Again, Again, Again, by posyvanilla, rated R

[posyvanilla.livejournal.com]

Author:

posyvanilla 
Title: Again, Again, Again
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: R
Word Count: 6576
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.
Summary: Finally, Steve realized what was going on. He'd fallen for Tony years ago. He just hadn't known it.
Genre: New Avengers-era; Civil War never happened.
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Solstice, happy whatever it is you may be celebrating!
 

 

 

“But where did it come from?” Steve says; the question sounds plaintive, even to his own ears, but he doesn't care. After Tuesday's fight with the Mandarin and Friday's tussle with a full legion of Doombots, Steve is tired. And, frankly, a little annoyed. It's petty, but he'd been hoping that this year, the holiday season would be filled with a little less rampant destruction and a little more, well, peace and goodwill.

 So far he's been wrong. In the course of the last week, Steve wrenched his leg while dodging from a rampaging Doombot, and Tony had been hit so hard with one of the Mandarin's force rings that he'd been unconscious for nearly four hours afterward. Steve's leg had healed quickly, but Tony, despite his access to the enhanced healing effects of the Extremis, had still been walking around with a slightly dazed look on his face earlier that very morning, when he'd walked in on Steve training.

 Spider-man swings lightly to the ground beside him. “My money's on Norman Osborn. This has his brand of crazy written all over it.” He sounds practically giddy, Steve notes.

 “Does it really matter, though? It's a dinosaur,” Peter finishes.

 “It's actually an Albertosaurus,” Tony supplies, his voice muffled and oddly metallic-sounding in the Iron Man armor. “Sort of like a distant cousin to the T-rex.”

 “Of course it is,” Jessica mutters. Behind her, Logan snorts, mumbling profanities under his breath.

 “Let's just kill it and get out of here,” Jessica continues, gesturing at the sleet that has begun to fall in the late afternoon gloom. “This weather sucks.”

 “Wait, kill it?” Peter says, hands planted firmly on his hips. Steve sort of thinks that he's glaring underneath the mask, but it's impossible to tell. “We can't kill it! It's an amazing scientific phenomenon! Anyway, it's not the dinosaur's fault that it ended up out here.”

 There's a loud crash at the end of the street, and Steve looks over just in time to see the T-rex—Albertosaurus--thing step on a bright yellow SUV, completely smashing it into the ground.

 “Your amazing scientific phenomenon just killed a $50,000 car,” Tony says dryly.

 “On the other hand,” Peter says, “the humane thing would probably be to put it out of its misery.”

 “This is stupid,” Luke grumbles, and begins striding down the street toward the dinosaur. Silently, Steve agrees with him.

 Thankfully, fighting an Albertosaurus requires none of the sophistication of the week's earlier battles. The dinosaur isn't especially fast, and it certainly isn't possessed of a highly developed brain. Its hide is rock-hard, though, and despite Tony's repulsor blasts and Wolverine's repeated attempts to take the dinosaur down like a bucking bronco, they aren't making a lot of headway. Jessica's venom blasts aren't even phasing it, until...

 “Spider-Woman!” Steve shouts, neatly sidestepping the dinosaur's tail. “Try aiming for the eyes!”

 “That's what I was doing,” Jessica snaps at him, but she flies higher anyway, darting back and forth. Luke rushes up suddenly, and together, he and Steve manage to grab hold of the Albertosaurus's tail; they heave back at exactly the right moment, and Jessica hits the beast then, right between the eyes.

 “Ha, gotcha!” she shouts, and then, “uh-oh.”

 Jessica's hit strikes the dinosaur in the eyes, all right; the giant Albertosaurus bellows, swinging in a wild, violent arc, and suddenly, Steve and Luke are letting go of the dinosaur's tail in favor of madly dashing away from the rampaging beast.

 Steve knows he's not going to make it. Rolling away from the foot that had almost crushed him, Steve pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away from the body, only to see the dinosaur's tail heading straight for him. There isn't time to get completely out of the way; Steve throws himself toward the sidewalk, waiting for the inevitable blow from the dinosaur's leathery tail, and lands in surprise—completely intact—when it doesn't come. Landing heavily, Steve rolls over and stands, turning in time to see Iron Man—Tony—hurtling head over feet toward the pavement, having taken the full brunt of the blast that had been meant for Steve.

