im so fr i think about MIT!era Tony and Rhodey constantly
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do you ever think abt sam wilson when rhodey falls out of the sky and all he can think abt is the exact same thing happening to riley
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Geez, they really have made a mess of things haven’t they??
This is ridiculous quite frankly.
I like your idea, Anon. Like if they had gone with that from the beginning and the OG crew and some others knew about it, that would have been great!
But no. “You figure it out” really does sound like “lol idk”.
Insane.
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That…
That sounds…
Very very bad…yeah no, I — no. I’m not…
Do you mean to tell me they — no. Nooooo.
No. Mm mm nope. Nope. That is not canon. I refuse. Absolutely not. No. No. No.
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Loki: I must say I’m displeased. My second choice has also been taken. Now I’m stuck with my last choice.
Rhodey: You weren’t exactly my first choice either.
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sorry for the wait! This is for you.
And sorry about the links. We need to fix them
air force by pomegranateboy
peter never really had a good time on field trips, this one appears to be the exception.
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Iron Man 2 used to be my favorite movie as a tween because Rhodey got his suit, and I made that everyone else’s problem by forcing my siblings to watch it with me again and again.
To this day, it’s still one of my favorite Marvel movies
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The things he carries
Summary: In the wake of Aria Jones’ death, those who knew her - some deeply, some barely at all - confront the layers of regret, memory, and truth she leaves behind.
A character mosaic about grief, redemption, and the ties we only perceive once they’ve snapped.
Wordcount: 3.9k
Warnings: Grief, Survivor’s guilt, Mentions of violence, Emotional breakdowns, Trauma recollection, Relationship fallout, Death of a central character, Themes of abandonment and betrayal, Complicated friendships, Mild PTSD symptoms
A/N: I highly suggest that you read Eulogy and Blueprints for Fatherhood if you haven’t because otherwise you may not understand most of what happens in Layers.
This time, a character whose point of view is rarely used, in my opinion..
Message me if you want to be added to a taglist.
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Rhodey had always believed he could read Tony Stark better than anyone else alive.
It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t even confidence, not really. It was proximity - earned, imposed, survived. Years of standing close enough to see the cracks before anyone else did. Close enough to notice the moment Tony’s jokes stopped being deflection and started being armor.
Rhodey had read Tony in deserts that smelled like metal and dust, where fear sat under the tongue like grit. He’d read him in briefing rooms, watching the way Tony’s knee bounced when generals spoke too long, when plans relied on too many unknowns. He’d read him in press conferences, where confidence was performed like a magic trick, and in hospital beds, where the performance dropped away entirely.
[[MORE]]He’d read him after Afghanistan, when Tony’s hands shook for reasons that had nothing to do with caffeine. After New York, when Tony slept in short, brutal bursts and woke gasping, eyes already searching for the sky. After Ultron, when guilt lodged itself somewhere behind Tony’s ribs and refused to leave.
Rhodey knew Tony’s tells.
The way his fingers fidgeted when he was cornered emotionally. The way his voice sped up when he was lying to himself. The sudden stillness - that was the worst one - when Tony decided not to feel something because it hurt too much.
Rhodey had learned to read those signals the same way he’d learned to read terrain. Instinctively. Constantly. Because missing them had consequences.
But this…
This was new.
Six months after Aria Jones’s funeral, Rhodey looked at Tony Stark and realized, with a jolt of unease that settled deep in his gut, that he didn’t know what he was seeing.
Tony wasn’t healed. Healing came with awkwardness, with tentative hope and careful testing of old wounds. Tony wasn’t whole, either. Wholeness implied completion, implied something had been finished and set aside.
This wasn’t that.
This was something quieter. Something… settled.
And Rhodey hated that he couldn’t name it.
He leaned against the railing on the compound roof, arms folded tight across his chest, staring down at the gardens below. The sun was sinking low, washing the compound in gold and shadow, but the beauty of it barely registered.
The compound was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet that came after a mission well done. Not the comfortable quiet of people resting.
This was the quiet that followed disaster. The kind that crept in when everyone had stopped asking questions out loud because they were afraid of the answers.
