Chapter Text
She’s never going to a Stark party again.
9:54 pm, Yesterday
He had lured her in the same way he always does, with sparkly words and false promises of an “intimate gathering.”
“C’mon, it’ll be real small. Promise.” Tony Stark’s sly smirk crawled through the phone, soft jazz and the rustling of pre-party preparations filling the background. “Exclusive guest list, VVIPs only. You know me! Plus I think Brad Pitt’s coming. You like Brad Pitt right?”
From all of the commotion behind him, she could already visualize the state of his mansion - extravagant bottles of champagne lined up along sleek bar tops and 40ft limos pulled up on his shiny marble driveway, ready to greet a dazzling guest list that would put NYC’s 1 OAK to shame.
Yeah. Intimate gathering her ass.
She snorted, rolling her eyes “Tony, you and I both know that’s bullshit.”
“No, seriously! Apparently his kids love me and are dying to get a signed mask, I mean who wouldn’t-”
“-you know that’s not what I meant.”
“So you’ll come?” She opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it, hesitant to give him a straight answer. This bastard knew perfectly well what he was doing. He was waving the guaranteed sophistication of a signature Tony Stark party in front of her face, and no matter how much she told herself not to, she knew she’d end up chasing after it like a dog every time.
She let out an exasperated sigh, head hitting the back of the couch with a ‘thud’.
“I don’t know Tony, Anne’s been up my ass all week about finishing the Times Square write-up, which is your fault by the way.” She poked the air with an accusatory finger.
Working under SHIELD’s Damage Control division had its ups and downs, but it was no easy work having to cover for the Avengers and the wreckage they left after every battle. Just this past month, a battle on 45th street between the team and the Kree had only lasted 20 minutes, but had caused her weeks worth of paperwork and overtime. Handling a million lawsuits, mending financial deficits, and approving blueprints for reconstruction, she couldn’t remember the last time she went to bed before 3 am.
“Hey, Squidward attacked us first! Something about the Avengers being the first step toward world domination.”
“Well, you should have killed him and his friends when you had the chance, cause thanks to them, I now have a 30-page writeup to edit” she glanced down bitterly at the open computer in her lap, glaring at the document in scorn.
Tony chuckled through the speaker. “So come to the party, it’ll help take your mind off things.”
Despite her annoyance, she appreciated the familiar sincerity in his voice — Tony had always been somewhat like a father figure to her away from home.
Miles from her family living in a tiny New York studio, she met Tony her sophomore year of college working as a nervous intern for Stark Industries. A few summers later and she was promoted to the grand title of personal assistant, attending boozy galas and benefits alongside New York’s famed billionaire.
At the time, she wouldn’t have missed his parties for the world. It would have been weird if she had, considering how most people her age spent their Friday nights in lines for dingy clubs with overpriced drinks. Her Friday nights were spent on private flights to Amsterdam or Paris.
But alas, she slowly departed from the fleeting materialism of her youth, and took off in search of a job where she could step away from the spotlight for a while. She landed her current job at Damage Control under Anne Hoag, an old business partner of Tony's, and had slowly lost memory of the glamorous Stark parties over the years. Now, the opportunity to revisit that time in her life had arrived at her doorstep, all wrapped up in a pretty package, daring her to refuse.
Tony’s smug voice interrupted her thoughts, sounding satisfied with her long pause. “Great, knew you’d say yes! 11 PM tonight, don’t let me down Manhattan.”
Before she could protest, Tony had signed off with a click. He left her with a surprise there, using that nickname; she couldn’t even remember the last time she had heard it. The origin story for that nickname was a long one, but it had essentially started when she accidentally fixed him a Manhattan instead of an Old Fashioned (but really, what was the difference?). As much as she had been annoyed with Tony for using it back then, she had secretly grown fond of it over the years. Hearing it now struck a nostalgic chord in her that made his offer a bit more tempting.
Shutting her laptop, she let it flop down on the couch next to her. She let out a small sigh, surveying her cold, empty apartment. Dishes piled up in the sink. A small pile of laundry she’s avoided folding for weeks. When was the last time she had dressed up for anything, let alone for a fancy party? Massaging her neck, she let out a low groan, feeling a dull ache throb in her shoulders as she dragged herself sluggishly to the shower. Maybe she did need a few hours to destress.
One night couldn’t hurt, right?
5:31 am, Today
Fuck, everything hurt.
Her head pounded behind her eyes, blinding light shining through the windows.
What time was it?
Ugh, whatever it was, it was way too early. Draping a heavy arm over her eyes, she desperately trying to shield the light from her eyes. Why was it so damn bright? Her tiny apartment barely got any natural sun.
She rolled over to the edge of the bed, squinting up to realize that her alarm clock wasn’t on her bedside table. Instead, it was replaced by a greek-looking marble statue and a plant instead. She didn’t own any fucking plants. Frowning, she smoothed down the front of her sheets, feeling the luxurious satin glide against her palm and realized she wasn’t in her bed. This wasn’t her room. Last night, she had left Tony’s party early with… fuck.
