Although Steve had felt an almost immediate, pressing need to see Tony, to apologize for…well, many things, everything actually, once he was under the chilly spray of the shower a few things occurred to him. He barely registered the cold, a possible first for him, because there were so many other things to think about. Things he needed to get right in his head so he didn't come across as a total idiot or, even worse, insincere, before he barged into Tony room and started spouting apologies and explanations. Tony was very articulate when he wanted to be, and though Steve knew he was incapable of achieving the same level of eloquence, it was important that Tony see how earnest and repentant he was. First and foremost was what he would say about Howard after "I'm so sorry I hurt you and misjudged both of you so badly."
He still couldn't fathom what he'd learned about his old friend and his relationship with his only son. That the person he had known, had defended on more than one occasion, could be guilty of abuse like that. It wasn't that he didn't believe it, he most certainly did, and it made him feel unclean by association, it was just difficult trying to insert the knowledge into his memories of the man.
And sure, back in his day it was not uncommon to see a child or even a woman with a black eye or a slap reddened face at the hands of the "man of the house". Many people, even some he knew, had turned a blind eye to that kind of thing, but Steve had know even back then that those kinds of men were bullies. It wasn't easy to place Howard, or himself, among men like that.
He knew from experience that Tony wouldn't want to talk about Howard, that he would clam up or shut down or whatever the current term was, and did Steve even want to upset him by bringing it up? Could he just give a heartfelt but blanket apology, begging forgiveness for practically every word he'd ever uttered to the renowned industrialist and wait until Tony was better or at least away from the medical bay before mentioning his father? And to the best of Steve's knowledge, Tony wasn't aware anyone even knew how he'd broken his jaw the first time. Natasha had said that information was buried very deep. Would he suspect they'd try and figure it out? The answer seemed to be that he should wait to broach the subject of the elder Stark and just work on apologizing for the other atrocities he had committed, like using Tony, taking him for granted, hurting him, emotionally and physically, and failing to know himself well enough to understand that he'd had what he wanted all along.
And now that he was being honest with himself about his feelings for Tony, the second and much more uncomfortable thing that occurred to him was what if he'd been attracted to Howard? It wasn't something that had even occurred to him at the time; it was only through hindsight that he could question it at all. His attraction to Peggy had certainly overshadowed everything else back then or maybe his mind just instantly repressed thoughts like that about another man. Like Natasha had said earlier, he was conditioned to repress those feelings since before he was old enough to even realize it.
Whatever the reason, it wasn't until he'd woken up in this century and realized he was attracted to men, to Tony that he started to remember little things about Howard. How Steve had been slightly dazzled by him at the Expo the first time he'd laid eyes on him, but did that mean anything, hadn't everyone there been equally as dazzled? Or the warm, reassuring feeling he'd had when he realized Howard was part of the supersoldier experiment, he'd assumed it was comfort at one more familiar face in the sea of strangers, but what if that warm feeling had been more than familiarity? The worst of it though, was how that warm feeling had spread and intensified when he'd come out of the machine, head fuzzy, only to be helped by Howard and Dr. Erskine. Both men had put their hands on him, and his skin had tingled under their touch. He'd always chalked that up to the immediate effects of the serum, but could that feeling have been something else, a refugee from the repression?
He was very grateful that he didn't have these thoughts back then, that all of his conscious romantic thoughts seemed to have been about Peggy, not that he would have acted on it even if he had been aware of something. It had been a confusing time, imagining and worrying about what would happen to him in the capsule and it had taken a long time to sort out all of the individual sensations and feelings from that day. And anything about Howard was at the bottom of the pile of anticipation, wonder, pain, sadness and then his body taking over, knowing what to do to run down a madman. It was no wonder he hadn't picked up on that fleeting tingle right away. He was just being ridiculous, he could name every girl he had been attracted to over the course of his life, and he recognized the signs in himself no matter the gender. There were so many real things to beat himself over, why the heck was he inventing more? He was certain that his feelings for Howard had only ever been fraternal.
He had to stay under the brisk stream for and extra few minutes as he rewashed himself, feeling dirty and contaminated from those thoughts alone.
The third and most unpleasant thought that occurred to him was that Tony's taunt about Howard, the one that had him seeing red and causing his control to snap so viciously, meant that maybe Tony suspected some attraction or maybe even something more untoward between him and Howard, Christ, the two of you deserve each other…maybe you should have been fucking him…if he hadn't hit Tony, would those have been his next words? He certainly used to talk about his admiration for Howard a lot, even knowing it bothered Tony…oh God, Tony had been equating him with Howard even before he hit him.
