Summary: It has started as a game, and then it became a recreation. Some kind of ritual they enjoy doing for the sake of it. They forget themselves just for a dance. But tonight is different and sometimes it takes a different step to change everything.

Chapter rating: T

Chapter warning: references to a polyamory and homosexual romance.

Pairing(s): Tony Stark/Loki.

Author notes: This work is inspired from the movie Madame de... of Max Ophüls (1953). If you enjoy old romantic tales about love, appearances, truth and lies, I recommend you this movie. Thank you Reikan Kinetsu for your brilliant analysis of it which guides me for the story. Thank you Wrecked-anon for your advices and your help as a beta.
This work is not completely beta read and fully edited yet, all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

"NBC flashing news!"

"A brutal assault occurred at 8 am! Many trains derailed in Manhattan…we suspect the escaped criminal…"

"…Salvo of explosions put underground, probably triggered by remote control!"

" Avengers have just arrived to help! The damages and number of victims still remain…"

"The enemy has been neutralized this afternoon thanks to the Avengers! It seems X-men have assisted them. Unfortunately we have no pictures to testify…"

"We roughly estimate hundreds of people died in those bombings…"

"New York's mayor announces his wish to organize a party in a few days for celebrating the umpteenth Avengers' victory!"

"I believe it will be the best occasion to gather additional funds so as to help injured civilians."

"People need entertainment and fun. The atmosphere had been so depressing lately…I hope it would lighten the general mood a little."

"I thought of creating a new brand, Tony. You know, toys for children, based on the weapons your team carry. Models will be selling during the soirée. What do you think? It may be helpful, if we need to raise more money for all the collateral damages…"

"Tony, are you listening to me?"

Tony is straightening his shirt and tightening up his tie around his throat when JARVIS's voice reverberates from the ceiling.

"Sir, the drivers you had called, arrived. You are expected in your garage."

"Thanks, JARV'."

Despite general calming, the whole aftermath had worn Tony out. As usual, he counted on Steve to take care of everything, releasing himself on the good captain so he could slip out of this event. His hands shake from the lack of activity, eager to be useful, like drafting blueprints of remote neutralizing bombs.

The imaginary sensation of sinking in his seat makes him smile. In the middle of his workshop, lulled by music tracks, specially chosen for him by JARVIS, he would have drawn sophisticated shapes fitting together, listed different materials he could use and perhaps even designed one or two prototypes. Instead, he must face his own mournful reflection in a mirror hanging on his closet. Alone, in his bedroom, acid lightning cut bags of shadows on his face as if it was marred from the fight.

He rubs his aching neck, scowling at a pile of papers accumulated on his chest of drawers. A pompous speech was written on them, spread on hollowed sentences.

In a few hours, in front of his autocue, Tony will have to smile forcefully to a crowd of awkward people, not directly concerned nor physically harmed by these accidents. They would applaud, suspended to each and every word escaping from his mouth. He would frown, catching a bunch of whining kids, stamping in front of by-products stands and arguing over a toy shield or hammer. Only wet and disapproving glare of Steve would bring him back to reality. Reminding him of his duty like a stinging slap.

Children are still anesthetized.

Tony mechanically hooks up his watch on his wrist.

One notch.

Steve's warm hands, as hard as steel, had grasped his shoulders, freezing him instantly. His square jaw, usually determined, had trembled, under the influence of emotion.

It would have been unnoticed by anyone but not by Tony who knew by heart all kind of his leader's gestures.

Two notches.

"I know you don't like it but tonight I want everybody to make an effort." His blue eyes had bored into Tony's, completely paralysed by the cold perspicacity emanating from his gaze. "Nothing weird with him will happen, understood?"

Three notches.

"Bastard…"

Tony locks the last valve of his chain, wrapped too tightly around his bone. JARVIS's dehumanized voice sings out for the second time.

"Sir, Miss Potts is trying to reach you."

"Accept her call."

"Tony."

Pepper's voice delivers softness yet her shimmering posture in the holographic display conveys to adopt a very serious demeanour.

She requires a complete attention though Tony refuses to face her directly, watching her reflection in his mirror instead.

