Chapter 5
Steve came back half an hour later, but stood in the doorway unannounced, watching Bruce clutch his head in his hands. It seemed too personal to interrupt.
Steve quietly left the room, then returned, stomping his feet too loud and dragging them across the floor. When he reached the doorway, Bruce was up and a forced alert. “Steve. Hi. What have you got there?”
Steve held up a plastic shopping bag. “A surprise. Is he awake?”
Bruce's posture slumped. “Yeah. He won’t talk to anyone,” he sighed defeatedly. “You’re welcome to try.”
Steve nodded. “I think I will.”
“Let me know.”
“Of course,” Steve said.
He knocked three times on the door to Tony’s room. He waited a few seconds, then pushed the door open, realizing that he wasn't going to get a response.
“Hey, Tony.”
Tony looked up from his staring contest with the bedsheets. He looked small in the hospital bed. Pale, even with the white of the blankets. A shell of what he was before, and a sharp pain in his heart made Steve’s breath go a little uneven for a second.
“How do you feel?” Steve forced out.
Tony shrugged. He looked disappointed, and Steve didn’t want to dwell on that.
“Anyway,” Steve said, cutting the silence short, uncomfortable with being the only one talking. “I brought you something.”
He pulled out the flowers and the Belgium chocolates from the plastic bag and sat them in Tony’s lap.
The effect seemed to be the opposite of what Steve was expecting. Steve watched in horror as Tony’s face went from surprise, to realization, to smiling, to confused, then finally he watched as Tony’s eyes welled up with tears that spilled out faster than Tony could cover his face.
“You remembered?” Tony asked, his voice wavering, unsure from disuse and emotion. He looked at the daisies, almost the exact copy of the ones that Tony had given Steve when the roles had been switched so long ago. It almost seemed like a dream, not a memory.
“I never give up my word,” Steve said softly.
Tony nodded, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. “I fucked up.”
Steve sat down in the chair beside Tony’s bed, glad they were finally addressing it. “You sure did.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Tony said truthfully, getting choked up again. “One thing just led to the next. I’m sorry. I’m a fuck up.”
“You’re not a… a fuck up,” Steve said like it physically pained him to swear. “You just fucked up.”
“I got you to drop the f-bomb. Twice,” Tony grinned.
Steve would say it again if it meant Tony smiling. “Well, I figured it was appropriate for this situation.”
Tony sobered. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve said carefully, softly. “That it came to this.”
“Well, what else do you expect?” Tony asked, a self-deprecating smile on his face, his tone back to normal and it pained Steve how easily Tony could change his apparent emotion. “I’m me. I’ve always had a flair for drama.”
“I have a feeling this isn’t you just being dramatic.”
“I’m just unstable in general,” Tony admitted.
“No kidding.”
“But still,” Tony said. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, yada yada yada. I’m not suicidal. It was an accident. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Uh huh,” Steve said, not believing a word. “Let me know when you decide to tell the truth.”
Tony smiled, not at all offended. “You know me too well, Rogers.”
That wasn't true. Steve knew nothing about Tony, because he wouldn't tell him anything. Filled with sudden anger, Steve lunged forward and gripped Tony’s wrist with his left hand. “You’re supposed to come to us when you need help. You don’t just face it on your own. Do you know how scared I was?”
Tony frowned, startled by the sudden outburst, but he didn’t make a move to rip his arm out of his grip. “That wasn’t the intention.”
“I watched you spiral for weeks, and there was nothing I could do,” Steve said helplessly, staring at Tony with what he hoped was his best puppy eyes. “I sat back and watched because you wouldn’t let me help. You avoided me like the plague and kept everything so, so, so vague and you disappeared every time the conversation got too deep. I kept having to piece together everything. You came to me three times: one of them you were drunk and one of them you nearly died. I had to carry you here, you passed out halfway through and I was too afraid to check if you were breathing or not.”
Tony looked down at the bedsheets. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mean to guilt trip you,” Steve said, catching himself and taking a breath. “I’m just scared.”
Tony nodded.
“I’m sorry you were hurting in such a way that you wanted to, to, you know,” Steve said, unable to say the word because it was still too fresh and his heart was still racing in his chest. He felt lightheaded.
“Shit happens,” Tony shrugged, his voice hollow.
“Stop being so nonchalant about this,” Steve snapped.
“What do you want me to say?” Tony tugged his arm out of Steve’s grip. He was closing up.
“I don’t know! But not that.”
Steve wanted Tony to be scared. He wanted him to be so scared that nothing like this ever happens again. He wanted him to be scared into getting help and seeing doctors and to never ever ever take a handful of pills ever again. He wanted him to be kept in this room, safe and under surveillance, where he couldn’t hurt himself. He wanted to be warned of Tony’s every move. He wanted to read Tony’s mind to know where it goes, to know when to step in. He wanted Tony to be scared into letting Steve do this to him. He wanted Tony to be so scared that he finally trusts Steve to let him in.
“I suck at boundaries,” Tony said sourly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know when to stop. That’s my issue.”
“You can get help,” Steve whispered. His hand found Tony’s again and Tony let it stay.
