A/N: Really sorry I haven't been able to update; I hate drama in life. ARGH. THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD (strange continuity issues EVERYWHERE) SO PLEASE DON'T HURT ME ;n; REVIEW PLEASE THANKS.
Tony and Steve clutched each other, both sobbing uncontrollably and shoving handfuls of popcorn into their mouths. It was movie night, but all the rest of the Avengers were gone. So watching Titanic was acceptable.
"NO, STUPID BITCH, THERE'S ROOM FOR THE BOTH OF YOU," Tony screamed, tears streaming out of his eyes.
"That's how you sh-should treat a da-da-dame," Steve barely managed to stutter out, sweater soaked like he just came back from the gym.
"NO IT DOESN'T YOU SHOVE THAT FUCKER OVER AND GET ON WITH HER!"
"Lay off her, Tony!"
"YOU STUPID BITCH, ROSE!"
Tony broke down when Jack slipped under the waves, wailing like a banshee. Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid that the neighbors would hear the cacophony, but then remembered that they had no neighbors, and proceeded to screech himself.
"Oh God, why are we doing this?"
"You said this would be a good idea!"
"Well I've been wrong before! Why do you even listen to me?"
"BECAUSE YOU'RE CAPTAIN FUCKING AMERICA!"
The credits were scrolling across the screen slowly, the sorrowful lament of Celine Dion filling the room via Tony's hyper-expensive sound system. This was such a bad idea. Such a bad idea.
"I need something to drink. You want anything?"
Steve nodded while hugging his knees to his chest, shoulders heaving with empty sobs.
Tony poured two large shots of bourbon, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. He handed Steve a cup and sat down next to him, flipping through channels before settling on something loud and action-y. Steve yawned and dried up the last remnants of his movie experience, a growing pile of tissues collecting by his side.
"I'm tired."
"I am, too."
"I don't want to sleep."
"Nor do I."
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, um…I can show you my gun collection."
"You have a gun collection?"
"I have a collection of anything you could possibly name."
"Bottlecaps?"
A pause.
"Dammit, I knew I was missing something. JARVIS, ADD 'DRINK SODA' TO MY TO-DO LIST!"
"Done, sir."
They sat in awkward silence, with loud explosions bursting around them.
"You still want to see that gun collection?"
"No, not really."
"Yeah, me neither."
More awkward silence.
"What time is it?"
"JARVIS, WHAT TIME IS IT?"
"Past your bedtime, sir."
"SHUT UP."
"A little past ten, sir."
"We can squeeze in another movie."
"Nothing emotional?"
"Well…it is, but kind of in the other direction. Are you queasy?"
Steve looked confused.
"Sorry?"
"Do you hate blood?"
"No."
"Have you been tortured?"
"No."
"Okay, let's watch this."
It was a movie called Saw. It turns out Steve was queasy. He almost got sick a couple of times, but refused to give Tony the satisfaction. The third time he felt the urge to vomit his popcorn, Steve lurched forwards, fighting his gag reflex, and glanced surreptitiously to make sure that Tony didn't see him.
He didn't. He was staring intently at the huge screen, gore and viscera reflected in his dark brown eyes. Bright eyes. Glazed eyes. Dead eyes.
"You okay?" No response. "Are you tired?" Tony cleared his throat and continued to stare at the screen. More screams. Silence. Steve stood up, stretched, and looked around for a closet. He couldn't find any.
"JARVIS, where does he keep his blankets?"
"There's a linen closet down the hall and past the sauna."
Steve retrieved two thin quilts and tossed them both over Tony. He hadn't changed position, although the movie had ended and credits were again scrolling silently across the screen. Steve sat down next to Tony, the stillness punctuated only by the quiet sounds of Steve munching on popcorn. Steve cleared his throat.
"Agent Carter talked to me until… until I went under. She promised me a date."
Tony grabbed a handful of popcorn, his first movement since the beginning of the movement. JARVIS flipped the channel to some rerun of a baseball game.
"I…I reneged on that promise."
"Through no fault of your own."
"It doesn't matter!"
Tony glanced at Steve's distressed face, and crunched on his popcorn.
"It does matter. You gave up 70 years of your life for millions of others. By now, you should be dead, or at least old enough to remember World War II. But you're not dead, or old, but you still remember World War II. Why? Because you got lucky."
"What do you mean 'you got lucky'? Going under was—"
"The best damn thing that could ever happen to you. You don't suffer the pain of seeing everyone you love die—"
"Everyone I loved did die!"
"Well, you didn't have to live through it, did you? Does anyone blame you for fucking anything up? You should've died, Steve. But you didn't. You saved countless lives, and tried to give up your own. But it wasn't taken, because you're a super-soldier, because you're too damn strong for death to claim. Oh no, Steve, you cheated death. You bastard, you cheated death. And I would give everything I owned for just one more chance at that."
Steve sat silently, pondering Tony's words. Just one more chance at that…
"One more chance?"
Tony sighed, a fleeting look of panic crossing over the man's face.
