Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony stepped out of the building and inhaled the cold air of the city. It was winter in New York, and snow was beginning to settle on the streets, dusting the asphalt with a thin white veil. He fixed his scarf and headed toward the parking lot, redialing his husband's number on the way.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available. Please leave your message after the tone." Tony sighed and hung up.

“Maybe he's already home,” he muttered as he saw Happy standing beside the black car, raising his hand to greet him as he approached.

“Hi, Happy, sorry for the wait, it took a little longer than expected,” Tony said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry, boss, that’s why I’m here.” Happy answered, opening the back door, Tony got into the car, letting himself enjoy the heat of the interior, and placed aside the envelope that the doctor had given him.

“Well,” Happy started saying as he stepped into the car, “what did the doctor say?”

Tony took off his gloves and placed them on top of the envelope. He stared at it for a few seconds before answering.

“Same as always, he insisted again that I needed to start treatment and offered me his colleague's number so that I could talk to him about it.”

“Maybe it’s time to consider it seriously, boss. You can’t keep putting this off,” Happy said gently, concern lacing his voice.

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “I know. I just… I wanted to talk to Steve about it first.”

“You haven’t told him yet?” Happy asked, glancing back in disbelief.

Tony avoided Happy’s gaze. “Eyes on the road!” he said, pointing ahead with a raised finger, then let out a weary sigh. “No. I haven’t found the right moment. He’s been working late, and when he gets home, he’s too exhausted and irritable to talk.”

“Yeah, of course, because of work,” Happy said, pressing his lips into a tight line as he turned back to the road.

Tony frowned. “Why do you say it like that?” He knew Happy had started to resent Steve, and while he understood the reasons, it still stung to hear it. Steve didn’t deserve that. If anyone was to blame, it was Tony. He had avoided the conversation, too afraid of Steve’s reaction, hoping he could somehow fix things alone. But it was clear now that he couldn’t.

“It’s nothing, boss,” Happy said with a sigh, tightening his grip on the wheel. “It’s just... I’m worried. Pepper and Peter are, too. We don’t want you to delay treatment just because Steve is... unavailable.”

Tony’s chest ached. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve survived worse,” he said with a wry grin. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I know, boss,” he said with a half-smile, softening. “But promise me you will call the doctor and schedule an appointment with him, preferably this week,” his tone became serious. Tony could see Happy watching him in the rearview mirror, his eyes shining with concern.

“Fine, Happy, I promise,” he groaned. He knew he couldn’t keep ignoring it.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Tony sank into his thoughts, barely noticing when they arrived. Happy reminded him to call the doctor before saying goodbye with a faint smile.

"Hello Friday," Tony greeted his AI as he entered the mansion. "Anything interesting happened while I was gone?” he took off his coat and scarf and hung them in the rack next to the entrance.

“Nothing to report, boss. Everything continues as you left it.”

“Figures.” Tony looked at the empty house and walked towards the kitchen; Steve still wasn’t back. “Fri, could you call Steve?”

“Of course, boss.”

Steve laid in bed, hugging Bucky close to his chest. He stroked his hair gently, watching how peaceful and beautiful he looked while he slept. With Bucky, he felt grounded. He reminded him of his past, of how his life was before his mother married again and they had to move from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side. Before Tony.

His phone rang. Tony again. Sixth call today.

Steve sighed and slipped out of bed to avoid waking Bucky. He answered the call with a sharp tone. “Something wrong, Tony? I’m working overtime. I really don’t have time to talk.”

“Is something wrong, Tony? I'm working overtime, I do not have time to talk.” His tone came out a little harder than he intended it to be, but he wanted to finish the call soon to be able to come back to bed with Bucky.

“Will you be home today? I have barely seen you these last two days…” Tony tried to sound steady, but his voice wavered. He had missed Steve’s voice, and his cold response pierced through him.

“I’m sorry, Tony. But you know I’m handling something important. I can’t just come back every time you get needy.” Steve replied, rubbing his left brow.

“Will you come home for dinner? I can try to cook something, like pasta, or maybe soup. It’s freezing outside…”

He had hoped Steve had missed him too, but it was obvious he didn’t feel the same. He inhaled to keep the tears from escaping. He didn’t want Steve to think he was having a tantrum.

“I told you, I can’t. I’m busy.” Steve sighed, pinching his nose bridge with his fingers. Tony always had to choose the worst moments. “If you’re hungry, I’ll ask Sam to drop off something.”

“Steve, I—”

“I’m hanging up,” Steve said, then ended the call before Tony could respond. A flicker of guilt passed through him, but not enough to make him turn back. Right now, he wanted to bury himself in the warmth of Bucky’s arms. He’d deal with Tony later. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Tony heard the beeping noise on the other side of the line. Steve hung up on him. Again. He sat down on the floor and let the sobs overtake him. He didn’t understand. When had things gotten so bad? When had Steve stopped loving him? Was there any hope left? A way to fix things between them? He felt an enormous pain in his chest, like an illness that oppressed his heart and closed his throat, preventing him from breathing.

“Boss,” Friday’s voice came through softly. “You’re hyperventilating. Please focus on my voice. Count to three.”

Tony did as he was told. Slowly, his breathing settled. He looked up at the ceiling, his heart aching. How had it come to this? He felt drained.

Tony looked at the envelope that he had left on the kitchen table like it was a grenade. He took it and opened it again, rereading its content. It made no sense how some words could make him feel so desperate and impotent; he crumpled the paper between his hands and tossed it into the trash can.

He retreated to his bedroom and told Friday to block all incoming calls. Then he lay down and fell asleep almost instantly.

He dreamed of Steve.

They were both in the kitchen. It was shortly after they bought their house and moved in together.  Everything was new. The walls and cupboards were freshly painted, the wood on the table did not have any of the coffee stains, and Steve used to cook daily to "justify the money invested," according to him. He felt proud of their new home.

That night, Steve had cooked ravioli. Tony watched him from the table, heart racing as his eyes traced Steve’s strong back.

“ You know, I should buy you an apron,” Tony said, tilting his head back and smiling.

“So I can cook wearing only that?” Steve teased with a grin.

"It's like you read my mind!" Tony walked over, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist.

Steve laughed and turned, placing a gentle kiss on Tony’s forehead. “If I did that, I’d never finish cooking anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only food I need,” Tony murmured, fingers trailing up Steve’s back.

“ Oh, I'm sure,” Steve laughed and took Tony's face in his hands as he leaned over to kiss him.  

A wave of electricity went through his body, and he started to feel a little lightheaded. Steve took Tony's hair with one hand and placed the other on his waist as he held it close to his body to deepen the kiss.  

He felt like melting. Steve's touch was intoxicating, soft and rough at the same time, and he felt his skin burn where Steve had touched him. Steve lifted Tony by the thighs and placed him on the kitchen counter. Tony wrapped his legs around Steve and began to raise his shirt—

The sound of the doorbell woke him up.

Tony groaned and sat up, frustrated. The first decent dream in weeks, and it had to end like that.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yelled as the bell rang again. Who could it be? He didn't have any important meetings, and Peter wouldn't come until tomorrow.

“What's wrong?” He said, opening the door and watching Sam standing in front of the house, for a moment, he thought something bad had happened to Steve and felt his heart drop until he saw that Sam was carrying bags that looked like takeout.

“Hey, Tony,” Sam said, giving him a small smile. “Steve asked me to bring you dinner. He’s still swamped with work, but he sends his apologies.” Sam nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh.” Tony’s gaze fell on the bags. So, Steve wasn’t coming home. Again. “Thanks, Sam,” he said, masking his disappointment behind a practiced smile. He took the bags. “You know how he is. Can’t stop working. I’ve got plenty to do in the lab anyway, so tell him not to worry.”

“Sure… I’ll let him know.” Sam hesitated. “Tony, I—”

“Well, you better go back to work,” Tony cut in. “And next time, don’t let him treat you like his assistant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you later, Tony.”

“See you later, Sam.” Tony watched him leave, then closed the door. He set the bags in the kitchen and went down to the workshop. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again, so he turned to his projects– anything to keep his mind off Steve.

“Boss, you have a message from Ms. Potts. A reminder to make the doctor’s appointment.” The voice of his AI got him out of his trance.

Tony checked his watch. 4 p.m. He sighed, setting his tools down.

“Yeah, Fri, go ahead and dial the doctor’s office.”

The phone rang once.

“Dr. Strange's office.” A woman with a sweet voice answered.

“Hello, good afternoon, I would like to schedule an appointment.” He bit his lip, feeling nervous suddenly.

“Of course. Tell me, are you already patient, or is it your first time?”

“First time.” His mouth had gone dry.

He heard the woman typing. “Alright, so I'll need you to give me your full name and a phone number so I can schedule the appointment.”

“The name is Tony Stark.” He listened to the secretary make a small sound of astonishment. He was used to it, after all, he was one of the most famous men in America. “And the telephone is 555 XXX XXXX.” He heard more typing.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Stark. Any special day on which you would like to have the appointment?” She sounded too cheerful to Tony’s taste.

 “Tomorrow works for you?”

The sooner he finished with this, the better. He felt tired of going to doctors; all he wanted was some medicine to mask the symptoms and be able to spend time with Steve. He didn't want to spend his last months locked up at some Hospital.

“Yes, we have one place available tomorrow at 11 in the morning. Is that time okay for you, Mr. Stark?”

“Perfect, thanks, see you tomorrow.” He hung up.

“Friday, let Happy know. He’s driving me.”

“I already notified him, boss.”

“Thanks Fri, you are the best.”

Then he cranked the music to full volume and threw himself into his work.

He didn’t want tomorrow to come.

Chapter Text

Tony woke up at 8 a.m. feeling like hell, drenched in sweat. Sometime during the night, the fever had hit him hard and refused to let go, even after he’d taken the meds. At least now his temperature seemed to have gone down, but his body still ached, and his mouth was dry as sandpaper.

“Good morning, boss. The current temperature is 46ºF, and rain is expected at 3 p.m.” Friday greeted, her voice bright and annoyingly chipper as she opened the curtains to let the sunlight in.

Tony groaned and dragged himself out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. He turned on the tap and let the cold water run before splashing it onto his face. Tony glanced over at the image the mirror presented him.

It was him, obviously—who else could it be? But the reflection staring back looked like a stranger. Dark circles clung under his eyes, his skin seemed stretched thin, and his gaze… God, his eyes looked almost black, hollow in a way that unsettled him.

