Natasha was helping Clint with the pre-flight checks when Tony boarded the jet and dropped into a seat next to where Rhodey was securing his chair. Wanda still looked upset as she argued with Vision about something Tony couldn't hear. Rogers was seated on the other side of the jet while Sara carefully removed his makeup and prosthetic; Wilson was standing close by and it sounded like Rogers was filling him in on what happened. Mel was on Rogers's other side and chatting with Sara in between glances at her phone.

"Everybody buckle in!" Clint called back, and those standing quickly moved to seats, though most didn't bother to actually buckle up. Tony never did, either.

Natasha slid into the seat beside him once the jet was airborne.

"What do you want to know?" he asked wearily.

"You suggested there are multiple possible reasons that Ross is doing this. What are they?"

There was no accusation in her voice, but he still resisted the question. "Why does it matter?"

"Because it will tell us how far he's willing to go," she said patiently.

"The last time a guy wanted to get even with you, he blew up military families, the Chinese Theater, and then your house before trying to kill you in person," Rhodey commented.

"You think I've forgotten?" Tony retorted.

"Just because Ross is taking a different approach doesn't mean there won't be collateral damage is all I'm saying."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "If we know what he's reacting to, we have a better chance of anticipating and containing the fallout."

"Fine, fine." He sighed. "You already know about his visits to the compound. If you haven't listened to the recordings, those might help. So there are at least three things he might be mad about. When he calls, I always put him on hold for at least five minutes. I think that's why he started visiting in person so often. Any request he made for Avenger assistance, I've deflected or turned down. I mean, it was just Rhodey, Vision, and me, and Rhodey and I didn't have suits, so it's not like we could have done much anyway."

He shrugged. "And I think you already know that he's not a fan of the agreement that brought Rogers and company back. That hasn't changed. He's probably also mad that the U.S. delegate to the U.N. isn't on the Accords revision committee, but only the countries that signed are involved in the revisions."

"So there are personal reasons as well as political reasons," Natasha concluded.

"I think that's always true for guys like him," Wilson said.

Tony hadn't noticed that the others were listening to the conversation, but it made sense. And if it meant he didn't have to repeat himself later, so much the better. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes while the conversation continued around him.

"Now the question is, what does that mean he's got up his sleeve? What are the likely consequences?" Rhodey asked.

"You mean, what's the worst that can happen," Wilson said grimly.

Mel spoke up. "Since there's already an investigation, a possible worst case scenario would have Mr. Stark convicted of a terrorism charge. His assets would be forfeited to the government, and the Avengers team would be tarnished by association."

"We all know they'd put him on the Raft," Clint called back.

Tony shuddered. That conclusion hadn't occurred to him, probably because he was assuming his lawyers would be able to get him out of a conviction in the unlikely event that charges were filed. But if they couldn't . . . Clint wasn't wrong.

It was distressing and distracting and his mind circled anxiously around the idea until he dragged it back to the discussion. They were agreeing that Wanda would be taken somewhere to be experimented upon, though the public story would be that she was being held for her role in the Sokovia disaster. Vision, meanwhile, would be the subject of much scrutiny and possible experimentation, provided Ross and his collaborators could figure out how to keep him from escaping through the walls.

All of it was bleak and Tony didn't really want to hear it, but contemplating whether there was a substance that Vision couldn't phase through was interesting. He'd have to ask if Vision had ever tried passing through vibranium.

The jet landed at the compound shortly thereafter and he pushed himself upright with a sigh. Sara stopped beside him. "The medical staff requests that you stop by to have your blood pressure taken. They say it's by request of your cardiologist."

That's right, she did say she wanted it taken again. "Yeah," he said with another sigh. "Thanks."

Most of the others opted to take the stairs up, so it was just him, Rhodey, Mel, and Sara with her giant makeup bag in the elevator. When the car stopped at the medical floor and he got off, Rhodey followed. "Now are you being my babysitter?" he asked with mild exasperation.

"I'm keeping you company."

"I need company for the thirty seconds it takes to take my blood pressure?"

