Chapter 1
The story began with a kid in Tony Stark’s driveway. No, sorry, it began with a kid inside the trash can in Tony Stark’s driveway.
Tony stared at the kid as his car rolled past. Actually, he stared at a pair of legs and feet in baggy jeans and colorful, beat-up sneakers, sticking out of his trashcan. Perhaps, on a different day and in a different situation, Tony would have made an effort to school his face into a less crackbrained expression, but he felt that, right now, with a kid in his trashcan, he had every right to be a bit flabbergasted.
He struggled against his seat belt in an awkward half-turn, trying to keep an eye on the kid in the trashcan for as long as possible. Behind him, the garage gate beeped and opened and, vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open, he watched the last hem of the kid’s worn-out jeans disappear from his line of sight.
Tony swallowed, turned around and stared dumbly into the glaring, artificial light of his garage. He breathed in the familiar stale air, blinked and hit the brakes. What the fuck. He put the car into reverse. The garage gate beeped and opened and the car slowly rolled backwards. Tony craned his neck, squinted against the sunlight and tried to catch a glimpse of those shabby sneakers. The car pulled past the trashcan. Tony blinked. What the fuck.
The can was securely shut and, notably, did not hold a child of any sort. Tony eyed it suspiciously, half expecting a surprise mugging or HYDRA raid or at least – and he turned around to scrutinize the nearby hedge – a hidden camera. His fingers were itching for the little button on his wheel, the one that would immediately call a suit to him, but there was no HYDRA, no camera, no danger, no child and no need.
Tony sighed and changed into first gear. The gate opened and he rolled back into the garage. Artificial light and stale air filled the car. Tony shook his head. He hit the brakes. What the fuck.
For four minutes and fifty-six seconds he sat in his car, breathed in gasoline and fumes, and contemplated whether he had finally lost his mind. Perhaps - and was it troubling that he didn’t find the thought particularly unreasonable? - this was the first day of a downward spiral – seeing things, believing the things were actually there and finally marrying his suit or running naked through the city in a crazed frenzy. The little slimeballs at the Daily Bugle would have a field day. It wasn’t difficult to imagine. ‘Tony Stark: Crazy Exhibitionist’ or ‘Tony Stark Chooses Suit Over Girlfriend’ or, if worse came to worse, ‘Cross-National Killing Spree: Tony Stark Blows up the White House’ or –
Or perhaps the kid had just bolted when they had spotted Tony. This was a high-risk area for dumpster divers, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t even been a kid. Perhaps it had been the regular overenthusiastic adult fan or perhaps, and this was by far Tony’s favorite theory, it hadn’t even been a human. It could have been a disfigured raccoon for all he knew. Tony smiled tightly to himself and nodded. He settled for the raccoon.
---
Tony was looking out of the window. It wasn't something he did very often – there was not a lot to see, after all – but recently the mundaneness had gained newfound appeal. He stared at the glowing city below him and it stared back at him with its million twinkling eyes. Solemnly, he raised his current cup of coffee, the fifth one of the day; a silent toast to New York, a good for you, a props for still being here.
He didn’t have to try hard to think back to that day, could still see the Chitauri ships hovering over the city and the black hole opening up in the sky. He could still remember the so, this is it when he had clung to that bomb, when he had flown high and then fallen, fallen, fallen out of the sky. He could still see the burning cars and taste the screams on his tongue, bitter and unforgiving and –
“Stop thinking so much.” Pepper's arms encircled him from behind.
He sighed. “Yeah, that’s not my strong suit.”
Pepper pressed her nose into the crook of his neck. “You admitting to a weakness? This calls for champagne.”
Tony turned around and pulled her close. She was still wearing her business attire and there was something sour in the sweetness of her smell. “No weakness. Just a symptom of brilliance,” he retorted and, he thought distantly, wasn’t that true?
He felt Pepper smile against his shirt. “No champagne then.”
He hummed and pulled away to peer into her face. She looked tired. “Long day?” he asked.
She shot him an amused smile. “What did you expect? One of us is running a business, you know?”
“Always the tease, Miss Potts,” Tony murmured, but he lifted a hand to caress the dark circles under her eyes, covered by a layer of concealer.