“Today is going to be a long one,” he muttered with a sigh.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then trudged to the kitchen. Breakfast was a green smoothie because, apparently, that’s what “responsible adults who wanted to stay alive” did. He grimaced as he poured it into a glass. Sometimes he honestly wondered if the health benefits were worth the taste.

As he sipped the sludge, he checked a few project updates on his Stark phone, but before he could dive too deep into work, Friday chimed in again.

“Happy has arrived, boss.”

He hurried to the door, grabbing his coat, scarf, and gloves on the way out, putting them on with efficiency.

“Morning, boss,” Happy greeted, holding the car door open with a small smile. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Tony muttered, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “Let’s get this over with.”

Happy pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Tony stared at the building through the window. It was sleek, modern, and cold; too much glass, too many shades of gray. He hated it instantly.

“Wait here, Hap. I should be over in less than an hour.” Tony got out of the car and inhaled, trying to control the tremble of his fingers.

“Good luck, Tony!” Happy said, lowering the car window for Tony to hear him, and smiled at him. Tony caught the sadness in the other man’s eyes.

He stepped into the lobby, asked the receptionist for Dr. Strange’s office, and was directed to the 9th floor. The elevator ride felt longer than it should have, and when the doors slid open, a quiet hallway stretched out before him. He walked to the end, where a plaque reading Dr. Stephen Strange waited.

The secretary greeted him warmly. “Mr. Stark, good morning. Please take a seat. The doctor will see you in a moment.”

“Thanks,” Tony muttered, sinking into one of the leather chairs. He drummed his fingers against his knee, staring at the untouched magazines on the coffee table.

After five minutes, a woman walked out of the doctor’s office, and the secretary announced it was his turn. Tony stepped into the room. It was bigger than he had imagined and had a massive window that offered a panoramic view of New York.

“Mr. Stark,” came a deep voice. Tony looked up to see Dr. Stephen Strange extending a hand. He shook it.

“Doctor,” Tony replied, lowering himself into the seat Strange indicated.

“So, uhm—” Tony started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if your colleague already told you the situation–”

 “Yes,” Strange interrupted smoothly, opening a file on his desk. “Dr. Weiss briefed me and forwarded your records.” He scanned the papers briefly. “My recommendation is to start chemotherapy; I will give you some pills to start. But I think it would be better to start radiation therapy as soon as possible. To be honest, Mr. Stark, we should be preparing for a bone marrow transplant, too.” His gaze lifted to Tony’s. “But first, I’d like to run additional bloodwork and a full check-up. No need for another biopsy.”

“Uhm, okay.” Tony nodded numbly, words sticking in his throat. It all felt distant, like they were talking about someone else entirely.

“In that case, Mr. Stark, please,” Strange said, gesturing toward the examination table.

Tony obeyed, sitting stiffly while Strange checked his temperature—it was slightly high but manageable—and then his blood pressure. He asked a series of clinical questions, then had Tony remove his shirt to listen to his heart and lungs. When it was over, Tony dressed quietly while Strange scribbled notes.

“So, Doc,” Tony said, slumping into the chair again, crossing his legs like it might ground him. “When do we start?”

“This month,” Strange replied as he made eye contact with Tony. “If you do the blood tests today, we can have the results by tomorrow. Treatment could begin next week.”

Tony’s head snapped up. “Next week? That’s… fast.”

“It may feel fast,” Strange said calmly, “but the reality is you’ve been avoiding this long enough. Any more delays, and we risk the cancer spreading. If that happens, the treatment will be far more complicated… and far more painful.”

Tony’s fingers twitched again, so he curled them into a fist.

“I know, but right now I can’t start treatment. Perhaps we could start next month?” Steve hadn't even come back home yet; Tony needed more time to prepare.

Strange’s gaze didn’t waver. “Mr. Stark, I understand you have a company to run, but your health must come first. You’ve built an empire. You can trust your team to manage it while you fight this.” He offered Tony a calming smile, but that only made him feel worse.

Tony dragged a hand down his face. “It’s not the company. It’s… a personal matter that I need to take care of first. I just—” he exhaled sharply, his voice fraying at the edges. “Look, give me something for the fever and the pain. I’ll do the blood tests today, I swear. But I just need a little more time before I start treatment. Just… a little time.”

He massaged his eyes; his head started to hurt. He knew he couldn’t keep ignoring the sickness anymore and that he needed to start treatment, but he had hoped that Steve would be at his side when he did it.

Strange studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“We will start with the pills; I will also give you some medicine to deal with the symptoms. Let’s try to start radiation treatment at the end of next week. Hopefully, that will give you enough time to settle whatever personal matters you need to handle. If not, they will have to wait until you’re healthy again.”

Stephen stood and moved to the cabinet behind his desk, searching through it before pulling out two small bottles of medicine. He handed them to Tony.

“Okay, Doc, I understand.” Tony took the bottles, feeling a little defeated. There was something in Stephen’s eyes that left no room for argument.

“And please,” Stephen added, “before you leave the hospital, make sure to get your blood tests done. They’re handled on the second floor.”

“Yeah, I will.” Tony nodded, standing and heading toward the door. He paused, glancing back. “Goodbye, doc.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Stark. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Stephen replied, a bright smile curving his lips. Something unfamiliar twisted in Tony’s stomach when he saw that smile, but he shook it off and left the office.

He made his way to the second floor for the blood tests, then returned to find Happy waiting for him in the car.

“Everything good, boss?” Happy asked, greeting him with a warm smile.

“Peachy,” Tony muttered, sliding into the seat. They chatted a little about the appointment on the way back home, Tony doing his best to sound like his usual self.

At least Tony had plans to meet Peter later. That would keep his mind from wandering into darker places.

Chapter Text

Peter arrived in the afternoon at Tony’s house.

He visited once or twice a week, whenever school gave him the time and Tony was available. Peter loved it. Being there meant freedom. Freedom to talk about anything, from wild theories about creating a spiderweb-like fluid to heated debates on how nanotechnology could revolutionize the mechanical field. Peter knew how lucky he was to have Tony Stark as a mentor and to be part of the projects of one of the most remarkable minds of the twenty-first century.

“Hello, Mr. Stark!” the boy greeted brightly as soon as Tony opened the door.

“Hey, kid. Come on in,” Tony replied, smiling. He enjoyed these visits more than he’d admit out loud. Peter’s quick mind was refreshing, and his insight—often unpolished but sharp—pushed Tony to see his own work from new angles.

The way they met each other was rather funny; destiny could be weird sometimes.

Tony had been jogging in Central when the boy literally ran into him. The kid’s face had gone beet red as he apologized, only to realize he was talking to Tony Stark. After that, Peter’s embarrassment turned into awe, and he launched into an enthusiastic ramble about how much he admired him and wanted to be just like him one day. Tony had laughed, but there’d been something about Peter’s sincerity that stuck with him. He learned Peter was a freshman with a deep love for science—especially chemistry—and an undeniable talent for it.

Tony offered Peter to visit his lab at the Stark Tower to talk more and discuss projects. And at some point, they moved from the lab of Stark Industries to his lab house, where Tony kept most of his projects and not only the ones related to the company, and where Peter could really stretch his curiosity.

That's where they were right now. Peter talked about his school day, and Tony showed him some advances he had made to some of his projects, asking Peter what he thought of them and how they could be improved.

“It’s amazing, Mr. Stark!” Peter said, taking the small device between his fingers.

Tony’s chest warmed. Seeing someone—especially this kid—so excited about his work always gave him a quiet boost of confidence. It felt good, knowing his inventions mattered to someone. He watched Peter’s bright expression as he tinkered with the device, and, without meaning to, Tony’s mind wandered.

He remembered when Steve made that same face when Tony talked about his inventions. Steve usually didn’t understand half the things Tony said, but he’d listened anyway, his eyes full of quiet admiration.

Tony recalled how he had even kept some of his inventions at Steve’s home to avoid Howard from finding them and throwing them away, saying that they were a waste of time and there were better things Tony could be using his time on.

He could still see it so clearly:

“ Are you going to stay there staring at me all day?” Tony had teased, flashing a grin.

  “ I ' m sorry.” Steve had replied, blushing furiously and looking away. “It’s just… I like to see you work.”  

“ Really? I would think it ’ s boring.” He let out a small laugh. Tony loved how Steve looked when he flushed; it was devastatingly endearing.

“ Not at all, I could do it all day.” He walked to Tony and hugged him, giving him a quick peck.

“ And what else could you do all day?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“ TONY!!” Steve’s blush deepened, and Tony’s laughter filled the room.

  “ Don ’ t tell me you don ’ t like the idea.” Tony had whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

Steve had only laughed and pulled him closer, holding him like he never wanted to let go.

“Mr. Stark” Peter’s voice cut through the memory, pulling Tony back to the present. He blinked and looked down to find the boy watching him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo. Just… got lost in thought.” Tony smiled and nodded toward the device on the table. “So, what do you think we could improve?”

Peter returned the smile and told Tony about his ideas, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Tony leaned back, letting himself listen, grateful for the distraction.

Peter left around five, Tony told him to say hi to his aunt for him, and Peter promised to come back later that week to talk more about a project he was developing for his chemistry class.

When the door closed behind him, Tony wandered into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed a snack, and sat down at the table. The house felt too quiet. He stared at the floor, his thoughts drifting where he didn’t want them to go.

Steve hadn’t called. Not once. And after what had happened yesterday, Tony wasn’t going to call him either. He couldn’t bring himself to risk being a nuisance.

 He sipped his coffee and closed his eyes, thinking back to when things were simpler—when he and Steve had just started dating, and all they’d needed to be happy was each other’s company.

He remembered the first time they’d truly confessed their feelings. They’d been on Steve’s porch in the middle of a rainstorm, shouting at each other over something ridiculous, and then Tony blurted it out: I’m in love with you.

The next thing he knew, Steve was kissing him.

Afterward, they’d gone inside, dripping wet and laughing, and Steve had confessed that he felt the same—that he’d been in love with him for months but had been too afraid to say it. Tony had kissed him again, unable to stop smiling.

Tony could remember how Steve had taken his hand, looked him dead in the eye, and with that deep, steady voice that Tony had trusted more than anything, said: “I promise you I will never let you down, Tony.”

And Tony believed him. At that moment, he felt that there was no other soul whom he could trust more than Steve Rogers.

God, he wished he could go back to that moment.

Chapter Text

Tony sat in the living room, sipping his coffee while scanning the documents Pepper had sent him about Hammer Industries’ latest offer. In his opinion, they were utterly ridiculous.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring through the window at the pale afternoon sky. His mind, as always, drifted to Steve.

