Chapter 2
Bright dots were dancing over Tony’s eyelids. He groaned.
“Rise and shine.”
Tony forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Happy stared down at him. Tony closed his eyes again.
“Ever heard of knocking?” he grumbled, smacking his lips. The taste in his mouth was absolutely disgusting.
“I called you,” Happy said, the exasperation palpable in his voice. “You didn’t answer, Tony.”
Perhaps, on second thought, it was accusation rather than exasperation.
Tony opened his eyes again, blinked and took a deep breath against the foulness in his mouth. Happy’s nagging gaze was burning holes into his (throbbing) skull and – was he lying on the couch? “Yeah, I don’t know, tell Jarvis to wake me next time,” he said and sat up. The world was spinning. Happy kept staring at him, a deep, offended frown etched on his face.
“What?” Tony groaned and, God, he could smell it. He needed toothpaste or a mint or whatever.
“Just, Tony, you put this behind you.”
Tony decided that, for once, playing dumb would be the preferable course of action if only to see Happy’s ears turn that lovely shade of red. “Put what behind me?” he asked innocently and carefully watched as Happy’s expression grew sour and – yes! - his ears turned crimson.
Happy threw his hands up in desperation. “This, Tony,” he gritted out, “all of this.”
Tony followed Happy’s gaze as it anxiously darted around the room. He was, indeed, on the couch in the living room, where, judging by the rumpled state of his clothes, he had passed out cold, surrounded by empty bottles and broken glasses and crumpled bags of chips. “Ah, c’mon, lemon pie. This is nothing.”
He stumbled to his feet and, for a moment, watched the world shatter to pieces. It flickered and swirled and he barely resisted the urge to clutch Happy’s broad shoulders. He swayed, swallowed, closed his eyes, took a deep, measured breath. This was normal. It was to be expected and it would pass. He had experience with these things, even if it was, admittedly, a bit rusty. This was normal. It would pass. Everything was alright. Yes.
Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open. The world was blurry and bright, painfully so, but also wonderfully solid. Tony tapped his foot against the terribly sullied carpet – soft, stable and very real. No problem there.
Happy muttered something under his breath, forcing Tony’s attention away from the fuzzy safety of the carpet. For a second, Tony considered asking him to speak up, but, judging by the disgruntled look on Happy’s face, he was probably better off not knowing. “Think you could get me a glass of water? Bit dehydrated,” he asked instead.
Happy gave him a stern look.
“Tony.”
His voice was grave, but Tony was not in the mood and, also, he really needed to piss. He staggered toward the hallway.
“Tony,” Happy called after him, “I’m serious. You’re not 20 anymore!”
Tony rolled his eyes. “I know, I’m feeling it. Add an aspirin to that water.” He was feeling it. His head was killing him.
“Tony!”
“And a mint. Be a dear.”
He heard Happy suck in a sharp breath, but he didn’t pay any mind to it, focused on struggling to open the bathroom door instead. As soon as he got that aspirin into his system, he would replace the damn thing. It was always jammed and he had to throw himself against it to – the door swung open, suddenly and smoothly, and Tony almost sprawled to the tiled ground. No, definitely not 20 anymore.
He steadied himself on the sink, his gaze flickering towards the mirror. His reflection stared at him reproachfully. “Yeah, I know, I know,” he muttered, “No need to say it.” He avoided his own eyes, bent over the sink and splashed water on his face. That always used to help a few years ago (how many?) and it did make a difference now. The man in the mirror, battered and reproachful before, was now battered, reproachful and dripping wet.
Tony ran his fingers over the bags under his eyes. Had they always been this dark? Should he steal some of Pepper’s concealer? He sighed. If that was what he’d be doing, he should also order hair dye because there was undeniably a grey tinge to his sideburns. And his beard – God, he needed to shave, he looked like a fucking hobo – his beard was grey around the chin. Not 20 anymore, no.
Tony dropped his hand and took a few, wavering steps towards the toilet. He tipped the seat up, unzipped his fly and sighed in blissful relief. This part, at least, had not changed at all.
When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he expected Happy and all that negative energy to be gone. Happy - so thankful to have left behind the years of babysitting a young and rarely sober Tony – was not going to spend any time with Tony and his hangover today. No way in hell.
What Tony did not expect was to find Happy in the kitchen with a glass of water, an aspirin and a mint sitting on the counter. Happy’s face betrayed no emotion. He just watched in judgmental silence as Tony dropped the aspirin into the water. It fizzed and the dissolving pill bopped to the surface, a desperate attempt to save itself from the chemical reaction it had been designed for. Useless, Tony thought. Completely useless.
