Chapter Text
When Steve wakes up it’s shortly after two and the bed is empty again. There’s rain lashing against the windows, steady and insistent and when lightning turns the sky violet Steve’s reflection stares back at him from an empty bed. The darkness floods back in a breath later and with it comes anger and hurt, a maelstrom inside him to match the one raging outside. Flinging back the covers he pulls on his clothes; he wants to be fully dressed for this conversation--he’s going to need all the armor he can get to protect his heart.
The shop is alive with music and the burn of an acetylene torch when he pushes the door open and steps inside, watching the play of Tony’s muscles as he forges some new creation. The music cuts off and Tony looks up, eyes barely visible through the welder’s mask he’s wearing, but Steve can tell he’s staring at him nonetheless. The flame in the torch dies out with a flick of Tony’s thumb and Steve watches him set it aside, crossing his arms over his chest nervously.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Tony asks politely as he takes his mask off, and there’s no emotion behind it, no gentleness, no familiarity--Steve might as well be a stranger.
“I woke up and you were gone,” Steve replies, “you keep doing that,” he says accusingly, voice tight with emotion, anger and hurt bubbling in his chest as Tony continues to look politely careless.
“Insomnia,” Tony says with a shrug, tossing aside the welding mask. “I don’t want to just lay there and stare at the ceiling so I come down here to work.”
Steve nods; Tony had told him that months ago when this thing had first started, so he knows it’s not an empty excuse, but it’s not the truth either.
“Yea, I noticed it usually happens when we’re in the same bed,” Steve says, “you wait till I fall asleep and then leave, don’t you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
Tony’s gaze flicks away and he rubs a hand over his chin before looking back to Steve, “I just told you, I’ve got insomnia and I don’t like to just lay there,” he says and Steve huffs, annoyed by the way he’s dancing around this thing between them, pretending it doesn’t exist when they both know damn well it does.
“No, I think you’re avoiding me, avoiding staying and maybe feeling something for me that you think you shouldn’t,” Steve says, stepping forward into Tony’s space so they’re mere inches apart. “Tony,” he murmurs, voice softening as he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Tony’s wrist, “I wish you would stay.”
Tony stares up at him for a long moment and then it’s like a shutter falls over his face and he goes ice cold right in front of Steve’s eyes. “I’m not sure why you think this means so much more to me than it does,” he says quietly, “but if you’re falling in love with me you really should go before you get too attached. I’m not good for you, and I’m never going to be anything but who I am--I work too much, don’t sleep enough, and I go through relationships like dirty underwear. If you’re looking for love and a yard with 2.5 kids and a puppy, you won’t find it here.”
Steve grips Tony’s wrist tighter and glares at him, “Stop it, stop doing this. You’re so good at hurting yourself Tony, at thinking you don’t deserve any better than what everyone thinks you are, but it’s not true! You’re good and kind and thoughtful and if you’d just stop fighting it, you could have happiness with me--you could have love Tony,” he pleads, voice thick as Tony stares at him blankly, and it reaches into him, the pain, shredding his heart as Tony pretends like this means nothing at all to him.
He surges forward and kisses Tony, lips searching and desperate against Tony’s flat and unresponsive ones and a sob builds in his chest till he wrenches away and a ruined noise falls from his lips as his eyes burn, tears threatening to fall. “God Tony, why are you doing this?” he whispers hoarsely, staring into brown eyes he’d fallen for from first sight and wondering how they can possibly be so empty now.
“It’s for the best,” Tony replies, pulling his wrist from Steve’s grasp and half turning away, “goodnight Steve.”
Steve stares at him for another minute, breathing raggedly as he considers throwing himself at Tony and begging him to change his mind, to see what’s right in front of his face, but then Tony looks up and lifts a brow, like he’s annoyed Steve is still there and the anger returns, burning hot and furious and he turns his back on Tony.
He strides to his bike and slips onto it, helmet in place a moment later. He hears Tony call his name and revs the engine to drown him out, pulling away as Tony steps toward him, something on his face that Steve can’t decipher and can’t take the time to think about. All he can think about now is getting away .
Rain pelts him, needle like and cold without his jacket and he speeds down the long driveway, hurt choking him so hard he’s gasping for air, chest throbbing as thunder rumbles overhead and lightning forks into the sky, white hot and brighter than the sun before it’s gone again, the afterimage burning against his lids as he drives.
It happens as he rounds another corner; the back wheel skids on an oily wet patch and the bike fishtails violently. Steve knows what's going to happen before it comes and he’s already tucking his limbs in as he flies off the bike and slams into the asphalt, the sound of the helmet cracking the last thing he hears before everything goes black.
