http://otherhazards.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
otherhazards.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cap_ironman2009-12-13 10:16 am
otherhazards.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2009-12-13 10:16 am
Entry tags:
Fic: A Bright, Clear Morning (Chapter 2)
Title: A Bright, Clear Morning (Chapter 2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
otherhazards , and beta’d by 2ndfastest .
Rating: R (overall story)
Pairing: Cap/Iron Man
Warnings: Low-level alcohol abuse, Violent/disturbing imagery(dream).
Summary: A what-if retelling of the early Avengers story if the land mine that changed Tony’s life had gone off just two degrees higher... and damaged a lot more than just his heart.
Notes: Mostly based on 1960s Avengers comics canon, but I stole the idea of Rhodey being Tony's military liaison from the movie, and made him a Marine officer instead of an Air Force officer.
---
Steve is on duty in the Avengers communication room.
He’s hunched back in the swivel-chair, boots crossed at the ankle, fingers steepled in front of him.
He shouldn’t be thinking this.
The Avengers have all sworn an oath, and promising not to pry into each others’ secret identities was part of that. Jan and Hank are casual about it. Steve is too, not that there was much of a choice after his damaged uniform cowl literally fell off his face when they first brought him out of the ice...
Thor, so open with the details of his identity as the son of Odin- -something Steve believes by now, but tries not to think too hard about the implications of- -is remarkably cagey about where he disappears to between meetings.
Iron Man is the only one Steve worries about, though.
He gets the feeling Iron Man doesn’t HAVE an identity out of costume the way he and the others do, or that Iron Man is someone who would get in serious trouble if his double identity was discovered.
Someone like Major Rhodes, for instance.
In Steve’s time, Rhodes being a black man would have been enough to explain why he was hiding his identity from the rest of the team, but in the current time, it would probably have more to do with him piloting the Iron Man armor without the Marine Corps’s knowledge. Or something. ...IF this Major Rhodes is Iron Man at all.
It can’t be Tony Stark, the man has a multi-million dollar business to run.
Besides, he’s... Tony.
Steve has never been friends with a CEO before, but the engineering genius who heads Stark Industries HATES having his picture taken, and complains every time he has a shareholders’ meeting, a society gala to attend, or... pretty much anything else that has the potential to drag him out of the Avengers mansion.
Steve’s not officially supposed to know this, but it took him less than a week to figure out that Tony wasn’t going ‘home’ to his official Park Avenue residence at night.
Tony entertains there, sure. He keeps the good crystal there, and he meets people he doesn’t like in his father’s imposing, dark-paneled study, when he’s ‘too busy’ to meet them for a business lunch.
But he never sleeps there.
...Which is a damned odd thing to do, and if Steve didn’t know Tony personally, he’d call it suspicious.
But this is TONY, who sleeps about two nights out of three ANYWAY, sketches new inventions whenever and wherever the mood strikes him, and snickers over the pseudo-science in Star Trek ...which he -says- he records just for that purpose. This is the man who voluntarily took on the responsibility and three-ring media circus of backing the Avengers... in spite of the fact that speaking in front of news cameras leaves him wrung out for the rest of the day.
Tony is a man who should be out dancing. Out enjoying some of that money he’s so good at making. Tony is-
Steve breaks off, and glances critically at his own reflection in the dark comm. screen.
Tony Stark is a talented, patriotic CIVILIAN, who just happens to be paying his -rent- right now. ...And that troubles Steve Rodgers, on several levels.
-
“CAP!-”
Steve is jerked off the construction scaffolding, snatched up and backwards by the sudden bar of Iron Man’s arm around his chest. A wide beam of red laser fire hisses through the lattice of metal just below them, and then they’re -gone- taking a sharp loop overhead to rejoin the battle from the other side. It’s like being on a roller-coaster, G-forces pressing Steve back against Iron Man’s body armor as the immoveable arm secures him in front.
An eye blink of trapped exhilaration.
Then Iron Man arcs down over the exposed back of the laser-canon emplacement and releases him, Jetboots roaring past Steve’s head so close that he can feel the pressure wave right through his red-white-and-blues he free-falls the last twenty feet onto the startled Hydra gun crew.
-
Flying home, Tony can’t stop grinning behind his faceplate.
Cap came to HIM after the battle. BEFORE Iron Man put out his hand in the now universal ‘need a lift?’ gesture.
Cap. Came. To him.
Even the way Steve’s body molds to his side is different. More relaxed, natural. Springy strength, instead carrying a wooden block. Things have been getting better between them since that day at the school, but today- -today feels like a passed exam. Like this last battle meant just a little bit more...
Tony pulls a victory roll because he wants to, and when he glances down afterwards, Steve grins back, laughing blue eyes narrowed against the wind.
So Tony- -Iron Man- -GOES.
It’s not every day you impress Captain America.
They follow the Hudson out over New York harbor. Gulls, and whitecaps, and the salt-fresh/scummy scent of in-shore water. A red-orange blaze of sun that catches the tops of the waves, and the slight ripple of window-glass on the skyscrapers dropping behind them, and the finely-milled contours of Tony’s armor...
And the Lady.
In the interests of good taste, Iron Man doesn’t actually -land- on Liberty Island, but he does take a long loop around it before heading out to sea.
Steve... still seems to be digging this flight, though the wind is too loud for Tony to judge this by anything other than the blonde’s expression. And he must have looked too long there, because Steve nods encouragingly towards the empty Atlantic in front of them and mouths, ‘GO’, arm tightening briefly around Tony’s chestplate, as if squeezing a clutch to change gears.
Tony needs NO further encouragement.
He takes Cap farther, faster than he’s ever flown with an unprotected Human before.
Until the muscles in Steve’s neck, shoulders, and shield-arm begin to tremble beneath the blue scale-mail, and his eyes are streaming, squeezed nearly shut against the torrent of air.
Tony powers back guiltily, and wonders if he’s just... well... blown it.
He brings them to a gentle, upright hover about a hundred feet above sea level. Tony can feel the deep heave and release of Cap’s breathing as it slows down within the half-circle of his arm. They can hear the gulls again, over the low, hollow rushing noise of Tony’s idling jetboots.
Cap turns in Iron Man’s grasp so they’re face to face, and puts one foot on each jetboot. Which makes him taller than Tony again, though it seems to matter less now...
Steve puts both hands on Iron Man’s shoulders, and looks down at him through the Plexiglas-covered eye-slits with a kind of quiet, maniacal glee. His clean-shaven face is visibly wind burned.
“We-“ he begins, still catching his breath, “-have GOT to do this again.”
“I agree,” Iron Man replies, and even through the voice synthesizer, Steve can tell the other man’s not just saying that.
Then neither one speaks for a long moment, because this is usually the part where guys step BACK after back-thumping each other, and they can’t do that in mid-air.
Steve clears his throat, consciously.
“So- what now?”
Tony cuts the power, and they fall about fifty feet straight down.
-And stop.
Steve unclamps his fingers from around Iron Man’s shoulders, and glares.
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“...Let’s go stand on top of the Empire State building,” Steve decides.
“All right,” Tony wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, and fires his jetboots, leaning forwards into the gathering wind.
-
The Avengers mansion is... quiet.
Empty, in fact.
Tony thinks about running down a hallway yelling his head off. He doesn’t do it, but the thought makes him smirk.
Jan is in Milan, Hank is holed up at his home lab, Thor is... probably riding a thunderstorm somewhere... And Tony has no IDEA where Steve is.
It’s not really an issue. Unlike some, Steve has no problem remembering to take his Avengers communicator with him. And he hasn’t activated it. Tony would know. Still... this place is -really- quiet.
He glances over his shoulder, and can’t think of a rational reason why he did so.
“That’s it, the power plant’s been needing an overhaul anyway...” Tony decides, disgusted.
Four and a half hour later, he’s worked himself into a sweat in the warmth of the valve control room, and has dark grease streaked well up past his elbows. The plant is water-cooled, something that seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now obviously needs updating. Any half-competent villain could shut down the power to this place by blowing up their WATER MAIN.
City electricity would have the same problem, though if he sinks the grid well BELOW the complex... no. Not secure enough. Mole-man could still take that out. There’s always the standard gas-combustion engines, but those are boring and inefficient. Solar would work, until an enemy figured out what the strange-looking roof tiles WERE, and then they’d just be target practice. Ground rods would work, of course. Tony’s incorporated them into the foundations of all his recently-built stuff, but the Avengers mansion isn’t that new. And ground rods don’t produce the kind of power that could run the communication room or the quinjet hanger door anyway.
A hydrogen fuel cell could, though... The Phase A guys over at NASA have been talking about using Hydrogen/Oxygen engines in the new US space shuttles, and since SI has the contract for the environmental systems, Tony already HAS the schematics.
...Which is something like having the schematics for the drawstring -bag-, but it still-
Bag. Drawstring. Compression-
...pressure-
blowout-
...packaging... water-
Plastic bag stuff, like fresh food, or manufactured goods without sharp corners. Then dunk the bag in water except for the open end, forcing most of the air out, and heat-clip the top shut. Maybe use the water temperature to cool the contents too, or-
Tony sets his wrench down with an abrupt clank, and scribbles his idea on the back of the power plant cooling system diagram. Maybe it’s already been invented and maybe it hasn’t, but the answer to that question is never worth letting an idea get away from him.
-
The warehouse is quiet.
Empty, in fact.
They’re too late. Fury lowers his gun with a blistering curse, and then begins yelling at someone over the radio. Steve peers into the building, and as his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, he sees a maze of fresh parallel scratches on the stained cement floor. Gouges might be a better word, as if the large metal shipping containers stored here had been dragged out recently... by hand. With the illegal shipment inside, each container would have weighed several tons, at the least. Where the Maggia gotten that much Adamantium in the first place was worrisome, but next to the question of who’d had the guts to steal it from THEM...
-
Tony is sketching, freehand.
The pages on his drafting board are white, wide, and open.
His pencil fills them with fine, precise lines. Diagrams, schematics, notes, arrows, never too many, too cluttered, before he flips over the next page, re-draws the main design, and adds more. He’s just gotten to the part where the entire power plant can be set to blow up through the elevator shaft and act as a self-destruct device for the Avengers HQ, when he starts to get thirsty. It’s not a hard equation, so he gets a glass and the bottle of scotch from the sideboard, and keeps writing.
He has the power plant ideas down now, but others come. A new kind of low-friction aircraft paint. Static-coating delicate glass bio-lab equipment with a kind of molten plastic spray that would later burn off in the autoclaving process, but until then make the glass nearly impossible to shatter. (Why DID people keep deadly viruses in glass test tubes, anyway...?) Radar cycle- -no, what was that... that heat-beam... Irradiated... Damn. It would come to him.
Either way, it could only be used in industrial applications only, since any escaping irradiation-
CRYSTAL.
U.V. light, which could NOT escape from a dishwasher, split and magnified by a glass lens or crystal mounted into the end of the-
Waitasecond.
Swimming pools could use cyclical bursts of UV lighting from a simple encased ball floating on the surface, and maybe not so much chlorine. ...Would serve those pricks at Dow Chemical right to have one of their traditional niche markets-
Hell, Sea World could probably use something like that in the dolphin tank.
He has to find out whether the UV levels involved were likely to fry anybody accidentally.
Dial tone.
Ringing.
“...Hello?”
“-Hey, are the optics guys in yet?” Tony asks.
“Good... morning, Mr. Stark. ...Why are you-?” Pepper’s voice breaks off, and there is a pause.
-Probably Pepper consulting her bedside alarm clock and refraining from speaking until she can do so without biting his HEAD off, Tony realizes belatedly.
“Hi, Pepper,” he says, intelligently.
“Hello, Mr. Stark,” Pepper replies sweetly, in a voice that could probably freeze Oxygen.
Voice. Vibration. Particle excite- If sound frequencies could be refined to raise or lower the temperature of-
“Pepper, um...” -Tony gets a note on paper about the sound idea-
“...YES?”
Oh, SHIT how long had she been waiting for him to answer-?
“I-I had a question for the research department. About um, sound waves.”
“What was it?” Pepper asks, in a more normal tone. She’s perfectly used to Tony’s midnight inventing sprees, and now that she at least knows the REASON for his call-
“I-“ -Tony tries to remember why he’d originally made the call, and fails- “Lissen... Pepper... you sound like you’re really tired. I’m, uh- -why don’t I just call you in the morning?”
“That... is an excellent idea, Mr. Stark,” Pepper replies, coolly.
