(1) Late Sunday Afternoon

The continual echoes of shuffling footsteps and the quiet buzz of hushed voices invaded the whitewashed hospital room, and Steve was grateful, if only because it broke the stifling silence.

It was an environment that each of them had become far too well acquainted with in the recent years, met with contrasting thoughts and feelings. Sometimes it was a place of healing and safety, a haven. And sometimes it was a place of remorse, and sorrow, of death.

Whatever the case, it was always, first and foremost, a place of regret, of fear and concern. And right now, sitting with a smaller, colourless hand cradled gingerly within his own, Steve knew without a doubt that this particular visit to the hospital would forever rest in his mind as one of the worst days of his entire life.

They'd almost lost him.

Steve had almost lost him.

Still could.

The low hum and quiet staccato beep of the monitoring machines provided a soft backing track to his worried thoughts, chasing the melody of 'what if and if only' about his mind with an almost reassuring quality. Enhanced hearing picked up every tiny fluctuation within the steadiness of the rhythmic sound, and translated each soft resonance into 'he's still here'.

Because that was the only truth he could stand to think about.

The truth in which Tony was alive, breathing and still with him.

As opposed to the truth in which Tony hadn't said a word after they'd pulled him from the water. How Tony had yet to wake after falling into unconsciousness in the back of the shield Medi-vac. How Steve had overheard hospital staff bandying about terms such as 'oxygen deprivation' and 'brain damage'.

Steve just… he just couldn't.

"You'll be okay."

Steve didn't realise he'd spoken aloud, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known whether it was a statement of fact, a question, a plea, or an order.

Needing to touch, (really, impossibly, needing to hold), Steve rocked closer to the bed on the flimsy legs of the precariously overwhelmed plastic visiting chair, and gently brushed away a dank lock of hair that had setted stickily against Tony's forehead. Smoothing it back into place, he ignored the awful stench of naturally foul water sediment, and pretended his hand wasn't shaking.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his unpleasant thoughts, and Steve turned his attention to the door, watching silently as Bruce pulled it closed again as he entered.

Padding silently across the room to come to a stop on the far side of the bed, the physicist quietly took in the general atmosphere of the room and the status of its two inhabitants, before asking "Where are the others?"

Startled, Steve blinked once or twice, and swallowing his half prepared answer about Tony's state, he answered distractedly, "Oh- uh. Clint and Nat where filthy, so they've gone to shower and change. Thor is… I- I guess I don't know where Thor is. Where were you?"

It wasn't said in a particularly sharp or accusatory manner, but Bruce still flinched slightly, unable to ignore the ashen form of his best friend on the bed between them, and the fact that he hadn't been there to stop it.

Steve didn't seem to notice Bruce's silent self-incrimination, which said more to Bruce than if he had.

"A bridge collapsed, apparently Hulk held it up, while Thor got people off", the scientist explained, continuing, "You're filthy as well Steve. I've got your ready-bag, why don't you have a quick wash off in the bathroom, and get some clean, dry clothes on."

Steve looked down at himself, seemingly surprised by the mud encrusted state of his clothes. "Huh. I – yeah. But I can't just yet. He's-"

Bruce wondered around to the other side of the bed, digging through the bag that hung at his side as he did, pulling out a pair of tracks and a sweatshirt. "You don't want that mud to make Tony unwell- just a few minutes."

Steve's head tilted down towards his own clothes again, but his eyes didn't leave Tony, as he replied, "A few… How do I- What if he- "

"I won't leave him. I'll stay right here beside him the whole time. Leave the door ajar and I tell you if he so much as twitches." Bruce cajoled lightly, turning Steve toward the bathroom door with a gentle nudge, pretty sure that the other man wasn't even aware that he'd stood up and reached for the change of clothes.

"Okay. Ajar. Alright. Just a minute or two", the blond half muttered as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The feeble push Steve gave it didn't really close the door behind him, and Bruce was more than a little grateful for the clean line of sight as he surreptitiously watched the man fumble with the shower taps, wincing as steam billowed out over the top of the glass enclosure. "Steve, make sure the water's not too hot, these hospital showers are finicky", he called, and he breathed a sigh of relief as more fumbling led to a distinct reduction in steam, as the cold water was turned on.

Steve stepping into the shower fully dressed cemented Bruce's already fairly firm diagnosis of shock, but given the state of his clothes, it probably wasn't an overly bad idea anyway.

As the physicist had expected though, within a few minutes of being under what he hoped was at most, slightly too warm spray, Steve seemed to start to come back to himself, if the shuddering breath was any indication.

The trembling of broad shoulders and soft hitches of breath spoke to tears, but if there were, only one man would be able to absolve them, and so, as Steve started to strip down properly, Bruce turned the majority of his attention to Tony.

He could see the building fever in the high points of red that graced otherwise parchment grey skin, and from the state of the one arm he could see, Bruce doubted that he'd find much area under that hospital gown that wasn't a mess of cuts and bruises.

Even without reaching for the chart hanging from the bottom of the bed, Bruce could see the tall tale swelling of a severely broken arm, and dislocated shoulder. The chart added 24 stitches in two locations, blunt force trauma to the head, three broken ribs, and a body covered in moderate to severe bruising and mild lacerations.

"What have you done to yourself this time?" He asked quietly, gently patting the same hand he'd just pulled Steve away from.

"Not to himself." Bruce looked up to where Steve was yanking the sweatshirt on halfway between the bathroom and the bed, having to backtrack and think about what he'd almost unconsciously muttered before he understood what the Captain was saying.

"What did happen?" Bruce asked, "JARVIS told me that Tony was at the hospital, but he didn't have many details."

Slumping back into his seat that groaned theatrically beneath his weight, Steve reclaimed his hand, and replied, "-I'm not really sure. He just- He saved someone or helped someone and…He ended up pinned to the bottom of the river. He was drowning."

Knowing how Tony felt about water, Bruce couldn't even think of something to say in response. His gaze caught the black shadowed bruising around Tony's closed eyes, and he wondered what nightmares were happening beneath them.

Something caught in Steve's throat, some horrible unspoken terrible fear, and Bruce looked up the captain stumbled over his words, desperate to ask, but not really wanting to know the answer, "He was under so long Bruce- what if he… He hasn't woken. Hasn't even moved. The nurses were saying that-"

"Don't. Don't write him off. Work with what you do know. He's strong. He's tough – come on… " Bruce pushed, knowing that if Steve gave in, Tony wouldn't even bother fighting.

A half grin chased its way across Steve's face, and Bruce breathed a silent sigh of relief as he heard the answering reply of, "He's as brilliant as he is resourceful. And twice as Stubborn. "

Bruce squeezed Steve's shoulder, saying, "Exactly. You'll see. Any minute now Tony's going to wak-"

The monitors went haywire.

