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Steve hasn't slept much in the past three days and tonight is no different. He gave it a good try earlier, when the fatigue felt all-consuming and sleep couldn't possibly elude him— or so he'd thought. After half an hour shifting every which way in search of a comfortable position, he dozed off for what felt like just a few minutes, then jolted back to consciousness with his heart pounding in his chest. Steve was frustrated but not surprised. His body seemed to have adopted a policy of aggressive resistance against any and every effort to relax.
He was staring up at the ceiling wondering how to fill the long, quiet hours until sunrise when FRIDAY's voice broke the silence. It wasn't what she said so much as the urgency with which she said it that made Steve bolt out of bed and break into a run as soon as his feet hit the cold tile floor.
Steve slowed only slightly as he approached Tony's workshop, a spark of doubt cutting through the adrenaline for the first time. It was hard not to feel like he was invading Tony's privacy, stepping into this space when Tony wasn't around to grant access— or deny it. But before Steve could hesitate, the door slid open for him. FRIDAY's permission would have to suffice; who was less likely to violate Tony's trust than an AI of his own design?
Most of the workshop was still dark. FRIDAY helpfully illuminates a direct path to a door that Steve would bet money wasn't there before. He is familiar enough with the hallucination stage of sleep deprivation to know that he hasn't reached it yet. Still, reality does take on a distinctly surreal feel when Steve presses his hand to the palm reader and triggers a hidden door opening onto a secret chamber.
He sees the cradle, recognizes it for what it is, but he's stuck on the sight of it, the shape of it. It looks like a casket. Why he'd make that association now, why it would hit him like a punch to the gut, doesn't follow logic. They held memorials for both Tony and Natasha, but neither had a casket. Natasha's body couldn't be recovered, and Tony...
Tony had—
Tony had given Rhodey specific instructions. Steve hadn't pressed for details, but Tony had given Rhodey specific instructions, and they held a memorial without a body, and FRIDAY just led him to a secret chamber in Tony's workshop with a only regeneration cradle inside. It's impossible, and he's out of his mind for even considering it, but a wild wave of hope washes over him and Steve runs up to the cradle so fast that he has to brace two hands against it to absorb his momentum.
From over the edge of the cradle, Tony Stark stares back at him, alive.
"Is this real?" That isn't what Steve meant to say, but it was the loudest thought in his head, and when he opened his mouth to speak it just escaped.
He was staring up at the ceiling wondering how to fill the long, quiet hours until sunrise when FRIDAY's voice broke the silence. It wasn't what she said so much as the urgency with which she said it that made Steve bolt out of bed and break into a run as soon as his feet hit the cold tile floor.
Steve slowed only slightly as he approached Tony's workshop, a spark of doubt cutting through the adrenaline for the first time. It was hard not to feel like he was invading Tony's privacy, stepping into this space when Tony wasn't around to grant access— or deny it. But before Steve could hesitate, the door slid open for him. FRIDAY's permission would have to suffice; who was less likely to violate Tony's trust than an AI of his own design?
Most of the workshop was still dark. FRIDAY helpfully illuminates a direct path to a door that Steve would bet money wasn't there before. He is familiar enough with the hallucination stage of sleep deprivation to know that he hasn't reached it yet. Still, reality does take on a distinctly surreal feel when Steve presses his hand to the palm reader and triggers a hidden door opening onto a secret chamber.
He sees the cradle, recognizes it for what it is, but he's stuck on the sight of it, the shape of it. It looks like a casket. Why he'd make that association now, why it would hit him like a punch to the gut, doesn't follow logic. They held memorials for both Tony and Natasha, but neither had a casket. Natasha's body couldn't be recovered, and Tony...
Tony had—
Tony had given Rhodey specific instructions. Steve hadn't pressed for details, but Tony had given Rhodey specific instructions, and they held a memorial without a body, and FRIDAY just led him to a secret chamber in Tony's workshop with a only regeneration cradle inside. It's impossible, and he's out of his mind for even considering it, but a wild wave of hope washes over him and Steve runs up to the cradle so fast that he has to brace two hands against it to absorb his momentum.
From over the edge of the cradle, Tony Stark stares back at him, alive.
"Is this real?" That isn't what Steve meant to say, but it was the loudest thought in his head, and when he opened his mouth to speak it just escaped.
Tony clutches at the rim until his fingers turn white, but manages to keep his expression schooled, the panic mostly off his face. His eyes are a little wider than normal, but well, maybe Steve won't notice. (God, what a fucking thing to ask, when Tony himself isn't sure where the border of reality is. When it comes down to it, he's pushing the envelope, defining a new kind of reality.)
"Well, I didn't give FRIDAY specific instructions in that particular area," he drawls, "but I assume everything's made to according to plan." Because somehow, even in the middle of a minor panic attack, Tony's brain leaps straight for innuendo - even if the joke falls a little flat. It's the easiest coping mechanism to latch onto, the one that allows them both to steer clear of anything dangerous like emotions. "Do you ask that question every time you see someone naked, Cap, or am I just special?"
He grins at Steve as he forces himself to sit up, and the grin is just a hair shy of a manic rictus, but it's there, and that's what counts.
("Boss, your vital signs-" Friday insists quietly in the background, and Tony mutters something out of the corner of his mouth at her, waving the displays away with a hand.)
