Fic: Worshiping at the Modern Altar Chapter 4, R

[tresmaxwell.livejournal.com]

Universe: Movie
Rating: R
Warnings: Some sexual content, Language
Beta: None
Summary: The lockdown is more serious than they were expecting.
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, plus loads of other characters... like everyone.
Word Count: About 5,700



Chapter 3: LINK

Chapter 4 - Some Reassembly Required

Steve woke to the smell of burned meat and remembered the veal caprese. “Crap,” he mumbled as he climbed out of bed. The oven was on the lowest setting, so there was a chance the kitchen wasn’t on fire.

Tony rolled over with the sheets and continued to snore softly. It would be a struggle to get them back. A similar fight had resulted in two halves of expensive silk sheet and a very annoyed Tony. Since they were Steve’s sheets this time, at least the second part wouldn’t come true. Steve glanced at the clock. It was almost six, so the sheets were safe for the day.

Grabbing a pair of boxers out of his dresser, Steve pulled them on as he walked to the kitchen. The room wasn’t full of smoke, which he took as a good sign. He flipped the knob on the oven and dumped the charcoaled meal into the trash.

When the ruined food was disposed, Steve went to the coffee maker, the one technological advance he could get behind. He used to have to go out in the morning for Joe, now he could just flick a switch and have a cup in a few minutes. The machine Tony had could make more types of coffee than Steve could name, but was impossible to use without a degree. Steve preferred his simple brew.

He got a frying pan down from the pot rack hanging on the ceiling and started gathering what he’d need for omelets. There wasn’t much Steve could cook, but he’d figured out eggs and bacon early in life. Using a cutting board as a tray, he got a block of cheese, a bell pepper, chives, mushrooms, a carton of eggs, and a paper-wrapped package of bacon out of the fridge. Steve put the bacon in the pan first, and then got to work dicing vegetables.

Halfway through the green onions, someone knocked at the front door. Turning the bacon down to avoid a repeat of the veal, Steve stuck his head into the entryway and yelled, “Who is it?” He didn’t want to throw open the door in his underwear and have it turn out to be his elderly upstairs neighbor.

The voice on the other side was quiet, hesitant. Steve knew him immediately, even without hearing the response. “It’s me. I mean, it’s Bruce.”

Steve unlocked the door to let the doctor in, feeling a blush spread over the back of his neck as he explained, “I’m not quite dressed yet.”

“Well, it is your house.”

Bruce had dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept in days, but Steve was certain he always looked like that. The doctor was a lot like Tony in the sense that he ignored all of his baser needs when there was something to solve. Despite his obvious exhaustion, Banner was as neatly put together as he always was in a dark gray blazer, matching pants, and a burgundy button-up.

“I got the distress call from the tower,” Banner motioned in the general direction of Manhattan. “But when I got there, my access codes didn’t work. Do you know what’s going on?”

Steve shut the door behind him, his brow creasing, “As far as Tony can tell, the tower went into lockdown to protect itself from something. The computer had to reset before we could find out why.”

Bruce’s gaze crawled over the apartment as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Anyone else would just be taking in their surroundings, but Banner was looking for an escape route should he need it. Steve knew from the doctor’s file that he’d been on the run too long to feel comfortable anywhere.

“And where’s Tony? I haven’t been able to reach him,” Bruce asked as he trailed Steve into the apartment.

They found the billionaire standing in the kitchen in a pair of Steve’s jeans, nursing a cup of coffee. Steve suppressed a grin when he noticed how far Tony had to roll up the cuffs to keep them from dragging on the ground. The pants rode so low on Tony’s hips that Steve could see the purple-blue bruising on the prominent bone. It was always worrisome when Steve left bruises, but more than once, Tony had shown them off to the others with strange pride. He’d stopped worrying after a while.

Tony was the one to answer Bruce, sticking Steve with an angry look, “That’s because Captain Impatience broke my phone last night.”

