Chapter Text
Today we gather to celebrate the marriage of the two beloved - Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. There's a white guest book with simple black text of the names of the future couple and one little phrase: A Thousand Years. The reception hall is roofed with twinkling white lights and strung across the open spaces are hundreds of pictures clothes-pinned to fraying twine. People smiling, goofing around, candids of every day life. Each photo contains parts of the lives of two men. Some of them are old photos, black and white or faded sepia. Some are brand new, crisp and glossy. In some they are children, in others grown men. But all of them tell their story, how two separate lives become one, and how dearly they have come to love each other. Let's look back on how they fought together, how they went out for their first date, and how they fell in love...
~~~
If someone had told Steve Rogers that he would end up moving into Tony Stark's personal tower back during the whole Loki incident, even achieving friendliness with the man, he would have laughed. Not a whole hysterical fit or anything, but it would definitely have elicited a chuckle.
They hadn't exactly started off on the right foot, after all, what with both of them having a tendency for snark and a defensive wit, falling into sarcasm and jokes anytime someone made them uncomfortable. It had taken awhile for Steve to realize it - how similar they were. He'd always relied on his smart mouth to cover up when he was feeling hurt or awkward - it made him look tougher, made him less of a target back when he was small. It wasn't so easy to mock the little guy when he'd come right back at you with twice the insult and only half the emotion, casual in his apathetic, cool rebuttal. You would think that meant he could recognize the same habit in someone else, but apparently not. Perhaps he just wasn't used to people being like that - people in his day were generally more polite to strangers unless they were looking for a fight. So when Stark had immediately started off with jokes Steve couldn't understand and a slew of sarcastic comments that were wrapped prettily in an arrogant smirk, Steve had done what he always had when faced with a cocky bully: he got smart as hell and gave as good as he got, refusing to take the abuse for a second.
So, yeah. Not a great start. And he couldn't even blame it all on the scepter because the only way it could have worked as well as it had was if there had already been some animosity harbored in their heads toward each other. It was as if the scepter had torn down their sense of propriety and the voice in their head that told them to calm down and not overreact. All the malicious words that had spilled out of Steve's mouth that day had been things he'd already been thinking - just not anything he would have ever said out loud; they were much too terrible to ever be said.
But he had said them and he couldn't take them back, especially because he had meant them. He had been proven completely and utterly wrong about all of it but he couldn't take it back, couldn't change the past. All he could do was apologize, explain that he was wrong - he had made assumptions and judgments without really understanding the man behind the mask.
He had apologized, sort of. The two had separated amiably after Loki and Thor had made their dramatic exit in a flash of blue light. It had been a terribly uneventful resolution. He'd barely gotten the words, "Stark, I wanted to apologize for what I said on-" before Stark was flapping a hand and looking around quickly, eyes flitting to anything but Steve. His, "Nothing to apologize for," had likely intended to sound like a mutual apology, despite the words not being quite right, but there had been a strange trace of bitterness to it that made Steve wonder. He hadn't been able to get it out of his head, curious about such a tone coming from someone who was normally so blasé about everything.
But they had left and gone their separate ways on good terms and now here he stood, two weeks later, duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he rode up the elevator to the genius's own floor, having been invited personally.
It had been an interesting couple of weeks since the Asgardians' departure. He had spent the time driving around the country, hitting the major tourist sights that he had always wanted to see growing up, but never been able to, as well as a few new places that had popped up since he went down in the ice. The first stop had been a museum that housed a surprisingly large exhibit about Captain America. It had been strange, seeing his own life immortalized on glass walls and in colorful pictures. He had moved on to more typical sights - national parks, famous museums, odd tourist attractions, unique restaurants. He wanted to see everything. There had already been a lot of those kinds of things in the '40s and now there was even more to see.
He'd also been trying to familiarize himself with America's modern culture, not that it had been going well when he had tried to do it all on his own. He didn't even know where to start. History? Politics? Movies? Music? There was seventy years worth of information that he had missed out on; how much of it was really necessary and important to know? What could he survive without? Even his serum-enhanced memory could only handle so much input and he was already feeling so overwhelmed that he had just given up after a few days, unable to handle figuring out what was worth learning and what was better off being ignored.
Honestly, if he just had a list he'd be better off, something to tell him specifically where to start learning, but SHIELD had simply handed him a history book for the last century and a few files explaining important laws and legal issues that had changed: African-American rights, women's rights, marriage laws, changes in food and safety restrictions, and a few more. Some of it surprised him, but never negatively. His mother had raised him to respect all people, regardless of who they were, and to respect people's rights to freedom, to dignity. Mama hadn't raised no bully and Steve would protect people and respect how they wanted to live their lives, regardless of his personal opinions about it. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else he saw no reason to hate them, even if he didn't agree. He had grown up knowing that he wasn't nearly as prejudiced as everyone else he knew and that was before he realized his interests lay a little ways from normal.
