NOTES: Inspired by my favorite trope in all of fanfiction: Soulmate-identifying marks. In this story they're fairly straightforward, the first words your soulmate says to you are written in their handwriting on your skin somewhere on your body. They don't react in any way, no supernatural elements, just Words.
I'll be honest, this fic hurts so good. Both Tony and Leigh are hurting, in their own ways, and their journey is bittersweet and glorious. I've never been more in love with an original character I've written than with Leigh Balci, I WANT her style. But this is no typical happy ever after, not when the chance to bring everyone back is eventually presented.
I started this fic with two goals in mind: write a soulmate AU, and save Tony Stark at the end of Endgame. This is the convoluted, sexy, beautiful, painful, cathartic result. It includes, in my opinion, some of my best writing, including the first few paragraphs.
I mean to update this one more slowly than Iron Helix. I was greedy, and burned through my updates on that one, which probably does it a disservice because it will end up buried, a flash in the pan. If you love Tony/OC stories, please read Iron Helix!
Part I: The Gift
Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance.
-Richard von Weizsaecker
Chapter One
Tony had already expected that the words he spoke into his helmet would be the last he'd speak to Pepper Potts.
Still, when he walks off of the ship, broken, gaunt, and barely alive, it's with an expectation. Tony thinks that for all his hard work, for throwing his whole self at the problem of stopping Thanos, after losing Peter and most of the people he'd fought with, he's earned coming home to Pepper.
But she's gone.
Tony's knees give way underneath him like they are made of the dust of her.
They rejuvenate him with an IV, but to Tony it's full of bitterness, and he welcomes that as much as the nourishment. He sits, full to the brim with it, as Nat tells him Thanos achieved exactly what he set out to do. He stands, choking on it, as he throws everything he's got left at Steve, even his ARC reactor. Rhodey tries to help, but Tony's been practicing fighting with every ounce of energy he has, so he does just that.
He wakes up in a hospital bed and looks around for the IV. Maybe he can convince them to shoot him up with something that will let him sleep through about a week's worth of self-recrimination. Tony does it in his dreams anyway, which he can't escape, but even as far gone as he is, he'd rather hit back at dream friends than the real ones.
As if to prove that he's through ever getting what he wants, Rhodey walks in.
"Next time you could try saying, 'I'm not in the mood for company.'"
Tony smiles, a genuine one. "Rhodey, I'm not in the mood for company."
"Cute," his best friend says. "Problem is, I've got shit to do, things to tell you, and they have to go in a particular order. You want to get it all out of your system first, or are you going to scatter in your dungbombs while I tell you what you need to know?"
"You're quoting Harry Potter, now?" Tony scoffs.
"Yeah, well, those stones were basically magic, and Thanos used them like magic. We're looking for him right now, but you are decommissioned until you get your strength back," Rhodes tells him. "There's something else."
"Oh, do tell," Tony says, tasting bile. What else could there be?
"Thor was with him when he Snapped. Thanos told Thor he would do one more thing, a gift, he said, for how hard we fought back."
"What did he do then? Take a shit right there in front of the God of Thunder?" Tony asks, knowing, relishing that Rhodey would hate his crassness.
"I'm not biting today, so you can put all your sass back where it belongs," Rhodey says instead. "He created a, a new thing. A condition? Soulmates, they're calling it. You have the first words your Soulmate says to you magically tattooed on your body somewhere, if you're one of them."
"You're making that up. Trying to give me material to mock," Tony derides him.
"I'm not." Rhodey unbuttons his shirt sleeve and rolls it up. There, curled around his bicep, are the words, 'I'm not one for soldiers, but damn!'" He looks about as uncomfortable as Tony has ever seen him, and Tony loves it.
"I don't know which is better, that you laid your ass on the line to stop that guy and this is your reward, or that you paid good money to put that on your skin just to make me feel better," Tony says.
"Laugh it up, but when you're done, do a once-over."
"I won't have one, Rhodey. Pepper is gone." Tony explains it like he's speaking to a small child.
"Tony," Rhodey says, his expression bleak. "I think that's the point. They're saying these are only for the survivors. It's only picking out of the survivors, I mean. That's what they're saying."