“I didn’t mean to throw it that hard,” Steve said apologetically and turned the bacon. It was browning evenly, the smell of it finally overtaking the bitter odor of burned veal. “Do you want an omelet, Bruce?”

“Nah, this is uncomfortably domestic for me. I’ll, uh… just meet you guys at the tower later,” Bruce suggested to the floor.

 “You sure you don’t at least want some coffee? You never stay in the States, man; you probably had a long trip,” Tony said, leaning the small of his back on the counter. “You should borrow my jet next time, travel in style.”

“I’m really okay.” Bruce turned to leave and added as an afterthought, “Thanks, though.”

“I’ll give you Happy’s number, you can call him next time you need the plane,” Tony shouted. When the front door clicked shut, Tony said, “Poor guy needs to get laid,” and took a swig of coffee.

“Sex is not always the answer,” Steve chided him while opening the box of eggs.

Tony looked over, his expression bemused, “Says the guy who got laid last night and two nights before that. Any other hypocrisy you want to throw out there while you’re at it? You should knock violence next.”

Heat rushed to Steve’s face. Rather than urge Tony on with a stuttered response, Steve focused on cracking the eggs into a large, glass bowl. That particular task demanded more control from him than anything else he’d encountered. If he didn’t keep his strength in check, he ended up with bits of shell and egg innards all over the kitchen.

Tony set his cup beside the cutting board and grabbed an empty bowl out of the cabinet, “You care if we make mine whites only?”

“No, not at all.”

As they stood at the counter together cracking eggs, Steve thought about Banner’s statement that they were uncomfortably domestic. It was true, but without the uncomfortable part. Steve had come to expect, even need moments like this. They were fragments of normalcy, something the rest of their daily lives was sorely lacking.

When Steve had all but three of the eggs in his bowl, plus Tony’s three unwanted yolks, he grabbed the cutting board. “If Banner got a call from Jarvis, it’s a good bet the others did too,” he mentioned and dumped a hearty serving of each vegetable into the two bowls.

Tony stopped him before he could add the mushrooms to his whites, “Well, the super spies could be there already, but didn’t Shakespeare go back home?”

“You know he doesn’t get that reference, right?” Every time Tony made a Shakespeare joke, which was every time he saw Thor, the demi-god would directly say that he didn’t understand. It was hard for Tony to miss.

“That doesn’t stop me from calling you Mr. Rogers,” Tony chuckled.

“Why is that funny?” When Tony didn’t answer him, Steve shook his head and dumped the bowl of whites into the pan. The egg hissed and turned opaque instantly. “Anyway, Thor did go back to Asgard after the last incident.”

“Thought so.” Tony picked up his coffee and drained the remainder of the cup. “If only I had a way to check on Jarvis so I could find out why he decided to send a distress signal. Oh yeah, I did, but it broke.”

Without looking up from the omelet, Steve told him, “Go get ready while I finish this.”

“Really, no comment?”

“Nope.”

Tony blew a huff of air through his nose and dropped his mug in the sink, “No cheese in mine, Captain Destructo.”

After the dark-haired man wandered off, Steve smirked. He would never tell Tony outright, but he hated the damnable phones. Everyone he knew (with the exception of Thor) was glued to the tiny, glowing rectangles as if they were a life source. He was fairly certain that Tony would get one implanted in his brain if he could. He didn’t even understand what they were doing on them for so long. Before he was frozen, phones were for talking, and when people were done talking, they forgot about them.

Steve pulled the bacon out of the pan, laying the strips out on a paper towel to cool. He slid Tony’s cheese-less omelet onto a plate and was about to start his own when he heard Tony’s shout, “What the hell, Steve?!” It sounded more like annoyance than alarm. Tony had to be in his closet.

With a cringe, Steve yelled back, “I was going to set them up, I swear.”

“They’re still in boxes! All of them!” Tony stomped out of his room with a small, brightly colored cardboard box in hand. There was a phone printed on the side. “The phone, the TV! Why do I keep buying this stuff if you’re going to stick all of it in the closet?”

