This is a very wordy chapter. It's long as fuck, I really worked hard on this and dialogue inky becomes a thing after all the wordy words and explanation and like 10 years of solid catch up on Tony's shitstorm of a life. I really worked hard on this chapter, it's interesting, it shows how Tony turns out at 30, why he turns out as such a man that he is at 30, and all this wonderful character development, oh my god, I love.
As I said, Tony is my main character, he's centerstage, but I will also have Steve's catchup of 10 years too. I'm just so heavily focused on Tony because he's such a complex and wounded character and it's so interesting to write and shape him.
COMMENT YOUR HEARTS OUT I WANT TO HEAR EVERYONES OPINIONS
~~~ indicates a shift of direction, or a time skip, just to let you all know xox
Enjoy!
It started with Jarvis
Tony had been elbow deep into a cars engine at the time, engine grease not only staining the material of his jeans or tank top, but smeared into the skin of his cheeks, of his arms, glued into his hair as he tried to reach for a bolt that was smack in the middle of the old cars engine. The car itself, is a mess, unkept and unloved by its owner and they're lucky that Tony is kind enough, and bored enough, to take the old Chevy off of their hands for a couple hundred bucks so he could tamper with it and sell it off for a couple of thousand instead.
Buying and reselling cars was something that Tony had started doing as a past time back when he was at MIT, where instead of buying and reselling, he had done touch up jobs to busted Harley Davidson's or upgraded engines to shitty Ford Focus's in an attempt to ween needy upperclassmen off of him who either wanted his money or his mouth. It was also therapeutic, in a sort of weird way because it was an act that needed your undying attention in order not to cut his own wrist off of a sharp edge of metal but also one that took him out of his normal schedule too.
His schedule, that being at the time, consisting of attending never ending Board Meetings before being strung off to meeting after meeting in other parts of the City or mostly, in Stark Industries New York building itself, learning the trade of a company that Tony had no interest in with a heavy hand on his shoulder of a man who he didn't want to be touched by. A touch that still ghosts on his skin, a smell that still lingers at his nostrils.
So far, Tony had been casted off to the basement when he wasn't forced to sit in Board Meetings or attend banquets or to snort cocaine off of the white marble counter tops, that in which, not being something he had been forced into but more like indulged. Tony's brains were not being overlooked and neither was his skill, his talent to create, to think, to be intelligent. So he was given a workshop, Howard's old Workshop, a couple of floors below ground level and given only mer descriptions of what the company wanted him to make, deadlines to meet, a budget to be constricted by.
The Chevy was a gorgeous model, early 1950's, a chipped baby blue and with original cream leathered seats. Tony had bought it off a kid in Queens whose uncle had recently died, looking for an extra couple of bucks off a car he had no interest in that was just collecting dust and rust. It gave him something to do, got his hands dirty, got his head cleared, and it also gave DUM-E something to do too by collecting tools.
The door of his workshop had opened, tucked a number of floors below ground level of Stark Industries New York building with easy access to a private car park through a garage door at the far end of the workshop. Tony had noticed, not really, and it was only when the music had stopped that he lifted his head from the cars engine to look at the assistant who'd entered the workshop, poised and confident but carrying a worrying edge that unnerved Tony because Virginia Potts, the only Stark Industries assistant Tony trusted, was never worried.
He had noticed it in the way she walked, her foot steps were off, the click of her heels were not equal, the way her knees were buckled and not straight, a bit slouched. Things only Tony would notice. He saw it in the way she hadn't a clipboard, or notes, or pages spilling out of heavy books as she usually balanced a cup of coffee on top. He saw it in the way a hair was out of place in her bun, how a ginger hair was swept over her forehead, stuck to clamming skin. Worried, concerned, regretful.
The funeral has been small. Jarvis and Anna had had no children of their own, or any family beyond the outskirts of the Starks, especially Tony, who had been in the arms of Jarvis and Anna during his infancy more than his own parents. Tony had watched the coffin lower into the ground with hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, crisp and expensive, with a lowered head and a heavy heart as he dared to flicker his eyes off the coffin and to the outstretch of land in front of him.
