Steve
Steve
Tony thought he’d rather Fury stay in the tower than Steve Rogers.
He still remembered vividly the words spat at him on the helicarrier. “Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away, what are you?” Useless, was the implication. Worthless. Human. Less-than. Certainly less than Steve, but then, that had always been the case.
Steve Rogers had been the bar against which Tony was judged his entire life, and no matter what he did, he never measured up. His dad had been incapable of looking at him without seeing the shadow of Captain America there like the measuring stick in front of a rollercoaster. You must be this tall to ride. Tony had needed to be this man in order to be anything of worth in Howard Stark’s eyes, and Tony had always disappointed.
He’d always been a disappointment.
Having Steve point it out to him, that he was less the world’s first superhero, less than the man he’d been hearing about his entire life, had been like salt in a wound he’d carried since his birth. Worse than the hole in his chest. Steve Rogers had been a shadow leaning over him, judging him, all the time that he was nothing more than a ghost. And now that he was alive? What could Tony expect but more of the same?
And he’d invited the man – the super man – into his tower, into his home, because if he was anything at all, he was a glutton for punishment.
So he’d already been expecting a lot of Steve Rogers, Captain America, Mr. Perfect, the son his dad had always wanted and never gotten. He’d been expecting a lot.
This time, it was Steve Rogers who disappointed.
But really, Tony didn’t mind.
“Gosh,” Steve muttered when the elevator doors opened on his floor, and Tony had to delete his first three responses before they reached his mouth and he ruined any possibility of this being a survivable situation.
But gosh? That practically demanded at least a snicker!
No. Nope. Be the bigger man here, Tony. Be the adult.
I hate adulting. That’s why I have Pepper.
“I know it looks daunting,” he said, thinking about the technology he had to force himself to keep off this floor plan. Well, the technology he had told Jarvis not to install no matter how much he begged and pleaded and whined and maybe even cried a little, because seriously, seventy years of technological innovation. It was the Stone Ages. Tony would have been less horrified if he’d actually built a time machine and taken himself to the Stone Ages, because this was a travesty. It was horrifying.
Although, bright side, he would be able to introduce Steve—
No, Rogers, or should he call him Captain America? What does one call a national icon who they probably shouldn’t know nearly as much about as they did? Except that Tony did know a lot, because Steve had been like that older brother who went to school before him so everyone called you by their name instead of your own, and they were the first and the best in everything. He had always been Steve to Tony once he was old enough to understand that Captain America was a person and not just a comic book hero. And he couldn’t call him Mr. Rogers, because there was no way that Tony could call anyone that without bursting out laughing. Also the fact that having his own floor in the tower really did make Steve his neighbor… yeah, there was only one Mr. Rogers and Steve wasn’t it.
But it couldn’t be Steve – too informal, casual, friendly. They weren’t buddies. Mr. America would be hilarious but probably taken the wrong way. Captain America was too formal even on the field – Tony was not a formal type of man unless he was, and even then it was usually tongue-in-cheek-I’m-making-faces-at-your-back-and-you-know-it formality.
Rogers would work. Basic, neither formal or informal, but didn’t put out vibes of them being pals, which was good. Still, didn’t sound quite right. He’d never been Rogers. He’d always been Steve – too friendly, too informal, not your brother – or Captain America – too formal, standoffish, villainy? – so something in between would work best and he had it.
“But don’t worry, Cap. We’ll get you caught up in no time. You are gonna love it.”
Seventy years was almost a century. The speed at which the technology had advanced outside of Stark Industries was enough that Tony would be introducing Cap to a whole new universe, basically. But it would be good. New perspective. Older perspective. He might get some ideas for some new tech. That’s always fun. Bright side, Tony. You can do this.
“Thanks… Stark. I appreciate the offer of letting me – us – all stay here. It… it’s different. New York.” The world.
There had been a slight hesitation there before his name. Maybe Cap was having some problems, too, determining where they stood.
That was fair. When he was attacked, Tony gave as good as he got, and they did fight basically an entire war together. Did the Chitauri count as a war? Maybe just a battle? Skirmish? Fracas?
He wavered for a moment, then held out his hand. “Call me Tony. Stark always makes me feel like you’re going to follow it up with -raving mad, and let’s be fair, it would not be the first time I’ve heard that.”
Rogers – Cap – gave him a smile that was, dare he even think it, shy, but his grip was strong enough in Tony’s hand. “Steve.”
And that began Tony’s introduction to a Steve Rogers he realized he had never met before or even heard of.
He thought he liked him.
