fossilised | Birthday fun

Birthday fun

It all started with a cake. Not enough stories these days did anymore, especially not in the lives of the Avengers. This wasn't just any cake either. It wasn't store-bought, picked up from the grocery with a hope that the teenager doing the lettering spelled a name correctly. It wasn't from a fancy bakery, though the person who had taken it upon himself to do the baking could have afforded something outlandish. No, this cake came from various boxes and cartons, the contents of which were painstakingly mixed together in more or less the way the recipe card was read off.

There may have been some corners cut, the eggs might not have been carefully folded (mostly because how do you fold eggs when they're goopy), the buttercream might be too runny, but the result was still fairly remarkable.

Even more remarkable was how intact it arrived, in a box in the back of an Audi, to all the usual fanfare Tony himself enjoyed when speeding through the security gates that those working at the Compound feverishly rushes to open for him. One scratch on that car would mean less of a Christmas bonus for everyone.

The cake was transported carefully from the back of the car towards one of the living quarters, a building shared by most of the non-retired Avengers. It did not need to be announced, so the man carrying it didn't bother to knock. Not at the front door and not at the recipient's bedroom. There was no need. No one would be awake anyway.

The time on his watch read 11:58 and so the cake was forced to wait a full two minutes until the day rolled over to be dramatically presented.

Tony Stark burst through the door and JARVIS started the Star-Spangled Banner on his cue, red and blue lights flashing. It was all beautifully patriotic, much like the cake itself, decorated to resemble Captain America's shield. "Happy Birthday, Grandpa!"

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Tony listened. He didn’t open his mouth and he didn’t interject. He listened with one hand on the door and the other flipping through his phone. He didn’t need to Google anything, he had a few choice images saved. What that said about him was a matter not open for discussion.

He turned the phone around when Steve was done with his impassioned plea and held the glowing screen up for the blond to see an image of himself (not badly drawn either) in his uniform and Tony, in a three piece suit, lip locked. A flick of the thumb changed the image to a much more crudely, distinctly Asian style image of Tony laying on an American flag in the sand as if it was a towel, naked save for Steve’s shield covering him.

There were more, mostly drawings of Steve, that Tony didn’t want to display right now.

“It’s 2013, Rogers. People are weird. You’re an icon for a whole lot of things that you probably don’t even want to know about. This one is just the most amusing.”

Tony pushed off from the door, slipping his phone in his pocket.

“Welcome to the world of fan service. You probably made the night of every woman in there. It’s not that big of a deal.” So said Tony Stark, for whom nothing was that big of a deal.

Steve's jaw tightened when he looked at the pictures being shown to him. He supposed he shouldn't be too surprised, people drawing art of their favourite celebrities was nothing new even in his time, but it usually wasn't like this. This felt somehow like it crossed the line, and he wished that he had never seen it.

"To you, maybe."

Steve's voice was curt and disappointed, and a little annoyed that Tony never got when things were difficult or important for other people. It was the one thing that really let him down, empathy was such an important trait.

"But it is to me, so-- sorry, but I think I'm done with the celebrations for tonight. Goodnight, Tony."

He turned away from the car and began to walk away.

His mother’s voice always hit him at the most inopportune moments of his life. Rejection usually means that those are the people you need to try harder for. She had said it in reference to his father, a means to make Tony try harder. And he hadn’t. The opportunity was gone just as fast as Steve was, walking away from him.

Tony didn’t chase. He could probably turn the car around easily even in the one-way street to catch up with Steve, but he didn’t. He just watched him go, pizza and soda on the roof of the car. That was a no-no but he was up to allowing exceptions at the moment.

After Steve disappeared, while patrons of the pizza shop watched and filmed, Tony flicked through the images he had saved on his phone as he leaned back against the car and grunted.

Damn it. Wrong play. Not just a wrong play but he’d probably just made Steve irrevocably uncomfortable around him. Shit. Tony tossed his phone through the passenger window of the car, climbed back in, and headed beck to the Compound.

He’d be there whenever Steve returned, poking at the birthday cake, eyes looking a little crusty. He had to fix it, not just for the team, but because Steve was stupidly worth trying harder for.

