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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“Probably. Mostly. Also my ego and my work ethic and my inability to remember her birthday and make you a home made cake so wait. Yeah. That last one is still you. Ah shit. I’m such a shit.” Only drunk Tony would say that about himself and he decided to take Steve up on the initial sit offer, sighing softly as he did so. His head hurt, but not in the pleasant way that signaled new ideas and work to keep his hands and brain busy.

He slumped into Steve’s couch as if he had been poured onto the cushions, knees apart and t-shirt scrunched up over his belt buckle. He looked older, lines more defined. He looked guilty, awaiting a sentence.

“Romanoff and Barton warned me. Told me. She’s right. I need to start listening to people,” he grumbled, the she being Pepper but it could easily apply to Natasha too.

Does he like Tony too?

Honestly, he has no idea. He just has never thought about him that way, and he never thought that he'd be in this situation with someone that he actually cared about telling him that they were in love with him. He's dealt with it from fans, an infatuation with Captain America rather than Steve Rogers, and that's always been easy to deflect. This... not so much. He doesn't even know if he wants to deflect.

"Thanks... for telling me, that was really brave."

He means that. Even if the times have changed now to be more accepting of different lifestyles, it was still a terrifying thing to put feelings out there for someone else to see and judge.

"I don't know what I feel. But maybe, if it's not too difficult, I could take you out to dinner sometime and start figuring out if I could feel the same way?"

“You’re messing with me.”

Tony dropped the hand from his face long enough to look up at Steve. The blond looked idyllic, like he was a part of the scenery that really should always be wherever Tony looked and he couldn’t help but be annoyed by feeling that way. No one should have that sort of power over anyone. Steve had no idea how crushing this all was. He just played up the nice guy role he’d always had and decided to…what?

Pity him?

How far had he sunken that he needed Steve to take him out on a pity date? The guy just called him brave for it. Tony had never felt more dumb than he did right now. Not even when he blew himself up or accidentally exploded his workshop.

"What?"

Steve's forehead crinkled in confusion and then slight anger. He always meant everything he said, he would never lie about something as important as someone else's feelings, and he wouldn't use them to make a joke. Not ever. And he didn't do pity. He knew what it was like to be pitied, he spent most of his life being the subject of pity, and he hated it with a fiery passion.

"...is that you saying no? Because I've gotta say, Tony, that's giving me mixed signals."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"I'm asking you out because I can't say what I think you want me to say, I don't know how I feel, I've never looked at you that way. But maybe I can figure out what I do feel if we go on a few dates."

Dropping a few fingers so he can look at Steve between them, Tony arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect you to say anything,” he muttered. “I thought you were going to drop kick me to the moon.” That was a little dramatic, even for him. He sighed, flamboyant flip of his wrist trying to play Steve off. “I don’t— I don’t want to date you. Not once. Not a couple of times. I just wanted you to stop being so easy to look at and be around.”

It made sense to an engineer with a mind addled full of uncomfortable conversation talking points and alcohol.

“I liked our under cover hostility. And your abs. And those boots.”

"You expected me to be mad because-- why? Because you're another fella and I'm from a time when that was illegal, or because you're my teammate and it might mess with the dynamics of the group when we're in a battle situation?"

Because he couldn't think of any other reasons that Tony might think he'd be mad, and even those two are kind of insulting. Does he give off the impression that his methods for everything, not just bullies, is punch first and ask questions later?

"Well, here's news for you, Tony. You'd not be the first fella I'd stepped out with, and you wouldn't be the first teammate I'd liked either. I can't change what I look like or be someone else, so if you don't want anything from me then why did you even tell me about this?"

Tony didn’t look like someone anyone should date. He had melted into the couch and lost his neck in the process, slumped there and barely keeping his eyes open. He could process what Steve was saying, though, could process that Steve had no objection to men, sure, but the question was what lingered in Tony’s mind.

Why had he told him?