One of the first things he learned about Steve was that he didn’t talk a lot, usually, but he could, especially if he got to talking about something he really enjoyed. Tony ended up running into him one afternoon while he was studying the art hung on the walls in the tower – Tony didn’t know what any of it was, Pepper had picked it – and a casual question led to an hour long discussion that was almost entirely one-sided. It did enlighten Tony to the fact that Steve really did love art. It wasn’t just random sketching here and there. More than just that, Steve knew art.
And well, Tony knew people.
“Are you sure about this?” Steve was tugging on the sleeves of his tux like he was trying to pull them over his hands. Not adjusting the shoulders or fiddling with the tie. Just pulling on the sleeves like he wanted to tuck his hands inside them. It brought up images of big, burly Steve Rogers in a too-large suit jacket, and Tony absolutely did not find that adorable.
But it was a reminder that despite having been born in the forties, Steve had been basically transplanted through time. He wasn’t eighty-years-old, never mind his birthday. He wasn’t even thirty.
“You’ll wrinkle it,” Tony said, grinning at him, “and I will make you sit through Dominic’s lecture.”
The tuxedo was a navy blue, custom made to fit Steve’s frame by Tony’s personal tailor. Dominic Straven was a terror on two legs. Six feet tall with long black hair and eyebrows that were probably sharper than the knives he knew Natasha carried, they had no qualms about tearing into Tony for ruining one of his suits (and seriously, those bullets holes were totally not his fault). If Steve wrinkled his suit and brought out Dominic’s ire, Tony would absolutely leave him there to suffer by himself, because Dominic was scarier than Natasha and Pepper combined.
He tugged on Steve’s sleeves, fixing the cuffs beneath, and then smacked his fingers lightly when he went to reach for them again. “Don’t touch, or I’ll glue them in place. I’m not joking. JARVIS, am I joking?”
“You never joke about any of your suits, Sir.”
“See? Jarvis knows. No touch.” He spun back around to the mirror to fix his own tie. “I figured it would be Bruce freaking out about going into public, not you.”
“Oh, I’m freaking out, don’t worry. It’s a silent terror.” Like Tony, Bruce was wearing a black tuxedo, though not exactly the same style.
“Is that a bowtie? Seriously?”
Bruce made a face at him. “Bowties are cool.”
“Oh no, you do not get to come in here and quote Doctor Who at me. Shut up. Is it velcro, too?” Bruce dodged his reaching hand. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Considering the likelihood of the Big Guy making an appearance is probably ninety-eight percent, I’d rather not be strangled by my choice of clothing, Tony.”
Tony made a face. “Oh fine. You can keep your not-cool velcro bowtie.” He stuck his tongue out at Bruce. “And if Big Green shows up, we’ll get a glass of champagne big enough for him and maybe he’ll get an interview with… who’s there tonight, J?”
“Time, I believe.”
“Cool. Time can interview Hulk. They’ll love it.”
“This is a terrible idea and if I destroy the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I’m blaming you.”
“Go ahead. Everyone else will.” Tony waved it off without concern. Now, if Thor had been here, he might have had different thoughts, because the possibly-an-actual-god with a giant hammer that defied physics was not completely knowledgeable about how delicate some human creations were. A twelve dollar glass in a bar was a far cry from a two million dollar painting by some dude who was long dead.
Tony was not above hacking security feeds from years past to get information SHIELD wasn’t willing to dish out. Not that he would ever let them know that he had a habit of doing that, and they certainly weren’t about to discover it on their own. That shitty helicarrier had Hammertech written all over it.
“This will be good publicity for the Avengers. Clean-up was a good start, but unless we want the press to start making up stories about us – and trust me, we don’t – we need to give them something to write about and faces to snap photos of. Best way is a charity event like this.” He finished with his tie and turned around, pulling a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. “And this?” He slid them on. “This is just another suit of armor. You think the Chitauri were a battle? Wait until you meet the media.”
“A good first impression will go a long way,” Natasha said as she stepped through the door, and her dress made even Tony pause. Natasha was not unaware of that, by the way she cocked an eyebrow at him.
“You look… nice, Natasha.” He cleared his throat. “Dominic has good taste.”
“Xe do,” she said, and smiled like a cat who’d just eaten an entire nest of canaries. Her dress was a floor-length ball gown that fit like a sheath over a blade. Sleeveless, the narrow straps glittered with gold sequins that lined the modest collar. The miasmic purple of the bodice was decorated with a flowing gold design that caught the eye, trailing down over the hips into the lower half of the dress, which was a much darker shade of purple. The dress split about mid-thigh, allowing her ease of movement, and her terrifyingly-high heels matched the gold of the dress. Her hair fell in large curls around a face that didn’t need more than a brief touch of makeup, and Tony was pretty sure should could have gotten away with none. She might have looked like the world’s most beautiful woman, but all he could think of was how many different ways she could kill him with the dangling earrings that looked quite a bit like hawks – something he was not going to mention ever.
