bubblesong: 🐚 <lj user="bubblesong">. { dns } (sea 🫧 you broke the bonds.)
į’ŖITTį’ŖE į—°EᖇᗰᗩIį—Ŗ " Ń•Ī¹ŃŃ”Ī· " | Ļƒā„“āˆ‚ тαℓєѕ ѕqĻ…Ī±āˆ‚. ([personal profile] bubblesong) wrote in [community profile] synthneon2026-01-25 11:26 pm

🫧 :rewrite 2.0 || ā so let me go home, in our safehouse that we built out. āž

[ Floating isn't so bad.

It's easy... and it's nice.

It's just not weightless like it used to be.

Little Mermaid opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling of the pool room. It's not really a pool room. Not like the Avengers Tower has or even the open pool the Malibu Mansion had. It's more like a gymnasium pool. Goddess HQ isn't outfitted or luxurious like Avengers Tower. It's cold and militaristic, minus the Deputy Chief's Office (at his own insistence). Even her own room is very bare, only with a few bubble ornamentations that float.

Goddess HQ isn't a prison like the cell underneath Stark Industries.

It's just not home.

She lets out a long breath and leans her head back against the edge of the pool.

Floating used to be nicer--when she could swim.

It's not that bad--not like that! Her legs are healing, just, slowly. Something about how Abe had worked the Goddessium to make the second generation of Fairytale Models makes it hard for the people at Goddess HQ to figure out how to program it. Almost like a language they can't speak. No one can seem to figure it out properly, so everything to this point has been her body healing itself and some simple nudges here and there to tell the Goddessium how to repair things.

It's not quite like nanomachines, but it's close, is what they say.

Still, she can move her legs now! The bones are all repaired. The muscles are on their way too. Her legs flex and bend, but not by much, and walking still hurts. Not that it stops her. She has to get better as fast as she can so she can leave. She has to get back to the Avengers Tower--to Tony.

Even if that lonely dark part of her wonders if he's moved on.

Her gaze at the ceiling softens.

He's been to so many events that she had said she'd go with him, including MIT...

Creeaaak, click.

Little Mermaid turns her head to the direction of the pool room doors.

Deputy Chief Andersen walks towards the pool. He's dressed more casual than she's used to seeing. A bomber jacket, jeans, and even a white t-shirt. He still wears the heavy combat boots and they echo in the pool room as he reaches the edge. A pair of aviators hang off the collar of his shirt as he looks down at her. ]


"Feeling any better?"

[ Little Mermaid nods. ] Huh huh. They still hurt, but, I can move them better now! The water helps too. Uhm... did you go somewhere?

"I did." [ The Deputy Chief pauses as if calculating his next moves; his next words. Then: ] "You have a visitor, Ariel."

[ The pool room falls silent minus the lapping water.

The Deputy Chief only calls her 'Ariel' when there are no officials around--no eyes around. He only allows himself to say what she considers her real name when nothing pertains to the missions of the Goddess Squad. Red Hood calls her Ariel all the time, but the Deputy Chief? He only says her real name when he knows it's completely and entirely safe to say it.

A visitor...? ]


"Two, in fact. Although one is more my visitor, I suppose. An old war friend." [ The Deputy Chief glances at her legs. ] "Do you need help getting out of the pool?"

I'm okay. I got it.

[ Little Mermaid rolls over expertly in the pool. Her legs stay afloat thanks to the black bubbles underneath them, almost like floaties. Her hands curl along the edge of the pool to pull herself up out of it. Then, she sits at the edge for a moment. The black bubbles form around her legs and feet, pressing against her skin, almost like a swimsuit. Her hands then raise, and between them a black sparkling bubble forms. The bubble is pressed to her lips that begin to glow red, issuing a command to it: ]

Stand and move. No matter how much it hurts.

[ Then, she takes the black bubble and splits it into two. Each smaller bubble presses to her legs, creating a second layer that acts as padding. Once settled, her legs give an unusual jerk. She spins on her bottom, moving her legs onto the floor. Then, she pushes herself up. Her legs twitch in a very noticeable way before she lets out a deep breath and looks back up at her commander. ]

Okay. I'm ready.

