shield | open post.

[Even after more than a decade, Tony still visibly flinches at the words 'garden variety IED'. He knows Steve doesn't mean anything by it - god knows he's made enough verbal missteps - but Tony still has nightmares about the explosion, about waking up in the cave.

(He wonders for a moment if Steve ever dreams about crashing into the ocean, if he was even conscious for that part, if his memory would concoct it for him.)

Tony takes a drink of water and forces a neutral expression back onto his face.]

Yeah, well, I do the best I can with the materials available. This isn't Wakanda, you know.

[ Steve is familiar enough with his body's panic response to recognize the sudden, unprovoked hammering of his heart against his rib cage and the bolts of pins-and-needles traveling up his extremities. After everything his body has been through, a delayed panic attack sounds perfectly reasonable, but why now?

He made Tony flinch. The last time that happened, Steve was raising his shield over the arc reactor. Maybe he made the connection subconsciously the memory is what set him off.

Steve is more concerned about what triggered Tony, and it doesn't take a genius to pinpoint the exact words. ]

That was... a really stupid thing to say to you. [ He looks directly at Tony, his expression serious. This is the kind of straightforward communication Steve has always failed at, especially when it comes to Tony, and he can't let himself off the hook if he ever hopes to improve. ] I'm sorry, Tony. I should've thought it through.

I talked about explosives first. It's- it's not your fault.

[Tony remembers the panic attacks he used to have - not about Afghanistan, but about riding a nuke into space and knowing the portal would shut behind him. About giving up everything - about the possibility of sacrificing everything and still not being enough. This...this is small-scale, relatively speaking, which doesn't really help calm him down at all. He rubs his thumb over the fingers of his uninjured hand, tries to steady his breathing.]

Talk about something else.

[He needs to divert his thoughts, and he can't do that on his own right now.]

[ Steve opens his mouth to object because he can't stop himself. Aggressively assuming responsibility for even minor missteps is the quickest way to silence the constant dread that he will screw up again, next time in even bigger ways than before. It's hard to trust yourself again when your failures have the direct consequence of eliminating half of all life in the entire universe. That, and the fact that Steve Rogers could never help being dramatic.

But then Tony implores him to change the subject, and the urge to prostrate himself at Tony's feet— see, dramatic— is replaced with the need to fulfill this one very simple thing asked of him.

A conveniently timed growl of Steve's stomach delivers him a perfectly inoffensive change of topic. ]

I could eat. [ His stomach emphasizes that understatement with another gurgling noise. ] What's open for takeout?

[Tony huffs a breathless laugh. Of course Steve's asking about food. The man's practically a human garbage disposal.]

You can always eat. You could eat an entire goddamn turkey by yourself and still find room for a pumpkin pie. [But it's an affectionate tease, or as affectionate as Tony gets.] I think the answer the doctors would want to hear is the hospital cafeteria, but frankly, saving the world oughta be worth at least a cheeseburger and fries.

[He doesn't even bother with takeout - instead he takes his phone and starts tapping out an order, resting the phone in his lap.]

How many for you?

You always leave room for dessert. [ Steve delivers this with a shrug, as if consuming a Thanksgiving spread's worth of food is commonplace. It's remarkable how easy it is to fall into rhythm with Tony's teasing when he isn't taking every word as a personal attack. ]

Two. [ This is Steve's first answer. He rethinks immediately; he couldn't convince himself of that anymore than he could convince Tony. ] No, four.

[Tony goes ahead and throws in a shake and an extra order of fries for Steve - his body is healing, and it needs the extra calories, he tells himself.]

All right, Happy's gotta go and pick it up.

[Happy isn't Tony's bodyguard anymore, but he and Pepper have been taking it upon themselves to keep an eye on Tony in shifts - mostly to make sure he doesn't check himself out of the hospital. And, Tony thinks, if he has to stay here, then so does Steve. (It's a false equivalency: Steve has the serum to boost his healing, so even though his injuries were worse, he'll still probably heal faster. Tony doesn't care.)

He puts his phone back in his pocket and leans back in the chair.]

