Tony had been to a million parties in his day. Thrown them, attended them, crashed them. Casual, black-tie, celebrity-filled, presidential, you name it, he'd been to one. His annual New Year's Eve party was one of legend. He suspected that many a career was both born and lost between the hours of nine and two. Children conceived, marriages proposed or ended. Every possible event or outcome, Tony had witnessed.
With all of this party knowledge and experience before him, Tony could conclude only one thing. He'd never seen a sadder or more pathetic party guest than Steve Rogers. The captain had spent most of the night on the balcony, staring out into nothingness without even a drink in his hand. Truth be told, Tony was surprised Steve had even come, not that he had given the super soldier much choice. He had had Jarvis shut off all of the power to Steve's room in the tower, forcing the super soldier to join in the festivities. But Steve hadn't so much joined the festivities as he had walked right past them. Not that Tony could blame him. It had been rough on Steve since S.H.I.E.L.D. had collapsed and he'd discovered Bucky was still alive. The soldier had spent months trying to find his best friend to no avail. S.H.I.E.L.D., which had been the structure of his life for better or for worse, was no more. And to top things off, Steve's former love Peggy Carter had passed away the month before.
All of these events had succeeded in shelling up the captain even more so than usual. Tony thanked god for Natasha, who seemed closer to Steve ever since the Winter Soldier debacle. Sam Wilson had also become a distraction for Steve and part of the inner circle. Tony had sent both of them out to cheer up Steve and hopefully bring him inside. The fact that Tony had even realized Steve wasn't enjoying the party served as a testament to how much Tony had grown over the past few months. And also served to remind him just how much his fellow Avengers really meant to him. Even if said Avenger was a righteous fuddy duddy with better hair than him. Not that he'd ever let Steve know that.
Sam had spent a good half hour outside with the super soldier and had come back inside looking like someone had killed his goldfish. The vet had proceeded to the bar and took a huge dose of Scotch, keeping the bottle handy next to him. Natasha was next. She had made her way out to the balcony to Steve and had been out there for the last forty five minutes.
He wished the other Avengers were around to help, but Thor was off planet, Bruce was somewhere in Asia and Hawkeye was, well, Tony didn't really know. Pepper had gotten stuck in LA on business, otherwise should would've been first in line to try and bring Steve some good cheer.
So, the three of them it was. Tony peeked out the window every couple of minutes, checking on Natasha's progress, seeing her occasionally wrap her arms around him and Steve politely shrugging her off, not accepting the comfort.
Tony looked out on the balcony again just in time to see Natasha throw her hands up in frustration and head back inside. She caught Tony's eye and shook her head as she walked to him, grabbing not one, but two glasses of champagne from a waiter on her way over.
"I take it you couldn't work your magic, Agent Romanov," said Tony.
Natasha downed the first glass of champagne in one gulp. "He's hopeless. I've never seen him so low. If we're not careful, he might jump by the end of the night."
"Actually, he can't. I have a program to prevent that sort of thing. Call it a safety net."
"Well, you might want to bring it out because he sure could use it." Natasha guzzled the second glass of champagne and turned to look out almost wistfully at Steve. "He deserves so much more than what life's handed him."
"Maybe it's up to us to make sure he gets it," said Tony, heading out to the balcony to try and talk his own sense into Steve.
"Hey Stark," called Natasha after him. "Word of warning, don't mention Bucky, S.H.I.E.L.D. or Peggy. He doesn't wanna go there."
Tony winked. "Good thing I had no intention of doing so." He grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey from the bar and headed outside, determined to make sure Steve had a good time.
But Steve quickly cut him off at the pass. "Stark, whatever you're coming out here to say, I appreciate it, I do, but I just can't hear it right now."
"Who said I was out here for you, Rogers," said Tony, opening the bottle and taking a swig, his work clearly cut out for him. "My party, my view. Maybe I just want to enjoy it."
"Sorry," said Steve, turning back to look out at the lights of Manhattan. A few random fireworks popped up over the skies of Brooklyn in the distance. "Sure does look different than what I remember."
