Seven

Tony is fine. No, really. He’s fine. He goes to Pepper’s wedding, walks her down the aisle, reads his best man’s speech for Happy. And he’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. He won’t let it. Pepper is happy. Happy is happy. That’s all that matters. And Tony knows that, so it doesn’t hurt. Not really.

(And he doesn’t cry. No matter what anyone says, he isn’t crying. The ceremony was beautiful is all, and he was just so happy. That’s all.)

Tony finally gets back to the Tower near midnight. He falls back against the elevator doors and loosens the chokehold his tie has on his neck and takes his first deep breath of the entire night. His eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head up, mouth moving along to the words of the simple prayer his mother taught him when he couldn’t read. The only thing she ever gave him, and Tony has never stopped taking comfort in it, no matter how sacrilegious he gets. “Lord deliver me from my sins,” he finishes, the only words of it he ever speaks out loud, in Italian.

With a final sigh, Tony pushes himself off the wall and opens his eyes – only to find all six of his teammates staring at him from the darkness of the living room, back dropped by the blue light of the muted TV behind them.

(God, they’re beautiful.)

Bruce clears his throat awkwardly in the silence afterwards and tilts his head to Tony. “How was the wedding?” he asks softly, lips quirking in a tired imitation of a smile that falters after only a moment.

Tony’s grin, when he copies and pastes it to his lips, is much more convincing. He strides forward confidently even though he knows he’s fooling no one, yanking his tie from its knot and dropping it to the middle of the floor. “Unbearably cheesy,” he declares, dropping onto the free couch opposite the others, who have all crammed themselves onto one love seat, an armchair, and the floor in front of the furniture. “I never knew Pepper was such a – girl,” he says with a wink towards Natasha to show he’s teasing. “Although,” he adds contemplatively, “Happy was probably the one who asked for the doves and pink roses.”

This wrings a slight, broken chuckle from Clint, though it falls as flat as Bruce’s smile. “How are Pepper and Happy?” asks Steve to cover it up, puppy eyes engaged and focused fully on Tony.

“Happily flying to Fiji for their honeymoon, and probably applying for a position in the mile-high club,” Tony says with a smirk, throwing one arm over his eyes.

“Mile-high-?”

“Don’t ask, Stevie,” Bucky interrupts, and his smirk is the closest to convincing out of all they’ve offered tonight. “You don’t really want to know – right now.”

Tony’s smirk turns a little more real. “If you ever need a jet, Buck, you know where to find me,” he offered. He sounds tired, he knows, but he’s hoping it’ll be recognized of exhaustion after an important, busy day, not the kind of tired that builds up through years of the world weighing on your shoulders.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha murmurs neutrally, but Tony knows she’s smiling at him, even if he can't see her. Even if her lips aren’t curved, he knows she’s smiling at him.

Tony groans theatrically and pushes himself up off the couch. “Man, I’d love to stay and watch TV on mute like ancient grandparents,” Tony jests, moving between the couches, “but I am pooped. Pepper had a break down before the wedding and guess who had to comfort her? Me, of course. I have to everything,” he whined. “I have so many problems.” Tony grins at them again before turning to the door and striding forward, waving over his shoulder and calling out, “G’night!”

“You can stay, if you want.”

The words freeze him in mid-step in the doorway, hand on the frame as he stares at the ground before his eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t know who said them. Isn't sure if he wants to know.

(And he wants to say, god, does he want to stay. Because the way they said it – it sounds like they’re asking him to stay. Join them. And he wants to, but he knows he can't handle it. Can't handle it when they eventually find out how broken he is and leave him. Can't handle the mere thought that maybe he brokenness will drive them apart. Can't handle the guilt and the misery and the pity he will see in their eyes. He wishes he could, wishes he were a better, stronger man. But he isn’t.)

Tony doesn’t know how long he stands in the doorway. No one says anything, but he can feel their eyes on the back of his neck. When he does leave, it’s without a word and without a glance back.

It’s the least he can do.

***

“How are you, Tony?

