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It isn’t until Tony closes the lid on his suitcase that it feels real to Peter.
“You can’t,” he says, and Tony must have been anticipating this, expecting it, because his shoulders don’t even tense.
“I have to,” he replies. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look at Peter. Two hours ago Tony was smiling up at Peter, a laugh beginning to escape his mouth at whatever dumb joke he was telling.
Then the shrill beep of an incoming call interrupted them, and Gamora had informed them that an Avenger was on the line. Tony had taken it, and not looked at him since.
“No, actually, you really, really don’t.” Tony’s hand is resting on the zipper, not moving. The suitcase is still open. There’s still a chance. “You said Earth had enough protection. You said you left them in good hands.”
“I also told them to call if they needed me,” Tony says. “They called.”
“Who called?”
“Peter…” Tony sighs, but Peter is done. (Peter is scared.)
“Who was it? Because - because Thanos is dead, Tony, and if there were any other interstellar threats to Earth we would have been the first to hear about it. You said you never wanted to go back. So who convinced you it was so fucking important-”
Tony finally turns, looks somewhere in the vicinity of his left shoulder. “I’m coming back,” he says, apropos of nothing, and really, isn’t that answer enough?
“Shouldn’t that be a given?” Peter snipes, and Tony runs his hand tiredly over his face.
“I don’t know, Pete, shouldn’t it?” But Peter isn’t looking at his face, Peter isn’t looking at the weary expression around his eyes, Peter is looking at his left ring finger, at the pale line around the base that is barely visible now.
Peter can remember the stark white it used to be, the groove worn into that finger from the band that used to rest there. He remembers a broken Tony who never seemed to smile. Who fought like he was dying. Who watched the Captain out of the corner of his eye but made no secret of his heartbreak.
Then one day, Peter had made some joke, some odd off-the-wall comment about putting roller-skates in the Iron Man armor after it had lost power in the last fight and Tony had barely been able to walk and Tony had blinked once, twice, and then laughed. It was like a dam had broken in him after that, and Peter was in love with the person that broke loose.
(Tony made those roller skate boots, of course. Every Guardian has a pair. They’ve come in handy a truly bewildering amount of times.)
Tony had told him about everything that happened, how all he wanted was to get away sometimes, and without hesitation, Peter had offered him a space on the Milano. Without hesitation, Tony accepted. Until the day they left.
On the lawn of the compound, at the top of the ramp, Tony had looked back, and caught the Captain’s eye. It was a just a moment, but it stuck with Peter. When he kissed Tony for the first time, when he was lying next to him in bed, he went back to it. Wondering.
He thinks about it now, and about how the Captain looked on that call, if it was the same way he looked at Tony before Peter had taken him by the hand and dragged him into the Milano.
He looks around the room now, at Tony’s empty foot locker, and the swinging hangers. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” Tony says tightly. “But I will come back, Peter. I promise.”
“You said you wanted to stay,” Peter whispers. “You didn’t want to go back.”
“I don’t-”
“Then don’t!” Peter yells. “They don’t need you, Tony!” Something closes off, hard, in Tony’s face at that, but Peter is too far gone to notice. I need you, he refuses to say. If Tony is going to leave him, he is not taking any more of Peter than he has to.
And he is taking so much.
“They wouldn’t call unless it was important,” Tony says, slowly, like the gravity’s suddenly increased. “I still have friends down there, and that’s still my planet. But this, you, are my home, Pete. I’ll help them fix the problem, and then I’ll come back.” He moves forward, hands reaching up, but all Peter can see is that thin white line.
“If you walk out that door,” he grits out. “Don’t bother.”
Tony’s hands drop, lifeless. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Peter wants to scream or beg or take it back and it’s all getting crowded behind his lips, he can’t get it out-
“Arriving at Terra - uh, Earth,” Rocket says over the comms. “Pod’s ready to take you down, Stark. Don’t get dead.”
Tony holds his gaze for one moment longer, but Peter is silent. Outside his window, Earth is a blue-green jewel. Somewhere down there, the Captain’s probably already waiting for him.
Tony zips his suitcase, and walks out the door.
Peter remains frozen for a long time, long enough to hear the rumble of the pod leaving its tiny port, long enough to hear the ship settle again. Quiet falls over the room, broken only by the soft sound of ticking.
Tony’s watch is still on the bedside table. Without thought, his body lurches towards it, hands scooping it up and legs collapsing to the bed so his shoulders can hunch over it protectively. It’s gold-plated and has a micro-repulsor built into it. There’s an alarm set so Tony can keep his sleep schedule normal no matter where they are. It’s his favorite watch.
Surely he wouldn’t just leave it here. Surely he’s coming back.
(He should never have said what he did. I’m scared. I’m worried. Don’t leave me. Everyone I love goes away. It all comes too late now. He’ll call later. He’ll tell Tony everything.)
(He won’t, because he’s too scared of Tony’s response.)
“So, Quill, where are we killing time until Stark calls?” Rocket asks over the comms.
Peter doesn’t answer. He sits there, in their half-empty room on their half-empty bed, and stares out at Earth, listening to the watch tick over.
Surely.