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Sarah Inman didn't quite know what to do with Tony Stark. He was tiny, adorable as hell, and ten times as charming as he ought to be. He was also frighteningly smart, out performing her in math and talking knowledgeably (or so her half-remembered college class on the subject suggested) about physics. Tony was also shy, more than a little socially awkward, and on the whole very quiet.
He was also, happily, starting to talk and interact with other students more. When he'd first walked in her door in September, she might have been lucky to get two or three words out of him a week and he always sat by himself/ Sarah knew from whence that kind of silence came, but Tony was doing much better now, though, to the point that he was mostly willing to tell his group about his drawing.

"That's Natasha," Tony said, pointing at a well-drawn ginger woman in black, "She's kind of like my mom," he said with a shy but happy smile. "She's teaching me how to win at hide and seek."

"But she isn't?" little Larry Buttersworth said. "Where's your real mom?"

Tony shrugged uncomfortably but otherwise ignored the question, pointing instead at a man in all purple. "That's Clint, who plays hide and seek with me. He's teaching me to shoot a bow, too!"

"Oh man, that's so coooooool!" said Josie Felps. "Would you teach me, too?"

"Maybe, yeah," Tony said, blushing under the attention. "And that's Steve, Thor, Bruce, Son of Coul, and Loki. And the one with the eye patch is Fury."

"Is he a pirate?" Josie asked. "Because pirates only have one eye and everything."

Tony giggled. "No, Fury's not a pirate. I mean, he's got a ship, but it flies, too."

"He could he a sky pirate, then," Josie said logically.

"He could," Tony ceded. "But I don't think so. More like maybe he hunts pirates or something."

Sarah tried desperately not to snicker. "Tell us more about Steve and your family," she suggested, kneeling on the floor next to their table, smiling when Tony blushed again and looked away briefly.

"Steve is bribing me to eat my vegetables with drawing lessons and slide-rulers," Tony said, pointing at one of the tall blonde figures in the picture and Sarah was fighting her snickers again. "Thor and Loki," he gestures at the two tallest people, a brunet and a blond, "are - well, Thor, says he's gonna teach me how to be a mighty warrior and Loki's gonna teach me some other cool things, like runes and stuff.
"Bruce," a finger taps a purple-shirted man next to Natasha, "is reeeeeeeally smart and he's teaching me science things. He's also a giant green guy sometimes, named Hulk, and Hulk is really nice. I like him a lot. And Son of Coul - that's what Thor calls him, really his name is Phil, but Son of Coul is funnier so I call him that, too - is supposed to teach me how to shoot and herd cats. Oh!" Tony says, as if he'd made some unforgivable oversight, "I forgot Pepper and Darcy! I should draw them in! Pepper is awesome, she makes Fury do her bidding, and Darcy's almost my sister," Tony says as he reaches for crayons again. "She makes Son of Coul and Loki kind of crazy, she's really funny, and smart, too."

"You have a very interesting family," Sarah says with a smile. "I bet it gets a little insane at dinner time, huh?"

Tony nods at her, the picture of childish seriousness. "Very." He treats them to a particularly sweet smile, but one that is tinged with a little tragedy, too, and says, "I really like it here, though. It's happy."

Sarah nods at Tony and says, "Happy is good. Now, Josie, are you ready?"

"Sure!" Josie say, grinning widely at her classmates as she picks up her own drawing.

 

*


Sarah watches the way Tony races as fast as his five-year-old legs can take him up to a curly-haired man with glasses and can't help but smile when the man lets Tony hug his leg tight, retreating enough to kneel in front of Tony for a proper hug.
"How was your day, Tony?" he asks, looking down at the child and retrieving his backpack.

"Good, Bruce" Tony says, turning shy in the blink of an eye. "We worked on letters, which was boring because I already know them, but we read a pretty book about a hungry caterpillar and I got to draw for a while, too. And there was math." Tony sighs like he's in love.

"That sounds cool," the man named Bruce says. "What'd you draw?"

"Plans for a robot," Tony answers seriously.

Bruce looks amused. "Of course it would be robots."

Tony smiles at him and tugs on his hand. "Can we get ice cream on the way home?"

"Clint's making borscht tonight and you know how he feels when no one eats his cooking," Bruce says.

"He gets all sad, I know," Tony replies. "But maybe a baby cone? And I promise I'll eat dinner."

"Maybe," Bruce says. "Let's talk about it in the car."

"Tony?" Sarah calls, approaching the pair. "Do you want to take your picture from group home with you?"

"We'll take it," says Bruce, accepting the proffered paper. "Thanks."

Sarah smiles. "You're very welcome - it's a fine picture," she says to Tony as Bruce studies Tony's work. She notices him smiling at it out of the corner of her eye.

Tony peeks out at her from behind Bruce and smiles shyly. "Thank you."

"C'mon, kid," Bruce says, holding the picture carefully. "Let's get some ice cream and put this picture up on the fridge."

They walk away, arguing over whether or not to put it on the fridge (Tony's shyness expresses itself at home, too, evidently, since he doesn't want other people to see it), and Sarah turns her attention to the last of her kids as they're picked up by their parents.

Chapter Text

1.
"Steve," Pepper said, pushing a freshly made cup of coffee across the glass table to him. "I should tell you this. Tony's been hurt by a lot of people over the years. A lot of them. And while I like you a lot, I have been here to pick up the pieces every time and if," she said pleasantly before taking a sip of her own coffee, "I have to pick him up after you hurt him, I will personally make sure there's not even an investigation as to where you went. You'd just be gone. Poof," she said, smiling as if she wasn't threatening to disappear him and miming an explosion with her hand, "never to be heard from again."

Steve very suddenly understood why Fury feared Pepper Potts.

"Are we clear?" Pepper asked sweetly.

"Yes m'am," he said immediately.

"Good," Pepper said with a smile and a nod.


2.
"Colonel," Steve greeted as Jim Rhodes strode into the kitchen. It was quiet today, as all the others were either elsewhere or asleep. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, standing up from the table and pushing his coffee and paper away from the edge.

"No, thank you," Rhodes said, absently standing at ease and eying Steve steadily. "I just wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Oh?" Steve asked, cocking his hip against the table, "What about?"

"You and Tony," Rhodes said crisply.

Steve had a pretty good idea where this was going but he let it, refraining from telling Rhodes that Pepper had already threatened him.

"You're kind of my childhood hero, Captain, but," Rhodes said rather frankly, "if you break Tony's heart, I will destroy you."

"Consider me warned," Steve said evenly. Rhodes didn't make him want to quail like Pepper had, but he was certainly something to be taken seriously and Steve was willing to bet it wasn't an idle threat.

"I'm serious, Rogers," said the other man. "Dead serious. Tony has had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime or ten. I know you have, too, but believe me when I say you'd have the entire country on your side if you broke up with him. Tony would only have me, Pepper, and JARVIS. No one else."

