Work Text:
(Can't count the years on one hand
That we've been together
I need the other one to hold you
Make you feel, make you feel better
It's not a walk in the park
To love each other
But when our fingers interlock
Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it)
Love stories can start anywhere, anytime, anyhow.
Some start in fire and dazzling lights.
Some start in dark corners and empty coffee houses.
Some start before the beginning.
Some start after the end.
Love stories can be painful, chaotic, all encompassing. Magical, painful, all consuming.
Love stories can start be the all, the maybe.
The question and the answer.
They just are.
You can’t tell, exactly, when your love story started.
Did it start the day you were made aware of him for the first time? Or did it start the day you learnt he was attending the same university as you? Maybe it started the day your father dropped you off and you saw him and his butler walking towards the administration building, carrying a number of bags between them. Perhaps yet, when you almost crashed into him on your way to the bathroom?
You cannot tell.
Your lives were somehow destined to be interwoven with each other’s before you even consciously decided to seek him out – or him you.
You don’t believe in destiny, or in fate, or in any of those big words.
You are religious, yes; but you are also a man of science and numbers.
Coincidences don’t exist, and neither do soulmates.
Still, you found each other.
Is it a mathematical equation always meant to be solved for its own value, or is it something more?
You don’t know.
And you decided, long ago, that it doesn’t matter.
You start your love story in a library at MIT, the week before finals.
You are there already, have been there since the early morning. There is a coffee cup near you keeping you awake that the librarian feigns blindness to - and you are extremely thankful for the small kindness - and a pile of books in front of you and at your sides.
She also keeps refilling it with an even nicer blend while you are absorbed in books, which you promise yourself you will thank her for when you are done.
There are books everywhere on the table. That is the excuse you will give later on, when he or others ask you how it took you so long to realise anything was amiss.
The truth? You are a bit of a perfectionist, and when you are in the zone, you are in the zone. An earthquake could happen, and you would not so much as blink.
But you do notice him, eventually.
You take a book from the pile in front of you and he appears, behind them.
For a second, you pause at the sight of the messy brown hair in front of you, utterly confused.
You had been pretty sure you were alone at the table until then.
You are not very popular at the university, and rarely do other students willingly share your table.
But you blink, and blink, and he does not disappear.
In fact, he raises his head, feeling your gaze on him, and your eyes meet.
You know who he is. Everyone at university is aware of Tony Stark, whether they have seen or met him before (you fall in the former group).
He has a small thermos in his hands, and as you watch him blush, you realise it was not the librarian pouring you coffee.
It was him.
It strikes you as odd, immediately. It is not like you put much stock into the gossip mills, or what people around have to say about anything or anyone.
But he is the illustrious son of Howard Stark, World War II hero and weapons manufacturer, and he is his equally as impressive genius son.
While people tried to be discreet, being one of the very few black students at MIT was hard to ignore. As was the prejudice that made most people avoid you, for whatever reason (you know the reason).
You would have expected Stark’s child to be one of the said people.
Racism is taught, used to say your dad, and you almost wonder if the little kid in front of you has missed the class. He is something like ten years, after all (you know he’s fourteen: it’s written on every newspaper, and it was unavoidably whispered around during your first weeks in the university; but it is much more amusing to pretend he’s younger, because it makes him incredibly annoyed, and you find early on his annoyance is hilarious).
“Dude,” you say, not sure of what else to say.
“Dude,” echoes Stark, his tone making it clear how weird the word is on his tongue.
It makes you smile. Then grimace, because that little proper Manhattan East Side attitude and that preppy look is not going to endear him to anyone.
Too young, too smart, and too rich: the combination that would make any bully seethe.
“Is that your coffee?” you ask, when the silence is about to get awkward and he still stares at you like he thinks you’re mad at him. You're not. You're a little confused, but not mad. “Have you been giving me refills?”
He blushes. “Mr Jarvis says–” he pauses, embarrassed. “Yeah. You looked like you needed it.”
“I did,” you admit, and you flash him another smile. “Thanks. These equations are kicking my butt.” You pull out your hand and offer it to him. “James Rhodes.”
He nearly drops the thermos, in his haste to shake your hand. It is small in yours, but the handshake is surprisingly firm and strong (he will tell you, later on, that he took a class on this; you mock him on the topic every time you see him shaking hands with an authority figure after that).
“Tony Stark.”
He smiles, and you smile too.
You like to think that it starts there.
He is lonely. And very eager to please.
It is one of the many things you learn about him, in that week you study for the midterms.
The next morning, he is already at your usual table when you come in. He is playing with the coffee thermos and tapping his foot nervously. Your books from yesterday are already out there, and the closer you get, the more surprised you are that they are exactly what you used yesterday, laid out as you had.
You are warmed, and thankful, yes; but you also cannot help but cringe at the solicitousness of the action.
This sort of behaviour will get him hurt. People will take advantage of this.
You want to tell him as much, but the way he smiles – easy, naïve, relieved – when he sees you makes you swallow back the words.
There is no easy way to say it without sounding as if you don’t want to hang out with him or like you aren’t one of said people. And you might not know him well, but you already know the wrong word will send him away and never bring him back again.
So you don’t say anything about that.
You thank him, instead, and when he offers to help you with your calculations – the one you mentioned yesterday – you agree.
He did not ensure you passed the midterms. Tony Stark or not, you are a genius in your own merit, a student of this university via an academic scholarship.
You are smart enough to pass by yourself.
But his help with the equations does give you an edge that you did not know you needed.
You are thankful, and you feel the need to make sure he knows that, even as you leave the university for Thanksgiving.
The first time you see him after the midterms is not in the library.
You were vaguely aware of the fact that you shared a couple of classes, but you never really paid much attention to what was outside the lecturer’s board.
You normally sit in the first row, by the window. It makes sure you see the board, and also don’t get distracted by the constant flow of students in the morning.
You see him sitting in the back row, middle column. The chair beside his is empty, and his head is down, focused on something you cannot make out from the distance.
For a second, you stay where you are, considering.
But your mother raised a polite young man, you like to think, and during Thanksgiving you could not stop comparing his face with that of your younger sister.
So you sigh, but you walk towards the back, ignoring people’s confusion at your departure from what was unofficially considered your official seat.
Stark does not look up until you are standing directly over him and the... comic book he appears to be reading.
“Is that Captain America?”
He jumps, and his eyes widen when they see you there.
“James!” he says, surprised and immediately very happy to see you.
Eager and too trusting.
It is impossibly not to smile back.
So you do, and you sit beside him.
It becomes your new unofficially official seat.
It only takes a few more weeks until 'Stark' becomes Tony, and Tony becomes Tones.
It only takes a few more days until 'James' becomes Jim, and Jim becomes Rhodey.
You do not understand the nickname. But it makes him smile and explain how you are not, supposedly, a James or a Jim, and perhaps you are already soft for him by then.
Perhaps you already like him, and that’s why you ask him to come over for Christmas at your house.
He is surprised by the request. His eyes get ridiculously large, and he stares at you with wide eyes.
You open your mouth, to repeat the question, and he rushes to say yes, like he expects you to take it back at any time.
