"Since when do we go with full gear in practice?" Sam grumbled, giving Steve a sideways glare with the final snaps of his chest piece. "Something tells me that this is gonna get bumpy."

"I like that choice of words," Steve concurred, "because that's all we've been doing anymore since we brought everyone back together. The last three missions have been nothing but fumbles and missed opportunities because we keep getting into each other's way. We need to sharpen up again and stop bumping into each other."

"We don't need the gear for that, Steve."

"I figure if we practice with it on, we'll be more realistic and hit our marks. Now," the Captain paused, lowering his tone as he read from his tablet, "let's start with (Y/N), Sam, Clint, and Wanda on the first round."

More muttered curses under his breath came from Sam as he passed by you, shaking his head that the group had been reduced to remedial training after having been the world's sharpest team for so long. Steve was right, however; since the day that his group had returned to the compound from Wakanda, things were definitely bumpy, as if each teammate had become too accustomed to isolation. The remaining team members stood steady along the wall of the training room, each of them waiting to be called in by the Captain, but with watchful eyes on your group so that they could maybe re-learn what not to do if you screwed this up.

It could never be said that you wasted time doing exactly that, if nothing else.

One misguided step twisted your body the wrong way, pushing you into Clint with a hard shove, just missing knocking Wanda to the ground, but as the archer side-stepped to make way for you, Sam turned abruptly with his wings fully spread, slamming into you and lifting you from the ground. Your body turned in mid-air, making you land on your shoulder with a crunching slam that echoed throughout the room. Even with the cry of pain that you let out, you could hear the gasps from the team around you just seconds before you hit, as if they could see what was about to happen.

"(Y/N)!" Tony called out first, stepping from his suit to hurry to your side. "Sweetheart, don't move, I'm calling for help." You and Tony had been together as a couple before the division of the team began with the signing of the Accords, and each day apart had left him filled with both regret and fear that he might never see you again. Now that you were back home, he was pretty much back to his usual self with you at his side, and to see you in pain as he had in some of his worst nightmares while you were separated, it was immediately almost too much for him.

"Don't worry, I don't think I can," you agreed. You shifted your weight ever so slightly, causing a radiating fire from the joint and all the way down your arm and into your fingers. You barely moved, and it threw you into a blinding pain that left you seeing stars in your darkening vision. "Tony, I think...this feels bad."

Within those few seconds that it had taken the whole accident to happen, Sam had shed the wing pack from his uniform and hurried over to you, repeating his apologies with each step taken. For as many times as he begged your forgiveness, you tried to reassure him that it was an accident, though Tony was much less generous with his replies.

"(Y/N), you're gonna be okay, right? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Step back," Tony replied for you, his hand thrust out to hold Sam away.

"Stark, I swear, it was an accident."

"Well we sure as hell don't want another one. Back off before I knock your ass into next week." He held his cold glare at Sam for a moment, waiting for the rebuttal that never came, satisfied that he had clearly made his point before turning back to you. When his eyes met yours, the anger was completely washed away, now filled with that familiar anxiety that you knew was just beginning to ravage his mind and body. "Do you think that I can lift you?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is that I did, I don't think it could make it much worse." You decided to give a little movement one more try, but once again, that same searing pain shot down your arm, only this time, it had one difference. "I can't feel my hand, Tony."

~~~

Having a team of the world's greatest and equally pushiest superheroes following you into the hospital wasn't necessarily the worst thing; it quickly became obvious that you were seen so fast because your teammates had scared the staff into action. No one was about to say no to an Avenger, after all, terrified that saying it to one would only cause a cascade of arguments and threats that no one wanted to engage in. Within the span of only an hour, you had been examined, put into a scanner that felt like you were being squeezed into a straw, examined again, and put through yet another scanner before Tony could finally get an update on what was happening. It wasn't for lack of trying, however, because with every room that you were pushed into, you could hear his frustrated voice echoing through the halls on the other side of the door.

When they told you that you had shattered your shoulder, it wasn't exactly a surprise; you could tell that just by how it felt and the crunching of bone that you could hear with any slight movement. When they told you that the use of your hand was lost and unable to be repaired because of the torn nerves that were left behind, you again weren't shocked, but you were shaken.

"So, what can we do?" you asked your doctor, trying to be hopeful. "I'm a sharp-shooter. I need that hand to work or I'm useless."

"Hey, that's not true," Tony tried, holding the hand that had just destroyed your career. He was awash with sadness at the knowledge that you couldn't feel his fingers intertwined with yours, or the gentle rub of this thumb over your skin. It was the hand that he always held when you walked side-by-side, and the one he gripped for dear life as he lay next to you during his nightmares. Even though for him, the despair wasn't as profound, it was still a loss that you were both suffering in different ways.

"Really, Tony? We're already all struggling to work together again, and if I go out there shooting with my other hand, someone is going to die. This is my stronger side."

"We need to do surgery soon to reconstruct that joint before the bones and ligaments heal incorrectly," the doctor broke in. "I'd like to get your surgery set up for the next day or two. I'll set you up for physical therapy to strengthen it again, and you might get some minimal use of a few fingers-"

"That's not acceptable," Tony argued. The shift in his tone left you silenced, allowing him to take command of a situation that you didn't have the energy to handle. He stood slowly, turning to you to give you a soft kiss on your forehead with a heavy sigh, leaving one last smile as your view before looking back to the doctor with a stern resolve to fix this for you. "What about prosthetics?"

"Her arm is fine, Mr. Stark, it's only the shoulder that's damaged."

"No, you just said that she won't have use of her hand. You told us that there's irreparable nerve damage and that therapy is a band-aid at best. Now, I'm not stupid, and I'm not deaf, so please, feel free to come at me with how I misunderstood you."

"I'm not stupid either, Mr. Stark, so how about you explain to me how a prosthetic will work for an intact arm. Then when you're done, I'd like to see your medical degree."

"Honey, it's okay," you tried to interrupt, but a raised hand from Tony silenced you. Normally, you would have taken offense at the gesture and he would naturally never use it, but he had just been challenged for his intelligence and you let it slide, almost in compassion.

"Tell you what," Tony smirked, but without so much as a hint of humor, "I'll tell you exactly how it will work. I'll tell you nice and slowly, using as many monosyllabic words as I can. That means words with one syllable. Like fuck, and you."

