Archive of Our Own ^beta

People always assumed that the Avengers had simply meshed from the beginning.  That there had been no in-fighting, no pissing-matches, no posturing.  There had been a common cause to fight, a reason for unity, the wits claimed. People also assumed that living all in the same tower had come just as easy.  When ever some fool or other mentioned such a thing to Tony Stark, he would laugh until they edged away muttering about coats that let you hug yourself, or until Pepper managed to herd him away.

***

It took him three tries to get Natasha’s room right, or Natalie, or Black Widow.  He didn’t know what she called herself from week to fucking week anymore, and he didn’t much care.  The first try matched her outward personality: Cool, Classy, and Modern.  Everything was glass and metallic and angles with an entirely monochromatic color scheme.  The art was fancy-shmancy twisted iron and hipster pictures in black and white and grey.  No stone, no tile, no wood.  Everything was automated, no human contact necessary or required.

  It was as sleek and cold as she appeared to be on the outside, and Tony, being the selfish asshole he is, decided that was what she must be like on the inside.  After all, that was how she operated, with everything controlled and accounted for in her devious female brain.

He decided that perhaps he might want to rethink this theory when she hacked into his lab and deleted his current works-in-progress.  All of them.  (He’d had back ups on Jarvis, but that wasn’t the point, damn it!)

The second attempt was the exact opposite, with so rustic a feel, it looked like a cabin in the middle of the woods.  Every thing was natural: Wood, stone, deer heads hanging on the wall, gingham curtains in the kitchen for crying out loud.   The bed was a lumberjack’s wet dream, and the only music she could play over the carefully hidden speakers was hillbilly folk and country.  The only clothes in the carefully hidden closet were plaids and skimpy little negligees made to look like leaves.  The soap in her bathroom was scented like deer urine.

She broke his custom coffee machine (he didn’t know how, as he kept it under lock and key), and then hid the coffee for two solid weeks.  And sicked Pepper on him, which was just plain fighting dirty.

Third time was the charm.  He handed her a little plastic card with the Stark logo printed on it, and an astronomical amount behind the magnetic strip, and the coffee appeared back where coffee was supposed to be kept. It also no longer tasted strongly of deer urine and lye.

***

Barton was next, and while Tony wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Loki’s magically reformed mind-monkey, he had to admit the guy was a crack shot.  And a smart-ass to rival yours truly.  When he wasn’t brooding.

He started with a private archery range, because hey, obviously someone who likes to shoot arrows would like their own place to shoot in private.  (It was thirteen percent Pepper’s idea).  He hacked into Shield’s data base (yes, again, Fury, why are you looking at me like that, I joined your super secret boy band, didn’t I?) and discovered the man’s background in the circus.  Presto, the archery area also came with trapeze and tightrope.  And he might have had a big top painted on one of the walls.  Details, details.

The biggest discoveries however, were Barton’s love for landscape oil paintings and a hobby of building model airplanes.  Hence, he was gifted with a flight simulator made custom by Stark Industries, a fully stocked craft room with a thousand craft kits and supplies, and oil landscapes were hung on every wall.  Tony even hired someone to turn one whole wall into a mural resembling one of Van Gogh’s field landscapes.

He made the airshafts for the entire floor half a foot wider, because the file had also mentioned the marksman’s love for metal-encased areas.  There was direct access to the roof. 

But the bed.  Tony couldn’t resist the bed.

He knew it was a dick move, but it had been too good to pass up, what with the codename ‘Hawkeye’.  In short, it was a nest.  A round, pillow-filled, made to look like it was made out of sticks, honest-to-Thor nest.  He figured he’d get a few laughs, before it got thrown out.  Instead, ten minuets after Barton moved in, an arrow came soaring through one of the windows on his lab (Which have been replaced with shatterproof glass, thank you very much), missing his head by half an inch.  After swearing like a cornered nun for the better part of three minuets he noticed the projectile had come with a package.

Pinned to the wall by said medieval instrument of execution was a photograph of Barton in the nest-bed, directing the creepiest, dead-bird-eye, thousand yard stare every known to man right at the camera.  Photo-shopped onto the picture were the words: ‘Caw, caw, motherfucker’.  Tony still doesn’t go into Barton’s bedroom, because the mere memory of that photo gives him nightmares.

And a month later, someone with a love for air vents snuck into said lab and spray-painted the Mach VII in the same colors as a big top tent.  Tony smiled only when he was sure no one could see him, and left it.

