Chapter 6
It’s been three weeks since Tony showed him the entire floor meant for him, and the unused vastness of it still makes Steve uncomfortable. Tony can’t spend every day with Steve – a general shareholder meeting he can’t avoid, filming his latest video with the bots, tinkering in the lab and what not. Part of Steve is grateful, because sometimes Tony sends his head reeling and he needs the time to adjust, absorb, calm down.
He spends hours on end learning about the future with JARVIS, and when he grows bored or anxious after sitting for too long, he’ll wander to the gym that Tony set up on his floor and punch until he breaks something.
Other times, Steve follows Tony down the elevator to the office or the labs overlooking the city, and he’ll take advantage of the sunlight to mindlessly move his pencil across the paper, and he’ll let Tony’s chatter wash over him, reminding him that he isn’t alone in the future if he doesn’t wish to be.
During one of those forays to the office floors, he nearly gets pepper sprayed for walking into the wrong room, and he learns quickly the reason behind Tony’s nickname for his whipsmart CEO. Much to Tony’s eternal chagrin, Steve and Pepper get along wonderfully well, and Steve began taking his lunches with Tony instead of alone on his floor.
He asks about Edward and Tony waves it off as one of the AIs in R&D that’s being upgraded, promising to show Steve the base code for their language learning matrix. Humbling is the only way to put it, and Tony had stiffened, eyes wide, when Steve had told him that as revolutionary as Howard had been, he doesn’t come anywhere close to the magic Tony makes with his bare hands.
Occasionally, Steve will go down and stroll out of the lobby, making friends with the young lady in the donut shop two blocks down from the tower, getting to know the street artists who Tony gives free reign to paint the base of the tower – and who now likely has art scholarships from Tony – and visiting places he’s missed, trying to find some semblance of closure.
Steve meets the grandson of the breadshop owner across Bucky’s apartment, and he learns that Peggy is living upstate with her niece. He doesn’t visit, not yet, not ready.
On days like those, Steve will go back to the Tower and bring food back, oscillating between familiar foods and foods Tony mentioned in passing. That one time Steve had come back with two boxes of store-bought sushi, Tony had thrown them down the radioactive disposal and nearly flown them both to Japan so Steve could get the proper experience. Steve hasn’t tried cooking yet, the supermarket being too daunting to try to decipher, and he’s learned quickly enough that Tony cannot be trusted to cook, so unless Pepper or Happy comes along, Steve tries his best to keep them well-fed with take outs.
When Tony discovers with horror that Steve’s been going around either walking or taking public transport, he had dragged Steve down to the basement holding Tony’s private garage and told Steve to choose one of the cars there.
Steve had been in the middle of thoroughly refusing when his eyes caught the modified Harley in the corner. The smooth curves of it, the size and sturdiness of its frame – Tony had slipped the keys into Steve’s hand and then it was Tony’s turn to vehemently refuse a joyride with Steve.
Surprisingly enough, Tony doesn’t go out much. Steve will check and hear strands of Tony’s conversations with his friends which lasts for hours, and Tony will spend longer hours in his lab. Those hours in between the darkness and the dawn, when Steve will toss and turn in bed and need a voice to fill in the silence, Steve will open Tony’s latest uploads, smiling at the phrases he remembers hearing Tony speak into the camera.
It feels wrong, to watch Tony when Steve is living in Tony’s space, but, one morning during breakfast, when Steve blurted out a question about Tony’s MIT Bloopers, the brilliant smile Tony gives him and the hour long explanation about the toaster, the world’s first drone, and Rhodey’s air force uniform made Steve eager to watch more videos – just to see that delighted look in Tony’s eyes.
And then, Steve discovers the comments section.
“They’ve been there all along, Steve,” Tony tiredly pinches the bridge of his nose, the holograms – holograms, Steve is still in awe – around them show the hundreds of messages Steve had written below Tony’s videos.
Steve crosses his arm on his chest. “Well, they shouldn’t have been there in the first time.” He points to one particularly harsh line: why is everyone even watching this shit? he’s a selfish war-profiteer who makes fun of people’s traumas, calls them hurtful nicknames, pokes fun at very serious things. he’s a liar.
“I don’t like bullies,” Steve refuses to be persuaded away from his crusade. “It’s a free country. They want to say those things? Then they better be ready for me to say some things back.”
Tony glares at him. “They are trolls in the comments section, Steve. The best way to deal with them is to ignore them. Yes, sometimes they get to me, but I went through enough therapy and I keep going to therapy to help. And they help remind me never to become who I was before.”
