Before Steve is sworn in, he’s hustled into the White House to meet the First Family and, more importantly, to be stared down by Nicholas J. Fury, Director of the United States Secret Service.
As an army veteran with a collection of medals, Steve has no problem looking unflinchingly back at the one-eyed man. After a moment, Fury nods, satisfied, having apparently found what he was looking for in Steve.
“Captain, I’ve successfully protected nine Presidents since I entered the Service, some of whom I liked, others whom I don’t. But it isn’t my job to like you. I’m only here to keep you alive.”
Steve glances out over Fury’s shoulder to gaze at the sprawling gardens of the Residence. It feels surreal to be here: Steve had volunteered for the army to pay the bills for his mother's health, and to help shield, defend, protect his country. He had come home angry and disappointed at his nation's failures, its bigotry and hypocrisy. Nat had pushed him to start a public conversation on Twitter – the only social media he had learned to use – and things had escalated rapidly until Steve became the only independent President-elect in modern U.S. history.
“And with all due respect, Captain,” Fury goes on sternly, standing up to lean on his table with his arms, “just because you’ve handled guns, doesn’t mean you can protect yourself. And our intel says you’re a stubborn man, so I’ve assigned to you our best, and most insufferable agent.”
The door swings open, and, “Fury, I thought we agreed: no meetings before noon.”
Steve swivels in his chair. The man is tall enough, but shorter than Steve, his beard trimmed into a goatee with sharp precise lines, his jaw firm but eyebrows raised and mouth drawn up in a slanted smile. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes, and Steve itches to pull them down. This man is more expressive than all the agents Steve has met so far, and it calms Steve to know he won’t be surrounded by only unspeaking, unfeeling men.
“Behave, Stark.”
The name makes Steve sit up a bit straighter, tracking the newcomer as he walks around to the window and draws the curtains close, leaning against the window pane.
“Is this beefcake one of the recruits?” Stark drawls.
“Yes, to replace the current President,” Fury drily replies. “Captain Rogers, meet Agent Stark, codename: Iron Man.”
When Steve stands up to shake Stark’s hand, the sunglasses stay firmly fixed over his eyes, but the curve of his lips turns sharper.
“Captain,’ Stark says in a low, conspirational tone, “congratulations. You now know whose name to shout in bed – if you need any help at night.”
Looking back, Steve thinks that's the beginning of the end: the moment he falls in love. The audacity of the man, unafraid to cross lines, to push at Steve until everything comes out, the ugly and the good. Unafraid to live. To die.
Stark is a name that anyone high enough in the Armed Forces knows. His father ran Stark Industries, manufacturing weapons that pushed the boundaries of possibilities. Tony Stark had spent his youth partying until his three-year disappearance, from which he came back and tore down his father's empire and built a new one, putting Virginia Potts on its throne.
Then, Stark had disappeared in the folds of the Armed Forces. As far as Steve knows, Stark is under Homeland Security, but Steve has known him to have rumoured involvement in all branches, from the Air Force to the Marines.
The first thing Steve asks Stark is whether Iron Man is real - Bucky had always thought that the reports of a flying metal man was a harebrained conspiracy - and the first thing Stark tells Steve is to call him Tony.
Tony doesn't answer the question, he only tells Steve that he looks forward to going through the inauguration plans next week, in a way that tells Steve he really actually isn't.
It catches Steve off guard, how comfortable it is to be accustomed to Tony’s constant presence behind Steve’s shoulder. It takes two months for Steve to realise that while Tony is heading Steve’s security detail, he isn’t actually tasked to personally watch over Steve: that’s Agent Parker’s job.
“Aren’t you supposed to be alert?” Steve asks Tony one night as Tony lounges uncaringly in one of the Oval Office’s sofas, hands tapping busily on his tablet. There are too many documents that apparently need Steve’s urgent attention, and it’s overwhelming trying to sort out what his priorities should be. It really shouldn’t be staring at the way his Secret Service agent’s leg is dangling unrepentantly over one of the armrests.
Tony groans, dragging his sunglasses down so he can squint those brown, brown eyes at Steve. “I’m here for an excuse to ogle you, Mr. President. Peter is the one tasked with the holy job of guarding your star-spangled ass.”
“Oh,” Steve frowns, “couldn’t you do that at home with the Youtube videos of me?”
The snort that comes from the couch is quickly muffled as Tony sits up, the smirk on his face making his eyes crinkle, “the NSA would have me hung, drawn, and quartered for scandalous indecency, Mr. President.”
“I don’t think they’d dare,” Steve tells Tony, and then, “call me Steve.”
“Steve is boring,” Tony grins, “but a Dorito, that’s delicious, Mr. President. Huh, that’s actually a better codename.”
Steve wonders what someone like Tony Stark is doing in the Service. And yet, in the five minute breaks between endless meetings, Steve thinks that Tony’s crooked smile and disregard for protocol is the only thing that keeps Steve sane, the only thing that reminds Steve there’s some humanity left in this godforsaken hell where everyone holds knives to everyone’s backs.
