12.
It was a strange feeling, being in Tony's bedroom without him knowing. Steve felt uncomfortable and glanced nervously over his shoulder several times. He knew he shouldn't be here, but according to Jarvis the only iron was right here and Steve desperately needed to iron his shirt. And Jarvis said he was sure Tony wouldn't mind.
"Mr. Stark would be more nervous if you were in his workshop without his permission. The bedroom isn't such a personal place for him, don't worry, Captain," Jarvis reassured him. If Steve hadn't been in such a hurry, he would have made other arrangements. But now he had no choice.
Of course, he'd been in Tony's bedroom before, but Tony was here too. He'd let him in, allowed him to stay with him. Steve bit the inside of his cheek as he remembered that night. After a long time, he slept soundly and almost without nightmares.
He laid out the ironing board and with a few quick strokes, he ironed his shirt so that it was as flat as a sheet of paper. He hurried, wanting to be gone as soon as possible. Tony had gone to the company for a meeting in the morning, but he would be back any minute.
"Wow, you're acting more at home here than I would have expected," came a mock disapproving voice behind him. Speak of the devil... Steve glanced back quickly, feeling like a little boy caught red-handed.
Tony was leaning casually against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest, and although he was wearing a seriously stern mask, he had a thousand devils in his eyes.
"Tony, I... I'm sorry, but Jarvis said it should be okay. I just needed to iron my shirt," he got out in one breath, wondering to himself how nervous he was. Thankfully, Tony laughed and waved his hand in a relaxed manner.
"It's okay, Cap, I don't mind. Where are you going, a date? Don't forget to brush your shoes and teeth. There's nothing worse than dirty boots and stinky breath."
Steve ran his tongue over his teeth, even though he had brushed them earlier in the morning. He smiled. "No, I'm going to see Peggy."
Tony's smile froze for a moment and his eyes lost that mischievous gleam. It didn't take long for him to hide his true emotions again, the way he always did.
"Aunt Peggy, hm. Tell her I say hello."
"Would you like to come with me?" Steve suggested a little tentatively, watching Tony's reaction out of the corner of his eye. Tony’s shoulders stiffened and he obviously didn't like the idea one bit. Steve got dressed and carefully did every button except the last two at his neck. "I'm sure she'd like to see you. She talks about you sometimes."
Tony strode over to the dresser and placed the cufflinks on it. He shrugged a little, keeping his head down and not answering. Steve just watched him, silently marvelling at how good he looked in his suit. The tailored jacket accentuated his figure and fit his shoulders perfectly.
"She wouldn't even recognize me," he finally muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Steve. He was smiling, genuinely but unhappily. "She hasn't seen me in an awfully long time, Steve. Besides, that head of hers is making a stew in her memories."
"Maybe she won't even recognize me today," Steve shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He tried to sound as if it wasn't breaking his heart. "Sometimes she's having a better day and it clears up, sometimes it doesn't. But it's still worth visiting her."
He smiled, sincerely hoping he could talk Tony into it. But it didn't look like it. Tony shrugged his shoulders and shook his head dismissively.
"No, I won't. But I'll drive you there, how about that? I've got to pick something up anyway. Come on," he strode towards the door, giving Steve no room to protest. Stevee bowed his head and let out a long sigh, but went along with it.
Peggy was having one of her worse days, but she recognized Steve after all. He stood by her bed, holding his breath and just waiting, dreading that today was the day. That today would just be a day she would stare at him and all memory of him would be gone. When a smile spread across her face and she said his name, a stone fell from his heart.
He feared the day she wouldn't recognize him. He hoped, sincerely prayed, that it wouldn't come to that. She was the last person that connected him to his time. If... When he loses her, he'll be all alone.
Steve sat down beside her, holding her wrinkled soft hand in his palms, smiling and patiently telling her how he was doing. She asked him three times if he was still in touch with Bucky, and Steve explained three times that Bucky was dead. Her reaction was always the same, she grieved and expressed her condolences to him as if she was hearing the information for the first time. Today was her mind really worse than ever.
