A Comforting Presence (Steve/Tony) Part 3a
Title: A Comforting Presence
Fandom: Avengers (2012), Marvel movieverse
Pairing: Steve/Tony, gen
Summary: It starts with Clint, and then from there, every time an Avenger gets hurt (physically or otherwise), they seem to show up at Steve’s doorstep. Eventually he stops bothering to lock it (though Tony breaking in to his apartment every morning might also have something to do with that.) But there's more to it than that, especially when old enemies resurface. Or, a series of non-linear flashbacks and events, illustrating how Steve went from being very alone in the 21st century to having five (maybe even more) roommates (family) and why Tony decided to build the Avengers mansion.
Notes: POST-Avengers, there are MAJOR spoilers for the movie
Warnings: Angst, gradual romance, fluff, non-linear timeline
Also on AO3
Previous: Part 1 / Part 2a / Part 2b
A Comforting Presence
III. Bruce
Before:
It’s just a trip to the store. He’s gone before to the bargain shop that Natasha mentioned, to pick up books and furniture. He can do this; he can go into a mall. It’s an extremely tall (were buildings this tall in his day?) and towering mall, but it is just a normal place to buy different clothes and other things (Tony wasn’t very specific in his offhand remarks.)
Steve takes a deep breath, adjusts the baseball cap on his head and steps through the doors.
There are people, everywhere and he hasn’t realized just how many can fit into a stretch of hallway that is two bedrooms long, just how stifling it is to move through the crowds, enter a mall alone. Steve can’t take a step forward without feeling as if he is squished into a small space (again), unable to get out (never mind how easy it is to get lost in the maze of little stores with staggering prices.)
He takes in another quick breath. There never used to be so many people around (or maybe there had been, but he’d been too busy killing other soldiers, humans, in the war to notice.) He doesn’t remember.
When he blinks again, he can see the signs and advertisements in their flashy lettering, screaming out different deals and prices. There are twenty percent off sales, buy one get one free deals and limited edition banners streamed in the windows with mannequins wearing barely any cloth at all. Steve tries to leave, but walks into another store by accident, this one selling shoes of all sizes including some impractical ones with bottoms larger than two inches. He wonders how anyone could possibly walk in them without falling over.
Then Steve stumbles out, wanting to sit down somewhere, when he is shoved against a young couple (apologizing again and hoping he didn’t hurt them by accident) and almost knocked into a tree. (Why is there a tree in the middle of a building anyways? Is it a real one? Steve can’t understand why they wouldn’t just put in a real tree instead.)
He sees white, (horrible) white clouding his vision, blotting out the scenery and the people in frayed dabs of paintbrush. And then he is numb, trying to get to the nearest exit as soon as possible, it should be behind him, but he can’t see it anywhere and-
“-Rogers, Captain Rogers, are you alright...?”
Steve jerks up when someone’s hand touches his arm, he nearly goes for a punch but stops when he catches sight of the familiar face.
“Doctor Banner?” Steve breathes out, the tension in his joints lessening but a little.
The scientist looks well if not still as wary and guarded as he had when they first met. He is clean, his chin showing signs of a clean shave and wearing his dress shirt and suit like a wall against the outside world. Though he seems apprehensive of being in such a populated area (which relieves Steve, because at least he’s not the only one uncomfortable with so many people) his eyes are kind.
“You alright, captain?”
“Yeah,” Steve swallows, forcing his shoulders to relax. “Just fine. Just... out doing some errands. I... it’s really good to see you.”
Banner’s brow is lifted up, as if he is surprised by the omission. The doctor puts his other hand in his coat pocket. “Oh,” He says, pausing for a moment before a small smile makes its way to his face. “It’s good to see you too, Captain Rogers.” He frowns again, “Are you sure that you’re alright?”
“Just call me Steve, Doctor Banner, and I’m fine,” he insists but he thinks that his hands are still trembling, only slightly.
His teammate seems to notice, but thankfully, doesn’t draw attention to Steve’s nervous gestures or how pale that he feels at the moment.
“Bruce,” Banner says.
Steve looks up at him in confusion.
Banner grins, “If we’re going to be on first name basis, then you should return the favour.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble...” But the idea of braving this shopping center alone is becoming less and less appealing. He feels pathetic and does not let it show on his face, opting for an easygoing manner.
“Nonsense. I was just going for a stroll anyways when I saw you go in here. Needed to take a bit of a breather away from Stark Towers, that place is a bit... Well,” He removes his hand from Steve’s elbow, “if you don’t mind the company...”
“No, no, of course, that would be swell. You’re great company.” And he means it. Already, he feels better now that there is someone here that he knows. The mall is more bearable and he doesn’t have to close his eyes to count his breaths, much as he used to when he had asthma attacks, his mother no longer there to count with him. “Could use someone to lead the way to a good clothing store. I already feel lost.”
Bruce studies him for a moment, like Steve is one of his experiments, a puzzle to be laid out and solved, before he tilts his head to the right, “There’s one down the street, with more sensible tastes than the flashy things on display.”
They walk side to side, Steve asking what the doctor has been up to and how things are living in one of Tony’s many rooms. Their conversation is comfortable and Steve thinks that Bruce is a bit more open and prone to quiet laughter, despite the tense edges lingering in his posture. At least he smiles more easily and with less guarded eyes.
And if Steve notices how Bruce keeps leading them to quieter areas of the city, cafes with soothing music in the background and stores that have only one or two customers at a time, he doesn’t mention it.
-
Now:
For several moments, Steve just stares at his phone, half expecting it to buzz again with another text message, anything to tell him that the phone call hadn’t happened. It doesn’t and when Steve glances at the cloudy sky, the grey reflected in the far off waters that meet the edges of the city, he wonders if Iron Man will fly in and burst through his windows. But Tony won’t risk that, he’s too clever to risk outing to S.H.I.E.L.D. that they know Coulson is not dead. He’ll come by car.
Staring down at the pavement below, the yellow lines painted to separate parked cars (and his bike), Steve watches for any vehicle that might belong to the genius. The height is dizzying as always (he sees the glaciers dotted on the dark sea below as he flies the plane down, down, down, preparing for death) and sometimes, in the night, when all the memories rush back, he has to force himself to stay away from the windows, to paint instead of being tempted to test the fall against the serum.
Steve doesn’t know how long he spends staring down from the balcony (wondering, once more, why he is still here) but when he sees a long black car pull up by the foot of the apartment, he knows that Tony is here with Bruce.
The small figures of Tony and Bruce emerge from the car. Tony appears agitated, storming to the entrance while Bruce has his hands up, as if to calm the other man (or himself.) They don’t look up to see Steve there.
He’s... well, he’s numb as he opens the door and walks back from the balcony into the dining area. Steve isn’t sure what the expression on his face must look like but it must be bad for Natasha and Clint to drop their utensils, up on their feet as if the world is in danger again. They start towards him but Steve just shakes his head. He swallows and finds a chair before his knee buckles in and he says, “Tony’s bringing Bruce over. They’re coming up.”
“...What did Stark say to you?” Clint asks in a low voice.
Natasha’s glower speaks for itself.
Steve looks at his untouched plate. There are two orange slices and an extra egg that weren’t there before, probably added discretely by Clint. He can’t think of eating right now, guilt has consumed what little appetite he has in the mornings.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Just... I don’t think he’s very happy that we’ve kept this a secret from him.”
