Archive of Our Own

Tony sets about upgrading the dishwasher.

-----------

Thor didn’t take much welcoming, vowing to ensure he spends a ‘good deal of time with them to aid in their teamworking’. Very loudly. Tony had had to remind him that he had turned up at 4.32am and should keep his voice down so as not to wake up the other Avengers from their sleep. Thor had then mastered the act of stage whispering rather than actual whispering, making Tony wish he had stayed in his workshop and let the god wander around and wake everyone up on his own accord. But regardless, Thor thanked him profusely for his own floor and everything that came with it before settling in quite happily.

By the time the Avenger have been living in the tower for a week, they have all settled into a routine of sorts. Steve had even insisted on a mandatory rota for them to spend time together. Breakfast on Tuesdays, Dinner on Mondays and Saturdays. Training on Wednesdays. Movie Night on Fridays. Tony doesn’t know why the super-soldier is trying so hard, they’re all living together after all so most mornings and evenings are spent together regardless. Well, the others spend most mornings and evenings together, Tony has the luxury of the penthouse and his workshop to hide in when he doesn’t fancy the social aspect. He supposes that’s why Steve had given him a look when the rota was set.

“We’ve all moved in here to become a better team. This may seem meaningless right now but it will bring us closer in time,” Steve gives Tony a pointed look, “All of us.”

Tony doesn’t comment, sipping his coffee absently, as he flicks through hologram plans for his suit upgrades. He needs to get back to his workshop and start putting plans into reality, but he’s trying to make an effort to play ball with this bonding thing. Bruce keeps looking over at what he’s doing, interested but unsure what he’s looking at. If he wasn’t trying to be good, he might’ve made a quip about being more interesting than Steve’s pep talks. He doesn’t; honestly, he thinks he deserves a medal for the amount he’s holding his tongue these days.

“Are you listening to me, Tony?”

Tony pauses his alterations, giving Steve a bored look, “Every word, Cap. I can multitask, big brain,” He taps his temple as if to prove his point, Steve gives him a disapproving look, “I promise to attend as many of our team dates as I can, okay? Info on the fridge.”

Like an applauded kids drawing, he doesn’t say. Because yes Pepper is in charge of being CEO of Stark industries but he still has other jobs within that he needs to complete (once Pepper emails them to him at least five time). Plus, his suits and everything else he’s trying to improve around here. Tony has never been good at rota’s and someone taking away his choice. Reminds him too much of Howard.

“J can put it in the calendar,” Tony adds on, turning his attention back to his designs, pointedly.

“Already done, Sir,” Jarvis replies.

Steve looks up at the damned ceiling again, shifting on his feet. Clearly still not overly comfortable with the Ai voice appearing from nowhere, “Right well, as you were.”

Tony doesn’t waste time slipping away to his workshop after they’ve all been dismissed. He settles behind his desk, throwing commands at Jarvis to carve out plans in holograms around the room on how to upgrade his suit for ‘space travel’. Jarvis constructs and deconstructs his stream of consciousness as he goes, analysing survival rates and best alternatives for each of his ideas. He swipes away unsuccessful idea after unsuccessful idea, enhancing and altering part after part of his suit.

Tony keeps going until his head starts to ache behind his eyes and nothing quite seems to make sense anymore. It all seems almost impossible. The thought of the threat they faced. It’s big. Over his head.

Because, goddamn it, believing aliens exist is completely different to fighting to the death face to face with them. The thought of there being bigger threats out there than Loki and his hivemind of creatures at his beck and call….. Tony can’t breathe through the thought of it.

Tony rubs his eyes, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. Letting the finished product hover in front of him. Ready. Safe (Well as safe as space can be). Jarvis is talking about the specs of the new suit design, praising Tony’s work and ideas, but Tony isn’t listening.

Flashes of New York spring to the front of his mind. Aliens. Wormholes. Endless darkness. Falling and falling and falling.

Suddenly, breathing feels harder than it should. Tony closes his eyes against it, only half noticing Jarvis starting to count in an effort to ground him like he has done so many times since that dreaded battle. Tony chokes, lungs burning in a desperate plea for oxygen, clenching his sweaty palms into fists. It felt as though Loki’s hand were back around his neck, cutting off his airways, violent and angry. He grasps at his neck, pulling at his already loose t-shirt collar, in an attempt to free himself from the phantom grip. To no avail.

Tony pushes himself up from his work desk, a few items clattering to the floor as his attempt to do so calmly failed spectacularly. He doesn’t look down to check if anything important is broken.

It’s just a panic attack, Tony thinks firmly, roughly pushing away his instincts that are screaming at him that this is the end, Just calm down.

Which, granted, sounds simple enough. But, funnily enough, telling yourself to calm down does jack shit to help your heart stop racing and your brain to stop thinking it’s going to do something dramatic like die.

One, Two, Three, four….

The counting on the speakers break through the mist, allowing Tony to grab onto it. He counts in his head with the Ai, imagining the voice was the real Jarvis counting with a teenage him after he burnt himself out trying to impress his father that didn’t care to acknowledge him unless he’s misbehaving.

Tony’s body finally starts to relax, his heart not pounding in his ears anymore, leaving only a dull headache in its wake. He can feel hard floor underneath him and a solid wall against his back. He opens his eyes, noting quickly that he has ended up on the floor, his back against the wall of the workshop. Tony leans his head back against the wall, unwinding his arms from around his legs and letting his legs stretch straight out in front of him rather than being cradled against his chest.

“Thanks, J,” Tony chokes out, his throat dry and hoarse, his eyes flick to the door, “Where are the other Avengers?”

Tony lets the relief settle in his chest that none of them walked in on any of that. This time…

“The majority of them are asleep, sir,” Jarvis replies, Tony glances at the clock, reminding him it’s 3.56am, “Captain Rogers is in the communal kitchen, has been for quite a while.”

Tony furrows his brows, pushing himself slowly up off the floor. He heads over to his bathroom, splashing some water on his face to make himself look less…..well like he’d just had a panic attack…. Before heading down to the communal area to pick the super-soldier’s brains about being up at this time.

------------------------------------------------------------

Tony exits the lift, glancing around the communal area, which is still cloaked in darkness.

“J, lights, if you please?” Tony says to the Ai, the lights brightening but still staying dim for the time of night (not that the light would affect any of the other floors anyway).

Tony raises his eyebrows when Steve Rogers jumps at his voice, whipping around from where he is stood in the kitchenette area. The super soldier gives him a confused look before looking up at the ceiling.

“At ease, soldier,” Tony teases, sauntering over to the kitchen island, the mask of casual and relaxed as though they aren’t both awake when they shouldn’t be.

Steve swallows, looking awkward and unsure at Tony.

And sure, they haven’t exactly started their friendship (if you can even call it that yet) on great terms. Tony clashes with most people he meets for the first time, call it part of his charm. He knows he is an acquired taste, people refusing to stick around long enough to find the (limited) good parts of him. His stubbornness, his mood swings and his tendency to rub people up the wrong way, doesn’t help. People often don’t take kindly to his sarcastic quips or his snarky comments. Steve is much the same, taking offense quickly to Tony’s humour and crass ways.

 Maybe it’s the generational gap. But Tony dares not comment on it for that exact reason.

Tony heads towards the coffee machine, trying to make it seem like he hasn’t just come down here for human contact, reeling from his panic attack, “Sleep playing hard to get for you too, Cap?”

Steve shifts on his feet and Tony catches a glimpse of a pan of soup on the stove, “Something like that. You?”

Tony fixes his smirk on his face, leaning back against the counter, “always,” Tony gestures to the pan, “Soup?”

Steve clears his throat, bobbing his head slowly, “Pea soup, ehh my ma used to make it when I was a kid if I couldn’t sleep. It’s stupid, I know. Just-“

Tony furrows his brow, stepping closer to the soldier to look over the other man’s shoulders. The pea soup is from a can; Tony doesn’t mention that it definitely will not taste like Steve’s mom’s homemade soup. That would just be cruel, “Not stupid, no. Might work better if you turned the stove on though.”

The comment is meant to be humorous, to put Steve at ease, but the other man just tenses further, looking a mixture between embarrassed and frustrated.

“I know that,” Steve snaps, shifting on his feet, “This thing just-“

It dawns on Tony what is giving Steve trouble, the stove in the communal kitchen is far from top of the range but it will be a damn sight different to work than the ones Steve will be use to. In the week since the team has moved in, they have rarely actively cooked their meals from scratch, the few times they have has been Bruce or Clint showing off their skills in the kitchen. Tony did not hide his surprise at the archer being able to cook and cook well. Tony would say he’s decent enough at cooking too (comes with the science-y parts of his skills), especially when not following a recipe. Omelettes be damned. But he hasn’t seen Steve go within a metre of the kitchen and perhaps for this reason.