"I don't know, do you?" Rhodey grinned.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Tony grumbled good-naturedly as he shrugged off his suit coat and dropped it into Rhodey's lap.

"Takes one to know one," Rhodey retorted as one of the medical personnel approached.

"Mr. Stark, please have a seat over here, this will only take a minute," the female doctor said.

He recognized her but couldn't remember her name, not that it mattered. He sat in the chair she indicated and she plucked a blood pressure cuff from a nearby basket. He didn't have time to roll up his sleeve before she was inflating the cuff around his arm and he shrugged, watching Rhodey carefully fold his suit coat and place it in his lap.

"A hair higher than your past readings, but well below the point of concern," the doctor said as she efficiently stowed the cuff back where it belonged. "I'll send the information to Dr. Mann and we'll see you again tomorrow."

"Sure thing," he replied, already on his feet and heading for the door. He didn't remember Dr. Mann insisting that he get this done multiple days in a row, but he might as well cooperate and keep her happy.

Rhodey led the way back to the elevator. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

"I think I'll pass, thanks," he said, frowning. The thought of food wasn't the least bit appetizing. All he wanted was to shed his suit and fall into bed.

"You sure? You didn't eat all of your lunch," Rhodey said, letting him take back his coat once they were headed upward.

"I'm sure," he said. "I'm too tired to be hungry."

"See you in the morning, then. I put your pill tin in the right pocket of your coat. If you need anything . . . " Rhodey briefly hesitated in the doorway.

"I know, mom," he said, giving a mock salute before the elevator doors slid closed.

Changing for bed didn't take long. Calming his mind for sleep took a lot longer.

The dreams weren't a surprise but that didn't mean they were pleasant. However the dream got started, it shifted into the nightmare he'd had about Ross coming after him in the abandoned compound. The pounding on the door seemed to last for hours before the door gave way and he was physically dragged into a courtroom. The judge banging his gavel echoed painfully, then the scene shifted to the Raft, where he was locked in a cell, alone but for the car battery hooked with fraying wires to a heavy iron ring embedded in his chest.

The structure shuddered, then began to sink, and he became aware of water collecting in the lowest areas of the floor and rising quickly. The Raft was being lowered without being sealed and he was a dead man if he didn't get someone's attention soon. He yelled and banged on the bars, the walls, everything within reach as the water began circling around his legs. He climbed onto the cot, cradling the battery with one arm and pounding on the wall with the other, yelling to wake the dead, but there was no response to his distress.

The water was chest high and just about to reach the crude electromagnet when he woke up, heart racing, chest heaving, and head pounding. He was sweating like he'd run a marathon while dragging the suit behind him. He staggered out of bed, headed for the bathroom.

Two glasses of water later, the dream had begun to dissipate, though he couldn't bear to return to bed. "Friday, is anyone else up?"

"No, boss."

He winced at the sound of her voice. Headache, right. "Friday, suppress audio responses." His phone vibrated with her written confirmation of his request.

Without turning on the lights, he padded into the closet and patted down his suits until he found the tin in a pocket. He could almost sort through it by feel, but not quite, so he returned to the bathroom and turned on the shower light, wincing even at the amount of light filtering past the curtain.

He was out of the prescription stuff, leaving him with only two options. Rhodey would tell him to go downstairs and get something better from the medical people, but ibuprofen had helped at the hospital. He might as well give it a try.

That sorted, he debated where to go next. The workshop, the office, and the common room were all reasonable options. He could even try going for a swim, see if getting the blood moving helped the headache, but then he realized being in the pool included chlorine smells and his stomach churned just thinking about it. Using a treadmill instead would involve too much noise for comfort.

The workshop and the office meant that if he fell asleep he'd be sleeping on a desk, and Rhodey would scold if he found him like that. Rhodey would probably also scold him for being awake and not waking him, but he knew it wasn't easy for him to get in and out of bed so he was reluctant to bother him unnecessarily.

The common room, then, since it had couches. Sleeping on the couch might make him ache, but it was better than a keyboard pillow. Assuming he was able to sleep. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to even though he knew he needed it.

