Tony's first meeting with Erin Cilian ends up being rather short, to the point, and just the tiniest bit humiliating.
"Mr. Stark, I'm in a bit of a hurry so allow me to cut to the case: we would like to utilize more of your estate than what we initially agreed on. I know this wasn't a part of our original—"
"No problem," Tony is quick to supply because providing land is no problem to him, but another thought occurs to the inventor before Frosty could reply, and soon he's wishing the kid was here to clasp a hand over his mouth just so he had a reason to stop talking.
"Wait, how much land are we talking about exactly? Like, do I need to buy out the whole forest? Because that might be a bit of a— actually, never mind that, I always wanted to have my own forest, it's strange that I don't have one already now that I think about it, I mean, I own an island, so a forest really shouldn't be a problem—"
"There will be no need for that," Ranina interjects before he could talk himself into a circle in front of the entire room – which, he notes, is still watching in a dazed silence – and Tony figures he will just have to hand over half his kingdom and his firstborn to the woman with the amount of favors he owes her at this point. "We need just enough space for one more building."
Frost is studying Tony with a sort of detached curiosity, making him feel like an insect under a magnifying glass, and he barely manages a jerky nod, opting for silence to prevent another nervous rant from escaping under the scrutiny of those dark eyes. The billionaire is not one to be intimidated easily, but Frost tearing into Ross and Fury with impressive severity is not an image he will be forgetting anytime soon – not that he wants to, he is already planning to ask FRIDAY to make a 'Greatest Facial Expressions' compilation of the footage – and while he can certainly admire the man's efficiency, he'd rather not make himself the focus of one more person's temper, especially if said person happens to have the universe's largest army under his command. Tony might be uncompromising in his hatred for authority, but he knows how to choose his battles.
"A few of your trees might need to be relocated, but our soldiers can handle that with—" Frost launches into an explanation but cuts himself off just as quickly when his wristband lights up with blue geometric shapes, his gaze snapping to the device in lieu of fixating on Tony. The inventor would be hard-pressed to say that he minds.
"I'm afraid I need to go," the man offers to no one in particular, waving an arm at the two people next to him absentmindedly. "They will explain the specifics."
Tony is saved from having to respond because Frost is already turning towards Ranina with the clear intention of speaking up, except the woman is quicker, and while she doesn't quite shake her head, she does raise a disapproving eyebrow at the supposed leader of everything.
"Tact is lost on you," she says in a voice that is more amused than accusatory, and Tony hurries to steel his features into an appropriate level of confusion fitting in with the rest of the room when realizes he's not supposed to understand the words.
He's not planning to keep the existence of his translator a secret forever, but giving people the ability to understand all languages instantly would not only change their education system, it would also completely reshape their labor market, and likely give a serious boost to international espionage. It's not something he can just unveil without involving Pepper and the better part of SI's legal department – and definitely not something he can unveil in his current company.
"Most inane things are," comes the unconcerned reply from the white haired man in the same language while his eyes are doing a final sweep over their audience, gaze stopping on Ross as he adds: "Don't let them start an internal war. I'm not dealing with that if I have to move here."
Ranina and Zefironn nods dutifully and Tony takes a moment to relish in the absolutely freaked out expression on Ross' face at thinking they are speaking about him, but Frost soon grabs everyone's attention with the same ease he did during his arrival as he summons his vessel – the same exact design as the other soldiers', save for its matte white color.
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Stark," the soldier offers before he departs, but Tony can only hum in acknowledgement because the white brings out the minute details of the armor really nicely and he's busy mentally cataloguing the intricacies of this work of art, right until it walks out onto the grass of the yard, gets into a slight crouch, and simply… disappears from sight.
The sonic boom that shakes the building a heartbeat later startles quite a few people into a defensive position, including Tony, and Zefironn waits until the walls stop quivering before he shakes his head with a not even remotely convincing regretful expression.
"Our apologies. He tends to forget about that."
The silence lasts just long enough for Tony's ears to stop ringing, and then the room promptly explodes into chaos.
…
Erin Cilian turns out to be not only the General of the Communia's military forces, but also the UGC's Lead Developer – a position that Ranina likens to being a scientist – and pretty much their most influential political figure with more contributions to his name than Tony could ever hope to accumulate within a single lifetime.
Zefironn shows them a few articles from the Alien Know-It-All, and Frosty is clearly fond of branding his stuff because not only there is a Cilian test, a Cilian law, and a Cilian system, there is also a Cilian scale, a Cilian bar, a Cilian this and that and Tony stops counting around the tenth article.
Rogers doesn't seem to appreciate the self-indulgent naming convention, and while it's interesting to see the American Frown of Disapproval™ being directed at someone other than Tony for once, the inventor will hardly start throwing stones blindly anytime soon: Starkanium is not the first of his creations to wear his name after all, nor will it be the last if he has anything to say about it. Arrogant or not, Tony still prefers people who are honest in their vanity to those who are wearing false modesty as a second skin.
And besides, he did file the request for naming his new element 'Badassium' first. It's hardly his fault the Union members didn't appreciate his attempt at humility.
"May I ask what the new building will be used for?" Clarke inquires after most of the earlier disarray is consolidated to acceptable levels, with the military people gone and the UN taking over the hastily organized meeting. Tony's been wondering the same thing: the blueprints show a relatively short but widespread building, and that combined with the fact that "General Cilian will be staying here for a few weeks," makes for an interesting blend.
The way Fury goes suspiciously quiet after that statement is also rather interesting, but it's not like Tony doesn't know how the Director's mind works at this point, so the fact that the man is already plotting hardly comes as a surprise. Tony just hopes his newest plan won't blow up in their faces – or that they will survive it if it does.
"Think of it as a workshop," Zefironn offers with his usual smirk, and Tony is suddenly hit with the irrational fear of being replaced because workshops are his thing, and so is science and nanotech and flying metal suits, and what is Tony Stark needed for if someone else can provide all of those things just as easily—
"The General found a way to counter the power of the Infinity Stones, but the device is not suitable for warp transport, so he will have to build it here."
Oh. Well, that's… fine then. Tony can deal with another workshop in his domain for a while, if it means saving half of the universe from annihilation.
Maybe.
"You think Thanos could survive an attack from one of your vessels?" Kenny asks with a slightly ashen complexion, and Tony can certainly commiserate, because the idea of anyone just walking away from singularity is terrifying beyond what his mind can deal with at the moment, so he decides to focus on picking at the half-moon shaped scabs on his palms instead. He acquired a lot of those during this last week, for some reason.
"We believe the Space Stone could help him evade gravity induced attacks, yes. We don't know which of the stones he is in possession of, and since we can only rule out the two present here on Terra, we need to prepare for all of the remaining possibilities."
People tense at the mention of the stones safeguarded by Vision and the Wizard: the UGC didn't even bat an eyelash when the situation has been first explained to them, but the Earthlings are still waiting for them to go all Big Brother and decide that such powerful artifacts cannot be left with people who still blame fictional entities when things don't go their way.
Tony's sure many would protest – the Wizard already made his stance very clear on what would happen to those who tried to take the Time Stone from him, and he can only imagine the majestic hissy fit SHIELD would throw, but the inventor himself would have no problems with the Communia taking the stones. Less stuff to attract wannabe Space Invaders to their cozy little planet would hardly be a bad thing, and honestly, if a giant army of black hole wielding people can't protect something from getting into the wrong hands, then Tony figures nobody can.
"And… what kind of device could potentially be used for—" Coulson starts his less than subtle fishing trip, but the green skinned man interrupts him with a raised palm, unapologetically reminding him of their rule of "not sharing technology that is not already in the owner's possession".
That rule has quickly become one of the many banes of Tony's existence, but no matter – as long as the device works he will have time to figure out the how of it. He will have a full decade to do so even, if is accurate in her predictions, though Tony has long since mentally upgraded that assessment to a decade and a half, because he makes a hobby of surviving heart issues longer than expected purely out of spite.
