A file. Steve had given it to him, but upon reading it, James had felt terrible. Everything had twisted inside of him and he'd felt sick - still was. His head was spinning as he laid the file down onto the engineer's workbench, before grasping the paper he'd written on in clumsy handwriting. He couldn't speak to Tony when things like this had happened - it was too much for him.
He noticed his hand was shaking when he set the letter down on top of it, as well, not able to even keep calm. He really, really liked this man, genuinely did - and then he found out that he was the reason the man didn't have parents anymore.
When history doesn't play out to our favor, Zola had said , then we'll change history.
He'd been the change. He'd killed countless people and he couldn't stand himself. Between ice cold showers and throwing up, he'd been writing the letter for Tony, not even hoping for forgiveness anymore.
Tony.
I'm sorry. It's my fault. I did that. It.. I did it. I can't remember but I did that. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I would've never done it with a clear mind. I'm sorry. I understand that you don't want to be around me anymore, that you might want to get revenge. It's okay. You can. I won't fight you.
Next to the letter, he laid down a gun, knowing that Tony had other means of getting his revenge, but if he wanted to kill him, he could. He wouldn't fight. He deserved it. He'd done that, their blood was on his hands. Almost weakly, he made his way out of the workshop with shaking hands, placing himself down on the floor in the small, safe area behind the tower. He fell to his knees and stayed that way, tears stinging in his eyes. He never wanted to kill anyone.. It had only ever been his mission.