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Tony Stark was done. He'd almost died being kidnapped and blown up with his own weaponry. Almost died having his body forcefully altered in a dirty cave. Almost died after being betrayed by the closest person he had to a relative. Almost died of poisoning by the very thing keeping him alive. Almost died in a wormhole to space fighting actual aliens while flying a nuclear bomb on his back. Almost died fighting a murder-bot he'd accidentally built. Almost died at the hands of an actor pretending to be a terrorist by way of an actual terrorist who was a literal flaming asshole. And then he'd been dumped by the woman he loved. It was time to admit his life sucked and wasn't looking to get better anytime soon.
He'd been sober since the palladium poisoning. He’d thought trying to keep himself healthy was a good decision. He'd thought being sober would make him a better boyfriend. He’d thought being on the wagon would make working with a team better. He'd thought wrong. three months ago, when Pepper removed her things from the penthouse, he'd fallen off the wagon. Then he’d broken the wagon into kindling and set the bitch on fire. Drunk felt better than sober.
Well, drunk felt less than sober. Drunk felt numb. Drunk felt like brief, beautiful oblivion. Drunk felt like nightmares couldn’t touch him. Because sober, his dreams had always been startlingly clear. Dreams of that missile, lying beside him with his own name stenciled in (ha-ha) stark relief. Dreams of the cave. Dreams of water. Dreams of a gaping, bloody, excruciatingly painful hole in his chest being filled with a horrible metal contraption. Dreams of his heart being ripped out while he was frozen, paralyzed, awake and aware and utterly unable to protect himself. Dreams of poison filling his veins. Dreams of the vast fleet of aliens headed toward him through a hole in space. Dreams of that sudden, complete silence in the wormhole. Dreams of the endless fall that followed. Dreams of that sibilant voice in his mind “there are no strings on me”. Dreams of Malibu and losing almost every material thing he loved. Dreams of Pepper. First of her falling, then of her burning, and finally, lately, of her leaving. Drunk meant he could sometimes sleep through for several hours in a row without waking himself screaming.
And now, it was the winter of his discontent. Standing on the sidewalk at 3 am with a locked bar door behind him, he realized he’d lost his phone. The street was completely deserted. He’d already been somewhat drunk before he left the tower. He'd been at least somewhat drunk every day for three months. He’d taken a cab here because it was easier. Easier than driving drunk. Easier than leaving one of his cars on the street. Easier than calling Happy to drive him. Well, he couldn’t call Happy to drive him at all anymore, could he? Happy was living in Malibu acting as Pepper’s personal security. Now, Tony couldn’t call Happy, or a cab, or even an Uber. Because he had no phone. Cold, hard drops of rain mixed with ice hit him on the head. His sucky life just kept getting worse. He wasn't drunk enough for this, or maybe he was too drunk for this.
He would just have to walk home. He could still walk. Maybe not a straight line, but the sidewalk was wide enough to forgive some weaving. Sloping piles of dirty snow and ice lined the edge where concrete met asphalt. It wasn't quite freezing out, so the walkway wasn’t icy and slippery. He’d still have to be careful though. If the wintery mix soaking through his jacket wasn’t warning enough, the sharp points of wind stabbing through his layers certainly were. He should have dressed warmer. A hoodie and a jacket were not sufficient for the late-night temperatures. A pretty decent bar-hopping disguise, but not really warm enough for the winter weather. This was going to turn into a storm soon. The tower couldn’t be more than 8 or 10 blocks from here. He could make that before things got bad. He hoped. He started down his chosen path, towards where he thought the tower was. However, just a few blocks down, the freezing rain had reached deluge levels. He was soaked through to the bone and had started shivering. Bits of ice had started to accumulate in his beard. Why couldn't he have fallen off the wagon in the summer? He ducked into the nearest alley. It was dark and dirty. He could smell rotting garbage. But it was a little out of the wind and there was a tiny awning over some shop’s back door. He huddled down on the square of concrete underneath and tried to make himself small enough to fit under the cover. He’d just rest here for a bit, just until the storm lessened. He passed out before the sleeting stopped.
