L for Lies Part 3 (Final Part)


Steve hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. His vision was fuzzy, his sense were fried, and his reflexes were slower than in his pre-serum days. His teammates and friends had tried to speak with him –to distract him by holding a conversation; but each and every time, he could pay attention for maybe five minutes before becoming completely intelligible in his speech and his thoughts were roaming. He just sat in the stagnant hospital room and waited. By all counts, he was oblivious to the world, practically a zombie.

Yet he noticed it the moment it happened. He noticed when Tony's breathing changed.

Amidst the wires and the beeping and the annoying ticks of the hallway clocks, Tony Stark's breaths suddenly broke stride.

When unconscious, his inhales had crested consistently, ever constant, lasting just under two and a half seconds.

Conversely, the exhales would always last just over four seconds with a small stasis when air would neither leave nor enter the body – a proverbial pause.

For the first day, Steve had hung on every one of those pauses, so afraid that it would endure. So afraid that the breathing would stop entirely. So afraid to lose his friend again.

Nowadays, though, Steve depended on the regulatory of those breaths. The consistency in Stark's unconscious respiratory function was….comforting – satisfying, even.

So he noticed immediately when it changed.

It started with a particularly sharper inhale than usual, and it lasted just slightly longer… maybe three, three and a half seconds. It was expelled forcefully, in a shorter time period, rather than lazily as a normal bodily habit.

Then, there was the slight twitch in the face. Steve was upright, on the edge of his chair, and more alert than he had been in weeks. Steve watched Tony the way a starving man would watch food being laden onto his plate. The soldier could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his muscles on fire with the need to move, to jump, to run, to do something. But Steve didn't even flinch. He waited.

Tony's lips pursed ever so slightly as he feebly tried to swallow. No doubt his mouth was like sandpaper. Well, Steve supposed, that's what happens when tubes are lodged in your throat for days at a time.

But there was nothing beyond the twitching and breathing. No feeble attempts to get up. No grouchy comments or complaints about how badly he had to pee. Just silence and a small grimace that barely molded itself onto the brunette's features. He was barely conscious, but still complaining. The man was foggily trying to sink back into oblivion, though apparently to no avail.

Tony Stark was awake and, amusingly enough, he wasn't very happy about it.

Steve on the other hand couldn't help himself. He finally let himself move. He brought a shaky hand to his eyes and wiped away the stray tear that had fallen unwillingly down his cheek. He ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair and scrubbed furiously at his unshaven face, trying to wake himself up as much as possible.

The weight of the world melted from his shoulders, and the Avenger wasn't sure whether to weep, holler, or sleep for the next five years.

But Steve just shut his eyes and took a few quiet breaths. Tony was awake. He was finally awake.

And Steve had been planning this speech for a long time now.


Everything sounded like it was in a tunnel; there was a delay. Tony could hear noises, sounds, even something-no, someone – rustling…shifting, maybe? Well, it was nearby, and he knew that but…it sounded far away. Like the Doppler Effect, the noises started off in the distance and got closer until finally he could make them out… before their echoes trailed off into the oblivion behind him.

It had been so dark for so long, but suddenly the world beyond hid eyelids was an atrocious, offending bright white. Whatever prick had decided to install the LED bulbs in here obviously had never had a migraine before.

This had to be a hangover, and based off the cotton mouth and the lack of memory of any events leading up to this, it was a good one. Honestly, Tony couldn't remember any other situation, waking up, where he'd felt this much like an actual pile of trash.

He ignored the ringing in his ears and the gravel in his throat, trying desperately to call out to JARVIS to get a glass of a water and a few painkillers brought into his room–

JARVIS?

Everything came flooding back in a split second, sending Tony's mind reeling into frantic spiral.

Malibu.

The DNR.

Steve.

Holy Shit.


Steve was bent slightly over Tony's hospital bed, about to gently wake him, when the engineer's eyes shot open, panic blossoming on his haggard face. The monitors started blaring, and Steve leapt backwards in shock, which served only to further startle poor Tony who made the instinctual move to shoot upwards.

He wasn't thirty degrees elevated off the bed when his chest started to scream in protest. The sharpness and magnitude of the pain ripped a cry from his wrecked throat and he flopped back onto the over starched hospital sheets in a wave of agony. The alarms in the room went haywire, as his heart rate did a dance across the screen and his pulse-ox dropped from his preliminary hyperventilation.

"Ahghhh-hu," Tony ground his teeth and strained his neck, but the pain only seemed to get worse with every plunging breath he took trying to overcome the discomfort. Everything hurt. Everything. He felt like he'd been dragged through hell and back. The room was too bright, he couldn't open his eyes. His head was splitting in two and his muscles were on fire. His own body felt strange- alien. Nothing was familiar, everything was strange and cruel and painful and God, Tony just wanted to go back to sleep, he just wanted to go to sleep, he just wanted to go….

