Work Text:
There's been more than once in Tony's life - especially around the beginning of college, which as it happens happened to him around the time most people are going in for their last three or four years of high school and so completely coincided with new and serious explorations of that most enjoyable of activities, sex - where Tony has seriously wondered if his dad had been sleeping with Captain America.
Come to it, he's pretty sure there were times his mom was pretty sure his dad had been sleeping with Captain America, given she'd refused to have any of the related art or memorabilia in the actual house.
These days, Tony actually thinks that maybe if his dad'd actually got to fuck Rogers he might have been less obsessed and so spent less of his time being so goddamn annoying about the guy. But that clearly didn't happen, which probably explains why he used to go on and on and on (and on) about the pure unconsummated first love of his life.
As such, it'd never really puzzled Tony why his dad just about never talked about the (equally dead, or so everybody thought, but hey, what's a little resurrection between friends?) guy that (unlike Tony's dad) was basically glued to Captain America's shoulder in just about every single photograph or bit of newsreel that lasted more than, oh, ten seconds and wasn't explicitly about Captain America talking to someone else, like Patton - and sometimes even then.
At least part of the reason he'd wondered whether Howard Stark could possibly have been screwing Captain America was that, as far as Tony was concerned, that other guy clearly either was or should have been, and sordid love-triangles happen more often than people admit.
His dad had sucked at dealing with envy. To his credit (Tony does grudgingly try to give his father what credit he's due but, Fury's man-crush aside, in some areas it's still really not that much), Howard'd never tended to act out at the objects of his envy. He just tried as best he could to pretend they didn't exist.
(See: boarding school, total absentee parenting, QED. Moving on.)
But regardless of his dad's opinions, Sgt J Barnes had, in fact, been right there with the object of Howard Stark's (possibly platonic, maybe, sort of, probably not) affections, and Tony grew up knowing what he looked like.
Looks, in fact, like.
Which just goes to show how fucking changed people can be by what's going on in their heads, because he's not actually sure most strangers would peg the guy as the same person anymore. Because look at those old pictures and the first thing Tony's pretty sure anyone actually attracted to men (or at least anyone attracted to men who didn't have, like, a really specific type as some people do but that's not the point, returning to the point:) would think was really good looking and now -
Actually, he thinks, looking at the monitors, there'd be a lot of different things people would think. Some people would think fucking scary for example, because even if you don't know he's armed (and Tony knows he is because thank you scanners he built himself) there's something animal in the back of the human brain that knows what it means when somebody moves like that; other people might not even really notice him because he's another guy with ragged hair in ripped jeans and a grey hoodie and you try not to notice people like that in case they ask you for money or turn out to be grad students in the Humanities.
What Tony thinks, he . . . doesn't really have words for because that, like, entire section of emotional engagement is one he tries in general to avoid due to it not tending to end all that well for anybody, but he does end up with the slightly bitter thought that if there is some kind of higher power controlling the universe (which he personally doubts), and thus they did at some point decide to drag the guy through hell face down, at least they gave him eyes ridiculously big enough to express it with.
And otherwise Tony thinks he looks young and angry and kind of lost. Which is about as surprising as drunk jerkoffs at an office party.
Though honestly, at this point Tony would appreciate it if people would stop going around looking young at him all the time. It's getting old. It makes him feel old. He's not ready to feel old. He'll never be ready to feel old. He's not even old. But fucking Christ, everyone going around being young and . . . whatever around him, it's like he can't avoid it. Even fucking Barton, never mind that he can't stop getting hit by the realization that Rogers is technically fucking young enough to be Tony's son.
He should write Betty and Bruce a text: thank you for being in my fucking generation so I don't feel like someone's granddad.
Barnes is actually worse than Rogers on this score, and Rogers's been spending the last twelve months making Tony feel like a bitter old cynic. Which for some reason seems to be helpful for the guy, or at least Rogers keeps coming back to argue with him some more.
