gotup | for amelioraate

for amelioraate

[ He hasn't seen Tony since Siberia. Talked to him on the phone once or twice to negotiate their return, yeah, texted a few times, but in person? Nothing. Not that Steve's been allowed to see anyone. He has his own floor in the tower, and everyone's being very careful to say that none of them are prisoners, but guess what? They're prisoners.

To be fair, it's a nice prison, with pretty much every cable channel invented by man, high-speed internet, the works. His food's delivered - possibly by a robot, Steve isn't really sure, it just sort of shows up in the fridge and all he has to do is microwave it, and he suspects that robots do everything around here because he sure hasn't seen a human being.

(He hasn't seen any robots, either, apart from the little vacuum robot, and it's a sign of how desperate he is that he's starting to think of it like a pet. Especially when it gets confused and runs into the wall repeatedly.

Yeah, Steve's pretty sure he's cracking up.)

All of his negotiations are conducted via terse emails with various government officials, who a) are incensed that he refuses to sign the Accords (he read them, okay? it's not just turning control of the Avengers over to a UN panel) and b) can't believe that he isn't even remotely apologetic for everything he's done, won't even try to deny that he did it. He's glad Bucky's untouchable back in Wakanda, safely tucked away in one of T'challa's cryogenic pods. He has the king's word that nothing will happen to him, and from what Steve's seen, T'challa would rather die than break his word.

Steve's starting to wish he was back there, too. He'd mainly come back to try and repair things with Tony - to fix everything, but it's his splintered friendship that hurts the most - but Tony won't even come near him. He doesn't blame him, figures it's exactly what he deserves. Tony can keep the shield and the costume; they don't matter to him. They were only ever just a symbol. They'd started life as propaganda, and they can end that way. He just wants to be Steve Rogers, but he's not even sure he'll be allowed that much. ]

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Still can't believe they gave you one, I've seen how you drive motorcycles...

[ It's half muttered as he rubs at his face, the echo of familiar banter lacing his words despite everything that has happened. Tony crosses his arms and just... stares at Steve as he speaks. Something sits in his stomach, cold and bitter, the more Steve speaks; like Tony can feel the tension behind the man's words. He doesn't even have the energy to bristle at it, just sighs and hangs his head a little.

There are things that he wants to say, no, needs to say. About how he really never meant to break the Avengers apart like this, that he didn't mean to make it so that Steve had to choose (Tony wasn't stupid, he knew that if it ever came down to it, there was no way Steve, or anyone for that matter, would chose him), so that they would end up-- here. But Tony can't find the words, he is about to mutter another sorry, hope to god that was enough and try to hide i his lab a little longer when--]

Uh.... I'll take the coffee actually. It's uh... been a long couple of days and... yeah. [ He has no doubt that he probably has the lingering smell of scotch on him, mixed with grease and electricity. Coffee might do him some good right now.]

And it was Pepper. [ Pause ] That picked the couch, not-- she did most of this. Before... you know.

Yeah, like you have any room to talk about driving. [ Pot, kettle, black. ]

...You want something to keep you up longer? [Steve's not really sure that's healthy. It looks to him like Tony just needs to go to bed - not that he has any room to talk in that department, but he's a super-soldier, he can go longer without sleep than a normal person.

And Steve really does mean his words of gratitude, because it's more than he expected from anyone, let alone Tony, who has no reason to treat him like a decent human being. It's just that he has his own underlying issues and...Christ, no matter what he does to make things better, they're just going to get worse.

He heads back into the apartment, shuffling in the direction of the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee. He's glad Tony hasn't embraced the damn pod craze; real coffee just tastes better to him. ]

Well. It's a nice couch, whoever picked it out.

[ He guesses. He doesn't really know much about couches, and, god, why is he trying to make small talk at this time of night? ]

[ There is no verbal response to that, just a twitch of his brows as he looks at Steve as if daring him to say Tony was a more reckless driver. He wasn't, driving was the thing that Steve certainly won being most reckless for.]

