zebiks.cc 
Tony knew his plan of going back to the tower was a poor one at best. Now he’s well and truly convinced it’s the worst idea he’s ever had. The paperwork and thousands of messages and hundreds of items on his ever-growing to-do list are one thing; the reporters that are camped outside the tower – despite several public order notices that forbid them from doing exactly that – are something else entirely. Clint is at his side, trying to shove through the crowd without hurting anyone. The strained consideration won’t last; Tony can tell that he’s at the limits of his patience, but fuck it. So is he.
God, he never thought he’d crave the silence and stillness of Steve’s hospital room. Which he really needs to stop thinking of as Steve’s room, because that means he’s starting to feel like Steve belongs there-
“We understand that the Captain is dead-!”
“He is not dead.”
The vicious words are out before Tony can remind himself that he’s not meant to say anything. The crowd surges, the noise swells, a hundred more questions thrown his way in a torrent.
“Get in the damn car,” Clint snaps at him, trying to step around to the passenger side, but finding his path blocked. “Jesus, will you lot fuck off.”
“We just want to-”
“Just a quick statement?”
“Iron Man, what are you going to do without Captain America?”
Tony sees red. He lashes out and knocks the closest camera to his face to the floor.
“I am not going to do anything without Captain America, you got that?” Tony snarls, kicking the camera at his feet away even as the reporter stoops down to snatch it back up again, cursing violently at him and threatening to sue. “He is going to be fine, and you know why? Because there is no-one else who is going to be leading this team, and the universe knows it. There is no-one else I want leading this team, there is no-one else I want beside me, anywhere, at any fucking time. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can get back to him.”
There’s close to uproar at his words, more shouting and questions and he’s had enough, he wants them out of his way, and fuck, why did he open his mouth because now he’s let slip they want more, they always want more-
Suddenly there’s a flurry of movement next to him; there’s the rough sounds of a scuffle, a cry of pain and then there’s a reporter with a bloody nose on his ass next to the car and Clint is squaring up to the remainder, arms apart in a clear ‘come at me,’ gesture. The reporters aren’t taking up the challenge, and instead are hastily backing away.
“Get in the fucking car,” Clint says tersely, without looking around.
Tony does. He opens the door and climbs in, and Clint ducks into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. The noise from outside is instantly muffled, and he’s grateful for the hard top and tinted windows of the car, could easily stay in it all damn day, cocooned away from the noise and the faces and the rest of the world.
Trembling with anger and adrenaline, Tony grips the steering wheel and leans over it, pressing his forehead to the leather. “Well done,” he says into the space between his hands. "The Avengers PR team are going to have your balls for that.”
“Relax, no-one knows who I fucking am anyway,” Clint says moodily, slouching down in his chair. “Besides, they’re going to be more bothered by your little tantrum than me swinging punches. Are you even – do you get what you just said? You know what they’re going to read into that.”
Tony doesn’t bother to reply. He knows Clint is right, and he’s already regretting his outburst. He’s just stretched so thin, his emotions already at breaking point, ragged and torn. It’s hard enough to keep a lid on it all even when he’s not being harassed by journalists.
Fuck it. He’s got more important things to think about. More important places to be.
More important people to be with.
Sitting up, he jerkily puts the car in drive and the wheels spin as he slams his foot down, the car screeching angrily and impatiently away from the curb, whipping him through the streets of the city and back towards Steve.
“You know, playing poker against someone with the same tells as you is pretty pointless."
Steve snorts with laughter at the disgruntled look on Seven’s face as he frowns down at his cards. He, Seven and Brooklyn are sat on the roof of the apartment building in the morning light, and have playing since the dawn first broke. After spending several unsettled hours tossing and turning, Steve had given up on trying to get any decent sleep, instead leaving SJ asleep and heading up to find some air and space to clear his head. Originally, he'd planned to sit up here by himself and just think, but the others have actually proved to be a welcome distraction so he’s not going to complain.