 Tony hits the asphalt hard enough to dig a small crater in it. Steve waits for him to stand, shake his head, anything, but the armor just lays there, unmoving.

 The albertosaurus turns then, opening its mouth to bellow at the still form of Iron Man, and Steve, face flushed with anger, hurls his shield at the dinosaur's neck, watching as his shield makes contact with a satisfying thud. The dinosaur drops, then, like a marionette with its strings cut. In the distance, Steve can see Tony rising unsteadily to his feet.

 “Holy crap,” Peter says, awed. “Nice throw. I think you broke its neck.”

 * * *

 Later, Steve would claim that he had not, in fact, fallen for Tony after that specific concussion.

Years and years worth of narrow misses—scorched and warped armor, sprained knees, and a ridiculously high amount of collateral damage from all of the walls Tony has been thrown into—have lead up to this. Like a dam breaking, finally, Steve realized what was going on. He'd fallen for Tony years ago. He just hadn't known it.

 * * *

Early Friday morning, Steve walks into the kitchen to find Tony already there, standing by the percolating coffee pot. Tony is facing half away from him, and the early morning light throws the lines of his face into sharp contrast. He has light smudges underneath his eyes; it's obvious that he's tired.

“Good morning,” Tony says, tapping a finger absently against the coffeepot.

“Morning,” Steve replies. “I...” think I might be in love with you, his brain supplies helpfully. “I didn't know you'd be up so early.”

Tony shrugs. “Didn't sleep well.”

Oh. “You were hit pretty hard yesterday,” Steve says. “Maybe you should go get yourself checked out, make sure everything's okay.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “I'm fine, Steve.”

Tony turns to the coffeepot, which has finally finished brewing, and pours himself a mug full. “Coffee?” he asks, and Steve shakes his head, seating himself at the kitchen table. Jarvis has put the paper out already, and Steve picks it up, making a pretense of fiddling through the sections.

Tony shrugs, moving to stand next to the table, opposite Steve. Placing his coffee mug on the table, Tony hooks a couple of fingers into his pants pockets, studying Steve intently. The line of his shoulders is tense; Steve hadn't really thought that Tony had been badly injured in the previous day's fight, but he's beginning to reassess that opinion.

“Listen,” Tony says suddenly, “we haven't—would you like to have lunch with me today?”

Steve stares at him. “Tony, are you--”

“I'm fine,” Tony says irritably, waving off Steve's concerned glare. “You and I, we haven't had lunch together in a while, and I have some extra time in my schedule today, so I just thought I'd ask,” he finishes in a rush.

“Oh,” Steve says. He wants to say yes, wants so badly to say yes, but he can't just blow off the plans he's already made. “I'm meeting Sharon for lunch today. I'd like to, but...”

Tony blinks. “Sure,” he says, the forced ease evident in his voice. At that moment, Steve wants, irrationally, to grab him by his shoulders and both shake and kiss him.

“No, it's not...” he's starting to say, but he's drowned out by a stifled yawn.

“Morning,” Peter says dully, ruffling his hair as he drags himself into the kitchen. He seats himself next to Steve, eying Tony's coffee hungrily.

“You know,” Tony says, moving jerkily away from the table, “I have meetings to get ready for, I should really go. I'll see you both later.”

Before Steve can even think of telling him to wait, Tony's gone, his untouched coffee still steaming on the table. “Damn it,” Steve swears.

And Peter, having absolutely no clue what he's talking about, nods in agreement with him anyway. “Totally,” he says. “But hey, at least he's not mind controlled and trying to kill us all, right? Hey, are you going to drink that coffee?”

Steve sighs.

* * *

There's no dinosaur to contend with later in the day, but Steve is still unsurprised to find himself helping Tony round up a pack of HYDRA infiltrators who've managed to break into Stark Enterprises' R&D department. For once, it's easy; Steve gets to let off steam by punching lots and lots of yellow jumpsuit-clad men in the face, and Tony doesn't do anything stupid, like throw himself in front of a punch/kick/elbow intended for Steve.

