Chapter 1

Your name is Tony Stark. It used to mean billionaire, playboy, and provider of death at a premium. And then you had tried changing. The arc reactor and the Iron Man—and doesn't that always give you a laugh—suits had been a symbol. A defender of justice and the man who ended the energy war before it began.

And then came New York and the Avengers Initiative.

You had been lost for a while trying to figure out your path in life. You were always brilliant, top of your class and the best at inventing what others wanted. But none of that brilliance had given you the same sense of purpose when you fought to save the world. That was your life's calling. That was your passion because there was no one else who could do what you do.

The Avengers are broken now.

Friday lists off some numbers and percentages that you absorb absently. The battle at the end, and in watching Rhodey be shot down, had shown you the greatest weakness of your suit: The arc reactor powering it. Against normal weapons and even augmented humans, the housing was strong enough to deal with anything that came at it.

Vibranium was that game changer. Admittedly, you don't doubt for a second that Thor, and Banner when he was in green rage mode, could break it. And every bone you had. So the point was moot when it came to those two.

"Sir, simulations indicate that the new alloy would be more brittle than the current one," Friday says in her pleasant accent. You wonder why you had shelved them all. Then you remember Jarvis, more like an unnaturally responsible son. Friday would never be able to replace him but then, no one could.

"I know," you mutter, waving away the holographic screen floating in the air. "What about installing more reactors?" you ask, having had her run the numbers earlier. "The power boost might come in handy."

"Possible," she replies. "But the current energy distribution systems would be unable to handle the increased power for long. The materials are just unable to handle it."

You frown. "And if we had it in reserve?"

"That would give up the increased energy output and the additional housing would add more weight to the current design."

"Better than nothing. Get to it whilst I go try and figure out how to get room temperature superconductors."

"Yes, boss," she says. God, you love that voice. "Rhodey seems to be calling you."

You nod uneasily and head up. When you had refurbished the upstate facility for Avenger's use you had installed a fully functioning R&D Department. And then you had built an underground lab that only you, Rhodes or the Captain could access. Wanda's rampage against the Vision had missed it by inches.

You really should have made her undergo some stress tests but no, the good captain had decided kids should be allowed to play the guitar in their rooms and make everyone deaf in the process. It wasn't that her playing was bad—no, she was adequate—but the music she played. Sokovian folk songs were not fun to listen to.

You see the Vision as you cross one of the recreation rooms reserved for Avengers. The bearer of the Mind Stone looks up from his game of chess… and his book on philosophy. That was not fair. If you couldn't do it then no one should.

"Good morning, sir," the Vision says smoothly in Jarvis' voice. It bothers you, but, for all you know the Vision has yet to notice. He could be pretty dense.

"Hey," you say flippantly, noting the Vision's subtly awkward expression. Now why was that? "Have you seen Rhodes?" you ask.

"Yes," the Vision replies with a nod. He blinks and then continues, "He is undergoing physical therapy." For a moment, you think his expression is mournful but it disappears too fast for you to be certain.

You thank him and head to the secluded room Rhodey used for PT. Friday had recommended it and you had agreed, finding it to contain everything your friend would want.

Like the pull-up bar right in front of a TV. You watch the man who wears—not wore, because only he would have that right—the Iron Patriot suit raise himself up with on hand, the other performing bicep curls with a barbell. You've never let Rhodey know how jealous you secretly are. He would never let you live it down.

"Friday says you were calling," you say.

Rhodey slowly lowers to the ground, only letting go when his feet are stable on the ground. You want to go there and help him but he has his pride and you care more than you would admit.

So you let him stand with the help of the most advanced set of braces currently available in the world. A week of uninterrupted focus had built those with the secret aid of the Vision. He thought you hadn't noticed the subtle tweaks made to suitably tailor it to Rhodey's skeleton. You were grateful for the help. Biology was not your strong point. No, Banner was the master of that field.

Maybe you would call him.

"Yeah," Rhodey says, "I was getting bored of the news."

You chuckle. "So you called me here just to change the channel?"

"Yes, Maid Stank. Now get to it."