Uh, yes? I mean that-- coffee isn't the best at that anymore but I made a solemn vow to Rhodes that I wouldn't dip back into anything better. Worse. Depends on how you look at it. [ Addiction was addiction, and Tony has been addicted to a lot of different things in his years. Alcohol was sadly the most benign of them all.

Since coming back from Siberia, Tony avoided sleep even more than usual; now he had nightmares about the world closing in, about space swallowing him whole, along side the image of Steve gritting his teeth and slamming the shield into his chest, into his throat and-- well, there was only so many times you can wake up screaming and tangled in your bedsheets before you figure that maybe sleep wasn't the greatest plan in the world. So Tony has been spending more and more time in the workshop. Creating. Building. Hiding. Call it whatever you want.

He really should be there and not-- here. Here was taunting. Steve was all awkward angles and tension just beneath the surface and Tony was hovering on that razor's edge of stupid right now and Steve-- the fucker wasn't helping. He's making fucking coffee the way Tony likes it, like he never forgot, in nothing but sweatpants that hang too low and fuck--

Tony must have been a fucking horrible person in his last life to deserve this. Wait, no, he was a horrible person in this life, never mind.

Dropping onto the couch with no grace whatsoever, Tony tries to focus elsewhere, anywhere, that isn't the bare skin go Steve's back. ]

Yeah well, I'm not going to make you fucking sit on iron spikes or anything. That and it's apparently super durable, figured you'd... uh.... yeah.

[ That brought to mind things he really shouldn't be thinking about right now. Fuck. Tony needs to go. ]

[ Steve doesn't think anything about nudity; he'd been in the army long enough that nudity among guys just happened. It was unavoidable when you had everyone in the barracks changing at the same time, out in the open, and he treats his own body with the lack of self-consciousness he would have about anyone else's. That, and in his mind he's still the same skinny guy - that he can't imagine anyone being attracted to his body, that he just sees his physique as a tool and certainly not an object of desire for anyone - means that he doesn't realize that he's making life difficult for Tony.

He is, however, starting to get a bit chilly now that he's stopped working out and the sweat on his skin is drying, so once the coffee's percolating, he ambles back over to the treadmill, grabbing the tank top draped over one of the railings and tugging it back over his head.

(It really does nothing whatsoever to help Tony's predicament, because pretty much everything in Steve's wardrobe looks like it's under extreme duress and fabric might explode everywhere at any moment.)

Steve sits down next to Tony, elbows on his legs, trying to pretend he's not intensely awkward but goddamnit he's going to have a conversation with the man. ]

So. Uh. Did you invent the little vacuum robot? Cute little fella.

[ There is a moment where Tony almost things that he is going to be saved by a shirt, or a sweater, when Steve shuffles over to treadmill but-- no. The man pulls on a fucking tank top that makes Toy want to weep and just-- not be here. He scrubs his hands over his face and tries his best not to stare at Steve.

God damnit, why did FRIDAY do this to him? What good would come of him being stuck in a room with Steve and his stupid face and all the fucking ghosts of their past looming about them? Honest to fuck, Tony was surprised that the man was even tlaking to him, let alone was letting him in his room.

Then again, maybe he just felt like he had to. Like because Tony turned up on his doorstep like some lost, drunk puppy, that he had to take care of him or something. It was totally like Steve to think that way, surely there was no reason for the blond to actually want to see Tony. Not after-- after everything.

So when Steve sits back down, radiating awkward and stiff, Tony snaps. He is standing before he really notices it, something between anger and hurt in his words.]

You don't have to fucking make small talk with me Rogers, I don't--- fuck, I don't need your goddamned pity! You owe me nothing, okay? Nothing. I am not putting you up here so you feel obliged to make nice to me, to pretend like you fucking care okay. I did it because I know I fucked up, I fucked up and I needed to make shit as right as I could. That's what Barnes will be free in the next four months, you and the rest of the Avengers too. I don't-- fuck I cannot handle you pretending like you give a damn, justdon't okay. Fuck.

[ There's a look of honest confusion on Steve's face when Tony snaps, a moment of hurt in his eyes because he thought he was trying, and maybe he doesn't know what the hell to talk about, but any words between them are progress, right?

