Chapter Text
“Tony is maybe the coolest choice for the bachelorette that they could have gone with,” Peter says, leaning back in his seat while they’re all waiting for the next date card to arrive.
Steve carefully doesn’t make a face because Wong has a camera pointed right at him, but he wants to. Once again, they’re doing nothing but sitting around discussing Tony even though they hardly know him. Even with more time spent around Tony, most of the people who went on the dates with him earlier this week don’t have anything new to add because apparently, despite the show supposedly being about Tony finding love, they spent all their time discussing themselves. Steve’s heart goes out to him, it really does. He knows that Tony has his whole theory about knowing how to game the setup to find real love, but it can’t possibly be real love when no one’s asked him anything about himself.
“He’s—” Peter starts to continue when Indries interrupts, “Yeah, at least all that money is good for something.”
“Wow, that’s very cynical of you,” Sam observes.
She scoffs, tossing her curtain of her back over her shoulder. “You know that they are only taking trips to Napa because Tony is wealthy. If it were any other bachelorette, they would have gone to Cielo Farms five minutes away.”
“Oh, come on,” Peter says, throwing his hands up. “It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s because of his money. A plane landed in my driveway yesterday. How can you complain about that?”
“Because I didn’t get to go on it to spend time with Tony,” Indries snaps back.
“I thought you were just complaining about Tony’s money,” Sam points out reasonably.
“I am interested in Tony despite his family’s money,” she says nastily.
Given that Indries is wearing a Chanel sweater (which Steve only knows because Janet keeps muttering dire things about it) and given what he knows about her last several partners, he would hazard to say that Indries is interested in Tony because of his family’s money but he keeps his mouth shut.
Someone knocks on the front door, effectively ending their conversation.
“Game time,” Clint mutters as Peter gets up to collect the card.
“Alright, alphas,” Peter says, pulling the card out of the envelope. “’Steve. Sam. T’Challa. Clint—’”
“Yes,” Clint hisses, surreptitiously pumping his fist at his side.
“’Wanda,’” Peter keeps reading. “’Loki. Emma. Rumiko. Victor.” He looks up. “Sunset. Let’s get our love on track. Tony.’”
“Who has not been on a date this week or will not be on a date this week?” T’Challa asks, looking around the room.
Indries, pouting, raises her hand. Christine twitches hers by her ear. And Justin dramatically flings his in the air, looking more irritated than he has any right to considering the stunt he pulled last week.
“Feels fantastic,” Justin says sarcastically and stalks out of the room, followed by one of the cameraguys.
Bucky glares after him and mutters, “I really hate that asshole.”
Steve nods emphatically.
With ten people on this date, they have to take three cars—well, three cars full of contestants; they have an entire motorcade for the assistants and cameras following them. Probably because someone is going for drama, Steve is put in the car with Emma and Sunset (he doubts that he’s been able to hide his dislike of Sunset that much, and while he doesn’t think about Emma, she’s made her disdain for anyone in a lower tax bracket than her very obvious). But if Wong is hoping that he’ll get into a fight, then he’ll be mistaken. Steve is a grown man who doesn’t need to use physical violence to resolve his problems, despite his job, and he spends the drive looking out the window, silently contemplating his quote-unquote strategy for this week instead of playing ball with Sunset’s irritated huffing about not getting this week’s one-on-one (his strategy is staying out of the way and letting Tony get a good look at everyone who’s actually there for love, same as it was last week).
He perks up a little more when they pull up outside of the Stark Industries Racing Facilities forty-five minutes outside of Malibu. Steve’s granddad was a huge fan of Formula 1 racing when he was still alive, and he instilled that love in Steve, who originally started watching to spend time with his granddad and now does it because he loves it just as much. Stark Industries recently hired Makkari Ridloff, one of the best drivers in the world, so he’s excited to see how she races for them.
When they get inside, the SI car is racing around the track, low and sleek and gorgeous. Steve whistles lowly at the sight of her, awed. She’s not going as fast as she could be, but Ridloff handles her beautifully.
