[Fic] The Sound Of Silence
Summary: After it happened, people had tried to convince him to take up another room, or at least to change things up a bit. But when that's all you have left to try and fill the ever-growing void inside of you, how can you just give it up, listen to your brain talking and not your heart?
Words: 3216
Fandom: Marvel
Sub-fandom: MCU
Genre: Angst, Dramatic, Introspective
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: R
Warnings: Missing Moments, One Shot, Slash, What If?
Notes: Because Chris Evans crying in the A4 trailer broke my heart. The title comes from the amazing song The Sound Of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel.
Eyes fixed on the time projection on the ceiling, he’s been watching minutes slowly going from 00 to 59, only to start back again, for the last five hours that he’s spent in bed, trying to get some sleep - although after the first sixty minutes went by, he knew that it was never going to arrive, not tonight anyway. He had briefly toyed with the idea of hitting the gym around 3am, just to do something and maybe get rid of the restlessness that has been crippling him all day, but eventually decided against it, because didn’t want to risk anyone spotting him in there, awake, punching bags, imagining they were someone else. The team is already worried about him as it is - has been for over a year now, although it’s gone by in the blink of an eye, seasons changing without him realizing it, his senses and his perception of time completely dulled out by the pain, so much pain - no reason to be even more of a burden that he already feels - and is. So he’s stayed in bed, staring at the time ticking away, total silence in the room - perhaps the most noticeable, painful detail he just can’t ignore - ironically so loud, impossible to shut out of his head. Because there never used to be so much quietness in here, even when they were both asleep there was the breathing of the other - sometimes relaxed, sometimes troubled, but there nevertheless - and when they didn’t… well, Tony rarely shut up, except maybe for when he was between his thighs, and in that case it was his muffled moans to fill the air.
After it happened, people had tried to convince him to take up another room - the compound has plenty of free ones, just another reminder of what could have been if only the mission in Laos had never taken place, or had gone in a different direction, the right one - or even just to change it up a little, but he had always refused, albeit he knew for a fact that wasn’t such a wise decision. But when a room is all you have left to try and fill the ever-growing void inside of you, how can you just give it up, listen to your brain talking and not your heart? Twelve months later, and he still doesn’t have an answer to this question, nor does he think he ever will. So not only he’s stayed in the same room, he hasn’t even touched anything at all: with the noticeable exception of the sheets - still the identical set that he washes once in a fortnight or so - every single thing has stayed exactly as it was before they left for space, aka the last time Tony was here in this room, the last time they were together. They had made love that night - it’d been slow and silent and sweet, one’s eyes fixed in the other’s at every second, impossible to look away, and for some reason it had felt like the first, except their real first had been all the opposite, rough and hungry because it had come after months of mutual pining, the two idiots they were refusing to believe what everyone else had already picked up on. In the aftermath of their love he had taken Tony into his arms, held him tight against his body sticky with sweat and the other’s sperm, kissed him softly, for a long time, and Tony instantly knew what that meant but didn’t have the guts to say it out loud, so just snuggled against him and closed his eyes, feeling calm and scared all at once. “I love you,” he had whispered at one point, just when he was about to fall asleep, and, although he’d thought he was already out, Tony had said it back without letting a second go by, those three simple words making his heart skipping a few beats not because it was the first time or unusual, but because they felt eternal right in that moment.
If he had known what would happen after that night, he wouldn’t have showered, to hold on to Tony’s odor a little longer, even if it’d soon be vanished because of all the sweat and blood that his body would leak out within twenty-four hours. In hindsight, he’s come to realize how stupid of him was to wash himself that morning - a habit more than a rational thought, that’s always been the first thing he does when he wakes up - especially given the fact that the possibility of Tony dying had been a constant thought in the back of his head since the whole Thanos scenario started, and this decision still haunts him on a daily basis even now, a year later. When they eventually returned to Earth, and he’d got back to their room, he’d lied in bed for a good thirty-six hours straight, trying so desperately to recapture Tony’s smell within those four walls, inside their closet, between the sheets. It was there, barely but present still, so he’d sworn to himself to not step outside until he couldn’t sniff it anymore - but that happened faster than he was prepared to, and it just left him feeling even emptier than before, because it was like now Tony had really gone forever. That’s when he decided he would not touch a single thing in that bedroom anymore, and he’s kept his promise so far.
