Had a little title change. Putting a little warning here ahead of time: this chapter contains discussion of suicide. If that's something that bothers you, go ahead and turn back now.

Phil isn't happy with Fury's declaration that he's to take two weeks off—and really it's equal parts sad and amusing that there seems to be an understanding between the two of them that failure to comply will be met with a punishment of more forced time off—but he isn't fighting it either. As talented as he is when it comes to downplaying injury and illness, he can't simply walk off having his heart stop as quickly as he'd like.

If there's one thing Steve's learned about the agent it's that he hates inactivity. Somehow, Phil is always doing something—it had been a surprise to learn the man was a stress cooker which, coupled with Pepper's stress baking, meant they usually ate very well after tough missions. Phil had only told him once, but the fear he'd related to Steve was one they shared: the fear of being useless. Steve would be the first to assure the agent he's anything but, and yet Phil is still biting at the bit before he's even left S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical facility.

"It's just two weeks," Steve reminds him, laying a hand on his shoulder as they ride the lift up Avengers Tower.

"Two weeks too long," Phil answers. He's typing away at something on his StarkPhone and Steve resists the urge to see what it is; he really doesn't want to have to confirm his suspicions that, yes, Phil is conducting some sort of business. "There's no reason for me to take time off from work."

"Yes, there is," Steve says firmly. "I know that if Fury had said two days instead of two weeks you'd still think it was too long, but there's a reason. You have to rest."

"Two days would have been far more reasonable," Phil says. "Two weeks is excessive. I'm fine. Really."

Steve reaches out and takes hold of the agent's wrist, tugging slightly until he can't look at the phone any longer and has to look up at Steve instead. The soldier presses his hand to the wall above the shorter man's left shoulder and leans in, speaking quietly.

"Please," he says, his thumb rubbing slow circles into the agent's wrist. "It's just two weeks. I know, I get that that this bothers you. But it's important. You can't push yourself like that, Phil, you can't. If you don't do it because Fury ordered it, will you do it because I asked?"

He's more than a little surprised to see Phil's cheeks go a light pink as he clears his throat, his eyes focusing on a spot over the super soldier's shoulder. Steve turns his head to follow the agent's gaze and promptly has to try to keep the tips of his ears from going the same shade as he sees Tony watching with a smug expression and Bruce apparently trying to look anywhere except at them as they stand against the opposite wall. He'd forgotten they were even there. He moves away quickly, shifting back to his prior position standing at Phil's side.

"Oh, please, don't mind us. Do continue," Tony says, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Steve rolls his eyes and looks away. Phil has gone back to whatever he was doing on his phone. Neither of them are very big on public displays of affection—Steve can't get over how some people can be so uncaring of who sees them "sucking face," as Clint so eloquently put it. He supposes that's all well and good for others if they're that kind of person, but neither of them are. If they're feeling particularly adventurous, someone's hand will rest on the small of someone else's back or there may be a brief touch of their fingers as they walk side-by-side down the hall. Anything more intimate than that is reserved for when they're alone. What he's just done is innocent enough, but it's still a more intimate gesture than either of them typically like to make while in the presence of others; even if those others happen to be the Avengers.

Needless to say, the situation's a little awkward for both of them. Thankfully, they reach their intended floor a few seconds later and Tony's more focused on leading the way than he is about poking fun of them. Just as they're stepping off the elevator, he feels something: Phil's grabbing his hand.

"Because you asked," he says simply.

He looks around quickly and makes sure Tony and Bruce won't notice before he presses a quick kiss to the agent's temple and murmurs a quiet 'thank you,' glad that Phil's actually taking the request seriously. He doesn't miss the small smile on the shorter man's face, nor the way Phil holds onto his hand just a fraction of a second longer than he usually would.

"I don't like being out of commission."

