Hello it looms like I'm back with my quickest Stitches update ever? And can y'all tell how hyped I currently am omg, I'm supposed to be updating a fic I haven't updated in MONTHS (aka The Run and Go to any of you that read something I write other than this) But ya know this gets way more love and appreciation ❤️
Tony Stark takes no ones shit. What a strong baby he is ❤️
"Tell me again why I'm always the one to talk to our patients?"Tony grumbles as he catches sight of himself in a passing glass, stopping only momentarily on their way to the ER department to fix up his appearance so that he can look slightly more presentable than how he feels. Usually, if Tony is prepared and knows that he's going to make a visit to the Hospital, he follows the uniform code for out of hours doctors, smart but practical and sanitary, especially when he's sometimes working so close with patients in order to get measurements and the right feel for prosthetics.
Tony is on the field more often than he had expected to be, mostly because Tony had thought a simple measurement here and another one there would be enough of a feel that Tony needed to gather before zooming off to make the desired limb, but that hadn't been the case. It was so much more difficult working with human beings and human flesh in comparison of machines and robots that Tony is so use to working with, but Tony was able and he learned that it's not as bad as he expected.
Because really, Tony has never really had to work with others before, not until he came to work in the hospital, because Tony has always been someone who has been isolated to the comforts of a workshop or lab or a locked bedroom to work on his experiments and projects and little tidy-ups of things that aren't quite up to his standards. Meetings don't count and neither do Galas and outings because the only thing he's working on then is to be socially polite, and even that is a struggle.
But at the hospital, Tony is working with so many different types of people. He's with doctors, nurses, orderlies, students, cleaners, police officers, paramedics, patients, families, children, spouses, friends, neighbours. His job isn't just to build, designs fit, it's to talk to his patients and to their families, it's to engage them with what he's doing, to reassure and calm and it's so outside of Tony's comfort zone that the itch under his skin, the social anxiety of it all, never really seems to fade away, but only dulls at certain moments and pulses at others.
"Because you're a social butterfly and have a prettier face to give bad news with."Strange quirks, pausing to watch as Tony fixes the glasses on the bridge of his nose, a quirky white frame that holds it glass, clip his name tag to the breast pocket of his long sleeved black shirt. The blue of the Arc reactors light is dimmed by the black out shirt he wears underneath, but it does nothing to hire it completely.
"Asshole."There's a glare in his eyes as he turns to look at Stephen, walking towards him once he has deemed himself presentable enough to meet with the patient. Tony is always one for first impressions, or second impressions of the first goes as one usually does when Tony is involved. A Stark Tablet is tucked under his armpit, slender and light and everything Tony needs, a separate tablet than the one for S.I related work and that of his personal tablet too.
"So I'm somehow an asshole because I called your face pretty?"He's amused, Tony knows it because he can see it in the way that the corner of his lips tug into a sort of an amused smile, or maybe it's a smirk, and his eyes sort of dart to pinpoint Tony's own reaction. Tony scoffs a sort of half-laugh, rolling his eyes as he begins to walk away.
"Because you called my face pretty for the wrong reasons, Doctor."And he's off to the ER department, located down the hallway, opposite direction of where Doctor Strange had been heading, but he's sure that they'll meet up one time or another before Tony leaves.
Hospital still leave an unnerving feeling in Tony's stomach, and maybe it's because hospitals bring back such memories that Tony often wants to forget, of hurt and pain and loneliness. The last time he had been admitted to hospital had not been a pleasant experience and the time before that, it had been worst. It's been 10 years since Tony had been rushed in after the explosion and Tony still cannot remember the early days of that incident, but he does remember the days, the weeks, the months after.
Tony has the Stark Tab untucked from under his arm, it's glass screen illuminating the patients information along side doctor notes and Tony's own as he slides the curtain open of the ER cubical. There's so many notes alongside his profile, from way before he had joined the army it seems he has been in and out of hospital as much as Tony has, maybe even more, for stupidity and knucklehead situations nevertheless.
Tony looks up, eyes falling to the patient on the bed in grey jogging bottoms and white wife beater, a jacket draped over his shoulders in an attempt to conceal the absent limb on the left side of his body. Tony knows this man before he even has time to look at his face because he recognises the jacket, warned out and ruined and made of the type of thick leather than you can only really posses if the jacket had been made in the 70's, expensive but ruined.
And they knew him too, obviously, as they shift in a sort of surprise that has their steel blue eyes widening in shock but it seems to be the only recognisable expression that graces his stoney features.
It could be worst, it could be a lot worse and there could be a figure sitting beside the bed, haven been seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair for hours and hours, more nervous than the one in the bed with a missing arm up to the shoulder, more worried and feared, with baby fine blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that always look up in such earnest and honesty and loveliness that Tony sees when he closes his eyes, when he's wrapped up in warm duvets on cold winter nights and wants them to be the arms that had held him that early morning in a diner booth.
