Work Text:
weld:
1. verb to unite or fuse pieces of metal
2. verb to bring into agreement, union, harmony etc.
You and Lois are attending a convention in L.A. this week. You were excited to see the ocean. Lois was grumbling because most of her good pant suits were wool and in winter colors.
You get invited (as much as Lois muscling you in is an invite) to the spur-of-the-moment press conference called by weapons mogul, Tony Stark. He's been missing for three months, but aside from the sling and some bruises, doesn't really look like he just stepped off the plane that brought him from the helicopter that rescued him from the desert.
Until this afternoon, you'd barely heard of Stark. You knew there were brains, money, women and cars, but being so close to another person with the same resume, he hadn't quite registered on your radar.
In front of the podium, sitting, restless, Stark is blurry like a watercolor. He's flickering with a combination of pent energy and exhaustion and it's hard to look at him. You have to focus on him though, because behind the podium stands Obadiah Stane. As a powerful bald man with a beard, he's such a staggering mix of Lex and Lionel that you almost need to excuse yourself to go laugh/wretch, respectively.
Stane calls for the conference to start, comically unsure of Stark's behavior. He stands awkwardly until Stark suddenly asks everyone sit. It's high school again for a second; no one wants to be the first.
Lois just snorts and holds your arm for balance. She lowers herself, then allows you to sit as well. The rest of the press sit in staggered little waves until everyone's on the floor.
Stark has a hushed word with Stane through hungry bites of what you assume is his first real meal in a quarter of a year, even if it is fast food.
"I never got to say goodbye to my father," Stark blurts. Lois sits up straighter and you take a chewed pen from your pocket. It's Lois's. She steals your good Mont Blancs (gifts from Lex) and switches them out with bulk-bought Bics. You pretend you don't notice.
Stark sets his food aside and fidgets with a napkin. "There's questions I would've asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did. If he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch of man we remember from the newsreels."
You're no stranger to paternal angst and neither is Lex. With three fathers and a thousand unrealistic expectations between you, it sometimes feels like no one else should get to have daddy issues.
"I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them." Stark's voice becomes thick and forced. "And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability."
The atmosphere becomes fragile, almost personal. A few of your colleagues start spitting questions, but you just politely raise your pen. Your manners have opened many a door that Lois's picks haven't, and Stark motions to you.
There's something about him so familiar yet so foreign, it's like forgetting your best friend's face.
You lick your lips and adjust your glasses briefly before asking a to-the-point: "Mr. Stark… what happened over there?"
"I-I-" Stark stutters: agitated or excited, it's hard to tell. "I had my eyes opened." He gets to his feet and finally stands behind the podium. "I came to realize that I had more to offer this world than just making things that blow up." His speech gains momentum and charges forward. "And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the Weapons Manufacturing Division of Stark Industries."
Lois gasps and slaps your arm and Stane is on his feet in a blink. The rest of the press follows, barking questions like hyenas and flashing bulbs that disco-light the room in sudden chaos. Lois uses your head like a lever to rocket herself up and push closer to the stage. You're used to being her multi-use prop, so it doesn't bother you too much.
You get to your feet before the crowd closes in.
Stark and Stane are talking over each other into the mic. Stark is empathetic and resolute in his decision, while Stane tries to sooth the savage press, undermining Stark's words and even pushing him away from the podium.
The conference is still going, but the focus is on Stane and the future Stark Industries now and not Tony Stark: the brilliant man who's survived the impossible and wants to use his second chance to be a better person.
This reminds you of Lex so completely that you can almost smell his cologne, or hear his laugh in your ear. On an impulse you push your way through the crowd and follow the exhausted but determined set of Stark's shoulders.
Someone tries to stop him with a hand on his arm, but Stark grumbles something at her and staggers past.
Outside, the California sun pulls you into bear hug that feels so good you almost forget where you were going. You pause to take off your suit jacket and notice there aren't any cars leaving and the only people you see standing around are military. You wander through the architectural nooks and crannies until you find him.
Stark is sitting on the concrete against the building between two tall hedges. One leg is tucked under the other with his left hand propped on the raised knee. His eyes are closed against the bright sun, or the world maybe, and a lit cigarette burns idly between his fingers.
For all his money, power, fame -you-name-it- Tony Stark is approachable, unlike Lex, who puts up emotional trip-wires around everyone except you.
You decide to go for it and sit down a foot or two away, folding your jacket across your lap and rolling your shirtsleeves to the elbow.
It's so relaxing to be out of that crowded room and away from Lois. And you can't get over it; the sun is amazing. It feels pure and uncut compared to the dingy second-rate sun of Metropolis. You've almost dozed off when there's a tap on your arm.
Tony Stark is looking at you expectantly, motioning with a mostly-full pack of cigarettes.
"Um, no thanks. Thanks though." You're so smooth sometimes, it's scary.
Nodding, Stark pushes the pack into his jacket pocket and takes a long drag. The smoke slowly escapes his nostrils in thin, blue ribbons. You're both quiet for long moments.
Stark says: "I didn't mean for them to get into the wrong hands. I thought we were - that I was doing the right thing. Protecting people. But instead I was hurting them."
The road to hell you think on instinct before shaking it off. Lex has been your friend too long for you to think in black and white anymore.
"Intentions matter," You offer lamely. "Most people think in terms of the end result- and that's important," You look over to see him looking right back. "But it's not everything."
The look on Stark's face tells you he hasn't heard a kind word for the sake of kindness in a long time, and that's not just counting the three months he spent MIA.
Again, you compare him to Lex, knowing he has all the things that don't really matter, and believing he doesn't deserve the things that do. Seeing himself two-dimensional, a shell, a mask and wanting to believe it so much that he almost does.
An impulse brought you out here and another one has you speeding one of your cards into the same pocket as his cigarettes.
Stark gives you a smile- tired, but real. "I just want to try to make things better."
You smile back. "That's all you can do."
The herd of press is soon pouring from the building, all cameras and notepads and chatter. Somehow, Lois spots you immediately from a distance and gestures a bossy and impatient come here right now, like you're a bad dog. You and the hedge have blocked her view of Stark and you hope to keep it that way.
Turning your back to Lois under the guise of tying your shoe, you offer Stark your hand. "Clark Kent, Mr. Stark." He accepts your firm shake in his left, uninjured hand.
"Tony."
Grinning, you stand and dust off your pants, then fold your jacket over your arm, making sure to continue to hide him.
Just before you turn to walk away, you say:
"Don't stop trying, Tony."
And yeah, you're smooth as gravel, but a guy who's been through what he has deserves encouragement and a laugh, and you give him both.
You walk to Lois in a quick, straight line, but she's on the phone now and won't care you exist until she needs something from a top shelf.
The conference was longer than you'd allotted time for and you have a workshop at the convention center in less than an hour. You have to get a cab, change clothes and find something to eat. While wrangling Lois.
It doesn't stop you from calling Lex the second you get back to the hotel. The two of you talk for the rest of the hour, and after feigning an awkward intestinal issue, Lois goes to the workshop alone. You talk for another hour after that. The words "I miss you" aren't spoken, but you feel it deeply.
Hearing Lex's voice is like mainlining the California sun and sometimes you miss him so much you can't even breathe.
But you try.