"I need to talk to you."
Tony feels his stomach drop at Steve's ominous words, but he nods in acknowledgement as he looks back down into his coffee. He's not surprised, honestly; this is exactly what he expected to happen; what he's been trying to prepare himself for. He knows there's no way this can possibly end well for them, but he has to do what's best for Steve; even if that means leaving so someone else can take his place. But this doesn't stop him from trying to stall, buy a little time. He rotates the cup around in his hands, and tries to stall. "What, right now, on the bathroom floor?" He asks, flatly. It's a pathetic excuse for a stall, but right now, it's the best he's got.
Steve considers him for a moment, and then nods, his facial expression revealing nothing; and then, with more grace than someone of his size should really be capable of, stands in one fluid motion. Tony's pretty sure he'd fall over and go right back to dry-heaving if he tried to replicate this elegant move. So instead, he remains solidly on the floor, where nothing falls over and no one tells anyone else to go the fuck away. He likes floors. Floors understand him. Floors accept him.
Unfortunately, he thinks, he will eventually have to stand up, despite the ache behind his eyes and his unreliable stomach; and face reality. Steve has vacated the room, and Tony now sits in deafening silence. He feels cold, and stupid, and lonely, and his head still hurts and his chest still aches, and he swears to God if anyone asked, he's not about to cry; but fuck it, since no one else is around right now, maybe he'll admit it to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath and downs the rest of his coffee. No point in delaying the inevitable any longer.
Steve's sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Tony to emerge from the bathroom. As he waits, he keeps his shoulders hunched over and his eyes locked on the floor and tries to figure out how he can explain this. He has no idea how, but he owes Tony that much.
Just then, he hears the bathroom door open, and he lifts his eyes to take in the pathetic view of Tony, slowly shuffling out into the bedroom. He's still hungover to all hell, still pale, still looking faintly sick, and Steve feels a sharp stab of guilt. It's because of him that Tony is in this state.
This is the thought that crosses his mind as Tony begins to move towards the bed, but then hesitates for a moment before switching direction and sitting down in a chair, further away from Steve. Steve tries to strike a poker face and ignore the disappointment he feels. In this way, a moment passes, and then Steve clears his throat.
"I'm sorry," He says, and winces slightly as his voice barely makes it above a whisper. He looks up and locks eyes with Tony, sees the trepidation there, and he'd do anything to get that look off of his face. He doesn't want Tony looking at him like that,like he's afraid of what Steve's going to say next. His breath catches in his throat, and he has to look away, if he has any hope of getting this out.
"I'm sorry," he tries again, a little louder this time, staring at the wall, "For the way I've been acting."
"What?" Tony asks, and he hears thesurprise palpable in Tony's voice. Is it really that shocking for him to hear Steve apologize? He cringes as he puts a hand on the back of his neck, feeling ashamed of himself.
"I know I've been acting... selfish, lately." Steve continues on, "I haven't been acting like any kind of a proper leader. I've been acting weak, and cowardly. Hiding away, refusing to-to face the world, and I'm sorry."He glances over just enough to know that Tony's simply staring at him. "I don't know how to... explain, how the last few weeks have felt; but I do know I owe it to you to at least try." He pauses for a moment to try and gather his thoughts. It doesn't work well, and so he simply plunges on.
"When this started, I felt... exhausted. I spent every minute of the day feeling like I hadn't slept in weeks." Steve takes a deep breath, "I felt like I couldn't breathe. I could barely move. It hurt. Everything hurt. Then I had that... panic attack, and after that I felt like I was losing my mind. I couldn't focus on anything, my mind kept going back to... my life before. Remembering random things, memories, moments; it was overwhelming. And I didn't know how to tell you any of that, so I didn't say a while, it got easier and easier to just stay silent, and-and eventually it started to feel like if I talked, I'd make it hurt more. So I didn't. I didn't know how to deal with it, so I just didn't. I laid around and watched cartoons because it's all I felt like I could do. I couldn't even take a shower without having a breakdown." Steve can't help but shudder a little as he remembers the crushing black hole of despair and alienation, but after a moment, he puts the emotions aside and carries on.
