All right! Here we go! Last chapter up and running!

This took a bit longer than anticipated, but not by much. Ha ha~

idjits, I have to wonder if your name is due to Bobby on Supernatural or not. Heh. I mean...I know the word's been around longer (we all said it), but I'm just curious. So...is that a good or bad thing you didn't expect it? O.o I mean...it was kinda spur-of-the-moment even for me to do it, but I felt like it worked and was plausible (maybe?). IanVampLover, I told you that I'm an ass! It's Tony Stark - are there such things as "happy endings" with this man? We'd all like to think so, but is it possible? Ah...I dunno. We have both POVs in this chapter, though, so you kinda get an idea of what's going on in Captain's mind.

Okay! After the disclaimer, let's go.

Disclaimer: Um...I own a mini Iron Man bobble head and plushie, but that's it. Ha ha.

5: Preservation

Steve sat on the couch in the living room, his elbows sitting on his knees as he hands held each other – his chin was set on his outstretched thumbs. Already dressed from his earlier excursion, his mind raced. Tony was asleep and, though he knew he should have stayed, he could not bring himself to do so.

He felt guilty.

There was no other term he could think to use.

He had been trying to convince Tony that he was not comparing him to his father, that he saw Tony for being Tony; yet, in his mind, he would continually find things that the younger Stark did that would mirror the elder. It was unnerving, to say the least. The question he kept asking himself was who was he trying to convince? Tony or himself?

Tony hated his father – he made that perfectly clear on multiple occasions – but, at the same time, he was growing annoyed with him because Tony could not understand that Howard had still been there for Steve.

He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair to the back of his neck. He really needed to stop comparing the two.

But he did not feel about Howard how he felt about his son: that was one thing that he knew for a fact. Yes, Mr. Stark was his role model and his idol; he had been there for him when Steve had no one and believed in him, helped him; but he was more of a father-figure than anything else. On the other hand, Tony was completely the opposite. He did admire the Iron Man, but the way he felt towards Tony was more of a protector – did that sound bad? He wanted to look out for the man, protect him and keep him safe. Not because he felt indebted to Howard (okay, maybe that did play a small role), but because there was something about Tony that he just felt he needed to keep safe. He wanted to be there for him and to keep him from self-destructing. His entire life, he had always been the one to look up to people, never be the person being looked up to – or he never felt like people looked up to him. Not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers.

The nerdy kid from Brooklyn who only had aspirations, but never the capability.

And that was what Tony Stark, the man who had everything and only admired himself, did. Tony actually looked up to him – Steve Rogers – not America's First Super Soldier.

Perhaps that was why he was so apprehensive around him; because he did not want to disappoint him.

He scoffed.

Disappoint him.

That was exactly what he did.

And now he was sitting in Stark's living room, avoiding going back to the bedroom because he did not want to face the feeling of shame.

Damn it all.

Why did he have to feel this way towards the one person he probably should not? Then again, why should he feel bad? Tony wanted it and, though in the beginning Steve had tried telling himself otherwise, so did he. That was not the way he had ever intended going about it – just to prove to Tony that he did not care about him solely due to his father. No, he had wanted the first time with the man to be special – like intimacy was supposed to be. Hell, he had wanted his first time to be memorable.

The thought made him laugh.

It would be memorable, all right.

Okay, he had to go back. Regret or whatever, he could not just leave Tony alone. The man had enough people abandon him in his lifetime; the last thing he wanted was to make Tony think he was not going to be any different. Gathering up the will to do it, he stood up with a long sigh and made his way back down the hall towards the bedroom. When he walked into the room and slowly shut the door behind him, he called Stark's name, only to find out that the man was already asleep. His chest suddenly felt even heavier.

He shook his head.

