Archive of Our Own

Steve liked the serenity of chaos in Tony’s workshop. It was always calm there, even when Tony was busy destroying something with a blowtorch or when he was blasting his music at volumes that would destroy the eardrums of lesser human beings. Tony projected a calm that was almost all encompassing when he was in his workshop; maybe this was because it was Tony’s place and Tony thought that nothing could go wrong there. Well, Steve reflected, things could definitely go wrong in Tony’s workshop. Steve had been witness to several explosions, fires and electrical surges that had almost had him running for the door with Tony slung over his shoulder; but those events aside, it was Steve’s favourite place to be now. It felt strange to him that he hadn’t spent time with Tony like this before. Tony felt like home somehow; Steve’s face felt a little warmer at that thought. He was probably blushing, which was embarrassing but not completely awful. Tony made him feel like he was home. It had been a long time since he had felt so safe and cared for.

Steve looked up from his half-finished pencil sketch and let out a sigh of contentment, stretching his stiff muscles. He had been down in the workshop with Tony for almost twelve hours now and even with breaks he felt exhausted. Tony had kept powering on through the exhaustion, even when Steve had asked if he was ready to sleep for the fourth time; sleep was for the dead, Tony had joked, and Steve had let it drop, going back to his artwork, knowing that sleep would come at some point in the evening with or without him asking for it. He had already fallen asleep at the desk once this evening, and he was pretty sure he had a pink line down the side of his chin still from when he had woken up again a few minutes later.

Tony looked up from his metalwork a few feet away; his welding goggles were askew, pushing his messy black hair off of his sweaty forehead. He looked tired, a little greasy and a lot hungry. Tony’s eyes sparkled deviously as he slunk closer. He hopped up to sit on the edge of the worktable Steve had claimed and had been drawing on; Tony grinned and pushed Steve’s sketchbook and pencils out of his way, taking their place, settling them against the box they were normally kept in. Steve chuckled; Tony’s grin was contagious and he could feel his own lips curling to match the one on Tony’s lips, lips Steve loved.

“Hey…” Tony said softly, slipping his legs over top of Steve’s thighs, bracketing him. Steve reached up and snatched him off the table, lifting him under the armpits, pulling Tony down onto his lap. Tony let out a little oomph as he landed; he grinned almost impossibly harder, wiggling his hips to bring him closer to Steve’s waist. Tony’s legs dangled over the side of the stool and the sides of Steve’s legs, a few inches off the ground. Tony pulled the goggles off of his head and tossed them backwards onto the floor, apparently finished with what he had been working on. His work gloves quickly followed, vanishing behind table.

“Hey you…” Steve said, kissing him slightly, letting his lips press against the scratchy bristles of Tony’s beard. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve, his lithe fingers stroked the back of Steve’s neck, moving upwards; Tony liked playing with Steve’s hair and was always fascinated by the way touching the soft bristles on the back of Steve’s neck made Steve blush uncontrollably. Tony nuzzled Steve’s cheek, eyelashes fluttering and brushing against Steve’s.

“So… what are we sighing about?” Tony asked.

Steve shrugged, cradling Tony against his chest. He breathed in Tony’s scent, a mixture of oil and overly sweet coffee. Tony snuggled against him again, hands trailing back down from Steve’s neck to rest on the small of Steve’s back; he slipped his into the belt loop on the back of Steve’s jeans, tugging gently so that there was a breeze down the back of Steve’s pants. Steve felt Tony smirk into his neck as his face flushed a deeper red.

“Just happy, that’s all.” Steve murmured.

It hadn’t always been like this between them. Steve hadn’t always been able to bring himself to reach out and hold Tony; even when it had been just them, alone together in Tony’s workshop or his bedroom, Steve had felt uncomfortable in his own skin. He had constantly worried that someone was going to walk in on them and scream at them, which had been ridiculous because half the time they weren’t doing anything even remotely inappropriate; that, and they had been in the privacy of their own home. It had taken Steve a long time to work up the courage to take Tony’s face in his hands and to kiss him; to make love to him like he always wanted to. Steve had fought against his feelings tooth and nail, trying to claw the love he had for Tony out because he had been so afraid of the consequences of what it had all meant. Back where he was from, back in time really, his feelings of love for Tony were something he could have been thrown in jail for – He could have been thrown out from the army for it too, and that would have meant he would have been completely and utterly useless. Steve could still hear the voices whispering in the back of his head; the voices of Bucky and his other friends telling him he not to be fag, and that he was a monster who was spreading a disease if he was one. Steve hated those voices, some yelling, most talking flatly in whispers as if their words held some kind of universal truth that he had no right to deny. Tony was always able to chase the voices away, with a quick smile or a light touch. Tony was his rock; Tony was what kept him from drowning in his own head.

Steve loved Tony. He had been terrified when he had realized it; and yet here he was, holding Tony on his lap, kissing Tony’s chapped lips regardless of his fear. They had been together now for almost three months, and those three months had been the happiest Steve had ever had in his entire life. He loved spending his days with Tony; he loved the nights even more, when they curled up together in Tony’s big bed, with Tony burrowed into Steve’s stomach while they slept in each other’s arms. He loved Tony. He could say that now and suddenly Steve felt himself start blushing again. He hadn’t thought that he would be ready so soon, only three months later, but here it was, bursting out of him. He felt like a teenager again, just figuring out what he wanted from life. He wanted to tell somebody! He felt giddy!

“Steve?”

Tony’s voice cut through the pleasant foggy haze Steve was floating along in. Steve blinked and saw that Tony was staring deeply into his eyes, curious and concerned. Steve kissed Tony again, relishing the way Tony melted from his touch of his lips.

“I think I’m ready now.” Steve said, leaning back to watch Tony’s reaction.

Tony blinked fuzzily at him, smiling crookedly. He had no idea what Steve was talking about, clearly, and was probably two or three hours too far gone into the miasma of fatigue to understand simple conversation. Maybe they shouldn’t be talking about this now. He owed it to Tony to talk about this stage in their relationship when Tony would be able to understand what was going on; when he wasn’t falling asleep in Steve’s arms like a lazy cat.

“Ready for what? Going to bed?” Tony asked; he broke off, yawning and rubbed his eyes.

“Maybe we should talk about this later.” Steve said, caressing the side of Tony’s face. He frowned when he found dried blood just above Tony’s ear. Tony grinned sheepishly at him, taking Steve’s hands in between his, playing with Steve’s fingers.

“I scratched myself on the corner of the table when I dropped my stylus and tried to dig it out. It’s fine.”

“Tony.”

“It’s alright – you know that head wounds always bleed more than they should – “ Tony grumbled, looking away in annoyance.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at him again despite his frustration. Tony was being Tony again, and even if it annoyed him that Tony had left a scratch that big unattended, Steve still found himself strangely fond of the stubbornness.

“Can I clean it for you?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice judgement free. Steve knew that Tony disliked being chewed out for the little things, and really, it didn’t look all that bad so he could let it go; Steve had chewed Tony out frequently before they had been together and he felt ashamed of having done it so many times in the first place. Now, if Tony had lopped off a finger and ignored it… well then Steve would give him a piece of his mind while driving him to the emergency room; he could live with Tony getting himself a little scratched up every once in a while. Just so long as Tony didn’t try to make a habit of it, Steve thought to himself, shaking his head.

Tony sulked when Steve lifted him up off of his lap and placed him gingerly on the table again, going to go get the first aid kit from the kitchen counter. The kit wasn’t where it usually was, lying half buried underneath a box of scrap metal; Dummy bumped against his knee from below, holding the white kit up, beeping. He and Dummy had come to an understanding as well after he and Tony had gotten together; Dummy had been annoyed with him, if a robot could be annoyed that is, and he had often tried to drag Steve out of the workshop. Steve patted the robot on the head fondly, and took the kit from Dummy’s robotic hand, returning to the table. Dummy scooted away across the cement, zooming off to go play with his fire extinguisher, obviously feeling that Tony was in good hands. Tony had sullenly remained in his place, legs swinging, arms crossed over his chest, pouting like a champion. Steve stopped and watched him from a distance, trying not to laugh. He would have drawn the way Tony was sitting if he had had the sketchpad with him; Tony looked absolutely adorable, all frumpy looking. To be fair, he usually did, but sitting there, in his greasy clothing and mussed up hair he looked positively endearing. It was amusing that a thirty five year old man like Tony could pout like a three year old when he wanted to.

Tony scowled at him, but cracked another crooked smile when he saw Steve was watching, gesturing with flapping hands for Steve to move closer.

“Come on then. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to that is?” Tony teased.

Steve snorted with laughter as he made his way back to Tony; he cracked open the first aid kit, setting it down on the table beside Tony’s thigh. Steve sorted through the gauze, noting that they were running low on it, as well as surgical tape. He knew that those two items were Tony’s favourite parts of any first aid kit; he suspected that Tony had taped himself up somewhere he couldn’t see, and had to push away his displeasure to keep from frowning it all out. Tony picked up on his annoyance anyways and poked him in the shoulder, trying to distract Steve.

“I didn’t replace anything from that time Clint taped me to the couch when I fell asleep.” Tony explained.

Steve rolled his eyes; it was probably the truth, knowing Clint and his general love of tape. He was surprised that they had any tape left in the house really, seeing as how Clint kept sneaking up on people while they slept to try and tape them to whatever he deemed worthy. Clint had been making a game of trying to see how much tape it would take to hold Thor down, and he still hadn’t gotten the exact amount yet; Steve guessed that it would take more tape than Clint could afford to buy in a lifetime to keep Thor fully attached to the couch, and if he managed it, Thor would probably just stand up and walk off still taped to the couch, laughing. Luckily for the house, Clint had only managed to tape a pillow to Bruce’s head when he fell asleep during a movie; Bruce had found it more amusing than irritating and had gone back to sleep.

Steve turned Tony’s head to the side, wiping at the cut with a disinfectant swab. Tony hissed in pain and flinched, swatting at Steve’s hand.

“Aww… did I hurt the poor baby?” Steve teased, giving Tony a peck on the tip of his nose. Tony, being the more mature of them stuck his tongue out at Steve in revenge. Steve retaliated by blowing on the wound. It wasn’t really all that bad, but judging by the way Tony flinched again, it stung. He smiled apologetically at Tony.

“Yeah yeah. You’re a mean man Steve Rogers.” Tony griped.

“I know.” Steve grinned. He wiped at the scratch gently this time, washing away the crusty blood to reveal a tiny scratch; it was miniscule, no longer than the length of his fingernail. Steve laughed at it, shaking his head. It wasn’t even bleeding anymore and didn’t look like it was going to start again anytime soon. He had been too paranoid as usual. He couldn’t help it sometimes; Steve worried that one day Tony wouldn’t be around, and then… well. Steve wasn’t quite sure what would happen if Tony vanished from his life, but it would probably be awful. Tony pinched Steve’s cheek, noticing the dark look in his eyes.

“What’s up?” Tony asked, concerned again. Tony seemed to get concerned a lot these days. He was always worrying about Steve becoming upset, as if he thought that Steve would run off and leave him if things got too hard. Well, to be fair Tony had already had to put up with far too much of Steve’s flip-flopping. Steve still felt extremely guilty about that; he had run away after they had first slept together and that run still hung over his head like a dirty halo. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to take that hurt away – to take the pain away from Tony, who had borne the brunt of it all on his own while Steve ran. They had talked about it later, and really, Steve wasn’t sure how Tony could be so understanding about it. Steve wasn’t so sure that he would have been so forgiving, but then again, this was Tony… Tony forgave almost anyone, even if they tried to stab him in the back.

“Steve?”

Steve blinked, looking down into Tony’s clear, azure eyes.

“It’s ok. I was just thinking and got a little side tracked.” Steve admitted. He finished with the swab and then reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a band aid; Clint had definitely been rooting around in the kit, because the only band aids left that Steve could find had Hello Kitty all over them, and he had a feeling they weren’t there because Tony had picked them out for their cheerful colours. He smirked to himself and peeled the plastic tabs off, sticking the band aid to the side of Tony’s head, covering the scratch. He smoothed it out against Tony’s skin with his thumb, smiling shyly at Tony.

“What’s on your mind babe?” Tony asked; the concern was still there even though Steve was smiling at him. Steve knew that he hadn’t really explained what had been going on in his mind; he just didn’t feel like it was worth talking about.

“Oh… Just thinking about stuff. Horrible stuff – like how you’ve got to go pick up new coffee filters because Clint helped Thor make a hat out of them.” Steve teased. He was pleased to see the concern leave Tony’s eyes to be replaced by a look of righteous anger. No one messed with Tony Stark’s ability to ingest coffee; Tony made damned sure of that. Tony protected his coffee maker as if it was his life, and the filters were the one thing that kept everything functioning properly.

“You’re joking.” Tony said flatly, eyes twinkling with malice, probably planning something sinister to do to Clint already despite only having just heard of his evil.

“Am I? Maybe we should go upstairs so that you can check?” Steve said, chuckling. He was telling the truth after all; he had the pictures of Thor wearing the hat on his phone to prove it. They had done a very good job of making a rather delightful bonnet out of the filters and double-sided tape. Natasha had even looked impressed, and it took a lot to impress her. Steve wondered vaguely who had suggested it in the first place and suspected that maybe she had had something to do with its creation from the beginning. She had been watching the history channel a lot this week after all, and they had been running specials on Victorian farming.

Tony made a move to jump off of the worktable, probably to go storming up the stairs to bring bloody vengeance upon Clint for his deceased coffee filters; the filters could wait until morning though. Tony looked drained, and Steve had promised himself that he would watch out for Tony when he spent too much time in the workshop. Steve would wait and watch – not grab and control, not anymore. Well… at least not when Tony could take care of himself. He scooped Tony up into his arms and threw him over his shoulder, chuckling to himself. Tony squawked and slapped pitifully at Steve’s back.

“Mean! You’re so cruel using your super strength for evil – “ Tony protested with a whine. Steve laughed at him and started towards the stairs, Tony hanging over his shoulder limply like a sack of potatoes.

“Well I just thought that you’d rather spend some time in bed with me rather than using that time to hunt Clint down. You know how good he is with hiding. He’s probably hanging from the gutters or lurking in the attic by now.” Steve said, giving Tony a good smack across the meat of his ass. Tony groaned at that, Steve knew that he had gotten his point across.

“Alright, I yield. Carry me off to bed – I demand to be ravished, just so you know.” Tony said, chuckling sleepily.

“I can do that.” Steve said, giving Tony another good squeeze. Tony let out a loud whine, the same kind he made when Steve took too long to undress during sex. Steve almost went cross eyed from that sound reverberating around inside his skull. He regained his composure, coughing, and started up the stairs, trying to curb his lust as he made his way through the empty living room and up the stairs. Tony bobbed up and down on his shoulder, cackling to himself like a madman, enjoying the ride. Steve knew that Tony liked being carried; for all the bluster he made about it being unmanly or Steve being cruel for doing it, Tony always went pleasantly boneless in Steve’s arms when he was being carried off somewhere. Tony got a rather amusing sleepy look in his eyes if the trip took too long; he had fallen asleep on Steve once when he had carried him out of the lab and up into their bedroom so that he could shower for a board meeting. The enjoyment Tony got out of being carried was probably residual from when he had been a dog; Steve had carried him around a lot back then. Personally though, Steve thought that it was just because Tony liked the attention and loved being cuddled. He only protested loudly when Clint or Natasha were around, and that was probably more for Steve’s benefit rather than to vent any discomfort on his part. Tony had been very vigilant ever since Steve had asked him to keep their relationship secret while he thought things out; Steve was thankful for Tony’s discretion. He was starting to think that they weren’t going to be able to keep the others in the dark for long, and he really didn’t want to anymore anyways. Things were going very well.

Steve had been concerned about alerting the other Avengers to their relationship in the beginning. Natasha had stared at the pair of them when she had caught Steve toting Tony up to their room a few days into their relationship and he had immediately suspected that she might have known what was going on. He had been scared by that– by her knowing that he and Tony were together. He had feared that she would report directly to Fury, just like all those other agents back in the day who had finked to their bosses on homosexuals to get them put in jail; she had told him to go to hell when he had mentioned this to her back before he had understood the extent of his feelings for Tony and she had laughed at him and given him a good smack upside the head for being stupid. She had been very helpful with everything; so helpful, in fact that if she hadn’t been around Steve would have made some rather dumb decisions. Decisions he wouldn’t have been able to take back; decisions that could have left him alone and broken, watching Tony from a distance while the other man moved on with his life. Natasha had never asked him any specific questions about his intentions with Tony when she had cornered him one day on the couch while he was filling out reports, and all she had ever done afterwards was talk in hypotheticals; he had been silly to think that she hadn’t known what he was doing within a few seconds of him having figured it out himself.

Steve didn’t want to dwell on those feelings of helplessness or the memories of what those early days had been like, all alone and confused – he wanted to take Tony to bed instead to make some better memories. Tony could use the rest; he had been in the workshop for the past seventy three hours working on upgrades and some repairs for some newfangled piece of technology that SHIELD had requested – Tony had mentioned something about creating a tank for testing out cryogenics or freezing. Steve wasn’t sure what it was, actually, he had been almost unconscious on the couch at that point, drooling into the cushions while Tony worked on; technology wasn’t frightening, it just wasn’t his favourite thing and he often ignored it when he wasn’t using it directly. Tony was a man who could build sixty different things from a toothpick, a few pieces of string and some pre-chewed gum. Steve knew how to press buttons to turn on the computer and could competently use the kitchen appliances even though the timer still confused him sometimes; he preferred to watch Tony work his magic from the sidelines, and learned about everything passively through osmosis, without putting much thought into breaking technology down into components.

Steve carefully opened Tony’s bedroom door and ducked a little to make sure that Tony didn’t bang his head on the doorframe when they went inside. Tony slapped Steve across the back playfully, the flat of his hand connecting with the meat of Steve’s shoulders.

“Mush, my faithful steed!”

“I think you’re confusing your phrases there honey.” Steve said.

“Whatever – you get the point.” Tony giggled sleepily.