"And you helped—you respected my silence, you didn't push me or tease me or belittle what I was going through. You helped me keep the world out and at the same time you helped me to keep myself from losing my grasp on the world altogether."
"No, Steve, I didn't." Tony suddenly blurts, and Steve just watches in shock as Tony gets up and starts pacing back and forth. "I didn't do anything. Nothing good, anyway. I have been so worthless to you, how can you not see that? I was useless. What did I do? I should've left you alone when you asked me to. That would've been helpful. Instead of this... this, waiting around and doing nothing! You can't tell me that was helping, not seriously."
As he crosses back in front of Steve, closer than before, Steve reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Hey." Steve has to tug at Tony to keep him from pulling away. "Hey, c'mere." His voice is gently insistent, and it gets Tony to stop struggling; but he refuses to look at Steve, and Steve can't help but feel a little hurt. Nonetheless, Steve tugs again, and Tony gets the hint, allowing Steve to pull him closer and have him stand in front of him. Steve rubs his thumb on the back of Tony's hand, and then tightens his grasp, feeling Tony's calloused fingers as he does. "Tony, it wasn't 'nothing.' If it weren't for you, I would've gone insane after just a few days. You... God, you helped— you are helping. You were there for me. You let me hold on to you, and rely on you; you never gave up on me. You never left. You took care of me. You're still taking care of me. You help me remember to breathe. That's not 'nothing.' That's everything."
"Yeah, right." Tony scoffs, and Steve stands abruptly. "Hey," he says, giving Tony's hand a little shake, "Look at me." Tony doesn't move, simply keeps his head bowed and Steve slides a hand up around Tony's wrist. "Tony, c'mon. Please."
Tony finally looks up at him and Steve sighs as he sees the ill-disguised distress in his eyes. "Tony, I should've said this before now, and I'm sorry for that… but you are the only thing that has kept me grounded through this." Tony looks away, and Steve moves a hand up to Tony's jaw, turning Tony's face back towards his. As soon as he knows he has Tony's attention, he reluctantly drops his hand to Tony's shoulder—a safer, less intimate place. "You don't have to believe it; you just have to accept that I do."
Tony faintly nods, and Steve ducks his head down to hold Tony's gaze when he tries to look away, "Now, I'm gonna talk some more and I need you to listen, okay?" Tony nods, again. Steve lets his hand drop from Tony's shoulder. He keeps one of Tony's hands in his and uses it to pull him down onto the bed, so they're both sitting on the edge.
"The problem is that I don't..." Steve starts, and stops suddenly, trying to figure out how he can possiblyexplain. "I just don't know how to... adjust to this. I don't know how to get my mind around the idea... the fact that what I remember as two months ago is really 70 years ago. I don't know how to deal with the fact that everything about the life I knew is gone. Completely. And it's not coming back. I hate that so much. I hatethat everything changed and I got left behind. I don't know anything about the world anymore, because literally nothing is the same as it was. And I don't want to learn about it. I want it to go away. I want to go back to the life I knew, back when I had Bucky and Peggy and things were crazy, but they were normal, ya know? And now... now what people consider normal is bizarre or 'old-fashioned.' And I'm not supposed to be here, I don't fit here. I don't want to be here. I miss my life. I miss Peggy, and Bucky, God, I miss Bucky; and all of my friends, all of the people that cared about me.
"There's this small part of me that's happy I'm alive, I swear, and it wants to go run around and find out as much about everything as I possibly can; but it's a really, really small part. Most of me just wants to go home."
Steve hears the words tumbling out of his mouth, but it's an odd sensation, like he's not controlling them, or consciously deciding what to say. Everything's just spilling out and he doesn't know how to stop it. He doesn't know if he wants to. "But I can't. I can't go home, and I have to face that, and it hurts. It hurts so much, it makes my bones ache and my chest hurt; and I've been weak and selfish and I've let myself get lost in the feeling, because I didn't know what else to do. I don't know what else to do, now. I know I need to learn how to live my life again, and be the leader I'm supposed to be, and I hate that I can't get over this. I feel like I'm drowning... like I'm trapped in my own head. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do.
