WHO: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers WHAT: Tony wants to meet the man he pulled out of the ice. WHEN: Monday the 23rd, late afternoon WHERE: S.H.I.E.L.D, Medical recovery.
Steve Rogers rested in his hospital bed, hands folded across his stomach, eyes glazed and slightly vacant. Exhaustion permeated his every pore, his head throbbed so viciously that he was certain it would roll right off his shoulders, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He regarded this compulsion with a sort of wary amusement, uncertain why he would want to sleep after sixty years of doing just that.
Sighing, he turned to the door, blinking owlishly. There was someone out in the hallway, just outside his door. He hoped it wasn't another doctor. He'd seen nothing but white coat after white coat since he'd woken up.
Tony stood in the hallway, one arm resting on the frame above his head. They had the man in appalling conditions, really. A sparse, white room with no window, no paintings, no nothing. If Tony had been given any say in the matter, he would have had Captain America convalescing in a room at the Hilton but, of course, Fury had the ruling hand in the matter. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't swing by and brighten the place up a little.
"Hey there," he walked into the room, a brown paper package under one arm. "You look considerably better than the last time I saw you. more color in your cheeks. And...considerably more defrosted."
Steve blinked, surprised by the... well, the color. The man who'd just entered the room was dressed impeccably in a dove gray suit, and sporting the neatest facial hair Steve had ever seen. A slow, bemused smile spread across Steve's face, lighting his features.
"Ahh, hello," he offered, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm... afraid I don't remember seeing you..."
"Well, you wouldn't. You were terribly unconscious at the time." Tony quipped, grinning and making himself at home sitting on the foot of Steve's bed. He extended one hand - sporting a huge, gaudy class ring - and placed the package on Steve's feet. He wore a broad grin on his face, the grin of an excited boy, and his black hair was artfully messy.
"Tony Stark, Stark International. I pulled you out of the ice, Cap."
"Please, call me Steve." It felt like the hundredth time he'd spoken that particular phrase, but he was still smiling as he took Stark's hand. "I gotta say, Mr. Stark, I'm in your debt. Anything you ever need..."
He let the thought trail off, unsure of what exactly he could do to help this man, who gave the distinct impression of having absolutely everything at his fingertips. Mildly embarrassed, Steve cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. "It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine, Steve," Tony smiled, his hand still firmly wrapped in Steve's. He let it linger a moment, amused to find himself star-struck, before letting it fall. "I'm sure you're going to pay me back every time you do just what it is that you do so well. S.H.I.E.L.D is glad to have you back."
He relaxed for a moment, absently tapping a raised area on his shirt, before gesturing to the package. "God only knows how long Fury will make you lay here, so I thought I could use the distraction. I...know a little about you, I think you'll like it."
Steve cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed by the attention. It had always made him uncomfortable; his place was on the front lines, not sitting in a hospital bed smiling at an endless parade of people with stars in their eyes. He was slightly dismayed to see that expression of hero worship cross Stark's face, and he covers the feeling by reaching for the package.
His lips part in surprised pleasure as he draws out a sketchpad and a box of pencils. "You... but... I..." He closed his mouth with a snap, realizing how stupid he sounded. "Thank you, Mr. Stark..."
"Oh god, no," Laughing, Tony lifted his hand dismissively, shaking his head and leaning back against the raised foot of the bed. "Don't call me Mr Stark. Investors and journalists call me that. Call me Tony, please,"
He sat still for a moment, a feat that seemed to cause him endless frustration, before glancing down at the gift. "It's nothing. I believe I'm correct in assuming all of the whirring and beeping machines in here might get a bit much...I thought you'd like something to remind you of, well, you. Just keep it to yourself, my friend, I don't want to get a reputation as the generous, thoughtful type."
Steve stared for a moment, his aching brain still struggling to process everything that had happened to him in the past week. There had been so many people, so many questions. Tests upon tests, people poking and prodding him endlessly, and every last one of them calling him 'Cap' in that admiring tone of voice. It was enough to drive a man crazy.
"I'll try," he said, a faint smile crossing his face. "I appreciate this... all of it." Steve hesitated, staring at Stark with naked affection. "You know, you're the first person who's treated me like a real person..."
Crossing one leg over the other, Tony tapped his fingers against his knee and paused briefly, shining his class ring on the sleeve of his jacket. He wore a secret sort of smile on his face, the expression of a man who was in on the joke.
Well, we have a lot in common, Steve. In different ways, I suppose. But that's for later, you've no doubt still got the headache from hell. Allow me to introduce you to one of the greatest inventions of the past sixty years." He produced a small white bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket, tossing it onto Steve's lap. 'It's called Tylenol. Make friends with it. I don't think your doctors, numerous though they are, will whine too much about my slipping it to you."
