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cap_ironman2011-12-24 03:24 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2011-12-24 03:24 pm
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kahn - part 2!
Title: After Silence
Author:stalkerbunny
Summary: In one universe, Tony Stark loves music more than engineering and Steve Rogers was a child star. And love can be nice, even if it doesn’t heal all wounds.
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Howard/Maria, Thor, Clint, Wanda, Rhodey, Pepper, Loki Carol, Pietro, T’Challa.
Word Count: 14K
Warnings: Alcoholism of a minor character, child abuse (mainly verbal), drinking and implied drug use (of a minor character).
A/N: So, this was supposed to be a fluffy band!AU, but then Tony’s daddy issues took over the show. Sorry? Also, recipient specifically asked for no heavy drug use, I really hope you don’t consider alcohol a drug…? :’3 As for that one minor character, he probably decided it was a bad idea after the events of the fic (because it made him do something nice, blegh).
Betaread bywindwrackedstar who was awesomecakes and did a thorough job on this on very short notice. All the remaining mistakes are all mine. ♥
Part One - Part Two
Three years ago
The first time he kissed Steve was before their first concert with the new group, and it had been largely to distract Steve from stage fright. That was Tony’s excuse at the time, anyway.
He’d gone to get Steve from the dressing room, and found him staring into the mirror with the expression of a man psyching himself for a battle. Then again, Tony was pretty sure that in an actual crisis Steve would be one of those people who’d direct everyone out of the building in a confident, calm manner, and then go back to save the kid who’d gone back for their dog.
So seeing him all shaky and a greenish was kind of funny. In theory. In practice, just the idea made him feel mean.
"Steve, Steve," he said instead, softly. "It’s going to be fine. You’ve done this before plenty of times. And we’ve practiced, you know we work well together."
"I know," Steve replied gravely.
Tony gave him a weighing look. Looked like the words weren’t having much of an effect.
So instead, in one of his notorious bouts of impulsive behaviour, he just took the few steps separating them and pushed Steve into the nearest wall. Which was luckily quite near indeed, so he was still too surprised to react when Tony leaned in closer and kissed him on the lips.
He was prepared for anything, up to and including being punched--unlikely, considering the long glances Steve kept giving him when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, but still possible--and at first Steve did stiffen under his hands in a not-so-good way. But then he sort of melted and let out a surprised little moan. Heroically, Tony resisted the urge to take that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, but Steve grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Sadly, Tony did have to pull back eventually. As a silver lining, it did give him a lovely view of Steve all dark eyed and with his lips wet and bruised red from kissing.
"All better now?" Tony asked, which had Steve blinking rapidly a few times before he started to laugh helplessly.
"What was that about, Tony?" he protested, trying to look stern and mostly just managing baffled and amused.
" I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, but in this case you looked like you might need some… bolstering," he replied slyly, steadfastly ignoring the part of him that was panicking a little. Steve didn’t look upset, or mad, or anything. Maybe not overjoyed either, but Tony could work with that.
Steve took a deep breath and shook his head, before pushing Tony away so he could smooth his hair down and pull his shirt back in place. Not that it had been particularly out of place to begin with, unfortunately. Tony’s attention returned to Steve’s face quickly, though, as he sighed deeply.
"Well, I guess I know now why you wanted me in the band…" he said, with such a kicked puppy expression Tony felt like he’d just done the kicking.
"Oh, no, that’s not…!" he sputtered, the incipient panic ratcheting up higher, before Steve’s face melted into a smile as he started to snicker.
"Tony, you should have seen your face…!" he managed to say between bouts of laughter.
Tony glared at him, though the relief washing over him probably made it weak.
"You know what Steve? Under all that…" he made a gesture over the man and all his blue-eyed, all-American glory, with the damned man still grinning unabashedly, "You’re kind of a bastard."
"You like it," Steve said confidently, and then blushed right after, as if his mind had only caught up to what he’d said afterwards. Still, he had a point.
"Yeah, I do," Tony replied with a sniff, and then they just looked at each other for a moment. Steve was still smiling a little and Tony hoped his face wasn’t showing anything too embarrassing, before Steve broke the silence with, "I think we should go, right?" and this time it was him with the gentle tone, as if Tony might be afraid of something.
"Ah, yes," Tony replied, feeling strangely bashful himself, suddenly, as he hadn’t in a long time.
They started walking towards the stage, with the sound of the warm up band echoing along the twisty hallways.
"Is Jan… okay?" Steve asked tentatively, when they were almost there.
There had been a fight earlier between Tony and her, mostly because she’d figured out he’d expected her to quit. Ironically, said fight had escalated until he’d thought she might, but in the end she’d just stormed off for a while, returning once she’d had a chance to make the decision.
"In the future, I expect you to talk to me before deciding on your own that you know what I want, okay?" Janet had told him, her anger cooled to frustration. Then she’d crossed her arms and shook her head. "Though with you… I should be used to this shit already, I guess," she’d said with exasperated fondness that reminded Tony why he’d once wanted to date her.
"It’s fine," he told Steve . As he glanced in his direction, Tony could see he was still worrying about it.
"It was mostly between me and Janet anyway," he added to further reassure him, but Steve just shook his head.
"I can’t say I’m an expert of being in a band but… I’m pretty sure if two people have some trouble, it can… it reflects on everyone very easily, right?"
Tony hadn’t ever thought about it like that, but Steve did have a point.
"I suppose so," he agreed. "Speaking of, you don’t really mind the kiss? Because if you’d like… or rather, didn’t like it, I swear it won’t happen again," he assured him, maybe a bit too eagerly.
Steve seemed to think about it a moment, giving Tony an entirely too perceptive look while he did. Then he gave a small smile that was, shockingly, almost sly.
"No, it was fine. I didn’t mind," he said, casually.
Tony raised an eyebrow at him.
"Oh?"
"No," Steve repeated, and then, right before they got to where the others were, he put an arm lightly around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him closer for a kiss, one that was pretty chaste until he bit Tony’s lower lip, just hard enough to give him a deep, pleasurable jolt right down to his toes.
Then he pulled back and looked maddeningly, deceptively innocent.
"There, now we’re even," he said cheerfully and marched ahead of Tony, who was left standing there sort of shell shocked.
"For now," he muttered as he sped after him. He still needed to check his keyboard, which was actually more of a cross between a synthesizer and a mixing board with elements added according to what he wanted to achieve. For this gig he’d attached a theremin to it for the solo in "Secret Invasion".
The concert went excellently, except for the moment when the sound went out for a bit and that especially crazy ex-band mate of Don’s jumped up on the stage to do some posturing because he’d apparently sabotaged the sound system. After which he challenged Don into a musical duel, which he, deep into his stage persona as he was, accepted. So duel they did.
Ironically, the whole thing gave The Avengers a reputation as "that band with the really awesome stage show that one time, when some guy calling himself Loki jumped on the stage."
*
Two weeks ago
Rhodey was Tony’s best friend, a title he had earned in part by getting to know Tony a few years before he had a bitter row with his father and temporarily quit his education to work at a garage and try to earn his own living. Those years had not been the best in Tony’s life, so being his friend hadn’t been either.
Personally, he could never really figure out why Rhodey even bothered trying, but for some reason he had. Not just that, but stuck around since then. At least in a spiritual sense, since physically his job in the army had him travelling a lot.
So, the expression on his face currently was giving Tony clear flashbacks to the morning after his 21st birthday, when Rhodey had had to bail him out of jail. In a dress. Which Tony had been wearing, not Rhodey, which was lucky since he probably wouldn’t have been forgiven if it had been the other way around. Tony rather wished he knew why he had that same expression at the moment though.
"Um, I don’t know what was up with that," he offered, earning himself an exasperated glare, which was actually a step up from the ‘why am I still friends with you,’-expression from before it.
"I mean, Steve can be a bit stiff with strangers but not usually like that," he added. It was actually rather worrying, because he’d had the feeling Steve had actually been more upset with him for some reason. Maybe it had been something he couldn’t talk about in front of a stranger. Except Steve had been his usual self when Tony had first opened the door. Things had only become strange when he’d introduced Rhodey.
Rhodey was rubbing the bridge of his nose now.
"Tony," he said.
"What?"
"You and Steve… there’s something between you, isn’t there," Rhodey said with the bland tone he got whenever he was forced to talk, or worse, ask about Tony’s relationships, which he claimed he always ended up knowing far too much about as it was. As far as Tony was concerned, always was a gross exaggeration.
Though he wondered how he’d been able to figure that about Steve, considering they weren’t really officially together. At least not publicly. Not that he would have minded, but he wasn’t sure if Steve shared that opinion, and there hadn’t really been a chance to discuss it yet. Tony was still waiting for the right moment on that.
"Well, sort of," he conceded.
Rhodey sighed deeply.
"That’s what I thought. And then you went to open the door wearing a towel," he explained patiently, before giving Tony a meaningful look.
"Oh," was all he could think to reply.
"Yes, oh."
They spent a moment pondering this in silence, before Rhodey broke it.
"Does this mean you will actually start wearing clothes while I’m here?" he asked, and then raised his hand before Tony could answer. "Even if you just took a shower?"
"Never."
