A/N: Thank you for the response from the last chapter and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 8
April 18, 1987
Steve filled the first sketchbook he found and then half of the other one he found before Tony woke up. "Morning," he said a little groggily as he stretched in the chair and rolled his neck around. In fact he made a bit of a big production of stretching. "How did you sleep?"
"Fine," lied Steve as he continued to sketch.
Tony rolled over and tried to look over Steve's shoulder. "Can I see?"
"No," said Steve a bit rushed as he brought the sketchbook closer to his chest to obscure it from Tony's view.
"Sorry, didn't mean to rile you up." Tony looked around the room before mumbling an "aha!" and pulling out a box of strawberry Pop Tarts from a basket. He opened up the box, pulled a sprinkled covered delicacy out and munched on it while he watched Steve. "Do you want one," he offered, Pop Tart spraying from his mouth.
He thought about the scotch he had earlier in the morning and grabbed the extended box as it was a better option. He devoured the jammy pastry and had two more as he sketched the burning HYDRA building. He worked on creating the wispy, swirling smoke as he tried to balance the Pop Tart with the other hand. He stopped and looked at Tony. "Do I make it worse?"
"What?"
"Your relationship with Howard."
Tony frowned and turned away from him. He sat down on his bed and faced away from Steve.
Steve sighed and sat the sketchbook. "Don't be like that Tony. I already laid my heart out to you yesterday. It's okay to let your feelings go."
Tony turned around and looked hurt. "Don't give me that bullshit old man. If I had told you that when you first came you would have decked me. I just don't like talking about my father, okay."
He turned back around leaving Steve feeling cold. "I know it's hard. He spends a lot of time at S.H.I.E.L.D. and not a lot at home. I know a lot of his time is spent with me or Peggy and I know it's my fault."
"Will you just shut up," muttered Tony.
Steve felt his efforts were being wasted, but then he caught glance of the sketchbook. He grabbed the book and sat down next to Tony. In a last ditch effort he opened it up to the first page and place it into Tony's lap.
The teen looked down out of curiosity and frowned. "Why did you draw Aunt Peggy pregnant?"
Steve sighed and mentally prepared himself. "There was a time I was going to be a father, but the child was still born. Later your dad did some tests on me and Peggy and they showed that because of me Peggy could conceive, but the child would always die."
"Uncle Steve, I never knew. I'm so sor-"
"Don't," interrupted Steve sternly. "You don't need to apologize. Later when your mom was pregnant with you Howard was a nervous wreck. He was afraid the same thing that happened to Peggy would happen to Maria. You should have seen him, but when you were born you could see the love." He briefly paused. "Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't an easy job, especially for your father. He has a lot of demons haunting him. He's the man that designs the weapons. He knows that for every person we kill in the field is just more blood on his hands. I'm not saying that your relationship is going to be fixed with an 'I'm sorry'. I'm not saying I know how it feels. And I'm not saying any of this to get you to pity him. I'm only saying that if I've put strain on your relationship, I'm sorry."
Tony didn't say anything for a while as he stared down at the drawing of Peggy. "I guess I've always know that. When I was younger I thought it was cool that my dad was friends with Captain America, but as I got older I realized he really wasn't spending as much time at our house as I thought. When he suggested I go to college early I snapped up the chance. I thought it would be great, but he kept holding all these expectations in me and I hated it. Especially at parties where he would show me off like I was just another fucking car. I've grown a bit since then and now I know he was probably drunk and stressed and hurt." Tony sighed and fell back on his bed so he was staring at the ceiling. "Besides always taking things apart and making them better and just inventing and innovating, me and him have nothing in common." He looked over at Steve. "And I think that's why I resented you the most. You had more in common with him than I did. You fought in the war with him. You worked with him. You were there at the bad moments and the good. And even after that you were always the first one he went too. I know you really can't talk about war trauma and whatever with your kid, but being there is a completely different thing."
Steve fell back on the bed so he was lying next to Tony. When he looked up at the ceiling he noticed Tony had affixed glow-in-the-dark stars up there. He grinned just a bit at the idea of the teen standing on top of his bed trying to reach up just an inch more to stick a star up there. Tony looked over at Steve and saw his grin. "Well shit, you got me to tell you what you wanted."
Steve shrugged his shoulders casually. "I think it's my All-American, golden boy appeal."
Tony smiled and punched him in the shoulder. "Just steal the words right out of my mouth, jerk."
Steve felt a sad twinge of pain at the name, but knew Tony wouldn't know about it. The two didn't say anything; they just stayed on the bed and stared at the ceiling for awhile. "So are we good?"
Tony sat up and handed Steve back the sketchbook. "About as good as we'll ever get in our fucked up lives."