You shake your head but still walk over to the remote. You change the channel though Friday is the one actually doing all the work. Rhodes could have asked the AI or the one nominally in his suit but spending most of its time in the facility. You hope Friday's tone hadn't been flirty when she mentioned her opposite because that would be creepy. Kind of incestuous now that you think about it.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" you ask as Friday settles on some inane sport called soccer. You had no idea why Rhodes watches the game or why he watches the English League. What was worse was that he supports a team that hadn't won the trophy since 2003. You could list off all their biggest—and frankly hilarious—defeats with ease. You did so often.

"Nope. You will always be Mr. Stank to me."

"Alright, alright," you say as you sit on a nearby bench. You probably should work out again. The suit was getting a bit tight around the gut. "Why did you call me?"

Rhodey stays silent as the highlights of the match progress. You watch in silence as well, respecting your friend's need to gather his thoughts. Despite having a motor mouth, one that Cap felt the need to reprimand on occasion, you still know when to shut up. A lot was said when people were silent.

Looking back, you begin to understand how your father never managed to say how much he loved you. For someone so articulate, he always kept his true feelings close to his chest. To him, it was apparent, and you being young had never appreciated the depths of his love. That's what you both know and hope. It was the reason you spent six hundred and twelve million on a new method of therapy that dug right into the depths of the patient's psyche, extracting whatever memory they regretted most. Only then could catharsis be achieved.

"I don't regret the signing," Rhodey says softly. You look at him, noting the weariness that went deeper than just the physical. You knew the feeling. Even the Vision looks worn out. "Do you?"

"No," you reply honestly. "I still believe we need to be kept in check. We need the world's trust before we can operate freely again. And maybe, if the entire world can agree on this, we won't be needed one day."

Rhodey hums, neither in acquiescence nor rebuttal. "What happens if we're wrong and he's right?"

You don't need to ask whom. The question had bothered you in the intervening weeks. "I don't know," you admit. "But we'll fight the good fight either way."

"I had Sanders,"—you restrain a chuckle at the name of the Colonel's AI—"retrieve the recording of your fight."

You raise a brow. "And? I mean, for two on one odds and one of them's Captain America, I think I did really well." Your reply sounds defensive and Rhodes picks up on it if the smirk is anything to go by.

"Wasn't it a certain stank who said you'd go twelve rounds with him outside your suit? And then you lose in your suit."

"I had a bunch of injuries and those two were fresh," you reply. Injuries the long flight to Serbia had exacerbated. "Besides, I'm getting too old to be beating kids half my age taking some monster steroids."

"But you still lost," Rhodes says, grinning. Anyone else, you'd cut them down to size. But this was your best friend.

"Whatever. You try doing better."

"Oh, no, I'm not stupid enough to get into a serious fight with Captain America." The grin vanishes and Rhodey's features turn grim. "Did you think he was going for the face?"

You don't frown but the memory of Cap, anger in every line, beating the shit out of you, terrified you more than you would admit. At the end of the day, he walked away and won everything. You were content with your life.

"Yes," you say. "I had just tried to kill his best friend." You shake your head. "He made himself the world's enemy for that friend. You never truly know someone until a moment like that. Honestly, I don't think he knew until the last moment."

Rhodey's expression is carefully guarded. "Something's coming one day that will need all of us. Maybe it will be whoever's been playing with those Infinity Stones or someone else. Will you be able to work with him when it happens?"

You sigh. "That package I got," you begin, "contained two things: a phone and a letter. Both were from Cap. He said if we needed him, he'd be there."

"That wasn't my question."

Apparently, your explanation wasn't enough to deflect Rhodes' curiosity. The man knew you too well some days. At least Banner would have shied away from the question. But then you would poke and prod until he turned green just so you could run tests on him. You really should find him. Nat would feel better.

"I don't know," you tell him. "Maybe there's too much bad blood between us. I can't even think of Bucky without thinking of killing the bastard. Clint and the rest hate me so I don't know. I might not be able to change their opinions."

"What are you going to do now?"

You stand. "They're too few of us to protect the world now. Maybe, it's time to expand."