Tony can do a lot in a decade and a half – murderous space aliens allowing, of course – but a lot is still not everything, and now that he starts to believe the Titan can actually be survived, he decides that one of his first projects afterwards is going to include extraterrestrial synthetic medicine. No reason to just accept those fifteen years as his due when he might have options, when there's an entire galaxy of people and places and culture and technology he has yet to see and feel and taste and take apart and understand.
Tony is very good at fixing himself.
"The Tennessee Stud was long and lean, the color of the sun and his eyes were green…"
Speaking of reasons to keep his ticker going, Tony's phone starts blasting Johnny Cash at full volume, and when several people turn and stare at him like they swallowed something sour he decides to take it as an excuse to leave the meeting, pretending it's a call instead of a message. The diplomats have already shared what they wanted to share – anything else will be just red tape and useless fishing and Tony is interested in exactly zero of those things.
From: Motormouth
I expect you to throw me a sweet 16 bday party in your shiny new alien tower befitting of a billionaire heir. Just so we're clear.
Tony has to smile at the nerve of the kid. Trust Harley to point out his finances and blatantly ignore them in the same breath by ordering him around.
To: Motormouth
You're not my heir, and people don't sweet 16 anymore.
From: Motormouth
Yes they do, and i'm totally your heir. I called dibs years ago and i'm not sharing with any drunken accidents from your past.
Tony lets that message go unanswered for a few minutes, long enough for Harley to take it as an implication, and sure enough, Johnny Cash announces a plethora of incoming texts before he can reach his quarters.
From: Motormouth
...you don't have any past drunken accidents, do you?
From: Motormouth
Tony?
From: Motormouth
I already have a sister, do you have any idea how much maintenance siblings are? I never asked for another one, you can't just spring this on me!
From: Motormouth
Wait, is she hot?
From: Motormouth
Nevermind, you can't buy me out with a hot step sis, you two can talk to my lawyers. I'm arriving next sunday. Get on the bday party, Stark.
From: Motormouth
It better be EPIC.
Tony laughs when he gets to the bottom of the texts, where there is a picture of several people wearing the typical green-skin, large-black-eyes alien masks, headbanging in the first row of a concert.
He idly wonders how Harley will take to Peter – the two boys couldn't be more different if they tried, but somehow the inventor is not all that worried. The Tennessee kid might talk big, but Peter is capable of turning anyone into mush within the span of a minute, and Tony knows Harley won't actually begrudge him for expanding his collection of tragic-background-storied science kids who don't know when to shut their mouths, during Harley's absence.
God, those two together will potentially be the most awesome disaster Tony has ever created.
He smiles at the thought, but his good mood lasts only until he opens his bedroom door, when he realizes he can't actually let the boy sleep in the Compound, and his heart starts pounding at the mental image of Wanda's magic swirling around a peacefully sleeping Harley, thick and suffocating and red, always so red—
"Boss," FRIDAY's voice echoes through the speakers, "shall I notify Boss Lady of Harley's plans?"
Tony is so grateful for FRIDAY's interruption that he doesn't even chide her for snooping around in his personal messaging. It's not like he minds, but one has to keep up the appearance of having personal boundaries with his AI's, or so people keep telling him.
"Not yet FRI, I have to figure out where to put him first."
The Tower is always an option. He could ask Happy to drive the kid back and forth for a few days – the man might be working more for Pepper than for him nowadays, but he's always there when Tony calls him, even if Tony's been trying not to bother him too much since the breakup.
He tries not to bother Pepper too much either – no reason to risk getting her or Happy caught up in another Mandarin now that they are not forced to spend so much time around Tony.
He hasn't seen Harley in two years: the kid couldn't spend last summer in New York under his usual guise of partaking in an SI internship – which really, is only a partial guise, since the kid bombards Pepper with questions about Stark Industries and business management every chance he gets.
"Why aren't you asking me?" Tony challenged the kid once, all faux offense as he put his hand over the place where his Arc Reactor used to be, playing at being injured. "I was the CEO that made SI into a multi-billion dollar company, you know."
The kid didn't even look up from the notes Pepper forwarded him onto his StarkPad as he fired off a reply.
"You can teach me how to create stuff, but Pepper can teach me how to get shit done."
Tony remembers protesting on principle because hello, look at all these suits and his bots and like half of the tech people use for entertainment nowadays, but even back then, he knew exactly what the kid meant.
Tony is a good businessman – a great businessman – but Pepper plays the political game like nobody's business, and some days Tony feels like her loyalty to SI is the only thing keeping her from presidency. Harley's been smart to pick up on that.
Except, there was nothing for the boy to pick up last year, because last summer Tony was busy trying to fix the Avengers by introducing accountability to the team, then he was busy chasing half of said team through Europe, and then he was busy with survival in Dr. Cho's cradle, as Pepper kept traveling between hospitals to make sure neither Rhodey nor Tony was dying any quicker than usual.
No, a full summer around the Avengers is not something the kid needs, as great as it would be to have him around for a while again. Tony barely managed to keep Peter away from the Rogues yesterday, and Harley is… not exactly subtle.
To: Motormouth
One week, you're staying at the Tower, and no explosions while I'm not there.
From: Motormouth
Three weeks, I'm staying where you're staying, and no promises.
Tony doesn't need RANINA to translate that one to plain English: six-ish weeks, Harley living in Tony's pocket, and way more explosions than what would be socially acceptable.
He doesn't realize he's grinning until he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Peter is in for a surprise.
…
The UN comes forward with a treaty about banning both nuclear weapons and nanotech in warfare, barely a day after Erin Cilian's visit.
No wonder they took Tony's refusal without a single complaint - the fact that they even asked was apparently a move intended to fail, because saying they asked and were refused is one thing, but saying they don't trust their Avengers enough to even do that? Political suicide, right there.
The US might not sign the treaty anytime soon – in no way will they stop stockpiling nuclear weapons without a better reason than 'For the Peace of the World' – but they would also be stupid to oppose it openly, and so both the Army and the Air Force are forced to give up the game of harassing Tony early.
With the Avengers being the only paramilitary group under UN purview they remain the sole candidates for being equipped with nanotech at the moment, and Ross the Lesser is apparently not any more interested in dressing former criminals in weapons than Tony himself is, because he gets a voicemail from the Secretary only to hear:
"Be very careful of who you give your tech away to, Stark, and don't expect this treaty nonsense to hold. You're an American before you're an Avenger, don't you forget that."
Tony snorts not only because he's empathically not, nor has he officially ever been an actual Avenger, but also because Ross warning him about the dangers of 'weapons in wrong hands'? Pure comedic gold.
The Avengers probably never realize Ross was only going to use them as his personal tailwind, but Tony figures it doesn't matter much – without the UN and the military they are left with SHIELD as their only support, and Fury seems awfully reluctant to press the issue after General Cilian's rather public stance on the matter in the Compound kitchen.
The next day Tony treats Kenny to lunch in his favorite Persian restaurant because they run into each other in the hallway, realize that neither of them had to fend off people rambling about nanotech in more than thirty hours, and because just as many countries have signed the treaty by noon, and hey, life could suddenly be worse.
Tony laughs at the face Ross pulls at the sight of the Fesenjān, then laughs again when the man proceeds to practically inhale the stew after the first taste.
Then he realizes his laugh sounds a bit mechanical, and wonders how long it will take for his voice to lose that chipped edge now that he occasionally feels like laughing again... or how long it will take before he stops feeling like laughing for months again. Whichever comes first.
"So, the UN is holding a charity gala," Ross says somewhere during the second course, and Tony already feels stuffed from just the first one but pushes on because finishing an adult sized meal at least twice a week is one of his new life goals at the moment. Rhodey doesn't like it when he loses too much weight.