Steve laughed, closing the door behind them with his foot, hands still holding Tony. The lamp on Steve’s side of the bed turned on automatically; Jarvis always turned that particular lamp on when Tony’s door opened, knowing that Steve liked to see where he was going, unlike Tony who preferred to stumble through the darkness until he hit whatever constituted as a bed-like object. Steve reached the bed in three great steps and gently dropped Tony onto it, grinning as Tony sprawled out like a starfish across the comforter. He could see the tiredness in Tony’s eyes; they wouldn’t be fooling around tonight, that was for sure, even if Tony was willing. He didn’t expect Tony to be able to keep his eyes open for much longer at any rate, and he would prefer to enjoy fooling around with Tony when they could both keep their eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. Steve gave Tony a once over, planning how to get him under the covers without jarring him out of his sleepy daze. Tony’s clothing was covered in grease stains and burns, his sweat pants were almost falling off already. Tony looked like he had crawled out from under a dumpster. Obviously the clothing had to go. Steve didn’t want grease smeared all over the bed; it would be a pain to wash out even if he wasn’t the one physically doing the washing anymore. He slowly undressed Tony, taking his time as he slid Tony’s t-shirt up and over his head, trailing his fingers down over the arc reactor to rest them on the band of Tony’s sweatpants. Tony grabbed his hands, trying to get Steve to slide them down the front of his pants and Steve kissed him, pulling away so that he could start slipping out of his own clothing. Tony pouted. His mood improved considerably after Steve pulled them both under the covers so that they could spoon naked together, enjoying the feel of skin against skin, Tony’s heat melting in with his own. Tony grumbled for a few seconds about the lack of ‘sexy-time’ as he put it and then promptly started snoring, unconscious before Steve could even reach up to shut off the lamp. Steve smiled in the darkness, watching the soft blue glow of the arc reactor dance across the walls as Tony breathed in and out, his own personal star field. He was ready now. Being here with Tony… Being Tony’s… He was ready to talk to the others about it. Steve was excited even. Wasn’t that strange? If Steve had thought about it two months ago he would have probably had a stroke just at the vaguest mention of telling the others; now it just seemed like it was the next thing on the list of relationship to-do’s.

Steve awoke with Tony lying on top of him, snoring noisily into his collar bone. Tony was a solid man, not bulky, and certainly not delicate. Tony was heavy when he was dead weight. The weight on his chest didn’t bother Steve much; really, he just liked to joke about it because it made Tony smirk at him with this little look, letting Steve know that he knew he was being bullshitted. Steve’s super strength made it feel as if he had a kitten sleeping curled up on his belly instead of a scruffy engineer; the weight was just another pleasant reminder that Tony was still there with him. Steve liked the way it felt to just lay there listening to the soft sounds of Tony breathing in and out on top of him without having to worry about what the rest of the world was doing. Sleeping like this, with Tony snoring away, oblivious, had been one of the main reasons Steve had taken a chance to be with him. Tony had been turned into a dog when they had first slept in the same bed together, and that hadn’t changed the way it had felt to have someone lying with him. Being trusted so completely by someone, being allowed to touch someone softly… being able to sleep beside someone without being afraid of what they could do to you… Steve had felt humbled by that. He had always been a little uncomfortable about touching people without their direct permission unless it had been an emergency; he had been astonished by just how much Tony had enjoyed to be touched. He had been even more astonished to realize that he had enjoyed touching Tony as well. It had been a learning moment for him, and he hadn’t taken it for granted.

Tony liked to cling to people in his sleep; Steve liked being clung to, and it had been welcome and comfortable to sleep next to him. Steve stroked Tony’s hair, running his fingers through the greasy strands. Tony trembled under his caress, nuzzling closer in his sleep. He would shuffle Tony towards the bathroom later in the day when he finally woke up from his death-like slumber. For now, Tony would get to sleep for as long as he wanted; he deserved the rest. Steve reluctantly rolled Tony off of him, tucking Tony against the squishy pillows, and slid out of bed, standing naked as he stretched out the kinks that last night’s sleep had left him with. The alarm clock read a brilliant seven a.m., telling him that he had slept through his normal wake up time by half an hour and being a creature of habit, Steve’s body longed for the run. Steve debated momentarily about waking Tony up and asking him if he wanted to join him on the run; he decided against it, cracking his back, figuring that Tony needed the sleep more than the run.

“Steve?”

Steve yawned and sat back down on the edge of the bed beside Tony, reaching out to ruffle his hair; the mattress lowered a few inches, sliding Tony towards him.

“Yes?”

“Where you going….?” Tony asked, sleep addled and practically incoherent; Tony was usually semi-conscious in the mornings after working long hours, and it took almost a full day before he could function like a human again.

“I’m going out for my run honey. Go back to sleep.” Steve said kindly, scratching Tony’s scalp. Tony blinked sleepily up at him and then batted Steve’s hand away, struggling upright, fighting with the weight of the comforter and the pillows that boxed him in. Tony rubbed sleep from his bloodshot and black rimmed eyes. He had been ‘bleeding caffeine’ as Tony had so affectionately called it, and was burned out.

“I want to come.” Tony mumbled, yawning.

Steve raised an eyebrow. This was new. Tony didn’t usually force himself awake when Steve slipped out of bed for his morning run anymore; when Tony had been a dog it had been different, and Tony had bounded to the door ahead of Steve, ready to go out. Now, Tony usually just rolled over and went back to snoring into Steve’s pillow, hugging the blankets against him like he expected them to be snatched away if he didn’t hold on tight enough to them. Maybe Pepper or Rhodey used to steal the blankets when he spent all day snoozing; Steve had never asked them about it, assuming that Tony would get annoyed with him.

“You should go back to sleep.” Steve said with a soft smile. He reached out, threading his fingers through Tony’s bangs, and then gently pushed Tony backwards with his other hand. Tony flopped backwards, limp like a ragdoll, blinking groggily up at the ceiling.

“I want to go with you…” Tony said grumbled, struggling back up through sleep’s tempting grasp to right himself on the bed once more. Tony eyed Steve curiously, the blankets dropping down to drape over his hips covering the smooth, lightly tanned flesh of his waist and legs in a wave of scarlet. The scars on Tony’s chest seemed smaller in the morning light, barely standing out against his skin.

“You look like you’re going to pass out if you try.” Steve said, reaching out to poke Tony back onto the bed again. Tony seized him by the wrist, holding on with a grip much more firm than usual for his sleepy self. He clung to Steve’s arm, not giving in; the serious look was back on Tony’s face again, the same one that Steve had chased away the night before in the workshop. That was concerning in of itself.

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You should sleep.” Steve repeated calmly; Tony’s eyes hardened and his grip on Steve’s wrist tightened, making his finger almost dig into Steve’s flesh.

“I want to come with you.” Tony stated flatly.

That was that then. There would be no reasoning with Tony now. Steve leaned forwards, stretching out so that he could cover Tony completely with his body; he pushed Tony down, trapping their hands in between their chests. Tony glowered up at him from below; he looked frustrated in a way that he hadn’t been in months. Steve trailed kisses across Tony’s chin and up onto his lips, pausing to nibble at Tony’s lower lip. When he pulled back, Tony’s eyes were dark with lust but still filled with concern.

“Steve – “

“Ok. You can come with me, but I’m not going to carry your lazy butt back if you fall asleep while running.” Steve teased, kissing Tony again before pulling away and righting himself. Tony attached himself to Steve, hanging from Steve’s shoulder so that he could use Steve’s momentum to pull himself upright. His legs wrapped around Steve’s waist; Tony pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, snuggling closer. Steve made his way effortlessly to the dresser to go get some clean sweat pants for the both of them, trying not to pay attention to Tony. Unfortunately, despite all of his attempts at ignoring him, all he could feel was Tony pressed against the small of his back, hard and warm; Steve was tempted to just throw Tony back onto the bed so that he could entertain the desire suddenly rushing through his mind. Tony bit down on his earlobe, distracting him as he fumbled with a pair of boxers, nibbling delicately. When Steve’s eyes refocused, he looked down and realized that the boxers clutched in his hand weren’t even his; they were much too small for him. They were Tony’s. He handed them up over his shoulder to Tony, who reluctantly untangled himself from Steve. Tony dropped down to the floor, pulling the boxers on, leaning against Steve from behind as he fumbled with the waistband. They dressed in pieces, Steve handing Tony clothing he found in the drawer that would fit, putting on anything else he found that would fit himself.

Steve found it frustrating that all of their clothing was piled up and tangled together, mostly unfolded; he preferred being able to simply reach in and grab what he wanted instead of having to search through a needle in a haystack to find that last missing item of clothing he needed to be completely dressed. Half the time, Steve couldn’t find his clean underwear even when he knew it was there. He had put it all in himself, folded up neatly, and ten seconds later Tony had burrowed through and it had all become a mess again. Tony didn’t really seem to care about the disorder despite the fact that he kept his workshop organized, labeled and clean. The organization didn’t extend to Tony’s personal life it seemed, although to be fair there was little in Tony’s room that was actually personal save the plastic red rubber duck Steve had found nestled in with Tony’s ties. That was the only item Steve had ever found that seemed to have a special place in Tony’s heart; the rest of the items in Tony’s life were replaceable and disposable, which had Steve not known about Tony’s childhood, would have made him seem almost heartless.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist as Steve hopped on one foot, pulling on his missing right sock which he had found buried half inside a pair of Tony’s ragged jeans; Tony rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, leaning so close that Steve could feel Tony breathing. Tony’s heat seeped into every part of Steve’s body that was in contact with his.

“Are you alright?” Tony mumbled into Steve’s back.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, perplexed.

Tony cuddled closer, ducking slightly so that he could press his face between Steve’s shoulders, rubbing his beard against the skin there.

“You know, you’re not making the whole going out for a run thing look very attractive right now. I’m tempted to just go back to bed instead.” Steve said dryly, pulling his shirt over his head. Tony stepped back and let him finish dressing, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He bit his lower lip, watching Steve with that strangely concerned look again. What did that look even mean?

“What is it?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow, brushing out the wrinkles clinging to his shirt.

Tony shrugged at him noncommittally and then shuffled across the carpet to the door, vanishing out into the hallway without a word. Steve paused for a moment, reflecting; the look on Tony’s face as he had left had been sadness. Something bad had happened, and Steve didn’t know what. Steve centred himself, preparing for the worst.

“Tony?” Steve called out, trying to catch Tony’s attention.

There was no response from Tony so Steve wandered out into the hallway to search for him; Tony moved on ahead, not looking back, disappearing down the stairs before Steve could catch up or ask again. When Steve made it to the foyer he found Tony waiting impatiently beside their shoes; he stretched, yawning and struggled into his running shoes. Steve put his own shoes on, eyeing Tony curiously, hoping for some kind of explanation and found none offered up to him. Tony wind milled his arms, cracking his back and started out the door, gesturing for Steve to follow him.

Steve cautiously stepped out the door, watching Tony the entire time. He decided to let Tony take the lead, following a few steps behind as they left the house and ran down the driveway; they started out on the normal run route. Tony heading to the mail boxes to turn right, listing slightly to the side as he hopped through a painful stumble, tripping over his own feet. He managed to stay upright, so Steve didn’t comment on it. He choose instead to watch Tony from behind, checking body language as he often did when he didn’t understand what was wrong. Tony’s form was loose and relaxed as he usually was when he was fine, yet there was clearly something amiss judging by his posture alone. Tony never ran relaxed; he was always a mixture of taunt muscle and frenzied rushing, always dying to get the run over with as soon as it started. Tony liked to race to the finish, trying desperately to beat Steve; he never moved slowly or relaxed and he almost never stumbled unless he was drunk.

“Tony?” Steve asked, power walking to catch up with the engineer. Tony grinned at him and then pushed on, jogging just a few feet ahead; the grin was clearly one of the ones he used for PR, plastic, like fake flowers. Steve didn’t like that one bit. He stopped dead in the driveway, arms folded over his chest and frowned his hardest. It took Tony a few seconds to skid to a halt a few feet away after noticing that he was alone. He looked back at Steve, eyebrows raised comically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Tony approached cautiously, head hanging low; He grasped at his hands, not quite looking Steve in the eye, focusing on his fingers instead.

“You said you wanted to talk last night.” Tony said, clearing his throat. He looked up after a few seconds of blatant staring at his hands and Steve once more caught sight of the concern in Tony’s eyes; it was like a disease, working its way into his own thoughts, making him worry.

“I did, but it wasn’t the right time for a discussion. You were half dead, and I didn’t want you to fall asleep on me.” Steve grumbled, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He was nervously impatient now, dreading that something was coming that he couldn’t fend off. Was it possible that Tony wasn’t happy? He would do anything to change Tony’s mind – beg on bended knee if he had to –

“Is… Is something wrong? Are you not happy – because I can fix it – “ Tony blurted, his calm breaking in one heart wrenching gust of emotion. Steve stared uncomprehendingly at Tony, completely baffled by Tony’s outburst, almost floored by the words themselves; he broke out into laughter a few seconds later, relieved. Steve relaxed his stern posture, uncrossing his arms, and gently took Tony by the shoulders. Tony had only caught part of the conversation as he had though; Tony was concerned over nothing!

“Is that what you thought it was about? You thought that something bad was happening? That I was going to tell you that we were breaking up?” Steve asked, giving Tony a gentle shake. Tony looked confused and a tad worried still despite Steve’s wide smile and touch. He reached up to cup Steve’s face and then dropped his hands back to his hips sharply after he looked around and saw that they weren’t alone; Clint waved to them from his bedroom window up above, sipping from a cup. Steve gave the archer a slight wave back, beaming at him, and then turned to focus all of his attention on Tony, knowing that he might be in for a long and arduous conversation if Tony didn’t get what he was saying the first time around.

“I want to tell them that we’re together.” Steve said firmly, saying it all right then and there so that there could be no further misunderstanding between them; at least, he hoped there would be no further misunderstanding. With Tony’s sleep addled brain, there was room for errors even with a straightforward sentence.

Tony hesitated, blinking slowly, processing the words that came out of Steve’s mouth with his caffeine deprived brain.

“You…”

“I want to tell the others. That we’re together.” Steve repeated. He pulled Tony against him, tucking the smaller man into his chest, resting his chin on Tony’s head and waited. He drummed his fingers on the small of Tony’s back; he hoped that Tony had gotten it finally, and that he didn’t have to try and explain it again.

“Steve…” Tony whispered into his chest, the sound barely above a whisper.

“What did you think I was going to talk to you about? Did you think I was running away again?” Steve said softly, squeezing Tony. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, just above his hips; Tony’s fingers dug into the fabric of Steve’s shirt, holding on tightly, fingers slipping closer to Steve’s skin.

“I… I don’t know. I just thought… It was something bad – you looked so upset last night.” Tony confessed.

“Oh. That wasn’t about us. That was just me worrying about you and your tendency to injure yourself. I was thinking about what it would be like to be without you and well… frankly I think it would be worse than death. I love you, and I want everyone to know it too.” Steve said.

Tony made a choked noise from against Steve’s chest; his fingers released Steve’s shirt momentarily and then tugged roughly, the neck of Steve’s shirt jerking up to choke him for a split second before Tony stilled.

“Jesus Steve, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry. I didn’t think that it would – “

“No, no. It’s fine. I jumped the gun a little. I was just… I think I need to sleep or drink a few gallons of coffee before I decide to start having panic attacks in the future.” Tony laughed softly, waving it off. He pulled back, grinning at Steve with his usual brilliant high voltage grin; Steve felt the knots of tension in his stomach loosen and vanish.

“So… who did you want to talk to first?” Tony asked, going up on his tip toes to kiss Steve. Steve smiled into the kiss; he deepened it, running his fingers through Tony’s hair, brushing his tongue against Tony’s. Tony let out a rather undignified moan and Steve blushed ruby red. They were outside in the driveway for god’s sake – and here Tony was making that kind of noise! Steve pulled away self-consciously, looking around to see if anyone was around and then meekly laughed, realizing what he was doing. Clint gave him another cheerful wave from the window up above when he accidentally made eye contact. Steve looked down at his feet, embarrassed, cheeks still ablaze.

“Sorry I should have…” Steve broke off, scratching the back of his head. Even though he felt ready, just knowing that someone outside of the house could see them sent him spiralling into an uncontrollable dive of awkwardness. Was he really ready? Tony looked into his eyes, seemingly asking the same question without saying it.

Steve took Tony’s hand and turned around, marching back towards the front door they had only moments before left behind with Tony trailing behind in answer. He was ready, and he wasn’t going to let embarrassment stop him – not any more. He had put up with feeling embarrassed far too long in his life and enough was enough!

“Steve?” Tony questioned, allowing himself to be dragged along in Steve’s wake.

“I want to go tell Clint first.” Steve said, pulling all of his bravery to steady his voice.

He did want this. He wanted to tell everyone. He didn’t want it to be a secret anymore; he was tired of secrets.

“Uh… well…” Tony mumbled.

They walked into the living room, where they found Natasha and Bruce sitting on the paisley couch watching the morning news while eating breakfast. That was unusual. They weren’t usually awake at this hour; no one except Steve woke up before nine in the morning on a week day. It was a morning filled with the unusual it seemed. Steve cleared his throat and tried to get their attention; Natasha took a bite of her bagel and set it down on her plate on the coffee table, turning off the television with the battered remote. She elbowed Bruce when he continued to stare blankly at the television, even though it was now turned off, still half asleep; his toast almost fell off of his plate when he jerked abruptly back into the land of consciousness.

“Tony and I have something to tell you.” Steve said, pulling Tony closer, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist. He cleared his throat, preparing to say the words –

Clint and Thor came crashing down the stairs, thundering down the hallway towards them like a herd of elephants; the skidded to a halt behind the couch, grinning madly for some reason Steve couldn’t understand. Thor thrust his fist into the air, Clint jumping up and down in spot beside him.

“Our Shield Brothers have finally decided to inform us of their love for one another! This is a most joyous occasion!” Thor proclaimed with a cheerful bellow. Clint continued to dance in place, hopping from foot to foot, fists pumping in the air; Natasha turned around slowly and glared at the pair of them with a look so powerfully concentrated with displeasure that it stopped both of them in their tracks. They cleared their throats and looked around, as if something amazingly interesting had just walked past one of the living room windows.

Steve stood stock still in front of everyone, floundering in his astonishment. His mouth dropped open in shock, his hand dropped from its place at Tony’s hip to dangle uselessly at his side; he stared from person to person, from Natasha to Thor, feeling dizzy and out of breath. Tony steadied him from behind, a firm warm hand on the small of his back keeping him upright as his knees became almost rubbery. It was ridiculous, he had met Presidents, fought through the war through blood and guts and unspeakable horrors; he had spoken to audiences, foreign diplomats and grizzled soldiers without feeling as nervous, and now here he was, trying not to keel over in his own living room because they knew that he was in love with Tony without him having to tell them. Steve smiled weakly at Tony, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened; he then turned back to the Avengers, assembled on the couch and around it, swallowing hard, almost choking on his own spit. They beamed at him, waiting patiently for him to speak.