“They can’t help me with that! God knows I’ll just convince them I’m saving the world while I’ll destroy it,” Tony said, his voice the rawest Steve had ever heard it. Tony was speaking his heart. “I can manipulate a babysitter into thinking what I’m thinking, and the part that makes me sick is that I won’t even realize that I’m doing it. As long as it’s for the sake of science, yeah?”
“What makes you think you’d be manipulating?”
“What do you mean?” Tony asked incredulously. “I’ve done it before. I take a dangerous weapon, and twist my words so I make it a tool to save the world. Like the Iron Man suit.”
“What, so we can’t think for ourselves?”
Tony shook his head, taking his hand away from Steve’s and hiding into himself again. “That’s not what I mean, and you know that.”
Tony was so easy to read. It was stupid how many of the signs Steve left ignored.
“I just don’t think you put a lot of trust in you, Tony,” Steve said, which was funny, because Steve couldn’t even trust Tony to be on his own.
Tony said nothing. He looked at the far wall.
“Please,” Steve said gently. “There’s a reason you’re on this team. And there’s a reason you’ve been chosen to help save the world.”
Tony nodded. His eyes were red and filled up with tears again. “I think I need to be alone.”
Steve nodded, standing up. “Enjoy your chocolates, Tony.”
Tony nodded behind him as Steve closed the door. Stepping out of the room felt like he had been holding his breath for a very long time and he could finally take in air again.
“I heard voices?” Bruce said hopefully, as if Steve hadn't heard his footsteps walk up to the door after he had closed it to listen to every word said in their short, five-minute conversation.
Steve nodded, but shook his head after. He felt like he was going to cry.
“Steve? You okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah.”
“Sit down.”
Steve felt too jittery. “I’m gonna go to the gym.”
Bruce put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing fine.”
But Steve still punched the punching bag until his knuckles bled.
–
The first thing Tony did once he got discharged was reboot JARVIS. He got a prescription for cognitive therapy and some type of antidepressant, and Steve gave him an ultimatum; either he follows the prescription, or he’s off the team forever.
Tony chose the former. Steve still watched him like a hawk.
Tony felt like he was suffocating under Steve’s constant mothering, but he didn’t say. Steve cooked him dinner. Steve made sure he showered. Steve was the one who popped by at nine every morning with toast or eggs with bacon and watched as Tony took his medication.
Steve knew Tony was uncomfortable through Tony’s actions. He watched as Tony started to avoid him, going silent whenever Steve walked in the room, and using one word sentences to answer questions. Tony was closing himself off again, uneasy with the sudden attention, and as much as Steve knew he was the problem, he just couldn’t leave Tony alone. Not again.
“You need to give him space, man,” Clint said. “Pretend it never happened. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Is it helping?”
“He can stay in the same room with me without looking like he wants to run away, yeah,” Clint said, amused. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing. Just like Tony thinks that killing himself would be the right thing. But it’s not.”
“I would rather we don’t compare the two,” Steve said, his heart doing the funny thing it did whenever somebody brought up the issue.
“I’m just speaking facts. Give him space, and he will come to you. He’s already proved he trusts you on his own terms,” Clint said with a shrug. “Don’t force it out of him.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” Steve said, confused.
“Then why else would he have come to you all those nights?” Clint said. “He trusts you. Right now you’re suffocating him. He’s actually doing alright. He doesn’t need you to make him breakfast, for fuck’s sake. He’s forty-four.”
Steve tried. He relied on JARVIS to let him know how Tony was doing, his heart always stopping in the millisecond it took for JARVIS to respond. Steve had nightmares about JARVIS getting disabled. About one day, asking the AI a question, and getting no response. And in those dreams, Tony was nowhere to be found.
“Have you thought about therapy for yourself?” Tony asked sourly, after having been shaken awake violently. He had fallen asleep on the common area couch and Steve had reacted in blind panic. “I know it’s technically my fault that you’re all… traumatized, but I’m actually better off than you at the moment.”
That made Steve realize that maybe he had a little bit of a problem. He put in an appointment to see a psychiatrist and pushed the thought aside for the time being. After all, Tony hadn’t eaten in a whole twelve hours, and Steve wanted to feel useful.
He was about to round the corner to the kitchen, but stopped when he heard voices.
“It wasn’t your fault. As much as I love to make you uncomfortable, I promise, my attempted suicide is not your fault.” Tony sounded tired, but grateful.
“I can’t help but think my words might’ve been a factor.” That was Natasha’s voice.
“Think what you will. Guilt is a bitch,” Tony said knowingly. “But not everything is about you. Sometimes we have shitty childhoods and unresolved trauma and chemical imbalances.”
There was a slight pause until Natasha spoke again. “Are you getting help?”
“Yes.” Steve could hear the slight smile in his voice. “Don’t worry about me. However, I’m worried about you. I think your personality did a full one-eighty, this is the most sincere I’ve seen you since we met, and- oof.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” Natasha said. Steve peeked around the corner to see Nat’s arms firmly around Tony, Tony’s hands up in a surprise surrender, hovering over her body before hesitantly completing the hug.
“I won’t,” he whispered softly.
Nat flipped Steve off from behind Tony’s back; how she knew Steve was there was a mystery. Steve just smiled and left the scene, because maybe Clint was right.
Tony was forty-four years old. He could make his own breakfast.