Anomie

"You're doing it wrong, as usual," Tony said, whirling around in his chair to face Dummy. The robot, forever determined (thanks to its programming) to succeed, paid Tony no mind and continued to unscrew the bolts it was supposed to be securing, chirping its electronic warbles without a care in the world.

Tony made a disparaging face. "Stop. Just stop it. Call it a day," he sighed, rolling the chair over to where Dummy worked, lightly smacking the robot's clawed hand aside. Dummy gave a sad whine. As much as he swore he'd get rid of the damn thing he kept the troublesome robot around despite the frustration it caused him. After all, he couldn't really blame Dummy for its lack of intelligence. Tony had programmed it as such. Having someone - or something - less competent around to insult while he worked made him feel more validated in what he was doing.

That and the fact that Dummy was probably the oldest friend he had.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was JARVIS, the hyper-intelligent computer system that ran the house and lent the more tactical hand when Tony was working. The AI was Tony’s greatest pride and joy aside from his suits of armor. Where Dummy existed to make Tony feel better by having someone to belittle, JARVIS existed to make Tony feel better by having someone to talk to, by giving Tony praise and even – on occasion – sending a sarcastic remark his way. For the longest time, the only person Tony has been able to consider as an equal is JARVIS.

He knows JARVIS isn’t actually a person, but it’s always been nice to pretend.

He also knows that the inner workings of his brain are probably the wet dream of bloodthirsty psychiatrists across the globe.

Tony is a vain man, but his vanity isn’t so powerful that it overrides his intelligence (most of the time); he knows it’s probably strange for a person to consider robots and computers as friends. Not just probably. Not even probably. It just is. But this doesn’t bother him. Not in the least. In fact, Tony is rather adamant for his reasoning behind his personifications. What else was he supposed to do growing up? It’s not like he had many father-son bonding moments outside engineering, so he figured what better way to waltz into his father’s graces than work with him? When he built his first engine at the age of six, Tony had been ecstatic, had run to show his father. “Nice work”. The words had made his young heart swell with pride. As he grew older, those two words stopped being enough and became empty words in place of the three he wished his father would say.

Out of anger, Tony built Dummy.

At the age of seventeen he graduated from college when most of his classmates were twenty-two or older. While plenty of his fondest, most reckless memories came from those days, it hadn’t been easy being a part of that crowd. He’d done it alright, no doubt about it, but in order to Tony had to wear a mask. A mask of confidence. He lived Shakespeare’s words to the fullest when he entered the set, whether it be interviews, business meetings, or social gatherings. In this endless act he was the introvert playing the extrovert, and his stage – the world – believed every scene he starred in.

It wasn’t only in his college days that he did this, but his whole life. Being at least ten steps ahead of everyone else wasn’t always an endearing thing, especially in the eyes of others. There were the people that didn’t understand it and didn’t bother trying. There were those who were annoyed by it. There were those who envied him for it. Then, almost worse than the envious bunch, were those who fawned over him. The attention was nice, but that’s all it was; attention for attention’s sake. Nothing more. Nothing less. The extrovert he forced himself to be reveled in it. Tony hated it. Truth be told, the scale of it all could be downright lonely at times. But Tony Stark would be damned if he let anyone know it. He hid behind an outer shell for a reason, though, admittedly, the reason was just a repetitive cycle: rebel against the insecurities, put up the mask, hate the result of the mask, reinforce it, go home, feel emotionally drained, sleep, wake up, repeat. Somewhere along the line Tony had ceased to be an individual and become a performer.

Out of solitude, Tony created JARVIS.

When it came to ‘real’ friends…sure, there was Rhodey, but they had had their disagreements. At best, James Rhodes tolerated Tony’s behavior. Rhodey knew the Tony who was playing his role, and was never able to fully understand him when he cut scene. There was Pepper, who Tony needed more than he’d ever be able to put into words, but while she was able to deal with Tony unmasked from his narcissism, she couldn’t fully comprehend the bitterness and self-loathing behind it. It was a thing of history well since established that Tony resigned himself to never having true friends. He gave up, which lead to him not wanting them, which lead to him not needing them. His life was shallow, why should any bond he formed with another person be otherwise?

Apparently, some force of fate – if he believed in such a thing – thought there was some reason for him to deserve something more than shallow.

