Tony took the stairs up to his suite, the joke about bedbug-bots quickly lost as his mind whirled with snippets of conversation, things he needed to remember, things he needed to do, things he should do . . . You could have saved us. Why didn't you do more?

He shook his head violently, trying to chase away the image of dead teammates with something less troublesome. Like Pepper. Pepper was a safe mental place. Except for the falling-to-what-he-thought-was-her-death part. But she survived, he just saw her a few days ago.

I love you. The message was short and to the point, and he dearly needed her to respond somehow.

His phone rang a moment later. "Hey Pep," he said, sinking heavily onto the couch.

"Tony, what have you done now?" She sounded amused.

"Done? Why do you think I've done anything?" He bristled at the insinuation.

"I don't know, because that's usually when you say endearing things out of the blue? You're like a child trying to make nice before 'fessing up to something."

"There's nothing to 'fess up about. I just wanted to make sure you haven't forgotten me," he said with a mock pout.

Pepper laughed. "As if I could." A pause. "Are you keeping yourself out of trouble?"

"Mostly."

"You're worried about the meeting."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I need an exit strategy if this doesn't work out."

"Not right now, you don't," she said firmly. "Even if everything blows up tomorrow, you'll have time to come up with something. I know you well enough to know that. So right now you're going to tell me what I should wear tomorrow and then you're going to go to bed."

"What you're going to wear? I don't have a useful opinion on that."

"You will," she said confidently.

By the time the call ended, Pepper had manipulated him into helping her pick a dress for the next day, ordered him through getting himself ready for bed, and insisted that he be physically in bed before she would say goodbye.

The distraction worked. He fell asleep before his mind could circle back around to the anxious fretting. His sleep, however, was not immune and he woke several times throughout the night, troubled by dreams that usually dissipated as soon as he opened his eyes. The image of dead Avengers atop a heap of Stark weapons was striking enough to be memorable.

He was mostly awake before his alarm went off and he wasn't entirely happy about it. A shower helped banish some of the drowsiness and he paid special attention to shaving and dressing. This would be his first excursion on official business since the heart episode that had benched him. The three-piece suit he donned felt more like a costume than his clothes, but he looked damn good.

Rhodey was in the kitchen making breakfast, an apron tied over his uniform to protect it from splatters, when Tony made his morning beeline for the coffee. Steve, dressed in a well-tailored suit of his own, joined them before the coffee finished brewing.

There was little conversation over breakfast until Steve commented, "I don't understand why we have to fly or drive when it's close enough to walk there."

"The usual answer to that is 'security', but in this case I'll also speak on Rhodey's behalf that he's not going to want to walk back at the end of the day," Tony said.

"Also, I don't walk fast, especially compared to you," Rhodey added.

"So we call the chopper at the end of the day. It can fly itself," Steve said.

"Yes, it can. But do you really think it's a good idea to stroll through downtown Manhattan during morning rush hour? We'd cause the worst traffic jam known to man."

"And Mel would freak out," Rhodey put in. "Tony has already stressed her out enough for this month."

"Not my fault," Tony said immediately.

With that logic Steve relented, though he made a comment as they climbed out of the chopper about how short of a trip it had been.

Over the course of the morning, Tony had a number of people come up to him to say in multiple languages how good it was to see him after the news of his illness and he began to think his attendance wasn't the best idea after all. The focus needed to be on the proposed revision, not on whether he was at death's door or not-which, of course, he wasn't.

Fortunately, enough of the committee members had opinions to voice, both good and bad, about the revision that they got down to business fairly quickly. Which isn't to say that they completed any business quickly. More's the pity.

By the end of the day Tony was exhausted, mostly from all the forced politeness and the way the committee members had of tiptoeing around the issues rather than just stating them outright. He'd somehow forgotten about that part. It made him want to stand up in the middle of a discussion and swear a blue streak just to startle them.

He took little comfort in having predicted every point of contention. It helped that he'd been dealing with these people for months.

Also as predicted, the second day was spent entirely in smaller groups to debate and attempt to resolve those larger issues. Steve and Rhodey both stayed with the group trying to better define what made someone 'enhanced.' Tony went back and forth between the others; honestly, most of the time he couldn't remember exactly what they were debating about, but it didn't matter because they did just fine without his input.