Tony steps back, “Jarvis,” He calls to his Ai, watching the stove power to life, “The knobs only work when Jarvis turns them on, did he not offer-?”

“Yes and I said no,” Steve answers, looking a bit sheepish and frustrated, “I didn’t know I couldn’t-“

Tony nods, taking a sip of his coffee, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, that’s a me thing, Jarvis controls most of the appliances. Mostly because I’ve altered or upgraded them myself so the normal ways don’t work anymore.”

Steve nods slowly, using the dial on the stove now to turn the heat down, “I-I’m sorry I said no to his help. He offered the lights as well, but….. I’m not use to all of this.”

The super soldier gestures around him. Tony feels a stab of pity for the other man. He looks lost all of a sudden and Tony is hit by how young the other man really is, despite his technical age. Steve had only been 26 when he went into the ice. Still young, same age that Tony had been drinking his life away and clinging to his grief from the loss of his parents. Making sure, even in death, Howard would remember how much of a disappointment his son really was. Letting Stark industries sink further and further into destroying people’s lives. Not that Tony can compare Steve now to him back then.

Tony places his cup down, watching the other man stir the soup absently, “hmm, there sure is a lot to take in. Jarvis is as safe as they come however, just for future…you know.”

Steve glances at him, a small smile gracing his face, “Talking to a voice in the ceiling is hardly how I thought I’d be turning a stove on. Even Howard would have been stumped I would presume.”

Tony feels himself stiffen at the mention of his father, time has allowed him the luxury of sometimes forgetting just how close Steve had been to Howard back in their time. But it always seems to be short lived, “First, J is not in the ceiling. Are you J?”

“No, sir, I do not believe I am.”

Tony smirks, a small part of him celebrating at the awe that still shines in Steve’s eyes when Jarvis answers his questions. He can never be his father (not that he would want to be) but he can show off the legacy he has built for himself in spite of him.

“And second, Howard was limited by the tech of his time. His own words, not mine,” Tony continues, thinking of that video. My greatest creation was you. But here, standing in front of Tony now, is the truth. The real greatest creation, “Not that our….vision ever truly lined up.”

Steve has that look in his face again, still pushing, still trying to work Tony out, “Why is that? The Howard I knew-“

Tony cuts him off, feeling his defences rising. There are certain wounds that shouldn’t be picked, “I’m going to stop you right there, Capsicle, because that is none of your business.”

Tony knows his words come out harsh, undeserved when Steve is just trying to know him that bit better. But Tony’s walls are hardy, fixed in place from years of maintenance and keeping everyone at an arm’s length (even the people closest to him). He doesn’t even know if he could lower them if he wanted to.

Steve’s face falls at his words, “Tony, I-“

But Tony’s already grabbed up his cup ready to remove himself from the situation, “I’ve been away from my work for too long anyway. I’ll leave you to your canned soup.”

Steve just nods his head at him, looking a mixture between confused and frustrated at Tony’s sudden exit. Tony clenches his teeth as the thoughts of his father cross his mind. Always frustrated that he didn’t understand Tony, but never taking one step to try to fix it.

Anger builds up in his chest, glancing back at Captain America. His father’s greatest creation.

“It will be piss poor in comparison to homemade pea soup anyway.”

And maybe Tony is cruel. Just like Howard could be.

--------------------------------------------------

It is just Tony’s luck that the next day is Tuesday (technically the same day but an hour or two’s sleep makes it feel like the next day to Tony) and Tuesday means team breakfast. He stares at his own reflection in the mirror, thinking about how much easier it would be if he made up an excuse and skipped out on the bonding session to avoid the awkwardness, but….well he does have some semblance of pride and he can’t hide from the super soldier forever. Maybe he will even pluck up the courage to apologise for his words.

The tips of his fingers grace over the arc reactor scar in his chest, almost missing the feeling of the hum beneath his touch. It hasn’t been long since he’d had the surgery to remove the shrapnel from his chest after Pepper’s ultimatum, but part of him misses the proof that something is keeping him alive. Not like having it removed fixed him, Pepper still couldn’t live with him like he is (traumatised and distant). Tony doesn’t blame her, he doesn’t think he could live with himself either.

Tony pulls a t-shirt over his head, covering up his scars and standing up straighter. Stark men are made of iron. Tony wonders how much pressure he can take before pure iron snaps.

***

When he finally works up the courage to go down the lift, Tony is relieved to see that he isn’t the first one in the communal area. Natasha is lounging on the bar stool, her feet up on the counter. She offers him a faux innocent shrug when he cocks his eyebrow at her, pointedly not removing her feet. Clint is bickering with Bruce about types of bread, looking absolutely devastated that Bruce thinks seeded bread is the best. Thor is a little way away from them throwing in a comment about Hawaiian rolls he has tried with Jane once. Tony is hit with how domestic it all seems, realising that maybe this wasn’t the worse idea to bring them together after all.

“Stark, give us your two cents in this,” Clint calls, clearly relieved to have someone else to bring into the conversation.

 Tony throws a look at Natasha who shrugs again in triumph of not being dragged into the clearly manly debate.

“Ehh just a standard white bread kinda guy,” Tony answers, making a beeline to the coffee machine again, hoping that some more caffeine might make him ready for these ludicrous conversations, “Is there a kind of bread we don’t have that you want or-?”

“No, no, Tony. Ignore him,” Bruce answers, shaking his head adamantly when Clint goes to speak, “there is everything we need here.”

Clint rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his toast, “He’s a billionaire!”

“Billionaire that puts a roof over your head and buys your food, Katniss,” Tony quips, taking the toast from Clint’s hand and taking a bite of it himself, “reparations for the smack talk.”

Clint scowls like a petulant child, but lets it go, grumbling as he fixes himself a new piece of toast. Thor laughs heartedly from his place on the couch, seemingly taking great entertainment from their banter.

Tony points at Bruce with his toast filled hand, “Big guy, seeded bread will be on next grocery order.”

“No, Tony,-” Bruce argues, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.

“Ah ah ah, wish is my command,” Tony cuts him off, he points at Thor next, “Hawaiian rolls, up for debate at another time,” throwing Thor a smirk as he rounds the bar to sit on the stool besides Natsha, elbowing her in the side, “As much as I’m sure people would pay to eat where your feet have been-“

Natasha glares at him, mock disgust on her face, her lips twitching as she holds back a laugh at his antics, “You are something else, Stark.”

Tony grins, leaning back against the bar, throwing her a wink, “I do try.”

Steve walks in the room at that moment, Tony’s smile dropping at the sight of the team leader. Thankfully the other avengers don’t notice. Steve gives the others a smile, avoiding looking in Tony’s direction pointedly. Thor gets up to slap him good-naturedly on the back in welcome.

“Mornin’, Cap,” Clint greets, throwing him a mock salute, “careful there, thought you’d be the first to break the sacred schedule without due cause.”

“Nope, always going to turn up,” Steve replies, accepting a cup of coffee that Bruce offers him, “I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

Tony can feel that the words are indirectly pointed at him. Not that he made any promises that he’s been unable to keep. Other than his promise to himself that he would try and hold his tongue while the Avengers are in his house. To be a good host. Piss poor job he’s made of that.

“You are the only one I believe when they say that,” Natasha comments, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, “but wow, you look like shit.”

Clint whistles between his teeth, “Nat, you have no tact what-so-ever.”

Tony can admire how she shrugs casually, looking at Steve for answers. This, Tony has learnt, is how Natasha shows her care for her friends. Blunt, sharp but well meaning.

Steve laughs, “I suppose you are right. Didn’t sleep too well, still getting used to new environment.”

Tony swallows the guilt that rises in his throat. He had been too stuck in his own problems and issues to ask the super-soldier why he was up so early this morning. Why he would be making a comfort meal at past 3am to calm himself. Tony didn’t even ask one single question.

Tony starts talking before he can stop himself, guilt hidden deep in the words, “If you need something specific that might make you feel more at home- just let me know.”

Steve looks at him at last, confusion flickers in his eyes before it is chased away by reluctant gratitude, “There is nothing, but thank you.”

Tony nods, huffing out a laugh when Clint mimics his assurance of wish is my command that he’d said to Bruce. Steve joins them, talking seriously with Thor as they make their own breakfasts. Clint and Natasha bounce quips off each other as they listen in, in sync with one another in a way only best friends can be. Bruce nods along, quietly, only putting in his own comment if he needs to.

Uncharacteristically, Tony doesn’t say anything, the bites of Clint’s toast he’s eaten sitting wrong in his stomach and making him feel sick. The guilt and budding headache not helping either. Tony, not for the first time, is realising how much harder it is to keep up appearances when he’s living with his teammates.

Tony slips away, hoping nobody notices. At least he can breathe when he’s alone.

The half-eaten slice of toast the only proof he’d shown his face.

