Chapter Text
*** Flashback ***
“Oh no. Not you, too.”
Stephen blinks away the dancing spots at the edge of his vision, focusing on the man in front of him.
“I found you,” he blurts out, too disoriented to pay attention to the man’s eye-roll.
“Congratulations, Master Strange. You have found me and by doing so, you joined our little cursed club,” Master Watson flails his hands around, stomping over to a set of seats and plopping down with a huff. “If this goes on, our whole Order will end up stuck in here!”
“What?” he frowns, finally taking in his surroundings.
Bright lights, rows and rows of double seats, shakiness that has nothing to do with his state of being and the loud rumble leave nothing to imagination. They’re in a train of some s-
A metro train.
He remembers the platform, deserted and broken up, he remembers the train somehow arriving in there on the unkept rails - what he doesn’t remember is getting on the train. He would not get on that train, as if the generally spooky surroundings there weren’t enough to deter him then surely the magic attached to this thing would have at least made him pause and investigate.
“Don’t fret over it too much, this bloody thing is cursed…and what a curse it is, pffft!” Watson scoffs, shaking his head. “It lures you in, you can’t resist it. Not with anything I can think of. You don’t really get to think about it either, you get close enough and you’re getting on no matter what you want. It’s an entirely different dimension inside here too so…get comfortable, we are not going anywhere.”
“That is ridiculous, Master Watson, we can just portal outside!”
“Be my guest,” he laughs with a tint of hysteria.
Stephen tries - and fails, his magic not even presenting.
“Yeah. As I said, get comfortable and hope nobody else comes searching for us. We’d be in good company but I don’t think Earth and our dimension would fare well with nobody to protect it.”
He tries a few more spells, none of them working at all. Whatever dimension this is, it blocks the mystical completely.
“There must be something we can do.”
“We tried everything, even resorted to prying the doors open. Impossible. You can walk through the whole train and that’s about it. That’s what we’re going to live in for the rest of eternity!”
Watson is prone to little dramatics but this is a whole new level even for him.
“See that bloke over there?” he points at a slumped figure sitting in the corner all alone. “He’s been here since the 70’s. Went to walk his dog one evening, stumbled into the same damned platform and here he is. His husky is running around here too, the dog loves it here. His owner? Not so much. Doesn’t say a word. Got his story from the other lost passengers here…few decades in and most of them stop speaking, stop walking, stop everything. Takes a toll on ya here.”
“All the more reasons to stop giving up and find our way out of here,” Stephen goes into work mode before he could allow his brain to start panicking.
Master Watson is not the Master of the London Sanctum for nothing; the man is an experienced scholar and one of his specialties are, ironically, curses and artificial dimensions. If he hadn’t already figured out how to escape this predicament then Stephen’s chances to do so are desperately low.
Beating odds is his specialty though, so he dives right in.
***
How anyone managed to not go completely insane after almost five decades stuck inside of this place is beyond Stephen. For most people here, keeping track of time is very difficult. There’s no day, no night, the windows give nothing away but misty dark clouds blocking all view to the outside.
No clocks either, all the watches people brought in stopped - it’s a timeless dimension here either way. No time really passes, nobody ages a single minute. That alone brings a new form of torture with it, because it also means they don’t have any needs. No hunger, no thirst, no exhaustion. Stuck in perpetuity, mindless immortality unless this dimension ceases to exist.
If it ever ceases to exist.
That’s the scary thing about artificially created dimensions, particularly those inside sneaky cursed objects that lure people inside before they can even realize what they’re dealing with.
Stephen fares better when it comes to time - he has two things working in his favor: his memory and the Time stone. The word ‘favor’ might be a bit of an overstatement. Just few days in and it already feels like an additional curse.
One week in, and he feels like going mad. There’s just nothing to do here. Having no needs would be cool back in their dimension, med school for example would have been an absolute breeze with such superpower. Here it just adds on more time to spend awake doing next to nothing. People try entertain each other but even that gets old fast.
Stephen keeps trying to get his abilities to work, reaching to the most obscure knowledge he’s learnt so far, brainstorms it with the other Masters and still, no luck. The Time stone at least has its mojo, the relic is too powerful to succumb to whatever this dimension‘s rules are. He’s yet to find a use for it though.