Steve was just about to tell her about the accident with his apartment when there was a knock on the door. He looked towards them in surprise, it hadn't happened yet that anyone had disturbed them during his visit. His surprise only grew when Tony walked in. He closed the door behind him and looked them both over.
Peggy watched him at first with the same look she had given Steve earlier; uncertain and confused. Steve waited tensely, as did Tony. Very soon, however, her face spread into a smile.
"Howard!" She exclaimed happily. "Howard Stark, you old bastard, you've come to me at last."
The smile on Tony's face was forced and his eyes went from warm and welcoming to dark and hard in a second. Shaking his head gently, he walked over to the bed and looked down at Peggy.
"No, Aunt Peggy. It's me, Tony."
"Tony?" She repeated in disbelief. "Oh, come on, Howard, don't make fun of me. Tony's a little boy, after all; you wrote me the other day that he'd finally started walking!"
Steve expected Tony to turn on his heel and walk away. He had that look on his face, the look where he didn't want to deal with a particular problem and just wanted to get away from it. He didn't. Sighing softly, he leaned down carefully and brushed the tip of his nose against Peggy's, looking her in the eyes...
"It's me, Aunt Peggy," he repeated again, his voice low and gentle. Her gaze cleared as if she remembered something long forgotten. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she reached out to Tony and stroked his cheek. Tony leaned his head into her touch, closed his eyes and smiled.
"Tony... I can't believe it, you've grown so much."
He pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled away. He was smiling carefree, and Steve would have even believed him if he hadn't seen the tension in his shoulders and the ice in his eyes. The mention of Howard did not please him.
"Well, you know, Auntie. A little water and bread do wonders," he winked at her. "But you're still the same beauty."
Peggy laughed softly and slapped his arm. "Always charming, you Starks are all the same." She squeezed his hand, smiling softly and looking into his face. "You look so much like your father, Tony. Oh God, how many years has it been since we've seen each other?"
"Few weeks, I would say," he smiled. Steve stood up and offered Tony his chair. He hesitated for a moment, but finally sat down, making sure that Steve was okay with it. Steve smiled at him, nodded, and walked over to the window, where he leaned against the sill and just watched them in silence. Peggy's attention was now solely on Tony and Steve didn't want to spoil it for them.
Peggy talked a lot today, and mostly about Howard. Tony maintained a polite smile, but Steve could see he was getting tenser and tenser. His right hand held Peggy's, his left gripped the bar on her bed until his knuckles were white. It occurred to Steve that he might try to change the subject, but he had a suspicion that she wouldn't allow it.
"Where is Howard, anyway?" she asked. She fixed Tony with a stare, her eyes large and innocent, almost childlike. She didn't see Tony's body language or facial expressions, didn't realize he was picking at open wounds. She wasn't doing it on purpose, and Tony knew it as well as Steve.
Tony remained silent and motionless, staring at her, whereupon he smiled slightly and murmured: "He's gone to France with my mother. They haven't had a holiday in a long time, you know. So he took her to Louvre."
"That's thoughtful of him," she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes. "Maria and her love for art. Nothing's changed about her, has it? She can still spend hours in the Louvre and then claim she didn't have enough time to go through it."
"Exactly, Auntie," he agreed. "Dad says they've gone there three times already and Mom still can't get enough."
Tony was still smiling, soft and gentle. And fake. Steve couldn't see his eyes, yet he could imagine them. A tired, unhappy, and sunken look. The look of a man who'd had enough of everything.
"He loves you very much, Tony," Peggy murmured wearily, lifting her hand. She placed it on his cheek and left it there, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "He often writes to me about you, you know. He's really very proud of you, Tony. He couldn't ask for a better son."
Tony covered her palm with his and withdrew it from his face. "You're tired, Auntie. We'll let you rest, okay? You need to get some sleep."
