Light Up The Night

Everything felt off to Jane. Maybe that was because of the lab. It used to be more of an exclusive club, but now was continually filled – seemingly on a rolling basis – by students in a variety of disciplines. Thankfully, the only consistent additions thus far were Bruce and Betty. He was quiet and mostly kept to himself. Aside from murmured conversations between him and Betty, there weren’t many extra distractions from that side of the room. Definitely a step up from when they’d been joined by FitzSimmons, who were incredibly chatty between themselves, although they didn’t directly pull Jane away from her work.

So maybe it wasn’t the lab throwing her off. Sure, the feeling lifted sometimes in other places, like when she taught class, but it crept back in when she sat at home grading tests. It crept in during the long hours at the lab when she went through mechanical data entry. Nights like tonight, where she might as well have been alone in the lab, despite the fact that Bruce worked quietly on the other side of the room.

No, it had nothing to do with the lab. It had everything to do with Darcy. Jane hadn’t been this way before things with Darcy got weirder than usual.

The weirdest part had been how things came out. Jane had noticed a shift a few weeks ago. Suddenly Darcy went almost entirely off-grid, and when she came back on, it was evident something was very, very wrong. She’d been twitchy, quiet, all sorts of things that were just not Darcy. While Darcy’s enthusiasm often felt exhausting to those around her, the change was so dramatic that it was less of a relief, more concerning.

When Jane finally got her alone, Darcy spent her time hedging and insisting everything was fine, before – not then, of course, but a day or two later – admitting that there had been an “accident” and her boyfriend was in the hospital. She’d talked around the “accident” enough that Jane realized afterwards she had no idea what had actually happened or why exactly he wasn’t at a local hospital where Jane and Thor could visit him.

None of this entire situation made sense. Especially not from Darcy, who on her best of days was open to a fault. There were times when Jane had inadvertently learned things about Darcy’s personal life, particularly her sexual history, that she’d never wanted to know. Being close-lipped wasn’t Darcy’s style. Yet all of that had changed when Darcy got into the relationship. Suddenly she’d pulled back, gone quiet.

Seeing Darcy and her boyfriend together had been reassuring for Jane, who’d been worried that there was something bad, something harmful in the relationship. She’d been reasonably convinced that Darcy wouldn’t remain in a relationship where she was being mistreated in any way – the girl had a taser for a reason – but the dramatic shift in her personality caused more questions than answers. It was clear that something was off. People didn’t just have “accidents” and go into hiding. Especially given that Jane didn’t think Darcy was lying about there having been an accident. This “accident’ wasn’t Darcy’s attempt to hide a bad breakup. All of which, in some ways, made it more confusing and worrisome.

A crash from the other side of the room yanked Jane back to the lab. Bruce crouched on the floor, picking up the instruments he must have knocked off the table – thankfully nothing that raised any concerns over potential lab contamination or other catastrophe. There came another clatter as his shaking hands prevented him from picking up the materials.

Jane abandoned her data entry and went over to him. On closer examination, Bruce looked like hell. His face was pale, his eyes sunken and almost bruised looking due to what she had to assume was lack of sleep, just given her own experiences and need for under eye concealer over the years. His shaking hands must have been linked to recent coffee or energy drink consumption. She remembered him mentioning that he didn’t respond well to caffeine.

“Sor… Sorry,” he managed to get out. “I… I….”

When it became evident he wasn’t going to be able to form words, Jane gently said, “It’s okay. We’ve all been there. Grad school takes its toll on you.”

She reached for the materials he’d knocked to the floor and helped gather them back into place on the table. By the time she returned her full attention onto Bruce, her thoughts were less, “This is normal” and more “Do I need to get this boy immediate medical attention?” Bruce’s body shook, almost violently, and his eyes were wide and panicked. Something on his wrist beeped incessantly in a way that probably meant it was tracking his heart rate. The sound definitely wasn’t a good sign.

Still, she kept her voice calm. “Bruce, I’m a little worried about you. What did you drink? Or did you take something?”

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have been the first grad student to go the route of speed or coke.

He shook his head. “No. I… I don’t do that. I drank… I drank a Monster.”

“Alright, that’s good. That’s definitely good for me to know. You said you don’t respond well to caffeine. Is it something medical? Something with your heart? Your blood pressure? Do I need to call an ambulance for you?”