[ Andersen frowns at the display before handing her the thin bathing robe she brought with her. He continues to frown as she takes it and slips it on. ] "That tic is very obvious, Ariel. Don't stand longer than you have to. In fact? I'd rather you not stand at all with your legs in that condition. Sit on one of your bubbles."

[ Little Mermaid frowns. ] They look like my regular suit! It'll be okay. They don't look like braces at all.

"Trust me, your visitor is going to see it even if you hide it." [ Andersen sighs. ] "I want this to be as informal as possible, Ariel. Don't make me issue it as a order from your commanding officer. You can keep your... bubble braces. Just, sit down."

Aoooh... [ A frustrated sigh leaves Little Mermaid before she raises her hands again. A large pink sparkling bubble forms and expands. It floats to the ground and then she comfortably takes her seat. ] Like thi--

[ Creaaaaaaak.

Andersen and Little Mermaid look over as the door to the pool room bursts open. ]
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-01-26 09:18 am (UTC)(link)
[ The door doesn’t just open. It slams hard enough against the wall that metal rings loudly against tile.

Tony Stark stands in the doorway, jaw tight, a sheaf of x-rays crumpled in one hand. The films tremble from the force he’s holding them with. He doesn't look as though he's even realized just how tightly he's holding them. Hopefully Andersen doesn't want them back in the same condition they were when he showed them to Tony.

His eyes are already locked on her: not curious, not polite, certain..

He strides into the room like he owns it, like the air is in his way and he intends to push through it. The echo of his shoes on tile keeps pace with the rapid beat in his head.

He doesn’t look at Andersen. He doesn’t look around. He looks at her and he lifts the x-rays. ]


You.

[ It’s not accusatory. It’s startled. Frustrated. Almost angry at the his brain for putting the pieces together when he was still just trying to figure out what the hell kind of situation he's dealing with.

He shakes the films once. ]


I know these. I know what's on them.

[ His voice is rough with something he hasn’t let himself feel yet.

He steps closer to the edge of the pool, close enough that he can see the faint tremor in her legs. Close enough that he can see the black bubbles hugging them almost like... like artificial muscle. That's the thought his mind settles on. His eyes drop there for half a second, and something in his expression tightens further.

He’s seen this before. He knows he has, but he just doesn't know why.

His eyes come back up to her face, searching, demanding an answer he's not sure he'll get. ]


I’ve been staring at these for- No, it doesn't matter how long, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept thinking, 'I’ve seen this before.' I’ve looked at these bones before. I’ve...

I remember this, but I don't remember you. Why don't I remember you?

[ He pauses. ] I don't remember you, but my brain does. How the hell does that even work?

[ He taps his temple with the edge of the x-rays and glares at them. ] I’m really getting tired of my brain knowing things I don’t.

[ Steve takes this opportunity to peer in around the door, but he decides it's best if he just stays in the hallway for now until things have settled down. If they settle down. ]
Edited 2026-01-26 09:26 (UTC)
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-01-27 09:18 am (UTC)(link)
[ For half a second, as soon as she stands, Tony's eyes goes right to her almost like they know exactly where to go. He watches the bubble dissipate into smaller ones, and then he watches her hands move until they brush against his face and then stop around his neck.

He freezes, almost going just a hair shy of rigid. He's not angry, he's not pulling away or rejecting the touch. He's just guarded, maybe even a little afraid, not that he'd say that out loud.

His hands don’t come up to hold her. They stay exactly where they are at his sides, x-rays still clutched in one fist. His shoulders tense like he’s bracing for something he can’t see yet.

Because this is the part where someone could be playing him. This is the part where a story could be fed to him. This is the part where he hates not knowing what’s real.

His jaw tightens even as he lets her hold him, but he doesn't lean into it, not in the way some instinct is telling him he should. He's done it before, his brain says. But he doesn't remember what his brain is saying he should.

Not yet, anyway... but then, if she's looking, something in his expression changes. It's not because of what she says, but from what she doesn't. She doesn't give an explanation, a history lesson of his own life, no attempt to convince him of anything.

All she gives him is just contact: contact that is both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. It's the kind of contact that his body recognizes before his mind does, and he doesn't know what to do with this information.