“You’re going to mess up my look,” Pepper whispered. She placed a soft kiss on his jaw.
“It will be my pleasure,” he whispered back.
Their lips met and Tony didn’t think he’d ever get used to it – not to the softness of her lips, not to the blue of her eyes, not to how she felt.
Pepper worked her way down his neck, slowly and softly. He raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you had a long day. Isn’t it time for you to go bed, Ms. Potts?”
She looked up, her cheeks flushed and her stern ponytail just the slightest bit dishevelled. “I think I can stay awake for another 12 seconds, Mr. Stark,” she said and smirked. There was a mischievous glint in her blue eyes and, God, that color. Never ever would Tony get used to it.
---
Afterwards, they were lying in bed, dozing off. Pepper was pressed into Tony’s side, smooth and warm and so alive. He smiled down at her, marvelled at her every feature, the curve of her jaw, the little crook of her nose. She looked so young without that tension in her muscles.
Tony ran his fingertips over her cheeks, imagined, remembered the red glow under her skin, building up in her chest and then he saw her fall and he knew, he knew – But no, she was here, she was alive, so alive, and she was with him. With him. A shudder ran down Tony’s spine.
Carefully, he tried to wriggle out of the embrace. Pepper’s arm tightened around him. “You’re thinking again. I told you to stop,” she whispered.
Tony placed a kiss on her brow. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” he whispered back and tried to put as much tacky cheesiness into his words as possible.
Pepper pulled a face and opened her eyes to squint at him suspiciously. “Not beautiful enough to keep you in bed, apparently.”
He sat up. “You know how it is. Project time.”
Pepper let go of him and scrunched her nose. “Sometimes I wish I was one of your projects. You spend so much time with them.”
Tony picked up his underwear and jeans from where he had discarded them on the carpet. “You’re my very favorite project,” he said, pulled up his underwear and proceeded to search for the leg opening in his jeans.
“Am I now?” Pepper asked, sounding amused. “I’m not sure if I should be happy or offended.”
“You never are.” He pressed another quick kiss to her temple before turning his attention back to the jeans that were currently hanging at his knees.
“You are so graceful,” Pepper chuckled.
She threw his t-shirt at him. He caught it and slipped it on, but not without giving her a dirty look. “You didn’t have any complaints just now,” he said, nodding at the bed. Pepper snorted.
“Get out,” she said, “but make sure to come back sometime before 4am, alright?”
Tony reached out to pet her cheek. “No promises."
Just as he was about to slip out of the door, she called after him. “Tony?”
He turned around. She was leaning against the headboard. The tension had returned to her shoulders. “What were you thinking about?”
Tony stilled, his hand frozen on the door handle. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about just now or about before, back in the living room in front of the window, and he wasn’t sure if it mattered. He hesitated, unsure what to say, uncomfortable under her piercing and not at all sleepy gaze.
“I – “, he began and paused. “Could we raise our donation to the Covenant House or the Salvation Army or whatever it was?” he asked, surprising both himself and Pepper, who cocked her head and eyed him curiously.
“I don’t see why not,” she said finally and then, a heartbeat later, “Why?” Tony thought of the kid in the trashcan and the black hole in New York’s sky and the fire under Pepper’s skin.
“Just to be safe,” he said.
Pepper’s gaze softened. “Tony?” she asked. “Yeah?” His lips were dry. She stared at him motionlessly for a moment longer. Then, she smiled. “You are wearing your t-shirt inside out.”
---
The second time it happened, Tony wasn’t alone and he wasn’t driving. Happy was. Actually, it looked more as though Happy was trying to choke the steering wheel to death. His knuckles were white and his jaw was set in steely determination. Tony didn’t dare look at him for more than two seconds. Instead, he pretended to be doing something terribly important on his phone, sneaking just the occasional side glance.
The silent treatment he was receiving was more than deserved. Tony understood that, even though he himself was more the snapping and insulting kind of guy. Perhaps that, he mused, and dared to look at Happy for just a bit longer, was exactly the problem.
He cleared his throat. Happy didn’t seem to notice. The apology was on tip of Tony's tongue, half-formed and ready to go. Just do it, a tiny voice whispered at the back of his mind. Other people do it all the time. But he wasn’t other people, was he? He cleared his throat again. Happy’s right eye twitched.