"Miss Potts, what can I do for you?"

"Tony." She sighs. "Please, be careful during the soirée."

"Thor won't be there, I really don't understand why you're so worried."

She rolls her eyes.

"Steve already knows what you're doing and I suspect Natasha to realize something sooner or later."

Tony's jacket flaps curtly against his back. He notes she has flexed three fingers of her right hand, the same hand she used sometimes to smooth his dishevelled hair before important events. He finally deigns to turn over, only to take a comb with sharped teeth, smoothing his hair himself. His expression has hardened. Tony smiles at Pepper yet recesses of his mouth have lost their lovely tenderness he had before. She looks slightly pained and lowers her eyes.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Pep. We'll see each other at Malibu, tomorrow, as predicted. Ok? "

She opens her mouth as if to say something but bites her lips and assesses, defeated. Then, her reflection explodes in numerous bright particles.

Tony keeps staring at the emptiness she left behind her for long minutes. He smacked his cheeks with both hands so as to regain his composure.

"This is gonna work."

"Of course, sir." Pips Jarvis. "Have a nice evening."

"Park my beauty as far away as possible from the others, got it?"

Happy nods and slams the car door. Tony moves forward and casts a glance behind his shoulder, checking if his chauffeur was following his instructions. Suddenly, Barton, swiftly pats his arm, a mischievous smile hung on his face. In this situation, Tony could almost forget his left arm was immobilised in plaster cast.

"Already planning to go away with a smoking hot girl?"

"Sailors Mars." Greets Tony. "Stick your eagle eye out of my business."

"Nice. Never heard that one before. She shot arrows, too?"

"Fiery arrows, Barton. Go back home and review your classics."

"If someone told me one day I would see two superheroes fighting over a girly Japanese cartoon, I would've never believed it." Intoned Bruce behind their backs.

He travelled in the same limousine as Barton yet has taken much more time to join them. His visible cheerfulness hardly masks his physical weariness. All Bruce's movements seem slowed down, his muscles glued. A wave of annoyance seizes Tony.

Here comes someone who should've stayed home.

"Harley's sis forced me to watch the episodes." Tony mumbles.

"And read volumes too." Barton teases.

"At first, I thought it was freaking weird, especially animation of characters. But…I realized it was hot to watch babes fighting in mini-skirt."

"Then, mystery is solved for Tony." Bruce chuckles. "You've not explained your case yet, Clint."

"Some questions will always remain unanswered, doc." Barton hastens to conclude before joining Natasha, driving down from the second limousine, accompanied by Steve.

Tony feels a pang in his heart once he sets his eyes on him. Their leader seems weighed down under tiredness. Despite heavy layers of make-up, his skin looks white as a sheet. His limping walk points out how his wounded thigh still burdens him. Natasha, lips pursued in concentration, doesn't let him out of her sight. Barton gets closer to help once the pair staggers dangerously on the side. He straightens up Steve by taking his free flank without leaning on his injured arm so the captain's whole weight doesn't crush Natasha. Their leader smiles shyly to them, which they reciprocate.

Tony and Bruce, left behind, keep gazing upon this peculiar sight without saying anything. Natasha and Steve greet them with a nod before getting into the stairwell, bodyguards on their heels, one of them carrying a crutch. Some press agents follow the trio's trail, silent before their mute grief.

Damn, I almost forgot those morons.

Bruce presses abruptly his shoulder against Tony's. He whispers.

"I know he's not demonstrative but he's very glad you came. Too bad Thor couldn't…"

"He should've stayed to SHIELD's base, recharging his batteries." Tony cuts him off, coldly. "He looks like a corpse. You too, by the way."

Bruce shrugs, that simple gesture seems to cost him a superhuman effort. An overwhelming twinge of panic takes Tony by surprise as if he still expects his friend to faint, cold on the floor and inanimate for a few days. Like it happened at the end of their last battle. Bruce, though, carries on:

"You know Steve. He takes his role very seriously, always others first before him. New York's mayor admires his courage, you know?"

Tony snorts.

He loves playing martyr, that's all.