Rhodey extends his hand. You clasp it tightly, helping him up. "Any ideas?"

You nod. "A few. The kid, for starters. He's got potential. A few others in New York and some of these so-called Inhumans."

"These names are getting worse," your friend says as the two of you walk out. Anyone else you would have left to the floor. "Did his name have to have black before panther? Panthers are already black."

You shrug. "It probably made sense when the name came about."

"This is my stop," Rhodes says. You moved his stuff to this room for ease of access. Besides, Friday or Sanders could call any one of the faces working on the base.

You nod and leave, heading to the kitchen. A cup of coffee would do nicely. And maybe some of Nat's gummy bears. For a spy, she had an odd obsession with those things. No one ever mentioned the incident involving Nat, a knife, and the Vision. If it wasn't for his intangibility, the mind stone might have a new companion.

You like living dangerously and had faith in Friday steering her away whilst you were busy. One day, it might bite you in the ass but not today. Nope. Certainly not today. A certain woman named May hadn't been introduced to some of your more… family inappropriate charms.

The Vision—and you would never call him Vis like a child moonlighting as a former Avenger—occupies the kitchen. He holds up a sheet of paper in one hand and a bell pepper in the other. Around him is an assortment of ingredients. You tilt your head curiously, uncertain of whether disturbing a knife-wielding Vision was a wise idea. Living dangerously did not include committing suicidal actions.

"Hey, Vision, you alright?" you ask slowly.

The android—artificial human?—looks up and blinks. "Hello, Mr. Stark." At least it wasn't sir. "I am trying to follow this recipe." He places the paper on the countertop and turns. You take it, skimming through it in a moment. "Perhaps you would like this cup of coffee more?" the Vision says smoothly.

You look up to see the Vision holding your personal cup brought in from the mansion and signed by Jordan, steaming. And the knife. You take the mug uncertainly and take a hesitant sip. It tastes adequate.

"I hope it is to your liking."

You grunt around another mouthful of the absolute beauty that is coffee. The only thing that would be better would be some scotch. Or whiskey. At this point, anything would quench your thirst for alcohol.

But you had been sober since Pepper.

Your fist clenches. You were over it and had been for months. So why did it still hurt? The question kept you up most nights.

"Its fine," you say to switch your thought process. "What are you making?"

"Chicken stir-fry," the Vision replies.

That would certainly explain the finely sliced strips of chicken breast on the board and the wok on the stove. It was obvious, now that you think about it.

"Why?" you question. "I've never seen you eat."

The Vision shakes his head. "I won't be eating it," he says, focusing anywhere but you. You notice but let it slide, letting the silence thicken. Vision would answer first.

One cup of coffee later and the Vision hasn't answered. No, instead he has spent his time arranging spices, muttering about 'a pinch' incessantly.

"Who's it for?" you ask, setting down the still warm cup.

The Vision pauses and glances at you for a moment. He resumes his motions a moment later. "Colonel Rhodes," he says. "I have concluded that chicken stir-fry is his favourite."

Guilt then, you surmise. You're not completely ignorant of the human condition known as emotions. Mostly ignorant, yes, but not completely.

You're also not unable to forgive. The anger is still there—the heart-wrenching sight of Rhodey falling out of the sky always present. But you're tired of holding grudges. There weren't enough Avengers to be angry at one.

"Dice the peppers," you say. The Vision looks at you in surprise. You find him easy to read. Maybe a remnant of Jarvis' code that you recognise? "Rhodey hates the texture of peppers. Loves the taste but can't stand the things."

You walk to the fridge before Jar—Vision can reply. Opening it, you scan through the fully stocked drawers until you find some mushrooms. You hand them to the Vision and grab a small pot.

"Sir?" the Vision asks uncertainly.

You shrug. "Same situation with the mushrooms: He likes the taste of mushrooms but not their texture. Weird guy. So boil the mushrooms and then strain the liquid."

With his help, the dish is coming together nicely. The Vision had been completely helpless with most things other than chopping precisely. Surgically.

"Why did you do this?" the Vision asks quietly.