"Couldn't you read to me for a minute?" She stopped him immediately, her hand gesturing to the pile of books on the nightstand. "I've got The Sign of the Four now."
Steve pushed off the windowsill and picked up a book from the coffee table, giving Peggy a smile. "Can I?"
"No, Steve, not tonight," she dismissed him gently. "Could Tony read to me?"
He met Tony's eyes, saw that he didn't feel like it. He wanted to leave, to disappear and never come back. He didn't. With a sigh, he took the book from Steve's hands, resting his fingers on his for a moment, as if he needed a boost of courage and energy. His fingers were cold, more so than usual. And they were trembling slightly.
"Okay," he said in a lively voice, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair and flipping through the pages. His gaze rested on a photograph Peggy used as a bookmark for a moment before he tucked it between the pages a little further away, cleared his throat dramatically, and read:
"Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case..."
Peggy fell asleep almost instantly, but Tony stayed seated beside her and finished at least the first few pages before closing the book and putting it away. He covered Peggy up to her ears, pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned to Steve. He met his gaze, exhaled the pent-up air from his lungs, and slumped his shoulders. He looked tired, haggard, and old.
Steve longed to hold him, to squeeze him in his arms and reassure him that everything would be all right.
"Tony..."
"Not now," he stopped him with a hand gesture, "come on, let's go," he urged in a whisper, almost trotting out of the building. Steve was right on his heels as he too said goodbye to the sleeping Peggy. Outside, they got into the car and headed back to the tower without a word. It was getting dark, traffic was still heavy, and it was beginning to drizzle. Silence accompanied them the whole trip to the tower.
Tony didn't even ask Steve if he wanted to go back to his place, he simply told Jarvis to take them to the common floor and Steve was expected to go with him. He went, he wanted to go with him. He was afraid to leave Tony alone now. He seemed to be in a really bad mood. He hadn't even put on one of his usual masks. It was just him, Tony Stark, stripped to the core.
"Jarvis, fire."
As if by magic, the fire in the fireplace flared up and the lights dimmed to a minimum, leaving the room in warm shadows. Steve watched Tony in silence, wanting to speak several times, but not daring to. Tony crossed the room with long strides, poured himself a glass of whiskey and motioned to the sofas.
“Have a seat," he invited. Steve obeyed him as if in a daze, still watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see what would happen. At one point he thought this was just the calm before the storm. That the next moment Tony would turn on him and tell him everything that had happened today was Steve’s fault. But, as was his wont, Tony Stark surprised him.
He waited until Steve sat down, walked over to him and nudged his knee, silently instructing him to put his legs apart. The next moment Tony was sitting between Steve's thighs with his back to him, leaning against his chest.
"Now hold me for a minute," he whispered. He hid his face behind his hand and let out another long sigh. "Just for a little while, Steve. Please. Hold me together."
His voice was a barely audible whisper. Carefully, hesitantly, Steve lifted his arms and hugged him. It wasn't long before Tony relaxed, hiding in his arms.
Hold me together.
Steve closed his eyes. He never thought Tony would feel like this. Shattered, falling to pieces. He gripped him tighter, his forehead resting on Tony’s shoulder, his thumb unconsciously running over Tony’s stomach. His nose tickled with the scent of Tony's cologne, laundry detergent, shower gel, and Tony himself, a very faint smell of motor oil and metal underneath it all. Steve loved Tony's smell. It was so distinctive and unique, it belonged to him. In any other circumstance it would have been arousing and Steve would have wanted to run his lips gently over his neck and kissed him. Now he had no thought of that.
He just held him close, held him together and listened to his pulse and breathing. His breathing was deep and shaky, like a man trying to fight back tears. The stabbing pain at Steve’s heart was all too clear to Steve.
He began to hum softly. He continued to lean on Tony's shoulder, pressing Tony close his chest, humming You Are My Sunshine. It was the first song that came to mind, and it obviously wasn't a misstep. All remaining tension drained from Tony's body, he lowered his palm into his lap and even mumbled the lyrics of the song now and then. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the wet marks on Tony’s face. He didn't comment on it.