“We could do breakfast?” Tony suggests.
Pepper shuts her eyes, and rubs the right one with the heel of her fine-boned hand.
“Tony, go to sleep.”
“I can’t yet, I- -I got a lot of work to do,” Tony explains, “-but I’ll talk to you tomorrow. First thing, I promise.”
Pepper smiles tiredly.
“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”
“G’night, Pepper.”
-
Steve unlocks the door, and slips inside.
It’s five in the morning, and there shouldn’t BE anybody else awake, unless Tony Stark has pulled an all-nighter again. Just... Steve and the ghosts, probably.
Does Nick Fury qualify? It’s hard to tell, and as happy as Steve was to see a familiar face in the chaotic ‘future’ of 1965, the chill at the back of his neck still tells him that Sgt. Fury of the Howling Commandos is gone forever.
No. Not gone, just... changed. Long ago. Irrevocably.
While Steve slept, buried in ice.
Cold has always been important to Steve. During Army survival training he’d slept outside for the first time in his life, and it had been cold then. ... Nothing compared to what he would later endure behind enemy lines, but -damned- chilly.
That first night, out under stars so far from the city, had been AMAZING.
Steve hadn’t played in the snow much as a kid. After school, and before his mother got home from work, he’d stayed in the warmth of the public library, or the YMCA as much as he could. The boxers there were always his favorite. All that hard, concentrated power. Strength, balanced with wits, and spirit. Unstoppable powerhouses and angry, plucky underdogs. Cowards, and fools with dreams bigger than they were.
And one skinny Irish kid with his eyes alight, his father’s hand-me-down coat folded on the bench beside him, and a blue woolen scarf that he kept wrapped warmly around his throat, even indoors.
Steve pauses.
Something is reminding him of the past, and it isn’t the pre-dawn chill he just came in from.
...Whiskey.
The scent comes to him from his parents’ kitchen, older than a memory.
Tony left a glass on the mantelpiece, with a skim of rich whiskey the color of wild honey at the bottom.
The glass is there, but Tony isn’t.
There’s no dishes broken, no doors left open, no sobbing, no rambling, one-sided speeches, or politics...
Just a glass.
Steve smiles, and takes it with him to put in the kitchen sink.
-
Candlelight, soft like the lighting in the library, plays across Steve’s hair.
Tony watches, silently. Except he can -feel- himself talking, but he can’t hear the words.
Whatever they were, Steve turns towards him and smiles.
He’s unmarked. Compact in the way gymnasts are, except built on a larger scale. Steve’s something that shouldn’t ‘fly’ yet does. And oh yeah... he’s beautiful.
Skin texture more like pale, finely-milled clay than cold stone. Motion fluid under that skin even in so small a motion as turning... dozens of angles, of physical stresses and counter-stresses, perfectly balanced. Angles that change within their private arcs of motion, but just -enough-.
Sleek. Organic. Nifty.
Steve extends a hand towards him, and Tony takes it. It feels good, like the closing of a circuit.
Steve’s hand hardens, dark, dry-riverbed cracks appearing in his pale skin almost up to the elbow.
Steve is surprised, almost shocked, but not afraid. He disengages his hand from Tony’s and holds it up between them, now missing the tips of two fingers and most of the pinkie.
Tony looks down at his own hand in horror, and it’s his but not alive, a thing of metal and wheels, of steel and brass, and hard black plastic, disappearing into the pushed-up sleeve of his bathrobe without the slightest hint of Human skin visible.
He becomes aware of something falling in his field of vision, like snow or slow-falling confetti.
Tony looks up, and realizes where it’s coming from.
Steve’s arm is gone along with much of his body, a swirling man-shaped mote of ash with half a torso remaining.
Still, Steve’s unafraid. His blue eyes are sharp, somber as they bore into Tony’s look of wild-eyed horror, and they stay locked there until the ashing effect reaches Steve’s face, turning accusing blue to dry, unseeing white like a sudden frost...
Tony wakes up hard enough to knock himself out of bed, and feels the sudden, vision-graying jolt his heart picking up. He has GOT to adjust it so that- -no. The transitions have to be this fast. As Iron Man he needs them to be, like the hard suspension of a race car.
Tony swallows, puts a palm to the the middle of his chestplate, and closes his eyes in the dark, lips parted.
On the tip of his tongue, just barely perceptible, there’s a remembered taste of ash.
-
“Good morning,” Steve says, looking up from the morning paper.
“Mph. Morning.” Tony mutters back, pouring himself a cup of Jarvis’s fine black coffee.
Steve’s eyes narrow slightly, studying Tony’s face.
“You look- -terrible. Is everything-“
Tony’s right hand drops the mug and flies to his face as a sudden panic fills his eyes, possibly the most intense emotion Steve has ever seen in them.
When Tony’s fingers make contact with his cheek and... Feel its texture?... Tony relaxes, bowing his head.
Steve is on his feet now, one hand outstretched, and he’s about to say more when Jarvis enters, no doubt brought by the crash of Tony’s coffee cup shattering when it hit the floor.
Steve shuts up, but remains standing, unobtrusively lowering his hand.
Jarvis takes one look at Tony’s set, ashamed expression, and begins cleaning up the broken cup and spilled coffee without a word.
Steve looks from Tony’s tense profile to Jarvis’s back. Then he pours a fresh cup of coffee, and sets it on the table by the chair adjacent to his.
Tony looks up at the sound, shadowed eyes searching Steve’s face for a long, silent moment. Then he crosses to the indicated chair, and drops into it with a resigned sigh.
Steve sits back down in front of his own half-finished coffee and newspaper, and tries really hard not to watch Tony.
Tony drinks his coffee, and looks up when his butler passes him carrying a dustpan of broken cup-shards.
“-Thanks, Jarvis.”
“But of course, sir,” Jarvis replies, with a smile that is heard rather than seen. As he leaves, the older man’s eyes rest briefly on Steve as well, but neither Steve nor Tony notices.
Steve glances over at Tony for the third time, and Tony catches him.
“...I had a rough night,” Tony says, flatly.
“Good morning?” Steve offers, after a pause.
“...Good morning,” Tony acknowledges, looking up over the rim of his coffee cup wryly.
-
Steve swears mentally.
They’re too late again, and this time it’s a large crate of S.I. electronic components meant for the US Air Force that’s missing. The Wasp flies up, out through the broken window high above, to get a better view.
Iron Man, studying the traces on the floor, knows there’s been a dewfall since the theft occurred and doesn’t bother. He doesn’t call her back, though. There could be clues on the rooftop he missed, and Jan is the Avengers chair(wo)man this week anyway.
Cap and Iron Man exchange an uneasy glance.
“You said the theft you investigated with S.H.I.E.L.D. was a large Adamantium shipment?” Tony asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Steve nods.
“Mr. Stark is NOT going to be happy about this,” Iron Man sighs.
“He won’t blame you for it, will he?”
Steve’s question is so unexpected, so out of his own personal context, that it takes Tony a moment to answer.
“Wh- I- -no, he won’t. But Stark knows even better than we do how dangerous his technology can be in the wrong hands.”
Steve nods.
Tony takes a breath he forgot to.
“Sounds like good guy to work for,” Steve probes, carefully.
“He has his moments,” Tony smirks behind his visor, -“but just YOU try body-guarding a guy who disappears on you half the time...”
“Tony has a lot going on,” Steve agrees, thoughtfully.
“You have -no- idea.”
“Well, we- -the Avengers, I mean... owe Mr. Stark a great deal for his generosity, and besides that he’s our friend. ...He knows all he has to do is ask, right?”
“He knows,” Iron Man nods, “-but protecting Mr. Stark is MY job,” -he punctuates the ‘MY’ by tapping two armored fingers against the front of Cap’s shield with a sharp ‘clank’.
“I know,” Steve agrees, and wonders why those words seem to stick in his throat.
-
Behind firmly-locked Plexiglas shields, Iron Man's’s eyes are beginning to look a little wild.
Desperate. Steve wants to punch through that faceplate, to take a nice, solid machine drill to- -ANYTHING really- -that will keep Iron Man from suffocating.
It’s been almost six minutes since the armor’s onboard air supply gave out.
He’s never stared at Iron Man’s eyes before. Never thought of him as a man, as a frail pink snail of MEAT merely -inhabiting- the armor Tony built, until this day.
Iron Man’s not Major Rhodes.
He’s white, or at least he has blue eyes. Or the armor has better disguise qualities than Steve can see... but he doesn’t think so. The fear in those eyes is real.
...Resigned... but REAL. Immediate. Determined in a way Steve has seen on the faces of soldiers... when they hear the cavalry won’t be coming. Piss-mad, and scared, and quiet, all at once. They’re losing focus...
Iron Man can’t move, probably can’t feel it anyway, but Steve is gripping one of the red metal gauntlets. Because this is his friend, and-
-And dammit, he’s not going to lose him.
Suddenly there’s a click, and all three Plexiglas panels snap open together. Iron Man comes to with a deep, ragged breath, rearing up on the exam table, and falling forwards dizzily- -then Cap has him. The world comes back, one breath at a time. The spinning stops. Colors brighten, clarify.
Hank Pym crawls out of Iron man’s mouth-slit, and returns to normal size.
Iron Man manages something about ‘good friends in tight places’ that the others don’t -quite- smack him for.
Hank says he needs a shower. Thor suggests a feast to mark the occasion. Jan kisses Hank, and tells him he’s more use as Ant-Man than Goliath anyway. Hank looks uneasy. Tony shuts his eyes behind the faceplate of his helmet, still breathing in deep, relieved gulps.
“Welcome back, Avenger,” Steve says, still gripping his hand.
Tony squeezes back, gratefully.
Steve studies the combined sculpture of the red metal gauntlet and his own red leather glove.
Iron Man is his friend. A fellow Avenger, and- -Steve swallows, glancing down at the edge of the innocuous exam table padding- -Iron Man shows no signs of letting go either... so he might as well enjoy this.
It’s a feeling that Steve doesn’t put into words much. A strange kind of ecstasy, like being more alive than normal. Like hearing a battered platoon count off after a hard-fought engagement, and slowly realizing that NOBODY’S missing. Like a sunrise under his skin. Steve has always felt this way from time to time, though he’s had more occasions to since becoming Captain America.
He’s not sure what Iron Man feels- -or even CAN feel under the metal shell of his- -but he does know that neither one of them seems in a hurry to let go.
-
“Comfortable?” Steve asks, smiling over at his companion wryly.
Tony has unfolded his limbs across at least two thirds of the couch. His hair’s a dark swirl of post-workday finger-spiking, and he’s wearing his habitual quilted bathrobe over a set of high-collared Chinese-style silk pajamas. A half-filled highball glass dangles from the fingers of the inventor’s left hand, almost forgotten.
“Oh -yes-,” Tony replies, honestly. His expression is neutral as always, but his tone is
light, and warm.
On the television, ‘The Invisible Man’ is playing.
Steve finds it well-written, but as a (masked) costumed hero, he feels it hits a little too close to home. Tony doesn’t seem to notice.
Steve wonders if Major Rhodes has ever had to sit through ‘Princesse TamTam’.
-
Tony wakes up from some of the best sleep he’s had in weeks.
He’s not alone.
He freezes, and assesses the situation without moving. He’s done this before, though he is a bit rusty.
The Videotape player stopped a long time ago, and the only thing playing on the screen now is gray static. His mouth tastes faintly of bourbon, and needs brushing. The pillow against the right side of his face is ...warm. And... Tony can feel through the pale blue fabric of Steve’s open-collared shirt- -covered in well-fitting scale mail.
Steve.
He’s fallen asleep on STEVE.
...Who was probably asleep BEFORE that happened, Tony guesses, ruefully. Steve’s arms are folded loosely over his broad chest, chin down against his collarbone. His breathing is deep, even. Unlike Tony, he’s still sitting up against the back of the couch. Steve sleeps like a soldier.
And he’d better sleep like a -dead- one, Tony realizes with an unpleasant shock, because spending the night with the points of Steve’s armor-scales digging into the makeup job on his face has probably pressed the polymer putty coating under-layer into something more closely resembling the surface of the MOON than Human skin.
Damn. Damn. DAMNDAMNMOTHERF-#$&@*%#!!!!!!
Tony thinks.
There’s a chance Steve won’t wake up when he moves, but with all that combat field experience... that’s a sucker bet.
The makeup might not be wrecked. It could- ...No, he’s pretty sure it’s wrecked. Or at least, the part of it that’s been in contact with Steve’s shoulder.