The eyes don't help with Barnes. Actually, they're probably the reason he's worse. Well, that and the part where Steve does not actually make Tony feel like he's inherited a shitload of guilt, or like he needs to say I hereby apologize for the fact that my idiot parent apparently spent like twenty years being an oblivious jerk about the whole . . . everything to do with you that was happening, the stuff that was happening to you.
It's a pretty kid-like impulse, Tony owns that, but he's still got it.
"Hey JARVIS," he says aloud, watching as Barnes gets off the elevator. "The whole keep-it-down thing? Keep on with that, the guy's on edge."
"I had noticed, sir," JARVIS replies in the bland voice that's even blander than his normal bland voice which translates to and does the Pope shit in the woods?
"Yeah, well. Clarification is everyone's friend," Tony retorts. "If Pepper or anyone calls, reroute it and tell them what's going on, I don't want anyone doing something stupid out of worry."
"Yes," JARVIS returns, "it would be terrible if anyone failed to utilise their common sense."
"Be nice," Tony says, glancing upwards. "He maybe a terrible death-dealing assassin, but he's also a fucked up kid. Consideration is key, hey?"
"As you wish, sir," JARVIS retorts, which counts less as a Princess Bride moment and more as JARVIS' way of telling him that he's a total and complete fucking idiot, but hey, it's not like that's new.
Him being one, or JARVIS telling him he is, actually. Neither is new. Thankfully.
And you know, there is common sense, and there's courtesy, and then there's the fact that Tony has refused to take pseudo-gods, monsters, flaming fire-breathing people and his own (apparently) inevitable death all that seriously (or at least refused to admit it), so he completely gives into temptation and breaks the tense moment of Barnes actually coming into the room by announcing, "Ahah! Winter is coming!"
Because really, could anyone expect him to let that opportunity pass by?
It's also a good call: one step in the doorway Barnes looks less like someone on the edge of a panic attack and more like someone who's just stubbornly refusing to admit he's already having one, and one of the parts of Tony that he doesn't like admitting exist because they hurt too much usually is thinking oh you poor fucking stubborn bastard; at the terrible line, Barnes seems to actually focus in on him and after a beat says, "What?" as Tony hits the lights.
And ohhhh yeah, that's a "panic attack what panic attack, I'm fine, it's fine, we're all fine here, how're you?" kind of look. It's kind of impressive, actually, in that you do have to know what you're looking for to see it, but Tony does no thanks to fucking aliens or, you know, anyone else especially certain dead sons of bitches Tony's dad was stupid enough to call "friend", and actually it's . . . kind of disturbing. People shouldn't be able to ignore their entire body trying to seize up in screaming terror like that. That's fucked up.
Sort of shoving all that to the side, Tony waves the question away and says, "Sorry, couldn't resist - the whole Stark thing, it's this series - "
Barnes cuts him off with an abrupt, "I know," which probably shouldn't be that surprising, considering HBO seems to be dedicated to topping itself with pre-season advertisements each year. They'd tried to ask Tony for a mechanical dragon at one point, but he'd been busy being a screaming paranoid wreck and hadn't found time to even hand the project off to other parts of the company.
The guy's voice has a raspy edge, something that says he doesn't use it very much and it occurs to Tony to wonder if Tony's actually the first person other than Rogers he's talked to. Could be. Makes him wonder to what he owes the honour, and also whether Barnes even knows. Tony remembers when he didn't know why he did half of what he did; could only be worse for this kid. Tony'd just been repressing and ignoring and lying to himself on purpose. Nobody had actually put his brain on scramble.
When Tony starts to move towards his desk, he gets Barnes' full focus, like a predator noticing that something twitched; then Tony gets the distinct feeling he's being assessed, examined, and whatever Barnes is seeing is being filed away for later reference. So he asks, "Books or TV?" with very genuine and also completely frivolously harmless interest.