~~~

After his excellent verbal berating of the doctor who was no longer yours, Tony had felt nearly indestructible. He had a brilliant idea, and he dared anyone to tell him that it was anything otherwise. He set his plan immediately into motion, calling in the best team of doctors that his money could buy, and with his nearly unlimited bank roll, they were the best of the best. When he gave them his plans, they didn't bat an eye; we can do this, they assured him, and he then assured you. You trusted him implicitly, because honestly, it couldn't get much worse.

But now, as he stood in the observation room high above the surgical suite where those doctors were bringing his idea to life, he had never felt so unsure of his own ability.

"How's it going?" Bucky asked quietly as he joined him at the glass. "We haven't heard anything from you in a while so the guys sent me in to check on you."

"Drew the short straw again?"

"Yeah, I'm starting to think it's a set-up. Steve is determined to get us to talk."

"Hmm," Tony nodded, not entirely engaged. "Do they, um...do they think I screwed this up? Wouldn't blame them if they did with my stellar track record."

"Not at all. We do agree that she's brave as hell for going through with it too. She must trust you." Another nod came from Tony, but he didn't make so much as a murmur, leaving Bucky to watch and wait only to get nothing back. He raised a hand to put on his teammate's shoulder in support, but stopped short; he wasn't sure how it would be received, with how new their tolerance of each other was, so he decided to ultimately lower his hand away until he felt safe to try at a different time.

"So, I was talking to Steve," Bucky began again, "and he thinks that it might be good if I worked with her a bit. You know, after things heal up a little. Dexterity is pretty tricky at first, and it's not gonna feel like it belongs to her for a long time."

"It's not the same as yours."

"No, it's not. But think about what she's waking up to. Her arm and hand are still going to look like what she's known her whole life...on the outside. But on the inside, Tony...the inside is the same as what I have. The only difference is that hers won't look nearly as badass as mine because she'll still be able to wear shirts with two sleeves."

Part 2

Within about the first month after surgery, you could pick up a glass to drink from it all by yourself. Within three, you could hold your gun fairly steadily, but your aim was still leaving much to be desired. Tony was proud, of course, but you were frustrated. You weren't frustrated with him or at the idea that he had created to help you, but more at the situation in general. Between the therapy sessions to learn how to move your new limb, the work with Bucky to see this as a part of yourself now, and the nearly constant reassurance that you had to give Tony that he hadn't made this worse, you were completely exhausted. You had wanted to give it all up so many times, but the look of hope in that stupid, beautiful face of his kept you going.

With the team sitting around you, lounging on couches and curled up in both blankets and each other for movie night, you couldn't focus on what you were watching. If any of them had asked you what it was, you'd draw a blank, even though you were staring right at it. Your mind was elsewhere; it was struggling to feel your own hand and to make it move without so much of your effort. Bucky reassured you that it would come with time and feel natural to do, just like he could do now, but impatience was eating away at you. Patience was one of your virtues as a sharp-shooter; you had to be patient to hit your marks. This was an uncomfortable change, and you wondered if you would have fared better leaving it the way it was and taking your chances with traditional repairs.