Bruce shook his head in response, almost wildly. Jane debated whether to take a slightly lesser step and settle on calling public safety and letting them make the determination of whether an ambulance was needed. Before she could take those thoughts any further, the door to the lab opened and Betty, dressed in what appeared to be evening wear, hurried inside. She immediately shifted into a run when she saw Bruce and Jane on the floor. She knelt down beside Bruce, her fingers immediately going to his wrist.

She didn’t bother to look at Jane as she sharply asked, “What happened?”

“He drank an entire energy drink,” Jane said. “Should I call an ambulance? He said no but I don’t want him to have a heart attack or something like that.”

“No, no, he doesn’t need that,” Betty said distractedly, removing her fingers from Bruce’s wrist. “Easy, Bruce. Just take it easy. Breathe nice and slow. That’s it. That’s good.”

As she spoke, she slipped her hand into Bruce’s pocket, in a gesture that was uncomfortably intimate, and pulled out a bottle of prescription medications, from which she shook out one of the small, white tabs. She placed it into Bruce’s hand, which she then lifted to his lips, encouraging him to swallow it down. Jane watched as Bruce’s breathing slowed and became more even. Betty remained crouched beside him, one hand cupping his cheek, keeping his eyes focused on hers. The beeping from his wrist shifted, becoming less frequent.

Jane finally looked away when Betty leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Bruce’s, continuing to murmur quietly to him. Since she clearly had everything well in hand, Jane retreated back to her desk, keeping an eye on the other two but giving them their space. Once Bruce’s breathing evened out fully, Betty picked up the last of the instruments he’d dropped and replaced them on the table. She then carefully helped Bruce to his feet, steadying him as he straightened up, before guiding him to the door.

“No, Betty, I can’t,” he protested. “I have too much to do.”

“The only thing you’re doing tonight is sleeping,” she said firmly. “You know you can’t do this to yourself. Running yourself ragged is doing no one any good.”

“But I have deadlines. I can’t - ”

“You can. Your well-being is more important than any deadlines.” Her voice dropped as they neared the door but Jane caught her saying, “I’m sorry I went out to dinner with my father. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce said quietly, though the rest of his words vanished as the door closed behind him.

Once again, Jane found herself left in silence; uncomfortable silence, after everything that had just happened in front of her. She felt incredibly tired all of a sudden, likely due to how busy she’d been. A glance at the clock revealed it was nearing 10. Probably time to head out and take the same recommendations Betty had made to Bruce. Nothing productive would be completed otherwise. The chance for errors would increase and there was nothing so urgent that pulling an all-nighter would be worth it.

Except… except that she really didn’t want to return to her empty apartment. Thor’s parents were back in town, which meant he was with the family for the next several days, and that left her with an empty apartment and emptier bed. As far as she could remember, there wasn’t even something to eat in the fridge.

But that wasn’t a reason to stay in the lab all night. Reluctantly, she gathered her books and papers into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and made sure the lab’s doors were locked securely behind her. With no one there, she needed to ensure the materials and research were all secured, something she frequently had not needed to worry about since she was rarely the last person to leave.

As she walked out the back door, she realized her car wasn’t alone in the parking lot. A figure perched on the hood of the vehicle next to hers. She approached warily, although once she could gather that the model was some sort of sports car, she’d put the pieces together as to who was sitting up there. Particularly when she saw the bottle of what she felt reasonably certain was filled with alcohol in his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” she said, keeping her tone as polite as possible.

“Hey,” he returned. “It’s Jane, right?”

Given the number of times she’d interacted with him, both recently, as well as over the years, she couldn’t help but feel insulted. “It is. Is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah,” he spat out, his tone bitter. “Everything’s going great. Hell, everything’s fucking peachy.”

Jane felt the beginnings of a headache pounding in her temples and tried to curb the frustration building up inside of her. The last thing she needed this evening was to babysit an intoxicated Tony Stark.

“Is there anyone I can call?” She wondered if she might be able to pass this situation off to someone else, someone more skilled and knowledgeable in dealing with Tony.

“Nah,” he said dismissively. “I just came by. Thought I might say hi to Bruce or somethin’ like that. Guess that wasn’t the best idea, given everything tonight.”

“Bruce went home for the evening. Is there anything I can do?”

Tony’s expression fell and he took a long gulp from the bottle. Jane caught sight of the label at that point, recognizing the brand of whiskey.

Tony continued on as though he hadn’t even heard her question. “No, that’s fine. Just another indication that I shouldn’t have come here. Thanks for letting me know.” He hopped down off of the hood of the car, swaying slightly “I’ll be heading out now.”

