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Today has brought about several very important life lessons that Tony’s not entirely sure how he’s missed up to this point.
Lesson the first: Steve Rogers is fucking insane.
Lesson the second: Steve Rogers is seriously, scarily, terrifyingly sane.
Lesson the third: the two are really hard to tell apart, especially when Bucky is added to the mix.
It’s Bucky who holds out a bag of frozen peas in his metal hand, quietly serious in his brooding, stoic super-assassin like way and yet somehow remarkably concerned with the state of Tony’s face.
It’s a world apart from Steve, who looks both too big and too small for the doorway he is standing in, his expression in part both sheepish and self-loathing.
Lesson the forth: Tony does not have a monopolself-hatredatred. Who’d have figured?
Tony takes the frozen peas and holds the bag gingerly up to his face. “Ow,” he says, because yes, ow, and also cold.
“You’ll live,” Steve tells him. Steve, for a guy whose heart bleeds so quickly and freely, is an unsympathetic son of a bitch sometimes.
“I don’t like you,” Tony says somewhat nasally. He thinks Bucky might have broken his nose at some point. “It’s the only plan we’ve got, he says,” Tony grumbles, “We need to make a show of disunity, he says, let me punch you in the face, Tony, he says. Your plans suck.”
Steve shrugs awkwardly. Tony gave as good as he got but unlike him, Steve doesn’t bruise like an overripe peach, and with the exception of a little grime from the debris, looks as fit and fucking front cover ready as he did before they maybe kind of pretended to try and kill each other. Tony is in no way lying when he says he hates Steve a whole lot for that.
“Plan worked,” Steve points out. Which, fine, okay so it worked. That’s beside the point right now. The point being Tony might have a fractured cheekbone and the peas aren’t pulling their weight and making it hurt any less.
“Suck,” Tony repeated himself. “Is my nose broken?”
“I can fix it for you?” Steve offers, looking properly remorseful now.
Tony holds his hand up in alarm. “No thank you! You take your terrible plans and stay over there buddy. Way over there.”
Bucky seems to think he’s included in that because he makes to join Steve on the other side of the room. “Not you,” Tony says. “I like you. You can stay. You didn’t try cave my head in with a giant patriotic frisbee.”
“You shot me in the face!” Steve protests. “I think we’re even.”
Okay, yes, true, but also, “Only a little bit!”
“More than once.”
Also true.
“You double teamed me! Which, poor choice of words there but next time maybe a better option than the whole 'let’s beat up Tony' routine?” It would probably have the same outcome. Possibly. The headlines would be interesting.
“I’m sorry I punched you in the dick,” Bucky says with utter deadpan seriousness. He’s absolutely going to take top spot on Tony’s list of favorite Geriatric Supersoldiers. Steve should watch his back.
“Appology accepted,” Tony says. “You see Steven? Two words. I’m. Sorry. Not difficult.”
That startles Steve into moving out of the doorway. “Tony,” he says, his sad patriotic pout a thing of utter misery, “of course I’m sorry! I said... I thought you heard me-“
“I’m most likely concussed,” Tony says, a little sourly. “From the frisbee to the head.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, crouching down next to him, one big hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “It was the only way. Now we can regroup and maybe get to the bottom of all this before anyone else gets hurt.”
“Huff,” Tony says, loudly and pointedly. It makes his cheek throb.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, honest and earnest and so like him Tony remembers who he really is, not who he sometimes has to be. “And I’m sorry about Rhodey.”
Tony is absolutely not thinking about Rhodey. Except maybe he might have been when shooting Steve in the face (a little bit).
He changes the subject, but is no less sincere because of it. “I’m sorry I shot you in the face a little bit.”
“I put him in the hospital,” Bucky reminds him, “Steve’s a dumb fuck who doesn’t take things personally when he probably should.” He pauses, frowns, then adds, “and then gets into fights over things that have nothing to do with him.”
“Thanks,” Steve says dryly. “I think.”
“I’m sorry I put you in a big glass box,” Tony says to Bucky, because if they are doing this whole apology circle then it's only fair.
“I’m sorry I broke it,” Bucky says.
“I’m sorry I threw a helicopter at you,” he adds, this time to Steve.
“I’m sorry I broke your bike,” Bucky pipes up.
“I’m sorry I - wait, you did what to my bike?”
“Point is,” Steve cuts in, “none of us enjoyed it. But we did it because we had to. Because we trust each other and we’ve got each other’s backs.”
Tony shakes his head. It feels like maybe it’s going to fall off. “My god, you’re sickening. You’re like a bowl full of ice cream with all the sprinkles and half a bottle of fudge sauce it’s disgusting I don’t know how you put up with it.” He says the last part to Bucky, who shrugs his shoulders.
“He’s great in the sack. Makes up for a lot.”
Tony laughs and nods and then.
“Wait, what? You guys are…like…that's a thing? When did that become a thing? How did I not know that was a thing? Oh my god, did you have sex on the back of my bike? Is that why my bike is dead? Did you kill it with all the rhythm gymnastic super soldier sex?”
“I think he has a concussion,” Steve says loudly to Bucky, ignoring the questions and rising to his feet.
“Probably,” Bucky agrees, following Steve to the doorway.
“Are you two going to have sex now?” Tony demands rather shrilly, suddenly unsure if he wants to cover his ears and close his eyes or maybe possibly watch (and give pointers). “I’m not having sex! How is that fair? I don’t think that’s fair at all! Rogers? Rogers!”
“I’ll bring you some more peas,” Bucky says, leaving the room to the sound of Steve’s unmistakable laughter.
Lesson the fifth: next time Tony gets to shoot Steve Rogers, he’s going to do so more than just a little bit.