When 7:00am finally come around, he takes a deep breath and sits up, shuffling his legs off the bed and staying there for a minute trying to gather the energy to go through the day. He remembers Tony suggesting yoga once when he had told him that sometimes he just couldn’t switch his brain off after a particularly busy day, and he had laughed at the thought of putting himself in such weird positions, afraid he was going to rip all of his muscles apart. So Tony had thrown in an incentive: they could do it together and he would get a kiss for every position he managed to hold for more than a few seconds, and that had been enough to make him say yes. Not that was that difficult for Tony to do that, sometimes all it took was a smile at the right moment to have him consider an alternative to his usual way of thinking. The brunet had that power over him, always had, but once they started being together he just ended up falling in love with it, such a nice change from always having to be the one to take decisions.
He shakes his head, shakes those thoughts out of his mind, he really doesn’t need them right now, not if he wants to get through… well, not today, but even just the next two hours, until his appointment is scheduled. Planning for more than a short amount of time is not a luxury he has anymore, his brain just won’t allow it. Blame it on the love of your life dying in your arms in freaking space. He really doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get over that, especially because his thoughts always seem to circle back to him. It’s a never-ending game of self-blame, full of what-ifs: Sokovia, and Laos, and Berlin, and Siberia and so on. He should stop - has tried to stop - but he just can’t, and has started to take it as an indication that is, in fact, the truth, and he’s only right in pointing the finger to himself.
The sound of the alarm - yet another thing that he hasn’t changed, because Tony had been the one setting it, at 7:05, such a peculiar time he had always thought, until he was explained that would give ten minutes for just the two of them, before the daily chaos started, and from that day onwards he had loved the reminder - brings him back to the present, making him finally stand up and getting inside the shower. He lets water fall heavily on his head, mechanical movements reach out for the shampoo first and the liquid soap after as he washes his body, his mind elsewhere, because the one stain he wishes to erase is impossible to scrub away. Ten minutes later is finally out of the bedroom, wearing a black wool jacket on a black shirt and black trousers, such an unusual look on him and he hates it with a passion, but couldn’t help himself while he was choosing his clothes, Tony’s voice in the back of his mind telling him that sometimes social costumes are there for a reason, specifically in an occasion as today. He drags his feet to the kitchen and is surprised to not find anyone in there, although he soon realizes that it’s not because everyone is still asleep, but because they know better that to stumble on his path today, especially before his appointment. There will be plenty of time after to offer a consolation hug, or to try and make him laugh (when was the last time he did that? He can’t remember, but he’s almost certain Tony had done that too). He’s not hungry - he rarely is nowadays - so he puts on the espresso machine and after it’s warmed up, he inserts two capsules into it and adds just a splash of cold milk in a small glass, stirs everything together and swallows it down at once. He hates it, it’s so bitter he almost feels like he’s going to be sick, but that’s the way Tony used to take his coffee in the morning, so now he does too, as if carrying on these little routines helped to ease the pain (it doesn’t, and he knows this, but still can’t bring himself to stop it).
‘I’ve gone ahead. See you there’ he scribbles on the whiteboard on the fridge, and then he’s on his way out.
He’s arrived twenty minutes earlier, but that’s nothing new, it happens almost every morning, to the point that the keeper has made a joke out of it, teasing him gently the few times he hadn’t found him there already when the old man had started his shift.
“Morning, Juan,” he greets him as he sees him getting out of his car and walking over to the gate, keys jingling on his chain, a sound that echoes harshly against the still silence of their surroundings.