Steve had no idea why Tony kept buying him electronics when he hadn’t shown the smallest interest in them. Well, he knew Tony was trying to share that part of his world, but the only place Steve could escape from the assault of loud, overbearing commercials and the never-ending scream of modern culture was his home. He just didn’t want to hurt Tony’s feelings by saying as much.

Avoidance wasn’t Steve’s style, but he pointed at the box in Tony’s hand and mentioned, “Don’t you need a new phone?”

After a pause, Tony tore open the packaging and returned to Steve’s room, “We aren’t done talking about this.” When Tony threatened to revisit a subject, he meant it. Steve wasn’t looking forward to the discussion.

By the time they left, Tony had the phone programmed the way he wanted it, but was complaining that it wouldn’t network with Jarvis’s system because it was store bought. Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from reminding him that he was the one who bought it. Thankfully, Tony did have the common sense to put it away on the drive back to the tower.

They pulled up to find Clint sitting on one of the sidewalls that bordered the landscape. Despite the chill the air had, he was in his preferred sleeveless shirt and a pair of torn up jeans that left Steve wondering if he needed to do laundry. Natasha was on his right with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips drawn up in a pout that was a bit more scowl than usual. On the other side of the plaza, Bruce was standing with his hands jammed in his pockets wearing a far-off expression. Steve could only guess what he was thinking about, but whatever the guess was, he was sure it would be wrong.

While they were walking up, Natasha stalked over to meet them, “We’ve been waiting for over an hour. Why call for us if you’re not even here?”

“I didn’t call you, Jarvis did,” Tony explained crisply and plugged a cord into the bottom of the new phone. “Steve, will you rip the paneling off the bottom of the keypad?”

Steve did, tossing the thin sheet of metal against the side of the building as he asked, “Am I just a sophisticated can opener to you?”

Tony continued the joke with a straight face, “Can opener, lid twister, and penis with life support, yes.” He reached into the wiring beneath the council to connect the phone into the system.

“You’re just mad because I won’t set up the television.”

“Maybe if you don’t like my gifts, I can-”

“Ladies, stop making out and tell me why the tower sent out a distress call,” Natasha ordered flatly and stepped between them.

It forced Steve to move back to avoid being pressed up against her rear. As always, Natasha was in dress that was too tight for Steve’s liking, making her proximity even more uncomfortable. He hoped he didn’t leap away since that would be uncouth, but Clint’s smirk said he did. Narrowing his eyes at the archer didn’t chase off the smug look it made it worse.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who’s done that,” Hawkeye told him.

Tony continued as if the exchange hadn’t happened, typing rapidly on the phone’s touch screen, “I can’t tell you why he did it yet, but we’re about to find out. You have to realize that Jarvis is artificial intelligence designed to learn, so if he thought contacting everyone was the best course of action, then it has to be important.”

A line of text appeared on the screen that made Tony pale. Steve could count on one hand how many times he’d seen that expression on his boyfriend’s face and any reason that put it there was a very bad one. He came around on the other side of Tony, looking over his shoulder to read the message. Most of it was gibberish to him, but the pair of words that stuck out to him was “not responding”.

“Not responding? Is Jarvis not responding? What’s that mean?”

Tony composed himself quickly and dismissed the text with a flick of his finger, “It means that short of plugging into his server, I’ve exhausted my options with Jarvis out here. He didn’t shut down on his own, or I would be able to reboot him. We’ll have to find a way into the tower.”

Clint scrubbed his hand over what looked like a recent buzz cut and peered off towards the garage, “If we pried open the elevator doors, Natasha or I could climb-” At Natasha’s steely glare, he revised, “Since Tasha’s in heels, I’ll climb the shaft into the lobby and let you guys in. Shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.”

“Or you could just fool the keypad into thinking the phone is Jarvis by mimicking his program language.”

Everyone looked at Banner blankly, except Tony. Tony was already typing and muttering, “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

Bruce shrugged, “You were busy,” and glanced at Steve. Steve couldn’t stop his flush.

