Deliberations
Earth
Up State New York
General Ross’s Study
General Thaddeus Ross sat up enough to fill the tumbler on his desk from the bottle of Hennessy Ellipse Cognac sitting next to it. He stoppered the bottle and set it carefully back in its place before resuming his slouch in the armchair. It was hardly a military posture, but it fit well the rest of his mien. The class A uniform he’d worn to the debrief was rumpled with a day’s travel. Its tie was missing, its jacket opened, and the top few buttons of its dress shirt had been undone.
Ross reached out to the glass, but didn’t actually pick it up. Instead he contemplated the swirls of the amber liquid in the dim light of his study. The expensive brandy had been a gift from the UN when he’d taken responsibility for The Avengers, an irony that was not lost on him now. Perhaps they’d been more aware than he just what an anthill he’d chosen to sit down on.
“Divining your future, Thaddeus?” a voice asked from the shadows of the room.
Ross’s eyes widened momentarily upon recognition that he was not alone. Then they relaxed as he identified the owner of those words. It really shouldn’t have surprised him that that man could get into his house. At this point, nothing that man did qualified as ‘surprising’.
“Nicholas,” he greeted warmly, not taking his eyes off of the plays of light in the glass.
Fury stepped casually into the light, examining the pictures displayed on one wall of the office. “Do you know that you are probably the only person I let call me that?” he asked without turning around.
Ross hefted the glass and took a sip before responding. “Do you know you’re probably the only person in the world I let call me Thaddeus?” he countered.
“You know, I never understood what you had against your name,” Fury replied, moving to a display of medals. “There are worse things to be called than ‘courageous heart’.”
“There are worse things to be called than ‘victory of the people’, too,” Ross shot back.
“Yeah, but it just doesn’t roll off the tongue like fury,” Fury said, stepping up to the other side of the desk. He scanned its occupants, noting the sheet of printed sentences in the center. It had a pen sitting on top of it, but was as yet unsigned. Fury placed an index finger on one edge of the former and drug it across the table, rotating it enough to read.
“You want a glass?” Ross asked as Fury’s eyes skimmed the letter quickly.
“I think you’re drinking enough for both of us tonight,” Fury replied as he finished the letter. He was less than shocked by what it said. “And there was I thinking Thunderbolt Ross would never yield in anything,” he added, sounding equally wistful, surprised, and disappointed at the same time. A neat trick, that.
Ross took another sip before responding. “I always said if a man can’t do his job then he needs to find a job he can do,” Ross said bitterly.
“Like sitting in his study getting drunk on expensive cognac?” Fury asked pointedly. Ross didn’t respond immediately. Indeed, for a while it didn’t seem as if he would respond. He just sat there, staring into his glass.
“You never knew Howard Stark, did you?” he asked eventually.
“No,” Fury replied softly.
“Now there was a man,” Ross went on. “Intelligent, tough, dedicated. He was a damned fine friend. And he understood the value of cooperation. You know I was there when Tony was born?”
“Yeah,” Fury said.
“That kid is so much like his father it’s scary,” Ross said. “But he’s also willful, and arrogant. And he doesn’t trust the chain of command. Those are dangerous traits in any soldier.”
Fury leaned against the desk and turned to Ross, one leg propped on it. “Not everyone’s cut out to be a soldier,” he offered.
“If he can’t do the job-,” Ross started.
“-then he needs to find a job he can do,” Fury finished for him. He looked over to the dark night sky portrayed in the study’s window, as if searching for what to say. Ross went back to contemplating his drink.
Finally, Fury broke the silence. “You remember after our first tour in Nam?” he asked seemingly off topic. “We were coming into that Airport just north of L.A. People were spitting on the soldiers ahead of us, calling them baby killers, throwing empty beer cans.”
Ross gave a tight grin at the memory. “I remember you wanted to slip into our civies to avoid an incident,” he said.
Fury nodded unapologetically. He supposed that, given a choice, he’d always go for the more finesse option. “Do you remember what you said?”
Ross tried to think back, but he was peering through too much time and too much drink. “Not off hand,” he said.
“You said ‘I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them act as judge, jury, and jailor when they don’t even know our names’,” Furry said, doing a fare imitation of Ross’s voice. “Then you marched in there and began snapping orders. Some of those guys outranked you, but they listened when you hollered. And a moment later, every one of those jackasses that had been throwing things, and spitting on us found themselves racked against a wall. I think that’s when I knew you’d make it to general.”
Ross smiled slightly. “Came fairly close to making inmate from that, if you’ll recall,” he said sardonically
“Yep,” Fury said as if he’d enjoyed that particular inquest. “But we didn’t. We may have just come back from a war but we weren’t the monsters there.”
“Those people weren’t monsters,” Ross said with a shake of his head. “They were just scared.”
“Yeah,” Fury agreed matter-of-factly. “But they weren’t scared of who we were, or what we’d done. They were scared of what we were. They feared us because they saw us as dangerous. It didn’t matter whether we were actually going to do anything with that power or not. We had it. They didn’t.”
“Subtlety is not one of your strong suits Nick,” Ross said. “But this is entirely different.”
“Is it?”
“We were soldiers, Nick,” Ross said earnestly. “We had a chain of command that could hold us accountable for our actions. If our superiors had decided to send us to Leavenworth for what we’d done then that’s where we’d have gone. But these Avengers, they answered to no one. They run rough shod over entire cities with no regard to the people living there. They needed someone to answer to, someone who could reign them in.”
Fury eased into an arm chair set beside the desk. “And so, we blame them for the battles they fought for our protection,” he said wistfully. Ross didn’t reply. “We treated them like soldiers, Thad,” Fury said into the silence. “But they’re not soldiers. Only three of them had ever even taken the oath, and for one that was seventy years ago.”
“But they could have been,” Ross said. “They would have been if Stark had been able to get over his ego. Instead he stabbed me in the back.”
“He didn’t stab you in the back,” Fury replied. “He just made sure he could reign you in if you got out of control.”
Ross threw a glare in Fury’s direction. “You agree with him?” he asked, sounding shocked.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Fury said with a half shrug “Tony Stark has been one unbearable pain in my ass on occasion too. But yeah, he was right. You wanted to turn the Avengers into soldiers, but I didn’t create them to be soldiers. I designed them to be champions.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“Soldiers go where they’re ordered and fight the fights they’re ordered to fight,” Fury explained. “Champions choose their fights based upon their own moral code. They don’t fight for a specific country. They fight to protect those that need it, not because we order them to, but because they believe in the righteousness of that act. Turning them into soldiers would have been like breaking a stallion.”
“An unbroken stallion is a danger to its rider, Nick,” Ross responded.
“Perhaps, but a warrior astride one that chooses to bear him makes a fearsome team,” Fury replied. “And that’s what it takes to fight the battles I built them for.”
“Well I’d say your unbroken stallions are too damned wild. They’ve shown a complete disregard for the damage they’ve caused all over the world. They’ve destroyed three cities in as many actions. Countless civilian deaths. Massive rebuilding projects. Never in the history of Man has anyone come close to that level of collateral damage. And you think I’m the one that needs a leash?”
