One More Time, With Feeling (616 Fic: New Avengers)

[jazzypom.livejournal.com]

Title: One More Time, With Feeling (616 Fic: New Avengers)
Author: jazzypom
Rated: PG for language and concepts.
Summary: Steve and Tony decide to give that team building exercise one more try.
Beta: Ain’t nothing but a letter.
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work.
Notes: This fic refers to the texts Avengers Disassembled, Iron Man Dissembled and New Avengers issues #1 & #5 . British spellings. Also this fic abides by Marvel time which is a ratio of 4:1 (our four years is equal to a year in Marvel time). This fic was for a Stark story that alas, I cannot write. Thanks to jwaneeta, e_s for feedback and advice on Steve Rogers and novensiles for architectural advice. Any and all mistakes are mine. Oh, I might be posting a fair few fic over the next couple of weeks. It's not spamming the comm, I promise. I just need to square my prompts before June. Cheers for your indulgence.

Approximately 3800 words.




The night after the evening before, Steve found himself seated across the front desk of Stark Tower, knapsack at his feet.

Architecturally, the place was a marvel: tall ceilings, the warmth of wood married to the sleekness of metal complementing the romance of marble flooring. There were no guards as far as Steve could see, but based on his brief research the tower and its environs were tightly secured, with bulletproof glass and electronic security systems.

On the face of it, the hall was dedicated to scrupulous taste: flooded with light, touching on the jewelled colours of cloisonné vases, and mirrored flooring.

This was Stark Tower.

Oh, Steve had been aware of the Stark Tower, of Tony’s relentless pursuit and possession of said Tower for years. However, he had never had reason to drop by said Tower until now.

After the battle with the super criminals on The Raft, Steve brought up the idea of a new Avengers team. Tony had not said no, but he had not said yes either (well, not explicitly) and Steve wanted to make sure that there was no misunderstandings or misgivings on either side.

They had had those before, and those never ended well.

Therefore, Tony, being Tony, offered him an invite to Stark Tower.


“Seven PM," Tony said, frowning at his stale bagel, ignoring the smoking ruins of the super prison on the island before them. “My last meeting is at six.”

Steve shrugged. Tony Stark was the face of and the force behind Stark interests, no matter the name change, be it Stark Industries or Stark International. Tony was not just a super hero, but other selves to other interests as well. It was a truth you had to accept as an associate of Tony Stark; there were many demands for his time and attention and he attended to every one.

“At seven, then.”

It was seven fifteen now, and the elevator doors opened with a subdued ping. Steve glanced in time see Tony stepping out from the lift: his form swathed in a black suit, offset by a slate blue tie against a snow white shirt, slim, sleek briefcase in hand. Before he had a chance to make any other observations, Tony had already seen him, and moved towards him. Steve stood up, hitching his knapsack on his shoulder.

“Steve,” Tony greeted, with a mild smile this time, not the cautious, clipped tones of the night before. Tony was in 'business mode', his van dyke beard neatly trimmed, the Windsor knot of his tie snug against his neck.

“Tony.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Tony shrugged his shoulders. “It couldn’t be helped.”

A pause for a brief second as the each man took the measure of the other, and then Tony inclined his head towards the other elevator at the other end of the hall.

“Come on; meet my other pride and joy.”


Steve Rogers was no stranger to luxury. Since reawakening all those years ago and joining the Avengers roster, he was acquainted with the trappings of luxury, due in no small part to the man beside him. He had spent an extended time in the Avenger’s mansion after all, and once, Steve had inadvertently cost Tony a pretty penny in priceless art when he threw his replacement shield through the mansion.

Tony had forgiven him for that. Eventually.

To be fair, Tony was not the sort of guy to live in a brownstone in Brooklyn, but still, this was...

“Wow,” Steve could barely contain his admiration at the space before him. “Impressive.”

It was. They were in the front room, enclosed in nothing but panes of glass, the height of the building giving a bird’s eye view to the city of Manhattan below. Evening was upon them now, the dusk of the sky never fully threatening, held at bay by the nimbus of light being generated off the grid of buildings below, and the stunning contrast of the inky blackness of water that surrounded the island.

“It’s smart glass,” Tony said. “It meets the demands of its environment, providing dimness when needed at either day or night. There are sensors that monitor the ambient temperature outside and adjust the temperature within for optimum comfort.”

Of course, Steve thought fondly, that was Tony for you. The aesthetics of the design were not the only thing that concerned him, but the logistics as well.

“I hear you’re in Brooklyn now?” Tony asked, shrugging out of his suit jacket and carelessly tossing it on the back of the low, sleek sofa on his way into the kitchen - the loft was such that the space was non partitioned, so Steve was able to watch Tony walk over to the recessed refrigerator. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’ll pass on the drink, thanks. Yeah, I’m in Red Hook.”

