GUILT
(glt)
1.
a. The fact of being responsible for the commission of an offense.
b. The fact of having been found to have violated a criminal law.
c. Responsibility for a mistake or error.
2.
a. Remorseful awareness of having done something wrong.
b. Self-reproach for supposed inadequacy or wrongdoing.
Steve was thinking about Tony again.
Not that this was in any way unusual, even back in the very early months of their acquaintance, in the immediate aftermath of Loki and the tumultuously rocky alliance that had formed between them, Steve had thought a lot about Tony.
Admittedly, the lines of said thought had changed a lot since then-
Irrational irritation, shadowed with dislike and a completely unexplainable, and deeply internalised need to safeguard.
Gradually transitioning into -with the help of several interfering superhero's, a stunt of breathtakingly selfless stupidity and of course, a near death experience-
An (unappreciated) irrational need to protect, shadowed with love and a not so unexplainable, nor overly internalised desire toknock some form of common sense into him.
So, Steve thought a lot of things about Tony.
Affectionate things, annoyed things, sweet things, exasperated things, 'Oh my god – why do I love you?' things, 'Oh my god- that's why I love you' things, pleasant things, beyond pleasant things….
And because they made up about half the things he thought…worried/concerned things.
And if the way things were going right now was any indication…Steve didn't think he'd have any reason to stop thinking those worried/concerned things any time soon (ever).
If he'd only come to learn one thing about Tony Stark in all the time they'd know each other, it was that the man was as unpredictable as, well, he'd say the weather, but even that had nothing on Tony Stark.
Although, perhaps unpredictable was the wrong word, because in some ways, Tony was as predictable as the rising sun. He could be relied upon, without fail, to provide his trademark narcissistic sarcasm, his somehow both filthy, yet charmingly endearing mouth and of course, his complete inability to accept authority, gracefully or otherwise.
Perhaps contradiction was a better term, Steve though, because, yes, behind all the masks and layers and "Stark", Tony was definitely the epitome of a walking contradiction.
If he allowed you to see, or you forced him to show it, narcissistic sarcasm gave way to a startlingly obvious insecurity, and a sometimes mind-blowing sense of selflessness.
The inability to bow to authority became a charade for a fear born of being not good enough, a fear of disappointing the few he actually had any amount of respect for.
Admittedly, there was very little behind that filthy gorgeous mouth…
So yes, contradiction was apt.
Yet not enough. Nowhere near enough.
If unpredictable didn't suit, than perhaps a certain level of volatility in that predictability was a more appropriate descriptor.
Steve supposed what he was trying to say (think) was that he was pretty sure he could predict Tony's response to just about any given situation, yet the nuances within that response were completely unpredictable.
The situation at hand, the initial foundation of his rather introspective analysis of his… boyfriend? Lover? Partner?
…of his Tony, was guilt.
Guilt.
He was pretty sure that if he asked anyone not part of the avengers intimate family or close immediate relatives (i.e. Pepper, Phil, Rhodey…), hell, if you'd asked Steve himself before he'd ended up sharing his bed/heart/life with the guy, he'd have said that Tony Stark didn't have a shred of humility, and thus could never feel, let alone express guilt.
God, he'd never been so wrong in his life.
In the beginning he'd watched as others had ripped Tony down and torn him apart. Fury, the media, and in some cases, the other avengers themselves. Blaming him, accusing him, sometimes with good merit, yet never so clear-cut and sometimes, more often than Steve was willing to think about…totally without reason or remorse.
A convenient target.
And one that didn't argue back.
Steve did notice this. Noticed that with all the repeated instances where Tony would be smeared through the mud with the guilt of others, he'd never throw it back, never make others wear the grime of their own deeds.
He would deflect, snark and bite, only succeeding in pulling the guilt closer…the disgrace closer to himself…and further from sullying anyone else.
And Steve, who was already beginning to see beneath the mask, through the minute cracks, realised that Tony, who was never played, never fooled, knew exactly what was happening. A
As Steve began to realise just how wrong and right he'd been about Tony, he also realised that not only was everyone else ripping Tony apart; with the perfect façade broken, he saw that Tony was tearing himself apart as well.
Steve had come to realise that Tony Stark didn't just feel guilt, he personified it.
What didn't change was the observation that Tony had no idea how to express guilt.
His attempts always seemed to be one of three ways.
And each seems to correlate directly to what type of guilt he's feeling.