--------------------------------------------

To Tony’s credit, he spends most of the day with Bruce in the lab. Bringing his own work down so he doesn’t have to work solo. They bounce ideas and throw quips at each other. Talking when they feel like it and working in a silence that doesn’t feel awkward when they don’t. Tony finds that the quality time relaxes him, he doesn’t need to put on this big charade with Bruce. Tony thinks perhaps they understand each other more than the others will ever do and not just because they’re into the same things (science bros). Bruce and Tony both dedicated a lot of their time to making things that only ended up hurting a lot of people. Bruce with Hulk and Tony with his weapons industry. Tony is glad that now Bruce can use Hulk for some good, he might start to forgive himself for all the bad. Maybe he can offer Tony some tips if he works out how to.

“What was with the disappearing act at breakfast?” Bruce asks after a good stretch of silence, looking at Tony over his glasses before continuing to write about whatever it is he’s working on.

Tony swipes away one of his pages, enhancing and altering as he goes, “I had work to do. Time is money.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh, “All due respect, Tony, but you could waste a lot of time and not lose a cent you couldn’t afford.”

Tony shrugs, avoiding looking at the scientist, “I could, but I like my work.”

Bruce hums and Tony thinks for a second he is going to drop it. No such luck, “It seems all you do is work. You spend more time locked away in that workshop than you do sleeping or eating or-you know-doing things you need to live.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “gosh you’re starting to sound like Pepper.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh, but simultaneously pulls his glasses off to look at Tony properly now, a serious look in his eyes, “when was the last time you ate properly? And didn’t have nine times the recommended amount of coffee in a day?”

“I had breakfast this morning….”

“Half a slice of toast is not properly.”

“Okay then, ehhh,” Tony doesn’t think he can remember, he’d skipped out on the team dinner on Monday due to an important late meeting (Pepper had confirmed his story so nobody commented on his lack of attendance), “last night, after my meeting. The coffee thing I can’t defend. It keeps me focused.”

“For a genius, you aren’t very clever,” Bruce says, his tone is light, joking, but there’s an edge of worry to it, “You aren’t in this big tower on your own anymore-“

“-I was never really alone-“

“Regardless, we’re here now. For better or for worse,” Bruce continues, not letting him change the subject, “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. We can be a team in here too.”

That’s not strictly true though, Tony thinks, but finds himself nodding. A warmth spreads in his chest at the implication: We are here now, you aren’t alone anymore. For the first time since they moved in, Tony feels comforted at the thought of not being quite so alone.

“Who died and made you wisest man in the universe,” Tony teases, smiling genuinely at Bruce to show that he did take his words in, “Right back at you, big guy.”

Bruce smiles back at him, putting his glasses back on to keep working. Tony watches him for a long moment, before turning back to his own work. Bruce is a very quiet man, preferring to listen and fade into the background. It’s how he learns and studies. Quiet in his intelligence in direct contrast to the way Tony is loud. Almost two sides of the same coin. So similar yet so different. Where Bruce is kind, careful with his words, Tony is crass and careless. He’s gentle and empathetic, prioritizing the well-being of all those around him over himself, something Tony saw in abundance when they first met on that ship. Perhaps because of the Hulk and his tendencies to break things and people, but Tony suspects he has always been like it. Bruce is self-deprecating, frequently and readily downplaying his achievements in comparison with others around him. Tony wonders sometimes if that’s why he likes Tony’s company, because people will gravitate to his arrogance and obnoxious talking, and let Bruce stay silent.

Tony admires the other man’s ways. He wishes he could be like his companion. Brave, quiet, patient. Good.

Tony swallows, looking down then back up again at his models. He’s starting to think all he does is wish he wasn’t himself these days. Wish he was a better man.

Wish he could measure up to the team he’s meant to be part of.

“What would you do if you’d upset someone for-for no reason by insulting something they were using to make them feel better?” Tony asks, looking towards his companion, “Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, ehh depends on what it is, I suppose. Apologise, maybe. Do something nice for them.”

And hope they forgive you is left unsaid.

-----------------------

Tony finds himself in the kitchen again at 3.30am making pea soup from scratch. He has been reliably informed that Steve Rogers is also up at this time, but in his room rather than on the communal floor. Even if he asked, Jarvis wouldn’t tell him what the other man is doing (not that Tony wants to know really). He is following a recipe this time, which never goes quite right, but he is being careful. This is meant to be a gesture to make amends after all.

Even if Tony Stark has never been one for gestures or heaven forbid apologies. Maybe he’s getting old.

At last, the soup is set to a steady heat, bubbling gently as it maintains its temperature. Tony looks at it, satisfied with how it has come out this time (the first try burned pan is skilfully hidden away from prying eyes for him to deal with later).

“J, could you request Cap meet me here?” Tony asks his Ai, leaning himself against the counter to wait, his coffee cup is almost drained once again and he can feel the exhaustion shakes starting to appear. They always do after so long with little to no sleep and too much coffee. Tony ignores the echoing words of Bruce in his head (he’s learnt how to ignore Rhodey’s a long time ago)

“Certainly, sir,” the Ai assures, “May I advise sir that you go to bed very soon as your body-“

“Save the lecture, J,” Tony cuts him off, nodding in the direction of one of Jarvis’ cameras, “Bruce has already given me enough of one.”

“Whatever you say, sir. I hope you listen to him,” If an Ai had the possibility to be sassy, then Jarvis has perfected the art. Tony is almost proud.

The lift chimes to his right, Tony flinching slightly at the sudden noise after quietly listening to the bubbling pot for a while. Steve steps out of the lift, looking unsure and wary as he observes the scene in front of him. He’s got his Captain America (figurative not literal) mask on, the picture of the perfect solider. Ready for any action at the drop of a hat.

“Tony?” Steve voices, raising his eyebrows at the engineer, “You asked for my company? What’s all this about?”

The soldier gestures towards the stove and Tony standing uncertainly beside it suddenly regretting his decision to make amends as hiding would have been easier.

“Oh, ehh, this,” Tony gestures awkwardly, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, wondering what the best way is to word his intentions, “It’s a gesture, I suppose. To say sorry for being an asshole.” He bends his fingers around the last part, aiming for humour to dissolve the tension, “Don’t get use to it.”

“A gesture?” Steve repeats, looking surprised, a small smile creeping up on his face, that goddamn look in his eyes again, “An apology?”

“I suppose so.”

“From you?”

“Yes, what isn’t clear-“

“-For being an asshole?”

Steve huffs out a disbelieving laugh, eyes shining with humour at the whole situation as he approaches the stove to peak into the pan. Tony glares back, the awkwardness in his chest clawing away at him.

Tony crosses his arms, “For being an asshole, yes.”

Steve nods his head slowly, looking between the soup and Tony, “Pea soup?”

“Better than out of a tin,” Tony answers, reaching up to pull a couple of bowls out of the cupboard, “I might be an ass but-“

“You weren’t lying.”

“No, I wasn’t. Pea soup out of a can is garbage.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, “And your cooking is better?”

Tony shrugs, serving out the soup into his acquired bowls, “perhaps not, but I’m sure normal people say it’s the thought that counts.”

“They do,” Steve agrees, accepting the bowl from Tony, eyeing him cautiously, “Not poisoned, is it?”

Tony raises his eyebrows, “Really? You think this would be my master plan to rid the world of Captain America. Nah, it would have to be something that presented me as the hero, glorious and catastrophic battle of morals in the middle of New York City.”

Steve actually laughs this time, “I think New York has been through enough, don’t you?”

Aliens, Loki, Wormhole. Falling, falling, falling. Tony pushes the thought away roughly, managing a weak smile in agreement.

Tony nods. They sit together at the kitchen island to eat their soup.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Steve exclaims, when he takes a spoonful, looking shocked and in awe, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can’t. Well, I can if I try. Not omelettes, apparently. Don’t ask,” Tony waves away the questioning look, “I usually do better freelance, scientist and all. Soups are more my forte than solid foods.”

Steve nods, “My ma couldn’t cook very well.”

Tony looks at him shocked, raising his eyebrows, “So the canned pea soup wasn’t much of a step down?” He chances the joke.

Steve huffs, “No, not real. Wouldn’t try it again, however. Isn’t for me,” He pushes his soup around in the bowl for a second, Tony lets him think, “Wasn’t much about the taste, just wanted to remember something real. She died so long ago.”

Tony nods, thinking about his own mother. Marie had been a warmth in his cold childhood, picking up the pieces of Tony that Howard left in his wake. She tried to shape him into what was expected of him without the belittling cruelty that Howard often spouted. She might not have been gentle or caring like the mothers of his peers at school, but she did her best with a husband like Howard Stark and a son like Tony. Tony had never been an easy child. Tony thinks back to her with affection now. Longing for the years that were stolen from him.