“Tony,” Happy said, finally breaking the silence, his voice tight with – something. Tony hummed. Happy sighed. “Come on. What’s all this about?”
Tony’s eyes didn’t leave the fizzing pill. “Why, it’s a party, hun,” he murmured. “We busted another HYDRA base. I’m sure you heard. Was all over the news.”
Happy uncrossed his arms. “Can’t have been all that entertaining,” he said.
“Yeah, I mean, we had to be considerate of the elderly people present.” The water was still fizzing and Tony was certain that, if this took any longer, his head would actually combust. Unfortunate, considering he had promised his brain to the Royal Society.
Happy huffed. “No,” he said, “can’t have been fun because you left early.”
“I’m a free man.” Tony lost his patience and downed the fizzing water. It felt funny on its way down his throat. He set down the glass, drummed his fingers on the counter and realized, disgruntledly, that he was still thirsty.
“When you’re drunk, you’re not,” Happy said, grimly.
“Pretty sure there’s no law like that, pal.” Tony popped the mint into his mouth. It brought instant relief, drowning out the sickening foulness.
“Tony, we talked about this.”
Tony clicked his tongue. “We did, yes. I actually had a chat about it just yesterday with the princess down at security.”
“Elle mentioned it, yes.”
“You guys need name tags. Would have taken her a Missy or Brittany or Wednesday. Something a bit more, ah, cantankerous.”
“She was following protocol.” Frustration was oozing out of Happy’s every pore.
Tony snatched the glass off the counter and made his way towards the sink. With delight he noted that the world had decided to stop spinning. “Protocol?” he asked, opened the tab and held his finger under the stream of water. Not quite. Hangovers demanded perfect temperature.
“Shouldn’t the protocols in this house be,” he gasped in feigned surprise, “run past me?”
“You know the protocol, Tony. Someone’s with you when you go out. Just safety.”
“Not like you care about that rule usually,” Tony muttered and filled the glass with just perfect ice-cold water.
“I care when you’re drunk! Tony, what were you doing?”
Somehow, the question startled Tony. He took a sip of water, felt it slide down his throat, pleasantly cool on the raw skin. “I-“ he began and, for the second time in under 24 hours, he hesitated. He shouldn’t tell Happy. As a matter of fact, he shouldn’t tell anyone. “I needed air,” he said, finally. “Not 20 anymore, remember?”
“That’s not it,” Happy shook his head and, Lordy, did that man ever stop staring?
Tony took another sip. “Well, it was you who said it.” Suddenly he wished that the glass in his hand was filled with something stronger than just water.
“Elle watched you – safety, Tony. And she- you were talking to a kid.”
Or maybe, Tony thought, he could use something even stronger than alcohol. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. “Is she taking her meds?”
“What did you want from the kid?” Happy asked, undeterred.
“Oh, it’s the kid now?”
Happy didn’t take the hint, didn’t flinch and didn’t stop. “Do you know him?” He grimaced. “Please tell me he’s not your illegitimate son.”
Tony twirled the glass in his hand and, deciding that he had lost this one battle, he shook his head.
“Then why did you leave the tower, completely shitfaced and without letting anyone know? Not even me, Tony?”
Something about the way Happy said it, something about the heaviness in his words, made Tony think that this wasn’t about the kid or even the drink. Not really, anyway. The glass stilled in his hand. “Why did you give him the cereal bar?” he asked.
This time, Happy did flinch. “That’s really not the point,” he grumbled.
“He’s just a kid,” Tony said quietly, eyes never leaving Happy’s face.
Happy sighed. “Look,” he said, forcing himself to meet Tony’s gaze, “it’s admirable and all that. Start a damn charity for all I care. But, Tony, there’s a difference between giving him a cereal bar and … doing whatever you’re doing. This – it’s not your area. Just call CPS and be done with it.”
The words made Tony’s blood boil. “My area is whatever I make it,” he gritted out.
His fingers tightened around the glass and then, suddenly, images flashed before his eyes.
New York, burning, flooded with intruders. Pepper, glowing, and him, chasing after that bomb, too slow, always too slow. Always.
He watched a tiny crack form at the rim of the glass.
“Jesus, Tony, you know nothing about that boy! He could be a – a runaway, an addict, a teenage delinquent! Have you ever thought about that, Tony? Just once?”
The words knocked the air out of Tony’s lungs. They echoed in his mind, numbed his brain. “We’re talking about a kid. A kid,” he said flatly.