"I know there are some clothes around here somewhere - or I hope there are, anyway. At least a towel." Tony frowns at the room. Had he remembered clothes? It seems like so long ago, and, to be fair, getting everything in working condition had been more important than preserving his modesty (not that he's ever had much).
(And speaking of a lack of modesty - or, rather, vanity - if he just so happens to look a few years younger, a few pounds lighter - well, he can't help it if he took advantage of the opportunity to shave a few years off, can he? What does it matter, in the scheme of things? How is it any different from Botox?)
"Ah-" As he steps out of the cradle, he spots his arc reactor on a table, and that's more immediately important than clothing. Except that somehow, his neurons misfire, and he finds himself in an undignified heap on the floor in front of Steve fucking Rogers, because that's just how his life works.
"Fuck," Tony mumbles, looking up at Steve. "I'm fine, I promise, just a little glitch. You wanna give me a hand?"
"Well, I didn't give FRIDAY specific instructions in that particular area," he drawls, "but I assume everything's made to according to plan." Because somehow, even in the middle of a minor panic attack, Tony's brain leaps straight for innuendo - even if the joke falls a little flat. It's the easiest coping mechanism to latch onto, the one that allows them both to steer clear of anything dangerous like emotions. "Do you ask that question every time you see someone naked, Cap, or am I just special?"
He grins at Steve as he forces himself to sit up, and the grin is just a hair shy of a manic rictus, but it's there, and that's what counts.
("Boss, your vital signs-" Friday insists quietly in the background, and Tony mutters something out of the corner of his mouth at her, waving the displays away with a hand.)
"I know there are some clothes around here somewhere - or I hope there are, anyway. At least a towel." Tony frowns at the room. Had he remembered clothes? It seems like so long ago, and, to be fair, getting everything in working condition had been more important than preserving his modesty (not that he's ever had much).
(And speaking of a lack of modesty - or, rather, vanity - if he just so happens to look a few years younger, a few pounds lighter - well, he can't help it if he took advantage of the opportunity to shave a few years off, can he? What does it matter, in the scheme of things? How is it any different from Botox?)
"Ah-" As he steps out of the cradle, he spots his arc reactor on a table, and that's more immediately important than clothing. Except that somehow, his neurons misfire, and he finds himself in an undignified heap on the floor in front of Steve fucking Rogers, because that's just how his life works.
"Fuck," Tony mumbles, looking up at Steve. "I'm fine, I promise, just a little glitch. You wanna give me a hand?"
Edited (tenses /waves hand vaguely) 2020-07-16 01:00 (UTC)
If Sam had voiced his thought about staying in Wakanda, Steve would have agreed, albeit for different reasons. Steve should have left Wakanda on his own, even if it meant stealing away in the night and denying Sam the chance to argue his case for coming along. Steve wasn't strong enough, then, to tough it out alone, and now look what's happened. He can't seem to stop putting people in harm's way.
Enough. There will be plenty of time for kicking himself later. Right now, Sam has a wound in need of tending.
Their better-than-average first aid kit includes a supply of local anesthetic, because Steve knows what it's like to go without and doesn't wish it on anyone. When Sam comes to, Steve is laser-focused on administering the anesthesia.
"I know what I'm doing," he replies without moving his eyes from the syringe, which he holds at eye level to check for air bubbles. Satisfied, Steve turns his attention to the wound. "Little prick," he warns before the first injection, starting from the top of the slash, just a few millimeters from the actual cut. He injects a small dose of anesthetic and pushes the two-inch needle a little further, keeping parallel with the wound, until he’s deposited the anesthetic evenly. He has to repeat the process two more times to span the length of the wound, then start again from the opposite side.
When it's done, there's nothing to do but wait. In a few minutes he'll test if Sam is fully numb, but for now…
Finally, Steve looks up and meets Sam's eyes. He hates seeing Sam like this, hates hearing him sound so weak and tired. Karmically speaking, Steve has probably earned this, with the number of times that Sam has had to sit at the edge of his recovery bed. It just makes him feel worse for not having appreciated how it must have felt on the other side.
It fucking sucks.
"You scared the shit out of me," he admits. It isn't pointed or bitter; he isn't trying to guilt Sam. It's just the plain truth: he was worried. Is worried, even if Sam cracking wise about his predicament is a good sign.
Enough. There will be plenty of time for kicking himself later. Right now, Sam has a wound in need of tending.
Their better-than-average first aid kit includes a supply of local anesthetic, because Steve knows what it's like to go without and doesn't wish it on anyone. When Sam comes to, Steve is laser-focused on administering the anesthesia.
"I know what I'm doing," he replies without moving his eyes from the syringe, which he holds at eye level to check for air bubbles. Satisfied, Steve turns his attention to the wound. "Little prick," he warns before the first injection, starting from the top of the slash, just a few millimeters from the actual cut. He injects a small dose of anesthetic and pushes the two-inch needle a little further, keeping parallel with the wound, until he’s deposited the anesthetic evenly. He has to repeat the process two more times to span the length of the wound, then start again from the opposite side.
When it's done, there's nothing to do but wait. In a few minutes he'll test if Sam is fully numb, but for now…
Finally, Steve looks up and meets Sam's eyes. He hates seeing Sam like this, hates hearing him sound so weak and tired. Karmically speaking, Steve has probably earned this, with the number of times that Sam has had to sit at the edge of his recovery bed. It just makes him feel worse for not having appreciated how it must have felt on the other side.