"Are you asking me to prom? Because I have this frilly pink dress I've been dying to wear—"
"You're invited, of course, as a guest of honor."
Of course he is. People pay good money to spend an evening within touching distance to celebrities, and the while the UN is usually more refined than holding charity galas directly, showcasing actual aliens is a once in a lifetime opportunity they would be stupid to miss.
Pompous and grating as these events tend to be, a lot of hungry mouths can be fed from the kind of money this one will likely generate, but still: thanks to the Grilians, it will probably be the first time when the name Tony Stark won't be among the top ten earning the most traction, so skipping it should do no harm. He will just send a donation.
"I probably declined my invitation already, but thanks for the offer."
"Cilian will be there."
Huh. After being witness to the incident now commonly referred to as the 'Kitchen Massacre', Tony didn't think Frosty would be the type willing to do the whole… small talk and social schmoozing scene, and his expression must be belying his thoughts because Ross smirks at him as he tears a piece of his bread off.
"I know, right? I think Ranina agreed in his stead, when she heard where the money would be going. She did warn us to raise the ticket prices though, if we want him to tag along."
Tony only raises an eyebrow because his face is too stuffed with rice to speak, and wonders when Kenny's learnt to read him well enough to supply his side of the conversation just from gestures and facial expressions, because he's been doing that during their lunch a lot. Tony has yet to decide if he likes it.
On one hand, after spending so much time with the man on fine-tuning the Accords, Tony's reasonably certain Kenny's the good sort, which is a rarity in his immediate surroundings.
On the other hand, not only Tony's been proved to be bad at judging people before, he also absolutely hates being predictable.
"Apparently," the liaison proceeds with his explanation, oblivious to Tony's minor internal conflict, "the guy is not bound by the same rules of diplomacy as his attachés are, and he 'doesn't suffer fools'," he finishes with air quotes.
Now, that sounds more like the man Tony remembers.
Kenny takes a quick, covert look around their table searching for listening ears, then leans in a bit, prompting Tony to do the same.
"We got like…" he fishes out his phone from his pocket and puts it on the table, navigating to the page listing the responses to the gala. "More than forty 'will be there's from military leaders alone, once we announced Cilian with his title on the guest list. T'Challa is coming. The Russian president RSVP'd, Tony."
Holy shit.
"This is going to be a bloodbath," Tony says with morbid amusement, because as dangerous as it probably is to let an all-powerful, but… cordially disinclined alien loose among the leaders of Earth, this…
This is one of those things Tony just has to see.
"Bloodbath is likely underselling it," Kenny says with a hand rubbing at his eyes, but his lips are curved into a light grin, like he can't help but feel the same brazen curiosity Tony does – even if it's probably escorted with considerably more guilt in the liaison's case – and the inventor decides that yes, Kenny is the good sort. Probably. Likely.
Maybe Tony can deal with a little predictability.
…
Frosty wasn't kidding when he said they would be relocating some trees – the woods behind Hotel Alien are completely re-worked by the time Tony and Ross get back to the Compound.
The soldiers make no issue out of transplanting the local flora: trees are lifted right along with the surrounding ground, and with no visible injury to their root systems. They use no equipment for it apart from their vessels either, and soon the designated ground is covered in the same marble panels Tony remembers from the building process of their tower, the trees happily replanted around it in a tight half circle.
He doesn't stay to watch this time – the soldiers requested no additional water pipes so there's nothing for him to actually be doing here, and the blueprints showed nothing he hasn't seen them construct before. He'll just come back later in the afternoon and take a look at the finished product. Pepper is waiting for him.
"Pep, light of my—" Tony stops his greeting abruptly when Pepper jumps a little at his voice, and he sees Rhodey push himself away from the glass wall he was leaning on, blinking at him with slightly too wide eyes. "…life."
They both smile at him in greeting, immediately pulling him into their conversation, and Tony could write it off as nothing. Hell, it is nothing, he knows. They were just talking in front of his workshop while waiting for the inventor, standing at a respectable distance. They are friends.
And friends is all the two of them are ever going to remain, unless Tony gives them the nudge they don't even know they will need once they realize why they feel slightly guilty whenever they talk to each other without involving Tony.
Pep and Tony made sense in a lot of ways: they clicked, fitting into each other's space seamlessly on the surface, but when it came down to the important questions...
Rhodey is good with the important questions. He might have every intention of getting back into the War Machine armor to fight Thanos, but Tony knows his friend is looking into retirement options afterwards. Tony isn't. He likely never will either, not when he still has so much left to do, and seemingly never enough time to do it.
Pepper and Rhodey would make sense in ways Pepper and Tony never did, but that thought makes his chest tighten painfully, because as much as he wants both of his friends to be happy, Pepper is still – and will likely forever remain – the person who knows him most intimately out of everyone, and giving up the reciprocity on that aspect of their relationship hurts in ways he can't even begin to describe.
It's selfish.
It's selfish and horrible and Tony will let Pepper go, of course he will. Soon. He just… he just needs a bit more time to come to terms with that particular loss, because despite his younger years, despite all the drinking and the one night stands and the scandals, Tony still used to believe he had so much to give, that he could make someone so happy if he just put himself out there, if they just gave him half a chance, a genuine one, and then…
And then Pepper did, and Tony slowly realized that most of the things he had to give could be bought with money. Pepper had no need for that.
He is both glad and regretful that he didn't let her in any deeper than he did, in the end: he suspects their relationship would have ended much sooner, which would have been an incredible shame and a small mercy at the same time.
"Tones?"
So yeah, he will give his friends that nudge, eventually. As soon as the idea of the two of them together stops making him feel like he's floating alone among a myriad of stars, with no one to answer the last phone call he'll ever make. Like he is being left behind.
"Don't look at me like that Platypus, it was DUM-E's idea, I had nothing to do with it!"
Maybe in a few weeks.
"…What was DUM-E's idea?"
And if the feeling doesn't go away by then, he'll just grit his teeth, smile, and do it anyway.
"Nothing," he says with his best innocent expression. "Maybe wear a cape with your armor until the next paintjob though. Just a tip. The cape is in style, Thor made it look all godly. Baby pink would suit you. It would suit him, don't you think Pep?"
Pepper laughs.
"Baby pink would really bring out your eyes, James."
Yeah. He can do this. His friends deserve to be happy, and if he can make that happen, then he will.
Now, if only his lungs would get the memo and stop burning.
…
The new building is floating above the marble platform by a good two feet.
"That wasn't on the blueprints!" he exclaims as he walks up for a closer inspection, and hears a few nearby people laugh at his incredulity.
There are no windows. It's a giant, solid cuboid with only one entrance, and it's flying, and Tony has had enough with the not knowing how.
He pokes at the grey wall with a finger. The building doesn't move.
He pushes with a hand. Gives it a kick. Nothing.
He shoves against it bodily with all the strength he can muster without his suit, and the stupid building doesn't even have the decency to give him a millimeter.
Fine. Whatever is keeping it so irritatingly stable must be underneath. Tony can investigate.
"Whoa, hey, maybe don't go in there, that's not exactly safe," he hears someone running towards him as he crawls into the space between the platform and the building, and a second later a blue hand curls around his ankle, pulling him out to the open with ridiculous ease. A small crowd is gathering around him now, chuckling at his efforts of crushing himself under a construct that probably amounts to a shitton of weight.
His would be rescuer is the million feet tall blue guy with the white markings and the small horns, the one that stepped on the butterfly the other day. What was his name again? Jasin? Jason? Nah, too Earthly. Jaser?
"If it's not safe, maybe you should seal it off so people couldn't actually crawl in there," Tony says a bit grumpily, because why would they leave it open if they don't want people crawling under their stupid building with its stupid gravity and stupid feelings for Pepper and he needs to get the kid here ASAP before he blows something up.
