Avengers 2012 - Overdose Perception
May. 7th, 2012 06:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xenobia4Title: Overdose Perception
Authoress: Xenobia4
Rating: R (?)
Genre: Angst/Drama
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Summary: Tony reflects on things he's done and things people have said, but his mind sets to focus on his childhood hero: Steve Rogers.
A/N: Seeing the way Steve kinda...tore into Tony, I had to write this.
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Ice clinked against a short glass when it was nearly slammed down on the glass table in the main living room. Eyes did not even trail from the television showing a news story as more gin was poured into the now-empty glass. Once the glass bottle was set down on the table, Tony brought the glass to his mouth, taking a bit more than a sip, too focused on the screen to even notice when his glass had emptied yet again. When he brought it back up and only felt ice hit his upper lip, he finally glanced down to see his fourth glass gone. Or at least he thought it was his fourth. Who knew? He lost track a half-an-hour ago. Reaching for the bottle again, he had just touched the neck to the rim when the female newscaster grabbed his attention. He brought the bottle down slowly as the headline ran across the bottom of the screen.
“Also on the roster this evening: is Tony Stark losing his edge? That was the question this afternoon when the deal with Thorton Enterprises went south. Originally said to revolutionize how the world would view clean energy, it proved ill-fated when the stated ‘stabilized prototype’ ruptured, injuring two CEOs and destroying the upper floor of the Wooten Business Center in Lower Manhattan. With this occurring merely a week after Stark’s failed attempt at creating a sustainable hovercraft, which went awry and injured several people, many people are beginning to believe that he will burn out and doubt that he will obtain the same notoriety as his well-known father, Howard Stark.”
A crash echoed around the room as the empty glass had hit the wall right below the television screen; shattered glass shot around the room and ice broke when it hit the floor. The television shut off and Tony fell back against the couch with the bottle still held by the neck in his hand as he stared at the now-black screen. With his free hand, he tapped on the arc reactor; his other hand fumbled around with the bottle as he set it on his leg.
This past week had been nothing but disappointments and failures; whether it was with the company, with something he had created faltering or when he was with the group. Not that that was any different than usual back-and-forth banters, but after last week’s battle against a some creature from no-one-even-knew-where, which had Clint nearly end up in the emergency room after something caused Tony’s suit to malfunction and fire in his direction, Steve made sure to hammer it into him that he needed to be more careful. That and, just like the media, the Captain had been continually comparing Tony to his father, and not in a complimentary way.
If it were anyone else, he would not care and just brush it off, but, for some reason, it being Steve saying the same things had his mind pressing against itself. Maybe it was because it had come from his childhood hero. Or maybe it was because it had come from him, he felt as though he had somehow let down THE Captain America, therefore letting down his inner child.
He let his head fall back on the couch and his hand drop next to him. Holding the bottle up, he sloshed the liquid around it, wondering where the rest of it had gone: there was only enough for two glasses left. He did not think he had that much. Then again, he had started on it the moment he got back, after having JARVIS go into sleep mode, and that was well over an hour ago: his glass had not been completely empty once. Speaking of which, he lifted his head before groaning at the shattered remains of his glass.
Definitely not up to getting up to get another glass.
Holding the bottle back up, he did not bother to contemplate it much before drinking straight from it. The burn down his throat was a welcome and the rest of the bottle was gone much quicker than he anticipated – and he began to feel every bit of it; which perhaps was the very same reason he felt pressure in his lower abdomen. A groan escaped his throat at the thought of physically moving. Yet, when he tried to ignore it, he also realized that he would have to get up to get more alcohol, anyway.
A lose-lose situation.
