Author's Note: Finally we get to the fluff, been a long build I know but here it comes, and it's tooth rotting I promise. Thanks so much for staying with me on this one, we'll get this one done I promise! For now enjoy the long awaited fluff.

Thank you ravingbeauty for all your hard work, it's looking so good.

That Has Such People

Part XI - Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

He couldn't get comfortable.

And he was tired.

And his ribs ached.

While he was more than happy to be back in the Tower and among friends, Steve had damn near hit his breaking point. He wanted to cry out in frustration.

Sitting beside him on the couch, Tony could feel Steve growing more agitated by the moment. Surreptitiously he watched as Steve kept shifting, first propping himself against the arm of the couch, then trying pillows, eventually giving up on them, too.

Tony glanced around the large room where the team had gathered to watch Harry Potter, which was apparently a mandatory part of his education in modern cinema. While Tony found the movie fascinating, he was worried about Steve. The others were in various states of relaxation around the room. Thor lounged in an armchair, eyes fastened on the TV, while Clint and Bruce curled together on the other couch.

Leaning close to the blond, Tony laid a gentle hand on his leg. "Ok?" he asked.

Baleful blue eyes looked at him. "No," he whispered.

Tony was a little panicked; Steve looked like he was on the verge of tears. Without pausing to consider the ramifications, Tony found himself carefully lifting the injured man. Swinging his legs onto the couch, Tony gently settled the smaller man between them.

Surprised, Steve was stiff within the embrace for a heartbeat, but then leaned back with a soft sigh of surrender. Using Tony's wide chest for support, he was finally able to breathe comfortably. The super solider easily took the extra weight as Steve settled more firmly against him. Lulled by the strong, steady heartbeat against his back, the blond yawned widely and relaxed. Warm, safe, and comfortable, he felt himself drifting towards sleep within moments.

Tony knew the second the injured man fell asleep, his head lolling back against Tony's shoulder as he fully relaxed. It was a sign of utter trust, and Tony was humbled by it. Tightening his arms, Tony held the inventor close and felt himself begin to relax. Steve was ok. He was safe – and he was in his arms. All was right with the world.

Looking up across the room, he met the smirking eyes of Clint. Though the archer just winked and turned back to the TV, Tony felt his neck reddening. It was well worth the embarrassment, though.

They watched the movie to the end, Steve sleeping soundly throughout. As the credits rolled the others slowly, sleepily, departed for their respective rooms. Tony didn't even bother trying to wake the slumbering man in his arms, though. He knew he was down for the count.

Tony started to shift around, but froze when Steve whimpered at his jostled ribs. Pausing, the soldier waited until Steve settled again before gingerly standing, the blond man cradled in his arms.

"Goodnight, Anthony. I will see you on the morrow," Thor spoke in an uncharacteristically quiet voice before disappearing.

On his way out of the room, Bruce approached, speaking softly, "You'll stay with him tonight?"

"Yes, I'll keep an eye on him."

The doctor nodded in acknowledgment. "Call me if anything happens."

Promising he would, Tony bid the other two goodnight and slowly ascended the stairs, JARVIS lighting the way to the billionaire's bedroom. Steve only whining once as he was transferred to the bed. With the utmost care, Tony tucked his charge in before sliding onto the bed next to him.

Keeping a respectable distance from the other man, he watched and listened closely for any signs of discomfort. Watching the steady rise and fall of the other's injured chest his mind wandered back to the hospital.

Had they really almost kissed?

It seemed like some sort of distorted dream now, a heartbeat in time. Boy, did he ever want to kiss Steve Rogers. But, more than that, he wanted… everything.

Perhaps, though, he would start with dinner.

Steve huffed in his sleep and unconsciously wiggled closer, resting a head on Tony's shoulder. Smiling, Tony turned his face into the soft blond hair, knowing he was exactly where he needed to be.

-#-#-#-

"Steve," the gentle, yet persistent voice called.

He frowned; he didn't want to wake up. Wakefulness meant pain and the return of the interminable ache in his chest, an old hated friend.

"Come on, Steve," the tender voice called again.

Hoping his face conveyed his unhappiness at being back in the land of the living, Steve managed to open his crusty eyes and blearily glare up into the soft brown eyes of Tony Stark.

The solider felt bad at having to wake him, but the man needed food and medication.

"How're you feeling?" Tony asked, pushing Steve's hair back to feel his warm forehead. Bruce had said a mild fever was normal; his body would run hot while it was healing.

"Marginally more human," Steve answered dryly as he carefully sat up, braced arm in his lap.

Tony nodded. "Think you can manage a shower? I'll get some lunch started."

