Steve's about to mention that not every place decorated in rainbows is necessarily gay, but the next thing Tony says catches him by surprise. "You're still-" He hasn't said that he wouldn't, but Steve kind of expected he'd managed to sink that idea single-handedly. "I just figured since you were busy with everything else, you'd be staying in the city." It's a lame-sounding excuse, and he knows it."
"Actually, most of my business takes me elsewhere, so having easy access to helicopter and jet travel is a massive pro," Tony casually points out and waits for Steve's further reaction as he chews—waits for ... for Steve's permission or something, the reassurance that Tony is facing a moral north.
Steve gives him a soft smile as he reaches over and puts his hand on Tony's knee. "Well, I'm glad to have you around, whatever the reason. You still going to remodel?" While Steve's never seen the need to have more luxuries than the rest of his teammates, he knows that if he and Tony live together, they'll need more space, and definitely more privacy than the communal living quarters afford.
Tony breathes out, "Yeah, definitely," and lowers his half-eaten burger to the workbench, where he gazes at his distorted reflection in the steel. Despite everything—despite making Ultron, dividing himself from the team, and losing Pepper, he hasn't ended up alone, thanks mainly to the efforts of one person; and if his relationship with his parents taught Tony anything, it's to not leave the important things unsaid. With a soulful gravitas, he finally turns to Steve and tells him, "Thank you. For being patient, and honest, with me. You helped to get me through some dark times and I dunno if I've thanked you properly for all that yet, so ... there it is." Unwilling to meet Steve's response head-on, Tony chows down on his burger again.
Steve blinks at Tony's words. "You don't have to thank me," he replies softly and sincerely. Maybe he'd done it because he had feelings for Tony, but more importantly, he'd done it because Tony deserved to have someone there for him, someone there with him. In Steve's mind, it's part of being a friend (albeit maybe in an unorthodox manner). He's utterly devoted to his friends, to the point where some might consider it unreasonable.
"But you're welcome," he adds, before Tony can feel like he's dismissing what's clearly hard for him to say. "If you ever need anything, you can always come to me, Tony."
A deep fondness settles into Tony's gaze. Somewhere between Steve refusing to let go of him in that office and later showing up with the promised cheeseburger, the last remnants of doubts in Tony have cleared. Steve has earned his complete trust. With a shy little smile, Tony says, "Ditto," and grabs a napkin, which he waves between the two of them before he wipes his mouth. "This here, it's a two-way street," he clarifies.
It's the smile that gets him, that shy, vulnerable smile that represents a side of Tony few people ever get to see. "I wouldn't have it any other way," Steve agrees. He regrets now that impulsive decision to run away on the night of Valentine's Day; as much as he'd needed the distance to keep him from lashing out, now he feels like it makes him look like he doesn't trust Tony with his problems. He does, more than he would trust anyone else. It's just that he doesn't know what to do when Tony is the problem.
But that's something to deal with in the future, if it happens again, and Steve shoves it aside.
"Being with you, it makes me feel needed," he says quietly. "Not just as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers. You're with me 'cause you want me and not the guy in the suit. For the longest time, I was just kinda adrift outside of the Avengers. I didn't see a place for me in the world. But-" Steve stops and laughs softly, shaking his head. "God, I'm such a sap. My place is with you."
Mid-chomp on his burger when Steve begins, Tony pauses and slowly pulls the bite off. Truth be told, he expected nothing from Steve now or even soon; the guy tends to bottle things up out of some 1940s raising or because he feels he needs to be the Strong Leader or whatever. (Part of that assumption comes from Steve needing space that night, but also from the most vulnerability that Tony's witnessed from him being Steve's lack of confidence in domination.) So when Steve starts pouring out his soul, Tony is caught cheek bulging with burger mush and trying to give Steve all of his attention and compassion even though part of his brain is required to process chewing.
Swallowing thickly, Tony says, "I thought you'd found your home here," and then shuts his eyes. Little overwhelming to realize he's Steve's anchor as much as Steve is his. What a pair they make.