He missed him.

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since he last saw him. Steve hadn’t come home, claiming he was busy with God knows what. Every time Tony called, he was too busy to answer. Texts were their only lifeline now, and even those came back clipped and distant, leaving Tony with a dry ache in his chest.

He didn't want to make a big fuss about it, not when Steve might take it the wrong way and pull even further away. But some days, it was harder to keep the thoughts from creeping in.

Would it really kill Steve to spare five minutes for him? Was Tony selfish for needing that? Did Steve even miss him at all? He didn’t want to know the answers.

With a frustrated exhale, Tony stood up and walked towards the bookshelf to take the medicine flask, grabbing two pills and swallowing them without water. They were actually helping him a lot with the pain and nausea. He hadn't had a fever since he started taking them. For that, at least, he was grateful. He hadn't felt this good in months.

He turned the bottle in his hand. Only four pills left. He’d need a refill soon.

He pulled out his phone and messaged Strange, asking him when he could drop by to get some more meds. He hadn't even closed the chat when an answer popped onto his screen, as if the doctor had already been in the conversation, waiting for Tony to message him or about to message Tony himself.

Come today at 3 p.m.  I will have them ready for you.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at Tony’s lips. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and told FRIDAY to have Happy ready to drive him to the hospital. A shower first, though. He needed to look at least somewhat human.

Tony arrived at Strange's office at precisely 3:01 p.m. The secretary greeted him and waved him straight in. Strange was waiting, which struck Tony as odd. He could’ve just left the meds at the front desk, but Tony tried not to think much of it.

“Mr. Stark,” Strange said, his tone carrying just a trace of wry amusement as he gestured toward a chair. “Please, sit.”

The other man was sitting at his desk, with some documents in his hands. His hair was perfectly combed back, and the white coat highlighted the color of his eyes.

"Uh, I’m just here for the meds, Doc. I don't want to take up your time," Tony said, but he sat in the offered chair anyway.

"Actually, I was hoping we could also discuss starting radiation therapy, Mr. Stark.” Stephen crossed his fingers as he placed his hands on the table.

Tony’s jaw tightened. “What about it?” He knew exactly what Strange meant, but he wasn’t about to make this easy.

“You have to choose a date.”

The other man’s voice was cold and direct.

“Yes, I know, but it's just been two weeks..." Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“One more than what we agreed on, Mr. Stark,” Strange reminded him, his gaze steady and unyielding, leaving no room for argument.

"Look, the medicines have helped me a lot, maybe I could just stick with them for a little bit more until I decide what to do …”

“Mr. Stark,” Strange cut in, his tone sharp but not unkind. “The medicine may help, but it will not cure you.”

Tony stared down at his hands, saying nothing.

“Look, Mr. Stark, I know this can be scary,” Stephen continued, his voice gentler now. “But pretending it’s not there won’t make it go away. You still have time to act. Don’t waste it.”

“I’m not wasting anything,” Tony muttered, though it sounded hollow, even to him. Strange gave him a long, unreadable look, the kind that made Tony squirm in his seat.

“Just… give me the meds,” Tony said at last.

“Mr. Stark,” Strange said quietly, “if something else is going on, I need to know. As your doctor, I must know anything that can affect your health in any way.”

Tony hesitated. He could deflect. He always deflected. But something in Strange’s expression disarmed him. Something inside of him told him that he could trust the man.

“I’m just… tired,” Tony admitted, looking defeated. He passed a hand through his hair before continuing. “Tired of hoping for things that won’t happen. Tired of waiting. Tired of building all these false expectations that end up falling apart.”

It was his truth. He was tired, tired of waiting for Steve to come back home, tired of not being able to talk to him, tired of feeling lonely. And he was afraid, too. He feared that Steve would never come back to him, or when he did, it would be too late.

Strange didn’t speak, but his gaze softened. For a moment, Tony felt seen, like someone had finally solved part of the puzzle he’d been hiding behind the walls of sarcasm and nonchalance that he had built.

Tony bit his lip and tapped his fingers on the table, waiting for the man to answer. Instead, the doctor opened one of the drawers of his desk and grabbed a new bottle of pills from inside it.

“You should hold onto some kind of hope,” Strange said quietly, as he extended his hand to him, offering him the medicine flask.

Tony took the bottle, staring at it. “Hope’s a cruel thing to keep around,” he murmured. He wasn´t sure if the Doctor had heard him, but judging by the look he gave him, he probably had. “Thanks for the pep talk, Doc, but I have to go.” He walked towards the door, feeling the intense gaze of Stephen on his back.

He’d almost reached the door when Strange’s voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Tony turned as Strange left the room for a moment and returned holding a small pot. Inside was the strangest, most beautiful flower Tony had ever seen. It was green with red stripes adorning it, two of its petals were placed horizontally around what seemed to be some kind of bulb, and a bigger one crowned it, which made it look like a ballerina, dancing mid-spin

“You want to give me a plant?” Tony raised an eyebrow with incredulity.

“You’re giving me… a plant?” Tony raised a brow.

“A Gold of Kinabalu orchid,” Strange replied, setting it in Tony’s hands. “When your mind wanders, take care of it. A hobby might help.”

“I have hobbies,” Tony murmured. It was true, he had his bots and projects. He didn’t need a plant. “Besides, I don't know anything about looking out for flowers.” He raised the pot to the level of his face to analyze the plant more closely.

“Is not that hard, and maybe looking after it will teach you to value your life more.”

Tony just looked at the orchid doubtfully.

“Just try it for this week. If you still aren’t convinced, you can bring it back.” He tilted his head towards Tony and gave him a warm smile.

“Fine, but I will probably kill it in two days.” Tony felt the heat rise to his cheek and avoided the doctor’s glance by looking again at the plant.

“I’m sure you won’t.” Stephen’s factions softened as he said goodbye to Tony and opened the door for him, asking Tony to keep him updated and call him if anything happened.

Tony left the building, plant in hand, his heart beating like it wanted to leave his chest.

Chapter Text

Tony rushed to the bookshelf to grab the medicine flask, stumbling over the couch on his way. The fever had struck sometime during the night, and he’d woken drenched in sweat and nauseated. He shook three pills into his palm, shoved them into his mouth, and swallowed them dry.

He pressed a hand over his lips, forcing down the urge to throw them back up, focusing only on his breathing until the nausea passed.

Once he was certain he wasn’t going to vomit, he clutched his chest and slid down to the floor, resting his head against the bookshelf beside him. Cold sweat trickled down his temples.

His gaze wandered across the rows of book spines until it fixed on a familiar title. Slowly, he reached out, pulled the book out, and set it on his lap.

From the Earth to the Moon.

Tony opened it to the first page, and there it was—the dedication.

“Wherever you are is where I want to be, from the corners of the sea to the end of heaven.”

A small, broken smile tugged at his lips. This was the first gift Steve had ever given him. He remembered it as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, instead of fifteen years ago.

“Tony, wait.”

Tony turned around to face the person who had called his name. His eyes widened when he saw Steve Rogers running towards him.

"I–uh—" Steve stopped in front of him, holding out a book like it was a lifeline. "I wanted to give you this."

Tony raised his eyebrows, unable to mask his surprise. “ Uh,” he took the book and stared at Steve, who was utterly red and was looking straight at Tony, “ thanks.”

He felt the heat rising to his own cheeks. Tony didn’t know what else to say. Never, even in his wildest dreams, had he imagined that he would be in such a situation.

“ I know Jules Verne is your favorite author,” Steve muttered, staring at the floor and scratching the back of his neck. “So… I bought you one of his books. I hope you like it. And, um…” His eyes darted back up, blue and unwavering. “I hope you’ll go on a date with me, too.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at Steve, at those stupidly earnest eyes, his eyes that were the clearest sky Tony had ever seen.

Tony laughed happily at the memory. God, he’d been so caught off guard. Nobody surprised him. But Steve Rogers had.

He remembered their first date, too. They’d ended up making out in the restaurant bathroom; it was a miracle that nobody caught them.

After that, they started dating officially. Tony began to spend almost all of his free time with Steve, and they made out anywhere they could get away with it.

They were disgusting. At least, that’s what Rhodey said every time he walked in on them. Tony didn’t care. He was in love.

But not everyone had been happy about it.

Howard Stark, his father, for one.

Tony had gotten into countless fights with him over it. Howard never accepted that Tony was dating a man. Even if that man was Steve, his father’s golden-boy protégé.

Sometimes, Tony wondered if his father was angrier because it was Steve, his prized protégé, who had chosen him, his good-for-nothing son.

Tony’s mind wandered to that specific night when he had a huge fight with his father. That time, he ran away from home and went to Steve’s.

It was past midnight when Steve opened the door, and his eyes went wide.

"Tony! What happened? What are you—"

"Can I stay here tonight?" Tony cut him off, trembling, soaked from the rain. He wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. "Please. I… I don’t have anywhere else to go." His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

"Of course." Steve grabbed his hand without hesitation, pulling him inside.

Tony’s clothes dripped water on the floor, his arms mottled with bruises. Steve didn’t ask, at least not yet. He just led him down the hall.  

"Come on. Guest room’s this way." He said, opening the door at the end of the hall and letting Tony enter. He left him there, saying he was going to fetch some things for him.  

The room was cozy: blue walls, a soft white bed, a small sofa in the corner. Tony sat on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly.

Steve returned with a towel and knelt beside him. "Here. You’re freezing."

Tony didn’t move to take it, so Steve gently started drying his hair, then his arms. He draped the towel over Tony’s shoulders and sat next to him. During the whole process, he didn’t say a word nor moved.  

"Tony," Steve said quietly, "are you going to tell me what happened?"

Tony swallowed hard. "We fought again. Me and my dad."

Steve’s jaw tightened. "Did he—"

"He hit me," Tony said, his voice breaking. "He hasn’t done that since I was twelve. I thought… I thought that was over." His hands trembled. "Guess I was wrong." The tears began to fall uncontrollably, unable to contain them. He felt bad for showing Steve this side of him, the pathetic one.  

Steve’s chest ached. He pulled Tony against him, letting him hide his face against his chest.

"Hey," Steve murmured, holding him tight. "You’re safe here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Not ever again."

And in that moment, Tony believed him. Right then, Tony had said to himself that he would be able to overcome anything as long as he had Steve on his side.

Tony sighed, pulling himself back to the present. He closed the book and set it aside.

