The First Day of Spring

”Who the fuck put the coffee grounds up there again?”

Fresh back from his morning run, Steve was about to enter the kitchen when he heard the furious muttering. Even without looking, he knew who it was, and—yep, Stark was already (or still?) awake and by the coffee maker, visibly gritting his teeth. 

”I believe Captain Rogers did it by mistake, Sir,” JARVIS said.

Steve winced. He kept returning the grounds on the third shelf on the right, even though it had been one of the first lessons Iron Man had taught him. Mr. Stark’s coffee grounds are exactly here and nowhere else.

”Mistake my ass,” Stark huffed as he snapped the wheelchair brakes on, leaned forward, and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. 

Steve could barely believe his eyes as Stark heaved himself up and braced himself with his left hand while reaching out for the coffee with his right. Not willing to see what would happen, Steve hurried forward and snatched the container, setting it on the counter. 

”Here,” he said, sheepish.

”Yeah, whatever,” Stark muttered, settling stiffly back to his chair. He didn’t say anything else, just set on the task of brewing himself coffee with at least twice the amount of grounds people normally used.

”You shouldn’t do that,” Steve said hesitantly a moment later. ”Climb on the counter, I mean. You could hurt yourself.”

Slowly, Stark put the coffee grounds back on the counter and turned his torso to give Steve a look over his shoulder. ”Gee, thanks for the warning,” he said flatly. ”It must hurt a lot if I fall on my face from this chair.”

Steve winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so condescending and he was pretty sure Stark knew it. He wanted to apologize but from their previous encounters, he knew that whatever he said now would only anger Stark more. So he settled on starting the breakfast—eggs, bacon, the usual—while shooting looks from the corner of his eye at the other man. 

Stark was sitting up, his posture ramrod straight as he waited for the coffee to brew straight into the giant thermos mug he used. The machine let out a low hiss, a surprisingly soft sound for the monster of an appliance it was. Steve had been told it was designed by Stark himself to his own needs. It took water straight from the tap, cleared out the grounds and self-cleaned the filtering system, and even knew how to brew seven different strengths. The only thing Stark had to do himself was to add the coffee grounds.

…You know, the coffee grounds Steve tended to place on the third shelf by habit because that’s where his Ma had always kept coffee grounds. He stifled a sigh.

When the coffee maker beeped, Stark removed the full thermos mug, snapped the lid closed, and placed it in between his thighs. With a couple of small moves, he turned his wheelchair around, ready to go.

”You could stay for breakfast?” Steve offered plaintively.

Stark paused, turned his head just a fraction. ”Or not,” he said and started wheeling himself out. ”Why don’t you try to leave the coffee where it is this time, instead of moving it up on purpose.”

Then he was gone, and Steve was left alone in the kitchen, feeling as lost as he’d felt since he’d been unfrozen.

There were many things Steve didn’t understand about this bright, new world he’d woken up in. Hypermarkets, 984 cable channels, Neo-nazis, and deep-fried Mars bars were just the tip of the iceberg. After a little while, some things started to slowly make sense, but the relationship with the Avengers’ recluse benefactor Tony Stark and his bodyguard, Iron Man, eluded him no matter how he tried to wrap his mind around it.

Tony Stark, the head of Stark Industries, was a genius, a billionaire and a philanthropist, a futurist with a mind so complex Steve didn’t even pretend to comprehend the things he sometimes heard Stark rambling about. He was also Howard Stark’s son, something Steve’s mind still shied away from, and not only because the Howard he’d known had never wanted to marry, let alone have kids. It was also because Howard’s son was yet another palpable reminder of how much Steve had missed, how much time had passed while he’d been under the ice.

Tony Stark was a sharp man with a cutting tongue and brittle edges, and no matter how much Steve tried, he just couldn’t seem to get on his good side. He was pretty sure the main reason was Stark’s…handicap.

Yes, that.

From the internet and the sparse files SHIELD had provided back when the whole Avengers team had been introduced to him, Steve had learned that Stark had been kidnapped almost a decade ago. The file didn’t go into details, but the results were clear as day: the Tony who had traveled to Afghanistan for a missile demo to several high-ranking US Army officials had died and the man who had returned was something completely different. 

To Steve, the haunted look he’d seen in Stark’s eyes was familiar: back in the day, he’d seen the shell-shocked, vacant stare in his fellow soldiers’ eyes too many times to count. Sometimes, the reason for it was simply too many witnessed horrors; other times, something more sinister. And Steve was almost certain that to Stark, the reason was more than just being kidnapped.

Because the Tony Stark that had travelled to Afghanistan had walked into the private plane with his own two legs. The Tony Stark that returned never walked again.

And somewhere along the way, between getting rehabilitated, designing his own wheelchair, and shutting down the Stark Industries weapons manufacturing, Tony Stark had also acquired an armored personal bodyguard. No-one knew who Iron Man was or where he’d come from. The only thing that was certain was that he had single-handedly tracked down the terrorists—and, consequently Stark’s mentor, Obadiah Stane who had been behind the whole thing—and killed each and every one. 

Despite his brilliance, Tony Stark was a bitter man with a self-destructive streak a mile wide. He was almost impossible to deal with but Iron Man stayed by his side as a silent sentinel, ever vigilant and loyal to the core even when Stark tried and almost managed to chase away people who cared about him. Steve sometimes wondered if keeping Tony Stark safe from himself was part of Iron Man’s job description.

When the Avengers had become a thing, Stark had opened his home for them and invited them in. It baffled Steve to no end because he thought Stark didn’t especially care about the mismatched bunch of superheroes invading his home. But he kept to himself, designed and redesigned their tech to the everlasting frustration of SHIELD R&D, and, of course, provided Iron Man with his armor. 

Steve figured that was probably the reason Stark even tolerated the Avengers. To his best knowledge, Fury had somehow persuaded Iron Man to join the Avengers Initiative, and Tony had been the obligatory sidekick.

Sometimes, Steve wasn’t sure it was worth it.

”I don’t get it,” Steve sighed and shook his head. 

He was tired and sweaty and couldn’t wait for a shower, a meal, and a bed, and not necessarily in that order. The fight had been a short but vicious one and the whole team was covered in some sort of smelly, viscous slime that itched like hell where it came in contact with bare skin.

Iron Man landed on the Tower’s landing pad with a solid thunk, let go of Steve, and cocked his head. ”Get what?” he asked. His voice was exhausted even through the armor’s voice synthesizer. 

Steve waved his hands in the universal ’anything’ move and nearly toppled over. ”Why you keep defending him.”

It was an old argument between them. Over the months, Iron Man had been the one constant in Steve’s life, a solid presence that had helped him to navigate the new millennia and find his footing again. They’d started as colleagues but as they had spent more and more time with each other, their relationship had changed. At first, Steve had been slightly put off about Iron Man’s language on the comms but as time went on, he started to enjoy their banter. They had bonded over sleepless nights and a special microbrew Stark ordered, and even though Steve still didn’t know anything personal about Iron Man (like his real name), he considered them friends.

And he still couldn’t wrap his head around why Iron Man stayed with Stark. Was it because of the money? Because of some misplaced sense of obligation? 

”Steve—” Iron Man started.

”Yeah, I know. You have your reasons,” Steve interrupted and winced inwardly at his snappish tone. ”But I think you also see a very different Stark than anyone else.”

Iron Man didn’t bother answering, just shook his head and started inside. 

”I just… Why does he have to be so goddamn prickly all the time?” Steve asked, walking beside him. ”I understand battle scars and injuries and I’ve witnessed the results of torture with my own eyes. I’ve seen what the Nazis did. I know he’s been hurt. I just don’t understand why he has to take it out on me!” 

Iron Man stopped and bowed his head. ”Mr. Stark is a complicated man with a…complicated history,” he said slowly. ”And I know it sounds lame, but that’s the best way to describe him.” He swayed slightly on his feet.

”Are you okay?” Steve asked, feeling like a moron. There he was, whining about Stark while his friend might be injured. ”Do you need help?”

Iron Man didn’t turn his head, just raised a hand to placate him. ”I’m fine. Go clean up and get some rest.” His voice was subdued and Steve felt like he’d missed something.

”Are you sure?”

”Yeah, I’m sure. Goodnight, Steve.”

”Goodnight,” he said, frowning at Iron Man’s retreating form.

Thing was, the more Steve tried to get to the bottom of it, the more it eluded him. Rationally, he understood that he was a man out of time and knew next to nothing about their landlord, but he was still frustrated and more than a little pissed. He’d tried to be friendly, he’d tried to be civil and polite, but all his efforts so far had been buffed. It was like Stark wanted to push people away from him and Steve wasn’t sure why. Because he enjoyed his self-enforced solitude? Because he liked being an outcast? Hell if he knew.

And yet.

Steve had seen glimpses of another Stark. The one who still had all the bark but less bite, the one who smiled fondly at his bots and bickered good-naturedly with Colonel Rhodes on the phone. The one who gave a stinging lecture to a toaster after one especially disastrous incident including Clint and chocolate chip cookies. The one who sometimes rested his head against the back of his wheelchair and directed a soft smile at the ceiling even though the whole Tower knew JARVIS didn’t live in the ceiling. The one who answered a soft ”That will be all, Ms. Potts,” whenever the Stark Industries CEO took her leave. 

He did all this and more when he thought no-one was watching and if caught, he turned back into the bitter and irritable man so fast it almost gave Steve whiplash.

But Steve saw and he wondered.

One Tuesday, things changed. The day itself was nothing special, just an ordinary weekday when Steve woke up at 5:48 after a nightmare that left him shivering, went for a long run, and then, after seeing Stark’s thermos mug on the counter, decided to take it to the man. Stark couldn’t be too irate with him if he came bearing coffee, could he?

He didn’t mean to spy on Stark—in fact, he honestly thought it was impossible, what with JARVIS running the Tower and all. He stepped out of the elevator and was about to push open the glass door into the workshop when he glanced up and saw Stark sitting on a sturdy bench with his back to the door, hunched over something that looked like his wheelchair wheel. Steve paused, unsure of whether to call out for JARVIS or knock on the glass. Before he had the chance to decide, one of the bots bumped into Stark, dousing him with something sticky and oily. The music blasted so loud that the glass reverberated with the force of it so Steve didn’t hear what Stark said to his bot, but the sound did nothing to diminish what he saw when Stark took the shirt off.

Stark’s arms were covered in scars that crisscrossed around, dove over his shoulders to run down his back in an intricate, terrible net of past pain. At the base of his neck was a jagged, thick scar tissue that was still puckered and angry red. It continued along the spine and merged with the web of scars that pooled in the small of his back.

The coffee thermos forgotten, Steve stared at the roadmap of torture, dazed and out of his depth. He was fervently grateful Stark was so immersed in whatever he was doing that he didn’t notice Steve by the door, blatantly staring at his injuries. It didn’t occur to Steve to wonder why neither JARVIS nor Iron Man—who stood calmly a bit to Stark’s right, facing Steve—alerted Stark to his presence.

With a sick feeling in his gut, Steve backed away and returned to his room.

In the following days, the image of Stark’s scarred back didn’t leave him alone. The curse of eidetic memory was that he could recall each white and red line with painful precision, all the while wondering how many times and how deep Stark had been cut. The memory laced his interactions with Stark and he found himself looking and stumbling, almost offering lame apologies to make him (or himself) feel better. It earned him suspicious looks and snappish answers and, eventually, Iron Man asking if everything was alright.