I’m sorry. No, God, no. Too simple, way too simple. What had Jarvis always said? “Sorry means nothing if you don’t know what you’re sorry for.” A different approach, then. I shouldn’t have snapped at you? I didn’t mean to snap at you? I didn’t want to snap at you? But he had meant it and he had wanted it. Just because the anger had been misdirected, didn’t mean it hadn’t been real. In fact, Tony could still feel it in his chest and, now that he was thinking about it, Happy had been late and, traffic be damned, Tony had waited ten long minutes in the pouring rain. Could Tony have been half-wrong and, if he had been half-wrong, was it still worth an apology?
He stifled a frustrated groan and turned the words over on his tongue. What if he just changed the topic, sprinkled in a bit of sarcasm? Perhaps then everything would go back to normal. He was almost certain it would. Happy had, after all, survived far worse and –
“What the fuck?” Happy grunted and hit the brakes.
Tony whipped his head around, half expecting to be thrown out of the car (oh, would that make the headlines), but Happy wasn’t even looking at him. Tony followed his gaze with some hesitation because they had just pulled into the driveway and he really didn’t have it in him today to deal with an attack right on his doorstep. There was no attack, though, and no herd of paparazzi, not even a measly car crash. It was just the kid in the trash can. What the fuck, indeed.
Tony was sure it was the same kid; the shabby outfit was unmistakable. He gave the kid a quick once-over – way easier now that they, or rather he, Tony presumed, was bent over the trashcan, instead of being buried in it. Yes, a boy, probably, and around, what, thirteen years old? Twelve? Sixteen? Nine? Tony squinted. It was hard to tell with these things.
Just as he was about to say something, anything, to diffuse the tension, the kid spun around and, no, definitely not sixteen yet. The kid’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘O’ and he stared at the car with wide, brown eyes. More specifically, he stared at Tony who lifted his sunglasses in order to do the boy’s shocked expression justice and stare back properly. There was a wild glimmer in the kid’s eyes, a violent tremor in his legs.
Tony was sure he was going to bolt and so, apparently, was Happy, who folded himself out of the car with a pained huff. The kid’s eyes flickered back and forth, before finally fixating on Happy. Apparently, Happy was, not incorrectly, recognized as the bigger threat.
Happy took a step towards the kid. The kid took a step back, effectively bumping into the open trashcan behind him. Tony had half a mind to step out of the car himself and deescalate the situation before Happy could start yelling about trespassing and private property, but he stopped dead in his tracks when Happy fumbled for something in his pockets. The hysterical part of Tony’s brain wondered if Happy had a gun hidden in there and if he actually intended to point it at a child. The kid seemed to think the same if the sharp inhale and the color draining from his face were anything to go by. On second thought, stopping dead in his tracks might have been the wrong move.
Tony grabbed the door handle and was already halfway out of the car when Happy found what he was looking for and pulled out, and pulled out – Tony blinked. It wasn’t a gun, or a taser or a fucking walkie talkie, but a cereal bar; a bit squished, yes, and of undetermined age but perfectly harmless nonetheless. For a moment, all three of them stared at the bar in mild confusion and perhaps it would have gone on like this forever, had Happy not cleared his throat authoritatively.
He threw the bar at the kid and the kid caught it. For a long second, nobody moved. Then, with nothing but a curt nod in Happy’s direction, the kid pushed past them, ran down the main street and disappeared behind a corner. The sound of his sneakers slapping against the concrete had long faded in the distance when Tony regained control over his brain.
With a shake of his head, a heavy sigh and an utter lack of grace, he collapsed back into the car. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the open trashcan. What the fuck. The driver’s door opened and Happy fell into the seat next to him. For a while neither of them said a word and then, as though a spell had broken, they started talking at the same time.
“Do you want me to tell security and make sure-“
“Why exactly did you give him-“
They trailed off and stared at each other.
“No, he’s just a kid,” said Tony.
“Because he’s just a kid,” said Happy.
They smiled tightly, in silent understanding. The engine started with a soft whine and the garage gate opened. Tony threw one last glance at the open trashcan before artificial light and stale air took over.