Like everyone, there are times when Tony should feel guilt, should feel remorse over a bad or pointless decision – and these are the only times that Steve and Tony truly butt as far as guilt is concerned. Because just to be contrary, Tony buries this guilt so deep, that by looking at him, you'd never know it was there.
A perfect example was the skirmish the week before last, where Tony had made a deliberately bad choice after considered thought, engaging the (admittedly weak) enemy by himself, instead of waiting for the approaching backup. Steve was left dealing with a complete denial of guilt, yet knew that it was there, bubbling below the surface. He'd watched, as despite the lecture and the pressing for any response, as Tony had silently fallen apart behind shuttered eyes.
The decision had been made in poor judgment, yet it was done and over with no one the poorer for it. Steve hadn't been looking for a promise of never doing it again as he'd realised the futility of that. All he'd wanted was an acknowledgement that Tony realised he probably hadn't made the wisest decision and an apology.
Which he had eventually received, albeit it grudgingly, and Steve had walked away feeling like he should be thanking Tony for his reasonable behaviour.
Sigh.
But still, worse than that non-guilt, was the angry, petulant guilt created by mistakes of Tony's own doing. Forgetting a birthday or anniversary, saying something insensitive or hurtful by speaking without due thought, angry jabs made during bad moods born of exhaustion.
All these resulted in a sulky, reluctant guilt that Tony flung about in the face of recriminations, as if his misdeeds were every man and his dogs fault… but not Tony's. It was in fact, painful to be on the receiving end of such guilt, because where a genuine 'sorry' and in Steve's case (and Steve's case only) a kiss, would right things in an instant, Tony insisted on dragging out this pathetically morose shame until the victim all but begged Tony to accept their forgiveness.
Seriously.
And then, the cause behind all Steve's thinking about Tony this evening, was his apparent need to shoulder that which hadn't even been his fault.
And the resulting silent, devastated guilt.
There had been a falling building, a fire, two shouts for help and Tony had gone after the civilian trapped in the inferno and no one had caught Steve when he'd fallen.
Fallen sounded so trivial.
No one had caught Steve when he'd plummeted 40 stories through falling debris and the twisted rebar of the buildings exo-structure, slamming into the shattered concrete ground mere seconds later; a dull thud echoing in the strangely vacuum like silence.
The crescendo of silence had shattered with Ironman's boots skittering along the messed up concrete and his knees crunching to a halt by the crumpled mess of red white and blue.
The battle had been won easily, but the cost was too high, almost beyond what Tony Stark could afford to pay. Only the strength in the deep red glove held closely in his own vibrant red gauntlet kept him from breaking.
For once Tony hadn't voiced a single complaint as he'd been ushered to SHIELD medical, ghosting along in the wake of the too small stretcher that held Steve's unconscious bloody, broken body.
Somehow, despite the blood, bruises and ashen skin, to Tony, Steve still looked larger than life, even decked out with medical equipment and surrounded by SHILED personnel.
The Captain had woken with a pained gasp on the flight between the city and the Hellicarrier, concussed, in pain and unable to breathe properly. Sensing a presence other than that of the two medical staff, he'd squinted into the bright light off to the far left of the bed and his eyes had widened at seeing Tony.
Standard operating procedure decreed that none but the injured party/s be transported on the med shuttle, seeing as how one passenger would inevitably end up as five passengers in a very small area. Carrying a wide variety of anger management issues, no understanding of midgaurdian medical practices, an obnoxious inability to sit still, an obnoxious penchant for perching or just being downright scary.
No passengers on the med shuttle.
But at seeing the state of his lover, Steve understood why they'd waived the rule.
Tony was waxen, his eyes blown huge and glassy with some unnamed emotion that looked a hell of a lot like unbridled terror. Steve was pretty sure the armour was the only thing keeping him standing.
And despite the pain of shattered ribs, the wooziness of a sure concussion and a myriad of other agonies, Steve still held out a hand, gesturing gently until he had Tony's attention.
Tony's head had tiled to the side in an agonisingly insecure nod gesture of 'Who, me?' and he'd finally shuffled forward, and Steve swore when their hands touched, that he could feel the vibrations through the metal.
Their hands had remained joined the remainder of the trip.
Steve's suspicions of broken ribs were confirmed with a numbering of four, and by the time the x-rays were processed, the very beginnings of the mend could already be seen. His concussion was categorised as 'very severe', which for Captain America, meant that his head might as well have been caved in had he been anyone else, and quite naturally, he was not to be alone for at least 48 hours.
