Tony’s shoulders hunched over the work bench. Despite the well air conditioned shop, sweat beaded on his forehead, and trickled down the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what he was doing, a screw here, a piece of metal there, it didn’t matter, he just needed to keep his hands busy. His fingers danced across the silver metal that shined under bright fluorescent lights. His mind though, was far from the garage, and far from the woman who slept a few floors up.
He didn’t want to bother her, not yet, not until the stabbing pain of guilt in his gut dissipated. Damnit he wanted a drink right now. It’s not like he couldn’t go get it. He was a grown ass man with a credit card and a card. It would be so easy to walk into a store and pick up a bottle of whiskey. That would put his hands to work and bring with it the sweet numbness he longed for. Tony shook his head. No. He wouldn’t fall down that rabbit hole again. It might take away his pain for a moment but when he sobered he’d remember how much he fucked up. As much as he hated himself in this moment, he’d hate himself even more if he got drunk again.
Instead his hands continued to move across the work bench. Screams echoed in his mind. Terrified faces scattered across the streets. There were so many of them. The hatred and anger in the eyes of those he once called friend stood still in his mind like pictures on a movie screen.
It hadn’t been long enough for the wounds of the Super Hero Registration Act to become scars, and yet men in dark suits cornered Tony in his office. They tried their same song and dance, how heroes needed boundaries: [insert more bureaucratic nonsense here] but there was a reason for his decisions last time. They didn’t need to pull at that thread again. But somehow it got back to the thinly aligned Avengers. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if someone was keeping tabs on them. He sure as hell was trying to keep tabs on everyone else. But still, it stung when accusations began to fly.Â
Accusations that couldn’t be continued for yet another looney tooned mustache twirling psychopath rudely interrupted the inquisition. Tony was almost grateful for it. At least their attention was on something else.Â
Dink! Tony was suddenly brought back to reality but the light sound of metal on metal. He looked down at his hand, a small stream of crimson red slowly flowed out of the back of his hand. In the moments his mind wandered he had inadvertently sliced his hand with the flat head of the screwdriver. Tony merely sighed.
