[Fic] I Can’t Do Anything Now That You’re Gone
Series: I'm Not Half As Good At Anything As I Am When I'm Doing It Next To You
Summary: At first Tony doesn’t think he has heard it right. It can’t be. It’s Steve, come on.“What do you mean, Captain America?” “He’s been shot, sir. On his way to the federal courthouse.”
Words: 3911
Fandom: Marvel
Sub-fandom: Earth-616
Genre: Angst, Drama, Introspective,
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: R
Warnings: Missing Moments, One Shot, Slash
Notes: Fifth (and last - I can't believe I made it) fill for my Stony Bingo card (prompt "hurt/comfort") which is on at cap_ironman on livejournal and dreamwidth (and will be until the end of the month). It's set right after Civil War ends and basically during Captain America: The Death Of The Dream in which Cap gets shot. Had to tinker a bit about him dying during the ambulance ride for obvious narrative purposes but it's explained in the fic anyway. The title comes from Song For Josh by Frank Turner.
My friend Jet also asked me to write something angst with a major character death so I combined the two since we have it in canon thanks to Civil War. This is for him <3
His phone rings once again. It has barely stopped since this morning, and it’s only 11am. This is going to be a hell of a long day.
“Mr. Stark?”
“What now?”
“There’s been a shooting, sir.”
He sighs deeply. He doesn’t have time for this.
“So what? Look who’s available and-“
“It’s Captain America, sir.”
At first Tony doesn’t think he has heard it right. It can’t be. It’s Steve, come on.
“What do you mean, Captain America?”
“He’s been shot, sir. On his way to the federal courthouse.”
Suddenly his ears start ringing. He squeezes his eyes as if to push that noise away, but he knows it’s only in his mind. He takes a deep breath before answering, a desperate attempt to steady his shaky voice.
“Who’s with him?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t told.”
“Do you know where are they taking him?”
“Mercy Hospital, sir.”
He hangs up without even thanking him. His head is aching but is nothing compared to the sting of dull pain he feels in the left part of his chest.
∞
It takes a while, but eventually his brain starts gearing up again whilst a helicopter is flying him to the hospital. With the sniper still at large, possibly ready to strike again, he decides the only smart thing to do is to let the world believe the person who did it… succeeded. He can’t bring himself to say the exact words out loud, even if he really should. Because doing it would mean entertaining, even just as a mere possibility, that idea, and sorry, he’s not doing it, not now, not ever. Steve is Steve, right? He’s America’s one and only super soldier. He’s been around for nearly a century. A stupid and insignificant human mercenary is not going to do much damage now, is it? What a nonsense. Time I get to the hospital he’s gonna be up and wanting to be escorted to the courthouse again. Yeah, that’s what going to happen. He knows it. But he’s going to make sure that Steve is well rested and looked after for at least a couple of days before he lets him out of the doctors’ sight again, no matter how hard Roger will try and protest. That will also give them the chance to catch the perpetrator and make sure they don’t see the light of day ever again. He might even try and push for the death penalty. Sure, Washington doesn’t have it anymore, but hey, special occasions call for special measures, right? That’ll teach all those bastards a lesson, so they’ll think it over before h-
“Sir? We’re here.”
The pilot’s voice sounds so remote to his ears that for a moment he doesn’t understand where it’s coming from; he gives a little pat on her shoulder as a thank you, then steps out of the helicopter and follows the agent greeting him inside, where they’re joined by the hospital’s head physician.
“How bad?” he asks, even if he doesn’t want to hear it, not one bit. Not before he sees him, at least.
“He’s suffered severe damage to his c-“
“In English, thank you.”
They stop in front of Steve’s room, and the doctor steps in front of him, giving a deep and penetrating stare that makes the whole of Tony’s body grow limp in a second, so much so that he has to lean a hand against the wall to stay on his feet.
“The truth, sir?”
“Do you think I’ve got time for anything else?”
“If he was a regular guy, he wouldn’t even have made it to the hospital.”
“But he’s not now, is he?”
“No, but sir, you have to un-“
“Is he conscious?”
“Not right now, we had to sedate him. Sir, if I may…”
“I’m going in. You.” He gestures to the agent who was trying real hard to blend in with the wallpaper, obviously without succeeding. “Make sure this whole floor is free, I don’t want anyone else around, okay? Have I made myself clear?”
“Yessir” the guy replies, giving him an unnecessary military salute for all good measure.
“Hey, you can’t just do t-“ the doctor protests, looking at him as if he was insane. Which he probably is, right now. How could I not be?
“I can, and I’m doing it. If you don’t like it, you can take it up to my superior. He’s the President of the United States.” he replies tersely, and ignoring the expression of disbelief on the other man’s face, he opens the door and gets inside the room, closing the door behind himself and locking it.