Somehow, more by good luck than good management, his fall had been broken by two sections of rebar… hence the broken ribs, but ultimately this had proven to be a good thing as it had slowed his fall enough to result in only good old fashioned aches, pains and what would no doubt be a gorgeous shade of bruising in later hours. And the concussion.
They'd bound his ribs, provided inadequate aspirin and shooed the Captain and his five faithful (large, intimidating, quarrelsome, mischievous) shadows from the room with no small measure of relief, although they had at least confirmed that Bruce knew the standard treatment for concussion.
And so they'd gone home.
Whatever shock had steeled over Tony in the immediate aftermath of Steve's fall seemed to have worn off somewhere between realising Steve was going to be okay and getting home.
When they'd arrived Tony had been most attentive and helpful in getting Steve settled. He'd suggested they use a room on the team floors rather than the penthouse, so that there would be less walking for Steve. He'd provided pillows for support and then removed said pillows when they proved to be too much support. Blankets had been fetched and discarded and tucked in around Steve. Glasses of water and snack food had been offered. His aspirin had been pressed into his hand.
Tony was never too intrusive, never too coddling, just a steady, warm presence and a hand all too willing to help when needed.
It was perfect. He was perfect. Thoughtful and careful and perfectly attentive.
And he hadn't met Steve's eyes once.
With a glance thrown over the room and a second of hesitance for Steve to say if he needed anything else, Tony shrugged carefully and had said, "I'm just going to go and get out of the suit, then I'll be back…yell if you need anything."
And before Steve could say anything, Tony was gone.
Steve honestly didn't expect to see him again until he somehow managed to hobble down to the workshop and dig him out of his self-imposed exile of unnecessary guilt.
Only he does, and within minutes.
20 minutes after leaving, Tony is back in the room, Steve's favourite sketchbook, which had been in the lounge room, and a cup of tea in hand.
It was thoughtful and considerate and he got a little tilt of lips for his thankyou, and Steve had hoped everything would be alright.
That night, Tony had stayed upstairs, in the bed, with Steve for the entire night. There had been no impromptu forays to the workshop, no sudden bursts of inspiration that absolutely had to be written down at four in the morning, no inescapable need for coffee.
Just Tony and Steve in bed all night.
Steve would eat his shield if Tony had slept a wink.
Over the time they'd shared a bed, they had fallen into a 'routine position'. Tony on his back, Steve half on his side and half on his stomach, curled over Tony's side, one leg thrown carelessly across to tangle and the other stretched straight. His lower arm tucked underneath the pillow at his head and the other looped lightly about Tony's waist. The very tips of his fingers extending to brush the arc reactor.
With Steve's ribs and various other aches and pains it was hardly a viable option, and Steve had been on his back, slightly elevated with Tony mirroring his position beside him.
Rigid, tense and completely still the entire night.
Tony, who usually wriggled and shifted about in his sleep as if the bed were a dance floor and Steve his partner.
Steve had only made one vaguely questioning attempt, and had been forced to accept the sense of Tony's response of not wanting to jar Steve's injuries.
But it wasn't that.
He knew it wasn't that.
The next morning he'd woken, surprised by how late he'd slept, by how many hours his body had needed. He had recollections, some vague enough to be dreams and some crystal clear, of Tony waking him throughout the night, always with the same three questions.
What is your name?
Who do you love?
Apple pie or fondue?
Surprisingly it was Steve's answers that changed.
Steve Rogers
Tony Stark
Oh for…no.
Steve Rogers
Tony Stark
Ton-
Steve. Oh fine, Steve Rogers
You're the pain in the ass I love.
Fondue. Happy.
We did this not fi- *sigh* Steve.
-Tony.
Forget the fondue – you. I'd pick you.
And among the more vague memories was the gentle brush of shaking fingers through his hair and Steve wondered if the questions of love were more self-reminders than brain damage checks.
He didn't ask though.
Couldn't
Not when Tony brought him breakfast in bed, and joined him as he ate, scoffing down his own eggs with apparent gusto. The full night spent in a bed and an actual breakfast were more to the appearance of healthy behaviour than Steve had ever seen from Tony.
If only he didn't look so blank.
They'd spent the entire morning together as well, and Steve didn't know whether he was in heaven or hell. Because this behaviour was just not natural. Not in the general sense that Tony hardly ever stayed abed, but also in the way that he wasn't Tony.
There was no snark, no charm or sarcasm. No looks so sinful Steve's whole chest flushed, no looks so loving his whole chest seized.
