Chapter Text
Waking up is heavy and slow, like floating adrift on a sea full of wrecked hulls and rusty scrap parts—no movement forward, just sinking and sinking before making it to the surface by chance. It's also out of the ordinary for him. He usually wakes up with a start, but today opening his eyes is an exercise in willpower, and although he runs on sheer resolve and genius on the regular, it's also about self-preservation. God only knows what he might dream about if he keeps on sleeping, and given that it's a decidedly obnoxious thing to find your heart lurching on you so many times a day, why take a chance?
But he doesn't really have a choice in the matter because that's exactly what his heart does next, though with good reason. He's not alone, Tony realizes, and the thought is sobering. He's not alone and he's been slow to react like an idiot when he could be in danger and—
And then he finds Cap—Rogers, there's a difference—hovering over him, and something catches in his throat because he knows it's coming, the shield is coming down on Tony any moment now like a guillotine, except there's no cold here, only warmth. Tony blinks, his brain on overdrive and flying blind because he can't even ask FRIDAY for help, he can't even speak, and then he truly looks at Rogers, who's dozing undisturbed as if Tony weren't losing his goddamn mind right next to him, and Tony can only gape. Typical Rogers.
For a moment, Tony doubts whether this isn't a scenario implemented through BARF, but he's too aware for that. And he would have never made it so that the light filtering through the windows touched Rogers just so, putting such a ridiculous halo around him that it makes Tony's stomach twist in something he can't quite describe. He would have made him look as ordinary as the last time, as if his looks didn't need further enhancement because they don't, and the implicit admission of weakness brings him shame.
It humiliates him to admit that he was weak enough to misuse state-of-the-art technology on the memory of someone who didn't deserve it and on an incident that paled in the face of actual traumatic experiences, a subject he knows a little about, thank you very much. But most of all, it shames him to know that it was an abject failure, a complete waste of resources. He was just as broken after having a virtual replica of Steve tell him the truth, just as much as he had been in the beginning.
But if this isn't a dream nor the reinterpretation of a memory, then what the hell is it? How can he begin to explain why Steve Rogers is there, adding insult to injury by sleeping peacefully in Tony's face and closing in on his personal space when nobody invited him to crash on his lab? Not only that, he's also touching Tony. His fingers are warm on Tony's wrist while Tony's own hand is holding on to Rogers' shirt, and Tony's seriously done going from whiplash to whiplash in the roller-coaster that has been waking up today, not to mention that it comes in addition to the splitting headache that's making all of his face pulse as if it had a life of its own. Because he did make use of BARF again, now that he's fully awake and able to remember, but it was his mother that he last saw, and all of a sudden the bile comes up again and doesn't go away.
He remembers everything and the warmth of Rogers' hand stings at once. It's just pain, that's all it is. It suggests a kind of intimacy that he would have welcomed oh so many times back when he didn't know any better, but that he finds painful in excess now. And if he turns on his side and shoves Rogers out of the narrow bed in the process, it can't really come as a surprise, can it? He just doesn't play well with others, especially if said others stick a knife in his back and a shield in his chest at the same time.
A thud follows, then a dazed "Tony?" and he wonders for how long he can pretend to be still sleeping. But Rogers isn't stupid, he'll figure it out.
"So you're still there," Tony says. "Out of spite, I suppose."
"Tony," Rogers says, and it comes out nuanced. Tony picks up at least a dozen unspoken things in there because there's still a small part of him that is in tune with Rogers despite the mind-boggling, serum-augmented idiocy that comes with the package, but the matter of the fact is that he doesn't want to hear any of them.
"Your grace period is almost over and the clock is ticking. What are you going to do about it?" Tony says sharply, clear-cut, and to the point, and it's a small relief to see that Rogers remains on the floor, looking up at Tony instead of coming from above, ready to deliver the final blow. "Surely you don't think that the Accords won't come up again after the collective relief of finding Earth whole wears off. Unlike thankfulness, fear is long-lasting, Captain. They're just biding their time until public opinion shifts its attention to the next shiny thing. And when that happens, all the warm feelings and We're-ever-so-grateful-for-your-cooperation's won't mean jack shit. And then, what will happen when we are in a bind again? You tell me."
