Steve jerks to awareness as Tony makes an uncomfortable sound next to him. Steve rubs his eyes, blinking sleep out of his face as he casts about for his lover, groping for him blindly in the dark. When Steve’s vision finally clears, it’s to find Tony curled up into a ball, blankets bunched around his shoulders as he dug his fists into his head.
“Oh Tony,” Steve murmurs sadly. Tony shudders as Steve places a hand on his shoulder, his skin is cold to the touch, clammy. Steve would think Tony had just woken up from a bad nightmare if he hadn’t gotten used to this happening far too frequently for comfort off late.
He patiently extracts Tony’s fingers from where they’re ripping his hair into clumps. “I told you to shut it down didn’t I?” Steve winces at the hint of accusation in his voice, roughened even further by sleep. It’s hard not to be mad at Tony when he took it upon himself to upload an untested beta virus into his bone marrow and then act like Steve was the one being crazy for asking him to stop. Steve swallows down the frustration. It’s not going to help now, and Tony with his ridiculous understanding of body cues from a lifetime as a socialite would only take it as further ammunition to not come to bed at all.
All the same, for all Steve softens himself, Tony whimpers weakly when Steve pulls him into his arms. Steve is careful these days, no one knows when Tony will have these attacks, so he’s spared himself from perfumed products all together, anything that compounded Tony’s migraines went out the window. And for all of Steve’s controlling tendencies when it came to ensuring Tony’s good health, the rush of impotence at not being able to help him when Tony is like this still smarts something fierce.
Tony curls into his arms, making a soft pliant sound of discontent as he rubs his nose against Steve’s neck. “Should I get you some painkillers?” Steve asks even though he knows Tony will say no. It’s maybe a little selfish of Steve, to wish Tony would damn well just take his meds and be okay, because he can’t bear to see him like this- but there’s a part of Steve, thankfully the larger part that respects Tony far too much to insist. Because Steve knows, when Tony is like this, and with Steve being his medical proxy- it would be all too easy to make that call for him. Tony might never forgive him but Tony would be okay. That counts for more than anything else. Tony remains silent for a long moment, which in itself is concerning, and then finally- two taps on Steve’s back.
They’d come up with a system, when things were far too rough on Tony, and Tony couldn’t speak, one tap for yes and two for no, nights like these they worked like a charm, for all Steve wishes Tony didn’t need them.
Steve presses a kiss into Tony’s soft hair. “Can I get you some water then?” He asks instead. Tony waits again and then presses a single finger for a long sweet moment onto Steve’s skin. Steve suspects Tony might have assented more for Steve’s sake than his own. He probably knows how Steve feels powerless and wasteful in his skin when Tony twisted himself apart through chronic pains like this.
He wishes life wasn’t so rough on Tony. That Tony didn’t always need to rely on something heavy and painful and intrusive to stay alive. In that way, Steve had been almost embarrassingly grateful for Extremis, a dangerous virus, sure, but it had been far from the worst thing Tony had put in his own body, or so Steve had thought until the erratic shifts in behaviour, at the way Extremis acted almost like a sentient being- choosing increasingly more and more creative ways to traumatise Tony. Hallucinations, headaches and always-being-on were all just a part of the Extremis upgrade, something Tony had accepted with a resigned kind of dignity that Steve absolutely despised. What Steve had rather stupidly believed to be an all-in-one health fix turned into Tony constantly tuning himself in to every distress signal, every police recorder, every news channel, everything all the damn time. Getting Tony to unhook himself was a task almost as difficult as getting him to stop drinking had been. Steve immediately feels guilty for thinking that.
The Avengers were a strange lot, far too close and far too aware of each other, Steve is usually the one who went out of his way to make sure nobody threw Tony’s history in his face at a low moment, but he too…- Steve sighs. He’s far from the least judgemental person in the room.
He’s working on it, okay?
He untangles himself from Tony, throwing the sheets off of himself and tipping the jar over at the bedside table. It’s empty. Steve curses under his breath.
He leans back over Tony, pressing another kiss to his hair, “I’m just heading downstairs, all right? There’s no water here.” Tony makes a small sound of distress he immediately swallows down. Steve’s heart damn near breaks. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, just hold on for me okay?”
