The day Captain Steve Rogers woke up, he thought it was the worst day of his life. No friends, no family, no information, nothing. No one but a man with an eye patch and giant secret organization.
Later, Steve would change his mind. The worst day of his life was the day he had to tolerate the presence of Tony Stark.
Geez, what was this guy's problem? Sure, he wasn't expecting him to be like Howard. Okay, maybe a little. But Steve knew how Howard could be. Of course the kid might end up being a bit… rebellious, so to say.
But Tony was beyond rebellious. He was inflammatory, he was an ass, and in the back of his mind, Steve Rogers knew he was broken. He was a broken mirror, glass shards, showing and yelling and screaming at Steve. You don't belong here. We don't need you. You're obsolete. We can, we did, get on without you. Get out.
Banner was right. They were a time bomb. Tick. Tick Tick.
"Everything special about you came out of a bottle."
Yeah, and he was a man in a red and gold tin can. But Steve knew that Tony was special, sans serum or powers or money. But he wouldn't admit it. Not to Stark's face.
"Put on the suit. Let's go a few rounds."
Steve punched the sandbag, eyes closed. It was July, but it was cold. So cold. He wasn't in Stark Towers, he wasn't in a world that would never accept him, he was crashing a plane. And it was just so cold. He thought maybe if he just stayed quiet, threw the right punches, and just kept hitting, he'd get warmer.
It worked before. But now, he just felt an icy stab with each punch.
Tony was right. They weren't soldiers. But he was. He was. What was he now? Hell if he knew.
The seconds rolled by. Steve didn't notice, but his jabs grew weaker. He was just so cold, so cold, so cold…
The ice was reflective and Steve saw himself. He wasn't a hero. Oh god, he wasn't a hero, he wasn't a man. He was just a kid from Brooklyn, playing dress-up. The ice broke, like Steve knew it would. The boy in glassy surface broke too. But Steve knew that happened a long time ago.
He felt himself sinking. Lower and lower into the darkness. Shouts and screams, muffled, murmurs. But the clock ticking was incessant.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"Rogers?"
There was his life. There was the world. He was frozen, a mess of broken shards held together by cheap glue. All the while, everything went, tick, tick tick.
Suddenly, he felt warmer. Like when Bucky threw his blanket on him when he was sick and shivering. A hand ran through his hair, repeatedly, soothingly. A deep voice, slightly off-key, hummed some long-ago tune. Steve felt safe.
Tony Stark knew his life sucked. Yeah, it could actually be a lot worse. But just because it could a lot worse, doesn't mean that it didn't currently stink. Things had been looking up. He had Pepper and could save the world and had a bunch of bots.
But then he met Steve frickin' Rogers. Frickin' Captain America. The peak of his father's so called glory. His father's World War II buddy. The only man in his father's life that his father would ever seem to love.
And geez, the man seemed to live up to his goddamn righteousness, nose in the air, and yet still not quite up. Hm. Maybe he just stuck it up around Tony. Because Tony was the screw-up. Tony was the failed experiment. Tony was the guy who walked through life without a care, without apologies, without regret.
Except that Tony did have regrets. He regretted every step, every word, every breath. He was nothing. He was broken.
"You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."
It had been nice pretending. It had been like he actually had a life. He had looked at Rogers, dead in the eye. Oh god, this man was irritating. He screamed, I'm better than you. Howard wanted me, not you. I'm what everyone needs. Stop trying. You screwed up long ago. Those cracked blue irises reflected Tony's image, broken, honest, brutal.
" A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers."
Tony stuck his oil-stained hand, waving it around. "C'mon Dummy! I swear, I really will donate you to a city college." They both knew he wouldn't.
He was on Mark… 25? Or was it 26?
"Twenty-seven, sir."
"Thanks, Jarv." Tony waved the still empty hand at the nearest sensor. He sighed in relief when he felt the cool metal of a wrench touch his palm. "And thank you, Dummy."
Tony couldn't stop. He just kept building, making new suits, asking Rhodey to test them out. Rhodey was kind of concerned, but he like the endless line of suits. Pepper had already moved out. She had already voiced her worry.
He turned up the music louder.
Sure, he had invited his "teammates" to live in the tower. But it wasn't like they were ever there. The ninja assassins were on missions, the Norse god taking care of his ass of a brother, the doctor going around the world doctoring. There was Rogers, but he was as hopeless as Tony was.
