ANGUSIH
1.
Severe mental or physical pain or suffering.
Cloudy brown liquid puddled from smashed china, a spidery path snaking across the workbench and dripping to the floor below, a steady, 'plink', 'plink' 'plink', ringing loudly into the quiet of the stale workshop air.
There was a broken mug.
Bright red letters, read across the room, declaring that, 'Genius doesn't work on deca-'…the rest was lost under broken shards.
A gift.
This one from Clint. Or perhaps Bruce.
Steve's wasn't sure why the mug had grabbed his attention. Why it was holding it so firmly.
What was so fascinating about a smashed coffee mug?
It wasn't like it was precious, Tony ha-
Tony.
The subconsciously provided fog of avoidance lifted as the anchoring all-importance of the smashed mug started to tear away.
He stepped forwards, eyes riveted on the small pool of coffee, determined to avoid the looming reality.
There was a crunch beneath his foot; the easily recognisable sound of glass being ground into concrete.
Steve's vision slammed back into agonising perspective.
And suddenly?
That damn mug was the least broken thing in the room.
Broken glass was strewn all across the floor, shards and chunks and jagged pieces glinting in pools of spilt oil.
The glass could only be explained by the mutilated carcass of Tony's computer monitors, lying in a mangled heap of plastic, metal and wiring on the far side of the work bench.
At the back of the workshop, looming over the room was the armour's pre-disassembly unit. Its sleek lines and gracefully extended form was a wreck, half torn down. Twisted, rent arms of tortured metal and bright copper wiring, dangling at disconcerting angles, one on the floor, completely separated from its body.
The storage shelving to the right had contributed to a majority of the chaos, innumerable plastic boxes ripped from their tracks and relocated forcefully about the room. Splinters of plastic missing from the destroyed boxes, and their varied contents were scattered about in a mess of fuses, wiring coils, small tools, solvent tubes, soldering rods, batteries, nuts, bolts, screws, clamps and hundreds of other items that Steve was too frantic to automatically label.
A hint of red and gold caught his eyes, and Steve's breath stuttered to a complete halt.
A gauntlet, supposedly present for Tony to run a diagnostic on, but mainly because the genius found it comforting to tinker.
Steve could see its inner-circuitry.
An intricate mess of cherished design rendered completely destroyed. The screwdriver obscenely impaled through the weakest wrist joint was a whole new level of terrifying symbolism and Steve couldn't look at it any longer, but was having trouble tearing his gaze away.
If not even the armour had been spared…
Unable to stop it, Steve's gaze swept over to the bots charging stations.
Three in a row, beds, essentially, each designed to suit its unique owner's eccentricities to a tee.
Mangled, ravaged and torn asunder.
"Alright...Who put the empty milk carton back in the fridge?"
Tony looked up lazily, his gaze raking over the soft sweats and white cotton t-shirt that should have been altogether too modest to be so attractive.
The barely mentionable flush and dancing eyes said Steve knew exactly what Tony was thinking about, and the too innocent flex of those ridiculously broad shoulders, said what he thought about that.
And then Steve's pointedly raised eyebrow and nod to the still open fridge pulled his lover's attention away from fantasy-land and back to the question.
Tony glanced down at his almost empty mug, where the last remnants of the milk were floating around. Not missing a beat, he lay the blame squarely on someone who wasn't present, answering "Uh, -Clint?" with a small shrug.
Steve wasn't fooled, not even for a second if his eyebrows were telling the truth, but with a fond sigh of exasperation he tossed the empty carton and retuned to putting away the last of the breakfast condiments from the bench.
Tony's smug little smile dropped back to the pile of paperwork slowly starting to spread across the table in front of him, and he scrawled his signature on…whatever it was Pepper wanted his signature on.
Steve started the sink running with almost too hot water, noting the automatic addition of detergent by the slow formation of fluffy white suds across the surface. He padded back over to the table and started to stack up his and Tony's breakfast dishes.
Tony looked up quizzically, saw what Steve was doing and rolled his eyes as he teased, "We do have a dishwasher you know. At least, that's what I've been told…" Almost as an afterthought he clutched his coffee mug pathetically against his chest, mocking eyes suddenly going wide and beseeching, in the hope that Steve would have pity and refill the mug a third time.
