"The doctors say he shattered L4 through S1, extreme laceration to the spinal cord. Probably would be looking at some form of paralysis," Tony explained to Natasha quietly as the two stood overlooking the compound lawn, "but she fixed it. She fixed it and almost gave her own life because it's what I wanted her to do."

"Steve's not gonna stop. If you don't either, (Y/N) is gonna be the best case scenario."

"She's going to leave," he continued as if she hadn't said a word, "as soon as she wakes up, she's gone, Nat. I'm such a selfish asshole, you know that?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"Pfft, thanks."

"Let's entertain that, though," Natasha smiled, resting her hand gently over his forearm, "tell me why you think you deserve that title, and then I'll tell you mine."

"Hmm, that's strangely kinky, Romanoff." Tony smiled weakly, avoiding her eyes and knowing that all she wanted was for him to look back so that she could read him better; Natasha had a strange ability to break through his façade and see what was really going on behind it, and this time he was desperate to keep her out. Anything that involved how he really felt about you was no one's business but his, no matter how close of a friend they might be. "What if she doesn't wake up? It's my fault."

"She's an adult and made her choice, Tony," she tried to reassure him, with no success. "Not everything can be your fault. A fair amount, maybe, but not everything."

Tony had opened his mouth to offer his quick witted argument before she had fully finished, but he found himself held silent with a reluctant curl of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "I've gotta tell ya, Red, I've never seen such a compassionate side to you before. It's refreshing. Like, running my face into an iceberg, kind of refreshing."

~~~

Once Natasha had left, and Rhodey had tried and failed to get him to rest at home, Tony returned to your hospital room to spend the night at your side just as he had done each night since your arrival there. In a moment of exhausted desperation, he grabbed a few of the extra hospital pillows from the closet and a stray blanket that had found its way onto the foot of your bed. Doing his best to be quiet, he pulled one of the recliners across the room and next to you, dropping his drained form into it with a heavy sigh. He sat still that way for a few minutes, just watching your breathing and its rhythm, hoping that it would calm his nerves so that he could rest; he should have known better, because nothing would work if it was anything less than seeing your eyes open to look back.

He finally slid the two pillows behind his head, but they were lumpy and thin and not nearly up to his usual standard. He tried doubling them over, but that just made it worse. He considered calling the nurse to find him a real pillow, but he shot that idea down as quickly as it came to him, hearing an emergency alarm sounding in the hall just outside and knowing that a pillow was the least of anyone's concern. "I donate enough to this joint," he grumbled, trying to position them again, "pillows aren't...that expensive..." he struggled, slapping his hand against them.

"The kind you sleep on are," you whispered, your voice cracking from lack of use. "We can't all live as luxuriously as you, Tony."

"Hey!" he jumped up, stumbling to his feet and dropping the useless bedding to the floor. "You're awake! Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"Right...hold on, just a sec." With a renewed spring in his step, he crossed the room again to grab you a glass of water while you sat up and tested your energy level after draining it to nearly nothing. "Hey, lie down, you just woke up."

You waved him off with an inaudible groan of argument and stayed put, taking the glass from him for a drink that felt as if you had been dehydrated for years. It was the best thing you had ever tasted, and you thought that you could never get enough. "How long have I been out?" you asked, handing him the empty glass for a refill. "Did it work? Is Rhodes okay? I blacked out before I had a chance to know."

"Yeah, it worked," Tony answered softly, but with a regretful shake of his head, "and I'm sorry that I asked you to do it. I didn't want you to if it ended up like this. I would never want to hurt you, (Y/N)."

"Then why were you fighting?"

"Touché."

"I couldn't let you have Rhodey's injury on your conscience. You do have one, you know." The next glass of water went down just as readily as the first, but this time when you returned it to his hands, he didn't stand to get more. You sat together silently for a moment, studying his face when he looked away and didn't realize what you were doing. His eye was blackened and swollen, the cuts in his skin just barely beginning to heal. He looked as if he had aged years right before your eyes, and now your concern with the passage of time was worrisome. "How long was I out?"

"A week."

"Oh," you exhaled shakily, "okay. So, where's Steve? I assume he gave you that shiner?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, absentmindedly running his fingers gently over his wound, "he also gave me cheap-ass phone and a sappy apology letter. Not sure if I trust either of them yet."

"Can I see it?"

"The letter? Well, I don't have it with me..."

"No, the phone."

"Why?" he asked, his posture straightening. "I'm not sure if it even works. It's really archaic. It's a...flip phone," he shuddered with a grimace. "He did that on purpose, (Y/N). It's not funny."

"I'm sure it wasn't that diabolical, Tony. Although, Sam probably thought it was funny as hell." The picture of your friends floated around your hazy mind, a memory of something so much happier than the mess that had been created around you; it made you wonder if anything would have gone differently had you remained in hiding and let the team think you dead. You didn't know for sure why Maria thought that you could stop this, and maybe one day you'd ask her, but your only focus in this moment was to begin to bring your family back together somehow. "I want to talk to him."

"Again...why?"

"Because it's Steve. Do you really think that I need another reason?"

