Well, it wasn't quite the same as his previous years here, but it was comfortably familiar and relatively stimulating just the same. How many people his age wished they could relive their college years with the knowledge and experience gained after graduating and living in the real world? Tony wasn't prone to nostalgia, simply because he didn't have very many good memories to look back on fondly, but his years here were some of the best of his life.
Granted, he'd been young and an idiot when he'd first arrived at the Institute. Not intellectually, duh, but his classmates had all been through those teenage rights of passage he'd missed, those silly things like proms, spin the bottle, playing sports or even going to watch the "big game" on Friday nights. He'd never had a girlfriend per se, never been laid, never really had a true friend, and there he was at college, the poster boy for social ineptitude.
He'd rectified some of that pretty quickly, at least the getting laid part which only took about two weeks, because he was hot, rich, brilliant, charming and horny. And the true friend part, Rhodey, which took almost three months. James Rhodes was older than him, because wasn't everybody? He was a sophomore studying engineering like Tony, although the older man was an AeroAstro (aeronautics and astronautics) student, as opposed to Tony's chosen paths of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, with an extensive side dose of Physics. Tony was a boy genius though, so they'd shared three courses that first year; Differential Equations, Computers and Engineering Problem Solving, and Statistics and Probability.
They'd bonded quickly over engineering but also because both were less than popular in the beginning. Tony was a prodigy, and funnily enough other smart people sometimes resented that, and Rhodey was black, which on a campus like theirs, having so many international students, shouldn't have been a big deal, but oddly for some asshole students it was. But being at MIT was about being smart, and they both were, so they'd fit in nicely after a semester of helping each other out.
Rhodey was athletic too, playing football and baseball, always the team sport kind of guy as opposed to Tony's country club background where tennis and golf were more his speed. And, yeah, technically those were teams too, but Tony didn't do well having a bunch of other guys rely on him for one particular throw or catch or hit to win a game, he preferred being responsible only for his own performance from start to finish. He'd come a long way from that sort of thinking, especially being part of the ultimate team now, The Avengers, but he had Rhodey to thank for teaching him about the value of team work all those years ago.
Rhodey wasn't here now though. He did have Clint and Bruce for a few days, and it had been nice but weird sharing his old life with his new team oriented one, mixing the genres of his life. Clint was basically still a kid in many ways, and he'd never gone to college, so he couldn't get enough of hanging out with the students in Tony's building, going to the rec center with them, and crashing three parties over the weekend in this building alone. He'd tried to help with setting up the lab (though Tony wouldn't let him near anything that had to do with JARVIS), the holographic network of screens, and the charging set-ups for Dum-E and U, but he'd been either in the way or playing with the robots. Eventually he'd left the scientists to it and gone exploring, meeting nearly everyone in the building.
"Seriously Stark, you don't care that you're paying for these kids to come here and study and this is the kind of shit they get up to on the weekends?" Clint asked, stumbling slightly before all but falling onto the couch. "Don't get me wrong, partying with brainiacs is some pretty crazy shit," he slurred, sliding down the cushions a bit. "I mean I hang out with you, don't I? Wait! Don't answer that," he snickered, "get it? Don't answer that?" he collapsed into a fit of giggles.
He'd been upstairs at the apartment of a sophomore named Brad, the third of four children from a single parent home in the poorest part of Tampa, Florida. Clint had bumped into him in the lobby coffee shop moments after their arrival and the kid had been carrying a quiver and arm guard, fresh from the archery range. It had been an instant friendship.
"Ha ha," Tony mumbled through his lips. He'd been trying to communicate that way a little more every day and Clint seemed a bit too drunk to read at the moment. He tapped his watch, asking why the party was over so early, it wasn't even midnight.
"He kicked us all out, something 'bout tomorrow and a pee recrement—quirement—requirthingy." He gave up on trying to pronounce the word, throwing his hands in the air in dramatic surrender before asking, "What the fuck is that all about?"
Tony's laugh snuck up on him before he could prepare for it. It hurt, but he couldn't help it, and god that was funny. Just as he was about to try and explain it simply to the drunken archer his ingenious creation spared him the trouble.
"MIT has a physical education plan that requires students to complete an 8 point General Institute Requirement as well as fulfill a swim requirement by the end of their second year." JARVIS informed the room at large, since Bruce had entered shortly after Clint staggered in.
"Wow, really?" Clint slurred incredulously. "They make you nerds run and swim and shit?"
Bruce made a strangled sort of noise at the insult. "Why is that so hard to believe, Caltech had a PE Req. too, well, not the swimming."