Tony turned up the music even louder. He kept hearing that voice, those words. "You're a man who has everything and nothing... Don't waste your life…"
He was sorry. He was so sorry. He couldn't do anything about it, but he was sorry. Sorry he was a screw-up and a failure and wouldn't do anything. He was sorry, he was sorry…
"Sir?"
He felt like he was in the desert, no, he was in space, inky, dark and unforgiving. They knew he was sorry, but he wasn't absolved. He couldn't be saved. He was lost and he was sorry and he would die and he'd always be sorry…
"Captain Rogers, he's just over here."
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. He didn't quite care, but he needed to say how sorry he was. He was so sorry. He needed to…
Suddenly he could breathe. And he could scream and he could cry. And he wasn't quite sure where he was. All he knew was that he could breathe and he was sorry, and that there was someone here who cared, who was solid, who kept saying while rubbing his back, "It's okay, Tony. Shh… It's okay."
Tony hated Steve. Steve hated Tony. Everyone was painfully aware of this.
But they were also painfully aware of that fine line between love and hate.
They screamed at each other and yet, protected each other most fiercely in battle.
They argued about the toaster and yet, agreed, compromised, and cooperated on battle plans and mission debriefs.
It was like they were middle school enemies. It was like they were married.
Clint voted they should lock the pair in a closet, but was shot down by the fact that either Steve would just break it down or Tony would do something ingenious and horrible and something would explode.
The task of finding out what the hell was going on was handed to Natasha, seeing as how Coulson rolled his eyes and mumbling, "It's like middle school all over again…"
She didn't lock them in a closet. She simply asked Jarvis for a favor. To show each person that the other really cared. Two minutes after said request, two different, but oh so familiar and intimate, scenes popped up in the air before Steve and Tony (still spooky for Steve, more annoying for Tony).
It was, in short, traumatizing.
Steve refused to leave the gym. Tony camped out in his workshop. And Coulson, unfortunately, had to fix the mess.
He locked them in an empty, steel-reinforced closet without their phones or any other form technology.
"Why are we in a closet?"
"..."
"Stark, why the hell are we in a closet?"
"...How would I know? I came up here looking for food when Clint was like, 'Ooh, Tony! Can you follow me for a sec?' Damn SHIELD agents."
"..."
"Nat lead you here?"
"...Yeah."
"Why would they lock us in a closet? We've been nice people."
"We haven't even argued for the past few weeks!"
"...I don't think I've seen you for the past few weeks."
"And we still can't see each other, technically."
"Did Steve Rogers just attempt a joke?"
"Shut up."
"It'll be awful boring if I do."
"..."
"Oh, so now you're not going to talk?"
"What's there to talk about? I've been in the gym and you've been in your workshop. I've been hitting things, you've been building things. That's all that's happened."
"...You're right."
"Did Tony Stark just admit someone else was right?"
"Oh, funny. Do shut up."
"It'll be awful boring if I do."
"Ha ha."
"..."
"..."
"Tony? What were you humming?"
"I wasn't humming."
"No, that night."
"Oh. I… I don't remember. Something Jarvis used to sing."
"..."
"He was an actual butler before I modeled an AI after him."
"Oh. Do you miss him?"
"I modeled an AI after him. So I guess… not as much as I would have."
"That's good."
"..."
"..."
"Steve, how did you know where to find me?"
"Tony, you're pretty much always in the workshop."
"True. Okay, how did you know when to find me?"
"Jarvis told me."
"Why do you think Jarvis told you? He could've called Pepper or something."
"Well, I was right there and well, I guess he thought… I'd understand?"
"..."
"I was a soldier, Tony. And well, I'm Rip Van Winkle. I lost everything but the memories. And I kind of wish I lost those."
"...We're so screwed up, aren't we?"
"Yeah. We are."
"Who do you want to blame?"
"Today? Today seems like a… blame Coulson day."
"Yeah. I feel like Coulson too."
"...When do you think they'll let us out?"
"It's Coulson, there's probably some camera and microphones-"
The door creaked open.
"You two done acting like tweens?"
"(Did he just say 'tweens'?) Yes, Agent."
"(I believe he did.) Yes, sir."
"Then get your asses to SHIELD headquarters, there's a mandatory meeting."
No one really noticed that anything changed. Tony and Steve were, well, Tony and Steve. Or Steve and Tony.
But there was no longer that rigid tension, that bitter bile that sat in the back of the throat, that tangible rivalry and turbulent emotions.
It was gentle. It was playful.
It was right.