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There is a spider.
To be more precise: there is a robot. In the shape of a spider. That happens to be ten feet tall.
It’s parked right in front of the elevator doors Steve was just planning to step out of.
“Marry me,” Tony grins up at the monstrosity.
Natasha rubs her temples, stepping away from its giant legs. “No.”
“It took me two days to make!”
“I don’t want to know his name,” Natasha groans.
Tony crosses his arms. “That’s sexist. Her name is Charlotte.”
Steve, watching from the elevator, decides it’s far too early in the day to cope with this madness. He presses the button for floor 45 instead.
If Tony is wreaking havoc on the common floor, that means the labs should be a safe hide out.
At least for the next five minutes.
The thing is, soldiers leaving their beaus for war would often pop the question on their last night, with too much whiskey in their veins to cover their shaky hands at the thought of war, of death.
A lady waiting at home was something to hold on to during the freezing cold nights in the trenches, and the ecstatic sounds of their ‘yes’s was something to replay in your head over the deafening, endless gunfire.
I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance.
Steve isn’t a foreigner to that concept.
He’s also been happily introduced to the notion that ‘a lady waiting at home’ was far too restrictive. Only, he hadn’t expected to get an example of the new modern ideals so quickly.
Settling into his usual chair at the corner of the kitchen island, Steve waits for Colonel Rhodes to finish using the stove. Sure, Steve could use the private kitchen on his floor of the Tower, but the communal kitchen is the one all the Avengers congregate to each morning and Colonel Rhodes’ visit hasn’t changed that.
What has changed is Tony poking his bedhead in an entire hour early.
“Waffles,” Tony declares, voice still slightly raspy from sleep, “I smell your waffles.”
Steve frowns. The few times that he had made waffles for breakfast, he hadn’t gotten nearly the same enthusiasm. He cranes his neck to see the pan over the Colonel’s shoulder.
Those are just normal waffles.
And yet, Tony lifts himself up on his toes to reach for the set of larger plates on the top shelf, and Rhodes laughs. “Here I thought you missed me, not my waffles.”
“I can miss both and I can love both – but we all know the waffles have the edge over you,” Tony takes two waffles.
Turning to Steve for defence, Rhodes waves his frying stick in Tony’s direction. “Captain, stop your delinquent superhero from stealing my breakfast.”
Steve pastes a friendly smile on his face despite his confusion. In the few months since they moved into the Tower, Steve hasn’t seen Tony this relaxed or playfully happy. That’s the reason – the only reason – that Steve takes Tony’s side. “Technically, it’s Tony’s kitchen.”
Tony grins wide, puffing his chest out for show. “Ha! I have America on my side.” He prods at Rhodes’ ribs, nudging the plate closer. “Gimme my waffles.”
Rolling his eyes fondly, Rhodes tips the pan to the side so more waffles slide on Tony’s plate. “America betrayed me. All my years of service, and I get my breakfast colonised.”
Steve wonders whether he should reply to that, but before he can weigh his options – how to stay on Rhodes’ good side while keeping Tony this happy – Tony outright moans.
Tony puts another forkful of waffles in his mouth, and moans again.
Steve stares.
“Marry me,” Tony’s words are muffled by the food in his mouth, but Steve’s sharp ears pick them up anyway, and he freezes as he hears Rhodes huff.
“For the five hundredth and sixty first time, no.”
“Honeybear, light of my life, these waffles are to die for.”
Rhodes’ eyebrows rise. “I thought we agreed: no more dying.”
“Spoilsport,” Tony nibbles on some more of the waffles.
Was that – did Tony just propose to Rhodes? For the sake of waffles? What did that make Steve’s pancakes?
And did Rhodes turn down Tony’s hand in marriage five hundred and sixty one times? Who would do that?
Most likely sensing Steve’s uncomfortable confusion, Tony’s gaze finds Steve’s. “You want to try some?” he extends the prized plate outwards.
“I wouldn’t want to deprive you,” Steve continues to stare.
“Your loss.”
If Tony really had set his sights on marrying Rhodes, then well. It was Steve’s loss.
They’ve only lived together for seven months, but Steve had found himself drawn to how Tony represented everything good about the future, and everything about the hope for a better world.
Not wanting to intrude, Steve decides his private kitchen will do for as long as the Colonel’s visit extends. He can always make pancakes for himself, and the other Avengers will certainly be able to find their own morning food.
“I’ll uh, I’ll be going,” Steve announces awkwardly. Tony was now attached to Rhodes’ side, which felt too intimate for him to keep seeing.