And there is such figure, such person, such man, that Tony remembers, and really has never really forgotten because how could one forget such a person? How could Tony forget such a person that had left such an imprint on his life, who had taught him how to love, and be kind to oneself, to be human, to feel. But to feel in the all the wrong reasons to, to have left him stuttering on a raining doorstep, wailing into a shoulder, to feel pain in places he hadn't expected to hurt, to leave a boot print stomp on his heart.
He gets up from the chair, Tony takes a step back, feeling the papered curtain brush against his back, tickle the back of his neck as he makes it sway with his touch, knuckles white around the transparent glass of the tablet in his hands that illuminate all the information that Tony needs to see, that Tony needs to read out and nothing more.
"Mr. Barnes, I'm Dr. Stark."His smile is tight across his face as he turns his attention back to James on the bed, the bed elevated into a sit. He's changed, his hair remarkably being what has changed the most, military short, and the way that those steeling blue eyes have seemed to shift into a darker territory of consciousness than before, haunted with horrors and disturbed damages. "I'm going to be the one modelling, designing and helping to fit your new prosthetic, I'm sure the nurse has already ran you threw the simple procedure-"
"Tony-"There's more movement and Tony has to stop himself from moving himself, backwards, falling into the curtain and into another cubical. He stands his guard, barely glances at the moving, broad shouldered, tall figure who Tony would once drop the world for just to stare at for a few seconds longer.
"-of what usually happens when it comes to fitting and placing a prosthetic limb. However, I and a surgeon that I will closely be working with, have noticed certain abnormalities to the remaining tissue of your shoulder that would be a perfect tissue candidate for a new prosthetic spec that we have designed and are wanting to trial. With you."Tony wants to pat himself on the back for keeping his voice so straight, so nullified and still.
"Of course as a member of the Military, and further more under Stark Insurance, your medical bills will be covered, this also includes that of travel and accommodation expenses when you are not staying here in the hospital. There is-"
"I'm-"
"It would be very considerate of you to remain quiet while I am trying to discuss a very serious procedure with my patient, Sir."It takes a lot to keep his tone of voice so monotone and calm, unable to look at anywhere but at Barnes whose attention is on Steve, a bark in his voice as he speaks up for the first time.
"For god sake, let him talk, Stevie."His voice has changed to, in a way that only someone who has spent military service and came out more broken than he had went in can hold. It's rougher, deeper. Steve's mouth snaps shut but he remains a wall between Tony and his patient which is unnerving as he sucks a breath in.
"It's a low risk procedure. If we're unable to connect the remaining tissue and nerves to that of the cybernetic prosthetic, we will accustom you with something equalling as matching. The only issue that we have is that of time. If you want us to push forward with this new prosthetic, it will take a lengthy amount of time. We're talking maybe 6 months to a year."
"That's too long, Buck."Steve is looking at Barnes frantically as if the thought of having to be hospitalised repeatedly for a year if going to be a burden to him more so than for Barnes who meets Steve's eyes but not his emotion.
"And how long to fit a normal prosthetic?"He asks, looking skeptical at the offer that Tony is giving to him, almost as if lies from years ago is delaying his judgement and Tony wishes it doesn't.
"Usually between 2 to 6 months."He answers truthfully, momentarily looking down at the Tab, eyes flickering to how long ago it was that Barnes had suffered his injury at war. 6 months ago."Your notes indicate that you had refused further treatment after your surgery for a prosthetic even though you were covered under Stark Insurance so all medical expenses would have been paid for. Is there a certain reason for this?"
There's hesitation, followed by a movement of the lips that almost has Tony leaning on the tips of his toes in anticipation for the answer he knows to be true, or one he knows to be false. It's all down in the notes, written by Doctors and physiologists that have had the joy or working closely with Barnes shortly after the surgery but had never heard of him again after that shirt prescribed time. And strangely enough, Tony doesn't see anything of the sort concerning a psychologist either.
"Can I think about this?"Is what actually comes out of James' mouth instead, his eyes flickering to look at Steve for a moment and then back to Tony in a way that only a patient unsure what to do in times like these can muster.
"Yeah, sure. It's perfectly normal to have conflicting thoughts."Tony nods, fixing the glasses on his nose in a sort of nervous habit that he had picked up from an old friend that he hadn't seen in years but has heard much about."I'll be back in a bit while you talk."
Tony is ducking around the curtain just as quickly as those words tumble out of this mouth, almost stumbling away from the curtained cubical and into the hallway that he had came, wanting to escape the suffocating atmosphere that was the inclosed cubical and it's occupants. Steve's eyes had bored into his skull as he spoke, Tony could feel the stare of those blue eyes, of how his eyebrows had scrunched together, how his lips had pursed, how his expression was one of wanting to speak his mind and apologise in that moment. And that's without even looking at him.