Happy swallowed. He rubbed a large hand over his face. “Look, you know what I mean. It’s not about that. It’s not about not helping him, but, Tony, you were drunk. You haven’t been that drunk in - how long?” He paused for a second, as though he actually expected Tony to pull out a calendar and count the days. “Just call CPS. Get it over with, okay? No drunken adventures, alright? Just, just stick to the regular stuff.”
“Wonderful idea!” Tony said, too loudly. He pushed past Happy and positioned himself next to the kitchen door. “You stick to being the head of security and I stick to whatever I want to stick to.” He opened the door with a curt bow. “Pepper’s coming home soon and I want to get someone to take care of Hiroshima down there in the living room.” He looked at Happy expectantly. He hadn’t moved an inch.
“Bye bye, head of security. Hasta la vista. Tschuess.”
Happy gave him a long look. Then, he nodded curtly and pushed through the door. “Gotcha, boss,” he murmured. His heavy footsteps shuffled down the hallway.
Tony let the door snap shut and leaned against it with a deep sigh. His head was killing him.
---
Paying an obscene amount of money for a deep clean of the living room had not been enough. Replacing the expensive, high-quality carpet with an even more expensive, more high-quality one, hadn’t been enough.
The new, refreshing lavender fragrance of the couch was not enough to cover up the sour smell that had seeped deep into the smooth fabric. The new carpet, as tasteful and delicate as it was, did not go with the furniture, was not enough to replace the old one. None of it was enough to soothe the throbbing behind Tony’s eyes, wash away the stale taste in his mouth and stop the words that were echoing, spiralling in his mind.
You know nothing about that boy. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
No, the cleansing hadn’t been enough for Tony, who was lying on the couch, eyes closed, breathing in its sweet-and-sour smell and it hadn’t been enough for Pepper, who was carding cool, slender fingers through Tony’s hair.
Nothing.
“You’re on the news,” Pepper murmured.
Tony cracked one eye open and watched blurry images flash over the muted TV screen. He thought he could make out the red and gold of his suit. “Yeah,” he sighed and closed his eye again.
“So, it was good?” Pepper asked, nothing but the quick, almost unnoticeable stutter of her fingers betraying her tension.
Tony nodded weakly. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to deal with the brightness of the room and the look on her face.
“You remember that firework in 2013?” she asked.
Tony flinched. He remembered very few good things from that year. He shook his head slowly, still unwilling to open his eyes.
Pepper sighed. “Yeah, it was beautiful. Can’t believe it’s been two years already.” Pepper's fingers quickened on his scalp. “Honestly, I still think it was the best thing you ever gave me for Christmas,” she said and Tony’s heart twisted painfully.
Fire under her skin. Bombs and his house collapsing, crumbling, thinking he had lost her, thinking she was gone.
He swallowed heavily and opened his eyes, but Pepper wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the TV, unseeingly watching the muted battle clips playing on the screen. “It was so beautiful. The suits exploding in the sky and you, telling me – you remember what you told me?”
Tony wanted to reach out and stroke the soft curve of her jaw, but his arms were so heavy, so heavy. “That nothing would ever be alright because you’re in a relationship with me?” he asked, the words thick and awkward on his tongue.
Pepper’s fingers stilled. “No, that was not it,” she said, a sad smile on her lips. “But it really was beautiful.”
Her fingers picked up a steady rhythm again, running through Tony’s hair, cool, sedating. He closed his eyes and sighed. A movie, bright and painful, was playing on his eyelids, flames licking at his thundering heart and words echoing in his mind.
You know nothing about that boy. Nothing.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would change that. Tomorrow he would dig just a little bit deeper. Tomorrow. For now, he would lie here with his memories and Pepper’s soft touch.
---
“Jarvis, I’ve got something for you.” Tony's heart clenched painfully in his chest and a smug grin spread across his face. “No seventhousandwhatever possible matches. I got his name.” If it is his name.
“You’re giving me a run for my money, sir,” Jarvis replied, coolly, and the grin on Tony’s face widened.
“What can you give me on one Mr. Peter Parker?”
Immediately, a screen pulled up in front of Tony, a short list of names on it.
“I found 22 New York City citizens with the name Peter Parker.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “And how many of them fit our guy’s physique and so on?” He watched gleefully as the list on the screen shortened considerably.
“I have three potential matches, sir.” Another two names vanished from the screen. “And I have taken the liberty to narrow it down to the individual who best matches location and movement data.”
Tony flexed his fingers and took a big sip of coffee to calm his jittery nerves.