Within seconds, the interior locks clicked open and they were walking briskly through the lobby. Visually, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. Everything was still in place. Steve didn’t like it. The instinct born of war roared that there was something lurking under the pristine surface and his instincts were rarely wrong.

While they waited for the elevator to get to the bottom floor, Steve turned to the others, “Clint, I want you to clear the first ten floors, look for any sign that someone broke in or out. Do you have a weapon?”

Clint grunted and went for the nearest hallway, “Is the pope Catholic?”

“Natasha-”

The redhead cut him off, “I’ll take the next ten, leaving Banner the r and d levels since he knows what inventory should look like.”

“Right. Tony will check on Jarvis and I’ll clear the penthouse floors and Tony’s workshop,” Steve finished, glancing at Bruce and Tony to see their acknowledgement.

The doctor nodded. Tony was too busy fiddling with his phone to respond. Steve knew he would head straight for the server room anyway, so he didn’t bother him about it. He nearly told them to keep in contact, but realized it would be like telling a seasoned doctor how to use a scalpel. It was a useless gesture.

The team scattered on various levels, leaving Tony and Steve alone in the elevator. Steve noticed how anxious Tony was while they ascended to the top of the tower. He knew it was Jarvis’s uncertain status making him that way. Everyone talked to Jarvis, asked him things, but Tony almost seemed to think of him as a friend.

He was a computer, a concept that would never get past a mind like Tony’s, but he was also the one who was up with Tony at all hours, who’d been there through every crisis. He also ran Tony’s Iron Man suit, so if there was something seriously wrong, Tony would have a major disadvantage in battle. Steve didn’t know exactly what Jarvis did for the suits, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the weapons and flight systems. Without either, Iron Man wouldn’t be doing much fighting.

“I’m sure he just got unplugged,” Steve said, half-joking, half-serious.

Tony gave him a tight smile for his effort, “I doubt it.”

The mirrored doors slid open on the penthouse entryway and Steve suddenly understood why his instincts were going insane. The room was in chaos. Part of the white leather couch was on its side across the tile, the cushion guts spread all over the room with a dusting of glass. Steve’s lips parted with a shallow exhale as he examined the damage.

All of the floor to ceiling windows were fractured, but not broken. The glass on the floor seemed to originate from the bar. Every bottle of liquor in Tony’s extensive bar was either gone or shattered. The smell of alcohol hung heavily in the room, lingering with the faint scent of smoke and gunpowder. Across from the elevator, spray painted in thick, drippy letters were the words, “Without Iron The Man Will Bleed.”

Tony took off, his tennis shoes sliding in the drywall powder on the floor.

“Tony, wait!” Heart hammering in his ears, Steve ran after Tony.

The penthouse wasn’t clear. If there was anyone left, anyone waiting for them, Tony would be playing right into their hands. They darted past the movie room and Tony’s sparse office, feet pounding over bits of broken furniture and shards of ceramic and glass. Steve used his longer stride to close the distance between them. He managed to catch the smaller man before they reached the workshop, snagging Tony’s arm just above the elbow.

Tony whipped around into him and shoved at his chest, “Let go!” His dark brown eyes were wide, panicked.

Steve grabbed his other arm, “Stop! Think for a minute. They want you to go for your suits. Why else would they put on such a show?”

Clarity returned to Tony’s face with a flash of shame, “You’re right.” He stopped fighting, but remained tense in Steve’s hold. “You’re right,” he repeated.

When he was certain Tony wasn’t going to bolt again, Steve let him go. He moved both hands to Tony’s face and rubbed his thumb over the day-old stubble along his jaw, “I’ll go first, alright? I just need a minute to get my shield.”

“Okay,” Tony acquiesced miserably, looking through the workshop windows.

“Good, don’t move.”

Steve was thankful to find his room intact. He didn’t keep much there except his uniform since he was always in Tony’s suite, but it gave him hope that his gear hadn’t been disturbed. The security device on the storage room wasn’t responding, so Steve pried the gate open. His spangled outfit and shield were exactly where they should be. He grabbed the light disk of metal, slotting it over his arm as he jogged back to the workshop.

