For Bellanca

It happens at the oddest of times.

Like when Steve wants to go through the automatic car wash.

It's a new experience for him, and you rarely go through them yourself, but just this once, you agree. Normally, you wouldn't trust that kind of machinery around your babies, and you would rather wash your cars yourself, but this time, it's special, because Steve is acting as giddy as a child, and so you comply, for him.

You ignore the way your chest tightens anxiously, and set the car in neutral, watching as your favorite Audi R8 is encased in the darkened tunnel of water and soap.

You last for about a minute.

The panic sets in. Your head spins, your eyes burn...everything feels wrong. Your chest is killing you, and for a moment, you fear that the arc reactor in your chest is failing at its job to keep you alive.

Steve notices the way your knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel so hard, and he certainly hears your quickened, panicked breathing. It's then that you realize you can't breathe- it feels like your insides are collapsing- and you are trying so hard to just suck in a little bit of sweet, precious oxygen.

"Tony."

Steve is worried, as he places his hand on your thigh. The contact causes you to shudder in surprise, and with a series of hysterical gasps for air, you switch gears and you drive out of the car wash.

Steve's protests go unheard as you're only focused on escaping the hell that you're certain you've got yourself into.

Water, darkness, unfamiliar noises, caves...it's suffocating you.

It all comes back to you so violently that you feel you might be sick. You tear out of the car wash and pull off to the side of the road, still trying to get ahold of yourself and breathe. You open the car door and stumble out, clutching the roof of the car for support, your other hand on your chest.

Steve gets out and comes to your aid, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You're embarrassed for him to see you like this, gasping for breath and trembling from more than just the cool September air.

It's a clear, crisp night in New York. Steve was treated to dinner, and on the way back, he suggested the car wash. Regret shines in his worried eyes as he stares at you, no doubt feeling that he's to blame for...for whatever this little episode is.

It's then that you realize Steve has never seen you like this before, and he's bound to pester you with questions, because he sure looks freaked out.

"Tony..! Tony, it's ok." Somehow his soothing voice brings you back to reality. You're not in Afghanistan. You're on a quiet side street, in the depths of the city. You're with Steve. You're fine. Breathe, dammit just breathe...

You can't bring yourself to say anything, because you don't trust your voice. You clear your throat, fix your composure, and suddenly you're back in the car, driving safely home with Steve.

"Turn here." He says, and you do. You know this street. It's not like you go to Central Park very often- you never have the time- but like any New Yorker, you know your way around.

You park, and Steve helps you out of the car, much to your dislike. Other than worried glances from Steve every 2 seconds, the ride had been silent and tense.

You walk down a darkened path towards the biggest lake in the park, intertwining your fingers together when you're sure no one is around. You stand at the edge of the lake and stare out at it, wanting to say something to break the silence, but not sure of exactly what to say.

Luckily, Steve does it for you.

"What the hell was that?"

His tone is concerned, slightly demanding, and laced with disbelief. You know he's serious, because Captain America doesn't curse. He's never been to a car wash before, but he's certain you aren't supposed to drive out of one like a maniac, which is exactly how you went about it.

You swallow, staying silent as you grind your jaw nervously, wanting to erase your little breakdown from both of your memories.

It's awhile before you finally answer, and when you do, it's as smug and sarcastic as always.

"Nothing to worry about. I've never really liked car wash's, is all."

Steve doesn't buy it, you can see it on his face, but he doesn't say anything more on the matter, which you're thankful for.

He pulls you close and you're thankful for his tall build and warmth; a welcomed change from the biting cold of fall.

"We'll talk about it later," he says, and you cringe because you really don't want to. Steve feels this because he pulls you even closer and rests his chin on the top of your head. Normally, the position would make you feel small and uncomfortable, but you don't attempt to escape his strong embrace because you've already been embarrassed enough for one night.

You watch as the moon rises above the sparkling lake, and you think, because that's all that you're good at. Thinking, and overthinking at times, because you've somehow convinced yourself that you don't deserve the support that Steve is offering you. You're pathetic, and weak, and dammit you've let too many emotions slip through the mask you've worked so hard to construct.

You're a failure. Tony Stark is afraid of car washes, and Steve is probably laughing at you on the inside, because you're a fucking joke.

You grind your teeth, and you're probably trembling again, because Steve is leading you back to the car and mumbling something sweetly about getting you to bed.

You know that you won't sleep.

You're drunk.

Steve isn't around, and that's fine. You don't know where he goes, but it doesn't matter to you because your clouded mind isn't comprehending things properly anyhow.

