Don't own anything.

It wasn't always good to be Tony Stark.

People were troublesome, to say the least. Howard Stark's only son was a perfect example; perfect in complexity, in layers of depth, in un-killable optimism wrapped in pain and buried under layers of sarcastic wit blazing fast and hard and...

Still, somehow...Tony liked people.

He liked the right, people.

That was what landed him in trouble, more often than he'd care to admit to anyone. Anyone. Even the short list of people he knew were the right people to like. Oh they guessed and gave him the occasional knowing look (Pepper was perfect at that) but he never admitted to it. That was key. It was the key.

Fighting the Avenger's Initiative was classic Tony Stark. He wanted to be a part of it, what it sounded like it could be. But he couldn't just up and admit it. Couldn't let people know how important it was to him, this chance. They'd take it away, he just knew they would. Or even worse, use it against him. Leverage. Bartering. He had his doubts though. Ideals never matched up. In-fighting. Politics. Money...always ruined things like this. It was why he kept things under Stark Industries watch – under his watch – a lot more than he used to. Responsibility was a new idea for him, or, at least a revisited one. Redefined. Calibrated. Responsibility used to mean selling weapons. Keeping America safe by outfitting her with the best of everything. Now, he didn't trust in printed lines and promises saying that everything was going where it said it was. He had learned.

Trust was broken. Fragile. Kept only to Pepper and Rhodey, and even that had it's hairline fractures after Obie. To trust that the Avengers were going to be what paper and ink said they were going to be? To fight the battles we never could...

So he fought it. Donned his sarcastic armor and sharpened his tongue. Hacked into SHIELD's computers as soon as he had reached the bridge. Was he vindicated? Yes. Did it hurt? Dully. He had made those same decisions before, long ago. Before the mini reactor in his chest and the dying words of a friend had given his life sharp focus. But, to see the resentment hidden in his chest echoed on Captain Spangle's face...hear it in Bruce's voice...twice vindicated. Reflected. Understood. He felt a bit of worry lift.

In fact, the problem was that at the heart of his armor, glowing brightly and keeping everything spinning, right there...Tony liked the right people. And the Avengers were those people.

Even Clint and Natasha, whom Tony did not really understand, not like he understood the others...even them. Tony liked. He liked them in the sort of way that he opened his home, his private island of solitude, his...trust, to them.

He had started with Bruce.

It had been a plan made in lighting quick moves, like waking up at the computer screen to realize he had worked out a highly complex and delicately intricate piece of machinery in his sleep. It was there. It made sense, though he had no idea HOW he had really gotten there, it was in his gut and he trusted it. Looking at Bruce, seeing the man fold and bend on himself to make his frame smaller, trying not to catch attention or be noticed. Like he wanted to slip through the floor but had tried and found it impossible. There was the thing in Tony that laughed and jumped before he knew for sure he could fly, and it twinged in sympathy meeting Bruce for the first time. The words had tumbled out of his mouth, light in tone but heavy in brutal sincerity. Even the giant green rage monster part. He had reminded him of like a...shit, like a kitten. A damn kitten, stuck in a cardboard box soaked by so much rain it was ready to fall apart and Tony had promised himself right there and then to take Bruce home. He'd use everything in his arsenal to get the man to say 'yes', and it was quite a stockpile he had built over the years.

But then, there had been the Star Spangled Man. Once you've taken one kitten in, you could easily talk yourself into two. Poor man was out of his element already, and Tony had taken one too many of his classic stabs at the Captain. Habit, he could claim. Tempered as it was with his father's stories, and that whole can of worms which Tony was not opening right now, thank you very much. He accepted it quickly and kicked it back into the dark corners of his mind, rattling and spinning. Mouth moving faster than the Iron Man suit about private practice space, free food, nice beds, no SHIELD spying on him, and hell, didn't Tony mention they could decorate the whole floor to look like something familiar? Toss in some decor from his lovely decade, flood his iTunes with age appropriate songs...a hide-a-way. A sanctuary. There was a jet! Well, a few jets. Cap wanted to get reacquainted with the world, right? In way's SHIELD would probably frown at myopically. He didn't think SHIELD would let him get caught up on all the television and movies he had missed out on. Whatever you thought, Tony had learned from teaching JARVIS that media like that? Easiest way to explain how people thought. How things had changed, and how much they hadn't.

Freedom.

It appealed to Tony. It was a dream for Bruce. Certainly Captain America couldn't say no to it either.

