water cascade over him, soaking his clothes, but the slightly soiled feeling of having unintentionally hurt someone didn't fade. It stung more keenly since Barton didn't deserve it, not really. Sure, Barton was an idiot, but so was he.

And thoughts of Siberia weren't far off. He'd attacked a teammate, former teammate, and meant it. Always that thought, that guilt, lurked in the corners, in the darkness, waiting to remind him that he, Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, was a sad excuse for a human being.

Yes, he had been upset about his parents' murder, about Steve knowing and not telling him, about the assassin being Steve's best friend.

Yes, some of the fight had been self-defense (after he'd started it), but again, he could have been, should have been, the better man.

He would never be the better man.

Where did that leave him?

All of his attempts to redeem his past life, his company's past life, his mistakes, his failures . . . all for what? First Ultron, now a broken team, perhaps broken beyond repair. Or maybe it was just him broken beyond repair. The rest of the them would be better off without him around, reminding everyone of the schism between them.

There were reasons he'd stepped back from avenging after Ultron. There were even more reasons to withdraw now. And yet here he was, trying to get the team back together and fit himself into it.

Why was he still trying?

Right now he didn't have any answer, much less a good one.

Friday broke into his reverie. "Boss, I've been asked to tell you that it's lunchtime."

"All right," he said numbly. The last thing he wanted to do was go down and face the others; the mere thought of it made his chest constrict with anxiety. Maybe he really should take some time away like Pepper suggested. He awkwardly stood up and began peeling off his soaked clothing. "Friday, does the list from Dr. Mann still include travel restrictions?"

"In-state travel is allowed, out-of-state travel is not recommended, and international travel is forbidden, boss."

So he could go to the Tower without being yelled at, but that would be worse than being at the compound, with the reminders of the team as it used to be while he rattled around the cavernous space alone. If he wanted to risk Dr. Mann's ire, he could head west . . .

He shut off the water and briskly toweled himself dry, the idea teasing at his mind. Could he? Apparently yes. Should he? Well, that was debatable. The reasonable answer was no. He was leaning toward yes.

He wandered out of the bathroom and grabbed his phone to send a quick message. Hey Pep, do you have plans for dinner?

Taking the stairs down ate up a little extra time, and he busied himself with his phone as he entered the main room, hoping to attract minimal notice. No such luck; he was the last one to arrive, so not only did everyone fall silent and watch him come in, the only seat open was across from Barton. Unless he wanted to sit at a completely different table, which was an option, but that would attract far too much attention.

There was already bruising across Barton's nose and under his eyes, but there was no visible bump and no bandaging so the damage wasn't extensive. Tony knew that from personal experience.

"How good of you to join us, Stark," Clint said dryly.

"It's a shame that my attempt to improve your face seems to have failed," Tony retorted as he surveyed the food on offer, taking some lettuce and piling it with chicken and shredded parmesan cheese. He noticed as he did so that the kids' dishes were already in the sink and he felt a pang of regret that he had missed them once again. Some uncle he was.

He slid into the chair opposite Barton and forced himself to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, well, I'm tougher than you'd think," Clint commented.

"I'll have to try harder next time."

"So there will be a next time?"

Tony shrugged and started stabbing at his salad. "Never say never."

"Good. I'd like a rematch when we're both appropriately armed."

"I've designed your arrows to be good, but they're not that good."

"Then we'll have to work on some improvements." He sounded remarkably cheerful about that prospect.

Tony looked at him suspiciously. "So we're good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

He nodded once, fully expecting that Barton was already planning a way to get even, and turned his attention to eating while the murmur of conversation carried on without him. He was nearly finished when his phone vibrated in his pocket, so he dug it out and didn't even try to be discreet as he read the message. Dinner meeting was just cancelled. Call me.

He finished his food at record pace and stood up from the table. "Sorry, I need to make a call," he announced to no one in particular, then dropped his dishes in the sink and left, heading for the privacy of his bedroom.

Pepper's greeting was abrupt and to the point. "Tony, are you trying to invite me to dinner? I thought you weren't supposed to travel."

"Yes, I am inviting you to dinner. Travel isn't recommended, but I need to get away for a little while."

He could almost hear her debating whether to demand more information over the phone or wait until she saw him in person. Eventually she asked, "How long is a little while?"

"Couple of days?" he said uncertainly. He hadn't thought that far ahead, but it sounded reasonable.

"Where will you be staying?"

Something else he hadn't considered. "The penthouse, I suppose. I might as well put the exorbitant rent to good use."