There’s a perforating smell of dirt and blood in the air, the light is dimmed and the only sound he hears is the blip of the cardio machine recording Steve’s heart rate. So slow and sporadic that you could think it’s not working at all. Tony takes a deep breath and gets near the bed, his throat growing tighter with each step forward that he takes. The blood from the wounds - how many he’s terrified of actually counting - has irremediably stained the blue and white parts of his uniform, so that now it’s only different shades of red. You’re gonna need a brand new one, Captain. Tony desperately wants to throw up, not only the three cups of coffee he’s drank today so far, but possibly his own soul too, or what there is left of it. Probably not a lot, after all that’s happened recently.
“My god, Steve…” he whines, fighting back some unwanted wetness that has been gathering in his eyes.
There’s a chair by the bed on which he lets himself slide down onto, staying like that for whole minutes, silent and still, unable to do anything else except for staring at Steve. At the fucking mess he himself has contributed to create.
Slowly, as if it had a brain of its own, one of his hands slips gently on the other man’s, leaning on it and crossing their fingers together. Tony looks at them as if he was truly mesmerized at what has just happened, and at the same moment he blinks, letting a couple of tears run down freely against his cheeks. He brings Steve’s hand on his lips to leave a kiss on its back, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm himself down, to at least restore some of his composure. Or trying to.
“C-Careful to not let… Sharon s-see you…” a voice - his voice - says all of a sudden, and Tony has to really keep himself from screaming out loud now. He ventures a look at Steve, trying to smile despite it all but falling short in his attempt. He snuffles then, quick to hide any trace that could spur the rumors that he is indeed, after all, irremediably human. Tony can’t allow that to happen, not today, not in the nearby future. Not when there are so many things to discuss and settle; not when he’s the only one both the public and the government can rely upon. As if.
“Hey old man… You gave everyone quite the scare out there…” he replies, his lips still against Steve’s hand, as if keeping it there would actually help things to get better, his wounds to heal.
“W-Who?”
“Still no clue, but we’ll get them. We always do.”
Steve puts the oxygen mask back on his mouth and closes his eyes, but lets his hand being held by Tony, who seems unable to move from that position. Or to find some meaningful words to say.
And it’s not because he doesn’t know what he would like to say, on the contrary. There are so many damn things he only wishes he could express out loud, but they all seem… wrong somehow. ‘I’m sorry’ would be the first one obviously, because that’s always how you’re supposed to start, right? And don’t get him wrong, he is sorry, of course he is, even if this is not his fault, not really, but the point is, he should have said it earlier, when there was still time to contain the situation. Now, it would sound like something you say just because, and that’s not really how he operates.
Next, he would probably say that he wants to sneak Steve out of the country somehow, because when he got the call earlier today he felt his heart crumble and like the most powerful alarm in the world had just woke him up from some sort of hypnosis, and now both the world and his own life are a mess and the only solution he can think of is making him disappear for a while so that he has time to work everything else out. But Steve would protest and spit some patriotic bullshit out of his mouth, which is not a discussion he’s willing to have right now, not when the other man is in these critical conditions. So that’s another pass.
Then he would probably beg him for forgiveness, which is not the same as apologizing, because while the latter would be professional, the former is… personal. It wouldn’t be Iron Man or the Director of SHIELD going back on his steps; it would be Tony Stark asking Steve Rogers for a second chance, a do-over, a chance of redemption for all the mistakes he’s made regarding them, all of these years. He could probably lead with this, now that he’s thinking about it.
He takes a look around the room to see if there are any cameras recording; it appears to be none, so he’s about to open his mouth and pour his heart out when Steve beats him to it.
“Why… didn’t we s-stop… before it got this… bad, Tony?”
Hearing his name slurred out in such pain hurts his heart more than the truth contained in his other words does. He turns to look at Steve, kissing his hand again, and runs his fingers through his short, blonde hair now sticky on the account of sweat and blood, sighing before answering: “Because at the end of the day, we were both foolish enough to believe the other would come around. And when neither of us did, we were just too damn proud to admit it wasn’t worth it.”
Steve tries to smile, but it’s so tiny and fragile that Tony has to look away: “We are… a couple of i-idiots, you… you know that, right?”
“That’s the understatement of the century, Cap.”
Steve’s smile grows a bit now and it becomes lighter, giving Tony the smallest flicker of hope in his heart; he stands up and heads to the sink nearby, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and letting some cold water on it before going back to his seat. He moves the chair closer to the bed and then carefully and gently starts cleaning up Steve’s face, trying to be as delicate as he possibly can.