“It’s nice to see someone else who appreciates F-1 as much as I do,” T’Challa muses, coming to stand next to him. “You Americans are so obsessed with your Nascar.”
“Hey, don’t diss Nascar,” Sam says, joining them. “It’s an American institution.” He cocks his head to the side, watching the car take the next curve like it’s almost drifting. “But I’ll admit, that’s pretty damn sexy.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, abruptly realizing that one of the people standing at the sidelines below them is actually Makkari Ridloff herself. “But who’s driving?”
“Hmm?” T’Challa asks. He follows Steve’s gaze and makes a thoughtful noise. “I see. And where is Tony? Wouldn’t he normally be here to greet us?”
As if in answer, the car pulls to a stop just in front of Ridloff. The driver, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, hops out and pulls the helmet off of his head, shaking his hair out. It’s then that Steve realizes that that’s Tony.
“Hngh,” Clint utters, sounding strangled as he misses two steps, and for the first time since he met Tony, Steve has to agree with Clint’s assessment.
Tony has always been attractive, Steve can admit that, but this is the first time he would dare to agree that Tony is, well, sexy. The helmet-tousled hair is a good look on him, the competence he demonstrated with the car just now would be a turn on for anyone, and the cocky smirk he sports as he approaches Ridloff suits him so well that even Steve, who is very definitely not here for love, feels a little jealous of whichever alpha Tony picks.
Only for a moment, though. Then reality reasserts itself. He’s here as a bodyguard, not to find an omega, and if he’s letting himself get distracted by how pretty Tony is, then he’s not paying attention to what actually matters—keeping him alive.
“You’re right,” Tony is telling Ridloff as the group of alphas pick up the pace down the stairs. “She’s definitely drifting to the left. I’ll take a look at her while you’re in training and see what I can figure out.” He looks up at the alphas and smirks, cocking his hip to the side. “Hey, guys.”
“Tony!” everyone but Steve cheers in some cue that he was probably supposed to pick up and didn’t. Oh well. He doubts the cameras were on him anyway. He does manage to jog down the steps with them instead of getting left behind so at least there’s that. Sam reaches Tony first, leaning over the barricade to hug him so tightly that he physically lifts Tony off the ground.
“That was nice!” Tony says once he’s back on solid ground, grinning at Sam.
“You look incredible,” Sam says.
“Thank you,” Tony says, smile widening. “I know.” He takes in everyone else, gaze lingering on Steve for a second. “Today, I thought it’d be fun to do something that takes us all back to our childhood. Or at least, mine.” He laughs. “The SI F-1 team is a huge part of my life. I do all the maintenance for the team whenever they’re at home, and two years ago, I had the opportunity to take over for Peter Maximoff—” He gestures to the other person standing next to Makkari Ridloff—“during the Monaco Historic Grand Prix back when he was still driving for us.
“I’m looking for an alpha who’s willing to share my interests. They don’t have to love them as much as I do, but if I’m watching football for you, then I’d like it if you’re willing to watch Formula 1 for me. So today, I thought we’d have fun and cut loose with a little race.”
Tony laughs at what must be an alarmed expression on more than a few faces and adds, “I’m not expecting you to get behind the wheel of an F-1 car, but I do expect you to get behind the wheel of these bad boys.” He turns and flourishes at the line of go-karts being pushed out onto the track by a team of mechanics.
Steve’s jaw drops. That sounds amazing. He likes going fast. Back home, he has a motorcycle that he’s maybe added a few after-market modifications to to increase the speed. He likes to take it out on Highway 1 in the middle of the night and see what she can really do. And now he’s getting the opportunity to race around a real practice track in what looks like some professional-grade go-karts.
Alright, he’s with Peter on this one. He’s not interested in him, but Tony is possibly the coolest choice of bachelorette they could have gone with this season.