”You know what happened to Stark, don’t you?” He ventured one night. ”You know what he’s been through?”

They were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the city. The beer bottle in his hand felt slippery with the condensation and he took a long pull to give his hands something to do. The alcohol didn’t affect him but the brew tasted like summer and dirt roads in a good kind of way and something about it soothed him. 

Iron Man sighed. ”Is that what’s been bugging you?”

Steve shrugged and gave him a sheepish, lopsided smile that felt more like a grimace.

Iron Man was silent for a long time before saying, ”What I do or do not know, doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t tell you either way.”

”Yeah,” Steve said quietly and took a long pull from his bottle. 

Tony Stark was an enigma wrapped in barbed wire and pain, and Steve… Well. 

Steve started to realize he wanted to solve him.

When they got the order to Assemble and fly to Stuttgart, it was a relief. Steve felt like something had been building for a long while and the mission in Germany was like a rubber band had been snapped. Tension had run high at SHIELD for some time now and Steve was ready to bet good money that Director Fury was directly involved. 

But no matter what he’d seen so far in the future, he hadn’t been exactly prepared for two Norse gods having a pissing contest in the middle of a forest. And even though they contained Loki afterward, he had a feeling they had missed something crucial. It was annoying and left him feeling on edge, and finding out Tony Stark had been flown in to study Loki’s scepter only added to his foul mood.

After debriefing Fury on how Stuttgart had turned out, he made his way into the lab Stark and Dr. Banner were currently in, just in time to see Stark poke Banner in his side with something sharp.

”Hey!” He barked. ”Are you nuts?”

”The jury’s out,” Stark quipped over his shoulder and deftly swiveled his chair around Banner whose lips turned into a small, amused smile. ”What’s your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? A huge bag of weed?”

Steve gritted his jaw. ”Is everything a joke to you?” 

 ”Funny things are,” Stark said, raised a brow, and cocked his head. Something about the posture irked Steve even more.

”Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn’t funny!” Steve snapped. Then he blinked and added, sheepishly, ”No offense, doc.”

”Oh, please,” Stark huffed, waving away Banner’s answer while fiddling with the StarkPad on his lap. ”He wouldn’t have come along if he couldn’t handle a bit of poking.”

Steve shoot a glance at Banner who shrugged and kept on scanning the scepter.

”You need to focus on the problem, Stark,” Steve said levelly. ”The problem being Loki and that staff of his. What he wants, why is he here, where—”

”You think I’m not?” Stark asked. ”Tell me, why did Fury call us in? Why now? What isn’t he telling us?”

”You think Fury is hiding something?” Steve asked slowly.

Stark rolled his eyes. ”He’s a spy. Captain, he’s the spy. His secrets have secrets.” He tapped furiously away with his StarkPad and muttered, ”…I’ll know more once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD’s secure files.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. ”I’m sorry, did you say—”

”JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge,” Stark interrupted. ”In a few hours, I’ll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide. Blueberry?”

Steve blinked at the non-sequitur and stared at the hand holding a small bag of dried blueberries like they were about to attack him. ”And yet you’re confused about why they didn’t want you around,” he sneered.

Stark cocked his head.”An intelligence organization that fears intelligence is, historically, not awesome.”

”You’re missing the point,” Steve gritted out. ”I think Loki’s trying to wind us up. This is a man who means to start a war and if we don’t stay focused, he’ll succeed. We have orders. We should follow them.”

”Actually—” Banner started from behind his screen.

”Umm, following’s not really my style,” Stark interrupted, tossed a handful of dried blueberries into his mouth, and gave Steve a challenging look.

Steve stared at him for a moment, at a loss of words. ”And you’re all about style, aren’t you,” he muttered after a moment before marching out of the lab without looking back.

He couldn’t get Stark’s comment about Fury and secrets out of his mind, though, so after a moment of contemplation, he shook his head and headed towards the cargo bay. The Helicarrier was a big enough to store anything from quinjets to Jeeps to helicopters, but he wasn’t interested in the bigger cargo areas. No, he remembered one specific ”Authorized personnel only” bay that Fury had conveniently passed by during his tour. Steve wondered how many crewmen in this ship had higher clearance than him. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

It took him a moment but he managed to bodily move the blast door to the side so that he could slip inside. The area was dimly lit and relatively small but, unlike other cargo bays he’d checked so far, this one had armed guards patrolling. 

”Not suspicious at all,” he muttered under his breath as he silently jogged across the floor, jumped over the railing, and ducked behind a crate to wait for the guards to pass. 

The crates were unmarked, ominous matte black, unassumingly stacked in neat rows. He wasn’t sure what he would find when he cracked one open, but he was sadly unsurprised to see the familiar sign of Hydra stamped on several different guns. He opened seven more crates just to see more of the same, hoping against hope that there would be something—anything—else.

”Goddamnit,” he swore under his breath.

He picked up one of the guns and marched towards the door, all his previous stealth forgotten. The guards yelled and ran after him but something about his furious face and posture told them they’d probably be better off if they just let him leave.

He re-entered the lab in the middle of a heated argument between Stark and Fury. Banner, Natasha, and Thor were standing in a loose circle around them, and Iron Man stood in guard by the wall, silent and unmoving.

”—Excuse me, what were you lying?” Stark asked, turning his StarkPad to face Fury. On the screen, a 3D-model of the gun Steve was holding rotated slowly around its axis with the title ”Phase Two” above it.

”Phase Two is to use the cube as a weapon,” Steve said and slammed the Hydra gun on the table with a force that made everyone except Natasha and Iron Man twitch. ”Sorry, the computer was working a bit slow for me,” he quipped at Stark who gave him an appraising look from his chair. ”I was wrong. The world hasn’t changed a bit.”

For a moment, no-one said a word.

Banner took off his glasses. ”Why is SHIELD using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction?” He asked softly.

Fury glared at Steve. ”Because of him,” he said, pointing at Thor.

”Me? Our people want nothing but peace with your planet!” Thor exclaimed, throwing his hands wide. ”Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it in the first place! It’s a signal to all other realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war.”

”A higher form—” Fury started, but Stark interrupted him.

”A nuclear deterrent,” he snorted. ”Because that always calms things right down.”

Fury slowly turned around to face him. ”Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?”

”Wait, wait, how is this suddenly about me?” Stark demanded.

The conversation spiraled rapidly out of control with everyone except Iron Man yelling insults at each other. There was a high-pitched ringing sound in Steve’s ears that made thinking hard, but he knew he wanted to continue, wanted to argue, wanted to throw barbs that would tear open wounds and hurt. 

”—Just back off!” Steve snapped and roughly slapped Stark’s hand away from his arm, jostling the wheelchair slightly at the same time. 

Stark cocked his head slowly. ”Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” he said with a leer.

”Really? And what are you? A rich playboy who has never had to do anything by himself. I know guys with none of your riches worth ten of you. Don’t pretend to be better than you are. You’re nothing more than a benefactor, leaching off the work of real heroes—” 

”Oh, real heroes? Like you?” Stark backed his wheelchair a bit and gave Steve an all-encompassing wave. ”You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

Steve drew himself into his full height. ”Well, why don’t you just get up and say it to my face. Oh, right, you can’t! You’re just a sad, broken thing who thinks he can still pass as a man.”

He fully expected Stark to snap back, to insult him, but instead, something horribly fragile flickered across his face before it smoothed into an expressionless mask. 

”Well then,” Stark said flatly, his voice completely devoid of emotion. Without further word, he turned his wheelchair around and left the room.

Steve blinked and looked at the others. They all had the same, slightly dazed look on their faces. ”What—”

With a sick feeling in his gut, Steve took a started forward, only to almost bump into Iron Man who stepped in front of him and raised his hand. 

”If you take another step, Captain Rogers, I swear to God I will shoot you in the face and gladly bear the full consequences of my actions,” he said, his voice cold and harsh through the voice modulator.

Steve swallowed. His friend had never spoken to him like that, not even in the beginning. ”I— I need to—”

”I think you’ve done enough,” Iron Man interrupted.

”But—”

And then one of the Helicarrier’s engines exploded.

It was chaos.

Steve would later learn that while he and Iron Man had been busy fixing the broken engine and not dying, the Hulk had taken over Banner and Loki had tricked Thor into the containment chamber, killed Agent Coulson, and vanished with the Tesseract. After, as they sat in desperate silence and listened to Fury give a speech about the Avengers Initiative and heroes, Steve stared at the bloodied Captain America Collector Cards in his hands and wondered if the Director himself even believed in anything anymore.

The only light in the darkness was that Stark had been out of the way and Natasha had managed to hit Clint in the head hard enough to negate Loki’s mind control. It was a cold comfort that did next to nothing to alleviate the impotent rage they all felt. So, when Stark hissed a curse and wheeled his chair out of the bridge in the middle of Fury’s speech, none of them was surprised. 

With a quiet excuse to no-one in particular, Steve hurried after him. 

By the time he caught up with Stark, he had somehow reached the hall the containment chamber had been stored in and was staring at the bloodstain on the floor. Steve wondered how the hell Stark had managed to make it out there already. Did he have some kind of…propulsion tech on his wheelchair? 

Someone had tried to scrub the worst of it off but with most of the Helicarrier in shambles…well, they had more immediate problems to work on.

Steve cleared his throat but Stark didn’t react. ”He seemed like a good man. I’m sorry,” he said quietly, searching for the lukewarm words he’d used during the war. ”Is this the first time you lost a soldier?”

Stark whirled his chair around so fast that for a second, Steve was sure he was going to topple over. ”We are not soldiers!” Stark hissed.

”That’s not—” Steve started. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, telling himself he wasn’t hiding from Stark’s intense gaze. ”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He dragged his hand across his face. 

Stark didn’t say anything. 

Steve glanced around, trying to gather his thoughts and noticed Iron Man standing by the wall. Somehow, it gave him strength. ”I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was completely out of line.”

Stark shook his head slightly, a self-deprecating twist on his lips.

”It was Loki’s scepter,” Steve insisted. ”I never meant—”

”The scepter just added to the feelings we already have,” Stark said tiredly. ”Please, just…shut up.” He stared at the wall for a moment with a vacant look in his eyes before straightening his posture. ”I don’t know why I even bother,” he said softly. ”I’m heading back to the Tower.”

”Stark—Tony—” Steve started.

”Step aside, Captain,” Iron Man said from behind him. He walked past Steve, picked Stark’s wheelchair up, and carried it down the steps. Neither of them looked at Steve on their way out.

”Was that Stark’s quinjet?” Natasha asked when Steve entered the ruined lab. She was rummaging through the rubble with an intense frown on her face.

”Yeah,” Steve said. He felt tired to the bone but he knew the day was far from over.

Natasha cocked her head. ”Huh,” she said, then raised a brow and looked over Steve’s shoulder. ”Did Tony leave you behind?”

Steve whirled around, startled that he hadn’t heard Iron Man entering.

”I go where Mr. Stark orders me to,” Iron Man said flatly.

”Good to see you, Shellhead,” Steve said quietly. ”Are you alright?”

Iron Man didn’t look at him. ”I’ll manage.” His armor was chipped and battered, and it creaked ominously when he moved. ”So, what’s next?”

