Work Text:
Their bedroom after the war is quiet. There is no hand touched to sleep warmed skin. There is no laughter over sleepily muttered terms of affection. There are no words whispered in the spaces in between languid morning kisses. There are no bodies becoming one as lust intertwines with passion. There is no breath released as the heat and tangle of their bodies becomes too much. There is no love in this empty room.
There is only silence.
Tony hasn’t stepped foot in their bedroom for eight days, hasn’t spoken to Steve in seven. In the absence of his lover, Steve is left to try to fill the empty spaces in his life. The other side of the bed is cold, the bathroom counter is immaculate, and there is coffee in the cupboard of their floor’s kitchen. Steve has never wished for Tony’s ability to spew toothpaste all over the sink or consume a pound of brewed caffeine a day more than right now. But Tony had holed himself up in the lab and initiated lock down after the news and there was nothing Steve could say or do to get him to come out. So Steve was left with a lot of empty space to fill with bad TV, 4am workouts, and nights spent staring at the ceiling wondering why?
Why do bad things happen to good people?
---
“Alright there Cap?”
“I’m okay Clint.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
---
The nursery was painted a pale yellow with an intricate jungle mural on one wall. A pair of gibbons sat atop the tallest tree branch, a baby gibbon nestled in between them. In the far corner, a gorilla sat next to an exasperated looking orangutan, both looking on as a purple elephant sprayed a giraffe with water. Lounging on a branch above the water was a green leopard.
“Steve, why the hell are the animals eighty shades of weird?” Tony asked as he outfitted a mobile (“new and improved Babe, look!”) above the mahogany crib.
“For someone so smart Tony, you are incredibly stupid sometimes.” Steve laughed, putting his brush down and wiping his paint smeared hands on the butt of his jeans.
“Woah, woah there! I’m not the one with multi-colored animals okay? What are you trying to teach our son Steve? Cause I’m pretty sure that-“
“It’s a metaphor Tony.” Steve deadpanned. “They’re us. I mean, me and you and the team.”
“Oh.” Tony said, stepping off the ladder and making his way over to hug Steve from behind. “Well, metaphors are cool.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Hey Babe, you know what my favorite metaphor is?” Tony asked with a smirk, hands creeping to the buckle of Steve’s belt.
“I have a feeling it involves a shower and some impressive coordination on both our parts.”
“Mmm, I knew I married you for a reason.” Said Tony, dragging Steve out of the nursery and down the hall.
Now, the mural just stood as a reminder of things that could have been but never were, of a life taken too soon. But Steve couldn’t bring himself to paint over it.
Metaphors are hard to forget.
---
“Both myself and the director think it best if you and Stark take a bit of time Captain.”
“I understand Agent Coulson.”
“We’re just going to push some paperwork through. I’ll send the leave papers over to the Tower for you both to sign. A few weeks is all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Steve?”
“Sir?”
“I am so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything you need-“
“It’s fine. Thanks you sir.”
---
It takes three months to finish the nursery.
It takes a single conversation to decide upon Clint and Natasha as godparents.
It takes a slightly longer conversation (or twelve) to convince Tony that he’ll be an amazing father.
It takes nine months and three weeks for their surrogate, Mary, to go into labor.
It takes twelve hours of nervous pacing to learn that it’s a boy.
It takes 4.6 seconds for Doctor Kleine to say “infantile suffocation.”
It takes two words to destroy a family.
---
“It’s been twelve days Steve. Don’t you think you should try to get him to come out of the lab?”
“He’ll come out when he’s ready Nat.”
“You can’t just hide. And you know he’s not the one to come seeking.”
“This isn’t a game Nat.”
“I know.”
The lab has been completely blacked out for twelve days, fourteen hours, and twenty three minutes.
---
On the thirteenth night, Steve finds himself lying on the floor of the nursery, staring at the glow-in-the- dark solar system stickers Tony had placed on the ceiling. In their soft green glint, he runs his hand back and forth over the velvet of the baby blanket he has draped across his chest. He breathes in the imaginary scent of a son who had never laid his head upon the fabric. In his mind he can see the blue tinged skin of his son, lying in the hospital morgue. He can feel the coolness of the skin as he grasps the lifeless hand in his own. He breathes into the blanket once more, trying to banish the cool metal of the table and the smell of antiseptic from his weary mind.
He snaps his eyes open.
The room is too dark and too quiet.
He’s suffocating.
So he gently gets off the floor, cradling the blanket to his chest, and flicks on the mobile above the crib. It flickers to life, stars and planets dancing along the walls in dulled blues and purples. He reaches out to touch on of the sun’s rays, smiling as it dances across his fingertips. The sound of rain pours from the tiny speakers Tony installed around the nursery and if he closes his eyes, Steve can almost imagine holding his son.
He slowly sits back down in the center of the room.
He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until the tears drip down onto the blanket he’s subconsciously bit down on trying to suppress his screams.
---
On the morning of the fourteenth day, Steve finds the lab door unlocked. Mentally preparing himself for the worst, Steve hesitates 1…2…seconds before opening the door.
The lab is…immaculate. The table tops are cleaned off, tools in their cases and neglected paperwork from Pepper sitting in neat little stacks. Steve walks cautiously into the lab, eyes roaming the room until he sees Tony sitting against the far wall, head tucked into his knees with his arm covering his bent head. Steve opens his mouth to call out to him but stops himself when he realizes that his husband is surrounded by his bots. Dum-E is whirring softly, rubbing his metal arm up and down Tony’s shaking back. Butterfingers and U chirp and whir from their places beside Tony’s crumbled form. The bots have formed a protective circle around the man, Steve realizes, trying to protect him from his own grief. He quietly backs out of the lab, leaving Tony to grieve his lost child with the children he had created with his own hands.
---
“Do you want to paint over it good Captain?”
“…no…let’s…let’s leave it.”
“A good choice Steven. You cannot erase family.”
“No Thor, no you can’t.”
---
It takes Steve sixteen days to muster up the strength to sit down with the team for breakfast. Nobody says anything but if Thor slips Steve an extra strawberry poptart and Natasha lets her hand brush across his while passing the orange juice, well, it’s family so who’s to say anything?
---
“Are you- I mean…okay?...”
“No Tony, I’m not…but we will be.”