Shattered Watch Part 10 of 12
Title: The Jailhouse Rock
Fandom(s): Avengers, Iron Man, Captain America
Characters: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers
Pairing(s): Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Rating: R
Summary: All Tony Stark wanted to do was enjoy his last year at M.I.T. before his father dragged him back home to work for S.I. That was thrown a little off kilter by a small, teenie, tiny bump in the road. Steve Rogers, the Steve Rogers, as in Captain America - even if he was pre-serum - somehow got himself time-whammied from the year 1942 to 2002, which was fun. It was great. All good. Except it honestly wasn’t because Steve Rogers was a bit of a dick, and he really needed to get back to 1942 because of space-time continuum reasons. When Steve got thrown into the year 2002, Tony Stark was his only hope in getting back home. Except, neither of them seemed to be able to be around one another without constantly stomping on one another’s feet, which shouldn’t have really been a problem, what with Steve having to get back home, which happened to be sixty years in the past. Key word: shouldn’t. It got a little more problematic when he started to fall for the genius and vice versa. Now he had to decide whether to go back home to 1942, or stay in the future and be with Tony Stark.
Genres: Comedy, Slash, Romance, Alternate Universe: Cannon Divergence, Smut, Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: None
Word count: 5257
This wasn’t going to be Steve’s first rodeo with spending a night in a jail cell. When you got into as many fights and lied to as many army recruiters as he did, you were bound to end up behind a bar or two. What did shock him, though, were the amount of unimpressed and dismissive looks he got. The police officer Howard Stark’s employees talked to gave the men raised brows as she looked Steve up and down and asked if the two men holding him in a grip of death were sure they wanted to put him in a cell, for God’s sake!
Of course, when he was taken to the back and placed in one of those overnight cells, he could take a venture as to why the lady had given him such a look. The men crowding the cell he had been placed in were burly with an overwhelming amount of muscle mass and piercings and tattoos and glares that could freeze even the hottest corners of hell.
Doing his best to disappear into the crowd, Steve shrunk in on himself and made his way to the back corner, sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable, metal bench. Gazing around, he noted that the cell wasn’t all that different from the ones he’d been in in the twenties, thirties, and - he was proud to say - only three times in the forties. Grey stone made up the back wall, peeling and chipping in most places. The bars grouped closely together, rusting around the edges, one cutting through the others horizontally about halfway up from the floor. To his left, the cell ended in more grey wall, but the right ended with more bars and a look into the female cell. This was also the side - if you stood on the other side of the bars, mind you - that the door stood proudly, clocking and exit towards freedom with boasting finality.
Fluorescent lights blared obtrusively into the cell, and Steve felt his stomach clench.
It was all too similar to the hospitals that he’d been in and out of throughout the fragile beginnings of his life and even far up into his teens. The lights projected memories of lying in beds and being poked and prodded at with needles and sharpened fingers. Of wondering if he was going to make it through the night, and if he did, wondering how they were going to afford yet another trip. He could feel the tubes clogging his throat all over again; hear the incessant beeping of the machines around him. Could see his mother in the bed he belonged in; see as she and not he was provided little comfort or refuge by the sterile white sheets. He was reminded of how she would take his hand and tell him that everything was going to be alright because she had raised him to be strong and independent.
He forced another deep breath through his mouth, fighting the clenching throat muscles and rising nausea. Steve didn’t want to think of that, the air around him luckily musty, a stark contrast to the smell of cleaning agents and chloroform and alcohol that haunted the halls of most hospitals. Breathing deeply, he purposely filled his nostrils with the stench of musk and sweat.
Covering his eyes, pressing the palms deeply into the sockets, he did his best to block out the light. There was a hum of deep chatter amongst the inmates, and he let the noises lull him into his head.
Steve missed the forties. He missed the long, angular lines of the cars and the smell of their exhaust. He missed the never ending buzz of life happening on the streets that used to keep him up at night but now pressed him into a warm slumber. He missed his old apartment with its familiar scents of burnt plaster and the sodium bicarbonate from a fire extinguisher that he could never quite get out of the walls and carpet. He missed the food Bucky would either make or bring home for them because Steve was no longer allowed in the kitchen after almost burning their apartment down while trying to make breakfast for an overnight guest he’d invited over. He missed those acquaintances he made and the small amount of friendships he was able to form. He missed Bucky; he missed his ma. He missed Tony.