“You… knew?” Steve managed finally, struggling to find the words, tongue-tied as he had been back in his youth whenever anyone talked to him.

“Of course we knew. We’ve known about it for a long time now Cap!” Clint said, smirking; the look was similar to the one Clint often used when he beat Thor whenever they played Mario party on the Wii. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that look, but it wasn’t hurtful, so he decided to accept it for what it was: a knowing look that said Clint had seen and approved.

Steve swallowed hard again, Adams apple bobbing. He could sense Tony tensing beside him and slowly turned, taking it one step at a time; he tried to keep the abject disappointment out of his eyes, settling his gaze on Tony’s face. Tony could only be concerned because of one thing… one irritating little thing…

“Tony…”

Tony looked sheepish, cheeks flushing pink while the rest of his face went pale. The hand on the small of Steve’s back moved away as Tony backed up, putting some distance between them; Tony clasped his hands in front of him as if in prayer, speaking from behind his tented fingers, trying to explain himself.

“I didn’t mean to – It was an accident…“

“Tony!” Steve said, exasperated, letting out a long suffering sigh.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect his calm which was busy dribbling out of his ears and down his neck; it wasn’t right to yell at Tony, not about this. It wasn’t, even if he wanted to. It wasn’t as if Tony had done anything on purpose, he had said that it was an accident and Steve believed him, he really did. They were supposed to be doing this together; Tony wouldn’t have broken his trust like this on purpose.

“Clint and Natasha kind of knew the entire time…” Tony admitted, not quite managing to look Steve in the eye. He seemed to sense Steve’s internal struggling and took yet another short step backwards unconsciously, as if to make a break from the room entirely. The movement made Steve cringe and take a step forwards, wanting to keep Tony from fleeing. Tony shuffled his feet, looking down at the carpet after he noticed Steve’s reaction; he didn’t make any other movements to signal that he was going to run anymore, so Steve turned his attention back to the others.

“I knew about Natasha, but… You all… you all knew? About me… and…” Steve said, turning back to completely face his friends. They stared at him, shrugging their shoulders, almost disinterested; Bruce blinked sleepily and then flashed Steve a jaunty smile, rubbing his eyes.

“Well… yeah. Is that a bad thing? I mean, I thought it was pretty cute the way you two kept sneaking looks at each other. Clint had to keep telling me to keep my mouth shut.” Bruce said, adjusting the toast on his plate with a yawn. He tried to set the plate down on the table, missing the edge by a fraction of an inch; Natasha caught his plate in time to keep it from falling to the floor, settling it carefully beside to hers. She cocked her head to the side with one perfectly penciled eyebrow raised, staring at Steve questioningly, as if daring him to be angry with her for having known his most important secret.

“I… No. There’s no problem – that’s great actually…” Steve said, trying to be more cheerful than he felt.

“Jeeze Steve, you look like someone just stole the last sesame seed bagel right out of your hands.” Clint chuckled; the laugh only made things worse, despite Clint’s attempt to reassure Steve.

Steve’s face fell. He turned back to Tony, who was trying to compose himself properly while still in flight mode; Tony’s face was pinched and strained. Steve knew that look. That was Tony’s ‘I-did-something-bad’ look. He dreaded seeing that look on Tony’s face because it often meant that something was going to explode, or perhaps melt into a puddle of goo.

“Did you… tell them? Without me?” Steve asked carefully.

Tony’s eyes widened in shock when he heard what Steve had thought he had done, understanding all too well what telling the others had meant to Steve. Steve felt a rush of pity for him when fear followed shortly after, spreading through Tony’s eyes with speed that rivaled that of a missile.

“Oh god – no! I didn’t tell them – they kind of found out on their own and well I mean – the only person I physically told was Pepper, but I mean, she’s really good with secrets and we weren’t even together then – oh. Steve I’m - “ Tony rambled, stepping back into Steve’s space so that he could grab hold of Steve’s arm, clinging to it. Steve didn’t pull away; he took a moment to be thankful that Tony was there with him, and remembered that it wasn’t the end of the world. He found his disappointment leave him quite suddenly, leaving him only with a somewhat giddy feeling. He took in a long slow breath, centering himself.

“Tony…”

Tony looked down at his feet, falling silent, his shoulders hunched; he dropped his hand from Steve’s arm.

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?” Tony said softly; his voice was almost too quiet to hear.

Steve squeezed Tony’s shoulder gently. Tony looked up again, startled by the touch; like he hadn’t expected Steve to forgive him somehow. Steve let out yet another sigh, shaking his head sadly. Tony didn’t know that this wasn’t a horrendous problem or that there wasn’t anything to forgive; He couldn’t tell that Steve didn’t really mind all that much that he and Tony hadn’t been able to tell everyone who hadn’t already known. In truth, Steve was glad that their friends had sat by and waited, in Clint and Thor’s cases cheering him on from the shadows. Their friends had sat by and waited for them to say the words they already knew were coming. It was kind of funny actually, once he thought about it. Tony shouldn’t have been worried at all; Steve would just have to get the silly fool to smile again, and he knew exactly how to do it, although it might be a little cruel. Let it not be said that Steve Rogers had no sense of humor!

“Well then. I’m afraid that you’re going to have to be punished for this.” Steve said, clearing his throat loudly, drawing the other Avengers attention; he tried to remain completely serious despite the fact that he wanted to start hysterically laughing all of a sudden. It was probably because he was so relieved to know that everything was fine after all, and not at all because he was losing his mind. He had been so concerned about how everyone might take the news of them being together, and a small, pathetic part of him had thought that they might be angry, that they might hate him and go after him for being with Tony. An even smaller part thought that they might have gone after Tony too, because of him.

Tony looked frightened again, more so than he had been when Steve had asked him if he had told anyone on his own. He grabbed Steve’s free hand again, clutching it against his chest, holding it over his arc reactor and heart.

“Steve, please – “

“Clint, please go fetch the hat. You know the one.” Steve commanded, clearing his throat. He kept a gentle yet firm hand on Tony’s shoulder, pinning him in place with the softest of touches. Clint left the room slowly, eyeballing Steve as he rounded the corner and vanished into the kitchen, not quite sure of what Steve intended to do; he returned a few seconds later, holding the coffee filter bonnet. He held it out to Steve, an offering of appeasement, and took a quick hopped step back to put himself behind the couch and out of Steve’s way. Steve gingerly placed the bonnet on Tony’s head, arranging it with care, smoothing out the sides so that it looked perfect. He looked down at Tony; Tony stared up at him, eyes half covered by the white coffee filter paper fringe of the bonnet.

Steve tried to keep a straight face, he really did. Three seconds later, with Tony staring at him with large watery-blue puppy dog eyes, he burst into high pitched laughter.

“Steve?” Tony asked tentatively. The bonnet slid slightly forwards, blocking his vision; Tony flailed for a moment in abject blindness, fingers tapping their way across Steve’s face. Steve was laughing so hard that he had started crying by the time Tony’s hands came to a rest on his cheeks; he hadn’t laughed this hard in ages, and Tony just looked so precious. The clean white bonnet was so flattering against the darkness of Tony’s hair and beard, and despite the bonnet having been made out of a few coffee filters, it looked almost like something he could have found in a bridal magazine. Steve wanted to take a picture of Tony, to keep that image forever so that he could take it out and look at it again whenever he felt down. Steve heard the sound of a camera shutter clicking from across the room and knew that Clint had done it for him.

Tony’s thumb brushed the tears off of Steve’s cheek, rubbing softly against his skin.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked timidly.

Steve reached out and adjusted the hat on Tony’s head so that Tony could see him better; Tony’s eyes widened and then narrowed in an instant. He smacked at Steve’s shoulder, annoyed, but didn’t remove the hat, hands on his hips.

“You asshole!”

“I’m sorry – I just couldn’t resist. You looked so upset and I…” Steve choked out, cackling; he almost winded himself, tears streaming down his face. Tony rolled his eyes; he looked very relieved now, although the concerned look still hadn’t quite vacated his face.

“How long do I have to wear this stupid thing?” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh… I guess until it stops being funny.” Steve said, wheezing in air.

“So is that a never then?” Clint asked from behind the couch. Tony glared at him in response.

Steve wiped the tears away from his eyes on the back of his hand. He had to kneel down to catch his breath, still laughing away, stomach and sides hurting terribly; he was pretty sure that only dogs could hear his laughter now, it was so high pitched. Tony squeezed his shoulder from behind soothingly. Steve leaned back, resting his shoulders against Tony’s thighs, body still shaking violently with laughter. Tony sighed from up above, shaking his head sadly, looking down into Steve’s tear filled eyes.

“I’m sorry… it’s just so…” Steve choked out, breaking out into a fresh batch of giggles when Tony’s brow furrowed in concern again; Tony’s eyebrows almost vanishing completely under the fringe of the bonnet.

“Steve? Breath baby, don’t die on me here!” Tony grumbled, patting Steve on the top of the head.

Steve blinked up at him through tears of joy, liking the way Tony’s hand felt in his hair.

“I love you.” Steve said.

Tony pinched Steve’s cheek.

“I love you too crazy guy.” Tony chuckled, shaking his head.

Breakfast was a cheerful affair. They gathered around in the kitchen, sitting around the large wooden table, fumbling for their own food. Steve offered to make them all French toast, and everyone agreed that it was the best idea they had heard in a long time. Steve was very aware that most of the Avengers, aside from Natasha who could cook, lived off of instant foods and very rarely had anything for breakfast that didn’t come directly out of a box. Clint had inhaled an entire box of lucky charms once; that had been one time too many, and they had been banned from the house despite the protesting from both Thor and Bruce that Lucky Charms were the best of the breakfast foods. The cereal remained on top of the fridge despite being a tempting and quick food source. Only Thor actually opted out of eating the French toast, preferring to go with his standard frozen waffles. Throughout the morning, despite the embarrassment of wearing it, Tony continued to wear the bonnet long after Steve told him he could take it off; Steve appreciated the sentiment and goofily grinned every time he caught sight of Tony in it.

Steve made French toast with Tony lurking contentedly behind him, arms draped around Steve’s waist while Steve worked his magic with bread and an egg mixture no one else understood how to make. Steve hummed an old tune he remembered from during the war, flipping the first piece of cooked toast so that he could check to see if it was evenly browned on both sides. Steve liked to cook; he had learned when he was younger, taking over for his mother when she was too tired to make them dinner after spending her days working in the hospital and then her afternoons slaving away at her second job. It had been hard for her to keep them both fed, and was it had become even worse during the war; he had been so scrawny and sickly as a child that she had taken a second job just to pay off the hospital bills. He had wanted to pay her back for everything, feeling lower than low that she had to singlehandedly pay all of their bills, be it for food, rent or medical while he went to school and got a half decent education. He tried to save up enough money from the odd jobs he managed to find so that she could live without having to scramble and work so many jobs; she had simply smiled at him when he offered her his meager savings and told him that it would be great if he could make dinner; dinner would be enough to repay her, she said, yawning, and then passed out on the couch to catch up on her sleep. She even showed him all of her family recipes, teaching him most of what was in her cookbook during her time off, which while limited, was often the closest thing to heaven in his childhood aside from his days playing ball out back with Bucky. He had written out a book filled with all of the recipes she had taught him after she had died, working through his grief by channeling all of his memories into it. He had lost the book to the ravages of time when he had been frozen, but he remembered most of it by heart, so its loss hadn’t been so bad, at least not in comparison with the loss of his friends and fellow soldiers. That recipe book was the one time he was glad for being able to remember the past; most of the other times left him wanting to curl up in a ball, but the memories of his mother always made him feel proud and oddly glad, knowing that she would be pleased with what he had become. She had always been so kind and understanding; it had been the others in their neighborhood, people who had been afraid of change, who had been the cruel ones to whisper hateful things about fags. Looking back on it now, he didn’t know why he had even bothered to listen to all those mindless voices in the first place; but fear was a powerful emotion, and he could see that he hadn’t quite left its grasp entirely. For now though, for now he could sit back and watch the world go by, flipping one piece of French toast at a time, knowing that he wouldn’t be judged for his life by anyone; at least not by his friends at any rate. The rest of the world could go get stuffed.

Steve set the finished piece of French toast on the stack of toast settled in the centre of the square black plate beside the stove and dropped another piece of egg soaked toast into the hot skillet, listening to it sizzle. Tony shifted against him, hands tracing their way across the flat of Steve’s stomach, dipping under the band of his sweatpants to playfully tugging at the strings. Steve gave Tony a good smack with the back of the flipper and then went back to watching the French toast cook, still humming serenely to himself, blushing a little redder than before. He could blame the blush on the heat from the frying pan this time at least.

“So what do you want to do today?” Tony murmured into Steve’s back. The bonnet crinkled as Tony rubbed his beard delicately against the back of Steve’s neck and Steve shivered; he liked it when Tony did that, and Tony always shamelessly did it to get his attention when he knew Steve was occupied elsewhere.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of maybe spending some time in bed.” Steve said bashfully. He was very aware that the other Avengers were still in the room with them, gathered around the kitchen table eating their breakfast. They had followed him into the kitchen like stray animals, looking for scraps of food as he had worked and had refused to wait anywhere else. He suspected that their refusal to settle in the living room until food was ready stemmed around their general nervous need to steal food from one another; He couldn’t blame them for being excited about a home cooked meal. He had after all gladly agreed to make them all breakfast for putting up with his nervous insanity and they had graciously agreed to accept his cooking in exchange for forgetting about his bout of hysterical laughter. He wasn’t so sure that Tony was going to forget about the hysterical laughter part anytime soon, and dreaded finding out what Tony had done with Jarvis’ surveillance footage. It would probably end up on Tony’s private server soon enough, possibly to be pulled out and played at embarrassing moments in punishment for Steve’s ‘failure to joke’, as Tony had called it later.

Steve felt his face get warmer when Tony pressed closer, nuzzling the back of his neck, wet lips brushing against skin.

“Sounds like a lovely idea.” Tony purred, sliding his hand down to cup Steve’s ass through his pants. Steve swatted him with the flipper again, horrified.

“Oh for god’s sake Stark! Stop molesting Steve! Some of us are trying to eat here.” Clint growled, poking at his empty plate with his fork. Clint watched Steve carefully, waiting to snatch up any ‘spare’ food, completely ignoring Tony for the most part.

“Hm… yes. I suppose he’s right.” Steve said reluctantly detaching Tony from his waist. He gave Tony a gentle nudge towards the table. Tony grumbled and sat down across from Clint, poking at his own empty plate with a butter knife he found beside it.

“You know you still owe me for the coffee filters, you rat bastard.” Tony growled at Clint. Clint shrugged, unconcerned.

“Hey, at least they got used for something good.”

“You made a bonnet. Who the hell makes bonnets anymore?” Tony said, leaning back against the back of his chair. His eyes dropped shut almost instantaneously, as if he had tied lead weights to his eyelids; Tony curled into the chair, arms crossed over his chest, breathing slowing. Steve finished yet another piece of French toast and by the time he put it on the plate Tony had fallen asleep. He was soon snoring; the bonnet was set atop his head at a jaunty angle, having slipped ever so slightly to the side when he so unceremoniously dropped off to sleep.

Clint smirked at Steve, gesturing to Tony with his fork.

“I take it he still hasn’t caught up on his sleep yet?” Clint asked. Steve carried the plate of French toast to the table and set it down, fondly watching the locust-Avengers descend on the pile. Clint managed to spear two pieces before having to hiss at Bruce, who tried to steal one right off the end of his fork despite it having bite marks in it already. Natasha stole Clint’s second piece when he was occupied with Bruce and wandered away to go eat her prize in the living room with Thor, who had already eaten enough frozen waffles to feed a small army and was relaxing on the couch to recover from his breakfast.

Steve returned to the stove, working on the next batch of French toast, disappointingly free of Tony’s distracting hands.

“Yeah, we had a bit of a misunderstanding last night. He was under the impression that I was upset with him and wanted to reconsider our relationship because I told him I wanted to talk.” Steve said.

“Ah. Good old Selective-Hearing-Tony. I haven’t seen him around in a while.” Clint said, stuffing his mouth with food. His eyes glazed over a little, syrup dribbling down his chin.

“These are freaking awesome by the way.”

“Thank you. And yes, I haven’t seen Selective-Hearing-Tony recently either. I was kind of hoping that he’d gone on a permanent vacation.” Steve said wryly.

“Yeah, good luck with that. He’s probably going to be around forever. You’ll find him when you least expect him, probably lurking behind the couch just waiting to jump out and scare the crap out of you.” Clint said with a grunt. He gestured to Tony with his fork, shaking his head sadly.

“Look at the fucker. He’s dead to the world.”

“Clint.”

“Sorry. But I mean, seriously? He’s practically drooling and that hat looks ridiculous enough on its own without him wearing it.” Clint laughed. He reached into his pocket and fished out Steve’s phone; he had taken to stealing it whenever Steve wasn’t looking, filling it with ‘amusing photos of Tony’ to keep Steve company with when they were in meetings. In retrospect, Steve probably should have noticed that Clint had been taking an interest in pointing out his attraction to Tony in the least subtle of ways. A few of the pictures Clint had taken had been very artistic in spite of Clint’s love of the crude and unusual. One had been of Tony in mid-leap when he had been trying to get over the banister before Thor could snag a waffle back from him. Steve had no idea where Tony had gotten the waffle from, because it hadn’t even been cooked; it had been frozen solid, and Steve had a sinking suspicion that he had gotten it from the freezer to play some kind of ill-advised indoor Frisbee with it. Tony had looked majestic like that, all smooth lines as his body bent to fly through the air. Tony had had a particularly devilish smile on his face too. Steve had spent three hours alone in his room trying to sketch out and recreate that expression with varied results; sometimes Tony was hard to capture on paper it seemed.

The camera clicked loudly and Steve had no doubt that he would now have several more pictures of Tony wearing the bonnet while sleeping; hopefully this time there would be no pictures prominently displaying Tony’s nostrils or nose hair. Clint seemed to love taking those, and no amount of complaining seemed to stop him from doing it; one evening Steve had found his laptop wallpaper set to Tony’s left nostril. He still hadn’t figured out how to change it to something better, he had just stopped using the laptop, too mortified to show it to Tony to ask him how to fix it.

