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“I lost it. If Steve hadn’t stopped me… “ he shook his head. “God help me, I would’ve killed him.”
The two of you stood at the wide expanse of windows looking out over the city, the same windows that Loki had thrown Tony through as easily as a kid with an errant baseball just a few years earlier.
He’d poured a scotch for you and himself, and though Tony usually took his neat, he’d plopped a couple of ice cubes into both of your glasses this time around. The summer heat had been brutal that day.
“You’re glad that Steve stopped you?” You asked softly. Tony didn’t meet your eyes, but stared out the window, taking a long pull of his drink. Ice clinking against the sides of his tumbler was the only sound cutting through the quiet.
“I definitely wasn’t at the time. Then, it was a betrayal. All I could see was red,” he swallowed hard, and you saw a vulnerability in Tony that you’d never witnessed in the man before. “All I could see was the monster who killed my mom.”
And the Tony you knew slipped away for a moment, his expression stormy. A mix of guilt and anger and utter sadness engulfed the planes of his face, and you laid a hand gently on his shoulder. He didn’t respond, but didn’t pull away either.
“It wasn’t his fault. I know that now. If Steve hadn’t stopped me… I would’ve killed an innocent man.”
“You would’ve stopped,” you said, pulling your hand back to yourself and sounding more sure than you felt.
He smiled without mirth, a bitterness to it. “No. No, I wouldn’t have.”
“Bucky is being treated, according to Steve,” you said, hoping the change in subject wouldn’t be too jarring. That this news might soothe Tony in the slightest.
Steve hadn’t shared the details with you— Just that King T’Challa had offered him the facilities of Wakanda to help his long-time best friend recover from years of mind control. You were skeptical at first, given that the same man had so recently been bent on killing Bucky to avenge his father’s death, but Steve assured you that when the new king had learned the truth of the attack on the UN, he’d quickly proceeded to offer this kindness to them.
You wished all world leaders had such a head on their shoulders.
“He said he remembered all of them.” Tony murmured, before draining his glass and turning to look at you.
“He does.”
Your short interactions with the former Winter Soldier all painted a picture of a man haunted by the horrible things his hands had done without permission of the person they belonged to. You shuddered to think that this had almost been your fate as well— if you hadn’t escaped that facility when you did, you would have simply been another mindless tool at Hydra’s disposal.
Tony nodded and studied his empty tumbler, swirling it as if there were still liquid inside. “I never meant for any of you to end up in that floating prison.”
“I know.”
“Did they do anything to you?” He asked abruptly. His tone was deceptively light, though an edge lurked underneath, revealing a note of anger and regret.
Tony was hardly one to openly show remorse. He usually bottled those kinds of emotions— something about his need to uphold the careless, playboy exterior. To be right, always. But at this moment, he looked anything but carefree. Right now, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for an impact, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Besides the collar and straight jacket?” You said, catching a flicker of something in his expression. “No.”
He slumped as if in relief, though retained a line of tension through his back and brow line.
“I’m sorry, kid,” and he genuinely looked it.
“I know, Tony.” You stepped closer to him, but kept your gaze out the window, watching as streaks of sunset began to peak over the skyline of New York. “Believe me, I wanted to be angry at the time. But you were just trying to keep the band together. Nothing about it was easy for anyone.”
Sparing a glance at him, Tony seemed to relax the slightest bit. You continued, “I can’t blame Cap, either.”
He scoffed softly, more tired than angry. “Stubborn son of a bitch.”
You smiled. “He’s not the only one.”
Tony hummed in agreement.
“Do you think they’ll ever get a pardon?” This was something that kept you up at night. Your friends fending for themselves, on the run in some other country, while you kept a cushy life in house arrest at the Tower.
“I’m sure as soon as the world needs help battling Godzilla or Megatron or Space Asshole the Third, they’ll miraculously find room in their hearts to grant as many pardons as needed.” The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
You and Tony stood there, and you knew that both of you were thinking about the same things… How complicated it had all become, how you missed your friends, wondering how you all had ever allowed it to get to this point.
And it didn’t help that Pepper and Tony were still on rocky terms. She was usually there to keep him grounded, in more ways than one— helping him from floating into the sky and from sinking to rock bottom. Without her around, he seemed… lost. Sometimes he disappeared into his shop for days, drowning himself in his builds so that he didn’t have to confront the feelings and problems that waited for him outside.
When this happened, you wouldn’t try to pull him out of the shop, as that was an exercise in futility. Instead, you opted to keep him company for a few hours, reading quietly, watching shows or YouTube videos, or just watching him work.
You would bring him a dish from whatever restaurant you ordered delivery from, or a portion of dinner you’d cooked, and either eat quietly or banter about frivolous things. Occasionally, he would explain what he was working on, or wax poetic about ACDC, but usually he just played music.
Sometimes, Tony would dance to the music, or ‘groove’ as he called it, causing you to grin and roll your eyes at him. But every so often, he would make you get up and learn some of what he called his “signature” moves. This usually left you both laughing and momentarily forgetting about everything that caused your collective melancholies.
And sometimes he would randomly say, “What’s the sitch’, Sparks?” (His nickname for you ever since you’d met and he’d observed your powers) and you would just go on about whatever book you were reading, or TV show you were binging on that given day. He would nod or ask a question or make a joke, so you knew he was paying attention, but it didn’t really matter to you either way. It was nice just to talk.
You cherished those moments that made you feel less alone in your ick. Your boring sort of depression.
There was so much to worry about, so many stressors or threats— be they existential or very real— and all of those weights sat heavily on you both. Even now, you could feel his despondency when you tuned into his energy field with your ability
Then Tony broke the heavy atmosphere with a clap on your shoulder.
“Come on, Sparks,” he took both your empty glasses over to the bar, placing them into a tray to be washed. “We can mope some more over dinner.”