"Of course I wanted to be sure, but it's Natasha. Up until she said told us the reason those shots landed at all was because she'd seen the warning signs but ignored them, I couldn't take the chance. The stakes were too high. I wasn't gonna bet both your lives."
But then that string of questions comes, and Steve listens as each one feels like a knife trying to sharpen itself against his skin. No question alone will kill him, but every single one draws blood. It's not even that he thinks Tony's doing this to hurt him on purpose — that's not what's so painful. What hurts the most is that somehow, by the time that Tony's done, Steve knows for certain that somewhere along the way, Tony's stopped believing that Steve cares about him.
What did I do wrong?
The question rings through his mind, which sudden feels like an empty echo chamber. Steve is used to being able to come up with a plan. But this question goes out, and no answer comes back.
What did I ... do.
In that moment, Steve knows that if Tony had slammed the door earlier, he should've thrown his shoulder against it to keep it open. Because even without an answer, finding out that this was the problem would've been worth all of that, and more.
"Stop," he says, with a tinge of disbelief in his voice. For a second earlier, Steve's eyes seemed a little dazed, but he's back at attention now. "Stop," he says again, as he moves to close the distance the between them. Every other time he's touched Tony in any way, things always started slow. Steve's always been careful about broadcasting himself so nothing comes to Tony as a surprise — but this time isn't like the others. He just moves, cutting the six feet between them down to four, then two, and when he's finally there, he doesn't pause. He doesn't give Tony a chance to react.
Instead, Steve wraps his arms around Tony immediately, as he buries part of himself into Tony's shoulder. He doesn't know if Tony will fight him, but Steve's ready if he does and this will help brace him. But deep down, his goal here isn't to hold Tony hostage. If Steve gets the sense that Tony really doesn't want to be here, he'll let go. But if he hits him, if he yells, if he has any other reaction, Steve will stay here, arms tight.
But he doesn't wait to see if any of that happens before he starts talking.
"Stop telling me that I don't care about you," he says, his own hurt and stubbornness finally revealing itself in his voice, and Steve locks his eyes on the floor because it's impossible to make eye contact in this position. "Because I l-"
No. There's something else he wants to say instead, to say first: "If you and Natasha switched places. If you told me she shot you because she was being controlled, and she came into your hospital room a complete mess, I would've-" He'd said earlier that he couldn't let who Tony was change the way he'd acted in that moment, and he still stands by that statement. But if had really been Romanoff, he realizes, things would have gone much differently.
"I would've pinned her to the floor the moment she walked in." Because Natasha's a spy by training. Because if Tony had told him that someone was mind-controlling the greatest assassin in the world to assassinate people, all bets would be off.
"I would've protected you, or died trying," he says. "So stop-" When Steve gets here, his voice, which had previously been as strong as it normally is, seems to get the wind knocked out of its sails. "Please stop telling me that I don't care about you."
no subject
"Of course I wanted to be sure, but it's Natasha. Up until she said told us the reason those shots landed at all was because she'd seen the warning signs but ignored them, I couldn't take the chance. The stakes were too high. I wasn't gonna bet both your lives."
But then that string of questions comes, and Steve listens as each one feels like a knife trying to sharpen itself against his skin. No question alone will kill him, but every single one draws blood. It's not even that he thinks Tony's doing this to hurt him on purpose — that's not what's so painful. What hurts the most is that somehow, by the time that Tony's done, Steve knows for certain that somewhere along the way, Tony's stopped believing that Steve cares about him.
What did I do wrong?
The question rings through his mind, which sudden feels like an empty echo chamber. Steve is used to being able to come up with a plan. But this question goes out, and no answer comes back.
What did I ... do.
In that moment, Steve knows that if Tony had slammed the door earlier, he should've thrown his shoulder against it to keep it open. Because even without an answer, finding out that this was the problem would've been worth all of that, and more.
"Stop," he says, with a tinge of disbelief in his voice. For a second earlier, Steve's eyes seemed a little dazed, but he's back at attention now. "Stop," he says again, as he moves to close the distance the between them. Every other time he's touched Tony in any way, things always started slow. Steve's always been careful about broadcasting himself so nothing comes to Tony as a surprise — but this time isn't like the others. He just moves, cutting the six feet between them down to four, then two, and when he's finally there, he doesn't pause. He doesn't give Tony a chance to react.
Instead, Steve wraps his arms around Tony immediately, as he buries part of himself into Tony's shoulder. He doesn't know if Tony will fight him, but Steve's ready if he does and this will help brace him. But deep down, his goal here isn't to hold Tony hostage. If Steve gets the sense that Tony really doesn't want to be here, he'll let go. But if he hits him, if he yells, if he has any other reaction, Steve will stay here, arms tight.
But he doesn't wait to see if any of that happens before he starts talking.
"Stop telling me that I don't care about you," he says, his own hurt and stubbornness finally revealing itself in his voice, and Steve locks his eyes on the floor because it's impossible to make eye contact in this position. "Because I l-"
No. There's something else he wants to say instead, to say first: "If you and Natasha switched places. If you told me she shot you because she was being controlled, and she came into your hospital room a complete mess, I would've-" He'd said earlier that he couldn't let who Tony was change the way he'd acted in that moment, and he still stands by that statement. But if had really been Romanoff, he realizes, things would have gone much differently.
"I would've pinned her to the floor the moment she walked in." Because Natasha's a spy by training. Because if Tony had told him that someone was mind-controlling the greatest assassin in the world to assassinate people, all bets would be off.
"I would've protected you, or died trying," he says. "So stop-" When Steve gets here, his voice, which had previously been as strong as it normally is, seems to get the wind knocked out of its sails. "Please stop telling me that I don't care about you."