Tony finally is able to relax Steve's hands enough the pull them from where they've been gouging into his eyes. He stands, feeling overwhelmed, emotions fighting for dominance.
He's not getting used to the way they approach like a tidal wave and crash through him, but he is getting used with how to keep from drowning in it.
Tony takes several deep breaths and decides he needs to eat before he can make any rational decision. He does so, with Jarvis' help, and then he's staring at the phone.
After the standard amount of rings it goes to voicemail.
You've reached the voicemail box of 718–
Tony hangs up.
Slowly he walks to the elevator, presses Cap's floor, and lets it take him there. Everything's quiet as he crosses the main living area and down to the rooms along the hallway.
His knuckles rap softly, "Cap?"
No answer.
He raps harder, and he takes a deep breath before asking louder, "Steve?"
Still no answer.
"JARVIS?" He asks, "is he not in his room?"
He's not in the tower, sir.
Tony flicks his eyes up to the ceiling. "And that's not something you felt like informing me about before I came all the way down here?" He shifts, agitated at the way the fabric brushes against his skin.
You didn't ask, sir.
Tony gapes at the response. "What did I do to piss you off?"
I don't have emotions, sir.
Tony rolls his eyes at the obvious avoidance in answering the question. Why he created such a highly evolved and snippy AI is beyond him sometimes.
And in truth he knows the answer. If he watched the tape of the interview, that means Jarvis watched it too.
"I don't know why you're taking sides." He grumbles, "I'm trying to apologize here." He scratches at his skin and huffs.
Ah, is that what you're doing? Jarvis intones blandly.
Tony glares at the ceiling and stomps back to the elevator.
—-
Steve makes it to Maryland before he stops at a diner. He's now glad for the different style of clothing he'd let Jarvis choose and the fact that he'd styled Tony's hair differently. Sunglasses get perched on his nose and he tries to act nonchalant as he sits in a booth.
"What can I get ya, sweetheart?"
When she doesn't seem any the wiser about who he might be, he orders a meal and coffee and tries to think.
If he's not fighting… what can he do? What use is he to this world? He's not Tony Stark. A man who is changing the way the world looks at energy.
He's just Steve.
Well. Hopefully he will be again soon.
And the lie sticks in his chest.
Does he hope to be himself again?
The woman drops the coffee off and he nods in thanks, stirring in the cream and sugar aimlessly.
—-
Tony goes through the security tapes and sees Steve stare at the tower before looking like he changes his mind and goes to the garage, getting his bike. It's strange seeing his own body drive a bike that's much too big for it, but Steve seems to manage just fine.
Tony instructs Jarvis to track him through street cams or satellites and then he gets into one of his cars and he starts driving.
—
Incoming call from Nick Fury
Tony stares at Steve's phone. They still hadn't switched back although he's not sure they should, as the wrong voice answering the phone would lead to more questions than they have answers. His nerves fire, his adrenaline spikes. He wants to punch something. He takes a deep breath and ignores the call.
He's only two blocks from the tower when it happens again.
Incoming call from Nick Fury
He should answer.
He really doesn't want to answer.
Steve would answer.
He clicks answer.
"Hello?"
"Solo mission briefing coming your way. There's a volatile situation we need stealth on. Hostages and not a lot of time. Are you at the tower?"
"No…"
"How quick can you get there?"
He grimaces, "just a couple minutes."
"Quinjet is on its way. You're swapping out with Clint and Natasha. Bring your black stealth gear and no shield. This is a faceless mission. Mission briefing sent to your phone."
He hears another beep and then a click.
Tony slams his palm against his wheel where it bends under his strength. He stares at it in surprise. "Shit." The range of the serum's force on his emotions is fluctuating wildly.
And then he turns around.
—
After eating and paying, Steve stands beside his bike. In truth it's too big for Tony's shorter legs but he'd been able to handle it just fine.
Now the question is… what to do? He can't stomach the thought of going back to the tower. So he kicks the bike into life and keeps driving south.
—
Tony glares at the two assassins who are trying very hard not to laugh as they disembark the Quinjet. He's already beyond pissed to be back in a skin tight/hella aggravating suit. Them mocking him isn't helping.
Clint pats him on the shoulder as he walks past, "good luck. Don't get killed."
