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Aside from the suits, Tony doesn’t make weapons anymore. Modifying, repairing, improving—perfectly acceptable, but he won't design and manufacture weapons from scratch, not even for his team. He leaves that to SHIELD. So Tony increases the power of Natasha’s Widow Bites, mixes a new, lighter alloy for Clint’s bow, incorporates an electromagnetic retrieval function to Steve’s shield, tries to build an earpiece for Hulk, and…well, he’s given up on Thor’s judgmental hammer.
But he can’t help but make one exception to the rule. Inevitably, there’s always an exception.
Whenever he sees Coulson pull out his Smith & Wesson M&P, his head kicks into action with ideas for a better pistol. One with no chance of accidental discharges, more rounds per magazine, a better rail system, etc. Tony doesn't know why. He didn’t think Agent Agent’s ‘death’ had such a large impact on him or that the man was incompetent without proper weaponry. Coulson is one of the best shots he’s ever met.
Regardless, he has JARVIS create an encrypted, nondescript folder on his personal server called “Tools – Socket Wrench” where he hides away those inventions and schematics.
It somehow becomes a soothing activity for the days when everything gets to be too much and he just wants to escape for a little while. Pepper would probably find it hilarious that what finally pulls him out of alcoholism is creating weapons he decided never to create again for Coulson who he isn’t supposed to like.
By now, he has over 10 fully functional weapons customized for Agent, ready for fabrication and testing. They are far ahead of anything currently on the market, varying from tasers to pistols to mini-grenades. Protection that can be concealed on his person because looking unremarkable and unthreatening is totally Coulson’s superpower.
No one ever has to know.
--
Then it happens.
The latest supervillain traces their comm frequency back to the mobile observation center where Coulson is stationed (because Fury refuses to use Tony’s guaranteed-to-be-secure line out of petty principle and SHIELD engineers are idiots). The henchmen are suddenly breaking down the agent's door, and before the Avengers can react, Coulson’s two guns are spent and the psychopath has him hostage.
It’s stupid because the fast-acting tranquilizer disguised as a ring Tony just finished designing would be super useful right about now. It would have knocked out the goon that currently held Coulson in a chokehold with a gun pointed at his head in seconds.
Tony shoves down the sudden panic in his chest, and then he’s pissed. No one hurts their handler. Not again.
So while the supervillain is indulging in his supervillain monologue about feral feline minions taking over blah blah blah, Tony’s suit locks onto the dumbass and his men and takes them out with his shoulder missiles like he had done in Gulmira. Serves them right, motherfuckers.
Later, once the cats are rounded up, he gets the dressing down from Steve about unnecessary killing and blah blah blah. Tony just rolls his eyes and points out that Coulson could have been killed instead. It’s still a sore spot for the team, and Steve shuts up. Tony isn’t sorry at all.
As soon as Tony is clean and locked up in his workshop, he opens up the schematics for the tranquilizer ring and sends it off to fabrication. Fuck his rules if it keeps Agent alive.
A two-day engineering binge and many test versions later, Tony has JARVIS hack SHIELD cameras and track down Coulson. He breaks into the man’s office while he’s in a meeting and leaves a little black box on his desk. It’s rigged to project a hologram explaining the un-suspiciousness of the suspicious package and what the ring does as soon as Coulson walks into the office. Can’t have it sent down to Security and Fury getting jealous, after all.
As much as he wants to see Coulson’s reaction, Tony doesn’t dare plant a camera in the office, but he confirms it wasn’t sent to Security, and during the next team training session, he spots the silver ring on Agent’s left middle finger and receives a tiny smile. Not the usual grimace-smile but a real one.
Tony is so charmed surprised he flies into a wall.
--
It becomes a regular thing.
Every few weeks, Tony discreetly drops off a black box with a new weapon or more ammunition (lots of ammunition) to Coulson’s occasionally-used office at the Tower, and after each gift, Tony receives one of those little smiles. It puts him in high spirits for days afterwards, making it easier to slog through SI board meetings and debriefs and paperwork.
Even better are when Coulson returns from missions with minimal injuries and Tony picks up SHIELD gossip about the man eliminating enemies with badass weaponry. Not only is it a nice ego boost, but also following these missions, Coulson’s smiles are accompanied by a pat on the shoulder or a mug of the best coffee he’s ever tasted in his thirty-odd years or a pass on paperwork. They are small acts of kindness, considered insignificant from anyone else, but Tony feels inordinately spoiled.
--
Around half a year into his Keep Agent Safe campaign, Tony suddenly realizes most of the coffee he had been drinking lately tasted like Coulson’s blend. And then it was like his eyes opened to a whole new world. Pen holders have cropped up in almost every room, the communal areas are neater than ever, there is a kitchen cabinet holding foods he’s never seen anyone on his team eat before, and most noticeably, Coulson’s office at the Tower looks like someone actually uses it.
“Hey, J?”
“How may I be of service, sir?”
