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Flat On The Floor
Things have changed since the 40’s, and if it sounds like an obvious statement, that’s because it is. And yet, time after time, it surprises him. Things today are either old or new, they either fit or they don’t. Steve doesn’t find a lot of grey areas. And then there’s Sharon.
She’s new there’s no denying that. Latest fashions, latest devices, always up to date with everything. Whenever he mentions it, she smiles and tells him that one of them has to be and it’s not going to be him. But she’s old too. The way her lips quirk up into a smirk when she’s right is so undeniably Peggy, it makes his chest hurt.
It should be weird, he knows that. But then manicured nails stroke down his cheek, Sharon tells him that it’s fine, so he believes her.
Steve does that a lot, he’s accepted he doesn’t really understand today, and Sharon does, she’s right. She’s always right and he always listens, accepts her superiority, smiles and doesn’t let it bug him. It shouldn’t, times have changed and he hasn’t caught up. Won’t catch up, she reminds him, that’s why you have me.
————————————————
“Captain Rogers, Agent Carter is demanding entrance.” FRIDAY calls quietly into his silent space. Steve huffs a sound too close to a whimper for comfort, wedging himself deeper between the couch and the wall. “Would you like me to tell her now is not a good time?”
Steve barely lifts his head from between his knees. “Just, just give me a minute please,” Rasping voice barely audible, but FRIDAY always hears him. Every instinct tells him to stay put, stay on the floor, head low, wait it out. The door clicks open, Sharon ignored FRIDAY’s polite request to wait for a moment, and since Steve didn’t say no…
“Steve, sweetheart, you’re not answering my calls.” Steve scrambles to his feet, brushing wrinkles out of his clothes and clearing his throat. She surveys him, head tilting as she takes in his haggard appearance. Then, a look of pity as she tsks. “Steve we talked about this, hiding doesn’t help you.” She sounds patronizing, but he’s just being stupid.
He smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I know, I’m sorry, just, hiding from the storm I guess.” It’s something Tony says a lot, that he’s ‘waiting out the storm.’ It didn’t used to make sense. Now it does. Sharon doesn’t look impressed, red manicured fingernails tapping impatiently against her arm.
“Hiding behind old metaphors aren’t going to help you.” She recites to him, she repeats herself a lot these days. “Come on, I’m hungry and you clearly need to go outside.”
He doesn’t want to go outside. Even looking out the window at all of the new makes his knees go weak, threatening to send him to the floor again. “Doll, I really don’t think I can handle it today.” Steve apologizes, swallowing against the shame even as his cheeks flush.
“Doll is old.” Sharon snaps, rolling her eyes. “and you’re never going to catch up if you keep yourself in the past. Come on, let’s get lunch.” She hates when he says old things, says they keep him in the past. She reaches out, beckoning for him and risking as his shaking hand takes hers. “Hiding won’t help you catch up.”
Steve turns a self deprecating smile to floor instead of facing her disappointment. “Sometimes’t feels like I’m not gonna catch up.”
“Oh Steve,” She squeezes his hand, pushing the elevator button with her other hand. “You won’t, that’s why you have me.” Steve tries to ignore the ice in his veins, the wind that isn’t really there, the way his stomach clamps in on itself and his heart seems to freeze.
The elevator stops once on the way down, pausing long enough for Tony to get in. “Miss Carter.” He deadpans before turning his attention to Steve with a much brighter smile. “Capsicle.” Steve’s smile falls before it fully hits his face and Tony’s expression drops in return. “you okay buddy? You don’t look so hot.”
Steve opens his mouth to say that no, he’s not really okay, that hiding from the storm isn’t working. But Sharon talks before he can. “He’s fine.” She squeezes his hand hard again and he thinks idly about how her grip should hurt a normal person. Tony purses his lips, and Steve can’t see through his sunglasses but he’ll bet anything that critical eyes are roaming over both of them. He wonders what they see.
“Okay then. I’ll see you tonight pal, it’s your turn to pick a movie.” Tony claps his shoulder, his hand feels warmer than Sharon’s.
“Steve is staying at my place tonight.” Sharon announces, not glancing over at Tony as the elevator opens and she steps out, tugging him along. Steve only catches a glimpse of Tony’s face before the doors close again but the way his face fell and his brow furrowed is hard to forget. The whole walk to the diner Sharon loves has him wondering what has Tony so concerned.
——————————————
The past is a disease. You can’t escape once you’re in. Sharon tries to keep him out of the past, she helps him get rid of his record player, buys him an iPhone, introduces him to Spotify. She switches out his wardrobe, his soaps, fabric softener, bed sheets. Anything Old she says. It’s gotta go and so, go it does. Spotify is nice, but Steve misses his record player sometimes.
Sharon takes him to a lot of events, flashing cameras, loud reporters, new people. Always new people. Steve hates events, he feels like a dancing monkey all over again. Smiling and shaking hands, thanking and stroking the egos of everyone and anyone he has to.
He tries to articulate how he feels, how he wants to crawl out of his own skin, back into Brooklyn, back into his 5ft Nothing skinny ass where people didn’t know who he was. Sharon tells him that it’s in the past he needs to be in the now.
Steve hates how the events make him jumpy for days, stuck in oversensitive skin. He doesn’t want to hold hands, or hug, let alone have sex. But events do the opposite for Sharon. She hates sharing, needs the reassurance that Steve is hers. So, he deals with scratches that feel like gashes, bite marks far too painful to even be considered pleasurable. Hot skin against his, like he’s being burned. It can’t always be about you she tells him I have needs too.
—————————-
“You pushed too hard Rogers.” Natasha curls up on the couch beside him, neatly folding her legs over his lap. Instinctively, Steve reaches to hold her there, even as his skin burns. He doesn’t open his eyes, keeping his arm draped over his face.
He gives a weak half-shrug, not admitting she’s right. Three press events in three days, and a gala. Every nerve ending is on fire. “I’ll be fine after some sleep.” Natasha doesn’t call him on his lie, but he can feel her eyes following the mostly faded bite-marks on his neck and collarbone.
“Does she not notice?” Steve tenses even though Natasha never mentions who she is.
He uselessly tugs his collar higher, “It’s not always about me.” An automatic reply drilled into his brain. It can’t always be about him. Sharon has needs too.
Natasha scoffs, sitting higher to thread her fingers through his hair. “Is it ever?” Steve ignores her. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s not a secret Natasha doesn’t like Sharon. No one in the tower really likes her, and she certainly doesn’t like them. But for some reason he doesn’t defend her.