"You're lost," Tony whispered, having been watching you for the last several minutes. "Tell me."

"Hmm?" you jolted quietly, returning his gaze before hurriedly turning back to the screen just to avoid that look again. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just not much into the story, I guess."

"But you are into lying to me?"

"I'm not..." you lied, just as he had called you out on, only to immediately give in, "I mean, not exactly. I'm really not into the movie."

"Alright, let's go." He slapped his hands on his things definitively, standing up to extend his hand for you to take. "Excuse us, guys," he said to the room, though still looking at you, "this movie sucks."

"Hey, I picked this one!" Clint huffed, clutching his chest in horror. "Everyone else likes it, right?"

"Meh."

"It's not the best."

"Shit, if Stark gets to leave, I'm outta here."

"Oh, thank god, sweet freedom!"

As the members of your team stood and left the room, each of them scurrying away to anything that they thought was better than this, Clint sat firmly in place, unable to mask the pout that was left behind as he finished the movie alone. He looked around at the tables still filled with the snacks that everyone had brought in to share, smiling to himself that maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. Tony was the worst at sharing, not much of a shock, so he reached out to take that offering first. "Alright, it's about time," Clint smirked, popping the first bite into his mouth, only to quickly spit it onto the floor in a fit of coughs. "What the hell?" He turned the package over in his hand to see what it was that almost killed him, only to find the label gone, replaced by the unmistakable handwriting of its owner.

That's what you get for taking the last of my Oreo's yesterday, Barton, and you'll never guess what this is. Now stop taking my stuff.

~~~

The sound of Clint gagging and cursing the Stark name from a few floors below had you both laughing as Tony opened the door to your room, pausing to let you duck under his arm to make your way inside first. His eyes followed you as you moved past, still having to convince himself that you were back home with him; for so long he had imagined you there as the team fractured, so it was taking longer than expected for his mind to recover this reality. When the moment passed and the sound of your amusement slowly died down, the two of you sat together on the edge of your bed, turned to face each other, but with so much room separating you that Tony was scared to try to reach out for you.

"Okay, so let's have it."

"I don't know...it's...I think that I'm just tired, and frustrated at how long this is taking," you sighed, casting your eyes down to your hands, folded in your lap. You tried to lace your fingers through each other, but your new hand still wasn't willing to cooperate fully just yet. "I don't feel like I'm making any more progress than I would if we had just left it alone and done the first surgery instead."

"I knew it," Tony scoffed, "I did screw this up. When I was watching the surgery with Bucky, I even asked him, but he tried to reassure me. I fucking knew it."

"Stop making this about you, Tony, please."

"I wasn't."

"Really? I just told you how I was feeling and we made the jump right into how you screwed up. How is that not making it about you?"

"Fine, whatever...I'm sorry, alright?" he relented, his tone almost petulant and snide. "If I didn't screw it up, then how can I fix it?"

"It's nothing that you can just magically fix. It's the dexterity and the sensation that I'm not getting back. I know that the chance of having more wasn't always certain, but it was a better shot than I would have had taking the other surgery, so I'm trying to stay positive that there's more improvement coming."

"That comes with time and training your brain to tell the muscles how to move now so that the mechanism responds. Barnes said the same thing. I'm sure that in all of your time alone together, he must have brought it up to you too."

"In all of our time alone? Hold on," you paused, looking up at him with a blanket of confusion in your expression, "are you...oh my god, Tony, are you jealous?"

"No, of course not," Tony huffed, "it just feels like he's getting more of your time than I am lately. Not even just for your training, (Y/N). You're challenging Rogers in the besties category, and you guys just had all kinds of time together on your vigilante vacation."

"You are not seriously doing this. You went almost two whole minutes without the narcissism, and I should've known it wouldn't last."

"Fuck it! You know what? Yes, it's about me! It's all about me!" he finally snapped, his voice escalating. "It's about how you left me behind while you ran off with Steve and Team Righteousness like we meant nothing. You got the call to help him and you didn't even bat an eye, (Y/N). You turned your back on me like I...like it was nothing."

"Nothing? You think that it was easy for me to do? I left to try to get them to listen to you! I spent every single day thinking about how much I wanted to be here!"

"Well I sure didn't see you rushing back home," he snarled, baring his teeth in an angry attack. When your rebuttal didn't come, he took the opportunity in the silence to maintain his momentum. "Listen, all I want is you, is that so much to ask? I just want us to go back to who we were before all of this bullshit started, but every time I turn around, you're buddying up to tin man and it pisses me off. I'm not saying that you can't talk to him, because I'm not that guy...I just don't understand how this is getting to be so goddamn difficult!"

"It's because you're not getting your way, Tony."

"I never get my way!"

He stood still, waiting for the sound of his voice to dissipate into the air around you, his eyes wide and filled with temper that had never been turned in your direction before. He was as uncomfortable with it as you must have been, but he couldn't stop himself. "I thought that it was tough with you gone," he began again slowly, "but it feels so much worse now that you're home. There's no room to breathe around us, and no matter what I say, it comes out wrong and convoluted and just fucks it all up even more."

"I didn't realize that I was suffocating you."

"No...it's not...shit," he sighed, "that's not what I meant to say."

"I really don't see any other way that you could have said it," you smiled sadly. "Um, so I think I'll just grab a guest room for a few nights-" You pushed up from your seat on the bed and nodded weakly in your resolve, turning to grab a few of your belongings, but he stopped you with a gentle hand that didn't match the attitude he had spewed all over you.

"No, come on, sweetheart, I'm sorry," he backpedaled at the threat, "that all came out wrong. I'm just as frustrated as you are with what's happened-"

You looked down at the hand that was resting on your arm; it was the arm that he had created for you, because that's what he did. Tony always found the answers. But as you looked at it, your mind began to race with the questions of why you hadn't tried harder to get home to him, as he accused you of, and why he insisted on giving you preferential treatment to keep you out of prison when you were just as guilty as the others on Steve's team. Thinking back to the endless tabloids and articles about the Avengers during those days apart, you came to a strange realization that you couldn't remember seeing yourself in any of the pictures, and your name hadn't come up in any of the lines spoken by him. None of his quotes uttered the slightest mention of you.

He hadn't been giving you special treatment; he was hiding you. He didn't want the public to know that you had left his side for Steve's, and he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed by you and the choices that you had made, even though you were doing it for him. Everything was always for him.

"Which thing?"

"What?"

"You're frustrated with what, exactly? That you decided not to throw me into the Raft with everyone else when you had the chance, or that I can't give you a descent hand job anymore?"

"Wow, (Y/N), that's what we're doing? We're doing this? Really?"

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'm sure that you'll be just fine on your own. You've always been really great at stroking yourself."

