Chapter Text
It is an unfortunate fact of Tony’s history that he’s familiar with the longing disease. Lung gardening. Hanahaki, or whatever other euphemism they’ve come up with lately to describe it.
Naming conventions aside, Tony’s knows well enough what the affliction feels like: the warning sting at the back of the throat that’s followed by the pressure of something that’s more personal, more vicious than mere phlegm. The body’s breathing apparatus has decided to betray its owner for the most ridiculous of reasons, and Tony’s had it enough times that he could be embarrassed, if he were the sort of person to be embarrassed by that sort of thing.
A cough, a heave, and then petals are cascading in a disgusting shower onto the conference room tabletop. At least the tabletop is glass, which is easy to clean, and Tony’s reflexes were fast enough that he’d pushed Hill’s paper folder of printouts out of the way.
Most people would be grateful to have their symptoms manifest in privacy. Those who do not, get used to the shocked silence that follows.
“Oh no,” comes Bruce’s voice from Tony’s left. Quiet, worried.
“Maybe—” Natasha clears her throat, businesslike, “—we can take five?”
“Ah, shit.” Tony straightens up and dabs at his mouth with a handkerchief. He eyes the pile of petals with a scowl, noting that they’re bright-colored blooms, as if he’s twenty years old all over again and doesn’t know any better. “Fantastic. Just what we needed today.”
“Yeah, we can take five—” Clint starts.
“As if we don’t have enough to do.” Tony sighs. “Goddammit, Steve.”
“What?” Steve says, a bewildered rise of voice from the far end of the table.
Being an old hat at surviving Hanahaki also means that Tony knows the faces he’ll see when he checks around the table. There’ll be surprise, concern, empathy and discomfort in various combinations, and Tony gets all of that and then some because the Avengers have already rolled with far greater inconveniences with grace.
“Look.” Tony takes one last cleaning swipe of his face with the handkerchief and drops it on the pile. “It’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you, but you gotta step up on this if we’re gonna make the flight out in time to follow Thor’s lead.”
“I, what—” Steve blinks twice, quick and robotic, before those same eyes widen.
Ah, so this is a surprise to Steve. Tony could try to look on the bright side of what that means, which is that he hasn’t been too openly ridiculous about his burgeoning crush on the good Captain. Unfortunately, that positive thinking is overridden by confirmation of the disease itself.
Tony thought this was just admiration. Yes, he knew what it meant that lately he’s been constantly looking forward to seeing/talking/working with Steve every day, but that was supposed to be no more significant than the simple joy of existing alongside one Steve Rogers. Idle baby bird feelings, to be nurtured like a treat, that’s all.
Well, good fucking going, Stark. What had Steve even been doing to make these feelings congeal? Squinting at Natasha’s planning slide with that stoic yet judgmental purse of the mouth that usually has Tony internally clapping his hands with glee?
That could do it.
“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid,” Tony says, waving off Steve’s bewilderment. “You don’t even like me as a human being, but I’m a masochist that way sometimes. Good news is, I’m also fickle, so it probably won’t be that hard to make me hate you. By this afternoon, hopefully? Or whenever you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll figure something out, but anyway this is still…” He eyes the pile of petals. “This is way early stages, we’ll have weeks, but the sooner the better.”
“What do you mean I don’t like you as a human being?” Steve says, as though that’s the most important part of what Tony just said.
“You need to be mean to me, okay?” Tony says.
Bafflement animates Steve’s normally poster-handsome face. Bafflement, and then offense, as though Tony just asked him to kick puppies, which Tony would never do, and anyway Tony isn’t a puppy. Steve can be mean, sometimes by accident and sometimes on purpose, and those candid moments are so rare – for Tony, at least, since the others know Steve far better than Tony ever could – though Tony has and does treasure every single one.
Unfortunately, this thought sends a wave of affection rolling through Tony’s brain, which is followed by a wave of petals rolling out of Tony’s mouth. And this time they do destroy Hill’s folder of printouts.
He recovers faster this time, which may or may not be helped by Bruce patting his back gently.
“Sorry, correction.” Tony wheezes through an inhale. “You need to be mean to me, and not in a sexy way.”
“What does that—?” Steve starts.
“Stark means that you need to be cruel to him in order to stunt his feelings for you,” Thor says, nodding solemnly. “But to take care to not use language that he’d find sexually enthralling. ‘Tis a fine line, indeed, I understand the challenge there.”
“Thor,” Bruce says.
“What?” Thor says.
“Right,” Clint says, “I think we should not be here for this.”
“We were finishing anyway.” Tony stands up and shoves all the petals into the folder that will be going into the trash pronto. “I need to do a health scan but you guys can keep going with that entry route, and let me know what you’ve decided before suit up, yeah?“
“Tony,” Steve says. “You’re—that’s dangerous—”
“Yes, yes, I am aware,” Tony says irritably. “Romanoff, have my back?”
“We do face death on the regular,” Natasha says. “This is manageable.”
“See.” Tony points at Steve. “I’ll work on my part, but you have to do yours. Mean. You can do it, I believe in you. Just maybe… don’t use Howard?” He winces. “No, you should probably use Howard. Anyway, I’ll be in lab, give me a buzz if there’s anything.”
Tony goes with a careless wave over his shoulder, and waits until he’s out of the room and a safe distance away before he lets himself groan in agony.
It could’ve gone worse, sure, but it’s just his luck that Steve had to find out at all.