When Steve wakes up, everything hurts and he hears a steady beeping noise that he distantly places as a heart rate monitor and he thinks for a moment he must be sick again, that his ma is waiting for him to open his eyes, but when he does he’s not in the Brooklyn Hospital Center, and it’s Tony in the seat by the bed instead of his ma.
He’s sleeping, and for a few minutes Steve just watches him, studying the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble growth on his cheeks. It hurts to see him looking so exhausted and unhappy--there are deep lines in his brow even as he sleeps and Steve turns his head away, inhaling sharply at the pain in his shoulder as he settles his head back against the pillow. There must be some kind of monitoring he can’t see because a few moments later a nurse pushes open the door and smiles at him, stepping forward on light feet.
“Good to see you with your eyes open Mr. Rogers,” she murmurs as she leans over him and produces a pen light from her pocket, “This might hurt your eyes so I’ll be fast, but I need to check your pupillary response,” she tells him, waiting for his nod before shining it into each of his eyes. She’s right--it hurts, and Steve blinks the spots out of his eyes after she shuts it off and backs away, her gaze turning in Tony’s direction so he must be awake, but Steve can’t bring himself to look at him again.
“Good news Mr. Stark, our boy is awake,” she says with a grin before turning back to Steve. “I’m going to run you through a series of cognitive tests, and we’ll take you for a CT after that. You’ve had one already to check for brain bleeding, but with a blackout concussion we’ll hold you for three days afterwards and check every four hours on your status. You’re in for a long few days unfortunately, but, as I’m sure you know, your helmet saved your life.”
Steve nods and does his best to focus on the tests the nurse--Adrienne--puts him through. He also finds out that he has two cracked ribs, road rash along his left side, a badly bruised right hip and shoulder, and a sprained knee. By the time they’re back from the CT he’s exhausted and nauseated and Adrienne politely shoos Tony out-- “He’s awake now Mr. Stark, go home and get some rest and come back tomorrow,” she tells him.
Steve stares at the blanket covering his legs, listening as Tony bids them a quiet goodbye, the sound of the door opening and closing making something lodge in his throat and he lifts a shaky hand to press to his face, breathing wet and ragged as he tries not to fall to pieces in front of Adrienne.
“If he’s hurting you, you can tell me,” Adrienne murmurs and Steve looks up at her, shocked by the accusation, the idea that Tony could ever, ever hurt him like that is utterly baffling. He lets out a wet laugh and shakes his head, gratitude for her concern filling him.
“It’s not like that,” he tells her, voice rough and weak. He clears his throat and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “We fought and I went out on my bike in the rain and I wrecked. I knew better than to ride in weather like that, but I was upset. He wouldn’t ever try to hurt me,” he assures her.
Adrienne nods and settles another blanket over his legs before checking his IV, her words soft when she speaks. “Seems like maybe he did anyway.” Her gaze flicks up to his and she smiles softly, eyes a little sad, “I’m not asking for details of your relationship, I promise, but he’s been here for two days watching you and badgering the doctors to do more tests, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was talking to you. He kept apologizing,” she tells him, “he didn’t say for what, but it sure seems like he’s looking for forgiveness if you’re willing to give it.”
Steve nods numbly; he’s hurting and exhausted and overwhelmed by all of this, and as much as he appreciates Adrienne’s kindness, right now he wants nothing more than to sleep and not think about anything. “Thanks,” he whispers, and she nods before giving him another dose of painkillers and muscle relaxers that have him dozy within minutes, his eyes already falling closed by the time Adrienne shuts his door and leaves him in the silence.
Rain patters on the windows and he closes his eyes, wishing that he was home and in bed with Tony instead of here, alone. Sorrow grips his heart and he pulls the blankets up higher, eager to let sleep take him to escape it, if only for a little while. He falls asleep to the sound of rain and the memory of warm brown eyes smiling at him, the faintest brush of fingers through his hair, the last thing he feels before sleep takes him fully.
Steve is released three days later into Tony’s care after he lost three arguments about going to a hotel on his own, first with Adrienne, then the doctor, and finally with Tony. Their argument had been less of an argument and more of Tony threatening to throw out all of Steve’s art if he didn’t come home with him--they had both known it was an empty threat, but Steve allowed it to work despite his own reservations about being back at the house and around Tony 24/7.
The ride home is silent and tense and when they pull into the garage he ignores Tony’s direction to wait and opens his door, rising to his feet unsteadily and he nearly falls onto his face when his head goes light as a balloon. “Christ Steve, just wait ,” Tony mutters as he catches Steve’s arm and keeps him upright, his grip firm and unwavering as Steve blinks slowly, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear as his heart thunders in his chest.
