Chapter Text
“Crime Deterrent?” Steve can’t help but be intrigued. That sounds like a fantastic addition to the modern smartphone, especially considering how most people are likely leave home without their keys, wallet, or jacket, but nobody these days ever forgot their phone. “What’s that?”
Tony smiles, and holds his wallet up in the air between them. “I’ll show you.” he offers. “Go on, try and take my wallet.”
Steve looks down at it, reaches forward to swipe the wallet. He keeps Tony in his peripheral vision, in case he tries to catch him off-guard with some hand to hand, or pulls out a taser. (Steve has been tased exactly twice, and he hates it).
He doesn’t expect Tony to throw his damned phone at him.
It slams into his temple like a bullet, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing down to the floor, wind knocked out of him.
“What the hell, Tony?” Steve yells, when he finally catches his breath, but when he looks up, there’s no one there. Tony’s locker doors are firmly shut, presumably locked.
Steve looks around, but he can’t even find Tony’s stupid, ridiculously heavy (that had really hurt), oversized goddamned phone.
--
“I think,” Tony muses out loud, sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. “That Steve might be upset with me.”
Bruce, who is sitting next to him, looks pointedly at where Steve is ignoring Tony and scowling darkly at the wall i. “You don’t say,” he says.
“I think,” Tony continues. “That he is being a big, stupid baby.”
“Fuck you, Tony.” Steve snaps.
Bruce raises both his eyebrows and gives Tony a very pointed look. “Tony, what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything he didn’t deserve,” Tony says stiffly. They both know that's not true. Steve hardly ever swears, and when he does, its never the f-word.
“He’s an annoyingly self-righteous, arrogant, and callously abusive sonofabitch who owes me an apology,” Steve counters, speaking to Bruce.
There are a lot of things Bruce could do in this situation. He carefully considers all of the, before jabbing Tony in the side with his elbow and saying, “Tony, apologise.”
“No,” Tony says, crossing his arms stubbornly. “He deserved it.
“Tony, apologise.”
“No,”
“Tony.”
“No,” Tony repeats.
“Say you are sorry.”
“But I’m not sorry,” Tony snaps.
“Well then, lie about it.” Bruce suggests.
Tony squints at him, then huffs a sigh of defeat. “Fine. Rogers, I’m totally sorry you’re a big crybaby and can’t take a joke.”
“That’s not even a good fake apology,” Bruce protests over Steve’s reply.
“Well then, I’m sorry I hit you in the face, but you fucking deserved it,” Tony says sullenly.
Steve scowls at him.
Bruce takes off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Tony, why did you hit him in the face?” he asks. He can practically feel the migraine starting.
“Because he totally had it coming?” Tony suggests.
“Fine,” Steve says, standing up, grabbing the book he had been studiously not reading for the past twenty minutes. “Whatever. I’ll be in the gym.” He stalks out, clearly annoyed.
Bruce looks at Tony. “Tony,” he begins.
“Did you know he still has a fucking iPhone?” Tony asks.
If he had said angrily, or in his usual tone of voice, Bruce might have let go -- but Tony sounds so very quietly sad, and Bruce has never heard him sound like that before. He sighs. This is going to take some work.
--
“Hey, Cap? You busy?” Bruce asks as he sticks his head in the gym, where Steve is doing pull-ups. He’s already drenched in sweat, his expression stormy as he continues.
He’s not counting.
“What is it, Bruce,” Steve asks, panting a little bit. “I’m really not in a good mood.”
Bruce nods. “Yeah, about that.”
Steve drops to the ground, landing in a half-crouch. He stalks across the room, grabbing a towel and a water bottle from the bench before he waves at Bruce to continue.
“Tony,” Bruce says, not sure how to explain. “He’s... well. He’s never going to say this, but he’s really upset that you own an iPhone.”
“It’s a phone, Bruce.” Steve says, sounding tired. “It’s not important, and it’s not a good reason to be treating me like--”
“How many electronic devices do you own?” Bruce interrupts.
Steve shrugs. “I don’t know.” He uncaps the water bottle and takes a long drink.
“Because the thing is, Steve, we all use Starktech.” Bruce tells him. “All of us. We use starktech tablets and starktech communicators and starktech polymers instead of plastics. Stark Industries designed Hulk’s pants, your shield, your uniform, all of our weapons and body armour, SHIELD commissions huge amounts of products from Stark Industries, and--”
“I really don’t care,” Steve snaps.
