st_arkravinghazelnut | Perfectly Suited

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Perfectly Suited

Tony Stark was too old to play games. Every time he ran hot and cold with his partner was never a calculated power play so much as a deeply embedded habit built around mitigating whatever anxiety he’d built up. Even the old days full of ninja crawling out of bed just to avoid the morning after spiel were motivated by the intimidation (in part) of having them at all.

He’d gotten better at that part, though. Far better. Tony was curled up on the side of the long-suffering pink couch that wasn’t bearing a warped arm rest caused by some make-up rapporto sessuale from earlier in the evening, followed by a shower and the ceremonial poptart.

“You know—“ Tony brushed off some crumbs from his dark sweater, “You are terrible for my diet.”

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"If he's truly there, take the others and kill him," Thor lies easily. There probably wasn't going to be any others there. He had already been set on that path before his chat with Valkyrie, but her comments about Odin and leaving others to clean up the mess had cemented it for him.

It was his mess to clean up.

"Then, if possible, use the Infinity Stones to change the way things turned out."

Tony's jaw tightened. He felt as if he had something to say, but no words to say it.

"Alright."

If Thor is at all bothered about Tony's response (or lack of it), it doesn't register on his face or in the tone of his voice.

"I just wanted you to know it's not all going to come down to you."

Tony angled his head to regard the colorful wallpaper on the distant wall. He didn't share it's cheerfulness, nor did he appreciate it for trying.

"I'm feeling kinda--" He began, pushing up to stand, "--kinda hungry lately. Chalking it up to Mercury being in alignment."

"You want me to go make you something?"

In lieu of answering, Tony made a slow but straight shot for the couch, lowering to sit beside Thor's waist. His hand found the other man's, gripping it firmly.

Thor gives Tony's hand a squeeze, then looks at him as if hoping that his face might give him some clue to what's churning inside.

"Change your mind?"

Tony shook his head, intertwining their grip. “...There are no secrets. From me. From now on.”

Thor isn't exactly sure what brought this on or why Tony so swiftly segued from the topic of food back to whatever this was.

Thor welcomed the touch of Tony's hand on his own. He even welcomes the promise that he wouldn't keep secrets. But Tony was so inscrutable that Thor was left trying to fill in the gaps that led Tony from point A to point Z.

"I wasn't keeping it a secret from you," he says. "The plan's changed since I first arrived here."

Tony granted him that much with a brief smile, running his thumb along the side of Thor’s palm. “I’m scared. Out of my mind. Sometimes I can barely take it.”

Thor's hand relaxes beneath the light pressure of Tony's thumb. Thor feels something move inside of him as if one organ was suddenly replaced with another.

"About what's to come?"

“Not knowing when—when I’ll go. What I can change. Failing us.” Each admission was clipped, and Tony felt like he was apart from himself. “I see it. That vision of the future.”

"You're not going to fail me, Tony," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "If things wind up the way they are now, there is a contingency plan. This is not all on you."

“A contingency for the greatest genocide known to sentient life?” Tony spat, far more harshly than he’d intended.

A long moment and he slumped over, regret written on his face. “Look...I’m sorry.” He clenched his eyes and ran an uneasy hand through his unstyled hair. It was still damp from the shower. “It gets to me. We’re all trying. I know.”

Thor found himself suddenly seized up with emotion at Tony's words. There were times like these where the vast gulf of guilt felt as though it were going to pull him under and swallow him whole.

This is because of you.

There had to be a reason why he survived. Thanos' attack on The Statesman. The explosion afterwards. Drifting off in space. Nidavellir. The snap.

He needed to stay whole until after he returned. Until after he had fixed things. He would deal with this all then.

"It makes sense that it would, given what it is," Thor says. "Don't apologize for being human."

Tony cringed over that minute twitch he felt ripple through Thor's body. He squeezed the larger hand even harder to soothe it.

"I want memories. Good ones. I want to be a good memory--when there's nothing else of me left."

"You are a good memory, Tony," Thor says. "Can you look at me or at Peter or at Pepper and think that you aren't?"

“I just need to see it through.” So many ‘I’ statements. Tony was growing tired of himself, and he fell back across Thor’s waist.

“Hey...I do hear you. It’s what keeps me going.”

"I know," Thor says. As enigmatic and unreadable as Tony Stark could be at times, he should have known that no amount of explanation would be enough to let Tony take more than a few moments to breathe.

In an ideal world, Thor would want everyone to put an end to it long before Thanos arrived on Earth. A part of him desperately clung to the hope that by simply knowing what was to come that they could avert disaster.

Tony didn't seem to share his confidence; he never seemed to want to let a moment go to waste, even when he knew there were others working alongside him, even when there were others with contingency plans of their own.

"You seemed determined to do it all alone," he says, resting a hand on Tony's chest. "No one's going to win like that."

That Thor knows.

Tony said nothing. How could he brush off Thor’s words with his own truth that, in the end, all he had was himself?

People failed each other, and often, even with the best of intentions. A plan that relied solely on others with the highest stakes imaginable...

He took Thor’s hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a long kiss. The thoughts lingered but he shook them. “I can’t do it alone.” He reminded himself. “I need you.”

"I need you, too," Thor says in turn, giving Tony's hand a squeeze. He feels that there's something else he should say, but when he searches for them, the right words simply don't come.

"And I need Rogers." Tony forced himself to say it, tapping his finger on the back of Thor's hand slowly. "And I can't forgive him."

Thor finds some strange comfort in the feel of Tony's fingers on his hand.

"I wish I could say I could help you, but I've been told I forgive too easily." That became second nature when you had a brother like Loki.

Tony kept his mouth shut on the next bitter thought that nearly made it past his throat. He had noticed what was shifting within Steve in regards to this supposed paramour. Tony paid attention. Maybe a little too much where it regarded Captain America--not something he was proud of.

Even if he tried to say it aloud, it would have been a losing effort. He didn't have the words to express the sheer levels of contempt (was it contempt?) it spawned. Whatever he felt, it was a mishmash of the ugliest thoughts and urges he'd ever had to be privy to. It was always followed by a keen shame chaser. He didn't have the gumption to even acknowledge it aloud. There was no way to voice them without sounding petulant or worse--jealous. Maybe a protracted scream would do.

"I'll try."

"You don't have to forgive him, you know," he says, turning his hand around so he can catch Tony's fingers in it. "You can still work with him without forgiving him."

Thor had done as much with Loki after the Battle of New York; he had still been furious with his brother when he released him from his cell, but found in their attempt to work together that he was capable of forgiving Loki for what he had done.

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