It fucking sucks.
"You scared the shit out of me," he admits. It isn't pointed or bitter; he isn't trying to guilt Sam. It's just the plain truth: he was worried. Is worried, even if Sam cracking wise about his predicament is a good sign.
"Yeah, welcome to my world," Sam responds wryly, but with good humor. He doesn't regret any of the time spent by Steve's bedside or chasing after him whenever he has some batshit idea. It's time freely given, and Steve knows as well as he does that Sam will keep doing it sure as the sun rises in the east, sure as Steve will keep getting himself into trouble no matter what size he is.
He lifts one shoulder slightly in an almost-shrug. "Shoulda been faster. I need Nat around to whip my ass back into shape." And an actual training facility, for that matter, if he's going to try to blame it on his physical condition. Running is fine for keeping in shape physically, but Sam's particular skillset involves no small amount of agility training. Natasha's good for that when it comes to fighting because she's an unenhanced human, and she doesn't have to hold back the way Steve does.
Of course, Sam also knows that his precarious mental state is taking a very physical toll on his body, that he's too old to successfully hide it the way he might have been able to a decade ago. (Aging is the fucking worst sometimes.) Admitting to physical weakness is relatively easy, especially when your best friend's stronger and faster than you could ever be. No room for ego there. But he's always been well aware that he's one of the Avengers who actually has their emotional shit relatively well together, and arguably the only one smart enough to see a therapist about any of it. He knows that he should fess up to his problems, but - and he knows it's stupid, knows it's just his brain working against him - he doesn't want Steve to view him as a liability.
(There's always that impostor syndrome lurking in the back of his head, the one that tells him he can't keep up with all these folks with powers, that Sam's normal-ass self doesn't belong with the rest of the Avengers. It tells him that he's just the fucking sidekick to Captain America, that he'll never be able to keep up with Steve. Most of the time, he's successful in telling that voice to shut the fuck up. But not always, and it doesn't go away when he does.)
"I hate it when they're holed up in buildings," Sam grumbles. Not only does it mean that he can't fight from the air, but it also means he can't use his wings in combat; even the shortened span when he uses them as shields can be cumbersome in an enclosed space. Yeah, he's damn good at fighting unaided, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like having an advantage. Might have kept him from getting hurt earlier. "How come nobody ever makes it easy for us, Steve?"
He lifts one shoulder slightly in an almost-shrug. "Shoulda been faster. I need Nat around to whip my ass back into shape." And an actual training facility, for that matter, if he's going to try to blame it on his physical condition. Running is fine for keeping in shape physically, but Sam's particular skillset involves no small amount of agility training. Natasha's good for that when it comes to fighting because she's an unenhanced human, and she doesn't have to hold back the way Steve does.
Of course, Sam also knows that his precarious mental state is taking a very physical toll on his body, that he's too old to successfully hide it the way he might have been able to a decade ago. (Aging is the fucking worst sometimes.) Admitting to physical weakness is relatively easy, especially when your best friend's stronger and faster than you could ever be. No room for ego there. But he's always been well aware that he's one of the Avengers who actually has their emotional shit relatively well together, and arguably the only one smart enough to see a therapist about any of it. He knows that he should fess up to his problems, but - and he knows it's stupid, knows it's just his brain working against him - he doesn't want Steve to view him as a liability.
(There's always that impostor syndrome lurking in the back of his head, the one that tells him he can't keep up with all these folks with powers, that Sam's normal-ass self doesn't belong with the rest of the Avengers. It tells him that he's just the fucking sidekick to Captain America, that he'll never be able to keep up with Steve. Most of the time, he's successful in telling that voice to shut the fuck up. But not always, and it doesn't go away when he does.)
"I hate it when they're holed up in buildings," Sam grumbles. Not only does it mean that he can't fight from the air, but it also means he can't use his wings in combat; even the shortened span when he uses them as shields can be cumbersome in an enclosed space. Yeah, he's damn good at fighting unaided, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like having an advantage. Might have kept him from getting hurt earlier. "How come nobody ever makes it easy for us, Steve?"
( As Tony lifts the gauntlet, veins of pure, bright energy searing through his nanite armor, an inevitable outcome flashes before Steve eyes: once again, he is frozen, powerless, and entirely responsible for what he knows will happen next. In the back of his mind, he can hear Sam telling him about Riley— It's like I was up there just to watch— and the rapidly fading echo of Bucky's screams when he fell. When Steve let him slip.
But this time, Tony is miraculously within reach. Steve jumps into action without a second thought, closing the gap between them in time to wrap his hand around Iron Man's wrist, redirecting and absorbing the endothermic force of the infinity gems.
And that, he expects, is it.
Which is fine. In fact, it's good. It's right. When he first met Tony, Steve accused him of not being brave enough to lay down on the wire. Steve throwing himself on the wire to spare Tony— that's a fitting end. He can make peace with that.
He remembers the feeling, like lava in his veins, pure energy ripping through every molecule of his being. The romanticism of it all comes as a strange, unexpected comfort. His love life was a miserable string of missed opportunities and eventual tragedies. Self-immolating at Tony Stark's feet is a much more explosive gesture than Steve ever would have allowed himself, but since this is the end of him anyway, he's allowed to be dramatic without the guilt, just this once.