After a split instant of heart attack inducing terror, Bruce realised that it was more a positive spike in brain activity than anything negative, and with an almost rueful shake of his head, he calmed a ready to panic Steve, saying "Well, he hasn't lost his ability to time his entrances. He's trying to wake up, Steve. "

Leaping to his feet, and half crowding over the bed, Steve spoke quietly and calmly, and in exactly the manner Bruce would have coached him to, "Tony? Tony- everything's okay. Just breathe. Open your eyes for me. That's it… "

Brown eyes blinked lazily up at them, dull and vacant as they rolled around the room without focusing on anything in particular.

Bruce's heart leapt into his mouth, but he bit it back savagely, looking for any sign that Tony was, well- Tony.

Ignoring Steve's almost urgent plea's to look at him, Tony's eyes dipped closed again, his lashes fluttering slightly on his cheeks.

Cupping the side of Tony's face with one hand, Steve didn't get further than the first choked syllable of "Pleas-", because Tony's eyes flew back open, and shining brightly out of them, amidst burning fire of fear and pain, was Tony.

"-S- St.", leaning into the Steve's touch, Tony spoke, his voice absolutely wrecked, husky and crackling as it rasped into the silence, before he gave up on the word that everyone knew he was trying to say, replacing it with another, "C-c-Ca-"

Shooting a mystified look at Bruce, and receiving one even more so in return, Steve answered, "Shh, Tony. Breathe. You're okay…"

Tony shook his head vigorously in frantic disagreement, his eyes blowing wide with agony, rolling back in his head, and he fell back into darkness with the unknown request still echoing on his lips.

(2) Sunday Evening

"-definitely did the right thing calling for me immediately. It's astronomically good news that he seemed at least semi-aware of himself when he woke, however it really is simply too early to know definitively." The young doctor concluded, tucking Tony's inured arm back under the cover as he finished his check-up.

Turning to his rapt audience of two, he continued, "His arm will need casting once the swelling decreases, probably early next week. Please also be mindful of any coughing or difficulty breathing, as I'm quite concerned about the amount of water he swallowed. Dr Banner, I'm assuming you are quite capable and willing to keep an eye on this particular patient?"

"Of course. I generally end up forced into that role by this lot any way." Bruce answered, shaking the doctor's proffered hand.

"I admit that I did get that impression. Now, if there's nothing else, I really must be going. Please forgive my hastiness gentlemen, but the quake has us all rushed off our feet, not to mention stacked to capacity in the worst possible way." Shaking Steve's hand, the doctor nodded his farewell and took his departure, leaving Steve and Bruce to slump back into their seats on each side of the bed.

"So. Just wait and see?" Steve asked, reaching for Tony's hand again.

Bruce nodded, "Essentially. I mean, the fact that he woke is fantastic, and he definitely knew who you were, but really, beyond that…"

"-wait and see." came the answer from the door, as Clint strode in balancing four cups of coffee and a take away bag with incredible ease.

Taking his own seemingly pre-determined perch on the foot of Tony's bed, the archer passed the coffee and pressed a paper bag on each of the other men, adding the quite self-explanatory, "Food."

Seeing Steve turn his nose up at it slightly, Clint pushed it closer, adding, "Eat, Cap, You know you're going to need all your strength to keep Tony in that bed once he wakes."

Steve accepted the bag with a fond nod of agreement, ignoring the fact that he'd just been soundly manipulated in favour of acknowledging the truth of the statement.

For a moment, the sound of rustling paper and chewing filled the room, until finally Clint asked, "What exactly are we 'waiting to see?'"

Bruce snorted into his coffee, before answering, "He woke a little while ago. We're pretty sure he knew who Steve was, but he was pretty out of it."

"That's great! Can't keep Ironman down. Cos he can fly, you know. Seriously though, That's- ", the archer didn't really seem to know how to express the level of his happiness, but thankfully, Steve and Bruce's grins said they understood perfectly.

It was Steve who thought to ask, "He kept saying Ca- Ca.. like it was the beginning of a wor-"

"Oh man! Carrie! He had to be asking about the little girl…" Clint burst out, his excitement spilling over into his hands as he gestured wildly, "It was the damndest thing- wait. Have either of you actually heard what happened?"

Both men shook their heads, and Steve followed up, replying, "No, I know he was helping someone before he ended up in the water- but…"

"Oh my god- no! Well, yes…but- here. Watch it." Clint fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, before coming up triumphant with his phone.

One hand fiddling with his phone, the archer pointed at Bruce with the other, and snapped his fingers in a universal 'come here' signal, pointing to the floor space at the end of the bed. As Bruce obeyed, Clint reached out to grasp blindly at Steve's sleeve, tugging ineffectually until the super soldier deigned to move, getting to his feet and allowing Clint to draw him around to the other side of the bed. His right hand unconsciously resting gently against Tony's blanket covered leg, Steve leaned forward to see the phone over Clint's shoulder.

Within seconds, they were watching a YouTube clip, tastefully called: Tony Stark is an Iron-hard baddass!

It was a shaky home-shot movie, obviously taken with a 'Starkphone' camera, and then hastily uploaded in the immediate aftermath of the quake.

It opened with a burst of rustling static that merged with the tinny sound of muffled voices, and a dark fuzzy image lit up the screen, morphing into the scarred wood and peeling paint of a public picnic table.

"Smile for the camera, June-bug!", a disembodied male voice called, as the image panned up to focus on a little girl in pigtails and a party hat that declared the wearer the 'birthday bug!'.

The little girl- June, undoubtedly, smiled a huge gappy grin at the camera, one hand reaching up to tug on a pom-pom tipped pipe-cleaner, which formed her 'antennae'.

The party theme was obvious, everything, from the small party favour bags nestled in a pile on the corner of the table, right down to the disposable plates and plastic tablecloth, was adorned with butterflies, bugs and flowers.

There was a cake, thematically in the shape of a large purple butterfly, sitting with pride in the centre of the table, topped with nine unlit candles.

Clint paused the video, sweeping his finger along the progress bar, explaining, "There's a fair bit of talking and stuff in here – hang on, okay. Now.", and he hit play again, lifting the camera higher and tilting it to give the other two a better view.

The image had zoomed out, the wider view now including a large group of children gathered about the table, as the same voice as before called,"... Ready?! Happy birthday to..."

The words of the song became a cacophonous mess as a dozen or so young voices joined in, the overly familiar tune recognisable only by the general melody.

The song started to wind down, someone called, "Make a wish sweethea-", and the camera suddenly lost focus, streaks of blurring image making the picture unrecognisable as it recorded in a wildly unbalanced arc.

Shouts of fright and a buzz of panic erupted, and a voice wad heard clearly over the commotion- "Quake! Everyone down, under the table! Hold hands! Is everyone here? Who's got Sonya?"

A second voice, older, but not yet adult answered, laced with fear and shaky courage, "I've got her, Mrs Wilson!"

The person holding the camera swivelled again, and a sideways image appeared from the fuzzy darkness, showing a young boy, maybe 14, holding a toddler.

The first voice, that of Mrs Wilson, sounded again, "Good boy, Tommy. Hold onto her- come here Jack, Shhh, you're okay… Daniel, are you-", the image suddenly changed, shifting to focus on a young woman, likely Mrs Wilson, as she reached for a small crying boy.

