A/N: Sorry for the occasional mistakes, I was in a hurry to finish so that I could update soon :)

Still don't own anything.

And You guys are still awesome, and I have this inevitable feeling that I owe you for being so kind reviewers! Keep them coming! You make me very happy and inspired to update!

Sketches

~4~

~*A man armed with a screwdriver pt2*~

"Oh fucking shit! Steve! Steve! I'm sorry – Steve, is the clock all right? One piece? Oh, fuuuc - DAMN! I fucking hit my head! Shit, Steve, why the fucking hell do you keep so much crap on your desk?! –"

Steve hurriedly saved the clock from Tony's hand and did his best to pull the teen out from the rubbish that – sadly – used to be his desk. Just in case, before the string of curses go any longer and louder and the neighbours start giving them strange looks. Thank God, the old lady on the other side of the wall was half deaf, so she wouldn't get so shocked for all the swearing going on. Steve bet she hadn't heard so much in all her lifetime that she could just in one minute. He really needed to wash Tony's mouth one day if his manners don't change.

"It's all right, Tony. Don't worry, I got you..." And with the last words he pulled up Tony and settled him on his feet again.

Tony cursed a little bit more under his breath as he scoffed and turned to assess the damage he'd done, then his eyes rounded comically and a small 'oh, fuck' escaped his lips.

Steve didn't really know what to say. He knew his desk had seen better days and he had to be careful with it and not to overwhelm it with his books and school stuff, and it had never been really good for drawing when he would put more pressure on the surface as he had to lean on the desk – but still, it was a part of his life. And truth be told, they couldn't really afford a new one.

"Steve, Steve, I'm so sorry! Shit, I didn't know! I'm sorry! I'm so careless, sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right, Tony." Steve said with a sigh.

Because seriously? Have you ever tried being angry to big brown tear-framed puppy eyes?

"No! I- I'm gonna... Oh, holy crap!" Tony ran both of his hands over and over through his either way messy hair, his eyes had a frantic, maniac gleam to them. "Yeah, that's it. I'm gonna make it up to you. I don't need much, I'm a genius..."

"Tony, I said it's okay. I'll be fine without it." Somehow...

But Tony obviously didn't hear any part of that. His eyes started glazing out, looking into the distance, yet, what made them look creepy was that they looked like as if he was reading something really really quickly, or searching for a little piece of information on a thick long text.

"Tony!" He raised his voice a little bit, then grabbed Tony by the arms and turned him so that the frantic teen was facing him, and he could look him in the eyes.

Tony flinched.

Damn, Tony looked so worked up, and panicked; Steve had to eventually shake him, so that his eyes would focus on the blond. Tony seemed fragile in Steve's larger hands, he could feel the wiry muscles shift under his jumper, little scratches on his face and forehead and the circles under his bloodshot eyes made him look sicker especially with his eyes gleaming so strangely.

"Tony, look. It's all right. Accidents happen... And thank you for helping with my homework..."

"Just leave you alone for now, right?" Tony continued on a breathless hoarse tone, that resonated so bad on so many levels inside of Steve.

Steve was so shocked, that yes, actually that was what he didn't know how to put so he wouldn't hurt Tony, that he couldn't answer. Because it sounded just too rough and naked and snide as Tony said it. The way Tony understood it.

The next time he blinked, he only saw his door closing. So gently it barely made any sound.

It reminded him of a poor little 'sorry', of the way he sometimes closed the door of his mom's bedroom when she snapped at him, but he didn't understand what exactly he had done wrong, he only meant good, but in the end he was so so bad, that he tried to act as if he didn't exist at all.

Steve collapsed on his bed and buried his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

He didn't want to chase Tony away. It was just hard to actually think when Tony was around. He was always babbling, always talking, moving, fidgeting, breaking stuff by accident, criticizing – He just couldn't be still for a second! He was like a kid, who needed attention. Who'd do anything stupid, so that you wouldn't neglect him.

And for some reason, Steve was too tired to give much thought about why he couldn't just not listen to him.

That behaviour was only strange because that was so contradictory to the other times Tony would hide away in his closet and wouldn't even stick his nose out for eating.

No, Steve definitely didn't want to analyze Tony! See? Even when he was away, and he could think about how he's going to do all his homework and doodling stuff on his bed alone, his mind was on Tony. Steve could be upset because of his own things, without babysitting the other, thank you very much, so he'd just have his own little exceptional pity-party, and act as if he didn't feel guilty for hurting Tony, when he should really be upset with him.

He didn't see Tony until next evening, when he caught a shadow sneak through the corridor, then heard the door close silently. That shadow must have been Tony. His mother couldn't move that fast, and – well, had it been someone else, it would have been a burglar, and he really didn't want to think that, so Tony was the one sneaking out of their apartment.

That made Steve worried. He knew, Tony was – not creepy, exactly, but very strange. And he tried very hard to shut the part of his mind that tried to predict where Tony was going and what he'd do there.

So he decided he'd better talk to him.

However, the morning found Steve with aching limbs and back, and still with no sight of Tony.

That day was spent in a pretty bad mood – taken the cramps and aching muscles from sleeping in a less than horizontal position.

