What's up my lovelies! I'm currently in fucking America yo! (Or well I'm on an 11 hour flight coming back from America and I'm spending the 11 hours catching up on all of my writing neglect eek) and what better way to celebrate me *haven* been in America, living the dream for 11 days, by updating my fucking favourite fic, and my baby.

I! Promise! You! I will have Steve chapters, I'm gonna have Steve's 10 year gap chapter but I'm merging it in with the plot! I'm trying to mature my writing style guys so don't shoot me yet tat you don't have your massive 4K Steve chapter or whatever, gotta focus on the star ya know. Co-Stars come next (;

Also I'm nearing 3K votes and that's fucking amazing? Tell yo friends, yo siblings, grandparents and postman to vote my lovelies

Heart. Of. Gold.

Tony wakes up

Somewhere, deep down inside of Tony believes that this will be a good morning, and maybe it's because he has seemed to wake up on his own accord, without finding himself tangled in damp, sweated bedsheets and with his heart in his mouth, words choked in his mouth and eyes glossy and wide. It's also a good start to know, that for once, he's woken up without a hangover, maybe a tinge in the back of his head, a day to wear his yellow specs and not the blackouts, and he has somehow made it into his own bed. That's always a good start too.

Because Tony never really grew out of that habit of falling asleep in the workshop, finding his head rested on big yellow files marked Important and Private in massive red block letters, his body bent over the workshop bench, a dirty blanket from his dirty couch in front of his make shift coffee table of bricks and wooden crates, draped over his shoulders by DUMM-E before making his way to his charger deck. He'd wake up with a crooked neck, dead arms and a dented line across his midsection, just under the rim of the Arc Reactor, JARVIS alerting him that he needs to get up and DUMM-E eagerly trying to shove foul tasting coffee at him.

Or, he doesn't even make it to his bedroom, nor does he find himself waking up in his workshop, but haven collapsed somewhere between the elevator to the bedroom, sometimes the livingroom, mostly the couch. There, he'd wake up in the worst state, because those types of states where he finds himself waking up on the sofa is only because he was too intoxicated to get to the bedroom, and that comes hand in hand with haven made a scene from one place to another. Which, unfortunately so, means a wake up call from Obie because bad press of Tony is bad press for S.I.

And Obie is never a pretty face to see in the morning, nor is he a pretty presence to have in his apartment, his building, his home.

"Good morning Sir, it is currently 7:41 in the morning. It is currently 78 degrees and raining. You have 357 emails awaiting your attention, 32 missed calls and 5 voicemails in your inbox. You have a meeting at S.I with the Board at 2 this afternoon and Ms. Potts is very eager with reminding you of the charity banquet dinner you are scheduled to attend this evening."

"Right,"Tony hisses through his teeth momentarily, turning his head to the right to look out of the grand window that stretches from ceiling to floor, wall to wall and overlooks the Hudson River. JARVIS is right, of course, the weather is miserable and Tony frowns at the sight of angry clouds and a greyed river so early in the morning."Do I have anything else planned for the day?"

He asks in hope of there to be nothing because there's a car sitting in his garage awaiting his attention, which is an excuse of course, because the car in his garage has been there for well over 8 years now. It's a project that Tony can't bring himself to finish, but one he doesn't want to entirely abandon either because it's oddly sentimental and Tony is weird about sentimental stuff like that, evident from his workshop that is clustered with clunky gifts from young fans or his wardrobe filled with articles of clothing left behind by past lovers.

In reality, Tony wishes to make a heads start with the new upgrades to the latest Stark Phone, in which he designed the specs for and that he will design the upgrades for too. It's not due for another month or two but Tony knows himself, and without the reminder of JARVIS, that he has a lot of busy months ahead of him in remark to travelling. As much as Tony hates the idea of travelling to war withered countries to promote Stark Industries, and furthermore, the weapons that Stark Industries continues to produce despite Tony's dismay and argument, he can't wait to get away from New York.

Because as much as Tony loves this city, so magnificent and beautiful and busy as it is, it's hard to get his head showered when you're in such a place that keeps him on his toes for so long, where his head is always constantly wrapped around a problem or situated in someone's lap or buzzed and numbed by various substances. A holiday, if this is what he can call a holiday, is exactly what he needs, even if it is for a few days in a war withered country to make PR happy, and by extension the ugly head that is Obie, happy too.

A change of scenery is always heavily welcomed by Tony, especially when one can barely admire the one he lives in, the windows being non existent from his place in his workshop and the city of lights never being more than a blur for him to witness when he is amongst the beautiful sights that is New York City. His love for New York has been nullified over the years, but despite this, it's still a love.

"No."Jarvis answers and it's hesitant as if unsure if he should be testing the limits of Tony today before he continues unashamed."However, I do urge that you contact Doctor Strange as he is requesting your assistance, quote 'When you are available to chat' unquote, something in which you are."