"We will, we are preparing the material at the…" the guy trails off, his jovial expression disappearing slowly as he studies Tony. "Are you… are you alright, Mr. Stark?"
Tony takes a deep breath. He runs a hand over his face, and okay, he's not doing so well with the concerned looks he's getting, so he forces a smile that likely comes across more as a grimace and says:
"Have you had dinner yet… Jasir?" Tony asks the soldier, not quite sure he got the name right, but the man doesn't correct him, so he counts it as a win.
"No, not yet."
"Great. Collect a few of your buddies, like, ten, or… no, fifteen people, I'll call Happy to get one of the SUV limos, we're going for burgers – burgers are these cheesy clouds of happiness we eat to get fat, they are great, you'll like them, oh, make sure to get Bibin, I owe him for not shattering my wrist into a thousand pieces when I tried to pet him—"
"Bibin let you pet him?"
"The kid started it!"
…
"Underoos! Get your ass over here, Happy is picking you up in ten minutes, we're going for—"
"Now? But I have—"
"Kid, if your next words will include homework, I swear on every single piece of your Star Wars LEGO collection—"
"No no no, no homework! Stopping now! See you in half an hour! Bye Mr. Stark!"
…
"Hey kid, nice shirt," Tony hears Wilson say as they are gathering around the limo, and he nearly gives himself a whiplash with the speed he turns around, but he deflates just as quickly when he sees that Sam is alone.
"Thanks," Peter says with a healthy dose of uncertainty in his voice, which Tony doesn't want to discourage when it comes to the Rogues, so he opts to remain silent until the conversation runs its natural course.
"You're an intern at SI?"
"I'm… yes. I'm Mr. Stark's personal intern," Peter says the rehearsed line with no finesse at all, and Jesus, Tony really hopes nobody ever straight out asks the kid if he's Spider-man because the boy can't act to save his life.
"Oh, that's cool! I thought I saw you around a few days ago. You must be super smart if Tony took you on as his intern, congrats on that, man!"
Peter blushes under the praise and looks at Tony for help, but the inventor still feels like he's on a hair trigger so he opts to bury his head in his phone and let them handle the social niceties for themselves.
There is an exchange of names, an awkward inquiry to why they are stuffing strangely dressed soldiers into the car – turns out the Grilians do possess clothes other than their uniforms – and then Wilson goes:
"I like burgers. Mind if I tag along?"
Peter looks at Tony with unconcealed panic in his eyes because he may not know the specifics of what went down in Siberia, but he was there in the hospital with Tony in the aftermath, and he knows he's not equipped to answer that question without Tony's input, so the inventor takes a deep breath, puts his phone away and decides to adult for a minute.
Wilson didn't really talk to him during that disastrous guilt tripping session their last team meeting has devolved into.
The brunt of the manipulation was left to Romanoff, with Barton and Maximoff chipping in when the need for personal insults became too great for them to ignore. Lang hadn't said a single word and did his best to disappear into his seat, Rogers was mostly silent and busy going between disapproving and worried, and apart from Rhodey, it was only Wilson who tried to rein the others in, attempting to wiggle some breathing room in for the billionaire between sentences.
Wilson didn't ask questions, didn't make requests, and definitely didn't make any demands.
Tony shrugs, putting his shades on despite the sun already having disappeared behind the horizon.
"Sure."
His acceptance of Wilson's presence is probationary at best though, so he leans in during their ride and tells the kid that "This is the exception, not the rule," and Peter nods with a serious expression, pointing at the print on his SI shirt like it explains the meaning of life instead of just proclaiming Iron Man to be incomparable, and Tony feels the claws around his chest slowly loosen with every new breath.
Only one Iron Man indeed.
…
They end up in Central Park because they wouldn't fit into the burger joints Tony usually frequents, and he takes a moment to admire the thoroughness with which the traces of their battle with MewTwo and Giant Angry have been covered up with. Peter leads them to his favorite vendor truck because it apparently serves burgers besides hotdogs and because Peter has a favorite everything, and Tony listens to the kid talking the soldiers' ears off, who look just as enamored with the boy as they look with their food.
"Wait, so do none of you guys usually eat meat? Because burgers are—"
"It's fine. Many external domains still hunt or keep livestock, we are used to it. And besides, meat is not the most questionable eating habit you have around here."
Peter looks at Jasir in question, confusion coloring his features. The soldier takes a quick look around, then points at a young couple strolling around with ice pops.
"Those people are fellating frozen food made out of another animal's milk."
Wilson chokes on his lettuce and the kid looks so horrified Tony nearly ends up crying from laughter.
"Uh… maybe we should put a rain check on the ice cream, Mr. Stark," Peter says, eying his hotdog like he's re-evaluating all his previous food choices in life, and Tony has to ruffle his hair because the man won't be caught dead using the word adorable unironically.
Peter shudders and inches closer to the inventor, peering up at him with a thoroughly peeved expression and whispering:
"I drink another animal's milk for breakfast! Their milk, Mr. Stark!"
The sound of Tony's laugh may still be a bit mechanic, but he barely notices it with the kid looking at him like he should be singlehandedly stopping the world's dairy production just because it suddenly freaks Peter out.
"Sorry kid," he says still chuckling, "I can stop you from being kicked out of school if you're caught jaywalking, but I don't have the power to take away your pudding."
"I don't jaywalk— oh my god, we put milk in everything!"
Tony doesn't stop snickering until he falls asleep in his bed several hours later.
…
Cilian moves into the Compound five days before the gala.
Tony knows not only because FRI informs him, but also because while most of the Avengers have been giving him the silent treatment since the nanotech debacle, they are not shy of talking among themselves when Tony enters the kitchen. He supposes it gives them a kick, excluding him from the banter by pretending he doesn't exist – not that he minds too terribly.
Lang still greets him and Wilson is always quick to offer a smile and a few friendly words, but only Rogers makes any real attempts at drawing him into an ongoing discussion, which is neither here nor there since Tony actually prefers the aggressive exclusion to those attempts.
Erin, as the Avengers quickly take to calling him, is apparently a "cool guy, if a bit… bold", and not very sociable, rarely leaving the shelter of his workshop apart from mealtimes. The inventor pointedly ignores the way Rhodey's eyebrows make an escape attempt from his forehead when he looks at Tony at that particular piece of information. Drama queen.
By the fifth day, pretty much everyone has an opinion on the new guy, except for Rogers, who is the only one keeping mum on the topic.
Tony himself doesn't talk to the man, but he sees him twice exactly: the first time Frosty is preparing lunch with a bunch of people on one of the outside benches, sporting the white jacket he promised to bring along for a potential next meeting with Ross, and Tony giggles at the memory because FRIDAY has decided to set the Secretary's incredulous face as a background on every available screen in the facility and it's hilarious.
The white jacket is surprisingly simple compared to Tony's initial expectations – there are no symbols or signs to distinguish Cilian's rank, and nothing really sets the garment aside from the standard uniforms apart from its color. There are some geometric marks printed over the left breast, but since all soldiers have a different set of those, Tony figures that must be their name. RANINA unfortunately cannot process visual input to confirm that theory just yet, but that's something Tony is already working on, at least.
People's behavior doesn't appear to change, despite the novelty of being in the presence of a supposed heavy-hitter.
Cilian takes his share of chopping vegetables – or at least what are presumably vegetables – without a single complaint, doesn't order people around, and fetches his own cutlery when he realizes he forgot them after sitting down. While the General doesn't seem to get any special treatment, he's considerably less involved in casual touching than the rest of the soldiers, and since Tony never saw people give Lady Execution the same berth, he figures the diplomats either oversold their quasi leader's popularity among his own people, or the guy is simply less tactile than most, and is just generally not enough of a dick to pull rank.
