#ishipallthethings

now

Tony pulls himself out of the memory and sobs, his shoulders shaking as tears stream down his face. He hiccups and turns his face into the pillow, Steve’s pillow, to find that it still smells like him, like leather and sweat and home.

The thought just makes Tony cry even more, sobs wracking his body as he curls in on himself, because the pain in his chest too much to bear.

He should have put up more of a fight, he can’t help thinking. If he had just been able to convince Steve to stay behind, Steve would be home right now, but Tony didn’t try hard enough to keep Steve here, to keep him safe, and now…

He has no one to blame but himself.

six months ago

The tipping point comes when Tony takes a hit meant for Steve in the middle of a battle.

They’re fighting killer robots gone rogue, and it’s messy and impossible and Tony can’t be in ten places at once but he is keeping an eye on the team as best he can.

He’s just checking in on Steve when he sees a killer robot taking aim for Steve as his back is turned while he’s fighting off three other robots. Steve doesn’t see it but Tony does and his mind goes blank with rage because Steve Rogers can’t die like this, he won’t allow it.

Tony swoops in between them, his gauntlets raised, but the blast meant for Steve slams into him before he can fire, throwing him backwards and sending him rolling before crushing him into the ground at Steve’s feet.

He thinks he must pass out for a minute because he comes around to the sound of Steve yelling his name frantically, and Steve sounds scared , like Tony’s never heard him sound before.

“Ow,” Tony manages, coughing weakly as he releases the faceplate. “That was a good hit, Cap, but I’m fine, see? Are we good?”

Steve’s face contorts and Tony can read the conflict in his face, all of his fear, anger, rage, and worry laid bare as his hands inspect the damage.

“We are not good,” Steve bites out, his voice shaking, “we are very not good, how could you do that, Tony, how could you…”

“Save your life?” Tony quips, wincing as he pushes himself up to a sitting position.

“I was fine, Tony!” Steve protests. “I was fine, I had it under control, and you…” he shakes his head, scrubbing a hand across his face. “You can’t take that risk for me, I don’t deserve it. You’re you, and I’m…”

“Steve, listen to me,” Tony says desperately, grabbing Steve’s hands when he starts to turn away. “It’s not about what we deserve, okay? If it was, none of us would be here. It’s about what we believe. And I… well, since I met you, I believe in love.”

Steve is staring at him, wide-eyed and breathless, but his anger seems to have faded and he’s no longer shouting, so Tony presses on. “So don’t ask me not to save your life,” he says, “because if you’re not there, I can’t, I can’t…” He breaks off in a strangled sob and Steve kneels down in front of him, cupping his face with gentle hands.

“You love me,” Steve says wonderingly, his eyes searching Tony’s.

Tony stares at him, and suddenly his mouth is dry, his breath echoing loud in his ears. He’s terrified, more terrified than he’s ever been, but he looks into Steve’s eyes and he knows it’s safe to fall, because Steve will be waiting to catch him.

“I do,” Tony says, and then Steve’s lips are on his, and it’s perfect, it’s everything Tony dreamed it could be, only it’s better, because now he knows that Steve wants it too.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against his lips, and Tony is gone, he’s falling, but it’s ok because he knows that Steve is falling too.

now

The room is bathed in shadow when Tony startles awake. He frowns up at the ceiling - somewhere between one heartbeat and the next he’d fallen asleep, the brief reprise from consciousness a welcome change from the constant feeling that his heart was being torn from his chest.

Tony rolls over and buried his face in Steve’s pillow, inhaling deeply and letting his eyes slide closed. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine that Steve is there with him, laughing as he putters around the bathroom. He can almost imagine that if he opens his eyes, he would see Steve there, his smile bright as he crawls back into bed. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Steve would whisper to him, “I’m here.”

Tony can imagine all of this and more, he can imagine it as much as he wants, but he’s just starting to realize that it will never happen because Steve is gone. He’s gone for good, and Tony will never hear him laugh or see his smile again. He’ll never fall asleep in Steve’s arms, he’ll never wake up beside him again.