"I'm right here, honey- All you kids okay? Is everyone here- both the twins? I see Ann, where- oh, good", came the calm response from the holder of the camera, the image panning over several upturned heads, eyes wide and frightened.

"Oh my god- there's a little girl near the river!" came the horrified voice of Mrs Wilson, and the current blurred image jostled as its holder shifted to see where the woman was pointing.

The camera tilted up to light on a small figure in the near distance, just close enough to make out the pink ribbon that trailed out of a messy bow at the back of her pink dress, and the abject fear on her face.

"Shit – she's stuck, that banks going to go. I should- I can't…she's too far away. My weight would- I'd never make it-" Daniel lamented, but before he could continue, or decide to move, a voice screamed a name.

"CARRIE!"

And someone else moved.

Appearing from behind Daniel, streaking into view of the camera, a man, in a ball cap and khaki's, sprinted across the neatly kept lawn, something other than human capabilities driving him to almost ridiculous speed.

"Oh- go!Run. C'mon. Run, run, run…", it became almost a chant beneath the camera holder's voice, egging the man on as he dashed across the park.

The video ended with Tony Stark crash tackling a 6 year old into his protective embrace just as the river bank beneath his feet collapsed, both of them disappearing into the swirling darkness of the water.

The hospital room was silent for a moment, only the sound of Bruce's tightly controlled breathing echoing within the white walls.

And then Clint said, "This shit's gone viral. It's already got almost 100,000 hits. You're boyfriends a hero, Cap. Just in case, you now, you weren't aware."

Steve turned slightly to look at Tony's pale face and closed eyes, snorting "As if I could have any doubts. Not after your tirade earlier- "He's a goddamn superhero!". Tony's gonna love that."

Clint groaned, dropping his face into his hands, "I'm going to need to spend the next three years living under a rock. That's going to be his fall back Everytime."

Steve noted that Clint didn't attempt to refute what he'd said, though.

Breaking into the conversation, looking a little less green around the edges, Bruce asked, "The little girl- do we know what hospital they took her to?" looking to Clint for an answer.

The archer shrugged, "I'm not sure, probably Mercy – it's closest. Find Phil, I'm sure Shield already knows."

"Yeah, okay. Keep an eye on him Steve- I'm going to go see what I can do about an update on her condition, for next time he wakes." Bruce answered, such surety in his voice, belaying any of the lingering fears he may have had about Tony's state whenever he actually woke again.

As Bruce left, Steve moved back around the bed to slump down into his brittle seat, ignoring the creaking and crunching of plastic, except to grin at Clint's sympathetic wince, presumably for the poor chair.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Clint said, "So, sleeping beauty woke?"

"Yeah- The doctors said it was a great start, although to not get our hopes up, because he may not have been 100% lucid." Steve explained, before adding, "He woke up. How the hell I'm 'not meant to get my hopes up' I have no idea."

"Yeah. Get your hopes up, Cap. Who knows, your hopes may have serum enhanced healing properties", Clint nodded seriously, only the twinkle in his eyes revealing the teasing undercurrent.

At Steve's raised eyebrow, Clint snorted and shook his head with a rueful grin, "Sorry – stress must be getting to me. Seriously though – You need to hope. If you haven't got hope, what have you got?"

Steve nodded, taking the advice as it was offered, replying, "Thanks Clint."

His eyes narrowed as he took in Clint's fidgeting form, eyes widening with slight concern as he caught two aborted movements toward the door, when no sound had emanated from the hallway beyond. Not one to beat around the bush, Steve said, "Not to be rude, but have you slept yet, because you seem kind of, um, high."

Clint immediately froze, all the tells of his restlessness disappearing as though they'd never been, before he relaxed again, almost as abruptly, a hand running through his hair with a sigh.

"No. I tried- just, I can't-", he waited a beat, as if contemplating, before he continued, "Please take into account that I'm already kicking myself, and nothing you say could make me feel any worse- Well, actually, it probably could, and I'd probably deserve it, because what I did was just so stupid, but I already feel absolutely shit-house about it-"

"Clint-" Steve tried interrupting, his eyes wide at the drivel that was pouring from the archers mouth.

Clint cut him off in turn, to say brusquely, "This is my fault, you know."

Steve blinked. "What? How is- What is your fault?" he asked, nonplussed.

Clint gestured to Tony, looking so absolutely hateful of himself that Steve wanted to protest immediately, but knowing his team as he did, his family as he did, he asked, "How is Tony drowning your fault?"

"Okay- not the actual drowning part. I didn't do that, although If I'd been paying more attention, I might have been able to help, or at least stop him. Not that he would have wanted to be stopped, what with the little girl, but at least he-"

"Clint." Steve broke in, the single word a sentence.

Clint nodded, continuing, "- wouldn't have been in as long. No, what's my fault is the fact that he had a flashback, swallowed a shit tonne of water and passed out."

Steve raised an eyebrow, frowned and opened his mouth, but Clint continued before he could speak.

"I touched the fucking reactor. He was underwater, drowning and doing remarkably well. He was fairly calm, considering. And then I touched the fucking arc reactor and he just- he lost it. If I hadn't, he probably would have swum himself to the damn surface and walked out, once we got that rock off. He might have been okay. Not – this." He gestured to Tony's lax form, falling silent, head bowed as he waited for recriminations.

That wouldn't come.

"It was an accident- okay, so a stupid and mindless accident, but you didn't set out to cause him to flashback." Steve protested, leaning forward in his seat to try and meet Clint's eyes.

"Yeah, but-" Clint tried, futilely.

"For god's sake Clint, you were trying to save him!" Steve exclaimed.

"I should have been better!" Clint responded angrily.

Steve's voice was a wrecked rasp, as he replied, "Well- at least you were there".

Clint was silent for a second, as he gaped at Steve, and then, "No, Steve- You got him out! You saved him!"

"If Clint hadn't touched the reactor, if Steve had gotten there sooner, if Natasha hadn't made Clint wait, if Thor and Brue hadn't been across town, if I hadn't included him in the op, and if Tony hadn't tried to save that little girl, he'd be fine. But we did, and he did, and he's not, and if you two idiots don't shut up, you'll wake him." it was all delivered in Phil Coulson's signature quiet smoothness, brutal in its effectiveness, for all its genteel nature.

Silence filled the room as Steve and Clint stared at the man in the doorway, and then Phil sighed, his tone gentler as he continued, "We all feel guilty for something, rightly or wrongly, and the only person who can bestow forgiveness is in that bed. I've already had Natasha's injures looked at- all minor, and she's gone home to get some sleep. I know you're going to stay, but you should try and get some rest as well, Steve. Barton, you're with me. "

Steve nodded his thanks, glad that their handler hadn't tried to move him from Tony's side. He could see that Clint also wanted to protest, but he begrudgingly allowed Phil to pull him from the bottom of the bed, and guide him from the room. Steve caught a glimpse of the tight embrace that the archer was pulled into as the door closed behind them.

