Chapter Text
Paved with Good Intentions
Steve doesn’t sleep easily. He dreams that he’s standing in front of a mirror, peeling his skin off strip by strip, and beneath his face is the laughing visage of Redskull, Bad becomes worse, he hears Erskine echo in his head and he wakes with a jolt. He goes to the kitchen. He had skipped dinner last night to stay with Clint in the main area. Afraid, he recalls bitterly, that Clint would give Stark the thrashing he deserved if Steve wasn’t there to be more charitable. The thought makes him feel sick now, but he also feels weak and shaky, one of the downsides of this super metabolism is that he simply can’t endure long periods without food the way he was once able to.
Clint is already there. His wan, drawn face tells Steve he has barely slept, if at all too. It doesn’t help his guilt when he finds that the kitchen is, as always, stocked with enough food to feed a small army, or him. It’s worse somehow to know that Stark does that deliberately, to keep them, keep him, happy and comfortable, and is not simply a product of excess. He makes what he wants and heaps up his plate before dropping down next to Clint to pick listlessly at it. They don’t speak, too tired and too heartsick for casual conversation.
The door to the kitchen opens abruptly and Steve raises startled eyes to meet Colonel Rhodes’ almost black with fury ones. He goes to rise, the man is right not to want him anywhere near Stark now. He forfeited that right with his own earlier actions. Clint follows suit, but when the Colonel lets out a low growl, clearly intimating what JARVIS said last night, that they might not be trusted in Stark’s company, but that they had better damn well stay there as so as not to make him think they were leaving because they had no wish to be near him.
Steve can’t even raise his gaze from the table, much less speak. He stirs his scrambled egg around his plate with a fork.
There’s the scrape of a chair being pulled out and a soft thud as someone drops into it then, Stark says, incongruously loud and cheerful, “I want pancakes, blueberries and chocolate chips.” This time, Steve can hear the determined mask covering everything Stark seeks to hide and it puts a knife into his gut that he didn’t notice it before. Stark sounds like Clint when he’s at his most angry.
Colonel Rhodes evidently chooses to obey Stark’s demand and begins bustling about the kitchen getting out what he will need. Steve doesn’t turn to watch him despite the fact that the practically visible clouds of rage pouring off the man suggest he would like nothing more than to put a knife into Steve. If he chooses to for the hurt Steve has caused here, he will accept it as his due. Still, the anger in Colonel Rhodes’ motions as he the readies the things for Stark’s breakfast can’t help but make Steve flinch with every clang and crash.
Clint, having clearly decided that any apology will be inadequate no matter how sincere, tries to make up for past behaviour and by valiantly attempting to do what they should have done from the start. “Morning Stark,” he matches Stark’s cheerful tone perfectly. “Nice place you have here.” Steve wishes he could sink through the floor and disappear as it occurs to him that none of them said that before. Stark opened up this incredible tower to them, gave them every luxury he could think of, and none of them even told him it was nice.
“...I...guess.” Stark sounds shocked and confused at Clint’s pleasant tone and Steve stares harder at his plate. No one should sound so confused by common courtesy.
“So what are you up to today? I was thinking you could come down to the range with me, if you’re not busy. Look at the mass produced crap SHIELD R&D are foisting off on me and give them a few pointers, show them where they’re going wrong? I left that box for Natasha on her bed by the way. Please don’t tell her I moved her stuff, she’ll be pissed and she frightens me. The weather’s good though, we could go out, put my new car through its paces?”
“Tony’s busy today,” Colonel Rhodes answers, slamming a plate in front of Stark. He had been expecting that response, but Steve can’t help but feel hurt at the rejection and winces visibly, blushing, at the sudden understanding of how Stark must have felt all too frequently over the last weeks.
“Fair enough, it was kind of last minute,” Clint says calmly, but Steve can feel in the way his body is suddenly, subtly closer to Steve’s, that he has felt the same wave of loss and hurt and understanding and renewed shame, “By the way, if you have half an hour, you should stop by and see Phil later. He’s been asking about you.”
Colonel Rhodes growls another audible warning and Steve flinches again at the stark reminder that they had kept a man from someone he regarded with respect at least if not fondness.
Clint is not going to be deterred from his mission to make up for every time they excluded Star over the last weeks, “You’ll have to come to the next video game night though Stark. I still can’t beat your high score on the wii. And we’re going to have a cartoon night, show Steve everything he’s missed out on. Which is your favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?”
“Donatello.”
Clint nods. Steve is impressed with his sheer nerve. He can’t keep from cowering under Colonel Rhodes’ rage, but then, Clint dates Natasha, something that for all his fondness for her, Steve would not do. “Speaking of TV shows, has it occurred to you that your suit is Lannister colours?”
