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It's getting harder to sleep these days. That's one of many reasons Tony spends most nights in the lab. Besides, now that the bed upstairs is empty, he doesn't really see the appeal in trying to sleep. Ever since Extremis, things between himself and Pepper have been tough, and he hasn't been able to give everything up entirely. He definitely can't give up Iron Man, which has only led to sleepless nights for the both of them, more panic attacks for him, and Pepper being in more danger. She finally decided she'd had enough and went to live with her sister upstate.
He doesn't blame her, but he does miss her. If not for the relationship, he at least misses the companionship. Being alone in this house is terrifying. Being alone with his thoughts leaves him aching in ways he didn't know a human could ache.
Sometimes, when he's lost in the depths of his projects, Tony can forget he's human. For just a little bit. For a couple hours, drenched in the sounds of metal on metal and the smell of grease in gears, he can feel peace. It feels like maybe he's where he belongs, for just a little bit.
He's never let himself think too heavily on it, because that ventures far too deeply into his own psyche, and Tony Stark has never been a man to get philosophical with himself, but there's a certain kinship he feels for his machines. He doesn't think it's similar to the way a mechanic feels for the cars they fix up, or an IT guy feels for his computers.
No, this is something deeper. Tony feels as though he could be- should have been -one with these hunks of metal and wire. As though the body he was given has always been a falsehood in a way he'll never be able to explain to a partner, friend, or therapist.
He's not about to try and become a robot or anything. He knows he's human. Man of flesh and bone. But there's something in him that misses that mechanical heart now that it's gone. Something that feels so wrong now that he's not humming with the same energy as his machines. He was whole, or at least closer to it, when he had his reactor, and it took getting rid of it to realize as much.
Sure, the machine was keeping shrapnel away from his heart and now that the need is gone, what's the point? But…
If he'd ever thought to bring any of these thoughts up to Pepper, he thinks she might have left sooner. She might have demanded he buy her bus ticket, actually. As it was, she made her own way out, even though he offered. He didn't want to. He didn't want to lose her, but when he was certain that no amount of trying to negotiate her staying was going to work, he'd bowed his head in defeat and offered to at least buy the ticket that would get her where she needed to go. To get her there safely. It was the least he could do. Because he does still love her.
She had refused. Packed her bags. Quit the company. Bought her own ticket. Walked right out of his life.
And Tony was left alone with his machines once more. Except now, the machines aren't helping like they used to. His mechanical heart is gone and his close connection to his lab feels shattered. He feels like a man lost and out of place. He doesn't belong here. Doesn't belong anywhere here.
Dragging himself out of his lab and up to the empty living area, where he's still debating what he wants to do with the new house after everything that went down, he sinks to the floor against the nearest wall, staring across the room, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
“Shall I call someone, Sir?” JARVIS speaks up. It's rare the AI offers this solace, but it's programmed to know when Tony shouldn't be alone.
“Rhodey's busy, and Happy's out of town,” Tony mumbles. “And Pepper wants nothing to do with me.”
“There is one option, Sir. One person in town who may come. I can try his number.”
Tony looks up, confused, then scrubs a hand down his face. He knows he shouldn't be alone right now. He aches so badly, in so many ways that aren't physical. He nods softly. “Okay,” comes the soft whisper, already broken. He doesn't know who JARVIS has in mind, but at this point, he doesn't care.
When the door opens around 30 minutes later, Tony wonders just what JARVIS said to get Steve to actually show up. They're not the best of friends. Hell, they're not really friends. They're acquaintances who have worked together to stop an alien invasion, really. It's not that Tony doesn't like the idea of maybe being friends with Steve, but there is that lingering irritation every time he thinks of the other. That memory of Howard's pride.
He swallows that back and looks over at the other man, seeing the softness in those eyes that he doesn't remember from that day in New York. It's even in the line of his jaw as Steve comes closer. As the Captain crouches in front of Tony and reaches for him, only to pause with his hands partly outstretched, worry creasing his brow.
“Stark?”
Tony frowns. Does he really look that bad? Well, he is having some trouble breathing right now, so maybe he doesn't look all that great. Maybe a bit more pale than usual. And is that his heartbeat? Christ. It's loud. Can Steve hear it, because Tony certainly can.
“Hey, Tony?”
Steve's voice sounds almost far away, and Tony doesn't know what to make of that. He's right there. Shouldn't he sound like he's right there? Why does it sound like he's whispering across the subway?
