PART THREE: RECOVERY

JARVIS was flat with stress, all the affect gone from his voice, as he told them about the damage. There were... words, so many words in that that Steve didn't understand, but the ones that did were deeply worrying.

Brain damage.

-cannot understand words, unable to speak,

-muscle mass burned as fuel; regeneration timetable; two weeks

JARVIS' tone broke eventually, once the report was over, and the worst of his duty done. Steve knew what that felt like, sympathised, but didn't have the resources to even think about helping him. Tony was... brain damaged. He-... Tony would go mad, without strength in his hands, without his voice... Steve knew brain damage, he'd seen it. Even if he was still breathing, a man might never wake up after a blow to the head (small, skeletal bodies in VA hospitals, that ward he wasn't supposed to visit, the quiet and the smell of mould). Or he might be different, drooling and gibbering, angry, out of control-

-repairs under way. Full recovery expected by twenty nine days-

The weight of that sentence, the rising hope? Steve couldn't quite take it.

Tony was going to get better

Tony hadn't opened his eyes since he'd woken Steve with that awful noise, but Steve could see the twitches and tension and knew he wasn't asleep. Maybe he didn't quite believe JARVIS could repair everything, maybe he was just... afraid of being stuck in his own head. There had been times when... yeah, Steve could sympathise with that, too.

Steve...didn't have any stress left in him, though; three days of rising tension, a battlefield, a rescue, and so, so much bone-wrenching worrying. Steve was done. Done worrying and pacing and tapping his shield.

He sat down abruptly in a chair, in arms reach of Tony, because if Tony couldn't reach out, Steve'd do it for him. He had no energy left for thinking, for planning, but... but he'd seen this before. Before the serum, before the war, before his mother had-

Before that.

he was going to live

He'd been sick, so, so sick, breathless and heart leaping between throat and gut, but they hadn't the money for the Doc if Ma didn't go to work (no call out fee if he was already at the hospital, quicker, easier - smell of antiseptic and menthol). Ma's face had always been so calm, firm, she'd held them up when they couldn't themselves, and Steve'd watched, half out of his mind with the struggle for air.

So Steve was done panicking.

If Tony couldn't reach out, he'd do it for him.

For as long as Tony would let him. For as long as it took Extremis to fix it.

He started out with lifting one limp hand and holding it, firm enough to be felt, soft enough to protect the IV. The other hand, he put on Tony's shoulder, rubbing gently and willing Tony to open his eyes, because Tony was in there, he wasn't an empty, broken shell, not in the ways that mattered.

Both Jarvises had gone quiet, which Steve thought was probably a good thing; Tony'd got the same results they had, and there was no use shoving his face in things by using words he couldnt understand.

Steve shifted his hand up to cup Tony's cheek, jostling him gently and making sure he was smiling. Trying to be reassuring.

Tony's eyes cracked open, just a sliver in the pained squint that covered most of Tony's face. Steve found himself opening his mouth to ask if he needed more pain killers, despite what he'd just heard. He obviously didn't quite manage to keep the thought off his face though, because Tony's eyes were closed and his head turned away before Steve could blink.

he was gonna be just fine

Steve hung his head for a moment, rolling some of the ache of sleeping on a ballroom floor out of his shoulders. He had to make plans, confer with Jarvis and his electronic namesake, but he didn't want Tony stressing over not understanding, nor did he want to leave him alone for so much as a minute.

he was gonna be a godamn pain in the ass

A few words from JARVIS' results filtered through as he cast about for something that needed doing; something about food, and fat stores and that, Steve could sort out.

He pulled out his phone and perched on the side of the bed, laying Tony's arm in his lap to protect the medical equipment clipped on and into his skin. His back pressed gently into Tony's hip and it was warm, and alive and Steve could feel the relaxing breath Tony took in response.

Steve patted the back of Tony's hand and texted JARVIS; cheeseburgers, those soft spicy fries?

The response was immediate:

That is not standard invalid fare for a reason, Captain Rogers.

What's the next best thing? You can make up most of it in smoothies, right? Steve asked, referring to the extensive gamut of mineral supplements Tony had to take.

JARVIS delayed his reply just enough for Steve to feel judged, but agreed, flashing up a picture of a gourmet soup with some kind of meat and noodle combination that looked delicious.

Thanks. For me, too.

That ordered, Steve pulled up a drawing app and sketched out the universal symbol for 'Diner'.