It's only when SHIELD agents have come in to collect the subdued (mostly unconscious) men that Steve manages to get more than a grunt or one-word answer out of Tony.

“What were they after?” Steve asks, and pulls off his helmet, shaking his head.

“I don't know. A better question would be, how did they think they'd manage to get through my systems to get any information on the off chance that they managed to get into the building, anyway? Or, better yet, how would they even be able to understand anything they managed to get their grubby little hands on? Peter has high school students smarter than these guys,” Tony finishes furiously.

“Well, at least they didn't get anything,” Steve offers. Tony shrugs at him.

“Still. . .” Tony trails off, and then shrugs again. “How was your lunch date?”

“It wasn't—it wasn't a date,” Steve stutters. He can feel his cheeks burning.

“Sure it wasn't.” Tony is grinning outright now.

“It wasn't!” Steve protests. “It was just lunch. Two people can have lunch together without it actually being a date.”

“Sure,” Tony repeats. “Hey, I'm free for lunch on Monday, if you have room on your dance card for another date.”

“I'd like that,” Steve says, and watches as Tony's eyes go big and round. It's then that Steve realizes that he just agreed to go on a date with Tony Stark. Steve can feel the tips of his ears burning, and he feels very hot all of a sudden.

Tony, grinning at Steve's discomfort, raises his eyebrows. “I can't assure you that I'll be as captivating a date as your current--”

“Not a date!” Steve interrupts, scowling. He doesn't mean for it to sound as though the idea of a date with Sharon is reprehensible—it isn't, it really isn't—but that part of his life is over. He's about to actually explain that to Tony when a couple of SHIELD officers interrupt, asking Tony stupid questions (Steve's known Tony long enough to be able to tell, mostly by the pained expression on the other man's face). Tony leads the agents away, gesturing furiously, and Steve sighs. He'll explain it later, when Tony gets home.

* * *

Tony gets home at around six o'clock, and promptly locks himself in his workroom. Steve checks on him every hour or so, until he comes around at midnight and finds that Tony has taped a sign to the door proclaiming that he's unavailable for the foreseeable future, or until the next alien invasion/zombie apocalypse/robot uprising.

* * *

“What are you doing out here?” Steve asks, wrapping his arms snugly around his ribs to warm himself. Tony, he notes, has snowflakes dotting his hair. Steve resists the urge to reach over and brush them away. It's Tuesday night, past late, and Steve had been surprised to find Tony's workshop empty earlier, when he'd gone looking for him (again).

“Just looking at the stars.”

It's an answer, but not all of it, Steve can tell. Still, the pinched, tight look of Tony's face is enough to let Steve know that he's not going to get any more out of Tony right now.

“Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?” he says awkwardly. Tony turns to glance at him, corners of his mouth pulling into the sort of soft smile that he only really ever uses on Steve.

“Of course,” Tony answers, and then casts his eyes back on the stars.

They stand in silence for a while, and Steve finds himself ridiculously grateful for this quiet, content time spent with Tony. They've both got snow in their hair now; flurries are falling lightly around them, glinting like diamonds in the hard moonlight.

“It's just. . . have you ever wanted something so badly, and somehow also convinced yourself, at the same time, that it's never going to be possible?” Tony doesn't give Steve time to answer, but rushes on, carefully not looking at him. “And so you know you should probably just get over the damn thing, but you can't help it, and it's driving you crazy, but there's nothing you can do about it. So you take it, you keep it all bundled up, and it just eats at you.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve steps forward, fingers reaching out to grab the crook of Tony's elbow, spin him around into Steve's waiting arms—when, at the same moment, Tony turns and begins walking back toward the mansion. Steve's hand, brushing through the empty space of Tony's shadow, returns awkwardly to his side, and he flexes his empty fingers.

“Gonna go get some work done on the Bugatti,” Tony calls out over his shoulder. “Don't stay out here too long. It's very cold, even for super soldiers.”

Yes, Steve thinks, glaring at the snow-covered lawn around him. It's very cold.

* * *

One day before Christmas, Steve finds himself sitting alone inside the little Italian deli that Tony likes, obsessively glancing up at the clock. It's 12:24, and Tony is late.