He needed to check himself into an institution for the criminally stupid.
How would he ever be able to look Tony in the eyes again?
He never imagined anything could make him feel more insignificant than a 4F, or five of them. He'd wanted to help his country so badly, wanted to do anything to help with the war effort. He couldn't imagine what he could possibly do if he didn't become a soldier, what worth his life would have, and everyone acted like they were doing him a favor by rejecting him, saving his life when all he'd wanted to do was give it to his country. Right now, though, he felt a hell of a lot lower than that.
Whenever he looked in the mirror, back then, during his struggle for enlistment, he saw someone who was too scrawny, too short and too sickly. But at least he also saw a person who was trying to do the right thing, a person who was good…just not good enough.
Now he wasn't small or sickly, but he wasn't good either. No one could do what he'd done and call themselves that. He was scum. No, he was something much lower than scum, even though he didn't know what that could be; he could ask Bruce for the biology of it, but it really didn't matter.
By the time he finally stepped out of the shower he felt worthless and more unsure of everything than he ever had in his life. He wasn't even worthy of Tony's forgiveness. He did have to try though. The one thing he did know was that Tony was worth the effort to try. He repeated that thought to himself as a sort of mantra as he dressed.
With the small sense of conviction that came with that thought he picked up the mess on the floor that was his tuxedo. There were stains on the shirt and pants from getting sick, the jacket had been the sole survivor because he had taken it off before attacking the bag. One at a time he removed Tony's studs from the front of the shirt and fished the cufflinks out of the pant's pocket where he'd put them so he could roll the shirtsleeves. He didn't know if water was enough to clean any would be vomit off the gems, but he brought them into the bathroom and ran them carefully under the sink anyways. After drying them gently with a soft towel he gathered them and headed for Tony's room to put them back. He felt the need to use the utmost care with anything concerning Tony.
The room was exactly as it had been last night; no surprise there, Tony was still at medical, but the feeling of it not being right is what felt eerily similar. The unsettling effect was much worse on this side of his recent discoveries about his feelings, and again his eyes were drawn to the bed, the stained and rumpled sheets…
"Steve…" Tony's voice was low and rough, gravelly and filled with desire. The effect it had on him was dizzying, that he could bring this proud and brilliant man to such a state while doing nothing more than succumb to the pleasure. Tony was kissing and licking Steve's stomach, a ravishing trail of warm sinful lips, a deliciously hot and wet tongue, and the prickling thrill of facial hair that had started at his neck and was moving down his body. He knew where the final destination of that skilled mouth would be, and the anticipation of it was almost painful.
Good Lord Tony made him feel amazing. He looked down at the shock of dark messy hair as it slid lower and Steve couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch it, wrap his fingers in the waves and revel in the feel. Tony's brown eyes snapped up to meet his, devastating in their fervor and glinting slightly with…mischief?
Just as the sought after word entered his mind he nearly jumped out of his skin as the meaning became clear. Tony's chin rested briefly, and very lightly on his erection, just below the head, the goatee scratching the sensitive skin as his tongue came out to capture the glossy bead of moisture forming at the slit, and then he moved. The itchy burning feeling of the beard followed by the incredible soothing heat of that tongue down his entire length was nearly too much. He threw his head back, breaking the intense gaze and moaned long and loud. The sound the soldier made pulled a similar one from Tony and Steve couldn't stop the series of breathy gasps that followed as the exquisite torture continued. Tony was relentless in his zeal, licking his way back up and then engulfing him whole. Another shamefully loud moan escaped as Tony worked him to completion in a scandalously short amount of time.
As he struggled to catch his breath after the earth shattering orgasm, Tony moved back up his body, dragging the rough stubble on the return path. Steve had expected to see something like smugness on the billionaire, but instead his face had the look of an unformed question.
He wanted to shake the memory away, but instead he neared the bed and sat down. Tony's scent mixed with the evaporating smell of sex was enthralling, and Steve breathed deeply, pulling it in and willing it to never fade. At the time, a few days ago, he hadn't delved deeper into the look on the engineer's face, hadn't asked Tony or even given it more than a fleeting thought himself. Now, though, in retrospect, it seemed important, and if he really thought about it, selfish of him not to even inquire.
He had always acted selfishly when it came to this thing with Tony. He took and took and never really gave, something he was distantly aware of even at the time. Never once had he taken Tony in his mouth, despite knowing how good it felt, and worse yet, he had always been on top because it was…less immodest or more manly? That thought seemed completely ludicrous now, but no matter how much he wanted to deny it had been his reasoning for months, he couldn't.