Tony hadn’t moved inside his machine shop, but he was going over the seams in the door with his fingertips, “I don’t think it’s rigged, there aren’t any lines on this side.” His tone was level and all business, the way it should be. He’d gotten his head on straight. “But if they went through here, they would’ve had to bust the lock so they could’ve sealed it from the inside.”

Steve nodded and adjusted his hand on the shield’s leather grip, saying, “Get back.”

When Tony was out of the way, Steve kicked the door as close to the lock as he could. It slammed inward with a loud snap. He paused, listening for any strange sounds, and then cautiously moved forward. The workshop was as much of a mess as the rest of the penthouse. Tools were scattered around the room and a few of the tables were turned up on their sides or completely upside-down. The black and red muscle car that was Tony’s most recent project had dents and scratches on every conceivable surface and had been pushed off to the side with its trunk now facing the door.

Steve walked slowly, his shield held up and his gaze scouring the area for potential threats. As he came around the corner that blocked Tony’s MARK suits from view, his heart dropped somewhere into his lower intestines. Every single bay was empty. The suits were gone, even the ones that were too badly damaged to use anymore. Tony was going to have a meltdown.

Something tugged at his shirt and, for a moment, Steve thought Tony had followed him in. Turning to gripe at the man, he found one of the robot arms pulling on him. It had somehow managed to survive the destruction of the shop in one piece. Steve’s brow furrowed as the robot put itself in reverse and gave his shirt a hard yank. The fabric tore and the thing trundled backwards into the wall.

Before he could figured out what it wanted, the muscle car exploded. The shockwave hit his shield like Thor’s hammer, throwing him off his feet and onto his back hard enough to force the air from his lungs. The vibranium disk rang with the strike. White filled Steve’s vision and pain raked him with super-heated claws. For a few seconds after the blast, the only sound he heard was a long, high-pitched tone that he knew was from eardrum damage. He coughed and blinked up at the ceiling, not sure what had happened. He didn’t think he’d set off a tripwire.

Tony’s worried face blocked the ceiling from view. There was two of him, both of them talking but neither one audible. Steve rubbed at his right ear and shouted, “I’m okay.”

Slowly, the obnoxious squeal overtaking his hearing started to fade. Steve shook his head and sat up. The shield slid off his arm as he released his grip, clattering to the floor. When he looked at Tony again, the man had thankfully merged into one human being.

Tony was crouched next to Steve in the burnt remains of car scrap, his expression still twisted with grief and concern, “Are you sure? I can get Bruce up here to check-”

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Tony’s neck and dragged him close enough that their foreheads touched, “I’m a little banged up, but I’m fine. I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”

He was more than a little banged up, he was aching everywhere. As far as he could tell, nothing was broken and the scorch marks on his skin were not as bad as they looked. If he hadn’t gone to get his shield, he would’ve been worse.

Keeping his hold on Tony’s neck, Steve broke the news, “The Iron Man suits are gone.”

Surprisingly, Tony lowered his eyes and said, “Yeah, I figured.”

The younger man got up, offering Steve a hand that he gratefully accepted. They picked their way to the empty bays. While Tony looked things over, Steve glanced around for the valiant little robot. Butterfingers was crumpled up near where Steve had fallen. Its wheels were rotating slowly, an occasional spark jumping out of the arm mechanism. Steve hoped Tony could fix him.

“They were supposed to retract into the wall safes if there was a security breach,” Tony grumbled. “Whoever did this had to have completely hacked Jarvis to keep those kinds of functions from kicking in.”

“I’ve got to admit, I thought you’d be freaking out a little more,” Steve told his boyfriend as he watched him pick up a screwdriver and set it on a toolbox.

“Oh, I’m pissed.” Tony turned, his eyes alight with fury, “And when I get Jarvis running, I’m going to take back what’s mine with the new generation of MARK. Nobody takes my stuff.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go see what’s going on with Jarvis.”