But you have heard him on the phone with who you had believed was his father until he told you it was 'his butler, his Mr Jarvis'(You learn more of his parents later on, and meet his real father on one occasion; you hate him on sight), and you don’t take it back.
Instead you throw a hand around his shoulders, and tell him all sort of stories of your mother and your family.
He is jealous and awed, and you pretend not to notice either.
Your mother loves him. Your father is wary of him. Your sister finds him hilarious.
He is terribly awkward the entire time, but he is enthusiastic, and he is genuine.
He loves your mother as much as she loves him, and you know already by then that he’s going to be a permanent fixture in your life. Already you are imagining next Christmas, and you cannot see it without him with you.
Your roommate does not come back from the holidays, and of course you tell Tony this first.
It occurs to you that it should be weird to have a fourteen years old as your best - if not only - friend at university.
But it doesn’t. Because being with Tony Stark is easy, and he changes you as much as you change him.
You learn how to fold shirts in a way that makes them fit perfectly in the wardrobe, and how to use proper cutlery at meals. You learn how to wear a tie properly.
He learns to appreciate rock and roll and listen to music that isn’t basic pop or classical, and he learns how to fix a kitchen sink with his bare hands. He learns how to not embarrass them both at a house party.
You learn him, and he learns you.
You don’t fall in love with him.
You don’t think you’re falling in love with him.
You don’t realise you’re falling for him.
Until he kisses you.
Until he kisses you out of nowhere in the middle of your second year.
You are so shocked, so confused, his lips against yours as you are in the middle of explaining why you like Star Wars, that you don’t kiss him back. You just stare at him, confused by how close he is, and you see the way he panics from up close.
Of course he does. It’s the 80s, and men have been socked in the face and killed for less.
He pulls back, and he immediately looks mortified, brown eyes filling with fear and tears.
He runs away almost crying, and only then do you move.
Only then do you chase after him, until you catch up to him in an empty corridor.
You still don’t know, don’t understand your feelings. You don’t know why he kissed you, and you don’t know if you hated it or not.
But you care for him and are not going to hurt him.
Ever.
So, you hug him.
He cries on your shoulder, but he stops shaking.
You know you did the right thing.
He gets a girlfriend, after that.
You think it’s about hiding the kiss, and it makes you a little angry. You won’t learn about bisexuality until much later on, and the fact that he would pretend he never kissed you or never liked you like he did hurts in a way you don’t understand (that you don't want to understand).
So you watch as he parades her and she uses him, and everything inside of you feels sick. You hate it, and you want to pull him away from her claws, away from what she is doing.
You give many excuses for it, to him and to yourself.
You think she is too old for him. You think she’s just using him for money. You think she will hurt him.
You are right, about all of it.
But that is not your real reason. You refuse to admit it to him, and you refuse to admit to yourself.
You watch her kiss his cheek, and you seethe quietly.
Truth has a way of never staying hidden for too long.
He knows you don’t like his girlfriend. He knows you are lying, when you tell him why.
You know it hurts him, having you refuse him.
It doesn’t change a thing.
You refuse to speak, and you refuse to admit anything, and you keep it in, in, in.
But then there is a party – there is always a party. And there is alcohol – there is always alcohol.
And Tony is with his girlfriend – so you drink.
Then Tony and his girlfriend make out – so you drink.
Then Tony smiles at his girlfriend — so you drink.
And you drink, drink, drink, until your reason is swallowed and drowned out by the alcohol.
And the courage is inflated, growing, growing, growing until you can’t control yourself anymore.
You don’t remember much of that evening. You don’t know who you spoke to, what you did, where you were.
Tony comes back to your room late.
He is flushed, and he is sporting a hickey on his neck, and he has kiss marks, and something snaps.
You wish that wasn’t how you told him. You wished that wasn’t how you realised it.
You don’t even remember what you said, don’t even recall how much sense you made or didn’t made.
You do remember his eyes, though. How big they got, the more you rambled and ranted, how fearful and hopeful they turned, the more words tumbled out of your mouth.
He puts you to bed, when you’re done speaking. It is something that you will find yourselves doing to one another over and over, in the years to come.
In that moment, it doesn’t even occur to you to be embarrassed by the gesture.
It's Tony.
You talk about it, the next morning.
You are still a little bit drunk, but this time you are far more coherent, and you do understand the conversation a little bit more.
You hear him, when he says he broke up with his girlfriend – at some unspecified time of the night.
It should make you wince for the rudeness of it all, but all you feel is a strange sense of victory.
It must show on your face, because an equally satisfied smile appears on his face.
He calls you jealous, and he’s giddy about it, the little prick.
You argue, but you don’t believe it, and he doesn’t believe it either.
He is right, of course: you were jealous, and you were jealous because...
Because.
That is a hard question to answer.
Because he is scarcely fifteen, going sixteen. You are already seventeen.
He is the only son of Howard Stark. You are going to be a nameless AirMan, just like your father was.
He is a boy. You are also a boy.
You do not belong together.
But when he boldly kisses the last traces of vodka from your lips – a disgusting taste mixed with your morning breath, he will later let you know – you do not push him away.
You do not freeze, you do not scream, you do not fight it.
You know – you think – it’s wrong, but it feels right. And how can it be wrong if it feels so right?
You should not belong together. And yet, how could you belong to others?
You are scared shitless, when you go home next.
Tony and you have talked about it, but you are no more certain of what is between the two of you than you had been that first morning.
You just know that Tony somehow became yours between a math equation and a cup of coffee, and he is even more so now.
You just know that you became Tony’s before even becoming aware of it, and you are even more so now.
You just know that you are meant to be together – even if together is only behind your closed doors, away from prying eyes and judging journalists and gossipy classmates.
But still, you feel like it’s written on your forehead. You feel like everyone can tell when they see you, when they see the two of you together.
When Tony subconsciously leans in too close, when he smiles at you like you are the sun itself, you feel like the whole world knows. And when your eyes find his before every presentation, when your fingers curl around the nape of his neck or his wrist, you feel like the whispers are just your secret shouted out loud.
But nobody accuses you.
Nobody knows.
When you get home, your mom hugs you like she always does. Your father greets you like he always does. Your sister annoys you like she always does.
You eat together at breakfast, lunch and dinner, and the normalcy is consuming you. It is suffocating. You feel like you are lying every time you breathe, every time they smile at you, like you are carrying a huge soul crushing disease.
“Pass the potatoes, please.”
“Are there carrots in there?”
“Jeanette, it’s just salad. James, aren’t you hungry?”
“I kissed a boy.”
It comes out of you barely audible, all at once. It’s more of an exhale than anything else, but everyone hears it.
Your mom’s head snaps to look at you. Your father stills in his chair. Your sister has comically frozen with food in her mouth.
Your hands feel clammy and shaky, incredibly sweaty.
You do not know what possessed you to say this, what made you open your mouth at all and speak.
You are terrified like you have never been before.
Your mom sees it. She lets the plate clatter on the table, and she rushes to hug you, with a sound you cannot figure out if a whimper or a coo.
Your chest hurts, and you cannot look away from your father.
He is still sitting and he is staring right at you, and you feel like throwing up. You have no idea of what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do.
He doesn’t. He just stares at you, and you stare at him until your legs feel like they are able to hold you again.