"Yes, sir," Steve answered with a mocking salute; a shower sounded phenomenal.

Dark eyes rolled as a lopsided grin pulled at his lips. "Hup two then, solider."

Tony waited until the billionaire had shuffled into the obscenely large bathroom before he headed down to the kitchen. On the way, though, he paused outside Clint's door and knocked, waiting long moments for a reply.

"JARVIS, is Clint with Bruce?" he asked as a smug smile crept across his face.

"I can neither confirm nor deny your very astute assumption, Captain Stark."

Grinning even wider, Tony backtracked to his room, riffling through his drawings until he found the one he was looking for. Grabbing it, he headed to Bruce's room and slipped the paper under the door with a chuckle.

Task completed, Tony made his way to the kitchen for real, humming happily as he began to pull ingredients from the fridge. As he moved to the counter, he paused to frown in thought – French toast, or omelet? After a moment, he shrugged. Why not both?

As he navigated the room with ease, the soldier's humming gave way to actual words, "Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you.'"

Dredging the bread in the batter, he put pieces in the fry pan and grabbed the spatula, "Birds singing in the sycamore trees, dream a little dream of me."

Steve Rogers paused just outside the kitchen and watched the man inside, heart hitching in his chest. Tony had a wonderful voice, deep and husky… He could listen to him all day, could watch him all day.

"Say nighty-night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me." The rich baritone carried as Tony slid what looked and smelled to be French toast onto a plate.

"While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me…" As Tony turned and spotted Steve in the doorway, the genius felt a slight pang of regret – Tony stopped singing.

Caught, Steve shuffled into the room. "Coffee?" he asked.

Tony nodded, making sure Steve was settled at the kitchen table before hurrying to get him a mug. Surprised, Steve watched as the dark-haired man poured a little milk into it, exactly the way he liked it.

"What would you like in your omelet?" he asked as he handed over the caffeine.

Blinking blue eyes, Steve stared up at him. "No French toast?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. We're having both."

Chuckling, the other man sipped his beverage. "Are you ever not hungry?"

Tony's crooked smile was offset by the solemn look in his eyes. "No, always hungry."

"Serum?"

"Serum," Tony agreed as he turned to cut up vegetables.

Steve watched Tony intently as he continued to putter about the kitchen. Tony was in sweats again, the black pants rucked up to his knees. The sleeves of his dark grey shirt were pushed to his elbows, the buttons undone at his throat. He looked so effortlessly handsome that Steve wasn't sure if he was smitten or just jealous.

"What other odd quirks does it present as?" Steve asked suddenly, wanting to know more about him – needing to know everything about Tony, the good and the bad.

"Does what present as?" Tony asked, glancing at him for a moment before turning back to the toast.

"The serum. Does it do anything else odd?"

Tony quirked a grin. "You mean aside from the constant appetite and sleeping marathons?"

Steve hummed in agreement, unable to keep a smile from twitching his lips.

Pausing, the soldier frowned in thought. "I can't get drunk," he said finally.

Steve sputtered on his coffee, "What?"

Nodding, Tony looked down at his cooking once more. "Metabolism moves too fast to get drunk. Same thing with painkillers, any medication at all really." Steve blinked as the weight of that statement settled on him, his eyes widening as he realized what that confession meant.

"You mean when you're hurt…" Steve trailed off in horror. If Tony were ever injured – an inevitability in their line of work – he would be alone in coping with the pain.

Steve's heart broke for the man; suddenly he needed to touch him, be near him. Heaving himself to his feet, Steve ignored his ribs and shuffled towards the other man, Tony turning to steady him when he got close.

"Easy," Cap mumbled, his smile slipping as he saw the solemn expression on Steve's face. "What's wrong? You in pain?" Concerned, he moved his hands to carefully cup the flushed face, gently gauging his fever.

The genius said nothing, instead settling his own hands over the ones framing his face, feeling the fresh scar marring the back of one.

"Tony," he breathed and tipped his head back, eyes slipping closed as the other took his cue and leaned in.

Suddenly a loud bellow had them springing apart, Tony blushing furiously and Steve moaning in pain.

"Oh, Steve," Tony chastised tenderly. As he led the injured man back to his seat, Clint burst into the kitchen, paper in hand.

"You!" he yelled pointing at the soldier.

"Me?" Tony questioned, helping Steve to settle at the table.

The archer was grinning madly, "Yes, you, this!" He held up the paper clutched in his hand. "This is awesome!"

Laughing, Tony bowed at the waist, "You're welcome."

Steve's eyes darted curiously between them, "I want to see."

Still grinning, Clint slid the paper across the table to the other blond, while Tony moved to the coffee pot. "Coffee?" he asked.

