Allergic to Gratitude

x

Summary: In the wake of the Uncivil Skirmish, Tony Stark is the only Avenger left. To his unending surprise, things just get… easier.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or anything else Marvel-related, and I am not paid for writing fanfiction.

Warnings: mentions of violence, betrayal, a bit of angst, unreliable narrator, implied promiscuity, polyamory, het and slash, sexual situations, unapologetic fairy tale ending for Tony, playing fast and loose with canon, ignores AoS beyond the basic premise, some OOC, very bad language, the lowest kinds of humor

A/N: I vomited out this entire story almost in one go and, frankly, have no clue where it came from. Bits are probably inspired by LokasennaHiddleston's stories – very relaxing reading, go read if you like Tony finding true love and winning over everyone and going neener-neener. I do like winner Tony (if it wasn't obvious) but I can't really write him like that, so this is something a little bit different.

Obviously, since it's Tony's POV, the story is biased in Team Iron Man's favor. But, as I keep mentioning, I don't do character bashing. At some point Tony will unwind enough to even try and understand where the other guys were coming from – though he's not going to forgive and forget.

x

Chapter One: Indecipherable Interpersonal Rituals

x

"Hi, this is Stephanie," chirps a girl's voice. "I can't pick up right now, so leave me a message and I'll get back to you-"

"Ross' goons are sniffing after the Bartons," Tony says, out of patience with this fucking farce. If Coulson doesn't pick up for this he won't pick up at all, and in that case he's welcome to go fuck himself.

There's a click down the line. "Is this supposed to be a threat or a warning?"

Tony feels his hackles rise. If he wanted to threaten or warn, he would have gone fucking competently about it.

"This is just great for you, isn't it? You saddle me with your bunch of backstabbing traitors, unite us through dying for the idea of our team, then go off on your adventures, and whatever you or your ducklings fuck up – let's just blame it on Stark. Why not? He's always been the easiest scapegoat." Tony huffs. "Yeah, if anything happens to the Bartons, that will be on my head, too, I'm pretty sure. Never mind that Barton just left them behind to follow your precious Refrigerated Mess on the career of an international criminal. One of these days I'll learn not to fucking trust spies."

He moves his thumb to end the call.

"Wait-"

It's probably exhaustion that makes him pause.

"-Stark. I've honestly no idea what is happening on that front, but whatever it is, I don't believe Laura's got anything to do with it."

There's an accusation in there that makes Tony want to infect all Coulson's tech with some sort of headache-inducing virus.

After using him for years and sucking him nearly dry, this is what they think of him. Howard was right. You can't play nice or they'll treat you like you're weak. And, eventually, you will become weak.

He should have remembered he didn't have a heart.

"Obviously, I'm the kind of person who'd go after a woman and her kids, never mind that she has selflessly helped me in the past. Sure. Just because I think her husband is a self-centered, stupid, selfish dick, I'd take it out on her."

Coulson starts saying something, but Tony's out of the last scraps of patience by now.

"So I'm going to find her, and I'll probably kidnap her and make her watch as somebody hurts the kids, and when Barton comes crying to you about how I went after his family and deliberately destroyed them, you will pat him on the head, hunt me down and tase me until I'm a twitching mess. This sounds familiar, doesn't it."

"That's not-"

"You told me that's how it would go. I should have listened. Fuck you and the Bus you rode in on."

"Stark-"

He hangs up.

x

Relocating Laura and the kids turns out to be easier than Tony expected, because… actually, because she's pissed. This sounds counterintuitive, but somehow Laura Barton's the only person on this entire planet that is not pissed at Tony.

He doesn't understand it. But it's kind of nice.

"Oh, good," she says from the porch as he approaches the house.

He comes alone because he doesn't want to freak her out, but it seems that she's made out of tougher stuff. There's still the chance that the 'good' refers to her opportunity to punch him in the face, but-

"Here, hold him." She puts Nathaniel into Tony's arms, and he fumbles him for a moment before his hands reconfigure themselves on autopilot. He doesn't have a whole lot of feelings about toddlers – aside from thinking they shouldn't be anywhere near him in the interest of their safety, but that seems to apply to anyone and everyone regardless of age – but it's not the first time he's held a child, and it's not rocket science.