“Let’s take the hacking down to a minimum. No need to overdo it.” A new window popped up on the screen. Tony lifted a hand to stop Jarvis from reading the information out to him. This was his moment. He leaned forward and scanned the small writing on the screen.
There was a picture of the kid in the top right corner. No doubt it was him. US citizen. Middle name: Benjamin. Jewish-Catholic. Freshman. 14 years. 14. Tony whistled. “Damn, I’m good at this,” he murmured. Forest Hills, Queens. Queens? “A bit far away from home, are we, kid?” Tony stroked his goatee contemplatively. He really shouldn’t do it. Really, really, shouldn’t.
“Jarvis, you think we can get a bit more on the kid? Family, grades, all that jazz? Don’t know, criminal record maybe?” He had to close his eyes for a moment to calm his racing heart.
“I thought we didn’t want to ‘overdo it’, sir?”
“Damn, beating me at my own game. Am I witnessing moral decline?” Tony grumbled and counted his breaths. Sip of coffee, one, two, three, another sip.
“Not at all, sir. I simply recall a rather lengthy talk about privacy you had with Ms. Potts not too long ago.”
Tony groaned. Pepper’s talks were never enjoyable, on the contrary, but this was completely different from digging into the secret and compellingly kinky private lives of noisy journalists. Completely different. Pepper would understand (she woudn’t) and he was – just being responsible.
Let’s have at it. The words were on the tip of Tony’s tongue, waiting. His brain was itching with curiosity. This wasn’t about religion or citizenship or grades. It was about – about trashcans and, anyway, Tony never used to think twice about sifting through databases and plucking out files to his heart’s content. Pepper was right. Respecting others' privacy was not particularly high up on Tony’s priority list, not when he had this itch in his brain, not when the little information on the screen was not nearly enough to still it.
Tony’s heart quickened its already troublesome pace. Really, he had every reason, every right, but his heart was racing, thundering and Happy’s words were echoing in his brain.
Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent and have you ever thought about, Tony?
Tony really hadn’t thought about that and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Perhaps that was inexcusable negligence on his part. It probably was, actually, but, for God’s sake, they were talking about a kid. What was he supposed to do? What?
Jarvis, calm and steady, everything Tony never wanted to be, presented him with an answer in the form of one bland sentence. “Incoming call from Captain Steve Rogers.”
“Put it through,” Tony said, cringing at the hasty urgency in his own voice. With a wave of his hand the screen in front of him disappeared and something astoundingly akin to hope blossomed in his chest. His heartbeat slowed.
“What’s up?” he asked. No beating around the bush this time.
“We got a new hint,” Steve replied, curt as ever.
“Gee, you’re not one for small talk, are you, Cap?”
“Romanoff picked up on it – just whispers, I think. But you know her. She’s good with that.”
She was good with that and, honestly, Tony had never been happier to receive news that smelled so much like work. Lots, and lots of work. He groaned nonetheless. “Already? Can’t a man catch a break? Our last raid was, what, three days ago?”
“Tony,” Steve interrupted, “Tony, I think this is big.”
---
The place was huge, no questions asked. Tony stared at the map in front of him and, HYDRA or not, couldn’t help but marvel at the integrity of the base. Guards at every entrance. Gun mounts in every nook and cranny. Airtight seals on all doors and windows. Designed to give nothing and no one a fighting chance at penetrating its steel walls.
But there had to be a weak spot. There always was. It was only a matter of time until Tony found it. The scepter was somewhere inside that hunk of metal and where would Tony hide it if he had to?
He paused for a second, glancing at the small monitor to his right.
The new security cameras had improved the situation a fair bit. He could actually make out the shape of the trashcans, but, he shook his head furiously, right now was not the time to enjoy his own satisfaction and, besides, the driveway was empty and deserted and, God, now was not the time.
He forced his attention back towards the map. The scepter would have to be available to study, yet safe enough as to not take any risks. A vault? (Now was not the time!) An underground lair? A high-security lab, guarded, armed and sealed? Tony liked labs, was in one right now, and he would bet that Strucker was, too, somewhere in his little Eastern Europe hideout.
“Jarvis, old boy, think you can mark the labs for me?” Disappointingly few new items popped up on the screen; nothing specific, just assumptions based on entryways and transportation routes (not the time, not the time, not the time). If Tony could just take a closer look, if he could just see for himself – (God!)
He glanced at the small monitor and hated himself for it. The driveway was, unsurprisingly, still empty.
