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The television's still murmuring, but Steve gets up and switches it off after it becomes obvious that neither he nor Tony are paying any attention to it, now that the news story about the third day of Hank's trial is done. Tony keeps staring ahead, gaze fixed on the blank screen, like he hasn't even noticed. His eyes are dark, hollowed circles, there's days' worth of stubble on his chin, and even the armor seems dull. Nonetheless, it looks like the armor is the only thing holding him up. When Tony'd said he'd been up thirty or forty hours making a machine to prove Hank's innocence, he'd probably been deliberately underestimating.
"Hey, Shellhead," Steve ventures, thinking as he says it about how odd it is to say it now that Tony's got his helmet pushed back, now that he knows who the man is under the armor.
Tony jumps, like he's been startled awake, even though he didn't look asleep. "Mmm?"
"Nothing," Steve says, and a little pang of guilt ripples through him. He hadn't meant to wake Tony. "Was just wondering. Penny for your thoughts."
Tony scrapes his gauntleted hand roughly across his face; it's got to hurt, but he shows no sign of it. "Oh. Geez. Thinking... thinking about Hank, I suppose." He pauses. "And Jan." His voice has gone low, miserable, somehow more honest in all the fatigue.
Oh.
"Listen," he begins, and he doesn't really know what to say, but he's got to say something. Hell, he'd been haranguing Tony to tell Jan the truth about his identity. He'd been snapping at him, like the worst drill sergeant, because Tony had been lying to her, Tony had been in the wrong, and-- now Tony'd gone and done it, he'd done just what Steve said, and this was what he'd gotten.
"She said it wasn't what she needed," Tony mumbles, looking away. "Because I'm Hank's friend. Because I'm a teammate." He looks up at Steve with wide, bloodshot eyes. "Wouldn't date a teammate."
I'd date a teammate, Steve thinks, the years of affection coming to the fore, and he swallows hard. He knows this isn't the time or the place, and he's-- he's dating Bernie, and he's happy with Bernie, he is, but something about the look on Tony's face makes him want to gather Tony up in his arms and tell him he'd never reject him. Tony looks like he needs someone to love him. He looks fragile, hollow, like there's some darkness he's just skirting the edge of, trying to chase away. Like this was something he'd tried to do, with dating Jan, and he'd failed, and he's running out of options.
Steve wants to shield him from that. From himself. It feels like it would be walking into the line of fire, but he'd do it for Tony, if he weren't-- if he weren't taken.
He can't be what Tony needs. Not now, not like that.
"You did the right thing," he says, finally. "You'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help?"
It's not the right thing to say. Tony doesn't want to talk about it.
Tony sighs. "You can't, but... I'll let you know."
A week later Tony quits the team.
A week after that, Steve and Jan find Tony on a bender, standing in one of his apartments and drunk out of his mind, and Steve knows Tony's run out of ways to push the darkness back.
He thinks maybe if I could have been what you needed. He knows it wasn't him. He knows it was Tony. But that doesn't stop him thinking it.
Then there's a flophouse and a fire, and Tony's still drunk, and some unkind words are said, and Steve's carrying Tony out, because this is Tony, and he can't not, and he would do anything to save Tony's life, and he needs to now more than ever, because Tony won't save himself--
They don't talk about it. Even when Tony's sober, newly sober for good, they don't talk about it.
Steve's now several relationships past Bernie; he's broken up with Sharon again, and by now he's stopped counting. He's single, but not in any way that feels like meaningfully looking.
And then one day Tony wanders up the stairs from the basement workshop to where Steve's standing in the mansion's kitchen, and he looks bleary-eyed and exhausted and so frustrated with whatever he's been trying to build that the tension is radiating off him, hands shaking from too much caffeine.
He looks like he's getting lost in himself. Like he needs a way out of his head, and if he can't find one he's going to break himself and make one.
"Hey, Tony," he says, softly. "Can I do anything?"
Tony starts to shake his head, but then he just stops and stares at Steve, confused. "I-- I don't know."
And Steve looks at Tony and thinks I can do this.
And then somehow he's stepping forward and he's got his arms around Tony and then they're kissing, his lips to Tony's forehead, his temple, his cheek, his jaw, his coffee-bitter mouth--
And then they're in bed, in Tony's big bed, and Tony's face is flushed, halfway to embarrassment, and he's saying Jesus Christ, Steve, I've been working for two days straight, you do not want to put your mouth there but Steve does, of course he does, he's only been waiting ten years for this, and then Tony doesn't say anything except yes and please and yes and at the end a very quiet I love you that Steve is ready to pretend not to have heard if that's what Tony wants. Steve wants him to have meant it. Steve means it. Steve whispers his own loving words against Tony's skin, and he thinks Tony hears them.
Afterwards, Tony props himself up on one elbow and looks at him, thoughtfully. "I'd say that was unexpected," he murmurs, "but I think then I'd just be lying to myself."
"Glad I could do something for you," Steve says, and he can't keep himself from grinning. "I always want to help you."
Tony just looks more thoughtful.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" Steve tries. He wants Tony to talk to him. He doesn't want Tony to lose himself, to go where Steve can't find him.
"You don't want to hear about it." But he sighs, like he knows Steve's going to insist. "Do you remember back when I dated Jan, before I told her I was Iron Man? And you-- you told me I should tell her?"
Steve nods. "Yeah?"
Tony bites his lip. "The night you told me... I nearly started drinking again, after you left. And then, well." He laughs, a dry sound. "I did start again, not much later, didn't I?"
He reaches out and catches Tony's hand. "Tony--"
He doesn't know if Tony means for him to be frightened by the power he has over him. He wonders if that's the point.
"If that's why you're here, because you think you can fix me, because you think you can save me -- you can't." Tony shakes his head. "This one's my fight. My demons."
Tony looks almost defiant. Like he's going to walk alone for the rest of his life. And he makes a very surprised noise when Steve gathers him up in his arms.
"You don't have to fight alone," he says against Tony's hair. "You never have to. I'm with you. Anything I can do to help."
Steve knows it won't be easy. He knows this isn't the magic, neat ending of a fairytale, but he knows it will be worth it, because the best things are, because Tony is. It will be a hard road, but if Tony will have him, he'll be at his side for every step of it, a soldier on the march.
Tony pulls his head back, and Steve knows he's made the right choice. Tony's face is hesitant, a little wary, but his eyes are bright, bright, bright. The darkness is gone.