The tears fell from the creases around his sunken eyes. The rolled steadily and gently, their warmth on his skin almost a reprieve from every other sensation. Tony let them fall freely and silently, like a whimpering child desperate for help. It calmed him, and the suctioning sound in his ears died down long enough for another noise to take its place.

This wasn't just a noise, though, it was a voice – a familiar voice. It was low and warm, with a twinge of panic to it, but its tone was soft. Tony wasn't able to string together any words or sentences, but it didn't matter. He knew that voice….

The engineer's tears continued to fall, and his mouth opened to suck in a shaky, wobbly breath. That's when he felt a warm hand stroking through his hair, slowly and calmly. He focused on it, trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Steve. This was Steve. It had to be.

His friends were here. They would make sure he was ok.

Like a mantra, Tony repeated those words in his head until the worst of the panic left his brain and he could control his heart rate. In the outside world, he vaguely listened as his heart rate monitor slowed to a reasonable pace, and he forced himself to take deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

All the while, the pain was a constant, but he was managing through it.

And through it all, Steve never said a word. Never left his side. Never stopped stroking his hair.

Trying to escape the pain, Tony made his mind escape his body. He used what he could hear, what he had briefly seen, what he could feel – and he painted a picture. Tony swung his imagination to the outside of his body, looking down.

There was Iron Man, billionaire genius playboy philanthropist, crying in a hospital bed. Probably pale, haggard, devilishly handsome in the face of death, so on so forth. But…all while getting petted by America's Wonder Boy, who, of course, in Tony's mind, was in full uniform…which just made the situation so much funnier.

Come to think of it, this all was a little funny. If anyone else walked into this hospital room and saw two Avengers crying and stroking each other's hair like some emotional slumber party, it would be a tad awkward. Natasha would have a field day if someone snapped a Polaroid right about now. She would probably make Clint get it tattooed on his ass so she could look at it every day even if Tony was able to destroy the photographs.

And that thought made Tony Stark smirk, ever so slightly. And the realization of how terrible and inappropriate a smirk was at a time like this made him stifle a chuckle.

Stifling a chuckle only made him want to laugh harder, so Tony really couldn't stop himself from–

No, Tony. Bad. Bad Tony. He chastised himself sternly…but…he just -


Steve was at a loss of what to do, so running a shaky hand through Stark's hair seemed to be the only thing he could manage. The look on Tony's face when he'd come to – the pain, the fear…Steve didn't think he could ever wipe that one from his mind…Just add it to the memory bank, then: "Things I never wanted to see but will haunt me for the rest of my unnaturally long life." Yup. That one.

The hair stroking had always worked on Steve when he'd been feverish as a child. He would succumb to the temperatures raging in his body, going unconscious for hours, sometimes days. His mother would stay by his side, cooling his forehead and running her fingers through his hair. It was a way to find her, to find his way back to her. Once she had died, Bucky had always been the one to take care of him, a brother and a parent. Steve would never forget the time that Bucky fire tried to cool his fever with a bucket load of January Snow and accidentally gave him frostbite. The memory brought a bittersweet taste.

Steve was lost in that thought when he heard a small choking sound. He was sure he had imagined it until it came again; he looked down to see Tony's face contorted in apparent pain. Immediately, he jumped into action.

"Tony? Tony can you breathe okay?" There was an attempt to respond on Tony's part, but the choking only seemed to continue. "Tony open your eyes for me! TONY!?" Steve ran to the doorway and shouted down the hallway for help, then quickly bolted back to the bed. He cupped Tony's face in his hands. The choking noises hadn't stopped, and fresh tears were running down Stark's face. Tony weakly brought his hands up to swat away Steve's arms, rolling his face to the side of the pillow, trying to get away.

"Tony I need to get your airway open, please, stop fighting me." Steve pulled his head back to an upright position, ignoring his swatting hands.

"Ste-" Tony could hardly get out the words.

"Shhhhhhh. Don't try to talk, Stark - just breathe!" He reached over and upped the oxygen intake on Tony's cannula.

Just as he did that, the on-call nurses rushed into the room, checking charts and monitor readouts and running over to Tony's bedside.

"N-no, St-Steve…'m n't chok'n."

"Is it your lungs, then? Are you in too much pain? Tony just -" swat "- let mehelp you, dammit!"

"N-No, Ste-e-e-e-ve, eh eh…heh….ehe hehe." More tears rolled down Stark's face.

Steve paused.

Tony looked over at him, excruciatingly apologetic. "Ste-Steve, I-he hehehehehe…"

Tony wasn't choking….he was….

That asshole was laughing.

"YOU SON OF A-" Steve couldn't even bring himself to finish his sentence. He ground his teeth together and flung himself backwards into his chair, completely flabbergasted.