Steve levers himself up onto his elbow, his other arm still wrapped around Phil's waist. They're in bed together, nestled safely in the quiet of their shared bedroom. The floor used to be Steve's, but with how frequently Phil sleeps there—and the number of his things which have migrated there—it's no use referring to it as simply Steve's anymore. He'd fully expected the agent to drop right off to sleep once they'd gotten into bed; he certainly looks tired enough. Not that he's going to complain about Phil being willing to talk to him, but he wonders what's brought it on. Phil rolls back towards him slightly, looking up at him.

"Yesterday I promised you we'd talk," Phil reminds him.

"Oh. Right. I just… well, to be honest, I figured you'd just said that to get me off your back," Steve admits.

"If I'd changed my mind I would have said so, but I wouldn't lie to you," Phil says.

"I know. I know," Steve says quietly, kissing the other man's shoulder. "And I know you hate being out of commission, but it's for the best. You need to take this seriously, it's not something you can just brush off."

Phil's quiet for a moment.

"I am taking this seriously," he says. "It doesn't change the fact that two weeks is excessive. If I have to take time off, I'll do it, but I can't just sit around and do nothing for two weeks."

"You won't be doing nothing," Steve assures him. "You're going to take it easy for two weeks so we can make sure you're really all right and then you can go straight back to too-late nights and too-long work days and all that paperwork that makes you so happy."

Phil snorts, but rolls over until he's facing Steve.

"You're not useless," Steve tell him.

He knows he's hit a nerve when the agent looks away from him. Phil is always humming with energy drawn from a source that Steve can't even begin to fathom. He's always active, always doing something, working as long as he can. By his own admission, his convalescence following the near-fatal wound dealt by Loki had been one of the hardest things he'd ever been through, simply because of the fact that he wasn't permitted to do anything. Even worse, the fact that he wasn't capable of doing anything, of taking on his usual duties. Steve's not sure what the reason for it is, he just knows that the agent can't stand allowing himself to become what he sees as a burden. Phil thrives on his ability to be entirely self-sufficient and to take care of others on top of it. Being taken care of isn't something Phil can fully ease into.

"I know I'm not. You don't need to remind me," Phil insists.

"Then something else is bothering you," Steve says. He rests a hand on his partner's waist, maneuvering them closer together as he rubs slow, soothing circles into the shorter man's hip bone. "Talk to me."

Steve's more than a little surprised when Phil acquiesces after a moment's hesitation.

"This prototype wasn't meant to last forever and it won't. Even if there are no further complications for the next few months or years, it will need to be replaced eventually," Phil says.

"Tony's working on that now," Steve reminds him. "So when that happens, you'll be well taken care of."

Phil frowns, rubbing his chest without seeming to realize he's doing so. He's quiet for minutes on end, long enough for Steve to think that the man is through talking. But then he's surprised yet again.

"I'm forty-six, Steve," he says at last.

"So? I'm in my nineties. What's your point?" Steve asks.

"I'm not getting any younger," Phil answers.

Steve sighs loudly. "You're not old, Phil."

Phil moves to sit up, disentangling himself from the super soldier. "But I am getting older."

"What are you saying, exactly?" Steve asks, sitting up also.

Phil shakes his head. "The prototype has become faulty a little over a year since it was first implanted. Machines wear down over time. They need to be replaced. Replacing parts in a machine is one thing. It's simple, painless. But I'm not a machine, as you've been so intent on reminding me. So how many times is this going to happen? How many times will I need to have my chest opened up to replace a malfunctioning piece of machinery? How many times can I do that?"

"It's better than the alternative," Steve says a little fiercer than he'd intended.

"At some point, I don't know that it will be," Phil admits.

Steve can't do much more than stare for a moment.

"I can't believe you'd say that," he says, disbelief coloring his words. "You of all people, you'd be the last person I would think would say that, who would think of just giving up."

"It's not giving up, it's thinking realistically," Phil says evenly.

"It's wallowing in self-pity," Steve bites back.

"And you wonder why we never talk," Phil retorts in a cool tone.

Steve doesn't have anything to say to that. They sit there in silence, not looking at each other, not saying anything. They've never really fought, but they've come close a number of times. This is just another one of those times. Steve doesn't want to fight, especially not now. But he can't stand being cut out of the equation when Phil thinks it's appropriate.

