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If there was one thing Steve had learned during his years as a soldier, it was to never get complacent when the battle was going your way.
After everything he’d been through, the lesson should’ve stuck.
Still, he'd thought this particular fight was all but over. The rogue militia - ordinary men and women armed with stolen alien technology and a lot of rage - had been rounded up and handed over to SHIELD custody. They’d been attempting to deal a major blow to the US economy by blowing up the New York Stock Exchange, and now the Avengers were just helping with a final sweep of the building, already relaxing out of battle mode.
"What I want to know is, how come these guys always manage to time their attacks for the exact moment I'm trying to nap?" Clint complained over the comms.
"They're doing you a favor, Barton," Natasha replied. “You needed the exercise.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I think she’s pointing out the recent increase in your girth,” said Thor. “…Which I am sure is all muscle.”
Before Steve could decide whether to laugh or remind them to keep it professional over the official comms, Tony’s voice was sounding in his ear.
"What about you, oh captain my captain?" Something about his tone told Steve he was talking over a private channel, just for the two of them. "Think you could use a nap? You are a senior citizen, and I did keep you up pretty late last night."
Steve rolled his eyes as he rounded another corner, scanning for additional hostiles, but he didn’t bother hiding his smirk. He knew Tony was trying to bait him into a scolding, but Steve had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.
"Sorry to break it to you, Tony, but you're gonna have to work a hell of a lot harder if you want to tire me out."
"That sounded a hell of a lot like a challenge, Rogers. You sure you want to start this with me? Not to brag, but my skills are legendary."
The reminder sent a flash of something unpleasant through Steve’s gut. He’d known from the start that his relationship with Tony would never go beyond what Natasha told him was referred to as “friends with benefits.” Not when brilliant, rich, experienced Tony had the rest of the world at his fingertips. Not when he thought there was little about Steve that was remarkable, beyond his looks and abilities.
Maybe one day Steve would find the strength of will to end things with Tony, to let himself seek someone who would actually love him back, but he didn’t foresee that happening any time soon. Not when his own feelings towards Tony had bypassed friendship at a dead sprint and landed somewhere a hell of a lot scarier.
But Tony didn’t need to know that.
"I think I'll take my-"
Steve's reply was lost in a cry of surprise and pain as something white-hot exploded against his back and tore through his body, locking up his muscles. He crashed to the ground with an impact that knocked the air from his seizing lungs.
"Cap? Steve! Answer me!"
Fighting through the sudden agonizing haze, Steve struggled to reply to Tony’s alarmed calls. Control of his body seemed to have been wrested from him, his every muscle frozen by whatever current or drug was still coursing through his system after the the blitz attack. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't force a breath into his frozen lungs.
"Cap's down!" Tony called over the general channel, an edge of panic in his voice now.
The cheerful banter ceased at once.
Steve lost track of what was said after that, because then a booted foot slammed into his abdomen, rolling him onto his back and knocking that much more air from him. Unable to so much as blink, Steve found himself staring up at one of the militia fighters, bristling with enhanced weaponry. A cold smirk stretched across the man's face as he stared down at Steve.
"Well, how 'bout that," he said, his voice sending a chill down Steve's spine and into his gut. “One more example of American arrogance. And we thought we’d only get to take down one today."
He holstered the oversized gun he'd been holding, and crouched down to look at Steve.
"I'm not an unreasonable guy, though. So I'll give you a choice. You want me to dump your body on the lawn of the White House, or string it up from the Statue of Liberty?"
Fury joined the pain burning through Steve, and he glowered at his attacker. But it was all he could do.
This was worse than any asthma attack he'd ever had, more paralyzing than any bout of fever. No matter how hard he strained, how fast his mind raced, nothing would respond to his commands. He could feel his heart skipping and struggling within his chest, faltering under the strain.
Distantly, he could hear his teammates still chattering in his ear. Tony’s voice stood out from the rest, shouting at JARVIS; something about Mayday Protocols.
Steve should have been with him, with them. It had been years since he'd felt so helpless, and the anger and frustration were stronger than the fear that swept through him as his assailant reached out for him.
