Hopeless Wanderer | Tony Stark & Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 3

New Year had too been a lonely hole of misery. Rhodey hadn't been able to make it home in time. The conflict in the Middle-East had gotten out of hand; the colonel's services had been demanded till after New Year. Now his teammates had partially returned and Tony lied freely about the amazing Christmas he had had. He told them about all the exotic dishes he had tried and how he had had the time of his life.

The odor of burned food still haunted the kitchen and he had forgotten to het the oven replaced. His destroyed Christmas sweater still lay uselessly on the kitchen tiles. Unfortunately for him, he only realized he hadn't gotten rid of the trail his loneliness had left behind when Barnes asked loudly who's Christmas sweater hadn't survived the fire. Before Stark could think of a lie that would explain the ravage, Steve had pulled Tony's shirt up to inspect his sides for any burn marks. Tony's skin was smooth like water of course, and the billionaire could see how his team captain had difficulty connecting the dots.

'It was the robot's fault,' the genius lied easily, pointing at his sweater while speaking.

'The robot's?' They had been a team for long enough for the others to grow suspicious.

'I'm deadly serious,' the inventor kept going, 'Everyone knows how clumsy DUM-E can be.'

Before anyone could ask any more questions, Clint had started a monologue about his kids, how they kept growing. Every year they became a year older and wiser. It was of the utmost importance that growing up became prohibited as fast as possible, cause Nathaniel had turned four not too long ago and really, it wasn't funny anymore; Lila and Cooper too kept getting smarter and taller.

'Growing old is a blessing.'

'Well, the older I get, the less I enjoy it,' Barton remarked. He didn't spot the suffering which lay hidden in Tony's eyes. 'Just the other day I had a backache. A backache!'

Stark sighed. He whished he could get a backache. He wanted to be able to complain about those little aches that came with aging and he wanted to feel the mortal fear that pushed people to reach further than they thought they could reach. He wanted to be able to complain about the knife wound that was weeks old and still hurt like a son of a bi-

'Hey, hey, you're not that old, Clint,' laughed Wilson. 'Stark has never had a backache and he's way older than you.'

'Huh?' Tony pretended to be hurt. 'Rogers is the oldest, 102 if I'm not mistake.' He smiled teasingly in the direction of the soldier. He could tease people with their age. No-one knew about the pain he carried with him.

'Buck's 103 years old,' defended Steve his pride.

'Guys, I think we can all agree that Thor's by far the oldest,' soothed Barnes the conversation, and shit. Thor was even older than Tony. That hurt, that he wasn't the only one who had lived a long life, but was indeed the only one who had almost completely spent it in utter isolation. Rogers had suffered too. The soldier hadn't mind reminding Stark of al the misery he had lived through when the Avengers had been called to assemble the first time. He had screamed it in the billionaire's face, that Tony had no idea, that he couldn't even begin to imagine all the pain Steve had had to endure. Tony had kept silent, had bit his tongue. He hadn't uttered a word. Instead he had felt nervously for the ring around his finger.

This time Stark couldn't let the opportunity pass: 'Chill, Steve. Did someone steal your stroller or something?'

'Just back from the holidays and already everyone's bickering again,' Tasha wasn't amused, 'At least everyone's Christmas was great, right?'

'Enjoy the Holidays, even when I'm not here anymore.'

Tony put on a smile that seemed as real as the other's.