Chapter Text
If someone had told him that seven years ago, Tony Stark would be standing in front of a sink washing a bunch of dishes and humming happily while he did it, he probably would've had that person committed. Yet here he was, billion dollar watch carefully set on the counter, hands plunged deep into hot, sudsy water. He scrubbed the last of the plates, rinsed them off, and set them aside to dry. Then he dried his own hands off and hung the cloth back on the stove, shooting a rueful look at the dishwasher. He really needed to get into town to pick up that part.
"All done?" came the soft query behind him, shortly before warm arms wrapped around Tony's waist and drew him back against a tall, solid body. Tony melted into the embrace, letting his head loll backwards until he could see the pair of sparkling green eyes looking down at him.
"Yup. Finally. What a thankless job," Tony sighed, pouting for extra effort.
Loki gave a slow, wicked smirk that never failed to make Tony's knees a little weak and said, "I could thank you... you know, if you really wanted."
Tony pretended to think about it for all of five minutes before grinning. "I could probably be persuaded," he said, turning around within the circle of Loki's arms. He leaned up and gave his husband a gentle kiss, sliding his own arms around Loki's neck to give himself better leverage.
He squealed when Loki suddenly bent and slid an arm under his legs, effortlessly scooping him up. Loki just laughed and turned, fully intending to carry Tony into the bedroom, but stopped. Tony glanced up at him in confusion, then followed Loki's gaze out the window. His own smile slowly faded as he took in the truck that was approaching the cabin. It didn't belong to anyone that Tony was familiar with - and his heart sank straight through the floor when the truck parked and a couple of very familiar people got out.
"Do you want me to get rid of them?" Loki asked, any sign of mirth now gone. His face was shuttered and cold; if Tony gave the word, he would lay waste to the three intruders until there was nothing left. It was a much more tempting offer than it should have been.
Regretfully, Tony shook his head. "No. If those three don't come back, they'll just keep sending more people. And while I know you'd happily keep at it, I really don't want to keep being disturbed." It was bad enough that it was happening now. What the hell did Rogers and Romanov want after five years of complete radio silence? Part of him dreaded finding out, but Tony was almost positive that they weren't here for Loki. No. They were here for him.
"Should I come with you?" Loki said, setting Tony down.
"Not yet," Tony said after a moment's thought. "I want to see what they want first. No sense in showing our whole hand right away." He grabbed his watch off the counter and slid it on. It still functioned as a glove when need be, but the improved nanobots were far superior. He kissed Loki one more time and then walked over to the door to the kitchen.
There, he paused a moment to mentally prep himself for what was no doubt going to be a very painstaking and difficult conversation. There was zero doubt in Tony's mind that Rogers and Romanov had to want something. Neither one of them had ever bothered to follow up with him once he'd told them what had happened in space. It was like once Tony ceased to be useful to them, he ceased to matter. So, if they were here now, that meant there was some way for Tony to be useful. Just the thought of it all made his head start to ache.
Last time he'd been useful to them, he had nearly died. He'd been left a battered, broken, changed man. It had ended his relationship with Pepper. He tightened his right hand into a fist and drew his shoulders up, tipping his chin up proudly. It had been a while since he'd had to pull that old genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist mask into place, and he wasn't wearing a three-piece tailored suit... but the mask still settled over him comfortably in spite of his torn jeans and stained button-up shirt. Wearing a blank expression, Tony opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
"Tony!" Rogers said, stopping short at the sight of him. The years had been good to him. Rogers still looked as young as the day Tony had departed from the Compound. He had gotten rid of his beard, which had always had the effect of making him look younger, and his hair was styled a little differently, but those were the only changes that Tony could pick out.
"Good afternoon," Tony said curtly, glancing next at Romanov. The very first thing he noticed was that she was growing her hair out. It hung around her shoulders, natural red at the top to her chin where the strands changed to blond. The effect didn't look bad, but it definitely stole attention to her, and it made him wonder if she had, however temporarily, given up the spy game. Without Fury, SHIELD had quietly crumbled from within. So far as Tony knew, and his reach extended pretty far, SHIELD as it was no longer existed, which had left Romanov out of a job.
So far as he could tell, it showed. There were more lines in her face than Tony remembered, and she looked pale and thin. A small part of him wanted to unwind and invite her in for a cup of coffee, but Tony refrained. Romanov had toed the line between him and Rogers for a long time, but she had made her choice when she joined the rest of the Avengers in Wakanda. The friend that Tony had always thought she was didn't exist; he had to remember that. Especially now that he had people who actually loved and cared about him. He touched the ring on his finger and felt a little calmer.
"We, ah, we wanted to talk to you, but none of your old numbers were working," Rogers said with a glance at Romanov. "No one seemed to know the new number... all we could get was that this was where you lived."
"Okay," Tony said. "What do you need?"
Rogers adopted a wounded look. "Can't we just come by to see how you're doing?"
"I don't think anyone believes that, so spare me," Tony said. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. Why are you here?”
