Spooky Action at a Distance | Frostiron

A Man can be Destroyed, but not Defeated

Tony wasn't sure what day it was. Tony didn't know what time it was. It was light, but that was from his lights. There were no windows, no natural light. He'd done that on purpose. What the purpose was, he couldn't remember. He'd designed the tower, what? A year ago? He'd drunk way too much to remember why he did something so miniscule so long ago. Bruce endlessly complained about it, but Bruce was normally in the medical lab, so it was fine. Tony's workshop was his own, so he'd have it any way he wanted it. Maybe he'd have it a bit less of a mess, but it was too much effort to clean. Besides, why would he clean up when he could pay someone to? He felt bad getting other people to clean up his mess, but he didn't have time. He was an Avenger, and when he wasn't saving the world he was either making something that could or almost drinking himself to death.

Then there was the reason that he couldn't let anyone in the workshop. Well, the Avengers were technically allowed in there, but no one else. So he either had to live with the mess or create something to clean it up. He didn't like having to supervise anyone who had to clean it, so he wanted to make something that could clean it. Preferably when he wasn't there. Something that would know exactly what to do without him telling it what to do. Something that knew what the workshop should be like. Of course, he could be using his time to upgrade his suit or work on a new bow for Clint, but he couldn't work in an untidy lab.

Tony was easily distracted. He had been working on a suit upgrade for Rhodey, but he couldn't find his spanner. That's when he started on the bot. Small circular disk, twelve inches to be exact, retractable legs on wheels, six arms so it could multitask. Built in hoover and mop. Compact enough to be out of the way when it wasn't in use. He thought it was good. It just needed to work. He checked the time and put the disk on the floor, programming it into Jarvis' system. That was going to give it the information it needed, he hoped. He'd have to think of a name once it worked.

He left the workshop in hope that it would be tidy for his return. In that moment, he thought, he deserved a drink. He always deserved a drink, in his mind. There was never a wrong time for a drink. Sure, everyone he knew disagreed, but they didn't matter. Well, they did, but he thought that they were just doing the whole team thing where they pretend to care about him, and that as soon as the team was over they'd leave. That they were only there for the money. After all, everyone else was.

Steve still didn't like him. That hurt, but he wouldn't let it show. He was always compared to Steve when he was growing up, so having Steve hate him... It opened up a lot of feelings he didn't want to feel.

Thor was never around, and when he was he was either eating, shouting or talking about his brother. He didn't seem to dislike Tony, but he didn't seem to like him either. He was always civil though. Plus, Tony couldn't cope with any mention of Loki. Too many memories. So he steered clear of Thor. Natasha seemed to dislike everyone but Clint. Sure, she'd warmed up to the team. Her and Bruce were best friends, her and Steve were closer, her and Thor were civil, and she was respectful of Tony. She knew a lot about him, so Tony always pushed her away. He didn't want anyone to know that much about him. She'd read his SHIELD file, so she couldn't learn any more than that. He was still the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist. He slept with every woman under the sun. Or, that's what he made it seem like. Then there was Clint. They didn't talk much. The most they'd talk was when Tony made him something. Then there was Bruce. He liked Bruce the most, but he put that down to him being the most relatable. Plus, Bruce was the nicest to Tony. He seemed to actually care. Even though Tony thought that that was just an act, he appreciated it. After all, the team only kept him around for his money.

He sighed as he sat on the barstool, opening a new bottle of whiskey. He was always told off for drinking. They'd even tried to put him in rehab, but he managed to get himself out of that. He couldn't let anyone see that he wasn't actually okay. He would never let anyone see that. He couldn't remember the last time he was okay, but that was fine. He didn't need to be okay. He just needed to be alive.