Once he'd collapsed into a couch, he turned on the TV with the sound muted. He was greeted by a solemn news anchor and the ever-present crawling text across the bottom of the screen. Then a photo of himself at the press conference appeared beside her shoulder while the main text changed to "Tony Stark: Terrorist?" He groaned and shut the TV off.

Part of him wanted to check the headlines to find out which part of his remarks was the subject of most discussion, but the rest of him didn't want to think about the whole brouhaha for a while. It was easier said than done.

There had also been that nearly disastrous mission . . . not a much better topic for consideration, but that was kind of his life. Careening from one terrible thing to another, with the occasional bright spot here and there.

Speaking of bright spots, he should call Pepper. Not now, she'd kill him for waking her up. Maybe tomorrow.

"Friday, bring up the mission footage on the TV. I want to take another look at those jetpacks."

He paused the video several times to scrutinize the tech but doing so displeased his headache, so he had to give up before he could decide if HYDRA had used one of his designs or come up with something else. The odds seemed good that it was just a rip-off of something, but he didn't work on Falcon's gear until after S.H.I.E.L.D. was no more and he hadn't delved into proper jetpacks before that. He'd have to follow up when the possibilities didn't make his head pound, because if there was any chance Avenger intel had ended up with HYDRA . . . that was a whole new headache.

He closed his eyes and sighed, lingering flashes of brightness from the video flaring across his eyelids. Somehow it made him think of Rhodey's joke about bedbug-bots. Bots of some sort would have been a major help against the jetpacks. They wouldn't even need to be humanoid in form like the Iron Legion, they just needed propulsion and weaponry. Especially if he could rig them to blow up on contact with an enemy combatant. And if the propulsion was also the weaponry, like a repulsor? That definitely merited more thought when giving it more thought wouldn't cause physical pain.

"Friday, put 'repulsor bots' at the top of my project list," he said, dragging his eyelids open with effort. He hadn't realized how heavy they'd gotten. "Suck it, Ross. I'd like to see you invent something with a migraine," he muttered.

"Do you often talk to yourself in dark, empty rooms?" Dr. Tanya asked from somewhere beyond the couch area.

"It's best to do that in empty rooms, or people get the wrong idea," he said, sitting upright and pressing one palm against his forehead. Moving was a bad plan. "And the dark usually means no one knows you're there. Why are you here? Did Friday call you again?"

She chuckled, and a chair to his right creaked slightly as she sat down. "After your last mission ended the way it did, I asked Friday to alert me if any of you seemed to be in distress."

"In distress," he repeated. "Friday, you nut, I just have a headache."

"Yet you left your room when you would almost certainly be more comfortable in bed," Doc T said quietly.

"I had a bad dream," he said numbly, and the images he'd been ignoring returned with a vengeance. He shuddered and clenched one hand into a fist.

"Would it help to talk about it?"

"No," he said quickly, then shrugged and gestured dismissively as if she could see him. "It's from everything that's going on. No big deal."

"And your headache?"

"Stress. Too much going on and too little I can do about it. Why the interrogation, doc?" Stringing that many words together took more effort than he cared to admit.

"No interrogation intended, Tony. I always ask about how you're doing."

"Now you know," he said shortly. Even her quiet tone was grating on his irritated nerve endings. He needed silence and, preferably, a horizontal perch.

He was surprised when the couch cushion beside him sank. He'd completely missed Doc T standing up and coming over. "Would you like me to call someone up from the medical staff, or shall I go down with you?" she asked in an undertone.

"That's not- I don't- I'll just go back to bed," he stammered, swallowing hard.

"You're practically hyperventilating, Tony."

Huh. So he was. That was new. "All right," he said dully. "I'll go down there."

"Do you need help up?"

She was already standing. How did she do that? He slowly pushed himself up, feeling like he was moving through sand. When he was upright, he staggered a little, suddenly lightheaded, and she caught him by the arm.

"Easy, I've got you."