"And I let you believe you were less than you are because I didn't tell you how much you were helping, just by being there. You've been exactly what I needed. And letting you think differently is something I am always going to regret, because you didn't deserve that, and I'm so sorry." When Steve finishes, it's not because he ran out of words but because he ran out of breath. His skin feels flushed and hot and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Somewhere along in the rant, he traded places with Tony, and he nowrealizes he's the one pacing back and forth as he speaks. He stops now, facing away from Tony, and he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, ignoring the sting behind them.
Suddenly, there's a hand on his arm, and he turns to face Tony; who's regarding him with an intensity tinged with sadness. "I can't," Tony pauses, struggling to find the proper words, "I can't fix your problem, Steve. I can't take you back in time, or give you back any of your friends; and that's something I'm always gonna regret."
Steve nods, and something deep and warm glows in his chest at Tony's words; but at the same time, he still has to fight back tears. He's so damn confused anymore.
"And the fact is that this isn't something you're going to just move on from or get over. You're not going to wake up one day and never feel bad about this again. No one expects you to; you shouldn't expect yourself to." Tony's voice is low and soothing, intended to offer reassurance, "Even leaders fall down. That doesn't make them less. You're still Cap, you're still our leader. This doesn't change that at all."
Steve nods again, and Tony runs his hand up Steve's arm to his elbow and back down to his wrist, unaware that he provokes a shiver that Steve can barely suppress."But," Tony goes on, his voice gaining a slightly cheerful tone that would be inappropriate coming from anyone other than him, "I have an idea."
"What?"
"Do you trust me?" Tony asks, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Steve says, "Yes."
"Then meet me down in the garage in fifteen minutes."
"Wait, what?" Steve asks, brow furrowing.
"I'd go there with you, but," Tony gestures self-deprecatingly at himself. "Kinda need a shower first."
"What are we-"
"Fifteen minutes!" Tony calls, heading to the bathroom. "JARVIS will take you to the garage."
"Tony, I don't-" Steve starts to say, but Tony back-tracks just long enough to lay a hand on Steve's shoulder and cut him off, yet again, "This should be good, I promise. Nothing scary, okay?" Tony grins when Steve nods hesitantly in agreement,and with that, Tony quickly moves back into the bathroom.
Steve stands motionless for a moment, completely baffled at the events that have transpired. He hears the sound of water running, and he suddenly realizes Tony is actually serious. Apparently, they're going somewhere; for the first time in God only knows how long, Steve was leaving the Tower. He supposes he should put on shoes.
It's twenty minutes later when they pull out of the garage onto the hectic streets of Manhattan, ensconced in one of Toy's more understated sports cars. Steve is infinitely grateful for the sunglasses Tony handed him in the garage, as the afternoon sun hits him in the face, jarringly bright.
"So what exactly are we doing?" Steve asks, as Tony maneuvers his posh sports-car around a corner.
"It's a surprise." Tony says, resolutely. He looks pleased with himself, Steve has to admit, and so he can't help but wonder what exactly Tony's got up his sleeve.
"You're not just going to drop me in the middle of Times Square, are you?" Steve asks, apprehensively; leaning his head against the glass of the window. He remembers when he first came awake in this century and he ran out into the teeming area all by himself. His panic made so much worse by the people, the chaos, the deafening noise. He hasn't been back since and he doesn't want to go back now, but he's pretty sure Tony wouldn't do that. Regardless, he still feels like he should ask.
Tony looks away from the road just long enough to give Steve an un-amused look over the top of his sunglasses. "I wouldn't do that to you," he promises, his voice rough with some unknown emotion, before shifting his gaze back to the road.
Steve sighs, and looks back out the window, watching the scenery pass by; the high-rises, the pre-war apartment buildings of brick and limestone- -these, Steve found incredibly disconcerting- -the restaurants and shops. People walking their dogs or talking on wireless phones, all dressed in clothing that looks like something out of sci-fi novel… or perhaps pornography. A few minutes later, he feels Tony reach over and squeeze his hand, and he doesn't hesitate to grip Tony's tight in response. He knows Tony wouldn't be that cruel.
Tony picks up Broadway, and Steve spends something close to an hour watching the world go by as they head north through the city. Sky-scrapers morph into less imposing buildings, crammed in side-by side but still revealing more stretches of sky. Both he and Tony are silent while they drive, but it's a comfortable silence and Steve has to fight to keep from falling asleep. It feels meditative almost, like the silence is helping repair the bits of him that are still raw from this morning.