Fury paused for effect. “I think you’re starting to sound a bit like Lieutenant Glass,” Fury replied slowly. Then he affected the southern accent of what was probably the worst superior officer they’d ever had. “You men are undisciplined and disorderly. You have shown a complete disregard for the lives of your fellow man. Let me assure you there will be no civilian casualties under my watch. We will not have a repeat of My Lai in my command!”
Fury’s voice returned to normal, but backed with a tinge of bitterness despite the years between the delivery of that speech and his recital. “I damned near shot him for even suggesting we’d been mowing down civilians,” he added.
“Yeah,” Ross agreed. “But I am not a grass green second lieutenant straight out of OCS,” he added. “And your Avengers are not a platoon of soldiers returning fire on the enemy.”
“And that’s the point,” Fury replied. “They aren’t a platoon of infantry. You’ve never fought the forces these people were assembled to fight. You’re coming from a completely different environment and criticizing men who’ve actually fought those battles, just like every grass green second Louie we ever had to deal with in the brush. The good ones could at least figure out the difference fairly quickly. The bad ones, like Glass, took far too many good men with them before their advanced stupidity caught up with them. So, which are you going to be General Ross?”
Ross didn’t answer immediately. He found his thoughts drifting back to that ill-fated, common sense deprived little butter bar, and the others like him. He hated the idea of being compared to them. In truth, if it had been anyone else making that comparison, he’d have brushed it aside completely. But it wasn’t anyone else. And, while he was being completely honest with himself, he couldn’t quite dismiss what Fury was saying. Of course, that could be the nearly empty bottle of cognac talking.
Ross took a slow pull from that forgotten glass. “Why are you here Nick?” he asked, attention glued to the light show in his glass.
Fury shrugged. “Because I knew you’d be drafting your resignation,” came the reply.
“Ah, wanted to make sure I dotted the I’s and crossed all the T’s?” Ross asked bitterly.
“Nope,” Fury replied. “I came to talk you out of it.” Ross blinked at the seeming disfunction between that statement and the entirety of their conversation, then shifted a questioning look at his old friend.
Fury grinned back. “The Avengers do need you,” he said. “But they don’t need you as a retired General, and they certainly don’t need you as an ignorant butter bar.”
“Alright, I’ll bite,” Ross said. “What do they need?”
“They need a mentor, Thad,” Fury stated. “They need someone whose been there, someone who’s had to make the tough calls. They need someone whose come through the valley of shadow and death and made it to the other side.”
Ross frowned at that, not exactly sure what the difference was. “Tonight seems to be a night for semantics,” he observed dryly.
Fury grinned again. “They need someone who can show them how they could have done better, Thad. They don’t need someone to point to the mess resulting from their efforts. Hell, every brick out of place is already another in Tony’s personal wall of guilt,” he added.
Ross cocked his head at that, an expression of skepticism on his face. “Why do you think he’s so heavily invested in those reconstruction efforts despite the fact that he’s losing money on them?” Fury asked pointedly. “That man became an Avenger to try and assuage his guilt, yet every battle he fights only makes the situation worse. He blames himself for every brick, every injury, every death that happens on his watch. He doesn’t need you to blame him too. None of them do. It eats every one of them up, even the ones that understand the inevitability of collateral damage when such powerful forces clash.”
“I never got the sense that any of them even cared about the damage they were doing,” Ross stated.
“Perhaps next time you should come in asking question instead of barking accusations like your channeling a certain dead second lieutenant,” Fury suggested. “You may get more of a sense of the people you’re working with.”
“You ask me to be responsible for a group of people without authority over them. That’s not tenable,” Ross replied.
“Not for an army, no,” Fury agreed. “But these people aren’t an army. They can’t be. The ‘three bags full’, and ‘if I say jump, you say how high’ attitude supplants creativity with rigid adherence to orders. But these people fight different fights every time out of the gate. They never know what they’ll face. They never know what weaknesses they can exploit. They must adapt to each encounter. If you remove creativity they will most assuredly fail.”
“And if I don’t, we may end up with another Zokovia,” Ross stated.
“You assume that wouldn’t have happened anyways,” Fury replied.
“If Stark had been forced to run his ideas through a chain of command before acting on them, Ultron would never have been created in the first place.”
“There’s no certainty of that,” Fury replied. “Investigations by four different government organizations concluded that nothing Stark or Banner did had any causal link to the creation of Ultron. One agent even suggested that the safeties Stark was putting in place were what caused the intelligence in the Mind Stone to move when it did.”
“That sounds like a causal link to me,” Ross said pointedly.
“Thaddeus, I know you,” Fury replied. “Are you really going to try and tell me that if Tony had approached you with a means of securing the world that could have replaced The Avengers that you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance?” Ross didn’t reply. Put it that way, there was no doubt that that was exactly what he’d have done. And then Tony would have started tinkering, Ultron would have been created, and Zakovia would have still been destroyed.
“Tell me, Ross,” Fury said, breaking in on that train of thought, “who might have born responsibility for Zakovia then?” Again, Ross didn’t respond. None was really needed. If the Ultron project had gone forth he’d have been the responsible party. Zakovia would have been on his conscience. An unpowered human’s conscience.
He chopped that train of thought off before it could reach up and slap him in the face.
“I fail to see how this little pep talk of yours is supposed to convince me to remain in my current position,” Ross observed. “I’ve never made any attempts to hide my distrust of your Avengers, and they could hardly trust me. Well, maybe Rhodes, but he’s a soldier,” he added offhand.
“Trust is something that must be earned,” Fury said simply. “You’re quite good at that when you try to be.”
“Am I?” Ross asked. He’d never really seen himself as a friendly person. He was hard-nosed, strong willed, and opinionated and he’d always liked himself that way.
“How many American generals do you think the world would have trusted to command The Avengers?” Fury asked pointedly. “Particularly when so many of them were Americans themselves,” he added. Ross didn’t respond, except to dip his glass in Fury’s direction slightly. Fury knew he wouldn’t. Ross was the type of person that could handle criticism all day long but failed under compliments.
“The truth is, they need your ability to win a consensus, more so right now than they need a mentor,” Fury said into the silence.
“I expect that cryptic remark means you have a plan that requires my ‘ability to win a consensus’ then?” Ross asked dryly.
“It does,” Fury said before climbing out of his chair. “You’ve seen Barton’s last message,” he added as he opened his coat. “You know Thanos is coming here,” he added as he pulled a fairly thick file folder from the inside of his coat and dropped it on top of the letter of resignation. “The Avengers are not the Earth’s soldiers,” Fury continued. “But I have a feeling they could use some help from them when this all goes down. You’re the only person that can make that happen,” he said before heading for the door.
Ross gave his back a rueful glance before examining the file folder. His amusement at Fury’s long-standing love of the Parthian Shot froze as he read the name on the tab. “You really think this guy is the best way to handle this?” he asked, in disbelief. “He’s a criminal.”