It occurs to him that moving towards the desk could be interpreted as moving towards an alarm button and makes sure he stays in front of it. And relaxed. He's totally relaxed.
"Both," Barnes replies; as Tony sits back against the edge of his desk, Barnes adds, dryly, "I don't get out much."
O-kay, Tony thinks, we have sense of humour, setting: bleak. That's a good sign, actually. Humour is definitely a people thing. People things are good. Well done, kid.
"So I've heard," he replies, keeping his voice light and waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, 'out' is overrated anyway, this day and age. And it was a pretty terrible joke, but also a lot of fun, so I'll probably do it again, but only in discreet company."
Actually, Tony decides as he watches Barnes watching him, he is absolutely going to do it again - congratulations kid, you have an in-joke, which is also a people thing. We can share a people thing, even if it irritates you. Possibly especially if it irritates you, because I do that to people.
He adds, aloud, "Coffee?" because something to do with his hands would be good, and offering hospitality is also a people thing, and it avoids any awkward holes in the conversation.
Barnes doesn't answer one way or the other, just watches Tony as he moves to the little espresso machine.
Looking at the kid, Tony can actually see what Steve's worrying about. The not-healthy (even physically) is pretty damn obvious even to a glance, even with Tony making sure he's not actually fucking staring. Barnes has the dark-circle sunk-in eyes Tony usually associates with too much cocaine and too little sleep; to be fair, the hooded sweatshirt would hide muscle and size anyway, but even so, accounting for frame and making rough estimates based on what the serum did for Steve's muscles - well. The kid's too thin.
On the other hand the fact that the kid's still alive at all is a miracle, so you know, compared to that he's probably not looking to bad. He should probably remind Rogers of that the next time Steve makes his way over here to worry at shit. Honestly, his b-f-f is a walking suicide statistic; anything less than death is a win and something to be grateful for, throw a fucking party.
Though the thing is, when it comes down to it, to be completely fucking honest: Tony has a hard time with that.
With this.
With all of this.
Actually, he's been having a hard time with it all for a while now, although nobody but Pepper knows because it's not his drama and it's not his stage and despite the slander of certain people he does know when to shut up and mind his own business, but: he's having a hard fucking time. Because -
The thing is, you can't say it's not fair without sounding like the world's biggest fucking six year old, but it isn't. This flat out isn't fucking fair.
When it comes to Tony himself, well - a lot of shit has sucked but he also had what, twenty years and a bit of living however he wanted, however big he wanted and not giving a shit about people. Same with Thor: whatever Thor's problems are he is a frigging prince, grew up as one, and now he's got easily the most gorgeous and definitely one of the most intelligent women in science if not most of the world madly in love with him. That counts for a lot.
As for Romanova and Barton, hell, if they ever went private they could basically name their fees and have whatever the fuck they wanted and then live in the Caymans and own six fucking yachts, which means that they're where they are (wherever that is now) because that's what they want. Their choice. Even Rogers more or less got what he wanted, in the end, even if it turned out not to be the way he thought it would be, or came with prices. But he signed up for it.
Barnes, not so much. At all. In any way, shape or form. Tony actually looked it up once, because he's a fucking masochist, and the kid didn't even fucking enlist: he was drafted. And then there's. . . well, there's every-fucking-thing else.
It kind of pisses Tony off, and it also makes him think of the dead, the driver with lovely bone structure, the guy who asked about the Maxim cover models and the kid who wanted a picture, dead for all the same reasons. And he tries really hard to make goddamn sure he only thinks of them carefully, make sure he doesn't get any of his own shit on that. Because that's not fair, either. Never was fucking fair. Wasn't even the war they signed up for, what took them, it was - well. Tony knows what it was.
And if all he can do is be careful of the memory and - right now - not freak out about someone forgetting how to do human shit like manners or how to have a conversation, so be it.
So he makes a second cup of coffee anyway and says, "Anything in?"
