The Crash Effect - for capcicle

[starkingenuity]

Tony Stark does not do moderation.  Oh, he tries, he flirts with it, takes it out for a nice dinner and promises not to be a one night stand but inevitably, he leaves it for a walk of shame in the morning, condom wrapper stuck to it's left heel

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[starkingenuity]

"Does it look like I need help?" All right, that's a terribly stupid question. When faced with Mr. Perfect Hair, Tony does get the impression that he's not exactly up to snuff when it comes to being classified as human or even humanlike. He'd give himself a Grade D label and as he feels like a piece of ground meat, that's probably a good way to think about it.

His eyes go through this strange dilating period when he focuses on Steve and then almost looks like he's about to panic before his face smooths out again. Stark undulates between these moments several times over and gets unsteadily to his feet. It's actually pretty amazing that he can manage that, all things considered.

"How about you knock next time, Cap? Or call?" He's snapped back to himself like well worn elastic held too long outstretched and shuffles away like a baby deer towards the console. "Jarvis, save whatever it is I've--"

"Already done, sir. And I've taken the liberty of drawing you a bath."

His thumbs tap on the desk before he not-so-discretely sniffs at his armpits. "Good plan."

There's still something wrong with Tony, but at least that daze is broken and Sleeping Beauty has woken up.

[capcicle]

Steve follows him up and frowns at him, eyes narrowed in thought. He doesn't answer at all but he wants to, it's clear that the words are poised on his tongue, breath ready to carry his voice. If he answer honestly, earnestly, he knows Tony will probably snap at him, growl like some feral thing and shut down, withdraw, and tell Steve to leave him alone, to go away. There's no way that he's going to leave now or be forced out, not when he's seen the shape the man's in. His gut is telling him that if he ignores this, ignores the hurt and panic he'd seen flashing behind those dulled eyes, that something will be lost that might not be recoverable. That Tony might be lost. That thought makes his stomach clench in dread.

"JARVIS, is there anything edible in the fridge I saw on my way through this place?" He waits until Tony's a little more alert, more awake than when he found him before he address him. "Why don't you go get that shower and I whip us up a late night snack. Then we can talk."

[starkingenuity]

He's not so far gone that he hasn't realized he's got a tail, and one not smart enough to stay upwind from the disheveled and sweat encrusted genius. At the bar, one of many he's installed across his living space at the Tower, Tony pours himself something to rinse out the sour taste from his mouth and replace it with a bitter, burning one instead. His stomach lurches unhappily for a moment before it settles down and lack of food causes the alcohol to hit his blood stream in record time.

He can deal with being light headed from the buzz. He doesn't much care for it otherwise.

A glance over his shoulder confirms what he saw in the polished brass behind the bar. Steve has his Mom Face on. Tony takes another drink. "Talk? It's not ready to talk about." Whatever it is. He's been working on something. He knows it. He can feel it. He just has no memory of it. "But sure, we can talk about it when I get the schematics together. Getting an interest in something besides the news?"

[capcicle]

The unsteady gait worries him but not as much as the alcohol. It's Tony's right to drink as he pleases but Steve's seen what booze does to a man, has seen it turn good men violent, has witnessed bottles and fists flying in a alcohol induced rage that had to run its course because it would only get worse if you tried to stop it. Steve's got memories of bruises covered with thick creams and sweet smelling powder and blood being scrubbed off the floorboards to last a lifetime and that was before the war showed him how much the drink was used to dull things worse than beatings and broken bones.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tony, I didn't come here for an update on whatever it is you're working on." He's not exactly sure why Tony drinks like he does, the sanitized file he got from SHIELD not all that forthcoming about the demons lurking behind usually bright, intelligent eyes and the glow of an arc reactor and he's been to much a gentleman to ask. He regrets that he hasn't been a better friend and asked anyway. "I came here for you."

[starkingenuity]

"Flattered, I really am, but I've sworn off blonds." His attempt at humor is pretty damned poor for a man known for a biting, constantly waggling tongue, but sure Steve will forgive him for not being in his top form. "I will take that snack though."

His stomach probably can't take anything heavy, but the mention of food leaves him aching in his knees for something to fill him. Alcohol is a good start. Tony might seem outwardly suicidal at times, but he really doesn't want to die. The thrill is intense, the experiment of a permanent solution to still his brain always has him courting disaster. But being alive is still wonderful to him. Sometimes.

