Tony has a lot of regrets in his life. They start somewhere around attempting reckless stunts to get Howard to notice him, and continue past killing thousands of innocent people because of his own inattentiveness. Right now, however, he's focused less on his boarding school suspensions and more on the fact that he's in the middle of the latest of a long list of regrets.
His bad day starts when he decides to attend the Avengers' charity fundraiser. He had refused to come at first, citing exhaustion from his week-long business trip to Japan, but relented once Captain America had given him that infamous gaze of disappointment. So, with a gusty sigh, he had shrugged back on his suit jacket, dabbed more concealer under his eyes, and waltzed down from his penthouse like he wasn't dreading the long evening.
He manages to stave off the burgeoning sleep-deprivation headache at the bar. As soon as is socially acceptable, he heads straight to the bartender and orders a glass of Cabernet. Part of him hopes that the alcohol will soothe the pain in his head, but his decision is also partly so that people will be less inclined to approach him. From past experience, drinking doesn't really stall the more enthusiastic banquet goers from invading his space or dragging him into conversation, but at least he looks justifiably busy instead of rude and avoidant.
He stands at the counter for a bit, making friendly chatter with the bartender, when he spots Rogers eyeing him warily from across the room. The captain, whose fitted tux hides the uniform underneath, has narrowed his gaze on the drink in Tony's hand. Tony stifles a sigh and shifts so that his back is to his teammate. Even though he's far from the reckless alcoholic he'd been in his younger days, Rogers clearly still doesn't trust him.
It's not exactly the guy's fault. Although they fight together and live together now (Fury's orders), Tony usually makes himself scarce around the Tower unless he's needed. And even though Rogers had halfheartedly attempted to reach out about the fight on the Helicarrier, Tony had hidden away in the workshop until no more advances were forthcoming.
He takes another sip of the Cabernet, which feels dense and heavy on his tongue. Even though he's barely halfway through his drink, the bartender refills it without question, probably assuming that Tony Stark plans to keep a full glass throughout the night.
Shifting his hip against one of the stools, he scans the large banquet hall, searching for the faces of his other teammates. All of them are here tonight except for Thor, who's in Asgard. Romanoff is surrounded by a crowd of men, as poised and elegant as ever even when one of them attempts to caress her waist. Tony itches to go over there and offer her a reprieve, but he knows Romanoff would view it as a slight. Not more than a few meters away from her is Barton, chatting casually with another group of people. He looks just as at ease as Romanoff does, the only identifiable signs of his discomfort being the tight edges of his mouth and the way his hands are curled just a little too tightly.
Across the room stands Bruce Banner, looking incredibly uncomfortable in a pressed tuxedo. Bruce's hands fiddle with his bowtie as if he wants to rip it to shreds. Tony almost does go over to Bruce, knowing that — unlike Romanoff — the doctor would probably feel more grateful than offended, but he recognizes some of the people that Bruce is talking to and figures his teammate is in good hands. In any case, it's either their company or Tony's and the bar's, and he doubts Bruce would prefer the latter.
"Tony!" someone exclaims, startling him from his reverie. At first, Tony doesn't recognize the voice, and he looks around, trying to find its point of origin. When he does see who it is, however, his blood chills. He sets his drink down on the counter very casually and plasters a cold smile on his face.
"Who invited you?"
"What, not going to say hi to an old friend?" Tiberius Stone smirks at him and draws up the stool next to Tony's. "It's good to see you, Tony."
Tony presses his lips into a thin line. "Why are you here, Ty?" A split second later, he realizes that he's used his old, familiar nickname for Stone out loud, and winces.
Stone's noticed the slip-up too, if the broadening of his grin is any indication. He shrugs and props an elbow on the counter. "I'm the CEO of Viastone, Tony. I've got deep pockets, and you and your little Avengers buddies know it. How would you fundraise if you had no one to fund you?"
"I heard you were in the middle of a class action lawsuit. Pharmaceutical fraud, I mean, really?"
Stone's face tightens. "That's nothing. My legal team is working on it. Anyway, Tony, I'm not here to talk about business. Let's chat, huh? We haven't seen each other in a long time."
"Good riddance," Tony mutters inaudibly into his glass as he takes another swallow. "I'm not sure there's much to talk about."
"Sure there is." Stone slouches against the bar, every bit as casually good-looking as Tony remembers. Tony's gut squeezes at the thought and he has to force himself to look away as nausea rises inside him. "Remember all the things we used to get up to in college? You certainly had plenty to say then."
"We're a long way from college," Tony says sharply. He white-knuckles his drink to stop his hands from shaking. Yes, they're a long way from college, but Stone still manages to have an effect on him.
Stone had been his best friend, his first friend, at MIT. They'd met midway through freshman year and Tony had been immediately entranced by the older student, who was tall and rakish and charismatic and basically everything Tony wanted to be. Even though Stone was only a sophomore, he was four years Tony's senior, nineteen to Tony's fifteen.
They'd struck up an instant friendship, one that had been more brotherly and affectionate than anything else, until the summer after Tony's freshman year. Stone, who'd come to vacation in California while his father set up a partnership with Howard Stark, had seemed to change the way he viewed Tony, less like a little brother and more like an equal. Tony had easily fallen hook, line, and sinker for the older boy that summer, and by the time they returned to MIT, they were dating.
