"What this?" Steve asks, holding a dusty box.
"I don't know," Natasha says, stepping over to swipe a hand over the surface.
Steve sits down, and she kneels next to him. They were chilling in the common room, the only two here. Everone else is on missions or busy. After all the craziness of 'Civil War' and Bucky, they had stayed in Wakanda for a while, until Bucky's innocence was cleared and all of the 'Rougue Avengers' (as dubbed by the media,) were given presidential pardons, and allowed to return to the US.
They moved back into the compound, where Tony is also living part time. It's only a publicity stunt, to show the public that the avengers are all together and happy again. In truth, Tony steers clear from all of them, only emerging from his workshop to eat, sleep or go out with Pepper or Rhodey. Still, Steve wants to repair bridges, he feels bad for what went down in Siberia, but the brunet seems to be unaffected by his attempts at apologies.
Anyway, back to the box, Steve pries the lid open.
Inside is a yellowed newspaper clipping, a folder, a few trinkets and an unopened letter and a notebook.
"What?" Nat marvels, picking up a shiny necklace. The thing glitters in the low light, even dusty and unpolished. It's dripping in rubies, and must have lost a fortune.
Steve does the same, letting sapphire bracelets slip though his fingers like water. Natasha puts down the necklace, although Steve still plays with the glitzy jewellery — it occurs to her that, growing up during the Great Depression, this would be an overwhelming show of wealth.
Natasha, with careful fingers, picks up the clipping,
Howard and Maria Stark die in car accident.
Youngest Stark to take over company
Stark Raving Mad
Who is Iron-Man?
"I am Iron-Man" Tony Stark revealed.
Tony Stark Missing After Terrorist Attack
The Avengers: Protectors of a new age.
Civil War: what's next?
"He has all the newspaper clippings," Nat observes.
Steve frowns. "Huh, I didn't figure Tony as the kind of guy to read the newspaper."
"Yeah, me either,"
Natasha grabs the folder, blowing dust off the front. She flips open to the first page, where a few pictures of a young, beautiful girl decorate. She traces a picture around one of the only coloured ones, the same girl with bronze skin standing on a cliff, Mediterranean-blue sea stretching out behind her.
"Who is that?" Steve asks, moved on from the jewellery. "Why would Tony have pictures of some random woman?"
"I...I think these are his mother," it comes out in a rush. Now Natasha knows she really shouldn't be spying. In all her time with Tony, this has always been off-limits, not even when he's had far, far too much to drink or dying and shedding secrets like dog hair.
"She's beautiful," Steve says.
Natasha wants to laugh. "Of course she is. I heard Howard was always vain like that."
Steve looks like he wants to protest, but instead he just mutters, "like father, like son."
She doesn't say anything, just flips over the page. Now it is group pictures, with faded black-ink captions. The first is someone that Natasha recognised as Peggy Carter, a founder of SHIELD, and when Steve's breath catches she knows it. Maria and Peggy are laughing, this time in color, holding wine glasses and sitting on a couch together. Aunt Peg and mamma, California, 1951, Is inked in Tony's familiar handwriting.
Steve blinks, "I didn't know Tony knew Peggy," he frowns.
"He did," Natasha responds, "quite well, I think. Peggy And Howard founded SHIELD together, so she would have been around for a lot of his childhood."
Steve doesn't say anything else.
The next is Maria and Edwin Jarvis standing on a grassy hill, bright blue ocean spread out behind them. They're laughing, Maria's skirts swirling around her knees and Jarvis in a short-sleeved shirt with his forearms exposed. Mamma and Jarvis, Rio, 1948.
"Who's that?" Steve asks, finger pointing at Jarvis.
"Jarvis."
"Like, the AI?" he asks, confused.
"No," Natasha shakes her head, trying to explain. "Edwin Jarvis was a bodyguard to Howard. When Tony was growing up, he turned into a bit of a... Nanny, I guess. I'm told that's who took care of him most of the time."
