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Stephen was exhausted when he and Happy finally arrived at the mansion. Happy had been there to pick him up when he’d arrived, Tony having been trapped in a meeting that Obadiah had told Tony that he was by no means allowed to miss.
He was more used to Tony flying out to New York to see him, but since it was Tony’s birthday, Stephen had thought that it was worth it for him to make the flight this time. He’d taken the next week off of work so that he could spend it with his boyfriend.
Tony had offered to let him take the jet, but had relented when Stephen had pointed out how bad the jet was for the environment.
Of course, he hadn’t just relented. No, Tony had tilted his head thoughtfully and casually mentioned that he bet he could fix that.
Stephen knew better than to doubt him. He suspected that some time within the next few years that Tony would come out with something remarkable that would change the travel industry. What it would be, Stephen had no idea, but he didn’t doubt that it would happen.
He opened the door, Happy behind him with his second bag, and stopped.
There was piano music floating through the air.
Stephen stopped just inside the door, frowning slightly. Stephen was used to all sorts of classic rock echoing through the Malibu mansion, but piano music was not exactly Tony’s thing. The subtle missing of a note was the first thing that clued him in that this wasn’t just a recording, but that someone was actually playing the piano. While Tony owned a piano, Stephen had never heard anyone play it.
“Oh god,” Happy whispered beside him, coming to a stop. “He’s playing.”
Stephen glanced at him. “And that’s special?”
“He… he just doesn’t,” Happy explained. “I wasn’t even sure if he really knew how, but he’s always said he could. He said his mom taught him.”
And that was explanation enough. Tony talked about Howard plenty, often in a way that showed Howard in an unpleasant light. But his mom? Tony hoarded away her memory as though it was precious.
Stephen followed the sound to the living room and stopped in the entryway. Tony was at the piano, brows furrowed as he focused on the sheets in front of him. There was a stiltedness to his movements, but despite that Tony filled the piece with heart-filled emotions. If he had to judge, Stephen would say that he was a better player, but he could also tell by the way that Tony was playing that it had been a long time, with more practice, Tony would soon be giving him a run for his money.
But then, Maria Collins Carbonell Stark had been more than just a socialite philanthropist; she had also been a concert pianist. It was one of the few things that Tony had told him about his mom, a painful secret exposed when Stephen had suggested that they go to a classical concert for one of their dates.
They hadn’t ended up going.
So, of course if she had been the one to teach Tony, then Tony knew what he was doing. Tony didn’t do anything unless he could do it well, and Stephen had no doubt that when it came to trying to impress his mom he’d been determined to be the best.
Happy set Stephen’s bag down with a slight thump and Tony cut off immediately, head jerking up to spot Stephen and Happy both standing at the entry to the hallway watching him.
Tony’s hands dropped from the keyboard onto his lap, cheeks flushing in a rare display of embarrassment. Clearly he had not planned on getting caught playing. “Stephen, you’re early.”
“No,” Stephen said, not surprised that Tony had apparently lost track of time. He heard Happy leaving behind him, headed back toward the door and leaving him alone with Tony. “Right on time, actually. How was your meeting?”
Tony let out a long, exasperated sigh. “An hour longer than it should have been.”
And that was why Stephen was a doctor and not a business person. Well, no, that actually wasn’t why. He was a doctor because he wanted to do good, to save lives, but the lack of pointless meetings was definitely a bright side. One that Stephen was always sure to rub in Tony’s face. He was a good boyfriend, no matter what Tony said.
Stephen dropped his bag and moved to join Tony at the piano. He sat down next to him, letting one hand fall to the keyboard to play a quick scale. “Didn’t realize you played.”
Tony snorted. “Did you think the piano was just for show?” he asked, clearly amused.
Stephen shrugged. “Rich people are weird, Tony.” And yes, Stephen was fairly well off himself, but there was a world’s difference between him and Tony. “It was completely possible that it was just for show.”