Then, you shake your mom off and run to your room, trying not to cry, trying not to throw up, trying not to drown in your feelings.
You think your relationship with your dad is broken. You never spoke much, but at least, before, you never felt like you had disappointed him. Like you had destroyed a bridge between yourself and him.
Like you broke a bond between the two of you.
It’s not broken.
It’s not, because he comes to your room, later that night.
You are not asleep anyway, and when you see him coming into your room you sit up quickly – nervous, afraid, sick to your stomach again.
He says: “You are not a white man, James.”
“Dad-”
“You are a black man. A proud black man, raised by another proud black man. You are strong, and you are stubborn, and you take what you want.
“They don’t like that. They will never like that.”
White people are always they to his dad. He likes Tony, and he respects any person, no matter their skin. But he always says ‘they’ and ‘us’ and he always means ‘white’ and ‘black’.
“They do not like black men," he says. "They do not like gay men. They will not like a black gay man.”
You don’t know if you are gay. You do not know if you like ‘men’. You only know you like ‘Tony’.
You don’t say that.
He says: “So, I’m going to ask you only once. Are you sure, James?”
You are not even 20. You are basically still a teenager. Teenagers don’t know anything, are not sure of anything.
But, you think, you are sure of this. You are sure of Tony.
You nod.
Your father’s shoulders don’t slump. He doesn’t look sad, and he doesn’t look happy.
He looks serious, like he always does.
He says: “Then you are a proud black gay man raised by a proud black man.”
You don’t feel like throwing up again, when he leaves. You just feel like crying.
You are not sure of why.
Tony comes out to his dad over the holidays too.
He comes back stiff, with copious amount of concealer on his face.
You want to kill Howard Stark, not for the first time, and not for the last.
But he kisses you before you can say anything, before you can apologise, before you can compromise.
He kisses you and locks the door, and you know exactly what he is saying.
You both graduate together.
You graduate, and you collect your certificates, and you party, and Tony tells you he loves you.
He tells you this like a cliché romantic movie, while you both lie in bed, over the crumbled sheets of the hotel room you are sharing.
He is shaking, and in the light of the moon, he seems nervous.
You take his hand in yours, and you don’t even understand his fear. Because of course you love him too.
He is the love of your life, and you tell him as much.
He says: “You are and will always be my one and only love, Rhodey.”
You kiss and fall back in bed, entangling until there is no more space between you.
Tony’s parents die.
It’s a car crash, and Howard was driving drunk.
You are training when this happens, on the other side of the US.
You take leave – you don’t ask – and fly back as quickly as you can.
Edwin - Mr Jarvis - opens the door for you, and you barely wait for him to point, before you run.
You find Tony sitting on the couch of his living room.
There are empty bottles all around, and you know he’s drunk.
He doesn’t open his eyes until you are sat next to him, and your arms are around his shoulders, holding him close to you.
He sees you, and despite him being drunk, his eyes are clear.
“I hate him,” he says. “I hated him. So much.”
You don't have to pretend to understand him.
You know what he feels, and you have learnt to feel as he does.
So, you only hold him to you.
You go back, after that.
Something in you breaks, but you have to, and he insists you do.
So you go, and you meet Death, and War, and Pain.
Something inside of you dies, the longer you are away from home.
But still - always - you love him.
He becomes reckless, after that. Something has snapped in him, with the death of his parents. He drinks more, abuses more drugs. He gets in a car crash he insists was ‘nothing’.
But he doesn’t stop loving you, and you don’t stop loving him.
Even when he ends up getting arrested.
Even when your mom calls you, worried about him.
Even when the media reports him being out with a model or the other, you don’t doubt him.
You remember the panicked call he gave you, the first time it happened, swearing he had not so much as kissed the girl’s cheek, and you know Tony would never cheat on you.
Tony would never cheat stat.
You know that, despite the confusion and pain he is in, he loves you, and you love him.
Still, when you come back after your first mission, you are nervous. You are afraid of seeing him face to face after so long apart – the longest time apart since you met.
There were calls, e-mails, letters. ‘A’ sent you care packages, at times, that had everyone incredibly jealous of you (don’t ask, don’t tell).
But you have not seen one another’s face in so long, and you are afraid.
What if you are different? What if what you have seen out there has changed you more than he can bear? What if he does not want you anymore?
You feel almost sick as you stop in front of the house he bought as soon as you were deployed.
‘Our little paradise island’, he had called it. Because you had refused to let him buy a real paradise island.
But then you walk into the kitchen, and you are not sure of what to feel.
“Welcome home!” calls Tony.
DUM-E and U are holding banners and ‘welcome home’ balloons.
The table has the remains of what might have been breakfast, was it not so completely burned and ruined.
He is wearing an apron, on top of your faded MIT jumper, and a pair of shorts that somehow survived your first year at uni. He has bunny slippers on.
He looks ridiculous.
He looks stunning.
And he looks so happy to see you, you want to hug him and never let him go, and kiss him until he can’t breath.
So, you do.
Tony melts into your arms and as you listen to him compliment your muscles and pepper your face with kisses, you wonders how you were ever nervous.
He calms down, as the years pass.
You both do, and settle into the only type of normalcy your life can give you.
You cannot be together publicly. You are an AirMan, and he... well, he is Tony Stark.
Tony Stark is supposed to be something, and none of these things include him being in love with another man.
He disagrees. He thinks he can be anything he wants, and that it doesn’t matter what he decides to do or not to do.
You know better, though.
You’ve known there are more than one way of hating another person from the moment you realised your skin wasn’t just darker than most (from the moment your father explained to you why there was you and them).
But you know Tony will never understand this – not until it is too late. And in the late 80s, the early 90s, the late 90s and the early 00s, is always too early.
So, you play dirty. You point out the fact that everyone knows that he and you are ‘close’, and if Tony were to come out, it would not be too long until people start pointing at you too.
It breaks your heart to hear Tony apologising for it, but you never regret it. You never apologise for it, because you know. He doesn’t, but you do.
And from the beginning, you meant to protect him.
So, you do.
There are ups and down. He is Tony Stark, and you are James Rhodes, and you are both very stubborn people.
But you love each other. You love each other, and even on the worst nights, when you argue so loud you feel paradise might be too small for you, you fall asleep in the same bed, and you hold onto each other.
Because you love him, and he has always been the love of your life.
So you argue, and you laugh. You scream, and you kiss. You joke, and you invent.
He sings – shockingly badly – and you dance – predictably well.
You are deployed and he goes to work, and the best nights are when you come back to each other, in your small little house outside New York.
You drink champagne in terrible solo cups because he think its hilarious, and you dance in the house you furnitured together over the course of the years, his head on your shoulder.
And even when he is papped with ladies - and guys - and rumored to be in ‘relationships’ it doesn’t matter, because it’s you he comes home to, at night.
Even after Pepper Potts comes into his life (after BUTTERFINGERS, and Happy, and JARVIS) and he stops going through assistants, it’s always you that are the constant in his life, and that is what matters.
Your parents knew it was Tony before you told them. As soon as you told them you kissed a boy, your mom asked you to bring Tony by, and that was it.