Steve scooped up his shield and led the way out of the workshop, Tony practically in his shadow. They encountered Natasha in the hall. Her gun came up automatically, as did Steve’s shield. When recognition hit, they lowered them almost simultaneously.

“I heard an explosion,” Natasha stated as flatly as if she heard the microwave beep instead.

“Someone rigged Tony’s shop with a car bomb…” Steve trailed off when Tony pushed past them and continued down the hall. The only explanation Steve had was, “They took his suits.”

One of the Russian’s thin eyebrows arched, “The Iron Man suit is in enemy hands? We’re going to have to call in Fury on this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighed and went after Tony.

The tower’s computer core was on the floor below them in a secure room. Steve didn’t expect it was secure anymore; nothing else in the skyscraper seemed to be. Taking the stairs two at a time, Steve got to the next landing and caught the smell of smoke again. It was stronger here than it was on the upper levels. There was something else under the smoke, a pungent aroma that Steve didn’t recognize.

The deeper Steve went into the tower, the more powerful the smell became, until he was certain something was on fire very recently. He entered the hall with the tower’s brain and the carpet squished underfoot. The walls were stained, still damp from the fire sprinklers. Steve could see smears of soot on the ceiling all leading in one direction.

The source was the server room. Tony stood stock-still in the doorway, staring at the blackened ruin of his computers. Water pooled in the melted components and gathered in puddles on the floor. Steve decided that the other odor was burned plastic. The material was something he was becoming familiar with, but he’d never been around when it was set on fire.

Steve stepped up beside Tony silently, knowing nothing he could say would make this any better. Stark had lost his suits and the ability to make them in the same day, as well as his home and friend. There were no words. Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and squeezed.

“The bomb…”

Being as they’d encountered a few bombs over the last few days, Steve asked, “What bomb?”

Tony’s face was void of emotion, almost dead. Steve wanted to take him back to his apartment and curl up with him until this went away, but it wouldn’t solve anything. “The bomb on the train, it was a lure to get us out of the tower.”

“But how could they possibly know we would take the train?”

“They didn’t.”

Understanding flashed through Steve with a hot swell of rage. They weren’t supposed to be there, they were supposed to respond to the crisis call after the second bomb had already gone off. With half of the New York Fire and Police Departments under a mound of rubble, they would’ve had to help and the rescue effort would’ve taken hours. All so that they could eliminate Tony Stark.

Steve had never craved homicide before, but the realization that someone had painted a target on his lover’s head made him want to wage war on a whole new level. He wanted to hunt the perpetrators down and ensure that none of them ever saw the light of day, even if it meant burying them alive. It wouldn’t be like Bucky, Steve wouldn’t let that happen again. Not again.

The fluorescent lighting outside the server room flickered and flared. There was only one thing that ever caused a power surge like that: Thor. Steve gave Tony’s hand a tug and went to greet the Asgardian. The billionaire went with him, his fingers still locked in Steve’s.

From what Steve could figure, Tony was in shock. It hadn’t all sunk in yet, but when it did, the man was going to have his breakdown. It was probably bad that he was expecting one, but when a person’s world changed as drastically as Tony’s had, it was never easy to handle. Steve had firsthand experience what with losing seventy years of his life to a block of ice. He had the calm moment like Tony was having now, and then freaked out once he was alone. He just didn’t want Tony to be alone when it finally came.

Clint and Natasha were in the entryway talking, but Bruce hadn’t come up from the lower floors yet. Steve had been to the research and development levels a few times, so he was aware of how long a real inventory would take. Between Bruce’s work and Tony’s meddling, there were enough ongoing experiments to keep a staff of one-hundred brilliant minds busy for thirty years.

Thor lifted his hammer in greeting as he came in from outside, “I have received your call for aid; tell me what troubles Earth this time.”

“Weren’t you in Asgard?” Clint asked, breaking away from his conversation with Natasha. “How do you get cell service in other dimensions when I can’t get a call outside the tri-state area?”