Tony murmurs in a low tone which Steve takes to be agreement. He slips around the bed, carefully sliding the door open so the lights from the hallway don’t hit Tony in the eyes. Tony makes a soft sound of pain all the same before Steve shuts the door behind him.
Steve takes a deep breath, jogging two steps at a time, and coming to a stop at the kitchen. Inspite of the lateness of the hour, Jarvis is brewing tea.
“Jarvis?” Steve asks in surprise, “What are you doing up so late?”
Jarvis looks up, there’s a tired cast to his face Steve has rarely seen, but he still looks relatively content. “I’ve known Master Anthony since he was a child, Captain.” He says drily, “I usually tend to know when he needs what.”
Steve flushes, feeling the odd urge to shuffle his feet. Being around Jarvis simultaneously makes Steve feel like he’s talking to a disapproving headmaster and a cautiously welcoming Father in law.
“I uh, I just wanted some water.” Steve says awkwardly.
Jarvis nods, “Tea would help him, if you can persuade him to take some.”
Steve snorts. “That’s not a battle I want to be fighting tonight Jarvis.” Mostly because Steve is sure he won’t win, even with Tony being an exhausted snivelling mess. He’s not ashamed that when it comes to being Tony’s lover, Steve is more than happy to fold in most areas. Sam had half-heartedly called him a besotted idiot but Steve hardly sees anything wrong with it. Sure, he and Tony have their differences every now and then, but they do tend to occur less frequently than people think. For the most part, he enjoys Tony’s company far too much to risk loosing him over something stupid that could be cleared up over a good conversation. Steve suspects Tony feels the same way.
Jarvis hands Steve a fresh jar filled with lukewarm water. Steve thanks him even as he hastens back upstairs.
Tony is right where Steve left him, looking soft in the night. It’d be perfect Steve thinks, the red sheets framing the spun gold of his skin, the darkness of his curls, the curve of his limbs half hidden away in secret shadow; if the slant of his brows and the scrunched up eyes didn’t ruin the picture.
For all that he and Tony have been together for years, and been Avengers for even longer, looking at him in pain never becomes any easier.
Tony blinks to unwilling wakefulness when Steve carefully manhandles him up, letting him rest a clammy head on Steve’s shoulder. Tony mumbles his thanks as he drinks his water.
Steve keeps quiet, anything louder than this was just bound to aggravate Tony’s pain more and Steve likes doing this, this gentle comfort, being Tony’s shoulder to lean on when he needs someone. It makes him feel powerful in ways even the serum hadn't managed.
Steve sets the glass back on the table when Tony’s done, tucks him into his arms as Tony smacks his lips sleepily, his arms a tight grip on Steve, curling proprietarily over his chest with deceptive strength. Tony had always been packed in muscles, slender and firm with a really mean kick. He was strong in ways no one quiet expected and that suited Tony just fine, Steve suspected he rather liked that element of surprise. But with Steve, it was always no holds barred, he was shamelessly and brightly himself which turned this warm and gooey thing in Steve’s chest over into a feeling even more soft.
“I love you.” Tony says, his words slurring together like he’s breathing them out rather than saying them. Steve blinks down at Tony, the tenderness in him blooming into an adoration so aching it makes his throat feel tight. For all the grief their lives brought them and they brought each other- Steve wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. He leans down, pressing his mouth back to Tony’s hair. “Love you too.” Steve says back simply, easily.
The headache doesn’t go away, but Tony does fall back into a gentle sleep when Steve smoothens a finger over the arch of his brow.
Steve stares at him as Tony's breath slows, at the way his lashes cast a line of soot over his cheeks, at the faint flush painted over his skin, at the softness of his mouth, bitten red in pain. I want to marry you. Steve doesn’t say. ‘We’d be good together’ and ‘Let us be. Just like this, always.’ Steve is feeling too cowardly to say it out loud. Tony sleeps the sleep of the dead, he probably wouldn’t even hear it, but Steve… Steve still can’t say it. Not today he can’t, but someday for sure, one day. One day he would go down on his knee the way people do in the cheesy rom-coms Tony pretends not to like and write promises of forever into Tony’s skin.
One day.
Steve smiles down at him, an embarrassingly soppy look, tucks his lover in closer and follows Tony into his dreams.