Spotting the half-empty glass still sitting on the makeshift table, he picked it up half-mindlessly as he stared down at Tony's sleeping form. Setting his hand on the other's head, he let his mind wander to places he knew naught.

o-o-o-o-o

A loud curse echoed around the lab, followed by a crash and the sound of a fire extinguisher. The charger Tony had been working on had shot off of the table and crashed into a stack of metal sheets; flames flickered on top of the pile, which Dummy had made sure to douse. Tony dropped the torch onto the counter, set his elbows onto the table and ran his hands through his hair, sighing in aggravation. That was the third attempt that resulted in a malfunction. He could not seem to get his mind to stop thinking about other subjects for five minutes and it constantly resulted in minor errors on his part that did not end up being minor once he was close to being done. He looked at the area where the charger had shot off to. Foam was now sitting on it and the pile of scraps and he debated whether or not to actually get it and continue working on it.

He clicked his tongue and used the table to push himself to his feet as he hobbled over to get it. He had to use the beam running through the lab to bend down to get it and tossed it onto the counter. When he stood, he felt his hip pop, which had him ending up on the floor and another string of curses flow out of his mouth. Instead of getting up, he fell back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe he could just lay here for a few hours and get his thoughts in order.

He shut his eyes, feeling the cold floor beneath him.

A memory of night-before last night ran through his head: he saw Steve leaning over him with a nearly-emotionless expression, his eyes shining in a familiar look of disappointment.

His eyes opened to look back up. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he saw Dummy with its arm leaning over him. He held up his hand. "Don't even think about it." It lowered its arm and Tony could sense the discontent emitting from the A.I unit. When it raised its arm again as Tony moved to sit up, his hands shot back up again. "Ah! No." The unit whirred. "No, shoo." It slowly backed off, but not entirely; so when Tony's hand grabbed the translucent beam and Dummy's arm raised, he waved his arm behind him. "I swear I'll take you apart. Back." Another whir before the unit rolled backwards away from him. Tony hoisted himself up, careful not to put pressure on his hip.

Moving back over to the table, he sat back down on the stool, snatched the charger and the torch and began fixing his mistake for the fourth time.

Getting up yesterday morning, he was having a difficult time realizing why his body was ached. His hip and leg were experiencing a stabbing pain and his lower back and butt were sore with a throbbing discomfort. For the first minute, he thought he was experiencing ripples from a dream, but when he went to roll onto his side, it became obvious that he truly was aching from the previous night. He had honestly thought he had dreamt the whole thing, so when he woke alone, his regret came crashing down.

What had he have been thinking?

He short of blackmailed the Golden Boy to sleep with him and the only thing it accomplished was getting him to hate himself even more. There was no way Steve would even be able to stand being in the same room with him, let alone work together for the Avengers.

The charger sparked and a red-hot shard of metal came up and hit Tony in the corner of his eye – the one part where the goggles did not protect. Another curse and he ripped off the goggles and threw them down as he clamping his eyes shut and held the area where he had been hit. Shoving himself back from the table again, he kept the palm of his hand on the shard in his face and grabbed the beam with his other hand to move out of the lab. Another curse when his knee slammed into the wall at the bottom of the stairs outside of the lab; he managed to catch his balance on the rail. Step-by-step, he went up, still being mindful of his hip. Knowing there were no tweezers in the guest bath, he had to go to his bathroom, which was connected to the master bedroom.

The lights reflected off of the white marble and tile when he walked in, nearly blinding him from having come in through the semi-dark bedroom. He pulled the drawer open by the sink, rifling through it before finding and extracting the silver tweezers. Uncovering his eye, he leaned close to the mirror to see the small piece of shrapnel sticking out of the corner of his cheek, right below his eye. Bringing up the tweezers, he tried to grab it; steadying his hands, he managed to grip the small shard and pull it out, leaving nothing but a small dab of blood. Inspecting the piece, he flicked it off into the metal trash bin, and then tossed the tweezers back into the drawer. Once he wiped the small droplet away with a piece of tissue, it was quick to follow the shard into the trash bin.

