ad astra per aspera
“the nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. we are made of starstuff...we are a way for the cosmos to know itself."
― carl sagan, cosmos
24.
"So," Clint says as he heads downstairs, speaking with all his usual tact. "We didn't know what to get you, because we figured you had a lot - well, 'cause like, you're rich and stuff - but we put in a lot of genuine effort and we hope you appreciate it."
"Thanks," Tony says, nonplussed. He glances around at everyone else to see their reactions, but they're all just kind of rolling their eyes at Clint as people are wont to do in his vicinity.
"What Clint means," Steve interrupts kindly, "is that my ma went out yesterday to gift-shop for something we all thought you might like."
"Oh," says Tony. "Thank you." He feels a bit like a broken record, thanking everyone so many times - he's got as much tact as Clint when it comes to people doing nice things for him.
"You're welcome, kotenok," Natasha says softly, and Tony frowns.
"Did you just call me a cabbage?"
Her green eyes flash with amusement. "No, not quite."
"So we don't normally open gifts until the sun starts setting," Steve explains as they gather in the kitchen. Sarah's already laid plenty of ingredients for tonight's Christmas dinner out on the counter with sticky note instructions for them to follow. Tony hides a smile as he catches sight of one of the Post-Its, a familiar scrawl marked across it in ink reading, And remember, Steve, to take off the cling wrap BEFORE you stick the ribs in the oven! "And we normally help to make dinner first. My ma's really big on food being an essential part of Christmas, and she hates opening gifts early because she thinks we'll all go off and admire our presents without talking to each other."
"Sounds sensible," Tony admits with a small smile. Sarah, for all of her playfulness, is through-and-through a mother. Actually, speaking of mothers...
Tony's been struggling with the idea of calling his parents for the past few days, but he's been able to put off the internal debate until now - on Christmas Day. Does he call them? He left a text yesterday, but his wayward mom and busy father both probably missed it. Does he text them again and hope they'll receive the notification this time? Do they even have the ringer on, or did they mute his number?
Maybe - maybe he should call them. At least, call his mother. Howard would understand if Tony didn't call; after all, he never calls first. Maria, though, she gets lost sometimes, and Tony's sure she's afraid of losing him the farther he runs away.
Okay, he'll call. Just after making dinner, and then he can -
His phone buzzes loudly in his back pocket.
He glances apologetically at Steve, whom he's meant to be helping wash the spinach, but Steve just grins and waves him off. "Go ahead and take it, I got this."
He steps into the hallway and then pulls out his phone, which is still vibrating madly. On the screen, a picture of Mr. Stane has appeared, and for some indiscernible reason, a chill runs down Tony's spine at the immortalized smile plastered on Stane's pixelated face.
"Hello, this is Tony."
"Tony, my boy!" Obie booms into the speaker, and Tony yanks the phone away from his ear, wincing. "How are you doing? Merry Christmas!"
"Oh, uh, Merry Christmas." Tony relaxes slightly. Obie's just calling to wish him well over the holidays. After all, he's Howard's closest business associate and Tony's godfather, which means that he's seen Tony often enough throughout the past decade to warrant a phone call on Christmas Day (and a nickname). As a bonus, he's always been especially interested in Tony's little experiments, those of which Howard comparatively deemed a "waste of time". "I'm fine, thank you. And you?"
"Such a polite one, aren't you." Obie chuckles lowly into the phone. "Your dad could really learn a thing or two from ya." There's a long pause. "Anyway! I heard you haven't been home for winter break, Tony. What's going on, huh?"
"I couldn't find a flight home," Tony says hesitantly. "So I'm staying at, uh, a friend's."
"You don't sound very sure there," Obie observes.
"Sorry, I just - I'm trying to book a flight, I'll try again later tonight. There've been so many blizzards lately."
"Right, right," Obie agrees almost distractedly. "I had better tell you something, though."
"What is it?" Another chill crawls down Tony's spine. His eyelids feel too languid, too loose, like they're unspooling around his eyes.
"Oh, no, nothing to worry about much, my boy," Obie's quick to reassure. "It's just your father. You know how he is, don't you? It was just a little car accident. Your mother's okay, if that's who you're worried about. He was driving drunk - again! Can you believe it? That man is full of unsurprising surprises. He nearly had to get his stomach pumped in the hospital! If that policeman hadn't stopped him from veering all over the road, eventually he would have crashed and - well - that wouldn't have been very good."
"My mom…," Tony says. His throat is tight. "She was in the car? With him? When he was driving drunk?"