"I think it's a very positive message for the victims, showing even people like us have weaknesses we can heal."

Tony grates his teeth.

"There won't be any victim tonight, Bruce. Goddamn it!"

"Tony. Don't start again…" Bruce pleads.

"No, no, no, no. You know what? I'll tell you exactly who's gonna be there. Crying parents, assholes journalists asking them how bad it hurts to have their children in hospital and unharmed viewers enjoying the show with handkerchiefs. I fucking hate it!"

"Not everybody is cynical like you, Tony. I'm sure most of people are genuinely concerned for the families." Bruce says in a measured tone.

He glances at Tony.

"You're not the only one who wishes it has turned differently."

Tony swallows painfully and blinks several times while designs of remote neutralizing bombs keep swirling inside of his head alongside of sleeping figures no one could wake up. Bruce smiles at him, contrite. He seems to hesitate before tugging his sleeve. The both of them are now walking to the same stairwell Natasha, Steve and Barton have taken minutes before.

"I know what you're thinking but you're gonna disregard it tonight. You promised." Bruce lightly quips.

Relief washes over Tony's body.

"You heard the man, big guys!"

Remaining bodyguards look at each other, incredulous.

"Let's follow the guide!" Tony laughs, encircling Bruce's waist languorously, fluttering his eyelashes. "I feel too weak to resist him."

Bruce giggles with an arched eyebrow. He hits playfully the back of Tony's head, taking him to the third floor where Avengers' speech should take place. Tony deeply breathes in.

It's almost over. No, it's already over. You can mope about at Malibu. Think of Pepper, think of your workshop and Jack Daniels. Especially Jack Daniels.

"What's that?" Natasha asks disdainfully.

Her accusatory finger points out a notice inserted between wine glass and water glass. Tony hasn't paid any attention to it. Starters were still lying warmly on the table. His gaze roams the whole room in a circular way. Waiters obviously assigned this sign to every guest. Barton shrugs.

"Dunno."

"You use it to mark your dance-partners' names" Bruce says, turning the paper over. "Like some kind of reservation."

"What?" Barton shouts. "We're supposed to dance?"

"Seems yes." Natasha adds, indifferent to his turmoil. "I suppose it's an idea of organizers to please Steve. We may waltz like in ancient times."

"That's ridiculous." Steve mumbles, blushing. "During the war, we danced on different kinds of music. Those guys know nothing."

"I hate dancing."

"You won't attract many people tonight with your left arm, don't worry." Natasha dryly says. "Too bad only waltzes are allowed, though. I would have liked to dance java or Charleston."

A belly laugh bursts behind Tony's back. Each Avenger turns around, all senses in alert. They relax when they recognize the main organizer who regally ignores all masculine members of the team, focusing his attention on Natasha and especially her triangular cleavage. The sinister man with reddening and greasy face touches their partner's shoulder lovingly. The striking contrast between his hand similar of a crab's claw and the softness of Natasha white opal skin makes Tony shudder in disgust.

This guy is dead for sure.

Tension is palpable at Avengers' table yet the organizer doesn't shy away from it.

"What's so funny?" Natasha glares at him, her fingers hammering on marble.

"Well, it's surprising for a woman like you to know those dances, born in France. Between tiring missions, it must be difficult to find time educating yourself."

"I'm a master at deceiving people."

The organizer moistens his lips and bows his bald head.

"I hope you will be pleased, miss Romanoff, to learn that I reserved all my waltzes with you."

Tony suffocates in his drink while Natasha's eyes wrinkles dangerously.

"And if I refuse?"

"Miss! You've got the right to dance with whomever you want as long as you indicate it on your notice. Allow me."

Egghead's not serious?

Natasha's fingers catch his offended wrist and pinch it. The organizer complains but her disarming smile stops him.

"It won't be necessary." Natasha purrs in a sensual voice, her eyelids half-closes. "I'll dance with you for the first waltz. This way, I can check if you're such a good dancer."

"Mademoiselle, I won't disappoint you."

He bows a second time then goes away, rubbing his hands enthusiastically.

"What a moron" Tony mumbles, aggravated.

