Chapter Text
There was gum under the bar counter.
Tony noticed this as he was hiding under it, avoiding the firefight that was team evil robots versus team superheroes.
"This blows," said Clint from beside him, picking at the label on a bottle of champagne. "Can't you make us guns or something?"
"Out of what?"
"I don't know. Didn't you make the first Iron Man suit out of rocks and shit?"
"Scrap metal."
"Whatever, man."
Clearly being a sniper had done nothing for Clint's patience.
Tony wasn't sure what he had expected to do when he ran back to the ballroom, the area that the robots all seemed to be converging toward. His strength was his mind; when the only thing that needed to be done was to punch metal until it broke, Tony found himself sadly useless.
"Can I get an update on the evacuations?" Steve asked, through their communications link.
"All guests have been evacuated," said Rhodes. "Falcon's doing a head count."
"Keep us updated. Widow, Witch-position yourselves at the south. Don't-" There was a grunt and a metallic cracking noise. Something on the other side of the ballroom exploded. "Don't let any of them get through to the hotel."
"Got it."
Tony reflected on the way this scenario revealed that some Avengers were dependent on their special equipment, and the way that Natasha was not one of them. When she'd arrived in the ballroom, she'd just ripped a slit up the length of her cocktail dress to her thigh, stepped out of her heels, and begun firing. Tony was impressed and a little intimidated.
"Vision?" Steve asked, continuing his check-in over the sound of his fist hitting metal.
"Two others were found at various points in the hotel. They were eliminated. The rest are concentrated in the ballroom."
"Good. There are four of them here but I think-" A loud, atmospheric crack reverberated through the ballroom. The eastern windows exploded in a shower of glass and light, as if a certain thunder god had just performed a K.O. Tony and Clint pressed themselves against the back of the counter to avoid the flying debris. " . . . three of them. As I was saying, I think we can handle them."
"We're fine, thanks for asking," said Tony.
"Tony. How's the floor?"
"Dirty."
"And boring," added Clint.
"And boring."
"Well, hang tight. Over."
The line went silent. They sat, listening to the sound of fighting.
Clint elbowed Tony. "Over. Did you catch that? He's so cute."
Tony considered, for the fifth time, making a run for it. Once he exited the ballroom, he had a clear shot to his hotel room. Unfortunately, between himself and the exit was a thirty-foot stretch of empty ballroom, and Tony didn't like his chances.
"Can you try again?" Clint asked.
"The suit's not responding. I'll have to activate it manually."
"What about your phone? Can't you turn it on from there? Come on, man. I've seen you hack a blimp from your phone. You're killing me here."
"No."
" . . . Then can I use your phone to watch the Giants game?"
Tony pulled out his phone. Siri's holographic heart display activated on touch.
"Hello, Tony. How may I assist you?"
"Siri, Clint isn't taking this mission seriously."
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"Siri, what's the Giant's score?"
"The score is two to one, in the Giant's favor."
Next to him, Clint pumped his fist silently.
"Tony. Clint." Steve's voice echoed through their comm system. "The action's moved onto the balcony. Thor and I can hold their attention." He paused. There was a grunt, and then a sound that can only be described as a computer roaring.
"Run."
They ran.
---
The briefcase was sitting near the foot of the bed, next to his open suitcase and a half-empty caramel macchiato. It glittered, glossy and chrome.
Tony kicked it.
It hit the bed frame and fell forward.
Frowning, Tony pulled up his sleeves to look at the metal bracelets that should have activated the suit. He'd been going for subtlety with this new design, but now he regretted not adding some sort of indicator light to tell when they were powered on.
"Vision, any idea why all my things are broken?"
"Alternating electrical interference. The field will weaken as the robots are destroyed by the others."
"Great." Tony sat down on the floor and, a bit dejectedly, put his wrists on top of the case. It was the Iron Man equivalent of putting your computer right next to the router to get better WiFi.
He'd been aware of it, lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for him to have a quiet moment to give the thought his full attention.
They were getting along just fine without him.
It was petty, he knew. It wasn't as if he wanted them to fail-he just wanted them to need him. He wanted to save the day in a way that only he could, by using his specialized technology or exploiting some sort of engineering problem, thereby justifying his own position on the team.
"Well gosh darn it, Tony," Steve'd say. "You may almost destroy the world sometimes, but we sure as heck would be worse off without you."
Rhodes interrupted his train of thought before he could get any more creative with his interpretation of Steve's slang.
"All guests accounted for, except for the Russian Prime Minister of Public Health."
"Lady bounced," guessed Clint. He and Tony had parted ways in the lobby, where Tony had gotten in the elevator (staying on the top floor has its detriments) and Clint had made a beeline for Rhodes and Falcon. "Probably saw the killer robots and fucked off. I'll check for her car."
Not for the first time, Tony wondered what would happen if he walked away. Pepper had taken to Europe during her international business traveling; maybe they could get a place in Milan or London. They could "summer in Europe,"to put it pretentiously. And then, when Pepper had pulled herself away from work as long as she could, they could go home and he could just build. It didn't even have to be weapons, since at some point in the past few years he'd accidentally developed a moral code. Solar powered cars, maybe. Hyper-efficient household appliances. Maybe that was his true calling-to save the world through renewable energy. He could ignore Fury's calls, dodge press, and, when he saw a news story that absolutely required superheroic intervention, he could text Steve.
To leave the same way he'd begun-on impulse.
No one could deny that it was a fitting end.
"Uh, guys? Her car's still in the parking lot," Clint said, sounding worried.
"Surveillance footage shows her being coerced into a taxi by an unidentified figure. Searching taxi records." There was a pause, about the length of time it would take one to Google a taxi number, assuming that person was actually a sentient AI and that Google was in their own head. "Taxi found. GPS puts taxi register number 729 at a warehouse near the docks. The warehouse is registered to a Russian trading company."
"Of course it is." Natasha sighed. "I'm going to make some calls."
"I will go to the warehouse. Tony, are you available to provide backup?"
At that moment, there was a click, and the briefcase hissed as it released air. Tony took a deep breath and stood up, stretching.
"Go. I'll catch up."