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Tony was so used to living on the knife’s edge that he often wondered if he would even know how to live any other way. To wake up and not be constantly afraid that he’d made a wrong move, said the wrong thing, looked the wrong way. If – when, he promised himself, when he got out – who would he be? He stared into his glass and tried to imagine going out on a date; ever since it had been made clear to him that any love interest was going to be held hostage to Tony’s good behavior, he hadn’t had anything but quick, anonymous encounters, no names and never the same person twice.
Apparently tonight was the night to get maudlin, Tony thought to himself as he emptied the glass and poured himself some more. Downstairs, something with a lot of base came on the radio and he heard the party crowd cheer. He lay his head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he should give in and have a pity party or go downstairs and pretend to party. Stane liked it when it looked like Tony partied too hard; Tony figured it made him seem easily controlled.
“Tony? Are you alright?”
Tony lolled his head to the side and watched Steve come out of the shadows. “Of course,” he drawled. “There’s a party downstairs in my honor, why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Pepper said you were up here with an important phone call, but you’re just drinking alone in the dark,” Steve said. He took the seat across from Tony and stretched his legs out, lacing his fingers across his chest.
“Just got off the phone,” Tony lied. “And I’m not alone anymore, am I? Want a drink?”
For a moment, Tony was sure that Steve would refuse, but after a split second he shrugged and said, “Sure.” When Tony waved his glass towards the drinkware on the side bar, he got up and poured himself some of Tony’s whiskey. “You know, you fake it a lot better than Bucky did,” Steve said conversationally as he sat back down, and it was all Tony could do not to flinch in surprise.
“What do you mean?” Tony forced himself to laugh in amusement. “Faking it? I guess you haven’t reached the etiquette portion of your Welcome to the 20th Century class, but you’re never supposed to accuse someone of faking it.”
“I found him drinking at a bar one night, and he looked a lot like you do now,” Steve continued as if Tony hadn’t said anything. He took a sip of whiskey and made a noise of appreciation. “Lost. Desperate. Tired. And instead of asking, I let him cover it with a joke and a smile. We’re at war, I thought. We could all die tomorrow, from a bullet or a cannon or an air raid. What point is there to talk about it?” Steve didn’t seem to expect an answer, which was good because Tony was frozen in his seat, heart in his throat. Steve was seeing far too fucking much for a man who had only known Tony for a few weeks, and his usual defenses were weakened by alcohol. “When things kept getting worse, I kept making excuses. ‘Things will be better after the war.’ ‘I’ll ask on the next mission, the next time we’re alone.’ But then he died, and I never got the chance to ask.” Steve sat forward and rolled his glass between his hands. “So now I’m asking, before it’s too late. Are you alright?”
“No,” Tony said. “I’m not. I’m scared. I’m exhausted. And I have to pretend everything is ok because I’m fucking Iron Man, I’m Tony Stark. I’m the hero,” he spat, and the honesty felt so good that he felt his throat start to close up. Steve was watching, Steve was seeing him and it was thrilling and terrifying and Tony didn’t want it to stop. He was so tired of carrying this alone and suddenly here was Steve, with his broad shoulders and old-soul eyes. He was too new to this century to have an agenda for being here and that gave Tony the deceitful feeling that he was safe. “If I fuck up, even a little, people die.”
“Is this because of Loki and the Chitauri?” Steve sat up and leaned forward, gaze sharp and sincere. “You almost died, and that’s the kind of thing that stays with a person.”
Tony looked back at him helplessly. Words were pressed so thickly in the back of his throat he thought he could choke on them: I’d fight the Chitauri every day of the week and twice on Sundays, because at least the Chitauri looked like the monsters that they were. Almost died? Dying would have been a mercy, I was going to die a hero. For a moment he teetered on the edge of confession, but the thought of Steve’s sympathetic look turning to a look of revulsion made him shy back. He didn’t know if Steve’s uncompromisingly moral world view had room for someone like him. Tony set his glass down to press the heel of his hands against his eyes, trying to hold back the embarrassing sting of tears. “Well, it’s not the first time,” Tony said when he was sure that his voice would be steady. “Stiff upper lip and all that. I’ll be fine.”
“You will,” Steve said firmly, so sure of it that Tony could almost believe it would be true.
Tony cleared his throat, and when he brought his hands back down to take a fortifying sip of whiskey, all of his defenses were back in place. “So what did you need? Somehow I don’t see you being part of the party crowd, so you must have been looking for me for a reason.”
“Right. I wanted to tell you that I’m moving to DC. I’m going to take a job with SHIELD.”
“Oh?” Tony wasn’t expecting that, but he wasn’t surprised. Hydra would want to keep a wild card like Steve Rogers under close watch. “Why SHIELD? Why not back to the good old US Army?”
Steve looked down at the glass of whiskey his hands. “Apparently SHIELD grew out of what the Howling Commandos were doing during the war,” he said. “Peggy was one of the earliest directors, and they made Bucky an honorary founder. So it seems like a natural fit.
He thought about telling Steve the truth. James Buchanan Barnes didn’t die in the Alps. He died on an operating table, in more ways than one. But did he really want Steve to pull that thread? Come too close, and Hydra would see him as a threat to be eliminated; right now, they were clearly confident that they could control him with this move to DC.
Tony pressed the glass of whiskey against his temple. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of Steve going to DC, of him stumbling through this new century while the wolves circled just out of sight. “You should stay in New York,” he blurted. “At the Tower, I mean.” He’d figure out how to spin it to Stane and the rest later. “It’s…” safer, he was going to say, but that would just lead to more questions. “New York will need a lot of rebuilding,” he said instead. “I think it’s important for us to be a part of that. SHIELD will still be there later. DC can wait.”
Steve had tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at Tony’s suggestion, but the skepticism was fading. “Sure,” he said finally. “DC can wait.”
“Good. You know what, I’m going to turn in.” Tony put down the whiskey and stood, suddenly afraid what else might come out of his mouth if he stayed. Help me, perhaps. Save me.
Stop me.