Chapter One: In Plain Sight
Tony Stark stood with a walking cane, looking into his own haggard reflection in the mirror over a gleaming set of bathroom faucets. It was late evening in October, and a party was going on full-swing on the other side of the restroom doors.
Though he was very much part of it, he felt curiously isolated, as if he was a stranger just come off the street. This feeling was new, foreign and alien. He could be a part of anything he wanted. Money and power was no object, and such commodities could be literally thrown around if he so wished it. But lately, money and power had waned within his mind and perhaps in everyone else's, even though he was rich and well known and his statue remained firm, even under scrutiny from the press.
The party going on was like a party of any other day.
But tonight it was Steve Roger's birthday.
Tony gave himself a stern glance, pleased with his formal attire.
He was all in ceremonious black, a colour he seldom chose to wear. Black was for funerals, for grief. For the damned. Black was ideally too solemn for him anyway; too stern, especially for his public outings otherwise it might conceive the wrong message. The media was sensitive like that. And he had never gone anywhere with a cane before either. The cane added to his weight of years somehow, as if implying that he could no longer endure the use of his own legs.
But damn, it did make him look like an old noble in a fairytale book. If he was so inclined as to be narcissistic he would have rated himself as 'elegantly handsome.'
The cane was useful, and added to his natural flair. No one else had commented on it except Pepper Potts, who marvelled at its natural elegance.
Natasha Romanov had given it a casual glance but said nothing. She often didn't need to speak. Her eyes told yarns.
Yet, despite the cane, the black he wore did one good deed despite its awful sternness: it helped to hide his sudden, ungodly weight loss. Weight loss that he had been somewhat aware of the past few months in passing acquaintances. Not that it bothered him much. With all his tinkering and building, and infrequent naps, he had been finding less time to tone up his muscles. That was okay though. He just had to fool them for one night and that would be it for another unknowable amount of time. To show any weakness was unfathomable.
There was also that slim chance of being 'called in' too, to be an Avenger. But that hadn't happened since he had started losing weight. Not every world problem was a big one, and Steve Rogers, along with his infallible crew, usually resolved matters in hours, if not less. Tony was more than confident that if the problem at hand was pretty serious, they'd call him in immediately, but that simply hadn't happened. Yet.
A large part of him did feel resolutely disappointed. A smaller part was relieved. After all, if Bruce's Hulk couldn't thwart the 'bad guy,' who the hell could? Fury hardly seemed concerned with the team, and his lack of feedback was often taken as good news.
Besides, Tony found himself doubting his own ability to provide for the suit. Yes its power was provided for, the internal wires monitored and manipulated by Jarvis if needed. But really, it had been almost six months since last he stepped into it, and six months since he had last been in a mission. The suit had started to scare him somehow, for no cause or reason. He loved to fly in it, and do things no ordinary man could ever do. In it, he was likened to a god, a mortal one, but a god nonetheless. He was free in it; breaking out of his constraints like a bird must feel after leaving its nest.
Now the suit was his to tinker with, his to adjust, to calibrate, to mingle with and mess with. It was his daily routine. But not once had he flown in it for half a year.
Maybe it was because of his last mission, a folly in his past he hated to discuss, much less reflect on.
Tony Stark admired himself a little longer in the mirror, enjoying the peaceful solitude of his own privacy before confronting the door of his exit. The music was loud out there, the lyrics unmistakable, even in the porcelain restroom.
It had been months since he had last seen Steve, and there was a preliminary sense that the Captain was out there, somewhere, mingling with his friends after coming in from the cold in his old-fashioned style coat and hat.
It was no wonder then, when Tony opened the door, that he saw him from across the foyer, barely looking a day past twenty five. If Tony had not learned beforehand, he would not have believed them if they said Steve had just turned ninety six today. Yet the numbers were stencilled in bright red letters on the cake and on the silvery banner stretching from the parlour ceiling.
