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By now, it's been weeks of keeping each other at arm's length as soon as any discussion pertaining to teamwork is over, weeks of working under an illusion of harmony whose depth strikes Steve as shallow. Certainly, they're being more careful whenever they're out in the field now, but it's also true that there have been close calls that could have spelled disaster if only something had gone out of control, and he can't help thinking that the reason is that the trust they used to have in one another has been eroded. It's not just him and Tony; it's everybody acting wary as though they had to watch their backs from their own friends. Deep down, however, he knows that's exactly where it all began. Him and Tony.
T'Challa had kept him abreast of the developments beyond what the news outlets reported, of how Tony had advocated on their behalf and cleared Bucky's name, at least as far as Vienna was concerned. He hadn't been entirely successful in all of his pursuits, but there had been calls for more transparency surrounding the Accords. The fact that a new threat appeared on the horizon took care of the rest. It soon became clear that the remaining Avengers wouldn't be able to handle everything on their own, and true to his promise, Steve and the others were ready to come back when they needed them the most.
It should have been the start of a new chapter, except that certain cracks don't heal as easily. It's come to the point where Rhodes' outlook seems the most sober, even though he's been the most affected—physically. Clint, for instance, made sure to give Tony a piece of his mind before he went back to his family, leaving his retirement up in the air.
"He'll return," Natasha had said matter-of-factly, giving Tony's arm a light squeeze. Steve had never seen Tony look as chastised, but perhaps that was one of the things that had changed while Steve was gone.
"You know I stand where you do," Sam has told him, but that's the most difficult part, being able to tell where he stands and whether he still fits in the team. The answer, of course, depends on Tony. There were two sides to his offer, and Steve wants him to know that he would step down if Tony asked him to, not that he thinks he would be inclined to do it. Albeit in other words, he said as much just before he returned Steve's shield looking as good as new.
You're still the leader, Captain. It's not my call. They're the ones who choose, and they choose to follow you. It's always been you. Nothing has changed in that respect.
But things have changed all right, and Steve is at a loss what to do. It was easy to know how to act when his principles were on the line, but this is something else entirely. He seems to stumble like Vision does around Wanda, as though he were both compelled and bewildered by her.
Steve is no better, for even though he's never wavered when everything he believed in was at stake, it's harder to deal in absolutes when it becomes personal. There's no black and white then. Instead, it's a world of shades, one where Tony's approach to things makes perfect sense. In Tony's world, very little is off-limits. He would rather find a way around the alternatives presented to him than go along with anything that didn't suit him. Steve used to liken it to cheating, but that same mentality was what made him feel so certain he could do no wrong by remaining nothing but staunchly loyal to Bucky and what he knew to be the truth. But each war has its casualties, and Tony has been one of them.
Steve wants to say that he's tried to make amends, but he hasn't gotten as much as a word in edgewise. In fact, between the one message Tony sent him saying he and the others were needed and their last confrontation, they haven't really talked in earnest. Tony made himself quite clear before that, refusing to even look at Steve.
Being around Tony nowadays is like walking around jagged scraps of metal. It hadn't been like that before, and that's why Steve owes it to him to keep trying, to be the one to cut the barbed wire Tony has laid around himself not to let anyone in. He has to try, even if it's a difficult task in and of itself. It's been a few days since anyone last saw Tony for anything longer than a couple of minutes, and although Steve finds himself standing before Tony's room once and again, he knows it remains empty. The last thing he heard was that he kept tinkering with new prototypes for Rhodes' sake with hardly a break in between.
Steve would like to tell Tony that he doesn't have to wreck his body in the process, that guilt can't be the sole thing driving him forward, but how on Earth can he get him to listen? Steve himself didn't, and Tony is a stubborn man, a hard-headed fool—though not as foolish as Steve is—and he can't stand the idea that this is how it's going to be between them from now on.
"I suppose it's not your ambiguous status as both hero and outlaw what's on your mind as of late, is it?"
"Natasha," Steve says without quite turning, giving a small nod to acknowledge her presence.
"How long have you been standing there? Is your coffee even warm anymore?"
Truth be told, he had forgotten about it. He takes a sip from the cup he's holding and grimaces. Predictably, it has gone cold long ago. "No."
"I hate to break it out to you, but watching a door morosely isn't going to get you anywhere."
His lips curve slightly. "Is it that obvious?"
"To everybody except the relevant parties. Listen, you seem to need permission to seek him out. You have my blessing, so go. He must be in his lab."
"Thank you, Nat."
"You're welcome. And this is one appalling, watery mess," she says with a look of disgust, taking the cup out of Steve's hands.
* * *
Save for the glow of the screens that have been left in display, the laboratory is cast in shadows and silent. His first reaction is concern—if Tony isn't here, then where is he? He scans the room but nothing seems amiss until he takes notice a piece of broken glass.
