And here we go. One last time.

EPILOGUE

"Stark."

Ross stood in the doorway to his office, a gawking intern beside him holding a clipboard whose contents were slowly slipping to the ground while the kid gaped, staring down at where Tony sat across from his desk. Ross's eyes were wide, his jaw set, but the skin around his noise was still slightly swollen. The nose itself a little crooked.

Tony didn't even try to hide the smirk that crinkled his lips.

"I wasn't aware we had a meeting on the books." Ross said, recovering enough to step inside the office. The intern Ross must have been speaking to until he reached the doorway continued to gape from just behind the man until Ross promptly slammed the door in the poor kid's face.

Tony turned back to the desk in front of him, turning his back to Ross where he was still frozen just inside the door.

"We don't." Tony said, watching the Newton Cradle resting on the desk in front of him to the floor. Any other day it would have made him nauseous, but today he found it oddly soothing. One movement leading to the next. Action and re-action. "This is more of a tête-à-tête sort of thing."

Ross finally recovered, sauntering around Tony to stop behind his desk. He didn't sit though. Instead he reached across to a cardboard box neatly resting on the far edge. It was open already, the mailing tape hanging loose from the sides. Ross reached in and pulled out a dark, curved bottle. Scotch. He waved the bottle in Tony's direction.

"In that case you won't mind...?" He asked with a shrug. The sneer Tony had come to associate with his face was slowly growing, though there was a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that it looked more than a little painful now. Ross's swollen skin pulling too tight in a few too many places.

Ross ran a finger over the pristine label. "I wouldn't normally accept this kind of thing – it was a gift from some Venezuelan dignitary or another – but it is my one vice, said so in a Military gazette once hoping someone might take note."

"I remember," Tony said. Ross's eyes darted to him. "September, twenty-fifteen edition of the jarhead gazette." Ross's brows rose. "I read it."

He waved the bottle in Tony's direction again. An offering this time. Tony shook his head. Ross shrugged again, cutting through the wax around the bottle with a practiced twirl of a letter opener. "1926 Macallan. This bottle alone will set you back-"

"-Fifty-five thousand." Tony cut across him dryly. "Or thereabouts."

Ross let out a huff as he maneuvered the cork out of the head of the bottle. "The Venezuelans have more money then they know what to do with."

"I'm sure the there people disagree."

Ross poured himself a generous glass of the scotch and slid into his chair, reclining easily. Swirling his scotch in slow, even movements that somehow synced with the Newton's cradle.

"You seem awfully chipper for a man with seven billion dollars littered across the floor of the pacific." Tony observed, watching Ross dip his face towards the glass and take in a long breath. Tony found himself wondering if the surgeons had really been able to save his sense of smell after the damage and surgery, or if the act of smelling the scotch was just for show.

Ross's eyes snapped from the glass to Tony's.

"Well, that's just the danger of building on the water." Ross's eyebrow twitched as he spoke, and the hand holding his glass moved rest on the arm of his. His face was solemn, but his eyes were dancing.

He was enjoying this.

"The ocean can be a cruel mother. Hurricanes are not uncommon."

A barking laugh broke free of Tony's chest before he could even begin to swallow it.

"Hurricanes." Tony nodded. "Right." His teeth ground together painfully. "And fortunately for you not a soul left alive that would contradict you." Tony said. Ross's smirk grew. Just a little. Just enough. "You're going to get away with it. All of it. Human smuggling. Kidnapping. Murder," He said. "-And it was murder. They dragged up the bodies of the other gifted people you had bought. Dead, all of them, but there was no water in their lungs. They'd been long dead before the thing sunk." Tony said, more thinking out loud than accusing. There was no need for accusation. Not anymore.

Ross gave a delicate shrug, raising his glass to his lips and taking a small sip.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." He said, pulling his most contrite face. It didn't sit well on him. It looked painful – and not just because it clearly pulled at the tender tissue around his nose. "It was a tragedy – for sure. And unfortunately many bodies will never be recovered." Those eyes darkened. "As I said, the ocean is unforgiving."

Tony didn't grace the lie with a response.

Ross pulled away from the desk, reclining against his plush chair and staring over the expanse of the mahogany desk at Tony.

"Why are we at odds, Stark?" He asked without warning. That same barking laugh nearly broke free of Tony's chest again – but it died somewhere between his chest and his lips, leaving him cold and empty on the inside. "We want the same thing, really," Ross went on, ignorant of the sudden urge that almost had Tony leaping across the desk and wrapping his fingers around Ross's throat.

The urge died as quickly as it had come when Ross took another small sip of the scotch.

"And what is that?" Tony found himself asking.

Ross's eyes met his squarely. "Security." He answered, his tone suggesting that he was astonished Tony hadn't guessed the answer himself. "Isn't that what this is all about? What Iron Man was designed to do?" He challenged, eyes falling to the glowing mass beneath Tony's shirt. "To protect America, and its interests."

Ross moved to take another small sip.

"No."

The glass froze against his lips.

"No?" He asked, brows rising over the rim of his glass.