"They told me not to take anything extra," Steve said dubiously, picking up the bottle. Pills rattled inside and he settled the medicine on a bedside table. "But I appreciate it. I'll ask a nurse when I see one again."
He was quiet for a moment, studying Tony as he sat there. He had an interesting sort of face, delicate and well put together, but still masculine. "Do you have anywhere to be?" he asked suddenly, fingers spidering across the bed towards his new pencils. Might as well see if he still had it while there was someone interesting to draw. "Or can you stick around for another... fifteen minutes?"
"Let me just...check..." Tony fumbled inside of his jacket again, searching for his palm. The request had caught him off guard, flattering sure, but an interesting way to kick off a working relationship. But why the hell not...a personal portrait by Captain America, still laying in his defrost-ee bed? The dollar value alone...
He flipped open the small, hand-held planner, tapping the screen and nodding. There were several afternoon meetings, and he needed to fit the new screen inside of the helmet, but... "Sure, I can stay. There's nothing that can't be done later. Just make sure you get my good side..."
"They both look like good sides," Steve laughed, unconsciously complimenting Tony. Really, though, he was one of the only interesting people that Steve had seen since waking up. As the pencil began to move across the sketchpad in quick, sure strokes, and the smell of graphite filled his nostrils, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax away.
"It's your eyes," he said suddenly, barely aware of his non-sequiter. Evidently, the art of conversation eluded him still. Sketching, though, seemed to be no problem; the outline of Tony's face was emerging under his pencil, and he smiled faintly. "There's something different about them."
Tony tried to sit as still as possible, his eyebrow twitching a little as he repressed a smile. He wasn't about to go into the money he had dropped on spas, skin treatments and everything else that went into looking good. The flattery was easy to take without spilling the details.
"Thank you," he grinned, unable to help himself from reaching up and loosening the silk tie around his neck, rubbing habitually at the reactor in his chest. "I'm not exactly chiseled out of granite and patriotism, like yourself, but I like to think I'm somewhat well put together."
"You're very well put together," Steve answered eagerly, leaning close to the sketchpad, trying to get the eyes just right. There was a little tilt there at the corner... "Your eyelashes are incredibly long."
"Come on now, you'll make me blush..." He watched Steve out of the corner of one eye, grinning a little as blue eyes bore concentration over the paper. This was definitely not what he had expected...true, he hadn't been all that sure of what to expect, but this was certainly not it. After a lifetime of collecting memorabilia, he had been practically buzzing to meet Captain America...but the man behind the mask was proving to be much more interesting.
He hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat before the shrill tone of his cellphone cut the silence. He groaned, holding up one hand and taking the tiny phone from his pocket. "Fuck...sorry, hold on..."
Steve looked up and watched in baffled surprise as Tony began to speak into what looked to him like an impossibly slender piece of red plastic. He didn't understand at first what was going on; there was something about the way Tony held the object, and something about the way he spoke...
Steve realized with a shock that the little plastic thing was, somehow, a phone, and he fell back against the pillows, brows drawn down. It certainly wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen - the memory of that first glimpse of the New York skyline still haunted him - but it reinforced the fact that he was in a completely different time then way nothing else quite had.
He sketched a few more lines and dropped the pencil from numb fingers. It could have been better. There was no soul in the picture, nothing that made it more than a two dimensional picture of Tony Stark. Sighing, he tossed the pad onto the bed and closed his eyes.
"Was that today?" Tony spoke with the phone pressed his ear, groaning and rubbing a hand over his forehead. He pushed at his hairline, revealing what looked like a deep, recently stitched cut, something certainly at odds with his immaculate suit and expensive phone. "Well...no, I'd rather be doing this, but...fine. Alright. Tell them I'll be late...thank you, Miss Potts."
He sighed, snapping the phone shut and sliding it back into his pocket, glancing at Steve with an honest apology on his face. "Looks like we're going to have to continue this later. I think you'll be seeing much, much more of me...it was wonderful to meet you, Steve."
Steve opened his eyes and it felt like he was dragging up two ton weights. "That's fine," he murmured vaguely, lifting the pad and handing it to Tony. "Here, keep the picture if you want it. It isn't very good." He smiled, slow and tired, well aware that he looked utterly lost. "I'll draw you another when I'm not so tired."
"Personally, I think it's fantastic...but you keep it. I think I'd like to wait until the set is finished." He winked, taking a slim rectangle of card from his wallet and leaving it on the table beside Steve's bed. It had a number written in ink on one side, and Tony's name on the other. "This is my personal number. If you get bored, or they don't put you in room with a window in the next few days, give me a call. I promise I'll make more time. Deal?"
He shook Steve's hand as he turned to leave, grinning at a passing nurse and leaving the woman with a distinct red blush on her cheeks. With that, he was gone.