“Tony…”
“Shut up and let me do this. I can’t stand looking at you covered in your own blood like this. I’m gonna fire all of the nurses in this dump of a hospital, I swear to god…”
Steve sighs but doesn’t add anything else, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to argue, but also because he seems to enjoy the other man’s dedication, or at least that’s what Tony hopes.
It takes some time - and a couple more of handkerchiefs - but eventually he manages to get all the crusty blood off Steve’s face. He knows it does nothing for the wounds, nevertheless he thinks it makes him more… himself, and maybe that could help him on a psychological level. He has no clue really, but at this point it doesn’t really matter to him. And maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but when Steve talks again, his voice sounds somewhat stronger.
“What… are we gonna do now?”
There it is, the question he has been thinking about nonstop for the past few hours. He knows what his ideal solution would be (“Fancy a holiday, Steve? I’d visit during weekends!”), but alas, that’s not even worth bringing up, he already knows what the reply would be. So he goes for the third down his list, the more practical and - in certain aspects - legal.
“I’ve already contacted the best defense lawyer in the US, he’s studying the case as we speak. You won’t be charged. It’s gonna be a tough and maybe lengthy process, but you’re not going to be in jail for any of it. And eventually, you’ll win.”
“You can’t… know that for sure…” Steve replies, smiling softly nevertheless. Tony’s heart skips a beat.
“Oh believe me, you will.” he says, adding a small wink that was begging him to come out.
Steve shakes his head to himself, and Tony knows in any other occasion he would be protesting, claiming that it’s not fair, that he doesn’t want special treatment or anything of the likes, that he can’t just fluttering his money around to make problems go away.
For sure Steve is about to reply something along those lines as he lifts up the oxygen mask from his mouth and pulls it on the side, but this time is Tony who beats him to it, leaning his lips on his and leaving a small kiss on them, closing his eyes and staying there, unable to let them (or him) go. Much to his surprise, not only Steve doesn’t turn his face away, but he even returns the kiss, one of his hands leaning against Tony’s unshaved cheek.
As his mouth receives a taste of metallic blood and artificial air, Tony’s defenses start to quietly crumble down, and before he knows it he’s crying silent tears that drip on Steve’s face as if they were sharing a secret bond that no words could ever manage to fully describe. They kiss again, and this time when their mouths part Steve is actually smiling in what seems like the first real time in a long while.
“Never thought… I’d see you cry, Shellhead” he whispers, and Tony wants so desperately to laugh it off and tease him and act normally because he knows that’s what Steve needs right now. But he can’t, no matter how much his brain is screaming at him, it’s his heart the one in control at the moment. All he manages is sobbing out loud, turning away as hearing his own grotesque wails, muttering a “For fuck’s sake” under his breath, embarrassed and guilty and ashamed. He stands up and rubs his eyes, swallowing hard, trying to stop. He hates himself.
When he manages to stop, eventually, he sits back down, shaking his head as much to himself as at Steve, not knowing how to follow up on his remark. Once again, the other man is the one breaking the silence, quite remarkable if you think he’s the one fighting for his life.
“Tony?”
“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
But Steve shakes slightly his head and painfully stretches a hand out to catch Tony’s: “Do you still love me?”
Tony blinks, and for the second time today he thinks he hasn’t heard the words right. He didn’t just ask me that, did he? He lifts his gaze on Steve, finding a dead-ass stance in his blue eyes now. He actually did.
“I’ve never stopped…” he mumbles, the simplicity of his words the only way to express such pure feelings. And although is so terrified of hearing the answer, he has to ask the question back: “Do you?”
“I’ve never… stopped.”
They smile at each other, and for a moment it’s like nothing has happened between them and they’re not in a stinky and cold hospital room where one of their lives is hanging by a thread. For a moment they are back at the mansion, sitting next to each other on the sofa in front of the TV, waiting for everyone else to go to sleep so they can cuddle and kiss and make love to forget about fighting criminals and evil masterminds and feel wholesome again. Then Steve starts coughing, his heart rate slightly increases and so does the blip on the monitor, and the moment passes but Tony doesn’t want to let it go, because the reality they live in now sucks and it could even get worse just with a snap of fingers.
He stands up, sits on the edge of the bed and before Steve can say anything to try and stop him he’s lying down next to him with slow and delicate movements, trying not to brush against his wounded body. When he sees the other man lifting up the mask again, he pushes it gently down and shakes his head.
“Not a word. You need to rest, and I don’t want to let you go.”