"No." Tony said again, with a small shrug. "Do I look like I'm wearing a spangly outfit with a matching, and honestly laughably small, shield?" Tony shot back when Ross didn't respond. "I don't give a fuck about America." He muttered, honestly. And he was being honest. They were so far past petty international grievances, not with the swirling mass of darkness and unknown threats looming over their heads day and night. "And I actively disapprove of its interests because, just like your interests, they are at best self-serving, and at worst actively detrimental to the rest of the world." Tony plowed on when Ross opened his mouth – he ground it closed whilst Tony spoke and didn't opening it again despite Tony's pause. Tony's hands wound together in his lap, one leg moving over the other as he sunk back into his chair in thought. "Iron Man was an acceptance of responsibility. Of my failures." He murmured, and despite his all-consuming loathing of the man he was saying it to, the words felt good to say. To admit. "And then it was my responsibility." He went on, mind drifting, and then landing on the one thing it had been continually landing on over the last few days. Peter. "Because when the people who can do something don't, when the bad things happen, they happen because of them." The words slipped through his lips like a prayer that sucked all of the air out of his lungs.

Peter was okay. He was. He'd been back at the Compound, walking and talking, for almost a week now. His temperature was finally stable, and Tony already had plans and tech in place to make sure it stayed that way. Even Wanda was doing better. She'd only woken the night before, and still had a ways to go in terms of recovery, but she was speaking, and moving. She knew who they were and where she was. What had happened.

Yeah. The kids were alright.

Tony was not. Not yet.

Even now, almost a week later, he was still shaking. His breath was still catching in his chest. He'd go from hot to freezing to burning over and over again. He just couldn't focus. In the back of his head he knew exactly what was happening to him. Delayed shock. He knew it was all just chemicals in his brain sluggishly responding to what had happened.

To what had almost happened.

He knew all of that, knew all of the science behind it, but it didn't stop him from waking up in the middle of the night colder than he'd ever been in his life. Didn't keep him from sliding away from Pepper in the bed and creeping down the hall. From inching the door to the kid's room open, just a touch, so that he could lean inside and watch the tangled mass of blankets for a moment. Watch the blankets rustle and move with the kid – because even in sleep Peter was restless. Was always moving. And god Tony wouldn't have it either way. He'd spent hours in that doorway the first couple of nights, just watching. Begging his shaking hands to stop, just for a second. For his chest to accept the oxygen he was trying to get to it. But neither did. So he stood, all night, and watched that tangled mass of blankets until the sun started to rise.

By the third night Tony started to worry he might actually be dying. He was exhausted, but again he'd crept away from Pepper and down the hall to the doorway he knew too well now. He couldn't close his eyes. He just couldn't. And the shaking hadn't stopped. His chest was no closer to recognising the oxygen that he was sucking down with every heaving breath.

He'd been inches from breaking when Steve had rounded the corner across the hall from him.

An excuse had been on the tip of Tony's tongue. He was sure.

Left my tablet in the kid's room. Just checking in – thought I heard something. Snapping some embarrassing sleep talking videos for the kid's twenty-first, you can never start too early.

But none of them got through his lips – and even if they had Tony was sure that his voice would have broken so completely that he wouldn't have even finished whichever he'd chosen.

And then Steve was there. Right beside him. Leaning into the kid's doorway, his shoulder pressed up against Tony's as he gazed through the gap in the door Tony had left.

'He's okay.' Steve had murmured, and Tony had nodded. Or tried too. It had probably come off as more of a spasm than a nod. Steve's gaze had shifted. 'You're okay, too.'

Tony hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that until the words had left Steve's lips.

They had sat together in the hall, each of them resting on either side of the kid's door, in silence for the rest of the night. And then the next, when Tony had found himself at the kid's doorway again Steve was already there, sitting on the floor with his back leant up against the wall. And the next night, and the next, until Tony found himself slowly being able to breathe a little easier. Sleep a little longer. Sure he still checked on the kid, stuck his head through that crack in the door a couple of times throughout the night, but now he could leave. Could close the door and walk back to his bed, to Pepper, and finally sleep.

Sure, he was still shaking a little, and sometimes he dreamt of getting to that ship and finding an even colder body of the table. A still body. A corpse. But then he woke, and he made the trek down to that doorway, looked in, and found he could breathe again.

The kid was okay. And Tony was getting there. Slowly.

And Ross. Ross was still sitting across from him; sipping his hundred-dollar-a-sip scotch from behind his mahogany desk as he stared across at Tony, scowl growing with every passing minute.

"But I wouldn't expect you to understand that." Tony added finally. "Responsibility." He clarified when Ross merely raised a single brow. The man's scowl grew with the word. "As far as I can tell you have never taken it." Tony said, letting his head dip to one side as he took the other man in. "And never will."

Ross scoffed, pulling back in his chair as he stared over at Tony.

"I liked you better when you were a whore, a drunk and weapons dealer."

That brought a small smirk to Tony's lips.

"Easier days."

God. Weren't they.

"What are you doing here, Stark?"

Tony raised his eyes to meet Ross's boring stare.

"I told myself I wouldn't come." He said, honestly again. There was no point in lying now. "I really did." He shrugged. "Cap's still baking – the kid finally has his appetite back, with a vengeance, and Cap's taking full advantage – and I'm currently missing out on a triple breakfast spread." He said, not even having to fake the wistful breath that escaped him. "Finally taking the Hulk waffle maker for a spin."

Ross wasn't so easily deflected.

"But you did come."

Tony said nothing for a moment. Just watched Ross take yet another sip of the scotch.

"I did." He said, eventually. "It's okay. Steve always saves me leftovers. Leaves them in the toaster oven in the lab so Clint can't pilfer them."

"Is that what you came here to tell me?" Ross huffed, not even bothering to hide the distain written in every inch that was left of his face. "That Captain America is now donning an apron and serving at your beck and call?" Hate congealed to loathing in his eyes as Tony sat, silently, and watched. "Congratulations you've domesticated a national war icon."