Clint laughed loudly, then snorted which caused even more laughter. "You guys too? Huh, dork sports. Bet that's hilarious, m'gonna go watch." Clint's eyes closed before he finished the sentence, and he punctuated the last word by letting his head slide down to the arm of the sofa, landing on top of the remote control, too sleepy and drunk to care.
"That's going to hurt in the morning." Bruce said, nodding to Clint who was already drooling slightly onto the remote. "Let's see who the bigger dork is tomorrow when he has that imprinted on his face."
Tony snickered. The devious streak in Bruce was nothing really new to him, he'd seen the physicist pull off more than one practical joke on Thor, but Clint hadn't.
"You know, Tony," Bruce said with a much more serious tone. "It's a wonderful thing you do for these kids." He gestured around at the room, "giving them a chance like this, a place like this. The lab downstairs is incredible and these kids get it all to themselves, never mind the spacious apartments."
He was about to blow it off as nothing, saying a lot of other people did the same, but once again JARVIS answered for him.
"Sir is very modest about his scholarships and those in the name of Col. Rhodes as well."
Tony glared at the camera in the corner of the room.
"I know you don't like to talk about it, but it is very generous and something to be proud of." Bruce said with a sort of earnest gravity. "Wait, you fund more than just the Stark scholarships? Really?" Bruce asked unbelievingly, not that he doubted JARVIS' information, but he was a scientist, he required clarification, taking very few things at face value. He knew about Tony's, and the Maria Stark Foundation's but this was the first he'd heard about Tony funding something in Col. Rhode's name as well.
Tony shrugged, still glaring at the camera in a battle of wills to get J to shut the fuck up. The last thing he needed was anyone finding out about his Steven G. Rogers scholarship to the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences. He didn't like to brag about it, but it was a no brainer, his money was much better spent on education than drugs, parties, women, and more cars he didn't need. And he'd gotten more than a few highly qualified engineers at Stark Industries from MIT, his endowments in particular, but it was by no means obligatory or a condition of the scholarship in any way.
He was a little more biased in Stark Industries internship program, taking as many MIT applicants as Pepper would let him, but hey, it was the most prestigious tech institute in the world.
Tony leaned back into the depths of his chair, taking a long sip of scotch through the straw. Even if he could talk, as in really converse, how would he explain that feeling of needing to escape from his life, his parents, and his background, of wanting to go somewhere and start over fresh? Howard hadn't wanted him to go to MIT, he wanted the Stark line to continue at his old alma mater, but Tony had been stubborn, more stubborn than Howard for once and he hadn't been afraid when he faced his father about it. MIT had been his dream for years and he wouldn't have given that up for anything, including his asshole of a father.
And he'd been right; he'd thrived here. His intelligence was remarkable, but it wasn't such a great divide between him and everyone else while at the Institute, here everyone was smart. Not everyone could keep up with him, that was certainly nothing new, but there were a few who could, and that was novel. And he'd gotten Rhodey out of it, so that alone was worth the fight it had been to come here.
So if he could help even one kid achieve the same dream, he would. If money was what stood in the way of someone facing anything like what he had faced then how could he not help? Money was one thing he had in abundance.
As he looked at Bruce, lines etched around his tired eyes, he couldn't help but acknowledge Bruce did know what it was like, that if anyone could understand it was Banner. In fact, now that he recalled, Bruce actually had it worse, and that was saying something. His father, after all, was an equally intelligent yet much more violent version of Howard. Bruce had faced many of the same hardships and had a ridiculously high IQ as well, so upon reflection he realized Bruce's upbringing—wealth aside—was as similar to his as anyone he could think of.
And JARVIS, because Tony was either more transparent then he meant to be or because the AI had become that intuitive when the genius wasn't looking, lit up the tablet screen on the table beside his creator, knowing Tony had something to say that couldn't be mumbled.
He picked it up and began typing, not pulling any pretenses, going right for the heart of the matter…you know what it's like to want to take your brain and go somewhere it can be appreciated, to leave the place where you're never good enough even though you're good at everything, a place where you can forget…all the other crap and just learn. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Some of these kids might need that too. He handed it to Bruce and took a long, slow drink, not meeting the Dr.'s eyes.
Bruce read what he had typed and lowered the tablet, waiting for Tony to look at him, which he finally did after a few more sips and some nervous fidgeting. Bruce still hadn't said anything but his eyes were glittering with thought, and Tony wondered if they were about to have a go at 'guess whose dad is the bigger dick'. Bruce would actually win, and that was a game Tony did think he would ever lose at.
Bruce still hadn't spoken by the time Tony finished his drink so he rose and headed to the bar, trying his hardest not to think about Howard Stark and Brian Banner, but refilling his glass just in case, because that was a conversation highly suited to vast alcohol consumption.