Steve wasn't mad because Tony had showed him those pictures, though they had made him uncomfortable with how graphic and inappropriate they were, he was mad because Tony never thought it was important enough to put himself into someone else's shoes. If something didn't affect him personally, or he didn't see why it should be a big deal, then he never treated it as if it was a big deal no matter how anyone else thought.

Steve thought it was a big deal if people started reporting on his sexuality wrong. And whatever Tony said, there was a difference between actual rumour and some overinvested fans drawing some inappropriate art. He just didn't want to take away from an already pretty oppressed community. Not even mentioning that Tony hadn't considered his own personal comfort when he decided to pretend they were a couple. He hadn't had many partners, only two, and only one that the official histories recorded, and that sort of thing was a big deal for him.

He didn't come back to the Compound for a few hours, he went for a run to cool off first, and when he got back his shirt was sticking to his chest with sweat that turned it slightly transparent. He glanced over at Tony picking at the cake and sighed.

"Eat it or put it in the fridge, you're gonna ruin it like that."

Hours was a long time to be picking at a cake. “It’s already ruined,” Tony said, like some glum child. He stabbed his fork into the buttercream and left it there, like the blob of flour and eggs was a voodoo doll for his soul.

He leaned back in the chair, uncomfortable as it was, and draped an arm over the top rung to watch Steve come towards and then around him. His eyes moved to follow before his head did.

“Didn’t mean to piss you off,” was about as much of an apology as Tony could muster. He wasn’t good at them and he was rarely sorry for what he did. His sorrow typically came in the form of disliking the consequences of his actions. “That wasn’t part of my Big Spangled Birthday Bash.”

Steve pulled his shirt over his head without bothering to undo the buttons, not wanting to be in the sweat soaked material any longer than he had to be, and draped it over the back of the sofa. He frowned over at Tony, not forbiddingly, just with disappointment pretty clear on his face.

"I know, but didn't anyone ever tell you to walk a mile in someone else's shoes. What isn't a big deal for you, can be a big deal for other people."

And he'd have a lot more friends, and keep a lot more friends, if he could remember that.

Why did disappointing Steve matter so much? Tony might well be back to five years old, trying to hide parts of an engine he’d taken apart from his dad’s garage before he could be discovered. Tony tried to roll his eyes, but his eyes wouldn’t roll. They were too locked on the muscular torso just wandering around in front of him.

Tony didn’t have much of a male gaze for other men, not often at least, but the urge was so annoyingly powerful now that he was pretty sure he had been slipped some sort of drug along the way.

Maybe it was in the pizza.

But why was it still sticking with him? Shiiiiit. He could hear it dragged out in his head. Was Pepper onto something with her jealousy? That was enough for Tony to complete disengage. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

“I’ll work on it,” he said, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair as he stood. Yeah. He wasn’t staying around poison. Been there. Done that.

Apparently he had cut a bit deeper with that reprimand than he intended to do, if Tony's response was to walk away as fast as he could. But he wouldn't apologise or back down, it might be good for Tony to have his world view challenged every once in a while. He was surrounded by too many yes-men, and too many people who saw his money and would do anything to get some for themselves.

At least he had Pepper. She was a good woman, and she'd already helped him grow a lot from the self involved man he had been before into someone that Steve was happy actually wanted to be his friend.

So he didn't stop Tony from leaving, he just went to take a shower and get some actual sleep. A couple of days later, Tony would get a letter in the traditional sense, snail-mail with a stamp and everything. Because Mrs. Sarah Rogers had raised her son right, and if someone did something nice for you then you wrote them a thank you note.

Dear Tony,

Thank you for the consideration on my birthday, as well as the gift of a cake and these old files. I really appreciate it, and hope to do the same for you some day. Come by any time.

Your friend,
Steven G. Rogers

Tony was absolutely certain that the G stood for Goddamned. Pepper had finally started talking to him again, after insisting that they stop tinkering around the Tower and return to Malibu, despite the videos that had surfaced immediately online. Unfortunately, as she was the only person who ever remembered to get the mail, finding a fancy, hand addressed envelop directed to her boyfriend by the guy she was sure her boyfriend had a weird love-hate obsessive crush on, led to another argument.

