st_arkravinghazelnut

I appreciate you telling me. I'll see you soon.

Tony stared at the words he'd written to Liz as he sat hunched over his journal. The breeze coming from the window by the bed he'd welcomed was too cold, now.

Peter went home.

Where was home? Right. New York. When was the last time he'd even seen New York--oh. A year to the date. Seriously? A year ago and a flight test gone awry, and now he was in a honeymoon cabin down on a lake while Peter...went home. Gone. If his brain were less blank, he'd have immediately made some conclusions with the timing of it all.

Spring was here--there was no doubt about that. Tony, in his age, had grown susceptible to chilly weather but he had his limits. Blessedly, the weather in the alternate dimensional San Luis Obispo grew hot but not overly humid. Even excepting the fact Tony's nanoparticle clothing could buffer against most weather conditions, Peter had been in the habit of borrowing the arc reactor with some regularity to convene with the AIs within, forcing Tony into the miserable position of having to weather regular clothes.

There was a better way of letting the boy spend time with his friends. He just had to get off his ass and make one.

The thoughts of the heat turned to thoughts of the tall figure lounging beside him on the glossy stool and instead of resuming his current task (what to have for lunch), unspoken questions were written on his face as he stared sideways at Loki.

"It's a cuisine thing." Tony concluded apropos of nothing as he poured over the daily menu drawn in chalk mounted proudly a few feet away.

"In all seriousness, how much were they paying you?" Tony suddenly piped up from his spot above Steve Rogers, swinging lazily in the hammock he made his resting spot. Their back-and-forth lead to a spur of the moment encounter in the hotel parking lot that lead exactly nowhere when Tony insisted on having a beverage break before the action. One thing had lead to another, and he was lounging around the pool with a margarita while Steve sat adjacent.

God bless poolside bars and California.

"You know what I'm talking about. The PSA's. They did pay you, right? You were always on about Brooklyn rent. You do remember how many times I offered you room and board, right?" In classic Tony Stark fashion, rambling on with a tequila quick. "I'd have swept you up the moment I knew you were having to go into showbiz just to get by."

As lively as he felt these days, it felt right to give his beloved a lively greeting. A little light show from above to get his attention and a rapid descent to join his side. He wasn’t one to be completely outdone when it sounded as if Thor had something special in mind.

“Don’t keep me in suspense.” Before he could descend completely, he positioned himself to sit on the massive man’s shoulder.

All the remaining souls on Titan were not dead, but they were not the victors. Thanos was on a crash course with earth, and the Avengers and Guardians alike were left with nothing else to do than collect themselves in the fallout of their loss. Those able to walk helped those that couldn't, gathering towards each other listlessly. Tony winced as Peter helped him to his feet, cradling his gut protectively, but some part of him still trying not to look too wounded in front of the boy. Peter's was bracing him and trying to catch his eyes with his, but Tony didn't meet them.

"Something's happening." The alien-woman's spoke up, hushed and afraid. Tony began to move towards her, and then she disappeared on the wind. Tony staggered a step back, the sight dream-like. Unreal.

"Quill?" The hulking figure was reduced to ash, as if he were made of paper that someone had taken a match to. Quill could only watch his companions vanish without a trace, shock and despair twisting his face.

"Steady, Quill." Tony's attempts to comfort the man were hollow. Soon, Quill was following his friends.

"Tony." Strange's voice managed to break through his stupor. "There was no other way."

Then, he too, was gone.

"How was your New Years?" No sooner had Tony plopped down on the stool beside his brother-in-law to be was he making small talk, leaning well over to get the chef's attention. The kitten antics had subsided naturally as both men seemed to have rebounded from the trauma of the holiday season--rather manically, in Tony's case. He wasn't bouncing off the walls as he was on New Years Eve, though he had a rather large spring in his step.

The interior of Tony's lair had seen a few makeovers as of recent. Wherever he'd set up his workspace had been the most intimate space possible--a macrocosm of his mental world where everything was happening at once, decipherable to only him. However, the space had undergone a shift ever since he opened it up to the littler ones. He suddenly found himself having to make the space accessible to other people. Inviting, even. It was...exhausting.

And this next venture was, too. But the exhaustion brought the promise of reward. It always did.

Tony lounged on the sofa (the one piece of the room he still had the most affection for) as he awaited Thor's knock. He nursed a cup of warm rum as he lounged about in a robe, having indulged in the longest bath in ages. The snow was exciting, but it sucked the life out of him.

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.”

Following the Battle of New York, Tony Stark and his brand were becoming many things. The days of being a no-accountability war profiteer were already well behind him, but he hardly anticipated playing landlord to a ragtag team of honest-to-god superheros. In the aftermath, that was one the first things he set about doing with Pepper. With her blessing, Tony had thrown himself into it. Never one to half-ass things, he oversaw the extensive remodeling to accommodate the specific needs of each and every Avenger. Several were essentially homeless and there was no initiative for the superpowerly-abled, even in a place as progressive as New York.

Including Steve. Even if he called Stark Tower ugly and immediately found an apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. Even though Tony set aside one of the top 12 floors for him like everyone else. Fine.

Today was all about adding that personal touch. He was giving free room and board, might as well be a gracious sugar daddy about it. Besides, who wanted to thwart crime with a guy or gal whose liquor of choice you couldn't name? Just bad form.

Stopping outside the luxury suite dedicated to the arguably most unique new friendly friend, Tony bounced on his heels. He contemplated just walking in for a split second, but he liked having his cranium hammer-free. And it was still about being gracious--as much as he could be. "JARVIS? Ping Point Break for me." Tony didn't feel like knocking. This was a compromise.

"Mr. Odinson, you have a visitor." JARVIS dutifully announced from within Thor's quarters.

Flying was freedom. That was one of the truths that remained in their prison.

Tony Stark was no longer forcing his limbs into the suit, nor was he weighed down with fear of its imminent failure or the pain of maintaining it through will power and little else. No, it once again became his second skin. His thrusters propelled him on high as he approached the altitude of the barrier. Its dimensions were well documented and he had no fear of crashing into it. There wasn't even the lingering anxiety of tracking Thor to the ends of the fishbowl--the man had taken his tent, and Tony had taken care to install trackers well ahead of time in anticipation of this exact scenario. He could have found him at once, had he been so inclined. But three days was three days, and the time he had been granted on his own was time he could return in kind.

After all, time spent to oneself was sometimes the only medicine. But Tony wouldn't let too much time pass without at least checking in. So was his duty as Thor's friend and, well, everything he was to the man.

His resolve, his triumph, it all equaled out to a baseline of contentment that he indulged in to watch the scenery unfold with new eyes. When had the dry, cracked earth evolved into slopes of grass backlit by a distant, gleaming shore? Cedarwoods and cypresses were laid out in a patchwork of somber greens. As the water approached, so did the faint mists, muting the scenery. The clouds had rolled in, lingering and promising rain. Tony's contentment became sobriety.

As Tony descended upon a pointed cliffside, there he was. At the crest sat the lonely figure he sought meters away. Quietly, Tony's armor re-formed into a thick jacket. He looked at the distance behind him--the silhouettes of hills utterly obscured any sign of the hotel. He turned back ahead and approached in no particular hurry. His footsteps were made soft by the grass and the sounds of winds and crashing waves. Coming up on Thor's side, he took in the sight of his meditative profile and simply lowered to sit beside him.