Rogers passes his hand through his hair and sighs so deeply it almost makes Tony's heart ache. Almost, because Rogers has lost that kind of privilege. "You still want me to sign."
"It's such a small thing," Tony says with a mocking little smile, clearing his throat so that it doesn't sound like he's pleading with him. Never again. "You yourself acted under provisions made in the treaty, which you would know if you had bothered to read it. I know, I know, it looks like the world's dullest paperweight, but there have been amendments ever since. It's got, what, a few pages less than before? It totally makes for breakfast reading material. Read it, for crying out loud."
Rogers looks straight into his eyes, and before he even opens his mouth, Tony just knows he's going to say something dreadfully short-sighted and stupid. "And how is reading it going to change anything?"
And there you go. It's almost as if Rogers enjoys this, pushing all of his buttons and driving him up a wall. The man has perfected pigheadedness into an art form and there doesn't seem to be anything he can say or do to make him change his mind. Still, Tony plays his cards anyway because, apparently, he's a kind benefactor and patron of lost causes. "So you're entirely comfortable strutting around like a morally ambiguous son of a gun for the whole world to see?"
It stings Rogers so much that it makes him flinch. Tony knows questioning his morality stings him good, and that's nothing short of wonderful because this terribly stubborn man is about to make him cry with his obstinacy, and Tony won't shed a single tear more. Not after he sobbed all that he did in that abandoned base in Siberia, anyway, ugly mute cries that made him think Captain fucking America had crushed his windpipe after all.
"It's not morally ambiguous if I know what's right, Tony."
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Tony says, smirking like he has been waiting all this time to throw this little nugget back at Rogers' face, which he has.
"In this," Rogers says, and the emphasis isn't lost on Tony, "I know what's right."
"You just can't stand there in the middle of the road like a dumb rock o' righteousness, for fuck's sake! You remain as an outlaw, you get hunted down. And if you cared about what's right, you wouldn't be keen on diverting resources away from real world problems while they go and try to catch you."
"It wouldn't be me the one who doesn't have their priorities straight, then."
It's really a split of a second, but for a moment there both of them remain in silence staring at each other, and it's a throwback to that moment in Siberia when a truce seemed more likely than shit hitting the fan. Because in this Rogers is right. Who in their right mind would chase Captain America as if he were a common thief?
"Listen here," Tony says, jumping out of the bed and stumbling because his head hurts like it's splitting in two, and Rogers catches him in time, which is completely unnecessary because he's good and he needs to pace around the lab right now. He can almost pretend they're sparring ideologically for funsies, that they're walking together towards a common goal. He wants to push past his anger and just talk like before until something good comes out of it, and he wants it badly enough to keep on trying.
"You say reading it isn't going to change a thing, Cap-tain," Tony says, quickly adding the rest of it and cutting the familiarity out of his voice because they aren't in good terms and Tony can only pretend so much. "And I say signing it won't change a thing either. Let's forget for a moment that the document has been improved. If you don't sign and refuse to retire, you break the law. If you sign and refuse to hold yourself accountable to what's written in there, which isn't as bad as you think it is, you break the law. If you're planning on breaking the law anyway, doesn't it make more sense to go with the option that buys us time and takes it easy on the team?"
"It's a band-aid solution, Tony. For all I know, the punishment for breaking the law after a signature can be effectively worse, and it's not me I'm worrying about. I was inside the Raft, I saw with my own eyes—"
"And it might never come to happen, you breaking the law post-signature like you got a taste of a life rife with crime and decided you liked it. It might never come to happen if we play it right, if we play the system. The Raft was a gross example of authority abuse, but it was never specified in the Accords. It would never happen now."
Rogers looks pained, and Tony knows that it's because he's going to open his big mouth again and it's not going to be in agreement. "You can't know that."
"You're a selfish bastard," Tony says, and it sounds like he's falling apart. It's not pretty. "How can you prefer being in the right over doing what's right? We can't afford to be unprepared for the next big thing. We absolutely can't afford to be divided over petty little things. I can't believe you prefer to be the fugitive leader of a cell over unit cohesion. Don't they teach you those things in the Army?"