He will leave his clothing in the hallway upstairs. He will stumble into the shower and press his face against the corner of intricate tiling. The spray will do most of the work, Jarvis instrumental in regulating temperature and pressure as needed, piping in soap for a man that has trouble moving his arms to wash himself off properly.

Tony seems simultaneously better and worse off than he had been when he last left Steve. His hair is wet, his skin glows pink, but there's a troubling erratic quality to his eyes. "Are you stalking me now, Rogers?"

[capcicle]

JARVIS informed him that he'd keep an eye on 'Mr. Stark' when Tony had disappeared down the hall and Steve had to take the AI's word on it, had to force himself to move in the opposite direction and not follow the staggering figure to make sure the man didn't slip and crack his head open on the tiles. It was surprisingly harder to do.

He found the kitchen and immediately started rummaging around in what fridge for anything edible. He didn't find a lot, really, that he'd consider actual food but there was enough in take out boxes and a few assorted items hidden away in drawers and behind bottles of something to make a small meal. It wouldn't be much but he figured he'd get something into Tony and hopefully see him to bed then head down to an all-night grocer a few blocks away to get something a little more substantial for the morning. He was arranging the foodstuffs on two separate plates when Tony came back in and barely looked up to acknowledge the fact until he was grabbing both and heading to the bar, nodding towards the stools for Tony to sit.

"Is it really stalking when I was invited?"

[starkingenuity]

"First of all, you weren't invited. You were pranked. And second, yes, it's still stalking. Jarvis, stop aiding and abetting my stalkers." He's not exactly pleased by the little feast that Steve sets in front of him because his stomach, though primed for food, has been fasting for days now and it probably can't hold it. He picks at it, not to be polite, but to satisfy the ache in his belly and drinks the rest of his meal instead.

Getting good and inebriated is the way a man deals with his problems. Television and lack of strong male role models have told him so. Plus, scotch gets results. Luckily, his brain is not trying to murder him with too many new ideas right now. He's only got one thing on his mind:

Get rid of Steve Fucking Rogers and his plastic hair and doe eyes before the man gives him cavities with his morality.

It's not that Tony dislikes the man, he can't actually find a lot at fault with him at all, but he still reminds him of his dad. Little blurb of forgotten film aside, Tony is still and will never be Howard Stark's number one fan.

[capcicle]

It doesn't go unnoticed that Tony doesn't eat though he looks both covetously and disgusted at his plate, at Steve's plate. He watches, worry twisting his stomach in knots, as the man pushes the food around the colored ceramic, smashing bits here, separating bits there, making it look like he'd eaten more than the bird's portion he'd pecked out -- Granted the only one who ate more than Steve was Thor but he knew Tony needed more than what he was getting.

"If JARVIS didn't aid and abet you'd probably be passed out where I'd found you," He points out. "Tony you looked awful. Still do, to be honest." Steve shifted, putting his fork down, and just looked at Tony. He looked little better than he had before the shower and he was pretty sure there was still grease peeking out from behind the man's ears. "You look like you went twelve rounds with Barney Ross!"

"What's going on with you, Tony?"

[starkingenuity]

How can something smell so delicious and so revolting at the same time? Tony looks like he's lost the ability to properly use a fork or is trying out a new painting technique on whatever that orange bit of mash use to once be. He doesn't look up at Steve Rogers, hero out of time, older and younger and wise and so insanely simply that Stark has a hard time placing him properly in the right sequence of thoughts. He pretends that the bit of brown mush is that idea for a new jet engine rotator blade that's creeping back into his mind and squashes it out before he abandons all hope and fork and food to the plate.

Now Steve can have his attention. The destruction is over, the blade has sunk back into the ocean and once again, no one will mourn how close they were to getting a more fuel efficient piece of machinery in their lives. Airlines would have wept to know.

"I was working. You interupted me. I hope you're happy."

Tony's lips draw upwards before the collapse again.

"I had gotten distracted. I'm fine. Put away the soulful eyes, Augie Doggie." He picks up the fork once again and eyes Steve's hair. How amusing it would be gets outweighed by how hard he'd get punched. Another time, maybe. "You can go now."