Finally, as though he's thought it through with great care, Steve puts a hand on Tony's shoulder. The warmth from that palm blossoms from the point of contact, spreading down into Tony's chest and reminding him that human contact can be okay. It doesn't always hurt. This isn't hurting him, after all. It didn't burn him to have Steve's hand on him just now.
In fact, it's kind of nice. He hasn't had a gentle touch since long before Pepper left.
He looks up, trying to define Steve's features through the fog that clouds his vision. He thinks maybe it's because there's just too much static, too much debris. There's too much on the lens. But then, what lens?
No, he's stuck in a loop is what it is. Even though he can see Steve, the wormhole is there, dark and menacing just past Steve's shoulder, and it's more in focus than Steve's face. Tony needs to fix that.
He draws a shaky breath, but it's not enough. It feels like wet soot pulling through an equally wet paper towel, and he tries again, far too soon. Still, there's no luck. The wormhole looms, dangerous and hungry, and Tony can't breathe.
He couldn't breathe then, either. In space. In the void of it all. He couldn't hear, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She didn't answer.
He gasps, feeling a little more air enter his lungs, but it's still not enough. It's never enough.
And then Steve's other hand is on his other shoulder and Steve's face is filling his entire vision and the wormhole is behind Steve, in the distance, farther away. Steve is speaking to him. He's saying something, but Tony can't hear him. He doesn't understand what Steve is saying and that's making things worse because he should be able to hear him, shouldn't he? He's right fucking there, so why can't he understand him?
Steve's hands move to the sides of his face, palms rough and calloused, from throwing and catching that shield no doubt, but still warm and comforting. Still so much more than Tony ever expected him to be. He always thought his father's favorite would be so much more cold.
He focuses on Steve's eyes. Blue. With some green, but more blue than anything else. Blue and soft and filled with worry. He can't hear what Steve is saying, but those eyes are calling to Tony. Telling him to come back. To come home.
Is this house home? Or is Steve home right now? Is it just Earth to which Steve wants Tony to return? Or is it specifically here, to Steve's arms? Why would he go there? Tony's never been in Steve's arms before, so he wouldn't be returning.
He feels himself getting dizzy, lack of oxygen starting to take its toll. There's a buzzing in his head and he hurts so bad. Then, a sharp sound that rings out above all of it. Stronger than anything else.
“Breathe, Tony!”
Steve's voice hits him with full force as the man squeezes his upper arm with a bit more force than he normally would. That might bruise later, Tony notes, but his lungs suddenly start working again and he gulps in an enormous bit of air, almost choking on it, eyes searching Steve's concerned expression.
“Good,” Steve sighs, his grip loosening. “Keep going, Tony. That's it. Good start. Nice deep breaths in.”
And Tony listens. Because really, could Captain America be wrong? Howard saw something in him. And Tony needs to breathe. Everyone does. It makes sense.
Steve really is brilliant. Tony can't deny that. And as Steve shifts them both until Tony's back is against Steve's chest, Steve's breaths helping to regulate Tony's better in this position, Tony can't deny that Steve is more than brilliant. Steve is compassionate and kind and all the things everyone says he is.
And Tony kind of hates him for it? Because he hates that everyone was right. But he also loves that everyone was right about Steve, because it means all of that led to this moment right now, with Steve breathing against Tony's back and Tony slowly coming down from his panic. Slipping back to earth and away from the wormhole.
If it hadn't been for Steve, Tony would still be floating endlessly in space, choking on his tongue, sobbing.
He reaches up, hand shaking, and touches the tips of his fingers to his cheek. There's wetness there he knows is from crying. He knows it because he can feel the overall exhaustion that creeps into the body from crying. The ache in the eyes that makes him want to close them. There's a grit there.
He lets his eyes close, because Steve has a good, firm hold on him, and what could go wrong now? Steve is here and Tony is safe. Is this how people felt? When Steve saved them back in the early days?
“You're doing good, Tony,” Steve murmurs, the rumble of his voice against Tony's back bringing warmth throughout Tony's body. “Just keep breathing for me, pal.” A warm hand touches his cheek then, a thumb brushing tears away. “You'll be alright. I won't let anything happen to you.”
No. No, Steve won't. Steve will protect him. Steve is loyal and kind and protective and he won't let anything happen to the people he cares about. And for some twisted reason, Steve cares about Tony. Tony won't question it. He really needs someone to care about him right now, after all. He's so tired of being alone.
“Thank you,” Tony manages through shuddering breaths, his voice almost lost to the air around them before it makes a sound. Still, he knows Steve will hear it. Steve and his super soldier hearing.
