revivalproject | This Is How We Get Along

WHO: Tommy Shepherd, Tony Stark, Billy Hargrove
WHERE: Tony's Workshop, Tommy's Room in Avengers HQ
WHAT: Trying to figure out a gift; emotional vulnerability
WHEN: Late September, Early October
WARNINGS: To Be Added in the Billy Hargrove Thread

I. What Do You Get For A Surfer Dude? | Closed to Tony

The thing about Tommy was that he was kind of shit about asking for help when he needed it for himself. Things that would benefit him, or make his life better, or help him deal with his shit. It wasn't something he did. Which always made him showing up to ask for it harder.

So yeah, his showing up (after a good bit of searching) at Tony's workshop door, knocking lightly as he did so, was odd. Him looking nervous was probably less so. He was, after all, trying to heal what he thought was some damage between them due to his own actions. But this wasn't about any of that. This was about asking for help. And fuck if he wasn't shit at that.

II. The Terror of Being Known | Closed to Billy Hargrove

Between them they have so many places to withdraw to. The shack on the beach, the apartment above the diner, the rooms taken up by Billy for his winter in the Civics Center. And here. The place Billy is getting to see for the first time while he comes help Tommy make the place more homey.

A room in the established Avengers HQ. A place shared with Steve Rogers and Janet Van Dyne and probably others. A place that was more plain than the efforts he had taken with the diner's space. Which was supposed to change today. That was absolutely the plan.

A plan that was being foiled by the frustrated noise as Tommy tried, once again, to get a table to sit level. He'd been trying to shim this thing for ten minutes now. Ten minutes for someone like Billy. A lot more than that for Tommy. It was a frustration so deep that he finally did something stupid. He kicked a leg of it in frustration. And with speed. Too much speed. The metal leg bent from the force, dumping the table and the box of tools and decorations that had been sitting on it to the floor.

Which in turn only amped Tommy's bad mood up further, leaving him fuming in particular down at a small, potted plant that clearly had a damaged pot now. Something that was going to take repotting.

"Fucking hell."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You're doing this backwards," Tony muttered as Tommy rambled, and only clarified after a beat, "Not, 'I saw this and it made me think of you', but 'I was thinking of you so I got you something'. That's what flowers are for. No wonder you're already out of ideas." He scratched through his hair again, hands flexing without something to occupy them, then pushed a knuckle against his lip, very aware that he didn't need to say all of that. It still didn't stop him from talking more, "You could start with 'why'. You know, 'I thought you deserved a break, so I got you a boat'. 'I thought you'd look good in silk, so I got you these--pants.'"

Was he? Tommy doesn't know.

"I've only dated Kyle before, Tony. I literally don't know how to do this stuff," he admits. "Expecting people to want to keep me around is very new territory. And being charming past the initial hook wasn't my thing either."

Other people did the heavy lifting because Tommy was terrified of the end of things. Too busy mentally racing forward to slow down and take things in properly. To enjoy life in the moment.

"I definitely don't have a boat and he already has a surf board. And I don't know if he'd look good in silk. But... I just want to see him smile. To make him happy. Shit, it sounds silly, doesn't it?"

None of that had Tony looking any less skeptical, and he gave an impatient glance down the hall while chewing his lip before he was sighing and twirling a hand in the air expectantly. He has to resign himself to dropping it, because he knew Tommy hadn't actually been listening and had to be prompted again, "So, what makes him happy?" Tony had only really met the kid once, and had mostly figured how how to piss him off, so that wasn't exactly his area of expertise. "That should be, you know, the intended output of a relationship, making each other happy, you're going to have to tell me what you think is a less 'silly' use of your time. No one universal answer to that one, either. Pretty sure a thesaurus would delight Jon. Got a feeling you'd throw it at my head."

"The beach. Being able to protect people. His car. Surfing," Tommy lists off. The shells stuff but he isn't sharing that.

Though he doesn't think it's a silly use of his time. Just silly that his whole entire desire is so simple. It should be more. It should be amazing and huge and impressive. But he doesn't know how to do that.

"And really, don't get a thesaurus. But a leather bound edition of all the Pierrot novels might work. For Jon and me."

Yeah, Tommy reads. But there's no books here.

Tony gave a nod and tap at his heart so assure Tommy he heard and had internalized the suggestion, but his snort as he did so didn't make it very convincing. He mouthed 'leather-bound' with wide eyes, then sucked his teeth and was looking around, back into the shop again, raising a finger for Tommy to wait. It turned out, he did know something about Billy's happiness.

It only took a bit of searching, during which D.A.T.A. rolled to Tommy's feet to peer up at him, and feed out two of his spindly arms to wave as a distraction. Tony pursed his lips at the meagre display as he came sauntering back, and didn't wait for Tommy to ask before he was dumping parts into his arms. "I took a look at his car. It's not going to get moving in that state. Those should help."

His arms are suddenly loaded with stuff and Tommy looks... so confused.

"I don't know anything about cars. Wouldn't a car part coming from me be... disingenuous?"

Tony had to look confused back at him, squinting and waiting expectantly for some kind of elaboration. Eventually, he had to ask, "Would giving you the book be disingenuous unless I wrote it?"

Tommy takes time to think about that. Because wow. He hadn't...

"That's a really good point," he says, his smile growing wider and brighter. "No. It's an amazing point."

Only Tommy's brightening smile offset Tony's narrowed look of skepticism, tugging at the corner of his own mouth even as he hesitated, not as convinced of his own point when he still wasn't sure what Tommy's was. He had to accept, "Great, so, listen, he told me he was a mechanic, so he probably knows what to do with those. If not, you know, Donnie or Cal are probably nearby, somebody could be there fast to fill in the gaps. What you're going to need is oil. She's been sitting on that beach for a lifetime, don't even try turning the engine over until you've got her lubed up."

"Does Cal even know cars?" Tommy wonders mostly to himself. No point in questioning it beyond that much though. Oil, though, that's harder to think about.

"Any chance you know the chemical formula for car sorts of oil? I could... I could spare a replication for that. I mean, one bottle's enough, right?"

No. It's not. Of course it's not. But if he knows it, he can give Billy the formula to make it for himself.

Tony had to wonder as well, with a pensive pout, because Cal probably didn't even know what a car was, at least not the kind that Billy had sitting on the beach. He still felt optimistic that the kid could figure out his way around the thing, so that furrow of Tony's brow was easily gone for him to nod with a sharp breath, then a thumb over his shoulder for the sudden big, shimmering display in the air of the formula. "One is always a good start," he was happy to encourage. "You let me know when you figure out how to stop there, I've never worked out the math on that part."

Tony's making a joke, probably. Tommy doesn't get it. He's not a vehicles person. But he is smiling so widely. He puts the parts down in a blur and gives Tony a brief, but firm, hug. Then he's got the parts back in his hands like nothign happened.

"Thanks. This is going to be so awesome."

It was very fast, and maybe they could pretend it didn't happen at all, except Tony was left holding his own ribs where the warmth of the hug quickly escaped between his fingers. "Yeah, try not to blow anything up, harder to fix that," he muttered, and waved his free hand impatiently, encouraging Tommy on to get to the explosions already. He still lingered at the door to watch Tommy go, plucking at the fabric of his shirt where his hand was still wrapped.

"I try hard most days not to blow things up. Only do that when there's no other choice. I'm not Pietro. I don't aim to be loathed," Tommy says with a shrug.

He shoots Tony one last smile and then he's gone, off to figure out how you package some of these gifts.

This Is How We Get Along

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