He frowns, "I'm not choosing to go." He snaps, "what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"What would happen if you get killed?" Natasha asks with a smirk, "would Steve inherit your body and money?"
"Ha-ha." Tony mocks, "hilarious."
Then her face shifts to serious, "for real. We don't actually know what would happen to you guys. So don't get hurt." Then she laughs, "and don't touch anything."
He's about to mock her again when he gasps. Reaching out and snagging her arm, pulling her to a stop. The realization striking him like lightning.
"Tony?" Natasha asks, "what is it?"
"I touched that thing."
Her brow furrows, "what?"
"On that last mission. The one that we went on as a team, you told me not to touch anything, but I knocked over that artifact—" his eyes widen, "it cracked."
"What cracked?" She asks.
Clint is tilting his head, "and who cares? Was it like valuable or something?"
Tony shakes his head, "I don't know. But we were in the spooky section right? The room was full of supposedly cursed Mayan artifacts. Maybe…" he feels stupid thinking it. But it's the only thing he can think of that maybe started all this. "Maybe one of them was actually cursed."
Natasha huffs, "are you? Tony Stark, master of science, stating curses are real?"
"Magic is just science we don't understand yet." He snaps, borrowing one of his dad's lines. "You need to go back to that compound."
"And do what! We were there collecting intel and evidence without anyone knowing. We can't just walk in and ask for stuff—"
"Well then I guess that's why you're the best stealth agents Shield has. Use one of my jets and hop on over there—"
"Oh yeah, fucking hop on over to another country real quick after just working our asses off. No big deal—"
"Barton." He snaps. "Stop whining." And then pauses as they both freeze at his tone.
"Did you just—" Clint snorts, "you used his Captain's voice—"
"I did not—"
"You did." Natasha adds, laughing, "you sounded just like Steve."
"Shut up." He glares at them. "No go. I'll send JARVIS the information."
He steps towards the quinjet and onto the ramp. He turns, about to hit the button to raise the gangplank. And he pauses.
They stare at him, as if waiting. His anxiety rises, suddenly crushing his chest. He doesn't have his suit, his protection.
"Tony?"
His eyes flick to Clint who looks concerned, "you okay?"
"No." He bites out, "what do I even do? Did I inherit Cap's fighting skills? I've seen him take bullets and not say anything, and I know he's a liar now. That shit is going to hurt—" he takes a deep breath, clutching at the vest part of the suit as it's trying to suffocate him, "It's happening again." He gasps for air, the serum overwhelming him with a thousand different things.
"Breathe, Tony—" Natasha is saying, "do what he said, think of calming things."
"Should I call Bruce?" Clint asks.
"He's working at that lab in Philly, remember?"
"Shit, right."
He's crouched now and trying to follow their advice. Pepper. Cars. Machines. THings that run on oil. Things that have an engine. Things that can be taken apart and put back together with his bare hands. None of this emotional human bullshit. He hates this. This sucks.
The quinjet beeps.
Incoming call from Nick Fury.
"Shit—" he breathes out, but that reminder sends him into a sort of forced calm. He needs to get going. He needs to do this. He sucks in a deep breath and stands, eyeing them. "I have to go."
They stare at him in surprise but they step back, not saying anything.
He slams his half gloved hand on the button and the ramp begins to rise.
And Steve's sensitive hearing betrays them.
"I do not like where this is going." He hears Natasha say at the ramp latches closed, "we're all so screwed."
—-
In Georgia someone recognizes him. He grimaces and takes off quickly after, but he knows a photo of that is going to end up on the internet and he's so tired. Why does Tony have to be so freaking famous?
Sure, in New York some people would recognize him. But if he was dressed casually and with a hat? He could get away from crowds easily. But Tony's facial hair is like a beacon.
Not two minutes later, Tony's phone rings and he sees it's Pepper.
"Hello?"
"Steve? Why are you in Georgia?"
He grimaces, "I'm running away."
She snorts and he lets out a half laugh with a half grin at having made her laugh. Always when she finds him during or after an attack, he'll try to let her know he's okay by making a joke.
"I got rid of the interview okay? It's killed. So just come home."
"That's the thing, Pepper." He responds quietly, "I don't have one. Who the hell did I think I was fooling? I don't belong here."
"Steve—"
"You listened to the interview. Right?"