The next time he actually bumped into Tony. The teen was sitting in the kitchen again with the toaster in little pieces all around him. Steve gaped at himself how he even realized it once had been their toaster.

"Hello, Tony." he greeted carefully.

Why did he feel like so on the edge? It wasn't like Tony was angry at him, or something. Steve was upset, for God's sake! What was with this effect Tony had on him?

"Hi there, Steve" Tony greeted back cheerfully and he smiled up at him and waved with some part of the toaster in his hand.

As if nothing had happened and Steve's desk hadn't still been a heap of sticks in his room. Well...

"Who's on the phone?" Tony asked on his usual – how could Steve call it so soon usual? – chatty light tone.

"Oh, it was Bucky. He got back from I don't know where-"

"Wow, the I-know-everything and I-count-on-every-possibilities Steve Rogers doesn't know where his friend disappears to?" Tony plastered a cheeky grin on his face.

"Well, yes." Steve tried to hide his embarrassment with a cough. He was using this method too often. "So as I was saying he got back."

"That's good news so far, isn't it? Except if you suddenly grew to hate the kid because of the calculator incident, for which I can't really take you for being the quick tempered one..."

"No, Bucky is still my best friend."

Was he?

"So, what's the sour face for?"

"It is not!" Steve protested, and subconsciously touched his face, as if he could check his expression this way.

"But it was. When you just put down the phone. Man, that was a sour expression if I've ever seen one."

"You weren't even looking!"

"Oh, honey, you never know I'm watching" and Tony winked at him with that mischievous half-smirk, that made Steve blush every time, even when he didn't get addressed as 'honey'. "So?" The way Tony could wiggle his eyebrows didn't ease Steve's situation a slightest bit!

"He invited me to a party... But I'm not sure if I want to go. I'm not much into partying."

"Steve, babe, let me tell you something" Tony put down the wrench and looked up seriously at Steve's tomato red face. "First, I can't help the nicknames, and I'm not sorry at all. And you'd better get used to it. There are dangerous people out there, who are only waiting for the opportunity to call you 'sweetie' 'sweetheart' 'darling' 'honeybear' 'hot stuff' and I just mentioned the fluffy ones. Oops, not the ones that would encourage you for partying. So as for the second – I sadly have to announce to you, that you entered the age when it's time to go to parties, start drinking a bit, not too much, just to have some fun, Mr. Goody-two-shoes, and meet girls. On top of that, Steve, have you ever looked in the mirror? It's considered a crime keeping yourself locked up here. And I'm speaking on behalf of at least 75% of the society."

"Tony, I don't think there are so many ladies in the society."

"Probably not, but the remaining 25% include the married, engaged and those people who are worried you'd take their girl/guy. Or those you already stated that you're not interested in – Jesus, Steve, wash your face! I'm afraid you'd get aneurysm or something!"

Steve was actually burning, and humiliating or not, he really needed to take Tony's advice. He felt his face going numb from the heat. However, it didn't help much that he could feel Tony's eyes on himself the entire time.

"Definitely, sweet cheeks, you've gotta go to that party." Steve snapped back at him, because – yes, he could hear that wicked smirk. Damn, Steve, why don't you ever learn, that you really don't need to see that? – he scolded himself as the initial effect of cold water melted away and his cheeks flared up again. "It wouldn't be fair to keep such nice view only to myself."

"Do I get away from your bantering if I go?" He asked exasperated and with dread settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as Tony's smirk turned devilish.

"You'll see" And the bastard winked at him again!

No, Steve wasn't cursing, not even in the sanctuary of his own thoughts, but Tony was again getting at his nerves. So he actually had to go in the end. Juts for Tony's sake you know. So that he wouldn't end up punching the irritating midget with the annoying cheeky grin to wipe it off.

One and a half hour later Steve fled the house. Okay, he called it quick retreat from danger zone to safety, but it was actually really quick, and he didn't even hear Tony promising to tell Steve's mom where he was going. Nor had he seen the satisfied smirk on Tony's worn face.

The thing was in the next morning (very early, because it was Saturday, and he didn't have to get back home early) Steve got a once over lecture from his mom about disappearing without leaving a note first (Tony forgot to tell her, obviously, that he was going out). Steve made his best to listen and he really didn't need to pretend to look miserable and sore. His head hurt and he only wanted to get some sleep.

Goddamn Bucky and his persuasive skills!

He dragged himself to his room, entering face-first, and just barely managed to find his bed. Thank goodness he had a small room. He could care less he was only half atop of it.

He didn't care the strange smell and the cool air. He must have left the window open before going. And the smell just didn't register in his brain to be oil, burnt hair or something that's definitely not supposed to be burnt and freshly carved wood behind the thick but already vanishing smell of enamel. And something hard and pointy –a screwdriver – was poking his knee.

Or the fact that his bed was actually already taken.

Steve could share – he had manners and he was generous at heart. But only until he was allowed to sleep.

And Steve had never fallen asleep quicker.

The time he woke up it was noon. He was freezing and his foot bumped into something very solid as he twitched in his dream. Steve sat up groggily with a huge yawn and instinctively stretched out to fetch the glass of water from his desk...

