Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The only anniversary Bruce had ever kept at the forefront of his mind had been that fateful summer night from his childhood that had stolen the rest of his life with just two bullets. Not many others seemed to be of significance; in fact, he didn't have any other anniversaries to keep track of in his life. Or perhaps, he didn't have room in his head to even consider other dates, since he never could bring himself to occupy his thoughts with anything else. Maybe he hadn't even wanted to entertain that possibility. The prospect of letting someone in, someone who could worm their way close enough into the cavity where his heart should have been, so they could break it all over again within the blink of an eye. It was just unrealistic, and something he fought against almost as much as he protected his city against the unrelenting criminals who believed they owned the streets – until he’d met the insatiable fireball that was his undeniable match.

Tony only remembered what he wanted to… most of the time. It was difficult to jettison inane ideas from his brain when they were so persistent, and so, so loud, and it was virtually impossible to wrangle his thoughts into order when he felt especially tense or anxious. Some months, more often than not, the nights would be lost to self-inflicted torment that even self-medication was futile against. That meant certain important things got snowed in, buried under a siege of asinine concepts that whizzed around his head like a wasp banging into a window over and over again, expecting escape. It would have driven him to complete insanity, had he not been fortunate enough to be bestowed with a found family who never let him fall far enough that he lost sight of himself. And especially not today. He’d never let their anniversary give him the slip. It was so hard to when he planned ahead half a year for it.

The couple were hurtling up the PCH, on their way to LA from the Malibu mansion, travelling in Bruce’s anniversary gift from a couple years ago. Tony had more than his fair share of supercars to choose from, but his need for speed was always fully consummated whenever he opted for the one Bruce had surprised him with. Usually, it was the other way around – Tony surprising Bruce with whatever devious scheme he’d hatched, intentionally or otherwise. It didn't have to be their anniversary for Tony to give him a good fright.

Still, they both knew Bruce enjoyed being driven around in his present just as much as Tony loved being spoiled rotten. When something for individuals as stringent as them fell into place and clicked, something as seemingly unattainable as a perfect professional and personal relationship, it would have been idiotic to ignore it. Call it pre-determined law, destiny, or random chance, sheer luck, maybe even an out-and-out miracle sent from god herself. Whatever it was, it was theirs now, entirely and wantonly.

The day was bright and warm enough that they had the top down, which boded well with Tony’s aspiration to flaunt his lover off as much as he possibly could. They definitely weren't in short supply of gratuitous éclat, and would attract more than desired when they reached their destination in the superficially ritzy hills of Hollywood, despite being surrounded by movie stars and models and blue-bloods of various calibres, but today Tony wanted to be seen with Bruce. He’d soak up the not-so hushed whispers and less than subtle camera clicks as if they didn't eat away at him like they usually did when they attempted to engage in regular, ordinary couple activities like mundane lunches.

However, today wasn't meant to follow some humdrum type of living. Today, they were making a point of being who they were, on a known public front at least, and, today, they were showing it off for the world to see. Exhibiting their romance and rubbing it everyone's faces without worry for the consequences.

“Our first date,” Tony said, glancing at Bruce reverently through a pair of aviator shades that were basically proprietary at this point. “Do you remember?”

The younger one looked up from his phone, gaze settling on his partner, and admired him with a similar effect. “How am I meant to forget you getting wine drunk like a college kid and nearly puking all over the dash of my Lamborghini?”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Not that one. Before.”

Bruce arched a brow at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Our first real run in.”

Comprehension washed over his face. “That was hardly a date.”

Tony snickered, “Wasn't it?”

Bruce recalled the early morning break-in slightly differently. True to how the events had unfolded, in actuality.

He’d only just settled down in bed for a few hours of sleep, being adequately wrung-out from the entire day spent pursuing dead-end leads for a particularly intractable case. His head had barely hit the pillow when an alert popped up on his phone, signalling an intruder in the Batcave.

When he went down to investigate, taking it upon himself to defend the manor of sleeping vigilantes from the prowler, he prepared himself for the worst. Harley Quinn, or Riddler, maybe even Selina had somehow bypassed the convoy of defences to his private sanctum, and decided to strike at him, and his family, when he was least expecting it.

Bruce had been beyond relieved to find no such threat, but it quickly fizzled to apprehension when he couldn’t figure out what had tripped the alarm, and quicker still to irritation when he’d completed a sweep of the whole Cave and turned back to see Iron Man lounging in the chair in front of the computer. His chair. Occupied by the Golden Avenger who had his legs kicked up on the desk, arms crooked nonchalantly behind his head, as if he owned the place.

He never did throw him out. If it hadn’t been for his faltering resolve, courtesy of a useless day spent chasing his own Bat-tail, he would have fought against the misgiving that maybe Tony Stark was a little endearing for making such a big spectacle, if not very charming. It had done the trick; sealed their fate as soon as Bruce laid eyes on that stupid, highly smackable, smart-ass face. He often wondered what would have happened to them both if he hadn’t given in so easily. If three years of denial and general evasion of his own feelings could be considered giving in easily.

But, with him sitting in the passenger side of the car he had bought for him, it felt incredibly redundant to ponder that.

“Yeah, I remember.” Bruce said fondly.

Tony smiled at him, grinned, that same careless, concupiscent smile. “What ever happened to those PJs? I really liked them on you.”

“Don't you remember?” He returned the smile. “You ripped them to shreds the second I let you upstairs.”