Redemption: Chapter 8 - How The Mighty Have Fallen

“Tony?” dozy dark eyes blinked slowly as he heard his name called softy. Rubbing at his face tiredly, he looked down at the vicinity of his chest. A beloved blond head pressed near his arc.

“Yeah?” he replied, moving a callused hand to rub the smooth muscles of Steve’s back.

“What do you think about your future self?” he asked quietly, tone more than simple curiosity. Tony hesitated a moment, that question had been on his mind since meeting his future. Truthfully here in his bed, with Steve cuddled up to him, the whole thing seemed like some terrible dream. 

 “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly, kissing sweet smelling hair.         

“Really?” Steve wasn’t going to let him off easy.

“I’m torn, between believing him and not wanting to. The future he talks of is beyond comprehension. Just looking at him terrifies me.” Tony whispered absently, rubbing his arc.

Steve was quiet, turning over the information in his mind. “Do you believe what he says about this woman? About the attack?”

“He hasn’t been wrong yet,” Tony replied softly, tilting the big man’s chin upwards, leaning forward to kiss him slowly, lovingly. “He also saved you.” Steve smiled at him shyly, returning the affection eagerly.           

For long moments, they kissed and caressed, memorizing every inch of warm flesh. Callused hands ran under the blonde’s t-shirt, pulling the material off before tossing it aside. Eagerly, Tony moved to kiss his way down the warm neck and across that broad chest. Moving lower, he was stalled by gentle hands.

“I’m not…that is…” Steve stuttered blushing furiously unable to articulate. 

Tony understood. Smiling tenderly kissing swollen lips, “No hurry,” he mumbled against that sweet mouth. Face red, Steve hid against the shorter man’s warm chest, huffing embarrassed.           

He loved Tony, he really did. It was just all moving a little fast for him. A lot had happened in the last two weeks. Learning you were supposed to have died was rather eye opening and he was still trying to come to terms with the terrifying prospect he should be dead right now.

Returning to their previous position, he nuzzled against Tony’s chest, holding the man close. “He talks to himself a lot,” the blond mumbled as the thought struck him.

“I talk to myself too,” Tony yawned, unconcerned.

“I know, but it’s like he’s seeing someone we don’t. Having full conversations with them.” Steve pulled back, looking at the man he loved, worried, searching dark eyes. 

Calmly, Tony reached up gently, cupping that handsome face. “Steve, I don’t think he could have lived through the things he has and remained sane.” Steve nodded slowly, he’d seen men he’d thought strong crack under the horrors of war, and Stark had been at war longer than any man should have been. 

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“What are you wearing?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking down at his comfy faded jeans a little big on his hips but not that bad. He had another donated t-shirt on today, this one green featuring the angered face of the Hulk. Stark wasn’t sure where the surplus of Avengers shirts were coming from, but he didn’t mind all that much. The final piece of clothing he wore was one he’d found on one of his rambles around the city. In a small, musty smelling thrift shop he had procured himself the warmest, comfiest, old man cardigan he’d ever seen.

“My cardigan? Thought you would have liked that. It’s circa 1944 I think.” The imagined man snorted, shaking his head in dismay. Sniffing in disdain, Stark looked down his nose at the apparition, “What do you know about fashion, you’re dead.”

“How the mighty have fallen…”

“Like I care how I dress,” Stark grumbled, pushing into the conference room. The others already there waiting for Fury. Paying them no mind, he sat grumbling and muttering. Digging hands into the seemly bottomless pockets of his knitted sweater, he pulled out a can of Coke and a bag of gummy bears.

The snort of laughter form the far side of the room had him looking up curiously. Tasha was smirking, auburn brow raised. Clint was laughing outright, and Bruce was grinning, amused. Steve and his younger self on the other side of the table were wearing equal expressions of amusement.

“It’s the cardigan, isn’t it?” Stark grumbled, ignoring the meaningful look his dead companion was giving him.

“I like it,” Steve nobly defended.

Sighing heavily, future Stark shrugged. “Screw you guys, it’s warm and it cost me a dollar fifty,” he announced proudly. Settling back he sipped his soda with a well deserved sense of accomplishment; a deal was a deal.           

“Never thought I’d see the day Stark would be worried about saving money,” Clint commented.

The future man opened his gummies, “Well, when you’re flat broke…” Tony’s horrified face was completely worth it.

 “Like how broke?”  The billionaire asked with much trepidation.

Cheerfully, he swallowed a bear. “Live in a cave poor.” That had everyone laughing, and Tony shuddering theatrically. Amused Stark leaned across the table, offering a gummy bear to Steve. 

“Who brings snacks to a briefing?” Tony asked, accepting one of the candies.

“This guy does. Like I care…pop, candy, junk food has existed in decades, getting as much as I can.”        

Whatever questions they others may have had were waylaid, but the arrival of the Director looking more surly the usual. “She wants a party,” he grunted with no pleasantries, pinning the man from the future with a glare, he all but growled, “She won’t take no for an answer.” 

Shrugging, Stark returned the look impassively. “I can still shoot her in the head, offer is on the table.” The man looked like he was actually considering the option, the real Steve was giving him a horrified look.

Stark shrugged, he had done a lot of terrible things, but he had never hid from them. “Not the first time, and if I have my way not the last,” he muttered darkly.           

“I have been overruled in the matter; the council feels it would be beneficial for the political party to take place as a gesture of goodwill towards any other alien races.” Stark wasn’t surprised this it what happened last time. 

“Tony, you able to handle the details?” 

Iron Man started, “I’m sure Pep can whip something up,” he mumbled already on his phone. 