Your father and you never spoke about your relationship with Tony. He never asked him or you anything, and when you retired together to your bedroom at night, he did not say a word.
Your sister and your mom had loved Tony from the get go. He is nervous, when he comes the first time after you get together, even though you have told him your family is ‘mostly supportive’. But by the time your mom has called him ‘her boy’ and told him that ‘so long as you keep my Jim happy, I am happy’ for the third time, he is no longer afraid.
He does not tell you till years later that your father took him aside on that very night and gave him the most terrifying shovel talk he had ever heard, and that was why he came back to bed trembling like a leaf (he blamed it on the cold, back then, which you accused him of being an excuse to get cuddles).
By that time your father is seven feet under, and you never get the chance to thank him for his support (in his own way, he had always supported him).
Your mom asks you, one Christmas, while Tony and Jeanette are playing out in the snow, when you are going to marry him.
She pays no attention to you choking on the hot chocolate, simply continuing to stir her food.
You say: “Mom?!”
She says: “What? It is high time someone puts a ring on my son. And if he isn’t going to propose, you should.”
She is quite serious, and for a moment you wonder if she has missed a fundamental part of this entire thing.
“Mom... Tony and I can’t marry. We are men.”
She looks at you as if you have missed a fundamental part of this entire thing.
She says: “Marriage is a promise to each other. Not a piece of paper and a married tick on a certificate.”
And well...
She is not wrong.
You look at Tony again, and he is somehow, inexplicably, already looking at you.
He cannot have heard what you and his mother were talking about.
But he smiles at you, and your heart feels full just watching him. And when your sister nails him in the face with a snowball, you can’t help but laugh at the inaudible yelp, or the way he jumps to avoid the snow falling into his shirt.
And you see it.
You can see you and him as you see your parents. You can imagine your hair grayed and rocking chairs, and DUM-E, U, BUTTERFINGERS and JARVIS. You can see medals, and inventions, and you can see his hand in yours. You can see him orbiting around you, and you can feel your old hand wrapped around his wrist and it is as solid as any memory, as anything lived now.
Marriage is nothing but a social institution, but to you it is much more.
And you realise that your mother is right (she often is).
You want to marry him. You want to be with him now, and always. You want to retire with him, and live out the rest of your days in your little paradise island with your bots and AIs, and you want him.
You wanted him, you want him, and you will always want him.
You want to marry him.
He proposes to you before you can, because of course he does.
You think you are having a goodbye dinner, because you are being shipped the next day.
But then DUM-E brings out the dessert in a covered plate, looking oddly excited as he does. You open expecting cheesecake and, instead, you find your old MIT rings, both of them cleaned and polished.
You look back at him, but he is no longer on the chair.
He is on one knee, and JARVIS is playing the cheesiest music you have ever heard, while he stands on his knee with an embarrassed expression, the familiar nervousness in his eyes.
He says: “We are already roommates, wanna make it official? My mom was already worried for my soul when she heard I was bi, surely you don’t want to make it worse for her by having me live in sin?”
You call him an idiot.
You say yes.
You kiss him until the both of you fall to the ground, giggling giddily.
DUM-E whines until you take the rings and put them on both of you, and then you kiss him more.
You love him.
You get married once in your living room. He plays Back in Black, and you regret ever teaching him about AC/DC. Then, he reads his vows, and he calls you his ‘one and only love’, and you cry.
You get married the second time in front of your mom, because otherwise she’d kill you. She plays church music, and you invite Happy and Pepper too.
You take revenge on him by making him bawl like a baby in front of your mother, father and sister. But it makes your father’s eyes wet too, and then your mom is crying, and you are crying, and Happy and Pepper were bawling from the beginning, and the only person with dry eyes is Jeanette.
You always suspected she was a stone colded bitch.
When you tell her that, you end up with cake in your face.
But she gives you the best wedding present, so you forgive her.
You raise through the ranks.
His company grows better and better.
You argue less, understand each other more.
You never stop loving each other.
When people ask you if you have a girl, or who ‘A’ is, you just tell them it’s your partner. You never speak his name, or hint at his gender, but you play with your MIT ring – engagement and wedding ring – and you have the sense that the closest men to you suspect something.
They definitely must think its weird that you have this ‘A’ in your life and yet Tony is often your plus one at most brass events. You wonder if they are really stupid enough to think this is about being SI’s liaison or if they just enjoy blissful ignorance.
You have stopped worrying so much about being found out.
The world is not like it was in the nineties. Things are not easy, of course. But more people are out and proud, and less people get away with hating them and hurting them.
You are not ready to come out, but you think that maybe.
Maybe, one day.
And then Tony is kidnapped.
It goes like this:
He gets in another vehicle because you took your dog tags away from him. They are not his to begin with, and you’re not sure why he has them. But someone noticed them, and you were forced to take them from him.
He gets pouty, as he does, and he gets into a different vee.
You roll your eyes, and get in the one behind his.
You chat with your fellow AirMen, wondering at the same time how you're going to make it up to him.
You are sure he is probably thinking something along the same lines you are, and it makes you smile.
Then you are blown up, and your world turns into fire ash.
You have been bombed before. You have been in attack before. You know how to fight back, how to keep safe, how to retreat.
But Tony is here, your civilian husband is right there in the middle of the attack, and you lose your mind, a little.
You try so hard. You run straight into the line of fire with little to no cover, and you wade among debris, ignoring the potential shells, deaf to the shouts and screams behind you, anosmic to the acrid smell of charred human flesh.
It burns you through your suit, and your hands blister, and you feel whoozy from the smoke, and your eyes tear up, but you still try.
You still try, because you need to, you have to.
Because Tony is there, and he needs you to get him to safety, to get him out.
But you don’t find him.
He’s not there.
He’s gone.
They have to drag you out of there, pull you out of the line of fire.
You push and tell them to cut it out, because Tony is somewhere, and you have to find him, you need to find them.
They say: "Colonel! Get a hold of yourself!"
You say: "Tony! I need to get Tony!"
They don't listen.
They drag you away.
You have never wanted to hurt your fellow soldiers more.
For three months, you search.
No body, no death.
For three months, you comb the desert.
No body, no death.
For three months, you call in every favour anyone has ever owed you.
No body, no death.
For three months, you refuse to give up.
No body, no death.
For three months, you refuse to accept it.
No body, no death.
For three months, you tether the edge of evoking pity and annoyance.
No body, no death.
For three months, you look for Tony.
No body, no death.
A mountain side explodes, and you almost steal a jet in your rush to get there. You ignore direct commands, simply because you know it’s him. It has to be him, because who else would blow up a mountain?
They don't believe you. They think it's something else, but they want to check it out, so they go.
You come with them without even asking, because you know.
And it is him, and when you see him from the jet you damn near throw yourself out of it to get to him.
Your colleagues say: "Son of a bitch, he's alive. Rhodes was right."
You ignore that, the shock of everyone who thought him dead, the shock of everyone with you who believed you crazy.
You do not hear a word they are saying, and are already running through the sand before the jet has fully stopped.
He looks more terrible the closer you get to him. He is dirty, he is bruised, he is injured, he is bloody, he is sunburnt, he is on the knees in the sand.
He is the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life.
