Work Text:
Steve's nerves were forged in battle, from the first moment he stood up to a kid twice his size for laying into a kid one and a half times his size. From the moment that he joined the wrestling team in school to try and get himself some even ground only to be ground into the mat time and time again. From the moment he fought in that alley and made himself get up again and again. From the moment that he threw himself on the grenade, a million thoughts flying through his mind until it finally settled on: at least the rest of them are safe. From the moment that he charged into battle, ill-advised with only a woman and a civilian on his side. From the moment he went down with the plane and then woke up in a strange world that is and is not his own. From the moment that he joined a team of people who mostly had the same goals as himself: serve and protect. From the moment that those types of decisions became his life. He doesn't regret a bit of it.
So he can recognise nerves of steel in others, respect them even. It's how he sees Tony Stark's so quickly. And irritated or not by his demeanour at first, he respected Tony for his sticking to his decisions. Despite how much of a loose cannon Nicky Fury seemed to think Tony was.
After learning Tony's life, Steve can tell you that it's decidedly not true.
Tony grew up in the public eye, always under pressure. Maybe that's why, he'd tell you in confidence when he's sure no one's listening, he didn't freak out too badly when he was held captive in the middle east. Already building incredible things by the age of four, Tony had his father's genius to live and look up to. He breezed through school, surrounded by his machines at home, entering MIT at the age of 15. He was a genius. Howard's boy. Like father like son. The public's darling. (Later the public's favourite front page disaster.) There were always expos and publicised meetings and interviews and charity events for which he performed.
And, Steve figured, Tony had created this public persona that could be trashed and used and criticised and made a whipping boy, so long as he could create and build and have space to do his own thing in his own time. Hence his workroom downstairs and Iron Man. In the quiet of his workroom, Tony was an emotionally sober man who figured out where his boundaries were and what he could get away with. "Tony Stark" was a man who could get away with a lot in the public eye, and they would forgive him for it, because 'that's just Tony.' And hey, he made good news. The papers and magazines and blogs could tear him apart, for all he cared, so long as they got a good story out of his exploits. So he very carefully didn't care and made a public nuisance of himself. Because it didn't matter. Tony had his inventions and his crazy bouts of brilliance, making him who he was. He was calculating. Always looking at things.
His mind was already so far ahead of everyone else that he didn't need to get flustered. He didn't need to freak out. His brain skipped right over that and had already begun working on three different plans to get himself out of his current mess. So Tony doesn't need to bother with the minor concerns of normal people. He just needs to kick his brain into gear and machinate a way out for himself.
So when Tony Stark looses control, it's either a calculated outlet, or it's a very bad sign.
This time, since they've no audience, Steve is going to take a wild guess and propose that it's a very bad sign.
Taking small steps up towards his tense back, Steve nibbles on his lip whilst trying to figure the best way to broach the verbal outburst that lead to Tony turning his face away, hands probably pressed to the bridge of his nose. "Tony?"
"Just..." Air gusts out his nose and he risks a look at Steve, his eyes haunted-looking before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Never mind."
"Tony," Steve says firmly, "you can't just yell at me like that and then expect me to believe you and accept you saying it's nothing."
"I didn't say it's nothing."
"'Never mind' in Tony speak is like saying 'it's nothing.' Which is never nothing!" He glares, feeling a little foolish as he realises his hands are on his hips. He feels mortified when he realises he probably looks like his mother. It does, however, wring a semi-amused grin out of Tony.
"You speak my language now."
"Oh come on. It's not like we haven't worked together for long enough that I know when you say, 'I have work to do' really means that you want to be alone with your machines because you're too wrung out with people to deal with them anymore. And I know when you say, 'I'm not hungry' you really probably are, but it means you want to continue with your work, uninterrupted, but you appreciate the effort people go through to make you take care of yourself. Tony, I know you."
Tony drops his eyes, face tensing in thought.
"You do what you have to; I get that. But I wish you'd share more with me. You know that I'm here for you, so whatever you were just yelling about a minute ago, I think I could use a re-explanation."
"Oh for fuck's sake."
Steve blinks.
"You're an idiot. A giant idiot."
"I'm sorry?"
"You should be!" Tony throws up his hands and shakes his head, his second wind coming in strong. "You think you're invincible! The great Captain America!"
"What? To—"
"You're only human, Steve! Superhuman, yeah! But you're only human! And you can't! You can't do shit like that! You have to be careful!"
Steve blinks. "Is this about the fight four days ago?"
"Of course it's about the fight four days ago!" Tony yells.
And really yells. Tony doesn't yell a whole lot because he doesn't have the voice for it. When he yells, his voice kind of goes up. So he prefers to stick to sarcasm and cutting wit to take people down, not shouting. But he's really shouting at Steve. Voice cracking and everything.
"You can't be stupid about this shit! Otherwise you're going to get yourself killed!"
He can appreciate the irony of this situation. That's for sure. Steve shakes his head. "What, so it's okay to risk your life, but not for me to risk mine?"
"It's different," Tony insists, brow furrowed. "You lead the team!"
And suddenly he was furious. He stalked over and grabbed Tony's shoulder, giving them a little shake. "I thought we talked about this, Tony. You are every bit as valuable to this team, and you are more valuable to me."
Tony scowled. "You don't get it, do you."
"Get what?"
"It'd be okay for me to die—"
"Tony!"
"No, let me finish." He turned his gaze up to him, eyes intent and sincere, and so very blue. "You could survive my death, Steve. You could go on. Fight the good fight. Do the soldier thing and. Yeah. You could do it." He paused and sucked in air, eyes flicking away. Voice quiet. "I couldn't survive your death, Steve. It would break me."
"Oh Tony..." The words were hardly more than a gust of air.
Tony looked away completely, talking again. "And it doesn't mean you love me any less than I love you. It just... Jesus. I know that. You're made of stronger stuff. This is... I just. Well. You know I've lost. A lot. Of. Of people. Of stuff. Of respect. And I just... I don't think..."
"Okay! Okay! Jesus, Tony!" He interrupted finally, voice breaking along wit his heart as Tony tried to explain.
He sighed, tension leeching out of him. He settled for meeting Steve's gaze and said with clarity, "I can't do it without you, Steve."
He nodded.
"You can stop. Stop nodding."
He stopped.
"And you can kiss me now."
Steve chuckled lowly and shook his head, letting his hands slide down Tony's arms until they encircled his wrists loosely.
"Just wanted to see if you'd keep following orders."
"Your orders aren't always good."
Tony grinned at him crookedly, expression still holding some of his earlier desperation. "One last one then. If you're going down, survive or make sure I'm right there with you."
"Promise," he lied.
Tony smiled.