Tony nodded. “And that is all I feel safe saying.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Pepper?”
“Miss Potts said that she will meet you at the museum,” Jarvis supplied helpfully. “Mister Hogan is waiting for you with the car.”
“Let’s not keep Happy waiting.” He eyed Natasha, wondering what the protocol was on leading international assassins to the car, and if he would get to keep his hand if he extended it to her.
Natasha laughed. “Ты слишком много волнуешься.” (You worry too much.) She held her hand out to him and he tucked it in his arm with some relief. “Вы можете сопроводить меня сегодня вечером. Но если вы касаетесь меня ниже моей талии, я буду срывать ваши глазные яблоки и заставить вас съесть их.” (You may escort me tonight. But if you touch me below my waist, I will pluck out your eyeballs and make you eat them.”)
“Есть нет людей, глупых достаточно, чтобы сделать это,” (There are no people stupid enough to do this,) he said, and saw Steve and Bruce whip their heads around in surprise.
“Не после Будапешта..” (Not after Budapest.)
“Когда-нибудь ты расскажешь мне, что случилось в Будапеште.” (Someday you’ll tell me what happened in Budapest.)
“Когда-нибудь ты спросишь.” (Someday you will ask.)
Tony could practically feel Steve’s awe rolling off him as they stood in the entrance hall of the Met. It was already crowded with people, but the vaulted ceiling and bright sunlight shining in made it seem less closed-in. Tony looked around through his shades, noting familiar faces and attaching names when he remembered them. He remembered most of them.
“Mister Stark!”
Tony turned at the sound of his name excitedly shouted and felt a real grin slide over his face. “Takumi,” he greeted warmly, accepting the handshake he was offered from the younger man. Kobayashi Takumi was an art collector who Tony had worked with on many occasions. They had indulged in something of a competition for a few years before they met. When a painting went up for auction and Pepper asked him if he wanted to put in a bid, he was often competing with three or four other bidders. Tony wasn’t big on art – his mother had been, though, and he had continued to collect it after he had taken controlling interest of the company.
Buying auctioned pieces had mostly been something of a vague hobby, wherein he focused on painters he knew his mother had been fond of. Van Gogh, for instance, or Monet.
Tony hadn’t paid much attention to the competition, up until one of the other bidders dropped a quarter of a million dollars on Flight and Fall of Icarus, a sketch done by Salvador Dali that was part of his Mythology collection. Despite having over half the collection in storage, Tony had mostly been interested in because it was one of the stories his mother had told him frequently as a child, before he was too old for bedtime stories. The most notable thing was that the bidding had been only at one hundred thousand at the time, so whoever had won the auction had very clearly wanted the etching. Tony had been intrigued. Enough that he had Pepper find out where the painting had gone – not an easy task as the bidding was anonymous, but the etching had been lent to an art exhibit shortly thereafter, so Tony had gone without any necessary prompting from Pepper (in hindsight, he wished J had been recording that conversation visually so he could have a photo of her face. Her expression had been hilarious!). There, he had met Kobayashi Takumi and learned that the nameless, faceless bidder who occasionally bought a painting out from under him was an art collector who had been immensely irritated by Tony preventing him from completing his collection of Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji when he purchased Rainstorm Beneath the Summit.
Tony had laughed himself silly over learning this, and then offered to trade the painting for Dali’s sketch. Takumi had been so surprised he had agreed before he’d really thought about it, and the two struck up a tentative friendship that evolved into conversations about paintings that were going up for auction and keeping apprised of any the other was looking for. Takumi spoke more frequently to Pepper than he did to Tony, as she was more knowledgeable about what was going up for auction and art in general, but the two kept in contact. Takumi was the one who had informed Tony of the up-and-coming artist who was being shown off in the exhibit tonight. He and Tony had enjoyed a friendly competition over bidding for the paintings, which Tony had won out of what he was not ashamed to admit was pure greed. There was no way he was not getting every single painting in this collection. And possibly opening his own museum. Because reasons.
“It is good to see you, Tony,” Takumi said, grinning at him. “Even if you did purchase the latest Jackson Pollock out from under me.”
“Pfft!” Tony flapped a hand at him, making the man grin. “Like you don’t have every other painting he has ever done. I promise to auction it off in a few years, without warning, and let you fight Markoff for it.”
“I will trade you for it. I do believe you are missing a painting I just recently acquired.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It concerns a lady in a lake with a very famous sword.”