"You shouldn't drink so much," Bruce finally said, but it was dry and resigned. "Meaning you should save enough for me." Tony heard the slight creak and rustle behind him indicating his friend had gotten up from his seat and was approaching. He poured them each three fingers of scotch and turned around.
Bruce looked haunted, but it didn't transfer to his conversational tone. "I do know what it's like to feel that, and you're one of a kind, Tony, because of what you've done in spite of it." He took the offered glass, held it up and said, "cheers, buddy," before downing it all in one swallow.
Tony raised an eyebrow and quirked his lip, lifted his glass to the toast then took a very large gulp from the straw. It was the first time he'd seen Banner drink alcohol and he was apparently going at it with gusto, holding out his glass for a refill. Tony obliged happily and cast around for something he could change the subject to but Bruce beat him to it by asking "Did Howard do this the first time?" as he waved at Tony's face.
What the hell was the use of lying about it? He was with the one person who could understand better than anyone, and though the truth wasn't easy to find, it was out there for someone who was really digging. He nodded, keeping eye contact the entire time because Bruce's face was taking on the edge of deep concern. And yeah, it sucked talking about it, but these were old wounds and he'd had years to deal with his memories. Commiserating about it with someone else was new, and a bit unwelcome, though it could have been a lot worse; Bruce could have wanted to talk about the much fresher wounds inflicted on him by Steve.
And that's how they spent the next hour and a half, just as he'd feared, going back and forth in a rousing version of 'guess whose dad is the bigger dick'. And as he'd predicted, Bruce was the winner…
hatred, abuse and murder trumped anger, neglect and abuse every time. But they'd had many toasts and even a few laughs before they'd had to hold each other up on the trek down the hall to their respective bedrooms.
Tony was woken up the next morning by the gentle, but still unwelcome voice of JARVIS. "Good morning, Sir. Miss Potts is on the line, and as this concerns Dr. Banner as well, I have woken him so you can both view the call in the kitchen. And the coffee is ready," he threw in as a peace offering.
He grumbled as he stretched, surprised by how much his head didn't hurt after finishing off a full bottle of scotch last night, good scotch too. It must be the pain meds he was taking, making it a much better start to the day than he'd expected. The fuzziness was all but gone too, a good sign that the concussion was working itself out.
As he made his way to the kitchen he heard what could only be a hung over Bruce imploring J to keep it down. He chuckled out loud, having been there so many times himself. He tapped the face of his watch, not really caring what time it was, but he loved keeping JARVIS on his metaphorical toes with the gestures.
"The time is 10:42," came the placid, and overly soft, reply.
"Tony, what have you done to Dr. Banner?" came the not so placid, slightly shrill and far from soft voice of Pepper.
Bruce winced and dropped his head onto his hands. Tony headed to the coffee maker to get them both a cup as JARVIS answered for him. "They bonded, Miss Potts, over scotch."
Tony and Pepper both laughed and Bruce groaned loudly. "Nice Tony, though you seem surprisingly unaffected. Anyways, you have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine with Dr. Fulton; J has the address. She wants to see you in her office at least the first time in case anything needs to be done, but she's willing to come there once a week afterwards, okay? And JARVIS, I've told you before, you can call me Pepper, Miss Potts is so formal."
"I'm sorry, Miss Potts. I'm British, and therefore formal. I'm afraid the best I could do is ma'am, or possibly Miss Virginia."
"J, you do know you're not actually British, right?" Tony murmured. "You are modeled after someone who was British, and he would have called her anything she wanted."
"I do not believe Mr. Edwin Jarvis suffered from the sin of indulgence, Sir." JARVIS said, a bit too uppity. Bruce laughed, and then grunted.
"My mother had to send her prized Persian cat to a fat farm because Edwin was so indulgent." Seriously, he needed more caffeine for this.
"I prefer Miss Potts to Miss Virginia, and you can forget about ma'am altogether." Pepper said, effectively ending the argument and smiling behind her hand. "But think about it J, practice it…that's what I want for my birthday. And Tony, call me after your appointment, while the others are still there, please."
He nodded, because it was easier than typing an argument with less than one cup of coffee in him.
"Good. Dr. Banner, I'm counting on you to make sure he goes, he's very sneaky about these things, so consider yourself warned." She turned back to Tony with a sly look before she blew him a kiss and disconnected. Again, his caffeine consumption was still too low for him to put up much of a fight. He was trying to gulp down as much as he could, he might not be hung over or so concussed still, but he was sleepy, and hot coffee through a straw could only be swallowed so fast.