“Captain Rogers, Agent Carter requires your presence upstairs.” Even FRIDAY sounds pissy in a way an AI shouldn’t. He’s on his feet automatically, wincing at the lights. Natasha makes the same face Tony did in the elevator.
She stands gracefully to kiss his cheek. “Look after yourself first, Steve, anyone else can wait.” And she walks out.
“No, they really can’t.” He says to an empty room.
No one mentions the fresh scratches, bruises, bite-marks. But they all give him the same look. Natasha takes one look at him and leaves, Clint fast on her heels.
“What are you doing to yourself Cap?” Tony asks quietly before excusing himself.
Steve doesn’t understand. It’s not about him. Why don’t they understand his needs aren’t always important? Other people have needs too.
“They don’t understand how to stop being selfish, Sweetie. You’re learning.” Sharon kisses his cheek, squeezes his shoulder and lets herself out.
——————————
In this century women don’t like being pushed around. Steve didn’t know they were pushed around before, Peggy certainly wasn’t. Today, women get to be in control.
Sometimes control is breakfast, or packing lunch. Sometimes Steve gets a schedule for the week, things neatly planned out for him. Sometimes it’s a too tight grip on his hand if he lingers talking to Natasha or Pepper.
Steve doesn’t fight Sharon’s control. She’s been repressed for so long she deserves to have control. She tells him under the security of darkness about what it’s like, why she needs to have some control. She tells him about being promoted by men who just wanted in her pants, about being rejected for job after job for being a woman, about being cheated on and cast aside because she’s not perfect wife material, too interested in her work.
He fought her on it once, and never again. He said it wasn’t fair for her to take control of his life just because she didn’t always have control of hers. She pointed out that out of the two of them, he clearly had more power. Said he scared her when he said things like that.
The one thing Steve never wants to do is scare the people he loves, so he backed off. He’s still in the past. This is how things are today, fighting it is selfish. I get control because I deserve it she reminds him, you don’t. And she’s right.
————————-
Nails dig into his forearm, tearing into the skin as Sharon pulls him away.
“Just once can you not embarrass me by flirting with the first whore who looks your way?”
Steve blinks, stunned. He didn’t think he was flirting, she was practically a kid, a brand new shield recruit, bright eyed and curious about everything. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, staring at the ground.
Sharon sniffs, making his head snap up to meet teary eyes. “If I’m not good enough for you just fucking say it!” She spits venom through tears and Steve would recoil if she wasn’t gripping his arm still.
“Sweetheart no, you are absolutely good enough, far too good for me.” He pulls her in close, feeling her shoulder shake and rocking himself back and forth.
Sharon sniffs and pulls back, taking a moment to fix her makeup before turning dry eyes back to him. “Damn right. You’re a selfish asshole Steve.” She flowers and he ignores the chest pangs to nod along.
“I know doll, that’s what I’ve got you for, right?” He almost doesn’t see her hand move before it clips the back of his head with enough force to send ringing through his ear for a second.
He yelps and startles away. “I fucking hate when you call me that! You know that. Maybe your other sluts like it, but I don’t.” She hisses through gritted teeth and Steve stumbles away from her words.
“Sharon, sweetheart, there is no one else. I promise you. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.” He reaches for her, trying not to let the hurt show when she smacks his hand away.
She stalks back towards the party, barely looking back. “Just… try to not be a complete embarrassment.”
He follows after her, a dog with its tail tucked. Makes sure he follows close, smiling when he should, socializing where he should, never stepping away from Sharon. By the end of the night everything hurts, he feels like a puppet with tangled strings. But she gives him an appraising look and says “that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” And the relief nearly knocks his legs out from under him, his brain fuzzes out, she’s happy. This is a good sign.
———————-
Steve finds himself surrounded by his teammates, all wearing identical solemn expressions. This is not a good sign.
“We’re worried about you Rogers.” Natasha starts, squeezing Clint’s hand and rocking forward.
Sam touches his arm, capturing his sole attention with the gentleness of the touch. “You’ve been pretty depressed man, something’s going on.”
Another warm hand on his shoulder this time, he turns to face Tony. “Cap, this isn’t okay.” He doesn’t know what this is, what’s happening, why they’re so close. Sharon isn’t going to like this. Natasha reaches for his knee, he jerks away.
“Makes her uncomfortable when people touch me.” He quietly explains trying to ease her wounded expression. It doesn’t work and Sam inhales sharply on his other side.
“Now that’s fucked up.”
“You just don’t understand.” Steve shakes his head, they wouldn’t get it. It’s so much harder for her than they know.
Tony slides closer, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders and he leans into the embrace for a moment before remembering to pull away. “No. You’re the one not understanding. Cap, what she’s doing isn’t okay.”
Steve swallows hard, they just don’t understand. “You don’t understand! None of you get it! You haven’t even tried to get to know her and here you all are acting like you know what’s best!? This is bullshit!” He doesn’t know where the outburst came from. Everyone stalls. Tony startles, but then he’s on his feet.
“We haven’t gotten to know her because we already know her. She’s a manipulative witch Steve. She’s hurting you because she can. You’re letting her treat you like shit!” Tony’s in his face, glaring with a weird mixture of compassion and strength.
Sam steps up, pulling Tony back a step. “Easy man, take a breath.” He leans to murmur something in the genius’s ear and Tony turns on his heel, disappearing from the room. “He’s right. It’s not your fault, but she’s getting away with some pretty bad shit Cap.”
“You don’t know her.” Steve doesn’t know if he believes himself when he whimpers the words out. He feels pathetic, he is pathetic. She wants him to be stronger and better and less selfish. Why can’t they see it?
Sam must see something in his face because he steps back with a broken sigh. “I’m kinda glad I don’t. I wish you didn’t either.”
Steve doesn’t respond. He just leaves, stalking right past Tony braced against a wall in the hallway, breathing hard and wheezing pitiful whimpers. They just don’t understand.
————————————-
If you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will jump out, realizing the water is killing it. However. If you put a frog in a pot of lukewarm water, and then slowly heat the water to a boil, the frog will cook to death, never realizing how badly the water was hurting until it’s too late.
A lot of things in life can be like a frog in a pot of water. It’s why people put on fronts when they meet other people, don’t show them the truth until it’s too late for them to run.
On the other hand, if someone steps in, and says to the frog that it’s boiling? The frog might not believe them. Someone has to step in and take the frog from the water to prove to it that the water was killing it.
People are a lot like frogs.