And that was heartbreaking in and of itself, Steve thought. "I have no intention of hurting Tony."

"Everyone says that," Rhodes said coolly, his eyes narrowing a little. "Good intentions and all that. But I'm willing to believe you, at least for now."
With that, Rhodes turned on his heel and departed. Steve sighed and sat back down to finish his coffee.


3.
"Captain," JARVIS said pleasantly as ever while Steve wiped the sweat off his face. "I realize you have already had this speech from Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts, but I feel it needs to be re-iterated. Sir feels strong enough about you - has faith enough in your feelings for him - that he allowed himself to be drawn into a relationship. I can count the number of people he has allowed himself to have a relationship with on one metaphorical hand and still have fingers left over. Please do not break Sir's heart. He would recover his equilibrium in time, but I suspect he'd never try to have a relationship again."
JARVIS paused, the silence as pregnant as an AI could make it, and added, "I consider it my duty to look after his happiness as best I can and right now he is very happy. I will exercise the full extent of my abilities to deal with people who upset that."

What precisely that threat would entail, the AI left for Steve to conclude on his own. Steve nodded. "I will do my best not to hurt Tony."

"Very good, Captain," JARVIS said. "Would you like me to alert Sir that you've finished?"

"That would be appreciated," Steve said. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome," JARVIS said. "He has been alerted and wishes me to tell you that he'll meet you in the bedroom."

Steve flushed and smiled. He loved Tony enough not to be offended when he'd received those talks from Pepper, Rhodes, and JARVIS. He'd give them, too, if someone else where in his shoes.
Fortunately, Steve was in his own shoes and plenty happy to love Tony, possibly forever.

Chapter Text

"That was quite a show," Loki said, examining his hotdog and nudging a piece of errant relish back into the bun before finishing it off. "I don't think I've ever seen my brother run away from mice before."

Eris crossed her legs demurely on her pile of rubble and chuckled through her last mouthful of hot dog. "Mice singing loudly about Ragnarǫk," she reminded him once she'd swallowed. "We ought to do it more - prank him, that is. I don't think we've teamed up on him and a group of his friends in, oh, four hundred years or so? He's getting rusty."

"He is," Loki agreed. "And his Avengers are much more entertaining than Sif and the Warriors Three, I must say."

"I don't know," Eris said idly, reaching for the bag of chips she had tucked in Loki's pocket. "Sif's reaction to the chimpanzees was worth every bit of grief our fathers gave us."

"Do I need to remind you of those two men in the bowling alley?" he asked her, stealing the bag back and opening it. "I can, if you wish. You woke me up to tell me about it, after all."

Eris ceded the point with a nod. "I did make it up to you," she said as she reached for chips, "but true. And I think the good people of SHIELD would be funny targets."

"Especially Coulson," Loki said, his smirk wolfish. "Or their director, Fury."

"Is that really his name?" Eris asked with a laugh. When Loki nodded, she grinned. "Pineal gland."

"You plan to talk to him?" Loki said, a smile curling the corner of his mouth

"Eventually," Eris said between chips. "I should probably pump someone for information on him first, though."

"Know your target," Loki said wisely, digging into the bag himself.

"Indeed," Eris agreed, choosing to let the fact that Loki was not always so wise about that very thing go unmentioned. "Now, you've met them? Tell me what you know."

"Well," Loki started. "Fury is--"

Eris's laughter rang out and plotting began. Eris and Loki expected to get months of entertainment out of this.

Chapter Text

Tony idly pet Loki's side, appreciating the dip in his waist and the rise of his hips and the feel of his full breasts pressed against Tony's ribs, pausing when Loki shifted against his shoulder and grumbled in his sleep. For an ice giant, Tony thought, he was very warm and soft. Not that this was something to complain about, for all that Tony appreciated Loki's other forms, too. Tony was interested in every shape he'd ever seen Loki wear, right down to what Loki referred to a little bitterly as his natural form, the Jotun's ice blue skin and red eyes.

Of course, the one advantage Loki's female form had over the others was that Loki was willing to let his hair curl like it wanted to in any shape. And good god, did Tony love curly hair. It was up there with a nice ass and intelligence in terms of what grabbed and kept his attention. Loki had curly, wavy black hair that Tony liked to run his hands through which Loki seemed to like for all that he denied it. Tony suspected that it was the only reason Loki ever kept the (glorious) curls when he wore the female form, since he apparently hated them. Tony had never been able to figure out why. They made it even more difficult not to stare at Loki every chance he got, but Tony couldn't quite figure out what other problems they might cause.

Loki gradually shifted into wakefulness, opening his eyes with a sigh that ghosted across Tony's skin. He didn't stop petting Loki's side and bit back a smile when Loki stilled his hand, intertwining their fingers. With a swift roll, Loki was on top of him, pinning the hand he held above Tony's head.

"Good morning," Tony said with amusement, sighing contentedly as Loki's long hair fell around his face, curtaining them off from the rest of the world.

Loki didn't reply, choosing to kiss him instead and letting Tony push his free hand through Loki's curls to pet his scalp. "You and my hair," Loki grumbled halfheartedly when he pulled away, peering at him with a mixture of suspicion and sleepy irritation.

"It's pretty and hot," Tony said, wondering if he could get away with dragging Loki down for another kiss and possibly sex. Sometimes Loki woke up in an incredibly prickly mood and it was best to let him run the show until his mood was better. "I like it."

Rolling his eyes, Loki leaned in to kiss him again. "It makes me look less like myself, Tony," Loki said when he pulled away. "That's the only reason I keep it."

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay. I'm allowed to like it anyway. It's hot as hell and makes me want to fuck you even more than usual. Which is saying something, since I want that all the time."

From long acquaintance, Tony knew the look on Loki's face meant he was about to say something self-deprecating that Tony would hate to hear, so Tony leaned up and kissed him into silence instead.

"You're terrible," Loki said when they parted for air, resting his forehead on Tony's.

"This is not news," Tony said. "You knew that when we got started."

Loki hummed in agreement. "I did. But I never said I regretted it."

"Good," said Tony and kissed him again.

Chapter Text

Darcy rolled over and sighed, wearily rolling toward the edge of the bed.

"No, no, I'll get him," Steve said just loudly enough to be heard over the wails and barking coughs, getting up to see to their son.

"You got him last time," Darcy replied, pushing her hair out of her face and blinking at him sleepily as she sat up.

"You've got a meeting in the morning," he reminded her as he scooped Joseph out of his bassinet.

She stared at him for a brief moment before she sighed an, "Okay," and flopped back into bed.

