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Tony wakes up to his own muffled scream. For a moment he lies there in the dark, trying to catch his breath, while his most recent nightmare replays in front of his inner eye in all its detailed beauty. He knows that he has gotten less sleep than good for him, but something in his stomach feels vaguely uncomfortable, enough to keep him awake.
He doesn´t remember drinking enough to make him sick, but this in itself is no proof for anything. His brain is slower than his hands, which are searching for Pepper on the other side of the mattress before he recalls what happened the previous night.
The details are a little fuzzy, but they´d had an argument. There had been drinking, and accusations, and then he´d missed the point where he could have apologized and she´d been fine after half a day of angry frowning, and things had gone from bad to worse. They had shouted at each other, louder and longer than in a while now. She´d left for the board meeting in L.A. with tears in her eyes, and this was bad, because Pepper does not cry, not when things are still fixable.
Tony gets up to check his phone. No misscalls, just a message from her - I reached. See you on Thursday. Anthony Stark isn´t one to make first steps, so he shrugs the dark thoughts away and shoves the phone into his pocket, ordering the coffee machine to do its magic while absent-mindedly cradling his upset stomach. The workshop is Tony´s to-go-place to not deal with problems and emotions he should be dealing with, but today he can´t really find the motivation to move there. He gets back into bed, half-heartedly watching news on the holo screen at the ceiling.
Half an hour later the discomfort in his stomach has turned into a gnawing ache, and by now he is sure that this is not just a hangover. He´d been feeling off the day before, and it would just fit into the way this morning is going down if he´d caught a bug somewhere. The smell from the untouched coffee on the table is enough to slowly make him nauseos.
Another fifteen minutes later Tony barely makes it to the washbasin in his private bathroom before the residuals of last night´s drinking binge come up in forceful splashes. It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to force himself to stop gagging and breathe evenly. When he washes his face with shaky hands and checks his own reflection in the mirror, he looks pale, sweaty, and easily ten years older than usually.
He spends the morning dozing on the couch in front of the TV, a screwdriver and one of the gauntlets in his hands, not finding the energy to do much more. He throws up twice more, and each time is more painful than the previous. Any attempt of keeping down painkillers or even ginger ale turns out to be fruitless.
When the pain keeps on increasing, he briefly considers calling someone. But Pepper is not an option, not after yesterday. Rhodey is attending some top-secret military congress in a top-secret location (Warsaw, as Tony found out after three minutes of on his phone) and not to be disturbed. There has been no sign of Bruce since Ultron.
And the other Avengers...someone might be in the tower, or in close proximity at the upstate facility, and it wouldn´t be the first time they accompany each other to the ER. But since Ultron -
Tony´s thoughts are interrupted by a call to assembly blaring through the speakers. The volume is making his head throb.
“Friday, honey?” he prompts while pushing himself up from the coach with a moan, “Fire up the quinjet. Let´s make ourself useful.”
---
“You alright, Tony? You look like shit.” It is not an accusation, not coming from Clint, but Tony still feels like he has to get defensive.
“Always a delight to talk to you, Barton,” he replies, “What are you even doing here? Thought you had retired. And don´t you have your kids to mother-hen?”
“Hey, calm down. They´re on a family holiday with Laura´s parents.” Clint shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. There´s a knowing smirk playing around Natasha´s lips at his words. Tony is tempted to ask for details, but Steve interrupts with the mission briefing.
“Okay, everybody, listen. We´re dealing with a hostage situation. Around a dozen civilians are being held in the 10th floor of an office building.” He taps on the conference table and the 3D-model of a skyscraper appears.
“It´s nothing new to us, but the targets are unusually heavily armed. Stark and Barton, I suggest you draw them out and keep them busy from above, while Nat and I go in and get the hostages out safely - Stark, are you even listening?”
Tony, who has been trying to focus on Steve´s voice through a haze of pain, is sitting hunched over, cradling his head in his hand, probably looking ready to doze off.
“Spangles, I understand that you love everyone gazing at your pretty face, but I´m actually capable of listening without looking at you,” he snarks, which brings a suppressed snickle from Clint. Steve shoots him a look, but continues the briefing.
Tony does his best to sit up straight for the rest of the briefing, which brings more nausea with it. No puking in front of his teammates. Not like he hadn´t done that before - they all had, to be honest - but usually there were concussions to blame it on.