Not long after he left the restroom, the lights shut off and he was standing in his dim bedroom, staring at the bed. Too many memories from the night before last. The pain and the pleasure at the same time, mixed with the feelings of shame and regret. He had not seen or talked to Steve in two days. Not that he found that surprising – of course the Captain would be avoiding him, why would he not? He contemplated on contacting him, say for some stupid reason, but he could not bring himself to do it. Last night, after a video conference with Thorton Enterprises, which were now on good terms with Stark Industries, Tony took the liberty of making sure he slept that night with a balanced diet of alcohol and sleeping narcotics. Even doped up, it was still a restless night and he ended up waking up early that morning.

Since, he had been dragging through the day, still half-zoned out.

It was nice he had nothing on his schedule; granted, most of the reason was due to Pepper, who had been making sure to keep him out of the public eye until he was healed up enough to where he was not limping from point A to B.

He had a feeling that tonight was going to be much like last night.

Making sure he did not stray too far from the wall, he made his way to the bar in the main room. Grabbing a glass and adding in the ice, once he had a generous amount of Silver tequila, he re-corked the bottle and took a sip. He half-turned towards the hallway, and then, after contemplating it, snatched the glass bottle, which was still nearly full, and made his way back to the master bedroom. He set the bottle on the makeshift bedside table, but carried his glass back into the restroom. Still holding it, he sat on the edge of the shower tub, took another sit, and then leaned over to turn on the faucet. Making sure he had the water at a preferable temperature, he plugged the drain and stood up.

He rarely took baths – mainly for the fact he was not find of sitting in stale water for allotted amounts of time – but he felt different tonight. Knocking back the vast majority of his drink in a triple shot, he went back to the bedroom to get the bottle. Setting the glass down next to it beforehand, he stripped all but his briefs before taking the alcohol and the bottle to the bathroom with him. He set the items on the side of the tub, then took off his last article of clothing to step into the nearly-filled tub. Once his weight displaced the water, however, there was enough to shut off the water and still have enough.

A hot bath and enough alcohol to make even the most tolerant person blackout.

Perfect.

He picked up the glass and killed off what was left before pouring himself another.

o-o-o-o-o

Steve stood by his bike outside, staring up at Stark's house outside of Manhattan and its many windows. Light from the starlit sky reflected off of the black-tinted windows, meaning either Stark was already passed out or the windows were on a set program. He had done the same thing last night – finding himself sitting outside, debating whether or not to go in. Granted, he did have an excuse yesterday. There had been a bank robbery at the Bank of America in central New York City while he had been inside with Banner talking to one of the off-duty clerks for information on a teller that had gone missing (the person that had been the "teller" for the past few weeks ended up being a skrull – not that they told the clerk that). Unfortunately, the robbery ended up being a standoff when the police arrived sooner than expected and it took a while for Steve and Bruce to figure out how to go about apprehending the offenders without getting anyone shot or killed. The standoff lasted nearly six hours before they had an opening.

It ended with one of the offenders having a broken arm from where Steve snapped it when the man went to discharge his weapon after a lady had crawled from the main room to a corner to access her cellphone. The other man was left with a bruised abdomen when he went to aid his ally and Banner took the opportunity to elbow the man in the stomach, which was followed up by an elbow on the back of his neck when he keeled over.

It was midnight when the Captain found himself outside of Stark's house, debating whether or not to go in. He had decided against it and went back to Stark Tower; Banner and Clint asked him if he had spoken with the Iron Man (Natasha was on assignment somewhere in Germany), but he waved them off.

No one would know what had conspired between them and there was no reason for them to.

Tonight had to be different, though. He was going to go in, no matter if his brain and heart were conflicting.

