Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As with most things in their relationship, Steve and Tony met explosively.

They ended that way too.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I blew up my lab!”

“...sir?”

“I was trying to teach DUM-E how to cook and I blew up my lab and now Pepper’s going to kill me-”

“Sorry, sir, could I please have a name and an address?”

“Uh, yeah. Tony Stark, 200 Park Avenue. It’s Stark Tower, just drive towards that. You know the big building in the sky?”

A pause. 

“DUM-E, nO-”

static

*****

By the time the fire truck arrived, one very singed Tony Stark came out to meet them. He was chattering nervously, as per usual.

“I’m so sorry, everything’s under control now and I’m donating DUM-E to the community college but not before he writes an apology letter for wasting your time. I kept trying to tell him that’s not how you cook a beef wellington and then he went ahead and set the whole goddamn oven on fire- ”

Tony stopped mid-sentence, mouth dropping open.

Oh jeez.

Life was so unfair.

In front of him stood one concerned-looking, smoking hot firefighter. Dirty blond hair peeked out from under the helmet and that jawline my god-

And here he was in a sweaty AC/DC shirt with no socks on. 

Totally unfair. Before he could get lost in his musings, though, blue eyes met his.

“Mr. Stark? Are you alright, sir?”

Tony shook himself out of it. “Tony is fine.” 

The firefighter raised his eyebrows, but said nothing apart from “Steve.”

Huh. So he’s a Steve. It fit somehow, with the All-American look and the professional expression on his face that was slowly slipping into bemusement.

Steve tilted his head. “So you’re all good, then?”

Tony blinked rapidly. “Uh, yeah. All good.” He scratched his neck. “Really good. Always good.” Oh god, what was even coming out of his mouth? It hadn’t been this bad even with Pepper. 

“Okayyy then.” Now it was Steve’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Then we really have to go now. There are other emergencies that need attention.”

“Of course, of course!” Why hadn’t Tony thought of that? He was an inconsiderate idiot. Stupid. How he had managed to become an inventor was beyond him. 

Tony opened his mouth to apologize, but Steve was already walking away.

A dark-haired firefighter poked his head out of the window, stared suspiciously at Tony, and then patted Steve on the back. The door slammed shut and the wheels screeched as the truck pulled away. Tony made eye contact with Steve one last time.

Totally unfair.

Chapter Text

“Pepper, you have to admit my absolute genius.”

“The only thing I’ll admit to is your insanity. After all, it’s public knowledge by now.”

Tony puts a dramatic hand to his chest. “Ow,” he pouts eloquently. “Besides, there is a certain genius in setting a house on fire to lure in a hot firefighter. And maybe hopefully ask him out.”

Tony can practically hear Pepper rubbing her temples in an attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. He also knows it won’t work. Because He is the headache. And unfortunately for her, and maybe the world, he’s around for good.

“Arson is illegal!” she practically screeches. “You’re trying to sell a multi-billion dollar company and you can’t afford to-"

“Too late. Already bought the house. 442 Poppyseed Road.”

The thump of a forehead on a desk filters through his receiver.

Pepper hangs up.

Tony stares at his blackened screen with fondness. “Aw shucks Jarvis,” he croons, “I think she’s actually proud of me for this one.”

And now, the benefits of creating your own personal friend. Anyone else would bewilderedly ask you how you extracted anything like that from the conversation. But Jarvis, the good man, only replies, “Absolutely, sir.”
Tony ignores the sarcasm. He’s rather good at that. Instead he looks upon the soon to be sacrificed lamb of the day. It’s a rather nice house, actually. Too bad Steve has a rather nicer face.

Absolutely indeed.

But Pepper hasn’t been by his side this long to see him felled by a media shitstorm (again). Instead, she just silently adds the FDNY’s “Pancake Breakfast” to his calendar, which he never checks. When Jarvis alerts him, he swipes away a couple of blueprints to stare at it in awe. Pepper is a genius. It’s good PR and he’ll get to see Steve again.