———————————
“I need to borrow you.” He looks up from the still blank page on his sketchbook to Tony fidgeting in front of him. He looks like hell, dark circles under his eyes, skin drawn and tired.
Slowly casting his blank page aside, Steve stands. “Of course.” He keeps his voice low and gentle, not just to keep from waking Sharon, who’s asleep on the other side of the couch, but because the genius gets jumpy when he doesn’t sleep.
Tony waits until they’re in the hallway to speak. “What I said earlier came out wrong.” He doesn’t look up when he talks, staring at his shoe scuffing the floor.
“O-Kay...?” Steve drawls slowly, not quite understanding. Tony says a lot, and a lot of it isn’t understandable, most of it comes out wrong. It’s his unique brand of charm.
Tony sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “I mean what I said about Sharon.” Oh. Steve tenses automatically, adrenaline kicking in. “Down boy, I’m not here to fight.” Tony catches onto his demeanour change instantly.
“Whatever you have to say Stark, spit it out.” Steve snaps and Tony flinches at the harshness. Guilt squeezes his heart, he’s still fucking things up with the other man.
Tony steels himself, stiffening and swallowing hard. “I’ve been where you are, and it’s shit. She’s not what you thought but you can’t get out because you don’t think you can live without her. It’s… It’s like a disease, Steve.”
Steve jerks, crossing his arms and ignoring the way his stomach twists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about Tony. Don’t say that shit about her.” He finds himself towering over the genius, and to his surprise, Tony doesn’t cower away like he’s done so many times before.
“You’re the one who doesn’t know what he’s talking about Steve, like I said. I’ve been there and I know what’s gonna happen. You want to believe her, but she’s lying. You better start running pal, cause all she’s gotta do is tell you anything you wanna hear and you’ll be fifty shades of fucked. Get out while you can.” It’s intense, Tony speaks urgently, tired eyes flickering back and forth across Steve’s face. When he doesn’t respond, staring blankly down, Tony sighs heavily, looking ten years older and defeated.
“I know that look. You’re not even hearing me. When you want out, and you will want out, let me know.” And he rushes away, almost running towards the elevator and leaving Steve in an empty, cold hallway.
Sharp nails in his arm startle him enough that he hits the wall, but Sharon doesn’t apologize. “What did Stark want?” She demands, glaring at the closed elevator doors.
“Just, talking.” Steve sounds distracted, even to himself. Sharon scoffs And reaches around to jerk his face towards her.
Her eyes hold none of the softness they used to, and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “All he does is talk. Pay attention to what’s important.” Steve just nods and dutifully follows her back into the living room, Tony’s words swirling around in his mind.
———————
Another sleepless night in skin that doesn’t fit sends Steve out of his room, carefully, he doesn’t want to disturb Sharon. She hates when he wakes her up at night. He finds himself in the common room, grabbing for a blanket and flopping with more force than strictly necessary, he has so much pent up frustration lately and not nearly enough punching bags to take it out on.
“Holy mother of shitfucker!” Steve startles off of the couch at the loud cursing. On his feet and ready to fight, he looks down at a rumpled genius with spectacular bags under his eyes.
Instantly guilty, Steve offers the snatched blanket back. “Sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry.” He stumbles over his words in a rush to go back upstairs. Tony scrambles out of his blanket burrito to catch him.
“No! No, it’s fine Cap, don’t apologize for waking me up, I don’t mind.” Something inexplicably soft in his voice turns Steve’s knees to gel and sends tears burning in the corner of his eyes.
Dropping his gaze and turning away, he apologizes again. “Really Tony, I’m sorry for waking you, I’ll just....” He gestures behind him and turns to leave. Tony grabs his wrist and, even though he’s gentler then need be, Steve flinches.
“Really Steve, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Come sit.” Tony lets him go, but keeps his voice strict, no room for argument and suddenly Steve doesn’t have the energy to fight. He settles back into the couch, trying to ignore just how close Tony is when he sits down again.
Tony tucks his still warm blanket around Steve, fussing quietly. “I can’t get out of my head tonight.” Steve confesses in the safety of a mostly dark room. Tony stills for a second, quickly covering it up by tucking himself up and fully facing Steve.
“Not always a bad thing Cap, if you need some time to think, or just, be, I’ve got an old movie we can watch, you don’t havfta pay attention or anything.”
Steve smiles down at his lap, nodding. “I’d like that.”
The movie is old, and bad, and Tony plays on his phone instead of paying attention. But it reminds Steve of home, his old home in old Brooklyn and warmth he hasn’t felt in months settles his aching body and lulls him slowly into contentment.
“There’s nothing wrong with reminiscing. It’s your life, it’s not the past for you.” Tony says after nearly an hour of quiet. Steve doesn’t know how he found out about that particular argument, but the quiet acceptance brings tears back to the corner of his eyes.
He rubs hard at his face, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The confession hurts, ripping out of his chest into the open air. Cold weight of vulnerability disappears before it can fully settle in, chased away by Tony’s hard hug.
“There is nothing wrong with you Steve.” Tony murmurs into his ear, pressing Steve’s face gently into his shoulder and clinging hard. “You’re just too good. People take advantage of that.” They’re not talking about the past anymore, but Steve can’t bring himself to feel defensive, his cheek still burns, the claw marks across his shoulders and arms still sting. He’s too raw to handle anything else.
He finds himself melting into the gentle embrace, curling up impossibly tight and drinking in warmth and affection. “Doesn’t feel like nothin’s wrong with me.” Tony squeezes tighter, surprisingly not coming at him with a joke or a comment about his relationship. Instead, he lets out a strangled, choked laugh.
“I know. God Honey, I know.” Barely audible, Steve doesn’t let him know he heard. It’s too personal, too vulnerable, to open ended to be safe. This, the hugging quickly evolving into cuddling, is already too much.
Steve isn’t willing to give it up. So he forces his eyes closed and accepts as much affection as he can get, not noticing his breathing slowing, his eyes getting heavy, and eventually, falling asleep under the gently traced patterns on his back, Tony’s warm hand trailing through his hair and toying with the strands. He can deal with Sharon and the past and the pain in the morning.
—————-
Bucky has been off on his own for awhile, travelling, recovering, reconnecting. He comes back brown as a nut and looking years younger, freshly cut hair and neatly trimmed stubble.
“God punk is it good to see you!” He wraps Steve in a hug, abandoning his bags at the elevator doors. Steve hugs back, gripping his best friend hard and letting himself soak up the attention.
Without pulling back, Steve murmurs back: “you don’t even know how happy I am to see you.” And holds tighter. Bucky stills, squeezing tight before pulling back.
