[Steve isn't really sure what happened. One moment, he'd been fighting some guys who looked like monks - karate-fighting monks - and before he knew it, they'd hit him on the head. The last thing he remembers seeing is a trail of sparks in the air, and then darkness.
When he wakes up, he's in an alley somewhere, leaning up against a dumpster. A rat sniffs at his boot, and he just narrows his eyes at it. This fails to intimidate the rat, which probably means that he's in New York, not Europe.
Great. Somehow he's crossed an ocean to the exact place he doesn't want to be. With a groan, Steve pushes himself up and away from the cushioning trash bags. Between that and the beard and the ripped uniform, he looks and smells kind of...unappealing. This is apparently what his life has become.
On the bright side, the street cart vendors are used to worse, and they have no problem accepting his cash for a couple of hot dogs. So Steve walks down the street and eats his hot dogs, largely oblivious that he's managed to cross over into another world. There's one place he knows he can go for safety, and that's what he's counting on.]
[ ever since the inversions had ripped their universe apart, Tony had made sure to keep track of any strange fluctuations that happened in the universal constant. it wasn't flawless, not even close, but the attempt had managed to stop more than a few really shitty ideas from happening and also given him some sense of peace in his mind. even if, really, it is a bit hollow.
still, he is pleased that he started the damn thing when Friday chirps up in the middle of him tweaking the suit again, noting that there was a very powerful and local shift of some kind, Tony is immediately on the alert. it wasn't a large flux, small and precise, which really just makes it all the more confusing for him, because what the fuck would cause something like that?
donning the suit quickly, Tony heads out towards the coordinates Friday provided him with. it's an alley, like every other damn alley in New York.]
Friday, darling, please tell me that you can at least trace the residue to find out what came through that burst.
[ his AI mocks him, of course she can! and throws up a map on his screen, the faint blue mapping out the path taken by whatever, or whoever, came through the tear. it... leads back to the tower.
[ It's no surprise to anyone that Bucky has issues to work through. After all he's been through, all he's endured, it's only natural. How he chooses to deal with all that, though, is anyone's guess. Sometimes, it's journaling. Sometimes, it's staring off into space.
Tonight, it's a little...unorthodox.
He has Steve sit on a chair, which Steve does easily enough (and with that hopeful-concerned look in his eyes that never seems to go away). Steve trusts him, trusts Bucky, and would probably walk across hot coals for him if asked. Of course Steve wants to know what's up, but Bucky just loops a small rope around his wrists so they're behind the chair back. It's loosely knotted, but firm, more for show than anything; Steve would have no issue pulling free or snapping the fibers loose with minimal effort.
After that, Bucky steadies himself, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and holds it in front of Steve's face. He swallows, trying to work himself up to what he's about to ask. ]
Do you trust me?
[ Bucky looks like he might not even trust himself, fully. But he needs Steve to be honest with him, either way it goes. ]
[The words come easily - maybe a little too easily. But he does trust Bucky, unconditionally. Now that he's in control of himself, even if he doesn't know who he is, Steve believes he wouldn't hurt him. Theirs is a bond that's felt more than remembered, at least in his mind. (Whether or not this is accurate is another thing entirely.)
He licks suddenly dry lips, moistening them before he speaks again.]
Ever since Ultron, since they all moved to the training facility upstate, Tony's kept to himself more. Sure, he pops in to check on training sessions or grab a bite to eat, but it seems to Steve like it's more out of obligation than anything else. He's too busy working with Nat to check in on him - it seems like there's always something to do, and honestly, he's spending a lot of time with Wanda, trying to help her adjust, help her through her grief. So Steve doesn't have the time he'd like to pop in and check on Tony and make sure he's not isolating himself from everyone.
Until there's a night where Nat's dragged Wanda off for something mysterious and everyone else is capable of doing whatever it is they do in their down time by themselves (he suspects Sam and Rhodey are having one of drinking and bitching sessions, which are largely about him and Tony). Steve changes into a worn pair of jeans, pulls his leather jacket on over his t-shirt, and heads in the direction of Tony's workshop.
"You in the middle of something important?" He leans against the doorframe, watching Tony in his element. It's something he likes more than he'd strictly admit - not that he really admits to watching Tony in the first place, but there are times when his hands itch to draw the other man, to sketch him out in charcoal and smudge the lines till he gets it just right. Times when there's an intense look in his eyes that Steve's not sure he could reproduce on paper, where none of his tools could capture the way he holds himself, the intensity straining to burst free.
The top level of the main building, more like an attic, Tony has claimed as his lab space. Much of the floor is still bare, the grounds undergoing reconstruction and add-ons as they transform the warehouses into headquarters; only a handful of tables are spread around with computer towers and the panes of glass that Tony likes as monitors. Tangles of cords and wires snake across the epoxy flooring, too, some bundled together thicker than Steve's biceps. On one table a tablet is propped up against the corner of a blank monitor. From it Stark's new natural-language user interface F.R.I.D.A.Y. reads out data; and nearby, halfway in shadow (a few of the fluorescent lights are still dead, creating patches of darkness), Tony crouches beside a removed wall panel and toolbox and flips a screwdriver in one hand. He's stripped down to his undershirt and jeans after making the rounds to various divisions to check their progress, and once he finishes in his personal lab space, he'll drive the two hours back to New York City and vanish from the Avengers's radar for another couple of days. Rinse. Repeat.
He neglects looking Steve's way. "Dunno," Tony mutters and frowns at the exposed wall. "How much do you value team preparedness? Sooner I get this place running, sooner I can outfit you and yours with better toys."
When Steve gets the email full of links from Tony, he takes the time to go through each of them carefully. Then he reads them again and makes notes - wonders idly if he could get away with consulting notes during a scene. (Tony probably wouldn't notice, he concludes, but it still seems rude to him.) It takes him longer to work up the courage to text him than the rest combined - a few days, in fact. Look, it's a little intimidating, okay?
I think we need to talk, is all he sends at first. Maybe he should be doing this via email. Before he has a chance to talk himself out of it (and talk himself into composing a long and probably awkward and embarrassing email), he hits send, and all he can do is wait for Tony to reply.
The e-mail of links arrives late the day that Tony vacates Steve's bed, but after that, no one sees hide nor hair of Tony Stark at the compound even when a shipment of parts arrives for the workshop. Without their intended recipient present, Steve needs to sign for the delivery and determine whether to leave the boxes on the ground floor, direct the worker and his dolly, or carry them up himself. Most of the shipment are actually large wooden crates cautioning heavy load.
Still, when Steve sends his text, it only takes a handful of minutes for the ellipses indicating typing to pop up on Steve's phone, followed by the word bubble of Tony's answer: About?
Left to his own devices and equipped only with Tony's previous texts, Steve attempts to Google sensation play, to try and figure out what it is and what he can use that he has around already. After the first link, he figures that approximately 99% of these are really bad ideas and, honestly, what does he need? Tony seemed perfectly happy at the idea of eating fruit while blindfolded, and if he wants to do that, then Steve can oblige.
So the next time Tony comes to meet him, Steve's ready with cut-up fruit in his fridge, plus some small bowls of dip. He'd told Tony to bring his own supplies, but just in case, he has a tie he never uses ready and waiting. He's sitting in a chair in a corner of his room with his sketchpad on his lap as he waits for Tony to get there, but the paper is blank, and he's staring off into space instead of drawing.
In the time between, Tony visits the compound purely for professional reasons. True to his word, nothing else seems to change; he still hides away in the growing workshop on the top floor and speaks in a tone lower during any conferences he attends with the rest of the Avengers. When he meets with Steve alone once or twice, the closest he gets to mentioning their arrangement is a snap of his fingers and a joke on how his eyes are up here, big guy -- which, really, could also just be normal behavior for him. Truth is, Tony tricks himself into believing he's okay alone, that he's got a handle on things. But it's all a sleight of hand, the post-scene peace lingering for a few weeks that convinces him of it.