Her stomach gave a sudden jolt as she frantically turned to the space to her left. She let out a sigh of relief, finding it empty. She ran a slow finger over the neatly folded corners, not a single fold out of line, before she sat up in the bed, clutching the expensive sheet to her chest as she took in the unfamiliar room of the Avenger’s compound. She’s made some questionable decisions in the past, but this beat everything else by a mile. She dragged her hands down her face exasperatedly, letting out an internal groan. She was used to handling shitty situations: wrecked buildings, stranded helicarriers, and alien hostages.
But how on earth was she going to handle this?
She thought about leaving a note, but the idea of trying to find a pen and paper in this gigantic space intensified her headache. Maybe a voicemail but… she didn’t have his number. Great. Where was her damn phone anyway?
Another jolt of panic ran through her before she remembered that it was probably in her purse… which was somewhere downstairs. She hadn’t managed to keep track of it after, well, how quickly shit escalated last night.
Snatching up her dress from off of the floor, she hastily pulling it over her head and stumbled out of the wooden slide door. It revealed a long hallway, mostly empty save for a few giant, expensive-looking paintings. She clambered down the nearest staircase she could find, her heels sliding against the sleek glass and scraping the back of her feet.
The second floor of the Avenger’s Compound was a huge, not to mention bright, open lounge, equipped with a bar, pool table, a meeting room, and probably a million other facilities that she couldn’t afford to stay and gawk at right now.
Spotting the steps leading down to the first floor, her only way out of this mess, she started to scramble toward it.
“Going somewhere?”
A smug voice called from the kitchen countertop. She jumped, sleep suddenly cleared from her eyes, swiveling around to see Tony slumped over the countertop, cradling a glass of water in one hand and an aspirin in the other. What was he doing at the compound so early? She felt a flicker of pity at his bed head and dark circles, but then again she would've given anything to be getting over a hangover instead of being in her shoes right now.
On his smug, exhausted face was a shit-eating grin, stretching the dark lines beneath his eyes, eyes that told her that he remembered everything from last night. That he remembered… shit.
She let out a small gasp.
“Tony,” She jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. “You cannot tell anybody”
His grin widening, he shrugged, feigning innocence. “Tell what?”
Oh, he’s gonna play that game? With a hangover?
She groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Where is he?” She asked quietly into her palm, praying that Tony would give her a straight answer.
“Who, loverboy? He wasn’t in bed with you?”
She jerked her hands away from her face in disbelief, raising her voice “Tony-”
“Relax, relax,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying her torment. “He’s probably out running his daily fucking marathon or something. Should be back soon.” A pause, before he added with a devilish smile.
“Guess you didn’t tire him out enough last night.”
“Tony, I swear to god.” She rolled her eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Ok. At least God gave her one thing. Seeing as he wasn’t here, if she leaves now she’ll be able to avoid one awkward conversation.
She sighed, running a hand through her no doubt messed hair as she tried to gather her thoughts. “Have you seen my purse?”
Twisting around in his stool, he lazily pointed to the couch, sat in the middle of an appallingly clean living room. Swiveling back around, he winced as if the movement made him dizzy.
Serves him right.
Snatching up her purse from its spot on the expensive leather futon, she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, away from what seemed to be the most humiliating moment of her life.
Tony’s mocking voice stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Where you headed?”
Her eyes fluttered closed, questioning why she hadn’t poisoned the man the countless times she had brewed him coffee or freshened his drink.
Taking a breath to compose herself, she turned around slowly, putting on the most neutral expression she could muster.
“I…” She stalled, trying to dig as far down her mental vat of ‘excuses to get out of shit’ as she could.
“I’ve got a client meeting.”
“Really? On a Sunday? Must be some damn important client.”’
Well, shit.
Tony must have sensed her desperation as he tsked, leaning forward on the table.
“Come on, I gotta tell him something, Manhattan”
“I…” She spent another moment trying to come up with a decent enough excuse, fumbling with the clasp on her purse, before giving up altogether, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Just… just make something up for me, ok? I-I gotta go.”
“Go where?”
She whipped around, bug-eyed, stomach dropping through the floor at the man standing at the top of the stairwell. Biceps bulging through a ridiculously tight workout shirt, sweat glistening down his neck as he tilted his head back to take a swig of water, and god, did this man ever take a break?
She realized she had been ogling while he watched her expectantly, so oblivious to her horror.
He swallowed his water, neck flushed pink, before giving her a rather shy smile. “Hi”
She barely responded with a curt ‘hello,’ unable to meet his innocent eyes. This has got to be the world’s most pathetic walk of shame, she thought — she’d crawl into the nearest hole if she could.
The unbearable silence between them was suddenly broken by an overdramatic cough from behind her.
“Well, this has been delightful to watch, but this superstar’s got to catch up on his beauty sleep.” Tony slid off languidly off the stool, yawning dramatically as he stretched.
Oh, so now he wants to leave?
Glancing back in their direction, he winked, looking straight at her.
“Gosh, what a night, huh?”
She felt her face burn a deep crimson, and couldn’t even bear to check what hue of red Steve’s face was.
As Tony shuffled upstairs, she heard Steve clear his throat. Out of the corner of her eye, he started to take a hesitant step toward her, glancing down at his feet.
“So… about last night.”
Fuck. She’s never going to a Stark party again.