Steve smiled at the ease at which he'd persuaded her to let him take over. Rocking Joe gently, he said, "C'mon, buddy, let's let your mommy sleep." Easing open the bedroom door, he made his way to the hall family room and settled in the old rocking chair he'd found at a yard sale when they'd discovered Darcy was pregnant. It was an antique, almost as old as Steve was, and Joe seemed to like it, since he always calmed when he was rocked in it. And Joe did just that, his wailing trailing off and his coughing easing to softer, less frequent fits in Steve's arms.

"Yeah, I think you got my immune system, kid," Steve murmured softly. "You get sick so often." He sighed. He'd been worried about that when they'd discovered they were expecting. The serum's magic couldn't be passed on and Steve had had such a bad time of it before.
His mother in law had attempted to soothe him, saying, "The Lewis immune system is gold. Darcy hardly ever got sick as a kid - so don't worry about it. He'll be fine."

No such luck, Steve thought guiltily as Joe wheezed in his arms. Joe wouldn't have near as bad of time of it as he had, of course - SHEILD insurance was top notch and medical care these days was light years ahead of the 20s - but Steve was still foreseeing many missed days of school and skipped field trips and they'd have to get his allergies tested, too. Good god, Steve had been allergic to everything and he could only hope Joe had inherited Darcy's almost total lack of allergies. That would be something at least, he thought as he idly stroked his son's back.
Joe clutched Steve's shirt and blinked slowly, sleep starting to creep back over him as he nuzzled at the ratty old cloth. The baby sighed, coughed briefly, and dozed off in Steve's arms. Steve smiled crookedly and stroked the line of one feathery brown brow, settling back to rock with his son for a little while to make sure he was good and asleep when they finally went back to bed.

Chapter Text

"This seems like such a long time," Thor said worriedly. "In Asgard, a birth only takes an hour, perhaps two at most, to complete. And she keeps yelling. Jane does not ever yell, except in the throes of passion."

"It's been twenty hours," Natasha said, leaning against the soda machine in the lobby of the maternity ward. "That's a little long from what I understand, but it's her first child, after all. No need to worry."

"Yeah," Clint added, grinning a little wolfishly and lurking on the machine above Natasha's head. "My mom was in labor with me for like almost three days and I was her second child. So relax, man."

"Three days? My Jane will be child labor for three days?" Thor asked, horrified.

Natasha glared up at Clint and he moved his feet out of easy stabbing range; if she was going to kill him, it should take effort. "Probably not," she said to Thor, not looking away from Clint.

"But maybe," Clint said, since he had no sense of self-preservation. "It could happen, you know." He scooted away from the side Natasha was leaning on. "Gotta be realistic about these things."

There was a great yell from the delivery room and Thor scurried to Jane's side.

"If you let my Jane blee--!" Thor's bellow was abruptly cut off with a yelp and the squall of a newborn.

Natasha relaxed a little, leaning back against the soda machine. "You are never allowed to talk during my labor if, god forbid, we ever have kids."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," he said, trying to imagine what a little person made of them would look like as he leaned over the edge to look at her. "Your mother would eat me alive before you even started showing if I knocked you up."

"Nonsense," she said. "She loves you. She'd force-feed you borscht and demand the child be named after her."

"She tried to gut me the last time we saw her, Tasha."

"I think it's how she determines whether or not someone is fit to join the family," Natasha said mildly. "If you survive a couple attempted eviscerations, you're probably strong and smart enough for her to consider you worthy of contributing to the gene pool. At least she seemed to warm up to you and Sveta when you two disarmed the booby traps my mother left."

"Your family," Clint said, "is insane."

"True," she agreed idly. "But what do you want? We're a family of spies. I suspect crazy came with the Welcome-to-the-KGB orientation package."

"Friends!" Thor interrupted, grinning brightly like the new father he was. "The child is a girl! We shall call her Anna Frigga Thorsdottir!"

"Thor!" Jane hollered from her room. "We have NOT discussed a surname yet! Get back here!"

"Jane," Thor turned and headed back toward the delivery room, saying (in what he probably thought was a reasonable tone), "that is how it is done on Asgard."

"This isn't Asgard, Thor," Jane replied firmly. "This is Earth - this is Midgard."

"And you do things differently here, yes," Thor said, as if this were a discussion they'd rehashed many times over.

Ignoring the other couple's conversation, Clint looked back down at Natasha. "If we spawn, they can have your surname, no questions asked."

She chuckled. "Noted."

Chapter Text

"So," Clint says, fidgeting as much as he is able with Natasha leaning against him contentedly, "who's gonna tell your mother?"

She opens her eyes and glowers at him a little, like an annoyed cat. "She's not going to hurt you."

"You say that," he says dryly, "but I keep remembering shrapnel bombs outside the bedroom door in Moscow."

"Please," she scoffs. "You deal with worse on a daily basis."

"Yes," he agrees, "but not from my girlfriend's mother. Before I met her, I sort of assumed she'd be a tiny, sweet old lady who would ply me with cookies."

Natasha arches an eyebrow. "What on earth gave you that impression? Where do you think I got it from?"

"I had no idea," Clint says. "I thought it better not to ask. But seriously, your mother terrifies me."

Natasha scoffs at him again and adds, "She's going to want us to get married. Preferably there."

"I saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding," he informs her. "I know Eastern Orthodox churches are different -- or at least I assume they are -- but no, please. If you want us to get married that's okay, but can't we do, I don't know, a courthouse wedding or something?"

"Do you really want to face off with her over this?" Natasha asks. "You're too scared to even tell her we're having a baby. She'll go toe-to-toe with you over a wedding, I promise."

Clint harrumphs and wraps an arm around her waist. "Fine, whatever. But you tell her?"

He can't exactly see it, but he can almost feel her rolling her eyes. "Fine, whatever," she replies sarcastically. "Wuss."

"Your mother," he says, "is going to rip off my balls."

"No, she isn't. She's going to coo excitedly in Ukrainian and tell me how happy she is that I'm settling down with that nice American boy. And then Mother will threaten your balls if you break her baby's heart."

Clint winces. "Your brothers already threatened me. Repeatedly."

"I know," she says. "But my mother can still kick their asses with one hand tied behind her back. Her threats carry more weight."

"And you wonder why she scares me," Clint replies dryly. "She's a tiny old Ukrainian lady who can whip big burly ex-KGB agents, who are in their prime, without breaking a sweat."

"Hmm, well," Natasha says, "maybe take comfort that I will be the same way someday? And I promise to threaten our kid's partner like she does."

"Gotta share the insan---love, that is," Clint says.

She swats at him with a growl and reaches for her phone.

Chapter Text

"Tails!" Steve smiled. "What's it for?"

Tony grinned and leaned forward. "You'll see," he said and stole a kiss. "Happy New Year, Steve."




"All right, JARVIS," Tony said as he clambered down the stairs to the workshop, leaving a flabbergasted Steve behind amongst the guests, "engage program Luthor-alpha-five-oh-oh-seven, over ride beta-tango-two-eight-three-roger-dingo. Start transferring stuff back to Malibu ASAP."