When he stood, the amount of alcohol in this system finally made itself apparent. The entire room looked as though it was a warped corridor, with corners lifting and curving; with that and the tunnel vision, he hit the couch, nearly falling back onto it. Inhaling, he stumbled as he forced one foot in front of the other. The floor seemed to move as he tried to make his way to the bathroom, his peripheral vision closing in around him from being well-beyond the point of being buzzed. He had to use the wall for balance, keeping his entire forearm on the wall for better stabilization. With his arm holding the bottle on the doorframe of the bathroom, the lights turned on from the motion, flickering a moment before staying on. He set his head on his arm, eyes shut as he tried to get the room to stop spinning. As though seeming to just notice he was still holding the bottle, he brought his arm down to toss it into the trashcan by the door; it hit the bottom with a hollow thunk. The marble to the sink was cold to the touch as he gripped the rim of it, keeping himself balanced. Taking in a breath, he brought his gaze up to look at his reflection in the mirror. If he could be honest with himself, he would admit that he looked like hell. Eyes sunken in and face tired with his usually up kept hair a mess – or perhaps that was the alcohol talking.
Shame Beer Goggles did not seem to work on oneself.
He had to keep his grip on the edge of the sink when he turned to face the latrine, otherwise he highly doubted he would be able to stay standing; so, with one hand, he was trying to work his zipper. It took a few attempts and he nearly stumbled backwards, but he managed to get the job finished. However, he did fall backwards when he went to zip himself back up and had to catch his balance back on the sink. The latrine flushing on its own was at least one less thing he had to try reaching out for.
Once he managed to stop swaying, he reached up to grab the corner of the mirror and pull it open. When it squeaked, he made a mental note to fix that in the morning. He had to squint and lower his head to try and read what was in the cabinet; all of the labels on bottles and tubes blurred together. He snatched one and brought it mere inches from his face, squinting and angling the bottle to read it. Seeing that it was not what he was looking for, he put it back and grabbed a different one in a generic white bottle. Doing the same thing, he shut the mirror. Now to make it back to the couch in the living room without falling – it seemed like such a daunting task.
Again trying to keep himself balanced, he had to keep one arm on the wall to go back to the room. As he reached the boundary, he made a side trip to the bar against the wall, making sure to ignore the pieces of broken glass from the shattered remains of his earlier glass. He grabbed one of the clean, upside down glasses, making sure to drop a few cubes of ice in it from the bucket before deciding which poison to indulge in next. It all came down to rum or patrón. Since the patrón was stronger, it was no-contest.
Making his way back to the couch, he nearly fell onto it when his foot hit the base. He took the moment of relaxation before sitting up to set everything on the table. He pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured more than he should have into the glass, filling it a little over halfway. When he took a drink, it burned much more going down and dropped in his stomach, which contents were only bile and alcohol. He snatched the pill bottle from where he had set it on the table and leaned back on the couch with the glass in hand, allowing his body to sink into the cushions. Shutting his eyes, he tried to bring himself to relax, but his mind would not stop racing, replaying every moment that had been occurring throughout the last week – and even before.
Being constantly yelled at by the Captain, all of the malfunctions he had been experiencing, injuring civilians, why he could not seem to fix the calibration on his flight stabilizers – not that anyone needed to know the latter part of that. The fleeting thought that he could see if Dr. Banner would not mind helping him get it fixed ran through his head, but that entailed letting someone else know of another failure.
The thought made his stomach turn.
What made the knot grow larger was when he kept recalling everyone comparing him to his father; even Steve would continue to make his disappointment apparent, by saying “Howard would have fixed that problem beforehand” or “your father wouldn’t have been so careless.”
It was aggravating – no.
It pissed him off.
Opening his eyes, he twirled the pill bottle between and over his fingers, making the pills rattle inside. Liquored up with a handful of sleeping pills and he would never have to be compared to his father again; he would never have to be concerned with letting his hero down again; he would not have to be so attentive to everything and all of the stress would be gone. His thumb traced under the lid as he held it still. Sitting up and popping it open, the pills sounded like hollow dice as they rolled out onto the table in a semi-scattered pile. With his index and middle fingers on two different pills, his slid them around through the pile, making a cut line.
It would be so easy.
One after another.
Until all of them were gone.
No more pressure, no more stress, no more backlash – nothing.