Finally, Tony pulls to a stop, and with the miraculous luck that can only come from being Tony Stark, pulls into an honest-to-god available parking space by the curb. But Steve barely notices this, because he's letting his brain register their destination.
"Tony," Steve asks, slowly, "Why are we at a park?"
"Inwood Hill Park, to be precise."
He looks around at the bright green trees surrounding the walkway stretching before him, and can imagine the picnic tables and benches that are scatteredaround the area. He can picture the large overly-colorful playground with children climbing all over it, parents watching and talking; and the ducks gliding across the water pond which they will inevitably find.
Tony clears his throat, "You said you felt... trapped, right?" Steve nods, remembering that coming up somewhere in his ramblings, and his chest twinges at the truth of the words. "Well, I thoughtgetting out of that room would do you some good, and... this hasn't changed, has it?" He asks, suddenly sounding unsure of himself. Steve finally looks away from the scene in front of him and turns to Tony.
"What do you mean?" Steve asks, feeling more than a little lost. Of course, everything's changed. How could it not have?
"Trees are still trees, aren't they?" Tony retorts, almost defensively. "Grass hasn't been upgraded or redesigned. None of this has really changed. I thought- maybe-"
"It's perfect," Steve interrupts quietly, suddenly catching on,and it's true. Tony's a genius. Nature's the one thing that's the same now as it was seventy years ago, and Steve feels a surge of gratitude towards Tony, as he remembers how good it felt to have the sun shine on his skin when he had his... episode. It was a comfort, something familiar and unchanged, and he'd almost completely forgotten about it. He glances over just in time to see Tony beam with pride and pleasure at his idea.
"C'mon," Tony says, popping his car door open and climbing out. Steve's quick to follow his action, popping the handle of his own door. The relief he feels when he steps into the sunlight is unbelievable, and he stops to take a deep breath, relishing the smell and feel of fresh air. He can't believe he let himself forget about this. He feels goose-bumps run up his arms, despite the bright, warm August weather. The knot of anxiety and anguish that tied itself inside Steve's stomach weeks ago begins to feel looser. It's been unwinding itself all day, and Steve could groan in relief.
Instead, he simply stands eyes with closed, letting the sun heat up his skin, smiling faintly when the breeze blows the heat away.
"Hey," Tony says, and Steve opens his eyes to see Tony standing on the paved path that leads into the park. He motions towards himself as he starts walking, "Let's go for a stroll, huh?"
"Aren't people going to recognize us?" Steve asks, unsure if he could handle hordes of admirers and fans right now. Actually, he's completely sure he couldn't.
"I doubt it. Why would Tony Stark and Captain America come to a park like this? It's not exactly Central Park, it's a little out of the way. No one would believe it." Tony shrugs.
Steve figures he's probably right, and a small part of him says it's worth the risk; soSteve moves to fall into step beside Tony.
Of course it's peaceful, and of course he begins to take in the sights and sounds that he had imagined: The sound of children yelling as they play, happy and loud; and the quacking of ducks meandering around the park, completely unaware of anything outside their own world. All of it almost makes Steve forget why he was upset in the first place.
But he can't. He can't forget, and as badly as he wishes it didn't, he can feel the weight of his grief and isolation start to weigh him down. They walk in silence for a while, until they come across an empty wooden bench under what Steve is pretty sure is ared oak tree. Tony sits down and looks at Steve expectantly, but Steve has a better idea. He bends down and unties his shoes, straightens back up and toes them off. He sets them on the bench next to Tony; and then quickly peels his socks off after that, shoving each of them inside their respective shoe.
Steve knows Tony's watching him, bemused but curious. Steve carefully steps off the concrete and onto the warm grass. The blades bend under his weight and it feels like the world's weirdest carpet but also, just may be the best thing he's ever felt. He takes a few tentative steps, and then relaxes, enjoying it. He walks around a little, doesn't go too far from the bench —almost as though he is reluctant to stray too far from Tony, who is still watching him, now amused and smirking.
