Summary:
After Thanos defeats the Avengers, Tony Stark’s
spirit is broken. He falls.
But then he finds a reason to rise again — and
become the man his family needs.
--*--
Or: Snapshots of Tony’s life in the first year
after the Snap.
--*--
Chapter Two
“The civil war in Equatorial Guinea enters its
second month today as competing factions continue to vie for power in the wake
of President Mbasogo’s disappearance —”
“— fields are left untended, leaving many to
wonder what will be on our grocery shelves —”
“ — but surviving long-haul truckers say they
will do their best to keep America supplied —”
“ — representatives at Dominion Power urged
customers in the storm-battered DC suburb to be patient as their remaining
linemen work double shifts to repair the damaged —”
“ — special elections have been scheduled for —”
“I hope you’re planning to finish that.”
On hearing Rhodey’s voice, Tony stopped his
unmotivated trawl through the twenty-four-hour news channels, waved off the
holographic display, and - with a glower - took an exaggerated bite of his dry
wheat toast. “Satisfied?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Grossed out, actually. Didn’t anyone ever teach
you manners?”
Tony flipped Rhodey off as he continued his
listless chewing. He could’ve killed for a little butter and jam to go with his
tasteless piece of morning cardboard. But every time he tried something even
remotely adventurous, the results were — less than ideal.
Okay, that’s putting a nice spin on it, Tony mentally amended. In reality, since he’d started eating
solid food again, he’d become intimately familiar with all the discomforts of
his bathroom floor — to the point that he was now cursing his choice to
go with a mosaic. That slice of leftover pizza he snuck two nights ago, for
example, led to an all-night puke-a-palooza that he was far from eager to
repeat.
“Pepper did get in touch with the Parkers’
landlord,” Rhodey broke in, thankfully halting Tony’s unpleasant train of
thought before he psyched himself into upchucking his meagre breakfast. “He
can’t keep the apartment empty for long, but he agreed to wait until we could
come get their stuff.”
Tony nodded, his heart palpitating in his chest.
Then, his elbows on his knees, he buried his hands in his hair, tugging it by
the roots.
“Would you like Pepper and me to handle that? I
don’t think anyone would blame you if you sat this one out.”
“No,” Tony replied, his words muffled. “I’ll
go.” It’s my responsibility.
--*--
It was on the following morning, in fact, that
Tony dragged himself out of his bed and, for the first time in several days,
plunked himself onto his shower bench to sit for ten minutes beneath a spray of
scalding hot water. His scrubbing was half-hearted, truth be told — but at
least he no longer smelled like the bottom of a gym bag. Thanks, Sourpatch,
for that Friars Club Roast.
Once he’d wrapped himself in a towel, brushed
his teeth, and shaved, he paused in front of his full-length mirror and stared.
It was the first time he’d ever really looked at himself since
Titan — and he suddenly understood why many of the others treated him as if he
were on the verge of shattering. Save one, the marks that criss-crossed his
torso in a haphazard patchwork were all old friends. But he was also gaunt -
painfully so - and the silver he’d been hiding for years was definitely
reasserting itself at his temples.
His face was perhaps the most disturbing aspect
of his present appearance, however. His complexion was pallid, his mouth was
turned down in a tired frown, and his eyes were dull and bloodshot. To Tony, it
looked as if his own reflection were judging him — and finding him wanting.
“What are you looking at?” he muttered. He
shivered as a breeze from his open window whispered past his damp skin.
Shaking himself out of the brooding reverie,
Tony pulled on his favorite AC/DC t-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans,
belting the latter tightly to keep them from slipping past his narrow hips.
Then, padding down the corridor in his stocking feet, he made his way to the
common room. There, he found Pepper at the stove scrambling egg whites and
Bruce at the counter fiddling with the tea kettle.
“Tea again?” Tony asked Bruce as he slumped onto
a stool. He looked forlornly at his European espresso machine.
“Ginger and lemon this time. It might help with
the queasiness.”
Tony forcibly suppressed the snarky retort that
formed on the tip of his tongue. Let’s face it: Bruce had gone above and beyond
in the science bro department lately. Given Tony’s colorful history as a
difficult patient, being pressed into service as Tony’s medic probably wasn’t
Jolly Green’s idea of a good time — and Tony would feel even shittier if he
complained about the services rendered.
Pepper gave Tony a small plate of eggs and
berries and kissed the top of his head. “It’s good to see you dressed and out
of bed.”