Tony tilted his head in acknowledgment. “To be fair, I don’t think I’ve played since…” He paused. “Well, I haven’t played for a long time. So it’s been more of a show piece than anything these days. But…” He shrugged. “Felt like time to start playing again.” He sent a small, almost secretive smile at Stephen, before tilting his head up and raising an eyebrow at Stephen expectantly, lips parted just slightly in invitation.
Stephen grinned slightly before bending the small distance to kiss Tony. “Hello,” Stephen said quietly.
“Hi,” Tony said back, smile growing a little, a small sparkle in his eyes. “Missed you. It’s been forever.”
“We talk on the phone almost every night,” Stephen pointed out.
“But I don’t get to see your beautiful face,” Tony murmured. “Though your voice is gorgeous. Could fall asleep to your voice and having nothing but the sweetest dreams.” There was a sparkle in his eyes that said that he knew exactly what he was doing to Stephen.
Stephen did his best not to flush, but Tony had this way of making his compliments, even the casual ones, feel entirely sincere. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Stephen said. “So what do you want?”
Tony slid to the side of the piano bench, giving Stephen more space. “Play for me.”
Stephen blinked in surprise. “What do you want me to play?”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Stephen considered for a moment before starting to play.
It took less than ten seconds for Tony to realize what he was doing. “You aren’t,” Tony accused, voice aghast. “Tell me you aren’t being that stereotypical.” Stephen smirked, but continued playing the Piano Man, even while Tony shoved at him as though to push him off the bench. “All right, stop. You’re done.” Stephen laughed and then switched songs to something he thought that might be more like what Tony had been looking for.
Tony paused as he changed, head tilting a little as he listened. “What’s this?”
“Comptine d'un autre été - L’après-midi,” Stephen said.
Tony closed his eyes, lips curving up into a soft smile. “I like it,” he said quietly. “You play beautifully.”
Stephen hummed in acknowledgment, focusing on the piece. Tony sat quietly next to him, listening intently.
Stephen ended the song slowly, before bringing his hands away from the piano keys.
Tony let out a quiet sigh of obvious contentment, before sliding from the bench and heading toward the kitchen. “Food?” he asked. “You’ve had a long flight and after that performance, you deserve something good.”
“That depends, are you cooking?”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “I’m not actually sure what the right answer is to that. Is that a ‘I don’t trust your cooking’ or a ‘I expect a homemade meal’ question?”
Stephen let out a laugh, trying to decide whether he was going to be contrary. “Guess.”
“Why do I even love you again?” Tony asked. A thrill ran down Stephen’s back at the words. It was not the first time Tony had said he loved him, but it was still a new development and Stephen found himself reveling in every hint of the emotion. “Homemade lasagna, if you must know.”
Stephen pretended to consider it, but any plans he’d had to be contrary died a quick death because he did, in fact, want to try Tony’s lasagna. “I suppose that will do,” he said finally.
He watched Tony as he pulled out an already prepared lasagna from the fridge as he turned on the oven. He reached back into the fridge and started pulling the makings for a salad.
There was something strangely domestic about it all. It was nice, yes, but… different.
“Is something going on?” Stephen finally asked, curiosity nudging at him. Was he the only one who felt like this was different? Or did Tony feel it too? “Playing the piano, cooking, next I expect you to start singing. Though for the sake of my ears, I’d prefer you not.”
“I can, you know,” Tony said, a smug little smile on his face. “So your insinuation is incredibly offensive. I’ve been told I’ve actually got quite a nice voice. Though, admittedly, it’s been a while.” He focused down on the lettuce he was rinsing in the sink. “As for what’s going on… It’s… it’s not anything bad,” he said slowly. “I’ve just… I’ve been happy.” He glanced up at Stephen from beneath his eyelashes. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
Stephen’s heart did something that, if he didn’t know exactly what the cause was, would have him running to a cardiologist to get checked out. “Are you?”
