So I had thought this would be a short fic, a quick write, an easy one. Lol, word count ended up being over 4k. Oh well. I wrote it when I was supposed to be writing other things. Sorry.
Steve gathered up a few forgotten cocktail napkins and tossed them in the trashcan the cleaning staff had rolled in. The tired lady behind the cart gave him a small smile, which he returned before moving on to another task. The employees tried to convince him to stop, but he waved away their protests, informing them that he was happy to help them. After all, it had been an Avenger's party-it only seemed fair if an Avenger stayed to clean up afterwards. Just as he was lifting the sofa so a man with a vacuum cleaner could have access to the rug, Steve's phone rang. Wondering who could be calling him at two in the morning, he patiently waited until the janitor had finished that section of the room before he set down the furniture and answered the call. It was a woman's voice on the other end, but Steve couldn't hear what she was saying over the noise of the vacuum. Waving an apology to the grateful staff, Steve stepped out into the hallway.
"-haven't seen him have you?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Potts, I didn't hear what you said." Steve held a hand against his free ear to block the sound of the vacuum coming through the door.
"Tony isn't back yet. I was wondering if he was with you? Or if you had seen him?" Pepper's words tumbled together and Steve could imagine the concerned look on her face.
"He wasn't with the others?" Steve queried.
"No, they got back an hour ago. When Clint mentioned you were staying late, I assumed he was with you. But I just tried calling him and he hasn't answered," Pepper explained.
Unease brushed over Steve's skin like an unpleasant draft.
"It's not that unusual for him to turn off his phone at these parties, but he always tells me first if he's going to. He knows I worry about him," Pepper added, distressed. "Ever since...well. He's been trying to do better," she trailed off.
"Which is why you're worried now," Steve filled in.
"Yes!" Pepper blurted. "He's made so many enemies and I just get scared…"
"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure Tony's fine," Steve placated soothingly. "He's probably just passed out somewhere around here."
"You think so?" Pepper asked hopefully.
"I'll look around for him," Steve promised. "Try to get some sleep, ma'am."
Pepper sighed. "Call me as soon as you find him," she commanded.
I will," Steve agreed.
He hung up and took a deep breath. After being all over the rented room to help clean up, he knew Tony was nowhere inside, which meant the billionaire was missing. Stomach twisting in apprehension, he scrolled through his contacts until he got to Tony's name. Praying his call would go through where Pepper's had failed, Steve dialed the number. Tony's distinctive ringtone echoed down the corridor and Steve's brow furrowed as the sound got closer. In a matter of moments, Tony lurched around the corner and Steve's steadily climbing nerves released instantly, his body slumping slightly from the loss of tension.
"There you are," he breathed in relief.
With a couple of steps, he closed the distance between them and grabbed Tony's upper arm. "Where have you been?"
Tony wobbled in his grip like green gelatin. Steve gave him a firm shake, trying to warrant his attention. "Hey, you know you're not supposed to leave without telling me."
Tony wrinkled his nose. "Don't hafta tell you nothin'. Yur not m' dad."
"No, I'm not," Steve acknowledged. "But I am captain of this team-"
"Of 'merica," Tony interrupted.
"What?"
"Cap'in of 'merica." Tony pointed emphatically at the ceiling.
Realizing the inventor was far too impaired for conversation, Steve figured he should just end his futile lecture as soon as possible. The chances were, Tony wouldn't remember a word of it in the morning. "If you're going to go wandering off alone, at least answer when Pepper calls. You really had her worried." Softly he added, "You're lucky to have a good woman care so much about you."
Tony blinked at him. And promptly went boneless, his body on a collision course with the floor. Steve sprang forward, collecting an armful of limp Stark. With Tony slumped against his torso, Steve suddenly noticed something he hadn't before. Tony smelled like perfume. The aroma was faint, but it was there. And it wasn't Pepper's perfume.
"Oh no." Steve muttered, exasperated. "Don't tell me you...gawd, Tony, don't mess up the best thing in your life."