What’s worse, as days go by, more Masters join them every night, Kamar-Taj fully mobilized and focused on finding them. It’s more of a bad than a good thing. Sure, someone might get lucky and find a way to break the curse and free them all - given the nature of the curse though, it is more likely that all the Masters will end up stuck here instead, just as Watson theorized.
More weeks pass and more Masters and few unlucky pedestrians join their cursed club. Eventually, months later, no more Masters arrive. The search for them hopefully coming to an end. What a strange thing to be hopeful about. Stephen’s all out of ideas at that point, the whole situation frustrating him beyond his mental limits. He can find solace in knowing that Wong didn’t end up here, neither did Minoru or Zhang, so Earth at least has some formidable defenders left on the magical field.
Now if he could only find a better way to pass time than this horrible circle of people came up with.
He excuses himself from the awkward game of ‘Never have I ever’ and sits opposite the catatonic husky owner far in the back. Gala - the dog, is a she and pretty much the only being here that not only keeps herself sane but helps others do the same.
She treats the long train as her personal playground, and everyone in it her personal playthings, and makes full use of it. Just try and wear down a husky that cannot physically get tired anymore. She runs around all the time, playing with the poor trapped souls here, offering some much needed comfort and fun.
On the rare occasion, such as today, she takes a little break and sits by her master, nudging his leg or shoulder either to invite him to play or get a belly rub or whatever dogs like. Stephen wouldn’t know, he’s not much of an animal person. Not that he would know that either, having never owned a pet in his life.
As Christine would put it, he can barely take care of himself, let alone a loyal fluffy companion such as this good girl here. Her master doesn’t even acknowledge her anymore, too far gone. Stephen can see the sadness in her eyes every time her efforts are ignored, her posture slumping, ears down and a heart wrenching whine escaping her throat as she breathes.
Stephen scratches her head before sitting down, offering some comfort in return and allowing the canine to nuzzle him. She even gets away with a few licks at his face.
He chuckles and gets comfortable in the seat, laying his head against the cool window. Gala soon hops away to play some more with the others, leaving the two of them in silence - as much silence as the sometimes deafening roar of the train moving allows. Even if they could sleep, the noise would likely make it a difficult endeavor.
The best he could try for is meditation. The other Masters often do it as a substitute for sleep and dreams, some more successfully than others. Stephen’s never been good at it but there’s nothing better to do anyway so he might as well practice. His only alternative being rejoining that social experiment of a game back there again and that’s just not happening.
“Night night,” he sighs, eying his unresponsive companion before settling in, closing his eyes and initiating all those breathing techniques Minoru tried to teach him.
It takes all of his poor skills to push out the loud noise into the background and somewhat relax enough to send his mind adrift. He doesn’t expect anything to come out of it other than maybe delaying the inevitable mental breakdown so he’s shocked to discover…a presence.
Shocks him so much he jolts out of his meditative state with a gasp only to immediately dive back in, desperately searching for it again. When he does, he’s not sure what exactly did he found.
It’s warm, inviting, a solid presence in the midst of this nothingness. There’s a strange pull to it, a tug that compels him to follow it, see where it leads. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt and yet, he connects the dots and with another startled gasp he snaps back into awareness.
He knows what it is. He read about it once and luckily for him, that’s all he needs to remember - what he’s just experienced was the very definition of the most basic and at the same time most powerful bond that exists.
People call it by different names, a thread, a string; Agamotto called it the Grasp of Fate. He was dramatic like that. Most would simply settle for a String of Fate or Red String of Fate, the color emphasizing its importance, strength and also its actual color to those gifted enough to see it.
An unbreakable bond, crafted by the universe itself, connecting those bound by fate to meet for a grand purpose.
He stands up and moves out so fast that he almost stumbles and falls into the group of people still playing the game.
“Hey Strange! Never have I ever battled a demon!” one of the more rookie Masters shoot right at him, still sane - or insane - enough to be enjoying this primitive form of entertainment.
“Oh fuck off!” Stephen dismisses him without even looking at the man and with few more strides he slides right next to Watson in his own corner of solitude. “I can get us out.”
Watson sighs, nodding. “Yes, I believe in you, Doc.”
“I’m serious. I can do it.”