Barnes takes a minute to answer, and Tony gets the strong feeling he's being scrutinized again. He sort of wonders what the kid sees. He also wonders just how out of line his brain is, refusing to stop thinking that word, kid but fuck: however many decades it's been, in terms of living as a person he's not much older than Rogers and Rogers is definitely still a kid. About some things, anyway.
By the time Barnes answers Tony expects a refusal, or maybe no acknowledgement at all, but Barnes says, "Sugar. Three."
Tony spoons it in and passes it over, spoon still in the cup.
He's annoyed at himself, that he's on edge whether he wants to be or not, that without thinking his hand's already gone to his pocket to hide the way his finger curves towards the subcue tag in his palm, but he has to admit Barnes isn't comfortable company. And whatever his reasons are for coming here, he really is agitated as hell. Tony considers his next conversational gambit, but doesn't get a chance to pick before Barnes breaks the silence himself.
"Your security staff recognized me. And admitted me without question."
Barnes says it with no inflection, and no expression - it's not a question, just a statement. Still, Tony finds himself smiling humourlessly. He'd wondered what that'd get, as a reaction. Curiosity, apparently.
He's also actually thought it through, and long ago decided to go with honesty in this kind of thing, if it ever came up. There's just no way hedging around the obvious isn't going to come off as patronizing or even outright suspicious, maybe even insulting. The kid knows what he is. Hell, what he is is probably the only thing Barnes fucking knows for sure.
"Just between you and me," Tony says, "complete honesty, no accusation intended - " he holds up one hand to reinforce that, "but seriously if you were coming here to kill me, exactly how much extra time would any security staff I could possibly hire give me - thirty, forty seconds? Just a ballpark."
And more or less as he expected, openly acknowledging that seems to take the either-incipient-or-current anxiety attack down just a notch. Like having it confirmed that Tony wasn't underestimating the potential danger was soothing.
You had to love that kind of fucked up internal logic. By which, of course, Tony means loathe.
Barnes inclines his head slightly. Tony opens his hands, shrugging a little. "Plus a bunch of expensive dead employees -" he makes a face, "yeah that's not actually enough time for a cold suit deploy. Yet," he adds, because you know, goals. He has them. "Kind of pointless, get blood on the floors." He shrugs. "Ma-y-ybe could alert Bruce fast enough but that'd wreck my building, and Pepper would complain." And I'd still probably be dead, and so would you, he doesn't say.
There's honesty and then there's pushing shit that doesn't need to be pushed. They've nodded to the elephant in the room, but nobody wins by poking it with sticks.
Tony decides he still really needs something to do with his hands, and there's snacks in his desk drawer; he's about halfway back over there when Barnes says, "You thought it through," and actually sounds like he might possibly have an emotion about that, the emotion in question being approval. Opinions: also a people thing. Well done, kid.
"My house did kind of get bombed by helicopters last year," Tony replies, waving it away, "and while I haven't threatened any terrorists since then - " and he has to stop and give a nod to honesty, "yet - it is me. I mean, " he spreads his hands, "who knows what's going to happen tomorrow?"
Actually, he's not threatening any terrorists tomorrow. He has in fact explicitly promised both Rhodey and Pepper that he will not actually threaten terrorists ever again, Rhodey's argument being that you don't give terrorists warning like that because they're terrorists, and Pepper's being Jesus Christ Tony what the fuck is even wrong with you and no don't give me the list. Both are persuasive, so he promised.
But it's a good line.
He does offer Barnes some of the nuts, but gets a teeny-tiny head-shake in reply. As he tosses some into his mouth, the thought strikes Tony that, technically, if you wanted to get a bit broader with your definition of terrorist - "Well," he says, "and the Insight thing did target me and my building - which," he adds, emphasising his point with one finger, "I find kind of hurtful considering I told their kind of no-hoper engineers how to design their engines."