However, Stone had quickly begun to abuse Tony's trust in him, using Tony only for sex and either getting violent or seeking sex elsewhere when he was met with refusal. Thankfully Rhodey had been there to pick up the pieces, but a lot of horrible things had happened during that year that Tony would prefer to never think of again. As his luck would have it, though, here Stone stands again, looking nearly identical to his college self, smiling at Tony as if nothing had ever changed between them.
Stone nods thoughtfully, as if actually contemplating what Tony has said. "We are," he agrees. "More mature. Older. You've certainly grown. You used to be pathetically scrawny back then."
Tony places his drink back down and cocks an eyebrow, pretending that he doesn't feel like his meek fifteen-year-old self all over again. "And, at least for a short while, you used to be less of a dick."
Stone throws his head back and laughs, which is unexpected. "You're funnier now," he comments. "Running around with superheroes really makes you feel like one too, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yeah," Tony says, ignoring the obvious jab, "Black Widow has a great sense of humor. You should use yours on her. She'd appreciate it." He turns away from the counter, looking around the room to see if he can spot Romanoff again. (In hindsight, he only looks away for a few seconds, ten at most, but it's enough.)
He catches her red hair in the crowd, and nods over at her. "There you go. Certainly better company than me."
When he turns back to Stone, Stone's watching him with this gleam in his eyes that makes Tony uncomfortable. He's intimately reminded of the chilly, calculating expression Stone would wear in college every time he finished a phone call with his dad or Tony had done something he didn't like.
"Bartender," Stone calls without taking his eyes off of Tony, "get me one of whatever he has, okay? Can you do that?" A few seconds later, a second wine glass appears on the countertop. Stone picks up the glass by its graceful stem, tapping the rim gently against Tony's. "I'm sure the Widow is a lovely conversationalist. Is that why you keep her around?" The way he says "conversationalist," drawn-out and insinuating, carries obvious undertones.
Tony raises his eyebrows, taking a drink from his own wine. He's torn between feeling disgusted on Romanoff's behalf and amused that Stone would even say something like that. Romanoff is definitely not a favorable enemy to have. "Not exactly. It's more the fact that she could kill you with a hairpin and a flyswatter while blindfolded."
Stone just hums.
Tony sighs, draining the rest of his glass in a couple long swallows. He's feeling restless, now, and the buzz from the alcohol hasn't done much for his headache either. He sets the empty drink down on the bar, letting the bartender refill it with another inch, before stepping away from the counter.
He makes another round, keeping one eye on Stone as much as he can while subtly compelling the other banquet goers to donate to the Avengers' charity fund. At this point, he's feeling calm enough from the wine that he doesn't bother to take another sip, only keeping the glass in hand for appearances' sake. He catches Rogers looking over at him again but ignores what is bound to be disdainful judgement, choosing instead to address the middle-aged woman whose hand is on his arm.
Of course, just as he's moved onto another group, his Avengers alert goes off in his earpiece. "We have a situation," is all Fury can say before the ground shakes underneath his feet and a noise like thunder resounds from outside.
The banquet hall quiets for a few blissful seconds before murmurs begin to rise in the crowd. "What's going on?" says one of the men standing nearby, his eyes darting to Tony's wildly. "Mr. Stark, what's happening?"
"Stay calm," Tony says loudly. "The Avengers are going to go check out the big kaboom, everyone stay inside, alright? It's going to be okay." He notices the other Avengers already exiting the hall and taps at the suit-activation bracelets locked around his wrists. "JARVIS?"
"Coming, Sir," his AI says into his earpiece as Tony rushes outside. Seconds later, his suit — already pieced together with its back open — lands in front of him. He steps in, already feeling safer with the titanium metal encasing his body, and connects to the Avengers' main comms. "What've we got?"
"Looks like a run-of-the-mill villain," Barton says. "Flesh and blood human. Setting off smoke bombs and throwing homemade grenades."
"What's his MO?" Tony asks. "Trying to impress a cheerleader, bent on world domination, what?" His guesses aren't as arbitrary as they might seem to an outsider; first of all, there was Loki, and secondly, there are a surprising number of nutjobs out there who use scandal to grab their crush's attention.
"Brunet male, looks to be in his early twenties," Rogers reports, ever the stoic member of the team. "He's shouting something."
Tony flies closer to the commotion. The guy shouts again and throws a grenade at him, which Tony chucks high into the air and then blasts with a repulsor. "Ummm, I think he's saying 'All hail Loki'?"
"Oh, you've got to be shitting me," Barton groans.
"Language," Cap says, although his heart doesn't seem to be in it. They're all tired of Loki worshipers by this point. Ever since Loki tried to destroy New York six months ago, ordinary citizens have been popping up all over the city and the dark web, chanting cult-like prayers to the god and thanking him for blessing the Earth with dark magic. Tony assumes these people didn't lose a loved one during the battle.
The guy has run out of smoke bombs and grenades and is screaming an unfamiliar language into the air now. Green mist begins to appear around his hands, looking very similar to Loki's own magic. "Guys," Tony says carefully, "either I'm hallucinating, or we've got another magic user." Amateur magic users have also been surfacing since Loki's attack, eager to imitate the god's plans of destruction in various ways.
Rogers sighs, breaking his rigid facade for a moment. "Less chatter, please. Let's just get this man into SHIELD custody."
The man sends a green blast of magic Tony's way, and Tony's surprised to realize that his coordination's a little off. He wobbles in the air as he moves aside, and his head spins. "The fuck?" he mumbles to himself, pressing a gauntleted hand to his head.
"Iron Man?" Cap barks into the comms. "What's going on?"
Tony shakes his head until the brief fog clears. "Nothing," he chirps. "Just got distracted for a second."
