Hello, all! I've been meaning to write a New Years fic, but homework kept on getting in the way, and I kept on trying to rewrite the latter two thirds of Chapter 26 of Tug. It's not out yet, but it will be next year! Anyways, happy holidays - I hope you enjoy!
Pepper walked through the door to the Avengers' Tower common floor, more than a little surprised. Usually, any party Tony threw had more hard liquor than IQ points, and half the guest list was half-dressed. The music was subwoofed past the point of enjoyment, and in all honesty, they were about as enjoyable as any number of shmooze-facilitating events she had to go to as CEO.
But this? This was not a Tony Stark Extravaganza.
Clint, clad in the fuzziest socks and coziest sweater to ever exist, was curled up in Agent Coulson's lap, head resting on his shoulder. It had been months since Phil had come back, but the archer still didn't like letting him out of his sight. He had a beer bottle in hand, about a quarter of the way drunk, but it was warm now. Phil's bottle was closer to emptiness, but again, warm, left undrunk for at least twenty minutes. They talked quietly, Clint fiddling with Phil's tie while Phil held his arm, thumb drawing wide, smooth arcs over the surface of his sweater.
Natasha breezed up to Pepper, silk skirt fluttering around her knees, and handed over a glass of wine - Pepper's favourite vintage - and tossed Happy a beer. "Steve made lasagne." With that, she slinked back out to the living room and crossed her legs in one sinous movement. Steve, busy carving lasagne into edible, serveable pieces, blinked owlishly at the momentary flash of smooth, creamy thigh visible just before her skirt fluttered back into place. Tasha smiled, scarlet lips curving up-up-up around brilliant white teeth, and took a slow sip.
Steve gulped, hands clenching around the handle of his pie knife, and snapped back to his cooking. He and Tasha... it was relatively new, when compared to any of the relationships in the room. Pepper and Harry had been together for a few months - they hadn't moved in together or done anything so capital-s Serious, but you could see on their faces how soon they could - and Phil and Clint had been together for years.
Steve had only just managed to ask Tasha out on the twentieth of December. Eleven days. Granted, she hadn't even let him finish his sentence before kissing him so hard that his brain was erased, heavy watercolor paper going up in smoke inside his skull and leaking ashes out his ears.
Harry sat down on the couch, buttery leather sliding against the cotton of his jeans. It was more than a little weird, sitting down for lasagne and drinks with a gaggle of superheroes. Pepper gave his knee a squeeze; superhero shock was definitely an issue.
Clint broke the silence, bringing up a story about four Ukrainian, a goat, and a fistfight that sent the room into fits of laughter, Phil giggling into his shoulder as Tasha buried her face in her hands. "God, the looks on their faces! That goat took out as many as you did!"
"Lies, all lies!" Clint insisted, hands waving.
Harry ground the heel of his hand into his eye, sucking in a breath. "Oh, man. I remember, this one fight - " He burst out laughing again, and surprisingly, the next few hour passed like seconds.
Bruce finally dragged Tony out of his lab, eyes rolling, and sat him down next to Steve. "Your party, remember? You have to show up."
Tony groaned, slumping against Bruce's shoulder. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Pepper and Happy - he was! He couldn't be happier; they were clearly perfect for each other, and he and Pepper wouldn't have worked out.
It was just very, very difficult to see them so happy together when Tony was about 4000% certain he'd blown it with Bruce. It was one thing to grope someone in a sweaty, loud club. It was another thing entirely to do that to the guy you wanted nothing more than to be good enough for.
And yet, despite all that, Bruce still stuck around, unchanged. He still joked around in the lab, still played with Dummy and Butterfingers and You, still made sure Tony ingested something other than coffee of unknown origins. He acted no different than he had before the Club Night Which Shall Not Be Mentioned.
Which made Tony pretty sure that Bruce was ignoring everything that had happened that night, which meant that he decidedly was not interested in Tony That Way.