“What’s wrong?” He’s frowning, taking Steve in with the laser focus of a sniper. Steve just shakes his head, not the time, not the place. “No. Seriously, punk, you’re skinny as hell, what have they been feeding you?”
Suddenly self conscious, Steve wraps an arm around his stomach. “Gotta watch my figure.” He goes for the joke, which flops. Bucky arches an eyebrow disbelieving.
“You ass, you know that serum takes care of your ‘figure’ for you. So what’s stressing you?”
Damn. Bucky knows him too well to fool him. Which is usually refreshing, but today? Steve just wants him to take things at face value. “Nothin Buck, come on, tell me all about Japan.”
———
“Wha’s goin’ on with’im?” Bucky asks, watching Steve all but bolt from the room at one word from FRIDAY.
Tony looks around, checking for company before leaning closer. “Steve got with Sharon-“ Bucky wrinkles his nose “-I know. She’s a manipulative bitch. She’s been fucking with Cap’s brain for months, he won’t listen to me- us. He won’t listen to us.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on the slip up. “Dumbass.” He mutters, downing the rest of the whiskey and setting the cup gently on the coffee table.
“You can say that again.” Tony raises his glass in salute before swallowing the rest.
“Dumbass.”
————————
“Alright punk. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna siddown, shuddup, and listen.”
Steve startles, skittering away from Bucky before covering it up with a stony facade. “Alright? Buck, what’s up?” He’s genuinely confused, perching slowly on the edge of the couch with a perplexed frown.
Bucky walks to stand in front of him. “Your girl’s a bitch Stevie. She doesn’ treat ya well.” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and a familiar righteousness glints in his eyes.
Steve stands, slowly with intention. “Watch your mouth Buck, that’s my girl you’re talkin’ about.” Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes, it won’t help anyone to get Steve riled up more than he already is.
“I ain’t wrong Stevie. You’re like a skittish colt now’a’days.” Steve flinches when Bucky gestures and Bucky drops his hands back to his sides, raising his eyebrows. Steve seems to sense he’s proved Bucky’s point for him.
He drops his head. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.” He admits quietly, glancing up with vulnerable, sheening eyes. Bucky lets himself settle into the couch, holding an arm out for Steve to curl under like when they were kids.
“Nothin’s wrong with ya’ punk.” Bucky squeezes his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Tony was in the same boat, you should listen to ‘im, he can help ya more’n I can.” Bucky’s voice is soft in a way it hasn’t been in too long, sending pangs through Steve’s chest.
They sit for a long while in silence, absorbing contact from one another. At some point, the elevator dings and Tony shuffles in, sleep deprived and rumpled. “Don’t mind me.” He mumbles out, stumbling across the living room.
“Tones.” Steve calls softly, holding an arm out when the genius looks at him. “C’mere.” A moment of bravery invites him into their space.
Tony blinks for a minute before shrugging and flopping onto the couch beside Steve, curling up under his arm immediately and humming contentedly. “‘Kay.” He mumbles in a delayed response.
“Don’t lose him Punk, he’s good for you.” Bucky mutters some time later, once Tony is snoring softly into Steve’s shoulder. smiling down at his genius, Steve can’t help but agree.
———————————
The thing is, people have needs. When those needs aren’t met, people go elsewhere. That’s why people cheat, they’re not getting what they need, or what they think they need, from their partner.
It’s not an excuse, simply an explanation. In most cases, those needs are physical and not needs so much as wants. Sometimes, people seek out deeper emotional attachments, because they’re not getting the intimacy they need.
In a lot of those cases, the other partners emotional unavailability is the downfall of an otherwise good relationship. In some cases however, emotional unavailability is symbolic of a deeper issue, and seeking out emotional connections can bring light to those issues.
———————
“I don’t cheat.” Tony jumps, spinning around and throwing a wrench at whoever or whatever managed to get into his lab. Steve ducks, narrowly avoiding having his head taken off.
Tony glares. “Jesus Christ Cap warn a man!” He sounds amused instead of annoyed, so Steve presses on.
“I’m not like that. I don’t cheat.” Tony relaxes and observes his Captain. Steve is tense, fidgeting and visibly anxious.
Tony slowly puts down the screwdriver he was brandishing as a weapon. “Okay...? Thanks for the heads up?” Steve scowls, running a hand through tangled blonde hair and letting out a frustrated groan.
“I just, I’m with Sharon. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about... this.” He gesture between himself and the genius. Something unreadable flashes across Tony’s face, followed instantly by rage, and then the empty media smirk.
Tony raises an eyebrow. “This? The talking? Or do you mean the cuddling on the couch? Or is it the dinner dates? Or the Waffle House? How could I ever get the wrong idea.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t know who you think I am Captain, but I’m not a home wrecker. Don’t worry, your shitty relationship isn’t in danger. Well..... at least not from me.”
“Stay out of my relationship Stark.” Steve spits, drawing his shoulders down and back defensively. A move that makes him seem bigger than he already is. Tony gives a barely there flinch before imitating him.
He holds his hands out in a mockery of a placating gesture. “Hey, how about you stop bringing it up then? You came to me Rogers.” Tony’s voice is venomous as he stalks forwards to shove a finger in Steve’s chest.
“You’re the one with the reputation.” Hurt flickers across Tony’s mask, he reels backwards and flicks his tongue across his lips.
Any anger rolling around Steve’s stomach burns itself away when Tony closes off entirely, shrinking in on himself. “I thought it was just her. Turns out you’re both shit at seeing through lies.”
Steve gets the gut deep feeling that he’s fucked up when Tony turns on his heel, waves a hand in the air, cuing the music to blare louder than before.
“Tony, I-“ another hand wave and the music drowns out any apology or accusation Steve could have come up with.
He turns his back on Tony, leaving the workshop with his tail tucked and shame building in his chest.
—————————
Any type of job takes away from someone’s home life, some more than others. SHIELD takes more people from home lives than most organizations, permanently or temporarily.
It’s demanding, time consuming and taxing on the employees and their families, so when Sharon stays out late, leaves early or doesn’t come home all together Steve doesn’t question it. He’s been there.
Sharon is dedicated to her job and Steve admires that. He can’t be the most important thing in her life when she’s got a promising career.
When she gets more dressed up than usual to go out at night he can’t question it, it’s always confidential, she’s a spy what does he expect? Jealousy has no place in SHIELD and Steve knows that.
—————————-
Sharon came back to their shared apartment for three hours after being gone for a day and a half. She came inside looking dishevelled and exhausted, waving off Steve’s attempts at conversation.
