You drop Tony's hand as you approach the medical wing. You appreciate him being there but you're just...crowded. You need space.
Tony senses this and stays several paces behind you as you soldier forth, ignoring the pitying glances of the medical staff as they pass by. You don't want their pity. You're...you're fine.
But every step gets harder to take as flashes of the day before start playing in your mind. The beeping. The pulsing. The rushing. The stillness. The pleading.
You tighten your jaw and bite your cheek - not letting the memories play in too high of a definition - holding them at bay, keeping them fuzzy.
You put one foot in front of the other, keeping your chin down until you reach the white double doors that lead you to the morgue.
He's in there. He has to be.
"Y/n," a gentle voice calls out from behind. "If you're not ready...you don't have to do this yet."
"I put him in there, Tony," you say softly. "I need to see him."
You move before Tony has a chance to argue with you. Squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, you raise a single hand, pushing the doors open. Immediately the sting of formaldehyde and ethanol in your nose lets you know you're in the right place.
"Hello. Can I help you?"
You look over to the diener, a balding man of fifty with gray tufts of hair at the side and a silly purple and yellow spotted bowtie around his neck. You let out a weak, involuntary laugh. You don't know why, but you know Mateo would have liked him.
"I'm um...I'm here to see Mateo Gonsalves," you say.
"Ah. Yes. Good lad," the doctor says jovially, waddling over to the storage spaces until he reaches one about midway down the wall. "Here he is. Room 14."
The diener reaches out, curling his fingers around the cold, metal handle of the storage door. But the moment he touches the panel, your stomach lurches.
"W-wait," you say, your voice breaking as a sudden wave of doubt washes over you.
The diener looks up at you curiously, but his expression softens immediately upon seeing your face.
"Oh dear," he says. "You must be Dr. L/n. So young."
Your lip begins to tremble as a tear forms in your eye.
The diener pulls away from the storage door and clasps his hands gently in front of him, giving you a soft, kind smile.
"My dear," he says quietly. "This young boy...he was not going to survive his injuries. I know. I saw the extent of the damage."
You take a deep, shaky breath and nod - never tearing your eyes away from the engraved "14" on the metal door. You feel a flash of anger looking at that stupid 14. He shouldn't be shoved into this hole in the wall. He should be resting in the recovery ward. In a real bed. Holding someone's hand. Covered in warm blankets and being told everything's going to be okay.
Not laying in here. Not like this.
"Would you like a moment?" the old diener asks. But you blink a few times and wipe your eyes, letting the anger ebb before shaking your head, and motioning for him to continue.
The diener nods, and slowly reaches out once more, pulling on the handle. Reaching in, he slides out the long metal bed and you look away, cringing the moment you catch a glimpse of that starch, white sheet.
"I'll give you time," the diener says kindly, leaving you standing beside the metal bed.
You hear the double doors swing shut, and you take another steadying breath, your body trembling as your eyes lift slowly from the floor until they reach the covered body. Tentatively, you step forward and reach out a shaky hand, reaching for the edge of the white cloth. Your fingers grasp the hem and lightly pull it back.
"Matty," you gasp, setting down the sheet just past his bare shoulders. "Oh sweetie," you whimper, reaching out your fingers and brushing away strands of his dark hair from his translucently pale face.
You let your fingers lightly trace over his closed eyes, remembering how they had smiled up at you so mischievously each time he stole away to the west wing to share a lunch with you. You steady your shaky breath as they travel down his cold and pale cheeks, stopping to brush your thumb lightly over where his dimples used to emerge each time he laughed.
You reach for his arm, and gently pull his hand from below the cover, taking it in yours. You notice he no longer wears his gloves.
"No," you exhale sharply, looking down at his fingers. "No!" you mutter again, angrily.
"Y/n, what's wrong?" Tony says from behind him.
You hold Mateo's cold, limp hand in yours and your lip curls in anger as you stare down at his plain, flesh-colored fingernails.
"Go to his quarters, Tony. Find his fingernail polish. I don't care where he's hidden it I want you to find it."
"His what?" Tony asks, confused.
"Fingernail polish. Light blue. Please," you ask, voice breaking as you weave your fingers through Mateo's stiff ones before glancing back. "Please, Tony."
Tony is clearly confused by your request but nods, leaving the morgue quickly. You watch as the double doors swing back and forth behind him.
And for the first time you're alone with Mateo.
You look down at the teen, laying so quiet and so still on the metal cot. You feel your knees grow weak as tears blur your sight. You sink slowly to the floor as the last of your resolve crumbles. Shattering like a mosaic as what's left of your frail tenacity disintegrates. Your tears begin to flow - unbridled and uncensored. Your shoulders shake and cries fill the room as you cling desperately to his hand. Wishing with everything in you that you could feel his fingers curl around yours: warm and soft and alive.
But it's cold. And stiff. Lifeless.
"I'm so sorry Matty," you sob pressing your forehead to the back of his hand as you rock back and forth on your knees. Your tears fall onto Mateo's hands, trickling down his knuckles and dripping from his bare fingertips to the floor.
As you allow all of the guilt and rage and confusion to pour from your body, you lose all sense of time and place until a pair of warm arms wrap around your shoulders, and Tony once more kneels at your side.
"I lost him, Tony," you sob. "I-I should have done something...maybe I could have-"
"Shh," Tony hushes you gently, pressing his lips to your temple while gently rubbing your shoulder. "You did everything you could."
"I had is heart in my hands, Tony and I...I couldn't save him," you cry, shoulders shaking as your chest heaves. "And he...he apologized. He apologized. And I couldn't even save him."
You shake your head as you look at Mateo, his face blurred by your tears. "God what am I even doing in this job?"
Tony turns you and pulls you into his chest, embracing you tightly.
