@onemuseleft let me write a fanfic of her divorce au fanfic!!
Tony guides Steve into the bathroom, worried by the way Steve leans into him. He’s so thin.
“Did they hurt you?” he asks inanely, realizing Steve made sure he was okay and he hasn’t even asked if Steve is okay. It’s a stupid question, he knows just by looking at him that he isn’t.
Steve smiles wearily and Tony’s heart stutters in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever see that again. “I’ve been better,” Steve admits wryly. “But I’ve been worse, too.”
“You look ready to keel over,” Tony says and presses him back into the bathroom counter so he can lean against it. He can’t stop staring at Steve’s face, his sunken eyes, and he’s horrified and mesmerized in turns. He steps forward, into Steve’s body, curling up against his chest and burying his face in Steve’s throat. Steve’s arms come up around him and Tony takes a deep breath, shudders. He smells terrible, unwashed and filthy, but he also smells like Steve and it’s been two months since Tony was allowed to get so close—Jesus, he’s an idiot.
“Don’t start with that,” Steve murmurs, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck. “He knew what would hurt most and he did it to distract you.”
Now is not the time for Steve, who’s been in captivity and, from the look of him, starving, to be comforting Tony because he was stupid enough to think Steve would drop him so easily. Tony breathes in through his nose and pushes aside the self-loathing. He straightens and cups Steve’s face in his hands. “You smell. Shower now.”
Steve snorts. Then his eyes land on Tony’s chest and the mirth fades from his expression. Tony doesn’t realize why until his hand reaches up and curls around the dog tags, Tony’s ring clinking softly against them because Steve’s hands are shaking. “Will you—” Steve starts, voice rough, “can I put this back where it belongs?”
“Please,” Tony says, voice barely audible. He dips his head forward so Steve can get to the clasp, curling his hands around Steve’s elbows as he works it free. He holds his breath as Steve unthreads the ring and then reaches out with it, his grimy hands dark around Tony’s.
Tony shudders as the ring slides back into place, cool against his skin. He’s felt naked without it.
Steve squeezes his fingers gently, kisses Tony’s knuckles. “Mine’s gone,” he says, expression twisted. “They took it—”
“He was wearing it,” Tony says. “For a little while anyway. Hang on.”
Tony leaves Steve there in the bathroom, ducking into the closet where he keeps his jewelry box. He holds up the ring—Steve’s ring—when he returns to the bathroom and his heart twists in his chest when Steve immediately extends his hand.
Tony grasps it quickly, the tremors rippling up his arm as he slips it back onto Steve’s finger. “He threw it at me during one of our fights.” Even now, knowing it wasn’t really Steve, the memory hurts.
“That son of a bitch,” Steve breathes through gritted teeth. “Tony—”
He shushes him. “Shower now, talk later.”
Tony starts to undress him, removing the uniform piece by bloody piece. It’s filthy, the ordinarily white marks on the chest and shoulders turned gray with spots of darkened blood. Steve watches him with hooded eyes, but it’s obvious it’s exhaustion and not lust.
Tony’s in the process of working the uniform down Steve’s hips when Steve’s fingers graze his jaw. He looks up, questioning, and Steve murmurs, “Sorry. It’s just—you look so good. It’s been— I missed you.”
Turning his head, Tony kisses his fingertips. “Missed you, too.”
Steve’s face crumples. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
“You’re sorry,” Tony scoffs, running his hands gingerly over Steve’s sides—down over his visible ribs, over mottled bruises, burns in various stages of healing that look like they’re from some kind of electrical component. “Look at you, Steve.”
“Not soon enough,” Tony mutters and drops the last of Steve’s clothes on the floor. He strips out of his own clothes in under a minute, leaving them in a crumpled heap to curl his arm around Steve’s too-thin waist and stepping into the shower with him.
Steve hisses as the water hits his wounds, but Tony knows it’s not too hot or too cold, he made sure of it, so he just bites his lip and waits for Steve to grow accustomed. For several long minutes they simply stand under the spray, arms curled around one another.
After spending so long confused and hurt, Tony feels a little bit like he’s in a dream and he’s going to wake up any minute and find the divorce was real. Maybe Steve was a Skrull all along and it was the real Steve who didn’t want him.