The third day was spent rehashing what was discussed the second day and Tony tried really hard not to look utterly bored, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. Every so often he and Rhodey would exchange an exasperated look or text each other under the table for amusement while Steve sat there appearing enthralled and put them both to shame.

To be fair, the definition of what made an 'enhanced individual' enhanced was better than when it started, but Tony could still think of exceptions and problems so the work would have to continue. It was a challenging line to draw in ways that would keep everyone happy.

The fourth day they had to finish discussing what the groups had discussed on the second day, then discuss anything else that someone wanted to discuss that hadn't yet been discussed (and was there ever going to be an end to the discussion madness?). It seemed to take forever just to get to the lunch break.

The line for the buffet moved relatively quickly, then the hunt for a table began. They were scanning the room when a man stood up from an otherwise unoccupied table and raised his hand to get their attention.

"My friends," T'Challa said. "Please, join me."

"Your highness," Steve acknowledged with a nod as they moved toward T'Challa's table.

Tony slid into a chair next to T'Challa. "Will you be joining the misery this afternoon?"

"I was invited by the chairwoman to sit in on the meeting," he affirmed.

"Do you have time to join us for drinks after? I'd like to hear what you think in a place that isn't here."

"Yes. My business in the city does not resume until tomorrow morning."

Steve, seated on T'Challa's other side, asked what brought him to New York. Tony listened to the response with only half an ear, instead watching Rhodey gingerly ease himself into his chair and shift uncomfortably once seated. He leaned toward him slightly and asked in a low voice, "Are you all right?"

"Been sitting too long in the braces. It starts to hurt after a while and we're long past a while," Rhodey said.

"Would meds help?"

Rhodey shrugged. "I'm out. I took some yesterday and forgot to refill last night."

He patted his pockets to find and pull out a battered-looking tin, then passed it over. "Try this."

"Breath mints?" Rhodey asked doubtfully.

Tony scoffed. "Open it."

The inside of the tin was lined with something soft to reduce the rattling noises, and the assorted capsules inside were most certainly not mints. "Why are you carrying this around?"

"I first put it together before I went to MIT to demonstrate B.A.R.F. I knew it could cause headaches and didn't want to be unprepared."

"Do I even want to know why you have vicodin mixed in?" Rhodey asked as he picked two other tablets out and slid the tin back to Tony.

"Hey, they were a legit prescription. From a real doctor and everything," Tony protested, tucking the tin back into his pocket.

"After Siberia?"

"Yeah."

Rhodey poked at his food after that, while Tony ate some and listened in on the conversation between Steve and T'Challa. It wasn't anything interesting enough to continue eavesdropping, so he pulled out his phone and sent a message to Pepper.

All too soon it was time to return to the meeting, and the afternoon passed painfully slowly in Tony's opinion. At least Rhodey seemed less uncomfortable, which was a relief.

It was lovely how many things could be accomplished while paying half attention to what was going on around him. When he went to these meetings alone, he didn't dare let himself get distracted lest he miss something important, but with Steve and Rhodey and even T'Challa there, he could let down his guard a little bit and surreptitiously clean up his inbox. He even managed to find the email about fumigating the penthouse for bedbugs.

The end result of the day and the meeting as a whole was a fairly warm reception-by diplomatic standards-of the Avenger-authored document. Smaller groups of people were appointed to draft alternate language for a few passages, which would be distributed to the rest of the committee prior to their next meeting. But overall, they were a hell of a lot closer to having the thing in workable shape by the time the chairwoman announced they were dismissed.

As they stood, Rhodey turned to Tony. "Is it just me, or did that go really well?"

"It went suspiciously well," Tony replied. "It almost seems possible to have this giant waste of paper wrapped up and tied with a bow before the year is out."

"Unbelievable."

"But after that the real work begins: getting people and nations to officially sign on. You know the U.S. government isn't likely to ratify it no matter who ends up elected as President."

"So that's when we move to our island?"

"Or maybe Wakanda," Tony said, nodding as T'Challa approached the three of them. As an observer, he'd had to sit in a different part of the room.

"My people would welcome you as guests, for a while," T'Challa said.

"So don't outstay our welcome, is that what you're saying?" Tony asked wryly.

"We are still accustomed to our privacy," T'Challa said simply. "Your presence would draw much attention, and some would find it unwelcome."

"I often find it unwelcome," Tony said.

"Isn't that why we have stealth tech on the quinjets? So we can come and go without attracting notice?" Rhodey asked as they slowly moved toward the door.