Jane weighed her pros and cons. It was Tony’s life, Tony’s ass on the line if he fucked up and got busted for drunk driving. But she was also here, witnessing his level of intoxication. There was no way he wasn’t over the legal limit at this point. That meant it was on her to intervene.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think you should be driving.”

“No worries, I’m fine,” he said, and by that point she could easily hear him slurring his words.

Jane took a deep breath, debating whether she should step back and just let him do what he was going to or intervene. Getting a DUI was the least of what she worried about.

Then, in one smooth movement, she yanked the keys from his hand and leapt back as he drunkenly grabbed for them with a startled, “Hey, give those back!”

She danced a step back. “Not happening. Either you let me drive your car, you’re getting in mine, or you’re walking wherever you need to go.”

He scowled at her and straightened, his eyes sizing her up. She stared right back at him, tensed and ready to move out of the way if he went after the keys again. Then his shoulders slumped and he stepped back towards the car.

“Fine. Whatever. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Let’s get out of here.”

She popped the locks from a distance and waited for him to get into the passenger’s side of the car before she slipped into the driver’s seat. It was immediately evident that she wasn’t ready to drive this type of car – there were buttons and panels for things that were probably only Tony’s creation – but at least her previous time spent doing field work had taught her how to drive a stick shift. Instead of contemplating all of the other panels and buttons, she focused on the controls she knew well and ignored the others for the time being.

“Where am I taking you?” she asked, as she pulled out of the parking space..

Tony rattled off an address and she slowed the car down, enough that she could look over at him, confusion clearly written all over her face. He was still steadily gulping at the bottle in a way that made her increasingly concerned about his level of cognitive ability, as did the fact that she knew the address he’d just given her wasn’t one that corresponded to any of his buildings, at least not any that she knew of.

“Are you sure?” she finally asked, when he didn’t seem willing to provide any information himself.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” Then he slumped back in the seat.

She exhaled slowly, weighing the pros and cons of following the drunken directions and then shrugged. If that was where Tony wanted to go, she’d take him there. She was already babysitting him and that was more than enough of a job for her to manage without complicating everything.

With that, she pulled out of the parking lot and in the direction of wherever the hell Tony was taking them.

-~-

Sam ignored the tense silence that had developed on the way to and from bringing Clint to urgent care, letting it remain after bringing him back to the townhouse and depositing his medicated self on the couch. He’d accepted Wanda’s offer to stay near Clint, in case he needed anything, and taken the opportunity to disappear upstairs for a few hours under the excuse of coursework. Focusing on his latest report kept him from thinking too much to the point where he actually startled when there was a light knock on the door to the master bedroom.

“Come in,” he said, pushing himself away from his laptop. His vision had gotten blurry after hours of looking through online articles and typing page after page.

The door opened and Natasha stepped in, though she came no further. “Dinner just arrived. I’m guessing you didn’t hear the doorbell?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I guess I was really in the zone. You ordered takeout?”

“Chinese. I didn’t have it in me to cook after bringing Wanda back to the hospital to stay with her brother.”

“Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Sam swallowed hard against the guilt crawling its way up his throat. “I wasn’t thinking about much after bringing Clint back to the townhouse.”

“Understandable,” Natasha said quietly, icily. “Clint did manage to catch me up to speed. I can’t say that I’m feeling particularly pleased myself.” She paused, as though giving him the space to say something else, and when he remained silent, said, “You willing to come down or should I bring you a plate up here?”

“As tempting as an offer as that is,” he said – and, yes, the thought of not having to engage in any of this bullshit was incredibly appealing – but he continued with, “I’ll come down. I’m not sure I’ll stay for the night though.”

“Fair enough. Trust me when I say that there’s a part of me that wishes I could do the same.”

“You could always tell Clint to fuck off,” Sam pointed out. “Doesn’t he still have a dorm on campus?”

“Possibly. But I’m not sure I could be cruel enough to send his broken self back onto campus. Given his recent string of bad decisions, I’m not exactly hopeful for his continued survival and well-being if I do that.” She exhaled slowly. “Besides, it’s not as though he did this latest poor decision without our knowledge. We both knew what was going on. We just didn’t know for certain it would end like this.”

From downstairs, Clint called out, “Hey, you two. The food’s getting cold.”

Natasha and Sam exchanged a look before Natasha said, “We’ll be down in one minute” and then nodded to Sam before stepping out of the room.

