Men in little hells

I read somewhere that Tony and Steve would be at odds in the Avengers movie; I thought it made sense, since Steve probably knew Tony's father better than Tony himself did. I don't know if that's really true, because I didn't see CA, but what if Tony saw it that way?

My third story, pre-slash and heavy on drama.

Tony Stark stood in a corner of the room, a drink in his hand. The party had only just begun, but he could tell it'd be a bust.

He was toying with the idea of leaving, when he saw a familiar face. Coronel Rhodes made a stop at the bar and, drink in hand, walked up to his friend.

"Hey," he said. "Didn't think I'd see you here. You usually avoid SHIELD's get-togethers."

"Oh, what the hell. After today, I thought they owed me a drink at least."

"I heard you saved the day."

Tony shrugged noncommittally.

"Does that mean you're finally joining these guys?"

"No; it means I'm there if they need me. I don't wanna become Nick Fury's property. I don't wanna become like them," he added, tilting his head to the door.

Rhodes turned.

Agents and heroes came in then, obviously from a meeting with Fury. Most of them waved at Tony before making a beeline to the bar. Tony nodded at them or raised his glass in greeting, but when Steve Rogers appeared, Tony casually turned and never saw the young man's tentative greeting.

Rhodes snorted.

"Could you be more obvious, Tony?"

"What?"

"Why do you hate the guy's guts?"

"Who?"

"You know who," Rhodes retorted. "Steve Rogers."

"I don't hate him."

"Oh, really."

"Really." Tony paused for a couple of seconds, then, "I just, you know, try not to be around him."

"I can see that. Why?"

Tony shrugged.

"Lots of reasons. He's military –old school," he added, so Rhodes wouldn't protest.

"You may have a point," Rhodes said. "Look at him. He's wearing an old-timer's uniform, for God's sake."

Tony glanced over his shoulder. It was true; Rogers had his uniform on, and he'd pinned on every badge and every medal ever awarded to him.

"Still... " Rhodes hesitated. "The guy's a hero; maybe he's entitled." Rhodes looked back at Tony. "He's not so bad."

Tony shrugged. "I guess not. I just can't trust a guy who can't say fuck."

Rhodes choked on his drink.

"What?"

"He doesn't swear," Tony said, amused. "No matter the situation. You know what's the strongest word he's ever used? 'Golly'!"

Rhodey snorted.

"Holy Mackerel, Batman," he said. "'Golly', huh?"

"Yeah. 'Golly, Mr. Stark,'" Tony quoted in a high voice that was not at all like Steve's, but he used it because it helped him make his point. "'Golly, Mr. Stark, that was a real close!'"

They laughed together.

"He can't help it," Rhodes said. "The poor guy comes from a more innocent time."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't live in that innocent time anymore. The sooner he adapts to this one, the better."

Rhodes looked in Roger's direction again. He raised an eyebrow.

"It looks like he's trying to," he said.

Tony glanced too, just in time to see Steve accept a drink from a waiter.

"Whoa. Is that real whiskey?"

"It sure is. Think he's gonna drink it?"

But Tony wasn't looking at Steve anymore. He was motioning a waiter for another drink.

Rhodes didn't speak till the waiter left.

"It's funny," he said. "When Steve first appeared, I thought you'd be all over him. I know you've got a thing for tall blonds of every gender."

Tony scoffed. "'Every gender'? There's only two, Rhodey."

"I'm not sure of that; not with all these strange creatures we keep meeting. We even have a god in our mist now."

"Yeah, but he's got a dick."

"Now, about Rogers -" Rhodes started, then stopped. "Hey, it seems he IS gonna drink the whiskey, after all. Whoa," he winced. "He downed it in one go!"

"Big deal," Tony muttered. "He'll metabolize it in a couple of minutes." When Rhodes looked inquiringly at him, Tony explained, "The poor guy can't get drunk."

Rhodes looked back at Rogers.

"Well, I hope that's true, 'cause he's just picked another whiskey." He frowned. "It looks like he's building up the courage to do something. Oh-oh."

"What?" Tony glanced over his shoulder. Steve was walking in their direction now. "Aw, shit," he muttered. "You don't think he's coming here, do you?" But Rhodes was already moving away. "Hey, where the hell are you going?"

"Agent Hill's just arrived," Rhodes said perkily; "She promised me a dance."

"She doesn't dance! Come on, Rhodey -"

But Rhodes was gone, and now Steve Rogers was standing right there, looking irritatingly earnest. Tony glanced at him, then away.

"Mr. Stark? May I speak to you?"

"You don't have to be so formal, Rogers. But no, you can't speak to me right now. I'm busy, see?" he raised his glass.

Rogers didn't move. "It'll only take a minute, sir."

Tony took a sip from his drink, and Rogers took that as a sign.

"It's about what happened today, sir."

Tony didn't reply. Again, Steve took this as a sign to go on.

He cleared his throat. "I know I'm new in the team, Mr. Stark. I know there are differences in the way we approach a dangerous situation, but -"

"You did a good job," Tony said abruptly. He glanced at Steve without quite meeting his gaze. "Is that what you want me to say? You did a good job, and you saved the day?"