“Has Agent been hanging out here lately?” Tony asks absently, running a hand along the bookshelves that had previously been empty but are now filled with books on policy, history, and all kinds of boring.
There is a long pause that Tony recognizes as his A.I.’s version of an exasperated sigh. “Agent Coulson moved into his designated apartment here six weeks ago,” the disembodied voice informs him.
“Oh. Huh.” Tony took another sip of the heavenly drink. It somehow tasted better than a minute ago. “Okay.”
After one last sweep of the organized room, Tony heads back down to his workshop with new ideas. Maybe miniature, remote-detonated bombs Coulson could plant in enemy hideouts…
--
One night, Tony returns late from a client dinner. He’s tired but pleased with how it turned out. He had dinner with a sexy, intelligent woman, enjoyed an exceptional 6-course meal, gotten verbal agreement for a 2-year contract renewal from a large client, and did the whole suave hand-kissing routine before she drove away happy. Overall a productive evening.
Loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his dress shirt, he takes a detour to the communal kitchen for two cups of Coulson’s coffee (which has been oddly but conveniently available at all times of the day) before heading to the lab to work on modifications the client requested. However, when he arrives, the pot is empty. He hasn’t seen it empty in…weeks? Months?
He stands there dumbfounded at the lack of coffee.
The lack of Coulson’s coffee.
Tony knows he’s being melodramatic, but JARVIS has evidence that some of his best work happen while he’s doped up on Coulson’s coffee. It’s proven by a 3-month scientifically valid observation and analysis with mathematical formulas and charts to go along. The study was a spur of the moment thing he put together after a particularly satisfying engineering binge and he never bothered to conclude the study, but he really doesn’t feel like collecting data on second-rate coffee fueled engineering right this moment.
He doesn’t notice how long he’s been standing there, lost in thought as to what he should do now (aside from waking up Agent in the middle of the night for coffee, which sounds selfish even for him), when a quiet cough draws his attention.
Speak of the devil.
Coulson is a few feet away leaning against the doorframe in sweatpants and a SHIELD t-shirt, the most casual Tony’s ever seen him. His arms are crossed (where had he been hiding those biceps?), his mild expression is somehow disappointed, and Tony suddenly feels the irrational need to apologize and explain himself, which is ridiculous. He’s certain he has done nothing wrong—no destroyed property, damaged reputations, or sleeping around. He’s 34, not some teenager who needs parental permission to stay out past curfew.
Instead, he gives his best imploring eyes. “Coffee?”
After a pause, the older man heaves a sigh and walks over to the machine, nudging Tony aside to grab supplies. Tony watches with rapt attention. He’s actually never seen how Coulson’s coffee is made. It had always been steaming and ready in the kitchen or magically appearing next to his elbow.
Agent sighs again and gives Tony a look that says he’s being annoying and points at a bar stool next to the kitchen island. “Sit.”
Tony goes obediently and perches on the stool, not removing his eyes from Coulson’s hands as the engineer settles his elbow and props his chin on his hand (and if he ogles Coulson’s backside, no one but JARVIS will know). The silence becomes awkward, at least to Tony, so he does what he does best and starts talking about nothing and everything to fill the space. He rambles about new StarkPhone upgrades, the results of tonight’s business dinner, the green-ness of Hulk, and by the time coffee is ready, Coulson’s shoulders are no longer tense and there is that little smile Tony covets.
When the mug is handed to him, Tony wraps both hands around the hot ceramic and inhales deeply, letting the rich aroma bleed away his fatigue. The first sip is even better. It’s heated perfectly to warm his insides but not burn his tongue.
Tony looks up at Coulson through half-lidded eyes and gives what must be an embarrassingly dopey smile of appreciation, but he really doesn’t care at the moment. Agent Agent already saw him at his worst years ago and he’s stuck around.
The look on the man’s face is soft and fond, and it warms Tony more than the coffee does.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Coulson says as he passes by, ruffling Tony’s hair gently before he’s gone.
Tony smiles to himself as he also leaves the kitchen, taking the rest of the pot with him. Maybe he’ll limit tonight’s work to just a few hours.
--
A month later, Tony is restlessly fiddling with an ammunition upgrade for Coulson, considering pouring himself some scotch to take the edge off. It’s been five days since Agent left for a super top-secret mission and no one is telling him when he’s scheduled to return. Tony holds out for two days before he hacks SHIELD for the mission brief. What he finds is the bare minimum with bits and pieces of seemingly unrelated supporting material and there isn’t enough to make sense of it, which means the complete case file was typed up, scanned, and printed off on machines in a closed system. Probably permanently filed in a physical library at SHIELD. Using sticker labels. And a card catalogue. Prehistoric.
He denies sulking. It certainly has nothing to do with Agent—he just needs proper coffee, that’s all.
Tony has taken to watching Coulson make coffee, but regardless of how many times he tries, he still can’t get it right. The man has even walked Tony through it using the same ingredients with no success. If the combined genius and resources of Tony Stark and JARVIS can’t get it right, the man must be using magic. God, Tony hates magic.