There's a tense silence in the comms for a moment, almost like the Avengers are mistrustful of his words. But the quiet is quickly filled up again as the man yells, "For Loki!" and uses his magic to uproot one of the trees lining the park nearby. The animated tree towers over all of the Avengers gathered on the floor, its thick branches waving menacingly.
Another burst of dizziness hits Tony again, but he forcefully ignores it, blocking out everything but the instructions Cap is giving as the Loki worshiper animates various trees and statues around the park. He manages to take down two of the trees with Hulk as assistant while Romanoff, Barton, and Rogers work on safely stopping the magic user.
As soon as the battle's begun, it's ended. Cap distracts the target til Romanoff has him knocked out and handcuffed on the ground. A slew of SHIELD agents gather round the unconscious criminal, a Quinjet already prepped for transport.
The Avengers gather at the ramp of their own Quinjet, prepping for the ride home. "Debrief in twenty," Fury says into their comms. "Go home, change out of those fancy outfits, and come back to base." There's no point in returning to the banquet hall; all of their guests have been evacuated by now. With a start, Tony realizes that most of his teammates are still haphazardly dressed in at least part of their tuxes, and in Romanoff's case, a long black dress. Her heels are dangling from one of her hands.
Tony presses the maneuver at the base of his neck to retract his helmet and faceplate. "I can't believe we got dragged out of there for a five second fight," he mutters, his words slurring slightly. Wow, he must really be more sleep deprived than he thought.
"Why, did you prefer standing around in a suit and talking to strangers?" Barton says, raising an eyebrow. "I bet the drinking helped."
"Huh?" Tony glances up to find all the Avengers looking at him. Barton looks faintly amused, Romanoff is stoic as ever, and Bruce is inside the Quinjet looking for pants, but Rogers…. Rogers's expression is clouded with disapproval. "What?"
Barton shrugs, looking slightly apologetic but not really regretful. "Sorry, man, but it's kind of obvious."
"What is?" Tony frowns. His mind feels sluggish for some reason, like he can't think properly, and Barton is speaking in riddles.
"You know. The drinking. But hey, whatever helps you get through things like this."
"I wasn't drinking," Tony says, affronted. He draws himself up, noticing that, huh, his balance does seem to be off. "Much."
"Stark, you shouldn't be drinking on the job," Rogers finally interrupts.
"I wasn't - ! I mean, I was, but we weren't on the job," Tony snaps, his mood worsening immediately. As if he doesn't just want to go home and sleep already, the apple of his father's eye has to go and lecture him about his more unsavory habits. "And did you forget I was in a different time zone for a week?" He wants to add that he hasn't gotten really drunk in a long time, but no one would believe him anyway, so whatever.
"You're an Avenger, Stark," Rogers says harshly, his voice rising to match Tony's. "You're always on the job, whether you like it or not."
Tony turns to Romanoff and grins with all his teeth. "Well, actually," he says, "I'm a consultant."
Romanoff doesn't rise to the bait, and before tensions can get any higher, she grabs Barton's arm and begins to drag him up the ramp. "We're going home now," she says. "You boys can have your little fight inside the Quinjet."
Tony stumbles a little on the way into the aircraft, and he can feel Rogers's eyes burning into the back of his suit, judging silently. He decides it's not worth it to argue any longer, however, and just slumps into one of the empty seats as Barton starts up the jet.
He thinks he might drift off a little bit on the way back to the Tower, because he wakes up blearily to Bruce patting his cheek with one hand and tapping at the shoulder of his suit with the other. "Tony?"
"Hmmm," Tony mumbles, one hand gracelessly reaching up to rub at an eye. "Wha's goin' on?"
"We're back," Bruce says, peering closely at him. "You were pretty out of it, couldn't wake you up. You must be exhausted."
Tony just laughs. "Or drunk," he says cheekily, standing up to follow Bruce out of the aircraft to where the other Avengers are already waiting.
He stumbles again going down the ramp. He's normally not this uncoordinated, not even when he's drunk, but then again, maybe severe exhaustion combined with alcohol doesn't make for the healthiest mix. Bruce reaches out for him awkwardly, but he rights himself before he can fall. "S'rry," he mutters, giggling to himself a little.
Rogers folds his arms across his broad chest, watching Tony with an imposing stare. "Let's go," he says sternly, turning swiftly and stalking into the Tower.
Once he's safely inside his workshop, Tony steps out of the suit only to stagger into the table, his knees thunking painfully against the ground as he gropes blindly for the edge of the table. "Ffuck," he says, blinking hard. There's no way he could've drunk this much, right? But then again...he's having a hard time remembering much of the fundraiser right now, so who knows.
With the coordination of a sailor in a storm, he hauls himself to his feet and stumbles up the steps to the elevator, riding back up to the main floor where the Quinjet and the rest of the team are waiting. He thinks Bruce might be watching him concernedly as he staggers to his seat and fumblingly straps himself in, but at this point his thoughts are cycling so slowly through his head that all he can think about is staying upright and not embarrassing himself further in front of Cap or his other teammates.
They reach the SHIELD compound in either hours or minutes, Tony's not really sure which. He follows his team out of the jet docilely, not even responding when Barton makes a tease at him. He focuses on walking, one foot in front of the other, as they enter the compound and head down the hallways toward the debriefing room. Somehow he finds himself in the room before he can even register how he's gotten there, and he blinks in sluggish surprise to see that there's a chair in front of him.