Tony should have been wrecked.
Rhodey knew what wrecked looked like on Tony Stark. He’d seen it often enough. Seen him pacing until dawn. Seen him lose entire nights to insomnia and guilt and thoughts that spiraled faster than Rhodey could follow.
Tony had buried a daughter he hadn’t known existed.
Had learned, in the space of days, that she’d grown up without him. That she’d built herself into someone strong and capable and brave - and that she’d done it alone.
That knowledge alone should have flattened him.
But there was more.
Tony had learned that Pepper - Pepper - had threatened Aria into silence. That the woman Tony had trusted, loved, planned a future with, had made a cold calculation and decided that Tony Stark wasn’t safe enough to know his own child.
Rhodey’s jaw tightened at the memory.
At the funeral, when Bucky Barnes had spoken, Rhodey had felt something break in him that he hadn’t known was still intact. Barnes hadn’t softened the truth. He hadn’t dramatized it either. He’d simply laid it out, piece by piece, like evidence.
The threats. The pressure. The fear Aria had carried.
Pepper’s refusal to trust either of them.
Rhodey had stood there in his dress uniform, hands clasped behind his back, face rigid, and realized that he didn’t recognize the woman being described. Or maybe worse - he did, and he’d chosen not to look too closely.
He hadn’t spoken to Pepper since.
Not because he didn’t have anything to say. Because he had too much.
Words sharp enough to draw blood. Words that, once spoken, would change things permanently. Words he might regret not saying sooner - or regret saying at all.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax.
Tony hadn’t spoken to Pepper either.
Not with anger. Tony’s anger was loud, explosive, a thing that filled rooms and scorched everything nearby. This wasn’t that.
This was silence.
Distance.
A clean, deliberate withdrawal.
Rhodey recognized it instantly. He’d seen it in soldiers who came home and quietly dismantled their lives. No shouting. No confrontation. Just a decision made somewhere deep and final, followed by absence.
That part made sense.
The rest didn’t.
Rhodey pushed away from the railing and headed inside.
The compound corridors echoed faintly beneath his steps, lights dimmed for the evening cycle. He passed empty common areas, a gym long since abandoned for the night, a kitchen that smelled faintly of stale coffee.
He didn’t need to ask where Tony was.
He found him in the workshop.
Where else?
Tony sat on the floor beside one of the early Mark armor stands - bulky, inelegant relics from a time when everything had been simpler and infinitely more dangerous. His elbows rested on his knees, a tablet loose in his hands. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, catching on the familiar lines Rhodey had known for decades.
Tony looked…
Peaceful.
Not happy. Happiness carried energy, buoyancy, a lightness Tony didn’t have right now.
Not content, either.
But peaceful.
And that was wrong.
All of it was wrong.
Rhodey stood there for a moment, watching him, cataloging the details the way he always did. Tony wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t fidgeting. His breathing was steady. His shoulders were relaxed.
He looked like a man who had found stillness.
Rhodey’s unease deepened.
“Hey,” he said.
Tony glanced up without startle, eyes warm, a soft hum of acknowledgment leaving him - like Rhodey had interrupted a pleasant thought rather than something heavy.
“Colonel,” Tony said lightly. “Did FRIDAY snitch on my nutritional crimes again?”
Rhodey lowered himself to sit beside him, the cool floor seeping through his uniform. “No. Just wanted to check on you.”
Tony nodded. Easy. Unbothered.
“I’m good.”
Rhodey felt something tighten in his chest.
Because two months ago, Tony Stark had not been good.
Rhodey couldn’t stop comparing.
He hated himself a little for it, but the contrast was impossible to ignore. The Tony sitting beside him now - calm, grounded, eerily steady - didn’t match the man Rhodey had watched unravel in the weeks after Aria’s death.
Those first nights had been the worst.
Grief, Rhodey had learned, didn’t announce itself the way people expected. It didn’t always scream or collapse or beg. Sometimes it hollowed a person out so completely that nothing seemed left but routine and breath.
Tony had gone quiet.
Not withdrawn exactly - he still answered messages, still showed up to briefings when required - but the noise had left him. The constant stream of ideas, jokes, half-finished sentences, had thinned to almost nothing.