"Are you certain this is wise?" JARVIS fretted.

"Nope." Tony shrugged. "But the coin came up tails, so I'm gonna get my Lex Luthor on this year."


Six months later
"Tony, please!" Steve pleaded from where he was chained. "Why are you doing this?"

Tony looked up from carefully breaking Clint's fingers. "Because that's how the coin fell this year, Cap."

"I don't understand!"

Tony snapped the second pinkie. "I'd be surprised if you did," he said over Clint's pained, gusty gasps. He stood and looked at the rest of his former teammates. It was probably best to kill them, his emotional attachments aside. It was simpler that way, and it's not like he really had to worry about neat disposal of the bodies. The ocean was right outside.

"But you kissed me!"

"Uh huh," Tony agreed, standing up. "I did. The New Year's kiss is traditional. Didn't want you to be lonely in the coming year." Lasers were quickest, he decided. He dragged the still unconscious Natasha to a handy grate out of the others' line of sight and sliced off her head before methodically working his way through the others.

Steve he saved for last.
"I can't believe you!" he cried, tears streaming down his face.

"That's not really my concern," Tony said, yanking hard when Steve's chains caught in the grate.

"Bruce is coming - he'll get you!" Steve was crying in earnest now.

"I'm fully aware he's the cavalry," Tony said. He'd had a plan to deal with the Hulk for months now, just waiting to be put in action. "You should probably not struggle, Steve," he said, attempting to arrange Steve's body to his liking. "Unless you want a messy death, anyway." Tony powered up his laser again and went to work.

Chapter Text

Tony leaned over Steve's shoulder curiously to see what Steve was looking at outside the tower window. "Ah," Tony said, apparently recognizing the small, sign-waving group below. "It's probably best not to take them seriously," he said, turning his head to look at Steve and patting his hip absently. "They do a lot of this for attention."

"And who are they, exactly?" Steve asked, twinning his fingers with Tony's.

His partner shrugged. "The Westboro Baptist Church - a bunch of nutballs from Kansas. Pretty much the entire country hates them."

"Why?" Steve asked curiously, leaning forward to get a better look.

"They hate everyone who isn't one of them, basically," Tony answered. "But especially homosexuals - just about everything else they protest, they link back to gay people. The military, the Church, et cetera. Everything but the Jews, really. The Jews are their other scapegoat."

Steve frowned and disentangled their hands. "JARVIS, can you pull up some closer footage for me please?"

"Certainly, Captain," JARVIS replied as video appeared on the glass next to Steve.

"You'll regret this," Tony warned him, stroking his hip with a thumb before leaning back. "Seriously, deeply, you're-gonna-hate-everything-forever regret this." As Steve drag-and-dropped the image in front of him, Tony sighed and said, "I warned you."

"Consider me warned, Tony," Steve said. He was fully capable of determining what he was could to deal with, thanks, and it irritated him when others thought he couldn't.

"All right, all right," Tony said, moving around Steve to lean lightly against the glass next to him. "If you want to fuck your anger out and-or stick it to them with hours of  sex, I'll be in my workshop."

Steve grunted in reply and settled in to examine the video, ignoring Tony's retreating steps.

"Would you like me to blow up the image, Captain?" JARVIS asked as Steve scrolled around the video, his frown deepening as he went. Lots of "God hates Fags" signs, which made Steve's heart clench and his belly drop for a moment. He understood the power of reclaiming the word and he wasn't ashamed of his relationship with Tony (anymore; it had taken him quite a while to get there but gotten there he had), but it still hurt on a visceral level. 'Fag' carried memories of dark alleys, fists, and slurs that Steve would much rather forget.

"Yes please," he said, removing his hand from the pane as it enlarged. He got why Tony had warned him away now, although he was determined to learn about it anyway. There were also, he discovered, signs that proclaimed 'Pagan Gods are Satan's Fags', 'Avengers = FAGS', 'Thank God for Dead New Yorkers', and other things. "JARVIS," he added, "please do a search on them for me. I want to know their history."

"Are you certain?" JARVIS asked, even as he pulled up a Google page next to Steve's video feed.

"Very," Steve said and started reading.




"Tony," Steve said, his hands stuffed in his pockets and looking both a little on edge and like he wouldn't be swayed. "Would you come with me outside the tower, please?"

Tony put down his wrench. "Why?" he asked, reaching for a rag to wipe the grease off his hands.

"Because there's a counter protest I think we should go to."

Tony smiled. "I see. And what will we be doing there? Giving them our blessing?"

"Sort of," Steve ceded. "Mostly I want to thank them for their support."

"Am I moral support, then?" Tony said with amusement.


"Maybe a little, but I was also thinking maybe we could come out now? I know you've been wanting to," Steve said with a too-casual shrug.

Tony paused and put down the rag. "If you want to," he said carefully, "then I'm fine with that. But it's going to be ugly, Steve. I'm pretty much immune to everything people can say about me now, but I know you're still a little tender on the gay thing. We don't have to do this -- ever -- if you don't want to."

"I'm not going to let bullies - past or present - stop me from doing things," Steve said firmly. "I do want to acknowledge our relationship and maybe they're just the impetus I need."

"Are you sure? Because you can't take these things back, Steve," Tony said, crossing the distance between them in a few steps. "You need to be completely sure this is what you want to do, especially since you'll be doing it in front of people who are going scream at you like it's the Forties again if we come out." He bit his lip briefly and added, "And while they'll be just about the worst, they won't be the last."

Steve let out a carefully controlled breath and reached for Tony's hand. "I - I want to. I won't deny I'm nervous and I might actually make myself sick with nerves afterward, but I think we should."

"All right, if you're sure," Tony said. "Let me go wash my hands and we can go." He disentangled their hands and scooted over to the sink, leaving Steve to lean against the nearest bench. "And Steve," Tony called as he turned on the water and reached for the soap, "I won't be hurt if you choose not to at the last minute. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it when you're comfortable."

Steve chuckled. If that was a pre-requisite, then they might never do it; this was possibly about as close as he would ever get to comfortable. "Noted," he said, his belly churning with nerves.

 

*


They found the others mingling with the counter-protesters, which by the time they got there, was one part mocking the WBC protesters and one part loitering. Natasha and Coulson were talking to a couple in Russian, while Thor and Bruce seemed to be playing some kind of word game with several teenagers and twenty-somethings. Clint had taken up residence on a window sill and was just surveying the crowd. He arched an eyebrow at Steve and Tony when he noticed Steve clutching Tony's hand. It was fairly subtle, something Tony normally was not willing to be in public, but unmistakable.