"Are you gonna sit or what, Stark?" Fury's voice barks.
Tony looks up, scans the table, sees everyone looking at him. Romanoff has a slight frown on her face.
He blinks again, pulls the chair out, and sits. "Sorry."
Fury begins the debriefing, but Tony feels like collapsing onto the table and sleeping forever. He doesn't even pay attention to what's going on. On a good day, he's capable of multitasking to the point where he could be thinking about at least two different things while also keeping one ear trained on Fury's spiel, but for some reason, he's failing to follow even one topic now. He thinks he might be listing to the side a little bit when Fury shouts: "STARK!"
Tony looks up slowly. "Hmm?"
"Stark, are you paying even one single goddamned ounce of attention to what I'm saying?"
Well, obviously not, Tony thinks in confusion. "No?"
"Sir, he's drunk," Rogers intercedes, ever so helpfully. "I saw him at the bar during the fundraiser, and he was drinking throughout."
The bar! Tony thinks with sudden, startling clarity. He frowns, trying to hold onto the thought. Ty, the bar, Ty, the bar…. It wouldn't be the first time. He'd done this in college too…. What wouldn't be the first time?
"Really, Stark?" Fury sighs, pinching the skin between his eyebrows with an index finger and thumb. "It was a goddamned charity banquet."
Tony tries to nod in agreement, but his head just kind of moves to one side. There's an uncomfortable feeling growing in his gut now that's watered down by the drinks…? No, the...whatever it is, but maybe it's drinks? He drank at the bar, right?...in his system.
Fury shakes his head in disbelief and then drops his hand, continuing the debriefing. Judging by the stress lines around his mouth and eye, he's already too exasperated to gauge Tony's reactions.
The rest of the debriefing is short, mainly because the subject at hand hadn't wreaked too much havoc and the Avengers had detained him fairly easily. Tony spends most of the remaining time kind of zoning out. Thoughts of wanting to leave SHIELD and go home already circulate through his mind, but it's hard to keep track of all of them.
"Tony?" There's a hand on his arm now, and Bruce is looking down at him. The room has gone quiet — Fury's there still, but he's not talking. Does that mean they're done?
"Are you okay?"
Tony looks up. "Yeah."
"Did you take anything else when you were drinking earlier?" Bruce asks carefully. "Painkillers, medication, anything like that?"
Cap's voice, steady and strong. "What's going on, Bruce?"
Bruce turns away, his hand not leaving Tony's arm. Tony smiles at the contact, feeling a little dazed; he thinks he kind of likes physical touch. "Something's wrong."
"Did he drink too much?" Cap asks. He sounds simultaneously disapproving and concerned, which makes Tony want to snort. "Is it his liver?"
Bruce shakes his head. "I don't think he's drunk. This isn't...isn't normal. Not normal for anybody, but especially not for Tony."
"He's too quiet," Romanoff speaks up. She's standing now, from across the table, staring at Tony with acute realization in her eyes. "I'd suspected earlier, that something was off, but…."
"Tony," Bruce speaks with quiet urgency. "Can you stand? We have to get him to medical, see what else he's on." He tugs gently at Tony's arm.
Tony stands obediently, but once he's fully upright, he stumbles, catching his hip on the table. Gentle but firm hands pull him back by the shoulders, supporting him. He wants to go home, he thinks, except it's hard to do much thinking at all.
Bruce stares into his eyes. "His pupils are very dilated," his friend reports. "I'm surprised he's able to stand at all." Bruce's mouth compresses into a thin line the longer he examines Tony. "There's no way Tony would have done this to himself. He may be reckless, but he knows what he's doing. Did any of you see him with somebody tonight? Possibly someone who was acting overly friendly? Maybe someone who knew him?"
"Stark knows a lot of people," Barton says, but Rogers interrupts quietly.
"There was this man with him, at the bar. But I didn't see anything unusual…."
"You think someone drugged Stark at the banquet," Romanoff says to Bruce, her voice sharp. She looks over to Tony again, her expression unreadable.
"Get him to medical," Fury cuts in, his voice hard. "There were cameras at the banquet. Let's see what bastard decided he could get away with this."
Tony has kind of lost track of the conversation again, but he can tell Fury. He knows the answer to this one. "Ty," he slurs. "M' ex."
There's dead silence for a second. "Did he say his ex did this to him?" Barton says.
"What's his full name?" Bruce asks gently, but there's an undercurrent of urgency to his tone. "Do you think you can tell us that?"
"Ty," Tony repeats, his eyebrows scrunching up as he tries to shape his mouth around the rest of the name. "T-Ti'er's. Stone."
"I know Stone," Fury says. His voice is flinty. He's probably mad at Tony. They're probably all mad, because now they know. "Go on, Banner." The director storms out of the conference room.
"S'rry," Tony says quietly when Fury has gone. He lifts his head and sees that Bruce is breathing stiffly, his face a faint shade of green. He doesn't want his friend to be angry, but his head is too muddled for him to figure out how to fix it.
Bruce takes a deep breath and the green color fades. "Don't be. I'm not mad at you." He takes Tony by the elbow and leads him toward the doorway. Tony goes willingly, not even bothering to protest the arm around his waist or the hand on the crook of his arm.
Time starts to fragment, then. They somehow get all the way down to medical, and Cap is there for some reason too. Tony's arm is looped around the back of Rogers's neck and Rogers's arm is slung around Tony's shoulders, and he lets his teammates sit him down gently on the edge of a white hospital bed.
