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When it comes down to it, really, it's just a coincidence. A terrible coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless.
It's a hot summer Saturday afternoon, and everyone else is out of the mansion except for him and Steve. And Steve, of course, like a good leader, is in sub-basement one on monitor duty in the assembly room. Tony, like an engineer shirking his workload, is sitting across the room, spinning back and forth in an office chair, attempting to lure Steve into a game of Truth Or Dare, a game made more boring by the fact that Steve inevitably picks "truth" -- right up until Tony asks "first kiss?" and Steve goes bright red and clams up.
"Aww, come on, Cap," Tony says. He runs his hand through his hair. "I told you mine." Meredith McCall, of course. Luckily Steve is a gentleman and has refrained from inquiring about the rest of Tony's romantic history.
Steve mumbles something unintelligible and looks away.
"What?"
Tony's about to give in and say it's okay, Cap, it's just a game when Steve lifts his head, his face still tomato-red, and says, "It was my friend Arnie, okay?"
Oh. Oh, God. Tony was not expecting this. God, he'd spent so many years thinking there was no way Steve was even interested in men--
"We were fourteen," he says, "and I wanted to know what kissing was like, because I didn't think I had much of a chance with anyone else, and to be honest I had a bit of a crush on him, and he said he'd show me." He half-smiles. "I was a pretty rotten kisser. But he was a real pal about it. Told me I was sweet."
Tony has absolutely no idea what to say.
And then the lights flicker off and on, out for half a second, and then there's the familiar hum of the mansion backup generator kicking in.
"Shit," Tony says, but inwardly he's grateful for the reprieve. "I guess ConEd fucked something up."
Steve's already tapping away at the closest computer; thank God for Captain Responsible. "They're saying a transformer just blew. No injuries, but no ETA on the fix yet, either."
That isn't too bad. However long the outage lasts, Avengers Mansion is basically built to withstand a siege -- and it literally has, a few times, thanks to the Masters of Evil.
"Right," Tony says. Time to be a responsible superhero and stop daydreaming about kissing Steve. "Well, we should get the usual announcements out, let the civilians know we've got power if anyone needs to camp out in the foyer and enjoy the A/C or charge their phones or keep their meds in the fridge--"
There's another, even more dire noise, a cracking, popping noise, and then everything goes dead. The monitors. The lights. The emergency hallway lights in the corridor outside. Everything. Tony's pathetically grateful that his heart beats on its own now, because he knows what just happened.
"And that is an EMP," Tony concludes, trying not to think about how he can feel his heartrate ratcheting up in terror.
He can't see a goddamn thing.
"Mmm," Steve agrees. "Somehow I don't think that's part of the power company's repair plan."
Tony knows what this is, too. Some villain has just decided this is perfect timing. Catch the Avengers unawares. "Someone has it out for us."
"Come on," Steve says, urgently, and there's a creaking noise coming from approximately where Steve was sitting. "Let's go find out who."
And Tony can't-- Tony can't--
He can't see.
It's a hell of a thing for a man with a flying suit of armor to admit to, which is why he doesn't. But sitting here is like being seven years old, his first night away from home, at boarding school, and someone flips off the light and everything is pitch-black and there could be anything, anything out there in the vast and unknown darkness. It's irrational, but reason has nothing to do with it.
It's terrifying.
He hears himself breathing out, harsh and rasping. He's not going to panic. He's not going to cry. He's not a child.
"Oh, right," Steve says. "Probably not enough light for you to see by, huh?" he adds, and Tony is viciously jealous of the super-soldier serum. "Here, stand up, I'll talk you through to the corridor. You're not that many steps away." Tony can't be jealous for long when Steve is so kind, but Steve's going to know what's up in a few seconds, and he can't bear that either.
God, what's Steve going to say? He's going to make fun of him, isn't he? He'd make fun of Tony if he knew about all the lighting rigs on his armor, rigs that he built for situations just like this. Armor that he's not wearing right now, of course, and even if he had been, the EMP would have hit it too.
Tony's legs are shaking. He's pretty sure standing's not going to be a viable option. He hears himself breathe again, more wetly this time.
"Tony?" Steve asks, his voice curious. "Are you all right?"
Tony's a great liar. "Fine. Just give me a second."
"Your heart's racing like it's going to burst," Steve says, concerned, which is when Tony remembers that he's a great liar to everyone except Steve and his goddamn super-serum super-senses, "and you're sweating, and you're not breathing right--"
"I'm fine," Tony repeats, because he's a man and men aren't scared of the fucking dark.