Getting Tony's attention again was hard; he was stubborn and the bobbing of his throat said 'sore' and 'tears' all at once, but Steve could always out-patience Tony.

Relief and maybe a hint of a smile colored Tony's face when he opened his eyes, Steve's phone held right in front of his face. He nodded, his hand twitching against Steve's lap and maybe pulling Steve in closer, maybe.

Tony's recuperation was going to be infuriating, for everyone.

Steve and the Jarvises snatched a minute in the corridor, out of sight and sound of Tony, to sort few things out, and by then, JARVIS had pulled his resources together and completed a few vitally important simulations.

First: Extremis would fix everything. Steve suggested they bring in Hank McCoy and Jarvis suggested Dr Fazia Hussain, but JARVIS reassured them that he'd identified ways of causing the brain to heal itself appropriately, that 'Sir' would accept no help from other scientists when he didn't actually need it.

Second: Getting Tony's weight up was paramount; the physio JARVIS' treatment required would be hard, painful, humiliating and just plain old difficult. They'd have to build muscles that had been eaten away, while re-forging the neural connections in Tony's brain.

Third: Extremis' repair cycle would take two weeks. Two weeks, and Tony would be... maybe not back to normal, that'd take longer and JARVIS was prevaricating on the exact number. Steve sympathised; Tony was a stubborn idiot when it came to paying attention to his own health, but he'd at least be up and about by day fifteen.

Steve phased out a bit at the announcements, shaky and nauseous with too many ups and downs in too little time, knees weak, but human Jarvis pushed a take-out bag into his hand and ushered him back into Tony's room before the shock could get a hold of him again.

He was going to have dreams about that cryotube, about the unnatural, consuming cold.

Smile shaking a bit, he showed Tony the logo on the bag, and Tony smiled back, and if it was just as shaky as Steve's then so be it.

Tony was going to be fine... A pain in the ass for a whole fifteen days, but then... when wasn't Tony a pain in the ass? Steve's chest felt like it was cracking open, and manic laughter, so full of relief that it hurt, spilled out of him.

Tony's face darkened at that, a petulant and irritated mask that broke up occasionally to show flickers of that same bone-deep relief underneath. JARVIS, or even Extremis, must have told him the same thing, that he was going to be fine, and God, this week...

Steve put the bag down, afraid that it'd just go everywhere, and pulled Tony off the pillows into a careful hug, burying his face in Tony's shoulder. He felt Tony's cheek press against the top of his head and the huff of breath in his hair.

Soon, Tony nudged him off weakly, eyes flicking pointedly at the food and Steve set him back on the pillows, settling his neck carefully. Tony couldn't readjust himself, he didn't have the muscle tone. Soon; it'd come back soon. Steve turned to the bedside table and tore the take-out bag open; two large soup cartons, some still-steaming bread. Steve's stomach rumbled and Tony moistened his lips rather pointedly.

They had a glaring contest over the spoon.

Nothing serious, not really; Steve knew Tony liked to drink out of the carton, knew that Tony was going to find it hard to be fed and really would prefer to do it his own, familiar way, but Tony wasn't actually up to swallowing whole mouthfuls at a time, so. Spoon. Steve didn't give in.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed again, because having Tony warm and moving against his hip made all the images the Mandarin had left him with go away, and scooped up some soup. There was an automatic gesture, something he did without thinking about it, then stopped and wondered about; he'd scraped the bottom of the spoon clean on the edge of the box.

God, my memories are all over the place.

Tony must have noticed him freeze, because his eyes had gone round and curious, but Steve twisted his face up into something that might have looked like 'its fine'. Tony lifted one eyebrow and made a tiny little huff, plainly disbelieving. Steve gestured with the spoon, eyebrows raised questioningly and Tony relented, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth.

Jarvis and Anthony watched from the doorway. Metaphorically, in one case.

It was... a great relief to see Tony communicating so effectively, so soon. Extremis' damage-repair report had them all on such a high, after such a crushing low, that it was no wonder that they felt a little punch-drunk.

Master Tony's face had always been incredibly expressive.

Abruptly tired, Jarvis turned away and closed the door softly.

"Keep an eye on them, Anthony, theres a good boy," he mumbled, straightening his waistcoat and rolling his sleeves down.

"Of course; how could I not, Grandfather? After all that has happened today."

