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When Tony entered the penthouse, keys swinging around his fingers and a low tune hummed beneath his breath, he expected to find Stephen clad in his usual causal dress watching movies in the living room or maybe tentatively beginning a home-cooked meal.
What he found instead, was the lights turned off and an oppressive silence emanating from the desolate home. Tony really couldn’t help the way his instincts flared, fingers already hovering above the shining unit on his chest.
It was an overreaction of course; Stephen might have cancelled. But then again, Friday would have informed him of it. The scarier option was that maybe Stephen hadn’t had the opportunity to let her know, hurt after yet another long day of dimension hopping. Tony took a deep breath, reminded himself that too was unlikely. Wong would have called.
Swallowing thickly and willing his racing heart to calm down, Tony made sure his voice was steady before calling out, “Friday? Can you tell me where my doctor has gotten to?”
“Dr. Strange has retired to the bedroom. He was complaining of a headache and was quite rude when I suggested he take pain medication.”
Tony’s entire body relaxed, a slow smile working its way onto his lips as he finally swung the door closed, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it baby girl.”
Friday still sounded a little miffed as she continued, “the scans I ran while he slept suggested it was a migraine and appeared to be causing great distress.”
“Right,” Tony frowned at her insistence. Friday was long used to putting up with his less then stellar track record of taking care of himself. It was odd she would be so adamant about Stephen’s own headache, especially since the last time the sorcerer had lectured her on giving medical advice to a doctor.
Despite himself, a tendril of unease began to unfurl inside him.
“Thanks for the update Friday.”
Tony made a beeline for the bedroom, dropping his jacket on a chair in the hallway and quickly slipping his tie off, only to leave that one on the floor to be berated about later. He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected to find but it was decidedly not the picture of warmth that greeted him.
The bedroom was dark, windows tinted to block out unwanted rays of sun. The temperature of the room was notably cooler as well, Friday’s work no doubt. Other then that, it was the sight on the bed that made Tony pause and simply lean there for a long moment, observing.
Stephen was curled tightly in the thick comforter, unusual for him since he typically ran hot to begin with. Only Stephen’s head poked out of the covers, eyes closed as they rested on a three-pillow high mound, neck strategically place to remove strain from the spinal cord. He looked peaceful, if not all together comfortable.
His expression, while slackened in sleep, held a hint of pain. It could be seen in the tightening around the eyes. Tony didn’t dare move closer, unwilling to disturb whatever reprieve Stephen had found and made his way back to the kitchen.
An idea was already forming in his mind.
---
One hour and forty minutes later and the kitchen was pleasantly warm with the heat of food and cooking. Two plates were piled high with spaghetti noodles and a generous helping of red sauce and ground meat, with only a sprinkling of parmesan. It looked and smelled fantastic, utterly perfect.
Ignoring the mountain of dishes, the scorch mark on the wall behind the stove, Friday’s truly exasperated voice, and the minor incident that had left half the kitchen freshly hosed down.
Yeah, other then that, perfect.
Tony was now in a plain T-shirt and sweatpants, contemplating how to wake Stephen up when Friday interrupted him, “boss, Dr. Strange is awake. He appears to still be suffering from the migraine.”
Tony nodded and pulled a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water. After some rummaging in a drawer he managed to track down some Ibprofuen and left both of them off to the side of the meal he’d prepared.
No sooner then he’d done that, Stephen’s form came shuffling out into the kitchen wincing as the lights hit him. His lover was wearing nothing but his boxers and a white shirt, wrinkled from his long nap. Stephen’s hair was an absolute mess and Tony had to hide a grin at the sight, though judging by the expression on his lover’s face, he’d failed miserably.
“You cooked?” was the first thing he said, voice rough with disuse.
“Don’t worry, Friday made sure it was edible.”
Stephen grimaced, before flopping himself heavily on a stool, eyeing the mound of noodles and looking too pale for Tony’s liking.
“Thanks. I’m afraid I won’t be the best dinner guest,” Stephen murmured, trembling fingers tentatively picking up the fork.
“You can’t be worse than the time this one girl threw up on my shoes. She wasn’t even drunk.”
“I honestly can’t promise not to do the same.”
“Hey,” Tony lifted Stephen’s chin, taking in his pinched expression. “Is it really that bad?” There was no need to expand, Stephen knew Friday would have filled him in.
Stephen shrugged, a light blush coming to his cheeks, “I’ve had worse. It will pass, really.”
The man was horrible at being taken care of. Tony might be frustrated if he didn’t know he was exactly the same way.
Shaking his head, Tony picked up the pill bottle and began untwisting the lid with the intent of dosing his lover until he could sleep in blissful peace. However, he was stalled by a chilly hand settling over his own. When Tony looked up at Stephen, it was to find the man staring at him seriously.
“I’m fine. I don’t need the medication.”
Something about his tone threw Tony off. There was a layer of frustration and…worry? Yes, he could see it in the way those usually vibrant eyes danced away from his for a moment.
“You’re in pain,” Tony said carefully.
“Its manageable.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“I’m not taking the medication Tony!”
The snapped words echoed in the penthouse, making both men freeze. Stephen’s breath was coming a bit more harshly, eyes decidedly downcast. Tony was a smart man, a genius in fact, and it wasn’t difficult after a bit more thought to understand what was happening here.
Stephen Strange. Doctor Stephen Strange.
Suffered from chronic pain in the hands and yet never seemed to pick up a pill, even when the limbs were swollen and aching. Stephen Strange, who Tony now recalls being bloodied and bruised, eyes locked onto a wall as he was stitched up, sans medication or numbing agent. Stephen Strange, who Tony had never once seen drink a drop of alcohol. Stephen Strange whose job was to battle dimensional creatures regularly and didn’t have a single pill in the walls of the Sanctum.
Stephen Strange who must have been addicted to those blissful little post-surgery pills that made the whole world a little brighter and a little fuzzier.
Tony’s stomach twisted sickly at the realization. He should have noticed before this, should have known, but then again, it was difficult to imagine Stephen, his Stephen, not be in absolute control of himself twenty-four seven.
Gripping the bottle tightly in his hand Tony turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He could feel Stephen’s eyes on him, could feel the guilt already beginning to blossom and while it was difficult to keep going, that was something he could deal with later.
Tony stepped into his bathroom, twisted off the lid, and promptly flushed the pills down the toilet. If he was honest, this was symbolic if nothing else since Stephen was a sorcerer and could magic up some relief with the wave of hand, the point was that Tony would do what he could to help. He’d seen the lingering want in those eyes before they’d looked away and Tony knew that this was a constant struggle for Stephen, especially when he was in pain. Tony would not be responsible for setting him down that path again.
Striding back into the kitchen, he found Stephen slumped over the food, fork swerving mindlessly through the contents, making Tony’s heart swell. He was beautiful, even sad and in pain. Tony wondered what that observation said about him.
“I’m sorry,” Tony tried.
Stephen looked up, relief filling his expression, “I should have told you.”
Tony nodded, taking a stool next to Stephen and pulling his own plate close. He really was starving, “you should have. I shouldn’t have been pushy. Mistakes and learning, its how we do things right?”
Tony managed to swirl some pasta onto his fork and held it up toward Stephen. His lover stared at the offering a moment before a small smile crooked his lips and he opened his mouth obediently.
“Thank you,” Stephen murmured, and Tony got the sense he was grateful for more then just the food.
“I love you,” Tony replied simply, scooping up more of the spaghetti and raising an eyebrow at Stephen.