"Oh, I didn't." Tony shook his head vehemently. "The opposite actually." He heaved out. "His insistence of feeding people is a pain in my ass," He said. "-Tony, have you eaten? Tony, caffeine is not a substitute for real food. Tony, don't drink that D.U.M-E put motor oil in it again." Tony said, his Steve impression leaving a lot to be desired, but he confident that the absolutely need to mother hen on the other man's behalf had been done justice. "Can't get any work done anymore – but it's his thing." Tony went on with a flippant wave. "He takes care of people."

'You're okay, too.'

'You're okay, too.'

Ross let out a snort.

"Yeah," He sneered, leaning his elbows on the desk between them as he moved into Tony's space. "I saw how well he took care of you in Siberia."

Tony should have been more surprised that the words did very little to him. Sure, they stung a little. They always would. But other moments were starting to overtake them. Sitting outside the kid's door with Steve across from him. Sitting at in the lab, waiting, with Steve beside him.

Waiting in the hospital after the attack on the Compound, with the memory of the kid face down in the lake so fresh that he couldn't see anything else, with Steve in the seat beside him; Steve's hands steadying him when he felt like he might fall from the ridiculous plastic chair as they waited for news.

Tony plastered a press-winning smile over his face.

"You should have seen what his face looked like." He preened. "I won't lie, I'm still pretty proud of that." Tony said, smoothing some non-existent lint from his suit jacket as an excuse to look down. He shrugged. "We made mistakes. We're human." When he was sure that he had packed every single one of his conflicted feelings about his relationship with Steve back into the do-not-touch-except-under-potentially-life-threatening-circumstances box in his head Tony looked back up to meet Ross's gaze. "That's what your Accords forget." He said, evenly. Ross took another, slow, sip of the scotch. "Not that it really matters now."

"No?" Ross challenged over the rim of his glass. "If you think that everything that has happened is going to make me drop the case you're wrong. Because nothing happened, Stark." His eyes burned into Tony's, daring him to challenge him. To fight. "Nothing you can prove, anyway, just like you said."

"I know."

Tony savoured the surprise that crossed Ross's face.

"You will sign." The other man went on, but he was clearly caught of guard. Not quite sure what to make of Tony's new calm. And he was calm.

His hands had finally stopped shaking.

"Probably." Tony agreed. "Eventually." He went as far to admit. "The whole team will, I think, once we get them right. Once they really reflect what we are." Tony said, thoughtfully as Ross's astonishment grew with every word. "What we're trying to do."

"And is it that you're trying to do?"

Tony was sure the words were meant as a challenge. A goading, leading question designed to trip him.

Tony answered honestly either way.

"Make a better world than the one we were given."

Ross's brows were in real danger of disappearing into his hairline as Tony continued. "Something you will never be able to do." He said. Ross's glare darkened. "To even conceive of." Tony stared across at the man – at the real reason his chest felt hollow, and his kid, despite his assurances otherwise, was too afraid to stray too far from the Compound – and smiled. Just a little. "You're the problem."

Ross let his glass fall to the desk, his hand wrapped around it so tightly that Tony could count every knuckle. "And let me guess," He hissed, leaning even further across the desk. "You're the solution."

"No." Tony said, his voice still calm. Still level. "I'm the problem solver." He clarified. "There is a difference."

"Really."

"If I were the solution I would have rolled in here with a gauntlet and finished what I started with your nose until there was nothing left to even identify you as a man."

Ross blanched.

The words weren't loud, or angry, or anything. But there was truth in them. Consideration even. It had been tempting. So, almost-undeniably, tempting. Almost.

"It's a solution." Tony went on, voice soft and thoughtful as Ross's face grew darker. Rage taking hold. "But not a resolution to our problem."

"And what is our problem?"

Tony stared right back into those eyes and answered.

"You took my kid." He said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it was. Everything to do with Peter had been so confusing for so long – what was his place in the kid's life after all? What was the kid's place in all of this? In the shit-storm that was coming?

But those four words were the simplest answer Tony had ever given.

"You took my kid."

Ross's fingers tapped against his desk.

"And now you're going to kill me?" He asked, chin rising.

Tony shook his head.

"No." He said, as if it were obvious. Surprised washed over Ross's face. "Where would that get me? A floating prison of my own?" Tony asked, still shaking his head gently. "No. I told you I've got hulk shaped waffles seasoned with patriotism and a kid to get home to." He tapped his forehead lightly. "Problem solver, remember." He smiled. "I don't need to do anything." He murmured. "You've done it all for me."

For the first time since he caught sight of Tony sprawled across the seat opposite his desk fear crept across Ross's eyes.

"Wha-"

"You've had a long career, Ross." Tony started, flexing and then folding his hands together in his lap again. "Hands in more pies than Clint's in a bakery. And you left your mark. Destruction. Death." Tony's eyes lifted to meet Ross's searching ones. "Rage." The word was soft. Ross grew paler. "It would seem you have that effect on people." Tony smirked, just slightly. He could feel that it didn't reach his eyes, however. "It wasn't hard to find – your shady past." Tony went on, his voice considering. "A lot of it is public record now, but buried deep enough, that people don't look. And if they do, wordy enough that they don't really understand what they're reading." Tony tapped at his chest, fingertip connecting with the reactor over and over "But I do." He murmured. "I didn't invent plausible deniability – that was definitely on dear-old-dad – but I sure as shit perfected it." Tony's tone dipped and the last of the blood in Ross's face fled.

Tony's flippant façade had slipped away and there was rage beneath. No fury. Just a consuming sense of calm. Of peace.

