A/N: Yeah...*shuffles feet* Sorry about the long wait. I just lost all inspiration for this fic despite having a good idea what was going to happen. I hope people are still reading.

"Agent Coulson? This is Colonel Rhodes. I want to talk to you about Tony. I know you're still out recuperating right now, and I apologise, but Tony's in trouble and I got nowhere else to turn. Something's happened since I saw him last year. He's not acting right, and I think it has something to do with that new boyfriend of his. If I had any choice, I wouldn't be leaving right now, but I have to so I'm hoping you can keep an eye out for Tony for me. I know we don't know each other well, but I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was important. Tony trusts you. I'm hoping there's a good reason for that."

Phil stared thoughtfully at the phone in his hand. The message was unexpected to say the least. He didn't know Colonel Rhodes well, but they'd met a couple of times and of course he'd read the file, and he was convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that James Rhodes was among the last men in the world to ever cry wolf.

He wished he'd been able to take the call at the time – he could have done with more details – but unfortunately, the doctors had confiscated his cell on Fury's orders after he'd been caught using it to run an operation in Bangalore. And the briefest of searches through SHIELD databases convinced him that Rhodes was going to be out of reach for the immediate future. No, all he had was the information he had on hand, and that was sparse enough.

He hadn't seen Tony in person for several months now. He'd come by at first while Phil was still in critical condition, but not after he'd got moved to the rehabilitation unit. That didn't really bother him; they were friends, but not that kind of close, and Tony often sent messages or gifts along with Clint and Natasha, and he sent sporadic emails and texts full of jokes, things he thought Phil might find interesting, and meerkats for some reason. He'd assumed it was just because Tony didn't like hospitals. Now he was wondering if there'd been some other reason.

Pursing his lips, he thought back over every time Clint or Natasha had mentioned Tony over the last few months. Neither of them had expressed any kind of concern about him like Rhodes had. They had mentioned that he had a new boyfriend, but they hadn't given any real details beyond vague approval. Clint had said that Tony had been a bit quiet lately, but he hadn't seemed to think it was a problem...or at least, he hadn't let Phil know if he thought it was a problem. He sighed. Since he got stabbed, everyone had been at pains to try and keep him in the dark about anything they thought might stress him out. It was entirely possible that the Avengers knew exactly what Rhodes was talking about, but hadn't told Phil.

Although if that was the case, why wouldn't Rhodes have gone to the Avengers with this?

There was the sound of voices outside his door. He heard Tony's name and raising his eyebrows, quickly opened the door a fraction, took cover behind it, and listened.

" - so I was called over to the decontamination unit this morning, after the Avenger's battle," one of the nurses – Susie – was saying.

"Oh, God, was anyone hurt?" Janice exclaimed, and Phil waited, tense. He hadn't even heard that there was any kind of battle this morning. He hated being out of the loop.

"No, no," Susie said reassuringly. "But apparently ten minutes or so into decon, Romanov went into the male shower with the rest of them, and then five minutes later, Stark stormed out of there and headed back to the tower like a bat out of hell, and five minutes after that Romanov and Captain Dreamy went after him, and Barton tripped the agents that were assigned to follow them and then apparently made three debriefing officers chase him all over the helicarrier before they finally cornered him in the elevator shaft."

Phil knew Clint, and he knew most of the agents currently assigned to debriefing on the helicarrier. He very much doubted that any of them would be able to corner Clint unless he wanted them to. Which told him that Clint had been acting as decoy, presumably for Natasha and Steve, since he'd stopped the agent following them. And Natasha and Steve had wanted to follow Tony...

"Wow," Janice said, and Phil could picture the wide-eyed look. "What do you think was going on?"

"No idea," Susie answered. "But it can't be anything good, right?"

No. Phil didn't think so either.

They moved on, and he waited until they were out of earshot before ducking back into his room. It seemed like it might be about time to go back on active duty, no matter what the doctors said. Calmly but quickly, he pulled on his shoes and jacket and picked up his pills and taser-cane. After a second of deliberation, he grabbed the hoodie Tony had given him soon after he started physiotherapy. It was black with a massive Iron Man face on the front. It was also handmade, luxurious, and without a doubt the warmest and most comfortable piece of clothing Phil had ever owned. He got cold very easily these days, and he found the hoodie exceptionally comforting after a bad physio session. In short, it was both extremely annoying, and incredibly thoughtful, which made it a perfect gift from Tony.

Pulling the hood up over his head, he slipped to the door, looked around quickly to make sure there were no people, and then carefully sneaked out of the medical facility, dodging everyone who looked like they might stop him. Which was everyone, really. By his estimation, they'd realise he was gone within an hour, and realise he'd left of his own accord when they checked the cameras shortly after that. And that left him very little time to work with...so he headed to the parking lot, stole Dr Emett's car and drove straight to Avenger's tower.

His security clearance got him into the elevator that led to the communal area, he was pleased to see. He'd never been here since just before the Battle of New York, while it was still Stark Tower, but Clint and Natasha had described the renovations. "Welcome, Agent Coulson," JARVIS said warmly as he stood in the elevator. "It is very nice to see you again."

"Likewise," he said absently. "Can you tell me who's up there?"

"Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, Agent Barton, Dr Banner and Thor are currently in the communal kitchen," JARVIS told him. "Mr Stark is currently in the penthouse and is not receiving visitors."

Phil nodded. It sounded like it was Tony against the rest of the Avengers, which fitted with what the nurses had been gossiping about. Some kind of argument about something Tony had done, he might guess, if it wasn't for Colonel Rhodes' message and the fact that Steve and Natasha had followed Tony and hadn't wanted SHIELD involvement. As it was, he didn't think it was anything so simple. "And Mark Lowing?" he asked, embarrassed to realise he remembered the name from an online gossip column. "Tony's boyfriend? Is he here?"

JARVIS paused infinitesimally. "Mr Lowing does not currently reside here," he said calmly. "He is currently a guest in the penthouse suite at the Plaza."

"I see," Phil said slowly. A break up? Did that explain anything?

The elevator slowed and stopped and the doors slid open. He walked through towards the kitchen, his hand pressed against his side, leaning heavily on his cane. This was longer than he was normally on his feet, and he was already starting to feel tired.

Steve, Natasha and Thor were standing around the kitchen table. They looked like he'd caught them in the middle of an argument. Clint was perched on the counter, glowering indiscriminately. Bruce was down on his hands and knees scrubbing at the floor. There was no stain there that Phil could see, but somehow, he looked like he'd been at it for a while.

They all turned and stared as he walked in.

Predictably, Natasha was the first to recover. "Phil! When did they let you out of the hospital?" she said, smiling brightly and if Phil didn't know her so well, he might be fooled.

"They didn't," he said, looking at each of them in turn thoughtfully. "So, what's been going on?" he asked. "I heard there was some excitement this morning."

"You mean the giant smelly slug things?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised. "I wouldn't have thought that would be enough to make you want to stage a jail break."

"I didn't mean the slug things," he said, making a mental note to look up the exact details of the battle later. "I meant what's been going on with you."

"Nothing," Bruce lied. He did it well, but not anywhere near well enough.

Phil looked round the room again, letting the silence play out. They were all hiding guilt with greater or lesser success. They were guilty, and Tony was hiding upstairs... "So, what did you guys do to Stark?" he asked conversationally, and took careful note of the flinches.

"Nothing," Clint said, meeting his eyes evenly. It could have been a denial. But it wasn't. It was a confession.

He nodded. "I see." He looked up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, would you tell Mr Stark that I would like to see him?"

"As I said, Agent Coulson, Mr Stark is not currently receiving visitors," JARVIS said imperturbably.

That wasn't exactly unexpected. He nodded again, thinking for a second. "Please, tell him Agent would like to see him," he suggested. "And tell him what I'm wearing." After all, right now he was literally wearing his allegiance on his chest.

There was a long pause. Phil waited patiently. Eventually, the elevator in the corridor opposite slid open.

"Thank you, JARVIS," he said politely, walking towards it hurriedly. He couldn't count on Tony not changing his mind. Steve took a step towards the elevator after him, but Phil turned and looked at him kindly. "Is that a good idea?"

Mutely, Steve shook his head.

"Sorry, Captain," he said regretfully as Steve stepped back and the doors shut in his face.

In these situations – really, in any situation – Phil tried to avoid going in with too many preconceived ideas. Theories were good, but it was too easy to get wedded to them and miss what was actually going on. And in this case, what was actually going on...He kept his face calm as he walked out into the penthouse to see Tony standing hunched in front of the bar, his face bruised and bloody.

"Mr Stark," he said genially. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"Did Fury send you to tell me I'm off the team?" Tony asked. He sounded more defeated than Phil had ever heard him.

"I'm not here on behalf of SHIELD right now," he said, gesturing at his hoodie by way of evidence. "Thank you for this, by the way. It's come in handy."

Tony stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed like what Phil was saying didn't quite make sense to him. "Yeah that's...I'm not...no..." He shook his head rapidly. "Should you be out of the hospital?"

"No," Phil admitted. "In fact, I'm expecting a SHIELD medical retrieval team to turn up within the next half hour. Do you think someone can give them coffee?"

It was easy to see that Tony was being thrown way further off balance than he should have been. Normally, he was much better equipped to roll with the punches. But then, it looked like there had already been a lot of punches. And Susie had been clear there'd been no injuries this morning. "So how long has Mark been hitting you?" he asked, easing himself down onto the sofa. Honestly, he wasn't going to make it through this conversation if he had to stay on his feet.

Tony hunched in on himself a fraction more, but that was more than enough to tell Phil that his shot in the dark really hadn't been. "How long have you known?"

"About ten seconds now," he said levelly, secretly a little hurt at the question.

"Oh." Tony said quietly. "I thought Natasha might have told you."

He paused, mind racing. Tony hadn't meant that Natasha might have told him downstairs. And that didn't make sense. "Did Natasha know?"

"Yes." He sounded like he was trying to convince myself. Phil didn't believe it for a second. Even if he didn't have very strong suspicions that Natasha was fond of Tony, she would never let anything endanger the team like that without reporting it at least or, more likely, taking the sort of direct action that Phil would have to spend hours in meetings with higher-ups defending. "So how did you know?" Tony asked suspiciously.

Phil smiled disarmingly. "I put it together. It's my super power."