"Holiday's a holiday, Rogers. Doesn't really matter what decade you celebrate it in." He held the bottle out to Steve. "Whiskey?"
Steve looked at the bottle with longing. "You know that doesn't have any effect on me."
"Well, maybe if you drank the whole bottle really, really fast you might catch a buzz for thirty seconds."
"I don't think my stomach would appreciate that very much."
"But your friends might. They're worried. Hell, I'm worried."
"All my friends are gone," said Steve softly.
"That's crap and you know it."
Steve extended his hands out towards the penthouse. "This is all circumstance. You wouldn't be my friend if we weren't forced together. Natasha, hell, even Sam. None of you know I really am. Who I really was."
"So why'd dont you tell us?"
Steve looked at Tony with such an empty expression that it made Tony take an involuntary step back along with a huge gulp of whiskey.
It was then that Jarvis interrupted. "Sir, I'm getting a reading…"
"Not now, Jarvis."
"I understand, sir, but this could be serious."
Steve's angst ridden look temporarily cleared. "What is it, Jarvis?" he asked, automatically glancing at the hundred or so people gathered in Tony's living room.
"Someone has gained backdoor access to our system."
"Impossible," said Tony. "Must be a malfunction."
"Yes, sir, that's what I assumed as well. So I checked it. Three different times."
Tony set down the bottle and pulled out the system controller for the balcony. He pulled up the screen, checking to see what was being affected. "Oh no," he said, his stomach clenching when he saw what was happening.
"Tony, what is it?" asked Steve, all traces of his previous melancholy completely forgotten in light of possible trouble.
"The Iron Man suit is powering up. Someone's trying to take control of it."
"Well, shut it down!"
"Now, why didn't I think of that? Jarvis, run all reboot software. Take control of the system."
"I'm sure he'd love to but Jarvis is otherwise occupied with the virus I just entered into his system."
The voice was familiar but Tony could quite place it. "Refresh my memory, who is this?"
"Aw Tony, come on, you insult me. Justin Hammer. Hammer Industries."
"Oh, right. Weren't you in jail?"
"It's called early parole. I'm back Tony and better than ever. And I'm gonna wipe you off the map."
"How you gonna do that?"
"I'm gonna make Iron Man kill Captain America."
Tony and Steve had a just a moment to share a worried glance before the Iron Man suit came rocketing through the penthouse amidst confused partygoers and crashed through the sliding glass door, latching onto Tony so hard it stole the air from his lungs.
"Power down," commanded Tony as the suit engulfed him, making him feel claustrophobic as the metal continued to build around him, slowly churning up to full power. He began to rise off the ground as the thrusters gained momentum, the out of control feeling both dizzying and nauseating.
The suit turned to face Steve, who was caught in plain clothes and without his shield. A look of fear swept across Steve's face before quickly being replaced by a look of determination as he took a battle ready position. "Give it your best shot," he challenged, crouching into a defensive stance.
"Let the games begin," came Hammer's voice.
Tony might've had the Iron Man suit on, but Steve was Captain America and even more important, Steve Rogers was a kid from Brooklyn who never backed down from a fight, no matter how big the foe. The Iron Man suit was no exception. The suit plowed straight into Steve, knocking him back through the sliding glass door and inside the penthouse, where he crashed with an explosive bang against the counter in the kitchen, reducing it to rubble. Partygoers rapidly scattered, screaming in a panic, while Sam and Natasha tried to get their bearings on what was unfolding before them.
Steve stood up, brushing away glass and marble remnants from the counter and wiping a smattering of blood from his lip, wincing at the bumps and bruises he sustained. Then he charged Iron Man, the unexpected power of super soldier strength taking the suit to the ground as Steve began to wail on him, the iron denting slightly as Steve's fists gradually turned into purple, bloody stumps.
"Increase power, I think," said Justin, the readings in the display of the suit gauging higher. Iron Man landed a savage punch against Steve's face, sending him flying.
"Jarvis, you out there, buddy?" Tony called out in desperation, but receiving no answer.
