A Dream is a Wish
Day 50
This, settling into this new normal, it feels better than Tony ever expected his life in New York to be. He had steeled himself for days on end spent sipping tea with only Aunt Peggy for company, and while he loved spending time with her, it was always a pleasant surprise to have Clint barging in with lunch, Sam coming by to rant about Steve, or Natasha appearing out of nowhere with a tub of ice cream. Two days ago, Bucky knocked on the glass to ask for help with his prosthetic arm, which Tony scoffed at and spent two hours replacing entirely, at the price of stories about Steve.
They were army doctors together, until the explosion which took Bucky’s arm and gave Steve the Medal of Honor drove them back home, where Peggy helped them find their footing. Bucky had endless stories about Peter and how it was all karmic retribution for all the heart attacks Steve gave his poor mother. Tony had found himself forgetting time as they talked, enjoying himself so thoroughly he could feel the beginnings of home form around the glass panes of the lab.
He’s desperate to hold onto this for as long as he can, he’s missed this easiness in life. Some part of him still believes that he doesn’t deserve anything this good. The shadow of Obadiah still lurks in the back of his mind, but Tony’s begun listening to his therapist.
So, today, when Steve comes to his lab like clockwork, Tony pushes all his doubts away, trying his hardest to just live the moments. As always, Steve’s smile is wide as he places the customary coffee cup on the table, sliding it towards Tony.
Tony is exceedingly grateful that Steve hasn’t pushed about this issue.
“Peter went to school just fine?” Tony doesn’t bother wasting time with a boring good morning.
Steve slumps into his seat across from Tony, hands cradling his cup of chocolate. “Yeah, he’s been desperate to see you again. Had to remind him that if he blows stuff up, he’s not going to get to spend time with you.”
It’s gratifying to hear how much Peter loved his time with Tony. Tony’s grief had begun to give way to an uncensured happiness around Peter, as Tony firmly refuses to let the past cast any shadow on the little boy.
Huffing, Tony grins into the rim of his cup, the warmth of the coffee seeping into his breaths. “That scoundrel of yours doesn’t need school. You should send him straight to college to give the professors hell.”
Steve gives a short laugh. Then, he sets his cup on the table, careful to avoid the mess of wires strewn there, nervously clearing his throat.
“Speaking of,” he starts saying, uncharacteristically shy for a huge hunk of muscles, “would you like to come over for dinner tonight? Only if you’re free. It’s, uh, a family thing, I mean. There’s going to be Peggy, Bucky, Tasha, Clint, Bruce, Sam. Thor’s still on sabbatical with Jane, but Phil and Darcy said they could come. I told the others not to tell you cause it’s not a big deal, I just like to spend my birthday with a few close friends, and I’d, uhm, be really happy if you could come.”
He stutters to a halt, struggling to look at Tony. That adorable red flush has overtaken his neck and cheeks, but it isn’t like Tony’s doing any better. He’s blinking at Steve with his mouth hanging slightly open, coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.
“I’m sorry?” Tony asks, because the words dinner, family, birthday, and friends are bouncing around in his head making no sense.
Steve’s eyes widen in horror and embarrassment. “Oh, of course, it’s alright if you’re busy. You’re a busy, busy man. A businessman. It’s fine. I just thought, I’d ask.”
He stands up awkwardly, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants. He’s about to turn away to leave when Tony’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, pulling him forcefully back down to sit.
“Stay,” Tony commands, “I’d love to come, really, Dorito. It’s just, you really had to deprive me of the chance to buy you the most ridiculous, gaudiest, expensive gift I could find?”
The tension begins to ease of Steve’s shoulder as he snorts. “That… is exactly why I asked the others to give you no warning.”
Tony squints at Steve more to make him laugh than anything, “do you know Pepper?”
It works, as Steve lets out a small laugh. “As much as I would like to meet a woman who can maintain her sanity around you, I don’t stalk people.”
“Well, you should,” Tony grins widely back, “that giant bunny incident was really something else. Hey! Would you like a – ”
“No,” Steve sternly cuts in. “No giant bunnies. There’s nowhere to fit it and Peter would insist using it as a bed.”
Tony pretends to pout, but it’s hard to fight off the irrational excitement bubbling inside him.
“Alright, Rogers,” he declares, jumping up to drag Butterfingers out of the corner and pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “I know I told you to stay. Now time for you to leave. This busy, busy man will be very busy for the next few hours, and my consultation rates have just rocketed.”
Steve raises a confused eyebrow. “O…kay? So, I’ll see you tonight?”