Steve took his now towering plate of French toast to the table after shutting off the burner. He set the plate down and let Clint and Bruce fight amongst themselves for the three pieces that were left over after he set out his and Tony’s breakfast; he began to cut up Tony’s toast for him, knowing that Tony would be too sleep addled to manage it on his own when he woke up. He debated on making some coffee, and wondered if the caffeine would make it too hard for Tony to go back to sleep; Tony snorted loudly in his sleep from beside him, making the bonnet flutter. Steve chuckled. It would be a shame to wake Tony, but it had to happen nonetheless if Steve wanted to get some food into him anytime within this century. Tony had some kind of allergy to eating properly; he often forgot about it for hours on end until he passed out from lack of energy entirely. Steve was still trying to wrap his head around that particular conundrum, seeing as how Tony was a supposed genius…

“Tony.”

Steve gently shook Tony’s shoulder, jostling Tony slowly out of his deep sleep. Tony wobbled in the chair and sagged for a moment before regaining consciousness; he remained upright, shoulders pressed against Steve’s. Tony gave Steve a lopsided grin and blinked away sleep, scratching at his beard as he stretched, cracking his wrists.

“Sorry. I fell asleep there didn’t I?” Tony yawned, sitting up straight. He caught sight of the food set in front of him and perked up immediately, sleep abruptly forgotten; it was as if a switch had been thrown, changing him from standby to on mode.

“Ooh! Food is done!”

“Yes. Food is done. You better hurry or Clint is going to steal it away from you.” Steve said, taking a bite of French toast; it tasted good, just as he had hoped it would end up. He had thought that he might have put too much egg in and that it would be too squishy to eat; he had worried about it having far too much cinnamon in it as well, seeing as how Thor had come up behind him and thumped him on the back when he was sprinkling it in. Steve had dumped almost a third of the bag in with that one kind hearted smack. He blamed his jumpiness on the fact that he had been so absorbed in making everything perfect, and you couldn’t rush perfection when it came to food.

Clint grinned, reaching out to mock-stab at Tony’s food and Tony raised his arm, defending his plate with a hiss.

“Nope – No food for you. Piss off Barton.” Tony growled, eating his food a little quicker, eyes darting back and forth, watching Clint for signs of another attack. If Tony had a tail, Steve mused to himself, he would have looked like an annoyed cat trying to defend his food dish.

Even with Natasha and Thor having left the room, it still felt very cozy in the kitchen. Bruce was leaning against the window sill, nibbling at the pieces of toast he had managed to cut up while still half asleep; Clint was beside him, munching away on his own scavenged French toast, stealing pieces off of Bruce’s plate whenever he noticed that Bruce wasn’t looking. Everything felt as if it were in its rightful place; the room felt filled out, all the seats taken and food eaten. Steve liked having a full kitchen. Well, to be fair Tony’s kitchen was massive, and it would probably have taken thirty people to really fill it, but for now it was enough to just have Clint and Bruce with them. He watched Tony out of the corner of his eye, laughing silently to himself when he saw that Tony had gotten syrup mashed into his beard. The bonnet was still sitting crookedly on top of his head, making him look wild and half-crazed as he fended Clint off with his fork, metal clinking against metal whenever their forks met in battle over an unattended bite of food.

Steve’s phone rang loudly from across the table, jarring him out of his pleasant daze; he didn’t recognize the ringtone, not that he recognized it normally because Clint kept changing it on him whenever he found something new that he thought Steve might find annoying. Clint glanced at the caller ID and then handed it off to Steve, pushing his plate away; Steve frowned at the number, recognizing the extension as one used by SHIELD, but nothing else.

“Hello?” Steve said. He leaned one elbow on the table, cocking his head to the side as he held the phone up to his ear.

“Captain Rogers I presume.” Fury’s voice crackled over the phone, not quite cutting in and out but damn close to it. The man sounded stressed and slightly constipated; that was normal, seeing as how Fury seemed to live in a constant rage and frustration. Fury was likely underground within the SHIELD facility, which meant that he was using one of the departmental phone lines instead of his own. There was a slightly tinny quality to Fury’s voice, which was odd considering it was from one of SHIELD’S direct lines. Why would the departmental phones have such poor quality?

“Yes Director?” Steve asked.

“You are needed at SHIELD HQ yesterday Rogers.” Fury growled.

“Sir? Do you need the entire team or – “

“Bring Stark with you. I need him to work on the equipment he repaired. He knows what it is.” Fury said. He hung up before Steve could get another word in.

Steve stared down at the phone in his hand, confused. Fury didn’t normally make personal phone calls. All their usual dispatches came through Coulson or Hill even; it must have been something big if Fury had felt the need to call him personally. And yet, Steve thought with a frown, Fury hadn’t been detailed about what he had wanted Steve for; Coulson could have easily made the call. He wondered what that meant. Maybe Fury had heard about his relationship with Tony – Steve paled at the thought, swallowing hard and then pushed the fear back. If Fury had had a problem with gay men he wouldn’t have had Natasha give Steve all those pamphlets. Those had been SHIELD issue, and Fury was the one who Ok’d all of the training material, so that probably wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.

“Fury?” Tony asked around a mouthful of French toast, thankfully missing Steve’s near panic attack.

“Yeah. He wants you and me to go to HQ for some reason. He said he needed you to fix some equipment or something.” Steve said..

“Ah, yeah… That cryogenic equipment from last time needs repairs again I guess. I swear, I didn’t even want to touch that shit SHIELD was using to pump out the cryogenic tanks – it was all… creaky and melty. I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be leaking like that anyways, but you know SHIELD. They just pack things into a room and think, oh! Technology doesn’t require maintenance, we can just throw Tony at it and he’ll take care of all the problems. They don’t budget for shit all, so I have to pay for most of the parts myself, and thankfully I am made of money, so it isn’t a massive problem to cater to their stupidity. I just subtract it from my consulting fees. Really, Fury should just be glad that I don’t hack the whole place again and change the locks on him until he coughs up some money.” Tony grumbled, finishing his food.

“So much for our day in bed...” Steve said with a mournful sigh.

Tony nearly choking on his mouthful of food as he tried to swear; his eyes watered and he coughed loudly, thumping himself on the chest. Steve raised an eyebrow in his direction and made to offer help but was waved away.

“I guess so, yeah. Remind me to super glue all of Fury’s mission briefings to his desk when we get there. Maybe I should actually change the locks… I’d love to see the look on his face when he finds himself locked in his bathroom.” Tony said once he managed to breathe again.

“Sure. I’ll get right on that. As long as you take pictures, I’m with you.” Steve laughed.

Steve and Tony walked into the main elevator at SHIELD HQ, still chatting about Tony’s obsessive need to get revenge on Fury for interrupting their day in bed. Tony pressed the button for floor eight, the Cryogenics Division and then stepped back, leaning against the smooth metal walls of the elevator with his shoulders pressed up against Steve’s. Steve had only been down to the Cryogenics Division a few times, and most of those times he had been semi-conscious and half frozen. He didn’t like it down there amidst all the half-tested medical technology. It had been dark, cold and strangely alien down there, as if they had stolen the room he had been in from a mortician; everything, from the walls to the floor and doors, were coloured in sea foam green and salmon pink. All the hallways on that floor were made to reflect sound so that no one could go undetected down into the ‘freezer’; every sound echoed eerily and there was little in the way of privacy when you could hear everything. Steve knew from art school that the colours on the walls were supposed to be calming, but all he had ever felt from seeing them was a vague sense of dread and nausea. It was not a welcoming floor, even though it had been seemingly ripped right of some science fiction fairy tale version of Sleeping Beauty.

Fury had called again when they had been driving over and had ordered them to meet him down below instead of in their normal briefing room; he hadn’t said why. Steve wasn’t usually uncomfortable around Fury, yet today he felt as if he were walking into some kind of trap. He wasn’t usually uncomfortable around much these days outside of social situations, and somehow Fury seemed to know just what to say to creep him out. Steve disliked the Cryogenic Division on principal – too many bad memories there for his liking – and wished that there was some way he could get out of going down there. He resigned himself to his fate, however, knowing that there wasn’t anything to really be frightened of lurking below as long as he had Tony with him. Tony didn’t seem nervous about their descent at all; maybe he just hid it really well. Sometimes with Tony it was hard to tell. Tony laughed Steve’s questions off saying that he had been to the Cryogenic Division floor plenty of times before to repair malfunctioning machinery and didn’t get spooked by much anymore to begin with. Steve felt a little childish after that; he kept quiet, not wanting to embarrass himself further by telling Tony that the entire ride down felt like they were sinking back down below the ice where they had found him. Tony noticed his discomfort anyways, bless him, and held Steve’s hand the entire trip down, shoulders rubbing amicably against Steve’s. Tony let go of Steve’s hand when the elevator dinged and opened, startled; Fury was waiting for them, almost an inch away from the door, half hunched over like some kind of creature out of Nosferatu. Only Steve’s enhanced reflexes kept him from physically jumping a half foot off the ground; he tensed beside Tony, who went backwards into the wall and bounced off with a grunt.

“Captain Rogers. About damn time you got here. You’re familiar with James Buchanan Barnes, correct?” Fury asked brusquely, turning to walk away before Steve could even breathe out, his jacket flapping behind him despite there being no wind. Steve followed, increasing his pace to keep up with Fury; their heels clicked and echoed with each step they took, the sound was disorienting in the way it destroyed the silence. Tony lagged behind, uncertain of whether he should be following, which was a first. Tony usually wore his cocky grin when he was in SHIELD, strutting around as if he owned the place; today he looked grim and out of place, shuffling along. Steve gestured for him to follow, and Tony reluctantly did, catching up when Fury stopped in front of what appeared to be a hospital room.

Steve had seen this room before. It was the same room he spent a month in when he had been recovering after waking up from the ice. Steve involuntarily swallowed, steeling himself before Fury could turn around and notice his discomfort.

“Yes sir. I am familiar with Bucky. He was a good friend of mine. He died in action.” Steve said carefully, biting back deeper emotion that wanted him to scream the words out instead. The nightmares of losing Bucky were still there with him every waking hour; even being with Tony hadn’t been able to get rid of them completely. They usually just faded into the background now, popping up unexpectedly when someone mentioned something that Bucky had once liked. Tony had likened it to a minefield once; he was right. There was nothing safe from Bucky’s touch. Bucky had been with him for everything.

Fury paused, hovering in front of the polished steel door, waiting for something to happen. Steve stared around him at the door. If he squinted hard enough he could just make out the name on the piece of masking tape stretched across the front of it. James Barnes was written in black marker, the script curly and almost hard to read. Steve frowned at the door. Why did it say James Barnes on it? Bucky was dead – he had been dead for seventy some-odd years now and they had never recovered his body.

“I realize that this is a difficult time for you, but I’d like you to go in and talk with him. He’s been demanding you show up for the past three days and he’s been getting agitated – frankly, I’m a little agitated myself. I am pissed off Rogers that you haven’t dragged your sorry-ass down here sooner. You were supposed to be that jackass’s friend.” Fury snapped. Fury’s arms crossed in front of his chest, solid and unbreakable like a steel beam, almost barring Steve’s way. Fury drummed his fingers on his arm, his eye narrowed and glaring, waiting yet again for Steve to play catch up.

Steve stared blankly at Fury, not sure what to say.

“I’m sorry… but what are you talking about?” Steve asked slowly. His brain was chugging along at a snail’s pace trying to process something, but he couldn’t tell what exactly. He could still only hear the words ‘he’s been demanding you show up’ and ‘I’d like you to go in and talk with him’ and what did that even mean?

“Sir… Bucky’s dead.” Steve stated flatly, wondering if Fury had hit his head on something recently.

Fury stared at him. His eyebrow slowly rose on his forehead.

“Oh for fuck’s sake – they didn’t tell you, did they? I specifically ordered Coulson to tell you that we found him three weeks ago! Stark was working on his cryogenic pod the day it malfunctioned and he started thawing unexpectedly – “ Fury glared at Tony, shoving past Steve to grab a hold of him. Steve allowed himself to be pushed away, standing stiffly with his shoulder leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Everything was suddenly spinning.

“Stark – “

“What the hell are you talking about Fury? I was here for cryogenics, yeah, but I didn’t have clearance for anything! You didn’t tell me jack about what was going on – Oh god Steve. Steve, are you alright?” Tony ranted. He shoved Fury out of his way to Fury’s immense surprise and reached up, grabbing Steve by the arm, pulling him away from the wall.

“You alright honey?” Tony said. His voice sounded oddly distorted, as if he were talking to Steve through a tin can. Steve leaned back against the wall, blinking back tears; he could feel them dripping down his face after a moment and wondered vaguely why they had formed in the first place. And then it had hit him again, knocking the wind out of him and he was struggling to breathe once more. He flashed back to his childhood and the asthma that had plagued his every day. His mind jerked back to Bucky; Bucky as a child; Bucky as a young man going off to war; Bucky as a soldier; Bucky falling to his death.

Bucky was alive.

Bucky was alive and in the room just beyond the steel door.

Bucky was alive and he’d been expecting Steve.

Bucky had been expecting Steve and Steve hadn’t come.

“Bucky is alive?” Steve croaked, pushing way from Tony, trying to get his bearings; Tony looked hurt, and backed away, bumping into Fury.

“Of course he’s alive! What the hell did you think I called you for in the first place? I would have told you more over the phone, but that goddamned idiot newbie in Cryogenics fucked up the system again and cut me off. Speaking of that - Stark – I want you to go fix his shit NOW. Go on!” Fury snarled. He snapped his fingers in Tony’s face to get his attention and when Tony didn’t move, physically grabbed him and shoved him down the corridor; Tony stumbled, almost tripping on his own feet, not wanting to leave Steve behind.

“Move it – I don’t want any goddamned interns messing things up any more than they already are! Rogers will be fine without your handholding. Honestly – you two are like three year olds and I am not a goddamned babysitter! Get moving!” Fury snarled. Tony made a half gesture to turn, almost flailing to keep his balance as the top half of his body twisted so he could make eye contact with Steve; Steve nodded to him in reassurance, willing Tony to go.

“It’s alright – I’ll see you later Tony.” Steve said softly. He pushed off of the wall and turned his back on Tony, facing the door; the metal door towered over him, making him feel as if he were a child again. He reached up, hand hovering an inch overtop of the lever handle, preparing himself for what would be inside. It felt like an eternity, although how long it really took to move he couldn’t tell. He heard Tony’s retreating steps at some point. He heard Fury growling something at him but didn’t catch any of the words and then heard Fury’s footsteps going away too. Steve swallowed hard, looking down at his hand and then lurched back in surprise as the door was yanked open from the other side. He had forgotten that the door had another handle – he felt foolish.

Steve stood in the doorway, hand still held out over where the handle should have been, staring at the tall, shaggy, brown-haired young man standing in front of him; he was dressed in pale green hospital scrubs and baggy grey pants, wearing slippers to keep the cold of the cement from his bare toes. It was Bucky. Steve’s eyes widened.

Bucky was alive.

It wasn’t a dream.

“Steve!”

Steve was jerked into the room as Bucky enthusiastically drew him inside; Bucky hugged him close, arm wrapped tightly around Steve, his face pressed into the crook of Steve’s neck. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Bucky dragged Steve by the arm over to a metal chair and forced him to sit down in it. He took a seat on the edge of the messy white hospital bed behind him, watching Steve with a grin spread across his face four miles wide. He was missing an arm; that was what Steve picked up on first aside from the fact that Bucky looked relatively larger than he had in all of Steve’s memories.

“Your arm – “

“It’s fine. I lost it a while back. They’re repairing the robotic one I have right now because the circuits were damaged when my cryogenic tank malfunctioned and accidentally defrosted me. That Director Fury guy said that he’d have Stark make me a new one. Howard’s going to shit a brick when he sees me, eh? I can’t wait to see the look on his face!” Bucky chuckled; his hand rested on his leg, grasping the flesh there as if he were trying to steady himself. Steve felt something similar; he wanted to pinch himself to see if he were still awake. Maybe Bucky felt the same way.

“Howard died a long time ago I’m afraid.” Steve said quietly, shaking his head. There was no love lost between Howard Stark and Bucky Barnes, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come as a shock regardless. The two had fought with one another relentlessly no matter what the circumstance; Steve had been surprised that they didn’t break each other’s faces half the time the way they squabbled.

“Oh? I was wondering what was taking him so goddamned long to come and visit. Guess it was just wishful thinking on my part then. What took you so long by the way – “ Bucky looked annoyed now, eyes flashing. He seemed to have skipped over the sadness of Howard’s passing and had gone straight to his usual source of rage: Steve having done something wrong.

“There was a miscommunication. No one told me until a few minutes ago.” Steve said softly. He felt tears welling up in his eyes again and tried to stop them, telling himself that he was being too emotional. Bucky had always hated it when he cried; he’d teased him ruthlessly when they were younger, and he highly doubted that he’d get a better a response now. He hadn’t cried like this since he had woken up in the future for the first time alone in his bed.

“Shit, Steve. Well, whatever – you’re here now and that’s what counts.” Bucky said. The anger swiftly left his eyes, replaced by an eager hopeful look.

“So are you going to spring me from this shithole? You got your own place? You got family – I mean, you look good for what, pushing seventy? They said that you only woke up recently too, so I guess we’re in the same boat now, just like old times. I suppose I look good too considering. ” Bucky rambled, shrugging his shoulders.

“How are you doing?” Steve asked, ignoring Bucky’s questions. He tried to grimace through the uncomfortable twinge in his gut at the way Bucky had started in on him not even ten seconds into meeting him again; Steve calmed himself. He’d dealt with Bucky before, why should it be any harder now? Bucky was his friend. They had shared a lifetime together, keeping each other as sane and stable as they could, playing around when they had the chance. He had never been uncomfortable like this before; the closest he had ever gotten to this uncomfortable had been when he was on stage doing his very first war bond performance, and even that felt like a walk in the park in comparison to what he was feeling now. His insides felt like they were trying to crawl their way up out of his throat to become outsides. Steve shuddered, forcing himself to smile and stay calm despite his growing anxiety, clasping his hands on his lap.

Luckily for Steve, Bucky was oblivious, as usual.

“I’m fine. I’m getting antsy from being stuck here for so long. I want to get out of this stinking room – I want to go see the world again! They think I’m going to have some kind of wussy breakdown or something if they let me out without someone to watch me. They gave me all these pamphlets and things to read – You know being a fag is legal now? I know – I thought the world would be a little nicer now, but what can you do, right?” Bucky grunted; he looked disgusted now, as if he was ready to go out on a rampage at a moment’s notice. This was the Bucky that Steve remembered – vividly.