"Stark, who's doing this?" shouted Natasha.
"No one good!" screamed Tony as the thrusters powered up and flew over to Steve, the Iron Man suit picking him up and tossing him through a wall. That one had hurt, Tony could tell. Steve collapsed in a heap on the floor, barely moving, a weak groan escaping his lips. Sam immediately knelt next to the super soldier to check him out, but the suit was having none of it. He extended his hand and flung a beam of thruster power at Sam, sending him hurdling into a coffee table, knocking him unconscious.
"Jarvis, damn it, take control!" He heard a staticky reply from his AI, like he was a radio station just of range.
Natasha was in the periphery of the room, trying to avoid the wrath of the suit. "Where's your mainframe? I can try and reboot manually. Knock 'em out of the system."
"It's worth a shot. It's on twenty eight."
The suit turned towards Natasha to prevent her plan of attack, but Steve was suddenly upon him, brutally kicking the suit back out onto the balcony. "Go Natasha!" yelled Steve, staggering from his wounds.
The Iron Man suit sent a crushing blow into Steve's stomach and then fired a barrage of bullets Natasha's way. The spy did a running back flip into a closing elevator, missing the gunfire by an inch.
"Doesn't matter, Tony. By the time she flips the switch, Captain America will be dead."
The suit captured Steve, wrapping its iron hand around Steve's neck, the pressure horrible. Steve's face was bright red as he pawed at the metal fingers, trying desperately to remove their hold so he could take even one breath. Tony could barely breathe himself.
"Fight me, damn it! Fight, Rogers!" Tony urged. "Jarvis you back? Romanov,any luck?"
There was a staticky reply from Jarvis and no reply from Romanov.
"I had some luck," came the voice of Sam Wilson.
The suit turned to the voice just in time to see Sam fire what amounted to a small rocket from a S.H.I.E.L.D. created gun, an arsenal of which the team kept stashed all over the penthouse. The suit dodged, but by a second too late. The small bomb hit him in the legs. Not enough to destroy the suit, but enough to land him flat on his ass. More importantly, enough to free Steve, who landed in a gasping, coughing, moaning pile in front of the elevator.
The suit stood up, glancing over at Steve, who continued to struggle to get his breath. "You almost just did my work for me, Mr. Wilson," said the suit.
"I don't think so, you son of a bitch. Cap takes a licking and he keeps on ticking."
"We'll see about that."
The suit shot straight to Steve and picked him up, smashing him through the elevator doors and flying him into the elevator shaft.
Steve moaned, blood trickling out of his mouth, his eyes fluttering. The suit proceeded to flail Steve against the concrete walls of the shaft, doing its best to smash him until there was nothing left of him.
Tony could feel Steve's bones break and could hear his soft cries of pain. It was the most horrific moment of Tony's life. "Romanov, what's your twenty? Rogers doesn't have much time," he said in a choked voice, fighting back tears. He felt like throwing up as he saw the life slowly eek out of Steve's eyes.
"Almost there. Minute longer."
"He doesn't have a minute," said Tony.
"He certainly doesn't," said Justin. "Lets cut to the chase, shall we." The suit swooped down the shaft with Steve in tow and then smashed through another set of elevator doors and they were suddenly on the indoor pool level, which took up most of seventeen. The suit dove straight into the water, hands once again gripping Steve's neck, holding him down despite Steve's insistent protests. But Steve was too weak to fight back and the suit was too strong. Tony could feel the muscles of Steve's throat slowly giving up the fight of life, the soldier's body going limp.
"No," whispered Tony, his heart in his chest, not believing what was happening. He was going to kill his friend and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"Got it!" said Natasha.
"So did I," said Justin.
Steve's body contorted and then went completely still. Then everything in the building shut down. The lights went off, the air, the computers, everything. The suit went dormant and Justin Hammer was gone.
After a few seconds, the lights flickered on and the sounds of the building powering back up filled the air.
"Good to be back, sir," said Jarvis. "Everything will be fully operational in less than a minute."
