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When Steve woke up, he knew something was wrong. Still drowsy, he fumbled his hand through the bedsheet, searching for his husband, yet his hand was only greeted by cold blankets, wrinkled with the imprint of who was meant to be there.
“T’ny?” Steve mumbled into the pillow in his sleepy confusion.
“Good morning, Captain. It is 03:48am December 16th. Boss is located in his private office.” Friday chirped from the speakers.
3am. Sleepy. Tony gone. Tony in office. Tony is in his office at 3am on December 16th.
“Shit.” Steve hissed, his previous state of tiredness erased as he sprinted towards Tony’s personal office.
As he got to the mahogany door, he paused as he heard the soft tune of the piano, the notes drifting down the empty corridor, the melancholy melody crying with grief. Slowly, he pushed open the door, where he saw his husband sat at the white grand piano, playing with his head bowed, the moonlight filtering through the window, covering Tony in a silvery sheen that highlighted his features. Steve had always thought Tony was made for the silent film era, his big brown eyes always so expressive; they could convey a thousand emotions without uttering a single word. His hands moved expertly over every key, the talent and passion seeping into each note. This song was personal to him.
“Hey sweetheart.” Steve spoke softly into the silent room, as though his words would shatter the fragility of the moment.
Tony’s eyes flickered upwards, the light exposing the tears that ran down his cheeks, as he allowed himself a moment of rare vulnerability. The music quietly tapered off, as though Tony couldn’t bear to end the song so abruptly when it hadn’t been completed.
“Clair de Lune. It was my Mom’s favourite piano piece, even if it was sad. She said it reminded her of her mom. Now it reminds me of mine.” Tony began, running his fingers through his hair, perhaps in a self-comforting way, rather than a manifestation of stress.
“It’s beautiful.” Steve said neutrally, not wanting to interrupt Tony’s grief, but not wanting him to feel unacknowledged, like Tony’s grief had been for years.
“When my mom was a teenager, before she moved to America, she used to give piano lessons to the kids in her local church. She told me teaching music was her favourite thing to do, something about how you’d see people’s eyes sparkle when they finally got the passion for music, and that she couldn’t wait for me to learn so that she could see that in me. I wish I could see it in her one last time,”
Steve’s heart ached for him. When he had woken up from the ice, he’s been thrust into a world full of strangers, without a single friend in the world. Until he’s met Tony. When Tony lost his parents, he lost his whole family. His only connection were Stane and Rhodey, one who turned out to be a traitor and the other starting his military career, ready to be deployed. A world full of strangers who just wanted his husband for his money and fame.
“I’ve never really thought too much about having kids, but if we did, one of the first things I would do is teach them how to play the piano. To honour my mom.”
And Steve’s heart soared despite the sorrowful atmosphere at the mere fact that Tony had implied that if he ever had children, he would have them with Steve; that Tony wanted to continue traditions with their children. That they could be a real family - perhaps not with the white picket fence and the two point five children, but enough love to take on the world.
“Your mom sounded like a wonderful woman.” Steve agreed, silently crossing the room to take a seat on the stool next to his husband.
“She was the best. I hate that she isn’t remembered. I hate that Howard took her away from me because he was too fucking stupid to know not to drive drunk. I hate him.” Tony breathed, his tone getting angrier and angrier.
“He was the worst thing that ever happened to her. I’d rather have not been born if it meant she never met him.”
“Don’t say that. I didn’t know your mom but I know what you’ve told me about her and I know you. You were the light of her life, Tony. I’m sure she never regretted you. Never in a million years.” Steve said, his voice full of confidence.
And the Tony broke, a fresh wave of sobs wracking his body as he quickly pressed his face into the nook of Steve’s neck. His sobs filled the silent room, echoing off of the walls, intertwining with Steve’s soft shushing and words of comfort as he ran his hand through his husband’s hair, and pressed Tony’s body closer to his own. The pain of losing a parent was a pain Steve was intimately familiar with. His father may have passed away when he was too young to have any solid memories of the man, but the memories of his mother’s illness and her eventual passing would never leave him; the pain lessened over time but it never stopped aching. To lose both parents in one fell swoop with no warning was something Steve could only sympathise rather than empathise with, and the heartache it still caused his husband some twenty four years later broke Steve’s heart into pieces
Eventually Tony’s sobs tapered off, and the sobs that shook his body had stilled. Looking down, his husband had cried himself to sleep, resting against Steve’s body. Careful not to disturb him from a much needed sleep, Steve gently scooped him up, cradling his head against his chest as if Tony was the most precious thing in the world. And to Steve he was.
With the grace of a swan, he quietly carried Tony back to their bedroom, tenderly placing him into bed, and smoothing out the blankets over him, giving in to the urge to wipe the drying tears from the sleeping man’s face. Before joining his husband in bed, Steve again crept out of the room, this time in search of Tylenol to place on Tony’s bedside table. Tony always woke up with a headache after crying, and the thought of his husband being in any more pain than he already was, especially on this day, felt like agony to his heart strings.
As they had used the last packet in their bedroom, Steve made his way to the darkened kitchen, where they kept an emergency packet, before turning around to head back to his husband.
“Have you told him yet?” Came Natasha’s voice from the shadows of the kitchen.
“Told him what?” Steve asked, stilling, yet not turning to face his teammate.
“You know what.” Natasha replied, her voice a little sharper.
“No. I can’t. He’s better off not knowing.”
“Steve-” She began.
“No Natasha. Tony can’t known Bucky killed his parents. End of story.”