"No thoughts?" he asked with a mocking smile. "That's fine. Hey, we’ll compromise. Maybe I'll send this," he grasped the rim of Steve's shield, held to his arm by its magnetic clasp, "and your head to the-"
But Steve would never find out what destination he had in mind, because there was a soft hissing sound, and a pale green gas began to spray from the shoulder padding of Steve's suit. With a startled grunt, the militia fighter let go of the shield and staggered back, reaching for his gun.
It was too late. The gas had already reached him, and he began to cough and choke. Seconds later, he was slumping in a motionless heap on the floor.
There was little time to contemplate this baffling new development. The floor beneath Steve was vibrating with the pound of heavy boots, and then three more militia fighters stormed into the room.
One of them got a lungful of gas and dropped like the first, but the other two were more careful. They hung back, pressing their sleeves over their faces as they assessed the situation. The gas must have been a dense one, because it settled quickly, leaving the air around Steve clear.
"What's happening?" Clint was saying over the comms. "Anyone have eyes on Cap yet?"
"Working on it," Tony barked.
Even as the words reassured him, they also sent irrational dread surging through Steve. If there were one person on Earth he least wanted to see him this helpless, it was Tony.
Of course, it was starting to look less and less likely that he'd live long enough for that to be an issue. His oxygen-starved lungs were on fire now, and his muscles showing no signs of coming back under his control. As if that weren't enough, the two thugs headed for him now posed an even more immediate issue.
If Steve had been at normal strength, he could've dropped them in an instant with a few well-placed punches or shield strikes. As it was, he could do nothing but lie there as one of the men stalked forward, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
He was the bulkiest of the fighters Steve had seen yet. He wore some kind of mechanized glove on his right hand, like the mother of all brass knuckles. He lunged at Steve with a fierce snarl, slamming the gloved fist towards the star that gleamed white on his chest.
It would have been a crushing, devastating blow, if it had landed. But an instant before the mechanized fist touched Steve's uniform, a white cloud unfolded from the star, fabric and air exploding into a protective cushion. It repelled the blow and sent Steve's attacker tumbling back on his ass with a startled cry.
In that moment, it would have been difficult to determine which one of them was more surprised.
"Looks like someone's been getting upgrades," sneered the fighter that was still standing. He stepped around his fallen companion, and pointed a gun square between Steve's eyes. "Let's see if your sugar daddy can protect you from this."
Even as his finger was tightening on the trigger, a slit opened in the fabric of Steve's uniform, and a gleaming ribbon of metal unspooled from it. The metal must have been imbued with the nanite tech Tony had been tinkering with lately, because it homed in on Steve's startled attacker. It wrapped itself around his gun hand first, but it didn't stop there.
As Steve watched with startled bemusement, the ribbon of living metal wound itself in endless coils around the militia fighter, pinning his arms harmlessly to his sides and binding his legs together. Unbalanced, he toppled sideways and fell to the floor like a shiny, disgruntled mummy.
Steve may have found the sight more gratifying, were his own situation not still so dire.
The pain in his chest was reaching unbearable levels, his screaming lungs and failing heart demanding what he couldn’t give them. Dark spots were beginning to swarm over his vision, and the urgent voices of his friends had faded into a dull roar that pulsed with the unsteady tripping of his heart. He was going to pass out soon.
And one of the men was getting back up.
It was the one who'd tried to crush Steve's chest. Recovered from his encounter with the airbag, he staggered to his feet. Evidently having thought better of another close quarters attack, he stood back and drew his own gun.
The metal restraints must have been a one-off defense, because nothing happened as he cocked the weapon and leveled it as Steve's motionless form.
Steve had been on the business end of a lot of guns, in his time, and had looked into the eyes of the people pointing them. He'd learned to spot the ones who actually had the intention of pulling the trigger. So as he felt his grip on consciousness growing more tenuous, as the darkness began to eclipse his vision in earnest, he knew with certainty that he was facing his final enemy.
He was too incredulous, too angry to be scared. To go out fighting was one thing, but this...
The wall behind Steve exploded in a shower of plaster and rubble. In the same instant, the whining blast of repulsor fire split the air.
A beam of energy struck Steve's would-be murderer in the chest, and he flew backward. He didn't get up.
"Steve!"
His field of vision was eclipsed by red and gold as Iron Man crouched over him. Then he was being lifted by urgent hands, cradled against a steel-plated chest.
"Steve, look at me."
Iron Man's mask slid away, revealing Tony's pale face, gaunt with concern.