“Well that’s nonsense,” Clint scowls. “We couldn’t tell him until it was safe to. He’s unpredictable, we couldn’t risk it and I didn’t want him to know yet, Phil’s my-”
“Clint-” Natasha frowns, “I don’t think...”
The doors are blasted open with an explosive blast and Steve jumps to cover the two assassins with his body. He sees blue light rushing from the smoke and smashing a hole through the center window, shattering it and sending glass shards dancing on the ground and some embedded into the murals on the walls. Steve sneaks a peek over his arms, which he had thrown up to cover his face.
Tony stands at the broken door (now in splinters, what’s left of it hanging loosely by its hinges like a limp rag doll), wearing one of the Iron Man arm pieces around his hand like a glove. His fingers are outstretched, the light from the palm dying down. His hair is dishevelled and it’s clear from the untucked dress shirt and striped pyjama bottoms that he has just rushed here.
“Well then,” He can hear the venom in Tony’s voice, “I hope that was a good wake up call for you all. So where is he?”
Clint, who has one of his hidden pocket knives in his hand, an automatic response to the previous blast, lowers it and hisses, “What the fuck, Stark! What if you had killed one of us?”
“Yes,” Natasha steps forward, putting away her own concealed blade, eyes flickering to Steve who doesn’t know how to make the hollow feeling in his chest go away. “You also broke Steve’s door and window,” she says with an undercurrent of a promise to break into Tony Stark’s tower to break his nose for that.
“Oh, you’re here too? Another one invited into the club before me, wonderful,” Tony remarks, “and, no, Barton, I wouldn’t have. I scanned the area first; clearly you weren’t in the living room. I’ll pay for the door and window later. Now where is he?”
Bruce runs in at that moment, taking in the scene of obvious destruction with a strained sigh. Like Tony, he also appears disheveled but seems to have had time to put on his usual dress pants and collared shirt. He carries a plush leather bag in his hand, one with shiny golden handles.
The scientist takes a deep breath before he lets himself glance up at Natasha, Clint and Steve, “Sorry. I tried to stop him.”
Steve draws out a long breath, trying not to hurt at the fact that Tony isn’t looking at him, only glaring at Clint, “Hi Bruce.”
He receives a small smile in turn and it makes the situation, not better per say, but more bearable.
“Where is he?” Tony snaps. “And stop making me fucking repeat myself.”
“Who are you talking about?” Clint snarls.
“You know who I mean, Barton, don’t play the idiot. Where’s Phil? Or is this really just a fucked up prank of some kind that you three decided to play in your spare time? Because believe me it’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke,” Steve speaks quietly for the first time since Tony arrived. His words have a rasp to them and Tony still isn’t looking at him. He bites his lip and steps forward, his bare feet stepping on bits of glass. He feels the sharp edges digging into his skin but ignores it, the wounds will heal later. “He’s in the guest room and I really think that Bruce should take a look at him...”
Tony says nothing, only glowers at Clint once more before storming into the hall, while Bruce studies the rest of them for a while longer before following him. Steve and Clint are footsteps behind them, desperate to hear the doctor’s diagnosis. Natasha slips silently in the room, hovering protectively by them both.
When Steve enters the bedroom with Clint and Natasha he sees Tony standing as still as the former haunting trees he had erased from the mural a day or two ago. Tony’s mouth is in a tight line, his face completely pale and Steve flashes back to that moment when they found out that Coulson was dead (Is this the first time you lost a soldier?) and how telling the cold despair was in Tony’s eyes, so different from the bully he had once thought him to be.
Tony leans down, a hand outstretched to touch one of the bright sun patterned and orange sheets protecting Coulson. The (not dead) agent’s chest is slowly heaving up and down in slow (miraculous) breaths. The sound is soothing to the ear, more than the sweetest music and maybe even Clint’s soft lullabies on the cello. The added steady beats from the heart monitor create the most breathtaking sound.
“...He’s alive...” Tony whispers. “He’s really alive.”
His posture slumps and he looks like he will topple over if anyone touches him. Steve feels the pang in his chest again and it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.
“...Tony...” He moves towards him.
But the billionaire jerks away from him and he feels like he’s been burned. Steve lowers his hand and Natasha steps between him and Tony, glowering at the genius from the corner of her eyes. Clint hovers by Steve’s right for a moment before he goes to stand by Coulson, trailing a gentle hand on the comatose agent’s cheek.
Bruce is kneeling on the other side of the mattress, a stethoscope already pulled from his bag as well as something, Natasha whispers to Steve, which will measure his blood pressure. All four occupants watch greedily as Bruce calmly proceeds with his check-up, muttering to himself and writing things down in a notepad not much larger than his own hand.
Steve admires the doctor for his self-control and steady hands. He thinks that if he were in Bruce’s place, where every test meant the difference between a correct diagnosis and the wrong one that his hands would be shaking. But Bruce has a serene aura that Steve has always envied and by the time he has performed the tests four times over, his brow furrowing more and more.
Finally, Bruce stands up and tells them with a perplexed frown that Coulson is in perfect health. “There is nothing irregular about his heart beat, pulse, temperature... nothing. I’ll need some blood and urine samples to make a more in depth conclusion but so far... it’s as if he’s just sleeping.”
“Impossible,” Tony speaks up, the angry quality returning to his voice. “Your tests must be wrong. Do them again.”
“I did,” Bruce grits his teeth, a dangerous tension building in his stance. Beside him, Steve can see that Natasha has her blade ready just in case while Clint discretely grabs at the bow and arrows leaning against the drawer.
“Look,” Steve tries to intervene, never imagining that he would have to placate tension between Tony and Bruce of all people, “let’s try to be logical about this-”
“Logical?” Tony laughs, still refusing to meet his eyes, “Logical? There’s nothing logical about finding out that one of the sorry bastards you can’t stand has just come back from the dead, and what’s more, your teammates don’t deem it necessary to tell you about it until they’ve already rescued him from the hospital without you. Great. Just fucking great.”
“Hey,” Clint stands up, seething, “don’t take this out on Steve. It was my decision-”
“Yeah? And what right did you have for making that wonderful choice, hm? Someone appoint you the ringleader for this shit?
“It was my right-”
“No, it wasn’t! You had no right at all; you’re nothing to him, just one of his -”
“I am not nothing to him!” Clint roars and they all fall silent. Clint is breathing heavily, eyes wild. “You should know what I am to Phil, Stark... I’m the cellist.”
Tony’s jaw drops. “You and him...? You two were...?”
Clint gives a taut dip of his head.
“...And no one knew...”
“We were discrete... unlike some people.”
Tony begins to laugh sardonically again, running a hand through his hair, “Of course, just more fucking secrets that the team couldn’t be bothered to tell me. You know what? Fuck this. I’m leaving, I’m going to give Fury a piece of my mind but I’m not dealing with this shit anymore, fuck all of you. Come on, Bruce.”
The doctor frowns, “I need to do those blood tests, Tony-”
“Fine, go do that. I’ll be raining hell on Fury, now a final ‘fuck you’ to all other company,” Tony bows mockingly before striding out into the hall.
“No, Tony, wait!” Steve goes after him, “You can’t confront Fury about this-”
Tony turns on him, finally gazing directly at him but his eyes are accusing, full of sharp anger and contempt, “And why the hell not? He started all this, Rogers, he needs to answer to the consequences. I’ll teach him to pull the wool over our eyes-”
“No, this is why Clint didn’t want to tell you. He didn’t want you to act recklessly, to create more attention and draw it towards Coulson; it was for the good of the team...! Tony, god, I wanted to... I...” He tries to say, but the wounded look in the billionaire’s deep eyes stops all coherencies.