Fury paused, hand on the doorknob. “That guy is a soldier who knows all about being on the short end of the stick,” he said without turning around.
“How am I even supposed to find him when the entirety of the FBI can’t?” Ross asked.
“There’s a field agent in the CIA that we’re fairly sure has been keeping tabs on him,” Fury said slowly. Up until this point he still wasn’t sure whether he should give the name of that agent. If Ross decided to get up on his high horse, as he was wont to do, and complain about her withholding information on a dangerous fugitive then the entire conversation had been a wasted effort. Not only was there no way that field agent would ever trust Ross, but he’d be throwing her under the metaphorical bus by giving up the name. She’d be hounded and tracked by every agency in the USA. And worst of all, she’d have to stop keeping tabs on the man whose life was detailed in that folder. Fury still had hopes of recruiting him, but it’s hard to recruit what you can’t find.
“Does this field agent have a name?” Ross asked.
Fury didn’t respond immediately. He was analyzing that last question. Every nuance, every inflection was under scrutiny. But, surprisingly, he sensed no recrimination in his friend’s voice. Sadly, that didn’t mean there was none; Thaddeus Ross was one of the few people in the world that could lie effectively to him. On the other hand, if he made his decision solely on his friend’s capabilities then he’d be making the same mistake Ross had made in dealing with The Avengers in the first place.
He took a deep breath, as if to assure himself he was doing the right thing. “Dinah Madani,” he said, finally taking the plunge. “Start building a consensus there,” he added. Then he was gone.
Ross stared after him long after he’d gone. He knew the risk his friend had taken in giving him that information. He knew if he nailed this Madani character to the wall he’d invariably get his friend as well. And he knew that his friend was probably right. It galled him to admit it, but the longer that conversation swam around his cognac laden brain the more certain he was that Fury’d had at least a few good points.
Finally, he pulled himself up to the desk and unbound the string holding that thick file together.
>>
The Statesman
Main Mess Hall
En Route to Earth
“How is he?” Natasha asked as Tony let himself into the large plush dining room. Everyone that could attend the meeting was clustered around two long tables that had been jammed together. That list was not nearly as long as it had once been. In fact, it took less time to list off those that could attend than those that couldn’t, for one reason or another.
As he approached Tony realized that they’d clustered themselves within their original groups. One long end of the table was occupied by Quill, Rocket, Gamora, and Mantis. The other long end contained Thor, Falcon, Widow, and Scott. T’Challa and Deadpool were taking up one of the shorter ends, and Nebula was bracing a nearby bulkhead. Tony shot a questioning glance at Steve who happened to be sitting in dead center of the last side of the table, getting a slight shrug in return. The message was clear; he’d seen it to and tried to be a bridge. It clearly hadn’t worked.
“Bruce thinks he’s just exhausted,” Tony said finally. “Karen’s keeping an eye on him,” he added, as he tried to figure out where to sit. The only other member of ‘his’ Avengers present was Vision, and his neutronium block had simply been parked in view of the group. Just getting him on the gravity sled had required T’Challa, Cap, and Tony (in his suit) lifting on one side while Thor lifted the other. The sled itself had protested the weight with a sound that was mostly high-pitched whine, with a little tortured scream thrown in.
Only Nebula had had the nerve to ask why they didn’t just have the meeting on the bridge. Not the group’s stony silence, the meaningful looks at Heimdall’s fresh corpse, nor Thor’s enraged glare had any noticeable effect on her demeanor. Gamora had then saved everyone the trouble by asking Nebula to help her move the wounded to the ship’s infirmary where Banner was filling in as ship’s physician. It was clear that the two-toned blue woman hadn’t see the point, but at least she went.
Now she stood there, deliberately distancing herself from all present groups, seeming bored.
Not that that helped Tony pick a spot. If he sat with Cap, he’d be creating the impression that they thought themselves the leaders of this joint group. If he sat on the other side, it would feel as if he and Steve were trying to flank everyone else. If he stood with Vision, he’d be distancing himself from the group just like Nebula was doing. If he stood by the door, he’d seem indecisive. If, if, if, if.
His mind whirred with possibilities, all of them bad, in that half second after delivering Parker’s prognosis. He had no idea how Steve juggled these decisions so effortlessly, but one thing was apparent: Tony couldn’t. Eventually he just gave up and headed for the closest chair. That, at least, just made him look lazy or impatient.
“Speaking of the kid,” Quill started angrily “what the hell was that about?”
“What the hell was what about? Saving our asses?” Tony asked. It came out far more defensively than he’d planned.
“I believe he was referring to Mr. Parker’s decision to give Thanos the Mind Stone,” T’Challa interjected calmly.
“Yeah, that,” Quill said, pointing at T’Challa.
“I believe that’s called learning,” Tony shot back acidly.
“Tony,” Steve said in quiet warning. Tony glanced at him, a hot retort on his tongue, but it died when he saw the earnestly serious look on the man’s face. His mind flashed back to their talk about leadership again, and he closed his mouth.
“No,” Quill said again. “Please explain how forfeiting the last stone we knew about qualifies as learning. Is that learning to capitulate? Learning to ingratiate yourself to the enemy when you realize how strong he is? Learning betrayal?”
“Peter,” Gamora said, matching Steve’s tone.
Tony didn’t respond immediately. When he did it was to toss a flat disk-shaped object the size of a coaster onto the table. “Friday, bring up the relevant imagery please,” he said, somehow managing to avoid tacking on ‘for the buffoon’. He was self-monitoring enough to recognize that the emotions he was feeling right now had very little to do with Quill’s attitude.
The disk emitted a holographic image. An image of a battle still fresh in their minds. A battle that none of them truly wanted to think about at this time. It began flashing through a series of scenes. Each one was of Thanos utilizing his telekinetic ability. Sometimes it was him starting. Sometimes it was it being broken, but every one centered on that one faucet of his power set.
“Alright,” Tony said, shifting into visiting professor mode “what do you see here?”
“I see a purple gorilla kicking our asses,” Scott said dryly.
“How?” Tony asked.
“Telekinesis,” Widow replied. She frowned in thought. “There’s something about how he’s using it, it’s as if-” she added before Rocket cut her off.
“-he needs line of sight,” Rocket said, sounding both bored and condescending.
“Okay, what else?” Tony asked, urging them gently on.
“Oh, come on,” Quill protested as the clips repeated “what does this have to do with anything?”
“It has to do with learning,” T’Challa said without taking his eyes off of the imagery.
“Wait,” Bucky said, perking up in his seat. “Replay that last sequence,” he added, leaning in for a closer look. Everyone else followed his example unconsciously.
“Friday?” Tony asked. A moment later the previous scene started. But instead of skipping to the next scene it restarted.
“He has to have a firm location to use it,” Bucky said as the scene started for a third time.
“What?” Scott asked. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he has to know exactly where the object he’s trying to manipulate is,” Sam explained. “General knowledge of its existence isn’t good enough.”