When Steve falls asleep, slumped over the growing piles of paper on his work desk, it’s Tony who prods at Steve’s back and walks Steve to the Executive Residence, hands strong and gentle as he props a half-dreaming Steve up.
It’s Tony who lifts the covers, who turns the lights off, who silently closes the door.
The first time Steve truly sees the Stark to Tony Stark is when they start receiving threats from the Mandarin. They’re in the Situation Room, and while Tony usually looks bored during times when he has to actually participate in meetings, Steve can see the hard lines carved into Tony’s cold face.
Alexander Pierce, Secretary of Homeland Security, is telling Steve that the threat isn’t serious. The bombings have been sporadic and have resulted in no casualties. Steve is about the give the Secretary a piece of his mind when Tony leans forward on the table and taps twice on the glass of his watch.
“I’m sorry, what did you say, Alex?” There’s a blue hologram shining out from Tony’s wrist, numbers and charts and locations. Steve didn’t know it could do that.
“Stretch the timeline back four, five years and we’ve got a solid pattern of attacks. Sooner or later someone’s going to get caught in the explosions, and they’ve upped their game if they’re ready to threaten the POTUS,” Tony goes on, a challenge in his voice.
“You would know all about getting caught, wouldn’t you, Stark?”
Something shutters in Tony’s expression. “The protection of the President is under my command. I’m not risking him for your incompetence.”
Steve wants to cut in, he feels like he should, but the Secretary is speaking again.
“Hammer’s down at the scene analyzing the detonation.”
“He won’t find shit and you know it,” Tony bites back, hands dancing briefly on his phone as the hologram morphs to show a text conversation. “Actually, he didn’t find shit.”
Even as Steve gapes at Tony, Pierce stands and Storms out of the room. Then, Tony turns to Steve.
“You’re welcome, Mr. President,” Tony says, in a flat voice that has none of his usual flair, and then, he leaves the room too, and Steve doesn’t see Tony for a long, long week.
A month later, when Steve asks Tony about it, Tony doesn’t bother to look up from the phone he’s busily typing on. Tony is always busy with something, and Steve wants to ask what Tony does endlessly with his screens, but Steve has a feeling that it isn’t the right question he needs to ask.
“They think you won your campaign because you’re all heart and no brain. If the devils here find out you’re too smart for your own good… well, that’ll make my job harder than it already is, Mr. President,” Tony says calmly, almost nonchalantly.
‘Smart’ is high praise from Tony Stark, but, “Pierce is my Secretary of Homeland Security, surely – ”
As soon as he says the words, Steve instantly feels foolish. Tony’s finally looked up from his phone, scrutinizing Steve for a long second, as if trying to solve a riddle.
“Yours? Do you even know who put him there?”
Steve can’t help but ask back, “and who put you here?”
Tony doesn’t smile, he opens the door to the East Room and says in parting, “shrapnel and an old friend.”
As Steve forces a smile on his face to greet the ambassadors in the room, Steve adds the question to a growing list of unanswered ones. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to figure out the Tony to Tony Stark before he is whisked back to his lonely Brooklyn apartment.
Carol Danvers is Steve’s Vice President, a Democratic Congresswoman who defected to join Steve’s cause. He trusts her despite only knowing her for six months, and admires her strength of will, and when he asks her about Tony, she smiles. It isn’t the first time he hears the name, but it’s the first time he realizes how important Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes is.
If Tony is surprised when Steve invites the Lieutenant Colonel to dinner in the Green Room, he doesn’t show it. He corners Steve the morning earlier, though, his voice fierce and unyielding.
“Rhodey isn’t your pawn,” Tony commands, “leave him out of these political games.”
Neither Carol nor Rhodes brings Steve any closer to understanding Tony Stark, but Steve finds a new ally in Rhodes, and Steve’s gratified to know that Tony has someone watching his back, too.
When Steve wakes up screaming, mind filled with the memory of sand and dust and Bucky’s arm bleeding out beneath the scorching heat, Tony’s there with a glass of water and a quiet, unquestioning steadiness that Steve clings desperately to.
The next night, he hears the grand piano in the Blue Room play just minutes after Tony closes the door to the Presidential Bedroom. It’s haunting and lonely, but it’s enough to lull Steve into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The first time it happens is in an alley behind a laundromat.
One year into his Presidency, just after the SOTU address, Steve is crawling out of his own skin to leave the House. He wants to be a normal person again, wants to feel the snow falling on his hair under the streetlights without having to be perfectly groomed, wants to just be.
Tony insists on coming along, appearing at the East Wing basement with a pair of jeans, a band t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. It’s foreign, seeing Tony in anything other than a tailored suit, and it does nothing to help Steve. Tony looks good, and in these deceptively normal clothes, Steve can’t help but entertain the possibilities: if they were both civilians, if conflicts of interest weren’t a problem, if Steve wasn’t President.
It was hard enough getting Natasha to be First Lady in the absence of any actual partner, it will be harder to get the notion of First Gentleman to pass.