So when he slowly becomes unmoored, when the death toll rings ceaselessly in his ears and the shadows in mansion halls reach long and dark, Tony's hand trembles around his phone and he sends a text that just reads, Play time soon?
Three days later, and weeks after their second scene, no one questions the white, silk scarf Tony slings over his shoulder since the trees outside are changing to autumn colors. A scarf with no jacket, that's just Tony being eccentrically Tony. Night falls earlier now, the windows dark. Tony slips by them as unnoticed as before, the workshop above ready for production after the day's efforts, and into Steve's room without fanfare or even a knock. He pauses after he closes the door, doubting himself; he considers turning right back out.
"Sorry. No riding crop this time," Tony cracks unhappily, referencing their texts, and tosses the balled-up scarf at Steve. "Any latent cowboy fantasies of yours will have to wait."
Autumn creeps through the trees, spotting them red and orange, some still green, as far as the eye can see, but the lawn thrives crisp and trimmed at the Avengers Facility, and outside there's activity like personnel training by jogging on the track around the compound or technicians testing and repairing the Avengers's various vehicles. A few weeks have passed since Tony last visited with little to no word from him during that, but if asked after, Rhodey could tell: yes, Tony's still alive; no, he's no idea what he's doing. Sometimes, too, the news mentions Tony Stark's latest relief efforts, or his travels to Washington D.C., or Pepper speaking on his behalf in defense of Stark Industries and Tony's financial support of the Avengers. The man himself doesn't pop up besides candid photographs taken.
Then, out of the blue, Steve receives an e-mail from him simply stating a time and date for a routine meeting to catch Tony up on operations around the facility. Tony shows up, dressed in slacks and a blazer with a pictorial t-shirt underneath of sentient pumpkin rocking out to music. Not long after they begin, he states, "Let's go for a walk. It's nice out. C'mon, you're a man of action, let's go." So they leave the files and charts they would've used in the meeting behind and enter the cool autumn air mixed with the distant sounds of engines revving and soldiers hustling. Tony swats at Steve and motions his head to the treeline encompassing the compound grounds.
Now, wandering into the forest proper, Tony pushes a button on his watch to activate the GPS and ensure they don't get lost. Steps slow and leisured, he silently listens to the comments that Steve makes about the facility and its inhabitants and offers a few muttered replies and questions. Once they're surrounded by trees with the facility's buildings blurry stripes of grey and white between the trunks, he suddenly stops.
"So I had a talk with Pepper," he says, interrupting any point Steve might have brought up in their conversation thus far. He crouches, seemingly fascinated by all the stiff fallen leaves saturating the forest floor.
For the most part, Steve tries to give Tony the time and space he needs to think. He only asks Rhodey about the other man once - mostly so it doesn't look too suspicious. He has a half-dozen excuses he could use to ask any number of times, but, frankly, Steve is a terrible liar, and Rhodes is the kind of guy who can see right through him, and he's pretty sure he gives him a couple of strange looks the one time he does ask, probably related to the time he walked in (unbeknownst to him) on Tony sucking him off under the desk.
The news blurbs suffice to inform him that Tony's alive, but don't tell him anything about his mood. For all he knows, Tony could be spiraling into nightmare-ridden depression and anxiety all alone in his mansion, and that's what concerns Steve a lot more than any potential answer to their situation. Whatever he might feel for Tony, he's always insisted (to himself) that first and foremost, Tony is his friend, and that his well-being comes before any of his own emotions. (Of course, that's what led him to inadvertently manipulate him in the first place, so maybe that's not the best policy to have.)
When Tony finally emails him, Steve scrutinizes every word, trying to find some sort of hidden code in the message - but there is none. His stomach ties itself up in anxious knots, more so with every minute of banal talk about the facility and its occupants that passes by. He could have sent this report in an email, but instead he's walking with Tony, not entirely aware of what he's saying. His mouth is on autopilot as they walk into the woods.
And then Tony stops, and it takes Steve a moment to realize it; he almost trips over his own feet, then recovers and leans against a tree trunk casually, like he totally meant to do that. "You did? How did it go?" Although Tony's not in a sad drunk heap in the dark somewhere, which argues that it wasn't totally catastrophic.
The weeks slip by, and autumn turns into winter. They celebrate Halloween with a scary movie marathon on Netflix, and Thanksgiving has a traditional dinner (Sam cooks the turkey before he leaves to celebrate with his family; Wanda handles the rest and enlists everyone else's help in the kitchen). Despite Steve casually mentioning the celebrations to him, Tony doesn't appear for either. It makes Steve a little sad to think of him alone; he wants him there with them. He's sure the others do, too.
Tony doesn't shirk his duties to the Avengers, though; when he does visit the compound, he's all business, and in between working in his lab, he instructs Steve in finance, even teaches him how to track expenditures using spreadsheets. It's boring and impersonal, and he knows there's a reason for it, that it's a deliberate choice on Tony's part. So he lets him keep his emotional distance, and doesn't try to press him.
Steve assumes Tony won't come to the Christmas party, either, but he's proven pleasantly wrong. He turns up wearing a garish tie that blinks with colored lights and plays a tinkly song when you press a button, and he flits around the room like a butterfly. Steve can't quite pin him down for a chat because he's always talking to someone else, but Tony makes sure to meet his gaze on occasion, giving him a small smile before he turns his attention back to his conversational partner.
And then, at one point, he disappears entirely. Since Tony's spent the most time talking to Rhodey (which doesn't come as a surprise to Steve), Steve asks him where he went. "Upstairs," he offers with a shrug. Steve makes his way up onto the roof garden, where thick, fluffy snowflakes drift down around them, joining a thin covering that's already on the ground.
"Aren't you cold out here?" he asks, stopping next to him.
The roof garden overlooks the Hudson from the upper area of the Avengers's personal building, nestled inside the U-shape. The ends of the building stretch to either side, all sleek white walls and glass windows. The garden houses only grass, a single tree (now barren of leaves), and a bench. Tony sits there, huddled in a black duffel coat, facing the view of the Hudson. His tie he's entwined through the branches of the tree as makeshift Christmas tree lights, and beside him on the bench, which he swept the snow off of, is a half-empty cocktail glass.
When Steve speaks, Tony quietly huffs. His breath condenses in the air. "Worried I'll vanish into the cold of the night like a spirit from Dickens?" he deflects, head tilted toward Steve.
Sitting in bed, the blue BDSM collar that Steve gifted him a couple weeks back loose in one hand, Tony stares at his lit phone. It's far past most sane people's bedtime, but as evidenced by extensive research on psychological trauma and its physiological effect on the human brain he's begun conducting (personal project), he's not exactly sane. Most sane people don't accidentally create a genocidal robot because they got spooked, either. Tony grips the collar tighter. The silver buckle digs hard into his palm and banishes the worst of the thoughts. Wearing the collar has served as a reminder, for the most part, like tying a string around his finger to not forget: he's with Steve now (not Pepper, not Pepper, despite his heart seeking her on automatic for comfort). He buckled it on one night after failing to sleep and woke up with red imprints from the buckle on the back of his neck, but he'd fallen asleep. He'd slept. After that, whenever he has trouble, Tony fastens it on and sleeps on his side with a pillow wedged between his neck and shoulder to cushion it -- his preferred position, anyway. It calms him, having something tangible.
He misses Steve. He admits it. Over a week has passed since he could last see or speak with Steve outside of a professional capacity, but he can't out of the blue and in the dead of the night just call, can he? What would he even say? Thinking of you, wish you were here? Ugh. Too sappy. They're no where near that level yet. Really, the safest bet is sex and jokes.
So Tony sends Steve an image via text: a selfie of him wearing the blue collar, just of his neck, the O-ring resting in the hollow of his throat. Only the edges of his shirt, the tip of his raised, bearded chin, and the background of shiny silk sheets are otherwise visible. I wear it to go to sleep sometimes. Lil factoid to keep you company on those lonely nights, reads the accompanying text.
