The Prince And The Rose

11 - I Forgive You

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Everything he did hurt someone else.

That was what Steve kept thinking, painful and accusatory, in the back of his mind. No matter how right he felt, no matter how hard he tried to do the best he could, he ended up causing pain to others.

After the war, SHIELD had come in and managed to talk the UN into working on a different way of keeping track of powered people. So for now, the Avengers had time to breathe. They used the time to work on repairing Headquarters and gathering intel on Hydra's movements.

And none of them spoke to each other.

Rhodes had died – he'd been killed, really. Tony was, understandably, furious about that, and he blamed Steve. Because it had been Bucky who shot him out of the sky.

So the team decided that for now, the Soldier would be confined to a certain part of Headquarters. Although they trusted him enough to let him have the usual commodities and comforts, it was agreed that even if they could trust him otherwise, having him near Tony would be too much of a risk for all involved.

All of this, Steve knew, was his fault. Although he kept it to himself, he was extremely discouraged and frustrated.

Tony's best friend was dead.

And Steve couldn't fix it.

This was hammered home to him repeatedly by the look on Tony's face, but it hit him hardest one particular Thursday as he was making supper.

Natasha was watching old episodes of Shark Week on the couch, and Wanda was nearby weaving something using her powers. The rest of the team was elsewhere, although Steve knew once Friday announced dinner they'd be there within minutes. He smiled faintly at the thought and checked on the consistency of his cooking pasta.

"Hey."

Steve glanced up. Tony had walked in, carrying a glass of scotch and dressed in grease-covered clothes; he had likely been working on a project in his lab. "Hi," he answered, feeling himself stiffen.

As Tony came over and sat down at one of the bar stools they kept by the kitchen counter, Steve noted that he appeared just slightly unsteady.

Was he drunk?

"You okay, Tony?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Yeah, sure," Tony said sarcastically. "I'm just great, Steve; what do you think? My best friend is dead." He slurred his words slightly, but if he was drunk, he wasn't very.

Steve nodded, looking down. "Right, yeah. Sorry. Dumb question. I just meant… I think you're kinda tipsy."

The billionaire shrugged. "Yeah, a little. What's the big deal? Am I making you feel bad?"

Steve declined to answer, turning back to the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce he was making.

"Okay, yeah, sure, don't look at me. Whatever makes you feel better, Cap," Tony snorted. Steve heard his glass being set down on the counter with a clink, and flinched.

"You didn't drink that on an empty stomach, did you?" Steve asked, glancing at him.

"Who cares? Clearly not you."

Steve gritted his teeth and looked away, stoically adding a dash of oregano to the pasta sauce.

"I get it, I mean, why does it matter who else dies as long as your precious Bucky is safe, right? You don't even care that he killed my best friend. That's freaking messed up, Cap."

"Stop it, Tony," Steve said quietly, turning to face Tony again. "You're drunk. You're going to say something you regret, so why don't you sit down and I'll take that scotch for you."