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“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Tony turns around and his eyes widen.
Oh, shit.
“Share Bear!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were doing,” Sharon says, her voice clipped. Her eyes wander to the suit hanging in pieces from the ceiling of his workshop, over Tony’s shoulder, as he wraps his arms around her. “I guess I was right to come.”
“You’re always welcome here,” he reassures, when he pulls back.
“Good to know.” Sharon eyes him, carefully, like he’s stripping him to the bone so that she can see his insides. “How are you?”
“Good. I’m good,” he says, with as much cheer as he can muster.
Sharon narrows her eyes.
Fuck, he forgot about her bullshit radar.
She’d been using it against him since she was four and old enough to know what a lie was.
“Tony,” she begins, patiently.
“I’m fine, Sharon,” he says, firmly, turning his back on her.
“No, I don’t think you are,” she says, quietly. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to not be okay.”
“Wow,” Tony snorts. “Thank you so much for your permission.”
Sharon makes a noise of frustration, and he can hear her solid footsteps behind him. Something loosens in his chest when she wraps her arms around him, trapping her lithe frame against his back and resting her chin on his shoulder, her heart beating rapidly against the notches in his spine.
“I’m worried about you,” she murmurs. “We all are. You didn’t… you didn’t check in when you got back.”
“I got busy,” he says, vaguely, remembering the clusterfuck that was his press conference upon arrival in the continental US.
“Yeah, I know. I saw your press conference.”
“Joy,” he says, sarcastically. He pauses, licking his lips, not wanting to offer too many pieces of himself up to her, so easily. “What did you think?” he asks, haltingly.
“I thought you were very brave,” she says, immediately. “I was surprised. Aunt Peggy was too. But I was so proud of you for taking a stand for what you believe in.”
“Do you agree? Do you think I was right to stop weapons’ manufacturing?”
“I think… I think your weapons do a lot of good in this world, Tony,” Sharon points out. “God knows that I’ve been using one of your guns since I was old enough to hold one. Same with Aunt Peggy.”
“My weapons have done a lot of bad too,” he points out. His voice turns bitter. “And just because someone’s good at something doesn’t mean they should do it.”
“True,” Sharon says, carefully.
“You think it was dumb, don’t you?”
“No. Of course not. But…”
Tony pulls away from her abruptly, rounding on her. “Why are you even here, Sharon?” he demands. “Your bosses at the CIA want to make sure I haven’t gone fucking Unabomber down here?”
Sharon reels back like he just slapped her across the face. He knows he should feel bad, but he can’t pull his mind away from the red in his vision just yet.
“Fuck you, Tony,” she spits. “Fuck you. That’s not fair.”
“Really?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause I’ve been back for two weeks now and you only just decided to come and see how I was. That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
“I was waiting for you. I wasn’t sure what you’d be like after you came back. I didn’t want to push you. That doesn’t mean I don’t fucking care.”
“Actually, I’d say that was practically a billboard of your intentions right there,” Tony mutters.
“Fuck you, Tony, I was terrified,” she flings at him.
God, he can even see a shine of tears in her eyes.
That makes him feel like shit.
“You have no idea what it was like to be here and watch everything that was happening and know you were out there and someone was hurting you. So, fuck you. Fuck you for thinking I don’t care. That Aunt Peggy doesn’t care. You said we were your family, but clearly you only mean that when it’s convenient for you.”
“That’s not true,” he insists.
“Really? Then why are you acting like such a dick?”
Tony throws his hands up in the air. “Maybe because I’m hardwired like that?” he asks, bitterly. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“… implied that I’m spying on you for the CIA?” Sharon raises an eyebrow. “That’s fine.”
Tony runs a hand over his face. “I am sorry, Sharon,” he says, wearily.
Sharon sighs and wrings out her hands. “Yeah, me too. I should’ve come earlier.” She throws her arms around him, clutching at him tightly, like she thinks he might fade away if she lets go. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”
Tony sighs and runs a hand over her thick, golden hair. “I missed you too.”