It’s just a waste of a perfectly flammable house, that’s all.

Tony is half an hour early to the breakfast on Saturday. When he strolls up to the tents, Steve is standing behind a grill, handsome and wholesome in a blue apron. When he catches sight of Tony, he gives an adorable wave in greeting. “Tony! It’s good to see you again.” Tony thinks that’s probably a lie, but who is he to judge when his name on Steve’s lips definitely doesn’t make his heart skip a beat. 

“Hey,” he says, suave as ever. He raises an eyebrow as Steve effortlessly flips a pancake, impressed. They chat for a few minutes, Tony putting on his Entertainer/Life of the Party face, but soon enough something Steve says startles a laugh out of him. A real one. 

He freezes. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to get attached, not to anyone. Especially not to the beautiful ones. Then he thinks of his empty bed at home, the familiar smell of stale alcohol, and screws it all. “So, when are you ‘off duty’?” he blurts out. Steve looks up. 

“In a couple of hours. Why?”

Tony takes a deep breath, and dives headfirst into the deep end. “Doyouwanttogoonadatewithme?”

“What?”

A swallow. “I was wondering if you’d - uh, if you'd want to grab a coffee sometime?”

Steve blinks at him, frozen, for just long enough for Tony’s stomach to sink, before Steve’s friend from earlier butts in. “Steve! You’re burning the goddamn pancakes!”

Steve half turns in his direction, before yelling back, “Sorry Bucky!” The entire time, Tony stands awkwardly in place like a defendant in court, eagerly awaiting a sentence. “So…”

Steve fidgets. “Actually, umm.” He pokes at a pancake, then finally looks Tony in the eye. “Actually, I’d like that.” An odd half-smile is slowly growing on his face, and Tony is sure it’s mirrored on his own.

“Great! That’s great!” They stare at each other in silence for a moment, the sound of sizzling in the air and big goofy smiles on their faces, stubbornly ignorant of the blackening mess on the grill.

“STEVE-”

“Got it, Bucky.”

Steve gives him a grin. Tony forgets how to breathe. “Sorry about that, Bucky’s a helicopter friend.”

Tony gives a little laugh. “I get that. Also,” he gestures, “pancakes are still burning.”

Steve jumps and curses softly. Tony didn’t know he had it in him. It’s adorable (of course it is).

As the customers start to crowd the parking lot, Tony takes one of the less burnt pancakes and goes to sit by himself. He’s too happy to even wince at the smoky flavor. Even when the press recognizes him, he doesn’t let it sink his good mood.

“Mr. Stark,” one reporter demands, shoving a mic in his face, “is it true that you’re selling Stark Industries?”

“Yes,” he replies. He puts down his fork with a sigh, syrup dripping forlornly on the table, and resigns himself to further interrogation. “I will be starting a smaller company set in the World Trade Center focused specifically on the future of world security. Stark Industries has many sectors, not including weapons anymore, thankfully, but the risk of new ventures impacts a large company like that negatively.” Really, he’s just selling his share of the company and putting Pepper as CEO. Really no big loss. Quite the opposite in fact.

“What prompted this sudden decision?” Tony shakes himself a bit. Everyone can hear the subtext of “Does this have anything to do with what happened to your parents last year?” He willfully ignores it. No need to sour a pleasant day.

So he flashes his most charming grin at the cameras. “Well, I thought it was time to move on. Turn over a new leaf, start a new beginning, all that jazz.” He catches sight of Steve through the crowd, hair ruffled and batter smeared on one cheek, and his smile morphs into a genuine one. And, despite his signature sarcasm, Tony thinks he might just mean it.

Chapter Text

Tony’s about to head back to the office, double-check that everything important was boxed, when a striking redhead sidles up to him, two plates of pancakes balanced in her hands. A ruffled looking man plops down on the bench to his right, and then, before he knows it, a crowd gathers around his waylaid picnic table. A firefighter with a ridiculously combed mustache marches up, flanked on both sides by an Asian and African American man.

