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It comes after. After they defeat Ultron. After Sokovia is safe, yet in ruins. After he helps unearth the remains of unlucky Sokovians trapped in debris and the lucky few that managed to survive to be rescued. After they gave up on the search for Bruce and he willingly resigned and left the compound for good.
It's not too long after all that when he sits at his work table, blank holoscreen glaring back at him, that he feels it. It creeps over him. Crawls right over anger and guilt and washes away his disappointment. Transforms it into something else, repetitive and mean that consumes his thoughts.
Days before, he couldn't think beyond overturning the next chunk of debris here or meeting with this grieving family there. And there were a lot of them staring back at him. Some angry, some horror struck, but all bearing hollow, red rimmed eyes. Some spit hate filled words his way. He doesn't object. Can't. There isn't anything he could say. Even his apologies seem empty in the face of what they've lost. Rhodey offers to go with him when he comes back from meeting with the wife of a Sokovian first responder who died trying to evacuate a hospital.
Tony declines. It's not his burden. He doesn't need to hear the things they say. He still seems to know, just from looking at him. Dark eyes immediately picking apart his well built facade and narrowing each time he says the words.
Now it's like he's stuck. There's nothing left to do. Sokovia is recovering. The UN is satisfied with his testimony and recovery efforts. The team is settling back into a rhythm without him. Pepper advises that he lay low until this blows over as much as it can. To let the good will from his charitable efforts smooth things over and public perception turn back into something more manageable.
As if in a few months the blood on his hands will be any less significant. They're launching the next StarkTab two months ahead of schedule to placate investors. He was against the distraction, but presales were already through the roof anyway. It's an easy choice for the company.
The work is already done. There's nothing for him to do until then but take personal time. It's the last thing he wants but he's not in a position to argue. So there he sits the following day, hands twitching in his lap, the urge to create burning under his skin.
Rhodey has leave, he says. Three months where he doesn't need to report in unless it's an emergency. The brass has never been more accommodating. Not even when Tony was kidnapped. They still tried to put Rhodey on other assignments while he pushed the search forward on his own time. So when Tony questions it and Rhodey just shrugs and says he had time saved up, he can’t help but wonder why his friend is lying to him.
He can't help but wonder what Rhodey would say if Tony asked the question he really wants an answer to. They're headed towards an ugly conversation about it all, but at least until then he can remain in denial.
Are you watching me? He wants to ask. Are those your new orders?
He keeps it to himself though. If he asks, Rhodey might leave. Tony can't risk it. He's the only person he has left who's asked about JARVIS. The team hasn't broached the subject. Haven't had much to say except to ask after equipment upgrades. Pepper's been inundated with the politics of running a company attached to the man who built Ultron. Happy is with Pepper as he should be. Rhodey asked not too long after the day was won. Next to Tony he was JARVIS' oldest friend. It isn't a surprise that he's the sole other person to sit with him as he sorts through the mess Ultron left behind.
It happens when they're sprawled out on the floor of the workshop, pieces of the War Machine armor spread out between them. They're trying to work more power into the propulsion, really he's just pulling things apart and putting them back together again, when the call comes in from Natasha. He hasn't been able to stomach hearing FRIDAY come through the speakers in the tower yet. So he has his phone set to ‘do not disturb’ with only the team, Pepper, and Rhodes guaranteed a bypass. Until then there weren't a lot of calls coming in on his personal line. He's as surprised at the call as he is when Natasha's stoic face appears in front of him.
He doesn't look his best even for the workshop and subconsciously pushes back the overgrown fringe flopping on his forehead, possibly smearing it with grease. Already he feels nauseous at the look she gives him when she sees what they're working on, but seems to relax minutely just around the eyes when she sees Rhodey there and the other man sends her a two finger salute.
"How are you, Tony?" She asks in that worried voice of hers. He still can't tell when she means it and when she doesn't. He thought he did, but then here she is scanning the tools scattered around him, collecting all of the intel she sees and storing away for later.
"I'm fine," he answers brightly. It's become his mantra lately. I'm Fine. I'm Fine.I'mfine. "How are you?" He asks blithely, trying to cover up how desperately he wants to know. To not be so disconnected from them all. He's missed her, all things told, like he's missed all of them.
"I'm well, Tony. Everyone here is good," she says warmly, eyes venturing back to the mess of metal and wires. "Rhodey? You good?" She asks.
"I'm relaxing," Rhodey says absently.
He hasn't taken his hands off the boot he's been working at for the past half hour. His hands are coated with grease, really he's covered in it from head to toe, as he tilts the boot this way and that while tapping the flathead of his screwdriver against his denim clad leg. The sight is so reminiscent of his Rhodey, not the military, not the Avenger's sometimes teammate, but the boy 2 years his senior wading into the mess of wires and spare parts in their living room to make a mess of his own. Not prim and neat in his uniform but with dirt under his nails, eyes narrowed in sharp focus on the problem ahead of him.
He's almost forgotten Natasha in the midst of his unabashed staring when the redhead clears her throat, making his attention jump back to the screen. It's clear she's been trying to talk to him and he opens his mouth to apologize when once again her eyes flick worryingly to the innards of the armor, and his stomach flips. It's right there on the tip of her tongue, he can feel it.