~~~

After you left your shared room, which Tony fully believed would never be shared with you again, he stormed out much as you had, only his goal wasn't to have some time to himself to recover. No, he wanted to fight. He hadn't planned on fighting with you; he never did and never wanted to. But now that his adrenaline was pumping and he was seeing red in everything he looked at, he needed an outlet, and could only think of one perfect target for it.

"FRIDAY, throw me a hand," he barked out the command as he walked towards the gymnasium, where he was told that Bucky would be. Tony held out his hand expectantly, waiting for the gauntlet to fly down the hallway and to him, but nothing came. "FRIDAY?"

"No, boss."

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused and coming to a halt. "Did you just say no?"

"I will not be a part of this."

Tony couldn't do much more than stand still, dumbfounded and silent. FRIDAY had safety protocols built in when he was putting himself in danger, but this wasn't one of those times. He had fought Barnes before, actually quite recently, and he had no intention of letting it get as far as it had then. He just wanted a little heavy sparring and maybe a few solid hits to direct his anger, and he knew that Bucky would give it to him. "I'm...I'm confused," he said softly, his rage settling.

"I have direct commands to not interfere or assist you in any way in regards to engaging Sergeant Barnes in hand-to-hand combat."

"Direct commands? From who?"

"Miss (Y/N)," she answered readily. "She gave the directive just after leaving your room a few moments ago."

"Son of a bitch," he hissed under his breath, "she knows me too well. Okay, so override them. It's me."

"I can't comply, boss. She's locked the commands with the security codes that you provided."

"Of course she did." Tony sighed heavily, knowing that he'd been defeated by his own doing, pressing his hands to his hips as he allowed his mind to wander through memories of the two of you just to maintain the calm that was already beginning to spread. As the moments ticked by and he forced happier times to override the anger, he had all but forgotten about finding Bucky, the surge of rage only a distant feeling now, replaced by a reminiscent smile and a quiet laugh under his breath. It had taken only this short time for him to realize that you were right; this is the stupid shit that he did, and you were always the one with the rational answer to keep him out of trouble before he could start it. Even when you weren't at his side, you were keeping him in line.

"FRIDAY, can you tell me where she is, please?"

"I'm not allowed to do that either, boss."

"Even if I promise that I'll be good? I want to apologize. Tell her that she's right, and I'm completely wrong, and I'll admit it to her face. I'll even record it and show everyone at the team meeting tomorrow morning if that helps."

