p • r • e • s • s • u • r • e

"That's Awful"

I like problems, I can solve them.

Solving a problem, eventually the problem is gone and all you're left with is the solution.

Solution.

Tony turns around to see the tired scientist, staring at his shoes.

Solution.

He shakes his head, allegories twisting in his mind into snakes that nip at his heels if he ever stops moving.

"Panic attack, I assume?"

Bruce murmurs. He sounds tired.

Really tired...

"Yeah," Tony breathes.

The engineer walks to his desk to answer emails, because what the hell else is he gonna do?

"You know they just want to help, right?"

The man just smiles, but it's the same smile he wears when he swears it's just one more night, just one more glass, just one more punch. The smile he gave his father all the times he promised just one more hour, and all the times those missed hours turned to missed birthdays and Christmases spent in his dorm, with those cookies from the grocery stores and puking up green and red.

"They really do, Tony. They want you to get better."

The engineer laughs- actually laughs, and cradles his head. It feels like it's raining in his head and he's running out of space to keep the tears in as the lump of hot coal in his throat swells like it wants to choke him.

That'd be nice.

"...Tony?" Bruce asks, concerned.

"No, Bruce. They want me to feel better, not be better, let alone even mention the process by which I would get there. They spray concern on their faces like it's lotion to saturate their fucking egos and they expect me to play the part-"

"Tony shut the fuck up."

The engineer just chuckles and tries to focus on his computer screen.

"Not everybody is out to get you. Don't be so paranoid. They're your friends."

"They are my colleagues. We work together."

"It is, in fact, possible to work with your friends."

He rolls his eyes.

"Well, whatever. I'm fine."

"No you aren't."

The man glances down at the perfect little bruises on his hands.

"Okay so maybe not, but what does it matter?"

Bruce huffs, and his face says you are fucking impossible, you know that?

He lets Tony work peacefully for the next few minutes, and doesn't even comment when the letter opener goes under the desk and comes back bloody.

"You know what? Why don't we go to a concert."

The man wipes his hands off with a tissue and continues typing, ignoring him.

"Nobody I like is on tour right now."

"Well, have you checked?"

"No..."

The scientist scrolls through his phone.

"Cage the Elephant is."

Tony smirks.

"Only teenagers and college dropouts listen to CTE."

"Yet you do, and you're familiar enough with them to realise it's easier to say CTE instead of their full name. Besides, you're more teenager than you realise."

"Maybe I just seem teenager-y to you because you're so boring."

"Maybe you seem teenager-y to me because you don't behave like an adult."

"Or maybe we're just fictional characters in a story written by a teenager, and said teenager can't help but project a bit, since it's all they know."

Bruce frowns.

"Where did that come from?"

Tony just shrugs.

"I dunno. Came to mind. Maybe ask the author."

The scientist rolls his eyes.

"Alright, enough bullshit. I'm buying us tickets, and you are going to that concert."

"Where is it?"

"Vegas."

Tony groans.

"You don't like Vegas?"

The engineer glares at him.

"No, I groaned like I'm dying because I just fucking love Vegas."

"Huh. I thought it'd totally be your scene."

"Maybe Tony the billionaire, but definitely not..." He tosses his hands in the air. "Anthony Edward the...adult teenager."

Bruce smirks.

"I never really liked Vegas either...too tacky."

"It's awful."

"Then why've you been?"

The engineer takes his reading glasses off and rubs them cleaner with his shirt.

"Well, where else was I supposed to stay for Christmas? The frat house? No thanks."

The scientist clenches his jaw, giving him a look that begs for elaboration.

"He uh...I was twenty, and I thought I'd be able to come home for the holidays; y'know, like fucking-everybody else. But apparently, I wasn't welcome."

"Why?"

Tony slides the glasses smoothly back on his nose, and his voice grows noticeably bolder, stronger.

"Oh, god only knows. I think...I think what it was-my old man hadn't been answering my phone calls so I started failing my classes, because why the fuck not, right? Well...he didn't get the memo, 'guess he legitimately thought I was incompetent, so..."

His voice trails off and his focus does too, leaving his eyes to wander listlessly in their sockets.

"That's...awful."

The engineer smirks, and his voice is dark, and you can hear the secrets it hides.

"You don't know the half of it."