Title: The Roughest Day 3/11
Authors: seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony. Also, various canon ships, including Peter/MJ and Luke/Jessica/Danny.
Warnings: Some violence, and probably a little swearing, at some point. Fluff. Eventual melodrama. Blatant shipper fic.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: Steve is in a motorcycle accident, Tony catches a cold, and someone is after the New Avengers.
Note: /text in italics/ signifies communication via extremis. Ya'll know the drill from RR&R.
And again, our thanks to angelofharmony for the wonderful beta job.
Chapter Three
Once upon a time, Tony had spent most of each business day (well, excluding the parts spent in meetings and consulting on projects) in his workroom/lab. Unfortunately, the heavy machinery in Stark Tower had had to be installed in the sub-basement due to structural issues, which meant it was too far away for him to duck into every time he had a free minute.
He would have been down there anyway, but Pepper had ordered him on pain of pain to come upstairs and fill out tax paperwork, claiming she was tired of forging his signature. Tony had tried telling her that her ability to forge his signature was the reason he'd hired her. She hadn't been amused.
So now he was upstairs in his office, which had a huge window with a panoramic view of the city, and no machinery at all. He'd gotten five calls from incompetent section heads in the past hour.
There was no cell phone reception in the basement.
Tony sighed, and opened the .pdf file of blueprints for De La Torre's avionics project. He'd sent it back twice for revisions, and it still didn't fit the requirements, and Sikorsky wanted a definitive list of technical specifications within a week, so that they could get a working prototype of the X-42 VTOL aircraft to the Navy within three months.
"Damnit," he muttered to himself. "I'm going to have to redo this from scratch." In a week.
/Pepper,/ he used the Extremis to hook into the office intercom system/Can you schedule me a meeting with De La Torre tomorrow morning?/ People tended to object when he finished their work for them without telling them, and the Human Resources people inevitably complained. Not that this was so much finishing. Entirely redoing was a better way to put it.
/You're going to finish the military contract yourself, aren't you?/ Pepper asked.
/The deadline's in a week,/ Tony said defensively, responding automatically to the sharp irritation in her voice. He sent the .pdf file to the printer, grabbing the pages as it spit them out.
/I don't know why you hire these people if you won't let them do their jobs./
/A week, Pep. Seven days, or we lose a multi-million dollar contract./
/Remember that talk we had about not giving yourself another heart attack before you're forty?/ Pepper asked, dulcet-toned, as if she was talking to a sulky ten year-old.
/What difference is one more going to make?/ Tony propped an elbow on the desk, leaning his chin on his hand, smiling.
/Fine,/ Pepper sighed. There was a pause. /You're doing that thing where you talk to the intercom in your head just because you can, aren't you?/
/How did you know?/ There was a click, as Pepper turned her intercom off.
Tony tapped a pencil against the avionics blueprints. He was going to have to work extra hours over this one. A few weeks ago, before the new Avengers team had gotten together, he wouldn't have minded, but now he had Steve to come home to.
He'd come so close to losing Steve. When the hospital had called him to tell him that Steve had been brought in from a motorcycle accident with a suspected head injury, all he'd been able to think of was velocity and momentum, and exactly what they could do the human body.
He'd walked out of the middle of a board meeting. He couldn't even remember what excuse he'd handed them, or if he'd made any explanation at all. He couldn't remember the drive to the hospital, either. It was probably a good thing that Peter had been there for that part.
Tony could still remember Jarvis waking him up in the middle of the night to tell him his parents had been killed in a car crash. Getting that phone call had felt far too familiar.
It had been a week now, and even though he knew Steve was fine, knew he'd been hurt worse in fights before and still been fine, part of him couldn't let go of that half-hour when he'd been utterly convinced that he was going to arrive at St. Vincent's to learn that Steve was crippled for life, in a coma, or dead.
Things like that weren't supposed to happen to them out of costume. It was irrational, he knew -- he himself had been injured outside of the armor, repeatedly -- but somehow it was different when it happened to someone else.
He'd spent the past week running the numbers over and over. Steve had been going 35 mph. The SUV had been going 70, and easily would have weighed over two tons. It would have hit Steve with over a hundred thousand pounds of force. If Steve hadn't tried to jump clear, if the car had hit him straight on, it would have killed him.
And according to Officer Kurtzburg, the car hadn't swerved or slowed down.
