[ Of course he knows who's floor he is on, he built the damn place, he knows where his traitor of an AI has tossed him at stupid o'clock in the morning when he has little to no defences left. There is a small part of him that hopes that maybe he is wrong, that this isn't the floor he thinks it is but-- there is the distinct sound of a treadmill dying and Tony prays to whatever might be listening that Steve doesn't realize that he is here.
Banging against the elevator door weakly he curses at his AI again. This is-- this is not what he needed right now. He was going to talk to Steve. Eventually. You know, when he didn't feel like he was falling apart at the seams every time he saw those blue eye and blond hair and the stab of hurt when he remembers how much rage and fury was behind the shield there in Siberia. When he thought that maybe he had some semblance of control over his emotions and his traitor of a mouth that liked to run off on its own when he was hurt or-- no, nope. No more of this. He couldn't afford to think like this, not if--
Oh shit.
Tony hears the door open, hears the one person he is actively avoiding move into the hall and, shit, how the fuck is this his life? There is another low noise, possibly a whimper, as he bangs his head against the elevator doors. He can't-- this isn't-- fuck.]
You know the answer to that, Rogers. I sleep when the future does. Which is exactly never, and--
[ His mistake is looking away from the elevator doors because Steve? Steve apparently doesn't see the point of shirts at this hour and fuck, Tony is not okay with this he needs to go because Steve looks like-- like Steve. There is a choked noise caught behind Tony's teeth as he stares wide eyed at Steve.
This? This is why Tony avoids the fuck out of Steve. Because beneath the shield shaped bruise on his chest, and the betrayal that worries the space between his brows, Tony still aches. There is shrapnel in his veins, lodged in his fucking heart, and it's shaped like all the is Good and Right and Just and-- Tony never said anything before. About how Steve was fucking important to him; that Tony wouldn't think twice before putting his own life on the line for Steve's how-- how it didn't matter at all because Steve had Barnes and the past and Tony had robots and alcohol and more guilt on his shoulders than even the armour could carry.
Deflating a little against the door, Tony keeps his eyes closed and rubs at the back of his neck, trying so hard not to look at Steve.]
Sorry. I will... be gone in a minute. You know, when my AI stops hating me. I am going to donate you, FRIDAY!
no subject
Banging against the elevator door weakly he curses at his AI again. This is-- this is not what he needed right now. He was going to talk to Steve. Eventually. You know, when he didn't feel like he was falling apart at the seams every time he saw those blue eye and blond hair and the stab of hurt when he remembers how much rage and fury was behind the shield there in Siberia. When he thought that maybe he had some semblance of control over his emotions and his traitor of a mouth that liked to run off on its own when he was hurt or-- no, nope. No more of this. He couldn't afford to think like this, not if--
Oh shit.
Tony hears the door open, hears the one person he is actively avoiding move into the hall and, shit, how the fuck is this his life? There is another low noise, possibly a whimper, as he bangs his head against the elevator doors. He can't-- this isn't-- fuck.]
You know the answer to that, Rogers. I sleep when the future does. Which is exactly never, and--
[ His mistake is looking away from the elevator doors because Steve? Steve apparently doesn't see the point of shirts at this hour and fuck, Tony is not okay with this he needs to go because Steve looks like-- like Steve. There is a choked noise caught behind Tony's teeth as he stares wide eyed at Steve.
This? This is why Tony avoids the fuck out of Steve. Because beneath the shield shaped bruise on his chest, and the betrayal that worries the space between his brows, Tony still aches. There is shrapnel in his veins, lodged in his fucking heart, and it's shaped like all the is Good and Right and Just and-- Tony never said anything before. About how Steve was fucking important to him; that Tony wouldn't think twice before putting his own life on the line for Steve's how-- how it didn't matter at all because Steve had Barnes and the past and Tony had robots and alcohol and more guilt on his shoulders than even the armour could carry.
Deflating a little against the door, Tony keeps his eyes closed and rubs at the back of his neck, trying so hard not to look at Steve.]
Sorry. I will... be gone in a minute. You know, when my AI stops hating me. I am going to donate you, FRIDAY!