With a crooked grin, Tony leads Steve through tunnels and up out of an armored door Steve has never noticed on H Street. He forces a blue hat on Steve’s head, standing on his toes to more-violently-than-necessary shove a pair of glasses over Steve’s eyes when Steve chuckles at his struggles.
“Is this all they teach in fancy spy disguise school?” Steve quips.
“There’s some more hands-on work you can see when we get back, Dorito.”
From there, he lets Steve lead them pointlessly from store to store, Steve prattling on about his childhood to fill the silence.
“What was it like for you, growing up?” Steve finally asks as they leave a candy shop, Steve relishing the fruity sweetness of a Tootsie Roll. It feels good, to have this modicum of freedom, of choice.
Tony shrugs. “Lots of parties. Some inventing, a bit of escaping – how do you not know how to use the internet, Dorito?”
“I’ve heard rumors, but, uh, since I knew you, it felt wrong to look you up.”
“God, how did a man like you end up here?” There’s a note of wonder that slips out from Tony’s guarded façade, and Steve aches for how wrongly people have judged this brilliant man next to him.
“Well, there was a lot of people involved – what, Tony, why – ”
For some reason Tony suddenly has his hand forcefully linked around Steve’s arm, and is dragging him away from the street and –
“Stop it, just – ”
Steve’s back is slammed against the wall, and Tony is – his mouth tastes like coffee, and it’s soft, softer than Steve thought, the goatee brushing gently against Steve’s chin. There’s a hand snaking up Steve’s neck, tipping Steve’s face down, and he follows, pliant, mind bursting and he’s –
Gone.
Steve doesn’t know when his eyes closed, but when he opens it again Tony’s three feet away from him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he’s beautiful, he’s –
He’s not for Steve to have.
Desperate to cover his slip, Steve lets out an angry hiss, “what was that for?”
“Two men following us,” Tony tells him, eyes unreadable, “associated with the Mandarin.”
“Oh,” Steve says, because what else is there to say?
Tony looks like he wants to tell him more, but eventually settles on, “public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”
Steve wishes that affection was real on Tony’s part.
He meets JARVIS a week and a half later. Steve has been forced to endure Agent Parker’s nervousness for ten days when he breaks and asks him where Tony is to be found. Having Tony next to Steve from his very first bite of breakfast to the very last steps of his day before he collapses on bed is part of Steve’s normal routine.
To have Tony avoiding him feels like missing a limb. He’ll finish a meeting with a senator and turn right to share a quip with Tony only to see Agent Parker gazing expectantly back. It isn’t that Steve doesn’t like Peter. It’s that Peter isn’t Tony, and Peter doesn’t dare to say much more than ‘Mr. President, sir.’
It’s only then that Steve realizes he’s never actually known where Tony lives. Steve has White House Resolutions on health care and education to read through before they send the bills to Congress, but he can’t continue in this unforgiving silence. He’s used to the gentle tapping of fingers on glass, to the occasional grunts of frustration that remind Steve he’s not alone.
So Steve follows Peter’s directions and descends the staircases to the basement, turning left and right until he’s met with floor-to-ceiling glass panes. Beyond them, he can see Tony sitting on a table with only a tank top on, back towards Steve, surrounded by holograms and manipulating the light to get what he needs. His arms, Steve notices, are lined with muscles, hard from years of effort.
Steve hasn’t had the itch to draw in a long time: he’s drained dry by power-hungry politicians every day – but this, Steve wants to draw this.
And then Tony turns around –
And Steve realizes that Tony’s chest is shining with light.
He learns that when Tony refers to himself as a genius, it’s actually him being more humble than the truth, or maybe there just isn’t a word to describe how brilliant Tony is. Steve learns of the arc reactor: he learns the what, not the why, the how, the when.
It’s enough for Steve to issue the Clean Energy Initiative Bill in under a week.
Tony comes back to Steve’s side the day that Steve submits it to Congress.
Meeting children always turns Steve’s day into a delight. They chatter on about the stars and their dreams, their day and other kids at school, and Steve listens. He knows that he has renown experts advising national policy, but if these children already know what it is to be afraid to walk the streets, to accept that they won’t ever reach their dreams because their mother has said school is too expensive – well, then his advisors are doing something wrong.
Sometimes, Steve will draw for them, quick little sketches of a girl in an astronaut suit, a boy as an acrobat. He’s not allowed to sign them, but he hopes the White House letterhead will make their lives a little easier among their friends.
Once, a little girl comes up to Steve, whispering with a glance at Tony behind Steve’s shoulder, “Mr. President, sir, why is he there everywhere you go?”
“He keeps me safe,” Steve smiles at her, hearing a small huff from Tony.
The girl nods, as if understanding all his secrets, “he’s like the angel on my shoulder mama told me about, but you’re the President so you get to see him.”
Steve learns that Tony can blush, after all. The little girl gets a sketch with a Tony-like angel.
“You’re a good man,” Tony tells Steve one night over dinner after they receive news of an attack on a military base, “and it’s hard for a good man to be a good leader.”