“I told the alphas that I was looking for someone who would share my interests—or at least not complain when I want to watch Formula 1,” Tony says to the camera as he tinkers with SI’s car. He glances over his shoulder at the track where Makkari and Peter are teaching the alphas how to drive their go-karts. “And that’s true. I’ve dated too many alphas who expect me to care about the things that they care about, whatever that is, but they won’t care about the things that I love in return. So I’m looking for someone who can get over themselves and participate in something that they don’t care about because they love me.
“But that’s not the only thing I’m looking for today. I’m also looking for someone who can have fun with this, for someone who’s maybe a little adventurous, a little dangerous. I drove SI’s car in the Grand Prix two years ago, and it was amazing, and it was fun, and I won, but then I got home and the woman I was dating at the time spent so much time yelling at me over putting myself in danger and how omegas shouldn’t do that that she actually yelled for longer than the race went on. I want someone who’ll see me go out on that track and cheer for me so loudly that I hear them over the engine.”
He looks at the alphas again, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “I chose a bunch of alphas today that I suspect are adrenaline junkies like me, but I also chose a few that I suspect aren’t. Like look at Emma. Her shoes cost more than my entire outfit, let alone that dress, and she keeps touching her go-kart with one finger like she thinks it’ll chip her manicure.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think she’s going to be into this as much as I am. But you know what I do think? I think she’s competitive. She told me last week that the reason she wanted to talk to me so early was because she wanted to make sure her sister didn’t get to me first. I respect that. So I’m excited to see how she handles this.”
“Anything else you’re hoping for from today?” Coulson asks mildly. Amusement is lurking in his eyes at Tony’s assessment of Emma’s character, though, so Tony winks at him.
“I’m interested to see what Steve is going to do,” he confesses. “Last week, I had to seek him out to talk to him. I thought he wasn’t interested, but it turns out, he just doesn’t know how this works. He knows now, though, so I’m hoping I’ll actually see some interest from him. If not…” He shrugs. “There are other alphas here who actually want to date me. I don’t have any interest in keeping him on just because he intrigued me last week. I can’t make excuses for him.”
“Hello, everybody, and welcome to the first Bachelorette’s Sprint Series!” Nick declares, sitting up in the announcer’s booth with Makkari and Peter. Tony is standing on a platform in the middle of the track, jumping up and down while the crowd chants his name. Steve shakes his head and looks back down at his car—painted red, white, and blue, because the mechanic had taken one look at him and declared him an all-American good boy. Tony sure is a personality, Steve will grant him that.
“I am Nick “the Matchmaker” Fury,” Nick continues. “Here with me today to call the action are Peter Maximoff and Makkari Ridloff, Stark Industries racers both past and present.”
“Now, our alphas today aren’t competing for any kind of cup or trophy,” Peter says.
“That’s right,” Nick agrees. “They’re competing in a series of sprint races for the coveted prize of twenty-five uninterrupted minutes talking to the bachelorette, Tony, as they travel between here and their dinner tonight. The alpha who wins that will definitely be a strong contender for tonight’s rose”
The other alphas break out into excited muttering. Even Emma, who’s been unenthusiastic about the whole thing since she got here, looks much more interested in the proceedings. Steve manages a quick smile and nod for the cameras when Sam asks him if he can believe it. He doesn’t need twenty-five minutes of talking to Tony. Let someone else have it.
Since there’s so many of them and this is only a practice track, they’re divided up into heats for the first round to minimize the risk of crashes and injuries. Steve is sitting out for the first heat, along with Sam, T’Challa, Clint, and Emma. He watches with interest as the others take their places, listening with half an ear as Sam, T’Challa, and Clint chatter about what they’d like to discuss with Tony should they win. He’d like one of those three to win, but Rumiko and Loki don’t seem too bad, he guesses. Rumiko is surprisingly down-to-earth for someone as wealthy as she is, and Loki is, well, a bit of a snob, but pretty obviously besotted with Tony. If he were going to put money on someone from that heat winning, though, it would be Rumiko. She easily outstrips all of the others with the exception of Loki, and even he is still far enough behind her to be counted in seconds. He probably shouldn’t be surprised; she’d spent a pretty good chunk of time talking about her motorcycle during lunch.