Tony wants to argue, but it occurs to him that the only thing that could hurt more than losing Pepper was to be told that cosmically, she wasn't his perfect match anyway. So, he doesn't do the obvious and ask if Steve Rogers has Peggy Carter's first words spoken to him written on his body somewhere. Somehow he chases Rhodey away without losing his friendship, and as soon as he's gone, Tony uses the call button.
"Someone just filled me in on the whole soulmate words thing. I want this put in my chart: I don't care, I don't want to know, and I don't want them in my records, is that clear?"
The look of dismay on the nurse's face tells Tony that it's probably already too late. There's an argument to be made about how readily Earth's humans seem to have adjusted to a literal mark of the beast, but Tony's not the one to make it. For the next week and a half before they release him, he refuses any and all washing.
He's not sure whether they're releasing him because he's ready (he's still weak as hell, in a way he's never been before, and it's sobering) or because he reeks, but either is fine with him. Tony gives himself twenty-four hours at home before he's got to do anything responsible, and the first thing he does is get very, very drunk.
Then, he strips off, gets in the shower, and starts looking.
Tony's Words are on his thigh, and being drunk doesn't help.
Maybe it was too much to expect that you could save the world, but you didn't stop there, no, you had to take away all my hopes and dreams too!
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tony had thought maybe Rhodey was playing a weird, PTSD-inspired joke on him and got somebody to tattoo some temporary insanity onto his skin. But this? No way Rhodey would ever do something this brutal. They're on his thigh, written out as if his leg was someone's canvas for cruelty. Tony sinks to his knees in the shower and just stays there, staring, for he doesn't know how long. He's lucky he doesn't drown in there; it's only thanks to FRIDAY that he doesn't fall asleep and do just that.
When Tony wakes up the next morning, his first thought is of Pepper. How hard she worked, both to keep him alive and to keep his company afloat. The obvious conclusion is that he can't let either of those things slip now that she's not around, not if she would have spent the rest of her life holding him up. The problem is that he's still Tony Stark, and he's too selfish for 'the rest of his life.' He decides he'll do a year, but make it a good year.
The results are predictably grandiose.
Tony throws himself into Stark Industries in a way he never had before. The future, Tony says, is in automation and human resources. His company is an innovator in both, becomes a world leader in just a few months. No one should survive the Snap to have to go to work in a factory for barely a living wage. He builds factories of his own and fills them with his innovative machines, adaptable nanotechnology for the most wealthy of his customers, sturdy metal and easily swapped out pieces for everyone else. If he had his way, most humans would only work at jobs that need them there for their brains or creativity, not their ability to mindlessly push a button.
On top of that, he leads a push for worker's rights. Mandatory grief days. A livable wage, with no compromises for affordable healthcare provided by the company. Modular hours for parents. Modular hours for non parents. He even goes and bitches at Congress about it once.
All of these things he does because he thinks Pepper would be proud of him. When every new day that passes between then and now is one he isn't ashamed of, Tony thinks maybe it's time to start looking into stepping back a bit. He's done a year, he's got a good team and a board he actually fucking trusts. The thing he wants most out of what he can actually have is to swap his view of the city for one of green trees and calm waters.
Tony buys property in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia. It's a stretch of land with most of a lake, covered in trees, lushly green and quiet as hell. He spends a week researching architecture firms and settles on Charriotte, a small but prestigious company headquartered in Washington, D.C. The CEO is a man named Branson Harriot, and Tony flies down to meet with him in person.
The firm emails him a list of suggestions of things to do before the meeting, and it's a lot more like an audition than he thought. Tony's competitive, so he's determined to do what he can to get them to pick his project. He spends the day before setting up a visualization and shows up with his portable holotable mat. Tony can tell that they want the project by the time he's done. Maybe the mat, too- his company sells them for a large fortune.
"Here's the tricky thing," Harriot says. "I have the perfect person to work on this project, but, well. They were supremely unlucky in the Snap. Lost twelve members of their family."
Tony's heard snippets of probability quirks like this on the news, human interest stories of the joys or pains of being one of the people who fate dealt extremely kindly or poorly with. "Twelve! Big family?"