Steve wants to cry, to scream, to rage, but he can’t. He came into this Office to stop these pointless deaths, to burn down the flimsy excuses for war, to overthrow the system that forced his Ma to work twenty hour shifts six days a week just to feed herself and her son. He keeps getting met with wall after wall, with people who have lied and swindled their whole lives and will do anything to stop Steve’s line of fire.
“Why are you here?” Steve asks again, not expecting a proper answer.
Tony, as always, finds joy in subverting expectations.
“The Mandarin? That’s them being desperate, getting sloppy.” He taps his chest, knuckles clunking against the glass of the arc reactor expertly hidden under folds of cloth. “They were the ones to do this. The government has been double-dealing weapons to terrorists, and... I found out at an inopportune moment.”
“The Mandarin is American?” Steve frowns, struggling to swallow a mouthful of potatoes.
Tony snorts. “You think the Mandarin is actually Chinese? That’s too easy.”
“But the man on the TV? The one giving all the death threats?”
Sipping into his glass, Tony shakes his head. “JARVIS identified him as a very low-grade actor weeks ago. I think I’ve nearly tracked them, but they’ll know, and they’ll get more aggressive.”
It has been well established that Tony Stark is a genius, and is usually 93% correct.
They visit France last. Steve doesn't want to be paraded at the Eiffel Tower, he wants these state visits to end, he wants to sleep and not have to think about trade deals and tariffs and fossil fuels.
“Your schedule for the day, sir,” Tony shows him on a hologram.
There’s lunch with the ambassador and the Minister for Foreign Affairs, followed by an address to the Parliament, and then –
“I thought you’d like to see the Louvre more than a clunky metal tower.”
Steve turns around, and Tony just shrugs as he meets Steve’s baffled look, “keeping you safe includes making sure they don’t slowly kill the good man in you, Captain.”
When Tony reaches out to close Steve’s door that night, Steve stops him to give him his own sketch: Tony leaning against one of his bots, a glass pyramid in the bot's claw.
Beneath it, the words: Best Defender.
Steve can see Tony swallow, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down. He wonders what it would be to touch, to be touched, and to kiss, and to be kissed.
Steve’s scared he’s revealed too much of his own heart, and yet, he wants to reveal more and more. He wants this beautiful man with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, and a gentle, caring heart.
Tony doesn’t say thank you. He only nods tightly at Steve, reaching back for the door.
"Good night, Mr. President.”
The soft click of the door shutting echoes loudly in the silence.
Air Force One has always fascinated Steve, and it always feels dreamlike to be on it. No matter how much paperwork Steve has to do, the gentle rumble of the plane and the sea of clouds he wakes up to reminds Steve of the privilege he has.
Steve is grateful to be flying back home over the Atlantic, in these few hours, he gets some respite. There’s no need to care about whether he looks presentable for the press, no need to memorise a hundred different customs that could offend foreign dignitaries. Here, he’s as free as a President can be.
Tony doesn’t have to follow Steve when they’re on the Air Force One. Other than the pilots, it’s only Steve, Tony, three other agents and two attendants who are on the plane, everyone vetted and accounted for so that Steve can safely be left to his own devices.
It doesn’t mean that Tony stops harassing Steve, though, having knocked on the door to the office suite and letting himself in. Usually, he makes himself comfortable on one of the plush chairs, but now, he’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
“When we get back, I’m resigning," Tony tells Steve. Steve can only blink uncomprehendingly back as Tony goes on, “we need you safe, and I’ve assigned Strange to take over my position. He’s one of the best, and one of the good ones, too.”
“I don’t want Strange,” Steve snaps petulantly, because while he likes Agent Strange well enough, he tends to frown at Tony and he’s not… he’s not Tony.
“I'm not in the best position to defend you anymore.”
“Why?”
It’s Tony’s turn to snap. “You get distracted about me. I’m not there for a week and you start scaring poor Parker away because apparently you need to abandon your work to see me.” He throws his hands in the air. “Mr. President, if you’re to survive the next two years, hell, the next six if you're re-elected, you can’t do that. I’m supposed to protect you. Not the other way around.”
Steve swallows hard. “I’m not accepting your resignation.”
“Dammit, Rogers, you don’t understand. They all think that I’m just your guard. The public doesn’t know that Tony Stark is part of the Secret Service because the higher ups who do know are scared of me and think a man like you would want nothing to do with a man like me. If they know you’ve grown attached to me, they will put you on a stake to burn.”
“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, and I’ve let you,” Steve lashes out, afraid to accept the truth of Tony’s words. “Have the decency, at least, to tell me these things I should be scared of but you can’t seem to find the courage to tell me!”
Tony laughs, bitter and sad. “The entire government is corrupt. You’re a good man, and you’re our one chance to root them all out – but they only need one small excuse – the right excuse – to throw you out of the Office. And I’m one big, enormous excuse.”
“Fury said no one can protect me better than you,” Steve tries desperately.
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Tony says almost gently, “I don’t need your permission. I just had the decency to inform you first.”
