It’s past midnight when Tony finally returns home. The meeting wouldn’t come to an end and he was tired of listening to people talking and talking about matters he didn’t even understand.
He spent the whole time doodling on his papers failing to answer properly whenever someone asked his opinion on the topic. Furthermore he couldn’t quite pay attention to the talking and even if he so desperately did not want to admit who was the main reason of his inattention, he knew it had blonde hair and blue eyes.
He would have never thought he could miss a person to this point, and he knows Steve has just been away for a few days, but lately he has felt so lonely that he can’t help but long for seeing his beloved.
Meetings are more interesting when he can spot the blonde man on the other side of the table: he likes to discuss in front of him, to explain his reasons and to even argue with him knowing that they will make up a little after. And the whole subject of that evening has been so boring that Tony had found himself not paying attention not even for a minute. He just kept reminding that Steve was going to return and he couldn’t wait to see him again, to hug him and kiss him ‘till falling asleep.
‘Till finally falling asleep.
He really misses him: even though they basically see each other every day, whenever they have to part for like a couple of days, Tony feels like something huge is missing in his everyday life, and he has now grown so used to the other man that he feels like sharing with him even the littlest things.
So he’s still thinking about Steve, about those big blue eyes of his, about his shy smile and ruffled hair in the morning when they wake up next to each other and how it still feels like a dream, even after so much time, to be able to spend the whole night between his arms.
And right now even his own bedroom reminds him of Steve, he can almost see him all focused in reading some book lying down on the white sheets of his king size bed.
Tony loosens his tie, an involuntary smile creeps on his worn out face: oh, he really can’t wait for Steve to come home!
He strips down his white shirt, button after button, and without even noticing what he’s doing, he catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror on the wall.
He hasn’t looked at himself in the mirror since a lot even though this is weird for someone who claims to be such a narcissist. He has always enjoyed looking at himself: to ogle at his own body when a suit particularly fits him; to appreciate his own sharp jaw; to notice how his eyebrows twitch with innuendos when he subtly smirks.
And he has always known he’s attractive and quite handsome, but this was the kind of self awareness he needed before.
Before he had found someone who would look at him and make him feel soft and delicate and everything he would have never thought Tony Stark could be.
But Steve, Steve was that person: Steve would smile at him so gently that Tony could feel every wall and barrier he had built throughout his whole life just fall down, and he would find himself so defenceless but at the same time so protected that he knew he was not going to be able to look in Steve’s eyes anymore without knowing that he could not be more beautiful in any mirror he could possibly look into.
But now, without even realising it, he’s looking at himself, and even though he would like to turn his look away, he kind of feel hypnotised by the image. He’s immediately struck by the sight of his bare chest: pale skin that tightens and stretches in the shape of a circle, a ghost stitch that reminds him of the arc reactor.
Since the surgery he hasn’t looked at himself not even once; not because he didn’t want to, perhaps it was just an unconscious reflex that caused him to be very subtle whenever he passed in front of a mirror without a shirt on. He just didn’t want to be reminded about dreading past memories, how his heart was about to stop and in order to survive he literally had to become half a machine.
So no, it was not like he didn’t want to look at it, he didn’t want to even think about it at all.
But that night he was too caught up into thinking about Steve, and it had occurred to him as almost an habitude to look at his chest to check if the arc reactor was working just fine just to find out there was nothing at all on his naked skin.
He had undergone his chest surgery while there was no one home: he knew people would have worried about him and this was the last thing he wanted. His arc reactor had become kind of a problem to him. There was no further need for him to keep it beside a feeling of reassurance he did not want to lose. So he had decided to do it: just schedule an appointment with a heart surgeon without anyone knowing and just show up to the clinic all by himself.
He still remembers lying on the cold bed of the hospital, knowing he was going to lose the thing that meant the most to him, a concrete reminder that he was alive and he had been able to survive even when he was so sure he would have died.