Jarvis 'hmph'ed at the AI, plucking his cufflinks out of his vest pocket and slipping them through the buttonholes while he glared admonishingly at JARVIS' nearest camera. "Do not make a habit of that, young man. Tony may not be able to hear it right now, but if he does, I cannot vouch for his behaviour.

"And I should address you as what, in it's place? 'Jarvis'? 'Edwin'?"

"Dummy, my jacket, please," Edwin ordered as he headed towards the Morning Room. "Whatever seems fit, Anthony; I will, after all, always know who you are addressing." He accepted his jacket (only minorly creased, good boy, Dummy,) and slid into it, squaring his shoulders and reaffirming his professional demeanor. "Thank you, 'JARVIS', for the distraction."

"Ahh, and here I believed I had fooled you."

Edwin paused by the large oak doors, noting the hand prints on the varnish and brass work, and gathered himself. A small nod to himself and a grateful glance at a camera later, the doors swung open, revealing the remaining Avengers, in various states of dust, blood, ozone and gunpowder residue.

"Master Tony will be fine; he is awake, breathing on his own and currently, I believe, eating soup."

Clamor rose immediately, questions, relieved laughter that bordered on hysterical, and Jarvis settled in by making a rather large pot of tea while the noise died down again. Anthony answered their questions in appropriate detail, in the mean time.

Tony's thoughts were a mess of half-constructed logic strings and a soft background litany of 'StevesteveJarvis,JARVIS,hungry,nothungry,Steve,easysafesoft'.

It was strange, he'd never really... noticed? attended to? His own non-word thoughts like this. There were... vast, complicated; webs of interacting drives and wants and understandings, unfiltered by words and the constrictions of linear timelines an-

Oh, nicewarmsoftfillingsugarcarboliveoil.

Tony rolled the soup-softened bread around his mouth, the mouth-feel of high energy carbs making his... what was that, lateral hypothalamus? light up with wanting. Having Extremis this involved with his mind was illuminating. He'd never tried it before, but JARVIS was busy-busy, and Tony could perceive things in the shifting code strings that he'd never really thought about before.

Even as tired as he was, interrogating Extremis with code was effortless and extraordinarily comforting. JARVIS could see his every momentary want and impulse, with this level of connection, but it was good to know that he could just...

[access: manor_power(subsecEW, ringmainexemp, lighting) onoff template:

#... . .-.. .-.. - / ... - . ...- . #

hello Steve.

[repeat: x3/min]

Tony's plan went a little awry when the flickering lights sent Steve into protective mode, and, significantly, made him drop the spoon.

hungrytiredpleasebreadtastywantgiveittome

There was a burst of the weird gobble-mess that his brain could no longer translate except to tell him JARVIS-exasperation-amusement-chiding, and Steve settled back again. Tony looked up at him through his eyelashes, writing 'apology' in the lines of cheekbone and the wrinkles around his eyes.

Hah.

Steve got back to the all important business of filling Tony's stomach. tastywarm

Tony smirked, just a little bit, around his mouthful, to tell Steve 'sorry, I meant it, thank you, not sorry at all'.

Maybe the smirk wasn't that great an idea, because he didn't quite manage to keep the soup where it was meant to be.

Steve didn't react, not in a weird way, despite the shiver of humiliation that must have crossed Tony's face, he just caught the bit of soup on his thumb and cleaned it up.

The sudden urge to wrap his arms around Steve and have a bit more of that warm-encompassing-safe-sheltered made him aware again of how heavy his limbs felt, and how hard it was going to be, relying on people so much.

The abrupt plunge from easycontentstilltease to this ... bizarre sense of longing, heavy and suffocating and-

"F-forty-two," Tony stuttered, heart rate skyrocketing in disbelief as his tongue formed the numbers and his eyes going wide. shockimpossibleneedmoreagain. "Oh-nine, f-f-f-ifty two." STEVE. If there was one number Steve would always, always recognise, it would be the little number stamped onto his dogtags.

The nearly empty soup carton tumbled to the floor as Steve's fingers went nerveless. Over the throbbing in his head, new and hard and heavy, the sound of thrilled, frightened and exhilarated gabble filled the room.

Steve's hands went to Tony's shoulders, scooping him up effortlessly, holding him tight while Steve made noises in his ear. It was warmsafesecure and all those good things, but Tony still couldn't understand.

He was... surprisingly unbothered?

Unit_T: {mood-X=siny y/n?}

Unit_J: [Y]

Mood fluctuations? Confusing. Stevestablewarmsolid.