"Well, so much for sleeping in," Tony mumbled.
Bruce didn't answer, but pushed the container of protein powder across the counter towards the other man, lifting his head slightly to watch the inventor with one bleary eye. Tony huffed, but added a spoon full to his coffee, making sure to stir it in, it had no taste, but could be gritty as hell if not mixed well, as he'd found out last night with the booze. As he turned to put the spoon in the sink he caught sight of a box on the counter with a note attached.
Hey guys,
I headed out to the range with Brad. Sorry if I was a prick last night, but I got those danish you guys love so much, so we're good right?
Tony, there is a pureed danish smoothie in the fridge for you. Sorry about Dum-E.
C.
It was Tony's turn to groan. The robot probably had icing or danish filling all over himself…god damn it. Why had he ever introduced the hapless bot to the fucking blender? And why did Barton spoil him, there was a blender in the kitchen for christ's sake. He grabbed his coffee and the danish smoothie—what the hell, it was worth a try—then headed to the lab, placing the bakery box with the note by Bruce's head.
Surprisingly Dum-E wasn't the mess he'd expected. Instead his first and favorite bot had only one drop of icing at the tip of his camera, placed there on purpose no doubt. He also sported a maroon MIT shirt that said NERD PRIDE across the front, had a miniature MIT pennant taped to the top of his dunce cap—Dum-E loved the thing, what could he say?—and a sign taped to his base that said Tony, I can't decide who's my favorite nerd. He couldn't help laughing; Bruce might be insulted, but Tony had certainly been called much worse, and Barton was without a doubt his favorite archer.
And when Clint returned from the archery range a few hours later, it was to Tony and a very sleepy looking Bruce camped out on the couch watching television.
"So it turns out that smart people can be pretty athletic too," Clint said, with a shade of contrition. "In fact, do you know how much science is involved in archery? Brad mentioned this Hooke's Law thing…"
He was cut off as both geniuses spoke in unison, "F = -kx." [3]
"Of course you know that. I'm the stupid one here, I need to go back to the tower and be around Thor." Clint flung himself, completely without grace, into the closest armchair.
"Archery is 100% physics; you just compute the factors in your head without seeing the equations." Bruce offered, without lifting his head from the back of the sofa. "If I wasn't so hung over I could probably tell you how long the remote imprint stayed on your face, based on the weight of the average human head and some simple pressure variables." The physicist teased, not sounding hung over at all.
This time it was Clint who made the strangled sound before blowing out a huff of air. "I get it. Everything we do involves science and you ner—smart people are just lucky enough to see the math behind it, make adjustments and compensate."
"So let me guess," Tony said. "Brad was spouting some shit about the laws of conservative momentum, or throwing out some basic trigonometry—2FCos(A)Cos(B)=Draw Weight [4], and now you're what—questioning your intelligence?" It was the most he'd tried to mumble through his lips since this morning, and his first equation, which was probably unintelligible, but he went on. "Let me ask you this, who was the more accurate shot?"
"Me." The archer responded, slightly less confident than usual when it came to his skills with a bow.
"Then your equations were better, and you didn't even know you were doing them." Tony paused for effect, letting it sink in a little, because he knew his friend very well, which meant he knew where the other man's thoughts were heading when he got down on himself like this.
Clint blamed himself for Coulson's death—completely ludicrous—and so far nothing any of them said seemed to help the archer think differently. "You're the best at what you do, but that's not why Loki chose you, and not because you're in any way weak minded. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. A higher IQ would have changed nothing…look at Dr. Selvig, he's incredibly brilliant and his big brain didn't stop Loki. You are not responsible for agent Coulson."
At Coulson's name Clint shuddered and a deep hurt flashed in his eyes, he squirmed uncomfortably, but then composed himself quickly, squared his shoulders, and responded, "Thanks buddy. You always know just what to mumble, even if you're lying through your teeth—literally. And I can't believe you would throw out 'big brain' and not go for the Pulp Fiction reference…'check out the big brain on Brad.' Seriously, I was just talking about how smart Brad is. You're losing your touch, Tony."
Barton was deflecting, Tony recognized the signs because he was a master at it himself, and he decided to play along and not push the issue. He knew, thanks to Pepper, what it was like to have something so raw poked at and prodded, opened up for discussion before he was ready. Eventually Clint would see the truth, the guilt would never totally be gone, he knew, because they all carried a little bit of that same remorse. And Clint was right…how the fuck had he missed that one? He loved that movie, quoted it often, but lately he'd cut back on a lot of the modern day movie references because Steve never got them and he hadn't wanted to make the soldier feel even more out of place by mentioning them so much. And letting Steve watch Pulp Fiction didn't really seem like a good idea just yet.