When he woke, he was no longer in the wet, cold alley. In fact, he was somewhere dry and almost warm. He was confused for a moment before realizing he was indoors. Actually, he was still confused. His head was pounding, and he was shivering hard enough to clack his teeth together. His clothes were damp and clingy and uncomfortable. He tried to sit up but found himself too weak and shaky. His skin felt cold and clammy to the touch but at the same time, he felt like there was a furnace inside of him. The room he was in was only dimly lit. It smelled musty. There were boards over the windows. A portable, battery operated heater was a few feet away. If he wasn't mistaken, he was lying on the floor with only a thin blanket beneath him. Inspecting more closely, he was not, in fact, mistaken. A second thin blanket covered him, topped with a jacket that wasn't his own. He had no idea how he came to be here or where he was. He only knew that he felt terrible. More terrible than he usually did after a night of drinking.
A man came into the room. Daylight shone through the open door for a moment and then all was dark again.
"You're awake." The voice was quiet and deep and unfamiliar.
"Where am I? Who are you?" Tony struggled again to sit up, failing spectacularly. Why did he feel so weak?
The man stepped into the little light there was. He was tall and broad, dressed in dark clothes. His muscled body and strong, amazing, thighs were in the light while his face remained in shadow. His posture was stiff, the line of his body looked unyielding.
“Doesn’t matter.” The mystery man came closer and crouched near Tony. Close, but not close enough to touch. Close, but still in the shadows. In his gloved hands, he held bottles of fever reducer and cough medicine. Seeing the medicines brought the previously unnoticed tightness in Tony’s chest and head to the forefront. This might be more than a hangover. He coughed harshly, and his brain felt like it bounced in his skull. “You’re sick. Feverish.”
“You don’t say? Well, Florence, what am I doing here instead of at a doctor’s office?” Coughing again caused Tony’s headache to grow into an incessant pounding. He really was sick. He reached for the pills. He just hoped they were really what the bottle advertised and not some creepy stuff that had been changed into an innocuous container. Random strangers would love to have Tony Stark under their power.
The man kept the bottle from Tony but tore open the protective seal and shook two tablets out into his hand. That was one worry off Tony's mind. His benefactor pulled a bottle of water from behind him somewhere and offered the pair to Tony. While he’d usually refuse to accept anything by hand, Tony felt badly enough to take the medicine and the, thankfully, unopened water. The restriction of his breathing was a sure sign of illness. Why, oh why, had he slept outside in the winter? Oh yeah, because he was a raging alcoholic.
His mysterious stranger retreated to the other side of the room, leaving the cough medicine behind. He slipped seamlessly into the shadowed darkness and Tony would never have known he was there if he hadn’t seen him go there himself. The man hadn’t said anything about money or ransom or business ventures. Maybe he didn’t know who Tony was? Tony probably didn’t look his best, what with having a hangover, rumpled damp clothing, and the beginnings of a severe cold. He’d tell him who he was later, he was too tired to talk anymore right now. After dosing himself with the cough medicine, Tony needed his rescuer to come back and help him to the bathroom. He was weak and exhausted and embarrassed. As soon as he was returned to his pallet, Tony immediately fell back into a restless sleep.
He woke in a groggy state several times during the night. Each time, the man was sitting close enough to him to share his body warmth. Tony was cold and shivering, so having a guy who was basically a space heater next to him was nice. Using one of the firmest thighs he'd ever seen as a pillow was comfortable. He kind of wished the man would lie down and keep more of Tony’s body warm. Each time, Tony sank back into sleep to the rhythm of a warm, strong hand stroking his hair.
When he finally woke fully, there was a lot more sunlight coming in through the space between the slats on the windows. He immediately coughed until he could barely catch his breath. So, that wasn’t a drunken dream. His nurse-of-few-words was sitting against the wall nearby. “So, doc, will I live?” Tony hoped levity was the right tone for the situation. Honestly, he couldn’t be bothered with anything else.
“You’re still feverish.” Doctor Loquacious was as eloquent as ever. He pushed the pain pills and cough medicine closer to Tony and then pulled another bottle of water out of nowhere that Tony could see. In the brighter light, Tony could, however, see the man’s face. His eyes were a stormy blue, his nose aquiline, his mouth almost pouty. Most of the rest was covered in messy stubble. His hair was lank and the way the man had his head tilted one side of his face was mostly curtained by long strands cut unevenly near shoulder length. He was oddly beautiful, for all he looked like he was living rough.
“My name is Tony. You have a name I can call you? Calling you tall, dark, and silent in my head is getting a little tedious.” Tony coughed harshly again, for nearly a minute before finally quietening. The man just shrugged and looked away. Tony took the medicine. He really didn’t like being sick.
“James.” Came the answer, in a voice that sounded the sort of gravely that came from disuse. He'd had no noticeable reaction to Tony's name. Maybe this guy really didn't know he had Tony Stark in his squat.