It was a struggle to focus on him, but Steve wanted so badly to comply, desperate for the comfort of Tony’s presence. The pain was worsening; the tension gripping his body was unbelievable. He was reminded wildly of the time his mother had told him of a tetanus patient she’d treated. The characteristic muscle cramps had been so terrible, Sarah had been able to hear the man’s bones cracking under the pressure inside him.
The story had unnerved Steve, as a teen. Today, he realized it should have terrified him.
"Are you breathing? You're not breathing." Tony shook him once. "Steve, breathe, c'mon. Your lips are blue."
His eyes were wide with panic, and Steve wanted more than anything to make that look go away. But he couldn't do what Tony was asking of him.
I'm sorry.
Was this really it? Was he really going to make Tony watch him die, felled by some pissed-off anarchist trying to make a point?
His heart lurched, stuttered. Stopped.
“Steve? No…God, no, no, don’t do this to me. Don’t you fucking dare.”
The pain was starting to fade now, becoming somehow distant, less pressing. Something seemed wrong about that, and Steve fought against the icy numbness trying to claim him. He tried to anchor himself, clinging to the sound of Tony's voice, still calling out to him.
"Rogers, I swear to God- dammit, J? Help me!”
Time turned fluid, hazy. The grip on Steve shifted, and the hands that moved over the back of his neck were warm, human. Tony must have removed his gauntlets.
That was nice. Steve had always loved Tony's hands, so deft and sure, talented in whatever they did. If they were the last things Steve felt, well; there were worse ways to go.
But then the paralyzing current of pain that had gripped him was gone, as suddenly as it had arrived.
Even before Steve's semi-conscious mind grasped this newfound freedom, his body was taking advantage of it. His erstwhile heart shuddered back into motion, and he heaved in great gasps of air.
"Oh, thank God."
And then he was being crushed against Tony's chest, the arc reactor humming in his ear. It wasn’t the most comfortable position he’d ever been in, but he had no desire to pull away just then.
Dazed as he was, Steve still began to recover quickly. As oxygen perfused throughout his liberated body, his wits returned to him. He lifted a hand to Tony's chest, fingers splaying against the warm metal.
"I'm fine, Tony," he murmured, low but steady.
Tony relaxed his grip enough to peer down at Steve, eyes darting over his face.
"There we go," he said. "Let's stick with this color. Leave the blue for your uniform, not your lips."
Everything hurt, from his muscles to his pride, but Steve still managed a wry smile.
"But how else'll I show how patriotic I am?"
A bit of the color returned to Tony’s concerned face, and he shook his head with a scoff.
"Think of something," he said. "I don't feel like doing this again."
That made two of them.
Letting his joking attitude go, Steve dropped his head to Tony's chest again, exhausted. It was more intimacy than he would normally have allowed himself to indulge in, but he couldn't help it just then. His heart was still pounding, breaths coming fast.
"The others?" he asked.
"They all managed to clear their sections without getting their asses kicked. Maybe you could take some pointers from them."
Steve scowled, but before he could reply, Clint charged into the room, bow drawn.
“At ease, Katniss," Tony said. "You're a little late to the party."
Lowering his bow, Clint looked around the trashed room, his sharp eyes roving over the hole in the wall and the heavily armed bodies scattered across the floor.
"I can see that." His gaze lingered on the man still wrapped in a cocoon of metal. "What the hell happened here?"
Steve had been wondering that himself, and it didn't take a deductive genius to reach an answer. He looked down at his suit, and then back up at Tony.
"A couple of design upgrades, huh?" he said, repeating Tony's casual excuse for replacing his original suit with a new one of his own design a few months ago.
Tony gave him a smirk and a shrug.
"I like to make sure my assets are protected."
Grimacing, Steve glanced around at the fallen fighters.
"An airbag, Tony? Really?"
"Hey, you don't get to insult things that save your life."
"That's odd, because you insult me all the time."
Clint laughed, and Tony glared at him.
"Hey, don't look at me like that; I think you guys are adorable. I've never seen an overprotective boyfriend go so high tech."
Heat crept into Steve’s face, and something unpleasant twisted in his gut. Whatever Clint and the other Avengers may have thought, Tony wasn’t his boyfriend. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fact.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled away from Tony’s grasp. His legs didn’t feel altogether steady beneath him as he stood, but he stayed on his feet through force of will.