And at first he thought it was about what had happened the day before. The fall and those moments when no one had even known if Steve was dead or alive. He thought that this might have been Tony's way of coping with his nearly earth shattering loss.
And Steve could get behind that. It wasn't the first time they'd almost lost someone, it wasn't even the first time Tony had almost lost Steve… but who was Steve to dictate the ways of the heart and what did and didn't make an impact.
Steve didn't even want to imagine being on the other side of that fall. It had happened way too many times before and each time left him raw in a way that he'd thought would never heal. But it had, with time and attention and plenty of Tony, he'd let the terror go and moved on, and he hoped Tony would too.
But by the way Tony still hadn't looked at him, hadn't met his eyes, even once since they'd got home?
That was telling Steve a whole different story. One he didn't think he wanted to hear.
After lunchtime and a second meal, Tony was still insisting on looking through him.
Steve asked.
"Tony?"
Tony, seated on the floor with his back against the leg of his desk chair, as you do…well, as you do if you're Tony Stark, looked up from the tablet he was tapping away at, an intensely focused look directed at Steve, considering Tony's usual single minded attention to his work.
"Hmm…Okay? Do you need something?"
Steve shuffled himself further upright against his veritable mound of pillows with a badly concealed grunt of pain.
Deliberately.
Tony was by his side in an instant, fussing needlessly with the pillows, his hands fluttering feather light touches over Steve's wrapped chest as if his fingers could magically ease some of the discomfort.
Which they actually did, much to Steve's disbelief. He'd have to remember that for later.
For now though? He had a boyfriend to shamelessly manipulate into telling him what was wrong.
Who, him? He was genetically modified apple pie, and butter didn't have the heart to melt in his mouth.
He was Captain America.
Tony, master manipulator, and all around Steve expert that he was? Fell for it hook, line and sinker.
"Steve? Are you okay? Do you need more aspirin? Bruce?"
Steve felt mildly guilty for the concern shining at him from those brown eyes, but only mildly…because those brown eyes were shining at him.
"No – if you could just…I have, well…I have an itch."
That got him a quirked grin and Steve was quick to return it.
"An itch, huh? And you'd like me to….scratch this itch?"
There was clear innuendo in Tony's voice and Steve felt like sobbing in relief, because maybe all Tony needed was some normalcy, some proof that everything was alright.
And then his heart dropped to his stomach and Steve could feel it coming up with what felt like the rest of his internal organs.
He didn't know what Tony had just seen on his face, but the look he was seeing on Tony's?
It said, blame, shame, remorse, fault, responsibility…. It said guilt.
And before Steve could say anything, could even reach out…
Tony was gone.
And only a broken, raw "I'm sorry" echoed in the sudden miles between them.
That had been just over two hours ago.
He'd wanted to race after him straight away, grab him, and hold him until it all just faded away.
But Steve knew what was going on in Tony's head. He'd seen it before, twice.
It had just been a regular movie night, late, Star Trek was winding down. Steve had lulled an exhausted Tony to sleep with gentle fingers, mostly for his own benefit, Natasha threatening to disembowel him with a spoon if he pulled apart even one more science glitch in the movie.
Jim Kirk had just pulled the ship from the black hole when the whole tower had shaken.
It had been completely unexpected, and for a moment hearts raced with all the possible situations, each more terrifying that the one before.
It turned out to be a decent earth tremor, nothing more.
The Avengers Tower was the only building to sustain significant damage.
And that was more a result of the 1500lb green rage monster that had torn through half the rooms on the floor, leaving several million dollars' worth of damage in his wake.
Tony had managed to calm Hulk within minutes, although calming Bruce had taken considerably longer, once he'd seen the damage.
Tony had, of course, brushed the damage away as of little to no concern, simply stating that he'd done worse and not to worry about it.
Bruce had been inconsolable. It had been a serious setback to his confidence levels, despite Tony being there every second of the next few days, reassuring him over and over that it didn't matter, that it meant nothing.
Bruce had still ultimately made the decision to leave.
And that was when the truly horrifying aspect had come to light.
When Tony had all but thrown himself on Bruce's mercy, apologising for not stopping the hulk out and not predicting the tremor or the Hulks possible reaction.
He'd apologised for falling asleep.
Steve had only heard about this second hand, through Bruce who had confided in him after the fact, asking his opinion in dealing with the warped mind of his best friend.
Steve had been almost speechless, but had managed to spit something out to Bruce about trust going both ways, and Tony obviously needing forgiveness despite not having done anything to require it. He'd also told Bruce that if he left… Tony would probably take that as cement to reinforce the guilt.
