starkasm | christmas in july;

christmas in july;

[Broadway's right, you know. Not that he'd ever admit it, but when it comes to New York-- well. It's a helluva town. He's lived (to varying definitions of the word 'lived') here most of his life. Despite all the bullshit, the garbage (he firmly maintains he's never actually seen a garbage truck doing its job-- ever) and the way the East river still stinks, it's home. No place like it.

He and Rogers have that much in common. Maybe that was his old man's doing, because he always talked about how much Steve loved New York. Tony used to listen to stories and think about having something in common with a hero, and now-- well. Now whenever his thoughts steer in the direction of stars and spangles, he kind of just wants to punch its anachronistic embodiment in the teeth.

(That's his default state these days. 'I Want To Punch Steve Rogers'. He should probably see someone about that. If he were a) a healthy, well-adjusted person or b) less stubborn he probably actually would. But alcohol exists, so. Bully for psychology.)

Hell's Kitchen wasn't even on his radar until Matt. Who is lucky, by the way, that Tony's sense of disbelief is capable enough of being suspended to allow for blind lawyer in a devil costume as a viable attempt at vigilantism and not some latent BDSM fetish that probably needed clinical examination. And Tony, who can never resist a challenge or a pretty face, sort of inserted himself into Matt's milieu.

Which, by the way, is the most ridiculously bullshit place he's ever been - ever. Crazy fucking ninjas, weird dead girlfriends, Matt and his mile-high martyr complex and everything else. He takes it in stride. It's nice to think about someone else's problems.

Tonight's problems are bringing the mood down a little. Tony'd intended to stop by with a nice bottle of some expensive whiskey he's never bothered to learn how to pronounce and the intention of suggesting something adventurous for the evening's exploits, but instead-- well.

(Tony only has one real scar of any particular note. Just one. Matt has dozens. Proof positive, in fact, that he's a fucking idiot, but Tony doesn't like to throw stones in glass houses anymore.)

The bottle has been left on Matt's countertop, and Tony is dabbing rather inelegantly at the gash across his shoulder. His mouth is tugged down into a frown at one side.]

I happen to have the number of an amazing domme who'll beat you up without leaving any permanent damage, you know.

[Look, humour. He jokes. It's a joke. Jesus.]

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Jesus, man, can you smell it?

[He sounds just the slightest bit scandalized. He's best pals with a guy who turns green and has the destructive power of a tactical nuclear strike, but this is where he draws the line, dating a guy with a super schnoz.

also: don't answer that, Tony doesn't want to know whether or not Matt can pinpoint the last shower he had down to the second. He holds up his hand to forestall further conversation.]

So what, you just happened to walk by some feckless mugger zeroing in on good ol' grandma and you decided 'what the hell' and went for it?

[His tone is disapproving, but more than anything Tony's just needling him. It gives him something to do with his mouth while he concentrates on the patching up part. He isn't squeamish, but he's really not a fan of injury. Maybe less now than he ever was before.]

[ Matt's mouth opens and then closes again at the signal from Tony, which he shouldn't even be able to do, so that tells him how comfortable the other man has become with at least one of his enhanced senses.

He should probably not mention that he can pick out this morning's breakfast and last night's cocktails as well. ]

Something like that. Except it was several muggers and the grandma was an arms dealer, and the muggers were actually members of a gang that's been causing trouble in the Kitchen lately. So really not like at all.

[ Obviously he couldn't just walk on past something like that. Even Foggy would agree.

Okay, maybe not Foggy.

He winces and holds up a bandage for Tony. Technically Matt can do this for himself. But it's nice sometimes to have someone else's help. ]

I'm going to suture your mouth shut.

[He would never, obviously, he's quite fond of Matt's mouth but sometimes it is infinitely better to leave things to the imagination. Things that almost get him skewered on the end of what was probably a broken bottle? One of those things. Tony exhales, perhaps a little more sharply than intended as he takes that bandage from Matt. The wound's clean enough, and although Tony's hands are steady enough to manage the aforementioned sutures, he's really not in the mood for needlepoint. This will work for now.]

You know, I've been thinking. Hawaii's really nice this time of year.

Well, you're welcome to try.

[ That was uncalled for, and came out sharper than he'd planned. Generally, Matt doesn't make a show of being a tough guy. He's been out of sorts lately, and taking it out on everyone. ]

Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I know I'm being an asshole. Probably not what you were hoping for when you decided to come by.

[ He knows exactly what Tony means by that remark, but plays dumb anyway. Maybe he can avoid an argument if he doesn't acknowledge the real intent. ]

I bet you'd enjoy it more than the weather we've been having here. You should go.

It's fine.

[It's an automatic dismissal. These days, his threshold for starting fights is a lot higher than it used to be. He could argue with Pepper over patterns on china, for crying out loud. But after Siberia-- it barely even registers that Matt was all prickly about it. Mea culpa, and all. Lawyers and their Latin.

He just bandages the injury, smooths down the adhesive edges with the flat of his palm. His hand lingers over the wound, gently.]

And you're not an asshole. Trust me, I know my share.

[ha, ha. He clears his throat and pulls his hand back, peeling himself up off the couch to retrieve that whiskey. As he's pouring two glasses--]

I do go. Quite frequently, actually. You see, when you own an island and a private jet, and you make your own hours, and you don't answer to anyone, turns out you can go wherever you want.