Liberating a sticky marmalade encrusted knife from beneath a pile of previously white documents, Steve shot back, "What can I say? I'm an old fashioned kinda guy.…" he raked his hand through Tony's hair, tugging lightly until Tony's head tilted back and Steve could drop a kiss on quirking lips.
Slipping the mug from distracted fingers, the blond pulled away from the forming pout, adding, "…and two barrels is more than enough caffeine, even for sleep deprived geniuses…"
Steve could feel Tony's gaze as it followed him across the room, and dropping his small armful carefully into the sink, he reached for a cloth. Speaking without looking, he said, "Stop it with the eyes. I'm not even looking. You can't melt me with those sad droopy pools of liquid chocolate if I don't look. "
Tony dropped the rebuffed puppy dog eyes with a sigh, reaching for the small bundle of personal mail items that had been couriered over.
The sound of gentle splashing and the soft clink of china filled the room, underpinned by the shuffling of paper, and occasional soft tearing of an envelope.
Boring, boring, God- those sweats, Pepper can deal with that one, damn those sweats, bor-
"It's nothing to be ashamed of you know. Washing up can be quite challenging. I mean, I could try to teach you how if you like. After everything you've taught me…" Steve teased, hands stilling on a plate beneath the water as he waited for the inevitably sarcastic retort.
Only there was no reply, and he noticed that even the gentle rustle of paper had stopped.
Steve looked over his shoulder to see what could have commandeered his lover's attention from his rather obvious, although welcome, glances.
Somehow, in the time it had taken to wash one dirty plate, Tony's skin had bled pale, to a waxy ashen-grey, and drawn white lips trembled with unnamed shock. His lively brown eyes were blown huge, iris all but invisible around dark pupils. His hands, as steady as any surgeons, were, honest to god, shaking around the letter he was clenching.
Steve didn't know what to say, what to do, but instinctively he stepped closer and at the movement, Tony's eyes snapped to his. There was a loud bang as the chair was over-turned, and dragged with an entangled foot, and then Tony was free and running.
By the time Steve had dropped the slippery plate, and spun around, Tony was already out of the kitchen, and somehow, he beat Steve to the elevator in the corridor.
"Tony!?" his concerned shout was cut off as the elevator doors slid closed before he could reach them and Steve was left staring at the sleek metal door.
"JARV-" he started, but the disembodied voice was already answering.
"The elevator is destined for the workshop, Captain".
Steve cursed at his slowness, of course Tony would head for his safe haven…where else would he run?
He ignored the little voice in his head that said, 'to me'.
The emergency stairs were not often used, thankfully, but Steve knew the way, and within seconds he was racing down the narrow stairway, long strides missing whole cases at times as he ignored exit after exit.
The unmarked door bashed open against his shoulder as he raced through, hitting the wall behind with an almighty crunch and bounced off, but Steve didn't care, because the workshop door was closed before him, the windows tinted darkly.
Steve knew Tony was in there though, from the crashing, smashing and almost hysterical yelling.
"Tony!?" he called, punching his code against the doors entry keypad.
Only, it blinked red – entry denied.
A wordless bark of frustration escaped as Steve forced himself to slow down slightly, and re-entered his code.
Red - Entry denied.
He thumped a fist against the door, speaking loudly to be heard over the angry smashing and shattering noises of the room beyond, "Tony? Let me in! Tony! JARVIS!?"
The AI sounded audibly concerned, which should have blown Steve's mind, but he was too busy focusing on the words, "I am sorry Captain, Sir has forbidden anyone to enter, I cannot help you."
"Tony!? God, just…Open the door. Please. Please op- OPEN IT!" Steve was begging, pleading, unable to even think straight with the sound of Tony's furious devastationringing clearly in his ears.
There was no reply from within the room, other than the continued sounds of rage fuelled destruction.
"Captain, I can- Sir is extremely upset, his vitals indicate enormous distress…however, he has yet to do any significant harm to himself" JARVIS tried his best to reassure Steve.
Steve didn't find the idea of Tony doing any damage to himself reassuring, significant or not.