So, here he was, in the same place he had so recently had everything…had that mouth so dangerous and thrilling in its passion, lips swollen and wanting more, but also smiling that secret smile reserved only for him. Tony smiled a lot, but not like that, not that he'd witnessed, that particular marvel was for him alone. The fluttering was back in his chest, but last night when he'd felt it he had taken it for nerves because he was an idiot. It was perfectly clear to him now what it was.
As he reached for Tony's pillow, thrown carelessly to the side after their steamy encounter, he realized the cufflinks and studs were still in his hand. He grabbed the pillow and brought it to his face with the other hand, inhaling deeply, pulling in all he could. What wouldn't he give to have the owner of that delicious scent here with him now? But he had a lot of work to do before that was possible, if it was possible. And if it wasn't then Tony deserved better anyways, but the belief that he had to try was back in full force. Tony believed Steve didn't love him, and who could blame him? But he needed to know the truth, that he was loved and appreciated, even if it was by someone so much stupider that him. He deserved the knowledge that he hadn't done anything wrong, that the entire fault lay with Steve.
He stood, blinking back the nagging heated itch behind his eyelids, and headed to the box on the dresser he had taken the jewels from last night. He placed them back exactly as he'd found them and closed the lid, noticing two much smaller, identical boxes beside it. It only took a moment for him to decide to look.
The first box contained a set of cufflinks, bigger than the ones he'd borrowed, nearly the size of a quarter. That wasn't the only difference though, these were a mismatched set. They both had a three millimeter wide silver ring around the edge and some kind of enamel set into it, but one was blue with a white star in the center exactly like his shield and the other the same blue but with the circle shaped replica of Tony's old arc reactor a brighter blue in the middle.
The second box contained exactly the same thing. Obviously Tony had separated the pairs to make the two mismatched sets, and he had to assume that one of the sets was for him, and that Tony had planned on giving it to him, maybe even for the benefit. Was that the purpose of the shirt he needed Natasha's help to figure out? Last night he thought maybe Tony had done it as a joke, but could it have been a way to get him here and give him the cufflinks?
He picked up one of the arc reactor cufflinks and turned it over in his hand. It was weightier than he expected and even he could tell that it was very well made. He ran his finger over the smooth front, wondering if he should even be allowed to touch it after the fiasco he had made of their relationship when his thoughts were interrupted. First by a distinct whirring sound he would recognize anywhere, and second by the brusque British tone of JARVIS.
"Returning the cufflink to the box would be advisable, Captain Rogers."
He did as he was told, looking around the room for any sign of the metal suit, and couldn't help asking, "Is that the Iron Man armor charging up?"
"Yes," was the only reply. Was it possible…could the other cufflink somehow call his shield? He was torn between asking and simply picking it up and finding out for himself, but his manners won out in the end.
"Does the other one call my shield?" He couldn't keep the sound of amazement out of his voice, because if it did, if this was one more way for Tony to assure their safety, then it was nothing short of amazing.
Again with the terse, though slightly more hesitant reply, "yes."
"JARVIS, I understand that you're not happy with me right now, and I accept that willingly, I do, because I deserve it. I am going to apologize to Tony today, to literally beg for his forgiveness, but I would like to say the words to him first." Steve contemplated saying more, but was unsure how much more, and finally settled on the very simple truth, "I will never consciously hurt him again, you have my word. You must have heard the conversation I had with Nat—Agent Romanoff."
His admission was met with silence, but maybe JARVIS would still answer a direct question when asked. "Is there more you can tell me about the cufflinks?"
The seconds crept by while he awaited a response, and just when it seemed none would come, that the obvious answer was no, JARVIS finally spoke.
"I am not aware of the conversation you're referring to. I was offline for a short time, my systems were…upgrading." There was even more hesitance this time, but before he could think too much about it, the supercomputer continued coolly, "The cufflinks are equipped with multimodal biometric access, coded to yours and sir's fingerprints, voice and a pass-code. One identifier is needed for activation and another for acquisition. The versions of the armor and shield they activate and 'call' are slightly smaller and more portable—Sir refers to them as 'travel sized'—the range so far is only four miles. They also contain locator beacons, activated by turning the outer edge. Sir finds it…plebeian to have to run for his suit in the event of an emergency."