Your sketch is gone, [Tony says, seemingly randomly. It's probably more surprising that he'd left everything in Steve's office the way it was when he'd been on the run - except not surprising at all, if you know Tony Stark. He'd left everyone's rooms the way they were, like he could somehow atone for wronging them with one simple action - or like he'd wanted to preserve their memories as long as he could.

But the point is, Steve's sketch from the war, that little monkey that had managed to survive decades until it had come into Tony's possession, and then back into Steve's, is gone, and Tony's obliquely sad about it and doesn't know why.]

Pepper's already got him babysitting, huh? [ Steve says more than asks in a dry, commiserative tone. The only person who makes a worse patient than Tony is Steve. Friends hovering outside of hospital suites to make sure they don't vanish against medical advice is standard practice for them both. ]

I haven't sketched anything yet. [ Confusion creases Steve's brow as he retraces the conversation. He still feels dazed enough that the odds of Tony having set off on a new tangent are equal with chances of Steve simply having missed something. ]

Gotta keep him out of her hair somehow, [Tony replies fondly. He's well aware that he gets in the way of running a business much more than Happy does.]

Your sketch from the war, the one of the monkey on a unicycle. [To be fair, Tony absolutely sets off on new tangents without warning and somehow expects everyone else to follow along. This is one of those times, largely because he's grasping for acceptable topics that don't involve, well, everything.]

That was still there? [ Steve never checked, telling himself whenever he was at the compound that there was no time— and it was usually true. Certainly over the past few days. But he was also certain that he'd find the place scrubbed clean, his possessions boxed up in a storage unit somewhere. He certainly never expected everything to be just as he left it. ]

[Tony gives a one-shouldered shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal.] It was when I left, anyway. I don't know what you guys did with the place.

[He does have a reasonably good idea, thanks to regularly pestering Rhodey for updates, but it's best not to mention that.

Thankfully, he's saved by the arrival of food. Tony rises to take one of the bags from Happy and busies himself with setting his own meal up on the bedside table.]

Was hospital food terrible back in the day, too?

[ Steve isn't going to let it go, but he is just as likely to pursue the topic again as he is to drive himself crazy wondering what it means. Either way that can wait until after they've eaten.

Besides, Tony has already changed the subject in the time it took Steve to greet and thank Happy. ]

All food was terrible back in the day. [ Not that they weren't grateful for what they had, but Steve isn't going to sit here and pretend that the 21st century isn't a culinary miracle. ] But yeah, hospital food was even worse.

I'm willing to bet they served boiled newspapers or something during the Depression. [Tony makes a face just before he licks a stray drip of ketchup off the side of his hand.] Don't ask me how you'd boil a newspaper, either. Newspaper soup?

[...okay, now he's just rambling. It may be slightly drug-induced, but he shows no signs of being about to fall over or faceplant into Steve's blankets.]

[ Steve opens his mouth to say something wry about the taste not being too far off from boiled newspaper, actually, but ends up shoving a handful of fries in his mouth instead. The sight of Tony licking his hand has, for unspecified reasons, featured in more of his fantasies than Steve would like to admit. The memory of those fantasies wash over Steve with all the subtlety of a tsunami, and stuffing his face the safest thing he can think to do. ]

Good call on the fries, [ Steve says, a bit over-enthusiastic, and not quite finished chewing yet. ]

[Tony's not unfamiliar with the feeling of arousal washing over him in Steve's presence, but usually there's some sort of trigger, like Steve ripping a log apart with his bare hands, or Steve doing that deeply erotic quiet angry voice while Tony imagines being pushed up against the wall and kissed breathless, or Steve working out in the gym. (It's a long list.) And while Tony hasn't exactly gotten laid anytime in the last five years, Steve in a hospital gown with bandages on his arm and shoulder isn't usually the kind of thing that would do it for him.]

Mmhm, [Tony agrees with a full mouth. He's not going to think about this too much. Sometimes bodies just react. It's a normal thing (that shouldn't happen to someone his age).]

How attached are you to having a physical shield that you carry around?

[ If Steve didn't know any better, he would suspect Tony of mind reading, the way that he tosses out a lifeline just when Steve is desperate for a distraction. But if Tony could read Steve's thoughts, the conversation would have veered in a very different direction— or ended altogether.