Despite his certainty that this is the end, it doesn't take Steve long to catch up when he comes to in a hospital bed. He was intimately familiar with the experience since long before the serum. Not that it's comforting— if he survived the blast, he must be recovering, and the serum can handle that without him being hooked up to several different machines and confined to a stark, empty room.
No, not empty. Not completely. He forces his eyes open, squinting against the harsh overhead lighting to see Tony hovering between the threshold, speaking quietly into his phone.
Steve intends to ask any one of the many questions running through his head: what happened to Thanos and his army? Why isn't Tony in his own hospital bed? How is he alive? But his efforts to form words devolve into a coughing fit as Steve realizes for the first time how dry his throat feels.
Well. That's one way to alert Tony that he's awake. )
But this time, Tony is miraculously within reach. Steve jumps into action without a second thought, closing the gap between them in time to wrap his hand around Iron Man's wrist, redirecting and absorbing the endothermic force of the infinity gems.
And that, he expects, is it.
Which is fine. In fact, it's good. It's right. When he first met Tony, Steve accused him of not being brave enough to lay down on the wire. Steve throwing himself on the wire to spare Tony— that's a fitting end. He can make peace with that.
He remembers the feeling, like lava in his veins, pure energy ripping through every molecule of his being. The romanticism of it all comes as a strange, unexpected comfort. His love life was a miserable string of missed opportunities and eventual tragedies. Self-immolating at Tony Stark's feet is a much more explosive gesture than Steve ever would have allowed himself, but since this is the end of him anyway, he's allowed to be dramatic without the guilt, just this once.
Despite his certainty that this is the end, it doesn't take Steve long to catch up when he comes to in a hospital bed. He was intimately familiar with the experience since long before the serum. Not that it's comforting— if he survived the blast, he must be recovering, and the serum can handle that without him being hooked up to several different machines and confined to a stark, empty room.
No, not empty. Not completely. He forces his eyes open, squinting against the harsh overhead lighting to see Tony hovering between the threshold, speaking quietly into his phone.
Steve intends to ask any one of the many questions running through his head: what happened to Thanos and his army? Why isn't Tony in his own hospital bed? How is he alive? But his efforts to form words devolve into a coughing fit as Steve realizes for the first time how dry his throat feels.
Well. That's one way to alert Tony that he's awake. )
[There are probably a half-dozen doctors and nurses who would also like to know why Tony isn't in his own hospital bed, but Tony's always been a terrible patient. Frankly, he refuses to stay in a hospital gown one second longer than is absolutely necessary. At least he can try to hide the gauze covering his right hand in normal clothes - though not very well, because stuffing it in his pocket hurts, big surprise there, so he's mostly just...trying to keep it where Steve can't see it. He hasn't seen it without the bandages yet, and he isn't sure he wants to.
He also isn't sure he should be standing right now - or how much longer his legs will hold him - but that doesn't matter. Tony taps the phone with his thumb to end the call when he hears Steve coughing. He'd known all along that Steve would wake up - was more certain of it than the doctors at some points - because not waking up simply wasn't an option in Tony's mind. Because he'd been willing to call in every doctor, right up to Stephen fucking Strange, to make sure it happened.
And while there's a rush of relief when Steve coughs, the deep anger he's been nursing this whole time flares up after a few moments, like an ember fanned into flames.]
What the fuck? [He tries to snap, but his own voice isn't up to much more than a harsh croak. Tony grabs the pitcher on the bedside table and pours two glasses of water, eyes Steve to try and gauge if he's capable of drinking on his own. He'll probably make a valiant attempt regardless, Tony thinks. God, he's so fucking stubborn.]
He also isn't sure he should be standing right now - or how much longer his legs will hold him - but that doesn't matter. Tony taps the phone with his thumb to end the call when he hears Steve coughing. He'd known all along that Steve would wake up - was more certain of it than the doctors at some points - because not waking up simply wasn't an option in Tony's mind. Because he'd been willing to call in every doctor, right up to Stephen fucking Strange, to make sure it happened.
And while there's a rush of relief when Steve coughs, the deep anger he's been nursing this whole time flares up after a few moments, like an ember fanned into flames.]
What the fuck? [He tries to snap, but his own voice isn't up to much more than a harsh croak. Tony grabs the pitcher on the bedside table and pours two glasses of water, eyes Steve to try and gauge if he's capable of drinking on his own. He'll probably make a valiant attempt regardless, Tony thinks. God, he's so fucking stubborn.]
[ Huh. Leave it to Tony Stark to bring an element of surprise to Steve's time honored tradition of gaining consciousness in hospital beds. Steve frowns, too thrown off for that defiant spark that Tony is so skilled at igniting in him to come online. At least, not yet.
He starts to push himself up and nearly collapses right back down. Putting weight of any kind on his left hand is out of the question— he really should have anticipated that. Leaning on his right elbow, he is able to (rather ungracefully) scoot himself up into a more upright position.
He accepts the water without thanks, mainly because he doesn't trust himself to speak again until he has emptied the glass. Then he looks over to Tony and, sounding a bit more uncertain than the sarcasm would imply, tells him: ] You're welcome?
He starts to push himself up and nearly collapses right back down. Putting weight of any kind on his left hand is out of the question— he really should have anticipated that. Leaning on his right elbow, he is able to (rather ungracefully) scoot himself up into a more upright position.
