Work Text:
It had been sometime after the last Stark party that Steve noticed the decline in Tony-related accidents. There were no explosions, dissected microwaves, or mishaps with fire extinguishers.
There was nothing, really.
Tony had barely come up from his workshop but when he did, it was as if the life had been sucked out of him. His skin was toned with grey, and his eyes were dull. There were no lingering sparks of mischief in his eyes, no cocky smirks.
No voice.
Tony had said little more than a few words since the fundraiser. And that, perhaps, was what bothered Steve the most.
Because Tony loved to talk. It was what he did, and he did it well. He could weave stories, intricate and complex, but without tangling the webs of words and leaving points unelaborated. He could charm even the most jaded person, make them feel something, if only for a moment. He could make a dead man smile with his off-color humor.
Tony could talk. But now…now he wasn’t.
The other Avengers had noticed too of course. It was impossible not to. Even for someone like Natasha, who rarely spent time with the man.
He’d asked Bruce and Clint their thoughts on the matter, but neither had any real clue of what was going on. Thor had merely claimed that perhaps Tony was mourning the absence of Pepper, who was to be in China for a few weeks discussing a business deal.
And Steve might have believed that if A) Pepper didn’t leave for trips of the same duration multiple times a years and B) She and Tony were still dating. But as it was, she did, and they were not.
Natasha had muttered something about talking to him about it, but she came back with no answers. Though the concern was certainly eating away at her features.
“You go talk to him, Steve.” Natasha sighed, though a sense of urgency was underlying the defeated tone.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Steve said, not really wanting to for fear of being rejected.
“Maybe you two can work something out while you’re at it.” Natasha murmured, laying a supportive hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve heaved a dramatic sigh.
“How’d you know?” He asked.
“Because you’ve been eye fucking Tony since you laid eyes on him!” Clint called from somewhere above them.
Steve immediately glanced to the vents and scowled.
“If it makes you feel better, he’s been looking at you too.” Natasha murmured, a smile playing on the edge of her face.
Steve blushed, but shook their words away. “Fine. Lets just…get Tony sorted out first.”
With that, Steve left Natasha and headed towards the elevator, punching in the button for Tony’s workshop on autopilot.
“What is Tony’s status, JARVIS?” Steve asked, taking the opportunity to speak to the AI without eavesdroppers.
“Idle, Captain. Shall I inform him of your impending visit?”
“No.” Steve responded. The doors opened with a bing, and Steve stepped out.
The metallic sheen of the workshop door shone a blurred reflection of his casual khakis and polo shirt back at him, and Steve almost grumbled. Normally, Tony would have chastised him on his lack of fashion sense.
The pang of disappointment and confusion at that feeling were disregarded as Steve punched in his override code. He didn’t actually know the doors were locked, but given past interactions with Tony and his funks, he made an educated guess.
The doors opened, a satisfying whooshing sound making its way to his ears, and he stepped into the room.
“Tony?” Steve called.
Silence.
Steve stepped further into the room, running his hands along the counter as he walked. The workshop was actually clean, with no evidence of any active projects or modifications.
“Tony?” He tried again. A muffled grunt from the other side of the room drew his attention. “Where are you?”
“’m over here.”
“Thanks.” Steve said flatly, but walked towards the sound anyway. Tony was sprawled out on the couch, and though Steve expected him to reek of alcohol, he didn’t.
He did look sleep-deprived though. His skin still had a grey pallor, and his beard was untrimmed. Dark rings circled dull eyes, and his muscles were lax under a worn t-shirt and low-riding sweatpants.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked. Tony grunted. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Since the last party…what happened?”
“’m tired, Cap.” Tony murmured, sitting upright on the couch so he could look at Steve.
“Have you not been sleeping well?” Steve asked, kneeling down in front of him.
“Not that type of tired.”
Steve took a moment to look into Tony’s eyes, to try and understand.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked. Tony didn’t respond, except for letting his eyelids fall closed.
“Tired of acting, Steve.” Tony murmured. The admission wasn’t accidental or coated in bullshit like it normally would have been.
“Acting like what?” Steve asked, genuinely confused.
“Tony Stark.” Tony muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. The position made the man seem vulnerable.
“What-“ Steve asked, but cut himself off at the angry look in his teammate’s eyes.
“I’m tired of acting like the playboy, I’m tired of acting like I don’t give a shit when I really do, I’m tired of acting like I love attention when I grew up avoiding it!” Tony yelled, heaving a few harsh breaths in Steve’s face before continuing. “I’m tired of acting.”
“Then don’t.” Steve said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice, and the questions at bay until he could get Tony to a better place.
“You don’t get it!” Tony snapped. “I have to. Because Tony Stark is boring, but the Tony Stark isn’t. He’s an asshole and volatile and exactly what he needs to be to keep people’s eyes on him and the company.”
“But-“
“But nothing, Steve. And I was fine with it because I had to be fine with it, but I can’t be anymore.”
“I’m sure that Tony Stark,” Steve said, pointing to Tony. “Is just as interesting as the Tony Stark.”
Tony gave him a pitying look, as if he was a child that just couldn’t grasp a basic concept.
“So act like yourself Tony.”
“But that’s just it Steve.” Tony said with a sick sort of smile. “I’d still be acting because I’m already gone.”