A few months ago, he might have said something, cracked a joke and secretly hoped that someone would realize what´s going on. But Ultron has changed things. Not that anyone would name it, but he knows, from Steve passing by the lab at odd times to ask how he is doing - and looking around for anything resembling another vicious AI, another Ultron, as if Captain America was capable of identifying one even if it was jumping right in his face. From the way Clint checks his SI-custom-made explosive arrows twice before using them, from the fact that conversations nowadays barely ever move away from mission-related topics. Things have changed.
They might not even realize it themselves, and Tony doesn´t actually blame anyone. Trust is something he doses carefully, and he won´t judge others for not giving it away freely. But this doesn´t mean it pinches less to realize how everyone is slowly drifting apart.
Tony tries his best to keep his shit together, but they are near their destination when the bile he´s been continuously swallowing down won´t stay there anymore. He feels like his stomach is sitting in his chest. He brushes past Nat, avoiding her curious gaze, and makes for the bathroom.
He closes the door, opens the toilet seat and bends over, spit pooling in his mouth, just to startle when a familiar voice speaks up.
“Sir, I must inform you that your body temperature is elevated to 101.7 degress.”
“Friday! Didn´t I mute you in the quinjet?”
“The exact words you used were `shut up while anyone is around´, Sir. Since this room is soundproof, I took the liberty to address you in private in here.”
“Oho, we´re having sexy bathroom conversations now?”
A wave of nausea takes over and he bends over the bowl, coughing weakly. Spit dangles from his lips.
“Sir, given your worsening symptoms, I strongly advise you to inform the other Avengers -”
“Not happening, Friday.” he cuts her off.
“I am not yet well-acquainted with your behaviour patterns, but I am convinced that no harm will arise from telling your team members-”
“Gosh, you don´t get it. Shut up.” Tony loves all his AIs, but sometimes he really misses Jarvis. He´d have understood, Tony is sure.
“Am I detecting trust issues, Sir?”
“Oh, don´t you start on me... I´m just not fond of company in this state -” he´s interrupted by a gag that pushes bile up his throat.
There´s hardly anything to bring up anymore, but that doesn´t stop his stomach from forcefully trying to evacuate his body. Tony digs his fingers into his trousers when the retching dials up the pain.
“If you had wanted to be alone, Sir, you would have muted me already.” Friday continues the conversation, and there is nothing Tony can say against that.
When he returns, there´s a bottle of Gatorade and a packet of mints sitting on his seat. Natasha and Clint exchange a knowing glance when he pushes them away. Even the thought of anything entering his mouth right now is enough to set him off again.
They have nearly reached the drop-off point when Steve breaks the silence.
“Alright, get ready to attack. Stark, Barton, we´ll let you out at the opposite building. Try to spare lives whenever possible, but don´t be gentle.”
“Let´s beat them up.” Clint translates, earning a disapproving glance from Steve.
“Stark, wouldn´t this be the time to suit up? Where´s your armour?” Clint asks.
“Well....” Tony puts on his showman grin while trying not to wince while he slides into the seat next to the exit. He plugs his finger into the concealed mechanism and Clint can´t contain a whistle when the Iron Man suit starts unfolding itself over Tony´s body.
“Let´s kick their asses,” he grins, then the hatch below slides open and he falls into the sky above New York.
---
Maneuvering the suit brings on a new level of pain. Every instinct tells him to pull his knees up to his chest and curl into a ball, but unfortunately he needs his legs stretched and his body in full tension in order to fly precisely. Tony goes straight for a headdive and moans when the change of altitude brings agony and a new wave of nausea.
It doesn´t stop him from kicking their asses, oh no, he screws them up just fine. Maybe a few of his beams hit harder and provoke more windows to blow up than intended, and maybe the pain makes him just a bit more aggressive than he typically would be, but he accomplishes the mission alright. Iron Man isn´t stopped but the stomach flu. No way.
Even if it´s not a stomach flu. Tony has just covered Steve´s entry into the building when the pain flames up harder than before, and this time it´s concentrated in the lower right of his stomach, prompting him to press a hand to his armour in a fruitless attempt of comforting himself. He understands the implications a second before Friday tells him.
“Sir, based on your statistics and the local concentration of pain, it seems very probable that you have appendiscitis. I advise to seek medical -”
Which is when he mutes her and grits his teeth together. They have nearly gotten the upper hand, and once he´ll be done with the mission, there should be enough time to get to the tower on his own before dealing with this problem. At least he knows what´s wrong with him.
Then an explosive hits him into the stomach, strong enough to leave a dent in his armour.
