If anyone else asked him to do this, Tony wouldâve said no. He wasnât good at that â saying no when it counted, saying no when he really meant it. How many board meetings had he sat in on, biting his tongue even as he watched the images flicker across the screen, eyes boring a hole through Obieâs head? How many times afterwards had he pulled the man to the side and said something felt wrong, only to be told that he was weak, he was sensitive, that his father would be disappointed to hear you talk this way, Anthony, after all he did for you ⊠But Jessica wasnât doing this to gain anything. She was doing this for him, opening herself up to the worst possible memories because she wanted to reach for him across the darkness.
Trish was his friend. Heâd known her for twenty years, maybe more than that. Jessica was indefinable. She was a friend. She was family. She was someone he loved. And to have this secret sitting between them ⊠it wasnât something that even Tony Stark could imagine. âSheâŠâ Tony fell silent, listening to Jessica as she explained. She said it so matter of fact, so detached, that Tony knew this was weighing on her. Jessica was a lot of things, but she was never emotionless. When she moved to sit beside him, Tony finally let out a long, shuddered breath, lost for words for one of the few times in his life.
âI donât blame you,â he said, finally. There was nothing he could say to make this better, no outline for how to help Jessica through this (there was no through), so he went with what he felt in his heart, what he knew was right. âBeing a parent ⊠it has to be a the hardest thing you can do, right? I mean, you make this person, and youâre their first introduction to people, to the world. I know how much I screw up just by being myself, so mistakes when you have this person, they have to mean more, they have to carry that weight.â He would question where he was going with this, but then he looked at Jessica, and he knew.
âDad hit me,â he said, and he felt tears burning in his eyes, felt his hands shake. He wasnât good at detachment. âHe did that, but he also founded SHIELD. He gave his life trying to protect people. He ⊠he left a message for me, a message that saved my life. So your mom, she fucked up, but I get it. I donât blame you for protecting her.â Trish wouldnât either, but Tony couldnât speak on her behalf. He wouldnât get in the middle of sisters, wouldnât try to fight against that connection. But he wanted Jessica to know he understood. He understood that burning desire to protect, to defend the person who brought you into the world.
His thoughts were disjointed, jumping from place to place, but Jessica, as per usual, was straight to the point. Every sentence led to the next, every word kept Tony in the here and now, beside her, listening to her. This night ⊠it felt like down in that tunnel. It felt like the moment Jessica told him about the baby, or he uttered Yinsenâs name for the first time. It felt important, and he had so little of those moments left. He needed to make the best of them, needed to stop holding back.
âI know,â he said finally, wiping harshly at his face with the palm of his hand, not caring if he smeared motor oil over his cheek so long as the salt was gone. âIt was him, but it wasnât. I know that. I ⊠I knew it then, too. But itâs still just-â He coughed, suddenly choking on the thick lump in his throat. âSometimes itâs impossible to look at him. Weâre on the same team. I know he was forced to do it. But his hand ⊠it was around Momâs throat, Jones. And I canât forget that.â Sometimes, Tony wished he could. He really wished he could pretend none of his memories remained for years at a time, that even alcohol couldnât block them out. But he couldnât. Pretending was avoiding what was real. Jessica taught him to stop doing that.