Tony roused abruptly and pushed away from Steve. "It's m' life."
Feeling disappointed at, and disgusted with, the other man, Steve clamped a hand down on Tony's shoulder and forcefully led him to the exit. Tony stumbled along, one arm pressed against his stomach and the other bouncing occasionally off Steve's body. Once outside, Steve took them to the edge of the curb and hailed the closest taxi. When it pulled over, Steve manhandled Tony into the backseat, then leaned forward to ask the driver to take them to the Tower.
As Steve settled back into his seat, Tony raised a lazy eyebrow at him. "Why're we inna cab?"
"Because my motorcycle only has one seat," Steve crisply informed him. "And now, because of the stunt you just pulled, I have to leave my bike there overnight. I know it's going to get towed in a couple hours and guess who's going to get the bill for that? I'll give you a hint, it's you."
Tony frowned. "Yur mean."
Steve scoffed and turned to face the window. The ride was suffocatingly quiet and Steve was glad when it was over. He dragged Tony from the back, wrestled a few dollar bills from his own wallet to tip the driver, and glared up at the impressive building in front of them.
"I don't…" Tony began.
"Don't what?" Steve impatiently prompted.
Tony blinked and leaned forward.
"What?" Steve repeated.
"What?" Tony asked, eyebrows pulling together.
"Come on," Steve growled, propelling the billionaire across the sidewalk.
The revolving front door of the Tower was locked. Steve groaned.
"Tha's wha happ'ns when you're out pas' curfew," Tony stated somberly.
"Alright, who do we need to call to get these doors open?" Steve inquired.
Tony shrugged. "Dunno."
Steve crossed his arms. "Isn't this your building?"
"Yeah, but I always lan' on the roof. Never had t'use the fron' door," Tony explained .
"Great," Steve grumbled. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and opened his contacts.
Pepper's name was at the top, listed as his most recent call. Steve hesitated over her number, glancing at Tony. The other man was grimacing, arms wrapped around his middle. Frowning, Steve passed over her name and scrolled down to Clint's. He texted a short message, asking the archer to come down to the lobby and let them in.
"Y'know somethin'?" Tony slurred while they waited. "She wasn' even tha' pretty."
Steve ground his teeth and avoided looking at him. "Then why did you go with her?"
"I didn' want to," Tony groggily protested.
"Just got caught up in the heat of the moment, huh?" Steve growled. "I hope it was worth it, Stark."
At that moment, Clint became visible through the glass doors. The button up shirt he'd worn to the party, even with the sleeves rolled up as they were, clashed with the lounge pants he'd changed into. The marksman had a brief conversation with the man at the front desk, one which, for reasons Steve couldn't fathom, involved many elaborate gestures and hand motions. Then Clint was waving them in and Steve assisted Tony inside.
"Thanks," he told Clint.
"Only for you, Cap," Clint warned. "And just this once."
"I'll remember that," Steve assured him.
"Yeah, you're welcome. Just don't expect me to be awake and functional for the next couple days," Clint grumbled, shuffling back to the elevator. "I plan on setting a new world record for sleeping in."
In deference to the marksman's well earned personal space, Steve selected a separate elevator for his own use. He yanked Tony into the car as soon as the doors opened.
"Shall I inform Ms. Potts of your arrival?" Jarvis' question came from the ceiling.
Steve sighed, looking over to where Tony stood in the corner, shoulders hunched and eyes squinting against the light. "No, I'll tell her."
"Very well. Which floor?" Jarvis asked.
"Whichever one is empty," Steve replied, running a tired hand down his face.
"Discounting Mr. Stark's personal level, as Ms. Potts is there at the moment, that leaves the common areas, or your own," Jarvis informed him.
For a moment, Steve considered dumping Tony on the couch to let him sleep off his hangover. A crick in the neck was the least of what he deserved. But Steve's sense of courtesy won out in the end.