Still, he acquiesced, following Bruce upstairs and sitting down, doing as his Science Bro had asked. Bruce had yet to take a seat, leaning forward to grab two plates of lasagne and a glass of water, and his hip was warm through the barrier of his purple shirt. Tony's forehead slid down to rest on it when Bruce bent forward, breathing in the lemon-rosemary-cut grass smell that clung to him indomitably.
Pepper smiled into her wine glass, watching Tony flop all over Bruce the way he flopped all over everyone he ever genuinely, seriously cared about - the way he'd once flopped all over her.
Tony grinned up at Bruce when he handed over a plate. "Thank you, Brucey."
"You're welcome." Bruce sat down next to him, arm hidden behind Tony's back as he leaned on Bruce's shoulder once more. Natasha rolled her eyes at the two of them, grinning, and hitched her legs over Steve's armrest, scootching into his lap just to see the look on his face. "I heard Clint made cake. When do we get a shot at that?"
"Not until Thor shows up," Clint insisted, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over his palms. "We already ate without the guy."
"He's been pushing that line since six," Phil chuckled. "We couldn't drink without Thor, then we could drink, but not eat, and then we could eat, but not dessert. He'll crack. Eventually."
"Hey! I am a very, very patient man!" Clint protested, poking Phil's sternum in punctuative reprimand. "I'll outwait the end of the world."
"Wasn't that last year?" Harry said, and Tony snorted a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth.
"Happy! I had a mouthful of beer!" he managed, swallowing.
"Thank God you can control your mouth."
Everyone was silent for three-point-eight seconds exactly - JARVIS kept track - before they cracked up.
Tony let out a relieved breath covered by all the laughter. There was no sign of awkwardness in the air, and Bruce's forearm was warm and solid against the small of his back. Maybe the whole team wasn't there, but it was a nice night.
It was just past ten thirty when JARVIS announced Thor and Company's arrival.
It was ten thirty-two, on the dot, when Thor showed up with Loki and two children - an eleven-year-old girl with brilliant green eyes, sat happily on Thor's shoulders, and a seven-year-old boy with flaming red curls, sleeping quietly against Loki's chest.
"I'm sorry," Clint said, muscles tensing visibly, instinctively gearing up for a fight. "Who are the kids - did he kidnap them?"
The little girl frowned, sticking out her tongue. "My Papa did nothing of the sort! We wanted to meet Daddy's friends." She turned down to Thor, pouting. "Why is he saying that? Kidnapping!"
"Reindeer Games has kids?" Tony asked, looking up from Bruce's lap with wide eyes. "I mean - what?"
"Yes." Thor's hand, broad and warm and solid against the curve of Loki's waist, tugged Loki in closer to his side, almost protectively. "He is the father of five children, and the mother of one. They are all very beautiful children - they take after him." Beaming, he kissed Loki's temple, and the Trickster rolled his eyes.
"Shi-shoot," Harry said, eyes wide. "How did you carry a kid?" He swallowed; that was an awful lot of children. He wasn't ever likely to have one.
Without a second's lag, Loki shifted into a gleaming white mare and snuffled derisively, the tyke on his back gumming at the back of his hand, sleep undisturbed by the shift. Again, he morphed, this time back into his normal self, and smoothly said, "Is that answer satisfactory?"
Harry nodded mutely and smiled. "Yup. Thanks."
Pepper stood, smiling. "If you'd like, I can show you to one of the guest rooms - your little guy can take a nap and you can still stay down here and talk."
Loki nodded, smiling, and followed Pepper upstairs with Vali in his arms.
Hela floated down off Thor's shoulders, resting on a cloud of lilac coloured magic, and Clint couldn't help but shy away from it. Magic - well, what passed for it on Earth - was a pretty big part of life at the circus, but Clint had always known exactly what was happening. This, real magic, it was a little terrifying. It had been years since Loki had actually controlled him, and for the most part, he had gotten over it; still, sometimes that shimmer of light made his heart pound so hard his ribs were bruised.