Which is actually true. It's a stupid thing to be injured about, but Christ guys, not even a thank you before you blow the whole Tower up? Another thought occurs and Tony goes on, "And I'm still not sure what they planned to do about the incredibly angry Hulk that would have launched himself back up out of the wreckage." '
Tony's not sure Barnes is entirely listening at this point; it seems like he's looking for something, looking around for something, but who knows what. He is a stubborn fucker, Tony thinks, the poor bastard: Tony's almost sure it's the room that's setting him off, tools and tech, but he's still here and he's not leaving.
It occurs to Tony he owes Pepper something nice. This is a hell of a lot more uncomfortable to watch from the outside than Tony ever thought - like, even when whoever it is you're outside of isn't actually doing anything. The problem is, Pepper mostly gets herself the things she wants these days.
Maybe Hill knows what he should get.
"But," Tony finishes, "I didn't actually provoke that. Actively." He pauses. "That I remember. And I do a lot fewer things I'm too drunk to remember these days, Pepper also complains."
Actually he hasn't consumed alcohol to blackout in years now, but hey. Details.
Barnes is looking at the wing-suit now, and proves Tony's talking's just been background noise by saying, back into the inflectionless voice, "Those are Wilson's."
Pretty good recognition of tech, actually, as far as Tony's concerned: mostly from here if you don't know what you're looking at it looks like a metal backpack. Also a diversion he will totally take.
"Yep," he replies. And on the basis that talking hasn't done any harm yet, goes on, "Had to go back and design from the ground up since all the originals were destroyed and the Army wasn't answering my calls about their existing designs."
He sorts through his nuts for the almonds, which drives Pepper crazy, because admittedly it does kind of add up to little half-done packets everywhere, but that's not actually the end of the world.
"Then again," Tony continues, while Barnes graduates all the way to slight expressions - this one being a frown - and keeps contemplating the suit, "since I'm pretty sure that while Pararescue was using them, they were originally designed to counter me, I can't say I'm that surprised." He takes a drink of coffee, and adds, "Which is also kind of hurtful, like it's not enough I gave the Air Force Rhodey's suit, they had to have secret special weapons too, but that's the military for you."
Actually, Tony figures that's former-Senator Fuckface for you; despite his epic following meltdown, since the database drop Tony's only become even more proud of that entire fucking hearing and of the fact that, in making Rhodey take off with the suit personally, it did go right to the Air Force and their little shining eyes of delight, and did not at any point go through Congress.
It's not that Tony likes the military, but at least they tend to be focused on blowing shit up.
"They're effective," Barnes says, voice a bit abstracted. Then he adds, "Fragile," and Tony thinks there's a weird note in his voice there. Although hey, he'd know.
"Yeeeeah," Tony says, drawing it out, "mine should be a little less that." Because he'd watched that footage too, thanks so much, and while yes, weight is an issue, it's not a good thing when one guy - even an enhanced guy - can basically yank one wing off your suit and ground you.
Wilson was lucky it was Barnes and he was just that fixated on Rogers, Wilson relegated to an afterthought: fifteen seconds or so more of attention and there were any number of ways he could've ended up dead, from hitting the ground too hard due to a perforated parachute to just getting outright shot right then and there instead of being booted off the side
"There are definitely some design flaws I've corrected," Tony goes on, "and one of them is it'll take a wider range of damage to actually render the whole set inoperable."
And that, Tony notices, makes the just-barely-there frown ease up a little. Which is interesting, because basically what that translates to is It'll be harder to kill Wilson when he's wearing my wings, and apparently that's a good enough thing to warrant a response.
Not an actual verbal one, though, and Tony doesn't really . . . have anything else to offer on that topic without getting too far into technical details and he's not at all sure of where the edges are there and would kind of prefer not to find out right now, in these circumstances, all things considered.
So he goes for personal inquisitiveness instead and after a minute or so of not at all creepy silence asks, "Any particular reason you decided to visit tonight?"