You want to hold him in your arms and never let him go again. You want to keep him safe forever and ever.
You say: “How was the funvee?”
He laughs, and it is more like he is about to start crying.
You never thought that you would never hear that sound again, but god, you thought you would never hear that sound again.
You fall on your knees before him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
You say: “Next time you ride with me, okay?”
You mean this in every single meaning of the word, and you know he gets it, when he looks at you with those dark, tired eyes.
You pull him to your chest, and you never want to let him go again.
It is almost impossible to let him go, after.
When everyone wants to speak with him, and congratulate him, and ask him questions, you stand behind him like a sentinel.
When he says no to doctors, you order them to get away from him with a hand close to your gun.
You stop pretending to give a damn about appearances. You gave those up while he was gone, because nobody could have seen how you acted while he was gone and not seen a man in love.
It’s fine, because he clings to you just as hard, and you know he wants – needs – you here as much as you do him.
You know it’s not healthy, you know it’s trauma and PTSD. You know he probably needs to doctors, and you know you need to leave him alone for a second.
But he is your husband, and you fear that if you close your eyes he will be gone again, and you know he’s afraid to close his eyes, period.
So you ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.
Even when he shows you his chest and you want to throw up – it’s inside him, inside his chest, you want to kill whatever bastard has done this to him – you let him do as he wishes.
And when night comes and the doctors promise to stop bothering him, you lay on the small bed right next to him, and you hold him as close as you can without hurting him.
It’s not enough, of course. You need him closer, still. You need to feel him, every inch of him, every part of him, to make sure really sure he’s here, and he’s real.
But you can’t. So you content yourself with this.
You get back, and he closes weapons manufacturing.
And you are confused.
Part of you is angry. Part of you wants to demand an explanation.
But you get to his Malibu Mansion and he falls apart at JARVIS’ voice, and you know PTSD signs. You know what it feels like to come back from death, fire and destruction and find everything unchanged, safe and perfect.
So you don’t say anything. You don’t argue, no matter what the brass or Obadiah says. You hold him when he needs to be held, and you let him kiss you, and you let him taste every inch of you until he is certain you are real, that you are here.
And when he whispers some of what happened to him in the middle of the night, as you finally lay so close you are one, you pretend you don’t want to get your gun and hunt down every single one of the remaining terrorists who did this to him.
You just hold him, and he holds you back.
He doesn’t need you to fight for him, of course.
Tony has never needed you to save him. Tony Stark saves himself, and he has only ever needed you to watch his six while he does, from the first time you met him.
He creates Iron Man, and he fights the terrorists.
You don’t handle any of it very well.
But he forgives you, and you forgive him too.
And when you find out he and Pepper killed Obadiah, you are only proud of him.
He tells the world, “I am Iron Man”.
You should have expected that.
He should have expected the call from your mother to scream at him. You should have expected her to scream at you too, for allowing him to do this.
Tony has never accepted being ‘allowed’ to do things, but you doubt this is a smart thing to tell her now.
So you don’t.
Don’t ask, don't tell is repealed.
For the first time ever, gay, lesbian, and bisexual people are allowed to serve openly in the United States Armed Forces, and they do.
You watch friends and acquaintances and strangers come out en masse. You watch people you suspected and people you would have never guessed be proud, be happy, be joyful.
It feels your heart with pride.
You want to be there with them. You want to tell them all of you and Tony Stark, and make them listen to your love story and your two wedding.
You want to.
But Tony has been pushing you away.
You don’t understand why, and he doesn’t tell you anything. He is keeping something secret, something big, but he doesn’t speak to you, and you don’t know how to make him.
The military is breathing down your neck regarding the armour, and your job is at risk. And at home, Tony sticks to the Malibu mansion, and is increasingly strange and erratic.
You accuse him, once, of having started using again.
You regret it immediately, but he does not speak to you for the remainder of the day anyway.
You don’t understand.
You fight.
It’s an ugly fight, at his own birthday party, and you just... snap.
You grab him by the arm, ignoring the suit, and pull him into his bedroom, ignoring the onlookers.
He shouts at you, and you shout back, and you demand that he tell you the truth, that he speaks to you.
He shouts at you that he does not owe you anything.
You tell him that you don’t even recognise the man you married in him anymore.
He tells you to divorce him, if you want. Then, as if that wasn’t a stab wound deep enough, he tells you that you won’t even have to sign anything for it.
He says: "Our marriage is not even real anyway."
You can’t even tell if he regrets it as soon as he says it. He is still wearing that stupid helmet.
You can’t look at it anymore than you can look at him, so you just turn around and leave.
You steal his armour.
It’s petty, and it’s mean, and you know he will hate you for it, but you don’t care.
You take it anyway, and you give it to the AirForce and Hammer, and you don’t care.
(If you say it enough times, you figure, you will start believing it)
SHIELD comes. Vanko, who you all thought dead. Drones at the Expo.
He was dying.
You hate him, when you hear this. Pepper cries on the feed, but your first instinct is not fear.
It is fury.
Because you see.
Because you see that he was dying, and pushing you away. You see that he was dying, and hurting, and refused to tell you. You see that he was dying, and he chose to do it alone, when you were right there.
You are so angry you almost scare yourself.
You don’t even care, for a moment, that he managed to create a new element and fix it.
All you see is the six months of pushing you away, of suffering on his own, of silences and confusion.
You are furious.
He steps out of the suit, and you know he can tell where your mind is, because he winces at the sight of you.
You don’t care.
You say: “I am your husband,” and there is a crowd. There are people, who came forward to thank you both, to thank him for saving them. But you do not care one bit.
You say: “We married one another and we exchanged rings. We promised each other to be there for each other, and we danced to goddamn Back in Black. I have loved you since MIT, and I have been with you through thick and thin. You have been with me through ease and hardships. We grew up together, and you are the greatest love of my life."
You say: “So how dare you. How dare you try to leave me, again? How dare you push me away when you needed me the most, how dare you keep it from me? How dare you tell me to divorce you when I could have been there with you, when I could have held you, and loved you?"
You say: “How dare you think I would leave you behind, Tony Stark? How dare you think one argument or ten or a thousand could ever make me walk away from you forever? How dare you think that one mean word could have unmade all the love in my heart? I adored you from the first moment I learnt what love and adoration were, and you think I could have walked away? You think I would have? How fucking dare you, Tony?”
How dare you try to leave me behind?!
He looks like he wants to cry.
He doesn’t, though.
He says: “I’m sorry.”
He means it.
And just like that, you’re not angry anymore.
You are just so goddamn sad, you might start crying anytime yourself.
He sees it just as easily as you did, and he rushes at you, armour and all.
It is terribly awkward, trying to hug each other like this. But you do it anyway, and you manage to reach him when he leans to kiss you.
The crowd cheers, and coos.
You had almost forgotten about them.
The next morning, your picture is on every paper.
You don’t mind that this is how you came out to the entire world.
Tony finds it ‘very on brand’.
You are still angry at him. You know he is still hurt by some of your actions.
But you love him, and he loves you, and nobody says that terrible ‘d’ word ever again.
The next year is amazing.
You both get a medal for saving Queens from Vanko and Hammer.
