Authors Notes: So my idea for this came from re-watching Iron Man 1 when Tony Stark still had a conscience about all the bad people who had Stark Weapons and were doing bad things (maybe he still does and it's mentioned somewhere in the other films - so sorry if I missed it there!); I figured hey-that would probably be enough to keep me up at night let alone a chronic insomniac like Tony Stark and of course have him conveniently run into Steve in the kitchen! XD
I had fun writing this (as usual!) and there is another two chapters for this fic under construction so enjoy guys!
By the time the third automatic door slams in his face Steve is pissed, really pissed. He's followed Tony from the landing pad to his workshop.
He wasn't lecturing, why did everybody think he lectured? It was more, trying to get Tony to see why everybody had been so worried, why Steve hadn't had any sleep in the forty-eight hours since Tony had decided to jet off solo and cut communication with the whole team.
"You don't just get to disappear Tony!" Steve said in a shout-whispered for the sake of those who were sleeping instead of keeping an all-night vigil on the scanners. "Nobody knew where you were."
"What? Didn't you see me? I was all over the news." Tony glanced back over his shoulder, smirking and throwing his hands wide, "Were you not entertained, Steven?" Whatever bit Tony was doing, it was lost on him.
They'd seen him alright; CNN had been playing it on a seemingly endless loop for the last two hours - 'Iron Man Destroys Massive Weapons Cache Over The Pacific'
"We nearly sent out a search party." Steve said, still hot on his heels, "We were ready to scramble the quinjets!"
"You should have. We could have flown in formation. Had a sort of 'welcome home party'." Tony all but skipped down the short flight of stairs to his workshop.
"Tony." Steve warned.
"Steve." Tony replied as the door slammed shut between them; locking Steve out. Leaving him standing with his face inches from the metal, he balled a fist and pulled back an elbow with half a mind to slam it straight into the door peeling it open like the lid of a sardine can. It's the thought that he might get shot with one of Tony's repulsors that stopped him short; he knows how jumpy he'd been since New York, and it's not like Steve even knew what he would say to him.
He paces, restless by the door a while longer, listening for the tell-tale whur of electrics starting up; before he gives up heading to his room. Tony was home, Tony was safe. He could at least get some sleep.
Or not.
Three hours ago, he had been on the verge of collapsing over the monitors from exhaustion, now, lying in bed sleep was proving to be elusive, his mind raced a mile a minute as it struggled to comprehend the sudden drop in his anxiety levels; closing his eyes only resulted in dancing colors filling his vision, so he stared up at the ceiling, up at nothing, refocusing his breathing and listening to the sounds of the newly rebuilt tower as it settles.
He succumbes to sleep at some point and wakes up to light streaming in through the half-open drapes. Scowling at the clock like it was lying because he's slept through what would have been his morning run.
His stomach growls in protest when he foregoes breakfast and heads straight for the gym to take out the leftover frustration on Tony's 'Super Soldier Resistant Punching Bag' and if he destroys the damn thing in the process, so be it.
He loses track of time to the metronomic thwak of his fists against the synthetic leather.
"I thought I heard you in here, really going for it huh?" Natasha nods to him from the doorway, smoothing down the folds of her outfit and snapping her purse shut.
"You look nice," Steve says stopping the bag swinging, "off out?" He points to her all-black dress that flutters elegantly around her knees.
"An old friend's visiting," Her face warms, then drops a little, "Paying her last respects to Coulson." She says bowing her head at the somber note.
A silence pervades the space between them, broken when Steve clears his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that." It's not the right thing to say, Coulson was still in everybody's mind and Steve had often wondered who else might have been missing him.
"Some people lost more than others that day." She says letting it sink in, letting the silence creep back over them, watching Steve get truly uncomfortable and pull at the straps on his hands.
"So," She finally sighs, "what's the deal with you, Stark got under your skin?" She asks with a sly knowing smile creeping on her lips. "If you want, yesterdays' paper is in the trash. I could tear his picture out and stick it on there for you?" She gestures to the bag.
"Yes… No…" He pauses. Furrowing his brow as he processes what she's said. "Do people really do that?"
"It's very therapeutic. I have one on the dartboard in my room." She says matter of factly, "Pegged him right between the eyes, twice."
Steve isn't sure whether to laugh or be terrified, he's saved by his stomach letting out a monstrous growl, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten that morning. "Sheesh Steve, go get something to eat, you sound like The Hulk after Bruce has eaten a bad curry." She gives him a half wave as she leaves.
"Will do Nat." He says returning the gesturing. He throws one more punch, just to see if the damn bag will split. It swings wild at the impact before wobbling to a stop. It doesn't split, but his frustration has waned, possibly because he can feel his pulse in his knuckles, possibly because of his chat with Natasha, but he calls it for today.