"You're afraid," Steve contradicts him, and now Steve's the one who sounds distressed. "Tony, are you-- are you afraid of the dark?"
He doesn't sound cruel or mocking, but it's coming. Of course it's coming. He's going to laugh at Tony's ridiculous fear.
Tony means to lie again. He means to say no, of course not but his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth and he makes a high, keening, pathetic whisper that naturally Steve must have heard. He's a disgrace, and any second now Steve is going to walk out and leave him here alone and get help from one of his teammates who is actually functional.
When Steve speaks, his voice is soft, like he understands, and Tony wants to start crying for an entirely different reason, because he doesn't deserve this. "It's okay, Tony. It's all right. I'm going to help you, and everything's going to be okay. I'm going to walk toward you, and I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder, all right? That's what you're going to feel. Just my hand."
Knowing Steve can see him, Tony nods miserably. The floor creaks again, and in a few seconds there's a touch on his shoulder that makes his pulse jump stupidly high even though he knows it's Steve, even though Steve had said it was going to be him.
"Steve?"
"Right here," Steve says, still soothing. "You're about ten feet from the corridor. I'm going to turn your chair around so you're facing the doorway, and I'm going to help you stand up if you need it, and then we'll walk together. I'm not leaving you."
"Okay," Tony says. "Okay." It doesn't feel okay at all, of course, but, God, he doesn't want to be down here. But at least he doesn't have to be alone. Steve wouldn't lie.
He feels Steve's hand on his back, warm and solid, spinning him around -- and then Steve takes his hand, Steve's gloved fingers interlacing with his. Tony would never have asked, would never have dared to ask, but it finally makes some of the panic in him wither away.
"I'm right here," Steve repeats. "I know you can't see anything, but I can, and I promise there's no one else here. If there were someone after us, I would guard you until there's light or until you could get to your armor, okay? As long as you need."
"I have armor in my room upstairs," Tony agrees. He can barely follow the words Steve's saying. He's too scared for that. But Steve said something about armor. "It's EMP-hardened. Should still work."
"All right," Steve says, firm and confident. "Then we're going to go upstairs, where it's still light out, and get your armor. Good plan? Good plan."
How can Steve be so calm? How can he be so kind?
"You can't," Tony says, and he chokes on the words. "You can't-- you can't tell anyone I'm--"
Steve's voice is just as soft. "I'm not going to. I swear. Your secret is safe with me." He squeezes Tony's hand. "I'm still right here. You think you can stand up for me now?"
Right. They should try to get upstairs relatively quickly and figure out the extent of the situation. Wobbling, Tony rises from his chair, overbalancing as it rolls back, but Steve is there to brace him, and then he's standing. Finally. More or less.
"There you go." Steve is encouraging. "You're about ten steps from the doorway." Steve is still holding his hand and he tugs him gently. "This way. The floor is clear. You won't hit anything."
Tony's steps are slow and hesitant and he knows he's sweating more, his hindbrain imagining what awful things might be lurking in the corridor ahead of him. Nonetheless, Steve doesn't rush him; Steve just walks slowly, easily, at his side.
"Just like that, Tony," Steve says, softly, and it's all the praise he could ever have wanted but it's awful and embarrassing because nobody should need to be praised for walking across a goddamn room, and his face is hot. "You're doing great."
Of course, that's when Tony's terrified brain decides he can't take another step, and he's rooted there in the darkness.
But Steve still doesn't falter. "I'm with you," Steve says. "Shh. It's okay."
There's a shuffling as Steve takes his hand with his other hand instead and moves to stand behind him, putting his hand on Tony's shoulder, holding him with both hands now, like half of a hug, like dancing completely backwards.
"I've got you," Steve says. "We're in this together. You think you can keep going?"
When Tony tries to speak, his throat is like gravel. "I've got to."
Steve squeezes his shoulder again. "You're not the only one who's ever been afraid of anything, you know."
Tony tries and fails to imagine Captain America cowering like this. "You? Really?"
Steve's breath is warm in his ear. "Rats. Was terrified of 'em. The, uh, the war pretty much cured that one, though. But before? Yeah. Just like this. I'm not judging, Tony."
They take a few more steps, and then a few more, and Steve nudges him slightly to one side.
"That was the doorway," Steve says. "We're in the corridor."