The man in the bowler hat bares his teeth. “May the best company win,” he snarls, insincere to the bone. When the redhead sets the two plates in front of him, Tony decides he’s had enough.

“Whoah whoa whoa, what’s going on? Who are you guys, what do you want, and why do you have pancakes?” The man who looks like he managed to trip and fall several times on his way over ruffles his light brown military cut. 

“Did no one tell him?” Silence. The redhead sighs.

“You all are idiots,” she says fondly. And now Tony’s getting a bit cross. He hasn’t even had a chance to freak out over his new date in private yet.

“Yes, while I’m sure you’re entirely correct, you still haven’t answered my question.”

She outstretches a hand. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. That’s Clint,” she gestures to Tony’s right, where Clint is now propping up his head, looking bored. “We’re part of Company 616, but people call us the Avengers.”

At that, the Asian man speaks up. “What the hell are you people even avenging? You’re firefighters for God’s sake, you put out the damn fire.” He realizes everyone is staring at him. “Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed, “I’m Jim Morita.”

“My name’s Dum Dum Dugan,” the other side’s ringleader announces. And Tony just can’t resist.

“I can’t decide which is more sensational, the outfit or the name,” Tony smirks. “Dum Dum Dugan” only glares. 

“People call him Dugan,” his left-hand man reassures Tony. “I’m Gabe Jones, by the way.”

“We’re part of the Howling Commandos.” Tony almost does a spit take. 

“Did the FDNY do a naming competition or something?” He eyes the opposing sides. “Whichever sounds more like a comic book wins?”

“It was a dare,” Clint says, a glint in his eye. Natasha hits him. 

Tony leans forward, intrigued. “Interesting, interesting. Now why do you need me?”

Another mustached man jumps in, followed by a harried-looking friend (also with a mustache, what was up with that?). “Because rich people have better taste buds,” he declares in a French accent. 

Dugan turns an accusing eye on his tail. “Falsworth, I thought you said you had Dernier under control.”

Falsworth straightens. “Well, Jacques hasn’t blown up any of the grills yet, has he?”

“That’s fair,” Gabe says.

Jim interrupts, “Who cares about Dernier, we’ve got a competition to win.”

“Which is?” Tony is about to implode.

Clint opens his mouth, then is silenced by a ringing voice. “They’ve got it in their heads to compete for my attention,” Steve says, amused. He strolls up to the group, untying his apron and folding it neatly.

“That’s not what we-”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” No one contests further.

Where Steve goes, Bucky follows, so no one’s particularly surprised when he pops up behind Clint, who doesn’t even flinch. “I’m Bucky,” he tells Tony.

“I’ve heard,” Tony responds.

He looks at Tony, unreadable. “Steve’s transferring to the 616 in a couple a months, and our squad won’t let him go. So they keep challenging them to pissing contests. Who deserves the Captain, and all that.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a prize.” Tony begs to differ. “Besides, it’s not like you can change the brass’s mind through a competition.”

Dernier looks devilish as he rubs his hands together. “It is if we can get the other side suspended for inappropriate behavior.” Everyone looks at Clint, who seems unfazed.

He sticks his feet on the table. “I’ve got two strikes left, relax. That means I can still do some damage,” he says, grinning. Natasha doesn’t even stop him, but Steve kicks his feet off the table.

“No one’s getting suspended.” Steve turns apologetic eyes to Tony, who’s given up on ever being informed. “Sorry, they’re not usually like this. They’re just competitive.”

Tony sighs. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.” He chuckles. “I’ve been worse. Do I just eat the pancakes, then?”

“Whichever is the best wins,” Clint confirms. “We’ve got Bruce on our side. He’s got seven PHDs, so our pancakes are going to be superior.” 

The corners of Natasha’s lips lift. “Not that kind of scientist,” she murmurs. Then she speaks up. “Bruce is in the ticket tent calming down, by the way. All this tension was stressing him out.”

Bucky, who’s lounging against the bench, tells Tony, “Steve cooked ours.”