*
Day before
If asked, both band members and fans would cite the concert at Madison Square Garden as a milestone in Avengers history. It was, after all, one of the concert venues in the world, and it was in the city the band had started from. Kat Farrell, in an article published in Daily Bugle the following day, described it as "an effortless blend of traditional and organic with electronic and futuristic, topped off by the stage design by Vision."
By then, their line-up had changed several times. Hank and Jan had left, pursuing their career elsewhere. At that point, they were also using traditional instruments a lot more than usual, with Carol on her saxophone, T’Challa on kora, as well as Wanda playing cello on more songs than she did bass, which might have accounted for the more organic sound. Tony even changed to a traditional piano for one particular song, something he’d never done on record before.
Avengers had by then required a reputation as a band that didn’t play many old hits in their concerts, or if they did they were always clearly transformed. It was less a choice and more a necessity. That was how music worked, in Tony’s opinion. No live performance could ever be the same as the versions on record, for good or bad, and never if the artists were different.
He found it strange, in a way, listening to Avenger’s earlier records, years later. "Destruction of Atlantis", in hindsight, was unrefined and amateurish to his own ear, and yet there was a certain quirkiness and a sense of exuberance in the music, backed by the erratic growl of Bruce’s bass.
True, they’d played those songs later, but they weren’t really the same ones anymore. Personally, that sometimes irked Tony enormously, especially when he’d liked the original, which was one reason for their policy on not playing older songs. Besides, since Jan had left, they didn’t have anyone who played flute, and one couldn’t play "Sting" without the eerie, mournful sound of it floating over the melody.
Not being able to rely on old hits made every line-up change and concert a gamble, but in Tony’s opinion a bit of risk just made one sure to keep the music fresh.
Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.
That night, it didn’t start perfectly. They were all a bit jittery, knew too well how big this was, and the audience started out a bit cool. But then, sometimes those were the best times, when everyone in the band realized they had to fight for it, push to do their very best.
And then something clicked, and there was the lifting euphoria of knowing that hundreds of people were living and breathing with them, with their music. It was like Tony imagined flying would feel like. Like it felt in the dreams he had sometimes, high above the earth carried by some sparking, bone rattling force, always wondering if he could land, how much it would hurt to fall. But then, for that feeling, it would have been worth it.
He tried not to think who he knew was in the audience, besides all those hundreds of strangers.
During Carol’s solo in their second to last song that night, Tony looked up from the keyboard, and Steve was right there like Tony had somehow known he would be. Their eyes met and Steve grinned at him, his hair wet and dark gold in the yellow beam of light hitting him. The music was all around Tony and he hadn’t hit the ground yet, and it made him reckless. Made him say, "I love you," knowing no microphone would catch it.
There was just time for Steve’s eyes to go wide and for a moment of panic as Tony realized anyone could read lips that much, and then… then Steve smiled, bright and happy in a way that was an answer in itself… and then the solo was over and there was no time for anything but the music.
It said something about his ability to push things aside that Tony had almost forgotten it even happened by the time they finished, giddy and drunk of the stage euphoria, until they were backstage and Steve pulled him into a kiss, ignoring the fact they were still in front of everyone else.
For a moment, the world disappeared around them, shut outside the circle of Steve’s arms around him and Tony’s gripping the back of his shirt, their bodies sealed together. Tony felt like he could still hear the echo of the music in his ears, music that was alive and reaching for the perfection he could glimpse sometimes, the flying music.
It felt like it could have lasted forever, but it didn’t, because someone was clearing their throat pointedly, and they had to pull away from each other and return to the reality of a relatively utilitarian backstage space. The rest of the band seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but Pepper was standing at the door, hands holding both sides of it as if keeping something outside.
"Hey Pepper?" Tony said intelligently.
"Hey Tony… and Steve," Pepper replied, a fond smile hovering on her lips for a moment. "Didn’t want to interrupt you two, but Tony, your parents are looking for you," she says, with just a shade of apology to her tone.
Steve pulled away then, like he hadn’t when they’d realized Pepper was there, and his shoulders squared. Tony almost wanted to pull him back and make him stop acting this was something they needed to hide. Except they hadn’t had that discussion yet, had they? Steve already had bad experiences with the press. Besides for all that he’d admitted being bisexual as a teenager, this was a different thing.
"Oh, okay," he said instead, taking a step back himself to resist the urge to touch Steve. Or hide behind him, maybe, not that he ever would have. Then he realized he was still wearing sweat-soaked clothes.
"Pepper, stall them while I change, please?"
Pepper, lifesaver that she was, just nodded and turned away from the door. It wasn’t really a part of a manager’s job description, as far as Tony knew, but that just made him doubly grateful she was willing to do it.
He dashed into the shower, scrubbed himself clean, and then returned to the dressing room after a hasty towelling, hair still dripping water onto the shoulders of his shirt as Tony pulled it on. When he’d dressed, he found Steve sitting on a chair at the opposite side of the room, his hands curled together between his knees. His cheeks were slightly pinked, and combined with the earnest, serious expression…
"Were you watching me dress?" Tony drawled, raising an eyebrow as salaciously as he could, just to see the pink colour deepen. Steve was pale enough that any flush showed easily on his skin, which made him seem more affected than he really was a lot of the time. But even knowing that it was still adorable.
"Well, I think I’m allowed to, aren’t I?" he said now, with the sort of innocent expression that even on him was clearly intentional, and then smiled. Smirked, even, to which Tony was still not quite accustomed.
"Oh, I see how I’ve corrupted you," Tony replied with equally fake dismay.
"Think a lot of yourself, don’t you." Steve remarked, his eyes gone soft and fond, so much so Tony couldn’t quite meet them suddenly.
"Lots," he said airily, making himself busy by buttoning the last remaining buttons of his shirt. A few more than he would have if he weren’t about to meet his parents in a moment. Speaking of which.
"Steve, you should come with me, so I can… you know, introduce you."
"Oh?" Steve got a slightly deer-in-the-headlights expression suddenly, so Tony clarified.
"As a friend. Band member. Or, if you’d like as a… boyfriend. Because I’m not, you know, ashamed about it," he said, feeling his own face heat up a little at the word ‘boyfriend.’
This wasn’t at all how discussions like these were supposed to go. Although, if he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared to introduce Steve to his father.
Not because he was a guy or because he knew his father wouldn’t approve. Tony had had settled that argument with Howard years ago. He didn’t like it, Tony didn’t give a damn about Howard’s opinion in the matter and Maria was on his side, so Howard would just have to live with it. It was just one more issue in their ongoing cold war.
The thing about Steve was that he was important, and Tony wasn’t ready to make him yet another offensive, another reason for pointed words and cold silences. He preferred to think it wasn’t because he still had the irrational desire to hide anything that actually mattered from his father, where it couldn’t be belittled or derided. Because it didn’t matter to him anymore what he thought.
There was a touch on his chin, and he looked up from where his gaze had fallen to ponder the floor.
"Tony, what do you want? Because I used to think I could never lie about something like that, and I don’t intend to, but what we have… I think we can decide when to let people know, on our own time." Steve explained, sounding sort of worried and very gentle, which was a bit infuriating.
But, okay, clearly he had spaced out a little and Steve cared about people, even people he didn’t know. It was just how he was. And also stubborn and a bit judgmental, but if he hadn’t had some faults Tony would have worried he wasn’t real, a robot or something.
He tried to grin, though it probably came out more like a grimace.
"I’ll just say you’re a friend this time, if it’s okay. Not for… all time, and I’ll probably let mom know the next time I talk to her one-on-one but… dad is kind of complicated."
Steve inclined his head in his ‘I don’t really understand, but I’ll trust you on this for now’ nod. He didn’t give that one out to just anyone, and Tony took a moment to feel warm and fuzzy over it.
Then Steve’s eyes widened, in something not entirely unlike fear.
"Shower," he said, and Tony nodded and gave him an amused pat on the shoulder.
"Yup, go have one. I’m expecting you to make a good first impression," he joked, because he was pretty sure Steve could have made a good first impression even covered in blood. People would probably just assume it was because he’d just heroically saved someone from being mugged.
In ten minutes, Steve was looking like his usual highly presentable self, and Tony had to curb the impulse to make him unpresentable. What stopped him, though, was that he made the mistake of considering why he was especially reluctant to leave the dressing room that night, and it was the mood killer of all mood killers.
Therefore, he settled for a short peck on the lips before bracing himself and opening the door to the rest of the world and its perils. In this case, his parents.
Of course, they weren’t standing right outside the door, thank god, so it took a while of wandering around the relative chaos of a post-concert Madison Square Garden and a text message from Pepper before they found where she’d left the elder Starks, which was some corner of the building free of fans and media, at least.
When they entered the room, Maria was sitting on the sofa while Howard was standing a bit further away on the back of it, talking on his phone. Typical, Tony thought, right before his mother spotted them and stood up with a wide smile.
"Tony!" she exclaimed, crossing the short distance between them to give him a brief hug. As she drew back, Tony was surprised to see her eyes were gleaming wetly. His mother only gave hugs when it was a special occasion, but the times he’d seen her cry for any reason…
"Mother," he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
Maria laughed and then wiped at her eyes daintily.
"Oh, I’m getting maudlin in my old age," she said, before turning towards Steve, again her usual collected and graceful self as she held out a hand. "You must be Steve Rogers? Maria Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, Ma’am."