Bruce had stayed, and Steve had no idea what he'd said to Tony. Although from the amount of responsibility and protectiveness that Tony always projected towards the Hulk, Steve couldn't say he was overly confident it had worked anyway.
The second time was even less helpful than the first, just a decidedly vivid memory of an overheard conversation between Tony and Clint.
"Hey Birdbrain- nothing more than ruffled feathers? I almost thought…"
"Nothing could keep me away."
"Um, we're in the kitchen."
"Everything you own, everything you love, will be mine."
"O-ookay. Um, I'll just call f- Wait. You want Steve? You can't have Steve."
"What else? What else is there?"
"Well nothing of course. There is only Steve. Want to tell me why you're quoting 'The Swan Princess' to me in my kitchen at 4:30 in the morning?"
"It's not what it seems. It's not what it seems."
"You do realise that's totally a girl's movie right… I mean, true love and swans and singings…"
"No more Mr. Nice Guy, no sirree!"
"An idea! A substantial idea! A large, colossal idea!. Oh, I'd love to stay but if I don't leave now I'll be late; that's tacky."
"Hey! I thought you said it was a girl's movie! "
"Of course it is. It's also Pepper's favourite."
"Yeah? Its Nat's too."
"So that's why you're up at 4:30 in the am. Watching princess movies with the princess."
"I'm going to tell her you called her that."
"What? A princess? Princesses are awesome. Pocahontas? Awesome. Mulan? Double awesome."
"Okay –now I'm worried. How long have you been awake?"
"Not long. I've been working since yesterday lunch."
"Yeah. That sentence made no sense to me. But you're okay? "
"Me? Why would I not be okay? You, on the other hand, got the shit beat out of you less than 24 hours ago, because your only available backup wasn't worth a sack of horse ma-"
"Well, there was hardly any shit going anywhere. Besides, I was- Wait! What?! How the hell is any of this your fault?"
"Oh, I- I guess that wasn't as in my head as I th-"
"No, it damn well was not! Now answer me! What the-"
"Can we just go back to talking about Mul-"
"No! For god's sake Tony, how was yesterday your fault? What did you do?!"
"Do? WHAT DID I DO?! I did fuck all, that's what I did! I just let them beat the crap ou-"
"Oh. You just let them? Just stood off to the side and watched while the-"
"I'd might as fucking well have! I didn't lift a finger to stop them!"
"Okay. You're right. You should have done something. Yelled at them, or ratted your shackles maybe."
"I'm not fucking useless, I could ha-"
"You could have done no more than you fucking did! For god's sake Tony, they ripped the fucking arc-reactor out of your chest!"
"So! I should have stopped th-"
"I can't... I'm not having this ridiculous conv- No! You liste- LISTEN! You were blue in the face and breathing like you couldn't and that asshole was standing in the corner caressing you fucking heart like it was some damn trophy and that fucking Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe was beating into me like I was an overweight coach surfer…and you were talking your goddamn breathless ass off, pissing him off so much that he kept giving me breaks to catch myself by stomping over to loom over you-"
And then Steve had watched as Clint had hugged Tony, tight, like he couldn't believe he was actually able to do so, and snarled a decidedly ungrateful sounding "Thankyou" before stomping off.
Steve had never spoken about what he'd overheard.
In both cases, the common denominator seemed to be situations that went up shit creek without a paddle, where, if there was any fault on Tony's behalf, it was not in a way anyone would ever blame him.
Except apparently Tony himself, of course.
Steve put up with the non-guilt and the reluctant-guilt because they did inevitably serve a purpose. As much as he might wish Tony had a better handle on dealing with guilt, the two different aspects caused him discomfort and that was good. Oh, Steve hated the way they caused discomfort and the type of discomfort they caused…but they did cause discomfort and that meant he had a conscience and that meant Tony could learn from his mistakes.
This though? There was no need for this.
There was no foreseeable, imaginable, conceivable, possible way that Tony was to blame.
And Steve meant to impart some of that wisdom to Tony himself.
Just as soon as he could find him.
He'd levered himself up and out of bed, carefully, with more groaning than he'd thought strictly necessary.
He was better, much better… near 50% better if he had his estimations correct. Which still meant he had half broken ribs and half healed cuts and bruises, so was in plenty of serum bolstered pain.
And also – a bit shaky on his feet. Which was unfortunate but not unexpected given the level of muscle damage.