He accepts the water without thanks, mainly because he doesn't trust himself to speak again until he has emptied the glass. Then he looks over to Tony and, sounding a bit more uncertain than the sarcasm would imply, tells him: ] You're welcome?
[Tony closes his eyes for a second. He knows he should be grateful to Steve for saving his life, but it's hard to convince himself of that fact. Steve is Captain America, with all that implies. At the end of the day, Tony believes that Steve is inherently worth more than he is. Hell, even Thor's hammer thinks so. He'd come to terms with dying (not for the first time, although he hadn't exactly handled it with grace previously), accepted that he'd been set up as the sacrificial lamb (thanks for that, Strange). And then Steve, being his usual idiot self, had thrown himself in between Tony and a hero's death.]
No, [he rasps, and then adds,] well, yes, [because his mother hadn't drilled manners into him for nothing.] But also, and let me restate this for emphasis- [he holds up his hand and then picks up the water and takes a long drink.] What. The. Fuck.
No, [he rasps, and then adds,] well, yes, [because his mother hadn't drilled manners into him for nothing.] But also, and let me restate this for emphasis- [he holds up his hand and then picks up the water and takes a long drink.] What. The. Fuck.
[ It's so classic Tony Stark— from the back and forth with himself to the brief pause for inconvenient necessities like breathing or drinking water before diving right back into what he was saying— that Steve can't help laughing. He does, however, regret it immediately. Regrets the laughter, that is, not what he did on the battlefield. The fact that Tony is sitting here, angry, sure, perhaps a tad subdued, but still practically bursting with energy— with life— is proof that Steve made the right call.
And that's all he really has to say for himself. ]
"Not try dying," remember? [ He echoes Tony's words back to him. Was that really only a few days ago? ] I made you a deal.
And that's all he really has to say for himself. ]
"Not try dying," remember? [ He echoes Tony's words back to him. Was that really only a few days ago? ] I made you a deal.
[A few days ago, plus or minus the time Steve was unconscious, but let's not talk about that just yet.]
I think you also said "whatever it takes". And what it took was me using the Infinity Stones to turn Thanos and his alien army to dust. And I was okay with that! Someone had to do it, you know?
[He sets the glass down again and holds up a finger.]
What someone did not have to do was tackle me to the ground [he may be exaggerating a bit here] and try to end up like goddamn Anakin Skywalker. And by someone, I mean you, in case we aren't entirely clear here. I didn't need to be saved by a knight in shining armor.
[He didn't want to be saved. He's not sure he does now, either.]
I think you also said "whatever it takes". And what it took was me using the Infinity Stones to turn Thanos and his alien army to dust. And I was okay with that! Someone had to do it, you know?
[He sets the glass down again and holds up a finger.]
What someone did not have to do was tackle me to the ground [he may be exaggerating a bit here] and try to end up like goddamn Anakin Skywalker. And by someone, I mean you, in case we aren't entirely clear here. I didn't need to be saved by a knight in shining armor.
[He didn't want to be saved. He's not sure he does now, either.]
[ For some reason, it's the last thing that Tony says— that he didn't need to be saved— that cuts deepest. It makes Steve feel like a selfish fool for ever trying to assign a grand romantic meaning to what he thought was his last breath. Tony's right, he doesn't need a knight in shining armor. Even if he did, Steve took himself out of the running for that title years ago. No amount of bridge mending or sacrifice plays will ever change that.
But in this case, as much as Steve feels like an idiot, it's Tony who will have to suck it up. The fact that he's still alive to be mad at Steve trumps everything else.
Steve looks Tony dead on, clenches his jaw, and says: ] "Whatever it takes" extends to saving you. You're not getting an apology from me. Not for this.
But in this case, as much as Steve feels like an idiot, it's Tony who will have to suck it up. The fact that he's still alive to be mad at Steve trumps everything else.
Steve looks Tony dead on, clenches his jaw, and says: ] "Whatever it takes" extends to saving you. You're not getting an apology from me. Not for this.
I don't want an apology.
[Tony starts to fold his arms over his chest, then remembers his injured right hand and tucks both hands behind his back. The trouble is, he's not sure what he wants, except to yell at Steve. Which, okay, he's accomplished.]
I just wanted to make sure you knew how stupid you were for doing that.
[Aaaand now he's lingering awkwardly. Now that Steve's awake, Tony doesn't want to leave. Some part of him is subconsciously worried that if he takes his eyes off of him, he'll disappear - dissolve into dust, pry himself out of the hospital bed and fuck off for another two years, whatever, Tony doesn't want it to happen.
Not that he's willing to admit that.]
You- the world needs people like you more than it needs people like me.
[Tony starts to fold his arms over his chest, then remembers his injured right hand and tucks both hands behind his back. The trouble is, he's not sure what he wants, except to yell at Steve. Which, okay, he's accomplished.]
I just wanted to make sure you knew how stupid you were for doing that.
[Aaaand now he's lingering awkwardly. Now that Steve's awake, Tony doesn't want to leave. Some part of him is subconsciously worried that if he takes his eyes off of him, he'll disappear - dissolve into dust, pry himself out of the hospital bed and fuck off for another two years, whatever, Tony doesn't want it to happen.
Not that he's willing to admit that.]
You- the world needs people like you more than it needs people like me.
[ Steve furrows his brow and curls his mouth in an exaggerated display of incredulity. ]
You know, for such a smart person, you say the stupidest things sometimes.