"We can't save everyone, Doc. And there'd be a hell of a lot more gone if you weren't around," Tony whispers.
"But what's the point?" you cry. "If I can't save the people I care about what's the point?"
"I'll let you know when I figure it out," says Tony quietly. "But what I do know is that we can't stop. People rely on heroes like us. Like you."
"Like him," a third voice calls out. You and Tony both turn to find the diener has returned, and stands quietly in the back of the room. "Our young recruit here gave his life. Willingly."
"Wh-what?" you ask, pushing away from Tony and taking several steps toward the old man as you reach up and use the shoulder of your t-shirt to wipe away the tears on your cheeks.
"I take it you have not been a part of the investigation into the explosion, Doctor?" the diener asks. "You haven't watched the footage of the explosion?"
You shake your head, furrowing your brow. The diener smiles warmly, walking up to you and Tony and smiling down upon Mateo.
"Recruit Gonsalves here was safely out of harm's way when the fire started. But Recruit Jane Crawford was not."
"Wait," you say, sniffling. "Jane...Janie? Matty said something about a Janie but...he said he was too late."
The diener shakes his head with a small smile, looking down on Mateo.
"Our recruit here is a hero himself. Much like you, Doctor. And like you, Mr. Stark. Recruit Crawford lives. And because Recruit Gonsalves shielded her body from most of the blast with his own, it is believed that she will recover fully."
A fresh set of tears brims in your eyes as you look down at Mateo's still frame.
"He died thinking she already had," you say quietly through your tears. "It's not...it's not fair."
The old diener steps up to you and reaches for your hands, taking them both in his.
"This is your first loss," he says compassionately. "I can see it in your eyes."
You nod.
He presses his lips together in a sad smile.
"You will not be able to save them all," he says gently. "Celebrate the ones you do. Mourn the ones you do not. But never forget that every one of us walks a path that leads to an end. We are not bricklayers, Doctor. We cannot construct new ends, rather...we can only mend the cracks along the way. And some cracks are too deep for us to fix. Even the most skilled of us."
The diener drops your hands and steps back to Mateo's side, reaching for the sheet.
"Wait!" you say urgently, "I...I need ten minutes," you say quietly.
He smiles and nods, stepping back and retreating through the doors once more. Once gone, you look up at Tony.
"It took me a minute but, I think I found what you're looking for," he says, holding out a small bottle of OPI nail polish. You let out a teary chuckle as you take it from Tony and turn it over slowly in your hands. A bit of dried paint on the edge of the bottle from the last time Mateo used it tells you he had stored it in a hurry.
Turning the bottle over, you smile at the name of the color. "Reach for the sky," you whisper, grinning through tears.
Turning back to Mateo, you run your fingers through his dark hair.
"I'm sorry they took this off, sweetie," you whisper. "It's part of their autopsy process but...I'll fix it. I won't let you go without it, okay?"
Sitting cross legged on the ground, you reach for Mateo's hand once more when Tony's voice catches your attention.
"Wait. Here," he says, pulling over a chair. "You'll get a better angle."
You give him a small, grateful smile as he drags the chair from the diener's desk over next to Mateo.
"You don't have to stay," you say quietly, reaching out and placing Mateo's hand in your lap.
"Well, I don't have much else going on," Tony says quietly, placing a warm hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns over his t-shirt that you still wear. "Besides, I can honestly say I've never painted a dead boy's fingernails before."
You shake your head and let out a breathy laugh as you twist open the nail polish and tenderly begin painting Mateo's nails one by one, handling his cold fingers with care.
With each finger that you paint, you find a greater sense of calm. Acceptance. The pain doesn't lessen. It's still there. But it's the guilt that eases. The anger.
When you pull the chair around to the side, Tony follows. He sticks close to your side - never taking his hand from your shoulder. You can tell he doesn't quite know how to comfort you with words, so he uses gentle and subtle touch to bequeath his own calm upon you. And to your surprise, you find it working.
Until you get down to the last nail. And all of a sudden you feel that stabilizing, grounding warmth on your shoulder lift as Tony walks away. You hear some rustling around from the back near the diener's desk and you have the urge to turn and watch what Tony's doing. But you don't dare break your focus. You're only a swipe or two away from finishing.
Double checking both hands to make sure the paint job is as pristine as you can make it, you stand and take both of his hands in yours, blowing gently on the nails for several minutes to dry the paint. Satisfied, you place his arms gently at his side, taking one final moment to say goodbye.
"You're a hero, Matty. You saved her," you whisper, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Mateo's forehead. "And I'll miss you," you say quietly. "Go fly now. Reach for the sky."
You reach for the white cloth when Tony's hand stops you. You look up at him confused. He simply holds up a small square of paper, his autograph scrawled across the the front. Tony folds it twice, and reaches down, placing it in Mateo's hand, folding Mateo's fingers tightly around the piece of paper before taking the sheet, and covering up the boy for the last time.
"Might as well give the kid what he asked for, right?" Tony says. But he can't hide the small tear in the corner of his eye.
Your lip trembles once more as you fight back that painful swelling in your chest.
"What will happen to him, Tony? He doesn't have any family," you ask.
"What are you talking about, hon?" Tony asks, reaching out and pulling you into his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "He's got us."
You bury your face into Tony's shoulder as he runs a hand through your hair.
"I'll find his sister. And his mom. I'll make sure they're all together," Tony says quietly.
"Thank you," you answer hoarsely.
The two of you stand in silence for a moment, saying your quiet goodbyes until Tony presses a kiss to your forehead and takes your hand.
"Come on, honey," Tony says softly. "Let's go to the lab. Rhodey's been waiting for his legs."
"Yeah," you exhale, casting one final glance back at Mateo as Tony pulls you gently towards the double doors. "Lab sounds good."