“Focus,” Tony muttered to himself. This was more important. This was about the scepter, about the powers lying within, about HYDRA and that old asshole Strucker. It was about continuing their purge. And that, he threw a reproachful look at the monitor, that was about one kid. One of many he could keep safe if he just focused.
But, a little voice at the back of his mind whispered, it had been days. The kid had said he’d be back. Hadn’t he? Tony let out a deep measured breath. Hadn’t he? Focus.
“Jarvis, show me everything we’ve got on the entrances. Yeah, yeah, zoom in as much as possible.” Once they had secured the thing, finding the scepter would be easy. It really was about making sure that no one escaped, not one measly agent and, least of all, Strucker himself. If HYDRA figured out how to channel the scepter’s powers, if they cracked its secret -
The door to the lab opened. Tony whirled around, his heart pounding in inexplicable panic and then, widening, warming when he spotted Pepper’s silhouette in the dark doorway. Her hair was pulled up in a perfect ponytail and her heels were clicking on the floor authoritatively as she walked towards him.
“Have you been in here all day?” she asked, her gentle voice a stark contrast to her professional appearance.
“No,” Tony lied automatically, and the screen behind him vanished with a flick of his finger.
Pepper tapped him on the nose. “Liar,” she whispered.
He offered her a tight smile. “New mission. What can I do?”
She hummed softly. “Dinner? With me? Maybe? You know, human interaction?”
“Yeah? Exactly what kind of human interaction are we talking?”
Her lips twitched. “Human interaction with the person who’s supposed to be your girlfriend.”
He clasped her hands and tried to pull her into his lap. “You sure that counts as ‘human’ interaction? I was under the impression that she was superhuman.”
Pepper resisted his efforts, trying, very badly, to hide a smile. “You are horrible,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull her hands away.
“Tell me, Ms. Potts, did it hurt when you fell from space? ‘Cause your looks are just out of this world.”
“Dinner, Tony. Now.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Food.”
He made a face.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “And – who knows where the night will go?”
He sprung to his feet, let go of her hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That last part, Ms. Potts, was very persuasive.”
They walked towards the door, arm in arm, and his heart only constricted a little bit as he thought about the work that he was missing out on, the work that needed to be done, the work, the work, the work. A smile tugged at his lips. Who knew where the night would go?
In the doorway, Tony turned around one last time, had to, really, and glanced at the small monitor. The driveway, of course, was still dark and deserted and - Tony froze. There, on the not-so-grizzly-anymore video, was something that moved, something human-shaped, something, and the thought excited him more than he liked to admit, Peter Parker-shaped.
Pepper looked at him quizzically. Tony cleared his throat. Should he just – could he just tell her? He stared into her blue eyes for a long moment, contemplating, considering, but no. Happy hadn’t been, well, happy about this and Pepper wouldn’t be any different and Tony didn’t have the time or the patience or the goodwill for another lecture about responsibility and caution. But, ditching her without a reason after what had undoubtedly been another exhausting day? No, that wouldn’t do either.
And yet, he had promised the kid that he would be back and he always kept his promises, apart from the ones about spending less time on missions and more with his girlfriend or the ones about making smart choices and being honest and transparent and – he had promised.
He looked at Pepper’s raised eyebrows, slowly disappearing in her hairline. He looked at her eyes, so blue, looked at the one loose strand of hair falling over her forehead and decided that he’d just have to be quick. He plastered a confident smile on his face. “Why don’t you get a little head start? I’ll catch up.”
Pepper did not smile back. “No dinner?” she asked and why did she always assume he’d blow their plans altogether?
“Yes, dinner!” he said hastily, too hastily, and he barely stopped himself from throwing another and most certainly treacherous glance at the monitor. “I’ll join you in a minute, alright? There’s just something I have to do real quick.”
She hesitated and he hoped that she wouldn’t ask any more questions because he wasn’t prepared to lie, not right now and not to her. “Okay,” she said.
Tony stifled a relieved sigh. She removed his arm from her shoulder.
“You’ll be there?” she asked quietly when he was already hustling back to the workbench.
For the second time in mere minutes, he froze. “You bet. Just order whatever you like.”
She didn’t answer, simply turned around and left and soon he could hear the clicking of her heels on the fancy but impractical marble floor in the hallway. A thought occurred to him. “Actually, I take that back,” he called after her and he heard her stop, imagined her sucking in a sharp breath. “I want Chinese!” The clicking in the hallway resumed. Tony smiled to himself. That, he thought, almost counted as a promise. Almost.