"Just for that, I'm telling Thor you think he's stupid." Tony quipped to change the subject as Bruce laughed softly and ran a hand over his face to dispel the sleepiness.
"And I'll tell Reed you think he's smarter than you." Tony choked when Clint said it. Talking without moving most of his mouth caused a build up in saliva, which was disgusting to swallow, but he'd been about to when Clint threw that at him.
"Ouch," Bruce chuckled, joining the conversation as he rose to pat Tony on the back and hopefully ease the sputtering. "That's a low blow; you hit him right where it hurts most."
Tony didn't correct him that mentioning Steve would be where it hurt most. Instead he pretended to recover from the saliva debacle, letting them think the sour expression on his face was due to that.
And there went another day when he tried not to think about Steve and failed miserably.
Tony had no idea what the hell he would do tomorrow when his teammates left. They were a very welcome distraction from his morose thoughts, and once they were gone he would have all that time on his hands to just wallow. He was a good wallower, great actually, but it wasn't healthy and it was far from productive. And that was a problem too; he didn't have any of his projects here to be productive with.
He'd wanted to sneak a suit on the trip, but JARVIS would have sold him out to Pep in a heartbeat. He'd just finished the smaller, cufflink version too. It had finally been ready to give to Steve—and who knew the shield would prove almost as difficult to reconstruct on a smaller scale as the armor? He should probably just give them to Steve anyways, later—much later—when they could be friends again. Tony could fake almost anything; he had years…decades of practice, but fooling everyone (and himself) into thinking he was okay just being pals with Steve might be a bit of a challenge. He needed to get himself under control these next few weeks if he wanted to remain part of the team. It was time for the old standbys, bury and repress, two of his oldest friends.
Clint cleared his throat dramatically, "so, are we going out on the town for our last night or did you have something else in mind?" Tony didn't really want to go anywhere and be recognized, he still had the bandages on his face until at least tomorrow, and he didn't want that story or those pictures floating around out there. The question seemed probing though, not like Barton wanted to know their plans, more like he was fishing for what was expected of him.
Bruce seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Tony because he spoke up right away, which wasn't really his style outside of the lab. "I think lying low might be a good idea, at least until Tony sees the doctor tomorrow."
"Were you hoping to debauch some fine young coeds?" Tony waggled his eyebrow. The effect was questionable with only one showing, but the look on Clint's face told him he'd done okay. "We won't tell Natasha," He added bravely.
Clint stammered as a blush crept up his neck, turning his face a light pink. A fucking blush—on Barton—would wonders never cease?
"I don't—we're not…it's not like that…with us. We're—well I'm not sure exactly what we are, but not that, not for a while now." Clint turned his face away from them and willed the heat to go away. He did not want to have this discussion, did not want to talk about his feelings with them. Ever. But there was nothing between him and Nat anymore and it was probably best if everyone knew that.
"We're very much like you and Pepper." He said, turning back towards the other two, "There was something briefly, but we both realized we're better without the complications of that kind of involvement." Tony understood implicitly, and didn't need Clint to further explain, though he did by adding, "She's my best friend."
And Tony saw something in the archer just then, envisioned his previous discomfort of the subject, but not in regards to Natasha…something else, or someone else had caused the flush on his friends face. It had been the comment about the coeds…had he met someone here? Tony's mind started adding up the variables automatically, the seemingly unprompted belittlement of his own intelligence, the disappearing acts yesterday, last night and this morning. It had only been two days, and the time Clint was away from them was mostly spent with Brad—holy shit!
No way. There was no way his friend could have that particular inclination. He would have noticed, would have seen some sign in the many months he had been close to the man, despite Clint's ability to be composed and often unreadable. For fucks sake, Tony had confided in him about Steve, in direct opposition to Cap's wishes, because sometimes he'd just needed to talk about it. And speaking, or thinking, of Steve, had he ever seen the archer look at their leader appraisingly, because come on, Steve was the epitome of masculine perfection no matter what your specific taste.
And now that he wasn't oblivious to it, what other times had he seen that behavior from Clint? The slight flush, the nervous squirming, the tenuous smiles…who else other than Brad? He couldn't remember seeing Clint uncomfortable talking about anyone else, except maybe…
"Coulson." It just tumbled out; there was simply no stopping the idiotic slip. It was a pretty bad habit of his, but you'd think having your jaw wired closed would help with that—but nope, apparently not. His discomfort at the slip was nothing compared to Barton's though.
The silence that followed could only be described as awkward. Tony felt like a complete ass, not only had the one word outed Clint—something he knew from experience should only happen when one was completely ready for it—but he'd also spilled what was clearly a highly guarded secret.
