Work Text:
Steve paced around his apartment, paused in front of the mirror in the hallway for the fifth time that hour and smoothed his hair again, trying to make it perfect. Dinner was going to be done in five minutes, the table was set. He takes a shaky breath, taking in the scent of turkey, sweet potatoes, and the cinnamon scented pinecones on the tv stand. He was sweating in his light grey sweater, the mix of the oven being on all day and his nerves. He rolled his sleeves up.
The oven beeped, and he rushed over to take the remaining items out, grabbing his oven mitts from the counter. Opening the oven door sent a fresh wave of heat to his face, and he grimaced, feeling the sweat on his brow and the slight warmth of the hot pans through the thick fabric. The turkey was out now, taking up more than half of his shitty stove top, and he did his best to cram the sides next to it before opting to lay a towel on the counter instead.
Steve tried not to feel self conscious about how small his new apartment was; it wasn't in bad condition, or even in a bad part of town, but it wasn't really anything like the two story suburban home he had been kicked out of almost a year and a half ago. His ex husband had sold the house his daughters grew up in.
They would be here any minute now, his two daughters and his ex. That was the best agreement they could come to: he could have them here for Thanksgiving, but only with "supervision." Like he was incapable of keeping two teenagers alive for the night. Like he couldn't be trusted with his daughters on his own, like he really was just that incompetent, that irresponsible. Wouldn't be the first time his ex called him that. He wiped his forehead with a spare dishcloth, tossing it in the sink.
He stood there, hands gripping the edge of the counter, until a knock at the door sent his heart racing. They were here, he was finally getting to see his girls after so many months. He scratched a hand through his beard and ran a palm over his hair again, wiping his hands on his pants after. Steve put on his best smile as he opened the door.
His oldest was practically vibrating in place, raising her hand to knock again just as he pulled the door open. She had grown up so much in these past months, both of them had; Gamora had red streaks in her normally dark brown hair, and Nebula had shaved her hair entirely, her scalp perfectly smooth. In an instant, both of them were in his arms, and he kissed each of their foreheads. Gamora was turning 18 in a few months, but Nebula was turning 16 in a few weeks. He was still working on if he'd be able to see her.
"I love what you've both done with your hair," Steve starts, choosing something less likely to make them all cry, something soft and true like "I've missed you," or "I'm so sorry it's been so long."
"Yes. I'm sure you would." Thanos's voice is just as deep as it always was, passive and cold in the familiar, infuriating way he always spoke. "I'm not partial to the criminal edge that they both have now, but I figured you'd find it interesting or artistic. You always were the less practical one."
Steve stepped out of the hug, keeping his arms wrapped around them, his hands high on their backs. He looked to his ex husband, who he had been perfectly content to ignore for the rest of the evening; his jaw was smooth, and he wore an obnoxiously formal suit. His makeup was glittery and dark, expertly applied, and Steve scowled. This was a quiet, peaceful home cooked meal, there was no need to dress to the nines. "Thanos. I see we are in a pleasant mood tonight. How was the drive?"
"Long," Thanos gestured to the door impatiently. "Unnecessary. Are we going to be allowed in, or is this a hallway affair?"
Barely resisting the urge to groan, Steve stepped completely away from the half holding position he had his daughters in, before moving behind the door and making a sad sweeping gesture, inviting them inside.
Gamora took a big, loud breath, and sighed. "It smells really good, dad."
Nebula nods, a small, secret smile on her face. He has a feeling that she doesn't do that much anymore, at least not when Thanos is in the room. He patted her shoulder and led them through the living room, into the cramped dining area just off the kitchen. Gamora and Nebula put their coats on the counter, just the way Thanos always hated, but never bothered Steve. Steve was seeing a lot of these quiet rebellions, and they almost made him smile. "Everything is ready, so I hope you're all hungry."
"Hopefully your food has improved over the years. Here, I was told I needed to bring something." Thanos pushed a bottle of wine into Steve's hands, one he hadn't noticed before, because it was able to stay concealed in Thanos's large, purple palms. It was warm, and Steve saw red.
"You know I don't drink," Steve started, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sure it can be used in something, someday."
Thanos grumbled, and Steve put on another smile, inviting everyone to make their plates. Nebula grabbed extra green bean casserole, and Gamora went for an extra helping of cranberry sauce. He was glad to see that some things never change. Thanos didn't make a plate, he just sat down in his chair and pulled out his phone, an overly large device that was bigger than Steve's laptop. He didn't question if Thanos was going to eat or not; he'd made enough for everyone to have three servings over, and if Thanos wasn't going to eat, then the leftovers were no skin off of Steve's back. Knowing him, he'd probably already eaten before coming. He never did like Steve's cooking.