Knowing quite a few people in high places, Tony would normally place his bet on the former, but there is something about how Frost seems to be involved in the group without getting any literal pats on the back: he's fully engaged in the conversation even when it's not him doing the talking, and while Tony doesn't see him smile, some of his words appear to garner that very reaction in his immediate surroundings.
The interactions, while a bit distinguished, don't read as fake from where the inventor is standing.
The second time Tony sees Frost on the Compound is on the morning of the charity gala, and the sight is not exactly welcome.
The alien is sitting on the stairs leading up to the entrance of the newly built workshop – which doesn't appear to be floating now due to the sealing, even if Tony knows it still does – with elbows propped up on his knees, and head tilted in question as Maximoff leans in from next to him to shows something on her phone with a giggle.
A very delicate, very familiar giggle that immediately makes Tony think of Vision, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or horrified at the development.
Vision may not be JARVIS, but he's still very much Tony's brainchild, and the inventor has no wish to see him shack up with Wanda once the android decides to come back – even if he'd never express that opinion out loud. No single person is entirely one-dimensional, and while Tony cannot fathom what Vision sees in the witch, it doesn't mean there is nothing to actually see. Tony will hardly be going around telling people where they should or shouldn't place their affections, not after being subjected to the same treatment ever since his first appearance in the media.
He also has no wish to see Vision hurt, though. God, what a mess.
"Have you heard from Vision lately?" Rhodey asks from over his shoulder as the man joins him on the porch, nursing a steaming cup of coffee with the same protective aura that is currently surrounding Tony for the very same reason.
Apparently, Tony isn't alone in his concern about the way Wanda is peering up at the white haired man with a subtle blush on her cheeks.
"Not since she came back," he says, pointing with his chin to Maximoff. Tony can't quite read her companion – Frost doesn't seem to be responding to her flavor of attention, but he's not completely closed off either. He's listening to her with an air of perfect neutrality. "The Wizard said his cult family saw him in Tibet a few weeks ago. Gave them a collective heart attack by phasing into their oriental Hogwarts."
"Give me half an hour to wake up properly, and I'll write you a detailed list on all the ways that was racist."
"Email it to me."
"You never read your emails."
"I said what I said."
"Jerk. I'm off for my PT. See you in… the evening, probably."
"It's a date, Love Muffin!"
The endearment he yells after Rhodey seems to grab several people's attention, and Tony's never been one to shy away from being in the spotlight so he gives them a grin – one of those rare press-pleasing ones that are at least halfway honest because his spectators seem more fascinated than malicious for once, and it appears to be satisfactory because most people go back to whatever they've been doing before Tony interrupted their shenanigans.
There's one pair of eyes that lingers though, long beyond crossing the borders of politeness, and the gaze feels like a physical touch on Tony's nape when he finally decides to cede the staring contest and return to his workshop for the first round of testing of his written Garbage Truckian.
He wonders how long it will take for Maximoff to notice she's lost her audience.
…
The gala is huge and loud and shiny, and hosts nearly half of the world's elite despite the fact that tickets start selling at a whooping fifteen grand.
The three UGC ambassadors arrive with a selection of forty soldiers, the latter all dressed in their uniforms, because military wear was always going to be the theme of the evening, considering their guests. The selection includes just enough Terran looking aliens to show off their similarities – lead by Lady Execution herself – but the real stars of the event are obviously the people with the most unusual coloring and features.
They all smile and wave and nod at the right times, and it occurs to Tony that the Communia might consider its soldiers representatives in more than just their title.
Rhodey is Tony's date as agreed, but neither of them is surprised when the older man's attention is soon forcefully monopolized by people in uniforms, representing different countries. Tony has to put a lot of effort into not laughing on some of said clothes: the higher the rank, the more ridiculous the ceremonial ensemble, apparently.
For men who tend to make a contest of ridiculing femininity, there is an insane amount of golden dress cords, velvet bows, intricately decorated high-waist belts, brooches and frills and bullion trims.
God, the bullion trims.
Doing his best to avoid the recently arrived Avengers, Tony quickly looks for company not covered in badges and medals from head to toe, and is a bit startled when he runs into no other than Dr. Jane Foster and her intern, Darcy Lewis, both sponsored into the event by Pepper for reasons Tony isn't sure he wants to know.
The darker haired woman gives Tony's suit a frisky wolf whistle in lieu of a greeting, so Tony has no choice but to offer her a position at SI, both because it's his best Brioni, and because he likes people who don't pretend that playfully entertaining his ego will destroy the world someday.
"…and also because, honestly, that is possibly the greatest rack I have seen in my life, which is quite the deal because I've seen a lot of great racks, and I'm both rescinding the job offer and denying I ever said either of those things in case you decide to be a snitch and tell on me to Pepper."
Darcy's laugh is loud and carefree and just as energetic as Dr. Foster's mortification is, who chides Tony for his scandalous behavior, and frowns at Darcy because "I told you that dress is improper!".
Improper is underselling it in Tony's opinion: the strapless red gown has a cut that leaves exactly nothing to the imagination, and with the amount of photographers documenting the event, Tony honestly wouldn't be surprised if Darcy would appear on the cover of the next Playboy issue, her lack of fame notwithstanding.
She doesn't seem to be the slightest bit concerned with Jane's chagrin – a woman after Tony's heart – but cheerfully refuses his offer nonetheless, and leaves to raid the bar with the same bubbly confidence she arrived with.
Dr. Foster is too dazed by the extravagance around her to talk science, which Tony regrets but understands completely, and they end up shamelessly critiquing the more elaborate ball gowns, which, according to her, make the women look like desperate groupies who only came here to sequester their very own alien prince charming, like they are in a bad space opera.
"They don't have princes," Tony informs her apologetically, but whatever he's planning to follow that up with is cut short when he sees the doctor's attention waver, and he nearly turns around on reflex when he sees her eyes widen on a hastily sucked in breath.
"Yeah?" she retorts a bit breathlessly, then gestures towards the back of the room with her champagne, giving Tony an excuse to turn after all. "What would you call him, then?"
Tony has a clear view of Erin Cilian sauntering in with Zefironn on his side, pausing for a moment to take the ballroom in. His white military jacket would nearly be underwhelming among the rest of the attendees, except that he seems to have ditched his usual undershirt in exchange for a black one that shimmers in colorful spots like scales, covering his belly with a grip that makes the inventor wonder if it's possible to literally mold clothes onto your skin.
An also black, floor length sarong with golden accents is wrapped around his hips, and alright, Tony can admit that the resulting impression with the white hair, the blue lines, the self-assured posture and the cheekbones is rather… striking.
The General clearly knows how to present an image, and Tony can already see the gazillion posts and articles this choice of attire is going to inspire tomorrow.
"Hello, hipbones," he hears Jane murmur quietly, but pretends he doesn't because she seems to be the sort to give into genuine embarrassment, and Tony doesn't like to embarrass people who have done nothing to deserve it.
He loses sight of the General just before Darcy returns with drinks for all three of them, and the evening goes on.
Tony talks to several people, but with Bruce not in attendance, Pepper lost in the crowd, and Rhodey and Ross being perpetually busy, the two women somehow end up being his only constant companions, and Tony finds that he quite likes both of them. They are smart and funny and despite Jane's rather easily ruffled feathers, they are both open to talk about any given topic with no judgments or taboos or wounded feelings – Thor being the only exception to that rule, so Tony makes sure to stay clear of that matter – and the three of them successfully drive away most of the people who decide to brave them in order to get a minute of Tony's time.
Okay, so it's more Darcy and Tony doing the driving people away, but Jane is horrible at covert giggling which doesn't help, and Tony doesn't remember enjoying a social event this much before – at least not without the presence of unplanned explosions.