Tony hazarded a couple of berries, waited to see
if they would go down easily, then tucked in for more. “I have something I need
to do,” he said between bites. “In Queens.”
A pregnant hush fell over the room.
Pepper’s hand lightly brushed the space between
Tony’s shoulder blades. “Are you sure?”
No. But Tony straightened,
affecting a confidence he didn’t feel. “Should probably get it over with,
right? Like ripping off a Bandaid?”
Thus, an hour later, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and
Rhodey climbed into the Audi. Happy, meanwhile, agreed to meet them at the other
end.
Tony might’ve asked others for help as well, but
no good candidates were at the compound that day. Blue and that raccoon had
joined Angel Girl for some sort of errand off-planet, Thor had disappeared days
ago, Nat was in Manhattan helping a children’s welfare group establish an
orphanage, no one knew where Barton was (or if he was even alive), and Rogers —
was Rogers.
(Tony wanted to talk to Rogers again because he
was sorry.)
(But Rogers was a liar, a hypocrite, and a
self-righteous dick, so Tony also wanted to tell him to fuck right off.)
(Shit, Tony didn’t know what he wanted. In any
case, his conflicted feelings were beside the point. He was pretty sure Cap was
busy with relief efforts in his native Brooklyn.)
(Not that he was keeping tabs on ol’ Spangles or
anything. He wasn’t that pathetic. Nope.)
Tony let Pepper take the wheel, electing instead
to fold himself into the passenger seat. He knew that choice was out-of-character,
but fuck it: somehow, zipping down the road at his usual ninety miles an hour
no longer seemed like a thrilling way to pass the time. Plus, he was exhausted.
He was always exhausted these days.
The drive downstate was a somber affair. The derelict
vehicles that littered the highways in the aftermath of the Halving had been
cleared - or at least pushed to the shoulder and out of the traffic flow - but
what once were healthy deciduous forests were noticeably thinner. Worse,
shortly after they crossed the Pennsylvania border, they passed by a sizable
burn scar; a private plane had apparently crashed there, touching off a fire
that raged for more than two weeks before the surrounding area could muster
enough manpower to contain and smother the blaze.
And New York City wasn’t faring much better.
When they finally pulled up to the correct apartment building, Tony wrinkled
his nose at the sight of the refuse that littered the curbs. Evidently, the
neighborhood’s trash pickup was lagging behind. Perhaps the moving team he’d
hired before they’d left the compound could help with that too. He’d pay them
triple for their trouble.
Speaking of: the group in question was already
here, as suggested by the truck that was parked out front. That meant it was
time to put on his game face.
Slipping on his shades, Tony screwed up his
courage and stepped out of the car.
--*--
The air inside the Parkers’ apartment was warm
and oppressive. Tony, who was already sweating profusely and trembling from the
several-story climb up the staircase, immediately staggered across the living
room, threw open the window, and then slid down the wall until he landed, gracelessly,
on his rear. Pepper and Rhodey rushed to his aid, but Tony waved them off with
one quivering hand.
“I’m fine,” he panted. “Just — just need a
minute.”
As he rubbed his left arm and waited for the
white around the edges of his vision to clear, Tony stewed, irritated at his
own helplessness. He hated all of this. He hated that he was as
weak as the proverbial kitten now — hated his aching bones and his newly touchy
stomach. For Christ’s sake, he just wanted to feel at least semi-normal
again — but his own flesh was refusing to bend to his wishes.
Once his heart stopped galloping in his chest,
Tony temporarily removed his sunglasses to wipe the salt from his eyes —
then pulled himself up, concealing his hands and carefully assuming a posture
of perfect composure.
He absolutely could do this. He’d
been doing it ever since his dear old pop, realizing his son was an engineering
prodigy, first paraded his preschool-aged ass in front of the paparazzi. After
a lifetime’s experience, he knew how to craft a facade.
No one needed to know how he really felt.
The laborers got to work moving furniture and
other large items. Tony, meanwhile, taped up a cardboard box and started
filling it, indiscriminately, with papers, refrigerator magnets, and other odds
and ends.
In all honesty, Tony could offer no practical
reason why he wanted to store it all. It wasn’t as if the Parkers were away on
an extended vacation. It wasn’t as if they would ever return. But it filled him
with an irrational anger each time he imagined strangers carelessly erasing the
evidence of their existence.