The captain slumped against the door for a moment, asking, "JARVIS, do you know what happened? What this is about? There was a piece of paper- a letter or something…"
JARVIS replied, as promptly as possible, "No Captain, I have been unable to ascertain the cause behind this behaviour…"
There was a particularly loud bang, followed by the sound of glass shattering and Tony audibly cried out, a mixture of garbled cursing and adamant refusal.
Steve shoved against the door again as he spoke, voice almost shaking as he begged, "Tony? Tony, please!"
It was as futile as ever, the door didn't budge and Tony didn't answer beyond an enraged shriek and another thud.
Steve looked to the ceiling, his hands going to his hair, pulling roughly as he pleaded, "Please JARVIS, please. You have to do something. There has to be something. A loop hole, a- something. Just get me in there!"
"I am trying. I can't, Sir has expressly forbid me to…." The AI fell silent for a second before continuing, his vocals more controlled, precise, "Captain? Any loophole in the coding or demand would have been put there by Tony hims-" and JARVIS was suddenly cut off.
"JARVIS? JARVIS! God – Tony! "Steve was suddenly frantic, JARVIS was silent, the sounds of smashing and screaming were not slowing, and he could hear a ragged, raw quality to Tony's furious shouting that scared something loose, from deep within him.
The rebound reverberated throughout his whole body, his shoulder was numb from the force of slamming into the reinforced blast doors, but Steve did it again anyway. The door shuddered with an almighty boom, but didn't budge, and showed no damage from his best efforts.
He wasn't getting through with brute force, and their only other heavy hitters, The Hulk and Thor, were both hours away, even if Steve could think clearly enough to contact them.
Steve could not get the door open, through either physical force or electronic assistance. JARVIS was suddenly non-communicado and Tony's wasn't replying, wasn't even acknowledging any of his lovers yelling, pleading or demanding.
Helplessness welled up inside him, seething below the confusion. Anger wanted to be heard as well, but it was completely overshadowed by gut wrenching fear.
And then everything went silent.
Steve's heart stopped, and hope flooded his mind as he called, "Tony? Can you hear me? Please, please open the door."
When there was no answer, all Steve felt was dread.
Tony bleeding out, crushed beneath twisted metal and shattered glass.
Ironman suited up and leaving, uncontrollable with devastated, furious rage.
Theories and ideas ran through Steve's mind, each worse than the one before and Steve called hopefully for JARVIS, yet there was still no answer.
And then he remembered the last thing JARVIS had said before he was cut off – "That any loophole would have been put there by Tony himself".
God, he was so stupid.
Cursing himself, Steve started feeling along the seals in the wall, his gaze tight and certain, because he couldn't be wrong.
There had to be an invisible bio-lock panel, because his bio signature opened every room in the tower.
Tony had made it so Steve could always get to him.
Only, he couldn't find the panel, his fingers finding no trace of the tiny indent that would reveal the pad.
And then out of nowhere, loud in the stifling silence, JARVIS's mechanically emphasised voice said, "Recalibrating bio-lock signature- workshop two" and a soft blue light flashed in the corner of his eye and Steve spun, even as it faded away again.
JARVIS, had helped him, without actually helping him.
Steve wasn't really conscious of his muttered, "Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!" as he lunged for the panel, slamming his hand against the locking signature and pleading for it to work.
And then blue flashed around his palm and Steve recognised 'JARVIS encouraged urgency' in the way the usually gentle whisper of the workshop door was a hissing whoosh as it slammed open.
Cloudy brown liquid puddled from smashed china, a spidery path snaking across the workbench and dripping to the floor below, a steady, 'plink', 'plink' 'plink', ringing loudly into the quiet of the stale workshop air.
There was a broken mug.
Bright red letters, read across the room, declaring that, 'Genius doesn't work on deca-'…the rest was lost under broken shards.
A gift.
This one from Clint. Or perhaps Bruce.
Steve's wasn't sure why the mug had grabbed his attention. Why it was holding it so firmly.
What was so fascinating about a smashed coffee mug?
It wasn't like it was precious, Tony ha-
Tony.
The subconsciously provided fog of avoidance lifted as the anchoring all-importance of the smashed mug started to tear away.
He stepped forwards, eyes riveted on the small pool of coffee, determined to avoid the looming reality.