Jesus.
It had only been a few days, but he missed Tony more than his capacity to express. Being on the other side of that door again just felt so damn wrong. All he wanted to do was scream and cry and basically plead to be let back in, but Tony wanted him out.
Wanted him gone.
So Steve did his best to respect that and not make an utter fool of himself. He couldn’t muster the strength, though. To reign himself in from walking the young man to and from his dorm room, because that small bit of contact for those short few minutes made him feel like the world was level again.
Sitting there on that cold, rigid, unforgiving bench, Steve indulged himself. He let himself get lost in the limited amount of memories he had of distractedly watching the way Tony’s hands would ever so carefully mend things together in lieu of reading his book. The way the brunette would get this faraway look in his eyes whenever he stumbled upon a breakthrough. How the younger man would start fidgeting, always starting at his legs and then working up to his hands and mouth, whenever a particularly bad batch of boredom or frustration hit. The way Steve was beginning to figure out how to get Tony to smile at him in that open and honest and bright and surprisingly pleased manner. A smile that would actually reach his eyes. Steve could practically hear the headache inducing music on earthquake levels of loud that Tony eventually traded for the Eagles and Neil Diamond and Willie Nelson because he realized Steve enjoyed these softer versions of the Rock and Roll he loved so much. Could feel how Tony never judged him on the way he looked or the things he said, even if he was nowhere near Tony levels of beauty and brain.
Those were just some of the things he missed the most.
Steve quickly let out a noise that sounded similar to that of a wounded animal. The thought struck him hard and fast, like a lightning bolt. How was he supposed to go back to 1942 when it was starting to feel like everything was directing him to stay? There was a loss he was going to have to endure if he went back, but he was beginning to wonder if he could honestly live with that loss.
No, Steve hadn’t exactly wanted to take the express route sixty years into the future, but now knowing he had a choice to leave or to stay, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a large, firm body slump next to his and a tap at his shoulder. Steve tensed, looking up to see that a fairly large man had settled himself next to him. The man looked older than a lot of the other people milling about the room, somewhere in his mid to late forties with tanned, wrinkled skin. A black handlebar mustache braided on either end decorated his upper lip, and the hair on his head was fairly long as well, falling just beneath his chin.
“So, boy,” he started, voice deep and rough with a hint of a country accent, but not particularly haughty or unkind. “Some of the fellas wanna know why yer here.” He leaned closer to Steve, resting an arm that could give Steve’s whole body a run for its money on his leg and resting the other on the opposite hip. “I’m quite curious myself, cause see, no offense, but you don’t look much like you could scare a mouse.”
Steve looked up at him, head still tilted in a downward angle, and shrugged. “Hit the wrong guy, I guess.” He was silent for a moment, recalling the elder Stark shoving Tony to the ground and tearing Dum-E’s claw off. “But he fucking deserved it!” Steve snapped, sending a glare towards the man next to him.
The guy chuckled. “No need to give me that look. I didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”
“Then why are you here?” Steve grumbled, settling back in on himself, placing his forearms on his thighs.
“I was tryin’ to stop a fight,” the man said, eyes twinkling. “They assumed I was tryin’ to start one, though. Like you.”
Steve frowned, turning more to the man. “If you were stopping it, then why did they arrest you? Didn’t you tell them what was going on?”
He smiled. “Course I did, but my skin’s just a shade too dark for them to believe me.”
Steve squinted at the guy. “You seem awfully calm for someone struggling at the wrong end of racism.”
“‘The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.’ -Martin Luther King Jr.,” he quoted. “Plus, I own the bar. I also happened to make the call, and the sheriff knows me pretty well, so he’ll get me outta here in a jiffy. If I just keep holdin’ my head high and smilin’ like I have no problems, then my voice carries more weight. No one wants to listen to a violent, pessimistic man, even if he has every reason to be so, so I choose this as my path and hope that one day things will work out for the better.”
Steve shook his head. “The future is a marvel, but you’d think things like blatant racism would be over by now.”