Steve was practically standing at attention, like he did when he was nervous about something, and Tony had to hide a smile. He’d served in the army, briefly, after his first music career crashed and burned, and possibly the habit was a leftover from then. Then again, it was also possible Steve had always been like that.
Maria looked at him, a studying sort of look that sent alarm bells clanging in Tony’s mind, and then she smiled again, a studied, charming expression that would have usually been on her face from the start, except that this one actually had genuine warmth to it. ’Oh shit, she knows,’ Tony thought, not sure himself if he was feeling relief or something else.
His mother glanced at him, the quirk of her mouth gaining a slightly impish edge for a second.
"I’ve heard so much about you from Tony, it’s wonderful to finally meet you," Maria said innocently, although there was a clear stress on "finally." Damn.
One of their few points of contention was his mother wishing Tony was more ready to introduce people he dated to her. Most of the time things either hadn’t been serious enough to warrant that or had ceased being a thing before he’d managed to do it, but he’d never had the heart to tell her that in so many words.
This time, he decided, he really would tell her about it as soon as he could.
"Yes, well, I’m glad I managed to convince him to join the band in the end," Tony said, as Steve was still looking kind of poleaxed.
"Of course, Tony, of course," Maria agreed, with a resignedly indulgent smile Tony had seen her aim at his father far too often for it not to give him an uncomfortable jolt now. He just hoped it didn’t show on his face.
Speaking of the devil, Howard had apparently finished his phone conversation, as he joined them. He introduced himself to Steve with the slightly absentminded politeness he gave to people who weren’t useful to him. Howard could, when he wanted to be, be almost as charming as Maria, but that only seemed to be when it could gain him something.
Besides, where Tony could usually tell what his mother was thinking underneath it, his father had always been opaque to him. Except when he was angry, or drunk, or both. Then he had at times been painfully easy to read.
Where Steve at least got the polite treatment, Tony received the usual cool-eyed look. In some ways, Tony almost preferred the anger; at least then he knew Howard wasn’t just dismissing him outright, as this one made him feel.
"How did you like the concert?" he asked stiffly, just to break the silence.
"Oh, it was lovely--" Maria began, at the same time as Howard said, dryly, "It’s not really our type of music, you know that."
He had, Tony thought dully. Howard had made it clear enough in the past what he thought about his career, in general and in particular. He hadn’t been expecting seeing The Avengers perform here to change that. Music wasn’t magic, for all the media tried to paint it so, or how it felt sometimes.
So Tony hadn’t been expecting him to change his mind. He wasn’t that naïve.
Was he?
"You know what, I have to go," someone said, and he was already walking out when he realized it had been him.
"Howard!" Maria was hissing, angry like Tony hadn’t heard her in years, and then calling after him, but he wasn’t really listening. He just wanted away, where he wouldn’t have to explain himself to anyone.
*
Tony tried to shove the key into the door of his car for the fifth time, and then cursed as it skittered away, scraping over the gleaming red paint.
"Fuck! Oh, poor baby, what’ve I done…" he muttered, brushing his hand over the scratch as if he could soothe it away like that.
"I’d ask what the hell you think you’re going to do," a snotty voice said from behind him, and Tony spun around, brandishing the key as if he expected it to defend him.
Luckily, the man leaning lazily against a nearby wall and smoking just snorted and gave a lazy wave of his cigarette.
"I mean, I don’t know why you decided to get plastered, but driving might not be the best of ideas. Unless, you know, you want to drive into a wall sometime in the near future.
Tony squinted at him, because he looked familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. Dark hair, way too much leather… oh.
"You’re that guy, aren’t you." he said with sudden realization, still pointing the key sort of in his general direction, though it was making a wavery sort of eight shape which was making Tony feel a bit irritated so he put it down. "The… obsessed guy. With Thor."
The guy whose name Tony still couldn’t recall… Lowkey? Or was he mixing him with someone else? Whatever his name was, the man looked only mildly irritated.
"I’m not obsessed with him. Just think he’s wasting his time with you clowns."
"We’re not clowns," Tony muttered sulkily, insulted by someone who wore a cape on stage and sang about pagan gods calling his band clowns. "You are."
A "Ha," combined with an arrogant head tilt was his only answer, and for a moment they just glared at each other like two cats on unfamiliar turf. Then Tony started listing to the side and had to grab onto his car to stay on his feet. Even as drunk as he was, that was kind of embarrassing.
"What’re you bothering m’ for anyway?" he slurred irritably, but Lowkey or whoever it was just shrugged. Was he usually this mellow? Tony’s memory was a bit fuzzy at the moment, but he seemed to recall the guy being a lot more… dramatic.
"Chaos," Lowkey said suddenly, apropos of nothing.
"What?"
"I was thinking, here’s Tony Stark trying to get himself killed, which, you know, the death of a founding member is pretty bad for a band. So obviously I should let him get on with it. In fact," and here he made a meaningful pause. "It was so obvious I realized it’d be way too predictable. So I’m stopping you," Lowkey concluded, and then cackled a little.
Ah.
"You’re totally high, aren’t you?" Tony said.
"Maybe, maybe not," the man said with a frankly terrifying grin. The sort one wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley, which was unfortunately where they were at the moment.
"Urgh," he said, and Lowkey took an alarmed step back.
"The gutter is that way, if you’re going to throw up," he pointed helpfully, which Tony did, a few seconds later.
Afterwards, feeling kind of like he’d just been turned inside out, but also slightly less drunk out of sheer discomfort, Tony was slightly surprised Lowkey was still there. Not a hallucination then. Too bad.
He was also giving Tony a sort of narrow eyed look.
"Going to do that again? Because if you throw up in my car I’m throwing you out. While it’s moving."
"You’re going to drive?" Tony asked dubiously.
"You or me," was the unconcerned reply. "I think I have better chances."
And that was how he ended up driven home by a guy who kept remarking about things no one else could see, though luckily he was perfectly content to drive over them, with just a viciously gleeful mutter to mark the occasion.
After a while, Tony got bored and opened the glove compartment, which in addition to various odds and ends contained a handful of cassette tapes. Wow, he hadn’t even seen one of those in years. Did this guy actually… yes, his car had a player for them too.
He picked one of the cassettes and peered at it in the streetlights.
"Wow, is this a Brotherhood of Evil Mutants cassette from the seventies?" he asked.
Lowkey just gave it an uninterested glance and shrugged.
"Dunno. Could be? Someone probably left it here, I don’t really care for punk."
"Yeah, they’re a bunch of pretentious hipsters," Tony agreed. "Or maybe that’s just the image they’re going for," he added, to assuage the irrational guilt he’d felt at knocking a band whose lead was married to a guy who’d let him and his mother stay at his mansion once.
Just like that, he was nine, sitting in the passenger seat of his mother’s azure porche, stomach rolling with a heady mixture of terror and excitement, or maybe the liquor his dad had insisted he drink earlier, his eyes so full of shadows that Tony hadn’t dared disobey, even with mother’s silent dismay at his back.
She’d led him out, afterwards, hand too tight on his shoulder, and he’d felt sick, because now she was angry with him too, and he couldn’t—
"I feel sick" he’d whispered, and she’d led him into the nearest restroom to throw up, and then hushed him when he cried. He apologised, once he could form words, and she’d made a terrible hurt little sound and clutched him tighter, so tight it almost hurt, but when he’d finally looked up her face had been just sort of blank.
"We have to go," she’d said, and he hadn’t even asked where or why, just stood by numbly as she packed two travel packs, one for each of them, and then they did, just climbed into her favourite car and sped away…
"Oy!" a sharp voice woke him up from his reminiscing. "You’re home, get out," Lowkey told him irritably, as Tony just stared at him.
"Oh. Okay." he said, fumbling the door open. He barely had time to close it after him before the car was speeding away, so he was left standing there on the lawn of the mansion. Because that’s where their current training locale was, due to his parents having supposedly needed someone to look after it while they lived elsewhere and Tony still not knowing how to say no to his mother.
Damn it.
So here he was, at one of his least favorite places in the world, drunk, and knowing people were probably worried for him. Steve. And mom, oh god…
And then the lawn lights came on, blinding him momentarily, so he only vaguely saw the figure running towards him from the front door, until he was right next to him.
Well, hell.
"Hey, dad," Tony said, and then he began to laugh, a bitter, ugly sound that welled up his throat like bile. "I was just thinking about who I least wanted to see in the world, and there you are," he spat out.
He couldn’t make out Howard’s expression, not with the lights still glaring into his eyes, but he could imagine it, a supercilious frown, a ‘Tony why are you making such a scene’-look.
"Tony, are you drunk?" he asked, tone strained, but Tony wasn’t even listening to him, not really.
"Yes!" he shouted. "Pathetic, isn’t it? Bet you’re happy now, with proof I’m just as much of a fuck-up as you ever were," he muttered, unable to stop the words once he’d began. "Only, you got better! So it’s all all right now, isn’t it?"
Howard stood still, like he’d been frozen into a statue. The Perfect Businessman, maybe, if anyone made statues for those.
"I’ve never said that," he said quietly, and just like that the fight went out of Tony. Because what was the use? He was never going to win against him.
"Forget it," he said, hating how defeated he sounded. "I don’t know why I even bother…"
The lights finally went out, leaving deep darkness behind them, sparking with after images.