There's a nurse there at some point, and she takes his arm and draws his blood. He doesn't react to the needle at all even though he knows what she's doing, thinks instead about how much he'd like to be home right now, even though everyone's faces are growing more and more distressed every time they glance over at him. If he could think clearly, he'd probably feel really uncomfortable, because he hates the looks, hates being in medical with all his teammates staring at him. And why are they even here, anyway? He's fine, and they don't like him, and he's probably just stupid drunk like they thought he was, and he just wants to go home.
"We're going home soon," Bruce says soothingly, and Tony blinks and everyone's looking at him again. He wants them to stop looking —
"Sorry." Cap clears his throat and turns away.
Tony pauses, feeling strangely off-balance — not just because of the drugs in his system. "What for?" he asks, or tries to ask, because it comes out more like: "Whhh'f'r?"
He doesn't know if Cap ever answers his question either, because he gets distracted again, and the next thing he knows, Romanoff is exchanging some sharp words with a doctor who's holding some paperwork and then they're heading out of medical and down a hall.
Tony bats Rogers's arms away sluggishly when the guy tries to put his hand on Tony, but then he stumbles sideways into the wall and Cap makes a pained noise and then Tony doesn't refuse again when he feels arms settling around his shoulders and waist. "Almost there," Bruce says in his ear, and then they're out in the fresh air, and up the ramp of the Quinjet they go!
Hands push him gently down and Tony sits there blankly as someone gently moves his arms aside and straps him into the seat. His head feels heavy and he lets it loll back against the wall.
"Tony? You okay?"
Tony blinks. What kind of dumb question is that? "'Lways." It's not like this is his first time on this rodeo, after all, and especially not with Ty.
He thinks maybe he says some of this out loud, although it's anyone's guess as to how coherent he sounds, because Bruce lets out a long, low growl beside him. Huh, perhaps his friend is mad that he's so easy. He doubts any of the other Avengers are so fond of being open with their sexual affections as he is, after all….
After a few long minutes, Tony's eyes have slipped shut and he drifts, drifts, until a few more minutes pass and suddenly he feels hands at his waist and chest, unbuckling the seat straps locking him in. Fingers grip his shoulder and shake firmly. He hears someone calling his name.
He tries to open his mouth and reply that he's fine, but the best he can muster is a weak little moan. There's a shuffling sound, and then strong arms are lifting him bodily from the knees and shoulders. He feels his head lolling back and one of the arms shifts so that his cheek is propped against something warm and sturdy.
There's some quiet murmuring from above and around him, but he can't grasp onto any of the voices tangibly enough. He's not really aware of what's going on or who's carrying him, but then again, he also doesn't care. He nestles his head further into the warm firm object pillowing his cheek and sighs, finally succumbing to the desire to sleep.
When Tony wakes up, it's with a pounding headache that feels like a hangover but ten times worse. He's shaking a little bit, his mouth is dry, and his thoughts are heavy and slow.
He looks around him and spots Bruce and Cap nearby; Bruce is asleep on a cot and Cap is slumped awkwardly in a chair, his chin nearly touching his chest. With a start, he registers he's in medical back at the Tower, and realizes with even more alarm that he has no idea how he's gotten here. He struggles to remember what happened last night, but his brain is slow to piece things together — the charity function, drinking, an Avengers battle…. Did he get injured during the fight? What happened?
He examines himself for injury and finds none, although his head is still aching badly. Concussion, then?
That's when the first fragmented memory hits.
Tony inhales sharply as he remembers talking to Stone, and people accusing him of being wasted despite him having drunk little the whole night. He also recalls bits and pieces of the battle, and has a vague recollection of the SHIELD debriefing and sitting in medical, but otherwise, his entire memory's shot.
So there it is then, in crystal clarity — Stone must have drugged him, maybe slipped something into his drink, and he must have humiliated himself in some way in front of his teammates. Because if he hadn't, he'd have woken up in his bed in the penthouse instead of here in the Tower's medical.
It's not the first time that Stone has tried this little trick on Tony, and it's not the first time that he's succeeded either (not that Tony cares to think about those times, ever). But it might truly be the first time that anyone has ever noticed besides Rhodey.
Glancing back over at the sleeping forms of his teammates, Tony sits up, wincing at the new pains the action introduces. He has no idea how badly he's made a fool out of himself this time around, nor does he intend to stay long enough to find out. Easing his legs over the side of the bed, he rips the electrodes from his chest and hoists himself into a wobbly stance.
The heart monitor shrieks at max volume as Tony — or, well, what's supposed to be Tony — flatlines. Bruce's eyes open immediately, and Rogers is standing in front of Tony with a wild look on his face before Tony even has time to blink.
There's an awkward silence. "Oh," Tony manages to say, "I didn't know it would be that loud." Dammit, he always forgets to turn off the heart monitor.
Bruce is breathing heavily, his eyes a little crazed. "Tony," he says, "get back on the bed right now."
"I'm fine!" Tony retorts, crossing his arms. "I had a bad night, drank a little too much, blah blah blah. But I slept it off. And now I'm fine."
"Tony," Bruce says, a pained note creeping into his voice. "You — do you remember seeing Tiberius Stone at the banquet last night?"
"I know," Tony snaps, before he has time to process that apparently the Avengers know, they know about Stone. "I know what happened. He's done it before, I'm not exactly going to be a damsel in distress and fall all over myself crying about it. He didn't get to do anything this time anyway, so I don't see why you're making such a big deal."
"'Do anything'?" Rogers quotes, his face settling into annoyingly genuine worry. Go figure, now he's pitying Tony.