Sam took his few moments alone to take as many calming deep breaths as he thought would keep him from losing his shit once he got downstairs. That barely worked enough to take the edge off. Determining this was the best he was going to get at this point, he closed his laptop, stowed it in his bag, and slung the bag over his shoulder before heading down.

He found Natasha and Clint at the kitchen table, boxes of takeout spread all over the surface. Clint struggled to maneuver some sweet and sour chicken from the container with only one hand. Given that Natasha appeared to be busy over at the bar, making drinks for hopefully only just Sam and herself since that Clint was on painkillers, Sam took pity on him and helped. Clint flinched the slightest bit when Sam moved close to him, and Sam tried to think back onto the things he’d said or done while they were in the car to and from the urgent care center that might have triggered that response from Clint.

Sam gratefully accepted the drink Natasha placed in front of him, draining the majority of it in one gulp before turning his attention to the food. Given the short amount of time it took for him to feel the warmth of the alcohol seeping into his muscles, it occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten in quite a few hours. It probably hadn’t been the most brilliant choice to drink on an empty stomach, particularly when he planned to return to his apartment that evening. If he needed to, he could always walk to the metro and abandon his car at the townhouse for the time being. That wouldn’t bite him in the ass until he needed to make it to the VA in the morning.

He distanced himself from the small-talk going on between Natasha and Clint - not mentioning the incident at the shop, of course, but instead focusing on classes and upcoming assignments. The two of them spoke as though Clint’s arm weren’t in a sling, as though all of the events of the past several weeks had never happened. As though Clint wasn’t in imminent danger.

Everything slowed. Sam watched, almost from a distance, as he drew his arm back and then swung it forward, releasing the glass in his hand at the same moment. The sound of it hitting the wall made an unexpectedly loud crash.

In the silence that followed he swore he could hear each individual shard of glass hitting the kitchen floor. By the time Natasha and Clint shifted their horrified gazes from the wall to him, he was already on his feet.

“How the fuck can you be acting as though everything is okay?” he spat out. “Clint’s got multiple branches of the mob after him. A kid who’s barely grown just got shot and almost died. None of this is normal! None of this is okay! How can you both be sitting here, eating dinner, as though nothing is happening?”

Clint still seemed shocked into speechlessness. Natasha said Sam’s name, but it was too late. He went for hall closet, where his jacket hung, and then headed straight for the door. He needed to leave his car here – between his anger and the alcohol in his system, he didn’t trust himself to drive at this point. He would have to return for it in the morning and that would inevitably make him late for work but at this point he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Natasha ran after him. Sam paused long enough to turn back towards her and snarl over his shoulder, “I’m not standing back and watching the two of you get yourselves killed. Fuck that.”

With that, he made his way out the door, slamming it behind him.

-~-

The blood coated the white tiles, coated his throat with a thick, metallic taste, as though breathing in the molecules in the air was enough to infect him. He fought the urge to cough, to choke, to spit it out, knowing it would do no good. He turned, trying to avoid looking at the blood while at the same time looking for a potential exit. That did no good because the blood was all around him. There was nowhere to go where it wouldn’t cover his shoes. Not stepping in the blood felt incredibly important. Something bad would inevitably happen if he did. But he couldn’t remain there, trapped. He had to get out.

But there was a door in the wall, across from him, with only the stained tiles preventing him from reaching it. So he ran, as though that could prevent any blood infecting him even more. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, pushing door after door open in his hurry, refusing to look at the floors of each room he ran through. But the doors kept coming. No matter how many he ran through, everything was the same, making him increasingly frantic, each ragged breath burning in his throat.

Then, as he passed through another door, slamming it against the wall in his hurry to get it open, he saw a glass door up ahead, through which he could see a darkened parking lot. That meant fresh air and a way to escape. That meant freedom.

But then there were the shriek of tires losing traction on pavement and sounds of screaming. It drowned out everything else. Through it all, someone said his name over and over again. Then he became aware, came back, to the sensation of his heart slamming into his ribcage, his head pounding, and his mouth tasting something like dead road kill.

The room swam into focus gradually, a familiar face hanging above him, and slowly the pieces fell back into place. Beneath him, the worn leather of the couch stuck to patches of bare skin. The voice – apparently belonging to the person leaning over him – kept saying his name. Tony struggled to find words through the gasping breaths shaking his body.

“Alright, it’s alright, Tony,” the voice said. “You just had a nightmare. That’s all.”

