Work Text:
A Pilgrimage:
Always seeking,
Each moment fleeting;
This is where my soul will rest.
With you I’ve fulfilled,
Our destined meeting;
My tired hand,
Against your chest.
This is the heart, that keeps mine beating-
These are the eyes
That mine know best.
Lang Leav: Lullabies, page 27 (2014)
The room was quiet but for the steady beeping of the machine, dark but for the single light above the hospital bed, peaceful but for the lone figure, unconscious and filling Stephen to the brim with worry.
Stephen sat on the uncomfortable chair pulled up to Tony’s bed, gripping his limp hand loosely in his own, willing the man he loved to open his eyes. The doctors and nurses on rotation came and went in silence and Stephen didn’t need to see their expressions to sense their judgment.
Stephen had been a doctor, knew better then to sit here as the minutes ticked by, hoping against hope that his lover would wake up. Three days, it had been three days since Tony had slipped into this coma after a battle that left him without his helmet and bruising in the brain.
Stephen had hardly slept, determined to hold vigil over Tony, refusing to believe this man, this brilliant, brilliant man could be fouled by a bump on the head. Sometimes it was better to live in a fairy tale, even if it was temporary, which it was, Wong wouldn’t stand for it for long.
Lifting one of his trembling hands, he ran it through Tony’s hair, eyes on his lover’s face, seemingly peaceful and decidedly wrong. Tony was never still, always vibrating with an almost maniac energy, this was horribly unnatural.
“Tony,” he murmured, voice dry and cracking. “Wake up please. I miss you, and even you can’t stand to sleep this long, so come on, open your eyes.”
Nothing happened, nothing ever happened.
Stephen ran a feather light touch over Tony’s eyes, aching with the need to see their warmth again.
His eyes, it was a strange thing to miss so much, to fixate on like he had begun to. Perhaps it was because he didn’t know if he would ever see them again, the urge to commit to memory the kaleidoscope of emotion that was in their dark depths.
Tony was a man who felt everything deeply but gave nothing away, building up a fortress of humor and sarcasm not so different to Stephen’s own, but his eyes, they were an open book, easily read and memorized since the moment they were together.
Stephen could still remember when they were sitting in a boring unofficial meeting and all at once Tony’s eyes had sparked with their familiar intelligence, lighting up with sudden interest, the way they widened minutely, danced away from the others in the room, seeing something in his mind, the way they darted about, the way he could look right through Stephen when that happened. He never minded, it was brilliant to watch, to see the thing that made him happiest in the world lighting up those warm eyes.
It had been fascinating but was nothing compared to the moments reserved only for him. The way the brown would deepen and darken until they were nearly black, looking at Stephen with barely contained arousal, the way it felt like a warm hand had just pinned him to his spot even when they weren’t touching.
The way the corners of his eyes would relax, the brows seemingly shifting into something breathtakingly rich and promising when he said, ‘I love you,’ making Stephen feel like he was at home, safe only under that heavy, all-seeing gaze.
There was nothing, not a single thing more comforting then his shade of brown. It was always the first thing he saw in the mornings, as he coaxed him gently to consciousness, kissing his skin lightly, waiting to be seen beneath half-closed eyes.
The last thing he saw at night, when he kissed him goodbye or watched him trudge up the stairs in silence. When he went to retrieve him from his workshop only to be looked at with a haziness that revealed just how exhausted he was.
They had been the last thing he’d gazed into before sliding away into the emptiness of dust, the horror and disbelief there spearing him through the heart. Then they had been the first thing he saw upon coming back, the sight of Tony Stark streaked with mud, standing directly in front of him as though he somehow knew Stephen would be right there, the disbelief still present but the horror shifting into gratitude and perhaps even annoyance.
They were his harbour when he was set out to sea. Those eyes were always there, ready and loving in a way that was overwhelming with the swirling emotions they often contained, all directed painfully and absolutely on him. Stephen could not remember ever being looked upon with such unconditional love, not since April with the hero worship of a little sister. He didn’t want to fail Tony like he failed her.
Stephen dropped his head to rest lightly on Tony’s shoulder, wishing he could just climb into the small hospital bed with him. This would have to do, however, as he took his time, running a trembling finger over his lover’s face, tracing all of his features, until all that was left was the eyes. He wanted to see them again, just one more time if this really was the end. But the world had never been so kind to him.
Stephen fell asleep, stomach grumbling and eyes stinging with unshed tears, holding his lover’s hand, wanting and willingly to wait forever.
“Stephen?” A familiar croak.
He opened his eyes to the warmest brown he’d ever seen.
He opened his eyes to find himself back home.