"No, that about wiped them out. The superstitious folks have a field day with the whole thing, unfortunately," Harriot says. "Both parents, both brothers and their wives, both sisters, various aunts and uncles. But Balci grew up on a farm, loves nature, and honestly Lee's work is completely gorgeous in situ. Perfect for your plot." Harriot leans forward on his desk and pins Tony with a pleading look. "Could you, just, create a new email account, keep your last name out of it? Pose as a higher-up in the company, communicate with Lee by email for a little while, early planning stages, all of that?"
The old Tony would never have been okay with this. "Yeah, I could do that. Based on the way you're asking me, it sounds like it'll be worth my while."
"It will, it will," Harriot says enthusiastically.
Tony creates Mechanic270 and sends it along to Charriotte without expecting too much in the way of a back and forth. He's pleasantly surprised to discover that he was wrong.
TO: Mechanic270
FROM: FLBalci
SUBJECT: Preliminaries
Greetings from D.C.,
I like to get a feel for the people who want to live in the places I design, so I have a few questions that help illuminate that. What colors do you like? Is there a place in your current home that you feel most comfortable in, and can you describe it? Do you enjoy warm or cool shades the most? What makes you think of home?
That's probably enough homework for the man giving me a job,
Balci
TO: FLBalci
FROM: Mechanic270
SUBJECT: Re: Preliminaries
Hey,
I was about to get weird about your questions until I realized they're probably important and you know your stuff. I like warm colors. A lot of the places I've lived haven't been like that, but I wasn't always the person who a) picked out construction materials, and b) decorated. That's a strange realization at this age, so I don't know if I should say thank you or not.
The home question's harder. Do me a favor: you go first. What's home for you?
~Mechanic
TO: Mechanic270
FROM: FLBalci
SUBJECT: Home
Greetings from a finally thawed D.C.,
That was a very subtle rebuke, and I take it in the spirit with which it was given: it's a very emotional thing to answer a question like 'what is home for you' these days. My apologies.
I thought about my answer for a few days, then a few more. It's been over a week, and that's why. There are people who feel 'at home' when climbing in the Himalayas, but not in their own houses, and that's what I kept coming back to.
Home to me is about joy. Joy to me is about connectedness and peace.
I've felt a lot less of that since the Snap. Connecting it to architecture and design before the Snap would involve making sure that spaces allow for connectedness. Kitchens that aren't cut off and hidden. Dining rooms that are a natural part of the living space and can allow for spillover when hosting guests. A welcoming porch and deck space.
Now, though? I think more about the individual. Bedrooms that are built to support comfortable sleeping- no bright morning sunshine if the very thought brings physical pain, for example. Maybe an indoor sunroom over a porch, for an introvert. Hidden balconies, that kind of thing. Inner, over outer peace.
As for me, the times when I have felt the most joy is either when collaborating at work, or camping in the middle of nowhere. I haven't quite figured out how I'd turn that into a home, but my tiny apartment along with the whole world as my possible campground will do, for now.
Your turn,
Balci
Reading Lee's email feels like holding a midnight conversation with an old friend. Tony hasn't had that in forever, and he's not sure whether to feel violated by the experience, or grateful. Because he has some info to pass along in between the last email he'd sent and Lee's response, Tony just sends those along without an answer to 'home.'
This gives him a glimpse into the other man's subtlety, though, as they spend the next two weeks talking mostly impersonally about logistics- but in every email Tony receives, the 'home' one is quoted underneath. Tony's pretty sure Lee goes and copies it in, every time. When they hit the third week, he opens Lee's latest and starts chuckling.
Every instance of the word 'home' is in bold.
On a whim, Tony opens the thing in a way that's meant to strip out formatting from the sender, but they're still bold. Lee's hardcoded them that way.
Tony admits to himself that he's been bested. It's not that he can't resist the question, or that he feels defeated, it's just that Lee's earned it. If only Tony knew how to answer the question, though…
The fourth week's about to start when he finally buckles down to write his response. He realizes halfway through that he can't say exactly what he means, because if you tell someone that you're used to being able to have a basement full of fancy cars or a landing pad on the penthouse level of your personal tower, that can give away a lot.