"Your mother was worried. I’m not sure seeing you will make her feel any better," Howard said, and now there was that reprimand that had been missing from it earlier. And how was it that he could be such a bastard and still know exactly where to hit to hurt most?
"Oh really," Tony replied sarcastically, and could practically hear the way Howard bristled at that.
"I’m calling her now," was all he said though, and Tony slumped down onto the damp grass, trying not to listen to the one sided phone conversation.
Once it was over, there was a long silence, before Howard spoke, in a strangely tentative tone.
"She was searching for you, with Mr. Rogers. I called people, but they still insisted on going themselves…"
Tony couldn’t recall Howard ever sounding that hesitant about anything. Like he was trying to puzzle out something. But he was too tired to try to work it out, too tired to even feel anything.
"And you went back home, huh? Yeah, I would have too, if I wasn’t me," he said flatly.
There was only silence to answer him for a moment, and then, quietly:
"They told me to. In case… in case you came here."
What was that supposed to mean?
"Are they really mad. Or, dunno, upset? I guess they are," Tony found himself saying, hating how pathetic he sounded. But it was easier to talk to his father, with the darkness between them and the drink to dull his mind. Too easy, perhaps.
"Probably," Howard replied. "But she’ll forgive you," he added with absolute conviction.
"You’d know."
"I wonder, sometimes." Howard’s voice barely got to him, it was so quiet. "When it’ll be the last straw…"
Tony shrugged. He didn’t want to hear this, to hear that his father… what, worried about it? Cared about his wife’s opinion of him. Of course he did, enough to have stopped drinking and spending time with some of the shadier characters in his circle of friends. Not enough to stop selling weapons though.
Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Tony had to admit to himself he was jealous of that, just a little, but still. That she mattered, when he never had.
"You’ve done worse," he said now, and Howard sighed.
"I know, actually. You’re never going to forgive me, are you?"
Was there really, just barely, actual hurt in his tone? Tony couldn’t tell for sure, didn’t think he wanted to hear it there.
"Why would I, when you never asked?" he said instead, emotion bleeding into his voice again.
"I did—"
"Yes, when mother told you to! Hell, that was probably one of her conditions on taking you back, was it?"
The uneasy silence that followed that was answer enough.
"Yeah. I thought so."
He actually felt like he was winning, Tony realized with sudden mean relish. For once it was his father who was left wordless.
"So, why would you expect me to give a damn, when you’ve never even tried!"
"Tony…"
"What? What could you possibly have to say?" Tony asked, as derisively as he could, and he’d learned from the master.
"I… I don’t know how. No one ever taught me."
His father’s voice was cracking, and when Tony looked up his shoulders were slouched. Huh.
"Too bad," he replied distantly. "You might want to look that up sometime."
The dullness was back again, falling over him like a heavy blanket until even his limbs felt numb. It was an oddly peaceful feeling. The darkness seemed to crowding on him too, swallowing up all the remaining light and pushing him down and down…
*
Now
"So, that was it for tonight, and tomorrow—"
Steve turned off the television, and it went black with a classy sort of ping. The sort of sound one might expect to hear in a really good hotel elevator. He looked down at Tony, nestled against his shoulder. From this angle, Steve couldn’t tell if he’s awake or not, but then Tony spoke, in a dry tone.
"I looked really hung-over, didn’t I? The make-up person was almost in tears when she finally sent me to the shoot," he said, trying to make a joke of it, but Steve could hear the strain in his voice.
"You could have been just… tired," Steve tried, but Tony’s snort told him how believable it was. Then again, he’s pretty sure Tony’s low mood all day wasn’t really about the hang-over. Not the physical effects, anyway.
Instead, he tried to change the subject.
"You and that reporter seemed to have a lot to talk about after the shoot. Should I worry?" he asked jokingly, which got a snicker out of Tony, before he managed to school his face into an appropriately reproachful look.
"Don’t be creepy Steve, he was way too young. Although, it is nice to find someone who can appreciate my instrument designs properly. Might have to invite him over sometime, see what he can do… if I can remember what his name was."
"Peter Parker," Steve replied, because he tended to remember these things, and the boy had actually seemed quite nice. And for all he was clearly a fan of Tony, Steve was pretty sure it was platonic admiration.
They lapsed into silence again, and then Tony said, "I really am sorry about last night. It won’t happen again, and I know that probably isn’t very believable but…"
"Tony!" Steve interrupted him, and Tony looked at him, clearly miserable. "It’s okay," he said more calmly. "I forgive you, Maria has forgiven you, you don’t have to apologise anymore."
Tony looked momentarily relieved, and then his shoulders slumped and his gaze fell down towards the carpet.
"I just… don’t want to turn into him. I mean, these things can… be inherited, you know?"
They’d had a talk earlier that day, about Tony’s childhood and his father and why they didn’t get along, and unconsciously Steve’s arm tightened around him now. After hearing that story, he wasn’t terribly fond of Howard Stark either, for all that he had seemed more worried than Tony seems to think he was last night.
"You won’t," he said now, with absolute conviction. "You’ll always be your own person, no matter what."
Tony looked up at him, with such tentative hope that Steve’s heart ached for him.
"But if I ever…"
"I’ll be there for you," Steve said, and then hesitated, because there are some things he didn’t talk to people about. "My dad was an alcoholic," he said, quickly, before he could decide not to.
"Your… oh," Tony said, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Yes. He kind of disappeared when I was a kid, left mom to handle everything. I tried to look for him, later, but by then… well, I found out he’d died, some years earlier. I know I shouldn’t feel bad about that but…"
"You shouldn’t. It was his own life, and you were just a kid, anyway," Tony assured him, and Steve managed a grateful smile for him.
"I know. But I’m not a kid anymore, and if anyone I care about ever went that way, I plan to be there for them. I hope I don’t have to, but I will," he promised, and it’s not easy because the prospect was frankly terrifying, but at least they’re together in that.
"Ok, Steve," Tony said, holding onto his hand a bit too tightly. He smiled, and it was strained but honest. "I hope you don’t have to either."
There was a long silence, with just the two of them and the weight of the unknown future on them, and then Tony seemed to shake himself a little and jumped to his feet.
"Come on, there’s something I want to show you," he said, and then led him through the mansion to a large… hall, perhaps, Steve isn’t entirely sure what all the different types of rooms ought to be called. It was dark at first, before Tony flicked the lights on, and then walked over to a grand piano.
He brushed a hand over the lid with a tender expression, the same way he sometimes touched his own instruments, the ones he built himself.
"Old friend?" Steve joked, and Tony laughed a little.
"You have no room to say that," Tony reminded him, which was quite correct. "But yes, it’s… the piano I learned to play on, you know. I wonder if it’s still in tune…"
He sat down and lifted up the lid, before trying out a simple tune.
"Sounds like it," Tony said softly and Steve sat next to him on the bench, barely enough room for it but he didn’t care how awkward it was. It’s good, just being with Tony.
He started to play for real, something slow and melancholy, but despite how sad it was, the melody was flying, soaring, and when Steve closed his eyes he could imagine it. Rising higher and higher, to a lonely cold freedom above the clouds. And then… there was a shift, something Steve could probably study and take apart if he wanted, but at that moment he just chose to experience it. The tune became more hopeful, almost joyful. Tony let it fade out there, looking down at the keys with a slight frown, before he cleared his throat.
"It gets… sad again, after that," he said, and Steve just laid his chin on Tony’s shoulder and leaned on it.
"We could rewrite it, though," he suggested lightly, and Tony’s frown cleared, even if he also turned to swat at Steve’s shoulder.
"Heathen," he told him fondly, and, "that’s cheating."
"You’re the one who built his own keyboard because you couldn’t find one that was good enough." Steve reminded him, and Tony looked at him, like they both knew this was about more than just compositions and keyboards. "I’ll help," he offered, and kissed Tony before he could come up with any protests.
If one asked Steve, he thought it was a pretty good battle plan. And he didn’t plan to lose.
Part One - Part Two
Author:
stalkerbunnySummary: In one universe, Tony Stark loves music more than engineering and Steve Rogers was a child star. And love can be nice, even if it doesn’t heal all wounds.
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan, Howard/Maria, Thor, Clint, Wanda, Rhodey, Pepper, Loki Carol, Pietro, T’Challa.
Word Count: 14K
Warnings: Alcoholism of a minor character, child abuse (mainly verbal), drinking and implied drug use (of a minor character).
A/N: So, this was supposed to be a fluffy band!AU, but then Tony’s daddy issues took over the show. Sorry? Also, recipient specifically asked for no heavy drug use, I really hope you don’t consider alcohol a drug…? :’3 As for that one minor character, he probably decided it was a bad idea after the events of the fic (because it made him do something nice, blegh).
Betaread by
windwrackedstar who was awesomecakes and did a thorough job on this on very short notice. All the remaining mistakes are all mine. ♥Part One - Part Two
Three years ago
The first time he kissed Steve was before their first concert with the new group, and it had been largely to distract Steve from stage fright. That was Tony’s excuse at the time, anyway.
He’d gone to get Steve from the dressing room, and found him staring into the mirror with the expression of a man psyching himself for a battle. Then again, Tony was pretty sure that in an actual crisis Steve would be one of those people who’d direct everyone out of the building in a confident, calm manner, and then go back to save the kid who’d gone back for their dog.
So seeing him all shaky and a greenish was kind of funny. In theory. In practice, just the idea made him feel mean.