Tony had made it clear to Fury that he’d wanted no part of the team he was forming, wanted no part of having to work with others. Excluding the fact that being around other people truly made Tony’s skin crawl, it was basic math; Tony plus anything other than just Tony sitting in a room working alone equaled conflict and disaster. Sometimes, even that wasn’t enough to prevent him from destroying things; just ask his liver. He admitted that he had been curious about The Avenger Initiative, had maybe even secretly longed to be a part of something bigger than himself, but he’d refused despite his interest in Fury’s pet project, played it off as if the director didn’t deserve to have him on his team, as if Tony was above all that (and he told himself that he was).

His refusal hadn’t mattered much. He was still dragged onto the team. Maybe there was never really an option to say no to Fury in the first place. Or maybe Tony just hadn’t said “No way in hell” strongly enough. It didn’t matter. A day later he found himself on a monstrous S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft with other people, the very last place he wanted to end up.

After the attack on Manhattan, Tony spent most of his time slaving away in his private workshop, giving JARVIS the express order to inform anyone, even Pepper, that he was not to be disturbed. Most of the time he didn’t even know what he was working on. Truth be told, he was working for the sake of working, because work usually cleared his mind, stopped the intrusive and uncomfortable thoughts from having a good poke and prod at his brain. Tony preferred his brain to be perfectly unmolested by things other than reason.

It didn’t always work, like today, when no amount mathematical equations, steel, oil, sweat, or fire could chase away his irrational thoughts. Irrational, because who in their right mind longs for something their entire life only to gain it and want to push it away? Apparently, Tony Stark.

Tony hadn’t wanted to get along with any of them. Some spiteful monster inside him had even thought of sabotaging the entire Initiative, which he knew had already been through the works just from listening to Nick Fury’s embittered tone on the occasions Tony had bothered to pay attention to what the man was saying. He hadn’t expected to like any of them, and definitely hadn’t expected any of them to like him in return. Not just Iron Man, but him. He didn’t get it. He hadn’t been recommended, Iron Man had, a concept that still confused and stung him. He’d said it before and he’d say it again, the suit and he were one, but apparently the deeds were not one and the same. Yet despite this, his…teammates, he guessed he should call them…didn’t entirely mind Tony Stark. In fact, they seemed to enjoy his company even outside of work. Thor was fond of his witty remarks. He claimed that they brought him fond memories. Tony never asked of whom; he had an inkling he already knew the answer and wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Clint, when he wasn’t doing private S.H.I.E.L.D. business, made a good drinking buddy, but Tony had long since given up trying to best him at playing darts. He didn’t have a semi-demeaning nickname for Natasha for a reason; she was probably the only woman he both feared and respected. Bruce had a remarkable amount of patience for his snark when you took his issues into consideration. He was also the only one of the group who could keep up with Tony intellectually, understanding every scientific word that fell from his lips. Steve just seemed to intuitively know him (a whole other level of intelligence altogether), which put Tony on edge enough to want to start arguments with the guy, but surprisingly the two got along most of the time. ‘Most of the time’ being especially not when Tony decided that the only way to make Steve adapt to the modern era was to take him to the sleaziest strip club he knew of. He hadn’t known a person’s face could turn as red as his suit of armor.

Tony had to admit that he found a weird sort of happiness at sharing their company.

But he tried – truly tried – to hate having Stark Tower turned into ‘Avengers Tower’, tried to loathe having to share his space with these ‘other people’. He tried. And he failed. His defense mechanisms to hide himself from the prying eyes of others were his thickest of armors, and he aimed to push them away. He was rude to them at best. At his worst, the words he lashed out with were wounding, sharp as knives and drawing unseen blood. None of them exactly put up with the manifestations of his panic, but they weren’t driven away from him either. His best laid efforts, some subconsciously enacted and others done with purpose, had all failed. For the first time in his life, Tony accepted failure and defeat.

It angered him at first, still did occasionally, like now. Who were these people? Who were they to stick around? To put up with him, to care about him? Didn’t they know that doing so was as good as willingly lying down on a blade? It was stupid. They were stupid. And he was stupid for being okay with it. Once again, like a trademark, Tony Stark showed the world what it was to be the perfect exhibition of selfishness.

He didn’t even want to dwell on how monumentally fucked up it was that he considered letting himself have friends was selfish.