There’s an angle there. He probably only has to cover -half- of his face, when making his escape.
If only he was wearing a turtleneck, he could pull it up over the damaged makeup area, and start quoting ‘The Shadow’ if Steve woke up. Might even get a smile for his trouble.
The thing is, he ISN’T wearing a turtleneck. He’s wearing Chinese silk, and -hopefully- the quilting of his bathrobe will be enough to disguise the lines of the chestplate if Steve wakes up too soon.
...Which he will be increasingly likely to do, if Tony doesn’t get the HELL out of there, and fast.
For the moment though, Tony refuses to move. He’s warm, and relaxed, and really, -really- comfortable here, in spite of Steve’s scale mail undershirt.
He’s learned to TAKE moments like this, because they’re rarely handed to him anymore.
Tony’s wristwatch beeps.
It only does so once, a low warning chirp to inform him he’d better think about re-charging soon. Steve stirs, but doesn’t waken.
Wait...
...BULLSHIT, Tony knows when the person he’s sleeping on is faking it, and Steve IS now faking it. But to what end?
Is he embarrassed? Confused? Trying to let Tony save face, by pretending to be asleep so they won’t have to (shudder) TALK about this?
Is Steve just waiting, like a sniper in a jungle blind, to see what Tony will do with being ‘the only one awake’?
Tony’s brow furrows slightly, and his heart beats just one speed faster.
He wishes he could just yawn, look up at Steve with that mischievous grin he’d patented long before anything else, and then leave without a word. Nothing declarative. Nothing threatening. Just to let Steve know... that he’s not afraid. That he WON’T be slinking out because he’s embarrassed about waking up like this.
That the private joke THEY could get out of this is worth a little early-morning embarrassment.
Tony wishes... but that’s all.
His slate-blue eyes open, resigned but clear. Keen, because his timing has to be perfect. Has to.
He stirs a little, then pauses, as if surprised and trying not to wake his companion. Tony gets up carefully, quietly, keeping his head down until the first moment he can turn, and then does so. He pads out of the room, slippered feet sinking noiselessly into the thick pile of the living room carpet.
Steve sits up after Tony leaves, and runs his fingers back through his longish blonde bangs with a sigh.
-
Steve pulls off one of his gloves, and flexes his fingers experimentally.
His knuckles are stiff, bruised in places, though that’ll probably fade with a good night’s sleep. The AIM soldiers who were on the receiving end will NOT be so lucky.
If only he’d gone clean OVER those idiots though, AIM might not have captured the Army’s prototype magnetic accelerator canon.
Tony didn’t blame them for losing it. ...He never does, Steve’s noticed. If Tony’s unquestioning faith had been placed in the hands of any group less principled than the Avengers... it just doesn’t bear thinking about. Wise enough to disappear at the first sign of super-powered battle, yet brave enough to paint a virtual target on his own home by inviting the Avengers to stay there. Painfully self-conscious at times, yet possessed of a witty, dirty-minded streak that occasionally leaves Steve staring.
Tony Stark is unique, in this time or any other.
Tony is THEIRS.
Iron Man is his official bodyguard, true, but the golden Avenger has accepted the help of the others to protect his principal in the past, and it’s only raised Steve’s estimation of the man. Iron Man will do whatever it takes... even at the expense of his considerable pride. ...He understands the worth of the man that the Avengers are oh-so-incidentally protecting... perhaps even better than Steve does.
-
Tony fits the last of several rubber socket-plugs into the fittings of his chest-plate, and pulls the last piece on over his head. -For all intents and purposes, it’s a sleeveless rain slicker that seals at the neck, waist, and both armholes.
...One of his -better- inventions, Tony thinks, walking into the warm, pounding spray of four overlapping shower-heads.
Mmmmmm, perfect.
The spray comes down, firm and heavy in the sudden steam, soaking his dark hair in seconds and washing down over his scalp.
He turns his face up and a thousand drops beat down onto it, like a massage of static and drums.
Tony’s eyes are closed, his lips barely parted.
He can barely breathe through this.
His heart knows what he’s planning to do though... literally. Its increased reps, without any reason why... except experience.
Something he’s unconsciously doing, some hidden cue, has the interpretive circuit in his pacemaker trained like a police dog.
He didn’t think about that when he was designing it... didn’t think about an impassive computer analyzing his heart rate, respiration, blood pressure, bio-electrical feedback... and knowing... maybe not caring, but KNOWING...
Oh fuck yes.
Tony’s back presses against the smooth, wet back wall of the shower with a dull metallic ring. Behind closed eyelids, images come. Jan in costume, bending down to pick up a dropped earring when she thought Iron Man wasn’t watching. The inhuman ripple of Thor’s arm, as he drew back for a hammer-throw. Hank’s voice, clear in the night through the window that the biochemist had left open. Ella DeLaurent, in the shimmering blue evening gown he’d bought her, winking points of light pouring down the sleek, athletic curve of her hip in the light of the open balcony door...
Steve- -no, Captain America- -punching out AIM soldiers. Hard. A complex, tense, leaping, bending, sinuous dance with sudden stops and lunges. The changing rhythm of Steve’s breathing, amplified by his helmet’s audio-pickups. Intent blue eyes that shifted from one target to the next, almost before he dispatched them. The blazing infa-red silhouette Steve cast after the battle, trapped body heat burning through the red-white-and-blue leather in slow, diminishing pulses. Waves.
Another battle, and an impossible, lightning-fast turn, Cap’s shield deflecting one bullet while the sudden twist of his head and shoulders avoided the remaining two-
Steve, alone in the gym, the black and white shades turning his bright blonde hair to pearly gray...
Hands gripping shining steel bars. Pulling, shoving it away from him, and pulling it in tight again, brow furrowed as if in concentration, eyes not seeming to see-
Power. Symmetry. Rhythm. Determined to make this last- -worthwhile--
F-
Fucking -hell-...
“-STEVE! ...god... ...............damn.....”
-
Plague settles over the Avengers mansion.
Well, a fairly nasty strain of flu/cough, anyway.
It starts with Hank, and wherever Ant-man picked it up, this particular ‘bug’ is nasty. Tony gets sick next, followed by Jan. Thor alone seems immune. Cap gets sick for about 24 hours, then throws it off and patiently plies the others with chicken soup and lemonade. Jarvis, who is also sick, finds THAT situation very surreal.
Iron Man hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the epidemic, and though Tony assures Steve that the red and gold Avenger has simply gone home to live or die in peace, Steve is strangely hurt that Iron Man ditched the rest of them.
Even Hank and Jan, who usually only show up for weekly Avengers meetings, are encamped at the mansion for the duration.
...But not Iron Man.
Steve blames himself. Somehow, he’s failed to prove to Iron Man that they’re a team, for better or for worse. That ALL of them are a team... and even if two-thirds of that team is miserably ill, the others will still back them up.
Thor is strangely proficient at caring for the sick, and when Steve comments on this, the thunder god gives him an extremely long and mythological account of the history of Norse holistic medicine.
Steve doesn’t question him further.
-
Naturally, Dr. Doom picks the height of the flu epidemic to stage an attack on Madison Square Garden.
The Avengers are NOT in form, but the sheer FRUSTRATION of having to go on a mission while sick as dogs arguably makes up the difference, combat-wise.
Jan goes into battle sans makeup for the very first time.
Ever.
She is NOT pleased, and many Doombots pay the price.
Cap and Thor carry the day for the most part, but Iron Man appears from nowhere during the showdown. He diffuses the bomb hidden in the scaffolding in time, destroys at least twelve Doombots... and then throws up in his helmet.
Steve orders him to fall back. Iron Man actually does so.
Steve catches up with Iron Man in the men’s room later.
-
“Iron Man?”
“...Yeeaah...?” Tony replies miserably, from one of the stalls.
“Are you all right?” Steve asks.
“Well, I need a new helmet...”
Steve grins.
He returns a few minutes later, and knocks on the door of Iron Man’s stall.
“-Wha?”
“Courtesy of the New York Rangers,” Steve tells him, and passes a hockey helmet with a goalie’s mask under the bathroom stall door.
Iron Man is silent a moment.
“...Thanks, Cap,” he says, quietly.
“I know how serious you are about your secret identity,” Steve replies, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah... about that... will you turn around?”
“Why?”
“I want to wash my face off. And you’re- ...looking.”
Steve stares at the locked bathroom stall door, then shuts his eyes for a moment. It has nothing to do with Iron Man’s request.
“All right.”
Steve turns around.
He hears the stall door unlock cautiously, and then open an inch or two. Iron Man’s heavy metallic boot-falls pass him on the way to the sinks, not two feet away. Steve stands facing the other way, rigid. Running water. Splashing. Once. Twice. A series of hard plastic clicks.
“Okay...” Iron Man’s voice sounds slightly louder but less clear, as though the hockey mask has thrown off his already cough-roughened vocal acoustics.
Steve turns, and folds his arms across his chest.
“You know... I’ve done some thinking about what kind of a man would go to the lengths you do to hide your face...”
“...And?” Iron Man replies, wearily.
“You’re either a wanted criminal that Mr. Stark gave a second chance... or you really, really don’t like the way you look anymore. Considering that Mr. Stark trusts you like a brother and you’re his bodyguard... ...I’m guessing you’ve already TAKEN a hit for him.”
Silence.
Behind the hockey mask, Tony’s mind races. He swallows, hard.
“I was... injured,” Tony admits, carefully.
“What was it?” Steve asks, hardly breathing.
“An explosion,” Tony replies, his throat tight.
“Show me,” Cap orders, “-you know I won’t think less of you.”
“...No,” Tony decides, quickly.
“During the war I saw some horrific wounds, my friend. Men without ears, part of a jaw, without noses... if I know your boss at all, you won’t look -that- bad anymore... and any wound suffered in the line of duty-“
“-It was a LAND MINE-“ Tony blurts out, “-I- -I just STEPPED on the damned thing-“
“...Because you were where you -said- you’d be,” Steve finishes for him, gently.
Tony swallows.
“I ... ...yes.”
“Show me,” Steve orders again, quiet but clear.
-
Tony thinks.
He’s clever, and he’s playing two games at once. He can afford to risk one of them on Cap’s promise. He crosses the room and locks the outer bathroom door, before he can think better of it. Then he switches off the lights.
Cap doesn’t move.
Iron Man stops in front of him, and the click of his helmet-buckle is sharp in the concrete-walled lavatory. He pulls the helmet off.
Tony can hear Steve’s breathing in the darkness, so much quieter, calmer than his own.
He takes one of Steve’s gloved hands, and brings it to his own face, trembling just a little.
Steve just lets him hold it there for a while. He can feel the uneven thickness of the scars crisscrossing the right side of Iron Man’s unmasked face, faint but distinct through the leather. He brings his other hand up, cupping the other man’s damaged face in both of his.
The left side of Iron Man’s face is relatively smoother.
His jaw is clean-shaven, but there’s the faint crunchy texture of a mustache just above his upper lip.
Iron Man’s Human-sounding breath is ragged, and still a little hollow. Tense. Holding on the edge of panic, but not slipping.
Steve takes his hands away, but only to remove his gloves.
When Steve touches Iron Man’s face again, the other man gives a sort of shuddering, half-shocked sigh. Then a tiny, not-so-dignified noise that could mean anything.
He doesn’t move, though.
Steve lays both hands on Iron Man’s slightly feverish face once more, and this time he can feel the warped textures clearly. The smooth knots and cords embedded in the skin of Iron Man’s cheek. The slight dent in the side of his sharp chin, and the thin, bare line that angles down through the well-kept mustache half an inch from the corner of Iron Man’s mouth.
The other Avenger’s lips are soft, parted, and slightly chapped at the edges. Steve traces the curve with his thumb, and feels a ragged breath hot against the side of it.
...Suddenly this isn’t like tracing sculptures in art class and trying to draw them from memory.
Suddenly Steve’s face is as warm as Iron Man’s fevered one, and he’s trying desperately to think of a graceful way to- -hell, ANY way- -to move his hands back quickly without hurting this scarred, beautiful, -dedicated- man.
He can’t think of one.
He swallows hard, and-
Feels the soft, slightly scratchy sensation of Iron Man pressing a kiss against the heel of his right hand.
-
Steve stops breathing, eyes wide to the darkness, though all he can see is the thin line of light from under the door. The fingers of his free hand tighten around the back of Iron Man’s jaw- -which Iron Man takes as encouragement.