... He wasn't supposed to have a desk...

... And he wasn't supposed to hear another yawn from his side.

He turned his head slowly, minding the headache and he gaped at the most adorable sight he had ever seen. Tony was sitting sort of cross legged on his bed slightly behind him. He was no less awake than Steve was. Clothes rumpled and stained, hair messy, bloodshot eyes half lidded, dark and hazy with sleep. He looked like an adorable puppy, still disoriented and sheepish.

As soon as Tony recognized him, he grinned up at Steve and stretched out his limbs.

"M'ning, Sunshine. How's da party?"

"Fine... Tony,... what is that desk?"

"Whad'ya mean? A desk o'course."

"But it's... huge."

"She's a monster, Stevey" Tony grinned at him again and crawled forward a bit, so that he was near Steve on all fours, so that he could reach the desk as well.

Steve just blinked at him owlishly, not believing his eyes.

The desk looked more massive than his previous one and, it was a bit hard to make out all the details, but looked like a hybrid of a table made of wood and metal. The legs were definitely metal and painted black and a dark shade of cobalt. And Steve could make out some joints on the longer side, like as if you could just fold up the framework.

Steve slowly crawled off the bed to step in front of the furniture and observe it better.

"Well, actually I promised I'd make it up to you, didn't I? You have no idea how much trouble I'd gone through to collect everything. Or just to make schematics that would match and then to rethink everything again when I had to put back the circuits and sticks so that you won't accuse me of breaking everything. And how to put it together and not bother you –"

Steve couldn't see the legs like he could earlier, they were more like chests, but the covers, their doors looked different each. One drawer had glass the others were wood doors, some of them with carvings of ornaments. One showed birds on branches, the other just nonfigurative lines. The doorknobs were the same.

"...Sorry, I'm not really a carpenter, I honestly has always hated working with wood – sticks and break and barb – that shit hurts under your nail, I tell you, especially since I introduced myself to metal and wielding, and – aw, shit, you probably wouldn't even know what I was about to start rambling about! – so whatever, it's no masterpiece and I'm suspicious it's gonna fall apart if you move it, but yeah,..."

The table-top was a bit clear-out, yet not simple. It was raised and had a glass cover. As he inspected a bit more, he could see the glass had its own frame and it could be lifted up, and underneath he spotted LED lamps and a switch on the side.

"Tony – what is it?" He pointed at the glass cover.

"What? Oh that!" Tony leaned forward, planted his forearms on the edge of the table, which swayed a little bit, but didn't collapse this time, and his eyes flared up with excitement and pride. He reached out and got into wide gesticulating motions pointing out things and lifting up the glass to set it to a slight slope. "See, I've seen it somewhere on TV and in workshops. You turn on the light and put the papers on the glass. It's tinted so it wouldn't scorch your eyes, and since it's lifted it's not that bad for your back and wouldn't burn your hand. Man that can hurt! Trust me, I did enough times. Umm, that's more for schematics and for tattoo artists, I guess, but I saw you redoing your stuff a few times and you could just copy the good parts this way, if you want to, not a big deal. Or if it bothers you, just put your tablet on top, you won't see a thing of it. It's cool! A bit of a monster as I've pointed out before, but think of her as Frankenstein's genius creation! Spacious, you have drawers to shove away your stuff, wouldn't be always under your hand when you draw and even has some secret chests. You're gonna love her! Oh, no, not so sure. What do you think, Steve? Truth be told, she's a bit wobbly. So if you're planning to move, maybe she wouldn't survive, but yeah, not a masterpiece – "

"Tony, you made this?"

"Yes, what I've been babbling here all along, sweetheart?"

"For me?"

"For who else? Steve seriously. If you don't like it, you can – well, I don't know. Pick it apart and sell the parts or something. Or just throw away. No big deal..."

"How can you say that? It's awesome, Tony!"

The grin settled back to Tony's face on hearing that. A satisfied, proud expression. Like a little boy getting his first acknowledgement from his father. An expression that made Tony shine.

The next time Steve emerged from the warmth of his memory, on the paper in front of him there was a doodle of Tony smiling bright and happy. Honestly, with genuine pride, knowing he had made something good. He had made it up to Steve. He made good. Steve also added the inevitable screwdriver to the picture.

He felt his art-block retreating as he turned to the next empty page of his sketchbook.

TBC - I hope you liked it so far ;)

A/n: Hey, dear readers who are still with me! First of all thank you, for sticking along! And second I'm still planning on going on with the story. My only problem is that I'm not sure how much of these rememebering parts are still coming. Because truth be told, I'm running out of ideas, but they are still a very important part of the story. So my question is: do you want to read about those things? Of Steve remembering how his life had been with Tony? (Not a really long time, but nothing's ever simple with Tony, right?) So is there anything particular you'd like to see?

And about the recent updates: I'm not sure if I can keep to it. I just started watching Supernatural and the Winchesters and that ugly thing called school are cosuming most of my time. But hey, you've been great at making me wanna continue... Sooo...

Thanks for reading along! Hugs and kisses to all of you! :)))