Not even gonna try making any excuses here. I got a job, it ran me into the ground, and I just now am getting around to uploading the one chapter I'd written before this mess began. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things next month, since I'm quitting, but no promises.
Thank all of you for your devotion to this little pet project The scope of it is completely overwhelming, coming back to it. I don't know how the hell I got this far. Just for getting this far, you all deserve kudos. Extra thanks to Zenoneel-Sarior, Kae Richa, Pickled Cucumbers, BeautifulTyrant77, Pickles, and 3 Guests. You're amazing.
Oh, and there's a little smut in here but nothing descriptive and there are no visuals. It's not really even that smutty. Just enough to skirt the ratings line and feel a need to warn you all about.
Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.
Chapter 14: Betrayal is in the Eyes of the Beholder
"I don't want to be a man," said Jace. "I want to be an angst-ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead."
"Well," said Luke, "you're doing a fantastic job."
― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes
It felt wrong to invade Steve's room like this. The little voice in the back of Tony's mind was stifled, just like every other time in his life that it popped up.
The room was furnished according to what Tony knew of Steve's tastes. The furniture was antique, solid mahogany from the thirties, a large bed and wide dresser without a mirror because he didn't like to see his own reflection very often. The walls had been painted light green with vine patterns, and the textiles were a few shades darker. It was about as non-military, un-patriotic as possible without being all rainbows and peace signs.
The bareness of the large room left very few places to hide things, Tony thought gratefully. He didn't have much time, so he immediately got to work.
There was nothing interesting in the drawers, besides discovering that Steve was a boxers kinda guy. And a pair of star-spangled pair of skivvies that gave him terrible ideas. The closet was similarly barren of anything secretive, just shirts and an accordion file with his old documents- birth certificate, enlistment papers, that sort of thing.
Although, he saw when he got to the sections labeled 1943, 1944, and 1945, there were some others mixed in. There were bills for two memorial events and other associated paperwork. Tony took pictures of everything in there and carefully put them back in order. Getting the file back up onto the shelf it had been stored on required him to get on his toes, and even then it was a near thing. Through the grating, Tony adjusted it until it looked like it was in the same place as before.
A look at his phone showed that he only had twenty minutes left. This could be tight. The last spot Tony could think of for anything bigger than an envelope was under the neatly made bed. He'd have to come back later for those small spots, he acknowledged, as he knelt on the rug.
Jackpot! Three metal footlockers rested in a row, with a military rucksack beside them that Steve often took on longer missions. The bag proved to be empty, so Tony pulled out the box beside it.
This one was labeled "Rogers, Steven G. Howling Commandos." It was his personal footlocker from the war. The hinges screeched when they opened, and Tony flinched and automatically looked at the door to see if someone had heard.
When Steve didn't burst in with the famous "Captain America does not approve of your life choices" glare and a speech about privacy, Tony relaxed a little and looked through the contents. Everything was covered in dust, from the spare uniform (dear lord, he wished Steve would wear this just once) to a pair of standard combats to… women's hair supplies? A pile of little boxes all proved to be medals from five different countries. There was nothing suspicious in here, so Tony put it all back how it was and closed the locker again.
This one was traded in for the next over. It belonged to "Barnes, James B. Howling Commandos." This was Bucky's. If he had a deal with Starosta, maybe there was something more about it in here.
The contents were much the same, minus the hair supplies: an extra uniform of the kind he used with the Howling Commandos, a set of combats, one of dress greens, and some paperwork. Several small boxes held medals, including the first Barnes Cross ever made. A set of tools and a dog eared copy of the Hunchback of Notre Dame were jammed in on the side. Nothing particularly interesting or unexpected was in here. The box was closed with a high pitched whine of the hinges.
The last footlocker was stamped with, "Starosta, Anthony E. Howling Commandos." Tony's hands shook with the adrenaline coursing through him. Finally, he might get something concrete.