---
“What do you mean ‘7685 potential matches’?” Tony snapped.
“I love to repeat myself for you, sir,” Jarvis replied smoothly. “I have 7685 potential matches for the gender, physique, motion patterns-“
Tony interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah, rhetorical question – jeez, we need to work on that.”
He squinted at the grainy recording in front of him, “Jarvis, zoom in.”
“Maximum optical zoom has been reached and cannot be exceeded.”
Tony groaned. The black and white human-shaped blob on the screen was truly unidentifiable. “Can you increase the resolution?”
“Of course.”
Tony’s heart danced with joy. He stared at the recording expectantly. Nothing happened. He squinted. It was clearer, wasn’t it? The edges of the kid’s head weren’t quite as blurry anymore and, if Tony strained his eyes, he could detect something on the kid’s face that looked vaguely like a nose.
“Jarvis,” Tony asked nonetheless, just to be sure, “have you increased the resolution?”
“I appreciate your faith in me, sir. Maximum display resolution has indeed been reached.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Tony muttered.
“While I am flattered, sir, I do not think –“
Tony raised his hands in desperation, “Jarvis, sweetheart, I’m begging you to stop talking.”
Jarvis did and Tony was left to stare at the grainy and utterly useless recording in silence. “7685 potential matches, right?” There was no reply. Tony rubbed his face with a deep sigh. Perhaps Pepper was right and he really did need more sleep. “Jarvis, you had 7685 possible matches, right?” he repeated and, when Jarvis still showed no sign of life – they needed to work on that, too – he added, “Please answer.”
“7685 matches are correct. Would you like for me to list them?”
Smug bastard. Tony considered his options. He could go through them, one by one, and compare 7685 ID pictures to his inaccurate and feeble human memory, or – “Jarvis, what kind of crappy cameras are we using for security?”
“Dahla Industries, ‘Seeing Eye’, Model DH-IPC-HFW32 on the outer walls of the tower. The body worn cameras are divided into three categories –“
“Yeah, okay,” Tony interrupted. “It’s time for an update, don’t you think?”
“If you say so, sir."
“Good.” Tony eyed the grainy recording reproachfully. “Get the best stuff. Stark Industries. No idea why we went off-brand in the first place.” He stopped the video with a wave of his hand. A thought occurred to him. “And Jarvis, keep an eye on the main driveway. Tell me if you see our guy and, ah,“ he sighed, “focus on the trash cans.”
“Noted, sir.”
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. This called for a drink, a big one and a strong one. In that order. He was on his way to the kitchen, his fingers itching with anticipation – Whisky? Gin? Rum? Wine? – when Jarvis spoke up once more.
“Sir, you have an incoming call from Captain Steve Rogers.”
Tony swayed and stopped. Ignore, an incorporeal voice whispered into his ear.
Pepper was on a business trip. He had the lab to himself. He had the drink to himself. This could be a night of undisturbed and jolly tinkering with good old AC/DC or Black Sabbath blasting in the background. This could be good, so ignore, ignore, ignore. The words were fully formed, waiting on his tongue and he almost said them. He wanted to say them, but – But.
“Accept call,” he said with a wistful glance at the bar. “Heyo, Cap.” He poured as much breezy arrogance into his voice as he could muster and he hoped it showed. This was not the right moment or day or, hell, the right year.
“Tony,” Steve said curtly and, yes, Tony noted with a little satisfied smirk, the arrogance had shown.
"Tony, we found another one. We found another nest. Here. In New York.”
The itching anticipation returned to Tony’s fingers.
---
“Three to your left, sir.”
“Yep, got my eye on them.” He lifted his hand, aimed, fired, and then there was the smell of burned flesh and smoke; nothing to have his eye on anymore.
“Counting twelve, but could be more. I could really do with some help here,” came Rhodey’s tinny voice through the speakers in Tony’s helmet.
“Coming to get you, honey bear,” Tony replied, smugly, and, oh, would he. “Jarvis, locate.” Directions appeared on the screen. Tony smirked. The thrusters roared to life. He was hovering over the ground and then – then, he was flying.
