Chapter Text
"The course of true love never did run smooth.
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night;
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth,
And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!"
The jaws of darkness do devour it up.
So quick bright things come to confusion."
- Lysander from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" by Shakespeare
"Ray Dorset fan?"
It took Tony a second to catch on that the desk clerk's question was directed at him. "Huh?"
The man behind the hotel counter motioned at his own cheeks and nodded, as if talking about Tony's facial hair. "Mungo Jerrys?"
What the hell was a Mungo Jerry? Was this how Steve felt in the future all the time? Tony had to get out of here.
"Uh. Yeah. Yes, definitely." Tony threw out a peace sign. The desk clerk frowned, so that was probably too much. Grabbing the room key, Tony pulled up a cursory smile and walked out as fast as he dared.
Outside the small hotel, he turned the Manhattan street corner to a shadowed alleyway to find Steve, in his full Captain America regalia, entertaining three young kids with dirty faces. Ten-year-olds from the looks of the lot, and wide-eyed with admiration only Cap could inspire. He was letting them touch his shield. Even in profile, lit up by the bright midday sunshine, Tony could tell the warm regard in his eyes made the kids straighten their shoulders and stand a little taller. They gave Tony distrustful looks and scattered like peas when he approached. Steve gave a quick salute their way, to flashes of childish grins, and turned to Tony. "You got a room?"
"4A," Tony showed him the thick iron key with a leather tag. "Let's get going before your young fans adopt you."
"They know who Cap is," Steve marveled, in sotto voice. "I knew they had comics and movies all this time, but I just never— I didn't realize how constant it's been." He was slouching, as if to make himself smaller and overwhelming endearment stole Tony's breath for a moment.
"I had Cap pajamas when I was four. Probably shouldn't have told you that." Tony's gut was fluttering as if he was mid-flight. The sense of companionship he and Steve had found again had him feeling like he was in an elaborate fantastical dream. They couldn't really be in the 1970! They couldn't really be friends again and working together so well!
He glanced back at the man by his side and caught Steve looking softly at him. His heart stuttered, and they both looked away.
Everything about being on this Time Heist with Steve set Tony's heart beating too quickly in his chest. Besides the hope that this plan had given to all of the Avengers, Tony had a personal interest in time travel since childhood, sparked reading Ray Bradbury and H.G. Wells under the bed-covers at night. While a big part of him was terrified of never seeing Morgan again, he was also nearly jubilant to get to travel through time. The very idea had Tony's inner geek freaking out. And then there was the way Steve had said he trusted him: certainly, and without reservation. The way he'd made the call to jump into the past, with nothing but one of Tony's wild guesses and his word to rely on. That kind of trust was equal parts wonderful and unbearable, both.
Tony had to stop thinking about it, or he would do something spontaneous and insane like turn around and hug Steve.
They walked back into the lobby together. "Stairs," Tony muttered low, hoping Steve's appearance would go unremarked. They weren't so lucky, however, and the desk clerk who had sold Tony their two-bed hotel room earlier did a double take. You didn't often see Captain America's doppelganger in full costume and shield stride into your no-frills hotel.
The clerk looked Steve up and down. "What are you coming from: a kid's birthday party?" His eyes gleamed in that way a father's eyes gleam when he imagines inviting Cap to a birthday party for his own child, not that Tony's ever thought about it.
Tony talked fast. "Audition, you know how it is. One of those shows that's coming out: all about the life of Captain America." Guileless was his face. Beside him, he could sense Steve's expression freeze into a polite mask.
"Oh yeah! Heard about that," the clerk suddenly turned from incredulous to friendly. "Give'em hell, Cap!" And he gave a sloppy salute that had Steve pulling up an awkward smile in return. Everyone was a fan, Tony thought with an inner eye-roll. That was okay though; in the future, plenty of people liked Iron Man best.
Tony shooed Steve up the stairs before the conversation could turn any more detailed, as the Beatles crooned "Let It Be" from the small black radio behind the desk. They booked it up to the fourth floor — the climb made Tony woozy; Hulk little love tap had left his head throbbing — and Tony unlocked their room. It was a simple affair, two twin beds with a night table shoved in between them, flower curtains, kitschy wallpaper. Domestic.
"Let's try to keep a low profile, the hotel guy already thinks I'm on my way to Woodstock." Tony ran a thumb over his bearded chin.