It brought some envy to Tony's table. How could it not? His team was made up of one half human, one half god. Thor, Bruce and Steve made up the ultimate mettle, and took the years with ease. It hardly aged them. Natasha was still young of course, and had no children to strain herself over, so even she was looking well. Then there was Clint, who also kept himself well.
Mingling through the crowd had always been easy for him. People recognised him almost always at once, and he got winks and waves across the room and handshakes when he was within reach. People met his eyes with rich cheerfulness: and as always, that fake charm. He didn't know half the people whom he spoke to, and remembered few names, and which names he did remember, he said to the wrong people. That was okay though too, for he was rich and they were a forgiving bunch who would shortly be re-forgotten.
He quickly saddled up to Natasha, who was busy drinking champagne simply because it helped pass the time, not because it pleased her. Her flaming hair, always so vibrant, even in the gloom, blazed a deep autumnal red. Her eyes, alien and cold, always sparkled with some genuine warmth whenever she saw him in the crowd. Not because he was Tony Stark, but because they were a family. A strange family yes, but a family bound together all the same, in chaos or in peace.
"Seen the birthday boy yet?" He asked of her, even though he knew Rogers was already here.
She held the champagne glass daintily, trying her hardest to appear normal. She even watched the other women to assess the way they held themselves and moved, so that she could copy them. She was as wary as a spider, and as keen as a hawk. Her sequinned dress; a mix of bruised purple and flowing red, strangely suited her to the ground, even if she wasn't the type to wear dresses. Her eyelashes had been painted up, as were her blushed cheeks. Tony often wondered if she enjoyed applying make-up at all, or if she merely found it irritating. He himself could sympathize; he was finding group gatherings a tiresome affair when once upon a time he used to revel in such activities. Now they only drained what energy he had left.
Tony grabbed an alcoholic cocktail from a passing tray just as the waiter shimmied past. He gulped from it as if he was thirsty, and dumped the empty glass on a table already littered with used glasses.
"Yes. He's dithering with Patrick Hide."
"Patrick Hide? That athletic gay fellow?"
His nuance of childish play was not lost on her. "Yes. The very same."
Patrick was one of Steve's co-workers at the Public Gym in Boston. Steve loved working out, and if he wanted some fresh air, he'd dive down to the Public Gym to break out a casual sweat. And that was where he met Patrick who was also an athletic enthusiast. They had hit it off quickly, and Steve didn't usually warm up to strangers so soon. Even so, Steve kept all personal information from the guy, never letting on that he was Captain America.
As it was, Tony could just see Steve's head bobbing and weaving through the crowd some forty paces away.
"You look... good." Nat said after some consideration, as if she had wanted to let slip something else. Tony accepted her compliment at face value. No one really knew what Natasha was really thinking. "I see you brought a cane. Afraid you'll fall over?"
Tony smirked at her, offering up one of his patented grins that usually won over most girls. It was just an expression he usually hid behind. "Helps push people out of the way." He concluded.
She raised one eyebrow, not convinced. She never was. He doubted she even knew what sex felt like even if she was doomed to have it twenty-four-seven.
"Banner?" He choked, if just to change the subject.
"Over by the food."
He looked over at the long, white-clothed table set at the back of the parlour that was dressed in a typical buffet style. There was the big birthday cake in the middle topped with the red, ugly numbers spelling '96.' Then there was a chocolate fountain spewing what looked more like brown mud, and an array of smaller delicate blue plates containing rare, expensive sweets such as fondants, liquors and cakes. There was not a single savoury snack in sight. On any other day this would have bothered Tony Stark. But tonight, even though he had not eaten all day, failed to have a scrap of appetite. Instead he filled his time drinking whatever the waiter passed around. Nat, not warming up to the party much either, had another glass.
"So, how have the missions been going lately?" He asked. He tried not to shout it at her. The music was loud, but she seemed attuned to much of what he had to say. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to ask.
"Not so bad." Nat replied in her usual, abrupt manner. "I postulate that Hydra has either gone bankrupt or retreated into hiding. That green company Equilibrium has also gone quiet. The last few jobs have just been sweep-up jobs. I doubt even you would find them exciting."