Tony’s lip quirked up. “Not even an hour-too-long meeting was able to really dim my spirits.” He looked back down again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been happy,” he admitted. “I mean, that sounds awful. I’m a genius billionaire, I’ve got the easy life. I should be happy, but…” He shrugged.
“I get it,” Stephen said quietly. “I’ve been happy these days, too.”
Tony grabbed the tomatoes, not looking up. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” Stephen stepped around the kitchen counter, grabbing a knife so that he could help cut the vegetables. “I think it’s scaring some of the nurses, actually. I heard whispers about demon possession.”
Tony let out a surprised laugh, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Demon possession? Really?” It had only happened once, and Stephen was 77% certain that it had been a joke, but it had still been said. “You love surgery, they’ve had to have seen you happy before.”
“True, but they’ve never seen me nice. That, Tony Stark, is what you’re doing to me. You’re making me semi-pleasant to be around.” Not wholly pleasant, Stephen genuinely wasn’t sure he was capable of that, but enough that he had fewer people trying to avoid him because he was a caustic bastard. Mind he was still caustic and still a bastard, but, there were levels to these types of things.
“Pepper’s been impressed with my increased productivity,” Tony admitted. “So that’s what you’re doing to me.”
“The horror,” Stephen dead-panned.
“It is,” Tony defended. “She’s going to get expectations of me, and then what am I going to do?” Tony shook his head as though this was some terrible happenstance.
Stephen still didn’t understand people who thought that Tony didn’t put in an honest day’s work. He was both CEO and head of R&D, and while he might hate the first, he was still damn good at it. Even if, sometimes, a bit reluctant.
“Well, I’m not going to stop making you happy,” Stephen told him. Or at least he certainly didn’t plan to do anything to change what they had. God, he would do almost anything to keep this. “So, I suppose you’re going to have to live with those increased expectations.”
Tony made a face at him.
Stephen rolled his eyes, but leaned forward to kiss it away. Tony gave into it easily, laughing slightly when they pulled away. “I suppose I’m willing to deal with the consequences of being happy,” Tony decided. “Especially if it means I get to keep you.”
Stephen smiled and they finished preparing the salad. Stephen played more piano for Tony as they waited for the lasagna to finish cooking, jumping from genre to genre as Tony laid on the couch, watching him with content eyes.
It had been a long time since Stephen had played quite so much, he’d have to add some more songs to his repertoire if this was going to become something that they did more often.
Dinner was an easy affair and they chatted about their plans for their week. It had been a long time since Stephen had actually taken any of his vacation days, and he had to admit that it was almost daunting to have days spread out in front of him in which there would be nothing but Tony and whatever they wanted to do.
“Your turn,” Stephen said as they finished cleaning up after dinner.
“My turn for what?” Tony asked, blinking at him in confusion.
“I want to hear you play.” Stephen gestured to the piano. “Bonus points if I get to hear you sing.”
Tony made a face. “You don’t want to know just how out of practice I am,” he said. “It’ll be a disgrace after your little concert.”
“One song,” Stephen said. “Surely you can manage that.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “What do I get if I do?”
Stephen wanted to point out that he’d played for Tony with no incentive, but he didn’t. Instead, he let his eyes trail over Tony’s body provocatively. “I’m sure I can think of a proper reward.”
Tony pursed his lips, but Stephen knew he’d already won. “Fine. But I expect to be absolutely worshipped tonight.”
Stephen snorted, but it was hardly a hardship. “I think I can manage that.”
Tony moved to the piano, fingers hesitating above the keys. Finally, Tony nodded to himself, placing his hands on the keys and slowly starting. It took a moment to recognize the song—Broadway wasn’t his forte, though he was still capable enough.
Tony started singing, voice a low timbre that Stephen could feel in his soul.