Just the idea of who this was made even the clothing interesting. Tony got the macabre urge to try on the dead man's olive green jacket, covered in pockets that were filled with miscellaneous debris, but restrained himself. That would just be weird. A pair of camo pants, a tan t-shirt, and an olive colored button down went along with it. The rank insignia on the combats showed that back then he was a First Lieutenant.
The only paperwork in here was the army contract and enlistment forms he had signed. The signature was like a punch in the gut. It was almost the same as his, just a different surname. Tony took a picture of it, just to be thorough.
It was only as he was putting the thin file back that he noticed a battered leather bound book had fallen from against the side of the box. The edges were frayed and paper water stained, and the whole thing was filthy. Flipping through it provided more examples of his own handwriting, just a few lines in each section. Bingo!
What was really interesting, Tony thought when he tried to put everything as it was when he opened it, was that something was missing. A rectangular package had been wrapped in the clothing before being removed. Only the empty space had been left and it was damn near impossible to recreate that. What had Spangles taken out of his dead boyfriend's locker and not returned?
"Captain Rogers has arrived on the floor," JARVIS announced. There was a distinctive disapproval in the AI's voice.
"Shit," Tony muttered. He closed the locker quickly and pushed it back under the bed. There was no time to take photos. He would have to just take the journal with him.
"You may wish to hide, sir," JARVIS advised.
Immediately Tony rolled under the bed. All he could do was hope that Steve didn't go for any of the lockers poking him in the side. He breathed as shallowly as he could, as the door opened.
Large black boots and the hems of olive drab pants entered his field of vision. The boots and socks were removed with a sigh of relief. They were tossed into a pile by the door.
Tony nearly fucking choked when he heard a zipper come undone. Oh no. Oh yes.
The pants dropped into a pile almost right in front of his face. Red plaid boxers followed.
There was a slight squeak as Steve climbed into bed. Naked. And nearly on top of where Tony laid, just with bed slats, a mattress, and sheets between them.
Being terrified and aroused at once was one of the strangest things that he had ever experienced. Not even panic at the idea of being caught here was able to keep him from popping a boner. Traitorous body, Tony mentally accused.
Then it got worse.
There were noises of skin against skin and something wet sliding between the two. Breathing that was almost always perfectly even was getting rougher. A little whine choked its way up a perfect throat.
Oh.
My.
Chuck.
The record for the most perverted thing Tony had ever done was officially broken. He was hiding under Captain America's bed, in front of his dead boyfriend's locker, after stealing that same dead man's diary, listening to him masturbate. And trying to keep from rutting against the floor as he did.
In that, Tony failed. The sounds and mental images were too much. Now this would be awkward to explain if he was caught.
"Tony…"
The inventor froze with his hand about to creep down his pants. Shit. There went any semblance of normalcy.
"Tony… oh God, Tony…" His name came on another moan. It was breathy and strained and utterly sinful. Tony wanted to kiss it right off his lips.
It was really too bad that Steve turned him down, he thought. Trying to not be bitter about it was an attempt doomed to failure. He totally was.
Even as the mattress began to shift and the slats squeak, Tony wondered what he had done to deserve this hell. Had he been some kind of shadow assassin in a past life or something? He wouldn't be surprised.
Now he was caught between terror, bitterness, and overwhelming arousal. It was the weirdest damn combination of emotions that Tony had ever felt.
For once, he wished that Steve were a little more like him. A little willingness to indulge in lying to himself would help them both out a lot. It wasn't like Tony and Starosta were that different. He wouldn't even have to learn to respond to a different name. Steve wouldn't even have to tilt his head and squint to be able to pretend.
As he listened to his name (but not) leave perfect lips like a prayer, Tony realized that he was well and truly fucked.
There was a drawn out groan, and then all sound and motion stopped. Only harsh panting filled the room from on top of the mattress. It was over.
Carefully, Tony let out a shaky breath. Despite all the mixed emotions coursing through him, he'd be using these memories in the shower for months. If Steve would just leave, he could escape in order to start that new routine now.
Noises indicated that Steve was cleaning himself up. After that though, he didn't make any motion to leave. Instead he rolled over and got settled. Of all the fucking days for him to take a nap.