"My floor it is," he decided.
The elevator slid into motion and neither of its occupants spoke for the duration of the ride. When they reached their destination, Steve prodded Tony into motion, urging him through the entry room, past the kitchen, around the living room and into the bedroom. With a forceful hand on the billionaire's shoulder, he pressed him into a sitting position on the mattress.
Tony stuck his lip out in a pout he should have grown out of by the time he was five. "This isn' m'bed."
"Be glad you're getting a bed at all," Steve grunted. "Now take off the vest and lose the shoes."
Tony tipped his head forward to see the mentioned articles of clothing. And nearly tumbled off the bed as his balance failed him. Rolling his eyes, Steve steadied the scientist before proceeding to accomplish the task himself. He easily removed Tony's footwear. But the undone collar and rumpled tie made him pause in disappointed indignation. It was only by brushing aside his own moral objections to the way Tony had spent the night, that he was able to finish. Tony was quiet and pliable throughout the preparations, and he offered no protest when Steve instructed him to lie down.
"Get some sleep, Stark," Steve said, crossing the room. "We'll deal with the mess you made in the morning."
"Wai', Cap." Tony bolted upright. "You're not stayin'?"
"No, I'm not," Steve confirmed, wondering just how drunk Tony was.
"Bu'...somethin's...wrong," Tony mumbled, seeming to struggle with the short sentence. "Wrong wif me."
"I know," Steve agreed.
"I mean real'y wrong," Tony slurred emphatically.
"We'll sort out your issues tomorrow," Steve placated, flipping off the light.
"No, Cap, wai'!" Tony's final plea was muffled as Steve shut the door.
Shaking his head, Steve walked across his apartment and got into the elevator. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dreading the coming conversation. It took less than a minute to get to the correct floor, not nearly enough time for Steve to decide what he was going to say. All too soon, the doors were opening to the scene of a distressed Pepper, seated on the edge of the couch, fiddling anxiously with the edge of her shirt. She whipped her head around when she heard the elevator and Steve found himself nearly bowled over by the agitated redhead.
"Steve! There you are. Is Tony with you? Did you find him? Is he okay? Can I talk to him? Where was he? What was he doing? Why didn't he call? I was so worried!"
Overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, Steve held up a hand. Pepper immediately clamped her mouth shut, though her face was openly distraught.
"He's okay," Steve hurried to assure her.
"Thank goodness," Pepper sighed, body relaxing at the good news. Then she straightened again, pointing a determined finger into the air and marching past Steve. "But he's got another thing coming if he thinks he can just-"
Steve gently barred her way with his arm. "Pepper…"
The use of her first name stopped her and she glanced up at him, worry filling her eyes again.
"Tony...he...I think it would be better if you waited until tomorrow," Steve stumbled over his words.
"What? Why?" Pepper inquired.
"He's sleeping," Steve blurted.
Pepper's brow creased. "Can I at least see him?"
Steve hesitated.
"Please?" Pepper added quietly.
Reluctantly, Steve nodded and dropped his arm to his side. Pepper walked past him into the elevator and Steve followed her in.
"Where did you find him?" Pepper asked.
Steve chuckled nervously. "He found me."
"What was he doing?" Pepper continued earnestly.
Gaze skittering away, Steve shrugged. "I wasn't with him."
Pepper frowned and opened her mouth, but before she could voice her next question, they arrived on the appropriate level. Relieved by the distraction, Steve quickly stepped out of the car and nearly raced to his bedroom. He waited with his hand on the doorknob until Pepper caught up with him.
"I hope he doesn't sleep too late," Pepper remarked, stepping up behind him. "He has a board meeting at nine o'clock tomorrow-oh!"
She bit off her concerns for the next day's agenda when Steve opened the door and the sound of retching was made audible. Steve rushed into the room, stopping perplexed when he saw the rumpled bed covers devoid of their occupant. He was about to head into the en suite bathroom when a particularly vicious fit of vomiting drew him to the other side of the bed. Tony was on his hands and knees, the puddle of throw up beneath him reflecting the light streaming in through the open door.
