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Milliways's appearance on the other side of the bathroom door is unexpected, but more acceptable than it would have been fifteen minutes ago. Obadiah is fresh from a shower, his sleeves worn just a little longer than usual. His business in the room he was using is concluded, and he doesn't see why he can't get a drink before he goes home.

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He unwraps his arm from around Obadiah to hold the glass in both hands, resettles himself to lean more comfortably on Obadiah's shoulder, closes his eyes, and takes another drink.

"It's gonna be pretty intense for me," he starts, more hesitant than a Stark ought to be capable of.

Obadiah tightens his arm reassuringly around Tony.

"Of course," he murmurs.

"And... I'm gonna need you take care of me afterward."

There. He said it.

"Like—I don't know. Be there. Be... safe. Probably let me cry on you a little."

He's trying not to ask for things Obie can't give him, but this would be so much easier with Sherry. With Sherry he'd just say, love me?, and Sherry would say Always, and that would be that.

"Of course," Obadiah says again. He'd already realized that the shower's that way, don't let me keep you is not going to be an appropriate strategy here. He's more than willing to put in the extra time afterward; it seems like a small price to pay.

He kisses the top of Tony's head. "Whatever you need."

"Okay."

But he's still a little tense.

"Tony," he says gently. "I do realize it's important to make sure you feel safe after. I'll see to it."

If for no other reason than because it will be to his benefit, and that's when Obadiah can be trusted absolutely: when something is to his benefit.

"I know. I just..."

How does he explain this? He barely understands it himself.

(No. No, he does. He knows exactly what's wrong. And he has to say it, because if they don't get this part right it'll all go to hell.)

"I'm afraid you won't care enough," he whispers, staring into his mostly empty glass. "I'm afraid you won't care enough and I'll know and I won't—"

His voice breaks.

He's a little more prepared this time, his words coming more readily as he squeezes Tony's shoulders.

"Tony. Hey. Of course I care. You know how much."

Doesn't he have the scars to prove it?

Tony sniffles, finishes his drink just to get it out of the way, plonks it down on a side table without looking, and cuddles into Obie a little desperately.

Obadiah wraps both arms around him, murmuring soothingly.

He does have a certain amount of practice with comforting Tony, after all.

"It'll be fine," he says softly. "I'll take care of you."

There are a number of reasons why that practice isn't doing him as much good here as it might. One, when Tony used to cry on Obadiah regularly, he was thirteen. Two, when Tony used to cry on Obadiah regularly, it was about his parents.

But he's not crying now, exactly. Obadiah's shirt is dry where Tony's face presses into it. It's not grief that has him shivering; it's a tangle of mostly nameless fears.

After a moment, he says quietly,

"Talk to me, Tony."

This is different. He needs more to go on. He will not fuck this up.

He sniffles, lifts his head, and meets Obadiah's eyes.

Yeah, the words aren't coming. Tony cannot even begin to sort out what's in his head right now.

Why does trust have to be so complicated?

"In your own time," he murmurs, stroking Tony's hair.

Patience is essential.

Tony slumps a little.

How does he even...

"I feel like something's missing," he tries, "and I don't know what."

Or even from where, exactly. Obie? Himself?

"I've never been especially demonstrative, Tony," he says. "Unless I'm faking it."

Which, of course, is not what Tony wants.

He sighs.

"I know," he says, and gives him a quick, soft, helplessly unhappy kiss. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "You've always been more . . . open. I can't blame you for expecting others to be sometimes."

He hesitates.

"It doesn't come to me naturally."

Tony bites his lip, looks down for a moment, and slides into Obie's lap to hug him.

"It's okay," he murmurs, and it actually is. "I love you. It's okay."

Obadiah returns the hug.

"You have always been such a good kid," he says.

He snorts.

But his grin when he looks at Obie again is pure affection.

Whatever was missing, it's not missing anymore. Maybe he never needed it in the first place.

He chuckles.

"Yeah, that may not be the word I should be using right now."

"Good," he teases. "It's good that you noticed that."

"Well, I'm not completely morally bankrupt," he smiles.

(Lies.)

"I know," he says comfortably.

Because again: they're here, having this conversation. And they really are going to do this. Tony trusts him that far.

Yes, he believes there is something in Obadiah Stane that resembles a heart.

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ironmonger - 2011-07-22 22:57 (UTC) - Expand

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