"Can you just let me go to the shop already?" Tony says coldly, hating how his voice shakes a little at the end. He's fine, and he refuses to think about how close Stone came to…. "My vital signs are fine and I don't need evaluating. If you haven't figured it out yet from my blood work, I'm guessing he used GHB and not Rohypnol, but not more than 250 milligrams because obviously I'm still alive and I didn't get emesis. I was drinking and tired last night and I already have cardiovascular issues, so clearly those factors didn't help either. But two of those things have already been resolved by my nice little stay in medical, so I'm fine now, can I go?"
"Tony," Rogers says now, and his voice sounds strained and unhappy. Probably upset that Tony's being so stubborn. "I want to apologize for what I said last night."
"That's the first time you've ever called me 'Tony,' Cap," Tony points out, surprising even himself at the observation. He drums his fingers against his chest. "I hope this little incident hasn't changed anything between us. I can still fight just fine, I'm a big boy."
"I know that," Cap agrees. "I just wanted to apologize because what I said yesterday was uncalled for. I shouldn't have accused you of drinking when you hadn't done anything to warrant the suspicion. You're my teammate, and I trust you."
Tony glances over to Bruce. "Are we seriously having a heart-to-heart right now?" he blurts in order to buy himself time. Normally he'd shoot off a witty retort, but he still feels humiliatingly off his game.
"I'm sorry," Cap says, his blue gaze downcast.
"Yeah," Tony says. "Okay. Apology accepted. I'm gonna go now." He pushes himself off from the bed, relieved that his balance has returned to its normal equilibrium.
"Shouldn't we talk about this?" Rogers asks, his voice low in an aside to Bruce.
"Let him go," Tony hears Bruce murmur back with a sigh as Tony stiffly exits the room. Thank God for his science bro. "That's just how Tony deals with things, Steve…."
Safely outside and away from any prying eyes, Tony stops and backs against the wall for a second, running his hand over his face. Seeing Stone last night has triggered a whole slew of buried memories from college, memories he'd hoped to never recover again. Stone is not the first one to have roofied him, and definitely was not the last until now, but he's the only one who has ever hurt Tony so badly. He's also the only one whom Tony can point to with certainty and accuse of having drugged him.
He'd vowed decades ago to never think about his college relationship with Stone and he doesn't plan on breaking that vow now, but the fresh trauma still shakes old feelings loose in him. His breath catches in his throat as he imagines what might have happened had the Avengers not been called to battle that same evening. Hell, he probably owes the villain a damn box of chocolates for the save.
He doesn't want Bruce or Rogers to come out and catch him lingering in the hallway, so he heads to the elevator and hits the button for his workshop instead. Even at MIT, work had always been his main escape when he wants to stop thinking for awhile, so he replaces his thoughts of Stone with blueprints for an improved version of Romanoff's widow bites instead.
Taking a deep breath and slowly unclenching his fists, he pushes out of the elevator and unlocks the door to his workshop. Finally, he is home, and no one — not the Avengers, not SHIELD, not Stone — can reach him here.
He stays in the shop for three days straight. It's probably not a good idea to push his body so hard right after the heavy night at the Avengers banquet, but he keeps himself fueled on Dum-E-made smoothies (JARVIS confirms that they contain no motor oil), granola bars, and brief naps on the couch.
During his work binge, he successfully improves Romanoff's widow bites, constructs several new explosive arrows for Barton, finds a better solution for strengthening the durability of Cap's kevlar suit while still maintaining its flexibility, and emails Bruce a list of ideas about one of the doctor's latest research projects. Bruce emails him back and tells him to lift the blackout on the workshop and let the team in, which is frankly a disappointing response, but Tony can't bring himself to care.
On the fourth day, he finally runs out of snacks to keep himself going, and it's only when JARVIS alerts him that he hasn't eaten in thirty four hours does he pause from his work. "J, what did I tell you about disrupting me?"
"You said, and I quote," JARVIS, the ever-cheeky bastard, replies smoothly: "'Don't interrupt me when I'm on a binge unless I or the other Avengers are in imminent danger, you hear me? Unless Cap's just gotten his ass blown sky high by a neo-Nazi in neon boots'" — true story — "then I don't want to hear it.'"
"Does it look like there's a neo-Nazi in neon boots standing in my workshop?" Tony replies exasperatedly, waving his wrench in the air.
"No," a new voice says, "but I am."
Tony jerks around and his mouth drops open as he sees Rogers standing there, dressed in a casual tee shirt and slacks. "JARVIS!" he sputters.
"Sorry, Sir," JARVIS says, not sounding apologetic at all. "You have not eaten in over a day. I thought it prudent to categorize starvation under 'imminent danger.'"
"Sure," Tony says, his mind still reeling, "and it's not because Cap here was pestering you to let him in at all."
Rogers smiles a little bit, shifting the takeout bag in his hands. "That may have been partly the case."
"Okay, look," Tony starts, setting the wrench down and deliberately avoiding the captain's eyes. "I know why you're here, and I don't want to hear it. I get it, I was irresponsible and reckless, yadda yadda yadda, Tony don't you trust the team, Tony why didn't you tell us, Tony why would you talk to your psycho ex. Trust me, I've already had imaginary conversations with you in my head."
Rogers laughs a little, then bites his lip. "We didn't get off on the best foot, and I don't think I ever properly told you that," he begins apropos of nothing.
"No, really?" Tony shoots back sarcastically.