“Right,” Tony affirmed. “Now, Friday, give us the twenty seconds before Peter socketed the Mind Stone into the gauntlet,” Tony ordered.
Again, the scene shifted. As they watched, Tony’s hand came into his field of view. It made a flicking motion and the Mind Stone sailed across the room. Just before reaching its target it veered in a completely different direction, heading straight for Thanos’s open hand. This despite the fact that Thanos had been temporarily blinded by Peter’s webs.
“He knows precisely where the Mind Stone is at all times,” T’Challa breathed, as understanding dawned.
“And this forgives giving him the Mind Stone how?” Rocket demanded. “So, he knows where it is. The kid should have taken it and run like . . . oh,” he added.
“Yeah, oh,” Natasha said. “As in ‘we’d have never been able to hide from him while holding what was basically a tracking beacon’ oh,” she added bitterly.
Quill frowned at that. “Okay, so how does socketing the thing for Thanos help us?”
“Does he ever listen?” Nebula demanded from the wall she was slouched against, irritation dripping from her voice.
“About as often as you say something nice,” Rocket grumbled.
“Rocket,” Gamora hissed.
“What; it’s true!” the racoon-ish creature insisted.
“It is still not a nice thing to say,” Mantis replied calmly.
“Which doesn’t make it less true,” Rocket shot back.
“The same could be said for what the biker chick said as well,” Steve replied evenly.
“Okay, what exactly did I miss?” Quill asked, sounding a touch defensive himself. Understandably so, considering that the entire room seemed to have turned against him.
“Would you actually listen if we told you?” Nebula demanded. The entire side of the table erupted in argument, as if her remark were a struck match in a methane laden room. The others all watched in shock as each guardian began to argue with each other guardian all at once. It was rather impressive how they managed to keep track of so many dialogues at one time.
Falcon leaned over to Lang. “And Drax thinks we have problems?” he asked. Lang nodded emphatically.
Eventually, Thor had his fill of the bickering. “Enough!” he bellowed. “Is this how you people normally operate?” Thor thundered at that entire side of the table. “Just insults and accusations and blaming each other? Nothing accomplished. No plans made. Just turn on each other at the first sign of hardship?”
As if someone had hit pause on a remote, they all slammed to a stop, a couple with mouths still opened for the preempted yelling. They glanced at the other side of the table as if just realizing they weren’t alone.
Rocket shrugged. “It’s always worked before,” he said ruefully. That one deadpan remark cut the tension in the room by half. Nothing could have removed that tension after the day they’d had. Nothing except time of course. But it was enough to divert the explosion the group had been working towards.
A couple of people around the table grinned in spite of themselves. Tony rolled his eyes. Steve sighed in exasperation.
“Well if you don’t mind, could we save that particular approach as a last resort?” Steve asked. Rocket thought about that request for half a second before shrugging gamely.
“I still want to know what it was I missed,” Peter said, still sounding a touch defensive.
“Each stone harnesses a different spectrum of the Aether,” Vision replied, craning his neck to look at the space rogue. “As such, they have varying . . . not quite personalities, but it’s the closest word for it. It appears that the Infinity Gauntlet’s true function is to force them to work together, but this takes time. And unless you slot each gem in its place in the correct order it could take much time.”
“Ah, so the Mind Stone wasn’t supposed to be slotted yet?” Peter asked, as enlightenment dawned.
“It was supposed to be the last of the stones,” Gamora replied.
“So, how much time does that buy us?” Quill asked.
All eyes turned immediately to Tony. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s not just that the stones were placed out of order, one was placed before the previous stone had been conditioned. That should make it take longer for the gauntlet to finish each of them. Best guess?” he asked before glancing to the ceiling, concentrating. “Three weeks to two months,” he told them.
“That might just be enough time,” Steve said.
“I would think that would be more than enough time to find the remaining stone on one measly backwater planet,” Rocket observed.
“Sure, but that wasn’t what I was talking about,” Steve said. “I was thinking that it might be enough time for us to train together, get used to each other’s fighting styles and tactics.”
“Why?” Quill demanded. “It’s not like we’re going to be fighting each other.”
“Why are we even talking about this?” Rocket demanded. “We’ll be at Earth in three days and Thanos will be right behind us.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Natasha said. “Clint’s on that ship,” she explained to the questioning glances. “I know him. He missed his window to destroy it, so he’ll delay it as much as possible.”
“No offense,” Quill replied slowly “but if he were going to damage The Sanctuary Two’s hyperdrive wouldn’t we have heard about it already? I mean, Xandar is monitoring them.”
She shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “He’ll wait to the half way point. That way there’s nowhere to go for replacement parts.”
“That’s assuming he’s not captured first,” Gamora replied pointedly.
Natasha fixed the green woman with an earnest stare. “He’ll have a backup in place. Even if he’s captured, he’ll only have to hold out for one day.”
“He won’t make six hours,” Nebula stated.
“You underestimate him,” Nat replied.
“You underestimate his captor,” Nebula replied evenly.
“What difference does it make?” Rocket cut in. “If your buddy succeeds, we’ll have a month to find the stone and move it before he gets there. Otherwise we’ll have to fight for it. Either way, three days isn’t enough time to train.”
“We could have as much as two months,” Steve pointed out. “Every day counts. Every day is a chance to improve upon today’s performance. We can’t just keep blundering into people.”
“Seemed to work pretty well up until the human’s shoddy workmanship became a problem,” Rocket said snidely, glaring at Tony. He hadn’t been there of course, but he’d heard about what happened.
“I don’t recall your technology doing any better,” Tony snapped back.
“Really?” Rocket yelled back incredulously “None of our tech locked people in metal coffins! Everyone but you and your buddy,” he added.
“Yeah, what was with that?” Sam asked, mostly curious.
Tony shifted his glare from Rocket to Sam, before recognizing his tone. He sighed. “My AIs require extra levels of protection from electromagnetic spikes.”
“Yeah, but your suit was seriously damaged,” Quill said. “How come the black suit got off so lightly.”
“Because he didn’t build it,” Sam replied, perhaps just a touch smugly.
“I built the suit,” Tony said tiredly. Just bringing up Rhodes’s suit was enough to start the self-recrimination app in his brain up. “The Air Force took control of it, modifying its armor and weapons. Since they didn’t understand my version of EMP hardening they added their own over the top,” he explained.
“So why didn’t you make the rest of them like that?” Rocket asked.
“Because I never expected to encounter an EM Pulse equivalent to a thousand nuclear bombs,” Tony snapped, exaggerating slightly. “The suit could never survive that anyways.”
“Well it’s a good thing we had one that could . . .” Steve said, trailing off at Tony’s look. His goal had been to mend a fence, not bring up Rhodes’s death. He had his own ideas as to whom to blame for that, but he also knew what Tony was thinking.
Tony hadn’t snapped because Rocket pressed him. Tony had snapped at Rocket because, even though he’d had no reason to overbuild his suits to such a ridiculous degree, he knew that if he had Rhodes wouldn’t have had to do his hero thing. It was utterly ridiculous, but that didn’t stop Tony from blaming himself for his friend’s death. Nothing would. He demanded the foresight of an oracle from himself, which only ensured his failure.