Steve heard Tony’s short, sharp whistle of appreciation. “That new build? Property prices have increased handsomely at that end. The rents are –"

“I know,” Steve said, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the straps of his knapsack. “I needed a place to stay, and Fury gave me a hand.”

“You should have told me, I'd have helped.”

Steve glanced up; Tony was leaning against the dark stone counter that separated the kitchen from the dinning room. Tony's dress shirt had the first two top buttons undone, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up to mid arm, a bottle of Perrier in his hand.

Steve inwardly sighed at the sight of Tony's frown.

“You had a lot on your plate,” Steve said, side stepping the issue. “Like this tower.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said with a nod. “Forgive me; I’m being a bad host. Let me show you around.”



This was not going well.

Ordinarily, Tony Stark could play the good host under extreme duress – from being terminally bored, to being excessively drunk – and come out tops. He was born and bred for the life, for society and its parties: the thrust and parry of flattery, the fine art of gathering relevant information under the guise of pleasantries, breezy gossip and easy smiles, yet giving nothing away.

Showing Steve Rogers around the Tower’s rooms had put a hitch in his step, making Tony go off his game.

Truthfully, Tony Stark had been off his game for the past few months now, but he soldiered on.

“This is one of the guest rooms,” Tony gestured towards one of the rooms, and as soon as they stepped in, the lights came on, but not at full beam. The room was lit enough for them to walk around without bumping into the furniture, but dark enough to cast everything in shadow, playing concert to the full glory of the illuminated city below them. This room was one of the better ones, Tony knew.

It afforded panoramic views of Queens, Brooklyn and Roosevelt Island in the distance.

“The lights switch on and off automatically, via sensors in the doorway, " Tony continued. "You can adjust the light intensity depending on the mood. In the winter, the floors are heated via the solar heaters we have on the roof. There are touch panels everywhere, and wireless electronics controls. If you wish, food can be delivered from the nearby grocery store, or an affiliated restaurant. ”

Steve stood in the middle of the room, hands tucked into jeans, and shoulders broad as the views outside underneath his tan jacket. This was really one of the better living areas; sleek, low furniture designed so that it blended with the lines of the room, all minimalist. To prevent the room from appearing too sterile, there were dots of colour by way of rugs on the walls, lampshades in the corners, as well as a photo of the Avengers in action.

“If I squint,” Steve said, doing the motion with a tilt of his head, “I can see my apartment.”

“If you can see your apartment,” Tony said, sliding into their easy banter despite himself, “then my building isn’t tall enough.”

“I got a nose bleed on my way up here, I’m sure the air is thinner.”

“The air isn’t thin, just… rarefied.”

For his reward, he got an easy smile from Steve, and felt himself smile in response.

Steve had not changed a wit. Still tall, still blond. Despite everything with Wanda all those months ago and the harrowing events of last night, still solid.

“So,” Steve started, turning to face Tony. “About last night. You’re okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I heard about Rumiko," Steve's voice was soft with sympathy. "I’m sorry.”

Tony closed his eyes for a brief moment, before moving to the tempered glass and resting his forehead against it, looking at the view below.

They rarely spoke about women.

At first, it was an odd courtesy, what with Steve literally in ice for all those years, and it had taken a while for him to get back into the swing of things on that end. On Tony’s side, his relationships were fast and loose (Tony always had the best of intentions going in) and prone to be covered by the tabloids. He never had to speak of his women; the reporters did a more inventive job chronicling his relationships (with manful exaggeration) than he ever could.

The only woman that he and Steve had exchanged words over had been Jan van Dyne.

That did not go so well, as in they almost came to blows. As a result, apart from pleasant and truncated enquiries, they never went there.

“Yeah,” Tony raised an arm and had his fist braced against the windowpane above his head. “So am I."

There were many things to appreciate about Steve, Tony thought, and one of them was that he knew how to read a mood. He just stood there, allowing the quiet to bloom and settle around them, making it comfortable enough for Tony to speak.

“Some days,” Tony began; his fingers relaxed enough for him to drum his fingertips against the glass, “I wonder if I’m enough. If what I do, is enough. I remember when I was drinking… it didn’t matter if I was enough or not.”

He heard Steve shift behind him, but did not turn.

“In the end, I got over drinking because it made me less than enough,” Tony swallowed, “even though it felt otherwise. The thing is…" Tony broke off with a sigh, not caring where his thoughts were going, if he could not say it to Steve, he could not say it to anyone.