Tony is no longer dying, and he is no longer pushing you away.
You are out and proud in the military, and not even the homophobes have the guts to say anything to Iron Man and War Machine. There are some who believe ‘queers shouldn’t have the armour’ but it is so easy to shut them up with the simple ‘a queer made that armour’.
You take Tony to every military event you can. It’s not entirely different from before, because you trained yourselves out of PDA very early on; but it is different.
Now everybody knows Tony is yours and that you are Tony's.
Some of your friends smile and act jealous when they connect Tony to A.
The A is for Anthony, and they smack their foreheads for forgetting Tony’s real name.
Tony is too good at parties, and you walk across the events like you are the most important couple present. You dance with him, and it’s not like when you dance in the living room of your paradise island, but it is equally as easy.
It is so easy to walk shoulder to shoulder, or even to take his hand in yours and squeezing it, or to let him press a kiss on your cheek.
Nothing changes in your lives. You half heartedly try to convince Tony to get therapy, and you both spend a few days trying to get over the fact that he nearly died and that you nearly lost him.
But you both are very good when it comes to compartmentalising – which isn’t always a good thing – and life in your paradise island continues, happier than ever.
Because now you can be out there who you are in here, and Tony is so happy for the both of you.
And so are you. You wish your father had been alive to see this happen, to see you now.
You know, now, that he would be so proud of you.
But he is dead and gone, and he is unfortunately not coming back.
Your mom is proud enough for the both of them, and you take that.
It is an amazing two years.
Then come the Avengers.
He calls you when SHIELD recruits him for their scavenger hunt, but you are on a mission, and a little distracted. He says ‘Tesseract’ and ‘alien’, and part of you wonders if it a joke.
But Tony would never call you at work for a joke, so you tell him you will be there as soon as you can, and to be careful. You want to tell him to not go, that SHIELD is dangerous, but he already knows that of course, and he is going anyway.
Because he says you taught him to be a hero, and you know he’s not gonna stand back and do nothing when he knows he could help.
SHIELD, despite their horrendous character assessment of him, knows this too (he proudly stuck it to the fridge, like a report card).
You want to kiss the smart off him. It's a little annoying and distracting.
JARVIS and your General tell you there are aliens in New York. It’s an honest to god alien invasion, and Tony is right in the middle of it with some other SHIELD recruits.
You have never flown the suit so fast, and you wish it was faster.
But it is not, and you shove down the fear that you won’t get there in time.
Tony calls you.
JARVIS told you about the nuke, and as soon as he calls you, you know.
You know.
You say: “You’re supposed to ride with me.”
He says: “I’ll try to come back as soon as possible.”
You say: “Don’t tell me goodbye, Tones. Please, don’t tell me goodbye.”
He says: “You are and will always be my one and only love, James Rhodes. You know that, right?”
You say: “You are the greatest love of my life, Tony Stark. Please–” the line cuts off, and you almost fail to see the screen as hot tears run down your face.
You are so close to New York, and still so far away. All you can see is the footage of Tony disappearing and you want to scream, to break, to fall down like Icarus into the ocean water under you.
JARVIS tells you the Captain (later, you will find out he meant Captain America) is ordering the Black Widow to close the portal.
You scream at him to stop them, to not let them, not before Tony has come back, not before he has managed –
But he can’t. He can’t and you know, and you hate them–
You see him falling. The wormhole is closing, but you see the small dot falling through and you know it’s Tony. You know it’s him, and your cry turns into a shocked laugh filled with hope as you see him falling back down.
He made it back. He made it back.
JARVIS keeps you appraised of his well being until you land in New York and can see him for yourself.
The Avengers all tense up when you land on the ramp, but you do not care on single bit. You just let the machine take off your armour, you only focus on Tony’s smile, and then you run at him and pick him right up in your arms.
He says: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”
You say: “You’re back. You’re back, you’re back–”
He presses his forehead to yours, and then he gives you the gentlest and sweetest of kisses.
He says: “Always. Always, James Rhodes.”
He introduces you to the Avengers as his husband, and the Captain and Thor are the only ones surprised by this. It is hard to tell what Hulk’s response is.
You are not impressed by any of them, until you hear that the Hulk caught Tony after he fell from the sky. Then, you decide that you are impressed by him alone.
You are cold towards all of them. The Captain offers you his hand, and you remember Tony and his comic book in class, and you remember JARVIS telling you that he and Tony argued on the Helicarrier, and you remember him ordering to close the wormhole, and you are downright frosty with him.
You have already decided that the man will not live up to the legend, and refuse to be dissuaded by the confused expression on his face.
You only dislike him more after Tony tells you of the first meeting with this so called team, and after they all – except Banner, who is quickly becoming your favourite alongside his alter ego – refuse Tony’s offer.
You do not want them in Tony’s Tower, of course. But Tony is hurt by the rejection, which is a grave misdeed in your book. Everyone who hurts Tony is an enemy of your, dramatically enough.
The Avengers break up faster than they have even formed.
Gay marriage is legalised, and between helping New York and the new PTSD, Tony barely notices.
You definitely take a note of it.
So you listen to him and argue with him about Loki and how much control he really had over the entire thing. You mention flaws in his plan, and you agree on this not being the real bulk of the army coming your way. You help him retrieve as much of the footage from the other side of the wormhole he can. And then, you accompany him to speak in the military and stand by his side while some refuse to believe him and others believe him a little too easily.
Some, of course, agree with him. But it’s not as many as you want, or as many as you need.
In the meanwhile, you do your research. You get everything you need in order.
Because your mother is right, marriage is a promise between two people, not a piece of paper. But wouldn’t it be nice, to also have a piece of paper?
And so you wait for the perfect evening.
When he walks into your bedroom, he freezes at the sight of the Iron Man and War Machine themed memorabilia everywhere.
He is terribly confused, until he finds you – down on one knee, by the side of the bed.
He says: "I am having the strangest moment of deja vu. Didn't we get married twice already?"
You say: “I don’t think anything except a piece of paper signed by a priest is gonna convince your mom that we are not living in sin. Wanna make it official, pretty boy?”
He calls you an idiot. But he’s laughing, and he manages to topple both of you to the ground when he kisses you.
You lay side by side on the ground, kissing, and laughing, giddy and in love. It’s the same way you laid the last time he proposed, and nothing has changed.
Nothing can change.
A terrorist by the name of the Mandarin shows up.
He is actually an actor, and the real terrorist is some Killian guy Tony met once upon a time.
Before you find this out, Happy gets blown up, Tony threatens a terrorist and then gets his house bombed into the sea.
You are lucky he calls you before any of this news gets to you, to let you know he is alive and to bitch about you not coming to save him, “Mr Captain America’s robot son.” (he really hates the new suit paintjob, and so do you).
He is not lucky enough to save himself from getting chewed through the phone, and then hangs up before you can get really into it, like the little shit he is.
Then you both end up in Killian’s clutches. But you find each other (of course you do), and save the President, and get rid of Killian.
He meets a kid in Tennessee, and both him and his mother and sister are invited to your third wedding.
For the first time you consider something you never have before. You watch Tony and Harley interact, watch the affection they both hold for each other, watch the paternal role Tony fills without even noticing, and wonder.