Steve mouths a ‘thank you’ before closing his eyes, and Tony leaves a kiss on his cheek, grateful for not having to provide further explanation. He wouldn’t have wanted to say that he’s so scared of seeing him slipping away right in front of his eyes that he figured, if he just held him tight, Death wouldn’t manage to steal him away from him. And not because he believes he’s invincible or what - if today proved anything is that nobody really is, at the end of the day - but because don’t they say that love conquers all? Soppy as it is, Tony hopes with everything he’s got that it’s true. The alternative is too terrifying for him to even think about it.
∞
Although it hadn’t been his intention, he ends up falling asleep a few hours after Steve, swiftly dozing off in an unconscious sleepiness, the result of too many nights spent awake since this crisis started. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but it’s the incessant and frantic blip of the monitor that eventually wakes him up, immediately followed by the deep panic that quickly gathers control of his body.
“Steve?” he says tentatively, and when there’s no reply his instincts click in and make him jump out of the bed to hurry to the door. He unlocks it and starts screaming, a desperate howl echoing in the empty hallway: “Help! Someone help!”
The head physician comes running towards him straightaway, and Tony realizes that the machine must be connected to a computer in the doctors’ lounge.
“Did anything happen?”
“I-I don’t know, I… fell asleep” he replies, feeling stupid and useless and guilty whilst his heart is racing way too fast.
“Okay… Stay here” the doctor tells him, hurrying inside.
But Tony has no intention of obeying, so he follows the stream of nurses in the room, standing aside as to not obstruct their maneuvers. Steve, please… You can’t do this to me… I need you to be with me, look what happens when we’re not together. Steve…
There are too many people in the room now, too many noises all around the bed, not enough space. Tony feels like he’s suffocating. He can’t spot Steve anymore under all those white coats and that makes everything ten times worse. Then the heart rate machine grows silent, the voices louder and Tony’s ears start ringing as if someone was dragging their sharp fingernails across a smooth surface. He only manages to hear random words: “Cardiac arrest”, “ECG” and “paddles”, followed by ever increasing numbers shouted in the air. He covers his face to try and filter at least some of the noise out, but with little result; soon enough, his own body goes into safe mode and he just stays there, not able to think or move, for god knows how long.
It’s only when the head physician starts shaking him by his arms that he opens his eyes again, regaining a sense of himself and his surroundings.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did the best I could” the doctor tells him in a low voice of one who has been delivering bad news for far too long. When he looks beyond him Tony sees a procession of nurses silently making their way out of the room. He knows what’s happened, it really doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, but all the same, he needs to ask, he needs to hear it.
“What do you mean, you’re ‘sorry’? What’s going on?”
“Steve Rogers… Captain America is dead, sir.”
“No. That can’t be.” He moves past the doctor and approaches the bed. Steve is still there, his body warm to the touch. “How long have you tried CPR for?”
“More than enough. Five minutes and counting.”
“Do ten, for fuck’s sake! He’s a super soldier, don’t you know that?!”
The doctor gives him a comforting smile followed by an amicable pat on his back: “I’ll give you a moment.”
Tony nods and holds his breath as if he was underwater until the man leaves the room and closes the door behind; the silence explodes between the walls and inside of him, and all he can do is dropping on his knees, shaking as he begins to sob and cry as quietly as he can.
∞
Ten minutes go by before he is eventually able to pull himself together and leave Steve’s side, shambling his feet outside the room, his eyes red and swollen, feeling old and weary. The head physician stops talking to a nurse as soon as he sees him and approaches him, looking at him. Tony doesn’t return his gaze, fixed on the pavement.
“What do we do now, sir?”
“I’ll give instructions to collect… We need…” words just keep escaping him, he doesn’t know how to do this, he doesn’t know if he can do this. This is too much. “He can’t… stay here. I’ll make arrangements. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a plan. In the meantime… four agents will guard the room, nobody in or out except for you. As of now, this whole building is in lockdown. All of the other patients’ visits are suspended for the time being. I hope you understand.”
The doctor nods, and Tony is relieved that he doesn’t have to fight about this. “What about… family? Did he have a partner?”
His partner was there when he died, he thinks, but of course he can’t say it out loud. “I’ll take care of that too.” he sighs, and there’s enough fatigue and anguish in those words for the man in front of him to take his leave.
He had me, and I let him down. We could have talked it out, but we decided to fight instead. All of these years together, and still we let something come between us.
Tony shakes his head and snuffles, having to fight another wave of tears from coming out. There will be no more evenings on the sofa, no more fighting side by side, no more sneaking out in the middle of the night to go sleep in the other’s bed. Steve is gone, and Tony is partially responsible for that, and the guilt is going to eat him alive, he can feel it already.
I was his partner, he was my soulmate and I was his home. But we never told anyone, and now he’s gone, and I’ll just be the guy whom everyone will blame for it.