It did make walking an absolute pain in the ass.
But Tony was worth every bit of pain and a whole lot more besides, so he shoved it down deep and hoped he didn't meet Bruce while traipsing the hall without so much as the aid of a walking cane.
He'd seen even Tony cringe when on the receiving end of one of Bruce's ever gentle and understanding tirades of doom.
He thought workshop, out of habit and instinct, but at least had the common sense to check with JARVIS before making the 80 story drop.
And apparently, no. Because Tony was only two doors down.
In Steve's 'old' bedroom
Steve stopped in the doorway. In reality it was to catch his breath while leaning against the door frame, his legs spasming beneath him, but he was covering with the excuse of staring at Tony.
The room was exactly as he left it – bare, cold and without reason. But the one thing that made it the most wonderful room in the tower was sprawled fully across the bed in a wash of creamy skin, dark hair, clean, yet oddly stained cotton and white wash denim.
To Steve, it was what made any room in the tower wonderful.
Tony had obviously run without thought, yet his concern for Steve had arrested the urge to flee to the safety of his workshop and he'd settled for somewhere close enough that he'd hear if Steve so much as whimpered loudly.
And then he'd promptly fallen asleep, face down across the abandoned bed.
Steve knew Tony was tired, had seen it in slower than manic movements and less than hyped gestures. Heard it in the slow roll of words. Tony was always running short on sleep. Steve was sure that his genius had such a back log of sleep deprivation that even if he slept 10 hours every night the rest of his life, he'd never make up the difference.
He was still wearing his socks, and the sight made Steve grin for some reason. Two fluffy bright red socks sticking out the end of cuff rolled jeans. He'd never seen Tony sleep like this before.
One leg was drawn up towards his waist, the other stretched out towards the foot of the bed. The curve it created in his spine was played out in the jaunt of his hips, and the denim peaked away from his skin in a puckered triangular shape, revealing just a tantalising hint of pale shadow.
And the turn of those hips was doing something to Tony's ass that Steve had never seen before, raising it up and pulling the denim tight.
Steve, unable to do more than just appreciate the sight at the moment, shot his gaze upward before he did something his aching body would regret.
The t-shirt was thin, off white and obviously old. Its state of cleanliness told of previous trips to the workshop, but none since being washed recently, and that in itself told Steve all he needed to know about Tony's mindset.
Steve couldn't pick this shirt by sight like he could some others, like Tony's 'Stark Raving Mad' tank. He was pretty sure though, that he'd cleaned and dressed a small cut across Tony's shoulder late one night, about a month ago…right where that slash in the material was gaping to reveal now blemish free skin.
Stretched out behind him was Tony's left arm, his hand fisting in the loose blankets beneath.
Wanting.
And suddenly all Steve could think was 'God, I've caught someone special'. No matter what the rest of the world, not to mention the object of his affection might think. He had half a mind to just slide into the bed and curl around Tony as carefully as his battered body would allow.
He was sore and tired and Tony was warm and inviting and he could sit on him just as easily when they woke.
As he thought, Steve's gaze caressed Tony's other arm, following the smooth skin up to where hand was fisted under jaw – and that was when Steve noticed.
Pain.
The grimace of bowed lips and darkly circled eyes, the focus of the pale and pinched face.
Steve took in Tony's position again as a whole, and it hit him like a garden-shed wheelbarrow full of bricks.
Tony washurting himself. Punishing himself.
He was sleeping on the arc reactor.
Even as he was reaching, Steve couldn't keep his mind from all the other times that he'd seen Tony on his stomach, and his own rolled sickeningly with the sudden correlation.
"It's been longer than an half an hour hasn't it?"
And then Later "Roll onto your back, Tony..."
And"...'m comf't'ble here..."
And "No you're not…"
Steve wasn't having that. No-way no-how.
And 'fire and damn and holy OW' – because that was probably not the brightest idea, but even with the gasping and okay, that was a yelp… he'd already turned Tony towards him so he supposed it was worth the effort, only –
"Steve!? What are you- Why. God, just-" and Tony was awake and attempting to sit up, that woefully apologetic look on his face again and how had Steve not seen this earlier?
Shoving Tony back down against the mattress felt good, but only in so far as that it shut him up and wiped away that remorseful look, replacing it with a stunned wide eyed shock.
And okay, that was good, better…
Steve knew he was looming, using his 6'2 height and standing position to advantage and he knew how much Tony hated that, but maybe it would make him listen.