And Ross could see it.

"Every weapons company does – and mine was a goddamn empire." Tony went on. "So when I read about military intervention in Albania in the nineties, and scrapped deep-cover escapades in North Korea around the new millennia, I know that I'm looking at international incidents." The words were slow, and quiet. They made Ross lean in further to catch every one. And he did. "At dead Americans, dead civilians, and absolutely no justification because if there were you wouldn't have gone to such lengths to cover it all up." Ross's face twitched, the tension in every line tugging on the swelling around his nose.

Tony leant in, just an inch.

"Just like New Mexico in 2003."

Ross's throat spasmed.

"Twelve dead airmen, and fifty-three civilians." Tony tutted. "A training accident," He breathed, forcing a chuckle through clenched teeth. "Yeah, that was a favourite of mine too." Ross pulled back, violently, pushing himself back against his own chair. Tony ploughed on. "But I can read between the lines – beneath the jargon designed to distract me, and the black-box analyse that showed absolutely nothing wrong with that hanger. Nothing. Other than the fact it was bringing home service men and women with tangible proof that the air strike you had insisted on in Karbala two months earlier had been wrong." Ross had gone still. Completely. "There were no insurgents – just farmers forced to move in groups because of unrest – and you tore them to pieces. And then you brought down a plane to cover it up-"

That – it seemed – was the man's breaking point.

"You can't prove any of that," Ross spat over the desk, but he didn't lean closer. Didn't try to crowd Tony, to intimidate him as he had before. "It was an accident – engine failure in a training run. That's all. That's all-"

Tony nodded along with his words.

"That's all I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, yes." Tony allowed. "And beyond a shadow of doubt is what would be needed to even request an official inquest." The tension in Ross's face eased, just slightly. "But it was enough for me." Tony added. Ross forced a small grin to his lips. "And enough for the families I sent it to."

That grin slipped away.

"You can't do that-" Ross argued, indignantly, as if saying it now would stop Tony from doing what he'd already done, "-those are government documents, you can't-"

"They are over a decade old and unsealed." Tony reminded him, and he fell silent. Begrudgingly. "They're public record now, as I said. Just waiting for the right member of the public to be able to really read them."

"It won't change anything." Ross ground out. "There is no definite proof of wrong-doing." His voice was loud. As if he could drown out what Tony had done by drowning out his voice. "It was an accident." He spat, venom openly flowing from him now. "Just an accident." He moved forward, leaning right over the desk this time until his red face was mere inches from Tony's. "Just like the Raft." He hissed, eyes burning as they bored into Tony's.

Tony should have expected the words that came next. He really should have. But he didn't. And so, when the words spilt through Ross's lips, they hit so deep in his chest that he doubted they would ever leave him.

"And just like the soldiers who wandered into your house and drowned your boy like a dog in the lake."

And just like that Tony was shaking again. His hands were clenched together so tightly now that he could feel blood leaking through them – his fingernails cutting through the flesh of his palms.

"Yeah." Ross breathed, so close now that the air swept across Tony's face. "I know about that." He sneered, relishing in Tony's every strained breath. "Arial audio surveillance was discovered in the inquest." He tilted his head inquisitively. "You know I've always had a modicum of respect for you Stark, you know how to take things like a man." Ross folded his hands on the desk, letting his chin rest in them as he regarded Tony. The false image of calm, but the fire in those eyes was still dancing. "But hearing you beg was pitiful – just like this attempt at intimidation."

Tony's hands loosened in his lap.

"I'm not here to intimidate you."

Ross's eyes hardened. With one swift movement he reached out, snagged the abandoned scotch glass on his desk, and poured the last of it down his throat.

"Then why are you here?"

"To watch." Tony murmured. "To see if you'll beg." He forced through his teeth. Ross's face paled again, his brows pulling together. He was starting to sweat. His breath coming in short pants. Tony flexed his hands where they were buried in his lap. "I can't hurt you. The government can't hurt you." He nodded. "All I can do is send what I found to the families you took from – as you nearly took from mine." His tongue darted out to run over his suddenly dry lips. "Twelve dead America airmen and fifty-three civilians in the hotel beneath them." He said, eyes lifting the meet Ross's. The man didn't even flinch. His breathing was definitely taking a turn for the worst though; every heave of his chest looking more painful than the last. "That's a lot of families. A lot of bad blood." Tony pushed on. He had too. "I posted it to them – the detailed analysis of what I found. The lack of any proof of mechanical failure. Your stopover in Bagdad the day before the plane took off. What you stood to gain if they all went away." A tickle had crawled up Ross's throat as Tony watched. He started to cough, his eyes bulging and red as he fought to stay focused on Tony. Once the coughing started it didn't stop. "Posted it all around the world in little white envelopes with your personal office address on the back." Tony murmured as Ross pulled away, grasping for a tissue and holding it against his mouth as he continued to cough. Wet, hacking, coughs now.

Tony just watched.

"Sixty-five little white envelopes," Tony whispered, and Ross blood shot eyes met his. Just for a moment. A moment later they fell to the issue in his hand.

There was blood splattered across it.

"Each sealed in the case of a bottle of 1926 Macallan Scotch."

Ross's eyes drifted back to Tony's. The blood vessels in them had burst, staining the whites of his eyes a vivid scarlet.

Tony meant to look away. Meant to walk away. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not while his hands were still trembling.

"Not cheap," He murmured. Ross's lips twitched, blue encroaching on them as he fought harder and harder to draw in air. Tony's chest, however, felt lighter than it had in days. "But you can't put a price on family."