Because Tony can't bare the sight of him, not now, not ever. But what Tony wants and what Tony gets is a totally different matter as he has his body bent over a reception counter, making himself seeming to be occupied with work but really trying to regulate his breathing, the heartbeat in his throat, the sweat on his brow.
"Tony."It's just his name, it's so simple, just 4 letters, but it's coming from his mouth. The words are still shaped in that soft way that Steve has always managed to say his name, as if it was some sort of blessing or miracle, as if his name holds so many precious wonders. Nobody has ever said his name so softly before and Tony wishes he didn't, not now, not ever.
There's a sigh that leaves his lips as he straightens his spine, rolls back his shoulders and braces himself for turning to look at Steve. He's gotten bigger. Bigger in the shoulders, in the chest, in height, in mass. He's bigger and taller and stronger. His features have hardened in certain ways t do with age but also to do with war, and his brow has creased. But his eyes, his lips, his baby fine blonde hair, the underside of his jaw where Tony use to lay sweet kisses of Hellos and Goodbyes; they remain the same.
"You're a Doctor now?"Steve's mouth shapes the words for seconds as they stare at one another, Tony with his body half turned to Steve, not fully trusting to allow the full front of his body expose.
"No, I tend to find it hilarious to pose as a doctor. I guess it's just a habit I've obtained since I was a teenager."
"You brought that on yourself."
"No, you did Steve."It's the first time he's said his name in an awfully long time and it almost had Tony freezing all over, in an icy chill so suffocating and numbing that it has Tony struggling to breathe because his name, Steve, has always been one to struggle to come off the edge of his tongue, caught somewhere in his mouth and bounced at the teeth. It's one that he once use to speak of with adoration.
Tony's feathers have been ruffled, he overcomes the chill as he rolls back his shoulders, making himself feel stronger, feel taller as he speaks up.
"I have wallowed in pity and pain because of you for far too long and I'm over it. I've been over it for years and I'm not allowing you to waltz after me, trying to start an argument when moments ago you were trying to fucking apologise. Make up your mind. Do you want to argue, or do you want to apologise?"
"I have nothing to apologise for."Steve is suddenly offended, taking a step back as if he's been physically blown.
"Sure you don't."Tony slams the Stark Tab down onto the wooden counter top of the receptionist counter, listening to its deafening sound of glass onto wood.
"I wasn't the one that lied and whored about."Tony would flinch at those words if it wasn't for the fact he had become so immune to them directed his way. He whores about. It's in his blood, it always has been. It's a Stark trait.
"I wasn't the one that had a thing for picking up strays but kicking them away as soon as there's a fucking problem, Rogers."Tony snaps, feeling himself shake, trying to control his anger as much as he possibly can, unable to help it seep through. If it hadn't been for the fact he was in a place of work, one of which a job he actually liked being apart of, Tony would have tore the entire place to shreds on his rampage to scream in Steve Rogers face.
"I don't- you weren't a stray to me."
"Well, we sure weren't boyfriends. So what was I, hmm? A whore, a slut, a slag, a tramp?"Tony lists off the words that he has heard to be recited back at him over the years, name tags that have stuck, wrapped around a cord around his neck.
His heart hurts, just like it had done all those years ago, but it's been numbed with years of extra layers of pain instead. Of death and abandonment and unwanted responsibility and controlling elders that still have such a firm grip of you around the base of the neck, shaking you like a rag doll whenever they wanted. And Tony sighs, sparing a suddenly quietened Steve a glance, mulling in his own thoughts and realisations of words he had thought of Tony but had never said. But Tony knows. He always knows, because everyone always thinks them of Tony Stark.
"It's my job to remain civil with patients and their families, regardless of history."He recites in monotone, picking up the Stark Tab he had previously slammed onto the wooden counter, unable to look if he has broken its glass, but he can feel the cracks through the touch of his finger tips."And I shall be civil within work related hours, and nothing more than that. If you are to be Barnes' emergency contact, so be it, but I want nothing more to do with you than that."
And he leaves, to finish his job.
Look at that, a quick fucking update because I'm the best motherfucker around y'all!
Look who has made an appearance, badly, but still an appearance bc it ain't a stony fic if ya boy Steve doesn't make an appearance for like 2 chapters oops? But here he is, on a mission to win back the heart of our broken prince. And he has a lot of butt kissing to do because Jesus is he in the dog house.
Anyway, please tell me your opinions!
What's your opinion on Steve?
What all do you think I have planned for Steve/Tony in the second half of this book? Do you reckon it'll be good, or do you reckon it'll be bad?
Who is all excited for the Steve TIMESKIP chapter? (It's gonna be so hard to write y'all)
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Peace✌🏼