Steve Rogers is dead, and I think I am too.
Summary: At first Tony doesn’t think he has heard it right. It can’t be. It’s Steve, come on.“What do you mean, Captain America?” “He’s been shot, sir. On his way to the federal courthouse.”
Words: 3911
Fandom: Marvel
Sub-fandom: Earth-616
Genre: Angst, Drama, Introspective,
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: R
Warnings: Missing Moments, One Shot, Slash
Notes: Fifth (and last - I can't believe I made it) fill for my Stony Bingo card (prompt "hurt/comfort") which is on at cap_ironman on livejournal and dreamwidth (and will be until the end of the month). It's set right after Civil War ends and basically during Captain America: The Death Of The Dream in which Cap gets shot. Had to tinker a bit about him dying during the ambulance ride for obvious narrative purposes but it's explained in the fic anyway. The title comes from Song For Josh by Frank Turner.
My friend Jet also asked me to write something angst with a major character death so I combined the two since we have it in canon thanks to Civil War. This is for him <3
His phone rings once again. It has barely stopped since this morning, and it’s only 11am. This is going to be a hell of a long day.
“Mr. Stark?”
“What now?”
“There’s been a shooting, sir.”
He sighs deeply. He doesn’t have time for this.
“So what? Look who’s available and-“
“It’s Captain America, sir.”
At first Tony doesn’t think he has heard it right. It can’t be. It’s Steve, come on.
“What do you mean, Captain America?”
“He’s been shot, sir. On his way to the federal courthouse.”
Suddenly his ears start ringing. He squeezes his eyes as if to push that noise away, but he knows it’s only in his mind. He takes a deep breath before answering, a desperate attempt to steady his shaky voice.
“Who’s with him?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t told.”
“Do you know where are they taking him?”
“Mercy Hospital, sir.”
He hangs up without even thanking him. His head is aching but is nothing compared to the sting of dull pain he feels in the left part of his chest.
∞
It takes a while, but eventually his brain starts gearing up again whilst a helicopter is flying him to the hospital. With the sniper still at large, possibly ready to strike again, he decides the only smart thing to do is to let the world believe the person who did it… succeeded. He can’t bring himself to say the exact words out loud, even if he really should. Because doing it would mean entertaining, even just as a mere possibility, that idea, and sorry, he’s not doing it, not now, not ever. Steve is Steve, right? He’s America’s one and only super soldier. He’s been around for nearly a century. A stupid and insignificant human mercenary is not going to do much damage now, is it? What a nonsense. Time I get to the hospital he’s gonna be up and wanting to be escorted to the courthouse again. Yeah, that’s what going to happen. He knows it. But he’s going to make sure that Steve is well rested and looked after for at least a couple of days before he lets him out of the doctors’ sight again, no matter how hard Roger will try and protest. That will also give them the chance to catch the perpetrator and make sure they don’t see the light of day ever again. He might even try and push for the death penalty. Sure, Washington doesn’t have it anymore, but hey, special occasions call for special measures, right? That’ll teach all those bastards a lesson, so they’ll think it over before h-
“Sir? We’re here.”
The pilot’s voice sounds so remote to his ears that for a moment he doesn’t understand where it’s coming from; he gives a little pat on her shoulder as a thank you, then steps out of the helicopter and follows the agent greeting him inside, where they’re joined by the hospital’s head physician.
“How bad?” he asks, even if he doesn’t want to hear it, not one bit. Not before he sees him, at least.
“He’s suffered severe damage to his c-“
“In English, thank you.”
They stop in front of Steve’s room, and the doctor steps in front of him, giving a deep and penetrating stare that makes the whole of Tony’s body grow limp in a second, so much so that he has to lean a hand against the wall to stay on his feet.
“The truth, sir?”
“Do you think I’ve got time for anything else?”
“If he was a regular guy, he wouldn’t even have made it to the hospital.”
“But he’s not now, is he?”
“No, but sir, you have to un-“
“Is he conscious?”
“Not right now, we had to sedate him. Sir, if I may…”
“I’m going in. You.” He gestures to the agent who was trying real hard to blend in with the wallpaper, obviously without succeeding. “Make sure this whole floor is free, I don’t want anyone else around, okay? Have I made myself clear?”
“Yessir” the guy replies, giving him an unnecessary military salute for all good measure.
“Hey, you can’t just do t-“ the doctor protests, looking at him as if he was insane. Which he probably is, right now. How could I not be?
“I can, and I’m doing it. If you don’t like it, you can take it up to my superior. He’s the President of the United States.” he replies tersely, and ignoring the expression of disbelief on the other man’s face, he opens the door and gets inside the room, closing the door behind himself and locking it.
