If You Were Here (Tony Stark x Reader)

Part 5

There isn't enough scotch in the world to make Tony feel better. Not that it will stop him from trying. He stares blurrily into the glass, feeling—again—completely alone.

<Boss—>

Tony shuts FRIDAY off before she can continue. It's the third time she's tried to interrupt. It's probably Bruce still trying to reach him.

<Mr. Stark—>

Off. Maybe it isn't Bruce. Maybe the Chitauri attacked again. Maybe the world outside is a burning hell scape of destruction. He doesn't care. He doesn't. Let the world rot; he's not leaving this room.

<B—> FRIDAY doesn't even manage a full syllable before Tony cuts her off this time. He could shut her down, but he's taking a sadistic sort of pleasure in manually stopping the interruption—like it reinforces his own sour mood.

He killed you.

There are a lot of ways of thinking about it, but it comes back to that simple fact. Your body is still around, but your soul... he snuffed it out. Inadvertently, but that doesn't matter. He had you and now he doesn't and it's all his fault.

<Boss.> FRIDAY doesn't respond to the kill command this time. She's overriding Tony's protocols. You probably put that little feature into FRIDAY while he wasn't looking. It would be something you'd do: make his AIs more uppity. <There is a disturbance in the medical suite.>

Tony snuffs out the hope in his chest before it can kindle. He downs the rest of his glass in one gulp. "Thrill me." The feed pops up in front of him, showing an empty room. Your empty room. Tony's heart skips a beat.

"Who moved her?"

<She appears to have left under her own power.> FRIDAY replays an earlier clip. You stir, muscles moving at odd intervals, then you roll out of the bed and tumble to the floor. It takes a moment, but you move again, jerking like a marionette with only half its strings attached. You pull yourself across the floor to the door.

You moved. Jesus Christ, you moved. He didn't kill you. You're in there. Tony shoots out of his chair. "Where'd she go, FRIDAY?"

<I believe that she has taken the elevator to the shared living area.>

Tony runs. He has to get to you, the sooner the better. You shouldn't be moving, not in your condition. You've been in a coma for years. You could hurt yourself. That was why he had included Bruce, so you could get medical attention the second you woke up. He hadn't counted on you wandering off on your own. There is a goddamn call button right next to your bed. Why didn't you use it? He takes the stairs two at a time, unable to stand still for the minute the elevator would take to retrieve him.

He bursts into the living suite, breathing hard, and searches for you, eyes roaming over the room. You lean against the large pane window, crumpled like a forgotten doll. Tony swears and rushes to your side.

"Hey"—he pulls you into his arms, still sitting on the floor, and pats your cheek—"hey, come on."

You stir, your eyelids squeezing, then peeking open. You mouth opens and closes a few times. You swallow. "Tony..."

"Hey, gotta get you back to the lab." He puts his arms under you to pick you up, but you struggle against him.

"No, no, Tony, no—" Your protests are too weak to stop him, but the earnest desperation in your voice is strong enough. "I have to see it." Your eyes are wide and pleading.

"See what?"

You turn back to the window, pressing an unsteady hand against the glass. "Please, Tony. Please. I have to."