He prefers rocket science, but need's must.

"We're almost ready to leave; give me half an hour," the woman says. Then she looks up. "We're not in a hurry, are we? You wouldn't have walked, right?"

Tony thinks he could fall for her, at least for a while. But, bad idea, recent break-up and an ex-teammate's wife, not going there.

"We've time enough," he assures her, stepping from foot to foot to keep the kid settled. Nate is mostly asleep, sucking on a purple dummy. "You've got no idea how fantastic it feels to talk to someone capable of logical thought." He didn't mean to say that, but he's so, so fucking tired, it's chronic, whatever meagre amount of sleep he manages doesn't seem to help.

Laura makes a sympathetic sound from the bathroom. "Not a lot of those people going around lately," she says grimly.

"Should I say I'm sorry?" he inquires, and then feels inexcusably childish when Lila gives him an incredulous look from the staircase. He barrels forth, since there's nothing for it at this point. "I feel like I should say sorry, but I'm not sure what for, and I don't honestly even feel that sorry. Maybe about Barnes or for Barnes or – actually, how much do you know about what's happened?"

Laura pauses in the bathroom door, holding a bright blue sports bag full of stuff in one hand and a make-up case in the other. "Captain America said jump. Clint dropped everything, asking how high. Now he's on the lam, and my children are easy bait."

"I'm sorry," Tony says automatically. It definitely sounds like the thing to say.

Laura nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. "It's not just about regret. It's also about sympathy." Oh. Right. That. He knew that. Really, he did. "And you, Mr Stark-"

"Tony?" he suggests. This sounds like a 'Tony' conversation.

"-Tony, are the only one to show me any. Despite…"

Tony waves his hand. He knows what she means – Barton, Rogers, stubbornness, failure to listen, RAFT, fight, betrayal and more betrayal. He doesn't want to talk about it.

"And I didn't expect it. Looks like nobody expected it. But you're here, and I think everybody's wrong. Everybody's…"

"Everything's fuc- uhh…" Tony looks at the creature in his arms. It's a future human being, and he should probably keep the language PG, but he doesn't remember how. He thinks he was probably never taught how. Howard certainly wouldn't have censored himself around his child.

"Yes." The woman nods. "It is. And you and I – we're the ones left here to deal with it. And it's… it's already easier now than it was half an hour ago when I was alone."

Tony doesn't know how to understand that. He takes time to think, but it's okay because Laura's busy herding Cooper and Lila and packing what looks at a glance as half the household, but eventually turns out to be a very reasonable amount of things. They fit into her car, leaving enough space for all three children.

Not for Tony, but he's got the suitcase suit, and he's fully intended to be their bodyguard on the way to the jet.

As he hands off Wee Nate to be strapped down into a fearsome looking contraption on the backseat of the car, he says: "You're right."

Laura finds it in herself to smile. Tough fucking cookie.

"Where are we going?" asks Cooper, clutching a cell phone in his hands between his knees. He's looking at Tony with suspicion but not outright hatred, and that's better than Tony had dared hope for.

"That's actually-" He turns to Laura. "I was going to offer you a safe house and new identities, and the offer stands, but if-"

"Stark Tower?" Laura cuts in.

Tony shrugs. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. They wouldn't be exactly safe.

But he's alone, and tired, and selfish, so he at least puts it out there.

Laura nods. "Stark Tower it is. Let's go."

"You know your husband will blame me for – this all," he mentions under his breath, so that the kids don't hear. This has got to be horrible for them.

Laura raises her eyebrows and replies, just as quietly: "My husband is a criminal, Tony. And however I personally feel about him and his actions, the fact remains that I have to put my children first. And I don't want him to have any legal rights to them."

"I'll try to make it right."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure it's wrong now. And, regardless, even if everyone's pardoned, it will happen years down the road. And some of us don't have the luxury of checking out for that long." She looks at the kids.