There’s a hopeful note to the question that makes Tony simultaneously queasy and delighted, “yeah, and I’m not a genius billionaire for nothing, Grandpa. I’ll come bearing gifts.”
It seems Steve knows Tony well enough to know when to give up.
And that’s another revelation Tony’s heart struggles to understand.
In the end, the only thing that saves Steve from a repeat of the giant bunny incident is Pepper, who somehow managed to wrangle Natasha’s number through JARVIS. Natasha had cornered Tony as he was leaving the MRI room, a long-suffering look on her face.
After that, it only took a little bit of genius, a lot of JARVIS, and a few hundred dollars to make a not-giant-bunny for Steve. And after that, Tony let himself be distracted by the question of what the hell it had all been about.
It’s not that Tony never goes all out for his friends. He once made Rhodey a weaponized flying suit of armour that’s now being kept deep under wraps by the Air Force just because Rhodey had been nicked by a bullet during a field exercise. It’s just that Tony’s known Rhodey for decades, so why did he feel the urge to go through all this effort for Steve?
Would it be too much? Why did Steve also invite Tony to a goddamn family dinner?
Anyhow, it’s too late to back down, now. He’s standing in front of the wooden door that’s apparently Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn. How does Steve make the trip back and forth to the hospital? Tony has a chance to wonder, before the door swings open to Bucky’s glowering face.
“Oh, it’s you,” Bucky relaxes, but doesn’t move aside. He pointedly looks at the big bag Tony’s carrying. “Is that a present or food?”
Tony tries hard not to crane his head over Bucky’s shoulders to see inside the apartment. “Is that a trick question?”
“Answer the question.”
“Little bit of both,” Tony relents. He’s heard stories of how protective Bucky is of Steve. It’s natural, given their past, and Tony wonders how Bucky feels about Steve asking Tony here.
The answer seems to satisfy Bucky, who moves aside with a wolfish grin. “Sam’s setting up the table. You hurt my Stevie, you’re dead and I’ll find a way to steal all your money.”
“Noted,” Tony drily replies.
The apartment is simple, but full of a sense of home that Tony’s place still lacks. There are picture frames hanging on the walls, from Peter’s crude drawings to a blurry group photo clearly taken years ago. The short entryway leads right to the living and dining space, the huge couch in front of the TV occupied by Steve, Peter, Peggy, and Natasha, who all turn around to wave at Tony. Sam and Clint are placing cutlery on the table, bickering about the size of spoons, and from somewhere to the right, where Tony assumes the kitchen to be, is Bruce’s voice telling them to finish faster.
“Glad you could make it, Tony.”
Steve’s voice is warm, burrowing into Tony’s skin and it’s too much. So, Tony lifts the bag he’s holding and says, “I’ll help Bruce in the kitchen.”
Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes and telling Tony to come with him.
“Dad, can I go with Mr. Tony?”
“You can sit next to him at dinner if you want to,” Steve replies, slinging one hand over the boy’s shoulder and pulling him tighter until Peter giggles.
Tony darts quickly away.
When dinner does happen, Steve is sat at the head of the table, Peter to his right, Bucky to his left, and Tony right next to Peter. The boy insisted, so Tony’s stuck between an entirely too intelligent kid and an entirely too perceptive Natasha, facing an entirely too happy Clint.
Phil and Darcy, Tony learns, are from NYU’s School of Medicine. Darcy is trudging her way through classes, and beneath her veil of… Darcyness, she’s brilliant. Tony can see why she’s Peter’s favourite.
Peggy’s voice cuts in, “and so I got a call from MIT’s dean telling me that my godson had installed an R2D2 on the Great Dome with a fully functioning buzz saw and electric pike.”
Her eyes are turned fondly on Tony as the table laughs, “and, when they tried to take the blasted thing off, Tony had apparently assembled a half-formed AI into the R2D2 that started pleading the workers so convincingly not to kill it. Tony got his third doctorate a month later with conditions that he not return to traumatise the faculty.”
“You have three doctorates, Stark?” Clint asks around the mouthful of seafood risotto that Tony brought.
Peter looks flabbergasted. “Don't you read, Uncle Clint? Mr. Tony has six doctorates.”
Tony smirks. “You got a problem with that, Birdbrain?”
“He hasn’t actually got an actual M.D., though,” Bruce chimes in.
Two months ago, Tony would have bristled at that. So what if he didn’t have an M.D.? He had proven his skills multiple times over that he’d gotten multiple offers for honorary degrees. Now, though, looking at Bruce’s small smile, Tony finds no malice and a world of fondness that makes his throat tight.