At this point, the nurses had realized everything was medically fine, and wisely excused themselves from the room, shutting the door behind them. The soldier probably hadn't even realized they had left, but it was doubtful that he gave a damn.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Steve plainly stated the following:

"You…are…giggling."

It wasn't a question. It was a redundant statement of fact. Because at this point, Tony was grimacing and clutching weakly at his sore stomach, but he couldn't stop laughing. He was casting gestures to Steve and to his own hair and shrugs of dismissal signifying that this "wasn't his fault" and "he wasn't trying to be an asshat".

Steve was a statue.

"Do you have any idea what I have been through in the past two weeks?"

Tony desperately tried to sober himself up, but despite biting his cheeks, he couldn't' stop the giggles, only stifle them.

"I-I have been sitting here. In this Hospital room. For 15 days. Waiting for you. To wake up… And you finally do. And you have a fit. Of giggles."

Tony's voice was so hoarse, but he still tried so hard to sound truly apologetic. "I-I know, Steve, I'm sorry, I'm –hehemhmhm- so s-sorry. But I just i-imagined-"

"NO TONY. YOU DON'T KNOW. YOU DIED. SEVERAL TIMES."

"Steve, I-"

"AND YOU'RE GIGGLING."

"…."

"…"

"…..Well, it is a l-little funny If y-you think about it."

Steve stared at him like he had suddenly announced he would be quitting engineering to join the Olympic curling team.

How could he be laughing about this? He had died. Literally flat lined! And more than just once! And he had the nerve – nay, the audacity to sit there and shrug it off.

It was so disrespectful, so callous, so…so…

So Tony.

"Honestly, Stark," Steve ran his hand over his face. "I don't know what else I expected from you. Maybe a bit of remorse, maybe some semblance of an apology. 'Gee, Steve, I'm real sorry that I put you through all this. I hope everyone is coping well' or maybe, 'Gosh Darn it, Captain, thank you for breaking the sound barrier to come rescue my stubborn ass in Malibu where I ran away after having a temper tantrum because I thought I had killed Barton – who is one hundred percent fine and recovering, by the way - and took ten years off your life from stress'."

Steve paused waiting.

"WELL? DID YOU EVER THINK THOSE MIGHT BE MORE APPROPRIATE RESPONSES!?"

Tony just stared at him. "You are a really good artist, Stevie, but a terrible impressionist-"

"Stark, I swear to God, don't."

"No, really, you had my inflections all wrong. I pronounce my "T" sounds much sharper, it's a force of habit I picked up when I was learning Germanic T-"

"Tony I'm going to leave you for dead next time."

"And I certainly don't say 'gosh darn it', I'd rather say 'Fuck Me Sideways,' but if you aren't comfy cozy repeating such foul language, I understand completely." He trilled with his signature Stark smirk.

"You know, for someone who looks half dead, you still look like a cocky bastard."

"Yah, well, for a cocky bastard, you look half dead. Seriously, when was the last time you slept? Here – get Pepper on the phone, she can get you a beautiful suite at a nearby hotel. We'll stock the fridge, grab a few dancing girls-"

"Tony, watch it-"

"Or boys, boys are fine too. Male entertainers and what not – hey its 2016, who am I to discriminate."

Steve kept trying to interject, to no avail. Stark, despite struggling for easy breaths and shaking from mere exertion of being awake, was on a classic Tony ramble where he snapped his fingers and expected things to happen. His gaze never stayed in one place for too long, his chin hitched to the right between sentences, and he absentmindedly reached to push up his favorite sunglasses. There was no one quite like him.

Steve couldn't remember the last time he had been so annoyed and so relieved at once – though it had probably been the last time Tony had almost bit the bullet. This was becoming a nasty habit.

"Tony, Tony…Tony." Steve very gently, but very firmly, placed his hands on Tony's frail shoulders to quiet and still him. "I'm not gonna get mad at you right now. Just…Get some more rest. We're going home in the morning. You're observation room has been all set up in Stark towers. We're going to fly out of California first thing tomorrow."

Tony pouted – seriously, he pouted – like a child who wanted to stay up past his bedtime.

"Cap, I've been resting for weeks according to you. Just take me home now."

"No, Tony. You will be properly and formerly discharged in the morning." The solider had his commanding officer face on.

Tony weighed his options, but wisely acquiesced to another night's stay under one condition.

Tony cleared his throat. "Fine, pal. I'll do it your way - just this once - to say thank you, really, for everything you've done these past days. But you need to do me a favor, too." Steve's eyebrow hitched. "Go to sleep. Go find some empty room or a nearby motel, stay with the rest of the team. I don't need Captain-sitting anymore. I promise I won't die again tonight." Almost as an afterthought, he added "Scout's Honor," and crossed his heart.

Steve shifted, obviously doubtful that this was a good idea – but he couldn't deny how tired he was. And he also couldn't deny the fact that Tony was right. He was fine, he was stable, and he couldn't really go anywhere if he tried.