Steve had to stifle a chuckle at JARVIS' dry tone. "Thank you, JARVIS. And these…these are remarkable." Leave it to Tony to come up with something like this, to provide extra protection when they were out at functions or press conferences. They usually kept their uniforms and weapons close by, but now…
"Sir is working on a pair for Col. Rhodes as well." The AI's tone wasn't impolite polite, but it had an unmistakable edge of defiance, as if he wanted Steve to know he wasn't the only person Tony cared about protecting.
He was well aware of the relationship Tony shared with the Colonel; they were the best of friends and had been since their days at MIT, never anything more, nothing like what he had—used to have—wanted to have, with Tony. So why, then, did he feel the sudden stab of jealously? He'd seen them together and never felt that before, never felt the need to know either of their innermost thoughts about the other, if there were remnants of an old attraction buried under the guise of their friendship.
He hadn't felt it often, but jealousy wasn't a new emotion to him either. He had been a little jealous of Bucky back in the day, his way with women and his bigger, healthier body. He supposed that was more envy than jealousy, but on the plane with Howard and Peggy, when he'd thought fondue meant…well, something else, he'd been jealous then, and it was definitely because his intentions were for Peggy, not Howard. But that was nothing like this awful feeling though, this was Shakespeare style Othello jealousy, the kind that got a person into trouble, made them do stupid things, and he didn't like it one bit.
He closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths and counted to ten. This was ridiculous. If something had happened between the two of them it was long over, they were just friends now, like Tony and Pepper.
And that thought was a hell of a lot less reassuring then he'd meant for it to be.
Control. He needed to get himself under control, and then figure out why he could lose it so easily when it came to Tony. First things first, make it right with Tony, apologize and go from there. This newfound reaction to Col. Rhodes was most likely because Steve had so recently realized he was in love with Tony. It was just a byproduct, just him feeling over protective and slightly needy because he was on very shaky ground. Was this what Tony felt when he'd rounded the corner and seen Steve kissing Claire? He thought for second what it would feel like to see Tony kissing…well, anyone else really, and without even a distinct image in his mind he felt the bolt of hurt grip his chest.
God, he had so much to atone for.
"Sir and Col. Rhodes share a very close bond." JARVIS fed into his thoughts, quite unapologetically. Was the AI trying to make him feel worse? He had no doubt that the answer was yes.
Don't take the bait. He's angry with you, trying to rile you up, is what he was thinking, but not what he actually gave voice to.
"I know that." He bit out, unable to keep the knife edge from his tone. He was falling apart or cracking up…becoming someone he didn't recognize anymore, angry and violent and jealous. He couldn't stop himself from turning to look in Tony's large mirror not likingthe person looking back at him. Gone was the sturdy, dependable Captain America. In his place was this mess of a man, no long quite Steve Rogers, but a poor, cracked clay imitation struggling to do justice to the original.
He was in uncharted waters here, bobbing about directionless like a cork upon the waves, trying to stay above the hostile current of confusion and doubt below, every emotion unsettled and churning and very at risk of being sucked into the vortex, caught in the undertow and he grabbed hold of the one truth he knew, the one emotion he was sure of—he was in love with Tony. That was the only thing that mattered…everything else was secondary right now, he had to focus on Tony.
He gave the cufflinks one last look and closed the box, making a mental note to ask Tony about them later. He definitely wanted to test them, see this "travel sized" version of the shield JARVIS had mentioned, but not today. Tony had obviously been waiting for a reason and as anxious and excited to try them out as he was, he would respect the inventor's wishes and wait as well. Besides, there was someplace he really needed to be…med bay.
"JARVIS, is Agent Romanoff in the communal area?" He didn't really need an answer, he had to pass through there anyways, but he was hoping to leave things with the AI on a better note.
"She is, Captain Rogers." The tone was still frosty, but Steve would swear it was a little less so than at any other time recently. There was also the very good chance that it was wishful thinking.
"Thank you." There was no reason to not be polite. He glanced to the bed one last time before leaving the room and heading out to meet Natasha.
The ride to headquarters was quiet and mostly uneventful. Natasha was driving, and that meant jaywalkers beware on a good day, but today she seemed slightly distracted and a little heavy handed with the horn when any pedestrian even looked at the crosswalk. They made the normally twenty minute trek in just over twelve, and the spy radiated smugness as they pulled into the underground garage. Steve just shook his head; she drove like she fought, unrelenting and unsympathetic, whether you wanted to take over the world or cross the street without waiting for the walk signal.
Though he was in a hurry, she stopped him with a hand to his arm. "I think I should go in first." She didn't need to add more, he knew it was the best plan, for her to assess the situation since he was the hostile here, in the rest of their minds anyways.