The room was silent again, an almost hollow quality to the quiet, that Steve couldn't say was particularly welcome, nor unwelcome.

"Mff- S…"

Steve's head snapped up from where it was propped against his hand, thinking that he might have imagined the quiet breathy sigh, wishful thinking and all that, but Tony's eyes were open slits of glazed and glassy brown, starting vaguely towards him.

"Tony, hey-"

"C- ca- g'rl?" Tony managed after a few seconds, and Steve had to smile, at the tenacity, the stubbornness, and the complete and utter selflessness.

"We're finding out. Shh- "

But Tony was already gone again, eyes slipping closed with exhaustion, question still unanswered.

(3) Sunday night

"-half a million hits, which is, quite frankly, ridiculous, but I will admit, it is doing wonders for your image, from a PR point of view. And your image can always stand to have wonders done for it. The hike in Stark Industries stock value, is of course, purely coincidental, and I will not be giving you any of the credit, Mr Stark."

Steve leant against the door frame, listening as Pepper Potts chatted quietly to her best friend, cradling his lax hand in the delicate strength of her own.

"And of course, you've succeeding in creating me more work- I've had no fewer than 14 individual requests for interviews, and a further 28 enquiries. Everyone wants to cover the 'hero of the hour' angle, which for this hour, and likely the next several days, is apparently you. Well done, Mr Stark."

Steve snorted, and Pepper looked up at him with a grin, only the tense pinch at the corners of her eyes belying her worry, "You weren't gone very long, did you even leave the building?"

"Of course I did. What- I did!" He protested at her raised eyebrow, disbelief in every line of her face.

"Steven Rogers, the entrance walkway does not count as 'outside'", she intoned, a smile and shake of her head meeting his sheepish 'busted' look.

"It totally does. I just – I couldn't go any further. You were right, I needed the fresh air, a moment to clear my mind and take a deep breath." He answered with a thankful nod.

She shook her head, raking her too knowing eyes over his tired face, replying, "What you actually need is several hours sleep."

"What I actually need is for Tony to wake up, but I'll settle for a short walk for now." Steve responded, padding across the room to lean against the bed, his hand settling gently on Tony's shoulder as he scanned for any signs of change that had happened while he was gone.

"You and me both, Steve" she said softly, her free hand reaching to squeeze the one Steve extended to her.

Steve grinned softly, "Half a million hits – that's just… It's not causing you any actual trouble is it?" he asked, knowing that was the last thing Tony would have wanted. Unless he was deliberately trying to cause Pepper trouble, in which case, he usually came out owing Pepper several new pairs of heels.

"No. Actually, it's fantastic. Everything has been positive so far, except for a few nay-Sayers, who have all been shut down immediately. They're running the footage, both of the rescue, and Clint's passionate defence, every hour on the hour, and several websites have reported crashes due to the volume of traffic… It's just- I think the world may finally have realised that while Tony Stark may be in the Ironman suit, Ironman is in Tony Stark just as much."

Steve nodded, a smile breaking out as he replied, "It's about time. We know it. The world knows it. Two down, one to go."

Looking down at the man that lay between them, in unison they both said, "Tony."

The beat of silence stretched out between them, and then Pepper asked, "The others – they're all okay?"

"I'm not sure if okay is the word I'd use, everyone is still pretty worried, but physically they're fine. Thor's still helping with the damage from the quake, but Phil took Natasha and Clint home. I just ran into Bruce downstairs, and sent him home too. He's stretched pretty thin and needs to decompress- and he's exhausted from transforming earlier. But he came to tell me that the little girl, Carrie, was taken to Mercy, and has a great prognosis for a full recovery with no setbacks. Tony saved her life. "

Leaning in close, Pepper whispered quietly, "You hear that Tony? You did good. So good," squeezing Tony's hand as she slowly got to her feet, she added to Steve, "I have to get back to the office, but I'll come by again as soon as I can. Let me know the second he wakes up properly, please?"

"Of course", Steve agreed, without preamble, helping her into the jacket that was draped over the back of the seat.

She pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek, her hand lingering against the side of his face for a moment, before she stood, and pulled Steve into a hug, saying quietly, "Get some sleep, Steve", before she gracefully left the room. The clicks of her heels echoed back to Steve as she moved down the hall, until they faded into the general buzz of the rest of the hospital.

Sinking into the vacated chair, Steve sighed, his exhaustion heavy and cloying.

He couldn't sleep. Everytime he closed his eyes, Steve could see Tony, terrified and thrashing in the hazy grey lit water, brown eyes huge and blank with crushing fear.

So he didn't close his eyes.

Instead, he'd mapped out every tiny cut, every blossoming bruise that his eyes could find, storing them away for later attention, knowing that there was a myriad of others beneath the blankets that he was yet to discover.

With no one there to see it, he slumped forward, burying his head in his crossed arms, able to feel the cool tips of Tony's fingers against his arm.

His eyes itched and stung, and his throat felt tight and his tongue swollen against the back of his mouth, but he didn't cry, instead he just stared into the blackness of his arms, waiting to see it become water, and for Tony to float beneath the waves of his imagination, grey and sickly and dead.

The fingers against his arm twitched, and Steve's head lifted slightly, his wet blue eyes meeting barely aware brown, and Steve knew what Tony was waiting for, kept struggling to consciousness for, was fighting to stay awake for.

"You saved her. She's okay. Carrie- she's fine." He said slowly, clearly, and Tony's lips curved upwards slightly, and his eyes dipped closed.

And a strand of Steve's hair was tugged weakly between two finger tips, until he laid his head back down against Tony's waist, and they both slept.

(4) Monday Morning – dawn.

"Hey, Cap?"

The voice from the doorway woke him immediately, and Steve sat up straight with a jerk, blinking as Clint froze halfway into the room to apologise, "God, you were asleep, sorry! I was just-"

"Its fine, Clint, I'm awake now. How is everyone this morning?" Steve interrupted before Clint could prostrate himself on the floor and beg for forgiveness.

Still some guilt issues there, he saw.

"Uh. Yeah, sorry again. Um, Everyone is fine, they'll all be by during the day. Nat was reporting to Shield, and Thor is still helping with the clean-up, because, well: Thor. Bruce shouldn't be too far behind me. How is he?"

"I don't know. He woke up twice more yesterday afternoon and evening, and I told him that he saved the girl, and he hasn't woke up since then, that I know of." Steve recalled, standing up to stretch, and wandering into the bathroom to use the facilities and wash his face quickly.

He came out again just as Clint was clambering up onto the bottom of the bed, and how the archer could literally clamber, without jostling the cot once, was beyond Steve's mental capabilities, but that was how it happened.

"That's good, I suppose. Good news about the girl, too. " Clint added, settling into a cross-legged position that indicated he planned to be there a while.

Steve nodded, stopping on his feet near the bed, "Do you know what time the doctors supposed to be coming around?" he asked.