No: time might march ruthlessly on, but Tony
never would. Not fully. He would preserve the Parkers’ memory. He would carry
it always like a weight around his neck — because that was exactly what he
deserved.
As afternoon bled into evening, the apartment
gradually emptied. Pepper, bless her, handled the personal items in May’s room.
(May was exceptionally attractive, but damn it, Tony wasn’t a
total creep no matter what the tabloids suggested.) Rhodey and Happy cleaned
out the fridge and the cupboards, tossing what was perishable and boxing up the
rest for a nearby food bank. Bruce dusted the windows and swept the floors.
Soon, the only thing left to clear was Peter’s
little bedroom.
Pepper touched Tony’s shoulder, her expression
an unspoken question. Tony reached up and squeezed her hand in response.
God, this was going to suck. This was going to
suck so fucking hard. But he couldn’t just run from the consequences of his own
failures. He had to face them — head on.
Tony walked into that room. Behind him, he heard
Pepper whispering to the men to leave him alone for a while, and - once again -
he felt eternally grateful that he had such an awesome fiancé. Seriously: where did she even come
from? Because he definitely didn’t deserve her. She was miles out
of his league.
Tony cracked open the window
and turned.
Apparently, Peter was in a
rush the morning before his unplanned trip into space. His twin bed had been
left unmade, and he hadn’t bothered to throw his pajamas in the hamper. Did he
oversleep after a long night on patrol? Tony would never know.
Tony sat down at the desk and
slowly boxed Peter’s textbooks, his homework assignments, his partially
completed model of the Millenium Falcon, his New York driver’s manual — the signs of a life cut unjustly short. Tony packed it all, his
hands shaking, an ache blossoming deep in his guts.
Then, vaguely nauseated, Tony turned to the
closet — and that’s where disaster struck. As he attempted to reach for
something Peter had stored on the highest shelf, the entire shelving unit
suddenly collapsed in a cloud of plaster dust.
“Shit!” Tony cried, his control rapidly
disintegrating. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Clawing at his chest, he sank to the floor.
He heard the door swing open — heard footsteps
running in. “Tony? Oh, God, Tony!”
But it was too late. By then, Tony was on a
barren planet light-years away.
--*--
“Bruce,” Happy warned, “I think he’s gonna
hurl.”
Bruce quickly yanked Tony up, pulled off his
shades, and shoved a nearby trash can under his chin. “Easy, Tony,” he murmured
as Tony coughed wetly, heaving up the little he’d eaten earlier that day.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Across from Bruce, Pepper held Tony’s hand, her
vision blurring. She knew what was happening — had helped Tony ride out similar
attacks many times before. But she’d never seen one this severe —
had never seen Tony dissociate so completely. And, not for the first time, she
felt like she was confronting a challenge that was well outside her depth.
Just then, Rhodey knelt down beside her. “I told
Mr. Lund to keep his guys outside for a while.”
Pepper scrubbed at her eyes and nodded her
thanks. “Can you go get some wet paper towels — or a washcloth if you can find
one in the boxes?”
By the time Rhodey returned, Tony had finished
vomiting and had fallen back, his eyes locked on the ceiling as he gasped
desperately for air. Pepper wiped down Tony’s face, then took his hand and
pressed it against her chest. “Tony, listen to me,” she said, gentle but
urgent. “Focus on my voice. You’re in Queens. Rhodey, Happy, and Bruce are here
with us. You’re safe.” Tony coughed again, then sobbed. “Shh, easy. You’re
okay. Just breathe. Can you recite the digits of Euler’s number for me? Come
on. Two point —”
Tears trickled out of Tony’s eyes and pooled
around his ears. “Seven,” he gagged. “One. Eight.” Another sob. “Two. Eight.
One.” Wheeze. “Eight, two, eight, four.”
Seventy digits later, Tony’s breathing finally
evened out to a more normal rhythm. He was still quietly crying, but at the
very least, the worst of his panic was subsiding. Pepper reached out and cupped
his face. “You with me?”
Tony looked up at the people ringed around him —
and yes, Pepper could see he was fully present now because he pulled away with
a jerk, scrambled to replace his sunglasses, and struggled to his feet.
“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“Tony, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
But Tony shook his head — and, shoulders
hunched, he fled.
--*--
That night, Tony locked himself in his lab,
curled up with a bottle of scotch, and - for the first time in a while - got
drunk. Given the current state of his health, it was a spectacularly poor
choice he would soon regret, but — Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.
He just didn’t know what else to do.
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