Work Text:
Winded
‘It’s just a business meeting!’ Tony had said. ‘Nothing’s gonna happen to me!’ he’d said. ‘Well, except maybe Mrs. Armstrong saying something snide to me about being a queer but whatever her granddaughter’s gay as hell,’ he’d said.
If only it had been so simple as that.
It was just a business meeting. Nothing should have happened beyond Mrs. Armstrong’s bigotry, which Tony had been dealing with for over a decade already. Tony should have been home now, and Steve should have been rubbing his feet and listening to him complain about investors.
Instead a gunman had broken into the meeting, meaning to take hostages, but one of the old men had gotten mouthy and the gunman had started shooting just a few seconds before Tony’s suit had arrived. It had been just a few seconds long enough to squeeze off two rounds. One of Tony’s investors was grazed. Tony had flung himself over Mrs. Armstrong and gotten a shot through the back. The bullet had ping-ponged off a rib and ended up hitting his lung.
Tony always looked so small whenever he was in the hospital.
Steve lifted Tony’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles again, then dipped his head to press his forehead against Tony’s wrist. “If you die, Tony, I’m gonna kill you,” he whispered, voice shaking as he struggled to hold back a sob. “Mrs. Armstrong doesn’t even like you.”
It was mean, and petty, and he knew it, and he knew that Tony would be so offended if he’d heard it, because for how much Mrs. Armstrong might hate whathe was, she had never hated who he was. Tony had such a big heart. Steve didn’t understand. He didn’t understand so many things about this time, the people in it. Tony always helped him to understand. God. What would he do without Tony?
Steve lifted his head sharply and scrubbed at his eyes; there were no tears, anymore, but he couldn’t take any chances. If Tony woke up, he didn’t want him to think he had been crying. Tony always felt so awful when he cried, even when it wasn’t his fault. Steve took a deep breath, then let it back out slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. He let his gaze drift up to Tony’s face, because if he didn’t, he might risk seeing his chest tube, and he knew he couldn’t handle that right now. Tony was so pale, so small against the pillows. Steve reached out to brush Tony’s hair out of his eyes, pausing to just look at him for a moment longer, before he let his hand drift down so he could brush his thumb over Tony’s lower lip.
He’d kissed Tony goodbye just this morning. Tony had been talking, and hadn’t stopped even when Steve had leaned in, mumbling notes to his speech against his lips, just curled his fingers over his shoulder in a gentle, loving squeeze. Steve remembered wishing Tony could just… stop long enough for one little kiss, but he knew now that if he leaned in and felt Tony’s lips while they were still… it would crush him. He always did wish for the wrong things.
“I need you to wake up,” Steve whispered, standing up just long enough to press a kiss to his brow. He hovered over his lips before deciding against it, sitting back in his seat beside the hospital bed. “How am I supposed to sleep without hunting you down and carrying you to bed, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to smile but knowing it fell flat anyway. He was glad, a little, that Tony couldn’t see it. Would have been gladder if Tony could.
It was okay, though. The doctors had been very hopeful, had said that Tony should recover well. He’d just wait for Tony to rally. He’d wait as long as it took.
He wanted to be there to tell Tony how amazing he’d been when he woke up, after all.