It’s a valid enough point, but Steve isn’t satisfied. The point is that Tony shouldn’t have to deal with them. They are bullies through and through: yes, Tony often needs constructive criticism, but that isn’t the same with these spiteful words meant to hurt. “Doesn’t make what they’re doing right, though. Someone needs to teach them manners.”
“Yeah, but that someone doesn’t have to be you, does it, Steve?” Tony throws his hands in the air. “They’ve started covering you on the Daily Bugle. You’re in their headlines: Mystery Defender Sparks Storm in Stark’s Channel.”
Yes, that had been unfortunate, but Steve was smart. His username on Youtube is simply steve1234, which lends the anonymity he needs. “They aren’t going to figure out who I am, Tony. According to JARVIS, more than one million two hundred ninety thousand people have been named Steve in the past two hundred years.”
“No. Nuh uh,” Tony waves his finger in Steve’s face, “you do not get to use my AI against me.” Then, more seriously, “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. You don’t even know me.”
That hurts more than Steve wants to let it show, because does Tony really think so little of the friendship they’ve managed to build? Sure, Steve’s only known Tony for three weeks, and they’ve only just reached an equilibrium in their friendship, but Steve knows Tony’s favorite donut flavour, he knows who put the light in Tony’s chest and why sometimes he can hear a piano from the floor above.
He doesn’t have to know who Tony was. He cares about who Tony is.
“Do you really mean that?” Steve brings himself to ask, fearful of the answer, and Tony, as expected, deflects.
“Why does it matter, Cap?” Tony mutters. He does that – call people by nicknames – to hide how much he cares. Steve knows that, and the world should, too. It must be a rhetorical question, though, because Tony goes on, “I try my best, I really do, but as much as I try to, my empire was built on blood, and I am guilty of what they accuse me of, sometimes.”
“You’re not – what was it,” Steve glances around at the holograms, “the devil’s spawn, Tony. And nobody deserves to be called that.”
The thing is, Tony thinks as he stares at Steve, the stern voice and sure expression, it has been years since anyone new had strolled into Tony’s life and believed with such certainty that Tony is intrinsically, undoubtedly good. And while both Tony’s unlicensed therapist (Bruce) and his professional therapist have helped Tony get over those thoughts, it’s getting harder and harder for Tony to bear Steve’s unwavering belief in him.
Because Tony has lied. He’s lied to Steve. And he’d laughed while he lied to Steve, relishing in making him believe in some fantasy AI. Had Tony known who he was emailing with, Tony wouldn’t have been so cruel or thoughtless with his jokes, but it doesn’t change the fact that Tony has wronged Steve in a way that fits the spiteful words in the comments section.
There really is only one way to get Steve to understand, and that means Tony has to man up. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he tells Steve, “I lied to you.”
“What?” Steve incredulously throws the word at Tony, “yeah, you lie to me all the time about your eating schedule.”
Of course that would be where Steve’s mind would go. He has no reason to suspect, after all, that Tony is an AI. “No, about Edward.”
“I don’t see how that matters.”
“Edward doesn’t exist,” Tony admits heavily, staring at the tip of Steve’s nose, not daring to look into his eyes, “those emails were from me.”
“What?” Steve breathes out again, and this time it’s soft and confused. Steve doesn’t know what to think: had Tony just invited Steve to his home to watch him stumble and struggle with the future? Had Tony been secretly laughing and making fun of Steve all along? Fooling around with the idiot who knew nothing about technology? That couldn’t possibly be true, though, because Tony wouldn’t have spent three hours yesterday teaching Steve about the neurological interface of his suit if he wanted to keep Steve stumbling in the dark like a fool.
Tony wouldn’t have taught Steve how to filter results in online shops – how to get JARVIS to choose – when he discovered how the overfilled rows in the stores sent Steve’s head reeling. He wouldn’t have taken the time to set an alert for Steve’s nightmares, wouldn’t have suddenly just been there at Steve’s floor with two warm cups of milk and a light in his chest to chase away the dark. Tony wouldn’t have done any of that if he taught all this was just a joke.
He looks at Tony – all the tells he’s been learning to spot in the past weeks, the corner of Tony’s lips, the small scrunch between his eyes, the clenched fists – and he knows he wasn’t wrong. It hurts, that Tony would lie to him, but right now, Tony was choosing to be truthful to Steve of his own accord, and that means something.
“Why did you lie to me, Tony?” Steve settles on asking, because, as he’s learned so many times in the past weeks, Tony Stark always has a reason.
There’s something fragile in Tony’s shocked eyes. “I – you aren’t angry? How can you not be angry?”
“I won’t lie that it hurts to learn that you’ve kept up the lie all this time, but I know you must have had a good reason. You don’t hurt because you want to. You’re not a bully.”