They won’t get to do all the things they had planned, and it’s not just a stupid movie night they’ll never have - they’ll never build a house just for them, they’ll never travel the world, they’ll never raise a family together, they’ll never grow old and wrinkled together.

And Tony didn’t realize how much he wanted it. Until this moment, he’d always thought that romantic, picture-perfect fairytale life wasn’t for good for him, and that he was no good for it. He’d thought that anyone he would try to build that kind of life with would just resent him in the end.

But he always knew that Steve thought he was good enough. Steve didn’t want that life with anyone else but Tony, even if he’d never said as much, and suddenly Tony finds himself wondering what if . They would have been good together, he thinks, but now they’ll never know.

He lets out a strangled sob and covers his face with his hands and then there’s a knock on the door. He hiccups and glares at the door, hoping that if he doesn’t respond, whoever it is will simply go away and leave him alone. Unfortunately, he is not so lucky. The knocking continues, getting louder and more insistent until it suddenly cuts off and there’s a faint scraping sound before the door slides open.

“I’d say I’m sorry for breaking in,” Natasha says, sliding her knife away, “but you know what, I don’t think I am. You look like shit, Stark.”

“Hey,” Tony protests half-heartedly. “Aren’t you supposed to be all mushy and have sympathy for the grieving or something like that?”

Natasha shrugs, coming over to the bed and curling up next to Tony, her back against the wall. “I tried that once,” she says, “it’s overrated. I just hadn’t seen you ever since…”  She trails off, her eyes darting to Tony’s face. Her face is blotchy and exhausted, her hair is tied up in a messy bun, and she’s got on a pair of tattered sweats as though she couldn’t be bothered to do anything else. Tony knows the feeling.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, and it’s the question Tony’s been dreading, it’s the question he knew would be coming since they first told him what had happened.

He sighs, rubs at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you?” he asks.

“I miss him,” Natasha tells him quietly, an admission Tony has hardly ever heard her make.

“Me too,” he says.

They sit there in the darkness, neither of them saying a word as the minutes continue to tick by. Steve is gone, and all they can do is help each other through it.

hours later

Some time later, the rest of the team has joined Tony and Natasha in their silent vigil. They are all sprawled together on the bed, not saying a word, just finding comfort in their closeness.

Tony stirs and accidentally elbows Bruce, who snuffles and mumbles something inaudible in his sleep before settling back down, his breaths slowly evening out again.

Tony feels like crap, there’s no nice way to put it. His muscles are aching from lying in an unnatural position all day, his head is throbbing, and his throat feels sticky with bile, his tongue sandpaper dry. He groans and stretches, feeling his elbow pop in protest.

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He supposes the pain should be a relief - a reminder that even with everything that has happened, he is still here. Unfortunately, at the same time, he’s also reminded that Steve isn’t, and he’s racked with an entirely different kind of pain.

His eyes burn with tears as the thought slams into him, and he fights them back with a sniff. Fight through the pain, he’s always said, and he doesn’t intend to stop any time soon.

Tony crawls over to the side of the bed across the tangle of his teammates. Natasha stirs and raises an eyebrow at him, and he just shakes his head. “Getting some water,” he whispers.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” he says, because he really doesn’t have the words to explain how he’s feeling right now.

Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t press him on it. She simply puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and gives him a sad smile. “If you need anything…” she says.

“I know where to find you,” Tony says..

He makes his way to the kitchen, snagging a sweater from the couch on his way to the sink. It’s Steve’s sweater, he realizes with a pang, the one Steve had offered to Tony the previous night when he saw that Tony was cold, because that’s just the kind of person Steve was. He’s the kind of person who would make you hot chocolate in the middle of the night and offer you the sweater off of his back if it looked like you might be shivering, he’s the kind of person who would do everything he could for the people he loves.

Too late, Tony realizes that he was still thinking about Steve in the present tense - he still can’t quite wrap his head around the idea of living in a world where Steve Rogers is dead. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

He stumbles over to the sink and runs the faucet until it’s cold enough for him to splash some water on his face. He’s still leaning over the sink, with water dripping into his eyes and down his nose, when he hears the telltale ding of the penthouse elevator sliding open, and that’s when he looks up to see Steve standing there in front of him.