But Tony’s gaze turns back to Steve, slight concern creasing his brows. “You haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He scurries out of the kitchen before Tony can call him back, and he doesn’t bother using the elevators. Taking the steps two at a time, Steve resolutely tells his heart to quit doing summersaults around Tony.
The moment slips away from him, one aberration of many, and Tony’s hand remains very much free of a ring that Steve wonders about but doesn’t dare to ask.
Whatever Tony chose to do, it was his business, and Steve was… not happy, no.
To put it kindly, Steve was relieved that Tony wouldn’t have to spend so many hours cooped up alone in the labs when Colonel Rhodes was there with him.
Except, it happens again, almost too fast for Steve to notice.
Natasha tosses Tony a packet of blueberries during movie night, and Tony smacks a kiss on her cheeks. “Marry me, Nat.”
She slips in the space between Steve and Tony on the couch, leaning her head on Tony’s shoulder and taking a blueberry for herself. “I’ll marry you when you’re an inch taller.”
“Hey!” the protest comes quick.
Smirking, Natasha replies easily, “it’s the aesthetics of the pictures. Can’t wear heels if my fiancé is tiny.”
“If I build you something big, will you marry me?”
“If that’s an innuendo, I’ll castrate you, Stark.”
They bicker, and Steve leaves for the kitchen, pretending to need another bottle of his useless beer. There are cracks already in the bottle he had been holding, the pressure of his fist around it too much.
He doesn’t stay on the common floor longer after that, doing his best to avoid Tony and Natasha for the next few weeks because it isn’t fair to any of them that Steve can’t keep his foolish heart under control.
Sure, they still saved the world seamlessly. Out in the field, they were a team, no longer the chemical mixture of chaos they had been a year ago – but saving the world was different from living in it, from loving it.
That had always been Steve’s dilemma.
Where was his place outside the war?
He had Peggy’s dance, and now Tony’s smile, Thor’s hugs, Natasha’s company. A family of sorts.
Family, however, does not imagine each other naked, and family certainly does not imagine each other in bed.
The thing is that Steve might have been able to dismiss it as another modern joke, to bear his confusion and growing want silently, but it happens again and again, and again.
Bruce saves them in the nick of time during a battle, and Tony proposes to the Hulk with a very breathless ‘Brucie, my love, I think I could marry you’, which the Hulk responds to with a gruff ‘give puny Banner a new tea set’ and which Steve tries to wave away as the breathlessness of a tiring battle.
Yet, it’s hard not to draw his own conclusions that it’s very likely Tony has affections for the scientist he spends much of his day with, and Bruce is certainly smarter than Steve could ever hope to be.
The pattern continues on to the new year, and Thor receives a passionate ‘marry me’ from Tony after the god creates a thunderstorm strong enough to rescue Tony from having to attend a backyard party in the Hamptons.
Which is all well and good, because Tony ends up spending the evening huddling next to Steve for the team’s game night, but Steve begins truly introspecting when Clint – Clint! – gets a proposal before him, and all for preparing Tony’s coffee.
Coffee was something Steve made for Tony at breakfast everyday. It wasn’t special. Or marriage worthy.
And the list gets longer the more that Steve notices. There’s clearly Pepper, whom Tony proposes to every day that it is near ritual for them, and Rhodey comes a close second.
This escalate when Tony actually builds something big for Natasha: a spider bot meant to attend SHIELD debriefings in her place.
She actually accepts Charlotte the Spider even if no nuptials were involved, and Steve has to admit that the recording of Fury when Charlotte had shown up to a debrief was amusing.
But for Steve, things come to a head when Sam only needs a month to earn a delighted ‘be my husband?’ from Tony after Sam points out a flaw in the mechanics of his wings, and it’s maddening as much as it’s worrying.
Because Steve learns that ‘marry me’ is a new way of saying thank you.
Similar to ‘I would die for you’, except with an amped up level of grandeur and drama that Tony enjoyed adopting.
So, if Steve hasn’t done anything worthy to receive such high thanks from Tony, that means he hasn’t been the best of friends.
There are patterns, and then there are patterns.
They’ve been a team for three years now. Surely Tony would mention it if something was wrong?
Steve ponders the past month he had been pulling away from Tony – perhaps it was Steve’s obvious affection for him that made Tony uncomfortable?
It makes sense.
There's precedent for it: Tony didn't start out liking Steve, and the more Steve learns of Howard, the more Steve has to concede that it's natural for Tony to have an aversion to Steve.
And Steve had tried to surmount that: bringing coffee each morning, listening closely to Tony's ramblings – which means he now has an unusually intimate understanding of what ingredients DUM-E puts into Tony's green juice – and even going so far as to spend afternoons in the labs to ease Tony to his presence.