“Buenos dias, senor. I thought today was gonna beat you, but I was mistaken,” the old man replies, making a hint of salute as passing him by, something that he started once he told him he’s an Army man.
“You should know snow does nothing to me…”
“But it should,” Juan remarks, a sad smile on his face now as he unlocks the gate, pushes it wide open - it’s 9 sharp. “That reminds me, we’re closing an hour earlier today, senor. Mayor’s orders. Seems a storm is coming.”
“Alright, thanks for the heads-up,” he nods, lifting a hand to say bye as he walks away from him.
Although the news should change his schedule, it really doesn’t, not just because today is marked as an off day, but because even under normal circumstances nothing could ever get in the way of his coming here, first thing in the morning and last thing at dawn. It’s what takes the precedence, no matter what. Aliens? Super-villains? Terrorists? For an hour before 10am and after 4pm they’re someone else’s problem, a written condition of him taking up his role again. Nobody was crazy enough to contest that.
He walks with quick steps, one hand buried deep inside the pocket of his jacket clenched in a fist, the other holding the flowers he picked up on his way here, just as he does every single morning. As always when he’s just a few feet away, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for ten seconds, and then walks the last five steps that separate him from the red and yellow statue. He brushes the snow off the picture before kissing it, lips almost freezing instantly at the contact with the glacial glass that contains it; he blinks to get rid of the burning feeling and it’s only now that he realizes his eyes are already wet. Damn, he curses himself, because normally he manages to hold it together for a few minutes at least, but alas, today is not a normal day. He puts the flowers down - the whole area around the monument is submerged with them (so much so that it’s always half a mission for him to make his way through without stumping on any), but there’s a vase just on the right side of the picture, and that’s his designated spot, nobody ever dares to touch it - looks up at the statue and sighs deeply, the chilly breeze lashing his face with a physical pain that is a welcomed change from the constant, invisible one in his heart. He sits down on the step, lies against the icy stone, and stays silent for a few seconds longer before eventually finding the guts to talk.
“Good morning, love. I hope you’re okay today. I’m the same as always, but I’m trying, you know that. I know you do, because you know me. I ended up watching a movie with Sam last night - I didn’t want to, but he stared at me for so long that I just said yes so he would stop. It was a comedy from the Thirties - I actually remember watching it in the theater when it came out - and it was so funny but I still couldn’t laugh, no matter how hard I tried to. It just… My eyes become watery on their own, it’s like I have no control over them nowadays. That was nice anyway, a few other people ended up watching it with us, which felt like the old times except, well…” his voice trails off, and he snuffles hard, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose before he can continue. “Are you having a party of some sort today then? I think it would be amazing if that was the case, and if it’s not a tradition yet, you should try and create it, if someone can re-write the laws of the afterlife is you, baby. After all, anniversaries are a thing on Earth, why shouldn’t they be over there too? It just seems apt to me. We… There’s gonna be a vigil here in like, ten minutes, I tried telling them that’s not what you would have wanted but I was in a minority, so they went ahead and organized it all the same. There’s gonna be a bunch of people you can’t stand so, I don’t know, maybe look away? Or focus on the ones who really care about you, because they all are gonna be here.”
He stops now, looks down and hides his face behind his arm, the tears that are crossing his cheeks seem to freeze immediately as they come out, burning against his skin like if they were made of fire, and maybe in a way they really are, at least that would explain why exactly they hurt so fucking much. It’s been a year already, and sometimes he can’t believe it because it feels just like yesterday that Tony was alive and smirking at him, daring to kiss him in front of the team if he was indeed as brave as he was always saying he was, both of them tired of keeping a secret that everybody else around them knew about anyway. And so he had, and people had clapped, and Tony had kept him there on his lips and whispered how much he loved him, and in that moment he had believed it really was worth it. But then other times he would give himself panic attacks when he thought he couldn’t remember Tony’s voice, or the sound of his laughter, or the way he’d caught the brunet staring at him for no particular reason, how he’d smile and look away, pretending to be embarrassed to have been caught whereas both of them knew he couldn’t care less. And maybe it’s this, more than anything else, what has been proving to be the most difficult part of it all, because it’s like time now is so bent over than doesn’t make any sense anymore, and for someone who was already out of his historical age as it was, living through it, surviving it a second time is just too much to handle, especially when you’ve been deprived of the one person who always seemed to have an answer for anything, and even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t rest until he found one. But now Tony was gone, and he was alone again trying to make sense of everything, without any idea or hope of actually being able to.
