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“Please,” Tony whispered, keeping his head down. The hero was hyper-aware of the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his neck. “Don’t hurt the girl.”
He had been captured by an elite group of terrorists, and his watch gauntlet had been rendered useless by EMP before they took him out.
The leader smirked, walking over to Tony. “What’s this? Is the great Tony Stark reduced to begging?” He continued when Tony stayed silent. “It’s of no matter. Whether or not the girl dies is of no consequence to me.” He said, glancing back at the young teenager who’d gotten caught in the crossfire.
A wicked grin spread across his face. “Here’s an idea. If you can be convincing enough, if you beg enough, I won’t kill the girl. But if you disappoint me, my men will shoot her without hesitation. This is non-negotiable. We start now.”
Anger bubbled in Tony’s veins, but he didn’t have a choice. No fancy talking was going to get them out of this, and if he refused to play the man’s sick game, he’d kill the girl for sure. So he begged.
Lowering his head even further, Tony opened his mouth, pleas for mercy spilling from his lips. He could only hope that the team would reach them before the men decided to do something rash.
But the time ticked by, and no sign of rescue came. Tony’s throat grew sore from talking, but if he stopped for even two seconds to catch his breath, the man tutted, glancing over at the girl, who was staring at Tony with wide, pleading eyes, silently asking him not to stop.
So he pushed on, begging until the ache grew more painful and spread into his chest. Until the taste of blood crept up on the back of his tongue, and red plashed against the ground when he coughed. He pleaded with the men until his voice gave out, and his eyes widened, looking up in alarm.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Asked the leader, a shark-like grin on his face. “Sorry, not good enough.”
Tony shook his head, desperately reaching for the hem of the man’s coat as his mouth moved in soundless pleas.
“Shoot the hostage.”
Tony’s scream was never heard as the shot rang out.
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“Is he going to be okay?” Steve asked Bruce as he came out of the infirmary, staring at Tony through the window as the man rested.
“He really did some damage to his vocal cords,” Bruce said, crossing his arms over a clipboard held to his chest. “It’ll be almost a month before he can talk again. And there may be permanent damage, even then.”
“He’s not going to like that.” Natasha murmured, watching as Tony glanced over at them, his gaze sliding away to their left where no one stood in the window. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him, make sure he follows doctor’s orders.”
“It’s gonna be a long month,” Bruce said with a sad chuckle before walking away.
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Inside the sick room, Tony stared at a young girl standing outside the window next to Natasha, blood trickling down her right temple from a clean bullet hole.
She said nothing. She didn’t move. She just stood there until Tony’s eyes slipped closed.
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“Tony seems… off,” Clint observed, watching the genius sitting in a recliner in the living room from his perch on the kitchen’s island.
“Off how?” Bucky grunted as he cranked an old-fashioned popcorn maker over the stove. Microwave popcorn just wasn’t as good as the old stuff, he claimed.
“I don’t know. I mean, I know what Stark went through was awful, but he usually bounces back from things pretty quickly.” Clint mused.
Bucky emptied the pot of popped corn into a big bowl and poured some melted butter over the top. “Tony’s a civilian, remember.” He told him as he stirred the popcorn around. “He wasn’t trained, and his coping mechanism is making jokes and being loud. You take that ability away from him? You take away his ability to cope.”
He glanced back at the man in question. “He’s probably going through hell right now in his mind for it.”
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In the living room, Tony sat, pretending to listen to Pepper’s complaints about their company. But his eyes were focused on another girl.
The girl with dead eyes stared at him from the center of the living room.
Pepper snapped her fingers in front of Tony’s face, and the man blinked, turning to look at her. “Are you okay, Tony?” She asked, looking concerned.
The billionaire nodded, though he glanced back at the girl, only to find her missing.
Pepper shared a worried look with Sam but tried again, this time managing to keep Tony’s attention on her.
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The dead girl was there when Tony was alone, too, sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed. The blood dripped off her face but never landed on the blankets, so Tony closed his eyes, ignoring the cold feeling that wrapped around his body as he slept.
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Two weeks in and Tony was almost used to seeing her.
“Jarvis, play Metallica.” Rhodey requested as they walked into the lab. Tony had been restricted from using the lab on his own, as the others were worried he’d try talking to Jarvis and hurt his vocal cords before they were healed.
Jarvis started the music, and Tony watched as his best friend plopped down on the worn couch next to the girl who sat there, her head slightly bowed as she watched him.
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Thirty-three days after the incident, Tony’s vocal cords were deemed fully healed.
But to the team’s surprise, Tony didn’t speak. The genius merely sat there, taking in the room around him. The girl was nowhere to be found, so he got up and left. His first words belonged to her, and he wasn’t giving them to anyone else.
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“I don’t get it,” Clint said as the rest of the team gathered in the living room. “Why isn’t Tony saying anything?” He asked.
“I was worried, with how silent he’s been, that it had more to do with a mental or emotional issue than a physical one,” Bruce admitted, the doctor taking his glasses off.
“So, what do we do now?” Pepper asked, looking around at the Avengers.
“I don’t know if there is anything we can do right now,” Sam answered. “Tony’s a… complicated person. I think maybe the best thing to do right now, is to just give him time.”
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Tony didn’t see the girl again until that night as he walked into his bedroom. She was standing there at the window, and as she turned to look at him, Tony’s eyes filled with tears.
She was so young.
The hero walked over, his lips trembling as he sank down onto his knees in front of her. His tears fell as the moonlight streamed through the window and shined upon the blood trailing down her face.
He sobbed, bowing his head as he finally let go of his composure, wailing in anguish over the girl whose life he’d been unable to save. When he felt he could hold back his tears long enough, he lifted his head, looking into her sad, lifeless eyes. “I-I’m sorry.” He whispered, body jerking with a hysterical sob. “I’m sorry!”
He bent over and wept, repeating the phrase until his tears finally ran out, and his chest ached heavily.
When he eventually looked back up again, the girl was gone. But so was the sharp, piercing guilt that had been plaguing his mind.
For the first time since that day, he slept soundly.
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The next day, the Avengers filed into the kitchen at Jarvis’ request to find Tony sitting at the island, surrounded by dozens of donut boxes.
The genius looked up at the others and grinned. “Bavarian cream, anyone?”