"You could shave. Make yourself fit in with the times."
"Why bother? We'll be out of this century tomorrow," Tony went past the beds to peer at their bathroom. The small room was old and dingy looking, but he'd seen worse places. "Besides, don't you think I look like an academic?" He glanced over the shoulder at Steve with a challenging eyebrow raised.
"You look fine, Tony. Is that the cover we're going with? Academic visitors to SHIELD science labs?" Steve had already picked the bed closest to the door, making the mattress sag heavily where he sat on the corner edge, elbows resting on his knees, and hands gripped together in front. His gleaming shield leaned against the side of the bed. He looked ready to defend the hotel room from an alien invasion and his somber gaze focused on Tony with intent.
"Me, maybe. Not sure we can sell you as an egghead." If Tony's eyes lingered on Steve's biceps, well, who could blame him.
"Hey, I have an inner life," Steve said with a tiny smile. "Maybe a military uniform?"
Tony nodded. Bad move; god, his brain felt like scrambled eggs. "You'd fit right in."
"How's your head?" Steve asked seriously. So, he'd noticed Tony's little wince.
Tony jerked one indifferent shoulder. "I'm fine."
"Right," Steve said, voice dry in a cross between amusement and concern. Brimming with that note that said he knew Tony entirely too well and was incredibly fond of him for some reason that currently escaped him. Tony felt warm all over. Steve added, casual-like, "We should get some rest."
Tony looked down so he wouldn't be meeting Steve's eyes in the bathroom mirror. "Hmm. What's the plan tomorrow?"
Tony's Plan A had been to fly to Camp Lehigh at night as Iron Man, and pick up both items they needed, but Steve made a solid argument against unidentified flying objects over U.S. military bases in the middle of a Cold War. Tony agreed that their plan had to include not starting a nuclear war as a basic premise, so now they were onto Plan B: stealth. They could do stealth, right?
Tony thought maybe together they could do anything.
Feeling unaccountably self-conscious with Steve there, watching him, Tony twisted the faucets and splashed some water on his face, wiping it with the soft white towel from the rack.
"Get to Camp Leigh. Get on the base." In the mirror, Steve shrugged. "Wing it from there?"
Lost in thought, Tony considered Steve's reflection. For a man who liked to have a plan, Steve seemed awfully willing to go in unprepared. Are you okay? The words lingered on Tony's tongue, but never passed his lips. "New Jersey. No flying, so we'll need a car."
Steve nodded, picking at the cuff of his uniform. "I'll need different clothes, so I can move around more easily."
"Yeah, you sure could use a makeover. I'll go out in a bit, get you something to wear." And delay the inevitable: lying in the other bed listening to Steve fall asleep. The thought made him jittery.
"You never said. What did you pawn for cash?" Steve looked curious.
Tony wasn't going to start lying now. He carefully shut the running faucet. "My ring."
Steve's eyes widened. "Your—? Tony." Just the reaction Tony didn't want, and the reason he had tried to avoid saying it back at the pawn show where a cynical store keep had given him enough cash for the simple gold band to last them a week of living frugally, or as Steve called it, 'like normal people'.
"Keeping it on for three years was sentimental." Logical, practical Pepper would approve of his decision, Tony knew with confidence. She'd stopped wearing hers years ago. But in the mirror Steve was giving him a look entirely out of proportion with the difficulty of the act for Tony, his expression gone somber and earnest.
"Last time, Pepper was at your house. Aren't you two working things out?"
Tony shot him a glance over the shoulder. "What? Did you miss that we have a kid? No, we aren't getting back together. We are Morgan's parents, so we parent." He looked away, but his eyes met Steve's in the bathroom mirror. Steve's serious gaze pinned him in place, searching his own as if looking for an opening to peer inside. "You'd know that, if you came around more often than once a year."
He wished he could stop saying things like that. It was the past, bitter him, and he was tired of those corrosive feelings. He just wanted Steve to stick around. It came out sad and wrong.
Steve's lips compressed in a thin line, and he glanced down on the ground before looking up again. "Tony..."
Tony didn't let him go down the beaten track. "You could do that. Come around more often?" There, that was better. It sounded like an invitation, into Tony's home and back into his life. An opening on offer. "When we get back."