”Fury said—”

 ”I don’t give a fuck what he said, I’m not marching to Fury’s fife,” Clint muttered darkly. 

”Neither am I,” Steve said. ”He’s got the same blood in his hands as Loki does. But right now we have to put that behind us and get this done because there’s an alien army out of space heading our way. Now, Loki needs a power source—”

”He made this personal,” Natasha growled. ”He killed Coulson.”

”It’s not the point,” Steve reminded, frustration creeping into his voice.

”No, that’s exactly Loki’s point!” Iron Man said. ”He did this right where we live, why?”

”To tear us apart, obviously,” Clint said.

Iron Man shook his head. ”He knows he has to take us out to win. But he wants to beat us and he wants to be seen doing that. He wants an audience. He wants flowers and parades, he wants a monument with his name on—” Iron Man stopped, tilted his head. Then. ”Shit.”

”What?” Steve asked.

Iron Man started his repulsors and tried to take off, only to drop back down when his left repulsors went out. He muttered something under his breath and hit his hand across his chest a couple of times. It seemed to help and he took off a moment later, flying straight out of the broken lab window.

”Iron Man!” Steve yelled after him. ”What is it?”

”A monument with his name on it,” Natasha said. ”Stark Tower.”

Horrified, Steve stared at her. ”But Stark went back there.”

”I’m on it!” Came Iron Man’s voice through the comms.

Steve swallowed his worry and looked at Clint. ”Are you good to go? I need a pilot.”

The battle was grueling in a way Steve had never encountered before. The Chitauri were formidable fighters but the more intimidating thing was the sheer number of them. The gaping wormhole above the Stark Tower spewed more and more hostiles both on those insanely fast chariots and riding the giant whale-like creatures. And no matter how many Hawkeye shot, no matter how many whales Iron Man blasted from the inside out, no matter how many lightning strikes Thor called or how hard Hulk smashed, they were just a small group of people—extraordinary people, sure—and they were losing. 

Steve shook his head after another ringing blow and pushed himself to his knees. He was so tired but he had no choice, right? 

Thor grabbed his arm and hoisted him up. ”Ready for another bout?” The God of Thunder asked with a grin, but Steve saw the exhaustion in his eyes and heard the fear in his voice.

He opened his mouth to—

”I can close it!” Natasha called through the comms. Her voice was staticky and wild. ”Can anyone copy? I can shut the portal down!”

”Do it!” Steve said, almost choking with relief.

”No, wait!” Iron Man shouted.

Steve looked up, trying to locate the familiar red and gold suit. ”Iron Man, these things are still coming!”

”Yeah, I know. But I got a nuke coming in and it’s going to blow in less than a minute,” Iron Man said. ”And I know just where to put it.”

Horrified, Steve watched as Iron Man steered the missile up, up, up along the Tesseract’s beam, straight into— ”Iron Man, you know that’s a one-way trip!” 

He got no reply.

”Iron Man!”

The small speck that was his friend flew into the wormhole and then—

The Chitauri dropped like marionettes with their strings cut. The chariots fell from the sky and the whale-carriers went from living tanks into dead weight that crushed everything underneath. All around them the people of New York burst into cheers.

But not the Avengers. 

Steve gave one, long look at the hole in the sky. Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said, quietly, ”Close it.”

Iron Man was gone.

A strong hand clasped his shoulder in a silent sign of sorrow but Steve ignored it. As cheesy as it sounded, Iron Man had been the one constant in his new life in the modern age and losing him hurt almost as much as losing Bucky. He wondered who would keep him company in those long, sleepless nights when the nightmares pressed too close and everything felt too bright and big in the waking world.

Iron Man was gone.

And he wondered who would take care of Tony now (yes, Tony, because somewhere in the middle of the battle he’d started calling Stark by his first name in the privacy of his own mind), because Iron Man was go—

Thor gripped his shoulder so hard he thought his bones would crush. ”Captain, look!” He whispered and pointed at something falling from the sky. 

It was small but getting steadily bigger, the sunlight reflecting on the bright red-and-gold surface as it was falling, falling, falling and not slowing down.

”He’s not slowing down,” Thor shouted. 

He started swirling Mjølnir in his hand, ready to fly, but before he had the chance Hulk snatched Iron Man from the air. They crashed on the broken concrete with a deafening sound, Hulk cradling Iron Man against his chest and cushioning his fall. He dropped Iron Man on the ground and took an expectant step back to give him space, but Iron Man lay silent and unmoving, the light on his chest dark. Steve had a sinking feeling it signified something more than just power source for Iron Man’s armor.

”Iron Man?” Steve asked, hurrying to his friend’s side. ”Is he breathing? The light is off!” Panicked, he gripped the face plate, ripped it off of Iron Man’s face with brute force, revealing a pallid, bruised face.

A familiar face.

”…Tony?” Steve breathed. ”But…how?”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Tony’s forehead. His skin was cool to touch despite the sweat and Steve got an odd urge to warm him up. Despite the bruises, he looked peaceful and calm and far more beautiful than Steve had ever seen him. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut and left him reeling.

From the other side of Iron Man—no, Tony, Hulk let out a mighty roar that shook the earth and reverberated through Steve and, suddenly, Tony gasped, heaving in lungfuls of air as the light in the Iron Man armor flickered back to life. His eyes were wide and unseeing as he stared to the sky. 

”JARVIS, what the hell?” He groaned and lifted a hand to his face. Then he froze as he realized the faceplate was off.

”Hey—” Steve started, reaching out.

”Don’t touch me!” Tony snarled. 

Steve reeled back like he’d been slapped. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Tony refused to meet his eyes.

”Thor, give me the faceplate,” Tony said in a clipped tone.

Wordlessly, Thor retrieved it for him and he pressed the faceplate in place. Or he tried to but the hinges had broken when Steve had ripped it off and it wouldn’t stay on. Tony didn’t say anything, though, just reached out for Thor who carefully helped him to stand up.

”Can you walk?” Thor asked quietly.

After a moment of contemplation, Tony gritted out, ”I don’t think so.”

Thor nodded sagely. ”You fought a mighty battle, my friend. I’ll fly you home.” 

With a heavy heart, Steve watched as Thor cradled Tony close while he called up thunder and with a crackle of lightning, they were off. Steve stayed on his knees until the skies cleared and all he could see was blue.

They had won a battle and saved the Earth. 

Steve felt like he’d lost something far more precious.

In the days following The Battle of New York (as the media started calling it), Steve didn’t have much time to think. His days were filled with meetings with the city representatives, SHIELD briefings, media statements, and—most of all—pure physical work, cleaning up the mess the Avengers had left behind. Sure, it wasn’t just their fault but in the aftermath, getting a hold of an alien hostile race or two Norse gods to take responsibility for the damage was easier said than done. The Avengers were conveniently there and, therefore, held accountable.

But after three days of continuous working, clearing out the streets, helping people out of the homes they’d been blocked in, and way too often recovering crushed bodies from the rubble, Steve was too tired to think about accountability. Even with Tony Stark’s paid workforce, the workload was huge, and New York was going to be a construction site for the foreseeable future. He let the boulder he’d been holding up crash back to the ground after the body of a young woman had been recovered, wiped his brow, and leaned against the partially broken-down wall to take a breather.

No, he didn’t have time to think, but the continuous working did nothing to distract him from Tony either. Whenever he glanced up, he saw the Stark Tower standing up, broken and battered but still there (not unlike Tony himself), and when he closed his eyes, Tony’s pale and bruised face was there, reminding him of his shortcomings.

Their last interactions haunted him. ”Don’t pretend to be better than you are,” he’d said right before Tony had suited up and flown a nuclear missile into outer space, willing to sacrifice himself so that others might live.

The way he’d snapped at Tony was unforgivable—Steve knew from first-hand experience how it felt to be mocked by the failings of your own body. But he felt even worse when he remembered the way Tony’s face had twisted when he’d hissed ”Don’t touch me!” at Steve.

He deserved that and worse.

He wanted to apologize to Tony, to tell him he’d been completely wrong, to say that he’d lashed out because he’d felt small and insignificant in the lab, surrounded by all the great minds that were miles ahead of him. He had been—still was—lost in this time, trying to find his footing, and in his own confusion, he’d hurt a man who didn’t deserve it.

Steve had fucked up and he had no idea how to fix it.

”You should rest,” Natasha said from his side, jolting him from his thoughts.

Steve gave her a sideways look. She’d been working alongside him for the day but even though her clothes were dusted and she had a smudge on her left cheek, she didn’t look like she’d been digging through rubble for seven hours straight.

”I already sent Clint back to the Tower,” she said.

”How is he?” Steve asked before she had the chance to chide him more.

Natasha gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing. ”Tired. He’s not sleeping.”

Steve shook his head. ”He shouldn’t blame himself. What happened isn’t on him, it’s on Loki.”

”Look who’s talking.”

She handed him a bottle of water and he drank it all at one go. The liquid felt good in his parched throat but it also gave him something to do, a moment to avoid Natasha’s knowing eyes.

”You can’t avoid him forever, you know,” she pointed out.

”I know.” He let out a frustrated breath. ”I just… I don’t get it. Why the secrecy? I understand why he kept Iron Man secret from the general public but why didn’t he just tell us? I thought he was my friend.” He shook his head. ”But I guess that was never true, right?”

She opened her mouth and closed it, the smallest frown on her face. ”That might have been my doing,” she said carefully after a short moment. 

Steve gave her a sharp look. ”What do you mean?”

”Do you remember the news about Iron Man’s erratic behavior and his rumored replacement a year ago?”

Steve nodded. He remembered reading about some party that had ended in Iron Man trashing the Malibu house and Col. Rhodes forcibly taking him down.

”That wasn’t because of Tony Stark’s bodyguard couldn’t handle the stress. That was actually Tony.” 

She sighed and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. To a casual observer, it might have seemed like a nervous tick but Steve knew it had more to do about her checking out the perimeter than worrying about her looks.

”Long story short, Tony was dying and he was past giving a damn about anything or anyone. I was undercover in Stark Industries at the time as per Fury’s order, trying to figure out whether we could use Tony as a part of the Avengers Initiative or not.” She looked Steve right in the eyes. ”I wrote a report on him based on the knowledge I had at the time. I was wrong.”

”Dying? From what?” Steve asked, trying to wrap his mind around what he’d heard. ”And you were spying on him?” Are you spying on us too? Hovered unsaid in between them.

Something cool slid over Natasha’s face. ”I am a spy, Captain. I am a highly trained spy and assassin. Evaluating risks is what I do. And sometimes, even I make mistakes.”

She fell silent but kept on looking at him, waiting for something. 

”Your report. He read it.”

She inclined her head.

”What did you say?”

”In my initial report, I stated Tony Stark presents the traits of a classic case of Narcissism. It was my professional opinion at the time that Iron Man would be a good addition to the team.”

Steve nodded slowly. ”Iron Man.”

”Yes.”

”But not Tony Stark.”

She didn’t say anything.

Steve let out a long breath and rubbed a hand over his face. The dust clinging to his skin scraped his eyelids and tasted like ash but he ignored it. 

”Do you know what happened to him?” He asked.

She cocked her head. ”He was kidnapped in Afghanistan, tortured for the three months he was held captive, and then he managed to escape.”