Tony feels like he´s been kicked by an elephant. He doubles over in mid flight, gasping for air, and involuntarily fires a repulsor beam from his gauntlet that barely misses Clint on the opposite roof top.
“It´s great that you want to show off your stunts, Stark, but please don´t try to kill your teammates.... again.”
The bitterness in Cap´s voice feels like another kick in the gut, but Tony can´t spare the breath for a comeback. He makes it to the ground in a tumble-flight, hoping noone observes him, and doubles over behind a large rock. He can barely get the faceplate up before he is retching again. He is pretty sure that he might very possibly be dying, because it hurts, every movement feels like being stabbed into the abdomen with a fucking knife. There´s no way he´s getting up right now, so he grants himself a few minutes, knowing he needs to return to the fight soon -
“Stark? What the fuck is going on?”
Nat is standing over him, all adrenaline and anger. Tony can't answer because he is still dry heaving, the sheer force of it driving tears into his eyes.
“Well?” she looks him up and down.
“It´s...never mind.” Tony forces his breathing to slow down and drags a metal glove over his mouth, doing nothing but spreading bile all over it. He realizes that he´s shaking, whether it is from fever or pain, he doesn´t know.
“Weren´t you supposed to be somewhere...not here?” His thoughts are not exactly coherent at the moment, but he is pretty sure that Nat should be inside the building right now, not in front of it.
“Well, sometimes we change plans when we realize that our teammates are hiding things from us. Things like....appendiscitis?”
“How the fuck do you - “
“You´re not the only one capable of extracting information from computer systems, wonder boy.”
“There´s no way you hacked Friday-”
“We had a little talk, from girl to girl. She was in the mood of chatting.”
“What the...”
Traitor. He´ll have to have a word with his AI, for sure, and remind her of her loyalties. After he stops dying, that is. Nat is still glaring at him, and there is no need to voice her accusation for Tony to know what she´s thinking.
“I'd have gone and fixed it in the tower.”
She starts to respond, but at that moment Tony spots two very unfriendly looking drones racing towards them at breakneck speed.
“Nat, down!” he shouts while firing a repulsor beam from his gauntlet. He only hits one of the drones, but it´s enough to get the other off its course for as long as it takes Nat to gun it down.
“That´s what I call teamwork,” he rasps, clutching his side, “See, I just saved your life, stop being mad.”
“You need to get to a hospital, Tony.”
Wow, he must actually be looking worse for wear for her to use his first name.
“Yeah...I´ll get on my way, just - just give me a moment.” He tries to get up, but his knees buckle and he groans in pain.
“You´re not going anywhere alone right now.” Nat states. “And anyways, you´re in no state to maneuver that suit. You´ll probably end up crashing into a skyscraper or something.”
She points at his armour. “Can you open this?”
“Ugh.”
He somehow, slowly, gets out of the suit, and every movement rips through his stomach like a blade. Nat supports him till her motorbike - he doesn´t know how she manages this, considering that he weighs probably twice as much as her even without the armour - and then starts maneuvering them through the streets of debris.
Tony allows himself to zone out. The adrenaline of the battle is wearing off, and it´s harder to concentrate on anything but the agony he´s in. He doesn't want to, but his head lands on her shoulder when he curls into himself for a tiny bit of comfort. Nat would usually slap him for this, or worse, but given that she doesn´t even comment, he must be in a pretty pathetic shape right now.
Ten minutes into the ride the motion seeps into his bones and he can´t keep his stomach in place anymore.
“Hey,” he weakly taps on her back, “Stop, Nat, I need to puke -”
She brings the bike to a standstill with a swerve that turns Tony´s stomach even further, and it´s all he can do to aim away from her leg when he bends forward and retches. He´s long empty, but the dry heaving doesn´t stop, every ragged breath spiking pain in his abdomen that spreads through his back and his legs. He digs his fingers into Nat´s waist as not to topple over.
“Stark, it´s enough. Breathe now.”
There´s no pity or compassion in her voice, and Tony is grateful for that.
---
When they reach the hospital, Nat deposits him in a plastic chair in the waiting area and goes to handle the formalities. He tries to focus on his breathing and ignore the pain, but it´s hard.
In, out, stab. This is ridiculous, Iron Man being taken down by appendiscitis.
In, out, stab. He wishes he doesn´t throw up again.
In, out, stab. He wishes he still had his suit and Jarvis to distract him.
In, out, stab. Or Friday, he´s not picky at anymore. He´d settle for Dummy at this point.