"Hrmm…Fine, Stark. I'm going to get some rest – but I will see you at zero-eight hundred tomorrow, bright and early." The blonde looked almost skeptical.

"Deal-io, Cap-i-tan." And Tony gave him a small salute. "Goodnight, Rogers."

"Goodnight, Stark." And Steve gave a small chuckle under his breath as he headed for the door.

The soldier stopped in the doorframe, only his tired shoulders visible to Stark in the bed. Tony waited, hesitant to say anything to break the sudden silence.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve turned his head ever so slightly to catch his wounded friend in his gaze.

"Yah?"

Both men's voices were suddenly small.

"…I am really glad that you're ok. I mean it. I don't…I couldn't do what I do without you as my teammate. And as my friend."

Tony shifted, ever unable to take compliments or validation. "Yah, erm, Pal, I-I can, yah. Thank you. Any, uh, anytime." And a small series of nods to boot. "And, you know, thanks for…all this."

Steve gave a huff of a laugh, his lips twitching up and his head giving a slight bobble. "Anytime." And he flipped the light switch off in the room. "Goodnight, Tony Stark."

Tony's own "goodnight" caught the trails of the soldier's footfalls striding gently down the hospital corridor.

As soon as the door was shut and Tony knew he was alone, he expected to feel relief at the lack of observers; but Steve had been a constant for weeks now, and on a subconscious level, he had known that – he had felt that. The engineer would be lying if he said he didn't miss his presence.

But Tony cast those clingy, co-dependent thoughts from his stubbornly independent mind. There was a plethora of other things to focus on, like work or projects of reciting the Fibonacci sequence… But his brain kept going back to those moments in Malibu.

"Well, that's enough of that," Tony muttered to himself, trying to shake off a fresh wave of panic at the all-too-fresh memories of the incident. Instead of delving into the realm of his recent emotional and physical trauma, the engineer happily reached over to the side of the bed and upped his morphine. Drugs before hugs, kids, drugs before hugs.

He hadn't wanted Steve to see how goddamn broken he felt, but now, alone in the dim lighting of his sterile prison, he let himself grimace and curse under his breath. Tony remembered very little about the actual incident when he had first woken up, but the longer he had regained consciousness, and the longer he had chatted with Steve, the more memories had surfaced.

The fearless, powerful Iron Man laid back into his crisp pillows, weakly fumbling with his cannula to get more oxygen into his sore lungs, and sniffled. He could feel his ribs, though healing, grind together with every shift, His body felt swollen and sluggish, and his muscles were useless.

He would be going home tomorrow, but the hard part was only beginning.


"I can't, please, Natasha," Tony's brow was dripping in sweat and his coloring was pale. His lungs were on fire and his legs were barely holding him up anymore. "Goddamn, please, I need to stop."

"You can rest when you're dead." The Russian deadpanned.

"That's gonna be sooner than you think if you don't let me sit down."

She thought for a moment. "Fine," and she eased him into a nearby chair.

Tony let his head fall back, ignoring the slight tugging on his ribs. Physical Therapy was a bitch, that's for sure, and Tony couldn't remember the last time his muscles were so weak. He had been laid up in bed for about three more agonizing weeks after being released from the hospital. He and Barton had made a pact to go through physio together, but the Archer had recovered much quicker than the engineer, and now only came down to the hellish exercise room to help with Tony.

"Barton, get me a drink before I keel over." Tony closed his eyes, his breaths labored and fast. His crewneck was drenched and his limbs were shaking. Natasha had had him walking up and down stairs for almost 20 minutes, and his body was having none of it. After not moving for over a month, his legs were about as helpful as twigs.

Barton chuckled silently and fetched the bottle of vitamin water in Tony's nearby gym bag. "Here you go, pal. Drink up." The archer handed off the water and perched himself on the stack of yoga mats in the back of the room. "You're looking good, Buckethead. Another week and you'll be back to your old self."

Tony scoffed and swallowed his last mouthful of blissfully cold liquid. "So, you mean," he panted. "I'll be back to running circles around you?"

Barton laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Exactly."

Natasha, in her plain black exercise clothes, didn't seem to have a single drop of sweat anywhere on her body, despite having been working alongside Tony, as well as physically holding him up, for the past two hours.

"Stark, I'll give you five minutes, then we go back to crunches."

"Natashaaaaaaaaaaaaa," Tony whined, grumpily throwing his now empty water bottle to the floor. "They hurt."

"I know they hurt, Stark, but it's the only way to rebuild your abdominal walls."

"No pain, no gain." Barton echoed from the corner of the room, casually lifting his coffee cup to his lips, reveling in the gentle steam that rolled from its surface.

Still panting, Tony grew annoyed. "You know, that's really easy for you two to say, but you're not the one getting run like a mule."

