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fandomweekly2019-04-04 03:23 pm
samej) wrote in fandomweekly2019-04-04 03:23 pm
Entry tags:
[#003] to lose my life or to lose my love (mcu)
Theme Prompt: #003 - devil's advocate
Title: to lose my life or to lose my love (also in ao3).
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating/Warnings: T / introspection, angst, post Captain America: Civil War
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 628
Summary: He did what had to be done, and isn’t that what he always does?
Tony knows he did good.
No, good is not the word, not when he is still looking for a way that could have been better. He did what had to be done, and isn’t that what he always does? Surviving, helping more people. Steve cannot understand, he thinks, because he had been trying to save people from the start; Tony was not like that when he was young, was he? Tony was selfish, petty, broken. He didn’t care where the money came from as long as it kept coming, he would invent and build and think about bombs and guns and would not care about the people that they killed.
He was not judge, jury, nor executioner; he had nothing except his own stupid life to worry about.
Steve was not like that. He was always trying to save people, go to war, sacrifice, and there is a part of Tony that tries to argue with the “I did what I had to do” part. There are two Tonys (there are a hundred Tonys) inside his brain, blaming himself for not doing better, blaming Steve for being Steve.
Sometimes, the pro-Steve is gaining territory, and Tony knows positively that is also the one that tries to make him remember the best moments between Steve and him.
Quiet nights at the Avengers Tower, healing wounds and feverish and together, Tony half asleep with his legs on Steve’s lap, Steve’s strong hands massaging his feet. “You know”, he used to say, “at some point the rest of the team should know about this”. “Later” would answer Tony, invariably, because he knew it would end and that it would be so much better if no one could blame him about that, too.
He tries to match that soft, lovely image with the last time he saw him and it’s impossible, the rage, the hate, the murderous intent in his eyes.
He was protecting his friend, he thinks, trying to defend the indefensible, fooling himself into thinking he could forgive that look, even if he’d ask for it. That lie, the worst of all, the lie. He can’t forgive him. He will not.
And yet, he remembers.
Quiet mornings in Steve’s apartment, small and cozy and decorated with small presents, from Tony, from the other Avengers. Tony making coffee in the kitchen and soft steps behind him; a presence he couldn’t (he cannot) ignore; kisses on his nape and Steve’s huge hands on his hips, fingers tickling the almost-still-asleep skin under the sweatpants.
Tony would think please, and then let me have this one month more, turn around, just one week more, raise his hand to touch Steve’s face, just one day, and kiss him.
The month, the week, ended and the day came; maybe later than he thought, but it came just the same.
It’s a weird thing now, in his chest, like something locked and hidden and secret. He doesn’t think Steve has said anything, or maybe he has, and he hates Bucky so much that the sole thought of him knowing that about him makes him feel exposed and vulnerable.
There is a part of him that thinks “kill him”. It’s becoming weaker everyday, because he knows (he knows) what can do to someone to be brainwashed but it’s still there, like a bullet wound that still has shrapnel all around the edges.
The alarm goes off and for a second Tony thinks about not answering it. Leave the fucking suit alone, maybe try falling in love with Pepper again, live a fucking quiet life and forget all about Steve and his huge hands and the way he used to spoon him like an octopus.
Then he opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling, and raises from the bed.
Title: to lose my life or to lose my love (also in ao3).
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating/Warnings: T / introspection, angst, post Captain America: Civil War
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 628
Summary: He did what had to be done, and isn’t that what he always does?
Tony knows he did good.
No, good is not the word, not when he is still looking for a way that could have been better. He did what had to be done, and isn’t that what he always does? Surviving, helping more people. Steve cannot understand, he thinks, because he had been trying to save people from the start; Tony was not like that when he was young, was he? Tony was selfish, petty, broken. He didn’t care where the money came from as long as it kept coming, he would invent and build and think about bombs and guns and would not care about the people that they killed.
He was not judge, jury, nor executioner; he had nothing except his own stupid life to worry about.
Steve was not like that. He was always trying to save people, go to war, sacrifice, and there is a part of Tony that tries to argue with the “I did what I had to do” part. There are two Tonys (there are a hundred Tonys) inside his brain, blaming himself for not doing better, blaming Steve for being Steve.
Sometimes, the pro-Steve is gaining territory, and Tony knows positively that is also the one that tries to make him remember the best moments between Steve and him.
Quiet nights at the Avengers Tower, healing wounds and feverish and together, Tony half asleep with his legs on Steve’s lap, Steve’s strong hands massaging his feet. “You know”, he used to say, “at some point the rest of the team should know about this”. “Later” would answer Tony, invariably, because he knew it would end and that it would be so much better if no one could blame him about that, too.
He tries to match that soft, lovely image with the last time he saw him and it’s impossible, the rage, the hate, the murderous intent in his eyes.
He was protecting his friend, he thinks, trying to defend the indefensible, fooling himself into thinking he could forgive that look, even if he’d ask for it. That lie, the worst of all, the lie. He can’t forgive him. He will not.
And yet, he remembers.
Quiet mornings in Steve’s apartment, small and cozy and decorated with small presents, from Tony, from the other Avengers. Tony making coffee in the kitchen and soft steps behind him; a presence he couldn’t (he cannot) ignore; kisses on his nape and Steve’s huge hands on his hips, fingers tickling the almost-still-asleep skin under the sweatpants.
Tony would think please, and then let me have this one month more, turn around, just one week more, raise his hand to touch Steve’s face, just one day, and kiss him.
The month, the week, ended and the day came; maybe later than he thought, but it came just the same.
It’s a weird thing now, in his chest, like something locked and hidden and secret. He doesn’t think Steve has said anything, or maybe he has, and he hates Bucky so much that the sole thought of him knowing that about him makes him feel exposed and vulnerable.
There is a part of him that thinks “kill him”. It’s becoming weaker everyday, because he knows (he knows) what can do to someone to be brainwashed but it’s still there, like a bullet wound that still has shrapnel all around the edges.
The alarm goes off and for a second Tony thinks about not answering it. Leave the fucking suit alone, maybe try falling in love with Pepper again, live a fucking quiet life and forget all about Steve and his huge hands and the way he used to spoon him like an octopus.
Then he opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling, and raises from the bed.