Steve's face lit up. "I'd like that," he said, sincere. Tony's stomach jerked.
He was talking about a future; their future. Without meaning to, he was starting to make plans that counted on Steve being around for it.
Morgan was too young to remember the times Steve had come by before, always with a business reason and always gazing at Tony and his daughter with a wistful longing that made Tony's breath catch. The first time Steve had seen Morgan, barely a month old then, he'd gotten choked up, and Tony remembered him stumbling through congratulations with a hushed sort of reverence. Steve kept looking between Tony and the tiny human baby snug in a blanket in his arms, as if he was trying to find similarities. It had been the first time in a long while that Tony had found himself smiling at Steve, happy to see him. In his memories, those moments had been joy and terror, because he had a baby, he had a daughter. "I have a kid," he had repeated dumbly, looking down at her and feeling like he could die from loving someone so much. He wanted everyone in the world to feel even a tiny bit as happy as he felt holding her in his arms. A minute later, Steve had flipped his Captain face on, and concluded his business in a formal manner, leaving promptly with a quiet, "I am happy for you, Tony."
His visits grew further and further apart. Tony knew a few years down the road Steve had gotten into some sort of support group and was working himself into the ground helping people cope with the new world they all found themselves in. Natasha, in coordination with FRIDAY, made a point of keeping Tony updated on major planet events, and apparently what Steve was doing with his life qualified. Tony never complained about the updates, of course, because the distance between him and Steve was a constant unrelenting ache. Even at night, exhausted from looking after his darling Morguna, sometimes Tony couldn't sleep, wondering what if...what if he'd been smarter, better? What if there was a way to fix everything? With the planet, with the team, with him and Steve. He worked on Steve's shield to keep himself sane in between all the endless baby walks, naps, feedings, washings. It gave him a sense of purpose beyond being a Dad to prototype different styles of shields, measure their function, simulate how well they worked at knocking down bad guys. In the end he always came back to the original that seemed to fit Steve's fighting style best. Finally, when the shield lay completed in the garage, he would look at it sometimes and feel that same wistful ache, pulling at him like quicksand. He had tried to turn his thoughts away from looking for a solution, but couldn't stop himself.
And now, here they were, with an actual plan. Everything could still go side-ways, but at least they were doing something. And Steve was here for however long this heist lasted.
"Hey," Tony didn't startle when Steve was at his side, briefly touching his elbow and bringing Tony out of his reverie. "You should get that cut treated." He nodded his chin towards the injury. It had stopped bleeding even back in 2012, but Tony felt a burn whenever he moved the muscles on his face.
Steve leaned against the doorway, while Tony examined the side of his face in the mirror. God, he hadn't really been sleeping much since Scott's visit had given him the final piece of the puzzle for the time traveling mechanism. The lack of sleep showed in the tired lines of his face; the last time he'd looked like this Morgan had been going through the terrible twos.
Tony tapped his arc reactor under the clothes, and made the Iron Man glove briefly cover his hand. Then, he applied the hemostatic agent in small dabs on the cut, sealing it. It looked seamless, blending with his skin, and he wouldn't be leaving blood on the pillows. The armored glove vanished as it had appeared, nanobots slithering back off his skin. At his side, Steve was curious and, Tony hoped, at least a little impressed with the nanotech. Over the last years, aside from a few skirmishes that required Iron Man, Tony hadn't had much opportunity to show his armor off to the team, so Steve wouldn't have had much time to see it in action.
"Handy," was all Steve said, crossing his arms awkwardly on his chest, looking a bit lost. Idleness did not become him, but there was little Tony could do about that until Steve was able to go out in public without having the Second Coming effect on the general population. In fact, now was as good a time as any for Tony to get on with the next part of the plan: this period's clothing.
"What do the seventies thrift stores even look like?" he wondered idly.
"I don't imagine all that different. Not everything's changed as much as you think," Steve said. "It's the little things that used to trip me up. But the rest..."
"People are people."
"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Don't worry about the looks, just find me something that fits."
"You're going to show up to Camp Leigh dressed in a shiny polyester print," Tony cautioned cheerfully.
"I just need to be able to go outside," Steve glanced down at his Captain America suit in consternation. "It's Thursday, which means tomorrow is Friday, which means a whole bunch of soldiers will be doing their laundry in time for the weekend." Steve gave Tony a significant look.
