gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“Don’t lie to me, don’t say that.” Another sob hitches through her body as her voice cracks and spikes. “All the things that have happened since I met you, everything — I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you.” She’s barely coherent, knees shaking. Tony might as well be holding her up. “It hurts so much, Tony.”

Though the pain isn’t less, the effects of it are wearing off, wearing her down. The tears don’t slide down anymore when she blinks, and most of the dried blood has slipped off her skin, though there are still patches at her hairline where she shoved recalcitrant strands out of her eyes with the back of one hand. After a minute, and a long, shaking sigh, Summer turns around. She rests her forehead briefly against the arc reactor before tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder instead.

“Will you do a thing for me tonight?”

Tony doesn’t bother trying to change her mind or correct her or convince her that she’s wrong.  He doesn’t think he could even get her to believe him at this point, never mind that he’s one of the last people she has to worry about protecting.  He settles on a quiet, “I’m safe, Sunshine,” instead.

His hold on her loosens for a moment as she turns.  Once she’s facing him, he curls one arm around her shoulders, and settles his other hand on the back of her head.  He glances down at her, but mostly succeeds in getting an eyeful of her hair, and instead lets his gaze roam aimlessly around the shower.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Hold me. Don’t go down to the shop, don’t pull out a tablet, don’t anything else. Please. Just me. Just … ” she presses her lips together, and looks up, eyes big and pleading. “Tell me why you love me.”

She pulls away, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. She doesn’t want to, but even at the Tower there’s a finite amount of hot water, and if she doesn’t get the dried blood out of her hair she might scratch herself bald. So she forces herself to do what needs doing, and maybe Tony will help wash her back.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“How?” It’s half an anguished sob. “People are dead, people are hurting, and I can’t change it. I can’t even save you!” Her shoulders round in, one arm wrapped across her body as if to hold herself in. Or together. “Make it stop. God, please, make it /stop/.” The hot water streams down over her face, rinsing away the tears before they have a chance to fall, but the tension in her body is so high now even the heat can’t relax her.

“I don’t need to be saved,” he reminds her.  “It’s one of the things you like about me.”  If Summer ever had to pick between Tony and someone else hanging from a ledge, she could be content in the knowledge that he would haul his own ass back up.  “You’re one person, Sunshine.  No one’s expecting you to save the world on your own.”  He falls quiet then, his hold on her tightening somewhat.  What’s he supposed to say?  It will be okay?  You did your best?  It all just rings as trite in his head.

“Don’t lie to me, don’t say that.” Another sob hitches through her body as her voice cracks and spikes. “All the things that have happened since I met you, everything — I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you.” She’s barely coherent, knees shaking. Tony might as well be holding her up. “It hurts so much, Tony.”

Though the pain isn’t less, the effects of it are wearing off, wearing her down. The tears don’t slide down anymore when she blinks, and most of the dried blood has slipped off her skin, though there are still patches at her hairline where she shoved recalcitrant strands out of her eyes with the back of one hand. After a minute, and a long, shaking sigh, Summer turns around. She rests her forehead briefly against the arc reactor before tucking her head into the curve of his shoulder instead.

“Will you do a thing for me tonight?”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

Having him at her back helps. “Why?” she mutters. It doesn’t even matter if he can actually hear her. The word burns in her throat, hammers with her pulse. “It’s never enough. Why can’t I protect them?” She clenches her fists under the water, holding them up like they’ve failed her. “I can hear them hurting. Always, always. I can /hear/ it.” Her voice breaks in the middle. “Why can’t I make it better?”

“I wish I could tell you,” he replies, just as quietly, his chin resting against her hair.  “God knows I’ve wondered it enough times myself.”  Wasn’t that the entire point of Iron Man?  Fix what his company fucked up; make amends for all the innocent blood he’d inadvertently spilled.  “I dunno if it makes you feel better, but you aren’t the only one trying to help.  And you do help; you do make a difference.”

“How?” It’s half an anguished sob. “People are dead, people are hurting, and I can’t change it. I can’t even save you!” Her shoulders round in, one arm wrapped across her body as if to hold herself in. Or together. “Make it stop. God, please, make it /stop/.” The hot water streams down over her face, rinsing away the tears before they have a chance to fall, but the tension in her body is so high now even the heat can’t relax her.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

Summer sticks a hand out of the space and grabs at him ineffectually. “Please. I need you.” It’s barely audible over the sound of falling water, and despite the heat of it, she still feels cold inside. It hurts so /much/. He’s the only bright spot she can find, right now.

In some ways, so much of their relationship has been about sex. About lust, and desire, and wanting. Just now she’s not interested in any of that. He’s the stable centre to a world that holds too many terrifying unknowns, and no safety. Of all the folk she loves, with all the fiery passion she had, he’s the one she can always find.

Wordlessly, Tony strips off his t-shirt, jeans, and socks, and steps into the shower behind her, briefly ducking his head under the spray before he turns to pull the shower door shut.

He doesn’t know what to say to fix this, or if he even can fix it.  So he stays quiet, instead opting to wrap his arms around her from behind and pull her back against him.

Having him at her back helps. “Why?” she mutters. It doesn’t even matter if he can actually hear her. The word burns in her throat, hammers with her pulse. “It’s never enough. Why can’t I protect them?” She clenches her fists under the water, holding them up like they’ve failed her. “I can hear them hurting. Always, always. I can /hear/ it.” Her voice breaks in the middle. “Why can’t I make it better?”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild said:

“Oh, god, Tony, so much pain,” she says, barely paying attention to where he’s taking her. She’s been on her feet trying to help for most of the last two days, with maybe a few hours of sleep. “Why couldn’t I fix it?”

Tony doesn’t answer her.  Because really, what can he say?  And besides, her mind doesn’t seem like it is actually on the question.  So he focuses on herding her into the bathroom and getting the shower running.

She yanks at her shirt, only now realising that it’s spotted with dried blood and dirt. Getting her jeans off is quicker, and then she steps under the water and breathes hard at the shock of it hitting her skin. She just stands under it, letting it mix with the tears still running down her face, and tries not to sob.

He steps back to let her get undressed, and then step into the shower.  He gives her a long moment in there to herself, before he finally asks, “You want me in there with you, or do you want me to wait for you to finish up?”

Summer sticks a hand out of the space and grabs at him ineffectually. “Please. I need you.” It’s barely audible over the sound of falling water, and despite the heat of it, she still feels cold inside. It hurts so /much/. He’s the only bright spot she can find, right now.

In some ways, so much of their relationship has been about sex. About lust, and desire, and wanting. Just now she’s not interested in any of that. He’s the stable centre to a world that holds too many terrifying unknowns, and no safety. Of all the folk she loves, with all the fiery passion she had, he’s the one she can always find.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild said:

“Oh, god, Tony, so much pain,” she says, barely paying attention to where he’s taking her. She’s been on her feet trying to help for most of the last two days, with maybe a few hours of sleep. “Why couldn’t I fix it?”

Tony doesn’t answer her.  Because really, what can he say?  And besides, he mind doesn’t seem like it is actually on the question.  So he focuses on herding her into the bathroom and getting the shower running.

She yanks at her shirt, only now realising that it’s spotted with dried blood and dirt. Getting her jeans off is quicker, and then she steps under the water and breathes hard at the shock of it hitting her skin. She just stands under it, letting it mix with the tears still running down her face, and tries not to sob.