angenoir: (Default)
Title: Summer Child, Winter Child
Word Count: 510
Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers
Relationships: pre-slash - Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Spoilers/Warnings: Canon-divergent from IM3, but IM3 events happened


Summer had always been Tony’s favorite season. He’d enjoyed the beaches, the women, the sun, the casual flings, the slow, syrupy heat that dragged on his body and successfully slowed his mind. He hated winter with a passion – had moved to Malibu, where here, on December 9th, it was only 60 degrees outside. Still chilly, enough to make him shiver, but it wasn’t 47 degrees.

Perspective.

“You ready to go?”

It was Steve’s voice, Steve who had come out to help move the broken chasses of his robots, who’d been the only one of their so-called team that had responded to the casual (not-so-casual) invite. Clint was still in the wind somewhere, Natasha had ignored the email, and Bruce, well. Bruce was back in New York and more focused on playing in the lab Tony provided than actually helping Tony move the rest of the way into the tower. And Thor, shit, who knew where the hell Thor was.

Well, he supposed that was uncharitable. Just because he’d preferred help to face his demons here didn’t mean he needed people babysitting him.

But here he was, standing on the edge of the cliff (he’d thrown his arc reactor into the ocean and almost immediately regretted it, it was a safety net, home, help and hearth and protection all in one, but he was supposed to be better than this, better than needing it, and he was, he was fucking Iron Man)—

“Tony?”

Tony turned away from the cliff to smile at Steve, maybe a little fake but Steve hadn’t figured out his expressions yet, so no worries. Steve was frowning a little, and for all that he was so serious in the face at the moment – probably thinking about the amount of destruction Tony had managed to cause on American soil – Steve was a true summer’s child. Golden hair, hell, birthday in the middle of July, sunny personality but changeable, unforgiving, a warmth that could protect or burn. Tony, for all that he loved the summer, was never anything but a winter’s child, cold and aloof and detached from the world, sitting in an ivory tower and isolated.

The move should change all that. The move would change all that, Tony reminded himself, and he rolled his shoulders, looked at the sunny weather, the summer he had run to when his parents had died in the winter, when he’d had too many cold nights alone. Summer was his preference, his safety, and like throwing his reactor into the ocean, it felt like he was losing this, too. Summer was home.

“When will you start rebuilding?”

The words were strange, different, and they jerked Tony out of his thoughts as he turned to Steve. “Huh?”

“Rebuilding,” Steve said, coming up to stand by Tony’s side, his warmth seeping into Tony’s skin. “It’s a beautiful place.”

And, well. Perhaps Tony wasn’t throwing summer away, after all.

“Eh, we’ll see, Rogers,” he said casually, turning his back on the home that had kept him warm and safe for so many years. “Let’s go.”

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