Steve snorts, "I should have guessed."
Natasha looks at him, "we both know that Tony has not had such an easy life as people believe, Steve. Don't."
Steve mutters a, "sorry."
Nat turns back purposely, eyes flicking to the next picture.
Howard is in this one. Maria is on a lawn, a comically-large sunhat shading her features, wearing gardening gloves and holding shears. Howard leans next to her, wearing a suit and staring into the camera with a neutral expression. Mamma and Howard, Long Island, 1962.
The next is a group picture, Peggy, Maria, Howard, Obadiah, Edwin and a woman she does not recognise. They're all happy, with Peggy, Maria and the unknown women drinking wine in wonderful 50's dresses, and the men sipping beer or scotch — in Howard or Obadiah's case. They are standing in front of a Christmas tree, the edge of a roaring fireplace in the corner. Aunt Peggy, Ana, Mamma, Howard, Obie and Jarvis, Malibu, Christmas 1955.
"They look happy," Steve says softly, his eyes trained on Howard and Peggy.
"Yes," Natasha returns softly. "I think they were."
The last one is paired with another, a bright pink...flamingo standing proud in one, and the other Edwin standing, seemingly defeated, with a put-on pout on his face and shoulders dramatically slumped next to a cage, the bird strutting around in the background. Bernard and Jarvis, 1946 and 1950. Next to that The Devil In Pink is written jokingly.
"Bernard?" Steve asks, chuckling a little.
Natasha frowns, "yeah, I think it was Howard's."
"Sounds like kinda thing Howard would do," Steve chuckles.
"Sounds like the kind of thing Tony would do."
Steve flips over the page. There is a sudden time jump. Maria has more lines around her eyes, laughs long forgotten extended along her skin. She looks exhausted but glowing with happiness in a hospital bed, holding a baby, a little tuft of brown hair sticking up out of the blanket that swaddles him. Anthony Edward Stark is born, 1970.
The next few are all baby pictures, none labelled.
The next page there is another time jump, with Tony appearing about 3 or 4.
There is one with a adorable, chubby-cheeked, brown-eyed toddler clinging to Peggy's legs. Behind them the grey, utilitarian towers of London, as evidenced by the Big Ben in the background. Aunt Peg and me, London, 1973 is written under the photo.
Another is Maria and Tony, him hoisted on her hip. They're on a sunny, white beach. A strip of white sunscreen decorates the bridge of Anthony's nose. Me and Mamma, Monaco, 1974.
The next is Anthony, alone, standing in front of a lab. He's holding up a circuit board proudly. My first circuit board, dads Howard's lab, 1974.
"He crossed out dad," Steve murmurs.
Natasha swallows, "uh, Tony didn't have the best relationship with Howard. There's rumours of child abuse, but nothing concrete and, of course, Stark won't say anything."
"No," Steve shakes his head, "Howard isn't like that."
Nat just shrugs, "like I said, only suspicions."
Anthony is standing next to 'Bernard' the flamingo, and patting it with one small hand, Edwin Jarvis half-in the shot behind him. Me and Bernard, Long Island, 1974.
"Stark was a cute kid," Natasha says, almost..impressed?
"Yeah, he was," Steve agrees. He can almost see the man that kid grew up into, but the translation is lost somewhere between the wide, expressive brown eyes, and floppy mop of shaggy hair.
Natasha flips to the next page, there is another time jump, about 2 years.
Tony's sitting in the same lab, a smear of oil across one cheek and hair sticking everywhere, but he is grinning in a dazed, excited way. He is sitting next to a engine. Me and my first V8 engine, 1976.
"Six?! And making an engine?" Steve says, bewildered.
Natasha laughs dainty, "he is a child prodigy."
The next is a snapshot of Maria, laughing, licking sauce off her fingers. She's half-turned away from the kitchen bench, a bubbling pot on the heat behind her. Her hair is loose, dark brown and falling around her face in soft waves. Mamma cooking, Long Island, 1976.