Apparently not.

He drops his head to his hands, presses them into his eyes, because Tony knows exactly how to make people want to snap right back at him, and he'll be damned if he lets this turn into another fight, another wall between them. A deep breath, another, and Steve looks up at Tony. ]

It's not pity, Stark. The only one feeling sorry for you is you.

[ Of course I care, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat, dig in their claws, and he can't make them come out. ]

Talking to you is like - it's like walking through a goddamn minefield. I bring up the couch, for crying out loud, and it reminds you of Pepper. So I don't know what to say, because I don't want to step in the wrong place and set off a mine. I want both of us to make it out of here whole. I want- I just want to be able to talk to you.

And if it's not pity, then what the fuck is it, huh? Because it sure as fuck isn't honest caring now is it?

[ At this point, Tony doesn't care (or maybe he cares too much, maybe this is too much like before, when Steve was around and was a fixture in Tony's life and Tony thought that maybe he could rely on the blond only for it all to go to hell around them). He is shaking, the anger and fear and nights of no sleep and too much alcohol coursing through him and he just wants for this to stop already.

When Steve speaks, Tony can't help the self depreciating laugh that spills from his throat; something tired and hurt and just a little bit sharp. It has Tony bleeding out between them, honesty in his words that he never would have shared otherwise.]

You think I am fucking hurt when you bring up Pepper? When you talk about things I have fucked up? It doesn't hurt, Steve, I knew what I was doing when we broke up. Yeah, it wasn't easy for a while , but we discussed it. What fucking hurts, what is going to set off a fucking mine, is you pretending you care. I fucking-- fuck, you were one of three people in my life that I thought I could count on, Rogers. One of three. That number is down to one and he can't fucking walk now because of the shit you pulled. You ripped me into pieces when you left me in Siberia. [ Tony makes a choked noise, anger giving way just a little, but he refuses to cry, keeps the tears at bay.]

I can't fucking talk to you without wanting to scream and-- fuck! [ He spins around, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as he tries to calm down.] ... I saw you dead, you know that? That was-- when Wanda showed us our fears. Mine-- you were dead Steve, and it was my fault.

Edited 2016-12-09 01:41 (UTC)

[ Here Tony is, falling to pieces in front of him, and Steve doesn't know what the fuck to do. Every time he tries to make things better (which, granted, is a history that stretches back roughly five minutes), he just makes them worse, and, shit, he feels like saying anything else is going to lead to Tony slitting his wrists in front of him and making Steve watch him bleed just to make a point - because wouldn't that be the ultimate self-destructive act? And, hell, he's not sure Tony wouldn't be pushed that far.

So Steve gives up on talking, rises to his feet and gathers Tony into his arms. It's all he can do at this point, and if Tony punches him, then- hell, he'll probably just stand there and let him use him as a punching bag, if that'll make him feel better. ]

[ To say that Tony was surprised by Steve moving to hug him was an understatement. The moment he realizes Steve is behind him, Tony stiffens and is half way to turning around when he realizes the blond isn't trying to hurt him he's--- hugging him?

There is a moment where it was almost as if Tony short circuits. Stills in Steve's arms as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on because what? This isn't-- This is not something that Tony saw coming, and he was usually pretty good at seeing things coming, this was-- what. Before Tony really realizes what he is doing, he has one hand curled around Steve's forearm, not hard or demanding but... tentative.]

...Steve?

[ He hates how hoarse his voice is, how its cracked around the edges enough for something like hope to spill through. ]

[ Steve tugs Tony back down onto the couch, still holding him in his arms. He wonders for a moment if Tony's thinner - god, is he living on coffee and scotch and those stupid smoothies? - because he sure as hell feels like a wraith in his arms, like he could slip away at any moment. He almost expects Tony to feel like he sounds, all sharp edges trying to flay him to the bone - like hugging him could cut like a knife - but he just feels...normal. ]

I'm here, Tony. [ One hand slides up his back, cupping the back of his head tenderly. ] And I goddamn care, okay?