A few agonizing seconds of silence passed as the A.I. spoke with you, leaving Tony beginning to feel anxious again that you could still reject him. He brought his hand to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail while he waited, the tap of his impatient foot now the annoying sound that was filling the hallway around him.

"Boss?"

"Yeah? What did she say?"

"She said that you should stop biting your nails and meet her in your room in five minutes."

"Why in five minutes?"

"She asked for time to stage the video that you've promised her. She's asked me to disable your vanity protocols, so might I suggest that you prepare your lines now? Maybe a change of shirt too? Without my protocols, I can't make what you have on look good at all."

"Is it going to be that bad?" All that FRIDAY would give him in reply was her silence, making the answer perfectly clear. If you had his own invention working with you, then yes, it was going to be that bad. With your forgiveness at stake, the only thing that he could do know was to swallow his pride and his conceit, and prepare for the performance of his life.

Part 3

Looking back at that day, at that argument that was based on something so insignificantly ridiculous, you promised yourself that no matter what he did, you would never, ever be mad at Tony again. You promised yourself that no matter what smartass comment would pass through his lips, you would always still kiss them goodnight without being angry. You swore that you would tell him that you loved him every single day if only he would forgive you for what you had done on this day; if only he would wake up to do it.

~~~

You were good. Your hand was strong and your coordination was on point, finally. After months of working with Bucky and with Steve's focused guidance, you were cleared to return to the team, finding yourself almost giddy at the chance to sit next to Tony on the quinjet as you travelled to your destination.

He was nervous for you, however, carrying the emotions so that you wouldn't, and so that they wouldn't interfere with your focus. He worked with that anxiety more often than not so it didn't bother him to take it on, but he was almost too vigilant in making sure that you were okay; it was almost enough to inadvertently cause the distraction that he was trying to avoid.

"You good?"

"Yes, Tony. I've answered that five times already."

"You know that I'll probably ask at least five more. Minimum."

"I know," you smiled, "and it's okay. I appreciate the concern, I do. But it would be nice if you would believe me."

"Oh, sweetie, it's not that I don't believe you," he argued with a smirk. "I'm just trying to convince myself that I'm good too."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"The usual."

"The usual, as in ordinary pre-mission jitters, or the usual as in rusty-sniper-girlfriend-at-your-side pre-mission jitters? Are you afraid that I'm gonna shoot you or something?"

He coughed out a nervous laugh, bringing his hand to his mouth to silence himself as if he were trying to keep his mood a secret and the sound would only give him away to the others. "You're not mad at me, right?"

"No, not at all."

"Then no, I'm not afraid of that."

The jet slowed and began to lower towards it's landing zone, the sensation of the shift making Tony stand to get himself ready, but not until he could give you a quick kiss, just as he had done before every other mission that you had spent together, only this time it felt different. You tried to not let it affect you, since you weren't even sure if it were true or if you really were nervous, but you told yourself that you would get to the bottom of it as soon as this quick job was finished. Steve was bringing you back in on a guaranteed win, and would be at your call for anything you needed.

He never stopped to consider that when the time came for you to need him, he would have no way to help, and it would leave him feeling completely useless.

~~~

"Hey, have you gotten any rest?" Steve asked, slowly approaching your side as you sat next to Tony's hospital bed. He tried to put a consoling hand on your shoulder, but you quickly shrugged it away. "You look terrible."

"You sure know how to make a girl feel good, Cap. No wonder you're still single."

"I've always had a way with words," he sighed, crouching down in front of you to make you meet his gaze. When you looked back with swollen and puffy, red, tear-filled eyes, his heart hurt for you. "(Y/N), this was an accident. Accidents happen. I can see that you're blaming yourself, but please, don't. He's not going to blame you either."

"Maybe I wasn't ready, Steve. Maybe I was pushing myself too hard and lied to myself to think that I was ready."

"I'm the one who made that decision. If you insist on looking for someone to blame, then let me take it."

