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People like to talk about your life flashing in front of your eyes before you die. It was true to some extent. Steve knew this for a fact. He could remember childhood memories of his mother's kiss on his forehead, running through the streets in high summer chasing Bucky's laugh, the newly added brightly glowing globe lights on the Brooklyn bridge illuminating the way as he walked alone when he should have been in bed—memories crashing through his mind with just as much impact as the plane had when it broke the chilling surface of the Atlantic. A new snapshot of his life appearing with every aching throb of whiplash.
What people didn't talk about was that your mind did this at other times too. Moments of breakthrough, realization, or heartbreak, or—so it would apparently seem—moments that were a combination of those things. It had been a simple question, all of three words, but the look on Tony's face and the honest doubt in his voice when he asked had triggered a chest tightening epiphany that had memories flashing through Steve’s mind with every thud of his suddenly racing heart.
Memories of Steve standing on the edge of a dilapidated walkway looking out into smoke filled blue skies as Tony had flown away to fix the failing aerial base. They had known each other for only a handful of days. Yet, Steve had jumped in alongside Tony, followed him into gunfire and wreckage, and waited for his orders. Waited for the next move of Tony’s genius plan, hoping and trusting that the other man knew what he was doing and was right.
At the time, Steve couldn't have said why, other than the moment dictated it, because looking into panels of charged sparking electronics Steve had been out of his element. There had been no choice but to follow the smoothly worded and calm orders given to him as Tony talked him through fixing the damaged fuse box full of blown circuit breakers. Minutes prior, they had been at each other’s throats, but in the moment of action—Steve had trusted Tony.
The same way he had trusted no one else to save an entire city being hurled into the sky. Steve had charged into battle and done his best with damage control. Steve had protected civilians and beat as many monstrous robots as he could, all the while a small voice in the back of his mind telling him, “we will win, Tony can fix this.” Tony had in many ways been the accidental trigger for everything in Sokovia, but it hadn’t mattered.
The day prior, they had fought, traded verbal lashings and come a hair's breadth away from it turning physical. That was the furthest thing from Steve's mind in the moment. On the field, in this life they had forged as partners, Steve would always rely on Tony. Would always hold faith that he could and would fix things in time.
Faith that Steve had not had in the government, not after everything in DC. When Tony had laid down the thick book full of pompous wording that comprised the Sokovia Accords—it had never been Tony, Steve didn’t trust. He trusted Tony, trusted the other man had been precise and persuasive with his influence over the document. Trusted that Tony truly thought it was best. It wasn’t the idea Steve had taken issue with. It was the people in power behind it.
Steve knew Tony, inside and out. With all of his flaws, insecurities, and scars—his laugh both snarky and genuine, his mannerisms and looks that went well beyond mere trust between them. What Steve didn’t know was anything about the governments trying to put them on a leash. All he knew was that people in power could be corrupted. That was something he had experienced himself, and seen forced upon his brother. That he did trust, and had trusted more than Tony in the moment. A classic and tragic version of “it's not you, it's me.”
So really, was it any wonder after so many years of choppy relations and separation, Tony had looked at him with eyes wrinkling at the corners, and mouth downturned even as he’d asked? It was a simple question. All of three words that had broken Steve’s heart to hear spoken with such sincerity.
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“If you do this, and it doesn’t work—you're not coming back,” Scott reminded them, looking panicked, his grip shaky where he held the staff.
“Thanks for the pep talk Piss Ant,” Tony snipped, clearly not appreciating being second guessed. He paused then looked back at Steve. “...You trust me?”
The question made Steve’s heart skip a beat, his ears ringing sharply, and eyes glazing for but a moment. Did he trust Tony? After everything they had been through, everything they had done together, everything—
Action bypassed thought as Steve reached up and slid his hand around the back of Tony’s head. He pulled him in and at first Tony resisted, but Steve saw the shock leave his face—saw realization and relief flood his eyes.
“I do,” Steve answered, tone firm and simple, and the words touched Tony’s lips milliseconds before Steve’s did.
The kiss was relatively simple. A solid connection of their mouths, lips meshed together in a classically wholesome fashion that spoke of love and familiarity. Steve pulled back, but Tony kept him there. His hand darted up and gripped firmly around the back of Steve’s neck, maintaining the touch for a few moments longer before he finally shifted back.
“Your call,” Tony reassured, holding Steve’s eyes as his hand slid down the other man’s neck, fingers grazing along his suit’s collar before dropping away.
“Here we go.” Steve’s words were as grounded as the kiss had been. Zero doubt in his mind that Tony had this. It might be a bumpy ride, might get rough along the way, but that didn’t matter because in the end—
Steve trusted Tony to bring them home again.