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Smoothing back Tony’s hair, Steve sighs into the open air, wondering how he’s going to possibly get across the fact that Tony is so much more than just a suit of iron, just a part of a team, just a fling to Steve. Because he is now; he’s something bright in Steve’s eyes, and it’s bordering on insane the amount of times Steve’s hands itch for charcoal and lead, to sketch the heavy lines of Tony’s face, capture the twirl of hair, and the downturned lips. And, of course, how much he wants to feel Tony against him, both in sleep and outside, in the mansion, possibly in public. It’s frightening and exhilarating and Steve kind of wishes that Bucky was here, to talk him through it and explain that, yes, Steve is in love with Tony, and that no, he will never be able to tell Tony this because Tony will most likely freak out and lock himself in his workshop and not talk to Steve for weeks.
Steve looks down, at the soft play of shadows on Tony’s face. Imaginary Bucky is right; Tony would react like he does to anything that shows him honest affection: he would run, he would hide, and then he would pretend it didn’t exist until it went away and stopped messing up his life-long idea of being alone. It frustrates Steve, sometimes, to think that Tony spent so long with nothing tangible to hold onto, save Pepper, and, of course, Peggy, but that’s something else Steve isn’t quite ready to deal with yet.
He sighs, presses a soft kiss to the top of Tony’s head, and says, “You know, I hate that you think you have to hide when you’re around me, and I hate that you constantly feel like I’m going to abandon you, and I hate that no matter what I say, or what I do, those scars won’t fade. I hate that I can only say these words to you while you’re sleeping, that if I ever said them to you when you were awake, there is a good chance you would punch me in the face and run. I hate that you were hurt so deeply when you were young and that you can’t let it go now that you’re older. I hate that you constantly put yourself in danger without any idea of the repercussions.
“I hate that I love you so much and I’ll never be able to tell you.”
Closing his eyes, Steve lets himself be lulled back to sleep by Tony’s even breaths, finding a strange sense of peace now that he’s said his share. Even if Tony hasn’t heard it, it is out there now.
--
He makes a habit of it, then, to say all the things he can’t say to Tony during the day to him when he’s sleeping. It’s cathartic, peaceful even, when he can whisper his love into Tony’s temple and be safe in the knowledge that Tony sleeps like the dead after they’ve been together.
But sometimes, especially when Tony is neglecting sleep and food and sanity to work on some project down in his workshop, Steve contemplates telling him. Contemplates what might happen, has the conversation over and over in his head, picking at all the possible scenarios and ways Tony might react. He doesn’t have Tony’s brilliant mind for numbers, but Steve is a tactician to the core, and it frustrates him when he can’t find the correct solution to his problem with Tony.
So, he keeps with talking to Tony at night, sure in his knowledge that Tony will never find out because Tony can’t. Imaginary Bucky tsks at him and calls him a coward. Steve, sadly, has to agree with him.
--
Steve learns, three nights in, why Tony won’t sleep upstairs in his parent’s room. He’s forced awake by Tony moving in his sleep, little jerking motions that brush against Steve and stop him from falling back asleep. Tony turns his head to the side, eyes squinted shut, mouth open in some semblance of words. His hands twitch, sharp, staccato movements, and then Steve is shoved away, shoved back, and Tony starts tearing at his chest.
Startling, Steve spends precious seconds just watching, confusion and fascination warring with each other, and when Tony finally lets loose a small whimper, Steve brain restarts. He knows, from the many lectures he had in the army, that waking a person trapped in a nightmare via touch is a definite no. He scoots forward on the bed, catches sight of Tony’s finger scrambling frantically at the arc reactor, and tries to remember what his drill sergeant taught him.
Tony makes another noise, one of pain, and his fingers gouge into the edges of the arc reactor, splitting skin. Steve panics.
“Tony, Tony, come on, wake up. You’re here, with me, not wherever you think you are. Stop that now, you’re hurting yourself,” Steve says. Tony continues, becoming more frantic, blood pearling around the edge of the reactor and the glow becomes more sinister and Steve wants to touch, wants to bring Tony out of it, but he can’t. “Tony, come on, quiet now, just let it go. Let the dream go. I’m here.”
Tony shudders, entire body going slack, and then he sits up with a jolt. Steve watches him, fingers itching to touch, but he waits. Tony scrubs at his face, a quick one-two over his eyes, and then touches lightly on the scratches he’s caused in his sleep. Breathing out, he goes to move from the bed and suddenly realizes Steve is there.
They stare at each other, Tony’s eyes haunted and dark, and Steve finally gets a hold of Tony’s hand. Tony laughs, bitter. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course. Just a little dream,” Tony says, removing his hand. “Excuse me.”
His steps are soft on the carpet, but his movements too jerky, too frightened, and Steve scrambles to follow. Tony slams the bathroom door behind him, turning the lock loud enough for Steve to hear, and Steve sighs, pressing his forehead against the door.
“If you want, we can talk about it,” he says. Tony laughs on the other side of the door.
“Talking is the last thing I want, Rogers. Go back to bed. I’ll join you after.”
Steve whispers, “Liar,” but does as Tony asks.
