Hello guys. :( This piece is not getting enough love, I'm starting to worry if it's because it is hidden from the general publishing list or it really is a badly written fic. This is the second chapter, please enjoy!
Tony's temperature climbed with every hour to the point that his hands started shaking they were completely useless for soldering. He placed the hot iron back in its holder and leaned heavily in his seat. He gave up. His body wouldn't co-operate, his mind was a blurry mess and there was this nagging feeling of something had gone wrong that he just couldn't explain. Nobody would respond to his hey-what's-going-on-out-there social phone call to SHIELD either. The fact that Tony had the Tower all to himself for the past four days meant it was something big because all Avengers were called down. On any normal day this would be heaven. He didn't expect there would come a day he'd actually miss every single cape-wearing SOB. He coughed into his fist and flicked stray tears from the corner of his eyes. Last time he had a cold was a year ago. He rarely fall sick but when he did, he fall hard.
"U, clean this place up. JARVIS, commence defrag and shut down."
"As you wish, Sir."
Tony trudged to the cot around the corner and collected the ugly yellow blanket now a sad pile on the floor. He wrapped it around himself appreciatively, relishing what warmth it provided as he shivered. If Bruce were around he knew there would be porridge in the slow cooker.
As the elevator took him to his pent house, the hem of the yellow blanket sweeping the floor behind him, his eyes glanced over a beautifully fixed watercolour painting of New York nightline. It was Steve's, but he gave it to Tony as a birthday present when the billionaire expressed an interest for it. Kind of. Tony didn't actually tell Steve it was a lovely piece of art and he wanted it very much and he'd totally take down the Pollock for this, but it was still pretty obvious; one evening Steve had the wet product perched by the window (better aeration) and had gone to get himself a cup of coffee, and when he got back he caught Tony staring at it for a good five minute obviously thinking that nobody was watching.
Tony didn't think he thanked Steve for the gift, what more accepted it graciously, but he hung it above his favourite armchair in the sitting room nonetheless.
And as his eyes took in the carefully laid strokes of acrylic marring the canvas sheet, the knot in his stomach resolved. It was all so weird, Tony felt like he'd found the solution to the mystery that had been bugging him all day long. The only thing was, he didn't even know what mystery it was supposed to be. Tony ghosted course fingertips down the painting. He didn't frame it, never really got around to doing it, but it was perfect like this. Intimate, bare.
"Sir, Captain Rogers has returned to New York," JARVIS intoned.
"He has? This is pretty sudden isn't it? Did I miss a post-mission message or something? What about the others?"
Usually when the Avengers, part or whole, were despatched on an assignment, the most they were allowed to say were the geographical approximation of the intended target and its duration. Steve had a different style in approaching the whole thing; though he wasn't the sentimental kind who'd weep and hug before he left for work, he'd re-arrange the throw pillows in the sitting room, stock up the fridge, change the sheets of his bed and manually lock the windows. Little things that he did for comfort to look forward to when he comes home. Then after the mission, even before debriefs he'd send short messages to a couple of people. The usual recipients include Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson and Tony himself. Nothing revealing, just that he was done with the job, not hurt, and was coming home soon.
Tony didn't know if Sharon and Sam ever replied to these messages, but Tony personally never did. Maybe just that one time when news channels worldwide reported a catastrophic bombing at a rally in Turkey where casualties were racked to three digits, and Steve was supposedly sent there for recon.
"The other Avengers have not reported in. Captain Rogers however is currently in the Prebysterian Hospital –"
"He is what?"
Tony was already half-marching to Steve's bedroom. He tried the door, half-hoping that Steve didn't lock it, and when the knob turned he went straight for the wooden wardrobe. Steve was going to need fresh clothes, Tony's mind raced as he pulled baggy cotton shirts and sweatpants into a luggage. He spotted a couple of dress shirts, he noticed Steve liked to throw them over plain T-shirts he usually wear under and stowed two of those in the bag too. Button-ups could be easier to put on if Steve couldn't move his arms properly. If, that is. Tony didn't know how bad a shape he was in, but if something could put Captain America to ICU…
"Captain Rogers' clinical assessment is not found on the hospital's database. I do detect an hourly update on the Captain's condition that is fed directly to SHIELD's medical. Shall I infiltrate that database instead?"
"No, not necessary. I –"
Tony got up from his crouching position a little too quickly he saw a burst of white and a sharp pain where his elbow collided with the wardrobe as he listed too much to his right. JARVIS was calling him; that he was faintly aware of. His head was too cottony to make out what the exact words were, and frankly he didn't care much. He scooped the luggage into his arms and zipped it close hastily.