Steve's grip on Tony tightens, arms wrapping around his middle as he pulls Tony closer. There's so much warmth, and a sense of belonging here. Tony doesn't want to leave this safe place in the other man's arms. He knows he'll have to, eventually, but right now…
“I had a friend,” Steve whispers, “during the war. He got taken captive shortly after being deployed. We got him back, but he was never exactly the same. He had panic attacks. Nightmares. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night on missions more often than I could count to the sounds of him. Crying or trying to hide. I would hold him like this. Try to calm him down. It didn't always work out as well as right now, but when it did, it was worth it.”
Tony can feel something tighten in his chest. He fights back the images of the caves. Captive. He hadn't even been thinking about that. Just the wormhole. And to think- Well of course Steve knew men who'd been in similar situations. Hell, probably so much worse than what Tony had faced. It was the second World War. Tony just got tortured in a cave for a bit. Those men were tormented by Nazis.
“I'm glad he had you,” Tony says softly. Because anything else he can think to say is hollow and childish and he's smarter than that. Apologies don't matter this far down the road, and Tony wasn't there anyway. Steve can't get those days or those people back, but at least he was there when he was needed. At least that man had someone like Steve in his darkest moments. Like Steve is here now.
“If it's any consolation,” Tony adds quietly, “you're damn good at this. I imagine he was pretty grateful, if you were like this for him. I know I'm grateful for you.”
Steve's body tenses behind Tony, and for a moment, he worries he said the exact wrong thing. Then, Steve takes a slightly deeper breath and lets it out with a soft chuckle. “I wish I could have done more for him,” he admits. “But I'm glad I can be here for you now.”
Tony shifts slightly, taking a slow breath. He tilts his head, resting his ear against Steve's chest, listening to his heart. “You were close.” It's no question. He knows. He can tell. He knows how it feels. He's got Rhodey, of course. He knows exactly how it feels to love another man so deeply, you'd give up everything to see him smile once more time.
Steve chuckles again. “We grew up together,” he says. “He was my best friend. I would have done anything for him.”
Tony's quiet for a second, then lets out a chuckle of his own. “You went behind enemy lines for him, didn't you?”
“You've read my bio,” Steve teases.
Tony blinks. “Uh- No. Sorry. Is it in there? I just- I've read most of it? But there wasn't anything mentioned about that? I can tell, though. The way you talk about him. And you said he was captured, but you got him back. You went to get him yourself.”
Steve nods. “I did. Against orders. I wasn't even supposed to be in combat.”
“But for him,” Tony offers.
“For Buck? I would have taken down hundreds of tanks.”
Tony smiles and sighs. “I think he knew,” he says. “You're not the kind of guy who can hide your feelings so easily. I think he definitely knew you cared for him. Even if you feel like you didn't do enough, I think he was well aware you were trying.”
Steve nods softly against Tony's head, resting his chin for a moment. He doesn't say anything, but Tony doesn't expect him to. He doesn't really expect anything in this moment. He's not looking for a thank you. Hell, Steve's the one who deserves thanks. Without him, Tony would be huddled under a table somewhere.
“I wish I could have kept him safe just a little longer,” Steve manages after a moment, and the catch in his throat makes Tony turn, gaze locking onto Steve's watery blue eyes right as he blinks the tears down his own cheeks. “I lost him.”
Not a normal loss, either. This wasn't because Steve went down in the ice and fell out of time. Steve lost this Buck guy before that. Buck died, and it still hurts Steve. Tony's not so dense he can't see that.
Tony shifts, pulling himself out of Steve's grasp, and turns to face him better. He reaches up and runs his thumb along Steve's cheek, smiling softly at him as he brushes away a tear.
“You never lose someone completely,” he says gently. “Their physical parts may be gone, but if you keep them alive through their memories, you're never going to lose them. You remember him. You keep telling his jokes to others. You keep his old advice close to your heart. He won't ever leave you.”
Steve looks up, a soft, sad smile on his lips. “And they said you were a narcissistic ass who only cared about himself.”
“Oh, I am,” Tony corrects quickly. “But I'm working on myself.” He winks at Steve, and the other man laughs again, shaking his head. “I've had to learn a lot about loss in my life,” Tony adds. “I figure it's only fair I share what I know with the man who just saved me from spiraling.”
Tony pushes himself carefully to his feet, trying not to sway when he realizes they're still a little asleep from having been sitting half on them for a while. He holds a hand out to Steve.
“Buy you lunch?” he offers. “You can tell me all about Buck over some burgers.”