Three Cheers for the Great Outdoors, Part Eight
(In case you missed it: Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five //
VIII
“You ever meet Larry Black, Tony? I believe his land is on the
other side of your lake.”
Of all the things Tony expected Veronica to say after his second
accidental fall of the morning, that — was certainly not it. “Why? He got a
plan to murder all the ticks on Earth?” he growled as he grabbed the mobility
specialist’s hand, hauled himself out of the dew-dampened undergrowth, and
plunked his keister onto a nearby fallen log. “Seriously: fuck those
eight-legged bastards,” he added once he was fully upright and had brushed the
mud off his knees, still on a roll. “And fuck sneaky tree roots too. With rusty
chainsaws.”
Veronica gamely absorbed Tony’s venting without offense or
push-back - which, yeah, made Tony feel just fantastic - and sat
down beside him. “The local CBS affiliate did a story on Black just the other
day. His eyes were permanently damaged in a car crash when — “
Silence.
“Yeah.” Tony bounced his cane - crunch, crunch, crunch - against
the ground, knowing no other place to channel the fidgets that suddenly
traveled down his arms. “I think I get it.”
That distinct way people trailed off whenever last year’s disaster
- last year’s failure - came up in conversation? That way many people
politely Voldemorted the literal fucking apocalypse? And worst of all, that way
Tony’s heart would always skip a beat in response? These had long become basic
facts of his life — and for reasons even psychotherapy couldn’t quite erase,
Tony felt obligated to spare others the pain of speaking Thanos’ name every
single time.
“Well, he’s been relearning how to fix Volvos by feel.”
“Don’t tell me: it’s time for another pep talk.”
“Yep.”
“Oh, goody.” And then Tony winced. “Sorry. I’m being a dick. Just
ignore me.”
“You’ve only been out of the hospital for a week.”
“I know.”
“And you’ve been adapting extremely well. The ground is very unpredictable
out here. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t fallen more.”
Tony removed his shades and pressed his thumbs against his
eyelids, limiting his reply to a noncommittal grunt. Veronica was right —
unfortunately for his poor ego. That’s why they were out here to begin with: to
learn how to handle the unexpected. To learn how not to faceplant
while helping Pepper harvest his cherry tomatoes — or feed his newly acquired
chickens.
“You aren’t ‘disabled.’ Or ‘useless.’ That’s just
your insecurity talking. Most of the things you were doing before this happened
are things you can continue to do until you’ve recovered. You
just — need to adjust —”
“— get organized —” Tony chimed in, already familiar with
Veronica’s favorite piece of advice.
“— and use your other gifts. I understand you have quite a few.”
Tony smiled wanly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Princess
Peach.”
“So I’ve heard. Ready to resume our nature walk?”
Tony sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his spine until the
tension there released with a satisfying crack. “What the hell? All I’ve
bruised so far is my pride.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Tony chuckled darkly and cautiously took his next step.
--*--
Use your other gifts.
As it turned out, Tony did have an idea — something
he’d been massaging at the back of his brain from the moment he’d woken up in
the ICU and realized he still couldn’t see for shit. And at this point? It was long
past time to pull the trigger on it. FRIDAY had been a godsend over the past
few days, but writing and editing code out loud was maddeningly tedious. He
needed a better option — a faster option.
Thus, after Veronica left, Tony wolfed down a quick lunch and
headed right to his garage — and the B.A.R.F. apparatus he’d stashed on his
back shelf.
It had been well over a year since he’d touched the bloody thing —
and yes, he felt a pang of guilt as he weighed the glasses in his two hands
now. They weren’t a bottle of Dalmore 62, but did that actually make a
difference? Was this simply the next logical step? Or was Tony
indulging yet one more addiction? Alcohol, after all, wasn’t his only weakness.
Fuck it. He’d discuss it with
Doc later. Right now, the world was still conclusively screwed — and recent
challenges aside, Tony was sure there was more he could do.
“Okay, FRI,” he said. “Let’s see if we can reprogram this baby to
link up a real-time feed to the occipital lobe.”
For the next several hours, Tony lost himself in the reasonable
contentment of work, spinning aimlessly on his stool and tapping his fingers
against his thighs as he wrangled with his AI over safety tolerances and the
particulars of human neurophysiology. FRIDAY, for her part, was touchingly
concerned that her charge was three steps away from melting his wetware; Tony
was equally convinced that he knew his limits. It was, in fact, a fairly
typical argument.
“Pretty sure I never programmed you to sass me like this,” Tony
grumbled after FRIDAY had offered up a fifth dire warning of his imminent brain
damage.
“On the contrary, Boss,” his mutinous creation retorted, “that is
precisely what you have designed me to do. Indeed, it is my second protocol:
‘guard the physical well-being of Anthony Edward Stark against all
self-inflicted threats of harm.’ I believe you’ve called it the ‘Don’t Be an
Idiot’ Protocol?”
“Well, consider this an override, sugarplum. I promise I know what I’m doing.” Tony donned his redesigned toy — and, holding his breath, he tapped the switch.
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