“How old were you?” Tony asks, already half knowing the answer from his father’s ramblings about Captain America and the fact he had been a big part of his history lessons in school.

“When she died? Just after my 20^th birthday,” Steve answers, looking down solemnly, “My pa died when I was little. War, you know. How most people became orphans.”

Tony nods, “it isn’t easy.”

Steve opens his mouth, Tony can see him debating with himself whether to mention Howard and Marie again, but the soldier closes his mouth again, wordlessly. Tony is thankful for that. They lapse into comfortable silence, taking in each other’s company without having to fill the gaps.

Tony find he doesn’t mind the other man’s company, something about sitting together in the middle of the night in the dimly lit room seems domestic and comfortable. Like they’re actual friends rather than just teammates. Because right now, the man beside him is Steve Roger’s, not Captain America. Not a super soldier or the leader of earth’s mightiest heroes, just a man from Brooklyn that is mourning the loss of his parents so recently for him yet so long ago for history.

It hits Tony that being Steve Roger’s friend might not be such a bad thing

------------------------------------------------

Tony would not admit it under anything less than torturous duress, but he is starting to enjoy the little routine the team has fallen into. Over the last few weeks, he has become accustomed to the Avenger’s living in his tower (their tower he now calls it). He often joins them for breakfast, even outside of the allotted days, finding that it starts his day off with a high having human conversation. Especially when he has meetings and client shit lined up in his schedule. The team moral is high, all of them seeming to get on a lot better than Tony would have ever guessed they could. He’s pretty sure Bruce is nursing a massive crust on Natasha. Clint and Thor seem to have a healthy competitive streak going, often challenging each other to more and more bizarre games that Tony can’t possibly keep track of. Steve and Tony are getting on like a house on fire since his gesture late that night, the two of them managing to keep up witty banter without ending up in a serious shouting match. Tony will count that as an achievement.

“Jarvis, I think it might be time,” Tony sits back in his chair, watching the spinning hologram of the tower in front of him with a proud blue A in replacement of the Stark name. Not a hard feat considering the A is the only remaining letter on the sign after the battle of New York.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Sir,” Jarvis agrees.

Tony nods to the Ai, allowing him to send the plan details and specifications to the construction team he has hired for the last parts of the job. He has been assured that the change will be up and running before this evening. Tony hopes the team remain none the wiser to keep the surprise intact. He closes the plan just as Natasha walks through his workshop door.

Tony wonders when exactly he became comfortable enough with them all to allow this. He turns in his chair to raise his eyebrows at the red head.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony spreads his arms like he’s welcoming her to a display of his workshop, a cocky grin on his face.

Natasha rolls her eyes, chucking her widow bites at him, smirking when he fumbles to catch them, “they’re too technical, explain them to me.”

Tony looks down at the electroshock weapons in his hands. He has upgraded (and replaced) most of the team’s equipment at this point, hoping to ensure they each have stronger weapons for whatever threats they might find themselves up against next.

Tony turns them over in his hand, “They’re really quite simple-“

Natasha sighs dramatically, sitting down heavily in the chair to his side, flicking her eyes to the heavens, “Christ, if I hear you or Bruce begin another beautiful mind ramble with that, I am going to knock you both into next week. Suit or hulk be damned.”

Tony laughs, shaking his head at her. This side to Natasha is still new to Tony, the friend rather than the spy. She’s got a quick and sharp sense of humour and an unwavering perception of good and bad. She never fails to draw Tony in. But not in the way she had done when they first met (though he will admit most of the flirting was to aggravate Pepper rather than anything else), he’s started to see her more of a sister and someone he would not like to get on the wrong side of.

Tony holds the contraption up, “It goes on hand, like so,” he slips it over his own knuckles, “It has a pressure sensor in the middle so depending on how hard you clench your fists, depends how powerful the electric shock is. If you push your wrists down, your widow bite disks will fly out too when you need them. It can hold up to twelve in each wrist so make sure you don’t run out of them.”

Natasha nods slowly, taking in the information, catching the widow bites easily when Tony throws them back to her, “Hmm maybe they are simple enough then. Might have to test them on Clint when he pisses me off.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, “Maybe change the setting away from kill if you’re planning nonlethal torture.”

Natasha pushes herself up from the chair, throwing her hair behind her, smirking, “Who says I want it to be nonlethal.”

She turns to walk away. Tony shakes his head as he watches her go.

“You’re a terrifying woman Natalie,” Tony calls after her, still using the fake name to tease Natasha every now and again.

Natasha doesn’t turn, keeping her pace, “Don’t you forget it, Stark.”

Tony massages his temple. His teammates are off their metaphorical rockers.

-----------------------

The team are speechless at the new sign on the tower, looking up in awe at the blue A standing proudly for all to see. Clint slaps him on the back with a shocked laugh while Thor grabs him in an impromptu bear hug, successfully knocking the wind out of Tony. Bruce looks like all his words have left him, leaving him to gawk up at the sign.

“A for Avengers, I see what you did there,” Thor celebrates, placing his fists on his hips to look up at the logo with pride.

Tony throws a look at Natasha, who hides her mirth behind her hand at the God’s very literal words. She smiles at him after, showing without saying that she approves of his decision.

A for Avengers. Earth’s mightiest heroes. Tony flicks his wrists, summoning his suit without words. The pieces fly towards him, encasing him in metal. Tony flexes his hands in the gauntlets, relishing the feeling the suit still gives him after all this time. Now especially in his new and improved model after his alterations. It hits Tony that putting off working on this new suit (one that will be safer if the battle of New York happened again) had caused him to feel more and more powerless to his memories and fears of it. This suit calms his anxiety in a way he never thought possible. His suits have always given him power and protection, but above all, reason. Iron man is the Avenger after all.

“Well, welcome to the Avengers Tower,” Tony says, leaving his face uncovered as he hovers in his suit, looking between all of his teammates, glad to see their gratitude and awe at the new logo. He catches Steve’s eyes as he looks, throwing the super solider a smile, “Welcome home, team.”

Steve lifts his head up higher at the words, looking incredibly moved by Tony’s gesture. Perhaps being the only one to understand that this means Tony has accepted them living there as permanent, that he has doubled down on them making this team work. Come hell or high waters.

Tony looks up at the looming A overhead and hopes that he hasn’t made a mistake doing this. He hopes he’s put his money on the right horse (metaphorically speaking). His visor goes down as he flies up to see it from a better vantage point, admiring the sight with pride. More pride than he ever had when the building just donned his last name.

“What do you think, J?”

“Remarkable, Sir.”

Tony smiled, flying around the building a few times, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

He looks down at the team, his team. Maybe the new suit isn’t the only thing that’s calming his anxiety.

--------------------------------------------

One thing is always a given in Tony Stark’s life, nothing good ever lasts. It’s a constant, a truth he has always held tightly when he starts to feel comfortable, safe. When he starts to forget he has to watch his own back because nobody else will.  Nobody ever has.

To his credit, Tony thought he had joined a team. He thought maybe, finally he would be able to relax. Be able to let people in to see the real him. That these people, as mismatched and odd they all are, might be his ticket to forging the trust he never learnt how to build in his youth. To becoming a better person for them. For himself too, he supposes.

For a genius, he really is an idiot.

Because the real him is ugly. Cruel and unlikable. People have told him that, more than once. Howard told him, seeming to forget that the cruelty had come from him. It’s funny, everyone always talks about wanting to be like their fathers but, for Tony, the ways he’s most like his father are the things he hates about himself.

The issue had all started on a mission. A small, quick mission, mundane really for their lives. Quick, hopefully last, mission before Christmas. Tony will admit that he hadn’t been in the best mood since the day had started (One too many nightmare and one too many failed idea). It also didn’t help that it was the anniversary of his parent’s death all those years ago (long enough ago he shouldn’t still be affected by it, right?). His sarcasm more cutting than usual. His responses edging on defensive. Tony had honestly started getting sick of hearing Steve’s voice telling him off.

So, Tony had then not listened, and things went a little wrong. Nobody got hurt (barring Tony but he doesn’t care much about that) so it’s not like it mattered that much.

Steve, clearly, didn’t see it that way. The Captain had been stewing the entire way back to the tower, looking more and more like he’s about to explode as the minutes pass by. Tony doesn’t say anything either, licking his wounds in silence as he tries to downplay any one of the teams concerns. He can look them over himself once he’s alone.

As soon as they get back home, all hell breaks loose.

“You defied a direct order,” Steve rants, his hands balled up into fists at his side, he’s looking at Tony like he did when they first met. Like he is a live wire, unpredictable and dangerous, “You put the mission in danger.”

Tony can’t resist rolling his eyes, because he’s tired and his shoulder hurts and he just wants this day to end goddamn it, “The mission was fine, the crisis was averted.”

Steve turns away from him, taking a breath as if to try and calm down but, honestly, Tony thinks he looks angrier when he looks back, “You’re a loose cannon, Stark. You always have been, but this? Someone could have got seriously hurt.”