Still, he needed to get over it. He'd spent a week twitching every time Steve flinched, handing him things before he could get them himself, and in general being smothering. Tony could recognize smothering; Happy Hogan did it to him all the time.
Tony's computer made the muted chime that indicated an email coming in, and he pulled up the program. It was from his cousin Morgan. Perfect. Just what this day needed.
The message was short and to the point, leaving a cell phone number and asking Tony to call as soon as possible. If Morgan was in trouble again, he was going to have to bail him out again, before it hit the tabloids. Stark Enterprises stock always dropped when Morgan made the tabloids.
He reached out with the Extremis, uplinking to one of the SE communications satellites and dialing Morgan's number.
/Morgan Stark./
/Morgan,/ Tony said/This is Tony. What do you want this time?/ It was slightly rude, he knew, but last time, Morgan had owed the Bellagio casino in Vegas a hundred thousand dollars. The time before that, he'd wanted Tony to provide capitol for some kind of investment start-up venture.
There was a crackle of static; Morgan must have been someplace with poor reception. /Tony! Just the man I've been wanting to talk to. How are you?/
/Fine. What do you want?/ Tony repeated. He pulled the top page of the blueprints over and began surveying it, noting down the weak points. He didn't have time to fix this; he really was going to have to start over.
/Are you using that new cybernetic communications thing?/ Morgan asked. More static.
/How do you know about that?/ The Extremis was far from public knowledge.
/You're my cousin. I check up on you. You're the only family I have, Tone. We need to stick together./ There was another burst of static, random, jumbled bits of data coming through the satellite feed. What kind of horrible phone was Morgan using?
Tony distinctly remembered telling Morgan that he hated that nickname. Several times, in fact. /Unless you need to be bailed out of jail, I'm not sending you money,/ he said.
Morgan sighed, and said in a wounded tone of voice, as if Tony had deeply misjudged him/Tony, how can you think that all I want from you is money? Besides, it's only a few hundred thousand. Barely a drop in the bucket compared to SE's operating budget. And it's a brilliant opportunity-/
/Are tabloid reporters involved?/ Tony interrupted.
/No,/ Morgan said, sounding indignant.
/Are you actually in some kind of trouble?/ There was a pause; the transmission had developed a lagtime of a second or so.
/Well, no, not exactly--/
/Then the answer is no./
/You're not still mad about that little problem with Ultimo, are you?/ Morgan asked. /Come on, Tony, that was ages ago, and anyway, it wasn't my fault./
Tony cut the connection and re-opened the line to Pepper. Her intercom had been switched back on in the interim.
/Hey, Pep, would you screen my calls for me? I need to concentrate on this contract./ He frowned, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. There was a headache beginning in his temples, probably in anticipation of all the should-have-been-unnecessary work he was about to start.
/Sure thing, Boss./ Happy's voice. /You want me to bring you some coffee or something?/
Tony smiled, in spite of Morgan and the incipient headache. /Sure thing./
He shut down the connection and turned back to the blueprints. Sikorsky wanted some degree of autopilot, to cut down on the required crew size for their aircraft. De La Torre's design hadn't been sophisticated enough, and, most importantly, hadn't had a manual over-ride. All AIs, even very low-level ones, needed a manual over-ride.
As he scanned the blueprints, his mind traveled back to Steve, as it always did; he needed to back off, give Steve some space. Steve wanted things between them to stay casual. He'd said as much, back when they'd done this the first time around, after Tony had suggested that they keep things quiet for the sake of the team.
It had worked, for a few weeks. It had been fun. And it had been Steve, and even if it wasn't exactly what he really wanted, Tony had been willing to take what he could get. Though even then, he hadn't been able to treat Steve as just another one night stand; he'd found himself turning down invitations to dinner any time someone had obviously hinted at more than just food on the menu, the same way he had when he and Rumiko had been serious.
Then the business with Wanda had started, and after that, he'd been too much of a mess for casual fun anymore. He'd known that, if he let things continue, he'd have ended up leaning on Steve too heavily. Steve had been the only one of the Avengers who had believed him when he'd told them that he hadn't been drinking that day in the UN, and he'd been so utterly, pathetically grateful. Not because Steve had been the only voice of support in a room of people accusing him, but because it was Steve. Because he'd been so afraid that Steve wouldn't believe him, that he'd lost Steve's respect along with his home and half his business, that Steve would think Tony had deliberately let him down.