Tony sighs inaudibly and doesn’t turn away from his work. They’ve got Bruce in on this little game now. They’ve been playing it for weeks, since the night of Pepper’s wedding. Tony can barely get five minutes by himself before one of them pops up out of nowhere and either asks him how he feels or makes some half-assed attempt at camaraderie. Since last night when Steve took him out for ice cream – and Tony is not making this up – he’d been hiding in his workshop. Watching Steve lick chocolate chip cookie dough while giving Tony his patented puppy-eyes had been crossing a line.

“Dandy, dear ol’ doctor,” Tony said, careful not to let annoyance slip into his words. He’d been trying – trying really, really hard not to get snappish when he knew they were just worried about him after his near meltdown after the wedding but – but damnit, he was not a child and he did not need other adults tiptoeing around him on eggshells. “How goes the battle?” he questioned of Bruce, victoriously yanking out the wire in his new design that’d been giving him trouble.

“It goes,” Bruce answered back mildly, a small bit of humor evident in his voice. “Tony,” he started, and the genius sighed, knowing from Bruce’s voice that the doctor wanted to talk about feelings and emotions, and Tony was simply allergic to that kind of thing. He broke out in hives. Bruce took a fortifying breath and Tony could picture him clearly, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Tony, we need to talk-”

Tony was never so overjoyed to hear the loud, ugly, blaring sound of the Avengers alarm scream to life throughout the Avengers quarters of the Tower. With a quiet whoop of victory, Tony spun around. “Looks like we’ll have to rain check this, Bruce,” he called over the alarms, already jogging towards his suits. “And really, I can't wait for it, but seems like we’ve got places to be!”

“Tony, please-” Bruce shouted back, sounding pained, and the suit began to assemble around Tony.

“What! Sorry, couldn’t hear you!” Tony shouted across the lab as the helmet snapped in place and the workshop’s balcony opened up. “Gotta fly!” he said to Bruce, now through the team comms. “Meet you on the field!”

“Tony! Tony!” he heard Bruce shouting after him, but Tony flew on. He had a city to save, and if he managed to avoid an uncomfortable conversation about boundaries between friendships and relationships – which he just knew was coming – well, it was just a win-win then, wasn’t it?

Tony kept flying.

***

The battle certainly wasn’t their worst – no civilian causalities, no life-threatening injuries on the team, and the baddie locked safely away – but it certainly wasn’t their best.

What stood testimony to this fact was the quick decontamination showers they were shoved in before being hustled into a quarantine room at SHIELD in nothing but their underwear and shirts – except for Tony, who was the one who managed to explode the giant goo monster and got the brunt of the impact. Even through the suit his clothes got soaked and right now all he has on are shield issue boxers.

“I hate biologists,” Tony grumbles, sliding down with his back to the wall, arms crossed habitually over his chest, the blue lines of the arc reactor showing through. He moves his arms a little and the light fades. “Biologists suck.”

“I have a degree in biology,” Bruce says calmly, raising an eyebrow.

Tony smirks but it’s weak and forced. “Except for you Brucie,” he amends. “I love you. Even if half the people in your major seem to accidently almost destroy New York.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Bucky agrees.

Steve smiles at him before turning back to the group. “Any injuries?” he asks, receiving head shakes from all, then fixes his look on Tony. “What about you?” he asks again, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m good,” Tony assures.

“Really?” asks Bucky, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Why are you hugging your chest then?” he asked pridefully.

Tony glances down at his chest in brief confusion. He is holding his torso, his right arm draped over the middle of his chest and tucked under his left. It does kind of look like he’s hurt his ribs and is trying to hold his body still. But he’s not.

Tony looks back up. “I’m good,” he says assertively.

By the looks thrown at him, none of them believe him. “There is no shame in admitting an injury gained in battle, dear Anthony,” Thor says gravely.

Tony chuckles, but doesn’t drop his arm. “Really guys,” he says, trying to sound as honest as possible, “I’m good. No injuries.”

