[FIC] Headlock

[sdroid.livejournal.com]

See, I told you I'd have more Steve when I posted again XD I come baring a fic, and a little shameless self-promotion >_>

Title Headlock
Author AbsolutionBot or sdroid
Rating PG-13
Word Count 1834
Archive? Sure, but I'd love a note first
Summery Tony's down after a mission gone bad. Steve is set with the task of watching him/cheering him up.
Author's Note OMGSONGFIC! Inspired by Headlock by Imogen Heap (ignore crazy video XD), more specifically these lines:

Been walking, you've been hiding,
And you look half dead half the time.
Monitoring you, like machines do,
You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

Also, I have a great love for winter clothes. I don't know why ._.



Headlock


Tony was on suicide watch. No one had officially declared it, but there was a silent agreement between those closest to him that he probably shouldn't be left alone.

A mission had gone bad. Tony had been caught off guard and was sent through an office building. While he was recovering, some sub par supervillian continued on his rampage. In total, ten people died, thirty injured, and Tony blamed himself for each one.

This was four days ago. The first night, Pepper had stayed in and cooked dinner for him. Next, Rhodey had spent the day with him watching horrible kung-fu movies. Yesterday, Carol had taken him to MoMa, which was having an exhibit about technical designs as art (of which some of Tony's own designs were featured). Today was Steve's turn.

Unfortunately, Carol had taken his idea, so he was now racking his mind trying to think of some way to spend the day as he walked to the apartment Tony was staying in rather than the Tower.

It was the middle of March and the snow that had fallen a couple nights ago still lingered half melted. Steve's hands were shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, artist portfolio secure on his back. He had always enjoyed this sort of in between time of year – not quite winter, but not yet spring; there was something about it that reminded him of his time, the time before he awoke in this new age.

While Steve had only been to this apartment building a few times before, the doorman seemed to remember him and let him enter with a nod. Steve kicked the snow off his boots at the doormat before heading to the elevators.

“I don't need a baby sitter,” Tony looked less than pleased when he opened the door. He also looked half-dead, and the fact he was wearing all black didn't help much.

“We're worried about you,” Steve decided not to put up any pretense of being there for some reason other than the truth.

Tony signed, but let him in anyways. Steve removed his portfolio and shed his coat, revealing a long sleeved shirt in his favorite shade of blue.

“Carol already took me to the museum,” Tony told him over his shoulder, bare feet padding into the living room, “So you're going to have to come up with something else.”

“Yeah,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, “I've been trying.”

Steve thought he might have seen a smirk pass over Tony's face.

“Help yourself to anything,” the dark-haired man waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen, “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Thanks,” Steven said, taking him put on the offer. He headed into the kitchen and poured himself a cup.

When he came back out into the living room, Tony was fiddling away at the work station that was set up at the far end of the room. If it wasn't for the scattered parts of the Iron Man armor, it would be nearly impossible to tell that someone actually lived here. Then Steve remembered that, at one point, Tony had several different apartments in New York alone, plus there was the penthouse at Stark Tower, so it was likely that he didn't live here most of the time. Even so, Tony being Tony, he still had everything he needed to work on the Iron Man armor.

Steve sat on the couch, which had a fairly good view of whatever it was that Tony was doing. With the coffee warming his body, Steve found that he was rather content to simply watch Tony work. Even if he had no idea what anything on the workbench was, there was something about watching a person in their element that was fascinating.

Several minutes must have passed because Tony, without looking up from his task, commented:

“You'll be glad to know, Steve, that, thus far, this is not the worse date I've ever been on.”

Steve choked on his coffee, some of it actually leaving his mouth. He swallowed hard, coughing once his mouth was free. He spared a glance at Tony. There was that smirk again.

Steve put his mug on the coffee table, suddenly feeling too warm.

“Well, you'll be glad to know,” Steve said after a rather awkward and silent moment, “That I just thought of what we're going to to today.”

Tony looked up finally, eyebrow raised.

“Go on, get dressed,” Steve was grinning like a fool and he knew it, “Something warm.”


Something warm to Tony mean a shapeless sweater, a wool pea coat, a scarf that when wrapped around his neck looked as if it might smother him, and a scowl that came with constant complaints about the cold for free. And, of course, all of his apparel was black, making Steve feel as if the man had to go to a funeral after this.

“Good God, Steve,” Tony's voice was muffled by the scarf but his horror came through quite clearly, “Are was going to the park?”

Steve smiled, “Well, you do live so close,”

Tony made a noise that was probably a cross between disbelief and pure hatred.

“This is my favorite time of year,” Steve told him, “When the snow's melting and everything's coming back to life.”

This seemed to quiet Tony for a moment. They made their way into Central Part. There weren't many people out (by New York standards, at least), so it was easy to find a secluded spot. Better yet, there was a bench nearby.