He had gone on for the better part of the year not telling him anything. He’d gone on the better part of a year before that barely even registering it.

“I told you because not telling you was starting to scratch too deep. Not telling you isn’t an option anymore. And I had to tell someone.”

A part of Steve could understand the burden of keeping something inside, but not that it had to bubble out to the person involved. If Tony needed to talk, but he didn't actually want anything to change between them, then why not talk to one of the others? Vent his feelings until they disappeared, if that's what he was waiting for.

"Okay, so now I know."

He still kept his voice level, because even if he was kind of frustrated with how Tony was choosing to go about this, he wasn't going to be angry at someone for what they couldn't help feeling.

"But if all you wanted to do is tell me, then I'm not really sure where to go from here."

Selfish prick. Steve could say it. Tony had the name tossed at him time and time again. He believed it too, embraced it. Lived by it.

“Now you know. And going out on another date won’t tell you anything you don’t already know about me,” Tony pointed out.

That might not be exactly true though. Taking Steve out for his birthday have Tony insight into his enjoyment of jazz and pizza. And also that Steve didn’t want to be an ambassador for gay people.

“You already made it clear you’re not interested. Or you wouldn’t have gotten mad at me that night. So we don’t have to go anywhere. Stick to our corners. That’s served us well since we met.”

"Of course I wasn't interested," Steve said, folding his arms as if Tony were being a giant idiot. Honestly, sometimes he had real trouble remembering that Tony was supposedly a genius, because he could act like a real moron. "You were attached, you never gave me any indication that you liked me at all, even as a friend, and the last meaningful conversation we had before that night was that you hated me for what I represented to your dad."

So why would he ever have looked at Tony in that way?

"But, I guess there's a part of me that might become interested, or I wouldn't have suggested trying a few dates. I guess we won't know, though, since you just came to tell me and nothing else. It's no problem, so long as we're on the same page."

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled himself out from the seat he’d commandeered. It took three tries, but he wasn’t going to stick around to let Steve use some of the same childish tactics he himself might have been known to use. Not tonight.

“What part of you? Your dick?”

Probably uncalled for, but Tony had no intention of staying. The way Steve was taking his confession couldn’t have been more different than he had expected it to be but the result was pretty much the same. Tony knew going in that he was going to get pissed off.

That was how their relationship worked.

“Don’t answer that. I’m going back to the garage.” Maybe he wouldn’t remember all of this when he woke up later.

Tony made him so angry, it was like he was deliberately trying to be an asshole, and it made Steve so frustrated that he wanted to put a fist through his wall. It sincerely pissed him off that someone could be so selfish as to dump that sort of revelation on someone and then accuse that same someone of only thinking lustful thoughts, like Steve was the one in the wrong here for maybe wanting to try and see how some dates went.

Well fine.

If Tony didn't want to date him, that was okay, he wasn't going to force the issue. And if Tony wanted to apparently use this as just another thing to blame Steve for, then he was tired of it. He didn't exist just to be someone else's punching bag, and Tony had given him almost no reasons to want to keep giving him chances.

So he'd let him stalk back to the garage and spend the rest of the night sleeplessly staring up at his ceiling. He was done with this, done with being treated like he was the devil no matter what he did.

It was like Tony fed off of Steve’s anger, like fighting with him was some sort of one sided aphrodisiac. It riled him up, leaving him flushed. Steve’s lack of direct response was not what Tony wanted and just stalking away to sulk had been pretense for a prolonged confrontation.

But Rogers wasn’t giving in, like he was playing some sick game of hard to get. Only Tony Stark would even see it as that. It was any wonder Pepper found anything redeemable about him to stay for so long, right?

When Steve did nothing save perhaps to follow him so he could shut the door behind him, Tony turned and, because he was more drunk than he had Reason to be, half stumbled into the wall, or Steve, trying to get his hands in the blond’s t-shirt. He had always been dumb when drunk.

