Chapter 3
Loki left soon after, with strict orders to drink more water, take a bubble bath, go to bed early, and not think too hard about it, (because you’ll probably just have another one.) Anthony didn’t agree with the man’s diagnosis. What would he possibly be having panic attacks for? Sure, his life wasn’t perfect, but he was content. He didn’t have any undue stress, despite working with teenagers, and maybe he didn’t have much (any) spending money, but he was alive and that’s what mattered.
Loki mentioned that some people had triggers they didn’t know about; that maybe he heard something in the park that set him off. It was perfectly normal, the man reminded him. Then he said that if Anthony figured it out, he should update him.
Anthony was now sitting in a bath full of steaming water and an overwhelming lavender bubble bath concoction he had no memory of purchasing. He waxed less-than-romantic to Jarvis (curled up in the sink like he belonged there) that it was a dreadful experience, as he knew it would be, and he’d never take another bubble bath again, taking care to mention how it was equivalent to sitting in your own filth, and it was likely unhealthy, and who would do this to themselves, really, it’s awful.
Jarvis’ eyes opened briefly, giving Anthony a look that said, ‘You’re only fooling yourself. We both can tell how relaxed you are right now,’ and Anthony had to concede that his cat was probably right.
As Anthony was settling into bed (later on, after he had to coerce Jarvis into getting off his towel, as the cat had moved there when Anthony had splashed him with water), he wondered whether he’d ever see Loki again. Manhattan was not a small area, and it was surprising that he’d bumped into him twice in as many days.
Although, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Anthony didn’t have a tremendous amount of friends in the area (in general, actually), and the ones he had lived upstate or out in California. Perhaps they all ran into each other daily. Perhaps that was normal.
He started losing his train of thought at some point, the topic turning from his friends to parties, to Loki, to money, to a giant gaudy tower with his name emblazoned on the side in bright lights, five stories tall, then back to Loki, who was standing on the balcony wearing a strange outfit – all leather and gold – saying “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t realize he’d been asleep until the alarm went off, declaring it seven ‘o’clock. Work today, he thought, maybe it’ll take my mind off… everything.
Sighing and yawning, he stood, downed a cup of bitter instant coffee, and headed off to work. It was, once again, a fairly uneventful week. By Thursday, the most interesting thing to happen was one of the students getting detention for commandeering the intercom systems and playing ‘I Am Iron Man’ on repeat.
It took staff twenty minutes to break into the main office, only to discover that opening the door changed the song to ‘Baby Got Back’ and that the whole system had been rewired and was currently being broadcast from the catwalk in the auditorium.
When Anthony found out which student it was (one Pietro Maximoff, whose sister was currently acing his AP Chem class, and whose own grades were dismal at best) he made a mental promise to give him an A on his next biology test. It would certainly help his grade, if only a little, and Anthony had a soft-spot for tricksters.
Still, as far as excitement goes, it was a pretty average week, and by Friday Anthony had completely forgotten about the strange man named Loki, who’d known his name despite the fact that Anthony never used his debt card, and about the panic attack in the park.
Then, Friday afternoon happened and he was all but forced to recall those memories.
It happened like this: He’d sat his students down to watch a documentary – something about nuclear power – that would distract the rowdier students for a bit, while he graded their tests. The documentary delved into obvious things, like the Chernobyl reactor, and splitting of the atom, then would explain nuclear weaponry while giving a short history of bombs in warfare. He’d seen it a hundred times with a hundred classes filled with disinterested looks, but this time was different.
For some reason, when the narrator said nuclear bombs, his heart lurched. His breathing got short and that feeling that his lungs weren’t working right came back, overwhelming him.
Anthony stood quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He made it to the door that opened into the next class over, and gave it a stern knock. It didn’t take long for Ms. Hill, a pretty but severe young English teacher, to open the door.
“Everything alright, Mr. Stark?” She gave him a worried glance, but was polite enough to keep her voice down.
“Just feeling a little queasy. Do you mind watching them while I go to the restroom? They’re halfway through a documentary.”
“Alright,” she nodded, “But you should go see Mr. Banner.”
Anthony gave her a wry smiles and said, “I might have to,” before leaving his classroom. He darted into an empty men’s room and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face. His breathing still felt wrong. Maybe Loki had been wrong. Maybe it was something more serious.
But then, when he thought about it, he remembered hearing the words ‘nuclear bomb’, before his breathing and heart rate got all wonky. And, in the park, the last thing he remembered before blacking out was the conversation between the two women about Poor-Sweet-Jaime, the prisoner of war. Were these the triggers Loki had mentioned? It didn’t make any sense. Why would these things be his triggers? He’d never gone to war, never been a prisoner, never even seen a bomb outside of documentaries and the occasional action flick. Maybe it was a past life thing. Maybe he’d been in Hiroshima or Nagasaki.
It took him a few minutes to realize there was a firm hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. Someone was saying his name, but the voice wasn’t as cool or crisp or British as he’d expected it to be, nor was it saying ‘Tony’ like he was beginning to prefer.
“Mr. Stark? Anthony?” It was the principal. Anthony managed to look up after a moment, studying the man’s face and trying to place where he’d seen it before, despite the fact that he saw it damn near every day. “Are you alright, Anthony?”
He was on the floor again. How did that keep happening? This time his face was wet with tears and he was clutching at his shirt, his hands oddly near his heart. Mr. Banner was next to him, but it was Mr. Coulson who was talking, his stable voice drawing his attention to the present.
“I… I’ve never been to war.” He heard his voice shake out. It wasn’t what he meant to say. He meant to say he was fine, that it’d just been a panic attack. Banner was checking his heart rate and blood pressure with one of those cuffs, distracting him from whatever Coulson said next. The nurse gave him a smile that might have been comforting, but ended up more apologetic.
“Anthony,” Coulson was speaking again, “I know you’ve never been to war. We can talk about that at great length another time, if you’d like. For now, can you tell me why you’ve been sitting on the floor in the men’s lavatory for the past forty minutes?”
He had to think about it for a moment, then, “Panic attack,” he managed. Had it really been forty minutes? There was movement around him, and suddenly there was a gurney in his view. “Really? You called an ambulance? I’m fine.” Phil smiled at him, and gods was that smile well-practiced. Anthony had the feeling that Coulson had been a con-man or a secret agent in his past life; someone who could tell a good lie and charm you into anything.
“You were completely unresponsive when Bruce found you twenty minutes ago.” What an odd smile, “You’re going to the hospital.” Phil’s words brokered no argument, so Anthony obliged him, on the condition that he walked himself out to the ambulance. The condition was immediately refused due to insurance reasons.