"Agreed." What more could he say—please hurry seemed redundant and unnecessary. "I'll wait here for your call; the waiting room in the hospital wing might not be empty." He added, though he was sure he didn't need to. He was jittery and so nervous, even worse than Captain America's first stage performance and that had been something else. He leaned against the outside of the SUV, trying for casual, but clearly not fooling her.
He was anxious to do what had been on his mind for hours now and hopefully he wouldn't have to see Clint, or Pepper or Col. Rhodes. Just like with JARVIS, he wanted them to know how sorry he really was, but it felt important to say the words to Tony first. He would face them if left with no other choice, he just didn't particularly want to.
He was spared all of the above by Natasha's return what seemed like moments later. The look on her face was inscrutable, not uncommon for the assassin, but he just couldn't help the feeling of dread looking at it.
"He's not here," she said simply. He waited a second for her to explain.
When she didn't, he blurted, "They moved him?" Even as he said it he knew it was wrong. Tony had left on his own, had gone somewhere else, somewhere away from Steve. Deep down, based on what he knew of the man, it really wasn't surprising…but Christ in heaven it hurt.
Unable to stop himself, he slid down the side of the vehicle until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the garage floor. His mind should be chaos in the wake of this turn of events—was anyone with him…where did he go…had he left while they were all out last night…was he even okay? These questions and more were swirling so fast in his head, but in the epicenter of the turmoil was the truth, unmoving and inerasable, Tony had left his home, his friends and his team because he didn't want to be near Steve. The sting behind his eyelids was back for the third time in the past few hours, but he didn't fight it this time, he gave himself over to the tears.
Natasha had been hesitant about leaving him like that, but he'd pulled out his command tone, or as close as he could while chocking back sobs, and she relented after a long, hard look into his eyes. She saw that he needed to be alone, that he would have his meltdown and then seek her out when he was ready to talk. She hadn't told him that Clint and Dr. Banner were currently unaccounted for either, but that detail wasn't anything to him right now when compared to the loss of Stark after Steve's so recent revelation.
The odd thing was, even though she felt sorry for Steve, had been with him throughout most of his self discovery over the past few days, she couldn't really blame Stark for leaving. And God she wanted to, wanted to blame him for having to leave their Captain so grief stricken, huddled on the garage floor. Steve was hurting, yes, but Tony was hurting just as badly, if not more. In the harsh light of truth, Stark hadn't really done anything wrong and Steve only had himself to blame. Admitting that, even to herself was hard, and she was going to kill Barton for leaving without telling her. She could have delayed them, kept them all here until Steve had gone to see Tony; it had probably been a matter of a few hours at most. Fuck!
When he finally pushed himself up from the floor it was more than an hour later. He was cold from the floor, he hated to be cold, and still wasn't used to it despite the frigid showers courtesy of the resident AI, and he was very tired. He hadn't slept or eaten in…a day maybe, it was hard to even remember things like that anymore, but his body was screaming at him to rectify the neglect. He could usually go longer without feeling the effects but he supposed the emotional wreck he'd been recently was as draining as physical activity. He should eat, shower—okay, no shower—and find Natasha, but all he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep. He didn't want to think, thinking led to…more crying, actually. His mom had always said some times you just needed a good cry, and until recently he'd never seen the wisdom in that…but he should have known better, his mother was a very competent woman.
It was hours lying there before sleep finally took him. He'd thought about Schmidt's plane, about how when he'd committed to his sacrifice in his mind he'd known he'd be hurting the people he left behind. There weren't many it would affect personally, but for that handful he knew it would be hard. He knew they would have to live on without him, and they did. But this wasn't like that; there was nothing noble about the way he had handled himself, and Tony choosing—probably rightfully so—to live without him hurt so damn much he couldn't stand it. The fact that Tony thought it was Steve's choice to be without him made it even worse. Forgetting the physical stuff, something he would have a hard time doing, they were good friends too, a friendship that had not been easy in forging.
Would he have to wake up tomorrow and start all over yet again? He wasn't sure he could do it, wasn't sure he could deal with the heartache and despair while trying to get through just a day. There were so many people counting on him now that it seemed wrong to just give up, even for a little while. And this really wasn't that different from Tony not wanting him in the hospital room, he'd been about to defy that particular wish and sneak in to apologize anyways. He realized then that he needed to hear Tony actually say the words if he didn't love Steve, that speculation would never solve anything, but if Tony could look him in the eye and say he didn't love Steve then he would leave it at that…but he needed to hear it before he could let it effect decisions about himself and the team.