Steve rolled his eyes. ”You know what I mean.”

She raised a brow.

”Right. You wrote a report,” he said slowly. ”Which is in the SHIELD Archives somewhere.”

Her lips drew into a small smile.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. ”Well, I guess I’ll start digging.”

Getting into SHIELD was easy and locating the Archive wasn’t hard either. Steve ran into a proverbial wall when he requested the classified file of Tony Stark, code name Iron Man.

”I’m sorry, Captain, that file is classified,” the burly SHIELD Agent said. His left eye twitched nervously but he held his pose which was something Steve could respect.

”I am aware of that. However, considering the recent events, I need to see that file.”

”I’m sorry, Captain, but the—” the Agent started but Steve had had enough.

”Agent, you are keeping vital information of my teammate and friend who recently almost sacrificed his life to save this city and your life. He was compromised and you’re keeping me from knowing how to help him. So, if you think that the lack of my shield  is going to prevent me from tearing through that solid steel blast door to get me the files I need, you better think again.”

The Agent gave him a level look and tapped his earpiece in a rapid code Steve couldn’t quite make sense of. The answering bark on the other end of the line was clear enough, though.

”He’s here, Sir—Yes—Yes, Sir—Understood, Sir.” The Agent let out a huff of breath and said, ”Director Fury has authorized me to let you in, Captain.”

”Thank you,” Steve said, barely keeping his feet from tapping the floor.

”The file is on the third row from the right, second shelf from the top,” the Agent said and motioned him in. ”You can read at the table by the left wall. You’re not allowed to copy down or remove any part of the file, understood?”

Steve didn’t bother reminding the Agent of his eidetic memory. Instead, he nodded and walked in.

The folder was a plain brown SHIELD file, similar to dozens Steve had seen before. On the cover stood the word CLASSIFIED in red stamp and under it a number 987-65-4320. He opened the file to see the standard introduction sheet with personal information and underneath it, was what he was looking for.

RECRUITMENT ASSESSMENT OF T. STARK

Agent: N. Romanoff, Supervisor: P. Coulson

He started scanning the page, frowning at the words.

Personality Overview: Mr. Stark displays compulsive behavior—

Prone to Self-destructive tendencies—

Anxiety/Irritability: Mr. Stark scores above normal median but displays no indication of mood disorder—

Trust issues bordering paranoia—

Textbook Narcissism—

”Well, you’re not exactly wrong…” he muttered aloud.

Iron Man interface poses a continuous risk to Mr. Stark’s health—

Palladium poisoning—

Steve blinked at the words. ”A what?”

Recruitment Assessment for Avenger Initiative 

Iron Man, yes

Tony Stark, not recommended

Steve leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed the base of his nose. He could only imagine what Tony had thought when he’d read the file. Had he rolled his eyes and given Fury the finger? Or had he bowed his head and retreated, thinking that the Avengers didn’t want a cripple like him foiling their superhero ranks? Steve didn’t claim he knew Tony Stark but he had a feeling it was the latter.

The frustrated breath he let out moved the papers slightly, revealing a picture that looked like a mangled corpse. Steve frowned and slid the topmost papers to the side to see what it was about.

What he found made him sick.

Steve had known that when Tony had finally made his way back to the US soil, he’d lost his ability to walk. What he hadn’t known was how, exactly, it had happened. As it turned out, the terrorist organization, Ten Rings, hadn’t just tortured Tony for gaining information and getting him to build them a missile of their own. No, they had also shattered his back in several places, resulting in a permanent spinal cord injury. Steve wasn’t sure what had made them think that being paralyzed from the waist down would somehow make Tony Stark more favorable to their plans, but whatever their angle had been, it backfired. Big time.

Because instead of building the missiles Ten Rings had wanted, Tony had built a bomb. One hell of a bomb. He’d killed his captors, blown the base to the sky, and afterward, he’d crawled for dozens of miles through the Afghani desert until Rhodes had finally found him.

”Oh dear God,” Steve whispered as he leafed through the archived photos, clearly taken right after Tony had been rescued. He’d seen his share of violence and gore during the war and he’d even witnessed the perverse joy the Nazis had gotten from torturing people they considered subhuman. These photos showcased Tony’s suffering painted with a wide brush, his body an abused, broken canvas that had been thrown away like an old rag. His face was one big, yellow bruise and his hands bore the marks of unprotected welding and blacksmith work, but it was his torso that made Steve close his eyes and just breathe for some time.

Tony’s torso was purple and black, and the deep cuts all over his back were filled with caked blood, even though the wounds had been cleaned up as well as possible. As Tony lay on his side, even Steve’s untrained eyes could see how the angle of the spine was just…wrong. 

But even more disturbing was the device hooked to a glowing piece inside his chest. Steve stared for a long while, trying to process the fact that the glowing light that powered Iron Man’s armor seemed to power Tony Stark as well.

Underneath the gruesome photos were sheets after sheets of medical records. Steve read through them with burning eyes, barely understanding what they said. Severe spinal injury— Permanent loss of function in legs and the pelvic area—Shrapnels in the chest cavity—Permanent damage to the heart and lung tissues—Sepsis due to infected wounds in the lumbar region— The list seemed endless. According to the files, Tony had flatlined twice on the operating table and several times in the ICU, and despite the efforts of the best and brightest medical minds of the world, he had woken up from the surgery with the miniature arc reactor still embedded in his chest.

The worst thing, however, wasn’t the fact that Tony had been kidnapped because that in itself wasn’t a new thing. Tony himself had said one day that he’d been six the first time he’d been kidnapped (Steve had asked how many times he had been kidnapped but Tony had just saluted him with his whiskey and left the room). The worst thing was that this time, it had been orchestrated by Obadiah Stane, Tony’s mentor and father figure, with specific instructions not to let him live. And after Tony had returned home, Stane had waited for a couple of months before trying to end him himself, stating that a cripple had no place in Stark Industries. The only reason Tony survived Stane’s second attempt was because of SHIELD’s interference and Pepper Potts.

”Holy shit,” Steve muttered, staring at Coulson’s neat signature on the last page of the AAR. He couldn’t even imagine how it would feel for Tony, to be so thoroughly betrayed by the one person he’d looked up to, the one who had been more like a father to him than Howard Stark had ever been. ”No wonder he’s so goddamn angry all the time.” 

He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

Now that he knew, what was he going to do about it? He couldn’t just march to Tony and tell him that he understood because he didn’t. He had no idea how it felt to be stripped of your autonomy, of being tortured and broken, of being betrayed on such a deep level it shattered your sense of security forever.

Slowly, he gathered the photos back into the file, returned it to its proper place, and knocked on the door to signal the Agent to let him out. He nodded when the Agent asked to see his phone and pockets (”Standard protocol, Captain”), and when he was given the ok to leave, he barely paid attention to where he was going. 

He ended up wandering aimlessly around the city for hours, trying to figure out what to do. The helpless rage that churned inside his chest reminded him of the time when he’d slammed the door open into that one HYDRA lab that had had Bucky strapped to the table. Back then, he’d been able to help but now? There were no HYDRA soldiers to kill, no mad scientists to hunt down. Tony had killed the Ten Rings himself and Ms. Potts had taken care of Stane.

So, what could Steve do?

It was dark when he finally made his way into the Tower. The common rooms were silent but when he entered the kitchen, he saw a familiar shape sitting by the table.

”You took your time,” Natasha said.

”Yeah,” was all Steve could say. He sat down, rested his arms on the table, and stared at his hands. They days clearing out the rubble had left insistent smudges of dirt under his fingernails and around his knuckles even though the scrapes and bruises were long healed. 

He blinked when a small hand gripped his and he raised his head to look Natasha in the eye.

”You can’t change it,” she said quietly.

”Doesn’t stop me from hoping I could,” he said, slightly desperate.

She let out a noncommittal sound but didn’t let go of his hand. The grip felt good, grounding. Sometimes he wondered how it was possible to pack so much power into such a small frame. Then again, back when he’d been tiny, he’d been a 5’4” stick powered by rage and cough syrup. At least she wasn’t as frail as he’d been.

”What am I going to do?” He asked.

Natasha cocked her head. ”What do you want?”

Steve dropped his gaze back to their hands. ”I want my friend back.”

She nodded. ”Then that’s a good place to start. Just make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

Being Tony Stark’s friend was easier said than done. If he’d been elusive, prickly, and snappish before the Battle of New York, now he was straight-out hostile. The rare times when he happened to be in the common area with the others, he was either monosyllabic or ignored them completely. He didn’t attend movie nights, he didn’t come up for pizza, and he’d revoked all access to his lab. The odd times Steve wandered down to take him coffee or food, the glass wall was on a blackout mode and JARVIS politely yet firmly asked him to leave.

But Steve was nothing if stubborn. He understood that Tony was hurting and lashing out like a wounded, cornered animal, trying to scare off everyone who dared to venture near him. Understanding didn’t lessen Steve’s frustration, but it did make him dig his heels in.

On a Wednesday two weeks since the Battle, he picked up his shield and marched downstairs. As usual, Tony’s workshop was on blackout mode and the glass vibrated in tune with the bass of the music Tony was playing on full volume. Steve didn’t let it deter him but knocked on the glass.

”Captain, Sir doesn’t want to be disturbed,” JARVIS told him.

Steve squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and glanced at the ceiling. ”Wanting and needing are two different things, JARVIS. He’s been down here practically since the Battle, and I’m done with this avoidance game.” He adjusted the shield. ”I know I messed up. Badly. The things I said to him were hurtful, ableist, and completely out of line. I have no excuse for my behavior and I’m not even trying to make up one. That is on me and me alone.

”But I also know that I was wrong on a whole different level. Even before Loki and his scepter happened, I let Tony’s outside cloud my judgment and because of that, I never bothered to look deeper. I let my easier friendship with Iron Man carry me away and, instead of dealing with it like an adult, I kept on whining about Tony. Not even once did I truly sit down and think what he’s been through.”

He took a deep breath. 

”I know you’re his most trusted friend and his first line of defense,” he said softly. ”I know your first priority is to keep him safe. I wish that with time, I could show you that it’s mine as well.”

After a moment of silence, JARVIS said, a bit stiffly, ”Sir is perfectly capable of keeping himself safe.”

Steve snorted despite himself. ”Uh, no, he’s not, and you know it. Look, Iron Man was—is—my friend and my second-in-command, and I’ve missed him during this past couple of weeks. But I don’t want him to hide parts of himself because of some misguided sense of shame. Iron Man has nothing to be ashamed of and neither has Tony!”

”What’s your plan?”

”Let’s start with entering the workshop. I’ll figure it out as I go.”

”And what if I refuse to let you enter?”

Steve shrugged. ”Then I guess we’ll see how well the glass holds against my shield.”

JARVIS let out a sound that might have been a snort but Steve didn’t have time to ponder the intricacies because the workshop walls slowly turned opaque and the door clicked open. As he entered the workshop, the music volume went down to a more sufferable level which, of course, caught Tony’s attention.

”JARVIS, music,” he snapped from his position by the welding station. ”Why is my music gone?”

”Captain Rogers wishes to speak with you.”

”Well, I don’t wish to speak with him, so…” he made a vague swirling motion with his hand that Steve figured indicated that he wanted the volume back to the ear-splitting level.

”You don’t have to speak,” Steve said quietly.