The hockey helmet drops to the floor with no ceremony whatsoever, and Iron Man’s armored fists close in the flexible scale-mail over Cap’s chest, puckering the white star between them.
NOW, Steve’s uncomfortable.
Despite the brain-melting sensation of Iron Man’s tongue beginning to explore the base of his wrist, he’s never been... grabbed like he weighed a-hundred-and-ten before. Not romantically, anyway. It’s the suit, Steve KNOWS it’s just the power of Iron Man’s suit, but the feeling of having been subtly upstaged (dominated) remains, and it’s enough to get him thinking again. ...Barely.
This is wrong. Iron Man is sick right now, and might not be firing on all cylinders. There’s also no telling how long it’s been since the golden Avenger opened his armor for ANYONE, and the feeling of ACTUAL HUMAN TOUCH may be pushing him into something he’s going to regret later.
So they really should stop.
Any time now.
Now, for examp- oh good -god-...
“Hey, um...” Steve begins, reluctantly. -Smooth, Rogers, -very- smooth.
“-M?” Iron Man replies, against the underside of Steve’s wrist.
“If we’re going to do this right, you need to brush your teeth.”
...Steve has never heard Iron Man laugh without his helmet on before, but he likes the sound of it.
-
Tony brushes his teeth in the quinjet lavatory sink, then rinses his face off and examines his reflection in the mirror. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t take his helmet off with the lights on... still... Steve KNOWS now. He willingly touched the twisted mess covering most of the right side of Tony’s face, and he didn’t flinch. ...In fact if anything, it seemed to turn Steve on. Tony examines a long burn-scar down the right side of his neck, and wonders what Steve thinks about Nick Fury’s eye patch.
The familiar scars in the mirror redden a little, and Tony runs a hand back through his dark hair with a nervous laugh.
He still has a fever, and now that the adrenaline of the fight at Madison Square Garden has worn off, he feels a bit lightheaded. It’s not like he can give this to Steve, though- -Steve’s already HAD it.
If-
Unless Cap was just letting him down easy back there.
It’s possible. It’s also possible that that moment was Cap’s ONE lifelong not-queer exception and Tony just -missed- it because of the goddamn FLU.
...Then again, with THAT costume...
Tony understands design. -Which- sleekly engineered curve will best catch the eye, and which will allow the object to blend in. When to cover his designs with color, and when to powder-coat them in brutally lethal olive drab...
The star emblazoned on Cap’s chest is eye-catching enough, but more than that it’s -deflected-. Flattened horizontally, as if the sheer width of Cap’s powerful chest had pulled the original design out of shape. Cap’s had plenty of time to time to change it, and he hasn’t. ...And that says something.
Tony pulls the hard plastic hockey helmet back down over his face, and rejoins the others in the main cabin. Steve catches his eye over the Wasp’s shoulder... and smiles.
-
-tbc-
Author:
otherhazards , and beta’d by 2ndfastest .Rating: R (overall story)
Pairing: Cap/Iron Man
Warnings: Low-level alcohol abuse, Violent/disturbing imagery(dream).
Summary: A what-if retelling of the early Avengers story if the land mine that changed Tony’s life had gone off just two degrees higher... and damaged a lot more than just his heart.
Notes: Mostly based on 1960s Avengers comics canon, but I stole the idea of Rhodey being Tony's military liaison from the movie, and made him a Marine officer instead of an Air Force officer.
---
Steve is on duty in the Avengers communication room.
He’s hunched back in the swivel-chair, boots crossed at the ankle, fingers steepled in front of him.
He shouldn’t be thinking this.
The Avengers have all sworn an oath, and promising not to pry into each others’ secret identities was part of that. Jan and Hank are casual about it. Steve is too, not that there was much of a choice after his damaged uniform cowl literally fell off his face when they first brought him out of the ice...
Thor, so open with the details of his identity as the son of Odin- -something Steve believes by now, but tries not to think too hard about the implications of- -is remarkably cagey about where he disappears to between meetings.
Iron Man is the only one Steve worries about, though.
He gets the feeling Iron Man doesn’t HAVE an identity out of costume the way he and the others do, or that Iron Man is someone who would get in serious trouble if his double identity was discovered.
Someone like Major Rhodes, for instance.
In Steve’s time, Rhodes being a black man would have been enough to explain why he was hiding his identity from the rest of the team, but in the current time, it would probably have more to do with him piloting the Iron Man armor without the Marine Corps’s knowledge. Or something. ...IF this Major Rhodes is Iron Man at all.
It can’t be Tony Stark, the man has a multi-million dollar business to run.
Besides, he’s... Tony.
Steve has never been friends with a CEO before, but the engineering genius who heads Stark Industries HATES having his picture taken, and complains every time he has a shareholders’ meeting, a society gala to attend, or... pretty much anything else that has the potential to drag him out of the Avengers mansion.
Steve’s not officially supposed to know this, but it took him less than a week to figure out that Tony wasn’t going ‘home’ to his official Park Avenue residence at night.
Tony entertains there, sure. He keeps the good crystal there, and he meets people he doesn’t like in his father’s imposing, dark-paneled study, when he’s ‘too busy’ to meet them for a business lunch.
But he never sleeps there.
...Which is a damned odd thing to do, and if Steve didn’t know Tony personally, he’d call it suspicious.
But this is TONY, who sleeps about two nights out of three ANYWAY, sketches new inventions whenever and wherever the mood strikes him, and snickers over the pseudo-science in Star Trek ...which he -says- he records just for that purpose. This is the man who voluntarily took on the responsibility and three-ring media circus of backing the Avengers... in spite of the fact that speaking in front of news cameras leaves him wrung out for the rest of the day.
Tony is a man who should be out dancing. Out enjoying some of that money he’s so good at making. Tony is-
Steve breaks off, and glances critically at his own reflection in the dark comm. screen.
Tony Stark is a talented, patriotic CIVILIAN, who just happens to be paying his -rent- right now. ...And that troubles Steve Rodgers, on several levels.
-
“CAP!-”
Steve is jerked off the construction scaffolding, snatched up and backwards by the sudden bar of Iron Man’s arm around his chest. A wide beam of red laser fire hisses through the lattice of metal just below them, and then they’re -gone- taking a sharp loop overhead to rejoin the battle from the other side. It’s like being on a roller-coaster, G-forces pressing Steve back against Iron Man’s body armor as the immoveable arm secures him in front.
An eye blink of trapped exhilaration.
Then Iron Man arcs down over the exposed back of the laser-canon emplacement and releases him, Jetboots roaring past Steve’s head so close that he can feel the pressure wave right through his red-white-and-blues he free-falls the last twenty feet onto the startled Hydra gun crew.
-
Flying home, Tony can’t stop grinning behind his faceplate.
Cap came to HIM after the battle. BEFORE Iron Man put out his hand in the now universal ‘need a lift?’ gesture.
Cap. Came. To him.
Even the way Steve’s body molds to his side is different. More relaxed, natural. Springy strength, instead carrying a wooden block. Things have been getting better between them since that day at the school, but today- -today feels like a passed exam. Like this last battle meant just a little bit more...
Tony pulls a victory roll because he wants to, and when he glances down afterwards, Steve grins back, laughing blue eyes narrowed against the wind.
So Tony- -Iron Man- -GOES.
It’s not every day you impress Captain America.
They follow the Hudson out over New York harbor. Gulls, and whitecaps, and the salt-fresh/scummy scent of in-shore water. A red-orange blaze of sun that catches the tops of the waves, and the slight ripple of window-glass on the skyscrapers dropping behind them, and the finely-milled contours of Tony’s armor...
And the Lady.
In the interests of good taste, Iron Man doesn’t actually -land- on Liberty Island, but he does take a long loop around it before heading out to sea.
Steve... still seems to be digging this flight, though the wind is too loud for Tony to judge this by anything other than the blonde’s expression. And he must have looked too long there, because Steve nods encouragingly towards the empty Atlantic in front of them and mouths, ‘GO’, arm tightening briefly around Tony’s chestplate, as if squeezing a clutch to change gears.
Tony needs NO further encouragement.
He takes Cap farther, faster than he’s ever flown with an unprotected Human before.
Until the muscles in Steve’s neck, shoulders, and shield-arm begin to tremble beneath the blue scale-mail, and his eyes are streaming, squeezed nearly shut against the torrent of air.
Tony powers back guiltily, and wonders if he’s just... well... blown it.
He brings them to a gentle, upright hover about a hundred feet above sea level. Tony can feel the deep heave and release of Cap’s breathing as it slows down within the half-circle of his arm. They can hear the gulls again, over the low, hollow rushing noise of Tony’s idling jetboots.
Cap turns in Iron Man’s grasp so they’re face to face, and puts one foot on each jetboot. Which makes him taller than Tony again, though it seems to matter less now...
Steve puts both hands on Iron Man’s shoulders, and looks down at him through the Plexiglas-covered eye-slits with a kind of quiet, maniacal glee. His clean-shaven face is visibly wind burned.
“We-“ he begins, still catching his breath, “-have GOT to do this again.”
“I agree,” Iron Man replies, and even through the voice synthesizer, Steve can tell the other man’s not just saying that.
Then neither one speaks for a long moment, because this is usually the part where guys step BACK after back-thumping each other, and they can’t do that in mid-air.
Steve clears his throat, consciously.
“So- what now?”
Tony cuts the power, and they fall about fifty feet straight down.
-And stop.
Steve unclamps his fingers from around Iron Man’s shoulders, and glares.
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“...Let’s go stand on top of the Empire State building,” Steve decides.
“All right,” Tony wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, and fires his jetboots, leaning forwards into the gathering wind.
-
The Avengers mansion is... quiet.
Empty, in fact.
Tony thinks about running down a hallway yelling his head off. He doesn’t do it, but the thought makes him smirk.
Jan is in Milan, Hank is holed up at his home lab, Thor is... probably riding a thunderstorm somewhere... And Tony has no IDEA where Steve is.
It’s not really an issue. Unlike some, Steve has no problem remembering to take his Avengers communicator with him. And he hasn’t activated it. Tony would know. Still... this place is -really- quiet.
He glances over his shoulder, and can’t think of a rational reason why he did so.
“That’s it, the power plant’s been needing an overhaul anyway...” Tony decides, disgusted.
Four and a half hour later, he’s worked himself into a sweat in the warmth of the valve control room, and has dark grease streaked well up past his elbows. The plant is water-cooled, something that seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now obviously needs updating. Any half-competent villain could shut down the power to this place by blowing up their WATER MAIN.
City electricity would have the same problem, though if he sinks the grid well BELOW the complex... no. Not secure enough. Mole-man could still take that out. There’s always the standard gas-combustion engines, but those are boring and inefficient. Solar would work, until an enemy figured out what the strange-looking roof tiles WERE, and then they’d just be target practice. Ground rods would work, of course. Tony’s incorporated them into the foundations of all his recently-built stuff, but the Avengers mansion isn’t that new. And ground rods don’t produce the kind of power that could run the communication room or the quinjet hanger door anyway.
A hydrogen fuel cell could, though... The Phase A guys over at NASA have been talking about using Hydrogen/Oxygen engines in the new US space shuttles, and since SI has the contract for the environmental systems, Tony already HAS the schematics.
...Which is something like having the schematics for the drawstring -bag-, but it still-
Bag. Drawstring. Compression-
...pressure-
blowout-
...packaging... water-
Plastic bag stuff, like fresh food, or manufactured goods without sharp corners. Then dunk the bag in water except for the open end, forcing most of the air out, and heat-clip the top shut. Maybe use the water temperature to cool the contents too, or-
Tony sets his wrench down with an abrupt clank, and scribbles his idea on the back of the power plant cooling system diagram. Maybe it’s already been invented and maybe it hasn’t, but the answer to that question is never worth letting an idea get away from him.
-
The warehouse is quiet.
Empty, in fact.
They’re too late. Fury lowers his gun with a blistering curse, and then begins yelling at someone over the radio. Steve peers into the building, and as his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, he sees a maze of fresh parallel scratches on the stained cement floor. Gouges might be a better word, as if the large metal shipping containers stored here had been dragged out recently... by hand. With the illegal shipment inside, each container would have weighed several tons, at the least. Where the Maggia gotten that much Adamantium in the first place was worrisome, but next to the question of who’d had the guts to steal it from THEM...
-
Tony is sketching, freehand.
The pages on his drafting board are white, wide, and open.