When it’s Steve’s turn, he settles into the go-kart with only a bit of discomfort since he’s a pretty big guy, which fades to the back of his mind when the engine roars. He needs to let someone else win, he reminds himself. He doesn’t need the one-on-one time with Tony. He needs to—
He leaps into drive and all thoughts disappear except the kart, the track, and him.
The thing is, back when he was a punk teenager, lashing out at the world for his complicated grief when the asshole he was supposed to call “Dad” died, he did street racing so he’d stop getting into so many unwinnable fights and making his mom sad. He never won anything but he came real close a few times and he never got caught by the cops, which was the real prize. And it doesn’t matter that this is a track, not the city streets. It doesn’t matter that this is a kart, not a car. It’s the same basic principle, and Steve knows what to do with it.
He wins his heat, advancing into the second round with T’Challa and Sam following him against Rumiko, Loki, and Victor. And then he wins that round with Sam and Rumiko trailing. And then he wins again, and now it’s just him and Sam. He’s beating him too—
Except.
He’s coming around that last corner, the finish line in sight. Sam is tailing him a lot closer this time. He really wants that one-on-one time, Steve muses—
The one-on-one time.
The time that Steve doesn’t need.
The time that Sam does.
He puts the brakes on. Not a lot. Not anything noticeable. Nothing that anyone will pick up on and realize that he lost on purpose. Just enough to let Sam shoot by him, taking the lead by milliseconds. Sam soars across the finish line on purpose, and on a professional level, it kind of hurts.
But personally? He’s so pleased for Sam he could burst.
He climbs out of the car, dropping his helmet off in the seat, and heads over to shake Sam’s hand. “Congratulations!” he shouts over the roar of the crowd. “You deserve this!”
“Thanks!” Sam shouts back, clearly stunned by his win. “I thought you had me there for a minute. I mean, you were blowing past all of us the rest of the time.”
“Nah, I thought I was gonna lose control on that last curve there,” he says. “Felt like there was a little shimmy. Was terrified I was gonna spin out and crash into the wall, you know?”
“Yeah, that’d be a hell of a way to end this thing,” Sam agrees. “You’d probably get Tony showing up in your hospital room though, so…” He shrugs in a “take it or leave it” kind of way. Steve snorts and starts heading back towards the locker room to shower and get changed. Four races, each one twenty-five minutes long, he’s definitely gotta be stinking pretty badly at this—
“So.”
He pulls up short when Tony practically appears in front of him. Tony’s eyes are narrowed, suspicious. Does he know what Steve did? No, there’s no way. He can’t. Tony’s an incredible driver, but Steve was subtle. The race was won by a hair. Tony couldn’t possibly know that he’d thrown the race.
“You came pretty close there,” Tony states.
“Yeah,” Steve says, hedging past him. “Sam just… he was the better driver that last race, you know?” Please don’t question him further. Please don’t question him further. Please don’t—
“Yeah,” Tony echoes. “I guess so.”
“Right,” Steve says. He jerks his thumb at the showers. “I should go… I’ll see you at dinner.”
“See you.”
He’s certain he can still feel Tony’s eyes on him all the way to the locker room door, though he refuses to turn around and look.
“Come on,” Tony demands as soon as Steve is gone. He stalks towards the garage, not waiting to see if the cameraguy is following him. “I want to do a confessional. Right now.”
“Confess—” the operator splutters. “What about Sam?”
“I don’t care,” he snaps. He’ll talk to Sam in the car. “I have things to say.”
He plops himself down on the stool, rolling a few inches before he stops himself with his foot. Pursing his lips, he taps his fingers on the side of the table in front of him. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what just happened. Does Steve think that he’s stupid? Does he think that Tony doesn’t know anything about racing—even after the display he put on this morning?
“I don’t get him,” he says abruptly.
“…Who?” the cameraguy says hesitantly.