She didn't let go of him the entire way, and he wasn't inclined to protest. The lights along their route dimmed themselves, so the brightness of the medical wing was an unwelcome assault on his oversensitive vision. He tensed and Doc T pushed him into the closest chair, then vanished from his side. He closed his eyes and waited, hearing snatches of her voice between his unsteady breaths and the ticking of the wall clock. Why the hell were they still using an analog clock, anyway?

He heard her footsteps return. "They turned off a few of the lights. Can you make it over to the nearest bed?"

He cracked one eye open to look; the light was still too much, but the bed was only a dozen feet away beneath one of the extinguished lights. "Yeah, I can make it."

When he'd eased onto the bed, he closed his eyes again while someone took his vitals and started an IV. The feel of needle and tape on his arm made his skin crawl, but it was necessary if he was going to get any relief from the ache that threatened to pound its way out of his skull.

After a barrage of rapid-fire questions that he answered in single words, usually of the yes or no variety, his interrogator stepped away to retrieve whatever drug they were going to try first. In the meantime, someone else brought him a damp folded washcloth to put on his forehead. He unfolded it partway so it also covered his eyes.

"Would you like any other company?" Doc T asked after a long while.

"No, let them sleep," he said slowly. "You should sleep, too."

"Not until I'm sure that you are," she said.

It took three different injections into his IV before the pounding began to ease, and even then sleep was elusive.

Doc T was as good as her word and remained with him. Periodically she would touch his hand, then ask quietly how he was doing; it took him a while to realize she did that so her voice wouldn't startle him.

After she'd asked for what was probably the tenth time, a new pair of voices entered the room and he flinched. Doc T's warm hand settled on his arm reassuringly. "They can't see you. There's a curtain pulled around your bed."

He relaxed slightly, but the new voices were intrusive even though it sounded like they had been taken to the other end of the room. Then one of the voices was replaced by the sound of retching and his stomach did a sympathetic flip. He quickly plugged his ears lest he follow suit, but the faint scent that wafted his direction made him gag.

Almost as soon as he smelled it, something was placed over his nose and mouth. Curiosity overcame the urge to plug his ears and he cautiously touched it with one hand: a paper hospital mask. "I also have earplugs if you'd like them," Doc T said.

"Yes. Thanks, doc."

After that it didn't matter what else happened outside of his curtain, he was blissfully unaware of everything. He had no sense of when he finally fell asleep, but it probably wasn't long afterward.

He woke slowly, appreciating that the headache no longer shut out all other sensations. Some pain remained, but it was markedly reduced, and he was grateful for the improvement. Everything had returned to something closer to normal, except his hearing seemed to be impaired. An itch in his ear had him reaching up to scratch-ah, that's right, earplugs. Removing the earplugs proved his hearing remained somewhat sensitive to things like that dratted clock, but he could cope.

He gingerly opened his eyes. There were still curtains along the sides of his bed, but he could see past the end of the bed to the room beyond; probably so it was easier for them to check on him while he slept.

He was debating whether to try sitting up when a nurse paused by his curtain. He blinked, uncertain if he was supposed to say something first. She saved him the trouble. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stark. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was. What time is it?"

"Nearly three. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"When can I leave?"

She chuckled. "The doctor on duty has to clear you. I'll fetch him. Anything else?"

He sat up carefully and realized there was definitely one more thing. "Toilet?" he said.

"Sure thing." She made the IV pole mobile, then helped him slide off the bed and led him to the bathroom. "If you need anything, just pull on the cord there."

He took his time doing his business and splashed water on his face afterward. Now that he was up and moving, he realized how tired he still felt, and the lingering ache seemed to have seeped into his bones. It was like a hangover, but without having fun first. He was not a fan.

When he returned to his curtained area, he found Rhodey and a doctor waiting. Rhodey didn't say a word, though his expression spoke volumes. The doctor had Tony sit on the bed before launching into a series of questions about how he was feeling that seemed vaguely familiar.

His responses were deemed sufficient to allow him to leave, so the doctor vanished and the nurse returned to remove his IV and take his blood pressure again. He left as soon as she finished, Rhodey silently accompanying him.

The first thing Rhodey said was not what Tony had expected. "You feel up to the common room, or do you want to go to your bedroom?" he asked as they headed for the elevator.