Instantly, Tony’s shoulders tensed. He flipped his goggles up and whirled his wheelchair around one-handed. The welding torch was still on and he held it like a weapon, like he expected Steve to attack.

”JARVIS, we have an intruder,” he said flatly, staring Steve in the eye.

”No, we don’t. I let him in.”

”Why?”

”Because I asked nicely,” Steve said. He walked past Tony, set his shield to lean against the wall, and slid to sit down. ”I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

”Traitor,” Tony muttered at JARVIS under his breath. ”So, you’ve seen me. Now you can go.”

Steve shook his head. ”No.”

Tony made a sharp motion with his hand and rolled forward, the welding torch still in hand, and a slightly manic glint in his eyes. ”I told you to leave,” he snarled.

”No, you said I could go and I refused.” 

Tony leaned forward in his chair. ”I’m ordering you to get the fuck out of my space.”

”No,” Steve said calmly. 

The moment stretched. There was something in Tony Steve couldn’t exactly place, something almost desperate that made him snarl and spit, and behind the mask of manic intensity, his eyes were empty. Steve got the sudden urge to reach up and gather Tony in his arms, to hold him close and tell him he’d never, ever let him go. He wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking about Tony that way but he knew with a gut-wrenching surety that he’d do anything to drive that emptiness out of Tony’s eyes.

He would never know what would’ve happened next because suddenly one of the bots sprayed him with a fire extinguisher. There was a moment of absolute stillness and then Tony hissed, ”DUM-E, you idiot!”

The bot beeped, sounding disappointed and Steve just wouldn’t have it. 

”I think you missed a spot,” he said, pointing at his left side. 

Before Tony could interject, DUM-E had happily doused Steve from head to toe in white foam. After that, there was just one possible thing to do.

Steve started to laugh. He wiped the foam from his face and spat it to the floor in between bouts of laughter, and when he looked at Tony’s absolutely gobsmacked face, he laughed even harder. 

”You are a good boy, DUM-E,” he chuckled and patted the bot’s neck with his hand, leaving behind sticky, foamy handprints. The bot preened and raised the fire extinguisher with a hopeful beep. ”Ah, no, I think you did a thorough job, buddy. Some other time, okay?”

He glanced at Tony who was watching the interaction with a somewhat perplexed look, like he wasn’t exactly sure what had happened or why.

”Um, I’m going to clean this up and then I’ll go change. Let’s see if the fire extinguisher foam works as a detergent.”

Tony didn’t answer, just kept on looking at him like he had no idea what Steve was doing.

Steve hoped he’d figure it out himself, too.

After the fire extinguisher incident, JARVIS started letting him into the workshop without negotiation. Tony mostly ignored him, perhaps hoping Steve would get tired of him and leave. Steve mostly ignored him too, concentrating on his drawings or reading a book instead. 

In the beginning, Tony played the music even louder than usual, in a clear attempt to break Steve’s eardrums and get him to leave. Steve shrugged and discreetly plugged his earplugs in. It took Tony several days to catch up, after which he programmed JARVIS to pause the music altogether whenever Steve entered the workshop. Steve didn’t mind, mostly because the silence allowed him to listen to Tony’s continuous babble. He talked to JARVIS, muttered about equations and schematics, and scolded his bots in equal measures. It was fascinating and…endearing.

When the first assemble call came after the Battle of New York, Tony twitched so hard he dropped the piece he’d been working on. Steve wasn’t sure if it was a new gadget for Natasha, an experimental acid arrow for Clint, or a new remote control that was supposed to be Hulk-proof. He calmly picked it up and handed it to a wide-eyed Tony before saying, ”See you in the field.” 

Then he walked out with measured steps that in no way belied his frantically racing heart. 

He suited up as usual, jogged into the quinjet, nodded at Clint running the pre-flight check, and strapped in. Natasha gave him a raised eyebrow but he refused to react to it, waiting—hoping—that everything would go as usual.

He couldn’t fully suppress a relieved sigh, though, when Iron Man flew past them, looping around the quinjet like he always did.

”Good to see you, Iron Man,” he said, letting the smile through.

After a beat of silence, Tony answered, ”It’s good to be back.” 

It wasn’t as easy as it had been before Loki, but then again, nothing really was. New York was still partially rubble and even though people cheered at the team when they took care of the luminous tentacle monsters that tried to consume Manhattan, Steve saw how Thor wasn’t as boisterous as he had been, how Hulk tried to be more careful, and how something was missing between Natasha and Clint. 

But it was promising, and with mission after mission, it got slowly better.

And after each fight, Steve cleaned up, brewed a pot of coffee, put together a stack of sandwiches with Tony’s favorite fillings, and rummaged his secret stash for something sweet (like chocolate, Reese’s cups, or dried berries), and took them to Tony’s workshop. He sat on the couch and wrote his AAR while Tony tinkered with their gear and his armor and slowly worked his way through the food.

It wasn’t much but it was something. And Steve was more than happy with something.

”I brought you some food—” he started one day but stopped short when he spotted Tony in a chair he hadn’t seen before. At first glance, it looked like a massive recliner but in full Tony-style, it had more gears and buttons than an average car. It seemed to be movable but it wasn’t an actual wheelchair. 

Oh, and it was vibrating.

”Yes?” Tony asked sharply, his shoulders tense.

Steve decided to go with the safest option. ”Does that have repulsors too?”

Tony rolled his eyes. ”No.” He bit his lip for a moment and finally blurted, ”It’s a massaging chair.”

”Oh,” Steve said and nodded. ”Well, that seems like a reasonable investment. Even I get stiff after a fight.” 

Despite himself, Tony snorted. ”Yeah, I’m not lending this to you.”

”I don’t think I’d fit anyway,” Steve quipped back, blushing when Tony gave him a slow once-over.

”Um, so, I’m just going to leave the tray here,” he said, placing the tray on the desk. ”Good night, Tony.”

And then he fled the workshop.

Being attracted to men was no revelation to Steve. He’d been to war, for Pete’s sake, and men tended to get comfort and relief where they could. But even before the war, he’d known he liked both men and women. There just hadn’t been that many chances to act on his attraction and after he’d gotten all super-soldiered up, he’d been fighting. Not to mention the fact that homosexual acts were illegal back then.

But this thing he felt for Tony? This was something else. Oh, he wasn’t blind: even after everything he’d been through, Tony Stark was still a very attractive man. He was compact and moved with such energy that sometimes it was hard to remember he was actually in a wheelchair. Not that Steve cared about superficial things like that. No, he was far more fascinated by Tony’s mind now that he’d slowly started to open up around him. There was no question that Tony was brilliant—he was a genius, after all—but the sheer power his mind held, the intensity, the focus… Steve could get lost just by watching him. Not to mention that under the shiny veneer of sarcasm and barbs, lay a heart so big that it sometimes made Steve’s breath hitch. After everything Tony had been through, he still opened his home to a mismatched bunch of strange people, bent over backward to accommodate their needs, and was far more considerate than his offhand remarks let on.

Or perhaps this feeling had been slowly brewing underneath the friendship with Iron Man. Now that Steve knew, he wondered how he hadn’t realized it earlier. Of course, recognizing his feelings didn’t mean Steve would act on them. He knew things were still too fragile between him and Tony, and the last thing he wanted to do was to push Tony into something he didn’t want. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Tony was into men or not. 

So, Steve took a deep breath, got a grip on his feelings, and continued his mission to be Tony’s friend.

After one especially brutal battle, Iron Man was forced to ride the quinjet back to the Tower. He was uncharacteristically quiet and underneath his calm outside, Steve was worried. Iron Man—Tony—had been thrown onto a building with considerable force, and even though he had managed to get back in the air on his own, his flight pattern had been erratic. When Steve had heard his pained grunt through the comms, he’d ordered him into the quinjet. The fact that Tony hadn’t protested made him all the more worried.

When Clint landed the quinjet on the Tower’s landing pad, Steve waited until the others had left before asking, ”Can you walk?”

There was a moment of silence and Steve had a hunch Tony was talking with JARVIS. Then, through gritted teeth, Tony admitted, ”No.”

Steve nodded. ”What do you need me to do?”

”The emergency latches are on Sir’s both sides,” JARVIS said.

”JARVIS,” Tony warned, but his voice was pained.

”With all due respect, Sir, no,” JARVIS snapped. ”The interface is damaged and the longer you stay in the suit, the more imminent the threat for another spinal injury. You can’t walk, and Captain Rogers can’t carry you in the suit, because it would put too much pressure on either the interface or the arc reactor. You need to be out of the suit, now.”

Steve nodded and located the latches. He then proceeded to remove the armor as per JARVIS’s instructions until only one piece remained.

”What the hell is that?” Steve asked, staring at the piece embedded to Tony’s back. It looked like something from the science fiction movie Clint had made him watch the other day, Borg or something? Or was that a tennis player?

”That, Captain, is the interface Sir uses to control the Iron Man suit. It connects straight to his spinal cord which is the exact reason it needs to be removed.”

Steve swallowed. ”What do I do? No, wait, I can’t do him any more damage, can I?”

”The only way you can cause more damage is if you push it further in,” JARVIS assured him. ”The unlock code is red-red-white-red-white-blue-blue-white.”

Steve carefully tapped the code in and the device went dark.

”You can now safely remove the interface. Just pull it straight out without twisting it.”

Steve did as he was told. He had to use a bit more force than he thought was actually safe but perhaps that was because of the damage? He couldn’t tell.

As soon as the device was out, Tony let out a ragged breath and went limp, Steve’s arm around him the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor. Without a word, Steve moved slightly, carefully gathered him in his arms, and stood up.

”JARVIS, what about the suit?” He asked softly.

”I’ll get it,” Natasha said, stepping out of the shadow of the doorway. ”Take Tony down to the workshop.”

Steve frowned. ”Shouldn’t he get some rest?”

”No, Agent Romanoff is right,” Jarvis pointed out. ”I need to scan Sir and I can’t do that in his bedroom.”

”Okay,” Steve said and started down.

Tony was quiet in his arms, resting his head against Steve’s chest. His eyes were closed and he held loosely onto the torn lapel of Steve’s uniform. Holding him felt right and something hot and fierce rose in Steve’s chest. He pushed it back, gritting his teeth against the emotion that threatened to spill through the seams. Tony was hurt and this was not the time to entertain ideas about…anything like that.

He refused to meet Natasha’s eyes in the reflecting surface of the elevator door.

Tony’s bots were waiting for them when the door slid open, beeping frantically. Steve almost stumbled when DUM-E pushed closer, his claw hovering over Tony’s frame.

”It’s okay,” Tony soothed and patted DUM-E’s arm. ”Daddy has some scrapes, that’s all.”

The beeping took a scolding note. Steve figured the bots were too familiar with Tony’s ”scrapes” to believe him.

Tony tapped his chest to get his attention. ”There,” he said quietly and pointed at a narrow bed near the wall.

Steve complied, hovering close as Tony first adjusted his posture and then lay still while the scanner hummed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he crossed his arms over his chest and stood in the side, waiting for the scan to complete. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha bending down to talk in a low voice to the bots before taking her leave.

”The impact twisted the interface but the suit was sturdy enough to absorb most of the force so the interface didn’t damage any nerves beyond repair,” JARVIS finally said, audibly relieved. 