Tony doesn’t come back to bed.
In the morning, Steve eats breakfast alone, and no matter how many times he asks for Jarvis to pinpoint Tony for him, he can’t seem to find him. The workshop is empty, save Dummy, and he pats the robot absently on the head when Dummy tugs at him in excitement. Further prompting shows him just how frigid the AI can get, and Steve climbs the stairs back to their shared room, biting at his lip. He passes Clint, trying on a bright purple cowl and looking genuinely annoyed by this.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have changed our routine,” Steve says, and Clint blinks at him.
“Talking to yourself again, Captain?”
Steve smiles. “Yes and no. Do you think routines should be changed?”
“Depends on the routine.” Clint struggles with the cowl. “Take this costume, for example. Stark made it for me, and it’s quite ingenious, but it’s purple. Bright purple. How am I supposed to snipe someone when I stand out like a petunia? See, if he changed up a few things, then it would be a great cowl, and a great costume. Change, in this instance, is good.”
“But that’s not routine,” Steve points out. Clint scowls at him.
“It doesn’t have to be routine for me to want it changed. I think he did this on purpose.” Clint sighs and tucks the cowl into his belt. “So what routine are we talking here?”
“Tony’s sleeping habits.”
“Thought you solved that with the whole ‘steal-all-the-couch-pillows-and-not-tell-Clint-you-had-sex-on-them’ strategy. I am still pissed at the both of you about that,” Clint says.
Steve laughs. “And I made sure to dry clean them before putting them back. Do you think I should revert back to our usual routine? You know, with Tony sleeping on the couch?”
“Again, it depends,” Clint says. “Did something happen that would make reverting back a necessity? If so, then go for it. If not, work through the issue and sleep in the damn bed. I don’t like thinking you two might have sex in the living room, where I watch television and generally be around only television related sex things. You two classify as something I do not want to see. Ever.”
Shaking his head, Steve continues on to his bedroom. “Go find Tony and get him to fix your cowl. While you’re at it, get him to come see me.”
“Make him find you yourself!” Clint shouts, but he jogs down the stairs anyway.
Steve sighs when he enters the bedroom, noting the still crumpled sheets from when he couldn’t fall back asleep, and the bright speckles of blood from when Tony tore at himself. He strips the bed with quick, efficient movements, hiding the marks with angry jerks of his hands. He sighs and closes his eyes. There’s a cough behind him and he turns.
“Hey,” Tony says, soft. Steve smiles at him.
“Hey. Where have you been all day?”
Tony moves further into the room, and Steve can see that he’s wearing at least three shirts today. The arc reactor’s glow is completely muffled. Tony steps in front of him and picks at the sheet. “Looking for a solution.”
“To what?” Steve asks. He catches Tony’s wrist, and Tony breathes deep.
“I don’t – I don’t like this room. There are reasons, many that you don’t know and that I’m not even close to divulging, but I don’t like this room. I don’t like that you’re in here and that I have to reconcile good memories with not so good memories and my mind is set up for that, it is, but it’s so difficult and I don’t want to waste unnecessary time trying to sort through the myriad of graphs and trauma charts and defense mechanisms to weed out all those unpleasant thoughts. So, I did what I do best.” Tony smiles at him and it’s fragile. “I made some minor adjustments to your room so we can forgo the whole me waking you up in the middle of the night because of nightmares thing.”
“Tony –”
“And it’s not like I didn’t take your tastes into consideration, because I’m very considerate like that, ridiculously so, actually, and I even gave you a fish tank because I saw you eyeing those fish in the store two days ago and Jarvis is able to control the temperature and the amount of food they eat and whether or not there are ideal conditions for breeding because Natasha said you were looking at books about breeding and –”
“Tony –”
“– I built a hideaway couch that slides into the wall and replaces itself with the bed and vice versa so I can stay up there and do my work, like you want me to, but when we start falling asleep, we can switch it to a bed and it’s quite ingenious –”
Steve kisses him.
It has the effect of shutting Tony up, but Steve can feel how badly he’s shaking, uncontrolled energy vibrating through his body like a power drill. He slows the kiss, keeps it simple and easy and feels Tony breathe out against his mouth in a sigh.
“I screwed up, didn’t I?” he says. He presses another kiss against Steve’s lips, keeping them there until Steve pulls back.
“No, no, Tony, you didn’t screw up anything. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I just wanted to suggest – I mean, I know you’re probably already seeing one after we had that discussion in the kitchen that one time – but did you find someone to talk to? About the nightmares? And the random habits?” Steve asks.
Tony fidgets against him. “Possibly.”
Sighing, Steve drops the sheet and gathers Tony in a hug. “Okay. Well, it’s all fine anyway. We’ll figure this out, and you won’t have to wander off in a huff again.”
“I’ll probably do it anyway,” Tony points out, voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder.
Steve presses a light kiss against Tony’s temple, hating that he can still feel that tremor in Tony’s body. “Probably. But it’s something I’m willing to help you with.”
Tony mutters something into his shirt that sounds possibly like I love you but is more likely Thank you and Steve wonders why imaginary Bucky is laughing in the back of his mind.