"You said you were hungry," Tony says this rather than I don't want to grieve. Or maybe that he shouldn't. Or trying to just get out that this happened when he was a kid. Almost twenty-five years ago. Isn't that long enough to get his head right about it? Even if this is presenting it in a new light, he feels like he doesn't get to have this. That he shouldn't. And, more importantly, that he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be doing any of this.
That's why when Steve picks him up he both grabs tighter to him while also telling him some muffled message of don't. Mixed signals that get ignored regardless, even by himself. He presses his head into Steve's shoulder tighter, now more in shame than anything else. He can't believe he's doing this right now. In front of Steve of all people. It's embarrassing. It's terrible.
It's kind of what he needs. But Tony's the last person to give himself anything. He just definitely doesn't deserve this, does he? Steve in his entirety. Weren't they just fighting? Wasn't Tony just trying to put a knife between them to slow the flow of blood while he felt like it was inevitable, that their relationship right in that moment was taking its last few breaths? Yet there he is. Steve fucking Rogers.
Trying to make everything right. Refusing to budge. Infuriating and stubborn and...
"I don't wanna do this," he murmurs after a long moment once Steve's settled them on the couch. The words fall against the side of Steve's neck, more breath than sound. Tony wills himself to carve out a hole, to get all of this mess away from himself. Because he's not sure he can go into the field like this. There's no getting through it in one night, even if he weeps right now into Steve's shoulder. He's not even sure he's capable of it, really.
So he tries instead to contain it all, box it up and shove it back into the dark corner it came from. Even still, he stays in his spot, hands resting against Steve's chest, head in the crook of his shoulder. "I can't do this right now. When we're done. Maybe. Not right now." He feels like if he lets this all go now it'll weaken everything else and the further they go, the more truth they get, the more people they put down, it'll only make it impossible. He'll be a liability in the field, in a much different way than he usually is. And especially if Steve's coming with, he can't do that.
Finally, he decides, he knows exactly what he needs. "I need a drink." Something he's gotten much better with in recent years. But that doesn't stop the call for it in moments like this. Like the only thing that'll smooth out his edges so he can continue operating. Yes. He needs a very stiff drink.
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That's why when Steve picks him up he both grabs tighter to him while also telling him some muffled message of don't. Mixed signals that get ignored regardless, even by himself. He presses his head into Steve's shoulder tighter, now more in shame than anything else. He can't believe he's doing this right now. In front of Steve of all people. It's embarrassing. It's terrible.
It's kind of what he needs. But Tony's the last person to give himself anything. He just definitely doesn't deserve this, does he? Steve in his entirety. Weren't they just fighting? Wasn't Tony just trying to put a knife between them to slow the flow of blood while he felt like it was inevitable, that their relationship right in that moment was taking its last few breaths? Yet there he is. Steve fucking Rogers.
Trying to make everything right. Refusing to budge. Infuriating and stubborn and...
"I don't wanna do this," he murmurs after a long moment once Steve's settled them on the couch. The words fall against the side of Steve's neck, more breath than sound. Tony wills himself to carve out a hole, to get all of this mess away from himself. Because he's not sure he can go into the field like this. There's no getting through it in one night, even if he weeps right now into Steve's shoulder. He's not even sure he's capable of it, really.
So he tries instead to contain it all, box it up and shove it back into the dark corner it came from. Even still, he stays in his spot, hands resting against Steve's chest, head in the crook of his shoulder. "I can't do this right now. When we're done. Maybe. Not right now." He feels like if he lets this all go now it'll weaken everything else and the further they go, the more truth they get, the more people they put down, it'll only make it impossible. He'll be a liability in the field, in a much different way than he usually is. And especially if Steve's coming with, he can't do that.
Finally, he decides, he knows exactly what he needs. "I need a drink." Something he's gotten much better with in recent years. But that doesn't stop the call for it in moments like this. Like the only thing that'll smooth out his edges so he can continue operating. Yes. He needs a very stiff drink.