"I'm the one who shot him, not you," you snapped angrily, turning away to bring your focus back to Tony, "so I can't possibly see how the blame is yours. My hand...this goddamn hand...Steve, I'm the one who did this. I hesitated. I hesitated, and my shot was off, and now he's the one paying for it. And you know what's worse? On the way there, he was nervous. He knew something was off, and he knew that I wasn't ready."

~~~

"Son of a bitch," Tony hissed, the suit coming to an abrupt halt mid-step with one foot still in the air, "FRIDAY, talk to me!"

"Working on it, boss."

Steve had heard the commotion and stopped after the last strike he used to knock out his opponent, turning with a hand to his ear so that he could hear the reply as the fight continued around him. "Stark? What's going on?"

"Something's glitching in the suit, Cap," he answered angrily, "I'm on it. I've still got visual at least, so I can call out if I see anything."

You had been positioned at a higher point above the battle, as per usual for a sniper, so you could see that Tony had been sidelined, but you took some solace in knowing that no one would be able to break into his suit and that he was safe so long as he stayed within it. Just as you expected, one of the dumber enemy assailants approached to try his luck at getting inside, but before the tips of his fingers could so much as graze the metal of the suit, you had taken him down in a single hit.

"Nice shot, sweetheart," Tony smiled to himself, "thanks."

"Anytime," you nodded, your eyes sharp for the next target, which you quickly spotted. "Just a second, love, I've got another one."

Tony followed the line of your sights towards the enemy who had no idea what was about to happen, but just beyond him was another, and his sights were on you. "(Y/N), you've got a second one at your eleven and he's got you in his target!"

"I've got it."

It was a side effect of his adrenaline and his anger at not being able to move, fueling his need to take action. He wouldn't be able to even get out of the suit until it was working again, but that didn't stop him from trying. "FRIDAY, get me out of this!"

"Tony, stay in the suit!" you barked, taking down the first operative. You looked for the sniper that Tony had seen, but you couldn't find him. "Are you sure that you saw someone? I've got nothing from here."

He took another look in his screens, still seeing the same man having difficulty taking aim as you moved from your position. "Yes, he's still there! FRIDAY, come on!"

"I said, stay in the suit, Tony!" you ordered, now finding yourself growing anxious as your mood fed off of his. "You're not safe without it, so just stop."

"Listen to her and stay there, Stark," Steve joined in, followed by a chorus of a few of the others who knew that he wasn't about to listen until he was outnumbered, and maybe not even then. If your life was in danger, their efforts were likely falling on deaf ears. "(Y/N), you got him?"

"I see him, but I can't get a lock. I think I can-"

Tony's eyes widened with fear when he saw the man's hand move, raising his gun up with a smile on his face that told that he was going to be successful; you hadn't taken your shot yet, and he was about to get his out first. "FRIDAY!" he tried one more time, and the front of the suit burst open, allowing him to take an uncoordinated step out from the awkward position. He was thankful that Steve insisted that he carry a weapon for moments just like this when he couldn't rely on the suit, but before he could pull it from his boot, he had found himself directly in the line of fire as he stumbled out.

~~~

Steve wasn't the only one feeling like he had rights to the blame for this; Sam had been holding vigil along with you, only out of your sights and never telling you that he was there. If you were harboring blame for owning the hand that shot Tony, he was readily owning his role as the reason that you had it in the first place. He had spent hours in the hospital waiting room, drinking bitter and cold coffee, surviving on packs of saltines and peanut butter that a few nurses would toss his way as they passed by in the middle of the night. His gut felt like a hole had been eaten through it, though he wasn't sure if it was from the terrible diet or from the debilitating guilt; either way, he welcomed it.

"Not you too," Steve sighed, approaching him. "Do you need the talk now?"

"What talk is that, Cap?"

"It was an accident, Sam."

"Pfft, yeah, but I got this whole thing rolling, remember? I'm at the top of this blame game, so just save your breath."

"You know, I thought that I was the best at this, but I've gotta say, Sam, you're really stepping up," Steve smiled weakly. He looked at the cup of dark, thick liquid in his friend's hand and reached out to take it from him, passing it under his nose with a grimace before tossing it into a nearby garbage. "No wonder you look like hell. You need to eat, so let's go." He stood up and waited for Sam to do the same, but he didn't move. "Up, Wilson."

"I ain't a dog, man-"

"Guys," Bucky barely panted out, running into the room with a look of both pain and panic like nothing either of them had ever seen. Before they could answer, he was turned away and gone, leaving them with nothing but to follow behind, expecting the worst but praying for the best.

Steve rounded the corner first, coming to an abrupt halt at the window that looked into Tony's room, which was now filled with more people than he could count. His eyes frantically searched for you in the chaos, but even if he found you, he didn't know what he would do; he certainly wouldn't go in after you, and wouldn't dare to think of trying to call you out. He just wanted to know that you were okay, but he knew better.

After a short time, the doctors and nurses began to filter out a few at a time, none of them saying a word as they passed by the team. Bucky had turned away, unable to watch anything other than Sam, who was standing against a far wall with his head in his hands and not wanting to know what happened, trying to find consolation in ignorance. When they all cleared away, Steve was left standing at the window alone and unable to move, muted at the sight of you standing at Tony's side, staring blankly at monitors that had all been turned off, in a room that was now completely silent.