He holds his breath, and very slowly, cautiously, like he’s testing whether a surface will give way under his weight, his hands come up and rest at her sides.

His voice is quieter when he speaks. ]


I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling that you’re this comfortable with me when I don't know how or why we got this comfortable. This close.

[ His eyes flick down briefly to the way her legs jerk, the bubbles bracing them. The sight of them pulls at something behind his eyes he can’t name. ]

And I really don’t like that my first instinct isn’t to push you away. I don't like that it's not even "not liking". It's- hell, it's not remembering. Not remembering what I apparently should still remember.

[ He looks closer at her, trying to examine her face. ]

... Do I still hate being handed things?

[ He pauses then, for longer this time. Then an admission comes, almost reluctantly. ] Something is telling me this is real, and if it's real... That means...

[ He glares at his hands, as if it's their fault he can't remember. Maybe it is, in a way. He built Ultron, didn't he? ]

That means, if it’s real, then I lost something important. [ Those last words are mumbled more than spoken, as if part of him doesn't want her hearing. But another part, a louder part, does want her to hear. ]
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-01-28 06:50 am (UTC)(link)
[ She starts talking, and Tony listens. He listens in the way that's actually him paying attention. He's all but hanging on every word. The listening he's doing now isn't the distracted, half-processing way he does when people start explaining things he’s already five steps ahead of. This is different. His eyes stay on her the entire time, tracking every word, every pause, every careful choice she makes.

...especially the careful ones.

His gaze drops briefly to the x-ray when she touches it, then his gaze goes back to her face, then to her legs, then back to her face again.

He’s building something in his head; it's not just a memory, but a model, like the models he sometimes uses when he's trying to build something.

When she says Ultron, something in his expression hardens, not at her, but at the name. Ultron took your memories of me away.

His jaw flexes and his expression hardens for a second. He believes her even though part of him doesn't want to. Part of him still thinks he's being screwed with, that people are just telling him things because it's the narrative they want to create, the story they're trying to make for who knows what reason. It feels like manipulation, and he doesn't like it.

But the more he thinks about it, the more he believes her. Nothing about her behavior is trying to sell him anything. She’s leaving him room: space, choice, data without pressure.

That’s what tips it. That’s what makes it real. ]


You’re doing it again. [ A small tilt of his head. ]

Talking like you already know how I think. [ It's not accusation; it's observation. ]

And the annoying part is... you’re right.

[ He studies her for another long moment before he says: ] I don't feel overwhelmed; I feel cheated, because I can tell this mattered a lot, and now I don't even get to remember why. How is that fair? It's not fair to me, it's not fair to you... [ It's not fair to the whole damn world. Too dramatic? Well, sue me, Ultron went after all of us, and that's my fault.

Tony's fists clench in response to the thoughts in his head. ]


But you know the weird thing? I also don’t feel like you’re a stranger. You don’t feel new. You feel like... like someone I've known for a long time. Years. Months. Not days.

[ His hand finally shifts, not away, but slightly upward at her side, almost like he's testing familiarity the way he would test a prototype. ]

So here’s what we’re not going to do. We’re not going to pretend we can rebuild something we don’t understand yet. [ This isn't rejection. It's precision. ]

We’re going to start with facts. Time. Exposure. We're going to let my brain catch up to whatever the hell my instincts are already doing.

[ He lets out a breath that's more tired than he's been letting on. ]

And if this was as important as my body seems to think it was... Then it’ll come back, or we’ll build something just as strong. Okay?
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-01-29 07:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ Tony’s eyes don’t go to the rings first. They stay on her face, because something changed when she took them out.

He doesn’t remember the history or the context, and he doesn't remember how they slotted together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. What he does know is the exact moment she starts pulling away from him emotionally. He watches it happen in real time, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it, and it bothers him more than anything she’s said.

He's seen that look before, and the last time he saw it, it was on people who thought they'd lost him. He wonders if that's what's going through Little Mermaid's mind; should he know what's on her mind? A part of him feels like he should, but the memories he thinks he had feel like they've been locked up and he can't access them.

Slowly, his gaze drops to her hands and to the rings that she holds. He doesn’t reach for them at first, choosing instead to study them the same way he studied the x-rays.