"A taxi has been called in to take you to the hospital, Sir. It shall be here in six minutes."
Tony nodded, too breathless to thank his AI, not that JARVIS needed it. He took the elevator down, his burning forehead flat against the cool metal wall as he willed it to go faster.
When Steve came to he felt a sudden urge to scratch his nose. He fidgeted a bit but the itch wouldn't go away, so he scratched at it, and that was when real panic sank it.
He couldn't move.
Steve was not used to not being able to move. Hell when he woke up for the first time in 70 years he was already able to outrun modern cars down New York streets – an accomplishment without physiotherapy, mind. Was this paralysis? Some sort of nerve damage – was it permanent?
Tony. Tony would answer him. He'd tell him the truth.
And Tony was just there beside him. Steve squinted at the unmoving form beside him. The room was dimly lit; he could see the blinds drawn close 'round the far window and the ceiling lights were off. He was certain it was Tony by his bed; though the billionaire was clearly seating on a chair, he was slumped forward that his head was resting on the empty spot of Steve's hospital bed, the black matted hair a stark contrast against the white sheets. Tony's hand was closed in a fist around Steve's blanket.
Steve next tried to work his throat and lips. Just one word, dammit.
"To…ny…"
A dusty attempt. Tony didn't stir. Steve swallowed thickly. And hell, that hurt. He tried again.
"Tony?"
That didn't work either. Through thick fog of numbness, Steve felt a pang of concern. Tony might not have enhanced hearing prowess but he was sensitive to sounds – he remembered the billionaire had flicked a wad of paper at Clint at the back of the head when he heard the assassin talking under his breath while Tony was going through a presentation about the Quinjet upgrades. Probably why Tony could response with no lag times when he did impromptu meetings with Pepper down in the workshop with Black Sabbath blaring through the stereos.
Steve focused all the attention he could afford into that tiny point in his index finger. He managed a twitch. OK, so far so good, now let's try poking the why-are-you-not-awake-by-now Tony.
Tony let out a deep, throaty rumble and sucked in breath like he'd just surfaced from a long dive in the pool. Steve watched, allowing the other man to gather his bearing, scratch his chin absentmindedly and thumb dried drool from the corner of lips. Then he blearily turned his focus to a very much awake Steve, and promptly jumped in his seat.
"Oh geez – you're up – are you – OK stay put, and don't think about falling asleep, I'm calling the doctor –"
He left the ward mid-sentence, leaving a vacuum in his absence. Steve sighed as he heard quickened steps from the corridor and Tony talking a bit too loudly and quickly to the petite nurse beside him. He lay there letting her take his pulses, BPs, the work, even flashed a light into his eyes and all the while Tony stood against the wall with his arms crossing his chest. He watched the nurse working intently and Steve thought he would have to remind Tony that it was rude to stare at a lady's posterior even if she wasn't looking. Especially if she wasn't looking. But when she fiddled with the knob of the cardiac monitor, he noticed Tony's eyes followed her fingers, and when she returned to fuss over Steve, Tony was still eyeing the numbers on the screen, a slight frown forming on his brows. Then his eyes met Steve's.
"Captain, everything looks fine. The doctor has been informed and she'll come to check on you soon, but in the meantime do you feel –"
Tony started hacking into his fist. Half his body was shaking like a leaf and he took off, the door clicked softly behind him. The nurse went on asking him simple questions, just to make sure he was lucid and not showing signs of acute amnesia, but as he answered, his enhanced hearing allowed him to discern Tony's voice amidst the chatters along the corridor; to be precise, his coughs, wet and phlegmy.
The nurse left soon and Tony returned quickly after, his face flushed with exertion.
"Hey, Cap. Congratulations, by the way. You just broke your record for number of bullets tanked in a mission. You're pushing five, so, let's not try to break this one, shall we?"
"You look terrible."
Tony was going to retort when another wave of coughs washed over him. He held his stomach as he hacked, this time a faint acrid bite at the back of his tongue.
"It's just a stupid cold," he groaned as he sank into his chair, once again flopping over the barren side of Steve's bed. "Oh wait, Captain America won't ever get the bug. I was going to sneeze at you or something, make your life more miserable than it already is."
"You got to take care of yourself better, Tony."
"Hey I'm not the one riddled with 9 mm rounds."
