"JARVIS, we don't need supervision for level one, frost the glass," Tony instructs as the door closes behind them and it fogs over instantly.
Bruce is making them shower in the decontamination chamber along the far left wall of Peter's room. It's got three sealable chambers including the shower room and is the only entrance and exit while the room is under quarantine. Bruce is already inside examining Peter and had sworn he would have JARVIS lock them out all together if they didn't scrub down and wait for him to determine what precautions were necessary.
Steve takes a shaky breath and there's no physical cause, he knows there isn't, but he feels lightheaded. He presses both palms to the cool steel wall and puts his head down, trying to breathe through the fear tightening his chest. This isn't over and he needs to keep it together.
"Why the hell can he be in there and we can't?" Tony demands, prowling back and forth close to the second airlock door. Every surface in here is steel, unforgiving and unfeeling.
"Even if Peter gives him radiation poisoning the Hulk can take care of it," Steve says quietly.
"JARVIS said it was only going into the atmosphere a foot around him, that leaves plenty of the goddamn room for us to occupy without getting irradiated. This is idiotic, I'm going in there—"
"Tony, don't be stupid," Steve says, and his hands clench into fists against the wall. "Just let Bruce finish before you throw yourself on a grenade, will you? I'm not interested in sitting at the bedsides of my entire family."
Tony makes a frustrated noise.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, head drooping even further. Dammit. He needs to— He needs to get washed up, so he's ready when...
He tenses at the touch of Tony's hand, running up his arm. "Hey," Tony says, voice low. Steve reluctantly lifts his head to meet his eyes, and feels his forehead crumple when Tony leans in to touch it with his own.
"He's going to be fine," Steve tells the space between them. Because it has to be true.
"Sure," Tony says. "Sure he will."
Steve shifts and Tony moves with him, pressing his eyes into Steve's neck, eyelashes like air brushing across his skin. Steve brings one hand up to cup the back of Tony's neck, letting himself seek and accept the comfort of that, even though it's not nearly enough to cover the wound the fear has sliced open inside him.
He almost doesn't hear Tony ask, "Was I too hard on him?"
"No." Steve shakes his head, cheek ruffling the hair at Tony's temple. "You said what needed to be said."
"Shouldn't have sworn," Tony mumbles.
"Maybe," Steve concedes, because he won't lie to him. Especially not where Peter's concerned. "We should get cleaned up before Bruce realizes we're still in here," he says. Tony huffs, short and humorless, and nods.
"Right."
They strip out of their clothes and feed them into the disposal chute. The soap Tony stocks is slightly better-smelling and slightly less abrasive than the usual provided soap, but by the time they finish aggressively scrubbing every inch of their bodies, they're both pink and verging on raw.
Radiation protocols are separated into three levels of exposure severity. Peter can't be all that bad or they'd be dealing with at least a level two wash-up, if not the extensive—and invasive—level three.
Air dryers activate after the showers go off, and once they're dry a little cubby hole opens in the wall next to the door back to the lab. There are stacks of dark blue scrubs and paired socks. Tony fishes out a pair of each in the right sizes.
When they're dressed, Tony knocks on the glass of the door with a knuckle. "All right, J. Scan us and let us out."
"Scanning," JARVIS replies. After a beat, he adds, "Minimal traces of radiation detected. You are free to go."
It's bright in the lab after the single row of fluorescent light in the decontamination chamber. Both he and Tony veer to the right, wanting to at least see Peter if they can't be with him.
Bucky's sitting at the far lab table.
He stands, crossing his arms over his chest, and the metal arm glints. "Steve," he says quietly, "we gotta talk."
Twenty minutes later, Bucky mutters, "Look, I know the timing's shit, and I wish to God we didn't have to ask you to do this, but Andrasko refuses to give information to anyone but you. If we don't get that info—"
"We know!" Tony snaps.
Steve scrubs his hands over his face. "Can you give us a minute?"