“Good luck.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” he groans and grips the solemn man by the shoulders in a death grip. “I know how! I can explain…I think.”
Watson’s eyes are slowly ignited with a spark of hope as he straightens up in his seat. “Alright. Tell me.”
***
“You’re insane.”
“Uhuh, thank you for your input,” he closes the dividing doors between the cars right in that Master’s face, didn’t even bother looking who it was. “Anyway, let’s do this.”
Watson stands before him, arms folded and eyes narrowed. “I second that, you are insane. But…this might actually work.”
“You’re insane too!” the disgruntled Master yells from behind the doors.
“Hey, what can go wrong?” he chuckles nervously, his heart already doing backflips with the anticipation and the sprinkle of natural fear.
It’s not every day someone has to use the Time stone to help project an imprint of himself from and to another dimension, to which they’re only connected to by the most powerful bond in the universe. ‘Only’ being the keyword, because while the bond is very good at what it’s supposed to do - make people meet each other - it’s not that great at keeping soul imprints remain tethered within a dimension without any physical presence, while said physical presence remains in a magicless dimension stuck in a cursed train that’s blasting across who knows where.
He really is insane.
Odds are heavily not in his favor. He’ll probably end up stuck even more or worse, splintered across dimensions. That just might be a worse fate than being stuck in this train forever but Stephen decides to put all his trust in two things - Watson, who is very proficient with dimensional magic and won’t therefore fuck up this spell with him - and the universe, or rather the bond, that will do its best to fulfil its purpose at all costs.
The prospect isn’t too bad either. In a way he’s curious to find out who would the universe deem necessary for him to meet. If there ever had been a person of such major influence on his life, as such a bond implies, it would have been the Ancient One. She brought him out of the dark and into the world of magic and hope and…cursed trains.
Who could possibly top that?!
“Ready?” Watson asks.
“Are you?”
“I’m not the one getting splintered into another dimension and attached to some object that, knowing you, might be your favorite book from med school, now catching dust in someone’s garage. I told you, getting you out there still has better chances than you actually making contact with whoever it is you’re bonded with after you get there.”
“You think I have an emotional attachment to a book? You clearly don’t know me. If I make it there, the universe will take care of the rest.”
“That could take a long time. Just saying. Even the universe has to follow its own rules you know? It isn’t going to just teleport that person to you the moment you pop up in there. The bond gives you a chance, that’s it.”
He squints at the man, sighing. “So pessimistic. Alright. Beam me up, Scotty.”
Watson rolls his eyes and puts his hand on the Eye of Agamotto Stephen is holding between them. They channel its power together, green spirals enveloping their hands and with nothing more than a tiny flash of bright green light, Stephen blinks into existence, no longer within the train, no longer with Watson in front of him.
He’s home.
*** End of Flashback ***
Everything that happened from that point on was a blur. He was aware of where he was but no longer fully aware of why or when. His memory got all jumbled up and didn’t seem keen on setting itself straight anytime soon.
He spent years, actual years, haunting his former apartment like some sort of a weird ghost thing, hiding away within the beauty that used to be his piano and the half IKEA half scrap bookshelf he built with his own two hands when they could still do that.
Silly humans now occupying his former home were putting all sorts of nasty books inside. Not that he was in the right mind to realize that he’s not the owner of the apartment, he couldn’t even remember his own name at that point. His tabula rasa brain still managed to be his petty old self though, so he truly became a kind of a poltergeist of the home, throwing them nasty books around, playing a few dramatic notes when the piano was open. He couldn’t do much more, his presence too weak to manifest or communicate directly.
All of that changed one warm autumn afternoon, when a man sits down by the piano, opening it up to play.
He’s been vaguely aware of the man’s presence for months but unlike the other owners, he’s never become aware of him until then. No books to mess around with in the shelf, the piano constantly closed and ignored and the man himself barely ever emerged from the bedroom and guest room area - and when he did, he’d make himself coffee, talk to the ceiling for a bit and dive right back into the hallway leading to the back of the apartment.
It wasn’t until he sat behind his beloved piano that Stephen found the strength to do more, to be more, as if the man’s very presence fueled his miserable state of being. Not like two triple A’s, more like the power of the sun.
That day he met Tony Stark for the first time, that night in Stockholm he would actually meet him for the first time, and then the night at the gala, the universe finally deemed them truly meeting each other properly, the impromptu handshake sealing the deal on the bond.