That thought, and the decision to find Tony starting tomorrow is what finally calmed him enough to get some rest.
The next day was challenging. It started with another cold shower, but he refused to say anything. Then he combed the internet for anything new about Tony, any sightings or gossip. He hated the unfounded assumptions made about anyone, but Tony seemed a particular draw for the media, and there were so many incorrect beliefs about him. Steve didn't need reminding that he had once subscribed to those same false presumptions, and adding hypocrite to the list of faults against Tony was tantamount to one grain of sand on a beach. Right now he would settle for anything though, any hint about where the man could be no matter what the source.
His search proved fruitless, as did asking JARVIS. He wasn't stupid; at least when it came to most things other than genius billionaires, so he knew the absence of Dr. Banner and Clint had to be related to Tony. They would be missed by S.H.I.E.L.D. though. Maybe not Tony, especially while injured, but he left for meetings and mergers all the time and Steve wouldn't put it past Miss Potts to have made up a cover story for Tony's disappearance. This felt different, like Tony planned to be away for a while, and the fact that he'd taken his robots with him was a very telling sign.
He'd tried calling and texting the man, both to no avail. He never saw Tony without his phone, so either the inventor was ignoring him or he'd obtained, most likely made, himself a new one. Steve also knew that Tony's plane hadn't flown in the past week, which meant it was still in New York, so if the futurist was far away, he'd gotten there some other way. Flying commercial was out of the question, Tony claimed he was "allergic" to it, and all of his cars were still in the garage. Steve had also checked S.H.I.E.L.D. just in case, he seriously doubted Tony would ask any favors of Fury, but it could have been Clint's doing so he looked into it. No quinjets or vehicles of any kind were unaccounted for or checked out by Barton, Banner or Stark.
Damn, he had no idea where else to look. He didn't want to go to Fury with this, and Miss Potts, Col. Rhodes, Bruce and Clint were either MIA as well or just plain out of the question. Thor and Natasha had no idea, nor did Dr. Foster. Around dinner time he had pleaded with JARVIS again to tell him, pushing aside his firm belief that Tony should be the first to hear the words Steve needed to say.
"JARVIS, please," He begged, his tone was remorseful, but he couldn't quite hide the hint of irritation at the AI. "Can you at least get a message to him for me? I want to know that he's okay."
"Your wish is not my command, Captain Rogers." The supercomputer's voice was firm and cold. And as much as he disliked JARVIS at the moment, he loved Tony more for it. Yes, the AI was driving him crazy, but he was having this argument, and not the first, with a non-living, yet thinking creation of Tony's. There was real emotion in the voice and it was astounding, no matter how petulant it could be at times. There was also the small detail the JARVIS had the upper hand…as always.
"I really need to talk to him about this JARVIS; there are things to be said." He wasn't presenting a very strong case, he knew, but if he could just get the AI to tell Tony to call he could take it from there.
JARVIS didn't say anything, but his reply came in the form of Steve's computer coming to life, and a playback filling the screen. Steve recognized it immediately; it was from about two weeks ago. He was in Tony's room getting dressed while Tony lounged on the bed still naked, flushed and gorgeous after some pretty amazing sex. He heard his lover's voice through the speakers and felt his knees give a little.
"Hey babe, can you stay for a bit, I wanted to talk about us for a minute." There was a radiant smile on Tony's face, his secret smile, a smile he only ever shared with Steve and he would give anything to be able to see that smile in person again.
"Well I have to get back," he heard himself say dismissively.
He sat down on the bed, needing the support because he just remembered how the rest of the scene went. "Besides, what's there to talk about? This is good right?" And he watched himself ruffle Tony's hair, like he was a kid, or a dog. Then his phone rang and he saw himself look down at it excitedly, he remembered it was Claire who had called him then and all thoughts about Tony had been forgotten. He could hardly watch himself walk away but as he noticed the bright, beautiful look on Tony's face morph into visible hurt, he wondered if he had seen the expression that day would it have been enough for him to pull his head out of his ass sooner.
Asking for JARVIS' help was no longer an option, obviously.
He spent the next day and a half on his private floor, not wanting to see anyone. He had called Natasha only to learn she had no leads either and asked her to keep him informed. His phone hadn't rung. Most of the time he paced agitatedly, like a fox outside the hen house, but sometimes he drew, and every thought and every sketch were of Tony.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who is reading and especially those leaving feedback.