“Steve? It’s time…”
He could swear he doesn’t hear Nat’s voice calling his name, but it must have happened all the same because his brain registers it, albeit extremely slowly. He snuffles and rubs the tears away from his face, blowing his nose before tentatively standing up, his legs shaking and not just because of the cold.
“I-I’m coming…” he mumbles, not looking at her, and waits until he hears her footsteps vanishing in the thin air to let out a quiet sob. He will try so hard to keep it together, but after a couple of minutes he’ll break out in tears anyway and won’t be able to finish his speech. He must know it or at least suspect it already by now, subconsciously at least, because before starting towards the chapel he lifts his chin up to look at the statue, as if Tony was in there and could actually smile at him as encouragement. “I’m not gonna say anything you don’t already know in my speech, so even if I don’t… manage to read it all, it won’t make a difference to you, because it’s stuff I tell you twice a day anyway, you must be bored to hear it by now…” he snickers quietly, and god, even that causes him pain. “Except… I was going through some of my books, trying to find a quote yesterday - you know, you taught me it’s a very effective way to end a speech - when I remembered this one from Shakespeare,” he swallows, and closes his eyes as reciting it by heart: “When he shall die take him and cut him out into stars and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.” His cheeks wet and cracked, he has to suppress a new spasm of tears and pain from coming out, so he forces himself to open his eyes, looking at Tony’s picture again as asking for the strength to give yet another in memoriam. “I think that’s perfect for you, my love. I know you’re up there so… look after me, will you? You’re the only one who knows how much I need it. And just how much I miss you. I love you, Tony.”
Words: 3216
Fandom: Marvel
Sub-fandom: MCU
Genre: Angst, Dramatic, Introspective
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: R
Warnings: Missing Moments, One Shot, Slash, What If?
Notes: Because Chris Evans crying in the A4 trailer broke my heart. The title comes from the amazing song The Sound Of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel.
Eyes fixed on the time projection on the ceiling, he’s been watching minutes slowly going from 00 to 59, only to start back again, for the last five hours that he’s spent in bed, trying to get some sleep - although after the first sixty minutes went by, he knew that it was never going to arrive, not tonight anyway. He had briefly toyed with the idea of hitting the gym around 3am, just to do something and maybe get rid of the restlessness that has been crippling him all day, but eventually decided against it, because didn’t want to risk anyone spotting him in there, awake, punching bags, imagining they were someone else. The team is already worried about him as it is - has been for over a year now, although it’s gone by in the blink of an eye, seasons changing without him realizing it, his senses and his perception of time completely dulled out by the pain, so much pain - no reason to be even more of a burden that he already feels - and is. So he’s stayed in bed, staring at the time ticking away, total silence in the room - perhaps the most noticeable, painful detail he just can’t ignore - ironically so loud, impossible to shut out of his head. Because there never used to be so much quietness in here, even when they were both asleep there was the breathing of the other - sometimes relaxed, sometimes troubled, but there nevertheless - and when they didn’t… well, Tony rarely shut up, except maybe for when he was between his thighs, and in that case it was his muffled moans to fill the air.