"Yeah." Tony's lips didn't so much as twitch. He looked more exhausted than Phil felt, and Phil was still recovering from major surgery. "I wish I had one of those." It was soft and tired and probably not meant to be overheard by another human being. "Why did you come here, Coulson?"

"It's Agent," he reminded Tony gently. "I got a call from Colonel Rhodes a few days ago. He left a message I didn't get till this morning. He was worried about you. And now I can see why."

"I'm fine," Tony said automatically. There was something close to fear in his stance. Like a trapped animal. He was going to need to move carefully.

"You know, I passed by the other Avengers downstairs," he tried. "They didn't look like they thought you were fine." And, seeing the way Tony looked now, Phil could understand why. They'd done nothing, huh?

Tony bristled defensively. "Well, maybe if they listened five months back they wouldn't be so upset now," he snapped.

Yeah. They'd done nothing. "What happened five months back?"

There was a pause and Tony deflated. "Nothing. It doesn't matter." He paced awkwardly and stopped abruptly, looking round apprehensively and crossing and uncrossing his arms like he didn't know where to put himself.

Phil resisted the urge to invite him to sit down. This was Tony's home, or it was supposed to be. Making him feel like a guest was only going to make things worse in the long run. Although with that in mind, he realised that the penthouse didn't look so much like Tony's anymore. The artwork on the walls was gone, replaced by other pieces, less vivid ones. Less Tony ones. The sofa was new too, and the clutter of tech components had vanished. If he was going to profile this place, he wouldn't think that Tony Stark lived here. And that was one hell of a change to effect in less than six months. "So what does matter?" he asked curiously.

"They made him leave," Tony said abruptly.

"Mark?" he clarified, despite already knowing the answer.

Tony nodded. "Yeah."

"Because he hit you?" Phil asked quietly, watching Tony keenly.

"It's not like that," Tony said desperately.

"Isn't it?" He kept his voice soft. This wasn't about arguing. On some level, Tony had to know what Mark had done was wrong. Challenging him wasn't going to help.

Tony looked away. "He had to hit me."

"Right," Phil said neutrally.

"He had to," Tony insisted.

"I didn't argue," he pointed out.

"You looked..." Tony broke off and rubbed at his bruises tiredly. "Why are you here, Agent Coulson?"

"I got a message from Colonel Rhodes," he reminded him. "He thought you were in trouble." Although Phil would bet good money that this wasn't what Rhodes had been imagining.

"You don't work for Rhodey," Tony said harshly. "You barely know Rhodey."

He shrugged easily. "We have a mutual friend."

Tony turned away completely now, leaning heavily on the bar. "I'm no one's friend," he said quietly.

He resisted the urge to argue with that, to list the people who cared deeply about Tony's wellbeing. Either Tony already knew that, or he wasn't going to believe it. "So why do you think I'm here?" he asked instead.

"To evaluate me," Tony said, swinging round to stare at him confrontationally. "To decide if I'm still worth working with, or whatever. Why else would you be sitting there and listening to me talk?"

There was a certain amount of evaluation going on here, it was true. It wasn't like that was something he could just shut off. But this was evaluation on his own time, and he had no intention of sharing his conclusions with SHIELD, at least not without Tony's express permission. And it had nothing to do with Tony's worth. "I think you could use someone listening to you, "he said with absolute truth.

Tony laughed scornfully. "And that's you, is it?"

"Stark..." He hesitated, trying to find the right words to reach him. "This isn't my first rodeo either."

"What?" Tony stared at him for a long moment and then, to Phil's relief, he crept forwards and sat on the sofa opposite. He still looked uncomfortable, but at least he didn't look like he was in danger of keeling over.

"I've been handler for a lot of agents," he explained slowly. "A lot of men and women who spend their time putting themselves in harms way. Sometimes when they come home...the lines get blurry." He'd counselled agents who'd found themselves on both sides. The priority was always ensuring the safety and wellbeing of the victim.

"Right." Tony nodded intently. "So this is normal, right? I should just suck it up and get on with it."

"That's not what I said," Phil reminded him patiently. "I said sometimes the lines get blurred. That's not a justification. There are some things you never have to put up with, Tony. Your boyfriend hitting you? That's one of them."

"He wouldn't have to do it if I didn't keep screwing up," Tony said defensively.

"And who decides if you've screwed up?" Phil asked quietly.

Tony laughed bitterly. "Everyone, Agent. The world, the media, my...the team. Every time someone has a problem with the way I act, all they have to do is have a quiet little word with Mark and suddenly the problem goes away. Captain America does it all the time. I'm surprised that's not enough to have you jumping on the bandwagon."

And that made this much more complicated. Well, he'd never thought that Steve Rogers couldn't make mistakes. Still hurt to actually see the evidence. "Do you really think they knew what was really going on?" he asked. "They saw the bruises in the shower today, right? I'm guessing they weren't happy."

"They liked the results," Tony said quietly. "They shouldn't make such a fuss about the methods."

He nodded. "We never did get around to actually debriefing after Afghanistan, did we?" he asked suddenly.

"No," Tony said warily.

"The Ten Rings wanted you to build weapons for them, right?" he asked, like he didn't already know the details off by heart. "And they weren't inclined to make a fuss about the methods. Where are they now?"