He doesn’t know why the bond fulfilling its purpose helped him get his memories back, maybe it had something to do with it being the reason he even made it into this reality from the train prison, everything he went through connected to its existence to such extent that its revelation and fulfillment had it all coming back to him. None of the civilians or the Masters remembered anything from the train - thankfully, for some those memories would be too much to deal with. Perhaps there would be a way to remember but until Stephen remembered, they wouldn’t know there was anything to remember in the first place.
Whatever the case may be, Stephen’s not going to question it. He has more important things to do. He needs to make things right and the only way he can do that is to burst through doors first, knock later.
Minoru was definitely right about one thing - they are both incredibly stubborn idiots, so in that spirit, he portals right inside his former guest room the very next day after the gala.
It’s not one of his most graceful portals, he’s immediately almost tripping all over himself, tangled up in tools and metal scrap parts scattered all over the space, now turned into a workshop.
“Ah. Hi there,” he greets the beeping bot that meets him as he gets his balance, fire extinguisher at the ready. “Whoa! You must be…DUM-E, right?”
“And you must be Doctor Stephen Strange,” a voice speaks from the intercom.
“FRIDAY,” he nods in acknowledgement. “Is Tony home?” he gulps, hoping the AI isn’t going to incinerate him on the spot or worse.
“Something you could have easily found out for yourself - if you knocked on the front door or used that tiny button there that goes ‘ding dong’.”
“Good point,” he chuckles at her sass. Like father, like daughter. “I consider this an emergency visit so…no time for front doors.”
“Is that so?” she asks, the amount of curiosity almost theatrical.
“Any chance he could stop pointing the extinguisher at me and let me pass?” he squints at DUM-E, still holding his offensive stance, blocking the door.
“I am the only reason he hasn’t sprayed you with it yet, so choose your words carefully there, Mister Doctor.”
“Don’t call me that,” he can’t help but retort, despite the imminent danger. “Wait…why would you call me that?” he frowns.
“I know all your favorite nicknames. Wong and Tina visit every week, after all,” she adds, her smugness not even hidden anymore.
“I knew it!” he exclaims, silently cursing the two Masters.
“Boss is in the living room,” she says, DUM-E finally lowering his weapon. “Needless to say, if you so much as look at him in a threatening way, I will smite you from existence.”
He doesn’t remember weapons of mass destruction being installed in the ceiling but he’s sure as hell not going to test it.
“I intend to do nothing of the sort.”
“Regardless, consider yourself warned,” she adds in a voice way too dangerous for the friendly AI he recalls.
DUM-E rolls out of his way, allowing him to get to the door. It’s just before lunchtime, so Stephen doesn’t know what to expect. Sometimes Tony is barely awake at this hour and if he is, he’s hypnotizing the coffeemaker and then inhaling its contents in one breath before hitting the workshop or going out.
When he emerges into the hallway, the bedroom door opposite of the former guest room is wide open, revealing a mess of sheets on the empty bed. Stephen doesn’t have to search or wonder about Tony’s whereabouts any longer though - having escaped the well sound-proofed lab, he can hear the piano playing from the living room.
Stephen walks up to the doorframe, peeking into the spacious main area of the apartment. Sun is pouring through the French windows, basking the room in ethereal rays of light as it rises above New York and for a moment Stephen stands there, mesmerized by the scene and the gentle tones of a melody he vaguely recognizes as the mysterious song Tony kept practicing and humming to it with a rare, content smile.
He can’t see if the scene is the same this time around but it puts a mirror of that smile right back on his face. He feels a bit embarrassed to realize just how many times he did this, watch Tony practice or perform, silently appreciating from afar and out of sight as not to disturb the genius.
Still, if he were really dead, a ghost haunting his former home, he would gladly spend it listening to Tony play the piano, occasionally showing up to banter and play along, and throw out some of those damn books that made it back into the bookshelf.
Just as he’s working up the courage to approach Tony, he’s shocked into stillness when Tony halts his practice, falling into silence for a couple beats before he takes a deep breath and starts singing.
No accompaniment, just Tony’s quiet voice filling in the room, and it leaves Stephen gaping.