Rhodey had found him one night - three in the morning, according to the clock glowing faintly on the hangar wall.
The place had been nearly dark, lit only by emergency strips and the distant glow of the compound beyond the glass. Rhodey had followed the sound of movement, slow and deliberate, deeper into the hangar until he’d seen Tony climbing into one of the parked jets.
He hadn’t called out at first.
There was something sacred about the scene. Tony sat in the cockpit, hands resting lightly on the controls, eyes fixed straight ahead. The instrument panel glowed dimly, reflecting off his face in ghostly blues and greens.
Rhodey had known instantly whose jet it was.
Aria’s.
Tony had watched her fly once - before he knew. Not as a father. Not even as someone who mattered. Just another pilot, another jet lifting off the tarmac, another blur of motion he hadn’t thought twice about at the time.
Rhodey remembered it now - the way Tony had paused mid-conversation, eyes tracking the aircraft for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Nothing conscious. Nothing claimed. Just something in him that had gone still, for reasons he couldn’t have named then.
Now, weeks later, Tony sat there alone, fingers tracing the edges of the controls like they were relics.
“Tony,” Rhodey had said softly.
Tony hadn’t flinched. He hadn’t even turned his head.
“Hey,” he’d replied, voice barely above a whisper.
Rhodey had climbed up and settled into the co-pilot’s seat, the familiar smell of metal and fuel wrapping around them. He’d waited, letting the silence stretch, knowing better than to rush it.
Minutes passed.
Then Tony had spoken.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
The question had hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable.
“Why didn’t she trust me?” Tony’s voice had cracked, sharp and sudden, like glass under pressure. “Why didn’t she think I could… handle it?”
Rhodey hadn’t known how to answer. There was no explanation that didn’t hurt.
Tony’s hands had tightened on the controls.
“I would’ve done better,” he’d whispered. “I could’ve done better.”
Then, smaller. Almost lost to the hum of the systems.
“Was I that bad? That unsafe?”
Rhodey had felt it like a physical blow.
He’d reached out without thinking, gripping Tony’s forearm, grounding him in something solid. “No,” he’d said firmly. “You weren’t.”
Tony hadn’t looked at him.
Rhodey had sat with him until the sky outside the hangar began to lighten, until Tony’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion rather than tension. He’d walked him back to his quarters like someone guiding a wounded soldier off the field.
Those nights had repeated themselves.
Different locations. Same emptiness.
Sometimes Tony ended up in the workshop, surrounded by unfinished projects that went untouched. Sometimes he wandered the compound, aimless, as if expecting to run into a daughter who had never been there.
Rhodey watched him from a distance, careful not to crowd him, but close enough to intervene if things went sideways.
He’d seen Tony’s grief take strange shapes before - obsession, recklessness, self-blame sharpened into something dangerous. This was quieter, but no less severe.
Tony blamed himself.
Not for Aria’s death - not exactly.
But for her life.
For every year he hadn’t been there. Every question she hadn’t felt safe asking. Every moment she’d chosen someone else because Tony hadn’t earned the right to be her father.
Rhodey had recognized that guilt. It was the same kind he’d seen in soldiers who survived when others didn’t.
The kind that asked not why did this happen? but why was I allowed to live when they weren’t?
And now - now Tony sat in the workshop beside him like a man who had put that guilt down.
Rhodey couldn’t reconcile the two images.
“You look better,” Rhodey said quietly, the words carrying more weight than he intended.
Tony shrugged, the movement easy. “Time helps.”
“You never believed that,” Rhodey replied.
“I do now.”
Rhodey frowned. “Did something happen?”
Tony hesitated.
Just long enough.
Then, “Just perspective.”
Rhodey didn’t push. He didn’t know how.
Because whatever had shifted in Tony had come with a steadiness Rhodey didn’t want to disrupt. It felt fragile, even if it didn’t look it.
But something inside Rhodey whispered that this wasn’t healing.
It was something else entirely.
And he had no idea whether to be relieved - or afraid.
Tony didn’t explain.
That, more than anything else, set Rhodey on edge.