That brings another light flush to Steve’s face. They had watched Game of Thrones together and had laughed, somewhat mean spiritedly about that fact. He can’t help but begin look up at Stark, to see how he has taken such a comment, but there is a third warning growl and his shoulders hunch, quite without his intending them to, and his gaze stays where it is.
“Think we should start a blog Stark? It would be the most popular thing on the internet; tumblr is already obsessed with us. And I mean, OK, some of our missions are classified and shit, but some of them are just stupid.”
“I think Fury would...what does Fury do to people? Keelhaul them?”
“You think Fury’s on tumblr?”
“Sir,” JARVIS says suddenly, “Ms. Potts has let me know that she will be arriving at the tower in approximately one hour, she will be expecting to meet you all in the conference room at that time.”
“We have a conference room?” Steve nudges him. Having shut down his brain to mouth filter, Clint is now saying each and everything he thinks of, “Can Ms. Potts even order us around?”
Steve cringes slightly. They are in no position to object to an order given by Tony’s friends. Hell, he would seek to take retribution in the form of a pound of flesh from someone who treated Clint how they have treated Stark.
“If you can’t use words you don’t get an opinion,” Stark says to Colonel Rhodes as he makes a sound which echoes Steve’s thoughts and then continues to Clint in a joking tone, “And honestly, I’ve just stopped questioning what Pep can and can’t do. It’s never worth risking her wrath. She glares.”
Clint doesn’t object further. They both know Tony’s friends have the right to exact whatever vengeance they want on Tony’s too-forgiving behalf. “Fine, I guess I’ll go and get ready.” Steve leaves with him and he’s never felt like a coward quite as much as he does in that moment.
He half expects Clint to comment on it, comment on the fact that the great Captain America couldn’t even speak around the lump is throat, but he doesn’t. He just looks at Steve, blank horror in his eyes now his constructed friendliness and joviality has been dropped. “Did you see it?” he whispers hoarsely, “Did you hear it?”
Steve nods, still mute. Listening to what was happening instead of what he expected to hear, how could he not notice the raw vulnerability and the desire to be included Stark has just pouring out of him like blood from a bullet wound. They should have been protecting this man, who in matters like this, utterly lacks the tools and knowledge to protect himself, and instead they had tortured him.
Steve doesn’t know how he manages it, every movement a struggle of will when he wants to just lie down and never get up again, but somehow he is showered and in clean clothes and waiting in the conference room at the hour specified. His stomach falls as he hears Ms. Potts approaching, heels clicking on wood. He doesn’t want anyone else to know how low he has sunk. Still, at least the deserved punishment can finally descend instead of this waiting. Clint must feel it too. Even he has finally fallen silent. He stands as she enters. He feels like he’s in front of a firing squad, except that he would have raised his head to look at a firing squad like a man, but he can’t even muster that, just keeps his eyes on the ground.
Ms. Potts clicks her tongue, “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?” she asks, shutting the door smartly.
There is a long silence. Then Stark bursts out, “Rhodey hit Captain America.”
If possible, Steve feels even worse. He’s fucked this man up so badly that he’s just betrayed the only person who has helped him.
“Rogers started it,” Colonel Rhodes says, irritably.
“In all fairness,” Clint interjects, “I started it.”
Steve can’t let another take the fall for him in this, not if he is ever to be able to look himself in the eye in the mirror again. “That’s not...Clint didn’t...this is my fault ma’am. We’ve...all of us...we’ve behaved unforgivably towards Mr. Stark, but it’s my team, my responsibility, I should have said something. I should have stopped them...us.”
“Tony?” Ms. Potts says, in the same demand for explanation Colonel Rhodes gave last night. Once again, Steve curses himself for never once asking for an explanation, for assuming he understood Stark’s actions when even the two people closest to him clearly do not.
Stark doesn’t answer, still defending them, and Steve would confess to everything and beg forgiveness, but Colonel Rhodes gets there first. “Did you know Tony wasn’t an Avenger Pepper?” his tone is steel at the core for all its softness.
“No,” Ms. Potts says, sharp and confused.
“I’m a consultant,” Stark explains, and again Steve can hear it, the absolute rawness of the feeling that he isn’t good enough wrapped in layers of snark and arrogance and determination not to expose the chink in his armour.
“I know he didn’t used to qualify, that Natasha’s original report was...but that was months ago. When Phil came to get him during the whole Tesseract business I thought...”
“Apparently not,” Stark interrupts.
“I’ll speak to Fury,” Steve promises, it’s the least he can do, “of course you’re one of us.”
“Why?” Stark demands, arrogance and pride coming to the fore, as he tilts his chin up, “Why now? I don’t want to be an Avenger just because you feel sorry for me.”