But he still did not tell anyone what he was doing. Steve had gone on a mission, and Tony knew it was not fair to him to do this thing while his boyfriend was away and unaware of the whole situation. But he also knew that Steve would have insisted to remain there with him and desert his mission had he known about it, and he couldn’t allow it, not when there were lives depending on it. So he had hidden the appointment, he had said goodbye to the blond man, and once he made sure no one would question his stance, he went straight to the hospital.
He certainly had tried to move backward, his heart in his gut, dread pooling in his lungs at the sight of surgeons all ready to put their hands on him. And the mere thought was kind of frightening, especially when it was ages since a stranger had touched him.
The only touch he had allowed so far was Steve’s, so to see those cold gloved hands approaching his skin, so so near the reactor, he felt dread once again anguishing his heart.
But at last he let it. He was sedated and once he woke up again it was gone. All gone.
But he was lying down before, and the surgeons hid his chest then, so he did not really notice the lack of a light under his chin.
And then he decided not to look at himself anymore, not to even glance at his chest skin, not to even think about it.
He has not been able to sleep since then.
At first he really thought it was normal: he was so used to the light shining in the middle of his chest that when darkness would swallow him during night time, he couldn't be able to not even close his eyes without panicking in the empty and all black room.
He had really wanted to undergo the surgery. He wanted to take the reactor off, he knew it was some kind of an impediment for him, to be so exposed to external threats. People could just slightly hint at touching the arc reactor and Tony would totally freak out.
The first night he had stared at the wall for hours and hours straight, not managing to find the peace he was so sure he would finally pursue once the reactor would be gone. He really thought the problem with his anxiety was the presence of the shining thing on his heart, that perhaps knowing everything was fine once again, perhaps seeing his chest cured again, would finally quieten him.
But the things went quite differently.
At first he had stared at his chest for a few minutes, but then someone had called him up, so he had renounced about it, and basically forgotten about it. Or at least he had done until the first night.
He was quite tired after a mission so he had gone straight to bed, his eyes weighting with tiredness. But once every curtain was closed and darkness had fallen in the room, he had started to feel so numb and empty in that anguishing darkness, like he couldn't even breathe because of that swallowing void.
And because of this he had done the only thing he thought he was able to do: he had got up from bed and gone downstairs in his workshop, thinking that only by tiring himself out he would be able to sleep, but that didn't work. He had stayed up the whole night, fixing and working on some engines and tubes that didn't need a maintenance in the slightest way. And just when he the sun was starting to set once again, and light rays of sunshine made their appearance in the darkness of the workshop, Tony had finally been able to rest and fall asleep in the total brightness of the room.
And things went like this for the following day, and the day after that, and the day after once again.
And then without even realising it, he had grown used to work all night and sleep in the daylight, even though he would only manage to rest for a few hours before he actually had to wake up and pretend to live his everyday life like he had a full 8 hours of sleep.
But he would not complain.
Tony is not someone to complain. And without even noticing it, he has been so used to this new routine by now, that when he catches his own reflection for basically the first time since the surgery, he doesn't even know how he should react to the sight.
The image of a broken man makes him startle, makes him feel pity for his own self. He finds himself so ruined, so tired out by the events of his life. He can’t even remember the last time he has been happy. And he knows he’s selfish, he knows it is not right to think about his relationship with Steve and not saying he actually is happy, but the truth is that he finds some relief sometimes, of course, but this whole emptiness he feels inside, that’s what keeps him awake at night.
For a long time, whenever he would remember or even slightly think about the time in Afghanistan, he just had to look at his own chest to have the certainty, the proof, that he was still alive, that everything was fine.
And for so much time he had felt so vulnerable whenever someone had aimed at touching the reactor, or just only looked at it; like they wanted to take away from him the only thing that could actually help him through the fog of his own thoughts. But the reactor was making him so exposed that he knew he had to undergo that operation, and it’s not like he is somehow regretting it, it’s just that it was his own anchor, a reminder, a physical post-it that would tell him you're alive! Everything sucks and I know you're scared to death but you're alive!