Sharon pulls away and clears her throat, tugging at his hand. “So, what are you working on?”
“Uh,” he eyes Sharon, carefully.
Sharon rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything. God, Tony.”
Tony grins, a little embarrassed, and kisses her on the forehead. “Sorry, Share Bear.”
“How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?” she complains, as he drags her over to the armour hanging from the wall.
“Since you were like ten-twelve? Something like that, anyway. And how many times did I listen?”
“Never,” she grumbles. She looks up at the armour. “So, what is this thing?”
“This thing is an updated version of the technological marvel that I designed and made to escape the Ten Rings,” he declares with no small amount of smugness.
Sharon reaches up to graze the metal with her fingertips. “It’s beautiful,” she says, awed.
Tony preens. “I’m glad you like it,” he says, gently.
Sharon nudges him lightly in the stomach. “I like everything you make.”
Tony remembers a toddler Sharon who used to scream her lungs out in delight when she’d take rides on DUM-E’s support strut, and her at six, having badass ninja warrior princess tea parties with him and JARVIS.
He smiles. “Yeah, you do.”
Sharon squeezes his hand, staring at him unbearably soft. “So, what does it do?”
Tony hesitates, just for a moment. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Sharon, but he’s never wanted her to touch this part of him, with all the death and filth and ruin that he manifests in the world. Even if this armour’s meant to fix things, even if it’s supposed to help him do what’s right, for once in his life, Sharon shouldn’t be a part of it.
But the look in her eyes is too much for him to ignore.
They go on, late into the night, talking about what the armour is and what it can do and what it should do, and thankfully, because it’s Sharon and she’s known him her entire life, she doesn’t ask about the strange blue light cleaved into his chest.
They devolve into a bottle of whiskey and Tony remembers Sharon at seventeen and drunk and raving at a high school party, with douchebags trying to drag her up to a bedroom even though she was wasted. He remembers barrelling his way through the crowd and dragging her away before something terrible could happen to her. He let her sober up at his place, let Aunt Peggy know that she was safe and she was with him, and the next morning, when she had a wicked hangover and she was close to tears of embarrassment and fury at his intervention, he let her know that he doesn’t give a shit about her getting drunk, but you gotta be smart about it because there are assholes who won’t hesitate to take advantage of you ‘cause they think you’re weak when you’re drunk, Share Bear.
Sharon, of course, was certain that she could handle them; she learnt from the best, after all. But Tony learnt from the best too, and it hasn’t stopped people from trying to cut pieces of him for themselves his entire life, and the last thing he wants is for Sharon to get hurt.
Fuck, that would feel like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest.
This starts a tradition between them, one which continues tonight, as they make their way to his lounge and open a bottle of scotch between the two of them. That night, they get so tipsy that Sharon is in no condition to drive home that night, so she stumbles her way up to Tony’s bedroom and topples onto the mattress. When Tony attempts to leave her there and go find a guest room for him to take shelter in, Sharon drags him down with her, and wraps herself around him like an octopus so he can’t leave.
It’s the best sleep he’s gotten since the night before he left for Afghanistan.
Sharon storms into his workshop.
He’s beginning to think that this is becoming another tradition for them.
“Are you okay?” she demands, clutching at his face with thin fingers.
He winces when the pads of her fingertips brush against one of the cuts on his cheek, still bleeding like a slow honey drip. She softens and her touch turns gentle, almost tender.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asks, her voice hushed.
“Not too much. Just a little bruised and sore. I have a few cuts.” He sighs when she starts running her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “How’d you know?”
“I have my sources,” she teases.
Tony huffs. “I bet you do. And I bet the CIA’s real interested in what just happened.”
Sharon rolls her eyes. “For the last fucking time, Tony, the CIA has nothing to do with what I’m doing here.”
“I know that, but that doesn’t mean they won’t use you to get to me,” Tony urges.
Sharon stares him down. “Okay, Tony, you’re not that important. Calm down,” she says, dryly.