While they left the building and returned to the tower, they debated whether it would be possible for the entire team to stay in Wakanda without anyone-and especially the media-realizing where they had gone, including how long it might take before the buzz within Wakanda about their presence filtered out to the rest of the world. Steve was nearly as confident as T'Challa that the Wakandans would be circumspect about their presence (and if Tony hadn't suspected earlier that Steve and company had spent time in Wakanda, that would have been a major clue), so the issue became whether the team could make it seem like they hadn't just up and 'disappeared.'

As soon as they were at the tower, Rhodey excused himself. He returned in the wheelchair.

"Feel better?" Tony asked.

"Hell yes. If I'm going to sit on my ass I might as well be comfortable doing it."

Tony made his way to the bar to make a round of drinks and the conversation looped back around to the Accords. T'Challa agreed that the progress was remarkable, especially with the tension that had permeated the previous meeting. Tony remembered it well; they had been on the verge of taking up a vote to suspend the revisions as a result of heated disagreements. The strain of persuading the several discontent parties that the edits were essential quite likely played a role in his heart episode the day that meeting ended.

"But the largest question remains unanswered," T'Challa said, looking to Steve. "Are the changes sufficient that you would be willing and able to sign?"

Steve hesitated.

"You'd better say yes, Rogers, or everything we've done, all the time we've spent on this, will have been worse than useless," Tony said heatedly, the liquor in his glass sloshing as he gestured emphatically.

"Tony," Rhodey said warningly.

"I . . . I think so," Steve said slowly. "My biggest objections have mostly been fixed. I just need to see the full thing as it will be approved before I can say yes or no for certain. I have to know exactly what I'm agreeing to."

"That's reasonable," Rhodey said.

"What, like you read the fine print before taking Erskine's formula?" Tony asked accusingly.

"That's not the same. There was no fine print because no one knew quite what it would do," Steve replied.

"You do realize that what they're debating you helped write, right? You and I ought to know what it says better than anyone."

"I think we do. But they're going to make changes and I'm not going to sign a blank check."

"Right," Tony said, sounding doubtful. He drained his glass and set it down on the table [a little harder than was necessary].

"I should leave," T'Challa said. "You have something for me?"

"I sure do, just give me one sec." Tony was grateful for the excuse to leave the room briefly before he said or did something that he would regret. It didn't take long to go up and grab the drive from his lab. He handed it to T'Challa without fanfare and said only, "My notes and everything are there."

"Thank you for your assistance," T'Challa said.

"Any chance I could score a little bit of vibranium for my trouble?" Tony asked hopefully.

T'Challa smiled slightly. "That is not within my power to grant."

"It never hurts to ask," Tony said, shaking his hand in farewell.

Rhodey and Steve also bade him goodbye, and T'Challa left without another word. Tony clapped his hands together as he turned to the others. "Do we want to head back to the compound, or chill here until tomorrow morning?"

"I wouldn't mind staying put for the rest of the night," Rhodey said without hesitation.

"I told Natasha and Clint we wouldn't be back until morning," Steve said.

"Then it's settled: sleepover at the tower. Shall we make it a movie night?"

That suggestion wasn't met with a whole lot of enthusiasm, so they talked about what to have for dinner instead. Steve didn't want to order something yet again but there wasn't any more fresh food to speak of in the kitchen, so cooking would require shopping and none of them really wanted to venture out to do it.

Tony shrugged, grabbed a packet of pop tarts, and retreated to his lab. He pulled up the schematics for the chopper and began figuring out how to integrate a ramp for Rhodey without adding too much weight. He decided it could work if the ramp and its mechanics weighed no more than the Iron Man suit and its assembly so they'd balance each other out.

It was a fun problem to work out, a puzzle that was solvable with a little time and ingenuity. In the end, it was easier to add the ramp than it had been to integrate his suit into the chopper. He'd just have to wait to make the modifications until they were back at the compound, since the equipment at the tower wasn't intended for use on the helicopter.

He had Friday fabricate the custom parts and he would have to remember to load them on the quinjet or the chopper before they left in the morning. That finished, he wandered back down to the common area to grab a drink. He wasn't technically supposed to be consuming alcohol yet but he'd earned this.

Neither Rhodey nor Steve were anywhere in sight, so he asked Friday for their whereabouts while he poured his scotch. "Colonel Rhodes and Captain Rogers are in their assigned bedrooms."