Things have a way of coming back from the dead. Tony had to huff a laugh at that, he had to. âMake sure I donât,â he said, jaw clenching, staring at his trembling hands. âI ⊠I wasted so much time.â Time with Pepper and Rhodes, when he was drinking himself into a stupor. Time with Jones, when he was in space, running from his past. Time with Steve, because he didnât pick up the damn phone. Because at the end of the day, Tony didnât deserve any of them, not really. But there was another truth, undeniable. âHe fucked up,â Tony said, because that was undeniable (almost reassuring, too, to know that Steve was a man, to see him more clearly than ever before). âBut I went there to help him. The only thing I ever wanted to do was-â Tony turned, then, to meet Jessicaâs gaze. âIt comes to him, Iâve always been way off shore. Middle of the Indian Ocean, in fact. And that was fine, before.â Tony was well accustomed to loving and not being loved in return, well used to his heart acting on its own accord. âBefore, the only one getting hurt by this thing was me and now ⊠You know how much I hurt people, Jones.â
She wasnât looking for comfort. Or advice, or sage words of wisdom that he was sometimes capable of. She didnât really know what she was hoping for from him. Maybe nothing at all. He had given too much already, to her, to everyone else. Maybe she just didnât want there to be any secrets left between them, maybe she had just gotten used to knowing there was someone who would listen to every single screwed up thing in her head.Â
She hadnât expected him to understand so easily. Which was stupid. She shouldâve known better by now.Â
âDonât hold it against her,â Jessica whispered. âTrish was -- it was a goddamn complicated situation, and I hate her for it, but I donât... And you donât have the time to work through that,â she said simply, bluntly. The truth was always blunt with her, and she couldnât stop now. That would mean treating him like he was made of glass, and he wasnât. Even if he shattered so easily. âYou wouldâve liked her,â she added after a moment. âMy mom. Screwed up as she was, you wouldâve --â She sighed lightly, shaking her head. âThis is why I never became a mom.â Because it was too complicated, too dangerous, too much. Too heavy a responsibility, even superstrength wouldnât touch it.Â
Her eyes snapped up. It wasnât a revelation -- she had known the kind of man Howard Stark was from the second she laid eyes on his portrait, from the minute Tony started talking about him. He hinted at it, in BARF, in flashes of memory and cruel sharp gazes from the man. But Tony had never said it before, and sure as hell not like this. Matter-of-fact, but choked up with pain. With tears in his eyes, and shame heavy on his shoulders.Â
He was saying the same sort of thing Trish had tried to -- you couldnât see it, because sheâs your mom. But Tony knew better. He knew that she did see it, and saw more than that. Just like she looked at him and saw more than Iron Man, more than the Merchant of Death. She looked at Trish and saw more than her motherâs murderer. She looked at Daisy and saw beyond her mistakes, and when she looked at her own reflection -- sometimes she could see past her sins too.Â
Jessica reached out. Wrapped his hand in hers, squeezing gently. She didnât say anything about his confession. She couldnât. She wasnât a priest, she couldnât forgive him for his confessions. All she could do was reach out, hold his hand, and let him know he wasnât alone. Neither of them were.Â
But Tony kept talking, even as choked up as he was, even with that thick lump she could feel in her own throat too. Dum-E rolled over with a glass of water, and Jessica took it, setting it beside him. His choice to take it or not. His choice to forgive Barnes or not wasnât as simple. âYou shouldnât,â she said quietly. âForgetting it is like it never happened, and it did. I still go to Revaâs grave every year, and Iâve got my mom in a box in my closet. You donât have to forget it,â she insisted, her other hand moving in slow circles against his back. âBut you can remember them, and move forward too. You know that, youâve always known that.â After all, it wasnât until he was free of them that he really got to stretch his wings and fly towards the sun.
âOh trust me,â she said, shaking her head. âIâve had enough resurrections for one lifetime.â She would probably regret saying those words, the universe would make her eat them. But Tony... Tony deserved to rest. He deserved to be done for a while, and heâd never stop until the world made him. âYou didnât. You were just... getting ready,â she said softly. He wasnât ready to say I love you, when she demanded it of him. He wasnât ready to be the man he was today. It took time and heartbreak and pain and success, and it was cruel that he finally got there only to have it ripped away from him. Tragic, like so many of those greek stories he loved.Â
âYou wanted to help him,â Jessica finished for him. Because maybe he wasnât ready to say that yet, but he was out of time. âAll youâve ever wanted to do was help people.â His eyes were locked on hers, like he might drown if she looked away, so she didnât. She squeezed his hand tighter. âEveryone hurts everyone,â she said firmly. âWe both know that. But why and how you hurt them -- that matters. Youâre not like your dad, you donât hit people because youâre angry and frustrated. Youâve made mistakes, Tony, but loving people.... loving me, loving him, thatâs not one of them. I donât regret it, got me? And I donât think Steve will either.â She paused for a minute, breathing heavily, feeling her own tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. âItâs different, getting hurt because you let yourself love someone. It hurts like hell, it burns you up, but -- itâs worth it.â Her eyes were still locked on his. âYouâre worth it, Tony.â