So, suffice it to say that the world was different from what he had grown up with, but it wasn't all bad. There were things that angered him about this country, ways that they cut corners and kept secrets or lies and didn't always protect people in the right ways. But they had gotten a lot right too, so he couldn't complain, and as much as many things confused him, he was actually figuring it out. He didn't know why people kept making jokes about how he was probably highly inept at working with technology, after all, most people nowadays didn't really understand how any of that stuff worked - the internet, computers, televisions, satellite signals. They operated the equipment, but how many average Americans understood the science behind it? They just grew up with the stuff knowing how to use it and that was easy to learn.
Much of it wasn't terribly different than things he had grown up with - radios and refrigerators were almost the same, if a bit fancier what with all the additional options; washing machines were nice, although he still preferred his clothes to air dry; and internal heating and air-conditioning was a thing of beauty. The internet was probably the most useful thing he had found - a library with all the information in the world and all you had to do was know how to read and write. The televisions and the touch-screen cell phones everyone carried around were not nearly as complicated to figure out as everyone seemed to think it would be for him. Everything was labeled clearly, how could it possibly be as complicated as they made it sound?
Maybe he should have been insulted that everyone seemed to think he was so stupid, but if that was the worst thing he had to deal with, he would deal with it. As it was, he was having little trouble figuring out how to use all the new technology but he was having a lot of trouble figuring out what part of the "media" to pay attention to. There were so many television programs, or TV shows as they were called now, not to mention the music. So many genres and artists, not just in America, but all over the world and he had access to all of it. Not to mention that seventy years of movies would have been a lot to catch up on even if production had stayed as low as it had been when he fell asleep. Now one company could put out double that many movies in a single year and there were hundreds of film companies, producers, directors, and actors just in America, not to mention all the foreign films. He couldn't possibly catch up.
So he spent a couple of weeks on his own, driving all over to see the touristy and magnificent natural sights that America had to offer, all while ignoring the blaring lights and crazy noises of the modern-day American media culture. But by the time he had finished his tour, he no longer knew what to do with himself.
He had headed back to the SHIELD headquarters in New York, where he had been staying before two gods showed up on the planet, but beyond that he had no plans. He was part of the Avengers Initiative, but that only gave him something to do when the world was in danger. He could train, but he already did that anyway. What was he supposed to do with the other twelve hours in his day?
Steve had stood at the entrance to his quarters, the metal door a cold presence behind him, and stared at the spartan room: a bed, a dresser only half-filled with clothes and a few necessities, and his uniform hung on the wall with his shield leaning nearby. All of his possessions in the world were right here in a 12x12 square of concrete. It was less than he had ever had and that was saying something; he had never had much.
At least he had had friends then. Well, one friend. Now he didn't even have that. He had his teammates now, but they had all scattered: Thor worlds away, Natasha and Clint back to their regular mission work as SHIELD agents, Bruce off to who knows where. He knew that the scientist had left with Tony to check out the labs at Stark Industries but on his return to SHIELD, Steve had been told the man had left after a couple of days. Perhaps too many years on the run had left him restless. Or paranoid. Maybe a little of both.
And Stark. He was the one person on the team that Steve knew the exact location of. The man rarely left the tower nowadays except when necessary. The inventor was apparently spending all of his free time repairing the damage and redesigning the top floors of what would become Avengers Tower. Before they had all gone their separate ways he had told the whole team that once the construction was done they were all welcome to live there.
It was an extremely generous offer and if Steve hadn't already been shown Stark's true character, hidden underneath the arrogant exterior, he would have thought the man was joking. But Stark had offered up his own life to protect the city and all the information in his file about a cocky and self-serving pampered rich boy no longer seemed so accurate. The genius was far more kind and good than he made himself appear and Steve was more than happy to admit his mistake. He had made a false judgment about the inventor's character and shaking the man's hand in parting had seemed a grossly inadequate way of expressing his changed attitude. So if Stark said his home was open to them then he believed it whole-heartedly and knew he would probably take him up on the offer eventually.
The two agents and Steve already had lodging at SHIELD, but the solider thought it would be best for all of them to live in one place. If nothing else it would show that their loyalty was to each other, not to the organization that was headed by a group of people willing to drop a nuke on a city of innocent civilians. Steve wasn't sure what Barton and Romanov thought about the World Council's decision, but it was one of those few things in this century that infuriated him, that leaders could be so calloused and uncaring. Yes, war sometimes demanded hard decisions to be made, but that had been the wrong call. Captain America wanted no part in that and he didn't want the Avengers associated with it either, if at all possible.