”Oh, thank God,” Steve sighed and rubbed hands over his face. 

”However, there seem to be two bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, and a cut on Sir’s left thigh that requires your attention,” JARVIS continued.

”’Tis but a flesh wound,” Tony muttered dismissively as he pushed himself to sit up and then maneuvered himself into the waiting wheelchair.

”I understood that reference,” Steve deadpanned. ”But I’m still going to take a look.”

”The first aid kit is on your right by the red cabinet,” JARVIS said.

”Et tu, Brute,” Tony grumbled and continued with a string of Italian Steve was sure were expletives even though he didn’t understand a word.

DUM-E was still hovering so Steve decided to use him as a helper and handed him a flashlight. ”If you point it just like—a bit to the right—no, back up—slightly—yes, there!”

The sound DUM-E let out could only be described as proud purring.

”Um,” Steve said, unsure of how to start. The wound was bleeding sluggishly but that was pretty much all he could see through the dark undersuit.

Tony sighed. ”Just rip it. It’s ruined anyway.”

Steve nodded and carefully ripped the fabric, not wanting to jostle the leg and hurt Tony. He cleaned it up, relieved to see it wasn’t as deep as the amount of blood suggested, and dressed it with a self-adhesive bandage. He then cut the ruined pant leg off and wiped the rest of the blood off which was when Tony breathed in sharply. 

Steve froze and glanced up, worried. ”Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

”No,” Tony said and swallowed. ”It’s… It doesn’t hurt. At all.” His head was turned away and he was staring resolutely at something on his right.

”Not even the wound?”

Tony shook his head. ”No. I don’t—” He gritted his teeth. ”I feel warm and cold and some pressure. Sometimes.”

”Huh,” Steve said and cocked his head. ”So, can you feel this?” He asked and cupped Tony’s calf in his hand, gently massaging the side with his thumb.

”Yeah,” Tony said.

Steve nodded. Tony’s skin was cool and smooth under his palm and without thinking, he circled the leg in his both hands, trying to warm it up with pure will alone. He glanced up only realize Tony was right there, leaning forward slightly, eyes wide with wonder.

He wasn’t sure who leaned in first but in the next moment they were kissing, Tony was kissing him back, he was kissing Tony, and oh, God, it was even better than the fantasies he denied having. 

And then Tony jerked back, face slack and terrified.

”Tony—”

But Tony had already swirled his chair around him and sped towards his private elevator. Steve stumbled up and collided with DUM-E, nearly falling on his face. By the time he gained his balance, the elevator doors slid closed and Tony was gone.

Steve was left standing in the middle of the workshop, the memory of Tony’s lips tingling on his own.

”Shit,” he said softly.

The following day, Tony was nowhere to be found. At first, Steve thought Tony was still recovering from the fight, but when he found Tony’s workshop dark and empty, he started worrying.

”JARVIS, do you know where Tony is?” He asked, looking around the silent room. It felt lifeless and empty in a sad way. Being there without Tony was just…wrong.

”JARVIS?” He asked again after a moment.

”Yes, I know where he is,” JARVIS said.

Steve raised a brow when it became evident the AI wasn’t going to elaborate. ”Okay,” he said slowly. ”Can you tell me where he is?”

”Unfortunately no,” JARVIS said.

Steve held his hands on his hips and canted his head up. ”So, what can you tell me?”

It took a minute for JARVIS to answer and when he did, Steve got the impression he was choosing his wording very carefully. ”Sir is currently in a safe location. He is physically healthy and his injuries from the latest fight are healing at a slow but steady pace. During the past 48 hours, he’s slept a total of three hours and forty-one minutes and consumed four liters of coffee and half a muesli bar.”

”So he’s upset,” Steve sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. 

”I didn’t say that.”

”No, of course you didn’t. Thank you, JARVIS.” He bent down to pat DUM-E’s arm and the bot whirred and let out a series of sad beeps. ”I know, I miss him too, buddy,” Steve said. ”I guess we’ll just have to be patient? He’ll come home sooner or later.”

DUM-E’s arm drooped, giving Steve a surprisingly strong urge to hug the bot. He squeezed the arm instead, hoping the bot understood anyway.

Before he left, he glanced up and said, ”I know you’ll keep an eye on him but…would you tell me if something was wrong and he needed help?”

”You are already on the list of people who will be notified if something goes drastically wrong,” JARVIS said.

Steve blinked. ”I am?”

”Yes. You are third on the list after Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes.”  

Steve tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the emphasis of Ms. Potts name. He pursed his lips before nodding. ”JARVIS, can you access Ms. Potts’ calendar—”

”Would you like me to make an appointment?” The AI interrupted, sounding almost uncharacteristically eager.

”You know what? I would.”

”You have a meeting with Ms. Potts at two thirty today,” JARVIS said.

”Thank you.” Steve glanced at the clock. He had two hours and 45 minutes, more than enough time to get ready. 

Ms. Potts opened the door herself when Steve arrived. ”Oh, Steve, you didn’t have to make an appointment to see me!” She chided with a smile. ”Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

”No, thank you,” Steve said as he sat carefully down on a delicate armchair by the giant windows overseeing the city. ”I didn’t want to just barge in and interrupt you.”

Miss Potts sat on the chair opposite him, crossed her legs, leaned back on her chair, and asked, ”You’re always welcome to interrupt me,” she said. ”Now, what can I do for you, Steve?”

Steve shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable while he thought what to say.

Ms. Potts’ face fell. ”Oh, dear Lord. What did he do now?”

”What?” Steve asked, surprised. ”Ah, no. I—I think it was more about what I did.”

”Oh?”

Steve squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. ”I kissed him.”

Ms. Potts looked slightly taken aback. ”Excuse me?”

”I kissed him. And he kissed me back, then he panicked and ran. And now I don’t know where he is. I tried asking JARVIS and he told me what he could, but…” He shook his head. ”I don’t want him to be alone for too long but I don’t know where to start.”

Ms. Potts stared at him for a moment, then she stood up and walked to her desk. ”Cancel my four o’clock, JJ,” she said to the intercom. ”I’ll be out for a couple of hours.”

”You don’t have to do that, Ms. Potts,” Steve tried to interrupt.

”I believe I do,” she said crisply and beckoned him to follow. ”Come on, we’re not talking about this in here. And you really should call me Pepper.”

She took him to a small hole-in-the-wall café that had only a handful of tables and a matron who greeted Ms. Po—Pepper in rapid Italian and gave a sharp, assessing once-over to Steve. In mere moments, they were seated at a small table with a carafe of coffee and a basket filled with small, almost white cookies that smelled like roasted almonds. Pepper poured them both a cup and they sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the dark roast.

”So,” Pepper said when she’d downed the first cup and poured the second. ”You and Tony.”

Steve made a face. ”I’m not sure there is any ’me and Tony,’” he said quietly.

She let out a hum and for a moment just looked at him over the rim of her cup. ”What do you want, Steve?” She asked gently. ”When you think about him, what do you want to happen?”

Steve cradled the cup in between his hands. ”I want to make him smile,” he said slowly. ”And laugh. I want to listen to him babble at his bots and bicker with JARVIS. I want to make sure he sleeps and eats enough. I want to—” He stopped but the thought went on in his mind. I want to fall asleep beside him and wake up holding him. I want to make love to him, to make him understand how extraordinary he is, how much he means to me. I want to—

”Steve, are you in love with him?” Pepper asked softly.

He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes.

She sighed. ”He’s not an easy man to love. He never was.”

Steve disagreed but said nothing. To him, loving Tony—and yes, that’s what this was, wasn’t it?—felt easy like breathing, a natural continuation to the friendship they’d been steadily building for the last months. He picked up a cookie and bit into it, giving his hands something to do. It was still warm; crisp on the outside and soft on the inside and for some reason, it made him think of Tony.

Pepper set her cup down and gazed out of the window. She seemed softer like this, her blazer off and the sleeves of her pale lilac silk blouse rolled up to her elbows. ”Did you know we dated before Afghanistan?” She asked, still looking outside. ”Just a couple of tentative dates, nothing much. We didn’t even sleep together.” She turned to face Steve again, flashing him a small smile that felt brittle, like it was painted over cracks she didn’t want him to witness. ”I guess it was for the best because he broke up with me as soon as he regained consciousness after the surgery. He said he was doing me a favor.”

”Why?”

”What do you think?” She raised a brow. ”He didn’t want to ’tie me to a cripple.’”

”Huh,” Steve said and swirled the small amount of coffee in his cup. ”Perhaps he thought it would be hard on you, to inevitably remember him from before.”

Her lips twitched. ”That would be very shallow of me, don’t you think?”

”That’s not—”

”I know,” Pepper interrupted. Then she gave him a rueful smile and repeated, softer, ”I know. You’re not wrong.” She sighed and looked him levelly in the eye. ”I’m not saying it wouldn’t have worked between us. It might have. But I know for sure that whenever I see Tony in his wheelchair, the shadow of his former self stands right behind him. You don’t have that burden because the only Tony you’ve ever known is the paraplegic man in a wheelchair.” She stopped and gave Steve a hard, long look. ”What I don’t know is why you wanted to talk to me. If it was to ask his proverbial hand, I can’t help you. No matter how much he annoys me at times, matters of the heart are something I’m not going to meddle with.”

”I think I’m mostly after a confirmation that I’m not completely out of line,” Steve ventured. ”That it would be okay to…” his voice trailed away and he shrugged, slightly helpless.

”Tony is pansexual and has never given a damn about the genitals. He’s attracted to people, not genders, which you could’ve found out simply by googling him,” Pepper said bluntly. ”But that’s not your style, is it?”

Steve shook his head.

”He hasn’t dated anyone since he came back,” Pepper said and fell silent for a moment. She poured herself another cup of coffee and then raised a brow, silently asking if Steve wanted a refill. When he didn’t she set the carafe down and took an unhurried sip.

”Tony is a complicated man with a complicated past” she finally said quietly. ”He’s been hurt and taken advantage of and he carries all that with him everywhere he goes. Not all his scars are from Afghanistan. Many aren’t even visible.

”What I mean is, tread carefully, Steve. He seems tough but it doesn’t take much to break him into pieces he cannot patch together again.”

”I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said solemnly. ”Thank you, Pepper.”

She gave him an intense look and whatever she saw in his eyes made her nod. Then she took one, last sip from her cup before she stood up and gathered her blazer and purse. 

”He’s in the Lake Tahoe residence. Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she said, bent to kiss him on the cheek, and left.

Lake Tahoe. Right.

Compared to the Malibu residence and the Avengers Tower, the Lake Tahoe mansion was almost modest despite the big windows and sprawling design. Steve parked his rental beside Tony’s orange Audi, grabbed the groceries and his duffel bag, and walked to the door. He barely had the chance to raise his hand to knock when the door unlocked and soundlessly slid open.

”JARVIS?” Steve asked, peering into the empty foyer.

”Good afternoon, Captain. Sir is in the kit—”

”Sir is definitely not in the kitchen, J,” Tony snapped as he wheeled in from Steve’s right. ”What are you doing here, Cap?”

”I came to see you.”

”Now you’ve seen me. Goodbye.”

Steve didn’t move. He took in the slightly grey tint of Tony’s skin, the greasy hair, and the black circles under his eyes. He looked terrible, but what hit Steve the hardest was the dark look in his eyes. ”You look tired,” he said quietly.