~~~

When the phone rang- that phone- Sam and Steve were frozen in place, staring at it with fear and curiosity in their eyes, but the fear was winning out. They had found themselves mute, with mouths agape, their gaze locked on the device as it bounced and vibrated its way across their small kitchen table with each ring.

"It's ringing," Sam whispered, pointing at it anxiously. "Steve...it's ringing."

"I can hear that, Sam."

"What do we do?"

"Answer it?"

"Are you serious?" Sam scoffed. "It's Stark."

"I told him to call if he needed us."

"Not a great plan." Sam held his hand out over the phone and let it hover there for a few seconds, trying to put on his best confident voice for a conversation that he never wanted to have. His hand shook heavily when it finally rested on the device, closing his eyes before opening it carefully and reluctantly pressing it to his ear. He gave a quick cough to clear his throat and let his voice deepen with a faked authority. "Stark?"

"No, it's me."

"Oh my god!" his tone completely changed at the sound of your voice. "(Y/N)! You're okay! Steve! She's okay!"

"Give me that," Steve commanded, reaching out to yank the phone from Sam's grip despite his attempts to hold on. With it being such an old phone, Sam decided to let his friend win rather than risk breaking his only connection. "What the hell were you doing?" Steve hissed at you angrily. "Why would you take that risk when you knew that it could kill you?"

"Hello to you too, Steve," you snapped. "I did it because it was the right thing to do. At one time, I thought that was our way of doing things, but after this I'm not so sure. I feel like I don't know anyone anymore. I might ask what the hell you were doing?"

"We're still us...for the most part," he sighed. "Things just...they got out of hand."

"No shit."

"Hey, watch that."

"Make me," you challenged plainly. "Oh, wait, you can't. You're hiding." You held the phone as it fell silent, though you thought that you could still hear the gentle sounds of his breathing from the other end of the line. After a few minutes, you worried that he had hung up on you for challenging him, and you wouldn't have necessarily blamed him, but you still expected more from Steve Rogers than a cheap cop-out like that.

"Has anyone filled you in?" he finally said, his tone sad.

"I got Tony's version, yeah, but I'm sure that it's skewed," you answered heavily. "I'd like to hear your side of all of this."

"I don't know if that's possible."

Now it was your turn to hold silent, leaving him to wonder what you were thinking, and if you were still with him. Steve looked to Sam with a shrug of his shoulders, Sam responding with the same and eyes wide in anticipation of what was being said on the end of the line that he couldn't hear. "What's going on?" he finally asked.

Steve pressed the palm of his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone so that you couldn't hear, "I think she's gonna ask to come here to talk."

"Oooooh, bad idea," Sam shook his head vehemently. "No. Bad, bad, bad. She's too close to Tony. Don't do it, man. Don't fall for the guilt trip."

"(Y/N)-"

"Is he worth all of this, Steve? Your friend?"

Your question threw Steve off completely, shocked to his core that you knew enough of what happened to even bring this up; shocked that you would speak about someone you had never met, and that you would be so bold as to insinuate that he would ever say no. "He is. (Y/N), you know I wouldn't have done this if I had any other choice. It wasn't him. T'Challa has been trying to help, his team working to find a way to fix what Hydra did to his mind. They've put Buck back into cryo until they know more."

"So, you're in Wakanda."

"Shit."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" you snickered, feeling a welcome few seconds of levity. "Don't worry, I'm here alone. Tony left so I could talk to you. No one listening on this end." That uncomfortable silence hung heavily over your voices again, but this time you wouldn't allow it to break your determination to continue. "Steve?"

"I'm still here."

"Do you want me to try?"

"Try...what?" he asked cautiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've never done something like it before, but if you want me to, I'm willing to see if I can help your friend. All you have to do is ask, Steve."

"I don't want a repeat of what happened in Leipzig," he quickly retorted, and you could practically hear him shaking his head on the other end of the line. "I won't let you do it if there's a risk to you."

"Your friend's value is no more or less than Tony's friend. This is why I'm here, and I realize that now. I don't know, maybe...if I heal each of you one at a time, it will heal everyone." As you waited for his reply, you could hear the muffled voices of Sam and now maybe Clint too from beneath the hand that covered the phone; you couldn't make out just what they were saying, but the discussion was growing more energetic with each passing minute until they all finally fell silent, and you could hear the change as his hand dropped away.

"Steve. Just ask."