TO: FLBalci
FROM: Mechanic270
SUBJECT: Home
Hey,
All right, the 'home' thing. Home used to be the place I could do whatever I want and have whatever I want. I altered my space to my needs, especially when tinkering on machines.
I don't know that I have an emotion connected with 'home' like you do, but I grew up wealthy and still am. Most of my living spaces were obtained for status first, functionality second. All of this is coming down to the truth: Home was about the people and the 'place in the world' that I lost in the Snap.
Your comment about inner expressions versus outer ones seems particularly astute. I'm definitely thinking more than doing, lately. You said something about your tiny apartment with the world as your backyard, I like that. I can afford more than tiny, but intimate might be a good word. If excessive wealth is denoted by wide open spaces indoors pre-Snap, this house of mine could have the opposite feel.
Now that you've dragged that out of me, I can see why articulating it is useful. Damn you.
~Mechanic
Ps. Elaborate on what makes camping 'joyful' for you
Typing that out and hitting send feels cathartic, and he almost wants to punch Lee for forcing him into it. Tony's postscript tries to hand the hot seat back, but after only a few personal exchanges with the guy, Tony should have realized what was going to happen.
TO: Mechanic270
FROM: FLBalci
SUBJECT: Home
Greetings from a fine, clear day in Pennsylvania,
Spending the weekend at the farm, thought it was a great time to type out an answer, even though I'm off the grid here. I'll send it later.
You asked what makes camping joyful for me, and I suspect that's an attempt to get some of your own back after the 'home' standoff. Careful what you wish for?
Before I lost everyone, I liked the night sky because of its immensity. All those points of light were so distant, so unknowable! If gravity held me in place physically, those stars held me in my cosmic place, in a way.
I don't know what your experience was during the actual Snap, but mine was… bad. We were having a family gathering, so it's not like we were watching the news, or monitoring Twitter updates. We had no warning. Maybe it's because of not knowing anything beforehand, but I threw myself into finding out everything I could, afterwards.
So my sense of joy changed, and so did that night sky.
Mechanic (do you mind giving me a name? Even if it's not yours?), I didn't expect to feel the way I do about camping, and maybe it's just me, maybe it's incomprehensible, but there was one piece of knowledge I found out about the Snap that changed everything for what I had left of my sanity.
We were far from the only ones.
I camp out now, after losing so many loved ones, and I know that some people see the stars as a physical representation of the people we've lost, as if their dust floated up and fixed in place, but I have to tell you, I have the opposite reaction. I see them as a representation of what's left, out there, among those stars. When in the course of human history have we ever been able to look up and feel a kinship with cultures, creatures unknown? Yet, now we can.
I take joy from the fact that I no longer feel so disconnected from those stars. We share pain. We're not alone. Do I wish it were for some other reason? Absolutely. But as with everything after the Snap, I take what I can get.
Bet you're glad you asked,
Balci
I met some of those creatures, Tony doesn't write back. Most of them turned to dust in front of me.
Tony wants to know more about Lee's family, but he doesn't want to reciprocate. He's not sure he can talk about who he's lost, the sheer magnitude of that loss, the way he looked at Stephen Strange and saw in his eyes the certainty that Tony wouldn't fail. He's made an uneasy kind of peace with himself about Pepper, he's shoved how he feels about losing Peter down deep, but the look on that sorcerer's face will never not hurt.
Truthfully, Tony just wants to buy Lee a beer and thank him for everything he's done so far. It's a definite friendship, by now, despite all of Tony's insular ways over the past year. He's spent time with Rhodey, that's about it, and even that friendship is strained, recently.
Rhodey's the only one Tony let tease him about the Soulmate thing. He didn't tell Rhodes about what his Words say, just that they're horrific, which Tony's frankly grateful for. Those are the first things his so-called Soulmate will ever say to him? Good. They're distinctive. He'll be able to avoid her.
Rhodes, though, he hasn't been all that successful. He tells Tony he stayed away from bars and parties, not that he was that kind of guy when Tony wasn't around anyway (and Tony is definitely not that kind of guy lately), trying to avoid the kind of situation that would pull words like the ones written on him. He still met the woman, though, and Tony can tell by Rhodey's voice that he's fighting a losing battle against her charms.