It's close to 2 am when Steve is jolted awake by his subconscious; he'd been in that godforsaken valley, up to his knees in snow mixed with a mud slick, the more he struggled against it the further it pulled him down, soaking his uniform making it too heavy to move, making it feel like he was wading through setting tar. He could see Bucky lying motionless twenty yards away, he shouted until his voice was hoarse, taking step after arduous step that got him nowhere until the sharp ingress of icy wind in his lungs had him sitting up too fast, a mess of clammy skin against recirculated cool air and tangled in bedsheets.
He perches on the edge of his bed letting the last remnants of sleep ebb away, feeling the soft, plush carpet between his toes instead of the frozen soles of his boots.
Sighing, he relents to being awake and hauls himself out of bed, he's wandered the tower at night a thousand times before.
He'd found Clint snoring on the sofa in the common room once, had a conversation with Thor and discovered he struggled with the time difference between Midgard and Asgard. He'd even caught Natasha on the phone, deep in a hushed conversation that she had abruptly ended upon his intrusion and excused herself.
The tower was no stranger to night time wanderers. So, it wasn't surprising when Steve saw the faint glow of the kitchen light on from underneath the door.
There was a peaceful stillness that night, almost like the residence within and the building itself had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Tony had returned safely the night before; not that he had been seen much since then, opting to stay locked in his workshop which gave Steve a nasty case of guilt having hounded him as soon as he got back. It's amazing what a few hours of bad sleep and reflection can throw into perspective. Tony was part of the team and his own person, with his own business, like they all were. It didn't stop Steve feeling a little hurt that Tony hadn't come to him for help, he thought after New York…. Well, he's not sure what he thought.
Steve trod careful, needlessly light footstep to the kitchen, he could hear whoever it was rattling around in the fridge, humming off-key to themselves until they startled at the automatic 'swoosh' of the door.
"Steve!"
"Hey, Tony." Tony was halfway through a comically large slice of leftover pizza. "How've you been?" Steve says crossing the kitchen and shooting him a tired sideward glance. The stone tiles cool and smooth beneath his bare feet are his focus, not the sudden rush of excitement mixed with trepidation that soaks his spine and settles into a tingling warmth at the base.
Tony shrugs his shoulders and rocks his head from side to side in a non-committal gesture working his jaw and swallowing his mammoth sized bite. "This wasn't yours was it?" He says frowning and holding up what was left of the crust of the pizza, hip-checking the fridge door shut before wandering over to join Steve who's picked a spot on the far side of the kitchen counter to lean.
Steve shakes his head. "Can't sleep?" He asks choosing to look down at the magnolia neutrality of the floor tiles instead of at Tony, because that rush, it will come again, the urge to hit him and kiss him all at the same time when he pulls one of his stupid stunts and leaves everybody who cares in the dark until his triumphant return.
"Something like that…" Tony lets it hang in the air between them. "You?"
"You don't have the monopoly on bad dreams Tony." It comes out all sniping and sharp edges, not how Steve intended it at all.
"Jeez. See I knew you were still pissed at me." Tony throws his hands high and rolls his eyes, making a point of checking his watch. "Right, it's ten minutes past two, in the morning," he steps directly in front of Steve, rolls his shoulder and braces like he's about to catch a pass from a quarterback. "Okay. I'm ready, give me the lecture." His lips quirk up at the ends, and Steve rubs the bridge of his nose.
"Why does everybody say I lecture?" He says screwing his eyes shut. "I'm not pissed at you-"
"Why do I sense there is a 'but'," Tony says leaning back against the counter, close enough that their legs are touching from knee to thigh. He crosses his arms and cocks his head, indulging Steve.
"Tony, you disappeared. Nick Fury nearly cast a kitten! You turned off comms, sensors, you didn't tell Pepper where you were going, she nearly bit her nails back to the knuckles for crying out loud! I was left holding the bag when we couldn't find you! Jeez, JARVIS wouldn't even tell us where you were.." Steve rakes a hand through his hair. Pent-up anger mixed with a dozen other emotions he's too drained to place boils just underneath his skin, He hadn't meant to raise his voice. Tony looks back at him bewildered and blank. Steve meets his eyes for the first time. Softening his tone to reluctant exasperation. "We're a team Tony, the first thing we heard was on CNN. What's going on that you can't tell us?"
Tony's shoulders stiffen under Steve's gaze and he folds his arms, glancing once at the exit towards the direction of his workshop, a glance Steve doesn't miss.
"No, you don't." Steve grabs Tony's wrist. "Talk to me. If not me, talk to somebody." He feels Tony twist his arm and test his grip before he sighs.
"Stuff, Steve, it was stuff I had to take care of that's all. Just stuff."
"The kind of 'stuff' that wipes out the entire weapons supply of a suspected terrorist group over the Pacific?" Steve's jaw is set, he's wearing his best 'Captain America is going to get some answers face' and Tony shifts uncomfortably underneath it, testing the grip around his wrist once more before he sighs and goes limp.