“You’re not real,” Tony says numbly, because Steve is dead, they told them he was dead, and Tony had started to believe that he was dead. This was just his grief-addled brain making up what he wanted to see, this wasn’t real.

Not real , Tony tells himself firmly, as he wipes his face dry with a towel. Not real .

“Tony?” not-real Steve says, his voice full of worry. “Are you okay?”

“Am I…” Tony snorts and shakes his head. “Of course, if I made up a delusion of my dead boyfriend that’s exactly what he would say.”

“Tony, you’re scaring me,” not-real Steve says, hurrying over to Tony’s side. “It’s me, I’m here. Let me help.”

Tony looks up at him. For a delusion, it’s not bad, Tony decides - he looks exactly like Steve did when he’d just come back from a long mission, his suit battered and torn, his face smudged with dirt and lined with exhaustion, his shoulders sagging with strain. And his eyes… his eyes are the same clear blue as Steve’s had been, and their keen gaze piercing into Tony’s very soul like they always had.

And Tony wants to indulge in the fantasy that Steve is here, but he knows that it’s not real, because Steve is dead.

“You’re not real,” Tony repeats to himself, like a mantra. “Steve Rogers is dead, you can’t be real.”

“Tony…” not-Steve says, frowning down at him. “Did you not get my messages?”

Tony blinks, because this is at least something new. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks.

“My messages,” Steve says, looking more and more frantic. “When I fell from The Raft, SHIELD managed to rescue me from the ocean. They told me they thought I was dead, so I called you right away…” he trails off, as Tony doesn’t show any signs of recognition. “You didn’t get the messages,” Steve says faintly. “Tony, all this time… you thought I was really dead?”

Tony nods, his pulse thundering loud in his ears. It’s starting to come into focus, he sees what Steve is saying… but he can’t allow himself to hope, only to find…

“Steve, you were dead,” he says. “I didn’t believe them at first, I couldn’t, but then…” he breaks off as sobs rack his body, his shoulders shaking under a fresh onslaught of tears. His eyes wide, Steve pulls Tony into his arms, and they’re warm and solid and real , and Tony feels himself shaking apart as he begins to let himself believe this is real.

“You were dead,” Tony sobs again, still lost in the horror of it. “You were dead, and I realized just how much I love you.” He looks up at Steve, and Steve smiles down at him, gently wiping tears from Tony’s face. “I want to marry you, Steve,” Tony says quietly. “I want to spend my life with you, and I only realized it when it was too late.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve says, pulling Tony to his chest and running his hands through Tony’s messy hair. “I love you too,” Steve murmurs in Tony’s ear. “I’m here, and I love you.”

They stand like that for long minutes, until Tony has cried himself out and relaxed in the circle of Steve’s arms.

“Coincidentally,” Steve says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too. And Tony… it’s not too late.”

Tony sighs and tightens his arms around Steve’s waist, smiling when he feels Steve press his lips to the top of his head.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Tony tells him seriously.

“Me too,” Steve says.

“I know some other people who would be pretty happy about it too,” Tony says with a smile. “Come with me.”

He takes Steve’s hand and leads him back to their room. He knows they’re sure to be ambushed by their teammates and get pulled into a cuddle pile that will be nearly impossible to escape from, and he couldn’t be happier about it because Steve is back, he’s alive, and they have all the time in the world.

***

F I N

“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd,” Steve sings, his shoulder bumping into Tony’s as he sways back and forth. “Come on, Tony, sing!”

“I am a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” Tony protests around a mouthful of hot dog. “I do not sing.” A droplet of grease trickles down his wrist and he wrinkles his nose and tucks his finger into his mouth. “Mmmphf, that’s the stuff,” he says appreciatively.

He looks up to see Steve staring at him. “Please, Tony?” Steve asks, his stupid blue eyes wide and pleading, his plush lower lip sticking out in the barest hint of a pout that has no business being so damn adorable. Scratch that, Steve has no business being so adorable, Tony decides, grateful for the privacy of his sunglasses as he appreciates the glorious sight of Steve in a skin-tight Dodger’s jersey that shows off his biceps to great effect. And Steve’s hair, tossed by the wind, and his eyes, which somehow look even bluer than usual in the bright sunlight, and the warmth of him, at once so close and too far away.