“Well, James, what brought us here, together?” Tony thought getting more than three words strung together from James was a pipe dream. He usually dreamed larger than life anyway.
“You were in the rain.”
Five words! All in a row! Tony decided this was progress and he needed to keep trying. “Okay. But how did I get here, and why am I here with you? And why are you here, in this crap room?”
“I brought you here. Carried you. I kind of live here.”
This was practically a conversation. Tony’s head was starting to throb again though. And he’d had nothing to eat since lunch yesterday, so he felt weak and a little lightheaded. He tried to sit up but swayed until he bumped the wall. He groaned at the slight impact on his already painful head. James shifted closer and helped him prop up and then rearranged the blanket and jacket over Tony’s lap. He pulled Tony against his side and curled his arm over Tony’s shoulder. Tony closed his eyes against the light. He could smell James’ body odor. This guy was obviously homeless. At least he had some kind of shelter instead of sleeping on the street.
Tony’s stomach took the opportunity to growl loudly. His face flushed with embarrassment. James leaned away and rummaged in a backpack before turning back with two power bars and another bottle of water. Tony took them gratefully and ate and drank in silence.
“I, um, need another trip to the little engineer’s room.” Tony was mortified to have a stranger take him to the bathroom. James was exceedingly careful with him though. He was gentle in assisting Tony to stand, and he kept a light hand under Tony’s elbow as he walked. He waited outside the door while Tony did what he needed and then helped him just as carefully back to lie down.
“You’re taking better care of me than my actual friends do. Ex-friends. Ex-girlfriend. Whatever. Point is, I usually have to do everything alone. So, thanks.”
James looked uncomfortable, but said, “I like taking care of people. I used to have someone I took care of, but I don’t really anymore. Now, I mostly just have myself.”
“I’m supposed to be a strong independent man who don’t need no help from anyone. I don’t always feel like one, but everybody treats me like that's what I need to be. And like helping me is a hardship. I know I should be able to always take care of myself, but I wish I didn’t have to go it alone. I don’t like feeling that I have no one to lean on. Except, really, I have to do it myself anyway. Whether I want that or not.” Tony was a little horrified that he couldn’t control his mouth as much as he wanted. The fever was obviously interfering with his conversation filter. He really shouldn’t have admitted he needed people. But this guy didn’t seem to know who he was. This man didn’t expect Tony the sick guy to be a major business mogul with responsibilities. He didn’t know Tony was Iron Man and supposed to be nearly invincible and certainly not allowed to show weaknesses. He probably wasn’t going to be judged for this vulnerability.
“Taking care of someone always made me feel good about myself. I miss doing it.” If James was glad to do it, then Tony was glad to accept it.
“Someone taking care of me makes me feel good about myself. But right now, I’m tired, Livingston. I think I need to lay back down. You’re warm. Lay down and keep me warm. Please.”
James helped Tony lower himself back to the floor. There was some awkward shifting and bumping against each other until they were finally comfortable together. Tony lay with his back to James’ chest. James' arm was stiff atop his own side as if he were avoiding letting it lay over Tony. This was awkward spooning. Tony reached to pull it across himself and James’ whole body went rigid. Tony felt along the arm. It was unusually hard.
“Prosthetic?”
“Yes.”
Tony patted the forearm twice and moved his own arm away. No need to make the guy with a fake arm feel uncomfortable about it. He knew not to draw attention to people with disabilities. He hadn't liked it himself when he'd still had the arc reactor inside his chest. Plus, his mother had taught him better. A few minutes later, Tony was perfectly warm and slipping into sleep.
It was hours later when Tony coughed himself awake. He thought maybe the fever didn’t seem as bad now. James didn’t appear to be there. Tony dragged himself to sitting and felt around the edges of his blanket-bed. He knocked the pills over but found the three items he was looking for. He took the medicines and drank the water and wondered where his quiet benefactor was. He’d only been awake for a few minutes when the air shifted, and he knew he wasn’t alone.
“You’re awake”
“Hello to you too, Trapper John. Where’ve you been?”
“I got more food.” James dropped his backpack and pulled out a crumpled sandwich. He passed it to Tony with a slight grimace. “Sorry. It got crushed.”
“No problem big guy. You brought me food, I’d be a rude guest if I complained about the service.” Tony opened the sandwich to find ham and swiss with mayonnaise. Not his favorite, but certainly better than a power bar, or nothing at all. Nothing at all would be terrible indeed.