And Steve was determined that Tony was going to listen and hear him, as he spoke, "This?" he gestured at Tony, continuing angrily, "You don't get to do this. "
Tony tried to lever himself up again, and it said a lot that despite Steve's blatant attempt at intimidation, Tony was actually trying to move towards him, rather than away as he tried to steal the conversation, "Huh? What? Steve I don't… Are you sure you should be s-"
Steve pushed back again, slightly harder this time, his hand coming up to grasp Tony's jaw firmly, both stopping any subsequent attempts at speech and directing the confused brown gaze to his own blue as he said, – "No. That's what this is all about. I am fine. I will be fine. None of this was your fault - "
He dragged Tony's gaze back when it tried to skitter away from his, repeating forcefully, face only centimetres from Tony's own, "Not. Your. Fault."
Steve could almost see the shutters come up as the last vestiges of sleep cleared from Tony's mind and the immediate deflection started, Tony demanding, "Get off! You know I don't lik- "
Steve, who would usually be the first to capitulate, hating bullies and all their tactics, actually pushed down just that little harder, pinning Tony helplessly against the mattress, retrained, trapped as he cut across him, "You know what I don't like? I don't like the man I love deliberately hurting himself!"
That seemed to shut Tony up for a moment, his mouth opening and closing with nothing being released.
And then he exploded.
"What the FUCK are you talking about?! I'm don't hurt myself! And let me the fuck go! " he snarled wildly, but didn't struggle, and that perhaps told Steve a hell of a lot more than he'd known two seconds ago.
The punishment was subconscious, but subconsciously Tony knew what he was doing and also knew he shouldn't. And that was why he was just letting Steve restrain him.
The guilt was where it all stemmed from.
The guilt was what he had to address, and Steve, not exactly one for beating around the bush said carefully, "You didn't do this to me. It wasn't you're fault I got hurt. No on-"
"I have no idea what you're talking ab-" Tony tried to cut him off, his eyes angry and heated beneath Steve's own.
Steve just continued as if there hadn't been any interruptions, "-blames you. No one. You did what you had to do. You did the right thing. You did what you were traine-"
Tony scowled and growled, "Leave it be. It's over. Steve, ju-"
Steve just shook his head, mildly apologetic as he went on, "What you were trained to do. You couldn't have known, didn't know what would happen to me. It wasn't your-"
"I d- I don't know wha- I don't want to talk about this. Let me go." It was different this time, an almost pleading note behind the anger, a widening and deepening of brown that Steve was pretty sure he'd happily drown in one day.
He didn't stop. "It wasn't your fault. You made the only decision you could have. Civilians always come first."
A tongue rasped out over dry lips and Tony argued, "Nope. Next time? Fuck the civilian, I'm catching you. Ne- Next time."
Tony's eyes were suddenly almost more white than brown, and Steve could see the dam breaking. Just one more push. He pressed his lips to the clammy palm secure in his grasp, noting the minute vibrations.
And pushed.
"You did the right thing. I'm proud of you."
And the wall came tumbling down.
"Pr- You're PROUD of me!? I almost got you killed, I almost- " Tony wrenched his hands free, mostly succeeding because Steve let him and they flew through the air, fists curled with helpless rage and so much guilt.
But they settled gently against Steve's chest, instead of raining down fury and disquiet.
Steve blinked slowly, reading what Tony was silently saying. Silently begging.
Tell me it wasn't my fault. MAKE me believe.
God, but he was trying
"It wasn't your fault." Steve said again.
And this time Tony argued back. "How can it be anyone else's? You called and I didn't help!"
And Steve wanted to smile, he truly did. Tony was saying – I understand you've got an alternate theory. Show me your evidence. Convince me.
But he didn't smile, because he wasn't much for science, and proving theories. He was the experiment. He didn't conduct them.
He'd try anyway though, anything to clear the shadows. "That man would be dead if you hadn't saved him. What about his family? It's what we do Tony."
Tony harrumphed beneath him, body language screaming 'Your evidence is weak', as he replied, "That's nice. Good for him. I'm not blaming myself for him living. Just- You. You could have died. What about your family? What abo-"
He cut himself off, but Steve was sure his next words would have been 'What about me?' and his heart damn near broke all over again. But that's not what this was about. It wasn't about them. It was about Tony's completely misguided need to assume guilt for things that were in no way his fault.
He remembered what Tony had said only moments ago. "How can it be anyone else's?"