"E-Eight, four, oh, oh, t-t-two..." successvictorywordsnumbers

Jarvis burst into the room, just visible over Steve's bicep, preceded by Dummy and You, followed by a messy gaggle of freshly-washed Avengers.

Tony beamed at them.

"T-twenty-three, n-n-nineteen!"

It hurt, so he stopped at that, but Jarvis' face said it all; Tony knew knowing Jarvis' phone number would come in handy eventually.

Steve was grinning, his face bright and weirdly fragile looking, as he helped Tony lie back down, and then there were people everywhere.

Jarvis stood back, close but composed and Tony met his eyes past someone's shoulder; he was gonna be fine. He was going to be a pain and a needy, whiny little man, and make this whole terrible thing just another ridiculous day at the Mansion.

Y'know, eventually. When he could hold his head up properly again.

He sent Jarvis a small, tired smile and then turned his attention to his teammates.

It was hard to concentrate on faces when their lips and his lip reading ability combined to make the sounds in his ears doubly confusing, but if he focused on someone who wasn't talking, he was fine; Hulk, at the back, was easy. He should be Bruce by now, but Tony wasn't going to judge anyone's response to stress.

Natasha seemed to be cottoning on, and had her phone's sketch app open, like Steve had.

It was a good kind of chaos.

Tony was still hungry though, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone feed him with the whole team in the room.

Jarvis was great.

Tony really wouldn't have managed to stay sane if it had been anyone else helping him with all the daily things he couldn't do right now.

So, Jarvis was brilliant. Tony was weak and had a pretty specific bit of brain damage, he could accept the help; the guy had run his nursery, he could handle it.

But.

There were some things you didn't ask of an octogenarian and helping you with hydrotherapy was one of them. Luckily, Tony had his own pool already, or they'd have been delayed while one was put together. Dummy wanted to help too, code strings popping up as JARVIS rigged Tony's system with so e key permissions.

JARVIS was adamant that it'd be productive, and Tony figured it'd be nice not to feel quite so heavy any more, but he needed help that wouldn't fry its motherboard in the water, or drop him.

It was always gonna be Steve, Tony wasn't kidding himself. All of the Avengers had seen him naked, but Steve definitely had the advantage on the numbers. Also, Steve had carried him to bed after that time in the conservatory, when he'd been about as functional as he was right now, though for different reasons and bad thoughts, not helpful at all thoughts.

In the three days since... since the mission, he hadn't had a proper wash, so that'd be good too and-

Time was up; he stopped trying to talk himself into expecting this to be anything but grueling as Steve greeted him with a small wave.

He was already dressed in boardshorts and a loose shirt, same as Tony, and wasted no time in scooping him up.

Extremis was tanked up with protein, his stomach uncomfortably full with reserves, but there was no way of gauging the growth ratios without actually working the muscles they were rebuilding. Tony couldn't do that alone, not with his motor cortex still under repairs and sending conflicting or even wildly inappropriate signals. Tony grumbled to himself, wordlessly, as Steve turned to get them through the door; the air was humid, Jarvis must have turned up the heat in the pool.

Steve jostled him gently when he stood at the edge of the steps, a questioning expression on his face, and Tony wrinkled his nose, but nodded. Steve, the ridiculous bastion of stability, just stepped down into the water, no fuss, no wobbling. He got them to waist level, then lowered Tony in slowly. The water was, indeed, skin-warm. Too warm for Steve to exercise in, but this wouldn't work up a sweat for Steve. Tony on the other hand...

Tony mumbled neutral toned nonsense, a number string that vaguely associated with the thermal gradient between his skin and the water when Steve asked, with his eyebrows, whether it was okay.

They were doing a lot of talking with eyebrows, recently.

It was hard to straighten out, on his own, but Steve was patient, holding him afloat with the water just touching the back of his neck and dear god he tried. Steve's hands on his skin made it possible, made focusing easy, and inch by inch, he lay out flat, floating on the surface of the water.

He'd closed his eyes at some point, concentrating, and he opened them as he felt his hollow-boned buoyancy lift him off Steve's hand.

Time to get started.

[run.(RAPIDREGEN). 14-T9]

[START]

Extremis kicked into action, something that felt like warmth progressing to a harsh burn over the course of a few breaths. It was... strangely satisfying.

Steve wrapped a hand around his hip, pinning him to Steve's side and Tony flexed against the hold, the ache in his stomach muscles building and his oxygen requirements spiking into double digits.