"Oh," Tony said, delighted by the simplicity of it. "We'll lift you a uniform."
"Exactly."
"Then there's getting to Jersey. We definitely don't have the money to both rent a car and eat — you choose."
"I'll get us a car," Steve said confidently.
"Huh." Tony's glance at him was one of admiration. "Of course, you can hot-wire a car. ...Did Natasha teach you?"
Steve gave an amused huff. "No, Tony. I did do a few things on my own before I joined the Avengers."
Tony thought back to a time when learning that Cap was willing to steal a car would have shocked him, back when he'd had Steve on the kind of pedestal nobody could live up to, back when Steve had struggled to live up to those expectations, before it all came crashing down. There was an aching sentimentality attached to the recollections of that other time, a world that was gone and swept away to live on only in their memories. But instead of making him sad, today the memories made Tony feel stronger, because, well, hadn't they made it this far?
"The things they don't put in the history books."
Steve smiled. It relaxed his features, made him look, if not younger, then far more approachable. Comfortable in his skin. Tony loved that look on him. That was probably why he went and spoiled the moment, blurting out, after a big gulp of air, "When I was a kid, like nine or so, I used to dream about it. Stealing one of Dad's cars and just...driving off. Never coming back."
A soft, more somber look on Steve's face had Tony turning his eyes away, knowing he could deflect, wondering if he should.
"What were you gonna do for fun?" Steve asked with a quiet patience that made Tony cut a glance to him again. Steve's probing blue gaze caught him and wouldn't let go.
"Just, kid stuff. Ice cream. Go swimming. Find a school field and play some ball with the other kids there. Read books like I wasn't doing enough of that already." Tony shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Do you know what's the ironic thing?" Steve waited patiently. "I'd think about running away, and I'd think to myself, Cap wouldn't want me to do that."
Steve's eyes were almost unbearably intense, but oddly Tony didn't want to look away anymore, he didn't want to hide. Even though the confession was vastly embarrassing on some level, a part of him wanted Steve to hear it, this little secret of his younger, less-cynical self. He wanted Steve to know, because he wanted Steve to know him: even the stupid embarrassing stuff that left Tony wide-open and vulnerable. The nine year old who'd wanted to break the rules just to get a chance to be a normal kid.
Steve didn't laugh at him, like Tony had known he wouldn't. Tony must have known, somewhere deep inside, because the emotions that overtook him were mostly sated contentment at being understood.
It was scary how quickly he began to depend on Steve, again, once he gave himself permission to trust him. Tony didn't know what to do with all the warmth welling in his chest just then, so he swept it aside to deal with later. He moved his shoulder, a half shrug, and even though Steve's serious gaze was still acting like a magnetic force on him, there was more space to breathe.
"Well, I suppose if you feel strongly about it, you could steal it—" Steve started when the silent moment drew too long.
Tony waved a hand. "No, no, you do it. I'm over it. Besides, I've got loads to do before we even need a car."
"The ID cards."
"I have some ideas about that." Tony smiled, glad to have a partner in crime who was on the same wavelength. "But sit tight." He studied Cap's figure critically. "Your makeover first."
"Tony..."
For all the time Tony had spent dwelling on the idea of sharing a hotel room with Steve that night, turning over what it would mean, why exactly it worried him, it didn't come to pass. The first thing he heard upon re-entering their hotel lobby was:
"—the real deal, I swear. Send the camera crew."
The moment the hotel clerk looked up and saw Tony there, his expression turned secretive and he covered the receiver on the phone, as if Tony could overhear the other side of the conversation. Tony paused on the way to the stairs and studied him. The smile plastered on the clerk's face so bland as to be entirely fake, and Tony had been in enough situations like this himself to know the jig was up.
He made it up the stairs in record time, even with the pounding headache. When he unlocked the door, Steve jumped up off the bed as if he had springs.
"You have them?" Someone was eager to be released from the confinement of the room.
"Yeah, yeah." Tony handed him the bag. Steve was in the bathroom, changing, in a flash. The second-hand store Tony had found in the neighbourhood had carried a midnight blue nylon work jacket, a white crew neck shirt and grey pants in Steve's size, and though Tony had been tempted to bring him back some ridiculous bright knitwear, their shared goal was too serious to mess around with, and he couldn't spare their limited funds on a joke. So Tony got him something less hipster, more Steve McQueen. Waiting for him to change, Tony thought back to the clerk downstairs. "We gotta leave," he called through the closed bathroom door, staring at his untouched bed with some measure of longing.
