Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The first thing Tony is aware of is the humidity.

It’s heavy, soaking through his shirt so much that it sticks to him like a second skin. The ratty material could barely be called a shirt, but his options have been limited as of late. The second thing that he senses is that he’s laying on the ground, his back flat on the floor with no idea how he got there. In a poor show of effort, Tony squirms like an overturned turtle, trying to get his bearings and failing. The next thing he notices is the bright sunlight needling his retinas through his eyelids, and finally, the dirt that sticks to the back of his arms.

It all comes in a line like they were queueing up to file into his awareness.

Tony guesses that it’s a problem, but considering where he just came from, he’s got a pretty low bar on what constitutes a problem these days.

But covered in dirt and sweat is no one’s idea of a good time. At least, not when it’s against his wishes.

“Gross.”

Tony chokes on the word. His throat is sandpaper. Breathing aches like swallowing bricks, which is a sensation Tony didn’t know that hoped to never experience. He casts his mind back, trying to figure out how he’s managed to find himself in such a state but nothing comes to mind.

As though a jolt of electricity has shot up his spine, Tony snaps up into a sitting position. Pain blankets his body, but Tony recognises he may have bigger problems. Shivering, he searches for the desert sand but finds a forest.

Instead of the endless stretch of golden powder, Tony is surrounded by trees and people.

People who wear a familiar uniform, and as if by the good graces of some god, not the uniform he spent the last three months becoming acquainted with.

“Oh, thank god,” he whispers.

“Stark.”

A woman with fierce eyes and a staff steps closer, her shadow falling over Tony’s face. She lowers her staff so that the spear is pointed at his chest. A flutter passes through the group as Tony coughs on his panic, his weak body struggling to get himself out of range. The relief he felt just a second ago is gone without a trace.

“I seem to be at a disadvantage,” Tony croaks. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

The spear tip digs into his diaphragm and pushes live panic up and out of his mouth in a gasp. Without thinking, Tony places a hand flat over the Arc Reactor, mind swimming with thoughts of the staff digging through the torn cotton of his filthy shirt and cracking the newly installed body modification.

“Stand down!” the woman orders, stepping closer and batting his hand out of the way.

His hand snaps back into place, and though he knows it’ll only serve to get him into more trouble, he can’t help it. Tony knows that the one definite vulnerability he has right now is on show for the world to see, and this woman is so close to destroying it.

“Stand down,” she repeats, eyes burning.

Her clipped tone is edged with an accent that Tony is familiar with. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees a familiar face pop up on a bead of bracelets.

“Prince T’Challa?” he whispers. He clears his throat, wincing in pain. “Prince T’Challa, what’s a man like you doing in a… actually, I have no idea where this is, but I’m assuming if you’re here, then these are your guards and so I’m in Wakanda? That lines up. I guess what that means I should say ‘What’s a guy like me doing—’”

“State your purpose,” the spear lady demands, pushing the spear further.

Tony scrambles away, trying his best to swallow the stream of curses that swell up in his stomach. Instead, a high-pitched whine escapes and is hastily followed by a cough that aches at his chest.

“Bring him in,” Tony hears the prince's order. “Do not touch his chest again. Be gentle. And do not, under any circumstances, allow the guests to see him.”

Through the haze of fear, a band of warmth wraps around his bicep and then the world spins as he’s hauled to his feet. The pain around the reactor subsides but continues to throb incessantly. His legs give out, but he’s still held upright.

“Do not resist or we will use force.”

Tony wants to argue. It’s not as though he’s trying to resist. He’s not doing this on purpose, but he’s already weak enough. A lifetime of experience has taught him not to flaunt that fact.

“Pretty girl like you? I’ve got no complaints.”

She hisses at him, and suddenly the situation snaps into focus. He stumbles when they pull forward, and his stomach lurches.

“Is he drunk?” someone asks, disgust marring their tone.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t smell like alcohol.” Someone sniffs near Tony’s face, but he’s too focused and keeping himself on his feet to do anything. “He smells like… sand.”

“There is no sand for miles. Where did he come from?”

If the comment is responded to, Tony doesn’t hear it. Instead, his mind is swimming through so many dizzying possibilities that he’s worried he’ll add to the ‘drunk’ theory by throwing up the meagre meal he was offered days before.

Brown trunks reach into the sky, tall as buildings, with a green canopy blooming, stretching across the sky and blocking out the worst of the sun. Still, though, dots of sunlight pepper the floor like stars in the daytime. Bright green leaves litter the ground, and each inch forward they move crackles with the carpet of autumn. Tony might not be one to spend much time outside, preferring his workshop to the green pastures of NYC, but even he can taste how fresh the air is, even he can smell the cleanliness.

Closer and closer they walk to the edge of the forest until through the clearing Tony can see the city of every futurist's wet dream.

Buildings climb towards the clouds, green swirls twisting up along the side of the towers like taffy being pulled. A hum of electricity is present, but there’s a distinct lack of pollution that seems to douse the New York streets.

“King T’challa is waiting for us,” the lady says.

“King? He’s been promoted. And he didn’t invite me to the tea ceremony?”

He gets thirteen identical side-ways glances, and the pressure is enough to nearly crush him. The joke tore at his throat, and it suddenly doesn’t feel worth the effort anymore. Apparently, three months in a cave loosens the tongue in the favour of witty, half-hearted jokes. Making said jokes around what are undoubtedly very deadly women might not be his smartest decision.

And Tony prides himself on his genius.

Which is why the lapse into silence, one telling of how the women have noted his idiocy, sets his teeth on edge. Tony wonders if he should say something just to instil the idea that he is, in fact, quite intelligent, but tosses the idea aside like a ball of paper.

Not worth it. Plus, he can’t think of a single thing to say.

“Something’s wrong,” says the woman closest to him.

“Or he’s just good at acting.”

“To what end?”

“What end do you think?”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asks. “Why do I have the strange feeling that something is more wrong than just me appearing here when, ten minutes ago, I was in Afghanistan?”

Their conversation comes to an abrupt end, but, inexplicably, the bruising grip on his bicep loses some of its strength. No answers, though.

Not good.

Ahead of them, up a sweeping marble staircase, a pair of grand doors with gold carvings that seem to dance along the border, swing inwards. At first, the harsh sunlight casts the doorway in darkness. Then, the form of T’challa, bracketed by two rows of more uniformed ladies, comes into definition.

It’s only Tony’s constant sense of being in public that keeps his mouth from dropping open. The last time he’d seen T’challa was at a conference with T’Chaka seven years ago. The kid had to have been around sixteen or seventeen, and yet now, when he should be no more than twenty-five, he almost looks older than Tony does. He certainly looks more mature than any man in their twenties should look.

“Mr Stark, you look… younger than I remember.”

The pause in his sentence is more than enough to terrify Tony. It meant something. There were words that he chose to not say in the pause.

“How odd,” Tony smiles as though he’s used to these situations. “Because you look much older than you should be. No offence or anything. Did you take up smoking? No twenty-five-year-old should look like—I’ll just… stop.”

Tony has a chronic inability to shut himself up, so cutting himself off as he digs himself into a deeper and deeper hole fills him with more pride than it should.

“Sorry,” he offers, knowing that it probably won’t be enough.

A strange expression flits across T’challa’s face. There for barely a millisecond before it’s gone again and replaced with a serenity that makes Tony feel tired. If only he could conjure up that feeling. He can’t seem to stop his still sore heart from hammering against his ribs, bruising it further than is likely advised.

For the last three months, he’s spent every ounce of energy he had on staying alive and keeping a façade of calmness where there was only calamity. He’s exhausted.

As though his body is just registering this fact, his knees decide they can no longer hold his weight. His body collapses, and if not for the women at his sides, he would have crashed into the floor in what was promising to be a very un-Stark-like manner.

“Bring Mr Stark inside,” T’Challa orders. “Inform Shuri that she needs to empty her lab. We’ve got a guest that needs medical attention.”

“I’m fine,” Tony mutters, wincing at the weakness in his voice.

T’Challa smiles in bemusement and steps to the side as the women hoist him upright and half-carry, half-guide him through the opulent marble hallway.

Tony, for all that he’s travelled across the world, is still struck by the culture that rests deep inside almost everything he can see. It presents itself causally in a way Americans could never pull off. This place, though, which Tony has surmised is definitely the reclusive Wakanda, is embedded with rich culture that it shines in every detail.

“Beautiful place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you, Mr Stark. We’re very proud of it. It’s our very own, ah, Stark Tower.”

Tony snorts, eyes lighting up with amusement, but his smile slowly drops away when T’challa looks at him as though he’s lost his mind.

“What’m I missing?”

“I’m not sure yet. My sister, however, will be able to help.”

“The… toddler?”

Tony casts his mind back to when he had Pepper sent a gift to the Wakandan embassy in New York for the birth of T’Chaka’s daughter. It wasn’t that long ago. Six years ago, at most. There’s no way a child barely old enough for preschool is going to help him.

T’challa’s mouth opens, as though he’s ready to ask a question, only for it to snap shut a second later with a short shake of his head.

“Follow me, Mr Stark. We’re going to see that we find the answers to whatever the question is here.”

Any refusals, polite as they may have been, dry out on his tongue the moment they step into the lab. A hungry part of Tony, the one that always wants to know what things do and how they do it, paws at his brain. It’s accompanied by another feeling altogether, something far less pleasant than curiosity. It sets his mind in a spin, not unlike a dreidel.

“Is that—brother, you did not warn me that we were going to have guests.”

Tony struggles to place the girl because as far as he can see, there are five of her, each one as convincing as the next. There’s more movement around him, and the longer he looks, the more the pieces of his brain break apart until he’s looking at the world through a kaleidoscope.

“I sent word ahead,” T’challa shrugs in the insolent ways that only siblings can.

Everything falls into a somersault when Tony steps forward and thrusts a handout for the young woman to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tony says, before promptly collapsing into darkness so heavy that it swallows him whole.

“—2008, which is a problem.”

“Look at him, brother. This is not a case of lost memory. He truly looks as though he might be that version of Tony Stark; one that apparently stepped out of a cave in 2008 and walked into Wakanda in 2018.”

“But that’s—”

“If you say ‘impossible’ mere weeks after drinking a mystical flower to get magical powers, then I will move to have you impeached.”

There’s a heavy sigh that’s followed quickly by a chuckle. Next, footsteps, quick and tense. Tony’s skin itches with anxiety. The thrum of panic doesn’t show signs of abating; knowing there are so many people nearby that he can’t see or protect himself from raises all his defensive mechanisms, but they’re all mostly dormant in this awake-but-not-conscious state.

Tony isn’t sure he felt like this even after open heart surgery just a few months ago. He was in pain, sure, but he didn’t feel as weak as he does now. His eyelids feel like they’re stitched closed, immovable, and he has the most curious sensation that his brain has been temporarily switched off. Though there are words being spoken around him, none of them quite form into comprehensive sentences.

“Your Highness, Captain Rogers is attempting to—”

“I will deal with this intrusion myself,” T’challa commands. “Shuri, is there—”

“Any way to block Mr Stark from prying eyes?”

The soft but accented voice sounds amused as something undeniably mechanical starts to whir.

“You know, you could just say ‘yes’, sister,” T’challa grumbles. “Not everything has to be a show.”

Tony’s mouth twitches involuntarily, but that single movement awakens his entire body. Sparks of life shoot down his body until he is buzzing with energy.

“Ah, that’s convenient timing. My brother has just gone to assure us some privacy,” Shuri promises.

Knowing he can’t pretend to be asleep just long enough to gather his bearings, Tony pushes himself upright, groaning with the effort. His muscles ache like he’s spent an entire day working out, and his head swims with the grace of a night on the whiskey. But he knows neither of those things is accurate. Worst, though, is the way his skin burns with every small movement.

“Listen,” Shuri says, voice low. “You’re not supposed to be here, so I’ll need you to act like it.”

She’s young, probably around fifteen if his estimations are correct, which means that he needs to employ his dusty PG humour for this conversation.