Steve laughs, and the sound is bitter. "Working for an organization that was secretly Hydra? I thought SHIELD was the place for me because it used to be the SSR, because it was something familiar I could do. I thought they wanted to help people the same way I did. And, well- there's not much use for a guy like me outside a war, you know? What else was I supposed to do for a living?"
Not that he strictly needs to earn a living; the Army owed him enough money when he was thawed out (thanks to listing him as MIA rather than dead) that cash isn't a problem. But Steve can't remain inactive, can't just sit around doing nothing. He's spent enough of his life idle already.
"I'm a man out of time, Tony. I don't fit. I tried to see things in black and white, but it's all just grey. I didn't know how to deal with that for awhile. I'm not sure I do now, but I'm trying the best I can. All I can do is trust my heart and follow where it leads me."
I meant here, with the Avengers, Tony should correct, but he's realizing how far Steve separates himself from Captain America. That day on the compound lawn, when Steve said he was home, that was Cap talking. Had to be. Their righteous and steadfast leader, right? Infallible. A soldier who poured his identity into a war and a symbol, unsure of who he is without them, made worse by losing the world he knew, lacking even that framework to figure himself out in.
"Well," Tony begins amicably, having straightened his back to listen with a concerned frown, "some of that's true. Other bits, not so much. 'Least not how I see it."
Steve scoots his stool closer to Tony's, close enough that he can bump their shoulders together. The contact reassures him, grounds him. It's not easy to talk about how he feels, but he's trying his best to get it out for once in his life - emotional constipation, Tony would probably call it, and it's not totally inaccurate. Back when he was growing up, men didn't express feelings, especially not the kind that would make them look weak to others - and that was even more true for someone who was already about as weak and vulnerable as anyone could be. He's always hidden his feelings, his pain. During the war, he tamped down his fear and grief, his shock at the reality of war. And now everything's bubbling up to the surface, decades later.
With a soft smirk (ever the showman drawing in his crowd), Tony answers, "You said it yourself: you're home." He gestures around. "Here. With this ragtag bunch of misfits we call a team."
"We call a team," Steve echoes with an arched eyebrow. Maybe it's a slip of the tongue, but he's not going to let that pass without calling Tony out on it. Every time he goes out on a mission without Tony, he feels the space where he should be, and he misses having him at his back.
"... Right," Tony drawls with the expectant look he gives when he's waiting for his audience to catch on until with a start he realizes Steve is waiting for him to catch on and he adds, "Your team, of which I am the benefactor, thereby also partially making it my own—look, don't spin this around on me. I'm trying to be comforting."
"Of course, dear," Steve replies dryly, but the entire effect is spoiled by the sappy smile he gives Tony. The implication, though, is that he prefers his interpretation of Tony's words to the so-called explanation. Softly, and with more sincerity in his voice, he adds, "I appreciate it."
Tony studiously examines Steve's face before he sighs, with which the weight on his shoulders returns. A weak half-smile precedes him returning to his food, but he simply stares at some spot on the bench. He's one to talk, really, about finding one's place; he's still flip-flopping about his own. He can decree himself dedicated to the future and philanthropy all day long, can play the benefactor seemingly content to support and manage from the sidelines, but what he really wants, what his heart wants—
With a sudden start Tony stuffs the last bit of burger into his mouth. Oddly animated, he says to Steve while wiping his hands, "Leave your door open. I'm spending the night."
Steve almost, almost replies with As you wish, but thinks better of it, doesn't want to fuck things up yet again by pushing the issue, because he knows now that what feels right to him doesn't necessarily feel right to Tony.
"Like you wouldn't just let yourself in anyway." He chooses the more sarcastic retort - but, really, he doesn't care if Tony barges in on him. He doesn't have anything to hide from him. "Which, by the way, you're welcome to do," he clarifies. His door is always figuratively open, even if it's physically closed.
"You gonna keep working in here till bedtime?" Steve sucks up the dregs of his milkshake through a straw as he waits for an answer.
"I could be persuaded to do otherwise," says Tony, innocently mimicking Steve by drinking his milkshake, though sliding his lips off the straw with a soft pop afterward is all but.