Oh. Oh no. Bucky’s got him there.

Dernier ceremoniously cuts into the pancakes, and the minute Tony tastes burnt batter, he knows who’s it is. 

“C’mon,” Clint hurries, eager. He leans forward elbows going every which way. “Who’s is better?”

To be honest, neither. Both are drowned in the artificial tang of restaurant maple syrup, his mouth is sticky with it, and the pancakes have a slightly rubbery texture. But one of them is a bit overdone, and he thinks Steve must get distracted a lot. He really doesn’t have a choice. “This one is better,” he announces, pointing to Steve’s pancake. 

The table goes into uproar. Dugan whoops and hurls his bowler hat in the air, Morita and Jones start doing a victory dance, and Dernier is grinning from ear to ear. On the other hand, Clint is arguing with the judge. Or, more accurately, he’s complaining to Tony, who’s zoning out.

“C’mon, you know ours is better, you just picked theirs because you have a hot date with Steve,” he pouts. Natasha nods in judgment.

“He’s right.”

“Shut up, you two,” Steve says, ears burning. He smiles tentatively at Tony, who returns it.

Bucky corners him a few minutes later, after Tony and Steve stumble through an awkward goodbye and exchange of numbers. “Congratulations,” he says, “you’ve passed the test.”

Tony squints at him, still half in his car. He sits down anyway. “Thanks?”

Bucky looks exasperated. “The pancake tasting. That was a test. See if you’d choose Steve.”

“Hmm, smart and a bit creepy. Just a bit. Do you do this to every guy Steve dates? We haven’t even gotten to that part yet.”

“Steve hasn’t dated in a couple of years.” Bucky’s eyes are hard. “So I’m just making sure it goes as smoothly as possible.”

Tony pauses. “Hard breakup?”

“She died.”

Tony fidgets in the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Peggy didn’t like pity.”

“Okaaay,” Tony draws out, feeling strange, “anything else?” Tony closes the door completely, leaving the window open. “If you're done with the whole protective best friend act, I’ve got a meeting in ten.” He doesn’t. He’d just rather get out of here. But, per usual, his mouth keeps running even after he’s pulled the breaks.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.” A nervous laugh escapes. His remark is met with silence, the kind you face right before something terrible escapes. He’d recognize it anywhere, as Bucky’s lips thin. 

Oh.

Oh no.

Bucky hesitates just long enough to be suspicious. “No,” he says slowly, “of course not.” Tony stares him down. “It’s not like I’m in love with him-”

“Never said you were, buddy.”

Bucky glares. He clears his throat and struggles to regain composure. “That’s irrelevant. What you need to know is that if you hurt Steve, you will come to regret it. Do you understand me?” He all but bares his teeth, and Tony resists the urge to put up the glass between himself and what feels like a wild, territorial creature.

“Loud and clear, Manchurian Candidate.” His snark doesn’t falter. “Although, shouldn’t you be supportive of Steve and all? That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

“I’m not just Steve’s friend,” Bucky snarls, then immediately looks like he wants to bite it back. “I’m like his brother,” he finishes, flat and unpersuasive.

This is where Tony slides into sympathy, rather than intimidation and anger. He knows what it’s like to love the wrong person at the wrong time, but not being able to accept it because they feel so right . He knows it must break Bucky’s heart to see Steve off. But he also knows that they’re best friends, so he must’ve never said anything. Or he’d gotten rejected, but Tony doubts Steve would leave his best friend so raw and unhealed. So it’d been voluntary silence, then. No one’s fault but his own.

He also knows that he has a chance with Steve, and though he doesn’t know him that well yet, he’s damn well going to take it. Even though he’s never taken an opportunity at the right time in his life, he knows just this once to grab on and never let go.

The age-old variant of “We’re just friends” is still ringing between them, and the worst part is that it’s true. 

“I know, Bucky. I know.”