“Steve, obviously,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t—he could have won that. He should have won that. But he let Sam win. He deliberately let Sam win. Why? What the fuck? Was he trying to be nice or something? Does he know that I don’t give prizes for being nice? The prize was spending more time with me. Doesn’t he want to spend time with me? That’s the entire point of this show. Why would he deliberately give that up?” He rests his chin on his hand. “Does he not want to be here? No one’s making him. He can go home at any point.”
“I don’t think—”
“Is he here to launch his social media career? Because he’s doing a terrible job of it if that’s the case. I mean, is he trying to sell tequila or something? Why is he here if he doesn’t want to be?”
“…I’m sure he wants to be here,” the cameraguy says eventually. “He probably just… got nervous. Or something.”
Tony huffs. Yeah, right. Steve practically ran from him to get back to the locker rooms. That’s not nerves. That’s doesn’t want to be in his presence at all. Well, fine. Tony can accommodate him.
Unless Steve does something absolutely spectacular tonight, Tony will be more than happy to accommodate him.
“I missed seeing you after the race,” Sam tells him while they’re in the car on their way to Mélisse.
“Yeah, they pulled me aside for a quick confessional that ended up being not so quick,” Tony lies. Now that it’s been a while and he’s not as angry about Steve deliberately throwing the race and giving up time with him, he feels bad about abandoning Sam. Sam didn’t deserve him ignoring him like that. But he doesn’t want him to know what went down. It’s embarrassing for one thing. Steve is supposed to be here for him but he doesn’t even want to spend time with him? Yeah, that’s about as embarrassing as it gets. “How are you feeling after your win?”
“I am… pretty jazzed, not gonna lie,” Sam says. “There was a moment there where I was really afraid I wasn’t going to get it, but Steve said he thought he was gonna lose control, and I took advantage and I won.”
Tony doesn’t really want to talk about Steve anymore so he says, “’Pretty jazzed.’ There’s a pretty Southern phrase if I ever heard one.”
“Yeah, well, I’m from the South. Gotta take some things with me.”
“I thought you were from D.C.”
“Oh, I am—now. But I was born and raised in Louisiana. Parents owned a shrimping boat and all.”
“Oh wow,” he says, laughing. “An actual shrimping boat? What was that like?”
“Smelly,” Sam says immediately. “It was a pretty poor town too. I was glad to be out of there when I joined up.”
“That’s right,” Tony recalls. “You’re ex-Air Force, yeah? My friend, Rhodey, he’s Air Force too.”
“Your friend’s got good taste.” Sam laughs. “My friend, Riley, and I joined up together. We were pararescuemen for a few years.”
“So what does Riley do now? You said you’re a therapist, right?”
Sam stills, the smile slipping off of his face. He fiddles with his hands in his lap for a minute. Tony waits, feeling like he’s misstepped but waiting to see what Sam will tell him. Eventually, Sam says, “He, uh, he doesn’t do anything. He got shot on our last mission. We were ambushed. He distracted them so the rest of us could get out of there.”
“Oh,” Tony says softly. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine.”
But he can tell that it’s not. Of course it isn’t. He thinks about if Rhodey had been shot down when he was deployed, back before Tony pulled strings to get him stationed permanently in California as SI’s liaison. He doesn’t know what he would have done. Lost his mind, probably. Rhodey has been his rock since he was an itty bitty fourteen year old, terrified out of his wits in the MIT dorms.
“Riley’s the reason I went back to school and became a therapist actually,” Sam says after another minute. “The VA’s grief counselors weren’t worth a fraction of what I was paying them, and I just thought that someone’s got to do better. After everything the military puts us through while we’re over there, we deserve better than someone telling us we’re Bonafide heroes for coming home when other people didn’t.”
“Right,” Tony murmurs. He reaches across the seat to place his hand on top of Sam’s knee, not sure what to say to make this better. It’s clear that Sam still deeply misses Riley, and when he thinks about how long he’d miss Rhodey if they were in the same position, he completely understands. “Not that my words mean anything, but for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here.”
Sam smiles softly at him and says, “I’m glad to be here.”