“Damn you, Rogers,” Tony grits out, walking away from Steve and out onto the balcony. “Why are you so fucking perfect?”
Steve steps beside Tony, slowly placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’m as perfect as you, Tony.”
It isn’t fair, Tony thinks, that he has to be the emotionally mature one here, that he has to keep his hands off of this wonderful, amazing man. Steve gets Tony in a way very, very few people do, and he’s so sincere in his affection for Tony that it doesn’t help Tony’s heart.
“Pepper and I thought you were a stalker,” Tony relents, leaning slightly into the warmth of Steve’s steady touch.
“See?” Steve declares, the small not of triumph in his voice overshadowed by the kindness in his tone. Even hurt, Steve is pleased that Tony was willing to give the entire truth to him. “I was right.”
“Yeah, Sherlock,” Tony grumbles, pulling away to bat at Steve’s arm and finally meet his eyes. “Listen. I’m sorry I lied to you for weeks, and I’m grateful that you feel strongly enough to want to defend me.” He waits until Steve nods before he continues, “But Steve – Steve, if this is because you need something to fight, you need a purpose other than sitting around the Tower, then, let’s try to find something else for you to do, yeah?”
Swallowing hard, Steve nods, feeling far less sure of himself because how had Tony known? Not trusting himself to speak, he lets Tony’s voice wash over him, drifting away into the night air, the lights of the city shining bright beneath them, but brighter still is the light in Tony’s words.
“Maybe a Youtuber, you could start your own channel, Steve? Or if we want to keep you a secret, you could volunteer somewhere? The children will love you – or puppies? Are you into that sort of thing?” Tony snaps his fingers, “oh, Rhodey has a friend – Seb, Simon – Sam! I’ll give him a call and you can – ”
“Tony?” Steve cuts in as the tightness in his throat begins to ease, “thank you.”
“Anything for you,” Tony grins, his voice playful, but Steve sees the hard set of Tony’s eyes, and the softness in his smile, and Steve knows Tony means every word.
“Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi,” Tony marches into Steve’s floor, his arms full of large boxes that send Steve darting up from the couch to help him.
“I understood that reference, you know,” he puts his boxes down on the coffee table and bends to nudge the lid open. Behind him, there’s a loud thump and an indignant gasp.
“Are you telling me,” Tony draws the word out, his hands on his hips, “that you watched Stars Wars without me?”
Steve snorts. “That, or I’ve heard you call me that too many times.”
“Okay, Jar Jar Binks, I got you books. And paint supplies. Some yarn, too. There might be some do-it-yourself experiments for children and a fake jewel excavation kit where you can try digging for your own treasures.”
“What?”
There is a lot of yarn in the box in front of Steve, with a crazy assortment of colors that sends Steve cross-eyed for a second. Tony’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his arms twisted behind his back – a sign of nervousness Steve’s grown familiar with.
“I did some research. Apparently, soldiers used to knit in the war, and Howard always said the most ridiculous thing about you was that you’re an art school drop out – and, uh, I called Rhodey’s friend and he recommended a lot of things veterans like to do – I thought you’d like to skip the pole dancing recommendation,” Tony clears his throat, eyes darting away from Steve, “and jump to something you’re interested in, like science. Hey, I should get Peter to come and – no, nevermind, that kid will blow up this place with you.”
When Tony goes a mile a minute, Steve often has trouble following, but Steve thinks he’s beginning to understand: Tony had done all of this to help Steve find a purpose, an anchor to the future, when all along Tony has become Steve’s anchor.
God, Steve realises, clarity flashing as he meets Tony’s hopeful, expectant eyes, I’m in love with this man.
“Are you trying to turn me into a housewife?” Steve teases to hide the jarring depth of his realisation, and it works to distract Tony from noticing.
“No, you’re a nonagenarian. I should get you a rocking chair and a kitten to go with your scarves,” he quips back at Steve, and Steve has half a mind to reply with a phrase he’s recently heard: I could rock your world. But it feels too close to his realisation, so he merely quirks his lip and checks the time on the clock hanging from the far wall.
“There’s a lot to unpack, here, so what about some lunch first?” Steve asks. It’s not a date, he tells himself sternly, it’s two friends hanging out as they always do every day.
Except, as Tony easily nods and they leave the pile of boxes littering the room, Steve thinks that, all along, all their lunches and dinners might actually have been dates. Would Tony even be interested in Steve, though? Is Steve himself ready yet to put his past to a close and give Tony a fair relationship, one where Steve isn’t always comparing Tony with the endless could haves and would haves?
When the elevator doors shut close, Steve realises this is the worst time to panic.
He might have made a big mistake asking Tony out for lunch.
Or, it might just be the best decision in his life.