"Tony," Steve murmured, kneeling next to the billionaire.
"Oh, Tony," Pepper exclaimed sympathetically, coming around the bed and moving to comfort her boyfriend.
"Stay back!" Steve suddenly shouted, throwing out his palm to halt her.
"Steve," Pepper complained. "I've been cleaning up after Tony for years. Believe me, I'm used to a little vomit."
"This is something much worse," Steve warned her somberly.
Pepper's face fell and she paused, unsure. "What do you mean?"
Steve shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I think you'd better get Bruce."
With a final glance at the sick man, Pepper ran from the room. Steve turned his full attention to Tony. The billionaire had yet to cease vomiting. The violent heaves shook his body mercilessly, and left him gasping for air. A shiny layer of sweat coated every visible inch of his skin, and his pupils were blown wide.
"Stark?" Steve started tentatively. "Can you hear me?"
Tony choked up some more stomach contents, spewing little bits of half-digested appetizers across Steve's floor. Steve dodged the mess, creeping closer.
"Tony?"
The other man's hand shot out and latched onto the collar of Steve's shirt. Steve was pulled off balance and reflexively tried to catch himself. But Tony was insistent, clutching the fabric harder and tugging Steve closer. Yielding to the pressure, Steve allowed himself to be yanked forward. Tony's eyes were huge, his gaze desperate as he clawed at the soldier. Steve gripped Tony under the elbow for stability, feeling how Tony's entire frame was trembling.
"Easy, take it easy," Steve encouraged. "Just try to breathe."
Tony shook his head, coughed and spit out more bile. Undeterred, Steve repeated his instructions, keeping his tone level and confident. After a few moments, it helped Tony calm down, his harsh gasps slowing to shallow breaths. He moaned and collapsed forward, his forehead cracking against Steve's sternum. Even through the fabric of his shirt, Steve was able to feel the heat radiating from Tony's skin.
"Steve?" Bruce's voice drifted into the room as the scientist arrived in the apartment.
"In here," Steve replied.
Bruce wasted no time in offering his aid. He crouched beside Steve and grabbed Tony's wrist, checking his pulse. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Steve confessed.
"How long has he been like this?" Bruce inquired, lifting Tony's head to evaluate his dilated pupils and pale face.
"It couldn't have been more than ten minutes," Steve said, anxious.
"It's been six minutes since we found him," Pepper piped up from where she was hovering nearby.
"Has he had any other symptoms?" Bruce questioned, listening to Tony pant, while also examining the amount of vomit on the floor.
"He was a little dizzy earlier. Disoriented," Steve recalled. "And he kept wrapping his arm around his stomach."
"And you didn't think anything was wrong? Why didn't you take him to the hospital?" Pepper accused.
"I thought he was drunk," Steve helplessly answered.
"Okay, we need an ambulance," Bruce declared. "Call 911."
Pepper nodded vigorously, whipping out her phone even as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Bruce asked Tony a number of questions to try to keep him conscious, as well as to gather any information about what had happened. Unfortunately, Tony was unable to provide any clues. The bedroom door banged against the wall as it was thrown open by a disgruntled assassin.
"What's going on in here?" Clint demanded. "Jarvis woke me up, saying there was an emergency but he refused to give me details." He froze when he caught sight of Tony.
Natasha appeared silhouetted in the doorway behind him, phone already pressed to her ear as she carried on a hushed conversation.
"We need to get him sitting up," Bruce urged.
"The ambulance is on its way," Pepper assured.
"SHIELD's sweeping the area," Natasha reported.
"Thor has slept through my alarm," Jarvis observed.
"How does a guy go from being fine one minute to dangerously sick the next?" Clint growled.
"Nothing so far," Natasha updated.
"Is he going to be okay?" Pepper asked.
"He was fine when I last saw him," Clint bit out.