With one last attempt to draw breath, and one last failure, Ross seized and slid from his chair. He hit the desk on the way to the floor, knocking the glass with him. It shattered against the hardwood floors, shooting across the office. Ross landed in it heavily, the tiny shards biting into his skin. Blood from the cuts dripped to the floor, mixing with the blood oozing from between his lips. Wide, scarlet stained, eyes bore into Tony. Unblinking.

Tony moved slowly.

He stood from his chair and rounding the desk – one foot at a time, one foot at a time – until he was looming over the other man.

He slid to one knee, moving in until his lips were inches from Ross's bulging eyes.

"I warned you." He murmured, lips almost grazing the man's ashen skin. "I warned you that crossing me would be the end of you." Ross reached out, a hand seizing onto Tony's jacket; but the hand was shaking. The grip weak. Tony pulled it away, crushing it within in own. "That if you took him away from me, it would be you and me. Alone. And you would not walk away."

Tony leaned back on his heels, but didn't look away from the man beneath him.

"Medic." He called. The word was cold. Empty. "Medic."

There was scrambling on the other side of the door, and then it flew open. The intern from before was standing in the doorway. His eyes bulged further out of his head than Ross's currently were before he turned-tailed and sprinted away. A long screech followed him, and soon the entire hall was in chaos.

Tony seized the last moment they had together, leaning back down until his lips were against Ross's ear.

"Do you want to know the real irony of all of this?" He breathed. Ross's head tilted, just slightly, to catch Tony's eyes. The whites were completely red now. Scarlet rings around the brown irises. Tony's eyes lifted to the still open case of scotch resting on the desk above them. "There are another four identical cases of Macallan in the lobby, with your name on them." His chuckled escaped in a single breath. "Even if every one of the families admitted to it, they'll never know who killed you." Tony breathed, inching closer still until their noses brushed together. "Just you and I will know." Footsteps were pounding down the hall now; mere feet from the doorway. "Just you and I will know what you really did." They thundered inside the large office as Tony pulled away with one last breath. "And what it cost you."

Tony straightened up as a secretary and what looked like a military medical official dropped to the floor beside him, both of them already reaching for Ross.

"He just collapsed," Tony heaved, pulling back until he could climb to his feet behind them. A small crowd had gathered in the doorway. Tony shook his head, "I'm not sure what happened – is he choking?" The first responders ignored him – both too busy when Ross took a final, heaving, gasp and then fell silent. Other's joined them on the ground. A surge of medical personal fighting through the crowd in the doorway just as the first responders started resuscitation attempts.

No one noticed as Tony slipped further back. As he slid into the crowd.

Ross's eyes were still staring, but they were blank now. Empty.

Tony backed out of the office, personal still pushing around him to get closer. To get inside.

Beyond them, in the hallway just outside the office, without a single glance, Tony turned and walked away.

Chest light as the air filling it.

Hands finally still.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony had barely stepped a foot out of the elevator before he was running headlong into Peter.

"Kid," he jolted back, hitting the closing elevator doors. It took him less than second to spiral into full panic. "Wha-" What was wrong? What's happened? Wha-

"You missed breakfast," Peter said, and Tony's whirring brain jutted to a holt as the kid held out a large plate, filled to capacity with eggs, bacon, waffles and what looked like every other breakfast food known to man. Or Steve. "I was going to bring some down to you." Peter continued, somewhat unsure, when Tony just stared at the overflowing plate. "Natasha said you were working on a problem."

That caught Tony's attention.

"Did she?"

Peter nodded.

"Yeah," He said, something bright, and so unbelievably pure, lighting up in his eyes. God Tony had missed that. "Anything I can help with?"

"No." Tony smiled, wrapping an arm around the kid's shoulders and pulling them away from the elevator. He kept wait for it to be difficult to reach out for the kid again. For the hesitation, and the doubt, to set back in. But it didn't. Every time was almost easier than the last now. "Just a pesky one I've been dealing with for a while." He added, walking the kid towards the kitchen. "Finally fixed it."

"Oh, cool." Peter said, but there was something deflated in his voice that had Tony slowing. Peter glanced up at him, the plate pilled with food clutched close to his chest. "Maybe I could help with something else?"

Tony pulled them both to a stop and moved to face the kid, trying to catch the eyes that were suddenly far too interested in Tony's shoes.

"I'm sure there's a lot you could help with kid," he said, and Peter's eyes flicked up. "But isn't Aunt hotty coming to get you today?"

Peter's nod was jerking. It hurt Tony's neck just to watch. "Yeah," he murmured. "But, I mean, if we're busy she doesn't have to." He shrugged, trying for casual and landing nowhere near the mark. "I mean, you know, if we're working-"

"Peter-"

"Especially if it's important, we can't-"

"Peter."

Tony's voice was loud, wasn't harsh, but it was firm. Something was wrong. Something was wrong and Peter was deflecting. Peter's eyes stopped roaming across the floor and the walls, and basically anywhere that wasn't Tony. They locked onto Tony's eyes without hesitation and in them Tony found his answer.

Fear.

"Look at me." Tony pulled the kid to the side of the hall; to a short bench Pepper had insisted he throw into the corridor after the fourth time he kept a senator waiting for over an hour. He pulled the two of them down, keeping one hand firmly attached to the kid's shoulder as he used the other to pull the plate of food away from him. He put it aside. Without it the kid's hands began to clench open and closed, clawing softly at the skin of his palms.