They had the Charity Talk, Captain Tight Pants trying to tell Tony 'well yes, no thank you, thank you very much but that was too kind of him and he was an adult and could make his own way in life blah blah blah' to which Tony kept up that grin that was the prize of his arsenal. His grin that said...'come on, you. Yes, you. Right now, I'm only looking at you...and this smile is telling you that I'm eccentric and you're silly, and this is going to happen no matter what you say and somehow, somehow you will look back and think it was adorable.' The eyebrows that went along with that look said also, 'No, I don't get how it always works either.'

Captain – call me Steve, please – agreed. Smiling. He'd meet up with them at the tower after Tony got his part of it more livable. Which you can bet Tony was going to work on first. Well, after Bruce's. Hell, he could work on them at the same time! After the good Captain had taken care of a few things he'd get in touch. (He had Tony's number? Yes...or, at least he thought he did...even if he wasn't sure how to find it again. Tony would just call him, then.) Tony knew he would. From there it was just...too easy to widen the oddly growing circle to the rest of them.

But the other three, he hadn't been as sure of the steps to dance. How to charm and wiggle, to be annoying and pretentious and still, under it all, come off showing how much he really cared without having to say anything dangerous like that.

He told Barton he'd make him stuff. Easy to promise, since the archer's quiver intrigued him greatly. The best tech Tony had EVER made was done to suit a specific purpose (See, Mini Arc Reactor.) and designing with the Hawk's frighteningly accurate skills in mind gave him little mechanical goosebumps. Aside from that, there were the miles and miles of air ducts in the Stark Tower that no one eyed dictator would keep him from exploring or using on threat of death. Just, you know, stay out of Tony's room, and the workshops. Those things, use the door? Yes, he'd give him the code to the rooftop.

Thor had his own...stuff, going on. Tony Stark, millionaire playboy philanthropist and jaded son respected this. But Tony told him that if he ever needed a place to crash he was always welcome at the tower. Hell, bring his Lady with him, why not? To which, the God had remarked in perfect confusion 'Enough damage was done this day to your home, Man of Iron...no reason can I fathom to add to the work already ahead of you by crashing into it, even by your most acceptable welcome!' Tony laughed at this, warm and cheery, missing the usual snark and dryness to it. Thor could just do that to him, without trying.

Again, Tony Stark liked people...it wasn't his fault there were often times cruel and confusing under the surface. Under the business and the polite, demanding hunger for his money...and the things he made half asleep and dead in his workshop...

Thor wasn't...he was...wow, was he different. Making fun of his Shakespearean word choice was the highlight of the day. His strength was, well alright it was godly. It was the kind of strength that could crush things without trying, could break the Iron Man suit wide open. In fact it probably took more work to NOT crush things (like Tony, that one time. Glasses. Salt shakers. Door Knobs...). But Thor was a good guy. Not like, Captain Perfect was a good guy...or like Tony pretended to be a good guy. Did he mention people were confusing?

Thor was all, good in a confusing, sorta out there way. Almost to the point of being above the things down here that would corrupt those big blues and that hearty laugh. He was everything that was good about history and honor, the romanticism of the better past tinged with just enough God to make it good and corny and natural for Thor to use words like 'verily' and say things like 'Son of This' and 'Lady That' with a straight and brilliant face.

Captain America, on the other hand...he was the good that came from propaganda and the lies of old idealistic men. Of hope forged in places that sorely needed it because they had nothing left. He wasn't a God...just a human trying against every human impulse to be the best and the brightest, the straight arrow against all wind to the contrary. Tony liked his smile, his real, smile. Not his, 'HI...I'm Captain America, hero of the western world and all around good guy, democracy! Freedom! Tights! Yea!'- no not that one. The real one. The one not so bright but brightest. Curved a little. Sincere.

First time he had seen it? Waking up after his little trip into space. You know, after dying for a bit there. (No, he hadn't told anyone yet. Why, again, should he?) But it was a smile that said, 'I Was Wrong About You', even though he had been right all along. Tony didn't have the heart to argue with that smile, it had gotten him into the Captain's trust. He was...they were something, certainly. He wasn't a solider...so they, weren't...

Hell he didn't know. But the walking red white and blue saw something good in him, and when Captain America saw something good in you when so few people did, you kept it close to heart. Didn't poke at it too much. Didn't dissect it. He was allowed a little white lie here and there. He was a super hero now, and a damned good one, if he did say so himself. And he did, a lot. He was allowed to pretend he was something as Iron Man.

Bruce, he was a good man in a whole level of existence all together. Any man who wasn't so good would have given into the Hulk a long time ago. Not cared whom he trampled over. Wouldn't hide and torment himself so harshly in keeping control. Lesser men would have given into the evil done to them, let the rage and the darkness justify whatever action they took next. But Bruce...he kept to himself. He punished, learned...clipped and suppressed. Tony, more than anything, wanted him to live again.