There was a crunch beneath his foot; the easily recognisable sound of glass being ground into concrete.
Steve's vision slammed back into agonising perspective.
And suddenly?
That damn mug was the least broken thing in the room.
Broken glass was strewn all across the floor, shards and chunks and jagged pieces glinting in pools of spilt oil.
The glass could only be explained by the mutilated carcass of Tony's computer monitors, lying in a mangled heap of plastic, metal and wiring on the far side of the work bench.
At the back of the workshop, looming over the room was the armour's pre-disassembly unit. Its sleek lines and gracefully extended form was a wreck, half torn down. Twisted, rent arms of tortured metal and bright copper wiring, dangling at disconcerting angles, one on the floor, completely separated from its body.
The storage shelving to the right had contributed to a majority of the chaos, innumerable plastic boxes ripped from their tracks and relocated forcefully about the room. Splinters of plastic missing from the destroyed boxes, and their varied contents were scattered about in a mess of fuses, wiring coils, small tools, solvent tubes, soldering rods, batteries, nuts, bolts, screws, clamps and hundreds of other items that Steve was too frantic to automatically label.
A hint of red and gold caught his eyes, and Steve's breath stuttered to a complete halt.
A gauntlet, supposedly present for Tony to run a diagnostic on, but mainly because the genius found it comforting to tinker.
Steve could see its inner-circuitry.
An intricate mess of cherished design rendered completely destroyed. The screwdriver obscenely impaled through the weakest wrist joint was a whole new level of terrifying symbolism and Steve couldn't look at it any longer, but was having trouble tearing his gaze away.
If not even the armour had been spared…
Unable to stop it, Steve's gaze swept over to the bots charging stations.
Three in a row, beds, essentially, each designed to suit its unique owner's eccentricities to a tee.
Mangled, ravaged and torn asunder.
And then his gaze passed over dark hair and a flash of pale skin…and he didn't know how he'd noticed anything else first.
Tony was almost perfectly in the centre of the room, the eye of the storm as it were, strangely flawless against the backdrop of the surrounding devastation.
The billionaire who filled every room he entered, drew all eyes with the sheer size of his personality, was larger than life, and Steve's mind kept getting caught on how small he looked. Tony was on the ground, curled tightly into his own grasp, as if his arms were all that remained to hold himself together.
Steve could tell, just by looking, that Tony was the most broken thing in the room.
Shattered, traumatized and irrevocably damaged.
Steve dropped to his knees, not remembering moving, but uncaring of anything except Tony.
And yet all he could do was stare.
The dark tousled head was partially concealed, tucked down between shoulders, arms and chest, but Steve could still recognise the washed-out complexion of pure exhaustion. He could see that Tony had emotionally and physically exhausted himself into oblivion – brown eyes were clenched closed, and Steve could tell that he was asleep.
There was no relaxation in this sleep though, no escape; the tormented anguish of whatever Tony was trying to avoid was palpable even across his smooth face.
Steve could count on one hand the number times he'd seen Tony cry, but the drying stains beneath closed eyes had a blotchy messiness that spoke of hysteria rather than therapeutic venting.
The tiny ball Tony had curled himself into screamed of a tangible need to block the world out, to protect himself from what could not be fought, to deny reality.
"Oh, sweeth…" Steve didn't really finish the whisper of compassion, barely more than a sigh parting his lips, and he reached for the letter still clenched in Tony's fist, not even considering whether or not he should, but simply easing it away, replacing crumpled paper with his own warm fingers, wrapping them almost fully around Tony's hand.
Looking down, he read.
'Mr Stark, as per his wishes, it is with deep sorrow that we-'
Steve's eyes picked out three more phrases,
"United States Military",
'Lieutenant Colonel James R Rhodes'
'Killed In Action'.
Steve's heart dropped out the bottom of his stomach and his chest squeezed.
Rhodey.
God…
Steve sat still for a second, just staring at the letter and holding Tony's hand.
His own grief was a heavy blanket of sorrow and anger that ate away at him, tearing at his heart and tearing at his eyes. Rhodey had easily grown past only being important to Steve because of Tony, and was well into becoming important to Steve period.
And behind it all where distant memories of the loss of another best friend named James.