"Well, if you don't want to be treated like a mule, maybe you shouldn't be such a jackass."

"Barton, I swear-"

"Alright, children. Stop fighting." Natasha had her no-funny-business face on, but there was obvious lighthearted teasing in the tones of her voice.

"Yes, mother dear." Tony sighed in a fall of acquiescence. He reached blindly for another water bottle, and Barton scoffed as he realized Tony expected him to fetch it.

"Just this once, Stark. I'm not gonna keep playing butler for you."

"But you do it so well!"

"Tony, I will legitimately stick this water bottle so f-"

"Gentleman." This time, the interruption came from Captain Rogers, as he strode into the room, Dr. Banner happily strolling behind him.

"Rogers." Barton laughed slightly at the smirk hiding behind Steve's stern face. "What's up?"

"Banner and I were checking on Tony's progress." Steve turned to look at Stark's sweaty and grumpy form collapsed in the chair. "He looks…"

"Like crap." Banner said bluntly, but gently, in only the way Banner can.

"Gee thanks, Brucey." Tony laughed dryly. "I'll keep that in mind the next time you want do use my labs."

"Haha," Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose. "Sorry pal. Just thought I'd be honest."

There was a moment of content silence where the present team members simply enjoyed each other's company; and it was beautiful in its own, small way.

Steve shifted, unsure how to break the peace, but Bruce actually beat him to it.

"Hey, uh, do you guys think it would be okay if Steve and I borrowed Tony for the rest of the day? SHIELD science division has some figures I wanted him to look over." Bruce looked hopefully between the two assassins.

"He needs another mandatory set of chest exercises and one last go on the parallel bars, but after that you can take him." Natasha was congenial, but firm. She was taking Tony's physical therapy very seriously.

After the engineer had come home, it became very clear that it was going to take a village to get him back into fighting shape. Besides being a very unwilling patient, Tony was in almost constant discomfort. It made him prone to outbursts, emotional breakdowns, and a lot of apologizing from everyone in the house. Thor had tried to help for the first few days, but he eventually retreated, unable to handle the volatility, saying something about how "battlefields are less dangerous" or whatnot.

Besides his obvious chest injuries and extensive internal bleeding that was still tender and healing even a month later, Tony's blood loss…and temporary death… had led to somewhat substantial nerve damage in his legs. Not only was his chest constantly on fire, but his thigh and calve muscles had deteriorated significantly. Natasha had him doing laps between the parallel bars at least three times a day. The Italian bitched about it to no end, but he couldn't deny that his legs felt stronger after each session and almost all sensation had returned. He owed the Russian, per usual.

"How about," Steve stepped forward with a shrug, "we help him finish up and then you two can go relax in the apartments. Besides, you've been working too hard." Clint nodded and muttered a damn straight into his coffee mug.

"I don't know, Cap." Natasha was weighing everything analytically, judging her options. If she let Steve take over, she could shower and relax with Clint for a bit. Then again, Steve might baby Tony and let him off easy. Bruce, however, is a doctor and knows what Tony is and isn't capable of. He would make sure the physio was sufficient.

Maybe a bit of a vacation was in order after all…

"You can't keep him all to yourself, dear." Clint walked up behind her. "Besides, we haven't had sex in at least-"

"OKAY, CLINT." Natasha shot her hand up to cover his mouth, bloody murder in her eyes. "Ahem, Steve. You and Bruce can finish Tony's physio." She grabbed the archer by the hand and started escorting him toward the elevators. "We'll see you all later tonight."

Barton couldn't shut his mouth, though.

"Maybe not. Maybe not 'til tomorrow. I plan on going at least three or four rounds babe, to be hon-"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW." And the elevator doors closed with the two of them still bickering, Barton looking teasingly innocent, wide eyed and completely shocked, while Natasha's face was set in stone.

(Of course, the moment the door slide completely shut, the Russian's face broke into a huge smile and she was instantly attacked by her lover, back pressed roughly to the wall. Within seconds, the hungry archer swept her off her feet; she wrapped her legs around him completely, pressing kisses to her favorite patches of his neck. The other residents of Stark Towers were just lucky that they didn't leave any clothes on the elevator floor).

Back in the gym, Tony was finally starting to feel less dead. His muscles were cooling down at a good rate and his breaths had evened out. Tony wiped his face with a dry towel, joking back and forth casually with Banner who was reading his charts and delivering some gentle teasing. Steve watched the exchange with a sense of peace. His team was okay, and he would always fight to make sure it stayed that way.

After a few more moments, Steve pushed himself off the doorframe he had been leaning against and bent down to tighten the lace on his sneakers. "Alright, Tony. Soldier up."

"Ugh," Tony groaned. "I'm not a soldier, Steve, I'm a businessman. I'm an engineer. My job is to make it easier for humans to be lazier, that's what I get paid for."