Tony looks at them, too. Thinks about JARVIS. About Vision and Dummy.

About Howard.

"I can't promise you a lot," he says. "But I promise I'll try. My fucking best." Oops. Expletive.

Laura elbows him in the ribs – ow, he's bruised to all hell and currently unarmored – and scoffs at him. "When did you fucking not?"

x

Coulson calls back. Several times, actually, but Tony doesn't bother picking up until the Barton situation is as resolved as he can make it at two a.m. It's a temporary fix, but short of a full-scale attack on the Stark Tower (he's reclaimed it; it was well past the highest time) they are safe.

Tony can't get Laura's expression of barely-contained hopeless rage out of his head, so when Friday tells him who is calling, he can't be bothered with even a mask of civility.

"What did I do now?" he snaps. "Cause the global warming? Run over your pet puppy?"

"Thank you, Stark," Coulson says tonelessly. "For being the bigger man, despite knowing how thankless it would be."

Tony scoffs, suppressing nausea. "Contradicting yourself already? Let's cut down on your phone bill and to the chase, Agent. What do you want, and why do you want it at two fifteen in the morning?"

"You weren't asleep," Coulson says, as if that is an explanation for anything. There's silence for a while. It seems like he's hung up, but Coulson isn't the type to leave alone until he's got what he's come for, so Tony isn't really surprised by the next words coming down from the speakers: "I do appreciate what you've done, Mr Stark. And I truly am sorry for parts of what was done to you."

"Parts of, huh?" Tony doesn't laugh, although he's tempted to.

"Parts of," Coulson confirms. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you found out I was alive."

Subject change? Unlikely, Tony thinks. Probably just a sneak trying to sneakily sneak up on a point.

"Took me a while to figure it out," Tony replies. "Long enough for the hurt to run its course and leave its scars." He's not delving any deeper into it. It's enough to have mentioned how much of a dick Coulson was for leaving his – friends? acquaintances? – to grieve. Pepper cried. Barton's been off for months even after psych cleared him post-Loki; Romanov couldn't stand her spy-twin's presence to the point that she started fluttering around Rogers instead. Coulson's death might or might not have been the thing that started the end of the Avengers – but then, it was arguably the thing that started the Avengers in the first place.

It's a funny idea. The entire team was built upon the base of Coulson giving up the ghost.

"Until you called me, it didn't occur to me that you knew," says the agent. "I couldn't imagine you not telling your teammates if you discovered yet another secret SHIELD had kept from you."

Tony has known for a long time. He considered telling in the beginning, naturally, full of resentment and indignation, but it became a question of whom to tell first, then whom to tell and then why tell anyone at all? Then Rogers started haranguing him about keeping secrets while running around with Wilson and telling nobody what he was doing… and contrary to popular belief, Tony can keep someone else's secrets even in spite of peer pressure and emotional extortion.

Surely if Coulson wanted somebody to know, he would have informed them.

And if Coulson didn't want anyone to know, then so long. He could go fuck himself.

"Did you want something?" Tony asks. "It's so late it's early, and I've got a bed that cost more than your year's pay waiting for me. And a girl in it that cost near as much," he lies.

"I wanted to ask what you wanted. You called me first – and I doubt you would have done that just to say 'screw you'."

'Screw you' in Coulson's bland voice sounds almost hilarious. He can convey air quotes through a barely-there change of tone.

"I honestly didn't expect to be accused of monstrosity," Tony says dryly. "I probably should have – where Rogers leads, his fanbase follows-"

"What do you need from me?" Coulson cuts in pragmatically. "I am not making any promises in advance, but as far as I am concerned, we are still working toward the same goal." He words it broadly enough that Tony can't even really protest.

It is, after all, why he called Coulson in the first place.

Tony doesn't even know the answer to the agent's question. Whatever it was, he's given up on it once the blame-game started. He knows he can't ever win the blame-game. There's no point in trying.

"Guess I just wanted someone to confirm that there's still somebody fighting," he admits, but only because this hurts Coulson more than it hurts him.