"Steve, Steve," he said instead, softly. "It’s going to be fine. You’ve done this before plenty of times. And we’ve practiced, you know we work well together."
"I know," Steve replied gravely.
Tony gave him a weighing look. Looked like the words weren’t having much of an effect.
So instead, in one of his notorious bouts of impulsive behaviour, he just took the few steps separating them and pushed Steve into the nearest wall. Which was luckily quite near indeed, so he was still too surprised to react when Tony leaned in closer and kissed him on the lips.
He was prepared for anything, up to and including being punched--unlikely, considering the long glances Steve kept giving him when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, but still possible--and at first Steve did stiffen under his hands in a not-so-good way. But then he sort of melted and let out a surprised little moan. Heroically, Tony resisted the urge to take that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, but Steve grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Sadly, Tony did have to pull back eventually. As a silver lining, it did give him a lovely view of Steve all dark eyed and with his lips wet and bruised red from kissing.
"All better now?" Tony asked, which had Steve blinking rapidly a few times before he started to laugh helplessly.
"What was that about, Tony?" he protested, trying to look stern and mostly just managing baffled and amused.
" I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, but in this case you looked like you might need some… bolstering," he replied slyly, steadfastly ignoring the part of him that was panicking a little. Steve didn’t look upset, or mad, or anything. Maybe not overjoyed either, but Tony could work with that.
Steve took a deep breath and shook his head, before pushing Tony away so he could smooth his hair down and pull his shirt back in place. Not that it had been particularly out of place to begin with, unfortunately. Tony’s attention returned to Steve’s face quickly, though, as he sighed deeply.
"Well, I guess I know now why you wanted me in the band…" he said, with such a kicked puppy expression Tony felt like he’d just done the kicking.
"Oh, no, that’s not…!" he sputtered, the incipient panic ratcheting up higher, before Steve’s face melted into a smile as he started to snicker.
"Tony, you should have seen your face…!" he managed to say between bouts of laughter.
Tony glared at him, though the relief washing over him probably made it weak.
"You know what Steve? Under all that…" he made a gesture over the man and all his blue-eyed, all-American glory, with the damned man still grinning unabashedly, "You’re kind of a bastard."
"You like it," Steve said confidently, and then blushed right after, as if his mind had only caught up to what he’d said afterwards. Still, he had a point.
"Yeah, I do," Tony replied with a sniff, and then they just looked at each other for a moment. Steve was still smiling a little and Tony hoped his face wasn’t showing anything too embarrassing, before Steve broke the silence with, "I think we should go, right?" and this time it was him with the gentle tone, as if Tony might be afraid of something.
"Ah, yes," Tony replied, feeling strangely bashful himself, suddenly, as he hadn’t in a long time.
They started walking towards the stage, with the sound of the warm up band echoing along the twisty hallways.
"Is Jan… okay?" Steve asked tentatively, when they were almost there.
There had been a fight earlier between Tony and her, mostly because she’d figured out he’d expected her to quit. Ironically, said fight had escalated until he’d thought she might, but in the end she’d just stormed off for a while, returning once she’d had a chance to make the decision.
"In the future, I expect you to talk to me before deciding on your own that you know what I want, okay?" Janet had told him, her anger cooled to frustration. Then she’d crossed her arms and shook her head. "Though with you… I should be used to this shit already, I guess," she’d said with exasperated fondness that reminded Tony why he’d once wanted to date her.
"It’s fine," he told Steve . As he glanced in his direction, Tony could see he was still worrying about it.
"It was mostly between me and Janet anyway," he added to further reassure him, but Steve just shook his head.
"I can’t say I’m an expert of being in a band but… I’m pretty sure if two people have some trouble, it can… it reflects on everyone very easily, right?"
Tony hadn’t ever thought about it like that, but Steve did have a point.
"I suppose so," he agreed. "Speaking of, you don’t really mind the kiss? Because if you’d like… or rather, didn’t like it, I swear it won’t happen again," he assured him, maybe a bit too eagerly.
Steve seemed to think about it a moment, giving Tony an entirely too perceptive look while he did. Then he gave a small smile that was, shockingly, almost sly.
"No, it was fine. I didn’t mind," he said, casually.
Tony raised an eyebrow at him.
"Oh?"
"No," Steve repeated, and then, right before they got to where the others were, he put an arm lightly around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him closer for a kiss, one that was pretty chaste until he bit Tony’s lower lip, just hard enough to give him a deep, pleasurable jolt right down to his toes.
Then he pulled back and looked maddeningly, deceptively innocent.
"There, now we’re even," he said cheerfully and marched ahead of Tony, who was left standing there sort of shell shocked.
"For now," he muttered as he sped after him. He still needed to check his keyboard, which was actually more of a cross between a synthesizer and a mixing board with elements added according to what he wanted to achieve. For this gig he’d attached a theremin to it for the solo in "Secret Invasion".
The concert went excellently, except for the moment when the sound went out for a bit and that especially crazy ex-band mate of Don’s jumped up on the stage to do some posturing because he’d apparently sabotaged the sound system. After which he challenged Don into a musical duel, which he, deep into his stage persona as he was, accepted. So duel they did.
Ironically, the whole thing gave The Avengers a reputation as "that band with the really awesome stage show that one time, when some guy calling himself Loki jumped on the stage."
*
Two weeks ago
Rhodey was Tony’s best friend, a title he had earned in part by getting to know Tony a few years before he had a bitter row with his father and temporarily quit his education to work at a garage and try to earn his own living. Those years had not been the best in Tony’s life, so being his friend hadn’t been either.
Personally, he could never really figure out why Rhodey even bothered trying, but for some reason he had. Not just that, but stuck around since then. At least in a spiritual sense, since physically his job in the army had him travelling a lot.
So, the expression on his face currently was giving Tony clear flashbacks to the morning after his 21st birthday, when Rhodey had had to bail him out of jail. In a dress. Which Tony had been wearing, not Rhodey, which was lucky since he probably wouldn’t have been forgiven if it had been the other way around. Tony rather wished he knew why he had that same expression at the moment though.
"Um, I don’t know what was up with that," he offered, earning himself an exasperated glare, which was actually a step up from the ‘why am I still friends with you,’-expression from before it.
"I mean, Steve can be a bit stiff with strangers but not usually like that," he added. It was actually rather worrying, because he’d had the feeling Steve had actually been more upset with him for some reason. Maybe it had been something he couldn’t talk about in front of a stranger. Except Steve had been his usual self when Tony had first opened the door. Things had only become strange when he’d introduced Rhodey.
Rhodey was rubbing the bridge of his nose now.
"Tony," he said.
"What?"
"You and Steve… there’s something between you, isn’t there," Rhodey said with the bland tone he got whenever he was forced to talk, or worse, ask about Tony’s relationships, which he claimed he always ended up knowing far too much about as it was. As far as Tony was concerned, always was a gross exaggeration.
Though he wondered how he’d been able to figure that about Steve, considering they weren’t really officially together. At least not publicly. Not that he would have minded, but he wasn’t sure if Steve shared that opinion, and there hadn’t really been a chance to discuss it yet. Tony was still waiting for the right moment on that.
"Well, sort of," he conceded.
Rhodey sighed deeply.
"That’s what I thought. And then you went to open the door wearing a towel," he explained patiently, before giving Tony a meaningful look.
"Oh," was all he could think to reply.
"Yes, oh."
They spent a moment pondering this in silence, before Rhodey broke it.
"Does this mean you will actually start wearing clothes while I’m here?" he asked, and then raised his hand before Tony could answer. "Even if you just took a shower?"
"Never."
*
Day before
If asked, both band members and fans would cite the concert at Madison Square Garden as a milestone in Avengers history. It was, after all, one of the concert venues in the world, and it was in the city the band had started from. Kat Farrell, in an article published in Daily Bugle the following day, described it as "an effortless blend of traditional and organic with electronic and futuristic, topped off by the stage design by Vision."
By then, their line-up had changed several times. Hank and Jan had left, pursuing their career elsewhere. At that point, they were also using traditional instruments a lot more than usual, with Carol on her saxophone, T’Challa on kora, as well as Wanda playing cello on more songs than she did bass, which might have accounted for the more organic sound. Tony even changed to a traditional piano for one particular song, something he’d never done on record before.
Avengers had by then required a reputation as a band that didn’t play many old hits in their concerts, or if they did they were always clearly transformed. It was less a choice and more a necessity. That was how music worked, in Tony’s opinion. No live performance could ever be the same as the versions on record, for good or bad, and never if the artists were different.
He found it strange, in a way, listening to Avenger’s earlier records, years later. "Destruction of Atlantis", in hindsight, was unrefined and amateurish to his own ear, and yet there was a certain quirkiness and a sense of exuberance in the music, backed by the erratic growl of Bruce’s bass.
True, they’d played those songs later, but they weren’t really the same ones anymore. Personally, that sometimes irked Tony enormously, especially when he’d liked the original, which was one reason for their policy on not playing older songs. Besides, since Jan had left, they didn’t have anyone who played flute, and one couldn’t play "Sting" without the eerie, mournful sound of it floating over the melody.
Not being able to rely on old hits made every line-up change and concert a gamble, but in Tony’s opinion a bit of risk just made one sure to keep the music fresh.
Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.