Steve spent the dinner getting every piece of information he could, catching up on lost time. They talked about school, work, friends, trips, everything under the sun that they could remember, they covered it. By the time they were done with dinner, they had covered over a year and a half of little things that couldn't make it into the short, inconsistent visits he had been getting. Thanos didn't say a word the entire time, just sat and scrolled with a passive expression on his face, and Steve continued to pretend he wasn't there at all. Steve could see, for some of the things they told him, that there was more to the story, but the way they glanced at Thanos told him they didn't want to say it with him there. Those little things itched at him, but he let them go. He didn't want them to get in trouble with their overly strict father.
Once they had eaten their pie, they were more full than they thought possible, and happier than they'd been in a long time. Naturally, in the moment of quiet after the last fork had been placed down, Thanos chose to finally speak.
"It's time to go."
"What?" Gamora said, her smile immediately falling.
"Grab your coats, we're leaving." Thanos said, firmer.
"It's barely seven-thirty-" Steve sputtered out.
"I said they could come for dinner, and since I'm nice, they got dessert. We're leaving."
The trio looked at each other, sadness and shock evident on their faces. Slowly, Steve nodded, standing up. Gamora and Nebula followed his lead, Thanos waiting until Steve led them back to the living room, coats in hand, before standing up from his chair and following. It was hard to believe that Steve had ever loved him; looking back on the years he wasted with this horrible, horrible man, he can't see what he used to. Even in highschool, there were signs of how selfish he was, how cruel he could be. The only good thing in Steve's life to come from his time with Thanos was a bitter heart, and his two beautiful, precious daughters, and even they were being taken from him.
They put their coats on, and Thanos made his way to the door, out into the hallway of his apartment building. He tapped his fingers against the fabric of his pant legs; he was impatient, ready to leave from the moment he got here. Steve ignored him, and hugged his daughters briefly, hurrying them along. Steve stepped back a little, not trusting himself to not reach out again if he was any closer. His daughters stepped outside his apartment, Gamora's hand resting on the handle. Steve smiled, nodded, and did his best to keep his composure.
Nebula rushed back inside, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle and burying her face in his chest. Here, she seemed so small, like she was still just his little girl coming home from school. He hugged her back with one arm, opening his other for Gamora, who came not a moment later, mimicking Nebula's pose.
"I don't want to leave," Nebula whispered, and Steve could feel himself starting to cry. Nebula continued, voice straining against her own tears. "Gamora is going to be gone in a few months, and then it will just be me and him, and I don't want that, I want to stay with you."
Steve took a shuddering breath and held them both tighter, pressing another kiss to both of their heads. "I know. I know, I want that too, I'm trying. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's going to be-"
"Girls, it's time to go."
Reluctantly, Steve started to ease the girls away from him, not wanting to push his luck with Thanos. This was the most he had seen them in ages, and he wanted this more, he couldn't risk angering the Titan. He wiped away their tears, gave them his own watery smile, and urged them to go back with Thanos, all while wishing they could stay, that Thanos would just leave, that he would never be a part of their lives again.
Nebula had gone blank again, no emotion showing on her young, blue face, and Gamora discreetly wiped another stray tear.
"I love you both so much," Steve told them, because he wasn't sure when the next time he'd see them would be.
Thanos nudged them out of the doorway, taking hold of the doorknob. When he slammed it shut, it rang through Steve's apartment louder than a gunshot, and he was once again alone.
Steve fought off tears by putting away leftovers, frantically doing dishes, and pacing his apartment. By the time he had cleaned the entire kitchen, he was calm enough to properly think. He pulled out his phone, stared at the name in the contacts, waiting for it to miraculously ring on it's own, for a message to come through so he wouldn't have to be the one to reach out. It didn't, but he had stared long enough for his resolve to settle, for his mind to be made up; there wasn't any other option.
It was already close to midnight, and while he knew the man would still be awake, Steve decided to wait until the morning; it was Thanksgiving, after all, and it was meant to be a family day. Steve didn't go to bed that night, instead absently listening to the show on tv while he planned exactly what he needed to say.
By 5 AM, Steve had the phone in his hand, and he dialed the number with a firm jab of the screen. In his hours of planning, he went over dozens of scenarios, all the things he could say, all the ways he would respond. He decided to keep it simple, to stay as true to what he needed for the most direct response. The phone rang four times before someone answered, and as soon as he heard the voice on the other end, Steve spoke, skipping over all pleasantries about the holiday, or how he's been since they last spoke.
"Tony," Steve said, voice filled with determination and barely masked anxiety. Deep breath. Simple. "I need your help."