"What? Why?" Steve's surprised voice echoed in response. He came out of the bathroom a minute later, his Cap costume folded in his hand. He looked good. The dark blue of the jacket highlighted the lighter shade of his eyes.
Tony recounted the encounter downstairs, and Steve easily validated his unease with a frown of his own. They couldn't risk Steve being recognized. If it got back to SHIELD and the general state of alert rose on the base, that would interfere with their plan. So when Steve suggested they abandon the hotel and make their way to New Jersey then and there, instead of waiting 'till morning, Tony couldn't argue with the idea.
And so, at around seven, as the day's warmth was giving way to the cooler breeze of the April evening, two men walked out of the small hotel that was paid up until morning, intending never to return.
By that point, the plan began to fall into place. Steve used one of his many talents to acquire them an older model Chevy, its black hood gleaming in the sun as Tony drove and Steve watched the scenery from the passenger seat, somewhat morosely. The drive was slow. Tony had always liked these older cars because they talked to you. This one was telling him her troubles with the whistling rumble of the engine. He couldn't spare the time to give it some much needed TLC, get it purring like it could be, so he kept well below the speed limit to avoid overheating the engine.
The air smelled of ozone promising rain and the lulling sound of tires on the old asphalt road counted off miles as they put New York behind them. Rays of the setting sun pierced the pink clouds where the road met the horizon and burned his retinas, making Tony's headache flare up worse. Tony attributed his rising nausea to that and maybe the questionable hot dogs from earlier. Their heating and A/C was broken. The chilly breeze through the rolled down windows only left him feeling clammy and unwell. After a bit of silent driving, he started skimming through the radio channels.
The Beatles came on again, with another one of their hits, and Tony huffed. "They are going to break up any day now, you know."
"Mmm." Steve didn't look away from whatever was so fascinating outside.
Tony drove another minute in silence, but it wasn't like there was anything on the way down to Jersey that deserved that kind of focused attention, and if there was, Tony wanted to hear about it.
"Hey, buddy?" Okay, so the anxious twist in his gut had nothing to do with the hot dogs. Steve either didn't hear or was too far down in his thoughts to respond. After another moment's hesitation, Tony gave in, pulling one hand from the steering wheel and set it on Steve's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "You falling asleep over there?" The feel of Steve's warm shoulder under the jacket was captivating; Tony's hand lingered.
Steve didn't startle, but just turned slowly to blink at him. For some reason, Tony thought his eyes looked ancient today, as if all of his technical one hundred years was pressing down on Steve more heavily than usual. The question from yesterday stuck in Tony's throat, until he forced himself to cough it out, lightly, "You okay?" And then, because it felt like he didn't have the right, he carried on, "Is my driving boring you?" He just wanted something from Steve to go on.
Steve stared in silence for another moment, then his lips curved in a smile that felt...sweet. Endearingly, almost embarrassingly so. Heat came to Tony's cheeks, and he patted Steve's shoulder once, before letting go. His own reaction baffled him. He was thinking how nice Steve looked when he smiled, again. He thought that a lot. It wasn't as if Tony was unaware of the pull of attraction that lingered, ever-present, between them, but this was less that, and more a sense of belonging, come rushing back. As if Steve's troubles were his own again. As if, when he could make Steve smile, lighten the load a bit, then Tony's own heart felt less heavy and beat a little more easily.
If not rapidly, the way Steve was looking at him. Tony spared another glance, taking his eyes off the relatively empty road. Steve's smile had faded to a faint cant of his mouth, but he wasn't looking away. As the sun finally rolled behind the horizon, its orange rays highlighted the chiseled features of the man next to him and turned his hair golden in a way Tony found unfair. Their eyes met and held. "Yeah?" Tony said, nonsensically.
He became aware that Steve had never actually answered the question only then. Something like electricity sparked up his spine and he had to look away, searching desperately for something to break up the tension.
"You know we barely have five bucks to our name?" Tony's mind jumped to the other topic that worried him. They had left the hotel room behind, and there wouldn't be any beds to sleep in tonight, comfy or otherwise. Tony was used to falling asleep working in his garage, but it didn't do his back any favours. "Even with the current prices, that's maybe tomorrow's breakfast."