“I’m tired Steve. I can talk to you later but right now I need sleep. So just, shh, for a bit, please?” He shuts up with a short nod, telling her about Bucky’s homecoming can wait. She heads to their bedroom, and strips, curling under the blankets and falling asleep.
Steve spends the next two hours on the couch sketching, she’s going to want him here when she wakes up and she hates any noises while she’s sleeping, so he draws in silence, barely noticing the way his sketches take on a hazel eyed brunette instead of a blue eyed blonde.
When Sharon wakes up, Steve hears her head for the shower and puts his sketchbook away, blushing when he catches his first real look at the drawing.
She doesn’t come into the living room, so Steve cautiously wanders into the bedroom. He pushes the door open slowly only to have it slammed in his face.
“I’m changing! Where did your fucking manners go!?” Steve stumbles back, tripping over his words in a hasty apology. He retreats to the couch, heart racing while he waits. She’s never cared about privacy before, why now?
The door reopens again half an hour later and Sharon stalks out, not even glancing over at Steve. “I’m sorry honey, really.” He stands slowly, keeping himself hunched in when Sharon spins on her toes to glare.
“Just because I’m dating you doesn’t mean you get to be a perv about it.” Steve flinches but nods, bad call on his part. Not that he was trying to be a perv, but clearly that’s how he came across.
Sharon carefully puts in her earrings, dressed far too nicely to be going in for a briefing. “Where are you going?” Steve tries not to let desperation into his tone, but he’s barely seen her in the past few weeks and when he has they’ve just been arguing.
“Classified. I probably won’t be home until late, don’t be so nosy.” She admonishes, fluffing her hair and double checking her lipstick before strutting over to slide on heels.
Steve frowns, “Oh, alright,” wrapping his arms around himself and sighing softly he continues. “I’ll see you when you get back then.” He’d never argue about work. Sharon’s job is the most important thing, she’s close to getting a promotion.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure whatever you wanted to do can wait a day.” She rolls her eyes over her shoulder at him, grabbing her jacket and slinging her purse over her shoulder.
Steve gets up to open the door for her, which she brushes off. “Of course. I love you.” He leans in to peck her cheek, which she tolerates with a muttered;
“Clingy” before leaving again.
The apartment is lonely on its own, but Steve fiddles with his phone until something new and loud starts playing. His shoulders feel heavy, his feet dragging. Maybe an early night will make whatever dark cloud hanging over his head disappear.
Their bedroom smells like some floral shampoo that makes Steve’s nose itch, which is weird because SHIELD insists on a scent free environment especially in the field. Sharon’s clothes are balled in the corner of their bedroom, clearly she was in a rush.
A little wine stain on the pocket of her shirt hits like a punch to the chest, Steve drinks whiskey usually, and Sharon doesn’t like red wine.
The white cotton threads have off white stains that don’t fit the pattern, and pink lipstick stains on the collar. His stomach revolts, she wouldn’t, it’s just, from an undercover stint, it has to be.
He picks up her shirt and a tangy cologne wafts up from it, far too cheap to be Steve’s own, his is a gift from Tony. Tony, whose name sends lightning bolts through Steve’s chest.
“Oh fuck.” Things fall into place, all those midnights sneaking in, with Sharon whispering that she’s sorry for being late again. The way they haven’t had sex in months, haven’t even shared more than a kiss in three weeks.
Steve falls back, not even wincing when the wooden bed-frame smashes against his spine. His hearing hollows, vision tunnelling while he gasps for a solid breath.
Something vibrates on the bedside table, and again, the third time Steve realizes it’s Sharon’s phone, she must have forgotten it. An unknown number Steve can’t bring himself to answer. It falls silent and all he can hear is his heartbeat.
Steve fumbles for the phone, shaking swiping and holding it to his ear. He can hear himself gasping into the receiver.
“Baby you okay?” A distinctly male voice crackles to life, concerned. Steve chokes on a sob, clasping a hand over his mouth. “Sharon? You said you’d be here by now, are you alright? Baby?”
Steve ends the call, half crawling half scrambling to the bathroom to throw up. The world tilts, spinning and changing every time his eyes flicker.
Like a switch, as soon as he rinses his mouth out, the world snaps back into place, dull and colourless and utterly clear. Sharon doesn’t love him, she never did. She’s been using him, hurting him, manipulating him, for her own benefit or simply because she can, Steve isn’t sure. What he does know, is that that he needs to leave. And he knows exactly where to go.
It pours rain the whole jog to the tower, just like in a cliche rom-com, and Steve is drenched by the time the elevator reaches the top floor. Tony is waiting in front of the doors tp has suite, probably informed by FRIDAY, with a towel and a mug of hot chocolate.
“Steve?” He asks in shock. “What the hell happened?” Steve reaches for the mug with a shaking hand, letting Tony wipe water and tears from his face. He must look like a mess: dripping wet, eyes red from crying, shivering. It’s pathetic. But Tony just wraps the towel around him, leading him inside and towards the couch.
Trembling legs nearly send him to the ground three times as they cross the living room, giving out just as he goes to sit on the couch. Hot chocolate splashes up his arms and into his lap, but he can’t bring himself to care. “She’s been cheating.”
“Motherfucker.” Tony curses sympathetically and sits beside him, dabbing at the hot liquid on his arms so they don’t blister. “How’d you find out?” He asks softly.
Steve holds up the shirt still clutched in his hand, he didn’t realize it was there until Tony asked. Tony pries the soiled shirt from his grasp and drops it on the floor into a puddle of water and betrayal. “I should have known.” Steve mutters to himself.
Tony straightens, taking Steve’s face between his hands and forcing the soldier to look him in the eyes. “None of this was your fault. She’s a manipulative, lying, cheating bitch.” Steve lets out a crazed, hysterical giggle and nods.
“For once, I don’t think I’m gonna argue with you.” Tony pulls him into a bone crushing hug, cupping the back of his neck. Steve melts into the affection, he hasn’t seen Tony since Sharon moved them into the apartment, her apartment. “Shit, the apartment! My stuff, Tony I-I need to go back-“
Tony gently places his hand over Steve’s mouth. “We can deal with that all later. You need to shower, get warm, and get some sleep. I’ll take care of your things and get someone to fix up your old room.” Steve slumps into him again, guilty and thankful at the same time. He remembers just how mean he’s been to Tony lately, and how kind Tony has been in response.