Clint shook his head, replying "No, they're still pretty busy after the quake, but things are starting to settle some. If we don't see him in the next hour or so, I'd suggest someone, and by someone, I mean Bruce, go and ask."

"Volunteering my services again, I see." Bruce said as he wandered into the room, three large take away cups balanced in his grasp. "Coffee?" he asked, offering a cup to Steve and then Clint.

"Thanks, Bruce." Steve said, accepting the cup and taking a large mouthful, hoping to wake his sluggish brain up, a la Tony Stark style.

Bruce reached for Tony's chart, checking to see if any further notifications had been made since the day before, and frowning when he noticed there hadn't been. "I assume this is what my services were volunteered for?"

Clint nodded, "Yup, if we don't hear from the doc soon, we thought we'd get you to venture out into medical land, seeing as how you're fluent in the language."

"Fair enough." Bruce agreed, putting the chart back, and moving to place a hand against Tony's forehead, "He's looking a bit better though, and not running too hot, so that's good. That arms still pretty swollen though-"

"Is his-? It is!" Clint exclaimed gleefully delighted, continuing, "Look, his nose is twitching!"

Steve smiled, seeing that Clint was right, as every few seconds, Tony's nose would twitch slightly. "Tony?" he asked quietly, but received no response.

Clint shucked the lid of his coffee cup, and waved the mostly empty cup near Tony's face, and slowly, his brown eyes blinked open, focused on the cup, and followed its slowly wafting form from side to side, before following the attached hand and arm to its owners face.

"Gaw- f-fuck off Barton, tha's jus' cruel…" He moaned, pain settling into the heavy curve of his lips, pulling them tight as his eyes rolling away, turning his head to find Steve.

"Hey, Tony" Steve said softly, smiling when brown eyes lit on him.

"Carr-" he stopped to clear his throat weakly, before trying again, "Carrie?"

Steve could see from the look in his eyes, that Tony did vaguely remember the night before, so he wasn't worried as he reassured, "Yes, she's fine. You saved her"

Tony started to nod, thought better of it with a wince, and said, "Tha's good."

There was a beat, a pause, and then he followed it up with a woebegone face, and "Coffee?"

And Steve smiled freely for the first time since the quake.

He started to protest, to say that there was no way Tony was getting coffee out of him, at least until the doctors gave the okay, but it didn't matter, because Tony never wanted it anyway, he was already asleep again.

"Well, that was…" Clint said, chugging back the last dregs of his coffee and binning the cup.

"That was very good. Very, very good." Bruce says, sipping his own, although it was likely tea, not coffee, before continuing, "He's awake, lucid, snarking. All is right in the world. I'll go let a doctor know, and see when someone will be around to check on him."

As Bruce left to hunt down a doctor, Steve sunk back into the seat that screamed beneath his weight, but miraculously held out.

"Just- that's just so wrong. That poor- You know what, I can't let this go on. Gimme a minute" Clint said, hightailing it out the door after Bruce.

Only, he was back within seconds, and Steve grinned as he sank into the plush armchair the archer had somehow acquired, purloined from he didn't want to know where.

Taking Tony's hand in his, Steve was able to see a light where only darkness had been before.

(5) Monday Afternoon

Whether it was because he was now reassured that his actions hadn't been in vain, and that Carrie was okay, or perhaps it was because he was feeling better, but Tony had slept peacefully through most of Monday morning, and well into the afternoon.

The doctor had come by just before lunch, apologising for the delay, and had done a quick cursory check over, stating that nothing seemed to have changed, other than some minor improvements, and that the swelling of the arm had started to go down, all of which were positive signs. He had said that he wanted to be alerted as soon as Tony woke again, as nothing was quite as important as actually talking to the patient to gauge how they were really feeling.

Steve, feeling much better after his several hours of much needed rest during the night, and a shower and change of clothes earlier during the day, had spent most of the afternoon sitting idly by Tony's bed. When not talking quietly to his sleeping lover, he'd spent his time listening to the iPod that Clint had brought, or drawing with the supplies that Bruce had dropped in for him.

The majority of the day he'd had company, as different members of the team, and Pepper had all dropped by, most several times. Now though, as late evening approached, probably nearing 5pm, Steve was once again alone, his hand holding Tony's as had become customary, as he spoke quietly.

"-and they're saying that you may have broken some sort of record for the most hits in the shortest amount of time." Steve said, pressing play once again, the footage starting to roll across his screen.

He wondered how many of those 'hits' where his. He'd watched the footage so many times, that he could see it all happening in his mind's eye, but it didn't stop him from re-watching, repeatedly.

His phone fell back to darkness as Tony and the girl where swept beneath the water, and Steve sighed, starting to scroll up to close the browser, when a 'related link' caught his eye, and without much further thought he hit it.

Tony FUCKING Stark. QFT. was the video title, and Steve hit play.

And as he watched, Tony and Carrie where swept beneath the water, the bright pink of her dress staying visible for longer than the darkness of his clothes, as the where dragged beneath the surface.

Only this video didn't stop there. That's where it started.

As he watched, Clint and Natasha appeared in the shot, hovering painstakingly on the bank, Natasha obviously having to dissuade Clint from diving straight in. The mother showed up, and Clint caught her about the waist, and as Steve watched, the three of them got into some unheard conversation while his lover drowned.

Steve recoiled from the phone, yet was unable to stop watching, his heart in his mouth as he all but silently begged Clint and Natasha to do something, despite having Tony's hand clutched in his right at that very second.

Finally, finally, Clint dove in, to pull the little girl out, and Steve had almost screamed in frustrated agony when the camera had followed the girl and her parents across the park, leaving Tony, leaving Steve unable to see if they saved Tony.

And then Natasha was back, and Tony's presence revealed, and suddenly the camera was back at the rivers edge, panning out over the water, setting to watch as Clint and Natasha bobbed above the water in random intervals every other minute or so. Their desperation and panic was visible even from the distance of the camera, and Steve's heart ached at the terror and frustration he could see mounting in them. Their eyes flew to the banks every time they surfaced, and Steve knew what they were looking for.

Him.

And finally he arrived, disappearing beneath the water.

Steve already knew what had happened, knew exactly what was going on beneath that empty expanse of river, but watching and waiting for himself to surface was agony.

And then Natasha and Clint were stroking toward the bank, and being pulled from the water.

Then he was there, striding out, hunched protectively over the form cradled in his arms, and Steve dropped the phone unheeded to the bed and wrapped his arms as gently as he could around the real, live Tony, and simply held on.

There was buzzing audio from the abandoned phone, but Steve ignored it, intent on fully convincing himself that Tony was alive and warm in his arms, not that cold, lifeless looking corpse he'd just watched himself pull from the water.

"He's Ironman. He's Tony Fucking Stark. He's a goddamn superhero."

"Is that- oh my god- is that Clint!?" came a weak voice from above him, but filled with such unholy glee that Steve started to laugh, almost hysterically, nodding gently against Tony's side.

Pulling back after a moment, he said, "Yes, that was Hawkeye gallantly coming to your defence, so don't tease him about it."