After swallowing down the sharp lump in his throat, Tony rasps, “I’m fine, Steve. Let me take care of you.” Before Steve can protest, he starts washing, dark gray water sluicing down Steve’s body and swirling down the drain. He finds more injuries—claw marks on the back of Steve’s neck, a gouge across Steve’s thigh. “What did they do to you?” All of them he washes carefully until the dirt and blood is gone and all that’s left is pale, bruised skin.
Steve shrugs, his hands on Tony’s shoulders, fingers rubbing slow circles into Tony’s skin. “Information. They were trying to get into S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“What did they use?” Tony asks, curving his hand around one of the burn marks on Steve’s stomach.
“A battery maybe? I’m not sure.”
Tony grits his teeth, suddenly furious with the Skrulls, himself—he should have seen.
Steve is wavering on his feet by the time Tony finishes and Tony guides him out of the cubicle, snagging a towel to wrap around his waist. His temper has reduced to a simmer. “Hop up on the counter, honey,” he directs.
Steve does as he asks, eyes fluttering shut when Tony reaches up to stroke his beard. “I’m going to get rid of this, okay? Can you stay awake that long?”
“Mhm,” Steve murmurs. Tony doesn’t believe him, but he gets to work, moving as efficiently as he can. It takes a couple of minutes to trim the beard down to where he’ll be able to manage a decent shave and it makes him feel better, the way Steve leans into his hand, eyes closed and throat exposed. He coats the lower half of Steve’s face in a thick, foamy lather and then settles in between Steve’s parted legs to start the shave.
While he works, Steve’s hands draw patterns on his hips. He doesn’t seem willing to give up contact with Tony for even a second. Amazingly, he doesn’t nod off, but it looks like a near thing when he drags his eyes open as Tony starts smoothing on lotion.
It’s much more apparent how much weight he’s lost with the beard gone. His cheeks are sharp hollows and Tony runs his thumb down the line, stomach twisting with a sick sort of revulsion. If he hadn’t been so self-absorbed he would have known. He should have known that Steve would never—
“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “Steve—god. I’m sorry. I should have—I should have known, I should have realized.”
“This isn’t on you,” Steve says firmly. “This is what they do, you know that.”
“I didn’t even question it, Steve!” Tony bursts, and mashes down a hand over his mouth. “I was so sure it made sense. Of course you wanted a divorce. Of course you’d gotten tired of me. It ruined me, but I was so sure.” He hates himself for the way Steve’s eyes fill with tears.
Steve gingerly, carefully, threads their fingers together and squeezes. “I… That hurts, Tony, I won’t lie to you, but I don’t blame you. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here to stop him, that I haven’t done enough to make you believe that I’d never—”
“It’s not your fault I’m fucked up,” Tony mutters bitterly.
“No, it’s your father’s,” Steve replies, lip curling. “And if I could go back and give him a piece of my mind—but I can’t. And I can’t fix what happened to you and I don’t care, Tony. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you’re the man I want to be with.”
He kisses Tony, just the barest brush of lips and Tony screws his eyes shut, barely keeping himself together.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t come for you.”
Steve curls one warm, big hand around the back of Tony’s neck. “You’re here now. God, Tony,” he says, voice agonized. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I spent every minute trying to figure out how to get back to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about what they could be doing, if they’d taken you to bed—”
Tony leans into him, gripping Steve tightly. “No, no, Steve, he just—pushed me away. We never.”
Steve nods wordlessly, and Tony squeezes him tighter when he feels warm droplets hit his shoulder.
“I love you, Steve,” Tony whispers.
“I love you, too,” Steve replies fiercely and turns his head, catching Tony’s lips in a brutal, desperate kiss. Then he starts pressing kisses to the rest of Tony’s face, his neck, his shoulders, murmuring between each, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Tony chokes on a whaling sob and all at once it crashes over him, the grief and pain and confusion that had been drowning him the last two months. Steve doesn’t want a divorce, he didn’t ruin this.
Steve cradles Tony to his chest, rocking slightly and murmuring, “It’s okay, I love you,” over and over again as he kisses Tony’s forehead and temples.
Someday, Tony may believe him.
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