These days, everything is about what Steve needs, not what he wants, and Steve wonders not for the first time how being the most powerful man in the world can feel so powerless.
And then, a missile hits the left wing of the Air Force One.
“Steve, look at me,” Tony orders, and above the panic and confusion Steve realizes that it’s the first time Tony has actually said his name. The thought focuses Steve on what matters.
“You need to get off this plane. Where are the parachutes?” Steve shouts over the din.
“You need to get off,” Tony repeats, as he frantically taps on his watch, “and they’ll only shoot at you if you jump off unprotected.”
Steve frowns, grabbing his hand. “I’m not leaving you.”
There’s an odd look on Tony’s face that scares Steve, that makes Steve wonder whether Tony earned his codename from the fearless steel burning in his eyes right now.
“You’re more important than any of us, Steve. JARVIS will tell you what to do. Trust me."
Steve spins them around, using the tilt of the plane to his advantage, so that Tony is between Steve and the door: if Tony wants Steve to leave, then Tony will have to leave too.
“No, you are not – I refuse to let you do this. Not on my watch, Tony, please – ”
Steve is begging now, and he doesn’t care. He hadn’t wanted Tony to leave his side, and Steve cannot, will not, bear having someone else trade their lives for Steve’s. He’s lost Bucky – losing Tony would be losing his sanity.
Tony takes a step closer, their bodies nearly pressed against each other, but Steve stays his ground, keeps his grip strong on Tony, not daring to let go.
“Hey, this isn’t your fault, remember that, alright? This is my choice.”
“Wha – ”
Tony pushes forward, tugging Steve’s hand downward to pull the rest of Steve down. His free hand reaches up, up to tangle in the short strands of Steve’s hair.
Steve has dreamed of this moment so vividly so many times ever since the first time they did this, and he’s never once pictured it like this. A small voice in his head is screaming at him: why is Tony wasting time, why is he doing this now?
A larger part of his mind sinks into the feeling of home that Tony’s touch brings. The heady scent of cologne and the swipe of Tony’s tongue against his lips, and the –
There’s something else crawling up his neck, Steve realizes, pulling back sharply as he tries to scratch the itch of only to hear –
CLANG!
His hands are covered in red and gold metal, his chest, his legs, it’s spreading out, encasing Steve. Tony's looking at him with wide eyes, his mouth shaping the words forgive me, but Steve can’t hear him because there’s suddenly a helmet on his head.
It takes a second for him to realize: This is Iron Man. It’s so much more than a codename, than a meaningless gossip. Steve should have known.
Steve tries to reach out to Tony again, and he finds that he can't. The metal suit stops him from moving his joints, forcing them to its desired position.
Then, a British voice: “Mr. President, please hold on.”
Steve is shouting, cursing at Tony from inside the suit, but it’s meaningless.
In the end, Steve holds on: he clings desperately to the sight of Tony’s small smile as the suit forces him to fly away. He prays and hopes beyond faith that Tony will find a way out, as he always has before.
Steve doesn’t get to see the plane plunge into the water, the suit flying too fast to carry him to safety, and yet, still he feels his heart fall with it, crashing into a bottomless nothingness he doesn’t know if he can ever recover from.
JARVIS tells Steve everything when Steve commands it. He learns about Afghanistan and the Ten Rings, about HYDRA and the Mandarin. He thinks of Tony’s voice, calm and sure and final: you’re more important than any of us.
Steve lets the rage burn hotter, brighter than the cold darkness of his grief. He thinks the fire will one day consume him and leave him nothing more than forgotten ashes, but he knows it’s less painful to burn than to feel himself cracking, breaking under the weight of the world.
Agent Strange is there when Steve arrives back at the White House, the Iron Man armor having collapsed back into an innocent watch that Strange gives a brief glance at.
“The Air Force One crew survived. Recovering the plane is a national security priority, but the crew managed to get away on one of the rafts and an oil tanker en route to New York picked them up. The attacker’s ‘copter was shot down,” Strange reports without preamble.
Relief crashes through Steve. “Do we have a connection to Tony?”
Strange looks at Steve with a softness that chills him. “Mr. President, Agent Stark isn’t a crewmember. He remains unaccounted for.”
Steve doesn’t know how many times his heart can break in one day.
When Steve closes his eyes, he thinks of Tony falling into the water. They say drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die, but Steve has been waterboarded once, and he knows that no death can ever be peaceful for men like them.
Steve doesn’t sleep.
Alexander Pierce gives Steve his condolences, but now that JARVIS has told Steve who to look out for, it’s easy for Steve to hear the barely concealed smugness in the Secretary’s voice.
If Steve squeezes Pierce’s hand harder than necessary, it’s nobody’s business. And if Steve all but declares war on the Mandarin, it’s his prerogative as Commander in Chief.
Steve calls Pepper Potts to deliver the news to her, because of he has only ever heard Tony speak fondly of four people, and she listens as Steve repeats meaningless condolences he can barely get himself to say.
And then she mutters some curses, “Mr. President, if you’ll stay on the line, let me ask JARVIS to connect you to Rhodey.”