Team cohesion is important.
Also – well. It's nice to have Tony smile at him.
Still, all those efforts must have failed in making Tony comfortable enough with Steve's presence, and Tony wouldn’t be so unkind to ask Steve to move out.
Which makes it clear that it’s Steve who has to act.
The science of deduction. Why does Sherlock make it seem so complicated?
Another roadtrip, Steve decides, is in order.
Although maybe this time, he’ll put an ocean and a continent between himself and the madness that is Tony Stark.
Asia is somewhere he’s never visited, and it’s a clean slate without any memory of war. It’ll be good: he can excuse it to Fury by saying he’s building diplomatic ties, and JARVIS, helpful as ever, puts together for him an itinerary hopping from the coasts of Sulawesi to the stupas of Bagan.
He starts packing his suitcase, mulling over how he should word his temporary absence to the other Avengers.
Perhaps an email. After all, Tony has been poking at Steve to start using that more.
His phone is on the bedside table by his charger, and his tablet in the drawer. Both will have to come with him.
For a moment, he stares around his room, hand hovering over the next shirt he needs to fold into the suitcase.
There are photoframes all around him. Paintings and sketches put behind glass – all under Tony's insistence that Steve's artwork should be treasured.
Shawarma, game night, bruised on the couch after a long battle, a reporter's snapshot of Steve holding his shield over Tony as an umbrella, a picture taken from JARVIS' archives when Tony had fallen asleep in Steve's lap after karaoke.
He thought he had found a home here.
But if Tony found it unsettling to be around Steve, then he might not be as welcome as he once believed.
The thought burns the back of his throat, swelling there until he can't hold it in, and he lets slip a guttural sound of frustration.
Why must he always be adrift? Why must he always be lost?
Can't he, for once, have an anchor?
The war, Bucky, Peggy, the Valkyrie, waking up seventy years into a world he never asked for – he just wants one good thing to hold onto.
There are two shirts in front of him. A red one. A blue one.
Part of him wants to laugh.
The other part wants to crack at having to make yet another choice.
Will the choices ever end? To take the serum or to stay behind. To crash the plane or to let the world burn.
To stay here or to leave.
He glances at the sketch he had made of the Avengers Tower, way back in that cafe when it was still being built as Stark Tower and he didn't know yet how it represented everything beautiful in New York.
Progress, hope, courage, kindness.
Reinvention.
What is he without the looming spectre of Howard's war? Without the clunk of Iron Man's boots beside him on the battlefield and the technology of Tony's heart lighting up the rooms he lives in?
What does the future hold for him if he isn't welcome in that heart any longer?
He supposes he'll have to find out.
He should be stronger than this. Get a grip on himself. Captain America wasn't made to wallow in his own room.
It is, of course, just his luck that Tony wanders to his room right then, his footsteps so familiar that Steve knows its him before he turns around. Tony freezes just outside the door, eyes flicking to the clothes scattered around the usually tidy room then to the suitcase.
His face going through a cartwheel of emotions that Steve barely keeps up with.
Surprise. Disappointment. Worry. Fear.
Was that guilt?
“You’re, uh, JARVIS said you’re leaving,” Tony starts hesitantly, leaning on the doorframe. “You alright, Cap?”
“I’m fine,” Steve says. Then, to prove his point, he holds up the two shirts, one red and one blue, forcing a bright smile. “Which do you think I should bring?”
Tony shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. “You’d look great in either. Both. The red?”
“And just for that, I’ll pick the blue,” Steve tosses the red jacket on the other side of the bed. If he took it with him, he’d only be thinking about wearing Tony’s color, and that… that is the opposite of what he needs the trip for.
“It’s kinda rude, you know,” Tony shrugs, “to go on vacation without inviting your friends.”
“Not a vacation.”
“Visiting beaches, going halfway around the world – JARVIS booked you first class tickets. I have a private jet, you know.”
Steve sighs, turning his back to the door and gripping the edge of the suitcase tight. Even this, he realises, is Tony. Any other suitcase would've been crushed under his grip, but this one that Tony had built – somehow Tony had found the perfect balance to Steve's strength.
“I'm not taking your private jet, Tony.”
“Why the frowning face, Cap?”
“No reason,” Steve grits his teeth.
Tony, contrary as ever, pushing Steve to the brink, moves to perch on the side of Steve's bed. He takes out a pair of Steve's black underwear, holding it up to the light thoughtfully. “You sure? You’ve been pretty cozy with Nat lately, is that why?