"Please," a new voice called as Bruce entered with a yawn, dark hair curling wildly about his head. The scientist joined the two at the table, pausing to kiss Clint on the cheek. Tony tried not to grin too widely at the tender moment, but felt his lips betray him anyway.

"I can feel your smugness from here," Clint commented dryly.

Tony turned, two mugs in hand, his expression wide-eyed and innocent. "Who?"

Steve ignored the banter and instead focused on the drawing before him. It was a stylized Hulk, blushing as he held out a flower in one big palm to an impish Hawkeye. It was beautiful work…Tony truly had a gift. So many people could draw, but so few artists could capture the depth and breadth of emotion that he could so effortlessly. Some may look down on comic artists, but Steve saw more truth and honesty in his work than any of the current big names in the art world.

A burst of happy laughter brought him back to the here and now. Blue eyes looked up to see Clint, one arm slung around the back of Bruce's chair, trading good-natured insults with the Cap. It was a homey, happy moment, one that Steve felt all the way to his shrapnel-riddled heart. He hid his smile in his coffee mug.

"Salutations," Thor said as he grandly entered the kitchen. Thor seemed to be perpetually enthusiastic and high energy; it made Steve tired just to watch him. The room chorused with replies of good morning, while Tony just waved his spatula.

"How fare your injuries, Steven?" the god asked, turning his attention to their injured teammate.

"Dandy," the billionaire replied answered with a lopsided smile.

"That is most excellent news," the longhaired blond replied happily. As he settled himself at the table, though, he spied the picture still sitting there. Curiously thick fingers tugged the drawing closer as Thor's handsome face split into a wide grin.

"Wondrous! Who is the talented artist?" he asked, looking up eagerly at Steve.

"Tony," he answered, amused.

Thor rounded on the solider, who was currently shuffling over with a heaping plate of French toast. "You have a gift, friend Anthony."

Shrugging modestly, the Cap tried to play it off as inconsequential.

But Clint echoed the sentiment, "You really do – your work is incredible."

"There is more?" Thor asked, already loading up his plate. "Have you rendered my likeness, Anthony?" he asked eagerly.

Tony placed the plate of omelets on the table as well. "Oh sure, lots."

The god gestured grandly with his fork, "Once we finish breaking our fast, you must show me."

-#-#-#-

Breakfast done and kitchen tided, the five men found themselves in the living room, Tony's sketchbooks spread across the coffee table.

Thor was both amazed and humbled by the pictures of himself. The portfolios contained everything from portraits in exacting detail, to fun little chibi figures, to…

"Oh my god…" Clint stuttered, eyes widening as he tugged free a sheet of creamy paper. Gray eyes wide, he stared at the drawing.

Tony hummed curiously as he looked up over his glasses, then started as he caught sight of the picture Clint held; Steve was just amazed to see a grown man blush so quickly. Tony made a frantic grab for the picture, but the assassin was quicker.

Laughing, Clint rolled away and came to rest at Bruce's feet, holding the drawing up for his lover to see.

"Oh my…" Bruce said, hazel eyes wide.

Groaning, Tony buried his head in his hands. "It's just a picture," he mumbled.

Curious, Steve leaned closer to Bruce to see what could possibly be so interesting... and his eyes just about fell out of his head.

The black and white sketch was done in what Steve would call anime style, featuring Peg, Maria Hill, and Natasha. But that's not what grabbed their attention – like many drawings in that genre, the ladies were very distinctive.

"I think Tasha may kill you if she sees this," Clint teased.

Steve snorted, "I would be more worried about Peg."

Tony moaned faintly, "It's just a drawing."

"Wishful thinking, Cap?" the archer asked, straight-faced.

Dark eyes looked up pleadingly. "Please don't tell them…"

They all laughed at the courageous, imposing Captain America, terrified by the thought of three women.

Thor, who'd been looking wide-eyed and amazed at the work, piped up, "Anthony, this is most astounding." He held up a picture featuring himself, cape swirling, hammer raised.

"Thanks, Thor," Tony said, wheezing as the god gave him a congratulatory smack on the back. Steve winced in sympathy; Tony was the only one who seemed to be able to withstand Thor's celebratory gestures.

Enthused over the sheer amount of work before him, Thor engaged the artist as the others continued to look over the books.

Bypassing the newer volumes, Steve spotted a worn leather-bound book beneath the others. Curiously he slipped it out and opened the cracked spine with anticipation. Expecting more of modern day New York, the Avengers, or even comic panels, the genius felt his breath hitch as a war-torn landscape unfolded before him.