Tony looked at him stonily. "Dead."

"Dead," Phil repeated. "Because they tried to turn you into something you're not."

There was a pause. "You can't compare the two."

"I'm not," Phil said at once. "I'm just saying that the last time someone tried to use pain to coerce you into doing what they wanted, you weren't trying to convince yourself they had your best interests at heart.

"How is that not comparing?" Tony demanded rhetorically. "They're completely different."

"Yes they are," Phil agreed. "Why don't you tell me why?"

Tony hesitated against. "Mark...he really does have my best interests at heart. He's trying to make me into a better person."

"Who gave him the right to decide what makes you a better person?" Phil asked softly.

"Just stop it, okay?" Tony said, scrubbing at his face. "You make it sound like I've been brainwashed."

"Haven't you been?" Phil asked. "It seems he's got you convinced that everything you do is wrong, and that you need to somehow prove your worth, is that right?"

Tony laughed. "I didn't need anyone else to tell me that. My ability to screw up is legendary."

Having both an enormous ego and low self-esteem should be impossible. It was almost impressive that Tony managed to pull it off. "But he does tell you that," he persisted. "And he's the one who tells you when the other Avengers are angry with you, is that right?"

"That doesn't mean he's not right," Tony answered quickly. "He's good at people. I'm not."

"Isn't it up to your friends to tell you when they're angry with you?" Phil asked. "And don't they have the right to know if you're going to get hurt because they're angry?"

"I..." Tony shook his head. "I don't listen. I need to be kept in line. I deserve this."

Damnit. "I happen to disagree," he said gently. "Tony, please believe me. You're not thinking clearly on this."

"I just want Mark to come home," Tony whispered.

"That's not what you need right now," he said firmly. He looked at Tony critically for a second. "Have you seen a doctor recently?"

Tony shook his head quickly. "It's never bad enough to need one. Mark knows to be careful. It's not like we ever know when we might be called to assemble."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you get beaten by your boyfriend for not being good enough and then fly off to save the planet...and you don't see any kind of disconnect between those two things?"

"It's not like..." Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Being Iron Man doesn't make me a good person suddenly. It doesn't wipe away all the shit I've done, or give me a pass on being annoying or obnoxious or a selfish slut or whatever."

Never mind a doctor, Phil wanted Tony to go see a therapist as soon as possible. But he thought that pushing for either would probably be a step too far right now. "It doesn't give you a pass," he agreed. "But you know what? Being annoying and obnoxious sometimes doesn't make you a bad person either. I'll freely admit you can be both, but I enjoy spending time with you because you're also funny and generous and goodhearted. I've been called bland, a workaholic and annoyingly secretive, and I'll admit to at least two of those. We are not our bad qualities, Mr Stark."

Tony's jaw was set stubbornly. He looked like he was trying his best not to take in what Phil was saying.

"Will you let me take a look at your injuries?" he asked. "I'm no doctor, but I've got advanced training in field medicine. I can at least determine if you need more help than I can give."

"I'm fine," Tony said automatically.

"Please," Phil said and waited for a long moment while Tony struggled.

"Alright," he said at last, and Phil wasn't entirely sure why.

There wasn't really anything he hadn't been expecting. Lots of bruises and a couple of cracked ribs at least. Nothing that would respond to anything except rest. He frowned at the ring of bruises around Tony's throat. "Looks like he tried to kill you," he commented blandly.

"He didn't mean it," Tony said, hunching away from Phil instinctively. "He was just angry. Playing around."

Phil nodded. It seemed like maybe the rest of the Avengers had found out just in time. That sort of violence escalated, whatever Tony thought. "You should take some painkillers," he said. "Do you have any around?"

"I'm not allowed," Tony said automatically.

He hesitated. "Have you already taken some?" he asked. He didn't bother asking if Tony had been drinking, he could already tell that he hadn't.

"No," Tony said, looking away awkwardly. "Mark doesn't like it...since I stopped drinking, he's afraid I'm going to start relying on pills instead."

"Uh huh." With an effort, he didn't comment on that. "Well, do me a favour and take a couple anyway, okay? I need to take mine now, and I'd hate to be the only one."

"They're in Mark's nightstand," Tony said but he didn't make a move. Phil guessed that going into Mark's space was something else Tony wasn't supposed to do.

"I'll get them," he said easily, letting Tony see him walk into the bedroom and fetch the pills like it was nothing. "Here," he said, passing Tony the bottle and a glass of water before taking out his own pills and shaking them into his hand. He waited until he'd seen Tony do the same before swallowing them. "Thank you," he said quietly when he'd seen Tony take them.

"Agent Coulson," JARVIS cut in smoothly. "The medical retrieval team has arrived. I'm afraid they are armed and do not appear to want coffee."

That wasn't surprising. And he had no real doubt that if he didn't appear, they would eventually try and storm the tower. Which would just be embarrassing, frankly. He sighed. "I'd better go with them. Tony...are you going to be alright?"

"Sure," Tony said with a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Lots of reasons," Phil said. "You don't have to be alright, you know." He rubbed his hand over his forehead briefly. "I wonder if I can impose on you?" he asked. "I don't want to go back to living in the hospital, but I don't want to move into SHIELD quarters. Do you have any rooms free?"