"Fine. I'm still following up on all the people who Obadiah supplied Stark weaponry to when everybody thought I was dead in the desert. Okay? And we're not talking one or two pieces here and there… He's was equipping people for war." He looks down like he's ashamed. "It's not… It's not anybody else's fight. The team has enough to worry about if we're going to be invaded by aliens every five minutes, and enabling terrorists isn't how I want Stark Industries thought of."
He pauses then starts to breathe heavily, a vacant expression starts to creep across his face, "that's, that's not… That's not going to be my legacy." His voice rises a pitch and comes out breathless.
Steve can feel the tremors in his arm, sensitive ears can hear the frantic fluttering of his heartbeat. "That's not what I do anymore," His eyes glaze over and Steve isn't sure Tony can see him. "I'm… I'm trying to be better." He almost pleads as the words start to crowd together taking his spare hand to grip Steve. "I don't know how many more are out there, the data… the data, it was scrambled, encrypted… fuck…." He wheezes, and the words tumble out of his mouth unchecked by his brain with his skin going clammy and knees giving out beneath him, Steve goes down with him and they crumple on the cold kitchen floor.
The panic attack becomes absolute. Tony draws in breath after agonizing breath which Steve is forced to hear rattle and catch in his chest like his body can't remember how to exhale. "Tony, look at me. Look at me." Steve pleads and catches either side of Tony's face in his hands, stops him from pulling his hair out of his scalp. "You are better, just… just look at the Iron Man. I'm here Tony, just breathe with me." Steve grabs for anything that'll placate him, Tony is so much better and a pang of guilt shoots through Steve because he realizes he has no idea just how much Tony Stark does making up for his past.
Tears stream down Tony's cheeks and he shakes and shakes with his breathing all wrong, Steve feels like crying, the wild desperate look doesn't belong on Tony's face. He never meant for this, seeing him like this, there's a niggling voice at the back of his head that says: 'you've caused this.'
Steve counts aloud even breaths in and out, coaxing Tony to stay with him, look at him, he's safe here.
The words seem to bounce off him at first, like they aren't going in, but slowly, slowly; Tony starts to breathe a little easier, the shaking starts to subside, he stops clawing at his chest and brings his hands up to circle Steve's wrist, keeping a loose hold.
His eyes gradually look up from under clumpy dark lashes and relief washes over Steve because they're no longer blown wide with panic. "Thanks, Winghead." He croaks sounding weak and small.
"… I'm sorry, I shouldn't…" Steve trails off, suddenly all too aware of the intimate position they were in. Tony almost sat on his lap with Steve brushing his fingertips through the downy hair on his temples whilst Tony stroked his thumbs across the delicate skin on the inside of his wrists. He goes to pull away and Tony instinctively grips.
"Don't…" Tony's voice is a broken whisper. "Can I… Can we… just stay here… Like this? Just for a minute." Steve has to strain to hear, that's how quiet Tony's speaking. He nods and shifts accommodating him when he leans closer.
The minute turns into ten and they sit long enough for the motion sensors to time out and leave them in darkness; Tony's warm against his side and Steve still subconsciously keeps track of his breathing in time with the repetitious ticking of the wall clock set to the background hum of the refrigerator motor.
"We should move Tony." He says, measured and careful.
"Yeah… " Tony's voice sounds more like his own again.
Steve stands and the lights flicker back to life as he blinks down. Tony holds his hand up. "Help me up? My ass has gone numb." Steve thinks he almost sees a smile as he hauls him to his feet.
Tony takes his own unsteady weight, looking like Bambi on ice as he tries to coax life back into his numb lower half. He staggers once, falters a step on legs that won't obey and ends up fetching up against Steve and shoving him back against the counter, digging it into the small of his back.
It's surprise more than anything that stops them from springing apart, they both stand there pressed together from crotch the chest, Tony leaning his full weight against Steve.
The moment protracts, the clock keeps ticking and the fridge keeps humming but neither make a move.
It's Steve who breaks it, "I should…" He says gesturing to the door around Tony whose hands still rest on his chest, warm through the thin faded cotton of his t-shirt.
"Yeah… Absolutely," Tony pushes away. His eyes dart around the kitchen, looking at anything but Steve, "I should - early meeting." He fidgets picking at the hem of his t-shirt like he can't keep still.
"Thank you, for-" he waves a hand in the space between himself and Steve. "There's no need for everybody else to hear about this. I mean… Right?"Tony looks up, fixed with an expression like a rabbit caught in high beams.
"Right, and err… Don't mention it." Steve sighs still bracing against the counter watching Tony shuffle off towards his workshop muttering to himself.
He doesn't exhale until the door shuts about the same time he lets his elbows give way, sliding down with his back against the counter until he's sitting in the same spot on the cold tiles he'd sat with Tony.
With one thought circling around in his head: What the hell was that?