***

Thor was easy.  Big.  Massive.  Everything sized for a loud, insanely-strong, blonde man-child.  (Or god-child, but…semantics.)  Big bed, big couch, big fridge stocked round the clock with enough food to feed an army.  Massive television taking up a whole wall, and every DVD ever released on the public market, along with a few that weren’t.  There was an entire cupboard filled with pop tarts.  And a game room.  Tony was more pleased that he would admit that Thor spent most of the time he wasn’t banging Jane, Avenging, or eating in there.  (And zero percent for Pepper this time, thank you very much).

Surround sound, a whole wall for this screen too, every console from Nintendo 64 to a Wii, with everything between.  More games than any one person would be able to play in several mortal lifetimes.  Old style arcade games, a pool table, even an area for prototype virtual reality, courtesy of Stark Industries.  It was a true gamers’ Valhalla.

His response was gratifying too.

“Verily, it is a most fitting chamber for a prince of the Royal house of Asgard.  Man of Iron, you are a most gracious host!”, the Norse god of thunder had boomed, and the following hug had cracked ribs, no matter what Jarvis’ diagnostic tests said.

And then Doctor Foster and her large-breasted terror of an assistant had moved in with him.  Darcy Lewis had taken one look at him and decided to start the Prank War to end all prank wars.

Ok, so maybe he’d given her cause, considering he taught Dummy to hide her ipod, and then talked Bruce into using her favorite mug to grow mold cultures.  Her response had been swift, vindictive, and rather uncalled for.  (It took him a week to get the last of the paint out from between his toes.) Which had of course, called for equal retaliation.  War had been an unintended side-effect, and running ever since.

Tony was currently losing, after the she-devil had replaced all of the liquor on his floor with colored water.    She’d then proceeded to put legos in all of his shoes.  The Jezebel.

***

Bruce.  Bruce was more difficult than Tony had thought.  Yes, he got his own personal lab, along with the three floors of R&D, kitted out with every scientific toy Tony could think of, and a few he made up as he went along.  Because, hey, science.  This Banner playground took up a full half of his floor, and Bruce offered only weak objections when Tony shoved the key card at him.

The problem lay in the living area.  He tried six different layouts, all with a different theme.  They ranged from Indian to hellicarrier to modern, to some eclectic mix in between.  And yet, no matter what Tony tried, Bruce always had an excuse why he couldn’t stay the night to sleep.  There was no hulk-cage (fixed, but unnecessary), he promised Shield he would run some tests for them, he wasn’t sleepy.

  It was like Bruce didn’t want to get comfortable.  (Why don’t you want to get comfortable, Bruce?  Are you thinking of leaving, Bruce?  What about Science Bros Forever, Bruce?)

“So, seriously, Banner.  What’s with the hold-up on moving in?”, he’d asked one day after they’d locked themselves in their new candy land, and Bruce couldn’t immediately escape.  His captive had turned a nice shade of green, although not Other-guy worthy, and began to stutter out excuses.  Tony would have found it adorable, if Banner wasn’t getting in the way of what he wanted.  (Epic scientific bro-mance.  Because science.)

“Well, I-I think it would be better if I….you know, stayed in a….more remote location…”

“Bruce, I have DirecTV.”

The other man’s huff of laughter had been soothing to his ego, but still not the capitulation he wanted.  So he tried wheedling.  If that didn’t work, he’d try shock therapy again.

“It’s perfectly safe here.  Top level security all the way.”

“Which is how Loki managed to break in, throw you out of a penthouse window, and then use the arc-reactor that powers this building to open a portal into space for his evil alien army to use in invading New York City.” Bruce deadpanned, without looking up from his latest mold cultures.

“Don’t you bring him into this.  Besides, that doesn’t count. ”

“Tony.”

“He cheated.”

“Tony-”

“He used the glow-stick of destiny.”

“Tony-”

“And I think the Other Guy likes me.”

“This is a horrible idea.”

“All the fun ones are.”

“…You’re insane.”

“A compliment.”

A long pause, as Bruce just stared at him with a facial expression that was one part horrified amusement, one part resigned acceptance, and two parts Toto wanting desperately to be back in Kansas.

“…..Fine…”

“YESSS~!”

***

Last came Captain America, aka Steve Rogers, aka the asshole his dad spent Tony’s entire childhood looking for instead of spending time with his son, aka the man who was rapidly becoming Tony’s best friend.

He had scars about this style, or that art work, or that piece of fucking furniture.  He didn’t like this, he hated that, the fifth couch Tony picked reminded him of something he’d seen in a Nazi’s drawing room on a mission. (Fuck you too, Steve, fuck you too.) 

The credit card trick didn’t work like it had with Natasha, and hanging pictures of the Capsicle’s forties propaganda posters was met with angry silence for a week. (The posters were relocated to Agent’s floor, after he turned out to be alive, Fury you lying rat bastard).  He turned down the offer of his own personal gym, stating that he liked the one in downtown better, even if he had to ride the subway for two hours to get there and back.  He didn’t want any technology, and the three Stark phones Tony tried to foist off on him met pavement from a twenty story drop in rapid succession.