“I’m so sorry, you’re so good to me and I’ve been a selfish asshole-“ again, Tony cuts him off with a hand over his mouth, gentle, nothing like the hot scratches of manicured fingernails.
Tony slowly pulls his hand back. “Stop. That’s her talking, not you. You haven’t done anything wrong. Understand?” Steve nods, stunned into silence for probably the first time ever. Tony’s expression softens even more, “you don’t have a clue what she’s done to you, do you?” The compassion in his voice brings tears to the corners of Steve’s eyes as he shakes his head.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He whimpers like a broken record, giving voice to the words circling his brain. Tony takes his hand, leading him towards the massive bathroom beside his bedroom.
He goes far enough to turn on the taps and adjust the temperature before talking. “There’s nothing wrong with you Steve. This is good for you, it’s all going to make more sense in the morning.” He casts one glance back at the shower before walking to the door. “Let me know if you need anything ba- buddy.” He coughs and escapes the bathroom in a flash.
Steve undresses in a haze, noticing that the water feels hot against his cold skin but making no move to turn down the temperature, letting his body adjust instead. He feels the grime and tears and claw-marks washing off, leaving him raw and off balance.
Even as he steps out he can feel her marks, branding him, keeping him pinned under her like a dragon hoarding its treasure. His muscles and skin and bones feeling weirdly like they don’t really belong to him after all.
Steve wraps a towel around his waist after drying off, staring at his soaked clothes for a minute trying to decide for himself what to do.
“Steve?” Tony knocks on the door, even with no one watching, Steve is ashamed of how badly he startles. “I figured you’d need clothes so I stole some of Rhodey’s things.”
Steve chews at his lower lip, reaching for the door twice before pulling it open. “Uh, thanks Tony.” He mutters, keeping his eyes low.
“On second thought, maybe I’ll just.... put these back.” Steve’s head snaps up at Tony’s strange tone. He freezes at the heated expression his friend wears, roaming eyes nearly black as he stares openly.
Steve swallows hard, shifting the towel and trying to hide his reaction. “Tony?” The roaming eyes snap up to meet his own, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “What- what do you..?”
Tony’s eyes widen “Shit, Steve I’m sorry, you’re here having the worst day of your life, and here I am, propositioning you.” He shakes his head and thrusts the clothes out. “Here, I’ll leave you alone now, you know where I am if you need anything.”
“No, Tony-“
“No, Steve. I’m the asshole here okay? I’ll stop. You just-“ Tony gestures to him. “Get some sleep.”
Steve licks his lips, considering reaching out to stop the genius and, with a burst of confidence, rushes out: “What if I don’t want you to?”
Both men freeze, a look of cautious hope taking over Tony’s face while Steve nearly trembles with nerves, looking all too ready to bolt.
“Don’t want me to what?” Tony asks slowly, eyes narrowing to watch Steve with laser precision. Steve shifts in place, chewing his bottom lip again.
He looks to the floor, “leave me alone?” He starts in a shaking voice “stop, stop...” he struggles for the words under Tony’s patient stare “propositioning me?” He finishes lamely.
Tony frowns slightly, glancing around at nothing. “Unless, unless you were joking, I mean, I’ll just-“ Steve reaches for the clothes in Tony’s hand, and the genius yanks them back without looking away from some hideous painting.
“No, Steve, what exactly do you mean?” He doesn’t sound like he’s joking, and he doesn’t sound angry like Sharon always did when Steve got like this. He just sounds level, and a little confused.
Steve pulls the towel up higher and swallows hard against his embarrassment. “I mean, I want every fucking trace of her gone.” He shudders at the ghost of nails over his shoulders. “And, and I’ve seen how you look at me, and-“ he looks Tony over again. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same.” He tastes blood when he bites down particularly hard on his lip, although it heals immediately.
“Steve, I want to, believe me. But-“
Steve shakes his head. “No But’s, if you want to, what’s stopping you?” He wants to wrap his arms around himself, but he needs to hold the towel up, leaving him cold and exposed.
“Honey I’d be taking advantage of you, I’m not what you need right now.” Tony looks down, shoulder slumping. What he needs? Flashes of Sharon telling him what he needs, what she needs and what he doesn’t need disorient him.
Unjustified anger surges. “What about what I want!? huh?! I’m so goddamn sick of hearing about what I need and don’t need, what about what I want Tony? Don’t I deserve that?” With his outburst done, Steve wants to crawl back into the bathroom and hide, Tony looks shattered, brown eyes glassy, lips drawn into a tight line as he nods.
“Yeah Steve, you do.” His voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you more than you already are.” He admits, looking down at his feet.
Steve smiles bitterly, mouth tasting sour. “Well, good news then, you can’t.” His voice is brittle enough to crack and when Tony looks up again Steve knows he sees the way his hands tremble and how he swallows convulsively, barely keeping it together.
“Okay.” Tony says hoarsely, nodding. “You’re right.” Steve sways back with relief, already feeling Sharon’s hold on him lessen.
He chews his lip, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “Is that a yes?” For a question that hasn’t really been asked, it hangs heavily in the air between them. For second, Steve thinks Tony might actually bolt.
But then, the genius relaxes, a seductive smirk quirking at the corner of his lips. He holds one hand out for Steve to take.
“Honey, I’d be crazy to say no.”
——————————————
When two people connect, really connect, the details of how and where and why don’t seem to matter anymore. With Sharon, it was always work, doing what made her happy to keep her happy. When the person is wrong, everything else has to be perfect for it to work.
With Tony, it’s as easy as breathing. They don’t struggle to communicate, not like this. It’s intuitive, and Steve knows that it wouldn’t matter where they were, or what happened, this would always be easy.
From the second their lips touched they both know that this was right, even if the timing was all wrong. Soft touches and harsh breaths easing nerves, shaking wrists relinquishing control pinned beneath calloused fingers. Gentle kisses easing discomfort.
When the person is right, the world shrinks, in that moment, amidst the heat and sweat and soft cries, nothing else matters.
Steve didn’t get it before, the obsession with sex and love, how couples seem to practically glow in each other’s presence.
He gets it now.
—————————
Morning light filters through tinted windows, warming burgundy sheets. Steve definitely missed his morning run, but with Tony tracing abstract patterns across his chest, he can’t find it in himself to mind.
“Morning golden boy.” Tony rasps in a voice thick with sleep. Steve tries, and fails, to hide his smile as he turns his head to look.
Tony is adorable, sleep rumpled and soft, before the coffee and the hair gel, smiling. “Hey, how’d you sleep?” Tony’s eyes crinkle as he smiles wider.