That was the sum of what he knew.

As he said, the other two were still mysteries. He didn't dislike it, the promise of discovery. He knew Barton well enough to know he could take his jokes. The archer had a sharp tongue of his own, when he wasn't in super scary agent mode. It was a shell. A professional one, to be sure, but a shell none-the-less. Like Bruce, Tony wanted to poke and prod. See what was under there. They had both known that Tony's offer of living space also meant distance from his fellow SHIELD agents. From the hidden and not so hidden looks. The whispers.

It hadn't been his fault, what had happened with Loki...but it hadn't not been either. No one could convince him otherwise, that training couldn't have gotten him out from under the pointy end of a magic spear, even if it would have done nothing to free himself from the control once applied. Human's were complex, and things happened in their brain they didn't have to ask for. A flinch. A stare, or even worse, the avoidance of meeting eyes...it all prodded and poked at things even Tony would have left alone. Legolas had a grip on his emotion, he was a master. Tony could learn a few things from him at length, but...he was human. Tony knew how you tried to run from that base truth but couldn't manage it completely. You couldn't not be a good guy -couldn't look like Barton had looked when he was informed that Agent Coulson had been killed -and still have an iron clad grip. Not all the way. No, Barton cared about the little looks. The agents that he had killed.

He didn't have to say it, Tony knew.

The same way that he blamed himself for the kids that his own weapons had killed, the ones that he had been taking pictures with and teasing. The ones he had just met and never could have met. The ones he had watched die on a back road through Afghanistan, as the badly named 'fun-vee' was punctured like a tin can. The ones that he would never hear about but must have existed. He hadn't been directly at fault...perhaps, you could reason it quiet easily. (It was really Loki, not you. It was the terrorists...etc..) but it never really felt that way when you looked too hard in the mirror, did it, Barton?

It was a conversation they had never had. Wouldn't have understood, had Tony not already known. The smallest of looks had been all he needed, and then back to the vents. Dimensions, promised blueprints? No, Barton wanted to map them on his own. Well...alright.

Now, Natasha...that, that was a hard face for Tony to crack.

Knack or no, Tony couldn't find an in, anywhere. She was...terrifying. Beautiful. He didn't want to really believe that under all that, there wasn't something to connect to. Or, you know...that she'd really kill him. (Right? Those were just...playful threats! Right...? Guys?) She got along well with Cap, and Hawkeye...so, there was that going for her.

It was just, Tony didn't know how to even...begin to approach that kind of woman. Nothing he knew helped him, not even his attempts at understanding the minefield that was his life with Pepper Pots; and she was, by far, the woman he most respected. Ever. He had known, and known, a lot of women in his life, and nothing from that broad spectrum was even close. Not. At. All. He understood it distinctly, rawly, every-time he tried to talk to her. To try his usual Tony mannerisms against her shell. The Black Widow was the tightest bound and controlled version of a person he had ever met...ever. Including his dad.

Impressive, right?

But he wanted to try, and he tried over and over again. Falling flat every-time in coaxing a smile. In getting a laugh that wasn't carrying the undertones of creepy. It wasn't until Barton had thrown him a bone and admitted, that her realistic threats to 'shut him up permanently' were a step above ignoring his existence and, therefore, something to feel proud about.

He had, awkwardly, offered her a spot in their gentleman's tower. Which, awkward for Tony was still smooth, thank you very much. And, it was next to Barton! Assuming she wanted that. Hell, he didn't know what she wanted, but he had money, and Cap already had his 1940's room, and Bruce lured in with trinkets and science gadgets...Barton with his vents and the promise of really, REALLY cool arrows. Thor was just a shoe in, and didn't she want to see him and Steve try to work fun things like, microwaves and Wii controllers?

Tony had been tongue and cheek with everyone else. Dialed down a bit for the Captain (because he didn't get it) and gleefully indulged when it came to Thor (because he didn't get it). But with, her? Standing in front of the Black Widow, this dangerously beautiful puzzle that had no helpful corners or landmarks to grab a hold of and start working on...he had to be honest, or risk getting stabbed. He was too attached to himself to get stabbed after surviving all of...THAT.

So, he was. Honest. Well, honest-ish. He couldn't keep the humor out, as much as she might have been really glaring at him (again, hard to tell!) but he tried to play it straight. They were Avengers now...not, just Agents or playboys you know, but...heroes. SHIELD didn't own Tony's tower...Tony-fucking-Stark did, and if she wanted a place to be away from all of that, stuff that had to come with the title of Agent, Tony would field Fury's messages, lie to his face, push all his calls to voice mail, and keep him locked out for her peace of mind. And no, no she wouldn't be expected to be womanly, they had Steve and a hired army of people to do that for him, even before all his friend's were allowed to sleep over. Even, long before he had actually met people he would suffer to share his home with...he had trailed off a little at that part, mouth winding down for a brief moment in rare contemplation. Too often he just...said, things. He never really thought about what he HAD said until Pepper was reading his own words back at him from various headlines and articles... (fun times).