"Hey, if I make out with you, will you build butt pads into my suit?" Clint asked, nudging at the mummified militia fighter with his booted toe. "I keep getting knocked on my ass, and it's hard to be lazy when you can't sit down without-"
He squeaked as Steve's shield hit him in the solar plexus. Stumbling back, he sat down abruptly, landing hard on the ass in question.
"Oh, come on," he wheezed.
Steve refused to feel bad.
*****
The rest of the cleanup didn't take long. The four men who had attacked Steve turned out to be the last of the stragglers, and with them safely packed away, the Avengers relinquished the situation to SHIELD.
When Tony tried to get Steve to go to SHIELD medical for assessment, he flatly refused. JARVIS had identified the weapon that incapacitated Steve; a sort of modified, enhanced taser. Tony had removed the barb that was delivering the continuous, debilitating current, and Steve's serum had taken care of the rest. The last thing he wanted was to spend any more time being poked and prodded, assessed for weakness.
Instead, he headed back to his suite in Stark Tower. His mood had been steadily darkening since the end of the mission, and he was far from thrilled when Tony followed him off the elevator.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Tony,” he snapped as he pushed open the door to his rooms. “And I’ve got a lot of work to get done.”
Not looking behind him, he strode to his desk and snatched up the tablet that had been charging there.
"You're not seriously going to start your paperwork now," Tony protested as Steve logged into the tablet with his SHIELD credentials.
"It's a little something called responsibility. And I don't remember inviting you in here. Not that that’s ever stopped you.”
"Perks of owning the building." Tony folded his arms over his chest and frowned at Steve. "Something crawl up your ass when I wasn't looking, Rogers? You've been acting like me all afternoon, and while you get points for the unexpected, I'm not sure this team can handle more than one crabby asshole."
"Really? Thought you saw yourself as the greatest thing to happen to mankind since Christ."
Regretting the words as soon as he said them, Steve shook his head, shoulders slumping. He set his tablet aside and rubbed at his aching eyes.
"I'm sorry, Tony. That was out of line."
"Not really, but it was out of character."
The pad of Tony's footsteps over carpet drew closer, and then a familiar set of hands landed on Steve's shoulders. He tensed, torn between grasping Tony’s hands, and shoving them away.
"C'mon, Steve. If I have to talk through my crap with you, you don’t get to wuss out of-”
"Why did you modify my suit?"
"What?"
Steve twisted sharply to look at Tony, shrugging away his hands.
"All those modifications you did, putting in the gas and the airbags and all that. Why'd you put those in there?"
Surprise flickered across Tony’s features, followed by a dozen other things Steve couldn’t interpret. At last, he just quirked an eyebrow, and shrugged.
"It's what I do, Steve. I tinker, make things better."
"Oh, so you put modifications like that in everyone's gear? If I punch Thor in the chest tomorrow, I'll get gassed?"
“Pretty sure if you punched Thor in the chest, you’d die from a lightning overdose pretty quick.”
Steve glowered at him, and he rolled his eyes.
"Okay, so maybe I started with yours. Why the hell is this a problem, anyway?" Tony tossed up his hands in frustration. "It worked, didn't it? That stuff saved your life today."
"It shouldn't have had to!" Steve slammed his palm down on the desk, making Tony jump and stare at him. “I shouldn't have needed a fancy suit and a coward's weapons to stay alive long enough to get rescued!"
Understanding seemed to dawn in Tony's eyes, even as his expression tightened.
"What, so protecting yourself is cowardly?" he asked.
"My father choked to death on mustard gas because the enemy wasn't brave enough to face him in an honest fight!"
"Yeah, and mine might've lived if he'd had better safety features in his car!"
That brought Steve up short a little, and he looked away from the growing hurt and anger on Tony's face. He pulled in a deep breath, trying to gain a grip on his roiling emotions. He knew where his anger was really coming from, and it wasn’t because of what Tony had done to the suit. It was why.
"Look, Tony...I appreciate where you're coming from, but the team has to come first. If - if seeing each other means you don't respect me anymore, then I can't-"
"Don't respect you?" Tony repeated, sounding so incredulous that Steve's gaze was pulled back to him. "What the hell, Steve?"