“Bucky…” Steve started. Steve grasped his hands tighter, trying to calm himself to keep from shaking. He could see Bucky watching him, a strangely annoyed look in his eyes. Steve wanted to have a conversation with Bucky like two normal adults would talk; to maybe get some dialogue out about his relationship with Tony, and how he liked the changes that had happened to the world. Yet suddenly, looking into Bucky’s eyes, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to do it; it would be like trying to destroy a mountain with a twig. He had been striking at this particular mountain for years and he hadn’t even made a scratch in it.

“The times sure have changed, huh?” Bucky said. He reached behind him, fumbling with the roll of blankets and fished a pile of pamphlets from under the crumpled bedspread, holding them up in front of him; his hand clenched, squashing the papers into a ball.

“They tried to give me the whole ‘walk through’ spiel about how it’s alright to be a fag. I wanted to spit in that bitch’s face. Me? A fag? I don’t think so. And then – “ Bucky threw the wadded up papers on the floor, glaring furiously at them. “Then they tried to tell me that there’s some kind of Hate Crime law that make it illegal to teach fags their place now. Who the hell voted for that?”

Bucky spat on the pamphlets, eyes burning like two coals; he looked up at Steve, cocking his head to the side.

“You don’t seem as pissed off as I am Steve. What’s wrong with you? You some kind of fag now or something?” Bucky growled, apparently only half joking.

“Bucky, the times have changed. I… I don’t believe in breaking laws.” Steve said. He didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t cause a worse response. He could see that Bucky was upset; maybe he didn’t really understand what he was saying? Maybe Bucky didn’t understand that he was being hurtful – Steve had never pressed him about changing his opinions before and doing it now would be –

Someone knocked on the door from outside; the rap was carefree and loud, almost deafening Steve. Steve stiffened, turning to stare at the closed door. The door opened, and Tony strutted in. Tony had grease on his face and hands; his clothing was dishevelled from having done some rather quick repairs, although Steve wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed to be really certain. Tony looked smug, as if he’d just had to fight his way through a herd of admirers, his lips curled into a pleased grin.

“Hey! I just wanted to check in on Steve to make sure that everything was going alright with you two.” Tony said. He paused awkwardly in the doorway, cockiness fading slightly upon sight of Bucky, standing half in the room and half out. Tony eyed Bucky from a distance, watching him very carefully. Bucky met his gaze and rose from the bed, moving towards Tony in slow motion, wiping his hand on his pants so that he could have a firm handshake. Steve watched in horror; he dug his fingers into the seat of the chair so hard that he dented it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it in the air. Oh god – Tony –

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky drawled.

Bucky took Tony’s hand in his own, shaking it roughly, squeezing until Tony squeezed back, trying not to wince. Tony smiled at him, the smug smile creeping slowly back on his face and then Bucky grinned viciously back at him; Tony didn’t startle at the change, but it was clear to Steve that he had wanted to. They watched each other, tense like two animals ready to circle one another to fight to the death over a particularly tempting piece of carrion.

“Tony Stark.” Tony sang back.

Their eyes remained locked on one another’s, smiles burning their way into Steve’s retinas with their intensity. Steve couldn’t stop watching them, afraid that if he looked away something might happen.

“Howard’s son?” Bucky said. The grin on Bucky’s face increased in size, showing more teeth than normal, when he saw Tony scowling at his words.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Tony said. He turned away from Bucky to gaze at Steve, shrugging nonchalantly as if to say ‘what are you going to do?’. Steve smiled weakly back at him, trying to reassure Tony that he was fine and that he should really go away before something bad happened; it didn’t get across, because Tony started frowning and decided to move closer, the exact opposite of what Steve had intended.

“Is everything alright in here?” Tony asked, pulling free from Bucky’s death grip. He walked over to Steve, lightly placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb gently against Steve’s shoulder blade.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed into slits. He stepped forwards and seized Tony by the arm, yanking Tony’s hand away from Steve so hard that Steve was sure Tony would have whiplash.

“Get your hands off of him.” Bucky barked. His fingers dug into the meat of Tony’s shoulder, making Tony wince in pain.

“Bucky – “ Steve murmured, cradling his head in his hands. He let out a shaky breath.

“He shouldn’t be touching you like that.” Bucky snapped, shoving Tony away from him as if he had suddenly realized that Tony had the black plague.

“You some kind of fag, buddy?” Bucky asked, wiping his hand on his hospital pants, revolted.

Tony’s eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Are you some kind of fag?” Bucky asked again, voice rising in volume.

Tony’s gaze snapped to Steve for a moment. Steve looked away, unsure of what to do; he could see the hurt in Tony’s eyes and he didn’t like seeing it there. This was too much. He stood up and pushed the chair away, standing up, only half hearing the scrape of metal across linoleum.

“Tony is my friend. What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked, putting himself in between Bucky and Tony.

Tony’s face twitched visibly at the word friend. He stepped back, moving towards the open door, hands clenched at his sides; Steve could tell that he was busy fighting with himself to keep from saying something.

“Tony– “ Steve turned his back on Bucky, snagging Tony by the arm so that he couldn’t leave. He pleaded with Tony with his eyes, begging him to stay. Tony crumpled a little in defeat, shoulders slouching. He stared blandly at Bucky from around Steve’s shoulder, keeping all emotion out of his eyes; his lips were curled in a curdled version of his PR smile, sickeningly sweet. Tony’s free hand unclenched, hanging loose and open, perhaps trying for nonthreatening. Steve sighed aloud, wishing he could have taken the words he had spoken to Bucky back so that he could phrase them better.

“What’s wrong with me?” Bucky snapped.

Bucky seized Steve’s arm, hauling him away from Tony; Steve remained defiantly positioned in between the two, caught in the middle, still holding Tony by the arm. He looked from Tony to Bucky, momentarily baffled, unsure what to do. Tony smiled at him; it was a broken smile, one Steve had only seen in the days before they had been together. Steve hated that smile.

“I should probably go. You guys have fun catching up.” Tony said; his voice was cheerful, bordering on strained. Tony turned to leave the room, tugging at the arm trapped in Steve’s hand to break free.

“Can you stay, please?” Steve asked, shoulders sagging. He could hear the begging in his voice and hated himself for it; hated the fact that he was having to beg to keep Tony from leaving because of his own stupid indecision.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Tony said softly.

“No – stay. I want to have a talk with you in private anyways Stark. Steve can go get us some coffee or something, right Steve?” Bucky said.

Steve stood up straighter, bristling at the command.

“I’ve got to talk to him about my arm, remember?” Bucky explained; his eyes didn’t match the almost pleasant tone his words carried. Bucky sat down on the edge of his bed and gestured to the chair Steve had vacated.

“Sit down Stark.” Bucky demanded.

For some reason Tony complied; he walked past Steve and sat down, legs crossed. Part of Steve had wished that Tony would have dragged him out of the room instead.

“Alright. Go ahead Steve. We’ll be fine, right? We’re just going to talk.” Tony said, crossing his arms.

Steve hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Tony alone with Bucky; never with Bucky. Bucky was unpredictable at the best of times, and while it made him a good fighter, it made him a lousy diplomat. Steve stared into Tony’s eyes, wanting to tell him all of this without actually saying it aloud, but all his look did was make Tony crack yet another fake PR smile; the patented Tony Stark Wall was up, and it wasn’t going to come down any time soon. Steve swallowed painfully and nodded his head, feeling numb. He trusted Tony. Tony could handle himself – and Bucky only had the one arm, so how much damage could he do now?

“Al…Alright. I’ll go get some coffee. You two behave yourselves!” Steve said, clearing his throat. He fled from the room without looking back, hoping that he wouldn’t be returning to a bloodbath.

The hallway outside of Bucky’s room seemed to stretch on forever as if it was an endless line; green and salmon twisted together, extending on and on towards the bright yellow light spilling from what he assumed was the Cryogenic floor’s break room. Steve hadn’t been to the break room down here before, but he could follow signs, and knew vaguely where it should be located. He trudged along, feet feeling as if they were made of cement instead of flesh, clunking along under him with each step. His entire body felt heavy, weighed down by something invisible; he paused, leaning against the wall to catch his breath, chest tightening. He didn’t like that feeling – breathlessness that had haunted him as a boy into adulthood, only to leave after the serum had taken full command over his body.

He wasn’t ready anymore. He wasn’t nearly ready enough for this; Not this. Telling Bucky would be like chaining himself to a rock and throwing it into the ocean, a defeat earned at a cost on both sides. He shuddered, remembering the way the water had filled his lungs when he had crashed the plane. It had been so cold. So very, very cold and he’d been gasping for breath for what seemed like forever before the darkness had finally taken him. He wanted Tony. He wanted Tony to tell him that it was alright and that everything would be fine. He wanted Tony.

Steve looked around and saw the hallway again for what it was; a corridor to rooms, nothing more. There was no ocean here, and no ice, no swirling abyss threatening to suck him down into nothingness. There was something he was supposed to do – oh. Yes, he remembered now. He was supposed to go get coffee. Steve pushed himself reluctantly away from the wall and started off towards the break room again, this time determined to get the job done. He had to get back to Tony, and the only way he could do it was by getting the coffee.

“Captain Rogers? Are you alright?”

Coulson’s voice broke the long silence of the hallway. Steve flinched as the sound reached him. He looked around slowly and then saw Coulson standing in the doorway of a room up ahead; he relaxed once he saw where the SHIELD agent was, having feared that he was hallucinating the man in the first place, which was strange because why would he hallucinate Coulson in the first place? Coulson waved him over and Steve gratefully followed him into the room. It was the break room! He had had the rooms mixed up – He had been going the wrong way and – No. He had been going the right way; it was all just muddled somehow. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of headache building up. What the hell was he doing?

“Captain Rogers?” Coulson asked again. Coulson tapped Steve’s arm gently to get his attention. Steve smiled embarrassedly at him, shaking his head.

“I was trying to find the break room. Bucky wanted me to go get coffee.” He explained, finding it all very dull. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. He smiled weakly at Coulson.

“Ah yes, the illustrious Mr. Barnes. I was going to tell you about him being back earlier but well…” Coulson gingerly walked a befuddled Steve through the break room entrance. Everything in the room was made of stainless steel, the tables gleaming just as brightly as the chairs, having been polished. It didn’t look like many people visited here, and judging by the décor, it wasn’t a very pleasant place to relax in at any rate. The steel left the room feeling very cold and much more like an interrogation room rather than a break room. Coulson led him to a coffee machine at the back of the room and pressed a few buttons, ordering himself a plain cup of coffee; there were many options available, and none seemed to make sense. A paper cup dropped down behind a crosshatched plastic screen; coffee poured down from a spout above, filling the cup with scalding black coffee, steam momentarily fogging the plastic, blocking the cup from view.

“I took the liberty of accidentally not telling you. I hope you’re not too mad about that.” Coulson explained. He lifted up the plastic screen with one hand and pulled out his coffee with the other, heading over to sit on an uncomfortable metal bench beside an equally uncomfortable looking metal table. He rested his coffee on the tabletop and patted the bench to get Steve to join him.

Steve stumbled over and stood beside the table, mind racing.

Coulson had known that Bucky was here and hadn’t told him.

Coulson had known.

Coulson had known and hadn’t told him because… why?

Steve licked his dry lips and tried to glare at Coulson, wanting to be mad at him for the deception; he found that he couldn’t muster up the rage even when he focused on it. It felt like a… relief that he hadn’t known. It was a relief – god, it was a relief that he hadn’t known! If he had known… If he had known at all… God! He would have been so afraid of seeing Bucky again. He would have seized up completely, not able to move at all just from the thought of Bucky disapproving of everything he had ever done since waking up.

“I’m not mad. I think… I don’t think I would have been ready to deal with him then. I’m not even sure that I am now.” Steve admitted, resting his arms on the cold metal table, sitting directly beside Coulson. He looked down at his reflection in the table, watching his and Coulson’s image bounce around below him, stretching and warping like a fun house mirror. Coulson looked like he usually did, when Steve managed to catch the reflection dead on that is, although today he seemed more than a little exhausted looking and had dark bags under his eyes; Coulson swirled his coffee around in his cup, blowing on it to cool the scalding liquid before taking a tentative sip.

“Clint thought so too. I wasn’t sure that you’d be able to handle him, and frankly I’d rather that you saw him when you could deal with everything. Fury of course, doesn’t seem to think with his brain some days. He was all for getting you to visit Bucky two seconds after he’d been unfrozen. Somehow I don’t think that would have been a great decision.” Coulson said wearily. He smiled at Steve, the look warm and caring; this was one of the only times he had seen Coulson making that particular smile without Clint around. Everything clicked for a moment, and Steve stared at him, surprised.

“So… You and Clint…” Steve said carefully. He didn’t know if there were electronic ears listening and he was damned if he was going to out someone else.

Coulson continued smiled softly, unperturbed by the question.

“Yes. He’s in the same boat that Tony is in right now I’m afraid. You know all about that. It’s tough to figure out when you’re ready and well… I’m not quite ready yet.” Coulson said, taking another slight sip of his coffee. He set the cup down in front of him, cradling it in between his hands, spinning the paper cup slowly.

“I know what you mean.” Steve sighed, leaning heavily against the table. He could feel the edge of the metal cutting into the skin on his arm, but didn’t pull away, finding the feeling more comforting than he had thought it would.

“I take it that you’ve come out to the rest of the Avengers then?” Coulson asked.

“Yes. They were all very nice about it actually. Not that I expected them to be mean about it… well… It… it felt great to see that they didn’t care one bit about Tony and I being in love.” Steve smiled; he could still see the excitement in Clint and Thor’s eyes from that morning, and the soft smiles Natasha and Bruce had given him.

“Good for you Steve. I’m glad things worked out.” Coulson said.

“I’m glad too. I was really worried about it… I…” Steve stuttered to a halt.

He had been worried about everything despite the fact that he had understanding friends. His friends were with him, friends who were so much more supportive then Bucky had ever been. He had friends who had looked out for him and protected him from the hate and unhappiness he had been dreading he would find in the world. He had forgotten about those friends for a moment; that was almost more shameful than his original fall into helplessness out in the hallway. He bit his lower lip, hesitating, and then continued, knowing that Coulson was in the same list as all of his other friends despite knowing him a little less than them.

“I’m afraid of Bucky’s reactions. That’s stupid though, isn’t it? Because, realistically, I’ve got all of the Avengers standing behind me cheering us on and… it’s him that I’m concerned about. It was him I was always afraid of disappointing. He was always the voice in the back of my head whispering the most hurtful things, even after he was dead.” Steve sighed.

“It’s not stupid. He was your best friend back in the day, wasn’t he? You lived with him day in and day out in blood and mud filled battlefields that would have broken the strongest willed people in the world. Telling him off would have meant being alone in all of that misery – and really, I’m not sure that I could have done it either if I was in your place. Being alone is often worse than being dead.” Coulson said softly. He took another sip of coffee, looking at Steve contemplatively over the rim of the cup.

“And you’re not alone now, no matter what you tell yourself. Not anymore, that is. I have to try and remember that too. I’m not alone either. We don’t need to put up with asshole friends anymore. We have better ones now.” Coulson said.

Steve smiled. The pain in his stomach was still there twanging away, but it seemed lighter now, and much less likely to strangle his thoughts. Coulson, as usual, spoke with the candor Steve would have expected from a battle commander. They didn’t have to put up with bullshit anymore, that was for sure. Coulson was just as concerned as Steve was about what everyone would think, and yet here he was, talking about it aloud in the break room in SHIELD, a place where someone was always, always, watching. Even though he said he wasn’t ready, Coulson wasn’t afraid of anything.

“You’re right. We don’t have to put up with anything we don’t agree with anymore… I don’t know why I didn’t see that before now.” Steve sighed.

“I think being in love makes one temporarily blind to reality sometimes. God knows Clint’s had to put up with enough of my shit now to attest to that.” Coulson laughed.

Steve smiled, shaking his head. Clint seemed to have a way with getting people to open up and be themselves; he envied the way Clint was able to see things so clearly, without worrying about the trauma hidden underneath. He was just like Tony in a way. They were both putting up with a crazy person, and were being nothing but supportive. Suddenly, all Steve could see was Tony’s face as he had left him alone in that godforsaken room with Bucky. That PR smile flashed in his mind, bitter and devoid of real emotion; the smile Steve hated with a passion, not because it was horrible to look at, but because it was Tony trying to hide himself away from something uncomfortable behind a wall of impregnable smiles. And here Steve was, hiding in the break room with Coulson while Tony was off battling Bucky under the pretense of staying there to work on Bucky’s robotic arm enhancements.

“I think I’m ready now – for real this time.” Steve said firmly.

“Oh? Worked up your courage already? That was fast.”

“I don’t have time to be slow anymore. If I wait, it’ll be too late to do anything useful and then I’ll just be stuck with nothing but regrets. I think I owe you a big favor for not telling me about Bucky. Seriously, if you ever need anything, let me know.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I think I owe you one actually. If you hadn’t set such a bad example, I wouldn’t be getting away with half the shit I get away with.” Coulson said wryly.

Steve laughed loudly, breaking the relative silence of the break room, the sound booming out.

“Gee thanks! I guess I kind of deserve that though.” Steve chuckled. He stared at the coffee machine for a few seconds, amused, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Well thanks for helping me see things the way they really are anyways. I think I just needed someone to kick me in the right direction. God, I hope Tony’s not too disappointed with me. I kind of left him in there with Bucky…” Steve said with a groan. He jumped up from the table and dashed to the coffee machine, punching the buttons blindly; he had no idea what kind of coffee he was getting, and didn’t care as long as it had a somewhat coffee-like constancy and colour. He had to get back to Tony. He couldn’t hide here in the break room with Coulson forever, even if he wanted to; even if it would have bolstered his courage even more and made him feel safe. He had to get back to Tony, because just as Steve needed Tony, Tony needed him. They were a team in both the Avengers and in their lives. God – he had left Tony alone with Bucky –

Steve almost burned himself trying to get the coffee out from the machine faster. He flashed Coulson a weary and slightly stressed grin.

“I’d better get back there and face the music. I hope to god they don’t have anything in that room they can use to start world war three…” Steve laughed feebly. He clutched the coffee in front of him and started to the door, passing Coulson as he went out. Coulson gave him a pat on the arm again as he passed, smirking at him, all knowingly.

“Good luck Steve.”

“Thanks Phil. Good luck to you too.”

Steve started down the hallway with renewed purpose, marching along with the sound of his own steps echoing in his ears for comfort. He could see Bucky’s room at the end of the hall and although he feared what he would find behind that door, he knew that he wouldn’t run away from it. He would face it, and deal with what happened inside with Tony standing by his side. He wouldn’t back down or compromise anymore – he had friends who were there for him, and if Bucky didn’t want to be supportive, well…

If Bucky couldn’t deal with him being in love with Tony, it would be Bucky’s fault, not Steve’s; he wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.