The suit began to buzz as it too began to come back to life. "Power down," said Tony, feeling trapped like a caged animal. He wanted it off. He wanted it off now. "Power down!"
The suit unlocked itself from Tony's body and the billionaire eagerly swam to the edge of the pool, away from the suit and away from Steve, who lay face down in the water, completely motionless.
"Tony, is Steve all right?" asked Natasha.
Tony couldn't answer. He couldn't move.
He couldn't move.
"Stark, what's your twenty?" asked Sam.
Tony didn't reply. Instead, he could only stare at Steve's body as his own body shook helplessly in terror.
"Stark, where the hell are you? Where's Steve?" asked Natasha.
Tony could hear her, but he was still frozen in place. Still staring at Steve's lifeless body. More powerless to do anything about it then when he'd been held hostage inside his own Iron Man suit.
"Agent Romanov, I've detected Master Stark and Captain Rogers on the pool level. Seventeen. Captain Rogers appears to be…unwell."
"I'm on it," said Sam. "Be there in thirty seconds."
"Me too," said Natasha. "Jarvis, alert medical. Send everyone that's still around to seventeen."
"Very well," said Jarvis.
Tony's heart thudded in his chest, waiting nervously for someone, anyone to show up and save Steve. He couldn't touch him. Not now. Not after the feel of Steve's body breaking in his hold. Not after feeling the life leave the soldier's body.
True to his word, Sam sprinted into the room less than ten seconds later, his eyes widening in horror when he saw Steve and widening even further when he saw that Tony was doing nothing to help him. "What the hell you doing, man? Can't you see he's dying?"
Tony opened his mouth to respond and all that came out was a tiny little squeal.
"Mr. Wilson, it would appear that Master Stark is suffering from distress over the suit's actions towards Captain Rogers."
"I'll say," said Sam as he dove in the water to fish Steve out.
Natasha arrived moments later, regarding him with the same confused accusatory stare Sam had flashed him earlier. "What are you…" she stopped abruptly when she realized that Tony had begun to cry.
"Natasha, he's not breathing!" cried Sam as he settled a water-logged Captain America just out of the edge of the pool. Even from his position, Tony could see the harsh ring of bruises swelling on Steve's neck as well as the blood that covered a good portion of his body. His face was so pale. Paler than anyone who could still be alive.
"Come on, we gotta get Cap back up and running," said Sam as he and Natasha began to perform CPR on Steve.
All Tony could hear was the thud of Sam's hands against Steve's lifeless chest and the whir of air being breathed into his open mouth. There was no movement. No hitch of a breath. No moan of pain. Not a singular sign that Steve was going to make it.
As the minutes drifted on and the sounds of the CPR grew more furious and desperate, Tony's vision started to fade as a haze of red clouded over his brain. He wasn't sure if he could live if Steve died. He didn't have the capability of dealing with that kind of guilt. That kind of responsibility.
"Damn it, Steve, you're tougher than this! Come on!" yelled Natasha in a wrecked voice.
Sam continued to pummel at Steve's chest and they all winced when they heard the pop of a rib give way under his palpitations. Sam shook his head furiously. "This is on you, Stark. You did this!"
Tony couldn't disagree with him. In fact, he knew the veteran was absolutely and completely right.
There was a strangled grunt and suddenly, Steve's whole body shuddered as he coughed up mouthful after mouthful of water, his coughs raspy and choked off as he painfully struggled to take in air.
Sam collapsed back in relieved exhaustion while Natasha clutched at Steve tenderly, rubbing his back and whispering reassurances into his ear.
Steve continued to miserably gasp in strangled bouts of air, the sounds torturous to hear.
"T…" shuddered Steve, trying to look around.
"Shhh, don't try to talk," said Natasha, stilling him with one hand and putting pressure on a nasty wound in the soldier's stomach with another.
"Ton…" Steve muttered, his strength clearly waning.
A team of medical personnel arrived just then, swarming Steve with iv's and bandages and ice packs.
"Tony," Steve finally managed in a voice that sounded like his throat was cut to ribbons.