"Tony?" Steve asks, but he doesn't get an answer. He covers the rest of the place in a few strides, and that's when he finds Tony lying on the floor, trying to get up and failing. He goes to his side at once. "Tony, are you okay?"
The very first emotion on Tony's face is dread, and although it's quickly masked by anger, it stays on Steve's mind like a branding mark. "What do you care!"
Steve gulps, and ignoring his protests, he helps him as best he can. Tony keeps trying to undermine his efforts by pushing him away, but Steve eventually manages to make Tony sit on the makeshift bed he has propped against a wall.
"Is this where you've been sleeping?"
"Sleeping," Tony says with a snort. He looks haggard, with dark, deep-set bags under his eyes. He couldn't have been sleeping much, if at all. "You know, I hate it when you use that sanctimonious tone on me. But I'll have you know that no matter how good you've got them fooled, you don't know any better than anyone, Captain, so piss off."
Tony's anger is almost tangible, a red-hot burn in the pit of Steve's stomach. It kills Steve to have Tony look at him that way, but he doesn't falter. He levels his eyes on Tony and refuses to look away. "You should lie down."
"Make me," Tony says, and though he puts up a fight, it isn't hard to push him against the bed. He's never seen Tony look this exhausted. "Always doing as you please, huh? Don't you ever get tired of getting away with everything?"
"Tony," Steve starts just as he hears Tony's teeth chattering, a single small thing that brings him memories of ice.
"I'll go get a blanket."
"Don't even think about it, Rogers," comes Tony's voice, hoarse and ragged. Bitter. Gone is that slightly playful tone that Steve used to find exasperating and that he now misses. The last time he heard it was the day Tony came to meet him and Bucky, putting their differences aside to lend him a hand because, in spite of what everybody thinks, Tony is the better man out of the two of them.
What would anyone have done in Tony's place after learning the truth about their parents? What would Steve have done if he had seen Peggy murdered in cold blood? He would be lying if he said he would have reacted differently. It would have been hard to think clearly and simply forgive as though nothing had been the matter. But Steve had kept that secret to himself instead of telling Tony, and now he sees that he had no right.
"Here," Steve says, letting the blanket wrap Tony's body before he goes to sweep the broken glass, and although Tony bats his hands away, he still pulls the blanket around him when he thinks Steve isn't looking.
Tony sizes him up from his little fort and says, "Are you going to stay here all day or what?"
"Did you want a glass of water?" Steve asks as he sweeps the last pieces of glass and throws them in the bin.
"Not water, and definitely not from you," Tony retorts childishly. "What I want is something simple, really, for you to kindly go the fuck away."
"Drink some water," Steve insists, offering Tony a glass and pretending not to have heard him. They really are back at square one, if not worse, but at least Tony is speaking to him now.
"Mr. Self-Righteous," Tony says, sitting up. "Always doing what he pleases while caring fuck all about others' feelings on the matter. When does it ever end?"
"Tony—"
"Don't you dare say it's not like that. Even if you weren't my friend, you were supposed to be my father's friend, and you still did— Just give me that," Tony says, downing the water in one gulp before he sets the glass on the floor with such strength that it's a wonder he doesn't smash it.
Steve takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of all the things he has been powerless to change. If only he hadn't been seventy years late to his date with Peggy, if only he had caught Bucky before he fell into that abyss, if only he had told Tony who was responsible for his parents' death as soon as he learned about it. He tells himself that there's nothing he could have done differently, and although that might have been true when it came to Peggy and Bucky, keeping the truth from Tony had been Steve's choice, a terribly misguided one that had pushed Tony over the edge and put Bucky's life in danger. It hadn't been a matter of choosing between good and wrong. The decision, thoughtless as it had been, is all on him.
"Tony, you have every right to be angry at me."
"How rich of you to acknowledge that."
"I let you down—"
"Oh, you did much more than that. But I'm sick of having to listen to your politically correct excuses as if the only thing that mattered to you was looking good, like the can-do-no-wrong goody-two-shoes you think you are. Did you think you were infallible? Think again."
"I know I was in the wrong. I know it now," Steve says in a small voice, and for the first time, he shies away from the glassy look on Tony's eyes.
"Well, as long as you know, all's well and good, isn't it? Everything's just peachy," Tony says, voice dripping sarcasm. He sinks into the thin mattress looking tired and defeated, throwing an arm across his eyes. "Go, would you? I don't want to have to worry whether you'll end me in my sleep," Tony says, and although there's a tinge of laughter there, it's harsh and dark. "God, I was certain you were going to kill me with the shield my own father made."
Steve flinches. Suddenly, all he can think about is that if Tony hadn't had the surgery, then— He just can't bring himself to finish the thought. The idea is so horrible that it makes his blood run ice-cold. "I wish it had never come to that," Steve says meekly, and although he means every single word, it doesn't seem enough. "If I could turn back time—"
"But you can't," Tony says, stifling a yawn. "If I recall correctly, you didn't even have a choice."