“So... that’s the reason...?” Tony says quietly, and it is worse than his shouts. “Tony Stark can’t be trusted not to blow things up, to ruin everything and for the greater good you decided not to tell me.”
“No! Tony, that’s not it, just shut up and listen-”
“How about you shut up, captain?” Tony is snarling. “You don’t know anything about me. In fact, you know nothing about this world at all. You walk around pretending that you understand the way the world works now when really you’re just Fury’s little mascot for S.H.I.E.L.D., obedient to the core, always sacrificing other people’s lives and feelings for the greater good. But you’re useless, a dead man who just shuts himself up in another prison, painting childish doodles of a dead century all over his walls,” he points to Brooklyn peering back from the living room mural, “when it’s gone and it’s never coming back!”
Someone gasps and Steve isn’t sure if it is him or not, if it’s echoing down the hall from the occupants listening in. He’s not sure what sounds he is making, if he is even breathing or not. He can’t speak, can’t think and Tony-Tony’s face is pale, his eyes wide. His mouth is open, as if he is going to add more hateful words over the yelling but then his face darkens and he turns away towards the door.
Steve can’t let him leave, not yet.
“Tony... wait!” But that won’t work, he won’t listen, why would Tony listen to Steve of all people, when he hates him? “...Please...” He adds.
The billionaire actually pauses in the doorway and Steve has no strength to go after him. He feels drained and he hates it. “Don’t confront Fury. Please... if not for me, then at least for Coulson’s sake...”
At first, Tony does not reply, instead stepping out entirely, shoving the splinters on the welcome mat away with his feet. Steve thinks then with sickening dread that he will have to convince Tony to see reason but doesn’t know how. Why would anything he says make a difference when Tony is right? He’s a (dead man) relic of the past and his opinions are obsolete.
But then he hears the faint, “I won’t tell Fury,” echoing into the empty space and all he can do is lean back against the wall, his arm brought up to cover his face while the other is limp beside him.
-
He isn’t sure how long he stays there, until he finally notices Natasha standing in front of him, arms crossed. She looks at him with steady eyes, anger burning there, anger that isn’t directed at him (but what was heard in the entire flat) but makes him apprehensive nonetheless. He doesn’t like it when people see him as anything less than composed; it makes him feel exposed (unworthy.)
Steve drops his gaze.
“He shouldn’t have said that to you,” Natasha says calmly, though disapproval is trembling beneath it.
“We shouldn’t have kept this a secret, not from him. We should have told him.” I should have told him, he does not say.
“Bullshit,” says Clint, whom Steve has not spotted beside him, shoulder to shoulder, practically touching. The archer’s fists are clenched and shaking. “He still shouldn’t have said that to you. It wasn’t your fault. I asked you not to say anything. Let me go give him a piece of my mind...!”
“No!” Steve moves to grab Clint’s arm but ends up slipping backwards, head crashing against the walls with painful resonance.
“Steve!”
Natasha and Clint are both at his sides, supporting his elbows.
“I’m... fine,” Steve murmurs quickly, despite the dizzy sensation he feels. Dots of black and colour decorate his vision, blotting out the hallway, the mural of red poppies and they won’t stop spinning.
“Bullshit,” Clint swears again, “geez, Steve, why didn’t you tell anyone that your feet are bleeding? There’s glass all over the floor, you should have mentioned something, that you didn’t wear any shoes, anything!”
“I heal quickly,” he replies as normally as he can manage. It comes out as a whisper.
“Get him to the couch,” Natasha tells Clint, who is cursing under his breath in such creative ways that Steve thinks that even the Howling Commandos would have been impressed.
“No, I’m fine,” Steve protests as the two assassins haul him to his feet, “It’ll heal.”
“Yeah,” Clint replies drily, “with the pieces of glass still stuck in your feet. It’ll heal perfectly. Stark and I are going to have words.”
“There’ll be no need,” Natasha remarks coolly, “if I get to him first.”
Alarm snaps Steve out of his dizzy spell for just a few moments, “No, Natasha, Clint, you can’t-it wasn’t his fault, it was mine-”
“Wasn’t whose fault?” Bruce asks, walking into the living room holding several vials of blood samples and his gab. His curious gaze takes in the streaks of fresh crimson on the hardwood floors (a shame, Steve thinks absentmindedly, he hadn’t wanted to paint the floors red) before his face shifts into something eerily blank, the twisted tilt of his lips the only hint of his suppressed rage.
Clint and Natasha both tense, with the Black Widow moving in front of Steve protectively and Clint taking the job of leading Steve to the couch. The archer grips Steve’s back tightly.
Natasha’s arms are out, as if to placate a wild beast. “Banner-” she says cautiously.
Bruce brushes past her, takes hold of Steve by the shoulders (“Hey!” Clint glares, while trying to tug him back but stops at Bruce’s darker glower) and sits the super soldier down against the soft velvet seat. His jaw is clenched tight as he looks down at Steve’s feet. “God damn it,” He says and Steve doesn’t think he is referring only to the cuts.
With stiff and jolted movements, Bruce takes out a pair of tweezers and begins to meticulously pick out the shards dug deep into Steve’s flesh. It hurts very much, like metal arms are probing and tearing off the layers of skin around the wounds of his heart that he has tried to keep hidden and closed, a wound that Tony could see and rip open in one fell swoop.
Steve feels numb from the shock of Tony’s words, so numb that it almost cancels out the pain. He barely winces. Natasha and Clint are standing on both sides of the couch respectively, like stone soldiers guarding the gate to an abandoned castle. But he barely perceives them, only hears the words (the sickening truth) echoing over and over in his mind.
(...you’re useless; a dead man... painting childish doodles of a dead century... when it’s gone and it’s never coming back...)
“I should have told him,” Steve repeats again, and he’s surprised when his voice comes out as raspy and his eyes feel hot with welling liquid. He closes them and tries not to think.
His temporary house guests are already hissing, swearing and trying to come to his emotional aid but it’s Bruce’s quiet (and barely suppressed ire) that makes them all pause.
“No, Steve. Whatever hurt he was feeling today because of this situation doesn’t justify what he said. It was wrong,” Bruce yanks out another jagged piece of glass. “He’s been... temperamental lately. Things aren’t going well with him and Pepper, and then there’s me.”
That catches Steve’s attention.
“What do you mean?”
“Yeah, I was under the impression that you and Stark have been getting along like long lost friends,” Clint raises an eyebrow.
Bruce shrugs in a self-deprecating way, “We work well together and he’s a great friend but I want to go back to my work in India... and I don’t think Tony is pleased with that.”
He leaves the explanation there but Steve senses that there is more to it, things that Bruce chooses not to say. Quietly, Steve nudges Bruce’s knees imploringly. He doesn’t know if Bruce will talk to him, but he would like to offer. The doctor meets his eyes and smiles silently. He will tell Steve later. Steve nods slightly in agreement.
“Anyways,” Bruce continues, “He’s also been frustrated with other things... I’m not sure what. But I think someone is stealing Stark tech again, he’s been working late hours. No one can get him to sleep or eat. It’s pretty tense back at the tower.”
Steve feels the guilt well up in his chest, threatening to spill out of him. “Oh god... and I just made it all worse with this news.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” Bruce tells him sharply. “Tony’s just... emotionally unstable right now. He snaps at everyone lately. But I can tell you now that he regrets what he said, or at least he will if I have anything to do with it.”