"Yes," Obadiah affirms. He sighs into the phone, which lets loose a crackle of static. "She's okay, barely a scratch on her - only as bad as the car, which skimmed a rail but is otherwise in peak condition. Your father, however...he's going to be staying in a white gown for at least another week. Your mother's gone to Greece, said something about recuperating - but she told me to contact you."
"...Oh," Tony says. He winces at how thin and reedy his voice comes out. "So she's not - so when I - she's not going to be - "
"No, I'm sorry," Obie says, and he sounds genuinely sorry, he does, and it rattles something loose in Tony. The warm, sympathetic tone feels so familial that a pit of emotion suspiciously like longing opens up inside him. "She instructed me to stop by and check on you once you return to the mansion, though. So you won't be completely alone. I know you don't have many friends, Tony - if any - but it can't be easy to meander around in that big cold mansion all by yourself."
"I know, I know," Tony mutters. His neck grows hot with the knowledge that even his godfather knows what a loner he is. "Thanks, Obie."
"Of course, my boy." Obadiah, when he chuckles again, is affectionate. "Enjoy your Christmas now, Tony. Remember to behave - don't go embarrassing yourself in front of your friend's family."
Right. Because you're kind enough to give me the benefit of the doubt, even though I don't deserve it. You believe I haven't embarrassed myself enough already . "I - I won't. Bye, Obie."
Tony hangs up, and he sucks in a breath. He should call his mamma, he should. She would want to talk to him… It's true, she gets in slumps sometimes, he thinks she has depression. And when Howard's like this - all reckless and wild - she recedes even more into herself, even though she tries to stay out of her shell. Sometimes she doesn't even talk to him, although when she surfaces, she's as loving and sad as ever.
He's still a little surprised when the phone call goes to voicemail. "Please call me back, mamma," he whispers into the phone. "I hope you're okay… Obie, uh, he called, told me what happened. I'm glad that nothing serious happened, that Dad didn't… Well, Greece is nice, it's good that you're not, um, at home. I'm sorry, New York's been blizzarding so hard or I would have come home, I promise. Call me back. Merry Christmas. Ti amo."
For a second he lingers in the dim yellow light of the hallway. The kitchen noises and the voices of the others come back to him, sudden and in startling clarity - the clanging of pans, Clint swearing, Bucky crowing something in delight. Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, suddenly bitter. And it's not like he's ungrateful - it is a merry Christmas, he's surrounded by people who all get along, people who have all these little traditions that make him feel warm. But the bitterness continues to linger in the solemnity and the silence of his heart.
In hindsight, the hair ties and the DVD were a stupid idea. For one, the hair ties are mocking; and then there's the DVD, which can also be taken as mocking. Not to mention, Tony didn't have the freedom or resources to buy or build anything for anyone else, not even Sarah. He'd just been thinking of Bucky during the fair because he's an idiot.
Also? What if Steve thinks it's some sort of favoritism toward his boyfriend? He'd get so mad, and he'd have every right to kick Tony out of his house. Tony would have to walk through the freezing cold for miles with nothing but his sweatshirt and jeans, and - Okay. That wouldn't happen, because Steve's not that kind of person. Still, though. He can't help but worry.
Tony absentmindedly runs his fingers over the tough ridges of his scars through the cotton of his shirt. He takes a breath, makes sure the little gifts for Bucky are in the pockets of his sweatpants. Maybe he'll just give them in private to Bucky later or something. No need to embarrass himself in front of more than one person.
"Okay," Sarah says, eyes sparkling in the warm firelight. They're all gathered on the rug in front of the hearth, a pile of gifts stacked up in the middle of the circle they've formed. The miniature Christmas tree, wreathed with golden fairy lights and topped with a yellow star, only adds to the warm, rustic feel. "Gift time! Okay, Natasha's up first."
Immediately, everyone leans forward and plucks a gift from the pile before handing - or, in Clint's case, tossing - it to her. Natasha smiles softly as she collects the various presents and puts them either behind her or on her lap. It's the gentlest expression Tony's ever seen on her face up till now.
"I didn't...um, I don't have a gift for any of you," Tony mumbles stiffly after a moment, his face hot. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…"
Sarah only smiles at whatever she sees in his face. "You're here as a guest. We understand. I'm sure that you would have tried to buy us presents if you had had the opportunity, although that wouldn't have been necessary. Bruce? You're next."
Tony sits there awkwardly for the rest of the gift-giving. He wants to uncross his legs, but he's afraid to move. Instead, he toys with his shirt sleeves and picks at the thin fabric of his sweatpants to distract himself from yet another reminder that he doesn't belong. Yes, this is nice and all, but he'll most likely be on a plane home in two days and then he'll never speak to any of these people again. It was good while it lasted, Stark, he thinks to himself. But don't forget that good things end.