He crashed through a small group of HYDRA agents, huddled together in a tight circle, not for strategic reasons, but because they were absolutely shitting their pants. Tony watched them crumble to the ground. Romanoff made a crude gesture in his direction, for stealing her targets presumably, but he was already gone, too fast to give a retort. So fast. He saw Hulk breaking through enemy lines, swatting agents out like flies. He watched Cap knocking out three agents at once, fast as ever, watched Thor, throwing his hammer like a boomerang and Falcon, darting through the sky, cutting down agents left and right and, yes, maybe they were all going a tad overboard with this, but who could blame them, really? They were alive.
Tony crashed through a window and into the base. Glass shards bounced off his armor, not even leaving a scratch. The room was filled with smoke. Tony could hear horrible, dry coughing in the distance – an enemy trying to fight his way out of the fire.
“What do you have for me, Jarvis?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps into the room.
“I can locate thirteen unidentified individuals on this level of the building.” Thirteen small red dots appeared on screen. Tony focused on the closest one. To the left, to the right, and – the dot flickered and disappeared.
“Twelve individuals,” Jarvis said coolly.
“Yes,” Tony murmured, as another dot flickered and faded, “and I think I found Rhodey.”
“Just about time,” Rhodey panted into his ear, “Can’t see shit in this smoke.”
With a twitch of his finger, Tony took out a coughing HYDRA agent stumbling towards him. Imbecile. “Oh, the smoke? You should have installed the navigation update. Smoke can’t beat that thing.” Rhodey huffed.
“Yeah, please spare me the details, Tones.”
“You don’t want to know about the GPS function? The heat sensors, maybe?”
"Nah, thanks. I’m good." There was, perhaps, just a hint of bitterness in Rhodey's voice.
"Pity,” Tony said and turned towards the closest red dot. Was it shivering? It looked like it was shivering. “Because the best ones are mine. No thinking about your feelings.” Rhodey groaned and Tony laughed, but then –
“Boss, I have detected ten new unidentified individuals on your level.” And, indeed, the heavy doors of the elevator to Tony’s right began to open.
“Or maybe,” he drawled, positioning himself next to Rhodey in tense anticipation, “we can share.”
The repulsors juiced up. Energy buzzed through the armor and Tony tasted blood. One, two, three and the world was on fire.
---
“- and we took them out with one blow. One blow! Boom!” Rhodey laughed and downed the rest of his drink.
“We?” Tony echoed, “I think it’s safe to say that I did, like, 95% of the work.”
Rhodey stared at him. “What are you talking about? I was the first one to shoot! And you even had your fancy new gadget, your heat sensor thing or –“
“Ten?” Thor roared. “Only ten? I took out 21! At once! Just one blow-“ he swung his hammer in demonstration, “gone!”
“Oh yeah?” Rhodey asked sweetly, “Cause the last time you said ‘21’ it was actually only seven. Remember that?”
Tony got up from the couch, swaying just a little, and blocked out Thor’s booming and, undoubtedly, offensive reply. He staggered towards the bar, clutching his empty glass and watching in fascination as his vision blurred around the edges. There was only one way to deal with that. He leaned heavily against the bar, poured himself some whisky and watched the party unfold in the living room.
Thor was swirling his hammer in one hand, towering over Rhodey who looked utterly unimpressed by the threatening demeanor. Bruce was sitting in the corner, a single beer in his hand, chatting quietly to Romanoff, who appeared to be just as sober as he was. Steve and Sam were laughing about a joke Tony probably wouldn’t have found funny even if he had heard it, and Clint was nowhere to be seen.
Tony took a sip of whisky. This wasn’t a big party, just a derailed strategy meeting. It was just them. Laughing, joking, bickering, washing away the adrenaline with anecdotes and alcohol. Tony wasn’t too happy about that last part. He could get on board with the alcohol and even the anecdotes, at least when he was the one telling them, but the washing away – no, he didn’t agree with the washing away.
He didn’t want to come down. He didn’t need to come down. He was content exactly where he was, thank you very much. Coming down wasn’t his style.