He looked at the monitor and – yes! – the kid was still there, standing beside the trashcan, waiting, hopefully, or having a stroke, alternatively. Tony sprinted towards the cupboards and snatched the nearest (half empty and, to his shame, half eaten) stash of snacks. He hesitated for a moment, before grabbing a small circuit board and a tiny old spy camera from the workbench. The kid would appreciate it.
In the elevator, he steeled himself for another unfortunate interaction with the prissy little security guard. He judged her as the type of person to whom learning from one’s mistakes was a foreign concept. This time he wouldn’t be so patient, he decided. He was sober, after all, and, no matter what Happy thought, he was a free man, despite his wealth and because of his suit.
But, as he stepped out of the elevator, he noted to his (and, undoubtedly, Brittaney’s) immense relief, that there was different guard on duty tonight – a middle-aged woman, muscle packed and stoic, and, luckily, completely disinterested in Tony’s comings and goings. Tony gave her a curt nod, a bit self-conscious about the snacks and battered pieces of technology in his arms. The guard didn’t bother returning it, just gave him a dismissive once-over. A refreshing, albeit rude, change, Tony thought and pushed through the door into the fresh evening air.
He slowed down as he neared the bushes separating him from the driveway and the kid. The adrenaline that was flooding his bloodstream, the energy, the drive, subsided. He glanced down at the snacks in his arms.
Runaway, addict, teenage delinquent.
Tony let out a deep breath. They were talking about a kid. A kid. And he had promised. He had promised.
Slowly, hesitantly his heart somewhere in his throat, he walked around the hedge, stepped out of the shadows and into the driveway.
The kid whirled around in one smooth movement, and stared at Tony with almost as much awe written on his face as the first time they had met. His eyes were wide and – Tony’s breath caught in his throat. He was sprouting a nice black eye on his soft features. Tony’s mouth tightened.
“Hi,” the kid breathed.
“Back again, I see,” Tony replied, too much harshness in his voice. Too much.
The kid flinched. His eyes danced over the snacks in Tony’s arms and lingered, for only a moment, on the old spy camera. “I didn’t think, I didn’t think –“ he murmured and Tony thought he knew where that sentence was going, even though the kid didn’t have enough air in his lungs to finish it.
I didn’t think you would actually come.
“Listen, kid,” Tony said and stepped closer. “I’ve kinda got a dinner date up there.” He nodded at the penthouse. “And, if I can give you one piece of advice, never leave a lady waiting.”
The kid nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I don’t mean to impose. I was just, I was just in the neighborhood and thought and thought-“
“In the neighborhood?” Tony asked before he could stop himself because, damnit, the kid was from Queens and had no business, no business at all, being in Manhattan. Not at this time of day. Not alone.
“It’s fine,” Tony said gruffly, when he didn't get a reply. He struggled to stuff the spy cam and the circuit board into his pocket and peeled a bag of chips – God, he could practically hear Pepper droning on about healthy eating habits – from the pile in his arms. With great difficulty, he threw it at the kid.
The kid caught it with ease. “Thanks,” he murmured and then they stood there, silently, the billionaire and the dumpster diver, Iron Man and the kid from Queens. Tony wavered on his feet, uncertain, with a bunch of snacks in his arms. The kid was stiff as a poker, staring dumbly at the bag in his hands. Tony licked his lips. He had never been good with silence.
“You gonna open that?” he asked.
The kid’s head snapped up. “It’s,” he hesitated, “I think it’s already open?”
Shit, Tony thought. “Oh,” he said.
Impossibly, miraculously, the kid’s eyes grew even wider. He threw his hands up apologetically. “It’s fine, really. I’m – it’s not a problem.”
Tony furrowed his brow. “Nah,” he said and inspected the snacks left in his arms. He picked up another bag of chips, doubled checked that it hadn’t been opened yet, and tossed it at the kid. “Have another one.” He hesitated for a moment. “Actually, have all of it." He stepped closer to the kid, deliberately ignoring how he shrunk back, and dumped the snacks at his feet.
Tony scrutinized the heap on the floor, spotted another open bag, picked it up, strolled towards the closest trash can, opened it and tossed the bag in. He turned around. The kid was staring at him with those ridiculously wide eyes, not moving an inch. Tony wiped his hands on his jeans and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“For later,” he said, nodding at the trash can. The kid’s ears turned bright red. Tony wanted to punch himself in the face. He cleared his throat and pointed weakly at the snacks piled on the floor.
“Give me one of those, alright?” The kid didn’t move for another long moment. Then, he bent down, picked out a bag with polite care and threw it in Tony’s direction. Tony caught it. “Salt and Vinegar,” he said, “Love that stuff. What do you have?”