There’s a perforating smell of dirt and blood in the air, the light is dimmed and the only sound he hears is the blip of the cardio machine recording Steve’s heart rate. So slow and sporadic that you could think it’s not working at all. Tony takes a deep breath and gets near the bed, his throat growing tighter with each step forward that he takes. The blood from the wounds - how many he’s terrified of actually counting - has irremediably stained the blue and white parts of his uniform, so that now it’s only different shades of red. You’re gonna need a brand new one, Captain. Tony desperately wants to throw up, not only the three cups of coffee he’s drank today so far, but possibly his own soul too, or what there is left of it. Probably not a lot, after all that’s happened recently.
“My god, Steve…” he whines, fighting back some unwanted wetness that has been gathering in his eyes.
There’s a chair by the bed on which he lets himself slide down onto, staying like that for whole minutes, silent and still, unable to do anything else except for staring at Steve. At the fucking mess he himself has contributed to create.
Slowly, as if it had a brain of its own, one of his hands slips gently on the other man’s, leaning on it and crossing their fingers together. Tony looks at them as if he was truly mesmerized at what has just happened, and at the same moment he blinks, letting a couple of tears run down freely against his cheeks. He brings Steve’s hand on his lips to leave a kiss on its back, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm himself down, to at least restore some of his composure. Or trying to.
“C-Careful to not let… Sharon s-see you…” a voice - his voice - says all of a sudden, and Tony has to really keep himself from screaming out loud now. He ventures a look at Steve, trying to smile despite it all but falling short in his attempt. He snuffles then, quick to hide any trace that could spur the rumors that he is indeed, after all, irremediably human. Tony can’t allow that to happen, not today, not in the nearby future. Not when there are so many things to discuss and settle; not when he’s the only one both the public and the government can rely upon. As if.
“Hey old man… You gave everyone quite the scare out there…” he replies, his lips still against Steve’s hand, as if keeping it there would actually help things to get better, his wounds to heal.
“W-Who?”
“Still no clue, but we’ll get them. We always do.”
Steve puts the oxygen mask back on his mouth and closes his eyes, but lets his hand being held by Tony, who seems unable to move from that position. Or to find some meaningful words to say.
And it’s not because he doesn’t know what he would like to say, on the contrary. There are so many damn things he only wishes he could express out loud, but they all seem… wrong somehow. ‘I’m sorry’ would be the first one obviously, because that’s always how you’re supposed to start, right? And don’t get him wrong, he is sorry, of course he is, even if this is not his fault, not really, but the point is, he should have said it earlier, when there was still time to contain the situation. Now, it would sound like something you say just because, and that’s not really how he operates.
Next, he would probably say that he wants to sneak Steve out of the country somehow, because when he got the call earlier today he felt his heart crumble and like the most powerful alarm in the world had just woke him up from some sort of hypnosis, and now both the world and his own life are a mess and the only solution he can think of is making him disappear for a while so that he has time to work everything else out. But Steve would protest and spit some patriotic bullshit out of his mouth, which is not a discussion he’s willing to have right now, not when the other man is in these critical conditions. So that’s another pass.
Then he would probably beg him for forgiveness, which is not the same as apologizing, because while the latter would be professional, the former is… personal. It wouldn’t be Iron Man or the Director of SHIELD going back on his steps; it would be Tony Stark asking Steve Rogers for a second chance, a do-over, a chance of redemption for all the mistakes he’s made regarding them, all of these years. He could probably lead with this, now that he’s thinking about it.
He takes a look around the room to see if there are any cameras recording; it appears to be none, so he’s about to open his mouth and pour his heart out when Steve beats him to it.
“Why… didn’t we s-stop… before it got this… bad, Tony?”
Hearing his name slurred out in such pain hurts his heart more than the truth contained in his other words does. He turns to look at Steve, kissing his hand again, and runs his fingers through his short, blonde hair now sticky on the account of sweat and blood, sighing before answering: “Because at the end of the day, we were both foolish enough to believe the other would come around. And when neither of us did, we were just too damn proud to admit it wasn’t worth it.”
Steve tries to smile, but it’s so tiny and fragile that Tony has to look away: “We are… a couple of i-idiots, you… you know that, right?”
“That’s the understatement of the century, Cap.”
Steve’s smile grows a bit now and it becomes lighter, giving Tony the smallest flicker of hope in his heart; he stands up and heads to the sink nearby, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and letting some cold water on it before going back to his seat. He moves the chair closer to the bed and then carefully and gently starts cleaning up Steve’s face, trying to be as delicate as he possibly can.
