There was an elephant sitting on his chest.
He stared at it in confusion, and it stared back.
“You’re relatively small, but this doesn’t feel great,” Tony said plainly, “could you, I don’t know… Get the fuck off?”
It felt like déjà vu, his last one-night stand had been similar.
The elephant narrowed its beady eyes and plopped down passive aggressively. An involuntary wheeze seeped from his lungs and he stared up at the ceiling pathetically. It leaned forward slowly- forcing Tony to look it in the eyes. He tried to press back into the pillow, but he still heard it speak.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Howard’s voice muttered.
He jolted awake, the same ceiling from his dream staring back at him, the same pressure on his chest. Tony tried a deep breath and managed a quivering huff instead. Slowly, he inched his eyes down to face that bitter elephant once more.
“Oh thank god,” Tony said into the empty air. No elephant here, just a stale hospital room and the lingering sense of misery.
He rubbed at his chest absentmindedly and considered the situation. He was hospitalized, and if logic was applied, he’d done something to end up here.
It was probably the cocaine.
The door creaked open, interrupting his stilted thoughts with a familiar face.
“Yinsen,” He greeted, “fancy meeting you here.”
“Tony,” The doctor returned with a distinctly disapproving tone.
“Oops?” Eye contact was out of the question, not with Howard’s voice and the elephant’s beady eyes still lingering in his thoughts.
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Yinsen came to his side, pressing a hand to his shoulder, “your heart can’t handle your lifestyle anymore. Enough.”
“Yeah,” he snorted, “well, what’s stopping it from frying any other time? Salads don’t cure genetics, doctor.”
“Salads and exercise reduce the risk. With the way things are going, I worry you’ll be dead before thirty. Twenty-five, even.” Yinsen never pulled his punches, never sugar coated his words.
Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, picking at an old scab on his thumb. He didn’t have a sarcastic retort. He opted to stay silent, instead.
“I will never stop worrying for you, Tony,” the doctor sighed, squeezing Tony’s shoulder once more before stepping back, “I only hope you’ll find something to live for before it’s too late to save yourself.”
“Just,” he snapped, “give me the facts and get out, okay? I don’t have time for this.”
If he had the energy he’d have felt more guilt at Yinsen’s wet eyes and unsteady voice.
He closed his eyes, saw the elephant once more.
***
“Lara, I can cover you, go to lunch,” Steve said, grabbing the chart from her hands.
“But the patient needs her-,”
“250 mg of Cephalexin,” he finished for her, quirking his brow, “I got it.”
“This is your first week, I can’t dump so much on you,” she fretted.
“This is a cake walk compared to an army medic’s schedule,” he smiled reassuringly. “Go to lunch, everything’ll be taken care of.”
It worked like a charm.
“You’re a blessing, hun,” she shoved the last of her charts into his arms and quickly left for the cafeteria.
The nurse at the counter gave a drawn-out sigh, flushing when Steve glanced at her in question. He refocused on his task, going to gather the relevant medications.
Thirty minutes later, the patient in 322 was medicated, Mrs. Fends had her blood pressure checked, and Mr. Rinfeld was processed for release, all that was left was…
He squinted at the chart, frowning at the messy writing.
“Anthony Stank?” He muttered to himself.
“Stark,” Doctor Yinsen interjected from behind him, causing Steve to jump and swivel around.
“Oh, right. Guess that’s an r,” he nodded, furrowing his brow. Stark. Common name, probably nothing to do with the weapons manufacturer.
“Tony, huh?” Yinsen leaned in to smile at the chart fondly, which seemed odd, “you’ve got your hands full with that one. Don’t take anything he says to heart, he’s… troubled. A good boy, otherwise.”
“Boy?” Steve checked the chart again, “he’s twenty-one. Hardly a boy.”
“I’ve been treating him since he was child, suppose it’s hard to see him as anything but. Be good to him, Steve.” Yinsen didn’t linger, leaving Steve alone to his thoughts.
“Twenty-one, and- jeez. Three heart attacks?” He mumbled to himself, reading the chart as he picked up the medication and stepped into the elevator.