"I was taken by a terrorist organization based in Afghanistan called Ten Rings, um, for promoting weapons. Back when I still headed Stark Industries. We created weapons. The best and most brutal you've ever seen. Bombs with shrapnel built right into the case, designed for maximum casualties. Bullets that would release acid after it sank into your flesh. Agent Orange-esque stuff designed to cause the gruesome genetic mutations."
"Agent Orange?"
"Some herbicidal stuff used in Vietnam. Stuff caused your limbs to turn orange and some other pretty messed up deformations."
Steve nodded, still not quite comprehending but trying to keep up.
"So? Why did they come after you?"
"I was touring the Middle East, promoting my Jericho missile. Huge, beautiful missile. I loved it. Designed it myself. Well, JARVIS helped. Thanks JARVIS, that thing was lovely."
"Apology accepted, sir."
"JARVIS, behave. Anyway, they wanted me to build a missile. A big one. Even bigger than the Jericho."
"What did you do?"
"What do you think I did?"
"Build the missile—"
"Wow, I'm flattered. You and JARVIS both."
"—With a safety that would detonate before the timer went off. 'I'd just cut the wire', Tony. Cut the wire."
Tony smiled wistfully.
"Didn't work that way. A bit hard to explain right now, but let's just say that they had to resort to…other methods to coerce me to build the missile. And I gave in. Oh, and did I mention that I had a few rather dangerous pieces of shrapnel headed towards my heart? Thus the arc reactor. My baby. Well, actually Dr. Yinsen's baby, and then adopted posthumously by Howard, but my baby nonetheless. This thing keeps me alive. It's like a really strong magnet."
"And you escaped by building your Mark I Iron Man suit."
"That's not in my file."
"No, JARVIS told me."
"That's it, JARVIS, you're grounded. Go think about what you've done in the back-up server."
"What did they do to you?"
Tony didn't speak for the longest time, fighting the tidal wave of panic he had been damming for eight years. He fought against the memory, against the pain that came with it, against the panic and the loss of control. But Cap was here. Cap could stop him if he lost control. Couldn't he?
"Have you heard of water-boarding?"
"Yes."
"Let's just say that a very… primitive sort of it was used on me."
"What sort exactly?"
Tony took a deep breath, trying to block out the shrieks, the curses, the water coursing down his airways, the blinding lights, and sudden darkness, the inability to cry for help, though he was surrounded by enemies… Tony snapped back to real life, choking back a scream.
"I was drowned. Repeatedly. Held underwater for minutes at a time till I completely passed out, then revived. Ad infinitum."
Steve stared straight ahead.
"That didn't work. I didn't really have a stomach for water. So they moved onto something a little less… subtle."
"You don't have to tell me."
"The arc reactor back then was a car-battery, did you know? Just a simple car battery, keeping me alive, invented by Ho Yinsen, a Nobel prize winter who happened to be locked in the same cell as I was. Stolen for the same reason. Power. Ten Rings left the battery alone; they wanted me alive. Just broken and scarred, that's all that they wanted. They wanted a piece of me, not the whole. No one wants me whole. They just want a piece."
The sorrow in Tony's voice was tangible.
"So I was strapped to a table, ropes tied around my hands and feet, and stretched. Just stretched. Stretched until both my shoulders popped out and I was screaming that I would build the damn thing, just let me out. I didn't care about America, I didn't care about some abstract ideal, about my home country. I didn't care about anything but myself. So I built the missile. 'No safeguards', they said, or Yinsen would die. I didn't care. So they took Yinsen. By accident. But they still took him. Because I built a safeguard. I built Iron Man. I need something to drink. Do you want anything?"
Steve shook his head. This man had too many facets. Too many places where the cutter was too careless. Too many places where too many people rubbed off on him. Tony was too complicated. And Steve was too simple. Tony was right. Why was he still wallowing in an accident that he couldn't have prevented? Chance?
Tony returned with another cup of alcohol, whiskey this time. Steve grabbed his forearm before the glass could touch his lip.
"No more. You've had enough."
"I've only had…half a bottle."
"That's a lot."
"Then you've obviously never me drunk."
"Tony—"
"Steve—"
"I think I—"
"Nope—"
"What?"
"Mhm."
"What are you—"
"I don't want—"
Steve lurched forward, unable to hold back any longer. He slammed into Tony's, the taste of alcohol lingering on his lips. Tony's eyes widened in confusion, and he dropped the glass, hearing the tingling shatter as hundreds of dollars worth of crystal shattered against the mahogany floors.
Steve was gentle. He didn't force his way in. He just hovered on the edge, unsure of whether or not to go all the way through. This was unlike the multitude of girls (and sometimes guys) he had kissed. There was no forced passion. No lust. No double meanings. No manipulation Nothing that Steve hadn't lain out in the open for Tony to pick and choose. Nothing to hide, nothing to regret. And Tony savored it. He snaked his arms around Steve's massive frame, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into Steve's embrace.