A dream demolished.

"Are you giving up?!" Coulson demands. There's a minute note of emotional upheaval toward the end of the sentence.

"Am I?" Tony's never fucking going to give up – he's the Iron Man. That's the point. Funny how they haven't got it. Eight years of superherodom, and they still haven't noticed he's an actual person under the amalgam of deliberately induced misperceptions. "And why shouldn't I? Everyone else has gone to ground; why should I offer up my neck for you bunch of backstabbing bastards?"

"I still don't understand what happened, Stark. I can't believe it of… Clint is… once he gives his loyalty, he will never go back on it."

"Tell that to Laura," Tony returns. He's not proud of himself, it's an ugly thing to say, and he probably shouldn't use Laura as an argument, but he's… he's incensed on her behalf. If it was just him, sure, he fucked up. He's not the only one who did, he's just the only one raked over coals for it and… that's nothing new.

He can deal with it. He's made of iron, and encased in titanium and gold. He can deal.

But Laura? A civilian woman with three children, left on her own, an unprotected target for everyone who wants to get at the rogue Avengers; Barton just drew a huge fucking bull's eye all over his family.

"I don't know what he was thinking." Coulson sounds rough, almost angry. "It's a running theme that he sees better from distance – maybe his family was just too close while he focused on something on the horizon."

"That's worth fuck-all to the people he left behind," Tony spits.

"Following Captain America into battle – it's hard to think of that as something wrong." The sentence is full of terrible, guts-squashing disappointment.

And Coulson didn't even have a vibranium shield put through his arc reactor. Just a jerk from a century ago stomping all over his youthful ideals.

Tony snorts. "How lucky that Nazis are so universally evil. World War Two totally black-and-white'd the entire concept of 'Captain America'. I'm sure Stevie Rogers was a swell fella, but we've put an officer of a comparatively low rank in charge of a task force responsible for planetary safety, and then were surprised when he crashed and burned as soon as politics came into it."

"You were supposed to cover the politics side of-"

"I tried! I tried my best! You think he listened to me for half a fucking second? No! Fanboys like you filled his head with tales of how awesome he is! How right, how absolutely good!" He clenches his jaw and breathes through the ripping pain in his chest – actual physical pain – it isn't a great idea to tense and yell and gesture expansively around fractured ribs. Good to know. Feeling a little less incandescent and a little more helpless, he tries to speak in full sentences. "The instance someone disagreed with him, he knew they were in the wrong. And I've already been labeled a problem from the start. It must have been very easy to imagine that I was disagreeing with him because I had a problem with his authority."

"I can't believe a man of your intellect couldn't find a way to convince Captain Rogers to his point of view," Coulson says stiffly.

Tony shakes his head. "Yes, of course. I should have manipulated him. I should have known all that talk of trust between teammates was just talk." He smirks with sheer schadenfreude, getting to say: "Rogers certainly proved that, in the end."

Coulson takes a moment to himself, calming down or preparing a counter-strike. "I have read Natasha's assessment of you."

"I know. You've said so, when you came to me, begging for help to recover Barton from Loki."

"I've disagreed with the assessment," Coulson claims. If he wants to sound believable, he should put more emotion into it. Maybe start with any emotion at all. "You were reconsidered for the team on my discretion. And, Stark, I have never once regretted that decision."

"That's good. That's exactly what I would have said in your place. I can already feel it working, and I know it's just a bunch of manipulative bullshit." Fuck, one of these days Tony will absolutely learn to not put his faith in people. Totally. He'd have thought that betrayal by Captain America could have cured his terminal condition, but it looks like he needs a couple more punches still. "I shouldn't have called you."

"Why did you?"

Desperation. Why else? SHIELD dropped the ball on the Avengers and the Avengers dropped the ball on Tony, and Tony is left standing here holding the fucking ball with no one to cover his back. He thought… he's not sure what he thought. Maybe that Coulson looked like he gave a damn, and like he was good at his job.

Maybe he just needs to tell somebody, with complete honesty, what he thinks of them.