So it was partially out of a desire to remove himself as far as he was able to from the supervision of such people and partially because he had become intrigued by the dark-haired inventor that he wanted to move into the tower. He wanted to know more about the man who acted so shallow and overly confident, even for a literal genius and one of the richest men in the world, but underneath it all had a heart so generous and self-sacrificing that it shook Steve to the core. Men like that were rare, always had been. People might have been politer in his day but the ability to give up your life for others had been no more common seventy years ago than it was now.
Tony Stark was a fascinating person and Steve Rogers was curious. What was the man's story? Why did he do what he did? The file he had on the man was just a bullet-point list of events, circumstances and reactions; it didn't explain motives. It didn't tell what the person was thinking or feeling or the stories behind all those decisions. It didn't tell him who Tony Stark was, just what he had done. And as much as actions spoke louder than words and the inventor had a lot of actions that would usually not be present in a good man, Steve was sure that wasn't the case here. After all, he had misread his character enough to believe he wasn't the sacrificial type. That opinion had been blasted to pieces. So Stark was a good man, he was sure of it. But he wouldn't figure out exactly why without actually getting to know him.
So as he had stood looking around his bare quarters, he had decided to take a chance and see if Stark had a place for him to sleep in the tower while it was still under renovation. He had grabbed his phone from his nightstand and dialed the number the genius had programmed into it, his own private cell phone Stark had said. It had rung briefly before connecting and spilling forth the rambling of one fast-talking genius.
"Spangles! How was the road trip? Did you see the world's largest ball of string? I hear it's really not that impressive."
"Stark. Does your offer still stand?" He cringed a little at his own bluntness. He was gonna blame it on the lingering exhaustion that was making him cranky.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, before the billionaire spoke again, emoting offense.
"Cap, I'm wounded. You doubt my sincerity?"
"No," Steve tried to drop the harshness of his "Cap voice" as Bucky had always called it, attempting to be more polite. "But I don't like to assume hospitality will always be offered, especially when the host's home is undergoing massive remodeling. And I don't like to show up unannounced."
Another pause as Stark processed his words, seeming to catch the underlying meaning almost immediately, obviously understanding that Steve was trying to take him up on said offer.
"If all I had to offer you was a mattress on the floor, the door would still be open," he answered seriously.
Steve was a little surprised at the outright honestly. It seemed like Stark was usually the type to hide his kindness behind jokes and sarcasm, but he had been amazingly forthright in his statement that the team was welcome any time. He had thought he was getting a better hold on the genius's personality, but apparently not. Maybe he should stop assuming and he wouldn't end up so surprised every time.
"Thank you, Stark."
"No problem. So when are you coming by?"
"Uh... now? If that's alright...?" He trailed off, leaving it open for Stark to decide.
"Great. Awesome. I'll get a room ready. It'll be temporary, your floor isn't quite finished, but this place will be good enough for the next couple of days. At least it'll be better than whatever crappy room they've probably got you in down at SHIELD. Anyway, yeah. Show up whenever, it'll all be ready by the time you get here."
"Thanks, Stark."
"Tony. We saved the world together, I think we can be on a first name basis." His voice was light, filled with humor and Steve felt his stiff shoulders relax.
"Tony. Okay. I'll be over in a couple of hours then."
"Aye aye Captain."
Steve chuckled, but hung up without saying anything more. He stood there smiling to himself for a minute, wondering how such a short conversation could have lifted his mood so quickly. He supposed it was just nice to feel so welcomed. He allowed himself another moment to enjoy the feeling of contentment before moving to pack up his belongings.
~~~
Stark had sent him exact directions through his phone, so Steve just drove his motorcycle to the tower and parked in the underground garage. There was a private elevator, the only one with access to the floors specifically for the Avenger's use and had already been programmed with Steve's biometrics to grant him entry. He rode up to Tony's penthouse, having been informed none of the other floors were quite completed yet, but there were spare bedrooms there that he could pick from until his own floor (not room, not suite, floor. Stark wouldn't take "no"" for an answer) was ready.
As the elevator rose, a voice spoke through the speakers, startling him slightly.
Captain Rogers, may I be the first to officially welcome you?
"Uhh... sure. Who are you?"
Sir gave me the name JARVIS.
"Wait, I remember this. You're an... AI?"
Artificial Intelligence, yes. In simpler terms, a computer program that learns, much like a growing human being. Sir would argue that I even have a soul.
"What do you think?"
I do not think that information is important to my existence or the tasks Sir requires of me.
"So it doesn't matter to you?"
I think such concerns are better left to the philosophers.
Steve grinned. "You and me both."
In any case, welcome to Avenger's Tower, Captain Rogers.
"Thanks JARVIS."
Just as he finished speaking the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. He found himself looking out at the room where the whole team had returned to and found Loki picking himself up off the floor. The difference between the room then and now was impressive, though. The broken windows were replaced, all the debri and dust had been swept away, scattered furniture put to rights, and everything was polished back to perfection. The only sign that any of it had happened was the giant Asgardian-shaped hole in the floor that had simply been covered with a pane of glass.
