Roomies Prequel 0: And so you met Tony

“Tony!?” You scream again, veins popping out in your forehead from the effort you put in to the volume. Still the drunken man does not stir. You groan, looking around at the otherwise empty bar. “Not again…”

You move quickly, clearing the tables, stacking the chairs, and wiping down the bar. When you are done, you pull down all the shades, turn off all the lights, and lock all the doors. Then you move over to Tony Stark, slumped over the bar, and slowly lift him, draping his arms around your shoulders so you can lead/carry him to the door.

You stop outside and pull at the door to make sure it’s locked before turning to the street. Tony’s car is front and center. You shift his weight so you can reach his pocket and pull out the keys. You unlock the car and open the passenger door, dumping him in unceremoniously. With mumbled curses, you slam his door and move to the driver’s side. You climb in, buckle up, and start the car. Just as you get ready to take off, you hesitate.

You look over at Tony, curled up in the passenger seat, asleep… he looks so vulnerable. Sighing, you reach over and buckle Tony’s unconscious form in, sitting him mostly upright.

You don’t even need to look at street signs any more. You’ve driven Tony home so many times you could probably do it blindfolded.

You get to his house. Jarvis lets you in the gate with no more identification than a spoken hello. You park the car in its proper spot in the garage, hanging the keys on their proper spot on the board, and complain aloud to Jarvis as you hoist Tony out. “He can’t keep doing this. I was fine with it the first time, but I’m getting concerned. You should get him into a program or something.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Jarvis answers flatly, though you try to convince yourself the AI sighed. “I am sorry he has caused you such trouble.”

You snort, moving Tony to your back so you can pull each of his arms over your shoulders. “Every night, Jarvis, every damn night!”

Jarvis does not reply as you clumsily stumble up the steps, not too clumsily though, since you’ve managed to work out a strategy in your many attempts.

When you get upstairs, you don’t even stop in the living room. You used to just drop Tony on the couch, hell, the first time, you even left a note. Not anymore. You take him straight to his bedroom.

Without hesitation, you begin prepping him for bed. You slide off his shoes and socks, placing them, respectively, in the closet and hamper. You turn down the bed and take off his jacket. You empty his pockets and remove his belt, but you do not remove his clothes. As comfortable as you’ve gotten, that is still beyond your comfort zone.

You prop some pillows up behind him and tuck him in. You can’t help but smile as his head lolls to the side. You gently rearrange the pillows so he won’t wake up sore. Then you move about the room, tidying it up, throwing things away and putting stuff on shelves.

You’ve begun doing more and more each time you’ve come. The last couple times, you’ve stayed the night, starting by sleeping on the couch and eventually curling up in a guest room. Lately, you’ve been making breakfast for the two of you. But longest of all, you’ve made sure Tony will wake up to coffee. You do this again.

As you’re in the kitchen, getting the amount of cream and sugar you’ve learned Tony prefers, you’re stuck by a realization. The cabinet has been rearranged. Beside Tony’s favorite blend now sits a box of your favorite. You frown and take both boxes out. You set them down with narrowed eyes and look around. You open the next door to get a mug, and find that they too are rearranged. Beside Tony’s favorite red Stark industries mug is a second identical but black mug. You frown and take them both out, sitting them by the coffee pot.

You walk to the door to hang your coat up over Tony’s, knowing he will probably complain about the wrinkles, but you gasp at seeing a second coat hook has been installed.

You tilt your head and slide your shoes off, moving about the room. There are issues of your favorite magazines strewn in with his on the table. There is more than one pair of your shoes in the front closet, along with a set of your work clothes and a set of your workout gear.

You put a hand to your head and shake it. “How long have I been doing this?”

“A lot longer than anyone else would have.”

You whip around to see a perfectly sober Tony Stark standing in the hallway. He’s taken the liberty of changing himself, standing in a pair of worn Iron Man sweats and matching t-shirt.

You frown and put your hands on your hips. “I thought you were hammered.”

Tony shrugs, gliding to the kitchen as the coffee maker beeps. He pours two mugs and begins pouring in the extras. You move to sit at the bar, watching Tony. “You faked it.”

Tony nods, offering you the second mug as he leans against the counter facing you. “I have the last couple of times.”

You growl, your knuckles turning white on the coffee mug. “Why? Were you getting a good laugh out of it?”

Tony tilts his head, looking you over calmly.

You stand up, pushing your mug away. “Did you enjoy it, me carrying you and tucking you into bed? Were you hoping I’d eventually undress you?”

Tony takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours.

You roll your eyes, moving toward the door. “Never mind!” You shout. “You’re just insane!”

Tony’s voice causes you to pause in pulling your coat on. “Someone once defined insanity as the repetition of the same action with the hope of different results.”

You turn to Tony tensely, your eyes pained.

Tony sets his coffee down and walks towards you, never losing his calm. “Were you expecting something to change?”

