Symphony of Lies
Chapter 1 - The Need
"You need something...anything...I can't be with you like this. Your light has gone out."
The harsh reality of Pepper's words burned into Tony's conscious like hot needles. It shouldn't have been like this. He was Iron Man. He had saved the world, and for what? Three months later and he couldn't keep a handle on life anymore; his girlfriend was leaving him, his social life had dried up completely and he wasn't able to concentrate on anything for more than five minutes.
Pepper had found him in his workshop using a half-empty pizza box as a pillow as he slept off the god-knows-how-much scotch from the night before. He'd been drinking alone again. Hungover, Tony hadn't been fully aware of Pepper's presence but he heard the last few words: she was leaving him.
Tony hadn't realised that he could feel more alone than he already did. He slid to the floor, leaning against a workbench his world collapsing inside him.
His light had gone out.
After what seemed like an adequate time of wallowing in self-pity, Tony had come to a conclusion. He needed inspiration, a reason to wake up in the morning. Ever since the Avengers had disbanded after the Battle of New York, he had been void of purpose. Drifting on a melancholy tide of memories. Pepper's ultimatum had rudely jerked him back to reality.
A shower, that's what I need.
Steaming jets of water hit his back in a regular rhythm. For that moment, one thing in Tony's life was a constant. The music of the water dotting the foggy glass reminded Tony of the music lessons his mother had forced upon him.
Apparently, geniuses needed something to anchor themselves to empathy. Music lessons were another of his mother's schemes to attempt to make Tony less self-obsessed and more personable. Needless to say, it had not worked. His teacher, a withered seventy-something bachelor had visited the Stark mansion once a week to lecture eight-year-old Tony with such delights as 'the importance of Baroque music'' and 'why Wagner was so misunderstood'. Although Tony had been resolved to hate the lessons, he couldn't deny that the music was always enchanting.
This gave him an idea. Pepper had said he 'needed something'. Maybe music would give him cause to remember what he was doing with his life.
"Jarvis," he asked the AI hesitantly, unsure of his newborn idea, "what is there on at Carnegie Hall tonight."
"Well, sir, there happens to be a cello recital that critics are naming 'delightful', judging by Ms Potts' hasty departure earlier, you will only require one ticket?"
A dull ache permeated Tony's chest at the mention of Pepper.
"Enough of the attitude, Jarvis. Yes, that sounds great."
"One small thing, sir," the chastised voice replied, "the performance starts in approximately 15 minutes."
"Shit."
Tony straightened his bow-tie with one hand as he rushed through the gilded entrance of Carnegie Hall. The journey from Stark Tower had taken way longer than he expected. He was only seven or eight minutes late, but for some reason the embarrassment was really getting to him. He was as flustered as a schoolgirl on her first date.
"Sir, the performance has already started, I'm afraid you'll have to...oh."
The red jacketed usher's jaw dropped as Tony flashed his best I'm-a-billionaire-I-do-what-I-want- smile at him, pushing past into the foyer. His patent leather shoes slipped on the polished marble tiles as he skidded through the hallways and towards the heavy oak door that stood between him and his seat. He pressed his calloused engineer hand to the door, stopping only when his ears caught the sweet strains of music.
Something broke, deep inside him.
Like before he slid slowly to the floor, his hands stroking the cool stone, his head against the dark-stained wood. Melodies washed over him, purging his thoughts of insecurities, or amplifying them beyond recognition, Tony couldn't tell which. All he could think of was the heart-wrenching, sorrowful music echoing in his mind and the inexplicable joy he felt at understanding it. The sound grew and ground to a slow, glorious halt: the piece was over.
To Tony, it felt like he had been sitting there for years. His eyes had closed. Now he pulled himself to his feet and dusted off his suit; he needed to see the musician, this therapeutic magician who knew him so well.
The door slid open soundlessly in the vast applause and Tony slipped his way through. Thankfully his seat was close to him. The standing ovation cloaked his view of the stage as he stumbled along the row. He sat and waited as the rest of the audience took their seats, craning his neck toward the single, spotlit chair in the centre of the hall.
Long, dark hair obscured the face of the cellist while they adjusted something on the gleaming body of the instrument. His dark clothes suited more a funeral than a concert. A few seconds passed and Tony couldn't decide what he longed for more; to hear another piece or to see the face of the cellist.
Finally, lithe shoulder tensed and the musician brought his face up, solemnly to confront the audience. A set jaw betrayed no emotion, despite the astounding reaction to the previous piece. Enigmatic, forest-green eyes burned into Tony's chocolate ones.
Loki.