"He's fine, Cap," said Sam, squeezing Steve's shoulder in reassurance while flashing Tony a look of contempt.
"He's right over there," said Natasha, pointing in Tony's direction, but not daring to look at him.
Tony shrunk away, wanting to disappear.
Steve managed to turn his head to look at him, his eyes blown with pain as their gaze met. Tony's face burned in shame and he abruptly stood up, the blood rushing to his head, his body stiff and sore from having been knocked around by the suit. "Ja…Jarvis, do you have a fix on Hammer's location?"
"Yes, sir. He's in a building approximately ten miles away."
"Send everybody," he said as he stumbled past Steve and the paramedics and the concerned, confused faces of Sam and Natasha. He had to get away. He couldn't look at Steve for another second. He just couldn't.
As soon as he got out of the room and away from the pool, he found the nearest bathroom and promptly threw up.
The pain was immense. Not just the physical, but the mental as well. Steve's problems hadn't been knocked out by Iron Man's metal fists. They'd only been amplified.
It hadn't been Tony's metal arm hitting him and smashing him and choking the life out of him. It had been Bucky's. It had been every bully that'd ever tried to beat up not just Captain America, but Steve Rogers. Being taken down by Iron Man, being batted around helplessly as the life slowly drifted out of him, put him right back where he used to be, a powerless kid who couldn't fight for what he believed was right. A kid who couldn't do much of anything.
That was pretty much how Steve had felt the past few months. Helpless. Without a purpose. A mission. He was lost. And all of those things he counted on to help make him through were lost too.
He missed Peggy so much. Seeing her when he did, even if she was less than all of herself sometimes, gave Steve the lifeblood to keep on going no matter how rough it got. She was his heart. She would always be his heart. And now she was gone. Knowing that he would never see her again was unfathomable to Steve. It was unbearable. He pretended like she was on a mission. A top secret mission that maybe she'd tell him all about one day.
When they were old and gray.
He could almost believe the lie. Buy into the fantasy. Except when he couldn't and his reality came crashing down on him. The woman he loved, the woman he'd dreamed about for seventy years in a block of ice wasn't coming back. He had lost her.
Which, ironically, brought him back to Bucky. Another one of his lost things. At least, he had been. When he thought Bucky was dead, there was a surprising amount of connection that was brought with it. He felt Bucky with him. Old times, old memories. Little signs that he was still around. The guilt of his lost life was still there, but it wasn't as sharp. It was livable. Survivable. Bucky wasn't there anymore, but he was still with him.
But when he found out Bucky was still alive, that peaceful presence he felt was gone. Instead, it was replaced with the face of a monster who'd wanted to kill him. Steve had had nightmare after nightmare of being beaten down by Bucky. Being killed. He knew Bucky had saved his life in the water. He knew some part of the old Bucky remained and with enough work and perseverance, he would find him and bring his best friend back to him. But it had been harder than he'd anticipated. Bucky didn't want to be found. And the nightmare of exactly what had been done to his best friend brought with it an entirely new wave of guilt. Now when he thought of Bucky or remembered the good old times, all he felt was pain.
Which was what he felt now coursing through his throat every time he swallowed or tried to take a deep breath. He felt a gentle hand on his chest, trying to give him some form of comfort. Natasha. Who he'd come to depend on and care about more than he would like to admit. Sam too, whose calming voice he could hear calling out words of support and encouragement.
He shivered as a dampness settled in his bones, a cold he knew would take a long time to warm back up. He shifted slightly, setting new pain ablaze in his head and his neck, his abdomen pulsing in pain. God, he hurt like hell. All the serum did was allow him to take more pain than a normal person. To not die from it. But Steve felt every scrape, bruise and broken bone, whether it took five minutes or five days to heal. It hurt. It all hurt. From cutting himself shaving to breaking his leg. His pain sensors were fully functional.
He coughed again, bringing up more water, the action feeling like glass scraping against his throat. Confusion swept through him as he wondered where the hell the water had come from and now that he thought about it, why he was hurting so much to begin with. He groaned as he tried to sit up to check out his surroundings.
