All Is Lost, Hope Remains
Summary:
Set after the events of the Avengers
Tony realizes that more than fate brought him to talk to Captain Steven Rogers.
It was Howard, his damn frustrating impossible-to-know father.
Rated: PG
ONESHOT
Note:
I'm like Genie. There are three things I can't do in my fanfic: 1: I can't make anybody fall in love against their will (no hypnosis, if you please). 2: I can't bring people back from the dead (not a zombie person). 3: I will NOT EVER write SLASH. So don't ask. And please don't leave slash comments. This is not slashfic, it is not meant to be construed that way so please don't.
Tony Stark never could ask for things nicely. There was the time that he had told Pepper to put on a face mask because she had some sniffles. Then there was the time he had told Rhody to stay out of the way and nearly destroyed half his house in getting his point across. Asking was not his strong suit.
Which is why he paused in front of the solid, old oak door in an unassuming apartment block in Brooklyn, his hand raised in a frozen knock. Could he actually do it? Could he ask for help in a private matter without having Pepper there to back him up? He opted to pace the hallway for a minute or two longer before trying. He had just planted his feet in front of the barely worn woven Welcome mat when the next door down clicked open.
A petite, brown haired and be-freckled young woman stepped out, carrying a trash bag in one hand and balancing a stack of cardboard boxes in the other. She was probably the most eclectic person Tony had seen in years, wearing WWI Flying Ace Snoopy Pajama bottoms, a fitted tie-dye t-shirt, oversized Broncos jacket, glasses jammed on her nose, and snow boots. Considering it was still early autumn and there hadn't been snow since last March, well, Tony raised an eyebrow at her footgear.
He then watched as she tried to close her door without dropping her load, doing a sort of Twister dance in the meantime and attempting to use her booted foot like a hand. A sort of fuzzy compassion began to ooze to the forefront of his mind. Besides, she was annoying him with her lack of poise.
"Do you need help?"
She turned and jumped, as if seeing him for the first time. She shrugged.
"Sure, that would be awesome. I'm back in college and didn't notice the pile that was growing. I think a few more days and it would have started using a name and eating out of the fridge! The trash and recycle bins are in the back alley."
He stepped forward and closed her door, then took the pile of cardboard, which by this time smelled none too fresh. He followed her back down the winding, ancient staircase, past the empty lobby and through a back door to an alley that only saw the sun eight weeks a year. Cigarettes and beer bottles lay in a scattered circle stating that someone had been partying hard last night.
He hoisted his load into the cardboard recycles before helping her maneuver her bag into the main trash bin. She smiled at him, half of her mouth a little higher than the other, giving her a strangely endearing lop-sided look. The rest of the world was just so…ordinary, at least compared to how he lived. He turned to leave.
"Thanks for helping me out. And by the way, he's not home."
Tony stopped and looked back at her.
"The Captain. He went for his usual morning jog. He should be back in about five minutes, so you can wait at his mat."
She followed him back up and paused before re-entering her apartment.
"He's an amazing guy. He's always helping me out with leaky faucets and that ancient thing the landlord calls a dishwasher. I just can't imagine going out jogging in all the crazy weather we get, rain, snow, or sleet, like he does. That's stamina for you. Well, thanks again!"
She vanished like a rabbit into a hat and left Tony leaning against a wall in need of a new coat of paint, mindlessly tapping a finger against his reactor. You couldn't always see it, particularly when he wore dress suits, but today he had opted for his Black Sabbath shirt, a black blazer, and a pair of jeans Pepper had purchased for him that had probably cost far too much. He sometimes enjoyed feeling ordinary, like an everyday person, but his reactor reminded him that he was as far from normal as people could get. Unless you counted the other Avengers, which he didn't…
Then he heard him coming up, probably taking two steps at a time, until he appeared at the top of the stairs. Captain Steven Rogers, WWII service record, MIA and presumed dead, Purple Heart posthumously awarded, now a prodigal son for America. And what a plain prodigal it was: he wore a regular t-shirt, slacks, and tennies. No fancy running gear, no exercise clothes, just a water-bottle in one hand and a towel slung across the back of his neck.