His grief for Tony eclipsed his own though.
Tony, who'd lived so long without a true family.
Father, Mother and 'Uncle-Obie', all undeserving of his heart, and only now, finally starting to learn and believe that real family wouldn't betray him, wouldn't hurt him…
Tony, who resisted his emotions at the best of times, who had never been able to deal with loss.
Bury it, yes.
Deal? Not so much.
And Rhodey, the very first of Tony's chosen family.
The one he'd trusted and loved longer than any other.
Gone.
Knowing they couldn't stay on the floor among the shattered glass forever, no matter how fitting it seemed, Steve slowly moved.
Unable to just leave it, not willing to give it back to Tony and not knowing what else to do, he stuffed the letter into his back pocket, and bending, Steve gently scooped Tony into his arms. Lifting carefully, wary of the tiny flecks of bloodied skin, and already bruising hands, he cradled the limp body protectively against his chest as he got to his feet.
He felt it the instant Tony woke, all pliancy vanishing, to be replaced with rigid tension that slowly bled away as he focused. Steve waited, still and patient as brown eyes opened and blinked slowly, huge and anguished as they stared beyond their current surroundings, to where, Steve knew not.
Tony might have been awake, but he didn't speak, and Steve didn't press, able to see that emotional and physical exhaustion had sapped his lover of any strength he'd had left. Dispute his apparent exhaustion, Tony still managed to lift one hand to settle protectively over the arc reactor, which in itself half broke Steve's heart.
Tony hadn't hidden the reactor from him for so long, and to have it concealed now…but he was vulnerable and hurting and Steve understood.
Besides, Tony lolling his head against Steve's chest and sluggishly looping the other arm around his neck to pull himself closer revealed where his trust truly lay.
Steve murmured softly, he had no idea what he was saying, he didn't even think it was words- just general noises of comfort, and soon Tony was asleep again. Steve wanted him to stay that way, where there was no pain and no grief.
Just for now, just for a little while.
They entered the elevator and ascended the tower to the penthouse, the door was already open and Steve padded into their bedroom.
Tony was absolutely filthy; oil and grease matting his hair and smearing his clothes and skin, red flecks marred his hands and there was a line of blood staining one shoulder, from where a shard of glass seemed to have sliced shallowly across his arm.
Their sheets were cream.
Steve didn't care.
He gently set them down against the mattress, and Tony stirred with a pitiful whimper as Steve tried to pull away, intending on getting a washcloth. The blond immediately slipped into the bed and wrapped himself as fully around Tony as best he could, murmuring soothingly as he worked at blocking out the entire wretched world.
Tony slept.
As they lay there in the darkened room, Tony sheltered mindlessly from the oncoming storm and Steve thought.
He thought about how he was going to help Tony cope. About how he was going to have to force Tony to let him in.
Because he knew Tony would hide away in shadows and booze and lick his wounds.
But they woudn't heal.
And he would – he'd sit on Tony and demand to be let in.
And Tony might have been among the most stubborn, obstinate and mule-headed, but Steve wouldn't lose him.
Couldn't lose him.
He was contemplating how he was going to get Tony to eat, once he'd woken in an hour or two, when there was a distant knock at the outer door.
He thought about ignoring it, but he didn't need Clint dropping in via air-vent, and if either he or the others had seen the trashed workshop, they'd be worried and Steve didn't need any more upset people to deal with.
Besides, Tony was going to need them all to get through this.
He pulled away slowly, glad when only a wrinkled brow answered his movement. Smoothing Tony's oil-slick hair back, he dropped a kiss to warm skin before padding from their bedroom, pulling the door mostly shut behind him.
Stopping at the hallway door, Steve prepared himself to deal with the loss and upset once he'd explained.
He'd barely even opened the door and James Rhodes shoved past him and into their suite.
Stunned disbelief, warring with encroaching hope spread through Steve as Rhodey spun to face him, already speaking, "Please – please tell me that I made it in ti-"
One look at Steve's shocked face and Rhodey's fell, his hands coming up to rest against his face in dismay as he smoothly added, " – I didn't, did I? – He got the letter."
Still reeling with equal parts shock and delight, Steve pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and Rhodey's hands fell with his quiet exclamation of "Well. Fuck."