"Twenty-three days since you came home,” he whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. His tears slid down his face, hot and silent.

It was clear now– promises shattered just as easily in Steve’s hands as they once had in his father’s. This time, Tony wouldn’t have him to help pick up the pieces. He would have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

Tony opened his eyes when he heard the door creak. Someone had entered the house. The only person it could be was Steve– and Steve hadn’t said a word about coming back tonight.

He heard footsteps getting closer to the living room, where he had fallen asleep on the couch. He stood up to face whoever had entered. The lights flicked on.

“Fuck!” Steve’s hand shot to his chest. “Tony, what the hell are you doing standing in the dark like that!? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I was asleep,” Tony said with half a smile, walking toward him to hug him. “Didn’t have the chance to turn on the lights. You’re done with work?”

Steve tensed at the question.

“Even if I’m busy, I still have to make time to come home,” he replied, breaking the hug and taking off his coat. “And you? You didn’t call this week. Been busy?”

“Kind of, but I just didn’t want to bother you.” Tony murmured, biting his lip and fidgeting with his fingers. He felt Steve’s gaze scrutinizing him.

“You’ve lost weight.” Steve loosened his tie, his voice flat, eyes critical. “You’re not a kid anymore, Tony. Eat. Even if I’m not here. Don’t you feel bad when you look at yourself in the mirror?”

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. He simply walked toward their bedroom, ignoring the sharp irritation in Steve’s stare. He didn’t have the strength for another fight.

Steve walked to the kitchen to grab a snack and sent a text to Bucky to say he’d gotten home safe and to wish him good night. Then he joined Tony in their room, stepping into the bathroom to shower. Fifteen minutes later, he emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist.

In the dim light, Tony’s silhouette was a quiet shape on the bed. He wasn’t asleep, Steve could always tell, but he didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he slid into bed, wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist, and pressed his face to his neck, kissing his skin.

“When did you lose so much weight, Tony?” Steve murmured, his hand sliding down to Tony’s stomach.

Tony flinched and shoved his hand away.

“I haven’t been hungry lately,” he muttered.

“Love,” Steve said softly, the word felt automatic. Once, it would have made Tony’s chest tighten with warmth. Now, it only hurt. He held his breath, as if maybe that could dull the sting.

“You need to eat better,” Steve continued. “You can’t spend all day buried in your lab and forget to eat. We’ve talked about this before.” His hand rubbed slow circles on Tony’s back. “If you don’t feel like cooking or ordering, I can always send Sam with some more food.”

“Don’t,” Tony said, sharper than he intended. “He has a job at Stark Companies. He is not an intern to be running that kind of errands.”

Steve sighed, patient but unbothered.

“But you know is dangerous to have random interns to know our address,” he replied smoothly, like he’d said it a hundred times before. “And Sam doesn’t mind. He’s a friend.”

Tony’s lips trembled, but he bit them down hard.

He didn’t argue, though. He just nodded faintly, not trusting his voice. Steve’s hand lingered on his back, warm and steady, and Tony wondered if he’d forgotten what it was like when that same hand used to hold him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thanks,” Tony said finally, the word small and hollow.

Steve pressed a quick kiss to his temple and then turned around in bed, settling into his usual spot with ease.

Tony stayed still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He listened as Steve’s breathing evened out, slow and steady, the sound that once comforted him now feeling almost unbearable. Every exhale was a reminder of how far away Steve was, even while lying inches from him.

When he was sure Steve was asleep, Tony let out a shaky breath of his own. He closed his eyes, willing himself to follow suit, but sleep didn’t come for him.

The weight of the silence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. He thought about the kiss, the way it had been, light and automatic. Nothing like the lingering touches they used to share. He missed that. God, he missed it so much it hurt.

His hand twitched against the sheets, tempted to reach out, to touch Steve’s back, just to feel some kind of warmth. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, fists clenched, nails digging into his palm instead.

If he stayed perfectly still, he could almost pretend this was enough. That Steve was still his. That “Love” still meant what it used to.

But in the dark, with only the sound of Steve breathing beside him, Tony knew better.

And he hated that a part of him kept hoping anyway.

With these thoughts in mind, Tony finally let his eyes close, drifting into a restless sleep.

Tony had a dream about his mother that night.

It was a memory, one from long ago. Of the day he told her he wanted to marry Steve.

“Tony, I’m happy you’re happy,” she’d said, holding his hand in both of hers. Her voice was soft but worried. “But you’re still young. Don’t rush into anything. He’s your first love, and it’s normal to feel like you want forever with him, but… let yourself live a little first.”

“I understand, Mom.” He’d replied with a full smile. “There’s still a lot I want to live and experience. But I want to do it with Steve by my side, I know he will always be there for me, and I want to be there for him.”

“She’d looked at him with sad eyes. “Yes, I know that. But young love doesn’t always last. At least promise me you won’t rush to anything.” She’d said, tightening her hold on his hand. “I don’t want you to commit the same mistakes as me.”

Tony had wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Steve was nothing like his father, that he would never hurt him. Instead, he just said, “Yes Mom, I promise,” and squeezed her hand.

She’d gazed out the window, her voice quiet. “The day when you begin looking back at the good old days… is the day a relationship finally dies.”

Tony didn’t know how to reply, so they both had stayed silent, looking to the sky through the window glass.

He woke with the dream still lingering like smoke, turned over, and looked at Steve.

“You look softer when you sleep,” Tony whispered. “Younger. Like when we first met.”

He brushed his fingers against Steve’s cheek, and the tears he’d been holding back slid free.

“I don’t know if I have much time left, maybe even less than a year.” He got close to hug him. “Please, I don’t care anymore what you do behind my back, just stay with me the time I have left here,” Tony begged in almost inaudible sighs between ragged breaths.

Steve stirred, wrapped his arms around him, and for a fleeting second, Tony almost believed he’d heard him

“Bucky…” The name left Steve’s mouth with a longing sound, and Tony knew that it didn’t matter how much he begged, how much he pleaded to Steve or some god, he had already lost.

He slipped from Steve’s arms, stepping out onto the balcony. The city lights blurred beneath his tears.

Why do you have to be so cruel?, he thought.

“I guess I can’t really complain, this is the path I chose.” He leaned against the balcony railing, watching the few cars that circulated at that hour. He let his thoughts get lost in old memories.

Memories of Steve getting excited to see him every time he returned home, grinning like an idiot, kissing him madly, making him breakfast, and telling him “I love you” every five minutes.

All of it felt like another lifetime. Tony felt old and defeated. Fourteen years sounds like a lot, but they go by too fast.

But Tony hadn’t invented time travel, and it didn’t matter how much he wanted it—things would never go back to the way they were.

“It still hurts like hell,” he muttered, letting out a cynical laugh. He sighed and went back inside.

Chapter Text

Tony woke up at 8 a.m. Steve was still sound asleep beside him. For a long moment, Tony simply lay there, watching him. Steve looked peaceful like this. It hurt because even after all the coldness, the distance, and the quiet betrayals, Tony still hoped. He hoped that one day they could find their way back to each other. He loved Steve more than anything, and that love weighed heavily in his chest, sharp and relentless.

Tony had always been popular, even as a child. His genius mind, gentle character, and handsome appearance had drawn people to him like moths to a flame. In high school, he was constantly surrounded by admirers—girls and even a few boys—each competing for his attention. But he had never looked twice at any of them.

Everything changed when he met Steve.

Steve treated him differently. He didn’t care about Tony’s name or his family’s money. He just seemed happy to be around him, as if Tony himself—not the Stark fortune—was enough.

Back then, it appeared to be Steve the one who was always catching after him. They planned to run away together and forget about Tony’s duty to his father’s enterprise and move to a nice house in the countryside. Tony would have a workshop where he could create and play with his inventions, and Steve could dedicate himself to painting like he had always wanted to.

It had been a beautiful dream.

But then Tony’s parents died when he was nineteen, and that dream shattered. Overnight, he became the head of Stark Industries. There was no running away now.

Tony had feared that Steve would leave him, unable to handle all the pressure and media scrutiny. But Steve stayed. He even helped Tony shoulder the burden of the company as the years passed.

“Maybe that was my mistake”, Tony thought bitterly as he sat up in bed. “I dragged him into a life he never wanted. And now I’m paying the price for it.”

He let out a long sigh and quietly left the bedroom, walking towards the kitchen to make some coffee. The smell of coffee soon filled the air as Friday greeted him.

“Morning, boss,” Friday’s calm voice said.

“Hey, Fri,” Tony murmured distractedly, answering with little more than a whisper as he stepped out onto the balcony with his mug.

At first, Tony had forgiven Steve’s betrayal because he loved him too much not to. But somewhere along the way, forgiveness had become a habit. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to care anymore.

He’d had his share of offers over the years—men and women with wealth and influence, people who could have made his life easier. But he’d rejected them all. Even if it cost the company opportunities, Tony didn’t care. His heart had been Steve’s, always Steve’s.

But it didn’t appear to be the same case for Steve.

Tony had loved Steve with all his heart for fourteen years. His love was still there, but lately, it felt like it was bleeding out, replaced by suspicion and quiet resentment.

“Why’d you get up so early?”

Tony flinched at the voice behind him. Steve stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, his expression caught between irritation and sleepy concern. He almost looked younger like this, softer.

“I’m used to getting up early, you know that,” Tony replied coolly. “Haven’t made breakfast yet. If you are hungry, you can cook something.”

He came back inside to pour some hot water into his mug and then took a handful of pills.

Whatever claim Steve was about to make died in his mouth when he saw Tony taking pills.

Steve frowned when he saw them. “Why are you taking those? Are you sick?”

His voice carried actual concern, and for some reason, that almost made Tony laugh.

“It’s just a cold,” Tony lied easily, giving him a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing serious. Shouldn’t you be at the company today?”

Steve heard the irony in Tony’s voice and felt somewhat guilty. He lowered his head. “No. I… I want to stay home with you today.”

Tony only hummed in response and walked back out to the balcony, leaving Steve standing there, uncertain. For a long moment, Steve debated following him, but in the end, he decided to make breakfast instead.

Meanwhile, Tony noticed the orchid on the balcony table. He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t watered it in three days. Goddammit. He had told Strange that he would only kill his fancy plant. He went back inside for a glass of water. He saw Steve cooking but decided to ignore it and walked out again to water the plant.

He stayed there, staring at the plant, lost in thought, until a hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

“Tony.”

He turned to see Steve smiling at him. “Come inside. I made breakfast.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Steve nodded and started to turn away, but then his gaze landed on the orchid.