"Is Rhodey asleep?"

"Yes, boss."

Tony nodded in satisfaction and sat on one of the couches while he drank his beverage and called Pepper. She didn't answer so he left a brief message, then hung up and stared meditatively out the windows at the city lights.

"Friday, when will the ramp parts be complete?"

"Completion estimated for twelve thirty-five a.m."

"How long would it take to produce the Iron Man armor as most recently altered?"

"Estimated production time is six hours."

"So both would be finished by eight?"

"Yes, boss."

He drained his glass then rose from the couch, returned his glass to the bar, and went back to the lab. After a brief look at the Iron Man schematics he hesitated, rocking back on his heels and jamming his hands into his pockets restlessly, then said decisively, "Friday, commence armor production when the ramp is complete. Load the armor into the chopper in the storage configuration."

"Yes, boss."

Tony took a deep breath and left the lab, the lights turning themselves off in his wake. He took the stairs to his floor in an attempt to burn off some of the nervous energy now coursing through his body. He paced in his bedroom for a little while before turning in and hoping the night would pass smoothly.

His dreams were strange rather than nightmarish. He most vividly remembered a scene of trying to float in unpowered armor while struggling to grasp the manual releases before the armor filled with water and took him down with it. Despite the threat to life and limb implied in the scenario, he wasn't afraid, merely frustrated.

He rose to consciousness slowly even as the armor was presumably sinking-the dream itself did not include that detail, but it was the logical conclusion given the last fragments he remembered-and took a few moments to assure himself of his safety and the lack of water nearby before he began to stir. Based on the fact that the sun was already up, he knew Steve was likely out for his morning run, if not already returning. Rhodey was probably in the bath, both for cleanliness and to soak the knots out of his back.

Tony got up and took a leisurely shower, then dressed and considered what he might do once his recovery time had officially ended. He had a week remaining, seven more days until sweet, sweet freedom.

But how much would that freedom actually change when it came to the day-to-day stuff? Other than his coffee consumption, of course. He was going to have a coffee mug in his hand at all times for the first few days, just because he could.

There was no way the team-and yes, they were most certainly a team when they were ganging up on him-would let him go back to managing things without their help. Not that he wanted that, exactly. But did he have a place in any of it anymore, now that they had been taking care of everything without his assistance?

Had this whole situation proved he was superfluous to the Avengers? Sure, there was the Accords stuff, but eventually that would be resolved (perhaps sooner rather than later, if the week's meeting was any indication) and then what? Rhodey was back in his suit, had already proven himself capable of participating in missions so while Tony was better at the tech stuff whether in his suit or out of it, Iron Man wasn't strictly necessary for air support. That was why he'd suggested Rhodey for the Avengers in his place after Ultron originally.

Perhaps he really should rebuild in Malibu, take a more active role in the company (his company), try once more to be the man Pepper deserved, and let this avenging thing finally die once his backup plans proved unneeded.

Part of him resisted the idea even as the thought crossed his mind. Sure, there were things he could do, could make, could offer to the world as Tony Stark rather than Iron Man. That monitoring/scanning system, for instance, if he managed to figure out why it wasn't doing what he wanted it to do. Other medical-type things would surely arise from his work with Rhodey's braces and, maybe, from harnessing Extremis. (That would depend on the final definition of what made someone 'enhanced' according to the U.N.)

And yet . . . he liked the idea of being a hero, of Iron Man proving to the world that he was more than just a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.

But was he?

Despite previous protestations to the contrary, he wasn't sure.

His phone rang and he answered it absently.

"I'm sorry I didn't call back last night," Pepper said. "My meeting ran ridiculously long."

Their conversation was light and brief. She was on her way to one of her early morning workouts, so she couldn't talk long. He felt oddly disconnected, even disjointed, while they talked, but she didn't pick up on his distraction.

As soon as he hung up, Friday said, "Colonel Rhodes would like to know when Sleeping Beauty is going to make an appearance."

Tony snorted and gathered his bags. "Tell him Sleeping Beauty was waiting in vain for a prince."

He went to the production area first to collect the ramp pieces on a flatbed cart. He should have had Friday use the armor to carry the pieces up to the chopper. How stupid of him not to think of that.