Then his eyes lift back to hers. There's a look in his eyes that most people would miss; outwardly, he might look calm. His posture might appear somewhat relaxed, if a bit stiff around the shoulders. But the look in his eyes contains the reality of it. He's unhappy and he's on edge and he's absolutely not thrilled that he can't remember things he should know. ]


You don't have to do that, you know. I don't know what "that" is called, but you're doing it. [ He shakes his head but it's not an angry gesture, more of a tired one. ] Protecting me? You don't have to do that. Backing off? You don't have to do that either.

So, we met four years ago, and we're obviously close, which makes you more than just someone. That makes you someone who matters, but I don't remember why you matter.

[ He takes a small step closer. His hands leave her sides, but only so he can close her fingers back over the rings instead of taking them. ]

And you don’t hand something like this back because you think you fell down the nonexistent ranking list in my head.

[ His thumb presses lightly against her knuckles to keep her from reopening her hands. ]

That’s not how I work.
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-01-30 10:00 am (UTC)(link)
[ The word hits him before he can stop it. Magnets.

Tony’s expression changes instantly. It's not thoughtful, it's not curious... It's rattled. Unsettled. Thrown entirely off guard.

His eyes lose focus like something just yanked a live wire in his head. If she's watching, his jaw tightens so abruptly it almost clicks.

And then... He’s not in the pool room anymore. He’s in Malibu and simultaneously somewhere else.

The memories don’t line up. They stack over each other wrong. He can all but hear concrete screaming as it shears apart; glass blows inward and there's the screach of sirens and the thick burning scent of smoke. The HUD in his suit is lit up with red warnings he can’t read fast enough. He can see a structure collapsing in slow motion, but it's not clear which building.

Tower... house... both? Someone's inside. She's inside. He can hear himself over comms; he's not giving orders, but he's yelling, shouting, screaming her name until his throat burns.

Ariel. Ariel.

Ariel.

The building folds as something hits it. There’s a flash... Is it a missile? Just plain debris? He can’t tell. He just knows she’s inside it. She's trapped inside, and he's outside, useless for what feels like forever. Don't you dare let her die.

The feeling of terror, panic, and fear is intact even if the details are broken. This feeling feels like it doesn't belong to him, but it belongs to a man watching the one thing he can’t lose disappear behind dust and fire.

Tony’s knees give slightly, not into a full collapse but enough of one that he has to catch himself with a hand against the pool’s edge.

His voice comes out strained. ]


You... you swatted something for me, didn't you? [ He swallows hard. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second, and then his next words come out in fragments. ]

Missile. Building. I... You were inside the building, and you didn't answer. I remember thinking if you didn’t answer me, I was going to...

[ He stops. He can’t finish it. He doesn’t know what comes after, only that it was catastrophic in his mind.

He finally looks at her, really looking her in the eyes. There's a pause, and in a tone that Tony Stark never uses, he just says one thing. ]


... Ariel?
Edited (typos) 2026-01-30 18:38 (UTC)
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-01 06:38 am (UTC)(link)
[ Tony goes very still after she says it. His eyes don’t leave her face, but the focus behind them shifts inward, like something just pulled him somewhere he didn’t mean to go.

Magnets. He remembers this, even if it's like remembering something that's been hidden from him. We said we were each other's magnet. Why doesn't it feel like I actually remember saying that?

His jaw tightens and he gives a small, involuntary shake of his head, like he’s trying to dislodge a thought before it finishes forming. His fingers curl slightly against her face as if this is one more thing they remember but his mind doesn't. And for someone who's always maintained he's the smartest mind in the room? This really doesn't work for him at all.

His gaze slips past her shoulder to nothing, to somewhere that isn’t this room.

Glass. Water. Noise. Something collapsing in on itself with her inside it.

His knees dip before he catches himself. His shoulder bumps the edge harder as he steadies, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His breathing turns shallow and uneven as his eyes squeeze shut for a second.

When they open, they’re sharper but not calmer. He looks at her legs, then at her face before returning, then traveling back to her legs again like his brain is trying to force two mismatched images to line up.