He understands, then, why Tony is in deep admiration of Ms. Potts.
Steve, it’s me. I’ve got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time. So first off, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I don’t know who to trust and who might be listening. You’ve asked me why I’ve been by your side, and the truth is, you gave me hope when you won the election. Whatever miracle put you in the White House, I needed to protect it because you’re the only one good enough, crazy enough to stop those devils from rotting away our country.
I looked at you and I saw a reason to keep going.
Ask Fury about SHIELD, keep the armor with you at all costs.
And I’m sorry in advance because I can’t come home yet. I need to find this guy, and you need to stay safe.
I just stole a poncho from a wooden Indian, so I guess sorry for that crime, too.
Tony wakes up tied to a goddamn bedframe, face to face with Aldritch Killian. He learns about Extremis, about the soldiers exploding and how Pierce intends to take over the government. Tony listens, praying that Rhodey comes sooner rather than later.
“You’ve given me the gift of desperation, Mr. Stark,” Killian says. “Don’t worry, I won’t actually kill you, that would be too easy.”
“Safe, sane, and consensual, buddy, this ain’t any of that,” Tony taunts even as he watches Killian’s fist glow orange.
When Killian punches through the bedframe right next to Tony’s face, it melts the metal and Tony has to turn his face away to avoid being scorched. He has one second to hope that Steve isn’t calling a national emergency, that Steve won’t be doing anything stupid to endanger himself, before Killian smiles in pure, twisted joy.
“I’ll make them think you’re dead, and we’ll have some more fun when nobody comes for you.”
Steve is in the Emergency Operations Center when the video from the Mandarin comes through. Tony had said that the Mandarin was just an actor, but how could an actor have so much power?
“Mr. President, only two lessons remain. I intend to finish this before Christmas morning." The camera pans away from the Mandarin's bearded face and Steve feels dread crawling down his spine, settling cold and heavy as Steve struggles to breathe. "Meet Tony Stark, one of your Secret Service agents. I’m sure he’s a good man. I’m going to shoot him in the head, live on your television, in 30 seconds…”
Everyone starts shouting.
“We can’t allow terrorists to dictate – ”
“And make the President look heartless?”
“Stark signed up for this the day he took this job!”
“I have to make this call,” Steve says.
The whole room falls silent. On screen, despite the gag, despite his arms chained behind him, Tony looks unafraid but he’s shaking his head, trying to tell Steve something, but Steve doesn’t know what –
“If you call, Tony will never forgive you,” Agent Parker blurts out, eyes red but voice steady.
“Better unforgiven than him dead!” Steve roars, picking up his phone, but –
BANG!
Steve flinches, heart hammering too loudly as Tony’s body jerks on the screen. He wants to look away, wants to throw up, but he can’t.
The Mandarin is speaking again but the red is pooling around Tony’s head, almost like a halo and –
How many times does Steve have to watch Tony die?
How many times does Steve have to grieve him?
A hysterical part of Steve’s mind tells him that Tony could always come back from the dead, as he already has so many times this week, but the blood is growing and the stillness of Tony’s closed eyes is peaceful, calm, without all the buzzing energy he always seems to have.
Distantly, Steve feels the table break under his grip, and yet he can’t bring himself to care. All that brilliance in Tony’s mind is gone, he’ll never – he won’t ever get to –
“Tell Rhodes that I want the bastard and everyone involved dead before the end of the week,” Steve hears himself command.
Natasha tells Steve that it was Tony’s choice, that Steve should respect that choice, and therefore Steve should let himself rest and keep himself safe.
The logic makes sense, in some corner of Steve's mind, he understands. And why, Steve bitterly thinks, why do people keep insisting that he's more important than them?
Steve didn't get a choice when he fell in love with Tony, slowly, all at once, inevitably.
Steve didn't get the choice to decide, he didn't get to tell Tony, to ask him, to hold him –
Steve didn't get the choice to save Tony.
It isn'tfair, Natasha says, it's never fair.
It isn't right, Steve thinks, it isn't right that they should think Steve is worth more than Tony when Tony is so much more than Steve can ever hope to be.
It isn't right that Tony died and Steve's last proper conversation with Tony was a fight, it isn't right that they might never be able to properly lay Tony to rest, that the Mandarin, the actor, the weapons dealer will never give Tony back.
None of this is right, and a part of Steve prays that this is all just a nightmare – but Steve knows it isn't, because even in his worst nightmares, his mind has never been able to conjure this dreadful, hollow emptiness.
Steve doesn’t sleep.
He goes down to Tony’s lab and lets himself fall apart as Tony’s bots beep around him, their claws opening and closing in distress.
It hurts, how much he misses Tony, and in the back of his mind Steve remembers reading that grief is just a love that has nowhere to go. He wants to yell, to punch, to break something instead of breaking inside.
But if this room is all that's left of Tony now, he has to treasure it, these last remnants of Tony's brilliance.