The demi-god visually scanned Clint, his brow dipping in confusion as he took in the archer’s tattered jeans, “What has happened to your garb? Have I missed the fight?

Steve was still wondering that himself, but before Clint could answer, a meek young woman stuck her head in from the balcony. She was smaller than Natasha, thin and plain, but pretty. Wearing an oversized sweater and biting her lip as if she wasn’t sure if she was allowed, she had the innocent quality of a child. Thor reached back for her and she tucked her hair behind her ear and slid up beside him. Her smile was shy.

“My friends, this is-”

“Jane Foster, astrophysicist,” Tony filled in. Ever territorial, he immediately added, “What’s she doing here?”

Tony was usually a little more gracious than that, especially around women, but the day hadn’t done much for his mood. Trying to smooth things over, Steve offered his hand, “Sorry, it’s been rough around here the last couple of hours. Steve Rogers.”

The tiny woman barely placed her fingers against his palm, the shy smile returning, “It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”

“The pleasure is mine, ma’am.”

Behind him, Tony groused, “No, we’re not sorry. What is she doing here? You got a crisis call and decided to bring along your girlfriend?”

Thor set Mjölnir on one of the barstools, the spindly piece of furniture groaning under the weight of the weapon. “I can understand your confusion, but I was showing Jane my home world and-”

“It was a crisis call! We don’t have time to sit around exchanging pleasantries with your squeeze,” Tony shouted and gestured at the destruction surrounding him. “They took everything!”

Steve was expecting Tony to have a meltdown, just not like this. Without his suit, Thor could flick him across the room. Beside Steve, Jane clutched at the neck of her sweater, her other arm crossed beneath her elbow. She was chewing her lip again, leaving Steve thinking it was a nervous habit.

“I swear he’s not usually like this,” Steve explained, worried that Tony was going to talk himself off a cliff.

Jane put her thumbnail between her teeth and said, “I’ve heard a lot about him, but he’s not really the one I’m worried about.”

Thor’s face clouded with anger at Tony’s attack, “You are upset and know not what you are saying. I could not leave Jane alone in Asgard not knowing how long I would be required here.”

“Then you should’ve dropped her off at the bus station, Romeo. She doesn’t belong here.”

“I do not understand your double standard. Why was your Pepper Potts allowed when Jane is not?”

“Excuse me,” Steve left to separate Thor and Tony before someone (namely Tony) got hurt.

Tony had just opened his mouth to throw some ugly retort at Thor when Steve tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Feeling as though he was putting his boyfriend in timeout, Steve flipped the couch upright with his foot and set Tony down on the only remaining cushion. As Steve expected, Tony was livid. The smaller man’s nostrils flared and his lips thinned to a pale line when Steve knelt in front of him.

“Don’t take this out on us, we’re your allies,” Steve told him gently, touching Tony’s knee. “We’re going to help you track down the suits.”

“What does that have to do with him bringing-”

“It has everything to do with it. You’re angry, that’s fine I am too, but stop attacking the wrong people.”

Tony surged to his feet, growling, “You don’t have a clue,” and Steve pushed him back down onto the couch. Tony’s lip curled, “Move, Rogers.”

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

A sharp whistle drew everyone’s attention to the elevators. Natasha lowered her fingers from her lips and said, “Banner has something to tell us.”

Bruce had joined them at some point during the argument, though Steve couldn’t say when. He was standing between Clint and Natasha, wringing his hands. Whatever he’d found in the r and d levels seemed like more bad news. As he wet his lips to talk, the doctor pushed his glasses on top of his head and looked directly at Steve, “There’s something missing downstairs, a… a serum of sorts I’ve been working on.”

Steve stood up, already dreading the rest of Bruce’s words.

“I was trying to stabilize the- uh, the other guy using a mixture of my own making and… and some of your blood,” Bruce admitted, leaving the room in shocked silence. “All of my samples are gone.”

Chapter Five - LINK