He paused but didn't look surprised, then took a towel swipe across his eyes where sweat trickled down.
"Mr. Stark. What do I owe the pleasure of your unannounced visit?"
The word pleasure had an annoyed inflection on it. It could probably be reworded like this: "what did I ever do to warrant this unannounced visit?" Not that Tony really felt any differently towards the Captain, he just decided verbal fisticuffs might not be the best approach.
He felt himself forcibly standing up straight. He couldn't help it, nobody could. Steve was tall, over 6 feet, and Tony was not. It made him feel vulnerable and he never liked that. He was sometimes bothered when Pepper wore heels that were over 3 inches and he could stand nose to nose with her.
"I was just in the area and thought I would see how modern life is working out for you."
Steve gave him a look that clearly said that was bull before stepping around him to unlock the door.
"You're welcome to come in, have something to drink, stay a bit if that's what you want."
The invitation actually sounded genuine, much to his surprise.
The apartment bespoke of a man living on top of a time rift. The phone and TV screen, courtesy of SHIELD, were modern, but the sofa, armchairs, and lamps were all very 1940s, browns with wine and sage patterns on them. The bookcase was full of old Agatha Christy mystery novels, WWII history books and a stack of new National Geographic magazines. His nicked and scarred star spangled shield was held by a floor length stand and beside it was a very old chest with a glass lid. Peering down at it Tony could see the WWII era Captain America suit, the one Steve had been frozen in, carefully folded so the faded white star shone out. Lying on top of the suit was his Purple Heart, still gleaming and new from all those years stored away by S.H.I.E.L.D.
On the far wall hung numerable photographs, all sepia and matted with military green. There was the grumpy face of Colonel Chester Phillips, gentle personality of Dr. Abraham Erskine, the fierce Howling Commandoes in their gear, and a young Howard Stark and Peggy Carter smiling down into the room. Tucked amongst some of the frames were printed obituaries and old mementos, saved by S.H.I.E.L.D. in a special box upon Steve's presumed death and given back to him once he had acclimated. DumDum Doogan had a dried four leaf clover tacked next to his bearded grin. The one for James Buchanan Barnes had a tarnished saint's medal and nailed into Dr. Erskine's frame an intricately cast gold Star of David gleamed. The tiny slip of paper tucked into the corner of Peggy's had a phone number written down on it.
Tony knew who all of these people were, from personal life and reading Steve's file. Yet seeing them here made him realize that the Captain had less to lose than the average person. All his friends were trapped in a past he would never be a part of.
"What would you like? I have some iced tea, coffee, water…"
Tony turned to see Steve eyeing him, just the average Joe who could be from a town in Kentucky or a place called Smallville. If you took out the fact that Steve could probably break concrete with his bare arm, that is.
"Tea, no sugar."
When the Captain stepped back into the room, Tony noticed his eyes flicker over the pictures. He could almost see the whole person he must have been in the 1940s reflected there. A guy with a gift and a crew of best friends and buddies, they must have lived on a pipe-dream believing the war would end in their favor. That was something money would never buy him, true-blue honest to goodness buddies that watched your back. Of course, there was Rhody but all of the people Tony thought of as "friends" he could probably count on one hand.
He took his glass, took a polite sip, and then pointed at Howard's picture. The annoying, mustached smile still rubbed him the wrong way.
"You knew my dad."
He said it casually, but Steve, who was leaning against the sofa, exhaled slowly and looked very much like a guy who didn't want to talk about it.
"So that's what this is all about? Howard?"
Tony rolled his head around into a nod.
"Pretty much. I just wanted to know why my father phoned in being a father for those long years of my life, but practically had a shrine built to you?"
Steve looked down into his glass of water, a furrow appearing in his brow. Obviously that little gem was news to him.
