Note: This was originally the last chapter of the story, but I had issues leaving it like this. So there's one more chapter. However, I'm out of town this weekend, so it won't be out until Sunday night or Monday morning. (I was going to wait on this chapter until then, but I felt bad leaving it alone after the last one.)

Warnings: Angst, schmoop, mentions of Oprah.


Public Displays of Affection:

PDA

It had been nearly two weeks of Tony studiously avoiding everyone but Pepper. The first few days Steve had thought he would go out of his mind. By the week's end he was convinced he had destroyed anything good there had been between himself and Stark. After Clint's words, he thought maybe he had a chance, but then the door to the lab had been locked, and Bruce was still banned.

It was the end of the second week, and Steve felt a dark weight of acceptance.

He did wonder how the man managed to avoid them all so completely. As far as he was aware, there were no secret entrances to the workshop. Yet Tony had to be eating, drinking, and taking care of general hygiene, right? Plus, regardless of the fact that Pepper pretty much ran the show, Tony Stark was still a major figurehead of a multibillion dollar corporation, and occasionally he had to make an appearance. Didn't he?

Steve stared at the drawing in his pad and wondered when the hell he had lost himself so completely to this impossible man. Two weeks of being frozen out, and he was drawing Tony. No matter what he did, he could not make the image look anything but sad. He really needed to learn how to translate anything but his emotion of the moment onto paper. As it was, it was after midnight, and he wasn't out to impress anyone.

A bottle of scotch clunked to the counter in front of him. Steve blinked as two glasses appeared beside the expensive looking liquor, barely daring to look up. There was only one person he even knew who liked that brand of liquor.

Tony looked wan and too thin under the dimmed kitchen lights, but Steve chose not to remark on it. That would come later, when he knew where he stood. For now, he also opted not to remind Tony that he was incapable of feeling the mellowing effects of the alcohol. The first thing he said to the man in two weeks was not going to be some negative comment. So he just watched as Tony dropped ice in the glasses and filled each with a little too much liquid.

"Nice drawing."

The drawing wasn't nice. It was Tony, sitting on nothing, looking for the world like he wanted not to be in it. Steve kept trying to make the man in the picture look less like he wanted to die and more… well, anything but that. But his emotions kept getting in the way. And his memory of the way Tony had last looked at him.

Tony just looked tired now. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, and his hand trembled ever so slightly, ice clinking in protest in his glass. Steve picked up the glass that was obviously meant for him and noted that his hand never shook.

He sighed.

"Tony, I'm so s—"

"If you apologize to me, I'll throw this drink in your face."

There was not much he could say to that. Steve looked up, bewildered and utterly crushed. Because if Tony did not want to hear it, then what could Steve do?

"Just tell me what was going through that blond head of yours," Tony said wearily. For a moment Steve thought he had voiced his fears, but he realized this was something Tony really wanted. It had nothing to do with his own insecurities.

"It's not all completely nice." Because he had to say it. If Tony was going to hear this, then he would hear all of it. The truth of it.

"I don't really care," Tony sighed. "Just spit it out, Rogers."

He took a breath. Braced himself. Released the sigh. And spoke.

"I was scared," he said. "When Magneto had you. I thought you would be dead by the time I got to you."

Normally, Tony would have something to say here. Something light and a little mean. But he just sipped his scotch and stared at Steve, waiting.

"That first night, when you came to me, I just felt… I wanted to know your heart was safe, like I could hold the reactor in against people like Magneto, who tried to take it." It sounded so stupid. Like he could ever truly battle against Magneto's powers. "It made you so calm and relaxed when I would hold the reactor, I just got carried away with it. I liked it—I liked seeing you relaxed. You seemed to sleep better. And you would just move where I put you."

This was the bad part. Steve closed his eyes, because this part he actually was ashamed of. This more than the tentative loss of trust. Because that had been stupidity on his behalf, and really not something he considered until after Natasha brought it up. His fault for not being clear right away. But he really needed this out there, off his chest. Tony was letting him say it.

"I… liked it. I liked thinking I could do just about anything and that you'd let me. I liked holding you and putting myself between you and the world because you never let me do that otherwise. And I liked thinking I could control everything we did, because you just looked at me and laid there, and I could have pushed, and I really felt you would have let me do anything. It was humbling… but very empowering."

Tony swirled his drink before tossing the rest back and setting the glass aside. Steve had only sipped at his. It burned down his throat, but it just sat heavy in his stomach.

"I don't have any off buttons, you know," Tony said softly.

"I didn't think much about it until Natasha mentioned…" Steve started, then cut off. It felt like an excuse. "I never meant it as a means to shut you up. I mean, sometimes it's nice when you don't talk so much—you say so much without saying anything sometimes—but that wasn't it. I know I don't control you, but sometimes it's kind of nice to think I can. Just enough to be sure I won't lose you."

That was a mess. It barely made sense in his own head let alone aloud. But Tony was the master of inane babble, and if anyone could figure out what Steve meant, it would be him.