Finally, he went to Pepper.  Tony adored Pepper, she always made time for him.  Forget the company, this was an emergency

She kicked him out of her office, and took three days to get back to him.  (So he’d forgotten she was allergic to strawberries again.  Sue him.  He’d win anyway.)  After which, she magically made the entire Capsicle’s floor up into something reminiscent of the late forties, including ghastly paisley wingback chairs and wallpaper.  Wallpaper everywhere.  (Wall paper should be illegal.  What was wrong with paint?).  And just like magic, Steve settled in comfortably.  He often had to be pried away from the library Pepper had had installed for him with a crowbar.  (okay, not really, but still…)

And all it took to make things up to Pepper was a little groveling and a quick sojourn as her  foot-massaging French maid.  Easy peasy.  Hammer wouldn’t breathe a word, or Tony would sick Ms. Birthed-of-a Harpy Lewis on him.

***

And for the first time in Tony’s life, he lived somewhere with other people on purpose.  He learned not to tell Natasha she was an honorary guy because she was in the super-secret-boy-band.  She’d kneed him so hard he’d limped for a week and he doubted he had any viable sperm left, especially after all the alcohol he imbibed.

The prank war with Darcy the Devil’s Spawn grew to include Natasha, Barton, and Thor.  She even poked at Bruce with an impunity no one else save Tony could get away with.  He responded by helping Tony wire her room so that Thor’s boom of ‘RISE LADY DARCY!’ would repeat every hour through the night.  She responded with more legos is both of their shoes, and super-glueing the doors of the lab closed. 

Barton moved into Agent Coulson’s floor the moment he returned from the dead, to only Tony’s surprise.  His mothering seemed to do him as much good as it did Coulson, although it only took Tony one night to decide to soundproof both of their floors.  He also pulled the Jarvis cams, because ain’t no one needed to see that!

Jane and Bruce made advances in the Rosen bridge, getting closer all the time to making travel between the realms possible.  Tony pretended not to be jealous, and then just decided they could be the Science Bros and Sis.  Because the more the merrier, really.  And Jane could sometimes control Demon-Child Darcy.

Thor held game nights in his favorite of rooms, with tournaments drew all of the Avengers into the same place.  Steve, much to Tony’s pique, adapted rapidly to this kind of technology until the only people who would face him in player versus player mode were Thor and Tony himself.  Coulson could usually be found sitting at the good captain’ side as his most vehement cheerleader, with Barton for an anxious, hovering shadow as he healed.

Everyone learned not to drink against Thor for fear of alcohol poisoning, or waking up with penises scrawled across their faces in permanent marker.  A rule also had to be made that any filming of drunken escapades did not leave the tower.  Although sharing them on movie or game night was fair.

Natasha and Barton used the gym Tony had built to teach Darcy the Fiend, Jane, and Bruce circus tricks like tumbling and flying trapeze.  Tony was banned after the first lesson.  He would neither confirm nor deny that he had knocked the Imp off the tightrope by stepping on it.  The fact that there had been a safety net for her to fall into was ignored in the unfair and biased judgment.

Fury called them all mother-fuckers at one point or another, often in number.  He also developed a few swears of his own, the most memorable one being ‘rat-faced Loki-cock-sucking bitch-sticker’, as the Hulk and Iron man took out half of city hall while brawling with Dr. Doom.  (He had thankfully not uttered it within Thor’s hearing range).

They had a communal kitchen, which they all used sometimes.  Steve insisted on ‘team-bonding’ Sunday dinners.  Tony thought it was just because Steve liked to feel like the father of their mad, insane, never-should-have-made-it-off-the-drawing-board group thing.  When ever he mentioned this idea to Pepper, she laughed and shoved his shoulder with the hand not holding her champagne.

“You mean a family?”, she would always asked with a mockingly raised brow, as he rubbed her feet or sat next to her tinkering on something.  He would sneer at her and insist ‘family’ was a dirty word.  But in his own mind, where he was (relatively) safe from Natasha’s weird mind-reading ability, and Pepper’s weird way of knowing his thoughts, or Darcy Ogress Lewis’ entirely hell-based power( okay, maybe it was just a woman thing…), he found he agreed with her choice of word. 

They were a dysfunctional train-wreck of a familial unit, with every member requiring a boat load of shrinks to treat all of their issues, and most of whom regularly destroyed some part of a city when stopping the villain of the week. 

But yes.  Family, none the less.

Tony kind of liked that.