"And you?"
She shrugged as if the question bore no relevance. "Spying as always. Looking for trouble. Listening to the opposition. You know how it is." Nat took a slow sip from her drink. Her eyes rested on his only some of the time. She was instead taking in the crowd, and assessing each face when it came into view, reminding him of a tiger measuring the weak from the deadly. Even at the party she did not relax. Despite this, he somehow felt safe with her. It was pretty much how he felt around all the Avengers, except of course for poor old Bruce Banner. Tony really liked that man and it wasn't strictly his fault that he turned into a green monster when he threw himself to the wolves of anger. In fact provoking him was in a way, a game. Steve saw it as disrespectful. Tony saw it as 'bonding.'
In fact, truth be told, the man himself parted through the crowd, heading straight towards them. His eyes alighted on Romanoff first, and then passed to Tony. Tony smiled, showing a little of his teeth.
Bruce smiled too, though his sentiment was much more reserved.
"Glad you could both make it. Been here long?" He asked.
Natasha shrugged lightly. "Been here long enough. Just got here?"
"Yeah, the taxi was a little late, so..."
"Traffic?" Tony interjected.
"Yeah. Accident on the freeway." Bruce pointed casually at his formal attire. He himself was wearing casual shirt, pants and tie. And ties had never really suited him. He looked like an outgrown kid fresh from college. "You look good." He commented dryly. Tony tried to pick up on what he really meant, but he was clueless.
"Thanks. Too grim?"
"No, no. Surprisingly it suits you. Elegant. What's with the cane?" He seemed more curious than judgemental.
"In case I need to knock some sense into someone." Tony said with a flourishing fake smile.
Bruce appeared to look like he wanted to say something more. His mouth even opened, his eyes on the cane. Then with a glance he looked to Natasha and whatever had been on his mind vanished.
"Let's go meet the birthday boy." He said, clapping his hands together. Natasha smiled and nodded in a painfully polite way. Tony followed them through the crowd. As they were walking, Bruce asked, "So how's Pepper?"
"Busy, busy. Haven't seen her much lately in actual fact. She must have got lost behind all that paperwork."
Bruce just nodded.
Steve Rogers was near the food table, looking as resplendent as always. His arms were solid and beefy, and even his shirt looked primed to explode off his biceps if so they so much as bulged. His hair had not the slightest fibre of grey and his eyes sparkled with youthful interest. He was not a drinker, and usually refrained from the cruder beverages, but tonight he was drinking something that looked a lot like vodka, though Tony suspected it was lemonade.
With cat-like reflexes, he was quick to suss that he had company. After barely ending the conversation with Patrick, he had caught Bruce in his periphery and had turned to him with a welcoming smile. Upon seeing Tony and Natasha, his smile faltered. Tony felt suddenly abashed for no reason.
"Hello, all." He said.
"Happy birthday." Nat replied with a glossy smile that had genuine warmth to it. "Have you started drawing your pension yet?"
Steve Rogers could not help but laugh at that one, even if she had told him the same joke last year.
"Don't worry; the State is safe for another decade." He said, chuffed. "Which reminds me, it's going to be our anniversary soon. Next month, right?"
Tony almost had forgotten, and mentally cursed himself. Another public appearance? But Steve was correct. Every November on the 7th, the Avengers team, and no one else, celebrated their 'coming-together.' It had been four years now. Three years of chaos, and one year of peace.
Tony had never failed to attend the event, but he suddenly didn't want to invest his time in it any longer. Before long they'd start really noticing his weight loss and sickly appearance, and it wouldn't just be odd glances his way or dropping in the occasional joking comment. They'd soon pull him up onto the stage and interrogate him. Then Fury would simply shake his head and cut him from the team. After all, the old and the sick couldn't be Avengers.