He had gotten a tiny smile. Quick, but he had seen it. Awarded it. Might have been a calculated slip up, but Tony hadn't cared. He had slipped right back into stride, telling her that whatever she wanted, she just needed to tell him. He had all this empty space now- no really, you saw the gaping holes in the building right – to build whatever. Pointedly, he said this, drawing out the syllables and the letters, whatever you want he would wrap his brain around. Challenge? Even better. He was a genius, he could do things like challenges, pfft, easy.

She had been bruised up, things that should have bothered her weren't being allowed to, and he had added, almost offhandedly that you know, he wasn't trying to build a summer camp but, everyone had to have someplace to fall asleep that was safe. He'd keep the music down...promise.

He had been trying too hard, he knew he had been. It was breaking a rule of his, trying so honestly, but he did it anyway. He was an all or nothing sort of person, turns out.

They had all saved New York. Scratch that, the fucking world. Saved it together.

Let that set in for a moment...

Tony Stark, as Iron Man, had been part of that group. The group plastered all over the TV. The newspapers. The internet. Mostly, positive! And that was new. Even if he had been the one to do the heavy lifting. You know, ride a nuke into a fucking other-worldly portal? But that was just snark, even if he would be damned if anyone forgot about it. He was proud of it. Of them. That thing, that initiative that he had feared a solid lie had turned out to work. Brilliantly. Even with him as a part of it. (Doesn't play well with others, remember?) He hadn't gotten yelled at by red faced generals and military asshats that ordered him to kill people. Saving people, that's what he was doing. It was all he had tried to do. He didn't like being pointed like a gun at people, at specific targets. It had been a small thing to say, giving Cap the reigns of their little organization. But Tony had been poking at him for just for that reason, to know what he would do in a pinch. How he would handle people. Tony had seen it would be alright, really seen it. Not just because someone had told him, but because he had tested it. He gave Steve leadership because he knew he could trust the orders he'd give.

So yeah, Tony had died, and woken up to a cluster of faces that actually looked...worried. Relieved. They had fought together, as a cohesive group and an oddly deep form of trust had formed around them. He had let Captain Boy Scout lead.

That was a good PR day for Tony.

Thing was, that level of trust? He didn't have that with Pepper.

Or Rhodey.

Closest thing he had was JARVIS. His life was in his AI's self programed hands ever time he donned the Iron Man suit. But, to have others so intertwined...

...he couldn't let it go without trying to make it stick.

He knew it with an ache of hunger he couldn't look too closely at. Didn't dare let show. Couldn't! Rule 1, remember? Yeah, it was a good rule. He could still argue it worked after so many years (Obi was just an evil outlier. Fuck him.)

But leaving good people out like that when he had so much...everything just, going to waste...

He liked good people.

He liked, people that made him feel like he was good.

He liked...being Iron Man. Being heroic. Doing something with the hole in his chest, with the memories and the guilt of misplaced weapons. Iron Man was his good side. His fuck you to his father. The shell that allowed him to be more than the broken human he sometimes feared he was. It gave him something steady to work on; upgrades and repairs, reposing new alien tech into defenses. He could finally hear the echo of Yinsen's words in his head and smile.

"Don't waste it...' he had said. As Tony Stark halted outside the flickering sign of the Shawarma joint, his team weary and bruised but satisfied, he couldn't help but think how well he'd sleep tonight. How yes, it was HIS team...no matter what Fury or Steve said, everything he could own, he did. He took care of the things he liked. The people he liked.

He had the money, the space, and the kick-ass reputation to house them in a tower of his own making, protected by JARVIS and one hell of an attitude when it came to private property rights. He could offer up his sanctuary to such people because he was just that fantastic. He could keep Ross and other asshole generals off of Bruce's scent and out of his finances. He could keep SHIELD from hacking into his computers, his cameras. Could give Cap the space to come to terms with his life on his own time, and not under the fielded constraints of what was needed, and what was demanded. He could host movie nights and karaoke, drinking and waffles. Normal, human things that everyone in their little group could use. Keep them away from Fury's bullshit. From SHIELD molding them into what IT wanted, without asking for consent or opinion.

Sometimes, it wasn't always good to be Tony Stark.

It was fucking awesome.