Peggy hadn't came. Tony didn't expect it either, or maybe, he had, clinging to a hope and a dream that she hadn't forgotten about her old life and too busy with her new one to even spare the likes of Jarvis a second thought. He had thought more of her, but only because she was held on a much higher ground than any other role model in his life, and maybe that's Tony's fault for being so naive. Or Howard's fault for being so abusive. Or Maria's fault for being so neglectful. Or Peggy's fault being so absent. Or Jarvis' fault for being so fucking dead.
~~~
And so, he built JARVIS.
"Just A Rather Very Intelligent System."Tony had gestured grandly around the workshop, kept on the tips of his toes and on high alert from lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of social awareness, too much caffeine, very high heart rate, very low blood sugar, very excited mind that's been racing back and forth between projects for days, weeks, months.
Pepper had stared, at what, she wasn't sure because Tony's workshop was a cluster of Genius waste, of a mess that she would describe, but organisation that Tony would argue. There's a place for everything and everything is in place, Tony would comment as he whirled around the workshop, grabbing a 1st place graded sculpture that some kid at a science fair Tony was judging at gave him, placing it on a shelf surrounded by coffee mugs and old Latin books.
"Go on,"Tony had turned to look at Pepper who had remained unmoved, unsure, as she stood in Tony's workshop with strict instructions to drag Tony out by the ear and into a shower, changed and off to gala event by 7:30."Say hello."
"To what."She had queried, trying not to stare at Tony but to only glance because it's so easy to stare, it's so easy to stare at his dirty hair and of scarred arms, of that blue orb nestled in the centre of his chest, of the way his hands always move so frantically, of how you could practically see every gear in action in his head.
Tony had turned, offended, frustrated, disgruntled, embarrassed but for not himself. He was a proud peacock who had just been turned down, shunned, made of a full on as he motioned out to the emptiness of the workshop, with no other soul but Tony and Pepper, of DUM-E who remained charged in his station, of a half built Butterfingers."To JARVIS, of course."
"Good Afternoon Sir, the time is 5:12 in the afternoon, the temperature is currently 53 degrees Fahrenheit and you have 157 voicemails awaiting in your inbox-"And Pepper has gawked, if only a little as JARVIS had continued to impress and Tony had continued to shine if only for a little while at a creation he worked so hard upon. But he, JARVIS, was still only an infant and Tony had not finished with him yet, he had explained, because JARVIS was going to be the best, he was going to be worldwide known, but untouchable but only to Tony.
~~~~
Alcohol numbs the pain, but only for awhile, Tony learns the hard way. He's on a strangers bathroom floor the next time that it happens. He's 21. Legal. Flying solo for the first time in his life without the weight of a company on his shoulders because Howard is gone for Christmas and he's taken Mom, and Obie has taken responsibility because god knows Tony isn't going to stay sober over Christmas, never mind New Years.
He'd fallen, surely, because there's a throbbing pain at the side of his head and a creek in his neck that wasn't because he slept on the cracked tile flooring of a strangers bathroom, blanketed with empty bottles and half rolled spliffs. It's December and Tony only knows this because there's a Christmas tree reflected in the bathroom mirror when he pulls himself up, his reflection daunting and tired, a bruise on his neck, the Arc Reactor glowing vividly under his light t-shirt.
His arms, which have toned over the years of muscle work in the workshop, lifting metals and controlling blowtorches, are scarred and bruised in ways that Tony can't remember, and in ways he remembers very well, too. It's not evident, not from afar, of the inflicting that has stained the olive skin of his arms, back, chest; that cover tender flesh that's been beaten just as much, but whose marks have faded.