The sex had been nice -- had been great, actually -- but Tony knew he'd rather have Steve's respect. So, rather than let Steve see how screwed up he was, he'd ended things. Then Rumiko had been there, and she was always so easy to talk to. She'd never minded that he was damaged goods.
She'd also have been better off if she'd stayed away.
Tony had been utterly shocked when Steve had asked him to restart the Avengers, and even more surprised when Steve had shown up at the door to his bedroom, his first night in Stark Tower. And this time, Steve had stayed the night.
Which was more than Tony had ever expected, and, again, he was more than willing to take what he could get, and not to ask for more than Steve might be able to give.
So, now, it would clearly be in his best interests to not push Steve away by hovering and blanketing him with neurotically excessive concern. He'd been trying to avoid him for the past couple of days, but that was difficult, considering that they lived together.
Of course, the fact that he was going to have to spend the next week putting in extra hours to finish this design was going to make backing off considerably easier.
New York City had been remarkably quiet over the past week, aside from a few muggers Peter had reportedly taken care of on his way home from work. Objectively, this was a good thing, since Steve's ribs were still healing. On the other hand, Steve was now incredibly bored, to the point where he found himself wishing SHIELD would call to try and recruit him for some secret mission, regardless of the fact that he'd privately sworn never to work for Maria Hill.
In the old days, he'd have rounded up Clint and dragged him out to jog in Central Park, or gone to sit in Jarvis's kitchen and listen to one of Thor's endless, rambling war stories. Or gone to hang around Tony's lab and watch him work. After an hour or two, Tony could generally be persuaded to drop the transistors and do something more interesting.
Steve could do that now, too, but he was pretty sure that Tony had been avoiding him. He'd gone down to the basement workroom several times, each time finding his bike in a slightly-improved state, but no Tony.
Right now, however, he knew exactly where Tony was, because Pepper Potts-Hogan had called upstairs to announce that it was six-thirty, and could somebody please come and drag Tony out of his office so that she could go home?
If left to his own devices, Tony could easily keep working on whatever was occupying him until the middle of the night, without bothering to so much as break for dinner. Therefore, dragging him out of his office and forcing him to spar with Steve would be for his own good.
Pepper waved him straight through the front office, offering him a knowing smirk as she began packing up to leave.
Steve knocked once, for form's sake, before pushing open the door. Tony was silhouetted against the room's massive, floor-to-ceiling window, backlit by the rosy glow of evening sunlight. He was bent forward over his desk, entirely absorbed in scribbling on the masses of paper currently spread across it.
"Isn't that what drawing boards are for?" Steve asked, amused. "You'll kill your back doing that."
Tony looked up at him, blinking. His hair was disheveled in a way that suggested he'd been running his fingers through it again, his tie had been tugged loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. "If I ever end up with back problems, it'll be from all those times Titanium Man threw me through a wall," he said. Then he frowned. "Is everything all right?"
Steve grinned, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. "Your secretary called me in to make you leave. I think she wants to eat dinner."
Tony blinked again, looking endearingly off-balance. "It's dinner-time already?"
"It's six-thirty. I was actually going to go work out first, work up an appetite," Steve said, making it an invitation.
"I will not spar with you while you have broken ribs," Tony said flatly.
Steve refrained from pointing out that his ribs were cracked, not broken. And anyway, even if Tony wouldn't actually spar with him, there were still other things they could do. Unless Tony really was avoiding him. "Fine. Tai chi then."
"You don't need a partner for that," Tony said, looking back down at his papers. "And I've got to work on this."
"You'll work better if you take a break," Steve pointed out. "Come on, the rest of us haven't seen you in days." It was a slight exaggeration, but he felt it was a justified one. And if something was wrong, hopefully Tony would say something about it now.
Tony sighed, and set his pencil down. "It's been a busy week. But you're right, it would be good to get out of this room." From the tone of his voice, the day had been less than pleasant.
"So, is that a yes?" Steve asked, smirking slightly. He knew when he'd won.
"Fine. Tai chi."
The workout room attached to the Avengers' living quarters was spare and simple; a large, open room with a polished wooden floor and three high windows set along the far wall. It had already been there when the New Avengers had moved in, the same way the quinjet hanger had. Steve had never asked what Tony's excuse for its coincidental existence was, but he took it as more evidence that he wasn't the only one who'd had the intention of someday reforming the Avengers.