He realizes, in astonishment, that Steve's body was extremely tensed. A soft murmur blew in his ear from Natasha, slackens him immediately. He sighs, pleased. Tony swears he's even seen his cheeks turning pink. Natasha adjusts her braces' dress and declares in a distant way:

"Bruce, I'm gonna dance all the waltzes with you."

"Natasha, I…I don't think." Bruce stutters, his gaze wandering between Steve and Barton.

"We'll dance together." Natasha firmly assures. "And no one will mind it."

The two embarrassed men, surrounding her, assent. Once they finish eating their first courses, dozen of waiters succeed each other. They clear plates and put main courses on the table, hidden under cloche. Remains of the meal take place without interruption. Conversations flow one by one, rolling with simplicity. Any form of uneasiness disappears. Steve heatedly talks about some anecdotes from World War Two under Natasha's affectionate gaze, resting her chin against Barton's throat. Each time she giggles, Tony notices the man startling, as if tickled by her hot breath. Bruce stays in the background, silent but paying close attention of every reaction of the trio. Shaping his complicated dynamics. He shares a smile of complicity with Tony as soon as he catches sight of an intimate gesture. Leaning indolently on the table, Tony would waggle his eyebrows in answer and Bruce would try to control his laughter. A satisfied grin stretches Tony's burning cheeks. He authorizes himself to drink another swallow of wine.

In his other hand, he fiddles with his notice where a dainty invisible feather traces in a perfect handwriting the name of a single person. For all the waltzes. He clenches the paper against his warm thigh.

"Amanda, I keep trying to tell you, I don't want to dance!"

"My name's Ally!" A young brunet replies, stuck to his arm since the first waltz started.

Tony, exasperated, attempts to get rid of her grip, searching desperately the person supposed to dance with him. Annie or Anita, anyway probably a senator's daughter too spoiled for her own good, persists to pull his sleeve. Impatience gains him in full force. Tony restrains himself not to use anger against her.

"Oh, please, mister Stark, just one dance!" She pouts.

"It's a big no, sweetheart."

Tony grabs her manicured hands to take them off his jacket.

"And don't call me mister." He adds, vaguely peeved.

"Can I call you Tony, then?" She joyously exclaims, clasping her hands together.

"Neither. Listen, go back to your father, ok?"

"But it's always the same! I'm tired to dance with my old man each time we're invited somewhere!"

Tony, furious, is ready to fling distasteful words at the impertinent teenager but Steve, kind as ever, intervenes.

"Miss, why are you so angry?"

"Oh! Captain Rogers! My apologies, I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Her voice's tone gets transformed for unknown reasons. Softened by enchantment, the fierce teenager became docile. Ashamed and blushing, she lowers her gaze.

She is far much better like that.

"I just wanted to have some fun." She mutters.

"No problem, miss. If you want that so badly, I could stay at your side."

"What?" She says, surprised. "I don't understand…"

"I'm grounded, because of my wound. No dancing for me tonight which means you could keep me company."

The glowing girl accepts and runs back to her father so as to announce good news. Steve heavily pressed on his crutch, chuckles, his eyes sparkling in mirth.

"Tony Stark, invincible Iron Man, floored by a kid."

"No comment, Rogers."

The two men set down on two chairs near the buffet. Steve dared to look Tony directly in his eyes for the first time since the meal started.

"Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you." Tony snickers. "You saved me from a hormonal teen."

"You know it's not what I'm talking about."

Suddenly too self-conscious of the turning point in their conversation, Tony scratches his ear.

"You're welcome, even if in my humble opinion, we should have waited the team was completely healed before celebrating."

"Families needed it." Steve retorts, solemn.

"I know, I know but that whole context there…the atmosphere, the organization and stuff, it gets on my nerves."

Tony rises abruptly from his chair and gets a champagne flute on the fly from a waitress' platter. He drinks the whole beverage in one motion.

"Yeah, me too." Steve nods. "But, at least, I tell myself it would mean something for people who really need it even if we have to bear…"

In a sweeping gesture, he shows the gathering crowd.

"That stupid masquerade?" Tony offers, gazing at his empty glass.