Steve laughed. "Not today, Stark." He stood, his chest expanding with a deep breath and his frame seemingly filling the room. Tony didn't often think about how unnaturally strong Steve was, but after weeks of feeling like a newborn deer, he found himself almost intimidated.

"How about Bruce helps me out so I don't feel like a baby bird being coached by a goddamn WWE wrester." He suggested cheekily…only half joking.

But Bruce answered for him. "No can-do, Tony. If you fall, I wouldn't catch you as fast." Then, after a pause. "Plus, I might let you fall just to get back at you for the crap you pulled. It's safer all around if Steve does your physio with you." And he returned smugly to his chart.

"Traitor." Tony huffed under his breath, lethargically shifting his limbs in preparation to be yanked from his seat. "Just do me a favor, Steve. When I fall, don't make Life-Alert jokes like Barton does."

"No promises, Tony." Steve smiled and extended his hand to his friend. "Come on, up you go."

Tony took a deep breath and tensed his muscles, grabbing the hand offered to him firmly by the wrist and pulling himself up, albeit weakly. Within seconds, Steve's other hand was firmly at the middle of his back, helping him out of the chair. Tony was pleasantly surprised, until Bruce opened his mouth.

"Don't give him too much help, Steve. I know it's hard, but Tony needs to fix his muscles."

Stark shot daggers through his eyes at the good Doctor. "I'll fix your damn muscles, Bruce." But the doctor just laughed. Steve chuckled lightly as well.

"Tony, I don't think you're really in a position to be threatening people just yet. Give it another week or so." The soldier said quietly under his breath.

"Fair enough." Tony walked slowly but surely to the parallel bars, his leg muscles still a little shaky but feeling better than they had ten minutes ago. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Bruce flipped through his chart and squinted through his glasses. "Steve, he needs to do five sets of a leg circuit – ten times up and down the aisle walking, two times with lunges, and two times with calf raises at each step."

Tony cringed at the thought. These were his least favorite activities, only surpassed by his hatred for his ab workouts which still caused him pain, even a month later. He gave a quick glance up to Steve, his expression somewhat nervous. Steve was looking right back at him almost apologetically. Tony scoffed.

"Yah, it's nice to see some sympathy. Natasha never looks at me like that, she always seems to enjoy my pain." Tony was jabbing sarcastically, but was shocked when he looked back up at Steve and saw genuine sympathy.

"Tony, I would never laugh at your pain."

The earnestness of his voice caught Tony by surprise, and he fumbled for words for a few seconds. By the time he had thought of a witty retort, Steve was already placing the engineer's hands on either side of the balance beam. "Alright, Tony, we'll start with the warm up, just walk up and down the aisle between the two balance bars, slow and steady, one foot in front of the other."

"Yah, yah, I got it." But there was no really annoyance behind his voice. Tony adjusted his feet, taking the time to set them flat on the ground. Despite the nerve damage leaving nothing too permanent, he still got occasional numbness in his legs when he exercised too much, and sometimes he would trip over his own feet without even realizing it. It was embarrassing, and despite the constant reassurances that Tony was doing "just fine" and that everyone "doesn't mind picking him up off the ground," Tony got furious every time he stumbled. He was Anthony Edward Stark, billionaire genius superhero. He didn't take falling on his face too well.

"Nice and slow," Steve said calmly, walking backwards in front of the engineer with his arms poised, ready to catch him just in case.

"Steve, I can walk, ya know. Do you think I need you to stand there and wait for me to eat shit?"

Bruce called from the back of the room. "Yes he does."

"No one asked you, Bruce."

"Yes you did."

"NOT DIRECTLY."

Steve snapped Tony back to attention. "Tony, come on. Focus."

With a huff, Tony took his next few steps. His legs were sore and little tired, but they felt good. His ribcage was readjusting well to an upright position, and the grinding in his chest had been greatly relieved. Tony nodded some assurances that he was okay, and set his jaw firmly. He would complete this circuit. He would whip this circuit's ass. He was going to make this circuit wish it had never been thought up. This circuit was gonna be his bitch.


Tony was this circuit's bitch.

"Steve, I…" Tony was panting again, his legs on fire. "Steve, the – my thighs," he inhaled sharply, a stitch in his side making him cringe. "I am not ready for this."

"Yes you are, Tony," Steve was encouraging him best he could. Better than most, Rogers understood what it was like to be weak and to feel vulnerable. "Just one more. One more round. You just finished the walk, so this is the last set of lunges. You can do this."

Tony wanted to flop to the ground and give up, but he knew Steve wouldn't let him. "Christ, man. Fine." He stood between the balance bars and tried to lift himself slightly with his arms to relieve the straining from his aching legs. He was sweaty again, and he was in obvious pain. Honestly, it was everything Steve could do to not burn the physio chart to the ground and let Tony take a nap for the next year. He looked so…fragile.