"I don't want to fight with you," Steve begins, "but can you see why I'm upset here? You say you don't talk to me and you make decisions without me because you worry about me. I think that's true to a degree, but I have to wonder how much of it's worry and how much of it's the fact that you're just not sure if you can trust me."

He sees a shudder run through Phil's body as he inhales deeply. The agent pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut.

"You're right. I don't completely trust you," Phil admits.

Steve tries not to let the statement hurt, but it does regardless.

"But I do trust you more than anyone else. And I'm trying to trust you more," Phil adds. "You don't completely trust me either, as much as you'd like to think you do."

"Of course I trust you," Steve says with a frown.

"Is that why you're thinking of hiding my gun? Because you trust me?" Phil asks.

Steve stares. "How did you—?"

"After you asked me how I could give up, you glanced over at the bedside table," Phil recounts, waving a hand dismissively. "Do you honestly think I would do something like that?"

"No," Steve says. His shoulder slump. "I don't know. I don't think so, but the way you were just talking…"

"I wouldn't," Phil assures him. "Too much paperwork with suicides."

"Don't," Steve says, his tone warning.

Phil's next words are soft, apologetic. "That was… I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry."

Steve shakes his head. He knows the gallows humor is a defense mechanism they all use. That doesn't mean he wants to hear it now. His chest feels tight. He swallows thickly.

"Is that how you really feel, though? About your heart?" Steve asks.

The agent looks down at his hands before focusing his attention on Steve.

"I'm not giving up. But the thing of it is, even if I weren't in this line of work, even if I worked the safest desk job in the world, you'd still outlive me by years," Phil says slowly. "Stark's prototype saved my life, but it just might also be the thing that kills me, in the end. It may not be soon, but I'll be gone long before you; it's just a question of whether it will be in the field or because of this thing in my chest. I don't want to leave you, believe me, it's the last thing that I want, but it's going to happen. We can't change that and I don't want to go through this relationship pretending like it's never going to happen."

Steve knows that's the territory that comes with being involved with a man like Phil, just as Phil knows the same is true of being in a relationship with Steve. It's why he wants to enjoy it for as long as they both can. He's asking himself why Phil would be focusing on all of this now, but has to stop himself. Putting himself in the agent's position, he can't entirely blame him. And the reason for that is—

"You're afraid," Steve realizes.

Phil's lips draw into a thin line and he looks away. "I'm afraid."

And then Steve can't be bothered with being angry about anything. The fact that he's just heard the two words he'd never thought Phil would ever be able to say to him is mind-numbing enough so that all that's left is worry. He reaches out, dragging the agent to him and wrapping his arms around the man tightly. He can feel Phil's hands fisting the back of his shirt as they sit there, silent for several long minutes.

"I'm not going to kill myself, I'm not giving up and I'm not depressed," Phil says, his face pressed into Steve's chest. "I'm just weighing my options and trying to plan for the future. I don't want to worry you and I don't want to put this on your shoulders—"

"You're not, though. You need to understand that," Steve interrupts. "You know, you were the one who told me that a relationship is about sharing things. So if it's a burden, I want to share it with you. Let me help."

"I'm trying," Phil says at length.

"Try harder," Steve answers. He makes a thoughtful noise. "Like when we watched Star Wars. That part with Yoda. Remember?"

He doesn't have to see Phil's face to know the agent is smiling.

"Do or do not. There is no try," Phil recites back to him.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. He closes his eyes and trails his finger down the length of the other man's spine. "I'm worried, too. I'm worried about you. And I'm trying very hard not to get on your case, but you can't just shut down and shut me out. That's not helping either of us."

Phil nods, but doesn't speak. Several minutes pass in silence before he squirms in Steve's arms, shifting until he can ply the soldier's lips with a kiss that says "thank you" and "I'm sorry" and a score of other things. Phil might not have spoken the words, but Steve has found the agent doesn't always have to speak to get his message across.