[ Even hoarse and weak as he sounds right now, there's some bite in his voice. He's as angry with Tony for saying it as he is with himself. Tony knows better than anyone that when it mattered most, Steve wasn't the man that the world— hell, the universe— needed him to be. ]
You're the only reason any of this worked. All I did was drag you back in, so yeah, when I saw a chance to make sure you got out again, I took it.
You know, for such a smart person, you say the stupidest things sometimes.
[ Even hoarse and weak as he sounds right now, there's some bite in his voice. He's as angry with Tony for saying it as he is with himself. Tony knows better than anyone that when it mattered most, Steve wasn't the man that the world— hell, the universe— needed him to be. ]
You're the only reason any of this worked. All I did was drag you back in, so yeah, when I saw a chance to make sure you got out again, I took it.
[Tony feels behind him for the chair next to the bed, sitting down a little heavier than is necessary. His legs aren't going to hold him much longer, and he's not going to waste his strength standing up to argue with Steve.
(Steve might have taken the brunt of the energy from the gauntlet, but Tony's not without his own injuries - and that doesn't count the bangs and bruises already incurred in the fight. Tony's just an old hand at faking being better off than he actually is.)]
There is no way to get out. [His lips twist into a parody of a smile.] One thing happens, you think you're done, and then there's the next and the next, always something bigger and badder. I think- I don't think I'll be able to go back into retirement.
[Which is unrelated to giving Steve a hard time for saving him, but the thing about Tony's anger is that it blazes up hot and cools down just as quickly. Doesn't mean he can't hold a grudge, but it does mean that there are times when he's just not angry enough to bash his head against the brick wall that is Steve Rogers.
(Sometimes, he is.)
He sighs; his shoulders slump, and suddenly he looks old and tired.] What I meant was that you're a good person. I...I'm a lot of things, but nobody's ever accused me of that. Which I guess probably explains why you saved me - you being a good person, not me being an asshole. Not that you can't be an asshole sometimes, but- [Tony grimaces and shakes his head.] Not the point.
(Steve might have taken the brunt of the energy from the gauntlet, but Tony's not without his own injuries - and that doesn't count the bangs and bruises already incurred in the fight. Tony's just an old hand at faking being better off than he actually is.)]
There is no way to get out. [His lips twist into a parody of a smile.] One thing happens, you think you're done, and then there's the next and the next, always something bigger and badder. I think- I don't think I'll be able to go back into retirement.
[Which is unrelated to giving Steve a hard time for saving him, but the thing about Tony's anger is that it blazes up hot and cools down just as quickly. Doesn't mean he can't hold a grudge, but it does mean that there are times when he's just not angry enough to bash his head against the brick wall that is Steve Rogers.
(Sometimes, he is.)
He sighs; his shoulders slump, and suddenly he looks old and tired.] What I meant was that you're a good person. I...I'm a lot of things, but nobody's ever accused me of that. Which I guess probably explains why you saved me - you being a good person, not me being an asshole. Not that you can't be an asshole sometimes, but- [Tony grimaces and shakes his head.] Not the point.
[ Steve can be like a dog with a bone, but he's tired too, and less capable of hiding it (though not for lack of trying). Tony standing down and relaxing his posture takes the steam out of Steve's response. That, and he's ashamed that it took Tony letting his guard down for Steve to remember that they're both recovering. He should've insisted that Tony sit down sooner.
He doesn't have time to dwell on that, however, because then Tony is telling him that he's a good person. Sure, it's not "knight in shining armor," but it's something. Of course, Tony doesn't know that Steve's actions weren't purely selfless. Tony can't know, because this is progress of some sort and the last thing Steve wants is to end up back at square one.
It's going to be difficult to toe the line between saying what he wants to say and showing all his cards, but Tony could put that wall back up at any moment, so there's no time to waste. ]
Then let me be the first. You're a good person, Tony. I would've said that sooner but I— [ Steve realizes that this admission is much more honest than he intended, and that feels inherently uncomfortable, but he can't think of anything to else to say, so he adopts a different tone, trying to shrug it off, minimize it. ] —I didn't think you needed to hear my opinion.
He doesn't have time to dwell on that, however, because then Tony is telling him that he's a good person. Sure, it's not "knight in shining armor," but it's something. Of course, Tony doesn't know that Steve's actions weren't purely selfless. Tony can't know, because this is progress of some sort and the last thing Steve wants is to end up back at square one.
It's going to be difficult to toe the line between saying what he wants to say and showing all his cards, but Tony could put that wall back up at any moment, so there's no time to waste. ]
Then let me be the first. You're a good person, Tony. I would've said that sooner but I— [ Steve realizes that this admission is much more honest than he intended, and that feels inherently uncomfortable, but he can't think of anything to else to say, so he adopts a different tone, trying to shrug it off, minimize it. ] —I didn't think you needed to hear my opinion.
[Tony laughs, and the sound is a little sad.] That's the kind of thing I would tell my therapist about, if I had one. Tell you what, we'll grab some Pym particles and hop back a few decades so you can say that in front of my dad, and then I won't have to worry about the therapy bills.
[Ha, ha. It's a hilarious joke, except that, actually, being told he's a good person by his childhood hero is arguably the most important thing to ever happen to Tony. And, yes, he's definitely discovered that Steve is human and has way, way too many flaws and a fist he never wants to be on the receiving end of ever again (for more reasons than just one), but there's still one tiny part of Tony that remembers that moment of awe he had back on the helicarrier, seeing Captain America in the flesh for the first time (shortly before discovering what a pain in the ass he could be). Not to mention the significantly larger part of Tony that- well. That doesn't matter. He threw away any chance of that back in Siberia.]
