That's a fine looking high horse,

What you got in the stable?

We've a lot of starving faithful,

That looks tasty,

That looks plenty,

This is hungry work.

"Tony, we got to talk."

"Really, right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Can't a man take a piss in peace nowadays? Give me ten minutes, I'll be there right away."

Tony held his breath and sat still on the edge of the porcelain throne. His pants were on, his belt was on – he'd better remember to flush on the way out, too. All right, what harm could a little white lie do anyway? He knew he was being difficult (childish) for the nth time this week, he knew Steve deserved better, but he couldn't help it.

He'd since returned to the Tower after a rather uneventful run-in with the Crimson Dynamo. If anbody was going to be pedantic about it, yes, technically he was no longer an Avenger, so if a supervillain was threatening to blow the Tower apart, it was none of his business, but that was the Avengers Tower he was threatening, and Tony doesn't respond well to people demolishing his stuff. Or what used to be his. So he came back to the fold (temporarily) and helped them all kick Crimson Dynamo's butt and exchanged high fives with all his bewildered-looking ex-team mates, ignored Steve, and zipped off to the penthouse.

The moment he slammed the door shut and leaned his back against it, Steve was already banging on it and shouting about the resignation letter.

Seemed like Fury vaporised it before he read it and had sent Captain America on his trail for an explanation.

Honestly, the friendship Tony and Steve shared was – Tony'd like to think – manly. Not clingy, or desperate, or needy. They'd spend a long stretch of time apart, sometimes that meant across two oceans and continents, and when they could finally be in the same locality again they'd catch up over supper.

Of course, that was before.

Tony didn't think anything would change after – as in, after he admitted what the illogical side of his brain (heart) was thinking (feeling) of Steve – because he didn't display it and Steve couldn't have known it. But just being around in the Tower on his fucking own packing away his personal items was proving to be quite a challenge these days with Steve hot on his heels. He'd only be safe when he locked himself up in the workshop or his private suite because then Steve would respectfully bow out and go back to minding his own business.

Perfect. Really.

A week into this game of hide-and-seek, Steve seemed ready to drop the niceties and was hell bent on talking to Tony. He'd actually cornered the scientist one bright morning, blocking the latter's way through a narrow hallway with his imposing physique. That took Tony by surprise because in all those years they'd known each other, Steve never used his physicality to intimidate others (unless they were supervillains). The shock must've registered on Tony's features because Steve's posture relaxed instantly, almost like he was crumpling into himself and he backed away. If he was apologising Tony didn't hear it; his own pulse was racing in his ears as he stalked off to the nearest bathroom.

Cue present time. Tony wasn't ready yet. Despite all the absence, his heart still ached when he lay eyes on Steve, and the yearning grew stronger each day. This ridiculous act had to end someday. Just not today.

Fortunately, his misery was cut short when the main bathroom door click open and then, close. No more banging on the door, no more calling names. He was entirely, all alone. Tony stopped cradling his head. Well, it was now or never. Time for the great escape. He unlocked his stall and clambered out into the glorious open space, only to find himself nose to nose with Steve Rogers.

Fuck.

"You're making this unnecessarily difficult for us both, Tony."

"Hmm, is something the matter?"

"Stop that, will you?"

Steve seized Tony gruffly by the elbow and jerked the other man to face him. The touch inexplicably sizzled and Tony grimaced. Steve let go, shades of shame colouring his visage.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"I know," Tony cut in, massaging at the bruise that was bound to blossom there. It couldn't compare to the ache gripping his heart, with Steve standing so close to him, just a breath away, yet so far even a touch, burned. "Excuse me."

"Wait!"

Tony stalked off and didn't look back. Short of bursting into a full-on sprint, he walked as fast his legs could carry him but he knew Steve would follow. He always does. When could he finally man up and put this entire fiasco behind him? It'd probably take a straight on confession to Captain America and honestly, between that and the slumber party with the Ten Rings… there was no contest.

He didn't mean to leave the Tower – he'd still plenty of packing to get back to – but he did, because he'd surrendered all forms of thinking to his limbs and his limbs decided a long walk under the midday sun was a good idea. He emerged into the bustling New York crowd and Steve pushed past them, eventually catching up to Tony who was by now resolutely refusing to even look at him.

"What happened, Tony? You've been acting strangely for months."

"Oh, I haven't noticed."

"And what's with the resignation? Is something wrong? I'd like to help if I could, if you let me, but you got to talk –"

Tony took an abrupt turn to an alley, breaking away from Steve and the crowd. He heard Steve yelling for him over the hustle of the city but he ignored it like he always do, his pace quickened as he put more distance between them.

Coming back to New York had been a mistake after all.

"Wait up!"

Tony ventured deeper into the alley where the general feel of it somehow dwindled from frenzied to despicable. Sullied. Isolated. The crunch of asphalt under his dress shoes ricocheted against the mouldy walls on either sides of the narrow lane. Place wasn't safe; didn't look like it could afford security. This wouldn't do. Mentally he made a note to report this to the city council. The least these people could do was to install a bunch of CCTVs – oh, what was he thinking, it'd be faster if SI donated a truckload of Stark cameras to the cause.