Tugging his underwear away from Tony, Steve glowers at him, torn between his frustration and his fondness for their easy banter. “Why what?” he relents.
“If you’d like to ask her out,” Tony waggles his eyebrows, “pretty sure she’d say yes.”
“No,” Steve frowns, horrified. “No. Nat isn’t – I think she’d castrate me.”
“And the thought of losing your dick would certainly make you miserable,” Tony hums, lips clearly twitching as he tries to smother his laugh.
“I’m not miserable.”
“This morning you were glaring holes behind Clint’s head, last week, you were ready to murder Thor, and even Pepper’s started to steer clear of you. Should I be shocked that my troublesome self has escaped Captain America’s disapproval for once?”
Steve shakes his head pointedly. “I don’t always disapprove of you.”
“That implies you sometimes disapprove of me,” Tony cracks a helpless smilethat borders amusement and bitterness, “that sounds about right.”
“I don’t disapprove,” Steve gives up trying to pack as long as Tony is in the room. He sits beside Tony at the edge of the bed, at the edge of a cliff Steve doesn't know if he can afford to fall from. “I just – you go too fast.”
“Genius,” Tony shrugs, fingers drumming anxiously on his knees. “So. Let the genius billionaire fix things for you. What’s wrong?”
“You,” the truth tumbles out of him.
He was never good at lying, and even worse at lying to Tony.
“I thought you didn’t disapprove me?”
He doesn't want to have to admit it outright. It feels childish and petty, now that he considers simply telling Tony the whole of it, but it also feels too close to the real truth simmering just beneath the surface.
The reason why he can't lie to Tony. The reason why he really wants to call this Tower home, but can't.
“You’re trying to start a harem,” Steve ends up snapping out.
Tony jerks back, face blanching. “What? I’ll admit I’ve come very close to that during some parts of my life, but not recently,” Tony blurts out, indignant. “Recently I, well. It doesn’t matter.”
“My flight is in six hours, Tony,” Steve feels suddenly tired. “I need to clean all this up.”
“Nuh-uh, not until I figure out why you're doing this.”
“And why are you doing this?”
Tony snorts. “You really don't know?” he stands up, scoffing and pacing the length of Steve's room. “Because, here's a funny thing you might not have heard about me and my harem: I actually do give a shit when people around me are upset.”
“I know that,” Steve says quietly. An apology. God, he has to get himself together before he hurts Tony more. “I know that.”
“So tell me how I can help.”
“It's stupid.”
And oh, that's a mistake. Tony pauses, turning on his heel to face Steve, eyes wide. Steve can practically hear the lightning-fast gears in Tony's head turn, clicking into place.
“This is about – Rhodey's waffles, Sam's wings, Natasha's robot – a harem,” Tony laughs, half hysterical. He marches to Steve, hands thrown in the air. “You’re jealous. You’re – the universe is laughing at me.”
“I’m not jealous,” Steve crosses his arms.
Tony pokes at Steve's arms, pulling at them until his fingers close around Steve's wrist, smile smug. “You want to join my harem.”
“No.” I want to be the only one.
“Rhodey was right. I didn’t want to believe him because you couldn’t possibly – but you are.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I’m stupid. Steve.” Tony's hand squeezes, tighter around his wrist, and his pulse drums against it. “Steve, look at me, please?”
“Tony, don't,” he shakes his head again. He doesn't need pity.
“It’s just a thank you. 'Marry me.' Doesn’t mean anything, a joke between friends – except maybe Thor,” Tony sits again beside Steve, still holding fast to his hand. “Wouldn’t it be great for me to be Queen of Asgard? All that technology, the libraries. Jane is one lucky girl.”
“I know it doesn't mean anything,” Steve mutters. “If it doesn't mean anything, then why do you never – ” he waves at himself. “I'm your friend.”
Suddenly, he feels something warm press against his cheek, the scratch of a beard, then as quickly as it came, Tony darts away. When Steve takes a sideways peek, there's a bit of pink dusting Tony's ears.
“With you, I want to do it right,” Tony ducks his head. “I just didn’t know how to ask. You know the team's been badgering me about you glaring at them almost every day?”
Steve squirms, realising the silliness of everything. "They could have just asked me," he mumbles grumpily.
"Everyone gets scared when you glare at them - yes, exactly like that," Tony points at Steve's face.
"Not you."
Tony fiddles with the red shirt left on the bed. "I don't have the best record for self-preservation."
Steve clears his throat. "Are you trying to make a point?"
"Nat did call us a bunch of dunderheads," Tony chuckles, "or at least, I think that's what she said in Russian. But I guess... go out with me?”