Cherry trees bloom in the background, huge swaths of pink blossom flowers. Tony's standing next to his mother, hand gripping her tightly and practically drowning in a yellow raincoat. The pair are standing on a stone-bricked pavement. Me and mamma, Japan, 1977.
"Looks like they travelled a bit," Steve absorbs.
"Most of the families like them do."
"The families like them?"
"Yeah, you know, business families. When Tony gets drunk he talks about it."
"He does? I've never heard him."
"Correction: when he was dying and drunk, he talked about it."
"You know, Even then—" Natasha stabs a finger at the young face "- he would have been in training to take over a company like SI. of course, Stark's made it a lot bigger since then, especially with the divergence away from weapons."
Steve only hums, thinking it over as Natasha turn over the page with nimble fingers.
There's a hug time jump, to 14. He's standing next to a shiny black car, with Peggy, Maria and Edwin Jarvis next to him. He's smiling faintly, but something in his eyes have changed, they're slightly sadder, less bright and expressive, less wondering. Going to MIT, 1984.
"He went that young?" Steve asks.
Natasha chuckles, "do I have to remind you again? He was a child genius, Steve. And anyway, it would have looked good for SI."
"Why would that matter?"
She laughs, "oh, innocent Steve. Of course it matters, everything in the world of business matters."
The next is a dark-haired 14 year old Tony leaning on a desk, chewing on a pen. A young Rhodey is sitting next to him, legs kicked up on the chair. Rhodey and I, MIT, 1984, opening week.
There's a couple more, all stuck on the page in haphazard order. At the start, he still has that dull look, the light from his eyes extinguished, he's more reserved, always fiddling with something, whether it be a pen, or wire, or a dozen other things.
Then, as the days progress, he starts being captured mid-laugh, in the happy, calm, contend moments that fall between his madness. Soon, that spark returns, lighting up his entire form, especially when hes looking at Rhodey.
It's a set of five, the first a 16-year-old Tony, with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth and blueprints behind him. The next is him typing some code, completely fixated on the computer. After that is him with a metal mask over his face and holding a welding torch. Then his back turned, assembling what Steve recognises as DUM-E's claw. The final picture is cut from a newspaper, faded from time, it's him squatting next to the complete bot, wearing a neutral expression. DUM-E IS BORN 16/8/84 is scrawled in bold under the pictures.
"I didn't realise DUM-E was made when he was at MIT."
Natasha huffs, "Stark made one of the first well-functioning AI's at college, and named it an idiot. It's typical, almost laughable."
There's only one more set of pictures, another set of 6. A few, stuck together, of him coding. Then a picture of him holding up a flash-drive, with J.A.R.V.I.S. written down the side, vivid on tape. The next few are obviously taken in a moment of celebration, the first with him the computer screen loading J.A.R.V.I.S up, the second with a whole babble of technical code and nonsense, jargon that Steve doesn't understand, but evidently it's good, because in the background Tony is frozen leaping in the air, mouth open and shouting in celebration.
GRADUATION
He's wearing a black cap and robe, tassel dangling infront of his grinning face. Rhodey and a few others are next to him, but only Rhodey's arm is slung over his shoulder. In the next picture the two of them are separate from the black-gowned crowds behind them, throwing their caps into the air gleefully.
The next few pages are sparse, with pictures jumping between time quickly. Nearly all of them are unlabelled, blurry shots of lights and parties long forgotten, and a few of Tony in his workshop, rolling his eyes. There's some with Rhodey, smiling in his military uniform, or even Happy, driving with sunglasses on.
One of the only ones with labels is one of Pepper, wearing a tight, light grey pencil skirt and tucked-in blouse. She's bending over a desk, sorting papers. Pep's first day, Malibu, 2003.
Thee's one of a mid-twenties Tony, lying on a deckchair, face aimed at the sun. He looks happy. Free. Off the coast of Greece, 1995.