His mouth moves like he wants to say something but no words come out, and then he studies her like he’s checking if she’s real, like he’s half-expecting the room to glitch around her, warping what's in front of him into some other scenario that his mind didn't create.

His hands twitch where they rest against her arms, testing the contact, grounding himself through it without seeming to realize that’s what he’s doing. ]


Are you sure you're okay? What's with the bubbles? [ He dimly remembers the bubbles being something that has multiple uses, but like before, that knowledge seems like it belongs to someone else. ] They're not just for show, are they?
Edited 2026-02-01 08:11 (UTC)
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-03 09:30 am (UTC)(link)
[ Tony’s fingers press into the bubbles around her legs and he pauses. There’s recognition there, but not memory, and that's what frustrates him the most.

His brow furrows, head tilting slightly as he tests the surface of the bubbles with his thumb. He knows this, he knows it does. He can feel how the bubbles give slightly but they don't collapse or pop. Part of him is intrigued by this and wants to borrow one of the bubbles to study in greater detail.

He knows this is interesting, just like he knows he would have wanted to inspect it closely. But as hard as he tries, he can't bring to mind a memory of examining the bubbles or testing them or scanning them or anything. All he can come up with is a feeling of unfinished, unaddressed curiosity about something he wanted to come back to but never did. ]


I wanted to look at this. I wanted to look closer at it, to see if there was a way to augment it, to make it do more for you. [ His eyes drift again, this time in thought, not in panic. It's his engineering brain working again, trying to think about how to improve upon these bubbles; all Tony gets for it is a feeling of pressure behind his eyes, which he tries to ignore.

He blames the confusion in his head for what happens next. Maybe it's another memory he suppressed because it involved his dad, and Howard Stark is a complicated topic for Tony on a good day.

He hears his dad's voice as if it's coming from far away, and he honestly can't remember if this is a real memory or something his mind is making up. How would he have heard this anyway, much less remember it?

...Goddess project... material that adapts... Abe says it's capable of learning...

Goddessium. So the substance has a name. Not a substance, an element. Tony's eyes move back to hers, more focused now, although the headache is growing too.

And then... He blinks. Magnets. Another memory resurfaces, and this time, it's her close to him. Him trying to explain something he wasn’t good at saying plainly, trying to find a metaphor that works because that's just how he works.

We’re like magnets. He hears himself say it, and he feels that he meant it. His eyes close for half a second and a sound that's easily missed escapes him. Is it the headache or the sudden influx of memories that he still feels he's missing the context for?

He doesn't say anything yet, but he sees and feels her hands beginning to pull away and he moves instinctively without thinking. His hands catch hers lightly, not grabbing on or holding too tightly, but just trying to stop her from withdrawing. ]


Don't. [ He pauses. ] I know I don't remember, and I don't know why this is important or even why it matters, but it does. I just know that it does.

[ His fingers curl slightly against hers. ] I know that you matter too.
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-04 09:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's some habits Tony can't just shut off. Looking at something and trying to puzzle it out is one of those habits. His eyes travel from her face and hands to her legs, taking in the way the bubbles flex and hold her upright. He’s trying to line up two different blueprints of the same machine and they won’t quite fit the way he thinks they should.

He knows things, but he doesn’t know why he knows them. Still, he examines her, and his mind is moving with observable facts: Layering. Support structure. Load distribution. He hears her talk about the outer and inner layers and his brain is already mapping everything out as much as it can. He can see how it was built, and he can see where he would reinforce it, where it's inefficient, and more importantly, see where it's almost too clever. ]


Your bubbles are both doing the job and overcorrecting at the same time. I think that’s why you’re tiring out faster than you should. [ He doesn’t know how he knows that. It's just one of many things he knows but shouldn't know. Or should he?

He pauses in his examination long enough to look back at her face and that's when he sees the tears. That's what stops him, and Tony Stark rarely stops for anyone. I stop for her. I think.

His hand comes up without thought and without permission from the part of him that is trying very hard to stay skeptical and guarded. His thumb brushes under her eye, wiping one of the tears away like it’s the most natural motion in the world.

He frowns faintly at his own hand, like it did something weird and foreign by just knowing what to do. ]


Don't. [ It's not a command, more of a request. ] Don’t do that.