After it happened, people had tried to convince him to take up another room - the compound has plenty of free ones, just another reminder of what could have been if only the mission in Laos had never taken place, or had gone in a different direction, the right one - or even just to change it up a little, but he had always refused, albeit he knew for a fact that wasn’t such a wise decision. But when a room is all you have left to try and fill the ever-growing void inside of you, how can you just give it up, listen to your brain talking and not your heart? Twelve months later, and he still doesn’t have an answer to this question, nor does he think he ever will. So not only he’s stayed in the same room, he hasn’t even touched anything at all: with the noticeable exception of the sheets - still the identical set that he washes once in a fortnight or so - every single thing has stayed exactly as it was before they left for space, aka the last time Tony was here in this room, the last time they were together. They had made love that night - it’d been slow and silent and sweet, one’s eyes fixed in the other’s at every second, impossible to look away, and for some reason it had felt like the first, except their real first had been all the opposite, rough and hungry because it had come after months of mutual pining, the two idiots they were refusing to believe what everyone else had already picked up on. In the aftermath of their love he had taken Tony into his arms, held him tight against his body sticky with sweat and the other’s sperm, kissed him softly, for a long time, and Tony instantly knew what that meant but didn’t have the guts to say it out loud, so just snuggled against him and closed his eyes, feeling calm and scared all at once. “I love you,” he had whispered at one point, just when he was about to fall asleep, and, although he’d thought he was already out, Tony had said it back without letting a second go by, those three simple words making his heart skipping a few beats not because it was the first time or unusual, but because they felt eternal right in that moment.
If he had known what would happen after that night, he wouldn’t have showered, to hold on to Tony’s odor a little longer, even if it’d soon be vanished because of all the sweat and blood that his body would leak out within twenty-four hours. In hindsight, he’s come to realize how stupid of him was to wash himself that morning - a habit more than a rational thought, that’s always been the first thing he does when he wakes up - especially given the fact that the possibility of Tony dying had been a constant thought in the back of his head since the whole Thanos scenario started, and this decision still haunts him on a daily basis even now, a year later. When they eventually returned to Earth, and he’d got back to their room, he’d lied in bed for a good thirty-six hours straight, trying so desperately to recapture Tony’s smell within those four walls, inside their closet, between the sheets. It was there, barely but present still, so he’d sworn to himself to not step outside until he couldn’t sniff it anymore - but that happened faster than he was prepared to, and it just left him feeling even emptier than before, because it was like now Tony had really gone forever. That’s when he decided he would not touch a single thing in that bedroom anymore, and he’s kept his promise so far.
When 7:00am finally come around, he takes a deep breath and sits up, shuffling his legs off the bed and staying there for a minute trying to gather the energy to go through the day. He remembers Tony suggesting yoga once when he had told him that sometimes he just couldn’t switch his brain off after a particularly busy day, and he had laughed at the thought of putting himself in such weird positions, afraid he was going to rip all of his muscles apart. So Tony had thrown in an incentive: they could do it together and he would get a kiss for every position he managed to hold for more than a few seconds, and that had been enough to make him say yes. Not that was that difficult for Tony to do that, sometimes all it took was a smile at the right moment to have him consider an alternative to his usual way of thinking. The brunet had that power over him, always had, but once they started being together he just ended up falling in love with it, such a nice change from always having to be the one to take decisions.
He shakes his head, shakes those thoughts out of his mind, he really doesn’t need them right now, not if he wants to get through… well, not today, but even just the next two hours, until his appointment is scheduled. Planning for more than a short amount of time is not a luxury he has anymore, his brain just won’t allow it. Blame it on the love of your life dying in your arms in freaking space. He really doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get over that, especially because his thoughts always seem to circle back to him. It’s a never-ending game of self-blame, full of what-ifs: Sokovia, and Laos, and Berlin, and Siberia and so on. He should stop - has tried to stop - but he just can’t, and has started to take it as an indication that is, in fact, the truth, and he’s only right in pointing the finger to himself.