“I never had much time to lend to pretence,” Tony shrugs, before immediately choking on his words.

The coughing fit drags razors up his throat, and Shuri hurriedly passes him a plastic cup of water with a pink straw sticking out of the top.

“Slowly,” she advises.

Tony takes a few careful sips until the dryness in his throat subsides and he can breathe again.

“Now, if this arrangement is going to work, the one where you’re here in my lab while I am, then I have requests to make. First and foremost, don’t leave without letting me or my brother know. Second, don’t take me for a fool just because I am a girl. Third, try not to touch too many things. I’m not going to pretend this is out of your league, but the equipment I have here uses vibranium, and as far as I know, the only vibranium you’ve ever come across is the captain's shield.”

“I’m sorry, who’s what?”

“Oh. Right. You haven’t—doesn’t matter. But yeah, let’s circle back to number two. No underestimating me because I’m a girl. Got it?”

With an admittedly dramatic flair, Tony puts a hand over his heart and gasps.

“I would never! My best friend is a girl, and Pepper could probably beat me at anything, except, you know, mechanical engineering. I hate to brag, but I did just engineer myself out of a cave using scraps to create a suit.”

“Probably the coolest suit in the whole world,” Shuri muses, only to jump back.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know that that’s public knowledge,” Shuri mutters. “Not to worry. Can I get you something else to drink?”

Tony shakes his head, wincing when the raw skin on the back of his neck twinges. He watches the girl as he allows his body to settle back down. The pain is bearable, so he doesn’t plan to complain. Unfortunately, the girl notices.

“I’ve put cream on your sunburn. If it still hurts, there’s some more on the side.”

“Thanks.”

Tony shifts on the bed again, reigniting the burning across his skin.

Breathe, he orders himself.

“So,” Tony continues, considerably calmer now, “care to tell me what’s got everyone so riled up? Normally, my arrivals are more of a fanfare and less of a… whatever this has been.”

Shuri’s mouth freezes in a smile, and her eyes widen.

“Uh, Brother?” she calls over her shoulder, eyes fixed on Tony.

Immediately, an icy chill spreads across his body, and Tony fights to keep his face impassive. Never show weakness, that’s what Obie taught him. Never admit that you’re human.

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Worse than being stuck in an Afghani cave for three months, right? Speaking of, how did you know about the suit? Since it was only just taken on its test flight and it burned up as I hit the ground.”

Tony isn’t sure if he wants answers, or if he just wants to continually live in a world where he can pretend nothing is as bad it feels like it might become. The latter sounds far more forgiving, in his opinion. As T’challa comes in, grave-faced, Tony rethinks his stance. The latter would definitely be more forgiving.

“Mr Stark, I understand that things must be confusing.”

Understatement of the century, Tony thinks.

But before he has the chance to offer a snarky response, T’challa’s hand is on his shoulder, and Tony feels trapped very suddenly.

“It’s 2018.”

Tony's natural response is to laugh. When no one shares in it, it dries up into a pained grimace.

“T’challa, you can’t… that’s not funny. This isn’t funny. I’ve just come from a three-month stint in a one star ‘unique vacation stay’ in Afghanistan with a severe heart condition. I can’t take even the smallest jokes right now.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a joke. We’re not sure how this came about—”

“Now listen here—”

“—but rest assured, Shuri and I are working on this, and we can accommodate you for as long as is deemed necessary.”

T’challa doesn’t smile. Shuri doesn’t laugh.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Tony begs. “Come on. I’ve still got sunburn. I was literally just traipsing through the desert. Was I there for ten years, and my internal clock was out of whack?”

Shuri shrugs, the calm indifference only a teenager can possess, and then she steps away and disappears into her lab. Just upping and leaving like that is something that Tony could see himself doing when he was her age.

Lord does he wish he had the same option now.

“I guess it explains how you two are all grown up.”

Anxiety vibrates at Tony’s nerves as a grimace flitters across T’challa’s face.

“This must be a shock,” he hedges politely.

“It is. It… damn. It’s 2018.”

In most circumstances, being kidnapped and tortured would be the worst thing that could happen to someone. It would harden even the softest human. One would assume that very little would be worse than that. And they would be correct, after all.

‘Learning you’re ten years in the future’ is one of those few exceptions, Tony decides after regaining consciousness. Well, he has always been quite exceptional. Good to know that time hasn’t changed that at all.

“What is he doing here?”

The voice, filled with rage, stirs Tony from sleep. A stuffy headache fills the spaces between his brain and skull until everything feels both larger than life and duller than the colour grey. His thoughts have lost their sharp edge.

He needs that sharp edge back. His sharpness is his defining feature.

 “Please remove yourself from my lab.”

That’s a familiar voice, Tony notes with some relief. Shuri is still here, at least. She sounds equally as angry as the unfamiliar voice, and the curiosity pushes Tony onto his elbows so that he can observe. The effort was astronomically more than it should have been.

“T’challa promised us safety,” the voice accuses. “When did Stark get in? How far off are the feds? Were you planning to tell us, or were we just going to be woken up with handcuffs and guns?”

The dude is hardcore, Tony realises. The fury has spread a burning red streak across the man’s cheeks and onto his ears.

“Feds?”

Shuri whips around, shoulders sagging as she observes Tony swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The pained flash that accompanies it is likely the only reason that he doesn’t try to walk over.

“Mr Stark, please don’t move. You’re still recovering.”

“Yeah, from being accused of working with the feds.” For dramatic flair, Tony presses a hand to his heart and lets his weight fall against the pillar at the foot of the be. “Who’re you?” Tony asks, pointing at Clint, “and why would I be buddying up with the feds to go up against you?”

The man’s posture, which was so tight Tony is surprised he’s not collapsing into himself, loosens so much that he almost appears to be melting. His face jumps from one indecipherable emotion to another, until he settles on some kind of understanding.

The man doesn’t come any closer to Tony, and Tony doesn’t move any closer to the man. They’re both watching each other carefully.

“Clint Barton,” the man, Clint, offers. “And if you’ve not met me, we have three potential options. One,” the man holds up three fingers and points to the first. “Time travel. You actually look younger than the last time I saw you, but Botox isn’t out of your budget. Two,” the first finger is down, and he starts to point at the second, “amnesia. Shuri said you were ‘recovering’. I haven’t heard of any battles stateside, but maybe you hit your head. Finally, option number three,” the middle finger is tucked away, and the ring finger is the only one at attention, “you’re lying to trick us. Which is it?”

From how she drops her hands to her side, Tony can only assume that Shuri is as shocked by the complete 180 in attitude as Tony is.

“We’re… I guess I’m not sure. Well, it’s not the lying thing. As far as I was aware, it was 2008 yesterday. Jury’s still out on why that is.”

The man, Clint Barton, let his eyes roam over Tony, as though taking in every inch.

“You’re sunburnt to shit.”

Tony looks down at his bare arms and then grins.

“A lot of its friction. I fell, you know, and the sand isn’t the same gentle caress it is when you’re hanging out on the beach.”

“Is that so?”

The guy seems like a kindred spirit, and Tony is going to say something about it, but then the air grows taut. T’challa steps into the room, and the energy shifts. Barton’s shoulders tense, rising up until he looks like a cowed puppy.

“Barton, I believe I was not unintelligible when I ordered you all to remain in your quarters?”

“My apologies, you highness,” Barton says with a pained bow.

“Please leave.”

Intrigued, Tony watches as Clint Barton disappears and T’challa watches him go with fire in his gaze.

“A little intense there, T’Challa. I’m not complaining, no, no. Quite the opposite. I’m jealous. If only I had that sway with the press. Oh crap. T, can I borrow your phone? I have a call to make. Which would be a grand time to put my imitation skills at work. You’ll have to grade me, OK? On a scale of ‘crap T’challa’ to ‘perfect T’challa’. I’m hoping to be at least a ‘superb’.”

The babble is long-winded, but T’Challa weathers it like a pro.

“Things have changed, you should be prepared for that. The Anthony Stark we have grown accustomed to, the one we know well, is different to the man you are today. There were… are many problems we must try to navigate.”

Tony stews on this information, running his brain through everything that could happen, what needs to happen, and how Tony can fix… whatever this is.

“So, do we have any idea whether I’m in the future or just an amnesiac yet? I’m leaning towards the ‘being in the future' theory because I have to be, right? I’ve not just lost a decade of life. Right? My body is the same: sunburn, the—the reactor.” Tony swallows audibly, his hand twitching.

“We’ve not managed to determine anything for certain, but we’re quite confident that you’re in your 2008 body.”

“Right, sure, yeah.” Tony Stark, conversation extraordinaire, has nothing to say to that. “So, how about it? Mind if I borrow your phone?”

Deep in the lab, a crash makes Tony jump. T’challa remains in place, however, with a calm smile and a fond eye-roll, so Tony wills his heart to slow.

“I will help you contact your friend, Tony, but you need to be prepared. Or, rather, you need to be ready to prepare them. This is going to be a shock for them.”

You don’t need to tell me, Tony thinks.

A phone, thin and large, is pressed into his hand. The screen displays the time, ‘7.24am’ and the date sits below it.

There it is the truth in white writing.

2018.

They weren’t joking.

The phone, while clearly a decade ahead of what Tony is used to working with, is very intuitive. It’s a matter of seconds for him to have unlocked the phone and typed in the number. Rhodey’s used the same number for six years, so Tony hopes he’s kept it for ten more.

“Colonel Rhodes speaking.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Tony?”

“Man, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“We spoke yesterday.”

“Yesterday was… I’m—I’m not sure how to say this. The last thing I remember speaking to you about was the hum-drum-vee and the fun-vee.”

“Wait. What?”

In a sudden uncharacteristic moment, Tony loses the ability to speak. The sharp gaze of T’challa dissects him, and the telling heat on the back of his neck promises an audience of Shuri. Tony needs space.

With a lot of effort and a grunt of pain, Tony slides off the bed and towards the wall of windows on the opposite side of the lab.

“I’m not your Tony,” Tony says, pressing his warm forehead against the cool window. “I mean, I am, I’m just not your 2018 Tony. I’m your 2008 Tony.”

Trees in the distance sway in a breeze that Tony wishes he could feel. It’s not even hot inside the lab. If anything, it’s cool. But it feels stifling.

“What are you talking about, Tones? Where are you? You disappeared off the map and just—where did you go?”

“I don’t know where that Tony is. Maybe I was swapped out? There’s got to be some explanation for the—it doesn’t matter. Rhodey, the last thing I remember was being in the desert in Afghanistan. One minute I was crawling through the dunes, and the next I was laying in the forest in Wakanda.”

“So, you’re in Wakanda. I’m coming to get you. I’ll bring you home, and we can figure this whole mess out.”

If this were his own home, he’d slam his hands onto the glass and shout. However, he’s not. It’s not even Tony’s phone. So, he doesn’t.

“No. Whatever happened—and we’re leaning towards time travel here—brought me to Wakanda. So, I need to figure out why.”

Tony is proud of himself for how stable his voice is.

“Please, Tony—”

“I can’t. Let me figure out the truth before I get comfortable and blindsided. And please let Obie know I’m alive. He must be out of his mind.”

Following this simple request, Tony notes - with mounting unease - the pregnant pause.

“What?” Rhodey asks, voice trembling.

“Obie? I’ve been gone for three months. You don’t think he’d want to… Oh yeah. Ten years. Well, tell him I’m kinda in a time thing right now, and I’ll be in touch.”

On the other side of the call, Tony can hear Rhodey mutter a distinct curse.

“Put King T’challa on the phone,” Rhodey demands.

“I don’t—”

“Just do it.”

“Jeez, alright. Don’t know why you’d make friends with him though. He’s so serious.”

As if summoned, T’challa appears at Tony’s side, mouth turned down in a frown but without heat in his eyes.

“It’s for you,” Tony grumbles, as he passes T’challa his phone back.