Tony sits himself down on the couch, feeling like a scowled child looking up at an angry adult, “Nobody got hurt. You worry too much, Capsical-“

Tony doesn’t expect Steve to grab him by the scruff of his t-shirt, pulling him up till he’s face to face with the super soldier, “Hey, at least buy me dinner first-“

Tony doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows he’s pushing Steve’s buttons. He knows he’s testing the limits of even Steve Rogers. Famously known for being cool, calm and collected. Maybe that’s why he’s doing it, maybe he wants to make the golden boy crack. One last fuck you to his father that thought the sun shined out of his ass.

Maybe he’s just a petty asshole that doesn’t know when to quit while he’s still got friends.

“Everything’s a joke to you,” Steve snaps at him, letting him go but squaring up to him all the same, “Maybe you’re fine with self-destructing just to get a win, but you jeopardised everything just because you thought you knew what’s best.”

Tony feels the fire start to settle in his veins, “And that’s not exactly what you do every chance you get. You’re the poster boy for the sacrificial play.”

“I take calculated risks,” Steve snaps back, fists clenching at his side, Tony thinks he might feel better if he gets the super soldier to punch him, “You’re impulsive and self-centred, you think everyone around you should fall into your step.”

Tony takes a step closer, invading Steve’s space, “I cleared them out myself. Nobody-“

“You are part of a team, about time you started acting like it.”

“I went against one order.”

Steve is breathing heavily now; Tony can feel the rest of the team’s eyes on them. He’s thankful they know when not to get involved, “You didn’t think it through and look where it got us.”

Tony huffs out a humourless laugh, “Nobody got hurt. Just because I don’t bow down to every order Captain America throws at me. Hell, when are people going to stop sticking their noses up your ass.”

The comment is crass, purposeful. Tony is trying to wind Steve up and it’s working. A cruel, deep-seated pleasure settles in his chest at the knowledge. He’s enjoying burning their friendship to the ground.

“I really thought you’d changed, Stark,” Steve growls, nostrils flaring, “I thought you’d finally started to grow up and learn from your flaming mistakes.”

Tony scoffs, looking skyward, “Oh my fucking god, you sound like my father.”

“Well, Howard Stark was a man of wisdom,” Steve throws at him, the words burning deep like acid, invading Tony’s senses.

“Howard wouldn’t have known wisdom if it hit him in the face. He was just as bad at advise as he was at being a father,” Tony can feel his resolve crumbling, the argument hitting a raw and taunt nerve on today of all days.

“Howard Stark was worth ten of you,” Steve snaps, his eyes cold.

Suddenly, Tony is looking at the Steve he met before New York. He’s looking at the man like he’s not wormed his way into being Tony’s friend before throwing every moment back in his face.

Before throwing his father in his face once again.

Tony felt his adrenaline freeze in his veins, ice creeping its way up his body as he steps back from the super-soldier. His fight having turned ridged and unmoving. The thought of Howard’s face, his sneer that set Tony on edge, a taunt on his lips about Captain America himself choosing him over Tony. Over Tony, who had fought alongside him. Over Tony, who had started to think of his team-mates as friends rather than colleagues over the last few months.

Howard would have been overjoyed to have yet another reason to talk down to his wayward, useless son. The son that would never match up to his close friend Steve Rogers. His greatest creation and his greatest friend.

And here’s the thing, no Tony could never match up to Steve Rogers. Super-soldier. American-values incarnate. Hero above all others. Hell, even Tony can add on that he’s a good leader after having fought alongside him (even when he doesn’t agree with every order sent his way). Tony could never and will never match up to him.

Because Tony isn’t kind. Tony isn’t selfless. Tony isn’t a team player. Tony isn’t-

Tony just isn’t. He is not like Steve Rogers. He’s Tony Stark. Genius. Playboy. Philanthropist. Arrogant. Selfish…

To name but a few.

But, somewhere, deep in his chest, Tony thought he could have matched up to his father. That Captain America would see him and approve of Howard Stark’s ‘greatest creation’ (not that Howard ever called him that to his face while he was alive). That, maybe, just maybe, Tony Stark could be enough for someone to see without a disappointing roll of their eyes when measured against his father. That maybe he’d made a name for himself as Iron Man, as an Avenger. As part of Steve Roger’s team.

For a genius, he really is an idiot.

Tony Stark would never measure up to Steve Rogers for Howard Stark. And it seems, Tony Stark will never measure up to Howard Stark for Steve Rogers either.

Tony takes a shaky step back, his eyes darting to his teammates, who are still watching on in silence, back to Steve. He feels trapped, the want for a fight dying just as quick as it bloomed. He feels vulnerable, like an exposed nerve just waiting to send pain flashing through his body. Steve clearly hasn’t seen the moment Tony lost his fight, the other man is still in his battle stance, clearly ready and waiting to receive Tony’s retort. A retort that died as soon as those words fell out of his mouth.

Tony has always had a good fight or flight instinct. So, he turns tail and strides into an awaiting lift (summoned by a flick motion on his device in his pocket), not even wasting a glance back at the others to see if anyone is on his side.

What would be the point anyway?

--------------------------------------

Tony does what he does best, once he gets into his workshop, he throws himself into work. Setting about working on or completing the numerous jobs he has started but never finished due to being busy bonding with the Avengers. He thinks about the new big A that stands out at the top of his tower, stopping himself from personally flying up and tearing it down.

He pushes the thought down with more work. More coffee. More work. More work. More work.

He works till his shoulder burns in protest from the unchecked injury and his fingers are shaking too hard to hold a wrench.

Tony doesn’t ask Jarvis whether any of the Avengers attempt to come and see him (unsuccessful as they would be due to Tony putting the Workshop on full lockdown). He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to see them anyway.

“J, break me down the specs on this would ya?” Tony requests, sitting back in his chair, running his hand through his messy hair for the hundredth time, pretending like he’s stopping because he wants to, not because his hands won’t obey him anymore, “Run optics while you’re at it.”

Jarvis starts talking about his new bow design for Clint in detail, outlining all the things that Tony has put in place for building said weapon. Tony is only half listening, his brain buzzing with static that he often associates with one too many sleepless night and one too many coffee to dampen the feeling.

At this point, one too many sleepless nights would be an understatement. Because when he should be sleeping, he’s cooped up in his workshop, filling in the lost time with something that will keep his mind busy. When he does sleep, his dreams crack and shatter into nightmares of otherworldly creatures and endless wormholes into darkness. More than not he startles awake with a dry throat from screaming, thankful that Pepper doesn’t sleep beside him anymore (and lonely but he would never admit that to a living soul).

Tony flexes his worn hands, once, twice then again. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing all of this now. Maybe he should be a bottle of whiskey deep instead, anything to push away the sinking feeling in his chest that he might just have lost everything because he made a bad call.

His shoulder protests again as he reaches for his cup. Unsteady hands mixing with the pain and sending his old-faithful coffee cup to the floor. The handle cracks off as the coffee splashes across the floor.

That’s when he loses it. Tony clears his desk of his work, spare parts, old plans, everything clattering to the floor from the wrath of his anger. He grabs up what is left of the coffee cup, throwing it against the wall and watching it shatter into pieces.

Tony turns on chair next, chucking it against the wall with a shout of anger. He shouts and punches and kicks every breakable thing in sight until there’s no energy left in his body and he’s breathing heavily.

Tony stares at the destruction, sinking down to his knees, not caring for the broken glass that crunches under him, cutting into his skin.

“Sir, are you alright? Should I call one of the team?” Jarvis’ voice asks through the speakers, his voice is pitched with concern that Tony wonders how he learnt over the years, “I have James Rhodes on speed dial if-“

“No, J,” Tony snaps, feeling his eyes prick with unshed tears as his knees burn.

“But sir-“

“Jarvis,” Tony warns, firmly.

Tony is grateful that Jarvis doesn’t push any further. He can’t talk to Rhodey right now and the rest of the team? Well, he’s not sure if he’s going to have their friendship anymore after the stunt he pulled today.

It’s not like any of them fought his corner anyway.

A wave if emotion crashes over him in that moment. Sobs rattle through his body in waves, choking him in a mess of emotions. He cries for his mother, for everything he lost all those years ago, for the crippling loneliness that never really went away after he had been told he was now an orphan. He cries for his father, the man well known to everyone as a genius, an inventor, a visionary, but who was also a terrible father to him. He cries for all those cruel words and impossible expectations. For his childhood without nurture or comfort, just tight collars and fake people.

Tony paws at his cheeks, catching the tears as they fall. This doesn’t happen very often, he rarely can’t keep a handle on his emotions.

The chime of his lift makes him flinch, desperately wiping at his face to hide his shame and looking around himself at the chaos that is his workshop.