Steve tries to give Tony space, he really does. He doesn't want to be the clingy boyfriend, no matter how undeniably clingy he is. He doesn't want Tony to think he's needy. Besides, backing off has worked so far, so as much as he might want to try otherwise, he leaves Tony alone, apart from the odd text, usually couched in a business question.
The selfie of Tony wearing his collar is the last thing Steve expects to get, but he can't deny the very physical reaction it gets from him. He thinks back to when he'd given it to Tony, when he'd straddled his abdomen and jerked off on his chest, come glistening everywhere, Tony blissed out and completely in tune with him. It's definitely a memory he's savored more than once, and he wonders if Tony feels the same way.
But Steve, being Steve, doesn't immediately go down the innuendo route, unlike any other person. Does it help you sleep? he asks instead.
"Here we are, comin' up on our last spot of the night," Tony announces like a tour guide as they arrive at a gated mansion on Fifth Avenue, where they've meandered up and down in search of activities and food during the daylight hours: first the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum of art for Steve's enjoyment ("Go hog wild, this is your thing," Tony encouraged Steve to lead them through), then a Dolce & Gabbana luxury clothing store for Tony's (except Tony plays it more as a joke, acting like the girlfriend dragging her bored S.O. out shopping, complete with asking regarding some pants, "Does this make my butt look big?"). Finally, they ate dinner at Big Slice Pizza, which they both readily agreed upon. This last destination Tony has spoken little of though, suddenly quietened, instead letting Led Zeppelin play over the car speakers, but when they met in the Tower's private garage, Tony told Steve to toss any luggage he might've brought into the Audi's trunk.
The iron gate admits them. Tony drives the orange Audi through an archway and around and into a courtyard, where he parks and hops out. A fountain in the center has water frozen in its basin. The mansion reaches three-stories high with stone walls and dark grey roof shingles. Lining the bottom, hedges and short barren trees have been planted. The estate feels aged, the shingles a bit worn, the brick chimneys outdated; but the whole grounds have been restored and cared for throughout the years.
After tossing Steve his bag from the trunk, Tony steps toward the door and spreads his arms out wide, the Dolce & Gabbana bag swinging from his fingers. "Welcome," he bows slightly, "to my not-so humble abode."
Steve takes in the mansion with wide eyes; it's so far from the neighborhood where he grew up in Brooklyn that it might as well be in a whole other city. He's willing to bet Howard bought this when he made his fortune, because from what he's seen of Tony, he prefers building to his own design. This is old - older than him, Steve thinks - and ostentatious in a more old-fashioned manner than the sleek, modern style Tony prefers. The mansion is beautiful, but it's also wholly out of Steve's comfort zone, and it reminds him of Howard, effortless flirting and what seemed like refinement far out of his reach when Steve was just some bumbling kid from Brooklyn.
"It's just you here?" Steve raises his eyebrows. There's something impossibly sad about imagining Tony in this place all by himself, surrounded by the ghosts of his past. But he knows Tony well enough to know that's exactly the level of wallowing he'd accomplish, because everything about him is just that over the top. It's unthinkably lonely, and in that moment, there on the doorstep, Steve pulls Tony into an impulsive embrace. It's more emotional than Tony's probably comfortable with, but he can just deal with it.
[ The battle has been won. Lives were lost, sacrificed, but it's over. Iron Man, the Widow, both cast heavy shadows over the survivors.
For their part, Bucky and Steve, they stand in the shade of the trees, eyeing the machine that will take Steve through time. Bucky tries to find humor in the irony-- that his best friend, who spent the last decade or so wishing he could go back, can now do so with a simple button press. Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about using it himself, to go back and save everyone from the Winter Soldier.
But history is history. They can only go forward.
They hug, say their words, and Bucky assumes this will be it for them. Steve will get his picket fence, and Bucky will find his own path. It's not until ten actual seconds later that Steve is back on the platform, lacking the stones and hammer, when Bucky realizes he'd been wrong. Steve wasn't leaving.
He dares to let himself huff in bemusement, watching Captain America step down off the platform and suddenly turn into Steve with just a change in posture. Now the question hangs heavy between them: Where do we go from here?
Bucky has been too afraid to ask it, content with his farm in Wakanda. But that was only ever a temporary arrangement, he had to know that deep down. So he approaches Steve again, clapping him on the shoulder. ]
[Steve shrugs helplessly. What's a soldier without a war to fight? Maybe he should've stayed in the past - but turns out, all the closure he needs with Peggy is a single dance, one night together. He could live an entire lifetime with her, but the look in her eyes tells him otherwise - that she won't let him abandon his duty.
(I don't have a duty anymore, he tries to tell her, and she silences him with a finger pressed to his lips. Not as a soldier, she replies. But you'll always have one to yourself and to others.)
So here he is, just Steve Rogers for the first time in decades.]
Only if I can get some more boring assignments. [He nudges Bucky with an elbow.] You goin' back to the farm? I bet your goats are hungry.
Tony stares at his reflection. His confidence and go-get-'em attitude spiraled down the shower drain at some point while he washed his bizarrely smooth legs, which he had professionally waxed yesterday. The whole time earlier at the Museum of Sex in Manhattan where he surprised Steve on a date, Tony could feel every thread in the fabric of his trousers every time he took a step; the increased sensitivity was impossible to ignore. Now smooth nude nylon kisses every bare inch, latched up to his thighs to black garters and hidden beneath a glossy, wine red pencil skirt that hugs his ass and stomach but drapes down his back thighs and flutters above his knees. Uncomfortable in a myriad of ways, Tony shifts between his two feet, which are decked in killer, shiny heels that wedge his toes into a point.
I look, and feel, ridiculous, he thinks. He tucks his hands farther into the opened cuffs of his black dress shirt, the collar the same, clavicle enticingly in view with the hint of the reactor scar.
He's doing this for Steve, he repeats to himself; Steve, whom he left in his room with the assortment of toys Tony restocked the past month: cock rings, dildos, anal plugs, gags, specialized ropes, and a light flogger, all fairly tame. "Find your weapon of choice while I slip into something more comfortable," Tony said to Steve, still all swagger and at the top of his game. He meant to wow Steve into a flustered blush, like he's supposed to, which the MoSex failed at; Steve just appeared more interested and curious than flustered. Tony knew the day would come, no one stayed innocent for long around him, but he liked that he could rile the big guy up with a bat of his eyelashes. It gave him a sensation of control. He doesn't know why panic beats in his chest when he sees that ounce of power slipping away. It shouldn't matter.
The outfit, long planned, was his last ditch effort at preemptive seduction: show some leg and a tightened calf from heels and jut out his hip, and meowza, 1940's sensibilities overloaded. Thing is, when Tony tries to summon whatever femme fatale spirit to possess him, he comes up empty. He feels neither sexy nor dangerous.
No turning back now, he decides and stabs his way down the hall to his bedroom in a power walk that'd make Pepper proud. In the open doorway, Tony leans against the frame with crossed arms, defensive in every muscle and ready for a fight, eyes challenging Steve above cheeks flushed with humiliation. Tonight, it seems, will not be an easy night.
Steve's not flustered by the way Tony looks in a skirt, but he's clearly very interested in the sight in front of him. The heels make Tony's stocking-clad legs curve just right, mimicking the look in the pinups he'd been eyeing earlier, and the skirt hugs his ass. Steve's already naked and already semi-hard, and he draws in a sharp breath at the sight of him. Tony looks damn good, but he can tell by the tense lines of his body that he'll have to fight him every inch of the way.
"Come over here, Tony," he says calmly. "Stand in front of me." Steve's seated at the end of the bed, the toys still arranged neatly behind him. Whatever he's thinking about using, only the lube is immediately apparent, but it's safe to assume that he has some plan of attack in mind. His pupils are already wide and dark, but without the glazed, unfocused look that he gets when he's concentrating on his own pleasure. Instead, he turns his focus elsewhere - in this case, entirely on Tony. It's not unlike being pinned by a predator's gaze.