His pencil fills them with fine, precise lines. Diagrams, schematics, notes, arrows, never too many, too cluttered, before he flips over the next page, re-draws the main design, and adds more. He’s just gotten to the part where the entire power plant can be set to blow up through the elevator shaft and act as a self-destruct device for the Avengers HQ, when he starts to get thirsty. It’s not a hard equation, so he gets a glass and the bottle of scotch from the sideboard, and keeps writing.
He has the power plant ideas down now, but others come. A new kind of low-friction aircraft paint. Static-coating delicate glass bio-lab equipment with a kind of molten plastic spray that would later burn off in the autoclaving process, but until then make the glass nearly impossible to shatter. (Why DID people keep deadly viruses in glass test tubes, anyway...?) Radar cycle- -no, what was that... that heat-beam... Irradiated... Damn. It would come to him.
Either way, it could only be used in industrial applications only, since any escaping irradiation-
CRYSTAL.
U.V. light, which could NOT escape from a dishwasher, split and magnified by a glass lens or crystal mounted into the end of the-
Waitasecond.
Swimming pools could use cyclical bursts of UV lighting from a simple encased ball floating on the surface, and maybe not so much chlorine. ...Would serve those pricks at Dow Chemical right to have one of their traditional niche markets-
Hell, Sea World could probably use something like that in the dolphin tank.
He has to find out whether the UV levels involved were likely to fry anybody accidentally.
Dial tone.
Ringing.
“...Hello?”
“-Hey, are the optics guys in yet?” Tony asks.
“Good... morning, Mr. Stark. ...Why are you-?” Pepper’s voice breaks off, and there is a pause.
-Probably Pepper consulting her bedside alarm clock and refraining from speaking until she can do so without biting his HEAD off, Tony realizes belatedly.
“Hi, Pepper,” he says, intelligently.
“Hello, Mr. Stark,” Pepper replies sweetly, in a voice that could probably freeze Oxygen.
Voice. Vibration. Particle excite- If sound frequencies could be refined to raise or lower the temperature of-
“Pepper, um...” -Tony gets a note on paper about the sound idea-
“...YES?”
Oh, SHIT how long had she been waiting for him to answer-?
“I-I had a question for the research department. About um, sound waves.”
“What was it?” Pepper asks, in a more normal tone. She’s perfectly used to Tony’s midnight inventing sprees, and now that she at least knows the REASON for his call-
“I-“ -Tony tries to remember why he’d originally made the call, and fails- “Lissen... Pepper... you sound like you’re really tired. I’m, uh- -why don’t I just call you in the morning?”
“That... is an excellent idea, Mr. Stark,” Pepper replies, coolly.
“We could do breakfast?” Tony suggests.
Pepper shuts her eyes, and rubs the right one with the heel of her fine-boned hand.
“Tony, go to sleep.”
“I can’t yet, I- -I got a lot of work to do,” Tony explains, “-but I’ll talk to you tomorrow. First thing, I promise.”
Pepper smiles tiredly.
“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”
“G’night, Pepper.”
-
Steve unlocks the door, and slips inside.
It’s five in the morning, and there shouldn’t BE anybody else awake, unless Tony Stark has pulled an all-nighter again. Just... Steve and the ghosts, probably.
Does Nick Fury qualify? It’s hard to tell, and as happy as Steve was to see a familiar face in the chaotic ‘future’ of 1965, the chill at the back of his neck still tells him that Sgt. Fury of the Howling Commandos is gone forever.
No. Not gone, just... changed. Long ago. Irrevocably.
While Steve slept, buried in ice.
Cold has always been important to Steve. During Army survival training he’d slept outside for the first time in his life, and it had been cold then. ... Nothing compared to what he would later endure behind enemy lines, but -damned- chilly.
That first night, out under stars so far from the city, had been AMAZING.
Steve hadn’t played in the snow much as a kid. After school, and before his mother got home from work, he’d stayed in the warmth of the public library, or the YMCA as much as he could. The boxers there were always his favorite. All that hard, concentrated power. Strength, balanced with wits, and spirit. Unstoppable powerhouses and angry, plucky underdogs. Cowards, and fools with dreams bigger than they were.
And one skinny Irish kid with his eyes alight, his father’s hand-me-down coat folded on the bench beside him, and a blue woolen scarf that he kept wrapped warmly around his throat, even indoors.
Steve pauses.
Something is reminding him of the past, and it isn’t the pre-dawn chill he just came in from.
...Whiskey.
The scent comes to him from his parents’ kitchen, older than a memory.
Tony left a glass on the mantelpiece, with a skim of rich whiskey the color of wild honey at the bottom.
The glass is there, but Tony isn’t.
There’s no dishes broken, no doors left open, no sobbing, no rambling, one-sided speeches, or politics...
Just a glass.
Steve smiles, and takes it with him to put in the kitchen sink.
-
Candlelight, soft like the lighting in the library, plays across Steve’s hair.
Tony watches, silently. Except he can -feel- himself talking, but he can’t hear the words.
Whatever they were, Steve turns towards him and smiles.
He’s unmarked. Compact in the way gymnasts are, except built on a larger scale. Steve’s something that shouldn’t ‘fly’ yet does. And oh yeah... he’s beautiful.
Skin texture more like pale, finely-milled clay than cold stone. Motion fluid under that skin even in so small a motion as turning... dozens of angles, of physical stresses and counter-stresses, perfectly balanced. Angles that change within their private arcs of motion, but just -enough-.
Sleek. Organic. Nifty.
Steve extends a hand towards him, and Tony takes it. It feels good, like the closing of a circuit.
Steve’s hand hardens, dark, dry-riverbed cracks appearing in his pale skin almost up to the elbow.
Steve is surprised, almost shocked, but not afraid. He disengages his hand from Tony’s and holds it up between them, now missing the tips of two fingers and most of the pinkie.
Tony looks down at his own hand in horror, and it’s his but not alive, a thing of metal and wheels, of steel and brass, and hard black plastic, disappearing into the pushed-up sleeve of his bathrobe without the slightest hint of Human skin visible.
He becomes aware of something falling in his field of vision, like snow or slow-falling confetti.
Tony looks up, and realizes where it’s coming from.
Steve’s arm is gone along with much of his body, a swirling man-shaped mote of ash with half a torso remaining.
Still, Steve’s unafraid. His blue eyes are sharp, somber as they bore into Tony’s look of wild-eyed horror, and they stay locked there until the ashing effect reaches Steve’s face, turning accusing blue to dry, unseeing white like a sudden frost...
Tony wakes up hard enough to knock himself out of bed, and feels the sudden, vision-graying jolt his heart picking up. He has GOT to adjust it so that- -no. The transitions have to be this fast. As Iron Man he needs them to be, like the hard suspension of a race car.
Tony swallows, puts a palm to the the middle of his chestplate, and closes his eyes in the dark, lips parted.
On the tip of his tongue, just barely perceptible, there’s a remembered taste of ash.
-
“Good morning,” Steve says, looking up from the morning paper.
“Mph. Morning.” Tony mutters back, pouring himself a cup of Jarvis’s fine black coffee.
Steve’s eyes narrow slightly, studying Tony’s face.
“You look- -terrible. Is everything-“
Tony’s right hand drops the mug and flies to his face as a sudden panic fills his eyes, possibly the most intense emotion Steve has ever seen in them.
When Tony’s fingers make contact with his cheek and... Feel its texture?... Tony relaxes, bowing his head.
Steve is on his feet now, one hand outstretched, and he’s about to say more when Jarvis enters, no doubt brought by the crash of Tony’s coffee cup shattering when it hit the floor.
Steve shuts up, but remains standing, unobtrusively lowering his hand.
Jarvis takes one look at Tony’s set, ashamed expression, and begins cleaning up the broken cup and spilled coffee without a word.
Steve looks from Tony’s tense profile to Jarvis’s back. Then he pours a fresh cup of coffee, and sets it on the table by the chair adjacent to his.
Tony looks up at the sound, shadowed eyes searching Steve’s face for a long, silent moment. Then he crosses to the indicated chair, and drops into it with a resigned sigh.
Steve sits back down in front of his own half-finished coffee and newspaper, and tries really hard not to watch Tony.
Tony drinks his coffee, and looks up when his butler passes him carrying a dustpan of broken cup-shards.
“-Thanks, Jarvis.”
“But of course, sir,” Jarvis replies, with a smile that is heard rather than seen. As he leaves, the older man’s eyes rest briefly on Steve as well, but neither Steve nor Tony notices.
Steve glances over at Tony for the third time, and Tony catches him.
“...I had a rough night,” Tony says, flatly.
“Good morning?” Steve offers, after a pause.
“...Good morning,” Tony acknowledges, looking up over the rim of his coffee cup wryly.
-
Steve swears mentally.
They’re too late again, and this time it’s a large crate of S.I. electronic components meant for the US Air Force that’s missing. The Wasp flies up, out through the broken window high above, to get a better view.
Iron Man, studying the traces on the floor, knows there’s been a dewfall since the theft occurred and doesn’t bother. He doesn’t call her back, though. There could be clues on the rooftop he missed, and Jan is the Avengers chair(wo)man this week anyway.
Cap and Iron Man exchange an uneasy glance.
“You said the theft you investigated with S.H.I.E.L.D. was a large Adamantium shipment?” Tony asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Steve nods.
“Mr. Stark is NOT going to be happy about this,” Iron Man sighs.
“He won’t blame you for it, will he?”
Steve’s question is so unexpected, so out of his own personal context, that it takes Tony a moment to answer.
“Wh- I- -no, he won’t. But Stark knows even better than we do how dangerous his technology can be in the wrong hands.”
Steve nods.
Tony takes a breath he forgot to.
“Sounds like good guy to work for,” Steve probes, carefully.
“He has his moments,” Tony smirks behind his visor, -“but just YOU try body-guarding a guy who disappears on you half the time...”
“Tony has a lot going on,” Steve agrees, thoughtfully.
“You have -no- idea.”
“Well, we- -the Avengers, I mean... owe Mr. Stark a great deal for his generosity, and besides that he’s our friend. ...He knows all he has to do is ask, right?”
“He knows,” Iron Man nods, “-but protecting Mr. Stark is MY job,” -he punctuates the ‘MY’ by tapping two armored fingers against the front of Cap’s shield with a sharp ‘clank’.
“I know,” Steve agrees, and wonders why those words seem to stick in his throat.
-
Behind firmly-locked Plexiglas shields, Iron Man's’s eyes are beginning to look a little wild.
Desperate. Steve wants to punch through that faceplate, to take a nice, solid machine drill to- -ANYTHING really- -that will keep Iron Man from suffocating.
It’s been almost six minutes since the armor’s onboard air supply gave out.
He’s never stared at Iron Man’s eyes before. Never thought of him as a man, as a frail pink snail of MEAT merely -inhabiting- the armor Tony built, until this day.
Iron Man’s not Major Rhodes.
He’s white, or at least he has blue eyes. Or the armor has better disguise qualities than Steve can see... but he doesn’t think so. The fear in those eyes is real.
...Resigned... but REAL. Immediate. Determined in a way Steve has seen on the faces of soldiers... when they hear the cavalry won’t be coming. Piss-mad, and scared, and quiet, all at once. They’re losing focus...
Iron Man can’t move, probably can’t feel it anyway, but Steve is gripping one of the red metal gauntlets. Because this is his friend, and-
-And dammit, he’s not going to lose him.
Suddenly there’s a click, and all three Plexiglas panels snap open together. Iron Man comes to with a deep, ragged breath, rearing up on the exam table, and falling forwards dizzily- -then Cap has him. The world comes back, one breath at a time. The spinning stops. Colors brighten, clarify.
Hank Pym crawls out of Iron man’s mouth-slit, and returns to normal size.
Iron Man manages something about ‘good friends in tight places’ that the others don’t -quite- smack him for.
Hank says he needs a shower. Thor suggests a feast to mark the occasion. Jan kisses Hank, and tells him he’s more use as Ant-Man than Goliath anyway. Hank looks uneasy. Tony shuts his eyes behind the faceplate of his helmet, still breathing in deep, relieved gulps.
“Welcome back, Avenger,” Steve says, still gripping his hand.
Tony squeezes back, gratefully.
Steve studies the combined sculpture of the red metal gauntlet and his own red leather glove.
Iron Man is his friend. A fellow Avenger, and- -Steve swallows, glancing down at the edge of the innocuous exam table padding- -Iron Man shows no signs of letting go either... so he might as well enjoy this.