“Why are you holding your side then?” asks Bruce, moving across the room. “Come on, Tony, it’s probably just a bruised rib. I’ll even let you go into your lab so long as you let me bind it,” Bruce tried to bride.

Tony watched him closely before dropping his left hand and turning, showing Bruce his decidedly un-bruised side. “See?” he prompted. “No breaks, cracks, or bruises. I’m actually not hurt.”

Bruce scanned Tony’s side, brows furrowed, before he nodded and sat back down. Tony smirked triumphantly at him before settling back against the wall, arm still draped over his chest as casually as he could.

Natasha got it first. Tony saw her eyes widen and drop to his chest, to the edges of metal peaking out from beneath Tony’s arm and the scar tissue covering his whole chest. She cursed softly in Russian, turning her head away. Tony turned to face the wall, his jaw clicking shut. Bruce understood second, and looked at Tony sympathetically, looking like he wanted to say something comforting, but he didn’t.

Bucky got it next, wincing harshly while Steve looked at him in concern. Clint opened and closed his mouth for a moment, staring at Tony’s chest until Natasha hit him and he quickly looked away. Steve, surprisingly, was the best actor, and when it occurred to him he simply worked his jaw and turned his head.

Thor quite obviously did not understand if the way he was looking back and forth between all of them was any indication. But when he opens his mouth to ask, Steve shushes him with a murmur.

They sit in terse silence for the remaining two hours, the few attempts made to lighten the pressurized atmosphere of the quarantine short-lived and unsuccessful. It seems that not only Tony, but Bucky and Clint both have no desire to converse, and the three are the group’s main conversationalists. Bruce seems to be unsure how to proceed, and Natasha has never been the best at comforting others. Steve just seems lost.

Tony is already scrambling down the hall and yanking on his clothing – shirt first – by the time Coulson’s voice buzzes over the sound system with the all clear, the doors having slid open only a moment before.

Tony jumps into the decontaminated suit before he even buttons his pants and takes off, skipping debrief. But he hears Steve telling Fury to let Tony go over the comms.

Tony knows it’s irrational. Knows none of them would ever think like his god-awful godfather – but then again, he never thought Obi would be capable of something like that. But his team is good, each one in a high-classification in Tony’s mind of the very few people in the world he’s ever met who were true. Not many people were awarded that title. He wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t trust with his life sleep in his Tower.

But irrationality will not be bested by man and is, in its very nature, nonsensical. It doesn’t matter that Bruce has helped him change the casing, the Bucky’s arm contains almost the same technology, that each of them know the combination to the safe Tony keeps his spares in, and that they all know how to remove the reactor.

Because this time, Tony didn’t get to choose who saw it.

He lands on the balcony connected to his lab, JARVIS already in the process of opening the doors and dismembering the suit from around Tony, as he stumbles forward towards his couch, eyes fogging at the edges with the beginning of a panic attack. He collapses down, face pushed into the conforming edges of the memory foam pillow Bruce insisted was better for his back. He’s glad for the grip right now.

He hears Dummy whirring concernedly before he feels a familiar blanket being draped unevenly over his shoulders. He shudders into the contact, breathing out shakily into the thick fabric of the pillow.

In this position, Dummy at his feet and Jarvis watching silently from above, chest pressed down firmly, Tony feels the bite of the panic begin to fade. When he hears Butterfingers and You whir up softly, he relaxes more and is no longer teetering on the side of a panic attack. He sighs in relief and melts into the couch, bonelessly exhausted now that he’s not terrified.

He won’t fall asleep tonight, probably won’t sleep all week, but in the morning he’ll call Rhodey. He won’t tell his friend that anything is wrong, but Rhodey will know any way, and he’ll talk with Tony calmly, make him pull up a Skype call. They’ll talk and Rhodey will tell him as much as he’s allowed to, and Tony will jokingly fill in all of the high-classification information he’s not supposed to know, and Rhodey will sigh and Tony will snicker. He won’t sleep that night either, but it’ll be okay.

Tony will be fine.