"Better?" He asked in a whisper. It seemed undignified to speak up, to spoil the moment with loud speeches. Tony chuckled and shook his head.
"No, still sucks. But don't worry about it." He patted Steve’s hand, finally resting his fingertips over it. He leaned back, forcing Steve to rest fully into the couch. He rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and just stared at the ceiling in silence as Steve stared at him.
"I want to believe it, you know?" Tony spoke after a few minutes of silence. "What Peggy said. What you told me. All that crap about my father."
The flames of the fire reflected in Tony's eyes, and Steve couldn't stop staring at them. He didn't speak. He let Tony do the talking, just letting him know he was there for him. He's here for him and he's going to hold him, hold him together and give him strength. He'll say the words Tony needs to hear, if he needs to hear them. But Tony didn't need to hear anything, he just needed to say a few things out loud. Steve knew it, he could feel it, so he kept quiet.
"He was a manipulative bastard. And a violent bastard. I don't know what Howard Stark you two knew, but that's the one I knew," he growled evilly and took a swig of whiskey, downing the entire contents of his glass in one gulp. But he didn't go for another, dropping the glass on the carpet and leaving it there.
"Evenings used to be the worst. He was out during the day, working or terrorizing someone else somewhere. In the evening, he'd come back for dinner, have a drink and all hell would break loose," he chuckled bitterly. "Pretty quickly, I stopped counting the number of times Mom and I finished dinner in my room. She always defended me, took me away from there so I wouldn't have to listen to him..."
Tony's voice faded slowly, he let out a long sigh and hid his face in his hands again. But the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.
"Too bad you didn't know my mom. She's the reason I can play the piano and speak Italian. I just didn't get that love for art from her," he chuckled. "And you know what? She could be scary too, kind of like Pepper. Howard never dared touch me when Mom was there, too. She was a strong woman..."
Steve smiled slightly and loosened his grip a little, but Tony didn't move, just snuggled in more. He turned his head a little so he could see Steve's face and grinned, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.
"Hey, mate, join the debate so I'm not whining alone. What about your mom? I know everything about you from Howard, even the size of your underwear both before and after the serum, but he never mentioned your family. Don't leave me alone in this."
Steve closed his eyes for a moment. It had been a long time since he'd really thought about his mom. He'd missed her, how many times he'd thought he'd be glad she was here. She would have given him advice when he was lost. She would definitely tell him what to do with his feelings for Tony.
"Her name was Sarah," he murmured into the silence of the room and smiled. "She was great. Kind and incredibly brave. No matter what, she didn't give up and she taught me the same. She died when I was sixteen, and I've been hanging around on my own ever since. She didn't have it easy in life, my dad... he wasn't ideal."
"He beat her?" Tony asked casually, yet Steve felt his body tense. He nodded.
"Yeah. Not much... like that makes a difference," he rolled his eyes at his own words. "I remember him calling it 'raising a woman'. He sat me on his lap once, when I was about five, and explained that that was how the right guys dealt with women. You punch her in the nose, Steve, and she'll stop talking back, he told me."
His own voice was foreign to him, cold and hateful. This was one of the worst memories he had of his father. Steve would never have laid a hand on a woman in his life, and sometimes it terrified him to think what he would have grown into if his father hadn't died so soon. Would he have been like him if he had lived with him all his life and listened to similar talks?
"So a violent asshole, nice. Welcome to the club, Rogers." Tony said, patting him on the thigh. Steve smiled.
"He wasn't always like this. He was a soldier, fought in the First World War. And then when he lost his job during the Great Depression, he took it hard and started drinking."
Tony did drink the whiskey from the glass, but he obviously still had a flask in his jacket pocket, which he now carried to his mouth. At Steve's words, however, he paused, gave it a disapproving look, as if it were responsible for all the alcoholism in the world, and put it back in his pocket. Steve grinned but was grateful.
