String Theory

Chapter 4

Hart, Harrison. ALIVE.

Tony's heart skips a beat.

This isn't what he'd come to find, but for the moment, the wild goose chase is forgotten. Tony sits back in his chair, feeling like he's been hit by a truck. This has to be wrong. Harry was killed in 2008, shot dead in the middle of Afghanistan, two weeks before he was supposed to come home on leave. The humvee wreckage had been so bad that they couldn't even recover his body.

...Couldn't recover his body. Right.

"Plot hole," Tony mutters, and scrubs his face with his hands. "No body, no proof. Pretty skimpy attendance at the funeral, too, right?"

"I don't know, boss. Was it?" FRIDAY's voice is soothing, encouraging Tony to continue his line of thought. Tony shifts to rub the back of his neck and continues peering through Harry's file. It lists his abilities, weapons scores, army ranking, known successful missions, et cetera. He only has one listed mission failure, but the archive won't specify what it is. Too classified to be online, apparently.

"Get me his location," Tony mumbles, expanding a few of the photographs on the holoscreen to get a closer look.

"Tony, what is this?"

The voice comes from the lab's door, and Tony glances up, then deflates a little. Steve's leaning against the doorframe, brows knitted, looking exhausted. The captain's always had that sort of old-soul energy, and despite his age-immune body, the fatigue is evident beneath his eyes. The light, which highlights little streaks of auburn in his beard and hair, makes him look like an travel-weary angel that's descended into the lab to give Tony some sort of heavenly guidance, and for a moment, Tony wishes that were true. He could use some of that. Steve's staring at the eight pieces of paper aligned neatly on the floor. Tony doesn't have the energy to explain right now, or maybe he just... doesn't want to. Doesn't feel like Steve deserves that from him.

"Roleplay," Tony says tightly, looking back to his desk and pedaling his stool towards the other end of it. "You know, E.T. come home, all that. Great for stress relief. You should try it."

Steve stiffens at Tony's sarcasm. He knows better than to take it at face value, and he knows Tony doesn't have a lot of that left in him. He's surprised Tony managed to quip at all. He hasn't done very that much since Titan. Steve pushes off the doorframe and approaches slowly, arms crossed. Tony makes himself busy with a few pieces of tech, and Steve sighs out, "Tony."

"Hm?" He only looks up for a moment, quirking one side of his lips innocently.

Steve says nothing. He stoops to pick up a few of the papers.

"Don't," Tony snaps, practically jumping from his chair. "Don't do that, just— leave them." He takes them from Steve's hands and places them back where they'd been, muttering under his breath. "You're such a tornado, Rogers. Jesus christ."

Before Tony returns to his chair, he half-glares up at the captain, and Steve can clearly see the borderline desperation in those wide brown eyes. "Tell me what you're doing," Steve says gently.

Tony's gaze drops, and he takes a step back. It takes him a few moments to circle back to his stool and sit heavily. His voice is weak, almost ashamed. "Trying to talk to Peter."

Steve sucks in a breath and looks away. Before Captain Dad can launch into a lecture about grieving a loved one, or whatever bullshit problem he might find with what he's doing now, Tony speaks again, more urgently, trying to explain himself. "Look, something happened, alright? Something— moved, in the lab, I wasn't touching it. Nobody was around but me, it was clear across the lab, and it moved. Like someone— just shoved it off the table. And when I sat back down, there was this." He holds out the notebook with Peter's notes, and Steve steps over the papers on the floor to take the book from Tony and inspect it. His brows furrow, and Tony watches him, hoping maybe Steve will recognize any of those words.