When they get to the restaurant, they have to separate to get ready for the evening portion, but not before Sam gives him one of the softest, sweetest kisses he’s ever had. Tony really likes Sam, he muses as he changes into his midnight blue overcoat. It’s too early to tell yet if he believes he could see the rest of his life with him, but Sam is definitely a contender.
“It was so fun watching you today,” he tells everyone once they’re all seated on the couches in the backroom of the restaurant. “I’m pretty sure most of you have never driven a go-kart before in your life, but I really appreciated the enthusiasm and effort that you put into this.” Sure, he’d had to add an incentive to get some of them to put in the effort, but at least they’re interested in him enough to do it. “You played hard, and believe me, it did not go unnoticed. So—” He looks around the couches and decides on—“Loki, you wanna go with me?”
He could have gone with Steve, and maybe he should have so he could get to the bottom of that whole mess over the race. But he wants to see what Steve will do. If Steve approaches him tonight, then maybe the cameraguy was right and he’s just shy. If he doesn’t… then Tony supposes he knows who he’s sending home at the rose ceremony.
The room is a little too small to really have effective private conversations, but someone has put up privacy screens, so they make it work. Tony settles back into his seat, waiting for Loki to do the same before he asks, “So how are you doing tonight?”
“I’m doing well now that I’ve gotten to see you again,” Loki replies. “I very much appreciated you being there for us today, cheering us on. I believe that it made me a better racer.” He smiles ruefully. “Though I didn’t get further than the second race. But seeing how passionate you were today, how much you cared about all of us, it swept all of my nerves away. All that’s left are butterflies.”
Tony ducks his head, blushing. Loki is a smooth talker, he’ll grant him that, but there’s such an undercurrent of sincerity there, unmistakable and certain. Loki really does mean it that having Tony there helped him.
“You make me so nervous every time I talk to you,” Loki continues. “I know that I am quieter than the others and that you’ve asked for someone who would be bold for you. I would love to be that alpha for you, but I’m afraid that’s not who I am. I don’t want you to think lesser of me when I can only be who I am.”
“There’s boldness in admitting that you’re nervous,” Tony says, shifting closer to him. “And that’s only one part of what I’m looking for. More than anything, I’m looking for what I said the very first night I was: I’m looking for someone who’ll be real and honest with me. And tonight, telling me what you just did, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
The night feels like it flies by. Tony talks to Emma, to Clint, to Wanda, the topics flying as they discuss fashion and Clint’s kids and Wanda immigrating to the states when she was a teenager and football and the race today and a million other things besides. Before he knows it, he’s sitting down with T’Challa.
“You drove really well today,” Tony comments.
“Thank you,” T’Challa says. “Wakanda does not have many cars, we believe in—I believe you call it ‘walkable cities’—but I have had the opportunity to drive while on business trips with my father and found that I enjoyed it. However, I am more interested in talking about you tonight.”
Tony’s eyebrow raises. “Me?” he checks. That’s not how this usually goes. The early weeks are for getting to know the contestants, not the bachelorette. His time will come later, once he’s narrowed the playing field a bit.
“Yes,” T’Challa replies evenly. “It was truly something watching you handle that car when we came in. You clearly knew her well, enough to trust that she wouldn’t hurt you even while she wasn’t at her best. And when you got out of the car—you were beautiful. It’s clear that driving like this suits you. So yes, I will treasure that memory for a very long time.”
“Thanks,” Tony says, touched by the consideration for him. “My dad—he offered to let me tinker with him on this old Roadster when I was four. We must have built and rebuilt that thing, god, half a dozen times over the years? When I was sixteen, just after I got my license, he gave it to me for good. It was his favorite of his cars, but he said he loved me more. And then, when I was eighteen, he bought the Formula 1 team and told me that they were mine to take care of. That’s exactly the words he used too—mine to take care of. Not maintain or own. We never looked at cars like that. And I thought, well, if I’m taking care of them, then I better make sure I know how to drive them.” He spreads his hands, shrugging a little. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” T’Challa agrees, touching Tony’s wrist.