There's a smile playing on the corner of Rogers' lips, but it might as well be a figment of his imagination because it never comes to be. "I was an atypical case within the Army."
By bringing it up, Rogers is opening himself to attack, and Tony hopes he's ready to hear about how he was small as a worm, how the powers that be that he's so against now were the ones who granted him a chance and made him the man he is today, and how almost nothing is truly his own, but at the end of the day Tony's only a man in a can, so he ends up saying in a nonchalant manner, "Right, you never fit anywhere."
Rogers' eyes light up slightly and it makes Tony feel nauseous. "You actually read the—"
"Don't even go there," Tony says between clenched teeth, and he remembers why he's angry all over again. "You're choosing having your way over having the power to effect change, and I can't believe you're being this narrow-minded. Even for an old geezer, you should be better than that."
"Tony, HYDRA infiltrated and brought down SHIELD, and you're telling me I should have blind trust in the Accords' good intentions?"
How about having some measure of trust in your teammates? How about trusting that I have read the fine print and between the lines to make sure the Accords are tight, as much as they can be at the moment? How about believing that I have done everything in my power to make sure everybody is safe going forward? Tony has a wealth of arguments to debunk Rogers' claims, really, he has been honing them to perfection in his scarce free time, but he's starting to realize that his efforts are meaningless. Keeping people safe from their own stupidity is simply a hard, thankless task, so in the end he chooses to be petty. Nobody said he was perfect.
"How about you, Captain?" Tony says, and he relishes what he's about to say so damn much that it brings an exaggerated smile to his face, each muscle pulled taut until it hurts. "You left me with the parting gift of having to watch my back at all times because I have no way to know who's going to deceive me next. Yet you don't see me burning bridges like a spoiled brat."
Watching the look on Rogers' face is the proverbial act of drinking poison and waiting for the other guy to drop dead, because it doesn't make Tony feel any better. In fact, it makes him feel like shit, but he stands by his anger and lets any attempt at an apology get stuck in his throat where it chokes him.
"Tony, I'm sorry," Rogers breathes, and he sounds so small that Tony almost doesn't recognize him.
"Here's something else for you to consider," Tony says, raising his eyebrows. He tries to keep his voice from cracking, he thinks of surgical precision and pictures his hand remaining steady as he draws an imaginary arc of light, and it almost works. "I think you didn't even remember I was involved. At most, you shrugged me off as collateral damage from the start, and well, it wasn't like you could bring your pal Howard back to life, so you just washed your hands of all of it. Perhaps you could exploit that angle next time you find yourself in this situation, don't you think? I don't know, maybe that's easier to forgive for the next injured party, to know they were never a factor in the equation because you didn't give a single fuck about them," Tony says with a shrug because none of this matters either. He picks himself up, turns his back on Rogers, and keeps walking until he's out of there.
Small blessings do exist, after all, because he doesn't run into anyone on the way to his room, and with the way he's feeling, he doubts he could stand to face Rhodey, let alone anyone else. "Steady," he speaks under his breath until he's sure that FRIDAY has locked his door for him.
The first thing he does is jump into the shower, letting the water hit his body full force against his side. He also has another trick, hitting the tile with the heel of his hand so that the pain travels through his nerves and masks how his arm goes numb at times like he's running out of time.
Anxiety, he's been told once and again, but what is he supposed to do about it? Tony can't afford to take five and let everybody kick the bucket while he twiddles his thumbs. Even in his visions of an apocalyptic future, he's the last man standing, cheated out of the reward of eternal rest. Tony Stark can't catch a break, not even on doomsday, and while it shouldn't be funny, he can't help chuckling. Tony can't afford to buckle under pressure, and that's the truth.
If a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound? And if he cracks in the privacy of his own room, does it matter? It's a secret. No one needs to know. Can't he allow himself such a small thing? Can't he let himself mourn someone he thought he knew? It's just this one time.
"The clock is ticking, Cap," Tony whispers as if he were confiding in a dear friend long gone, and the tiny needles taking hold of his arm travel upwards and make his chest prickle. "I'm here trying to fend off everything on my own, but I'm only one man against the world, you know?" Tony says, and his voice oozes warmth right before it breaks into a sob.