Anyway, you should've known that I'll never turn down an opportunity to have my ego stroked. [He tries to smile at Steve, tries to summon the ghost of his former self to cover up his moment of vulnerability. He can't quite make it all the way to innuendo, though - but that cuts a little too close to home for him, so it's probably for the best.]
[Ha, ha. It's a hilarious joke, except that, actually, being told he's a good person by his childhood hero is arguably the most important thing to ever happen to Tony. And, yes, he's definitely discovered that Steve is human and has way, way too many flaws and a fist he never wants to be on the receiving end of ever again (for more reasons than just one), but there's still one tiny part of Tony that remembers that moment of awe he had back on the helicarrier, seeing Captain America in the flesh for the first time (shortly before discovering what a pain in the ass he could be). Not to mention the significantly larger part of Tony that- well. That doesn't matter. He threw away any chance of that back in Siberia.]
Anyway, you should've known that I'll never turn down an opportunity to have my ego stroked. [He tries to smile at Steve, tries to summon the ghost of his former self to cover up his moment of vulnerability. He can't quite make it all the way to innuendo, though - but that cuts a little too close to home for him, so it's probably for the best.]
[ Tony laughs it off, which is not unexpected. He seems about as comfortable with emotional honesty as Steve is— which is to say, not at all. Steve wonders if Tony's deflections have always sounded so hollow, only Steve was too wrapped up in his own bullshit to notice before.
Maybe that therapist Tony joked about would tell Steve that he barely possessed the emotional capacity to process his own turmoil, back then, and that he might consider going a little easy on himself. Which, of course, would only awaken the dreaded stubborn impulses that have always made Steve Rogers a nightmare patient.
Steve's own laugh comes out as a pathetic little chuckle; anything else would rattle his bones, all 206 of which feel sore down to the very marrow. ]
I just assumed you'd be a little more selective about who does the stroking, that's all. [ Regret slams into Steve as soon as the words are out, but they're out there now, floating in the dead silence that follows. Actually, dead silence is more descriptive of the panicked emptiness that suddenly fills Steve's head; the monitor hooked up to Steve's pulse is actually getting louder by the second.
He knows the chances of Tony letting a classic "that's what she said" moment slip by are close to none. It's a good thing that lost causes are Steve's specialty.
Steve sighs heavily, wincing. ] Yes, I heard how that came out, but before you never let me hear the end of it, consider that you kind of owe me one right now.
[ Of course, Steve doesn't really see it that way, but if his actions today earned him any good will, now's the time to cash in. ]
Maybe that therapist Tony joked about would tell Steve that he barely possessed the emotional capacity to process his own turmoil, back then, and that he might consider going a little easy on himself. Which, of course, would only awaken the dreaded stubborn impulses that have always made Steve Rogers a nightmare patient.
Steve's own laugh comes out as a pathetic little chuckle; anything else would rattle his bones, all 206 of which feel sore down to the very marrow. ]
I just assumed you'd be a little more selective about who does the stroking, that's all. [ Regret slams into Steve as soon as the words are out, but they're out there now, floating in the dead silence that follows. Actually, dead silence is more descriptive of the panicked emptiness that suddenly fills Steve's head; the monitor hooked up to Steve's pulse is actually getting louder by the second.
He knows the chances of Tony letting a classic "that's what she said" moment slip by are close to none. It's a good thing that lost causes are Steve's specialty.
Steve sighs heavily, wincing. ] Yes, I heard how that came out, but before you never let me hear the end of it, consider that you kind of owe me one right now.
[ Of course, Steve doesn't really see it that way, but if his actions today earned him any good will, now's the time to cash in. ]
[Tony bites his tongue on 'that was deliberate' because, wow, getting into that is so not what he needs right now. (It was, though, and normally he'd love to give Steve shit about innuendo, but innuendo directed at him is a whole other ball game.) Instead, he raises his eyebrows.]
I would, but Rhodey's never stopped calling me Tony Stank, and that one is completely on you.
[Not that he really wants to bring up anything related to that period of their lives - it's almost certainly a bad idea - but he's running out of safe topics to talk about, assuming there were any safe topics to begin with (debatable).]
I would, but Rhodey's never stopped calling me Tony Stank, and that one is completely on you.
[Not that he really wants to bring up anything related to that period of their lives - it's almost certainly a bad idea - but he's running out of safe topics to talk about, assuming there were any safe topics to begin with (debatable).]
[ Steve knits his brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. ] Stank?
[ There's a story there, and yes, it presents Steve a quick escape from his unfortunate fumble, but Steve is just as intrigued as he is relieved for the save. It's not lost on Steve that Tony is volunteering something embarrassing about himself as a distraction. Steve feels uncomfortably warm as he digests that Tony trusts him enough to show even this small vulnerability. ]
[ There's a story there, and yes, it presents Steve a quick escape from his unfortunate fumble, but Steve is just as intrigued as he is relieved for the save. It's not lost on Steve that Tony is volunteering something embarrassing about himself as a distraction. Steve feels uncomfortably warm as he digests that Tony trusts him enough to show even this small vulnerability. ]
Yeah, the FedEx guy read your shitty handwriting as Tony Stank, and unfortunately, Rhodey just happened to be there when he did.