Try to remember the kind of September
when life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
when the grass was green and the grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
when you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow…
Tony’s voice was soft, filling the lyrics with quiet longing for a past that was gone. Stephen swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment as his own mind betrayed him, taking him back. For a moment he could see Donna, running and laughing through the fields, Stephen yelling after her as he chased her around. He could remember them in the lake, Donna showing off for him. He could remember nights when she’d sneak into his room and demand that he read to her.
Grief filled him, but with it was a tender sort of peace. These, these were good memories.
Try to remember when life was so tender
that no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
that dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
that love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow…
He could hear a few missed notes in Tony’s playing, but it didn’t make it any less beautiful as Tony bared his heart to Stephen. He wondered what Tony was remembering, what beautiful Septembers filled Tony’s mind.
Deep in December, it’s nice to remember,
although you know the snow will follow.
Tony’s voice cracked for a moment and Stephen remembered Tony telling him how much he hated December, hated the memories and the hollowness of the festivities. Stephen didn’t blame him. He’d lost Donna in December, to the ice and the cold. Everything had seemed so empty after that.
Deep in December it’s nice to remember,
without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it’s nice to remember,
the fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember and follow.
Tony’s hands hesitated above the keys as he finished before he dropped them into his lap, looking down at the piano.
Stephen stood from the couch, gently nudging at Tony to make space for him on the piano bench. Tony leaned against him, head on his shoulder.
“It was my mom’s song,” Tony said quietly. “Or at least the one that I’ll always associate with her. I… I think she’d be happy for me.” Tony closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “She wasn’t always the best parent,” he admitted. “Better than Howard. I knew she loved me, she just… she wasn’t always there. Even when she was physically, she was… negligent, I guess. Jarvis and Ana raised me more than she and Howard did. But god, did I love her. She tried, at least. I know she did.”
Stephen didn’t respond and Tony took in a deep breath.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—“ Tony shook his head. “We were having such a good time and I went and got—“
“Donna, my little sister, loved it when I played piano,” Stephen offered quietly, interrupting Tony’s self-contempt. Tony stilled next to him. Stephen had never really mentioned Donna before. But… “She thought I was the best. Mostly it was hero worship, I was several years older than her and ‘so cool’.” He doubted that would have lasted much longer, Donna had been getting older, less impressed with everything he did. He wished he’d been able to see that, been able to see her grow and change, to become overly opinionated and rebellious. “She probably would have grown out of that.”
“Well, she wasn’t wrong,” Tony said gently. “I doubt she’d have changed her mind.”
“She would have thought you were pretty cool, too,” Stephen added. “Not as cool as me, of course, but she’d have loved you.”
“I’d have been honored by it,” Tony said, and there was an honesty to his voice. Tony really would have. For all his show, all his bluster, Stephen had no doubt that Tony would have adored Donna had she still been around. If Stephen hadn’t managed to push her away, that was. Stephen had always been good at pushing people away.
“I stopped playing for years after I lost her,” Stephen admitted. “I only picked it back up a few years ago when I got my apartment.” There were still some things he refused to do. Refused to get on the ice and skate. Refused to talk about her—until now. Refused to do so many things that reminded him of her. But this, at least, he had reclaimed.
Tony nodded as though he understood. “I stopped playing after… It was the last thing mom did, before she got in the car. I’d gotten home from school and she was playing the piano. I didn’t even get to appreciate it, I was too busy getting into a fight with Howard. And then she left with him and… and that was that. It was this song.”
Stephen took Tony’s hand gently in his.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For playing it for me.”
Tony didn’t answer, instead he just leaned heavier against Stephen’s side. “You should thank yourself. I would have sworn I’d never touch the keys again, but…” He shrugged a little, the movement awkward with how he was leaning against Stephen. “Well, like I said before, I’m happy.”
“I am, too,” Stephen said. He let his right hand drift silently over the keys, hearing the echo of Tony’s singing, the piano steady and beautiful beneath it. He shifted to press his lips against the crown of Tony’s head in a kiss. “I am, too.”