A/N: This story goes after You Sounded Sober, and Tony has stopped drinking, since Steve had cleaned out the entire apartment.
Tony is sitting in the living room, back hunched against the bar. If Tony were being completely honest, he'd admit he misses his father. There aren't many people he's honest with, though; the only person who knows how he's feeling, actually, is Steve. Even then, Tony only let him in when Steve forced him to; Steve could tell these things about Tony, he just knew him that well. Plus, the blonde had been the only constant in his, what Tony preferred to call it, "dark period."
Now that the two had started a more intimate kind of relationship, Tony is starting to feel better about his life. While he wouldn't say they necessarily have the smoothest relationship, what with Steve's hectic work schedule and Tony being, well, Tony, he's certain things are getting better. He spends less time in his workshop, he's stopped drinking, he's stopped sleeping with random strangers.
Though the two of them, mostly Steve, had emptied Tony's apartment of any and all alcohol, Tony often preferred to stay at Steve's smaller, homier apartment in Brooklyn. Despite there being no physical temptations in the large, top-three-floors apartment, his childhood home house still bore too many memories of his father, his childhood.
It's only been a matter of months since his father killed himself, and Tony hasn't done much in the way of personalizing the space. His father's umbrella and coat still hang on their respective racks in the entry way; unfinished projects clutter random corners; the recently-emptied bar in the corner of the living room still proudly displays Howard's tumblers, shot glasses, champagne flutes, and wine glasses. Everywhere he looks, he can see his father. The older Stark's suicide has amplified all of the feelings he'd felt growing up, like the resentment he felt toward his mother for leaving him, the abandonment he felt every time his father failed to be somewhere.
There are things Tony wishes he could ask his father. Did any of this have to do with him? Why did he do it now? Did he think about his own son when he decided to leave him, alone, with a multi-billion dollar, international corporation? Where did he want that company to go? Where did he want Tony to go?
He resented that his father could just leave him. The man hadn't been a good father, but at least he'd been alive. Despite what Tony now realizes was emotional abuse, he'd never been physically abusive. And while he hadn't been there for any of the important times in Tony's life, like birthdays, graduations, and awards ceremonies, Tony had still had someone to spend holidays with. Granted, Howard had been drunk for most them, but by the time Tony was twelve, he was drunk at them, too. Mother's Day was usually the worst, like the one before he'd left for MIT. He was still fifteen, and he just wanted to know.
"Why did she leave?" he asks naively.
"Excuse me?" the older man snaps, eyes narrowing.
"My mother," the boy clarifies, "why did she leave me?"
Howard Stark is quiet for a moment, staring into the bottom of his glass of scotch. Tony watches him, idly swirling his own glass of amber liquid.
"She didn't want us," the inventor finally begins, startling Tony, and taking a sip of his drink. "She didn't want me, and she didn't want to be a single mother," sip." She'd never wanted me, but when she got pregnant, we got married. Neither of us had intended to get married, or have a family," sip. "I was too absorbed in my work, and she, well, she was too absorbed in herself," he finished what's left, and poured himself another glass.
Now Tony is the one who's trying to think of what to say, but he can't think of anything. So, ultimately, it's his fault she'd left. He swallows down the rest of his drink, much like his father, and refills the glass, much higher than it probably should be.
The young brunette feels like his head is spinning, which is weird, considering how painfully sober he is. He's mostly doing this sobriety thing for Steve. Steve deserves it, because Tony knows now that the older man has been in love with him for a very long time, and he doesn't want to fuck this up like every other relationship he's had.
All he wants is a drink, though. He can't help but feel that if his mother left because of him, he must be why his father left, too. He just doesn't get it, though. Everything he ever did was to make his father proud of him. He'd done things like honors classes, the school clubs, finishing high school early, going to college when he hadn't needed to, and countless science fairs to try to get his father's attention. Nother ever seemed to work, though.
"And finally," the judge reading the list of winners pauses, "our first place winner. Congratulations… Anthony Stark!"
The other students clap, but Tony can see it on their face. They're disappointed, but the expressions they wear also shows a lack of surprise. Who else would win, but Anthony Stark, the prodigal son of the Howard Stark?
Tony doesn't really care that he's won, again, however. He mostly cares that while every other student at the science fair is seated with at least one parent, the place for his own father is untouched and empty.
He makes his way to the front of the auditorium, looking straight ahead, that famous Stark smile plastered wide across his face. He graciously accepts the award, and finds himself quickly scanning the crowd for his father's face, just in case. It's a large crowd, being the nationals of a prestigious competition for gifted high school students, but he knows the older man isn't just hidden in a sea of people.