"There's a lot Howard never talked to you about, I guess. When I first saw him he was demonstrating a flying car. He had his assistants' remove the wheels and it truly did fly for a few moments…"
Tony could tell when Steve lost his train of though. Clearly, that moment with Stark had been connected to other moments, ones that he carried in his soul. Steve shook his head and snapped out of it quickly.
"Anyway, he was a brilliant man. He developed my shield out of Vibranium, helped me construct my suit, and lent me his aircraft when the need arose. He was the best amongst us when it counted."
Tony set his glass on the low coffee table and turned to look out the window. The view wasn't actually so bad from the fourth floor, if you counted the apartment across the street and a concrete wall. He noticed that someone had taken the time to plant a flowering climbing vine to decorate the wall. It was strange how life could go on and end all at once…
"See, what I remember of my father was that he failed. He didn't come to my birthday parties, missed my award ceremonies at the private school I attended, and largely ignored me. He spent millions looking for you but sometimes forgot to get me something for Christmas. He wasn't a father, he was a mastermind."
He said it simply and evenly, the old anger at his father having burned down to a quiet simmer after all those years. Tony continued to gaze outside as Steve answered, calmly and with candor.
"What do you want me to say? I can't fix what Howard did to you. I appreciate his searching but don't you think that I'm angry at him and all those others, too? I've lost my entire life because they couldn't find me. I'm living in a world of strangers with no ties to anyone."
There was a long pause.
"Except, oddly enough, to you. Howard left me a connection to the past after all…"
Tony turned and gazed at the Captain's shield.
"Yeah, what a cracked-up pair we make. I'm an eccentric billionaire orphan and you are a 1940s war hero time machine."
Steve actually broke a small smile before the moment faded. He got to his feet and stepped up to examine his shield.
"I never did apologize for some of the things I said after we met. It was just…hard. I sometimes feel like I'm living someone else's life and I will wake up and be in my own bed, waiting for the bell, so I can go fight the good fight. This isn't right, any of it…"
Tony understood, at least to a point.
"Well, I wasn't exactly going easy on you either. I can be a first-class royal ass sometimes and I am sorry for that. And I know you feel alone but don't make the mistake of thinking you can't make a new life. I know I did. After being captured by those terrorists I decided that if I had a second chance I wouldn't waste it. Maybe this is your second chance, Captain. And maybe it will turn into a better life than you ever thought was possible…"
Steve reached out to touch the cold metal of the Vibranium. His fingers ran over some bullet scorch marks, ones that had been there for over 70 years now.
"Maybe. Only time will tell for me. But as for you…"
He turned to look Tony in the sunglasses.
"All I can say is that the Howard I knew wouldn't just ignore someone without cause. Whether the cause was good or not, it's still a reason. And I think we can both agree that Howard left you more than you first realized."
He looked pointedly at the reactor's glow and Tony did have to concede that without his father's work, he wouldn't have been able to find a new substance for his core. Which meant that he could be six feet under in a deluxe casket while people gave Ebenezer Scrooge-like Eulogies over his grave right now. Curse Charles Dickens and his visiting Ghosts.
"He left you science, which was his way of saying I care. He wasn't a touchy-feely guy but I think that speaks volumes."
As much as he hated to agree with the Star-Spangled Man, Tony couldn't come up with a counter. His dad did care, in his own awful, wonderful snooty way and left Tony a legacy to boot.
"That's about all the dad-talk I want in the space of fifteen minutes, so thanks for being open about him. I'll find my own way out of this antique fire-hazard..."
And with that, Tony picked up his jacket from where he had laid it across the arm of the sofa and left the apartment. Opening up to anyone, particularly a complete stranger, was mind-blowingly hard. Yet it felt weirdly liberating at the same time. It was what he needed to stay on track and focused.
Maybe finding more about his father wasn't the answer. Maybe finding a way while living with his father's actions was what he needed. Maybe life was more about the hope that every day would be better than the last one then it was about dwelling on what could have been done. And maybe, just maybe, if the Avengers needed him again, he could get along with the Captain, instead of fight with him. After all, his father was no longer there, giving attention to Steve instead of his son. They could learn to fight together, instead of apart. They could become a team.