~I used to hear a simple song
That was until you came along
Now in its place is something new
I hear it when I look at you~
After the verse Tony plays the intro Stephen’s heard all those times before and continues, his voice gaining more volume and confidence.
~With simple songs, I wanted more
Perfection is so quick to bore
You are my beautiful by far
Our flaws are who we really are~
It’s not pitch perfect, or any kind of perfect but Stephen could swear he’s never heard anything more beautiful in his life. Tony never sang while he practiced the song, at least not while Stephen was still here, so he must have done that in the past few months.
Just like he promised he would when they thought Stephen’s days had been numbered. When they were both losing each other - they almost did, saved only by the nature of the bond.
Their silently shared happiness and hope short-lived as just few hours later, Tony found him and at the same time lost him, after all. The haunted look on his face as it dawned on him at the lack of recognition burned into Stephen’s memory.
What if Stephen never remembered? Would none of them ever tell him about the time he spent here? About the friendship he established with the resident former Avenger, about their easy bantering and piano playing in the midst of solving the mystery behind his ghostly presence? About how that friendship slowly but surely turned into something else?
What is it about Tony that compels him to hurt and stay hurting despite the solution being as easy as one simple conversation?
Past experiences. Fear. Feeling unworthy of happiness.
Stephen could sometimes see himself reflected in the man so much it both confused and terrified him. Bundle of bad habits and even worse coping mechanisms was always his specialty and should stay that way. Tony shouldn’t feel any of those things, he deserves so much better than that…so much more than him.
No wonder they needed the universe itself to bring them together. The stubbornness is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the two of them.
He squishes the blasphemous thought, wondering how many times the same thing crossed Tony’s mind since Stockholm, how many of the fears and insecurities prevent him and them both to act on their feelings or express them - another thing they are both terrible at. Luckily, Tony’s emotions are right there for the world to see and hear when he plays - and sings.
The anguished Ravel already spoke volumes, and this…well, this all but vanquishes any pesky doubts Stephen’s mind comes up with when it comes to Tony’s feelings.
The short piano intermission crescendos into a modulation of the chorus and the raw emotion behind it has his heart doing backflips.
~I used to hear a simple song
That was until you came along
You took my broken melody
And now I hear a symphony~
Tony’s powerful vocals melt into a cascade of piano chords scaling upward into an open climax, a pause highlighting the dramatic forte before a quite outro of the two barely whispered remaining lines.
~And now I hear
A symphony~
Tony sighs, fiddling with the tablet and playing a few stray chords, oblivious to the mess his performance has left Stephen in behind him.
He blinks away the tears, allowing the Cloak to wipe them off his face, and wills his wobbly legs to silently carry him to the bookcase. He glares at the titles, pulling the first Twilight out while mustering courage to make his presence known.
Never had that problem back when he’s been all ghosty, so might as well get back into the same spirit.
“Well, the bookshelf has seen better days,” he says, too cowardly to look to his left where Tony’s startled gasp comes from. “I would throw these out but don’t want to disrupt your playing.”
He takes a steadying breath and braves a look sideways, meeting Tony’s widened stare.
“Still don’t recognize this one, must be something new,” he nods at the tablet sheets.
Tony blinks, looking briefly back at the sheets too. “It’s uh…Cody Fry, 2017 album Flying…I Hear A Symphony,” he whispers, mimicking the way Stephen would normally answer.
“2017…that explains it. Sounds like something from a musical, I would definitely know it. Have to update my playlist it seems.”
“I- ” Tony begins, still a bit stunned. “What…why are you here? Did something happen?! Are you…I mean…what…?” he blurts himself into confused silence.
He throws the book unceremoniously over his shoulder and shrugs. “I’m uh…back?” he cringes, hating his own inability to form proper sentences.
It’d be much easier to plop down by the piano and pour his heart out into the music too, but that’s a tad more difficult in his now very much physical state.
“You’re…back to being a ghost?!” Tony exclaims, eyes widening even more with added fear.
Oh. He might have gone back into the spirit of being a spirit a bit too much.
“No! No, I’m…I think we’ve already established that I’ve never actually been a ghost to begin with,” he chuckles the most nervous of chuckles, taking a tentative step forward that gets Tony to stand up, bracing against the piano behind him.