There's one with Rhodey, him wearing a party hat and grinning happily into the camera. Rhodey's 29th Birthday, 1997.
One of Tony holding a glass of champagne, next to a pretty, wavy-haired girl. The new millennium, Bern, 2000.
Tony leaning back holding a glass of scotch and a smug expression. JSDF deal, Tokyo, 2001.
Natasha flips over to a new page, and her eyes catch on the heading: Afghanistan, 2008.
"How would he have pictures? What actually happened?" Steve asks. "You would know, right?"
"Yeah," she admits heavily, "Stark was doing a weapons demonstration — this was while SI was still a weapons manufacturer— and travelled to the Kunar Province in Afghanistan. After the demo, his humvee was attacked. All the soldiers died. He was missing for three months, in the end, they found him wandering the desert with the Arc in his chest. even now, they don't know what really happened, just that's where he built the first suit."
"Damn," Steve whistles, "I did— well, I well I did know, I just didn't really...think."
Natasha looks to the next picture, it's one with him and Rhodey, them sitting on a couch drunkenly, a bottle of..sake? dangling from Tony's hand. Multi-colored lights dapple across their grinning faces. In the corner of the photo, there's the edge of a woman, wearing a skirt and rolled-up shirt to show her midriff. Natasha screws up her nose, typical. Rhodey and I, flight to Afghanistan.
Then there's a few snapshots of him shaking hands and smiling with what looks like military officials. Before demo.
Then, stark standing next to the Jericho, arrogant and dustrictive. About to demonstrate the Jericho.
"The Jericho? What's that?"
"'the crown jewel of Stark Industries' Freedom Line.'" Natasha quotes. "It's lucky he never ended up selling many. Many more people would be dead."
It takes a long moment for Steve to respond, when he does it is soft and quiet, "Tony was very good at his job, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Natasha whispers back, slightly wry, "he was far too good."
The next pictures is slightly blurred, but Tony is shooting a debonair look that he sometimes uses when he's being sarcastic and messing with people. A young soldier is leaning into him, holding up a peace sign. Jimmy, 1988-2008. RIP.
"Huh," Natasha scrutinises the picture.
"What?"
"It just..." she shakes her head, "forget it."
Steve shrugs, turning back. The next one makes both's breath catch, it's terrible film, horrible, really, it's dim and smoky and grainy. It's in Afghanistan.
Stark is sitting with another man, playing chess. He's wearing a sweat-stained shirt, and the blue rim of the Arc shows though his shirt. He's not smiling, not like the other pictures, he looks haggard and worn and tired. Yinsen and I, playing chess.
"Is that a cave?" Steve echoes her thoughts.
Natasha shrugs, "they guess he was kept in a cave of some sort, he's mentioned it a few times, this just confirms it."
"And who's Yinsen?"
"I...Have no idea," she says, almost confused, befuddled.
The next few are of the same quality, although definitely computer-enhanced.
There's one, frozen with Tony's arm up, about to clang down on a piece of metal.
The man called Yinsen is holding something, but the orange flames of the fire hide whatever it is from view. Tony is leaning over his shoulder, mouth open and saying something.
1 MORE
The last one is of a clanky, bulky metal suit, arm up and firing at an insurgent.
"That's his escape," Natasha remarks, eyes keen and cutting. This right here, it is all of Tony's vulnerabilities, and even though technicallyNatasha achieved that mission, back when he was dying, she had never considered it done. This is the best opportunity she could ever get. First, the childhood pictures, now Afghanistan for god's sake. It's a goldmine of his weaknesses.
"How did he get theses pictures?"he marvels.
"I've heard whispers," Natasha says, eyes boring into the photos, "that someone managed to hack into the camera feeds — not while it was happening, of course. I guess Tony heard them too. Maybe it was him that did it."
"But why would he keep them?"
Natasha shrugs, " don't know why Stark does half the things he does."