He can feel Tony looking at him but he keeps his gaze firmly on the hood of the Audi, limbs tense and uneasy. “I’m fine, let go,” he mutters, tugging at his arm unsuccessfully and then finally giving in and glaring at Tony when he doesn’t let go. “Let me go Tony, I’m fine,” he snaps, tugging on his arm and hissing when it jostles his shoulder and pain ripples through him.
Tony rolls his eyes and shakes his head, moving closer to sling an arm around Steve’s waist, his other hand maintaining its firm grip on Steve’s elbow. “C’mon Steve, just shut up and let me help you,” he mutters, and as much as Steve wants to fight him, he wants to be alone in his room even more so he grits his teeth and nods, allowing Tony to guide him into an elevator he’s fairly certain hadn’t been there a week ago.
It takes them directly into Steve’s room and he allows Tony to guide him forward a few steps before he pulls away again, this time with enough force to break Tony’s grip on him. He nods at Tony and then at the door, “I’m good, you can go,” he says as firmly as he can, praying that Tony will listen and let him alone so he can climb into the bed and hide from the world for a while.
Tony stares at him for a long moment and Steve thinks he’s going to protest, but he nods instead and quickly unpacks Steve’s medicines onto the bedside table, shoulders rounded against Steve’s scrutiny. He puts a bottle of water out too from the mini fridge in the wall and then makes his way to the door, pausing to look back at Steve with some emotion in his eyes that Steve can’t decipher right now. “JARVIS will monitor your vitals and can alert me to anything you need, you just have to ask,” he says quietly, “please don’t hurt yourself by trying to do too much.”
Steve nods stiffly--he might be stubborn, but he’s not stupid, and he knows that a condition of his release is monitoring and reporting to his doctor everyday, something it seems that JARVIS will be in control of and he’s conflicted with emotion at the thought that it won’t be Tony taking care of him. “I’ll be fine,” he assures Tony, “thank you,” he tacks on because he can hear his ma now scolding him for his rudeness, even if he is upset with Tony.
Tony nods and shuts the door behind him and Steve looks around his room, noting that the dirty clothes in the hamper are gone; cleaned apparently, and likely in his closet. Sighing heavily, he slips off his shoes and sinks down onto the bed, grateful that the covers have been turned down, and trying not to think about Tony going through all this effort for him after he’d told Steve to leave.
He doesn’t think Tony meant it, and maybe it’s just foolish hope to think that, but the alternative is that Tony hasn’t cared this whole time and that Steve had made an ass out of himself and that’s not a reality he wants to face. Rolling carefully onto his good side, he tugs the blankets up and closes his eyes, exhausted down to the bone from the short drive home and the few steps he’d taken to get here.
“Blackout mode please, JARVIS,” he murmurs, feeling the press of the light dim and then disappear from against his closed eyes, the strain in them dissipating slowly as he breathes slowly, letting himself sink into the familiar warmth of his bed. He feels like crying a little, but he’s so tired he can’t manage it, instead he opens his eyes and fumbles out a painkiller and muscle relaxer, chases them down with a few gulps of water and then collapses back into the bed.
He closes his eyes and hopes that maybe everything will hurt less tomorrow.
His assumption that Tony would leave him alone is put to rest when Tony makes him shrimp fra diavolo the next day for lunch and asks him how he’s feeling, his gaze flickering back and forth from the countertop to Steve’s face as he eats and quietly replies that his head hurts. Tony hums and a moment later there’s two painkillers by his glass of water, but when he looks up Tony is washing dishes, head down and shoulders rounded.
Steve takes them and says a quiet thank you when Tony serves him a second helping of food, their gazes meeting for a moment before Tony looks away and clears his throat, “I have to go out for a meeting, but if you need anything--”
“I’ll be fine,” Steve assures him quickly, cursing silently when he sees a flash of hurt on Tony’s face before it’s carefully smoothed out and replaced with a bland smile.
“Of course, well, if you need anything just ask JARVIS,” Tony says politely, smile tense and so different from the ones that Steve has grown used to that it hurts. He wants to apologize but Tony is already walking away, shoulders stiff and Steve curses softly, scrubbing a hand across his face. He finishes his food even though he’s not hungry anymore and washes his plate off before going to his art studio and standing in the doorway, staring at all the things he’d created before everything had fallen apart.
There’s so much of Tony everywhere here; from the design of the room to the actual art--he can’t bring himself to step in, and he steps back, carefully shutting the door so he doesn’t have to see...memories. He stares at the door, at the whorls of the wood, and then closes his eyes slowly and lets his head thunk forward against its surface.