Maybe, Steve thinks, maybe he'll turn this area into a historic room, so that whoever becomes President next after Steve inevitably shatters beneath the crushing weight on his chest will not be able to take this away. Will not be able to erase Tony from history. So that the people will remember Tony not as a disgraced son, not as a mere victim of terror, but as a brave, good man with a kind heart and a beautiful, beautiful mind who deserved a love greater than Steve could give him.
Steve heaves up the energy bar he had for dinner, and his stomach continues to heave despite being empty.
Beyond his closed eyelids, he can still see the red around Tony’s head, can still hear Tony’s voice as he tells Steve this isn’t your fault.
It is Steve's fault, though, for not pushing for answers from Tony when he had the chance, for trusting the wrong people.
And it won't do anyone any good if Steve doesn't fix his mistakes, if Steve keeps wallowing in his grief.
So, pressing against his eyes with the base of his palm, Steve asks JARVIS:
“How do I operate the Iron Man armor?”
The watch still on Steve’s wrist begins to glow.
The first thing Rhodey does after he blasts through the walls of the Miami Mansion with the War Machine armor and recovers an angry and bruised but very much alive Tony is to call the President on loudspeaker. Next door, Tony has a gun pointed at Trevor Slattery’s head, the deranged man promising speed boats and information.
“Rhodes, tell me something good,” Steve answers without preamble.
His voice is muffled, though, and Rhodey squints. “Is that the wind I hear, Mr. President?”
“Just driving with my top down, Lieutenant Colonel.”
Rhodey laughs. “No wonder Tony likes you.”
“Slander! I do not like the President,” Tony protests. “Stop flirting and tell him I’m alive and to send SHIELD to that Roxxon ship, Rhodey!”
When Steve lands the Iron Man armor on the bridge of the ship in front of a stunned Tony and Rhodes, he tells JARVIS to shoot him with a non-lethal repulsor.
Tony stumbles back, arms raised in an attempt at peace. “Hey, hey, calm down.”
“Calm down?” Steve shouts incredulously, the helmet’s nanobots peeling back so Steve can glare at Tony straight on, “you made me think you were dead three times in the past five days. I thought you were dead! And then you pop back alive and then you die again! At least let me kill you myself so I can be sure!”
Waving around at the small fires around them and the SHIELD agents arresting the Extremis soldiers with special cuffs, Tony has the audacity to argue, “I think I did alright, I’m alive, this whole Mandarin thing is over, and – ”
The best way to shut Tony Stark up, Steve learns, is to simply kiss him. Tony melts into Steve’s hold, letting Steve push past his lips. There’s the coppery taste of blood lingering, but Steve ignores it because Tony’s alive.
Tony’s alive and Steve doesn’t care anymore.
“Oh, get a ship, you guys,” Rhodes grumbles.
Steve pulls away from Tony to glare at him. “As your Commander in Chief, you go find another ship, Rhodes.”
Rhodey understands it for the thank you that it is, and he flies off in his armor to leave Steve to kiss Tony some more.
“Will you stay?” Steve asks as Tony opens the door to the bedroom. They’ve taken care of all the devils, and after all the grief and heartache Steve has been forced to go through this week, he doesn’t want to lose Tony, doesn’t want to feel again the silence of his absence.
“Do you want me to?”
“Only if you want to.”
Tony shakes his head, closing his eyes. “You don’t know who I really am.”
Reaching out to cup Tony’s cheek in his hand, Steve gathers the last remains of his courage. “I know that you’re a good man, with a good heart. And it’s time for you to come home from the war.”
“I don’t know how to stop fighting,” Tony admits. “I’ve made so many mistakes, you’d hate me if you knew.”
“You’ve done far more than enough to fix them,” Steve fiercely tells him, “I could never hate you – I mean, of course we’ll fight, because I’m stubborn and Fury told me you’re insufferable – but I think, if we tried, we could make this work.”
Tony lets out a choked laugh. “You sure you can bear me, Dorito?”
“Only if you can bear me,” Steve tells him.
This time, when Steve takes Tony’s hand, Tony lets him.
And, together, they bring each other home.
They put Pierce and Hammer and Killian behind bars for life. They take down Senator Stern and Congressman Sitwell and Mayor Rumlow. The evidence they gained from the Mandarin and Extremis Project is enough to indict hundreds of politicians on Capitol Hill, and slowly, Steve replaces his staff with those he trusts unconditionally.
Tony makes good on his promise to leave the White House. He leaves for Malibu for a month, then to South Korea – but he comes back.
He comes back without a light in his chest and with a brightness in his smile that Steve kisses to light up the dark corners of Steve’s heart that wakes him screaming at night, fearful that Tony’s still gone forever.
For their three month anniversary, Tony gives Steve a dark, navy blue watch and Steve gives Tony a drawing of him that needs to be kept far, far away from prying eyes.
The piece of paper, no matter that it gets framed and hung at a place of honor in Tony's workshop, feels highly inadequate when Tony presses Steve's thumb over the glass face of the watch and a large, bright circle of light emerges out of it, growing and growing until it spans nearly as tall as Steve.