“So, you used to play nurse with one of your buddies? Or a girlfriend? A wife? Kids? Were you actually a nurse?” Tony hated silence. He’d rather make inane conversation than have to just sit here listening to James breathe.
“A friend. He was always sick. His ma worked a lot. I was useful.”
“Useful? That seems like cold comfort for helping out a friend.” Tony wondered how this guy had come to live in this ramshackle place if he had a friend he liked that much. Maybe his friend died if he’d really been that sick. “Where’s your friend now?”
“He got better. Moved on.” James shrugged and looked away at the opposite wall. “We went to war and things changed. I don’t see him anymore.”
Tony coughed again, which made him clutch his head in pain. James pressed the back of his right hand to Tony’s forehead. He frowned. “You still have a fever. Did you take the medicine?”
“Yes, mother hen. I took the medicine. So, war, huh? War’s tough. A lot of soldiers come home changed, the loss of structure can hit them hard. And the hyper-vigilance thing. Traumatic experiences and all. Is the war the reason why you’re here instead of, you know, in the regular world? Is that where you lost your arm? Sorry. Sorry. Asking that was rude.”
“Yeah. You could say the war changed me. After the war, I was…lost. I’m still confused a lot. Directionless. I feel like a monster half the time. I was a soldier for too long. I don’t know if I can ever stop being one. I did a lot of things I regret. Following orders. Letting them point me in whatever direction they wanted and then pulling my trigger. Like I was nothing but a weapon myself. Not human. Not able to choose for myself. And, now, I don’t have the means to live like a regular person. Not just the money, but the clear-mindedness. The ability to think for myself. Like I'm still lost. You know?” James seemed to be warming up to talking. Maybe he’d just had no one else to talk to for too long. Tony noticed him rubbing his right hand along his false left arm. “And, yeah. I lost the arm to the war.”
“Well, you’re doing a good job right now. You’re helping me while I’m down. Feeding me, bringing me medicine, and water. You’re not confused about that. You don’t even know me. You don’t have to take care of some stranger you brought home from an alley like a stray dog. You're choosing to do that. Making that decision on your own. To help instead of hurt or fight. You don’t seem like a bad guy. You seem like a kind person. I would have probably gotten pneumonia and died in that alley if you hadn’t found me. And even if I had made it home on my own, I’d be there alone. No one to make sure I took the meds, no one to bring me something to eat. I’d just be sick and suffering and…well, and lonely. You don’t talk too much, but you’re pretty good company.”
“It feels good. Right. You know? Like I have a purpose, maybe. Like I have something important to do again. I’ve missed that.”
Tony coughed himself close to unconscious. He sighed. James helped him lay down again and wrapped himself around Tony. He pulled the thin blanket up near Tony’s neck. James’ radiated warmth. Tony closed his eyes in bliss. And exhaustion.
“You’ll be okay. Just try to rest some more.”
“Thank you, House. You make me feel good.”
Tony drifted to sleep.
When Tony woke the next day, he could tell that the fever was not as bad. The cough was still horribly painful. His reduced lung capacity made the extra breathing restriction so much worse. The more he coughed, the more black spots danced before his eyes, and bright flashes of light pulsed behind his eyelids. James served him his medications with a cereal bar and a bottle of apple juice.
“So, what do you do with yourself? Living in this place, no real home, no real life?”
“I have a real life. This place is almost a real home. I come back to it every night. It’s temporary, but it’s temporarily mine. And I work. I do some odd jobs for cash a few days a week. Helping clean the floors at a bakery. Move boxes and tables out in the morning and in at night for a bodega. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough that I can pay my own way, no stealing, except living here.”
James had begun making eye contact when they talked. Tony liked being able to see his blue eyes become animated when he spoke. Sometimes, his gaze was flat and distant, as though he were seeing something that wasn’t here, wasn't now. But when he was describing his life, his eyes showed his emotions. Tony felt like it was a level of trust, even if it was trust between strangers.
“A few days a week? What do you do the rest of the days? Don’t you get bored? I work every day. I hate being bored.”
“I told you about taking care of my friend? Before? Now, taking care of people helps clear my head some, so I volunteer at a few homeless shelters. Drop in and spend the day serving food or sorting donations or mopping floors. Whatever they need. It helps me. Helping people, I think it makes me feel more like myself? Like whoever I was before the war. Before the confusion.”
James’ eyes looked distant again. Tony figured conversation was done for now. He managed to get himself off the floor and to the bathroom on his own. He really was feeling better. Except for the coughing. That still made him feel like he might pass out. But he didn’t feel as weak, and he felt more alert. They shared a lunch that James pulled out of his backpack of wonders. Tony could have sworn it wasn’t big enough to have the stuff in it that James kept taking out.
