Where were you?
Neither spoke. Silent eye contact resounded between them.
Strange stood motionless, his posture exuded an air of indifference as though nothing were at all amiss, as if he hadn’t just been caught red handed trespassing through someone else’s property. Tension formed between Tony’s brows as he frowned disapprovingly at the man.
He crossed his arms tightly against his chest as he began to speak.
“Dr. Strange, how nice of you to stop by.” he voiced flatly, punctuating each word dangerously. “Great seeing you again, I loved the huge invasion of my privacy, by the way. Now leave.”
Strange seemed to consider his words, but dismissed the notion like an unsolicited suggestion. Breaking their gaze, he began taking slow calculated steps towards a nearby table. His movements echoed one of a lawyer skillfully unnerving a witness in court.
“I’m sorry, did you not hear me? Out. Shoo. Ta-ta. Bye.” Tony reiterated jarringly. He narrowed his eyes, “Or is that not clear enough for you.”
“If I recall correctly,” Strange began, ignoring Tony, “and I would considering I have photographic memory.” Strange drifted from his exposition, scanning over a disarray of papers on the desk. The documents scarcely shifted as he trailed the tips his fingers across them.
“The press release following the invasion of New York diligently reported that the external threat had been neutralized at the full disclosure of SHIELD and government intelligence,” Strange finished after extension.
The fixed expression of displeasure on Tony’s face didn’t falter. “Congrats, I’m glad they teach how to read at wizarding school.”
Strange continued unprovoked, “Somehow, your little video diary entry makes me begin to think otherwise.”
Shit. That goddamn video. He should have erased it a long time ago. Nothing good ever came out of it. I mean, how many times had he actually watched it, let alone done something productive with it?
With regards to the former, only once (not even thirty seconds in, he came to JARVIS’s voice alerting him he had been experiencing another “panic attack”). As for the latter, zero (the video was only arguably productive in the twisted sense that it accelerated his nightmares which fueled him to work even more tirelessly). Aside from being a constant reminder of his vulnerability and weakness, it really was—as Strange had so eloquently put—just a “video diary entry”: diaries were an asylum for the tormented, the secrets that you couldn’t share with anyone.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around in obviously confidential material,” Tony retaliated, restlessly tapping his foot. “Think whatever you want but if you ever go through my files again...” he left his sentence open ended, the unspoken threat loud and clear.
“Care to enlighten me on what you decided was too confidential for the public?” Strange inquired, though his tone was undoubtedly imperative.
Strange had seemed like the type of man who would refuse to take a hint. As per usual, Tony’s intuition proved to be spot on.
“The suit malfunctioned under the mechanical stress of rerouting the missile,” Tony informed. The muscles in his forearm flexed rigidly. “Screens went out, didn’t see anything.”
He only saw their armies, the massive and endless fleets of promised destruction. Then it was devouring black.
“Surely your technology would have kept a record of the event,” Strange pushed, feigning ignorance, “Oh, I don’t know, like some sort of a video, for example.” Strange threw Tony an accusatory look.
Strange wasn’t exactly subtle, and Tony knew exactly what the man wanted to hear. Not that he would give it to him anyhow.
“I didn’t design my suits to withstand the type of environment it was exposed to. Suit lost all of its functionality,” Tony replied automatically. How many times again had he rehearsed this same spiel?
“Stark,” Strange warned, his replies becoming colder, “I’m not asking out of leisure. I keep a watchlist of individuals and other beings from other realms that may pose as a threat to this world,” Strange informed matter-of-factly. “So tell me Stark, what did you see up there?”
The man’s entitlement was incredible. Tony’s blood began to simmer.
“Well, since you obviously didn’t have the Chitauri on your handy dandy watchlist before the actual threat occurred, I’m going to constructively point out that you’ve been doing a pretty shit job at keeping count,” Tony countered, flippantly evading the question. It was his number one defense mechanism: provoke the enemy. Was it the best course of action? Probably not. But that had never deterred Tony before. It was something he’d been practicing all his life.
Strange grimaced. “There are secrets hidden that even I, the Master of the Mystics Arts, am not privy to,” he spat defensively. “I am a sorcerer, not some all knowing deity.”
Seriously? Privy to? Was unnecessarily pretentious vocabulary part of the sorcery job description or something?
Tony uncrossed his arms to shrug.
“Well, hate to break it to you, but neither am I,” He remarked, walking away from Strange back towards his desk. Tony threw one last sneering look over his shoulder, “And I’m getting real tired of the extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, extra-whatevers, and magical jackasses invading my life. I don’t have answers for you, Strange. Aliens came, there was a giant hole in the sky, I flew a nuke through it, hole closed, New York saved. End of story.”