Natasha walks in moments later, her eyes darting around the room, taking the sight in before her gaze settles on Tony.

Tony feels shame settle in his stomach, sickening him, as he starts to push himself up from the floor to save his own dignity. The glass cuts into his hands with the effort, making him hiss and lose his strength.

“Nat,” Tony chokes out, his throat hoarse from crying (and maybe shouting but he can’t be sure), “I-“

Natasha shakes her head, taking his arm with a gentleness he didn’t think she was capable of. She moves him carefully to lean his back against the wall, his knees no longer having glass digging into them, still in chaos but more stable, “Just stay there,” Her voice is soft, calming as she clears a spot for her to sit beside him without fear of getting nicked with the glass.

Tony does as he is asked, an immense exhaustion flooding through him from his emotional outburst, sitting against the cold wall in silence. He sneaks a glance at the spy, trying to work out what she is thinking. Trying to catch her disgust or discontent at seeing him like this.

“How-how did you get in?” Tony asks when he finally plucks up the courage.

Natasha gestures at the camera in the corner, “Your eye in the sky must have a failsafe.”

Tony looks at the camera, a mixture of annoyance and gratitude battling for dominance, “Should have known,” He pauses for a beat, “Rhodey is usually the first port of call.”

Natasha nods, “He is. He rang me because he wouldn’t have got back in time to help. He knew I would.”

Tony rubs his hand over his face, thankful his tears have stopped with the fear of someone seeing him, “I don’t need help.”

Natasha gives him a pointed look then looks around the workshop, “Hmm, you can keep telling yourself that, but this, this is not the definition of alright.”

Tony huffs, moving his arm over his body to take the weight off his now protesting shoulder, “Sure, because you’re the poster girl of great mental health.”

It’s a low blow, Tony knows it is. Some part of him wanting to drive Natasha away, to push everyone so far that they won’t want to be near him again. Especially when he’s like this. Natasha however doesn’t look phased, shrugging her shoulders with a small, sad smile.

“You have a point, Stark,” Natasha agrees, pushing her hair back behind her ears, “But I think that qualifies me to understand this a little bit more.”

Tony nods, slowly, looking down at his knees that are starting to smart from the glass fragments sticking out of them. He absently starts pulling them out.

“That needs looking at properly,” Natasha points out, “That shoulder as well.”

“I’m fine,” Tony answers, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

Natasha shakes her head, “No you aren’t. I saw you and Steve. I saw your face when he said what he did.”

“Nat-“

“There was something off with you this morning,” Natasha continues, showing how much more clever she is then she gives herself credit for, “We could all see it. You’re many things, Tony, but stupid is not one of them. Stupid is what you were today.” Natasha gestures around her, “And I’m presuming a lovers tiff with Steve did not cause this.”

Tony shifts uncomfortably under Natasha’s expectant gaze, “I don’t like being analysed.”

“You don’t like being seen,” Natasha counters, “there’s a difference. So, spill, what is today?”

Tony looks away for a long moment, grateful that Natasha gives him a moment to gather his thoughts, “My parents died 23 years ago today.”

“Oh,” Natasha says softly.

“I have mourned them longer than I knew them,” Tony continues, looking into the middle distance as he talks, not wanting to see the pity that would surely be on Natasha’s face, “Hated Howard so much longer.”

“Tell me about them,” Natasha encourages, her voice dripping with understanding, not a hint of pity to be heard.

Tony finally looks at his teammate, seeing genuine interest in her eyes, “My mother was a force to be reckoned with. She worked with a lot of charities and showed the ‘generous’ side of Stark industries…”

Natasha elbows him gently, “I don’t mean who they were. A quick google search would tell me all that. I mean what were they like as parents.”

Tony swallows, “They were away a lot, even when I was at home from boarding school, didn’t see much of either of them growing up. Just different nannies or Jarvis our butler. My mother liked to keep up appearances, coached me on how to act when I became old enough to be present during conventions. She…well she knew how my father could be when I stepped off the straight and narrow, so she kept me on it. Kept me safe. That’s how she showed her love I guess, by protecting me.” Tony hesitates for a long moment, “Howard is known as this great man. The visionary, the inventor, the patriot. The genius. And he was all of those things. But he was also a lousy excuse for a father. When he wasn’t finding the bottom of a whiskey bottle, he was ranting about how much of a disappointment I am. Even when I was doing him proud, it was never good enough. I could never live up to-” Tony stops looking down then back at Natasha, “I could never live up to his greatest creation.”

“Captain America,” Natasha finishes for him.

“Captain America,” Tony echoes in agreement, “Still can’t.”

Natasha sighs, “I think that’s unfair. Each one of us could say that about each other. That’s what makes us a team. We fill in gaps that even we didn’t know we had.”

Team. Tony isn’t sure he fully knows what being one of those is. Having each other’s backs. Laying down on a wire and letting someone crawl over you. Being selfless, open minded, approachable. Tony isn’t convinced he’s capable of all that.

“I know where my gaps are,” Tony answers, softly, “Howard made sure of that.”

“Well, fuck him then,” Natasha shoots back, sharply, her face hard and determined, “Fuck everything he told you back then. Like you said, it’s been 23 years. You’re not the same man now as then.”

Tony nods, “I haven’t exactly carried on the family legacy, have I? There’s nothing I’ve done over those years that would make him proud.”

Natasha shrugs, nonchalantly, “Who says you need to make him proud?”

Tony feels a warmth grow in his chest just from those words. Words he’s needed to hear since he was a small child. Not to say he hasn’t been saying them to himself, but there’s something validating and comforting about hearing someone else say those words out loud.

What do you think your father would say about changing the course of the business?

I bet it’s nice to feel like your father would be proud of what you’ve created.

How does it feel holding up your father’s legacy?

Words thrown at him from reporters and stranger’s alike. People who thought they knew Howard Stark and many that didn’t. Tony always bypassed the questions. Always made a quip about bigger and better prospects of the future. Looking forward rather than back.

Because making your own footprint is easier than filling one that is unreachable.

“Thanks, Nat,” Tony says, gratefully, bumping her shoulder with his good one, “Careful, people’ll think you’re going soft.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh, “Tell anyone and they won’t find your body.”

“Ahh that’s the fiery assassin I know,” Tony teases, smirking when she throws him a glare.

Natasha pushes herself up, “Right, you, up. I need to look at those knees and your injuries from the fight.”

“Trying to get my top off, Romanoff?”

“Shut your smart mouth, Stark.”

*********

After Tony’s wounds are bandaged and he’s had a good telling off for not letting anyone help him, Tony sets about reassembling his workshop. Tony will admit he is a lot more banged up than even he thought he was, it’s a miracle Natasha didn’t force him to go to the hospital to be extra cautious. Perhaps it’s a good job the spy is the one to have found him out. He’s convinced Bruce and Steve would have.  Natasha tries to convince him to come and have dinner with them, reminding him that they are still a team even when they’re at odds. Like they always have been.

Tony shakes his head, collecting scattered papers from the floor, pushing away the headache at the thought of trying to reorganise them again, “It will just be….stuffy. I am nothing if not made of pride.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “That’s the problem with you boys, you can’t just suck it up.”

“Yeah because women are so much better at swallowing their problems,” Tony retorts, huffing out a laugh when Natasha frowns and nods her head in agreement at his sentiment, “Just let us….you know…man it out.”

“Man it out,” Natasha echoes, scrunching up her nose, “That sounds….wrong. In a host of different ways.” She places his spare part box on the desk where it lived before, “So sulk and ignore each other till things magically fix themselves?”

“Pretty much.”

“You didn’t see his face after you walked out,” Natasha continues, toying with a metal bolt inn her hand as she sits on the desk, “He looked so confused. Well, we all were. Hell, we’ve seen you two hash it out a hundred times but this. No offense but you looked distraught, like the world was ending and it was your fault.”

Tony shrugs, “Maybe it was. Just didn’t think he would go for such a low blow.”

Natasha nods, “Whether either of you want to admit it or not, you’re very similar when it comes to arguments. Anything goes. You just want to win.”

Tony can’t argue with that. Most of their arguments start the same way, Tony winding Steve up until he loses his cool then trading insults until someone else reins one or both of them in. They’re both stubborn and hardheaded. Its half of why they work so well together.

“Did he say anything? After?”

“Just sent me down here,” Natasha answers, shrugging when Tony looks at her, “I lied before, Rhodes didn’t call me, he called Steve.”

“Right, so that’s why you came down. Because Steve batted his eyelashes,” Tony can feel his defences rising again.

“No,” Natasha says, firmly, an offended look in her eyes, “We all tried to come down after the argument, Bruce and me especially. Even Clint tried to convince Jarvis to let someone, anyone in. But your protocols wouldn’t let us so we presumed you didn’t want to see anyone. Then Steve got the phone call and Jarvis agreed to let me in.” She hesitates, “to tell you the truth, I was worried about what I would find.”

