Give him back to me, or so help me god

Chapter 7: The Search

Tony's knuckles were still a vibrant shade of blue – marred with splits and cuts – even now, days later. Steve spared a thought for Ross's face, and what was left of his nose, but found he didn't really care. He didn't really care about a lot of things at the moment. Not the never-ending back-and-forth of the Accords. Not the lawsuit Ross was hurtling down on them. Not even the increased guard at the compound's edges, which had appeared mere hours after Ross had been carted away and had yet to disperse.

No. Steve found he could barely spare a thought for any of it.

The sight of Tony – silent, still and hunched so low in his chair that it was difficult to tell where one limb ended and another started – would haunt him until his final hour.

Rhodey had brought him an ice pack for his hand, but it sat abandoned on the bench behind Tony, where the other man had left it soon after Rhodey had left for the wreckage of the Raft.

Left to bring back the body.

Steve inched towards the dishevelled mass in the chair at the centre of the lab – pushed back far enough that he was no longer within reaching distance of the desk, but close enough to see every tiny detail that flicked across the many screens littering the desk. There somehow seemed to be even more then there had been only a few hours ago, when Steve had last trekked to this very position – just a foot or so behind what was left of his friend.

"Tony?"

Tony didn't so much as twitch. Steve moved a little closer, coming to rest by his left side. Tony's eyes were all that moved. Sliding back and forth across the collection of screens at a speed that left Steve feeling a little nauseous.

"Tony?"

Tony's eyes slid to meet his.

"Steve?"

Steve pulled a nearby chair over and sunk into it, close to Tony's side.

"What are you doing?" Steve murmured, watching the charts on the screens as they bent and changed every few moments. Numbers floating and changing about the edges.

Sea charts.

"Doing...?" Tony repeated – his eyes flicking back to the screens. The shining blue light left his once bight, brown eyes an almost sickening grey. "What time is it?" He murmured, pulling his eyes away and glancing around the room.

"Four."

Tony's eyes darted back to Steve. "...in the afternoon?"

Something clenched deep in Steve's stomach. "Morning." Steve answered softly. "It's Tuesday, Tony."

Tony's eyes drifted back to the screens.

"I'm searching." He answered slowly, as if only just remembering Steve's initial question.

The knot in Steve's cut loosened – just a little.

"They – Rhodey hasn't – found-" a body, "-anything?"

"No."

Steve let out a shaky breath and they fell into silence.

It was Steve who broke it. "You should get some sleep." Tony said nothing. "Are you hungry? I can bring you something." Again Tony said nothing. If it weren't for the semi steady rise and fall of his chest Steve would have worried he was talking to a corpse. The screen's blue lights did nothing to help his already pale skin, and the bruise like bags under his eyes were so engrained now that Steve wondered if they'd ever fade. "You need to eat Tony."

Again nothing. Steve would have pushed. Any other day he would have pushed – berated the man to think of himself for one goddamn minute, but not today. He just couldn't make himself.