Ranina shows up in a purple skirt similar to Frosty's in style, torso and arms covered in the same skintight material as well, and Tony suddenly realizes that the long sleeved shirt might not necessarily be only for decoration.
"Is that traditional Nilnak wear, or is it for protection?"
Ranina smiles at him, and Tony can see several men around them go slightly green with jealousy at the gesture. He can't blame them – the woman cuts a breathtaking figure in that dress, and the material of her top is really very… shimmery. Tony will stick with shimmery.
"It cancels the transfer of bioelectricity," she tugs at the sleeve which reaches the knuckles of her fingers, a thumbhole easing her grip on the glass of champagne while still providing cover for her palm. "We are used to handshakes, but your people can't be expected to know why casual touches can make us uncomfortable."
Well, that answers the question of Cilian's reticence.
Tony wants to ask why Nilnak evolution decided it would be a good idea to make them wear their nerves literally on their skin, but Ranina is swept away by Pepper and Hestaf, who are eager to talk voluntary work options for the Communia soldiers because "They are not going to be constantly on duty, and a year is a long time to be doing nothing."
Half-heartedly, Tony keeps an eye out for the verbal massacre that Ross and him both expected the white haired alien to deliver, but there are too many people and the few times Tony catches a glimpse through the crowd, it only reveals the man holding an incessant court among Earth's most powerful, and somehow still managing to rule the room, barely speaking. There are no scandalous bouts or angry exclamations, and while Tony can see more than one person strutting away with an air of offended glory after talking to the General – Russian president not exempted – the event is running its course in relative peace.
Or at least it does, right until Darcy nearly chokes on her champagne, coughs, smacks her blood tinted lips together and goes:
"Whoa there Dante, I'm suddenly feeling very single today, just so you know, and my name is Darcy."
Tony doesn't even have to look to know who's standing behind him. He still does.
"Mine is Erin," the man says with a slight upward tilt to his lips – the first positive reaction Tony sees him display during the evening. "And while I'm regretfully on duty here, I'm sure you will make someone very happy tonight with your…" he gives Darcy a once-over, gaze shamelessly lingering on her breasts, "…singleness."
Jane not so subtly clears her throat, but Darcy visibly preens under the attention as she beams up at the man.
"Impressive, aren't they?" She puffs her chest out for a better effect, and Tony can't help the grin that overtakes his features – and apparently, neither can Frost.
"I honestly don't think I could recall your name," he says without an ounce of remorse, and Tony has to give him kudos for managing all that while keeping eye contact with the woman.
"Excellent," is all Darcy offers before introducing Jane, who immediately decides it's time for a powder room break, and starts tugging at the younger woman's arm.
"I'm afraid I can't promise to still be here by the time you come back, but it was very nice to meet you Miss Foster, and Miss..." Cilian trails off with a raised eyebrow at Darcy, and Tony bites his lips at Jane's utterly scandalized expression.
"Oh sweetie, you can call me whatever you—"
"Darcy!"
"Oh fine, that will work too."
Frosty doesn't look frosty at all by the time Jane is dragging a very reluctant Darcy away – who turns back one last time just to shout her final thoughts at the General.
"I'll be ogling you!"
The man laughs and responds with a "likewise", and his laughter is probably the most genuine and melodic sound Tony has heard all day, despite the string quartet that's been reciting Bach for the last several hours and people doing little else than standing around laughing.
He's so immersed in the sound that it takes him a second to realize he's been left alone with the man, and his reputation around the room has already reached the farthest nooks by whispers of "don't go anywhere near Stark if you know what's good for you, I swear those people are crazy", so it's unlikely they will be disturbed anytime soon.
Cilian is probably the only person in the building not holding a glass in his hands, and possibly the only one who doesn't need to do so to prevent the awkwardness of 'what do I do with my hands' from diminishing his presence. The man is all height and limbs and a grace Tony spent years trying to imitate when he was a teenager, and he's equal parts annoyed and vindicated when he needs to crane his neck to keep eye contact, because 'why is everyone always taller than Tony', but also because 'hey, this dude is taller than Rogers, hah!'.
"Mr. Stark," Cilian starts, his previous smile waning but not disappearing completely. "I admit I've been meaning to talk to you about your Iron Man armor," which is fine, Tony can talk about that, the armor is a safe topic, but then the man finishes with: "but I've heard a lot of intriguing things about you tonight," which is decidedly not a safe topic, so Tony is quick to deflect.
"I have a hard time imagining these people talking to you about anything other than themselves," he says with a well-practiced smile, and the other man nods.
"Exactly."
Tony raises an eyebrow in question, because he doesn't quite get the connection, and Cilian proceeds to explain.
"Your name tends to come up as a… quantifier." Ah. Yeah. That. "People claim to be smarter than you," that will be Justin Hammer, no doubt. "Richer than you." And that would be Elon. Or Bill. That's fine, those two are allowed their little white lies. "Taller than you even," which is not helpful as it could refer to practically anyone, because, to reiterate, everyone is always taller than Tony.
The inventor only shrugs in response and Cilian seems amused at the lack of acknowledgement, the edges of his inky eyes crinkling slightly. Tony idly wonders if Earthlings are capable of growing eyelashes that long.
"There's a king of… something, whose greatest achievement seems to be discovering nanotech before you."
"King T'Challa," Tony supplies with an annoyed frown, and refrains from bitterly adding how that was more his sister and his scientists than the man himself. It doesn't seem to matter, because Cilian waves the name away like it means nothing to him – which it probably doesn't.
"Your name appears to be a scale on perceived achievements, and I doubt you came by that reputation with a single invention, so tell me, Mr. Stark," Cilian takes a step closer, gaze piercing into Tony's skull with its intensity, and the inventor has to take a sip of his heavily watered down drink to wet his mouth. "What are you currently working on?"
Tony thinks he covers his surprise well at the question. He knows exactly what sort of things the man must have been told about Tony Stark during the evening – or rather, since his arrival to the Compound, thanks to the Avengers – and he's a bit thrown that Frost would latch onto his work rather than one of the more… salacious topics. The more exploitable ones.
Joke's on him though, because Tony can talk a lot about his work, so he does. More than he realizes.
He does start off with Iron Man, takes a brief detour into the topic of the UGC vessels, places like a hundred questions he probably never gives the man the chance to actually answer, and somehow arrives from black holes and gravity manipulation to his IntelliCrops and the food scarcity issues he's been trying to solve before Siberia, and he's not even close to winding down when he realizes it's been more than twenty minutes, and he's attracted quite the crowd.
"…and if we could turn those into self-sustaining sources then the water filtering systems could supply clean water to entire continents without…" he chances a glance at the surrounding faces, and yep, they all look at him like he's been science babbling exactly twenty minutes too long.
"Uh…" he struggles to finish his train of thought, not even attempting a graceful exit – it would be a wasted effort, based on Cilian's astounded expression.
"…without the need for recycling. Yeah. I'm done. Your turn to speak now."
Tony can practically hear people breathe a collective sigh of relief, and that burns a little because he was just getting used to being listened to again, but Tony knows better than to show that. The Merchant of Death doesn't do dejected.
The General looks at him strangely, and the slight furrow of his dark eyebrows suggests he's not quite sure what just happened, but Tony barely registers that because his brain is already conjuring up possible responses he might get before the man can even spea, and the inventor can't decide whether he'd prefer the humorous yet humiliating 'wow, tell me how you feel' kind, or one of the more scathing 'god, you're exhausting' types, and for a shaky moment he considers not even waiting for a response and just… walking away.
It would be far from the most offensive thing he has ever done – hell, it wouldn't even make the top fifty, but Cilian's words put a stop to his ill-advised plans before he could begin their execution, and a minute later Tony finds himself… floored.