“Out?”
The word comes out raspy, nearly squeaking with surprise as Steve's gears halt.
“On a date.” Tony's smile flickers between the camera-ready one and the one Steve loves seeing at breakfasts: soft and unguarded. “Then hopefully a hundred more,” Tony goes on, “then, only if you still don’t disapprove of me, go shopping for – for rings.”
“Hey, Tony?” Steve feels a warmth bloom in his chest. “You mentioned a private jet?”
“I did.”
Understanding dawns bright across Tony's face, and Tony's smile softens, lips bitten at the corner as he tries to contain the same excitement bubbling beneath Steve's ribs.
That won't do.
“May I?” Steve leans closer, so close that he can see the gold in Tony's eyes.
When Tony kisses Steve, his smile is wide and unrestrained. Free and whole and threatening to swallow Steve in its sweetness.
They tour Southeast Asia.
Tony loops a batik scarf around Steve's neck to pull him close, and in the vibrant marketplace, Tony winks at him, heedless of the stares pointed at them.
“Marry me.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Steve takes a flower from the marketstand and tucks its bright red petals behind Tony's ear.
“I'll hold you to that.”
Naturally, however, HYDRA decides to cut their soirée short, and as they evacuate Manila from the army of fake Iron Man armors, Steve pulls Tony down behind a small car, cursing when Tony's wrist still beeps, waiting for the armor in the Singapore warehouse to reach them.
“Build faster armor,” Steve grits out.
From the reflection of the storefront windows they're facing, Steve sees one of the armors prepare to let out a blast, and he raises his shield above their heads, curling his body around Tony's to keep the falling debris from hitting Tony's unprotected body.
Tony's face ends up cradled in the nook between Steve's shoulder and neck, where he chooses to kiss Steve. “Yes, dear.”
Steve throws his shield at the robot. “Where are the other Avengers?”
“Three minutes out.”
The shield slams back into Steve's arm, and he flexes his fingers to activate the magnets there, grateful that he had thought to bring it along with him. “Good.”
“My knight in shining shield,” Tony prods at the scrape marks on the shield, grinning up at Steve. “Marry me?”
An explosion rocks the ground beneath them. “Seriously, now?” Steve raises a brow.
“Raincheck?”
“Get your armor on, then I'll consider it.”
Steve really should have expected it when his phone chimes with a new message.
It sets a bad image for Steve to be checking his phone during a meeting with the Secretary of State and the World Security Council in the wake of the Manila attack, but he's Captain America. He has more persistent things to handle than the endless ramblings of bureaucrats.
Across the table, Tony sticks his tongue out just the slightest bit – enough for Steve to notice it and nudge Tony's ankles in warning beneath the table. Unfortunately – or perhaps, fortunately – that only gives Tony the leverage to tangle their legs together.
And when Tony's foot keeps creeping up Steve's legs, dangerously close to his thighs, Steve stands up, clearing his throat.
“Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me,” Steve says, “I have a private matter to discuss with Iron Man.”
Tony follows him out of the room, giving a far too cheerful thumbs up to everyone else.
There is an eagle.
To be more precise: there is a fluffy doll. In the shape of an eagle. That happens to be twelve feet tall.
Its wings block out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Steve's private floor.
Last night was the first time he had slept in his own room in a year, much preferring the comfort of Tony's larger bed.
But after an argument that had spiralled from taking unnecessary risks to Steve's penchant of waking up early to the Avengers messing up Tony's schedule, Steve had thought some space might be good.
He rubs his bleary eyes, staring at the bright yellow beak of the brown eagle that towers above him.
“Tony,” Steve groans, “how did you even get it in here?”
From his hiding spot behind the eagle's large claws, Tony pokes his head out.
There are shadows under his eyes, uncombed hair sticking out everywhere, and he's wearing the same shirt as last night, when Steve had stormed out of the building before either of them could go too far in their anger and tiredness.
“You like having something to hug at night,” Tony says in lieu of explanation, voice trying to be loud but ending up quiet. A wisp of a confession unsaid: I'm sorry.
Steve steps closer, reaching up to touch the bottom edges of the eagle's wing, the soft brown fur that gently greets him. He himself hadn't gotten much sleep either last night, and he isn't blameless in letting the stress of the past few months turn into sharp words.
There's a time for fighting each other, and there's... the small downward twist to Tony's lips, the slight bounce to his leg that betrays his unhappiness, nervousness, uncertainty.
Steve had done that.
“I like having you to hug at night,” Steve corrects, taking another step closer to Tony. His pride isn't worth Tony being upset.