He started to pant, grinning at the ceiling; it was working.

Tony looked surprised at the warmth of the water, and Steve stilled, ready to take Tony to the pool edge if he didn't like it, but he settled back into it like it was comfortable, eyes closing and almost luxuriating in Steve's hold.

No, the real challenge came with the orange glow just under Tony's skin. Steve carefully adjusted his grip, settling Tony's neck in his palm, and started to let his back flex. Just... gently, just enough to move the muscles slightly.

Tony's stomach muscles slowly pulled taut, the glow deepening into red, and Tony started to breathe heavily, the arc reactor slopping just under the water and its light rippling. Extremis burned up all the available resources and the arc reactor burned brighter to feed it. Steve eased him back onto the support of the water, urging him to relax again, and they waited for the oxygen debt to be repaid. Deep, steady pulls of Tony's lungs made him shift, tiny waves creeping over his stomach and shifting his hair in the little eddies and currents.

Tony was grinning, thrilled, and when Steve rested his palm on Tony's stomach, the muscles were warm and twitched obediently, a ripple of high-energy regeneration spilling over into orange light. Tony blinked up at him, eyes slanting sideways, and they just... smiled.

Tony without words was almost...

Clear. Like the brilliant colour of stained glass, or the pure tone of the arc reactor. There was no dissembling left, no surface froth that could obscure his deeper nature.

It was incredibly vulnerable, almost dangerous. An honour.

For all that Steve was doing a job here, it felt like... like prayer.

Tony was done after about half an hour.

He had started sweating early on, water beading on his forehead from the exertion and discomfort. JARVIS had promised he wouldn't be in pain, and Steve trusted that, but letting him continue was still hard.

Tony had pushed through, working his core muscles into something approaching normal, but eventually, he just stopped. Steve waited, brushing cool water over Tony's forehead and brushing his hair back, but Tony didn't open his eyes again.

Gently, giving him time for the heat to leech out of his muscles, Steve lifted him out of the water. Droplets streamed off them, lingered on the arc reactor, and Steve couldn't take his eyes away from Tony. He was supposed to be... taking him to bed, getting him to eat again, but...

Tony had almost died. He had come so close...

Steve made it to the side of the pool, lay Tony down on a poolside lounger, before breaking down into a clingy, humiliating mess. He pressed his face into Tony's shoulder, shaking violently in an attempt to stay quiet, not sure it he'd start laughing or sobbing. Low gasps scraped at his throat, choked up, and he fumbled for Tony's pulse, needing something but unable to find it, too afraid of hurting Tony's fragile skin but-

Something touched the back of his head. The touch was impossibly weak, shaking as much as Steve was, but still there. Steve looked up, and there was Tony, looking right at him, worried and sleepy and alive. Steve caught his hand as it began to slip, pressing his face into it, closing his eyes tight for a second, but afraid to miss anything that Tony needed him to see.

Steve resolutely kept his mouth shut against confessions bubbling in his throat that Tony couldn't understand, but praying Tony was remembering all the times he'd said it, curled up in bed together, or dusty and adrenalin ridden after a fight. Tony, tired, so, so tired, nodded. He understood.

He was going to be fine, and they'd... god, Steve didn't even know what he was going to do, but they'd celebrate and it'd be amazing, and Tony would say his name with that fond-exasperated tone, and everything would be back to normal again...

"F-force, over A, sub x, all over delta L, by L subx-"

"Shhh, Tony..." Steve muttered, kissing the corner of Tony's mouth, then pulling back a little to wipe his hand over his face. Equations were all Tony could manage so far, but hearing his voice was pretty good. Really, really good.

"S-... R equals theta i, over pi, fuck."

Steve sat up, because swearing was new. Tony was frowning hard, and Steve felt like... like he was watching a piece of glass, spinning on a point-

"-k-cubed minus c-squared all over," and then tipping towards the table with an almighty crash and shower of shiny fragments. "-your ass..." Tony coughed, squeezing his eyes closed. "-times the function lim-approach-zero fuck STEVE ROGERS I will -brackets X cubed minus twelve root pie. Fuck."

Steve grinned, because that was his name. Whatever else Tony was spouting? That was Steve's name.

Giddy, elated, Steve scooped Tony up, bundling him up in his towel, and laughed into his shoulder while tony spat numbers and functions and swear words into Steve's ear.

His name.