Lives We've Lived

Trained In Secrets

Tony wasn't one to hide his emotions, so when Steve announced that it was time for another team training session, Tony sighed heavily, threw his head back, and whined through his teeth.

"Why are you like this, Stark?" Steve let the disappointment and anger seep through his words. "You should be excited to get closer to the team and work together."

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes. "We're going to go downstairs and lift weights, what's new? It's not like we're actually hanging out and getting to know each other."

"What would you suggest instead, then?"

"How about we just watch a movie like normal people?"

"Because we're so normal," Steve said with his own roll of his eyes. "Besides, movie nights always turn out poorly. Isn't Peter coming over? If I have to watch Star Wars one more time, I am going to lose my mind."

"You're just a spoil-sport," Tony said quietly, but he headed for the gyms nonetheless. It might have been his programming, but Tony hated conflict. He hated fighting when it wasn't absolutely necessary. He hated training, too, but it was better than fighting with Steve.

"Pull the punches," Tony reminded himself quietly as he changed into his athletic gear. "Aim slightly left after the first shot."

Tony was always careful in training. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he ever hurt one of his teammates.

Steve stuck his head into the locker room. "Almost ready? Peter's on his way up."

Tony waved his hand and Steve backed out of the room. "Вот так." (Translation: Here we go.)

Tony wasn't sure what he expected when he stepped into the training room, but this wasn't it. Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Sam were all standing around the middle of the room, Bruce was with Peter talking quietly in the corner about something, and Thor was nowhere to be found. Probably off world, actually. The strange part was that there was no equipment in the room. No weights. No treadmills. No bikes.

"Uh," Tony stalled for a moment, looking around the room. "What are we doing today?"

Steve looked over. "Spar. Multi-person combat, to be exact."

This was exactly what Tony had been worried about. It was harder for Tony to keep his head when he had multiple assailants coming at him - field missions with multiple threats were particularly hard. But even then, no one cared when Tony went a little overboard with DoomBots or the villains. Here, they did care. They would notice if Tony lost control. They would know.

Tony clenched his fists a few times, then gave the team a smile. "Fine by me."

The whole team got into positions, each one waiting for Steve go-ahead. Steve dropped his hand. Everyone surged forward at one another, pairing up as they did so. Natasha and Clint were fighting one another, their fists flying at one another in a dance. Sam, Steve, and Peter were all fighting together, Sam and Steve ganging up on Peter together. Peter was dodging their attacks expertly, his lithe body flying up and over, backwards and forwards, left and right. Tony was left with Bruce, who wasn't much of a threat in his civilian state.

Tony threw some half-hearted punches, and Bruce returned them. They were both so apathetic towards training, it wasn't like they were really going all out against one another.

There was a whispered conversation to Tony's left and he strained to hear it.

The thudding of blows landing.

Natasha's tapping footfalls as she danced around her opponent.

Sam's labored breathing.

The room spun as Tony moved out of the way of one of Bruce's kicks, only for Steve to come front and center. He'd left his skirmish with Peter to fight with Tony, muscled forearms flying out to cuff Tony across the face.

Tony deflected.

The room spun.

Steve's arm flew out again, this time catching Tony in the ear. His cologne was-

"Слабый." (Translation: Weak.)

There wasn't anyone in the room who would know-

Tony spun away again, his own fist flying out to deflect one of Steve's blows. The smell was overpowering, like-

Steve met him on the other side, another cuff to the ear. His hands were calloused and rough.

Steve's face was suddenly his face, the fucker who handled Tony's case, and Tony didn't bother pulling his punch.

A crack.

Steve stumbled back, his hands reaching for his nose as blood splattered between the man's fingers. Tony felt his heartrate spike. He launched himself forward, raining blow after blow on Steve's body. Someone behind Tony was screaming. Someone to his left grabbed his arm-

"No! No, I don't want to! I don't want the chair!"

Tony's arms were swinging, but even in his flashback-induced fear, Tony was the best of the best - his blows were precise and strong and clean. The entire team was backing away, but Peter was there, dodging Tony's blows as he crept forward. As soon as he was close enough to grab Tony again, the teen wrapped his hands over Tony's arm.

"Tony! You're not there, you're home! You're in the Tower, you're doing team training with Steve and the others."

Tony startled, trying to swing again, but then there was Peter's face and Peter wasn't there when Tony was there, so how was-

"Tony. Tony, breath with me. Focus on my breathing and copy it."

Tense, shaking, shuttering breaths. Tony started to find the rhythm. After a few minutes, Tony was finally able to see the gym again. The cool, grey mats, the dull, blue walls, Steve, still bleeding from the nose, and the rest of the team crowded around their hurt teammate.

And Peter.

Peter was crouching beside Tony - when had Tony landed on the floor - all worried eyes and tense muscles.

"How did you get close to me swinging like that?" Tony's voice was rasping and gruff, but he had to know. Peter was good, but Tony was ruthless. The teen glanced over at the others, then leaned in to whisper in Tony's ear.

"I've seen that before," Peter said quickly. "I was... I was trained for that."

Tony had his eyebrows furrowed in confusion when Peter pulled back and the teen nibbled his lip.

"You were... you were speaking Russian."

Tony's face went white as a sheet, his mouth falling open loosely. "You can understand Russian?"

"I'm... I'm Project Secondary," Peter admitted quietly, his worried lip getting redder and redder. Tony ran, never once looking back.