Bucky eyes them both, and then nods. "Yeah. Sure."
Natasha puts her hand on his arm and guides him out. The minute the door shushes closed behind them, Tony spins on his heel, holding one finger up and Steve knows he's about to get an ear-full. It still never fails to amaze him how much attitude Tony can pack in to the simplest gestures. "No. No, absolutely not, it ain't happening. And furthermore, fuck no," Tony says, his eyes fever-bright, his lip trembling slightly.
Steve sighs. Normally he'd bristle at Tony's dramatic BS, but he's exhausted. He's worn out and heartsick and Tony's theatrics are too much to deal with, even if he understands why Tony's doing it. It's not like he wants to leave.
Steve considers fighting him for a brief moment and decides what little energy he has is better spent. "Fine," he says. "I'll let Fury know. Do what you want."
Tony's jaw is already firmed with a snippy retort, but that makes him falter. His jaw goes loose, his indignantly-pointed finger sinking. "Um," he says, uncertain. He rubs the pads of his fingers together and shifts his weight. "...really? That's it?"
Steve shrugs; it's a half-hearted gesture. "I'm not going to make you do anything, Tony."
Tony snorts. "Since when?"
That's fair, but Steve just tells him, "I have to go. If we don't get Andrasko's help, thousands of people are going to die."
"Wait," Tony says and Steve hears him start forward. "Hang on."
"What, Tony?" Steve asks wearily, pressing his thumb and his index finger into the corners of his eyes. The sound of Tony's footsteps stop and Steve can feel him hesitate before he feels Tony's fingers curling around the inside of his elbow.
"Hey," he says softly. "Steve. I'm sorry."
Steve presses harder, a sharp, hot burning starting at the backs of his eyes. He presses until it hurts and he just wants Tony to shut up, he has somewhere he has to be. He doesn't want to talk, he just wants to get out and do. Why can't Tony just shut up?
But he doesn't; Tony never does. "I shouldn't be taking this out on you, he's your kid, too."
A breath catches slightly on its way out of Steve's chest despite his best efforts and Tony goes very still behind him.
"...Steve?"
"I'm fine," he replies tersely and pulls his hand away from his eyes. "I have to go," he repeats, and ignores the way it feels like he's swallowed broken glass.
"Like hell you are," Tony says and grips his arm harder, tugging insistently. "This is fucking with you as much as it is me."
"Tony," Steve says and he can't stop how sharp it sounds. "If you don't want to go that's fine, but I need to."
"Then go!" Tony tells him. "You and I both know I can't stop you! If you have to go, then go!"
But Steve doesn't. His chest is rising and falling visibly with every breath; dammit, there are people waiting on him, counting on him, but he lets Tony pull him back around this time when he tugs. Tony's hands move up his shoulders to his neck, his fingers threading into the hair at the nape of Steve's neck and Steve takes one sharp, faltering breath, letting his head drop onto Tony's shoulder. His arms move around Tony, holding on, and Tony's hands tighten around the back of his neck in response. The heat of his palms makes something sharp and hard inside Steve melt away. He breathes in the familiar smell of metal and grease and something else he's never been able to place—and presses his face into Tony's neck, feels his pulse against the bridge of his nose, the heat of his skin on his cheeks.
Why is this happening to them? Haven't they been through enough?
"I'm sorry," Tony says again after a beat.
"No." Steve shakes his head. "Not for this. Not when it's because Peter—"
"Yeah, I know," Tony mutters, "but I shouldn't take it out on you. You're my rock, right? I mean, come on, we were naked and I didn't perv at all. I didn't even look, Steve."
Steve breathes out a laugh and runs his hand down Tony's back, surprised by how much comfort the feel of the familiar muscles against his palm alone provides. "Now I've seen everything."
"Ha ha," Tony mutters, his breath sinking through Steve's shirt, warm and damp against his skin.
