Warning for angst, depression and attempted suicide via Russian roulette.

Game Over

It's been six years. Or maybe eight. Perhaps even ten. The point is not to remember the last time too clearly.

He twirls the cylinder the way he always does. It's one of the rules. Always twirl the cylinder, only one shot, then he gives the revolver to DUMMY to hide (after leaving the workshop, because DUMMY can't be trusted completely not to accidentally fire it.) By the time Tony finds it again he won't feel like taking the risk again for a while. Sometimes, years pass.

He raises the gun until it points at his temple. He ran the calculations before the first time because who wants to end up a vegetable? No, the point is to either live or die. For Tony, there's nothing in between.

Sometimes, he doesn't pull the trigger. He just likes the feeling. On some days. He's not always suicidal. Today is one of the other days. One of those days where he knows he'll pull the trigger. And he's almost there when-

"Put the gun down."

Tony doesn't even flinch. Her voice is soft in a way he's never heard it before, perhaps so he wouldn't startle too badly and pull the trigger by mistake. His entire life, he has never pulled a trigger without meaning to.

Now that he knows that she is here, somewhere behind him, he can hear her approaching. Slowly, quietly, but not noiselessly. If she didn't want him to hear her, he wouldn't.

"Put it down, Tony."

"Give me a reason," he replies.

There's a pause and Tony considers pressing down on the trigger without waiting for her to find an answer.

"Because I'm asking you," she says. It should be ridiculous, except there's a study that people will cave if given a reason, any reason, even if it's a stupid reason. They'll let someone cut in line in front of them at the photo copier because 'I need to copy something', as if that isn't the reason why everyone is lining up in front of a copier.

Natasha asked.

"Please," she says, and he meets her eyes now that she's standing in his field of vision.

"I said I'd pull the trigger."

"Who did you promise?"

"Myself." He smiles a bit. "It's your game. Russian roulette. Six years running by now. Or eight. Or maybe ten."

She doesn't relax. She should know what his chances are. Apparently she still doesn't like them.

"Put down the gun. Then pull the trigger," she suggests. Tony can see her throat bobbing as she swallows heavily.

He supposes that would work. It doesn't change the rules, he'll still keep his promise, but he won't take the risk today. There's only one round. That's the rule.

He lowers his arm, points it towards the back at the targets for his propulsors and pulls the trigger.

The following bang is loud, but neither of them flinches. Tony puts the gun down.

"Game over?" He asks.

"Game over," Natasha confirms and takes the gun.