You frown, yanking your coat on and crossing your arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Tony tilts his head. “You told Jarvis you didn’t mind the first time. That shows you’re a good person, helping a drunk man home.”

You bite your lip, your brows furrowed deeply.

Tony frowns. “But you kept doing it. You complained, but you kept doing it.”

You shift from foot to foot. “And?” you ask impatiently.

Tony narrows his eyes. “You learned to drive my car. You learned where everything went. You know how I take my coffee. You could probably live a day in my life as easy as I could.”

“And?” You repeat, waving your hand for further explanation, the agitation clear in your voice.

Tony smirks. “You go above and beyond, always trying harder, doing better.”

“Is there a point to any of this, Mr. Stark?” You moan, your shoulders slumping.

Tony shrugs, though he tenses at the way you address him. “I just think it’s strange.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can I go home now?”

Tony bites his lip and pulls at his collar. “Look, this didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

You look up at him nervously, shaking your head. “It’s fine. I’ll just go.” You smirk sadly. “We’ll try again tomorrow, I’m sure.”

You turned to the door, your hand on the handle when Tony called. “Wait!”

You tensed but did not turn. “What?”

Tony laughed lightly, you could practically hear his smirk. “So, how do you like bartending?”

You sighed, running your hand through your hair. “It pays the bills.”

Tony ran up behind you and you turned to face him. Sure enough, he was smirking widely. “How do you like having bills?”

You frowned, turning away. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Stark?”

Tony tilted his head, reaching for your hand. “Please, call me Tony.”

You yanked your hand away, “Because it sounds like you’re offering either marriage or prostitution and I can assure you,” you pushed him away. “I want neither.”

Tony laughed loudly, stumbling away and shaking his head. “I like you.” He admitted, his tone frighteningly serious. You turned to him with fearful eyes, but he shook his head, continuing, “Not like that.” He walked over to you, his eyes serious too. “In a different way, on a different level.” He reached to brush your hair back, watching his hand move along your head as he sighed. “With Pepper gone…I’m lonely.” His eyes flickered to yours. “I have been for a long time.” You gave him a disbelieving look and he sighed. “You look at me like you believe the image I’ve established, but I know you don’t.”

You frowned. “How can you know that?”

Tony smiled, his eyes tracing your features. “Because you’re real.”

You shook your head, confusion flitting across your face.

Tony smiled, “You’re not afraid to speak your mind, but you know when not to. You don’t like to be told what to do, but you know when to do it.” Tony stood, holding your arms in his hands as he looked deeply into your eyes. “I have met many people, half afraid to talk to me like you do, the other half faking it when they do.”

You frowned, “Mr. St-“

“Tony.” He insisted. “You only call me Tony when you think I’m drunk.” He smiled weakly. “But I like it when you do.”

You sighed. “Tony…”

He smiled, nodding encouragingly.

You shook out of his grip, looking at him sadly. “I don’t know what you want… or what you’re looking for, but, I promise you, I’m not it.”

Tony smiled, nodding, speaking with certainty. ‘You are.” He turned away, walking to his bar to pour two glasses of champagne. “I have been to your bar every night for the last few months. I’ve watched you interact with people of all ages, rankings, backgrounds, statuses, and intentions. No matter what mood they’re in, no matter what they want or need, you make them happy. You make them like you.” Tony walked over to you, gently pushing you to sit in the chair as he wrapped your hand around a champagne flute. “There’s something about you. It’s right and it’s real and I want it. I want you-“

You gave him a warning look and he smiled, finishing, “-to work for me.”

You looked down at the flute in your hand, and the matching one in his, and then up to his eyes, sure that this was another joke, or a ploy of some sort, a new angle the famous playboy was trying out. But Tony Stark looked at you with the most serious, genuine, unguarded need, that it broke your heart to consider it anything but truth. You laughed, your eyes watering lightly as you nodded your head, smiling happily.

Tony’s face lit up, he knocked back his champagne and then took yours to do the same before standing and pulling you into a tight hug. He began speaking quickly, excitedly, talking about how you would help him and manage him and stay with him all the time and then how he would take care of you and you could live with him and he would build you your own wing and you could decorate it how you wanted.

You closed your eyes, listening to Tony go on and on, drinking in his excitement as he had drunk your champagne, allowing it to make you drunk. You leaned against Tony’s chest, feeling the warmth there, tracing a single finger over the light that shone through his clothes and smiling to yourself.


You lived in Tony’s house, you rode in Tony’s cars. You went wherever he went. You kept him sober and working and calm and he kept you happy and healthy and safe. You stabilized him and he valued you above all else.

He loved you. Like a daughter or a sister, it didn’t really matter. You had once accused him of offering you marriage or prostitution, but now the thought of you entering either horrified him. He wanted to keep you forever, to protect you forever. He loved you.