"Want to keep an eye on me, Agent?" Tony asked, his mouth twisted.

"Yes," Phil agreed. "And I want to get away from puddings that come in a cup."

Tony sighed. "Of course you can stay here," he said. "Mi tower es su tower and all that."

"Thank you," he said gravely. "I'll be back later. In the meantime, please try and rest and get something to eat. And call me if you need anything."

He waited until he saw the nod, and he smiled before he headed to the elevator. That could have gone worse, but it could have gone a hell of a lot better. He wasn't happy with how quiet Tony had been, and he really wasn't happy with how hurt he had been. Probably it was a good thing he didn't have a way of reporting back to Colonel Rhodes. This wasn't something Rhodes needed to hear while he was on active deployment. He could only hope he got back soon so he could give Tony the sort of support he really needed.

Downstairs, Thor and Bruce had vanished, leaving Natasha, Clint and Steve to face the medical retrieval team. Natasha was standing immediately behind the agents, watching them intently. They were all looking very nervous.

"Good afternoon," he said, smiling pleasantly.

They straightened up to attention. "Agent Coulson, sir. We have orders to take you back to the hospital."

"Of course," he agreed easily. His eyes flickered across to the Avengers. He could see that they were desperate to find out what was going on with Tony. And he had more than a few questions for them, but right now that was going to have to wait. He tapped his fingers together a couple of times, to promise that they'd talk later. Clint and Natasha at least, would understand. "Let's get going," he said cheerfully to the agent, who somehow wasn't looking any less nervous.

He led them into the elevator, and he leaned against the back wall, his cane in hand, and they surrounded him like they were doing some classic threat containment. "Okay, sir, we'll have you back at the hospital within half an hour," the agent promised.

"I'm afraid not," Phil said apologetically. "You're going to take me straight to the Triskelion. There's something I need to discuss with the director as soon as possible."

The agent went from looking vaguely nervous to looking mildly terrified. "Uh, sir, our orders - " he began.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Agent Bristow, isn't it?" he asked. "Look at me, Agent Bristow. Do you really think you're going to win this discussion? If I have to break out of your custody, it's going to be embarrassing and undignified for all of us, and Fury will not be happy at all. If you just go along with me for the moment, I guarantee you, he's going to be too busy arguing with me to worry about what your orders were."

Bristow looked worriedly at him for a long moment.

Phil just smiled right back, with patient charm.

Tony stayed slumped on the sofa long after Coulson had gone. He was alone again but somehow this time it didn't feel as enormous and awful.

He didn't think there was any way Coulson could have known what was going on. Okay, so technically if Natasha or Clint knew they could have told him, but he doubted that had happened. Oddly, he thought maybe it was because Agent hadn't reacted with shock or horror that he was so confident of that. Anything over the top would have been wrong and he'd have known it was a lie. But Coulson's normal calm? That was familiar. That was enough to tell him that the world hadn't gone completely insane, even if it kinda felt like it. Or maybe it was just because Coulson had never met Mark and so Tony hadn't spent the last six months watching them getting cosy. Of course, that also meant that Coulson hadn't been there to deal with Tony, so he hadn't got annoyed to the point of thinking that maybe a firm hand was just the thing Tony needed...no. No, that was pointless speculation. Coulson hadn't been there, but right now, Coulson thought that what happened to Tony was wrong and even if Tony disagreed – which he did, okay? - that was nice to hear.

His phone rang suddenly. Mark. At last. Relief flooded his veins and he ignored the way fear was battling it for second place. He let it ring a few times before he answered, determined that his voice should be steady at least. "Mark. It's good to - "

He didn't get a chance to finish. " - Why didn't you answer at once?" Mark demanded. "Is someone there with you?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, I'm on my own. I just...my phone was on the counter. I had to run to get it, that's all."

Mark snorted. "I bet." There was a beat. "Sorry," he said softly. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't take it out on you, it's just...this has been a fucking awful day, hasn't it?"

He laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. "Yeah. It really has. How are you feeling?" he asked, remembering with guilt the way Steve had been pounding on him. "Do you need to see a doctor? I could get one sent over."

"Right. Just think of the rumours that would cause," Mark said with a sigh. "'Spoilt billionaire throws beaten boyfriend out of the penthouse.' Is that really a headline you want to see, Tony?"

Oh, God, no.

"I'm just looking out for you, babe," Mark said, his voice rich with exasperation and affection. "Now. How are you doing?"

"Fine," Tony said at once.

The silence stretched out.

"Um. Agent Coulson made me take some painkillers," he confessed. "Sorry. I thought it would be alright since..." He trailed off, biting furiously at his lip. "I'm sorry for everything," he burst out. "I thought they all knew, but I guess they didn't, or some of them didn't, so when they asked I told them and I never thought they'd be so mad at you. I thought they understood."

"Understood what, Tony?" Mark said gently.

He closed his eyes. "That I deserve it. That I need you. I tried to tell them that, but they wouldn't listen."

Mark sighed. "It's okay. You didn't explain it properly, that's all."

He wondered how he was supposed to explain it. "You said no before, but can I come over?" he asked in a rush. "I'll fly. In stealth mode. The Avengers won't even know."