And right now, seeing his own reflection without that light sparkling in the middle of his chest, without his heart shining to remind him that it is there, and it is functioning, and it is beating and living, that makes him shiver and wanting to cry out loud, and actually dig his own nails in his skin, hoping to find that hidden heart, hoping to find the missing light, the bright shine that would at first keep him awake at night but that was reassuring in its own creepy way.
And the sight of it causes a weird feeling grow in him, like an extreme freezing cold in his veins, because he knows everything is okay; the reactor is gone but this means his heart has healed, that he can breath again without an external support. But that labyrinth of stitches and bruises and black and blue marks makes him want to scream.
And he freaks out, his shirt still hanging open on his trembling shoulders, and he tries to pull away the tie that seems so so strict right now, that is actually trying to strangle him, yes, he’s sure, it wants to choke him.
He manages to push it away but the agonising emptiness, the darkness of the absence of the reactor seems to swallow him, to devour him from the inside, that heart that suddenly doesn’t seem to exist anymore, just a passing shadow and who knows- who knows if it’s still inside his bones- he can’t know, because there is no blue light shining through his pale skin, there is just skin, red and white skin, stitches and scabs and veins that seem about to explode in any time.
And he gasps, there is no air in his lungs- but does he even have lungs? Does he even have any organ anymore? There is no light, there is no light, and his own eyes seem so blown out, so dark and empty and he can’t breath; he’s trying but he can’t; everything seems too oppressive, seems to weigh on him with a force that makes him think the ground itself will swallow him and his dull heart.
He grabs his own shirt, pulls it and stretches it, but it doesn’t seem to fall from his shoulders: he feels tied up, suddenly all too similar to the distant memory of a dark cave, something that seem to have happened ages ago but at the same time is too vivid to be forgotten.
“Tony…?”
What do they want from him? He just wants to be left all alone, for once. He just wants to sleep, to black out, to push away every deadline that’s oppressing him.
“Tony!”
The voice sounds like an echo to his ears, a distant sound floating in his numb mind, eyes wide open even though everything is blurred.
His heart is beating, shaking, his hands as well. He knows he’s breathing but he’s gagging on air itself: his lungs seem to be so full they’re about to blow up, but at the same time there is not enough oxygen in them.
Tony shudders. Sharp and precise trembles make him quiver like he’s going to burst, like he will shatter and fall on the ground.
And freezing tears stream down his pale face: he’s paralysed, shocked by dread of reality itself, of events quite impossible to take place, of moments that have already happened but still make him fear they can repeat themselves.
In his mind a quiet, peaceful word keep making its appearance, a cry for help that no one would listen to even if he was actually able to express it. “Please”, he’s trying to say, “please”.
He does not know what he’s begging for; perhaps for all of this to end.
“Please”, his heart is crying. Air feels like sand through his throat, his lips parted with sorrow, and he’d want it all to end.
“Make it stop, please”, his mind is imploring him, and he would like to reply that he’d want it too but he can’t, he’s incapable of doing anything, not even think in a rational way.
And his hands are still trembling, cold limbs that do not seem to know why they are sticked to his arms, frail hands that he would like someone to hold for him, thus quietening them, thus helping him breath again.
“Please”, he gags once more; what is he begging for? Some warmth, perhaps.
His lungs are collapsing, he can feel it, and that damn piercing fear is eating up his whole chest.
He’s about to die, he knows it. He doesn’t want to. He wants to live so much. Can somebody help him? Can someone hold him still? Please, oh please, he’s still trembling, his gut seems to have closed up, and loud breaths keep coming out his mouth like hiccups, making it the only sound he’s able to perceive.
“Tony?”, the voice, again.
He knows someone’s calling him, but it really feels like it comes from so so far away, like whoever is saying his name is not even in another room but in a different reality, in some soundproofed bubble that makes just a little echo escape from it. He’s so cold.
He’s always been cold, he always felt an aching freeze living in his chest but now, now it feels like he’s drowning in ice, like the sun itself stopped shining, like not a single light is still lit in the entire universe.
He’s afraid: an extreme fear is devouring his soul, he’s not able to think anything because that terror has seized him, has swallowed him in just one bite.
