[ CLOSED ] Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes

[nonstopnarcissist]

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: The Forge, House 34, Watchtower
WHEN: December 2nd
OPEN TO: Liv, Hawke, Rhodey
WARNINGS: Angst? Angst. A lot of angst. Descriptions of people dissolving.

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The Forge - LIV

Usually when there's a box it's left by the house with his name on it Tony opens it outside, checks the contents, and moves them accordingly. Today he's got a metric fuck ton of sand to level and pack for casting nails and parts for the river ferry and not a lot of daylight, so. The box goes on his hip and he carts it over to the forge, leaving it on one of his work tables as he got the frames for packed sand and his master nail ready for a long day of casting. He'll look at it later. Sure sometimes it's materials but- he's teaching himself not to be dependent on handouts from their overlords. Nine times out of ten? It's nothing important or life shattering.

He waits until the fire's up, the ingots he's formed from melting down the ore found on an earlier expedition are ready for the crucible and before he's thought much about it- the box is forgotten in the comforting fog of productive work. Simple, tedious, but good. At least until he hears the door and cranes his head around seeing, well. Liv and in the corner of his eye? The box.

"Hey, do me a favor. Check that and see if it's more ingots? Or whiskey. Whiskey wouldn't be bad. I would but my hands are kind of full-" Wrapped as he handles pouring out nail after nail into the tray of packed sand.


Watchtower - HAWKE

Continuing to work to put off coping emotionally with something- classic Stark move, right? Right. So digging holes for posts to get the burning ache out of his chest drowned out by a burning ache in the rest of his body from physical exertion is totally a thing. It's something that needs to be done, something he can absolutely hand off, and something he'd really rather not have company for. But he digs. Puts his shoulders and back into it, digging up hard earth to fit the post for the next watchtower, mind running through every possible iteration of what she could've been doing, why like this, was she waiting for him? Was she trying to keep the company together? Was she trying to keep the Avengers safe?

Did it hurt? It seemed to hurt Peter and before he knows it he's got the shovel stuck in the hole, his shoulder braced against the wooden haft as he fights down a fresh round of mutinous sobs. He's fine. It's fine. It's just a ring. It's just a box of ashes that smelled like her perfume it's-

He's fine.

It's fine.


House 34 - RHODEY

He is not, in fact, fine. The temptation to bang on Sam's door and demand (beg) for every jar of potato vodka she has left is nigh fucking overwhelming but- Pepper hate it when he drank too much. Hated it when he drank to cope. Hated that his nightmares overtook his good sense, that his paranoia made it difficult to enjoy quiet moments at home. He can't breathe for remembering the acrid dust on the back of his tongue on Titan, can't lock away the memory of her favorite perfume (something he went out and bought on his own, in a retail store, like a normal person, he didn't think she even liked the smell but he put in the effort and she always tried to reward when him when he put in the right amount of effort into normal people things) tainted with that smell.

Drinking's right out.

Calling Bull is fucking tempting- but also not an option. Staying in the forge until the fire's burned down and he's run out of work he can do on his own safely (she'd hate him working himself to a bare nub, the way he ran himself ragged in an attempt to outrun his mind) so. That's out. Talking about it-

He could.

He should.

Words press like a stone in his gut, burn like smoke in his throat, tangles up with every promise he'd broken including that last, fatal error. He should've known better than to promise no surprises.

Trembling tense and tired he makes his way back to the house. Settles on the porch, face in his hands. He needs to talk. Can't find the words- but the feeling's familiar. So Tony does now what he'd done years ago and shoots a quick text to Rhodey to talk to him on the porch.

On porch. Need you. It's bad.

Not 'I'm hurt' because he is and he isn't, the body is fine, the soul is gutted. Not 'want' to look at the stars and bullshit because he can't sleep again. Need. Succinct. No teasing. Deadly serious. When Rhodey arrives he'll have the ring, clean, rolling it around between his fingers, watching the stones catch the light.

Comments

[nonstopnarcissist]

"I was supposed to protect her. I promised I would-" Protect the one thing he couldn't live without. The one thing in this world- back home- that he couldn't navigate without. How is he supposed to try to make it back when she's-

What's the point?

What's the fucking point?

He clutches her like a child, eyes squeezed tight against the hot well of tears, the knot welling in his throat. Sobs he's suppressing through sheer force of will because he can't break. He won't break. Stark men are made of Iron but iron rusts through so easily-

Her voice is the one thing holding him in the moment. No platitudes. No excuses. No condolences that mean nothing in the face of what he's finally, horribly certain he's lost. "Made her a suit- armor. I have armor that I use to protect the world, to protect her and- she hates it. Never wanted to need it but I designed one just in case."

Rescue that'll never come. Copper and gold that'll never fly.

[championofsnark]

Hawke wishes she had any platitudes to give, but there aren't any. If anyone understands the utter unfairness of the universe, it's her. She knows what it is, to try everything in your power, and still fail. She holds him whether he breaks or not, still stroking his hair comfortingly. "I wish I had something to say that would make it all better, but the truth is that no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we mean it, we can't always keep the promises we make, because we're only one person. We can't control the worlds we live in. We can only do our best and live with the aftermath."

She sighs and closes her eyes, her other hand rubbing his back. "The only thing that keeps me sane anymore is attempting to be the person that the ones I lost believed me to be. The best version of myself, in their honor. I don't always manage, but again. Only a person here." A flawed one at that. She isn't sure if this is going to be helpful, because he's deep into grief, and trying to move forward from there is impossible. She speaks from experience, not because she is comparing them really, just the way grief has functioned for her.

"But don't stop yourself from grieving, Tony. If you don't let it out, it'll own you."