“You bought an orchid? Since when do you care about plants?” His tone was sharp; he sounded upset for some reason.

“A friend gave it to me,” Tony replied, suddenly defensive. He shifted slightly, as if to block Steve’s view of the plant.

Steve’s expression darkened. “Which friend? Do I know them?”

Tony stiffened.

“That’s a rare orchid,” Steve continued, his voice rising. “Happy wouldn’t buy this. Peter wouldn’t even think of it. And Pepper—this isn’t her style. You don’t have more friends, so tell me who gave it to you, Tony?”

Before Tony could answer, Steve’s hand closed around his arm, grip tight enough to hurt.

“Steve, let go,” Tony hissed, his voice sharp with anger.

“Answer me first!”

Tony’s jaw clenched. “Let. Go.”

Something in his tone must have struck Steve, because he released him, slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Now,” Steve demanded, arms crossed, looming over him. “Tell me.”

And that was it. Tony snapped.

“You go out with whoever you want, and I don’t say a damn word. Why can’t I keep one stupid plant without you turning it into a fucking interrogation?”

Steve’s face flushed red. “What the hell are you talking about? I work my ass off for the company, for you, and this is how you treat me? What the fuck is wrong with you, Tony?!”

Tony laughed bitterly. “For me? Don’t act like you’re my sugar daddy, Rogers. That is my company. I just gave you thirty percent of the shares. This house is our joint property. I don’t need your money.” He finished, pointing a finger towards Steve’s chest.

Steve flinched but masked it with anger. “Then what? Are you hiding an affair? That orchid’s worth a down payment on a house. Your new lover must be pretty generous, huh?”

Tony felt nauseous at that accusation. He hadn’t even known how expensive the plant was. If he had, he would have never accepted it.

He could feel the tears threatening to overflow.

“If you don’t want to stay home, then just leave,” he screamed at Steve, closing his eyes in an attempt to control the tears. “I don’t care what you do, just leave me alone!”

Steve’s face twisted with rage. He took two steps forward, hand raised—

Tony didn’t move. He just stared at him, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Are you really going to hit me, Steve?”

Steve froze. For one unbearable second, his hand hovered there. Then he lowered it, turned away, and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

Tony stood there trembling. Then the cough started.

He ran for the kitchen sink just in time to vomit, coffee and blood mixing together in the basin. He stared at it blankly, then washed it away, wiped his mouth, and left the kitchen.

The untouched breakfast sat on the kitchen table.

Steve didn’t come out of the bedroom for the rest of the day.

Tony didn’t want to stay in the house. He looked at the orchid, guilt gnawing at him. If it was really that expensive, it would be a waste to keep it—he’d just end up killing it. And it was too beautiful to die in his care.

He told Friday he was going out and declined her offer to call Happy.

“It’s just a quick errand,” he said. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself to the hospital, is only fifteen minutes away by car, Fri.”

Nevertheless, his AI insisted that he not drive in his current condition. They ended up agreeing not to call Happy, but that Tony would take a taxi to the hospital. Tony held the orchid close as he left the house.

Stephen looked up from his desk when he heard the knock. “Come in.”

Tony stepped inside, orchid in hand. Stephen blinked in surprise.

“Mr. Stark,” Stephen said, standing. “I didn’t know we had an appointment today. Are you here to pick up medication?”

“Doctor Strange. Hi,” Tony said, a little sheepish. “Sorry for dropping in unannounced. Actually… I came to return this.”

He held out the orchid. “Someone told me it’s worth a small fortune. I figured I’d better give it back before I kill it.”

Stephen chuckled softly and took the plant. “It’s just a flower, Tony. But if you’d prefer something easier to care for, I’ll bring you a different plant next time.”

Tony’s chest tightened at the quiet kindness in his voice. He looked away. “I… also vomited blood earlier today. It was unlike the gastric bleeding that I suffered a few years ago, where I vomited from chugging too much alcohol until my stomach bled.” He said, looking down at the floor. “This time it… It felt like I was fading.”

Stephen’s expression darkened. “I told you. You need to start radiation therapy as soon as possible. You’re only thirty-two. You’re young. And I know you can afford it. Why are you still putting this off?”

“I just…” Tony’s voice faltered. “I need to think about it.”

“You said the same thing two months ago,” Stephen said, frowning. He poured Tony a cup of hot water and handed it to him. Tony took it without protest.

“Do you have more medicine? I’m not feeling that good right now.” He replied, drinking from the cup to evade Stephen’s gaze.

“If you don’t start the radiotherapy, I won’t give you any more pills,” Stephen replied firmly.

 Tony blinked, almost laughing at the audacity, until he saw Stephen’s face. He wasn’t joking.

“I’m trying to find a donor for you,” Stephen continued, voice tight with something Tony couldn’t name. “But if you won’t fight for yourself, I can’t help you.”

For some reason, those words warmed him.

“You’re a good doctor,” Tony said with a faint, tired smile. “If every doctor cared like you, the world would be better.”

“Don’t flatter me.” Stephen stood up, taking off his white gown. “I’m off duty this afternoon. Now let’s go straight to the Medicine Center and get you some more medicines.” He turned around to look at Tony. “How did you arrive here?”

“I took a taxi here,” Tony answered, rubbing his neck and suddenly feeling too exposed under Stephen’s clear gaze.

“Okay. Then I’m driving you home after. No arguments.”

Tony hesitated, then nodded in agreement, feeling his cheeks blush.

Stephen opened the door for him and grabbed his coat before stepping out as well, closing the door behind them.

They left the hospital together. Stephen led him to a sleek gray Lamborghini.

Tony chuckled. “Nice car, Doc.” It seemed that they both had a taste for sports cars.

“What are you waiting for? Get in,” Stephen said, smiling, an actual, playful smile. It made him look younger, almost boyish.

Tony found himself smiling back. He climbed in, and on the ride home, they talked. Cars. Colors. Favorite foods. Little things.

By the time Stephen pulled up to the tower, Tony almost didn’t want to leave.

Tony asked Stephen to park at the entrance of the building. As he stepped out of the car, he paused, then turned back and crouched slightly to speak to Stephen through the window.

“Thank you, Doc. Let me take you to dinner sometime. My treat.”

He didn’t know what possessed him to make that offer to Strange, but he didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

“Stephen smirked. “Save it. Just get better first.”

Tony laughed softly and waved as Stephen drove off.

He didn’t see the car parked across the street.

Inside it, Steve watched everything. His hands clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

Chapter Text

When Tony arrived home, the apartment was quiet. Steve wasn’t there, which wasn’t a surprise.

He sat on the sofa and let his body sink into the cushions, only to tense up moments later when the front door slammed open.

Steve stormed in, eyes blazing.

“Tony!” he shouted.

Tony winced at the sheer volume, his heartbeat spiking.

“Who is he?”

He held his breath. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He had never seen Steve this furious. There was something in his eyes– something unfamiliar, dangerous. He couldn’t even recognize him.

“Who’s who?” Tony asked, keeping his tone flat. Even though he was terrified, he refused to let it show.

“Don’t play dumb!” Steve shouted, punching the wall hard enough to leave a crack in the drywall. “The guy who dropped you off. I saw you getting out of his car!”

Tony pressed his fingers to his temples. “He’s just a friend.”

“The same friend who gave you that orchid?” Steve’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “How convenient. Who is he, really? Where did you meet him?”

He could feel the anger starting to grow inside him, too.

“He’s a doctor,” Tony said, emotionless, rising to his feet to face him. “I met him at the hospital when I went to get some medicines.”

“Oh, he must be a very generous doctor,” Steve sneered. “Bringing you home, giving you expensive flowers… Where’s the medicine, then?”

Tony met Steve’s eyes. Cold. Suspicious. Not a trace of concern.

He hadn’t even asked why Tony went to the hospital.

Tony’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “I left it in his car.” A lie. The pills were in his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry. He’s young, rich, attentive, and kind. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

“What does that mean?” Steve lunged forward, grabbing Tony by the collar and yanking him close.

Tony laughed in his face.

“Tell me the truth,” Steve growled. “Do you want to be with him?”

“If I say no, would you even believe me?” He replied, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t come home for a few days, and you run off to find a new lover?” Steve shoved him backward onto the couch. “I don’t even know who you are anymore!”

“Good,” Tony snapped, getting back up. “You’ve seen through me. So, what now? Are you scared I’ll do what you’ve been doing?”

The slap came without warning.

Pain exploded across Tony’s face, sharp and hot. He stumbled back, a hand pressed to his cheek, wide-eyed and frozen.

Tony wasn’t sure what to do. Steve had never hit him before. They had fought before, sure, they had cried, shouted, said mean things to each other. But Steve had never gotten physical with him.

Tony stood there, left hand pressing on his swollen cheek, looking at Steve. Then he started crying.

Steve didn’t love him, not anymore.

He just got jealous because of possessiveness. It had nothing to do with love. If he loved him, he would have never hit him.

When Steve loved someone, he could be jealous, but he would never let it break trust. He would never raise a hand.

“I–, I just…” Steve’s hands were trembling, he was looking at Tony with wide eyes, looking as shocked as him. Tony laughed, tasting blood on his mouth.

“I just…” Steve continued, his voice trembling, “I don’t trust that new friend of yours. He doesn’t seem like a good guy. I think you should stop seeing him.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

Tony let out a hollow laugh.

“You’re not a good guy either. Maybe I should stop seeing you too.”

One part of his brain was telling him to stop, to just grab his jacket and leave his house. But the other part was telling him to stay and yell everything he thought to Steve, to burn it all down.

“What are you…?”

“You know,” Tony said, cutting him off. His voice was low and steady. “I used to believe I could endure anything as long as I had you. But we’ve changed. You’ve changed. And people only change because they want to.”

He met Steve’s eyes, a sad smile playing at his lips.

He took a deep breath. “I think we should break up.”

The words hung between them like broken glass.

Tony felt helpless, but he had made up his mind. This is what he wanted, and maybe it was also what Steve wanted. That way, they both could be free.

Steve stared at him like he’d just slapped him back.

“Right,” he said bitterly. “So you can run off with your new boyfriend? No. I won’t let you leave.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Tony said, voice calm but firm.

Steve opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but then something shifted in his face.

He looked away.

“You think you’re the victim here?” he grumbled. “I gave up everything for you. And now what? You’re just done?”

“No,” Tony said softly. “I’m just finally being honest. With you, and with myself.”