To be fair, Tony wasn’t paying that much attention to her and got riled up when she had JARVIS turn down his music. He was busy. She was interrupting his work on his newest suit of armor.

When she threw the envelop at him like a shurikan (which the reactor deflected just fine, luckily), Tony mostly blinked at her until she stormed off.

She tended to be better at her arguing but this was a bit much, he decided, wiping off his hands with a rag before he bent to pick up the letter. He almost didn’t want to open it, so it laid on the table next to the couch where he could stare at it for the better part of the evening.

It was nine o’clock when he called Steve, making it another midnight wake up for the blond, if he was even around of course. Surprisingly, Tony wasn’t even drunk.

Steve isn't entirely sure whether he'll get a response, but it's okay if he doesn't. A thank you for a thank you would just be kind of awkward, and then they'd end up dancing around in circles forever. But Tony isn't the sort of person to thank him back, he'd more than likely just tease Steve for not using email like everyone else in the future where snail mail was relegated to official papers and not much else.

Nat and Clint were both back in the Compound, so he had spent the evening with them. Sometimes he was a little surprised at the close friendship he had cultivated, especially with Nat, but both of them seemed to really appreciate that he was genuine when he wanted to get to know them. They had played a vicious few rounds of table tennis (all won by Clint in the end) and then eaten together.

He was just watching a movie when the phone rang, rolling off the couch and picking it up on the third ring, hoping it hadn't woken the other two.

"Hello?"

Tony’s first response? Hang up. It was strong and it was visceral and he really hated the way his stomach twisted up just at hearing Steve’s voice. “Bit formal. Even for a centenarian.” Finer words had and would again be spoken, but not by Tony Stark and not at this moment. He wanted to kick himself. “Did you manage to un-ruin the rest of your birthday? Set off some firecrackers in the yard and run hoops down the street with a stick?”

His attempts to be amusing were not so much and he could feel the strain because of it. Maybe that was why he subconsciously did what Steve predicted he would not do.

“Thanks for the card. It’s going in my unmentionables drawer with a sache of lavender. I was hoping for some wildflowers pressed between the note but I guess you’re just losing your charm.”

Smoooooth.

“Anyway, I have a new idea for a bike engine. I’m coming over tomorrow to install it in your Harley.”

Steve had been expecting the teasing so it didn't come as a surprise, but it still made him groan with half exasperated amusement. Honestly, Tony never took anything seriously, did he?

"Don't mention it; seriously, especially if it's going in an unmentionables drawer." He was kind of proud of that joke, dorky though it was. "Didn't you just install a new engine the other week?"

Not that he minded, but it seemed unnecessary work for Tony.

He was, at least, inclined to not be cold towards him. He had been annoyed on the night, and he was still inclined to be irritated about what had happened, but he had already vented his displeasure and so to keep harping on about it wouldn't be kind, he just had to hope that Tony had thought about it and might change his ways for the future.

“You’re not exactly gentle on your equipment,” Tony covered up, an audible handwave hoping keeping Steve from paying attention to the strain that might also be there. “And I need an excuse to get out of the house that doesn’t involve digging myself deeper in the hole I’m already standing in.”

It was supposed to be funny, to shift the conversation that would allow Tony to neither answer questions about nor say anything more before he hung up. It was supposed to be funny, but it was more relevant instead.

Going to the Compound now would be idiotic. But he couldn’t get Steve out of his head right now. He waited until he heard the other man inhale to respond before he hung up. And that was meant to be that.

Unfortunately, the more recognition super heroes achieved, the more likely it was for super villains to try and shake things up. Not all of SHIELD’s missions relied on assassins. Some needed the brute force of the Captain to take the lead and as Tony didn’t actively monitor SHIELD’s Cap Signal, he arrived to a Compound on lockdown and his favorite-not favorite blond off to Russia to clean up something or other that Tony didn’t give a shit about.

He wasn’t in the weapons business anymore.

What hole?