"Easy," said Natasha, wrapping a gentle hand around his recognized the large pool as that of floor seventeen of Stark tower and vaguely remembered his head being thrust under the water and an unbelievable pressure on his throat. And not being able to breathe as his lungs had strained with need, pain sparking off broken ribs as his chest quivered. And he remembered the red and gold iron and the glowing eyes of the Iron Man suit staring down at him.
Then it all came back.
"T…" he gasped, trying to speak even worse than coughing. But he needed to know where Tony was. He needed to know he was okay.
"Shhhh, don't try to talk," said Natasha.
He felt one of her hands hold him gently back while the other pressed firmly against a wet, painful wound in his belly. "Ton…" he tried again, the effort making him dizzy. He could barely keep his eyes open.
He felt a sudden flurry of activity around him and squinted his eyes to see the arrival of medical personnel. The pricks of iv needles stung his arm followed by the gradual relief as an obvious painkiller souped up just for him flooded his veins. Bandages were pressed against his bleeding body and an icepack or two was placed against swollen bones.
"Tony," he finally got out, the word costing him nearly all of his breath, leaving his vision black against the faintness the act had cost him.
"Tony's okay, Steve. He's right over there," said Natasha. He could barely make out her arm extending out across the pool.
"Yeah, he's over there, Cap," concurred Sam. "He's okay."
Steve did his best to clear his vision and follow the end of Natasha's arm to where she pointed at Tony. The self proclaimed billionaire, philanthropist, playboy, genius and every other label he put on himself was being uncharacteristically quiet, which signaled to Steve, even in his half-conscious state, that Tony was definitely not all right. With renewed effort, he made himself recharge, his vision finally clearing as his eyes landed on Tony, briefly locking eyes with him before Stark looked away. He'd seen enough. He recognized that expression. He'd seen it in the eyes of the Howling Commandos and other soldiers he'd served with. He'd even seen it in his own eyes from time to time. It was the look of a man who had been forced to do terrible things and then somehow live with them.
Tony Stark was lost to those things.
As if to prove his point, Tony abruptly stood up and limped past Steve and Natasha and Sam and the medical staff, avoiding eye contact or any acknowledgement that anything had even happened. The troubled billionaire disappeared out the door, leaving Steve to continue to receive care for his many wounds. The soldier part of him, the friend part of him wanted to chase after Tony and make sure that he was okay. But unfortunately, Steve's body had other ideas. His head began to spin as one of the paramedics put a stunning amount of pressure in a wound in Steve's shoulder, the sting reaching out to him even under the blanket of painkillers dulling his senses.
"Steve…Steve come on, stay with us. Don't pass out on us," he heard Natasha say and he mentally smiled at her concern for him. But even her voice wasn't enough to pull him back over the edge. Darkness descended over his mind and this time, there was no pulling himself back from it.
Steve's stitches were itching like crazy. He rubbed at them with the sheet of the hospital bed that had been brought into his room in the tower, trying desperately to get some relief, but to no avail. He was hoping they would fall out soon on their own, especially since some of the shallower cuts were already almost healed.
The rest of him, however, was still battered and bruised. His head throbbed from a wicked concussion that he'd been told would've killed him if not for the serum. His ribs were busted to nearly rubble, his shoulder was dislocated and he'd nearly bled to death from a puncture wound to his stomach. His throat was also still swollen and tender, making swallowing or even breathing a lesson in torture. Eating and drinking were out of the question for a few days, so he was being fed and watered intravenously. Talking was impossible. He settled on writing on a small pad of paper that Sam had brought him on one of his visits. Though truth be told, the physical act of writing was pretty damn painful in and of itself.
Especially when he had so many questions.
"Did you get Hammer?" he wrote on the pad, his writing nearly unreadable.
Natasha, who'd popped in to visit while Sam was getting lunch, tore the piece of paper off the pad and aimed it at a trashcan like a hoop shot.
