Chapter 10
Tony lands easily on the specially-built landing pad that takes off his ruined suit as he walks, Loki prowling the balcony beneath him. The outdoor table from last night has been cleared away, presumably on Pepper’s orders to clean up the forgotten remnants of his date night with Steve.
The absence of it makes the absence of Steve by his side seem more hollow, and Tony shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He should focus on Loki. Steve can take care of himself.
Wait for us, the words ring in Tony’s head. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to stall a murderous god, but he has had enough practice dealing with rich, entitled pricks, so he goes behind the bar to pour two fingers of scotch into a glass.
He’s called the military guard, activated emergency evacuation procedures, and made sure Pepper and Peter are safe. Now, he just has to buy time to make sure they get clear of the city before whatever Loki’s planning descends on them all.
“We have a Hulk,” he spreads his arms wide. Riling up a god might not be the best strategy, and Steve would have a lot to say if he knew of Tony’s plans. Still, it’s a strategy that works.
“How will your friends have time for me when they’re so busy fighting you?” Loki raises his sceptre, grin wide and cruel.
Please no, Tony has a second to beg whoever might be listening. His mind flashes with a thousand different possibilities, would Steve be able to break through the suit? He’s strong, but is he strong enough to stop Tony from killing hundreds of people, to stop Tony from killing him?
The tip of the sceptre clinks against the glass of Tony’s reactor.
Tony holds his breath.
It clinks a second time.
He wants to laugh. Maybe he’ll start believing in God again – or maybe in gods.
“Performance issues,” Tony starts to say, “not that uncommon.”
He gets thrown out his own window.
“Wherever you are, I’d appreciate some company right about now, honey,” Tony stares at the darkness opening above his Tower. Any other day, he would be on the edge of his seat to learn the science, the magic behind it. Now isn’t the time, though, and he pushes back against the fear and dread pooling deep in his stomach.
There’s a chance none of them will make it out of this alive, and if Steve doesn’t arrive quickly enough, Tony at least wants to hear his voice one last time.
“What’s happening there, Tony?”
Something falls – no, flies out from the portal, a ship of some sorts, and more follow. “Remember when Loki said army?” he puts more power to his repulsors, aiming at one of the grey creatures, “he meant space army.”
Natasha’s voice comes in. “Stark, we’re on your three, headed northeast.”
“What? Did you stop for drive through?” he twists mid-flight between two buildings, shaking off some of the aliens tailing him and blasting the rest down.
He can almost see Steve’s eye roll. When Steve speaks, it’s full of a fondness that lends Tony some courage.
“Burgers later. Bring them to us, and keep your distance.”
“Roger that, Rogers.”
Steve looks at his team, at the endless stream of Chitauri pouring in from high above the Tower – his home, there’s a disconnect in his mind that just yesterday, he’d been gazing at the stars from that very same roof – and beside him, the sound of repulsors as Tony lands.
A brief glance tells him all he needs to know: the armor’s paint has been scratched off in many places, soot and ash dulling its bright colors, but there are no dents, which means Tony must be as fine as anyone can be in mid-battle.
Tony’s presence helps Steve focus. He gives Steve hope that they can win. That maybe, together, they can do this.
“Clint,” Steve orders, “I want you on that roof. Eyes on everything. Thor, you got the lightning: light the bastards up.”
Thor nods, offering a lift up for Clint, who takes his hand readily. Steve watches them go for a second before he turns back to Tony and Natasha. With the faceplate closed, he can’t see Tony properly, which frustrates him even as his mind chides that now is no time for his heart.
“Tony, you’ve got the perimeter. Anything goes more than three blocks out, you turn it back or turn it to ash.”
“Aye, Captain,” Tony salutes him, cheerful enough to bring some light back into Steve.
When he flies off, Steve spends far more than a second watching the red and gold blur streak across the skies, beautiful and deadly and perfect.
The only thing that pulls Steve’s gaze back to the ground is the sound of Natasha’s bullets ringing through the air and the thumping of falling bodies.
He buckles his shield tighter.
“I can close the portal. Does anybody copy?” Natasha’s voice crackles over the comms, and Steve slams his shield into the neck of a Chitauri footsoldier.
“Do it.”
“No, wait,” Tony shouts, and Steve doesn’t – cannot – spare the time to worry.
“Tony, these things are still coming.”
“There’s a nuke coming in,” Tony says, too calm and too brave over the blast of his repulsors, “it’s gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.”
Steve’s heart plummets. “That’s a one way trip.”
“I’ll see you when I get back, Steve.”
“Come back here,” he tries to stop Tony, his voice breaking at the end. “There has to be another way.” But even as he says it, he realises there is no other way. Tony must have calculated all the odds, exhausted all the possibilities and came to this one, unerring conclusion. My math is never wrong, is a line Tony often says in his videos, and Steve hates it now more than anything he’s ever hated before.
“You ever tried shawarma? I saw a place three blocks down,” Tony asks, ignoring Steve’s pleading altogether.
And the thing is, Steve knows this part. Knows what it feels like to stare death in the face and want some hope about what comes next after the darkness.
He struggles to keep the tears back, to keep his voice steady and strong for Tony to hold on to. “I’ll take you. Flowers and a suit and a dance.”
“Tonight at eight?”
Tony’s speeding up higher and higher until Steve can barely see him.
“Just be there,” Steve pleads and prays and begs to all the gods he’s lost faith in.
“Steve, I – ”
“Tony?” he calls out, pressing a hand into his comms and trying to find any hint that Tony’s still there on the other end, even just the sound of his breaths would be enough, would be hope beyond hope. “Tony?”
“Cap,” Clint’s voice comes through the comms, gentle and harsh all at once, “we’ve got to close it.”
“No. One more second,” Steve begs, staring straight up at the looming blackness, not daring to close his eyes in case he misses something – anything.
If anyone can come back from that, Tony can. He has to believe it. Because the alternative would be –
“It’s your call,” Natasha kindly says.
There aren’t any more Chitauri coming down, and the Hulk is tearing down those left on the ground. They can afford to wait, Steve thinks. It’s selfish, but maybe one more second is what Tony needs to come back.
He can’t bring himself to be the one to deliver Tony’s death sentence. To be the one cutting off his only connection to Tony, and Thor must see the conflict in Steve because he places a hand on Steve’s shoulder and offers, “Captain, I can say the order if you need me to.”
No, Steve thinks, this is his responsibility, his burden to bear. This is him sealing Tony’s legacy – Earth’s best and bravest defender.
Steve takes one last look at the stars that will be Tony’s final resting place, and a part of him is grateful that while Tony is alone, he will at least not be in the dark.
I’m sorry, Steve lets his tears spill.
I love you, darling.
“Close it.”