Tony Stark was not a man who left things unsaid when they mattered to him. He avoided, he deflected, he joked - but when something cut deep, it usually came out sideways at least. Sarcasm, anger, invention, distraction. Anything was preferable to silence.
But tonight, Tony offered none of it.
He rose from the floor with an easy grace that felt almost foreign after weeks of watching him move like his own body weighed too much. His joints didn’t creak with tension. His shoulders didn’t hunch as if bracing for impact.
He moved like someone who trusted the ground under his feet.
Rhodey followed him through the workshop, cataloging the details the way he always did when something felt off.
The late nights were the first thing.
Rhodey hadn’t mentioned them out loud, but he’d noticed. Lights on in the workshop long after the rest of the compound had gone dark. Tony’s voice, low and careful, drifting down the corridors - not arguing, not dictating, not even thinking out loud in the usual way.
Practicing.
Rehearsing.
Like he was shaping conversations meant for someone who wasn’t there.
The playlists were a second.
FRIDAY had mentioned them once, casually, while Rhodey was asking about sleep cycles and nutritional logs. Playlists created, played, replayed - all labeled Aria’s Favorites. Tony hadn’t listened to music like that in years. Not deliberately. Not with care.
The number.
Rhodey’s gaze flicked, unbidden, to Tony’s pocket, where he knew the scrap of paper lived. A phone number written in careful ink. A number Tony never called.
Rhodey didn’t ask where it came from. He didn’t ask why it mattered.
He was afraid of the answers.
“You know,” Rhodey said finally, breaking the silence, “I’m still mad at Pepper.”
Tony stopped walking.
Not abruptly. Not sharply.
He just… paused.
Then his gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tightening in a way Rhodey recognized instantly. Controlled. Contained.
“Yeah,” Tony said.
“She hurt her,” Rhodey said bluntly. There was no point softening it. “She hurt you. She didn’t trust either of you. She made Aria afraid to reach out. That’s on her.”
Tony’s fingers curled around the tablet, grip tightening until Rhodey wondered if it would crack.
But Tony didn’t defend Pepper.
Not once.
“She was scared,” Tony said eventually. “Scared of losing control. Scared of… what a kid like Aria could’ve meant for us.”
Rhodey let out a sharp breath. “That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No,” Tony said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pressed in on them, heavy with everything they were choosing not to unpack.
Rhodey studied Tony’s face in the half-light, the familiar lines softened by something he couldn’t quite place. Tony wasn’t numb. Rhodey knew what numb looked like on him.
This was… gentler.
“I keep thinking,” Rhodey said slowly, “if she’d known she had you, maybe she wouldn’t have died alone.”
The words were out before he could stop them.
Tony’s jaw twitched.
Just once.
But his eyes stayed steady. Focused. Unbroken.
“She wasn’t alone,” Tony murmured.
Rhodey stilled.
It was such a strange choice of words. Precise. Certain.
Not she didn’t feel alone. Not she had people.
She wasn’t alone.
Rhodey searched Tony’s face for something - grief, defensiveness, pain.
He found none of it.
Tony didn’t elaborate. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t offer an explanation.
He simply pushed himself upright and moved toward the door, the conversation closed with a gentleness that left no room for argument.
“Come on,” Tony said lightly. “I promised FRIDAY I’d eat something today.”
Rhodey followed, unease settling low in his gut.
Tony walked with purpose now, strides sure, posture easy. He hummed under his breath - a soft, absent sound Rhodey hadn’t heard from him since before Berlin.
He looked anchored.
Like a man who had found a truth no one else had access to.
A truth Rhodey didn’t know.
A truth Rhodey wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.
They reached the kitchen, lights bright and sterile after the dimness of the workshop. Tony glanced back at him and smiled.
A real smile. Warm. Alive.
And Rhodey let the worry ease, just a little.
Whatever Tony carried now, he carried it well.
Rhodey didn’t need to know what it was.
He just needed Tony to keep breathing.
Rhodey had always thought of anger as something loud.
Explosive.
Something that demanded space and left damage in its wake.