The sound of the alarm - yet another thing that he hasn’t changed, because Tony had been the one setting it, at 7:05, such a peculiar time he had always thought, until he was explained that would give ten minutes for just the two of them, before the daily chaos started, and from that day onwards he had loved the reminder - brings him back to the present, making him finally stand up and getting inside the shower. He lets water fall heavily on his head, mechanical movements reach out for the shampoo first and the liquid soap after as he washes his body, his mind elsewhere, because the one stain he wishes to erase is impossible to scrub away. Ten minutes later is finally out of the bedroom, wearing a black wool jacket on a black shirt and black trousers, such an unusual look on him and he hates it with a passion, but couldn’t help himself while he was choosing his clothes, Tony’s voice in the back of his mind telling him that sometimes social costumes are there for a reason, specifically in an occasion as today. He drags his feet to the kitchen and is surprised to not find anyone in there, although he soon realizes that it’s not because everyone is still asleep, but because they know better that to stumble on his path today, especially before his appointment. There will be plenty of time after to offer a consolation hug, or to try and make him laugh (when was the last time he did that? He can’t remember, but he’s almost certain Tony had done that too). He’s not hungry - he rarely is nowadays - so he puts on the espresso machine and after it’s warmed up, he inserts two capsules into it and adds just a splash of cold milk in a small glass, stirs everything together and swallows it down at once. He hates it, it’s so bitter he almost feels like he’s going to be sick, but that’s the way Tony used to take his coffee in the morning, so now he does too, as if carrying on these little routines helped to ease the pain (it doesn’t, and he knows this, but still can’t bring himself to stop it).
‘I’ve gone ahead. See you there’ he scribbles on the whiteboard on the fridge, and then he’s on his way out.
He’s arrived twenty minutes earlier, but that’s nothing new, it happens almost every morning, to the point that the keeper has made a joke out of it, teasing him gently the few times he hadn’t found him there already when the old man had started his shift.
“Morning, Juan,” he greets him as he sees him getting out of his car and walking over to the gate, keys jingling on his chain, a sound that echoes harshly against the still silence of their surroundings.
“Buenos dias, senor. I thought today was gonna beat you, but I was mistaken,” the old man replies, making a hint of salute as passing him by, something that he started once he told him he’s an Army man.
“You should know snow does nothing to me…”
“But it should,” Juan remarks, a sad smile on his face now as he unlocks the gate, pushes it wide open - it’s 9 sharp. “That reminds me, we’re closing an hour earlier today, senor. Mayor’s orders. Seems a storm is coming.”
“Alright, thanks for the heads-up,” he nods, lifting a hand to say bye as he walks away from him.
Although the news should change his schedule, it really doesn’t, not just because today is marked as an off day, but because even under normal circumstances nothing could ever get in the way of his coming here, first thing in the morning and last thing at dawn. It’s what takes the precedence, no matter what. Aliens? Super-villains? Terrorists? For an hour before 10am and after 4pm they’re someone else’s problem, a written condition of him taking up his role again. Nobody was crazy enough to contest that.
He walks with quick steps, one hand buried deep inside the pocket of his jacket clenched in a fist, the other holding the flowers he picked up on his way here, just as he does every single morning. As always when he’s just a few feet away, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for ten seconds, and then walks the last five steps that separate him from the red and yellow statue. He brushes the snow off the picture before kissing it, lips almost freezing instantly at the contact with the glacial glass that contains it; he blinks to get rid of the burning feeling and it’s only now that he realizes his eyes are already wet. Damn, he curses himself, because normally he manages to hold it together for a few minutes at least, but alas, today is not a normal day. He puts the flowers down - the whole area around the monument is submerged with them (so much so that it’s always half a mission for him to make his way through without stumping on any), but there’s a vase just on the right side of the picture, and that’s his designated spot, nobody ever dares to touch it - looks up at the statue and sighs deeply, the chilly breeze lashing his face with a physical pain that is a welcomed change from the constant, invisible one in his heart. He sits down on the step, lies against the icy stone, and stays silent for a few seconds longer before eventually finding the guts to talk.