Tony sat back down, opting to ignore the intruder. He grabbed a pen and restarted on his accord revisions. The effort was futile, his mind too busy being overwhelmed by Strange’s presence. Nonetheless, he pretended to mark up the paper, scribbling empty meaningless words in the margins.
Strange observed Tony’s as he wrote, noting how his clenched hands suffocated the innocent pen.
“What is it that has you—the great, untouchable Tony Stark—like this? So obsessed, so hasty, so desperate to end the conversation,” Strange emphasized, opening and waving his arms around the room, his voice scoffing in false amazement.
He stopped for a moment in contemplation, before adding, “What is it that has you so frantically trying to scrounge together a makeshift team of semi-abled superheroes? And why?”
Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait. For the love of God, Tony, don’t take the bait.
Adhering to his own advice, he replied with the sound of pen scratching against paper. Strange continued to wait.
At the lack of response he added, “Don’t you think your ‘best defense’ should know.”
Aaaand…. bait taken.
It was as though a chemical catalyst set off inside him. Tony slammed his hands loudly against the table as he stood up abruptly, the chair scraping gratingly against the floor. Gritting his teeth, he threw Strange a vicious glare.
“Our best defense?” he spat the word venomously, turning his head away and looking back down at the table. He stared intensely at the space between his hands, “Yeah, you could be our best defense, only you’ve been doing absolutely nothing.”
Tony clenched his fist. Everything coming back to him, suffocating him.
“Where were you? Oh mighty Sorcerer Supreme? Oh mister Master of the Mystic Arts?” Tony barked contemptuously. “Where were you when New York was destroyed after a literal army of aliens rained down from the sky with the sole purpose of subjugating our entire planet?”
Banging his fist solidly against the table, Tony yelled, “Where were you?!” His voice was seething in anger and anguish.
“Because you weren’t there, I had to do everything. I’m the one who had to fly that goddamn missile into space. I’m the one who has to think about it every single fucking day.” Shoving the chair aside, he stalk towards Strange and harshly shoved a finger against the other man’s chest in emphasis as he spoke. “And you have the balls, to come in here, into my lab, without my permission, and interrogate me, hound me about what happened that day?! What didn’t happen that day? Huh, Strange? For the love of God tell me! Because of you I—”
Where was he?
Mangled corpses littered the harsh terrain of a planet of obsidian rocks. Their bodies were still limp, not yet consumed by the rigor mortis: they had only freshly been deprived of their lives—and he had been too late.
Why did he look at him like that? Cold, imploring blue eyes hardened by betrayal and disappointment?
You could have saved us. Why didn’t you do more?
It’s because he’s left her vulnerable, ready to be exploited for mindless perversion. She’s in the distance, but out of reach, and out of time. The fleets are already swarming towards the Earth.
“No,” his tormented voice was a ghost cry of a broken whisper.
He retreated back to his desk. “I’m not doing this right now. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” His voice mirrored his usual snark, but it trembled slightly. It was a sign of weakness he tried to suppress, but fear claws its way out through the throat.
“I am not leaving until you tell me what I deserve to know, Stark.”
“Just leave!” Tony screamed, throwing everything off the desk in a flurry of rage. Papers scattered to the floor.
Bait, checked.
“Stark,” Strange warned.
Hooked and reeled? Double check.
Instantaneously, Tony spun around, activating his gauntlet from around his wristwatch. He stabilized his arm, having used the other to support his wrist, aiming the repulsor directly at the other man.
“Get the fuck out of here right now,” Tony ordered.
Panic was swallowing him. He was scared, so scared. His body was screaming, his fight or flight was fluctuating precipitously. His mind was going haywire. Everything was too much. He just needed it to stop. He’d do anything for it to stop.
“You don’t really believe I’d feel threatened by—”
A blast fired, narrowly bypassing Strange’s head. Glass shattered, clattering against the floor as it hit the wall behind him. “I don’t give a shit about how you feel,” Tony growled. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Strange’s eyes widened in surprise at the action. He took one last look into Tony’s eyes (crazed, broken).
“Just. Leave.”
Wordlessly, Strange backed off, turning around. He used his ring to effortlessly open a portal.
He left, not sparing a second glance as he crossed through the portal. He dignified himself no less haughtily than when he had come through the first time. The cloak glanced back and forth between the two men, conflicted. It took one last worrisome look at Tony before regretfully tearing away from his direction and trailing after his master through the portal.
The portal closed with a sizzling noise, a spark being the last vanishing remnant of Strange’s visit.