There had been a buzz in his pocket which Tony had chosen to ignore, sure of who it was, sure he was willing to ignore its business. A message maybe, a missed phone call, a headlining alert with the favourite tag of Tony Stark, favouriting scandalous stories of newly contacted STI's and an exclusive interview with the latest who has crawled into bed with Tony Stark. Tony, of course, finds amusement from indulging in such articles, a guilty pleasure to read because it's always fun to know if he has Chlamydia this month or be reminded of all his favourite kinks.
The television is on, bringing a sense of normality to Tony has to enters the living area of decorative chaos, rustling in the kitchenette off to the left, a toaster popping, a kettle boiling, a voice humming along to a tune on the radio. Tony hates cable television, especially their news broadcasts and he's about to find the remote, switch the channel, find something of better interest for a hungover Sunday, Friday, Wednesday, weekend, weekday, day of rest.
And he sees it before he hears it, a face, a face that's so regularly on television screens and news broadcasts that Tony shouldn't even have hesitated, or stopped, or stared. But it's the face that flickers next to it, in a stand alone photo where she looks so young, so beautiful, so magnificently pretty, and witty and bright. And Tony knows it's bad because it's never really good, and when it's not bad, it's worse, it's terrible, disastrous, destroying, life shaping news that can make one collapse in on himself like a sand glass, pouring away into a tiny hole, a grain at a time.
He feels that, the slipping away, and it had started a lot earlier than this moment, but he's coming to the end of the sand, the end of caring, the end of his family which had never really been a family to begin with, but it was nice to say it out loud in times that he'd wanted to believe. And the sand is pouring, and he's slipping away out to sea, adrift from himself because everyone around him leaves, or joins the army, or is dead, so what's the point anymore?
This time, Peggy is there, in mourning black if only to blend in to the crowds. But she stands out to Tony, because only Peggy could appear in mourning but not actually be, to retain a facade as if she had never left. She looks tired, withered almost, as if the years of working a dream job in a dream city with a dream family wasn't the dream she intended it to be. And in some spiteful, hateful way, Tony does wishes that she had regrets, about leaving Tony in the dust, about leaving New York, about leaving behind a life, a boy, who adored her.
They had made eye contact on more than one occasion, they had kept eye contact throughout Tony's eulogy if only for the fact that to guilt her, to make her see of who he was becoming, who he had become so far. He had spoken of Maria, his mom, only in his eulogy which had been short and though he hadn't said much, he hadn't much to say, but it hadn't meant Tony didn't love her, because her death had been the result of empty liquor bottles countless times.
Because Maria hadn't been perfect, and yet nobody really is, but there was a love there that had been shown through touches and glances, of involvement and defensive actions, of times where she had ushered Tony out of the room before a breaking of a glass on the wall, or hinted a warning of a presence coming down for dinner, or the ghostly brush to a warm cheek that Tony felt he had dreamt in the middle of the night when he was still just a babe.
And Tony had cried for his mom. He had cried not only for his loss, but hers too. He had cried for the abrupt end of her life long before the car crash, long before Tony had come along, but when the man she called her husband had wooed her, swung her off her feet, tipped her back in a passionate kiss, had courted for her hand. He cried for how such a man had changed, how she had been chained, how he had took her life and how Tony had taken hers too.
~~~
"I use to take you here,"Her voice hasn't changed, it's still soft and British and holds a higher regard of authority but gentleness that Tony has never been able to get his head around. It never has changed because she always spoke to Tony in the same way that she spoke to Jarvis, or Anna, or Maria, but never the same way with Howard. No, because with Howard, Peggy always spoke as if she had the higher ground, in such a way, over him, as if she knew things about Howard that no other did, and maybe, she had and maybe she still does, but that information would be useless now, Tony thinks.
But she has changed in other ways because the last time Tony had seen her was a decade ago and a decade is a lot of room for changes even if you try and hide them with hats and concealer and a different ring on her ring finger than the one Tony knows that was there before. She's still beautiful, however, because always has been in such a way that reminds Tony of Maria, of how both women were so effortlessly beautiful, so effortlessly pretty in their own ways.