“Good morning, love. I hope you’re okay today. I’m the same as always, but I’m trying, you know that. I know you do, because you know me. I ended up watching a movie with Sam last night - I didn’t want to, but he stared at me for so long that I just said yes so he would stop. It was a comedy from the Thirties - I actually remember watching it in the theater when it came out - and it was so funny but I still couldn’t laugh, no matter how hard I tried to. It just… My eyes become watery on their own, it’s like I have no control over them nowadays. That was nice anyway, a few other people ended up watching it with us, which felt like the old times except, well…” his voice trails off, and he snuffles hard, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose before he can continue. “Are you having a party of some sort today then? I think it would be amazing if that was the case, and if it’s not a tradition yet, you should try and create it, if someone can re-write the laws of the afterlife is you, baby. After all, anniversaries are a thing on Earth, why shouldn’t they be over there too? It just seems apt to me. We… There’s gonna be a vigil here in like, ten minutes, I tried telling them that’s not what you would have wanted but I was in a minority, so they went ahead and organized it all the same. There’s gonna be a bunch of people you can’t stand so, I don’t know, maybe look away? Or focus on the ones who really care about you, because they all are gonna be here.”
He stops now, looks down and hides his face behind his arm, the tears that are crossing his cheeks seem to freeze immediately as they come out, burning against his skin like if they were made of fire, and maybe in a way they really are, at least that would explain why exactly they hurt so fucking much. It’s been a year already, and sometimes he can’t believe it because it feels just like yesterday that Tony was alive and smirking at him, daring to kiss him in front of the team if he was indeed as brave as he was always saying he was, both of them tired of keeping a secret that everybody else around them knew about anyway. And so he had, and people had clapped, and Tony had kept him there on his lips and whispered how much he loved him, and in that moment he had believed it really was worth it. But then other times he would give himself panic attacks when he thought he couldn’t remember Tony’s voice, or the sound of his laughter, or the way he’d caught the brunet staring at him for no particular reason, how he’d smile and look away, pretending to be embarrassed to have been caught whereas both of them knew he couldn’t care less. And maybe it’s this, more than anything else, what has been proving to be the most difficult part of it all, because it’s like time now is so bent over than doesn’t make any sense anymore, and for someone who was already out of his historical age as it was, living through it, surviving it a second time is just too much to handle, especially when you’ve been deprived of the one person who always seemed to have an answer for anything, and even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t rest until he found one. But now Tony was gone, and he was alone again trying to make sense of everything, without any idea or hope of actually being able to.
“Steve? It’s time…”
He could swear he doesn’t hear Nat’s voice calling his name, but it must have happened all the same because his brain registers it, albeit extremely slowly. He snuffles and rubs the tears away from his face, blowing his nose before tentatively standing up, his legs shaking and not just because of the cold.
“I-I’m coming…” he mumbles, not looking at her, and waits until he hears her footsteps vanishing in the thin air to let out a quiet sob. He will try so hard to keep it together, but after a couple of minutes he’ll break out in tears anyway and won’t be able to finish his speech. He must know it or at least suspect it already by now, subconsciously at least, because before starting towards the chapel he lifts his chin up to look at the statue, as if Tony was in there and could actually smile at him as encouragement. “I’m not gonna say anything you don’t already know in my speech, so even if I don’t… manage to read it all, it won’t make a difference to you, because it’s stuff I tell you twice a day anyway, you must be bored to hear it by now…” he snickers quietly, and god, even that causes him pain. “Except… I was going through some of my books, trying to find a quote yesterday - you know, you taught me it’s a very effective way to end a speech - when I remembered this one from Shakespeare,” he swallows, and closes his eyes as reciting it by heart: “When he shall die take him and cut him out into stars and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.” His cheeks wet and cracked, he has to suppress a new spasm of tears and pain from coming out, so he forces himself to open his eyes, looking at Tony’s picture again as asking for the strength to give yet another in memoriam. “I think that’s perfect for you, my love. I know you’re up there so… look after me, will you? You’re the only one who knows how much I need it. And just how much I miss you. I love you, Tony.”