Tony has been in many scary and unusual situations in his lifetime. It comes part and parcel with being the son of a millionaire and then growing up to be a billionaire. Waking up in a Wakandan jungle after falling unconscious in an Afghani desert a decade earlier definitely tops that. That will explain why Tony can’t seem to shake off the panic that comes and crashes over him.

Is it weird that he wishes his PA and driver were with him right now?

“Mr Stark, please follow me.”

T’challa’s reflection comes to a stop beside Tony’s and Tony if allowed himself, he could imagine that nothing he was seeing or being told was real. It could still be 2008, and everything would be… not OK, but better than being thrown into the future.

“Let’s find you a room, get you settled, and work from there. How does that sound?”

“Like I have no other plans.”

“We’ll fix this, Mr Stark. I promise you that.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

“For the duration of your stay, you can treat this like your own home. While I’m certain that it is not the luxury that you’re used to—”

They enter the room without much fanfare. Stark is tired, T’challa can see that, and he can also see the way his eyes blow wide with excitement. T’challa stops in the doorway and watches with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“A bed,” Tony says with wonder. “Running water,” he adds, turning the taps on the kitchen sink. “Food!”

Whatever T’challa was expecting in the way of a response, it was not that. Until Tony spoke, he’d almost certainly forgotten that for Tony, it had been only days since he had been rescued from a three month forced vacation in Afghanistan. He was not just happy with the accommodation, he was near-faint with joy. Like a child on Christmas morning, looking at a room bursting with presents.

“You should shower,” T’challa says, to cover up his own shock. “My staff have stocked the room with everything you may need, including razors, hair treatment and dental hygiene. I will call and have someone bring sun care.”

For a split second, something like fear flashes across Mr Stark’s face, and T’challa runs through what he just said to find the cause for it. But then Mr Stark is grinning again.

“T, you’re the best. If I ever say different, have one of your bodyguards cook me over a spit. I know they want to. They do not like me.”

With that declaration, Stark grabs a cereal bar from a basket on the counter, tears off the wrapper and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. Then, he runs into the shower. The instant the water is running, T’challa calls his sister.

“Brother?”

“Did we have a doctor check Mr Stark for dehydration, malnutrition, exposure or any other ailments that may have come from three months in captivity?”

Cowed by her own share of temporary ignorance, Shuri closes her eyes and lowers her head. Clearly, the oversight was a shared failure, but now T’challa is coming close to understanding what happened, he needs to treat the situation accordingly.

Most importantly, Tony isn’t just the victim of an unexplainable time travel situation; he’s also the victim of torture. That T’challa took in the sun-seared skin but not the way it clings to his bones is worth his apology. Now, he thinks that Tony wasn’t just collapsing from shock. It was starvation. Dehydration. Pure and clean exhaustion.

Mr Stark needs a medical evaluation, and once Mr. Rhodes is on site, some sort of therapy, even if it’s just social. Such an ordeal brings more than visceral wounds, and can be more significant than the physical blow. There is also the issue that Mr. Stark is new to the arc reactor. If memory serves, he had some problems with the core poisoning him. They should definitely try and get ahead of that.

“Send a doctor at their earliest convenience. And have the cook bring a selection of foods with exacerbated nutritional value. And look into alternative to Palladium.”

“Yes, boss.”

Shuri grins as she disappears, but T’challa knows that she will take the requests seriously. Now all T’challa can do is wait for Mr Stark to finish showering and hope to be of some assistance.

For thirty minutes, T’challa waits, and when it becomes clear that something is wrong, he heads to the bathroom and knocks. At the same time, the door to the apartment opens. Mr Barton and Mrs Romanoff stand in the doorway with Mr Stark between them.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Mr Stark says with a self-assured grin.

“We found him wandering through the hallways, so we decided to escort him back,” Barton explains.

“You didn’t find me. You tackled me,” Mr Stark corrects, with a scowl.

Barton can barely restrain his proud smile. T’challa suspects that it’s exactly as dramatic as Stark says it was.

“And, any problems?” T’challa asks, looking pointedly at Ms. Romanoff.

“None,” she assures.

Relieved, but confused, T’challa waves the three of them forward and is grateful with Natasha pulls the door closed behind them. It’s clear she has a reasonable understanding of how important it is to keep this whole situation quiet.

He turns back to Stark, who looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I saw you go into the shower room.”

“Yes. But you didn’t see me leave. I’m a Houdini in training. I, uh, got bored. Wanted to explore. Nice place you have here. Ever thought about doing MTV cribs?”

“I suspect your reason transcends mere boredom, Dr. Stark. Is there a reason you did not want to shower?”

In a flash of an uneasy smile, Starks entire demeanour changes. His shaking hands are pressed into his thighs, a sly grin replaces the sheepish smile, and he twists himself so that his chest is facing away. He’s blocking access to his exposed heart.

This man has been in captivity for three months, T’challa reminds him aggressively. And I know very little about that time.

“You’re hinting at something, Titi, and I don’t appreciate the teasing. Do I really smell that bad?”

It wouldn’t be great in terms of handling problems, but T’challa thinks it might be easier to simply not address the elephant in the room. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on one’s view, the spy twins plan to allow no such illusion.

“You were waterboarded,” Natasha says.

Though thrown into confusion, Tony is quick to rally his senses.

“You weren’t kidding. She really does know everything,” Tony says, almost laughing, but he stops himself before he can. “Or, I guess, I told you about it? Since we apparently know each other.”

Clint bumps his shoulder, and smiles.

“Yeah. All of the above. But maybe you should give it a go anyway. The, uh, shower thing. Because, yeah, I can smell you and I’d really rather I couldn’t.”

Clint does a great job of pantomiming it as a joke, and Tony reacts in kind, acting with a dramatic flare of offence. There’s no need to mention the naked fear, or the trembling hands. No reason to call him out for the audible swallow when he is stood at the precipice of the doorway. It’s a relief when he disappears inside, though T’Challa is ashamed to want to be free of the panic.

“What happened?” Natasha says the moment the door is closed.

“I intended to ask you the same question,” T’challa retorts.

“Then, since I asked first, I will allow you to answer first. In response, I shall answer yours, too.”

Feeling distinctly played, T’challa explains from Starks first appearance until the very conversation they’re having now.

“That answers startlingly little,” Natasha notes.

“We can only strive towards understanding but I’m not hopeful we’ll find any answers. Now, how did you come about Dr. Stark?”

Clint takes charge here.

“We were coming back from an excursion. You know the restaurant by the nature cafe? Man, I have never eaten anything so good before. Have you been? Anyway, I wanted to take the long way back and do some sight-seeing since El Capitan was in a huff when we left. Nat didn’t want to, so we compromised and came straight back.

“Just as we were heading into the lounge, Nat grabbed Stark from the doorway and slammed him into the wall. If he’d, you know, been our Stark, it would have been hilarious. But he almost fainted, or had a heart attack or something. Steve must have heard, cause he started to come out into the hallway, so I dragged them back here.”

How disturbed T’challa is at Starks near discovery stands pale against the trouble that would have come about if Rogers had seen Stark. Their last meeting was under poor circumstances; their reintroduction could have been a true disaster.

“I assume you understand why this must be kept from Captain Rogers?” T’challa asks, looking at Natasha.

“Yes. And from appearance, reaction and the conversation we just had, I imagine it’s for the best that we avoid allowing him to wander off again. You need to keep a better eye on him. No matter when he’s from, Tony Stark is both incredibly smart and incredibly stupid. You should probably leash him.”

#

The shower is exactly as difficult as Tony anticipated it being. Though he did his best to avoid the spray of water hitting him directly in his face, Tony still ended up wrapped tightly in a towel, pressed into the corner and talking himself through breathing exercises. 

Imagine passing out naked on the fancy bathroom tiles of a prince’s palace while legitimate superheroes are sitting outside, he thinks bitterly.

It takes a while to gather himself, to feel the walls and trust they don’t belong to the cave. Finally, he pulls on the clothes that T’challa graciously gave him and reemerges into the bedroom. It’s empty. Tony thanks the world for small mercies and then falls face-first onto the bed and is fast asleep within seconds.

#

Golden sunlight streams through the windows and onto the bed. Slowly, Tony rouses from sleep and opens his eyes. For a long time, he just stays where he is. He’s not had the chance to luxuriate in a bed so soft in months, and even before the cave, he was forced to roll out of bed the moment he woke up by the guilt he feels at any moment wasted.

Suddenly, with an ache, Tony misses J.A.R.V.I.S. The A.I. was his life. He got Tony through his day. Without him, Tony was floundering. Tony couldn’t wait to hear the voice of his A.I. again.

“Mr. Stark, if you could please wait in your room until I come to collect you, it would be much appreciated. Signed, T’challa.”

The words are displayed on the TV at the bottom of Tony’s bed.

On the table in the kitchenette, the bowl of cereal bars and fruit has been re-stocked while he slept. They’re fine on their own, but after three months of water, old vegetables in soup, and stale bread, an orange is essentially ambrosia. He follows that with two cereal bars and washes them down with fresh water. Full, Tony melts into the armchair in the lounge part of the room and waits.

Titi might want to keep Tony locked away from whatever ghoulies are hiding around his palace, but this is not bad as far as kidnappings go.

“Tony.”

Pulling his feet off the coffee table, Tony sits up straight, heart hammering, before noticing that it’s just Barton.

“Clint, right? Or do you prefer Barton?”

“Clint’s fine. You good with me calling you Tony?”

“Call me whatever you want,” Tony shrugs. “Most people don’t bother asking. And it’s usually less flattering than my actual name.”

“Well, I’m asking.”

Struck silent for a moment, Tony looks Barton up and down.

“Tony’s good. Um, thanks. I guess. You want an orange?”

It’s an experience that Tony cannot put words to, eating fruit with a man he made friends with in the future. One has almost a decade of memories, and the other has only a name.

“So, ten years. Did we, uh, get along?”

“We weren’t friends for ten years. Maybe about six or seven. And yeah, mostly.”

“Mostly,” Tony repeats with a laugh. “That tracks. Most people find me… vexing.”

Clint throws his head back with a laugh and flashes Tony a dazzling smile.

“Yeah, they do.”

“You know any reason why I’d travel ten years into the future? Did something happen in the time since I was last… old? To trigger it, I mean. Cause there was nothing overly significant about my crash landing in the desert or the hours I spent traipsing the sand to kick this off.”

“No idea, man. Magic isn’t something—”

“Not magic,” Tony scolds, quickly. “Magic isn’t real. It’s just the lazy way to explain misunderstood science, that’s all.”

“You sound like Banner.”

Tony snorts, but the fond way Barton says the name gives Tony pause.

“You don’t mean Dr. Bruce Banner, do you?” Tony asks. “The Bruce Banner? You know Bruce Banner?”

“I didn’t realise you were a fan boy,” Clint says with a bright smile. “Yeah, I mean Bruce. He’s not a huge fan of magic, either.”

“Not magic. There’s no such thing. And I have a brain, so of course I’m a fan. Are you guys friends?” Tony freezes and grabs the armrest of Clint’s chair. “Is he here?”

Before Clint gets the chance to even reply, T’challa appears in the doorway of the small apartment, looking regal as always. Tony is only a little jealous. He’s not one to shy away from walking into a room as if he owns it, and in general, he does tend to own wherever he is. But T’challa can do it much better than he’s ever been able to.

“Mr Stark, Mr Barton. Good morning. Colonel Rhodes arrived, and if you follow me—”

Tony leaps up from the chair.

“Honey bear is here already? Did he bring Obadiah?”

Something about what he said brings about an interesting reaction in Clint. His face spasms, and then he’s off his seat and in the doorway. 

“I’ll make myself scarce, then. Enjoy your meeting.” He offers a mock salute to Tony and then a nod to T’challa. “See you later.”

Normally, Tony would be a little more suspicious because he can sense something is off about the way Barton slinks away. But his best friend is within touching distance for the first time in three months, and he doesn’t want to drag that length of time out any further.