"When was the last time you get some sleep?"
"You got me worried, Steve."
He went back to fisting a small corner of the blanket petulantly and hid his face in it, Steve's hand mere inches away from Tony's cheeks. When the doctor came in like the nurse said she would, Tony remained where he was, apparently asleep in that very position. As courteous as Steve could, with as big a smile he could muster, he told the doctor he felt fine.
The doctor ended up fussing over him from the other side of the bed, as hushed as she could, leaving Tony to slumber on beside Steve's bed undisturbed.
Tony himself was getting better; he stayed by Steve's side as often as he could, sometimes he even brought SI paperwork with him and he spent the night in a cot next to Steve. The Captain tried to shoo the billionaire home since there wasn't really a need for both of them to suffer through the stench of antiseptic and bright white light. Obviously to no avail, because Tony remained steadfastly by his side until the day he was discharged. On hindsight that was a better arrangement because Tony couldn't flood the ward with metal rock and work, so that meant he slept longer and more frequently.
That week they both recuperated together.
In under four days, Steve was certified fit to return to his SHIELD duties. Tony gave Fury the stink eye when the Director himself came to Steve at the Tower to relay the orders, but with a hefty amount of control Steve didn't knew Tony was capable of he held his tongue and went back to banging on his suit with a hammer.
Alas peaceful days didn't last long. On the 14th day after Steve got shipped back to New York and there were still no tangible news on the Avengers' status, Fury drove down again to the Tower, this time to tell them that the Avengers were still on the frontline. Thailand, apparently. Then JARVIS alerted them to an incoming call from Iron Man. Rhodey's voice came through, pitch slightly raised. Tony didn't like that one bit.
"Are you in Thailand with the rest of them?"
"Yeah, Tony – dammit, stay down – listen, we're gonna need backup. You got a spare suit somewhere?"
"Yes, but I'm not allowed –"
"The NSC greenlights your coming back to the fight."
The Avengers needed more backups?
"How's the situation down there, Rhodey?"
There was a pregnant pause as Iron Man was engaged with something on the other side; they could hear alarms and blasts, and Rhodey came back to the line. "I'm trying to stay alive until the backups get their asses over."
Tony huffed and put the tablet he was holding on the coffee table. "I'm reporting in."
"I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, he is," Fury interjected. They both turned to the Director, slightly abashed that they forgot him standing in their midst. "Rogers is fit for duty and the Avengers are going to need all the help they can get."
"Then why are you here in my house and not talking fight arrangements with the X-Men or Fantastic Four?"
Fury turned away towards the elevator, his trench coat billowing. "They don't need more number. They need their leader."
The difference between starting the battle and joining one midway was, to Tony at least, his role in intelligence gathering and combat assessment. When the Quinjet finally deposited Captain America and (the original) Iron Man (this is not going to be confusing at all, Tony quipped before he jumped out of the plane with Steve holding onto the suit's shoulders) at the drop-off point, the first thing Tony did was to contact Natasha and Clint for the updates.
Up next was Steve. He quickly formulated a counter-strategy that put all the fighters on the jobs, taking advantage of each of their unique superpowers. Suddenly the battle was no more a mess of senseless carnage with Steve fronting it, his directives obeyed and their objectives clear. Tony was just the slightest bit envious that, amidst blasting robots and drones from the sky, he knew people would always defer to Steve no matter where he goes.
"Nice work, people," Steve spoke through the comm, his voice crisp with a hint of affection.
"It's good to have you back, Cap," Natasha replied next.
Tony was still hovering among the trees. The battle had more or less flattened a modest part of the forest – SHIELD and the Thai government were going to have a blast talking about the aftermath – but JARVIS picked up slight unrest from the eastern perimeter. Zooming around the general direction yielded nothing.
"Guys, keep your heads up. Something's still lurking around…" he said, the edge in his tone unmistakable.
"You got a hit on your radar?"
"Negative so far, but there are minute movements at the eastern – Steve!"
Three seconds was a long time. Three seconds, between life and death. Three seconds was all Tony needed to get to Steve.
JARVIS loaded all the remainder power to the suit's thrusters and Tony purposely leaned forward, needing to be there no matter how useless it was. His eyes, behind the impassive mask that was Iron Man, locked with Steve's, and Tony kept him in his view. The very ground beneath Steve shifted and Tony, even before his mind could register it, pointed his gauntlet at a very astonished Steve.
He fired.