Steve pushed the lever handle down with his elbow to get back into Bucky’s room, coffee held against his chest as to not spill it; he stepped inside and found Bucky and Tony wrestling madly on the floor. Bucky sat atop Tony’s hips, punching Tony in the face with his good arm; Tony was blocking Bucky’s fist with his arms held up in front of his face, succeeding in fending off only a few of the blows. The metal chair Steve had left Tony sitting on was bent slightly and lying on its side beside them, cast aside after the struggle. Someone had obviously been hit with it, judging by the size of the dent in the seat, and Steve had a sneaking suspicion that it had been Tony who had taken the abuse.

Steve moved without thinking, switching into Captain America mode. He set the coffee down on the small table beside the wall and then threw himself into the fray, separating the pair as if they were a pair of children fighting on the playground. He seized Bucky by the scruff of the neck and threw him across the room and onto the bed; Steve had never been so angry with Bucky before in his life, and seeing Tony there, trapped underneath him fending off blows…

Bucky yelped as he hit the bed, flipping it over on impact, and slid off the edge of the frame; Bucky winced when his back connected with the sharp edge of the metal frame and springs. Steve ignored him and his glaring eyes. He focused on Tony, kneeling down beside him, shifting Tony into a sitting position so that he could get a better look at him. Tony’s lip was split down the middle and the scratch on the side of his head had been opened up again and made larger; the band aid had been ripped off and lay a few feet away plastered to the floor. The other side of Tony’s face was purpling with bruising, and his shirt had been ripped open from the neck to the breast pocket, revealing reddened flesh on his chest along the edge of the arc reactor. Bucky had probably broken his fingers hitting it without realizing that the arc reactor was there in the first place. Steve hoped that it had hurt.

“Jesus, Tony…” Steve said, pulling him closer. He wanted to take Tony’s face in his hands so that he could kiss away the bruises and the pain; Tony shoved him away, glaring around Steve’s shoulder at Bucky, eyes dark and fiery with wrath.

“He’s crazy – “ Tony sputtered, pointing a shaky, blood covered finger in Bucky’s direction. Steve couldn’t see any other cuts on Tony’s body, so Tony had probably tried to wipe at his head wound at some point during the scuffle, probably to get the blood out of his eyes. Steve was absolutely furious.

“He got what was coming to him! Fucking fag! You queered up my best friend, and you have the balls to show your goddamned face to me – to put your disgusting hands on me -” Bucky snarled, struggling upright. He made to jump on Tony again; Steve reached out and one handily threw Bucky back against the overturned bed again without even facing him. Steve turned slowly, glowering; he could feel all the years of disappointment in Bucky welling up inside him, screaming for Steve to let them out.

“If you touch Tony again, I swear to god Bucky, I will break you in half.” Steve said. His voice was calm and steady despite his fury; he was Captain America again, but he was also Steve Rogers too, for once. He wasn’t going to take it anymore. He had had enough of all of Bucky’s bullshit.

“Steve – “ Bucky sputtered.

Steve shook himself angrily. He pulled Tony upright as he stood, tucking Tony behind him so that Tony couldn’t launch a return assault on Bucky; not that Steve expected Tony to attack, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“He’s the man I love and you should damn well treat him with some respect!” Steve growled.

Bucky’s eyes widened with pure unbridled horror; his eyeballs bulging in their sockets as if to escape his face entirely. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been happening to Bucky.

“You’re kidding. Steve, tell me you’re kidding.” Bucky said slowly.

“I’m not kidding and I wasn’t joking around about breaking you in half either. You touch him – “ Steve moved forwards stabbing at Bucky with one finger; Bucky cringed, moving backwards into the bedframe having nowhere else to go, trapping himself.

“You’re not a fag Steve – “ Bucky said, voice shaking; he was trembling, although Steve couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline, rage or fear.

“If you touch Tony or treat him with any disrespect again, we are over as friends and you can deal with all of this on your own. It’s your choice. You can either grow up, or you can find yourself friendless and alone. It’s your choice Bucky.” Steve said.

Bucky stared up at him from his position on the floor, wide eyed; there was something there lurking behind Bucky’s eyes, something scared and lonely hiding behind the rage. Steve couldn’t bring himself to feel any sympathy for Bucky. He kept seeing Tony’s face, bleeding and bruised. He kept seeing what could have happened to Tony – what Bucky would have done to him even one handed – if he hadn’t gotten back in time to pull Bucky off of him. Steve had seen the reports, even though he had never admitted to it before now. He knew what Bucky had done to men he thought were fags; men who had served alongside them both, proudly and respectfully, men who had been their friends. Steve had seen that man Bucky had beaten within an inch of his life hours after it had happened; he had visited the hospital and seen the broken, terrified man who had once been a fearsome hand to hand combat specialist trembling in his sleep, afraid that Bucky would come back to finish the job. He had only been kissing another of the commandos. No one else had minded; but Bucky… Bucky had wanted to set an example.

“You may think that you’re a big guy here Bucky, but you’re not – not in the way you think you are. You were my friend, and I respected you. You… you… you abused that friendship every time you made fun of gay people – every time you told me that I’d better not be one because I’d be ruining everything. I hated you for that – I hate you for it now, but I’m willing to give you another chance to fix it all as long as you learn how to grow up and treat other people with the respect they deserve regardless of whom they love, be it another man or another woman.” Steve said; he was shaking now, shaking with rage that bubbled and churned within his stomach and heart. He felt Tony’s hand on his shoulder pull him back, reigning him in and stilled, finding himself almost panting from shouting so loudly.

“Steve…” Tony said from behind him. Tony reached out, grabbing Steve by the arm, pulling him away so that he was no longer towering over Bucky.

“It’s alright – it’s over now. He gets it. It’s fine.” Tony said. Steve shook his head, turning to look back at Bucky.

“I know, it’s fine honey.” Steve said, sighing. He felt the rage rushing away as he looked into Tony’s shining eyes. Steve reached out, wiping blood from the side of Tony’s nose. He took Tony in his arms, wrapping himself around Tony’s bruised and broken body; he felt Tony wrap his arms around him in turn, Tony’s face pressing into his neck.

“It’s ok Steve. Thank you.” Tony said softly.

Bucky struggled upright, untangling himself from the bedsprings with a metallic shriek. He stared at Steve and Tony in disbelief, mouth hanging open.

“You’re making a mistake Steve.” Bucky hissed softly, fist clenching at his hip.

“I am not. The only mistake I ever made was putting up with your crap in the first place. Friends aren’t supposed to make other friends hate themselves!” Steve snapped back, ushering Tony out of the room. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Bucky standing stock still, looking lost and alone in the destruction that had once been his peaceful recovery room.

“Steve, don’t go – “ Bucky pleaded, swallowing hard.

“I’ll come back to see you when you’re feeling better, if you still want to see me that is.” Steve said softly. He pushed open the door and left without waiting for a response.

Steve took Tony into the break room to find Coulson so that they could clean Tony up; they dealt with Tony’s bleeding scalp first, prioritizing it over the bruising, which seemed trivial in comparison. Coulson was surprisingly good with stitches, and even though he wasn’t a doctor or a nurse, he made perfectly straight lines while sewing Tony up. For once Tony hadn’t complained the entire time he was getting his stitches even though he had probably wanted to; Steve had smiled at that. Tony ended up with three stitches in total and he wasn’t very pleased. He had tried to make light of the situation by joking around about his face having ‘character marks’ like an old piece of furniture. Steve hadn’t really found it funny, and in truth, neither had Tony. He had just been saying it to try and get the frown off of Steve’s face to begin with. They were all weary by the time Coulson finished treating Tony’s wounds. Coulson suggested that Tony should go up to the Medical Bay for a checkup, and Tony had told him in no uncertain words where he could put that idea. Tony had wanted to go home; he hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in SHIELD than was necessary, and Steve had agreed with him wholeheartedly. There was nothing wrong that they couldn’t take care of at home themselves. They had said good bye to Coulson, thanked him for his help, and headed home with Steve driving the car this time.

When they arrived home, Steve marched Tony upstairs to their shared bathroom; Natasha had raised an eyebrow when she had seen Tony’s condition and had offered to help but they had declined, telling her that the worst was already taken care of. She hadn’t protested. She had pursed her lips and gone for her phone instead, wandering off into the kitchen, a dark look in her eyes. He suspected that Coulson might be getting an earful.

Steve lifted Tony up onto the counter, setting the first aid kit beside his hip just as he had done the night before; Steve didn’t like the parallel, but was glad at least that things were still mostly alright. Tony smiled shyly at him, batting his eyelashes. Even with the split lip and the bandage stuck to the side of his head he looked beautiful, and he seemed determined to milk it for all it was worth.

“Well,” Steve said, leaning forwards to press his lips lightly to Tony’s forehead, kissing him.

“At least I got to tell someone we were together without them actually knowing about it first. Although it didn’t go quite like I had hoped it would…” Steve tried to joke.

Tony took Steve’s chin in his hand, wincing out a stronger smile.

“Yeah. I guess there’s that.” Tony murmured. Steve hugged Tony close, resting his cheek against Tony’s scratchy beard.

“I’m sorry I got into a fight with Bucky.” Tony blurted, fingers digging painfully into Steve’s back with the admission. Steve didn’t pull away despite the pain; he hugged Tony tight against him to reassure him, kissing Tony gently on the lips, mindful of the split in middle.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I left you alone with him in the first place. I… I knew how he gets around people he doesn’t like and… well… He used to be a better person when we were younger… I’m not sure what happened to change that.” Steve sighed.

“I think he had a little bit too much on his plate to handle it all.” Tony grumbled.

“How did it start anyways? Did he just jump on you, or…” Steve asked with a sigh.

“Well it started out alright aside from him giving me the stink eye for a full ten minutes while I talked about the necessary changes to his arm that would need to be made because of it being all outdated junk. Then I tried to get a few measurements, you know how it is, so he wouldn’t end up with something that didn’t match his other arm and all hell broke loose. He freaked out on me and called me a fag and then started screaming at me for ‘queering you up’, as he put it. He hit me with the chair after that – I don’t really remember why. I think he was just really mad at me.” Tony admitted softly, looking up into Steve’s eyes. Tony looked ashamed, as if he had done something wrong and expected to be punished for it.

“Don’t blame yourself. He gets like that. I don’t think you could have calmed him down or stopped it. He always did like to think with his fists.” Steve said. He kissed Tony again, pecking him on the tip of the nose and then reluctantly pulled back to start dealing with the rest of Tony’s injuries. He helped Tony out of his half shredded shirt, peeling Tony out of it delicately as to not jostle his sore ribs and then got his first good look at the bruises he knew had been lurking underneath.

Tony looked like he had just taken a few rounds in the ring with a prize fighter. His ribs were black and blue on the sides and his chest was sporting fist shaped bruises in several places; some were deeper than others, but all of them looked painful, and with Tony’s regular healing they would be around for days. Steve traced one of the bruises with his finger, sighing aloud.

“You didn’t fight back, did you?” Steve asked, running his finger around the outer ring of the arc reactor. Tony shivered at the touch, shrugging his shoulders.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I took a swing at the one armed guy. I didn’t think he’d hit so goddamned hard though to be honest. I figured I’d just let him let off some steam and then… well…”

“I should have warned you about his tendency to hit people with chairs. It’s a habit he got into when we were in school. He hit Jimmy Anderson with one in first grade and it stuck with him.” Steve grumbled. He looked over the rest of Tony’s body, hands tracing the contours of Tony’s shoulders, hips and neck; he found nothing worse than bruising, thankfully, although there were a few slightly scabbed over scrapes that may have been from Tony repairing the cryogenic equipment beforehand.

“Yeah, well you didn’t really have a lot of time to talk to me when I came in. I… I’m sorry I interrupted. I really should have just gone home, but I…” Tony fell silent, looking down at his hands. His forearms were speckled with bruises from where Bucky had been hitting him the last few times before Steve had broken them apart; the bruises covered his tanned skin in blotchy purple, making it look like a child had been drawing on him with magic markers.

“I’m glad you came to find me.” Steve said, taking Tony’s hands in his own. He ran his thumb over Tony’s scraped up knuckles, thankful that Bucky hadn’t broken any of Tony’s fingers; he knew how much that would have hurt Tony. Tony was always very careful with his hands.

Tony looked up, trying to smile again; it was painful for him, judging by the way his lip twitched around the split.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t just tell him off to begin with. I was afraid of what he would say.” Steve admitted. He ran his thumb over Tony’s lower lip, pausing just before he reached the red jagged split.

“I think I was in shock. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him again and I never really thought about what I would say to him if I had the chance. I’m so sorry Tony. I’m so sorry that I – “

Steve fell silent as Tony kissed him, cupping his face. He closed his eyes, letting Tony deepen the kiss, moving his hands to brace himself against Tony’s chest. Tony groaned into his mouth, pulling back with a wince.

“Ow.” Tony said; he was sheepish looking, batting his eyelashes in faux modesty.

“Sorry – “

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for what Bucky does. He’s not your responsibility anymore. I’m glad that you got to tell him off. Now he knows that he can’t mess around with your head anymore.”

“I’m glad too. I just wish he hadn’t beaten the crap out of you, that’s all.”

“Hey… it could be worse. He could have hit me in the face with the chair instead of my side. Then you’d have an ugly, lumpy boyfriend, and who wants that?” Tony teased, running his hand down Steve’s chest.

“Tony – “

“I know, I know. Not funny. But at least you’re sort of smiling again.” Tony laughed.

It was true. Steve could feel himself genuinely smiling again; this time not just because he was relieved that Tony was alright. He slid his hands down to Tony’s hips, smiling coyly at him.

“I don’t see anything that we can fix aside from a few bruises… Want to go to bed?” Steve asked.

Tony smirked.

“I’d love to but uh… I may be a little too banged up to do anything fun.” Tony said, kissing Steve on the lips with a loud smack. Steve backed up, grinning.

“Who said you had to do anything? You can always just sit back and relax…” Steve whispered, making Tony lean in to hear.

Tony’s eyes widened; he slid off the edge of the counter and chased Steve into the bedroom, wincing every time he took a step. Tony would not be deterred by his pain though, and Steve didn’t really have the heart to tell him to slow down. Steve pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor, working at his pants with both hands; Tony hurled himself onto the bed, landing with a grunt, flat on his back, legs spread. Tony fumbled with his belt for a few minutes while Steve finished undressing in haste; Steve stilled Tony with a touch, pushing Tony’s hands away and taking their place. He slipped the belt loop out and popped open the button, unzipping Tony’s fly with practiced ease. Tony grinned down at him, wiggling his hips; he winced when he twisted too much and aggravated his bruises. Steve kissed Tony gently on the stomach, trailing his way down to Tony’s hips, avoiding most of the bruises; Tony smirked to himself.

“Taking your sweet time there Rogers…” Tony purred. He reached down to cup himself through his pants, fingers curling around the growing bulge. Steve slapped Tony’s hand away, pulling Tony’s pants down and off in one swift move. He threw the pants across the room, hearing the clank of the belt hitting carpet and focused his attention on Tony’s now tented boxers.

“Hm… what to do… what to do…” Steve said stroking Tony’s hip. He slid a finger under the waistband and pulled down, revealing Tony’s hardened cock. Tony helpfully wiggled underneath him to encourage Steve to get rid of the pesky item of clothing; the boxers flew off the bed to join Tony’s pants on the floor, landing in a heap.

Steve stared down at Tony through his eyelashes; he had thought about doing this last night, about treating Tony to something special. He had never given Tony a blow job before, and although Tony had done it a few times for him, he had never had the courage to reciprocate. It seemed fitting that today be the day, seeing as how much abuse Tony had taken on his behalf. Tony had definitely earned it, there was no doubt about it.

Steve slid down the bed between Tony’s legs, kissing his way down Tony’s belly and thighs; he focused his attention on Tony’s shaft, planting another kiss on the head of Tony’s cock, feeling it twitch under the soft pressure of his lips; Tony was completely undone and hard now, wet from Steve’s kisses and his own arousal. Tony whined as Steve’s mouth left his cock momentarily, spreading his legs further, trying to invite Steve in for something more.

“You know you could fuck me if you wanted…” Tony whispered coyly, tilting his lower half upwards, giving Steve a better view of his hole. Steve pushed Tony’s hips down, licking his way down Tony’s hip to his cock, enjoying the taste, savoring the way Tony writhed beneath him. Tony’s fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, holding him steady as Steve continued to work, stroking Tony with his tongue. He reached the head of Tony’s cock, red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to hurt Tony with his teeth by accident… but what the hell. He would just have to take things slow to start out and figure it out as he went; besides, if things got too complicated he could just ask Tony for directions, and he knew that Tony would appreciate that more than anything else. Tony loved giving directions.

Tony’s fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, nudging Steve closer to his unattended cock.

“Steve… Please…” Tony moaned out.

Reassured, Steve slowly sucked Tony’s cock into his mouth, stopping half way; he bobbed his head, moving up and down, fingers wrapped around the base the same way Tony had done for him. He was much sloppier than Tony had been, but it didn’t seem to matter to Tony. Tony moaned out gibberish, hips thrusting forwards; Steve had to hold him down so he wouldn’t thrust down his throat. He could feel the warmth of Tony inside him, and choked back his own moan, liking the way Tony sounded with his mouth on him. After a few minutes of sucking and stroking, Tony came choking out Steve’s name, panting. Steve swallowed a mouthful of cum and then pulled away. He had never tasted cum before; it was salty, and a little strange at first, but not completely unpleasant. Steve wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked down at a very debauched and satisfied looking Tony Stark. The bruises stood out against Tony’s skin as he gasped in air, breathing in and out, sweat dripping down the rough cut of his hips. Steve flopped down on the bed beside Tony, resting his head against the only un-bruised part of Tony’s flesh; his shoulder.

“That was good….” Tony mumbled drowsily.

Steve rolled, and pushed himself up onto the pillow, kissing Tony’s cheek gently; Tony turned, trying to kiss him back, and missed. He ended up kissing Steve’s chin, eyes already half closed, falling asleep, his touches sluggish and heavy. Steve rolled Tony on top of him, pulling the blanket up over both of them, mindful of the bruises and the stitches; Tony settled between Steve’s legs, their hips slotted together.

“Hey Steve…” Tony whispered; he rested his head on Steve’s chest just below his chin.

“Yeah honey?”

“I love you.”