Hesitantly he turned the fragile pages, realizing with growing heartbreak that this was the work Captain Stark had done during the war. There were pictures of vaguely familiar men who he instinctively recognized as the Commandos. Another showed a dark-haired man hunched over a table littered with parts of something, a lighter haired man at his side – Uncle Howard and his father. There was a woman, beautiful and strong, and Steve got the impression she was much like his Peggy.

And there were many more, so unlike the others scattered on the table. Steve could all but feel the emotions rolling off the page. Voices swirled around him, pointless noise as he plunged on. Callused fingers leafed on through the past before stalling on sketches he could tell were newer, but just as powerful.

A small figure stood staring upwards as a building towered overwhelmingly over him. In another a man huddled in an alleyway, hunched and worn as just outside the glittering city moved on.

Steve wasn't sure when his hand had begun to tremble. When he turned to the last page in the book, though, it took everything he had not to let the sob catching in his throat erupt. A broken, battered figure slumped over his shield amidst a ruined landscape. In the background, hazy and indistinct, he could make out somewhat familiar figures walking away – the Avengers.

"Steve?"

The voice calling his name finally penetrated his daze, and the billionaire looked up to find the others gazing at him in concern. Dazed, he focused on the worried dark eyes that regarded him so intently.

"Is it your ribs?"

Slowly the engineer stood, needing to get away. As fast as his bruised chest would allow, he walked to the elevators and slumped against the wall, the sketchbook still clutched tight in his hands.

In the living room, the others watched in varying states of disbelief.

"Was it something we said?" Clint asked, scratching his head. Bruce unconsciously rested a comforting hand on the blond.

"He looked… terrified," the scientist said softly.

Tony stood quickly. "I'll go see what's wrong," he assured them.

"Good man," Thor said, clapping Tony on the shoulder. Tony winced; he would have to have words with the god about these painfully affectionate tendencies.

Rubbing a sore shoulder, Tony gave them a wave and headed for the elevator, waiting until the doors closed before he let himself worry. Something about the look on Steve's face… he'd looked stricken. Tony couldn't fathom what it was that had happened, though. Things had seemed to be going ok. Then again, maybe Steve had been offended by one of his drawings; it wouldn't be the first time.

When the doors dinged open and Tony stepped off, the lab was quiet and dim. As he approached the door, he was mildly surprised that it opened without a request. Frowning, Tony stepped inside.

"Steve?" he called, searching intently, soon spotting a figure slumped over a workbench, bathed in a faint blue light.

The solider was by his side in an instant. "Steve, you ok? You took off rather quickly…" Tony trailed off as he finally got a look at his friend's solemn features. Without a word Steve slid the drawing towards him.

The solider looked down, puzzled. He recognized the picture, one he'd done not too long after the battle with Loki.

"This is a lost man," Steve said quietly. "A man who doesn't feel like he belongs…"

As Steve went on, understanding dawned. Tony was about to explain that while Steve was right, the drawing no longer reflected his feelings – but then suddenly Steve was there.

Clutching Tony's arm, Steve looked up at him searchingly. "You belong here, Tony." The Cap froze in shock as Steve pressed on, "I know it's hard, and may seem overwhelming… but you were meant to be here." Steve's hands gripped his arms more tightly as his expression melted into genuine emotion, worry, sincerity… heartbreak. Blue eyes were all fire and passion; they took Tony's breath away.

"The world needed Captain America, needs him still… and I need Tony Stark," Steve whispered as he finally closed the distance between them, meeting Tony's lips with his own. Their mouths crushed together, sloppy and haphazard. There was no finesse or grace, just raw passion and need – a desperate attempt to make Tony understand how much he meant to him.

Tony was sure he was dreaming.

He was not kissing Steve Rogers in his lab; it was something cooked up by his desperate mind. Even so, he wasn't about to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Automatically his arms pulled the slender form closer, big hands splaying across the narrow back as Tony tipped his head to mesh their lips together.

Neither was sure how long they stood there in the tight embrace, nor how long lips and tongues touched and explored one another. Minutes seemed to stretch like hours, but eventually they parted, flushed and panting faintly.

Steve suddenly felt weak, wobbling a moment before those strong arms tightened around him, steadying him. Tony held him close to his wide, warm chest as he gently rubbed Steve's back, and his voice rumbled softly in the silence.

"Those pictures were from months ago," he confessed, pressing a warm kiss to the other's temple. Steve smelled so good – the spicy cologne he wore, the underlying bite of metal and electricity were intoxicating.

Steve huffed a quite laugh, "Did I just embarrass myself?"

Tony gently slid two fingers under his chin, lifting it so their eyes met. "Have dinner with me," he said.

Steve didn't hesitate, "Yes."

Grinning, Tony dipped his head, melding their lips together once more.