"STEVE!" Tony stumbled into the room, shouting. Steve looked up from over the top of his newspaper. He could smell the alcohol coming off of Tony in waves even across the room.
"What is it, Tony?" he asked, folding the paper and putting it aside. He sighed as Tony stumbled in, pointing at Steve, and unable to walk straight.
"You," he said, taking a few more steps in. He bumped into a side table, knocking the lamp off. It crashed and shattered. "Shit!"
"Tony!" Steve lurched up and caught Tony, pulling him away from the mess on the floor. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"Doesn't matter," Tony slurred. He buried his head in Steve's shoulder. "Fuck you, Steve. Fuck you."
"Hey, hey, hey." Steve pushed him away. "What is up with you?" The smell of alcohol was even worse up close. What had Tony been doing, bathing in booze?
"You. Are. A. Dick," Tony said, punctuating each word with a soft punch to Steve's chest. It didn't hurt. It wasn't meant to hurt. But it didn't help Steve feel any sympathy toward Tony at the moment.
"Come on," Steve said. He maneuvered Tony, who still clung to his chest. "Let's sit."
"No." Tony shook his head. "We need to talk."
Steve didn't completely mind that Tony didn't want to let go. He felt warm, holding Tony close like this. He'd wanted to be in this very position for so long, but he knew it was stupid. He knew his feelings for Tony were one-sided. This was why how Tony was acting, holding Tony like this, hurt.
Tony banged his head against Steve's shoulder. "You," he said again, and he was being little more than a broken record now, "You. I hate you."
Something inside Steve twisted. Maybe it was just the drink. But he had suspected for a long time that Tony didn't like him all that much.
Tony acted strange around Steve recently. He would laugh and joke with everyone, even Clint who wasn't very fond of Tony, but the minute Steve entered the room, he would shut up, side-eye Steve, and then find an excuse to leave.
It hurt. It hurt more than Steve wanted to admit to himself. He was a super-soldier. He had survived so much physical and emotional pain already. Why did he have to care so much what Tony thought about him?
With Tony pressed up against Steve, he knew why: Steve was hopelessly in love with Tony Stark.
He eased both of them down onto the couch where he had been sitting before. Tony laid on top of him.
"Come on," Steve said, patting Tony's shoulder. "Tell me why I'm a dick."
"Because," Tony said, and he sounded on the verge of tears, "because I'm trying to fucking hate you and I can't. Because even now," he pushed himself up off of Steve as he spoke, "I call you a dick and hit you and you just want me to spill my feelings."
He glared down at Steve, but he couldn't focus on him. His eyes flickered all over the place.
"Why do you need to hate me?" Steve said. A small flicker of hope arose in his heart. Maybe Tony felt similar. Maybe this was his way of returning Steve's own feelings.
"You were friends with my father," Tony said. "That's reason enough." He extracted himself from Steve and sat on the other side of the couch, head in his hands. "But you're a fucking nice guy."
"And?" Steve said. "There's no reason to not hate a nice guy if you want."
Tony stared at him for a long moment, eyes red and burning. "Pepper says I'm being stupid," he said. "She's stopped speaking to me."
Steve held his breath, uncertain where this was going. "And?" he prompted. He tentatively placed his hand on Tony's shoulder.
Tony looked at him with open, unrestrained sorrow. "I think she wants to break up."
Steve's stomach sunk. He felt ill and wanted to be anywhere else but here. But something made him stay sitting and slowly rub Tony's shoulder.
"That can't be the only reason," Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You wouldn't break up over me. That would be ridiculous." He laughed, once, a harsh noise that grated his own ears.
"It's not," Tony said, head in his hands again. "But it's the tipping point. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck." He ran his hands down his face. "Why can't I do something right for once?"
"How about you start by talking to her?" Steve said. Every word he said came with great difficulty.
"What the hell can I say?"
"The truth," Steve said. "How you feel. Discuss what needs to change between you two and how to do it." He wanted to laugh at himself for all this. As if he could do anything that he said.
"See?" Tony said as he stood up, gesturing to Steve. "Even as I say I want to hate you, you... you... help me." He hung his head. "Why am I such a fuck-up?"
There were two things Steve wanted to do right now. One of them was punch Tony. His heart was broken, even though he had already known it was a lost cause. But he still wanted to hug Tony, to bring him close and hold and kiss him and tell him he would never hurt him ever.
But neither of those were real choices. So he forced Tony to sit down. He fetched a carafe of water and poured some into a glass. He told Tony to drink it. Tony did so, downing it quickly. Steve poured him another glass, and Tony sipped this one.
He sat with Tony until Tony fell asleep. Then he laid him out on the couch, draping a blanket over him. He set himself up on the floor, picking up the newspaper again.
Steve tried to concentrate on the words, but he couldn't focus. He felt a sting behind his eyes. The words blurred, and Steve let the paper fall to the floor.
He'd never had a chance with Tony. And he was too much of a coward to tell him what he felt.
Steve indulged himself that night, to let himself cry while Tony slept off his own woes behind him. Tomorrow, things would be different. A tenuous friendship would be between them as Tony tried to patch things with Pepper and Steve put his feelings for Tony behind him.
But that was tomorrow. For now, Steve could still love Tony and mourn that he would never have him.