"More than six hundred, no, yes, only a third of our population actually does that, no, your sun is not active enough for it to be a concern. Yes, I… believe so, though you'd have to ask Zefironn to make sure, yes, not exactly but they are similar in usage, likely not but we never actually tried. Yes, no… and finally, I'm in no position to question your planet's methods of resource distribution, but wouldn't local recycling be more efficient than long distance transportation in scarcely populated areas?"
Tony is mentally parsing the answers to his questions – to literally all his questions from his twenty minute long monologue – as the alien peers down at him with an expectant head tilt, and Tony can't remember anyone ever doing that before – hell, he's not even sure he knows people who would be capable of doing that, let alone willing, and that's…
Tony doesn't know what that is, exactly, but it makes his chest feel tighter and lighter at the same time, and he hears his own heartbeat pounding away in his ears as he grasps for words that won't make him sound like a complete idiot, and he's on a roll again before he knows it but Erin is looking at him with honest to god curiosity, and Tony suddenly couldn't care less about their audience.
"Yes... yeah, it would be, especially with the materials used for our watering systems being considered valuable in some places, because see, we have these very climate-ly challenged areas where even Thor would have trouble summoning clouds, and where the price for an SI issued water pipe could feed a family for an entire week, and I can make crops that survive that kind of UV radiation but I can't make an organic thing live without water entirely, so as soon as we figure out a way to stop people from taking our equipment just long enough for the crops to take, we should be able to feed more than—"
"Dear god," Barton's unexpected voice interrupts his speech, and Tony nearly flinches at the poorly disguised spite in that tone as the archer leads the rest of his team up to the two of them, people scattering to give them space. "Are you still on about poor people stealing a few of your fancy plastic pipes? We get it. They are starving and you're a billionaire Stark, get over it."
Insults delivered with a smile are easier to interpret as jokes in an uncomfortable situation, so there is a round of strained laughter in response to Barton's outburst around them.
Tony takes a deep breath, counts to ten and tries – he really tries – to bring his adrenaline level down, but his ramblings are more of a state of mind than a habit so he can't help but provide a justification, because that's not what he was saying at all, and—
"I know they are starving, that's exactly what I'm trying to fix, but I can't help if they keep—"
"You know," Maximoff joins the conversation, planting herself right at the other side of Erin, who turns a little to include the newcomers. "You're awfully judgmental for someone who's never known hunger. Comes across as a bit selfish, with all that money you're sitting on, don't you think?"
Tony can feel his throat close up in frustration, because he's not judging those people – he isn't… is he? – he's just listing facts, but Rogers chooses to take the opportunity to speak up before Tony could start defending himself, making a mockery of doing so for the inventor.
"Wanda," the supersoldier chides lightly, "Tony just wants to help."
'He's just going about it the wrong way' is hanging in the air without being said, and whatever defense Tony's been working up just… disappears.
He can feel Erin's eyes bore holes into his temple, but he clamps up, because when it comes to his ex-team, Tony's long learnt that the best defense is no defense, and simply suffering through the indignity of their accusations goes quicker if he's not objecting.
For some reason, the idea of doing so now makes his eyes prick with frustrated tears, but he'll be caught dead before he lets anyone catch onto that, so he blinks a few times, tries to level his breathing, and starts searching the crowd for Rhodey. Or Ross. Or Darcy, even. There are a lot of people, maybe he could get away with just pretending to see one of them, and slip away before—
"I was under the impression Mr. Stark is providing free housing and food for your team, no? I would hardly call that selfish."
Tony turns back to Erin in surprise, but the man is looking at the Avengers, and the inventor knows that tone: it's the perfectly polite, more curious than accusatory tone the Kitchen Massacre started with, and he sucks in a breath in anticipation because the others don't seem to realize the same thing, but then again, maybe Tony's just imagining things, maybe it's just—
"He's a billionaire. It doesn't even make a dent in his wallet," Barton dismisses the notion of Tony being anything other than a self-serving, greedy bastard out of hand, managing to sound playfully teasing and incredibly condescending at the same time.
"And…" Erin runs his eyes over the group, "that makes your costs automatically his?"
There is a beat of silence before Rogers gathers his thoughts, pouring as much patriotism into the words as he can manage in order to defend their position.
"The Avengers Initiative saves human lives. It protects our planet. With every mission, each member chooses to put their own lives at risk so that the rest of the world can sleep peacefully at night." He pauses, looks at Tony, and gives him a tender smile that is only successful in making Tony's stomach turn, because if only Rogers could have looked at him with such approval back when they first met. "I think it's admirable that Tony supports such a worthy cause so generously."
The tension around the group disappears, because as much as the public is still more anti-Rogues than pro-Avengers, Steve Rogers is still, and will always be Captain America, and if he smiles and tells you everything is fine, then you are hardwired to follow his lead and believe the comfortable lie, despite seeing the forest going up in flames in the background.
"But if it's such a worthy cause," Erin eyes the Captain with an innocent head tilt, which makes Tony wonder how much of his curiosity is due to actual ignorance. He doesn't really seem like the ignorant type. "Then how come none of you join its monetary support?"
Aaand the tension is back. Tony's insides are doing summersaults – one minute he feels like crawling into a hole and never facing the world again, and a second later he feels like snickering at the sour faces people make when confronted with the hypocrisy Earthlings willingly grew blind to ages ago.
Not-Earthlings appear to have no such qualms, and Tony loves it.
"Not all of us have the means to," Rogers offers after a minute of strained silence. "People who do… they tend to support causes they find… commendable. I'm sure someone with your wealth knows how important—"
"What makes you think I'm wealthy?"
That brings the supersoldier up short. To be honest, it brings Tony up a bit short too.
"I have…" Erin summons one of his holographic screens, making several people gasp in the distance, then closes it after checking the number Tony can now read, and he feels a jolt of satisfaction run through him when the alien confirms: "…twenty-seven Credits on my account. That will buy me…" the man trails off, frowns, and the smirk that graces his features is the tiniest bit self-deprecating, but in no way embarrassed. "Actually, I have no idea what that will buy me. The last time I paid for something was several decades ago."
"That will buy you a few meals and a pair of shoes, at most," Hestaf offers as he joins them, planting himself with all his height and muscle and six horns between Tony and Romanoff, and while Tony hasn't had a lot of interactions with the man yet, he could kiss all six of his horns right now – no pun intended.
"You're… poor?" Wanda sounds confused as she stares up at Erin, and the billionaire doesn't even have it in himself to analyze that question for traces of disappointment because he's busy being confused himself, and Erin seems to positively relish in their perplexity, the little shit.
"Bankrupt would be a better word for it, from a financial standpoint."
Somehow Erin manages to sound nearly as proud of that fact as Tony knows he sounds when he's talking about his own financial status, like being broke is something he put a lot of work into, and hey – he might have for all they know, Tony thinks with a dash of interest.
"How do you support yourself?"
The question comes from Romanoff, who has a calculating glint in her eyes, and Tony just knows she's already received her assignment from Fury that likely includes collecting a list of the General's weaknesses. Tony hopes the alien knows what he's doing, if he's going to be giving them away so willingly.
"I don't," Erin says easily. "Other people do."
"You live on charity?" Rogers asks with an expression that is not quite a sneer, but his tone implies the disapproval he's already gathering in his mind without having all the facts first, which is… quite ironic, given how the man is always quick to accept Tony's charity despite being on the UN's payroll, but that's nothing new under the sun at the same time, the inventor supposes.
"Apparently," Erin starts with a light smirk, "I'm a worthy cause."
People don't quite know what to do with that answer, but Erin doesn't seem to have a need for a response because he turns to Maximoff without giving anyone time to process, clasps his hands behind his back, and Tony does his damnest to ignore the sharp intake of breath the young woman produces when she finds herself to be the sole focus of the man's attention.
Any joy she might feel over that development disappears a second later though, because Erin's words to her are not exactly of the kind sort, even if the delivery itself is way too clinical to be considered personally offensive.