Tony doesn't look up because he can't bare to look at her face, to look her in the eyes that seem to have stayed young as the rest of her has grown older, wiser, self aware. He shifts the spilt grains of sugar on the table into a line, scoffing at its symbolism, of how familiar it looks to the bender he has just crawled himself out of, wiping away the sugar, looking up from the table to out the window instead.
The diner, in which Tony only realises that Peggy had picked for its nostalgia feels that come haunting back at Tony, is more than busy for a Wednesday afternoon, the wind howling through the busted door, snow melting on the pavement and being kicked as slush by passing kids. Tony hates it here, not only because Peggy picked it, but because it's in New York, a city that Tony is growing to hate the more he spends time in.
"Tony-"
"You left."His eyes never leave the window, of where he watches a jet pass in the sky, a bird hop off a branch, a sheet of a newspaper skid across the slush pavement, caught in the wind.
"I know, I-"
"You left."Tony says it firmer this time, each word punctuated, harsh, hard."For 10 years you never answered my phone calls, or postcards or even send me a fucking birthday card. For 10 years you disappear, for 10 years you pretended that I had never existed, that Jarvis hadn't existed because you couldn't even come to his fucking funeral. Do you know I was the only one there, do you? I was the only one at his funeral, a great fucking man, and as his friend you couldn't even show up."
"I had a family."Is all she can say because it's an explanation itself, because family is an excuse, it's valid, it's legit, it's used for emergency situations or for events that you don't want to go to because when you say my family needs me, or, my daughter is sick, it's a lot more important than a funeral of a long lost friend or a crying child that isn't your own.
"And I wasn't family enough."This time, however, Tony's voice catches in those words, caught, stuck, constricted in such a way that it nearly breaks the dam of tears that have been threatening Tony for an awfully long time now. He tips his head towards the table, closing his eyes if only for a second only for when they open, for his vision to blur, pushing his face into his hands if only to hide his tears as frustration instead.
And Tony hates himself for it, for the tears in his eyes, for the sobs in his throat, for the ache in his chest that he'd like to believe has only appeared, but has been present for an awfully long time. He's weak, gnawed down to the bone, brittle, vulnerable as it crashes, dawns, to him. Of the days, the weeks, the months, the years.
"I should've been there."Peggy eventually speaks after what has to be minutes, hours, days, or so it feels, quiet and soft but not understanding because she can't understand. She can only witness, she can only sit and see how her actions cause effects to those she had loved and those she had left too.
"Yes you fucking should've."The voice is muffled behind scarred hands, mumbled through chapped lips, caught between blubbered hiccups and choked tears. And really, what times are Tony talking about when she should've been there. There are so many times that Tony wishes she had been there, situations she should've been there for, ones where Peggy would've kicked down a door when he was 5 and crying, screaming in pain from a broken arm by a drunken Howard. Times when it happened when he was 11, the summer after the vacation with Peggy, where Howard has broken his shoulder. Or when he was 15 and kicked in the ribs.
Some part of Tony wants to remain bitter for all of those times where he hadn't been hugged, or talked to, or looked at for days and weeks and months, for all those birthdays and Christmas's Tony spent in school, in collage, on his own. But he's not petty, and he's not exactly raining down with members left of his once family unit which has now been fractured by deaths grip.
"The coffee is fucking terrible."He breaks the silence very suddenly, removing his hands from his face, tears dried onto cheeks, eyes puffy and red, but at the moment he doesn't care as Peggy looks up, a little shocked at the transition but slowly melts.
"Believe it or not, I use to bring you here for the tea."Her tone is teasing, just a little as Tony rolls his eyes.
"You use to bring me here because you had a crush on the waitress."He scoffs, motioning his head towards the diners counter, where it's paint is chipped and metal has been scratched, unchanged for years."And also because she use to give us free pie every time you winked at her and called her a cutiepie."
"I called you a cutiepie."