"We'll bunk down in the car." Steve nodded to himself, and returned to his silent staring out the window.
Well fine, be that way, Tony thought, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead at the road. The silence weighted on him.
"Natasha would have been great at this. This infiltration stuff," Tony clarified at Steve's quick questioning look. He clenched the wheel harder. "Hell, she probably wouldn't have dropped the ball in 2012. Maybe she and Clint should have gone there and you and me to Vormir, huh?" Despite the ease of his words, Tony found himself shivering. Between the nuke and the voyage to Titan, he was two out of two for terrible trips to outer space and not eager to repeat the experience. Natasha had read that about him in about two seconds flat and volunteered.
"But did you see Clint when he learned he could go into space?" Steve said softly into the oncoming dusk. "I think he actually cracked a smile. After that, no way was Natasha gonna let him go off on his own, what's with everything."
"I guess."
"And don't put this on yourself. We knew the risks when we made the jump."
Tony appreciated the words, even if they didn't assuage his guilt. They had a shot at getting home, if tomorrow went off without a hitch, but if they couldn't get the Pym particles it was going to be a very slow trip back. "Getting stuck in the 1970s wasn't part of the plan."
"Nobody else I'd rather be stuck with than you."
Steve's words fell like stones into a quiet lake, rippling and sweeping through Tony's world.
After a moment of lingering silence, Steve returned back to looking outside.
Tony stared, caught. Steve meant like—like— Like Tony was useful to have around, that was it. With great relief that masked a stinging in his heart, Tony grabbed onto that explanation. It was true, he and Steve worked well together. And when this was over, and they didn't have a world saving adventure to tie them together anymore, they would both look back on these times with fondness. Tony knew he would remember this trip for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, he knew how many nights he'd lie awake, after, wishing Steve had meant something more with those words.
And that wanting, longing, felt dangerous. Tony had always had a problem burdening people too much with his emotional needs. Steve was all manful handshakes, and Tony—Well.
They stayed in their lanes, in any case.
Theirs was a relationship with a comfortable cadence to it. Tony reached out, Steve accepted; never the other way around. Steve was all about giving him time and space. Tony thought sometimes Steve was projecting his own needs on Tony, because Tony definitely didn't need as much space as Steve seemed to want to give him. Sometimes he was glad for the distance, because it meant he could control their encounters. Other times it only made Tony want to reach out even more. That always felt like risking too much: what if Steve wanted him to just stop.
But what if, what if he wanted Tony to keep going, to pierce that carefully constructed barrier he kept around himself and see the soft layers underneath. It did have to be soft, didn't it? Tony thought so. Tony thought if he ever touched Steve with intent, it would be softness all over.
While Tony was distracted with endless, looping thoughts about what Steve had said, something in the engine cracked and an explosion of steam poured out through the openings in the front. Tony had to pull over to the side of the old road as the engine started to overheat. Steve stared at the dashboard like it personally offended him and didn't say a word. After a moment's silence, Tony sighed and got out of the car, walking to the front and popping the hood. A screwdriver and a wrench were two of the first shapes he'd taught his nanites to form, back when he was starting to experiment with the tech, even before he'd done something for the armor. So he was never without his tools. This time however, he could see the root-cause at a glance.
"Something burst?" Steve asked, his tone a wince, as he joined him looking at the steaming engine. He looked ahead at the two-lane road lined with grass and sparse aspen trees; nothing around for miles and the sun firmly behind the horizon, rain clouds threatening overhead. They were on their own. "Looks like it's overheating. We've got water in the backseat."
"Yeah, I think it's the radiator hose. It split, there." He pointed to the rising steam. "I can patch it up." Tony put on his glasses for protection and peered carefully at the engine with steam coming off. It was probably at around 200 Fahrenheit. He pointed towards the backseat. "We'll need that water."
Steve went to get it.
With his armor, it didn't take long to make sure the split in the hose was sealed up, and then it was just a matter of pouring about a gallon of water into the coolant tank. By then the dusk turned to true darkness, and the shadows of the trees around them were black shapes against the midnight blue that matched the dark shade of Steve's coat. Tony started the car and listened to the reassuring rumble of the working engine. His patch was holding up well.