"No, sir. You saved the day. You unnecessarily risked your life instead of letting us do our part."

Tony scoffed.

"Ok. I can see where this is going," he said casually. "You're pissed off because I didn't let you play. Is that it?"

"No, sir."

Tony smiled reluctantly.

"No, I didn't think so." He paused for a couple of seconds. "Ok, look. You're right. I should have relied on you and Thor. I will next time. Ok?" 'You're dismissed, soldier,' he wanted to add, but surely that wouldn't be necessary.

Steve didn't say anything. He looked into his own glass.

"I will," Tony said, a bit pissed at the young man's lack of response. "Listen, Rogers," he said. "If you're worried about me not being part of the team… Don't be. I'll always do my part." He paused but still didn't get any response. He frowned. "You ok?"

"I'm fine."

Hell, no, he didn't look fine, but that wasn't Tony's concern.

"Ok," he said brightly. "I'm glad we had this little talk. Now, if you'll excuse me -" he started to walk away, but Steve wasn't finished yet.

"I just want to know why -" he started, then stopped. "If there's something I did or said, sir, then I wish you'd tell me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony said, but he knew, all right. He hadn't been friendly with Steve –in fact, he'd been outright hostile. He had his reasons, and up till now, he thought he'd keep them to himself. But now that Rogers was there, he realized the young man deserved to know.

Hopefully, once he did, he'd stay the hell out of Tony's way.

"Ok, Rogers, let's talk then," Tony said amiably. He stood next to the young man, so anyone looking at them would think they were merely spectators to the party. "First of all, it isn't personal. No, what I'm saying;" he muttered. "Of course it's personal." To Steve, "What I'm trying to say is… it's not your fault. Ok? Except that it is, in a way. You understand that?"

"No, sir."

"Nah, I didn't think you would." Tony hesitated again. He looked wistfully at the door –he should have left right after the first drink. No, he should have left right after Steve came in. He shouldn't even have come, in the first place. But now it was too late. Resigned, he looked sideways at Steve. "Ok, look; I'm gonna say this now and then I'm gonna pretend I never said it, Ok?" He waited until Steve nodded. "Ok. D'you remember my father?"

"Yes, sir," Steve said quietly.

"Well, I remember him, too. And I'm not talking about the man on the press clippings and the documentaries, Steve; I'm talking about the one I lived with. He was a sad man who drank and spent most of his off time alone in the basement. No matter what my mom did, no matter what I did, it didn't make any difference; it was like we were invisible to him. Eventually, my mom stopped trying. I would have stopped too, except that he died." He took a deep breath. "My point is, I thought I knew my father, Steve.

"Then a month ago I got a bunch of pictures and films of you two working together, and I see a man I can't recognize. And it's not because he's younger, you know? It's not that; he looks different because he's happy. You can see it, even in the stills. Every time he looks at you –shit, he sure as hell never looked at my mom that way.

He looked at Steve. "He loved you, didn't he."

The young man didn't look up; he only nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Now I finally know why he was so damn unhappy," Tony said bitterly; "He died along with you, Steve. A part of him, anyway. And I know it's not your fault -I mean, you didn't want to die, and I'm sure you didn't want my dad to die either- but my point is, he was never the same afterwards. I guess I should be sorry for him but you know what? I'm not. I'm pissed; I almost wish he'd stayed true to your memory instead of marrying my mom and making her miserable."

Tony took a deep breath. Shit. He thought talking would lift the weight off his shoulders, but it hadn't worked quite that way. He felt worse, actually.

He forced himself to smile, though; he'd never let on just how much it hurt to talk about this.

"So," he said, in a brighter tone, as if they'd just been having a friendly talk. "I hope you understand why I'm not your biggest fan, Steve."

Steve looked at him. "He didn't mean to hurt you," he said quietly. "Or your mother. He only -"

Tony raised his glass, and the tingling of the ice drowned the rest of Steve's words.

"We never... We never spoke," Steve added. "Ever. You got discharged for less than that in those days. Even if I hadn't died, we would've never -"

"Hey," Tony said sharply, "Did I say I wanted to hear about it?"

"I just want you to understand what he went through," Steve said earnestly; "He was a good man. You know that."

Tony closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. Yes, his dad was a good man. Misguided, yeah. Twisted, too. But he'd lived in his own little hell, so maybe he deserved some compassion.

He took a deep breath. "What a fucked-up world," he said. He looked up and this time –for the first time that night- their eyes met. There was pain in Roger's eyes. Pain, and something else.

Tony looked down. His empty glass gave him a way out.

"I need a drink."

"You're so much like him," Steve said, in a rush. "And sometimes -"

"Don't," Tony said abruptly. He looked at the young man, a warning in his eyes. Don't fucking say it. He started walking away –he really needed a drink, where the hell was that waiter? -but Steve's next words (real or imaginary) reached him anyway.

" -you look at me the same way he did."

The end