Tony swallows, trying to tell himself that the feeling swelling in his chest is simple heart burn. That at least, he can deal with.

“No,” he says firmly, pointing at Steve, because even if he knows that he would do anything for Steve, there’s no need to make it so ridiculously obvious to the rest of the world, Steve included.

Steve’s full-on pouting at him now, and Tony knows that he’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to care, too lost in visions of pulling Steve agains him and sucking on that plush lower lip.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve pleads, nudging Tony’s shoulder. “Everybody sings. Besides, it’s tradition!”

Tony grunts noncommittally, determinedly not looking at Steve, because if he looks at Steve, that’s it, he’s gone.

“Tony please,” Steve says, his voice low and intimate, and then his hand is on Tony’s thigh, and Tony shudders, torn between pushing Steve away and pulling him into his lap. Steve can’t know how he’s affecting Tony, can he? Tony sure hopes not.

“For me?” Steve asks, and Tony closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, memorizes the feel of Steve’s fingers against his thigh, because that’s all he’s likely to get.

“What the hell?” Tony says, tossing his hot dog aside.

“Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don’t care if I never get back,” Tony sings, and a smile spreads across Steve’s face like he can’t believe his luck, and yeah, it’s totally worth a little public humiliation to see Steve smile like that. Tony tugs Steve up with him and tries not to think of how right it feels, Steve’s fingers wrapped firmly around his own.

When the song ends, Tony tries to pull his hand away, but Steve gives him this look, full of heat and intent. Tony’s mouth goes dry and his pulse beats loud in his ears, and he has to look away when Steve rubs his thumb over the back of his hand, because his face is suddenly heating up for no reason at all, and he’s Tony Stark, blushing is one of the things he just doesn’t do.

Steve seems to notice, the bastard, from the way his smile goes soft and his eyes crinkle at the edges. Tony bites his lip to keep from smiling, and he keeps looking straight ahead, because he’s still going to watch the game, dammit, even if it does suddenly feels like they’re the only ones in the stadium.

Tony gives Steve’s fingers a definite squeeze, and he catches the edge of Steve’s pleased huff and the curve of a smile as he glances over, and it’s the same look that Steve had given him when Tony had been babbling on about shawarma after they saved the world, like tony is everything he never knew he wanted.

And eventually Steve gets drawn back into the game again, because it is baseball after all, and Steve is nothing if not a die-hard fan. So Steve watches the game, and Tony watches Steve, because Steve is amazing when he’s in his element like this. He really gets into it, gasping and cheering and booing along with the crowd. And when Steve catches Tony staring, he just grins at him. “What?” he asks, completely deadpan.

“N-nothing,” Tony stutters, when he’s really thinking god, you’re gorgeous when you’re happy, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you smile like that, and I want to kiss that look from your lips.

“Sure Tony,” Steve says, but he doesn’t push, and that, that’s one of the great things about Steve right there.

And then the crowd explodes around them, as the batter makes a spectacular play, and Steve leaps to his feet as the ball soars high into the stands, and Tony is right there with him, cheering as the batter runs the bases and his team spills onto the field, and it’s really quite infectious, this unbridled enthusiasm.

“They won!” Steve says, like he can’t quite believe it. “They won, Tony, did you see?” and that smile is back, and he’s dazzling.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he knows he’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Steve is staring right back, smiling like Tony is the best thing in his world.

Tony doesn’t know what Steve sees in him, but it must be something, because Steve gets this fiercely determined glint in his eyes and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he takes Tony’s head in his hands and leans in close.