"It's being fumigated this week. One of the tenants a floor down found bedbugs."

Which was something he might have known, had he been checking his email. "That's . . . inconvenient." That also meant he'd have to pack any clothes he wanted to wear or buy new ones, since he couldn't raid a closet that was being fumigated.

"Very," Pepper said, then sighed. "You can stay with me. We'll talk ground rules when you get here." If you come remained unspoken; she knew that plans this hastily thrown together had a tendency to fall apart just as quickly.

"Let me know what you want for dinner, and I'll let you know when I'm due to arrive." He hadn't even considered how, exactly, he would get there, but he had options. He always did.

"All right. See you soon," she said, not sounding convinced.

"Love you," he said quickly before she hung up. He checked his watch and lingered in indecision, then shook his head and began to pack.

Within a half hour he was settling into the pilot's seat on a quinjet, his baggage tossed onto a seat. He'd considered just leaving a note about where he'd gone, but he did the responsible thing and told Rogers in person that he was going to see Pepper for a few days. Steve seemed surprised but didn't try to talk him out of it.

He sent Rhodey a message once the jet was airborne and on autopilot. I'm off to see Pepper for a bit. Try not to miss me too much.

Rhodey's answer wasn't immediate, but it was still fairly prompt. That's sudden. Is she all right?

She's fine.

Will you be back before the meeting?

That's the plan.

Will you be going?

He'd forgotten to check for a response from Dr. Mann about that, so he looked quickly and saw nothing. He had Friday send another query. Not sure yet.

Have a good time.

Always do.

That killed some time, but he still had hours before he'd need to take over from the autopilot. He paced a little, stared out the windows at the view, and spent entirely too long thinking about the team and his (lack of a) place on it.

The jet was somewhere over the Rockies when Dr. Mann's curt response arrived. I wish you wouldn't. If you do, take the Colonel as backup and notify me immediately if you have any trouble.

He nodded in satisfaction, let Rhodey know, and slouched in the pilot's chair, idly monitoring the various displays. Having everyone learn how to pilot the quinjets and at least one other vehicle had been Steve's idea and it had saved their bacon more than once. Tony hadn't needed much coaching, between piloting his suit and designing various flight-capable machines, so he'd become the de facto backup pilot if Clint was unavailable or unable.

Rhodey could step in, though. He'd had the most piloting experience of them all. Having him provide air support from the quinjet might even be a better use of his skills than having him in armor. He'd have to suggest it sometime.

That got him thinking about ways to make piloting a quinjet feel more like flying in a suit (there had to be a way), and it occupied his thoughts until Friday said, "Boss, we are approaching the Malibu coordinates."

In a fit of nostalgia, he'd included a flyby of what used to be his Malibu home in the flight plan. He straightened and took over the controls, reducing speed so he could fully take it in. The house hadn't been rebuilt; he still owned the land but hadn't decided what to do with it, so what remained of the concrete was slowly cracking and sprouting weeds.

He hovered the quinjet just beyond the cliff and stared. It was a nice location, worth a fortune. Now that curiosity had died down, maybe he should rebuild. Something smaller, easier to conceal now that he'd virtually perfected the camouflage tech that hid the full extent of the Avengers compound from unfriendly eyes. It could be just the place to retire, not tied to the others in any way.

Images of the house crumbling around him came to mind and he frowned. Not all memories here were good, that was true, but the good outnumbered the bad. He'd have to see what Pepper thought about rebuilding.

He directed the jet toward Stark Industries, landing smoothly near his private hangar. He notified Pepper of his arrival and quickly changed into a three-piece suit while one of the valets brought his car around.

He pulled up to the front of SI just as Pepper stepped through the doors. He rolled down the passenger window and called, "Hey pretty lady, can I give you a ride?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I honestly wasn't sure you'd come," she said as she climbed in.

"I'm making more of an effort, remember? What are you in the mood for?"

"Italian."

"Excellent. We have a reservation at six." He gunned the engine and began the fight against traffic that would get them to their destination just before six. "Friday, cancel all other reservations," he murmured as an afterthought.

Pepper kept glancing sidelong at him during the drive, even as she answered his questions about the company and what she had on her plate. She never asked, though, not through the drive nor through a leisurely dinner at her favorite Italian spot.

Her condo was in Santa Monica, purchased after the Malibu house was destroyed and Tony insisted she shouldn't go back to the crummy place she'd rented before moving in with him. She had paid for it, at her insistence, and if Tony had made sure her bonus that year was quite generous, well, he would never tell. She always deserved it. He'd only been inside a couple of times-as in, literally two-since they normally spent togetherness time at his penthouse with its generous bed and a hot tub in the master suite.

