"Tony," he heard Steve call. Abruptly picking up his ears, Tony looked over his shoulders. He looked back down at the table below his torso, sighed, and slid his rubber gloves off. There wasn't a new mission in a while but Tony was never free. His gauntlet needed tinkering. The suit needed upgrading. The AI was crumbling. And Steve's shield was upside down on the table, its curvature housing a number of distressed wires, like a shallow bowl full of coloured, metal noodles.
He heard Steve call for him again.
"I'M COMING!" Tony yelled into the hallway.
As he walked across, thoughts flooded him. The automatic spotlights that lined the hallway shone into his eyes, smoke from his lab swirled in their penumbra like white serpents that refuse to uncoil themselves. Red is Steve's favourite colour, Tony thought to himself as the orange faded into a bright crimson.
He speed-walked past the kitchenette, afraid that if he glimpsed he would be forced to take a bite out of the pop tarts Steve saved for himself. Tony Stark was a man entranced by many temptations but at times, knew how to keep to himself.
"Tony!" Steve cried again, followed by a loud chuckle and strained, pained laughter.
The brunette smiled to himself and turned around the corner. Steve was probably on a streaming website and found something very amusing to watch, and he'd want Tony to watch it, he always did, and Tony would force a smile because he had seen Steve's "discovery" years before.
He passed newspaper clippings framed and hung from nails pushed into glass walls, cracking like spiderwebs. Steve kept every newspaper article. He'd spend days at the dining table with a pair of scissors if he saw Iron Man, or any of the team members on the front page. Everybody but for himself. A very modest idiot, thought Tony. How did he survive the 21st century?
Ever since Ultron happened, Steve was no longer quiet. He was more jovial, smiled more, joked more. He told the team one evening that a man more grateful to be alive than himself, did not exist. Of course, everybody was silent for a moment dowsed in the awkward and shock, until a very not sober Natasha tripped over Bruce, onto his lap when everybody burst into giggles and laughter. Tony remembered holding the neck of a bottle of gin in his hand, raising it to his mouth occasionally to take bittersweet gulps. Every few minutes his glazed eyes, wet from tears and laughter, would catch a glimpse of Steve's naïve azure pair. His hay hair was tousled and messed, yet formed a perfect peak over his forehead, his right palm was curled and at his pale, bottom lip, unconsciously peeling at it. And his eyes, they were entrancing; the puppy-dog look had Tony's heart wondering if this Captain America was the same man he once loathed so entirely.
Later that night they found themselves in each other's arms, swaying slowly to blatantly loud youngsters' music while the others chattered or raised glasses of Martini to the beat. Tony was prodded with playful mockery and teasing from Clint, and the others, but he pretended to be drunk so he wasn't judged. The man had a fear of judgement after all. Steve was in it for the fun as well but Tony didn't think he was.
Tony didn't know why he felt heavy. Troubled. Disturbed; after he had heard somebody encouraging Steve to try his chances with Sharon Carter, simply an acquaintance. He didn't like the sound of it, when Steve did try his chances. He felt betrayed, but why, he thought to himself daily. They were men in the new society. What Tony had hopeful suspicions about wasn't likely to happen.
They spent all their time together though, Steve and Tony. People would say they were an inseparable pair of best friends who trod on each other's feet and land in each other's arms. Life was kind to the rich, as Steve always said.
Walking faster, he cursed the infrastructure of the tower for being too complicated.
"What are you doing?!" Steve yelled, laughing.
"I'M COMING, STEVE, WAIT."
Turning at another corner, he stopped in front of a sliding door. With a smirk on his face he pressed his finger to the scanner and watched it slide apart. He walked inside.
"What is it?" He asked, pretending to sound tedious because of all the due work he has. "Steve?" He walked further in, past a half wall.
"Tony, no!" Steve's voice laughed loudly. "Don't press it, Tony stop!"
A booming noise echoed throughout the room, followed by the shattering of glass and Bruce's angry voice cursing with an assortment of colourful language.
Tony turned his head to the wall to his right and on the giant screen he saw Steve clutching his stomach, laughing hysterically, his face red and his eyes squinting through tears. "Give me the camera, S-tark.." His hand reached for the screen, then the image on the screen went through rough tumbling and shutter noises and Tony's face appeared. His eyes were baggy, his goatee scrawny, and facial hair pricked his cheeks. "Don't tape me!" The Tony Stark on screen laughed and shielded his face with two arms, a remote clutched in one. They continued laughing, and running, grabbing a toy rocket and running again, laughing again.
"Tony!" The video played on loop.
The brunette stood still, his face drooping and now emotionless. His glassy eyes stared at the video on the screen. Below the screen, around the room, were poorly fixed shelves. Each housed a framed newspaper or magazine article that had an image of Steve lying flat on the ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, and some housed fading photos.
'CAPTAIN AMERICA: DOWN AT LAST'
'THE LAST REIGN OF THE CAPTAIN'
'CIVIL WAR TAKES ITS TOLL, LOSES GREATEST AVENGER'
'ANTHONY EDWARD STARK HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR
MOST TRAUMATISING DEATH OF THE CENTURY'
'THE REGISTRATION ACT: THE FINAL ACT'
Tony's cheeks burned, the bridge of his nose tingled, his arms started to shake. Hot tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes, spilling down his face; eyebrows and lips quivering but his face held the same, glassy expression.
'TONY, YOU'LL HURT ME!" Steve laughed.
'WHAT OF THE SUPERHEROES NOW?'
'IRON MAN, OR CAPTAIN AMERICA: WHO WAS THE NATION'S BIGGEST THREAT?"
Tony's knees buckled and he sank to the floor, tiles cold on his knees and palms. He clenched his teeth but the tears did not stop.
"Shellhead, we'll get in trouble.."
"No, Winghead, chill-"
The dark room lit with occasional flashes as scenes changed on the screen. Tony's eyes drifted to a photo on a shelf below the screen. A letter from Steve. The letter accepting defeat. The letter claiming his surrender. The letter telling Tony that he would do anything for him, he didn't want to lose Tony, and he was willing to stop the fight. The very same letter that Tony found delivered on his desk, a day after Captain America was shot.
"I love you, Steve." The quivering man whispered. "I'm sorry."