"Hammer's toast. Stark tracked him five minutes after getting out of the suit. We went, we saw, we conquered. Hammer's bending over to get the soap as we speak."
"Good," wrote Steve.
Natasha grabbed the piece of paper and threw it in the trash. "How you doing?"
Steve shrugged and then winced as the movement nearly ended him.
"That good, huh?" said Natasha, standing up and rearranging his pillows so he was more comfortable. "You know, Cap, I'm getting pretty tired of seeing you in a hospital bed."
Steve smiled at that and held out his hand, which Natasha gently squeezed.
"I'm really glad you're okay," she said, her eyes wide and child-like without a hint of her usual overly confident bravado.
"Thanks for getting me going again," he wrote on the pad.
Natasha quickly ripped the paper off and threw it towards the basket, like she was trying to erase the memory of it happening. The wadded up piece of paper hit Sam as he walked back into the hospital room carrying a bag of food.
"Nice to see you too," joked Sam as he sat down on the other side of Steve to eat his lunch.
"Thank you both," wrote Steve.
The paper was ripped and tossed away before Steve had even lifted the pen back from the paper.
Sam shook his head. "You gotta stop making a habit of getting the crap kicked out of you by people that are supposedly your friends."
The words cut Steve unexpectedly deep and a flash of regret shone in Sam's eyes. "Sorry. It's just…"
"How is Tony?" wrote Steve. "I haven't seen him."
Natasha grabbed the paper and instead of balling it up, ripped it up into a billion pieces. "Stark's been hold up in the lab this whole time. He's trying to figure out went wrong. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
"And you're right, you haven't seen him," said Sam. "He hasn't been here once to visit."
"Sam," said Natasha sharply.
"Well, he hasn't," said Sam. "Look, I know the guy didn't do it on purpose, but for all the noise he makes about being so high in the world, it sure was easy for the world to come him and screw everything up. The guy needs to step off his high horse and come down here with the rest of us."
Natasha chuckled. "Good luck with that."
Steve didn't share in her amusement. Instead, a stab of worry cut through his veins, stealing his breath. He knew damn well Tony was avoiding him. But Tony had to know that Steve didn't blame him for what happened. He hoped Tony would know that anyway.
He was starting to realize that maybe he did have something worth saving here. Maybe Natasha and Sam were more than just friends of circumstance. They had saved his life several times now. They might not have been Bucky or Peggy, but he realized that he could count on them and trust them with his life. The thought made the darkness that had been tightening around his soul lately loosen ever so slightly.
As for Tony, he knew the inventor meant well. And he cared and felt much more than he ever acknowledged.
And Steve knew a little something about feeling responsible for someone's death. Or almost death. He knew how the guilt could eat away at you like acid until there was nothing left but a shell of misery.
He didn't want that for Tony. The man didn't deserve it. Even if it at the moment, Steve felt like absolute hell and might have been justified at throwing a few cheap shots Tony's way. The part of him that wanted resolution and to end Tony's pain tried to sit up to get out of bed. But his body wasn't having it. A wave of agony hit him hard, making him feel nauseous and light-headed.
Natasha reached a hand out to settle him, like she knew exactly what he was trying to do. "Stark'll wait, Steve. Just rest."
Sam sighed. "Not that I think he deserves it, but Natasha's right. Your forgiveness will still be there in a few days. He'll survive."
Steve's eyes drifted shut before he could help it as he tried to muster up the strength to write something more on the pad. A message to at least pass on to Tony. But he couldn't summon the power.
He just couldn't.
It was three more days before Steve could finally get out of bed and not look and feel like someone on death's door. He decided that when he finally did go visit Tony, he wanted to do it when he was well on the road to recovery. He didn't want to rub unnecessary salt in the wounds.
He made his way down to seven, which was where Tony did all of his research and development. He stepped off the elevator, wincing at a twinge of pain lingering in his stomach. Punk music blared from the lab and when Steve made his way inside, Tony was neck deep examining five different Iron Man masks, a wrench in hand, not noticing Steve at all.