[ here's the thing: it takes a lot for Tony to feel like he has missed a step somewhere along the line. skipping a step? fuck, he does that all the time (why the hell would you take every tiny little step when you could go straight from 'a' to '360' in a single leap? keep up will you), but a flat out 'what the fuck, how did that even happen how did I get here?' kind of wonderings? that-- that wasn't so common for him.
scratch that, it was something that basically never happened.
or almost never because it's happening now because Tony is 900% sure that he was just in a pissing contest with Carol Danvers about a minute ago (and losing something terrible) and now--]
Friday, run diagnostics, tell me where the hell I am.
Got it, boss.
[ you know it's serious when she doesn't even sass him for not saying please. but-- well, when one minute you're falling from space trying to convince one of your closest friends their being an idiot, and the next you're laying in what looks to be a demolition site from a low budget science fiction movie, pleases and thank yous tend to take a back seat.]
Edited (WAT. DONT LOOK AT ME) 2019-05-06 02:02 (UTC)
[The laws of time and space are really weird. Steve's managed to discern that much in the process of planning their jewel heist, and he's not even going in with everyone else's preconceived notions of time travel from (apparently) every weird time travel movie Hollywood has ever spit out.
The point is, as Thanos's army drifts away on the wind, as Tony Stark breathes his rasping last in front of Steve, he suddenly blinks out and is replaced by an entirely different battered set of red and gold armor. If Steve hadn't just gone back in time and fought his younger self, this would be a lot more bizarre. As it is, his heartache settles into a numb shock. (The gauntlet, he notices, has remained behind, on the ground next to the new Iron Man.)]
Tony? [He breathes the name out in disbelief. Whoever this is, they aren't scorched and smoking from channeling the power of the entire goddamn universe, they aren't (hopefully) about to die. And that's enough for Steve right now; he's lost enough for one day.]
Tony Stark has popped up in more news the past weeks—not just the name, but the man himself. Hitting his stride again, as one anchor calls it. So far, Tony has given speeches and grants at different colleges for science and technology, attended social events more again, and announced that Stark Industries's newest projects will focus on environmental concerns. When asked about the Avengers, he confirms his continued financial support, but that his direct involvement as Iron Man has been set aside for newer ventures—a focus on relief efforts and building scholarships—and that the current Avengers roster is more than capable under the leadership of Captain Steve Rogers. (Any further comment on the Avengers Tony declines to make.) This change in behavior, keeping a low profile after the tragedy in Sokovia to this, happened gradually after the holidays and sometime in January solidified. Most people attribute it to the passage of time since his involvement in Ultron. Meanwhile, the internet speculates.
No reporter makes specific note of it, but the people who know Tony will notice the difference in him on camera and in the photos. He faces them again when called, instead of turning his face aside. Time could heal him to this point, sure, but he possesses a certain steadiness again that can only come from outside support. Those people might guess from whom.
After Valentine's Day, one of the texts that Steve receives from Tony reads, In case you caught the recent SI announcements it has absolutely nothing to do with your altruism boner.
Steve notices - maybe because he keeps up with Tony-related news, and because he knows him well enough to divine something of his moods from pictures, even when he's wearing the mask he uses to interact with the public. He knows Tony's body language, and it's more self-assured, more confident. He knows why, or he hopes he does, and he feels a little pleased. At least he's done something right.
Altruism boner? he texts back. Steve's not sure he would use that term for what he simply views as being a decent person, but he also knows there's absolutely nothing casually coincidental about what's going on.
Though Tony protests that he can stay awake when he arrives at the compound, Steve gently steers him into bed - alone, thank you very much - and waits there till he falls asleep, stroking his hair all the while. (If he doesn't make sure he sleeps, Steve's reasonably certain Tony will sneak out, make a pot of coffee, and head to the workshop for a few hours.) Once he carefully climbs off the bed, he heads to his office to work.
How much work he actually accomplishes is questionable; his mind is occupied (like it has been for a few days) about what he's going to say to Tony, how he might react. He fills out some paperwork: a few expense forms, some purchase orders, and other things nobody would imagine the leader of the Avengers to do personally. They might have near-unlimited funding (theoretically; Steve's never actually asked), but he keeps careful track of the portion of their budget that's under his control.
By mid-morning, he's finishing the last of his work and scrolling through news on his tablet while he munches on a bowl of cheese cubes and fruit with his free hand. He looks reasonably relaxed, but underneath it all, he's still a nervous wreck.
Somewhere between the chaste kiss Steve greets him with, the stroking of his hair as Tony falls asleep, and the comforting scent in the sheets and pillows that he wakes up to, Tony forgets his reasons for not moving in. Groggily he basks in the morning light through the windows and begins rationalizing why it would be okay, maybe even good, to move in: easy access to helicopter travel with the landing pad, more modern amenities than the mansion, a workshop already outfitted with his latest toys, on-site availability for the team's equipment repairs and upgrades, and having the team—a team nearby. Having friends nearby. Having Steve nearby to keep him in check and on his feet, on a metaphorical (and sometimes literal when they're feeling it) leash. Dad had Mom to balance him out, right? That's really the only example of a working, long-lasting relationship that Tony knows how to follow, but even then his parents didn't seem happy. Maybe that's the curse. Maybe Starks aren't meant to be happy. They're not built that way or something. Or maybe it was just when Tony was around that they—he can almost feel his mother's gentle hand on his knee cutting him off. She loved him. His father loved him, she would reassure. Steve—
Steve Rogers loves him. Tony Stark. What a wild thought. What sort of world decided Tony got to have this? Almost every morning since that night his waking thoughts have been about Steve loving him. Sometimes the thought rolls through him like the tide, soothing lest he wander too far into it; and sometimes it lands at his feet like a flash grenade. It stupefies him.
Nature inevitably calls. Tony shuffles out of bed. After he finishes his morning routine as best as he can, he journeys to the communal kitchen for coffee and chats with Natasha there. "I'm sure Steve would let you borrow something," she comments slyly about his rumpled t-shirt and pants, which he slept in and didn't care enough to change. He's a mess on the inside and he knows it. Steve knows it, too. This way his outside reflects that a little. Steve appreciates honesty, right? Tony fixes his hair, at least, because he's still vain.
By the time he faces down the hallway to Steve's office in his rumpled clothes, the comparison of a groom looking down the wedding aisle and getting cold feet hits him. That's what his reluctance boils down to: second thoughts. The fear of commitment. Of hurting someone he cares about again. Things are cyclical, after all—history repeats itself—you'll always fall back to your roots—destruction—you move here and it starts again—you'll pick up the suit like an addict with his needle—say goodbye to your relationship and this new team—you know what's coming for you all from without and within—you're a modern Cassandra and your Troy will be torn apart—
Tony forces himself to the open doorway of Steve's office. The hopeless lug is eating cheese cubes and same as the groom watching his partner walk up that aisle the simple sight of Steve eases the doubts. You're Tony Stark, he hears over the dark swarm. You break the mold, and you build it better. "Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" Tony chokes out.
Months after Tony's funeral, Steve still hasn't cleaned out his workshop. He'd tried to get Bruce or Rhodey to do it instead - either of them would know more about the contents than him - but in the end, it's his duty. Nat's quarters come first, everything carefully boxed up and shipped off to Clint. There's not much left; she'd lived here, but she'd never really had a home, never had much in the way of things. Steve can understand that.
The workshop is the opposite, everything still where it was where Tony left off. He doesn't even know how many goddamn years it's been - whether he was in here working after the blip. He doesn't remember those days (weeks, months) that they'd all spent lost in grief, trying to piece together what remained of their lives. He doesn't remember when Tony had left the compound with Pepper (when he'd been well enough to leave).