The decor was tasteful and understated, an oasis of tidy serenity, just as he'd expect from her. She dropped her keys on a small table by the door, then shucked off her heels. "All right, ground rules," she said, taking down her updo with a few efficient motions. "I am not taking time off just because you are here. I will follow my normal schedule and I expect you not to tinker with my belongings in my absence. I don't think I need to say it, but clean up after yourself. If you finish any of my food, you need to buy more."

"Pretty sure I can handle that."

"You'd better. And I expect you to adhere to Dr. Mann's rules. I know she gave you some, and I suspect coming here is either a flagrant violation or at least not quite within the terms she set." She crossed her arms and gave him that look.

"Out-of-state travel wasn't forbidden," Tony said defensively. "It's not like I flew in one of my suits."

"I expect you to provide me a copy of the current restrictions."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "Friday, you know what to do."

"File has been shared, boss."

"Anything else, my lady?"

"Help me out of my dress?" she said more seriously.

"Gladly, but I'm still on the meds so-"

"I really just need help out of the dress," she said. "Bring your bags."

Once Pepper was liberated from the jammed zipper in her dress, she vanished into the walk-in closet to change for bed. Tony did the same, gratefully removing the suit that didn't feel like it was fitting quite right anymore. It wasn't tight, it just wasn't as comfortable as it used to be and he wondered if it was a physical problem or if it was entirely in his head. Either was possible.

He rehung the suit, then Pepper took it and his garment bag and put them in her closet. "I forgot to mention, I'm seeing my personal trainer in the morning. If you'd like to come, you're welcome," she said as she went from closet to bathroom.

He'd brought workout clothes, but her preference for early morning sessions wasn't his style. Especially if he didn't sleep well. "Maybe."

He waited until she was finished before taking his turn in the bathroom, and by the time he was done she was already in bed, sitting up against the headboard while doing something on her phone. He climbed in on the other side and started to lie down, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid it onto the bedside table.

She glanced over at him. "You've got messages or something," she said.

He flipped the phone over so the blinking light wouldn't bother her. Why that was an issue when his arc reactor never was, he didn't understand. "I know. I don't care." He settled onto the pillow with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes.

He heard Pepper set her phone down, click off the light, and rustle the sheets as she laid down beside him. Her hand came to rest gently on his chest. "Tony, why are you here?" she asked, finally voicing the question he'd been expecting for hours.

Despite knowing it was coming, he hadn't come up with a good response. "Like I told you, I needed to get away for a little while."

His words hung in the air for a while before she spoke again. "You were against the idea when I suggested it a few weeks ago. What changed?"

"What, I can't want to see you?" He set his hand atop hers.

"That's never been enough reason in the past."

"I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Tony," she said reproachfully.

Silence.

Finally he admitted, "I broke Barton. Well, his nose." He told her what had happened and she listened without comment.

When he finished, she said slowly, "So he challenged you, you broke his nose, and now you're feeling guilty? I don't understand."

"It's not the first time I've hurt someone that I didn't need to fight. And I cheated."

She sighed. "Tony, Barton challenged you, and he's been around you long enough he should expect that you might have something up your sleeve. If you can't live with that, I don't know what to tell you."

"I'm thinking about rebuilding in Malibu. It would be a good place to retire."

"If that means becoming more involved in the company again, the board would love it. But you can't seriously be thinking about giving up Iron Man for good. You've already tried." And failed, but that went without saying

He shrugged. "All options are on the table. Anyway, it's been months since I've had a functional suit and I'm surviving all right."

"Are you?" she immediately countered. "I wonder, because the things you're saying right now do not sound like you. You enjoy saving the day a little too much to go back to only being a businessman."

"Maybe there's a happy medium in there somewhere."

"Since when do you, of all people, deal in happy mediums?"

"Since I got old," he said glumly. "And dealing with bureaucrats has a way of wearing you down."

"Tell me about it," she said sympathetically. "Tony, I'm glad you came, but being here isn't going to solve what's bothering you. Promise me you'll call Dr. Tanya tomorrow. She can talk you through this better than I can."

"I'll think about it."

"If you don't, you're sleeping on the couch tomorrow night."

"That's blackmail."

"You chose to come here."

"Fine."

"Thank you. Good night, Tony."

"Good night." He turned and kissed her briefly, then rolled onto his side to try to sleep. With any luck, he might even succeed.