Chapter Text

Steve and Tony have their first date at a coffee shop called Daisy’s. They’re seated in a hushed corner, worn fabric seats accenting a varnished tabletop, while Daisy herself sets their drinks down with a warm smile. Tony nods in thanks and sips his. “So, and I’m sure you’ve heard this a thousand times, but why did you join?”

Steve smiles at him and shrugs. “I wanted to help people.” Tony almost looks at him askance. No one can be that level of perfect. 

“And that’s the only reason,” he prods inquisitively, “you joined?”

Steve turns bashful, averting his eyes. “Well, my father was a firefighter. Died in a house fire when I was 3. Mom used to tell me all these stories about what a hero he was, and I dunno, I guess I wanted to be like him?”

Tony was wrong. He’s even more perfect.

Steve meets his eye. “What about you?”

Silence. Steve’s eyes widen as he remembers what’s been flashing across every major news outlet for days, what caused that. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” he stammers, “I didn’t mean to pry-”

Tony laughs bitterly. “It’s okay, it’s not often people forget who they’re talking to.” Steve ducks his head, and Tony softens, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No, really, it’s fine. It’d be nice to talk about them, I guess.”

Tony blows out some air. “Where to start...where to start.” He bites his lip. “Okay. So you know about what happened last year?”

“The news have been mentioning it, but I don’t think-”

“My parents were in a plane crash June of last year. No one made it out.”

Steve places a hand over Tony’s. “I’m sorry.” Tony swallows at the warmth.

“Anyway, they died because of faulty airport security, or lack thereof. So obviously, that’s why I’m going to make sure it never happens again, not to anyone else.” He blinks hard, eyes hot. “Because I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” Steve’s hand squeezes his, grounding him to the here and now. He clears his throat. “So, Stark Security,” he announces, waving his hands, “and all that.” He quiets.

“That’s very big of you, Tony,” Steve says, earnest. 

“Just paying my penance,” Tony responds with resignation, taking a shot of his black coffee

Steve swirls his hot chocolate in the silence, whipped cream melting at the top. When he looks up, his blue eyes are so sad that Tony flinches minisculely. “Aren’t we all,” he says.

They sit there for a while, comfortable quiet permeating the air as the smell of roasted coffee wafts through.

“I don’t know why we came to a coffee shop if you’re just going to order hot chocolate,” Tony huffs eventually. Steve mock glares, internally relieved at the change of topic.

“I like it. Besides, the coffee was your idea.” He smirks playfully. “I get to choose our next date.”

The retort on the tip of Tony’s tongue dies away. “Our...next..date..?” he echoes faintly.

Steve rises a bit in alarm. “Unless? You don’t want- Sorry I assumed-”

Tony cuts him off once again. “No, no, I’d very much like that,” he smiles. It feels good to be on the receiving end this time.

They finish their respective beverages, then saunter (in Tony’s case) and stroll down the street in the chilly autumn air.

“Favorite color,” Tony shoots.

Steve doesn’t even blink. “Yellow.”

Tony turns. “Yellow?”

“It’s warm, and it makes people happy. Why not?” And wholesome, Tony adds mentally, like you.

“You?”

“Red. It’s flashy.”

“Of course it is.” 

When Steve shows up on Tony’s doorstep a few weeks later, red roses and two tickets to a robotics convention clutched in his hands, Tony thinks he might just be falling in love.

Of course, Tony has to one-up him. He’s competitive like that. So when Steve goes to the fire station to find daffodils and dandelions all over his office, he’s not even surprised. Flattered, maybe. Blushing, definitely.

They drag each other all over New York City; in the morning the sun shines through the buildings and Steve walks to keep pace with Tony instead of his usual jog. They eat suspicious street food in the shade of Grand Central and throw roasted nuts at each other in Times Square. At twilight, New York transforms into a peaceful maze of dark shadows and twinkling stars that shift amidst the purple hues of the night sky. And Steve and Tony hold hands in the silhouette of a street light. Before they know it, they’ve been dating for half a year. 

Steve wants to celebrate their sixth month anniversary. Which Tony would wholeheartedly approve of, if he didn’t want to celebrate it by taking Tony to “meet” Bucky.