“No, no... It’s fine-”
“I swear to god, if you keep saying that, I’m going to get my arrows out and shoot something, maybe more Stark robots-”
“-I’m not mad at all,” just upset and numb, “I just, I can’t believe I didn’t know about this. I wish I could have done something to help him. I feel really”-useless-“awful.”
“Stark doesn’t need help,” Clint mutters to which Natasha offers him a threatening look.
“Right,” Bruce grumbles, “could you both step out for a moment, somewhere? Anywhere?”
The assassins frown at him. It’s clear that they don’t intend to leave Steve alone with anyone they aren’t comfortable with and Steve can see Bruce trying not to tense in offense. Steve feels indignation on the doctor’s behalf and tells his house guests for Bruce’s sake that he is going to be perfectly alright in the doctor’s presence.
“I trust him,” Steve says, studying Natasha and Clint carefully. “He’s saved a lot of lives, remember?” And he isn’t just referring to Bruce’s medical practise or his research but to the other guy.
Flickers of guilt and regret flash through both of their expressions, in Natasha’s more subtly. In the chaos of the day’s revelations and the lack of sleep, they’ve forgotten that the other Avengers can be trusted too. Though he supposes that with all they’ve been through in the past few days, that it would be natural for them to be protective of the team leader. Isn’t that what team members do, protect their own?
He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or touched with this revelation.
Clint and Natasha retreat downstairs, to the training area, likely eavesdropping anyways. When Steve turns to look at Bruce, the doctor has that look again, as if Steve is a strange new species that has done something bewildering, beyond any of his scientific hypotheses.
“Thank you,” he says.
Steve frowns, “You know that I trust you, right? It should be a given.”
Bruce laughs in that gentle way of his, “I suppose it should be but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating every time that you show it.”
Calmly, he begins pulling out long strips of bandage to wrap around Steve’s feet.
“Listen, Steve, don’t tell Tony I told you this... but I think you’re wrong. You have helped Tony in all this, whether you know it or not.”
Steve feels his mouth dry. “How do you know?” He asks weakly. “We... we’ve barely...”
“Because the only time he smiles lately,” Bruce tells him slowly, “is when he’s talking about you.”
Steve’s breath hitches and it has nothing to do with how tightly Bruce has begun to wrap the bandages. “That’s impossible,” He says in hushed tones.
“Your choice if you want to believe me,” Bruce holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “But it’s true. And I don’t think you have to worry about him confronting Fury with any warning yet.”
He looks up at Bruce in silent question.
“Well,” replies his friend with his patient smile, “because you asked him not to.”
-
“Did you get all the samples you need?” Steve asks, fiddling in the kitchen for some mugs to make coffee for the doctor. Clint had bought them a coffee maker a few weeks back but Steve has no idea how to use it so he makes the easier instant blend instead. He pours himself some milk and some tea for Natasha.
His guests are sitting at the table, Natasha and Clint on one side and Bruce on the other. Steve limps over with a tray of cups. Clint jumps up to help him, taking the tray and glaring at Steve to sit or else. Steve hastily takes the seat next to Bruce.
“Not the urine samples,” Bruce says between bites of apple crisp. He and Clint appear to be in an eating contest, each taking in more pastries and finishing them in record time. Whether the race is on purpose or not, Steve has no idea. “You’ll need to take care of excrement a couple of times a day as well.”
Clint swallows his dessert and says, “I’ll handle it.”
“It’s best left to a professional,” Bruce replies drily, “but I’ll show you what you have to do. Make sure you’re extremely careful.”
“Is there anything else we can do for him?” Natasha asks, sipping her tea.
“I won’t know till I put the samples in a lab to analyze them. Just give him plenty of fluids and nutrients through the IV. Keep a record of any abnormalities in his blood pressure or heart rate. I’ll come back later this evening to give him a check-up. Regular morning and evening check-ups should be sufficient. I’ll let you know as soon as possible when I have the lab results and what my diagnosis is. If you need any help, Steve has my number.”
“Great, well, I best head off to S.H.I.E.L.D. to see if they have any missions for me,” Steve says lightly. He hopes that Natasha and Clint don’t resent him for remaining with the organization, but it’s the only way he’ll find out when the world’s in danger, when it needs him. He doesn’t have any other contacts like they do (and even then he questions how legal they are.)
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Clint is referring to his foot.
“Yes. It’s healing quickly. I should be fine.”
“Careful of what Fury says,” Natasha warns him. “He may have let you off the hook when he questioned you about Clint... but he knows that you and I train regularly when we can. He’ll be watching like a hawk for any slip-ups when he questions you about my leave. If possible, make your answers as vague as possible. You can’t lie very well.”
“Right,” Steve nods, “I’ll do my best.”
-
He and Bruce accompany each other out of the apartment. They both avoid the elevator and take the stairs. Steve has never been fond of enclosed spaces and being frozen for over seventy years has made his discomfort worse. Bruce, he suspects, avoids them for the sake of the other guy. It would be disastrous for the building if the Hulk were to transform in a little elevator shaft and Steve doesn’t like the idea of the Hulk being trapped in such a crammed space.
“Hey, uh, thanks for tending to my foot,” Steve says gratefully.
“Not a problem,” Bruce grins before his face becomes serious. “But you should be more careful where you step, Steve. Those cuts were pretty deep, even for you.”
He tries not to make his limp obvious, suitably chastised. “Sorry for worrying you.”
They walk out together and Steve heads to his bike. Bruce follows him for a little, since cutting across the parking lot is a short cut to Stark tower.
“Look, uh,” Steve pauses, thinking of how stressed Bruce looks lately, “you know that you can come by anytime you want, if you feel like you need room to breathe and make a decision about India, right?”
Bruce rolls his eyes and elbows Steve gently in the stomach, “Course I do. Take care of yourself, Steve. Don’t get yourself accidentally hurt, alright? And don’t worry about Tony. I’ll try to talk to him... if he’ll listen.” The last part is muttered on his breath but Steve hears it.
He wonders what has happened between Bruce and Tony that has put such a rift between them.
-
When he drives he has to resist the urge to put all the power he can on the gas pedal. His fingers tremble against the handlebars and when Steve feels the wind rush up to his face, flowing under the glass plate guarding his face, he wishes that it would be cold enough to freeze him. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to keep hearing the words echoing in his head over and over. Maybe if he was frozen again, he could stop feeling, stop being.
But then Steve bites his tongue, cursing himself for even considering it.
He’s lucky to be alive, lucky not to be forgotten as an old relic (never dying, never living) forever in the cold. He should be grateful… and he is. God damn it, he is so grateful to be alive.
And yet, the wind kisses his wet eyes, and yet…
(…Bucky is screaming at him, clawing through the ice, a half-frozen corpse, grasping at his arms… The Howling Commandos are skeletons buried in the dirt, pieces of their bones stick up at odd angles and he trips on them as he stumbles through the white… Colonel Phillips shouts in his ears, “Move faster, soldier, what are you lying about for? Run! Run and get those damn Nazis!”… And there’s a shadow up ahead, no, there’s two of them, getting farther and farther…
“Peggy,” His lips bleed from the frostbite, “Peggy, Peggy!”
She doesn’t turn around. But the other shadow does… and it’s his mother, she has him by the wrists, pulling with Bucky, pulling him down into the ice-
“You’re a dead man.”)
He goes only two miles above the speed limit, just to move faster. He still feels guilty afterwards.