“Tony,” Steve continued somberly “I’m sorry about Rhodes. But the truth is we’d never have gotten out of there without him. You should be proud of what he accomplished.”
“Hell, I didn’t think he’d be able to do it,” Quill added, trying for once to be diplomatic.
“I knew he would,” Sam replied quietly. “That man was a warrior through and through.”
“He kicked ass,” Lang put in. Tony’s stony visage almost cracked at that round of endorsements. He knew they were trying to make him feel better about his friend’s death. He knew they were trying to place an emphasis on his friend’s choice to stay, as if he’d had one.
“He got lucky,” Nebula stated from the other side of the room. All eyes turned in shock to her.
“Nebula,” Gamora said quietly in warning.
Tony’s glare returned, focused entirely on the Luphoid. Everyone else in the room seemed to fade away as he slowly stalked up to the table. “He died,” his voice grated. “Doesn’t seem very lucky to me.”
Nebula stared back, completely unmoved by either his countenance or his words. “Do you imagine that death is the worst thing Thanos can do?” she asked rhetorically; after all, the answer was wrought all over her body. Thor’s face darkened as that question brought the fate of his brother back into the forefront of his mind.
Nobody else seemed to know how to react either. Some felt pity for the blue woman, a state that would certainly have called down her wrath had she noticed. Others felt contempt for her lack of manners. Most fell somewhere in the middle.
“Do you imagine that’s the worst I can do?” Tony ground out. He didn’t mean it. He was tired, and blaming himself, and hurting even worse than when he’d discovered Obadiah’s betrayal. He wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle hearing any remark that might vaguely be considered disparaging of his friend. Everyone who knew him knew that.
But the Guardians of the Galaxy didn’t. They all jerked as if having been slapped. Gamora pushed herself back from the table, preparing to get up. Nebula stiffened and pushed herself off of the wall. She stepped up to the table opposite Tony, squaring herself away in preparation for combat.
Tony knew he was out of line. He knew he should apologize, but he just couldn’t feel it. He just didn’t care. It occurred to him that sometimes knowing what had to happen just wasn’t enough. And as he stood there, he realized something else; a part of him wanted this. It would tear the two groups apart, he knew. But it would also end the pain in his chest, the blame in his stomach.
The others watched, in various stages of preparedness, as the two glared across the table. Deep down they both realized they couldn’t do this, yet their hatred made that knowledge seem distant and unimportant. And every second that passed saw that tension level rise.
Wade had it covered. “Nebula blinked, she’s out!” he announced, pointing across the table. It was a little thing, a thing that half of those present didn’t even get. But it was enough to interrupt the moment. There was slight rustling sound as the table’s occupants shifted slightly.
Nebula and Tony jerked as if broken from a trance. She glanced around the room before turning and stomping out of the room. Tony turned to the door he’d come through.
“Tony, please,” Steve said simply. Tony stopped and stared at the ceiling. He wanted nothing more than to be alone for a while. He really didn’t understand why Steve would want him to stay. He wasn’t exactly the most personable person in the room at the best of times. This was as far from that as it got.
Still, Steve had asked him to stay. As much as he was against it, he found himself turning back to the table.
By that point Nebula had reached the door. She slapped her palm on its control hard enough to break it. The door whooshed open and she continued her stomp out of the room.
“Well, somebody’s a sore loser,” Wade observed. Gamora gave him a quizzical glance. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and stormed after her sister. She reached the door and jammed her fingers between its seams, wrenching the split door open.
“Those girls need a sense of humor,” Wade observed contemplatively as the door tried to shut behind her. It clunked to a stop at the half way point twice before sliding open and locking.
Quill shook his head at that. “Don’t try it, I’m warning you,” he said.
“I don’t know, could be fun and therapeutic,” Wade replied.
“Okay, five dollars say the sisters find a way to kill Deadpool,” Sam said, pulling a bill from his pocket. Several of those in attendance seemed to be considering that bet, not all of them from Earth. Tony idly wondered what the exchange rate would be. Too much to too little he imagined.
Steve squashed the buying of blocks before it began. “If you guys are finished,” he said, allowing a level of annoyance to enter his voice.
“What else is there to talk about?” Rocket demanded. “We got our asses kicked. The human’s suits aren’t the answer, blah, blah, blah,” he finished.
“Training,” Steve said simply.
Quill frowned. “Wait, you were serious about that?” he asked.
“We need to figure out how to work together,” Steve stated firmly. “This one-man army stuff will not work, particularly when we can’t all be suited up, as Rocket pointed out,” he said with a wave at the talking Procyon’s direction. Rocket opened his mouth to respond snidely before Steve’s last words registered. He closed it uncertainly. He’d clearly had very little experience with others agreeing with him.
“What do you suggest?” T’Challa asked.
“Battle drills,” Steve replied. “We start with a series of one on one fights. Then we move on to two versus two, then three vs three. I doubt there will be time for anything more than that. Everyone should try to observe as many sparring sessions as possible.”
“You’re serious,” Quill repeated incredulously. “All this because Thanos might use the Mind Stone on one of us?”
“No,” Sam replied. “All this so we can predict each other’s moves in combat, so we can coordinate without having to talk about it. Being able to fight anyone that’s been made into a zombie is just a bonus.”
“There are twenty people on this tub, Steve” Natasha pointed out. “Half of them are seriously injured. I just don’t think it’s feasible.”
“Banner says they should be good to go in a day, he thinks,” Steve replied.
“A day?” Sam asked, unsure if he’d actually heard Rogers correctly.
Steve nodded. “Apparently the medical technology on this ship is something like a thousand years ahead of ours. Well, that’s what he says,” he added with a shrug.
“Oh, so now we have less than two days?” Rocket asked incredulously. “Well, that’s plenty of time.”
“Rarely do I agree with the furball,” Quill said “but he’s right. We just got our asses kicked. People need to be resting up, not wearing themselves out cramming a dozen different fighting styles into their heads.”
“But-” Steve started before Tony cut him off.
“-not everyone needs to fight someone all the time, Steve” he cut in. Tony’s harsh words and delivery stopped Cap cold. He turned a vulnerable look on the inventor, wondering if Tony was actually right about his motives. He wasn’t perfect, he knew. He was embarrassed to admit it but he did enjoy fighting.
But Tony wasn’t perfect either. Damned intelligent, and capable of seeing things faster than anyone he’d ever met, but not perfect. And Steve felt deep in his bones that this was important. He didn’t know why. He just knew it was. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake.
“That’s not what this is about, Tony,” Steve said finally. “This is about making sure we’re as prepared as possible for whatever comes next.” He turned to the rest of the group.
“Steve,” Natasha said softly, making eye contact with the paladin “it’s a good idea but there’s just not enough time. Tony and the others are right.”
Steve thought about it. He still had this feeling in his gut that he was right, but he could offer no tangible reason for it. And, truth be told, they made some good arguments. It just felt like they were all banking on the best-case scenario.