Anything else he said was drowned by Steve dragging him in for a hug.
Steve pulled back a moment later, his hand resting on Rhodey's shoulder as his relieved smile faded.
Rhodey saw it and his 'getting hugged by Captain America grin' sobered as he said quietly, "Where is he?"
Indicating the bedroom over his shoulder, Steve asked, "Do you want me to-".
Shaking his head, Rhodey replied, "I've got this. You did your job – I'll do mine…" and he moved determinedly towards the door and the drama that no doubt lay beyond.
Steve, his hand resting on the door knob, asked, "Do you mind if I stay?"
Rhodey seeing the overwhelming reluctance to leave, bright in the blue gaze, simply shrugged and said, "Didn't imagine you'd go…and hadn't planned on asking."
Steve pushed open the door, and Rhodey stepped through.
Without Steve to curl against, Tony had curled back in on himself and it was damn near enough to break a strong man's heart.
He was so small in the huge bed – pale and broken and raw.
Bruised, paper thin eyelids fluttered, stark black eyelashes thrown into harsh relief against chalky white skin. Tony twitched in his sleep and Rhodey stumbled closer, settling his weight on the mattress by the curled form.
Reaching out, he brushed away the lock of damp hair that had trailed onto a pale cheek. "God fucking dammit." Rhodey said, the sight of his best friend's abject misery breaking him.
And then, "Dammit, Tony…" the last was almost a sigh as he looked over his shoulder to an equally wrecked looking Steve Rogers.
Unable to put it off even a second more, especially not for purely selfish reasons, Rhodey reached out and gently shook the closest shoulder, his voice louder as he said, "Tony? Tony…Come on, wake up genius."
Tony's reluctance to wake was obvious, and the reason equally so, but eventually Rhodey's persistent voice broke through and Tony turned slightly with a grimace as he slowly opened his eyes.
For an instant he just stared, dark eyes clearly unseeing of anything other than his own muddled, anguished thoughts.
Then he focused on the looming face and his eyes widened, then almost immediately narrowed as he blinked, longing warring with disbelief as he started to drop his gaze.
Rhodey, the original, and possibly the best, at 'reading Tony', shook his head and said, "You're not dreaming, you ignoramus. As if your mediocre mind could dream up anything as perfect as me…"
Gaze snapping back up, Tony's eyes darting to Steve in the doorway and then back to Rhodey, his stare showing pure unadulterated relief for an instant, before he snapped back, "Oh, shut up."
Rhodey replied "Shut up? Shut up!? – That's seriously the bes-"
Tony's abandoned laughter, infused with slight hysteria, interrupted him and Rhodey swatted at him as he continued, 'No – I'm serious, you can't laugh – that's pitiful. 'Shut up' I don't-"
He didn't even seem to realise that laughter had turned to tears, Tony, still smiling despite the welling of his eyes as the emotional upheaval caught up.
Rhodey's grin faltered for only a second before he said, "C'mere dumbass-" and dragged Tony into his embrace, insanely grateful for the returned hug as Tony let go and just accepted that somehow his world hadn't been ripped out from beneath his feet.
Tony, because he was Tony, wasn't quiet even as he tried to stifle his relieved sobbing gasps, sputtering, "You- You don't get to do this again. I know – hypercritical. Afghanistan. I know. But you don't get to- You-"
Rhodey soothed him with promises and apologies and eventually the tears dried up, the laughter died and Tony fell silent, simply sitting in the hug for a moment more before thumping his head against Rhodey's chest and pulling back.
Awkward silence that really wasn't all that awkward filled the room for a moment, as the three men, two in the bed and one looking on, stared at each other.
Finally, Tony huffed and tumbled his way out of the tangled sheets, saying, "I've seen how these near death experiences plus a bed culminates in all the movies…and sorry buttercup, but Steve gets very jealous…" he breezed past Steve who was ruefully shaking his head, and flopped onto their sofa in the main living area.
With an eye roll that only Tony could instigate, Rhodey got to his feet and followed, although he did a double take as he entered the better lit area and could actually see Tony properly, asking "What the hell have you been up to? Looks like you took a bath in motor oi- Tony…is that blood?"