"I know, pal, but you and me, we're in this together. C'mon. Last lunges. You and me." Steve held out his arms, still in front of the wobbly engineer. This time, Tony didn't scoff at the gesture. He was pretty unsteady.

"Alright, alright. Okay. Alright. Yup. Okay." Tony was muttering affirmatives as he descended into his first lunge. It pulled roughly on his weak hamstrings, but with his hands still on the bars, he was pretty sure he could finish this last lap down the aisle and back. He lifted back into a standing position and switched legs, descending again into his second lunge. Things were going smoothly. Tony almost felt strong again.

With a few more grunts, Tony reached the end of the aisle, and he couldn't help but smile proudly. His smile grew when he caught Steve grinning wider than anyone else.

"Excellent, Tony. Really, excellent." Steve ran around to the other side of the bar and crossed through the walkway, again positioning himself in the front. "Last time, you can do it!"

Tony's legs were full on shaking, but he had a newfound confidence. "I got this, I got this," like a mantra, Tony said it aloud, not even bothering to mutter it. He knew Steve could hear him anyway with his freaky superhuman ears.

"Yes, yes you do."

Tony was halfway through this last painful set of lunges when he felt it. His knees were starting to give and his left foot was losing sensation. The strain was putting too much pressure on his frazzled nerves.

"Shit," he muttered. "Steve, I can't - my legs are doing the thing." Tony looked down at the ground, defeated.

Steve's brows furrowed together in sympathy, and he chewed his lips lightly. "Tony, just…just finish the lap. This isn't the end. You can make it, I know you can."

Steve stepped in even closer, and positioned himself right at Tony's front. Tony looked up at him a little grimly. "Don't trip me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Tony laughed wryly. "We both know that's not true. I deserve it after all of this bullshit."

Bruce piped up again from the back of the room. "That's only partially true, Tony."

"Thanks, Bruce."

"Anytime."

Tony shook his head, smirking, and then reassumed his focus between the balance bars. "Ok, Cap. Let's go."

The two made slow and steady progress, Steve encouraging and Tony lunging with his quivering leg muscles spasming in protest. With a gasp, Tony went down for one of his last lunges, his left leg almost completely without feeling. Steve looked away for a split second towards Bruce, beaming at their friend's progress. That momentary distraction was all it took.

Tony caught his foot underneath himself trying to get back up, and his sweaty palms slipped from the bars. The aisle was constructed off the ground, so he was looking down at a two foot drop – under normal circumstances that would be nothing – but if he landed on his neck or his ribs, he would be back on bedrest.

Tony felt himself slipping, and let out a small cry, his legs giving out completely beneath him. His knees were going to land hard on the floor, and the rest of his exhausted body was going to crumple roughly along with them. He was anticipating the pain, the embarrassment, the grinding in his chest. Tony closed his eyes and braced for impact.

But impact never came.

"Easy, there, pal. Easy." Steve enveloped him, instantly scooping him up, mid-fall. He caught Tony by his waist as easily and gently as if he were picking up a kitten.

Tony's limbs sank gratefully at the rest, and he let his sweaty forehead fall against Steve's chest, breathing heavily.

"Sorry," the engineer sniffed and meekly tried to pick up his head. "I-uh-I'm done."

"Yah, I know you are."

"But-I-I have," more breaths. "One more lap, don't I?"

"Not today, soldier."

Bruce, who had stood up in alarm as Tony collapsed into their team leader, pushed his glasses to rest upon the top of his head and approached the balance bars. "Steve, I'm gonna agree with you on that one. Screw the doctors." Bruce handed Steve Tony's water bottle and patted their wounded friend on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Tony. No more physio today, and tomorrow is you day off anyways, so enjoy the break."

"Will do, Doc." Tony tried a feeble salute, but his arms were Jell-O.

Bruce left through the elevator doors.

Meanwhile, Steve had all but carried Tony to the bench and was helping him to swing his legs up on to a nearby footstool.

The Captain watched sympathetically as Tony struggled to open his water bottle, his whole body literally shaking from exertion. After several moments, and several patches of frustration blooming on the engineer's face, Steve wordlessly reached across, popped open the water bottle, and held it to Stark's lips.

"Drink."

Under any other circumstances, Tony would never allow himself to be goddamn spoon-fed by America's Wonder Boy, but considering the fact that his whole body was on fire…well, maybe just this once.

After several long and ineffably satisfying gulps, Tony broke away from Steve's gentle hold on his chin and shot the other man an almost shy look of thanks. "You know," he began. "You should do my physio with me more often. Natasha's never this nice."

Steve laughed lightly. "We'll see." He capped the water bottle and rose, walking easily across the large and bright room to the Brita station to add some fresh water to Stark's thermos. The room was silent except for Tony's slowing breaths and the gentle hum of the water cooler.