Tony shifted minutely so that Bucky's locker wasn't poking him in the side so much. Time to get comfortable. There was no way to leave without waking Steve, he was a notoriously light sleeper.
Except that Steve didn't sleep. His breathing went shaky and uneven, gulping down air between- oh no. This was not happening. Did he always cry after jacking off, or was Tony just special?
Not for the first time, he was glad that Steve didn't know he was there. It gave Tony the ability to decide which was less awkward: staying where he was, or trying to provide comfort. It would be more uncomfortable to keep hiding, but at the same time he was terrible at making others feel better. He would probably only make this worse.
Another sob ripped from Steve's throat and that was the last straw. No matter how bad Tony was at making people feel better, he couldn't lay there and listen to this man in pain. He wedged the diary between Bucky's and Starosta's lockers and rolled out from under the bed.
Steve didn't look surprised to see him. Then again, he didn't look anything other than pitiful, with mussed hair, swollen eyes, and blotchy cheeks complete with tear tracks and a wobbling chin. A sniffle that sounded like it went the whole way into his chest confirmed that for all his apparent perfection, Captain America was not a cute crier.
Despite all that, Tony found his heart in his throat. He could barely speak past it. "I hope you know it's illegal to make you cry," he said, almost normally.
A watery laugh sounded more like another sob. "What- what were you doing under my bed?" Steve asked through even more tears. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop crying if the world depended on it. When he tried to uncurl from the tight ball he had ended up in, his body moved straight back to how it was.
"If you were more up to date on memes, I would say I was hiding under your bed because I love you," Tony joked, resting his chin on the mattress just inches from Steve's face, "As it is, well… I planned to play a joke on you. Grab your ankle when you weren't expecting it, that sort of thing. It looks like you got one over on me instead." The lie tasted terrible on his lips. He almost took it back.
Only another attempt at a laugh stopped him. Steve's breathing was still too fast, and the smile was replaced by panic. "I- I can't stop crying. Why can't I stop," he panted out, tears leaking down his cheeks as he gasped for breath.
This was a bad decision. As far as Tony was concerned, it was the only option. "Budge over," he ordered, and lifted the covers just enough to slide in.
It was alarming that Steve was only able to scoot a few inches. The shaking was too bad for that, and he was curled up too tightly to properly move unless he rolled.
There was enough space for Tony to not fall off the bed. That was enough. He hesitantly held up a hand, offering a touch to the hair.
It was taken gladly. This time Steve didn't close his eyes, they were wide open and staring into his as his hair was gently stroked. He threw a strong arm over the other man and pulled him closer, until they shared the same air.
Though he was surprised, Tony was grateful for it. When he had his panic attacks, just being in the same room with someone he trusted helped, but it was awkward at the same time. When he would crawl into bed with Steve, that dissipated and his panic calmed faster than ever. Being able to return the favor, as horrible as the situation was, was appreciated.
Not a word was spoken as Steve allowed himself to sob and gasp for breath and nearly hyperventilate. Despite everything he said and the way he acted in front of everyone- including Tony- he was just as broken on the inside as the rest of them. Maybe even more. He was just too good at hiding behind his perfect smiles and introverted nature for anyone to see.
It made Tony feel like a terrible friend that he hadn't noticed it. He had been too busy with his own problems and traumas to even think of anyone else's suffering. All he could do now was hold Steve's cold body, even colder than he remembered, and hope that his presence was of some comfort. Panic attacks are hard at best, and the first is worst of all.
Slowly, Steve's breath evened out. It took some time, but he was able to uncurl enough to plaster himself to Tony from head to toe, sobbing into the pillow. The whole time, he clutched the inventor like a lifeline. He probably felt like it was a life or death situation.
Almost as soon as the panic attack died down, Steve was asleep. Even then he kept his hold on the other man's shoulders, unwilling to let go.