Without Tony there, everything seems somber and still, the husks of machines hunched in silent slumber, the displays and hologram projectors dark. He remembers Tony in a whirl of frenetic activity, lost in the currents of his own mind as he spent hours working feverishly on some new gadget. He'd talk to FRIDAY, reeling off numbers and formulas fast enough that only an AI could keep up. Steve's heart aches, his chest tightens, and if his eyes prickle and water, he's blaming that on the dust in the air. He's still not sure he can do this.
Steve picks up a metal circlet left on one table and runs his fingers over it, wiping off the dust that covers it. The metal seems warm, and a green light blinks on at his touch. Tony would tell him that he shouldn't fuck around with strange technology - especially not his technology - and maybe it's a memory of the obstinate push and pull friendship they'd shared that makes him put it on his head. The metal settles easily on his brow, around his temples, and Steve swears he feels a light hum against his skin as whatever it is activates.
"A couple of hours. I'll go to bed in a couple of hours."
"It's 1AM," Pepper's digitized voice replies.
Tony raises his head, aghast, to look back at the hologram hovering over to his left. "Oh. Oh my god. Why are you up at such an hour?"
He's aware, on some level, that he must look ridiculous in the skintight, triangular-patterned suit, paired with the silver circlet around his head that looks like he yanked it from a King Arthur novel. Not to mention the fact that he's shoved half his lab out of the way to make room for the circular camera rig in the center of it.
Pepper, on the other hand, looks as put-together as she normally, is, which is... very. She crosses her arms behind her desk in the projected image.
"I'm working late. Because I knew I'd have to call in right now -- literally, right now -- and tell you to stop whatever..." she trails off.
"...Whatever it is I'm doing?" Tony finishes, helpfully. "You're asking what I'm doing?"
"Tony--"
"C'mon. You want to ask. Just a little bit. C'mon."
Dead silence for a few seconds. Finally, she sighs.
"What are you doing, Tony?"
"Calibrations." Tony spreads his arms wide and waggles his fingers. "Mocap, facial recognition, gesture recognition, voice recognition, biometrics, EEG readings..."
"For a new suit."
Tony pauses. Scrunches his face to one side.
"Nanotech-based. Yeah." When Pepper rubs one of her eyes, Tony tries, "Honey--"
"It's... okay." Pepper inhales on the other side of the line in a way that suggests it's definitely not. "I know you're..."
She trails off, but Tony can fill in the blanks. "Compensating for losses. Distracting yourself. Building armor for the world, because no one else will."
Because some heroes turn out to be anything but.
But he's already cried enough into her shoulder over that particular mess -- Germany, Siberia. A lonely back road this side of DC. She'd been there when he needed her the most, and now...
"Hey," he says, a little quieter. He reaches up for the circlet -- or brainwave sync, more accurately. "I'll go to bed. Okay?"
She glances up. He smiles as he tugs off the head gear. "See? Don't say I can't surprise--"
BIOSYNC ACTIVATION #527 ENABLED
--you.
And then there's nothing.
It covers him. Engulfs him. He tries to suck down a breath and -- doesn't. He--
Where--
Everything lights up. "Light" -- inaccurate. Clarification: Activity. Next word: FRIDAY. Next word: Where. Invalid command. Invalid--
Exclamation: Pepper. Like his throat's raw, like he's clawing out of quicksand, except quicksand is dirty and this is clean, ordered. Efficient. Like he's chopped up, boxed in little labeled drawers, has to search for a piece of himself before he can use it, and there's so much, there's--
"Panic." Fixed by "breathing." Breathing. He remembers breathing, hyperventilating, kneeling. Reference point established, and--
The world comes into being.
It spreads out from one point in front of him. Because he's on the floor now, shaking, one fist pressed to the concrete. He can feel his body again, but it's... off. Wrong. Air flows down his throat, but it isn't cold, or warm. It's just...
He raises his eyes, and that's even worse -- like everything's moving, shifting, a hologram made out of pixellated funhouse mirrors. It's... familiar -- didn't they use something like this, when mapping out enemy bases? Yeah. Interpolation from the security cams. Romanoff's idea -- good, except for when someone's hacked into his projection mainframe, and... is that what this is?
He thinks he makes out a figure amongst the slithering textures. He narrows his eyes -- not that it helps.
"Okay. I'm going to need a... who's there?"
That's what Tony sees. To anyone else: A crystal-clear voice emanates from the circlet's small speakers as a perfect, semi-transparent hologram pantomimes trying to get to its feet in the center of the room: Tony Stark, circa 2017.
He's done running from that grief, Tony explained the following day after he consulted with the construction head and told Steve he was returning to the mansion on Fifth Avenue that evening. He'll be fine, he reassured. Besides, in a month tops their new digs will be completed and they can shack up together. Steve can fuss over him all he wants then, among other, decidedly more fun things. But once he was on the road with the compound in his rearview mirror, Tony's smile dropped, and later that night, back in his childhood home with its shadowy halls and echo-chamber rooms, he fell asleep only after he caved, buckled the collar from Steve on, and emptied his mind of everything but the feel of it.
The days leading into March see Tony much the same as before in the media, though once an interviewer brought up Howard (nothing unusual) and Tony's press smile faltered and his eyes shuttered—the crack there and gone again. Quickly recovered, he regaled her with his father's vision of a better future and how he was continuing that good work through renewable clean energy. He also ribbed at the power companies who constantly seek to legally undermine him, their financial stability threatened. Aside from that hiccup, Tony holds fast to his image in the public eye, but that night Steve receives a text that simply reads, Think he'd be proud? He'd have to be, right? This was his dream.
Two weeks into the renovations on their living quarters Tony shows up unannounced in the Avengers's training room, a warehouse-wide space in the same facility as the quinjets. There the team minus Rhodey, who is in D.C., is running maneuvers and drills with Steve at the lead. Wanda practices her telekinesis with crooked fingers and red swirls. Every muscle in Tony's body locks up, but his dress shoes clack and signal his arrival. Noticed, he smiles, waves off any attention, and sits on a far bench. His smile softens toward Steve. In no hurry despite his head-to-toe ensemble of business suit, tie, and sunglasses, Tony waits for him with crossed legs and arms, tapping one-handed on his phone.
Steve takes the time to at least glance at all of Tony's media appearances, and of course he watches carefully when the interviewer mentions Howard, sees that split-second crack in the facade. He's not surprised when Tony texts him later, and he's quick to reply with Of course he would. Not just because of his dream, but because of you. Steve runs his thumb over the smooth edge of his phone and hopes that it does something to reassure Tony.
When the man himself finally puts in an appearance, Steve smiles at him without missing a beat of their drill; since he's content to wait, he leads it through to completion, then beckons Natasha over to take the reins. She arches a knowing eyebrow at him, but doesn't offer any sarcastic comments - she's probably saving those for later, in private.
"Don't you look fancy?" Steve teases Tony. A lot fancier than him; he's got the shield for maneuvers, but is just wearing form-fitting dark grey exercise clothes under the harness instead of the full weight of his suit. "Goin' somewhere?"
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for amelioraate
When he wakes up, he's in an alley somewhere, leaning up against a dumpster. A rat sniffs at his boot, and he just narrows his eyes at it. This fails to intimidate the rat, which probably means that he's in New York, not Europe.
Great. Somehow he's crossed an ocean to the exact place he doesn't want to be. With a groan, Steve pushes himself up and away from the cushioning trash bags. Between that and the beard and the ripped uniform, he looks and smells kind of...unappealing. This is apparently what his life has become.
On the bright side, the street cart vendors are used to worse, and they have no problem accepting his cash for a couple of hot dogs. So Steve walks down the street and eats his hot dogs, largely oblivious that he's managed to cross over into another world. There's one place he knows he can go for safety, and that's what he's counting on.]