Tony reached out, took the scotch Steve had been halfheartedly nursing, and drank that as well. The glass clinked gently on the counter.

"I'm really tired, Steve," Tony murmured.

He moved almost without conscious thought, rounding the counter and moving to intercept as Tony sagged.

"You haven't been eating," he said, a gentle reminder.

"We'll discuss that when we discuss your penchant for dominance," Tony replied, his words muffled against Steve's shoulder. And god, it felt so good to hold Tony against him like this. It felt even better when Tony's arm curled around his neck of its own accord. "Can we just sleep now?"

He probably should have made Tony eat something first. But Steve was not a doctor, and he was just so grateful to have this moment that he agreed wholeheartedly to Tony's request. He was liable to choke if Steve tried to feed him. Tony was a hair's breadth from passing out from exhaustion anyway.

Steve knew this because Tony made not even the slightest noise of protest when Steve scooped him off the floor. He rested his head on Steve's collar, and if he could have pressed even closer, Steve thought he might try.

He brought them to his room because it was closer. Tony was shivering, and Steve felt himself pick up the motion, so he felt it might be wiser to get them buried in a pile of blankets as quickly as possible.

"I'm really sorry."

Steve drew back enough to look down at Tony in shock. But Tony was clinging to him desperately, refusing to leave his nest of Steve's shoulder and arms.

"I've been such a dick about this," Tony mumbled before Steve could think too hard on why the billionaire should even think he needed to apologize. "I'm surprised you didn't dump my ass for someone nicer and prettier already."

"You're the most generous person I have ever met," Steve retorted. "And you're gorgeous, so finding someone prettier would be a challenge I don't think I would win."

"God, you're so fucking perfect," Tony groaned. "If I cry for a while here, will you pretend it never happened?"

Steve curled himself around Tony, barely noticing the press of the arc reactor against his chest. He didn't touch it—wouldn't be able to for a while now—not the same way.

"Let's call it an even trade," he murmured, because his face was wet, though he could not recall when he started crying. He cared less about that, but if Tony wanted to pretend he wasn't pressed into Steve's shoulder and shaking like he would fly apart, then Steve would not deny him that privacy. He just drew the blanket up and smoothed a hand over the mess of Tony's hair and listened as the man's ragged breathing smoothed into gentle almost-snoring.

As Tony slept, Steve felt something in him unfurl. He had no idea he was so tired, but exhaustion rushed up on him like a tidal wave. He pressed his nose to Tony's hair, letting himself drift off to the smell of grease and oil and sweat and booze. Hardly romantic, he supposed, but at the moment he was completely content.


Steve usually did not require the kind of sleep most people did, but that night he slept a solid eight hours. The sun was high when he finally opened his eyes, and he sighed, glancing around his empty room. There was a brief moment of utter dejection at waking alone, a part of him wondering if he had come up with the previous night in his absolute exhaustion. But he had slept plenty now, and he knew he was not imagining the grease stains on his sheets or the faint reek of sweat and tears on the pillows.

He took a few minutes to shower and dress before wandering down to the kitchen. He was hungry, and he expected he had missed any breakfast Bruce may have already prepared. The man was a wonder in the lab and the kitchen, truly. Steve's stomach was never sorry for Bruce's presence.

It all seemed so normal, walking into the room and seeing Clint bent over a newspaper article at the table. Neither Natasha nor Thor was present, but Natasha was more about nighttime, and Thor was still visiting Jane. Bruce was actually standing in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, talking about something complicated with Tony, who was sipping coffee and sitting at the counter opposite of him.

Just like hundreds of mornings before.

Steve's brain seemed to disconnect at that point. He was not thinking at all, walking up behind Tony and wrapping himself around the man. Tony had showered. His hair smelled of the exorbitantly expensive herbal shampoo he used. Steve buried himself in it, just breathing in the smell and completely uncaring of the fact that he was never this forward when they were not alone.

No one even commented. Bruce kept talking, Tony replying with something Steve did not follow. The only reaction he got out of it was that Tony put down his coffee and curved his arm around Steve's waist, pulling them close and letting Steve just lean on him like a child clinging to his mother.

It was the most wonderful thing Steve had ever experienced.

Then Clint had to come and interrupt. Steve hated him for it. Just a little. Okay, not really, but he did harbor a fair bit of resentment for a few seconds.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Barton said, appearing beside Bruce in the kitchen. "Remember what Banner said about PDA?"

Steve pried his face from Tony's neck long enough to see the newspaper Clint slapped down on the counter. Tony hummed and pulled it toward him, turning the page until he could see the image plastered across it.

It was a picture of Steve and Tony embracing. Steve frowned at it, taking in the pose and the background, and that half-empty tumbler in Tony's hand. It was a picture of them on the balcony of Stark Tower. It must have been taken just before their fight, when Steve had come out and hugged Tony from behind and kissed him on the head, just like that.

Above the image was a headline, big and bold and damning.