A sudden laugh made its way out of his throat at the thought of how many people out there wished they were in his shoes. From their eyes, to have everything: money, power, fame. To be known worldwide and have just about anything at their own request. It was the average person’s fantasy; but they knew nothing of the condemnations that came with it.
Because, even with all of the success, he had nothing to truly show for it. After all, he was alone once the day was over.
Another chuckle.
Looked like Steve had been right: without his suit, he was nothing. Granted, he already believed that, but having it said by his idol…hurt. If that could be the right way to explain it. Maybe he did not deserve any legit happiness – he had caused enough war and deaths and that type of person definitely did not deserve peace of mind. He did not deserve to still be alive – he knew that, more than anyone; which was why he, once again, found himself contemplating the same thing night after night. Why could tonight not be different?
He held one of the pills in front of his face.
It would be like going to sleep.
Of course, knowing his luck, if there was a Hell, he would probably have a First Class ticket.
With his patrón glass in one hand and the pill in the other, his contemplation seemed to be through. Slowly, he brought the white caplet to his mouth and, pausing for only a moment, passed it through his lips and held it lightly between his teeth. As he brought up the glass, he seemed to give it one last thought before shutting his eyes and downing the pill in one swallow. Exhaling, he opened his eyes to grab another one.
--
“See you decided to grace us with your presence, this morning.”
“Bite me, spandex.”
Tony fell down in the chair closest to the entrance, which was one seat away from Steve, making it spin slightly before he put his hands on the table to spin it directly parallel. With his elbows set on the table, he rubbed his face with his hands, making sure to pay attention to his eyes, which throbbed with the semblance of a hangover. He released a sigh as he brought his hands down, looking around the room. “Well, if this was so important, why are we the only two here?”
Before Steve even had a chance to respond, footsteps clicked on the floor as the door pushed back open, drawing both of their attentions. “Don’t you look amazing this morning,” Bruce spoke in Tony’s direction as he took the seat to his left.
“What are you talking about?” Natasha was in behind him, followed by Clint, who ended up sitting directly across from them. “I look amazing every morning.”
“I can smell the alcohol from here,” Natasha commented, drawing a snicker from Clint and a chuckle from Dr. Banner. Tony just raised his eyebrows to let them fall as he gave off his usual uncaring demeanor.
“Drinking?” Steve asked, as though in disbelief. Tony’s eyes darted over to him, expression impassive. “A bit reckless, don’t you think? What if you were needed?”
Tony rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Apparently I was needed. And it obviously didn’t impede my cognitive abilities – I’m here, aren’t I?”
They locked eyes and the tension was apparent across the table, whereas Bruce and Natasha exchanged glances, though hers was not as obvious. Unfortunately, the back-and-forth banter was something they had all become accustomed to over the last few weeks, much to their dismay. Though not a problem at first, the stress it was causing could be seen whenever they were called to do something – anything.
The Captain’s jaw was clenched as he gave an all-too-common look to his ally. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Not everything, just most things.” Steve frowned as Tony reared his head to the side. “Makes life a little more entertaining that way.”
“Oh? And is it going to be entertainment when your irresponsibility gets someone killed? Or did you forget about your little malfunction last week?” The comment had Tony break eye contact and had Clint shift a bit uncomfortably in his seat. “But, oh, that’s right.” He drew his attention back, still keeping his demeanor the same. “It doesn’t concern you, because it wasn’t you who almost got killed. So, obviously wasn’t important.”
Tony’s eyes cast downwards for only a moment and, just as he was about to reply, Fury strolled into the room with a generic tan folder clasped in his hand. He tossed it down on the table.
“You all remember that thing from last week.” Tony and Steve relaxed back in their chairs, but Stark crossed his arms over his chest as Steve grabbed the file to look through it. “Well, apparently it tore a hole somewhere in the Chihuahuan Desert; we’re still not sure where.” The captain slid the folder across the table to Natasha. “The energy seeping out from it is scrambling any technology that we try to get in the area and it goes off for miles.”