Tony huffs, taking the new information in, “Suicide isn’t really my thing. Too self-absorbed.”

“I wrote about your self-destructive and bordering on suicidal ideation for your file,” Natasha contradicts, “and I’d only known you like a week.”

“To be fair to me, I was dying.”

“Neither the point nor the right argument,” Natasha rolls her eyes.

Tony shrugs his shoulders, wincing as it strains his new injury, Natasha raises her eyebrows as if that proves her point, “Would have been an overreaction to an argument.”

“You’re nothing if not dramatic, Stark,” Natasha quips, patiently, “Try as you may to deny it, I know you’ve been struggling since the New York battle.

Tony grits his teeth, turning away from his teammate abruptly, pushing down the thoughts of wormholes and aliens. Natasha is silent in observing him, clearly knowing he is proving her point well and truly.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not all of us flew into a wormhole to save the city.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, “I thought I wasn’t meant to mention that anymore.”

“You can’t mention it to get credit, no,” Natasha answers, shaking her head at him likes he’s a puzzle that can’t be solved, “But help is different.”

“I don’t need help,” Tony repeats his earlier statement, looking away stubbornly.

Natasha sighs softly, “Okay, but you know you can talk to me if you do, right? If not me, you’ve got a lot of people in your corner. More than you know.”

“What like Steve?” Tony answers, her voice sharper than he intended it to sound, “He already thinks I’m a waste of space.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Natasha responds gently, hopping off the desk and making her way to the door, “Trust me, he doesn’t. Offer still stands, there will be plenty of food if you change your mind.”

Tony nods, hesitantly as he watches her leave. He doesn’t express how grateful he is that she came to help him when he needed her to, but he hopes she knows anyway. Tony looks at his half-tidied workshop, sighing softly at the quiet that almost feels deafening now. Dumb-e is whirling around collecting and tidy bits and pieces up, his clumsy arm catching on everything around him making more mess than he is tidying. Tony smiles at the robot, rolling his eyes when the bot whirls at him, excited. Like a child hyped up on sugar.

“Thanks for the help but don’t help,” Tony says, shaking his head when the robot looks disappointed but obeys and rolls away, “J?”

“Yes Sir,” the Ai answers.

“Thank you. I guess the failsafe was a good idea,” Tony says, sitting down at his bench to look up at the camera.

“I will update Cornel Rhodes that he was right,” Jarvis retorts, sounding very pleased with himself.

“No, no don’t do that,” Tony shakes his head quickly with a huff, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I will let him know that you are okay, sir.”

Tony nods, “Thanks J.”

“If I may, sir, I think you should go to the avengers dinner.”

Tony spins his chair around once, thinking, “And what makes you think that?”

“Because they are your friends and you need friends.”

Tony doesn’t answer, pushing himself up to organise his cabinet to how it had been before his…..breakdown? Is that what he can call it? He continues to fix and rectify the room until its as much like it had been before (baring maybe his design papers being in a brain aching order and Pepper’s business contracts far from organised in order they need looking at, he’ll call her later about it). It doesn’t take long now he’s put his mind to it and its not long before Tony is standing in the middle of the room, looking around at the familiar layout. Maybe Jarvis is right. Maybe Natasha is right.

Tony goes to the penthouse to get changed before dinner.

---------------------

Uncomfortable situations are not exactly Tony’s forte, except when he is actively in control of it. Tony hates being on the back foot, he hates having to hang his head in shame and swallow his pride. It’s something he has had to do quite a lot since he became part of this team. Tony contemplates turning around and avoiding them all instead, locking himself back in his workshop out of their way. It isn’t like they expect any more of him.

Tony takes it as personal development that he resists the urge and walks right in.

His teammates are milling around the communal area. Clint in the kitchen looking very stressed while each of his pans take it in turns trying to boil over. Bruce is watching him with increasing anxiety, saying something Tony doesn’t quite catch, making Clint look at him in horror. Turns out the chicken was meant to be out of the oven about twenty minutes ago.

The smoke detectors start yelling and it’s humorous watching them all trip over themselves in response to the noise.

Steve and Thor look incredibly concerned and confused at the noise, the former having to cover his ears as a result of his super hearing and the latter panicking about the alarm signalling another planet invasion. Natasha is sipping her, probably alcoholic, drink as she watches the show with little reaction at the drinks bar.

“J, turn the smoke detectors off,” Tony says above the noise, raising his eyebrows as the alarms go silent and they all stop to look at him, he laughs at their dumb faces, “You’re all a picture. I can see the headlines now, ‘Avengers work together to burn down the tower, are these the individuals we want protecting our world?’” He wanders over to Natasha at the bar, pouring himself a stiff drink, “bonus points if the pap pictures have Thor with burnt bangs and Cap looking like a kicked puppy.”

They continue staring at him silently until Thor slaps him on the back (definitely not making him choke on his drink) with a hearty laugh, “Good to have you back, metal man. Now tell me, what is the meaning of that dreaded noise?”

With that, they all go back to what they were doing before, seeming to snap out of the shock of seeing Tony appear from nowhere. Steve heads over to help Clint rescue his meal, not that he’ll be much use. Bruce is doing his calming exercises to keep down hulk from appearing from the stress. Natasha is talking to him gently.

“Smoke detectors. They tell you if there may be a fire starting,” Tony answers, getting use to explaining simple things to his counterparts like they are children.

Thor purses his lips, “That is peculiar, would you not just see the flames? The noise would take your focus, no?”

Tony tilts his head, humming at the notion, “Be hard to see if you were, for example, sleeping or on another floor. Noise wakes you up.”

“It does that alright, my ears are still ringing,” Clint cuts it, motioning to his sensitive ears.

“I’ll turn down the intensity on these floors,” Tony answers, knowing that Jarvis will do it just by him mentioning it, “It’s designed to be louder than my music in my workshop.”

Clint gives him a horrified look, “And I’m the one with hearing issues.”

“Gunfire is a bit harder to turn down,” Tony reminds him, before gesturing to the mess in the kitchen, “This your handy work?”

Clint shrugs, “It was meant to be simple recipes,” He throws a pointed look at Natasha, who shrugs nonchalantly, “damn these team dinners.”

Tony catches Steve throwing Clint a look but the leader says nothing. Tony wonders if it’s because he’s here and he doesn’t want to make it more awkward than it already is.

“Well, it is Tuesday so the schedule is having an off week anyway,” Tony answers, shrugging, rolling his sleeves up, “I’ll make some spaghetti so at least we’ll have something to eat. That chicken is charred.”

Nobody argues with him so he sets about making he simple dish while Bruce and Clint stack the dishwasher with all the failed dishes. Steve avoids his gaze; Tony takes some enjoyment out of that. Tony might have done something stupid but he wants Steve to know that he also went too far with what he said. He wonders if anyone actually talked to him about that after Tony left and that’s why he’s acting like he is.

The dinner goes like they often do, the team chatting together as they eat, offering their own opinions of whatever the designated chef for the day has made. Tony laughs when Clint points out that spaghetti is the simplest dish there is, while begrudgingly admitting it’s better than what he had made. Thor talks about Asgardian food for the millionth time, talking about the grand nature of it that one can sometimes get tired of, preferring the simplicity of humanity. Tony rolls his eyes at him calling them ‘simple creatures’. Natasha also points out that Thor would definitely have skilled chefs and food experts to make the royalty food so it could hardly be compared with a bunch of mismatched superheroes with a variety of backgrounds. Clint agrees with her, declaring that it is Thor’s turn to cook next time (burn the tower down more like). Tony notes to himself to invest in more fire extinguishers. Steve is uncharacteristically quiet during the meal, eating slowly and careful like he usually does while listening to everyone put their two-bit in, but he doesn’t comment or offer his own views. Tony almost feels guilty about that.

Natasha and Thor collect the plates and dirty dishes to load the dishwasher together, Natasha appointing herself to babysit the god to stop him blowing the dishwasher up while trying to turn it on. She nudges his shoulder while she goes, gesturing to Steve pointedly. Tony rolls his eyes at her as he watches them go.

“Stark….Tony, can I have a minute?” Steve asks, unsure but determined, Tony blinks as he processes not having to start up this conversation. He appreciates him correcting himself with his first name.

Tony shifts on his feet, “Sure, yeah, anything for you, Cap.” He goes for humour to disguise his anxiety.

Steve doesn’t comment, gesturing for Tony to follow him to the next room for privacy. Tony does as he is told, mind whirling to work out where this conversation is going to go. There is a silence for a long moment as they both stare at each other, awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“Cap, I need-“

“Tony, I think-“

They blink as they both cut themselves off.

Tony gestures to Steve, leaning against the counter top to look casual even if he doesn’t feel it, “You go first.”