Tony made sure the kid was still looking at him before he started. "If you're not ready to leave, all you have to do is say the word." Tony said, each word careful and slow. The kid had to get this. He was too pale again. Too pale – and the sight caught deep in Tony's chest. "Or not even. Just nod. Sign language. A saucy wink." That drew a strained laugh from the kid. It died as soon as it had come though. "Hey-" Tony moved to catch the kid's eyes again when they fell. "You don't have to be okay." He said. Peter's head shook, just a little. Just enough. "You don't." Tony said again, the words like steel. "You don't have to leave – I'm sure not forcing you out. If you want to hang around for a little while, do." He said. "Hell, if you want to stay forever just give me the word and you and aunt hotty will have a wing before I even finish this mountain." A breathy chuckle escaped Peter's lips again, catching in this throat; but there was hope in his eyes. Relief. Confusion curled in Tony's gut, mixing with the guilt that had settled there. How did the kid not know that? How did he not know Tony would never make him leave? Could never make him leave – could barely stand the thought of it. Tony took a steadying breath that he sorely needed. "You just seemed ready to leave?" He pressed lightly when the kid didn't speak. "You said you wanted to check on Ned, and your girl, and-"

"She's not my-"

"-the girl you are besotted with." Tony plowed over him. The kid turned a vivid scarlet. "You've been literally climbing the walls the last couple of days." He went on. "What's changed?"

That prompted another round of painful looking head shaking.

"Nothing." Peter muttered, clenching his hands together. His eyes darted up to Tony's, just for a second, and then fell again. He heaved in a couple of breaths, lips opening and closing as if he might speak and then didn't. Tony waited. Eventually the silence won out and Tony got his answer.

And god he almost wished he hadn't. Almost.

"Could I-" The kid started, his eyes never leaving the floor. His voice faded until the next words were barely a whisper. "Will I be able to come back?"

All of the air swept from Tony's lungs in an instant.

"Kid-"

"I know that Ross is still a problem – and maybe even more now, but-" the kid rambled over him, words spilling from his lips faster than Tony could comprehend them. "I just – I don't-" The kid's leg was bouncing to hard that the friction of it was going to send it through the floor soon. He clamped a hand over it. Stilling it by force. Tony had to resist the urge to reach over and pull the hand away. The claw like way the fingers were biting into the flesh would likely leave a mark. "I don't want to leave forever." Peter breathed. With a hand still clenched around his leg his eyes slid up. They were glassy. A film of tears that he refused to let fall covering every inch of them. "I don't want to go."

Tony's hand shot out and wrapped around the back of the kid's neck, pulling him closer. His other thumbed away a stray tear that had begun its trek over the kid's cheek, and then settled there. Palm curved around the too prominent cheekbones.

"Oh, kid," Tony breathed. "You're not going anywhere. Not ever." The hand clenched around the back of the kid's neck squeezed gently and another tear fell from the too large, too open, brown eyes. Tony caught that one too. "Believe me you are going to be begging me to let you out of my sight before too long."

"But – before-"

The hand plastered along the kid's cheek fell to his shoulder.

"I was wrong." Tony said. No preamble. No deflection. The kid pulled back, just slightly, or as much as Tony's hands would let him. And it wasn't very far. "I shouldn't have left you out there alone."

The kid was shaking his head again. "I thought – I though, maybe-" he heaved, "Maybe you were disappointed?"

Tony's hands almost slipped away from the kid in pure shock. Disappointed?

"Disappointed?"

Peter nodded, slowly this time. His eyes fell. "In-" he heaved in a heavy breath "-me."

Tony froze, the words just not computing.

Peter didn't seem to notice.

"After what happened here when the soldiers came-" he went on quickly, squirming beneath Tony's now manacle like grip. "I mean I wasn't very much help, and then I got myself hurt, and I just thought that maybe you were disappointed that I didn't do more, that I did-"

"Stop."

The word tore from Tony's throat.

No. No.

Tony used the hand he still had wrapped around the back of the kid's neck to haul him closer, until their knees were crashing together and there was no where else for the kid to look but at him.

"None of what happened, or what followed, was your fault." Tony thundered. The kid barely blinked. "I want to hear you say it." Tony said, eyes boring into the Peter's. "Say it."

"None of what happened was my fault."

The words were barely a murmur. A whisper.

The kid didn't believe them – and that just wasn't good enough.

"Again," Tony barked, and Peter tried to pull away. Tony didn't let him. "Like you mean it." Tony stressed. "None of what happened, or what followed, was my fault."

The kid's eyes slid closed, but the words were stronger.

"None of what happened, or what followed, was my fault."

Hesitant. Quiet. But sure.

Tony could live with that. He could work with that.

It was Tony's turn to shake his head, "I could never be disappointed in you, kid." He murmured, the hand he had clasped around the kid's shoulder slipping down until it was resting over the kid's chest. Rising and falling with his too quick breaths. After a moment they began to settle under his hand. "I thought I was bad for you." Tony admitted, and Peter's eyes shot to his, an argument clear in his eyes. Tony spoke again before the kid could. "That all the things that happened – all the people that came for you – did so because of me." Tony forced a smile to his lips, but it felt wrong. Sour. "Turns out I was wrong. You are fully capable of attracting trouble on your own." And god, wasn't that terrifying. How was he supposed to protect the kid form his own goddamn awful luck. "I want you safe kid – that's all I ever wanted – but I'm starting to think that that might be right next to me. So get used to me, because you aren't leaving my sight until you're in your thirties."

The hope in the kid's eyes was crippling

"Really?"

Tony nodded.