Part 4

After the day that saw the team shrouded in black and distraught into silence, the return to the compound felt empty, as did the days following one after another as if they were caught in an endless loop that none of you could break free of. Everything was gray and cold and pointless; you had no desire to return to work, or to talk to anyone, or even just to get out of the bed that you had shared when your body demanded that you eat or something as necessary as using the bathroom. Your whole body ached and your mind was numb.

As if that weren't enough, the team who cared about you more than you cared about yourself felt the need to babysit; truth be told, they were likely instrumental in keeping you alive, but you had no want to thank them for it. They brought meals to you like clockwork, taking turns to check in and report back to Steve about how you were doing almost by the hour each day. Sam had been the most diligent, and you knew why, but you didn't have it in you to assuage his guilt when your own was immobilizing you and leaving you mute. You could have commiserated and supported each other, but neither of you had the bravery in you to make that first step to try.

So instead, Sam followed his orders, doing everything that Steve told him to do, finding comfort and safety in the regimen of service. He had always been an independent man, free-thinking and driven in his principles, but with all of that stripped away, he was thankful more than ever that the Captain was such an astute judge of what was happening to those around him and picked up on it.

"Steve, have you seen her today?"

"Not yet, Sam," he sighed, "but the sun isn't even up yet, so give her time. Here, sit down. My eyes were bigger than my stomach again and I made way too much to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You said that at dinner last night. And at lunch."

"It's still true."

"Sam, come on, don't do that to yourself."

"Maybe I can get her to talk to me," he muttered to himself, all but ignoring Steve's urge to get him to eat. "I'm probably the last person she wants to see, right?" When Steve saw the tiny opportunity to slowly push one of the plates towards his friend, almost sneaky enough to get away with it, he was met with a firm denial shoving it back with an angry snap of Sam's hand. "I said, I'm not hungry."

"Fine," Steve relented, throwing up his hands in defeat, "have it your way. We've lost Tony, I've already got (Y/N) grounded, and if you don't take care of yourself I'll be down another team member-"

"Oh my god, Steve, you can't be serious!" Sam gasped, standing up with a shove of his chair into the table. "Is that all you give a shit about? The goddamn team roster?"

"No, of course not. I care about (Y/N) and I care about you. But, Sam, I have to be the one who cares about all of it. I have to..." he paused, lowering his gaze. He folded his hands on the table top, wringing them together anxiously until his skin blanched of their color. "Without Tony, I feel like I have to be the one to step up on my own, and to try to keep us together. This isn't easy for me either, Sam, so don't think for one second that it is. I'm just barely hanging on, here. I just can't let anyone see that."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why can't you let anyone see it? You're the only one who hasn't let it out yet, and you know that if you wait too long, it's gonna be so much worse." Sam stood and waited for Steve's reply, but was met with only silence and a nod that seemed as if he agreed with what his friend was saying. He had known Steve long enough now to sense when the conversation was over, and it had reached that point where he wouldn't hear any more. "Alright, I'm gonna go check on (Y/N) while you think about what your next line was gonna be."

~~~

When lying in your bed became too much, when being wrapped in the same blankets that had been wrapped around him only suffocated you rather than soothed you, you became desperate to find another way to be close to Tony in the luxury of privacy. If anyone had known what you were doing, they would have likely run to Steve, claiming that you had finally lost your mind, but it wouldn't be that far from the truth. If it weren't for the promised silent but strange companionship that you had found in FRIDAY, you might have lost it long ago.

"FRIDAY, could you play it again?"

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then perhaps it's best not to, miss."

"Right," you sighed, "then how about the video from his last birthday?"

Before FRIDAY could answer, you were interrupted by a gentle knocking, trying to get your attention. You stood silently, hoping that whoever it was would get the hint and leave, but when the sound came back, it wouldn't stop until you gave in to acknowledge them. "Let me out," you commanded quietly, waiting for the front of Tony's suit to open and allow you to step out from it, only to see Sam standing in front of you with a look of both worry and confusion crossing his expression.

"You come here often?"

"Give me a break, Wilson, what do you want?"

"I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You weren't up in your room when I came to check on you so this was my next guess. I just thought you'd be in the lab, not...suited up."

You stood and watched him, not knowing what answer to give. Rather than making something up, which you had no patience for anyway, you decided to bring an end to the pointless conversation before it could begin. "Okay, thanks then. You've checked on me, so feel free to leave. I'm sure Cap is waiting for your report." Turning away to return to the safety of the suit, you stopped short when his hand gripped your arm, forcibly pulling you back.

"(Y/N), come on! At least yell at me or knock me on my ass or something!"

"Why?"

"Why?!" he repeated back to you, full of fury and exasperation when you didn't buy into the mood with him. "Why? Because this all started because of me, don't you get it? If I had been watching where I was going, I would never have hit you! You wouldn't have that arm if it weren't for me!"

"Jesus, Sam, you think that I blame you for this?"

"You should!"

"You really have been hanging around Rogers too long, you know that?" you scoffed, yanking your arm from his grip. "Sam, no, I don't blame you at all. This is between me and Tony."

"You...you and...and Tony?" If Sam was worried about you before, it was nothing compared to the flash of fear that struck him as he stammered over the question. He knew that your depression was deep, just by how you had been acting and how detached from everyone else you were, but he had no idea that you might be detached from reality too. "Honey, you know that he's gone, right?"

"I haven't lost all of my marbles yet, but thanks for that," you answered, almost coyly enough to feel a hint of humor in it. It felt foreign. "Yeah, I know that he's gone. Every second of every day, I know that. But I still talk to him, from time to time, just to get out things that I never had a chance to say. It makes me feel a little better. Being in the suit is as close as I'll ever get to him now, and FRIDAY keeps me in line, telling me when I need to take a break or holding me up when I fall asleep in there. It's like he programmed her to take care of me if...if he wasn't here to do it himself."

"But what do you mean that it's between you and Tony?"

You brought your hand up in front of you, turning it over as you inspected it and thought of the words that you needed. It was the hand that held the gun that struck Tony down, and it had taken you this long to finally not have the urge to cut the damn thing off. "He made this arm for me, thinking that he could fix it, like he fixed everything. It's an amazing thing, really, and I'm lucky to have it, but I'm working on forgiving him for making me carry it around for the rest of my life after what it did to him. I'm working on forgiving myself for what I did to him too. Every day I've had to talk myself down from chopping it off, so I guess we still have a little work to do."

"I think Barnes could do a lot of good in talking you down from that idea," he offered with a soft curl of a smile, though his eyes conveyed horror at the image your words played in his mind. "And this isn't Star Wars. Not everyone who gets their hand lopped off gets a cool lightsaber."

"You have a point-"

Your words were broken off when the two of you felt a rumble in the floor beneath your feet, silencing you as you looked to each other for the answer. Sam only shook his head in confusion, running the map of the building through his head until he came to the realization of where you both were standing. "That's coming from Steve's office. Come on." He grabbed your hand and broke into a sprint with you only a few steps behind.