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still, he is pleased that he started the damn thing when Friday chirps up in the middle of him tweaking the suit again, noting that there was a very powerful and local shift of some kind, Tony is immediately on the alert. it wasn't a large flux, small and precise, which really just makes it all the more confusing for him, because what the fuck would cause something like that?
donning the suit quickly, Tony heads out towards the coordinates Friday provided him with. it's an alley, like every other damn alley in New York.]
Friday, darling, please tell me that you can at least trace the residue to find out what came through that burst.
[ his AI mocks him, of course she can! and throws up a map on his screen, the faint blue mapping out the path taken by whatever, or whoever, came through the tear. it... leads back to the tower.
huh.
Tony follows and--]
What the fuck. Steve?
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based on art i will send u later
Tonight, it's a little...unorthodox.
He has Steve sit on a chair, which Steve does easily enough (and with that hopeful-concerned look in his eyes that never seems to go away). Steve trusts him, trusts Bucky, and would probably walk across hot coals for him if asked. Of course Steve wants to know what's up, but Bucky just loops a small rope around his wrists so they're behind the chair back. It's loosely knotted, but firm, more for show than anything; Steve would have no issue pulling free or snapping the fibers loose with minimal effort.
After that, Bucky steadies himself, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and holds it in front of Steve's face. He swallows, trying to work himself up to what he's about to ask. ]
Do you trust me?
[ Bucky looks like he might not even trust himself, fully. But he needs Steve to be honest with him, either way it goes. ]
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[The words come easily - maybe a little too easily. But he does trust Bucky, unconditionally. Now that he's in control of himself, even if he doesn't know who he is, Steve believes he wouldn't hurt him. Theirs is a bond that's felt more than remembered, at least in his mind. (Whether or not this is accurate is another thing entirely.)
He licks suddenly dry lips, moistening them before he speaks again.]
Do whatever you want.
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Until there's a night where Nat's dragged Wanda off for something mysterious and everyone else is capable of doing whatever it is they do in their down time by themselves (he suspects Sam and Rhodey are having one of drinking and bitching sessions, which are largely about him and Tony). Steve changes into a worn pair of jeans, pulls his leather jacket on over his t-shirt, and heads in the direction of Tony's workshop.
"You in the middle of something important?" He leans against the doorframe, watching Tony in his element. It's something he likes more than he'd strictly admit - not that he really admits to watching Tony in the first place, but there are times when his hands itch to draw the other man, to sketch him out in charcoal and smudge the lines till he gets it just right. Times when there's an intense look in his eyes that Steve's not sure he could reproduce on paper, where none of his tools could capture the way he holds himself, the intensity straining to burst free.
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He neglects looking Steve's way. "Dunno," Tony mutters and frowns at the exposed wall. "How much do you value team preparedness? Sooner I get this place running, sooner I can outfit you and yours with better toys."
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I think we need to talk, is all he sends at first. Maybe he should be doing this via email. Before he has a chance to talk himself out of it (and talk himself into composing a long and probably awkward and embarrassing email), he hits send, and all he can do is wait for Tony to reply.
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Still, when Steve sends his text, it only takes a handful of minutes for the ellipses indicating typing to pop up on Steve's phone, followed by the word bubble of Tony's answer: About?
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So the next time Tony comes to meet him, Steve's ready with cut-up fruit in his fridge, plus some small bowls of dip. He'd told Tony to bring his own supplies, but just in case, he has a tie he never uses ready and waiting. He's sitting in a chair in a corner of his room with his sketchpad on his lap as he waits for Tony to get there, but the paper is blank, and he's staring off into space instead of drawing.
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So when he slowly becomes unmoored, when the death toll rings ceaselessly in his ears and the shadows in mansion halls reach long and dark, Tony's hand trembles around his phone and he sends a text that just reads, Play time soon?
Three days later, and weeks after their second scene, no one questions the white, silk scarf Tony slings over his shoulder since the trees outside are changing to autumn colors. A scarf with no jacket, that's just Tony being eccentrically Tony. Night falls earlier now, the windows dark. Tony slips by them as unnoticed as before, the workshop above ready for production after the day's efforts, and into Steve's room without fanfare or even a knock. He pauses after he closes the door, doubting himself; he considers turning right back out.
"Sorry. No riding crop this time," Tony cracks unhappily, referencing their texts, and tosses the balled-up scarf at Steve. "Any latent cowboy fantasies of yours will have to wait."
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Then, out of the blue, Steve receives an e-mail from him simply stating a time and date for a routine meeting to catch Tony up on operations around the facility. Tony shows up, dressed in slacks and a blazer with a pictorial t-shirt underneath of sentient pumpkin rocking out to music. Not long after they begin, he states, "Let's go for a walk. It's nice out. C'mon, you're a man of action, let's go." So they leave the files and charts they would've used in the meeting behind and enter the cool autumn air mixed with the distant sounds of engines revving and soldiers hustling. Tony swats at Steve and motions his head to the treeline encompassing the compound grounds.
Now, wandering into the forest proper, Tony pushes a button on his watch to activate the GPS and ensure they don't get lost. Steps slow and leisured, he silently listens to the comments that Steve makes about the facility and its inhabitants and offers a few muttered replies and questions. Once they're surrounded by trees with the facility's buildings blurry stripes of grey and white between the trunks, he suddenly stops.
"So I had a talk with Pepper," he says, interrupting any point Steve might have brought up in their conversation thus far. He crouches, seemingly fascinated by all the stiff fallen leaves saturating the forest floor.
THE ORIGINAL WAS TOTALLY BETTER
The news blurbs suffice to inform him that Tony's alive, but don't tell him anything about his mood. For all he knows, Tony could be spiraling into nightmare-ridden depression and anxiety all alone in his mansion, and that's what concerns Steve a lot more than any potential answer to their situation. Whatever he might feel for Tony, he's always insisted (to himself) that first and foremost, Tony is his friend, and that his well-being comes before any of his own emotions. (Of course, that's what led him to inadvertently manipulate him in the first place, so maybe that's not the best policy to have.)
When Tony finally emails him, Steve scrutinizes every word, trying to find some sort of hidden code in the message - but there is none. His stomach ties itself up in anxious knots, more so with every minute of banal talk about the facility and its occupants that passes by. He could have sent this report in an email, but instead he's walking with Tony, not entirely aware of what he's saying. His mouth is on autopilot as they walk into the woods.
And then Tony stops, and it takes Steve a moment to realize it; he almost trips over his own feet, then recovers and leans against a tree trunk casually, like he totally meant to do that. "You did? How did it go?" Although Tony's not in a sad drunk heap in the dark somewhere, which argues that it wasn't totally catastrophic.
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Tony doesn't shirk his duties to the Avengers, though; when he does visit the compound, he's all business, and in between working in his lab, he instructs Steve in finance, even teaches him how to track expenditures using spreadsheets. It's boring and impersonal, and he knows there's a reason for it, that it's a deliberate choice on Tony's part. So he lets him keep his emotional distance, and doesn't try to press him.
Steve assumes Tony won't come to the Christmas party, either, but he's proven pleasantly wrong. He turns up wearing a garish tie that blinks with colored lights and plays a tinkly song when you press a button, and he flits around the room like a butterfly. Steve can't quite pin him down for a chat because he's always talking to someone else, but Tony makes sure to meet his gaze on occasion, giving him a small smile before he turns his attention back to his conversational partner.
And then, at one point, he disappears entirely. Since Tony's spent the most time talking to Rhodey (which doesn't come as a surprise to Steve), Steve asks him where he went. "Upstairs," he offers with a shrug. Steve makes his way up onto the roof garden, where thick, fluffy snowflakes drift down around them, joining a thin covering that's already on the ground.
"Aren't you cold out here?" he asks, stopping next to him.
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When Steve speaks, Tony quietly huffs. His breath condenses in the air. "Worried I'll vanish into the cold of the night like a spirit from Dickens?" he deflects, head tilted toward Steve.