This time, Tony knew that if he tried slipping away, he wouldn't be able to. When he tested the strength of the grip on him, he wasn't able to move an inch. Good thing he was comfortable where he was. Even with someone breathing on his face.
It took some acrobatics, but he managed to get his phone from his pocket and to an angle where he could see what time it was. The screen read 8:14 PM. Even Cap's panic attacks were super sized, Tony thought; it had started about two hours ago. If his eyes weren't sore tomorrow, it would be a miracle.
Despite himself, eventually Tony's eyes got heavy. It wouldn't hurt to have a nap… He was stuck here anyways…
Neither woke up until the next morning.
Unsurprisingly, Tony was up first. After the events of the night before, he wouldn't blame Cap for sleeping until noon. It wasn't how the other man did things, but if he decided to take this one day, it would probably be good for him.
At least the hold Steve had on him was looser. Enough to slip away without waking him.
It felt like an even worse violation now to take the journal than it had last night. If he didn't though, he'd regret it for a long time. Tony knelt down and pulled the leather bound book free of its hiding place before he scooted out the door.
With each step, the book felt heavier. By the time he got to the lab, it was heavy enough in his hand that Tony was surprised it didn't wreck the table he set it on. "JARVIS, blackout protocol," he called.
The glass walls of the lab darkened. Even if someone had been able to get through the safety doors on the stairwell or reprogram the elevator to come down here again, they wouldn't be able to see anything. Only the override codes still worked, but Rhodey and Pepper weren't due here for a while and Steve was still out cold.
The diary seemed to almost stare back at him. Tony wanted to throw it back in the locker. "You don't get to judge me," he told it.
A little voice in the back of his head said that he was finally losing it.
His fingers moved to the leather straps tying it shut. They were barely doing their job, frayed to kingdom come.
It would just take a slight nudge to open it…
The Avengers alarm went off.
Tony muttered an angry four letter word and shoved the journal into a lockable drawer. He went for the suit. "What's the sitch, Jay?" he asked as it was assembled around him.
"It appears to be murderous laser otters in Manhattan, sir," JARVIS answered serenely.
Because of course it was.
"Why did no one tell me they also flew?!" Tony screeched as he was tailed by several otters. Unlike the chitauri, these things could bank worth a damn. The same body design that allowed them to glide gracefully through the water also gave them a smooth ride in the air, making them extraordinarily fast.
"We didn't know until they started chasing you!" Clint explained over the comms. In light of the villain of the week having lasers and the ability to fly, he, Nat, and Steve were evacuating civilians from the upper levels of buildings in the area. It was the best way to keep them from getting killed.
The Hulk and Thor were having a grand time smashing them around. They appeared to be testing their speeds with this one, and neither of them were lacking in that. Occasionally Thor would summon some lightning to take care of a group, but generally they both just hit the weird experimental animals.
Tony was having a little harder of a time. He didn't have godly reflexes and wasn't invulnerable. That left him to dodge the lasers and have little time to aim. A targeting supercomputer only went so far against their fastest enemies to date.
It was proven when there was a lurch and only his left side was supporting him anymore. The HUD read out, 'right thruster, compromised'. They'd grounded Iron Man.
"Guys, I'm stuck on street level. One of the boots is fried," Tony reported. Wobbly, he tried to not just throw himself at the ground and keep from getting struck again at the same time.
"From what I know about the suit, it looks like your best option is to corner yourself. I'll be down to watch your six o'clock as soon as I finish with this building," Steve returned. He let out a grunt of effort, probably ramming something with his shield.
Relief flowed through Tony even as he cut power to the boosters. They wouldn't do anything for him now. "Roger that," he said, even as he took out a few otters who had spotted him. How many of these things were there?
For nearly half an hour, Tony kept his back to a wall and shot any otters he could. That wasn't too many, since he was stationary. All the while he made mental notes about how to improve the ground speed on the next suit. This was ridiculous.
"Cap!"
"Shit, where's Thor?!"
The exclamations of alarm drew Tony's attention immediately. There were no otters near at the moment, so he felt fine turning to look at the building he last saw Steve in. His stomach dropped out when he saw a speck of red, white, and blue falling from near the top.