That night, it didn’t start perfectly. They were all a bit jittery, knew too well how big this was, and the audience started out a bit cool. But then, sometimes those were the best times, when everyone in the band realized they had to fight for it, push to do their very best.
And then something clicked, and there was the lifting euphoria of knowing that hundreds of people were living and breathing with them, with their music. It was like Tony imagined flying would feel like. Like it felt in the dreams he had sometimes, high above the earth carried by some sparking, bone rattling force, always wondering if he could land, how much it would hurt to fall. But then, for that feeling, it would have been worth it.
He tried not to think who he knew was in the audience, besides all those hundreds of strangers.
During Carol’s solo in their second to last song that night, Tony looked up from the keyboard, and Steve was right there like Tony had somehow known he would be. Their eyes met and Steve grinned at him, his hair wet and dark gold in the yellow beam of light hitting him. The music was all around Tony and he hadn’t hit the ground yet, and it made him reckless. Made him say, "I love you," knowing no microphone would catch it.
There was just time for Steve’s eyes to go wide and for a moment of panic as Tony realized anyone could read lips that much, and then… then Steve smiled, bright and happy in a way that was an answer in itself… and then the solo was over and there was no time for anything but the music.
It said something about his ability to push things aside that Tony had almost forgotten it even happened by the time they finished, giddy and drunk of the stage euphoria, until they were backstage and Steve pulled him into a kiss, ignoring the fact they were still in front of everyone else.
For a moment, the world disappeared around them, shut outside the circle of Steve’s arms around him and Tony’s gripping the back of his shirt, their bodies sealed together. Tony felt like he could still hear the echo of the music in his ears, music that was alive and reaching for the perfection he could glimpse sometimes, the flying music.
It felt like it could have lasted forever, but it didn’t, because someone was clearing their throat pointedly, and they had to pull away from each other and return to the reality of a relatively utilitarian backstage space. The rest of the band seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but Pepper was standing at the door, hands holding both sides of it as if keeping something outside.
"Hey Pepper?" Tony said intelligently.
"Hey Tony… and Steve," Pepper replied, a fond smile hovering on her lips for a moment. "Didn’t want to interrupt you two, but Tony, your parents are looking for you," she says, with just a shade of apology to her tone.
Steve pulled away then, like he hadn’t when they’d realized Pepper was there, and his shoulders squared. Tony almost wanted to pull him back and make him stop acting this was something they needed to hide. Except they hadn’t had that discussion yet, had they? Steve already had bad experiences with the press. Besides for all that he’d admitted being bisexual as a teenager, this was a different thing.
"Oh, okay," he said instead, taking a step back himself to resist the urge to touch Steve. Or hide behind him, maybe, not that he ever would have. Then he realized he was still wearing sweat-soaked clothes.
"Pepper, stall them while I change, please?"
Pepper, lifesaver that she was, just nodded and turned away from the door. It wasn’t really a part of a manager’s job description, as far as Tony knew, but that just made him doubly grateful she was willing to do it.
He dashed into the shower, scrubbed himself clean, and then returned to the dressing room after a hasty towelling, hair still dripping water onto the shoulders of his shirt as Tony pulled it on. When he’d dressed, he found Steve sitting on a chair at the opposite side of the room, his hands curled together between his knees. His cheeks were slightly pinked, and combined with the earnest, serious expression…
"Were you watching me dress?" Tony drawled, raising an eyebrow as salaciously as he could, just to see the pink colour deepen. Steve was pale enough that any flush showed easily on his skin, which made him seem more affected than he really was a lot of the time. But even knowing that it was still adorable.
"Well, I think I’m allowed to, aren’t I?" he said now, with the sort of innocent expression that even on him was clearly intentional, and then smiled. Smirked, even, to which Tony was still not quite accustomed.
"Oh, I see how I’ve corrupted you," Tony replied with equally fake dismay.
"Think a lot of yourself, don’t you." Steve remarked, his eyes gone soft and fond, so much so Tony couldn’t quite meet them suddenly.
"Lots," he said airily, making himself busy by buttoning the last remaining buttons of his shirt. A few more than he would have if he weren’t about to meet his parents in a moment. Speaking of which.
"Steve, you should come with me, so I can… you know, introduce you."
"Oh?" Steve got a slightly deer-in-the-headlights expression suddenly, so Tony clarified.
"As a friend. Band member. Or, if you’d like as a… boyfriend. Because I’m not, you know, ashamed about it," he said, feeling his own face heat up a little at the word ‘boyfriend.’
This wasn’t at all how discussions like these were supposed to go. Although, if he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared to introduce Steve to his father.
Not because he was a guy or because he knew his father wouldn’t approve. Tony had had settled that argument with Howard years ago. He didn’t like it, Tony didn’t give a damn about Howard’s opinion in the matter and Maria was on his side, so Howard would just have to live with it. It was just one more issue in their ongoing cold war.
The thing about Steve was that he was important, and Tony wasn’t ready to make him yet another offensive, another reason for pointed words and cold silences. He preferred to think it wasn’t because he still had the irrational desire to hide anything that actually mattered from his father, where it couldn’t be belittled or derided. Because it didn’t matter to him anymore what he thought.
There was a touch on his chin, and he looked up from where his gaze had fallen to ponder the floor.
"Tony, what do you want? Because I used to think I could never lie about something like that, and I don’t intend to, but what we have… I think we can decide when to let people know, on our own time." Steve explained, sounding sort of worried and very gentle, which was a bit infuriating.
But, okay, clearly he had spaced out a little and Steve cared about people, even people he didn’t know. It was just how he was. And also stubborn and a bit judgmental, but if he hadn’t had some faults Tony would have worried he wasn’t real, a robot or something.
He tried to grin, though it probably came out more like a grimace.
"I’ll just say you’re a friend this time, if it’s okay. Not for… all time, and I’ll probably let mom know the next time I talk to her one-on-one but… dad is kind of complicated."
Steve inclined his head in his ‘I don’t really understand, but I’ll trust you on this for now’ nod. He didn’t give that one out to just anyone, and Tony took a moment to feel warm and fuzzy over it.
Then Steve’s eyes widened, in something not entirely unlike fear.
"Shower," he said, and Tony nodded and gave him an amused pat on the shoulder.
"Yup, go have one. I’m expecting you to make a good first impression," he joked, because he was pretty sure Steve could have made a good first impression even covered in blood. People would probably just assume it was because he’d just heroically saved someone from being mugged.
In ten minutes, Steve was looking like his usual highly presentable self, and Tony had to curb the impulse to make him unpresentable. What stopped him, though, was that he made the mistake of considering why he was especially reluctant to leave the dressing room that night, and it was the mood killer of all mood killers.
Therefore, he settled for a short peck on the lips before bracing himself and opening the door to the rest of the world and its perils. In this case, his parents.
Of course, they weren’t standing right outside the door, thank god, so it took a while of wandering around the relative chaos of a post-concert Madison Square Garden and a text message from Pepper before they found where she’d left the elder Starks, which was some corner of the building free of fans and media, at least.
When they entered the room, Maria was sitting on the sofa while Howard was standing a bit further away on the back of it, talking on his phone. Typical, Tony thought, right before his mother spotted them and stood up with a wide smile.
"Tony!" she exclaimed, crossing the short distance between them to give him a brief hug. As she drew back, Tony was surprised to see her eyes were gleaming wetly. His mother only gave hugs when it was a special occasion, but the times he’d seen her cry for any reason…
"Mother," he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
Maria laughed and then wiped at her eyes daintily.
"Oh, I’m getting maudlin in my old age," she said, before turning towards Steve, again her usual collected and graceful self as she held out a hand. "You must be Steve Rogers? Maria Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, Ma’am."
Steve was practically standing at attention, like he did when he was nervous about something, and Tony had to hide a smile. He’d served in the army, briefly, after his first music career crashed and burned, and possibly the habit was a leftover from then. Then again, it was also possible Steve had always been like that.
Maria looked at him, a studying sort of look that sent alarm bells clanging in Tony’s mind, and then she smiled again, a studied, charming expression that would have usually been on her face from the start, except that this one actually had genuine warmth to it. ’Oh shit, she knows,’ Tony thought, not sure himself if he was feeling relief or something else.
His mother glanced at him, the quirk of her mouth gaining a slightly impish edge for a second.
"I’ve heard so much about you from Tony, it’s wonderful to finally meet you," Maria said innocently, although there was a clear stress on "finally." Damn.
One of their few points of contention was his mother wishing Tony was more ready to introduce people he dated to her. Most of the time things either hadn’t been serious enough to warrant that or had ceased being a thing before he’d managed to do it, but he’d never had the heart to tell her that in so many words.
This time, he decided, he really would tell her about it as soon as he could.
"Yes, well, I’m glad I managed to convince him to join the band in the end," Tony said, as Steve was still looking kind of poleaxed.
"Of course, Tony, of course," Maria agreed, with a resignedly indulgent smile Tony had seen her aim at his father far too often for it not to give him an uncomfortable jolt now. He just hoped it didn’t show on his face.
Speaking of the devil, Howard had apparently finished his phone conversation, as he joined them. He introduced himself to Steve with the slightly absentminded politeness he gave to people who weren’t useful to him. Howard could, when he wanted to be, be almost as charming as Maria, but that only seemed to be when it could gain him something.