It's stupid to get his hopes up this way. His father didn't come to any of his other competitions, why would he be at his last?
Tony goes to the fridge to get a water bottle. He knows he won't find anything worthwhile in there, but at least he can try to ease the lump forming in his throat. Shutting the refrigerator door, he sees the one picture in the sea of reminders, scribbled ideas, and take-out menus, and pulls it down.
It's of him and his father, from when Tony was twelve, right before he started high school. Howard had taken him to a conference that was preparing the next Stark Expo and this picture had been taken by a colleague of his father's. The young Tony has the hugest smile on his face, the real kind, but Howard looked distracted. Tony was excited because it was his birthday, and he was actually spending it with his father. He didn't know at the time that the only reason Howard had even brought him that week was because he'd given their normal nanny that week off, and he couldn't find a temporary replacement. Truthfully, he'd only brought Tony because he'd had no other choice. Tony shakes his head, not believing how naïve he used to be.
"Smile!" The cheerful blonde woman encourages, and Tony smiles his biggest smile as the vintage Polaroid camera flashes.
It's his twelfth birthday, and it's also the first one he is spending with his dad. He's been tagging along with him the last few days, excited by all of the new exhibits his father is planning for the upcoming Expo. He'd even been able to point out a few mistakes that his father and some of his colleagues had missed, much to the older Stark's chagrin, which Tony didn't notice.
It's the end of the day, and Tony is just waiting for his dad to finish up his last bit of work, when the inventor asks the woman if she'll take Tony up to his room in the hotel they've all been meeting at. Tony is a little disappointed, knowing that means his father has more work than the boy had thought. He just figures they'll go out for dinner or something later, and decides he'll just shower and get ready for when his dad is done.
The blonde woman really is very nice, and she makes some polite conversation with Tony as they go up the elevator.
"Are you having a good time with your dad?" She asks, smiling down at the little boy.
"Yeah," Tony responds. "It's my birthday, so I'm glad I get to spend it with him. He's not usually around on my birthdays. But this year, he let me come to here with him. It's been really fun."
Tony is looking down at some papers he'd been sketching on, and misses the flash of emotion across the woman's face.
"Oh, well that's very nice. I'm glad you're having fun."
"Thanks," Tony starts to talk again. "I think he just has a little bit more work to finish up, so then we're going to go to dinner, I think."
They arrive to Tony's room he's sharing with his dad, and the woman faces him as he swipes his key-card.
"Well, then, I hope you do," she encourages, and hands him the now-developed Polaroid shot." Have good dinner. Happy birthday, Tony," she smiles widely at him, and hopes to herself that Howard remembers the boy's birthday before the end of the night.
"Thanks, ma'am. It was nice to meet you," Tony responds, before shutting the door.
He busies himself, now, with getting ready for dinner. He showers, making sure there's no oil, grease, or dirt on his body, and scrubs his hair. When he gets out, he combs his hair as neatly as he can, and puts on the nicest clothes he'd brought, which are really just some dark jeans and a button down shirt.
Eventually, he's done all he can to get ready, and glances at the clock. It's been about an hour since he left the meeting area, so he figures his dad will be up soon. With that in mind, he decides to put on the television, and hacks into the hotel's cable to get some better channels before settling on an episode of Future Weapons that has his dad in it.
He watches a few episodes before nodding off, and doesn't wake up when his father comes in at three in the morning, finally back from the hotel bar.
Tony rubs his head, and all he wants is to drown out these memories with a good whiskey. But he doesn't have any. He runs a thumb over the picture, remembering how the next morning he'd woken up, still fully dressed on top of the bed covers with the picture still in his hand, and he remembers how absolutely crushed he'd felt. It was then that Tony had started to hate his father. He'd lost the innocent outlook of a child that night, and had decided then that he'd take care of himself. He didn't need anyone else to be happy, as long as he had himself, a project, and a bottle of scotch.
Tony makes his way over to the couch, still clutching the photo in his hand, not even sure how it had managed to stay up on the fridge all the years; he assumes the nanny or Jarvis put it there to begin with. He takes a swig from his water bottle, and rubs his eyes. His headache has only gotten worse, and he steadily starts to nod off.
When he wakes up, he realizes he's not on the couch. He's in his bed, and he's in a pair of pajama bottoms, not the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier. Wrapped around him are Steve's arms, and he sees the old photograph propped up against the alarm clock, blocking its bright red glare. He doesn't know when Steve had arrived at the apartment, but he does know one thing, for sure. He doesn't need his father or his whiskey to be happy; he has Steve.