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Every week, a plant arrives.
At first, Steve isn’t sure why, or where they come from. In the new apartment T’Challa got for him, after he came back to the U.S., Steve rarely gets any mail. The place is not known to the public.
It’s not a bad apartment. A little smaller than his previous place in Brooklyn, but it’s comfortable enough. It’s just… empty, since Steve didn’t have many things to bring with him from Wakanda. He mostly has his backpack, a few clothes, the gauntlets Shuri made, and a couple books.
Most of his correspondence goes to the Avengers compound, and Steve picks it up when he goes by, to help train the new recruits.
He doesn’t stay for long.
The first one is a philodendron. It’s a solid green and tiny, but Steve quickly finds out it’s easy to care for. Steve checks for bugs, but there’s nothing. It prefers low light, and he only needs to water it when the leaves get droopy. It’s a nice chore, if Steve’s honest, simple and homely, a small thing for him to actually do when he’s there that isn’t worrying about documents for the next U.N. meeting.
He places it near the window. It’s just a plant, but it makes the apartment look a little less empty.
Steve doesn’t get many visits. He meets the Avengers at the compound, and there he catches up with Sam and Natasha and Clint and Wanda and everyone else. He meets Bucky whenever he’s in town, mostly at Wakanda’s international center, where Bucky spends most of the time he stays in the U.S. He runs into Sharon sometimes, in the hallways of the new SHIELD facility, or even during Avengers missions.
It’s nice. Steve rarely invites anyone to his apartment, anyway. He knows it’s not very homely.
When Tony shows up on his doorstep, the only thing Steve can offer him is a glass of water.
Tony’s first visit is very awkward. They spend most of the time in silence, Tony drinking the water slowly, as if he doesn’t want to finish it and not have something to hold onto. Steve watches him – sees the way his brown, clever eyes sweep the room around them; how his mouth curls between every sip, as if the water is bitter to swallow.
Steve thinks he should probably say something, but he has no idea what Tony wants to hear, so he doesn’t say anything.
Tony’s eyes find the philodendron.
“Nice plant,” he says.
“I’m trying not to kill it,” Steve says.
The corner of Tony’s mouth twists upwards. “I think you’ll manage.”
The second one that arrives is a cactus. It’s a dark green and very, very small.
Steve places it right on the window sill, where it can get the most sun. Google tells him it doesn’t need much water, so he doesn’t water it when he waters the philodendron.
The two plants look a bit weird, their lively colors dissonant from the rest of Steve’s somber apartment. Looking at them makes Steve think of painting, of the first few strikes of color on a blank canvas.
The next time Tony comes by, he brings Chinese food.
Steve raises an eyebrow at him when he walks inside. Tony, unfazed, practically throws the bags on Steve’s kitchen table and asks where he keeps the dishes.
Steve helps him set a table. This time, Tony talks a lot, almost as if he’s trying to compensate for the silence of the previous visit. He babbles about the Avengers, the Chinese place he got the food from, a teenager who asked him for a photo when he was on the way to the building, etc. Steve still isn’t sure of what to say to him – still doesn’t know exactly what Tony wants, by coming here, when he doesn’t need to – but he listens and responds, and they manage a conversation that almost feels normal. Tony’s voice is comforting to hear, a frantic and continuous rhythm that forces Steve to pay attention, to stay present.
“What do you do with them?” he asks, out of nowhere, when Steve is busy opening a fortune cookie. Steve follows his gaze to the plants.
He raises an eyebrow. “Water them?”
Tony’s fingers tap the table distractedly. “That’s it?”
“What else am I supposed to do with them?”
“I don’t know,” Tony says, but the tapping continues, echoing through the apartment. “Talk? They say it’s good for them if you talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to them.”
A glimpse of something that seems slightly disappointment crosses Tony’s face. He shrugs. “Well, tough for them, I guess.”
Steve frowns, and a part of him wants to ask what Tony means, why Tony is here, but he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and send him out the door.
The next day, Steve starts talking to the plants.