Throwing his head back, the man laughed. “You sure would, kid. So tell me, why’re you starin’ fights with the kinds of people who can put you in here? Don’t think I didn’t see those tuxed-up, secret service lookin’ man standin’ out there when the door swung this way and they brought the likes of you in.”
“He was hurting my friend,” Steve defended, but the heat behind his voice was gone. “I couldn’t sit back and watch Tony get hurt like that.”
“Tony, eh? So you’re fightin’ for someone else?”
Steve nodded. “I couldn’t sit back and let it happen, and I wish there had been another way for me to-to handle the situation, and maybe there was, but at the time, it seemed like I had no other choice. If I didn’t forcefully stop him, then he would’ve kept on hurting him.”
“Just because I think peace is a great answer doesn’t mean I think it’s always the answer or the right answer for everyone. I’m sure you did what was right by this Tony.”
Rubbing his face, Steve slouched farther into his seat, feeling miserable. “I’m not so sure. He probably thinks I should’ve stayed out of it instead of punching the guy. I probably just made things worse for him.”
“Then you learned yourself a valuable lesson. Next time adversity comes knocking, assess the situation with your head before you assess it with your emotions. But I am impressed that a little fella like you wasn’t afraid of standin’ up for your friend like that.”
“I don’t like bullies,” Steve supplied.
Another laugh shook the bench, and Steve smiled at the guy. “Y’know, kid? You sounds like Captain America. The earlier version, though, when he was still a small schmuck like you.”
“A small schmuck? Captain America?” Steve asked, curiosity piqued. Besides the three comics hidden away in Tony’s drawer, Steve hadn’t read anything else about the superhero. He wanted to buy more comics or ask about him, but something told Steve that Tony wouldn’t be too happy with him looking into the past like that. Even if Steve were sure most of the adventures the entertainment business produced were well above exaggerated, it was still a skosh too close to historical accuracy for comfort.
“Sure! Then they super powered him up with this chemical compound us common folk refer to as the super-serum, and boom! Superman in a can. The guy could fight any one of us in here and win; he could actually probably fight all of us together and win,” the man chortled merrily.
“He’d probably think your stance on peace and thinking before acting on your emotions would be a better way to go, though,” Steve pointed out.
The man grinned. “Captain America taking my advice? That’d be the day.”
“He would, though,” Steve insisted.
A loud guffaw escaped the guy’s mouth, but he said nothing further on the subject. The two fell into a companionable silence, Steve listening as his newest friend chatted on and off with fellow inmates. He wished there was something he could do for the man, and wondered if he’d be pushing his luck if he suggested to Tony that a decent portion of money should be given in support of cause.
Probably.
There was a small commotion just outside the door, and Steve felt the body next to his straighten.
“That’ll be my que,” he told Steve. “What about you? How’re you getting’ back to your man tonight?”
Instantly, Steve felt a blush heat his cheeks, and he let out an involuntary cough as he stared wide eyed at his companion. “My man?” he asked in a strangled voice.
The question received him a raised brow. “You have somethin’ against that?”
“I- what? No!” Steve backpedaled immediately. “I may be old fashioned,” he admitted, finding the slightest amount of glee in his white lie, “but even larger cities, like New York for example, were pretty accepting in the twenties, and while the late 1930’s brought back much more conservative values, the introduction of World War II allowed for more leniency. It was a more… don’t ask, don’t tell type scenario, and people simply looked the other way. So I don’t- it’s not like I have any sort of problem with homosexuality.”
“What’s that look, then? Like someone just told you you weren’t getting a puppy for Christmas.”
Steve let out a huff of laughter. “It’s just… Tony is certainly not my fella. He’s… too good for the likes of me.”
The door opened to reveal an older gentleman in a worn, tan cowboy hat. He had a white beard cut close to his chin and long hair that reached far passed his shoulders to his chest. The mix of grey and white strands were neatly braided on either side of his head, and he approached looking seventy degrees annoyed and disgruntled.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Namito,” the man said in a raspy voice, approaching the cell with jingling keys in hand.