Still, Anthony Stark is a businessman and it would be unseemly if he were to giddily run after T’challa. It would be worse if he were to rush on ahead, urging the King to be quicker. Even if the king is walking agonisingly slow.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“Walking like we’re in a funeral procession. Don’t we have somewhere to be? No offence, your highness, but chop-chop!”

There’s no apology, but Tony is granted a cheeky smile.

“Remember when I said you were all grown up?” Tony asks. “I take that back.”

The hallways are as grand as Tony’s hazy memory filed them as after his first view the day he’d landed there. Lots of black with gold lines carefully painted on with incredibly delicate detail. Tapestries hang between pillars, depicting stories that Tony promises himself he’ll find the time to decipher later on.

“Here we are.”

All pretense at being a big bad businessman who demands respect flies out of the window the moment he sees his best friend. The man isn’t even given the chance the stand before Tony throws himself himself at Rhodey.

“My god, Rhodes, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, Tones. You too.”

A big hand rubs up and down Tony’s spine, and Rhodey winces, undoubtedly  when he feels every bump of the facets. It doesn’t matter now, though. Soon, Tony can get back to fighting health and figure out how to go from where he is now to where he needs to be.

“How about some coffee and breakfast?” T’challa suggests.

“Any kind of food would be good. Tony is skin and bones.”

“Hey! No body shaming. I’ve not had the best chef these past three months,” Tony complains. “Afghan caves tend to skimp on the food variety and portion sizes.”

Tony slides into a seat but sits as close to Rhodey as physically possible. Their arms are pressed together. Nobody comments on it, which Tony is grateful for.

“Bet you’re glad you weren’t in the fun-vee,” Tony jokes.

“Christ, Tony. If I’d—I should never have let us separate. I’ve regretted that day for years.”

Years. Tony isn’t going to be able to get around that mind-mess for a long time.

“You’d have been hurt, Rhodey.”

“It was my job.”

“You don’t need to babysit me, Platypus. I’m a grown man.”

With gentle hands, Rhodey reaches up and touches Tony’s face, rubbing his thumb over the bags under his eyes.

“Not as grown as you were when I saw you two days ago. Why is it always you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Rhodey bear.”

“You don’t know the extent of what I mean, but I’m sure you have an idea.”

T’challa coughs in the not so subtle way that people do when demanding attention but not wanting to be overtly rude about it.

“Yes, Titi?”

Rhodey groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“Please tell me you didn’t give the King of Wakanda a stupid nickname.”

“No. It’s not stupid. It’s adorable. Besides, why not? We’re friends! Right, Titi?”

“Yes. Best friends,” T’challa responds drily.

Rhodey doesn’t respond beyond burying his face in his hands which only serves to make Tony grin wider than before.

“I wanted to discuss catching you up on events. Ten years, as I’m sure you’re aware, is a very long time to have missed out on, and for better or worse, your life has been quite eventful.”

When the food arrives, Rhodey and T’Challa make no move to eat. Tony tries to do the same. The idea of parsing through ten years of a life he lived but hasn’t lived yet doesn’t help his diminishing appetite. Whatever tension they had been building between the three men melts away as they start to put together a plate and push it his way.

“You can’t be skipping out on meals like you used to do, Tony. Eat.”

“Not if you’re not going to eat too. That’s creepy.”

“If you don’t eat, I’ll have our in-palace doctor put you on so many IV’s, you’ll be peeing neon yellow.”

The food, admittedly, does look wonderful. Though Tony wishes he could have a proper cheeseburger, the strips of meat, thick slices of bread and fresh fruit look at almost as appealing.

“What’s the deal, then. What did I miss? Did I get married?” Tony’s brain stutters to a stop with a sudden, overwhelming panic. “Did I have a kid?”

“No, nothing like that. Nothing so ordinary.”

There’s no reason for Tony to be so disappointed by that news. He never etched a ten-year plan in stone, didn’t decide he was going to get married and have a kid or two — one boy, one girl — who he’d raise better than his father did he. He wouldn’t waste time thinking about a cottage in the woods by a lake. There’s no reason for his heart to drop at the thought of ten lonely years. 

“I had no idea you wanted that,” Rhodey whispers, eyes wide with sympathy.

“Doesn’t everyone, eventually? I’m not dead yet, so I’ve still got time.”

“Eat,” T’challa warns.

Tony gathers some meat on a slice of bread and takes an obnoxiously large bite while staring directly at T’challa. Not that the king seems the least bit fazed.

“Things are a little more complex than familial expansion,” T’challa explains.

“How’d you make ‘having a family’ sound so clinical and unappealing?”

“Since 2008, you’ve created a suit for yourself and the Colonel, joined a team that prevented an alien invasion, saved the president of the United States, had a hand in creating a sentient robot that tried to eradicate humanity, and more recently, you went toe-to-toe with your team when the world asked for a set of rules to be implemented for people with super-human abilities to abide by.”

Open mouthed, Tony waited to see if T’Challa wants to add anything else to that terrifying monologue or if he plans to leave it there.

“Team?”

If it weren’t for the disagreement over the whatever those rules were, or maybe because of that disagreement, the idea of a team sounds good. Like friends. They saved the world together and then still go home and bicker about chores.

“The team, where are they now? Are you on the team, platypus?”

“I was. I’m taking a break. And the others, well, that’s also a complicated issue, man. They’re here, but—” Rhodey pauses and looks over at T’challa.

Suddenly, the idea that he’d made friends is absurd.

“That thing with the rules that you were talking about. It didn’t end well, did it?”

“Not exactly, no. But we’re not sure how badly.”

Rhodey has that look, the one that tells Tony he’s not going to like whatever he’s about to hear. Though there’s no reason to feel invested in this group of people he has no memories of, Tony still grips the armrests and prepares himself for the worst.

“Meaning?”

“The last we heard from you was two days ago. I was in the hospital waiting for updates, and you said you were going to set things right, that someone had been pulling the strings and it was time to put an end to that.”

“So, what, I went to go take down this guy?”

“Yes. Though we suspect it ended different,” T’challa says. “We haven’t gotten all the details yet, but we’re under the impression that you had a fight.”

“With the person pulling the strings?”

“No,” Rhodey denies, swallowing his discomfort. “With Steve Rogers.”

“The war hero?” Tony jokes.

“Yes.”

If Tony spends another minute slack jawed, he’ll be breaking world records.

“You’re telling me I had a fight with Captain America?”

He’d much rather have a child waiting for him at home than a childhood hero who is angry at him.

“I know this is a lot to take in—”

“That’s what she said,” Tony laughs.

Rhodey looks ready to face plant the table and T’challa has no discernable reaction.

“I think that’s enough for today,” T’challa announces, pushing another plate towards Tony. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk. Perhaps there are more personal matters to which I am not privy that you may want to discuss.”

And with a nod at both men, T’challa makes his leave. Tony curiously watches as two of the Dora Milaje meet him at the doorway and bracket him as they walk away.

“Should I get an army of women?”

“I think you might need one, if you’re going to spend much more time here,” Rhodey says without a hint of humour.

“What? Why?”

“Because, Steve Rogers wants your head on a platter and the assassin that killed your parents is hanging around.”

Assassin?

For lack of anything else to do, Tony nibbles at a piece of bread, but if he didn’t have an appetite before, he has less of one now. He should ask about his parents, but sickening understanding lodges itself in his throat.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t the way you should have learned that your parents were murdered.”

“No. I guess not. It wasn’t my dad?”

Rhodey’s fingers reach up and rub at his tired eyes. Tony remembers when they were young, still in school, and how old Rhodey had seemed. At fourteen, he’d thought that Rhodey was a grown up who had everything figured out. Now, with only four years separating them in body, but fourteen in mentality, those familiar feelings resurface.

“No, Tony. It wasn’t your dad. It was Bucky Barnes.”

Hysterical laughter bubbles up, but instead a sob breaks out, surprising them both. Tony isn’t the kind to cry, but this is too much. He’s spent years hating his father for killing his parents, and all that energy was wasted. All that anger built up against an innocent man.

“And everyone else? They already know?”

“No.” Rhodey takes a long drink of coffee before setting the cup down. It vibrates for a moment, settling only when Rhodey lets go. “No. I found out today. T’challa told me that Rogers had told him.”

“Sounds like middle-school.”

“Not that you’d know,” Rhodey points out.

“I’ve seen it on TV.”

The air conditioning whirs into life just as a prickle of sweat threatens to break out on the back of Tony’s neck. Though the lump of emotions hasn’t disappeared just yet, the easy way the two of them can talk is a familiar anchor in the vast space of fresh confusion.

“How do you think we should handle this? Or, I guess, I’ll just let Obie figure it out. I bet he had a fit when they found Steve. Hell, I bet I had a fit. Did I? Was it intense? I hope I didn’t embarrass myself. I guess… not that it matters right? I used to be a fan.”

“You grew out of it,” Rhodey says distractedly. “Listen, about Obadiah…”

The food in Tony’s stomach turns to rocks as Rhodey tells a twisted tale of betrayal in the most violent terms from one of the only people who had been around the Stark family long enough to change Tony’s diaper.

“I don’t understand,” Tony says.

It’s a slow admission, one that Rhodey responds to by squeezing Tony’s shoulder.

“It’s a lot to take in, Tony, I know it is. It was then, too. And I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through this twice. I know Obie meant to a lot to you. But you’ve still got me, for whatever that’s worth.”

“You’re worth at least a dollar, Rhodey. Maybe even two.”

“Jeez, thanks man. That means nothing, coming from you.”

“Any other big news? You said no weddings, no kids, now Obie. Anything else you’re holding back?”

“Yes, but I think maybe we should take a break. I know for a fact that there are some lovely gardens in this area. Shall we get some air?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess in your old age you—”

Whatever jokes Tony was concocting in his head lose their humour once they reach his tongue. Because when Tony pushes himself upright, Rhodey rolls away from the table. And for an odd, almost comical moment, Rhodey seems to realise he’s in a wheelchair the same moment that Tony does.

“Rhodey, what is this?”

“Man, I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“I’m guessing that I already knew, though, right?”

“Right,” Rhodey agrees miserably. “You knew.”

Now that Tony is looking, he can see signs of damage all over his best friend. Bruises blossoming along his temple, bags under his eyes, a tightness around his mouth that is so much more than just ‘talking with Tony stress’.

“It’s recent?”

“You could say that.”

“Meaning it is?” Tony asks, frustrated. “When?”

“About four days ago.”

“Christ, Rhodey. What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be in hospital? You can’t be here.”

“I can’t? Funny, because I am.”

“You’re tired. You’re all beat up. Aren’t you in pain?”

At this, Rhodey holds out his arm and pulls down his jacket, revealing a sneakily stashed IV line.

“Not as much as I would be without this.”

Tony only manages to start walking through a lot of angry words in his head and on very shaky legs.

Everything they’ve said to him so far about the life he lived in the last ten years has been a painful revelation. It’s almost certainly not going to be getting better from here. The tremble in Tony’s legs worsens with that thought.

“It was my fault, wasn’t it?” Tony asks the moment they enter the gardens and start along the wooden pathway.

“What was?”

Tony stumbles, but Rhodey braces him, holding him upright.

“Everything,” Tony chokes out. “Obadiah, your legs, Steve Rogers. Christ, dad was right. I never could do anything right.”

#

There’s a violence to the way that Rhodey drags Tony to the room he’d slept in and forces him onto the bed.

“I’m not tired,” Tony complains.

“Yes, you are,” Rhodey counters, throwing a set of pyjamas at him. “Sleep. Get it through your thick skull that you did nothing wrong and then we can talk some more. How does that sound?”

“Uneappealing.”

“Tough luck, kid. Sleepy times.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Tony says, setting the pyjamas to the side. “You wanna play it like we’re still at MIT? Daddy?”

Rhodey turns his head to look up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t start that again, Tones. You know I hated it.”

“You started it,” Tony accuses.

“You sound like you’re five.”

“And you sound like your fifty,” Tony throws back, their old arguments resurfacing verbatim. “Though, christ, you are now, aren’t you?”