“Ouch,” Tony says, affronted. “You always know where it hurts.”
“I do,” Sharon agrees. “Remember when I was six and I kicked you in the balls.”
Tony winces in remembrance. “I remember,” he mutters. “I couldn’t sit down properly for days.”
Sharon clucks her tongue. “It really was an accident, you know,” she says, sheepishly.
Tony laughs. “I know. Even after seventeen years, you’re still stressing about it. Stop.”
Sharon bites her lip and even though he shouldn’t, his eyes dart downward. “Are you sure you’re not hurting much?” she asks, in a low, rushed voice. “I saw the footage-”
“How did you see the footage?” Tony frowns. “It was the Air Force trailing me.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sharon dismisses.
“I feel somehow violated if creepy government agencies are spying on me,” Tony mutters.
Sharon ignores him. “I saw the footage and you took some pretty big hits. Even with the armour protecting you…”
“I’m fine, Share Bear,” Tony soothes, clutching at her hand.
Sharon searches him for a lie. “Promise me you aren’t lying to me,” she says, fiercely.
“I’m not lying to you,” he says, steadily.
A breath loosens in Sharon’s chest and she flings her arms around Tony. “I was so worried about you,” she says, her voice muffled by his shoulder.
Tony grips her tight. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Share Bear.”
“Tony, Tony, I know you want to do this; I know why you want to do this. I understand. Believe me, I understand. But if you’re just going to get hurt, if this could get you killed-”
“I can’t stop,” he interjects.
Sharon falls silent.
“I can’t. I just can’t…” he sighs. “I fucked up, you know,” he says, wearily. “I let my guard down, and people died for it, Sharon. That’s on me. If I can’t make it better, fix all the terrible things that I let happen, then I survived for nothing. And I don’t know if I can live with that.”
“Tony,” Sharon shakes her head, running a warm palm across his cheek. “Tony, it’s not your fault.”
He shakes his head.
Sharon’s grip on his jaw tightens and she forces him to look at her. Then, she does something that has his heart pounding like a jackhammer. She slips into his lap, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to her.
“Listen to me,” she urges, fingers dipping into his hair. “Tony, you couldn’t have known what was happening with your weapons because whoever’s behind this, whoever did this, their whole plan depended on you not knowing. They fixed things so you would never find out.”
“Me walking straight into their plan isn’t a good thing, Sharon,” Tony points out.
“No, but it doesn’t mean you have to take the whole world on your shoulders,” Sharon says, gently. “Fix things if you feel like you have to. But do it because it’s the right thing to do, not because you think you owe something to a faceless victim.”
Tony wants to tell her that his victims aren’t faceless anymore. He remembers their names very clearly: Ho Yinsen, Anoush, Aarash and Halimah.
They died because of him, so he does owe something to their ghosts.
He has to do better.
“Tony, I just…” Sharon runs a hand through her hair. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Tony softens. “I know,” he says, gently. He clears his throat. “You remember when you joined the CIA, and I… disapproved. Strongly.”
“Disapproved?” Sharon says, dryly. “You threatened to lo-jack me, if I remember correctly.”
“I was looking out for you,” Tony argues, affronted. His voice lowers. “I was terrified for you, but you made me realise that that was something that you had to do, to be the best part of yourself. I didn’t like it, sure, but I never wanted to stand in the way of you being the best part of yourself, Share.” Tony takes her hands in his. “I need you to do the same for me now. Can you do that?”
Sharon stares into his eyes for a moment, her gaze careful and weighty, before she leans in and kisses him gently on the mouth. It fills him with a strange rush, the simple touch, as if he were floating on a bed of clouds.
When she pulls away, he somehow feels bereft.
“What-” he clears his throat. “What was that for?” he asks, roughly.
Sharon shrugs. “I got sick of waiting for you to do it.” She leans back, something uncertain entering her expression. “Unless… I misread things?” she asks, disappointed.
“Sharon,” Tony sighs.
“Oh, dear God, if you give me the little sister talk, I’m gonna kill myself and I’m taking you down with me.”