That fit the final piece together. Tony groaned, dropped his head back against the pillow.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Rhodey,” he muttered.

Apologizing to Rhodey felt automatic at this point and never made it hard for him to form the words, unlike with everyone else. Especially now, with the rest of the evening coming back to him. When he could remember Jane dropping him off pretty much on Rhodey’s doorstep. Of him being unable to stand upright. Of spending the next hour or maybe it was hours – the memory kept cutting in and out, interspersed with lost time – throwing up in the bathroom while Rhodey kept him upright.

Rhodey leaned back and exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ, Tony, you need to stop scaring me like this.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s just something else to apologize for,” Tony said automatically, swallowing hard as his stomach lurched. The thought of dry heaving was not appealing in the slightest.

Rhodey fixed him with a less frantic look, but still one of concern. “It’s been awhile since I last saw you this bad off. You up for talking yet or do you need some time?”

“Some time. Some water. Something that’ll help soak up the alcohol in my system,” Tony said, because it seemed to be the best way to deflect further questions.

Rhodey studied him for a few seconds. “Fair enough. You going to be alright if I step out for a couple of minutes, while I find a hangover cure for you? I just got back a few days ago and there’s not a lot in the fridge; definitely nothing in here that will help.”

Tony felt a flicker of relief. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, Rhodey.”

Just in case Rhodey might try to argue, he signaled the end of the conversation by closing his eyes. He listened as Rhodey’s footsteps moved away, up the stairs before moving around above him for a matter of minutes and then returning down again. Then the front door opened and closed. It wasn’t until stillness filled the house that he opened his eyes again.

Slowly, he took inventory of himself. He kicked the light blanket Rhodey must have placed over him completely off. He remained dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the previous evening, except for the fact that now they were coated with what looked like dirt and some stains he believed might be alcohol and/or vomit. He could feel the weight of his wallet in his back pocket and he automatically checked his front pocket for his cell and came up empty-handed.

Despite the fact that his head felt as though it were filled with rocks, he lifted it up to scan the room. His shoes sat beside the couch. Thankfully, his cellphone was right in front of him on the table, the stone coffee table that looked utterly, disgustingly stereotypical with the coffee books covering it. Not so thankfully, one touch lit up the phone with a notification of multiple unanswered messages.

Drunk text messaging, definitely one of Tony’s favorite things in life. He reluctantly opened up the icon on his phone – grateful at least that all of the messages appeared to have been given to him in text form rather than frantic phone calls.

The first message was from Steve and simply said, “Not now, Stark.” Scrolling up, Tony found that he’d sent several messages, less and less coherently, of apology to Steve. As the spelling mistakes increased, so did the pleas for Steve to respond.

Wonderful. Just what Tony wanted. Then again, with Steve maybe he could just ignore it and eventually it would go away.

Not so much with the second set of messages he reviewed. Those messages contained multiple ones from Pepper, saying things like, “Tony, I’m really worried about you. Tony, please call me. Tony, what’s going on? Tony, do I need to call the police or file a missing persons report? Tony, are you okay?”

Scrolling up, he discovered several messages he’d clearly sent to her at some point. Messages like, “I’m sorry, Pepper, I’m so sorry.” “You deserve so much better.” “I don’t know why you bother with me.” And other such self-deprecating and, in retrospect quite alarming statements. Great. Just more damage control for him to manage once he managed to sit up without falling over or throwing up.

He used his remaining time alone to try to figure out what other aspects of last night might also require reparations. He recalled running into Jane in the parking lot, just as his buzz fully settled in, and her telling him Bruce had already left. On the plus side, at least he hadn’t placed additional stress on Bruce. Although now that he reflected on those next few moments, he had plenty of apologies for Jane. There had been a fair amount of angry words to her when she took his keys away, and even more when she’d coaxed him into the car and presumably took him here.

He’d need to make amends for that; maybe by getting her some new, shiny equipment to do science with. Or maybe through taking away some or all of her loan debt, assuming she hadn’t had her way paid because she was a science genius and all of that. He owed her that much for everything she’d done. He’d cheated death plenty of times while driving drunk. It had gotten him a few DUIs over the years but he’d never crashed, which just made him feel invulnerable.

Obviously that was a sign of how fucked up he was. Normal people didn’t choose to stare Death in the eyes and spit in its face. Not when their parents died in a car crash and especially not when they were the only survivor of it. Definitely not when that entire crash was their fault.