In, out, stab. He wonders what Pepper is doing. If she misses him. Then he realizes that his thoughts are turning whiny, and focuses on mentally drawing up the design of an iron watch gauntlet.
He doesn´t catch much of what is happening through the waves of pain, and he must have zoned out a bit again, because the blood tests are completed faster than seems possible, and suddenly he´s in a hospital bed, ready for surgery.
“You´d make a good PA, anyone told you that yet?” he asks when Nat makes him sign a form.
“I was being nice because you look like death, but there´s a limit, Stark.”
“Ah, that´s my little assassin. Was starting to miss you....”
---
The first thing he sees when he wakes up is a strand of red hair floating somewhere at the edge of his vision.
“Pepper?” he asks, more hoping than actually assuming it to be her.
The disappointment is still real when he recognizes that the red is wrong, too aggressive, that it's Nat´s. She raises her eyebrows sarcastically, but he catches a tiny hint of sadness playing around her mouth.
Tony props himself up a bit to look around. His mind is still hazy with painkillers, and the world is spinning quite a bit more than he´s comfortable with, but he is pretty sure that he isn´t hallucinating three Avengers around his hospital bed, clad in full battle gear and all.
“Am I a terminal cancer patient?” is the first thing he can think of.
“You won´ t believe that, but for you, we actually show up even if you´re in no immediate danger of kicking the bucket.” Clint replies.
Tony honestly hadn´t expected to see them here. Not after Ultron. He swallows down a disgustingly sweet surge of emotions, caused solely by the drugs in his blood-stream, nothing else, and searches for something to say.
His eyes find Steve´s face, on which bruises are beginning to show.
“You look beat up, Cap. Battle didn´t go so well without me?”
“They won, actually.” Nat states drily.
He should come up with something sophisticated now, but the meds must have reloaded, because his brain feels slow and muddled, as if it´s wrapped up in cotton.
“Oh,” he manages, then his vision tunnels, and the last thing he wonders before unconsciousness takes over is whether anyone has told Friday that he is okay.
The next time he comes to, it´s still not Pepper who is sitting uncomfortably on the tiny plastic chair next to his bed, but at least Steve has changed into a less-shiny civilian outfit.
"Hey there. I'm back, I guess." Tony greets hoarsely, his throat still a little rough.
"How are you feeling?" Steve asks, setting a glass of water with a straw on the bedside table.
"My mouth tastes like the last time I ate was back in 1940, my head´s pounding, and knowing that you were watching me sleep is creepy enough... But all considered, pretty relieved, with one appendix less to carry around."
Steve only gives a weak smile. A few minutes of slience follow in which Tony sips on the water and then proceeds to examine the surgical gauze taped onto his lower side.
Steve is the one to address the elephant in the room.
"Okay, now. This is just as unpleasant for me as it is for you, so let´s get over with this quickly. I don't have to tell you that you endangered the mission - ," he cuts of Tony's protest with a raised hand, "or how disappointing it is that you felt your health issues are concerning noone but yourself - “
"Rogers, we both know that you won´t get me to pour out my life´s secrets. And looking at the team, I'm by far not the only one who doesn't exactly open up to others."
Something dark crosses Steve's face, an expression Tony can't quite place, one he's not sure he should ask about.
"Point taken." Steve concedes. "But it has to be clear that you can´t compromise the missions. Next time you´re unable to fight - yes, appendiscitis counts into that - you have to report it. No compromise on that."
"Aye aye, Cap." Tony brings a hand to his forehead in a mocking salute, but he's still uncoordinated and misses by several inches.
Steve gives him a pointed look, but the tension slowly vanishes from his expression.
“We tried to contact Pepper, but we were unable to reach her,” he changes the topic, “She´s not at the tower?”
“She's busy. On a busy-ness trip." Tony replies. He somehow finds the pun much funnier than it deserves.
Steve frowns at him.
"Just leave it.” Tony deflects, avoiding Steve´s eyes.
“If you want to call her personally...” he pulls Tony´s mobile out of his jacket and sets it on the blanket. “I´ll be outside, get some coffee.”
Tony nods his approval and waits until Steve has closed the door before taking the phone. He twists it in between his fingers for a few times, his thumb hovering above the call icon with Pepper´s photo.
“Friday, you´re there?” he finally asks.
“Yes, Sir, and I am glad you are recovering.” the AI´s voice says from the phone speakers.
“Turn up AC/DC.” he instructs.
Then he sinks back into the pillows and listens when the music doesn´t quite manage to drive the silence away.