Work Text:
The scent of machine oil and tobacco always clung to the basement workshop of the Stark mansion.
Scattered across a low workbench were the internal organs of a small, combustion engine. Tony, who'd just turned six a few months back, had spent weeks dragging the heavy iron castings and steel pistons onto the table, his tiny hands covered in grease. He had memorized his father's manuals, working late into the night to assemble it.
"Dad? I finished the cylinder head placement," Tony said, his voice small but vibrating with barely concealed excitement. He held a wrench tightly in his hand. "I put it together, dad. The whole engine."
Howard didn't look up from his blueprints. "Not now, Tony. I'm busy."
"But it's ready to test!" the boy insisted, stepping closer and reaching for the ignition toggle he’d wired up. "Look, I’ll show you."
Before his dad could stop him, Tony flipped the switch. The starter motor whined, the pistons pumped once, twice—then a harsh, metallic clink sounded. A cloud of black smoke billowed from the exhaust, and the engine shuddered...and died.
Howard finally looked at his son, his eyes cold and almost furious as he pulled down his spectacles and threw it across his desk. "Damnit, Tony! You forced the timing belt, didn't you? The valves just smashed right into the pistons."
He shrank back. "I... I followed the schemat—"
"You rushed it," he snapped, standing up and towering over his son. "You've just ruined the whole thing."
Tony flinched, "I was just...trying to see if—"
"I didn't ask for your theories!" his father cut him off again, rubbing his temples. "I don't have time for this. Go find Jarvis. Get out of here."
Tony’s eyes welled with hot, angry tears he refused to let fall. He started making his way out with hurried steps—but before he could sprint for the heavy oak doors, they swung open.
Agent Carter looked sharp as ever, her dark hair perfectly set, wearing a brown trench coat. She was about to greet Howard but the moment her eyes swept across the room—taking in the ruined engine, Howard’s irritated look and Tony’s trembling, downcast shoulders—her expression changed.
"Tony?" Peggy crouched down to his level. "What's the matter?"
Howard sighed, waving a dismissive hand before Tony could answer. "Peggy, leave him be. We have a board meeting in an hour."
Her eyes narrowed on him before she turned back to Tony. "Hey, would you do me a massive favor? Edwin is just out by the car. He has those lemon drops you like, I brought them with me."
Tony looked up, blinking away the unshed tears. "The sour ones?"
"The very same," Peggy smiled, brushing a stray curl of dark hair from his forehead. "Go on. I'll be right there."
Tony didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted out the door, the heavy metal latch clicking shut behind him.
The moment the door closed, the warmth vanished from her face, replaced by the well-known, terrifying countenance.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, advancing on Howard.
"Peggy come on, you're overreacting," Howard muttered, turning back to his desk. "The world outside isn't going to coddle him. He needs to be sharp. He needs to be—"
"What he needs is a father!" Peggy slammed one hand down on the workbench, rattling a row of screwdrivers and almost making Howard jump. "He does not need a drill sergeant, and he certainly does not need to be treated like an inconvenience in his own damn house.”
She took a deep breath, her jaw still set tight. “From the very beginning, Howard, I have watched you treat that boy like a malfunctioning machine or something. Why can't you see just how brilliant your son is?"
"You know that's not true,” Howard frowned. “Maria and I do our best—"
"Maria hosts galas and can hardly stand up to you while you treat her son like shit!" Peggy cut him off, her eyes blazing. "You look at him and you only see what he lacks. But Tony lacks in nothing—and his biggest strength is that, unlike you, he does have a heart.”
Howard gave a short laugh, turning back to his papers, “Yes, ofcourse, you're the one to speak of having a heart. You, who didn't even properly mourn the death of your "one true love." You haven't shed a single tear since the day after the crash, have you?”
Peggy simply looked at him, taken aback momentarily. Ofcourse she knew of Howard's infamous temper—everyone did. But they were friends—they were connected by a shared battle, a shared loss; indeed Howard hasn't ever behaved in this manner with her. She wondered if he had been drinking again.
“Yes,” she broke the silence. “You're right. I haven't.”
“Peggy—” Howard began, probably realising what he'd just said, but she didn't want an apology.
“No, you're right, Howard. I haven't spent all my time mourning Steve. You know why?” her voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “Because I love him. To this day, I do. Not just the idea of him, like you. I love Steve, and I'm doing what he would have wanted us to do. I'm helping people out there instead of wallowing in grief or self-pity, while you—” she shook her head, “—you can't even help your own son.”
Howard sighed. "I'm only trying to prepare him for a new world."