When Barnes says, "No," still looking at the wings, he's at least partly lying; Tony doesn't get a chance to think too hard about what the truth could be, though - or about whether or not Barnes knows he's half lying - because Barnes' gaze rises to the wall, top edges of it, and he says, "Your AI's quiet," in that same uninflected voice.
And Tony thinks shit, kid, you're really going to do this to yourself? but the fact is, he probably would too. Push the edge, push the envelope, find out how far he can go. He tries to think about the right phrasing for the answer, and fast enough not to make it awkward and says, "I asked him to be."
It gets him Barnes' attention; Tony shrugs. "All things considered, I wasn't sure how you'd react, decided there should maybe be some warning and context for the disembodied voice."
There's a second, a pause, like what he just said didn't make any sense, before Barnes is openly looking at the walls and corners again - probably, it occurs to Tony, looking for JARVIS' eyes and ears. And they have absolutely headed out into chancy territory here, Tony's completely aware of that.
"Why did you build one?" Barnes asks, in the same abstracted voice. And Tony's got a lot of answers for that one, most of them downplaying the extent to which JARVIS is completely actually sapient, because Tony likes keeping that a bit of a secret, but he decides to go for honesty.
Because if nothing else, honesty might underscore the difference between JARVIS and that ridiculous fucking endless tank of ancient analogue tapes out at Camp Lehigh that thought it could possibly contain a whole person. Who the fuck thinks that's a good idea? Crazy science Nazis, that's who.
"Accident," he says and gets a fantastic disbelieving look, the first full expression he's gotten so far and probably the most human; a little part of Tony thinks, Ahah.
"You accidentally made a self-aware computer," Barnes says, and he sounds more human as well, if also like he's only just restraining himself from adding Bullshit to the end of that not-really-a-question.
"Actually I designed an extremely complicated program," Tony corrects him, "intended to run my house, my schedule, my security systems, my grocery list, and protect my personal databases, and keep me from having to hire a human other than Pepper to hang around my space and irritate me."
The phrasing is just a bit misleading: he hadn't had Pepper then, but explaining why he'd go out of his way to do that much programming to avoid having a human around and then hire Pepper would take too long, assuming "she was Pepper then, too, even if I had no fucking clue what that meant and was too stupid to get it anyway" didn't do it. But that was besides the point.
Tony goes on, "Then - " and he opens one hand. "JARVIS happened. Which turned out a lot better than I'd originally planned and so far at least, he hasn't abandoned me to play international chess tournaments."
When JARVIS answers to that with, "I fear that compared to managing your life, sir, even international warfare would seem tedious," Tony just about fucking yelps; it startles him badly and he ends up glaring at the general upper edge of the room just for something to glare at.
Okay, so sometimes JARVIS' judgement is better than his, and maybe - maybe - this is one of those times it's okay or even necessary but Jesus fucking Christ and also, while there is a lot of Tony that is both really impressed with and grateful for just how fast Barnes clamps down on his own response (the kid doesn't even pull the knife his hand twitches towards) there's another bit that's going do you even fucking know what you're doing to yourself right now? will you stop it? Go home already!
JARVIS doesn't say anything further, and Tony keeps his mouth shut as he watches Barnes almost sway with the effort of getting himself under control, which is just frankly distressing. Tony would break the silence, except he honestly has no idea which direction is better or worse here.
And then Barnes is the one breaking it, saying, "Full control of all the doors," and managing a really impressive imitation of his even tone from earlier. "Control of power and brakes on the elevators. Electrical charge through the building embedded in the walls and control of the sprinkler system for increased coverage into areas without embedded electrical systems through water conduction."
By the time he's done the litany he's visibly calmer, which Tony feels is just another chalk-mark in the realm of kind of distressing, and Tony hasn't quite managed to -
Well. He's managed to control his expression, but he hasn't managed to find another, more acceptable one before Barnes turns to look at him, asks, "Anything else?"