~~~

By the time you reached Steve's office, it was as if a tornado had struck, with his desk overturned and television screens shattered across the floor, leaving it dangerous for you to cross over to get to him. You had gone to the lab from your room, and hadn't needed to think about wearing shoes, much less having to traverse a field of glass shards to stop your friend from destroying the building around him.

"Steve!" you called out to him from the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"It's too much," he growled, stopping only long enough to glance in your direction, "I can't do this. I can't make sense of it all...I don't know how we got here..."

"Cap, please, stop and talk to me."

"Steve," Sam added his voice, "I know that I said you need to let it out, but not like this."

"I can't lose any more people...friends," he panted, trying to catch his breath. "How are you doing it, (Y/N)? I can't-"

"I'm not, Steve," you answered, pushing your way towards him. The glass tore at your skin, stinging as it pierced through, but you kept your focus steady and your eyes on your friend to keep from reacting. "I'm only just barely keeping it together, but it's because you guys won't leave me alone. We can't be alone."

Steve felt even more ashamed of what he had just done when he looked at you, and it only fueled the anger in him more as his body recoiled away in his embarrassment at having lost his temper so fantastically. He was supposed to be able to handle anything, he was supposed to lead by example, and to guide his team through things like this, but now he wasn't so sure if he was the man for the job; it began to seep into his mind that maybe he never was, and it had been Tony all along. "The Avengers really are his, aren't they?"

You made it across the room to stand at his side, leaving a trail of bloodied glass behind you, despite Sam's urging for you to stop. You hadn't heard him at all, with your focus sharp on Steve, as if he were your target on the field. It felt good to let your mind be active and clear the pain away for just a moment, to use your skill for someone who had lost theirs the way everyone was doing for you. "Steve, come on, let's go."

You put a hand on his arm to lead him away, but he couldn't help but get one last hit out of his system. He swung out at the wall in front of him, wanting one last burst of anger to leave his body before walking away, but you weren't having it. It was a simple reaction, that you hadn't really planned in that split second, but your hand thrust forward and caught his before it could connect, stopping his powerful momentum. The two of you froze in place, looking at what you had done with both wonder and a little bit of fear.

"I didn't know you could do that," he said softly.

"I didn't either."

"I think Tony wants you to knock it the hell off," Sam added with an uncertain smile. "Did you all really think that just because he's not here, he still couldn't get the last word?"