Steve suddenly has an urge that he doesn't want to deny. He sits down in the grass behind the bench and lies back, arms spread wide; he feel grass tickling his neck and arms where his shirt doesn't cover. It's oddly freeing, and he closes his eyes and lies there for a moment; on the grass in the sunshine, just... existing.
For a moment, under the anonymous sky and the unchanging grass, he can pretend he's home again.
Steve takes great comfort in letting his mind go blank, even if just for that one moment, but it doesn't last. He can already feel the knot in his stomach start to tighten again. He hears movement near his head, and he opens his eyes to see Tony standing above him, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression.
"Seriously?" Tony asks, incredulously, but Steve can see the teasing grin he's biting back, and so he relaxes back into the grass, closes his eyes again and tries to get the feeling of home back. It doesn't work. Instead, he can feel the knot in his stomach tighten again.
"This doesn't fix anything, you know." Steve says, sadly; realizing as nice as it feels, it's true.
"I know," Tony concedes, sitting down cross-legged next to him, facing Steve, and reaching out to brush Steve's hair back away from his face, "But it doesn't hurt, either. Fresh air never killed anyone, and it's good to get you out of the Tower. Cabin fever and all that jazz."
"You're one to talk." Steve retorts, and he hears Tony chuckle. A beat passes. "It still hurts." Steve admits, almost in a whisper, but it's still loud enough for Tony to hear, and sigh in response, "I know."
Steve sits up, crossing his own legs, tucking his feet against the scratchy grass, his knee almost touching Tony's but not quite. It's the closest contact Steve canreally allow himself, given their public position; despite the fact he desperately wants to latch onto Tony like alonely octopus. It's good though. Even if they're technically not touching, they're close; and just the proximity of having Tony next to him calms him in a way he can't quite explain, but he's grown accustomed to.
Neither of them speak, and Steve can feel the memories start closing in again. He thinks about Peggy, and what her voice sounded like. He thinks about Bucky, days spent roaming around the city, Bucky chasing girls and Steve teasing him every time he struck out, even as he envied Bucky his confidence. As Steve stops and sifts through the memories, some hurting worse than others, he starts to realize it's the people he misses more than anything else. He's not sure if that realization helps or just hurts more. He's not sure how long he sits there, lost in his own head again, before Tony gently pulls him out.
"Hey," Tony suddenly says, lightly tapping Steve on the knee, "You're thinking too loud. Can't a guy get some peace?" Steve's only visible reaction is to tug gently on the blades of grass by his taps his knee again. "Talk to me. You were doing good with the talking. Continue. Don't clam up on me again."
"I was just thinking," Steve says, turning his head to look off at the kids playing on the swingset, "I miss... everything about... before. I miss the music, and the cars and the things I was familiar with. Things that were considered new and useful back then are completely obsolete now, and I kind of feel like that applies to me, too." He watches as a little girl in a sundress twists the chains of her swing together until they won't go anymore; and then she lets go, and spins, laughing, as they unwind and she spins faster and faster. "But, that's bearable. It's hard, but I can deal with it." He says, looking away from her as he hangs his head.
"Okay," Tony acknowledges, prompting Steve to continue.
"When I was little, just a kid; my dad died, and it was just my mom and I." Steve says, "We moved around a lot, for one reason or another, but she was always there. I could talk to her, she took care of me when I was sick, she loved me and I loved her. She was my mom." Steve pretends his voice doesn't crack on that last sentence, remembering a pain he thought he'd moved past long ago. "So even though I hardly ever slept in the same bed for more than a couple months at a time, she was my home. No matter where we happened to live, she was my constant. And then, when I was seventeen, she died."He checks to see if Tony is still paying attention, and of course he is, his eyes fixed on Steve, silently encouraging him to continue.
"But I had Bucky. He was my best friend growing up. He was arrogant, woman-obsessed, cocky, and smart enough to justify all of it." Steve looks up at Tony and smirks, "You would've liked him." Tony narrows his eyes playfully and swats Steve on the knee, but he doesn't interrupt.