Steve tucks his nose under the line of Tony's jaw and says quietly, "I know Bruce and Betty are doing their best. But I'm scared, Tony. Terrified. What if they can't—" His voice catches in his throat, closing up around the words, and he feels Tony swallow hard, his fingers tightening.
"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "Yeah, I've uh," he clears his throat. "I've been thinking about that a lot. I don't think I could— If—" He breathes out sharply into Steve's shoulder and shakes his head. "Fuck, Steve, I've never been so scared in my life. If he— Fuck. Fuck."
Yeah. Steve knows.
He holds on for another minute and then reluctantly starts to draw back. "I have to... I need to go, Tony."
Tony stares down between their bodies, nodding. "Yeah. I know you do." His eyes skate around the edges of the room. "I should go with you—"
Steve shakes his head and sighs, curling his hand around Tony's neck. "No. We don't need you—"
"You always need me," Tony mutters and the corner of Steve's mouth pulls up.
"—and I think it will make both of us feel better if you're here with Peter."
Tony looks up at him. "You're sure?"
Steve nods.
"Okay," Tony says and squeezes his arm. "So you've got what, four hours? What are you going to do?"
"This isn't a good idea," Bruce says for what feels like the zillionth time, and Tony rolls his eyes. Steve's wearing his Captain face; there's no way in hell he's going to be talked out of this.
"I understand," Steve says. "And I'm not leaving without going in there."
Bruce sighs, pushing his glasses up on his forehead so he can rub at the corners of his eyes. "Okay, fine. I assume you're going to insist on touch, so you're only going to have an hour. After that you'll need to do a supervised level three wash and you'll have to stay in one of the isolation rooms for another hour. You cope well, Steve, but you're not immune to radiation poisoning, so—"
"I understand," Steve repeats, and Tony's mouth pulls up at the corner. It's great to watch him get all mule-stubborn on basically anyone but Tony himself.
"Okay," Bruce says, finally giving up hope of talking sense into him. "Go ahead."
Tony fidgets near the glass wall as Steve enters the decontamination chamber. He wants so badly to go in with him, but Bruce won't even discuss it. Says his heart can't handle the strain, that the repeated exposure from high-altitude flying in the suit has already upped his threshold. He's only allowed in if he puts on a suit.
For now, Tony's letting it lie, because Steve will be in there and it's only going to freak Peter out if he goes in there in a suit. He'll let Steve have his one-on-one time with Peter and focus on fixing the problem for awhile.
He can do this.
Time goes by too fast.
Steve feels like he's only just drawn Peter up against his side, and already half of his time is gone. He runs his fingers through Peter's hair and kisses his forehead when he turns into the touch. "I love you, Peter," he murmurs, for probably the hundredth time, but he's afraid Peter won't hear, that he'll leave and Peter will think he's abandoned him, still angry. "You did the wrong thing, but you're not bad. I love you so much."
Peter mumbles something incomprehensible and turns his face into Steve's shoulder. His skin seems redder and Steve traces the curve of his skull with his fingertips as lightly as he can. What if it hurts him? God, what if he's—
He cuts off that thought before it can fully form. Peter will be okay. He's tenacious like Tony, pushing inexorably forward for what he wants.
They really should have known better. Peter's passions have always been close to obsessions, again, just like Tony's.
Steve stares at the dark lavender circles of the delicate skin under Peter's eyes, at the tiny blue veins beneath. He takes a shaky breath and touches the backs of his fingers to Peter's slack cheek. His skin feels so soft and so thin, the same way Steve's mother's had before she...
Aware that Tony and Bruce, and probably Thor, are out in the lab, maybe looking through the glass, Steve rolls his eyes toward the ceiling when they start to burn, turns his face toward the wall. He takes deep, shuddering breaths, and fights back the urge to gather Peter up and cry. Peter is still alive, and he won't write him off like that.