“Please, make it stop”, he whines again, and his face is deformed by the pain, his jaw is now clutched and in some recess of his mind he can feel a distant taste of blood in his mouth.
He’s still shaking, and for a moment that seems to go on in eternity, he fears he’ll be trembling forever until his heart will explode in a thousand of splinters.
Then it happens quietly, slowly, a soft touch on his shivering hands that tries to still them; a repetitive dirge that is aiming at calming him down.
“Tony”, the voice repeats, and to him it sounds like honey through his scraped throat, a lullaby to his dazed ears.
Tony can almost see a light, a tiny flame trembling like his heart; his hands quieten, they are no longer strained with terror, they now feel like limbs again, and softly fall on his lap. His teeth loosen a little, but his lips are still parted and swollen with tears.
His empty head feels a distant stroke to his hair, a really kind caress that makes Tony lift his look, and his eyes try hard to focus on what is in front of him.
Perhaps his heart starts to beat at a normal pace again, but he’s not so sure, because at the moment he doesn’t even know if there actually is an organ that is keeping him alive.
Tears seem to have frozen on his numb face and he would so want to say something, comunicate even the slightest information, make sure that he is okay, everything is okay, actually. But he eventually focuses on the figure standing before his eyes, and he looses himself into a blue gaze that has the power to make him be honest, that actually forces him not to lie, to say everything that crosses his mind.
And the first thing that comes to his head is that he is not okay. He is not. And he’s tired of pretending otherwise, to wake up and smile at whoever crosses his path while he feels like dying every second of his day.
He’s sick of faking. He feels broken, he feels worn out, drained out. How can he explain he just wants to cry? Tear up until all his tears have been shed, until he cannot even breath or think.
He’d like to suppress his sorrow, but no, he can’t lie. Not to who is knelt before him looking like he’s feeling his same aching pain.
“Breathe in and breath out, babe”, that voice again, slowly becoming clearer and more audible, “I’ve got you”.
Warm hands on his cold ones; a gentle stroke on his scalp; and Tony can suddenly breathe again.
He’s still kneeling in front of the mirror, but he’s not really looking at the image that is still too blurred because of his tears to be perceived as an actual person.
The man in front of him grabs his open shirt and quietly strips it away, before picking up a sweater and dressing him up again thus hiding the total lack of light from Tony’s chest.
“Steve…?”, he uncertainly calls, and Steve does answer fixing the cloth on his still shaking shoulders, trying to smooth it while keeping on mumbling some dirge of comfort in the hope of calming Tony down.
“I’m sorry”, Tony is finally able to let out in a whisper, but his eyes are still filled with tears and he does not even know what exactly he’s apologising for. He’s just some kind of ashamed to be seen like this, a wrecked version of himself, someone who he always tries to hide or even deny existing.
Steve stops his movements for a moment, giving him a brief pitiful smile before lowering his gaze on Tony’s flat chest, noticing how the sweater falls smoothly and does not get caught in any metallic circle.
“Was it the emptiness, Tony? Was it the bareness of your chest?”, he asks with a compliant tone, as if those words are hurting him too. Tony looks at him with numb eyes, not even grasping the idea that Steve can understand him so well; he nods.
“It’s gone”, Steve continues, “It’s gone, Tony. I covered it; it’s all covered, all hidden. Your heart is safe”.
Another look at Steve’s blue eyes and Tony is suddenly crying again.
“I’m sorry”, he almost whines. Steve’s arms are already around him, a tight hug clutching Tony against his broad and warm chest, pressing their own hearts together for the first time.
“I’m sorry; I got scared. There was nothing at all and I got scared”, it sounds dumb now that he’s saying it, but that void had terrified Tony to the point that he had actually questioned the function of his own heart.
Steve gently strokes his back, “I know, baby, I know”, then holds him tighter and it’s not really enough, it does not erase the wretchedness Tony can literally feel in his throat but it’s still something- it is still a little step toward the idea of healing he is so attached to in his imaginary.
Steve keeps on shushing him, caressing his cheeks and wiping out his tears and quietly, slowly and silently the world starts regaining its original liveliness: his sight focuses again and his mind manages to grasp the event that is taking place in his bedroom, in front of him.
