Chapter Text
Like all kidnappers who decided that that kidnapping Tony Stark would be a good life choice, they died in a glorious blaze of explosions.
Tony leaned back against the tree, head tipped up towards the sky, and listened to the distant booms until they gradually died off and the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. It was dark and quiet now; he wasn't sure where he was, only that he was probably (hopefully?) still on American soil, which didn't mean much at all. Roughly 3/4s of the country hated his guts for fighting against Captain America, and the other 1/4 only liked him for the products that he could offer them.
And money. Always the money.
He stayed where he was for a little while longer, just resting, before he slowly hoisted himself to his feet. His bad arm throbbed and so did his ribs - he'd fractured, if not outright broken, a couple - and the rest of his body was definitely bruised because his captors hadn't been gentle, but there was nothing serious enough to keep him from hiking through the woods to the nearest town.
At least this time, it wasn't winter and he wasn't having to walk through several inches of snow while dragging a heavy suit of armor behind him. Small miracles; after the past three days, which had been spent in a dank, smelly cell waiting for his opportunity to escape, he wasn't going to complain.
Something flashed, the moonlight reflecting off metal, and Tony froze as Black Panther emerged from between two trees, stealthy and silent. Tony was so shocked that he just stood there, staring. Out of all the people that he had not been expecting to see, Black Panther was in the top five. As far as Tony knew, the king was supposed to be safe in his own country.
"What are you doing here?" he asked rudely. His throat tightened, the effect of smoke catching up on him, and he swallowed roughly against a coughing spell. It didn't work. His ribs burned as he started to cough, and he silently upgraded the fracture into a definite break.
"A ransom note was sent to us." Black Panther removed his helmet. "And I could sense that you were in danger."
Oh shit. Tony forced himself to stop coughing, squinting through watery eyes. "You... what? Fuck, those guys must've been stupider than I thought. They'd have had better luck trying to get money out of Stark Industries, and they have a very strict no ransom policy." He straightened up, even though it hurt less when he was hunched over, because he didn't like being so much shorter. "So what, did the others send you to make sure that I actually ended up dead?"
T'Challa's lips thinned. "No."
"Really," Tony said, just as flat, not believing him for a second. "And - you know we haven't actually bonded, right? Like just because we shook hands, that doesn't mean you're going to die when I die. I bet it wouldn't even hurt that much. Like a bee sting." He smiled, all teeth.
"That is not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here? I didn't demand anything of you. And I won't. I don't want anything." Tony drew back slightly, wrapping his good arm over his belly for support. T'Challa was probably the only person left in the world who could hurt him (or at least, that's what he wanted to believe). "I'm sorry you got stuck with me for a soul mate. But I haven't told anyone. I wouldn't do that to - well, to anyone, but especially not to you. We can just pretend it never happened. Like we have been."
For a good thirty seconds, T'Challa just stared at him. Tony got uncomfortable approximately three seconds in. He shifted out from under the tree and backed away another couple steps, then realized that was stupid: regardless of whether he turned his back on T'Challa, it wouldn't make a difference if T'Challa really wanted to kill him. Tony was just a human, and an injured one at that, whereas T'Challa was definitely... something more. So he turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, hoping that T'Challa hadn't brought anyone else with him.
"Anthony," T'Challa said behind him.
Tony winced. "Please don't call me that." The last time anyone had called him that was Jarvis, and Howard, and Maria... the old ache rose up inside of him, clawing at his chest.
"Tony. My plane is this way. I can give you a lift. Unless you prefer to walk over twenty miles to Mianus."
"Excuse me?" Tony said, spinning around.
"Mianus, Connecticut," T'Challa said with a completely straight face. "It's the closest town."
Tony stared at him again. "Are you shitting me? Because I haven't eaten or slept in over three days and I'm pretty sure I have broken ribs and probably a concussion and that would just be cruel."
Something that looked a little like concern flashed over T'Challa's face, gone too fast, and he said, "You could keep walking and find out, or you could follow me to my private plane."
Connecticut. Jesus, Tony's kidnappers went for the weirdest places sometimes. Going with T'Challa wasn't the best idea - even this proximity was making his heart rate speed up, though that could've also been the last of the adrenaline - but there was no way he'd make a twenty mile trek through the woods either. He really didn't feel like passing out and dying of exposure outside of some city named Mianus. He couldn't help the way his lips twitched. T'Challa must've caught it, because he smiled.
It was a small smile but damn it was gorgeous, transforming T'Challa's whole face into something that made Tony's stomach flip. His body swayed towards T'Challa of its own accord, bringing him within arm's reach. T'Challa watched him steadily, eyes bright with something Tony couldn't identify.