Tony’s thoughts cut off there with the sound of the key turning in the lock, followed by the door opening. He pushed himself into a sitting position, closing his eyes when the room spun around him in an effort to avoid retching. He fixed his gaze on the blanket at his feet, focusing on the colors of the individual threads, rather than on the clenching in his stomach or the increased throbbing in his head.

“Should I grab the trashcan?” Rhodey inquired from the doorway.

“No,” Tony said automatically. Then the smell of the food hit him and he swallowed hard. “Well, maybe.”

That was all he managed before the retching started completely. He tried to thank Rhodey for the trashcan that magically appeared beneath him, not that he was bringing up much more than bile. Rhodey offered the helpful commentary of, “That’s right, cough it up” while rubbing Tony’s shoulder.

Tony determined that there wasn’t much more that could happen at this point to lead to him hating himself more than he already did.

When his stomach finally stepped rebelling, Tony sat back and tried to stop shivering. He kept his own gaze fixed stubbornly on the table rather than meeting Rhodey’s worried look – or at least what he presumed was a worried look because he knew Rhodey and he could feel the weight of the gaze on him.

After a few beats of silence Rhodey sighed and moved away before returning a few moments later. He placed a cup of shaved ice and syrup in front of him and said, “Start with that. We’ll go from here and see how much you can tolerate.”

Tony’s stomach indicated uncertainty with the plan as he lifted the first spoonful to his lips. It only took a bite or two for his stomach to settle. A few more and his head felt lighter and less like it might explode.

As all of that happened, the full weight of what he’d done fell on him. The only thing to do was flop back against the back of the couch with a groan. The better he felt, the more he reflected on the fact that Rhodey knew exactly what to do for him after a night of heavy drinking simply because this sort of situation had happened far too many times. Still, Rhodey was still there, for reasons Tony couldn’t quite understand.

Then there was the entire mess with Steve and Shield and Clint and the Irish and all of that. The argument with Steve was far too fresh in his mind. By this point, he couldn’t seem to get those thoughts out of his head. He hadn’t even had the excuse of not realizing that the appointment with the Irish was coming up. He’d known it was on the books and that Clint probably would have benefited from some further information, though Tony had a suspicion that Clint was coming in with plenty of preparation of his own. He didn’t seem to be unaware of what was going on, given the bits and pieces of information Tony had pieced together himself at this point. Clearly, it could have been worse if Tony had provided him with more details. Things could have escalated beyond a dislocated shoulder.

But, still, that didn’t change Steve’s anger at Tony or the fact that Tony had fucked everything up even more the previous evening by sending those text messages.

“You have any interest in talking about what the hell happened last night or should I wait until you’ve attempted food?” Rhodey asked, his voice breaking through Tony’s dark thoughts.

Tony let out a pent up breath in what turned into a long sigh. “It’s not important.”

“Tony, that’s the worst I’ve seen you in a long, long time. Whatever happened last night is definitely important.”

“Fine. I got into fight with Steve. He said some stuff, some of it true, and I guess it fucked with my head. I couldn’t shut the thoughts off, so I started drinking until they quieted. One thing led to another and I ended up here.”

There was a long moment of silence before Rhodey sighed heavily. “Damn it, Tony, why didn’t you call me first? Before you decided this was the only way out?”

“Because I didn’t want you to stop me,” Tony admitted. “I knew you would’ve and I just wanted to stop feeling. That’s all I wanted. It sorta helped for awhile.”

“Yeah, until it didn’t,” Rhodey said. “What was the fight with Steve about this time? The same shit as the last one?”

“Which one was that?” Tony asked. “The one after we slept together a couple of times and he got it into his head that it meant something more? Or all of the ones that came after that, usually about stupid petty stuff involving the shop?” When Rhodey just stared at him in response to that, Tony sighed. “Fine. No. I haven’t gone back to sleeping with him or anything like that. There’s… a situation now. Some bad people doing bad things and I fucked up. That’s the long and short of it. I thought I was doing the right thing and as always seems to happen, I fucked it up. Because that’s what I do. I fuck things up.”

Rhodey just raised an eyebrow. “Self-deprecating’s not a good color on you, Tony.”

The words stung, particularly after reading the string of messages he’d sent to Pepper, leading to a bite in his words as he replied, “Right, because you haven’t seen it before. Because you’re not the only person who gets to see this side of me.”

“Touché.” Rhodey frowned. “You said this involved some bad people doing bad things. What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Tony?”