When Tony complains about anniversaries being about the two of them, Steve tells him, “Bucky’s important to me, and I want you two to get along.” Tony can’t help but think it’s too late for that.

But then Steve continues, “Taking you to meet him is like meeting my parents, since my actual parents are-, they’re, um..”

At that point, Tony wholeheartedly agrees, if only to wipe the downtrodden look off Steve’s face. After pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead, he books a nice restaurant and tries not to let the sinking feeling in his stomach get the best of him.

During the aforementioned dinner, Tony begins to regret his moment of weakness. He just hates seeing Steve in distress. But now he’s beginning to think he’s the one in need of saving, as his steak tastes like ash in the awkward silence Steve keeps trying to fill. Bucky plays along, but Tony’s pretty sure he’s not having fun either. After a few minutes, Tony excuses himself and heads to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Maybe that’ll turn his social prowess on.

As he heads back, approaching their booth, a conversation drifts through the chatter. 

“-at do you think, Buck? I like him-”

Tony freezes. There’s a heavy pause, and Tony braces himself.

Bucky draws in a long breath of air. “He’s a good guy,” he finally admits, gruffly. “He’d do anything for you.”

“Thanks Bucky, that means a lot.” Steve is grinning ear to ear, smile brimming with happiness and relief. He seemed to know that dinner hadn’t been going well, too.

“Anyone with half a brain could see it, punk.”

Tony goes into shock.

When Steve leaves briefly to drive the car around, Tony feels the urge to fill the void of his absence. “Soo… it was nice what you said back there…”

Bucky's eyes widen. “You heard that? Of course you did.”

“I was just on the way back and I caught some snippets. But really, thank you, your approval means a lot to Steve, though I was under the impression you still hated me and-” And he’s rambling.

Bucky puts his head in his hands. “Shut up, Stark.”

“Oh thank god,” Tony says.

A year after their first date, Tony develops a prototype for an automated TSA robot, equipped with everything needed to ensure the safety of a flight. Metal detectors, x-rays, and pat-downs, the whole package. It even has eyes to make it vaguely humanoid, but Steve says Tony doesn’t really understand humans anyway. He has a point, but Tony understands children well enough, and adults were once all children. 

Color. Color will sell it.

Tony stands in his new workshop, stares at the steel-gray form, and then searches up “spray paint” on Google. He glances to the side, where a photo is framed on the wall. It’s of Steve, still in his firefighting garb, kissing Tony on the cheek at the station. Bucky had taken that picture, giving Tony a grudging nod, while the Howling Commandos cheered and the Avengers (namely Clint) started singing the Wedding March. Remembering the gifted flowers, the tenderness that ballooned in his chest at the sight of Steve beaming so happily, he smiles a bit.

Then Tony looks at the red of his suit on paper, sees the yellow of the bloom, and thinks, Now that’s an idea.

When newspapers blare headlines calling the assistant “Iron Man,” Tony can’t even be that annoyed (“Look, Steve, you’ve got to understand, it’s a nickel-titanium alloy-”). Because the moment Steve sees the colorful robot, he starts to cry. Tony fusses and flutters his hands uselessly, telling him, “If you hate it I can just set it on fire, just please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry, babe. Look, I’ll do it right now-”

“No,” Steve says. “I love it.” Tony stops.

“Really?” he asks tentatively. Steve nods, then sniffles.

“Sorry about that. It’s just so beautiful. And-and it represents so much, and it’s going to help so many people.” Tony’s breath catches. “I just-I can’t,” Steve stumbles. He takes a deep breath. “I just love you so much .”

It’s the first time Steve professes his love, and it’s the first time Tony forgets how to breathe, too, blood rushing and pounding in his ears. “I love you too,” he whispers, tasting the new words on his tongue.

Steve cradles Tony’s head with his hand, staring at him through eyelashes clumped with tears, then leans in to kiss him. 

And Tony doesn’t think too much after that.