Tony jerked himself straight and gave him a haughty look. ”I’m fine.”

”Sir, you’ve slept a total five hours and eleven minutes since Tuesday,” JARVIS pointed out.

”Traitor.”

”You never forbade me from telling the Captain about your sleeping habits.”

”Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I told you not to tell him where I was and here we stand. Or, he stands and I sit because—”

”JARVIS didn’t tell me where you were,” Steve interrupted what he guessed was going to be an exhausted rant. ”Pepper did.” 

Tony deflated and shook his head. ”Of course she did,” he muttered bitterly and turned his chair around. He didn’t ask Steve to follow but he did anyway, curiously taking in the space around them. The signs of the house having been remodeled to suit Tony’s needs were subtle but they were everywhere. Clear hardwood floors, open floor plan, sturdy furniture with enough space around them so that Tony could easily maneuver his chair around. He didn’t see stairs or wheelchair ramps but he figured they were either cleverly hidden in the structure or Tony had elevators installed. He stopped to take a closer look at a calligraphy piece and when he turned around, Tony was nowhere to be seen. 

”JARVIS, where’s the kitchen?”

”It’s right behind the corner on your right,” JARVIS answered. ”I’m afraid Sir isn’t there, though.”

”It’s okay. I’m just gonna cook something up,” Steve said. 

He picked up the groceries and made his way into the kitchen. It was sleek and modern and if it weren’t for the pile of take-out containers and pizza boxes piled on the table, it would’ve looked unused. After opening several cabinet doors he located a pantry that was well stocked even though Steve guessed Tony didn’t cook much. 

As he sank into the familiar moves of cooking, he let his mind wander. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing but one thing he knew for sure: he wanted to clear things out with Tony and if he really wanted nothing more than being friends, Steve would settle for that. But he wouldn’t turn his back on the possibility of more, and he wouldn’t let Tony do it either.

When he was done, he cleared his throat and said, ”JARVIS, where’s Tony?”

”Sir is in the patio,” he answered. ”Captain… if I may, it’s getting chilly.”

Steve nodded. ”Thanks for letting me know.” He mixed the pasta and sauce together, picked up plates and utensils and a couple of sodas from the fridge, and loaded them all on a tray. On his way out, he snagged a throw blanket from the couch.

Tony was sitting still, staring at the lake, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He twitched when Steve walked past him to set the tray on the table and again when he spread the blanket over him.

”What are you doing?” He asked, sounding tired.

”I was thinking about eating,” Steve said. He dragged one of the patio chairs next to Tony and handed him a plate full of pasta before taking a seat with a plate of his own.

Tony stared at the plate on his lap, then looked at Steve, and then at the plate again. ”What’s this?”

”That,” Steve said around a mouthful and swallowed, ”is chicken Alfredo. Eat up.”

At first, Steve was sure Tony was going to wheel back inside but after a moment of staring that Steve ignored, he started to eat.

”I think we should go for a walk,” Steve said the next morning as he stirred his scrambled eggs.

”You thought the fuck now?” Tony asked slowly.

”The weather is pretty nice,” Steve continued, ignoring Tony’s comment. ”There’s an accessible route through the woods a little way back, I think it would be nice.”

When Tony didn’t say anything, Steve turned around to look at him, only to meet his furious eyes.

”What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Steve sighed and turned the burner off. ”I’m trying to get you out of the house, even for a moment.”

”Why?”

”Because I don’t want to be cooped up inside all day, but I want to spend time with you.”

Tony rolled his eyes. ”I’m not some charity case you can parade around, so you can go and shove your pity where the sun don’t shine.”

”That’s not why I’m here,” he said calmly.

”Then why?” Tony yelled, gesturing at himself. ”Is it my sparkling personality or my good looks? Because, newsflash, nothing in me works properly!”

”Tony—”

”Don’t ’Tony’ me,” he snapped. ”If you’re looking for a tumble between the sheets, Cap, you’re in for a disappointment. I can’t get it up anymore and my bed does the tumbling for me. Unless, of course, you get your rocks off to disabilities, which… yeah, kinky, I guess, but get your playmate from somewhere else.” He spat the last words out in a snarl, staring at Steve with a challenge in his eyes.

”Are you quite done?” Steve asked. When Tony kept silent, he leaned forward, fully aware he was towering over him. ”I have a newsflash for you. I’m here because I want to be here, not because I pity you. Don’t put words in my mouth, Tony.”

”Whatever,” Tony muttered, averting his gaze.

”No, it’s not whatever,” Steve said softly and knelt down. ”You are a brilliant and fascinating man, Tony, and I care about you. That’s why I’m here.”

Tony snorted. ”Well, the joke’s on you because—”

”Don’t,” Steve interrupted. ”Don’t belittle me by brushing my words off. Please.” He ducked his head a bit to see Tony’s eyes and after a short eye contact, he stood back up, not wanting to make Tony more uncomfortable than he already was.

”Do you want to pack coffee on the go?”

After a moment of silence, Tony said, ”I guess. Yeah, okay.”

It became their routine: when Steve woke up, he made breakfast and packed a light lunch to go, and then they went for a walk. They didn’t speak much but after the first outing, the silence was comfortable. When they got back, they worked (Tony) or sketched (Steve) until it was time for dinner. 

Steve checked in on Natasha daily but the only answer he got was that everything was calm Avenging-wise. It was a relief even though Steve suspected she was running interference on purpose.

It was easy. Nice.

It was torture, because Steve wanted to be closer, but he wasn’t sure if Tony was ready for it. Or if he’d ever be ready.

And then, one evening, Tony let out a pained grunt and bent down to massage his calf.

”Tony?”

”It’s nothing,” Tony said with a pinched look on his face.

”Sir, it’s been twelve days since your last massage session,” JARVIS said.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake, J,” Tony growled. ”Don’t you know how to keep your mouth shut?”

”Considering I was made as your image, I don’t think it’s even remotely possible,” JARVIS said dryly.

”Tony?” Steve asked again.

Tony sighed. ”It’s a muscle spasm. That’s what the massaging chair was for. I don’t usually notice them until my whole lower body spasms, and then it’s already too late.”

”I can help,” Steve offered.

”I don’t think—”

”I didn’t ask you to think, Tony. I said I can help. Let me help you.”

For one tense moment, Steve thought Tony would say no. But then he slumped and closed his eyes and said, ”Fine.”

”Okay. You should be in bed, it’ll be easier. Do you have anything I can use as massaging oil?”

”You’ll find a full jar of organic coconut oil in the pantry,” JARVIS said. 

”Thanks, JARVIS,” Steve said.

He made sure to cover the bed with several towels to protect the sheets and then excused himself to take a bathroom break and give Tony the chance to move from the chair to the bed on his own. When he got back, Tony was lying on his back in his undershirt and briefs, almost vibrating from tension. Steve made sure to move with exaggerated precision, puttered around for a moment, adjusting the towels and offering Tony a fluffy one as a blanket. 

”I’m gonna start now,” Steve said and gently lifted Tony’s left leg on his lap.

Tony let out a small breath but didn’t protest, so Steve decided it was okay to continue. He warmed the oil in between his hands before rubbing it on Tony’s skin, moving gradually up from the sole of his foot. He massaged each toe and the fleshy underside, his heel and Achilles’ tendon, easing out the small signs of stress Tony didn’t know he had. He took his time with the calf because that’s where Tony had tried to rub the spasm off, moving with gentle but firm upward strokes. Tony’s leg was warm and pliant under his hands, slender from the muscle atrophy, and the skin slowly turning from pale to rosy. It looked so soft and Steve got an urge to pepper kisses on the side of Tony’s knee. He had to bite his lip to keep himself in check.

When he was done with the left leg, he switched to the right, starting again from the sole up. He smoothed his fingers across the myriad of tiny scars that ran along the outer side of the leg and circled his hands around the thigh. Tony was still and breathing deeply, with red blotches on his cheeks. His hands were clenched into fists and Steve wasn’t sure why.

”Am I hurting you?” He asked quietly. When Tony just shook his head, Steve stopped and said, ”Words, Tony. I need words.”

Tony opened his eyes and looked at him. His eyes were wide and luminous, the pupils dilated. ”Not hurting,” he said in a low voice and—oh.

Steve swallowed and nodded slowly. ”Good,” he said. ”What about your arms?”

”My arms?” Tony repeated dumbly.

Steve dipped his fingers into the coconut oil, took Tony’s hand, and shifted so that Tony was bracketed in between his thighs. He wasn’t quite straddling him because he didn’t want to risk an injury, putting his whole weight on Tony.

”Your hands do so much,” he murmured. ”They create and invent, code and talk.  They move you and, through you, they move the world. Your hands are amazing, just like you.” From the periphery of his eye, he saw Tony staring at him with a shocked look on his face, like it was the first time anyone had said something like that to him. 

He took his time, explored the map of tendons and veins that stood out, rubbed his fingers over dozens and dozens of tiny, white scars that covered Tony’s skin like small starbursts. When he was finally done, they were both breathing heavily and Steve was half-hard. 

”I’d really, really like to kiss you now,” he said. ”Please.”

Tony swallowed. ”Okay,” he whispered.

He leaned forward slowly, giving Tony more than enough time to stop him if he wanted, and let out a small huff of relief when their lips met. It was a slow, chaste kiss, and when it ended, Steve lifted his head just enough to press another kiss on the tip of Tony’s nose. 

”Steve, what are you doing?”

”I was thinking about cleaning up and then going to bed. Preferably next to you.”

Tony’s eyes searched his and he raised a hand, tracing his fingers down Steve’s cheek. ”Why?”

”Because,” Steve said.

”It’s not that simple.”

”It can be if you let it.”

”I shouldn’t be alive unless it was for a reason,” Tony said quietly. ”And for me, it’s Iron Man.”

The bedroom was dark save for the glow of Tony’s arc reactor. He was lying partially on top of Steve, his head on Steve’s chest.

”That’s not true,” Steve said, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair. ”You are so much more than just Iron Man. Couldn’t the reason be your friends and family, the people who care about you?”

”Like who?”

”Like the whole team, Pepper, Rhodes, Happy. Countless of people whose lives you’ve touched some way or another during these past years. And I care about you, so much.”

Tony sighed. ”You shouldn’t.”

”This again? Look, I understand—”

”No, you don’t!” Tony snapped and twisted away and flopped on his back next to Steve. ”I can’t be what you want! I can’t offer you a-a normal relationship with a golden retriever, white picket fence, and 1,5 kids. I just can’t!”

”And what makes you think I want that?”

Tony growled and pressed his palms against his face.

Steve sighed and turned to his side, prying Tony’s hands off so that he could see his eyes. ”Why are you so adamantly dictating what I do or do not want? I’ve never wanted kids or a dog, and not only because they don’t exactly fit our lifestyle. I just… don’t want them, simple as that. And I think we both agree that a white picket fence would meet a horrible, early end anyway. Besides, what even is normal? I’m a genetically manipulated super-soldier who slept in the ice for 70 years. Our team has a literal god and a green rage monster, what about that is normal?

”Look, I know you’re scared. I heard you talking with Rhodey on the phone the other day. You think I’m only into you as a curiosity but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You, Tony Stark, are an amazing, brilliant man with such a generous and good heart, and yet you think you deserve so little.” He huffed out a breath. ”And I’m willing to remind you that you deserve so much more for the rest of my life.”