“That’s not...You didn’t qualify because...because we misinterpreted your actions. Stark, all we’ve done for weeks is treat you like,” Steve swallows hard and breaks eye contact. He can’t look at what is in Stark’s eyes. He just can’t. “And you, you’ve made us everything we could ever want, been there for every battle, you’ve saved all of our lives and all of it without complaint, despite how we’ve treated you.”
“It’s not your fault, I act like an insufferable ass, I can’t really blame you when you assume I actually am an insufferable ass.”
“I’m an insufferable ass too,” Clint confides, “I should have known better than to judge you for being one.”
Ms. Potts glares at them all. She’s a foot shorter than Steve and slender, fragile looking, but there is steel and anger and determination radiating out of her now, an animal poised to protect its’ young and Steve, for an instant, feels afraid of what she will do. “And how exactly did you misinterpret Tony’s actions?” her very tone explains the danger they are in.
Steve forces himself to answer because he knows Stark won’t and he deserves whatever punishment she doles out. He won’t compound his deplorable behaviour by refusing to own up to it. “We thought he was trying to buy his way onto the team. We were-”
“But didn’t Howard make all of your original armour?”
He can only nod.
“And all without wanting anything in return from you?”
He nods again. He knew all of this, knew all about the generosity there was no reason to assume Stark hadn’t inherited along with his dark hair and eyes and smirking smile.
“So why would you assume less of Tony?”
“Because-” he begins, but there is no reason, not really, because I wanted to hate him for not being who I wanted him to be he thinks, but has enough self-preservation not to say.
“Because you were punishing him for not being Howard,” Colonel Rhodes echoes his thoughts yet again.
Steve can’t bring himself to argue.
“That’s enough,” Stark says, tone commanding. “Back off. He knows that’s not why I did it, and he’s not the only one who made mistakes here.”
“No, I-” Clint starts, eager to take his portion of the blame for their actions.
“Not you Barton, Jesus, I thought I was the self-obsessed one in this room. I hacked the personal files, and I used some of the things in there to say cruel things myself. I am not actually completely helpless. It’s not like I curled up in a ball and cried myself to sleep every night.”
“You’re saying this has all just been a big misunderstanding?” Ms. Potts questions, staring hard at Stark. Steve deduces that she is trying to see how much is his mask of devil-may-care attitude he uses to insulate himself from the world, and how much is genuine feeling.
“This is more than a misunderstanding,” the Colonel objects.
Steve agrees, whatever Stark may think, there was malice in much of what they did and said and he won’t have it brushed away, won’t allow Stark to believe he is the one at fault any longer. “No. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. We- I...I was no better than the people who used to bully me for being too weak to fight back. Tony couldn’t stop us, and we knew that.” The sentence is out before he realises he is going to use Tony’s first name and something shifts and reconfigures inside him and suddenly, the man standing in front of him looks nothing like Howard, nothing at all. Steve has been trying to force him into a mould not built to contain him, no wonder he was spilling out at the edges, movements and words utterly unpredictable and wrong in a way Steve couldn’t explain even to himself.
“And everything I said-”
He is not at fault. It is the hardest thing Steve has ever done, the thing he is the least worthy to do, but he looks Tony direct in the eye and says gently, “A cornered animal will fight back the hardest.”
Whatever Tony might have answered that with, he doesn’t get a chance as Natasha sweeps in wearing a dress that Steve recognises too well. “This is awesome Stark, thanks,” she smiles, entering the room seemingly oblivious of the tension. “Have you seen this Clint? It’s armour. Shoot me.”
It breaks the moment between them and Steve looks away again in renewed shame.
Finally, Natasha realises that this is not a friendly chat. “What’s wrong?” she demands, “Is it Phil?”
“I- ah...no,” Clit rushes to reassure her. “There was...umm...see, you should have had that dress for the mission you’ve just been on. How was that by the way? Everyone dead?”
Natasha is not to be distracted. “You can read my report later if you’re so interested. Carry on.”
Her voice is almost more dangerous that Ms. Potts’ was a few moments ago. Clint clearly hears it too because he is more hesitant as he says, “Yes well...we...” he stops and changes his pronoun abruptly and Steve wants to scream at him that he doesn’t deserve anyone’s protection any longer, “I thought he was trying to seduce you.”
“Are you trying to tell me, Hawkeye,” Natasha says, crossing the room towards him in a way that makes Steve intensely glad that that deadly focus isn’t trained on him, “that you denied me shoes that turned into knives because you thought they were a come on?”
“...Maybe?”
“Did it never occur to you that giving weaponry to someone is a sure fire way to make sure that you can’t do anything untoward with them?”
“We...I...didn’t actually know...I thought it was a dress, with stockings. This is actually not my fault. This is a mistake anyone could have made.”