“Okay,” he said at last with a dip of the head.
“Finally,” Tony said, more in impatience than anything else, before turning to the door he’d entered from and marching out of the room.
Steve watched him go, suddenly very concerned for his friend. That last outburst wasn’t like him. In fact, other than defending Peter’s unilateral decision, Tony had acted out of character throughout most of the meeting. He’d flipped from withdrawn and quiet to loud and confrontational. Neither of those were normally in his wheel house.
And threatening Nebula like that; he’d never seen Tony do anything remotely similar. He’d practically dared her to kill him. Steve knew his friend was hurting. He knew his friend was feeling guilty for . . . well, everything. But he’d never realized how much rage Rhodes’s death had unlocked.
Most of those remaining took Tony’s abrupt departure as a sign that the meeting was over. The hall was suddenly filled with the rustling sounds of people getting up and heading to the exits.
“Good talk,” Rocket said sarcastically as he hopped off the chair he’d been crouched in and loped for the exit.
“Well, that didn’t go as I’d expected it,” Steve said aloud. The only people still at the table were T’Challa, and Bucky. Thor was still technically present, but he’d moved over to question Vision-no Jarvis, he reminded himself- about Heimdall’s death. The comment hadn’t been addressed to anyone in particular. Nevertheless, T’Challa responded.
“I am not sure what else you could have expected from them,” he said respectfully. He knew he had no authority over these people. He also knew that he couldn’t be in authority. The only people who could meld this melting pot of heroes into a fighting team in the time they had was one of the leaders of its constituent groups. He still wasn’t sure who that was going to be, but his money was on the man sitting across from him.
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I guess I expected us to go over the events of the fights, try to figure out what mistakes we’d made and how to avoid them in the future.”
T’Challa regarded Rogers for a moment before saying “You are a natural leader, Captain.” Steve blinked in surprise at the unexpected compliment, but T’Challa went on. “You are also the best kind of leader: one who leads by example. You are the kind of leader I have struggled to be myself. But natural leadership ability will not be enough to do what you must in the coming days.”
Bucky frowned. “All he wanted was a simple debriefing,” he protested.
T’Challa glanced at Bucky just long enough to acknowledge his contribution to the conversation before returning his attention to Steve. “These are not military people,” he said simply. “I personally could not envision half of them being able to function within a military organization. You can not expect the same level of professionalism from them under these circumstances.”
“How can we expect them to act?” Bucky asked curiously.
T’Challa pondered how to answer that question for a few seconds. “Do you prefer baseball or American football?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
Steve blinked again at the randomness of T’Challa’s question. “Football,” he answered in a querying tone.
T’Challa glanced at Bucky, gaining a nod of agreement. “May I ask why?” he asked.
Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s more physical,” he offered.
“It’s quicker,” Steve said.
“I see,” T’Challa said. “In truth, I did not need to ask which sport you preferred,” he told them. “Your characters told me that.”
“What does our character have to do with it?” Bucky asked.
“You believe in cooperation,” T’Challa said. “You mentioned that football was faster and more violent than baseball,” he continued. “These are details, like the shape, size, and composition of the balls the two sports use. But those sports are very different in essence. In football an entire team is working a single strategy. Each man on the field has a specific role to play within that strategy. If any of them fail, that strategy falls apart. Baseball, on the other hand, is very much a sport of all-stars. In any given play three or four people on the defending team may be involved. And no more than four players can be involved in any play for the batting team.”
“Look, this is fascinating and all,” Bucky said impatiently “but what does that have to do with our failure to debrief?”
T’Challa didn’t even blink. “You came in here expecting these people to act like football players,” he said. “But what you have is an all-star team. Each person works differently, has different goals and beliefs. They have no team to draw on for emotional support, so they drift back into their old teams.”
“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t have suggested sparring sessions?” Steve asked.
“I am saying that this meeting could not have gone any other way,” T’Challa corrected. “That does not mean anything said here was right or wrong.”
Steve nodded absently, mind already going over the events of the meeting again. But he found himself replaying Tony’s contributions, or lack thereof, over and over in his head. For some reason he couldn’t put his mental finger on each rendition bothered him more than the last. There was something he was missing.
“Captain,” T’Challa said, drawing Steve’s attention from the door Tony had passed through. At first there was no response. T’Challa repeated himself, this time adding a bit of steel to his voice.
Rogers stirred. “Yes?” he asked, turning to look at the king.
“I will spar with you,” T’Challa said.
“Thank you, highness,” Steve said with another dip of the head. “Tomorrow morning?” he asked, earning a head dip in return.
“I’d join you guys, but . . .” Bucky said, raising his truncated metal arm.
“I am certain Mr. Stark can outfit you with a new arm,” T’Challa said.
Bucky shrugged. “I’m not really his favorite person,” he said.
“He would never have helped my sister design the last one if that mattered,” T’Challa observed. Bucky blinked in surprise to hear that Tony had been an active partner in that particular enterprise. “He is normally a consummate professional,” T’Challa explained. “I have never seen him like this.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, finally coming to a decision. “Excuse me,” he added before rocketing out of his chair.
“I don’t think anyone’s seen him like that,” Bucky observed sadly as the door closed behind his closest friend.
>>
“Tony!” Steve called as he rounded the corner leading to the passage Stark was currently stomping through. Tony rolled his eyes in an exaggerated circle before coming to a stop. He turned partially around, just enough to cast an annoyed look back the way he’d come.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked as finished jogging up to the other man.
“What’s going on?!” Tony demanded incredulously. “We just got stomped by a psychotic demigod gorilla. We’re down to one last chance to stop him from killing half the galaxy. We’re stuck on this tub with a group of assorted idiots and psychopaths. Three people are dead. Another half dozen are seriously injured. And here you are trying to organize American Gladiators in Space! And you have to ask me what’s going on?” Tony finished incredulously. He turned back the way he was going.
Steve caught one of his shoulders, stopping him. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I meant ‘what’s going on with you’. Back there . . . I’ve never seen you act that way,” he said, having trouble finding the right words. “And challenging Nebula like that,” he added before trailing off.
For a split-second Rogers thought Tony was actually going to open up to him. But then his face hardened. “Leave it be,” he almost snarled, shrugging Steve’s hand off of his shoulder as he turned back the way he’d been going.
Steve was thrown entirely off guard by the rank hostility he’d seen in Tony’s face. It scared him; not so much because he felt threatened, but because it bothered him to see his friend reduced so. He was so surprised that Tony was two steps further down the hall before he recovered.
“No, Tony,” Steve said as he caught up with him again. This time he grabbed Tony’s arm with more force. Tony fought to release his arm but was unable to stop Steve from forcing his back against the wall. “I can’t just let it go this time,” Steve said in a voice that was somehow both regretful yet forceful.
Tony glared at him while he thrust his left arm towards his destination. Steve knew what that gesture meant; he ignored it.
“You’ve been balancing on the edge of self-destructive behavior since I met you,” Steve said before being interrupted by the arrival of a left-handed gauntlet. It flew directly to Tony’s outstretched hand, enveloping it.
