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It was a cold, winter night.
Tony was sprawled in the middle of god-knows-where, covered in snow, debris, arc reactor half-shattered and suit rendered useless.
In hindsight, Tony shouldn’t have come here.
A call at midnight from an unknown number should have been easy to ignore, especially since he was far from home, but he’d picked up anyway(alcohol tends to do things to people). A few snarky threats to the stability of Stark Industries and the Avengers, and bam , he’d suddenly be out in the forest fighting for his life.
Apparently, the mystery terrorist had wanted to take Tony down so badly that he had developed a machine specifically tailored to stunning his suit. And Tony, awfully underestimating the dude’s ability, had worn a prototype to the arena(in his defence, it was battle-ready unlike the Mk. 42, but still).
He would be embarrassed to his core if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d probably freeze to death if he didn’t do anything soon. Man, how he misses the warmth of the heater, of Friday’s calm voice, the brightness of the HUD– all the things he usually takes for granted.
Then it properly hit him. Without his suit, he can’t fly home. Without Friday, he doesn’t know where he is– and he’s starting to get really damn cold. It was Siberia, the grey bunker, all over again.
Unless…
“... Shit. ”
There was a way out, as all things were for Tony Stark.
Tony.
That letter.
That stupid letter.
A ‘perfect’ apology from a perfect Captain America. Taking every detour humanly possible to avoid addressing the actual conflict, then adding a sprinkle of his usual good-person monologue; after that, the ‘sorry’ part didn’t sound legitimate.
‘Hopefully one day you’d understand’. Seriously? Tony was sure he wasn’t a 5 year old. And, ‘If you need me?’ They weren’t even on speaking terms after they beat each other half to death, and whatever peace they had between them was a mere armistice.
(He spent an awful lot of time re-reading Steve’s letter, for someone who claimed to hate it.)
Why Tony thought of that letter minutes close to death by hypothermia was a mystery, but it made Tony hot enough to take off the remains of his suit and navigate the flip-phone in his pocket ; which mockingly held Steve’s number.
Right. Annoyingly enough, Tony did enj- had enjoyed Steve’s company. They butted heads in most things, but there was comfort to quarrelling with someone so sincere and willing to listen.
Maybe that’s why he kept the phone(that held the number to a person so far away) close to him.
Damn it. It wasn’t like he had a choice.
Here goes nothing.
Dialling…
“...Tony?”
Steve’s voice chilled him, a different chill from the winter cold. Tony forgot how to breathe, how to talk– God, why does Steve always start with his name?
“How are… what’s hap- is everything…”
Would you look at that. The perfect man, in all of his star-spangled glory, crumbling. It irked a part of him. Concerned for me now? After you left me to die while saving your best friend who killed my-
“Why are you awake?” Tony managed to spit out.
A beat.
“There’s… a lot on my mind– but that’s not what I want to talk about right now.”
“Can’t talk. Not here to talk. I,” this was the worst , “may need you . To,” he couldn’t do this sober, “help. Me.”
The silence was deafening, then a sigh broke through.
“Okay.”
“Okay, Tony. Just tell me where you are.”
“Now see, that’s the problem, I did log the mission onto my database, but I have no idea how far I drifted off. You’ll have to do some digging.”
(‘You have the keys to my flat’ went unsaid.)
“Gosh,” another sigh. “Do you need more backup?”
“No, please don’t. This is embarrassing enough.”
This felt natural. It shouldn’t be this natural, with all the resentment, hatred, betrayal, loneliness tied in. But the situation made him forget. (Ignore, more like.)
Some ruffling.
“I’m ready.”
Tony hung up before Steve could say anything like I’ll be there and finally shatter him.
Death by hypothermia was an overstatement, because the cold was becoming bearable. Steve was on his way.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Since when did you learn how to fly a jet?”
Steve helped him up instead of a reply. Tony only now noticed that one of his legs was in bad shape and that it kind of hurt to breathe. Steve‘s touch was warm, though, and it lingered even after he buckled up.
After a few minutes of flying Steve broke the silence.
“How did you end up like this?”
“Bad question. Try again.”
Steve‘s lips quirked up then abruptly straightened into a line. Something tightened in Tony‘s chest.
“Can I take you home?”
“What, your place?”
“You asked me to help. It’s the best I can do,” Steve said, then added, “You should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah, I should,” Tony said instead of a thank you.
The control panel of the jet was illuminating the side of Steve‘s face. Staring into those deep blue eyes was nice, grounding, until it reminded him of the bunker and he had to turn away before his hands started shaking.
Tony woke up the next morning in a comfortable bed. He was mildly confused, relieved, then… ashamed. I should probably leave , he thought, and turned around. Something caught his eye.
There was a note.
I understand that you might not want to talk. I thought I should give you some space, so I headed out first. If you need me, call me and I'll be there.
Weird. It's the same three words, but sometimes it weighed nothing and other times it meant the world.
Reflexively, he reached for the circle on his chest, and his stomach flipped over when he found that nothing was there. Through blurred vision he spotted another note. A bit hastily written and half-crumpled.
The reactor and suit are in the garage. Not in best shape, but they’re safe.
A laugh escaped him. Tony hated how reassuring the note was, and hated the fact that Steve knew exactly how to calm him down. Tony loved to be in control. Steve gave him the handle. It was their rhythm. Tony thought it had gone permanently haywire– apparently it didn’t.
It took a while for his breathing to come back to normal. When it did, Tony found himself desperately wanting things to be the way they were.
He picked up the flip-phone.
- Fin.