His mind reflected back on all of the pills he had found in Stark's restroom, which had him concerned. None of them had spoken with Tony since that night. Banner was due to stop by the following day to help remodel the Iron Man suit and make a new prototype for a phoneless phone (there was logic there somewhere). Leaving his bike, he walked up the sloped sidewalk leading to the main door. On the side of the door was a fingerprint recognition piece of software, which he did and the door unlocked. When he walked in the door and shut it behind him, JARVIS came over the com.

"Welcome, Mr. Rogers. I don't believe Mr. Stark was expecting company this evening."

Steve took off his brown bomber jacket as he walked into the living room. "Just figured I'd stop by and see how he's doing." He set the jacket on the arm of the couch as he looked around.

"Should I alert Mr. Stark to your arrival?"

"No, that's not necessary." He set his hands on his hips as he walked towards the stairs. "Is Tony in the lab?"

"No, sir." Steve frowned. "He is currently in the master bath."

Steve nodded and moved to walk down the hall. "Thank you, JARVIS."

"You're very welcome, sir."

The hallway was dark leading to Tony's bedroom and even when he entered the room it was mostly dark with only the light from the outside skies giving off a white light in the room. To the left at the end of the room was the door leading to the master bath; light leaked from underneath it. He sighed and figured to wait for Tony to finish whatever it was that he was doing. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and set his elbows on his knees. Shutting his eyes, he recalled the night before last: seeing Tony in a way he never had, he did not want the man to think that everything was because of Howard, but that was such a pathetic excuse. The fact of the matter was that he wanted to sleep with Tony, but not in that manner.

He opened his eyes, recalling the younger man's more-than-likely-infamous box and the other one that had been next to it. Curiosity reigned and he got off the bed to go back under it and search for it. The other was a lidded shoebox, which he grabbed and slid out. Ethics bit at him: he really should respect Tony's privacy. Stopping his hands on the lid, he clamped down on his jaw.

He wanted to know.

Really wanted to know.

Tossing his morals aside, he took the lid off and set it to the side, only to see an excessive amount of prescription pills for prescription and anxiety. Many of the bottles were only half full. Steve frowned, put the lid back on the box and slid it back under the bed. Standing, he glanced back to the bathroom door, listening for movement.

Nothing.

Perhaps he should speed the man up; he really wanted to talk to him.

Approaching the door, he knocked on it.

"Stark, can you finish up? I need to talk to you." He waited for a response, but when he received none, he knocked again, this time setting his forehead on the door. "Tony, please." There was still no reply. He pressed his ear to the door, listening.

Only silence lay beyond.

Knitting his eyebrows together, he set his hand on the handle and knocked with the other one more time. "Is everything okay?" The silence was going to drive him crazy. "Tony, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in." Another pause followed by more silence. "All right. I hope you're decent." He turned the handle and lightly pushed the door open, expecting Stark's voice to bounce off of the walls for him to wait and that he would be out in a minute.

Instead, he was nearly blinded by the lights reflecting off of the solid white surfaces. He squinted his eyes and let them quickly adjust, only to fully push the door open and stare with a dropped jaw at the bathtub.

Tony was passed out, slumping in the water with his left arm dangling over the edge. The bottle of Silver patron was empty on the floor and the glass broken on the floor where Tony's hand hovered just above it.

"Tony!" Steve cried out as he ran to the edge of the bathtub and dropped down. Entire body trembling, he leaned down to slide his arms into the water under Tony's back and thighs to lift him out of the tub. Water poured down every curvature of his body as he fell to a kneel, moving to hold Tony's upper body up. "Tony!" He ran his hand over his face, pushing his wet hair back. Setting his fingers on his neck, he felt a pulse – not a faint pulse, but a strong one, proving that Stark had simply passed out from the alcohol. A sigh left his throat and he pulled Tony against his chest into a hug. "You're such an idiot, Stark."