“Remember I said I have to do everything myself? When I said, “have to”, I really meant “have to”. I guess it’s called being a control freak. Coupled with paranoia. I’ve been through some shit myself, not a war, but I’ve seen battle. And some of those battles were against people I thought I could trust. People who stabbed me in the back. People who stole from me. So, I do have to do everything myself, for myself. I can’t trust anyone else to have my back. To help me without trying to take something from me. I can give, I love to give, giving is easy. But people aren’t content with what I can give to them freely, they want what I need to keep for myself. What I need for myself. The things that protect me or the people I love. Things that keep me sane. Things that touch my heart. Those are things I can’t live without and I don’t want to give them to anyone except who I choose to give them to. But people keep taking them anyway.”
James had really opened up to him earlier, so Tony wanted to share equally. He could afford to tell this stranger some of his more secret fears and faults. He knew this man wouldn’t judge him for them. This man had his own fears and faults.
When Tony lay down to sleep that night, James took the place behind him to share his warmth. And the prosthetic arm came over Tony’s side and curled around his stomach. A comforting weight, holding him safely.
When it was morning again, Tony woke without a headache. His skin felt looser. He didn’t shiver even once. Apparently, the fever had broken. He rose from his pallet and walked the perimeter of the room. Pausing by the window, he peered out. The weather was clear and dry. The only sign of James was a small pile of clothes in one corner. Maybe he’d gone for breakfast or something. Tony felt better enough that he knew he had to leave.
He’d been here too long. He’d been away from the tower long enough for someone to notice. Pepper probably needed him to sign something and he’d be in trouble for being out. She’d be disappointed instead of angry. He hated disappointing her. He didn’t want to go back to being alone. James had been good company, not a great conversationalist, but a comforting presence even when silent. It was going to be lonely back in the tower.
He scrounged around until he found a scrap of paper. There was a pen in the pocket of his hoodie. He left his phone number and a short note to call Tony if he was ever ready to rejoin society and get off the streets. He knew he’d probably never hear from James again. But he had to offer. He could really help James if James wanted help. It would be a kindness to repay a kindness. And he really liked James. He liked being cared for.
Tony left the condemned building. He had only walked one block over when he found a side street that led back to a main road. It was only a few blocks from there to Park Avenue. He could see the tower in the distance. He found his wallet, surprisingly still in his jacket pocket. Or maybe not surprising. James wouldn't have stolen from him. He hailed a cab. He was exhausted already. He’d been drunk. He’d fallen unconscious in an alley, in the rain. He’d been taken in and cared for by a homeless vet. He’d been ill. He’d barely eaten for three days. Tony Stark was done.
Three Months later:
Tony exited his latest AA meeting and stopped to let the sun’s warmth settle on his face before slipping into a waiting cab. He thought briefly of those cold days spent feverish, in a dark room, with a helpful stranger. He thought about that a lot. He’d taken that stint of sleeping in a squat as the wake-up call he needed. He’d decided he needed to be sober again. AA meetings were helping with that. Three months drunk. Three months sober. Nice symmetry. He was functioning better in all aspects of his life. He and Pepper were back to being friends. He was in semi-regular contact with the team. He was letting Cap use his networks to search for Bucky Barnes. He was healthy. He was working. He was, not necessarily happy, but certainly content.
His phone rang. It was an unknown number. He almost swiped it to ignore. Impulsively, he answered.
“You’re a go. Who’s this?”
The phone was silent for so long Tony thought it may not have connected. He pulled the phone away and looked to see if the line was active. It was.
“Tony?”
“Yes. This is Tony. You called me, you should know who I am. Who is this? How did you get this number? This is my personal line. You should call reception if you want something. I’m a very busy man.”
“Um. Sorry. I…I…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” Tony recognized that voice.
“Wait! Wait! James? Is that you?” Tony hoped he wouldn’t disconnect. He had never really believed he’d hear from James again. He thought about him often. He’d even gone back to the abandoned building where he’d spent those few days with James. There was no one there. The blankets and clothes were gone. James was gone. “James? James?”
“Yeah. Um, yeah. Tony? You said I could, I mean, I thought…I wanted.” The line went silent again.
“Yes. Yes. This is Tony, I did say, I did mean, I did want. Are you okay? Where are you? I can meet you.”