The kid looked down at the bag in his own hand, as though he was seeing it for the first time. “BBQ,” he murmured.
Tony made a face. “Yeah, I prefer mine.” He ripped open his bag. Finally, finally the kid followed his lead and, a split second later, stuffed a handful of greasy chips into his mouth.
Tony didn’t touch his own chips – they always made him feel so gassy and he had a dinner date after all – but the kid didn’t even seem to notice. He crumpled the empty bag of chips and, it had to be a miracle, only hesitated for a second before he picked up another one to devour.
“Thanks,” he murmured around a mouthful of chips. Then, his brow furrowed. He gave Tony a long look. “I appreciate it, sir. I really do, but you – didn’t you say you had a – you had a date?”
Yes, that was what Tony had said and that was what he had meant and it had surely been way longer than the minute he had promised Pepper. But… but. He waved off the kid’s concern. “I’ll be fine, kid. I mean, she’ll murder me, but I’ll live.”
The kid cracked a merciful smile at that terrible, horrible joke. “Thanks,” he said for what must have been the fiftieth time. Tony nodded.
“So,” he said because something needed to be said and because he refused to acknowledge another thank you and because that black eye was making his stomach churn. “Someone got you good?” He nodded at the kid’s face.
The kid froze, his mouth full of chips and grease clinging to his chin. “Yeah,” he said after a while, “just ran into some bad people.” He eyed Tony wearily, not daring to take another chip, not daring to move.
“Okay,” Tony said.
It wouldn’t be good to press right now, would it? The kid was supposed to eat, after all. Should he press him? Was it, what, his responsibility to press him, as the adult and whatnot? Thankfully, the kid interrupted Tony’s train of thought before he could make what would undoubtedly have been the wrong decision.
“I just, really, thanks, Mr. Stark, sir. I didn’t – I wasn’t going to come back because, I mean, I don’t want to impose and, also, I thought maybe you had, I don’t know, called someone?” The last part was much more of an anxious question than a statement.
Tony shook his head quickly. “Haven’t, kid,” he said, honestly. But perhaps Happy had. He would murder Happy if he had. Sack him. Give him a stern talking to.
The kid almost choked on a chip in relief. “That’s good,” he croaked, finally, after the coughing had worn off and Tony had decided that neither the Heimlich maneuver nor an ambulance would be needed just yet.
“Because,” and was there a hint of defiance in the kid’s voice? “there’s no reason to. We’re doing good.” The kid’s expression was sheepish, but determined, almost prideful.
“I’m sure you are, kid,” Tony said, raised an eyebrow and glanced at the kid’s spice powder and grease covered fingers. The kid stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth.
“Who’s we?” Tony asked after a moment of hesitation, hoping, praying that he hadn’t overstepped one boundary or another. The kid’s squared his shoulders and dusted off his hands and Tony suspected that he wouldn’t get a proper answer out of him.
“People at home,” the kid said, confirming Tony’s suspicion, “Because – because I have a home, you know?”
The statement was so defiant, downright childlike, that it almost made Tony smirk. Almost. He forcefully resisted the tug at his lips and hummed contemplatively instead. “I don’t know, kid,” he said, “sounds exactly like something someone without a home would say.”
He watched the kid carefully, looked for a treacherous blush or twitch or tremble, but there was none of that.
The kid just glared at him. “I have a home,” he said stiffly and stuffed the empty bag of chips into the pockets of his washed-out jeans. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I have a home and we’re doing alright. We’re – we’re getting by. I just – I search for tech stuff. That’s all. That’s it.”
Tony watched him rip open another bag. He scratched his goatee. “Okay. Gotcha. No talking about home.”
“Thanks,” the kid mumbled around a mouthful of chips. The tips of his ears turned red. Tony licked his lips.
“What about the ‘bad people’ you ran into? That a no touchy zone, too?”
The kid shrugged.
Tony cocked his head. “School?” he asked, poking around in the dark, really, and yet hoping that he was right. The blush spread from the kid’s ears to his cheeks, telling Tony everything he needed to know. Thank God. Bullies were easy. Bullies were harmless. Bullies meant the kid went to school.
“Bullies suck,” Tony said.
The kid nodded tightly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “They do.”
“You know, the Captain America PSAs kinda do have a point – don’t tell him I said that. There are people who can put a stop to this if you just give them a chance.”