[ Don’t cry. Don’t look at him like that. Don’t make this harder. But then she guides his hands, and he lets her, not even realizing he's letting her. Once his hands come to a stop on her core, something in his head seems to snap.

Memories don’t come back in order. They crash.

Metal. Water.

Her laughing in the workshop while he tries to get a scanner close to one of the bubbles and she keeps moving it on purpose.

Malibu. Smoke. Dust. Her silhouette inside a collapsing structure while he screams her name into the comms. Her saying too calmly: If something comes at you, I swat it.

The flood of memories doesn’t stop, because maybe it can't just yet. He squeezes his eyes shut and his hands tighten slightly where they’re pressed to her. His shoulders tense like he’s bracing through a hit, and for a long few seconds, he doesn’t say anything at all.

But when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking at her differently. He's not confused or skeptical; he might be a little rattled, but he's certain in a way he wasn't five seconds ago. His thumb brushes the edge of her jaw almost absently, like he’s reacquainting himself with something he lost and just found again. ]


We never did get around to studying your bubbles. I wanted to. I still want to. [ He pauses for a little longer then, and then he says: ]

We are magnets. And maybe I don't believe in a lot of things except for what science can prove, but... [ His eyes lock with hers. ] I think... No, I know... I believe in that.
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-08 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ Somehow, instinctively, Tony's figuring out that Little Mermaid responds to just about everything he does, and he's not sure he likes that. He doesn't like that because everything can be misinterpreted, and although he's not sure how, he's getting the feeling that she's not understanding everything he's trying to communicate.

... Probably because even he isn't entirely sure what he's trying to communicate. But he figures he better start nailing that down, or this isn't ever going to work. ]


You say things in a certain way when you want to get something across. [ He feels like he should know that, and the memory of it is partly there, but it's also just his observation from the last however many minutes of talking with her. ]

How you said "Tony" just then, that's not just... Something. That means something. You're right about one thing, and maybe I'm not; maybe I'm just reaching, but it's going to be okay, because- [ He stops, because "now that I'm here" is such a bad romantic line. ] It's going to be okay. We're not home, but I'm going to take you home.

[ This isn't home as they know it, and he knows he can't fix her up here. Well, he can, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't know the tools here, or the scanners, or the equipment. He needs to be home to do that. ]

... The only problem is, I'm not working with a full deck of cards here, and I think we both know that. [ For him, that feels like a big thing to admit, something he wasn't willing to admit before. He vaguely recalls a conversation with Peter Parker in which he had no recollections of Little Mermaid at all.

... This is progress, right? ]


Do you still want to go with me? You could stay here, after all. [ He briefly glances sideways, not moving his head since she's resting her chin on top of it, but he moves his eyes just enough to briefly see their surroundings. ] It doesn't look bad; they're probably taking care of you. [ Or she's taking care of herself. ]

I can't guarantee they'll just let us stroll out of here either. [ Well, he'd do the strolling if she says yes to going with him. ]
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-09 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
[ Among other things, Tony has been accused of having the sensitivity of a plank of wood, but he maintains that thought comes from people who didn't actually look. Not that he can blame them, because he never gave people a reason to want to look.

But now, he feels differently, memories or no memories. He almost immediately notices the moment she pulls back from him, which probably isn't too difficult because she's physically pulling back, but the action gets his attention.

A second ago her chin had been resting on him, and the contact made him relax in a way he hadn't done in a long time. But when she eases away, giving him space, he realizes he misses the contact. ]


You know, I could kick myself. I should've anticipated something like this happening. I'm supposed to be ahead of the game; I have been ahead of the game, so what the hell happened?

[ He hates how he feels like his memories are just out of reach, slipping out of his grasp just as he's about to grab hold of them again. But then, with a sudden determination, he makes himself look at her, looking her straight in the eyes, noting how she's sitting, how she's just watching and very clearly waiting.

Waiting for him. ]


Okay, I think you've done enough waiting. No, I don't know how long you've been waiting, but I think that's enough. [ He glances around the room briefly, assessing it the way he assesses labs and workshops and staging grounds: it's all useful and clearly functional, but it's not his. It's not theirs, and it's not home. ]

I don’t know these people. I don’t know this equipment. I don’t know what they’ve been doing to help you, and I’m sure it’s fine, but... I need my tools and scanners and my own systems. I can’t fix what I don’t fully understand in someone else’s sandbox, you know?