Honestly, sometimes Tony made less and less sense the more Steve got to know him, rather than more sense like everyone else. He had no idea what Tony was talking about, and definitely no idea that it pertained to him, but he had no chance to question it because he was cut off fairly rudely. He didn't even think twice about going on the mission without informing Tony - why should he? The man was only coming around to put a new engine in his bike and he didn't actually need Steve there for that.

It was a hard mission, Russia wasn't somewhere that he'd been much, and the people that he'd been sent to stop had been well equipped and well trained. He was busy fighting, while Nat poked her head out of the Compound and gave Tony a small smile that, as always, hid her real feelings.

"Morning, Tony, I'm afraid he's out."

The last person in the world that Tony wanted to see right now was Natasha. He knew all about her schtik now. He knew about her ready and capable manipulation ability. He knew that she would figure him out. “I don’t need him around,” Tony said, playing coy. “Rhodey doesn’t have to check in with me. He should. His armor needs an upgrade. But he’s an adult.”

Deflection was the best way to get around those piercing eyes and knowing smirk. Fool him once, shame on you Nat. He was never going to be fooled again.

“By the way, Pepper said you should come out to California. I think she wants to plot with a professional my demise. I’ve deserved it lately. Just not the face.”

Oh, please. She figured it out even before he had finished his stupid protestations that he definitely hated Steve Rogers, months and months ago. Her whole profession, and quite often the balance of her life, had relied on her being able to manipulate people and that meant being able to read them.

She just hadn't interfered yet out of deference for Steve, because she genuinely cared about him and might actually kill Tony, not just pretend, if he hurt her friend.

"I'll make sure to give her a call," she leaned further out of the window and her smile got wider. "Thanks for the cake, by the way, it was delicious. I didn't know you were a baker."

Oh god. Tony did his best not to scowl. “Maybe the extra flavor came from the fact that it stayed out of refrigeration for about ten hours,” he shrugged. “Any left? I’ll grab whatever mangled piece there is after I finish in the equipment garage.”

He’d already stepped out of the Iron Man armor, but since he couldn’t lift the entire engine by himself, laid down a few feet away since he hadn’t really been meaning to do any mechanical work, he was going to have to climb back inside. Or dive back inside.

It might look suspicious that he just landed on the lawn though instead of heading right towards the garage.

“Hey. Since I’ve got you, any eyes on Banner? He still has my favorite pair of socks.”

Since he had decided on the possibly unwise decision of continuing conversation with her, Nat just jumped out of the second storey window and landed on the grass in front of him with a grace that spoke to her balletic past. A past she was never going to talk about again if she had her way.

"Why are you asking? I know that you know where he is, I've read your surveillance reports."

Somewhere in Nepal currently, if things were to be believed. She kept her voice light and easy, she wasn't going to show that he had hit a sore spot, because that's probably what he intended to do.

He hadn’t. After the Battle of New York, Banner had stayed around for a little while. Two months or so. He usually was with Tony during that time, usually being poked at or helping with projects. He had no idea that Banner and Nat had started making eyes at one another. He was a perceptive man, but only when it suited him. And keeping track of Banner’s love interests hadn’t.

“Don’t call it that. I’m not spying on him.” He was just trying to keep the world safe from the Hulk if he happened to show back up. And he wanted to test out a new armor he was working on, and a vibranium, sat-dropped cage...

What? He could probably run tests on Steve or Thor— If they ever saw Thor again. The guy was like one and done. That was just fine with him. Tony wasn’t the sort of guy to enjoy a good Ren Faire.

“And don’t tell him I’m spying on him either.” Tony backed up towards his armor. “Anyway, great chat. Got to go fix stuff. You know. The reason you guys keep me around.”

"You're going already? You only just landed."

She was having too much fun to back off, and she was intent on punishing him just a bit for his jab about Banner (which is what she thought it was), so she wasn't going to let him go that easily.

"What? Tall and blond isn't here, so you're going to slake your thirst somewhere else?"

Surely he had to know how obvious it was?

She felt sorry for Pepper, but not too much because Pepper was way too good for Tony anyway and would be better off without that baggage. Besides, she was way too strong of a woman to be broken by having a man not love her, so she'd come out of this alright.