Tony’s anger was like that. Had always been. Bright and volatile and impossible to ignore. When Tony was angry, the world knew it.
But this wasn’t Tony’s anger.
This was Rhodey’s.
It sat heavy in his chest, compact and controlled, the kind of anger drilled into soldiers early - the kind you learned to carry without letting it spill, because spilling it could cost lives.
Pepper Potts.
The name alone tightened something in him.
Rhodey had served under commanders who made ruthless calls. He’d followed orders that sacrificed pieces to save the whole. He understood fear. Understood control. Understood making decisions in the dark with incomplete information.
But this hadn’t been that.
This had been personal.
Calculated.
Pepper had looked at a young woman - a pilot, a fighter, someone strong enough to stand on her own - and decided that she wasn’t trustworthy enough to tell the truth to. That Tony Stark, for all his brilliance, was too dangerous to be trusted with his own child.
Rhodey had replayed Bucky’s words a hundred times in his head since the funeral. Not the anger in them. The restraint.
The matter-of-fact way he’d described the threats. The pressure. The fear Aria had lived with.
Pepper had framed it as protection.
Protection of Tony. Protection of herself. Protection of the life she’d built.
Rhodey had seen that kind of logic before.
It never ended well.
He hadn’t gone to Pepper afterward. Hadn’t confronted her. Hadn’t demanded explanations or apologies.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he didn’t trust himself to stop.
He didn’t trust himself not to say something that would shatter what little remained.
Or worse - to say nothing at all, and let that silence rot.
Tony hadn’t gone to her since his last confrontation.
Not to yell. Not to accuse. Not to seek comfort.
He’d simply… stepped back.
Rhodey recognized the pattern instantly. The clean withdrawal. The way Tony redirected his time, his focus, his emotional energy elsewhere. The way he stopped sharing things.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was final.
And that frightened Rhodey more than any shouting match would have.
Because Tony wasn’t processing this rupture the way he processed most things. He wasn’t burning through it. He wasn’t trying to fix it.
He was letting it exist.
Rhodey watched Tony move through the kitchen now, pulling a protein bar from the counter with an absent sort of focus. The domesticity of it felt surreal. Six months ago, Tony could barely remember to eat.
Now, he ate because he’d promised.
That alone was a change.
“You know,” Rhodey said, keeping his voice even, “I don’t think I’ll be able to look at her the same way again.”
Tony paused, bar halfway unwrapped.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t correct him.
Didn’t soften it.
“I know,” Tony said.
It was an acknowledgment, not a defense.
Rhodey swallowed.
He’d expected anger. Denial. Rationalization.
Instead, Tony gave him understanding.
That hurt more.
“She took something from you,” Rhodey continued. “From both of you. Time. Choice. Trust.”
Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
That was all.
No justification. No attempt to explain Pepper’s fear, her perspective, her reasoning.
Tony wasn’t excusing it.
He wasn’t condemning it either.
He was simply… done.
Rhodey realized then that whatever fracture had opened between Tony and Pepper hadn’t happened all at once. It hadn’t been caused solely by Aria.
This had been the final confirmation of something Tony had already suspected, maybe for years.
A line crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed.
And Tony had accepted that with a calm that made Rhodey’s chest ache.
Because acceptance didn’t mean it hurt less.
It meant Tony had stopped fighting it.
Rhodey leaned against the counter, exhaustion seeping into his bones.
He wanted to protect Tony from this. From all of it. From the loss, from the betrayal, from the quiet reshaping of his life.
But there was nothing left to protect.
Tony had already adapted.
He had already found something - someone - to anchor him.
Rhodey didn’t know who or what that was.
He only knew that it wasn’t Pepper anymore.
And that knowledge settled in his chest like a stone.
Rhodey watched Tony eat.
It struck him, suddenly and absurdly, that this was what victory looked like now. Not fireworks. Not applause. Just Tony Stark standing barefoot in his own kitchen, unwrapping a protein bar and actually finishing it.
Six months ago, that alone would have felt impossible.
Tony leaned against the counter, chewing slowly, gaze unfocused, humming under his breath. It wasn’t a tune Rhodey recognized - just a soft, wandering sound, like a thought that didn’t need words.
