Those first few long moments had been agonizing.
Steve could remember leaning painfully close to the silent hunk of dented, scratched, charred metal. He could remember the odd scents that filled his nostrils and clouded his thoughts - blood, iron, gasoline, sweat, and the distinct smell of ozone that had wafted from the battered power suit that had remained still upon the cracked pavement of the street for so long that he had a decent chance to remove himself from the situation and attempt to think clearly. He could remember the very vivid thought he'd had as he and the others waited with bated breath to see if the man within the Mark VII would show any remote signs of life.
Hell, at that point, he would've taken a teasing flash of the arc reactor that was otherwise very, frighteningly dark.
He remembered thinking that if Loki had killed Anthony Stark, that he would personally turn around and spend the rest of his life, however long it was, bringing the fires of Hell to Asgard.
And naturally, as was the way of life, everything had turned out more or less all right. Tony was a brutal badass, he'd quickly learned, and despite his rather significant downfalls - his crude nature, his tendency to drink too much too often, and his "vibrant" vocabulary - he was physically able to take a beating time and time again. It always ended with a bottle of scotch or whiskey, but in situations like that, Steve could almost - almost! - forgive the millionaire playboy for his transgressions. He had no concept of the Godly United States that Steve had grown up with, but maybe that was all right. His lack of concern for authority, after all, was part of what made Stark interesting, and was certainly the reason that the Iron Man suit had come into existence in the first place. If Tony hadn't been such a pain in the butt, Steve never would have met him. That would have been a travesty.
Unfortunately, the initial concern he had shown for Tony after they had defeated Loki left an undercurrent of not-so-subtle teasing among their compatriots. Quiet comments and chuckling jabs befell the two, driving them to spend as little time in the same room together as possible. Tony became more bitter and sarcastic, driving away the more gentle and often reserved Rogers who tended to answer the poking and prodding with stabbing comments about Biblical stances on homosexuality and constant reminders of how he stood for the original kind of American justice - the God-fearing sort of "good stuff" that Lady Liberty stood for. They were passive-aggressive tirades that the other Avengers tended to ignore, or roll their eyes at.
That, of course, did not explain why Steve found himself standing outside the door to Tony's penthouse suite in Stark Tower, a fist poised to knock upon the huge door, but unable to follow through with the simple action. It didn't explain a damn thing.
Tony lay in bed, the dark satin covers pulled up to his bare waist, a hand draped across the sheets while the other was positioned behind his head to prop it up just a bit. In the background he could hear that the TV was still on, tuned to some random news network that was blabbering irrelevant late-night news that nobody particularly cared about. Not at midnight, at least. His eyes were focused somewhere on the ceiling, though in truth he wasn't really looking directly at anything in particular. He had found himself distracted most of the day, even though he'd spent his sunlight hours and most of the night doing the things he loved the most: buying expensive things he didn't need off of random websites, pissing off Pepper, and working on his newest suit.
Those things were all great, of course, and brought him a great deal of joy, but they weren't nearly as distracting as usual. It had seemed like all day, every time he turned around, Steve Rogers had been there, watching him with those steely blue eyes, judging his every movement. They'd gotten on each others nerves within the short time they got to know each other after they had pulled him from the ice, but in the end, he admired the blonde haired man's tenacity.
If he'd just stop calling everyone 'soldier', maybe Tony could go a few minutes without wanting to punch him in the face.
And damn his face, anyway! That stupid, shit-eating grin and glossy eyed look Steve got whenever someone introduced him to new technology that he found particularly intriguing, the way he winked once - just once - at Tony and had actually made Iron Man blush, of all people, the way he had caught Steve staring at him as though Captain America was actually interested in another man that one time Tony had changed his shirt while Steve was in his office...
Wait. What the hell did he care if Cap stole a glance at him? He was endeared to Pepper, as much as he sometimes hated to admit that it was a relationship and not a flippant one-night stand that managed to keep happening every night. Admitting that he actually cared about her had taken years of him playfully abusing her and teasing her, and then a lot of psychological destruction brought on by his time as a prisoner, and then as Iron Man. He was a womanizer - a playboy, he'd said so himself - and most definitely had not ever been interested in men. Guys were hairy, sweaty, and smelly, he reminded himself with a wrinkle of his nose. They didn't look good naked. They weren't fun to look at, or think about. They were pretty cut and dry, when it came to .. Needs.
Tony huffed. Well, of all the guys Tony didn't want to see naked, Cap was pretty far down the list. He was a fairly chiseled man, well built and pretty low on the 'hairy' end of things. He had a nice jawline, expressive eyebrows, that all-American look about him that certainly explained his superhero title. Stark closed his eyes and sighed, trying out of sheer curiosity to see if he could even remember what Rogers had looked like that one time he'd barged into the locker room adjoining the training room and had seen Cap from behind, bare assed.
A knock at the door was more than enough to jostle him out of what he soon realized was about to be a downright filthy mental undressing of Captain America. A sudden fit of rage left him flinging his smartphone across the room and into the wall, leaving a lovely dent in the sheetrock before it clattered to the floor and shattered unceremoniously. Great. It was probably Pepper, and there he was, about to fantasize about Steve? He'd argued his sanity before, but maybe it really had come time for him to get his head checked.