"We're about an hour from the base," Tony pointed out, considering the empty road.
"You think we should bunk down around here?"
"Not a bad place to be." Tony peered into the dark and then drove a couple hundred feet before pulling off onto a poorly maintained off-shoot from the main road. They traveled another several minutes until all that was around in every direction was open fields and an occasional tree. He shut off the engine, and with it went the remaining light of the headlamps. The first smattering of rain hit the windshield and Tony rolled up the front windows, leaving the ones in the back rolled half-way down. That way they could have some air without being pelted in the face with the cold droplets of rain.
"I'm too old for this," he sighed as he pushed his seat back into a reclining position as far as it would go.
"Yeah, you're real ancient," Steve said with an amused lilt to his voice. He was taking off his coat and stuffing it under his head, like a pillow. Tony followed suit.
"You don't know my pain." Tony stretched out his back, shifting this way and that until nothing was poking him in the sides and he could rest more or less comfortably on the seat. Water sluiced down the windshield as he watched. He said thoughtfully, keeping his voice low, "With our luck, we'll get struck by lightning."
"I don't hear any thunder." Steve also peered out. For a while, they watched the rain together. It struck hard against the top of the car, and Tony wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep with the drumming noise. Eventually though, the April shower passed and left behind a sweet tang of fresh air and damp earth. The moon came out, nearly full. Neither of them was asleep, and Tony tried very hard not to let any of his inner confusion distort the comfort permeating the atmosphere. It almost felt like they were two friends, out camping. Not two Avengers on a desperate mission to rescue half the universe. Tony turned their improvised plan over and over in his head.
"If we steal the right IDs, we could be in and out. They won't have any real shielding on the Tesseract. At least nothing I can't deal with."
"I still think you should shave the beard off," Steve said, but he was clearly teasing.
"Not happening." Tony rolled his eyes, taking the bait. "We'll find what we need, and we'll be home by lunch. ...What?" He turned to see Steve laying on the side, watching him.
Steve's stare was affection bordering on wonder. "I always change, but you. You're always the same. Like a constant."
"I'm the one who always changes," Tony protested, baffled. He lifted his head off his make-shift pillow. "For one, I became Iron Man. And—"
"You were always Iron Man," Steve said. "Before you built the suit, you were Iron Man here." He reached out and touched his fingertips lightly to Tony's breast, over the heart.
Tony stared at him. He had nothing to say to that. The excuses he had built up of it all being in friendship were thin on the ground.
And Steve wasn't done. He was still watching Tony with an indescribable look in his eyes, their blue turned a paler washed out gray in the moonlight. "Sometimes I feel like you're a universal fixed point. And— There's a force of gravity, pulling me to you, into your orbit." Steve looked down after, like hiding his eyes would take some of the punch from the words. It didn't.
Tony stared. "...What the hell do they have in the water that you are you saying stuff like this..."
Steve chuckled humorously. "Forget it." He twisted and tried to stretch, the space in the car clearly too cramped for his legs. With the car off and no artificial illumination, Tony could just pick him out from the little whispers of cloth against the seat and the faint outline of his chin, lit up only by the hazy moonlight. For a moment, the light vanished behind a passing cloud and Tony was irrationally afraid when it reappeared he'd find himself alone.
"Steve?"
Steve was still next to him, but he was silent, keeping himself to himself. They looked at each other, across the divide between their reclined seats. Steve's mouth opened to speak, but he bit back whatever words seemed ready to spring out. After a long silence, Tony huffed and shut his eyes, tilting his face into his jacket, serving as a pillow. Fine, he thought with helpless frustration. Tony rubbed his bare arms. The nighttime brought with it a typical April chill and he was shivering.
"Here..."
Tony's eyes flew open when he felt a jacket cover him. Steve had lent him his own. "You looked cold," he contended when Tony stared at him accusingly. His big hand stroked down the side of Tony's arm, once, twice. Whether it was the strident note in Steve's voice or the way those arms felt, for a moment Tony let him. Shit. It felt good.
All it was was a little touch, through the jacket, warming him up. At one point Steve straightened the collar, fingertips accidentally brushing Tony's neck. His touch was electrifying; Tony flinched back.
Steve looked startled and slightly confused. Hesitantly, he took his hand away. "You need to relax." He was whispering for no reason at all; there was nobody around for miles, only the sky and the stars to hear them.