Rhodey let himself breathe.
The need to understand it - all of it - loosened its grip. Not because the questions had answers now, but because he realized something simpler and far more important.
Tony was still here.
He wasn’t spiraling. He wasn’t breaking. He wasn’t drifting toward that dangerous edge Rhodey had learned to recognize too well.
Whatever truth Tony carried, it wasn’t hollowing him out.
It was holding him up.
Rhodey thought of all the versions of Tony he’d known. The brilliant, reckless genius who ran toward danger because he didn’t know how to stand still. The haunted man who built armor faster than he healed. The friend who joked his way around fear because admitting it felt like failure.
This version was quieter.
Older.
Not diminished - refined.
Tony finished the bar and tossed the wrapper into the trash with lazy accuracy. He caught Rhodey watching him and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he asked.
Rhodey shook his head. “Nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing.
It was everything he couldn’t put into words without breaking the fragile equilibrium between them. Everything he didn’t need to say out loud for it to be true.
Rhodey stepped closer, resting his forearms on the counter beside Tony.
“You know,” he said, tone casual, “if you ever want to talk -”
Tony glanced at him, expression soft.
“I know,” he said again.
And Rhodey believed him.
Because this time, the words didn’t feel like deflection. They felt like trust.
The kitchen hummed quietly around them. Systems cycling. Lights steady. Normal life continuing in small, mundane ways that felt almost sacred after everything they’d survived.
Rhodey realized then that understanding wasn’t the point.
It never had been.
Tony didn’t need someone to dissect his grief or name his hope. He needed someone willing to stand beside him while he carried both.
Rhodey could do that.
He’d been doing it for years without realizing it.
Tony stretched, rolling his shoulders, and headed toward the hallway. “I’m turning in,” he said. “Long day.”
Rhodey nodded. “Get some sleep.”
Tony paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. The smile he offered was unguarded, warm, alive.
“Thanks,” he said. “For… being here.”
Rhodey swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. “Always.”
Tony disappeared down the hall, his footsteps unhurried, steady.
Rhodey remained in the kitchen for a moment longer, listening to the quiet.
He thought of Aria. Of everything she’d lost. Of everything she’d given without knowing it. Of the strange, aching way her absence had reshaped the people she’d left behind.
Tony carried her now - not as a wound, but as a presence.
Rhodey didn’t understand how that was possible.
He didn’t need to.
Some truths weren’t meant to be examined under harsh light. Some were meant to be held gently, protected by trust and silence.
Rhodey turned off the kitchen light and headed down the corridor.
Whatever Tony had found in the aftermath of all this - whatever hope had taken root where grief once lived - it was enough.
It kept him breathing.
And for Rhodey, that was all that mattered.
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(The Scene: A grand conference room in Vienna. General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross stands at a podium, jaw clenched, radiating self-importance. Tony Stark, however, is making it very difficult for him to maintain that image.)
Tony: (Leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips, an air of supreme nonchalance) Honestly, Thaddeus, it’s a little… much. All this bluster, the clenched jaw, the puffed-out chest. It screams, “I’m desperately trying to prove something.” And from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re overcompensating for quite a lot. Especially… (he gestures vaguely downwards with a wagging finger) …something that might be feeling a bit inadequate today.
Clint: (Burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently with suppressed laughter. A full-blown snort escapes him, almost a honk.)
Rhodey: (Pinches the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. He avoids eye contact with anyone, looking like he’s aged a decade in the last five minutes.) Tony, please. We’re in an international forum.
Vision: (Tilts his head slightly, an expression of genuine confusion) Overcompensating for a physical inadequacy? Is Mr. Stark implying a physiological deficiency?
Sam: (Grins from ear to ear, eyes wide with delight, practically vibrating in his seat. He catches Tony’s eye and gives him an almost imperceptible nod of approval, clearly having the time of his life.)
Steve: (Sighs, runs a hand over his face, looking deeply uncomfortable. He glances at Bruce with an apologetic shrug.)
Bruce: (Shrinks slightly in his chair, wishing he could turn invisible. He mutters quietly to Steve) I… I need a sabbatical from this whole thing. Possibly a desert island.
