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“Tony, we just got a call from the secretary of defense. The head of the Secret Service and most of their agents are gone. He wants the Avengers to run security for the president until replacements can be found.”
Tony poured another shot of cheap whiskey and downed it with a wince. Not his normal choice for a drink, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion. “Did you tell him that half the Avengers aren’t even alive anymore?” His eyes burned from exhaustion. The catnaps he’d managed in the past seventy-two hours couldn’t even be counted as naps; as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw the kid. The terror in his eyes.
Right before he turned to dust in Tony’s arms.
Pepper laid a hand on his arm and moved the bottle out of reach with the other. “You need to get up. Go downstairs and work on something.”
Tony glared at her. “I've got a hole through my stomach, Pepper. Do you think I’m going to be able to work on anything?”
She sighed and gently brushed his unruly locks of hair out of his face. “At least try to eat something. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
Tony’s gut churned. The speaker of the house—now the president by default—wanted someone to babysit him while he tried to smooth everyone’s ruffled feathers with worthless platitudes and empty promises.
It was enough to make anyone sick.
“Let Hocus POTUS know that his favorite bad boy isn’t available and give him Steve’s cell phone number.” It was just the kind of thing Goody Two-Shoes Rogers would take on.
“And in the meantime…” Pepper moved behind him and began to massage his aching shoulders. “How about a long, hot shower to relax?”
Relax? When the kid’s last words echoed in his head like a broken record? “Sure.” He grasped her fingers and kissed the palm of her hand. "Don't go anywhere until I get back, hm?”
She gave one last squeeze in reply and strolled out of the room.
She was hurting, too; he could see it in the dark circles that lay beneath haunted eyes. Thanos was everyone’s nightmare.
He forced himself to his feet and filled a glass of water from the tap at the bar, using it to chase down a handful of Tums.
He’d have at least five stomach ulcers if he couldn’t keep his brain from replaying the events of the past two days. Everyone was reeling in the aftermath, and he was powerless to stop any of it.
Powerlessness. Not a feeling he knew well, but one with which he was quickly becoming quite acquainted.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the dozens of missed calls until he paused, staring at one of the numbers. The contact photo was one that the kid had added himself when he’d hacked Tony’s phone just last week with the help of Sam and added about thirty new selfies to his gallery. His finger hovered over the call button. His stomach clenched. His muscles screamed in fatigue and soreness.
He threw his phone across the room, where it smashed against the wall and splintered into a million pieces.
“Tony, are you—oh, Tony.” Pepper’s footsteps approached from behind, and she slid her arms around his middle, careful not to nudge his wound. She laid her head against his back, and they stood still for several minutes.
“Go take that shower.” She finally broke the silence and stepped back. “C’mon. It’ll help you feel better.”
Doubtful. But he forced one foot in front of the other, battle-weary body aching in protest. He didn’t need to feel better; he needed people to come back from the dead.
But Iron Man can’t perform miracles. And for once, this wasn’t a problem he could fix with another invention after a week of sleeplessness.
Iron Man had failed.
But he’d take a shower. For Pepper. And when he stepped into the hot water, he had to admit that it felt heavenly, even with his aching wound. He lost track of time, but when he eventually stepped out of the shower and slowly dressed himself, he finally felt some semblance of normal.
Until he walked out of the bedroom and froze. Steve sat on his couch, elbows on his knees and hands clasped, head bowed. Nat sat next to him, eyes directed at the floor. Bruce stood at the window, staring outside.
“What are you doing here?” Tony stiffly walked past them and pulled a bottle of wine out from behind the counter, opening it with his teeth and spitting the cork aside.
“Regrouping.” Steve shoved to his feet with a barely perceptible groan borne of more than just physical pain. “We need to talk this through.”
“We already did.” Tony poured a glass to the brim. “Thanos won; we lost. There’s nothing else to say.”
Steve looked at the others, as if to gain some moral support. No one made eye contact. “We need to come back from this. We need to let this make us stronger.”
Tony’s eyes shot up. “No. There’s no we. Half the team’s dusted; there’s no way that we are going to come back from this.”
“But there’s people that need our help--”
“The Avengers are disbanded. Kaput. Done. Understand, Mother Teresa?” He took a swig of wine and glared at the man in front of him. “You know, it’s just like you to ignore your problems by distracting yourself with some sort of holy mission.”
“It’s not my holy—”
“I’m not done talking.” He motioned around the room with an arm. “Where’s Barton? I see you didn’t invite him. Why? I’ll tell you why.” He tossed back another gulp. “Because he lost his family, Rogers. And you don’t ask someone to just bounce back from that. ” He paused, breathing heavily. “So don’t ask me to either.”
“No, Tony.” Bruce approached warily. “Steve is right; we…we have to stick together.”
Nat rose and stood behind him. “If we lose each other…we lose everything.” Her hand slipped into Bruce’s, and she intertwined her fingers with his. Tony’s stomach churned.
“We can’t bring anyone back from the dead.” Steve held his hands out in a pleading gesture. “But we can keep each other upright. And…right now, I think that’s what we all need.”
"Get out of my house." Tony turned away and stared at the floor. His voice was hardly more than a growl.
"Tony—"
"Now."
Nat stepped forward and gently grasped Tony’s forearm. “Stay in touch, Tony.” She brushed a soft kiss across his cheek. He clenched his teeth and forced in even breaths.
Bruce and Nat left quietly, and soon it was just Steve and Tony standing silently in the room. Pepper was nowhere to be seen; he would bet money that she’d been the one to call everyone here.
Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, Tony.” He slowly, hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What…what can I do? For you?”
Tony jerked away, tensing when his wound stretched. “You can leave me alone.”
Pain flashed in Steve’s eyes, then understanding. “It hurts.”
Tony’s eyes burned, and he looked away.
“We were good friends once upon a time.”
“Acquaintances at best.” The billionaire scoffed.
“And I never lost my ability to read you.” The compassion in his voice was sickening. "You don't have to put up a brave front. Not for me."
You're one to talk. "Get out, Steve."
"Tony—"
"Get out! " Tony didn't bother with trying to keep his voice at a controlled tone. He turned his back on his unwelcome guest and stared at the floor, teeth clenched, until he heard the front door shut behind slow, discouraged footsteps. His stomach rolled, and for a moment he thought he was going to lose whatever meager food he'd managed to stuff down recently.
"You don't have to put up a front for me, either." He hadn't heard Pepper enter the room. Her arms slid around his waist, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "Not for me."
"I'm fi—" his lungs seized, and he gasped a sob. His knees shook and he clutched Pepper in a desperate grip, fighting the trembling in his chin.
"It's okay, Tony," she whispered. She led him to the couch and gently helped him sit. "It's okay. You don't need to be brave for me."
His burning eyes met her own bloodshot ones for two seconds before he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
Tony wept.