He downed the rest of his whisky and watched with mild interest as the resolution of the world worsened a little bit more. It was just them, just them… Nothing else between alien invasions and government conspiracies and HYDRA infiltrations. It was always them. His mouth was uncomfortably dry and, if that weren’t a guarantee for disassembling his reputation, he would abandon the booze in favor of a glass of water. At least for the moment.
The talk, the laughing and even Thor’s shouting were muffled. Tony reached for his ears, as though expecting to find them stuffed with cotton or foam or concrete - Steve, choking on the concrete, a Chitauri fist around his throat. Bruce, motionless, his beautiful brain splattered over the wall. And Rhodey, good old Rhodey, with a hole in his skull, leaking, bleeding and –
No. Tony fumbled for the half-empty whisky bottle. No. Nope. Not thinking about that today, when they were all here together, after such a successful day, and why was he still hearing that cough, that dreadful, dry cough?
He poured himself another glass. His fingers were trembling. It had been a HYDRA agent, for God’s sake. HYDRA! They were killers, vicious and merciless and what could he say? It was his job. It was what he did. No reason to think about it. No reason at all. He clutched his glass more tightly. Time to rejoin the others, make sure that the only thing leaking out of any of them tonight was alcohol-induced puke.
He took an uncertain step, proud of himself for how steady it was, and, Jesus, was that Steve untangling himself from his conversation with Sam, strolling towards Tony to, what, have a little chat? No, Tony had no patience for the elderly, not tonight, not after such an eventful day. He would just – he looked around, searching for an escape route because, yes, Steve was definitely walking towards him and if Tony’s drunk brain was still sober enough to decipher Steve’s expression correctly, he didn’t want to have a chat. He wanted to have a talk.
“Sir?”
Tony almost dropped his glass. “Jesus, Jarvis, I have a heart condition.” The alcohol was making Tony’s tongue heavy, but he was confident that he could still keep the slur out of his words. He was experienced, after all.
“My apologies, sir,” Jarvis said, “I simply wanted to inform you that ‘our guy’ has appeared in the main driveway.”
Tony got very close to choking on his own spit. “He’s here?” he spluttered, uselessly.
“Positive, sir,” Jarvis replied, unfazed as ever.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going to-“
What was he going to do? He had just wanted to – keep an eye on the kid. For … safety reasons? He should just ignore it, join the party, and have Jarvis play the shitty security camera recording for him tomorrow, just for his peace of mind, out of pure and detached curiosity. Yes, smacking the 'ignore' button hard would be the reasonable thing to do.
Steve had reached him now. “Do you have a minute?” he asked, a polite smile on his lips. Yes, the 'ignore' button was the reasonable course of action, no doubt, but Jarvis had just served Tony an exit ticket on a silver plate. What kind of man would Tony be to reject it?
“Actually,” he said, “Jarvis just informed me-“ He hesitated. That there’s a kid in my trashcan? No. “That there’s a situation that needs dealing with,” he finished lamely and, to gloss over his unusual loss for words, he added, “I’m sure you can take care of the kids without me for a sec, darling.” He patted Steve’s shoulder and turned away, ready to make his disappearance.
“Tony?” Tony stopped and closed his eyes.
“Yes?” he asked, stuffing that one syllable with as much nonchalance as humanely possible.
“Everything alright?” Steve asked and Tony sighed in relief. That was easy.
“Of course,” he said and regarded Steve with an incredulous look. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
---
In the elevator Tony wondered if maybe this had been a bad idea after all. The normally exceptionally smooth ride downstairs (not his doing, just his money) seemed to be unusually bumpy today.
Tony was clutching the whisky glass for dear life as his vision blurred into a smear of colors and lights. His stomach was sitting somewhere in his throat. The alcohol in it was sloshing back and forth and Tony had to fight the bile that was threatening to spill over. He took another sip of whisky, regretted it and groaned. Tomorrow would be horrible. The elevator stopped.
Tony almost fell through the open doors, immensely relieved to escape that hellish box. A bit of whisky splashed onto his shirt. He cursed. “Jarvis?” he said and cursed some more because he shouldn’t have waited so long to ask this. “Is our, ah, guy still out there?”
“Positive, sir.”
Tony wasn’t exactly sure if he should be relieved or scared or both, but, he decided, he hadn’t put up with that elevator ride just to stop now. Giving up was not his style.