Tony stared at the darkening red flecks and smears on his arms, and actually, his hands were kind of sore…
And it all came flooding back, god, what had he done?
"JARVIS!? Is th-" Tony's voice was frantic as he leapt to his feet.
JARVIS, as always, knew what Tony needed, "Everyone is fine, Sir. Although you made quite a mess and there is much damage to be repaired. All power is disabled, You and Butterfingers are already attempting clean up and Dummy is making smoothies…"
Tony started to move towards the door, but found himself snagged around the waist and dragged down onto the sofa beside Steve, "Sit, JARVIS has things under control. I want to check your hands and Rhodey's waiting for an explanation."
The reminder that he wasn't alone in the room drew Tony's attention back to the two men, and the upset look on Rhodey's face was quiet efficient at distracting him from Steve's hands gathering his own closer, inspecting the torn and bruised skin.
"Aw, shit…don't look at me like that. I'm fine…" The genius tried to insist although his stand was weakened by a flinch as Steve's fingers trailed over a particularly nasty bruise.
Rhodey didn't look convinced, he didn't sound convinced either, as he replied, "You don't look fine…Look at you! What the hell, Tone… You look like something chewed you up and spat you out-"
Tony, not in any particular mood to be lectured, shot back, "Well sorry! I'd just found out that my best friend was dead – what did you expect me to do!?"
Rhodey stilled, a guilty look stealing over his face, because, in reality, this was something he'd expect Tony to do under the present circumstances. Wiping a hand over his face, Rhodey nodded his apology, adding "Sorry, sorry…I know. I'm sorry. You just look – Well, you look like crap, Stark."
Tony pulled his hands away from Steve, who just shrugged easily and reached out to pull Tony back against him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders. Tony rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn't move as he replied, "I never look like crap. Besides, you've seen me after worse."
True. So true, Rhodey thought, his mind flittering to that birthday party. He'd definitely seen Tony worse. "What did you do anyway?" he asked, realising that he hadn't actually been told yet.
And yes, Tony was actually blushing. "I trashed the workshop."
"What!? Your workshop? Tony!" Rhodey blustered, his voice not angry, but certainly upset. He knew what that workshop meant to Tony…it was his sanctuary, his haven, it was a place he felt accepted and protected and-
Oh.
Then with the hugging again.
In the end, the explanation was so simple, and so irrevocably stupid that Tony just spluttered some more.
It was just a massive fucked up mess.
A clerical error of all things.
'James P Rhodes' had been KIA and somehow, between the field and the communications office, it had turned into 'James R Rhodes'.
Someone had thought maybe it would be a good idea to let the 'Dead Guy' know that he was dead so he could inform his family of the fallacy – three days after the fact.
Rhodey was still fuming over the fact that they'd had the insensitivity to just send a letter, and had plans to rip someone a new one. And now, having seen what that letter had done to his best friend, he didn't know if a new one would be justice enough.
Eventually Rhodey had to leave.
Tony quite obviously didn't want him to, and just for that reason alone, neither did Rhodey.
But Rhodey had kind of stormed off-base without actually being off duty or signed out and he had a new one to rip, but he'd promised to return for dinner, and that he'd bring the pizza.
He left Steve with the admonishment to, "Ring me if you have to. I mean it."
And Tony with admonishment to "Listen to Steve. He'd Captain America."
There had quite possibly been more hugs.
Within minutes of Rhodey leaving Tony had moved to head for his workshop, but the band of iron about his waist arrested his movements, and he suddenly found himself back in their bedroom, unable to remember if he'd walked or was carried.
Steve peeling his clothes off really hadn't helped with the remembering, and before Tony managed to actually focus, he'd been stripped, had a damp cloth thrown at him, and been stuffed back into clothes, this time clean.
Somehow he was curled up in bed again, when where he really needed to be was downstairs.
"I have work to d-" he tried, testing Steve's resolve for wriggle room.
"Sleep" came the droll answer.
Okay, so not much wriggle room then.
Maybe a specified amount of time would help his case, Tony thought, adding, "Just a few-" half watching as Steve slipped out of his own Tony-stained clothes.
"Sleep", Mr. Short, sweet and to the point again.