“Nothing, nothing. I know better than that. I’ve learned from my previous mistakes. It’s complicated and probably something where the less you know the better. But I’m not getting in over my head or anything like that.”

“You better not be.” Rhodey paused long enough to scrutinize Tony to a degree that it left him feeling uncomfortable and vaguely sick, although that might have just been the hangover kicking back into full force and not a result of Rhodey’s next words. “It worries me that you’re being so evasive about this. Which is saying something because I’m already pretty worried without that.”

And there it was. He didn’t know how he hadn’t yet cut things off with Rhodey, given his infuriating habit of expressing things like concern or trying to keep Tony from self-destructing. Still, for some bizarre, incomprehensible reason, he’d been dealing with that from Rhodey for years. He didn’t put up with that from anyone else and could barely stomach it from Pepper. Yet, here he was again, over-sharing in the way he hated.

But not too much. He wasn’t about to make his latest mess Rhodey’s mess too.

“I’m doing that so you have plausible deniability. I don’t need to jeopardize your security clearance by sharing too much information with you. C’mon, Rhodey, I’m an asshole but not that much of an asshole. I know how much your military career means to you.”

“Tony, you’re missing the whole thing about not increasing my worry. The fact that you think that would happen makes me think you’re not being completely honest about being in over your head.”

“I’m never in over my head,” Tony replied. “I always find my way out of the mess, sooner or later. Usually later. Seriously, stop worrying, Rhodey. There’s nothing to concern yourself with. It was just a stupid fight with Steve that got under my skin. I’ve just been dealing with a lot and after so many months of forced sobriety – or at least attempted forced sobriety - from Pepper, I guess it just pushed me over that edge.”

“Uh-huh,” Rhodey said skeptically. “Which is why you mentioned bad people, bad things and all of that. I’m not buying it, Tony, but if you’re not gonna talk, obviously I can’t make you talk.”

“I mean, you probably could,” Tony pointed out. “I fully believe you have that specific skill set. But I’m glad you’re not using it on me.”

There was a beat of silence before Rhodey said, “Just promise me that if you find yourself in over your head, you’ll let me know. Okay?”

Tony hesitated for a long moment before saying, “Okay.” Then, in response to the look Rhodey shot him, insisted, “I promise. If I’m in over my head, I’ll come to you for help.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” Rhodey exhaled slowly before asking, “You up for eating, yet?”

“I’ll see how much my stomach can manage,” Tony said, because that was easier than continuing this conversation.

Rhodey reluctantly stood to grab the rest of the food, right around the time Tony’s cell phone determined that it was a good time to go off at top volume. How he’d slept through the text messages was still a mystery to him given that he nearly had a heart attack when AC/DC started to blast. Reluctantly, he glanced down at the screen to see Pepper’s picture flashing across the front.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he swiped his finger across and raised it to his ear. Hungover and still maybe drunk was definitely a better way of handling this situation than waiting until he was stone cold sober.

“Hey, Pepper. I’m still breathing. Sorry about last night.”

There was an uncomfortably long moment of silence, followed by the heaviest sigh Tony had ever heard. “Tony, if you ever do something like that to me again I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

“Heard loud and clear, boss,” he said, aiming for nonchalance.

“What the hell happened?” She didn’t give him time to respond before saying, “Never mind that for now. We’ll talk when I pick you up. Where are you?”

“I’m at Rhodey’s but you don’t need to get me,” Tony quickly replied. “I can get a ride from him or something.”

“Not happening. Give me the address and I’ll be there soon. We have a lot that we need to talk about and I need to see with my own two eyes that you’re in one piece.”

“I’m in one piece, Pepper,” he groaned. “The only problem I’ve got right now is that I’m hungover. Everything else is fine.”

“Still. Give me the address, Tony. Now.”

He considered continuing to argue with her but quickly dissuaded himself of that thought. Pepper was nothing if not thorough and determined, several of the reasons he’d hired her to begin with and kept her on for as long as he had. With that in mind, he rattled off the address to her and then promptly buried his head in his hands after hanging up.

“Should I keep the food away from you?” Rhodey asked, and Tony’s only response to that was to groan. “I’ll take that as a yes. Who was that on the phone?”

“Pepper. She’s coming over to pick me up and give me the longest lecture of my life.”

“Is she,” Rhodey said, in a way that was uncomfortably not a question. “Good. I guess this means I’ll finally get to talk to her.”