“Shut up. Go to sleep. We’ll discuss this after you’ve had some rest.”

“But—”

“Tony, now is not the time to be arguing, OK? You’ve just come out of three months in a cave and that was ten years ago. You need to give your body time to heal.”

Though there’s the natural desire to fight harder, to demand that he not be manhandled and forced into bed like a toddler, there’s an undeniable weight settling on his shoulders that he simply can’t bear any more.

“I thought the worst of it was over,” Tony admitted. “When I woke up and I wasn’t in that cave any more. Hell, even when I crashed into the desert and didn’t know if I was going to be rescued. I was so sure that the hardest times were behind me, but I think todays bombshells were, uh, unexpectedly harder to handle.”

The truth was never the easiest thing for Tony to work with, especially when it came to emotions. How could it, when his own father taught him to disregard his emotions and focus on the project, son, because crying won’t fix anything. That’s just as true now as it was then.

So, telling Rhodey how he feels is foreign, and he feels naked in the aftermath, but after what he did, he thinks that maybe Rhodey deserves that honesty.

“I’m kinda freaking out.”

“I know, man. But we’ll get through this. Together. I swear. But, you need to sleep and I need to go have a discussion with some old friends.”

The way Rhodey says ‘discussion’ leaves Tony feeling bad for whomever he’s about to go speak to. He lets that thought hang around as he drifts to sleep, working steadfastly to ignore the brutality of all the other lingering thoughts in his head.

Chapter Text

“Sleep well, princess?”

The lights come on and Tony shies away from it, shoving the tablet beneath the pillow as fast as he can, but from the sigh of disapproval he gets from Rhodey, he’s been discovered. Not that it’s unexpected.

“Who gave you a tablet?”

“No one did,” Tony says. “That was the problem. You didn’t like telling me everything that happened any more than I enjoyed hearing it. I thought I’d save us both the trouble.”

“You mean you thought you’d save me the trouble.”

That’s exactly what Tony had been thinking, and that’s exactly why he’d snagged the tablet from the table just as they were leaving for the gardens. Nothing good has come of it, though. But Tony is wiser than he was when he’d climbed onto the bed. Just not happier for it.

“What did you find out?”

“Pepper and I were dating?”

It’s offensive that Rhodey laughs at that, because Tony was struck dumb. That’s not to say he was disappointed by the news. No, what disappointed him was the suggestion in the news that they maybe weren’t together still.

“You still are, Tony. It’s just complicated.” Rhodey sobers up quick. “Really complicated. Christ, I don’t even know where to begin with that one.”

“And this whole Ultron thing,” Tony says.

“Yeah, that was another complication. You didn’t win any fans with that.”

“I can’t imagine dropping an entire city would. I’m gonna wanna take a closer look at that, though. ULTRON doesn’t seem… right to me. The news doesn’t go into it much, though.”

A change comes over Rhodey, almost like relief.

“That’s where you’ve been looking? On the news?”

“I wanted to check my servers in Malibu, or even just in SI, but I could only ever remotely access them by locking onto J.A.R.V.I.S.. He’s, uh, proving difficult to reach. And Shuri is too good to hack. So, here I am, looking at the news like a noob.”

“Man, you’re so behind. No one says noob anymore.”

But another change has come over Rhodey; a tightness around his eyes that betrays more bad news.

“What? What is that look for, Rhodey?”

“I don’t know how many times I can give you news and watch you crumble, Tones. I shouldn’t have to. But I don’t think—I can’t let you go back thinking things are going to be the same as they were.”

“Of course they’re not.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. is dead.”

Tony sagged in relief, and then frowned at Rhodey.

“Rhodey, what the hell man. Jarvis has been dead for years. Why would you bring that up?”

Rhodey sucks in a harsh breath and closes his eyes.

“I mean your A.I. is dead, man. When Ultron came online, he mutilated J’s code. Whatever was left of him was put into Vision.”

In all of his years in the publics eye, Tony has had to learn to control his emotions. He can’t show any weakness, because that means they’ll pounce. They’ll tear him apart. The media, the public, whosoever wishes to can cast judgement upon him and feel justified in doing so.

For that reason, Tony knows how to turn himself off. For Rhodey’s sake, and for his own, he doesn’t let himself show how devasted that news has left him.

“Don’t do that, Tones. Come on. You needed to know, and—”

“I understand, man. I get it.”

“Be sad. You’re allowed to be sad.”

“I know. I’ll be sad on the inside.”

“It’s just us here.”

Tony shrugged. He remembered the days before, when he was younger, weaker, more vulnerable and less equipped to handle the confusing emotions and experiences. When he was a mere fourteen year old with an ego bigger than his body, and Rhodey was a student-turned-babysitter who was absolutely far too tired to deal with a spoiled child.

Back then, Rhodey had worn Tony down to his barest emotions and though it was only a short reprieve, those years he spent at MIT with Rhodey was probably the best time of Tony’s life. He’d been allowed to express himself without fear of judgement. In adulthood, though, Tont knew better. He could trust Rhodey with his life, and because of that, he wasn’t going to burden the man with his heartache.

Rhodey had already dealt with a greiving Tony too many times to count.

The door opens and admits Clinton Barton into the room. He’s grinning and waving around a board game in one hand and gesturing wildly with another.

“Hey hey hey, just wanted to check in and—ouch. Looks like a serious conversation.”

“It is,” Rhodey says, his voice dangerous.

“It was ,” Tony corrects. “Please, come in, save me, spare me. I don’t want to listen to him droning on and on.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, sounding exasperated.

“Rhodey,” Tony repeats back, sounding equally as exasperated. “I’ve just learned that I became a superhero, and my life still went to shit. I want to play a game and not think about it. You can join us, or you can be grumpus platypus. Your choice.”

Rhodey glares, and then shrugs.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

#

Tony loses three games spectacularly to the point that he’s sure this Barton guy has been cheating the whole time.

“You’re a spy, sleight of hand is your whole game.”

“Nah, man. I just like to play to win. That’s my whole game.”

“Ha. Whatever. You win, but only you know if it was earned. If we weren’t in a foreign country and if my AI weren’t dead, I’d probably have paid you to let me win, so we can call it even.”

Hanging out was easy. It was a great distraction. He didn’t have to think about what was happening, which was a lot, and he didn’t have to worry about what his future held, which was a scary emptiness.

“You wanna go out and grab a bite?”

“Go out?” Tony repeats, looking around. 

Rhodey had left after the second game — he was losing as badly as Tony was — and with a promise that Barton would keep Tony out of trouble, he’d gone off to speak to someone about something. Tony knew it was about him and he was not interested in anything more. He met his quota for the day for things he didn’t really want to know.

“Yeah. You know, some fresh air might do you good.”

“I think there’s a enough of that in here.”

“Don’t you want to explore?”

Barton had a smirk, and Tony could hear what he wasn’t saying.

“You mean without my babysitter?”

“I just think it might be healthy for you to process with a stranger.”

“You a therapist, as well as a spy?”

“I’m a seasoned agent, so that makes me pretty good at reading people. Come on. I know all the best places and Natasha always gets to pick where we go. I want to decide for once.”

That was enough to motivate Tony. And maybe Clint was right. Maybe Tony did need some time away from people who knew him to process. Or, at least, away from people he knew.

“Where to, Mr Spy?”

“You need to work on your nicknames. But let’s go to this neat place that makes the best sweet-potato stew I’ve ever had. They stone-bake the bread. You’ll love it.”

If Tony were being honest, getting out would be nice, and much as he loves Rhodey, it would be good to get out without a constant reminder that everything was awful. Tony considered himself a man of action, but he was in a new situation, in a new part of time, and he figured there was no harm in taking a break from responsibility if it meant he would have time to recuperate.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The world outside of the palace was exceptional. 

Tony had vague images of his landing in Wakanda. Trees, bright blue sky, tips of spears, and then he stopped functioning, he thinks, because after that, everything gets blurry. He saw the city from the windows of the lab at night, but that view has nothing on the wonders of Wakanda in the daylight.

They left the palace at a height, so the city was spread out before them, like the world from the top of a mountain. The buildings stood proud, tall and majestic, some edging around the river, following the natural path and embracing it rather than impeding it. Gold plating on the red-clay buildings glinted in the sun. As they descended, Tony was able to make out more colours. Red and silver painting around windows, yellow and green shades over market stalls. The streets were bustling, bright and awake and filled with the music of talking and laughing.

Clint laughed.

“Yeah, the first time I got out, I thought the same thing,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The look on your face, man. I know the feeling. I’ve been there.”

Tony shrugged, but he felt his face burn. Since when was he such an open book? He was used to rock music and indifference. The former was to piss his dad off, and the latter he learned from his dad. He wasn’t used to having his emotions laid bare on his face. It must be a shock thing.

“Let’s eat,” Clint said, dragging Tony from the threat of spiralling thoughts.

Tony was led through the bustling streets, around carts selling fabrics, and then down an alley with scent-filled air wafting from the windows so delicious that Tony was willing to try everything until he was sick.

“You’ll probably find yourself down here a lot. And it’s safe, too. Because Steve never comes down here.”

“Remind me again why the man hates me?”

“Well, not you. Future you. Future you took the arm off his best friend.”

Just as Tony was starting to think that he might be able to make his way through the day without completely freaking out, Clint freaking Barton had to unsettle Tony’s world.

“I did what ?”

Barton pauses in the doorway, frozen and wide-eyed. Tony knows he’s telegraphing his emotions for Tony’s benefit.

“I hadn’t realised how bad that sounded outloud. Let me amend a little: you got into a fight, discovered that Bucky Barnes murdered your parents, and then reacted. You, uh, knew the bit about your parents, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony says dazedly.

He ripped off a guys arm. After everything that Tony suffered in the cave, he had hoped he’d be a better man in the end, but how can he justify mutilating a person? What possible reason could he give for taking the punishment of another person to such an extreme? Why would he ever feel as though he had that power? In a fit of fear over the person he’s going to become, Tony leans back against a painted wall, head tilted back.

An image of Yinsen flashes over his mind, bloodied and helpless. Tony shakes his head to rid himself o fhte image.

“For what it’s worth, the arm was metal.”

“Oh my god, I tore off a disabled persons arm?”

“It wasn’t worth much, that, was it? Sorry, man. How about the fact that he recovered pretty quickly? He got a new arm, I don’t even think he holds a grudge.”

Tony sat back on his haunches, horrified.

“I mutilated a nice guy. I ripped the arm off a man and he doesn’t even hate me for it. I hate me for it!” Tony launched back to his feet. “Sorry man, I’m not feeling food right now. I think I might go take a nap and suffer through my feelings alone if that’s all the same to you.”

After assurances that Tony could find his own way back, Barton, stomach still grumbling, disappears and Tony heads back up into the palace and through the opulent hallways of the grand palace, following the dizzying pathway along the golden floors until he reaches the main stairwell.

It’s as he’s climbing up, lost in the depths of his own misery, that he hears a voice that has him pressing himself up against the wall.

“-y, I just don’t see the value.”

“No, that’s what I said. But apparently Stark has even thought about therapy, and if he’s doing it, maybe we ought to, too.”

“When has what he’s doing ever influenced you?”

“Since I got those code words out of my head and we both know he helped, much as he might deny it. Stark is a good man, and I still don’t blame him for what happened. Not in that bunker, at least. Imagine if you’d found out the same thing. Imagine if you’d found out that I knew your parents were murdered by my best friend, and never told to you about it. Imagine you trusted me, Steve, and I lied to you for years.”

“Let’s not get into this conversation again.”

“No, let’s not. Because you know I’m right.”

“Whatever. Want to run laps? Best out of one hundred?”

Tony slides out of the alcove in the wall the moment their footsteps disappear, and heads back to the room, ready to lay face down on the bed and wonder what he could possibly hope for in this new future.

#

Clint makes his way back to the palace after a filling lunch. He was greeted with recognition, and a little less suspicion than he had met with first. It felt nice that he’d wormed his way into their slightly-less-awful graces, but his mind was so caught up with Tony that he didn’t get to embrace it fully.