There's a star on its center, and it's beautiful, and the way its light reflects in Tony's eyes is a work of art on its own, and –
“I thought you would have some bad memories with the Iron Man suit, and since I'm no longer your agent, I need to keep your star-spangled ass safe somehow.”
“Thank you,” Steve breathes out, still awestruck.
Tony looks down, biting his smiling lip, “only the best for my President.”
Steve pulls Tony in. He kisses Tony's temple, “my,” he kisses the tip of Tony's nose, “best,” he kisses the arc of Tony's cheeks, “defender.”
And then he kisses Tony's lips, and he hopes Tony can feel the words Steve means to say: I'll always come home to you.
“Do you think America’s ready to know about us?” Tony murmurs as they sit in the Oval Office, Steve at his desk and Tony lounging on the sofa.
“I don’t care,” Steve says, putting down his pen and walking over. He bends to wrap Tony in his arms from behind, pressing a long, lingering kiss into Tony’s messy curls. “If I don’t get re-elected, I get to sleep in with you and spend my days drawing you.”
Tony tilts his head up to press a kiss beneath Steve’s jaw. “What about the American people, though?”
“We’ve taken down HYDRA,” Steve scoffs, “and you’ve given us clean, self-sustaining energy. We got more done in two years than others did in eight. And I don’t want to hide you.”
“You haven’t even come out to them,” Tony points out, “you sure you’re ready for the media shitstorm?”
Steve wants to tell Tony: you’re my courage and my strength.
He wants to remind Tony: you’re the very best part of me, and I want the whole world to know.
Tony wouldn’t believe Steve, though. He isn’t used to this intimacy, yet, to the sincerity of Steve’s words, and Steve is determined to out-stubborn his hesitance. One day, he’ll make Tony believe that when Steve says I love you, Steve means that his heart has gotten so used to beating in rhythm to Tony’s that it doesn’t know how to beat alone anymore.
But because they’re not there yet, Steve promises instead in a language he knows Tony will understand:
“I’ll get Strange to defend your honor, and I’ll bring the popcorn, m’lady. You just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Against his skin, Steve can feel Tony smile. “Does that mean I’ll have to pick out China plates?”
Steve laughs, “as long as they don’t have Mandarin oranges on them, you can pick the ugliest one you like.”
When Steve gets sworn in a second time, Tony gets assigned his own security detail. He moans and moans about it even if Steve knows that Tony personally picked Agent Parker for himself.
“How did you cope being followed around even to the toilet?” Tony huffs, glaring at Peter who smiles innocently back.
“I don’t know,” Steve pretends to think, “I sort of liked ogling you, and it was hard getting any recent Youtube videos of you.”
The Air Force One is redesigned and rebuilt by Tony with better shielding, better speed, better safety. They take her on her maiden voyage all the way across the world to Australia, spending the long hours on the plane curled up with each other, and as Steve watches the sun rise over the clouds, chasing away the stars with its warm light, Steve pokes at Tony’s sleeping form beside him.
“Darling?”
“Go away,” Tony grumbles, rolling around in the blankets to turn his back to Steve.
With the soft light hitting him like that, Tony looks so beautiful Steve can’t believe he’s allowed to touch - but because he is allowed to touch, he intends to cherish the privilege:
“Oh,” Steve says nonchalantly, reaching under the sheets to place a warm hand over one of Tony’s thighs. “I just thought you’d maybe want to introduce your President to the mile-high club.”
Tony’s awake in less than a second.
It’s during one of their trips to California, after a speech Steve gives in front of the Chinese Theater, that Tony smuggles Steve into an alley, sending chaos down the comm lines. Steve can feel his phone vibrating non-stop, but Tony smirks and tells Steve to hold on.
“What, Tony – ”
The Iron Man armor surrounds Tony, spreading over his skin, Steve getting a second to enjoy the sight before Tony hauls Steve in his arms and –
“Put me down!” Steve shouts over the wind.
“No can do, Cap!”
“Tony, I swear to God – ”
The landing takes Steve’s breath away. When Steve opens his eyes again, the armor is gone and Tony is laughing with a wide grin on his face, and Steve can’t help but smile: seeing Tony so happy is a gift Steve always treasures.
They’re in some courtyard, and behind Tony is a house with a white roof and floor-to-ceiling glass doors. Steve can hear waves, the fresh air tasting of sea salt.
Tony clears his throat, bouncing nervously on his heels, hands shoved into each of his pockets. “I, um, you told me to come home, all those years ago, and I thought, I thought you’d like a place to call home, when all your battles as President are over.”
Even through all these years, Steve can’t believe that a man like Tony exists. His heart feels full, overflowing, and he takes Tony in his arms, holding on tight because he never, ever wants to let go.
As Tony kisses him, Steve tells him:
“I want a place for us to call home.”
Steve doesn’t tell Tony that the only home he needs is wherever Tony is, that the only shelter he wants is the shield of Tony’s arms, because Tony will know soon enough anyways.
After all, Steve has a rose garden waiting for him in the White House, and a golden ring and a big, warm bed to go with it.