It’s a feeling that Steve doesn’t put into words much. A strange kind of ecstasy, like being more alive than normal. Like hearing a battered platoon count off after a hard-fought engagement, and slowly realizing that NOBODY’S missing. Like a sunrise under his skin. Steve has always felt this way from time to time, though he’s had more occasions to since becoming Captain America.
He’s not sure what Iron Man feels- -or even CAN feel under the metal shell of his- -but he does know that neither one of them seems in a hurry to let go.
-
“Comfortable?” Steve asks, smiling over at his companion wryly.
Tony has unfolded his limbs across at least two thirds of the couch. His hair’s a dark swirl of post-workday finger-spiking, and he’s wearing his habitual quilted bathrobe over a set of high-collared Chinese-style silk pajamas. A half-filled highball glass dangles from the fingers of the inventor’s left hand, almost forgotten.
“Oh -yes-,” Tony replies, honestly. His expression is neutral as always, but his tone is
light, and warm.
On the television, ‘The Invisible Man’ is playing.
Steve finds it well-written, but as a (masked) costumed hero, he feels it hits a little too close to home. Tony doesn’t seem to notice.
Steve wonders if Major Rhodes has ever had to sit through ‘Princesse TamTam’.
-
Tony wakes up from some of the best sleep he’s had in weeks.
He’s not alone.
He freezes, and assesses the situation without moving. He’s done this before, though he is a bit rusty.
The Videotape player stopped a long time ago, and the only thing playing on the screen now is gray static. His mouth tastes faintly of bourbon, and needs brushing. The pillow against the right side of his face is ...warm. And... Tony can feel through the pale blue fabric of Steve’s open-collared shirt- -covered in well-fitting scale mail.
Steve.
He’s fallen asleep on STEVE.
...Who was probably asleep BEFORE that happened, Tony guesses, ruefully. Steve’s arms are folded loosely over his broad chest, chin down against his collarbone. His breathing is deep, even. Unlike Tony, he’s still sitting up against the back of the couch. Steve sleeps like a soldier.
And he’d better sleep like a -dead- one, Tony realizes with an unpleasant shock, because spending the night with the points of Steve’s armor-scales digging into the makeup job on his face has probably pressed the polymer putty coating under-layer into something more closely resembling the surface of the MOON than Human skin.
Damn. Damn. DAMNDAMNMOTHERF-#$&@*%#!!!!!!
Tony thinks.
There’s a chance Steve won’t wake up when he moves, but with all that combat field experience... that’s a sucker bet.
The makeup might not be wrecked. It could- ...No, he’s pretty sure it’s wrecked. Or at least, the part of it that’s been in contact with Steve’s shoulder.
There’s an angle there. He probably only has to cover -half- of his face, when making his escape.
If only he was wearing a turtleneck, he could pull it up over the damaged makeup area, and start quoting ‘The Shadow’ if Steve woke up. Might even get a smile for his trouble.
The thing is, he ISN’T wearing a turtleneck. He’s wearing Chinese silk, and -hopefully- the quilting of his bathrobe will be enough to disguise the lines of the chestplate if Steve wakes up too soon.
...Which he will be increasingly likely to do, if Tony doesn’t get the HELL out of there, and fast.
For the moment though, Tony refuses to move. He’s warm, and relaxed, and really, -really- comfortable here, in spite of Steve’s scale mail undershirt.
He’s learned to TAKE moments like this, because they’re rarely handed to him anymore.
Tony’s wristwatch beeps.
It only does so once, a low warning chirp to inform him he’d better think about re-charging soon. Steve stirs, but doesn’t waken.
Wait...
...BULLSHIT, Tony knows when the person he’s sleeping on is faking it, and Steve IS now faking it. But to what end?
Is he embarrassed? Confused? Trying to let Tony save face, by pretending to be asleep so they won’t have to (shudder) TALK about this?
Is Steve just waiting, like a sniper in a jungle blind, to see what Tony will do with being ‘the only one awake’?
Tony’s brow furrows slightly, and his heart beats just one speed faster.
He wishes he could just yawn, look up at Steve with that mischievous grin he’d patented long before anything else, and then leave without a word. Nothing declarative. Nothing threatening. Just to let Steve know... that he’s not afraid. That he WON’T be slinking out because he’s embarrassed about waking up like this.
That the private joke THEY could get out of this is worth a little early-morning embarrassment.
Tony wishes... but that’s all.
His slate-blue eyes open, resigned but clear. Keen, because his timing has to be perfect. Has to.
He stirs a little, then pauses, as if surprised and trying not to wake his companion. Tony gets up carefully, quietly, keeping his head down until the first moment he can turn, and then does so. He pads out of the room, slippered feet sinking noiselessly into the thick pile of the living room carpet.
Steve sits up after Tony leaves, and runs his fingers back through his longish blonde bangs with a sigh.
-
Steve pulls off one of his gloves, and flexes his fingers experimentally.
His knuckles are stiff, bruised in places, though that’ll probably fade with a good night’s sleep. The AIM soldiers who were on the receiving end will NOT be so lucky.
If only he’d gone clean OVER those idiots though, AIM might not have captured the Army’s prototype magnetic accelerator canon.
Tony didn’t blame them for losing it. ...He never does, Steve’s noticed. If Tony’s unquestioning faith had been placed in the hands of any group less principled than the Avengers... it just doesn’t bear thinking about. Wise enough to disappear at the first sign of super-powered battle, yet brave enough to paint a virtual target on his own home by inviting the Avengers to stay there. Painfully self-conscious at times, yet possessed of a witty, dirty-minded streak that occasionally leaves Steve staring.
Tony Stark is unique, in this time or any other.
Tony is THEIRS.
Iron Man is his official bodyguard, true, but the golden Avenger has accepted the help of the others to protect his principal in the past, and it’s only raised Steve’s estimation of the man. Iron Man will do whatever it takes... even at the expense of his considerable pride. ...He understands the worth of the man that the Avengers are oh-so-incidentally protecting... perhaps even better than Steve does.
-
Tony fits the last of several rubber socket-plugs into the fittings of his chest-plate, and pulls the last piece on over his head. -For all intents and purposes, it’s a sleeveless rain slicker that seals at the neck, waist, and both armholes.
...One of his -better- inventions, Tony thinks, walking into the warm, pounding spray of four overlapping shower-heads.
Mmmmmm, perfect.
The spray comes down, firm and heavy in the sudden steam, soaking his dark hair in seconds and washing down over his scalp.
He turns his face up and a thousand drops beat down onto it, like a massage of static and drums.
Tony’s eyes are closed, his lips barely parted.
He can barely breathe through this.
His heart knows what he’s planning to do though... literally. Its increased reps, without any reason why... except experience.
Something he’s unconsciously doing, some hidden cue, has the interpretive circuit in his pacemaker trained like a police dog.
He didn’t think about that when he was designing it... didn’t think about an impassive computer analyzing his heart rate, respiration, blood pressure, bio-electrical feedback... and knowing... maybe not caring, but KNOWING...
Oh fuck yes.
Tony’s back presses against the smooth, wet back wall of the shower with a dull metallic ring. Behind closed eyelids, images come. Jan in costume, bending down to pick up a dropped earring when she thought Iron Man wasn’t watching. The inhuman ripple of Thor’s arm, as he drew back for a hammer-throw. Hank’s voice, clear in the night through the window that the biochemist had left open. Ella DeLaurent, in the shimmering blue evening gown he’d bought her, winking points of light pouring down the sleek, athletic curve of her hip in the light of the open balcony door...
Steve- -no, Captain America- -punching out AIM soldiers. Hard. A complex, tense, leaping, bending, sinuous dance with sudden stops and lunges. The changing rhythm of Steve’s breathing, amplified by his helmet’s audio-pickups. Intent blue eyes that shifted from one target to the next, almost before he dispatched them. The blazing infa-red silhouette Steve cast after the battle, trapped body heat burning through the red-white-and-blue leather in slow, diminishing pulses. Waves.
Another battle, and an impossible, lightning-fast turn, Cap’s shield deflecting one bullet while the sudden twist of his head and shoulders avoided the remaining two-
Steve, alone in the gym, the black and white shades turning his bright blonde hair to pearly gray...
Hands gripping shining steel bars. Pulling, shoving it away from him, and pulling it in tight again, brow furrowed as if in concentration, eyes not seeming to see-
Power. Symmetry. Rhythm. Determined to make this last- -worthwhile--
F-
Fucking -hell-...
“-STEVE! ...god... ...............damn.....”
-
Plague settles over the Avengers mansion.
Well, a fairly nasty strain of flu/cough, anyway.
It starts with Hank, and wherever Ant-man picked it up, this particular ‘bug’ is nasty. Tony gets sick next, followed by Jan. Thor alone seems immune. Cap gets sick for about 24 hours, then throws it off and patiently plies the others with chicken soup and lemonade. Jarvis, who is also sick, finds THAT situation very surreal.
Iron Man hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the epidemic, and though Tony assures Steve that the red and gold Avenger has simply gone home to live or die in peace, Steve is strangely hurt that Iron Man ditched the rest of them.
Even Hank and Jan, who usually only show up for weekly Avengers meetings, are encamped at the mansion for the duration.
...But not Iron Man.
Steve blames himself. Somehow, he’s failed to prove to Iron Man that they’re a team, for better or for worse. That ALL of them are a team... and even if two-thirds of that team is miserably ill, the others will still back them up.
Thor is strangely proficient at caring for the sick, and when Steve comments on this, the thunder god gives him an extremely long and mythological account of the history of Norse holistic medicine.
Steve doesn’t question him further.
-
Naturally, Dr. Doom picks the height of the flu epidemic to stage an attack on Madison Square Garden.
The Avengers are NOT in form, but the sheer FRUSTRATION of having to go on a mission while sick as dogs arguably makes up the difference, combat-wise.
Jan goes into battle sans makeup for the very first time.
Ever.
She is NOT pleased, and many Doombots pay the price.
Cap and Thor carry the day for the most part, but Iron Man appears from nowhere during the showdown. He diffuses the bomb hidden in the scaffolding in time, destroys at least twelve Doombots... and then throws up in his helmet.
Steve orders him to fall back. Iron Man actually does so.
Steve catches up with Iron Man in the men’s room later.
-
“Iron Man?”
“...Yeeaah...?” Tony replies miserably, from one of the stalls.
“Are you all right?” Steve asks.
“Well, I need a new helmet...”
Steve grins.
He returns a few minutes later, and knocks on the door of Iron Man’s stall.
“-Wha?”
“Courtesy of the New York Rangers,” Steve tells him, and passes a hockey helmet with a goalie’s mask under the bathroom stall door.
Iron Man is silent a moment.
“...Thanks, Cap,” he says, quietly.
“I know how serious you are about your secret identity,” Steve replies, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah... about that... will you turn around?”
“Why?”
“I want to wash my face off. And you’re- ...looking.”
Steve stares at the locked bathroom stall door, then shuts his eyes for a moment. It has nothing to do with Iron Man’s request.
“All right.”
Steve turns around.
He hears the stall door unlock cautiously, and then open an inch or two. Iron Man’s heavy metallic boot-falls pass him on the way to the sinks, not two feet away. Steve stands facing the other way, rigid. Running water. Splashing. Once. Twice. A series of hard plastic clicks.
“Okay...” Iron Man’s voice sounds slightly louder but less clear, as though the hockey mask has thrown off his already cough-roughened vocal acoustics.
Steve turns, and folds his arms across his chest.
“You know... I’ve done some thinking about what kind of a man would go to the lengths you do to hide your face...”
“...And?” Iron Man replies, wearily.
“You’re either a wanted criminal that Mr. Stark gave a second chance... or you really, really don’t like the way you look anymore. Considering that Mr. Stark trusts you like a brother and you’re his bodyguard... ...I’m guessing you’ve already TAKEN a hit for him.”
Silence.
Behind the hockey mask, Tony’s mind races. He swallows, hard.
“I was... injured,” Tony admits, carefully.
“What was it?” Steve asks, hardly breathing.
“An explosion,” Tony replies, his throat tight.
“Show me,” Cap orders, “-you know I won’t think less of you.”
“...No,” Tony decides, quickly.
“During the war I saw some horrific wounds, my friend. Men without ears, part of a jaw, without noses... if I know your boss at all, you won’t look -that- bad anymore... and any wound suffered in the line of duty-“
“-It was a LAND MINE-“ Tony blurts out, “-I- -I just STEPPED on the damned thing-“
“...Because you were where you -said- you’d be,” Steve finishes for him, gently.