Steve stared at him for a long time.

Then, without another word, he turned, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Tony didn’t cry– at least not right away.

There were things he needed to do first.

He bent down to pick up his phone from the floor, where it must have slipped during his argument with Steve. Scrolling through his contacts, he found the name he was looking for: Dr. Strange.

Tony exhaled slowly, steadying the tremor in his hands before typing:

Dr. Strange, please go ahead

and arrange the radiotherapy.

After that, he went straight to his bedroom. He wasn’t hungry; the fight had drained whatever energy he had left.

He collapsed onto the bed and let exhaustion pull him under almost instantly.

That night, he didn’t dream at all.

Chapter Text

Steve’s footsteps echoed through the dim parking garage of the tower. He reached his car, still cursing under his breath.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he gripped the wheel but didn’t start the engine right away.

His mind spun.

Should he go back and try to talk to Tony again?

The rush of anger and adrenaline from their fight was fading, leaving behind a gnawing pit in his stomach. The memory of Tony’s face flashed in his mind, how he held his hand towards his cheek, and looked at him with hatred in his eyes. He looked down at his right hand, still faintly red from the slap he’d given him.

Shame hit like a punch.

It was the first time he had ever done something like that to Tony.

And underneath that shame was another ugly truth: Tony knew. Or at least suspected. About the affair. About Bucky

A chill crept down Steve’s spine. How much did Tony know? Since when? Why hadn’t he said anything before? Was he just waiting for the perfect moment to use it against him? Was he thinking of hurting Bucky?

The questions clawed at him, stirring a rising tide of anxiety.

He started the car and set the way for Bucky’s apartment. Right now, Bucky was the only one who could steady him, the only place that still felt like a safe harbor.

“You look like you just went ten rounds,” Bucky said as he opened the apartment door, one eyebrow arched. “What happened this time?”

Steve stepped inside before answering. “Tony,” he mumbled.

Bucky snorted. “It’s always Tony.”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. Before he could say more, Bucky caught the edge of his coat and pulled him in, their mouths colliding in a kiss filled with desire, longing, and a need for comfort. Underneath it all, Steve could still taste the bitterness of his own guilt.

When they broke apart, Steve rested his forehead against Bucky’s. “We fought.”

Bucky’s lips curved in a faint smirk. “You and Tony? That’s not exactly breaking news.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “He was with someone. A guy. Dropped him off at the building. Same guy who gave him that damn orchid.”

“And you’re sure it’s not just… a friend?” Bucky asked, though his tone said he already knew Steve wouldn’t believe that.

“He lied to my face,” Steve muttered. “Smiling like I’m the one in the wrong.”

“Maybe because for him, you are,” Bucky said, locking eyes with him. “You’re with me, Steve. That doesn’t exactly give you the moral high ground.”

Steve’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed Bucky’s collar and kissed him again—harder this time, like he could drown the taste of guilt in something hotter, rougher.

Bucky let him. This was Steve. His Steve. And even if he knew they were the ones in the wrong, he would still do anything for him. Even if it meant going to hell.

When they pulled apart, Bucky’s smirk returned, softer this time. “So… you crashing here tonight?”

Steve didn’t answer.  He just wrapped his arms around him again, burying his face in the curve of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath to remember his scent. It was a blend of cinnamon and ebony, with a hint of plum.

He smelled like home. 

Tony sat alone in the dim light of the living room, the silence pressing in on him.

The orchid was gone—returned earlier that day to Strange’s office. The spot on the balcony where it had stood looked strangely empty now, like it had never been there at all.

He wrapped his hands around a cooling mug of coffee, though he hadn’t taken a sip in nearly twenty minutes. He stared at the dark liquid, as if it might offer answers, but his mind was a blur.

It was easier not to think about where Steve might be. Easier to pretend he was still at the company or out on a late errand. Easier to pretend he hadn’t slammed the door and left without looking back.

But pretending didn’t stop the ache.

He had been the one to say it. He knew they couldn’t continue like that. But still hurt –like a million needles in his heart– to watch Steve walk away like that.

Ten years.

Ten years of marriage. Ten years of his life, gone with the sound of a slammed door.

He felt pathetic.

Did he really think he could change his destiny? His father never loved him. What made him believe Steve’s love would last?

Maybe the sickness was actually a blessing, he thought. At least after his death, he would be free. And if the religions were right, maybe he could see his mother again in the afterlife.

The thought brought a sharp wave of guilt. The faces of Peter, Pepper, and Happy flashed through his mind. They still cared for him– he couldn’t abandon them like that. There was Friday too.

And then, unbidden, came a glimpse of Stephen’s face.

His gaze shifted back to the empty space the orchid had left, and he found himself wondering what the doctor was doing.

With a sigh, Tony pushed himself off the couch, moving slowly toward the bedroom. He didn’t bother turning on the lights.

When he lay down, the sheets were cold. Steve’s scent lingered faintly on the pillow beside him, and it made his throat tighten.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.

Across the city, Steve was in someone else’s arms.

Tony checked his phone and noticed several unread texts from Dr. Strange. 

I tried to call you yesterday as soon as

I saw the message, but you didn ’ t answer.

Is it convenient for you to answer the phone now?

Can I call you?

Tony couldn’t help to smile.

I was actually thinking about going to the hospital

tomorrow, if that ’ s okay.

So we can discuss what needs to be done in person.

The reply came almost instantly. So quickly it was as if Stephen had been waiting for his message. It was a ridiculous thought, and Tony knew it, but he couldn’t stop the small warmth that settled in his chest.

Yes, of course. I think it is a good idea.

See you tomorrow then, Mr. Stark.

A warm smile spread over Tony’s face. He set the phone back on his nightstand and got up to prepare for his day.

“Good morning, boss,” Friday’s voice floated down from the ceiling. “It’s Tuesday, November 21, eight a.m. Today, you have an appointment with Miss Potts at eleven a.m.”

“Thanks, Fri,” he murmured, heading toward the bathroom.

He washed his face. The cold water made him flinch. His left cheek burned, and when he looked in the mirror, the swelling was still there. The once-red mark had begun to turn a deep purple.

Tony let out a short, humorless laugh.

When he was younger, he had promised himself he’d never end up in an unhappy marriage like his mother’s. And yet, here he was. Living that same story. The only difference was, he had more power than she ever did. And even if he was dying, he wouldn’t give Steve the satisfaction of burning through his fortune with his lover.

He’d talk to Pepper today—see what could be done to take back the company shares he’d given to Steve. Then he’d start planning for a new CEO. Honestly, Pepper was the obvious choice; she was already running most of the operations while Steve played house with Bucky. All Tony had to do was convince the board and make the change official.

By the time Pepper stepped into his office at eleven sharp, Tony was already at his desk, a coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. It had been a while since he had gone to the company’s tower. Part of him had missed it, although not that much really.

“Morning,” she said, offering him a quick smile before sitting down across from him. “You look… tired.”

Tony smirked faintly. “You should see the other guy.”

Pepper’s brows drew together, but she didn’t press. She’d known him long enough to recognize when to ask and when to leave it alone.

Instead, she pulled out her tablet. “So, what’s on the agenda? Friday said you wanted to talk about something urgent.”

“Yeah.” Tony leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for a change at the top. A big one.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean…?”

“I mean the CEO position,” he said flatly. “Steve’s not the man for the job. Wasn’t when I gave him the shares, and definitely isn’t now. I want those shares back. I want you in the big chair. Officially.”

Pepper blinked, processing. “Tony… you know the board will fight this. Half of them think Steve walks on water, and the other half are too afraid to say otherwise.”

“Then we convince them,” Tony replied. “You’ve been doing most of the work anyway. You know the numbers, the clients, the investors. The company trusts you.”

Pepper hesitated, studying him. “And what about Steve?”

Tony’s mouth tightened. “I’ll handle him.”

She nodded slowly. “Alright. If you’re sure, I’ll start running the projections and lining up the board meetings. But Tony…”

“What?”

Her voice softened. “Take care of yourself first. You know Happy and I have your back. I’ll help with the board, but I want your top priority to be getting healthy. Okay?”

He gave her a small smile. “Sure, Pep. I’ve already made plans with the doctor to start radiotherapy, and we’re looking for a donor. I’ll be fine. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“God, I hope so. I hate job hunting,” she said with a light laugh, but Tony noticed the shine in her eyes.

Chapter Text

After Pepper left, Tony was left alone with his thoughts – and his feelings, the ones he hated to face. Suddenly, the office felt too big, too quiet. Too suffocating.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway for a long moment before dragging a hand down his face.

He’d told her about the radiotherapy. He’d said the words out loud. That alone made it feel heavier. More real.

It was going to be a long day– too much work left to do, and none of it enough to keep his mind occupied.

By the time he returned to the apartment, the silence pressed in on him even harder. Steve hadn’t come back; Friday confirmed it. Tony wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or abandoned. Maybe both.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the night air sharp against his skin. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at the city lights. His phone was already in his hand before he realized it.

First, he checked for new messages from Steve. Nothing. Not a single word.

He got out of their chat and scrolled down, checking his other messages. Peter had sent him a few links—some science videos and, of course, a set of spider pictures the kid insisted were “cute.” Tony shook his head, smiling faintly. He’d never understand how spiders could be considered cute. But that was Peter.

He also responded to Happy’s message, confirming the pick-up for tomorrow morning to take him to the hospital.

And then his mind drifted—inevitably—to Stephen Strange.

Tony had eyes. He could admit to himself that the doctor was a handsome man. And beneath that sharp, arrogant exterior, he cared deeply for his patients. Strange had been patient with him, gentle in the way he nudged him toward caring for himself but never crossing the line into pressure. Tony respected that, and he even felt respected in return.

Before he could think better of it, his hands acted on their own, opening Dr. Strange’s contact and pressing dial.

The line rang twice before the familiar voice answered.

“Mr. Stark,” Stephen said, warm with a trace of dry humor. “To what do I owe this call? Don’t tell me you’re canceling tomorrow’s appointment…”

Tony cursed himself silently. Why the hell had he called? Maybe the sickness was already spreading to his brain.

“H-hello, Dr. Strange, are you free right now?” he stuttered, hen cleared his throat in a vain attempt to regain composure. “And cancel? No, nothing like that. Just… wanted to check that you were still good for tomorrow.”

He winced. God, he sounded pathetic.

“I am,” Stephen replied, his voice smooth, steady. “Don’t worry, I keep my appointments.”

He could hear the reproach tucked into that last comment. Tony knew he had canceled one too many appointments with the doctor before.

