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After Tony Stark died, Steve Rogers’ life went on.
Well, ‘went on’ is putting it a bit generously. Steve still did all the things he was supposed to do, all the things he should do. He helped clean up all the destruction that had been left in the wake of the Final Battle, he made lists of all those who had returned, and all those who had fallen.
He had not cried, though. Not even once.
Some days, he drove down to the little house Tony had built for himself and his family. The first few days, he wouldn’t do anything, just stand there leaning against the car Tony had bought him a lifetime ago and stare, though at what he did not know. At first it was at the house, and he found himself considering all that it symbolised for Tony. Steve was a fighter, a soldier, and he knew he had left his dreams of a white picket fence life in the Arctic sea they had dug him up from. But Tony? All Tony wanted was a family, and that dream was evident in every corner of the house. It could be seen in Morgan’s toys which were scattered around the patio, in the small porch swing with a Spiderman blanket on top of it. It could be seen in the shed a small distance from the house, very obviously Tony’s workshop, the door padlocked and never to be opened again. He saw little bits of Tony everywhere, and he stared at it and willed his tears to fall.
They didn’t.
Perhaps a week or two after Steve had silently held vigil in front of the car did he dare to approach the lake. Each step he took was heavy, as if he was physically being rooted to one stop. Once, a lifetime ago, Tony had tried to explain the flight-or-fright mode to Steve in a caffeine-induced haze at 3 am in the morning. It had been one of those nights when the cold was unbearable, and Steve would always without doubt find himself in front of the workshop where he knew Tony would be. Tony wouldn’t blink an eye at Steve’s sudden appearance, nor would he ask questions. He would simply motion Steve to the large couch kept in the workshop, reaching into the drawer he had kept for Steve and hand him his sketchbook and watercolour pencils. They would work in a companionable silence, Tony doing whatever genius-changing-the-world-work he does, and Steve trying to perfect Tony’s smile on paper. It never came out quite right. Other times, Tony would explain whatever sciency thing he was working on. Steve could never really keep up, because Tony could seldom keep up with his own thoughts himself. And yet, those were Steve’s favourite nights, when Tony’s soothing voice washed over him, wrapping him up in a comfortable blanket – the only blanket that ever got rid of the cold. It was one of those nights when Tony had tried to explain to him the nature of the human condition, how the human brain knows how to protect us from dangerous situations. Steve vaguely remembered this, of course - although science was never his strong suit in school – but hearing it from coming from Tony felt better than anything Mrs Smith from 6thGrade had ever tried to teach.
Now, trying to force his lead-heavy legs to make his way to the lake, Steve saw the principle in action. He remembers the last time he stood in front of that lake, watching the heart of the man he admired, cherished, lovedbeing swept away with the gentle waves of the still water. He remembers standing in front of the water long after everyone else had left, staring until the ring of flowers was no longer anywhere to be seen. He remembers trying to make himself cry, remembers the pain crushing him whole.
He stands there now, in front of the water, wondering what he could have done differently.
That is where Pepper finds him.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there next to him, their shoulders touching. She lifts up her hand to brush her tears off her face, and Steve sneaks a glance at the ring on her finger, catching the light of the sun just right.
“Why don’t you ever come inside?” she asks eventually, and Steve stays silent for a long time, just pondering on the answer.
“Because I don’t deserve a place in the life he built for himself,” he answers eventually. He had made a promise a long time ago, that he will never lie to Tony again. He can extend the same courtesy to his wife. “Because I lost the right to that years ago. Because I’m the reason he isn’t here.”
Pepper’s gaze was fire.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t you dare undermine his sacrifice like that. You think you can make Tony Stark do something he doesn’t want to? Tony chose to help, just like he chose to put on that gauntlet even though he knew what it would do to him. He knew, and he did it anyway, because he is a hero. He made that choice himself, and you or I or anyone else don’t get to take that from him.”
“You’re right,” Steve says, his voice cracking. “But it should not have had to come to that. I had promised him we would fight together, and I didn’t keep that promise.”
Pepper stares at the stretch of water in front of them for a long time.
“He loved you, you know,” she says finally, her gaze shifting to firmly hold his. “He loved you so much. And I know you love him, too.”
Steve stares at her helplessly. “He loved you, Pepper – he married you.”
Pepper smiles, a little sadly. “I know he did, I never doubted that. But he loved me in a very different way to the way he loved you. He loved me comfortably, with ease, with a sense of familiarity. But he loved you ferociously. You were the only thing he could never figure out how to get rid of. No matter how much he tried to hate you, he just couldn’t do it.”
Pepper laughs. “I don’t think he knew it himself, to be honest. Not until it was too late, anyway. But he did.”
Her hands brush his shoulders, and with one last smile, she walks away from him back into the house her husband had built her and their daughter – her husband, but the love of Steve’s life.
The next time Steve visits Tony’s house again, it isn’t Pepper who comes to greet him, but rather Morgan.
Steve had only seen Morgan twice, and both times were not ones in which he could pay much attention to the girl, as overcome as he was by Tony. But today? Today he looks at Morgan, really looks at her. She toddles over to him, tucking her small hands into Steve’s large ones, and Steve feels himself smile for the first time in weeks.
“Are you my daddy’s friend?” she lisps.
Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah I am your daddy’s friend.”
Morgan perches herself on the bench beside him.
“Mommy says daddy went to the stars because he is a superhero,” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“Yeah, honey,” Steve says softly, “your daddy is the bravest superhero ever.”
“I know,” she says haughtily, and Steve thinks distantly how much of a Stark she truly is. “I want him to come tell me a story, though,” she says. “He always used to tell me the best stories, about the Avengers and about Captain America! Mommy can’t do the funny Cap voices like he does.”
Steve feels his heart clench at the fact that Tony used to tell his daughter stories about him, about the makeshift family they had once formed together. Tony kept him as a part of his daughter’s life, even when he did nothing to deserve it.
“Do you want to hear a story about your dad?” he asks Morgan.
“About Iron Man?” she exclaims, and Steve wraps his arms around her.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he says. “About Iron Man.”
As he tells Morgan the tales of bravery of her father, he lets himself truly look at Morgan and see the bits of Tony hidden within her. He’s there, in the way she smiles and in the way her brown eyes – identical to his – shine with excitement and joy and curiosity. Tony is gone, but he has left his child, his Morgan – an ever-present reminder that Tony Stark can never truly die. He is Iron Man, and his legacy will live on.
For the first time in weeks, Steve feels a wetness on his cheeks, tastes the salt of his river of grief. Morgan brings her small hands up to his face, brushing the tears off his cheek. She gives him a blinding smile, and for the first time in a long time, Steve finally thinks he can survive in a world without Tony Stark.
He has to do it, for Tony Stark.