When he emerged from the elevator pushing the cart, Rhodey was in his wheelchair by the couches and Steve was sitting on a armchair, looking awkward. "Rogers, may I use you for your body?" Tony asked.

Steve and Rhodey both looked at him strangely.

Tony pointed at the metal pieces on the cart. "If you load these into the helicopter while I stash my shit, we'll be out of here faster."

"Oh, good, you're just taking advantage of people again. For a moment you had me worried," Rhodey said, rolling in Tony's direction.

Steve took a deep breath and stood. "Does it matter how they're loaded?"

"Keep the weight on the port side or it won't be balanced." Tony took his two bags off the cart and let Steve wheel it toward the landing area.

"What is it?" Rhodey asked as they both followed in Steve's wake.

"Ramp for the chopper. You'll have to duck through the doorway, I think, but we can figure out the internal logistics later."

"You old softie."

"Pretty sure you're the old softie here," Tony said, accessing the panel to let down the hatch of the quinjet. "Unless we want to call Rogers that. He's technically the oldest."

"Technically, yeah, but we'll both be old and soft well before him," Rhodey replied, steering himself up the jet's ramp. "I thought you were on a break from working?"

"That wasn't work, it was play. Besides, I like to feel useful, and there hasn't been much of that lately."

Tony waited until Rhodey was in the jet and backing against a wall before taking his own stuff and the small pile of Rhodey's stuff-which he identified based on the case that housed the braces when not in use-onto the jet. He had Friday start the preflight checks on both aircraft before he went back for Steve's baggage, neatly piled next to the wall.

Steve passed the open hatch with the cart. "Did you want someone in the chopper with those parts?"

"No, it will fly itself back. You can leave the cart by the doors there."

Steve nodded and was on the jet a moment later.

"Friday, is the chopper good to go?" Tony asked, settling into the pilot's seat as the hatch closed.

"Yes, boss."

"Take 'er home."

The helicopter's departure cleared the way for the quinjet to take off. Tony flipped a few switches, then called back, "Everyone buckled in?"

"We're good," Rhodey said.

Tony took off a little faster than was absolutely necessary, grinning when Rhodey grumbled about reckless drivers.

Once they were out of the city, Tony engaged the autopilot and the stealth tech, then wandered back to the coffee cupboard.

"You won't have time to drink that. We'll be there in like twenty minutes," Rhodey said doubtfully.

"And you claim to know me well," Tony scoffed as he put water in the kettle and turned it on. "If you really knew me, you'd know there is always time for coffee. Also, I haven't eaten yet today, so leave me alone."

"I hope you're going to have something else in addition to coffee, then."

"Why would I eat any of the crap we have on board when we're twenty minutes from real food?" Tony asked with a smirk and a wink in Rhodey's direction.

Rhodey threw up his hands. "You're impossible."

"Only because it annoys you." The kettle whistled and Tony had his coffee moments later.

"We have permission to start targeting those HYDRA bases," Steve said suddenly, leaning forward in his seat with his eyes trained on the phone Tony had set up for him when he'd returned to the States. It sure as hell wasn't a flip phone.

"Really? Since when?" Tony asked, leaning against the wall and holding his coffee mug with both hands.

"Since five minutes ago," Steve said.

"When can we start?" Rhodey asked, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair.

"'Whenever deemed appropriate' is what it says," Steve replied, sitting back. "We can discuss this as soon as the others are available to meet." He looked up at Tony. "Do you mind if we start before your restricted time is up? A week isn't likely to make much of a difference, but-"

"It's fine," Tony said before Steve could say anything more. "You won't be able to hit all four within the week, so I'll have my chance."

"Good. It would be helpful if you are available like last time, but don't you have another of those appointments soon?"

Tony drew a blank. It wouldn't surprise him if he did, but he had no recollection of agreeing to a particular day. "Friday, do I?"

"You have another set of tests at the hospital on Tuesday, boss," Friday replied.

"Tuesday is off the table, then," Steve said.

"You can schedule without me, you know," Tony reminded him. "Especially since you're looking at way more commuting time than actual fighting time."

"We'll see what makes sense when we take another look at the intel and talk to everyone else," Rhodey said practically.

"Five minutes to arrival," Friday reported.

Tony moved back toward the pilot's seat and said nothing more about it while they were airborne. As he began the process for landing, he heard Steve ask Friday to let the rest of the team know there would be a meeting in thirty minutes to discuss the next mission.