"You still winked at her."Tony points out, lifting his fork and taking a corner of the pie that Peggy had originally bought to start off with. Cherry. And Tony gloats for the roaring blush on her cheeks as she remembers the waitress, as she remembers Tony as he was when he was somewhere between 3 and 5, up on on knees on the booths seats with a fork in his hand and eating her pie. Just like he was now. And she'll remember that.
~~~
Stark Industries goes through a jurassic change over the months after Howard's death, or so, Tony suspects from the mountains of emails that seem to gather in his inbox, notified with every keyword or forward of an email of plans, tactics, marketing, production. None of it concerns Tony, as of yet, because Tony's job is to be the face of the Corporation and when he's not doing that, he's stuck in engineering the latest gadget or gizmo. The Beauty and the Brains, he calls himself as Pepper left in the latest memo that he should take into consideration about a gadget he doesn't really care for but makes for on it anyhow.
In the will, Tony is majority shareholder, if only by a percent more than the board put together and a lot more of a percentage above Obie too, which Tony finds hilarious. However, despite his shareholder position and the company being left in his name, the perfect wonders of small print entitles Stane, Obadiah to head Stark Industries in the name of Howard Stark as business partner and maturity outwaying the likes of Tony's.
Which, Tony had been fine with because he remains the face of the company, the social butterfly at events and charity galas, the charm at board meetings and presentations while Obadiah is lumbered with the paperwork, the stress, the plans. It works out, in all sorts of way, because Tony remains the brains as well at the beauty and he improves the company from behind the scenes and out on the field in his own types of way, also.
Stark Insurance, for example, an arrangement that Tony had established for the soldiers that worked alongside their weapon equipment -something Tony had wanted to scrap but Obadiah and the board were very keen to peruse. Stark Insurance was entitled to all soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors of war, to provide pensions to the injured, funds to the widowed, a safety net for everyone. With Rhodey in mind.
Tony had also, within the sector of Stark Insurance, cover a clause of artificial limb replacement and by the age of 26, Tony had created the first titanium metal leg for an Afghanistan solider who had lost it on the field, and by 27, Tony had not only gotten a name for himself other than being a Stark, billionaire, playboy philanthropist but for being intelligent, a genius. For being more than a hacker when he was 12, or smart for building a 'simple' robot, but intelligent, genius, magnificent.
And at 28, it's a good year. He features in Times Magazine. He earns his third PHD in Medicine to add to the growing collection. Stark Industries has crushed Stone Inc into the ground. He had improved the Arc Reactors abilities, with great difficulty. Obadiah is out of his hair. Tiberius has fallen off the edge of the world. Rhodey is safe and alive and striving well. Justin Hammer won't leave him alone, which is bad. Stephen Strange also won't leave him alone, which is good. Peggy is still in contact. DUMM-E is annoying. JARVIS is brilliantly sarcastic.
Tony. He's okay. He's doing good. He's alive. He's breathing. He's living. The shrapnel poisoning is a thing he has under control. His alcoholism not so much. His public life is a wreck, his personal one not so much that better. His face; still pretty. His body; still fit. His scars; still there. His brain; still brilliantly intelligent. His mental health; nonexistent.
But he's good. He's 28. Going on 29. And soon he'll be 30. And then 40. And then, Tony won't exactly know if he'll be good or not. But for now, he is. And for now, that's okay.
Ohmygod hello guys it's me and I have brought you my favourite chapter yet to ever fucking write because I loved every second of this, even if it did take me like 20 years to write, I still loved it and it went so smoothly to me. I wanted to get like every 2-3 years in, its a bit crammed, lacks dialogue but ya know it's still good.
What did you all think?
Did you like how I wrote this chapter and transitioned the time skip and periods?
Which part was most heartbreaking in Tony's 10 year time skip do you think?
A bit of a lover interest on the scene with Stephen Strange. What's your outtake on that?
How do you think Steve will play a part in Tony's new life? How do you think he'll appear into this all?
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Peace ✌🏼