"What are you going to do now?" Coulson asks, worried. Wow. Emotion.

As if Tony would tell him. No, this is a fool's errand, and Tony isn't going to give Coulson any more ammunition than he has to.

"Drink my expensive Scotch," Tony replies with a flash of a grin, cheap and fake. "Invent something awesome." Something that will let Rhodey walk again. "Make more money. Laugh into the face of anyone that comes to me begging for help – yeah, looking at you here, Agent Kay."

He claps his hands faux-happily and walks out of the room, gesturing toward the camera. Coulson can stay on the line and try and wheedle shit out of Friday for as long as he wants – Friday deserves to have some fun, too.

And Tony? Tony is going to do what he should have done a long time ago.

He's going to take over the world.

x

The next Accords conference is held in Brussels. For Tony it means travel-time wasted, listening to people natter on in French, and a hotel apartment.

"Boss?" Friday says from her mobile setup on the coffee table when Tony walks out of the bathroom. "There was someone at the reception, wishing to speak with you. Her request was denied by the receptionist, who threatened to have her removed from the premises-"

"Who?" Tony cuts in. Pepper would have called him, and so would Laura. Natasha would have just turned up in his room with Bites at the ready. Maybe a knife, if she was feeling particularly bloodthirsty.

"She has stated her name as Elizabeth Ross. Facial recognition confirmed."

A flood of adrenaline chases away all wishful thoughts of the hotel bed, and Tony dives for clothes. He by-passes the suit and pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt – he is beyond rich enough to flaunt the dress code.

"Where is she now?"

"Hotel bar. She has ordered two drinks."

"Beautiful and brilliant," Tony remarks. "No wonder Bruce was smitten." His hair is a wet mess, but he is pretty sure that inviting Dr Ross to his hotel room would result in a lot worse press than meeting her straight out of a shower. He isn't entirely sure – people are hopelessly nonsensical on the best of days – but decides to risk it.

He hears the consecutive waves of silence and frantic gossip roll over the bar as he enters. It is too early in the evening for a properly relaxed atmosphere, and the bar is a little too full for his taste; he nevertheless spots his mark immediately, and perches on a barstool next to her, one elbow on the counter and foot firmly planted in his mouth: "Come here often?"

Ross gapes at him as if he has just crashed in through the ceiling and sat up in a pile of rubble. She is – well, beautiful seems like too common a word for someone like that. Tony can't believe Thunderbolt could have sired a creature this lovely (plus the idea of Mrs Ross cheating on the shitstain fills him with glee). Her eyes are light and full of fire, even though it is obvious that she has been through a lot of stress and possibly an illness lately.

Then she grins.

Tony reminds himself forcefully that this is the Laura Barton situation all over again. A lovely, fiery, clever woman – that he is not allowed to touch. Bro code. Despite the very, very weird Bruce-and-Natasha thing. This is Bruce's Betty.

"Dr Stark," she says, and pushes the second glass to him.

"No one's called me 'doctor' in a very long time," Tony mentions in complete honesty. It is as though people forget that little detail in the face of the money and the sex scandals and the Iron Man. In fact, the only one who has ever called him 'doctor' was Rhodey, in a mocking tone, for about as long as it took them to get drunk when they celebrated after Tony finally got the PhD (the first one, Rhodey's too classy to have repeated the joke for Tony's subsequent academic achievements).

"Well," says Dr Ross, "I have read your dissertations, and I was impressed, and I shall call you 'doctor', unless you have objections."

Tony prefers being called 'Tony', but he is flexible. "Sounds kinky. Thanks for the drink." He doesn't drink it, though, because he hasn't seen it being poured, and too many people would like to get rid of him. It isn't even that he suspects Dr Ross of being in collusion with her father – the opposite is far more likely – but Thunderbolt's managed to extort his daughter before.