[A shrug. Tony doesn't like it, but Rhodey at least only uses it in private (in spite of threats to the contrary), and usually when he's getting annoyed about Tony asking after Steve. He's had more embarrassing nicknames, anyway.
Probably.]
Come on, didn't they teach you how to write with a quill and ink pot or something? Maybe papyrus?
[A shrug. Tony doesn't like it, but Rhodey at least only uses it in private (in spite of threats to the contrary), and usually when he's getting annoyed about Tony asking after Steve. He's had more embarrassing nicknames, anyway.
Probably.]
Come on, didn't they teach you how to write with a quill and ink pot or something? Maybe papyrus?
Stone tablet, actually. [ Steve makes a crack right back, slipping into perhaps the least charged back-and-forth he's ever had with Tony Stark. This feels easier than it has any right to, and Steve expects the other shoe will drop sooner than he'd like, but worrying himself with the inevitable requires energy he hasn't yet recovered. ]
I was the top chiseler in my class.
[ Is he using jokes to awkwardly side step the elephant in the room? Absolutely. But Tony doesn't seem any more inclined to get into the details of that FedEx package. Maybe they really can just leave it be. Maybe this is progress. ]
I was the top chiseler in my class.
[ Is he using jokes to awkwardly side step the elephant in the room? Absolutely. But Tony doesn't seem any more inclined to get into the details of that FedEx package. Maybe they really can just leave it be. Maybe this is progress. ]
Like you could even pick up a mallet before the serum.
[But there's something almost affectionate about the way he teases Steve - or at least a little friendlier than his earlier anger. Something closer to the banter they'd had before everything went sideways.]
Painting on cave walls seems like it's more your style. [He bats his eyelashes at Steve.] Draw me like one of your Neanderthal girls, Rogers.
[But there's something almost affectionate about the way he teases Steve - or at least a little friendlier than his earlier anger. Something closer to the banter they'd had before everything went sideways.]
Painting on cave walls seems like it's more your style. [He bats his eyelashes at Steve.] Draw me like one of your Neanderthal girls, Rogers.
Hah! [ A bark of laughter rips out of Steve before he can catch himself. Only a handful of people would tease him about that. Years ago, Steve would have taken it like a sucker punch, especially coming from Tony, who had seen right through him from the moment they met, when he pegged the serum as the only thing making Steve special. The years since have humbled him, and his group counseling stint mellowed him (by a very narrow, relative margin, but still). Steve doesn't bristle like he would have before, and he isn't defensively committed to misunderstanding Tony.
It still ends up feeling like a sucker punch, though. Steve's laugh dissolves into a groan as his body makes him regret every individual nerve ending. A couple of minutes and some very deep breaths later, he is more or less leveled out, if a little red in the face. ]
You know you'd have to sit still for a portrait, right?
[ Of course Steve didn't make it to 2023 without seeing Titanic, but right now he's really wishing he had. Knowing exactly what Tony's referencing in this instance is a curse. ]
It still ends up feeling like a sucker punch, though. Steve's laugh dissolves into a groan as his body makes him regret every individual nerve ending. A couple of minutes and some very deep breaths later, he is more or less leveled out, if a little red in the face. ]
You know you'd have to sit still for a portrait, right?
[ Of course Steve didn't make it to 2023 without seeing Titanic, but right now he's really wishing he had. Knowing exactly what Tony's referencing in this instance is a curse. ]
[That laugh actually gets something more like a genuine smile out of Tony, albeit a small one - but then Steve groans and Tony feels pain knife through his own body. He doubles over in the chair and tries to suck in a deep breath, head between his knees. He assumes the painkillers the doctors have dosed him with are wearing off, nothing more; after a few moments, the pain eases, and he's able to sit up again.]
Can't do a lot else right now. [Tony pulls a face at his own weakness; he's not as young as he used to be, and he knows from experience that he's not going to bounce back like he might have ten years ago.] But a valid point nonetheless, since I don't know how soon you'll be picking up a pencil.
[Sooner than he will, probably. The serum's like that.]
Can't do a lot else right now. [Tony pulls a face at his own weakness; he's not as young as he used to be, and he knows from experience that he's not going to bounce back like he might have ten years ago.] But a valid point nonetheless, since I don't know how soon you'll be picking up a pencil.
[Sooner than he will, probably. The serum's like that.]
[ Steve lifts his right hand and wiggles his fingers. He still has dirt under his fingernails from digging through the rubble of their headquarters. But the main thing is: ]
Still got my drawing hand.
[ His left arm is covered in gauze from the shoulder down to his fingertips. If the angry, blistered skin around his shoulder and collarbone are any indication, it's not pretty.
The serum has never been put to the test like this, but it hasn't failed him yet. Steve is more concerned about Tony— he caught a glimpse in his periphery of Tony doubled over, but by the time Steve recovered, Tony was already upright again. ]
Still got my drawing hand.
[ His left arm is covered in gauze from the shoulder down to his fingertips. If the angry, blistered skin around his shoulder and collarbone are any indication, it's not pretty.
The serum has never been put to the test like this, but it hasn't failed him yet. Steve is more concerned about Tony— he caught a glimpse in his periphery of Tony doubled over, but by the time Steve recovered, Tony was already upright again. ]
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