Tony swallowed a couple of times. ”I can’t promise you forever,” he finally said, his voice unbearably vulnerable. ”I’m not—that’s—”

”I’m not asking for forever,” Steve whispered. ”I’m asking you to be with me here and now. One day at a time, okay?”

Tony blinked rapidly and turned to hide his face against Steve’s shoulder. ”You’re an idiot,” he mumbled wetly.

”Well, that makes me your idiot,” Steve said, laying back down and getting comfortable. ”Now, shut up and sleep.”

The next day, it started raining when they were halfway back to the house. It turned from a slight drizzle into a full-blown deluge in mere moments, and by the time they got inside, they were soaked to the bone. Tony’s lips had turned blue and he was shivering.

Steve poured him a glass of OJ and said, ”Drink that. I’m drawing us a bath,” leaving the room before Tony had the chance to protest. The master bath had a giant bathtub and Steve added some bubble bath just because. It was a faint scent that reminded him of woods and fire, and he was pretty sure Tony would like it too.

”JARVIS, is the temperature okay for Tony?”

”I believe Sir prefers it slightly warmer,” JARVIS said. ”I adjusted the temperature accordingly.”

”Thank you. Is there anything else I need to know?”

JARVIS was silent for a moment. ”Sir doesn’t like being submerged,” he finally said. 

Waterboarding, Steve’s mind supplied. ”I’ll be careful,” he promised. ”Thank you, JARVIS.”

”No, thank you, Captain. I’m glad you’re here.”

Getting Tony to drink up was one thing, getting him to the bathroom was another.

”I d-don’t need your h-h-help,” Tony forced out. 

”Of course you don’t,” Steve said calmly and started undressing him. ”Getting rid of your wet clothes should be easy when you’re so cold your teeth rattle. Up,” he ordered and Tony lifted his arms. He seemed to realize it a bit late and ended up scowling at Steve with his hands crossed on his chest. He looked like a wet and miserable cat but Steve wasn’t going to tell him that.

Together, they managed to get rid of Tony’s clothes and then Steve stripped in a couple of efficient moves, tossing the wet clothes into the laundry pile. When he turned back to Tony, he flushed and quickly averted his eyes.

”So, do you want me to lift you in or do you want to get in yourself?”

Tony wanted to get in himself but he didn’t protest when Steve climbed in and helped him to lean back against his chest. He was tense at first but started relaxing against Steve when the water gradually warmed him up. Steve closed his eyes and let out a long breath, concentrating on Tony’s steady breathing, his head against Steve’s collarbone, on how Tony’s fingers slowly drew shapes on his forearm. It was peaceful, holding him in his arms like that.

It took a long while for the water to start to cool down—Steve suspected JARVIS had something to do with it. He shifted slightly and reached out for the loofah and soap and started washing Tony, narrating his actions in a low tone. Tony stayed relaxed and kept his eyes closed, and he looked so beautiful and at peace that Steve wanted to draw him or kiss him, or just hold him there. 

When he was done, he wrapped Tony in a towel and helped him to sit up at the edge of the tub while he washed himself and rinsed the tub.

When he was done, Tony cleared his throat. ”Uh… could you step out for a moment?” He asked, not quite meeting his eyes. ”I need to take care of something.”

”Sure. You need help?”

”No,” Tony said pointedly.

”Okay,” he said easily. ”Holler when you’re done.”

After spending a better part of two hours sharing a bath, Steve didn’t bother with clothes. On his way to the bedroom, he stopped by the kitchen for snacks. If he was feeling lethargic after the walk and bath, he was sure Tony was even more tired. A nap and something to eat would do them both good.

When Tony called him back in, Steve saw him sitting in the wet and muddy wheelchair again. 

”Why did you go back there?”

Tony’s jaw clenched. ”Because I needed the toilet.”

”But you’re not—”

”I have to catheterize myself,” Tony snapped. ”I told you, remember? Nothing works properly. So, yeah, I had to sit back to the chair because my head started hurting which means I need to act ASAP.”

”What does the headache have to do with it?” Steve asked, genuinely confused. 

”Cripples like me don’t feel their bladder response. The headache is a sign of high blood pressure because the bladder is too full. Our nervous system is interesting like that.”

”Okay.”

”Okay?” Tony echoed, incredulous. ”That’s your response?”

”Well, what else could I say?” Steve asked, frustrated. ”Tony, I don’t know about these things. You said I’m an idiot, so treat me like one: help me to understand how your body works.”

”Well, it doesn’t work, that’s the problem!”

”Your brain works brilliantly, as does your mouth. Your hands work properly and you control your torso. To me, it seems like a lot works just fine.”

Tony let out a breath that sounded like a sob. ”It’s not enough.”

Steve knelt down, took Tony’s hands in between his own. ”What makes you say that?”

”Because,” Tony said. When Steve raised a brow, he closed his eyes for a moment and then continued, ”Because you’re you. And I’m…this. I have nothing to offer to you.”

Steve shook his head. ”You’re impossible,” he muttered. ”I guess I just have to show you.” He stood up and picked Tony into his arms, ignoring his startled yelp, and marched back into the bedroom.

”You,” he started as he gently lowered Tony on the bed, ”are so much more than you even understand. And sometimes it pisses me off that you don’t see it.” 

He crawled into the bed and took Tony’s hand, kissed his fingers while looking him in the eye, and started working his way up the arm one kiss at a time. When he reached the shoulder, Tony was shivering and panting lightly, his eyes blown wide. Steve smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth, then shifted so that he could reach Tony’s other hand. He gave it the same attention as to the other hand but instead of kissing Tony’s lips, he continued to his chest, peppering kisses across his collarbones and the hollow of his throat, around the arc reactor. 

When his breath trailed over Tony’s nipples, he let out a strangled sound. Worried, Steve raised his head to ask if everything was alright but nearly lost it when he saw Tony’s slack-jawed expression. 

”Did you like it?” He murmured. ”How about this?”

He gave the nipple a slow lick and then blew on it. Tony groaned, and Steve loved the sound. He kissed the nipple and sucked it a bit, marveling how it turned from something soft into a hard nub almost instantly. Tony’s hands flew into his hair and gripped, which made Steve buck against the sheets. In retaliation, he bit down gently and Tony nearly convulsed. Steve didn’t let go but lathed it with attention, intermittently licking and sucking, working himself almost to a frenzy. After some time, Tony let out a broken groan and gave a full-body shudder.

”Hnngg…stop,” Tony panted and weakly tapped him on the head. ”Too much.”

Steve pushed himself to his forearms and surged up to give Tony a deep kiss. ”Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He growled. When Tony frowned, his eyes still a bit hazy, Steve gripped his hand and gently guided it down. ”This is all you,” he whispered. ”You did this.”

He didn’t bother biting back a moan when Tony’s hand closed around his cock. The angle was off but he didn’t need much anyway, feeling like he was going to go off from the slightest touch. Making sure he held his weight on his forearms, he buried his face against the crook of Tony’s neck and fucked into Tony’s hand. Tony whispered endearments into his ear (”Come on, Steve, you’re gorgeous”) and, after just a couple of thrusts, he came gasping Tony’s name. 

It took him a moment to get his bearings and the ringing in his ears to recede. When it did, he raised his head, pretty sure he had a goofy smile on his face. Tony was staring at him with a small smile of his own and Steve couldn’t hold back; he kissed Tony on the nose, huffing a laugh when he went a bit cross-eyed.

”Hi,” Steve said.

”Hi,” Tony answered. 

”Are you okay?” 

”Me?” Tony asked, incredulous. ”Steve, you just blew my mind through my nipples.”

”So…it was okay?”

Tony reached up with his clean hand and cupped Steve’s cheek. ”Yeah. More than okay,” he said softly, something almost shy in his eyes.

”Good.”

He stayed where he was for a moment longer, enjoying the slow, unhurried kissing. 

”If you don’t move, you’ll be glued on me,” Tony murmured. ”And then we’ll be crusty and disgusting.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him but pushed himself up and walked to the bathroom, enjoying the feeling of Tony’s eyes on him. 

After they cleaned up, Steve hunted down Tony’s secondary wheelchair and rinsed the mud from the soiled one. He ignored Tony’s muttering about cleaning bots and stubborn geriatrics who wanted to do things the old-fashioned way, but when Steve gave him a flat look, Tony couldn’t quite hide his smile.

Steve felt like he would burst.

When it was time to get back to New York and the team, Tony became slightly withdrawn. Steve had an idea why but every time he tried to ask Tony about it, he deflected. In the end, he let it drop and decided to wait until they were back home. Some things were easier shown than said, after all.

They arrived to chaos. The couch was still in place as was the massive TV on the wall, but that was about it. The coffee table was broken into small pieces and several pillows had arrows sticking from them. The walls were stained with patterns that looked suspiciously like flashes of lightning.

”What the fuck did you do to my home?” Tony yelled when he saw the state of the common room. 

”Clint challenged Thor to play Mario Kart,” Natasha commented calmly from the armchair. ”It didn’t turn out the way he liked.”

”Yeah, I can see that!”

Steve shook his head. ”Seriously, guys, you knew we were coming home today.”

Clint groaned from the floor. ”Oh, god. I can hear the Captain-America-Is-Disappointed tone, Steve! Fine. Fine! We’ll clean up.”

”Thank you,” Steve said and turned to Tony. ”Do you want to come up or are you going to check in on your workshop?”

”The workshop?” 

Steve nodded. ”Okay. I’ll come over later. Have fun,” he said and bent to give him a kiss before he grabbed their bags and left the room. He hadn’t even reached the elevator when he heard Tony calling after him.

”Steve, wait,” he hissed. ”You…you kissed me.”

Steve nodded. ”I did.”

”But—you kissed me in front of the team.”

”Of course I did.” When Tony just stared at him, Steve shook his head a bit. ”Tony, if you think the team or anyone is going to stop me from kissing my best fella, they’re dead wrong.” He paused, suddenly realizing he’d overlooked something. ”Unless of course you don’t want me to—”

Tony’s eyes went wide with panic. ”No! No, no, kiss me. Please. Yes.”

Steve did as he was told, cupping Tony’s face in his hands, and kissed him, pouring everything he felt into it. When he was done, the panic in Tony’s eyes had been replaced by the hazy pleasure Steve was slowly growing addicted to.

”Better?” He asked and smiled when Tony gave him a mute nod. ”Good. I’ll see you later.”

The next morning Tony wheeled into the kitchen, still trying to get his eyes open to the new day, he almost bumped into Steve.

”Morning, gorgeous,” Steve said and bent to kiss him as he handed Tony a full thermos mug of coffee. ”Did you get any sleep?”

”Uh… yeah,” Tony said, sipping the coffee to cover his flush. 

The rest of the team either greeted him absent-mindedly from behind their paper (Bruce), stared at Steve like he’d personally disappointed them by denying them coffee (Clint), or gave Tony a small, genuine smile (Natasha). Steve hid his own smile at the flabbergasted look on Tony’s face and sat beside him. He managed to hand-feed Tony a toast and half of his eggs before he realized what Steve was doing, rolled his eyes, and snatched the other toast from Steve’s plate.

Steve smiled and sipped his coffee.

This was what home felt like.