Quietly, he said, "I did not acknowledge the bond when we first touched because I was in mourning, consumed with grief, and did not feel I had adequate time to greet you the way our traditions dictate. That was my mistake, and I apologize. It was not about you. It never was, but it should have been. You are... I would be honored if you told the world we were mates."
Tony's mouth went dry. "Clearly my concussion is worse than I thought, because I'm hearing things."
"You're not hearing things, but..." T'Challa frowned, and he closed the distance between them. His hand lifted. Tony very carefully did not flinch, staying perfectly still, not even breathing while T'Challa so very carefully touched the back of his head. His fingers were gentle, but Tony still hissed through his teeth at the white-hot burst of pain that rattled through his head. The pads of T'Challa's fingers came away wet with blood, overly dark under the shadow of the trees.
"You need medical attention," T'Challa said, a new timbre of concerned anger running through his voice.
"That's not new," Tony muttered, thrown off by this strange new attitude. It wasn't unpleasant, though it was odd to have someone besides Pepper or Rhodey openly worried about him. He couldn't help wondering what T'Challa wanted. Sex, maybe? Some people did say that sex with your mate was like the ultimate trip. No other experience in life could compare. He definitely wouldn't mind getting down with T'Challa, though with the current state of his ribs and head Tony would have to pretty much lie back and let T'Challa do the work.
T'Challa definitely looked like he wanted to say something at that, but he visibly swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. Instead, he said, "Will you come with me?"
"Okay, fine," Tony said. "It's not like I have any other options." He looked past T'Challa and hesitated. "Wait, you're not - you're alone, aren't you? There's no one else on the plane?" And by that, he meant that he'd rather take his chances with the twenty mile trek than have to spend even five minutes with the Avengers right now. He couldn't bear to sit in a small, enclosed space with Clint or Wanda, much less Steve.
"It's just me and a few of my personal guard," T'Challa replied. "I had several offers for company, but I declined."
Tony snorted. "I find that hard to believe," he muttered. "The only reason any of them would want to see me right now is so that they could tell me what a shitty job I'm doing at handling everything. After all, Ross might have been dealt with but the WSC still isn't happy." He eyed T'Challa, wondering if T'Challa would be the same as everyone else he'd talked to about this. Rhodey was the only person who felt that the rest of the team had been in the wrong. Pepper felt that Tony should be the one to apologize, as though getting down on his knees and begging for forgiveness would change anything at this point.
"Yes, I've been following your progress through the press. American media is notoriously unreliable, but you've been doing an admirable job."
That was... unexpected, and it was something about T'Challa that Tony couldn't decide if he liked or not. T'Challa constantly left him feeling wrong-footed; he was never sure what the right thing to say or do was. And admittedly Tony was used to that, but he couldn't bullshit his way through with T'Challa the way he could with everyone else. Because T'Challa was one of those exceptionally rare people who could see straight through Tony without even trying, and lying to him just didn't do any good.
"I wouldn't call it admirable," Tony said finally, dropping his gaze. More like hideous. Most days he was barely keeping his head above water. It seemed like not a day went by that he wasn't fielding off a new demand for the rest of the team, or trying to figure out best to handle the issue of the accords. Stark Industries had distanced themselves from him as much as possible, though of course the public demand for Tony's products would never die. They just didn't want to admit that everything came from his hands alone. That, on top of the fact that there was still a demand for super heroes and Tony was now trying to handle about 90% of those missions on his own. He was working himself to the bone, but this time there was no reward and he didn't think there ever would be.
"I would. But come," T'Challa said, when the silence dragged on. "You're shivering."
Was he? Tony hadn't even noticed. T'Challa turned and Tony followed automatically, keeping his eyes on T'Challa's back. Or, well, okay. Maybe a little lower than his back. He might be half-starved, exhausted and in pain, but Tony wasn't dead and T'Challa had an extremely fitted uniform that displayed his assets pretty nicely. Tony wasn't going to lie; he would be willing to follow such a gorgeous ass pretty far.
As it turned out, T'Challa hadn't been lying. His plane was only about a ten minute walk through the trees, and Tony was shocked he hadn't heard it land. Wakandan technology at its finest, no doubt. His fingers itched to get a good long look at the plane's mechanics, maybe even delve into the on-board computer, but he knew better than to push his luck and ask. Wakanda was extremely protective when it came to its technology, and for good reason. More than one person had tried to make off with Wakandan secrets and paid the price.
They were met by a handful of guards, a mixture of men and women that stared at Tony with unsmiling faces. T'Challa set a hand on Tony's shoulder and guided him up the ramp. His hand was warm, even through the uniform, and Tony was so shocked by the contact that he couldn't find it in himself to say a word. It had been months since anyone touched him. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
For some reason that, out of everything, was what made the tears well up in Tony's eyes.