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He misses Steve. He admits it. Over a week has passed since he could last see or speak with Steve outside of a professional capacity, but he can't out of the blue and in the dead of the night just call, can he? What would he even say? Thinking of you, wish you were here? Ugh. Too sappy. They're no where near that level yet. Really, the safest bet is sex and jokes.
So Tony sends Steve an image via text: a selfie of him wearing the blue collar, just of his neck, the O-ring resting in the hollow of his throat. Only the edges of his shirt, the tip of his raised, bearded chin, and the background of shiny silk sheets are otherwise visible. I wear it to go to sleep sometimes. Lil factoid to keep you company on those lonely nights, reads the accompanying text.
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The selfie of Tony wearing his collar is the last thing Steve expects to get, but he can't deny the very physical reaction it gets from him. He thinks back to when he'd given it to Tony, when he'd straddled his abdomen and jerked off on his chest, come glistening everywhere, Tony blissed out and completely in tune with him. It's definitely a memory he's savored more than once, and he wonders if Tony feels the same way.
But Steve, being Steve, doesn't immediately go down the innuendo route, unlike any other person. Does it help you sleep? he asks instead.
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The iron gate admits them. Tony drives the orange Audi through an archway and around and into a courtyard, where he parks and hops out. A fountain in the center has water frozen in its basin. The mansion reaches three-stories high with stone walls and dark grey roof shingles. Lining the bottom, hedges and short barren trees have been planted. The estate feels aged, the shingles a bit worn, the brick chimneys outdated; but the whole grounds have been restored and cared for throughout the years.
After tossing Steve his bag from the trunk, Tony steps toward the door and spreads his arms out wide, the Dolce & Gabbana bag swinging from his fingers. "Welcome," he bows slightly, "to my not-so humble abode."
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"It's just you here?" Steve raises his eyebrows. There's something impossibly sad about imagining Tony in this place all by himself, surrounded by the ghosts of his past. But he knows Tony well enough to know that's exactly the level of wallowing he'd accomplish, because everything about him is just that over the top. It's unthinkably lonely, and in that moment, there on the doorstep, Steve pulls Tony into an impulsive embrace. It's more emotional than Tony's probably comfortable with, but he can just deal with it.
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Post-Endgame; spoilers but not bringing as much pain
For their part, Bucky and Steve, they stand in the shade of the trees, eyeing the machine that will take Steve through time. Bucky tries to find humor in the irony-- that his best friend, who spent the last decade or so wishing he could go back, can now do so with a simple button press. Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about using it himself, to go back and save everyone from the Winter Soldier.
But history is history. They can only go forward.
They hug, say their words, and Bucky assumes this will be it for them. Steve will get his picket fence, and Bucky will find his own path. It's not until ten actual seconds later that Steve is back on the platform, lacking the stones and hammer, when Bucky realizes he'd been wrong. Steve wasn't leaving.
He dares to let himself huff in bemusement, watching Captain America step down off the platform and suddenly turn into Steve with just a change in posture. Now the question hangs heavy between them: Where do we go from here?
Bucky has been too afraid to ask it, content with his farm in Wakanda. But that was only ever a temporary arrangement, he had to know that deep down. So he approaches Steve again, clapping him on the shoulder. ]
Thinkin' of becoming a courier, now?
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(I don't have a duty anymore, he tries to tell her, and she silences him with a finger pressed to his lips. Not as a soldier, she replies. But you'll always have one to yourself and to others.)
So here he is, just Steve Rogers for the first time in decades.]
Only if I can get some more boring assignments. [He nudges Bucky with an elbow.] You goin' back to the farm? I bet your goats are hungry.
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I look, and feel, ridiculous, he thinks. He tucks his hands farther into the opened cuffs of his black dress shirt, the collar the same, clavicle enticingly in view with the hint of the reactor scar.
He's doing this for Steve, he repeats to himself; Steve, whom he left in his room with the assortment of toys Tony restocked the past month: cock rings, dildos, anal plugs, gags, specialized ropes, and a light flogger, all fairly tame. "Find your weapon of choice while I slip into something more comfortable," Tony said to Steve, still all swagger and at the top of his game. He meant to wow Steve into a flustered blush, like he's supposed to, which the MoSex failed at; Steve just appeared more interested and curious than flustered. Tony knew the day would come, no one stayed innocent for long around him, but he liked that he could rile the big guy up with a bat of his eyelashes. It gave him a sensation of control. He doesn't know why panic beats in his chest when he sees that ounce of power slipping away. It shouldn't matter.
The outfit, long planned, was his last ditch effort at preemptive seduction: show some leg and a tightened calf from heels and jut out his hip, and meowza, 1940's sensibilities overloaded. Thing is, when Tony tries to summon whatever femme fatale spirit to possess him, he comes up empty. He feels neither sexy nor dangerous.
No turning back now, he decides and stabs his way down the hall to his bedroom in a power walk that'd make Pepper proud. In the open doorway, Tony leans against the frame with crossed arms, defensive in every muscle and ready for a fight, eyes challenging Steve above cheeks flushed with humiliation. Tonight, it seems, will not be an easy night.
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"Come over here, Tony," he says calmly. "Stand in front of me." Steve's seated at the end of the bed, the toys still arranged neatly behind him. Whatever he's thinking about using, only the lube is immediately apparent, but it's safe to assume that he has some plan of attack in mind. His pupils are already wide and dark, but without the glazed, unfocused look that he gets when he's concentrating on his own pleasure. Instead, he turns his focus elsewhere - in this case, entirely on Tony. It's not unlike being pinned by a predator's gaze.
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god i fucking hate you so much. (notreallytho)
scratch that, it was something that basically never happened.
or almost never because it's happening now because Tony is 900% sure that he was just in a pissing contest with Carol Danvers about a minute ago (and losing something terrible) and now--]
Friday, run diagnostics, tell me where the hell I am.
Got it, boss.
[ you know it's serious when she doesn't even sass him for not saying please. but-- well, when one minute you're falling from space trying to convince one of your closest friends their being an idiot, and the next you're laying in what looks to be a demolition site from a low budget science fiction movie, pleases and thank yous tend to take a back seat.]
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The point is, as Thanos's army drifts away on the wind, as Tony Stark breathes his rasping last in front of Steve, he suddenly blinks out and is replaced by an entirely different battered set of red and gold armor. If Steve hadn't just gone back in time and fought his younger self, this would be a lot more bizarre. As it is, his heartache settles into a numb shock. (The gauntlet, he notices, has remained behind, on the ground next to the new Iron Man.)]
Tony? [He breathes the name out in disbelief. Whoever this is, they aren't scorched and smoking from channeling the power of the entire goddamn universe, they aren't (hopefully) about to die. And that's enough for Steve right now; he's lost enough for one day.]
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No reporter makes specific note of it, but the people who know Tony will notice the difference in him on camera and in the photos. He faces them again when called, instead of turning his face aside. Time could heal him to this point, sure, but he possesses a certain steadiness again that can only come from outside support. Those people might guess from whom.
After Valentine's Day, one of the texts that Steve receives from Tony reads, In case you caught the recent SI announcements it has absolutely nothing to do with your altruism boner.
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Altruism boner? he texts back. Steve's not sure he would use that term for what he simply views as being a decent person, but he also knows there's absolutely nothing casually coincidental about what's going on.
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How much work he actually accomplishes is questionable; his mind is occupied (like it has been for a few days) about what he's going to say to Tony, how he might react. He fills out some paperwork: a few expense forms, some purchase orders, and other things nobody would imagine the leader of the Avengers to do personally. They might have near-unlimited funding (theoretically; Steve's never actually asked), but he keeps careful track of the portion of their budget that's under his control.
By mid-morning, he's finishing the last of his work and scrolling through news on his tablet while he munches on a bowl of cheese cubes and fruit with his free hand. He looks reasonably relaxed, but underneath it all, he's still a nervous wreck.