[Little white lies. He doesn't remember the last time he took a day off.]

You'd like it there. It's quiet.

[ The reassurance relaxes Matt's expression into a small smile, and he touches the back of Tony's hand where it rests over his injury. Then lets himself ease back against the couch as the other man goes to open that wonderful-smelling bottle.

The next words are met with a soft snort. Matt learned early on that Tony was tougher than usual for him to read. It's harder to pick out the signs of falsehood in a habitual bullshitter. ]

What you mean is, there are fewer people on your private island, which means fewer people who need help.

[ There's really no such thing as quiet, after all. Not anymore. ]

I do mean that.

[He surprises himself by answering honestly. That usually isn't his tact when it comes to the people he's sleeping with. He covers up the vague discomfiting squirm that causes in the pit of his stomach by tossing off a generous mouthful of that very excellent whiskey before refilling the glass and returning to Matt's side. He holds out the tumbler and as Matt takes it--]

I've been that guy. Who can't sleep, who can't eat, who puts-- the whole of himself into something because he feels fucked up and guilty. I've done it. You really, really don't want to know how many times it almost killed me. And call me a narcissist, I guess, but I see you doing the same thing and I don't really want the history lesson.

[ He isn't expecting that kind of raw honesty, although he has to admit that he deserves the lecture. It's not fair to Tony, having to put up with Matt's struggle to restructure his life. And that adds another page to Matt's Book of Guilt. ]

It's not like that, Tony.

[ He takes a sip from his glass and closes his eyes while he enjoys the heat as it goes down. Since meeting Tony Stark, the quality of the alcohol in his life has greatly improved. ]

I'm trying. I don't go out looking for trouble, I try to put my energy into practicing law like I'm supposed to. But it's hard, knowing everything that's going on out there, and just- just sitting here doing nothing. Wasting my abilities. Betraying the people who believed in me. And yet...if I put the mask back on, then I'm betraying the people who believe in me now.

[He crosses his ankles, leans back against the couch. He wants to sprawl, take up as much space as he can and possibly also put his arm around Matt's shoulders, but he restrains himself. For once.]

Okay, so-- forget those people. What do you want?

[ What Matt wants is to curl up with his head on Tony's thigh and just forget about what happened. Or get very drunk and pass out, and enjoy the punishment of a really intense hangover in the morning.

Instead, he sighs and sips slowly at the whiskey, buying himself time before he has to give an answer. ]

I want the city to be a place people can go about their lives without fear. I want people who think they haven't got a shot at justice to find it. I want the crime lords and the madmen who think that Hell's Kitchen is ripe for corruption and control to learn just how wrong they are.

[ Realizing that his grip on the glass has tightened as he's been speaking, that the empty hand at his side is clenched into a fist, he sets the drink aside and forces himself to slowly exhale and relax. ]

I want to do what's right.

[He rubs his thumb along the rim of the glass.]

Matt--

[No, hold on, he needs to sigh dramatically for good measure.]

Sometimes what's right isn't what's good for you. You need to balance both.

Not sure you're the one to be giving that advice.

[ There's no rancor in his tone, but come on. Who in this room has the right to talk about doing things that aren't good for them?

And yet, he has a point. Matt lets his head drop back, eyes directed unseeing toward the ceiling. ]

What if I can't be both safe and happy?

[He laughs. It's a light noise, but there's bitterness there, eating away at the core of it. It's not directed at Matt.]

Oh, I am definitely not the one to be giving that advice. Consider it more... [he wiggles his fingers.] a cautionary tale.

[But oh, does Matt just look so defeated. Tony gives it a moment, and then-- leans over and kisses his forehead very gently.]

I figure that one out, I'll let you know.

[ Matt hates hearing that bitter tinge to Tony's voice, enough so that he makes a silent decision to try harder to stay out of trouble just to not force the man into conversations like this. If he could figure out a way to help Tony fight his demons, he would. But he's not sure that he isn't a little too late.

He's also not sure his help would be at all welcome. ]

You're not the poster child for every sin, you know.

[ Okay, that kiss does put a crack in his self-pity, and Matt smiles up at him. ]

I take it back. Maybe I can be safe and happy at the same time.

[The scandal.]

I'm not? Tell that to the Times.

[He feigns absolute surprise at hearing it. Tony Stark: prodigal son is a narrative that's been pushed now for more of his life than what came before. You learn to live with it. Tony shrugs, an easy lift of his shoulder. The fight in Siberia was months ago, but sometimes it still aches like it was yesterday. He doesn't want to pull that card on Matt, the I'm older than you, and I feel every single hit I've ever taken, and I don't want that for you too. Honestly, it's probably already too late.]

I like to think you could be.

Maybe I should point Karen in your direction. I bet she'd jump at a chance to do an op-ed on Tony Stark.

[ She'd be brutally honest, but there'd be less sensationalism than the average article on really any of the Avengers.

Matt lets himself lean a little to one side, resting shoulder to shoulder. ]

There's always going to be a trade-off, though. Moments like this, in exchange for moments like... [ He gestures at the bandage. ] ...this.

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