Tony’s lips twitched. “Well, that makes one of us who’s reliable.”

“You showed up the other day, didn’t you?” Stephen countered gently, a trace of amusement in his voice. “That’s what matters. One step at a time.”

Tony leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the city lights, phone pressed close to his ear. The warmth in Stephen’s tone shouldn’t have mattered so much– but it did. It steadied something in him he hadn’t realized was shaking.

“I guess you’re right,” Tony murmured. “Sorry for the late call. I’m … a little bit nervous. Thinking too far ahead is sort of my thing. Occupational hazard of being a genius, you know.”

He heard the other man chuckle.

“I’d call it more of a survival mechanism,” Stephen replied. “But tonight, maybe just… let yourself rest.”

There was genuine worry there, threaded through the calm. The hole in Tony’s chest burned.

He laughed quietly. “Is this you prescribing me sleep?”

“Consider it doctor’s orders,” Stephen said. And then, after a pause, almost teasing, he added, “Unless you’d prefer a written note?”

Tony chuckled, and for a moment, the ache inside him eased. “No, Doc, I think I’ll behave. Can’t have you hunting me down for breaking curfew.”

“Good,” Stephen said, warmth threading through the firmness in his voice. “Tomorrow’s important. And… bring a scarf. It’s colder than usual.”

“Are you always this concerned about your patients’ fashion choices?”

“Only the stubborn ones,” Stephen said smoothly.

The call ended soon after, but Tony stayed with the phone pressed in his hand, staring at the black screen. The corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.

The next morning came too quickly. Tony had barely slept, his mind running in circles despite Stephen’s “doctor’s orders.” Still, by the time Happy pulled up at the hospital entrance, Tony was dressed sharply, scarf wrapped tight around his neck, sunglasses hiding the shadows beneath his eyes.

“Good luck, boss,” Happy said as Tony slid out of the car. His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed the worry.

“Luck is for people who don’t build their own,” Tony replied, forcing a smirk. He shut the door before Happy could say anything more and walked inside.

The sterile smell of antiseptic always made his stomach tighten. He checked in at reception and made his way toward Stephen’s office.

The door was closed. The secretary smiled politely and invited him to wait. Tony sat on one of the small sofas and flipped through the stack of magazines on the table. The issue he picked up was months old, but it didn’t matter. He only wanted a distraction.

He flipped through the pages and felt his heart drop when a familiar pair of blue eyes stared back at him from the glossy pages. Slowly, he unfolded the magazine to see a full interview. Steve spoke proudly about being the CEO of one of the most influential tech companies of the century.

Tony laughed under his breath, sharp and bitter. How could things change so much in only a few months?

He sighed, setting the magazine aside. He stared at the wall, zoning out. Muffled voices carried through the office door– a couple, their child diagnosed with leukemia. The mother’s sobs were soft but raw.

For a moment, Tony’s chest tightened. If his parents had lived…, would they cry for him like that? His mother– yes. But his father? Probably not. His father had never missed a chance to be disappointed in him.

“What are you thinking about?”

The voice pulled him out of the spiral. He lifted his gaze and found Stephen’s gray-blue eyes fixed on him.

“I called you several times,” Stephen added gently. “You didn’t answer.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Tony stood, tugging off his scarf and coat, trying to ignore the sudden heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You remembered the scarf,” Stephen said quietly, gesturing to the red wool still looped around Tony’s neck. “Good.”

Tony rolled his eyes, though warmth spread in his chest despite himself. “What, you gonna start a line of Strange-approved winter wear?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Stephen murmured, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Tony admitted, his bravado slipping. His fingers toyed absently with the scarf’s edge.

Stephen placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, Tony. Remember that.”

Tony stared at him. It was ridiculous how much steadier a single touch, a single sentence, could make him feel. He gave a small nod, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“Alright, Doc,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Stephen guided him to the treatment wing. The room was stark—white walls, the hum of machinery, a large linear accelerator positioned like some futuristic scanner.

Tony smirked faintly, though his chest was tight. “Nice décor. Very… minimalist sci-fi death ray.”

Stephen arched a brow, unamused. “It’s a linear accelerator, Mr. Stark. Not a death ray. For the radiotherapy. It won’t cure the leukemia, but it will help control some of the symptoms—fatigue, bleeding, even the bone pain you’ve been feeling. Think of it as buying your body time while we continue searching for a donor.”

Tony’s smirk faltered. “So, this is the appetizer. Chemo and a transplant are the main course.”

“Exactly,” Stephen said. His tone was firm, but his eyes were gentle. “The oral chemotherapy you’ve been taking has helped slow things down, but it isn’t enough anymore. Once we find a match, we’ll move on to systemic chemo—stronger, through IV—and prepare you for the transplant. That’s our best shot at long-term remission.”

Tony swallowed hard, then forced a shaky grin. “Well, when you put it that way, Doc, how can I say no? Strap me in.”

Stephen’s mouth twitched, just briefly, before he nodded to the nurse.

Tony lay back on the treatment table as the nurse positioned him carefully, making sure he wouldn’t move once the machine started. The mold holding him still felt foreign, suffocating. He fought the urge to fidget.

“You’ll need to stay as still as possible,” Stephen explained from the console. “You won’t feel pain. Just the machine moving around you, and a low hum. The session only takes a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Tony muttered. “I think I can stay still for a few minutes.”

The machine whirred to life, heavy arms rotating around him. He stared up at the ceiling, forcing himself to breathe evenly. For a moment, all he could think about was how exposed he felt.

Then Stephen’s voice crackled gently through the intercom: “You’re doing fine, Tony. Just a little longer.”

The steadiness in his tone anchored him.

When the machine finally powered down, the nurse helped him sit up. His legs felt heavy, but he managed a crooked grin. “Well…my skin is not glowing green. That’s a win.”

Stephen approached, scanning him carefully. His voice was clinical, but his eyes betrayed something warmer. “You’ll probably feel tired for the rest of the day. Listen to your body. Rest. Don’t push.”

Tony tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Listening’s not really my strong suit.”

“I’ve noticed,” Stephen replied, dry as ever—but the corner of his mouth softened. “But you did well today. Better than you think.”

Back in Strange’s office, the doctor walked Tony gently inside and helped him sit down, insisting he rest a little before making the trip to the hospital entrance, where Happy would be waiting with the car.

“You should prioritize resting this week,” Stephen said, his tone calm but firm. “The oral chemo did its job—slowing things until we could get you here. But now that we’re moving forward with treatment, we’ll stop the pills. They won’t add anything at this stage, and your body needs all the strength it can get.”

Tony tried to listen, but his mind was drifting. His head felt dizzy, though he wasn’t sure if it was the radiotherapy session or simply the exhaustion of another sleepless week. Probably both.

Stephen continued, reminding him of the importance of a balanced diet, even suggesting he hire a private chef if cooking felt overwhelming –“you certainly can afford it,” he had added teasingly– when Tony’s phone buzzed against the desk.

He grimaced. “Sorry,” he muttered, checking the screen.

Steve.

Tony’s thumb hovered before he declined the call. The phone rang again immediately. With a sharp sigh, he answered.

“I’m going back to get some things from the apartment. Are you there?” No greeting came from the other man, no softness.

“No. I’m out at the moment.” Tony replied flatly. Refusing to elaborate.

“Ah– where are you? I was hoping we could talk about the other night, now that you are calmer.  And could be rational about it.” Was Steve’s response.

Tony snorted, irritation bubbling.

“I’m busy right now, Steve. Don’t know when I will be back. You know I’m a very coveted man.” His tone was casual, deliberately careless.

“You are impossible.” Steve groaned in return. “I’ll grab a change of clothes and won’t be back tonight either. We’ll talk when you’ve come to your senses.” He hung up before Tony could answer.

Tony lowered the phone, exhaling through his nose. “Apologies,” he muttered, muting it and sliding it into his pocket.

“Don’t worry,” Stephen said, though his voice was serious again. “Was that your husband?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice was low, reluctant, as if he wished he didn’t have to confirm it. He knew, of course. The whole world knew who Tony Stark’s husband was.

“Well… maybe it would help if he came with you during the sessions. It’s better to have someone close, a loved one, for support.” Stephen shifted, suddenly uneasy.

“He doesn’t know,” Tony replied, sharper now, cold. “And it wouldn’t matter. We’re not… in the best place.”

“I see…” Stephen hesitated, studying him. For a moment, Tony regretted saying so much—the poor doctor didn’t need to be burdened with his messy personal life.

Still, Stephen’s voice softened again. “Even so, it would be good if you had someone. These sessions take a toll on the mind as much as the body. No one should go through it completely alone.”

Then he smiled at him. That same warm smile that, for a fleeting second, made Tony believe he really did care.

Tony’s chest tightened with a bitter ache.

He stood, assuring Stephen he was strong enough to walk the rest of the way alone. He offered a quiet goodbye before leaving the office. He wouldn’t bring anyone. Not Rhodey, not Pepper, not Happy. And definitely not Peter—the boy’s heart would break. They all had their own lives, their own burdens.

Tony preferred to carry this one by himself.

“Hi, Hap.” Tony greeted his friend as he held the door open for him to slide into the car.

“Stark.”

The familiar voice made Tony pause. He turned to see Stephen walking quickly from the hospital entrance, something red in his hand.

“Ah. Thank you.” Tony shifted, reaching out to take it—but before he could, Stephen closed the distance between them and gently wrapped the scarf around Tony’s neck himself. His touch was careful, lingering just long enough to tighten the knot.

“Remember,” Stephen murmured, his voice low near Tony’s ear, “if you ever need anything, you can always call me.”

Then he stepped back, professional composure sliding back into place as he gave Happy a polite nod before turning and heading inside.

Tony sank into the car seat, his hands gripping the scarf tightly. He tried to ignore the way his heart was fluttering.

Chapter Text

Steve felt like he was losing his mind. Sam had called him recently to let him know Pepper was talking to the board members. Steve had decided to call Pierce, who confirmed it: Pepper—and by extension Tony—were preparing to take him out of his job as CEO.

He massaged his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache creep into his skull. The city lights sprawled beneath him as he stood on the balcony of the apartment he had helped Bucky buy. The cold air bit into his skin, but his chest was hot with rage.

He hadn’t seen Tony since their last fight. He remembered Tony’s expression –calm, steady, somewhat resigned– as he asked him for a break-up. He closed his fists, his knuckles turning white from the force, his cheeks flushed red, his eyes bloodshot. They were married, for God’s sake. He had built all his life around Tony. He took care of him and his company because the man was incapable of doing it on his own.