“I know Tony. I love you too.” Steve whispered back. He stroked Tony’s hair, snuggling him closer and fell asleep listening to the sounds of Tony snoring.

A shrill ring woke Steve from his deep and pleasant sleep. He blinked his way into consciousness, looking around in confusion. There wasn’t any noise in the room, just the heavy silence of night. Dawn hadn’t yet broken, and there was no light in the room aside from the soft blue of Tony’s arc reactor and the green of the alarm clock. He heard a soft knock on the door and sat up, yawning. Tony had rolled off of him at some point in the night and was snoring peacefully into a pillow beside him. Steve smirked at the way Tony was nestling into his stolen pillow, having wormed it out from under Steve somehow.

Steve rose and pulled on a pair of sweat pants, opening the door a crack, letting the hallway light trickle in. Clint stood in the hallway, holding Steve’s cellphone tightly in his left hand. He gestured for Steve to come out into the hallway; his expression was grim. Steve stepped out and closed the door behind him carefully as to not make any noise in case Tony woke up.

“I had Jarvis wake you so Tony didn’t have to get up. He used some kind of tone that only you can hear he said…” Clint explained, looking down at the phone in his hands. Clint sighed and held the phone out for Steve, who took it reluctantly, unsure as to what the problem was.

“You need to either call SHIELD or go there right now. There was a problem with Bucky.” Clint said carefully, speaking slower than usual.

Steve frowned.

“What do you mean by ‘a problem’?” he asked.

“He’s in the medical bay. He… “ Clint looked Steve in the eye, unexpectedly grave.

“You have to understand that this wasn’t your fault. They’ve been watching him for a long time thinking that this might happen, and it seems like he just picked today to do it.” Clint said.

Steve almost dropped the phone in shock; he clutched it in his hands, almost crushing it, forgetting momentarily about his super strength.

“He tried to kill himself again, didn’t he?” Steve said, choking out each word. He felt himself start crying, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands; these were familiar tears, tears he had experienced years before. It would be alright – as long as he could get to Bucky again it would be alright. Bucky was alive – Clint wouldn’t have told him to go to SHIELD if Bucky wasn’t alive –

“Coulson said that he tried to hang himself using a bed sheet. He’s unconscious right now, and they sedated him to keep him from doing anything else. He’s… he’s going to want to see a friend when he wakes up. I know you guys fought today but… I can drive you if you want.” Clint said, stumbling to a halt when he noticed that Steve was frozen in place.

Steve nodded sluggishly.

“I have to tell Tony.” Steve said. He felt numb; it was the same numbness he had felt when he had first woken up in the future they had told him that everything had gone on without him. He hadn’t dreamt that he would feel this way so soon and out of the blue. He was pretty sure that his hands were shaking uncontrollably, although he couldn’t feel it at all; he looked down at them, trying to still the quivering in his fingers and found that the shaking just wouldn’t go away no matter how much he tried to force them to stop.

“Alright. I’ll meet you at the foyer when you’re ready.” Clint said. He walked away to go prepare for the drive, leaving Steve alone.

He should have known that Bucky would try to hurt himself again. Steve had seen the sadness in Bucky’s eyes when he had left; he had seen it and he had ignored it because he had been so angry with Bucky. He hadn’t been able to tell that something was wrong the first time Bucky had tried to hurt himself either. Steve had sworn to himself afterwards that he would find a way to help his friend, and for a time he had. Things had been going well; Bucky had been fine, and then the train had happened and Bucky had fallen, and all the plans had gone out the window, meaningless like pieces of propaganda dropped on foreign villages. Steve had forgotten all about the moods Bucky had found himself in when things didn’t go his way; the dark, depressed moods that had caused him to push everyone around him away. The depression was almost always followed by violence; most of Bucky’s moods were followed by violence to tell the truth.

Steve had always thought that Bucky was stronger than he was when they were younger, but that hadn’t been entirely true. Bucky had been strong when he needed to be, but he had always been hurt and angry even as a child; Bucky was extremely talented at faking emotional strength, and most of the time Steve forgot that it was all bluster, easy to dash away with just a few mistaken words. As children they had both worked hard to find worth, and Bucky had tried especially hard to try and get the parents of the block to praise him. His own father hadn’t had more than two good words for him, and one of those words had been ‘my’. Steve had grown up with a kind and loving mother; Bucky had grown up with an alcoholic ex-soldier with an abusive temper for a father. The great depression had hit them all hard. Steve’s own father had died from alcoholism as a child; Bucky had used to joke that he wished they had traded fathers.

Steve slipped quietly back into Tony’s bedroom and fumbled around in the dark for his clothing, pulling everything on with his slightly trembling hands; he felt as if he were moving in slow motion, each action laboured and lethargic while the room around him moved at regular speed. Tony stirred on their bed behind Steve, rolling over; he reached out in the dark, brushing the sheets beside him and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, blinking owlishly in the darkness.

“Steve? What are you doing up?” Tony asked in a whisper.

“Bucky tried to kill himself. I have to go to HQ.” Steve said, pulling on his pants. Then realized that the pants weren’t going on the way they should. He looked down and saw that he had put the wrong leg in, that and they were upside down; he stared down at the pants, completely baffled, not able to understand what he was doing wrong. He found himself lost in thought, his memories mixing with the current events.

Why had he said those particular words to Tony? He didn’t know how else to phrase what Bucky had done; saying it aloud seemed almost cruel, as if he were tattling on someone. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to do it another way? Had he done it wrong? He stared down at his pants, clutched in his hands, one leg in the wrong side, upside down and half inside out, frowning down at them with watering eyes. He had done something wrong but he couldn’t remember what he had done –

Tony crawled laboriously across the bed, slipping across the covers to hold Steve from behind. Steve leaned back against him, crying again; he didn’t bother stopping the tears this time, the dark of the room swallowing everything up, hiding it from sight. Tony held him, pressing his face against the back of Steve’s head, whispering Steve’s name softly in his ear to try and call him back. Steve could do nothing but weep.

“You want me to come with you?” Tony asked after a few minutes of listening to Steve sob, stroking Steve’s cheek. Tony brushed away the tears, rough hands caressing the soft skin of Steve’s face.

“Yes please. I don’t want to go there alone.” Steve confessed, sniffling.

“Alright. We’d better get dressed then. I don’t think SHIELD’s security would appreciate us showing up in the buff.” Tony teased softly. Steve sniffled and squeezed Tony’s arm against him.

“Yeah I guess not.” Steve said. For a brief moment he thought about what it would be like to show up naked to SHIELD; he laughed then, letting out a horribly amused sound and then began to sob again in full. His shoulder shook; he hid his face in his hands, feeling Tony’s arm drop down around his waist to hold him more comfortably.

“Steve – I’m sorry. I…” Tony latched onto him, not letting Steve slip free as he shook uncontrollably.

“It’s alright. I’m fine…” Steve wailed, ashamed by the way his body wasn’t under his control anymore.

“Honey…”

“I was thinking about going into SHIELD naked and I just… it was funny and I… It… I think Bucky would have laughed at that – he would have liked that joke and… and he …” Steve cried. He turned around, burying his face in Tony’s bare chest.

“He should have liked you. He… he should have liked both of us and… oh Tony. It’s just all… It’s all gone to hell and he’s…”

Steve felt Tony stiffen beneath him; He looked up into Tony’s eyes and saw that Tony was wincing again, but trying not to let Steve see it, eyes squinting painfully.

“Oh god – your bruises – I forgot!” Steve pulled back in dismay. Tony moved forwards, not letting Steve pull away. He hugged Steve again, his hand moving to the back of Steve’s head, holding him steady, fingers tangling in his hair.

“It’s alright. It’s ok. Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad.” Tony said soothingly.

“But I hurt you – “ Steve wailed.

“It’s alright Steve.”

In that instant all of Steve’s emotions were out in the open; they had broken free, escaping through the cracked and taped wall he had built around them to keep it all in. He couldn’t see anything anymore except a strange blurry wave of tears; he could feel his hands fisting in fabric, but he couldn’t tell what fabric it was. He thought back to the nights he had spent with Bucky as children, when they had curled up together in Steve’s bed because Bucky’s father had been drunk and had been on a rampage. He remembered the way Bucky had trembled against him, afraid that his father would burst in and find him; they had hidden together underneath the blankets, heads pressed against the pillows as if that would keep all the monsters away… He jumped ahead through time to nights spent in the trenches, holding on to one another because it was so cold in the mud and rain; it had been so cold, almost as cold as the ice and there had been no way to get warm even with physical contact because they had been soggy and damp and miserable. He jumped ahead to that night on the train; he saw Bucky fall again, reaching out to him and held in a scream, his entire chest seizing up as he watched Bucky plummet down into the darkness, vanishing into the endless snow.

Steve held onto Tony for dear life, terrified and miserable all at the same time, afraid that somehow Tony would let go and be lost to him just like Bucky had been when he had fallen from the train. Steve wasn’t sure how he got out of the bedroom room or into the car; the next time he came back to himself, having exhausted all of his memories and emotions, he was in the car, shaking like a leaf. Clint was driving and Tony was holding Steve up; they were in the back seat, belted in together with Tony wrapped around him like a protective blanket. Tony shifted against Steve, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders, bracing him as Clint turned the car to the left.

“Hey honey. You back with us?” Tony asked softly, almost whispering.

Steve nodded, the trembling slowing to a stop.

“I think I’m ok now.” Steve said, and he was surprised to find that his sadness was gone; it had retreated back inside where it had been resting, biding its time. He rested his head against Tony’s shoulder, closing his eyes, feeling completely empty.

“How long until we reach HQ?” Steve asked.

“Ten, fifteen minutes or so. Not long now.” Clint said from the front seat.

“Alright. Wake me when we get there.” Steve mumbled into Tony’s shoulder. He drifted into a dreamless sleep, feeling only Tony’s warmth against him and nothing more.

SHIELD was deathly quiet at night and despite running into several agents leaving the building, they found it devoid of life; it was always like this in the dark. Most of the time, the agents wandered around as if they were lobotomized, staring blankly off into the distance; Tony had once joked that they were really LMDS with very bad AI puppeted by Fury, who sat in his office pressing buttons and manipulating joysticks to get them where they were supposed to go. Steve had always suspected it was because they were caffeine deprived and coming off overtime shifts due to their small numbers. He had seen Tony with a similar blank expression on his face a few times after he had run out of coffee during an all-nighter; the look wasn’t pretty, but luckily it usually went away with sleep.

Steve wandered through the empty halls to the Medical bay flanked by Clint and Tony, letting them steer him along, a ship adrift in an ocean of silence; when they arrived at the doorway to Medical Bay One, Clint took Tony by the arm, pulling him away without a word so that Steve could have some privacy. They huddled around a pair of chairs outside the Medical Bay doorways, debating on what to do, looking around for some kind of distraction so that Steve could do what he needed to do without worrying about them. Steve was alright with their silence. They didn’t know what to say. Neither did he. It was enough that they were there, supporting him.

Steve walked calmly through the door, comforting himself with the thought that Bucky was still alive and there in the room waiting for him. He needed to be there for Bucky; he needed to be strong again – to be strong and unafraid for Bucky’s sake. Medical Bay One was dimly lit and devoid of attendants; only the lights by Bucky’s bed were turned on, casting an unpleasant yellow glow on him that gave him the most ugly pallor he had ever seen on a hospital patient. The blue curtains were drawn around the other beds, telling Steve that there were probably other people sleeping there as well, trying to recover from their own injuries. Bucky looked up balefully from his bed; he was strapped down to the frame of the bed with leather straps, held tight to the frame to keep him from hurting himself again. There was a dreadful mark around his neck, like a necktie made of red lines. Bucky’s eyes were large and dull; he seemed almost emotionless from where Steve was, standing in the doorway. Bucky jerked against his restraints when he finally noticed Steve approaching, struggling to break free, almost desperate to get away.

Steve advanced cautiously, standing finally beside Bucky’s shoulders. He reached out and placed his hand over top of Bucky’s, squeezing it gently, hoping to provide some comfort to his friend. Bucky flinched away from the touch and refused to look him in the eye, turning the top half of his body at an awkward angle in order to escape Steve’s gaze.

“Hey…” Steve said. He let go of Bucky’s hand and dragged a chair away from the wall, moving it closer so that he could sit down. Bucky refused to face him, body still contorted and bent. Bucky’s hand clenched the sheet beneath him, fingers digging in so roughly that Steve was sure he would gouge through the sheet and into the mattress underneath.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked with a mournful growl, still refusing to look at Steve.

Steve dropped his gaze to his hands. He wasn’t really sure why he was here to be honest, aside from wanting to help; he was still mad at Bucky despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t hold a grudge against him for what he had done to Tony. He wasn’t sure when that anger would go away, if it ever would. He knew that dwelling on it would ruin any chance of Bucky getting better so he buried it away with his sadness, to save it for later when it might be safely dealt with. When he was done, he felt numb but functional, able to think again.

“I’m still your friend, even if you don’t want me around.” Steve said softly, mindful of the patients in the room. He looked up from his hands and tried to put on a brave face, like the ones he had used with injured soldiers back during the war. Bucky had turned to face him while he was gazing so intently at his hands, lost in thought; Bucky was watching Steve carefully as if he was afraid Steve might vanish at any moment. He met Bucky’s gaze and held it, fighting the uncomfortable urge to look away, knowing that Bucky would see it as a sign of weakness. Bucky’s lips slowly curled at the edges; it was a shy look, not quite a smile, but almost. It was enough. Steve reached out and touched Bucky’s hand again, this time letting his hand stay where it was atop Bucky’s. Bucky didn’t flinch away; he was warm to the touch and so very still.

“I thought you were gone for good.” Bucky said flatly, his brows furrowing. He eyed Steve guardedly, suspicious all of a sudden.

“You are here right? You’re not some kind of hallucination from all the drugs they shot me up with?” He asked.

Steve nodded.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Good. I was getting tired of talking to myself.” Bucky said.

Bucky looked so small there wedged between the pillows; Steve had never thought of Bucky as being small before in his life, so it was odd to find the words sneaking into his mind. Bucky had always been bigger than him when they were children, even when they had been little children hiding from Bucky’s father; and even when Steve had taken the super soldier serum, he still always felt that Bucky was bigger than him – or maybe, Bucky had always made it seem that way, a master of illusions. Bucky had always known what to do, what to say, what to think in any given situation. Steve had admired those parts of him, he had wanted to become like Bucky one day, strong and sure of himself; he had wanted to be able to stare down stubborn people and tell them what was on his mind without worrying about the consequences. But that wasn’t quite in the cards; Steve couldn’t ignore consequences, and he couldn’t scream in people’s faces unless he had a damned good reason to do so. He was a strategist by nature and a realist by necessity. Despite his hatred of life plans, he often dealt with confrontation through those same dreaded plans he used to guide other soldiers during the war. Steve was strong willed, and he would do whatever it took to get his point across; he drew the line at physically hurting someone to get that point hammered home without a reason. He used words, not violence; that had been the difference between them when they had led the Howling Commandos. He had been good with soldiers, who needed firm and disciplined words to get them through the horrors of the war; he hadn’t been as good with civilians, mostly because they had changed so much since he had been one. People spoke differently; they behaved differently. All Steve understood about them was that being polite was often the best way to approach strangers, because it more often than not startled people into behaving the way he wanted them to. No one was polite anymore without a damned good reason. People were so willing to shove and scream that the simple act of kindness, holding open a door or saying thank you, was baffling to them. He had changed his ways as Captain America knowing this; he had changed even more after he had become an Avenger. He had had a bumpy start, sure, but he was determined to make up for all the mistakes he had made – with Tony; with the other Avengers.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was small and timid, trying to get Steve’s attention. Steve cleared his throat and cracked his neck; he wanted to smile, but his face felt too sore from all the crying.

“Yes?”

“Are you… are you really in love with Stark?” Bucky asked, looking down at his hand held in Steve’s.

“Yes. I love Tony.” Steve said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Bucky. I am absolutely positive that I love Tony.” Steve said. He felt exhausted. He could see where the conversation was headed now; he could see it in Bucky’s eyes, and hear it in the way Bucky held his breath a little before speaking. Steve knew the words that were coming next; he had said them to himself for months after he had fallen in love with Tony, thinking that if he just repeated them loud enough they could work.

“You could try not being in love with him you know. It’s not right.” Bucky blurted stubbornly, holding onto Steve’s hand a little tighter, as if to use the touch to make Steve understand. Maybe Bucky felt that he could change Steve’s mind that way, if he just held on hard enough. Whatever the case, it only made Steve more tired of the fighting; more tired of being told that he was wrong and that his decisions were wrong.

“Bucky – “

“Could you just try, for me?” Bucky pleaded desperately. He hung on to Steve’s hand as Steve pulled away, scraping against the restraints.

“Bucky. I am in love with Tony. I’m not going to stop loving him just because you don’t want me to be in love with him. I understand that this is hard for you, and I know that you’re feeling hurt by it. I get that – I felt just as afraid and alone as you do when I figured out what I wanted from life… but Bucky…”

Steve stood up, shaking his head sadly.

“I want to live my life my way. I am in love with Tony – I will always be in love with Tony. That won’t change, even if you wish for it on a thousand shooting stars. I want to be supportive – to be helpful so that you can get on with your life too and the only way… The only way this is going to work, with us staying friends, is if you accept that I’m gay and that it’s not going to change even if you nag me to death about it. I don’t need you to tell me what to think Bucky. I know what to think. I have my own brain – I have my own life.”

“Steve – “

“No. Just listen, ok?” Steve reached out and took Bucky’s hand again, squeezing it. He could see tears of frustration in Bucky’s eyes; Bucky tried to pull away from him, pushing himself deeper into the pillows when he physically couldn’t get any further away.

“Bucky I still want to be your friend. I love you like a brother. That won’t ever change. I will be here for you no matter what you choose. I want you to be able to be happy with yourself again and right now, I’m setting ground rules for our relationship, understand?” Steve said.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Setting ground rules? What the fuck does that mean? You think because you don’t want to hear the truth I’ll stop saying it?” Bucky growled; he rubbed his face against his pillow to wipe away his tears, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Bucky – “

“No – you listen now! I don’t think it’s right. I think Stark’s messed up your life and he’s dragging you down in the mud with him. I’m not going to stand by and listen to you drown yourself in this bullshit – it’s not right!”

“Bucky, just stop it!”

“I have a the right to an opinion Steve – “

“Fine. You want to have an opinion, good. Have one. You want me to stick around? Keep it to yourself.” Steve growled.