[ That-- that isn't a lie. Tony wishes it were a lie, that there was something less than honesty in Steve's voice because this? This feels too much like forgiveness and Tony-- Tony isn't sure he deserves that. Isn't sure that he can handle being forgiven, he has been with this weight of guilt for so long, he thinks it might be the only thing keeping him tied to the ground but now.

Now he apparently has Steve's arms around him and fuck. Steve's arms aren't enough to keep him together, not this time. Tony shatters apart; it starts as nothing, a hitch in his breathing as Steve sets them down on the couch and then-- then there are hands in his hair and fuck it, Tony's done, fraying at the seams and shaking apart with silent noises of grief and guilt and relief as he collapses in on himself.

I'm here.

And fuck if Tony didn't want him to just stay.]

Edited 2016-12-09 03:14 (UTC)

[ So Steve had largely been brought up with the notion that men don't cry, that they didn't express any feelings like sadness and grief and anything that would have made them appear less than perfectly normal. And he knows that's not how things are today, and he's perfectly okay with that. Hell, he thinks it's great that men can admit to things and get help and that his fellow veterans can say that war's broken them into pieces and not be called cowards. But at the same time- at the same time, he'd grown up with all the pain and illness and pretending so hard that he was all right was the only thing he could do to look normal. People expected the scrawny, sickly kid to cry going through treatments, or when they pounded him into the mud, and he just didn't.

Which is why he feels intensely awkward when Tony starts sobbing, because, hell, how do you deal with someone falling apart in your arms? But this is probably exactly what he signed up for when he gathered him up in the first place, something he was aware of on some level, and so Steve- Steve does what he does best; he's a solid rock of comfort, an anchor for Tony to cling to until he's cried himself out. He's just there, holding Tony in his arms. ]

[ It doesn't last long, Tony is burnt out an hollow and is surprised he had the energy for that (can't help but think fuck you, Howard in his head because steel in their spine indeed). And it doesn't take long for Tony to become... awkward. Like now that the energy is gone, the fury and the hurt bled from him, he has nothing left to keep him upright. Steve's arms feel like a cage and there is panic just out of reach to him but--

He presses his face against Steve's shoulder and lets out a shaky breath.] I kind of hate you, but not at all you know.

[ The words are barely formed, almost silent, but he knows Steve hears him. Wonders if he understands what he means by it. ]

[ Once Tony's done crying, Steve gingerly lets his arms fall away, hoping that it's not the only thing holding Tony together. It feels...surprisingly comfortable, sitting here like this with Tony, or it would if one of them wasn't emotionally drained and the other wasn't just really confused about everything. But he likes the way Tony's face feels pressed against his shoulder, and he really isn't sure he wants to devote too much thought to that right now, because maybe it's just because he's every bit as touch-starved as Tony.

That's probably it. And there definitely isn't a corner of his brain that thinks about how nice it would be to just curl up and sleep like this. ]

You're goddamn crazy, Tony.

[ But there's a laugh underneath that. He gets it, sort of. Or he thinks he does. ]

[ This was a stupid choice, really, Tony knew that there was no way this wouldn't end in disaster as soon as he realized whose floor he was trapped on but-- well Steve hasn't punched him and he hasn't punched Steve so maybe they were winning at this point. Maybe. There is a shaky huff of laughter against Steve's shoulder at this words but Tony doesn't move from his spot.

He should, he knows he should, but fuck he is tired.]

No shit. But I am fucking brilliant at it at least.

[ His voice is raw, a little cracked open, and he sounds hollowed out, but the weary edge of hurt seems to have been rubbed away. It was-- well it was something. ]

[ He leans back against the couch, exhausted, brings an arm up to tug Tony along with him without thinking. For the first time in days, Steve actually feels like maybe he could fall asleep and not have his slumber interrupted by nightmares. Wouldn't that be a novelty? God knows it hasn't happened much since he was defrosted. ]

I'm not sure that's something to be proud of.

[ But he's right. Steve's done a little research on the side, looked up all of Tony's public, messy crashes. Every one of them has made his heart hurt, because he can see how much it kills Tony a little more every time, how he's been driven to where he is now. It's dumb, but he wants to just- gather him up and keep him safe from the world.