"We lived together in a boarding house, where 'misplaced youths' were constantly going in and out. I don't think anyone considered it home. Honestly, I don't see how anyone could've. We were all waiting for bigger and better things. But I was okay, because I had a home; I had Bucky. He was my home then, wherever he was. And he took care of me when I was sick, which was most of the time, and he was more of a friend than I think most people knew how to be, then or now. And then he died, too." Steve stops, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying desperately to not cry. Then he runs his hands through his hair and sniffs, fighting the feeling down.
"But by that time, I had other people around me. It wasn't easy, I mean, having people around didn't stop it from feeling like someone shot me in the chest every time I thought about him. Every time I think about him. I had Peggy, though, and the Howling Commandos, and they were my family, then. They knew me. They gave me some reality, some support to hold on to, even when everything else fell apart. They were my home." Steve takes a shuddering breath and then acknowledges the worst part, the part that feels like it's been trying to crush him for the past three weeks. "And now I don't have that. I'm alone. It's like I want to go home, but I don't have one," he quietly concludes, "And I think that's what hurts the most."
Tony reaches out and takes Steve's hand in his own. He intertwines their fingers and lets them lay on Steve's leg, and tries not to notice or care that Steve seems to relax and breathe a little easier at the contact. He knows he's become attached to physical contact over the past while, but he can't find it in him to care enough to decide if that's good or bad. He just wants it. It's a brilliantly simple touch, comforting in it's now familiarity, but simple enough not to draw attention. Steve squeezes slightly, and rubs his thumb on the back of Tony's hand.
"You know," Tony says, after a long silence between them, "It occurs to me."
"Hm?" Steve asks, vaguely, as a gust of wind blows air up his shirt and sends a shiver down his spine.
"You said what hurt was not having people who knew you. You feel like you don't have a home because the people you held onto are gone now, right?" Tony asks, and Steve's more than a little shocked Tony was actually listening that well.
"Yeah, I suppose you could say it like that," he answers, slowly untangling his fingers from Tony's and flipping Tony's hand over to inspect the lines of his palm. He runs his fingers carefully over every crease, callous, and scar.
"But you do."
Steve fingertips still and he looks at Tony questioningly.
"You have the Tower. You have us." Tony points out. "I know we don't know you as well as anyone then did, but we want to. We've all been trying to know each other in our own little ways. Thor tells epic tales of battle in his homeland and expects everyone else to do the same; Clint and Natasha share the little bits of their life that aren't classified to hell and back. Bruce has an amazing way of getting you to engage in the most ridiculous heart-to-hearts I've ever been a part of and then somehow makes it feel like it was your idea to begin with. Hell, you screamed at everyone, and they've been doing their level best to camp out in the living room until you came out again."
Steve's can feel his eyebrows shoot up in shock. He hadn't known about that.
"And I think I've proven how far I'm willing to go to see you happy," he continues, and Steve can feel himself blush self-consciously, "My point is, we can be home for you, if you let us. We're kinda fucked up, I'll be the first to admit, but most homes, most families are."
Steve stares down at their hands, his fingertips still resting in Tony's palm. He never thought about it like that before.
"No one's asking you to replace the people you had." Tony says, and Steve stops for a moment, wondering if Tony gained the ability of telepathy without anyone knowing. "You're allowed to miss them, and everything else you're used to. I don't expect you to have a sudden revelation and be okay with everything now, so don't even try. It's just something to think about, ya know? Something to hold onto."
Steve nods, and he feels his chest tighten, almost as though there's a band wrapped around him, twisting, and constricting. He doesn't know what to think, or how to feel. There are so many emotions screaming in his head right now, he feels lost and confused. He wishes something, anything, made sense right now. Minutes pass and Steve lets his fingers continue their inspection of Tony's hand. He knows Tony's hands almost as well as his own, now.
Steve is still lost in his own head, when Tony carefully removes his hand andglances down at his watch. He gently tugs at the sleeve of Steve's shirt. "We've been here for over an hour. You want to stay longer, or go home?" he asks, and they both pretend they don't notice his choice of words. He stands carefully, brushing stray bits of grass of his jeans; and he extends a hand to Steve, who grips tight and pulls himself up.
Steve sighs and looks around; he'll be coming back to this place for years. He can already tell. But for now…
"I'd like to go home." He says, not letting go of Tony's hand; and for the first time, in a long time, when he says 'home,' he doesn't mean an Army barrack.