He walked towards the main entrance, staring furiously at his feet and silently ordering them to keep him in a straight line. At the very least, the fresh air would be a relief. He pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder and stuck his head outside. A cool breeze caressed his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, this was good.
“Sir?”
Tony’s eyes snapped open. He pulled his head back inside and spun around as gracefully as he could manage with his momentarily limited motor abilities. He squinted. The pale face of a very young and very confused looking security guard came into focus. Tony cleared his throat and schooled his face into what he hoped was a professional expression. Only at the last minute did he prevent himself from leaning against the door behind him and gracelessly tumbling onto the pavement.
“Sir?” the guard repeated.
“Present,” Tony said gruffly.
“Should you-“ the guard stuttered and Tony felt a wave of pity for her. Poor thing. The guard cleared her throat and – was she trying to put on an authoritative tone? “Should you be outside by yourself at - at this time of day, sir?”
Tony gave her a long look, the pity vanishing as quickly as it had come. “May I please go outside, nanny? Please?” he asked sweetly and watched with great satisfaction as the security guard flushed a deep shade of red.
“I just-“ she stuttered and he smirked. “I was told that you were to be accompanied whenever you go outside. Because,” she fumbled for words, “of your status.”
“Ah,” he said thoughtfully, “My status. It can be a bit of a hinderance occasionally, yes. But-“ he pressed a button on his watch (the big red one because to hell with discretion) and silently watched the red and gold gauntlet form around his wrist, “- it also allows me to do this.” He flexed his fingers and smiled at the guard who was staring at him with wide eyes. “I think I’ll be fine,” he said and pressed the big red button again. The gauntlet retracted.
To his dismay, its disappearance seemed to have also sped up the guard’s recovery process. She cleared her throat again – Tony would have offered her a cough drop if he had any – and tore her gaze away from Tony’s arm. “Right,” she said, more to herself than to Tony. “I see. But, with all due respect, sir, are you –“ she nodded at the glass in Tony’s hand.
Tony felt hot fury well up inside him. He smiled tightly and closed the distance between them with surprisingly steady legs. The guard shrunk back. Tony’s smile widened. He cocked his head. “Am I what, McGonagall? Carrying a glass?” He swirled the whisky in his hand. “Your observational skills are truly incredible. I can see why they hired you. You know what?” He shoved the glass into her hand and she clutched it automatically. “I trust you. You hold on to this for me. I’ll be back.”
He turned on his heels and walked back towards the door, leaving a confused and slightly terrified security guard behind. He stepped outside and smelled the fresh air. Thankfully, this time he was not disturbed.
---
The encounter had sobered him up. His steps were steadier now and the world seemed a bit less fuzzy than it had in the elevator. Slowly, he made his way down the entryway. Perhaps the kid had bolted by now. He wouldn’t be surprised. Miss Sunshine in there had cost him some valuable time.
Driven by an inexplicable itch for secrecy, he carefully tiptoed towards the hedge and peaked around the corner. The driveway was about as dark as was possible in New York City and the hedge threw long, narrow shadows onto the pavement. If Tony had been 35 years younger, he would have thought they were reaching out for him with long, sharp claws. He tore his gaze away and shook his head. Not right now. Not when there were more important things to focus on.
Just barely, he could make out the shapes of the trashcans, right in the back in their little booth which, now that he was thinking about it, could probably use a door. And – his breath caught in his throat – he could also see -
The kid was kneeling beside the trashcans, hidden in the shadows and inspecting something on the floor. Tony swallowed. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Should he – say something? Clear his throat? Approach the kid? Make a joke? Or should he just stay there, not say a word and slowly retreat because, fuck, if this wasn’t way out of his comfort zone.
The choice, it turned out, was made for him. The kid’s head jerked up. Slowly, carefully he spun around, his gaze flickering back and forth, the muscles in his jaws tightening. The itch for secrecy was ripening in Tony’s chest and he held his breath, so scared of being seen, suddenly, because this – and he didn’t know why – this was big.
The kid was just as tense, crouched on the floor, alert and wide-eyed and looking absolutely ridiculous. Perhaps, on a different day, Tony would have laughed, but as it was, his chest was too tight and the kid’s gaze too intense and, really, he couldn’t even breathe properly.