A few determined gulps of air and gritted teeth push back the tears. "I'm sorry we didn't listen," he says, voice rasping. "I'm so sorry, Peter. If we'd listened and been there for you—" He swallows thickly. "We'll...we'll talk to Natasha and Clint and Phil. You can learn archery or—hand-to-hand. I could— I could teach you, if you wanted. I don't know if we'd be okay with letting you come out with us, but you could at least get started training and then when you're old enough..."
Steve pulls Peter closer and curls his hand around one of his thin wrists, taking comfort in the pulse beating against his fingers.
The hollow klong klong of knuckles against the glass gets his attention. "Steve," Bruce says, voice tinny through the intercom. "It's time."
Steve squeezes his eyes shut. Come on, Rogers, he tells himself. You have to do this. People's lives are at risk. You don't even know that Peter's in danger.
It's agony pulling himself away, but he does it.
Carefully, he eases Peter back into the pillows, thumb stroking his cheek. He tucks Mister Waddles into the crook of his arm and then pulls up the blankets, tucking them in around Peter's shoulders the way he used to. There's a long moment where he lingers, bent over the bed, smoothing back Peter's unruly hair. Someone knocks on the glass again. He hates them a little.
"I love you," he repeats, and kisses Peter's forehead.
Then, with a glare spared for Bruce, he crosses to the decontamination chamber and seals himself in.
It's much worse this time around.
Bruce meets him in the first chamber wearing one of the suits that remind Steve of tin foil and waits while he strips. His clothes are immediately discarded. If Steve's sense of modesty hadn't been all but stamped out in the thirties, he still wouldn't be embarrassed to be naked in front of Bruce. It's really only fair.
Having to pee naked in front of him is a little awkward, though.
Bruce swabs each of his nostrils and then scans him from head to toe, front and back with a little bar-shaped device. It beeps enthusiastically all along his left side and goes wild for his right hand. Bruce marks several spots on his body with a Sharpie.
"Okay," he says when that's done. "Shower. Focus on the outlined areas, but don't scrub too hard, you don't want to break the skin. Use the eye, ear, and mouth stations—make sure you get all orifices," he adds quickly and his eyes skitter away.
Steve stares. "Even—"
Bruce grimaces. "Yes."
Peeing seems less awkward now.
They traipse into the next chamber together and Bruce stands in the corner, arms crossed and shoulders hunched while Steve scrubs down, occasionally pointing out missed spots or reminding him to avoid letting the contaminated wash water run down his body.
Then there are more swabs and more scans.
Bruce shakes his head. "Again."
Steve showers three times, and washes his hair five. He gargles and flushes his ears with hydrogen peroxide. He brushes his teeth three times.
Finally, after nearly an hour, Bruce and JARVIS both declare him clean enough to leave. He puts on a fresh pair of scrubs over hypersensitive skin and lets Bruce lead him out. Tony glances over as they pass through the lab, eyes shadowed inside another one of the tin foil suits. His arms are wrapped tight around his own waist and he looks none too happy.
Bruce escorts Steve straight to the isolation room, which is essentially a cleared out emergency bay. White laminate tile, plain off-white walls, and a steel drain in the center. There's a gurney sitting inside and nothing else. For a second Steve thinks he's going to be stuck in this godawful room alone for the next hour, but a holoscreen springs to existence on one wall, and Tony smirks at him. "Hurry up and wait, huh?"
Steve almost smiles.
They don't talk much while the time drags by, seemingly at a tenth the pace it did while he was with Peter. There's not much to say. Their child is sick and the world is in danger and Steve has a duty that's taking him away at the worst possible moment. Life's never been fair, and he's not sure how he'd gotten lulled into thinking it might be for so long.
When the hour's finally up, Tony comes to meet him before he goes. "I'll take care of Peter," he says, eyes bright and determined.
"I know you will," Steve says. "I'll take care of everything else."
"I know you will," Tony parrots back at him, and bounces up on his toes to bring their lips together. He curls one arm around Steve's back, hand on the back of his neck and they stay like that for a long moment. "Careful, all right?"
"I always am," Steve says. It's his best lie.