There were howls of anguish and betrayals as the Avengers witnessed their Captain took the repulsor beam square in his chest and thrown off his feet to the far end of the clearing.
Then a scream of pure agony tore through the comm, and Tony's helmet.
A metalloid tentacle shot up from the loosened earth where Steve was standing mere seconds ago and swept Tony off in mid-air, a speck of red and gold against the grey sky, ricocheting off with the impact, boneless. Lifeless. Natasha spoke once through the comm, collected but obviously tense.
"Clint, get Cap and Tony out of here. Thor and Hulk, take it down, no holds barred. Tony said there's movement in the ground. That's got to be a control mechanism of some sort. I'm on it."
Or at least, what Tony managed to put together as his body tilted towards the ground and gravity began to do its work. In the deep recesses of his mind, before he himself plunged through branches and foliage, before he hit the mud and the suit de-powered, JARVIS phasing in and out of his senses, he wondered if Steve was OK.
Funnily enough, just as that very thought left his mind, he thought he saw a tuft of messy blonde hair beside him. It didn't look like he was having the Iron Man suit on; there was something soft and warm but kind of firm under him, and his head was cushioned by something fluffy, and the world looked more colourful than it normally would if he were looking out from the helmet. He didn't know where he was but he could identify the owner to that gorgeous head. He reached out to stroke lightly at it, like petting that little Chihuahua Pepper once had at home before she moved in to the Malibu mansion. Tony couldn't stand pets, so the dog wasn't invited and Pepper sent it to keep her parents company instead. This ain't no Chihuahuas, Tony guarantee you, as he continued his petting –
Ow fuck, is this for real?
The super soldier got up from the edge of Tony's hospital bed groggily, but the moment he saw Tony, eyes still wide opened like a dish, he stood up so fast the chair was almost upended.
"Oh God, this is – are you OK? They say you'd probably wake up in another day or two –"
Tony blinked sluggishly. "A day or two? Is this real? It sure feels real…"
"Yes, yes this is real. Are you in pain or… thirsty? D'you need a doctor –"
"What happened back there? Is everyone all right?"
Steve pinched his nose at that and slowly, he sank into his little chair. "By the time I was ready to join the fray Natasha had already activated the… thing's kill switch. It was over quickly. We found you a short distance away."
"Ah, goodie. All's well that ends well."
"You got me worried, Tony."
Déjà vu. The world stopped, no sounds, no movements, just Steve watching him. Just him and Steve, him in his bed after doing the stupidest thing he'd ever done, charging straight into the line of enemy attack for no other reasons than to put his own body in front of Steve's, between Steve and certain death. That was it, Tony knew he was done for.
What Steve meant to him had crossed the line of platonic brotherhood.
"Hmm. Will do it again if I have to."
"You shouldn't –"
"You can play mother hen after we get home, Steve. Now boo, scat. I got to go back to my beauty sleep, ya?"
The only heaven I'll be sent to,
Is when I'm alone with you,
I was born sick,
But I love it.
"I wish I could quit him, JARVIS."
"I'm sure you do, Sir."
"Mm. Agh! Wire's shot, shit…"
"Sir, I must remind you that the press conference is in one hour. Miss Potts had laid the suit out in your bedroom."
"Oh has she?" Tony swivelled around in his chair. A slight wince crept to his visage as he accidentally pulled on a nasty bruise on the side of his chest. "Where is she anyway?"
"Miss Potts has returned to the conference venue."
"She used to wait on me so we could go together…"
Tony took hold of the crutch that was leaning against the edge of the worktable. He'd been discharged for two days already and the first thing he did when he'd come home was to scratch that itch – the tinkering itch, that is. He'd kind of locked himself down in his workshop, going up to the common living area when he needed food or rest because JARVIS wouldn't shut up about it. It was Pepper's idea, he was sure of it, but he didn't quite have the heart to mute the nagging when it came.
"OK, I'm going up to change. Lock this place down and tell Pepper I'm being a good boy here so maybe I can have my cheeseburger for dinner tonight."
"Duly noted, Sir."
With one too many painful steps to his bedroom, he took the dry cleaned and pressed black jacket and blue dress shirt that was laid out carefully on his bed. He got into his pants, then wriggled into his shirt, cursed once or twice when his still-recovering-from-dislocation shoulders refused to bend obediently into the stupid sleeves, and when the only article left to put on was the jacket, Tony decided to glare at it until it decided to morph itself onto his body because nobody deserved so much agony dressing themselves up.