Tony should have played it off as something else, brushed over the slip or covered it up with bullshit rambling, he was very skilled in that department, but the truth was that he was just too shocked. He felt like he'd been literally stunned, and could not think of a single thing to say.
And god bless Bruce, he chose that moment to turn away towards the kitchen, the picture of nonchalance, like he hadn't heard or noticed anything. It was smooth, like Natasha would have handled it, with no trace of 'oops, I overheard something I shouldn't'. Tony wasn't even sure Banner did realize what had just happened, but knowing what he knew of the doctor's keen senses, he'd bet Bruce had figured out what Tony meant by the slip. He watched the scientist's retreat, and then turned back to Clint, certain the remorse he felt was showing on every visible feature, imploring pardon.
"You're too fucking smart for your own good. That is the very last thing I plan to say on the matter without being rip-roaring drunk. Which will happen soon, but tonight is about you, Tony. There are other things to discuss, things that need to be addressed but I've been hesitant to bring up." Tony stared at him, knowing the "things" Clint spoke of meant Steve, and what would happen when the other two were back at the tower with their captain. He couldn't argue, he wanted to, but he knew Clint was right and Tony did owe him after his fuck up moments ago.
"And just to set the record straight," Clint began, and then paused letting Tony think the worst was coming, "I don't think Thor is stupid, just stupider than you guys, and let's face it—who isn't…besides Reed Richards, of course?" The archer added, smiling devilishly.
Happy joined them for a dinner of takeout Chinese. They'd all decided after an hour of throwing out hypothetical situations, growing more and more ridiculous with every beer, that no one should lie to Steve if the subject of Tony's whereabouts came up. Tony didn't imagine Steve would really care on a personal level, hell…his absence would only help Steve pursue a relationship with the home wrecker, but as the others pointed out he was the captain of their team and he took the well being of its members very seriously, super-punch excluded—obviously.
Every man there admitted how difficult that would be if Steve really wanted to know, his stubbornness could be insufferable, but they all promised to stay strong in the face of that particular scenario. And Tony knew they would all try, whether or not they did was left to be seen, and if someone did fold under the pressure, what did it matter, it wasn't like Steve would come find him anyways?
He wasn't as drunk as last night with Bruce, but he was close when they all headed to bed. He thought back on the evening's discussions and took a moment to imagine that Steve was looking for him, pestering JARVIS and Pepper and needing to see him, and not to end things with words, as if the whore-kissing and the punch weren't enough of a signal to him. When he did finally fall asleep he nearly had a wet dream, it wouldn't have been his first by a long shot and certainly not his first about Steve—though, strangely enough, his very first wet dream ever had featured Captain America as the main attraction, but he'd woken up just in time, painfully hard.
He'd touched himself, because there was no way he could let an erection like that go to waste, thinking of the soldier's hands on him, not a first there either. When he use to do that thinking of the super soldier he'd only had imagination as his source, but now he had real, vivid memories of how strong and possessive those hands could be in person.
Darkness still hung outside the windows, but he didn't care if that meant it was really late or really early, he wouldn't fall back asleep now. He had a moment of wistful envy of the times he could do nothing but fall asleep after coming hard like that, but Steve had changed that for him, in addition to the long list of other things. When they'd been together, and he guessed he used that term in the most literal sense now, Steve would never stay and fall asleep, at least not for very long. He claimed he feared having one of the others see him leaving Tony's room at an early hour and put things together. Tony couldn't have fucking cared less who knew about them, he would shout it from the top of his tower, but he'd respected Steve's wishes—though maybe if he'd known the real reason he wouldn't have.
Anyways, for many months now, he would either lay awake or head to his lab after the magnificent orgasms he was guaranteed with Steve. He would spend the time thinking about the two of them, of how he could make it better, how to help Steve get over his fear of coming out about them, at least to the rest of the team. He would tinker too, either in his head or actually with his hands, depending on where he was, but thoughts of Steve were always a running theme in his crowded mind.
He decided to get up now and head to his lab, it might be under stocked compared to New York but it was a distraction at least. If he could bite his tongue he would have because he couldn't shake the overwhelming urge to ask J about Steve, how he was and where he was. It was always that last thought that kept him from opening his mouth, metaphorically of course, because he didn't really want to know. So he worked on upgrades for Clint and Natasha's weapons of choice to pass the time until his appointment.
Bruce found him there around 8:00, looking just slightly better than yesterday morning. "Hanging out with you and Clint is taking years off my life." Bruce said, though he was smiling. "Happy is picking us up in thirty minutes."