Part 3 cont
Fandom: Avengers (2012), Marvel movieverse
Pairing: Steve/Tony, gen
Summary: It starts with Clint, and then from there, every time an Avenger gets hurt (physically or otherwise), they seem to show up at Steve’s doorstep. Eventually he stops bothering to lock it (though Tony breaking in to his apartment every morning might also have something to do with that.) But there's more to it than that, especially when old enemies resurface. Or, a series of non-linear flashbacks and events, illustrating how Steve went from being very alone in the 21st century to having five (maybe even more) roommates (family) and why Tony decided to build the Avengers mansion.
Notes: POST-Avengers, there are MAJOR spoilers for the movie
Warnings: Angst, gradual romance, fluff, non-linear timeline
Also on AO3
Previous: Part 1 / Part 2a / Part 2b
A Comforting Presence
III. Bruce
Before:
It’s just a trip to the store. He’s gone before to the bargain shop that Natasha mentioned, to pick up books and furniture. He can do this; he can go into a mall. It’s an extremely tall (were buildings this tall in his day?) and towering mall, but it is just a normal place to buy different clothes and other things (Tony wasn’t very specific in his offhand remarks.)
Steve takes a deep breath, adjusts the baseball cap on his head and steps through the doors.
There are people, everywhere and he hasn’t realized just how many can fit into a stretch of hallway that is two bedrooms long, just how stifling it is to move through the crowds, enter a mall alone. Steve can’t take a step forward without feeling as if he is squished into a small space (again), unable to get out (never mind how easy it is to get lost in the maze of little stores with staggering prices.)
He takes in another quick breath. There never used to be so many people around (or maybe there had been, but he’d been too busy killing other soldiers, humans, in the war to notice.) He doesn’t remember.
When he blinks again, he can see the signs and advertisements in their flashy lettering, screaming out different deals and prices. There are twenty percent off sales, buy one get one free deals and limited edition banners streamed in the windows with mannequins wearing barely any cloth at all. Steve tries to leave, but walks into another store by accident, this one selling shoes of all sizes including some impractical ones with bottoms larger than two inches. He wonders how anyone could possibly walk in them without falling over.
Then Steve stumbles out, wanting to sit down somewhere, when he is shoved against a young couple (apologizing again and hoping he didn’t hurt them by accident) and almost knocked into a tree. (Why is there a tree in the middle of a building anyways? Is it a real one? Steve can’t understand why they wouldn’t just put in a real tree instead.)
He sees white, (horrible) white clouding his vision, blotting out the scenery and the people in frayed dabs of paintbrush. And then he is numb, trying to get to the nearest exit as soon as possible, it should be behind him, but he can’t see it anywhere and-
“-Rogers, Captain Rogers, are you alright...?”
Steve jerks up when someone’s hand touches his arm, he nearly goes for a punch but stops when he catches sight of the familiar face.
“Doctor Banner?” Steve breathes out, the tension in his joints lessening but a little.
The scientist looks well if not still as wary and guarded as he had when they first met. He is clean, his chin showing signs of a clean shave and wearing his dress shirt and suit like a wall against the outside world. Though he seems apprehensive of being in such a populated area (which relieves Steve, because at least he’s not the only one uncomfortable with so many people) his eyes are kind.
“You alright, captain?”
“Yeah,” Steve swallows, forcing his shoulders to relax. “Just fine. Just... out doing some errands. I... it’s really good to see you.”
Banner’s brow is lifted up, as if he is surprised by the omission. The doctor puts his other hand in his coat pocket. “Oh,” He says, pausing for a moment before a small smile makes its way to his face. “It’s good to see you too, Captain Rogers.” He frowns again, “Are you sure that you’re alright?”
“Just call me Steve, Doctor Banner, and I’m fine,” he insists but he thinks that his hands are still trembling, only slightly.
His teammate seems to notice, but thankfully, doesn’t draw attention to Steve’s nervous gestures or how pale that he feels at the moment.
“Bruce,” Banner says.
Steve looks up at him in confusion.
Banner grins, “If we’re going to be on first name basis, then you should return the favour.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble...” But the idea of braving this shopping center alone is becoming less and less appealing. He feels pathetic and does not let it show on his face, opting for an easygoing manner.
“Nonsense. I was just going for a stroll anyways when I saw you go in here. Needed to take a bit of a breather away from Stark Towers, that place is a bit... Well,” He removes his hand from Steve’s elbow, “if you don’t mind the company...”
“No, no, of course, that would be swell. You’re great company.” And he means it. Already, he feels better now that there is someone here that he knows. The mall is more bearable and he doesn’t have to close his eyes to count his breaths, much as he used to when he had asthma attacks, his mother no longer there to count with him. “Could use someone to lead the way to a good clothing store. I already feel lost.”
Bruce studies him for a moment, like Steve is one of his experiments, a puzzle to be laid out and solved, before he tilts his head to the right, “There’s one down the street, with more sensible tastes than the flashy things on display.”
They walk side to side, Steve asking what the doctor has been up to and how things are living in one of Tony’s many rooms. Their conversation is comfortable and Steve thinks that Bruce is a bit more open and prone to quiet laughter, despite the tense edges lingering in his posture. At least he smiles more easily and with less guarded eyes.
And if Steve notices how Bruce keeps leading them to quieter areas of the city, cafes with soothing music in the background and stores that have only one or two customers at a time, he doesn’t mention it.
-
Now:
For several moments, Steve just stares at his phone, half expecting it to buzz again with another text message, anything to tell him that the phone call hadn’t happened. It doesn’t and when Steve glances at the cloudy sky, the grey reflected in the far off waters that meet the edges of the city, he wonders if Iron Man will fly in and burst through his windows. But Tony won’t risk that, he’s too clever to risk outing to S.H.I.E.L.D. that they know Coulson is not dead. He’ll come by car.
Staring down at the pavement below, the yellow lines painted to separate parked cars (and his bike), Steve watches for any vehicle that might belong to the genius. The height is dizzying as always (he sees the glaciers dotted on the dark sea below as he flies the plane down, down, down, preparing for death) and sometimes, in the night, when all the memories rush back, he has to force himself to stay away from the windows, to paint instead of being tempted to test the fall against the serum.
Steve doesn’t know how long he spends staring down from the balcony (wondering, once more, why he is still here) but when he sees a long black car pull up by the foot of the apartment, he knows that Tony is here with Bruce.
The small figures of Tony and Bruce emerge from the car. Tony appears agitated, storming to the entrance while Bruce has his hands up, as if to calm the other man (or himself.) They don’t look up to see Steve there.
He’s... well, he’s numb as he opens the door and walks back from the balcony into the dining area. Steve isn’t sure what the expression on his face must look like but it must be bad for Natasha and Clint to drop their utensils, up on their feet as if the world is in danger again. They start towards him but Steve just shakes his head. He swallows and finds a chair before his knee buckles in and he says, “Tony’s bringing Bruce over. They’re coming up.”
“...What did Stark say to you?” Clint asks in a low voice.
Natasha’s glower speaks for itself.
Steve looks at his untouched plate. There are two orange slices and an extra egg that weren’t there before, probably added discretely by Clint. He can’t think of eating right now, guilt has consumed what little appetite he has in the mornings.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Just... I don’t think he’s very happy that we’ve kept this a secret from him.”
“Well that’s nonsense,” Clint scowls. “We couldn’t tell him until it was safe to. He’s unpredictable, we couldn’t risk it and I didn’t want him to know yet, Phil’s my-”
“Clint-” Natasha frowns, “I don’t think...”