“Tony…”
“Shut up and let me do this. I can’t stand looking at you covered in your own blood like this. I’m gonna fire all of the nurses in this dump of a hospital, I swear to god…”
Steve sighs but doesn’t add anything else, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to argue, but also because he seems to enjoy the other man’s dedication, or at least that’s what Tony hopes.
It takes some time - and a couple more of handkerchiefs - but eventually he manages to get all the crusty blood off Steve’s face. He knows it does nothing for the wounds, nevertheless he thinks it makes him more… himself, and maybe that could help him on a psychological level. He has no clue really, but at this point it doesn’t really matter to him. And maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but when Steve talks again, his voice sounds somewhat stronger.
“What… are we gonna do now?”
There it is, the question he has been thinking about nonstop for the past few hours. He knows what his ideal solution would be (“Fancy a holiday, Steve? I’d visit during weekends!”), but alas, that’s not even worth bringing up, he already knows what the reply would be. So he goes for the third down his list, the more practical and - in certain aspects - legal.
“I’ve already contacted the best defense lawyer in the US, he’s studying the case as we speak. You won’t be charged. It’s gonna be a tough and maybe lengthy process, but you’re not going to be in jail for any of it. And eventually, you’ll win.”
“You can’t… know that for sure…” Steve replies, smiling softly nevertheless. Tony’s heart skips a beat.
“Oh believe me, you will.” he says, adding a small wink that was begging him to come out.
Steve shakes his head to himself, and Tony knows in any other occasion he would be protesting, claiming that it’s not fair, that he doesn’t want special treatment or anything of the likes, that he can’t just fluttering his money around to make problems go away.
For sure Steve is about to reply something along those lines as he lifts up the oxygen mask from his mouth and pulls it on the side, but this time is Tony who beats him to it, leaning his lips on his and leaving a small kiss on them, closing his eyes and staying there, unable to let them (or him) go. Much to his surprise, not only Steve doesn’t turn his face away, but he even returns the kiss, one of his hands leaning against Tony’s unshaved cheek.
As his mouth receives a taste of metallic blood and artificial air, Tony’s defenses start to quietly crumble down, and before he knows it he’s crying silent tears that drip on Steve’s face as if they were sharing a secret bond that no words could ever manage to fully describe. They kiss again, and this time when their mouths part Steve is actually smiling in what seems like the first real time in a long while.
“Never thought… I’d see you cry, Shellhead” he whispers, and Tony wants so desperately to laugh it off and tease him and act normally because he knows that’s what Steve needs right now. But he can’t, no matter how much his brain is screaming at him, it’s his heart the one in control at the moment. All he manages is sobbing out loud, turning away as hearing his own grotesque wails, muttering a “For fuck’s sake” under his breath, embarrassed and guilty and ashamed. He stands up and rubs his eyes, swallowing hard, trying to stop. He hates himself.
When he manages to stop, eventually, he sits back down, shaking his head as much to himself as at Steve, not knowing how to follow up on his remark. Once again, the other man is the one breaking the silence, quite remarkable if you think he’s the one fighting for his life.
“Tony?”
“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
But Steve shakes slightly his head and painfully stretches a hand out to catch Tony’s: “Do you still love me?”
Tony blinks, and for the second time today he thinks he hasn’t heard the words right. He didn’t just ask me that, did he? He lifts his gaze on Steve, finding a dead-ass stance in his blue eyes now. He actually did.
“I’ve never stopped…” he mumbles, the simplicity of his words the only way to express such pure feelings. And although is so terrified of hearing the answer, he has to ask the question back: “Do you?”
“I’ve never… stopped.”
They smile at each other, and for a moment it’s like nothing has happened between them and they’re not in a stinky and cold hospital room where one of their lives is hanging by a thread. For a moment they are back at the mansion, sitting next to each other on the sofa in front of the TV, waiting for everyone else to go to sleep so they can cuddle and kiss and make love to forget about fighting criminals and evil masterminds and feel wholesome again. Then Steve starts coughing, his heart rate slightly increases and so does the blip on the monitor, and the moment passes but Tony doesn’t want to let it go, because the reality they live in now sucks and it could even get worse just with a snap of fingers.
He stands up, sits on the edge of the bed and before Steve can say anything to try and stop him he’s lying down next to him with slow and delicate movements, trying not to brush against his wounded body. When he sees the other man lifting up the mask again, he pushes it gently down and shakes his head.
“Not a word. You need to rest, and I don’t want to let you go.”
