Tony’s lungs rattle when he breathes. He doesn’t need FRIDAY’s commentary to know that’s a bad sign.
“You could possibly have pneumonia, sir,” the AI says, the baseline cheeriness in her tone inappropriate to the statement.
“No,” Tony protests, turning on the hot water and leaning over the bathroom sink. “I have a cold.” He hacks a few times and spits out a globule of mucous.
“Would you like me to schedule you an appointment with your physician?”
“No. Geez. Shut up,” Tony coughs. “I’m fine.” He splashes water on his face, then takes a deep breath through his towel. His throat still feels gummy and sore, and he’s fairly sure he’s running a fever. Low-grade, though. Not worth bothering FRIDAY for a reading. He has a packed schedule. No time to be sick.
“Sir, Mr. Hogan has just arrived with Mr. Parker.”
“Tell him to suit up.” Tony says, choking a little on his words and cupping his hand over his mouth to hold in the coughing fit. “I’m coming.”
Half an hour later, Tony’s flying over the highway while Peter swings from streetlamp to streetlamp beside him. Nat’s on her motorcycle, weaving in and out of traffic, as they follow a marked van toward the Lincoln tunnel.
“Who puts ‘Hail Hydra’ on their license plate?” Peter asks incredulously. “That’s, like, inviting us to come stop them.”
“Well, it’s actually H-L-H-Y-D-R-A,” Nat clarifies, the comm making her voice crackle in Tony’s sensitive ears. “So, technically it could stand for a lot of things.”
“What, like ‘Hell, Hydra?’” Peter laughs.
“I’m gonna say the kid was probably right the first time.” Tony’s patience wanes at the same rate as his headache is increases. “Let’s just smash the bastards and be done with it.”
“Well, somebody’s a grump this morning,” Nat says. But she revs her bike and cuts across two lanes, pulling up sideways in front of the windowless black vehicle. It grinds to a halt just inside the tunnel, setting off a volley of honking horns from the rest of the commuters.
“Alright, ready for this, kid?” Tony touches down on the pavement beside the van, and Peter does a front flip before breaking his web and landing beside Nat.
“Yup,” the kid says. “Born ready, Mr. Stark.”
“Glad you’re enthusiastic, but it’s a little much,” Tony mumbles.
“Ok. Toning it down.” The eyes on Peter’s mask narrow as he puts on a more somber expression.
The van’s driver-side door opens, and a man in camouflage pants and a black vest steps out. Tony recognizes the skull insignia emblazoned on one side of the chest. “Really?” he can’t help but ask. “I mean, how obvious can you get?”
The man opens his mouth to say something, probably to start reciting a manifesto, and Tony decides he doesn’t want to hear it. He aims his palm at the guy’s chest and lets loose a beam of blue-white light.
Before the repulsor has time to land, the man conjures a holographic shield out of midair, reflecting the beam and sending it rebounding at Tony’s head. Tony sees it coming, he feels his head throbbing and his heart beating in slow motion, but his reflexes are too sluggish. He barely has time to raise an arm over his faceplate before he’s tumbling backward and ricocheting off the wall of the tunnel. An avalanche of rubble cascades down from all directions with a sound that makes Tony’s ears ache.
“…Stark? Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? Are you ok?” Somebody’s slapping his face plate. Tony blinks hard and retracts his helmet.
“Hey, hey, stop,” he protests, trying to suck in the dusty air and ascertain what just happened. Tony can see Peter bobbing around in front of him, but besides that, it’s all chunked up concrete and thick, grey sediment hanging in the air. “What happened? What’d you do?”
“What? I didn’t do anything!” Peter says, panic making is voice loud and high. “I just shoved you out of the way. That dude reflected your attack back at you! He’s got some crazy tech!”
“Ok, um, we’re gonna figure this out,” Tony murmurs. He can’t see a damn thing. “You ok, kid? Are you hurt…?” He accidentally takes in a breath of dust, and it coats his tongue. The inside of Tony’s throat itches. He can’t keep from hacking.
“I’m fine.” Peter’s brow knits together. “Are you ok, Mr. Stark?”
“Yeah—” Tony coughs hard. He can feel gunk shifting in his lungs again. He needs to inhale, but his body’s so set on expelling air that he can’t take any in. The edge of his suit feels too tight around his neck.
“No, uh, ok, Mr. Stark. Hang on.” Peter grips Tony’s shoulder, which turns out to be a good thing. Tony’s knees start to buckle, but the kid pushes him backward against the wall. “Ok. Mr. Stark?”
“I’m fi—” Tony chokes out. “I just can’t…breathe.”
“Ok, ok,” Peter whispers frantically. “Just, um. Try a deep breath. In and out. Ok?”
Tony tries. Hacks. Mucous and spit turn sour in his throat, he gags up acid and cereal all over the kid’s boots. “Sorry,” he manages between coughs.
“No, hey, don’t worry about it. Come on, Mr. Stark, you gotta keep breathing.”
“Ok. Yeah…” Tony nods, which only makes him dizzier. He tips his head back against the wall, his chest rising and falling within the confines of his suit as he tries to swallow bile and suck in air.
“There you go. You’re ok, see?” Peter hazards a smile, though his eyes are still wide with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tony mutters on a labored breath. “I’m…It’s just a thing…”
“Huh? What kind of thing?”
“I have…a cold…and the, uh, arc reactor,” Tony blubbers, “It’s gone, but, you know, sometimes there’s permanent…” He breaks off, coughing weakly. “I’ll, uh… Tell you later.” He looks from the kid to the tower of rock trapping them against the wall of the tunnel. “I gotta…get us out of here.” Tony’s throat smarts, and every inch of his body trembles, though it’s mostly masked by his suit. He wonders if he’ll even be able to make a dent in the rubble without setting off another…episode.
“I’m ok. You should rest for a minute.” Peter taps his ear, and before Tony can stop him, the kid takes charge. “Hey, Nat?” he asks. “You ok out there?”
“Yeah, threat neutralized,” she says. The comm connection crackles, and Tony winces. “What about you guys?”
Peter glances at him. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re ok. We just, uh, might need some backup?” Tony glares at the kid and shakes his head.
“Actually, scratch that,” Peter says quickly. “We’re fine. We’ll be right out. Just need a minute to, uh, catch our breath.”