"Right." Concluded Bruce good naturally. "The good thing about those anniversary parties is that we don't have to hide who we are. It was great last year. We rented out that lodge, remember? And Clint got so drunk he thought he was back at home!" Bruce was all smiles. Rarely did he laugh, but he was very relaxed, and clearly loved their company. He seldom got on with anyone else. That was what was so good about the Avengers. So long as you were reliable to a certain degree on the field, Fury accepted who or what you were.
Steve's bright blue eyes turned to Stark's almost effortlessly. "You keeping well, Tony?"
The question was so unforeseen, so out of line, that Tony only stared up at Steve for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. "I am." Was all he could manage, even when he had ample time to come up with a reasonable excuse or some sarcastic remark.
The comment seemed to trouble Steve, for he didn't look convinced. In fact, he utterly believed he'd hear sarcasm, and when it wasn't forthcoming he was only left confused.
Finding their company suddenly irritable and feverish, Tony excused himself by pretending that he needed to get another drink, and so slipped away from them as easily as a bat slipped away in the dark. He didn't get that 'other drink.' Instead he traipsed back to the only place he felt where he could think, and be safe, and that was the restroom.
Tony hadn't yet acclimatised to his lack of energy and sudden claustrophobia, though he blamed it partly on anxiety.
He stood yet again at the sink, horrified to find that his face looked even more sunken and ghost-white than it had since last he looked upon himself. He blamed it on the cheap florescent lighting.
The door opened and someone – a guest he didn't know – strode in. Tony, his solitude broken, went back out into the feverish party, the music drumming into his ears with lights strafing from above. It was still early, nine o'clock early, and he wasn't sure he could take another hour of this.
He pretended to mingle near the front door, trying to breathe in some of that good old autumn air whenever someone opened it when claustrophobia struck again. Feeling walled-in from all sides, and hot with sweat, he decided that to be free was a lot more tempting, and besides, hardly anyone would miss him. He always chose to go where he pleased besides.
Placing a clammy palm on the handle of the door, he turned it and stepped heavily out into the cool, dark October night. The door closed neatly behind him and already he felt better, and for once, was able to breathe. He took great, big lungfulls until he was coughing it back up again.
Clutching to the railings of the stone steps despite the aid of his cane on the way down, he left the house and crossed the quiet, dark street. His car was parked up on the pavement beside an ornamental garden that belonged to some rich neighbour.
After slinging his cane onto the backseat, Tony slid into the front once he had unlocked the car, and sat there, shaking from the chill in the air even though he was still sweaty and hot.
He gave himself a moment to get himself together and then promptly hit the ignition button on the dashboard. The car's engine droned to life. The sound could not have been more pleasing.
Bone-hard knuckles rattled upon the car door outside. Tony involuntarily jumped before glancing round, confusion sprawled across his face. Steve was outside, bending over slightly to look at him through the window.
Tony cursed and hit the electric window button even as he regretted it.
The window slid down almost without sound.
"You're leaving?" Was Steve's only question. It was direct and simple, even though it was clear from his body language that he wanted to drown Tony in questions.
"You're missing your own party." Tony answered lamely, drawing up another signature smile. "Sorry, but I gotta run. Pepper just called me. She slipped in the shower and hurt her ankle. Can you believe it? Her timing is just incredible!" He had always been a veteran liar. He hadn't been so good with honesty until he met Yinsen. Now he found lying to be incredibly easy, as if he had never stopped doing it. He even surprised himself with the shit he came out with.
Steve looked at him hard, as if trying to suss out the lie. Tony was surprised he had even notice him leave, AND followed him out into the blustery cold. What could possible drive Steve to do that? Hadn't he got about ten thousand other guests to chat to?
"Yes. Incredible. When you see her, let me know if she's all right, won't you?"
Tony smiled, this time in relief. Steve had bought it, hook-line-and-sinker. "Will do. Have my share of the birthday cake, will you? And that big present covered in pink paper? It's from me. Open it from a distance."
Steve regarded him quizzically and said nothing else. Tony let the window slide all the way back up again, and then pulled out of his driving slot. He looked into the rear-view mirror once before heading down the road, and saw Steve still standing there under the glow of the street light in that ever-so-tight shirt.