He saw Bucky and Steve running through the gardens, faces serious, arms pumping, feet barely touching the ground. They’d been working through their issues since they got here by working out, and still no one was entirely sure what had gone down. Clint only knew the bare bones of it from Nat, who had managed to get some details from Steve.

Now that he thinks about it, Clint is sure they should have shared more details. Surely they all deserve to know the full extent of the situation they’re in. But going up to Steve and Bucky and outright asking was a poor idea. They were prone to defensiveness.

So Clint goes to the next best person when you want information. When he enters their shared living space, he spots Nat, feet up on the counter and book in hand.

“Nat, come here.”

“Say that again,” she tells him, the warning in her tone making Clint grin. She didn’t even put the book down.

“Natasha, please come over here so that we may discuss a matter of great importance.”

She rolls her eyes at him and joins him outside the door.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Now I really think you’re trying to suggest I’m a dog.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nat. We both know I’m the dog. You’re a cat.”

“Too right.”

It was still difficult to walk around the streets so casually. They were outcasts and not entirely welcome, but with Natasha at his side, Clint had a hard time feeling that animosity. They might not want him there, but that didn’t change the fact that he was. And as much as he could, he respected the culture and dislike of him. He didn’t want to make problems, and the best way to do that was to stay out of the way of everyone, and do as the locals do.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Stark. Specifically, Stark in the bunker.”

“You want to know what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You assume I know.”

“Do you? More than you’ve already told me, I mean?”

Natasha is silent.

“That’s what I thought. So, what happened? Because the way I see it, we arrived here after Steve and Bucky picked us up. They were wrecked, and no one asked them why. Then, two days later, a young Tony Stark shows up, clueless to everything, thinking it’s 2008. So, you tell me, don’t you think something weird is going on?”

Nat nods. Clint never had to worry about suggesting something too out there for Natasha. She’s been with him too long to see anything odd in him. Or, rather, whatever he does say, she understands exactly what he means.

“Magic weird,” Nat agrees. “And I’m not particularly impressed about it.”

So, they have a mystery to solve.

They hunker down in a tea shop and order bread and tea. Nat, ever prepared, produces a tablet and finds her way to news websites and gossip blogs. Even full from lunch, Clint pulls apart some of the bread and shoves it into his mouth.

“Stark hasn’t been seen since the fight. Everyone assumes that he was with Rhodey, helping him heal, but there’s nothing confirmed.”

Nat opens a messaging app and types out a message that she gets a reply to immediately.

“Pepper says that he never came back from Siberia, but that she hadn’t thought it was strange until they got confirmation that we were here.”

“So, the bunker. Something definitely happened there? Something that shifted Stark from 2008 to now?”

“Guess we have to go to Rhodey.”

Rhodey was still in the country, but as far as Clint was aware, the man was planning to leave soon. They would have to catch him before he did.

They found Rhodey in the dining room, subtly plying Tony with food as the man talked a mile a minute about the suit he’d been looking at online.

“I mean, I know I’m the greatest mind of our age, but really, even I wouldn’t have predicted this!” Tony looked longingly down at the suit of armour. “Wow. I mean, just look at it.”

“Eat up, you egotistical bastard.”

“Hey, rude, I’m allowed to have an ego. I’m a genius.”

Clint liked this version of Stark. He’d always viewed the man as having a giant ego, and he knows that Stark liked to flirt with girls and talk down to people, but like with most people, there was always another side. And it was that side that made him Tony, the side of himself that he kept hidden from everyone except his nearest and dearest.

Clint feels a sudden pang of something—shame? Maybe. Guilt? He doesn’t know—that he never got to witness that side of Tony. He never got to see who he really was.

“Hey, sorry to intrude,” Clint says, knocking on the door. “Just looking for a quick word with Rhodey.”

“You can have him,” Tony says graciously. “He’s trying to trample all over my ego for some reason.”

With a fond roll of his eyes that brings back that pang in Clints stomach, Rhodey wheels his chair towards the door. Neither Clint nor Natasha miss the way Tony watches with a complete loss of whatever humour he had.

“What’s going on?”

Clint eases the door closed behind them.

“We wanted to ask about where Tony was seen last. I think we all know that something strange is going on here. We just wanted to see if you could help us figure it out.”

“Why?”

“Because, if this is leading somewhere—”

“Somewhere magical,” Nat adds in.

“—then we want to be prepared for it.”

Rhodey purses his lips.

“OK, I won’t deny I’ve been thinking the same thing. I just wish that it didn’t put an end to what we’ve got here. Tony, whole and healthy and a little bit traumatised, but not nearly as bad as he has been in the last few years. It’s nice like this.”

“But?”

“But you’re right. I need to do something about it. Tony went to a bunker in Serbia. There was a connection to HYDRA. The moment we can get answers, we can start asking the right questions.”

Rhodey talks to T’Challa and then he, Nat and Clint set a plan to head to Siberia by nightfall.

#

“Tony, if you don’t sit down for five goddamn minutes,” Rhodey warns.

“What! God, were you always such a buzzkill?”

“I forgot how rude you could be. Oh, wait. No I didn’t. This is tame compared to what you usually are.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t think I was mincing words, kid.”

Tony threw his head back and groaned.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I told you to sit down. Looks like none of us get what we want.”

Tony dropped into the chair beside Rhodey, and almost immediately went to stand up again to pace, but Rhodey put a hand over his arm, and held him in place.

“You’re not fully recovered yet, Tones. You’re not doing yourself any favours.”

“But how am I supposed to sit still? I’m in paradise! Look at this place,” Tony crows, gesturing to Shuri’s lab. “It’s a playground for a man like me. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I know you’re not forgetting that I was at MIT, too, kid. ”

“Yeah, but you went at the normal, boring age of eighteen and finished in the normal, boring amount of time. I’ll remind you—”

“Yeah, yeah, you got in at 15 and graduted top of your class at 17. Boy genius, child prodigy, whatever. You know, there was one kid who graduated college at 10.”

“Yeah, but he did anthropology. I double majored in physics and engineering. I win. Boo that kid. Anyway, we’re getting off topic, the topic was ‘I’m better than you’, and I made my point. Let me play .”

It was a tense moment where Tony was ready to start begging, but he could see that Rhodey was at the edge of his patience. Something was bothering him; something bigger than Tony pissing him off in Shuri’s lab by testing everything out.

“Fine,” Tony huffs, relaxing into the chair. “You win.”

It had been a long day. After the enforced non-nap, the almost-outing with Clint, and then the long walk back. He ran into Shuri, got an open invite to hang out in the lab if it keeps him ‘in the goddamn building at least, didn’t my brother warn you about wandering around like a kid?’ Tony was found by Rhodey hours later, and togther they made their way to the lab.

For the last several hours, Tony has been moving from spot to spot, looking over the materials, marveling over the intuitive nature of the machinery, and tinkering with whatever the lab lets him. ‘Lets him’ because if he went near something he presumes he’s not supposed to touch, it would flash red and disappear into the worktop.

Now that he was actually sitting still, he was exhausted.

“Let’s get dinner.”

“I’m—”

“Starving, I assume, since I have it on good authority that you’ve not eaten since breakfast.”

True enough, but it’s also true that Tony isn’t very hungry. He’s been warring with unwelcome emotions all day. About his parents, about Bucky Barnes, war-hero with a prosthetic arm that Tony apparently ripped form his body, about his best friend that was paralysed from the waist down, about being eight years into the future and still scared of getting water on his face. Of not having ever settled down, or not having ever had kids. Of still being an arsehole, if he takes what he’s hearing at face value.

“I’m really not hungry. I’d rather go to sleep.”

“You’ll be doing that too. But food comes first.”

He’d love to argue back and forth, but he’s not had enough coffee to power him through it, and when Rhodey starts to wheel away, Tony follows. He owes his friend that much at the very least.

By the time he’s in bed, he’s eaten a meal, taken another shower, and pretended not to be too turned around by everything that’s gone on.

“I’ll be going away tonight, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“You won’t read me a bedtime story before you go?”

“Shut up, Tones. Go to sleep.”

Tony flopped onto the bed, back to the mattress, face to the ceiling.

“Fine. Love you, honey-bear.”

Rhodey gripped Tony’s shoulder and left the man staring into the darkness.

#

Rhodey has experienced a lot of weird stuff in his lifetime. Most of them revolving around Tony. He’s also dealt with a lot of harsh blows. Again, a majority of them involving his best friend.

This? It takes the cake.

“We can’t tell him,” Rhodey says as he stares at the frozen body of his best friend trapped inside a cracked ironman suit.

“No. I agree,” Natasha says.

They stay for a while, the whistle of the Siberian wind blowing through the cracks. Rhodey has seen a lot of difficult things in his life, but once again, Tony is on the very top of that list.

#

Tony sleeps for longer than he’s ever slept before, probably. When he shifts and reaches towards conciousness, he feels that he’s not alone in the room.

“Morning, princess.”

Why does everyone keep calling him that?

“Ugh. Clint?”

“The one and only.”

The pressure is on to wake up fully, and still its a struggle. The blankets shift as he turns over, and his muscles spasm.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re tired, huh? I was talking with your doctor…”

“I have a doctor?”

“Shuri.”

“Ah.”

“And she reckons you need to get some PT in. So, what do you say? Want to head to the swimming pool? Swimming is an easy starting point for muscle fatigue.”

“Not a chance.”

The panic at the prospect forces all remaining tiredness from Tony, and he surfaces so fast he feels like he leaves his stomach on the bed.

“Right. Sorry, man. Gym?”

“Gym.”

The cave left a lot to be desired. There wasn’t a lot of room for free movement, and that ‘free movement’ was there to serve a purpose. Though Tony didn’t let that change his directive, he was stuck. He’d felt the muscle mass disipating. He would give anything to start counteracting that.

But swimming? When he can’t even stand in the shower without a panic attack? No way.

“Gym it is,” Clint agrees.

Gym it isn’t. The moment the doors open, a man with a metal arm looks up and loses all colour in his face.

“Oh, fuck,” Clint hisses. “Uh, my bad?”

Chapter Text

“Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Bucky, Buck-meister, Buc—”

“Please stop.”

Clint, who thus far has presented himself as somewhat cool and collected, looks like he might be sick.

“You can’t tell Steve about this. Natasha will murder me already for you finding out, but Steve is a different level of messing up. Please. I can explain what’s going on.”

The man with the metal arm, James Buchanan Barnes, Captain America’s best friend who, last time Tony checked, was dead, looks over Tony with a small frown, but despite what Tony had heard about their relationship, there was no anger there. No threat. Still, Tony jumped, ready to rebuild bridges he would one day break down. Or has already broken. Will broke?

Time travel was hard.

“Sorry I took— will take? Have taken? — Your arm. I, uh, plead time travel.”

Clint puts his face in his hands, and still Tony can tell that the man is rolling his eyes.

“Bucky, let’s chat. Tony, please don’t break anything.”

Tony shrugs. The dismissal isn’t even subtle, and much as he might have refused in the past, he knows what future him did. Future him tore this man's arm from his body. He owes them something, even if a small token of privacy is all he can offer.

When the conversation comes to an end, it’s settled with a shake.

“Mr Stark, we’ve never met, but I’m James Barnes.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” Tony admits. “My father spent a lot of my childhood telling me about Captain America. You, too. Until Rhodey came into the picture, my dad said no one would like me enough to hang about like you did for Steve Rogers.”

“Oof, Tony, your dad was harsh.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tony laughs.

“Not sure we want to,” Bucky adds in, looking uncomfortable.

“I’d need about three bottles of scotch to even start, and I’ve not had a drop of the stuff since I got here. The king keeps it under locks.” Tony heaves a sigh. “I’m going to run for a minute. You guys continue your little private chat, if you need. The Afghan caves didn’t have much in the way of gym equipment, and if Rhodey is to be believed, I’m wasting away.”