Tony led Steve over to where Bruce and Thor were doing their thing (flyting, Steve would later find out, was something Thor was very good at, to the unabashed glee of the kids he was 'freestyling' with), quietly waiting for people to take notice. and notice they did. Steve's heart sped up as he heard people talking about it and Tony squeezed his hand reassuringly. Steve had no doubt there were about a dozen phone cameras trained on them right now and that there would be more soon, so he pulled up the Captain America mask. Steve didn't he could afford to show weakness here.

"So, uh, is that what I think it is?" a woman asked, eying their joined hands and smiling.

Tony looked to Steve for an answer. "Yeah, yeah it is," Steve said, taking strength in her warm expression and Tony's solid presence at his side.

"That's very sweet," she said.

"Thank you," Tony said, speaking for the both of them.

Others began to crowd around them for a look. Mostly, there were smiles and congratulations, although much to Steve's confusion there was an occasional fist pump of victory.

And then, of course, the WBC people became aware of it and it went down exactly as Tony said it would, with screamed slurs and accusations that the Avengers (and Steve and Tony in particular) of dooming the nation. Steve felt nauseous and Tony gave him a sympathetic look, scooting closer. Steve wondered if he was shaking a little, maybe. Enough that Tony would notice, if no one else.
Thor growled, a low rumble that seemed to echo, and he made his way through the crowd to tower regally over the WBC people. Steve was rather strongly reminded that Thor was, if nothing else, a powerful alien prince. He cocked his head slightly in a way Steve hadn't him do before, and asked in the kind of voice that cut across the din of battle fields, "Which of you is Yeshua?"

The protesters quieted for a moment before one of them, an older man, puffed himself up like an angry cat and stalked up to Thor. "How dare you, a demon, sully the name of our lord!"

"Which of you," Thor repeated slowly, his voice echoing that growl again, "is Yeshua? For I do not see him here."

"And what would you know about the lord?" the man demanded, leaning forward.

"As I have actually met him, I suspect I know Yeshua better than you do, Midgardian," Thor said coolly, scornful in the face of the man's aggression. "And he would not appreciate you speaking for him, especially when you are wrong. How dare you put words in his mouth, particularly to shame the warriors who fight for you?" he demanded, drawn up to his full, towering height and looking down his nose at the WBC man.

A young woman, who had moved to stand at Thor's side, crossed her arms to glare at the protesters. "And unless you follow everything in Leviticus, you should probably shut up about it."

That seemed to galvanize the counter protest again, people swarming to stand at Thor's side and chorusing their agreement. Tony lead Steve and Bruce to the crowd, navigating their way to Thor. Steve lingered just behind Thor and Tony, still clutching his partner's hand. He startled a little when Natasha pushed her way to stand at his side and Clint ended up at his back.

Tony looked back at Steve and Steve smiled at him. This was only the beginning of a long road now that they had come out, but it would be something warm to think about when it got bad. There were slurs, yes, and they'd have to be a bit careful in their daily lives, but they had defenders and allies, too. And that was something that amazed the scrawny kid from Brooklyn.

Chapter Text

"Y'know," Tony said as he bracketed Steve against the counters with his arms and pressed up against Steve's back. "This is not quite how I pictured things when I imagined domesticity with you."

Steve asked, "You were imagining that?" He cocked a politely skeptical eyebrow over his shoulder at Tony.

"Mmm, well, between you and Pep and this long-term triad thing we're doing, I couldn't avoid it. And, really, the idea kind of grew on me." Tony leaned up to nose at the short hairs behind Steve's ear. "I'm not complaining that it's different than I imagined, by the way. I like that it's you making cookies in an apron ," he said and tugged on Steve's apron ties, "and Pepper's clothes all over the floor. I always thought she's be a neat freak." He looked up at Steve, resting his chin awkwardly in Steve's bicep. "I kind of like it a lot."

Turning around, Steve slouched down a bit against the counters, bringing himself level with Tony's face and he kissed Tony chastely. "Me, too, although this is pretty much exactly what I imagined, right down to Pepper's clothes. And hello, how was the meeting our lovely lady made you go to?" he asked, toying with Tony's tie.

"Boring as hell and my presence was utterly unnecessary. She promised me a few things in return for good behavior, though -- want in?" Tony arched an inquiring eyebrow and his smile verged on a smirk.

"Of course," Steve said. "How often do I turn down sex, Tony?"

"Never," Tony said. "But an invite never goes amiss."

"True," Steve agreed.


They settled down into what has become their sans-Pepper evening routine. Tony changed out of his work clothes and chopped the vegetables necessary for the team's dinner (and was promptly chased to the other side of the counter afterward, because he Was Not Allowed To Help) and they shot the breeze while Steve sautéed Tony's handiwork.

"Did you buy the wedding present for Kyle and Jean-Paul yet?" Steve asked as he layered the lasagna with cheese and sauce heavily laden with the sautéed vegetables.

"Yep." Tony nodded distractedly. Steve made amazing, blow-job-worthy lasagna and Tony's mouth was watering already. "It'll be here a week before the ceremony, too, don't worry."

"Good," Steve said, reaching for more cheese, and adding, "I wish we could get married, too."

He looked a little wistful and Tony hated when Steve looked wistful. It made him feel like he was failing the guy as his partner. "I'm sure the universal unitarians, or someone anyway, would be cool with marrying us," Tony offered, nevertheless having a little trouble with the idea that he was talking marriage at all, much less about marrying two (really, really amazing) people simultaneously.
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Steve was a studly June Cleaver, after all, and June herself had probably been all over the idea of marriage, too.

"Legally, I mean," Steve said. "Not just...socially, I guess?"

"Oh," Tony said. "That would be nice, yeah." He suspected Steve's tux would be the only white attire in the wedding party, and that he would think that this was right and proper despite the fact that he had been quite enthusiastic about the process that removed all the traditional reasons anyone wore white at their wedding. "Pepper could be the country's first practitioner of legal polyandry."

"And she does like to be first," Steve said with a smile as he put the lasagna pans in the oven.

"Mhm," Tony said, eying Steve's ass as he bent over. "Now, c'mere and let me debauch you while JARVIS watches dinner."

Tony liked to do this to Steve. Partly because watching him debate with himself whether or not he should abandon cooking for sex was hilarious and also because, to Tony's surprise, Steve in househusband-mode made him (and Pepper) want to tear Steve's clothes off and push him up against the nearest wall. The first time Steve had cooked for them, Tony and Pepper had barely waited until the plates were in the sink before dragging Steve to the nearest empty room and tag-teaming him. It was still one of Tony's favorite masturbation fantasies, saved for when he couldn't be home.

"All right," Steve said and pulled off his apron. "But let's keep it short."

"A quickie coming right up, then," Tony said. There would be later for a long roll in the sack. And better yet, later would have Pepper. "Upstairs or a bathroom?"

"Don't be crude," Steve said and threw the apron at Tony. "Upstairs like polite people and hang that up, please."