“But that would mean…,” he trails off, the cogs in his brain whirring to makes sense of it. “You’re not…but you’re here…you’re here?” he blinks, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Well, I suppose there’s one way to find out,” he smiles, extending an open palm of his right hand between them.
Tony fixes his eyes on it, taking a wobbly step forward, no longer using the piano to keep his balance. He puts his own hand in his, almost a mirror of their brief handshake yesterday, only this time Tony’s gentle hold persists.
“You’re here,” he blurts out, staring at their joined hands.
“I am.”
He gasps in a breath, eyes still wide, now filled with hope, uncertainty and a deal more fear, still.
“You remember?” he asks, barely audible in the silent room.
Stephen’s tiny smile widens as he nods. “Like it was yesterday.”
“But…how?” Tony shakes his head in disbelieve, still not looking up at him.
“Turns out, yesterday we did finally meet, for real this time. After you shook my hand goodbye? It had it all coming back to me then. I still stand by my choice of the Meat Loaf duet, by the way. We should play that sometime,” he offers, his smile turning hopeful.
Tony’s watering eyes finally meet his, his lips pressed together and quivering as the onset of emotions take over and the tears reign free. “You remember,” he says, no longer a question, no doubt, just hope and all that pain of the past few months coming onto the surface.
Stephen does what he’s wanted to do since before the night Wong and Minoru showed up to ‘disconnect him’ - he pulls the man close and envelops him in a tight embrace he feels immediately returned, letting Tony sob into his shoulder, a few chuckles breaking through them.
“You asshole,” he laughs through the tears, Stephen ignoring his own at that point, a giant smile on his face.
“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily, douchebag,” he mumbles, enjoying the rumble of Tony’s laugh echoing in his chest.
*** TONY’S POV ***
“Is this also part of the recipe?” Wanda clears her throat from somewhere behind him. “Making out over the cake dough?”
Tony pulls away with an eyeroll, looking over his shoulder. “Best part of the recipe. How else are you going to put some love into that cake, hm?”
“Oh I do have some additional ideas about that,” Stephen all but purrs above him, still holding him close.
“Never mind,” she shakes her head, probably attempting to get rid of the myriad of images that come to mind with that. “We’re out of cookies.”
“What?!” Tony sputters, reluctantly disentangling from Stephen and stands on his tippy toes, trying to spot the giant plate they left the horde of cookies on on the coffee table not too long ago.
“Loki developed a sweet tooth.”
“Loki did? When?!” Tony frowns, remembering all too well how disgusted Loki’s been at the thought of anything sweet.
“Just now. Thor dared him to take a bite and a minute later, the cookies were all gone.”
“What can I say,” Loki dances over to the kitchen isle with a beaming smile and a couple cookie crumbs around his lips. That and the awful green Christmas sweater on top of the reindeer ears just makes the man criminally adorable - one word he never thought he’d use in regards to the man. “Your witch might not be so supreme when it comes to magic, but I am willing to allow the title when it comes to this baking endeavor.”
“That’s…both offensive and flattering, I’m confused,” Stephen glares at him.
“Loki in a nutshell,” Tony whispers to him.
“Anyway, now the cookies are gone and Peter is attacking everyone with his pout of doom. Please tell me you have more,” Wanda sighs.
“They’re still hot, Peter will have to wait,” Tony says, standing his ground even as Peter appears next to Loki with exactly what Wanda described - pout of doom. It’s super effective. “Just…few more minutes, okay? And you!” he turns to Loki. “Don’t eat them all again, you greedy Grinch. Cookie monsters are not welcomed to this festive party.”
Loki grins and waltzes away with an innocent shrug.
“He’s definitely eating them all again,” Stephen grumbles, watching the trickster’s retreat with a squint.
“Alright, here,” Tony pushes the second giant plate full of still hot cookies to Peter. “You’re on cookie policing duty, I’m counting on you to resist the temptation to eat them all in one go.”
“Sure thing, Mister Stark!” Peter nods with a smile as innocent as Loki’s, grabbing the plate and heading back to mingle with the others.
“Bold idea, let’s turn this cake dough into cookie dough,” Stephen suggests, also easily predicting the fate of that second cookie batch, didn’t even need the Time stone.