"I think you're a brave man, a good man," Cap says, any hint of humor gone from his expression. Tony can't help but look up at the supersoldier, searching for the telltale signs that he's being mocked. "And, I admit, I lost my temper a little last night. I thought you were drinking, and it made me angry that I couldn't find an easy solution for that. I was angry that I had forced you to come to the fundraiser when you were clearly exhausted, and I got even angrier when I realized that you could be at home and asleep in bed if it hadn't been for my pressuring you. I felt almost like I'd purposely dumped you in front of that bar just so that you could relax after your week-long business stay in Japan."
Tony's brain stalls. His mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. "Um, you know none of that is your fault, right, Cap?"
Cap's eyes turn frail. "Steve," he says, almost helplessly. "Please call me Steve."
"Uh, sure. Steve, then. But look, C — Steve. None of what happened last week is on you."
"I think what makes me the most upset, what makes all of us the most upset," Steve says quietly, "is that it took us so long to notice. I mean, when I think about all the signs that something wasn't right, it's pretty obvious. But because I couldn't let go of my own misdirected anger, I thought that…. I'd thought that…."
Tony just sighs. Turns out even Captain America has insecurity issues like the rest of the world.
"Steve," he says, gentler. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, except mine."
"Not yours either," Steve says mulishly. He looks so stubborn all of a sudden, his bottom lip jutting out and his arms crossed, and Tony recognizes for the first time that Steve is still so very young.
"Okay," he concedes. "Fine. Not my fault either. But look. I don't blame you, you shouldn't blame yourself. Honestly, I'm just embarrassed I fell for it again. I should've known better, Ty was never —" He stops, swallows. It's been decades, and he still has trouble talking about Stone. "He was never a nice guy. I shouldn't have —"
"What's all this about not blaming yourself, again?" Steve asks, his voice almost warm. He doesn't seem like he's going to fixate on Tony's brief stutter, and for that, Tony is grateful.
"Yeah, well, I'm not so good at that." Tony runs a hand over the back of his head and blows out a long breath. "I'm fine, really. You don't have to worry, or talk to me like I'm about to go off the deep end. It doesn't bother me, I just." How does he say that it's not the drugging that he can't stop thinking about, per se, but the fact that Stone still has some power over him? He's not a young, naive college kid anymore, he's a goddamn grown adult who's been beaten and waterboarded and has flown into the cold depths of space. And yet, last night, it's like all of that growth had been for naught — reduced in a split second, the instant Ty watched him raise that glass to his lips.
Steve nods like he somehow understands everything that Tony's not saying, and then motions over to the worn couch in the back of the workshop. "Come on."
"Huh?" Tony says intelligently.
"I figure you don't want to eat takeout standing up, right?" Steve says, and is that — is that a hint of mirth in his eyes? "We ordered Chinese. Chow mein, dim sum; Bruce said you like cha siu baos."
"...I do," Tony says slowly as he follows Steve over to the couch. This must be a dream, he thinks a little hysterically. He's about to eat takeout with Captain America in his workshop, only days after his asshole ex roofied him. What has his life become?
Steve pulls out the little cartons and settles them on his lap. He hands the cha siu baos over to Tony and then lines up the rest of the boxes on the empty stretch of couch cushion between their legs.
The scene feels so strange and yet so familiar at the same time, like they've somehow found a dynamic they can get used to. Tony furtively glances over at Steve as he snaps his chopsticks apart, plucking at a bao like it's a newborn baby instead of a foodstuff.
They eat quietly for awhile. It feels insanely awkward, partially because Tony's still not sure what to think about Steve's being here and partially because he's not very used to letting silences linger. On the other hand, he hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating, and he doesn't say anything when he notices Steve shifting the cartons surreptitiously closer. It's...maybe it's kind of nice. Or, at least, it's awkward but has the potential to be nice.
Finally, he can't help but ask the question that's been looming since they started eating. "Why are you doing all this?"
"Doing what?"
Tony can't figure out if Steve is being purposely oblivious. "Bringing me food? Eating with me? I said I was fine. I get that maybe you pulled the short straw, but, this is kind of above and beyond, don't you think?"
"Would you have come up for dinner if I didn't bring any down to you?"
"Well…." Tony frowns. "I guess not, but that doesn't explain why you're here."
Steve sighs, rolls back his shoulders. Finally, Tony thinks. Here comes the plain ol' truth. "When I came out of the ice, I had no one."
Well, this sure throws Tony for a spin. "Steve?" he asks tentatively.
Steve continues like he hasn't even heard Tony. "For a long time, I didn't have anybody, and everyone I'd ever known was dead. Then, out of the blue, I suddenly had a team, and I was having to relearn how to work with other people on missions." He looks to Tony. "I had a guy, kinda stubborn, hard to read, on my team and I didn't know how to work with him at all."
"I'm not going to apologize for that," Tony says after a beat.
Steve's mouth twists into a wry slant. "I wouldn't expect you to." He looks down, and suddenly all Tony can see is — someone who both is and isn't Captain America; sees someone who Captain America must be without the mask. "We rub each other the wrong way a lot. We fight well together in battles, but off the field is...harder. Last week reminded me that I don't really know you that well, and I'd like to change that. I want to have your back, even when we're not fighting in uniform. I want to — know, about guys like Stone, so you won't have to go through that."
Tony stiffens. "So you just don't trust me then," he says bitterly. "Do you want to know the names of all my exes, then, Rogers? Know everyone who's ever wanted to take out a hit on me? Because, trust me, Ty wasn't the first person to hate me and he certainly wasn't the last."