Tony shakes a little with laughter. “Sharon, honey, I’m fifteen years older than you,” he points out. “I was there when you were born. I was in the hospital. I used to-to have tea parties with you and braid your hair and walk you to school. I taught you how to use your first computer and how to hotwire a car and pick a lock.”
“So?”
“So? Share Bear, I watched you grow up. Everyone would just think I was… I was taking advantage of you or something,” he says, bitterly.
“I don’t give a shit what people think,” Sharon says, steadily. “I care about what you think. I want you. I love you. Do you want me or not?”
Despite himself, Tony raises a hand and runs it through her hair. She leans into his touch and something inside him melts.
“I want you,” he says, lowly. “I shouldn’t. I know that. But I do. I love you too. Fuck, I do.”
“Good,” she whispers, leaning against him and pressing her mouth against his, eagerly.
He groans and lets himself be swept away.
When Tony opens his eyes, everything is white and smells sterile, but Sharon is hovering over him, her eyes raw and her hair like a golden cloud around her face.
“Tony, oh, Tony, good, you’re awake,” she says, roughly.
“Hi,” he rasps.
Sharon hushes him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. You’re still recovering.”
“Obadiah?” he can’t help but ask.
Sharon’s face tightens, her lips pursing in a thin line. “Dead,” she says, shortly. “Good riddance.”
Tony’s face cracks wide open and Sharon is momentarily panicked before she wraps her arms around him in a gentle hold, mindful of his injuries.
“It’s going to be okay, Tony. I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.” She presses gentle kisses to whatever exposed sliver of skin she can find and touch.
Tony doubts it, but he’s glad she’s willing to lie to him, just for a little while longer.
“Share Bear!” he declares, slurring the last syllables a bit. “You made it!’
“I made it,” Sharon agrees, her voice threading with something he can’t quite put his money on – disapproval, perhaps; that seems to be going around all night. She wraps her arms around the armour. “Happy birthday, Tony.” She kisses him on the mouth.
“Thanks, honey.” He leans into the kiss. “Oh!” he exclaims, grabbing her by the wrist. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.” He drags her along. “Meet my new assistant, Natalie Rushman.”
He doesn’t miss the way Sharon narrows her eyes.
“Natalie, meet Sharon Carter, my girlfriend. She works for the CIA, so that’s why you haven’t met before.” Tony hugs her close.
Natalie’s eyes widen. “Wow, the CIA, that must be exciting,” she gushes.
Sharon’s voice is surprisingly tight. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the half of it.”
Tony frowns. It’s not like Sharon to react so badly to meeting someone for the first time.
“Well, it was really nice to meet you Sharon. Mr Stark, if you’ll excuse me, I want to make sure that all the food and drink has arrived correctly.” Natalie inclines her head, giving both of them a soft smile before leaving them alone.
Tony looks down at Sharon with a raised eyebrow. “What was that?” he asks, slowly.
Sharon gives him a doe-eyed innocent stare. “What was what?”
“The way you reacted to Natalie. What was that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sharon declares.
Tony finds a grin spreading across his face. “Are you jealous, Share Bear?” he asks, gleefully. “That’s so adorable.”
Sharon shoves at him. “Fuck off,” she mutters.
“It’s okay, baby.” Tony pulls her close. “I only have eyes for you, I promise.”
Sharon softens and melts against him. “Why are you wearing the armour?”
Tony shrugs. “It’s my birthday party. I wanted to have fun.”
I won’t be getting a chance after this, and I’m too much of a coward to tell you the truth.
He lowers his voice. “Come, have fun with me.”
Sharon stares at him for a moment, and he has the sudden urge to look away, in fear of her stripping back all of his defences to see all the ugly truth underneath.
“Fine,” she huffs. “But only if you promise not to start clocking my alcohol intake. Or I swear I’m gonna start doing shots.”
Tony whistles. “What a threat.”
