I Thought You Were Different

I'm Sorry

"But an apology requires that there be some sort of transgression, Tony. You can see why I'm reacting so skeptically," Bruce countered. "So what exactly are you sorry about?"

Tony grabbed a stool from his own station and slid it next to the doctor, leaning his elbow against the table top and resting his chin in his hand. He took the pen that Bruce had dropped in his other hand and nervously rolled it along the steel surface, watching it so that he had a reason to avoid his friend's persistent stare. "I'm sorry that you had to see me almost die. I'm sorry that you feel like you should have done more. I'm sorry that I didn't realize how the accident had affected you. I'm sorry that I didn't see it before it hit us. It was completely my fault, and I'm just..sorry. To you and Big Green." Tony sighed, his body relaxing with relief that he had finally said the words that had been weighing on him, feeling that he could maybe give Bruce just a little bit of peace. "By the way, tell him thanks for the whole 'jaws of life' thing he did to get me out of there."

"You're welcome," Bruce whispered, his face reflecting the utter shock that had gripped him. He reached back for his own chair, stumbling just slightly and dropping down onto it heavily. "But don't be sorry, Tony. For any of it."

"I'm probably still gonna, though."

"I'm sure," he exhaled, "but just know that I don't blame you for any of that. You're not responsible for my actions or reactions." Bruce leaned forward and rested his hand on Tony's shoulder, finally getting his friend to look up at him. "I appreciate the sentiment, Tony, thank you. I'm just relieved that you made it through. Now it's my turn to do the same."

~~~

"I'm sorry."

"That seems to be a very popular phrase around here today, Barton. What did you do this time?"

"Come on, man. Give me just a little bit of a break, here," Clint sighed, taking a seat on the far end of the conference table from Steve, utilizing the benefit of a safe distance. "I'm being serious."

"Sorry, sorry," he relented, raising his hands in surrender, "it's all business over here. Go."

Now that he had the Captain's attention, Clint had all but forgotten what he wanted to say to him. He had rehearsed his speech all morning, during his workout, during his after-workout shower, in the elevator ride, and even just before he sat down. But now it was gone and he found himself staring at Steve with a blank expression that was sure to do absolutely nothing to help his case.

"Anytime now," Steve offered, leaning forward with his hands clasped on the dark wood table, it's sheen reflecting his features in a stern way that gave Clint even more pause.

"Right, as I was trying to say..." he paused, clearing his throat loudly and leaning forward to match Steve's posture to try to bolster his confidence. "I'm sorry about what happened with (Y/N). I was completely at fault."

"I know that."

"Steve, I don't know what else to do here, okay? I'm just fed up with being in this never ending fight with you about something that I've apologized for over and over. I just want you and I to be okay and to not live in fear of getting my ass kicked if I say the wrong thing, or stand to close to her, or look at her for a second too long." Clint pushed himself back into the soft leather chair, kicking a foot forward to push away from the table in a huff. "I can't keep this up."

"Put yourself in my shoes for just a minute. If you saw me with my lips all over Natasha, how long would it take you to get past that, hmm? Knowing that we still work together, live in the same building, and then we start training together with our bodies tangled together all day. Imagine that after you had seen me kiss her, an image that you can't make go away, you then had to watch while our hot and sweaty bodies got wrapped around each other in all kinds of compromising positions day after day."

Clint felt his stomach flip over and saw a flash of red in his vision at the thought. "You paint quite a picture. But man, you're right," he sighed with a nod, "I think I might try to kill you."

"Thank you," Steve replied quietly, leaning back in his chair now as well. "Clint, I forgave you a long time ago. I just needed to see that you really understood so that I could be sure that it would never happen again."

"So, we're good?" Clint asked with a hard swallow.

"Yeah, we're good."

~~~

"Ah, shit! Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Tony exclaimed as he ran into the lounge, nearly tripping over his feet to hurry towards you and the piles of books and notes strewn across the floor. "I'm here! I'm here! I'm sorry I'm late!" He stopped abruptly with wide eyes, leaning down to grab a picture from the floor, "hey, I like this one! It's a little puffy, but I think this might be the one!"

You chuckled into a deep breath and snatched the magazine page from his hand with a snap, grabbing his wrist to sit next to you amidst the chaos. "No, Tony, you pick the tuxes, I pick the dresses. Stick to what you know."

"Fine," he scoffed, "but I know what a wedding dress should look like, and after all these years, I know what looks good on you." He scooped up a few pages covered with various styles of suits and leaned against the couch, splaying them out over his bent legs. "So what color are the bridesmaid dresses?"

"This or this," you absentmindedly threw two cloth samples his way, searching in the pile for your guest list. "Just pick one for me, it doesn't matter."

"Woah, hey," he stopped, setting everything on the floor and grabbing your arm to turn you towards him. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter? This is a big deal, young lady. You only get married once, so you make it everything that you want." He smirked and pointed at you coyly, "you have the best man that I could ever imagine for you, so you had better only do this once."

He finally released you after a silent moment, holding an almost uncomfortable stare that you fought to hold. "I mean it. Anything you want, I've got it covered. Do it right."

"Tony, no. I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask, I offered. What good is your old man if he can't buy his girl her perfect wedding?"

"Shh, not so loud," you hushed, spinning around to check that the room was still empty. "That's just a technicality, and a long time ago, so keep it down, alright?"

Tony's face sunk at your reply, and a small pout protruded from his lower lip with a pained grin trying to fight its way through, "I miss it though. All this wedding stuff just makes me realize that I want to go back, I suppose." He sighed introspectively and rubbed a hand gently over your back, returning to the pile of pictures that he had set aside. "Being your dad was the best thing I ever did. Even if it wasn't for as long as I might have liked."

A deep ache built in your chest as you watched him looking over the pictures in his hands, doing his best to make decisions that would make you happy, trying so hard to not mess anything up for you. He really did still see himself in that role of father; a role he had taken your own parents abandoned you, leaving you in the hands of the richest man they knew, hoping that he would give you a better life than they could. When he adopted you, making you happy would become a purpose for his life, and it now became clear that he had never stopped.

"Tony..."

"I like this one," he deflected, handing you a picture that you immediately set aside without so much as a look at it, your eyes focused solely on him.

"I love you, Tony. You know that, right?"

"I do, (Y/N). Always have." He sniffled quietly and rubbed his hand briskly over his reddening eyes, "alright, we have the tux. Pick your color already and let's get down to flowers, huh?" When you didn't immediately respond, he paused and only glanced your way, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I love you too, sweetheart. So let me do this."

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted, taking a seat on the couch behind you and resting his hands on your shoulders with a gentle squeeze. "When exactly were you going to tell me that Tony Stark was going to be my father-in-law?"