“Who’s there?” the kid asked in a raspy whisper. His voice was boyish and soft, but deeper than Tony had expected and, he noted dully, surprisingly steady. 14 years, Tony thought. Maybe. Was he too soft around the jaw to be 14?
“Who’s there?” the kid repeated, more loudly this time and with a demanding note to his voice.
Tony stepped out of the shadow. The kid stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then, his brown eyes grew huge and his mouth fell open. He stumbled to his feet.
“You’re-“ he stuttered. “I mean, hello. I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean-“ He gestured at the trashcans and trailed off.
An amused smile tucked at Tony’s lips. He tried to take a step towards the kid, almost lost his balance and stopped. Shit. “What do you have there, kid?” he asked and prayed to the Gods that his decade long training in ‘acting sober when drunk’ would pay off.
“Uh,” the kid stammered. His eyes flickered back and forth, between Tony’s face and the unidentified object on the floor. “It’s, uh, sorry, it’s a camera,” he said and bent down to pick it up – not without alternating between disbelieving and suspicious glances in Tony’s direction. “It’s, uh,” the kid murmured, weighing the camera in his hand, “a security camera of some sort. It’s – it’s smashed and I don’t think it works, but-“ He looked fearfully at Tony. “I mean, I can put it back. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to steal it. I was just, I mean, there are a ton of them in there and, sorry, I just thought, you didn’t need them anymore because-“ he pointed weakly at the trash can behind him, “they’re in the trash and stuff.” He bit his lip and fell silent.
Tony made a mental note to sack whoever had thought it would be a good idea to throw his old security equipment, smashed or not, into an unlocked trashcan. “You can keep it. I don’t usually fish things out of the trash. Unlike you,” Tony said nonchalantly, even though his throat was uncomfortably tight. The kid blushed and before he could stammer another apology, Tony added, “You’re a dumpster diver?”
The kid shrugged and looked away.
Tony hummed. “You’re looking for food? Because you can’t eat that camera, buddy.”
The kid flushed an even deeper shade of red. He tugged at some of the wires sticking out of the camera’s broken case. “I just like technology, I guess,” he murmured.
“Same here, kid,” Tony said lightly and then, because the alcohol was making him particularly adventurous, “What’s your name?”
The kid didn’t say anything, didn’t meet Tony’s gaze, just picked at the wires in silence. Tony counted to ten, bit his tongue for another five seconds, before finally running out of patience. The kid was making him nervous. “You don’t have to tell me, of course,” he said. But I’ll find out anyway.
Perhaps the kid was thinking something similar or perhaps the absurdity of the situation finally became too much for him. He lifted his head. “No, no. Sorry. It’s fine. It’s just, it’s just, you’re Tony Stark.” He sucked in a sharp breath as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth.
“Yes,” Tony said, “I’m Tony Stark. And you are…?”
The kid licked his lips and blew a strand of his fluffy brown hair out of his face. “Peter,” he said, “Peter Parker.”
“Alright, Peter Parker,” Tony lifted his hand apologetically, “I have nothing on me today,” apart from a head full of booze, “but if you come back tomorrow or in a few days or whatever-“
The kid flinched and Tony trailed off. “That’s, that’s nice, Mr. Stark. I’ll, yeah, I’ll keep it in mind. But, it’s, I mean, it’s getting late and I should probably be home…” He hesitated. Tony stepped aside.
“Right, yes. Keep the camera.”
The kid nodded, gave a little wave and slipped past him, out of the driveway. He clutched the camera to his chest and started running. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, sir!” he called over his shoulder. Tony opened his mouth, trying to come up with a reply, but the kid had already disappeared around the corner.
Tony closed his mouth and swallowed heavily. He stood in his dark driveway, alone and in silence, the conversation replaying in his mind. I should probably be home. That was good. That was very good.
He turned around and staggered back towards the tower, pushed open the door. The warm air inside made him gag. He strolled past the security guard and wordlessly snatched the glass from her hands. He took a sip. His head was beginning to hurt. The elevator pinged and opened. He stepped inside, closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the steel wall. What the fuck, he thought.