“Takumi, you did not.”
The man laughed. “We will talk later, Tony. I’m very interested in that last Pollock painting.”
Tony shook his head. “After the exhibit.”
“Of course.”
The two moved apart, both still chuckling to themselves, and Tony went in search of his companions. Steve was fairly easy to find, being the tallest man in the room, and Natasha the most beautiful. Bruce was a little harder to spot, but since the room was fairly crowded and loud, being the entryway, Tony moved further into the museum.
As expected, the Medieval Art exhibit was much quieter, and slightly darker, the lights dimmed to preserve the paintings. His eyes spied a familiar painting and he took in the image of the Lady of the Lake, holing gleaming Excalibur half out of the water, and then scowled at the tag next to the painting. Donated by Kobayashi Takumi.
Takumi, you bastard, he thought with a grin.
“Paintings of Excalibur are usually brighter,” Bruce said quietly from next to him. “I like it.”
“I want it,” Tony said, pouting. He turned to Bruce and stuck his bottom lip out. “Takumi put it here to mock me, Brucie-Bear.”
Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
“Threaten to smash?” He stuck his lip out further. “Please?”
Bruce rolled his eyes, but his lips did turn up at the edges and he huffed a quiet laugh as he looked at the ground. Tony gave himself a quick mental high-five, then grabbed Bruce’s arm and headed further into the museum, dragging the scientist behind him and ignoring the man’s half-hearted protests.
“Where are we going?” he finally asked.
“To the main exhibit, of course. That’s why we’re here.”
Bruce rolled his eyes. Tony could feel it. He laughed softly so as not to disturb the other patrons. “You’re gonna love it, I know it.”
“I don’t think you even told us what it is.”
“I didn’t! Natasha probably knows, of course, but I don’t think Steve even knows what Google is so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to look it up.”
“And me?”
“I told J to make sure all your search results were cheap anime porn.”
Bruce laughed, unrestrained this time. He had a low, breathy laugh that shook his whole body and Tony grinned to hear it.
“Glad I didn’t look, then.”
“I can tell him to keep the parameters up for a while if you’re curious.” His fingers tightened on Bruce’s arm as he leaned in closer and whispered, “Do you have a thing for tentacles, because there was some Lovecraftian shit going on there.”
“You have an octopi fetish, Tony?”
“Maaaaaaybe,” he purred into Bruce’s ear.
Laughing, Bruce shoved him away, and Tony went with a laugh of his own. He was delighted by the smile on Bruce’s face, the lessened hunch of his shoulders. He didn’t bring it up, though. Just smiled and kept walking beside his friend as they headed further into the museum.
“Are you at least going to tell me this artist’s name?”
“And ruin the surprise?”
Tony knew the layout of the Met well from previous visits and led Bruce easily through the corridors and different showrooms. They skipped the crowded elevator, instead taking the stairs to the second floor. The exhibit room was in the rear of the museum, in the modern and contemporary art section. There were already a crowd of people milling around, but Tony made his way through the group. They had seats, after all.
He felt the moment Bruce realized what the exhibit was about because the man’s entire body went taut. “Oh, no.” He tried to pull away but Tony tightened his grip and felt more than heard Bruce groan in horror. “Tony, you didn’t.”
“Aw, come on. It’s good art. Just look at that six pack on Hulk – so realistic.”
“What the fuck.”
Tony threw his head back in laughter at the familiar sound of Steve’s voice spouting words he never thought he would have the pleasure of hearing. He turned around to face a red-faced Steve Rogers and Natasha, who wasn’t showing any expression on her face but may have been studying the painting of Captain America a little more closely than Steve might have been comfortable with, had he been paying attention.
Of course, anyone with eyes found their gaze going back to the painting. Steve was there in all his glory, freshly out of battle, the fires of a furious fight still burning bright behind him, his skin gleaming with sweat.
All of his skin, from head to toe, as the only piece of his uniform on hand was his shield, held carefully (perhaps disappointingly) in front of his most patriotic parts. I wonder if Little Steve stands to attention? Tony felt a giggle rising and turned his attention to another painting, but seeing his own rather phenomenal penis covered by the gleaming eyes of the Iron Man helmet did nothing to stem his laughter.
“Stark,” Natasha said icily, and Tony just knew she had found the painting of herself.
“I promise I didn’t look at it, Natasha,” he said, turning and giving her the most innocent expression he could manage, which was probably rather poor considering who he was, but points for trying. “I didn’t even think about it. Much.”