"Mom used to argue with him a lot. Once she brought up the subject of money, he used to be the most aggressive," he sighed. He didn't want to remember it, but once he started, he couldn't stop. "He died when I was six. And ever since then, my mom and I have been on our own."
Silence fell between them, and Steve thought he had better keep quiet. This was a heavy topic and it worked as a great atmosphere killer. But he felt strangely lighter. He hadn't spoken to anyone about his family in many years, not just since he'd woken up, but even before that. And Tony had listened to him. He didn't know if it was for real or just so he could sit with Steve a little longer, but in the end it didn't matter. Steve smiled and pulled him tighter against him.
"So a shitty dad and an amazing mom who died way too soon?" Tony uttered thoughtfully, his palms resting on Steve’s. "Shit, Rogers..."
"Hmmm, we're on a similar boat," he agreed. He was surprised himself.
"I'll have to drink to that, though. It doesn't happen every day to have similar fate as Captain America," he grumbled in mock displeasure, whereupon he took a big swig from his flask. Steve laughed softly, genuinely. Tony joked again and the atmosphere relaxed. He felt good.
"Have they always lived in Brooklyn?" Tony asked still and sat sideways to him, pulling away from his embrace. Steve let him go.
He shook his head. "No, my parents were from Ireland. They emigrated here, got married and had me."
Tony watched him with a confused expression on his face, the flask still clutched in his hand. He ran the other hand through his hair, leaving a disheveled sparrow's nest behind. "You're bullshitting me. America's greatest icon is Irish?! Why nobody ever talks about it?"
Steve grinned, watching Tony's confused look with amusement. He'd asked himself these questions once and figured that no one had probably bothered to trace his family's origins. Captain America was... just Captain America, and it hadn't occurred to anyone that he might be from different part of the world.
"I'll blackmail you with this one day, Rogers!" Tony warned, pointing at him with a flask that Steve could smell a bourbon on. "Watch it, I know your dirty little secret now. Annoy me and I'll tell everyone that the American Icon is a leprechaun."
"No one will believe you," he smiled. Tony straightened up, a playful look on his face, ready to win. His eyes squinted dangerously, but teasing flashes flickered through them.
"I'll find the records! I'll have the evidence and I'll destroy you, Rogers."
"And how will you find them?" Steve raised his eyebrows in challenge. "I didn't tell you my mother's maiden name and my father's first name."
"Don't underestimate me, Rogers," he laughed. "I have money, time, people, and Jarvis! I'll find every Rogers who ever married any Sarah."
"Then try it," he shrugged. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. But even SHIELD doesn't have that information. It's nowhere, no one knows."
That competitiveness and playfulness suddenly drained out of Tony. His hand with the flask dropped into his lap and he looked at Steve with a frown. His sudden change of mood took Steve by surprise.
"Nobody cares about Steve Rogers," he muttered, puzzled. Steve flinched. His initial reaction was anger, he wanted to lash out at Tony, to tell him that this was extremely rude even to him. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He figured out the meaning of Tony's words only a few seconds later. He remained staring at him without a word.
No one cares about Steve Rogers.
It had never occurred to him, and the knowledge that it was true hit him all the harder. Captain America was celebrated around the world. Steve Rogers was just the man behind the mask who wasn't important. A man with a past no one cared about.
He swallowed hard at the lump forming in his throat. He leaned back against the brown leather of the sofa behind him again and just sat and stared, his mind blank. He was only peripherally aware of Tony's hand on the back of his head, gently running through his hair.
"Why don't you tell me more about Steve Rogers?" Tony suggested in a soft, muffled voice. It was that tone that made Steve come back to the present and look Tony in the eye again. His face was lit only by flames of fire and his lips were adorned with a crooked smile. His eyes were soft and kind, the colour of milk chocolate. And understanding.
They didn't go to bed until late that night. Steve had talked for a long time, a very long time, and even though Tony had told him many times in the past that Steve was the worst person to have long conversations with and that he couldn't listen, he was listening now.