Tony looked absolutely dismayed.

Until Steve added, "Too much".

"Oh, don't worry I won't" Tony said with what really amounted to a giggle, before finishing, "Nothing could possibly be 'too much'".

Steve grinned, and sitting up slightly, he pressed the call button for the doctor, saying, "Oh don't you go giving me that look. You've been half delirious for the past day and a half, the doctor needs to see you."

Tony looked disgruntled, but either capitulated, or was too tired to argue, as he simply nodded carefully, with a wide yawn.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked, leaning back toward Tony, so he didn't have to strain to be heard.

"Like that time I dropped a building on myself, but you know – worse." Tony said glibly, not really answering the question, instead asking one of his own, "Everyone else okay?"

Steve nodded, replying "Clint and Nat have a few bruises and the occasional cut, and everyone is worried, apart from that, you get all the mother henning in the near future."

Tony groaned theatrically, or maybe just with the correlating requirement of necessity.

"Well, you seem to be livelier than the last few times I've seen you, Mr Stark", the doctor said happily as he entered the room.

"Steve! You left me vulnerable and defenceless, at the mercy of- " Tony shot out, his teasing tone hiding the serious undertone of true fear from the doctor, but not from Steve.

"Oh relax, you baby. I haven't left your side." Steve reassured. Mocked. Reassuringly mocked. Mocked reassuringly.

Well, it was both mocking, and reassuring, and Tony both relaxed and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The doctor smiled slightly at the byplay, hard pressed to believe that these 'men' were one of Planet Earths first lines of defence. But he'd seen the footage, of the chitaurii battle, and fights since, he knew what he was dealing with. Soldiers. Warriors. Heroes.

"My name is Dr Gale. If I may, Mr Stark, I have a few questions, and then I can answer any you might have." he said, more so than asked, immediately continuing with, "You're on some pretty strong pain medication, but is there anywhere, individual to the entirety of you bruised and battered body, that hurts an undue amount?"

Tony stared at him, and then cracked up laughing, before gasping softly to hold his left arm tightly to his stomach as tears sprung to his eyes.

The doctor, eased him back into the pillows, gently settling is arm back by his side, saying, "Yes, that would be your broken arm. I was going to say that I would not attempt to move it, but I see you have already discovered this."

Tony breathed in a gasping breath, holding it until he had himself back under control, before asking, "How bad is the break, and what is the recovery time?"

"Tony…" Steve said warningly, god, the man had only been properly awake for a few minutes, and Steve could already see plans for engineering one armed going through his lovers mind.

The doctor smirked, but answered, "It's a fairly clean break, but in two places. You're looking at a 2 month recovery span, 6 weeks in a cast."

"What! No. No casts." Tony protested.

"Yes, a cast." Steve countered.

"I'll just cut it off" Tony argued.

"No, you won't" Steve shot back calmly.

Tony sighed, waving at the doctor to continue, and Steve knew he hadn't won the argument, they were merely at a cease fire.

The doctor smiled, and decided to leave that argument to the couple, pretty sure of the outcome, if the steely determination in blue eyes was anything to judge by, continuing, "You also had a dislocated shoulder, again, your left, so that will be tender for a while as well."

"You've got 16 stitches down your right thigh, which we'll have to watch closely for infection. Walking will be painful for a small amount of time, but once the slight swelling goes down, it should be easily bearable."

The doctor paused for questions, and when they didn't come, he finished, "You took a hit to the head, and have some bruising about your lower back, so we're monitoring carefully for concussion and internal bleeding, but so far, everything looks fine. Any questions?"

Tony blinked, looking a little overwhelmed, and it was Steve who asked, "He swallowed a lot of water, and likely breathed some as well- anything we need to watch for there?"

"His lungs look clear at the moment, but keep an eye out for coughing and cold/flue like symptoms. There are horror stories of secondary lapses after near drowning's, and lung infections for swallowed water, and we'd hate to miss something like that."

"So basically," Tony said, "I'm okay?"

"You, Mr Stark, are basically a very, very lucky man, and that little girl even luckier." Doctor Gale intoned, adding, "I'm sorry I'm in such a rush, but we're spread pretty thin, so I have to go, but don't hesitate to call me if I'm needed. Also – self-administered morphine is something I'm assuming you are familiar with, considering your many visits to our humble home over the recent years?"

Tony nodded, fingering the button of his morphine administer in demonstration, and nodding, the doctor left them with a pat to Tony's good shoulder and a brief smile to Steve.

There was silence for a moment as Tony settled back into his blankets and pillows, and Steve relaxed into his chair, the two just looking at each other as they took in exactly how lucky they apparently had been.

Finally, Steve nodded at the morphine button, saying, "You should press that, and get some more sleep."

Shaking his head, Tony answered, "I've been asleep for long enough, I just- water?"

For a second, Steve wasn't sure what he was asking about, the river? And then he realised that Tony just wanted a drink of water. Blushing, he fetched the small paper cup, and half-filled it, sticking a straw out the top. He helped Tony take several small sips before his lover pulled away with a grimace, saying, "She's really okay? I was so afraid I'd- I actually…?"

Steve smiled gently, picked up Tony's hand in his and squeezed gently, saying, "Her name is Carrie-Ann Gracelyn, she's six, her favourite colour is pink, she likes kittens- fluffy white ones, and you're her biggest hero."

It was Tony's turn to blush, and Steve savoured the unusual sight, adding "You saved her life. Risked your own, with no thought to the consequences. I am so, so proud of you."

The pink flush turned scarlet, and Tony waved the praise away, unsure how to accept it, "Don't Steve. Please. Just- I couldn't do anything else."

"I know. I'm proud of you, and I love you and-" Steve replied softly, leaning in close, so it was almost a whisper.

"I'm actually really tired suddenly. I think I might…" Tony, his cheeks still highlighted with points of pink, closed his eyes.

Steve knew an avoidance technique when he saw one, and he smiled at Tony's complete inability to accept praise, but soft snuffling snores soon filled the room, so Steve let him be.

(6) Monday Evening

Steve, half turned in his chair to watch the news presentation on the ceiling mounted TV, winced as the bridge started to fall, grinning in relief when a very large green hand caught the broken lip, and a second hand caught the car that had just tumbled off the edge.

"Watch this part! The Hulk just grabs the beam and – Oh yeah, perfect shot big green!" Clint crowed, swivelling slightly on the bottom of Tony's hospital bed to offer his hand toward Bruce in a 'high-5' position.

Bruce stared at it for a moment, but a Clint's wheedling, "Come on man, don't leave me hanging…" he rolled his eyes, and brought his own hand up against Clint's.

"Really. Someone's failing to uphold the rage monster image." Came the soft raspy voice from the bed, and as one, five heads turned to watch as Tony blinked at Bruce disappointedly.