Tony lays there, for only a moment of two as he ponders the 'request' that is being urged towards him, if he could really even call it a request. They've been famously circling one another for months now, a game of Cat and Mouse that neither really acknowledge but both very knowledgeable that it is happening. And it's so different to what Tony usually does, when he knows there's a spark, even if just a little one, he shies away from it because Tony doesn't do sparks, and he sure as hell doesn't do flames.

But, it's fun, in a sort of way that Tony hasn't felt in a while, and it's harmless. They flirt, and that's okay. And Tony likes it, and that's okay too because he's not attached, not to Strange, not to anyone and so it's okay. Tony can speak, Tony can smile, Tony can laugh, Tony can flirt and he sure as hell can accept this request, this date, perhaps, if he wants.

"Fine, whatever."Tony waves his hand a bunch of times, mulling it over for seconds more before he's sitting up in the rather large, very empty bed of his with wide eyes and a pulsing heart beat as he changes his mind."No, tell him no- or rather, tell him to postpone- Jesus I don't know."

The covers are kicked off in a sort of childish rage, falling off the bed and onto the floor as Tony removes himself from the bed, to make a start to this rather early, empty day that he's rather brought along himself and therefore remains with no one to blame. JARVIS has gone quiet, which is never really a good thing because just like Tony, quietness is not something taken lightly and quietness never really equals anything good either. Which, again, is somewhat Tony's fault as he makes his way to the kitchen, eager for some coffee and maybe a pastry if he's remembered to phone for them the day before.

Tony's home, because for once in his life he can honourably say that he has a home, is one of privacy and solitude to the extent that the number of people who have access to his home is counted on one hand, and those with its known location on his other. It's the remains of what was a warehouse, abandoned when it's company had went bankrupt and one that Tony bought off the bank for little more than his budget. It became his project and a project that he has been immensely proud of ever since being handed the keys.

The Warehouse ( a nickname that Pepper had once quoted without a slight bit of fondness and therefore became the name for Tony's house ) had been a work in project for many years until Tony finally kicked himself in the ass to completing the project, sick of sleeping in Stark Industries workshop with a crooked neck. The Warehouse was equip with JARVIS throughout as  trusty surveillance and included three main floors, the main floor, Tony's floor and the underground Workshop which lead to Tony's private garage.

It was his home, made with Tony quirks and cluttered genius but in a way, elegant and expensive with a magnificent view of the Hudson River and amazingly crafted skylight on the ceiling. Tony loved his home, he loved The Warehouse because for once in his life it was something that was his and not something passed down from a passing generation and built on the soil of lies and abuse.

"J-"

"I regret to inform you, sir, that Doctor Strange is urgently requesting your assistance."The A.I seems to heavily press on the word and Tony is sure that JARVIS is surely developing his own intelligence without Tony's assistance.

"I haven't even had breakfast yet."Tony finds himself semi-whining, turning on his heel to head back towards his bedroom, quick shower and change in order before he heads to the hospital for this urgency.

"Breakfast never exactly seems to be on your itinerary, Sir."

"I'm not afraid of making you into a coffee maker."Tony threatens halfheartedly with a disapproving scowl, letting the shirt he had fell asleep in fall off his shoulders and onto the floor, something he'll deal with later this afternoon or maybe later this morning.

"At least I would be of better use to you, Sir."Tony seems to laugh through his nose at the comment, catching sight of his smirk of amusement through the bathroom mirror that has been illuminated with light upon his entrance. The smirk seems to fall, only slightly, off of his face as he catches sight of his appearance, of his full nakedness in the illuminated bright mirror that seems to etch out every little detail of his body, of his muscles, of his skin, of his scars, of the florescent blue orb of light that remains situated in the middle of his chest.

It's still there, it's still working, it's still glowing, it's still a thing, it's still a problem, it's still a solution. His finger tips brush it's sharp metal rim, finding it in himself that he still recoils at his own touch of the foreign piece on top of him, inside of him. It's not his fault that he cringes still, or that he flinched and recoils, that everyone on planet earth knows that Tony Stark has no limits but one; that you can't touch the Arc Reactor. Ever.

Tony smile is small at himself in the mirror as he brushes a hand clumsily through his already messy hair, corkscrew dark curls that he'll have straightened, turning away from the mirror and towards the shower.

"Tell Strange I'll be there in half an hour and that he better have brought me breakfast."

Tony arrives 47 minutes later, 17 minutes later than he had told Strange and 13 before he had expected himself to actually arrive at the door of an office that only ever hosts the occupants of Doctor Stephen Strange and Doctor Tony Stark. Which, by the way, is not some type of alias that Tony had magicked up for himself in order to fit in with the professionalism that he often surrounded himself in, but was one that he earned through one of his countless degrees on the way of becoming the best of the best of the best.