Tony swallows.
“I ... ...yes.”
“Show me,” Steve orders again, quiet but clear.
-
Tony thinks.
He’s clever, and he’s playing two games at once. He can afford to risk one of them on Cap’s promise. He crosses the room and locks the outer bathroom door, before he can think better of it. Then he switches off the lights.
Cap doesn’t move.
Iron Man stops in front of him, and the click of his helmet-buckle is sharp in the concrete-walled lavatory. He pulls the helmet off.
Tony can hear Steve’s breathing in the darkness, so much quieter, calmer than his own.
He takes one of Steve’s gloved hands, and brings it to his own face, trembling just a little.
Steve just lets him hold it there for a while. He can feel the uneven thickness of the scars crisscrossing the right side of Iron Man’s unmasked face, faint but distinct through the leather. He brings his other hand up, cupping the other man’s damaged face in both of his.
The left side of Iron Man’s face is relatively smoother.
His jaw is clean-shaven, but there’s the faint crunchy texture of a mustache just above his upper lip.
Iron Man’s Human-sounding breath is ragged, and still a little hollow. Tense. Holding on the edge of panic, but not slipping.
Steve takes his hands away, but only to remove his gloves.
When Steve touches Iron Man’s face again, the other man gives a sort of shuddering, half-shocked sigh. Then a tiny, not-so-dignified noise that could mean anything.
He doesn’t move, though.
Steve lays both hands on Iron Man’s slightly feverish face once more, and this time he can feel the warped textures clearly. The smooth knots and cords embedded in the skin of Iron Man’s cheek. The slight dent in the side of his sharp chin, and the thin, bare line that angles down through the well-kept mustache half an inch from the corner of Iron Man’s mouth.
The other Avenger’s lips are soft, parted, and slightly chapped at the edges. Steve traces the curve with his thumb, and feels a ragged breath hot against the side of it.
...Suddenly this isn’t like tracing sculptures in art class and trying to draw them from memory.
Suddenly Steve’s face is as warm as Iron Man’s fevered one, and he’s trying desperately to think of a graceful way to- -hell, ANY way- -to move his hands back quickly without hurting this scarred, beautiful, -dedicated- man.
He can’t think of one.
He swallows hard, and-
Feels the soft, slightly scratchy sensation of Iron Man pressing a kiss against the heel of his right hand.
-
Steve stops breathing, eyes wide to the darkness, though all he can see is the thin line of light from under the door. The fingers of his free hand tighten around the back of Iron Man’s jaw- -which Iron Man takes as encouragement.
The hockey helmet drops to the floor with no ceremony whatsoever, and Iron Man’s armored fists close in the flexible scale-mail over Cap’s chest, puckering the white star between them.
NOW, Steve’s uncomfortable.
Despite the brain-melting sensation of Iron Man’s tongue beginning to explore the base of his wrist, he’s never been... grabbed like he weighed a-hundred-and-ten before. Not romantically, anyway. It’s the suit, Steve KNOWS it’s just the power of Iron Man’s suit, but the feeling of having been subtly upstaged (dominated) remains, and it’s enough to get him thinking again. ...Barely.
This is wrong. Iron Man is sick right now, and might not be firing on all cylinders. There’s also no telling how long it’s been since the golden Avenger opened his armor for ANYONE, and the feeling of ACTUAL HUMAN TOUCH may be pushing him into something he’s going to regret later.
So they really should stop.
Any time now.
Now, for examp- oh good -god-...
“Hey, um...” Steve begins, reluctantly. -Smooth, Rogers, -very- smooth.
“-M?” Iron Man replies, against the underside of Steve’s wrist.
“If we’re going to do this right, you need to brush your teeth.”
...Steve has never heard Iron Man laugh without his helmet on before, but he likes the sound of it.
-
Tony brushes his teeth in the quinjet lavatory sink, then rinses his face off and examines his reflection in the mirror. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t take his helmet off with the lights on... still... Steve KNOWS now. He willingly touched the twisted mess covering most of the right side of Tony’s face, and he didn’t flinch. ...In fact if anything, it seemed to turn Steve on. Tony examines a long burn-scar down the right side of his neck, and wonders what Steve thinks about Nick Fury’s eye patch.
The familiar scars in the mirror redden a little, and Tony runs a hand back through his dark hair with a nervous laugh.
He still has a fever, and now that the adrenaline of the fight at Madison Square Garden has worn off, he feels a bit lightheaded. It’s not like he can give this to Steve, though- -Steve’s already HAD it.
If-
Unless Cap was just letting him down easy back there.
It’s possible. It’s also possible that that moment was Cap’s ONE lifelong not-queer exception and Tony just -missed- it because of the goddamn FLU.
...Then again, with THAT costume...
Tony understands design. -Which- sleekly engineered curve will best catch the eye, and which will allow the object to blend in. When to cover his designs with color, and when to powder-coat them in brutally lethal olive drab...
The star emblazoned on Cap’s chest is eye-catching enough, but more than that it’s -deflected-. Flattened horizontally, as if the sheer width of Cap’s powerful chest had pulled the original design out of shape. Cap’s had plenty of time to time to change it, and he hasn’t. ...And that says something.
Tony pulls the hard plastic hockey helmet back down over his face, and rejoins the others in the main cabin. Steve catches his eye over the Wasp’s shoulder... and smiles.
-
-tbc-
no subject
But. Focusing on the non-prose elements of the fic. I'm very fond of Tony here. Due to the different style of writing, I was wondering in the beginning if he'd suffered mild brain damage of some kind (that is not meant to sound mean, it's the disjointedness that made me suspicious) but I'm assuming he's just horribly scarred? Which is a really interesting concept, by the way. But I really like him here; you've drawn attention to his social awkwardness and singularity -- if that's the right word to use -- which you don't see so often in fanfics, sadly enough. It's very interesting to read and, for me at least, almost easier to relate to than the "normal" Tony.
And now I've rambled for far too long. I'm sorry, I don't even know if you like long and winding reviews, and if you don't, I really do apologise. I'll just, slip off... somewhere, and stay there until I've recalled how to function in social situations again. Um, yeah. Going now.
no subject
You actually tapped directly into what I was trying to do here.
And... some parts of my writing process that maybe aren't so healthy, but that's another story.
Brain damage?
In this version, Tony does not have brain damage in any way that would matter, but I'm glad you brought the subject up. In canon, I think Extremis fixed a problem that would have eventually taken him down otherwise. TBA. (traumatic brain injury)
Tony goes up against VERY epic opponents, on the theory that, 'hey, I'm in a super-powered suit of armor, what can they do to me?'
That theory... only works up to a point.
As the US Army's finding out in the middle east at the moment, there's some hits that even the best body armor and helmet can't protect you from, namely the way your brain is thrown around -inside- your skull when you're it by a high-powered explosion.
In WWII, the same blast would have killed you outright.
Now... you may only wish it had.
By the numbers, Tony should have been having trouble pronouncing hard words -years- ago. If he knew or guessed this on any level, I suspect it may have been part of the reason Tony took on Extremis in the first place.
Social issues?
OH yeah. That's comic canon if you look closely, and it's pronounced to the point of low-level autism, in movieverse Tony. We're talking about a man who is one of the last Avengers to unmask even to his friends, and is perpetually hiding behind roles and personas.
When in public he seeks out only the social situations his upper-crust upbringing specifically -trained- him for.
He wears power, position, (or being a magnificent bastard) as a shield when he's not in the armor, and when he IS in the armor... he's comfortable.
Almost like he can deal with the world better that way regardless of physical practicality.
And another thing.
When Tony's talking to people he cares about, he seems to have trouble making eye contact. He looks at his experiments, out a window, at a paper on his desk, at the floor, into a glass... ANYTHING to avoid looking them in the eye more than necessary. It's like he only looks people he's close to in the eye long enough that they won't start thinking about -why- he's avoiding it.
As Iron Man it's not as bad for obvious reasons... but I've -still- seen him talk to Steve with his back turned on purpose.
Clearly, not knowing how to act in social situations is not a bar to doing very cool things.
Not that I'd -know-, or anything... ;)
no subject
Re: brain damage:
That I even started wondering about it is because of my love for twisted fics. So my brain went "disjointed and incredibly cool writing style + somewhat socially off!Tony + something lurking between the lines = brain problems?" which, again, isn't meant to be an insult. Just my secret fondness for insanity fics. ::coughs::
Now that you mention it, that might be one of the reasons Tony took Extremis, yes. That brings up an interesting question: Tony is borderline suicidal, but the one thing he values about himself is his intelligence, but which is more important? Although I can understand in a way why Tony risked his life taking Extremis; if I knew my mental capacity was decreasing, I'd panic too. (Not saying that I'd make his "get smart again or die" choice, but still.)
Re: social issues:
Since you've already mentioned it; hell yes, Tony has Asperger's Syndrome (low-level autism, as you mentioned) -- at least, movieverse Tony has (I haven't read enough of the comics yet to make a clear statement). As someone who shares the diagnosis, I recognized the traits immediately. Crazy smart at one special subject, like technology? Check. Ability to work intensely and for long periods of time with on that special subject? Check. Whole world circles around that special subject? Check. Can't read emotional or social cues for crap? Check. Utterly perplexed when presented with a situation -- especially a social one -- he's never experienced before? Check. Tendency to favour "cold" logic? Check. Has only a handful of close friends? Check. Control freak issues? Check.
I suppose one could argue that Tony is too socially smooth (under certain circumstances) to have AS, but I disagree. Remember that Tony is a genius; all Aspies with a normal intelligence level learns over time how to act in social situations, often via trial and error -- and Tony's way above "normal". The social game and manipulation is probably just like math to him; learn the basic principles, study hard and score full points on the test. A plus B equals C, simple as that.
As for eye contact; it varies between individuals. Personally, I always keep eye contact, but that's because I'm raised that way and I also want to check for cues on my conversation partner's face. Watching his/her face can be very distracting, though, so in intense emotional situations it's sometimes easier to not look them in the eye. It depends.
Being socially inept can easily be percieved as ~*~brooding~*~ and ~*~enigmatic loner~*~. So yeah, it's definitivly not an obstacle for coolness. :D
no subject
Okay, I see I don't have to pull any diagnostic punches with you.
Have a link.
I found it fairly recently, read through the entire thing in one sitting, and had to resist the urge to beat my head against my keyboard over the fact that I couldn't have read it in... say... 1990.
It's the manual. You know, the one you always thought everybody else had and you didn't? The fucker actually EXISTS.
Enjoy.
http://www.asperger-marriage.info/survguide/contents.html
no subject
Oh, don't pull any diagnostic punches on my account. Idly diagnosing fictional characters is a hobby of mine. ♥
::glomps link:: AWESOME. As in, bloody brilliant, thank you. I've been obsessed with learning body language for years, but everything else is rather murky. A-beeping-mazing. Thank you so much!
(And yeah, this perfectly illustrates the point I tried to make about Tony having learnt how to be social. He got his hands on this manual, and possibly even the sequel "... And how you manipulate the people around you for fun and profit".)
no subject
I know I'm intelligent. I know I'm somewhat OCD. I know I've made very grave social errors by thinking too literally.
I know I thought of away to draw a square circle.
I know I can only do math in my head if I do it backwards.
I know I've ended up in two foreign countries trying to understand a character I was studying/obsessed with at the time. (Canada and Scotland, fortunately)
I know I system-crashed in high school and dropped two grades in a single semester, but got a lot better at social interaction afterwords.
I know how to fix a jet engine, the right way.
I know that whatever this is, I got it from my dad, and he got it from his.
They did okay without being officially diagnosed, and I figure I can too.
I'm not offended by unofficial attempts though (G), and you may have insights into this I that don't.
As for Tony, he couldn't have read the book under the link until recently due to the timing, but Machiavelli's 'The Prince' (your theoretical "... And how you manipulate the people around you for fun and profit" sequel) has been out for centuries.
Considering some of the shit we've seen Tony pull, I KNOW he's read that one.
As for the rest of Human interactions, I think the media of the past may have had a lot to do with it, from 'Jules Verne' to 'Goofus and Gallant'. He's also dropped one big clue about when he started to gain ierest in the outside world, in the form of Mallory's 'La Morte D'Arthur'.
Tony learned how to act, as a -hero-, directly from the Aurthurian legends available at the time. He already knew about the social utility of 'power suits' from his father, so the idea that a properly equipped hero would need a suit of metal armor wouldn't have been that much of a stretch.