And really, there’s only one response to that. Tony fists his hands in Steve’s jersey and surges up to meet him, and then they’re kissing openmouthed, Steve’s fingers tangling in Tony’s hair as he nips on Tony’s lower lip and coaxes Tony’s mouth open. Steve’s tongue is rough and perfect against his own, and Tony shudders against him as their lips slide together. Tony presses closer, and Steve tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and Tony pulls him in at the hips until they’e flush against each other and Tony can feel Steve’s heat all around him, against every line of his body. Tony hums appreciatively and runs his hands along Steve’s back, over his shoulders and his really remarkable biceps.

Steve moans into his mouth and jerks against him, and Tony knows with a sudden certainty that there’s only one way this is headed, that they’re seconds away from hips rocking together and hands wandering beneath waistbands and under shirts, and for a moment, Tony is completely okay with this until he registers the sudden quiet that’s descending around them.

Tony tears himself away and Steve chases his lips and damn that’s gratifying. Tony bumps their noses together on a whim and Steve’s eyelashes flutter, and his cheeks are flushed, and he looks more than a little stunned.

Tony beams, because he just can’t help himself. “So, that was amazing,” he says conversationally, “and I’d really like to do that again sometime. But I think we have a bit of an audience.”

Steve frowns and blinks at him, and then he turns to look out at the sea of faces turned their way, at the crowd they’ve shocked into silence. A flush works its way up his cheeks and down his neck, and Tony’s half-baked fantasies of sleepy morning kisses and hands clasped tight against sweaty sheets and movie nights spent cuddling together on the couch flash before his eyes. This is it, he thinks, it’s over before it even started. Everyone I care about is always forced away in the end.

But Steve just takes in the scene, spots himself on the big screen where the cameras have zeroed in on them, and instead of pulling away and making platitudes and apologies, he simply gives the crowd a cheery wave.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he says, smiling back at Tony, and god, he’s gorgeous. “Want to give them a real show?”

Tony stares at him, blinks, stares some more, not quite sure if he heard what he thought he heard. And really, he’s not sure what being gobsmacked is supposed to feel like, but he thinks it must be something like this. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head disbelievingly.

“You really are amazing, you know that, right?” Tony says, grinning at the cameras and tossing the crowd a jaunty salute. Tony hears the tittering, the questions, the snide comments, and he stiffens as cameras flash around them. He’s about ready to start throwing punches when Steve’s hand finds his and he startles, looking up at Steve as he threads their fingers together.

Someone wolf-whistles, and then a smattering of applause breaks out, and it just gets louder and louder, until the stadium is shaking with it, until Tony has to turn his smile into Steve’s shoulder.

“And honestly, I think we’ve given them enough of a show for now,” Tony says.

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” Steve replies consideringly. Then he glances at Tony and grins, bright and beautiful. “Want to go home so I can score a home run of my own?”

“Oh god,” Tony says, breaking into laughter despite the crowd. “You really are amazing, Rogers, you know that, right?”

He grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him through the crush of people and down the stairs, the briefcase suit in his other hand, all ready to go.

“All right,” Tony says, stepping into the suit and reveling in the look on Steve’s face as the armor slides into place. He looks proud and amazed and maybe a little turned on, his pupils blown and his face flushed. Tony holds out his hand and Steve steps onto the footholds designed specifically for him and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist.

“You’re amazing too, you know that, right?” Steve tells him, his eyes wide and earnest. “I don’t think we tell you enough.”

Tony blinks, stares, suddenly at a loss for words. “You... I...” he tries, before shaking his head and tucking his finger under Steve’s chin to draw him into another kiss, gentle and sweet. Their last kiss had been full of heat and fire, but this kiss... this feels like a new beginning, like they’re learning each other, like they’ve got all the time in the world. It feels like coming home. When they finally pull away, it’s in a gentle slide of lips catching, breath mingling, noses bumping as they take each other in.

Tony brushes Steve’s hair back from his forehead, his thumb soft on Steve’s temple. “Well, mister home run,” he says teasingly, “let’s get you home, shall we?”

“Home,” Steve agrees softly.

Steve shouts as they shoot up into the sky, his yell echoing Tony’s whoop of delight as they spiral through the air. Steve’s eyes are bright as he leans his head on Tony’s shoulder, as he moves a hand to rest on Tony’s armored chest, his fingers splayed around the reactor, just over his heart.