After a couple more minutes of surreptitiously sighing and staring at the door of the restaurant, Steve has pretty much decided that Tony has forgotten about the entire lunch meeting. It's then, of course, that his Avengers communicator goes off.

Steve grabs for it, answering it and jogging outside, absurdly grateful for any reason to extricate himself from the curly-haired waitress who keeps shooting disgruntled glances at Steve and his empty second chair. “Rogers.”

“Not sure how long I have before they figure out that I'm transmitting--”

The transmission fades out, replaced by a burst of static, and then Tony's voice filters back in. “HYDRA agents, they grabbed me outside the Tower, and I woke up—wherever the hell I am now. Check the logs back at the Tower, there's a recording of this transmission. Peter will know how to find it. You should be able to triangulate my position from that.”

Tony's voice dissolves into static again, and Steve clenches his fists uselessly, grabbing onto a nearby traffic sign for support. He should have known—Tony is never late, Steve should have insisted on meeting him at the Tower, should have...

“--think they're trying to duplicate the Extremis, not sure what they did, I can't call the armor—oh, shi--”

The transmission cuts of suddenly as the line goes completely dead. Steve closes his eyes and then looks at the impression his hand has made around the traffic sign: each of his fingers, perfectly outlined.

“Damn it.”

* * *

Steve makes his way back to the Tower to find everyone else already there and already berating Peter for him.

“What the hell do you mean, you don't know where he is?” Luke is saying; Steve's heart drops.

They're down in Tony's workroom, clustered around Peter, who is sitting at Tony's biggest computer setup. Peter is waving his hand at the two monitors in front of him, both full of scrolling data. Turning, Peter eyes Steve, and lets out a sigh of relief.

“What have you got?” Steve asks, none too gently; Peter shakes his head.

“That's exactly what I've been trying to explain. This isn't complete.” Peter waves a hand at the monitors. “Tracking down locations via phone calls wouldn't be a problem, but Tony wasn't actually on the phone long enough for us to get an exact trace. All we can do is try to narrow it down.”

No clue. They have no clue where he is. “How much narrowing can you do?”

Peter shrugs, runs a hand through his already bedraggled hair. “Right now, four square miles?”

“Not too bad,” Logan says, popping his knuckles. “If we split up, we can work through it faster.”

Peter's already shaking his head. “It's four square miles of huge warehouses and sewer systems. We don't even know what floor he was on—they could have moved him through the sewers, he could be anywhere by now.”

“All the more reason to move quickly,” Luke says simply.

Steve's head is swimming—mostly, it's a litany of Tony is gone, Tony is gone, Tony is gone over and over, peppered with vicious jabs at Tony for getting himself captured in the first place. Belatedly, Steve realizes that the Avengers—all of them, save one—are staring at him, waiting for an answer. Waiting for him to tell them what to do, to fix it.

Steve takes a deep, calming breath. “Can you narrow it down any further?”

Peter shrugs, gestures his hands wildly. “Maybe? I think so, anyway. But it's going to take time. I'm not—Tony seriously overestimated my skills in this area if he thought I could get this done immediately. It's going to take time.”

Steve nods, his decision already made. “You have two hours. After that, we're knocking on doors.”

“I'll help,” Jessica offers, and pulls up a chair next to Peter, already typing furiously.

* * *

Steve walks in exactly two hours later to find Peter and Jessica bickering over a printout filled with lines and lines of coordinates and city grids.

“There has to be another way to refine the search,” Jessica is saying, whacking the printout with a fist. “We can do better than that.”

Steve hadn't really allowed himself to get his hopes up in the preceding two hour intermission, but hearing Jessica's admission plunges him deeper into doubt and worry.

“No luck, then?” he asks; Peter and Jessica whirl around to face him, and then Jessica pokes Peter, leaning back heavily in her chair.

“Short answer, no,” Peter says. “Actually, long answer is no, too. But I have another idea.”

“Which is going to cost us even more time,” Jessica says tiredly. “Look, it's not that I think it's a bad plan, because I don't. I just think that we've waited long enough. I mean, we don't know what they could be doing to him.”

From the look Peter's giving her, this isn't the first time they've had this conversation. Still, Steve is sure that if anyone knows the horrors HYDRA could inflict on Tony, it would be Jessica.