“Yeah, I can’t exactly keep you guessing with my expressions seeing as they’re yours as well,” he muses, and slides the top of his cards over his lower lip, humming thoughtfully.
“Play against the Commander,” Brooklyn says, sounding distracted and pulling at his lip with his thumb and forefinger. “He has no tells whatsoever.”
“Yeah he does. You just have to watch really carefully,” Seven says. “Try playing against Winter. He could undergo torture and not blink.”
The gritty crunch of gravel draws Steve’s attention. He glances up from his cards to see Shield walking across the roof towards them, expression as serious as ever. Brooklyn salutes him as he comes closer, and he nods back in greeting.
“Morning,” he says evenly, walking closer and standing right behind Steve, arms folded across his chest. “Wondered where you were this morning, Steve.” Steve immediately recognises the tone of voice and wearily braces himself for questions. “How’re you doing?”
Steve nods. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Better now we’ve got something to go on, rather than feeling like I’m sitting on my ass waiting.”
Shield nods in understanding. “Ready to go back out later?”
“Mhhm,” Steve says, eyes still on his cards. “How many people have put their names forward?”
“Two hundred and four,” Shield says, and they all look up simultaneously.
“Two hundred and four?”
“Well, what did you expect?” Shield says with a short laugh, and he sinks down to sit next to Steve, kicking one leg out and leaning back on his hands. “Would you stay behind?”
“The hell I would,” Steve concedes. “How many have just said to hell with it and gone anyway?”
“None as far as we know,” Shield says. “They need you, remember? A few of them have been back that way before and nothing’s ever happened. “
“Great,” Steve says, feeling his stomach swoop. “To be reminded it’s all on my shoulders here.”
“It’s not-”
Steve recognises his own calm, placating tone in Shield's voice and he feels irritation swell in his chest because that’s exactly what he doesn’t need right now and Shield probably knows that damn well.
“It is all on me and you know that damn well,” he says shortly, almost snapping. “It’s me whose got to learn something from this whole damn experience and no-one can get home until I do, even though I have no idea what that’s even supposed to be.”
There’s a beat of strained silence, and then thankfully Brooklyn breaks it. “I’m out,” he grouches, and drops his cards down onto the concrete. “Steve?”
Steve blows out a breath. No-one says anything about his outburst, which probably means they understand where he’s coming from so aren’t going to argue with him, but they don’t exactly want to encourage it by agreeing either.
Hell, he can live with that.
“Still in,” he replies, and flicks another quarter into the pot. Seven looks at him and then down at his cards, brow furrowed in contemplation.
“Steve!”
He looks up to see SJ appear in the doorway to the stairwell, looking pink-cheeked and breathless. He’s grinning widely and runs across the roof, skidding to a stop and slumping over Steve’s back, barely enough weight for him to even notice. His cheek presses against the back of Steve’s neck and his arms dangle over his shoulders, hands in mid-air. Steve’s expression turns exasperated and Seven hides a smile, looking down at the quarter he’s turning over between his fingers.
“Don’t mind me,” Steve says pointedly, and reaches up to gently take hold of one small hand. “Gosh, you’re cold,” Steve comments, concerned by how SJ feels even colder than he usually does, fingers icy against his skin. “Where have you been?”
“Outside by the river with Hudson,” SJ says, and clasps his hands together for Steve to wrap in one warm palm. His arms are skinny and tight around Steve’s neck, and it’s odd how reassuring it is despite the chill. “I was going to ask you to come but you weren't there this morning, and Stephanie said to leave you alone for a couple hours so I went and found Park and we all went to the river. Sticky went in and Hudson pulled him back out again.”
“Well you know better than to mess about by the river when he’s there,” Shield says, and frowns at SJ where he’s lounging over Steve. “Come on, give him some space.”
“He’s alright,” Steve says absently, and SJ’s arms bend, folding around his neck so he’s stopped lounging and moved onto something closer to hugging. “Seven, what're you playing?”