Cyanotic heart disease, a history of drug abuse, and a stressful lifestyle. Christ. It was a wonder the guy wasn’t dead already.
He shouldered the patient’s door open, setting the chart down before finally looking up.
“You’re due for your dose of…” He trailed off, staring at the sleeping patient.
Poor blood circulation didn’t detract from the man’s attractiveness. Pouty lips and thick, black lashes always made Steve weak in the knees, but he steadied himself. This was a patient, a very ill, drug-using patient, at that. He shook his head and went to the patient’s side, gently nudging him awake.
“Mr. Stark,” he urged softly, “c’mon, buddy, time for your meds.”
“Ugh,” Stark groaned, swatting weakly at his hand, “go ‘way, I’ll sign the contracts tomorrow, you damn vulture.”
He reared back, frowning at the brush off.
“No contracts here, just medication,” he shook the guy’s shoulder with more urgency. The patient jerked awake and scrambled to sit up. Wide, black eyes turned to his and Steve felt pinned to the spot.
“Oh wow,” Stark breathed, lips parted in surprise, “is it my birthday, already?”
The comment pulled Steve out of his stupor, and an involuntary chuckle escaped him. He gave Tony’s hand a light pat before offering up the medication and water once more, “Hopefully you’ll be spending your birthday at home, in good health.”
“I dunno…” An impish grin stretched across Stark’s lips, “this place doesn’t seem so bad.”
“You haven’t had lunch yet, then,” Steve forced the pills into Stark’s hand and held out the water once more, “sooner you swallow, the sooner I leave.”
“You’re terrible at bribing,” Stark snorted, but downed the pills nevertheless.
“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugged, tossing the empty pill container and double checking the patient’s vitals, “everything seems as good as it can get. Need anything before I head to lunch?”
“… A burger?” Stark batted his eyelashes. Steve cleared his throat to stifle the flutter in his chest.
“Anything that I can get you without risking another heart attack, Mr. Stark?” Steve amended with an amused smile.
“Call me Tony and bring me some pudding.” Tony demanded.
“What’s the magic word?” He asked as he stepped toward the door.
“Bring me some pudding, hot stuff.”
Well.
Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile and pretend his cheeks weren’t blazing under Tony’s smug face. What a little shit.
“My name’s Steve. I’ll see what I can do.”
He’s not sure why he comes back with two pudding cups, his lunch, and his break-time novel. He avoids the questioning gaze directed towards him and slaps the pudding in front of Tony.
“Two pudding cups? Oh man, we can skip the dating and hit up Vegas any time you want, blondie,” Tony grinned. He snatched up the pudding immediately, ignorant to the embarrassment Steve was drowning in.
It’s not like his brain had been thinking too hard when he’d stacked the food on his plate and started stomping up. Eating in the cafeteria wasn’t a hardship, but it felt forced: a constant cycle of jumpstarting possible friendships. The nurses were welcoming, but overwhelming with their enthusiasm. He just needed a break.
That didn’t explain why he was sitting at Tony’s bedside and nodding along to whatever rambling story was exiting the guy’s mouth, all while swallowing down his pile of food.
“So then Obie says- and Obie’s my guy you know, helps out with the business- Obie says to me, ‘I know you like that chandelier, but I don’t think it’s drunk enough to do what you want it to.’”
Steve reared his head back and damn near cackled, Tony joining him shortly after. His novel lay forgotten on the other chair. A beep from his watch reminded him that he was needed elsewhere.
“C’mooon,” Tony huffed, flopping back into his pillow, “it’s barely been thirty minutes.”
“May seem crazy, but I got work to do,” he said, gathering up his things and checking over Tony one last time.
“You’re so much more fun than Bertha, can I just hire you?” Tony grunted.
“I’ll be back soon, if you’re that lonely,” Steve said over his shoulder, pausing at the door. He bit his lip to keep from laughing at the disgusted look Tony sent him.
“Lonely? Lonely? I’m not lonely, my brain is atrophying!” Tony ranted right as the door clicked shut.