"Daddy, there's cake!" she noted, pleading to be allowed a slice.
Hela was, in many ways, a very normal eleven-year-old girl. She loved sweets, loved dogs - more than a little because two of her brothers, Fenrir and Vali, had canine forms(well, lupine, but who's keeping track?) - and absolutely adored her fathers.
"Ask Papa if you may have a piece," Thor said, smiling. "He's in charge."
Hela huffed, flopping into his lap in the armchair, surveying the room. She giggled, seemingly out of nowhere, and asked, "Why are your stilettos actually stilettos?"
Natasha looked up and smiled, slow and calculating. "I'm always prepared."
Hela grinned, scootching closer to her in the chair. "Have you ever used them?"
"Fourteen times."
By the time Pepper and Loki were back downstairs, Hela was sprawled on the floor by a crosslegged Natasha, carefully examining her weaponized shoes with unbridled glee as the ex-Russian finished the fourteenth gory anecdote. She smiled at Loki, waving one pale hand in greeting, before pushing the button in the toe of the shoe that released the blade and catching it. "These are the single best thing I have ever witnessed. I want one."
"You can conjure weapons far more lethal with unbelievable subtlety, little one," Loki said fondly, crouching at her side. "Why would you want stilettos in your shoes?"
"Papa." Hela shot him a terrifying teenager look. "They're the coolest thing. Ever. Ever."
This was the difficult part. No matter what they tried, Hela was never capable of walking. No spell, no potion, no scientific miracle was capable of enabling her; from the waist down, she was effectively dead.
"We'll see." Loki looked up and glared harmlessly at Tony. "I cannot believe that you taught her slang."
"Relax, Shakespeare In The Park." Tony leaned back into the sofa and, subsequently, into Bruce's shoulder. "She's practically a teenager. Teenagers use terribly bastardized language, no matter what they speak. She'll eventually stop."
"You apparently have not."
"I'm a child at heart." Tony stuck out his tongue.
Loki buried his face in the carpet before letting out a mock-pained laugh. "You, Stark, will be my doom."
"Yes, dear." Tony turned back to Hela, who inspected a glimmering lilac copy of the Natasha's shoe, and said, "Hey. Lieutenant Dan. Didn't you wanna ask your old man something? About a cake-y something?"
"Ooh! Yes!" Hela twisted, green eyes gleaming. "Papa, can I have cake? Friend Hawk made it!"
Loki groaned again, pulling upright. "A small piece. You need to sleep tonight, sweet one."
Hela rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yes, Papa. Besides, we're celebrating. That means rules don't count."
"Stark!"
"I didn't teach her that one!"
Steve raised a guilty hand. "Sorry. That's my fault. It was my Mom's old rule - on holidays, special occasions, whatever, you were allowed to indulge a little. Go stand outside in the cold without a jacket, overindulge on sweets, stay up late." It had always been pretty fun on holidays; little Steve, asthma medication on hand, would stand outside on their fire escape with Bucky and Mom and breathe in the dry winter air, relishing that little rebellion - he didn't have to be confined by his weaknesses. He could do what he wanted.
Of course, after about two minutes, he'd need to go back inside and take an emergency dose to stop the wheezing, but it was always worth it.
Thor grinned. "Mine, too."
They all watched with watering mouths as Clint sliced the champagne cake. Airy and fluffy and sweet, layers joined together by strawberry compote, frosted with smooth honey buttercream, it was a definite, unanimous masterpiece.
In an effort to avoid the wrath of a paternal Loki, Hela's slice was indeed the smallest, and she levitated to his side just to hug him in thanks. "I am sorry, Lady Tasha, but the cake has stolen your murderous shoes' spot. It is officially the best of all things," she hummed, licking her fork drowsily. By 11.16 p.m., she was asleep on Loki's lap, hugging one arm tightly and smiling softly.