Tony did as he was bid and they made their way to the elevator that would take them the two floors up it was to their floor. Where they would order JARVIS to polarize the windows and Tony would push Steve into a chair (or onto a table, if need be) and suck his brain out through his dick.
Of course, that all went to hell when Pepper turned out to be in the elevator going up, too. Pepper changed everything.

"Why hello," she greeted, arching an eyebrow.

It was almost certainly obvious why they were going upstairs. "Steve made lasagna," Tony said, clutching Steve's hand and barely resisting the urge the bounce with glee.

"Oh," she said, now looking like she was all in favor of Tony's general plan. "Yes. Let's go," she said and backed up so they could join her.

Steve looked mildly embarrassed as a grinning Tony ushered him into the elevator. "It's just food."

"It's your food," Pepper said as the door closed behind them. Because that really did explain everything, so far as she and Tony were concerned. "You were cooking. And you know how we feel about that."

"Bruce cooks, too," Steve pointed out, flushing when Pepper ran her hand up his shirt, "and you don't seem to want to have sex with him for it."

"Are you complaining?" Tony asked as he slipped a hand into Steve's back pocket. When Steve shook his head, Tony added, "Bruce doesn't trip the domesticity kink you're entirely responsible for."

"That," Pepper agreed and pointed at Tony, leaning into Steve's side. "Exactly that."

The elevator dinged open and they herded Steve, in groping fits and kissing starts, to the couch nearest the door.

"JARVIS," Pepper said as she pulled off the last of her clothing and Tony already had Steve moaning, "please have someone else pull dinner out when it's ready."

Tony would have grinned if he didn't have Steve's cock in his mouth at JARVIS's half-resigned, half-amused, "Of course, Ms. Potts."

 

 

 

 

Later, when Steve was coherent enough to remember he had been cooking before this, he made Tony fetch them dinner ("It's your fault we're up here instead of down there," he had pointed out, rubbing along Tony's spine. Which was not at all helpful to Steve's cause at all and had only resulted in him melting into Steve more. But when Pepper reached over Steve's chest to poke his ribs and say, "food" demandingly, Tony had levered himself away Steve's magic fingers to comply).
When Tony entered the kitchen, Bruce cocked an eyebrow at his wild hair and I-just-got-laid saunter.

"You three," he said, mostly amused as he cut himself another helping.

Tony smirked and adjusted the collar of Steve's shirt, settling the shoulders where they belonged. "More like Pepper and me. Steve's just helpless in the face of our wiles."

"Oh god, don't share any further. No TMI this time, ok?" Clint said as he appeared with an empty bowl and dropped it in the sink. "Bruce put you guys' pan in the oven, by the way."

"Thanks," Tony said with a smirky grin as he nodded to Bruce. "We appreciate it."

"I appreciate Steve doing most of the cooking," Bruce said. "It's the least I can do."

"Especially when he makes lasagna." Clint sighed and leaned contentedly against the counter.

"Oh, Pep and I feel the exact same way." Tony said, dumping about half the container of parmasean on Steve's plate. "Be thankful for soundproofing between floors, okay?" he added as he balanced the plates and ferried them away.

"You're a terrible person," Clint said over Bruce's sigh.

"It could be worse," Tony pointed out. "I'm going to leave it to your imaginations what we were doing before we had other people in the Tower. Besides Bruce that is."

"I learned to ask JARVIS where they were and whether they were, uh, occupied any time I left the workshop," Bruce said. "So yeah. Yeah it could be."

"Oh man," Clint muttered.

"I regret nothing!" Tony called over his shoulder. Dogpatch, their floor's robot would take the plates down after dinner and then, no doubt, Tony could persuade Pep to make good on her promises and he was willing to bet serious money that Steve would be on board one hundred per cent. Tony rather liked it when he was the center of attention and he grinned as he made his way back to the elevator.

Chapter Text

There was a little flash of something in Stark's eyes Steve didn't have time to read, and then he smiled, saccharine sweet and mocking. "Take away with suit and I'm still the man who, while seriously injured and wired up to a car battery, launched a technological revolution," he tapped he blue light glowing through his shirt meaningfully, "in an Afghan cave without access to even a fraction of my usual resources. That's who I am without the suit, Rogers. I'm the guy who, stripped bare and with his spine flat against the wall, changed the fucking world." Stark arched an eyebrow and tilted his head challengingly. "Does that answer your question or do I need to elaborate further?"

The room quieted and Steve didn't quite know how to go from there.

Chapter Text

"So," Tony said, wrinkling his nose. "You two. Siblings. Married."

"Yes," Thor agreed, looking unhappily at Loki.

"Awkward," Tony said. "But very royal."

Loki gave Tony a scathing look. "Maybe amongst you Midgardians. Neither Jotuns or Aesir marry their siblings, no matter their status."

"Then why have you two tied the knot?"

While Thor looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what that metaphor meant, Loki said, "We are siblings only in name." Loki's face screwed up in disgust. "I am a Jotun."

"We were raised together," Thor said, patting his sister and wife's shoulder. "We can only see each other as family. And cease that," he added to Loki. "Your heritage is no matter, sister."

Loki grumbled at him, looking peevish, and they engaged in a brief staring match.

"You've got the old married couple bickering down pat," Tony muttered. Both Asgardians glared at him and he gave them a sunny smile. "Have you produced an heir yet?"

"No," Loki said. "Neither of us can bring ourselves to consummate the marriage."

"Although our respective fathers want us to," Thor added. "We have resisted the pressure thus far."

"You want help with the situation? I can help you with it," Tony said. When Loki looked at him suspiciously and Thor perked up, he said, "I can totally buy you guys a turkey baster. Thor jerks off, siphons up his spooge, and Loki--" Tony mimed squishing the bulb at the end, "inside herself. Voilà! Heir produced without resorting to incest!"

"What," Loki asked, looking both a little baffled and a little horrified, "is a turkey baster?"

"Indeed, I must echo my sister's question. What is it? Do Midgardians usually use it to impregnate their women?"

"Oh no," Tony said. "Most of us are happy to bump uglies when it comes to makin' babies. JARVIS, bring up a picture of a turkey baster."

Loki studied the image and hummed. "I see. Thor?"

Thor nodded. "We accept your offer, Anthony."

Tony grinned. He hadn't been serious, but hey, if it meant there was no sibling fucking going on under his roof, then he was all for buying them one.

Chapter Text

1.
"Okaaaay," Clint said. "Who's been letting you listen to pop lately?"

Thor looked up at him with great big eyes. "'Pop'? What is 'pop'? And I have merely been listening to music with Steven."

Clint facepalmed. Oh man. "'Tap that ass' does not mean firmly patting a donkey. It means having sex with someone, usually casually."

"Ah," said Thor with his usual solemn nod.


2.
"'Hookers and blow' does not, let me repeat not involve fisherman and - and air, or whatever you think it is."

