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It's common knowledge that Tony Stark likes to give gifts. It's how he received the “philanthropist” portion of his title after all. He made sure that Pepper always had new designer outfits in her arsenal, and that Rhodey could have the latest and best of everything. However, he was constantly making more than he could spend. So he gave to charities, to small businesses, to random people on the street. When he is particularly bored, he skims through the SI employee files and chooses a single struggling individual to receive enough money to pay for a small mansion. He doesn't think about it, it's never conscious. This is why he never remembers to give a gift to someone on their birthday, even though he gave them a sports car the week prior.
It's not that it makes Tony feel good about himself to give to others, regardless of what all those cheesy children’s PSAs said. Tony just felt an obligation to give back. If he was going to be responsible for destroying the people of New York’s apartment complex once a month he might as well try and pay some reparations (as if he didn't already pay for the entirety of the damage done by himself or some other team member of his). So maybe he felt a tad guilty about having to ruin people's lives to save them. He was used to it at this point.
Tony’s bottomless giving was naturally applied in regards to the Avengers. He worked tirelessly and endlessly to create and upgrade and repair various equipment and armor for them. All of the Avenger’s gear was specially designed and forged by Tony himself, with the help of his robots of course. If it weren't for them constantly asking Tony for new gear every time he entered the room (which happened less and less as time went on), the engineer would've assumed that they didn't know it was him who made everything. He always left the gear outside their door, and the few times they caught him placing their care package gingerly next to their bedroom door they never mentioned it.
It was his unofficial position in the Avengers. They expected it of him, and he wasn't one to do things half-assed. He felt a strange pride whenever he caught them admiring their brand-spankin' new suit or the sleek redesign of a gun. They smiled more at his equipment than they ever did at him. The general expression Tony inspired in people was a pained grimace. It was almost funny to him how much they hated him but loved the various goodies he could bring to the table. He was about as useful to them as an absent father with deep pockets and a hell of a lotta child support to pay.
Case and point: Tony had been in the workshop since the last Avengers’ call to arms, which had been 3 days ago. His main source of sustenance has been coffee and Chinese takeout. After a particularly grueling session he had managed to condense Natasha's widow bites into fashionable bracelets (he might have raided Pepper's jewelry for inspiration). Wiping the grime from his face with a spare cloth, Tony stared at the small metal ornaments sitting on his worktable. Picking them up, the contrast between the gleaming metal and his grease-stained fingers made him feel unclean. Like a dirty creature straining something pure. He rubbed the fingerprints away with the edge of his shirt. Sniffling he placed them with the small culminating pile of gear.
He was due for a delivery run. But first, he should probably shower. He didn't need to see the team's judgemental stares today, or any day. But he wasn't particularly feeling up for their snide remarks today. Running his fingers through his hair he winced at the feel of grease and dirt. He dragged himself to the shower situated in a corner of his workshop, instructing JARVIS to turn the water up to a borderline scalding heat. He scrubbed himself for a good half hour until his skin was pink and raw. After giving his hair the same treatment he stepped out and dried himself off. A glance in his mirror showed him how bony and pale he had gotten. His fingers trailed the sharp jut of his hip bone up to the ribs protruding from his skin. Yikes, he looked rough. Scoffing at his sad excuse for a human body, Tony pulled on a pair of comfy worn sweatpants and his old MIT hoodie. Checking the time, it was half-past 6, Tony decided it was a good time to drop everything off rather than waiting until night.
Heaving a load of stuff into a large cardboard box, Tony hoisted the box up, grunting as he did so. Fuck he was either getting old or out of shape. Probably the latter. Or both. Entering the elevator, Tony directed JARVIS to take him up the common floor. Humming ACDC, Tony swayed in his spot while waiting for the elevator. He couldn't wait to see how Natasha would use her new toys. Or the epic gravity-defying feats of nature that Clint could achieve with his improved grappling arrows. He smiled softly to himself as he let his imagination run wild with possibilities. The elevator chimed with his arrival to the floor.
He heard them before he saw them. The sound of laughter, chatting, and the distinct clink of silverware. Stepping into the open area Tony peered over the box. There his team sat. Crowded around the table discussing God knows what. Natasha was smiling at whatever story from his youth Steve was telling. From the relaxed and comfortable energy they exuded, Tony deducted this wasn't the first time they’d had dinner together. The number of times he'd ever been invited to any team hangout function? A grand total of, you’ve guessed it, zero! He decided to throw out the usual subtility when it came to giving out his gear. Because fuck that and fuck them.
“Daddy's home!” He announced loudly, a wide grin plastered on his face. The non-spy Avengers startled, looking up with an almost guilty expression. Almost. It was quickly covered by disdain at Tony’s remark. He strutted closer to the table, grin never faltering.