“Fuck.”
Tony continues to cook for Steve, fresh hot meals that he never shares with Steve, always slipping away when he’s sure that Steve has enough and has nodded at Steve’s polite thanks, their familiar warmth and ease gone, replaced with awkward distance and too long silences. Steve hates it but he’s not sure how to breach the vast breach between them, has no idea what he would even say because Tony is being kind in letting him stay here, but Steve has no idea if he actually wants Steve here otherwise.
A week passes before he’s able to step into his studio and even then he only stares at the last canvas he’d been working on, staring blankly at the lines and colors and trying to find meaning in them. He eventually slides onto his stool when his knee starts throbbing and that’s how Tony finds him later (how much later he’s not sure, but it is dark out, so it must have been awhile).
“Steve?”
He looks up from the canvas to find Tony watching him from the doorway and before he even thinks about it, he says, “It wasn’t all in my head, was it?”
Tony’s brows shoot up and then settle into a furrow as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans into the doorway. “I...no, it wasn’t,” he murmurs, ducking his head and then looking cautiously up at Steve through his lashes. “I’m sorry that I ever pretended otherwise,” he says quietly, “you deserved better than that.”
Steve nods in agreement and looks back to the canvas, heart beating unsteadily. “I did,” he murmurs, “but so did you. If I hadn’t pushed for something you weren’t ready or able to give--”
“Don’t blame yourself for what happened,” Tony cuts in sharply, eyes direct and glittering, “that lies solely with me. I--if you want to leave and go to a hotel, your doctor agrees that you’re no longer in need of 24 hour monitoring. I don’t want you to feel trapped here, you should be where you want to be.”
Steve sighs and laughs weakly, scrubbing a hand over his face, “We’re going to talk in circles if we keep this up,” he says tiredly, smiling faintly at Tony. “Do you want me to stay?”
Tony hesitates for a moment and then nods and Steve grins faintly, “I’ll stay then,” he murmurs, “if you’ll keep being honest about what you want.”
Tony wrinkles his nose and sighs heavily, playful like he’d been before, a smile twitching his lips up at the corners, “You strike a hard bargain Mr. Rogers,” he says teasingly, “but I agree to your terms.”
Steve smiles back at him and they stare at each other for a moment before Tony slaps his hand lightly against the door frame and nods, “Right, well, if you’re staying, it’s dinner time, so let’s go,” he says lightly, motioning for Steve to get up and move--an order that Steve complies with easily, especially when his stomach rumbles loudly and reminds him it’s been hours since he last ate.
“Yes sir,” he replies back, teasing and light, the surprise on Tony’s face and the delight that follows making his heart light and his head dizzy.
They’re not fixed, not by a long shot, but it’s a first step and Steve can’t help but grin, hope blooming in his chest.
Heat sinks into Steve’s fingers, the steaming mug of coffee fragrant and strong and he smiles when lips press to his shoulder a moment later, arms winding around his waist before a hand reaches for his mug. He lifts it out of reach and grins when Tony makes a pathetic sound and bites his shoulder.
“Rude,” Tony murmurs, reaching for it again and this time Steve lets him take it, shifting to lift his arm so Tony can press along his side and rest his head against Steve’s shoulder. They lean into each other, watching the sun rise over the beach below the house and Steve sighs softly, radiant with joy and so full of contentment it feels like he’s shining with it.
“What do you want to do today?” Tony asks, tilting his head back to look up at Steve and smile.
Steve shrugs and rubs his thumb against Tony’s bicep, “I don’t really have anything in mind,” he admits with a smile before leaning down and closing the distance between them so he can kiss Tony and steal his coffee mug back, laughing when Tony squawks out a protest against his lips and pulls back to glare at him.
“You’re so mean to me,” Tony says with a pout, eyes playful and fond, “I can’t believe I love you.”
Steve’s heart lurches in his chest at the admission; it’s been six months since his wreck and Tony’s said it many times in the last three months, but every time he does it takes his breath away. His smile is hopelessly fond as he hands the mug back to Tony after a long sip and he’s rewarded with a kiss that makes him melt into Tony with a happy sigh.
“Love you too,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm tighter around Tony’s waist so he’s pressed as close as can be when Steve kisses his temple.
The sun rises and paints the sky in warm golden hues, pink staining the horizon and Steve sighs happily; it’s the perfect light for painting and if he asks nicely, Tony will let him strip him down and catch the way the light plays over his golden skin. No matter what, he’s certain that Tony loves him and for now, that’s all he needs.