“I’m, I’m on the sidewalk. There’s a coffee shop here. I can walk to meet you, maybe. I just thought…I wanted to maybe find my way back. You know, from the war. Find my way back to the regular world.”
“Give me the address. Don't leave, I’ll meet you there. 15 minutes, tops.”
Ten minutes later, the cab was dropping Tony at the café where James was waiting. Tony stopped on the sidewalk to smooth his suit and brush back his hair. He tucked his sunglasses into his suit pocket. He felt exposed. James didn’t know that he was Tony Stark. And he definitely didn’t know that he was Iron Man. James just knew him as Tony the sick guy. Tony who passed out drunk in the rain in an alley. Tony who needed someone to take care of him because he was basically a mess. Tony was still basically a mess.
He entered the shop and saw James at a table in the back corner. James looked up as the door's bell jangled. They made eye contact. Tony watched as James saw that it was him, and then slow recognition came over James' face. His entire countenance went blank. Tony faltered on his way across the room. Damn.
"James. I'm glad you called. I looked for you." Tony hoped his being Tony Stark wasn't going to be as big of an issue as it looked like it might. He couldn't really help who he was.
"The location was compromised. Did Steve send you?" James spoke quietly and without inflection. A flat, almost harsh, tone.
Tony paused. "Steve? You mean Rogers? Why would Rogers? How would he even? Oh." In the bright light of the coffee shop, seeing James clearly for the first time, Tony knew 'why Rogers'. How did he miss this three months ago? He was sick, feverish, and the lighting was terrible. That's how. Now it was Tony’s turn to be surprised. "So. Barnes. Gotta say, I didn't see that coming."
"Did Steve send you?"
"No. Steve has no idea. Hell, I had no idea. I didn't know it was you any more than you knew it was me. Can I sit? I'm going to sit. Less conspicuous." Tony pulled out the chair directly across from James, from Barnes. "Okay. I was on a bender. I was stupid and careless, and you found me in an alley for cripes' sake. None of that was planned. You helped me out. Took care of a total stranger just because taking care of people makes you feel good. Because you're a good person. I left my number because I liked the guy who took care of me. Because I like someone taking care of me sometimes. It makes me feel good. I wanted to help you out if you needed. You called. I came. End of story."
James looked skeptical, but at least it was an expression. Tony fidgeted quietly. He could give the man a minute to think. Although, he was half convinced James, Barnes, was going to bolt. The silence stretched. Finally, James nodded.
"Okay, I believe you. This makes it even more complicated though. I'm in no condition to be pals with Steve right now. Hell, I only just decided I might stop being homeless. I called because I thought I could get myself straightened out for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, before I let him know how to find me. Steve is... Steve is looking for Bucky. His old friend. I'm not up for all that. So. Thanks for the offer. But, I'm not ready. Not yet."
"Steve doesn't live with me anymore. They all moved out to a new facility upstate months ago. I'm rattling around in the tower with just the bots. If you can handle that, the offer still stands. I don't talk to Steve much. I can just not mention you until you're ready. If that's the way you want to do it. I want to help you. Whether you're James the homeless vet or Bucky Barnes, Cap's long-lost bestie."
Barnes was quiet for so long, Tony was sure he was going to say no. He could hardly blame him. James the homeless guy might be able to reconcile himself with Tony Stark offering to help him out. But Barnes, Barnes might find it too difficult to come in from the cold with Steve’s teammate.
“Come on. You come to the tower. You get to shower regularly. You get to eat three meals a day. You get to sleep in a safe place. You get to maybe let your guard down a little. Relax, get a handle on yourself. Breathe. Maybe come to terms with some stuff. You can bring me lunch and remind me to eat a real meal. You can tell me I need some sleep occasionally. Put that caretaker spirit to work for a bit. And you can let Steve know when you’re ready.”
Barnes looked like he was listening, at least. He still didn’t say anything, but he finally nodded. Tony let out a sigh and bowed his head a little. Relief washed over him.
“Okay. Okay. Let me call a cab. I’ll take you home. We can take care of each other, so we can both feel better. And when you feel better enough, you can do the taking care of. And I’ll let you because it makes you feel good. And because it makes me feel good. That’s gotta be healthy, right?”
Tony stood first. He wanted to let James know he meant what he said. He was ready to follow through. He just needed James to be ready, too.
James rose slowly from his chair. He looked Tony straight in the eye. Maybe he was measuring Tony’s sincerity. Maybe he was daring Tony to back down. Tony didn’t know. All he cared about was James coming with him.
“Alright, McDreamy, let’s go home.”