This is also, regrettably, part of the reason women get hung up on him. Something about the way he speaks and acts reminds them of a combination of knight-in-shining-armor and/or their dad (body language quirks absorbed through past media sources). When they start acting accordingly and fixating on him, Tony feels trapped and looks for an escape route.
Except when his love interest fits into the mold of being another kind of 'knight', like Bethany Cabe. ..Or, say, another Avenger.
no subject
Well, naturally Tony didn't read the actual book, like you said, but he's picked it up along the way. I suppose Tony having Asperger's would explain some of the choices he's made? I mean, not in a oh-you-can't-blame-him-it's-not-his-fault way, but explain why he's prioritized as he's done. Like,
Tony: Okay, this is a shitty situation. According to logic, the best solution would be to blow the Evil Reactor Lair(TM) up.
Some other character who is not Tony: But that would bring unpleasantries to thousands of people! They -- and we -- will hate you!
Tony: Yes, but logic says it's the best solution in the long run. (And it's not like I don't deserve it.)
for an off-the-cuff example. People with autism tend to be percieved as cold -- which is completely incorrect -- because they think and perhaps prioritizes differently. (Personally, I don't fit in the "usual" Asperger's profile, because I'm overly empathetic and completely enter into what I read/watch/hear.)
Not to say Tony's hasn't made some really cad-like moves. Just, I don't see him as a bad person or the pure bastard Civil War seems to've made him out to be. He's human. ::shrugs::
And I agree so much about Tony's opinion on what a hero is! His devotion to "do the right thing" really echoes the classic black-and-white thinking often connected with autism. And hey, a super-hero whose power is Tony's special interest? Who wouldn't like that? If I could fight crime by citing film dialogues, I would at least try it out.
Tony is incredibly masculine and kinght-in-shining-armory, while also extremely vulnerable, which kicks people's nurture instinct and inner Florence Nightingale into overdrive. And that's not even taking his self-destructive tendencies into account.
The kind of partner Tony'd need would be one who is patient, attentive and socially sensitive, calm and safe without being overbearing, have the patience (again) to know when to give Tony free reins and when to hold them tight, have the ability to let Tony be the protector when Tony wants/needs to be but still always have his back, and of course the most important thing -- appreciate Tony's good sides enough to think they outweigh the bad ones. Now, where could a person like that be...? ::grins::
no subject
Speaking of wonderful partners, shall we discuss Steve's PTSD next, his anxiety-induced bipolar tendencies, or his cute-but-dangerous internal monologue?
The man has literally WALKED INTO TRAFFIC because he was thinking too hard.
no subject
Really? I'm still new to Marvel, and I've been mostly catching up on Iron Man and Marvel Adventures, so I'm a bit behind on Cap's history. Though I can totally buy him having PTSD. Scratch that, I would've had trouble buying him not having PTSD. Being caught up in WWII one moment and then being told you're 20/40/60/whatever years into the future? That's tough.
Re: Cap's neglect of road safety:
He... has an on-off function in his brain? I mean, he's Captain frigging America, he can't be that unattentive all the time, or he'd
be dead by nowwould never have made it through the War. But maybe it's Steve Rogers who's the dreamy one?no subject
I get the feeling it has to do with his origin in the 1930's. Steve lost himself in fantasy stories whenever he could because, well, the great depression was depressing. He didn't want to be there. Not many people who lived in that time -did-.
Steve just got -better- at escaping into his own head. Adventure seriels, the ideals of his father, radio-plays in the dark... those became Steve's world, until the real world burst into flames from Germany outwards.
That grounded him, and gave him an outlet for all the dreams, the weight of INTENTIONS Steve had been building up.
He -believed- in the allied cause, in a way few regular people could have. He believed with the faith of a child, and the intelligence of a newly-minted man.
Steve Rogers was ready to ROCK. And he did, blazing a trail right up from his fist to Adolph Hitler's face.
Awakened in the 'modern' world of the sixties though, the culture-shock was a bit much. Added to the crushing defeat/grief of losing Bucky Barnes... Steve was never really as comfortable with his place in the world again.
He got -better- with time and experience, and in many ways he grew up, but he can't seem to... come home, somehow.
It's like he's just encamped in his own country, waiting for the hammer to fall next... and thanks to Nick Fury and a few others, Steve never really got enough of a break between crises to think though out and relax.
To truly stand down.
Unable to return from a war only he could see, Steve did two things. He turned inwards and closed off when things got -really- bad, and he actively searched for a partner when he felt safe in the slightest.
Sharon Carter couldn't give him truth. Rick Jones (as Bucky II) was driven off by the Red Skull impersonating Steve. Cap and The Falcon worked for a while, but as Falcon turned more and more back to his home neighbourhood, it became clear that he couldn't do his job there with Cap as a partner, so they broke up and each went solo again.
For such a great guy, Cap has a HELL of a time keeping partners. He can work with almost anyone, but the number of people who can take the ego hit of working CAP on a daily basis are few and far between.
Steve is almost -always- painfully and undeservedly lonely.
And it -eats- him, because he knows on some level that this is not the way he is supposed to be. Cap takes partners (of various kinds) the way Tony takes girlfriends, and with much the same negative results.
Either they're not a mask and they get killed, or they ARE a mask, and they start to feel like a sidekick, or they just can't take the red-white-and-blue way he thinks, or they can't take the way they have to traverse half of New York by building-mounted flagpoles when Steve gets insomnia, or... yeah.
They're gone.
And Cap gets depressed, and drifts off into his own head again.
Given that he's especially sensitive to the American zeitgeist anyway, sometimes he can get beaten up emotionally by social upheavals within America even when he -hasn't- been dumped recently.
Steve's optimistic though, and he never really stops hoping -someone- will work out. Because of this, he tends to get -really- attached to anyone who lasts longer than a few story arcs.
Like, 'let's go start a new superhero team together' attached. (G)
All that said...
I don't actually -understand- Steve at all, from an internal process standpoint. I see what he does, I see what he values, and I see how he treats people, and how they treat him.
And all I can think is... something's not adding up, and I don't know the reason why.
no subject
Hm, you bring up many good points here. Like I've mentioned earlier, I'm still very new to Marvel. The only "big" comic in Sweden is Donald Duck, so I haven't grown up with these characters, don't really have any relationship with them at all. The Amazing Spiderman used to run on one of the kid's channels, but that's that. I only watched the Iron Man movie this early autumn, and fell in love with it, and wanted to know more about him, and in my frantic search for information and meta I stumbled over the Steve/Tony manifesto, got curious, tentatively started reading some fics, got hooked, and started reading the comics. So yeah, I've done everything backwards, and perhaps that has influenced my interpretation of Cap, maybe.
I actually think that if I hadn't done this wrong-way-about thing, I might've "missed" Cap. Because Captain America is all about values and justice and morals, and while that is all nice and good, I'm rather indifferent to that. (When I was younger, I hated Mickey Mouse but adored Uncle Scrooge.) However, when you scratch the surfice, you see that there is an interesting and not-simple character underneath. Because Captain America is Captain America, and Steve Rogers is someone else. From what I've understood, Steve is basically an incredibly decent but average person. (In contrast to Tony, who doesn't possess super powers but is everything but average.) He's a dorky dauber with a strong moral centre and a stubborn streak as wide as the nile. Oh, and yeah, he grew up during the depression, as you mentioned. His escapisms are something I completely understand.
But imagine taking this average, man-of-the-people bloke and make him a national icon. I mean, just that lays the foundation for serious issues. The pressure of being perfect all the time must be staggering. And then, like you said, add the post-WWII PTSD and no down-time at all to think about and time-travelling on top of that, and I'm honsetly amazed he hasn't had a serious nervous breakdown à la Falling Down. He must made up of optimism and... get-up-and-go, I think is the word I'm searching for. Like, he won't allow himself to break down, he forces himself to function. And I do think he has quite a bit of I'm-fine-I-promise issues -- not as much as Tony does, but indeed a bit. I suppose Cap would admit to being physically hurt (unlike Tony) but never to not be a 100% mentally healthy, which, by the way, I don't think there is anyone who is. Not that Cap thinks it's a weakness to be messed-up -- wouldn't fit his character at all -- just... he refuses to acknowledge the possibility that he might be? Since it wouldn't go along well with being perfect, maybe.
... Crikey, Cap's pretty messed-up after all, isn't he? Not Tony-levels, not by a long shot, but still. I wonder what his drawings look like, or does he "censor" his emotional outlet as well?
Re: understanding Cap:
I... think I might be biased, if my interpretation of him isn't missed-a-barn-from-the-inside-with-a-shotgun off, he isn't that incomprehensible to me. But that's because he reminds me of my mum (I bet Freud's doing the victory sign right now) which, yeah, really doesn't help the mother-hen!Steve cliché, but it's the drive in him that I find familiar and safe.
Re: putting up with Cap for longer than a few story arcs:
Well, Captain America might be CAPTAIN FREAKIN' AMERICA, but Steve Rogers seems to be quite a handful in all his commonplace glory. Absolutely adorable and charming, yes, but trying nonetheless. I imagine he'd be well off with a partner who has enough chaos going on inside
herself/himself to appreciate his more non-adventurous sides. ♥no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
He's got a full-blown head-versus-heart fight raging right now, and that's hardly helping him think clearly about who Iron Man could be.
Glad you liked the other Avengers. I keep feeling like I'm leaving them out too much, but Steve and Tony are... kind of in their own world sometimes.
Heh.
no subject
Your writing style is very striking. I mean, even just aesthetically, all the internal bits are arranged like lines of poetry, but the interactive dialogue bits get spaced out the way one usually expects of a typical narrative format. It makes it seem like there's something very.. fractured and strange happening with Tony internally, and I do love how his scars have affected him differently as a character (and especially how this played out when he "revealed" himself to Steve). I'm loving the slow, romantic but not especially romanticized budding relationship between Steve and Tony/Iron Man, and I'm just on the EDGE OF MY SEAT waiting to see how those two identities will get consolidated for Steve assuming that is where you're going with this.
Looking forward to the next update, and thank you for sharing your writing with us! :D
no subject
But yeah, that... is partly the point. More than Tony's body got blown to hell out there in the jungle, just like it did in canon. (See: Tony's breaking up with his then-fiance, and frequent tortured internal monologues during the chestpiece era)
It's just more pronounced in this story, because of the extent of the cosmetic damage, and... Something I implied, but didn't actually come out and -say-. Some part of the damage he took from the mine put Tony out of commission. Um... how shall I put this?
As a prisoner in Hanoi he didn't really have time to think about it much, but upon returning to the states, Tony had a private mental conversation very much like the following:
'Ah, great, we're home. And we're alive, and I still have you. Awesome. Hey. Dude, you can wake up now, it's safe. ...Hello? HELLO? Are you okay? OMG speak to me! Man down-!'
...etc.
As we once saw him do when that happened in canon, Tony doesn't take it well, and this time it wasn't just an isolated incident.
He's still pretty torn up inside, and his body hasn't had enough time to heal. The 'accessory' systems haven't rebooted yet.
Tony didn't know/believe that.
He panicked, was too embarrassed to ask anyone medical about it, and proceeded to try to THINK the problem to death.
Tony burned out every single fantasy, memory, and mental image he'd ever used for this purpose before. And got -nowhere-.
By the time his body actually healed, merely -thinking- about people no longer did it for him, because it reminded him of his earlier failures.
He'd actually stopped asking his body the question, because he was that tired of being told 'no'...
Then Captain. Fucking. America. moved in on the floor below his.
And Tony felt unexpectedly... better.
I have no IDEA if and when Iron Man's identity will come to the surface. I haven't gotten there yet. I do know some of the things that happen -before- that, but that's all.
See you around.
no subject
I loved things like Tony being lost in his designing, you invoked the free-association flow so well. The use of Tony's tech, I always love that: The blazing infa-red silhouette Steve cast after the battle, trapped body heat burning through the red-white-and-blue leather in slow, diminishing pulses. Waves.
And the scene in the bathroom, Steve touching Tony's face, was incredibly hot, Steve feeling everything, and Tony's lips and the scratch of his moustache. Lovely. I'm looking forward to the next part!
A tiny quibble - I think you're hitting the capslock a bit hard. You might want to consider italicizing instead, as it leaps out less. (And honestly I think in several cases you don't need the emphasis, the words stand up just fine on their own.)
no subject
And if you liked the use infa-red so far... heh.
Well, you'll see.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'll be waiting patiently for the next chapter!