His heart jumped and he pulled back, staring down at the man below him. Unlike the prior night, seeing Tony completely exposed made him realize how vulnerable the eccentric billionaire truly was. It was one thing suspecting it; it was another thing to see it. Eyes digging into the Iron Man, the severity hit him and his chest throbbed. This was not Howard Stark's son – this was Tony Stark, a man within his own right. He had kept trying to see passed that, but he had not been able to. Every time he would look at Tony, even though he would deny it, not just to him, but to himself, he could not help but see Howard.

No.

This was Tony – an amazing man with a great intellect, great ability and a selfless human being.

Anger built in his stomach.

Why could Tony not see the great man he was?

Shaking his head, he quickly looked around to see a towel sitting on the counter. Grabbing it, he used it to wrap it around Tony's naked body, and then pressed his lips to Tony's forehead, shutting his eyes.

"Why don't you understand?"

He rocked the younger man back and forth for a few minutes, then adjusted his hold and used the towel to dry the younger man off. While he was rubbing his hair dry, Tony groaned and rolled his head, pressing against Steve as his eyes opened to slits with his eyebrows pressed and causing deep creases in his forehead. Seeming to have a difficult time trying to focus against the bright light reflecting off the white tile and marble surfaces, his mouth twitched into an emotionless half-smile. "Hey, Cap," he muttered as he relaxed, appearing as though he believed the image was an illusion.

Steve dropped his shoulders and looked back at Tony with a soft smile his ally's eyes fell closed, again. "Tony, you're an idiot," was the only thing he could respond. He rubbed his hair lightly with the towel and Tony fell back limp, passing back out. Once he had Tony reasonably dry, he picked him up as though carrying a child, as he had done multiple times, to get him onto a softer surface. He entered Tony's bedroom and moved him back over to the bed, lying him down with the towel over his hips and groin. The dresser against the wall at the end of the bed held Tony's casual clothes, which mainly came down to his sleepwear and undergarments; a few white shirts were folded in the same drawer, but Steve knew from previous experience that the other drawers held random paraphernalia. Boxer-briefs, gray sweatpants and a white wife-beater were taken from the only drawer containing clothing articles and he went back to Tony, sitting on the edge facing him. Setting his hand on Tony's leg, he watched his sleeping face for a minute, shaking his head. "You're like a child." Doing his best to keep Tony's modesty (though he doubted the man had any), he left the towel covering him as he got him dressed; a section of the towel was kept under the band of the briefs, which he pulled out before getting Tony into the sweatpants, careful not to move his hip in an odd direction. The arc reactor pulsed, which he could not help but notice as he slid the shirt over his head.

He shifted the covers after he had Tony lying down with his head on the pillow, but, unlike the usual nights where he had put Stark to bed from being passed out drunk, he moved around the bed to climb onto it and lay next to him. Grabbing the covers, he pulled them over both of them. Now under them, he slid his arm under Tony's upper back and pulled him to where half of his upper body was lying on his chest. Subconsciously feeling contact, Tony's arm went around Steve's abdomen, then relaxed, breathing completely even. Steve tightened his grip around Tony's shoulders, sighing as he let his head fall back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

All of the pills.

All of the alcohol.

All of the times Tony had more-than-likely combined the two.

He deserved so much more than that.

Steve gripped Tony tighter as he kissed the top of the man's head. He was not going to leave Tony again, not tonight. He wanted to be there when Tony woke up, even if he fell asleep and woke up before the younger man, he swore to himself that he would stay. Stark deserved at least that much.

Not again – he would not leave the man alone again.

~End

I guess this could be considered a happy ending. Maybe bitter-sweet. I don't typically do HAPPY endings - I do them with a morbid sense. Ha ha.

I mean...for my writings, this IS a happy ending. One of my Supernatural fics ended pretty happily, I think. But that's another story. Lol.

Anyway! Hope you all enjoyed this! Thank you so much for those of you that have stuck with me! I'll probably do more Avengers fics at some point, so...yeah. Like...happy little christmas (which is uploaded on here) is a nice short one.

Okay! Thanks again, everyone! SO MUCH LOVE!