"Thanks for coming down to talk to me," she says, ignoring the flirting, and then steels herself to talk about what she's come for. "I've combed through the reports, and there's no mention of him. I don't think my Father has him – he's been smug before the prosecutions started, but not that smug – and I'm… worried. I know I've given up every right I had to him, but if you know anything…"

She is good. Pretty face, and knows how to use it. Tony would want to tell her if he knew anything, but he doesn't know her nearly well enough, and he's not sure she could keep it from her Father.

"He hasn't come by to sign the Accords," Tony mentions glibly. "Had to strike him from the official roster. But as long as he doesn't appear anywhere, he's not my problem."

Dr Ross' eyes narrow. Her fingers tighten on the glass, and she looks like she's about to fling it into Tony's face; he's ready to close his eyes, doesn't want the sting of alcohol in them if he can help it.

"He's not- I always considered Bruce a privilege rather than a problem," she says very softly. "And I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were of the same mind-"

"Bruce did the smartest thing he could," Tony replies at the same volume. "If he were there during the throw-down, he'd either be locked up by your Father or holed up with the other fuckers-"

Ross snorts and slugs Tony's shoulder with bony, bony knuckles. He'll have another bruise.

"Poppycock. We both know that Bruce may run from us, but he'll never hurt us. If the Hulk likes you that much – and I've seen the footage, I know how much he liked you from the start – he'd never side against you. Not for her, and not for Captain America."

She takes a deep breath and moves closer, so close that Tony smells her perfume, and it becomes a struggle not to reach out and touch her.

"I don't know who did what, or who said what, or how this – this schism happened. I didn't come here because I believe you were right and Captain America was wrong."

"You came here because you thought I could help you find your ex," Tony states. This has been obvious; neither of them has pretended otherwise. He isn't sure what motivates her – it could be love and regret as easily as it could be a noose around her neck. Does she have a kid that could have been napped? It's possible. Tony hasn't stalked her over the past few years.

Friday could find out, but for now Tony remembers the look in Laura's eyes when her children were in danger and knows with certainty that there could be things Dr Ross would put above Bruce's wellbeing.

"I came here," she breathes with a faint scent of wine, "because Bruce knew he could trust you, and I trust Bruce."

Tony's very glad that he doesn't know where his science bro's hiding, because he's tempted to tell. He's generally tempted.

There's a commotion outside. Someone shouts.

As of yet it hasn't escalated into violence, but it sounds like violence is being threatened.

"Were you followed?" Tony inquires.

"Probably," she admits. "If not, then someone's put a photo of us on Instagram and by now it's around the globe."

"There are moments," Tony lies, "when I hate the internet."

She laughs into his face.

"My room?" he suggests.

"Might as well."

They continue the conversation there. Tony doesn't tell her what she wants to hear and Dr Ross doesn't have sex with him, even though it's obvious they are both attracted. Instead, they hatch a plan.

x

"You lost someone, didn't you," Laura says, setting a mug onto the coffee table in front of Tony and sitting down next to him on the couch. It's late; they are both tired, and the TV is muted because Tony isn't interested in the weather forecast or in searching for anything engaging to watch.

"Whom didn't I lose?" Tony returns fatalistically.

Laura shakes her head, sipping her cocoa and gesturing at the mug she's brought for him. It smells fantastic, but Tony experiences some sort of cognitive dissonance. He can't convince himself that the drink would still be there if he reached for it. It's far more likely it would vanish like a wisp of smoke, escaping through his fingers.

Most things seem to, lately.

"I mean, like…" Laura searches for words that wouldn't bare the starkness of the wound to the world, but eventually gives it up as an impossible task. "Like family," she says. "Like – a child. That's why you thought of us first. You came back from wherever you were fighting all banged up, and the first thing you did was check on everyone's family."

Tony shrugs. "I don't have my own to check on. Figured I might as well try." Aside from Barton, the only one of Cap's bootlickers who has family is Lang. Tony had a quick, discreet look, and found (in an aggressive way) that Pym's got them covered.

Laura punches his arm, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to clearly express her displeasure. "Self-effacement doesn't suit you. But if you don't want to talk about it-"

"I don't," Tony cuts in resolutely. He hasn't gotten over the loss of his parents in more than twenty years – it's getting easier now, having found some perspective, but he's still fucked up about it.