He's not complaining.

Old habits die hard and despite his recent ordeal, Phil's awake as the sun begins to rise. Beside him, Steve is still sleeping; a rarity. They're both very prompt when it comes to getting out of bed and ready for the day, but he supposes since there's no real day to get ready for, Steve may have eased up some. Additionally, there's no way to tell how long Steve may have been awake after Phil had gone to sleep.

Even now, after having just woken, he feels sleep trying to pull him back. His first instinct is to resist, to rise, find a cup of coffee and find something to do. But before he can begin to move, a thought gives him pause. He remembers the conversation he'd had last night. He remembers that he's promised to take it easy. And really, he knows that he should. Besides that, he's just damn tired.

With some reluctance, he abandons his ideas of getting out of bed and rolls onto his side with a slow sigh. A few minutes of lying still and hoping to drift back off to sleep leaves him feeling agitated; he's drowsy, but not quite enough to fall asleep. Instead of trying to force himself into the arms of slumber, he opens his eyes and focuses on the man sleeping beside him.

Steve is lying on his right side, facing Phil. His right hand is tucked beneath his pillow while his other is outstretched, lying in the space between them. The rising sun casts its light through the slots in the blinds, painting golden stripes along the length of the soldier's body. Steve looks peaceful in sleep with most of his face pressed into the pillow and hidden from view. His hair is mussed, sticking up at odd angles as though someone's been running their fingers through it.

Phil can't resist doing just that. The soldier's eyes open at the first pass of Phil's fingers though his hair, but he says nothing. Phil runs his hand through blond strands turned a honeyed gold in the light of the early morning sun and watches as too blue eyes lazily flicker from one spot to the next on his face and knows that the soldier is studying him just as he is being studied. Eventually Steve's eyes come to meet Phil's, bright and alert despite the fact that he'd just woken moments before.

Neither of them speak, both watching the other in the stillness of the world before it wakes. Phil listens to the ticking of the bedside clock and the sound of Steve's slow, even breaths; the only sounds which disturb the fragile silence.

Minutes pass, though he doesn't know just how many or how few, before Steve shifts closer, trading his pillow for Phil's. When he presses his lips to the agent's it's soft and unhurried, languid in its execution. Phil had thought he'd been relaxed, but it's as he's being kissed without that familiar raw, hurried need that he feels himself grow loose, pliant. So often their intimacy feels rushed, as though they need to race to the finish for fear of interruption. And, really, it's a reasonable fear considering it's happened. Frequently. Too frequently.

Now, though… Now he feels like putty in the other man's hands. And speaking of hands; he still has one tangled in Steve's hair even as he feels one of Steve's hands slip beneath his t-shirt. He sighs into the kiss as the soldier's fingers trace old scars and older scars, trailing across his skin in the gentlest way possible. Steve is known for his feats of great strength, but so few seem to heed the words that there is nothing so strong as gentleness and nothing so gentle as true strength.

There's no expectation behind the kiss, no sense that it's the prelude to something else, and in fact Phil feels quite certain that Steve would be quite content to continue on as they are for some time. When they do part, it happens slowly on of them trailing after the other to continue the kiss several times before they call it quits. By this point Phil is in that cozy limbo between sleeping and wakefulness, sure that the trouble he'd been running into in trying to return to sleep had been very thoroughly taken care of. Perhaps, he thinks, there may be some merit to two weeks off. He'd felt a sudden stab of guilt at the realization that this is the first chance they've had a chance for a lie-in since… well, he can't even recall.

"You stayed in bed," Steve notes.

"Mmhmm."

"Good."

Phil's just about to let sleep reclaim him when he recalls their conversation the previous night and some of the things that were said. Some of the things he'd said to Steve.

"Last night," Phil mumbles. "Shouldn't've—"

"Go back to sleep," Steve commands quietly. "You're supposed to be resting."

Too tired to argue, Phil makes a mental note to try again later and settles in to try to get used to the idea that he's going to be sleeping in for a little while.

It doesn't take as long as he'd thought it would.