“You don't have to,” Tony's smile turns thin, his mask stretched too far and nearing its breaking point. You don't have to love me.
“I don't have to,” Steve agrees, but he offers up both his hands for Tony to take. “I'm sorry. Missed you last night.”
Slowly, almost reverently, Tony takes one, and then both hands, fingers splaying out over Steve's palm as his eyes dart all over Steve's face searching for a lie.
Finding none, Tony slumps into Steve's hold, hiding his face in the crook of Steve's arm, back trembling the slightest bit as Steve returns the hug, slotting perfectly home.
“You're too good to me,” Tony mumbles into Steve's shirt. Then, “I'm sorry too. Note to self: don't fight with Steve.”
“We're bound to fight,” Steve cups the back of Tony's head, letting his hand smooth out the tangles of hair there. “Let's just not fight when we're both tired from a battle, yeah?”
“Seconded.”
“We also need to find a new home for this giant eagle.”
This time, Tony's back shakes with a huff of laughter. “I figured go big or go home.”
“What about Fury's office?”
“God, I love you,” Tony shifts his head to kiss Steve's shoulder. “Marry me?”
“Not when we're like this.”
“Like what?”
Steve pulls back to look Tony in the eyes. “When there's a giant eagle staring down at us, and when I still have to lecture you about unnecessary risks.” When we just hurt each other. When I'm still learning how to love you.
Tony groans in reply, but without any heat to it. Fond. Hopeful, even. The morning sun bringing them both clarity that they hadn't had last night.
“It's actually a small eagle doll,” Tony concedes. “Got Lang to use some Pym particles on it.”
All the craziness of the world, and yet –
“I love you,” Steve breathes out.
The eagle doll, once shrunk, ends up in the workshop's couch for Steve to hug when Tony is busy working. Much to Tony's chagrin, he names her Martha after George Washington's wife, instead of Tony's suggested 'Nicholas'.
Steve would rather not think of Fury while he's hugging anything.
He would also very much appreciate it if Fury sent them reinforcements right about now.
The HYDRA faction they had discovered during their soirée seems to have reared their brand new nine heads, launching an attack on the streets of New York that is quickly becoming an unmitigated disaster.
Tony has had no success hacking into the giant Hydra robots, that are literally and very unwittingly in the shape of a nine-headed monster, each head equipped with far too much firepower.
"Thor, light their asses up!" Tony yells in the comms, "there's a patch there that seems to be the mainframe access."
"Be more specific next time?" Steve hits at the - alright, fine - robot's ass. Tony is right: when hacking doesn't work, some old-fashioned punches might do better.
He can hear Tony's eye roll. "Hit the posterior hatch of the goddamned bots," Tony says dryly, swooping low to fly in front of Steve and shoot the robot advancing on him.
"Thanks for the assist," Steve lets his shield slice through the bots at Tony's six o'clock. Iron Man gives him a red and gold salute.
"So, about that date tonight - "
Steve reacts without thinking: he hooks his shield on his back and in one move, pulls Tony's hand, spinning them both around so that it's Steve's back that faces the new onslaught of bots, and the numbers - the numbers run quick through Steve's head, a new skill he's picked up from hours spent in Tony's workshop. He knows exactly how much force his shield and the nanobots of his uniform can take, and how much force his body can take.
It's definitely more than what the armor can take.
He uses the force of the spin to push them both down to the ground - the duck and cover move geared into his bones from fighting battles in the forties - and it helps make the impact -
Bang!
The robot explodes -
There's fiery pain crawling up Steve's back, and he's pretty sure that voice in his ear is Tony screaming at him, Tony's hand thumping against Steve's chest to get Steve to let go, but Steve can still hear the bot advancing, and -
Bang!
This time, the sound is louder, with a distinct crackle that must be from Tony's repulsors, and there's a deafening crash, followed by -
"Steve, I swear to all the gods if you're - "
"I'm fine," Steve fights the hot pain to rasp out, his hand blindly searching for the crook of Tony's armor where the arc reactor sits, resting his head heavily on the armor's hard shoulder. He has to get up, to keep fighting, but -
"Medic," Tony says from beneath him. "Steve is down." Oh, he's speaking to the comms. More insistently, Tony repeats, "we need medic."
Steve braces himself up on his hands, his gloves catching on the rough asphalt. "I'm fine." Correction: "If you're fine, I'm fine."
Tony's face plate flips open, and Steve is treated to a very unimpressed look. "Medic now." Sitting up, Tony uses one hand to help Steve up, his free hand sending repulsor blasts to any bots who dare come near.
