Nobody else wants to play???

Winding up, Kershaw let loose a pitch that was well over 90 mph, striking out the Diamondback at the plate to win the game for the Dodgers. The crowd cheered distantly over the TV as the announcers went on to talk about what a big win it was.

None of that mattered because Steve was watching the clock. Seconds ticked by inordinately slowly, somehow stretching well beyond their allotted time. At last the minute hand clicked over to the four. Only twenty-five more minutes to go, give or take.

He crossed his arms on his chest, rethought it, uncrossed them again. He'd given up pacing, it made the hospital staff nervous. Only twenty-five more minutes before the visiting hours started.

A nervous, reedy man in a chair next to him muttered, "Wish they let us smoke."

Steve frowned. "It's a hospital."

"Yeah, well, it's my wife in there." He glanced at Steve. "You?"

"My-- My friend."


And yet for a moment of painfully clear memory he saw the hurt and betrayal in Tony's eyes and heard him his: "So was I!"

He closed his eyes; pressed them shut against the memory and tried not to think about that. That was the past. What mattered was the here and now. What mattered was that he had gotten Tony here in time.

"What happened?" the man beside him asked.

Steve clenched his fist and finally said: "He was in an accident."


"Damn," the man muttered. His hand found Steve's shoulder, giving him an awkward pat, and Steve felt a wave of nausea at the human contact. "I'm sorry."

"He's always had...heart problems." Steve confessed. He wondered if the man can see it, the lies in his words and the blood on his hands.

"Excuse me, sir? The blond gentleman, yes." A harried receptionist made to stand up, waving him over to the desk. "Someone's calling for you? Did you leave your phone off?"

She held the landline out, and Steve almost tells her no, she must have the wrong person. Then a baby started crying behind him, and its mother tried to shush its wails.

He reached out and put the phone to his ear.

"What the hell are you doing, Steve?"


Nat's voice, quiet and yet angry; that he hurt Tony or that he stayed at the hospital instead of going into hiding, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

He hoped his voice wouldn't shake. "The right thing," he said.

For once, and maybe too late, but he had to try. He couldn't abandon Tony now.

(If Tony lived through the surgery, Steve thought, remembering the sickening sound as Tony's ribs had broken under the shield's force.)

"I'll alert Pepper or Rhodes and they'll get him, take care of him. He's safe now. You know he won't thank you for this, Steve! Get your ass in gear and get out of there, before..."

She was right. Tony wouldn't be happy when he saw him here. He'd hurt him. He'd let things get out of hand and hurt him.

"No," he said firmly.

"Steve!"

"No," he repeated. "I'm staying and there's nothing you can do about it, Nat. I need to..."

At the other end of the line she sighed -- and he was grateful for it not being an exaggerated groan. She was worried, too.

"Steve," she said softy, "you're an idiot."

"Yes," he agreed, "I know. And I'm staying until I know."

She muttered something in muted Russian. "Don't complain to me when Ross hauls your ass back to the Raft," she said and then in a softer voice added: "Let us know if... Let us know when you need us." The line clicked and she was gone.