The doors are blasted open with an explosive blast and Steve jumps to cover the two assassins with his body. He sees blue light rushing from the smoke and smashing a hole through the center window, shattering it and sending glass shards dancing on the ground and some embedded into the murals on the walls. Steve sneaks a peek over his arms, which he had thrown up to cover his face.
Tony stands at the broken door (now in splinters, what’s left of it hanging loosely by its hinges like a limp rag doll), wearing one of the Iron Man arm pieces around his hand like a glove. His fingers are outstretched, the light from the palm dying down. His hair is dishevelled and it’s clear from the untucked dress shirt and striped pyjama bottoms that he has just rushed here.
“Well then,” He can hear the venom in Tony’s voice, “I hope that was a good wake up call for you all. So where is he?”
Clint, who has one of his hidden pocket knives in his hand, an automatic response to the previous blast, lowers it and hisses, “What the fuck, Stark! What if you had killed one of us?”
“Yes,” Natasha steps forward, putting away her own concealed blade, eyes flickering to Steve who doesn’t know how to make the hollow feeling in his chest go away. “You also broke Steve’s door and window,” she says with an undercurrent of a promise to break into Tony Stark’s tower to break his nose for that.
“Oh, you’re here too? Another one invited into the club before me, wonderful,” Tony remarks, “and, no, Barton, I wouldn’t have. I scanned the area first; clearly you weren’t in the living room. I’ll pay for the door and window later. Now where is he?”
Bruce runs in at that moment, taking in the scene of obvious destruction with a strained sigh. Like Tony, he also appears disheveled but seems to have had time to put on his usual dress pants and collared shirt. He carries a plush leather bag in his hand, one with shiny golden handles.
The scientist takes a deep breath before he lets himself glance up at Natasha, Clint and Steve, “Sorry. I tried to stop him.”
Steve draws out a long breath, trying not to hurt at the fact that Tony isn’t looking at him, only glaring at Clint, “Hi Bruce.”
He receives a small smile in turn and it makes the situation, not better per say, but more bearable.
“Where is he?” Tony snaps. “And stop making me fucking repeat myself.”
“Who are you talking about?” Clint snarls.
“You know who I mean, Barton, don’t play the idiot. Where’s Phil? Or is this really just a fucked up prank of some kind that you three decided to play in your spare time? Because believe me it’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke,” Steve speaks quietly for the first time since Tony arrived. His words have a rasp to them and Tony still isn’t looking at him. He bites his lip and steps forward, his bare feet stepping on bits of glass. He feels the sharp edges digging into his skin but ignores it, the wounds will heal later. “He’s in the guest room and I really think that Bruce should take a look at him...”
Tony says nothing, only glowers at Clint once more before storming into the hall, while Bruce studies the rest of them for a while longer before following him. Steve and Clint are footsteps behind them, desperate to hear the doctor’s diagnosis. Natasha slips silently in the room, hovering protectively by them both.
When Steve enters the bedroom with Clint and Natasha he sees Tony standing as still as the former haunting trees he had erased from the mural a day or two ago. Tony’s mouth is in a tight line, his face completely pale and Steve flashes back to that moment when they found out that Coulson was dead (Is this the first time you lost a soldier?) and how telling the cold despair was in Tony’s eyes, so different from the bully he had once thought him to be.
Tony leans down, a hand outstretched to touch one of the bright sun patterned and orange sheets protecting Coulson. The (not dead) agent’s chest is slowly heaving up and down in slow (miraculous) breaths. The sound is soothing to the ear, more than the sweetest music and maybe even Clint’s soft lullabies on the cello. The added steady beats from the heart monitor create the most breathtaking sound.
“...He’s alive...” Tony whispers. “He’s really alive.”
His posture slumps and he looks like he will topple over if anyone touches him. Steve feels the pang in his chest again and it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.
“...Tony...” He moves towards him.
But the billionaire jerks away from him and he feels like he’s been burned. Steve lowers his hand and Natasha steps between him and Tony, glowering at the genius from the corner of her eyes. Clint hovers by Steve’s right for a moment before he goes to stand by Coulson, trailing a gentle hand on the comatose agent’s cheek.
Bruce is kneeling on the other side of the mattress, a stethoscope already pulled from his bag as well as something, Natasha whispers to Steve, which will measure his blood pressure. All four occupants watch greedily as Bruce calmly proceeds with his check-up, muttering to himself and writing things down in a notepad not much larger than his own hand.
Steve admires the doctor for his self-control and steady hands. He thinks that if he were in Bruce’s place, where every test meant the difference between a correct diagnosis and the wrong one that his hands would be shaking. But Bruce has a serene aura that Steve has always envied and by the time he has performed the tests four times over, his brow furrowing more and more.
Finally, Bruce stands up and tells them with a perplexed frown that Coulson is in perfect health. “There is nothing irregular about his heart beat, pulse, temperature... nothing. I’ll need some blood and urine samples to make a more in depth conclusion but so far... it’s as if he’s just sleeping.”
“Impossible,” Tony speaks up, the angry quality returning to his voice. “Your tests must be wrong. Do them again.”
“I did,” Bruce grits his teeth, a dangerous tension building in his stance. Beside him, Steve can see that Natasha has her blade ready just in case while Clint discretely grabs at the bow and arrows leaning against the drawer.
“Look,” Steve tries to intervene, never imagining that he would have to placate tension between Tony and Bruce of all people, “let’s try to be logical about this-”
“Logical?” Tony laughs, still refusing to meet his eyes, “Logical? There’s nothing logical about finding out that one of the sorry bastards you can’t stand has just come back from the dead, and what’s more, your teammates don’t deem it necessary to tell you about it until they’ve already rescued him from the hospital without you. Great. Just fucking great.”
“Hey,” Clint stands up, seething, “don’t take this out on Steve. It was my decision-”
“Yeah? And what right did you have for making that wonderful choice, hm? Someone appoint you the ringleader for this shit?
“It was my right-”
“No, it wasn’t! You had no right at all; you’re nothing to him, just one of his -”
“I am not nothing to him!” Clint roars and they all fall silent. Clint is breathing heavily, eyes wild. “You should know what I am to Phil, Stark... I’m the cellist.”
Tony’s jaw drops. “You and him...? You two were...?”
Clint gives a taut dip of his head.
“...And no one knew...”
“We were discrete... unlike some people.”
Tony begins to laugh sardonically again, running a hand through his hair, “Of course, just more fucking secrets that the team couldn’t be bothered to tell me. You know what? Fuck this. I’m leaving, I’m going to give Fury a piece of my mind but I’m not dealing with this shit anymore, fuck all of you. Come on, Bruce.”
The doctor frowns, “I need to do those blood tests, Tony-”
“Fine, go do that. I’ll be raining hell on Fury, now a final ‘fuck you’ to all other company,” Tony bows mockingly before striding out into the hall.
“No, Tony, wait!” Steve goes after him, “You can’t confront Fury about this-”
Tony turns on him, finally gazing directly at him but his eyes are accusing, full of sharp anger and contempt, “And why the hell not? He started all this, Rogers, he needs to answer to the consequences. I’ll teach him to pull the wool over our eyes-”
“No, this is why Clint didn’t want to tell you. He didn’t want you to act recklessly, to create more attention and draw it towards Coulson; it was for the good of the team...! Tony, god, I wanted to... I...” He tries to say, but the wounded look in the billionaire’s deep eyes stops all coherencies.