Bruce grinned, stuttering out some flimsy excuse, which Tony immediately shot back with, "Nope, failed. You are a failure, Bruce Banner. I cannot be associated with you anymore"

"Has anyone got something I can fail at immediately?" Natasha asked from her perch by the window, and Tony yelped in outrage or heartbreak, one could never be sure with Tony.

"How are you feeling this fine eve, Anthony?" Thor rumbled with concern, not a fan of his usually lively friend's waxen pallor and raspy voice.

Tony grinned, replying, "And that's why Thor is my favourite. I'm fine, if fine means having been run over by the quinjet."

"Indeed, the Captain was telling us of your unbelievable luck- a few relatively minor injuries from such a dangerous adventure! It is well said that you are a man of lady luck, and that fortune smiles upon you." Thor intoned seriously, grinning at Tony enthusiastically, and Tony really hoped he wasn't gearing up for one of his massive bear hugs.

"Yup, I'm a lucky bastard alright," Tony agreed, continuing with a gesture upward toward the TV, "Really Bruce, this is just a dismal effort. Did I just see Hulk letting people climb down him to get to the ground? Image, buddy. Image."

Bruce laughed, flicking the remote toward the TV to turn it off, knowing that everyone was much more interested in talking to Tony than continuing with their time-filling activity. "Really, like you're one to speak- I think this little incident is 100% a-grade proof that Tony Stark does indeed have a heart, and enough courage to fill it."

Tony shifted uncomfortably, but smiled at Bruce's words, replying seriously, "I was just hoping there was a camera nearby to catch my heroics."

A beat of silence filled the room, and then surprisingly, it was Natasha who burst out laughing, "God, Stark- don't say that, especially not like that, in public, ever. You'll never convince anyone you have a heart ever again."

"Feeling better then?" Steve asked, moving his seat back closer to the bed, so Tony didn't have to strain himself trying to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah- I mean, I know I have a blunt force weapon instead of an arm for the next few weeks, and, fuck, I hate stitches, but yeah- " He trailed off, a smile on his face.

"A few months actually", Steve corrected, and Tony scowled, but lightened up slightly when Steve added, "Casts come in 'Ironman red'. I asked."

Clint, laughed softly, and not being one for comforting with words, squeezed Tony's ankle, waited for Tony to acknowledge his relieved grin with a matching one.

Only Tony didn't.

Something heavy and low settled in Clint s stomach. Dread.

He squeezed harder, his archery-strengthened hands tightening enough to leave bruises.

Tony didn't even flinch.

(7) Monday Night

Tony stared over the doctor's shoulder, a mulish look setted on his face, avoidance at its best.

Doctor Gale's voice was sympathetic, but matter of fact, as he spoke, "I'm not going to coddle you with false hope Mr Stark. We have done further testing, and there is a possibility, a distinct possibility in fact, that your spine has been severely damaged, and you may not have the use of your legs. However, there is also a decent chance that once onsite swelling of your lower spinal area recedes, full or partial movement may return"

Tony rolled over and shut his eyes.

(8) Thursday Evening.

The room was dark and quiet, the very air depressive and miserable, especially compared to the jovial atmosphere that had filled it less than three days ago.

Steve sighed, shifting in his seat again, his gaze on the pages of the novel he was supposedly reading, but despite being almost halfway through, Steve couldn't have told anyone what it was even about.

Three days.

Three days in which Tony had no movement in his legs, the prognosis not having changed since that first night.

Three days in which Tony hadn't said a single 'Tony' word. He'd asked for a drink, responded to the doctor's tests and questions, seemed to listen when Steve spoke, but not once over the three days, had he smiled, or pulled a face, or asked about Dummy, or admired Steve's drawings, or admired Steve.

He'd just been withdrawn, quiet, and sullen.

And today, he'd barely said two words, retreating further and further into himself.

Steve understood- no, he didn't understand, but he could sympathise that this must be hitting Tony, virile, active, independent Tony, like a barrow of bricks, and Steve understood him needing time to process in his own way.

Steve wanted to be there for him, would be there for him, but Tony had to let him, and so far, all Tony was letting Steve do, was see him hurt.

Tony flinched violently in the bed beside him, and Steve dropped the book carelessly to the floor, reaching for him with gentle arms and soothing words.

And then there were the nightmares.

To be honest, Steve had been expecting them from day one. Tony already had the occasional nightmare, usually relating to the portal, Obadiah, or less frequently, Afghanistan, and Steve had expected the traumatic experience of near drowning to worsen them, at least for a while.

Only, the first two days, nothing. And then, Tony had learnt that he might have lost the use of his legs, and the floodgates had opened. He slept barely more than an hour uninterrupted, before the nightmares would start, and sometimes Steve could sooth them away, but usually, Tony woke up a pain riddled, crying mess.

At least he let Steve hold him, although Steve wasn't sure that 'let' was the right word…perhaps 'indifferent' was a better fit.

Tony went still beneath his hands, a whimpering shudder crawling from between tightly pressed lips, and Steve knew the instant he woke.

Steve's voice was soft and unfailingly gentle as he spoke, "You're okay, just breathe. That's it. Shh- I've got you…"

Slowly, Tony's shuddering breaths evened out, and his shaking hands fumbled for the morphine button, Steve reaching to help press it into his fingers.

In the comforting dark of the night, Tony actually curled into him, rather than laying slack and still, or pulling away, and at this first sign of wanting comfort, Steve broached the topic.

"Talk to me" he requested quietly.

Silence stretched out after his words, and Steve waited with literal baited breath, hoping against hope, that Tony woul-

"About what." Came the soft reply, Tony's voice raspy and dry against his shoulder.

"Anything – just, talk to me.", he whispered against the shell of Tony's ear, knowing he was begging, and not caring.

Again the silence stretched, then a breath was drawn in against his throat, and Tony asked, "So. How 'bout them dodgers?"

Steve huffed a puff of laughter, but just said, "You'll walk again"

Tony caved, "I just – What If I don't?"

"You will." Steve's voice was pure certainty.

Tony wavered, seemingly about to pull back, and then instead, pulling Steve closer, breathing his fear, "But what if I don-"

"You will." Conviction emanated from Steve's tone.

"Please, I just. I need-" Tony tried to say, to explain how he was feeling, but fell silent, unable to find the words.

Steve, unsure, but not wanting Tony to withdraw again, afraid he wouldn't get another chance, said softly, "You're always going to be Ironman- you'll find a way- "

Tony actually pushed him back a little at that, the incredulous look on his face so Tony that it set Steve's heart aflutter, as his lover exclaimed, "What? – Of course I will! I am Ironman. I'm not worried about that. I've already half re-designed the suit to compensate if it becomes necessary. I just-"

Steve was nonplussed, but he waited for Tony to continue.

Tony's voice started out sure, but his conviction faded into an uncertain waver, heartbreaking in its fear, "I'm always going to be Iroman, and I could be Tony Fucking Stark if I was just a talking head. It's- …Tony, that I'm worried about."

Steve blinked, completely lost to what Toy was taking about, "I don't understand-" he stared, and then a memory swept through Steve's mind.