Tony hums in agreement, looking over the mess of utensils and ingredients littering the counters. “We’re out of chocolate chips.”
“Oh no, end of the world right there,” he teases, also scanning over the messy kitchen. “We’ll improvise. How about caramel?”
“Salty caramel? I’m sold.”
“Salty car…who are you and why do I love you so much? Salty caramel, what a blasphemy!”
“You haven’t tasted my salty caramel cookies yet, that’s why you wouldn’t know any better,” Wanda rolls her eyes and pushes into their space. “Let me handle these and go entertain your guests. What’s the point of a party if you spend it baking and making out in the kitchen?”
“The kitchen is part of the living room, it’s not like we’re hiding in here,” Tony pouts, letting her take over.
“Exactly, in other words, you’ve been making out in front of everybody for hours now, in your cute aprons and flour in your hair…it’s unbearable, everyone’s been awe-ing and oooh-ing and gossiping about it. Especially that group over there,” she waves over to where Pepper, Christine and Tina are sipping on their eggnog in a circle of clear conspiracy by the piano.
“What else is new?” Stephen shakes his head. “You think we bought the aprons? Pepper saw us cook once and immediately figured this would be the best housewarming gift.”
Tony stifles the fond smile, threatening to conjure up on his face whenever the housewarming bit is mentioned. It’s been weeks now but his brain decided it’s still prime time to be excited over the fact that the apartment once again has both its intended occupants moved in and leaves him all giddy over it every time.
He spent a criminal amount of time coming up with a plan on how to approach Stephen about moving in, he all but made it into his next giant SI project because his insecurities came pouring right back in the moment he realized that maybe he wouldn’t want to live here with him, because maybe they are not something he thinks seriously about and maybe he just prefers to stay in the Sanctum, or maybe…a thousand other things that plagued him for weeks.
Pepper used to tell him that he always frets over silly things that are never as complicated or important as he makes them out to be in his head. Tony never really believed her theory, at least not until the week before Halloween, him and Stephen busy decorating the living room with the tackiest scary décor, paying homage to Stephen’s ghostly past - and Stephen just off-handedly mentioning that all this busy moving in-between here and the Sanctum is tiring and useless and that really, it would just be so much better to call this a home and only go to the Sanctum for work, as it is and should be.
Just like that, no big deal, no fretting over it. Sure, Stephen later admitted his heart nearly burst out of his chest with nervousness when he caught up with his genuinely impromptu suggestion, but never once wavered in confidence nor desire to become a permanent presence in Tony’s life.
Again.
So maybe his own not so questionably existing heart is still bursting with happiness because of it, with no chances of ceasing anytime soon - and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hey! Don’t diss Pepper’s gifts or you’ll end up with a heel jabbed in your head,” Tony warns him, ruffling away some flour out of Stephen’s hair. Probably his fault in the first place, with his fingers enjoying to run through them all the time. “Besides, they have tiny little Avengers on them, that’s pretty neat.”
“It’s tacky.”
“Still a vast improvement from what you normally wear,” Tony teases him.
“Ohhh wait till the Cloak hears about that,” he squints at him.
“Cloakie gets a pass…that is, when you’re wearing nothing but it.”
“Nothing, hm? I shall keep that in mind as your…preferred attire.”
“Good.”
“No, not good at all. Go away, your dirty thoughts are ruining this caramel,” Wanda shoos them out of the kitchen corner, one hand holding the pan she’s melting sugar in.
“Bossy. Are you like that in Kamar-Taj too, young lady?” Tony squints at her.
“Like I could. He has me training with Wong. Have you met the guy? He has two moods - slightly pissed off and extremely pissed off, and he combines them both when he’s training with me.”
Tony chuckles, eyes fleeting to the Master in question, currently tasting rum at the bar with Happy.
“Good, sounds like he should get a promotion,” Stephen purses his lips.
“Your boyfriend is bullying me,” she complains to Tony, but there’s no bite to her words.
“I haven’t even sent you to the Dark Dimension yet!” he defends himself, tiny smirk forming on his lips. “Study well, practice and Wong will back off. Eventually. Maybe.”
She snorts and goes back to cooking, leaving them to mingle back into the small crowd of their friends.
Rhodey presents them with two cups of his highly dangerous eggnog, watching Ned from the corner of his eyes, checking the sneaky teen who already made numerous attempts at stealing some.