The two of them were standing in the middle of the room, about four feet apart. Tony was staring straight ahead, which meant that Steve could watch him without it being obvious.
Tony so rarely wore casual clothing that it was always amusing to see him in the t-shirts and sweatpants he wore when he sparred with Steve. The pants were loose at the ankle, and flapped around Tony's legs when he moved, emphasizing how tall and thin he was, and making him look slightly gangly.
Movements in tai chi were supposed to be slow and fluid, but Tony, who ought to have been moving in unison with Steve, was performing the exercises with short, choppy motions. He was also moving with unnecessary force, and Steve could see the tension in the way he held his shoulders.
"Is something the matter?" Steve asked, staring ahead at the windows.
"Morgan called," Tony said, as if that explained it all, which it actually did.
"What did he want this time?" The first time Steve had heard Tony mention his only cousin, it had been in reference to Morgan selling him out to a supervillain named Midas in order to pay off gambling debts.
"The usual." Tony shook his head, and rolled his eyes. "Money. But after bailing him out of jail for trying to defraud the Bellagio last month, I told him the ATM was closed."
Steve stepped forward, extending his left arm in front of him, palm out. His shoulder didn't hurt at all anymore, and his ribs only twinged occasionally, when he twisted sideways sharply. "You're sure you don't actually want to spar?" he asked. "I know talking to your cousin makes me want to hit things."
Tony sneezed, then looked slightly startled that he'd done so.
"And don't expect me to go easy on you, if you're sick," Steve added, grinning. He bounced back a step and held his hands up, as if in preparation for Tony rushing him. In point of fact, Tony had never asked Steve to go easy on him; it was one of the things Steve liked best about him. Tony never made things easy.
Tony glared. "I don't get sick. And not until your ribs are better."
That was such a blatant lie that Steve didn't bother to dignify it with a response. He resumed the tai chi routine, watching Tony out of the corner of his eye. "How do you know they're not better when you haven't looked at them?"
"Because it's been exactly a week since you cracked them," Tony told him. "Even you don't heal that quickly." Tony likewise resumed the routine, copying Steve's motions, which seemed to require him to glance over at Steve through his eyelashes repeatedly. Tony was the only person Steve had ever slept with who actually did the classic, veiled-through-the-eyelashes seductive look, which was vaguely amusing, since the only other person he'd ever seen do that was Jan.
"But you haven't actually checked," Steve said. It was part and parcel of Tony avoiding him for the past three days. In retrospect, he'd preferred the smothering.
Tony lunged forward, in step with Steve. His sweatpants, Steve noted, hung low off his hips, revealing the angular edges of his hipbones. For someone who wasn't excessively skinny, Tony's hipbones -- and shoulder blades, and collarbones, and cheekbones, and the bones in his wrists -- were unusually prominent. Steve put it down to a naturally angular frame and the general superhero's lack of body fat. Also, for all the years they'd spent working out together, Tony had never been able to put on much in the way of muscle mass. His arms, shown off by the short-sleeved t-shirt, had really nice muscle definition, though.
But Steve liked the way Tony's hipbones stood out. For one thing, it naturally directed one's gaze to other, even more interesting parts of Tony. It was slightly unfair of Tony to wear something that offered such a nice view if he didn't intend to give Steve the opportunity to do something about it.
And it had been a whole week since he had.
After so many years of practice, Steve could go through virtually any fighting moves without even thinking about them, and tai chi was essentially slowed-down martial arts, so for the rest of the routine, he mostly watched Tony, and let his body go through the motions by rote.
When the two of them had finished, Tony started for the door, probably intending to go right back to his blueprints. Steve followed him, and quickly used his slight height advantage to extend an arm across the doorway, cornering Tony.
Tony grinned at him, leaning his shoulders against the wall. "What?"
Steve grinned back. "I haven't done anything all week." He leaned forward, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Tony's sweatpants. "I've been good."
"I guess you have been." Tony smirked, giving Steve another veiled look. He titled his head to one side, catching Steve's gaze for a long moment, then leaned forward the final inch and kissed him.
Steve closed his eyes, and slid one hand around to the small of Tony's back, pulling the other man forward against him. He'd like to see Tony ignore him now.
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