“Explain,” Steve says, before they can rehash whatever argument they've been having.

“Okay. So, a couple of hours ago, we got the recording of the call that Tony made, with the mostly useless location information.” Peter stops, glancing up at Steve, and he nods back. He's still following, although he suspects that whatever Peter's about to tell him is going to be so chock full of technobabble that he'll be completely lost.

“Well, that's not all we got. Because Tony was using the Extremis to make the call, he left a sort of—well, it's kind of like a fingerprint on the phone line. His own personal signature, generated by the Extremis. That signal is broadcasting all the time, like the energy fields emitted by cellphones or microwaves. With that information, I could—theoretically--build a scanner to latch onto that certain signature. Should take a couple of hours, tops. It would have to be a pretty short range scanner, but it should do the trick. Even if they're doing something to depress the Extremis, they can't turn it off completely, not really. All we have to do is keep dialing the number until we pick him up,” Peter finishes. He looks tense, worried; it's as though he's waiting for Steve to pop him one for suggesting that they wait any longer to begin the search. He needn't have worried.

“That's a really good idea,” Steve says. It's a great idea, actually, and Steve is momentarily filled with the urge to pick Peter up into a hug.

Peter smiles, visibly relaxing. “We can go through the sewers, scan until we find him, and then head up--”

“What if they're in the sewers?” Jessica interrupts.

“If they're in the sewers, then they won't see us coming, anyway,” Steve says. “It's a good plan, Peter.”

Peter smiles a bit, shaking his head. “If Tony were here, he'd have already finished this thing, and he'd probably have made a much longer range scanner than the one we're attempting. Anyway, it won't take too long to have it wired up. Tony's got all the components I could need here.”

“Why can't you make a long range scanner?” Steve asks, curious.

Peter winces. “For that, I'd need uranium. Which Tony definitely doesn't have.”

“Short range scanner it is, then,” Steve agrees, and Peter nods.

“Hurry, Peter,” Steve tells him. Steve sinks into a chair, watching as Peter grabs a toolbox and begins gathering screwdrivers, an acetylene torch, and the various other instruments he will use to create this miracle for Steve.

* * *

Two hours and fifteen minutes later, Peter is screwing the final screw into a cannibalized walkie talkie.

“So that works?” Steve asks, eying the device warily. “That's going to find him?”

Peter nods. “In theory, at least.”

“Right. We've waited long enough. Let's go.”

They take the Quinjet, Jessica's steady hands flying them smoothly to a point close to the outer edge of the area Peter and Jessica have mapped out. From there, it's a short but smelly trip downward into the sewer, and then Steve is holding his breath, crossing his fingers, and praying as hard as he can to whatever, whomever is out there, that Peter's scanner actually works.

Peter pushes a button on the walkie talkie—now sporting an LCD screen and a considerably longer antenna than it previously had—and lets out a soft sigh as a light on the scanner glows green.

“It's on,” he says. “Now we just have to keep moving until it picks him up.”

They walk every single inch of the sewers included in their grid, and then they walk some more outside of the grid, just to be on the safe side. The walkie talkie just gives off a faint green glow, and stays silent in Peter's hands. They don't find a damn thing.

Hours later, after shuffling tiredly back into the Quinjet, they're all silently strapping themselves in as Jessica lifts off.

“I don't understand,” Peter is muttering, poking at the device. “Why aren't you working? You should be working!”

Steve thinks that he should probably say something to Peter—something like it's all right, or you tried, or even we'll find him, but he just can't seem to make his mouth form the words.

Jessica's flying them back slowly; they've only gone a couple of blocks when the scanner Peter is currently shaking emits a high-pitched beeping noise. A red light pings on the LCD screen.

“What the hell?” Luke asks, twisting in his seat to look at the scanner, and Peter's out of his seat and standing behind Jessica so fast that his movement looks like a blur.

“Stop!” he shouts, poking at the scanner. “Go back, go back.”

Jessica looks like she wants to say something, but bites it back and complies. After a few seconds, the scanner pings again, and Jessica exchanges a quick look with Peter before snapping out, “Buckle yourself in, we're landing.”