She gave him a cold look in reply. “If I ever catch you making him cry again, Howard, I swear to God I will dismantle this entire lab with you in it. Do you understand?"
Howard opened his mouth to make another snarky comment, but—looking into the eyes of the deadliest agent he knew—he wisely chose to shut it.
Upstairs, Tony sat on the edge of his bed, legs swinging slightly as he devoured his favourite candy. His bedroom was a chaos of half-deconstructed clockwork, stray wires, and scattered comic books and sketches—which Jarvis was trying to rearrange once again.
"You see, Master Tony," he was saying, "the secret to a proper engine is patience. Much like dealing with your father, one must simply wait for the right moment to do the right thing."
"Jarvis?" Tony asked as he finished with the candy.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you think my routing was wrong?"
Jarvis paused, looking down at the boy fondly. "I think, Master Tony, that your father has a very rigid way of looking at the universe. On the other hand, your mind wanders to places he cannot yet see. But I don't think you should ever stop seeing the world differently."
The door opened just then and Peggy walked in. Jarvis immediately straightened. "Miss Carter."
"Edwin," she nodded and gave him a polite smile. “I think Howard needs you downstairs to make arrangements for the meeting.”
“Alright ma'am." He went out.
Peggy walked over and sat down right next to Tony, “Mind if I join?"
Tony shook his head, instantly offering her the little paper bag of candy. "You can have the yellow one. It's the most sour."
"Thank you, darling." She took it, popping it into her mouth and pulling a dramatic face that made Tony giggle.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Tony looked down at his sneakers. "Aunt Peggy?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You knew Captain America well, didn't you?"
Peggy froze for a moment. “Yes, I did. He was a...a close friend. Why?”
The reply came a good few seconds later. “I was just—I was wondering…do you think I can become like him?”
The candy suddenly tasted like ash in her mouth. "Why would you ask that?"
"No reason, just...dad talks about him all the time," Tony mumbled. "When he drinks, he looks at the old shield, and the pictures on the wall. He says ‘Steve was a true hero.’ He was someone who changed the world, even when he had to die to do it.” He looked up at Peggy, “I’ve been trying to build a motor to make Dad happy, but I messed up. I don't think I can ever be a hero."
She felt a profound ache in her chest as she looked into those warm, brown eyes and fought the overwhelming urge to go back downstairs and hit Howard with a wrench. Instead, she reached out, wrapping an arm around Tony’s shoulders.
"Listen to me, Anthony," Peggy pulled him closer. "Steve Rogers was a very brave man, yes, and he did wonderful things. But he was not perfect. And your father....your father is searching for a ghost because he doesn't yet know how to appreciate the little miracle right in front of him."
Tony was confused, he couldn't imagine how Captain America could've been anything less than perfect. "But dad wants me to be like him. It'll make him proud of me.”
"No," Peggy said firmly, looking directly into his eyes and willing herself to keep a steady voice. "Don't you ever try to be Steve Rogers. The world already had one of him. It doesn't need a copy."
She smiled at his confused expression and gently ruffled his hair. "You are going to be a futurist, Tony. You see a world that hasn't even been built yet. You don't need to be the next Captain America, or the next Howard Stark even...you’re gonna be so much better that one day someone would be saying they want to become the next Tony Stark—except that they can't. Am I right?” She gave him a wink.
Tony didn't fully understand what a "futurist" was (which he wasn't gonna admit because he wanted her to keep believing he was smart), but the way Aunt Peggy said it made it sound cool enough to him. He grinned at her, the heavy weight on his chest lifting a little.
“Now, how would you like to come over and stay with me for the weekend?”
“Really?” His eyes lit up.
“Really,” Peggy assured. “Take that engine with you too if you can. You can work on it in the garage.”
“Yes!” Tony exclaimed, suddenly wrapping his arms around her.
She laughed. “Okay okay! Now run along and see if Edwin is free to help you pack. We'll leave after the meeting.”
Her smile faded slowly as she watched Tony hurry out the door. She leant a little backward on the bed and her hand fell on the many sketches scattered all across it. They were mostly circuit diagrams and stuff, but one colourful page stood out among them. She pulled it out.
It was a messy sketch…of Captain America.
Her throat suddenly felt choked.
Be good, Anthony, she thought, be strong. You're a hero — they don't deserve you — but you are.
The sterile, quiet atmosphere of the Washington care facility always made Tony’s skin itch. It was too quiet, too white for his liking. He stopped outside a familiar door as he smoothed down the front of his suit, and knocked.