Steve's face creases in frustration. "No," he says, more forcefully than expected. "Tony, you have to stop twisting my words around too. I — I want you to trust that I'm not just here because we drew straws. I want you to know that you don't have to talk about things with us, but you can. I want you to understand that we're a team now, which means we will always have your back."
"You thought I was just being a drunk," Tony says softly. "It's fair to call a drunk a drunk, Steve, I know what I am."
"But you weren't just drunk," Steve counters. "You were — taken advantage of."
"You don't even like me."
"I like you, but I feel like I don't know you very well." Steve sets his chopsticks down. "I respect you, but I'm constantly on uneven ground because I don't know what you mean when you say things, and I don't doubt you misinterpret the things I say too. We don't know each other."
"And yet," Tony says. "You're here anyway, huh?" He means to sound mocking, but his words just come out soft.
"Yes," Steve says firmly. "I'm here anyway."
Tony finishes his share of chow mein in silence, but inside, his mind is awhirl. It just feels like too much, all of a sudden — like there's a catch here, a joke that he's missing. "What did Fury do to Ty anyway?" he asks, hesitantly.
Steve smiles a little. "Gave him to Natasha and Clint," he answers simply. "Natasha wanted to talk to him before SHIELD moved up his court date. Apparently his company's in the middle of a lawsuit, who knew."
There it is, that sly humor again. "Steve Rogers," Tony says carefully, "I get the feeling that you're not the angel everyone thinks you are."
Steve just laughs. "And I get the feeling you're more of a softie than everyone thinks you are."
"Never," Tony says, faux-horrified. He pauses. "I didn't say anything too revealing while I was — y'know — did I?"
"Not really." Steve shakes his head. "If anything, you were just quiet."
"I bet you thought that was a nice change."
"No, actually. You...kind of fill up all the empty spaces."
There's a silence as Tony struggles to find something he can say. This, this talking and honesty shtick, he doesn't know what to do with it.
He scrapes sauce off the bottom of the carton with a chopstick and sucks it into his mouth, watching as Steve fidgets with the hem of his pressed blue tee. "Well. I guess I could stand to go up for a little while. I ran out of food down here yesterday anyway."
"We're having movie night," Steve offers, almost shyly. "I know you didn't come to the first few, but you honestly didn't miss much. It's my pick, this time."
Tony snorts. He doesn't doubt that Barton has been putting on the worst films possible just to yank the others' chains; and he knows Bruce is into those weird, profound indie flicks that no one ever seems to understand. "So what'd you choose?"
Steve shrugs. "You mentioned, last month, that I should try Star Wars. I wrote it down…. So I was thinking of doing that. Tonight."
"Really?" Tony exclaims, instantly forgetting all of the awkwardness in favor of talking about the Star Wars franchise. "Oh, well, I guess I could be there then. Just to make sure you watch everything in order. Bruce is a disgrace to cinema, he likes to watch the movies in order. But you have to start with the fourth one. Fourth to sixth, and then first to third. And the old series first, obviously."
"Okay." Steve smiles. It's really quite a nice smile, when it appears. "Fourth first. Got it."
They gather up the empty takeout cartons and throw them away in the trash bin stowed under one of Tony's workbenches. It's already filled with protein bar wrappers, and Tony has to stifle a laugh when he sees Steve's face as the man peers inside.
"Stark!" Barton says when they exit the elevator and cross through the doorway and into the communal living room. All of the other Avengers are already present, nesting in armchairs or sprawling across the couch. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up, Hawkass," Tony says, but with no real heat. He's grateful to see that — beyond the acknowledging glances and smiles — no one seems particularly inclined to mention anything about his three, nearly four-day stint in the workshop, or about any of the events that happened the night of the banquet. He settles next to Steve on the couch, a respectable distance away, but feels oddly warmed by the presence of his team surrounding him.
As Barton hits play on the remote and Episode IV: A New Hope starts up onscreen, Tony curls his legs up and wiggles around until he's in a comfortable position. It's weird that this domesticity (if you can call it that), of all things, is what triggers this feeling, but he's suddenly struck by how far he's come from his college days, and from Stone, and from the child he used to be.
This is a lot better, he thinks, chancing a glance around at all of his teammates. Maybe this is how it was always meant to be.
Tony's not really a sentimental guy. He doesn't pretend to believe that things always can or will change, or that this team will last especially with the rocky start it had. He doesn't put all his eggs in one basket, so to speak — he definitely can't forget that the catalyst for Steve's reaching out is the fact that Stone drugged him insensate at a gala.
But…like said, he's not that scared college kid anymore. He has a team now, and maybe some good has come out of all of this. Maybe it's the first step to strengthening his relationships and learning how to understand other people both on and off the field.
With that in mind, he settles back into the couch, feeling warmer than he has in years. Beating the odds again, huh, Tony? If only his fifteen-year-old self could see himself now. Stone might have chipped away at all the parts of him that thought he could trust people, but perhaps the Avengers will be what picks up the pieces.
And, anyway, if things end up not working out, at least SHIELD will make sure that Stone can't hurt anyone else.
Tony falls asleep against the armrest like that, tilted at a slightly awkward angle with his head drooping against his shoulder. And if he wakes up in the morning splayed across the couch with a blanket in his lap and a pillow under his head, then he doesn't say anything about it. Because he doesn't really plan to put all his eggs in one basket. But perhaps, just perhaps, his team will make sure that he never has to worry about that again.