Bruce sighs. “I am trying to tell you, Steve, that when we live in the man’s house, we use his things. When we’re on the helicarrier or in a SHIELD facility, we’re using his designs. He’s used to it.”
“So he has the right to get mad at me for having a phone?” Steve asks. “Because that doesn’t make sense, Bruce.”
“That’s not it,” Bruce says softly. “Steve, we use those things because we have to. Tony knows that. Why would any of us go out and buy a tablet if he leaves them lying around the tower? Why would we try and buy a communicator for missions when SHIELD provides Starktech for free?”
“Just tell me what you’re trying to say,” Steve says irritably, swiping the back of his neck with the towel. He drops the now-empty water bottle on the floor and grabs another.
“I’m saying that Tony is a childish, immature idiot,” Bruce explains. “And he’s upset because the only electronic device you’ve ever gone out and paid for, the only thing you don’t use because it’s there or because it’s convenient, the only thing you’ve ever chosen to use on your own from this century, is something he didn’t have any part in making.”
Steve stares at him silently, taking another swig of his water and nodding.
“He’s mad at you because he thinks you don’t trust him. He thinks you don’t trust his work. And the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t ever convince you to switch over, has convinced him that none of his work, none of his efforts, will ever be good enough for you.” Bruce finishes quietly.
Steve groans. “God dammit, Bruce.”
“It’s not really about the phone,” Bruce adds, shrugging. “It’s never really been about the phone, Steve. No matter how hard he tries, he thinks you’re always going to like something else better than Starktech, because it’s older or has a better reputation, or came from a previous generation. He doesn’t know it, but the iPhone is a metaphor for his father, and he’s convinced you’ll never like him the way you liked Howard.”
Steve scowls at the ground.
“I just wanted you to understand why he’s being so stubborn,” Bruce says.
“You’re a terrible person, Dr. Banner,” Steve says, meaning exactly the opposite. He drops the towel on the ground and walks back to the bar, hoisting himself back up. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Sure,” Bruce turns back towards the door, stopping halfway. “Um, if it’s okay with you, would you mind not--”
“--mention this to Tony? Sure thing, doc.” Steve grunts, beginning another grueling set of pull-ups.
“I just don’t want him to think I’ve betrayed his confidence,” Bruce explains.
“You got it,” Steve agrees.
--
Two Weeks Later:
--
Steve doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but he’s actually really touched when he goes to the store and finds out that there’s an optional add-on available in the free app store that allows Starkphone users to customize the layout and size of their touchscreen keyboards. It works like a charm, too, the lady at the sales desk shows him how easy it is to set up, and how he can save multiple alternate keyboards for quick access if he wants to.
If he didn’t know better, he might think it was made just for him.
Actually, a lot of the Starkphone add-ons are really cool, not that Steve thinks he’d use them. Well, he probably wouldn’t use them. Maybe the drawing app, or some of the games, but he really doesn’t need a night-vision or thermal scanning scope on his camera. Of course, now that he knows about it, it’d probably come in useful.
“Cool phone,” Clint says, looking over his shoulder. “What happened to the old one?”
The old one is sitting in Steve’s sock drawer, wrapped up in an old knitted pair he hardly ever wears and buried under several other pairs.
But Tony looks over at them, and he’s staring at Steve with wide, uncomprehending eyes, a sort of hopeful joy in his expression that Steve has never, ever seen before. “Is that the new Starkphone?” He asks, as if he isn’t sure he believes his own eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve says, looking down at the phone in his lap. They’d given him the last of the limited-edition Ironman cases with the glow-in-the-dark arc reactor logo. He’d been offered the new Captain America stars-and-stripes, but he’d begged them to find him an Iron Man one. “My iPhone got cooked in that last battle with Doom,” he lies. “But this one is really swell! Did you know that the Starkphone is made out of the most durable materials on the market? They said this one is Hulk-tested for durability!”
“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling softly.
“And this one has a gold-titanium alloy casing, reinforced with vibranium,” Steve brags. “There are only a hundred like it in the whole world.”
“That is so cool,” Clint breathes. “Does the little arc reactor light up? I heard that the special edition Iron Man phones are impossible to get ahold of.”
Tony ducks his head down, a flush spreading over his cheeks.
Seeing it, Steve feels slightly warm. He’s made the right decision.
Across the room, Bruce gives him a thumb’s up.