He thought back to Tony at his parents’ funeral, small and broken, clinging to Steve like he was salvation. And Steve had clung back, because he knew what it meant to lose everything.

He remembered how Tony was at his parents’ funeral. How broken and small he looked, how he clung to Steve’s, begging him for salvation. And Steve had clung back. He understood what it meant to lose everything.

He had lost his father before he could even form a memory of him—the blond man in photographs was a stranger.

The death of his mother was harder. It had gutted him. He had just turned twelve, and at the time, he had never given death that much of a thought before. He had cried for days and refused to go out of his room after the funeral. Bucky was the only one allowed inside, and it was thanks to him that he survived these dark days.

Afterward, he was sent to live with his paternal grandparents. He had never met them before. He had learned that they didn’t like his mother very much. They had never approved of his only son marrying an artist girl from a lower-class family.

His relationship with his grandfather was never good; he was a stubborn, cold man who never accepted his own flaws. His grandmother was kinder, but cared too much about public opinion, and his personality was too submissive.

They disapproved of Bucky, of course—Bucky didn’t come from the “right” family. But Steve never cared. He found ways to keep his best friend close.

At least until the fire. Steve was fourteen when he biked over to Bucky’s house and found it reduced to ashes. The neighbors had told him the house had caught fire some days before, and they didn’t know anything about the family inside. They believed they all had died in the fire.

Steve mourned silently, his grandparents indifferent to his pain.

He would learn years later, from Bucky’s mouth, that only his father had died in the fire. His sister and her mom were at the market, thus being spared, and only arrived when the firefighters were already at the place.  Bucky himself had survived but lost his left arm, spending weeks in intensive care. Afterward, his mother had taken him and his sister back to her parents’ home.

Bucky had always felt terrible about disappearing on him like that, but he didn’t know his new address — Steve had never dared to invite him home, knowing how his grandparents were — and social media wasn’t a thing at the time. They lost each other.

The next time Bucky saw Steve was years later, in the tabloids— by then Steve was working for Stark Industries, and in a relationship with Tony Stark. Thus, he never dared to contact Steve again.

It was fate –or a cruel destiny joke— that they crossed paths again.

Two years ago, Steve had wandered into a bar after a long day, reluctant to return home to a cold bed while Tony buried himself in his workshop. At the beginning, when Steve first met Tony, he had found it incredible how the other man’s mind never stopped, always thinking of the next invention, of what could be improved. Now, he only wanted to be received by his loving husband after a hard workday, with a proper meal made, and rest together while watching movies, no need to think.

That’s when he saw him. It was James. His James. Older, wearier, his long hair framing tired eyes—but still Bucky. Steve had frozen in place, terrified that if he blinked, the man would vanish.

When Bucky noticed him, their eyes locked, and Steve knew he was lost. He would do anything so that those big brown eyes stayed with him.

He had used his position to pull Bucky back into his life—getting him a Stark Industries prosthetic, helping him open a bar, even buying him this apartment with its breathtaking view over Manhattan. Some part of him knew it was wrong to betray Tony, but he couldn’t make himself care. He had already lost Bucky once. He wouldn’t again.

And Bucky had accepted him. He understood, as Steve did, that they were meant to be together.

And even though he cared deeply about Tony, it couldn’t compare to Bucky. He had loved Tony. He still loved him, but it was different. He realized that love came from the admiration he felt for him.

The other man’s mind was something he would never even dream of comprehending. Ever since the first moment they met when they were sixteen, he could see the prodigy that Tony was. A mind that made even his own father feel threatened. Tony shone whenever he went, and in a way, he had liked that too, being on his side, sharing that spot. But it always came with the harsh reminder that he would always have to share. Tony’s heart was always divided: Steve, his inventions, the world’s endless attention.

Tony Stark was for the world to observe and love. Bucky Barnes was only for him.

He had dedicated most of his life to him. And now Tony wanted to cut him out. Not just of his life, but out of the company, too?

Steve was angry. He wouldn’t allow that all his life’s work would go to waste just like that. It was his time to live— to be happy. Tony could cry out and make all the fuss he wanted. In the end, he needed Steve as much —or even more– as Steve needed Tony. His relationship had always been like that, an exchange.

The sound of the sliding door opening behind him broke his thoughts.

“You’re brooding again,” Bucky’s voice came, low and teasing. “I could see the smoke from the street.”

Steve turned his head slightly, catching sight of him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him. For a moment, the tightness in Steve’s chest loosened.

“Pepper’s moving against me,” he muttered, gaze shifting back to the skyline. “She’s rallying the board. And if she’s doing it, Tony’s behind it. He wants me out.”

Bucky stepped closer, resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You knew this could happen, Steve. You and Tony… it was only a matter of time before it blew up.”

“I gave him everything,” Steve said sharply. “I stayed. I took on the company. I—” He broke off, jaw tight. The words tasted hollow even to him.

Bucky’s hand slid down his arm, steady. “You gave him pieces of yourself, but not the part he needed most. And you know that.”

Steve closed his eyes, leaning into Bucky’s touch for just a second, as if it could silence the guilt clawing at his insides.

“He can’t take this from me,” Steve said finally, voice hardening. “I won’t let him.”

Bucky tilted his head, studying him. “So… what are you going to do?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He just gripped the balcony railing tighter, knuckles white against the cold metal.

Tony sat in his office, staring at the city skyline through the glass wall. Pepper’s words still rang in his ears.

“Steve’s calling in favors, Tony. He’s not going to step down quietly. Be ready for this to get ugly.”

He’d given her a faint nod, pretending he had the energy for another corporate war, but the truth was he felt hollow. The radiotherapy sessions left him drained, his body heavy, his head buzzing. The last thing he wanted was to sit through boardroom battles with Steve.

He was holding his head between his hands, his elbows resting on the desk, as he focused on breathing. The phone buzzing beside him made him flinch.

He reached for it, already preparing himself for Pepper—or worse, Steve, calling again, refusing to accept that Tony would only deal with him through lawyers now.

But the name on the screen made his chest twist.

Stephen Strange.

Tony stared at it longer than he should before answering. “Doc. What’s the verdict—am I dying yet?”

There was a pause on the line, then that familiar dry voice. “Well, if you keep skipping meals, it will not aid our cause.”

Tony huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “You spying on me now?”

“I don’t need to. You sound exhausted. You need to rest.”

“Rest?” Tony glanced at the stack of files Pepper had left him. “Wish I could. But my husband is apparently plotting a corporate coup, and I have a company to defend. Don’t suppose you’ve got a pill for that, eh, Doc?”

“You already take more pills than I’m comfortable with,” Stephen said, his voice softening. “And none of them are going to help if you burn yourself out before treatment even has a chance to work.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. That warmth was back in his chest, that dangerous feeling he hated to recognize. Somehow, Stephen’s steady voice kept slipping under his armor, making him feel seen in a way Steve hadn’t in years.

 “You are really bossy,” Tony muttered.

“I’m your doctor. Comes with the job.” There was a soft teasing. Stephen’s voice was warmer. “But I can drop by later if you’d prefer someone to remind you in person.”

Tony blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His chest tightened with something he refused to name.

“Sure,” he said lightly, covering it with a smirk the doctor couldn’t see. “Come over. You can lecture me about kale or meditation or whatever you think will keep me alive. Just don’t bring a stethoscope— I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

“I’ll leave the stethoscope,” Stephen said dryly, but Tony could hear the faint smile in his voice.

When the call ended, Tony sat in silence, staring at the black screen of his phone. Apparently, being in death’s bed was making him bolder.

He just hoped he would not live long enough to regret it.

Stephen ended the call and set his phone down on his desk. He didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at the blank screen as if it might answer the question gnawing at him.

What are you doing, Stephen?

He’d treated hundreds of patients before. He’d seen brilliance and despair, defiance and resignation. But none of them had gotten under his skin like Tony Stark had.

And he couldn’t even say why. He had agreed to take Stark as a favor for a colleague—high-profile, yes, but manageable, and certainly able to pay. He’d braced himself for a difficult case, expecting a cocky billionaire genius with no regard for authority—which was somewhat true, but scratched barely the surface of who Tony Stark really was.

He was ashamed, now, to admit how much he’d let gossip and headlines color his expectations.

The man who had walked into his office had been nothing like the Tony Stark he’d seen from afar, through the screens. That Stark was untouchable, proud, too sure of himself, always in control. This one was… fractured. Brilliant still, sharp-witted, exhausting to keep up with, but beneath the armor of sarcasm and bravado, Stephen kept catching glimpses of fragility.

It unsettled him. It intrigued him. It drew him closer when he should have kept his distance.

Christine had already teased him, accusing him of being starstruck. He had denied it then, his pride hurt by the thought. Now he wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t the fame. He couldn’t care less about the headlines or the wealth. That kind of noise meant nothing inside a hospital. What struck him was the contradiction—how a man so brilliant, so quick, so dazzling in front of the world, could look so unbearably fragile when he thought no one was watching.

Tony deflected with jokes, wielded sarcasm like a shield, hid behind his work—and yet somehow, he still wore his heart on his sleeve, convinced no one would care enough to notice. He carried his illness as if it were a personal failure he had to hide. Most patients leaned on their loved ones, but Tony kept pushing everyone away. As if convinced it was some kind of punishment he had to deal with all alone.

And Stephen kept finding himself stepping into that empty space.

It was unprofessional. He knew it. He’d sworn more than once that he wouldn’t cross that line, that he wouldn’t fraternize with a patient. His job was to treat, not to care. But here he was, offering to visit Tony at home, lingering too long when he adjusted a scarf, letting his tone soften in ways it never should. Letting “Stark” become “Tony” in his head when he couldn’t even pinpoint when the shift had happened.

Why? Why him? Why now?

Stephen leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had made peace with solitude years ago. When his romantic relationship with Christine had crumbled down, he had come to accept that he just wasn’t made for that kind of love. Not the quiet understanding, the shared glances, the natural intimacy he’d seen her find with her husband later on. He had told himself he didn’t need it.

And yet, here he was, slipping. Noticing Tony’s smallest expressions. Remembering his nervous tics. Worrying about him outside the hospital. Waiting for the next excuse to see him again.

Because beneath all the bravado and genius, Tony looked like a man who had forgotten how to believe he was worth saving. And somehow, against every rule and every instinct, Stephen wanted to be the one to remind him.