“You are rather… thin,” Bucky admits.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that you were filled out better last I saw you.”

“While I was tearing off your arm?”

“I deserved it.”

Once again, Clint’s head is in his hands, and this time, he’s groaning rather loudly.

“He’s dramatic, huh?” Tony jokes. “Right, I’m going to work up a sweat. See how far my body can take me. Enjoy whispering like eighth-grade girls.”

Clint shares a quiet word with Bucky, ends their conversation with a nod, and then turns back to Tony.

“We’re good, Tony. I’ll help you with some machines, if you want.”

“How romantic.”

Bucky, bemused, nods to them both, and exits.

“That could have gone better,” Clint says as they both watch the door close.

“Agreed. If J.A.R.V.I.S. was here, he’d have warned us about that.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. It was a cool A.I.”

“ He was. I can get that code back, don’t worry. I don’t know why I didn’t, before. Or… yet? I don’t know how to talk about this.”

“Neither do I. It’s giving me a headache. Let’s go and work out, yeah?”

#

Within an hour, Tony is so sweaty that his clothes stick, and his legs are so wobbly he can barely stand.

“You did well, man.”

“I feel like a Bambi.”

“You kinda have the eyes,” Clint teases. “Hey, you can make it back on your own? I need to go let Nat know what went down.”

“Sure, man. See you around?”

“You know it.”

They part ways, and Tony makes it back to his room to shower. As before, it’s not pleasant. Water on his face is a big no-no at the moment. It drags him back to stone walls, shouted Arabic, searing heat and freezing nights. It takes him back to moments where he felt fear so deeply that it left wounds deeper than canyons, that he felt would scab over but never scar.

The shower takes longer than they should, and when Tony emerges, he’s a shaky mess. When Rhodey knocks on the door, an hour later, Tony is only just gathering his wits enough to hide the freak-out he’s been having.

“Hey, you good, man?”

“Rad, man. Did you bring me anything nice?”

“Depends on your definition.”

From behind his chair, two people appear.

“Pep! Hap!”

They hug, his friends cry a little, he definitely doesn’t cry at all, even if Rhodey suggests that he does. Tony isn’t much of a crier.

“What’s with the emotions? A few tears for your long-lost boss?”

For whatever reason, that pushes Pepper into shedding a few more tears, and she hugs Tony just a little tighter.

“Oh, Tony. I can’t even imagine what this must be like for you.”

Tony thinks the same, but for them. He doesn’t say that, though. He has an image to uphold, and it is one of an arsehole.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you missed me, too. Oh.” Tony shakes his head. “I guess not. Since I’ve not been gone for three months, have I?”

He intended to sound far cooler than he actually was.

“Have you eaten?” Happy asks.

“Sure.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. You weren’t even trying to be convincing,” Rhodey says.

The food they eventually force onto him is as good as everything else he’s eaten in Wakanda, but somehow it tastes better while surrounded by the people he loves the most. Pepper jokes about the weather, Happy relays information about the latest baseball scores and the state of security in SI, all the while, Rhodey shifts in his chair and acts exactly like you’d expect a man with a secret to act.

“Rhodey, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony gives him the stare, the one that says ‘do you take me for an idiot’, and Rhodey gives one back that says ‘yes, I do, because I’ve known you for more than half of your life, you idiot’.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Tones. Honestly. Do you trust me?”

“When it comes to most things? Yes. When it comes to not telling me things because you want to protect me? No.”

Rhodey looks chagrined, which tells Tony everything he needs to know; namely that Rhodey won’t spill his secrets unless he wants to, and right now, he definitely doesn’t want to.

The rest of lunch goes by the same. Tony suspects they’re all hiding something from him without a single inkling of what it is. The suspicion keeps him alert, eyes jumping from one friend to another.

There was some way to get to the answer, and the time to do that was later. For now, Tony allowed himself the time to exist freely with the people he was closest to in the entire world. They talked, laughed, stepped around sensative topics. Rhodey shared some medical details about how Tony was when they picked him up in the trees, but it was nothing they hadn’t heard before, he guessed, since, for them, this was the second time he came back from Afghanistan. 

He talked about that, a little. Dug for information on Obadiah, about the company, about what people were saying. In his research, he’d fixated on some details, but hadn’t gone into everything. To hear that some people set up vigils during his disappearance, even if it was several years ago compared to his one week, was nice.

“Shall we take a walk?” Pepper asks, a hand on his forearm and her mouth to his ear.

Happy and Rhodey are busy arguing over military tactics over boxing ones. They slip away, and though they’re subtle, Tony has no doubt that they both watch as he leaves. He’s felt their eyes on him the entire time they’ve been together.

Outside, in the cooling air, Pepper takes Tony’s hand and squeezes.

“You’re looking better than you did last time, if that means anything.”

“I have no comparison to make, but that can’t be a bad thing. What was different last time?”

“Last time, you got off the plane and immediately threw yourself into work. It was hell, trying to get you to look after yourself.”

“Rhodey would tell you that’s not changed.”

“Well, you were never going to be perfect. You’re still Tony Stark, no matter what time you’re in.”

It stung, for some reason, even though he knew it was meant as a joke. Not perfect was something he’d heard from his father a lot, and it wasn’t meant as a joke. It was meant to remind him that he had a lot to make up for. That more was expected of him. That the standards Howard had set weren’t being met.

“You know, not being perfect is the human standard, so I guess I can live with that.”

Pepper lets that sit for a moment, before taking her hand back.

“I’m glad you’re doing better this time around. Last time was… scary. You ran yourself into the ground, got yourself into scrapes. You were pretty banged up. I thought we were going to have to force you into the hospital after your excursion into Gulmira.”

Gulmira. Yinsen’s home. A sharp stab of grief penetrates his stomach, and Tony bites down on a gasp of sudden emotion. Instead, he thinks about the files he managed to access about himself during his recovery from his kidnapping.

“I saw. Rhodey tried to keep me away, but I got myself a tablet and researched myself. I’m pretty impressed with myself. I wasn’t messing around with the vengeance thing.”

“Listen, Tony, Rhodey mentioned… well, I guess I knew anyway? But…”

Pepper wasn’t the kind of person to stumble over words. She was strong, smart, and knew exactly what to say. That she was struggling to find words, or fumbling the syntax scared Tony. His stomach turned.

“Tony, Rhodey mentioned that you seemed sad that you never got married. He said you seemed like you wanted kids. You never said anything.”

“Are you blaming me for what Old Tony didn’t do?”

Her smile, soft and amused, set his heart fluttering in a way that made him feel like a teenage boy.

“Old Tony. Gosh, I keep forgetting that you’re thirty-eight, and now I’m older than you . And I’m kind of your boss, too.”

“Sexy.”

Her elbow jabs his ribs, just hard enough to jolt him, but not hard enough to hurt.

“Oh, gosh, Tony, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Pep, don’t sweat it. It didn’t hurt.”

“But you’re skin and bones. I thought you’d been eating here!”

“Hey, woah, why did the conversation jump from one uncomfortable subject to another? And I’ll have you know that I went to the gym this morning.”

“Oh good. That single gym session really set you up, huh.”

“Feeling stronger already. I’ll be on the mend in no time. And then I’ll make a suit, reunite the Avengers and probabaly find a woman who wants to marry me and have my babies, and I can become some normal old man who lives in a cabin by a lake and wears flannel.”

“That’s your dream? Settle down, wear flannel?”

“Be a dad. Sure. I guess I never said that before, so I’ll say it now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Tony. In the meantime, let’s talk business.”

For a while, as they walked through the trees and flowers, Pepper let the conversation stick firmly to matters of Stark Industries, and Tony pretended like he hadn’t just bared his soul in a way he never would have before.

It wasn’t the first time he felt like he’d said or done something out of style. He felt as if those walls he so carefully built around himself had disappeared overnight, and though he tried to put up fences in their stead, he was climbing them regularly without much forethought. It was like sleepwalking through conversations. It was like getting naked in public. It was like honesty, in a way that he’d never let himself be honest before.

While Pepper talked, he half took in those words and half imagined their life together. Would she even want to be with someone like him? Unreliable, closed off, and blind to social cues. She never could stand him before, not really. There was a playful enjoyment of each other, but she kept herself professional, and he was aware of her, but scared to cross that boundary.

“Tony, since you didn’t hand over SI to me, do you intend to take it back?”

“Sounds like you’ve got things set, Pep. I’ll be your little mechanic in the cave—bad choice of words— and you’ll be the face of the company. You’re almost as pretty as I am, so it works out for everyone.”

“Well, good. Because I’ve got visions, and everything is going pretty nicely. You’ll just get in the way.”

“Ouch.”

With a tinkling laugh and a smile, they head back inside. Shuri walks by, nodding at Tony with a playful smile and then giving Pepper something a little warmer.

“Ms Potts. A pleasure. I’ve seen what you’ve achieved with Mr Starks' company. I’m impressed. Consider me a fan.”

And with that, the girl disappears around a corner.

“She said pretty much the same thing to me,” Tony says.

“I’m sure she did, Tony. I’m sure.”

The lab , Tony thinks with a jolt.

That’s where he could go to find out whatever Rhodey is hiding from him. The tablets can’t connect to the internal network, but her computers will, for sure. It’s just a matter of sneaking in. And getting away from his babysitters.

By the time they make their way back, Tony has a plan, and in his opinion, it’s a pretty genius one.

“Guys, I’m exhausted. Mind if I hit the hay?”

Tony, genius that he is, did not anticipate how suspicious everyone would be.

“This would be the first time since arriving that he’s suggested doing any of the things a normal person does to take care of themselves. What are you up to, Tony?” Rhodey asks.

“Nothing. Today has been a lot. I met the guy who killed my parents, my assistant who is suddenly my kind-of-ex and now my boss, and I had a workout session this morning in a body that has been starved and tortured for three months. I’m tired. I’m sad. I would very much like to go lay in bed and stare at the ceiling on my own for a while. Do I hve permission, sir?”

Rhodey’s face tightens with guilt and some residue suspicion. It’s Happy, though, who makes a move to appease everyone.

“How about I watch over you, Tony? We’re anxious you’re going to disappear on us again, and you might feel better having someone close by. I know you said you wanted to be on your own, but maybe if I sit facing away from the bed?”

“So I can have my existential crisis while you’re in the room?”

“Yes. But I won’t watch. Please, Tony. Set us all at ease?”

“Fine.”

Fine, because Happy could be counted on to fall asleep within thirty minutes.

If Tony felt any guilt about emotionally manipulating his friends, it was compounded by taking advantage of Happy’s predictableness. But, he reasoned with himself, he needs to know or he’ll never sleep.

Forty minutes after climbing into bed, Tony is climbing back out and seaking past the snoring man in socked feet.

He continues down the hallway. The door to the room where he’d left Rhodey and Pepper is ajar, and a golden halo framing it. Tony inches closer, and then throws himself into a nook in the wall, wedging himself between an ornamental vase and the marble arch.

“—take him back to Malibu. He can’t stay here. Not with so many dangerous people around. I want him to be safer. He can come home.”

“You’re going to have to find him a new house, you know,” Pepper warns. “House hunting to Tony’s standards is a stress, and I’m not his PA anymore. Remember he built the Malibu mansion himself to give the architects the middle finger when they said that they couldn’t build it on the side of a cliff.”

“I’ve known Tony for twenty four years. I think I can find a house he’ll like. There just needs to be an entire floor for him and his robots, and a good pizza place nearby.”

The conversation gets too quiet for him to hear anymore, and he almost falls out of his hiding space to listen in further. The mission is still on, though, and he rushes forward down the hallway, careful not to overtake his friends. He then ducks down a different hallway, races down the spiral steps and then edges into Shuri’s lab once he’s sure that it’s empty.

“Let’s see what’s going on here,” Tony says, rubbing his hands together.

He takes another step into the room, and suddenly, it’s not as empty as it was before.

“Mr Stark, I don’t remember getting word that you were coming back. Unless, of course, you’re not intending to tell anyone you’re here. Espionage?”