“If it causes a distortion, what can we do about it?” Dr. Banner asked after a quick glance to the file, which Clint was not browsing through. “Even if we do find it, how are we supposed to close it?”
Fury walked to the other end of the table as the file was handed to Bruce; Tony leaned to peek at it as the doctor opened it. He reached over to grab the top sheet, pulling it out to look at it himself. “Wait. It says here that those things are still getting out?” He glanced up from the paper to Fury. “Why haven’t we been called in until now? Seems like they’ve been handling it pretty well, so far.”
“They had a handle on it, until it started to expand.” The group turned to look at him. “This thing’s growing at an exponentially alarming rate. They’ve managed to seal off a perimeter to keep these things contained…for now.” He went back to pacing around the table. “At the rate this thing is growing, it’s not going to be much longer before these things break through.”
Tony handed the sheet back to Bruce, who put it in the file. “Sounds fun.” Clint leaned back in his chair to balance it on two legs. “Then let’s get this thing cleared up; shouldn’t take long.” He set the chair down and Fury seemed satisfied with the response.
Natasha watched him walk to the other side of the room. “I’m assuming we’re not walking.”
Bruce chuckled and looked at Tony. “We could always hitch a ride.”
“Sorry, but the detachable carriage won’t be ready until next week.” They laughed as the others just shook their heads with smirks stuck on their faces.
“We already have a jet ready to take you to the border,” Fury’s voice came back up. “As soon as you all are ready, meet outside.”
With that said, he left the room, leaving the file behind.
The sound of shuffling filled the room as everyone started to stand up. Hawkeye and Widow were commenting to each other as they followed Fury out of the room and Bruce stretched once he stood. “And to think I was going to quit all of this.” Steve and Tony both snickered at the comment. “Let’s get the wrapped up quickly, all right?”
Tony set his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Hot date tonight?”
He laughed as he walked to the door, away from Stark’s hand. “Yeah. With that beautiful redhead. In fact”—he faced the door—“I think she works for you.” He sent a joking smirk to Tony as he left the room, leaving the Iron Man to shake his head with a similar expression on his face.
Steve crossed in front of him and caught the door before it closed. “Stark,” he started keeping his hand on the door. “If you want to sit this out, I wouldn’t be against it.”
Tony frowned. “And let you have all the fun?” He patted the blond on the shoulder. “Not on my agenda, pretty boy.”
His hand got knocked back as Steve turned to face him. “Are you honestly going to risk getting hurt if something goes wrong again?”
Tony raised his eyebrows, shifting his head off to the side. “Wasn’t aware you cared about me like that – makes me all warm inside.”
Now was the older man’s turn to frown. “I get that you’re stressed – what with everything that’s happened recently – and I think it might be better if you called out on this.” Tony shrugged, but still did not seem on taking the advice. “Unless you’re one hundred percent certain your hangover’s not going to hinder your cognitive function.”
So that was what everything was about.
“Ouch.” He put his hand over the arc reactor. “Now that hurts, Cap. I think I’ll be fine.”
The response he received was Steve rolling his eyes. “Yeah. You might be.” With his voice filled with sarcasm, he swung the door open and left the room to catch up with the others, leaving Tony to stand alone, staring after him with a look mixed with disbelief and anger..and a flash of hurt.
Which he quickly banished as he followed after.
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This has the potential of having a second part, but I'm not sure, yet. If enough people want, I will definitely write a second part. I've been a fan of Steve/Tony for so long, but this new film has revamped it SO much. Especially when you take into the account of Robert Downey, Jr.'s and Chris Evans' insane hottness. Ha~
Let me know your thoughts!
no subject
Date: 2012-05-08 01:22 am (UTC)My heart aches for him in this, and I do hope that you'll continue on with the fic, it would be nice to see some resolution/progress~ <3
Like this a lot, thanks for writing! =)
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Date: 2012-05-13 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-29 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-29 04:22 pm (UTC)