Namito stood up, waving the chief of police off with a pleasant hand. “Not a problem, Will.” He turned back to Steve, holding out his hand for Steve to shake and shook firmly. “Now, lemme tell ya one last thing. Any fella who’s gonna bother landin’ himself in jail to defend someone else, well, that’s a fine and deserving fellow by my standards.”
With owlish eyes, Steve watched as the man exited the cell, smiling and shaking the chief’s hand. Namito patted the older man roughly on the shoulder, causing him to pitch forward slightly and let out a hearty guffaw. As the two headed for the door, Steve stood up and rushed over to the edge of the bars.
“Wait!” he called, and the two paused at the open door. “What’s the name of your bar?”
Namito smiled. “Poe,” he said, then walked out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.
With a huff, Steve made his way back to the corner, placing his cheek so firmly into his palm that the top part of his lip followed the upward movement. Namito raised a good question. How was he going to get out of here? He needed to come up with something, and soon. The quicker he apologized to Tony, the better. Steve didn’t need the younger man any more mad at him than he already was.
And then, as if materialized by the mere thought, Tony walked through the door accompanied by the chief as well. Steve watched him, mouth slightly open in surprise, as the brunette pointed him out, and the chief began waving him forward. Steve walked up slowly, keeping his eye on Tony who was seemingly doing his best to look anywhere but him, and Steve felt his stomach sink.
Yup, definitely pissed.
Just as quickly, the three found themselves in the lobby, and Tony looked in the direction of Namito, who was currently collecting his belongings from the front desk.
Tony nodded in the man’s direction. “Who’s that?” he asked, voice coming out surprisingly rough until he cleared his throat. “By the time I got here, he was already offering to post your bail.”
Steve blinked when he realized the words were directed at him and hastily stuttered out an answer in hopes of continuing the conversation. “I- he talked to me in the, uh, the cell. He- I made a friend…” he finished lamely, shrugging his shoulder and rubbing the back of his head.
“He keeps looking at me funny,” was all Tony provided before heading for the doors. Steve jogged to catch up, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash, and as he reached the front, Namito made eye contact with him and gave him one last, parting, knowing wink.
The cool night air hitting his face wasn’t quite enough to cool the burning beginning to sting his cheeks.
Namito’s words continued to play circularly in his head as he eyed Tony’s back. It hadn’t really occurred to him, having feelings for Tony, but now that the thought was there, he couldn’t push it down. In a span of a single conversation, he realized that he definitely had feelings for Tony that overarched their tenuous friendship, which was going to make everything a lot more difficult. See, Steve had never been all that great with the whole flirting with and liking someone thing, and he could barely keep his head straight when he and Tony hadn’t even like each other.
To be honest, the whole having feelings for someone had never actually happened to Steve. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one night stands with other men looking to get their rocks off. Like he said, he grew up in the twenties, so when he did come to the conclusion of his sexuality and accepted it, the environment was truly ripe for his exploration and pickings. That exploration didn’t change the fact that he’d never been a good flirt, and he never would. Steve had not been gifted with the ability to say the right thing at the right time, and his stuttering remarks left him looking more like a fool than anything else. He was all weak and frail and not the most attractive guy at the bar. It was an honest to God miracle he wasn’t a virgin, but, in his favor, countless an occasion where quite a few men had found his lack of flirtations, and a few other things, more endearing than annoying.
However, he’d never truly cared for any of these men.
Of course they had always been kind, and once he figured out what he liked, he always had a good time with them, but neither party ever really put forth an effort to take things further. Just because acceptance had been growing didn’t mean dangers didn’t lurk in every darkened corner. Any form of loving relationship would only be destroyed by the hate of man.
So how, then, was he supposed to breach every warning bell blaring in his body for many a good reason and tell a young genius that you may be, possibly falling in love with them and maybe, possibly, wanted to stay in the future with them?
Steve couldn’t picture a scenario where he didn’t get laughed right out of that lab. He could probably kiss friendship goodbye, much less anything else he might want after what happened tonight.
Unbidden, as Steve was so prone to, hope still flared in his chest as he openly scanned Tony from behind. The young man was absolutely breathtaking. He always had been, and Steve could kick himself for taking this long to realize that the stirrings in his chest and stomach weren’t chalked up to simple homesickness or nervousness. Maybe if he had realized this sooner, things would have had a better chance at being different.