Tony knows where the stairs are, of course, now. Forward, then left, then right, then nearly thirty feet straight ahead, next to the -- presumably non-functional -- hydraulic lift down. Then, once they hit the stairwell, it's two flights up to the main floor.
In the dark.
And then, after all that, the doors to the main floor are surely still closed.
"I-- I--" Tony says, ashamed. "I know we need to go faster. I'm slowing you down."
Steve squeezes his hand again, a silent reassurance, as if he's saying he could never think ill of Tony. There's a pause. "If you don't mind," Steve says, "I know how we can go a lot faster."
"How?"
"Tell me if this is a bad idea," Steve says, and he sounds oddly nervous.
And then he's spinning Tony in the darkness, quick, disorienting, scooping him up with one arm under Tony's knees and one under his shoulders, holding him tight. It's a bridal carry, is what it is.
"Oh," Tony says, torn, as ever, between shame and desire. And terror, of course, because that's not going away.
Steve still sounds nervous. "Is that a bad 'oh?'"
"No," Tony says. "No, I, no, I--" like it-- "don't mind. But you really can't tell anyone about this."
"If you don't want me to, I won't," Steve says, like it's simple. "I've carried you like this before, on the field, dozens of times. You were just a lot heavier then, Shellhead. I don't much see the difference."
I wasn't a cowardly wreck before, Tony doesn't say, but instead he loops his arms around Steve's neck, because he might as well give in. No one else will have to know how much he's wanted this.
He presses his face against Steve's chest. The scale mail is ridged and familiar, as is the scent of the leather and Steve's citrusy soap. "You smell nice," Tony mumbles, without thinking about it, and then immediately discovers new depths of wanting to die of humiliation.
But Steve still isn't laughing at him. "You think so?" Steve asks. His voice thrums against Tony's ear as he talks, and that feels nice too. Comforting. More familiarity. Steve doesn't sound upset. He sounds flattered and oddly curious at the same time.
"Yeah," Tony admits. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. "I do."
He wonders what Steve's face looks like now. He wonders if Steve is smiling. He wonders if Steve is frowning, his brow furrowed.
"Okay, then," Steve says. "I want you to pay attention to that. Pay attention to me. Just focus on me. How I smell, if you want. How I sound. Whatever you want. It's just me, here with you, and I don't want you to think about anything else except that for the next few minutes. Just me. I'm the most interesting fella in the room, you got that?"
Despite himself, Tony laughs a little. "I got that."
And then Steve adjusts his grip and sprints forward, unerringly, through the dark, clutching Tony to him. And, sure, it's not great, but Steve is right here and so far it's the best Tony has ever felt about being in the dark. He has Steve. Even if Steve doesn't know how he feels. It's okay.
"Stairs now," Steve says, and because Steve is, well, Captain America, he manages to take them at a run, in the dark, while holding Tony in his arms. Tony is barely conscious of hitting the first landing. One more to go. Steve does smell really nice. It's easy to think only about the jingling of the armor, to pretend that he's really with Steve, with Steve the way he wants to be, and has just decided to shut his eyes. He shuts his eyes, in aid of the fantasy.
"Ground floor," Steve says, like the world's best elevator operator, and he gently sets Tony on his feet.
When Tony opens his eyes he sees a sliver of blessed light at the edge of the doorframe -- but Steve hasn't opened the door yet.
"Thanks," Tony murmurs. "That was really good of you."
He feels unaccountably tongue-tied, like he never does around Steve. He wonders if he's gotten dirt on Steve's scale mail, and he moves to brush it off. His hand is still shaking. But Steve hasn't left him, so this must be okay. His stomach is still in knots.
He can just barely see Steve smile. "Not a problem." And then Steve shifts his weight. "I know it's not really my business, but have you ever tried, maybe, doing things that would give you positive associations with darkness?"
Tony frowns. "Like what?"
Steve is... brushing his hair out of his face for him, slow and surprisingly tender. "Well," Steve says, "you can tell me if I'm reading this wrong, but instead of Truth Or Dare, you might have liked Seven Minutes In Heaven?"
And then Steve leans in and kisses him, gently, softly, the way he's been since this whole thing started, and Tony's confused heart can't decide whether to give out from fear or lust.
"I, uh," says Tony Stark, international playboy. "Yes? Yes. Please, yes."
"We have to thwart evil first, remember?" Steve says, swinging the door open. He's the world's biggest tease and Tony does not care because he loves him so much and maybe Steve loves him back and here they are, finally standing in the light.