"Exactly." Steve concludes, letting out a sigh melting the heart.

He takes a cocktail, sipping it under Tony's bemused expression. The two men lounge on their seats, appraising the silence settling down between them. They stay still for long minutes, listening to music slowly rising into the air. Pairs keep waltzing around them. Tony observes with satisfaction Bruce and Natasha dancing together while Barton watches them. Aware of their every move. On the other side of the room, the organizer's face is twisted in pain, his walk comparable to a penguin. Steve's mocking lips creases at the sight until his eyes are tinted in the coldest blue Tony has ever seen. He furiously indicates someone in the crowd, his jaw contracting in anger. Tony guesses easily who could arouse such a strong reaction from his leader. Sooner, he saw green eyes gleaming among guest's ones. His feet don't obey him anymore. He stands up eager to meet his dance-partner yet Steve seizes his arm.

"Tony, what are you doing? Care to explain?"

"If it can reassure you, I haven't invited the bastard."

"It's not the first time it's happening. You always run away with him each time he shows up. Why?"

"Steve, I'm responsible of nothing. There is no game here."

"Don't take me for a moron. You start that same nonsense once the fights are all over. I don't get it…Are you enjoying to test your limits in private?"

Steve's despising accusation discharges in Tony like a bitter liquid. Little patience he tried to conceal snaps in two.

"I know what you're insinuating, Rogers." Tony snarls in a low voice. "And I repeat myself, I'm not concerned by any of this."

Tony roughly clears his taken arm and moves away in long steps. His dance-partner was long gone when he looks for him. Steve catches him again. The anguish he harbours makes Tony slowing down.

"I trust you Tony." Steve assures, obliging. "But…"

"No, you believe I'm dumb enough to be fooled by him. As if I could forget all his half-assed plans."

"Absolutely not." Steve insists, more pleading. "Tony, please. Stop moving! We had never talked about it before… Of what I saw this night."

"No discussion. Is that clear Rogers? I already know what you think of him, you know what I think of him. End of the story."

"It's wrong." His leader frowns. "You've always found a way to sneak off the conversation. Now, I'm gonna ask you again for the last time. What do you think about Loki?"

Hearing his name is enough to shush Tony. He attempts to speak yet no sound slips from his mouth. Million words clash together in his mind, willing to describe him as precisely as possible. No one strikes with sheer clarity. In the past, Tony had approved of everything Steve claimed about their common enemy. He was the first to advocate complete distrust with regard to Loki. Too many variables, too much lack of consistence in his behaviour. Absolutely not reliable. The sorcerer was as murky as an evasive smoke. You could only make out his silhouette, shaking ghosts of past bitterness and desires, deeply rooted in the character he embodies. It was reasonable to not grow attached to him. To avoid him at any cost, even if his link to Thor had involved him in many paths Avengers took.

Yet.

That same mist he is made of, that unstable substance affecting his entire environment without altering him in return perpetually attracts Tony to Loki. Discerning edges of the illusions he projects kindle a guilty pleasure in his veins though he strives to display an outward visceral rejection in front of everyone. Loki is as fascinating as all those theories engulfing black holes. They incite a subtle combination of dread and marvel inside Tony's mind, the powerful crawling in humility crushed by true strength of nature. Their blurred majesty, this whirlwind of dead stars' particles inspires a profound and ancestral fear of unknown. Of emptiness. They could deploy in endless questioning, possibly leading to nothing. The desire to lose oneself in their twists and turns itches uncontrollably as if choosing to give in to that infinite spatial landscape was the ultimate test of courage.

Loki's impish gaze becomes more and more detectable in the crowd. Tony can distinguish the appearance he opted for. As soon as he comes closer to him, Tony neglects details in his field of vision. He cannot remember the room's true dimension nor make the difference between music and tumult of chatting and laughter. Guests dim like floating colours. He loses dancing steps' rhythm hammering the floor though he was able to count them before. Steve's wrath rumbles in his back. And Tony thanks all living deities that Barton focuses on Natasha and Bruce's intertwined bodies; that Thor went back to Asgard because Loki is too easily recognizable.