“I should be asking you.” He pushes himself up to lean against the headboard. The sheets slip dangerously low and Steve aborts his eyes, pink colouring up his throat into his cheeks.
Tony stares down at him with a wide grin and a strange expression. “Uh, good, better than I have in awhile.” Then, with a wince, Steve tacks on: “thanks.” And tries to ignore how his body aches when he pushes himself up.
“You don’t need to thank me.” Tony stares where the blankets barely cover his hips. “Trust me.” And then, like he shakes himself mentally, his eyes snap up, face suddenly serious. “Lots of people need a good rebound after shit like that, I was more than happy to help out.” The barest hint of a lewd smile on his lips.
Steve frowns, rebound? Equal parts panic and shame twist in his stomach, of course that’s what Tony thinks, if the situation was reversed Steve would think the same thing.
“Tony no- that’s- no- I don’t- You’re not a rebound!” He finally rushes out.
Tony shakes his head, holding a hand out. “Cap it’s fine, it’s a thing now, a common thing.” He doesn’t make eye contact however, and any trace of relaxation vanishes, leaving cold panic. Steve reaches to grab the genius’s hand before he can get out of the bed.
“I know that, I mean you’re not a rebound for me, I- I don’t want you to be a rebound.” He swallows hard, mouth dry. Tony stops, frowning down at the sheets. Steve squeezes his hand harder, afraid that if he lets go this will be it for them.
Licking his lips, Tony shifts to face Steve more, keeping his eyes downcast. “Steve, Honey, I want to, believe me,” his eyes flicker up, and then back down. “But you’re not in the right state of mind to be getting into a-a, another relationship.”
Stomach twisting, Steve opens his mouth to reply, his face starting to heat up. A knock on the door saves them both from an argument. Tony is up in a second, scrambling for pants. Steve isn’t far behind, ignoring dull pains to pull a pair of sweatpants up his hips.
“Who the fuck…” Tony grumbles as he stumbles over to the door.
“I’m busy. What do you- What the fuck!?”
Steve kicks his ass into gear at Tony’s screech, nearly colliding with the brunette when he forgets about super serum speed. Tony stands rigid, hand frozen on the doorknob, half holding it open and half keeping it closed. “Tones, who is it?”
When he only tenses further, Steve instinctively reaches out to rub between Tony’s shoulder blades. “It’s Sharon, you know, your girlfriend.” The shrill, snarky voice makes Steve’s once reassuring hand freeze in place, gripping Tony’s shoulder for stability.
“What’re you doing here!?” Steve tries to keep his disgust to himself, judging by Sharon’s raised eyebrow and Tony’s sharp inhale, he didn’t succeed. She pushes her way into the suite, ignoring Tony entirely to give Steve a condescending glare.
“Remember who you’re talking to!” Sharon sharply reprimands. As if he could forget. Looking down for the first time Steve can tell that the too long shirt knotted at her stomach isn’t his. But the shoulders are ill fitted and the sleeves dangle too low to be hers. “That’s what I came to ask you.”
Steve’s attention snaps back to the dangerous arch of her eyebrows “How’d you know I was here?” He’s still trying to process the other man’s shirt she’s so brazenly wearing to come collect him. Pulse racing, Steve can feel himself spiralling into oh fuck which means what the fuck ended up processing.
“SHIELD keeps track of all their assets.” Sharon rolls her eyes before looking him up and down, “Had fun last night?” She’s not impressed, cocking her head to the side and uncrossing her arms. Steve barely flinches, barely. But her manicured nails dig into her hips instead of his arms and she shakes her head like he’s disappointed her again.
Tony gives a short, humourless laugh. “And where were you last night, Miss Carter?” Steve had nearly forgotten he was here, so focused on keeping his hands from shaking and his knees from giving out.
“That’s not your business, Stark.” Is Sharon’s cool response, not even glancing away from Steve, leaving him pinned under her gaze. He looks to Tony for help, pleading with his eyes to get her out of here before his body betrays him.
The corners of Tony’s eyes soften when he looks at Steve, though his jaw clenches when he looks back to Sharon. “Nope.” He agrees, popping the p “but it is his.” He jerks a thumb in Steve’s direction. Steve, who swallows hard and jerks his chin up, with shaking hands buried in his pockets, he’s sure he looks more confident than he feels.
“Steve, you’re ridiculous. Whatever happened last night, you can make it up to me, come on.” She’s not pleading, not really. She holds her hand out, beckoning him impatiently. She’s trying to gain her control back, and despite his racing heart, Steve’s hand twitches, instinctively starting to reach out.
Tony slides between them. “He’s not going anywhere with you, you lying, manipulative, cheating bitch.” He snarls, half holding his arm out as if that would really stop her. Sharon’s arm twitches and Steve flinches back, but she catches herself, she doesn’t reach out to slap Tony.
“Watch your fucking mouth Stark, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Steve! come on. You’re done here.” She glares daggers over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony jerks his head up, squaring his shoulders.
Steve shakes his head, but lets Tony talk. “I said, he’s not going anywhere with you.” Murderously low, Tony’s voice fills the room. “Get out of my apartment.” Short and commanding, there’s no room for argument and Steve feels the knot in his chest unravel slightly.
“You don’t speak for him.” Sharon slinks closer, inches away from an unwavering Tony. Steve swallows hard around the lump in his throat.
“I’m not going with you.” His voice is shattered, and he clears his throat. “We’re done.” Two words cut through the tension in the room and Sharon reels back.
She rocks back on her heels, chin snapping back. “What did you say?” Low and meant to intimidate him, it’s her ‘you’re in shit’ voice and it has Steve swallowing convulsively.
“He said he’s done. He’s not going with you. You’re done manipulating him. Get the fuck out of my apartment before I call the cops.” Tony thankfully speaks up again, walking away from Steve to crowd Sharon towards the door. Cool air fills the space he used to stand and Steve shivers, vulnerable and open.
Sharon backs towards the door. “You’re worthless without me.” She tells him over Tony’s shoulder. “I wasted my time trying to fix you, clearly. You’re broken Steve. No one else is ever going to love you.”
“You never loved me.” Steve chokes out the words before Tony can shove her through the doorway. Sharon stops in her tracks, schooling her expression into a cruel smile.
“I think that’s the first smart thing you’ve ever said.” Sharon turns her back on Tony, strutting out towards the elevator. “Get someone to get your shit out of my apartment before I get home tonight.”
Tony slams the door shut, whipping around and half jogging the few steps to Steve, grabbing his elbows just in time for Steve’s knees to give out. “Shit!” Tony grunts under his weight and tries to gently maneuver them both to the ground.