She parks them a couple of blocks to the north. They're only a few miles away from the search area they'd been walking; Steve isn't sure whether HYDRA have moved Tony since his capture, or whether the search area was calculated improperly. At this point, he doesn't care.

“I knew you worked,” Peter is muttering, leading them down a couple of side streets before he stops short a street away from a large, run-down warehouse. The red light is glowing brightly on the walkie talkie, and it's pinging practically every second.

“It's that building,” Peter says needlessly.

Steve nods. “Peter, you and Jessica stay around the perimeter. As soon as Luke, Wolverine, and I go inside, I want you to start webbing up all the windows on the first and second floors, and any doors you find other than the one we go in.”

Steve turns to Jessica. “Stay by the front door. If anybody other than us comes out of that building, take them down.”

Jessica nods, and Steve stretches his shoulders, pulling his shield off and around to front. “Let's go.”

Steve takes off at a sprint toward the front door; he can hear Luke and Wolverine behind him, and he thinks absently that there could be worse people to take into an unknown fight than a couple of angry, invulnerable friends.

Steve tries the door, finds it locked, and grins madly as he kicks the door off its hinges. They're in a long hallway, filled with windows; as Steve watches, they begin to darken, one by one, as Peter webs them over. Steve hears a couple of horrified shouts, and smiles to himself.

A door suddenly opens in front of Steve, and four terrified HYDRA agents run out of it. It's very satisfying for Steve to punch them in the face and watch them drop.

Steve, Wolverine, and Luke work their way down the hallway methodically, dispatching any HYDRA men who run at them and investigating the rooms they come to as they pass. They're cleaning up one such room when Steve sees, in his peripheral vision, several yellow jumpsuited men run past them down the hall, toward the open door. Steve lets them go; Jessica, he knows, won't be as kind.

They're continuing down the hall, getting ready to storm the next room, when there's an explosion three doors down. That room's door is blown off its hinges; out with it fly a couple of clearly unconscious scientists in white lab coats.

Steve sprints down the hall, his mind racing—what had they done, had they decided to take Tony down with him rather than let themselves be captured?--and skids into the room, gaping in astonishment. There are scorch marks all over the floor near the door, but the rest of the room is, amazingly, not on fire. There's an overturned gurney in one corner, and an abandoned I.V. littering the floor; behind it, Tony is leaning against the wall, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He's wrinkled and sooty, and there are bruises on his forehead and arms.

Tony's gaze finds Steve, and he smiles weakly.

“There you are,” he says, and promptly collapses.

Steve rushes forward and manages to catch Tony before he hits the ground. This close, he can feel the rise and fall of Tony's chest; thankfully, he seems to be breathing fine.

Luke and Wolverine dart into the room, and Steve turns, pulling Tony up into his arms. “He's fine,” Steve says, preempting their apprehensive glances. “I'm going to take Tony back to the Quinjet. You guys finish cleaning out this warehouse.”

“Not many of 'em left,” Logan replies, sniffing the air. “We'll be out soon.”

Steve carries Tony out of the building without incident. It's completely dark outside, and in the illumination of a couple of dusty streetlights, Steve counts out ten or so HYDRA agents lying unconscious on the ground, completely tied in webbing.

Steve nods up at Jessica, who is hovering hear the door. “I'm going to go call SHIELD, get them to send a med team over.” He should have thought of that earlier—should have called them before now—but he'd been too worried to think that far ahead.

“No need,” Jessica calls down. “I've already done it. Fury is on his way, with backup.”

Steve nods gratefully at her, and then continues to the Quinjet. He's nearly there when Tony wakes up, struggling pitifully in Steve's arms; Steve carries them the last few feet to the jet before helping Tony stand.

“Ouch,” Tony says, eloquent as ever, and Steve can't help but to smile.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then he hears Nick Fury shouting furiously somewhere close by. Steve just stands there, watching Tony as he leans tiredly against the Quinjet. After a minute or so, a doctor sprints up to them—she's tall, with her thick black hair pulled up into a ponytail. She takes one look at Tony and immediately whistles over more support, and Steve likes her already.

“Listen,” Tony says quickly, eying the doctor uncertainly, “they got blood samples from me.”