Tony's fingers closed in Steve's shirt, but only for half a second before he was being held out at arm's length with one strong hand on each shoulder. He was careful not to actually grip tight enough to hurt, but without the armour there was no way that Tony was strong enough to resist Steve.

"No, Tony."

His voice sounded tired, he looked tired.

"I'm not your punching bag, and I'm tired of being yelled at for anything that you decide is my fault. You said that we were friends now, and apparently you have feelings for me, so maybe learn to treat me with a modicum of human respect, because I sure as heck wouldn't treat anyone I cared about even a little bit this way."

He stepped back and let go.

"I think you should go and sober up, and if you think it over and want to talk to me then my door's open, otherwise I'll see you in the training room."

The training room was not a place Tony usually went before he had started living at the Compound, but having Steve train him had been a way to get close to the blond without having to divulge any dirty little secrets. Scotch had loosened his lips, obviously, and quite against his will. “Nine AM,” the engineer muttered to confirm their training time, hand against the wall. He wasn’t going to push it more than he had or he’d get more than just bruises on his shoulders. It was going to be a masochistic nightmare at this point but there wasn’t a whole lot more to do than agree and leave.

Tony fully expected to find several murdered sand bags that morning, laying in a row on the thawing grass. He had on his usual training attire, loose pants and a fitted tank top, red sneakers and bags under his eyes from a pretty fucked up prior evening.

Tony didn’t like to live by regrets but there wasn’t exactly a lot else he could do today. Except maybe keep Steve from turning some of that extra anger on him. He’d deserve it, of course, but Tony didn’t really take too much pity on himself.

Okay, so apparently Tony didn't have anything to say to him once sober. Steve had been dumb for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he'd have thought about the way he'd been treating a supposed friend and apologise. But that was dumb, because Tony Stark only ever thought about himself, and if something went wrong then clearly it was other people out to get him.

When Steve showed up to the training room in the morning, dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt, he looked disappointed. But there was nothing else to say, he wasn't about to keep fighting someone to be respected just to be yelled at some more.

"--okay, I guess we're picking up where we left off with defensive blocks."

It was just easier to ignore that yesterday even happened, though Tony was well aware that most people couldn’t function like that. He was still half drooping, eyelids lowered, lips pressed together in a thin line as he nodded at Steve. Defensive blocks sounded right up his alley at the moment and he was in no position to argue right now anyway.

“Show me,” the older man grumbled, though that would require actually looking at Steve.

Sitting on the trilevel benches that made an L shape around the north and west wall, Natasha whispered something to Clint and money exchanged hands. They were being quiet and out of site in a shadow cast by one of Steve’s punching bags. They’d been there since the blond started warming up, though it was doubtful he’d noticed them. Tony certainly did not.

When Steve changed his position, Tony tried to mirror him before his arms went limp again.

“I’m not sober yet. Don’t look so disapproving.”

Tony didn't even look like he cared about what they had talked about last night, maybe he had been so drunk that he didn't even remember. And then there it was, that mention that he still wasn't sober, and Steve stood back from the mat and started to unwrap the bindings on his hands right away.

"I don't even want to see you again until you're sober. I'm done with this, Tony."

He didn't see the two hiding in the shadows, or he might have been more private with what he said, less open.

"People aren't just toys to be played with, and I've had enough. You tell me you hate me, you tell me you like me, you tell me you're in love with me; but no matter which one it is, somehow you're still mad at me for it. I'm not going to be your punching bag for issues that aren't my fault, and I'm not working with you when you're drunk."

With an immediate eyeroll, Nat handed back the wad of bills to Clint and leaned back on her elbows. She hated losing to her smug best friend and though she didn’t look at him, she could tell he was smirking. It would demand a foot to his face, to be paid back later. For now, she just turned deceptively disinterested eyes on the pair, especially when Tony grabbed for Steve’s arm.

Bold move.