“So... that’s the reason...?” Tony says quietly, and it is worse than his shouts. “Tony Stark can’t be trusted not to blow things up, to ruin everything and for the greater good you decided not to tell me.”
“No! Tony, that’s not it, just shut up and listen-”
“How about you shut up, captain?” Tony is snarling. “You don’t know anything about me. In fact, you know nothing about this world at all. You walk around pretending that you understand the way the world works now when really you’re just Fury’s little mascot for S.H.I.E.L.D., obedient to the core, always sacrificing other people’s lives and feelings for the greater good. But you’re useless, a dead man who just shuts himself up in another prison, painting childish doodles of a dead century all over his walls,” he points to Brooklyn peering back from the living room mural, “when it’s gone and it’s never coming back!”
Someone gasps and Steve isn’t sure if it is him or not, if it’s echoing down the hall from the occupants listening in. He’s not sure what sounds he is making, if he is even breathing or not. He can’t speak, can’t think and Tony-Tony’s face is pale, his eyes wide. His mouth is open, as if he is going to add more hateful words over the yelling but then his face darkens and he turns away towards the door.
Steve can’t let him leave, not yet.
“Tony... wait!” But that won’t work, he won’t listen, why would Tony listen to Steve of all people, when he hates him? “...Please...” He adds.
The billionaire actually pauses in the doorway and Steve has no strength to go after him. He feels drained and he hates it. “Don’t confront Fury. Please... if not for me, then at least for Coulson’s sake...”
At first, Tony does not reply, instead stepping out entirely, shoving the splinters on the welcome mat away with his feet. Steve thinks then with sickening dread that he will have to convince Tony to see reason but doesn’t know how. Why would anything he says make a difference when Tony is right? He’s a (dead man) relic of the past and his opinions are obsolete.
But then he hears the faint, “I won’t tell Fury,” echoing into the empty space and all he can do is lean back against the wall, his arm brought up to cover his face while the other is limp beside him.
-
He isn’t sure how long he stays there, until he finally notices Natasha standing in front of him, arms crossed. She looks at him with steady eyes, anger burning there, anger that isn’t directed at him (but what was heard in the entire flat) but makes him apprehensive nonetheless. He doesn’t like it when people see him as anything less than composed; it makes him feel exposed (unworthy.)
Steve drops his gaze.
“He shouldn’t have said that to you,” Natasha says calmly, though disapproval is trembling beneath it.
“We shouldn’t have kept this a secret, not from him. We should have told him.” I should have told him, he does not say.
“Bullshit,” says Clint, whom Steve has not spotted beside him, shoulder to shoulder, practically touching. The archer’s fists are clenched and shaking. “He still shouldn’t have said that to you. It wasn’t your fault. I asked you not to say anything. Let me go give him a piece of my mind...!”
“No!” Steve moves to grab Clint’s arm but ends up slipping backwards, head crashing against the walls with painful resonance.
“Steve!”
Natasha and Clint are both at his sides, supporting his elbows.
“I’m... fine,” Steve murmurs quickly, despite the dizzy sensation he feels. Dots of black and colour decorate his vision, blotting out the hallway, the mural of red poppies and they won’t stop spinning.
“Bullshit,” Clint swears again, “geez, Steve, why didn’t you tell anyone that your feet are bleeding? There’s glass all over the floor, you should have mentioned something, that you didn’t wear any shoes, anything!”
“I heal quickly,” he replies as normally as he can manage. It comes out as a whisper.
“Get him to the couch,” Natasha tells Clint, who is cursing under his breath in such creative ways that Steve thinks that even the Howling Commandos would have been impressed.
“No, I’m fine,” Steve protests as the two assassins haul him to his feet, “It’ll heal.”
“Yeah,” Clint replies drily, “with the pieces of glass still stuck in your feet. It’ll heal perfectly. Stark and I are going to have words.”
“There’ll be no need,” Natasha remarks coolly, “if I get to him first.”
Alarm snaps Steve out of his dizzy spell for just a few moments, “No, Natasha, Clint, you can’t-it wasn’t his fault, it was mine-”
“Wasn’t whose fault?” Bruce asks, walking into the living room holding several vials of blood samples and his gab. His curious gaze takes in the streaks of fresh crimson on the hardwood floors (a shame, Steve thinks absentmindedly, he hadn’t wanted to paint the floors red) before his face shifts into something eerily blank, the twisted tilt of his lips the only hint of his suppressed rage.
Clint and Natasha both tense, with the Black Widow moving in front of Steve protectively and Clint taking the job of leading Steve to the couch. The archer grips Steve’s back tightly.
Natasha’s arms are out, as if to placate a wild beast. “Banner-” she says cautiously.
Bruce brushes past her, takes hold of Steve by the shoulders (“Hey!” Clint glares, while trying to tug him back but stops at Bruce’s darker glower) and sits the super soldier down against the soft velvet seat. His jaw is clenched tight as he looks down at Steve’s feet. “God damn it,” He says and Steve doesn’t think he is referring only to the cuts.
With stiff and jolted movements, Bruce takes out a pair of tweezers and begins to meticulously pick out the shards dug deep into Steve’s flesh. It hurts very much, like metal arms are probing and tearing off the layers of skin around the wounds of his heart that he has tried to keep hidden and closed, a wound that Tony could see and rip open in one fell swoop.
Steve feels numb from the shock of Tony’s words, so numb that it almost cancels out the pain. He barely winces. Natasha and Clint are standing on both sides of the couch respectively, like stone soldiers guarding the gate to an abandoned castle. But he barely perceives them, only hears the words (the sickening truth) echoing over and over in his mind.
(...you’re useless; a dead man... painting childish doodles of a dead century... when it’s gone and it’s never coming back...)
“I should have told him,” Steve repeats again, and he’s surprised when his voice comes out as raspy and his eyes feel hot with welling liquid. He closes them and tries not to think.
His temporary house guests are already hissing, swearing and trying to come to his emotional aid but it’s Bruce’s quiet (and barely suppressed ire) that makes them all pause.
“No, Steve. Whatever hurt he was feeling today because of this situation doesn’t justify what he said. It was wrong,” Bruce yanks out another jagged piece of glass. “He’s been... temperamental lately. Things aren’t going well with him and Pepper, and then there’s me.”
That catches Steve’s attention.
“What do you mean?”
“Yeah, I was under the impression that you and Stark have been getting along like long lost friends,” Clint raises an eyebrow.
Bruce shrugs in a self-deprecating way, “We work well together and he’s a great friend but I want to go back to my work in India... and I don’t think Tony is pleased with that.”
He leaves the explanation there but Steve senses that there is more to it, things that Bruce chooses not to say. Quietly, Steve nudges Bruce’s knees imploringly. He doesn’t know if Bruce will talk to him, but he would like to offer. The doctor meets his eyes and smiles silently. He will tell Steve later. Steve nods slightly in agreement.
“Anyways,” Bruce continues, “He’s also been frustrated with other things... I’m not sure what. But I think someone is stealing Stark tech again, he’s been working late hours. No one can get him to sleep or eat. It’s pretty tense back at the tower.”
Steve feels the guilt well up in his chest, threatening to spill out of him. “Oh god... and I just made it all worse with this news.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” Bruce tells him sharply. “Tony’s just... emotionally unstable right now. He snaps at everyone lately. But I can tell you now that he regrets what he said, or at least he will if I have anything to do with it.”