That was forward. It was more forward than Natalie had been, perched on the edge of his chair two years ago, smelling the poison inside of him without mentioning it, guiding him towards a solution that actually needed to be crammed down his throat by a big reveal with a dozen donuts in his stomach.

He didn’t need this. “Yeah, with motor oil,” came his not so cheeky response. “Why? Shower drain get clogged? Put it on my to-do list and I’ll get around to it after.” The feel of the armor closing in around him was comforting. He’d only just developed that technology. Being dressed on the verandah had it’s ups and downs. This prototype made the armor just that much more useful.

Especially when fleeing.

His voice changed behind the mask, half because it was muffled through a speaker and half because he liked using voice modulators. “Tell Rhodey where I am if he comes back.” Maybe if he said Rhodey enough, she’d back off?

Either way, he was going to the garage. She could follow, but he hoped not. At least, once he got started, nothing else mattered. He could lose himself in the work.

It was pitiful to see him step into literal armour because he couldn't handle their discussion, but she at least allowed him to retreat to the garage without her. She looked up and saw Clint watching her out of the window, expression confused as to why she had gone so far.

He was the one that would appear in the garage a short time later, hopping up onto one of the workbenches to sit cross legged. He always did prefer to sit high if he could and, though this wasn't high enough, it would do.

"Nat sometimes says things she shouldn't," he started, voice low. "Whatever you feel for Steve, it's not our business."

There were two options now. Ignore Barton or acknowledge him. What Tony wanted to do was shoot him, but that would be a mess. He’d been on the news enough already for stupid things and the shooting of a teammate didn’t need to join the rest. Of course, given his status, it probably wouldn’t make the news at all but his teammates would be pretty pissed off.

It turned out that yes, Tony Stark did care what his teammates thought about some things.

Woh a huff, Tony sat back on his heels and set his motor oil covered hands on his thighs before he looked up at the archer. “Great. So stop making it your business.”

Neither confirm nor deny. Right? That was the way you’re supposed to go about it, huh?

"Love to, but if you want my advice then you'll cool it or take the next step, because the way you're going on now, even Steve's going to notice."

By which he meant, either back off from this weird obsessional crush, or break it off with Pepper so that he could actually ask Steve out on a date. Clint had an idea that Steve might not say no, he wasn't as old fashioned as people thought and he had more of a suspicion that he maybe used to be more than just friends with Bucky Barnes.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, I have a crush on him, and I don't even swing that way. I think it's all in the shoulders."

“I don’t want your advice,” Tony said with a grit to his teeth. “I have about fifteen minutes left of work and then you can find someone else to pester. JARVIS, let’s get those tunes back.” He was going to be damned if people got the wrong (right) impression of him. It was bad enough that his detractors already sought to outdo themselves on the dirt that they managed to dig up. This…while not ruinous exactly, was what he didn’t want for any of them.

Steve’s reputation would be marred. Pepper would be even more upset, despite her vindication. And Tony couldn’t handle either of those things.

If Romanoff and Barton knew when he barely spent time with them, perhaps based on what Steve might have told them recently, perhaps because Tony had been in denial for so long about his constant trips over here that he never himself noticed how he acted, it was only a matter of time before Steve knew. And Steve could never know.

Never.

Tony worked quickly to finish what he was doing, more quickly than he had planned. Barton sat up there, watching, judging, smirking in amusement with secrets of his own that no one could ever guess. When the bike was put back together and shined up, Tony left. He left before Steve could return and he left without meaning to return again any time soon. He went immediately to see Pepper and won her back, though she might later come to regret that considering how they spent the days leading up to Christmas that year no matter how Tony kept himself busy by constantly working in his lab.

Tony had been erratic. Mouthy. Stupid. Yet, when the missiles came and the armor he’d been developing took him to safety and dropped him in the snow while wearing California-appropriate attire, it was not the safety of Pepper Potts that he was worried about. If his home was attacked, could the Compound be under attack too? And what about the people living there? What about Steve Rogers? Stupid to worry, maybe. Steve was safer than he was, left to drag his armor through the snow towards a light he hoped signaled civilization and not just a blurb on a map that meant nothing and now could not be accessed again.

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