You have never brought it up before, because he never seemed interested. You had always assumed you would have children, until you fell in love with him.
Now, you wonder.
But first you get married, and Jeanette is the only one who complains. She says that normal people only get married once, and that we should not expect a gift from her.
Tony calls her a hater, and he’s the one to get cake on his face this time.
She also gets them an amazing wedding gift anyway, because of course she does.
You ask him, after your honey moon, if he ever thinks about children. If he can see himself with a child.
He says: “I feel like I’d be a terrible father. With the way my dad raised me... how can I bring all the issues I have into fatherhood? How can I do that to a child?”
You say: “Or you would know exactly what not to do to a child, because you would do the opposite of what Howard did.”
He considers you for a moment, deep in thought. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles.
He says: “I guess, most importantly, I would have you. Hard to fuck up a kid when I’m raising them with you.”
You kiss him stupid because otherwise you would say something too cheesy for either of you.
You do end up with some kids.
But first there are two more invasions.
Then SHIELD is HYDRA and they fall.
Then comes ULTRON and Vision.
You save JARVIS from certain death, and get FRIDAY.
Then, as soon as Sokovia is no longer at risk of destruction, you get all of the Avengers away from you and Tony both.
You know another Invasion will come, and you know they will be able to help.
But they don’t need to be around Tony to help, since they are heroes. And Tony does not need to be around a woman who mind controlled the team and hates him especially, a Norse god who grabbed him by the throat, and a Captain who threw his shield at him following the word of enemies.
Bruce runs, Clint retires, and Tony leaves. You stay with Tony, and he has Happy, Pepper, Vision, JARVIS, FRIDAY, the bots, Harley and his sister.
It is more than enough.
The Sokovia Accords come.
You both stay away from the team until you cannot any longer.
Sides are taken. Natasha Romanoff joins your side, and you do not trust her one second.
A bomb blows up a UN meeting.
The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes from the war, and while neither you nor Tony believes he did it, he is a suspect.
You pity Rogers, right until him and Wilson blow up a bridge in the name of a friend.
You pity Maximoff, right until she and Barton throw Vision in a hole in the name of Rogers.
Then, you only pity yourself for giving a shit about them. And Tony, for seeing what could have been, once upon a time, break before him.
A fight breaks out in a German airport.
There are unknowns. There is animosity. There is ferocity. There is intent to subdue from your side, and intent to harm from theirs.
There is a kid who has no business being there, and a grown woman with unstable magic that has no business being called a kid.
There is a missed attack, and then you are hit.
You don’t really register it, as you are falling.
You have seen soldiers and planes so many times in war, you had expected to feel something when you are the one hit.
But all you hear is Tony screaming in your ear, calling your name in a way you have never heard before - in a way you hope you never have to hear again - and you just have the absurd need to console him as you are free falling.
You don’t manage to console him.
He doesn't manage to catch you.
You close your eyes.
You hit the ground.
You wake up.
You wake up, and Tony is not at your side.
You don’t understand.
The doctor says your spine is injured.
The doctor says you might never walk again.
You don’t understand.
Vision comes to see you.
He is wrecked with guilt, and he keeps apologising.
You don’t understand.
The kid - the Spider boy - comes too, and he is worried about Tony.
Nobody has seen him since the fight, and he, the Captain and Barnes are missing.
You don’t understand.
The next time you see him, he is in a bed like yours.
His eyes are red and bloodshot, and he has too many bruises and injuries.
Something is not right with his chest, you can tell already.
Harley is asleep in the room, and Pepper has tears in her eyes.
You understand.
He apologises to you.
You tell him to be quiet.
You ask him what’s wrong.
The Winter Soldier killed his parents, and Steve and Natasha knew about it.
Howard was never drunk on the wheel.
He does not tell you what happened in Siberia, not while you are in the hospital.
He waits until you are both in the Compound, and curled together in one of the beds. Then, with tears of pain and shame that he refuses to shed, he tells you all.
You want to kill Steve Rogers.
But you don’t track him down. You could, and you know it wouldn’t be hard. But you don’t.
You just hold him and vow to yourself he will never get to touch him again.
The realisation that you will never walk again hits you slowly.
It is not until Tony brings out the braces that it finally sinks in.
That you understand that your legs are gone for good. That you might never fly again, that you will never walk by yourself again, that your legs are gone.
This time it is Tony that holds you, when you fall apart. When the desperation, the fear, the hurt hits, he holds you in his arms, deceptively strong and steady.
You let him hold you until you have exhausted your tears, until you can move again.
The braces make it better. They are a marvel of technology that of course only Tony could have created, only he could have done.
It’s still not your legs, and the pain of it is too heavy for one or two people.
You go to therapy. Tony comes with you.
It is not a fix all, and it is not a cure.
But it is a treatment, and your shoulders stop feeling so heavy all the time. Tony’s hands stop shaking so hard. You stop seeing only guilt when you look at you and he at you.
Harley helps. Vision helps. The bots help.
The Spider Boy becomes Peter Parker, and he helps.
May Parker joins Happy and Pepper and Harley's mother, and it is like you have your very own little family.
Pepper asks Happy to marry her, and he says yes.
You practice dancing in the living room of your small paradise island, and you stumble a few steps.
Tony accuses you of using your legs as an excuse to avoid slow dancing with him, and you pretend he has caught you out.
You laugh and hold each other, and you are happy as can be.
Thanos is coming.
Bruce is back, and then there are ships in New York. Again.
And you are not there with him. Again.
You are in Georgia with your mom. He was meant to be doing his duties as Pepper’s best man.
Tony flies after the ship and you hate him and the world a little bit, when he promises he’ll be back before the wedding and to not use this as an excuse to not practice your dance.
He doesn’t come back down.
The Avengers come back to help.
You ignore Ross behind you, and punch Rogers in the face while wearing a gauntlet.
Wilson steps forward, but Romanoff stops him.
Rogers takes it.
You say: “This is a job. We are not friends.”
They have the audacity of looking hurt. Maximoff doesn’t - she keeps looking at Vision with hope.
He barely looks at her.
She saved him, but she doesn’t realise she lost him - them - a long time ago.
None of them realize it.
Thanos comes to Wakanda.
He goes through you all like a wave through a sandcastle, and takes you all down with ease.
Thor comes, and he fights him.
You refuse to wonder where Tony is.
You refuse to worry or think about Tony, until-
... until the universe breaks.
Until Sam disappears. And Maximoff disappears. And T’Challa, and some guards, and the tree that came with Thor.
They all disappear and Vision lies broken and dead, and Thanos is gone and you don’t know where Tony is.
He followed a ship out there, and he is not back and, for the first time, you worry that he might not come back.
You lie over his your dead child, and you realise you cannot follow him, out there. You cannot fly in space, and no one has invented a spaceship.
This is worse than Afghanistan.
You refuse to believe Thanos killed him – he fought you all, but he did not kill a single person apart from Vision - god, your child - why?. But you don’t know if he disappeared. You have no idea.
You can only hope.
You hug Pepper.
Happy is gone. Vision is gone too.
You let her cry on your shoulder, and you hold her tight, afraid that she will disappear too (and she is too).
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
Captain Marvel comes.