"And if you're seen then two minutes later that bitch will have me arrested for kidnapping and thrown in some deep hole somewhere," Mark told him bitterly.

Tony frowned. That bitch...? "Natasha?" he said disbelievingly, and bit back on the outrage at the description. "No. That doesn't make sense. I'm sure she did know." Almost sure. 93.7% sure anyway, and he ignored the memory of her arms around him and the fierceness in her eyes when she'd promised no one would hurt him again.

"Think about it, Tony," Mark urged. "You know that they've been looking for an excuse to kick you off the team. And you've been giving them plenty, but nothing major enough to sell it to the public. You still have your 'fans' after all." He said the word disparagingly. Yeah. People who'd never met Tony sometimes cut him the slack he didn't deserve. "But we all know you'd fall apart completely without me there to keep you in line. So if they get rid of me, suddenly their problems go away."

It sounded kind of plausible. Sort of. Except... "That sounds very manipulative," he said.

"Too manipulative for the Black Widow?" Mark asked pointedly.

No. Nothing was too manipulative for Natasha. And Clint would go along with her, and the others would probably just do what was best for the team. It made sense. It made more sense than their overreaction anyway.

"It would explain why they're trying so hard to get you to think of yourself as the victim," Mark continued. "Tony's a poor pathetic victim who deserves to do whatever the hell he wants now, because he's been treated so badly, right?"

He straightened up, angry to think that was what they thought he could ever think about himself. "So what do we do?" he asked crisply.

Mark sighed. "I don't know, babe, don't you ever get tired of it? Always trying to prove that you're good enough?"

Never quite succeeding. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, of course I do."

"So maybe it's time to call it a day?" Mark suggested alluringly. "Maybe the two of us could go and find some tropical island somewhere. Relax. Finally get some rest. Just live for ourselves, no one to have to play a part for. Doesn't that sound good?"

It did. He wavered, ignoring the voices that were screaming at him that he'd still have to deal with Mark's expectations and the pain that came with that. But even that would be easier if there were just the two of them, because so many of Tony's fuck ups came from interacting with other people.

He swallowed hard. "I haven't earned that," he said. "I don't deserve that."

Mark was silent for a moment, and Tony could tell he was considering whether or not to argue it. Thankfully he didn't push it. "Alright," he said. "But keep it in mind."

He would. And in the meantime, he'd show the Avengers that he was perfectly capable of keeping himself in line. He'd be just as serious and professional as they liked.

When he ended the call though, he sat and stared at the wall and thought about what Phil had said about brainwashing. Doubt crept in.

Steve felt sure that Tony shouldn't be alone right now. He'd said as much, more than once, and he'd basically begged JARVIS to let him up to see Tony. But all he'd got back was a cold 'Mr Stark is currently not accepting visitors' seventy-eight times. He very much doubted that JARVIS was even asking Tony if he wanted to see Steve, and he wasn't so sure he blamed either of them. He'd asked JARVIS to tell Tony that everyone was worried about him at least. He'd wanted to say sorry as well, but passing that on second hand via a computer hadn't seemed personal enough. No, if he was to stand any chance of making this right, he had to apologise in person.

Even then, he didn't know he he could expect Tony to forgive him.

He ran endless miles on the treadmill, trying to tire himself out and trying to come up with something he could say to Tony that would make this all better.

Thor had forgone dinner and retired to bed early. He had a lot to think about and for once he truly had not felt like food or company.

Midgard – Earth – was different from Asgard in many ways. The people did not think in the same way, and he was constantly taken by surprise that things he had taken for granted his whole life could look very different through Midgardian eyes.

There was shame on Asgard in not fighting back, yes, and he had already learned that was not the same here or at least not for all. But there was more shame in Asgard in attacking those who would not or could not fight back. There was shame in forcing someone else into weakness to try and prove your own strength; in so doing you could only prove your cowardice.

Tony had been ashamed. Mark, from all accounts, had not been.

He remembered many years ago when he had been a younger warrior with barely a handful of battles below his belt, there had been a man in his guard. Magnus. He had been older, a wise warrior whose strength and ferocity belied his grizzled beard. The men would joke the only thing Magnus was afraid of was his wife. She would be waiting for him whenever they came home, but unlike the others' loves, she didn't greet him with kisses and affection, but with slaps and insults. She was a tiny thing but she would beat against his arm and call him a beast and no man at all, fit only to lie with the dogs. The men would laugh; Thor amongst them. She could not truly hurt him and he was a noble warrior with no reason to fear her rebukes. Her words had been hollow lies, but now Thor wondered if anyone had ever told Magnus that. He had always laughed as well, but Thor remembered the look in his eyes...

Tony was no weakling. Thor had battled along side him often enough to know the truth of that. He could not say the same of Mark. He wondered if knowing his paramour was stronger and braver and wiser and so much better than he could ever hope to be had driven Mark to long to tear down the man he should have loved.

Sometimes the darkest sorcery came from simple words.

Bruce sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his breathing. He'd locked his bedroom door, and the door to his suite. It wouldn't do any good – locks couldn't keep the other guy in, and the man he was trying to keep out was long dead – but it was a habit he couldn't break.

His clothes still smelled of bleach. His hands were blistered from where he'd been scrubbing the blood off the floor. He couldn't break that habit either.