Steve took off his portfolio and set it down in front of the bench, his shield making a dull metallic thud against the ground. He sat and made a motion for Tony to do the same. As Tony sat with a grumble, Steve dug into the portfolio. He pulled out two drawing pads, one large and one small, and two pencils. He handed the larger notebook and one of the pencils to Tony.

“You can't be serious,” Tony stared at the items being handed to him, disbelief showing even through his mask of a scarf.

“I am,” Steve didn't waver, “Pick something and draw it.”

Tony stared at him a moment longer before yanking the pad and pencil out of his hand, muttering something that was muffled beyond recognition. He opened the sketchbook sharply and ripped the (black) glove off his left hand.

Steve opened his own pad, noting in the back of his mind that fact that Tony was ambidextrous still amazed him slightly. When Tony worked on the armor or any other kind of machine, he used his right hand. But when he wrote or worked on a diagram or the likes, he used his left. Steve could honestly admit that was slightly jealous of those who could use both hands with equal aptitude, if only because he knew that if anything happened to his own right hand, he would no longer be able to draw.

Steve spotted a squirrel scurrying down a tree. It hopped over patches of snow, digging under the white in some spots, searching for some kind of food. Steve watched it for a moment, then began to sketch furiously, beginning with a rough figure, then filling it in with details. It wasn't until he was well into shading the furry figure (along with a rough background of dead grass and tree roots) that he glanced over at Tony's page.

He was fairly certain he had just gotten a glimpse at the inner workings of Tony Stark's mind. It seemed like he had started with a cityscape – it looked like one of his technical drawings – but at one point he had moved on to a tree, then the squirrel Steve had chosen, then had decided to work out some kind of math problem to the side, then (to Steve's mild horror) a rough drawing of some mangled body laying in the street which had then been scribbled through. Currently, he was working on a sketch of the Iron Man armor, complete with a few scribbled notes here and there.

“I meant pick something in front of you,” Steve smiled despite the fact his eyes kept drifting to the scribbled out figure.

Tony spared him a glance, “Well, I'm Iron Man, and I'm in front of me in a way, so it counts.”

“No it doesn't,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“All right, fine,” Tony picked up the pencil and moved it to a clear spot on the page.

Steve watched as Tony began to draw crisp lines. He didn't sketch, just drew. All of Tony's drawings that Steve had seen had that same quality, like Tony knew exactly what he wanted to draw and just drew it. There wasn't really exploration or roughness in the drawings like there was in Steve's. It was obviously a talent honed in engineering school, not art school.

Steve watched as the figure was created. He watched the star, stripes, and shield form on the page, Finally, Tony finished by labeling the figure “Wing-Head.”

“Better?” Tony asked, looking over to Steve for reaction.

Steve found himself grinning, “Yeah. That's really good, I like it.”

Tony snapped the sketchbook closed and handed it back to Steve, “Then you can keep it. Might even be worth something – I've got my stuff in MoMa, you know. Now can we please go, I think my ass is frozen.”


The walk back to the apartment was decidedly quicker than the walk to the park (Tony set the pace). Tony burst into the room with a loud, “Thank God!” and began to fling off his outer ware.

“So,” Steve watched this production with mild amusement, “Was this your, uh, worse 'date' ever?”

“Well, that depends,” Tony turned to him, something in his eyes that Steve couldn't place, “Do you kiss on the first date?”

Steve felt his face grow warm and suddenly found that he had no voice.

“I'll take that as a no,” Tony grinned, “In that case, it wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worse either.”

“Oh,” was all Steve could manage.

Tony chuckled, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, “Go home, Cap,” he said, a certain seriousness in his voice now, “I'll be fine on my own.”

“You sure?” Steve's embarrassment subsided when he remembered the reason why he had come here in the first place – the unspoken suicide watch.

Tony nodded, “I'll be okay.”

Steve nodded as well, seeing an evident change even in the way Tony was holding himself now, “If you need anything, call me.”

Tony smiled, “I will.”

Steve left the apartment feeling secure about Tony's well being for the moment. On the elevator ride down, though, he couldn't help but think about that look the other man had in his eyes. Steve felt himself grow warm again – it had been almost lustful. Steve shook his head, clearing the image from his mind. After all these years, Steve still had no idea what was going through that man's mind.


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And now for the shameless self-promotion part of the post :D


A blog covering all aspect of Tony Stark's character -- the good, the bad, and the awesome.

It's a little project of mine, because I love analyzing characters, and Tony's got so many aspects to his self, it's just screaming to be looked at in depth. I don't want to be in a bubble while I do it, though, so I would love some feed back.

Thanks for reading and thanks for looking at the site :D

Edit: Thank you everyone for the kind words! I'm glad you all enjoyed the fic and the encouragement with the site. Pensive1 was kind enough to set up an LJ RSS feed, so you can get all the posts here as well

tonyfstarkblog