"Do you think this was a deliberate attack?" Bruce asked.
"How long does it take to respond to an emergency?" Pepper questioned.
"No chatter yet. No one's claimed responsibility," Natasha commented.
"Someone, get me a wet washcloth," Bruce commanded.
"What the hell, Cap? What did you do to him?" Clint snapped.
Steve sat in the middle of the chaos, feeling the confusion and anxiety slam into him like ocean waves as the next couple of minutes blurred together. More questions. More panic. Then strangers flooded the room, taking Tony with gloved hands and using their professional equipment to give him adequate help and then they were wheeling out the gurney, Pepper running beside to hold Tony's hand and the others following in a line behind. And Steve was left kneeling on the soiled carpet.
"I just thought he was drunk," he whispered to the empty room.
Three months later, Steve was attending a charity function at a private art gallery outside the city. It was an exclusive event, with a short guest list. After making his rounds through the room, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and resigned to the general sense of awe most people seemed unable to refrain from displaying when meeting Captain America for the first time, Steve found an unobtrusive corner to stand in. He quietly observed the idle conversations being carried out by the attendees. Soft laughter occasionally broke the chatter . Servers carried trays with fluted glasses, offering alcoholic beverages to the guests. Couples paraded their wealth, dressed in fine clothes and expensive jewelry. Steve shifted his weight, uncomfortable in his rented suit. A group of ladies strolled past his corner, discussing the host's choice of decor. One of them gave Steve a coy wink as they passed. Steve turned away, pretending not to notice. Then he whipped his head around and stared after them. Keeping his eye on the group, he abandoned his secluded shelter to find his partner.
After what had happened to Tony, none of the Avengers were allowed anywhere alone. So even though the invitation to the charity event had been for Steve, Clint was added as his plus one, a title which a fully recovered Tony found great amusement in teasing them about. Weaving his way around the other guests, Steve finally spotted the archer. He quickly crossed the room to where Clint was seated with another gentleman on a backless sofa, holding a debate which pitted Impressionism against Realism.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but could you excuse us for a moment?" Steve didn't wait for an answer, snatching Clint's arm and pulling the marksman away.
"Hey, I was having an intelligent argument with that knowledgeable art enthusiast," Clint complained.
"SHIELD never found anything about Stark's attacker, did they?" Steve whispered fervently.
"What?" Clint blinked at the abrupt change of topic.
"A few months ago, when he was poisoned, SHIELD never found out who did it?" Steve rephrased.
Clint shook his head. "Well, no. They were able to figure out the antidote but other than that, nothing. No clues. No leads. No suspects."
"I think I know who did it," Steve confided in a hushed tone.
"Who?" Clint demanded.
Steve tipped his chin to indicate the lady who had winked at him a few minutes earlier.
Clint scanned the crowd but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Okay...which one's the assassin?"
"The woman in the green dress," Steve clarified.
After running through a mental index of the guest list in his head, Clint scoffed. "That's Gianna Kirabo. She's one of the biggest donors to the Foundation."
Steve clenched his jaw but kept his gaze firmly planted on his suspect.
"Come on, Cap. She's known for her generous contributions and passionate speeches. What makes you think she's secretly trying to kill superheroes in her spare time?" Clint argued.
"She was at the party," Steve answered.
Clint shrugged. "So were some of the other people here. New York has a certain circle of high society, they tend to get invited to all the same events. You're going to need more evidence than that."
"Her perfume," Steve added shortly.
"Her perfume?" Clint repeated incredulously. "Really? You've decided she's a psycho just because you don't like the way she smells?"
Steve finally turned to face him. "I smelled it on Tony that night. And guess what she's been lobbying for lately? Justice for Victims of War."
Realization dawned on Clint. "That's that new hippy group, isn't it? I heard about it on the news. It hasn't really come onto SHIELD's watch list yet. You think that's her motive?"
"Stark used to manufacture weapons," Steve replied.