When he turned around, he saw Tony breathing deeply, exhaling through his mouth, eyes closed and head back against the wall. The engineer's face was content, the way any man would be after a day of self-fulfilling hard work. He was tired and pale and still a lot thinner than he used to be, but he was alive.

Steve had always wondered, growing up, what it would be like to have a brother. When he met Bucky, he found out. And when he lost Bucky…well, he found out what it was like to lose a brother. He had sworn to himself that he would never look for that type of connection again, that it wasn't worth it.

But now, staring at Tony, feeling the grip in his heart when he thinks about how many times he's come close to losing this arrogant, stubborn, reckless, proud, noble asshole – the whole brother thing just kind of happened, whether he had meant it to or not.

"Hey, Spangles, I'm glad that you're fascinated by water fountains and all - yay technology-," Tony teased from his bench. "But I'm still thirsty and you are taking too long."

Steve smiled at the ground. "Yah, yah, hold your horses." And he began walking back over.

"See, that's the other thing, we don't use horses anymore. Water fountains and cars – incredible stuff. God, you would have loved the eighties, lemme tell you-"

"Drink your water and shut up," Steve teased right back, pushing the bottle into Tony's hands this time. "And you can do it yourself."

"Cruelty, just cruelty." But now a little more recovered, Tony was able to get the cap off in only a few tries. "Why would you abandon me so?"

Steve laughed out loud, sitting down and crossing his arms over his chest. "I didn't abandon you, and you know it - I probably should have." There was no malice in his voice or in his eyes, the two were just having fun.

"Ture, would have saved you a lot of gas money if you'd just left me in Malibu."

"Meh, I'm sure SHIELD would have found a way to spend it all the same."

"That's certainly true, and even if I died they would have found a way to make me pay for it. I swear, I'm too generous with these crooks." He took another gulp of water, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand. They sat for a while in another content silence.

After a moment, Steve gave him a once over. "You need to go take a shower. You stink."

"Rude!" Tony faked indignation, and then he laughed. "I agree, I do need to shower – but I'm just being considerate of Barton and Romanoff."

Steve's eyebrows drew together. "How so?"

Tony looked up at the wall clock. "Well, I figure by now they've finished round one and will be cleaning up. Round two will start right about now, so I shouldn't use all the hot water while they're still-"

"Jesus, Tony, you animal." Steve got up to 'protect his virgin ears', as Clint always called them.

"Yah, I'm terrible." He smirked, and extended a thin arm. "Now help your injured teammate to the elevator."

"For Natasha's honor, I should make you take the stairs."

"Oh," he clutched at his heart. "Kick me while I'm down, why don't you? Haha, now help me up."

Steve got the engineer to his feet and without holding on to him, did his best to guide him to the elevator doors.

"How are the legs?"

"Good, good. Feeling's coming back." Tony leaned heavily against the wall as they watched the elevator light travel down to their floor.

Steve was enjoying the lightheartedness, but there was something he was itching to say. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and then squared his shoulders.

"I'm really proud of you Tony."

Stark looked back at him right away, almost weary. He said nothing, waiting.

"I'm really proud of you for not giving up. I'm proud of you for changing your mind in Malibu, for letting us help you. I'm proud of you right now, for trying so hard to get better. I'm proud to call you my friend."

There was a pregnant pause where Tony allowed Steve to decide if you was finished or not. Rogers shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for a response. He was expecting sarcasm, a retort, some self-deprecation on Tony's part, anything…he wasn't expecting-

"Thank you for sticking with me – for believing in me." And Tony held out his hand.

Steve looked from his genuine expression and back down to his open palm. He took it and shook it firmly.

"I'll always stick with you." and they shared a nod.

What they didn't share were the words that went unspoken in Steve's head.

I'll always stick with you.

'Til end of the line.


AGAIN, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WAITING FOR ME!

I've been terrible, guys, and I know it. Finding the time and motivation to update is difficult, ant emails asking me if im still even writing the fic crush my soul – but FINALS ARE DONE! YAY!

Special shout out to Thunderwolf2456 and their friend for betting on how this chapter would end! I appreciate the dedication, and I'm sorry to whoever lost.

Also, I know this update and the last took a long time, and I though I appreciate people's dedication and wanting to know when the next update will be, please stop sending me reviews or PM's SOLELY about when I'm going to update – I SWEAR I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN YOU OR THE FIC.

I just finished final exams, that's why this took so long, I had to focus on studying. I'm done with my first year of university, so updates will now be more regular because I will be able to work on the fic around my summer job and such, so you can expect them once a week again. I'm hoping to have this finished before August, cuz that will be one year since the start. Can you believe it?! Anyway, I love you all, im going to take some more shots to celebrate being done with exams, and I recommend you all drink too (unless you're underage, then im not recommending anything)!