Perhaps more so than Steve actually stating his frustrations out loud like that. In a way, she was proud that he opened his mouth at all and didn’t just internalize it.

“Of course I hated you, growing up. You can’t be angry at me for that,” Tony said, with a better handle on his drunkenness than he had last night. “And maybe I hated you a little bit on the hellicarrier too, but you hated me a little bit too. That was the scepter, stringing out our emotions.” Why did everything with Steve have to be a battle? Tony usually was all up for a fight, but he was just so tired. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not even mad at myself. You can’t just ask people out like that, Rogers.” If asked why, he wouldn’t have a good reason.

He hadn’t been prepared for it? Yeah, that sucked.

It always had to be a battle because Tony made it a battle. Steve liked to get along with people, he generally tried to be pleasant, but Tony seemed to go out of his way to irritate and wound, like it was his sole goal in life to have everyone around him driven away.

"You had just told me that you loved me, if I was gonna ask you out why not then?"

Surely that's the point when it made the most sense?

"Let go, because I just told you that I'm not talking to you when you're drunk any more. You're a grown man, Tony, learn to act like one."

“I didn’t expect you to ask me out at all so you can’t blame me for being unprepared.” Technically, Tony was rarely prepared. He just made it up as he went along. Like now. His grip tightened after Steve told him to let go. “Make me.”

This was not the way to prove that you’re a grown up, but Tony could feel himself getting worked up, feel himself starting to itch. Maybe he was just addicted to Steve. Maybe that was why he kept coming back. Or maybe this all just stemmed from his father.

Any attention was at least attention. And Tony craved attention, no matter what sort of toll it took.

Tony was going to get attention, but it was in the form of Steve's patented big blue eyes full of disappointment. He set his hand on where Tony's fingers were gripping on and pried him loose, gently but firmly.

"Nobody can make you be an adult, Tony. Nobody can make you treat other people with respect. You have issues, we all have issues, learn to deal with it and grow up."

He had lost everyone he had ever loved and came from a background of poverty and sickness, Natasha and Clint had skeletons in their closets that would never go away, Bruce had killed hundreds and feared intimacy, Thor had family issues a mile wide. They all had problems. Tony was the only one who still behaved like a child, kicking and screaming and demanding that his issues be front and centre.

"I told you, I'm not talking to you again until you're sober, and I'm not being the crutch for your problems any more. You're my friend, I was willing to see if there could be something more, but I'm not your Pops and I'm not your therapist."

Natasha might be rolling her eyes at the top of the bleachers, but Tony actually looked hurt. That seemed counter intuitive. Nothing ever seemed to phase him. He wore his masks well, maybe a little too well, but he certainly wasn’t the emotional type. Right?

Rather than get angry, or have a snappy comment, Tony simply nodded and left, a little like his head was mounted on a hinge and all he could do was nod up and down again.

Knowing he’d messed up and acknowledging that mess up were two different things. Last night fixed him in the off position, though, and now he was paying for it.

The thing with Steve, he was a simple guy to get along with. He usually meant exactly what he said, he liked to treat people with respect, and he didn't play games with people's emotions. Which is why he'd got tired of being used as the metaphorical punching bag for Tony's issues.

It didn't mean that everything had to be ruined between them forever, just that Tony had to take a look at himself and figure out where his priorities were.

Natasha was smart enough to see that neither one of them would come out of this good, and she wanted her money back from Barton, so she slid down after both of them had left and followed Stark to wherever he'd disappeared to, falling into step beside him.

"So, he asked you out?"

“Can’t anyone have secrets around here?” Tony snapped, but with much less venom than usual. Steve had finally put the great genius in his place, which was an important first step.

“Really?” Natasha asked, dark red bob bouncing just over her shoulders.

It made Tony sigh. He wasn’t exactly grateful for her company but he wasn’t feeling like his best self at the moment and could use someone to talk to. “Yeah. He asked me out. To see how he would feel about me. A date isn’t going to help him hate me less.”

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