Despite that one of his thrusters was out, Tony ordered the other to get powered up. Like hell he was going to just stand there.
"JARVIS, I need the Mark 42R, now," Steve ordered calmly over the comms.
Panicked, Tony blurted out, "I'm only on 29!" Figuring out how to balance on only one thruster, his repulsors and back jets wasted precious seconds.
Gleaming gold and hot rod red sped past. Just shy of the ground it attached itself to Steve's ankles and wrists, expanding and writhing up his perfect form until he blasted himself upward. "Let's finish this," he said. The voice filters made him sound tinny. They made him sound just like Iron Man.
In awe, Tony watched as Captain America piloted an Iron Man suit he didn't remember creating. The outside was generally the same as ever, but the shins and other easily damaged parts were made of something silvery. Was that steel? It had to be.
The battle was over quickly after that. Using an Iron Man suit seemed to be instinctive for Steve, and he used every weapon it had to get rid of the menace quickly. Bombs, mini missiles, repulsors, the suit's enormous strength… It was beautiful and deadly.
Even as Tony focused on defending himself, he couldn't help listening in awe to the metallized voice issuing orders. "Iron Man, you still holding out fine?" Steve asked out of nowhere.
"Yeah. Let's get this done and over with," Tony said tersely. This was ridiculous. He had only made twenty nine suits. So how was there a Mk 42R in existence? And how didn't he know about it? A spark of hurt flew through him that JARVIS hadn't told him about it, when Steve didn't say anything.
The last of the enemy fell to Natasha, who had come to collect the shield. When the Mk 42R came, Steve had dropped it in favor of the armor. As she used it to whack the last of the otters unconscious, she looked impressed at the lightness and handling.
"This battle was most strange and exhilarating," Thor commented when he landed. Due to his habit of channeling lightning so close to his body, he didn't wear a comms unit. So he was a bit surprised when a second Iron Man suit landed beside the one he was familiar with.
"Yeah, I think you could call it… otter insanity," Clint joked.
Seemingly forgetting he was in the suit, Steve face palmed a little too hard. "Okay, getting out of here," he said. The front split open and Steve stepped out of it none the worse for wear, despite a bad case of helmet hair. He looked a little dazed and had to blink in the sunlight.
"What was that?" Tony hissed. Now that he knew Steve was fine, he was starting to get angry. This was too much for him to handle. First he knew things he had no business knowing, then the secrets about Starosta, and now an Iron Man armor that Tony didn't make.
That Steve had another set of armor made by an outside source... That he had taken designs Tony trusted him with and let someone else have at it and gave his secrets away... It burned.
"Iron Man…" Steve's voice was pleading and he reached out.
Tony took a few steps back. "I need to report to Mr Stark," he said abruptly, and used his single thruster to take off. For once, he was grateful that the world didn't know who Iron Man was. It let him hide his feelings just long enough to get away.
Once in the lab, Tony stripped down to his regular clothes. "JARVIS, tell me everything you know about the Mk 42R," he snapped. Unable to sit down, he started pacing.
The damn thing arrived back right then and was absorbed into the Tower's machinery without fuss or fanfare.
Immediately JARVIS began spouting technical facts. They were ignored for the moment. "Not what I mean, Jay. What are the logs like?" he asked crossly.
"The Mk 42R was introduced to the system on April 24, 2011 by Captain Rogers. He asked how to repair and recharge it without your knowledge, so I gave him instruction," JARVIS reported with perplexity in his voice, "How he got a hold of a suit that you have not yet made, with my own coding, I believe is best left a mystery at this time." Traitor.
"Cut the crap and tell me," Tony ordered aggressively. He wasn't putting up with this any longer. Not from Steve, and not from his AI.
"There is no precedent for what happened to Captain Rogers and the Mk 42R. It is impossible to verify what actually happened, as the circuits had been fried and little data could be obtained from them," JARVIS said in a non-answer, "The little information available is being posted on-screen."
