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One
"Tasha!"
Tony spins on his heel automatically and winds up face-to-face with some-guy-probably-named-Jeff who was almost certainly in Tony's ten-millionth economics class at MIT.
"Uh," Tony says, temporarily devoid of words.
"Hey, what are the chances? It's been forever," Jeff says. "Nice hair. How you been?"
"Okay," Tony says. Oh, wow, his words are gone. That . . . doesn't happen.
"Yeah?" Jeff smiles an impressive smile that seems to encompass the entire block of crowded city street. "Sorry I've been out of the loop, I've been in Africa. Crazy shit."
"Uh huh," Tony says. This is getting weird. His inability to make words.
"You look good, seriously," Jeff continues. He's wearing a very nice suit, which is just about the only thing Tony's tunnel-vision of distress is letting him notice.
"I look like a dyke," he says. What? What? Least helpful thing to say. Possibly ever. Before Jeff can say anything, Tony says, "Gotta go, board meeting. Shareholders waiting."
Not a victory, but at least he formed sentences that made him sound successful. He's going to have to find a better way of responding.
Two
"Natasha?"
Oh yeah, Tony thinks, I forgot to think of a coping strategy. He glances up from his day planner (no day plans in there) and sees Michael Cade, one of his father's business associates.
"No?" Tony says, but not loudly enough. This is the last time he takes public transportation. It helps him focus, but then sometimes there are people. He usually likes people. But.
"I'm so sorry to hear about your father," Cade says. His suit is also very nice. "I hadn't had a chance to offer my condolences, and I know you've been abroad."
"Natasha isn't," Tony says. Okay, no, this is really absurd, he needs to say--Come on, something, anything. "Tony," he says. "I'm going by Tony."
Cade frowns. "I read that in the tabloids, but I didn't think it—"
"This is my stop," Tony says. He stands up gracefully and makes a mental note to buy out Cade's company.
Three
"Miss Stark!"
Tony grits his teeth. "No," he says. He's pretty sure it's even audible. He really, really doesn't like being interrupted at restaurants. "What?"
The reporter is a blonde, just Tony's type, and taller than he is. "I was wondering if I could get a quote for my article. About--"
"Unless the next word is 'your latest weapons-manufacturing strategy,' I'd rather eat my salmon," Tony says, utilizing words effectively. He gives himself a gold star.
The reporter frowns and taps her pen menacingly. Tony likes that he's hard to quote usefully.
"Are you sure you don't--" she starts.
"Salmon," Tony says.
The reporter goes away. There's an article the next day (not even in a good magazine--he has to work to find it), but it's not horrifying.
Four
"Nat?"
For a second, Tony doesn't even realize he's been addressed. Then he sees Mr. Beller and remembers that yeah, his high school science Chem teacher was the one person who called him that.
"I thought it was you," Beller says. "How are you? You should have written to me, young lady. But I understand if you were busy becoming a billionaire." He smiles.
"Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself, too, if you're here," Tony suggests, indicating the charity ball.
Beller waves a hand. "My wife's been doing some charity work for this organization. I'm just along for the ride. I should introduce you." He glances at Tony's suit. "You've been causing quite a few scandals, Nat."
It's then that Tony realizes Beller is doing it on purpose. He's not used to this. Punching he can handle, he's used to that, but verbal sparring is something he's always been awful at winning. He just throws a huge volume of words at things until he trips on them and hurts himself.
"Actually," he says breezily, "it's Tony now. Because I'm a guy? Now? Which I would imagine you'd have heard, because I'm kind of an international figure, and even you must read the papers, and my god, hey, I have a goatee, can you not see that?"
Beller blinks, his smile finally dissolving. "Natasha, I know you had a peculiar childhood, but do you really think this is healthy?"
Tony grins blindingly. "I'm going to get extremely drunk," he says. And again, he runs away.
Five
I am Iron Man.
Before he says it, Tony has a moment where he stops and thinks, hey. Hey, Iron Man has never fucked up like I have.
Iron Man has never sold weapons to terrorists by accident. Iron Man has never almost destroyed his father's company. Iron Man has never gotten drunk and been horrible to people who matter.
And then, Iron Man has never been attacked by the tabloids for his gender.
Tony is trying this new perception and forethought thing, though, and he's doing okay at it, and he can see how that choice goes. He'll get eaten by the suit until Tony Stark is worse and worse and worse with no excuse to try to be better. And Iron Man will be a hero and Tony will just--he'll die, won't he?
So he says, "I am Iron Man."
And:
"Tony?"
Tony shifts and nuzzles Steve's shoulder. This is an extremely bad angle for nuzzling. "Hm?"
"You're on my arm."
Tony laughs and shifts again. "Sorry. Even a magically enhanced super-soldier has limbs that fall asleep. Really poorly designed, Cap."
Steve sighs. "You're babbling."
Yup. He is. He can.
(Steve hasn't asked what Tony's named used to be. Tony's pretty sure Steve doesn't know what it used to be.)
"I'm going back to sleep on your arm," Tony says.
Steve sighs. "Tony."