"Okay, last but not least, it's your turn, Tony," Sarah says.
Tony jerks his head up from where he's been spinning a loose thread around his finger and says, intelligently, "What?"
"You didn't think we'd forget about you, did you?" Sarah asks, but there's something sadder in her eyes now.
"But I didn't buy you anything." Tony notices Natasha watching his fidgety hands, the knuckles of which still aren't fully healed, and stops abruptly. "I don't have anything to give back."
"We don't expect you to give anything back." Sarah's voice is firm but kind as she hands him a large box wrapped in red and gold paper. "This is for you, from all of us."
Tony's impressed when his voice doesn't wobble as he accepts the gift gratefully. It's so light, which makes him wonder what they could have gotten him - not a Rolex or a Hublot, that's for sure. In any case, he's got enough of those already; what is it with Howard's business associates assuming he wants to be able to tell time for upwards of twenty thousand dollars?
Everyone starts to peel the wrapping paper off of their gifts, so Tony hesitantly slots his thumb underneath the paper and unwraps his too. He's careful not to rip it - he just feels odd tearing up wrapping paper when it's been so carefully folded and taped - even though everyone else is positively shredding the outer layers of their gifts to get to the boxes inside. His gift is unassuming, just a plain white box without a logo, the kind used for clothing. Maybe they got him a shirt then? He's not expecting much.
That's why when he looks inside, he's completely unprepared for what he sees - and a huge wave of emotion he can't define hits. His heart twinges painfully as he looks at the glow-in-the-dark stickers of constellations and comets and meteoroids that glow faintly in the dim light of the living room. He's thrown back into the past, when he was a little kid and insanely afraid of the dark, but Howard had said that nightlights and glowy stickers were for babies. He had wished for something to fill those empty pockets of blackness, something that he could train his eyes on as he drifted to sleep.
"How did you know?" Tony says slowly. There's no way that this was a coincidence - Sarah Rogers wouldn't buy glow-in-the-dark stickers for a rich kid without being prompted.
Surprisingly, Bucky's the one who speaks up. "On the Ferris Wheel," he says, shrugging a shoulder. The left shoulder, the one with the new prosthetic. "You said your dad...never let you have star stickers on your ceiling. So I mentioned it to Sarah when she asked if any of us knew what you might want for Christmas. You probably don't care about that kinda thing anymore, but." He shrugs again. "Thought maybe you'd like it."
"You remembered," Tony says, the conversation from that night coming back to him hazily. "Uh. Wow."
"Yeah," Bucky replies. He ducks his head, looking strangely shy.
"Thank you," Tony says after a moment. He finds himself meaning every word he says next, and the sincerity that rings in his tone startles him. "Really. This is cool. Most people assume I want another watch, or just money in an envelope. They don't really think about - I don't know, even I don't really know what I want. Um, not that I don't appreciate watches, watches are nice too. But, uh, this is really cool. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Tony," Sarah says, directing a warm smile his way.
Oh, shit, Bucky's crinkling at me, Tony thinks, and busies himself with flipping through the various stickers in the box. By crinkling, he means the way Bucky's eyes crinkle up at the corners when he gets all fond. It's normally a look directed at Steve or the rest of his friends, but hey, Tony will take what he can get.
"If you ever get a watch you don't like, I'm happy to take it," Clint offers up, and the silence breaks as Natasha elbows him and Bruce lets out an uncharacteristic snort.
"I'll keep that in mind," Tony answers with a faint uncertainty that blooms into pleasure when the circle chuckles at his reply. He opens his mouth, ready to crack a joke about the various watches he'll probably receive (again) this year, when his cell rings loudly in his pocket. It's a prelude by Bach, which can only mean one thing - it's his mother calling.
"Sorry, it's my mom," he says quickly, and jumps up from his seated position before anyone can say a word. "I've gotta - " He gestures awkwardly at the phone and then strides into the hallway, trying to calm the way his breathing's suddenly picked up and his hands are slightly shaking.
"Mamma," he says as soon as the call connects through. "Mama, are you okay?"
"Antonio," his mother whispers into the receiver, and her lilting voice hits him like a wave of comfort. "Baby, I'm so sorry."
"Oh, no, it's okay," Tony says, forgetting his mama can't see him as he flutters his fingers. "I'm at a friend's, remember?"
"I know this can't have been easy on you," she continues anyway. "Your father...he's okay, but I was a bit shaken up, that's why I left. Please understand, bambino mio."