"Come in," a frail, familiar voice called out.
Tony stepped inside, his lips curling into a grin. "They told me you were still refusing to eat the hospital pudding. I brought reinforcements." He held up a brown paper-bag.
Peggy Carter sat propped up in bed, a blue knit shawl around her shoulders. The years had lined her face and silvered her hair, but the fierce, sharp spark in her eyes remained unaltered.
A warm smile broke across her face the moment she saw him. "Anthony. Finally had the time to pay your old godmother a visit?"
"Well, as the founding Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. maybe you can threaten Fury to stop being a pain in my ass—” Tony remarked, sitting down on the chair by the bed, “so that I can visit more often.” He gently took her hand and placed a soft kiss, laying down the bouquet of white roses—her favourite—on the bedside table.
Peggy looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the dark circles under his eyes. “You've been at this hero gig for a while now, haven't you?"
Tony smirked, tilting his head. "The suit's practically a second skin at this point."
She didn't laugh—just squeezed his hand, her expression turning genuinely maternal. "I saw the news…about New York.” Tony's smile faded and she caught how he averted his gaze. “Flying a nuclear missile into that wormhole...you could've…you could've died..."
"Key word being 'nearly,'" Tony tried to lighten the mood, though his fingers twitched instinctively. "Don't worry, I'll stick around long enough to bother you till the end.”
"You have a terrible tendency, Anthony,” she sighed and shook her head, “much like your father. You try to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders.”
“Woah woah, wait, can you say that again while I keep Pepper on call?” he shrugged. “She thinks I have the sense of responsibility of a four year old.”
Peggy smiled at that but continued. “I know you want no one to get hurt, Tony. But you must take it slow. After all, you are flesh and bone, not steel or iron."
He looked away, staring at the polished linoleum floor for a second before looking back at her, desperate to change the subject. "How are you holding up, by the way? Now that the star-spangled man with a plan is officially un-frozen?"
A wistful, incredibly young look crossed her face. "It's a miracle, really…to see him again, just as I last remember him. Who would have imagined…” she trailed off. “A bit overwhelming, to be honest. My mind plays tricks on me these days, but when Steve is here, the fog clears."
She paused, her sharp eyes locking onto Tony's. "But what about you? How does it feel to have your childhood hero as a friend? God, you didn't ever shut up about him back in the day, drove me nearly crazy.”
Tony let out a sharp, amused bark of a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "’Friend’' is a strong word, Peggy. We're more like…coworkers. Honestly though? The guy is infuriating. Dad talked about him like he was the second coming of the messiah or something, but nobody mentioned he was basically an oversized Boy Scout with practically no sense of humor. He actually attempted to lecture me on my use of language the other day. Me. I own the building he lives in!"
Peggy chuckled. "I told you he wasn't perfect, didn't I? He always was a bit old-fashioned."
"He's a museum exhibit with a fitness routine," Tony huffed. "But when aliens start dropping from the sky...I have to admit, the guy knows his game pretty well. He's like this remarkably durable headache I have to put up with."
She shook her head, reaching up to gently place a palm on the side of his face. "I think, in time, you’ll find you two have more in common than you can imagine."
Before Tony could argue that he was vastly more fashionable, a knock sounded at the door.
It pushed open and Steve stepped into the room. He was dressed in a simple leather jacket, holding a small bouquet of fresh red roses. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Tony sitting by the bed.
"Tony?" he blinked, clearly not having expected to run into him there, of all places.
Tony groaned. “Why oh why do you keep following me, Capsicle?”
Steve sighed. "Good to see you too." He walked over to the other side of the bed and leant down, placing a kiss on Peggy's forehead. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she gave the kind of smile that made her seem much younger, and Tony thought he saw the shadow of her former self for a second there. She thanked Steve as he handed her the flowers. “They're really very pretty.”
Tony cleared his throat, attempting to mask his laugh. Steve raised an eyebrow.
“White roses, Cap,” he said, casually gesturing towards Peggy. “Your girlfriend likes white roses.”
“Anthony,” Peggy's same old, far too gentle reprimand only made Tony smirk wider.
Steve just shook his head. “Do you mind, Tony? I have some...important things to discuss with her.”
"Right. I'll leave you kids to reminisce about the 1940s," Tony rolled his eyes, standing up. But he turned back on his way out, pointing towards the paper bag he'd left there. "Eat the pastries. Don't let Capsicle talk you into swallowing whatever nutritious shit they offer you. And the white roses go in that vase, by the way."
Peggy laughed. With a last wink, Tony stepped out into the hallway.