Tony Stark (in_extremis) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2010-02-17 15:23:00 |
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In Situ, vol. 2
Characters: Tony, Iron Man, and some time later Steve.
Setting: The workshop, Stark Tower, New York
Content: oh god what. Language.
Summary: Tony has to remember where he is again and walks himself through it.
Life could be realized in many ways. Birth; the first breath of a physical shell, the concept of 'I', the world. Enlightenment; exhale, the purpose of 'I', the place in the world. Death; an end, the concept that 'I' is finite, the battle against the world. Tony had seen Death. In many ways, Death was his Birth and Enlightenment. He realized Life through Death. And why not? They were partners. They would work together for eternity. Tony indulged in Life and all its excess without realizing what it was until Death showed him what it wasn't. He became Iron Man.
When he opened his eyes, he was reminded of the many deaths he gave himself. Days lost, with just an ache in his head and a dry mouth the reminder. The cot protested as he rolled onto his back, though not as much as Tony himself with a grunt of pain, arm feeling heavy and false as he dragged his knuckles from the floor to cross it across his chest and rub life back into it. His scalp felt tight. The cot he knew. He kept it in the workshop for those rare times he realized he needed to sleep before he passed out on his desk. It was, in its own way, more personal than his expansive, elegant, finely and carefully decorated bedroom. Maybe because it was a single.
This bleary pain and dry mouth (he licked his lips; they cracked) he knew, too, but it felt all mixed up. He had to sit up, the motion pressing all of the air out of him, leaving him propped up on one hand and panting ineffectively with his tongue still testing the tangy taste of blood on his lip.
What he didn't really know was how these things came together, or how he came to be experiencing them. Peering around suspiciously wasn't very revealing. It was the workshop. Cool and dimmed for his comfort. Everything where Tony was fairly certain he left it, but he wasn't sure. Except JARVIS, who usually woke up with him, but maybe he was as laggy as Tony's brain. "JARVIS?" he prompted with a sleep scratchy voice, scrubbing his face with the heel of his hand, only to drop it to find no response from the system. "JARVIS?"
Still cool and dim. Okay. Tony let one foot touch the floor, tried to swallow again and walk himself through this.
He was in his bed, that expansive, elegant, Egyptian cotton, pillowtop bed, where Wanda-- with a throb in his head, Tony pitched forward, hunched over with his face pressed into the darkness of the blankets. Where -- he was in his bed. Pietro came in. He slept. He stood in front of the bar. Oh, jesus, fuck, shit, fuck, he didn't, he didn't, why would he now, what even happened? He clutched at the blankets, keened, a thin, high sound in the empty, silent space. He stood in front of the bar. Where was everyone? Out. Living. Being in love. Life, Enlightenment. It was easier with a drink in his hand; it was so easy to be happy. He didn't have to fight through this, this whatever it was, this hollow feeling, he could just fill it.
So where was it now? He didn't. Keep going-- start over. Pietro came in. He slept. He stood in front of the bar. He needed to see Sal. Yes, no, he slept, he woke up, he didn't want to get out of bed, but he needed to see Sal. If he just got out the door he could be in that old house in the woods, surrounded by nothing and no one and Sal would just leave him and smoke grass on the porch and wait for him and and eventually all that nothing would be enough. If he could just get out the door, jesus, the world was out there, how could he take it without help? Just one for the road. He stood in front of the bar. He could take the Iron Man, the flight would clear his head, he would be there in minutes. He could do this.
Why wasn't he in that old house in the woods, where was Sal going, "Tone, hey T, give this a try."? He made it to the workshop, everyone else was out, he was hurting but he felt it and that was a good sign. He stopped by his desk, picked up his tweezers, sniffed and kicked the scrap box, and said, "I will go with you."
He gave a start, whirled around, called, "JARVIS?"
"We will go. I have-- questions, Tony."
There it was. All of it. Tony sat up-- too fast, and the room whirled, but with his eyes closed and a deep breath he got it to settle. Nothing moved. Carefully, Tony got to his feet, padded quietly away from the cot, shivering with the cold of the floor on his bare feet and wrapping his arms around himself. It was dark and shadowed, but the armory looked complete. Every suit in its place, still and lifeless.
Life could also be realized through a mirror.
The voice that wasn't his, but was, that modulated projection, said, "What do I feel-- afraid?"
Tony was frozen, back pressed against the desk, breathing shallow, chest starting to ache and eyes starting to burn. He looked up, stared, into the face of the Iron Man, its eyes glowing, fists at its sides, staring down at him and speaking. This wasn't supposed to happen again. This couldn't be happening. The newer models didn't even come close to being able to function independently, that was the beauty of them. They had barebones AI, all that weight gone, streamlined, controlled through Extremis. They didn't need AI. So how was Tony talking to it; "Do you-- . Why do you feel afraid?"
"What do I feel."
It was possible that he was doing this. That this depression was actually a full blown psychosis and he was making and giving bodies to imaginary friends for himself. This was a particularly horrifying one, though, and while Tony had been accused of torturing himself, he was sure he could at least start small. Just the way it canted its head, expectant, made his heart stop. "I don't know. You're not supposed to feel. I need to run some tests. I need to shut you down."
"Tell me-- what it is you feel for Wanda?"
"Armor override. Alpha, code: 34--"
"Tony-- tell me. What do I feel?"
If it was just the AI, he could move it, put it into something less dangerous. He learned that last time. It was the first thing he should have done. But there was nothing there to move. The program didn't exist. "I need you to disasemble."
"Why does it-- hurt? Why does Wanda hurt us, Tony?"
This wasn't going to happen again. The glow in the Iron Man's eyes faded and its head drooped to its chest, and Tony let out a slow breath.
Then he woke up. "JARVIS?" he tried again, in a whisper, staring unblinking at the wall of the displayed armors, trying to make sense of that throb in his head. Carefully, keeping his watch on his inert creations, he edged towards his terminal to ease himself into his seat and physically click the system awake. "Come on, buddy..." he coaxed, eyes searching the screen, wondering what could have happened to the AI.
"Sir," JARVIS greeted at length, drawing from Tony an audible sigh of relief.
"Run security feed, timestamp...Shit. Just rewind."
He watched himself stand, walk back from the terminal, and freeze, arms wrapped around himself in the middle of the bare floor, staring and frozen like he was lost in a snow drift. Walking backwards, sitting on the bed, face down, sitting up, on his back, on his side, still. Still. For hours.
"JARVIS--"
The Iron Man was walking backwards into the frame, stood besides the bed. The time kept running backwards, and Tony held his breath, leaning closer to the screen, watching it, unmoving. He almost jumped when it bent over, and Tony's body rolled into its arms and it was walking backwards, back towards the terminal where Tony sat now, where he was narrowing his eyes and his nose was just inches from the screen. Iron Man was kneeling, placing Tony's body on the floor, standing and stepping back to stare at it there, and the time kept running backwards.
"You didn't have to-- do that, Tony. Please-- I will not shut you down if you-- will do the same for me."
Tony froze. He was floating to his feet, his head bouncing elegantly off the desk, staring at the Iron Man that stared back at him with glowing eyes that distorted the image around its face.