Steve laughs softly at the display. Over time, he's grown used to Tony's innuendos, so what might have once left him squirming in his seat while Tony fellated his straw just amuses him now. He still has an idle thought about Tony pushing him back against one of the tables and going down on his knees, but it's not the desperate urge it would have been a couple months ago.
"You sure you don't want me to leave you and your milkshake alone instead?" he teases him. "I know how you get about chocolate."
Nothing of priority to work on comes to mind and a quick scan of the lab space reveals nothing that won't result in more helplessness and anger (they killed her, they killed my mom, runs repeatedly in the back of Tony's head as if on a news ticker, and I can't do anything about it)—but what's more, he doesn't want to let Steve leave alone after that little heart-to-heart. "Why be alone when I can have you watch?" Tony says. Then he stands with the cup, his belly warm and full. "Aren't relationships about compromise?" he asks cheekily and sucks up a gratuitous amount of shake, cheeks hallowed.
"Exhibitionist," Steve retorts warmly, conveniently ignoring that he would enjoy any real exhibitionism. He's not falling for Tony's dramatic attempts at seduction this time. (Not right away, at least.) "You wanna watch a movie or something?" It's nowhere near bedtime, and if Tony's not going to keep working, then Steve wants to spend time with him. They'll have to keep the cuddling fairly low-key, since they're still limited to the Avengers' shared space, but Steve doesn't mind. He starts collecting the trash from their dinner, stuffing it into the bag it came in.
Pain stabs at Tony above his eyebrow mid-suck, but he conceals the grimace until Steve turns to collect the trash. The migraine dulled, but never completely left, a persistent pressure in his skull. Gotta lessen the side effect somehow—no, no, he chides his thoughts, no detours, just Steve. Steve has done so much for him. He deserves the attention. "Whatever tickles your fancy, O Captain of mine. I'll follow you," Tony grunts.
Steve's used to spending nights on his own, reading or sketching or simply going back to work, if there's more to be done. Spending time with someone else is still novel to him, and it has yet to occur to him that he could still do his solitary activities in Tony's company; he feels obligated to find something that engages both of them together and isn't simply having a lot of sex.
"That's an instinct that'll get you in trouble someday," he offers wryly. Following him headfirst into whatever disaster awaits usually doesn't end well for anyone - although admittedly Tony has enough sense to hang back and analyze the situation first, to balance Steve's more impulsive tendencies. "But tonight, a movie."
Steve laces his fingers in Tony's and thinks about how nice it is to just be able to walk with him holding hands, like stupid teenagers. He leads Tony to the shared common area - empty for now - and settles down on the couch, picking up the remote with his free hand, and clicks through the Netflix menus till he settles on a generic rom-com, something that doesn't require too much attention. "You need anything else?" he asks Tony.
As they leave the lab hand-in-hand, Tony's loose and comfortable in Steve's, Tony calls over his shoulder, "Lights out! Be good, U." He receives an answering beep and the holograms and screens shut off in sections behind them. From there the walk to the common room is filled by idle talk. Tony asks after his "chocolate bear" (Rhodey, obviously), who is out on a military operation, and reminds Steve again to request anything anyone on the team needs, Steve himself included. Though reassured that Steve and everyone is all right, an underlying worry weighs on Tony's heart during the exchange, revealed through a silence where he stares ahead and purses his mouth. An offhanded joke covers it up. That failing, Tony insists it's a matter to discuss later. To quote Steve: tonight, a movie.
Milkshake cup left on the table, Tony tips his aching head back onto the couch. He tries to focus on the heat of their interlaced fingers. "A bottle of water wouldn't go amiss. Heating pad, too," he finds himself answering—letting Steve take care of him. But of course Tony needs to be at least a little extra, so he requests, "Oh, and a traditional Swedish head, neck, and shoulders massage," as well.
Steve enjoys the chatter, even if he rolls his eyes at Tony calling Rhodey his chocolate bear (he's sure that Tony has even more ridiculous nicknames for him, and that Rhodey's heard them all in the many years he's known Tony). He doesn't press when Tony goes silent; they've had too many emotional moments today that he thinks they both need some time to recover, especially Tony.
