#nixie-deangel

With staggering steps, Tony and Steve make their way through the living space of Avenger Tower. Steve with his arms slung across Tony's shoulders to help keep the weight of his injured leg.

The Cabal fought well. Not as good as they did when Skull had his battle analysis software. But better than they usually did by far, it was concerning. If he weren't so tired, he'd be more worried about that. Right now? All he wanted to do was get some sleep. He can save thinking about the Cabal's newfound competence for in the morning.

Slowly, Tony guides Steve towards the bathroom. As wonderful as sleep sounded right now, they needed to treat Steve's wounds.

He's been toying with the idea of making Steve a version of his armour. For a while now. He'd run the idea past Steve a few times, but to little effect.

Tony knows it's not Steve's style...

It wasn't that the man couldn't use tech Steve was surprisingly capable and a fast learner. In fact, he would almost go as far as to say Steve loved tech. The man had to be the no.1 fan of his science magazine: Futura. Which was no small ego boost. But Steve was more comfortable fighting in the uniform he wore currently. That was to say: Fabric. Extremely durable, Kevlar-metal weave fabric. But Fabric.

Tony would like nothing more than to encase Steve in a suit of armour that would protect him. In the armour, he could take unbelievable hits. Hits that he shouldn't be able to walk away from but can, thanks to the armour.

"I can hear you thinkin'," Steve huffs, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I thought we were done with thinkin' for today."

Tony rolls his eyes, struggling to keep his own smile hidden. "Well, you know me, Cap."

They reach the bathroom. Tony helps Steve sit down on the toilet seat before fetching the first-aid kit from under the sink.

"That I do," Steve says, his voice slurred. "As long as yur not gonna go runnin' off to ya lab, 'stead of comin' to bed... 's fine."

"Don't you worry," Tony says, laughter colouring his words, "your personal nightlight will be there to keep you warm." He sets the first-aid kit down beside Steve, opens it and pulls out what he needs.

A strong hand grabs him by the elbow, pulling him in. Steve buries his face in Tony's chest, letting out a content sigh. "My hero," he mumbles.

His face heats at his husband's words. Tony buries his face in Steve's dirty blond hair to hide it.

They stay like that for a moment, holding each other close. But only for a short time, as Steve's likely to fall asleep here, leaning against him, if Tony were to let him. He knows how taxing the accelerated healing can be on Steve's body. How tired the man gets. He knows that if they don't get going, Steve's going to be out like a light, and nothing short of the Hulk would be able to wake him.

"C'mon," he says, pulling away. Focusing on the medical supplies because he knows the pout Steve was no-doubt was sporting would crumble Tony's defences, and they'd be here all night. "Can you strip yourself, or do you need help?" he asks.

Steve's grunts as he reaches for his uniform's zip. "I think I got it," he says, twisting and stretching, his fingers barely reaching their target. The man makes several fruitless attempts, his face pinched in pain. "Nope," Steve says, "help."

Tony sets down the gauze and helps Steve out of his uniform, tossing it over by the sink. He winces in sympathy as he sees all the bruises and lacerations littering Steve's chest. And the vicious-looking puncture wound on his leg... deep and bleeding steadily. It was probably lucky that it wasn't broken.

Carefully, Tony cleans away all the dirt and blood, making a mental note of each wound. It wasn't as bad as it could be, at least. But it still looked exceedingly painful.

When he's finished cleaning Steve up, he starts treating the wounds, wrapping them in the gauze.

The quiet between them is broken by the sound of Steve's stomach rumbling.

Steve's face goes bright red as he gives Tony an embarrassed smile.

Tony tosses his head back and laughs. "Yeah," he says, "I think you're stomach's got the right idea. I could probably do with some food too."

He finishes dressing the rest of Steve's injuries, his own stomach starting to make its protests known.

When he's done, he takes Steve's hand, helping him up. He takes Steve's arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight, as he leads them into the kitchen.

Not many take-out places would be open, save the few 24-hour ones. But Tony didn't really feel like sitting around waiting for take-out. And he knows not to hope that there were any leftovers in the fridge; food never lasted long at Avengers Tower. Despite how tired he was- how tired they both were, a home-cooked felt like the way to go. Something quick and easy. A simple pasta would probably do.

Tony sits Steve down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter before rummaging through the pots and pans. He hears the sound of the chopping board being dragged across the counter towards Steve. He almost protests, but he knows Steve can handle cutting a few vegetables up, even as tired and injured as he was, so Tony lets it be.

Setting the pan on the stove, he goes to the fridge, collecting the ingredients. Laying them out in front of Steve, who dutifully chops them as Tony gets the water boiling and the pan ready.

Before long, the sound of the knife stops. Tony turns around to find the vegetables chopped and Steve with his head pillowed in his arms over the kitchen counter. "Ah, no! No falling asleep just yet," he says, pointing his spoon at Steve.

Without raising his head, Steve gives him a weak thumbs up.

Tony sighs. He grabs the vegetables and turns back to the stove. It was probably a losing battle.

"We should take a holiday," he says. "Not a long one. Just, you know, a short break. It's been a while, and I think we are overdue. Maybe the Bahamas?" He says, adding the vegetables to the meat and sauce.

"Oh, or my private island. Did I ever mention my private island? Stark-landia. Clothing is non-optional, completely forbidden. Though... I'd make an exception to see you in that bikini I brought you for your birthday, that cute little red, white and blue number. I know, I know. It was a joke, but a man can still dream."

Tony grabs two bowls from the cupboard. "Just you, me and the warm sunshine and waves, Steve. Wouldn't that be nice? I know our schedules are busy, but I think we can manage something." Tony pauses. "Steve? Steve?!"

Tony turns to find Steve exactly where he left him. Snoring softly.

He walks over and brushes the hair from Steve's face, taking a moment to savour Steve's peaceful expression. Leaning in, he kisses Steve's forehead.

Shaking his head fondly, Tony returns to the pasta. "A holiday sounds good," he says to himself.

He adds the last ingredients to the sauce and stirs it in silence.

Not much longer now. Maybe a minute or two.

He could feel his eyes grow heavier. Could feel himself begin to sway on his feet. His own exhaustion catching up with him.

An arm wraps around his chest, startling him.

The familiar weight of Steve's head comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Steve!" he admonishes, "you startled me."

"S'rry," Steve mumbles into his undersuit. The man reaches out his free hand to steal a piece of food from the pan.

Tony waves his hand away from the food. "Stop, it's nearly done," he says.

The offending hand retreats. Steve lets out a tiny whine. "Smells good, though," the man mumbles into Tony's shoulder.

"Okay, okay," Tony says, grinning, turning off the stove.

Steve steps back, leaning against the counter for support as Tony serves the pasta into their bowls.

"I think we can eat this in bed. What do you think?" Tony says, grabbing the bowls.