To which Tony simply groaned again. The only thing worse than the situation he was already in was the possibility of having the two of them meet one another to discuss him. Honestly, though, this situation was probably exactly what he deserved after the mess with Steve and the shop and the fiasco of last night.

Karma really was a bitch.

-~-

When it rained, it poured.

At this point, Clint should’ve just figured out that this was just how his life went. It was never only having the Russian mob pissed at him; he had to include the Irish mob as well. Knowing his luck, he’d probably have another couple of branches on his tail sooner rather than later because fuck his life. Combine that with kids getting shot and his relationship status falling apart and he was just batting a thousand.

Sam’s only communication since he left the previous night was to say that he needed more time, which left Clint feeling like an asshole for being the catalyst for messing up their relationship once again. Natasha kept reminding him that technically the last time she’d been responsible for Sam leaving but that only helped so much.

At least this time he hadn’t tried to end things with Natasha, too. Somehow none of that served to make him feel any better.

Which meant that when his cell phone went off and his brother’s name flashed on the screen, he had no high hopes. At the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from answering because maybe, just maybe, his brother had a critical piece of information that would help Clint to help the twins. Even if that meant going behind Sam and Natasha’s backs – once again – to keep them out of trouble.

“Hey, Barney. Any news?”

“The news on the street is that you’ve got the Irish on your tail, Clint,” Barney replied. “Heard you had an incident with them the other day.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Clint said, as casually as he could. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know seeing as I was there.”

“But did you know that they’re thinking about retaliation? Apparently you managed to piss ‘em off by doing whatever it is you did. Seems like you might be needing to watch your back moreso than usual.”

“Alright, that’s great, Barney, but still not really specific or anything I couldn’t have already figured out.” He sighed. “Anything else you might be able to tell me? Maybe something about where I could find them? Where their headquarters are? What they might be willing to trade?”

“I mean, I think you already know the answer to that, Clint. All I keep hearing is that they’re looking for the twins. Any information on the twins and they’d probably forgive any of your other indiscretions.”

“Fuck that,” Clint snarled. “I’m not sending the two of them back to that abusive piece of shit. My own life’s not worth that.”

There was a long beat of silence before Barney said, “Well. That changes things, doesn’t it?”

“You’re fucking right it does,” Clint said angrily. “After the shit we went through, you damn well better believe I’m not letting the two of them go back to that asshole. I hope that you’re not as big a fuckup and aren’t planning on selling the two of them out the way you’ve done to me in the past.”

“I’d say I didn’t deserve that, but I guess I did.” Barney said, after an uncomfortably long moment of silence. “Alright. Fair enough. You’re asking for me to redeem myself or whatever. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and see what I can do.”

“I thought that was what you were already doing,” Clint retorted. “You saying that you weren’t but now you’re more serious about it because you realize the type of situation those kids are in?”

“I’m saying that I was more concerned with you being in over your head than anything else,” Barney said sharply. “You’re my brother, Clint, and my loyalty is to you before anyone else.”

“Is it?” Clint countered. “Because the way you’ve acted before, it’s been pretty fucking clear that that loyalty of yours is only towards yourself.”

Barney exhaled raggedly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Clint. What do I need to do to show you that I’m on your side? To show you that I want to make up for all of this? When are you going to stop throwing the past in my face? I can’t do anything to change what’s already happened.”

“Then get me some info. An address. Some intel. Something I could trade with them to maybe make them hate me less. You know cons as well as I do. They know my face but you’re new to the area. You might be able to make friends in a way that I can’t because I’ve burned too many bridges already.” Clint took a short, shaky breath in the hopes of calming himself. “Then, once you have that, call me, and not a minute before.”

With that, he hung up. Immediately, his fingers itched to dial his brother’s number, to apologize, to find some way to smooth things over. On that subject of burning bridges, he really didn’t need to be doing that with Barney. Not that that particular bridge was sturdy to begin with, and it could probably get knocked down with one gust of wind.

When his phone chimed in response to a text message, Clint almost didn’t look at it, unwilling to give any more attention to the type of crap his brother was throwing at him now. But there was always the possibility of it being a piece of legit information, which was enough for him to check. What he found was actually a pleasant surprise. Just a short message from Sam saying, Hey, if you’re cool with it, I wanted to come by tonight.

Clint didn’t even ask Natasha before sending back, You know you’re always welcome here. By the time he saw the next message of, Thanks for putting up with me ☺, he’d almost convinced himself that maybe, just maybe things were looking up.