He doesn't think he'll even begin to get over the loss of JARVIS in this lifetime.

"Drink your cocoa," Laura orders him.

Tony does. It's sweet. It doesn't vanish like smoke. At all.

He tries to think about what he'll have to do next. Laura can stay here for a while, and to toddler Nate it's all the same right now, but Cooper and Lila need more. They need schools and peers and… honestly, he's just pulling this crap out of his ass, he has no idea. Laura will have to walk him through this.

"Is this a private party or can I join?" Betty asks from the doorway. She's a vision in a pair of pajama pants, a tank top and an open night robe lackadaisically thrown over them.

Laura stares at her, reflexively judgmental.

"Betty Ross," says Betty, coming forward and offering her hand.

"Laura. Barton, for the time being," replies Laura, shaking the hand without standing.

It's like watching the clash of two titans; Tony would prefer to keep a far greater distance, but then there is a sort of shift in the atmosphere and the tension lessens. Apparently, the two women are not going to get into a catfight.

Tony doesn't really get the territory-thing. Aside from his workshop, that is – the workshop's a sacred place, and by extension so is Bruce's lab (Tony hasn't touched it beyond disposing of the stuff that doesn't store well enough). Besides, the Tower is all his territory, now that Pepper's moved out (except for Bruce's lab, but just watch Tony ignore that little detail).

"There's some cocoa on the counter, if you'd like," Laura offers. It's either some arcane challenge issued from one female to another, or an overture of friendly acquaintanceship.

"I'd love to," Betty says with a tired smile, "but then I couldn't sleep for the next four hours, and I'm ready to drop. Friday said that you were here and…"

Tony glances at Laura. She seems like she, too, isn't entirely sure what's happening. It only now occurs to him that he should have asked Laura before bringing Betty here – he's not used to extending that kind of consideration, but it's a responsibility he's accepted when he invited the Bartons to stay here. Senator Ross' daughter as a house guest would be a cause for concern.

"Crap," he mutters. "Look, Maid Marian, if you're worried-"

"It's…" Laura takes a deep breath. Her eyes bore into Betty. "Miss Ross is trustworthy, I take it?"

Tony looks at his hands. Trustworthy? What does that even mean? Is anyone trustworthy these days? Would Laura accept such a claim, after the shit her husband did to her?

"We are in similar positions, Mrs Barton," Betty replies tightly. "Except I didn't have the time to marry him and have children."

Laura's frown shifts from suspicious to confused. "Which…?"

"Bruce Banner."

Tony jumps to his feet. He feels a sympathetic vagina growing in his underbelly, and he needs to get out of here right the fuck now, before he starts thinking about carrying someone's kids. He's already popped out kids, if A.I.s count (and they do), so his biological clock ought to be well and satisfied.

"I'm sorry," Laura says.

"So am I," replies Betty.

Obscure, indecipherable interpersonal rituals.

"Uh…" Tony tries. His hands speak much more eloquently, but it still comes out as gibberish.

Laura nods at him, accepting the unexpected addition to their little household of left-behind dregs.

"Did you need anything?" he asks Betty.

Betty assaults him. It turns out to be a fast, hard hug, but it takes him a little bit to realize this.

"Thank you, Tony."

"Stop, stop that-"

"No, really, I just-"

"Ugh, stop saying things, woman," Tony bats at her to get her further away from him, "I've got money, I give money to people, it's in the job description of a philanthropist, I don't need to listen to this-"

He moves backwards away from them. It doesn't seem like a good idea to turn his back on them.

"What… just happened?" Laura stares at him as if she's never before seen an attacked guy retreat into a safe distance.

"Tony?"

His eyes move to Betty. "Yes, isotope?"

"Thank you?"

"Augh!" he yells. "Stop that! Both of you! Right now. Can't a man have his allergies respected?" he runs for the elevator. "Friday, workshop. Blackout. Don't let them in."

"Allergies?" Laura inquires.

Betty sighs. "Drama queen."