[ Steve doesn't sleep much. He spent sixty-plus years asleep, he tells himself, he doesn't need it now. Truth is, when he closes his eyes, he sees everything - all the ghosts that haunt him. Their fight in Siberia has joined the ranks, and so he runs instead, on a treadmill that faces plate-glass windows, looking out on the sleeping city. The treadmill doesn't go fast enough, and it's not as good as running outside, but he'll take what he can get.
(The treadmill might be making a noise like it's about to die. Steve doesn't know, he's not familiar with the machines.)
When he hears a voice outside his door, Steve hits the stop button on the treadmill, drapes a towel around his neck. Doesn't really register the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt, because it's the middle of the night. He opens the door to see what's going on, and-
Oh.
And, okay, maybe he's been acting childish and sulking, all well, if Tony doesn't want to talk to me, then I'm not going to try and reach out to him. He hasn't been talking to the others, either, no matter how they try to involve him in things. He's been keeping his distance from everyone, because he ruined everything to try and save Bucky, and in the end? He's not even sure it mattered, because here he is, just as alone as he'd been in the first place.
Might as well go stand out on a glacier.
So, yeah, even Steve Rogers has a pity party sometimes. (It's stoic and stubborn and the kind of party no one else even wants to come to.) Maybe he needs to get the goddamn hell over himself, like Sam keeps saying. But every time he thinks about Tony, he remembers his anger, trying to put his shield through his chest - Tony's chest, what the hell was he thinking? He deserves all the shit Tony wants to pile on him and more.
Steve rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door for a moment, closes his eyes. He can do this. And if Tony doesn't want to talk to him, then he can just tell him to fuck off. Probably will, in fact. He opens the door, pokes a tousled head out. ]
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(The treadmill might be making a noise like it's about to die. Steve doesn't know, he's not familiar with the machines.)
When he hears a voice outside his door, Steve hits the stop button on the treadmill, drapes a towel around his neck. Doesn't really register the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt, because it's the middle of the night. He opens the door to see what's going on, and-
Oh.
And, okay, maybe he's been acting childish and sulking, all well, if Tony doesn't want to talk to me, then I'm not going to try and reach out to him. He hasn't been talking to the others, either, no matter how they try to involve him in things. He's been keeping his distance from everyone, because he ruined everything to try and save Bucky, and in the end? He's not even sure it mattered, because here he is, just as alone as he'd been in the first place.
Might as well go stand out on a glacier.
So, yeah, even Steve Rogers has a pity party sometimes. (It's stoic and stubborn and the kind of party no one else even wants to come to.) Maybe he needs to get the goddamn hell over himself, like Sam keeps saying. But every time he thinks about Tony, he remembers his anger, trying to put his shield through his chest - Tony's chest, what the hell was he thinking? He deserves all the shit Tony wants to pile on him and more.
Steve rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door for a moment, closes his eyes. He can do this. And if Tony doesn't want to talk to him, then he can just tell him to fuck off. Probably will, in fact. He opens the door, pokes a tousled head out. ]
Do you ever sleep, Stark?