Things haven't been the same since New York.

You can't sleep, you barely eat, and you don't spend as much time with Steve as you should. It's hard when you're always in your workshop anyway.

You're fairly certain, that you're messed up in the head. Wormholes, caves, and just about every other near-death experience you've had is always popping into your head, at the worst of moments.

Dates with Steve, board meetings, debriefings with Fury. Anything. It's mostly when you're alone, whether you're in your shop, drinking yourself stupid, or just driving home. But the ones in public are the ones you remember the most, because it's so much harder to get a grip. If it weren't for JARVIS, or Steve, there would have been several occasions where you probably would've gone insane. (Well, more so, at least.)

It starts with good old fashioned anxiety- something you've had since Afghanistan- and it slowly gets worse. There's the trouble breathing, and the chest pains, and sometimes things get even more physical than that. More than likely, it's triggered, like that stupid car wash incident a few weeks ago, but lately, it's been for no reason at all. (Or so it seems that way.)

You pour another glass of scotch and down if in two gulps, sighing as you stare out the window at the sparkling lights of New York below.

It's been almost a year since the incident, but sometimes, you swear you can still smell the burning debris of the city. It seems like now is one of those times, because you have to turn and bury your face in the cushion of the couch to keep from gagging; the smell of smoke is almost unbearable. Then you're sure that you've lost you're mind, because you know that nothing is burning, but yet there is smoke in the room, and it's choking you.

It's hard to breathe again, and part of you wants to blame the smoke, but you know better.

"Sir, shall I alert Captain Rogers..?" That's JARVIS, always looking out for you.

"No..!" You gasp, because he can't see you like this again. You press your face further into the couch and muffle a sob, because your head is spinning and you're nauseous from your own damn imagination.

But you swear that the city it burning again, because right before your eyes you can see the wormhole. The dark portal into a cold nothingness, and now it's swallowing you up, and sucking the oxygen from your lungs.

You jump, and stumble off the couch, gasping for air as you lay on the cold floor, watching the room spin around you as you wait for reality to set in.

And then Pepper is there. She's rubbing your arm, and whispering comforts as she helps you sit up. The illusion fades, and now you can smell the familiar aroma of Stark Tower, and something that's suspiciously like Chinese take out.

"Thanks Pepper..." You mutter, and the hand on your bicep pulls away. You blink. Steve is fixing you with a hurtful glare, and it takes you longer than it should to realize your mistake.

"M'drunk..." You slur, because it's the only excuse you can offer.

He shakes his head and pulls you to your feet, effortlessly and a little roughly. The room spins, and again, you blame the alcohol.

Before you can even blink, you're sitting in the kitchen with Steve, several boxes of Chinese takeout laid out. Steve has already consumed 2 of them, but you're still staring blankly at the small box of rice in front of you, debating whether or not you should eat it.

"Tony, you should eat." Steve is gentle but firm, and although you can see that it's his mouth that's moving, it's Pepper's voice that you hear. You shake your head roughly, and wonder if you'll puke if you eat anything. You already feel like it anyhow.

"Can't," you say simply, because it's the truth. The empty feeling stirring in your stomach makes it hard to concentrate.

Steve helps you to bed, and doesn't even fuss that you didn't eat anything. You down some pain meds for the hangover that's bound to come, and pass out as soon as your screwed up head hits the pillow.

At some point, you decide to distract yourself from everything by busying yourself with work.

Press, board meetings, charming smiles, alcohol, parties, awards. Girls throw themselves at you, and years ago you would've taken them home two at a time.

But you're loyal, and politely decline because you're in a committed relationship now.

Steve doesn't like when you're away too long, but you don't mind because it's an escape. Maybe New York is a bad idea. You used to reside in Malibu, but since Pepper left, you and Steve decided that Stark Tower is better.

Less memories, but yet, new ones have surfaced since living in the city. They're just different. Less saddening, but altogether more painful. Physically.

Your anxiety has only gotten worse since the Chitauri, and the panic attacks are intense and embarrassing. So far, you've been okay, but it's seems like today- on your flight back to the city- you just can't get your thoughts to settle down.

You think about Pepper, probably more often than you should. You'd both decided on being friends, after all that you had been through together, but it seemed like at some point she stopped being even that. She disappeared in her work and even moved out from under your roof. She stopped being your PA and focused on being the CEO.

It hurt, more than it should have.

You're certain that at some point, you loved her. She was the only one that put up with you at your worst times, and now it seems like she is almost completely out of your life.