Ross: (Face turning a dangerous shade of puce, he slams a fist on the table, making the glasses jump) Stark! This is precisely the kind of juvenile, inappropriate behavior that proves you are unfit to–!
Tony: (Holds up a hand, cutting him off smoothly) Whoa, whoa, easy there, General. Don’t blow a blood vessel. It’s a simple observation. You seem… wound up. Tense. Like you haven’t had a good… release in a while.
Ross: (Sputtering, his rant dissolving into a series of indignant gasps) How dare you! You insufferable, decadent…!
Tony: (Leans forward, a glint in his eye) Decadent? You wound me. But speaking of things decadent… when was the last time you, shall we say, exercised your… biological imperative, General? Like, reallyexercised it? With another human being? Not just shouting at the TV.
Ross: (His face goes from puce to a startling shade of crimson. He chokes on his words, eyes bulging, veins throbbing in his neck) You – you – you little…! This is an outrage! An absolute disgrace! You think this is a joke?! The security of the world is at stake, and you’re making crude, vulgar…! You’re an unstable narcissist! A hedonistic, irresponsible danger to everything decent!
UN Delegates: (A ripple of quiet smirks spreads through the room. Several delegates exchange knowing glances. It was no secret Ross was not well-liked in the international community, and the sheer hypocrisy of his statement was not lost on anyone.)
Tony: (Chuckles, unbothered) Oh, absolutely! I embrace it. Yes, I’m a narcissist. Always have been. But you know what, Thaddeus? So are you. You’re just not as good at admitting it. In fact, if you ask me, you fit the criteria for a full-blown Narcissistic Personality Disorder far better than I do. My dear friend, Natasha, will now explain why Ross has narcissistic personality disorder. Natasha, darling? The floor is yours for an expert psychological assessment.
Natasha: (Across the table, Natasha’s expression is a perfect mask of polite indifference, but her eyes briefly flick to Tony with a silent, sharp glint that clearly says: Why me, you absolute menace?)
Ross: (Ignores Natasha, now completely unhinged, his voice rising to a fever pitch) This is the work of godless men! You think you can defy the will of the Almighty?! You think you can escape divine retribution?! This whole circus, this… this accord… it’s a pact with the devil! We need to remember our Lord! Our savior! And those who mock His power, those who live in sin and depravity… they will be judged! Even Thor here, he’s a testament! A thunderbolt from on high! A warning!
Everyone: (A collective, stunned silence falls. Faces around the table are a mix of bewilderment, shock, and dawning concern. Bruce’s jaw has dropped. Steve looks utterly lost. Clint’s laughter has died a sudden, choked death. Sam’s grin has faded into a look of genuine confusion.)
Tony: (His own confident smirk has been replaced by a look of genuine bewilderment. He blinks slowly, leaning forward slightly.) Wow. Okay, that… was not where I expected that to go.
Delegate 1: (Whispering to an aide) Get the doctors. Discreetly.
Delegate 2: (Mouths “What?” to a colleague, who just shrugs, equally baffled.)
Vision: (His internal processors whirring, trying to parse the sudden theological turn) I am attempting to reconcile General Ross’s statements with the current agenda. Is divine judgment a ratified component of the Sokovia Accords?
Thor: (Looks utterly confused, his brow furrowed as he glances around the room, then at Vision. He gestures vaguely with Mjolnir.) Is he… speaking of my father? The Allfather is not often invoked in… political discourse.
Tony: (Raises a hand, a flicker of genuine concern replacing his earlier snark) Umm, for the record, Thaddeus, I’m Jewish. So… do you have a problem with that? Because it really sounds like you have a problem with that.
Everyone: (The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Ross’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He clutches at the podium, his eyes darting frantically. There’s no good way to answer that question without digging himself into a deeper, much more problematic hole. Even the age-old “some of my best friends are…” excuse would drown him.)
Vision: Excuse me, but what does Mr. Stark’s religious affiliation have to do with the ratification of the Sokovia Accords? I fail to see the relevant correlation.
Everyone: (Nobody answers. They just stare at Ross, who is now pale with a mixture of rage and terror.)