Steve found himself chuckling looking at it, not terribly surprised that the genius had decided to "frame" it. He wondered what Banner thought about it. He looked up when Stark waltzed in.
"Cap!" He swept his arms around in a dramatic gesture. "I see you've noticed the new decorations. I thought it added personality."
Steve smiled a little and nodded, feeling slightly awkward. "Stark- err, Tony. Thank's for letting me come on such short notice."
Tony flapped his hand around, as if trying to blow the formalities away. "Eh. Not a problem. Mi casa e su casa, or whatever. Let me show you around." Tony walked through the room pointing out seemingly random items, most of which were obvious and rather unimportant. "Couch. Floor rug. Loki-hole. Bar, fully stocked. Windows. Landing pad for the suit. This floor board that squeaks, no matter how many times I fix it. Over here is the door to the rest of the penthouse - bedrooms, an actual kitchen, the library, etc. etc. Ah! Here's the kitchen."
Tony took an abrupt turn out of the hallway into a surpassingly large kitchen with an attached living room. The room was enormous and very open with huge windows and lots of floor space. The space to the right on the same wall as the door and wrapping around to the wall directly opposite was all kitchen cabinets, a refrigerator, stove, sink, dishwasher, the works. There was a marble island in the center of the tiled section of floor in the "kitchen" side of the room. The cabinets were clean and white in a more classic style, not the more modern kind that Steve had expected. All the countertops, the floor, and the island were black and the accents and back-splashes under the cabinets were all gold and bronze metal and stone.
The other half of the room was a lounge area that faced the large glass windows and looked out over the city. It was also tastefully decorated, but more homey than the front room of the penthouse. It seemed more like a place to hang out with friends and family and watch movies. It kept with the black, white, and gold theme of the kitchen with a thick, white carpet that Steve immediately wanted to sink his toes into. There was an enormous TV in front of the window on top of a low shelving system with an assortment of seating gathered around it - a couple of sectionals shoved together haphazardly, an extremely deep couch that looked like you could sit against the back and stretch the length of your legs out on, a couple of chairs - some fancy, some simple recliners. There were a few ottomans of various sizes and shapes and couple of end tables, as well as a large coffee table in front of the couch that sat directly across from the television. A few bookshelves sat along the far wall, mostly filled with books but a few knickknacks and picture frames took up a few spots.
The coffee table was cluttered with some papers, a half-full mug, a bottle of nail polish, an empty plate. One of the sectionals and a chair both had blankets strewn across them, instead of folded neatly, and there was a pair of shoes lying on the floor. The kitchen was much the same - some empty cartons sitting out, an open box of cereal, dishes in the sink, and crumbs on the island. It was surprisingly normal compared to what Steve had thought to expect. Not so pristine or perfect as he had assumed any place that wasn't Tony's workshop would be. It just looked like a house, albeit a rather large one, and he found himself relaxing in the calm, cluttered, and decidedly average home environment.
"What no roaring fireplace and bearskin rug?" Steve glanced over at Tony with a grin.
He huffed, looking offended. "I have far better taste than that. Anyway, you can literally help yourself to anything you want as long as you stay away from Pepper's raspberry chocolate things and Brucie's tea. My room is the one all the way at the end of the hall on the left. The library is directly across the hall from this room. All the rest are the bedrooms and the main bathroom, which is next door, but each room has its own bathroom with a shower. You can pick whichever one you like, they're all made up and ready to go. And before you try to go all 1930s polite house guest on me just go choose a room and unpack. I don't have time for you niceties."
Steve smiled as Tony turned on his heel, waving over his shoulder as he took his leave, shouting out his last commandments.
"I'll be in the workshop, but I'll come back up for dinner. Entertain yourself until then. Go exploring, whatever."
He couldn't help one last shot at gratitude. "Thanks Tony!"
All he heard in reply was a loud grumble. Steve grinned before taking one last look around the room and heading off down the hall. He opened a door at random, then another, before realizing all the rooms were basically the same, just simple guest rooms in varying shades of brown and cream, so he just stayed in the one he was already in and began unpacking. It didn't take long, not that he had expected it to. He didn't own much.
He decided to do a little exploring first, maybe check out the library. He walked through the hall and opened the door before promptly bursting out laughing. The walls were filled with floor-to-ceiling books - there were even those roll-around ladders that slid along the shelves. But on the back wall was a large red brick fireplace and on the floor in front of it was a bear hide, head and all. A snicker turned into a chortle that turned into roars of laughter that brought tears to his eyes and left him gasping for breath. He calmed down eventually, a stray giggle sneaking out every few seconds, and shook his head.
"'Better taste than that,' my ass," he said, smile still firmly in place, and went to look around and see what kind of books a man like Tony kept in his personal library.
~~~