[ He pauses for a second, and then he continues: ] This isn't where we fit. It's not our house, our rooms... Our room.

[ He glowers at the pool room like it's personally offended him somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. ] I know I don't know a lot, but I do know enough to know this isn’t where you’re supposed to be. And I know enough to know I don’t want to leave you here. [ She was left somewhere once, and he doesn't know exactly what he should think about that, but some instinct is telling him that he's never going to leave her behind again. ]

So, do you still want to come with me? You can say no, you know. Part of me thinks you probably should, because, well... [ He rolls his eyes at himself. ] I'm a trashfire, a hot mess, basically any descriptor you could think of, that's me. But, if you say yes, I’ll figure out the rest. Permissions, people, doors, whatever I have to push through to get us home.

[ He pauses, and then the slightest hint of sarcasm touches his voice. ]

They might not like that very much.
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[personal profile] doesntpaint 2026-02-10 09:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ Maybe it's strange, because Tony talks a lot sometimes. Not always, but there's moments when he just talks and it annoys everyone around him. At least, that's how the Avengers felt, and probably Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy too at one time or another.

Now, though, he's not talking; not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because this is a good time to shut up and be quiet. He just listens, eyes fixed on her like if he looks away for even a second, he’ll lose something important he doesn’t fully understand.

She talks about things that feel lived in and comfortable; listening to her talk is like thinking about memories he should be able to reach out and grab, but every time he tries, his mind meets resistance. The memories feel like they're there, but they're buried under something heavy that he hasn't figured out how to move. He can move things with the suit, but when it's just him with nothing but himself? He can't do anything.

Her words land, and with each one, he remembers a little bit more. Of course he knows the things that happened in Sokovia even if they're a little blurry around the edges. Five months. Sokovia. The situation in Sokovia going bad. Her taking a hit for him.

His gaze drops to her legs when she gestures to them and his jaw tightens. He doesn’t remember the moment, but he knows the facts. Knows the kind of force that would take to damage someone. Even if she says she knew she could survive it, and she obviously did, he knows no one just gets up and walks away from something like that.

Then, his mind fills in the gaps in a way that maybe she didn't intend: They took me away, and you didn’t come for me.

That's when he realizes what happened that day; Ultron didn't damage cities. He didn't go for the nation's leaders. He went for the defenses. Okay, so the Avengers aren't the only defenders out there, and hell, a lot of the time, they break more than they fix. Tony isn't dumb enough to think that there aren't people out there who want the Avengers gone.

Well, Ultron almost succeeded with that, didn't he? He damaged the Avengers, and he damaged Tony, and he's only just now realizing how much.

His eyes lift back to her when she says his name, and he watches the bubble settle into her hand, watches her press it to her core like it’s the most precious thing she owns.

Then she starts listing things about him. DUM-E. Coffee. Loud music. Nightmares. Unfinished projects. The way he makes choices no one understands.

It takes him about five seconds to realize just what he's feeling: he's not feeling judged. He's feeling understood. And more than that, he knows she's not describing Tony Stark, eccentric billionaire in the public eye. She's not describing Iron Man. She's describing Tony.

And when she says yes, and repeats it, he knows it means something, whether or not he has the memories to back it up. And the fact that he doesn't have those memories is what makes this all feel so unfair. How can she still say she'll marry him when he's missing a good portion of his memories of them being together? ]


Look, I'm gonna be honest: I want you home. I want us to be home. But what kind of asshole would I be if I said "yes, let's get married" when I don't remember a damn thing that got us here? It's not fair to you, that's the point I'm trying to make here.

I'd love to just say "If you’re still willing to marry the guy with the coffee problem, the robots, the nightmares, and the spectacularly bad coping mechanisms, then let's do it. Let's get married." [ His expression turns serious then, and more than a little worried. ] That just feels wrong, and everyone knows my "wrongness sensor" has been busted for awhile now. You know, something about taking advantage of you? I don't want to be that guy.