Steve nods, hesitating for a long moment that makes Tony almost start talking again, “I went too far before. What I said to you, it was cruel and undeserved. I don’t know what came over me to even say it.”

Tony shrugs, “maybe because you believe it?” He says it casually, but the wound still burns as the words echo in his head.

“That’s the thing, Tony, I don’t believe it,” Steve says, his voice quiet and empathetic, his head down as he articulates exactly what he wants to say. This is what makes him a good leader, he can be hard and commanding but also soft and comforting when he needs to be. Tony doesn’t know how he feels about being comforted, “Maybe when we met, I did. I spent so long with Howard.”

Tony tenses at the name, looking away from Steve, “He died 23 years ago today. And my mother.”

Steve’s gaze snaps to him instantly, a new flood of guilt clear in his face, “Oh. Tony, I didn’t know that. Rhodes didn’t-“

“He wouldn’t have, he knows I don’t like people knowing about it,” Tony answers, feeling a stab of gratefulness that Rhodey hadn’t broken that trust, “I don’t do well with the pity and the apologies.”

“I understand that,” Steve nods his head, moving to stand beside Tony, both of them looking out at the city through the window rather than at each other, “But I would have been more understanding had I known-“

Tony rolls his eyes, “I don’t want more understanding.”

“Maybe not, but you might need it,” Steve retorts, calmly, “I should never have brought Howard up like that. I know that-I know that there’s a lot I don’t know about you and Howard. That the man that was my friend might not have been the one you had as a father.”

Tony huffs, softly, “that’s the understatement of the century.”

“But even the Howard I knew, Tony, he wasn’t worth ten of you,” Steve continues, sounding almost frustrated, with himself rather than with Tony for once, “I don’t know what came over me to say that, but I was mad with you almost getting yourself killed and you talking down about Howard struck a nerve in that moment. I think-I think I was just saying the word I knew would hurt you the most.”

Tony stays silent, listening to the super soldier’s words. He doesn’t know if he truly believes them, but Steve is talking with such honesty that it’s becoming harder and harder to keep his walls up around him. Tony is not used to so many people giving a damn about him to apologise and actually understand why something they did hurt him. Howard used to flick between angry and calm so quick that Tony barely knew the right times to let his guard down, so he just kept it up at all times.

“And that’s not okay,” Steve finishes, looking at Tony now, “It’s hardly great leader material.”

Tony huffs out a small laugh at that, “You don’t give yourself enough credit. This is what makes you leader material, Rogers.”

Steve smiles, “Steve.”

Tony pulls a face at that, “Still not going to call you that. Maybe one day.”

Steve’s smile drops ever so slightly, but he nods with understanding. They are silent for a long moment before Steve starts to speak, “The Howard I knew was a very clever man,” Tony stiffens at the mention but listens, maybe this is how they start to understand each other better, “He was charismatic and sharp witted. Hell, you certainly couldn’t tell him he was wrong without being ready to be taken down a peg or two. He was arrogant to his core, drove me nuts but I guess he deserved to be. He was a visionary, a genius beyond his time and he helped me become who I am. But on top of all that, he was my friend.”

Tony nods, slowly, “I know he was.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, that look there again that Tony can’t define, “You are so much more than all of that, Tony. I thought Howard was the best there was, until I met you. Because you have all of what made him brilliant, while also having a strong moral compass, a conscience that drives you to do what is right no matter the personal cost. You can make anything with your bare hands if you put your mind to it.”

“I bet he didn’t drive you half as crazy,” Tony answers, feeling caught off guard, he isn’t ready to be complimented by the ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan’, “I’m unique like that.”

Steve laughs, glancing at him, “I don’t know, Howard had a way of getting under your skin too.”

“Family trait then,” Tony quips, smirking at the solider, “He never stopped looking for you, you know? He…well he was obsessed with it. You were his greatest achievement, and he believed with all his heart that you were still alive.” Tony gestures to Steve, “I guess the old genius was right about that too.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, toying over what to say. Tony can see the moment he thinks ‘fuck it’ which is interesting to say the least from America’s golden boy, “You didn’t see eye to eye, why?”

Tony purses his lips, shrugging casually, “Guess because I was a kid, little shorter, you know-“

“Tony,” Steve stops his quip in its tracks, looking serious.

Tony looks at him, face dropping as he turns over his words in his head, “The Howard Stark you knew is not the one I did. The genius, the visionary, the patriot. He was all of those things and more. A father? Not so much. I didn’t see him and, when I did, he was lecturing me on life or the business or my legacy. Nothing made him happier than the day he shipped me off to boarding school, pissed him right off when I graduated early and he was back to seeing his useless son everyday again. Told me as much, especially when he’d had a drink. Though the days he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind are easier to count,” Tony shakes his head, “Bet he was drunk all those years ago, not that anyone would tell me anything.”

Tony catches something in Steve’s face, a flash of something that disappeared when he blinked. He furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head, he must have been seeing things. Steve Rogers doesn’t really do hiding things.

“Howard spent his life chasing a future he never got to see. I spent mine trying to figure out what he wanted from me to make him proud,” Tony huffs out a laugh, small, bitter, “He’d use you, you know? Bet a lot of parents did but my father knew you first hand. It was like I was being forced to measure up to a saint and…well I’m certainly not that.”

“How do you mean? Use me? How?”

“Against me. Steve never would have done this. Steve never would have said that. Steve was more of a man that you every could dream of being,” Tony continues, doing a mocking deeper voice that Howard didn’t even possess but it made him feel better, “’If Steve can carry the weight of the country on his shoulders, then you can carry the weight of my name.’”

Steve hesitates for a moment, looking stricken at being used like that against his friend, “He said that? How old were you?”

Tony shrugs, wondering if it really matters, “Ten, I think. When he first said it. He lost hope in me in my mid to late teens. He gave up trying to beat some sense into me. Lost cause. Pissing away my legacy. Selfish brat who gets everything I wanted, that was me,” Tony looks down, blinking down the prick of tears that threaten to show themselves, he manages to keep them down, “I just wanted a father that was proud of me for me.”

“That’s not much to ask for, Tony,” Steve says, softly, empathy and almost anger on Tony’s behalf shining in his eyes, Tony didn’t expect this reaction if he’s honest, “I didn’t think….I didn’t think he’d be that kind of father.”

Tony huffs, “Nobody thought he was. Great Howard Stark leaving his only son a fortune and a legacy, complaining about lack of love or affection or any of that shit seems avaricious.”

“It’s not ungrateful to want to have been loved by your father,” Steve answers.

They are silent for a long moment, Tony feeling a little bit lighter having talked about Howard’s issues with someone who once knew him, someone who actually believes him. Steve looks to be deep in thought, Tony almost feels guilty for making him rethink his old friendship with his father. After all it’s some of Steve’s last memories in his own time.

“I am sorry for what I said, Tony,” Steve speaks up into the silence, looking to the side towards Tony.

“I did jeopardise an entire mission because I thought I knew what was best.”

Steve huffs out a small laugh, “But you thought it was for the best?”

Tony shrugs, suddenly feeling a bolt of needing to be honest with the man next to him, “No, I was-“ he gestures to his head, “Frazzled. In my head. With the day and everything else that’s happened in the last few years. Kinda came to boiling point and I just needed-“

“To fight?”

Tony nods, “To fight and win. Worked, I guess. But I didn’t think it through. Can’t exactly be impulsive and run-a-the-mill stupid when working as part of a team.”

Steve nods, slowly, “I do understand what its like to want to just hit and get hit, Tony.”

Tony hums, “And here I was thinking Captain Rogers was the pinnacle of stable mental health.”

“I was frozen in the ice for 70 years.”

Tony smirks, “Touche. I have daddy issues and, hopefully temporary, astrophobia.”

Tony’s smile grows when Steve lets out a genuine laugh at that, “I think that’s an irrational fear. What you have is pretty rational.”

“Survived, didn’t we?”

Steve nods, again, “We survived. And we would again.”

“Or die trying?”

Steve smiles, “Or die trying.”

Tony doesn’t know how long they stand there, together. Silent but comfortable. Just looking at the view of the city that they saved. Tony thinks of SHIELD and all the trust they all lost in their cause, especially Steve’s trust. Tony can’t even imagine having been saved by the organisation that put you there in the first place, not to mention it showed how pointless his ‘death’ had been. Tony still hasn’t got his own head around making weapons for yet another dangerous group that almost cost countless lives. Again. He clearly doesn’t have the best track record with offering his help in weapons to the right people.

If he’s honest, Tony is starting to think he needs to have those decisions taken away from him.

Steve, he knows, doesn’t agree, steadfast in his own personal belief that they are safe in his hands. That they can point themselves in the right direction safer and better than anyone else can.

Tony admires that optimism. Hell, there had been a time where he was that optimistic (or arrogant).