What was the point in even having a discussion with Bucky? He obviously wasn’t going to get it – he wasn’t even listening –

“Do you hate me or something? You used to listen to me – “ Bucky snapped.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me?”

“I’m not listening because what you’re saying is wrong – you’re the one in the wrong right now Bucky!” Steve yelled.

He caught himself, looking around the room to try and find something to use as an anchor so that he could calm himself down. There were other people resting here, it was a hospital of sorts; people who weren’t part of this fight and who didn’t need to be a part of it to begin with were trying to rest. He owed it to those people to be respectful enough to keep it down so that they could recuperate; he used that knowledge to bring himself back to earth, focusing on the now.

“Look. This isn’t going anywhere. This is just hurtful for both of us.” Steve sighed, stepping away from the bed and towards the door, hanging his head.

“Don’t go –“

Bucky struggled against the restraints, trying to sit up, twisting his arm backwards to try and claw at the straps. His eyes were wild when Steve looked back; Bucky was close to tears again, his hair wildly mashed against the side of his face and the pillow beneath his head.

“Bucky…”

“Just don’t go. I want you to stay – please.”

Reluctantly, Steve sat down in the chair beside Bucky’s bed again. He didn’t touch Bucky’s hand this time; he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Bucky to say what he wanted to say. He owed Bucky that much at least.

“Fine. I’ll shut up about it. Just don’t leave, alright – don’t leave me here alone.” Bucky said. He didn’t look directly at Steve, turning his face slightly so that he was half hidden by the pillow. Steve watched him carefully. Bucky had always been stubborn. It was highly unlikely that anything Steve had said had gotten through to him, and yet… Steve found himself hoping that there was some part of Bucky that really did understand; a part that might accept him for who he was, instead of trying to change him into something he wasn’t.

“So what do you plan on doing now?” Steve asked, keeping his voice low as to not wake anyone else up, focusing on being quiet instead of being angry.

“They said that I could get out of here in a few weeks if I behaved myself. I guess that’s not going to happen now, huh?” Bucky muttered.

“Probably not. They’ll be concerned about you killing yourself. Frankly, I’m just as concerned as they are if not more so. I don’t want you to hurt yourself again Bucky.”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do – you’re not my – “

“That’s right. I’m not your father. I’m not your mother either for that matter, but I worry about you anyways, you idiot.” Steve grumbled back.

Bucky grinned at that. He turned back to face Steve; his eyes were still watery, but he looked calmer now. Steve allowed himself a curt smile.

“Do you think they’d let me come stay with you? When I’m better, I mean?” Bucky asked, biting his lower lip.

“Maybe. I’ll have to talk to Fury about it, and we’ll have to talk with Tony about it too.”

“Fury’s an asshole.”

Steve snorted, trying to ignore the way that Bucky had blatantly ignored the mention of Tony.

“Well… I wouldn’t say that to his face if you want to get out of here. Maybe try playing nice for once? It might help. It might help with both of them actually.” Steve said.

“When am I ever not nice?” Bucky joked.

An easy silence fell between them. It had been a good, calm silence just like when they had been boys, curled up in Steve’s bedroom playing cards after lights out. Neither of them had spoken a word; they had simply sat and gone about their game, living in the now, focused entirely on the intricacies game. Steve had always cherished those times more than any others in his childhood. Looking back on it now, he could understand why. Bucky had been quiet and accepting in those quiet times. Steve wasn’t sure how things had gotten so different between them. He wished that he had had the courage to speak to Bucky about what he had really been thinking when they had been in that forgiving silence. Maybe he could have saved himself and Tony some suffering if he had.

“Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“Sure Bucky. You want me to go so you can get some sleep?” Steve asked, stretching, cracking his back.

“You may as well. It’s getting pretty late… I’m sorry you had to come out here.” Bucky said, more than a little self-conscious looking. Steve didn’t mind. Bucky was trying, at least a little bit, and they were parting on good terms this time. He had a good feeling about tomorrow, and maybe even the days after that. It would take patience, but the war could be won eventually. Someday Bucky would understand.

“Alright Bucky. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.” Steve said.

He stood up and picked the chair up, carrying it back against the wall and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants; he hesitated, wanting to hug Bucky. He didn’t know if Bucky would like that. Bucky had certainly always given him trouble for any physical affection when they had gotten older, even though he had enjoyed the contact as a boy. Maybe his homophobia had been a bigger part of life for him than Steve had imagined it to be.

“Stop jerking around there like a puppet and give me a hug.” Bucky grunted.

Chuckling, Steve leaned down and tucked Bucky against his chest. He gave Bucky a gentle squeeze and then pulled away; Bucky’s eyes were wet again. Bucky sniffled, embarrassed at the fact that he couldn’t wipe his eyes. Steve got him a tissue from the box beside his bed and wiped at Bucky’s face, gently dislodging the tears he found pooled on Bucky’s gaunt cheeks.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. If you need anything, let me know, alright? Any time of day – anything at all. Just let me know. I’ll ask them to put my phone number in the directory for you.” Steve said, throwing the damp tissue into the garbage.

“Ok. Good night Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night Bucky.”

Steve gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze and then made his way out of the room, smiling shyly over his shoulder at Bucky. Bucky gave Steve a jerky wave, arm banging against the railing holding him down and then lay back, closing his eyes.

Steve found Clint and Tony waiting for him out in the hallway, lurking by a vending machine that sold nothing but apple chips. Tony was complaining when Steve approached from behind, stating very adamantly that it was against the laws of nature to have a vending machine in a hospital wing that sold nothing but health food; someone was doing evil in Tony’s world, and he didn’t appreciate it.

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony, resting his chin on top of Tony’s head. Tony didn’t even halt his rant; he leaned back against Steve, still in mid-ramble.

“All I’m saying is that they should at least have some kind of gummy worms or something to balance it all out. Who the hell wants to go to a vending machine in a hospital to find only apple chips? What if you’re allergic to apples? What if you have bad teeth and can’t even eat apple chips? I ask you – where is the logic in that?” Tony ranted, gesturing wildly at the vending machine.

“I’m sure they had a good reason for it… maybe Fury just really likes apple chips? He comes down here often enough to check up on everyone.” Clint said, taking a sip from a squashed looking paper coffee cup. Both he and Tony looked distinctly caffeine high; Steve was surprised that he could even keep up with the conversation at all. They were speaking almost too fast to hear.

“So why don’t we stage some kind of mutiny? We could take over all the vending machines in SHIELD and – “ Tony started.

“You’re not taking over all the vending machines in SHIELD.” Steve laughed, flicking Tony’s ear. Tony stuttered to stop, derailed completely; it took him a full three seconds to realize that Steve was wrapped around him despite having known that he was leaning up against him in the first place.

“How was he?” Clint asked, finishing off his coffee. He tossed the abused cup into the trash and gave Tony a poke in the shoulder, trying to get him to focus on something other than apple chips and Steve’s warm body.

“Bucky was… alright. We had a talk and we’ve come to a mutual understanding. I’m not going to try and be someone I don’t want to be and he’s not going to talk about how much he disapproves. I don’t know where we’re going to go from here… but I think we’re on the right path for change at the very least.” Steve said with a sigh. Tony kissed Steve’s cheek, craning his neck to slip out from under Steve’s chin.

“That’s good, right?” Tony asked.

“As good as it can get for now.” Steve said, kissing Tony back.

He was glad that Tony and Clint had come with him. He had known that he would be able to talk with Bucky; knowing that they were waiting for him outside had meant a lot to him. He had been lucky to meet the Avengers; he was even luckier that they had been good enough friends to put up with his self-hating rubbish for so long.

“Are we going home again then? Or do you want to stick around to be there when he wakes up in the morning?” Clint asked, yawning despite the coffee he had just chugged.

“I think it’ll be alright to go home. I want to get some sleep, and he needs to get some too without having to worry about me mother-henning him. Thanks for bringing me here. I owe you guys.” Steve said; he held himself together, even though he had been hit by another sudden wave of ‘need to cry’. Tony kissed his cheek again, and then started to pull Steve down the hallway.

“You did good honey. I’m proud of you.” Tony said, squeezing Steve’s hand.

That was what broke Steve; not the fact that they had come with him, or the fact that they had been waiting around for him out in the hallway. They had waited and for him when he had been drowning all by himself in his thoughts for months. They had waited for him when he had been lashing out and hurting them because he had been so confused. They had always been waiting.

And they were proud of him.

They were proud even though he had felt he had nothing inside himself worth being proud of.

They were proud of him.

He hadn’t heard those words spoken aloud since his mother had died; not since she had left him alone with only his thoughts and Bucky for company. Even his days in the army hadn’t given him those words, despite all the work he had done and all the things he had accomplished. They had said the words, but never had those words carried that true sentiment.

Steve dropped to the floor, bawling, staring up at Clint and Tony through watery red-rimmed eyes. Clint and Tony looked terrified. Steve grinned at them, tears streaming down his face; he wiped his running nose on his sleeve, still grinning, wanting to be always grinning. This was the only day he had ever been hit with so many emotions at once; the intensity was almost too much, shaking him side to side.

“Steve? Are you alright?” Tony asked softly, dropping down to his knees in front of him.

“Yes.” Steve cried, shoulders shaking as he continued to weep; he sucked in air and it was as if he had been drowning and finally, finally was coming up for air. He started laughing again, tears dripping off of his chin for the third time that day; his face felt like it was breaking. He felt Tony’s hands on his cheeks and leaned forwards, bumping his forehead against Tony’s chin.

“It’s ok.” Steve sniffled; Tony wrapped himself around Steve, clutching him close, not knowing what else to do.

“Steve – “

Steve rested his head against Tony’s shoulder, crying and laughing even harder.

“I’m ok – I’m ok!” Steve got out before he started giggling again, his words dissolving into gibberish.

“Steve.”

Tony kissed the top of Steve’s head, rubbing his back; Steve could feel the strength in Tony’s hands, strength he had been waiting on for most of his life. He quieted, taking comfort in Tony. Tony began to rock Steve back and forth on his knees, continuing to rub circles down his back. Steve’s sniffles went away slowly, one deep, shaky breath in at a time.

“My knees hurt.” Steve whispered into Tony’s ear after a few minutes.

Tony started laughing, his shoulder shaking under Steve’s chin. Steve smiled into his neck.

“You’re making my neck wet honey.” Tony whispered back.

“You two need help… seriously.” Clint said, shaking his head wearily.

“Nah. I think we’re good.” Tony said. “But I think this little hallway party is at an end. Shall we?”

Tony stood up slowly, knees cracking, helping Steve up; He braced Steve against him as Steve’s legs fought with gravity. Steve wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sighing aloud. The crying felt good this time; a catharsis he had been waiting a long time for.

“Let’s go home.”

Bucky stared up at the ceiling of the Medical Bay, counting tiles one at a time, pausing when he got to the ugly one at the end with the brown water stains on it. He always counted tiles when he was waiting for sleep to claim him. Back when he had been in the camp, he had been without tiles, and he had had to count the blood stains on the walls instead. He still had nightmares about those walls; he couldn’t close his eyes anymore without flashing back to one wall from his cell that had the most blood on it at least once a day. Steve had found him in that dirty blood stained cell in the camp. Steve had swooped in and pulled him and all the others out of the darkness; and now Steve was crawling around in the darkness himself, not seeing what he was doing.

Why couldn’t Steve just listen to him this one time? Steve was falling into a trap and he wasn’t even listening! Bucky wanted to take Steve by the shoulders and shake him; but if he pushed any more than he already had, Steve would be gone and then he would be all alone again. He couldn’t lose Steve. Steve was the only one he had left now, and truth be told, Steve had always been the only one left for him.

Bucky scowled at the tiles; they were looking down at him, just like everyone else in this goddamned facility. Fury had kept him in the dark about Steve’s… Steve’s problem. It was easier to label it that way, and if he was going to have to block it out for Steve’s sake, then he would probably have to get used to thinking of it that way.

Steve’s problem.

God! Bucky was always cleaning up after Steve’s problems, even when they had been children. And now there was an even bigger problem! Captain America was a fag. Jesus. Bucky wasn’t sure how they put up with it! Three weeks ago he had been back in the forties, or at least his memories had been there, and things had made sense; now he was in a completely different decade, almost seventy years later and things had gone to shit. He was still having problems figuring out what had happened to him. So many things flashed back; he had no idea how he had gotten the robotic arm, yet he knew that it was his and was unafraid of it. Like most of the technology in the ‘new world’ it was comfortable and familiar, which lead him to believe that he had been awake before, and hadn’t just woken up now. He wondered if SHIELD knew about what he had done – about what someone had obviously done to him. They had gotten him somehow, but they hadn’t told him how exactly – only that his Cryogenic tank had malfunctioned and that he had woken up ahead of schedule. He wasn’t sure if he could trust them anymore; judging by how they had handled Steve, they weren’t very bright people.

“Damn it Steve!” Bucky muttered.

“Problem?”

Bucky jerked his eyes away from the ceiling. A tall voluptuous woman with long flowing black hair and ruby red lips was standing at the foot of his bed, smiling at him; She was holding on to a clip board and wearing the same getup the nurses wore, only for some reason she looked out of place, as if she wasn’t supposed to be there despite the clothing saying she was. He hadn’t heard her approach; he must have been really tired, because no one was able to sneak up on him normally.

“No problem. Who are you?” Bucky asked, watching her curiously, wondering why she was here. She had a gorgeous face. He had hit on dames like this before with mixed results, all charm and smiles until you made the wrong move and then you would end up with a drink splashed in your face for your troubles. She looked at him and he felt as if he was going to melt from the intensity of her gaze.

“I’m Nurse Laufeyson. And you are the illustrious Mr. Bucky Barnes I presume. I’ve been hoping to run into you! You’re the talk of the town around SHIELD.” Nurse Laufeyson said, smiling like silk. Bucky liked her smile; there was something very sweet to it, something very comforting as well.

“Yeah well, I try.” Bucky grinned; he felt tired still, which was unfortunate because he had finally found a dame worth talking to in this joint.

Nurse Laufeyson moved closer, pulling a chair out so that she could sit down, letting the legs drag across the floor with a dull scrape that made his teeth ache; it was the chair Steve had vacated only a few minutes beforehand, Bucky noted, and was probably still warm judging by the way she settled down so quickly in it. She reached out and took his hand in between her small delicate ones, setting the clip board down against his leg. He could make out a few scrawled words, but it was upside down and he wasn’t exactly a genius in reading medical terms to begin with even when they were right side up.

“It says here…” Nurse Laufeyson drawled, stroking his hand, “that you tried to kill yourself. Oh my! Why would you do something so drastic?”

Bucky glared at her, not wanting to answer the question; something, however, in her face was compelling. She seemed like an alright dame, and here she was visiting in the middle of the night when all the other medical staff were off taking their naps; he supposed it couldn’t hurt to tell her. He had been feeling alright since Steve had showed up again, and so far no one in SHIELD Medical Bay had done anything to hurt him…

“My friend visited earlier in the day and told me that he was a fag.” Bucky said. The nurse’s lip twitched, clearly disliking his choice in words.

“Fag’s the wrong word… What’s the right way of saying it these days? I’m not sure…” Bucky lied, trying to play it off as a simple mistake in the times; he didn’t want to scare her off or anything. He liked the company. She had very warm hands.

“I believe the correct term is gay if you are referring to a man who likes other men.” Nurse Laufeyson said.

“Right. Well Steve came and told me he was gay and I… I got mad at him for it, because he’s not supposed to be gay. He was supposed to be getting himself a wife and having kids or something – he was supposed to be straight, and then he just showed up and sprang it all on me and I… I may have said some things to him and he may have said some things back. It’s not important. I just thought that he wasn’t coming back and I…” Bucky trailed off, trying to find the words.

“You decided you couldn’t live without him around?” Nurse Laufeyson said helpfully.

“Something like that. I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with the guy or anything – I’m no fag – sorry, I’m not gay. I like dames.” Bucky blurted. He could feel his face flushing and cursed himself for being so nervous around her; he wasn’t thirteen anymore and it shouldn’t have been so goddamned hard to talk to a dame like this.

“And so… you survived your attempt. What now? I came in and you were talking to yourself. What was that about?” Nurse Laufeyson whispered, leaning closer. She smelled like roses, all sweet and clean. He breathed her scent in, feeling a goofy grin spreading across his face.

“I was just wishing that everything was different, wishing maybe that Steve had turned out differently so that things would have made sense. I wish he was like he was before the serum – then maybe he’d listen to me and things would be different.” Bucky rambled. He was almost laughing now, at the absurdity of his words and the ridiculousness that the woman was still listening to him with such a straight face; he laughed at the fact that he was talking as if he could change the past or Steve. What was he thinking? You couldn’t change the past.

“Oh, I see. So you’re friends with Captain America then? Friends with Steve Rogers?” She asked, caressing his hand. He nodded dumbly, wanting to keep that sweet, luscious smile on her face. He would have told her anything to keep her there.

“Yeah. We’re friends, sure, although I’m pretty sure he’s still mad at me for all the… not being able to accept him gaying up Captain America thing.”

“Ah, so you think he’s making a mockery of Captain America? Or are you saying that you could do a much better job of it?” She said.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe a little of both? I just think he needs to see things differently sometimes. Maybe if he’d been just plain old Steve Rogers things would have ended up differently – well no. I think it would have been better if he hadn’t been just plain old Steve Rogers actually. He was pretty pathetic back then. A stiff breeze could have knocked him on his ass, and he had all these medical problems that made it hard for him to do anything. He deserved the fixes the serum gave his immune system… I just wish… he’d been…” Bucky paused again, words escaping him. He felt light headed, the smell of her perfume seeping up into his brain, and half closed his eyes as his mind drifted.

“You wish he’d been cured of his deficiencies, but that he’d not become Captain America then? I’ve read the files – lovely reading in there really. Such a cute story, tiny Steve Rogers being chosen for the one and only slot available for the super soldier serum and surviving it all unscathed. It’s lovely. Like a fairy tale turned real.” Nurse Laufeyson said, patting his hand comfortingly.

“Yeah… He’s really lucky… If I’d… been there…. It could have…. been…. me…” Bucky fell silent, eyelids drooping.

“Yes, well. Why don’t you get some sleep dear? I’m sure tomorrow will be so much better.” Nurse Laufeyson purred.

Bucky fell asleep, smelling the sweet scent of perfume; his heart felt heavier than normal, but that was probably just because he was so tired, he thought as he drifted off into darkness. The strange thing was that he kept seeing her smile, glowing in the darkness. It almost felt like he had just done something incredibly stupid…