"Whatcha workin' on?"
"War Machine upgrades," Rhodey says just shy of shortly, before Tony can even open his mouth.
"Yeah we're trying to make the propulsion system more efficient. Less of a drain on the Arc if he's on longer flights."
She smiles teasingly. Says something about boys and their toys that draws a dry laugh out of both men but leaves them all in an even more awkward silence. There it is again, that relief. Like she and the rest of the world can take a collective breath. He's on a leash now.
"You need something, Nat?" Rhodey asks and this time he is brusque. He finally sets his boot down and stares directly at her meaningfully with that little pinch between his brows and flare of his nostrils that means he’s annoyed and tipping closer toward anger. By the time Tony whips back to look at Natasha any trace of worry is gone, folded into a genial look that seems less friendly.
"Just checking on those upgrades," she answers. "If Sam and Wanda are going to be going out on missions we need to get their gear in shape."
"I'll get back to you tomorrow, okay?" Tony jumps in to placate. The last thing he needs is for anyone to know. If they know...he doesn't want to entertain the idea. He's useful this way. It's the one thing he can do to help. He should--
"Great! Talk tomorrow Nat!" Rhodey makes a gesture with his hand for FRIDAY to cut the call.
The screen disappears on her startled, "Are you sure you kn-"
The damage is done though. Rhodey taps his foot with his own then rolls up effortlessly to his haunches squatting next to him.
"You hungry?"
"Sure, let's eat."
"Good, then after you can show me what you have in mind for Sam's wings."
After.
After is now, with Rhodey sat on a stool at his side looking at nothing. No plans or notes come up when called. Just the outline of Sam's existing wings.
After is where Rhodey gets to see how useless he is to the team now.
"Man--"
"I can't," he blurts. "I can't stop thinking about the last time I had a great idea and it got 27 people injured or killed. Isn't that crazy? I literally can't stop. Every time I open a new project. I think 'who's next?' Which unlucky SOB out there is going to get added to the list next."
"What list?"
"Tony Stark's kill list. The Merchant of Death's greatest hits!"
"It was an accident! Tones! I looked at the data myself."
"And the data doesn't lie right? That's what you're telling me, right? It's all there in 1s and 0's, cold hard facts. Except, if that's true then Ultron would have never clawed his way out of the mind stone and come on line. Our data says we were nowhere near an interface but it still happened."
"You couldn't have known, Tony! No one knew. Not even Thor knew there was this whole other being, essence, whatever in there. If you had known, would you have taken more precautions?"
"Of course-"
"So then why are you beating yourself up over something you couldn't control?"
"I just thought I'd stopped making things that hurt innocent people. Maybe the Maximoffs were right in what they told Steve. I don't know the difference between saving the world and destroying it."
"You know that's not true."
"Isn't it? Your suit has been compromised twice now. I trusted Obie and he nearly killed people with his armor. I wanted accountability for the things I create, but everything I do proves that really the problem is me. I thought I had more to offer the world than things that blow up. I was wrong."
"You Made JARVIS, you made DUM-E and FRIDAY, you make devices that help people communicate more reliably, and medical equipment that’s top of the line. You create better body armor to keep my men safe in the field and ensure many more can come home to their families. You’ve advanced fields in decades rather than just years."
"And all of it means nothing now, Rhodey," Tony sighs. "I thought I could make it right. I failed. I keep fucking it up."
Rhodey looks like he wants to argue back, to wear down that perception of himself built on the backs of the lives taken by his own mistakes but he doesn't. He knows Tony too well. 30 plus years of friendship does that apparently.
“Okay,” Rhodey wets his lips to say. He looks dead at him, unflinching even after everything with a fond little smile on his face for encouragement. “Then we’ll do something else. That’s you Tones. You always get back up and you always keep trying. You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again, starting right the fuck now. But what you don’t do is hide. They don’t get that from you. They don’t get to make you. The team can wait.”
“They need--”
“And if they have a problem with it, they can talk to me.” Rhodey says through clenched teeth.
Tony huffs and his chin dips down to his chest. It’s a shock to feel that protectiveness rolling heavily off his friend. He doesn’t think there will ever be a day that he’s not shocked by it, or even more awed when he realizes belatedly that it’s for him. That he has a person who is still willing to get down in the dirt with him and help him dig his way out is nothing short of a miracle, and he wants to say it.
Except Rhodey is just as allergic to his unending gratitude as Tony is to apologies, so he doesn’t. No, instead Tony draws in a breath and returns to the pile of wires in his lap with renewed focus and Rhodey does the same with his boot, content to let his words linger.
After, not when Tony’s done reassembling the armor or even when he’s shakily climbed to his feet and shook out the numb feeling in his legs, long after Rhodey drags him upstairs for sustenance and subsequently falls asleep on him no less than 15 minutes into Star Wars episode IV, Tony calls for a holoscreen with a deft flick of his wrist.
With the soft glow of the screen on his face and Rhodey snoring in his ear, he lets his mind wander and his fingers fly as fast as he can. He starts over.