“Let. Go,” Tony demanded in clipped tones. Steve glanced from the gauntlet back to the stone-cold expression in Tony’s face. There was murder riding behind those eyes. Given no other target it would fall upon itself. Steve knew the one thing he couldn’t do was let Tony go.
“Fine,” he said resignedly, stepping back “put the suit on. But you’re not leaving here until you talk to me.”
Tony didn’t reply, except to take a step away from the wall. A moment later the rest of his battered suit flew down the corridor, enveloping him. He didn’t move a muscle as he was surrounded by the swarm of metal bits. The last piece to attach itself was his helmet. He was still glaring at Steve as it slid over his face.
Tony waited for Steve to make a move. He didn’t want to fight him, he just wanted to be left alone. Even he’d been surprised by the intensity of his anger. That small part of his brain that hadn’t been affected by recent events was screaming at him to back down. It was fully aware that if he got into it now, he wouldn’t stop, no matter who it was he was pummeling. No matter if he crippled or even killed them. Just another notch in his conscience.
Steve waited. He had no idea what he was doing, all he knew was that the rage boiling out of his friend’s pores would kill him if it wasn’t vented. If that meant standing in front of the vent then so be it. Despite that conviction, he had to admit that he’d never thought the suit could look so menacing.
When no move materialized Tony turned with the suit and continued his progress. He’d barely made one full step before Steve danced into place in front of him.
That was the last straw. That one tiny bit of sanity Tony had retained to that point was suddenly drowned out by rage as he unleashed a devastating haymaker in his friend’s general direction.
Steve ducked under the blow. He knew he couldn’t match strength for strength with one of Tony’s suits. It had been a fluke of luck that he’d managed to defeat him the first time. A fluke that had not been repeated in all the long months that Stark had been ‘attempting’ to apprehend them. In each of those cases Stark had either deliberately allowed an opening he could exploit or his team had managed to get the suit off of him.
But he had learned from those encounters. Most people focused on the abilities -the greater strength and durability- of Tony’s suit. Steve knew better. The true threat he represented was housed, not within the suit, but within his skull. Tony was one of the most adaptable people in a crisis that Steve had ever seen. He was untrained, and still not that experienced in hand to hand combat. But he was impossible to predict and he had an uncanny knack that always allowed him to find that one response to any situation that you’d never even considered.
In any normal fight Tony had a distinct edge. But today he was also fatigued and angry. The former slowed his reflexes, which were nothing to sneeze at. But the latter, that nearly took his brain out of the fight completely. It also meant he tended to overpower all of his strikes. Not only did that make it easier to dodge said skyscraper felling haymakers, but it also overextended him.
Between that, and the fact that the suit was damaged and out of expendable munitions, gave Steve the edge. Not that he could really use it, ironically. He had to let Tony work through his anger, which meant lots of punching. He was less than pleased about being the punching bag.
>>
“He’s looking for a way to die,” Gamora told the group that had convened in the infirmary. It consisted of those currently lodged there, plus their de facto doctor, Gamora, and Quill. Gamora had come to check on Drax and ended up helping out. Quill had come to check on Gamora, and subsequently complained about having to help out.
They’d done their best to recount the events of the mess hall, up to the point when Tony had threatened Nebula, to Banner. They all agreed that they’d each had the same impulse at least once, but that such behavior seemed odd. Banner had refused to believe the story at first, but the weight of testimonial was hard to ignore.
Banner shook his head at that. “Nah, not Tony,” he said before turning back to Brunnhilde’s broken ribs.
“Nebula and I have seen it before,” Gamora said. “Even among those conditioned by Thanos there are a few that never adjust. They come to hate more than just him. They hate themselves, their actions, their entire existence. They start to wish for death. It usually doesn’t take long before they are able to find it.”
“Sounds like a bunch of weaklings to me,” Rocket said from his bed. Ostensibly he’d come to check on Groot. In reality he was as much a patient as his plant buddy.
Groot wasn’t doing too well. Banner’s exact words had been ‘Dammit, I’m a biologist, not a botanist!’ which had gotten a few laughs, the explanation of which had been quickly tabled. As far as Banner could tell Groot would be fine, but there was a crack going from his crown down to the side of his mouth. What’s worse, it went all the way through to the back of his head. Banner had promised to study up on his species just as soon as he could get a free moment.
Gamora gave a slight grin at Rocket’s remark. “You know, that’s basically what Nebula called them?”
Before anyone could respond, Tony’s armored fist carved a path through one section of wall. A moment later the rest of his body followed suit. On the other side of the fresh hole in the wall was Steve, just recovering from the kick that had landed Tony in the other room.
“Well, I guess we can rule out the plumbing,” Rocket said, referencing their earlier wonder at the strange thumping noises they’d all heard about the point that they’d been explaining Steve’s first bid to set up organized sparring amongst all involved.
“I thought you said Tony wasn’t interested in the sparring idea,” Banner asked, as Tony got back to his feet.
“He wasn’t,” Gamora replied in a clipped voice as Tony launched himself at Steve.
“They are not sparring,” Drax stated as the two of them continued trading blows. To their credit they were making a deliberate effort to keep the fight outside of the infirmary. Of course, that meant those wishing to watch had to exit said place of medicine.
“I don’t know about you guys, but this just fills me with confidence,” Quill said, stepping up to the hole for a better view. He immediately ducked back in as Steve went flying by, followed by a stomping red suit.
“This is ridiculous,” Gamora spat as she started into motion towards the hole, to break the fight up.
“No,” Drax stated simply, placing a hand on her shoulder as she passed his bio-bed.
She turned an incredulous look on the blue berserker. “What do you mean ‘no’?” she demanded.
“They need this,” he said simply, staring back at her. “They won’t kill each other,” he assured her. She seemed less than convinced. Nevertheless, she backed off.
The fight didn’t last much longer. Tony hadn’t been the only one that had been tired from the day’s activities, and it was beginning to show. Steve was slowing down too. Between that and the few good hits Tony had managed to land it wasn’t long before he was effectively beaten.
Tony landed a solid hit that slammed Steve into the wall. Steve fell to the ground. Tony stood, seething over him. Steve scrambled back to his feet. He was barely there before Tony knocked him down again.
The fight devolved into a demented form of a kid’s clown punching bag. By that point both combatants were operating entirely on automatic. Steve’s loyalty would force him to scramble back into the line of fire. Tony’s rage would knock him down again.
The only change was in how long it took Steve to get back up. By the fourth or fifth time he was having trouble keeping the ground underneath him. It had this vicious tendency to tilt on him.
By the sixth repetition Bucky’d had enough. As Tony wound up for another hit the former Sergeant slid in between them, pushing Steve to the ground in the process. He fixed the faceplate with a look combining pity and disappointment all in one cocked eyebrow and waited for Tony’s strike. It never came.
Tony would never be able to explain exactly why his fist halted, mid-jab. In any other situation Barnes would have been a far more acceptable target for Tony’s ire. But now, his presence was simply a change. Something he had to process, whether he wanted to or not.