Just as he planned, Tony pisses off Rhodey enough that it makes him steal a suit right out of his workshop and demand he shut down his, willing to force the issue by any means necessary.
He ignores the way the hurt and betrayal blossoms, all rancid and hot, in his chest, because there is no other way this happens, without Rhodey reacting so viciously against him; there is no other way he can make this happen. He has no right to feel like shit now if he’s making this happen.
But he underestimates Sharon.
She cleanly steps forward, between him and Rhodey, and stares him down.
“Sharon, move.”
Sharon snorts. “No. Fuck no. You two are idiots and I’m not letting you do this. Only an idiot would let you do this. Stop.”
“Sharon, fucking move,” he says, almost helplessly.
“No, fucking stop. Both of you.” She eyes Rhodey like he’s ten-inches tall. “Power the fuck down and use your words.”
Sharon stares Tony down until he’s sighing and his shoulders are slumping, the repulsors in his palms sputtering away.
“Good,” she says, pleased. “Time to go.”
“Go? Go where?” Tony’s brow furrows.
Sharon shrugs. “Upstairs.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve got a problem?”
Tony removes the helmet and lays it down on the nearest flat surface. “No, not really.”
“Good,” she says, lightly, holding her hand out. “Let’s go now, huh?”
Tony’s not sure how it happens, really; he had this whole plan about fighting Rhodey and letting him take one of the suits so that the military would get off his back and pissing off everyone around him so they wouldn’t mourn him when he died, but Sharon’s ruining everything and he can’t bring himself to care.
When they’re done and breathing heavily in bed, Sharon’s curled up against him and Tony’s still trying to figure out precisely how everything happened the way it did and how he managed to have sex with Sharon if he only has less seventy-two hours to live.
“Now, isn’t that the perfect way to spend your fortieth birthday?” she mutters against the curve of his pectoral.
Tony absentmindedly twists a curl of her hair between his finger, running his knuckles down the line of her arm.
“Yeah, it was,” he murmurs. “Thank you for the perfect gift, Sharon.” He means it in more ways than one. He kisses her firmly on the top of her head. “Thank you so much for everything.” He says, roughly.
Sharon looks up at him, her brow furrowing, all sleep-rumpled and soft. “You’re welcome?”
Tony’s lips twitches and he clutches her tightly against him, fearing that she’ll fade away if he lets go even a little.
“I love you,” he mutters. “I love you so fucking much.”
Sharon raises herself onto an elbow. “I love you too. Tony…” she hesitates. “Is everything okay?”
His lungs constrict. “Everything’s fine.”
The door swings open.
“Time’s up, you two. There’s work to be done.”
Tony looks up to see Natalie standing in the doorway; only, she doesn’t look much like Natalie; this woman’s missing her perfectly coifed curls and subtly seductive corporate wear and six-inch heels, instead dressed in a black catsuit with heeled boots and a number of weapons strapped to her body.
This woman gives a new meaning to the words dressed to kill.
“Fuck off, Romanoff,” Sharon says, in an ugly tone, curling in closer to Tony.
Romanoff? What?
“What’s going on here?” he asks, a little hesitantly.
“Your boy over here’s going to be kicking the bucket in forty-eight hours if he doesn’t fix his little problem. I’m on your side, remember, Carter?” Natalie – or Romanoff – says, coldly.
Sharon narrows her eyes. “I said, fuck off, Romanoff. Or I’ll shoot you.”
Romanoff snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Get out,” Sharon bites out.
Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this angry.
“Excuse me,” he interjects, loudly. “Can someone please explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”
Romanoff eyes him, carefully. “Ask your girlfriend here.”
“I swear to God, Romanoff, I’m going to-”
“Sharon?” Tony looks at her, pointedly.
Sharon stares at him for a moment before groaning and sinking back onto the sheets. “This is not a discussion I can have with you while naked, okay.”
“Uh, why don’t you try?” Tony offers, a little tersely.
“She works for SHIELD,” Romanoff offers, helpfully.
Sharon glares at her. “I’m going to shoot you. I’ve decided.”