"Really." He said, giving the kid's neck on last squeeze before he let go. The hand he had rested against Peter's chest stayed where it was though, Tony not quite ready to let him go completely. "Your scrawny butt is going to be back in this Compound on Thursday for lab work and over the weekend for PT with the Cap himself." He said. "It's already been agreed with by your aunt."

Peter's eyes lit up, and Tony felt ten years younger at the sight.

"Lab work?" Peter grinned. "With-with-"

"With me." Tony nodded, and somehow the kid's smile grew despite that his cheeks had to be aching already. "You're my intern – you have to look the part." Tony said. "It wont be every week – I can't promise that, I'm sorry, Pep's already filled my schedule six-ways-from-Sunday – but I'll try." And he would. No more hiding. No more arms distance.

Pull him closer Rhodey had said, and Tony had every intention of doing so. All of his fears – fears of being a bad influence, of corrupting the kid or overstepping – had all but left him. Sitting alone in that lab waiting for Rhodey to bring a body back to him had washed them all away.

"And when I'm away the team will fill in." Tony went on. "Nat's going to get you familiar with a few different types of hand-to-hand – which is frankly terrifying and if you were at all on the fence about this potentially being an Avenger business now would be the time to pull out – and Brucie-bear is going to help you out with your webbing and all other things gooey that are out of my area." Tony rambled. Peter's eyes somehow got rounder and rounder with each word. "And you're going to keep training with Cap." Tony's voice softened. "He's not going anywhere – the team is going to need some work before we're back to where we were, and he seems ready to commit one-hundred-and-twenty-percent, so he'll be here." Tony made sure he had the kid's eyes before he continued. "We're all here." He said, pointedly. "Clint's already invited you and Aunt hottie for a farm get-away," Peter's face lit up again. "Doesn't sound like much, I know, but his wife – godamn she puts Steve to shame when it comes to baked goods." That brought him a laugh. "Same with Scott – though I'm fairly sure he's a criminal in his own right so we probably won't be taking him up on that." And that a real laugh. "And Rhodes, he's not a vacationer, really, but when he's around he's an excellent guy to chill with. Always got good answers. Is great in a crisis - can confirm." Tony finally let the hand he had resting on the kid's chest fall, but he made sure to keep the kid's eyes. They didn't waver. "What I'm trying very hard, and probably failing, to say is we're hear for you, kid." Tony said, careful to stress every word. "All of us. You're in for life now – you're never getting rid of us."

The ghost of a smile crossed over the kid's lips.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Hmm."

"You're still my favorite."

"Good." Tony nodded sharply, leaning down to scoop up his plate from behind him, and promptly shoving a strip of bacon in his mouth. "Keep it that way."

Tony's steps echoes on the wooden floor as he made his way into the kitchen. He'd seen Peter off with May only minutes before, watching them disappear all the way out of the Compound with Happy after securing a promise that May would check in with him later tonight. Let him know how the kid was going.

He'd spent the majority of the morning in the lab with the kid, working on this and that, but neither of the suits. Neither of them had broached them, perhaps both of them not quite ready to dawn them yet.

Tony had watched as the town car sped from the Compound, his phone already in hand. News was going to start leaking soon. He needed to know when.

He should have been more worried about what might happen when it did. When the video footage from Ross's office – and there was footage, Tony had seen the cameras in the office – started leaking, who might come for him.

He probably should have been a little concerned about what the others would think. Natasha clearly knew already, and he doubted Clint would have much of a problem with a dead child-abductor, not matter the circumstances of his death. Rhodey would back him. Disapprove, sure, but back him.

Cap.

Cap he wasn't so sure.

Tony paused in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Cheers for the spread, Cap."

Steve's head jerked up from where he was leant over the stove, slowly stirring a spicy-smelling pot whilst pouring over what Tony assumed was the recipe on a StarkPad. Spices were new to Steve – anything more flavoursome than pepper was new to Steve – but he loved them. Loved every single flavour and every single spice. Tony had brought him a spice rack that would have been the envy of some chefs after the first time he'd watched the man fight his way through a green curry. Had cried like a baby, his palate as bland as his khaki collection, but he'd finished the entire bowl. Smiling like a dork through the tears.

That same smile, or a ghost of it, passed over Steve's face; his eyes crinkling, just slightly, at the edges.

"You're welcome." He said, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel beside him and setting the pot to simmer. "The kid kept it safe from Clint? I thought for sure he had him."

Tony huffed out a chuckle.

"Nah, he's young." He said. "Spry. Can hang off buildings, Barton had no chance."

Steve nodded, pulling away from the stove and turning to face Tony fully. He lent up against the island bench and gazed over at Tony.

Silence dragged on a little too long.

"Where were you?"

There was no anger in the question. No demand. Barely even curiosity.

He knew. He knew exactly where Tony had been.

What he'd done.

"Out."

Steve continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, until finally he nodded. His eyes fell to the space between them.

"Are you leaving again?"

Did you butcher him in his office? Are they coming for you?

Are you leaving us?

Tony clicked his tongue flippantly, meandering further into the kitchen and scooping up an apple from the fruit bowl resting in the centre of the island bench.

"Don't plan to." He shrugged. He took a solid bite out of the apple, letting his eyes wander over the bench top as if the marble surface suddenly held a lot of interest for him. It didn't. "You?"

Steve's response was instant.
"No."

Tony nodded, letting his head tilt up just enough to catch Steve's eyes. They were sincere. Honest.

And gentle.