A distant metallic something clamoured to the ground and Tony halted dead in his steps. Then he heard a woman's scream – long and horrifying. He didn't think. He took off, deeper into the recesses of the grimy alleyway.

Just around the corner he spotted the trouble. A lone woman was half-standing by an upended trash can surrounded by four obviously good-for-nothing fucktards. Her sleeves were torn and her mascara a black smear down her cheeks. Tony's fists came to a tight grip by sides and he approached them, his strides confident, and whistled.

"Shame on you fellas if picking on a lady makes you feel like a man."

Four ugly heads bobbed in his direction. The lady gave a wet sob and pulled her shredded clothes tighter to herself. Tony jerked his head to the side, and she nodded, picked herself up and ran. One of the men started after her and Tony whistled again, snapping his fingers in desperation as he did so.

"Hey, I'm not done with you pussies yet."

It worked, and they advanced menacingly on him. Tony suddenly felt his necktie was shrinking, his collar too tight for comfort. OK, what was Plan B again?

They rained hits on him and Tony's body – much to his own surprise – moved fluidly around them. He dodged, pushed away, landed a couple of blows even and he realised he could do this after all. Guess all the blood and sweat spent in the gym had meant something. But four on one was hardly fair, and without the suit his endurance was barely adequate to last him through something as intense as this. The casing of his arc reactor in his chest was starting to feel constrictive and his breaths were coming in hitches. He'd got to end this quick. Get out – he couldn't hold out much longer.

His reflexes were dulling and he could see it, he could see the incoming punch but his muscles were lagging behind his wits. He couldn't respond. He readied himself to tank it, but before he could feel the impact something much faster, much stronger just slid past him.

"Can't stay out of trouble, can you, Tony?"

Steve grabbed the guy by the wrist and shoulder, bent it too far back till they heard something snap. Tony wheezed desperately, filling his lungs with much needed air. The split second respite was good. The back-up was good.

Steve surveyed their opponents swiftly before regarding Tony meaningfully, "Remember our lessons in the gym?"

Immediately their backs slammed into each other, their stance set and deadly. Their effective vision now doubled and they watched the remaining of their preys who'd taken to circling them, wary and livid. At such close a contact Tony felt the instant change in Steve's muscles; they both repelled in opposite directions, going after the closest target and Tony put all he had into his kick, he could almost hear the bones fracture under the PVC sole. They moved quickly, dispatching their targets with ferocity. They had an advantage here, the element of surprise. Steve joining the fray was unprecedented. Two of them looked like they actually recognise Captain America – the passing fear across their faces said enough – but above all, Tony felt alive. For the first time in ages, he felt comfortable being Tony Stark, moving around in his own flesh and skin. There they were together again, Winghead and Shellhead, back to back fighting the good fight. Good ol' times. Times Tony so cherished and missed.

White, hot pain flared from his right side as cold steel pierced into him, and when it was ruthlessly yanked out, it was wet, it was frighteningly numbing. In the vacuum of sensations Tony collapsed to his knees, blood gushed steadily from the gaping wound onto the asphalt. He held a hand shakily to his side, reeling in the spurt of pain upon contact, yet he still couldn't believe that was every second of his life slipping away. He vaguely registered himself tipping over, kind of comprehended that the towering figure above him was about to finish him off for good. That glinting metal with its treacherous edge bathing in blood, his blood, poised for a final thrust. Then God help him, let it be quick.

In the blackness of sight he imagined a sudden rush of air. A cry of anguish. More snapping of bones and ligaments. He was phasing in and out of consciousness, switching between hot and cold, feeling and not feeling, and when he could work some sense of control into his body he opened his eyes. He could hear Steve, as clear as day.

"Tony, I got you. It's gonna be fine."

Those beautiful blue eyes were wet. That, Tony wasn't used to seeing. Captain America does not cry. Strong and silent Steve, unbreakable Steve. Better people, better things were worth these tears. This was just… him. Tony chuckled, wet, and dread sunk deeper into the pit of his stomach when he tasted copper and felt it run down his chin. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear it.

"Don't cry," he managed to gasp, stinging wetness blossoming behind his lids. He wasn't sure if it was the injury or Steve.

"I'm not," came the gritty reply. And silence. Steve trembled as he grasped the laying man closer to his chest. He shook the form gently, so still and silent. To Tony, talking had always been a free action. Effortless. He'd used words as both his sword and shield. Now he was lay bare, bleeding to his death in the arms of the one person he loved – beginning to love – and words failed him.

Tony was fading.

"No, no, stay with me. You're not giving up. I won't let you!"