"Tony," he yelled as best he could, his voice still not one hundred percent, his throat and neck throbbing from the exertion.
Tony didn't notice and if he did, he pretended not to.
"Tony," he said again, this time louder.
Nothing.
Sighing heavily, Steve stepped over to the control panel for the music and turned the volume all the way down.
"Tony," he said again, his voice cracking.
Tony's shoulders shuddered in surprise, the genius momentarily pausing in his work. Then he picked right back up like nothing had happened. "Can't talk now, Rogers. On the verge of discovery. Why don't you book something through Jarvis and…"
The power in the room suddenly shut off save for a few dim emergency lights, effectively cutting off Tony's great discovery.
"I'm sorry, sir, the power seems to have suffered an unexpected malfunction," said Jarvis. "I'll run a diagnostic to see what the problem is. It might take some time."
Steve couldn't help but smile at the "unexpected malfunction." The next time he was alone in his room, he'd have to thank Jarvis for his intervention.
"Yeah Jarvis, I bet it will. This is coming out of your Christmas bonus," said Tony. He let out a deep sigh before finally turning around to face Steve. Tony's eyes balked for a split second when he saw that Steve was still sporting his fair share of bruises even after three days. "Should you really be out of bed? No offense, but you look terrible. Still."
"Well, if you'd come to see me than you'd know this is a vast improvement."
"Been busy. Someone's gotta make sure the bad guys don't win. Especially when our leader's down for the count."
"I heard you took out Hammer."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Hopefully for the last time. He's like a nail fungus. Keeps on growing back. Breaking the nail."
"And everything else."
"Hopefully never again. I'm working to ensure security is full proof now. No more accidents. No more careless mistakes."
"Tony…"
"You really should rest, Cap. You seriously look like hell. And you sound worse."
"Damn it, Tony, are we gonna talk about this? Or are we pretending it didn't happen?"
Tony threw down his wrench and stepped over to Steve with a wild sparkle in his eye. "What do you wanna talk about, Rogers? The look you made in your eyes before you almost died? Or how about the way your blood dripped down the side of the Iron Man suit. Or maybe we can talk about what it feels like to have your hands forced around someone's neck, squeezing the life out of their body and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it."
"Tony…"
"I messed up," admitted Tony. "I thought this place was impenetrable. I thought it was a fortress. If some idiot like Justin Hammer can break in, there's no telling who else can get over the walls."
"So let's stop em'"
"We're supposed to be safe here. It's supposed to be our home."
"It is our home. It's my home," said Steve, saying the words and really believing them, maybe for the first time ever. "Let's defend it. Together. It's not all on you, Tony."
"I almost killed you."
"No. Justin Hammer almost killed me. And he failed. Because you all figured out a way to stop him."
"No. No," said Tony, turning away from Steve. "You almost died because I choked."
"What do you mean?"
He heard Tony inhale hard. "You weren't breathing. In the pool. The suit was off. I could've helped you but I didn't. I couldn't."
Steve's gut clenched. That explained it all. "Look, I've been to war. I know…"
"I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. Sam showed up and then Natasha and if it hadn't have been for them…"
"Tony, you didn't…"
"I'm sorry," said Tony. He turned back around to face him, his eyes brimming with tears, looking as shaken as Steve could ever remember seeing him.
Steve stuck out his hand. "Apology accepted."
"Just like that?" Tony tentatively grabbed Steve's hand and shook it. "So we're okay?"
Steve shrugged. "Weren't you the one trying to get me to see the value of my life at the party before all of this happened?"
"I tried."
"Well, maybe by almost losing it, I might've found it again. So call us even."
"That sounds fair."
"Just don't try and kill me again."
Tony smiled. "I definitely can't guarantee that. You are kind of annoying."
The power suddenly came back on, bathing the room in light. "I've managed to isolate the problem, sir. I apologize for any inconvenience."
"Huh, funny how that worked, Jarvis," said Tony.
Steve grabbed the fallen wrench and handed it back to Tony. "Want some help?"
Tony took the wrench back. "Sure. Just don't touch anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
That's all folks!