Maybe not.
Steve was still all awkward and gangly, and the likelihood of Tony Stark picking him out of the lineup was slim to none.
This was someone who deserved the world.
Deserved a person who could give them the world. Who would lasso the moon for them just so they could finally see its dark side and get their hands on moon rocks to study. Someone who was just as handsome and wicked smart as they were. This was someone who deserved a partner who would go to the ends of the Earth just to shout out how lucky they were to have one Tony Stark.
It was only now that Steve was discovering how much he wanted to be that someone, and how much he very well couldn’t.
Fantasy and reality were always astonishingly far apart.
“C’mon,” Tony interrupted his thoughts softly. “We should stop by the pharmacy this time. Take care of some of those wounds.”
Steve nodded his assent, and he wondered if Tony looked at him right now, would he see it? Would he see “Hopeless Moron” written on the crevices of Steve’s face? To be fair, Steve had never been in love before, and he wasn’t in love now, but he also wasn’t sure how far a cry that was from being true. How much longer would it take him to fall in love with Tony now that he had his little epiphany? A day? A week? The rest of the month? There was no guessing. It felt like he was on one end of a seesaw while Tony was on the other, stacking rock on top of rock to see how many would cause Steve to tip over. Steve had no idea how many rocks Tony would pull out in the next minute, much less the next day.
Nonetheless. Steve could see it now. The day would come where he would inevitably fall for the man currently buying gauze and rubbing alcohol and bandages and some sort of salve at the Walgreens checkout counter. It wasn’t necessarily a matter of if. It was more a matter of when.
He always had been a hopeless romantic.
They trudged through the campus, Steve feeling his every limb tire step by step. It took a lot out of a person, going to jail and having the bomb of their true feelings dropped on them.
Shivering in the cool air, Steve glanced around the darkened area. Usually green grass was dimmed and tinted with silver touch by the moon. The trees swayed gently in an almost nonexistent breeze, standing immobile and on guard. The pale grey stone of the school became even whiter, their shadows laying across lawn and courtyard, blocking wispy moonbeams. It reminded Steve of an archaic castle that provided setting for stories long told.
And if he looked closely enough, those same silver beams would kiss their way across the smooth lines of Tony’s skin and hair, giving him an ethereal glow. The moon lit up every strand of hair and caught every movement upon his skin, making him shimmer as he walked just out of Steve’s reach. It was almost like Tony were holding the moon in his palms at the center of his chest, casting a silver fade of light to outline his whole body.
It was a sight Steve knew he was going to draw obsessively over and over again because he’d never get it right, but damn was he going to try.
Tony led him to the bathrooms and directed Steve to sit on the counter silently. He looked towards the showers longingly. This night had worn its welcome, leaving him tired and ragged. All he thought he could do at this point was get some much needed rest and deal with his little issue in the morning with a clear head. Like Namito said, he needed to start thinking with his brain and not his heart.
Steve relaxed farther into the counter as Tony quietly dug through the plastic bag, slumping his back against the counter and closing his eyes. They snapped back open when he felt the younger man wedge himself between Steve’s spread thighs, and for the first time in what felt like a really, really long time, Steve was staring into earthy brown eyes. They have such an independent tendency to always change color, he thought to himself absently, finding himself transfixed. For a flash of a second, it looked like Tony was searching for something.
A bit of gauze that had the strongest aroma of rubbing alcohol came towards him, and Steve leaned forward heavily. The dabs stung, but Tony held gentle hand as he examined the wounds on Steve’s face.
“You took one hell of a beating,” Tony whispered. Steve could see a redness around his eyes that wasn’t characteristic of the charismatic man he knew.
“How’s Dum-E?” he asked softly. It had been a rough night, and more so for Tony than for him, Steve was sure.
Tony took a long blink and even longer breath before resuming cleaning Steve of blood and grime. “He’ll be fine. Just, ah, just a few simple repairs, really.” There was an extended pause as Steve watched Tony steel himself. “You punched my father,” he said, voice blank. Careful.