Steve was bowing low, his cheeks, his wet cheeks – ha, Tony was so going to tattle on this – as he cradled Tony's almost lifeless body against his chest. Tony trembled at the proximity. He could see a single bead clinging to Steve's long lashes. It pained him even more so to see that. They were so close… Steve was so close… and Tony thought if he had a few minutes more to live, and if he was going to spend these minutes in Steve's arms, then forgive him for what he was going to do.

Weakly Tony rose, his chin tilted upwards as he claimed Steve's lips with his. He held onto the warmth, onto the memory. Let him have this. Let him remember the gentle brush of their kiss, the passing breath on his skin.

It ended as soon as it started. He broke it off, a crimson smudge on Steve's chin. He slumped into the embrace again. He dared himself to look up. He probably shouldn't, but he did anyway because he was stupid like that whenever it comes to dealing with Steve. What would he see? Disappointment? Anger? Confusion?

Surprise. Realisation. And a barely-there frown that said unmistakably, "Sorry, Tony, I can't."

Tony coughed wetly, each heave a jagged stab to his side. And he smiled.

"I thought so…"

Steve held him closer, so tightly it hurt, but Tony didn't know that. Steve called his name over and over again, over the siren of the ambulance and the sound of a gurney lowered beside him. Tony didn't know that either. An oxygen mask was strapped callously onto his face and there was lifting and hastened movements and Steve was still beside him, around him.

Tony didn't know anything anymore.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene,

Only then I am human,

Only then I am clean

"Minor lacerations to the limbs, immediate attention required for a stab wound to the flank –"

"- gauze. Pulse and BP?"

"- possibility of stage one, hypovolemic shock –"

Steve rode with Tony in the cramped space that was the back of the ambulance. Red-stained bandages and clothes littering the vicinity was a stark contrast to the scientist's discoloured complexion. When the paramedic asked for his name, his birth date, and then more, and Tony didn't reply, Steve gripped his limp hand more securely, praying this wasn't going to be as bad as it looked.

Tony was going to be fine. He was always fine. Larger than life. Nothing ever put him down permanently.

Then someone eased his hand off Tony. A defibrillator was despatched. The hair on his back tensed while he watched in silent horror as Tony's back vaulted off the gurney, electricity massaging his heart to beat one more time. His own quivered.

He was losing Tony.

They repeated the horrible cycle of electrocution and each time, Tony bent in a back-breaking arch. The briefest touch of anxiety betrayed the team of medics and Steve suddenly felt a surge of anger. They weren't thinking of giving up, were they? The defibrillator went down again. Tony's head lolled boneless to his side, the oxygen mask over his face misty with respiration. And something must've worked, because there was a collective sigh of relief and they started trading updates on Tony's vitals again.

Steve didn't realise his own tears falling to his cheeks as he took Tony's hand in his again.

Take to me to church,

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife,

Offer me that deathless death,

Good God, let me give you my life!

Eight hours had passed since Tony was wheeled out of ICU to this private suite. Four hours since the last visit from the doctor. Two more hours to sunrise.

Steve hadn't slept a wink.

He sat in vigil by Tony's bed, his shoulders hunched as he waited. Tony was going to wake soon, and when he did Steve didn't want it to happen in an empty room. The rest of the Avengers were alerted of the incident and the scientist's latest status. Those who were still on American ground and off-duty had promised to take the earliest flight available down to New York. Bruce was going to fly in from India.

There was still several good hours before any showed up. And until then, Steve was going to be here for Tony.

When the first ray of morning sun shone through the clear panes, Tony stirred. Steve heard the shift in the breathing and straightened in his seat.

"Steve…"

The super soldier was by the bedside in an instant, his hand seeking Tony's frigid one. He gripped tightly.

"You're OK, Tony. You're going to be OK."

"Steve, I'm sorry."

With utmost difficulty, Tony peered through heavy lids and took in the concern and the attention Steve was giving.

"So sorry…"

He couldn't do this after all.

The first drop of tear escaped the tail of his eye and he turned away into his pillow. Steve looked like he'd been stabbed in the gut himself, the ache so blatant on his visage. And then it was pain, raw and physical in his side under the thick layers of bandages that stole more tears from him. He choked. He couldn't breathe.

"Easy, Tony. Calm down, we'll sort this out together. I'm not gonna leave you."

His fingernails dug deep into Steve's palm. He gasped, and Steve cupped the side of his jaws.

"Oh God, are you hurting – painkillers – somebody… "

He fumbled for a tiny remote with a red button on it; the call button that would alert the staff on-call of a patient's distress. His thumb hovered over it when Tony caught him clumsily around the wrist.

"Don't."

"But you're –"

"Please. I need to know this is real."

Steve held him as Tony rode on his pain. Steve kept him grounded, made good on his words. He didn't let go. As Tony wallowed in the depth of his misery, he realised this was all he needed, that this was enough. To stand beside Steve, to be with him.

This was enough.

As fatigue and sleep lay claim on his consciousness, he turned to Steve once more. The set of blue eyes, as always, pierced right through him. And this time, the first in a long while, he found solace in them.

"You can't love me, Tony."

"And you can't stop me."