It’s a bit strange, at first. He doesn’t know what to say, so he talks about the morning’s training, how Peter almost managed to web him up this time. He talks about eating the leftover from the Chinese food Tony bought, and he says it’s probably going to rain soon.
It’s not the most exciting chatter, but after a while, the words start coming out more easily.
The next plant that arrives is a pothos plant, a kind of ivy. It follows the pattern of the two previous ones: easy to care for, small, and a vivid shade of green.
When Steve receives it, he asks the delivery man who sent it, but the man makes very clear that he’s not supposed to say.
Steve sets the pothos plant on the window sill, between the cactus and the philodendron. The three of them look more coherent together, less random elements and more like a conscious decoration choice. Steve finds himself smiling.
When Tony comes again, he brings Burger King bags.
“No fortune cookies?” Steve asks, only half joking. Tony rolls his eyes.
“I hope you’re not complaining about the greatest American meal,” he says, picking up a bunch of fries.
Steve laughs. He talks more, this time. He tells Tony about the latest inventions he saw at the Wakandan center. Tony listens attentively with bright, interested eyes.
By the time Steve finishes talking, he’s a bit winded, and it strikes him he hasn’t talked that much in a while. Tony watches him and smiles.
“Do you go there a lot?” he asks, and suddenly something about him seems slightly vulnerable, as if he’s asking Steve to tell him a secret.
“Mostly when Buck’s in town,” Steve says. He half expects Tony to tense up at the mention of Bucky, but he just nods.
“They’ve got some great expos of Wakandan art going on.” Tony’s voice sounds forcefully light, but the words float between them, hovering in a way Steve isn’t sure if they’re supposed to.
“Since when do you like art?” he asks, and he instantly regrets it, because it feels like he breaks whatever expectation Tony’s words had set between them. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, though, mouth quickly slipping into a signature grin.
“I don’t,” he says, then shrugs. “Just thought it might interest you. Maybe you could get some pieces to decorate this place a little.”
Steve watches him carefully – the all-too-casual tone of his voice, the forced flippantness with which he gestures towards Steve’s living room. Tony isn’t nearly as much of a good actor as he pretends to be.
“I might,” Steve says, watching the way Tony’s eyes flicker to his face immediately, and how he looks away just as fast.
Two days later, Steve paints the plants.
He buys a few art supplies from a store near the subway. He doesn’t mean to do anything big (he hasn’t painted in years, and lately he’s been busy with the rebuilding of the team and the world), just a simple painting, but when he starts it feels big, like he’s throwing the shield, like he’s remembering something he didn’t know he had forgotten.
When Tony sees the painting, it’s been almost a month since his first visit, and he doesn’t hide how pleased it makes him. His brown eyes go wide and search it immediately, and then he gives a huge grin as if he’s seen the Mona Lisa.
“That’s pretty good, Cap.”
“Thanks,” Steve says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. If he ducks his head, the way the rays of sun hit Tony’s face make his eyes seem almost golden. “They thought so too.”
Tony’s head snaps at him so fast it’s impressive. “They…?”
And Steve nods towards the plants, and—and there’s something in the way Tony’s smile widens, in the way that it changes and grows happier and yet fonder and somehow more fragile at the same time, that reminds Steve, too painfully, that he still doesn’t know why Tony’s here, but he desperately wants him to stay.
The next week, Steve receives blooming flowers.
It’s a pot with daisies. They’re very delicate, and Steve holds the pot carefully when he takes it, placing it on the windowsill of his bedroom.
The philodendron has grown, and so Steve needs to move it into another pot. He buys one while coming home from a meeting at the new SHIELD HQ, and then makes a bit of mess while repotting, spreading dirt everywhere. He cleans up afterwards, and it feels nice, to see the final result, to see something small but concrete that he made.
When he’s done, he paints the daisies.
Tony starts showing up once a week, sometimes more than that. He shows up with food, most of the time, and they talk and bicker in the kitchen. Once, he brings a chess table, and he and Steve take turns at wondering if the other let them win. He helps Steve with the dishes and complains because Steve doesn’t have a dishwasher – Steve sprinkles some water over him and he laughs.
