I do not own.
oOo
It was a relatively quiet morning. The streets were fairly still, the hustle and bustle of the city low, as though the sound was suspended in the darkness of the pre-dawn light that was slipping and sliding through the cracks in doors, through blinds and shutters, under laundry lines and over the top of the city.
It was a shockingly cool morning, for New York. Autumn had slipped in with the light, a sharp bite in the wind that rustled the trees in Central Park. People were bundled up in warm jackets, hats shoved down low over their ears, scarves wrapped around their necks. They moved lethargically, despite the fact that the city that never slept was making its demands just like every other day of the week. Women in heels strolled rather than strode, men in serious looking suits and wing-tip shoes lazily sauntered along, and as the sun finally peeked over the horizon, a clarinet began the opening theme of "Rhapsody in Blue" a few apartments down.
Tony Stark opened his eyes to a rather dingy apartment in Hells Kitchen, and then promptly closed them again.
It was early. Far too early to be awake, and thus, he was going straight back to sleep, no questions asked no comments taken. He couldn't take anything this morning.
A hand rested momentarily on his shoulder, and he groaned, pushing his face into the pillow. The clarinet was resonating beautifully. Couldn't he just lay there and listen?
"I know you're awake."
"And?" he replied wearily to the pillow.
"We've been invited to breakfast."
"What, all of us?"
"Mmhmm." The bed dipped down as Steve sat beside him on the bed. Tony cracked open an eye, and was somewhat relieved to see that the man seemed more calm than he had in months. "Bruce said to warn you that Daniil is really shy."
Tony sighed, rolling over and forcing himself into an upright position. Running a hand through his hair, he asked mildly, "Do you think they're serious?"
Steve's mouth tightened. "I hope not." He stood up, and with a stiff gait made his way into the kitchen area. His leg had been bad for nearly two years now, and it still stung Tony to see the once limber man forced to compensate for the wound he'd received with a cane, on long walks. His hair was graying now, bits of strands. Tony's was doing the same. The stress of their fight had come to get him.
He rolled out of bed, feeling the cool wood floor, uneven slats, under his feet. He moved slowly, the air like liquid rolling around him, and as he inhaled, the scent of humanity wafted through the air. The people downstairs were making pancakes, he could smell, and someone outside had turned on their swamp cooler. His ears, once attuned to motors and gears, now listened as dogs yapped in the distance, and windows were pulled open, languages from all over the world pouring out on the streets. Lithuanian, he could hear it from the corner apartment as the mother scolded her son, and then there was German on their left, and Hindi above, and so much Italian across in the next building. The world was wide and yet contained, the floor grounding and freeing, and he moved slowly from place to place as he considered the morning.
Steve moved like a man in a trance, he noted, as he subconsciously put the water on to boil, and went to clean up more of the kitchen. The place was far too earthy for the third floor, and cleaning was a long process.
Tony stepped past him, letting his feet feel the change from the wood to the cold linoleum, moving slow and steady to pluck down a glass and fetch some water from the tap.
Such changes, deaths could bring.
Such changes.
oOo
"Daniil, Tony. Tony, Daniil."
Daniil was tall, very tall, with blonde hair chopped roughly, but short. His eyes, a liquid green, were still and nervous, and he didn't put out his hand. Fear was a terrible motivator for change.
Bruce moved slow around him, his breathing deep and calmer than in years past, and they moved in sync, staying out of each other's way, never touching, only exchanging the briefest of words.
Thor, sitting quietly at the table with Loki, seeming small and tiny beside him, looked up only briefly from his breakfast before returning to it. The kitchen hummed with sound, but it was the still sound of acceptance and calm. A chime rang in the background occasionally- it hung out the window. Tony and Steve obediently took their seats, accepting the breakfast of eggs and bacon with quiet thanks to Daniil, who seemed unnerved and gave quick looks to Bruce as if to ask, "Is this alright?"
Clint and Natasha came last, looking tired and sad. No questions were asked, and Bruce simply gave them their food, settling down into his own seat, Daniil beside him.
They didn't talk about what had happened.
They said nothing about Fury, and Maria, and Coulsen, and Tony's dad, and Pepper, and Betty, and least of all Darcy. Jane, missing and declared dead, especially wasn't brought up, and the autumn air, floating through the window, seemed alternately cleansing and sorrowful.
They ate quietly, Bruce making the only comment, asking for the salt.
And that was how it was. And no one said anything when Loki suddenly rose, going to a window to lean on it, head bowed and his face anguished.
It just was.
And that was how it went, that breakfast, and Daniil slipped away to his room, clearly still overwhelmed by it all, and that was the end of it.
Tony said, "I'm glad you've found someone to stay with you."
Bruce shrugged, and said, "He needed me. And so I stayed."
"Are you…"
"No." Bruce looked back at the door Daniil disappeared through. "He'll never be able to touch people again. He couldn't bear it."
"Mmm." And so they hugged tight, and parted.
The air was crisp with autumn that day, and when he visited the cemetery for the first time in so many years, he found that there was a single, orange leaf resting on his father's grave.
oOo
If I knew where this came from, I'd tell you. What do you think? How did Tony come to be living there, who is Daniil, and why is everyone so sad?
Reviews would be loved.