Tony responded with a whining groan. He was dreading this, but anxious to have the bandages off. No matter what this doctor said, he was taking them off anyways once his teammates left, but he needed to be good for Pepper and not cause her undue stress—more undue stress than usual.
The ride to the office was short, and he and Bruce were ushered right in, because he was Tony Stark, and he didn't sit in waiting rooms. J had assured him that the confidentiality agreements were signed, and that the doctor only was to know of the visit, no other staff unless absolutely necessary.
Dr. Fulton, the oral and maxillofacial surgeon, was as efficient as she was attractive. Her bed side manner left something to be desired, which just means she was immune to his flirting, but hey, you couldn't have it all.
She skillfully, but with absurdly chilly fingers, removed the bandages, x-rayed the mandible fractures, removed the sutures from the cheek and carefully examined his eye. "I've seen the record notes from the surgeries, and everything seems to be healing nicely. The mandible looks great; we might be able to remove the arch bars a week earlier than originally expected. Do you have pain in the eye?" she asked while shining a light in it.
"No," he mumbled. She was holding his eyelid up to use the light, so he didn't dare shake his head. It wasn't comfortable, but it had been taped closed for almost a week.
"That's a good sign. The reduced swelling is more than I'd hoped for, but they gave you a pretty heavy dose of steroids. Tell me what you can see, and don't close the other eye, it'll put to much strain on the injured one."
Was it possible for someone to be snappishly polite?
"Just blurry shapes," He answered, did she expect more than that right out of the gate?
"Good. That's good, any colors?" she asked, stepping towards him and holding a grey card about four inches in front of his good eye. Jesus lady, it's been uncovered for like three minutes, give me a second to adjust.
"Yes, a lot of white, and some red."
She nodded, taking the card away. "Does the brightness seem the same in both eyes?" She continued, jotting down notes. And after his murmured reply in the affirmative, she went on, "I'm not an ophthalmologist, and you may need to see one, but so far I'm very hopeful. Let's leave it uncovered; it may affect your depth perception for the rest of the day. Do you wear glasses?"
Wow, talk about all business. Every time she had something positive to say about his recovery, she followed it up with something snappish…Pepper would love her. "Sometimes to read, but not as often as I should," He confessed, looking at Bruce, who seemed somewhat awed by her.
"Starting now see that you do, there's no need to put stress on either eye right now. Twenty minutes at a time with the reading or any screen time, and yes, that includes your computer and phone, then a thirty minute break at least…rest it more than you use it. Make sure you don't close one eye to focus the other, we're looking to build strength here, and the more you use them normally, the faster the healing." She actually paused to take a breath, but it was very brief. "Most of the damage to the area was structural, and not to the organ itself so the vision should only continue to get clearer. Make sure you don't sleep on that side of your face now, stay on the other side or on your back. And no hair products in the shower or bath for another forty eight hours, we don't want any running into the eye." She was like a female version of C-3PO, droning on and on and on.
"Okay," was all he said, ready to get the hell out of there. The news was all good, but he felt like he was in the headmaster's office waiting while his parents were called.
"Don't stop the antibiotics, use them until they're gone," she continued, as if he were a moron. "And at this point less is more with the painkillers; we want to know if you have more than general tenderness." She looked at him pointedly, like she thought, or had read, that he was the type to overindulge or something, those days are long gone honey.
Christ, enough already, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. No wonder he hadn't seen a ring on her frigid finger, geesh.
Once they were back in the car, and after Happy and Clint fawned all over his un-bandaged face, he turned to Bruce, eyebrow raised in question, knowing his meaning was clear.
"She was pretty amazing." Bruce answered, his tone a weird mixture of tolerance and humor.
"I'll give you the pretty, but I can't agree on the amazing—skilled, okay—competent, yes—but amazing, afraid not, Nurse Ratched had a better bedside manner." Slightly over the top perhaps, but he was making a point.
"Nurse Ratched was hot…and stacked." Happy said from the front seat. And thank God he had his eyes on the road because Tony, Bruce and Clint all stared incredulously at the back of his head.
"There is no way you're serious," Clint said slowly, disbelief in every syllable.
"Okay, I know she was a crazy bitch and everything, but, still hot." Happy replied, clearly serious, because he wasn't that good of an actor.
"This might border on too much information, but I just can't let it pass. She's who I always pictured to get rid of those awkward teenage problems, if you know what I mean. Absolute boner killer, that one." Clint said, gesturing to Tony and Bruce for agreement.
Bruce made a sound somewhere between a burp, a snort and a giggle, but higher pitched, then recovered and asked, "How is that border at all fuzzy? That is definitely too much information; seriously, years off my life!"