“My job is to be seduced by people much worse than Stark-”
“Hey!” Tony objects, and Steve admires the man’s bravery, he wouldn’t object to anything Natasha said in that tone.
“-and I never turn down presents.” The words are civil.
From his angle, Steve can’t see how she’s touching Clint but he gathers she’s doing something when he says tightly, “Alright, Tasha alright, you’re, hurting my hand.”
“Are you going to treat me like a helpless girl who needs you to go through her stuff and decide what she can and can’t handle ever again?” Ms. Potts smirks at the question and Steve makes the tactical note to never, ever cross these women.
“No, no alright,” Clint agrees, “just...owwwww Tasha. Stop it!”
She moves away. “Thank you,” Clint sighs, rubbing the hand she must have been gripping.
“Thank you Stark,” she says again, turning to Tony, “It really is very useful. And beautiful. Maria will be so jealous.”
“It’s...you’re welcome.”
“What did you write in your report Natasha?” Ms. Potts asks, bringing the meeting back on track.
Natasha answers instantly, with no prevarication, which tells Steve all he needs to know about pissed off she is with the pair of them, “Nothing that should have led to this. I admit, I was a little wary, but I understand there were particular circumstances at the time of my observation.”
“Natasha never did anything,” he says quickly.
“It’s true. She didn’t-”
“I had you banned from seeing Coulson.”
“Yes well, you had just found out that I’d hacked into your personal records.”
“Banned? But the cards I sent-”
Clint begins another confession and Tony glares him into silence and says, “He loved them, they were fine.”
“The dress isn’t the only misunderstanding to have happened in my absence is it?” Natasha says, her gaze his angry, but deeper than that, Steve can see that she’s terribly, terribly disappointed. The Avengers is no place for people like Natasha if their leader can’t look even the slightest part beneath the surface.
Still he doesn’t lie, he won’t, “It was the worst though. That was the only time Tony got physically hurt.”
“You hit him! I should have murdered you last night.”
Steve meets Colonel Rhodes angry glare impassively, “Go ahead, it’s nothing less than I deserve.”
“Oh for- stop it Rhodey,” Clint has shifted defensively, presumably to protect Steve from the beating he has more than earned from Colonel Rhodes’ hand, but it is Tony who holds the man back, “You already broke two fingers hitting him last night.” Steve’s eyes drop to the man’s bandaged fingers, something he hadn’t noticed before and he feels a new pang of guilt that he hurt him, however unintentionally, for doing nothing more than protecting his friend, “And you,” Tony points at him with a violent motion, “you never hit me anyway. It was Clint,” Clint’s protective body language drops, apparently he will accept a beating even if he will not tolerate Steve receiving one, but Tony still doesn’t release Colonel Rhodes, simply adds, “and since Barton hits like a girl, it doesn’t count.”
Natasha looks wounded as her eyes flick from Clint to Steve and back again, “How did you turn my report into this? I said he was immature, childish, and narcissistic but not...how did you manage this?”
Steve genuinely thinks he’s going to cry from the sheer shame of his actions, right here, in front of everyone. “I don’t-” he starts to explain to Natasha, but he doesn’t have a reason so instead he turns his head and says, “I am so sorry Tony,” with as much sincerity as he can muster. He deserves that at least.
Tony won’t look at him now, screwing his eyes shut, but Steve refuses to feel hurt. He has earned this. Even so, Tony has the decency to try and ease the situation, “All the over emoting in this room is giving me hives. Can we please just go and do something bonding and manly? Or womanly,” he adds as Natasha looks at him, “in the interests of not being stabbed with one of my amazing shoe-knife creations, or being glared to death by Pepper, I am willing to do something womanly.”
“You can’t just-” Steve begins, hating bitterly the fact that Tony himself won’t take him to task as he deserves. He wants Tony to rage and scream at him, to defend himself as he has so far refused to do.
“Actually Rogers, I can.”
“Steve. Call me Steve. Please,” and there might be a pleading note in his voice, but he doesn’t want to be so impersonal to Tony that he is known only by surname.
“Steve,” Tony echoes in agreement, but immediately carries on with his earlier thought, “Yes, yes I can. Don’t worry, I can think of a myriad of ways for you to make this up to me. I want a cupboard full of pork rinds, a unicorn, Angelina Jolie to come with me to the next gala Pepper makes me go to and half a dozen baby penguins.”
The sheer ridiculousness, sheer Tony-ness, of the demands, forces a smile out of Steve, despite the self-loathing which still hasn’t abated, “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Welcome to the Avengers,” mutters Clint, “drama, angst and now apparently, penguins.”
Steve holds out a hand and Tony, hesitantly, grasps it in a firm handshake, “Welcome to the Avengers,” Steve repeats, a soft vow that Tony is one of theirs, one of his, and that this will never happen again.
~Finis