"But what else could it be?"

Clint sighed. "Women - wenches? Of negotiable affection, and drugs - you've got those there in Asgard, don't you?"

"Oh," said Thor, light dawning in his eyes. "Whores and muscaria. Yes, we have those."

"Oh good," Clint said dryly.


3.
"Yo-low," Thor said curiously. "What is that?"

"An acronym," Tony answered. "It's short for 'you only live once'."

Thor hummed, tapping his mustache with idle fingers as he considered this. "Yo-low," he said again, smiling delightedly. "I like this."


4.
"Steven," Thor asked between sparring rounds. "What does it mean 'to get to third base'? I suspect it might mean to have intercourse with a woman, but I am uncertain."

Steve nearly choked on his water before he started laughing.


5.
"Anthony," Thor said, looming over the counter and looking distressed. "The ode by Lady Gaga confuses me greatly. What does 'I want to take a ride on your disco stick' mean?"

Tony bit his lip to try to contain his laughter and put down his coffee cup. "It means she wants to, ah, have sex with a guy. With her on top, riding his cock. And knowing Lady Gaga like I do, she probably means as hard and fast as she can out on the dancefloor." Tony grinned and added, "I can demonstrate for you with Steve, if you want. At length and repeatedly."

Thor looked intrigued. "I might take you up on that."

Chapter Text

Steve never meant to stop going to mass. It just sort of happened; between trying to scrape a living and then going to war he'd never had time to go to mass like a good Catholic ought. And then after he'd woken up, he'd been too angry to do much but destroy punching bags; going to mass while angry made him impatient and that wasn't really a good thing. So he stayed away.
But by Christmas, he'd found his feet enough that going to mass sounded (finally) like a good idea.



Steve had always liked the Fransiscans best, so when he was on the hunt for a good church, he looked them up and was pleased to discover there was one of theirs relatively nearby. The church was beautiful in an austere sort of way, cavernous and elegant with clean lines in wood and white plaster. When he'd come for Confession, he hadn't had a chance to check out the nave, but he was happy to discover that the oak pews were surprisingly comfortable. The kneeler looked pretty cushy, too.

But when mass started, Steve was annoyed to find that it was another that that had changed in the years he'd been under the ice (mass was supposed to be in Latin. It had worked for about a millinium and a half or more, so he didn't understand why anyone had felt the need to mess with it). Nevertheless, enough of the ritual was the same that he still found it soothing, the stand-sit-kneel routine was familiar and some of the songs were still in Latin. And he liked that the Apostles' Creed, though in English now, was still repeated in chorus.



At about the halway mark, Steve heard a scuffle break out in the back of the church and he paused in his prayer to peek over his shoulder. There were a pair of nuns hissing at each other and pushing. Steve frowned. He didn't think the Church had changed enough to allow that, but he'd also never thought it would change enough to allow mass to be done in local languages. He sighed and shifted on his knees, settling back into prayer when an usher made her way back to the troublesome pair.

The two were getting loud as the usher escorted them out and Steve looked over at them as the prayer ended and the congregation sat back in the pews again. His eyes widened when the habit was pulled off of one by the other and it was Clint. He pressed his palm to his face for a moment and sighed. When he dared to look up again, the habit had been yanked off the other nun, who was revealed to be Natasha.

What on Earth were they doing here? he wondered as he got up to help the usher kick his teammates out. Were they following him? Steve was going to have some words with Fury if that was the case.


"Excuse me," he said softly to the usher struggling to push Clint out the door into the lobby area. "I'll take care of them," he said when she looked up at him. "I'm really sorry. They're with me."

Clint flashed Steve a nervous smile, clinging to the edge of the door while the girl tried to push him out. Natasha pursed her lips briefly when she caught sight of him and fled on silent feet.
Steve turned his eyes to Clint and arched an eyebrow at him as the usher stopped trying to kick out the archer. Once she retreated, Steve took a step forward to finish the job but Clint fled, stopping just long enough to dip his fingers in the holy water by the door and crossing himself as he threw the door open, escaping into the night.

Standing at the first door, Steve glanced over his shoulder to find the entire congregation and the priest, deacon, and choir all watching him avidly and he shook his head. No point in trying to finish mass tonight, he thought, adjusting his tie before heading back to his seat long enough to snag his coat.


On his way back to his apartment, he texted Coulson: Just kicked Clint and Natasha out of my church mid-mass. They were dressed as nuns. SHIELD's idea? If so, we need to talk.

Coulson responded, as ever, with blazing speed. Not SHIELD's idea. Normal people don't become assassins. Will add it to their Never Again list, though

They have one of those? Can I get a copy?

Sure. Coulson replied, the text coming with an attachment.

Steve sent his thanks and read the list as he sat in the back of a cab, more and more amused as the list went on.
34. Clint and Natasha are not allowed to impersonate members of the clergy ever again. Ever. Steve nodded with satisfaction. Good. Maybe he'd make Clint help him find a new church later.

Chapter Text

The sharp wolf whistle behind her made Natasha wince internally. Resisting the urge to hurt someone, she put her coat back on the hat rack and dropped her purse on the end table. As she turned around, Natasha found Tony sauntering up and leering at her. "I like that dress."

She allowed her eyes to narrow. "Shut up."

"I was just trying to say you look nice!" Tony said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

Natasha found it kind of satisfying that he recognized her prowess, even when he was being piggish. "You were catcalling me," she corrected, arms akimbo. "Don't. It's creepy and threatening and women don't actually like it."

Tony looked a little surprised. "I'm pretty sure you could kill me armed with only a bobby pin and dental floss, so how is that threatening?"

"I could kill you with that," Natasha conceded. "And it would be slow. You don't actually scare me, but other women? Yes. Unwanted attention from men can be scary."

"But I don't get how is telling lady she looks nice threatening." Tony said, looking perplexed and a little offended.

"You were eye-fucking me," Natasha said. "If you were trying to tell me I looked nice, you did it wrong. There's a difference between 'your dress is pretty' and 'your dress makes me want to fuck you'; you said the latter."

Tony's expression said he wasn't buying that and as he looked over Natasha's shoulder, he called, "Rogers, back me up here. Telling a dame she looks pretty is okay, right? It's not threatening or creepy or anything; it's just a compliment."

Steve stopped next to Natasha and shook his head. "It might be a compliment to someone who wants your attention, Tony, but to other people, it can be a threat."

"But why?"

Steve looked at Natasha, a silent do you want to take this or should I?  Natasha shook her head and wondered whether she should explain gender versus sex and how that worked. That was probably a little advanced for Tony right now, she decided. "Men are usually bigger than women?"

"Yeah," Tony allowed.

"Stronger?"

"Right."

"Then wouldn't it make sense that someone who is bigger and stronger and can force you to do something you don't want to can be scary? Especially when that's combined with sexual interest on their part?"