“I'll make sure they're destroyed,” Steve quickly promises him.

“Just—blow that whole place up for me, okay?” Tony asks quietly, looking over his shoulder as the doctors lead him away.

Steve nods dumbly. “Sure,” he lies. If he thought that Fury would actually let him get away with it, Steve would set the charges himself.

* * *

Fury arrives with a ridiculous number of SHIELD agents, and they expertly wrangle up the rest of the HYDRA agents inside the warehouse, dragging them out to sit glumly with their already captured companions. Steve briefs him on the situation while Tony gets checked over in the back of an ambulance, until finally, Steve is done rehashing what has been, undoubtedly, his worst Christmas Eve ever. He walks over to join the rest of the Avengers, who are clustered around Tony; apparently, he's been cleared to go home, although the brunette doctor doesn't look too happy about it.

Peter actually hugs Tony, very quickly; Luke and Logan both clap him on the back in a manly sort of way. Jessica doesn't do anything other than give Tony a brief nod, but Steve saw her kick a HYDRA agent in the back before they left. He's pretty sure that she broke at least a couple of the guy's ribs, but that's the med unit's problem now.

Steve doesn't do anything but watch from afar, strangely unsatisfied.

“How did you find me?” Tony asks, curiously. They're all buckled into the Quinjet, and Jessica's flying them home. Peter launches into an explanation of the scanner he and Jessica constructed—a much longer and more technical explanation than the one Steve was party to—and Tony leans back in his seat, smiling.

“That's a great idea, Peter,” he says warmly.

Peter just shrugs his shoulders, but Steve would bet anything that he's blushing under his mask. “So what happened to you?” Peter asks suddenly, cocking his head to the side. “How did they grab you?”

Tony sighs, and an annoyed look comes over his face. “It was stupid. It's a contingency I should have thought of already. Have you ever heard of deep brain stimulation?” he asks, shrugging when Peter shakes his head. “It's normally used to treat neurological disorders. Usually, doctors would place an implant in the patient's brain, and then use impulses to trigger parts of the brain to function, or not. Well, they didn't need to implant anything in here,” he says, tapping his head. “They just found the right frequency to tap into the Extremis and turned it off. They were stupid about it, though; they thought one application would keep it offline for a while. Once it came back online, I sent out the message before they realized it was up and running. Then they just hit me, and zapped me again,” Tony finishes, rubbing at the bruises on his forehead.

“They couldn't even get that right, so I have no clue how the hell they thought they'd be able to do anything with my genetic material.” He shakes his head, obviously horrified at the thought of HYDRA agents recreating the Extremis through his own blood. “So once I woke up, oh, a couple of hours ago, I rewired one of their machines to explode. That was pretty satisfying, actually.”

It seems like only seconds later that they're back at the Tower. Jarvis is waiting for them, obviously worried, but Tony waves him away, claims that he's fine, and disappears in the direction of the living room. Peter leaves shortly thereafter, presumably to head home to MJ; Logan and Jessica head out on business of their own, and Luke leaves while grumbling about last minute Christmas shopping. Before he knows it, Steve is alone, but not without purpose. He knows exactly what he's going to do: he's going to find Tony, and tell him how he feels, and damn the consequences.

Tony's standing in the living room, back to the door. Steve walks in, clears his throat, and Tony turns, smiling when he sees Steve.

“Steve--”

“Tony--”

They each break off, and Steve chuckles nervously. Tony shakes his head, bemused and anxious.

“Mind if I go first?” he asks, and Steve stills.

“Ah, actually, I'd really like to--”

“It's important,” Tony interrupts him, and reluctantly, Steve nods.

“I shouldn't be telling you this,” Tony says. “I shouldn't be telling you this at all, but you know, after my day, I think I deserve it.”

Tony moves to stand a couple of feet closer to Steve and then stops abruptly. He straightens his shoulders, sighs. “See, the thing is, I know that this can't happen--”

“Tony--”

“Don't interrupt, Steve, you can lecture me when this is over. I'm trying to tell you that I want you,” Tony says desperately, the fingers of his left hand curling into a fist. “I can't even remember how long I've wanted you, but I do, and I've been trying to make do with this friendship and it's just not cutting it. It is, in fact, driving me insane. And I've wanted to tell you this for such a long time, and every time I think I've got the nerve to do it, I cave.”