Blue eyes snapped back to brown. “I- yeah,” Steve sighed, body folding forward more as the fight began to leave his body. God, he felt so drained. “I’m sorry, y’know, about that.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s you dad, and I shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
Shaking his head, Tony’s hand paused midair between them. “No, I mean why did you hit him? Why would you do that? Look at you; at what happened because of it.”
Steve stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean? He was hurting you.”
“Why else?” Tony demanded, something fierce in his voice; in his gaze. “Why did you really hit him? Did he say something to you when he was outside? Before he got into the lab?”
Shaking his head, Steve grabbed Tony’s wrist, setting it gently on his thigh. “There is no other reason. I hit him to save you,” he told the brunette softly.
Tony swayed his head back and forth, back and forth. “I wasn’t in any danger. I would’ve been fine. I don’t understand why-”
“Because,” Steve interrupted gently, “while I know you can handle yourself, you still merit having someone stand up for you. Fight for you. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
And before Steve could react, a hand found the back of his neck and was pulling him forward in a crash of lips and teeth that left his head spinning. He wished he could say that his first instinct was to pull Tony closer and better guide him and deepen the kiss, but his lip still stung from the beating it took earlier, and, in his defense, he was probably in shock from this little turn of events. So, instead of doing any of those things, he let out an involuntary hiss of pain, and Tony jumped back immediately, nervous energy flooding the room like a tsunami.
“I- sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. No, I wasn’t thinking; that’s what it was. It’s been a-a hard night, and I’m tired. What, with Howard and then jail. It’s just been a rough few hours. Plus, lack of sleep doesn’t help. We’ll just, ah, just forget the whole thing, okay? It didn’t mean anything, really. I promise. You don’t have to-”
“Tony,” Steve began cautiously, interrupting the mile-a-minute babbling. As Tony talked, he had inched further and further away, hands coming up in a placating form of surrender. He looked wild and scared, like a rabbit in a bear trap. Steve rubbed at the split in his lip lightly, but it was something that would heal. Something that could easily be ignored. “C’mere,” he gestured, hand coming out in front of him, a clear invitation for Tony to take. The younger man still seemed hesitant and upset, but he took the outstretched hand nonetheless, allowing Steve to pull him back between his legs with ease and care.
“Steve-” he tried again in a hoarse voice, eyes brimming slightly.
“Try it like this.” Steve took his hand from Tony’s, sliding it up his arm and neck to position itself on one side of Tony’s cheek, his other hand coming up to caress the opposite side. He guided Tony’s lips back to his, and ever so delicately, began the kiss anew.
This was a tender, deliberate press of lips and purposeful movement. Steve took his time, Tony pliable and inexperienced beneath him. At first, calloused hands rested cautiously on his arms, but as Steve continued, showing no sign of stopping, Tony’s hands travelled up to wrap loosely around his neck. Steve’s own hands eventually moved down to rest on Tony’s slim hips, forcefully pulling him closer, holding him tighter, and, just as Steve wanted, Tony tightened his own grip on Steve’s neck.
Eventually, Tony pulled away with a pop, sucking in a much needed breath. Steve kept his grip tight as he rested his forehead lightly against the shorter man’s, breaths coming out heavily as well.
Steve hoped with all his might that tonight was not just some concussion induced dream.
“Steve?” His name was voiced with hesitance and question. He opened his eyes to find Tony’s already staring back into his, once again searching for something. What, Steve still wasn’t sure.
“Go on a date with me,” he blurted in hopes that it would be answer enough.
“I-”
“I’ve missed you like crazy these past few days,” Steve admitted, moving his hands to wrap his arms around Tony’s lower back and pulled him into a tight hug. “I didn’t realize why until now. I know I’ve already asked too many of you, but can you give me another chance?”
Like a coil being released, Tony practically fell against him, arms tightening around his neck. A head was buried into the crook of Steve’s neck, and he closed his eyes. He could only feel a soft nodding and the whispered okay against his skin.
If this was a dream, Steve really didn’t want to wake up.
____________________
Notes:
“Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!”
Welp, here it is! I know this chapter a little cheesey, but I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless.
The next chapter will be released 28 March 2019. And feel free to check out my Tumblr any time for updates and sneak peaks! :D