“Tony-” Steve sighed, most likely preparing to spew out some lame excuse to justify their very obvious exclusion.
“Ah uh uh! I've got presents!” he quickly shushed him, and dropped the box with a heavy thunk onto a clear space on the table. Fuck, a home-cooked meal? What was this, a fucking family dinner? Pushing past the sick feeling, Tony began digging through the box and handing things to the people seated close to him, which happened to be Clint and Bruce. “Come on! Pass those to Natasha and that to Cap over there” Tony continued to direct Clint and Bruce who confusedly complied. The box slowly emptied until each avenger, except Tony, had a small pile of equipment. Dusting off his hands, Tony surveyed the table. A wave of growing anger swelled in his chest at their uncomfortable expressions.
“Uh, Tony, we didn't-” once again Tony cut Steve off.
“Welp! Now that that's all taken care of, I'm going to go fuck myself because clearly, I'm the only one who enjoys my company!” Tony exclaimed hysterically with a flourish. Steve's eyes widened at the vulgar words and Bruce choked on his spit. With an exaggerated bow, Tony left his supposed teammates sitting at the table, ignoring the passive and unimpressed face of Natasha.
The elevate closed around him. Sinking to his knees Tony ordered JARVIS to lock down the elevator. Clutching his arc reactor, Tony wheezed a laugh out of his chest. His eyes were dry despite the situation. He knew how little his team valued him, he wasn't that unaware. God, what was he doing here? Up in his big fucking tower surrounded by people who didn't give a fuck about him. Despite everything they had done, he still had an inkling of hope deep in the back of his mind that they would apologize later when he had eaten and rested. And then they would laugh about this day and hold fucking hands in a circle. Okay, that last bit was unrealistic. Not as unrealistic as the rest of it, but more ridiculous in nature.
It shouldn't affect him this much. He's never really had any friends. Except for Rhodey. But Rhodey hadn't been speaking to him after a particularly volatile argument about Tony's 'self-sacrificing tendencies'. Which Tony had argued were essential for a superhero. Did he expect the Avengers to be his friends? No, not particularly. But the fact was that they were being all hunky-dory. Just without him. Fuck this was pathetic.
Tony gestured in the air, starting the elevator once again. He forced himself upright and stumbled into his lab. He felt giddy and pathetic. He has spent the past few days working endlessly for them. In return, he got a look into what the team thought of him.
He wishes it could be a them issue. In reality, he knew it was his fault. It's always his fault, isn't it? He sat heavily in his chair, feeling far too worn out. It can't be a coincidence that he’s never been able to keep a relationship deeper than a one-night stand turned two-day orgy. Laughing to himself, Tony rested his head on the cool metal of the table. He was so fucking tired. He kept giving all he could. To the best of his ability. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Not for the Avengers. Not for Nick Fury. Not for Pepper. Hell, not even for himself. He couldn't keep doing it. He kept offering bits of himself to everyone and it was bleeding him dry.
“Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting entrance,” came the ever eloquent voice of JARVIS. Rubbing his eyes until colors burst behind his eyelids, Tony chuckled soundlessly.
“Y'know what, fuck it. Send 'em in!” Tony leaned back into his chair, feigning nonchalance. He couldn't wait to hear the excuses Steve had conjured up in the short time since he'd left. Steve lumbered in, his stubborn attitude apparent on the furrowing of his eyebrows. Tony smiled up at him as he neared closer. “Yes, dear? You wanted to see me?”
“Tony,” he began sternly, “before you interrupt let me speak.” Tony hadn't been planning on interrupting, but the spiteful spirit in him urged him to do so. Instead, Tony drew his fingers across his lips and mimed turning a key. Steve sighed, holding in whatever remark he had. “I know how that looked, Tony, and I want you to know we never meant to keep you out of the know,” his self-righteousness was oozing out of his pores. Tony stared into his eyes unwavering. “We were going to tell you, but we agreed, as a team, that you wouldn't like it. That's all it was, Tony, I swear,” the words fell from Steve’s lips, quick and strong like a rushing waterfall. What utter bullshit.
Steve looked to Tony expectantly, expecting him to accept the not-really-an-apology. Tony met his gaze head-on. “We both know that's bullshit, Stevie, please don't say anything,” he sounded frighteningly exhausted, which made Steve pause when Tony asked, “please just leave me alone.” Tony reached over and patted Steve over his heart lightly. Turning away from Steve's stoic face, he gestured to the air, pulling up holograms of his suit. Once again getting back to work, ignoring Steve’s sigh as he left Tony to his job.
He had work to do, after all.