“I’ve got you, you’re alright.” Tony murmurs, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him tightly against his side. Steve reaches out with shaking hands, wrapping his arms around familiar and warm and safe, burying his nose into Tony’s shoulder.
Tony hushes softly, running his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Steve’s neck. “Just breathe, she’s gone, you’re safe, just breathe.” He repeats like a mantra, bringing his other hand up to rub along Steve’s spine.
Now that she’s gone, every muscle in his body shakes, he’s freezing, it’s like an out of body experience, on one level, he’s freaking out, terrified of retaliation and terrified of not being with her, he doesn’t think he knows how to live without her. On another level, he’s already compartmentalizing.
“Can you say something Honey?” Tony’s voice reaches his ears again, patient and quiet and calm. Steve worms closer, soaking up the affection like a stray dog brought in from the cold. Tony obliges him, stroking across his ribs and back with slow, soothing motions.
Steve works his jaw, “I need m’stuff” He mumbles, thinking of the sketchbooks and photo albums he has on the coffee table. Tony tugs gently at Steve’s hair, humming in agreement.
“I can do that, do you want me to send someone we know or one of my guys?” He offers quietly, Steve stays quiet for a minute, keeping his face buried in Tony’s throat, breathing deeply. When Tony squeezes his shoulder gently for a response, he pulls just far enough away to keep his words from being muffled.
Voice shaking, Steve asks, “can you send Tasha?” in a barely audible whisper, but Tony is already nodding. Pulling out his phone, he sends a text to Natasha, asking her to go get Steve’s things from his apartment and then, in a moment of either pure instinct, or pure stupidity, asks her to bring them to Tony’s suite instead of Steve’s floor.
“Whatever you want Honey, whatever you want.” His voice drops dangerously soft, looking down at sleep rumpled blond hair. Steve lets the tension seep out of his body, his awareness of the world falling away until there’s nothing other than Tony and those gentle, calloused fingers sliding across his ribs.
Hushed voices slowly bring Steve back to consciousness, he didn’t even notice himself drifting off. “What did she do to you?” Sympathetic and gentle, gentle like the pointed nails scrapping gently across his scalp. Anticipating the pain of fingers gripping his hair or nails digging deep into his scalp, Steve bolts up.
Natasha yanks her hand back, clutching it to her chest with wide eyes. “Steve, honey, it’s okay, take a breath for me.” Tony steps into his line of vision and Steve huffs out his breath, Tony’s here, he’s safe. As his heart slows, everything slips into place. Sharon’s gone, Natasha’s here with his things, Natasha was touching his hair, he’s safe.
“Shit, sorry Tasha.” His voice trembles as he drops his eyes to the luxuriously threaded blanket draped over him. Tony must have moved him to the couch at some point. Steve fidgets with the edge, fingers shaking while he focuses on anything other than the redhead perching on the arm of the couch beside him.
She rests her hand gingerly on his shoulder, ready to yank back if Steve responds negatively. It takes too much effort to hide his flinch as manicured nails drop onto his bare skin. He knows, rationally, that it’s Natasha and there’s nothing she would do to hurt him, but on some level, Sharon is back, and those nails are about to dig into his skin until he does what she wants.
“You don’t have to apologize.” Natasha pulls her hand back and slips off of the arm of the couch to tuck in beside him. “None of this is your fault Steve.” Steve shifts over to give her space, only to bump into Tony. He hadn’t even noticed the genius sit down.
Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders, “Nat brought over everything she could find, did you keep anything hidden?” Steve forces himself to relax as soon as he tenses up, but Tony picks up on it anyways. “It’s alright Honey, you’re not gonna be in trouble or anything we just wanna make sure we’ve got everything.”
“V’got a sketchbook under a loose floorboard in the bedroom.” At least, he thinks he put it back. In his rush to get out, the entirety of the night is a blur.
Lithely, Natasha stands and struts to a shoulder bag Steve didn’t know she had. She digs around for a second before pulling out a battered leather book. “Does it look like this?” She asks with a small, knowing smirk, handing it over into Steve’s reaching hands.
“Thanks Tasha,” Steve cradles it close to his chest as he leans into Tony’s side again. Natasha crouches down in front of him, giving an encouraging smile and putting her hand on his knee, careful to keep her nails away from his skin.
Quietly, although afraid of startling him, she speaks. “Of course, what are friends for?” She hovers for a moment, her eyes flicking from Tony, to Steve and back to Tony. They lock eyes for a moment, Tony tilts his head towards Steve and Natasha gives a minuscule nod before pulling her hand back. “I’ll be back tomorrow” she promises, standing and moving towards the door with smooth, lithe strides.
“Honey?” Steve turns his head to Tony, who shifts down the couch and holds his arms out. Steve takes the invitation, laying down so his head presses against Tony’s chest and his knees lay across Tony’s legs.
Tony locks his fingers around Steve’s side, stroking his thumb back and forth, leaving a tingling trail of warmth. “I’ll be okay,” Steve mutters, both to Tony and himself. Tony drops his cheek to Steve’s hair and plants a soft kiss to the top of his head.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be okay.”
———————————————————————————————————
Recovery is a process, it’s not something that happens over night. It requires hard work, two steps forward and one step back. Recovery is frustrating, it’s terrifying and at times it can seem impossible. However, despite all of the trials and tribulation, you have to remember that two steps forward and one step back is still one step forward. Even on the days you feel like it’s not worth it, you are making progress.
It’s easier to recover with people who love you. People who congratulate you on every success and hold you through ever failure. People who remind you that failure is a part of progress and it doesn’t mean you can’t continue. People who hold you tight and promise to keep trying, promise to help you keep trying.
Slowly, things will get better, just because it’s hard right now doesn’t mean it will be hard forever. One day you will wake up happy, completely happy beside someone you love and who loves you and you will realize that every bloody, sweaty, tear-filled breakdown was worth it. Suddenly, things won’t seem so hard anymore.
For Steve, it took months to stop flinching when a door slammed shut, or when someone’s manicured nails tapped restlessly against a table or brushed through his hair. It took even longer for him to be able to go anywhere without Tony’s constant support and reassurance. What took the longest was unlearning behaviours he didn’t even realize he had. Always saying yes, bending over backwards to make sure no one else was unhappy, not asking for what he wants, not voicing his opinions. Learned behaviours were the hardest thing to break, but he did it.
It is possible to live a happy life in the wake of abuse, and it is worth every second of work.