The silence is her answer.
"You heard what Tony said. And—" he huffs, "He's right. When is Tony not right?"
""All the time." Pepper snaps, "he's wrong all the time. And he's just Tony. He says shit because his feelings are hurt. So I'm not saying right this second. But when you're ready… come home. You may not have originally intended to be here in this time and maybe you don't necessarily belong in this time period. But you belong here on this team. As my friend. As Natasha's friend and Clint's friend and Tony's frenemy. Bruce is your friend, Thor is your friend. You have friends here. Now. Who want you here. So please, stay, will you?"
"You're saying that like I have the option of leaving."
He hates the words right as he says them.
After a small pause, her voice is soft as she responds. "Everyone has the option of leaving. And everyone is wrong. You're not just needed here Steve. You're wanted. There's a difference."
"As Ca—"
"No. As Steve."
His throat gets tight and he says nothing.
"You'll come back?"
"Somehow you always know what to say." He huffs.
"Good. I'll see you when you get back. Bye Steve."
"Bye Pepper."
He looks north. It would take him well into the wee hours of the morning to get back to New York. So… maybe not right now.
—
"Now! Get out of here now!" Tony bellows, not only hearing but feeling the way STeve's lungs project those words like they have a built in megaphone. His chest expands and contracts rapidly as his boots pound on the ground. He'd finally gotten the last hostages out and was on a mission to find the last of the rouge agents and dispel or capture them.
His hearing picks up the zing and he spins, dropping to the ground and avoiding the bullet by an inch and rolling back onto his feet. His foot kicks out, nailing the man in the chest and sending him flying.
He keeps running, using Steve's hearing to follow the sounds of the men shouting to each other.
At first it had been awful. He was thinking too hard, trying to remember his fight moves and basics of hand to hand combat from after his capture. But after the first bullet to the leg, which had felt like someone had ripped a hole in his skin and poured fucking lava into it, adrenaline and rage had taken over. Suddenly he wasn't thinking at all. Steve's body and muscles seemed to go on autopilot for him. He would kick, punch, shoot, jump and tear through the men without a second thought.
Especially when seeing the hostages all bruised and beaten and terrified? He thought the serum's amplification of his anger would shred himself apart.
The only thought he kept thinking over and over was, how does Steve not lose it all the fucking time?
—what you think is me acting perfect is me making sure I never let myself make a mistake—
Tony dodges a fist and sends the next guy flailing. His leg kills.
His suit aggravates.
His hearing pulses too loud.
His skin crawls with all the adrenaline.
HE HATES BEING IN THIS FUCKING BODY.
Tony growls and the sound echoes in the cavernous factory. "Come out and fight you cowards!" He bellows, knowing there are more hiding. But he's ready to wrap this up.
When no one responds, he grabs a nearby piece of scrap machinery and throws it across the room. The loud clang makes several heartbeats jump in surpirse.
He narrows his eyes in the direction of the now terrified heartbeats and he stalks over like a predator tracking its prey.
—-
"Good job. No press on this one. And your therapist contacted me—"
"Fuck you, and your press conferences and your required therapy." Tony snaps, "you either release Ste—" he chokes on his words, the fight response from battle still coming crashing down. Steve had done the same thing in the interview, "—me from whatever indentured servitude shit you have me under or I go to the press myself of my own violation. And I make your life and Shield's life miserable. Do you understand Nicholas Joseph Fury?"
And then he hangs up. He's so strung out on pain and his blood pounding and his adrenaline crashing that he can't believe what he just did but it's too late to undo it now. Pepper's going to yell at him again.
It doesn't matter. He can't even barely think enough to care.
He just knows he can't have Steve unwillingly going into battle if everything feels like how he feels right now.
If Steve chooses to fight, fine. If he wants to, fine.
But never forced. Never again.
He tries to breathe in and it's shaky, like someone has punched him too hard in the diaphragm and he can't get enough air. He's ripping off the suit top and throwing it against the wall of the plane. He accidentally scrapes at his skin with the force of him ripping at the laces and yanking off Steve's combat boots.
There's blood under his fingernails and he draws more blood trying to get it out.
He's crying. When did he start crying?
His hands shake as he sinks to the Quinjet floor. Glad the autopilot on it works.
—