Steve was contemplative as he spoke, "Maybe… Maybe it was Thor's fault. He didn't catch me either. Or Clint? He had about four seconds. Surely that's long enough to string an arrow rope. Natasha? Bruce? "
Tony looked justifiably horrified.
He sounded equally so as he replied, "What? Are you serious!? Thor was busy wrestling that thing and Clint! Clint would have needed longer than that to make the decision! How can you possibly think that this was their fault?!"
It was worrying that a man as smart as Tony didn't cotton onto his blatant manipulation, but Steve already knew that the more distressed Tony got, the lower his people skills seemed to get. He brought the comparison into the blinding lime-light, "Oh. So we can't blame them, but we can blame you?"
Tony was silent for a moment, and then he glared at Steve, whether for actually making sense or simply catching him out, Steve wasn't sure. He leaned towards the latter when Tony replied after a moment, "Yes! I should have been able to do something!"
Talk about delusions of grandeur.
But it wasn't that. Not really. Steve was pretty sure it was a complete inability to accept failure.
It was one of the things that Steve usually admired about his partner. It had led to the arc-reactor, Ironman, New York not being nuked off the planet….
Right now though, it was just frustrating the crap out of him.
"What!? What could have you done?! Been in two places at once!?" Steve demanded, trying to make Tony see.
Tony most certainly Did. Not. See. "Yes! No- I don't know! Maybe."
Steve felt like hitting his head against the wall. It would probably have been less painful. He tried another approach, "I'd have done the exact same thing."
That seemed to get Tony's attention, "You'd have let me fall?"
God, and this was just what Steve had been thinking about earlier. And been thinking that he never wanted to think about it. He answered anyway, honestly, "Yes. A thousand times. And it would damn near kill me, if not properly kill me…every single time. It's what we do. Who we are. We're for the people. I wouldn't want you to save me if it meant we deliberately let that man die. I don't want that to be our legacy. "
"I couldn't- wouldn't… I couldn't let him die. Not even for you. Especially not for you." Tony breathed, in agreement more than an actual interruption, but it was exactly what Steve had been waiting to hear.
"There was no choice. You didn't make a choice. You didn't let me fall. You didn't let me do anything. You did the only thing you possibly could. You were perfect." It was said slowly, with clear conviction.
Tony had to know this. To believe it.
"I- I guess I was." It was quiet. Introspective. Unsure. But honest.
Steve sighed a gusty huff of relieve and all but face planted onto the mattress, half engulfing Tony beneath his aching body.
And Tony, being Tony, didn't say anything, didn't cheapen what Steve had done for him by making comment. His arm, at least the one not weighed down by several pounds of super solder, simply looped over Steve's back and brushed up into short blond locks, carding through in a half massage/ half caress.
And then, because Steve was a masochist he added, not bothering to move his nose from where it was tucked against Tony's throat, "And just as some extra food for thought….you know, future pondering and such?"
Tony sighed, but capitulated easily with a murmur that clearly meant 'go on'…
Steve pressed his lips against salt tanged skin, a gentle swipe of his tongue ensuring he had and amount of attention that may have been wandering as he explained carefully, "Just because something goes wrong, doesn't necessarily mean that someone has to shoulder the blame. No, don't speak…just think about it for me. Some things just happen and it's no one's fault."
Tony stayed silent, and Steve hoped he was thinking it over.
He was probably just falling asleep instead, but well…that was okay too.
And then something else occurred to him, because of course… "Tony, If you answer anything other than 'Yes, Steve' to this next one, I'm going to be so very, very upset with you. Got it?"
Tony, true to form, answered promptly, with a serious, "Yes, Steve."
"Tony-" Steve warned.
"Yes, St- Okay, okay! I'm listening." Tony dropped the cheekiness when he felt Steve prepare to draw up onto one elbow, to better shoot him the 'Serious Look' and Tony didn't want to aggravate his lover's aches any more than he already had.
It was good enough for Steve, who settled back into his nice little crook, his fingers idly tapping the same disjointed rhythm against the arc reactor that Tony himself used when upset, but his voice was beyond firm when he spoke, "You don't ever hurt yourself. For any reason. I don't care what you've done, you don't hurt yourself. Understood?"
Tony could have argued. Could have denied knowing what he'd been doing. Could have fallen back on the honesty of the subconscious defence.
"Yes, Steve" was all he said.
A/N - Hope you all enjoyed, please review if you've got time ;)
And - 'See Me As I Am 101' ... this one was for you. See Steve!whump. Sort of. I tried, but it still ended up being all about Tony. Sigh. Hope you enjoyed anyway.