Steve is there, his soft and kind hands all over his face and back, trying to give him every bit of comfort they possibly can. His face seems kind of distressed, and his eyes are shining with tears difficultly held back. At the sight of it, Tony feels a piercing guilt in his heart.
“You’re back”, he states with a feeble smile, “I’m sorry”.
Steve tilts his head with concern “For what, sweetheart?”, he asks.
“I ruined your comeback”.
The blond man vigorously shakes his head “No, honey” he warns “actually, I am the one who should apologise. If I have gotten here earlier, or didn’t go away at all-“
Tony stops his rumbling placing his own hand on Steve’s cheek “You’re here now”, he points out.
“I know it’s not enough”, Steve replies before finding confirmation in Tony’s nodding, “I’m right”, he states once again, guilt resurfacing in his eyes.
“Yes, you are right: it’s not enough”, Tony grants, “You being here now, or sooner, or always, wouldn’t still be enough, but this has nothing to do with you”. He rubs his eyes in tiredness, and Steve caresses his arms encouraging him to go on.
“I’ve had these kind of episodes for some time now: I know they won’t magically go away. I can only try and make it through it”, Tony swallows: being so open about his mental illness makes him feel overly exposed, but he knows he can trust Steve, and as he talks about it, he can feel himself growing more confident.
“It makes me feel like I’m drowning, like I’m about to die with my lungs filled with water. It’s not nice, but I’ve grown used to it”.
“But you don’t have to”, Steve replies, “you don’t have to accept it as inevitable.”
Tony makes a constricted expression to this, so Steve takes his hands in his own, softly stroking his skin.
“I mean- you can seek for help. There is nothing wrong in doing so. I’m sure there is someone who could tell you what to do to get better”, Steve smiles at him, so kindly, his look slightly lifting to entwine his eyes with Tony’s ones, “I’d really like to be that person, love, but I know I would not be enough, and it’s right for you to get the best support you can find”.
There is a brief silence, very few instants that actually hold too many unspoken promises. Tony nods at him; his cheeks are starting to get to a normal complexion again, and his heart is now beating calmly in his chest.
“Thank you”, he says. He would like to express the gratitude he feels it’s exploding in his lungs, to communicate the extreme thankfulness of being taken seriously, the relief he feels pooling in his heart at the thought that he’s not alone anymore, that his problems matter, that he’s not overreacting, that someone’s going to take care of him, and he’s going to get better.
But he knows he doesn’t have to; he can say “thank you”, two simple words, and meaning a total rainbow of emotions with it.
Steve gets him; he doesn’t claim anything more that Tony can give him. So they remain like this for awhile: hands intertwined with hands, eyes locked with eyes, and heart connected to heart.
“Let’s go to bed”, Steve says at some point, still holding Tony by the hand and leading him to the white mattress. He helps him get comfortable, then makes an expression that could be read as forlorn, guilt striking in his eyes.
“What is it?”, Tony suddenly asks with worry, but Steve shakes his head turning his eyes away as an ironic smile shows up on his face.
“It’s just that-“, he begins, then he squints his eyes with his own fingers, lowering his gaze, “I saw something that reminded me of you, while I was away, so I- God, I’m so stupid, Tony, I’m so sorry.”
Tony lifts up from the mattress on which he was already laying down and makes himself closer to Steve trying to reach for his worried face with his fingers.
“Hey, baby, don’t worry!”, he reassures him, “What are you talking about? Tell me”.
For a moment Steve seems trying to find the words to explain himself further, but then he gives up and just turns away to search for something in the bag he had with him when he came back.
“I wanted to give you this-“ he speaks again turning to meet his look with Tony’s, now holding something with his fingers, “you know what- forget it”, he scoffs once more and briefly starts once he feels Tony’s soft touch on his skin, gently trying to open his hand.
“Let me see, sweetheart”, Tony encourages him, and when Steve finally loosens the grip on the gift he’s hiding, Tony is left speechless.