The common room meant people, which meant noise and possibly chaos and things he did not want to deal with, like everyone wanting to know where he'd been. "Not the common room."

"Bedroom, then," Rhodey said, and the elevator whirred to life around them. "Do you want a smoothie or something else?"

"I think I'm good."

"Not an option. Smoothie or something else," Rhodey repeated, his voice steely.

"Fine, mama bear. Smoothie."

"Friday, tell Wanda she's on."

There was no response.

"Friday?"

"Friday, resume audio responses," Tony said, belatedly recognizing the problem.

"Message conveyed, Colonel," Friday said.

"You muted Friday?" Rhodey asked with a hint of disbelief.

"Her voice was too loud," Tony replied nonchalantly.

Rhodey cast his eyes heavenward as the elevator doors slid open. "You couldn't stand the voice of your A.I. yet you never thought to have her call me?"

Admitting that he'd thought about calling Rhodey and decided against it would not help his case in the slightest, so Tony decided not to mention it. "Nothing personal. I didn't want company."

"Right." Rhodey was not persuaded. "Well, now you're going to have company whether you like it or not."

"You want to watch me sleep?"

"It's not that I want to, it's that you've left me no choice. How does Pepper put up with you?"

"She leaves the nannying to you. And Jarvis, when he was around. Friday isn't trained well enough yet." He was mostly kidding. "So what has everyone been up to all day?"

"Trying to unravel this Ross thing. And Sara and Rogers have been going through all those files that have to be turned in for the investigation."

"Do you need me for anything?" he asked as he sank onto the edge of his mattress, almost hoping the answer would be no. He was still so tired.

"I don't think so. The files will have to end up somewhere, but that doesn't have to happen right now."

"Have them talk to the server team about that. They'd need to be involved to make the stuff public anyway. But nothing is released until I've checked it over."

"Yeah, we know. Do you need to take your meds for today?"

"I don't know, is that something they'd have shot through the IV while I was sleeping?"

"I'll have someone ask."

"I think you're having entirely too much fun bossing people around."

There was a knock at the door. "You're just jealous that I'm better at it," Rhodey joked as he went to the door. Tony couldn't see who it was, but assumed Wanda when Rhodey returned with a plastic cup in hand. "Get your ass in bed and I'll give you your smoothie."

"You're assuming I want it," Tony protested, but swung his legs up into the bed anyway. "How have people reacted to the press conference?"

Rhodey didn't respond, instead staring at the cup he'd set on the bedside table. Tony sighed and picked it up. Rhodey still didn't speak and gave him a steady look until he'd taken a drink from the straw. "Mel's phone has been ringing off the hook all day. She had to borrow the website guy to monitor social media while she deals with everything else. I wouldn't even know that much, except that Sara got her to stop by at lunch. She could only manage to stay for twelve minutes. Remind you of anyone?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Tony replied with a yawn.

"Of course not," Rhodey said dryly. "How are you doing?"

"I'll be fine," he said reflexively, examining his cup. Unfortunately it was clear, so Rhodey could tell how little he'd finished.

"I'm sure you will. How are you feeling right now?" Rhodey persisted.

"A little woozy and achy," he admitted. "And tired despite sleeping most of the day away."

"I'm not surprised. You were more than a little behind on your sleep," Rhodey said. "Finish that and I'll stop nagging."

It didn't feel worth the effort to continue objecting that he didn't want it, especially since the cup wasn't large and hadn't been full.

He made a face as he swallowed the last of it, then shoved the cup in Rhodey's direction.

Rhodey took it and said, "Are you going to make me actually watch you sleep, or will you promise to stay put and behave?"

"Do I look like I want to go anywhere?" He was already under the covers and quite comfortable, thank you very much.

"I'd tell you to call me if you need anything, but I know you won't call."

"I don't intend to need anything," he said somewhat peevishly.

"That's all right, I'm going to have Friday tell me every time you wake up," Rhodey said with a wink and a grin as he turned to leave.

"Traitor," he grumbled half-heartedly as he shifted so his back was to the door.

"Sleep well."

"Thanks."