Without tooting his own horn, Tony had not only succeeded his own doctorate in Mechanical Engineering but had picked up a few extra during his free time, when he hadn't been jetting off for foreign meetings in war wrecked lands or stuck with his head down the toilet. And medicine was one that he gained extremely fond with the closer he worked with the hospital and the more he began his work on artificial limb replacement, the more he wanted to know. And Tony, of course, couldn't stand being the only one without the medical title Dr. in front of his name.

"Stark."

"Oh how I love it when you say my name, always full of affection and adoration."Tony sighs almost dramatically as the door closes behind him as he enters the office, it without blinds and so the same miserable grey clouds that Tony had woken up is in his line of vision once again, just with a different street view.

"If you came with affection and adoration yourself then maybe I would."Strange stands up from where he had been sitting at the desk, looming at opened folders that are spilling with pages, sprawled across the fine oak wood desk, somehow in a fashion that's so neat and organised to Tony's usual clutter.

"Now, play nice. You're the one that wanted me here, remember? Urgently, if I might recall."His sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, straightened and styled if only to look just a little bit presentable. With them off, Tony gets a good view of Stephen in front of him, tall and slender with magnificent grey eyes that Tony swears change to blue on bright summer afternoons, hair combed back and clean shaven. 

"I want you t-"

"Coffee first, I hope you got the memo."Tony passes, setting his sunglasses onto he large oak table just as Strange sighs and reaches for something on a table nearby, something steaming hot and smelling beautiful.

"It actually quoted 'breakfast' but I've never seen you eat anything but cheeseburgers before."There's a cup of coffee passed towards him as he rounds the desk so that they are no standing either side, a small smile etched onto his lips as he takes a sip. Black, two sugars. With the coffee cradled to his chest, Tony is picking up the sheet nearest to him on the desk, eyes skipping that of names and ages and landing on what his interest lies on. He's reading it, scanning his eyes over a couple more times before he looks up with threaded eyebrows of curiosity.

"You're a Neurosurgeon, what are you doing getting yourself preoccupied with a case that clearly belongs to me."It's more of a demand than a question because if there's one thing that Tony Stark dislikes is before getting involved in his work.

"He's a solider."

"Yes, I mainly work with soldiers, Strange."Tony rolls his eyes as he slides a photo sheet closer to him in the desk, eyes trained on the damage that the high pixilated photograph presents for him. There's a wince that escapes through his teeth as his flicker at the wound, staring at the gaping hole in which an arm should be, barely a bone at the shoulder to connect any tissue to even if Tony tried. The prosthetic limbs that Tony usually confronted were nothing as damaging as the one staring back at Tony right now. 

"There's tissue, here,"He points with the tip of his pen at the photograph, suddenly closely behind Tony, using it as a pointer as he speaks to Tony."That you surely can't manage on your own."

"And I don't. I have a team of very equip, highly qualified and bright surgeons that-"

"Yes, yes, I know that."He cuts him off just like he had moments before, sounding a bit irritated."But as much as you boast about how bright and highly qualified, they're certainly not equip for the latest specs that you have created."

"You said that was impossible."He turns to stare at Stephen, back to the desk.

"I said that it wasn't doable."He corrects because he knows exactly what he said during a shared 15 minute break on a dreadful Thursday morning when Tony's idea had sprung the idea and continued to latch onto it as he was caught in one of his garbled, excited rambles that Strange surely couldn't understand. But he remembers, and he remembers what he has said.

"Which in your term means impossible because you're such a negative nelly."

"Tony,"Strange sighs deeply through his nose, fingers at his temples for a moment."I'm telling you that from what I've seen through photographic evidence alone is that we may be able to carry through with the specs of creating the first cybernetic prosthetic implant on a human being."His tone is so exciting and it's almost endearing to Tony.

"You did this on purpose."He narrows his eyes, watching how Stephen seems to hesitate for a reply before he continues."You sprung this onto me because you know that planning is not my expertise."

"This was your idea."Stephen points out.

"Yes, I know that, thanks."Tony rolls back his shoulders, feeling the need to square up and make himself feel and look bigger than he actually was."It's extremely complicated and consent is a massive big thing because this will be the first attempt and oh my god, what about lawsuits and by the way, when I calculated, could take months to complete."

Which, Tony has also figured out means months with Strange, months of late nights and early mornings, months of spilled coffees and shaking hands, months of hunched over paperwork, specs, designs, planning. And Tony isn't exactly sure how he feels about that and the bad thing is, Tony isn't sure if it's the idea of months spent on the same project or spending all of those months with Strange.

"He's in ER, waiting for you."

Hiya lads, I come baring an update! The first official chapter of older 28-29 year old Tony ahhh and I'm already in fucking love? And all of the stuff that I have planned for the rest of this fic has me going insane because I just want to be hunched over writing it 24/7 ahhhhh

Anyway, please tell me what you thought of this chapter! I want EVERYONES opinions so don't be shy x

What's your thoughts on adult Tony so far? Has he much changed?

Your thoughts on JARVIS?

Your thoughts on Strange?

And lastly, who do you reckon Tony will be meeting next? (;

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Peace✌🏼