"Okay then." Tony nodded again. Okay. Cool. Cap down with some good, old-fashioned, albeit convoluted and roundabout, murder when the occasion calls for it. Good to know. "Good."

Tony let his eyes wander as Steve went back to stirring his pot of – whatever it was. The sun had started to set sometime as he was seeing Peter and May off, and now it had disappeared almost entirely. Leaving only small flecks of scarlet glow shining into through the glass wall opposite, streaking across the floorboards.

Tony was watching the final gleams die when his eyes finally focused enough to see it. A figure outside in that dying light.

Wanda.

"She's feeling better." Steve's voice broke Tony for his stare. Tony's eyes flickered back to him. He was staring out at her as well, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "Been awake for a few hours now."

Tony glanced back at her.

"She shouldn't stand out there."

Jesus. The kids on this goddamn team. They were determined to die of hypothermia – and take Tony with them from stress.

Steve set down the wooden spoon he'd been using to slowly stir the pot.

His eyes were back on Tony.

"She's waiting for you."

"You look better."

Tony came to a stop just to the left of Wanda, looking out, as she was, over the dark mass of the lack and the horizon beyond.

"I feel better."

Tony buried his hands deep in his pockets.

"I never apologised, for what happened – the whole Germany mess, and before it-"

Wanda stopped him before the rambling could really progress. Tony steadied himself. He had done this. He deserved this–

"You don't owe me an apology."

Tony's head shot over to the girl beside him fast enough to leave his brain spinning.

"You never have." Wanda breathed, her voice almost lost to the wind that cut between them. Almost. "I, on the other hand, owe you many." Her eyes finally drifted to his. The amber in them was striking now, the green very nearly drowned out by the golden rings surrounding it. They were captivating. And terrifying. And then they were gone, Wanda turning back to the horizon. "I'm sorry." The words tumbled from her like a prayer. Soft and broken. "For what I did to you." She breathed. "For what I took from you."

Her arms were rigid at her sides, hands pulled back and fingers tense; her eyes never leaving the darkening horizon. Not even blinking.

Tony was at a loss.

He knew how to help Peter, even if he was terrified to try sometimes. To be wrong. But he had least had some clue. Knew how to reach out, how to talk him down, as he had wished once that someone might reach out to him. Might hold him up when he was falling.

But Wanda was beyond him.

He was orphan, as Peter was an orphan, but she was so much more. She was the orphan of war. Of violence and fear that had permeated her life since she was a child. How was Tony supposed to reach out to that? To understand that?

She wasn't Peter – the sweet kid who had seen too much and just refused to back down. He couldn't wipe away her tears or her fears so easily.

She wouldn't cry. Even he could see that. She was beyond that.

And her fears weren't something any of them could wipe away.

"You didn't take anything." Tony murmured.

"Didn't I?" She asked. Tony said nothing, not entirely sure what she meant. And then she clarified, and he knew exactly what. "I took your security." She breathed. "Your peace." Her eyes slid closed as the sun finally disappeared beneath the lake across from them and they were left in shadow. "Filled the gaps within your nightmares with my own."

Tony remembered. Though to say he remembered was not entirely correct. There is no need to remember something that has never left you. Never been far from his mind's eye; and his place upon the corpses of the friends – family – he'd failed had never left him.

His next breath caught in his throat – and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Was it real?"

He almost didn't want the answer.

"Yes and no." She tilted her head, just slightly, as if trying to see beyond the field of shadows, but her eyes didn't open. "Thing's change." She answered somewhat cryptically. "It was perhaps real then, but not now."

The half-answer did not ease the knot in his stomach.

"Now it's different?"

Those hands, that had been tense and rigid at her sides, clenched together.

"Yes." She murmured, her head dipping forward in a barely noticeable nod. "Now it's different."

Tony nodded as well, casting his own eyes out amongst the shadows.

"But something is coming?"

Her head tipped forward again. Just a fraction.

"Yes." The word was lost to the wind cutting between them. "Something is coming."

Her eyes slid open as Tony watched. The amber in them glistening. Moving. Vibrant and strong.

She stared up at the twisting mass of twinkling suns and darkness that swirled above them now the light had fled.

Tony stared with her.

"What do you see?"

The question slipped from his tongue between one breath and the next.

And for the first time her answer was without hesitation.

"Infinity."

And there we have it. A year in the making – and what a goddamn year it was. Up, down and all the way in-between in felt like sometimes, but every single one of you who have come this far for me were always constant. Always the reason I sat back down at this computer and muddled on when it was the last thing I wanted to do. You mean the world to me. You give so much joy I can't even describe it. So I hope this chapter brings you joy – a little bit of balm for the bite that was Endgame.

So what did you think!? It took me a long time to decide what to do with Ross. And how. What did you think? Were you satisfied? I honestly cannot stress enough how much your feedback means to me! Please tell me! I sat on this chapter from almost the beginning of the story so I'd love to know if you're happy with the way it all worked out!

I'm not sure when, or if, I will write another. I am very much on the fence. I have an idea of another 5+1 that I might write if you were all keen for that? The working title is currently:

The 5 times Tony found himself at Peter's bedside, and the 1 time Peter found himself at Tony's.

I have a couple of ideas already, but if you think you have a good idea that fits, and would like to share it, comment below and I'll give you a special mention if I go with it!

I will forewarn you that there might be a bit of a wait. I am attempting to get into some original writing as well. You have all given me so much love and confidence that I am finally ready to pick it up again and start muddling back through.

Well this ramble has lasted long enough – just like this incredibly delayed fic – so it's time to bid you adieu one last time for this story. I love you all. Until next time.