“No, no... It’s fine-”
“I swear to god, if you keep saying that, I’m going to get my arrows out and shoot something, maybe more Stark robots-”
“-I’m not mad at all,” just upset and numb, “I just, I can’t believe I didn’t know about this. I wish I could have done something to help him. I feel really”-useless-“awful.”
“Stark doesn’t need help,” Clint mutters to which Natasha offers him a threatening look.
“Right,” Bruce grumbles, “could you both step out for a moment, somewhere? Anywhere?”
The assassins frown at him. It’s clear that they don’t intend to leave Steve alone with anyone they aren’t comfortable with and Steve can see Bruce trying not to tense in offense. Steve feels indignation on the doctor’s behalf and tells his house guests for Bruce’s sake that he is going to be perfectly alright in the doctor’s presence.
“I trust him,” Steve says, studying Natasha and Clint carefully. “He’s saved a lot of lives, remember?” And he isn’t just referring to Bruce’s medical practise or his research but to the other guy.
Flickers of guilt and regret flash through both of their expressions, in Natasha’s more subtly. In the chaos of the day’s revelations and the lack of sleep, they’ve forgotten that the other Avengers can be trusted too. Though he supposes that with all they’ve been through in the past few days, that it would be natural for them to be protective of the team leader. Isn’t that what team members do, protect their own?
He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or touched with this revelation.
Clint and Natasha retreat downstairs, to the training area, likely eavesdropping anyways. When Steve turns to look at Bruce, the doctor has that look again, as if Steve is a strange new species that has done something bewildering, beyond any of his scientific hypotheses.
“Thank you,” he says.
Steve frowns, “You know that I trust you, right? It should be a given.”
Bruce laughs in that gentle way of his, “I suppose it should be but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating every time that you show it.”
Calmly, he begins pulling out long strips of bandage to wrap around Steve’s feet.
“Listen, Steve, don’t tell Tony I told you this... but I think you’re wrong. You have helped Tony in all this, whether you know it or not.”
Steve feels his mouth dry. “How do you know?” He asks weakly. “We... we’ve barely...”
“Because the only time he smiles lately,” Bruce tells him slowly, “is when he’s talking about you.”
Steve’s breath hitches and it has nothing to do with how tightly Bruce has begun to wrap the bandages. “That’s impossible,” He says in hushed tones.
“Your choice if you want to believe me,” Bruce holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “But it’s true. And I don’t think you have to worry about him confronting Fury with any warning yet.”
He looks up at Bruce in silent question.
“Well,” replies his friend with his patient smile, “because you asked him not to.”
-
“Did you get all the samples you need?” Steve asks, fiddling in the kitchen for some mugs to make coffee for the doctor. Clint had bought them a coffee maker a few weeks back but Steve has no idea how to use it so he makes the easier instant blend instead. He pours himself some milk and some tea for Natasha.
His guests are sitting at the table, Natasha and Clint on one side and Bruce on the other. Steve limps over with a tray of cups. Clint jumps up to help him, taking the tray and glaring at Steve to sit or else. Steve hastily takes the seat next to Bruce.
“Not the urine samples,” Bruce says between bites of apple crisp. He and Clint appear to be in an eating contest, each taking in more pastries and finishing them in record time. Whether the race is on purpose or not, Steve has no idea. “You’ll need to take care of excrement a couple of times a day as well.”
Clint swallows his dessert and says, “I’ll handle it.”
“It’s best left to a professional,” Bruce replies drily, “but I’ll show you what you have to do. Make sure you’re extremely careful.”
“Is there anything else we can do for him?” Natasha asks, sipping her tea.
“I won’t know till I put the samples in a lab to analyze them. Just give him plenty of fluids and nutrients through the IV. Keep a record of any abnormalities in his blood pressure or heart rate. I’ll come back later this evening to give him a check-up. Regular morning and evening check-ups should be sufficient. I’ll let you know as soon as possible when I have the lab results and what my diagnosis is. If you need any help, Steve has my number.”
“Great, well, I best head off to S.H.I.E.L.D. to see if they have any missions for me,” Steve says lightly. He hopes that Natasha and Clint don’t resent him for remaining with the organization, but it’s the only way he’ll find out when the world’s in danger, when it needs him. He doesn’t have any other contacts like they do (and even then he questions how legal they are.)
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Clint is referring to his foot.
“Yes. It’s healing quickly. I should be fine.”
“Careful of what Fury says,” Natasha warns him. “He may have let you off the hook when he questioned you about Clint... but he knows that you and I train regularly when we can. He’ll be watching like a hawk for any slip-ups when he questions you about my leave. If possible, make your answers as vague as possible. You can’t lie very well.”
“Right,” Steve nods, “I’ll do my best.”
-
He and Bruce accompany each other out of the apartment. They both avoid the elevator and take the stairs. Steve has never been fond of enclosed spaces and being frozen for over seventy years has made his discomfort worse. Bruce, he suspects, avoids them for the sake of the other guy. It would be disastrous for the building if the Hulk were to transform in a little elevator shaft and Steve doesn’t like the idea of the Hulk being trapped in such a crammed space.
“Hey, uh, thanks for tending to my foot,” Steve says gratefully.
“Not a problem,” Bruce grins before his face becomes serious. “But you should be more careful where you step, Steve. Those cuts were pretty deep, even for you.”
He tries not to make his limp obvious, suitably chastised. “Sorry for worrying you.”
They walk out together and Steve heads to his bike. Bruce follows him for a little, since cutting across the parking lot is a short cut to Stark tower.
“Look, uh,” Steve pauses, thinking of how stressed Bruce looks lately, “you know that you can come by anytime you want, if you feel like you need room to breathe and make a decision about India, right?”
Bruce rolls his eyes and elbows Steve gently in the stomach, “Course I do. Take care of yourself, Steve. Don’t get yourself accidentally hurt, alright? And don’t worry about Tony. I’ll try to talk to him... if he’ll listen.” The last part is muttered on his breath but Steve hears it.
He wonders what has happened between Bruce and Tony that has put such a rift between them.
-
When he drives he has to resist the urge to put all the power he can on the gas pedal. His fingers tremble against the handlebars and when Steve feels the wind rush up to his face, flowing under the glass plate guarding his face, he wishes that it would be cold enough to freeze him. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to keep hearing the words echoing in his head over and over. Maybe if he was frozen again, he could stop feeling, stop being.
But then Steve bites his tongue, cursing himself for even considering it.
He’s lucky to be alive, lucky not to be forgotten as an old relic (never dying, never living) forever in the cold. He should be grateful… and he is. God damn it, he is so grateful to be alive.
And yet, the wind kisses his wet eyes, and yet…
(…Bucky is screaming at him, clawing through the ice, a half-frozen corpse, grasping at his arms… The Howling Commandos are skeletons buried in the dirt, pieces of their bones stick up at odd angles and he trips on them as he stumbles through the white… Colonel Phillips shouts in his ears, “Move faster, soldier, what are you lying about for? Run! Run and get those damn Nazis!”… And there’s a shadow up ahead, no, there’s two of them, getting farther and farther…
“Peggy,” His lips bleed from the frostbite, “Peggy, Peggy!”
She doesn’t turn around. But the other shadow does… and it’s his mother, she has him by the wrists, pulling with Bucky, pulling him down into the ice-
“You’re a dead man.”)
He goes only two miles above the speed limit, just to move faster. He still feels guilty afterwards.
Part 3 cont