(Tony would hate that so much.) ]

[ Blinking at the tug, Tony goes with the movement at first, too tired and wrung out to really process what is happening. Steve is... warm. Warm and solid and fuck, Tony missed him. He knew that there was still so much between them, so many things that needed to be dealt with and probably a hundred more fights and miscommunications and screaming matches on Tony's part to go through but, for now... yeah Tony could handle this.

He is a little stiff under Steve's arm, wary about the casual affection that seems to be in the movement, but he knows that if he tries to get up and leave right now, no good will come of it. And, maybe if he was honest with himself, he could say he wants this. Someone to actually care. He wants to believe Steve.]

Hey, gotta rock what you've got, right? I've got insanity in droves, along with messy explosions and a knack for numbers. Whatever works, right?

[ Tony would never respond well to being kept safe, mainly because he is the one thing he needs to be kept safe from most of the time. ]

[ Steve knows it too, but right now he can't even remember the last time he had honest to god human contact and Tony is a warm weight on his chest that feels kind of comforting. It's confusing if he tries to think about it too hard, so he just doesn't, closes his eyes and relaxes, even though all his muscles are so tense that they probably feel like they're still frozen in ice.

(Sometimes Steve feels like he's still frozen in ice, too.) ]

You wouldn't know what to do if you weren't being a smartass.

[ Fall to pieces, apparently, if his display earlier is any indication. ]

[ It is a little strange if he thinks about it, how he has gone from half wanting to punch Steve to being pressed up against his side and-- fuck, he should move. He should leave, this was such a dumb idea and yet-- yet he can't seem to make himself get up and leave right now. And not just because Steve was warm and comfortable and very much there after spending so long with just metal and robots, but-- it was like he wanted Tony there and that was not something that the genius expected.

Tony can feel Steve speaking, can feel the rumble in his chest, notes how Steve still seems a little high strung around the edges like he doesn't know how to let go of the tension and Tony gets that. But he doesn't know how to help Steve, so he just-- breathes deep and melts a little more against the blond.

He could always claim temporary insanity and drunkenness tomorrow.]

That is the core of who I am, yes. So being a smartass or blowing shit up, take your pick.

[ Steve's actually starting to feel drowsy, and some deeply buried part of him wonders how much Tony would resist if he just picked him up and carried him to bed. Except then he'd startle and run away (or get the wrong idea entirely), so it's probably best to just stay here. ]

I think that's probably an and, Tony. Not an or.

[ What he's really thinking is that Tony uses the sharp edge of his words to keep people at bay, that it's just another one of the masks he wears, one of the walls. That he wants to see the real Tony, but he knows the other man is too vulnerable, too afraid to ever do that. That he might have, once, before everything fell apart, but now things are different.

His words are starting to slur together a little, and maybe if he just lets his eyes close for a moment- ]

[ There is a look cast sideways to the blond, Tony somewhat curious and maybe a little confused as how easily Steve seems to let his guard down around him. How he seems okay just-- sitting here with Tony half on top of him, after sobbing at him and... what the fuck was even going on. But Tony is finding it hard to think, the fog of too little sleep and too much alcohol and Steve's warmth settling into his bones so he just... goes with it.

When Steve speaks of both, Tony does the only thing that comes to mind, he turns his head just a little and bites Steve.]

The two are not mutually inclusive.

[ He tires for sounding standoffish, but it falls a little short. There is a moment, or three, where Tony just stays there against the blond. Lets the sound of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest lull him into a trance like state before her jerks out of with a twitch. Tony shakes his head and sits up.]

Uh...I should...go. Steve? [ Tony blinks, realizing that the blond is actually sleeping and... oh... ]

Edited 2016-12-12 01:35 (UTC)

[ Steve is out cold for once, and his head tips slightly till his chin is resting against the top of Tony's head. He stays that way for a solid few hours, holding Tony close to his chest. ]

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for amelioraate

/shuffles away from tumblr to finish this

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