Tony pinched his own bicep, felt the resistance there, and his expression shifted into something caught between disbelief and scientific curiosity.
"When we get back to Earth," he said, "I'm getting two lifetime VIP memberships. One for me, one for Pepper."
"My rates are quite high."
"Money is genuinely not a concern. Name a number."
"I'll think about it." Jordan released his hand. "If I ever need capital, I might open a private clinic."
Tony pointed at him. "You will make a fortune. I'm not being diplomatic. The market for what you just did is—" He stopped himself, recalibrated. Then extended his hand again, differently this time—not a transaction but an introduction. "Jordan."
"That's me."
The handshake was firmer than the first one. The kind that carries weight.
"Thank you." Tony said it simply, the performance dropped for a moment. Just two words, with nothing performed behind them.
Jordan gave him one understanding pat on the back—the specific kind that means I know, and you don't need to say more—and then immediately undermined it.
"Don't get sentimental yet. This rescue has a tab."
Tony laughed—short, real, the first one that had reached his eyes in twelve days. "I don't carry debt. Bad for the brand."
Jordan snapped his fingers.
The Dimensional Gate opened in front of the Benatar with none of the beginner's hand-circling that had been necessary days ago. Kamar-Taj practice had internalized the working to the point where the gesture was optional—posture-independent, intention-driven, similar in principle to hand seals in that the motion wasn't the mechanism, it was just the habit. The portal expanded steadily, powered by Jordan's output rather than a Sling Ring's capacity limits, until it was wide enough to fit a Guardians-class spacecraft.
Blue light appeared through the opening. A planet. Clouds.
Tony Stark looked at Earth through the portal, and something in his face that had been held very carefully for twelve days simply—gave.
He blinked once, hard.
"Alright," Jordan said. "Time for Iron Man to go home."
"Yeah." Tony's voice was steady. "Let's go home."
The sound reached the Avengers compound first—a deep displacement of air, the kind that preceded something large moving very fast. The assembled heroes made it outside in time to see the Benatar clearing the tree line at speed, and beneath it, holding the ship's undercarriage with both hands, a figure in jet-black and gold with a cape that didn't have any business being that dramatic at that velocity.
Jordan set the spacecraft down on the main lawn without apparent effort, straightened, and adjusted his collar.
The belly hatch opened.
Two figures descended the ramp.
The assembled heroes registered several things in sequence: Tony Stark, alive, walking under his own power, appearing—inexplicably—healthier than anyone had a right to look after days adrift in deep space. And behind him, Nebula, who surveyed the gathered Avengers with the flat assessment of someone who has been in this position before and found it moderately tedious.
"—Tony," the captain said. It came out quieter than he'd intended.
Tony walked toward him, glanced sideways at Jordan with a peculiar expression. "I feel obligated to point out," he said, "that the ship still had enough fuel to make it from the upper atmosphere under its own power. You could have let it fly in normally."
Jordan shook his head. "Tony. Think about this."
"I'm thinking."
"Carrying the ship across four thousand light-years and setting it down by hand is significantly more impressive than the ship landing itself." A brief pause. "And cooler. Objectively."
Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. "...You know what, that is an airtight argument and I resent that I can't counter it." He looked at the armor, which was already dissolving into its storage configuration with clean geometric particle effects, leaving Jordan in civilian clothes. "And what even is that suit? I filed a prior art claim with the World Intellectual Property Organization years ago, I should be getting royalties—"
"Yours is technology," Jordan said, for the second time. "Mine is special effects."
"No special effects cost what that's worth. My nanotech prototype was way more expensive than I thought it might be and it didn't do half of what I just watched yours do. Let me study it. One week. I'll pay storage fees."
"Settle the medical bill and the transport fee first, then we'll discuss lease terms."
"Done." Tony didn't even hesitate. "Blank check, you fill in the amount, we're square. The standing offer for the clinic investment also remains open."
"The boss is extremely reasonable," Jordan said.
By the time they reached the waiting group, the mood had shifted from stunned relief into something more complicated.
Steve Rogers stepped forward first. The reunion had years of history behind it and the particular weight of a friendship that had survived being broken and hadn't yet confirmed it was fully rebuilt. His expression said most of this without assistance.
"You look good," he managed. "Better than I expected, honestly." He glanced at Jordan. "And you two got along well."
"I've retained him as my personal doctor," Tony said. "He hasn't formally agreed yet, but I'm working on it."
Several Avengers looked at each other.
Medical skills. The same person who crossed four thousand light-years of deep space to carry back a spaceship by hand.
Tony looked as healthy as he'd appeared before Infinity War. Healthier, if anything. The skepticism in the room quietly resolved itself.
After the first wave of greetings had passed, Tony's voice dropped.
"I couldn't stop him." He wasn't looking at anyone in particular. "And I couldn't save the kid. He went into space with me, and I—" He stopped. "I lost him."
Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "Tony. We all failed. Every one of us."
They stood there for a moment with that.
Then, from somewhere across the lawn—
"Oh my god, Tony—"
Tony turned.
Pepper Potts was running, and whatever composure he'd maintained through twelve days of deep space and one very emotional portal ride home evaporated immediately. He crossed the distance between them in about three strides and pulled her in.
"Pepper." He exhaled her name. "You're okay."
"I'm okay—" She was already checking his face, his shoulders, running her hands over him with the systematic anxiety of someone who has been imagining the worst for nearly two weeks. "Are you hurt? What happened to you, you look—you actually look fine, how are you fine—"
"Jordan," Tony said simply, by way of explanation.
"Who's—"
"I'll explain later." He flexed, felt the difference, grinned sideways. "That big purple menace may have won the round, but he didn't lay a hand on me."
Nebula, as the captain had anticipated, arrived with intelligence.
The briefing that followed was short, specific, and produced a particular quality of outrage in everyone who heard it: Thanos had destroyed the Infinity Stones to prevent any reversal of the snap. He was retired. Farming. On a planet he'd apparently always planned to use for exactly this purpose, with the satisfied contentment of a man whose life's work was complete.
Thor's grip tightened on Stormbreaker until the lightning in it pulsed.