He’d heard more times than he could count (and math was his forte) that he didn’t have a heart. Even after years of forsaking weapons’ manufacturing in trade for energy and other technologies, the jibe that Tony Stark was a heartless man still followed him as closely as his own shadow. Some days it seemed that no matter what he did as Iron Man, Tony Stark would never be able to redeem the horrors of his past. Not to the public and not to himself. Especially not to himself. So when – several days after their battle – The Avengers had gathered together for a social night and Tony heard Clint tell them the last thing he remembered before he’d been put under Loki’s spell, Tony had wished he’d never stepped outside his front door.

“He told me I had heart,” Clint said, scrunching up his brow. “Then everything just went…cold…and that was it.” He made an empty-handed gesture. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“You do have heart, my friend,” Thor said, giving the archer a friendly smack on the back that nearly sent him face first into the table. “It is the only reason why it worked on you as it did.”

Tony had wanted to scream, to ask Thor if he knew for sure that that was the only reason the scepter’s powers had worked so well on their comrade. Because if it was, what did that say about him? Tony hadn’t told any of them that Loki had tried to take control of him, tried to play puppet-master with his heart, hadn’t told him that their enemy had failed, not only once, but twice to do so. If Thor was right, didn’t it only confirm what everyone had said about him all along? That he was heartless? But if he was heartless, why did he bother doing what he did when the armor was bolted in? Tony knew that answer, and knew it as true; Tony didn’t want the world to think of him as heartless, so he set out to make an impression opposite to its belief.

He also knew that just because you want something to be a certain way, doesn’t mean it will be that way.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Fine, JARVIS,” he muttered, fiddling with the bolts of his project, screwing and unscrewing them into place as he stared blankly ahead.

“My data informs me that you’re distressed,” the AI drawled.

“I’m not distressed, JARVIS, don’t be ridiculous,” Tony scoffed. He occasionally regretted upgrading the AI’s programming to detect changes in a person’s vital signs. It had seemed prudent when the idea first popped into his head, was still prudent, because housing five (six, if he included himself) superheroes could draw unwanted attention. But while installing enough auxiliary data into JARVIS to detect behavior disturbances and fight-or-flight situations was a good security measure, Tony wished the AI wasn’t so easily able to detect when things were bothering him. “Sometimes I think you’re worse than Pepper.”

JARVIS had no response to that. Several moments of heavy silence passed before anything else was said. “Sir, you have plans with the others in half an hour. Perhaps it would be prudent to set your project aside for later?”

“Just tell Spangles or Legolas I’ve got the flu or…something,” Tony mumbled, biting his lip as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

“With all due respect, sir, you had the flu last week,” JARVIS said after a pause, sounding exasperated. “And may I point out that with the exception of Miss Romanoff and Mister Barton, your teammates are immune to illnesses?”

“You can point it out all you want, JARVIS. Doesn’t mean I have to take note of it. Besides, I’m sick,” he said matter-of-factly, “I don’t want to be out in public.”

“You’re not actually ill, sir—”

“Nagging,” Tony interrupted, waving a finger in the air. “This would be nagging.”

Tony imagined JARVIS’s silence was a begrudging one.

Despite what he said to JARVIS, Tony knew that he was panicking. He kept a calm face, but inside he was cracking. He told himself that Loki was unable to control him because if the arc reactor prevented shrapnel from reaching his heart, surely it prevented any other harmful intrusions from doing so…or the scepter and his reactor shared a similar power and canceled each other out…or simply because the scepter needed to contact actual flesh to distort the victim’s mind. Either way…no matter how much he tried to assure himself, the unbearable still plagued his thoughts; he had no heart. And if he had no heart, how could he hoodwink everyone around him into thinking he did? He didn’t deserve this.

Tony set aside his tools and went over to bar, pouring himself a glass of liquor. He paced around his works pace, staring down at the whole lot of nothing he’d accomplished today by keeping himself busy, swirling the alcohol in the glass.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you think I’m being paranoid?” he asked.

“My data informs me that the chemical responses of your amygdala region are currently unbalanced, sir.”

“So I’m being ridiculous?”

JARVIS sounded somewhat confused. “There are two main paradigms in the neurological theories of the formation of panic in the human brain—”

“JARVIS,” Tony warned. He didn’t need neurological studies cited to him right now.

The AI hesitated. “In your means of defining the term in correlation to the subject at hand…yes, sir, you are being ridiculous.”

“All I needed to know. Take the night off, JARVIS,” he said, setting his untouched drink back onto the counter of the bar.

“I have places to be.”