They sit on the piano stool, facing the sofa where Thor’s retelling some crazy story of his and Loki’s childhood. Crazy doesn’t really come close to describing it and Tony still doesn’t know if it can all be blamed on weird Asgardian habits, traditions and overall culture…or it’s just Thor and Loki being Thor and Loki. The more he’s getting to know the trickster and the hidden, more troll-like side of Thor, he’s willing to bet on the latter.
He lets out a content sigh, resting his head on Stephen’s shoulder and listens to the god’s boisterous booming voice.
“Hm?” Stephen turns his head toward him, leaving a kiss on the side of his head when Tony doesn’t say anything.
They’re beyond words at this point, their verbal communication not getting any better over the months since they got together, not even after Stephen moved in. They did master the nonverbal though, now with oh so many ways to communicate to each other exactly how they feel.
Easily said and easily done, when the feelings are most often just different shades of utter happiness. That took some getting used to, after all the years of nothing but anxiety and pain to deal with.
The apartment now feels more like home than ever before. It barely changed in appearance, although there is now one closet door that goes into a portal leading to the Sanctum - something he has to keep in mind when he’s tired and coffee-deprived, so that the Masters there don’t have to witness his half-naked zombie form wandering the halls - again.
Stephen barely brought anything over, being the ascetic monk wizard he is, the only major sign that this is once again his domicile is his framed diploma that Christine brought back to him, proudly hanging it on the wall behind the sofa for all to see.
They’re not really into decorating, no ‘live laugh love’ signs hanging around, only two potted plants that are barely surviving in the corners of the room, no clutter people generally consider homey - it’s just who they are and for them, this is homey enough. All they need is their piano and boom, it’s their home.
The sofa is nice too…and the bed.
Tony still spends a lot of time holed up in the workshop, that now has an armchair dedicated solely for Stephen to study his magical grimoires in while guessing the songs and albums that come up on Tony’s working playlist - and Stephen is no less busy in the Sanctum and Kamar-Taj either, the world and this dimension always in need of a little protecting, and Tony often crashes their cram sessions in the library or the courtyard trainings in Kamar-Taj, most of the times bringing food because damn the sorcerers are always hungry, and sometimes just to hang around, breathe in the fresh mountainous air.
No matter how busy they get with their responsibilities and how many days they go with barely seeing or talking to each other as a result, they always end up here, by the piano, playing, singing or just silently basking in each other’s presence. Sometimes so much so their ‘basking’ has to be taken into the bedroom - only because Stephen insists on his strict no touchy touchy rules for the piano. It’s an antique(!), he would say, as adorably offended as always.
Well over a year ago, Tony couldn’t even picture how his retirement would look like. Now, the picture is quite clear and he loves it.
“So, our gracious hosts,” Happy turns to them, “when are you going to play something festive for us?”
“I swear if I have to listen to All I Want For Christmas one more time, I’m drowning in the eggnog,” Rhodey comments, the song making multiple appearances on the carols playlist that Peter set up.
Either he put it there multiple times, or it’s FRIDAY’s subtle way of trolling him, noticing how he longingly stares at MJ every time. Good job either way.
“Yeah, I’ve had enough carols until the next Christmas,” Happy agrees. “Something jazzy, or classical?”
“We’re not a jukebox,” Tony retorts, sticking his tongue out.
It has no effect on Happy though. “That thing you played at the gala was cool. Isn’t that where you two kinda met?”
Tony looks up, exchanging a look with Stephen. “Yeah, that’s where we kinda met,” he smiles, mirroring Stephen’s own.
“Hmmm,” Stephen hums in content, turning around on the stool with his usual graceful flair. “How about this one?”
He plays a few notes of the intro melody, making Tony groan but he also turns around, echoes the same notes and continues with the melody. Stephen joins in with a few chords and tones of his own in the high octave, as much as he’s comfortable with. He can only play so much before his hands start hurting, but Stephen doesn’t mind, all too happy to pitch in if only a little bit.
“Is that Celine Dion?” Rhodey asks as the chatter in the room resumes.
“Depends on who you ask,” Stephen replies with a shrug, nudging Tony with his shoulder playfully.
Tony smiles, humming along together as they play.
~FIN~