This all could be made easier if only Pepper decided to stay back for another five minutes.
"Need a hand?"
"Ow! Fuck…"
Large, strong arms were around him in a split second, holding him still as Tony pulled himself together. He realised he was already half-leaning into his visitor and what was wrong with this brick hard, chiselled chest because Pepper was soft like tofu last he checked.
"Oh fuck, Steve!"
"Stay still," Steve chided, slowly releasing his vice grip on the very grumpy billionaire. "You all right?"
"Never better."
"Miss Potts said I'd have to drag you up from the workshop and make sure you get ready by one-thirty."
Tony averted his glare from the jacket to the Captain. A small smile was playing on his lips and Tony couldn't find it in him to stay infuriated.
"Last I want is those vultures saying Captain America is running errands for Mr Stark."
"I'm here as a friend."
He picked the dark red necktie lying forlornly beside the jacket and held it ready before Tony, who merely shook his head.
"You'll need to look more formal than this."
"Oh, because Captain 1940 knows modern fashion."
"You are supposed to put on everything placed on the bed."
"And what else did Pepper ask you to do? Sweep the floor, walk the dog?"
"You got a dog?"
"No! I mean – oh forget it."
He swiped the tie brusquely from Steve and threw it back to the bed, joining the jacket in a pile of abandonment.
Tony knew Steve's patience was insurmountable, he'd known the guy for eons (feels like it anyway), and he knew he was being childish and he owed Steve an apology. But Steve didn't complain, and like the good man he was, he retrieved the tie and side-stepped Tony so he was standing directly behind him.
"Just stand still, all right?"
Then gently, deftly, Steve worked the tie into precise knots around Tony's collar. Steve's fluttering breath grazed his ears and the weight of those arms, steadfast and assuring resting on his shoulders - just the proximity of Steve to him was driving him into tachycardia.
What the fucking fuck…
"Thank you, for saving me."
Steve left the room after. Tony stood blankly by the bed, not really doing, or thinking for the matter, until JARVIS reminded him that Happy had arrived to take him to the press conference.
The entire affair was a one hour whirlwind of re-assigning blames and reassertion of where SHIELD and the Avengers stand in combating terrorism. No, SHIELD is an independent, international organisation that stands in between any terrorism-associated threats and the good people of the world, at large. Yes, even if aliens flew into Mexico, or Singapore, or freakin' South Pole you bet the Avengers will be there. No, it wasn't a guise of recon on a sovereign country – SHIELD doesn't care if Thailand government has twenty submarines or a spaceship loaded with nuke. Yes, NSC talks to SHIELD, who in turn talks to the Avengers, and why are you picking only on the Avengers when there are other superheroes going around doing exactly what they're doing? No, for God's sake, haven't you been listening, SHIELD and the Avengers are not property of the USA.
Tony sure hoped it didn't come out like that. He was thinking it, yeah… he glanced at Pepper and Steve who were standing a short distance away as he took the podium on the stage. They both had their arms clasped in stoic professionalism, their faces a stony mask so if they were not looking at him with murderous intents then he supposed everything was going swell.
Steve left New York after the press conference. He spoke briefly to Tony before he left, telling him to take care of himself and maybe he could come visit next month after his next SHIELD assignment.
When Tony was alone in his bedroom, his pants on the floor, his tie loosened as far as he could manage and the shirt unbuttoned half-way before he gave up, he sat on the brink of his bed and dipped his face in his palms. He tugged at the silky material of his tie and Steve, Steve and Steve filled the illogical compartment of his brain. He bumped his knuckles repeatedly into his forehead and asked himself, why did Steve affect him this way? He didn't have boobs for one.
Tony eased himself down on the bed, careful not to injure himself any more than necessary and snaked a hand down the waistband of his boxer. Right, he thought to himself, confused and annoyed all the same as he closed fully around the rigid shaft, where did that come from? He pumped himself deliberately, a playful tug near the tip and closed his eyes. Steve, Steve and fucking Steve, why could he only see Steve? A short sigh escaped his lips and he increased his speed, feeling that need pulsing deep in the pit of his lower abdomen.
Steve used to be a friend, a good friend. A brother. What changed?
Tony bit back a desperate moan as he arched into the bed, his climax racking the whole of his bruised and broken body. It hurt so much, but that was comfort, that was solace. He lay there in shame, a thin sheen of sweat around his neck and thighs, the viscous fluid running down his wrist and balls. Yep, he was definitely done for.