“We need your help,” Romanov said abruptly, apparently deciding to drop all the pleasantries. “We – well, Scott Lang approached us with an idea for how we might be able to fix things. But it’s not something we’re capable of doing without you.” Her face took on a sour expression, like she’d sucked on a lemon. It had to cost her some pride to admit that to Tony’s face.
“Scott Lang?” Tony repeated, the name ringing a faint bell.
“Aw, come on. You still don’t remember me?” The back door on the passenger’s side of the truck swung up and a man clambered out awkwardly. Tony squinted at him.
“Wait… Ant Man?” he said, surprised. He vaguely remembered how furious Hope and her father had been after the Ant Man suit went missing. The two of them had taken a lot of flack for Ant Man’s participation in the so-called civil war. Lang was probably lucky that Hope had died in the Decimation, or she would be trying to beat his ass through the floor.
Lang brightened. “Yeah! That’s right. I have this theory. A time travel theory.”
“Time travel,” Tony said. “Seriously? Your grand plan is time travel?” He couldn’t help the derisive hint that crept into his voice.
Living with a god for five years had taught Tony a fair amount about magic and science. He was willing to concede, if somewhat grudgingly, that science could be considered a branch of magic – sometimes. And in doing so, he had learned that each branch of magic had its own rules. That included time travel. It wasn’t something for just anyone to mess around with. Whole universes had died out that way.
The door behind Tony opened. Romanov tensed, her hand flying to her hip, as a sleek black cat prowled out and began twining lazily around Tony’s ankles. Tony would’ve bet good money that the sight of the cat’s unnaturally green eyes was freaking Romanov out, just like he was 100% sure that Romanov was carrying more than one weapon at the moment. Fortunately, she had no idea that Loki would kill her before she could even think about drawing the gun holstered to her hip.
“I never pegged you as a cat person,” Romanov said tightly.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Tony said. “Get up here. Sit.” He motioned to the chairs on the porch. They might as well be comfortable while he figured out how much they knew about something so dangerous.
Unsurprisingly, Lang was the first one up the steps. He sank into the closest chair with an exhausted expression, sighing in relief. Romanov and Rogers were slower to follow, walking up the steps like they expected something to jump out at them. Tony only sat once they had, and Loki immediately leapt up onto his lap, plunked himself down and just sat there staring at Romanov.
“Okay, so it’s like this…” Lang said. He explained his theory to Tony, who listened very carefully. And while he listened, he kept an eye on the other two. The desperate, hungry gleam in Rogers’s eyes was a little creepy. It hit Tony that he’d seen that look before, and he knew then what this was all about.
Bucky Barnes.
After Tony had returned from space, Rhodey had given him the list of Avengers who had died in the Decimation. It had been a long list, but it had only taken Tony a few minutes to realize that the list of everyone else who had perished was even longer. Even now there were still people who were a question mark, assumed to have died because of Thanos but with no proof because no one had been there when they faded away.
But the Winter Soldier had not been one of them. He’d disintegrated right in front of Rogers’s face. Tony had never spoken to Rogers about it – he hadn’t wanted to, not when Barnes was the motivator for so many fights between them – but he was sure that had devastated Rogers. And it didn’t surprise Tony in the slightest that Rogers had never given up on getting Barnes back. There was no length that Rogers wouldn’t go to where his best friend was concerned.
Romanov’s reasons for being here were a little murkier. It could’ve been on Barton’s behalf; Tony knew that the Barton family had also died in the Decimation, and some sources had told him that Barton had reportedly gone off the deep end. Or it could’ve just been that she was following along in Rogers’s wake. Romanov was a little bit like a lost duckling that way.
“So, what do you think?” Lang asked, and Tony started when he realized that Lang was giving him an expectant look.
“It’s not feasible,” Tony replied calmly.
“What do you mean? Scott said it will work!” Rogers burst out immediately, before Lang could even open his mouth.
“And I’m telling you that it won’t,” Tony said, looking him in the eye. “There are a lot of variables that haven’t been taken into account here.”
“Then take them into account. Isn’t that what your genius brain does?” Romanov said sarcastically.
“Yup, that’s it. All of you can leave now,” Tony announced, getting up. Loki leapt gracefully to the floor.
“But Tony, you don’t understand,” Rogers said.
“I understand perfectly. It’s you who doesn’t. Playing around with things like this could destroy the universe. You may not get that, but I do.” Tony crossed his arms. “Go.”
He started to turn away, which was a mistake; he should’ve expected that Rogers wouldn’t react well. Rogers lunged towards him and made a grab for Tony’s wrist. Tony jerked away, horrified. Then, suddenly, there was a black cat between them, and Rogers was yelling in pain. He staggered back and this time made a grab for Loki, who had sunk his claws deep into Rogers’s crotch.
“Steve!” Romanov was shouting.
“I said go!” Tony yelled over both of them, and Loki released Rogers. Rogers looked at Tony like he was the one who’d been betrayed, then hobbled away with Romanov and Lang in tow. Tony didn’t move until all three of them were in the truck and driving away. Only then did he let himself sink into the chair, cold to the bone. He’d thought he was over what happened in Siberia – so much had happened since then – but one false move from Rogers and he’d gone straight back.
Loki reappeared, expression radiating fury, and gently took Tony’s arm. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”