“I was going to propose. To Ru, I mean. Despite the fact that I mightn’t have been enough,” Tony took his hand from the windowpane, and raked his fingers through his hair. It would look a sight tomorrow, but that was tomorrow.

“Despite the fact that, at times I wasn’t enough. I knew that. What with her and Ty-" Tony broke off. He had accepted it, had moved on.

The platinum ring featuring an emerald cut Burma sapphire, flanked by trillion diamonds from Moussaief in his pocket had been proof of that.
“It didn't matter. I was willing to try,” Tony finished softly.

“Then Wanda happened,” Steve interjected, saving Tony from going down that path regarding Rumiko's death. Friendship was knowing when and how to interrupt a poisonous thread of thought.

“Yeah,” Tony swallowed. “The mind control thing. I wasn’t strong enough to stop that. I wasn’t fast enough to save Ru, I wasn’t savvy enough to avoid the financial fallout with everything else."

Another pause, and Tony wondered if he could speak without his voice breaking. He knew why Steve was here, what his presence meant. For a while, he wondered if he could walk away. He had already given up so much, and for one of Ru's last thoughts to be-? He focused on the glow of lights below him until his eyes were dry, until the lump in his throat got small enough for him to speak around.

“Steve,” Tony turned to his friend, tilted his chin a little so that his eyes met Steve’s own. Steve was still there, just looking at him, and Tony shifted the weight on his feet a little. “You want to know if I’m okay with this. I'm okay with this.”

Steve did not say a word. Tony did not expect him to.

“I’m okay with this, if you’re okay with this," Tony started. “If you’re okay with the fact that I’m not strong enough, or fast enough. If you’re okay with the fact that I’m weak enough to say yes, to do this again. To put on the tin suit, to play hero. Yeah, I’m okay with this. I’m okay to the point where - ” and at this Tony gave a wide gesture that encompassed the room. “I offer this- the Stark Tower for the team’s HQ, and everything else.”

With that said, Tony turned to look out at the view again, only to feel a warm grip on each of his shoulders, and found himself at the end of Steve's sharp gaze. With the muted lights above, Steve’s hair was a dull gold, his eyes a darkened blue.

“Tony,” Steve began, his voice low and urgent. “Listen, you – we- couldn’t have known about Wanda. Financially you’ve bottomed out before, but you’ve bounced back, and Rumiko –"

At this, Tony tried to turn his head away, but Steve moved a hand and cupped his cheek, and Tony reflexively gripped Steve’s wrist with his hand, feeling the strength there.

“- and Rumiko,” Steve continued, “you’d have been enough, because you’d have wanted to, and wouldn't have settled for less,” Steve broke off in a laugh. “You’d have been a great husband Tony, because you're a much better man than you think you are."

Tony nodded dumbly, feeling his chest tighten, his eyes sting. He was afraid that he would make a fool of himself, and probably do something stupid like… well, something stupid. Instinctively, he fell back on the old strategy – humour.

“That’s a hell of a St. Crispin’s speech,” Tony’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. “I’m expecting iambic pentameter now, for he that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother...”

Steve shook his head, his mouth curved into a faint smile, his hands still resting on Tony's shoulders, Steve's head tilted just so, so they were eye to eye.

"We've always been a strange band of brothers, Tony."

"Not necessarily the happy few."

"No," Steve nodded at the truth of it. “But I wouldn't want to do this without you."

"I need a minute. One."

"Okay."


Tony left Steve and entered the adjoining bathroom, the automatic lights up at fifty percent - enough for the viewer to see that the shower cube and three showerheads took up a third of the room’s space. It was big enough for six people to dance in, complete with piped in sound system. If needed. Tony sat on the shower floor itself, resting his back against the built in seat, and reflected on recent events.

The fact that he went to the Illuminati meeting today, and told the others of the Avengers up and running once more.

Namor was caustic, almost dismissive about the new effort. T'challa ... well, it didn't matter to him one way or the other. Such was the outlook of the pair of severely isolationist rulers. At times, Tony had to admire Namor and T'challa's state of being, because he could not do it - to will the world at bay, not with the future forcing entire countries and lifestyles to forcibly knit together. You ran either ahead of the pack, or with the pack. You couldn't just... opt not to run. The future met the present eventually, but why wait?

Reed reacted to the news with characteristic equanimity while Professor Xavier and Stephen Strange welcomed the news with warmth.

"Good for you," Stephen smiled behind steepled fingers, his astral form flickering with its eldritch magic.

“Thank you, Stephen.”

Then, the meeting was finished, the rest of the members filed out, leaving Tony and Namor behind.

"Tony."

"Namor," Tony responded, as he retrieved his helmet from the table they were all sitting at a few moments ago, and made to go.