“You surprised me today, Rumi,” Tony tells her when she sits down across from him.
“How so?”
“Well, and this might be on me for making an assumption, but I would not have expected the woman currently wearing Balenciaga to drive like that,” he admits readily. Call him sexist if they must, but her dress costs more than his yearly mortgage, which is saying something, and in his circles, the kind of woman who’d wear a dress like that wouldn’t even show up to cheer for a go-karting race, let alone drive one.
She laughs. “I’m only wearing this for the cameras,” she confides. “Truthfully, I’m much more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt. And as for my driving, well, it might have more wheels than my motorcycle, but it didn’t feel all that different from driving it.”
Tony straightens, interested in her confession. “You have a bike?” he asks curiously. He’s never bought one. His mom had been terrified he’d get himself killed driving one so he’d never bought one when he was living at home. Now that he’s on his own, he just has to look at the statistics for Highway 1 to know he doesn’t need to tempt fate that much.
“Sure do,” she says. She winks. “I’ll bring her over to the states once this is all over. Take you out for a ride, see how you like her.”
“That sounds absolutely amazing,” he agrees. “I’d love to do that.”
“Tony?” Coulson interrupts. They both look up at him to see him checking his watch. “Time to wrap it up.”
“It… is?” Tony asks, spirits sinking. If it’s time to give out the rose and say his goodbyes, then they’ve been here for hours—and Steve never came to see him once. He didn’t even try to talk to him. He just sat there on that couch and talked to Sam and Clint.
“Right,” he says, getting up. “Okay. Rumi, we’ll have to pick this up again at the cocktail party.”
“Absolutely,” she says, heading back towards the other alphas while Tony goes with Coulson to do one more confessional before he hands out the rose.
He barely even pays attention to what he says, too distracted by Steve’s failure to come talk to him. He just doesn’t understand. If Steve didn’t want to be on his season, he could have quit. He can still quit. No one is actually making him be here. And truthfully, it’s frustrating that he took a spot away from someone who might have actually been interested in him. It’s just… Tony doesn’t get him and he doesn’t like that.
When he gets back, he carefully doesn’t look at Steve as he says, “Unfortunately, we ran out of time, so I didn’t get to talk to everyone tonight, and I’m very sorry about that. But to those of you that I did get to talk to, I just want to say thank you for opening your heart to me and letting me open mine to you.” He picks up the rose, running a single finger over the silky petals.
“I want to give this rose to…” He looks at each alpha who particularly impressed him tonight—Sam and T’Challa and Loki and Rumi—finally landing on Sam. “To Sam because I asked for someone who could have fun and take risks, and that’s exactly what you did today. You really impressed me when we talked tonight—both times—and I can’t wait to get to know you better. So, Sam.” He stands up, Sam standing with him. “Will you accept this rose?”
“Absolutely,” Sam says, pulling him in for a hug and another kiss as soon as Tony is done pinning the rose on his lapel.
“I hope you had fun today,” he says while they start packing things up. “I definitely did. But, I’m also really tired—” There are a few agreeing nods—“And we have a very big night tomorrow, so I’m going to say goodnight to all of you. Rest up; I’ll see you soon.”
He can’t hide that the smile falls from his face as he walks out to the car, and he’s sure that one of the camera catches it. But he can’t help himself. If someone had asked him before this date who he thought he would send home, he would have said Clint without hesitation. As much as Tony likes being around him and spending time with him, Clint is a father and Tony knows with complete certainty that he isn’t ready to become a parent. He feels that more strongly every time they talk. It’s not fair to Clint to keep him on any longer knowing that there’s no future there, and it’s not fair to himself to send someone home that he might have been able to form a connection with just to keep Clint on another week.
But when he thinks about Steve slowing down so that he wouldn’t have to win the race. When he thinks about him running away from him to get to the locker rooms. When he thinks about Steve not even attempting to talk to him tonight. When he thinks about who he’s going to send home now?
Suddenly, he isn’t sure.