Reluctantly, Steve has to admit that he does need the help. Together, they take shelter in the ruined lobby of an evacuated office building. Tony steps out of the armor to prop Steve up against the receptionist's desk.
The armor closes back up, going into sentry mode.
Carefully, Tony takes the blackened shield off Steve's back and lifts up the nanotech fabric of Steve's uniform, hissing slightly at what must be the dark bruises from the impact.
"Where are the medics?" Tony mutters.
Steve places his hand on Tony's lap. "My serum's working. I'll be fine."
Tony's lips twist, displeased and brooking no argument. "Your serum working means you're in pain." He digs into the pockets of Steve's toolbelt, fishing out a bottle of healing salve. "I am never listening to your lectures about recklessness ever again."
"Your spine might've cracked if the bot's blast hit you," Steve lets out a sigh as the salve works its wonders to soothe the throbbing mess of his back.
"Yeah, well," Tony flippantly replies from behind Steve, expertly massaging the salve across his shoulderblades. "I don't like it when you're hurt."
Marry me, the fleeting thought crosses Steve's mind, because God, he loves Tony so much, and he can imagine the pout on Tony's face right now, the furrow between his brows that Steve aches to kiss away.
Is this what Tony feels like when he asks Steve to marry him?
The brief spark of wonder, of 'he's the one' that flashes brighter than bright, a deep-seated certainty that makes itself known for a second before the waves of fear and doubt buries it away.
Steve swallows. He's never let fear or doubt stop him before, but this... this feels too large to mess up. He'll do this right.
Tony's hand curls around to the front of Steve's ribs, and Steve holds onto it, ignoring the noise of protest from Tony. He pulls it up until their hands rest on the star at the center of his uniform. Next to this, his pain is nothing.
There is a battle going on in the streets, ambulance sirens coming closer, and the occasional flashed of lightning coming down from Thor's rage. Their team can handle the last of the bots, Steve decides, giving in entirely to Tony's gentle touches.
Before the ambulance arrives, though, he has one last thing to do in their small bubble of privacy: he presses a kiss on Tony's knuckles.
"I love you," Steve breathes out. "Thank you."
His sharp hearing means that he notices it when Tony's heartbeat starts racing. One second. Two seconds. Three. Then back down. Steady and safe.
"I hate you for worrying me," Tony huffs.
"I'm sure you have more reasons to love me."
"I do." There's a hint of fond amusement in Tony's voice, and Steve considers that a mark of his triumph against HYDRA's insistence on ruining their dates.
Speaking of, "you mentioned a date tonight?" Steve squeezes Tony's hand. The ambulance sirens are growing closer.
"No date tonight, mister," Tony pokes softly at Steve's bruises with his other hand. "All you get is boring sleep."
Steve hums, closing his eyes, thankful that he can hear Tony's heartbeat. "Not boring when it's with you."
"Sap." More gently, "marry me?"
"After you take me on a proper date," Steve laughs, and he lets himself drift off.
He wakes up to the sound of movement.
Hitched breaths, a pounding that is far too fast, and the rustling of their bedsheets.
Steve bolts upright, sitting up in bed. Tony. That must be Tony. "JARVIS, lights on. Dimmed, please."
It's been a week since the HYDRA attack. Steve should've known a nightmare was bound to happen soon.
His hand hovers over Tony's arm: Tony is curled up on his side, facing away from Steve. There's sweat collecting on his temples, jerky movements and whispered pleas that are too soft for even Steve to hear.
"Tony," he tries. He knows better than to touch him during this, or to try and wake him up. All Steve can do is offer something else for Tony's subconscious to latch onto, and even asleep, Tony knows his voice. "Whatever it is, you're safe," Tony's head tips slightly in Steve's direction, but his eyes are still shut tight. "Sweetheart? I'm here," he tries again, "you're alright. We're alright."
Tony's face crumples in his restless sleep, body curling up more into a ball. "Steve," he murmurs.
"That's it, Tony," Steve coaxes, "I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you."
"Steve," Tony breathes out again, more desperate this time, the knuckles of his fist turning white.
His heart aches. He hates this part of the job, hates seeing Tony hurt when he's supposed to be resting. "JARVIS, give me a piano melody." Steve doesn't have to tell him which one. The first quiet notes start, and Steve hums.
Try to remember the kind of September, when life was slow and oh so mellow
Try to remember the kind of September, when grass was green and grain was yellow
And if you remember, then follow, follow
Try to remember when life was so tender, that dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try to remember when life was so tender, that love was an ember about to billow
A nd if you remember, then follow, follow —
"Steve?"