"Why else would you put - put training wheels in my gear, and no one else's? You think I’m the weakest member of the team. You always have.”
They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Tony was the first to look away, muttering something unintelligible to himself. He shook his head.
"God, you're an idiot. Maybe I do deserve you after all."
Steve couldn't decided whether to be offended or just bewildered.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Christ, Steve, what do you think? Why did I build a stupid number of ridiculous safety features into your suit? Gee, maybe because the thought of losing one more person I love scares the holy hell out of me?”
That rocked Steve back on his heels.
In all the time he'd spent getting to know Tony, he'd been doing his best to manage his expectations. When their antagonistic relationship had grown into a genuine friendship, and from there into mutual attraction, Steve had seen no reason to think it would progress to anything beyond that.
Steve wasn't proud of it, but he was too far gone for Tony to demand more than that. He'd allowed their barbed flirtations to progress to the physical, desperate for as much of Tony as he could get.
In his most precious of dreams though, he'd never imagined that could include his heart.
"What?" he heard himself gasp.
Tony scowled at the wall to the left of Steve's head.
"Clearly, I had the wrong idea about a few things. Sorry I bothered."
He turned on his heel, and Steve felt his heart stutter in his chest as he began to stride away.
"Tony, wait!"
Steve lunged after him, grabbed him by the arm. Tony was rigid with tension under his touch. He dislodged Steve's grip with a harsh shrug, but he didn't try to run again, rounding on him instead.
"What do you want, Steve?" he demanded. "I can take the extra stuff out of the suit, if it's hurting your star-spangled ego so goddamn much-"
There were too many things Steve wanted to say in too short a time, so he forewent all of them, and kissed Tony instead.
It was far from their first, and Tony responded warmly. He leaned into the kiss, raising his hands to Steve's chest.
But then he tensed, and Steve's gut lurched as he tried to pull away.
"I'm sorry," he said at once, trapping Tony's hands with his own and holding them in place over his heart. "Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't realize - I thought...I thought it was because you saw me as weak, or less valuable to the team. And after...well, after everything I went through to get here, I might be a little, ah, oversensitive to that kind of thing."
Tony's expression had been hard and closed-off, but now it softened by a fraction. He snorted, shaking his head.
"Like I said; idiot. Steve, I've seen you punch out aliens, and you thought I might think you weren't strong?"
Wincing, Steve tried for an apologetic smile. Tony rolled his eyes.
"Look, it's fine," he sighed. "Sensitive subject; we all have them. I'll tell you next time I upgrade your suit."
With that, he slid his hands from Steve's, and took a step back. His hurt and anger seemed to have disappeared, but they had been replaced by profound discomfort. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he continued to back away, tension visible in his shoulders.
"I'll let you get back to your thrilling paperwork."
Once again, he turned to go.
"I love you too."
The very air itself seemed to freeze. Steve held his breath as he stared at Tony's motionless back, waiting. Praying he hadn't just ruined the best thing he had in this life.
"What did you just say?" Tony's voice was barely above a whisper, and he hadn't moved.
"I said, I love you too, Tony." Steve enunciated each word with great care, as he closed the distance between the two of them in a few purposeful strides. "I have for a while now. I would've said so a long time ago, if I'd thought there was any chance in hell you'd want to hear it." He smiled, a small, wry smile that Tony couldn't see. "Guess you were braver than me."
"That'll be the day."
Slowly, Tony turned back around. Steve had drawn so close that the movement brought them chest to chest. Tony tilted his head as he studied Steve, searching for something.
"If you didn't mean that, Rogers, you'd better tell me right the fuck now. Because if we do this, I'm playing for keeps."
In answer, Steve kissed him again. Words became moot for a long time after that.
*****
It may have been the first time Steve discovered the extra safety features built into his uniform, but it was far from the last, he would come to find out.
The parachute, he found when he was drop-kicked out of a plane at thirty thousand feet. Later, he would find out that not only was his helmet bulletproof, but it could also release a thick cloud of harmless smoke that masked his position to the people shooting at him. When he was trapped in an abandoned mine by a rockslide, the blackness was kept at bay by the soft glow that emanated from the star on his chest.
The list went on. No longer did these features feel like doubts or insults. Rather, each one felt like a personal love letter from Tony.
Steve treasured them all.