(Needless to say, the meeting was adjourned rather abruptly. General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross was last seen being escorted out by two very concerned-looking men in white coats, muttering about ‘the end times’ and 'Iron Man’s unholy alliance with the Antichrist’. The Sokovia Accords, for the moment, were on hold.)
(Later that evening, back at Avengers Tower. The mood is significantly lighter. Sam Wilson is literally howling with laughter, sprawled on a couch.)
Sam: (Wiping tears from his eyes) HAHAHAHA! Oh my GOD! “Is divine judgment a ratified component of the Sokovia Accords?!” Oh, Vision, you’re a national treasure! I hope we get a copy of that footage! I want it on loop!
Tony: (Pacing happily, a wide grin plastered on his face, gesturing expansively to Rhodey) See, Rhodey? Bright side! The bright, shining side! Not only do we get a temporary reprieve from the impending doom of accountability, but Ross is probably going to the funny farm! Like, a real, padded-walls, no-more-thunderbolts funny farm! That’s a win-win, baby!
Rhodey: (Lying on another couch, arm thrown over his eyes) Why… why exactly am I friends with you, Tony? Remind me again. Every single time.
Tony: (Beaming) Because I’m charming! And I’m right! And I just saved us all from having to deal with that particular brand of human-shaped thundercloud for a good long while! We should celebrate! Shawarma! Lots of shawarma! And alcohol! So much alcohol! Who wants to go to Paris?! Or Vegas?! Or Los Angeles?! Or Disney World?! Or… (He starts to ramble, riding the high of their “victory” and already feeling the effects of the celebratory beer.) …or a cruise! We could get a cruise ship! With a giant Arc Reactor on the top! And beer! Lots of beer!
Pepper: (Walks over, a fond, exasperated smile on her face, gently takes the beer bottle from his hand) Alright, alright, Mr. Victory Lap. Let’s dial it back just a touch, huh? The night is young.
Bruce: (Still looking a little shell-shocked, but visibly more relaxed, sipping a cup of tea) I… I’m just relieved. Being in the same room as him always made me feel like I needed a very long, very quiet nap. Or a rage room.
Pepper: (Chuckles, taking a sip of wine from her own glass. She’s dressed more casually now, clearly joining the celebration.) Tell me about it. I nearly called security myself when he started quoting scripture.
Tony: (Pulls Pepper close, slinging an arm around her, his eyes a little unfocused but full of warmth) You know, Pep… you’re the best. The absolute best. I mean it. We should… we should get married. Yeah. Married.
Pepper: (Raises an eyebrow, a slight blush rising on her cheeks. She knows he’s drunk, but the sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable.) Oh? Is this the formal proposal, Mr. Stark?
Tony: (Nods vigorously, pulling her even closer, launching into a slightly slurred but heartfelt speech) You’re just… you’re so good at everything! You run my company, you put up with my insane genius, you keep me from self-destructing, you actually get my jokes, you don’t judge me when I invent a new flavor of ice cream at 3 AM. You’re smart and beautiful and you smell like… like freedom and expensive shampoo. And you’re the only one who can talk me down from a panic attack, and you listen to my crazy ideas, and you make me want to be… better. Even when I’m being a complete ass. You just… you make my life make sense. And you keep me from getting arrested for publicly humiliating government officials… mostly. So… yeah. Marry me, Pepper Potts. Please. Before I invent a ring that shoots lasers.
(A warm, contented silence falls, punctuated only by Sam’s occasional residual chuckles. Rhodey, despite himself, is smiling. Even Bruce looks touched. The night, despite the earlier chaos, has somehow found its peace, bathed in the glow of victory, camaraderie, and a very drunk man’s heartfelt confession.)
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tony inventing BARF purely and entirely so that he can SHOW rhodey what happened in the cave without having to describe it. Shows him, shows him Yinsens death, and the turns it all off and asks rhodey if yinsens death was tony’s fault.
Rhodey says no. JARVIS confirms that it’s not a lie, based on rhodes’s heartbeat and breathing.
tony still doesn’t believe him. They never discuss it again.