You look at him, taking your eyes from your third cup of coffee. You needed something to replace the alcohol and it certainly wasn't going to be a cancer stick. Though you sometimes wonder what to do with the remains of Extremis you have locked beneath three miles of steel, concrete and remnants of the Iron Sentinel program. The bunker was where you kept the very worst children of your brilliance—from biological weapons to an arc reactor bomb outputting upwards of one hundred megatons.

"It's you, Nat, Rhodey and I," you tell him. "They're too few of us to be fighting."

The Vision's expression is contemplative. "Yet I shot him down."

Tony shrugs. "And I'm angry about that, no lies. But you were distracted." You smirk. "Isn't she a bit young for you?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, Mr. Stark," he says flatly.

"Oh come on." You wave away his rebuttal. "It's like watching two teenagers who have no clue what they're doing. Why her?"

The Vision sighs and lowers the heat, stirring the meal. "She is… unique."

You raise a brow, absently noticing you've been doing that a lot recently. "You said the same about Ultron."

"And I stand by that," the Vision replies and slowly cuts the noodles. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with the store-bought variety. "He was the first of his kind—a single mind controlling a multitude of forms. But he was constantly growing. At the end, when I burnt him out of the internet, I saw how his lesser forms were adapting and growing. Perhaps, even gaining sentience."

"You admire him," you comment.

The Vision frowns. "Perhaps not the Ultron personality," he admits, "but the uniqueness of his life. Ultron, I believe, was the most unique lifeform on this earth."

"I would think that was you."

"No," the Vision says, shaking his head and dunking the noodles in boiling water. "I am not human and I am not a true artificial intelligence. Ultron designed my body and brain, perfecting on the deficiencies of the human form. I have neurons firing constantly, creating and storing memories with perfect recall. But I would not be alive without Thor. Nor would I have my personality without Jarvis."

You snort. "That sounds pretty unique to me." And it did. How many nights did you spend pondering his birth?

His frown deepens. "Perhaps, I am not putting it across very well."

You cut him off before he can continue. "No, you're putting it across the point very well. After all, self-doubt is a human trait." You set down your third empty cup of coffee which the Vision refills. "You think you're just an AI inhabiting a synthetic body modelled after a human—something straight out of Hyperion."

"The analogy is apt," he agrees.

"But you're not," you reply strongly. "You don't simply blur the boundary between human and synthetic—you demolish it. Jarvis was the first true artificial intelligence, capable of adapting and growing; he displayed a depth of emotion hidden behind his dry humour. Ultron's dream was of a perfect form to destroy everything I held dear and that meant destroying the world. And only you know what the mind stone is capable of."

You look at him, a genuine smile gracing your face. "How could you be anything other than completely unique?"

"But—"

"Ah, ah, ah," you say wagging your finger. "No arguing with me when I'm right."

"Very well. I will not argue your point."

"Because I'm right. What do you think of mankind?"

The Vision pauses in straining the noodles. "I think your species is completely illogical. I wouldn't hesitate to call it ridiculous if not stupid."

"Ouch," you mutter.

"You think order and chaos are separate things, and you try to control what won't. You have committed horrors and atrocities on your fellow man countless times in a pattern that seems to repeat ad infinitum.

"But you are also capable of such acts of kindness and faith that I find myself speechless. Your species has fallen to the very lowest of depths yet you refuse to be bound by your history and your genetic imperative to destroy. Your efforts are…admirable and not without merit. You will unleash horrors upon the galaxy and one day destroy yourselves. But I believe you will walk towards the light and feel the sunlight on your faces before the end."

The Vision smiles. The smile is innocent and born from a deep abiding love. You can understand why Wanda fell for him.

"I wish to see the legacy mankind leaves. I believe that it will be greater than anything this galaxy has ever seen."

You can't help but smile back. "You're too good for this earth, Vision."

He shakes his head. "I am of this earth—not separate and not above. I simply am."

Author's Note:

I loved Civil War. Honestly, I believe it is the best superhero movies released (and that includes the Dark Knight Rises). This is me wishing to explore the character of Tony Stark after the events of the war. This will be less than 10 chapters long.