Tony was laughing too hard to join in, thankful the stitches were gone from his face because the strain surely would have pulled them.
Damn he was going to miss these guys.
They ordered Italian food a little while after returning to Tony's building. It was their last meal together for a week or so. Happy devoured his lunch then went to pack up the car, and Bruce followed, leaving the other two to say goodbye. The plan was for the driver to take the others to Logan Airport where Tony's plane awaited them and then return, because he was staying per Pepper's orders.
"You have pureed meatball in your beard." Clint snickered as they were finishing the last of their drinks before following the others downstairs.
"It's called a van-dyke, heathen. But if you have to dummy it down, at least call it a goatee—beard is so…Grizzly Adams." Tony quipped, wiping his chin with a crumpled napkin. He knew it wasn't much more than thick, unshaped stubble at the moment, but it would be his trademark van-dyke again soon, and he was going with that.
"Wow, you're old. Grizzly Adams is who you come up with for an iconic beard reference? You gotta at least step it up a decade—ZZ Top or, you know, something current like Duck Dynasty." Clint teased, but then his face shifted from jovial to serious. "Tony, about yesterday…" He trailed off, whether it was to gather his thoughts before continuing, or to give Tony a chance to interject, he didn't know. He didn't want to talk about Steve or Coulson, but he did want to be there for his friend the way Clint always seemed to be there for him, so he chose to remain silent and at least see where this was going.
"I don't know how your fucking brain got from one place to the other, but you were right, mostly. There is a thing—was a thing, but he didn't know about it." To the average person that might seem random, but Tony wasn't average, at least where his intellect was concerned, so his brain went right to Coulson. "I never said anything to him, and maybe he did know somewhere deep in his subconscious, but it never came up. That's what I regret most of all. So this thing with Steve, I get it because my situation is similar, well, not the muscles, or the sex, and Steve is still alive…but the loving someone and knowing their feelings aren't the same."
Fuck, how was he supposed to respond to that? He decided to go with unabashed honesty the way Clint had. "I never told him either, he didn't know I wanted it to be more than casual."
"Is that what helps you sleep at night? Because he should have known; for fuck's sake Tony, even I could see that. And if he couldn't then his goddamned heart and soul are still frozen from the ice. This—what happened—is not your fault, not by any stretch of your fucked up imagination." Clint said with a sudden surliness.
"It's not yours either." Tony mumbled through the thickening in his throat. He swallowed past the lump and went on before Clint could derail him, "We shouldn't have waited, either one of us, but we did and now we're here. What choice do we have other than to make the best of it?" Tony asked rhetorically, feeling a sudden desire to end this discussion. And when the hell had he become so idealistic? "You should have told me months ago that you liked cock too, we could have saved ourselves some pain."
There…that was more like him.
His comment had the desired effect of ending the seriousness at least; Clint nearly dropped the bottle he was about to drink from. "You are hot, Tony, and quite a catch, great ass too, but I've never really thought like that before Phil. I'll spare you the sordid details of what goes on under the Big-Top, but I'd say I'm more Phil-sexual than bisexual…sorry." It was a very personal truth barely camouflaged by humor, but it was easier for both of them to deal with that way. So, yeah, this was definitely not the time to ask about Brad.
"Right, go-fucking-figure…I'm going back to hookers." Tony laughed as he said it.
"Please, like you've ever had to pay for it; especially with an ass like that."
"You seem pretty interested in my ass for someone who claims not to want it, but it is fantastic, so who can blame you?" He clinked his bottle against Clint's before pulling the last few sips from the straw. "Now get the fuck out of here before I have to picture Nurse Ratched in my head." Tony said, grinning as he heard Clint sputter, spitting out his mouthful of beer.
*All of the course and PE requirement information for MIT were taken directly from their website or course catalog.
*The back story on Bruce was taken from Marvel Universe Wiki except the Caltech reference which was found on the MARVEL database. According to that site he only recieved his PhD from Caltech, but I just went with it (and they do also have a PE requirement).
[3] Mathematically, Hooke's law states that the applied force F equals a constant k times the displacement or change in length x, or F = kx. The value of k depends not only on the kind of elastic material under consideration but also on its dimensions and shape. Sometimes Hooke's law is formulated as F = −kx. In this expression F no longer means the applied force but rather means the equal and oppositely directed restoring force that causes elastic materials to return to their original dimensions.
[4]Taken from a Physics of Archery website I'm not able to list here, but there are a few to check out...just google physics of archery, or draw weight of a bow.
A/N: Again, because I just can't say it enough, thanks to everyone who is reading and taking the time to review, Fav/Follow :)