Steve mouths a ‘thank you’ before closing his eyes, and Tony leaves a kiss on his cheek, grateful for not having to provide further explanation. He wouldn’t have wanted to say that he’s so scared of seeing him slipping away right in front of his eyes that he figured, if he just held him tight, Death wouldn’t manage to steal him away from him. And not because he believes he’s invincible or what - if today proved anything is that nobody really is, at the end of the day - but because don’t they say that love conquers all? Soppy as it is, Tony hopes with everything he’s got that it’s true. The alternative is too terrifying for him to even think about it.
∞
Although it hadn’t been his intention, he ends up falling asleep a few hours after Steve, swiftly dozing off in an unconscious sleepiness, the result of too many nights spent awake since this crisis started. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but it’s the incessant and frantic blip of the monitor that eventually wakes him up, immediately followed by the deep panic that quickly gathers control of his body.
“Steve?” he says tentatively, and when there’s no reply his instincts click in and make him jump out of the bed to hurry to the door. He unlocks it and starts screaming, a desperate howl echoing in the empty hallway: “Help! Someone help!”
The head physician comes running towards him straightaway, and Tony realizes that the machine must be connected to a computer in the doctors’ lounge.
“Did anything happen?”
“I-I don’t know, I… fell asleep” he replies, feeling stupid and useless and guilty whilst his heart is racing way too fast.
“Okay… Stay here” the doctor tells him, hurrying inside.
But Tony has no intention of obeying, so he follows the stream of nurses in the room, standing aside as to not obstruct their maneuvers. Steve, please… You can’t do this to me… I need you to be with me, look what happens when we’re not together. Steve…
There are too many people in the room now, too many noises all around the bed, not enough space. Tony feels like he’s suffocating. He can’t spot Steve anymore under all those white coats and that makes everything ten times worse. Then the heart rate machine grows silent, the voices louder and Tony’s ears start ringing as if someone was dragging their sharp fingernails across a smooth surface. He only manages to hear random words: “Cardiac arrest”, “ECG” and “paddles”, followed by ever increasing numbers shouted in the air. He covers his face to try and filter at least some of the noise out, but with little result; soon enough, his own body goes into safe mode and he just stays there, not able to think or move, for god knows how long.
It’s only when the head physician starts shaking him by his arms that he opens his eyes again, regaining a sense of himself and his surroundings.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did the best I could” the doctor tells him in a low voice of one who has been delivering bad news for far too long. When he looks beyond him Tony sees a procession of nurses silently making their way out of the room. He knows what’s happened, it really doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, but all the same, he needs to ask, he needs to hear it.
“What do you mean, you’re ‘sorry’? What’s going on?”
“Steve Rogers… Captain America is dead, sir.”
“No. That can’t be.” He moves past the doctor and approaches the bed. Steve is still there, his body warm to the touch. “How long have you tried CPR for?”
“More than enough. Five minutes and counting.”
“Do ten, for fuck’s sake! He’s a super soldier, don’t you know that?!”
The doctor gives him a comforting smile followed by an amicable pat on his back: “I’ll give you a moment.”
Tony nods and holds his breath as if he was underwater until the man leaves the room and closes the door behind; the silence explodes between the walls and inside of him, and all he can do is dropping on his knees, shaking as he begins to sob and cry as quietly as he can.
∞
Ten minutes go by before he is eventually able to pull himself together and leave Steve’s side, shambling his feet outside the room, his eyes red and swollen, feeling old and weary. The head physician stops talking to a nurse as soon as he sees him and approaches him, looking at him. Tony doesn’t return his gaze, fixed on the pavement.
“What do we do now, sir?”
“I’ll give instructions to collect… We need…” words just keep escaping him, he doesn’t know how to do this, he doesn’t know if he can do this. This is too much. “He can’t… stay here. I’ll make arrangements. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a plan. In the meantime… four agents will guard the room, nobody in or out except for you. As of now, this whole building is in lockdown. All of the other patients’ visits are suspended for the time being. I hope you understand.”
The doctor nods, and Tony is relieved that he doesn’t have to fight about this. “What about… family? Did he have a partner?”
His partner was there when he died, he thinks, but of course he can’t say it out loud. “I’ll take care of that too.” he sighs, and there’s enough fatigue and anguish in those words for the man in front of him to take his leave.
He had me, and I let him down. We could have talked it out, but we decided to fight instead. All of these years together, and still we let something come between us.
Tony shakes his head and snuffles, having to fight another wave of tears from coming out. There will be no more evenings on the sofa, no more fighting side by side, no more sneaking out in the middle of the night to go sleep in the other’s bed. Steve is gone, and Tony is partially responsible for that, and the guilt is going to eat him alive, he can feel it already.
I was his partner, he was my soulmate and I was his home. But we never told anyone, and now he’s gone, and I’ll just be the guy whom everyone will blame for it.
Steve Rogers is dead, and I think I am too.