But then, you met Steve.

A smile graces your lips as you lean back in the comfortable chair of your private jet. It's the first time you've felt genuinely happy in a long while...

"Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?"

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

It was a rough start for you both. There were heated glares, sarcastic remarks, and even a few shoves here and there.

He told you to put on your suit and fight, but it was then that all hell broke loose.

You relied on him to help you fix the engine, and he nearly had you killed in there, but it worked out okay anyway.

And then there was the battle on the streets, when you were supposed to fight as a team and stop the Chitauri from destroying your planet.

The Avengers were deemed heroes, but it went unspoken that it was really you that was the hero. You flew that nuke into the portal, and wow Tony, didn't you know you could've died?

Unfortunately, it seems like the wormhole is a favorite subject for the press, and there have been times where you just couldn't handle an interview. It doesn't help that everyone recognizes you wherever you go- of course they do, you're Tong Stark!- because you almost never get a break.

The worst part is the kids, who mean no harm but cause it anyway. They come to you with toys and drawings, and things to sign your name on. You do, because you can't resist their excited smiles, but then they get nosy, and their harmless questions make you freeze up.

You can usually get out of it, by shrugging it off with a comment that redirects the conversation, but sometimes they're persistent.

Persistent like Steve.

After the battle, he approached you, and apologized. It was lengthy and sincere. He told you how he was wrong about you. He even went as far as to say he admired you, and you'll admit that it was a pretty great feeling hearing that from Captain America.

You didn't accept the apology at first, and you actually avoided him for a long time afterwards. Pepper was gone at that point, but the team had moved into the tower with you, for a short while. You locked yourself in your workshop, ignoring everyone except for Bruce, who occasionally came down and worked with you on one of your projects.

But Steve always seemed to turn up whether you were. In the kitchen at 3am, or on the roof at midnight. Every time you stepped foot out of your workshop, he would be there.

At first, it was irritating, and just plain annoying. But slowly, you grew to appreciate it. How sweet of him, to act like he cared. You knew that's what it was. Just an act.

But still...

Maybe, he really did care.

You smile, because you know now that he did. After you somehow forgave him, you spent more and more time around each other, until the day he ended up asking you to be more than just friends.

Next thing you know, you're announcing to the team that you two are officially a couple, and the reactions are...mixed.

Clint had thought you were joking, while Natasha remained as straight faced as always. Bruce got surprisingly angry, although he never revealed why. His eyes had flashed green, and he had walked off without a word. He came around later, apologized for being immature, and congratulated you and Steve. You still don't know why he wasn't happy from the start, although you suspect a number of different reasons. He doesn't treat you any differently, which you're grateful for, but sometimes, when Steve is mentioned, you swear you can see that glint in his eyes.

Thor was joyous with the announcement, slapping you both on the back rather roughly, and wishing you happiness in your relationship. Fury had rolled his eyes and told you that he'd be keeping an eye on you two. But as he turned away, you didn't fail to miss the slight upturn of his lips, almost in a sort of smile.

Rhodey and Happy had mixed feelings about it. They were both a little wary at first, asking you if you were drunk, or at least aware of the decision you were making. Once you'd convinced them that, no, you're not drunk, and yes, you know what you're doing, they hesitantly congratulated you. Although, you suspect that they aren't truly happy about it, they still offer you support, and they'll occasionally come by to visit you whenever they can- which is still rare.

You called Pepper to tell her too. Her reaction surprised you the most. She actually started crying and then hung up.

You remember the beginnings of your relationship. If was the first time you were actually...shy. Although you'll never admit it out loud, dating Steve Rogers actually kind of intimidated you.

He was so perfect and you were so...you. Steve had:

1) a better body

2) better morals

3) less people who hated him

4) way too kind of a heart

Basically, you were polar opposites. But that didn't stop the strange attraction you had towards him. In fact, you've always been crushing on Rogers, maybe even as a kid when you would sleep in you Captain America pajamas, or when you would collect all the comics and read them a million times over.

When he'd said to put on your suit so you could go a few rounds, you'd secretly hoped that he meant the opposite of what he was intending.

But eventually, you ended up together anyway, and things have gone pretty smoothly since then.

It's safe to say that Steve is the most sturdy thing in your life at the moment.

It happens again when you're out with Steve.

He stops you before you enter the theatre and calmly reminds you that it will be dark. You scoff and tell him you'll be fine, because you honestly aren't afraid of the dark.