"Is this a wise choice, considering the fate of the former Avengers?"

Both men knew the implications of Namor's comment. Tony had not been trusted when he tried to warn his fellow teammates about his mind control, then Wanda had ripped their world wide open, causing him losses in both property and money.

"It's different. It will be different."

"It always is," Namor said, as he pushed his chair away from the table and made to go. "Mistakes never appear in the same guise, or else we'd learn to avoid them."

Although Tony would never admit it, Namor's words had followed him on his way to the Tower. They nipped at his heels even now, with Steve here. It would be different, it had to be. But wasn't that the attitude he took to every relationship? It had to be different? Did different mean the treachery of Wanda's mind control? Or the fact that although he fought, and shouldered the losses and shared the triumphs with the rest of his team- mates, it never mattered because he was singled as the odd man out?

Or hell, even in terms of intimacy, all the relationships that he embarked on- Bethany, Janice, Rumiko- each was different, but they all ended the same - badly. Ru even more so due to his association with Iron Man. Could he have given it up for her? Embrace the society that she loved, was keen to be a part of? Just be an inventor and an industrialist? Would he have -?

"I don't know," Tony whispered, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

He also did not know how long he sat there in the shower cubicle, if it were for five minutes or five hours. But it must have been closer to the latter, since Steve knocked on the door, and only paused long enough at the door to toe off his shoes, and unceremoniously sat right there beside Tony. Close enough for their shoulders and thighs to touch, close enough for Tony to lean his head against Steve's shoulder. Theirs was an easy friendship, casual touches included.

"Rough day?"

"You could say that. I had a meeting, it ended awkwardly."

Another thing to like about Steve? Certain things about Tony's interests were on a need to know basis, and he had no qualms about not needing to know.

"Nice shower."

"High pressure, unlimited hot water, big enough to have an orgy-"

Steve snorted. " If you're into that sort of thing."

" A tasteful orgy, then. It's a bachelor pad, Steve. Not a monastery."

"Was a bachelor pad. You just gave it up for the team effort, remember? Besides, I like this room."

For the first time in a long time, Tony found himself laughing, and it was not tinged by sorrow or sarcasm.

"Fine, you have first dibs. You're welcome to spend the night if you wish."

There was a silence after this, as both men looked out beyond the bathroom, their eyes resting on one of the framed Avengers posters above the bed. It was the original team line up: Thor, Wasp, Giant Man, Iron Man, Captain America and Hulk. It might have been ten years ago, it might have been yesterday. The past being the prologue to now, and man, this was a future he had not seen coming.

"Jesus," Tony breathed, as the enormity of the decision hit him, as he turned his head to face Steve. "We're going to do this again, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Steve said, turning to face him, his smile brilliant in the dim light. " We must be crazy."

"Jesus," Tony said again, as he pushed himself up and off the floor. He turned around and held his arm out to help Steve up, but Steve waved it away.

"I'll move in a minute," Steve said.

"Fine," Tony nodded, he had a full day of meetings tomorrow, calls to return right now or else he would have stayed along side Steve. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Does Jarvis still do those pancakes-?"

"I'll email him your breakfast choices," Tony said, and it was easy how they fell into easy repartee, as if they never parted company. Strangely, Tony looked forward to tomorrow. With one last smile at Steve, he exited the room, feeling at peace with his decision.


Shortly after Tony left, Steve got up off the floor, walked over to the bed and lay on it, his arms folded under his head, his eyes trained on the ceiling; the splendour of the view outside his window unappreciated, as he reviewed this evening and the catalogue of looks that washed over Tony's face.

The line between his furrowed brows at the night before, the almost mild politeness of this evening, moving towards the animation in his face when he went on at length about the specs of his home - to the etch of pain in his features when he spoke about Rumiko. Steve knew the tell tale signs of Tony being hurt, how his eyes had the wounded sheen of unshed tears, the clench of muscles in his jaw.

He lied this evening. Tony and Rumiko wouldn't have worked out, and it wouldn't have been Tony's fault - Steve knew that. Tony would have tried - and might have probably held it together- for a time.

It wouldn't have been Rumiko's fault either. Being a superhero was a vocation. A compulsion, even. Tony had left the suit three times, and came back.

Jesus, Tony's voice came back to him again, we're going to do this again, aren't we? It hadn't been a question then, no shade of doubt in his voice.

Steve focused on that expression on Tony's face, a mixture of amusement and disbelief for what he had signed on. This time, the team up would stick, Steve was sure of it.

With that thought, he drifted off to sleep, hoping that Tony remembered to message Jarvis about those pancakes.

Fin.