The kid licked his fingers and crumpled his third bag of chips. Slowly, he lifted his head. “Yeah, I know,” he said, looking Tony straight in the eye. “But it’s fine, honestly, Mr. Stark. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You sure about that? Just say the word and we’ll figure something out, alright? Nothing we can’t figure out.” Tony wasn’t talking about the bullies (God, did he not care about the bullies) and the kid knew it.
“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet, “but no thanks, Mr. Stark. Really. Yeah, it’s fine.” He nervously drummed his fingers on the seam of his pants, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s late. I should – it’s late.” No. No.
“Actually, I’ve got something for you,” Tony said, hastily. He pulled out the circuit board and the spy cam. “Not much. Give me a heads-up next time and I’ll get you something better.”
The kid perked his head up. His lips parted in a silent “O” and he stared at the items in Tony’s hand as though they were the most wonderous things he had ever seen. He took a tentative step towards Tony, stopped and wavered on his feet uncertainly. “Can I – is it okay, if I just –“
Tony nodded.
With an amount of care that looked unnatural on his young features, the kid took the camera and circuit board from him. He traced his fingers over the knobs on the board, looked up and offered Tony a big smile. “Thanks, sir. I, yeah, thank you!”
“Encouraging young minds, promoting young talent… It’s all on our website,” Tony said nonchalantly, but his heart gave a pleasant jolt. He watched the kid caress the plastic case of the camera. The gentle gesture, the awe on the kid’s face did something to him, loosened something in his chest.
Suddenly, the kid’s smile faded. His fingers stilled and Tony’s heartbeat quickened. “But, Mr. Stark, sorry, but your dinner.”
His dinner. Tony swallowed heavily. “Agreed,” he said because his dinner and because it was late and dark and cold and the kid was from goddamn Queens.
The kid clutched the, well, rubbish Tony had given him protectively to his chest and wandered out of the driveway, towards the main street. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Stark, sir,” he called over his shoulder and then he froze.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and meaningful. The kid’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened and closed in the muted struggle for an apology lost somewhere in his throat.
Tony coughed slightly. He smiled. “If you wait around a bit, next time, I’ll get you something better than that stuff. And –“ Tony eyed the dark bruise on the kid’s face, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but, you know, I have a suit and an unstable personality.”
The kid opened his mouth again, hesitated, and snapped it shut with determined finality. He offered Tony a faint smile and a curt nod. Then, he turned around and hurried down the street, disappearing behind the corner.
Tony sighed. He tossed his untouched bag of chips into the trashcan behind him. God, he hated Salt and Vinegar and, God, his dinner.
---
Pepper was sitting at the dining table, a pile of cold Chinese food in front of her. She refused to look up when Tony shuffled into the room, 30 minutes later than promised and deeply ashamed.
“That’s a ‘minute’ to you?” she asked. Her voice was strained, not a trace of humor in it.
Tony couldn’t stand it. “Won’t happen again,” he said, lightly, and tried to press a kiss to her brow.
She pushed him away, gently but fiercely. “That’s what you always say, Tony.”
His heart clenched because of course, of course she was right. “I know, I know,” he muttered and slumped into a chair. He picked up his fork and began to shovel greasy noodles into his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said when the silence grew painful and Pepper refused to touch her food. The sincerity behind the words didn’t sting as much as he had thought it would. Pepper, however, didn’t seem to appreciate this momentous new development as much as he did.
“You weren’t in the lab,” she said instead, pursing her lips. “I checked. Twice.”
Tony quickly shoved another forkful into his mouth, buying himself some time to come up with an exit strategy, but, when he swallowed and met Pepper’s eye, he was, for once in his life, very sure that there wasn’t one.
“I had something to take care of,” he said, set down the fork and grasped Pepper’s hands over the table. This time she did not push him away.
“You always have something to take care of,” she said and she sounded tired, so tired.
“Yes. You’re right. I do. But...” And how should he explain this when he couldn’t possibly be honest and when he couldn’t possibly lie? “There’s something I have to fix. Pep. I have to.” God, how true that was.
If he couldn’t protect the world, hell, if he failed even at keeping New York safe, if he couldn’t keep the terrorists away from his expos and the poison from Pepper’s skin, her beautiful skin, he’d fix at least this one thing. Just this one thing.
“Tony, you always ‘have’ to. Always.”
And yes, yes, of course. He had the money, he had the brain and who else, Pep? Who else? Why wouldn’t she understand? Why wouldn’t she see what he needed to do?
He looked into her blue eyes and tightened his grip on her hands, silently, wordlessly forcing something impossibly thick and impossibly heavy down his throat.