STARK AND ROGERS: GAY IN AMERICA?

"Whoever took this photo must have had one hell of a telephotographic lens," Tony remarked. He caught the paper, flipping to the next page to reveal more photographs. A close up of Steve kissing Tony's head. One of their faces, Tony's smile tight, Steve looking strained. It actually was not very flattering, though Steve was grateful there were not any pictures of the actual fight that followed this particular scene. "Ugh. You look kind of constipated there, Cap."

"I warned you," Bruce said, looking amused at the images.

"You're so going to get hate mail," Clint grinned at Tony as he said this. "Do you know how many girls out there were hoping that Captain America would fall in love with them?"

"I'll just toss them in the pile with the rest of the burn-in-hell mail I get," Tony said indifferently.

"You get hate mail?" Steve asked, and he wondered how he did not notice this.

"Pepper usually filters it out before it gets to me," Tony shrugged. "I actually get a lot less now since shutting down the weapons manufacturing plant. Cap, I'm going to have anything mailed to you filtered through Stark Industries."

"You think I'm going to start getting hate mail?" Steve was appalled. He had thought the world was beyond this, at least.

"Well, it's not the forties, but gay relationships are still controversial," Tony pulled out his phone and winced. "Pepper saw the article. Damn it."

"Freak out time?" Clint inquired cheekily.

"This wasn't even my fault," Tony griped. Steve was torn between wanting to reassure him—though he had no idea what he could do in this situation—and a guilty sense of pleasure when Tony sighed and clung a little more tightly. He tapped the phone and set it on the counter. "Not my fault, Pepper."

"It doesn't matter, Tony," Pepper's voice was loud and clear. If Steve did not know better, he would swear she was in the kitchen with them. As it was, he could see her face on the phone, and it was not just an image. She looked frustrated. "We need to put a spin on this before the conservatives can rip into you."

"Those jackasses have always hated me. This is nothing new."

"Who took the picture?" Clint tossed in.

"Go away," Tony hissed. For Pepper, he put on a winning smile. "What are you suggesting, Miss Potts?"

She scrutinized Tony, and Steve tensed slightly when her eyes flicked over him as well. Pepper had known of their fight, although Steve did not know how much she knew, and he was vividly aware that she was on Tony's side first and foremost. He did not know if she was angry with him.

"It's not press conference worthy," she said finally. "You can either ignore it and hope it goes away—which it will, if you never get caught together again, which I can see will never happen—" Steve flushed. "—or we can promote the two of you."

"You want me to go Hollywood on this shit?" Tony twisted, and Steve shifted uncomfortably under that contemplative stare. He had no idea what Tony and Pepper were talking about, and he probably did not want to know. But he was going to learn. This did involve him after all. "Okay," Tony turned back to his phone and, by extension, Pepper. "Find one of the charities I promote, and get us an invite to the next event."

"We've got talk shows calling," Pepper advised.

"Really?" Tony grinned. "Which ones?"

"Regis and Kelly, The View, Bonnie Hunt, Letterman. Oprah, Ellen."

"Put me on Ellen."

"I love Ellen," Bruce remarked, much to Steve's surprise. The man shrugged when he caught Steve staring. "She's funny."

Tony snorted.

"Do it," he said, otherwise ignoring his companions. "If Oprah's people are persistent, take her too." To Steve, he offered, "Oprah is the most powerful woman in the world. If she promotes it, every other woman in America will fall over themselves for it."

"Okay," Pepper sighed. "I think we can manage this. Stocks seem to be holding, but it's early stages. I'll text you the dates and times—don't be late for these, Tony."

"I'll behave."

"Good," Pepper took a deep breath, looking to be calming herself. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That'll be all, Miss Potts," Tony said solemnly. He paused, smiled, and added, "Thanks, Pep."

Her face twisted, and Steve could swear she was glaring at him, and the phone went dark.

"She's still pissed at you," Bruce murmured. Steve winced.

"Quiet in the peanut gallery," Tony said cheerily. He spun on his stool, and Steve shifted automatically, catching Tony's hands in his. "So, we've been outed to the world. In the words of the press and my first and last psychiatrist: How does this make you feel?"

Steve stared at Tony for a long moment. If he had answered that question instantly, he would have had to say he felt overwhelmed. He had just woken up with the intent of spending a quiet morning with his—lover? boyfriend? partner?—Tony, and suddenly they were being thrown in front of the media bus.

But he considered the man in front of him, that cocky grin not quite hiding the anxiety shifting behind his eyes. The tousle of hair where Tony had failed to style it this morning. The tired circles under his eyes that would fade with a few more days of decent sleep. And his hands, clutching rather than simply holding.

Steve smiled. He loved this crazy man so much.

"Bring it on."

The uncertainty fled from Tony's eyes.

Then Clint burst out laughing, which kind of ruined the moment. But Steve was okay with the laughter because it quickly changed to a whoop and a whistle when Tony grabbed him and dragged him in for a hard kiss.


TBC...