Most of all, he couldn't stop thinking.

"JARVIS?" he said softly. "I, uh, want to play some footage from my lab. I still have that access, right?"

"Yes, Dr Banner," JARVIS replied. Absently, Bruce wondered when he'd started to sound so cold. It must have been months ago. "Please specify the date and time."

"I'm not sure," he admitted with a sigh. "It was about six months ago. I was working on the X329 experiments at the time."

"The data from those experiments is available on your server," JARVIS informed him imperturbably.

"It's not the experiment data I want," Bruce snapped, frustrated. He could feel the other guy shifting restlessly beneath his skin and he struggled to stay on top of the anger. It was his to deal with, and so much of it was directed inwardly. "I want to see the footage from the security camera footage from one of the sessions. Tony came in. He'd been drinking. I got angry and told him to get out."

There was a pause. "The data from those experiments is - "

" - no!" Bruce roared, and in his head the other guy roared with him. "No," he said, softer. "I need to see what I missed."

Another pause. He waited, breathless, and then the TV flickered into life and he was looking at himself gazing intently at the monitor in his lab.

A few moments later, Tony came in and Bruce cringed to see that his eye was purple and swollen shut. It must have just happened. And Tony had come straight to him and he'd...even as he watched, screaming at his past self to turn round, he could see himself dismissing Tony and telling him to apologise, without even asking him what had happened. With horror, he watched himself almost lose his temper at the very thing that Mark had apparently just hit Tony for. He must have made it so much easier for Tony to rationalise the abuse away. No wonder he'd thought Bruce condoned it.

"Was that the first time?" he asked, hoarsely.

"I do not have that information," JARVIS answered, sounding much more like a computer than he normally did.

It must have been one of the first times anyway. They hadn't been dating that long at that point. He'd had the chance to stop all this and save Tony from months of pain and abuse and he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said wretchedly.

"I am not the one that you should be apologising to, Dr Banner," JARVIS said icily.

He nodded. "I'll apologise to Tony as well," he said, even if he couldn't imagine how Tony could ever forgive him. "But it's not easy to watch someone you love being hurt and know there's nothing you can do to stop it. Especially when no one else seems to care. I'm sorry for that."

There was silence for a long moment. "I find I am unable to accept your apology at this time," JARVIS said at last. "But I appreciate you making it."

That was no more than he deserved. Somehow he had to find a way to make this up. Determinedly, he ignored the whisper in his mind that told him to run and keep running.

Natasha's breathing had evened out twenty minutes ago, but Clint wasn't fooled. He waited patiently until she'd rolled over onto her side with that series of adorable snuffling noises she always swore she didn't make. Only then did he quietly creep out of bed and through to the living room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

Alright. He smiled grimly. Let's do this.

Naturally, they'd tracked where Mark went after he left. The penthouse suite at the Plaza, all paid for by Tony of course, and that only made Clint's anger burn brighter.

He drew the case containing his favourite sniper rifle out from it's hiding place. He happened to know there were four handy perches on surrounding buildings that gave you an excellent view into the penthouse suite of the Plaza. Everyone else was broken up with guilt and regret because they hadn't stopped Mark from hurting Tony. And yes, Clint felt that too, but more than that, he was angry. And he intended to put that anger to good use. At the end of the day, no matter what they'd done or failed to do, Mark was the one who'd actually taken the decision to hurt Tony. Clint intended to make sure he ever got that chance again.

With one last look back at the bedroom, he headed for the front door.

Natasha materialised out of the shadows directly in front of him. "Going somewhere?" she asked dryly.

He looked at her evenly. "I thought I might take a trip down town. Don't try to stop me."

She looked down at the gun case in his hands. "A gun? Really?"

"I thought it might be obvious if the bastard showed up dead with an arrow in his chest," he snapped defensively. "Don't worry. I'll make sure no one can trace this back to me." He brushed past her. She didn't stop him. Not physically, anyway.

"No one except Tony, you mean," she said. "Unless you really think he won't put it together in two seconds?"

He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. It's for his own good," he said levelly.

"He'll never trust any of us again," she warned.

He swung round to look at her. "You really think he's going to trust any of us after what we let happen?" he demanded. "No, if I can't do anything else, I need to make sure he's safe at least."

"Clint." She grabbed his arm. "Think about what you're doing. We both know what it's like when the ones that hurt you are the only ones you trust."

He hesitated. He did know.

"You'll destroy Stark," she said softly.

She was right. But he was still angry. "Why don't you call him Tony?"

"You'll destroy Tony then," she said evenly. "Does the name really matter?"

"Yes," he said.

She sighed. "Tony doesn't think we let him get hurt because I don't always use his first name."

"Maybe," he retorted. "But I doubt it helps convince him he's a valued member of our little family."

She didn't say anything, which was as good as conceding.

"Don't you want that bastard dead?" he tried.

Her eyes didn't give anything away. "I promised Tony I wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again. If I let you do this, I'll be breaking that promise."

"Fine." He slumped, defeated, and he let her take the gun case and put it away. "Do you really think Tony will ever be able to forgive us?"

She didn't look round. "I have to believe we can make things right. Else what's the point? Come back to bed, Clint. Please."