"It's not Tony Stark that I love. You could be a penniless hobo living out of a dumpster somewhere, and I'd still love you. Just like I didn't fall in love with you because of the shiny red and gold armour you wear. It's Tony I love – as brilliant as the sun, and twice as hot. I love his scathing sarcasm and complete and utter disdain for authority. I love how he's a complete pain in the ass, and I wouldn't have him any other way. So long as you're always just Tony, I'll love you forever.'

Tony could feel the moment that Steve remembered, and he bit out on a half sob, "What if I can't be that Tony anymore? I'm not – I won't be the same. What if I can't be your Tony?"

"Tony. Sweeth- "Steve started, but what could he say? Tony had a point. Steve wasn't going to stop loving Tony because he couldn't walk. But losing the ability to walk, to be himself could fundamentally change who Tony was.

And that could change how Steve felt about him.

In the end, Steve simply spoke the truth, "My Tony is every version of you that loves me. Walking, talking, peg leg, broken leg, talking head, Man of Iron or Merchant of Death. Every one of them. You can break my heart, make me hurt, become someone I don't like very much, but as long as you love me, you can't stop me loving you."

Tony couldn't speak, couldn't hide the tears that welled up, or the smile that broke across his lips, and he reached for Steve.

Steve, cradling him carefully, so very, very glad to have broken through, whispered quietly, "But you will walk again. I'm not worried. I've seen what you can do with impossible odds. 50/50 should be a cake walk."

(9) Saturday Morning

Their conversation that night didn't magically fix everything. Tony was still essentially paralysed from the waist down, and still bitterly terrified that it would be permanent. He was morose, and scared, and angry, and in pain, but he smiled every time he saw Steve, so things were better.

They hit another hurdle Friday morning, when a nurse-aid had appeared, ready to whisk Tony away for a shower, so long as he was prepared to sit in a wheelchair for the duration.

Steve had been so relieved that Tony seemed to be enthusiastic about something, even something as simple as getting properly clean, that the possibility for problems hadn't even occurred to him. Until the nurse turned the shower on to get the temperature right, and Tony, seated outside, facing the falling wall of water, had gone absolutely waxen, and his eyes had stared to roll back in his head.

Tony had been mortified, furious and so complexly broken down by everything, that one look at Steve's gentle accepting face had him in tears, and the nurse had cleared out, and let Steve handle his volatile lover. Steve had reassured him that it was okay, that he'd worked through it once, and could do it again, and this time he wouldn't have to do it alone. That it was okay to be angry, and frightened, and embarrassed, but that no one was ever going to look down on him for this fear.

Needless to say, sponge baths had been the staple since then.

The nightmares had continued with a vengeance, and some of them Steve knew, were about the water, the arc reactor, or both, but there were some that Tony refused to talk about, no matter how much Steve cajoled. Steve was sure they had something to do with the loss of his ability to walk, and a deadly fear of talking it into permanence.

There was a knock at the door, startling him out of his thoughts, and Steve looked up in time to see Colonel Rhodes step quietly into the room. Out of uniform, in a simple jeans and polo shirt, Steve could see the Rhodey that Tony would have met when the two were in college.

"Colonel-"

"RHODEY!" came the, honest to god, squeal from the bed, and Tony, showing more initiative and gumption than he had the past week, levered himself into a seated position and would have thrown himself at the officer, if Rhodey hadn't immediately stepped into the wanted embrace. A harsh sounding, but infinity gentle, "Jesus H Christ, you hooligan, what the fuck have you done to yourself now?" escaping his lips as he hugged his friend.

Steve though that some part of him should be jealous, but as JARVIS had said… Rhodey made everything better.

(10) Sunday Evening

They'd taken him away just after lunch to get his arm casted, and Steve had smiled sweetly and blown kisses, throwing in a little wave as they'd wheeled him out, hiding a grin at the absolutely petulant look on his lovers face.

He'd come back, not with red, as Steve had expected, but with a pale blue, and he wondered why everyone sniggered every time Steve said it must have been as close to Arc-reactor blue as they'd had.

Tony eventually, once all the others had filed out to get lunch, and do things other than loaf around in Tony's rom all day, after much prodding, had simply said for him to go look in the mirror, and that the colour staring back should be pretty familiar.

Steve had stolen back into the room with a sweet grin on his face, "You matched my eyes" he'd murmured, and leaned down to steal a kiss from upturned lips.

Tony had pressed upward, his mouth slipping open beneath Steve's, and then he'd promptly been back underwater, bubbles rushing up his nose-

Steve had immediately pulled back, his face an apologetic mask of horror, and Tony had shaken his head with fervour, a look of steely determination settling across his features as he'd said, " Oh no. Fuck that. I'm afraid of water, have this fucking thing in my chest, and can't fucking walk. I am not having a phobia of kissing. Get over here."

For once, Steve let Tony have his way, his tongue plundering Steve's mouth, before slowly, hesitantly, but with determination, inviting Steve back into his own.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief into Steve's mouth, and Steve mirrored it, because really – not being able to kiss Tony…torture.

The door suddenly opened, and Clint walked in without knocking, moving to perch himself on the end of Tony's bed.

Shielding his eyes, he called out to the footsteps coming up the hall, "Guys, don't come in! There's disgusting face sucking happening in here- I'm trying to save you!"

"Tony pulled back, said, "He's Hawkeye! He's Clint Fucking Barton! He's a goddamn Birdbrain!", and with that, Tony kicked him off the bed.

Epilogue:

In two different hospitals, in two different rooms, there were two different people.

One was a 6 year old girl, curled up in a too large bed, swaddled in blankets as she drew a "Goodbye and thankyou!" note to all the nice doctors and nurses that had looked after her during the week she'd spent in the hospital.

The other was a forty year old man, his arm set in a pale blue cast, a myriad of scratches and vivid bruising marking his skin. He sat on the edge of his bed, swinging his legs a foot off the floor as he scowled at the nurse who indicated the wheel chair he was to sit in, if he ever wanted to leave the hospital.

"Miss Carrie, I have a package for you."

"Mr Stark, a letter has arrived for you."

She opens hers with all the excitement and gusto of a six year old, her fingers peeling back pink paper to reveal a very expensive looking plush kitten, all soft white fur and a cut diamanté collar. There was a card tucked into the collar, and with ease, the little girl read the letter aloud to her parents.

'Dear Carrie,

I understand that you like kittens, fluffy white ones, but cannot have one because of the apartment that you live in, which is really dumb, but that's grownups for you.

Enjoy the one I sent you, until you live somewhere you can have a real one.

It was an honour helping such a beautiful, special little girl, and I know you'll grow up fantastic, not dumb.

Love Tony Stark.

Ps- Call me Tony.

PPs – Really, Call me if you like. My number is ***-***-***.

Tony opened his letter, and a small picture frame tumbled out, face down. Engraved on the back, were simply the words.

'Thankyou, with all my heart.'

Carrie

He flipped it over, and stared at the image of a tiny blond girl, dressed in pink, sitting by a river bank.