He looks up to see Tony blinking awake. Steve takes in a deep breath, unable to stop it from shaking, and lets his hand finally touch Tony's arm, hot and clammy from the nightmare. "There you are, sweetheart."
Tony props himself up drowsily to sit next to Steve, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Harsh. Trembling. "Did I wake you?"
Always thinking of others first. Steve shakes his head: that isn't important. "Can I touch you?" he asks Tony.
A small nod is all Steve needs to move, hand wrapping around Tony and pulling him close until Tony's head rests on his chest and their legs tangle between the sheets. "Thank you," Tony whispers. His voice is raspy.
"You don't thank me for this. Never this," Steve drops a kiss on the crown of Tony's head, not minding the damp, sweat-soaked curls of hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Alright." There's a time for pushing, and a time for prioritising. "Do you need me to sing some more?"
Tony shakes his head. Then nods.
The piano melody from JARVIS restarts.
Try to remember when life was so tender, that dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try to remember when life was so tender, that love was an ember about to billow
A nd if you remember, then follow, follow
Deep in December it's nice to remember, although you know the snow will follow
Deep in December it's nice to remember, without a hurt, the heart is hollow
Deep in December, it's nice to remember -
"That I love you," Tony's words cracks with the smile tugging on his lips, small and grateful. "I'm sorry. I love you."
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
Tony shifts, fingers drawing loops and circles on the inside of Steve's wrist. "I dreamt that you died. That the HYDRA bot's energy blast was strong enough to - to - to make the serum useless." His chest shudders against Steve. "I can't — I — "
"When you told me you dream of me, I hoped it was sweeter dreams than that," Steve jokes despite himself, because it's what Tony needs to anchor himself back in the present. They can talk in the morning when Tony isn't shaking this much. He earns a huff, and adds, "you're not getting rid of me so easily."
"Only because you're hopelessly stubborn."
The pounding of Tony's heart is starting to slow. That's good. "Because you're worth fighting for," Steve corrects.
Tony draws some more circles into Steve's wrist. Then, almost in a sigh, Tony breathes out, “marry me.”
Steve doesn't hesitate. He's known what he wanted since the very beginning, and he had nearly asked the question himself last week.
There's never going to be a right moment, though, not with the chaos of their lives. So it's up to Steve to make the right moment.
“Yes,” he answers.
Tony's hand stills. He glances up at Steve, frowning. “Wait what?”
Steve dips down to kiss away the frown. “Yes, I'll marry you.”
Tony flails, pushing himself off Steve's chest to stare at him, eyes blown impossibly wide. “Are you — you're seriously — this isn't — ”
“Tony. I don't need trips to Asia or a grand orchestra or a giant eagle. If I'm marrying you, I'm marrying you. The late nights, the nightmares, the shitty broken bones and the — ” he leans forward, cupping Tony's cheek with one hand, and splaying his other hand over the scars where Tony's arc reactor used to be, “the strength of your heart, the adorable smile of yours, and your messy bedhead with your annoying recklessness — ”
“That isn't very sweet of you.”
“And your endearing grumpiness,” Steve finishes. “I'm marrying all of that. I'm saying yes to all that.”
Tony sniffs, glancing down at Steve's hand. “I thought the whole point of this was to not make me cry?”
“The whole point of this was to make you think of good things,” Steve taps at Tony's chest. “And you're a very good thing in my books. The best.”
Rolling his eyes, Tony teases half-heartedly. “Do I get a reward for being good?”
“Maybe later.”
Only then does the realisation finally, visibly sink into Tony. The insides of his cheeks are bitten: nervousness warring with excitement. "We’re really doing this," Tony slowly says, as if testing the words. "You’re not joking."
“We can have a very long engagement. Or not. Whatever you want,” Steve shrugs, pulling away to give Tony space to process, but Tony stops him, moving closer to Steve on the bed, a small smirk starting to form. All the shadows from his nightmare are gone, and Steve's life is brighter for it.
“Technically,” Tony starts, “I’m engaged to all the Avengers plus a few villains.”
“Technically,” Steve fires back, “I’m the only one who kisses you good night.”
“I guess if you kiss me good night, that counts.”
“I love you.”
Tony kisses him, hot and desperate and giving Steve everything he needs, everything he wants. There's the aftertaste of salt from Tony's fears. Steve pushes past that, cradling the back of Tony's head, tangling himself in the roots of Tony's hair, pulling and pushing until they topple, Tony landing on top of him with a giggle. Happy. Warm. Beautiful.
The sun after the storm.
They lie there together in bed, for the longest time, breaths falling into step with each other, too busy smiling to say anything.
Until —
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome to my harem.”