After a few minutes of silence interrupted only by the scrape of a dull knife on porcelain as someone served themselves another slice of cake, Clint piped up. "I'm... I'm sorry I thought you kidnapped your kids."
Loki shrugged with one shoulder, leaning into Thor's side. "I am only slightly offended. There was no long-standing context with which to conclude that they were mine, and I have a somewhat tarnished reputation yet." Thor stroked Loki's hair, smiling softly. "I wronged you, and it is my duty to right those wrongs or allow your mistrust."
Clint squirmed. "I... Look. You're not some psychotic despot. You're a guy who takes paintball way too seriously; has, like, seven kids; and makes one of my friends very, very happy. Granted, you were a pretty huge dick the first time I met you. I still can't sit through the hypnosis scenes in Now You See Me. But you haven't done jack shit to lend credence to any dislike towards you since then, and I do like you. So, I'm gonna stop thinking of you as the villain."
Loki nodded. It was alarmingly wonderful to hear that from someone.
"Just... Don't pull any of that Houdini crap on me again, okay? Or, like, in my line of sight." Clint sank back into Phil's chest, more than a little wiped by the conversation, and hummed quietly.
"I swear by my throne," Loki said solemnly.
"Cool."
The next half hour passed pretty quietly; Thor carried Hela upstairs to sleep in the same room as Vali, they watched a recap of 2013 on Tony's TV, laughing at the shaky cellphone camera shots of their various exploits, and counted down pretty raucously just before midnight.
As soon as the ball dropped, Thor was straddling Loki and kissing him, the two of them tugging each other's hair and getting, perhaps, a little too far past PG13, though nobody else seemed to notice.
Natasha, from her very comfortable seat in Steve's lap, cupped the nape of his neck with one hand and tugged him down by the collar of his neatly-pressed button up shirt, kissing him so hard that there were lipstick stains when she pulled away. Granted, she didn't pull back very far, and Steve didn't exactly want her to, belied by the tight grip of his hands on her slim waist, the two of them catching their breath with barely an inch of space between them.
Clint and Phil somehow ended up, throughout the course of the evening, with a couch to themselves. Everyone was pretty certain it was because they all knew how the night would end. The two of them ended up sprawled over the length of the couch, kissing each other until every constellation shone from their retinas, hands squeezing hips and biceps and other hands, holding tight enough to blanch their knuckles.
Pepper and Harry, even, were in on the Midnight Kiss, arms thrown so tight around each other that they got sort of tangled up in their own limbs; Harry's hand somehow ended up caught in the straps of her blue dress, though she blamed that on the complex latticework, and would until the end of time.
Tony, for once, did not leer at anyone, didn't make some lewd comment or snarky joke. He stared, very silently, into the depths of his tumbler - the first of the night, surprisingly - and watched half-melted chips of ice swirl in amber fluid.
"Oh, for the love of fuckin' Pete," Bruce groaned. He cupped Tony's jaw, blunt, steady fingers spanning the nape of his neck, and looked him dead in the eyes. "I'm going to kiss you now, Tony. Because I love you, and you love me, and I will later reprimand myself for inadvertently referencing Barney, but that doesn't matter now."
The last forty seconds of 12.00 a.m., the first minute of a shining new year, was spent by the two of them kissing.
It was sweet - meaningful, if one were to go so far as to state the whole truth - and just rough enough to make Tony's arc reactor glow about two watts brighter, and when they pulled back to breathe, Tony grinned cheekily.
JARVIS decided not to 'I told you so' Sir just yet. After all, he had a whole year to bring up how stupid Tony's miscalculation of Bruce's feelings had been.
For a genius, he thought - or, at least, he thought he thought it - Sir is rather stupid.
HAPPY 2014, EVERYBODY(who reads my fanfic regularly and is subscribed/somehow found this online)!
I meant to have this up at exactly midnight, but, the best laid plans of mice and men...
Often go to shit.
Anywhoodles, I hope you all had a good year, and I hope this next one is even better!