Apparently not. Time for putting forth of convincing arguments, Tony tried, "If I don-"
"Sleep" was the convincing rebuttal as Steve yanked on a pair of sweats, eyeing the few stains on the bed covers but not overly concerned.
Sensible questions perhaps, Tony thought, asking, "What if-"
"Sleep" the bed shook slightly as Steve joined him.
With a yawn, Tony just gave up his weak fight, snuggling closer, saying, "My hair -I'll get you filt-".
"Sleep" was the indulgent, if somewhat predictable answer and Tony fell silent, Steve cradling him close.
A moment later it was Steve who spoke, his voice soft, "You- I-. You should have come to me…"
Tony, his chest clenching at the half recognised underlay of hurt, tried to brush it off, answering, "Sleep?"
"Tony." It wasn't angry, or a challenge or an order. It was just a word.
Tony sighed, not sure what Steve wanted from him, but an apology he could handle, "I- I just, I'm sorry."
"I know – just-" And it was there in what wasn't said, the need that Steve had for Tony to trust him, to need him.
Tony had made a promise to himself when this started, when he'd first let Steve in, (when Steve had forcefully burrowed his way through the walls around Tony's hart and then refused to budge); that he was going to at least try, and he had. He just had to make Steve understand that, "I've just always…dealt with stuff alone."
Tony was silent for so long that Steve thought that maybe that was it. That what always had been, was all there could be. And then Tony added, "…I think – no. I knew though."
Steve didn't say anything, he just waited, and sure enough, moments later, Tony added, "I knew that you wouldn't let me…"
Tony couldn't say the rest, but Steve heard it anyway.
Tony had known that Steve wouldn't let him suffer alone- even if he couldn't seek him out yet.
It was a statement of trust, and Steve recognised it as such and cherished it. But that didn't mean he wasn't above a little teasing, as he replied, "You knew I'd come after you?"
"Yes" to his credit, there was no hesitation or embarrassment in Tony's voice as he answered.
"That I wouldn't let you keep me out?" Steve pressed, rolling closer and propping himself up on one arm to better see Tony's face.
Tony was starting to see the forming pattern and wrinkling his nose, he answered, "Yeah – Yes! Okay?"
"That I'd be there anyway?" Okay, now there was definitely some teasing happening, and Steve watched as Tony cracked an eye open to stare up at him before answering.
"Yeah. Yes, Sleep Now?" The last was hopeful, and Steve almost felt bad, but at least Tony wasn't thinking about dead best friends and that was the original aim.
Steve reached out and brushed the stubborn lock of hair away from Tony's eyes as they glared liquid doom up at him, and he took great joy in adding, "That I'd hold you an- "
"Sleep?" Tony had cut him off on that one, so Steve figured it was time to stop his little game.
"Kiss yo-…sleep? Okay" The captain agreed, eyes twinkling as Tony registered the begging of the sentence and his own eyes widened.
Back scrabbling, Tony ate his words, reaching for Steve as he amended, "No – I meant – kiss now. That's what I meant."
"Sleep" And then they were back at the beginning, Steve thought, rolling Tony down onto his back and tucking him close.
"Oh – but…" The genius looked so put out disappointed that Steve almost laughed, because surely Tony had learnt by now that it was rare for Steve to deny him anything that was so easily given.
"Sle-" Steve started to say, but something of his previous thoughts must have shown in his eyes, because Tony dragged him down into the kiss and Steve let him, rolling into the gentle press of lips on lips as Tony finally, finally relaxed.
And Steve knew it wasn't really over. Knew that there would be nightmares and mood swings and knew that Tony would probably hide in his workshop tomorrow.
But Steve would just follow him, because now he knew could?
He always would.
A/N
Yes. I did terrible things with your feels. Was fun.
Same time next week?
I tried to keep this fairly generic in case of trigger issues, and deliberately made sure that 'Author chose not to use archive warnings' was selected. I didn't go any further than that because *Spoilers*.
Also - I have no idea what I'm talking about as far as US military procedures go in these types of situations. Take it in the spirit and manner it's offered and know I mean no disrespect or dishonor.
As always, written at ridiculous hours with little sleep and no beta, so please feel free, or feel encouraged to point out anything that jumps out at you.
Hope you enjoyed :)