Tony could not relax. His mind was on the barest of brushes against his neck, where the warmth of Steve's fingers still registered. One moment of skin contact and he felt as if his whole body woke up after a long slumber. The expression on Steve's face was soft concern, dashed perhaps with a touch of anxiety, but Tony's body lit up like Steve was offering to blow him. His out of proportions reaction reminded him how long it'd been since he'd gotten laid — he hadn't slept with anyone since Pepper, and that had been years ago. There'd been different women very clearly interested in dating him and, even once Morgan was no longer a baby, none of that had gone as far as coffee. Tony hadn't wanted to try, as if his body had shut down. He'd figured out it was his mind discarding sexual and romantic urges as unnecessary because they were unsafe. A stranger, in his house? The thought of bringing another human being home to meet Morgan made him cringe, the thought of trusting an outsider with his daughter was beyond him.
Steve's touch was like a key turning in a lock. Tony knew suddenly that he could let Steve into his home, and trust that Morgan would still be safe. That if there was any danger, Steve would put himself bodily between it and Morgan without a moment's hesitation. He'd die for Tony's girl, the same way Tony would. And Steve wouldn't resent Tony the times he had to put Morgan first.
Hadn't they tested that already? When Steve had first come to him at his house (with Natasha and Scott, yes, but Tony only had eyes for him), Tony had said no and Steve had respected that. Tony could read his face, how much the answer had crushed him, but Steve didn't push, when it would have been so easy. That meant something. Steve let Tony choose. And in the end, given the freedom to stay away from the time heist, from the team, from Steve, Tony couldn't. Could he keep himself to himself now?
Eyes glittering, Steve was studying his face and Tony hoped the dark was enough to cover his thoughts.
His mind did not have the familiar barrier to throw up against the sudden swooping urge to touch back. To run his fingers down Steve's broad back, all that glorious silky skin. His breath stuttered, fantasies springing up unbidden, how they could be with each other. Steve's hands sliding down his body, far less innocuous than a touch on an elbow or a shoulder. Tony sunk deeper into the reclined seat, body going boneless, as the voices in his head had suddenly hushed and stilled, subservient to the hunger he'd thought forgotten. Aching for the touch that was needed, that was welcome. Heat started to pool in his stomach and their eyes were still locked. Steve bit his own lower lip and Tony held back a noise. Steve was dangerous in a completely different way. He was dangerous to Tony.
He squeezed his eyes shut, to chase the prodding thought away.
"Does your head still hurt?" Steve whispered, and with his eyes still closed, Tony felt him move closer, as if to check, as if the magnetism between them was literally pulling him towards Tony and any second he was going to wrap his arms around him, hold and kiss him.
Tony jerked back, eyes flying open. He was pressed back against the car door behind him, as if he could get out of Steve's reach. His thoughts were a chaotic mess. Did he want to get away? He'd wished Steve to reach out for him so badly just a little earlier, and now that it was happening, it felt worse than getting electrocuted. Tony was sure Steve could hear his shallow breaths in the awful silence that followed. He was panicking. Everything was made worse because Tony could see even in the faint light that Steve looked surprised to be so summarily rejected. While Tony curled in on himself, Steve shifted awkwardly in the seat. His eyes scrutinized Tony's face — did he look as shocked as he felt? — and Steve nodded to himself.
"Okay," he said quietly, striving for normalcy. He tucked his hands under his armpits, trying to fit into a seat that was a bit too small for him. "We should get some rest."
Tony felt ridiculous. Then he felt angry. It was always easier than the other thing.
With a yank, Tony took the jacket off himself, pushing it back at Steve's chest.
"Don't," Tony said. Just: don't. Hoping Steve would do ask he asked. Stay back, he entreated with his thoughts.
Steve was silent.
Slowly, he shook the jacket out, and said, "Okay," pulling it on top of himself and shutting his eyes. "Good night, Tony." Just above a whisper.
The promise of something bright and beautiful faded out like the light. Tony's chest ached, but it was a familiar thing, this feeling; and this time he'd engineered it himself rather than having it sprung open like a yawning maw beneath his feet.
Tony stared out into the darkness outside the car. It took him a while to realize he never said good night back, and by then they both pretended Steve was asleep.