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Steve Rogers loves him. Tony Stark. What a wild thought. What sort of world decided Tony got to have this? Almost every morning since that night his waking thoughts have been about Steve loving him. Sometimes the thought rolls through him like the tide, soothing lest he wander too far into it; and sometimes it lands at his feet like a flash grenade. It stupefies him.
Nature inevitably calls. Tony shuffles out of bed. After he finishes his morning routine as best as he can, he journeys to the communal kitchen for coffee and chats with Natasha there. "I'm sure Steve would let you borrow something," she comments slyly about his rumpled t-shirt and pants, which he slept in and didn't care enough to change. He's a mess on the inside and he knows it. Steve knows it, too. This way his outside reflects that a little. Steve appreciates honesty, right? Tony fixes his hair, at least, because he's still vain.
By the time he faces down the hallway to Steve's office in his rumpled clothes, the comparison of a groom looking down the wedding aisle and getting cold feet hits him. That's what his reluctance boils down to: second thoughts. The fear of commitment. Of hurting someone he cares about again. Things are cyclical, after all—history repeats itself—you'll always fall back to your roots—destruction—you move here and it starts again—you'll pick up the suit like an addict with his needle—say goodbye to your relationship and this new team—you know what's coming for you all from without and within—you're a modern Cassandra and your Troy will be torn apart—
Tony forces himself to the open doorway of Steve's office. The hopeless lug is eating cheese cubes and same as the groom watching his partner walk up that aisle the simple sight of Steve eases the doubts. You're Tony Stark, he hears over the dark swarm. You break the mold, and you build it better. "Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" Tony chokes out.
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The workshop is the opposite, everything still where it was where Tony left off. He doesn't even know how many goddamn years it's been - whether he was in here working after the blip. He doesn't remember those days (weeks, months) that they'd all spent lost in grief, trying to piece together what remained of their lives. He doesn't remember when Tony had left the compound with Pepper (when he'd been well enough to leave).
Without Tony there, everything seems somber and still, the husks of machines hunched in silent slumber, the displays and hologram projectors dark. He remembers Tony in a whirl of frenetic activity, lost in the currents of his own mind as he spent hours working feverishly on some new gadget. He'd talk to FRIDAY, reeling off numbers and formulas fast enough that only an AI could keep up. Steve's heart aches, his chest tightens, and if his eyes prickle and water, he's blaming that on the dust in the air. He's still not sure he can do this.
Steve picks up a metal circlet left on one table and runs his fingers over it, wiping off the dust that covers it. The metal seems warm, and a green light blinks on at his touch. Tony would tell him that he shouldn't fuck around with strange technology - especially not his technology - and maybe it's a memory of the obstinate push and pull friendship they'd shared that makes him put it on his head. The metal settles easily on his brow, around his temples, and Steve swears he feels a light hum against his skin as whatever it is activates.
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"It's 1AM," Pepper's digitized voice replies.
Tony raises his head, aghast, to look back at the hologram hovering over to his left. "Oh. Oh my god. Why are you up at such an hour?"
He's aware, on some level, that he must look ridiculous in the skintight, triangular-patterned suit, paired with the silver circlet around his head that looks like he yanked it from a King Arthur novel. Not to mention the fact that he's shoved half his lab out of the way to make room for the circular camera rig in the center of it.
Pepper, on the other hand, looks as put-together as she normally, is, which is... very. She crosses her arms behind her desk in the projected image.
"I'm working late. Because I knew I'd have to call in right now -- literally, right now -- and tell you to stop whatever..." she trails off.
"...Whatever it is I'm doing?" Tony finishes, helpfully. "You're asking what I'm doing?"
"Tony--"
"C'mon. You want to ask. Just a little bit. C'mon."
Dead silence for a few seconds. Finally, she sighs.
"What are you doing, Tony?"
"Calibrations." Tony spreads his arms wide and waggles his fingers. "Mocap, facial recognition, gesture recognition, voice recognition, biometrics, EEG readings..."
"For a new suit."
Tony pauses. Scrunches his face to one side.
"Nanotech-based. Yeah." When Pepper rubs one of her eyes, Tony tries, "Honey--"
"It's... okay." Pepper inhales on the other side of the line in a way that suggests it's definitely not. "I know you're..."
She trails off, but Tony can fill in the blanks. "Compensating for losses. Distracting yourself. Building armor for the world, because no one else will."
Because some heroes turn out to be anything but.
But he's already cried enough into her shoulder over that particular mess -- Germany, Siberia. A lonely back road this side of DC. She'd been there when he needed her the most, and now...
"Hey," he says, a little quieter. He reaches up for the circlet -- or brainwave sync, more accurately. "I'll go to bed. Okay?"
She glances up. He smiles as he tugs off the head gear. "See? Don't say I can't surprise--"
BIOSYNC ACTIVATION #527 ENABLED
--you.
And then there's nothing.
It covers him. Engulfs him. He tries to suck down a breath and -- doesn't. He--
Where--
Everything lights up. "Light" -- inaccurate. Clarification: Activity. Next word: FRIDAY. Next word: Where. Invalid command. Invalid--
Exclamation: Pepper. Like his throat's raw, like he's clawing out of quicksand, except quicksand is dirty and this is clean, ordered. Efficient. Like he's chopped up, boxed in little labeled drawers, has to search for a piece of himself before he can use it, and there's so much, there's--
"Panic." Fixed by "breathing." Breathing. He remembers breathing, hyperventilating, kneeling. Reference point established, and--
The world comes into being.
It spreads out from one point in front of him. Because he's on the floor now, shaking, one fist pressed to the concrete. He can feel his body again, but it's... off. Wrong. Air flows down his throat, but it isn't cold, or warm. It's just...
He raises his eyes, and that's even worse -- like everything's moving, shifting, a hologram made out of pixellated funhouse mirrors. It's... familiar -- didn't they use something like this, when mapping out enemy bases? Yeah. Interpolation from the security cams. Romanoff's idea -- good, except for when someone's hacked into his projection mainframe, and... is that what this is?
He thinks he makes out a figure amongst the slithering textures. He narrows his eyes -- not that it helps.
"Okay. I'm going to need a... who's there?"
That's what Tony sees. To anyone else: A crystal-clear voice emanates from the circlet's small speakers as a perfect, semi-transparent hologram pantomimes trying to get to its feet in the center of the room: Tony Stark, circa 2017.
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The days leading into March see Tony much the same as before in the media, though once an interviewer brought up Howard (nothing unusual) and Tony's press smile faltered and his eyes shuttered—the crack there and gone again. Quickly recovered, he regaled her with his father's vision of a better future and how he was continuing that good work through renewable clean energy. He also ribbed at the power companies who constantly seek to legally undermine him, their financial stability threatened. Aside from that hiccup, Tony holds fast to his image in the public eye, but that night Steve receives a text that simply reads, Think he'd be proud? He'd have to be, right? This was his dream.
Two weeks into the renovations on their living quarters Tony shows up unannounced in the Avengers's training room, a warehouse-wide space in the same facility as the quinjets. There the team minus Rhodey, who is in D.C., is running maneuvers and drills with Steve at the lead. Wanda practices her telekinesis with crooked fingers and red swirls. Every muscle in Tony's body locks up, but his dress shoes clack and signal his arrival. Noticed, he smiles, waves off any attention, and sits on a far bench. His smile softens toward Steve. In no hurry despite his head-to-toe ensemble of business suit, tie, and sunglasses, Tony waits for him with crossed legs and arms, tapping one-handed on his phone.
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When the man himself finally puts in an appearance, Steve smiles at him without missing a beat of their drill; since he's content to wait, he leads it through to completion, then beckons Natasha over to take the reins. She arches a knowing eyebrow at him, but doesn't offer any sarcastic comments - she's probably saving those for later, in private.
"Don't you look fancy?" Steve teases Tony. A lot fancier than him; he's got the shield for maneuvers, but is just wearing form-fitting dark grey exercise clothes under the harness instead of the full weight of his suit. "Goin' somewhere?"
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