He tilts his head in Tony's direction, considering. ]

Is that your subtle way of bringing up how I lost it again? 'Cause I feel like this one was more on Thanos...

[Tony's lips twist in a wry smile. He's not blaming Steve for losing his shield, no. He's actually been working on this concept since before the battle - before Siberia, actually. At least now he doesn't have to convince Steve to give it up (again).]

No, I just don't think you'll wanna hold onto that hammer forever. You don't strike me as that kinda guy.

No, I don't think so, [ Steve agrees with a slight shake of his head. ] I'd rather see Thor get comfortable with it again.

[ Easier said than done, but if Steve can help it, he's going to make sure everyone is at least in good shape before drifting their separate ways again.

He hooks his index finger around to straw to bring it closer, then practically inhales two-thirds of his milkshake. ]

So what were you thinking?

[Tony spaces out for a moment at the sight of Steve's cheeks hollowing as he sucks the milkshake down, so, okay, maybe he was wrong about the hospital gown thing. Maybe Steve's just distracting no matter what.]

Wha- [He blinks. Right. Focus.] Oh, the shield. I've been having success with trials on zero-point emission - kind of an energy shield? You wear the emitter on your wrist and it creates a shield on command. You can even throw it - well, you should be able to throw it. I'm still tweaking the range on the projectile.

Or we could do something with nanites and body armor. That could be cool, too.

[ At first deeply occupied with the important work of peeling the wrapper from his first burger, the immediacy of Steve's hunger recedes as he listens to Tony. That lump in his throat is back, though he wouldn't call it grief this time, or even sadness, necessarily. He just knows that whatever the emotion, he's feeling a whole lot of it. ]

You've given this some thought. [ Steve does his best to sound casual, as if Tony's answer doesn't have the power to make or break him, when it almost certainly does. ]

[Play it cool, Stark, Tony tells himself. There's no need for Steve to know how many iterations of body armor he's drawn up over the years, how long he's spent on the tech for an energy shield. It's clearly just something he threw together overnight, much like the solution to time travel.]

Gotta have something to keep me busy so I don't get into trouble.

[Does that sound like a good excuse? That's debatable, but, hey, Steve's eating burgers, he might not notice.]

[ A harsh snort of disbelief escapes Steve before his brain can catch up with his mouth. That's— okay, a bit more rude than he would have liked, but really, Tony knows for a fact that Steve wasn't born yesterday. The idea of Tony Stark having to try to keep busy is beyond belief, even now. If he knows Tony (and maybe he doesn't anymore, if he ever really did, but he's sure about this much) the man has spent the past five years throwing all of his genius and money at the never-ending list of crises left in Thanos' wake. ]

Sorry, it's just— if you could avoid trouble by keeping busy, you'd have the reputation of a saint. [ He tries to sound amused, for the most part, wary of antagonizing Tony at this stage. ]

Hey, that depends on your definition of trouble.

[Tony grins impishly at Steve over the rim of his cup as he lifts it to take a drink.]

A lot of things that would disqualify me from sainthood aren't things that I would consider trouble. But as you may have noticed, I get bored easily, and I like to have different projects to play around with.

[At least until he latches onto one with laser focus and refuses to let go till it's done.]

So what else are you working on? [ There is a small part of Steve that itches to rock the boat and see where the current carries him, but he and Tony are freshly reconciled and Steve has been careful not to jeopardize that. So when he asks, it's not a challenge— it's Steve sending signals that he's interested.

...In the science. He's interested in the science. ]

I've been doing a lot with nanotech - trying to get it smaller and more efficient. Had some success with using it in small scale trials to combat the loss of plankton in the marine ecosystem, but we decided robots in whales might be bad for PR. And possibly not great for the whales, although they're already consuming enough microplastic that a few hundred thousand nanites shouldn't make a real difference. But apparently that's how you end up with bad sci-fi movies, never mind that a, we probably deserve to be overthrown by whales for what humanity's done to the earth, and b, cetacean mobility on land is still a major issue.

[Did you miss Tony's weird train of thought rambling, Steve?]

I'm thinking about the electric car market, too. Elon Musk is a douchebag - actually, scratch the electric car thing, I'm going for space travel. Knowing some aliens should give me a leg up on the competition, right?

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