“Something like that,” Tony shrugs. “Now might be a good time to just be honest with you, Shuri, because I don’t want to tiptoe around it, and it’ll make my life easier if we both just decide to help each other out.”

“What do you want?”

“To find out what Rhodey is keeping from me. He went somewhere yesterday, and I need to know where. It might give me a hint about what he’s got locked away in that head of his. So?”

“So?”

She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side. Weird for Tony to feel suddenly intimidated by a teenage girl. Though, when he was in high-school, those girls were cruel, too. He hadn’t quite figured out how to be charismatic at that age, and was a touch too dorky. At least the girls at MIT thought he was cute and harmless.

“So, will you tell me where your brother and Rhodey disappeared off to?”

“My brother didn’t go anywhere. He’d have told me.”

“Oh really? He tells you all of his forays, does he? He’s never kept anything from you, ever?”

Shuri’s eyes narrow, and then she rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I want to know too. But if he finds out I’ve been looking into his secret affairs, he’ll be pretty angry at me.”

“And?”

“And indeed,” Shuri said with a sly grin.

Honestly, Tony can’t make sense of her reply, but the essence is that she agrees. And that’s all he needs.

Together, they move into further into the room, towards one of the computer stations, and Tony stands back and allows Shuri to do all the hard work.

“It looks like they took a jet to Siberia. What the heck is in Siberia that my brother and your keeper would take a trip there in the middle of the night?”

“My keeper?”

“Don’t pretend he’s not,” Shuri says.

“I’ll be having words with him about my street cred. I don’t want the rumour mill in Wakanda getting the wrong idea. At least spread that he’s my secret lover.”

Shuri snorted.

“You’re absurd.”

“I’ve heard worse insults. So, Siberia doesn’t ring any bells for me. But I’ve no bells to ring from the last eight years, so I’m not the person to ask.”

“Just give me a few more minutes.”

“You know, two brains are better than one. I can —”

“Found it.”

“Or not. What did you find?”

“It’s the last known location of you, Mr Rogers and Mr Barnes before they came here. Looking at the logs, my brother went to Siberia that same day. That’s where he picked up Steve and Bucky. But you weren’t on that plane. So it stands to reason that—”

“Old Tony was in Siberia. We should go. Can you drive the jet?”

“Don’t need to,” she scoffs. “It’ll drive itself.”

#

The jet needs to be refuelled before they fly it anywhere. Shuri gives them a timeframe of fifteen minutes, and sends Tony across the lab to pick up some jackets.

“You’re going to Siberia.”

“Jesus— Lady, don’t you know I have a heart condition?”

“Yes. I also know that you’re planning to go to Siberia. Bad choice, Tony.”

“Are you just stating facts, or?”

“What are you hoping to find?”

Natasha doesn’t move. Her face remains impassive. She continues to stare with a complete lack of emotion.

“A reason. Rhodey started being pretty miserable today, and I know I’m somehow the cause of it. I doubt anyone will tell me what it was. And even if they did, I won’t pretend that the initial secretiveness would make me suspicious of any answers I got.”

Her eyes travel up and down him.

“You’re different this time around. You’re more aware of your emotions. Freeer with sharing them. But you’re right. I won’t tell you what we found in Siberia. And I don’t think it’s healthy for you to know. But know that you’re right; not knowing will eat you alive.”

“I’d like for you to eat me alive.”

“Good to know you’re not all that different. But Tony, your answers won’t be in Siberia.”

“Because you moved them?”

“Partially. But we didn’t find answers there either. We’re no closer to knowing what brought you here.”

“I’m still going.”

“I know.”

“Please don’t tell Rhodey.”

At this, Nat smirks, and it’s such a scary expression that Tony squeaks a little.

“I will, don’t worry. But I’ll wait ten minutes. Your jet is set to leave in eight.”

“You’re my hero.”

“Never forget that, Mr Stark.”

Natasha left in the blink of an eye, and Tony returned to Shuri, handing over a snow-white jacket so thin that it was basically cling film. 

“These are my design. They adapt to the temperature around them to keep the wearer at optimal body temperature.”

“Smart.”

“I know I am. But thank you for acknowledging it. I think you’re pretty smart, too.”

“Thank you. My teachers at MIT, where I attended at fourteen, thought so too.”

“Oh, are we dropping names now?”

“Just figured it was relevant information,” Tony shrugged. “And wanted to brag.”

Tony filled Shuri in on his conversation with Natasha as they boarded the jet. By the time he’d finished the story, they were leaving the borders of Wakanda. As they travelled, Tony ruminated over what they might find. Rhodey was usually better at hiding his emotions. The fact that Tony caught on that something was troubling him when his friend had intended to hide it meant that whatever was troubling him was bigger than usual.

Tony was preparing for the worst.

“Wow, frozen wonderland,” Shuri remarks as they step off the jet. “It’s awful.”

“I hear that. There’s a reason I lived in Malibu most of my life.”

The conversation he overheard comes back, and he closes his eyes. Whatever Rhodey was keeping from him was for his own good, he’s sure, even if Rhodey had no right.

“This place is marked as basically nothing. But my brothers got it labelled as a secret Hydra base?”

“The Nazi malitia group? From the 40’s? That can’t be right. I thought Captain America killed them off.”

It’s with clear pity in her face that Shuri looks away from him and into the cave opening. The roar of the wind becomes a whistle, but the chills amp up as he takes in the space before them.

There are clear signs of a fight. Broken metal, crumpled rocks, dents in the walls. Blood on the ice.

“What were you doing here?”

“I don’t think I can take responsibility for that, on account of it being a different version of me.”

“The white man always has excuses.”

Tony doesn’t bother replying. He’s busy looking over the damage of the cave. Imagining himself in here, wearing a suit of armour. Shards of metal have impaled the ice-wall. There are scorch marks on the stone. Against one wall, where the majority of the blood was pooled, there was a particularly viscious dent in the ground.

“Who was he fighting? What was going on here? Was he really fighting two national heroes?”

“I think you were all freinds by this point, so whatever it was, it must have been rough. You ought to ask Barton.”

“No one is telling me anything. I don’t expect any real answers.”

“We should head in—”

Shuri’s voice cut off sharply. Tony’s shoulders ache with the amount of tension that suddenly filled them. He turns slowly, ready to face whatever he is going to be forced to face, but what he finds is not what he was expecting.

“Anthony Stark. You’ve returned.”

“Who are you?”

The shape in the cave entrance is human, but beyond that, there are no discernible features. Just a hood over a face, and a cape that brushes the floor. There are no bumps or curves that give away gender, and the voice is a low timber with an echo. It sounds as though five people are speaking at once.

“You are to accept fate as it is, Stark. You died on these grounds, but by dying, you condemned this timeline. I brought you back at a turning point in your life so that you might be better placed to put the timeline back on track. I am in control of your fate, and is it as I say it is.”

Tony and Shuri shared a look.

“What are you saying?”

“Save the cheerleader, save the world,” Shuri mutters. “You’re the cheerleader.”

“You must stay alive to save this timeline.”

“And you took charge of fate to do it,” Shuri adds in.

“Implying that there are others,” Tony says.

“Indeed.”

And with that final word, the figure disappears with no fanfare. For a long minute, Shuri and Tony stay standing without moving.

“I died.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I made it through Afghanistan just to be killed by my ‘friends’? And if I die, the timeline… dies? That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“And?”

“And indeed.”

It means as little now as when Shuri said it, but Tony finds some odd comfort in making such a stupid joke at a such a tense time.

“Nerd,” Shuri mutters.

#

Everyone is waiting for them on the landing strip. Rhodey, T’Challa, Clint, Natasha, Happy, Pepper, Okoye.

Tony and Shuri are barely off the ramp before Tony is surrounded.

“Tony, what the hell ?” Rhodey explodes.

“First of all, I am a grown man.”

“You’re a grown idiot, you mean.”

“Witty.”

“Tony, you can’t just disappear. You’re not healthy. Any amount of new information could send you into shock. And then what, dipshit? You’re stuck in a foreign country with a teenage girl.”

Rhodey sounds distraught.

“Rhodey-bear, listen. You weren’t telling me everything. I’m not a child. I deserved to know what was going on.”

“I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“Eventually is a long time away, and we both know it.”

Beyond their privately public disagreement, T’challa has Shuri by shoulders.

“Dear sister, what were you thinking?”

“That Siberia might be nice this time of year.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I would never. All the dumb genes went to you.”

“Now is not the time to try and be funny. Mr Stark was kept out of this for a reason.”

“And me?”

“You, dear sister, are not privy to the information because it’s not your job to know. Now, mother is waiting for you in the family dining room. Okoye will walk you there. I will disucss matters here before joining you.”

Tony watched as Shuri was lead away, guilt squirming in his gut, but she offered a conspiratorial wink and grin, so he figured she wasn’t feeling overly bitter about being caught. She knew as well as he did that Natasha was going to rat them out. She still chose to go. They didn’t talk about the welcome home party when they reboarded the jet, but they both knew that it would happen. 

“Now what? Do you want me to tell you what I found, or do you want to stand around bitching at me because I slipped the babysitter?”

With the remaining people in tow, Tony is lead into the room he’d first seen Rhodey again in. The long table holds none of the food it did before, but there are jugs of water and glasses on the hard wood. Rhodey wheels himself into the only spot without a chair, and practically drags Tony with him.

“Sit.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Tony drops into the seat, slouching because he knows he needed to look uninterested to save himself from notably vulnerable. He is in trouble, even if he doesn’t think it is fair for him to be. He was a whole grown man. He could do what he wanted.

“We know you’re a grown man and can do what you want,” Clint starts with, which sets aside Tony’s whole argument. “But in your current state, you’re vulnerable, unfamiliar with current tech and current affairs. You also allowed a teenager to tag along, which was particualry irresponsible.”

“Yeah, OK. But no one was going to tell me what was going on.”

“We were. Later. When you were healthy. It’s not relevent right now.”

“I bet we have different ideas of what is relevent, honey-bear,” Tony snarks. “I don’t appreciate not being allowed to make these decisions on my own.”

“Tony, we just found out that you have come from the past. We’re just trying to do what we can to keep you alive and safe, and this is hardly the kind of situation we can read about in a psychology book. We’ve had eight years to get used to a different version of you. Can you please understand our side of this?” Pepper asks.

“I feel like we’re just repeating conversations now. You tell me what you found, and I’ll tell you what I did.”

Tony feels as though he is being utterly reasonable, offering a compromise, but evidently that isn’t something the rest of the team agrees with.

“No? How about the other way around.”

“Tony, we’re not sure you’re ready for it,” Rhodey says.

“I guarantee that what I know is pretty rough. I doubt you can tell me anything worse.”

“We agreed not to tell him,” Natasha warns, looking at Rhodey with sharp eyes. “I stand by that.”

“That was before he knew we were keeping something from him,” Happy interjects.

The conversation rose to a new level, too loud for Tony to make out the different opinions being thrown around. He was somewhat sure that at least half of the people were on his side, no matter how reluctantly.

“Let’s lay down the facts, now,” Tony says, loud enough to quieten the room. Maybe he did have some of the T’challa skills after all. “Shuri and I weren’t the only people in that Siberian cave. If you want to know who we met and what they said, then you have to agree to share what you know.”

For a long minute, everyone stares at one another, swapping thoughts silently, and Tony just has to sit and wait. Except, he doesn’t want to. He’s spent his entire life making decisions for himself, and he’s not about to have his autonomy taken away from him.

“Make your decision in your own time. I’m going to house hunt and move back to Malibu. Call me when you’re—”

“Fine. We found your dead body. You were beaten to death by James Barnes and Steve Rogers.”

At this, Clint rears back in shock, looking from Nat to Tony.

“In my defence, I had no idea.”

Nat smacks him on the chest and shakes her head.

“Oh. Well, that tracks. Some mystery guy in a hood told me that the timeline was going to die if I died, so he brought me back to life. I’m the cheerleader. Without me, the world comes to an abrupt end.”