“Will killing another friend make you feel better?” Barnes asked quietly, indicating Tony’s cocked arm.
Tony blinked; it was as if Barnes’s simply question had been a splash of cold water waking him up from a trance. He glanced at the ground where Steve lay trying to catch his breath. His face was battered far worse than the last time they’d fought. Everything he’d done, everything he’d been about to do slammed into his mind all at once.
Suddenly, Tony’s suit opened, expelling him onto the ground in a retching mass. Not that there was much left to throw up; it had been a long day, which didn’t help either. Even knowing that a good deal of that damage had come from the day’s other activities didn’t help. He’d damned near killed his friend. Damned near killed another friend.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” he muttered once he could speak again. “Why couldn’t you have just let me go?”
Steve groaned as he worked himself into a sitting position. “Cause then you would have been gone,” he said bluntly.
“I could have killed you,” Tony insisted.
“Yeah, but you needed it,” Steve replied calmly. “Tony,” he said fixing the other man with an intense stare “Rhodes’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t know that,” the engineer replied, eyes already watering. “I could have given the other suits more protection. I could have, I could have . . .” he said trailing off as his throat closed involuntarily.
Steve shrugged. “I could have recognized your introduction of General Ross for what it was. I could have taken Crossbones’ head off instead of letting him blow up a building.” He paused to wipe some blood away from his mouth.
“We’re not perfect Tony,” he continued. “We can’t anticipate everything that might happen. We do the best we can. We save as many people as we can. Unfortunately, that means some people will die. Sometimes that means we lose a few civilians. Sometimes that means we have to order someone to their death.”
Tony shook his head reflexively at that. “It should have been me,” he said bitterly. “I should have collapsed that last cavern when I had the chance.”
“As I recall, you tried,” Steve said ironically. Then he grinned in spite of everything that happened. “You know,” he added as he tentatively touched his very bruised face “just because I said you’d never make the sacrifice play doesn’t mean you have to prove me wrong every time out of the gate.”
Tony shook his head again. “That’s not why,” he said.
“I know,” Steve said humor fading from his manner. “You’re too busy holding yourself accountable for every person we don’t save,” he said, adding special emphasis to ‘we’. “Too busy,” he continued bitterly “taking all of the blame, and none of the credit. It’s like you’re terrified of discovering you’re a good man,” Steve added wistfully.
Tony laughed bitterly. “That’s your problem, right there” he said accusatorily. “Look around you for one second,” he added. “Really look. What do you see: a war profiteer, a thief, assassins aplenty, psychopaths, revelers in battle. Most people aren’t as damned incorruptible as you Steve. We aren’t good people.”
Up to that point everyone else present had been watching on impassively. This fight hadn’t been about them, they knew. They were just viewers. They weren’t involved, yet at the same time there was this shared feeling that how this conflict was resolved would impact the entire team.
Then Tony had assessed their characters. Most shifted uncomfortably as his remarks reminded them of their pasts. Most couldn’t help but agree with him.
“We are not defined by our past,” Steve argued. “Otherwise I’d be a four-foot tall asthmatic weakling,” he added in an attempt to break the mood. It was less than successful, partly because a large number of the audience didn’t know his backstory. “It’s who we are now that matters,” Steve continued, making a mental note not to quit his day job. “Maybe we aren’t completely incorruptible,” he continued “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t trust each other.”
“Trust?” Tony asked in an odd blend of calm incredulity. “Like you?”
Steve’s eyes narrowed at his tone, but all he said was “Yeah.”
“Like you did with Hydra?” Tony persisted.
Steve sighed in disappointment. “Tony, I get that you were betrayed by someone you trusted. So was I, with S.H.I.E.L.D. Everyone gets betrayed at some point in their lives. It doesn’t mean we stop trusting everyone else. That’s no way to live.”
Tony rolled his eyes with his entire face, a neat trick. “Not what I was talking about,” he said. Steve gave him a quizzical look. “Fury informed you of Hydra’s plans. You knew we were all walking around with giant bullseyes on top of our heads. Did you ask us for help, try to even warn any of us?”
“I was trying to keep you guys out of it,” Steve replied defensively. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that you guys were all on the list.”
Now it was Tony’s turn to look disappointed. “It didn’t occur to you that we’d all be on page one?” he asked pointedly.
“No, I guess I shou-wait, did you say page one?” Steve said as the entirety of Tony’s statement worked its way through his fatigued brain.
Tony nodded ever so slightly. “Page one of two thousand six hundred and forty-three,” he elaborated. “You’re looking at number one of page one.”
“Why?” Steve asked. Sure, it made sense that the Avengers would have been a threat to Hydra’s new world order. But front page? And why would Tony be number one? Shouldn’t that slot have gone to Banner or Thor?
Tony glanced over to the now empty suit standing across from the two of them. “Friday, how long would it have taken Jarvis to hack through Hydra’s security?” he asked.
The response was immediate. “Roughly twelve point three five seconds, give or take a tenth of a second,” she reported.
Steve boggled at that. “Twelve seconds?” he asked in disbelief. “It took Jarvis most of a day to break SHIELD’s encryption.”
“And when he did that, they changed their key, but not the cyphers,” Friday supplied.
“One phone call Steve,” Tony stated. “That’s all it would have taken. And you want to talk about trust.” Then he climbed back to his feet and stalked off down the hall. This time Steve let him go.
No one moved for a few seconds after Tony’s departure. Then, as if recognizing that the show was over, they all went back to what they’d been doing.
“Just what I need: another patient,” Banner grumbled as he came over to inspect Steve. That latter failed to reply. He’d never felt this tired in his life, either emotionally or physically. Now he was setting records for both. “Well,” Banner continued after a short examination “I doubt moving you to a bed will kill you. Orderly!” he called over his shoulder.
“I think he means us,” Quill said to Gamora as he turned towards the downed soldier.
“I am not his slave,” she said tartly, following anyways.
“No, we’re orderlies,” he said as he stepped to one side of their intended payload.
“And what exactly is the difference?” Gamora asked as they hoisted Steve to his feet.
“Well, for one, orderlies get paid,” Quill said tossing a meaningful look Banner’s direction.
“Yeah, you guys can get paid for hauling bodies just as soon as I get paid for fixing them up,” Banner replied as he stepped over to the last empty bed in the room. “Not that I have any idea what the magic bed of diagnosis, plus three, will make of his altered physiology,” he added as he turned it on.
They ignored him. “You sure have an interesting therapeutic style” Quill said to Steve as he stepped over one of the ship’s cleanup bots. The forty-four-millimeter device had shown up, mostly unnoticed, during Tony and Steve’s conversation. By this point it was almost done cleaning up the former’s mess.
“Well, he won’t kill himself,” Gamora replied as they negotiated their way through the room to the bed.
“Maybe, but I bet the ‘punching bag method’ doesn’t see a lot of use in most counseling sessions,” Quill replied as they hoisted Steve onto the bed.