When Tony took a look, there were only scattered bits of data. A few temperature readings, some still frames, a little audio, and one bit of video. "Play the clip," he ordered.
It was ten seconds long, but that was just enough to see what the pilot did. That was only a grainy shot of an alley. A dark figure stood in it, dim light bouncing off metal on his left arm. A snarl from behind the voice filters of the Iron Man armor, "You tried to kill the Cap. You nearly succeeded. Why wouldn't I," static interrupted, "kill you after that?" Whoever was in there, they were furious.
As the video ended with the dark figure's head tilting to the side, Tony was left knowing less than he did before this started. "Is there a date stamp on it?" he asked.
"I was only able to get that it was the eighteenth of a month, sir," JARVIS reported apologetically.
That wasn't much help. "Someone tried to kill Steve when I wasn't looking, someone else tried to get revenge, and this was all somehow in a suit that I never made but is right here," he summarized, "And Steve had it for who knows how long before then." It was more insane than the rest of his life and that was saying something.
"Correct, sir," JARVIS agreed.
"You said the circuits were fried. What kind of damage are we looking at?" Tony asked. If he could figure out what caused it, maybe he could recover some data. Anything would be helpful.
The reply was hesitant. "There was a great deal of dust and dirt, sir," JARVIS said diplomatically.
Tony frowned. "Dust…" he mumbled to himself.
Who would enter right then other than the last person he wanted to see? Still in his Captain America uniform, Steve Rogers carried the helmet under his arm and the shield on his back. Far from looking like the world's first superhero however, he shuffled forward and kept his head down. It was only when he was a few feet away that he looked directly at Tony. The pleading in those blue eyes made Tony feel physically sick.
"Well if it isn't the Star Spangled Liar," Tony bit out. Ordinarily he would have started flitting about by now in an attempt to minimize his discomfort and gain some space. That wasn't an option this time.
"I never lied to you about the suit," Steve tried to reassure him. He reached out.
The hand was slapped away in anger. "You sure haven't been telling me the truth!" Tony shouted. He couldn't help his shaking, exhausted and enraged in equal measure.
"I wanted to tell you everything," Steve said, but the desperate longing in his voice wasn't working. It just made the inventor angrier this time.
"Then why didn't you?" Tony snapped.
Steve looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.
In a moment that would have been totally in character when talking to anyone else, Tony decided to play with his food. "Actually, forget that. We can come back to that later. How about you start telling me now? Specifically about the suit and who made it?" he asked, faux friendly, "Because I certainly didn't."
The expression only got worse. Now Steve looked like he wished someone would just shoot him.
If Tony didn't want answers so badly, he would have been willing to oblige.
"I can't tell you," Steve answered. He looked like he was trying to pass a gall stone.
Normally Tony would have been willing to believe him, or at least hope that it was the truth while he dug for answers. But in the past year, the world had stopped making sense. Steve had kept too much from him to be believed now. Not with this betrayal.
A hand reached out again, probably to keep Tony from backing away. It was dodged in favor of putting a workbench between them. Critically, the suits were on the same side of the table as Tony. If he needed to fight his way out, he could.
"Tony, please. If it was an option, I would have told you before. I'd tell you now. But I can't. Please believe me," Steve was practically begging.
Tony made a beeping noise. "Wrong answer," he said darkly.
"What can I do to salvage this?" Steve asked. He looked dead serious.
"There's nothing you can do, since you can't tell me anything," Tony sneered mockingly, "This... whatever we had is over. I can't trust you anymore. I never could. I was an idiot for thinking I could because you were Captain fucking America and I was in love with you." The words forced their way out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.
White faced, Steve froze. "Tony…" he whispered.
Then the inventor realized what he had blurted out. "JARVIS," he ordered sharply.
The Mk 28 suit zoomed out of hiding and closed around Tony. They were gone, out a hidden hatch, within seconds.
He just missed Steve whispering to the empty air, "If I didn't love you so much, I wouldn't be doing this."