So this is it. All this time Steve has been hoping against hope that Tony will find it in him to understand and forgive him, but maybe this is something they'll never be able to come back from. When all's said and done, he's come to find that he's unable to reach out to him.
Crushed, Steve starts to walk away, but he only manages to take a few steps before he stops in his tracks and pulls his hands into fists. "Maybe you don't care anymore, but nothing of what I said before that day was a lie, Tony. All the battles we fought side by side are not something I have ever forgotten. I'm not quite myself if you're not there to be my foil, and that has to count for something."
There's quiet after that, and Steve counts the seconds until they stretch into minutes. Has Tony heard him? His breathing is soft and even, and although Steve can't see his face from where he stands, Tony's body is slack against the mattress.
Steve's own stance relaxes as he turns back on his steps and sits on the floor a couple of feet away from him. There's something peaceful about his face, even if the tell-tale marks are still there—the sleepless nights, the stress that came with bearing the blame and getting his hands dirty so that others didn't need to. Steve hadn't quite understood then, but then again, it wasn't the first time he had been mistaken about Tony's motives.
"I've missed you," Steve whispers into the quiet. "God knows I have." There hasn't been a single day he hasn't thought of how he walked away from Tony just because he so sorely wanted to make it up to Bucky. It had been his chance to redeem himself and make things right by refusing to lose anyone else ever again, but now he knows there are other ways to lose those close to one's heart.
Tony is closer than ever, but Steve fears that the real distance between them is far too great. To know that there's no reason for that other than his own doing makes his chest ache in a way it hasn't since he last thought of Peggy and of what could have been.
But before he can work up the courage to say anything else, he hears Tony whimper softly, making Steve's stomach tighten. It builds up, harsher and harsher until Tony bolts awake, wild-eyed and screaming, and all Steve can do is to rush to his side at once, to hold him and feel him thrashing in his arms like a wounded animal, as though Steve's arms were once again, as they had been in his youth, not strong enough. "Tony," Steve calls. "Tony!" Afraid that Tony might hurt himself if this keeps up, Steve starts to draw away, but it only seems to make it worse. "Tony, we're in your lab. Tony, you're safe here."
Tony's harsh breathing still pounds in his ears, but it's nothing like before. In time, the tension drops from his body little by little, and despite the commotion, no one rushes in. The laboratory is soundproof, and the sudden thought that this may have been happening on a regular basis without his knowledge makes Steve feel angry with himself. Why has he never thought to ask?
Tony lies back down with dull, unseeing eyes, still shaking slightly. After a while, he blinks and lets out a shuddering breath, his hand pressed against his chest. "What the hell are you still doing here?"
"Didn't I say I would be there if you needed me? I won't move from here."
He's completely aware that he has no meaningful promises left. He can't say he'll never leave Tony's side when he has already left him behind, nor he can say that he'll always choose him when he has already done the opposite. A simple, stubborn pledge like the one he has just made means close to nothing, and it seems like Tony agrees, for he snorts and laughs darkly, fingers closing into a fist around the fabric of Steve's shirt. He can feel the tension on Tony's arm, refusing to give an inch.
Steve is stronger, more so now that Tony is sick, but when his hand wraps around Tony's forearm to keep him from tensing up, he only presses his fingertips lightly against Tony's skin. Tony almost shivers at the touch, but as a matter of principle he doesn't let go, lest Steve thinks he can have the upper hand.
"Tony," Steve says, and his voice falters. Let me stay, let me make it up to you somehow, because when there's a will, there's a way, and I refuse to believe there isn't a way out of this too. "Of all the choices I made freely, my one regret is not to have told you the truth." It's too little, too late, and Tony really is the better man, because he doesn't reach out and punch him in the face. Alas, they have to start somewhere.
"Leave it," Tony says with a hoarse voice but doesn't ask him to leave, so Steve stays. He sits on the border of the bed, with Tony's hand scrunching up his shirt and Steve's own hand lightly wrapped around Tony's wrist in an attempt to keep his pain at bay, trying to contain it and failing. But in a way, Tony is still holding on to him with all he's got, and that's relief washing over Steve. Time. They need time, time heals all wounds.
He waits until Tony falls asleep again and reaches out to him, lightly touching the crown of his head, placing his palm on Tony's forehead like Steve's mother would do when he was a child. Tony mumbles something in his sleep he can't quite understand, and Steve smooths his hair and says it again, "Tony, you're safe. Tony, I'm sorry."
Tony's grip is now loose, but he's still doesn't let go, he sure as hell doesn't let go, and Steve is never letting go again either. They only need time. He wants to believe in that so strongly. And he counts the seconds until they stretch into minutes, and then hours, and waits.