The movie starts and Steve holds your hand. You're in the front row, so no one behind you can see; you both have reputations and a secret relationship to keep.

You feel fine, because 1) you can handle dark rooms, and 2) it's not like you haven't been to a movie before. Plus, Steve is right beside you, holding your hand, and so you feel okay.

But of course it doesn't stay that way.

The film is some big hit, action-packed thriller, and because Steve heard some good things about it, you both agreed to watch it for your date night.

At first, its the gun shots that make you flinch. You have to calmly remind yourself that gunshots are not that big of a deal, and you've heard plenty in your lifetime to not be bothered by them.

But it doesn't stop there. The main character is tortured, twice. You watch the agony spread across the face of the tortured character, and you squeeze Steve's hand as hard as you can because you can relate. He knows it too, because in the dim light of the theatre, you see the worried glance he gives you.

The theatre is packed with people, you tell yourself. You're safe. Besides, now would not be a good time to freak out.

The scene changes and suddenly, it's a foreign country. There's a desert, and people are speaking in a strange language. One that you can almost recognize, because it sounds horribly familiar.

You squeeze your eyes shut, which is probably a bad idea because it makes things darker, and even worse. All you see is darkness and all you can hear is the gargled words of a foreigner, speaking what you think might be Arabic.

Breathing a little heavier than you should be, you open your eyes and try not to scream.

It's Raza. He's there. You can see him, right on the screen, smiling darkly and holding a set of blueprints, his mouth moving as he spews his indecipherable language. His eyes, dark and evil, are staring right at you. Then, in your right ear, you hear him whisper your name in perfect English.

You jump from your seat and bolt out of the theatre. Your heart is pounding and you can't shake the ringing in your ears, hearing only whispers of Afghan languages.

Steve finds you in the public bathroom, kneeling on the floor and hunched over a toilet, heaving your guts out.

He sits beside you and rubs your back, waiting for you to finish throwing up. When you do, you sit up slowly, trying to calm down because you're shaking like crazy. Steve is staring at you in concern, regret and disappointment in his eyes because he warned you, and you said you'd be fine.

"I'm sorry," you choke out, and you bury your face in his shoulder and try not to cry, because on top of everything, you do NOT need that right now.

He helps you up and leads you to the sink. You shake your head when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, because you look like shit, and Steve is right there next to you again, helping to clean up your mess.

"Don't be sorry," he finally says, as he watches you rinse out your mouth and wash your hands. Every move is slow and shaky, and it's not but ten minutes later when you finally emerge from the men's room, wearing your sunglasses and trying to leave the theatre in as casually of a fashion as possible.

You make it to the car and you collapse in the passenger seat, because just this once you think you'll let Steve handle the driving. You feel like a failure again, and you hate yourself for ruining yet another date. Steve seemed to be enjoying the movie too, and you're so selfish that you just had to spoil it for him.

You're stomach heaves in guilt, and you consider leaning out of the car and being sick again, because you feel absolutely terrible.

"When are you going to tell me what's going on?" Steve asks, sounding hurt and upset. He should be, because you're trying to hide this from him, when all he does is help you through it. He deserves to know, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the detailed, complicated truth without sounding like a complete psycho. And maybe you are.

"He was there..." You say instead, you're voice quiet and hoarse. You cringe because it sounds absolutely stupid, but Steve turns and stares at you, love and concern evident in those baby blue eyes.

"Who was there?" He asks gently, to which you barely manage to tell him it was Raza. Steve wants to ask who Raza is, but then he remembers that he read your file, and it suddenly all clicks into place.

"Oh Tony, I'm sorry." He says softly, reaching over and placing a warm hand on your knee. "It's my fault, I should've known that this movie had-"

"No," you say roughly, shaking your head. "It's mine. I couldn't fucking keep it together for two fucking hours because I'm too fucking pathetic."

Steve flinches at your cursing, but he doesn't give up. Persistent as always.

"Let's just say it's neither of our faults. We just need to be more careful."

You shake your head, because you don't want to make this a big issue. You can handle it yourself, like you always have.

Steve sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading for home. You're glad he doesn't look at you again, because he doesn't notice the way you're digging your nails into the skin of your forearm. You flinch when blood cakes under your fingernails, but you don't stop because you deserve the pain and the reminder that you need to keep it together.

Halfway into the silent ride, Steve asks, "what can we do?"

You quickly hide your blood-stained finger tips and swiftly pull the sleeve of your jacket down, biting your lip as you feel even more guilty and dishonest.

"Let's go to the beach."