Chapter 3
three
When Tony opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. It felt like his eyelids were covered in flaky ten-cent glue, and his mouth tasted terrible. Looking around, he blearily noted that he was in one of two living rooms in the Tower. He liked to think of it as a private room, although all of the people in his house had access to it. As far as he knew, the Avengers (if they could even be called that anymore, as if they were a collective group) only used the larger, main living room. His back was propped up against the side of the couch, and he realized there were bottles and shot glasses littering the floor. Looked like he’d had a wild last night, then. Not that he could remember anything. It was a wonder he could even think coherently right now at all.
Tony groaned. It had been about a month since he had last consumed so much alcohol, and just when he thought he was getting better he had to fuck. Up. Again.
Shaking all self-hatred from his thoughts for the time being, he picked himself up off the floor with a wheeze. His hangover was taking a heavy toll on all his senses, and like JARVIS had told him when JARVIS was still alive, wine only chased away his problems for the night. And it would be hard to avoid them all when those problems came in the form of two assassins, a walking flag, a bird whose wings weren’t even that cool and definitely not fashionable, a woman who could shoot red out of her hands like a Fourth of July fireworks display--because she was twenty three; she was NOT a girl; Tony had been treated as an adult from the time he was sixteen--and a pyschopath without the pyscho (or who knew, Barnes could still be a little bit on edge). All of whom LIVED IN HIS GOD DAMN TOWER. Tony told himself he was glad that he put that S, T, R, and K back on the front of his home. They might be the Avengers to the world ever since Steve and his merry band of patriot minions were brought back into the States, but everyone here knew just how broken their little group was now.
Haggardly, Tony picked up all of the glasses scattered at his feet and tossed them in the trash. He needed a shower, he needed to brush his teeth, he needed--he needed Pepper and JARVIS and for himself to stop fucking other people’s lives up. Clint had had a point yesterday, when he’d said, No wonder nobody likes you. Yeah, no wonder. People didn’t like people who couldn’t get things right. Howard had always told him that you were measured by your worth and what you had accomplished, and what had Tony accomplished? Wreckage and ruin. No wonder he was alone.
After washing up and changing his clothes, Tony made his way downstairs by elevator. He knew it was stupid but he stretched his mouth wide in a smile, practicing, reminding himself of how to do it. When he was fifteen, Howard had had him smile over and over in the mirror for hours, just so that he’d be a perfectly charming image in front of the press. Of course, a year later Howard’s head was smashed in by Bucky Barnes, so it’s not like a smile saved him anyway.
As he drew near the kitchen, he heard two low, distinctly male voices. Why was it that every time Tony needed a snack his peace and quiet was interrupted? Stuffing his hands in his pockets casually, he was all prepared to walk in like the carefree facade he often displayed, when a few fragments of conversation caught his ears. He froze, stiffening behind the wall, and listened closer.
“You didn’t see him last night, Steve. The guy was a mess.”
The voice was hushed, gruff-sounding, and there was a guttural undertone of irritation or frustration or something. So. Barnes and the Cap were there, then. Every instinct in Tony’s body was screaming at him to go back the way he’d come and head to the workshop instead, but some rebellious thing in his mind told him to stay.
“Stark? That’s how he normally is, Buck. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Pepper will give him an earful later anyway.”
“Steve. You don’t understand. He was wrecked. Kept rambling about his parents, about how I was a murderer. He doesn’t want me here. I don’t think we should stay if that’s what he feels like. It’s rude.”
“...He’s still thinking about that? The video?”
“You still think about your mom and it’s been a century.”
“Yes, well, I was stuck under the ice.”
“Steve.” A long, drawn-out sigh. “I don’t feel comfortable intruding on this man’s privacy.”
“Then he gets a taste of his own medicine. I can’t tell you how many times Stark’s tried to get into everyone’s pants. Not to mention he keeps trying to force all his wealth onto us, as if he can buy friends with money.”
A pause.
“He sounds rather generous.”
Another beat passed by, and then Tony decided he’d heard enough. It was nice that Bucky was trying to defend him, but the guy didn’t know him yet. Steve, Steve had been around for three years. He knew what Tony was like, so how could his impression of the billionaire be anything but right? Tony felt his heart aching inside his chest. He used to think that authors only wrote those kinds of lines, “heart aching”, to make books more dramatic. But lately his heart and his emotions had been proving a lot of those thoughts wrong.
Turning on his heel, he left Steve and his best friend to chat with themselves. No need to disrupt them when they were having so much fun bashing on the selfish Stark bastard in the Tower.
When he reached his workshop, he set to work immediately on fixing his currently scraped and battered Iron Man armor. It was the Mark XVI, a sleek red and gold model that was twice as fast as his first armor built in the workshop. Almost three hours had passed by until he heard a knock on the door, drawing him sluggishly out of his concentration. “FRIDAY, who is it?” he said, not even bothering to turn around. It was probably Natasha or something, come to bug him.
“It is Colonel James Rhodes, sir,” FRIDAY said--her voice was high and lilting, not quite unlike JARVIS’s but definitely not the same either. “He has been knocking on the door for quite some time.”
“And you didn’t alert me?” Tony said, mock-scolding her.
“I alerted you several times in fact,” FRIDAY said back. The engineer could’ve sworn he heard a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Let him in, J--FRI.”
As soon as the uniform-clad colonel entered the room on his custom-made wheelchair (by none other than Tony Stark himself), Tony swiveled around on the workbench and sprang up, kneeling to enfold Rhodey in a hug. “Rhodeybear!” he chirped happily. Looked like days could get better after all.
“Hi, Tones,” Rhodes said fondly, ruffling Tony’s hair. “How are you doing, old man?”
Tony scoffed. “Oh, now I’m offended! I look like I’m twenty three. And as for you…” He sombered. “I’m almost done with your legs. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Tony,” Rhodey said softly. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course, honeybear, what would I do if you weren’t tall enough to get face-to-face with me? I’d have to bend down to kiss you.” Tony turned away so that Rhodey couldn’t see the haggard guilt scratched across his face. His words were light, but he couldn’t stop himself from continually thinking about how Rhodey’s paralysis was his fault.
“Hey.” As if James Rhodes could tell what Tony was thinking--and in fact, he most likely could--the darker-skinned man gripped the other by the shoulder gently before the engineer could stand. “Don’t kill yourself over this. I know you. You have the infuriating tendency to blame yourself.”
“If you hadn’t...if I hadn’t dragged you into this,” Tony said, staring Rhodey straight in the eye. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault.”
“But it isn’t,” Rhodey insisted. “I chose to fight with Iron Man. I’m a soldier, this would have happened sooner or later.”
Tony fidgeted. “I could’ve built War Machine better. I could’ve predicted…”
“No, you couldn’t have.” Rhodey clapped his other hand down and shifted in the wheelchair. “Listen, Tones. No one should blame you unless they’re complete dumbasses. I don’t blame you.”
Awkwardly, Tony nodded. He didn’t believe Rhodey, not one bit, but he’d let his friend have some peace of mind for now. “Okay, honeybear. Now get your hands off me I’m too young for you.”
Rhodey rolled his eyes and gently knocked a wheel against the engineer’s hip. “Maybe so, but I’m still prettier than you.” He settled back into his chair in silence and watched as Tony returned to the task at hand--currently, working on sending sassy replies to the barrage of emails from the Stark Industries Board. There was a calm, soothing sort of feel in the atmosphere, one that had not existed anywhere in the Tower for a very, very long time.