"Insults are more effective when they have at least some basis moored in reality. You might want to consider that next time you decide to call the person who's feeding you 'selfish'."
The man turns back to Tony, gives the inventor a quick "Mr. Stark, I hope we can continue our conversation later, with less interruptions", and walks away without excusing himself or saying goodbye to anyone.
Tony kind of wants to follow his example, to follow him, but he hears Romanoff needling Hestaf for a more elaborate explanation, and he's too curious and way, way too wary to simply leave.
"Does he really live on charity?"
"I… suppose so, by the strictest definition of the word, yes."
"How does that work?"
"Our representatives and our developers are paid based on the value they bring into society." Tony sees several people go pale at the mere suggestion of being paid by their actual worth. "Erin is both, and he plays around with singularity like children play around with their first chew toy. No government could possibly compensate for his contributions by money, so we don't even try."
"So he's paid in… what exactly?"
Hestaf shrugs.
"Whatever he wants. People stopped accepting his money a long time ago."
Rogers looks particularly displeased with that answer, and Tony doesn't even want to imagine the narrative he's currently writing in his own head. Hestaf must see it too, because his voice suddenly switches from good-humored to lightly annoyed, probably at the mere fact that this is something that even needs to be explained.
"This shouldn't be a new concept to you Mr. Rogers – I know Terra has a history of trading before the invention of money. Erin simply operates outside of our monetary system, instead of straining our economy with an unsustainable salary. Paying for his meal is considered an honor."
Rogers' expression only goes darker at that particular word.
"An honor that allows him to demand literally everything from any given citizen. Sounds a bit… autocratic, if you ask me," the supersoldier says, and alright, Tony can see the potential problems with this version of trading, except that money has a very different role in the Communia than it does on Earth and Rogers would know that if he's bothered to actually read something that is put in front of him for once, never mind the fact that there were no mentions of 'demands' until the Captain brought it up. How someone willingly giving up money he can never hope to spend can be interpreted as autocratic is beyond Tony, but Hestaf doesn't get the chance to provide more information because Zefironn's amused voice joins the conversation from somewhere behind Tony only to add:
"Well, we are technically an oligarchy," and all hell breaks loose.
Tony doesn't stay for the explanation of what a technocracy or sortitions are, not only because he's got a PhD in that, thank you very much, but also because Darcy chooses that very moment to sweep in for a late rescue.
"Holy shit dude, where have you been, you've gotta see this guy, he's like, pink all over and he gets all adorably grumpy when people try to pet his fur and holy shit have you seen the blue one who has to duck when he walks through doors and keeps making ice cubes with his fingers? Where does the water come from, Tony? You're the scientist, science these guys apart for me! Oh god I need to get one more glass before we go back there, I swear these people make Thor look mortal, like, you get what I'm saying right—"
Like the gentleman he is capable of being when the mood strikes, Tony helps Darcy to another glass of overpriced champagne, and makes a mental note to buy something really nice for Bibin tomorrow, if the man can withstand Darcy Lewis for the rest of the night without starting an intergalactic war. A Nobel Peace Prize, perhaps.
"Hey, do you think that fur is like, everywhere, or is it just—"
And a Porche. A Nobel and a Porche sounds fair to Tony.
…
"—unfit for duty. Do as I say, or I'm getting you suspended."
And alright, that is empathically not what Tony expects to walk into when he arrives at the Compound several hours later.
The inventor, Darcy, and Foster – because somewhere along the way Tony's brain decided she's more of a Foster than a Jane – stayed at the bar way longer than what would have been considered polite even for a late night event, and held their very own, very private after party with surprisingly little alcohol that somehow still managed to reduce them into continuously giggling schoolgirls.
Tony is still drunk on the mood of the night – something he hasn't experienced in years and god does it feel good – and he isn't prepared to be dragged into other people's issues just because they feel like airing their dirty laundry all over Tony's porch, except—
"Good evening, Mr. Stark," Erin greets him from where he's sprawled on the swing bench like he owns the thing – and what the hell, is Tony running a ranch here now, why do they even have a swing bench in the first place? – his relaxed body language completely ignoring the looming figure of whoever is… attempting to blackmail him? Tony knows better than to judge without context, but rewinding the sentence he caught… it does sound a tiny bit like blackmail.
"It's way past evening. Night. More like morning at this point, really. But yeah, hi," he stall a bit to allow some time for his eyes to adjust to the light coming from the windows and focus on Erin's company, and he nearly grimaces when he realizes who he's looking at.
The thin figure has ear-length, light brown hair, olive skin, and icy grey eyes that are currently murdering Tony with all the ferocity they can figuratively muster. Unfortunately for him, that happens to mean quite a lot of ferocity, given the fact that said eyes belong to Lady Execution – who, Tony is convinced, could stare people into suicide as a second career.
"Um… I'll be just…" Tony gestures over his shoulder with a thumb, backing away with careful steps because life has taught him how to recognize a snake pit when he walks into one, and he's not touching this particular party before a good night of sleep, a deliciously warm shower, and several pots of coffee.
The woman dismisses him without further ado, looking back at the General, and lowers her voice both in pitch and in volume at her next words. Sadly, they still manage to reach Tony's ears.
"Do what I said, Erin," is all she adds before turning around and giving a whole new meaning to stomping off, making the granite tiles tremble under Tony's feet with the force of her steps, and yep, that's really-maybe-definitely blackmail right there.
Tony is torn.
He can't – he won't just ignore someone potentially blackmailing the General – and Tony knows he's presuming a lot here: it could be a misunderstanding, a lover's spat, hell, it could be Lady Execution's own version of friendly banter – not after Erin has come to his rescue earlier, whether he did so knowingly or incidentally. Tony doesn't know how the conversation would have gone without the man's deflection, but he's not exactly at the heights of emotional stability nowadays so it's a safe bet it wouldn't have been pretty.
Still, his shoulders have been aching for the last two hours, and he's started sweating lightly under his shirt on the ride here, despite the car's air conditioning. Rhodey would blow a gasket if he pulled a Sleeping Beauty and fainted on the porch, and Tony's made a promise.
Sleep, shower, coffee. Then he will figure out a way to fix… whatever needs to be fixed here.
"Mr. Stark."
Tony turns back to the man from the doorway, hoping he's not expected to carry on their earlier conversation right this moment, but the General only says:
"Thank you for taking my people out yesterday."
Tony grins and responds with an "anytime", which he means too, because while Clarke has kindly asked him not to take the aliens out for burgers again before the Gala – lest people realize they might see them for free – Peter's idea of pretending to be cosplayers has been a brilliant one, and Tony enjoyed drawing dots on Jasir's face with a white eyeliner to make him into an Avatar nearly as much as he enjoyed wearing the carton made Iron Man suit the kid bullied him into. His bots have done an abysmal job with the painting.
He barely has any time to analyze the minute surprise bleeding into Erin's expression at his reply before its gone, swiftly replaced by a disarming smile that doesn't make Tony duck his head as he turns to walk through the door after a hastily offered goodnight.
He feels Erin's stare following him, making the small hairs on his neck stand at attention, and he nearly reaches his workshop – musing over whether this is how the kid's Spidey sense must feel like – when the realization stops him in his tracks.
"FRI," he breathes in with just the tiniest hint of panic, "did he just—"
"I'm afraid so, Boss," his girl says, not sounding sorry in the least. "The RANINA is out of the bag."
Yeah. Erin didn't say that last sentence in English.
…
Darcy never makes it to Playboy, but Ranina does end up on Vogue.
Erin takes the cover of literally everything else – Vanity Fair even dedicates a special issue for the aliens – and okay, with his first coffee gone and the second securely clutched in his hands, Tony has to concede Foster's point.
Hello hipbones, indeed.