Tony notices that she sounds different than usual. He doesn't doubt that she's not altogether present right now, has probably taken some Oxazepam or even done a line of cocaine, he knows how she gets when she can travel out-of-state. He swallows back whatever feelings that evokes in him, and says instead, "I understand. It's okay."
"Okay," Maria says, her voice one long thin line of relief. "Merry Christmas, Antonio. Come visit me, if your father allows you to. Greece is always beautiful no matter the season."
"I will," Tony says softly. "Merry Christmas, mamma. Ti amo tanto." I love you so much.
"Ti amo più di quello che sai." I love you more than you know.
When the call ends, Tony exhales a breath he didn't realize had been building up inside of him. In fact, it feels like it's been inflating forever, ever since winter break started, and it's just popped to let him free. When he returns to the living room, everyone's helping to clean up the scraps of wrapping paper tossed all over the floor, and he joins them wordlessly. The monotony of the task so soon after talking to his mother soothes him in a way he doubts speaking ever could, and he appreciates the fluidity with which they silently welcome him back. "I'll join you rascals upstairs soon," Sarah teases as she twists a zip tie around the trash bag and carries it into the kitchen. "Go ahead and start the movie-watching without me. I'll bring up some snacks and drinks."
Okay, now or never, Tony tells himself as everyone pounds up the stairs. Luckily, Bucky's at the end of the group alongside Tony, so it takes less nerves to tap Bucky awkwardly on the shoulder.
"Hey, uh, can we talk? For a quick second?"
"Sure, doll, what's up?" Bucky says. The term of endearment comes out so easily that Tony's not even sure Bucky realizes he said it.
"Well." Tony colors a bit. "I...I didn't want to do this in front of everyone else, but at the fair...I guess you're not the only one. Who remembered things."
"What's that s'posed to mean?" Bucky questions, but he looks amused instead of angry at Tony's clear inability to speak properly.
Tony fumbles for the objects in his pocket and holds them out, unable to look Bucky in the eye. "I just remember that you said you liked that one movie, It's a Wonderful Life. And so I got it, and then I couldn't stop there, so I bought hair ties too. As a joke, though, you don't really have to wear them. You probably have the DVD of this movie anyway. I mean, you said you didn't want it, and because...I just thought it would be a nice thing to have. I miss...I miss my old butler. Jarvis. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had, and it hurts to remember him, and realize that I have to constantly distinguish between a time with him and a time without him. But I'm grateful to have all those wonderful memories of him, and sometimes it's nice. To remember people. Even though there are bad memories associated with it. I just thought...it's stupid, you said you didn't want the movie, I'm being an ass and triggering you, I do that to people a lot - "
"Thank you," Bucky says fervently, and then he's tugging Tony into a hard hug that has Tony squeaking in surprise. Eventually, he relaxes into the hold, and awkwardly pats Bucky's back.
"You're welcome, I think."
"Thank you," Bucky says again, and then pulls back, his hands slipping over Tony's body to rest on his shoulders. Tony suppresses the shiver that runs through him. "For buyin' me this. Really, Tony. This means a lot. My parents - " Bucky looks straight at Tony, and his gaze is so dark, so intense, that it's like staring into a night sky. Except - while it's intimidating, and kind of freaks the hell out of Tony - it's nothing like the darkness he feared as a child or the emptiness he fears even now. "My parents woulda liked you, you know."
"Your parents sound like they were really…really good people," Tony says softly. "I can tell you loved them a lot."
"Yeah." Bucky quirks his mouth at the DVD in his hand. "They were. I did."
Another pregnant beat passes between them, and then Bucky breaks it by holding up the hair ties and tossing Tony a grin. "Really? Hair ties? You don't like it down?"
Tony smirks a little, shrugging. "Any longer and you'll look like Jason Momoa."
"Okay," Bucky concedes, "but he's pretty damn fine in Game of Thrones. I'll take it."
The easy banter continues the rest of the way up the stairs, and Bucky's still grinning even as Natasha gives them a discerning look and Steve's eyebrows do that weird waggle thing when he's curious about something.
Merry Christmas from Obadiah, Ti amo from his mother, My parents woulda liked you from Bucky, and a box full of stars from everyone else. Tony curls up next to Bruce and pretends like he isn't internally beaming when the other boy drapes his blanket over Tony's lap without a word.
Night falls the way he remembers standing on a beach and letting the tide pool around his ankles. Creeping up the sand like a million little fragments, and then the shock of the frigid water - the slow haul, and then the flood all at once.