Every time, it gets easier, it gets more natural, and the plants and flowers keep coming. A sunflower, a hibiscus, succulents, calatheas. Steve receives and takes good care of every single one, paints them sometimes, changes pots, waters them and talks to them every day.
Tony doesn’t comment, just assesses them with his gaze sometimes, and Steve doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what Tony wants to hear, but he knows what he wants to ask, and it is: why?
Tony never says it. Instead, he just shows up, with his fast-paced voice and bright eyes and smile, and each time Steve wants him to stay more and more.
When the cactus blooms, Steve calls Tony.
He hasn't done that, before. Usually, Tony shows up around the same time, always, and Steve just lets him in.
This time, though, it’s different. Steve’s voice and hand tremble, but he asks Tony to visit.
He cooks.
He goes for a simple dinner, pasta and some salad. He makes a special effort with the Italian sauce, wanting to see Tony’s face go delighted when he tastes it, wanting him to grin and look at Steve and joke about how he’s turning into a housewife.
It works. Tony talks and laughs and jokes with him during the entire meal, and he compliments Steve’s cooking. He’s wearing a dark blue button up shirt and dark pants, and he looks so beautiful, golden eyes and golden skin glimmering under the faint lights of Steve’s kitchen. Like the plants, Tony is a strike of color that Steve’s life didn’t have before, and now he needs it, craves it so desperately he doesn’t know how he managed to survive without it.
After dinner they bicker about Steve forgetting to make desert, and Tony promises to bring ice-cream next time. And they’re laughing at one point and their heads are too close together, and it strikes Steve how they’ve moved past from the need to talk about the past, at least right now. It’s so easy, Steve thinks, it’s almost hard to believe, that after all they went through, it’s that easy, that simple, just both of them smiling and touching lips in Steve’s kitchen.
In the morning, Steve wakes up to water the plants. He doesn’t talk to them so as not to wake Tony up, but Tony wakes up anyway, stretching languidly on the bed.
“Get back here,” he whines, and Steve laughs.
“I have to take care of all the children you gave me,” he says, light-hearted, but Tony’s expression is surprised.
“When did you…?”
Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks back to the bed, leans over and presses a kiss on Tony’s warm, pliant, delicious mouth.
“You’re not subtle.”
Tony grins against his lips, slightly apologetic. “I thought you’d like it. I don’t know.” He makes a show of shrugging, but Steve sees the way his eyes glimmer, how they search Steve’s face with a yearn that makes his heart ache. “I thought it would make you happy.”
Steve kisses him again, hands going to his face, feeling his beard between his fingers. The kiss is long, slow, growing deeper as Steve parts his lips, feeling Tony’s tongue meeting his, eyes fluttering closed as he explores Tony’s mouth. He wants Tony’s taste to linger on his lips, he wants to never taste anything else again.
When they separate, Tony’s arms go to Steve’s waist, pulling him closer. He buries his face in Steve’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Steve’s fingers go through his hair, feeling the short, soft brown locks, massaging Tony’s scalp, reveling in the way he can feel Tony’s body relaxing against his.
“It did,” Steve finally answers, voice soft and low. “It does. You do,” he babbles, and Tony’s breath grows sharp and he lifts his head, eyes so bright and insecure Steve feels a knot in his throat.
“Yeah?” Tony asks, almost disbelieving, a wonderful smile curling his lips. “That’s nice to hear.”
“The plants do, too,” Steve says, pressing a kiss on his temple, and Tony lets out a short laugh. “There’s a lot of them now. Place is getting crowded.”
Tony lays his head on Steve’s shoulder again, hums against his skin. Steve feels his fingers tapping his shoulders, waits for him to say what he wants to say.
“Lots of space at the compound for a garden,” he blurts, and his eyes don’t meet Steve’s, but Steve feels the way his hands shake, how his fingers tap faster.
Steve pulls him up, kisses him again, fast, devouring, a mess of tongue and spit and yes. “I can work with that,” he says when they pull apart.