Later, when he was on the verge of sleep, his hand wrapped tightly in hers, he heard her whisper "Of course I want him dead. Just not now, and not like this."

He smiled into the darkness.

Natasha didn't sleep; she planned, or tried to at least. She'd always regarded pragmatism as her best trait. Whatever the situation, she was supposed to be able to accept it and move on with whatever means would get her to the best outcome without all the useless focus on what had happened, and what was supposed to happen, and all the things she could have done differently.

But right now, she was struggling to move past the past. She was up to 302 signs that she'd missed. She'd failed one of the very few people she liked well enough to call friend. There was a lot more red in her ledger now than she'd known about this morning.

Worse, she was concerned that maybe one of the simplest ways for her to have changed all this would have been for her to admit that she thought of Tony as a friend. What Clint had said about her not using Tony's given name had struck a nerve. She'd always found declarations of affection and friendship hollow and meaningless, and she'd assumed Tony would too. Even with Clint she wasn't open like that, and she shared her bed and her life with him.

But maybe if Tony had believed that he was her friend he wouldn't have felt like he had no place to turn. She saw the signs now with hindsight – Tony's misunderstood confession had occurred at least a few weeks after the physical abuse had started, and certainly long after the mental and emotional abuse had begun. Tony should have felt confident that he could turn to her the first time Mark insulted him, let alone hit him. Honestly, Tony should have felt confident enough to deal with the situation himself, and that wasn't her blaming him. So many negative things she'd said to his face over the past year, but all the positive ones she'd said behind his back or even kept to herself.

After Pepper broke his heart, she'd been too used to watching him. Evaluating. She should have tried harder to be the friend he needed. But she'd told herself there were other people here better suited than her to deal with the unpleasant emotional stuff. She'd convinced herself he'd let someone in eventually.

And then he had, of course. And look what had happened.

She glanced over towards the hidden gun in her nightstand. There was a part of her that regretted not letting Clint go after Mark, despite the fact that all the projections she'd run in her head had that making things worse in the long run. Clint hadn't seen the way he'd been going after Tony. Natasha had and she'd recognised the look in his eyes. Some people needed to be put down.

At least the warnings she'd given him while she'd escorted him out the tower would probably hold him back. She'd meant it too. If he tried to get back into the tower, or if he went near Tony again, she would find the deepest, darkest hole she could and she would bury him in it. And if he was very, very lucky, she'd shoot him in the head first.

That was the easy part. Convincing Tony that it was over and helping him heal? All she had were vague scraps of plans and a hope she wouldn't let herself feel.

Nick Fury didn't look especially surprised to see Phil hobble into his office. He also didn't look especially pleased.

"And just what the hell are you doing out of hospital?" he demanded.

Phil shrugged and lowered himself carefully into the chair in front of Fury's desk. "Sorry, sir. Something came up that I needed to attend to in person."

"Yeah? And what would that be?" Fury asked, leaning across the table.

He waited for a moment, studying Fury carefully. They'd known each other a long time. "Did you know?" he asked.

"There's a lot of things I know," Fury said, glancing away from him for a second. "Some of them you need to know about. Others you don't."

That amounted to a 'no'. Either way, Fury wouldn't admit to it, but if he'd been keeping the fact that Tony Stark was being abused to himself, for some inscrutable reason, he would have been a little more defensive about it. He would have given a reason at least.

"Sir, I imagine you're planning on appointing an official SHIELD liaison to the Avengers," he said, changing the subject. "I'd like the job."

Fury looked at him steadily. "You do remember that I'm your boss and you don't get to just walk in here and pick your own assignment?" he asked. "Especially not when you're still supposed to be in the damn hospital."

"Who else do you have that the Avengers trust?" he asked rhetorically. "I guarantee you, sir, if you don't have someone neutral in there now, in a few month's time there won't be any team."

There was silence for a few moments. They both stared at each other, neither giving anything away. "What the hell is going on in that tower?" Fury asked.

Phil smiled slightly. "There's a lot of things I know, sir. Some you need to know about. Others..." He shrugged. "You don't."

Fury snorted. "You do remember I can still fire you."

"You're not going to," Phil said confidently. "I'm going to need my full authority reinstated. I've got a few operations I need to start running immediately."

"You're still not cleared for active duty," Fury reminded him.

"You need me, sir," Phil promised. "So do the Avengers."

There was another long silence. "Alright, get going," Fury agreed finally. "I'll get the paperwork cleared. Just...try not to tear any stitches or anything, alright? There's a SHIELD apartment waiting - "

" - I won't need it," Phil said, standing up. "A friend said I could stay at his tower."

"What was that about needing someone neutral?" Fury asked, eyebrow raised.

Phil ignored it. "Thank you, sir, you won't regret this," he said as he stood and walked to the door.

"I already am," Fury called after him. "Get out of here."

He did. And he waited until he was at least nominally clear of SHIELD surveillance before he pulled out his cellphone. "This is Agent Philip Coulson," he said when his call was answered. "I need to set up a class five surveillance operation. The target's name is Mark Lowing. He's to be considered of hostile intent. All data is for my eyes only."

That at least would stop things from getting worse without him knowing about it. As for things getting better...that was largely going to be up to the Avengers.