Tony takes a deep breath, still studying Steve's face. “Say something,” he finishes, looking Steve dead in the eyes. “Tell me that you hate me, tell me to forget it, just say something.”

Steve just stands there, too dumbfounded to speak, and the silence between them grows awkward. Tony nods jerkily, runs a hand through his hair.

“Well,” he says. “If you'll excuse me, I'll be drowning my sorrows elsewhere.”

And then Tony is leaving, turning jerkily on his heel, and it's like Steve's brain finally catches up with the rest of his body. He's so ridiculously glad for Tony's confession that he almost just stands there, watching, as Tony makes a beeline for the door.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Steve mutters, snapping out of it, and then he's striding forward, grabbing Tony's forearms and shoving him up against the wall. His thoughts are completely forgotten because he's kissing Tony, and the other man's lips are warm and slightly chapped and moving underneath his own, teasing Steve's lips with his tongue.

Steve pulls back, moves his hands to cup Tony's face. “I was so worried, don't you get it? You just disappeared, and I've been in love with you for ages, and--”

Steve breaks off with what can only be described as a growl, moving to run kisses up the hard line of Tony's jaw.

“Okay,” Tony says, breathless; and then, “Okay, Steve, okay, fine, okay.”

If the breathy pants and moans Tony is making are any indication, he totally, totally understands what Steve is telling him, but Steve has never been a lackluster teacher. He guides Tony over to the couch, unbuttoning Tony's wrinkled shirt as they go. The backs of Tony's legs hit the arm of the couch, and Steve pulls off the shirt, dropping it to the floor. He unbuckles Tony's belt, wondering at the intimate gesture of pulling the leather strap loose from Tony's belt loops, and then he drops that on the floor, too. It just takes a little push and Tony's laying back on the couch, Steve standing over him. Steve quickly toes out of his pants, and then strips off his t-shirt and throwing it across the room.

Tony's looking at him with something like wonder, and Steve smiles. He might, also, flex just a little bit more than necessary when he lowers himself to unzip Tony's pants. He pulls them down, intending to pull them off Tony entirely, but is instead annoyed as they pool in a tangled mess at Tony's feet. Steve leaves them there, crawling up to cover Tony's body.

The first touch of skin on skin is electric, and then Tony wiggles under him, his bony knees moving Steve into position. Suddenly Steve can feel Tony's hardness underneath, and the breath catches in the back of his throat as Tony starts thrusting upward, his hands holding onto Steve's back and pulling him down. Steve knows he's not going to last long, and he doesn't really care; he's thrusting back against Tony, licking the sweat from his neck, listening to the muttered profanities Tony is singing like a litany: “Fuck, oh God, oh...”

Steve comes with a strangled moan, hips jerking involuntarily, and leans in to capture Tony's mouth in another kiss. Tony closes his eyes then, speeding up his thrusts, and then Steve can feel warm wetness against his thigh.

Tony sighs, breaking the kiss and running a hand up Steve's ribs as he opens his eyes. Steve shivers. Tony's lying beneath him, completely blissed out; he's still got soot marks on his hands, and the bruises on his face are stark in the dull darkness of the empty room, and Steve finds him utterly beautiful.

“Come on,” Steve says suddenly, sitting up gently and rolling off of Tony. “We're going to go get cleaned up, and then we're going to go sleep in a real bed, and then we're doing this again.”

Tony smiles, and accepts the hand Steve has extended to him, standing shakily. “That sounds like a great plan,” he says, wrapping an arm around Steve's waist. He leads them out of the living room and toward his bedroom.

“I do have one problem with it, though,” Tony says conversationally.

Steve glances at him, unsure of what Tony's going to tell him.

“Oh, it just needs a slight revision,” Tony says, pushing open the door to his bedroom. “You said that we're going to do that again. I'd prefer to do it again, and again, and again, and again, you know, the again part repeating. Like Midy's theorem,” he says helpfully.

Steve doesn't know, but he nods back anyway, smiling uncontrollably. “That can be arranged.”