She turns the page with steady fingers. Tony is obviously tired, evidenced by the circles under his eyes and the exhausted, yet happy look on his face. He's sweaty and sandy, with lank hair falling into his face. A doctor is leaning next to him, and he's just shooed him, away given that Rhodey is calling the doctor back, on hand on the small Tony's back.
It's a picture taken on a runway, the edge of a plane wing cutting into the corner of the photo. Pepper's standing next to Tony is a suit, his arm in a sling. Her eyes are red-rimmed and watery, but she looks like she's about to laugh nonetheless. Tony's distracted, looking at her with a half-smile half-smirk on his face. Pepper and I reuniting. And a cartoon heart drawn by someone else's hand, due to his half-hearted scribble crossing it out.
There's a black and white X-Ray of Tony's chest. It shows the arc reactor, embedded deep into his sternum, pressing against the ghostly shadow of his lungs.
"Holy shit," Natasha whispers, finger tracing over the X-Ray.
"I...I didn't know it was so...big," Steve says numbly.
She goes to grab the notebook, but a voice at the door freezes them.
"What are you doing?"
"Stark—" Natasha tries turning around, but he's seem the album.
"What the fuck are you doing," he snarls, stalking on. He practically rips the photo album from Steve's hands, stuffing it back into the box. "What gave you the right?" he demands, standing up.
"We were just—"
"Invading my privacy?" Tony interjects.
"No, no, Tony I just found it—" Steve attempts.
"It was not a thing to be found," Tony hisses. "If you know me at all you would know that."
"Stark, I'm sorry, but—" Natasha starts.
"No, no, don't even try with that, I know you, spy, I know that you would sell what's left of your soul to get your claws into me. Well, I'll tell you this, I won't let you."
"Tony, you're being a bit unreasonable. It's just a photo album," Steve tries to sooth. Natasha winces. This is not going to end well.
"Just a photo album?!" he says incredulously, "oh god, Steve. You need to think that over for a second."
"I really don't see —"
"Of course you don't, Steve," Tony says despairingly, all strength sapped out of him. "You certainly haven't had an easy life, but it hasn't been hard in the way mine has been hard."
Steve scoffs, "don't play that card, Tony."
"What card? The child abuse card? The absent father card? The kidnapped card? The betrayed card? The alcoholic card? The poisoned by a machine of my own making card? I've been though a hellton of shit, Steve, and you say you're sorry, and you want to be friends, but really, you don't give a fuck."
Steve sighs, "We're sorry, but you can't expect us to know."
Tony just looks at them sadly, "yeah, I can. Because if Rhodey or Pepper, or literally anybody else that actually took two seconds to know me wouldn't. They know my boundaries, and you just crossed several."
Natasha rolls her eyes, "don't you think you're being a bit childish on this?"
He nods his head, "I can trusty you to say that, and no, I don't think a reaction to an invasion of my privacy is me being childish."
She throws up her hands, "when are you gonna learn you can't get your way all the time?"
He leans forward, "I never had to learn it, I always knew it."
Steve frowns, brows knitting together, "what do you mean?"
"Goodbye," he sighs finally, not even trying to answer Steve's question.
"Are you kicking us out?" Natasha asks incredulously, crossing her arms and making her stance on the issue clear.
"No," he says, with a laughy tone to his love, like he's taunting them. "I'm leaving. From now on you'll only see me when I have to and on TV."
He walks towards the door, "you can't do this, Tony! We're a team!" Steve cries desperately.
"Oh, I think you'll find I can. and no, we aren't." Tony fixes them with a stare, "not anymore."
"Tony…" Steve lets it trail off, one last plea.
He flashes them a brusque smile, more for show, than anything sentimental Steve might have dreamed of, "ciao," and with that, he's gone.
The two stand there, in the suddenly empty living room, side by side. The silence rings in their ears.
"He'll reconsider," Steve says finally.
Natasha laughs, she laugh and laugh so hard she can't breath, and when she's leaning on the floor and Steve's looking at her with a strange expression she wants to laugh again, but all she can say is, "no, Steve, he won't."