She says: “He erased half of the universe’s population.”
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
May Parker is gone. You now find out, Spider Man followed Tony in space.
You are terrified about having to mourn two children.
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
Harley Keener is gone. You find out odds weren’t in the Keener family's favour, and his mother is gone too.
Only his sister remains, and you hold her in your arms when Pepper arranges for her to be brought to New York.
She cries in your arms, and you try not to cry in her hair.
You have lost two kids, one is unaccounted for, and your heart is in tatters.
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
You and Pepper bury Vision outside the Compound.
The Avengers are still there, too, but you don’t have the strength to tell them to leave.
You don’t have the strength to be nice to them, either.
Bruce smiles at you, and you pretend you haven’t seen him.
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
Natasha says: “Fury is gone. Ross is gone.”
You ignore her.
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
Rogers says: “I am sorry.”
He lost Bucky Barnes.
He wants to commiserate with you. In his mind, he has already buried Tony.
Like in New York. Like in Siberia.
You walk away from him.
You stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
Thor stands beside you, and stares at the sky too.
You heard about Loki.
You don’t ask him to leave you be.
You just stare at the sky and will, with everything in you, for Tony to come back.
A ship is coming.
Everyone is terrified, but you know better. You shouldn’t hope, but you just know. You know, and you ignore everyone else’s pity and confusion.
When Carol lands with it, you are already there for Tony.
He comes out, and his eyes find yours immediately.
It’s like Afghanistan.
He looks like he lost weight. He can barely stand. His eyes are sunken and he shakes.
And he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.
You run to him before he has even stepped out with an alien at his arm, and hold him in your arms.
He says: “I’ve lost the kid.”
Your heart breaks (three kids... you've lost three kids).
You hold him tighter.
The Avengers go fight Thanos again.
He dies, but they have still lost.
It is a miracle that Tony and you still have each other, so you hold him as tightly as you can and refuse to let him go.
You watch Nebula with suspicion, but she is not the Avengers, and she is not Bruce Banner.
Tony has already let her in, and Ashley seems to like her too.
She reminds you of Vision.
Eventually, you let her in too.
Pepper tells you she is pregnant.
All three of you try to be happy, but Happy’s absence is like a thorn in your ribs.
Morgan is born.
She is beautiful, and you and Tony are godfathers.
Pepper moves in the lakehouse near your home, your paradise island, and Ashley and Nebula move in with you.
You feel the loss like it’s a physical thing, and you miss your children more than anything in the world.
But you have each other.
And that’s... that's almost enough.
It ends like this:
Five years pass, and the Avengers come for you.
They find him with Morgan and Ashley in the garden.
They haven’t seen either of you in five years. They ask him to invent time travel.
You want to wring their necks, when you find out.
He says it is impossible, and sends them away.
But you find him looking at pictures of Peter and Harley, and you watch him put Morgan and Ashley to sleep.
You look at Pepper, and you both know.
He doesn’t need your help, but you give him it anyway.
You sit behind him in the chair, and watch him invent time travel.
He says: “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
For once, you don’t think of the world. He does not think of the world, either.
You both think of your small paradise island, and your slice of life.
You think of yourself, and you think of him.
You think of Morgan.
You think of Pepper and Ashley.
You think of Peter, Harley, Happy, May and Evelyn Keener.
You think of Vision, and his sacrifice.
You miss them. You all miss them.
And if you can get them back…
If you can get your friends and some of your children back…
You say: “You ride with me.”
It means everything.
It ends like this:
You go on a time heist.
You get the stones.
Hulk snaps his fingers.
Thanos comes back. He attacks the Compound, and tries to get the stones again.
It’s his army against your group.
But then everyone comes back.
The sorcerers join, and Wakanda’s army, and Wilson, and Maximoff.
You lose Tony in the mess of the fight.
You find Peter.
He is chatting happily away, as if he hasn’t been gone for five years.
You barely listen to him, and just hold him into your arms.
Tony finds you, then, and he joins the embrace without saying any more words, and Peter also falls quiet in your twin embrace.
It ends like this:
You see it, when Strange raises his hand.
You see it, when Tony looks at him and the long look they exchange.
You see it, when Tony looks at you.
You see it, and you know it.
But you are there.
You are there, and you have been there from the beginning.
From coffee dates to partying in dorm rooms. From classes shared to jealousy drinking. From coming out to hiding in. From the lows to the highs. From civilian life to superhero life. From Afghanistan to Siberia.
You fell in love with him, and he fell in love with you, and you still love him.
You will always love him.
He is the greatest love of your life, and you will not lose him.
You will not lose him.
Thanos swats him away, and you are at his side when he falls.
You are at his side when Thanos snaps his fingers, and nothing happens.
You are at his side, when he lifts his hand, and there are Infinity Stones in them.
You cannot take the stones from him, you know this already. But you take his hand in yours, and he looks at you, not at Thanos.
He shakes his head, and you shake it back.
You say: “You. Ride. With. Me.”
He says: “You are and will always be my one and only love.”
He leans forward to kiss you, and snaps his fingers.
You dream of the paradise island.
You dream of Peter and Harley meeting Morgan and loving her.
You dream of Vision sitting by and watching over his human siblings with his usual placid smile, as JARVIS and FRIDAY argue in binary code.
You dream of Pepper and Happy getting married right there in the garden, overlooking the lake.
You dream of May and Evelyn fighting you for burgers.
You dream of Tony chasing the girls around the garden.
You dream of a small little girl with Tony’s hair and a little boy with your smile.
You dream of a happily ever after.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth that are dreamt of in your philosophy.
It ends with you and Tony waking up.
It ends with burns across half of his face and his arm, but breathing and alive.
It ends with him bursting into tears at the sight of you, and you kissing him with salt on your own lips.
It ends with Dr Strange saying some bullshit about linked souls and forever and whatever.
It ends with you and him, both alive, still in love.
But that is not how it ends to you.
It doesn’t end, to you.
You stand in the middle of your paradise island during Pepper and Happy’s wedding, and you dance. The sun bothers his skin, and you have retreated to not spoil the mood or upset the others.
You got to see them get officially married, and that is what matters.
You are together, still together, and that is all that matters.
You dance, and he sings terribly along ‘Still into you’.
You try not to laugh at him, and you fail.
He has scars across half of his body. He has crows feet and frown and laugh lines. His hair is thinning, and you have noticed some grey you haven’t told about him yet.
He looks so different from the brown eyed little boy you saw sitting in front of you, barely visible behind your pile of books.
You know you also look different.
He grins and sings-shouts: “And after all this time... I'm still, into you!”
He presses a nasty wet kiss on your forehead that you cannot escape.
He is ridiculous.
He is the greatest love of your life.
You can’t fall to the ground in a pile of limbs and smiles anymore.
But you love him, and you are half alive, and it is not the end.
You don’t think there is an end.
Your souls are now one.
You hazard to think, they have always been one.
There is no end, to love stories.
Yours certainly has not reached it.
(I should be over all the butterflies
But I'm into you (I'm into you)
And baby, even on our worst nights
I'm into you (I'm into you)
Let 'em wonder how we got this far
'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all
Yeah, after all this time, I'm still into you)