“If you had informed me of the artist’s desire to paint me with nothing but my pistol in hand, I could have given her a private showing. She missed a birthmark that I have.” Natasha’s eyes were dangerously alluring, particularly because she didn’t seem to need to blink at all. And… he was pretty sure she was closer than she had been. That was… terrifying on so many levels. “It has a very interesting shape. Would you like to see?”
“Will I get to keep my eyes?” he asked weakly.
“No.”
“Pass.”
“I’m a bit intrigued.”
The four of them turned to face the woman who had spoken and Tony couldn’t help but grin. She was shorter than him, with brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a slightly nervous smile, though there was a determined gleam in her eyes as she faced Natasha with more bravery than Tony thought he would hold in the same situation.
“For the sake of accuracy,” the woman said, and held out a hand. “Kirsi Wright. I’m the… culprit here, I guess.” She grinned nervously at them and added shakily, “And a huge fan.” Her eyes flicked to Tony and he had to tighten his lips to keep from laughing.
“Kirsi Wright,” Natasha said, reaching out her perfectly manicured hand to shake the other woman’s. “You have a bold style.”
“To be fair, that’s just the eye-catching bits. I mean paintings. Not bits.” She covered her face with a hand. “Oh my god.” She was blushing crimson across her cheeks and peeked out between her fingers before forcing her hands down. “Um… so, there’s a… following, I guess, of people who like to discuss how attractive you all are.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, this is the most embarrassing thing I have ever done. Um… in uniform and out,” she said very quickly. “You, I mean, being incredibly attractive.” She must have realized she was looking at Steve, so she looked at Tony, blushed brighter still, and buried her face in her hands. “Can we just go into the exhibit and see the paintings that actually… have clothes?”
“I don’t know, I kind of want to hear more,” Tony said lightly, grinning widely.
“Tony,” Bruce mumbled. He pinched the skin at Tony’s hip.
“Ow!”
“What gave you the idea to do a naked painting of The Hulk?” Bruce asked, flabbergasted, and Tony didn’t often use that word.
“Well, let’s be honest. I just really wanted to test myself on covering up what had to be a pretty generous… you’re Bruce Banner, aren’t you? Of course you are. Goodbye.” Then she turned around and walked away.
Tony was howling with laughter. He had to grab hold of Bruce to keep from falling over and he could feel the burn of the man’s blush beneath his fingers. He planted his face against Bruce’s shoulder and wheezed. “Pretty generous,” he gasped. “Brucie, I’ve never looked. Do you go green everywhere? Does Little Bruce hulk out too?” He giggled. “Does he smash?”
“He might if you don’t stop talking.”
Tony choked and wrapped an arm around Bruce to keep himself from collapsing (and Bruce from running when he realized what he just said).
“Oh fuck, that is not what I—Tony let go!”
Tony shook his head, too breathless to speak, tears rolling down his face. “I-If we move f-fast enough,” he said through his giggling, “we can get ahead on a new line of condoms.” He buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder and gasped out “Orgasmic Avengers!” before devolving into laughter entirely.
He felt Bruce wrap an arm around his waist to hold him up, which was really good since this was seriously preventing Tony from breathing, while another hand patted his back. “If your next suggestion is dildos that hulk out, please keep it to yourself.”
Tony wheezed into his shoulder, able to do nothing but nod hysterically. He heard Bruce sigh indulgently and knew he’d won whatever arguments might have arisen in the future.
Next from Stark Industries: Avenging Sex Toys.
Pepper was going to murder him.
The event really went well, even after that surprise. While the paintings of the Naked Avengers functioned well to draw a crowd, once they got inside, they were able to see the full extent of the collection. Kirsi was a very talented artist, and while her strategic placement of Hawkeye’s bow and arrow or Thor’s hand grasping his hammer were amusing, the scenes that showed them mid-swing or shot called back to a battle that was still recent in their own minds.
“Were you in Manhattan during the battle?” Tony heard Steve ask quietly, the concern heavy in his voice.
“Yeah. I got pinned down in a coffee shop with a bunch of other people. We got to see a lot of the battle. It was… intense.” Her voice dropped slightly. “I did some other paintings, of the creatures that came through the… wormhole, I guess. I didn’t bring them. I thought… it’s too soon.” He could hear her smile as she added, “Besides, this exhibit is about the heroes. Not the monsters.”
Tony saw the shift in Bruce’s shoulders, the way they curled inward at the word monster, and how his eyes moved to seek out a painting of Hulk, like he couldn’t imagine anyone looking at the thing he turned into and thinking it was a hero.
Tony knew better.
“I think you captured the heroes perfectly,” he said, turning to her with a grin, “but I gotta ask. Do you take commissions?”
Kirsi squeaked in surprise and Tony laughed.
All in all, a successful event entirely.