Besides, where Tony could usually tell what his mother was thinking underneath it, his father had always been opaque to him. Except when he was angry, or drunk, or both. Then he had at times been painfully easy to read.
Where Steve at least got the polite treatment, Tony received the usual cool-eyed look. In some ways, Tony almost preferred the anger; at least then he knew Howard wasn’t just dismissing him outright, as this one made him feel.
"How did you like the concert?" he asked stiffly, just to break the silence.
"Oh, it was lovely--" Maria began, at the same time as Howard said, dryly, "It’s not really our type of music, you know that."
He had, Tony thought dully. Howard had made it clear enough in the past what he thought about his career, in general and in particular. He hadn’t been expecting seeing The Avengers perform here to change that. Music wasn’t magic, for all the media tried to paint it so, or how it felt sometimes.
So Tony hadn’t been expecting him to change his mind. He wasn’t that naïve.
Was he?
"You know what, I have to go," someone said, and he was already walking out when he realized it had been him.
"Howard!" Maria was hissing, angry like Tony hadn’t heard her in years, and then calling after him, but he wasn’t really listening. He just wanted away, where he wouldn’t have to explain himself to anyone.
*
Tony tried to shove the key into the door of his car for the fifth time, and then cursed as it skittered away, scraping over the gleaming red paint.
"Fuck! Oh, poor baby, what’ve I done…" he muttered, brushing his hand over the scratch as if he could soothe it away like that.
"I’d ask what the hell you think you’re going to do," a snotty voice said from behind him, and Tony spun around, brandishing the key as if he expected it to defend him.
Luckily, the man leaning lazily against a nearby wall and smoking just snorted and gave a lazy wave of his cigarette.
"I mean, I don’t know why you decided to get plastered, but driving might not be the best of ideas. Unless, you know, you want to drive into a wall sometime in the near future.
Tony squinted at him, because he looked familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. Dark hair, way too much leather… oh.
"You’re that guy, aren’t you." he said with sudden realization, still pointing the key sort of in his general direction, though it was making a wavery sort of eight shape which was making Tony feel a bit irritated so he put it down. "The… obsessed guy. With Thor."
The guy whose name Tony still couldn’t recall… Lowkey? Or was he mixing him with someone else? Whatever his name was, the man looked only mildly irritated.
"I’m not obsessed with him. Just think he’s wasting his time with you clowns."
"We’re not clowns," Tony muttered sulkily, insulted by someone who wore a cape on stage and sang about pagan gods calling his band clowns. "You are."
A "Ha," combined with an arrogant head tilt was his only answer, and for a moment they just glared at each other like two cats on unfamiliar turf. Then Tony started listing to the side and had to grab onto his car to stay on his feet. Even as drunk as he was, that was kind of embarrassing.
"What’re you bothering m’ for anyway?" he slurred irritably, but Lowkey or whoever it was just shrugged. Was he usually this mellow? Tony’s memory was a bit fuzzy at the moment, but he seemed to recall the guy being a lot more… dramatic.
"Chaos," Lowkey said suddenly, apropos of nothing.
"What?"
"I was thinking, here’s Tony Stark trying to get himself killed, which, you know, the death of a founding member is pretty bad for a band. So obviously I should let him get on with it. In fact," and here he made a meaningful pause. "It was so obvious I realized it’d be way too predictable. So I’m stopping you," Lowkey concluded, and then cackled a little.
Ah.
"You’re totally high, aren’t you?" Tony said.
"Maybe, maybe not," the man said with a frankly terrifying grin. The sort one wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley, which was unfortunately where they were at the moment.
"Urgh," he said, and Lowkey took an alarmed step back.
"The gutter is that way, if you’re going to throw up," he pointed helpfully, which Tony did, a few seconds later.
Afterwards, feeling kind of like he’d just been turned inside out, but also slightly less drunk out of sheer discomfort, Tony was slightly surprised Lowkey was still there. Not a hallucination then. Too bad.
He was also giving Tony a sort of narrow eyed look.
"Going to do that again? Because if you throw up in my car I’m throwing you out. While it’s moving."
"You’re going to drive?" Tony asked dubiously.
"You or me," was the unconcerned reply. "I think I have better chances."
And that was how he ended up driven home by a guy who kept remarking about things no one else could see, though luckily he was perfectly content to drive over them, with just a viciously gleeful mutter to mark the occasion.
After a while, Tony got bored and opened the glove compartment, which in addition to various odds and ends contained a handful of cassette tapes. Wow, he hadn’t even seen one of those in years. Did this guy actually… yes, his car had a player for them too.
He picked one of the cassettes and peered at it in the streetlights.
"Wow, is this a Brotherhood of Evil Mutants cassette from the seventies?" he asked.
Lowkey just gave it an uninterested glance and shrugged.
"Dunno. Could be? Someone probably left it here, I don’t really care for punk."
"Yeah, they’re a bunch of pretentious hipsters," Tony agreed. "Or maybe that’s just the image they’re going for," he added, to assuage the irrational guilt he’d felt at knocking a band whose lead was married to a guy who’d let him and his mother stay at his mansion once.
Just like that, he was nine, sitting in the passenger seat of his mother’s azure porche, stomach rolling with a heady mixture of terror and excitement, or maybe the liquor his dad had insisted he drink earlier, his eyes so full of shadows that Tony hadn’t dared disobey, even with mother’s silent dismay at his back.
She’d led him out, afterwards, hand too tight on his shoulder, and he’d felt sick, because now she was angry with him too, and he couldn’t—
"I feel sick" he’d whispered, and she’d led him into the nearest restroom to throw up, and then hushed him when he cried. He apologised, once he could form words, and she’d made a terrible hurt little sound and clutched him tighter, so tight it almost hurt, but when he’d finally looked up her face had been just sort of blank.
"We have to go," she’d said, and he hadn’t even asked where or why, just stood by numbly as she packed two travel packs, one for each of them, and then they did, just climbed into her favourite car and sped away…
"Oy!" a sharp voice woke him up from his reminiscing. "You’re home, get out," Lowkey told him irritably, as Tony just stared at him.
"Oh. Okay." he said, fumbling the door open. He barely had time to close it after him before the car was speeding away, so he was left standing there on the lawn of the mansion. Because that’s where their current training locale was, due to his parents having supposedly needed someone to look after it while they lived elsewhere and Tony still not knowing how to say no to his mother.
Damn it.
So here he was, at one of his least favorite places in the world, drunk, and knowing people were probably worried for him. Steve. And mom, oh god…
And then the lawn lights came on, blinding him momentarily, so he only vaguely saw the figure running towards him from the front door, until he was right next to him.
Well, hell.
"Hey, dad," Tony said, and then he began to laugh, a bitter, ugly sound that welled up his throat like bile. "I was just thinking about who I least wanted to see in the world, and there you are," he spat out.
He couldn’t make out Howard’s expression, not with the lights still glaring into his eyes, but he could imagine it, a supercilious frown, a ‘Tony why are you making such a scene’-look.
"Tony, are you drunk?" he asked, tone strained, but Tony wasn’t even listening to him, not really.
"Yes!" he shouted. "Pathetic, isn’t it? Bet you’re happy now, with proof I’m just as much of a fuck-up as you ever were," he muttered, unable to stop the words once he’d began. "Only, you got better! So it’s all all right now, isn’t it?"
Howard stood still, like he’d been frozen into a statue. The Perfect Businessman, maybe, if anyone made statues for those.
"I’ve never said that," he said quietly, and just like that the fight went out of Tony. Because what was the use? He was never going to win against him.
"Forget it," he said, hating how defeated he sounded. "I don’t know why I even bother…"
The lights finally went out, leaving deep darkness behind them, sparking with after images.
"Your mother was worried. I’m not sure seeing you will make her feel any better," Howard said, and now there was that reprimand that had been missing from it earlier. And how was it that he could be such a bastard and still know exactly where to hit to hurt most?
"Oh really," Tony replied sarcastically, and could practically hear the way Howard bristled at that.
"I’m calling her now," was all he said though, and Tony slumped down onto the damp grass, trying not to listen to the one sided phone conversation.
Once it was over, there was a long silence, before Howard spoke, in a strangely tentative tone.
"She was searching for you, with Mr. Rogers. I called people, but they still insisted on going themselves…"
Tony couldn’t recall Howard ever sounding that hesitant about anything. Like he was trying to puzzle out something. But he was too tired to try to work it out, too tired to even feel anything.
"And you went back home, huh? Yeah, I would have too, if I wasn’t me," he said flatly.
There was only silence to answer him for a moment, and then, quietly:
"They told me to. In case… in case you came here."
What was that supposed to mean?
"Are they really mad. Or, dunno, upset? I guess they are," Tony found himself saying, hating how pathetic he sounded. But it was easier to talk to his father, with the darkness between them and the drink to dull his mind. Too easy, perhaps.
"Probably," Howard replied. "But she’ll forgive you," he added with absolute conviction.
"You’d know."
"I wonder, sometimes." Howard’s voice barely got to him, it was so quiet. "When it’ll be the last straw…"
Tony shrugged. He didn’t want to hear this, to hear that his father… what, worried about it? Cared about his wife’s opinion of him. Of course he did, enough to have stopped drinking and spending time with some of the shadier characters in his circle of friends. Not enough to stop selling weapons though.
Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Tony had to admit to himself he was jealous of that, just a little, but still. That she mattered, when he never had.
"You’ve done worse," he said now, and Howard sighed.
"I know, actually. You’re never going to forgive me, are you?"
Was there really, just barely, actual hurt in his tone? Tony couldn’t tell for sure, didn’t think he wanted to hear it there.
"Why would I, when you never asked?" he said instead, emotion bleeding into his voice again.
"I did—"
"Yes, when mother told you to! Hell, that was probably one of her conditions on taking you back, was it?"
The uneasy silence that followed that was answer enough.
"Yeah. I thought so."
He actually felt like he was winning, Tony realized with sudden mean relish. For once it was his father who was left wordless.
"So, why would you expect me to give a damn, when you’ve never even tried!"
"Tony…"
"What? What could you possibly have to say?" Tony asked, as derisively as he could, and he’d learned from the master.
"I… I don’t know how. No one ever taught me."
His father’s voice was cracking, and when Tony looked up his shoulders were slouched. Huh.
"Too bad," he replied distantly. "You might want to look that up sometime."
The dullness was back again, falling over him like a heavy blanket until even his limbs felt numb. It was an oddly peaceful feeling. The darkness seemed to crowding on him too, swallowing up all the remaining light and pushing him down and down…
*
Now
"So, that was it for tonight, and tomorrow—"
Steve turned off the television, and it went black with a classy sort of ping. The sort of sound one might expect to hear in a really good hotel elevator. He looked down at Tony, nestled against his shoulder. From this angle, Steve couldn’t tell if he’s awake or not, but then Tony spoke, in a dry tone.
"I looked really hung-over, didn’t I? The make-up person was almost in tears when she finally sent me to the shoot," he said, trying to make a joke of it, but Steve could hear the strain in his voice.
"You could have been just… tired," Steve tried, but Tony’s snort told him how believable it was. Then again, he’s pretty sure Tony’s low mood all day wasn’t really about the hang-over. Not the physical effects, anyway.
Instead, he tried to change the subject.
"You and that reporter seemed to have a lot to talk about after the shoot. Should I worry?" he asked jokingly, which got a snicker out of Tony, before he managed to school his face into an appropriately reproachful look.
"Don’t be creepy Steve, he was way too young. Although, it is nice to find someone who can appreciate my instrument designs properly. Might have to invite him over sometime, see what he can do… if I can remember what his name was."
"Peter Parker," Steve replied, because he tended to remember these things, and the boy had actually seemed quite nice. And for all he was clearly a fan of Tony, Steve was pretty sure it was platonic admiration.
They lapsed into silence again, and then Tony said, "I really am sorry about last night. It won’t happen again, and I know that probably isn’t very believable but…"
"Tony!" Steve interrupted him, and Tony looked at him, clearly miserable. "It’s okay," he said more calmly. "I forgive you, Maria has forgiven you, you don’t have to apologise anymore."
Tony looked momentarily relieved, and then his shoulders slumped and his gaze fell down towards the carpet.
"I just… don’t want to turn into him. I mean, these things can… be inherited, you know?"
They’d had a talk earlier that day, about Tony’s childhood and his father and why they didn’t get along, and unconsciously Steve’s arm tightened around him now. After hearing that story, he wasn’t terribly fond of Howard Stark either, for all that he had seemed more worried than Tony seems to think he was last night.
"You won’t," he said now, with absolute conviction. "You’ll always be your own person, no matter what."
Tony looked up at him, with such tentative hope that Steve’s heart ached for him.
"But if I ever…"
"I’ll be there for you," Steve said, and then hesitated, because there are some things he didn’t talk to people about. "My dad was an alcoholic," he said, quickly, before he could decide not to.
"Your… oh," Tony said, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Yes. He kind of disappeared when I was a kid, left mom to handle everything. I tried to look for him, later, but by then… well, I found out he’d died, some years earlier. I know I shouldn’t feel bad about that but…"
"You shouldn’t. It was his own life, and you were just a kid, anyway," Tony assured him, and Steve managed a grateful smile for him.
"I know. But I’m not a kid anymore, and if anyone I care about ever went that way, I plan to be there for them. I hope I don’t have to, but I will," he promised, and it’s not easy because the prospect was frankly terrifying, but at least they’re together in that.
"Ok, Steve," Tony said, holding onto his hand a bit too tightly. He smiled, and it was strained but honest. "I hope you don’t have to either."
There was a long silence, with just the two of them and the weight of the unknown future on them, and then Tony seemed to shake himself a little and jumped to his feet.
"Come on, there’s something I want to show you," he said, and then led him through the mansion to a large… hall, perhaps, Steve isn’t entirely sure what all the different types of rooms ought to be called. It was dark at first, before Tony flicked the lights on, and then walked over to a grand piano.
He brushed a hand over the lid with a tender expression, the same way he sometimes touched his own instruments, the ones he built himself.
"Old friend?" Steve joked, and Tony laughed a little.
"You have no room to say that," Tony reminded him, which was quite correct. "But yes, it’s… the piano I learned to play on, you know. I wonder if it’s still in tune…"
He sat down and lifted up the lid, before trying out a simple tune.
"Sounds like it," Tony said softly and Steve sat next to him on the bench, barely enough room for it but he didn’t care how awkward it was. It’s good, just being with Tony.
He started to play for real, something slow and melancholy, but despite how sad it was, the melody was flying, soaring, and when Steve closed his eyes he could imagine it. Rising higher and higher, to a lonely cold freedom above the clouds. And then… there was a shift, something Steve could probably study and take apart if he wanted, but at that moment he just chose to experience it. The tune became more hopeful, almost joyful. Tony let it fade out there, looking down at the keys with a slight frown, before he cleared his throat.
"It gets… sad again, after that," he said, and Steve just laid his chin on Tony’s shoulder and leaned on it.
"We could rewrite it, though," he suggested lightly, and Tony’s frown cleared, even if he also turned to swat at Steve’s shoulder.
"Heathen," he told him fondly, and, "that’s cheating."
"You’re the one who built his own keyboard because you couldn’t find one that was good enough." Steve reminded him, and Tony looked at him, like they both knew this was about more than just compositions and keyboards. "I’ll help," he offered, and kissed Tony before he could come up with any protests.
If one asked Steve, he thought it was a pretty good battle plan. And he didn’t plan to lose.
Part One - Part Two
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Very lovely job and I absolutely adored it! And hnngggghhh Tony playing the piano is one of my favorite things ever.
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I was actually a bit apprehensive picking this prompt, since I've never been involved in any band fandoms, let alone knowing how music business actually works, so I'm relieved it was still enjoyable to read nevertheless. :')
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You handled the alcohol problem really really well, and Tony's feelings about it, and Howard not-completely a jackass in the end. And I couldn't help but picture a kind of Steve/Justin Bieber kid!star and it made me laught so hard.
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In a more serious note, I'm glad you felt the alcohol problem was handled ok, it was something I was somewhat worried about while writing. Also, with Howard... I wanted to leave it up to the reader to decide what to think about him/whether his actions are forgivable or not, since I couldn't really decide myself. Anyway, sounds like that might have somewhat succeeded? I'm glad, if so. ^__^
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- Jan and her bee sweater.
- THOR.
- Thor and his ridiculous previous Asgardian band.
- LOKI.
- The spontaneous band battle. LOKI. (Loki is not my favorite character, but I seriously LOVED him whenever he showed up in this fic.)
- Tony's memory of Steve's concert and Steve's song about absent fathers.
- "I mean, in a good way. Like a hot grandfather. Not that I like older guys or anything. Or women. Though all of those can be nice, it’s not like I--," he rambled, and then closed his mouth tightly, before any more inane things came out, slapping a hand over his face to make sure. "Damn. Tell Wanda I hate her crazy punch, will you?"
- Tony looking in the mirror at himself and seeing his dad (gah, just a little bit heartbreaking).
- The perfect, perfect explanation of why Tony turned away from machines and to music. I love that this is not so much a complete AU as a subtle shifting in events that lead to big changes (and also no superpowers, but everyone is still THEMSELVES).
- Steve and Tony's first kiss!
- RHODEY!
- Tony and Howard's confrontation. (GAH, MY HEART.)
- The sweet ending, yaaaay! (I'm a sucker for happy endings).
Thank you so much, again!
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...and then I still don't now what to say, but I'm glad you liked it. \^__^/ ♥ And for taking the time both to read it under such awkward circumstances for the first time and leaving not one but two comments, eeh. :'D I hope your family wasn't too annoyed. :')
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"--both musical and superhero groups are prone to it, right?" It's kind of maddening trying to script an AU for these people, because there are so many possible line ups (and so many lovely characters one could pick) :'D Just people who have actually been Avengers, let alone characters in the whole verse. I'3
Not that I've written much yet, this being the first story I've actually finished so far. :')
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Tony started to play for real, something slow and melancholy, but despite how sad it was, the melody was flying, soaring, and when Steve closed his eyes he could imagine it. Rising higher and higher, to a lonely cold freedom above the clouds.
I don't know if you intended it that way, but that scene felt like a band AU version of the hug & fly to me, and that is genius.
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"--that scene felt like a band AU version of the hug & fly to me--" ...Oh. I can't recall conciously thinking about that, but now that you mention it, I can see that. Huh. o_o
Thank you for letting me know you liked it. : )
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