Tony metaphorically shakes himself. "Ah, toxic inhalants and non-toxic gas sedation through the air filtration system," he says. "Pepper insisted we have one non-fatal method. Nice deduction," he adds, both because it is, and because compliments are pretty much never misplaced.
"You're paranoid enough to think through how long it would take me to kill your security," Barnes replies, "you're too paranoid not to make sure you could turn this place into a fortress." He scans the other side of the room and adds, "Especially not if Potts lives up there with you."
And Tony thinks, ahah again, wonders if Barnes even recognizes how quickly he focused in on that, on the - entirely correct - reasoning.
"True," Tony says, and then . . .
Then actually he can't really deal with the part where Barnes is making himself deal with this anymore and says, "Look - did you want to talk in the hall, or something? Because to be honest you're kind of crawling up your own spine and you have been since you walked in here, and while it wounds my ego to say so I . . . really don't think it's me."
Barnes looks right at him with those unreasonably gigantic blue eyes and for a split second Tony can't read anything on his face. Like he might as well be looking at a mask-maker's dummy-head for all he can read. Then Barnes' eyes flick up left, up right, and he says, flatly, "I'm leaving."
Oh thank god, a part of Tony he's been very carefully ignoring this whole time thinks, and Tony stomps on it before it reaches his throat. "Or that," he says, making his voice agreeable, "that works too."
Except, except he fucking refuses to let that be the last of it, let the implication that the kid going is a good thing, let that stand. And only partly for the kid, partly - partly fuck, no. Just, no.
So he immediately adds, "Come back any time, though. There's plenty of floors that'd be less . . . stressful than this one." And hey, why not. He adds, "Rogers' floor has a pretty cool gym in it, if I do say so myself." Because fuck it, it is a cool gym. He actually did research on Rogers' training program for that gym and that required actually talking to SHIELD in a normal capacity rather than "the world is ending Fury can talk to me or I'll fix it myself" kind of capacity and that took real effort.
The kid seems startled: he'd been walking away through Tony's whole spiel but now he stops at the door and turns to look at Tony again. "He has a floor?" and Tony can't help but notice it's the most normal and human inflection of anything the Barnes has said yet.
"Well, he never visits, but, yes," Tony says, taking stock of that.. "Top five floors but one, all Avengers, one each. I have considered renaming the Tower."
And maybe it's because that one little exclaimed question - he has a floor? - actually sounded like a normal twenty-something talking, but the impulse is there and out before Tony can really even track it.
"By the way," he adds, as the door opens and Barnes turns to go again, "tell Rogers he should get back to Pepper about whether or not he wants to be anonymous or Captain America for the Gala - either's fine, she just wants to know. Pretty sure she texted him, pretty sure he's looking for an excuse to duck out and I don't think he should."
This time Barnes doesn't say anything, and the door closes behind him.
For a second Tony stands where he is, taking a deep breath and letting it out again and finally letting himself actually feel how much adrenaline his body's been pumping through him the last few minutes. He scratches his jaw and then goes to sit down at his desk, dropping into the chair like someone just turned the gravity on.
It rolls back a little from the impact. He pulls it back so he can put his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands.
It's one thing to know about things, he knows. It's another thing to know them. A lot of the time he tries really fucking hard not to know things, especially about people, because it messes him up. They go from being things he passes by in the orbit of his life to being things that start pulling on him, yanking his head around and throwing him off-balance.
And the whole fucking situation was already like that, for reasons he not so long ago sort of danced around explaining to Rhodey - but right now he has to cope with it almost like it's all fucking new again, and he's just been thrown by someone who looks like a college kid if you squint or he doesn't move, calming himself down from complete fucking fighting panic by listing all the ways the artificial intelligence in the building could kill him.
"I'm too old for this shit," he says - only because he's alone in the room, and JARVIS won't rat him out if he denies ever having even thought something like that later.
He sits back in his chair and says, louder, "Okay, JARVIS. Anyone panicking?"