"I...yeah, I can see that," Tony said. "I can't force you do to anything, though. Bobby pin. Dental floss."

Steve gave Natasha a perplexed look and she let her lip curl in a smirk. "We agreed that I could kill him with just that."

"Oh," said Steve, blinking at her. "Well, that sounds messy."

"Very," she agreed before turning her attention back to Tony. "You don't scare me. You may have five inches on me, but I can wipe the floor with you. But," she said, "I am not an average woman. I'm stronger and faster and far better trained than most women. If I were anyone else, you would make me wary because you could potentially force me to do something I don't want to. And it would be seen as my fault - go read up on rape culture, okay?" she said when Tony started to splutter. "It'll make sense, I promise. But further, Tony, it's degrading and dehumanizing. I'm not here as an object for you to admire; I'm here because I'm the Black Widow."

"I wasn't trying to dehumanize or degrade you," Tony muttered.

"You may not have intended to, but that's the result," Natasha said, glancing at Steve. "Steve seems to know what's what. I have to go, but maybe he can give you some book recommendations or talk to you more about it."

"Bell hooks," Steve said. "Start with her and I'll lend you the books of hers that I have. But we can talk about it some, yeah. Just to start with, if a woman says something is upsetting or creepy or threatening, you - and all men - need to stop and listen. We don't always realize when we're messing up. The speaker's intentions might be one thing, but the way other people perceive them is more real in its effects."

Tony nodded, looking like he was mulling that over. "Where did you learn all this?"

Natasha observed him shrug out of the corner of her eye as she turned to collect her things. "Well, my ma was a suffragette and she used to take me with her when she organized as much as she could. She thought that was a good way to make sure I grew up to treat women as adults, to see them being capable and independent instead of the way society wanted me to see them. Which was basically as children. She was sad when feminism sputtered and died after women won the vote. So there was that. And then after I woke up, later kinds of feminism were some of the things I had to catch up on and that lead to all sorts of really interesting reading. I'm still learning, too."

"Oh," Tony said and hummed thoughtfully.

Pepper leaned her head against Tony's shoulder and grinned at the TV over the bar, watching Michelle Obama be flawless, as Darcy put it. "I want an Obama/Clinton ticket next time around. Or Clinton/Obama. I'm not picky."

"Michelle and Hillary? Or Michelle and Bill?" Tony asked, curling an arm around her waist and sitting back into the cushy leather booth as they waited for the rest of the team.

"Michelle and Hilary, of course."

"Why the hell would anyone want a bitch and an angry black woman in the White House?" the guy in the booth next to them said, loudly enough that half the bar looked over.

"Because Hillary has sterling credentials and Michelle is quite well qualified, too?" Pepper shot back, sitting up.

The stranger sneered at Pepper. "You're one of those feminist bitches, aren't you? You just want them in because they're women, not because they're qualified."

"Excuse me?" Pepper said, her voice icy. "Care to repeat that?"

"Sure. You're a feminist bitch who doesn't care about the fate of the nation enough not to put it in the hands of those unqualified bitches. She's so angry, I bet Michelle would push the big red button at the first opportunity. And Hillary Clinton is just a bitch."

Tony watched Pepper grind her teeth for a moment before she abruptly slid out of both the circle of Tony's arm and the booth. She turned to face the stranger, drawing herself up to her full height, and with fire in her eyes she snarled at him, "You, sir, are a pig!" She glanced at Tony, still angry but not with him. "Excuse me, Tony. I'll be back."
And with that, she marched off toward what Tony presumed was the bathroom to cool off.

"Your girlfriend's a stupid bitch, pal. Dump her ass before she takes your balls," the stranger advised Tony, leaning back over his booth and watching her go with a smug look.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "No, she's far from stupid and she's not a bitch. And you know what? She's right about you. You're a pig. You talk about Obama and Clinton as though that they're women - in and of that fact alone - makes them unfit for office. You didn't criticize their policies or their experience - you criticized their womanhood. And in Michelle Obama's case, that she's black. You're racist and sexist. Grow up. Act like a person."

"Oh-ho-ho!" the stranger said, his eyes lighting up with glee. "You're a feminist, too, aren't you? You're a man who thinks women are better than he is. How sad."

"Feminism," Tony said, "is about equality. I don't think women are better than me. I believe they're my equals and that they should be treated as such. That means stopping shit that puts them in a lower position or makes their lives harder than that of men." He grinned at the man. It was not a kind or gentle grin. "Yeah, I'm a feminist. I don't need to put other people below me to feel better about myself. Which you apparently do. How sad."

The stranger leaned forward, baring his teeth in a mocking smile, and Tony looked down his nose at the man's aggression, utterly unfazed. Tony met the stranger's gaze, his body deliberately relaxed, until the man sneered at him again and looked away.

When Pepper returned, Tony asked, "Wanna go someplace else?"

"No," Pepper said, dropped back into the booth and resuming their former positions. "But," she said loudly enough to carry, "we should donate the maximum amount of money we can to their campaign, if they have one, and see who else we can get to endorse them."

"Steve would," Tony said loudly, grinning.

"Ooh, and you can't do better than Captain America, can you?"

Pepper and Tony grinned at each other when the man slammed down his menu and stalked off.

"Pepper, one. Asshole, zero," Tony said.

"Well, I saw what you did there," Pepper said. "So you get at least twelve percent credit."

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Probably not," Pepper agreed.

Chapter Text

Toni's first experience of weakness happened when she was sixteen and the gossip rags caught wind of her partying. A picture of her drunk and falling out her top made the papers under the screeching headline "STARK HEIRESS GONE WILD!"

After her father had yelled at her, Toni's mother had called her to her room, presumably for a second, separate dressing down.

But instead it was for the advice that would guide the rest of Toni's life, since Maria Stark had long ago accepted that Toni was going to do what she wanted and perhaps thought it the better course of action to guide instead of forcibly shape.
"You can't let people see your weaknesses, Toni," she had said as she sat at her dressing room table. She had applied wine-dark lipstick and blotted it before catching Toni's eyes in the mirror. "Your father says Starks are made of iron, and they are. But you, as the woman I think you are becoming, must be made of tougher stuff if you're going to do what you want to do." She'd turned and looked at her daughter properly.
"Iron is brittle and will break under the right conditions. Men can afford to be iron. Women like you are becoming cannot. You must be steel to live."

And so Toni was. She was glittering steel in flashing camera lights and in the bottom of bottles and she was glittering steel in a dark, desert cave and in a bleeding edge suit on the outer edge of the atmosphere.
Toni was steel, even when it was agonizing, when she was suffocating, when she was spinning out of control.

Because steel meant Toni could do what she wanted, meant she could live, even a little bit. It set her free just as much as it caged her. And Toni would never trade her freedom for anything less.