“I’m sorry; you work for SHIELD?” Tony asks, sceptically, ignoring the white noise in his ears. “I thought you worked for the CIA.”
Sharon runs a hand over his face. “It was a cover. SHIELD… isn’t exactly the most transparent intelligence organisation we’ve got,” she mutters. She looks at him, immediately. “I swear to God, I swear to Aunt Peggy, that I was not spying on you for them.”
“That was actually my job,” Romanoff explains, unapologetically. “My name’s Natasha Romanoff.” She saunters forward, ignoring the nudity of the other two people in the room. “I’m a SHIELD shadow assigned to you by Director Fury after we learned that you were sick. Once we realised that you weren’t going to fix it yourself and your girlfriend was no help, we decided we needed to nudge you a bit.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Sharon growls.
“You’re compromised, Carter,” Romanoff retorts. “And you’re not helping. He needs to get better and you’re not helping him get better.”
“And you’re supposed to watch him, not try to honeypot him to get him to spill state secrets, Mother Russia,” Sharon says, snidely. “And for your information, I was going to bring it up with him now, carefully, like normal people do when bringing up potentially terminal illnesses, but you kind of ruined the mood.”
“I’m not going to wait here for you to coddle him into saving himself, okay. That’s not my job and it’s a waste of my time.”
“He’s a human being, Romanoff, not a fucking-”
“Excuse me!” Tony finally shouts. “I’m getting really uncomfortable with a strange woman being in my room when I’m naked and with how you’re both talking about me like I’m not here.” He slips out of bed and puts on his clothes before Romanoff can get too much of a peek. “I’m like not here enough to deal with this right now, so I’m just going to go to my workshop and pretend like none of this is happening? Good plan? Great. Bye.”
“Tony-” Sharon begins, worriedly.
“Sorry, Dream Sharon, can’t hear you!” Tony sings.
“Tony, you can’t just run away from this!”
“I can do whatever I want. This isn’t happening, remember.” Tony takes a deep breath. “This is not happening,” he repeats to himself.
Maybe if he keeps saying it, he might start believing it.
“So…” Sharon trails off.
“I don’t think I want to hear it,” Tony says, slowly, staring at his monitor screen intently.
“You’re pissed at me and that’s fair,” Sharon says, earnestly. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about what I do.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”
“Tony. Tony, wait,” she grips him by the shoulder and turns him to face her. “I’m sorry. It was a condition of my contract with SHIELD that I couldn’t tell anyone what I do.”
Tony stares at her, steadily. “You understand how suspicious it is, of course, that you and I begin a relationship at the exact same time that SHIELD enters my life.”
Sharon runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah, it looks bad. But I swear I didn’t know what SHIELD was doing with you. They kept me out of it. They think I’m compromised.”
“Compromised?” Tony frowns. “By what?”
Sharon gives him an unbearably soft look. “By you, dumbo.”
“Oh,” Tony says, lamely, and it’s almost pathetic how it fills him with a giddy rush, like he’s hit that edge of tipsy that just makes his life great. “Yeah? I make you compromised?”
Sharon nods, a little hesitant herself, and sidles closer to him. “You make me really compromised. I shouldn’t be, and I shouldn’t be okay with it, but you’ve been family to me this whole time and now you’re the man I love.” She shrugs. “I’m getting okay with it.”
“That’s good,” he offers. “Or it’s not. I’m sorry. I don’t actually know espionage terminology very well.”
Sharon laughs and tentatively wraps her arms around him. “I really am sorry, Tony.”
A knot loosens in his chest and he presses their foreheads together. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m hurt but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I think this was just a misunderstanding. Plus, sucky timing.”
“Yeah,” Sharon exhales. “I think that sounds about right.” She kisses his neck, just over the pulse point. “Can you fix this?” she asks, all open and nervous and fragile.
“I think so,” he murmurs. “At least, I really fucking hope so.”
He’s always been quick on his feet and good at saving himself, and now, he may have rediscovered one hell of an incentive.