Clint's nodded acquiescence and he discreetly took his SHIELD communicator from his pocket and requested more information on Gianna Kirabo. By the time the event was finished, there was a SHIELD escort waiting outside the gallery to take the woman in for questioning. When possible terrorism was mentioned, it took no time at all for a warrant to be issued allowing for Kirabo's home to be searched. When the evidence linking her to the crime was discovered, Kirabo willingly confessed and was sentenced accordingly. The day her trial was over, Steve went to personally tell Tony the news.
"So she's going behind bars? Getting locked up in the big house?" Tony nonchalantly sipped from his coffee mug.
"I'm not sure what kind of prison SHIELD has in mind, but I can guarantee she's going to be there for the rest of her life," Steve assured him.
"Oh, SHIELD got her?" Tony queried, raising an eyebrow.
"She did try to kill one of their employees," Steve pointed out.
"Employee implies I receive some form of payment in exchange for my services," Tony grumbled.
"What word would you prefer I use?" Steve inquired.
Tony shrugged and swallowed the last of his drink. He set his cup in the sink and leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms. "So I heard you were the one who figured it out."
Steve ducked his head. "Not soon enough."
"You know, I don't really remember much of what happened that night," Tony commented.
"With how much poison you had in you at the time, I would be surprised if you did," Steve said.
"You were there." Tony pointed at him. "I remember that."
Steve scoffed. "Yeah. And a lot of help I was."
"What happened?" Tony asked.
Guilt swelled in Steve's throat and he looked away.
"Come on, Cap, tell me," Tony pressed.
"After the party, I stayed to clean up," Steve began.
"That sounds like you, Captain Goody Two-Shoes," Tony snickered.
Steve frowned. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"
"Okay, okay." Tony held up his hands in surrender. "Please continue."
"So I stayed late and then Pepper called me when she couldn't reach you. She was worried about you," Steve resumed his narration. "I was about to go looking for you when I saw you in the hallway."
"Where was I before that?" Tony interrupted.
Steve shrugged. "I don't know."
"What did you do once you found me?" Tony prompted.
"Took you home and put you to bed," Steve answered.
Tony wiggled his brows mischievously. "When you put it like that…"
Steve folded his arms across his chest. "Actually, to be honest," he cleared his throat, "I thought someone else had kind of already...I mean...erm."
Tilting his head, Tony peered closely at Steve. "What are you trying to say?"
"I don't know. It's just, well, you were staggering around and slurring your speech, so I thought you were drunk. And then I could smell some dame's perfume on you, and I knew it wasn't Pepper's, and I just thought…" Steve trailed off, regretful of his earlier judgement.
Tony stiffened. Steve's cheeks flamed and he hung his head.
With a sigh, Tony allowed the tension to leave his body. "I guess, given the circumstances, it was only natural for you to blame alcohol."
Steve's head came up fast and he stared at Tony in surprise.
"How were you supposed to know that I was actually kidnapped and drugged, not off having a good time?" Tony offered the absolution.
Taken off guard by Tony's willingness to put the whole matter behind them, Steve huffed a quiet laugh. "Well, from what I knew of your reputation… it didn't seem completely impossible that you would…"
Tony smiled ruefully. "I can see how you might think that."
"But I should have known." Steve sobered quickly. "I should have trusted that you wouldn't do that. Not to Pepper. You two have something special and I know she means a lot to you. You wouldn't have thrown that away. I should have known something was wrong. I'm sorry, Tony," he apologized.
With a casual shrug, Tony pushed away from the counter. "Should have, would have, could have. Who cares? All that matters is that I'm still alive."
"You're not mad?" Steve queried shyly.
"Nope. If I got mad every time someone made assumptions about me, I'd be the Hulk," Tony reassured him.
"Thanks," Steve told him sincerely.
Tony waved him off. "What do you say we grab the rest of the team and head downtown for a bite to eat?"
"Sounds good to me," Steve happily agreed.