"I should've asked before I sat down," Steve grumbles, but he's not really complaining. Instead, he gets up and fetches both of them bottles of water from the nearby minifridge that holds snacks and drinks for anyone too lazy to go to the kitchen while watching TV. "Is your head still bothering you?" He puts the movie on pause - the noise can't be helping his headache - and rubs at Tony's temples. "I'm afraid I'm not trained in massage," he offers wryly. "Missed that day of boot camp."
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"But you're welcome," he adds, before Tony can feel like he's dismissing what's clearly hard for him to say. "If you ever need anything, you can always come to me, Tony."
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But that's something to deal with in the future, if it happens again, and Steve shoves it aside.
"Being with you, it makes me feel needed," he says quietly. "Not just as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers. You're with me 'cause you want me and not the guy in the suit. For the longest time, I was just kinda adrift outside of the Avengers. I didn't see a place for me in the world. But-" Steve stops and laughs softly, shaking his head. "God, I'm such a sap. My place is with you."
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Swallowing thickly, Tony says, "I thought you'd found your home here," and then shuts his eyes. Little overwhelming to realize he's Steve's anchor as much as Steve is his. What a pair they make.
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Not that he strictly needs to earn a living; the Army owed him enough money when he was thawed out (thanks to listing him as MIA rather than dead) that cash isn't a problem. But Steve can't remain inactive, can't just sit around doing nothing. He's spent enough of his life idle already.
"I'm a man out of time, Tony. I don't fit. I tried to see things in black and white, but it's all just grey. I didn't know how to deal with that for awhile. I'm not sure I do now, but I'm trying the best I can. All I can do is trust my heart and follow where it leads me."
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"Well," Tony begins amicably, having straightened his back to listen with a concerned frown, "some of that's true. Other bits, not so much. 'Least not how I see it."
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"How do you see it?" He has to ask, of course.
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With a sudden start Tony stuffs the last bit of burger into his mouth. Oddly animated, he says to Steve while wiping his hands, "Leave your door open. I'm spending the night."
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"Like you wouldn't just let yourself in anyway." He chooses the more sarcastic retort - but, really, he doesn't care if Tony barges in on him. He doesn't have anything to hide from him. "Which, by the way, you're welcome to do," he clarifies. His door is always figuratively open, even if it's physically closed.
"You gonna keep working in here till bedtime?" Steve sucks up the dregs of his milkshake through a straw as he waits for an answer.
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"You sure you don't want me to leave you and your milkshake alone instead?" he teases him. "I know how you get about chocolate."
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"That's an instinct that'll get you in trouble someday," he offers wryly. Following him headfirst into whatever disaster awaits usually doesn't end well for anyone - although admittedly Tony has enough sense to hang back and analyze the situation first, to balance Steve's more impulsive tendencies. "But tonight, a movie."
Steve laces his fingers in Tony's and thinks about how nice it is to just be able to walk with him holding hands, like stupid teenagers. He leads Tony to the shared common area - empty for now - and settles down on the couch, picking up the remote with his free hand, and clicks through the Netflix menus till he settles on a generic rom-com, something that doesn't require too much attention. "You need anything else?" he asks Tony.
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Milkshake cup left on the table, Tony tips his aching head back onto the couch. He tries to focus on the heat of their interlaced fingers. "A bottle of water wouldn't go amiss. Heating pad, too," he finds himself answering—letting Steve take care of him. But of course Tony needs to be at least a little extra, so he requests, "Oh, and a traditional Swedish head, neck, and shoulders massage," as well.
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"I should've asked before I sat down," Steve grumbles, but he's not really complaining. Instead, he gets up and fetches both of them bottles of water from the nearby minifridge that holds snacks and drinks for anyone too lazy to go to the kitchen while watching TV. "Is your head still bothering you?" He puts the movie on pause - the noise can't be helping his headache - and rubs at Tony's temples. "I'm afraid I'm not trained in massage," he offers wryly. "Missed that day of boot camp."
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