Inside Steve’s hand rests a fine and elegant blue bracelet that’s radiating a pale glow, hinting at the neon light it probably would propagate in the darkness.
“When I saw it, I immediately thought about the arc reactor. I thought it could be something nice to have on your wrist but I still didn’t know- I get only now the mistake I’ve done, Tony, I’m sorry”, Steve trails off, eyes striking back and forth, not able to hold the other man’s look, but Tony suddenly softly smiles at his rumble.
“I love it”, he assures taking the piece of jewellery with his hand.
“You do?”, Steve pokes his head and Tony vigorously nods, “I do”.
He feels fondness pooling in his heart when he sees Steve’s expression changing from misery to contentment.
“But I want it to be you to wear it”, Tony adds and quickly answers to Steve’s questioning look, “so now when it’s all dark, and I see a blue light, I not only remember I’m alive, but that you’re with me too”.
He can spot another change of expression in Steve’s look, but this time, it has something to do with a deep affection he himself can feel in his heart.
“I love you”, Steve words out Tony’s thoughts too, before offering his own hand to him, so that Tony can tie the bracelet on his wrist.
“This looks a lot like a proposal”, Tony teases once he’s done tying the chain, and Steve smiles fondly at the suggestion.
“We’ve got time for that, babe”, he chuckles, but he does not look annoyed, nor nervous at the thought, just in a deep adoration for the small man sat cross-legged between the white sheets on the bed.
Tony makes room for the both of them on the mattress, so that they can both lay down, before Steve grabs him by his hips crushing his own chest with Tony’s spine. He hugs him tightly squeezing his arms, and then ruffles Tony’s hair with his own noise.
“I love you so so much”, Steve admits, “don’t ever forget that, not even among the fog of your thoughts”.
Tony feels his own heart growing three sizes bigger, “I love you, too”, he whispers, then gets quiet for awhile.
The rush of the previous attack has left him quite worn out, and even though he has now come back to all his senses, he still feels tired and kind of sleepy. He’s starting to feel a hint of anxiety pooling in his stomach again at the thought that he’s about to spend another sleepless night.
He asks himself if the situation might be different now that Steve’s next to him, but the truth is that his chest will still be empty, and the room will still be dark.
“Steve?”, Tony’s voice comes out quite muffled by the blanket.
“Yes, honey?”, Steve shifts even closer, his chest pressing on Tony’s back, his chin resting on his slightly curly hair.
Tony melts in the embrace, his eyes flutter close while he subtly clears his throat, “Would you mind-”. He stops, squinting his eyes trying to work out the courage.
Steve kisses his head, “Anything for you, Tony”, he says.
Tony opens his eyes again, “Would you mind placing your hand on my chest?”, he asks, voice like a whisper.
“You mean on your heart?”
Tony quietly nods, and his hair tickles Steve’s soft chin, but he doesn’t complain, he just positions himself better on the mattress and makes his arm surround Tony’s curled up body, until his hand falls right over his beating heart.
With his hand placed like this, Steve’s wrist is set in the very middle of Tony’s chest, the blue light of the neon bracelet shining bright.
“Is it okay like this?”, Steve dubiously asks and slightly worries once Tony doesn’t respond. He’s still looking at the blue light and it feels so real, so so real, that for a brief instant he actually wonders if the reactor is still dug inside his chest.
“I know it’s not the same thing, Tony, but-”
Tony shushes him placing his own hand on Steve’s one and shifting himself closer to Steve’s broad chest.
“It’s better”, he confesses. He feels Steve’s tense body relaxing, a brief sigh of relief escaping his lips and getting lost in his hair. Tony closes his eyes again, his heart now calmly beating without any rush.
“So much better”, he mumbles again, actually feeling himself shifting into sleep.
He knows his chest is still bare, and he knows the room is whole pitch dark, but the blue ghost of a light is dancing before his closed lids, and the warmth of a soft hand is taking care of his damaged heart, so perhaps- for the first time in awhile- a trembling and feeble light can be seen in the darkness.
―
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly.
Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me.
So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all around you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly my darling.”
― Aldous Huxley