Tony has largely ignored the whole Soulmate phenomenon. He wasn't much for television, he's got his own music collection, he doesn't socialize much lately, and he definitely doesn't watch the news if he can help it. He's heard that there's a whole new kind of makeup designed to hide them for those unlucky enough to have Words where everyone can read them. He doesn't have to worry about that. Tony's are on his inner thigh, and he's one of the most recognizable people on the planet. Anyone close enough to read them will be someone he wants to be there.
The strange thing is that he hasn't really wanted to be that close to, well, anybody. The first few months he'd been back, Tony spent all his time on the company and that hasn't really slowed down much. He never did do the wild, miserable, drunken things he'd told himself would be his reward.
Getting older isn't really the problem. He's more serious, now, and that's just a drag.
TO: FLBalci
FROM: Mechanic270
SUBJECT: Fundraiser
Hey,
I attached the things you requested at the end, but I had a question. Would your company be interested in joining mine in donating anonymously to the Shore Up foundation? Before you give me shit for it, I am aware that asking like this is not anonymous, but it's a cause that means a lot to me.
Shore Up started out helping hurricane victims by buying their property and giving them the equity to move away from dangerous areas. Nowadays they're involved in providing proper internet access, to the point of paying for the infrastructure needed when the utilities balk. My company's been supporting them for years, but they've really ramped up in the past one.
Let me know? No is a complete sentence, no judgment,
Tony (that's my name, you said you'd like it and I forgot four emails in a row)
Lee has become a friend, for all that they've never met or chatted anywhere else than email. Tony frets about putting his real name on there, sure that he's left enough breadcrumbs to make it obvious who he really is.
TO: Mechanic270
FROM: FLBalci
SUBJECT: Re: Fundraiser
Greetings from a rainy rest stop,
Writing this quickly on my way from a final wrap-up in Virginia. Thanks for the invitation. I spoke to Branson about it and he's happy to donate.
Full disclosure, though: Shore Up was the reason why I found an apartment in D.C. and didn't go quietly insane, after the Snap. They kitted out the farm (and you didn't read me wrong before, I *can* go off grid, but I don't have to), connected me with some people who had been unlucky in their losses, too.
It's a great organization. I'm pleased to hear you're involved with them, Tony.
Balci
Ps. let me know what you think about a site visit sometime in the next month
The idea of actually physically implementing some of the things he and Lee have been figuring out about the house fuels Tony's mood all day. The anticipation persists late into the night, when he gets an idea.
Tony's never really been camping. He was never a boy scout, literally or figuratively. He's been thinking about the location in West Virginia, though- it's pretty far from basically everything. Tony decides to suggest camping out on the site, figuring if Lee isn't up for it, that's fine. Camping under the not-so-unfeeling stars might be a private thing, for him.
TO: FLBalci
FROM: Mechanic270
SUBJECT: Site Visit
Hey,
I had a thought. My plot's pretty remote. What if instead of getting rooms at the nearest, still very distant hotel, we just camped out? I don't have any gear, but I'll buy whatever, or I can reimburse you.
As for scheduling, that depends- camping? No camping? Let me know.
Tony
TO: Mechanic270
FROM: FLBalci
SUBJECT: Re: Site Visit
Greetings from the office in D.C.,
I looked up the weather in that area in early May, and camping is doable, but chilly. If you're comfortable with me using the credit line you extended to Charriotte, I can use that for supplies. I'd drive up, then, since it's halfway between D.C. and the farm anyway, so I can bring the food, if that's fine with you? I just can't promise when I'll get there for sure, so I'd need to skip out on picking you up at the airport.
Only one caveat, and I am only mentioning this because of professional norms and how important your contract is to Branson: camping attire will be less than office-worthy. I'll be a different person than you expect, almost certainly. If that's all right with you, I'll start ordering you a tent and the other necessities.
No problem if you have to renege,
Balci
Ps. you eat S'mores, right? The whole contract's off if you hate S'mores, no exceptions