“Now we need to know every detail of what transpires that night, anything important you can recall…” Stark cut him off with a snort rooting through his bag for another red bear, he liked red best. 

“Party commences at 18:00 hours, at 18:42 Eva and her delegation arrive. 19:17 a disturbance is reported at the opposite end of the city, the Avengers are dispatched to the attacking mechanized beasties. At precisely 19:32 Eva and her band of ass hats lock the doors and open fire on the partygoers. By 19:45 everyone inside is dead. 20:00 hours Avengers return to find the massacre, including one injured Eva who then spins her elaborate tale. Claiming that following the battle the Avengers return and killed everyone in the room in an effort to get to Eva and her people.”

Locating several more red bears, he popped them in his mouth, glancing up at the slack jaw stares, “You have it timed to the minute?” Bruce breathed, looking terrified and impressed. 

Stark snorted. “I can also tell you the names of every single person killed, how many times they were shot, and in what order but I don’t think that’s relevant.”

The silence was thick, Fury for once unsure what to do. Sighing, Stark leaned his elbows on the table. “Look, if you’re not going to let me shoot her, and you insist on throwing the party. Then how about this; instead of waiting for the alarm, at 19:00 have the Avengers waiting to deal with the distraction before. Shouldn’t take long was only ever meant to give them a twenty minute window at most. You’re back to the party, before Eva and her entourage never get the chance to open fire.”          

“Where are you in this?” Fury asked shrewdly.

 “At the party,” he hedged.

 “Doing what?”

“Watching?” he offered, brushing imaginary lint off his sweater, Fury raised a brow in disbelief.

“What do you want me to say? Regardless of what you do, I will kill her period. I won’t even let them draw weapons. You can lock me up, I’ll get out, guaranteed. You can kill me…let me rephrase, you can try and kill but better than you have failed. So, why don’t you just let me do what I’m going to do and stay out of my way.” 

It didn’t matter he was wearing an old man sweater, or that his hair was once more pulled atop his head with a bright pink tie, not a single occupant of that room doubted the words he spoke. This was the man who’d walked through those agents like nothing, who saved Steve…the one who was here to save the world. Whether they liked it or not.

“Why don’t you let him, Fury?” Tony said softly, looking to the Director. “He’s been right about everything so far…” 

Bruce focused on Stark, spoke calmly, “I think we should.” Clint and Tasha nodded, Thor unnaturally silent was in agreement. Steve hesitated a moment, searching the one visible brown eye, hard, determined, before he too found himself in agreement.

Fury spoke very quietly, “This meeting never happened.”

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“You look handsome in uniform love,” the normally placid voice had a bit of a dreamy quality to it.

 Stark, raising an eyebrow at his ever-present companion. “Have a thing for men in uniform?”

His delusion grinned, pale lips pulling widely, “No, just a thing for you.” 

Smiling, Stark turned his attention back to the room, Miss Potts had certainly outdone herself. He hadn’t remembered the party being so nice, but then again the first time he’d been blind drunk. And it had only gone down hill from there. 

“I think you puked in the punch bowl,” Steve offered innocently. Stark winced, not one of his finer moments, but then again those was few and far between.          

Circling the perimeter of the room, he spotted Natasha and Clint at the opposite end, suited up and ready to roll at a moments notice. Bruce was talking with some delegates, looking dapper in his suit. His younger self was of course, dressed to the nines, looking at ease and handsome. In his hand he noted a glass of water; it would appear he had taken his words to heart. Next to him, looking always dashing was Captain America. Ever the gentleman, he politely spoke to all who stopped to greet him.

Stark moved on, eyes never pausing as he absently smoothed the front of his own dress uniform. He’d packed it, thinking he’d have to perhaps sneak into this affair. Everyone liked a man in a handsome uniform, and the sheer amount of useless medals they had given him over the years was guaranteed to impress a snotty bunch like this. 

He checked the time again, the hour drawing close. “We make a handsome pair, don’t we?” his dead companion commented softly, cloudy eyes staring longingly across the room.

Stark followed his gaze, the ever present ache in his chest thrumming painfully, “Yeah, we do.”

Steve was silent, saying nothing more as Stark moved into position near Eva and her delegation. Watching as she was coolly polite to all around her, maintaining her distance always. Stark felt the familiar comforting weight of his guns pressed to his ribs, reminding himself to be patient. He’d waited a century for this…minutes more would now make a difference. He checked the time again; it was time to get this show on the road.

The Avengers faded out of the room.

“The distraction isn’t going to need all of them,” Steve commented offhand.

 “I know.”

“You want them gone, don’t you?”

“Nothing gets by you, love.”

“They could help…”

“I know, but why should they have more blood on their hands,” he said softly, turning his attention back to his targets, maneuvering himself into a clear line of sight. Leaning casually against the nearby pillar, he waited patiently, dark eye never leaving her as the clock ticked ever closer.        

19:17 came and went, Stark watching Eva closely, her face betrayed nothing but her entourage was buzzing. Looking at one another muttering, when no alarm was raised. A thrill of anticipation shot through the man, things where changing. That moment he had dreamed of, relived over and over again; it was finally here.

His chance had come.

His right hand began to tremble violently. Clenching and unclenching it absently, he began to unbutton his over coat unobtrusively.

The confusion mounting, panic beginning to set in, two of their number began to cut towards the door. Stark shrugged out of his coat, stepping slowly onto the floor. Very deliberately placing himself between them would be attackers and the diplomats. Shocked, Eva hesitated staring at him wide eyed; behind him he could hear SHIELD Agents hurrying people out emptying the room.

Carefully he drew his guns, unable to help the slow, cold smile that split his lips, pulling the thick lines of scar tissue tight.

For the first time the ice bitch showed emotion; fear.