“But I bet you that’s just cause the med schools didn’t want to go through the same trauma as MIT,” Steve grins, sipping his soda.
Bucky rolls his eyes, wagging his fork in Steve’s face, “you have no right to talk about trauma. Peggy, remember how Steve threw himself on a bomb that first day in training? Shrimpy little kid with too much attitude – don’t you dare follow your father, Pete, bad, bad example.”
Tony chokes on his bite of steak, Natasha laughing as she thumps his back. “He what?”
“Yeah, so get this, Stark,” Bucky starts to say over the laughter, but Tony isn’t really paying attention.
He swallows his food, using the soda to wash it down when it sticks in his throat, because how did this happen so quickly? Tony is sitting in this table, with all these wonderful people who know each other, who are irrevocably connected with each other. He feels like a stranger, he feels like he’s known them his whole life, like he’s an intruder looking in and stealing this feeling he’s always craved. He hasn’t felt like this since the last time he’d had breakfast with Jarvis and Ana, Peggy pouring the tea and Ru leaning on him as Rhodey grumbles about asshat military commanders. He wants to catch this warmth in a bottle before it’s too late. His chest is growing tighter, and tighter.
The scrape of Tony’s chair sliding back is soft in the din of their voices, but their heads snap towards him instantly.
All the concern written clearly in their faces is too much, and Tony struggles to clear his throat. “I, um, I need some water. In the kitchen. I’ll be back.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “You better, Stark. We haven’t gotten to Steve’s cake, and I’m sure my dessert will conquer your risotto as best food.”
Tony nods stiffly, walking to the kitchen in a daze. He leans against the counter, pressing his palms into his eyes. There’s a picture of Steve carrying a younger Peter in his arms, the little boy with Mickey Mouse ears and ice cream smudged across one cheek but smiling wide with all his missing teeth. It’s so sweet that Tony struggles with himself.
He can’t have a panic attack now, he can’t do that to Steve. He has to breathe. He has to –
“Tony?”
Of course it’s Steve that comes, standing uncertainly in the entrance as if Tony wasn’t standing in Steve’s own kitchen. “Peggy said someone should check up on you.”
“I’m fine, Steve, you can go enjoy your birthday. Someone else could have come,” Tony flatly says.
“Well, you’re my guest. I volunteered.”
That sets something off in Tony. Guest, it’s such an impersonal word. Why had Steve invited him here, given him the chance to taste this warmth if Tony’s only a guest? The sugary taste of soda in his mouth turns bitter, and Tony just… breaks.
“What are we, Steve? Are we friends, or what?” Tony can feel his voice rising, and he honestly doesn’t, cannot care. “God, I’m such an ass asking you this on your birthday, but I need to know! You bring me coffee every morning, Steven. Is that what normal friends do? Rhodey and Pepper don’t do that, or maybe I need more friends! But Bruce never does that either! Then you pick fights with me, and do your reading on me, and why don’t you hate me after all that? And just storm into my lab with your kid, and then you invite me to this, this family dinner like it’s no big deal? I need to know. I can’t do this again, I can’t lose – ”
That’s… that’s Steve’s mouth. Pressing on Tony’s. The corner of the kitchen counter is digging into Tony’s back and Tony can’t get any words out because he can’t breathe and wow, those lips are soft and sweet and… gone.
Huh. When did Tony close his eyes?
“Sorry,” Steve says, backing away, and no, that’s too much space between them, unacceptable.
Tony marches forward, grabbing Steve’s face and just pressing forward until they’re a tangled mess on the floor. Steve’s large hands are now suddenly cradling the back of his head softly as Tony digs bruises into his shoulders, wanting, desperate for more.
“How could I – ugh – hate you when I – god – see you saving lives and – oh – holding Peter like that?” Steve struggles to say in between Tony’s hot, heady lips.
Tony pulls away to look at Steve. Those blue eyes shining brighter and bright and, oh, Tony realises. Oh, I love this man. And because Tony has never been good with his heart, he chases those thoughts away with another kiss, searing away all possible thought. There’s only this, there’s no morning, just the two of them and their tangled fingers, golden strands of hair between his fingertips.
It’s blissful, this warmth, this racing heartbeat. Tony’s missed this feeling, of yielding flesh, the certainty of safety, and the pleasure of being wanted. He chases Steve’s lips, his neck, his jaw, relishing the feel of bare skin against his own, chasing, and chasing, and –
“Dad? Mr. Tony? Are you okay?”
They look at each other, hands stuttering to a freeze and breaths heavy.
“Shit.”