Tony didn't think he'd ever admit it, but the third phase, the contempt and spite phase, lasted a good while after he met the real Captain America.
It was almost a reflex kind of thing—he'd spent so long without Howard looming over him, without the seraphim and the Captain America figurine sitting on the mantelpiece (they now resided in a tidy box somewhere in the lab)—that seeing Captain America in the flesh brought everything back.
Meeting him, following his orders—everything to do with Captain America was bound to be one big disappointment. Tony was sure. When he was right, when Captain America did not dazzle his pants off with All-American goodness or anything special, the fact that Tony had known it'd be a disappointment did not make it any easier.
How had his father searched for a guy like this, for so many years? How had Tony not measured up?
A mean part of Tony got a thrill every time he fought with the Captain. Spite. He could feel his father rolling in his grave. It was stupid, it was futile, it was driving a rift in the Avengers, but Steve matched him blow for blow so it went on.
Nick Fury split them up. The Winter Soldier became involved, SHIELD went to shit, Tony played with Iron Man suits, alone. Even Tony was only so stubborn, and even Tony realized when maybe it was time to forget the spite like he did everything else.
It was around then he realized it wasn't just spite he was trying to forget. It wasn't just spite that drove him after Steve, provoking and pushing and pulling and seeing where it got him.
But it didn't matter. For once, he needed to be better than his father, his alcoholic, perpetually alone, father. He needed to be a part of a team and if that meant forgetting his feelings too, so be it.
It worked. For a while. Until Steve actually, finally moved in.
Then suddenly forgetting had become a whole lot harder.
"And yeah, well." Tony leant back against Steve's chest and let him, well, pet him. On the head. Like...a dog, or a six year old, or something.
It felt damn good, okay.
"That's basically it. Why I avoided you. Why Clint has 'daddy issues' written in my file. Et cetera, et cetera."
Steve was quiet for a moment. "Thank you for telling me."
Tony shrugged. "I guess. It was either this or have Clint try to get Natasha to torture it out of me."
Steve winced. "You would've caved faster than you did to me."
"Hey!" he swatted Steve on the arm. "I like to think I chose to tell you, not that you begged so hard I had to."
"You can think what you want, I suppose," said Steve loftily. He paused. "I still find it kind of weird that I was bigger than the seraph."
"Me too."
Steve paused again. "Can I see it?"
"See what?" Tony stalled for time.
"The seraph."
"Well. That you can see."
Steve narrowed his eyes.
"I may have destroyed the figurine a while back," admitted Tony. "And by destroyed, I mean very thoroughly destroyed. Like feed to DUM-E, melt down for scrap metal destroyed.
"I hope that was before you met me," Steve ventured cautiously.
"Maybe," Tony said noncommittally. With a sigh, he pushed off of Steve's chest and got to his feet, holding out a hand to help (not that he needed it, but still) Steve up.
"Well, now you have to tell me."
"Not fair. First you have to tell me the story of how you inevitably fell for my charm and ravishing good looks," said Tony, dropping his eyelashes.
"Please, no." They got into the elevator. Tony decided not to glass the windows, mostly because he hadn't explained the concept to Steve yet.
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Well, now you have to tell me," he echoed.
Steve was blushing. "Steve," whined Tony. "Tell me."
"Fine, fine," he groaned, leaning his head against the wall. "I'll start from the very beginning. Before I met you..."