"Mister Rogers for you, sir," JARVIS piped up. Helpful as always. As if to taunt him, his AI butler brought up a smaller screen on top of the drivel Tony had been watching, to show a clip from one of the Mister Rogers' Neighborhood episodes that Tony could clearly remember watching as a kid. Stark rolled his eyes, made a flicking gesture at the TV to silence it, and then nodded to the door as he attempted to compose himself.
"Well, let him in," he insisted as he sat up and tried to make himself as presentable as he could, given that he was sitting in bed. At the last moment, he changed the show to something manly, like wrestling, and snatched up a half-full glass of whiskey from the table beside him. Best to look as though he had no real cares in the world, otherwise Steve would probably think something was wrong. And the last thing he wanted or needed was the Cap on his ass about something.
With a quiet whooshing noise, the door slid aside and a startled Steve Rogers was revealed. He glanced briefly at the door, as though he wasn't really sure what to make of it, and then slowly stepped into the room. One hand lifted in a halfhearted salute to Tony as he hesitated within a foot of the entryway, unwilling to venture further without either a good reason, or an invitation.
"Drink?" Tony offered as he held up his own glass. Not that he at all expected Steve to take him up on it, but surprisingly enough, the tall man nodded. Unexpectedly, he moved to the small bar near the door before Tony could even begin to sit up to get the drink for him, and Rogers poured himself a shot glass of .. Something, Tony wasn't sure what given the speed with which Cap moved to down it .. And then another. It was very unlike Cap, and although normally Tony would have praised the man on his sudden predilection to drink, he found himself vaguely concerned. "Jesus, Steve, take it easy. I'm the only alcoholic here."
Rogers should have rolled his eyes, chuckled a little, shook his head. Instead, he put the shot glass back down and took a deep breath as he turned toward Tony's bed. He cleared his throat, inhaled, frowned. Exhaled. Tried again, but repeated the same process instead several times before he ended up nervously scratching the side of his head. Seconds passed, then minutes, of excruciating silence between the two men, a discomfort broken only by the ambient noise produced by the random video that Tony allowed to keep playing.
Finally, Steve turned, and marched himself over to Tony's bed to sit on the side. It was a bold move, one that left Stark staring at Rogers with lifted brows - he was impressed, he had to give Cap that much. But he'd still never seen Rogers that upset, or at least that bothered, about anything of meaning, and that alone kept Tony quiet while Steve struggled to form coherent words.
"Listen, Tony," he began, though he hesitated a moment and frowned, his gaze moving from his shoes and the floor to somewhere in between Tony's eyes. "I'm.. I was .. What happened, it was scary as hell for me, okay? All that with the .. The almost dying."
Tony choked on a laugh. He hadn't honestly meant to laugh at Steve, not while he was trying to have feelings, but for a moment he was positive he was about to hear Captain America say he was scared of monsters, and that alone was enough to nearly make him cry from laughter. Steve, however, didn't seem to see it that way, and his gaze met Tony's with an unforgiving glare at the misinterpretation of the chortle.
"No, I'm sorry, Steve. Go on, really," Stark urged, though he couldn't help but still smile. Steve didn't seem reassured, but the alcohol was working its magic. Instead of storming off, which had admittedly been the more attractive response, he remained firmly planted on the edge of the bed and tried again to focus on Tony's face. His cheeks were burning - and he almost hoped that Tony could see it, would notice, so that maybe he'd have half an idea of how difficult the situation was for him.
"You almost died, Tony, and I thought you were gone. I realize for people like us that death is .. Death is relative, because who really knows exactly what it would take to really, finally kill any one of us. But I thought you were gone, I was positive you were, and .. When I realized there was a chance you really were, I.. I panicked, I couldn't help but think of how awful it would be if you were, how I wouldn't have any damn clue what to do with myself or the Avengers or anybody else, how.. How much I'd miss you." He swallowed hard and averted his gaze, again staring blankly at the floor.
Tony's jaw dropped. Had that seriously just come from Captain America's mouth?
"I would've missed you a hell of a lot, Stark. I felt really lost. I .. I care.. I care about you, a lot. Maybe more than I should. Maybe more than is appropriate given our .. Working relationship." Steve stood suddenly, dragged a hand through his hair, shuffled his feet on the floor. "I don't even really know how to describe it. I .. I can't stop thinking about you, I want to be around you all the time, I stare at you when we're in the same room together and people have noticed. You're even in my dreams."
Stark cleared his throat. He was pretty sure he understood what Steve was trying to get at, but he wanted to hear Rogers say it himself..
"Tony, I.. I think I.." Steve seemed to have the gumption to finish the sentence, but suddenly it was all lost, in a way that not even more whiskey could help. His shoulders slumped and he dismissively waved a hand at the air. "Never mind, it's stupid as hell. Night, Stark." He glanced once more at Tony, then reached out to pat Stark's cheek - a gesture that seriously shocked Tony and made him sit up straight again after having been lounging comfortably back against his pillows. Before he could react further, Steve had turned on his heel and was heading for the door, which JARVIS had already opened.
"Wait, Rogers!" Tony called after him, though it did no good. He watched as the man disappeared out the door. "This could be the start of something beautiful!"