He’s in a sour mood when he makes his way to the kitchen to scavenge for proper food, something more than the nutrient bars he stocks in the workshop. From down the hall, he hears voices tinged with worry. And then he hears another voice. Oh!
Tony speeds up until he reaches the kitchen threshold, ready to welcome Coulson back with a clever quip and ask for coffee, but his grin drops off as soon as he sees and hears what’s going on. The two resident assassins are hovering over their half-dressed handler, Clint stonily replacing the bandages on Agent’s injured shoulder and Natasha glaring at the sheepish man. It looks like a through-and-through bullet wound which just missed the collarbone, still inflamed but clean. Then Tony notices a smaller bandage at the side of his waist and another across his upper arm.
Tony stands there for several seconds, what ifs running through his head, and just as Coulson’s eyes flicker over to him, he spins around and storms back down to the workshop. He hasn’t made such a careless mistake in years, getting carried away with offense instead of defense, being blinded by Coulson’s frustratingly immaculate suits that give him an air of invincibility and the illusion that nothing ever seems to ruffle the agent, forgetting that Loki had not only been difficult to incapacitate but also near-impossible avoid injury from for unenhanced humans. It’s a gross oversight, one that he’s correcting immediately.
“JARVIS, lock it down. No one gets in until we figure this out. Bring up every project we’ve done with fabric and run a search through patents and science publications for relevant alloys and compounds. You know what, see if you can hack Wakanda. Weren’t there rumors about an invincible cat dude?”
“Right away, sir,” JARVIS replies, approval in his tone. The A.I. seemed to have taken a liking to Coulson, and he sounds just as determined to keep him alive.
The following days are busy with fibers, metal weaves, mesh and lots of punctured dummies. He ignores calls and texts and knocks and eventually pounding on the workshop door. JARVIS informs him everyone is worried, especially Coulson, but the A.I. doesn’t object when Tony refuses contact with any of them as long as the engineer eats and naps sufficiently.
Two weeks later, Tony showers, shaves, and finally resurfaces. He clutches the finished products like they are a lifeline as he marches towards Coulson—hasn’t bothered to package them with care as he usually does because presentation matters little in the face of urgency.
When JARVIS confirms Agent is alone in his office at the Tower, Tony barges in without knocking and shoves his creation in the man’s face.
“Put this on,” he demands.
Coulson’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and under Tony’s scrutiny he accepts the fabric and shakes one out. It’s a thin, long sleeve shirt colored to match his skin, heavier than the typical compression sportswear but cool and silky to the touch. Tony is nearly vibrating with impatience.
“It’s a bulletproof and stab-proof undershirt. Has woven fibers with a variation of Kevlar, a new type of stretch fabric, and a few more things, and it’s infused with adamantium. That’s the important part. It’s nearly impossible to tear through. The fabric contracts and hardens around the impact if it crosses a certain threshold. It doesn’t prevent blunt force trauma, but hey, better than a hole in your stomach. I couldn’t–”
“Tony–”
“–make it any thinner—I’ll figure that later—but one of the blended materials keeps the shirt cool. There’s a version that’s insulated against the cold too. And I made–”
“Tony–”
“–boxer briefs. To cover the femoral artery. Hope you don’t mind your junk tucked close. I can make tights if you want. People get shot in the leg all the time–”
Tony cuts off when a warm pair of lips covers his. It only lasts seconds but he feels dizzy when they pull away slowly. He stares wide-eyed at this man he’s spent days upon days protecting. There’s affection in Coulson’s blue eyes and a kind smile creasing his face, filling Tony with a serene sort of happiness and he wishes Coulson would look at him like that forever.
“Tony. Thank you.” The agent brushes aside a lock of damp hair and then moves to gently stroke Tony’s cheek. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”
This time, when Coulson presses their mouths together, Tony melts into the kiss. It’s deep and heady, nothing like what Tony expected from a kiss with Coulson and he’s swept away by the wet heat and the taste and the smell. The hand brushing his cheek moves to cup the base of his head, bringing them even closer, allowing Coulson’s hot tongue to delve deeper. It doesn’t even cross Tony’s mind to push back and assert his own control. Instead, he goes lax and lets Coulson claim him.
“Tony,” the older man breathes when he lets up. Tony shivers as the hand traces his jaw, down his neck, across his shoulder, and down the length of his arm until it captures his own clammy hand. “I’ve gotten to know your amazing tech every time they save my life. Now, I’d like to get to know the amazing man behind them.”
Tony knows the first date invitation that's coming next—it’s almost formulaic—but he’s never felt so out of sorts or flustered before, not even when he was 14.
“Let me make you dinner. And coffee. You can tell me all about this shirt, and afterwards we’ll head to the shooting range. How does that sound?”
“You'll make… Uh, that– that sounds great. Fantastic even–”
“Excellent. It’s a date.”
And Tony knows he’s a goner when Coulson gives him the brightest smile yet.