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1.
Of all the phones in the world, Steve had to send Tony a damn flip phone. That a such thing still exists is a provocation against Tony, a personal insult to everything he stands for; he’s a futurist, and the phone is a relic most kids would faint at the sight of in this day and age.
2004 was only a little more than a decade ago, but when it comes to phones it well could’ve been the dark ages.
Tony loathes it. Out of hating the phone for how old and useless it and it being his only remaining connection to Steve, Tony’s not sure which weighs the most. He can’t help but wonder if the phone is just one more step to Steve’s plan to push Tony completely over the edge; after Siberia, Tony expects nothing more of him. Steve had already destroyed him once, why not rub salt into the wounds as well with an half-assed apology and a phone taken straight out of The Simple Life too?
The first week after Tony got the package, both the phone and the letter remained locked into the bottom drawer in his desk. Pretending that the phone didn’t even exist wasn’t hard during the days, when Tony was busy with meetings and helping Rhodey with his recovery (Tony got a sour, bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks of how Steve didn’t even mention Rhodey in the letter. He wonders if Steve even knows something happened at all, or if he’s too busy being an ass to care about the mess he made). No, the illusion fractured around the edges during the nights; when Tony tried to get some sleep, for Rhodey’s sake more than his own, and kept thinking about the contents of his desk drawer instead.
The first day of the second week, the phone left the drawer.
It’s been lying on top of the desk ever since.
He hasn’t called.
Out of both spite and hurt; he couldn’t give Steve the satisfaction of caving in after no more than a week. Steve would have to find someone else to torment with his lies; Tony didn’t need him, no matter how much his own heart disagreed.
Steve didn’t care about him. Not anymore. Tony’s not sure if he ever had.
Tony keeps looking at the phone out of the corner of his eye. Barely out of reach, it’s propped against a bunch of papers and folders Pepper brought him the other week that he yet had to write his signature on. Why those stubborn bureaucrats kept bothering him with signatures and decisions when Pepper’s right there, keeping the whole of Stark Industries afloat with the sheer power of her will alone, will never seize to amaze him in the worst possible way.
Usually, Tony’s good at not paying too much attention to the phone. He’s had it for two months now, after all; he’s grown used to have it around. The anger is still there, brewing beneath his skin whenever he looks at it a bit too long and lets the memories take hold of his mind, it’s just easier to keep under lock and key now than in the beginning.
Today, he can’t seem to stop noticing that it’s there, grey and ugly as ever. Though it’s not doing anything but existing, it’s a lot more interesting than Tony’s paperwork. After another ten minutes of pointless attempts to skim through the papers, Tony pushes them aside with an exaggerated mutter to focus solely on the phone.
It’s smaller than his own Starkphone, compact and unscratched. He flips it open with a soft click, the screen lighting up along with the buttons. God, how did the humankind even survive without touchscreens? How could anyone even send a text with these things? Tony turns it over, observing every inch of it.
There’s only one number in the contact list. One name. Steve Rogers. Of. Fucking. Course.
The formality of it all, it’s so painfully ridiculous and typically Steve Tony can’t help but laugh to himself. What could’ve made Steve do this? Did he expect Tony to forget his name and therefor take necessary precautions and name the only contact just incase? Hm, wonder if Tony’ll remember me, the guy who tried to kill him a month ago, should write my name down so he knows for sure, help him along with his suffering, this’ll be a right laugh with the others -
If only it was that simple to forget someone. If Steve only knew how much Tony’s tried to forget him over the last few months. How he still wasn’t any closer to push Steve out of his life now than he was in Siberia, staring at Steve’s retreating back until both him and Bucky were out of sight.
Tony closes the phone, only to open it again a second later. He clicks through the menu, into the contact list and hovers above the call button,
Surely Steve must’ve stopped expecting Tony to reach out to him by now. Does he even think of Tony anymore, now when he’s in Wakanda with Bucky, Natasha and the rest of the team, on the other side of the world?
Tony presses the dial button before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing. If he’d been a normal, functioning human being with a normal sense of throwing himself at danger, he would’ve shut the phone off immediately to save himself from the heartache; Tony Stark isn’t just any man, though, so he keeps his self-loathing disguised as curses under his breath while the signals echo against his ear.
By the time the fourth signal comes and goes, Tony’s sure Steve won’t pick up. A slow relief creeps through him, but it’s surprisingly bleak compared to the disappointment. Steve sent him a phone with the promise of ”always being there if Tony needed him” and now he doesn’t even pick up when Tony calls? That’s just great, shows what a man to his word Steve really is, fan-fucking -
”Tony?”
Tony freezes, lips parted and mouth gone completely dry. He tries to swallow, but there’s nothing he can do but try to remember how to form words.
”Tony, is that you?”
Steve sounds almost hopeful. Like he’s waited for Tony to call all these months, hoped for him to pick up the phone.
Tony’s seething with anger. Steve has no right to expect anything from him anymore; he lost that right when he smashed Tony’s arc reactor into pieces and left him to freeze to death without even as much as a second glance. He has no right to sound hopeful, not after what he put Tony through.
He breaths, harsh inhales of air that makes him sound ravished in a way he doesn’t like. The silence is unusual for him, Tony knows that, but if he doesn’t get himself under control he’ll say things he’s bound to regret. Not that Steve’s worth any of it. Except, that he is.
Steve’s everything.
Tony clears his throat. Listening to Steve’s breathing on the other line, noticing the shift when Steve’s about to say his name again. ”I can’t fucking do this.”
He dismisses the call and throws the phone on top of the table, seeing how it slides across the papers with ease. It remains there, by the folders and papers missing Tony’s signature, when Tony gets up from the chair and leaves the room.
He can’t bear looking at the damn thing a second longer. Not when the only thing he can think of is how breathless Steve sounded when he said his name; how much it hurt to hear him again.
2.
The garbage disposal needs an upgrade. Tony could fix it, probably in less than an hour. Make it a lot more efficient with pulling things apart. Horror movies always use it as a way to rip hands apart, a bloody mess of flesh and muscles splattering everywhere, but why have it as a weapon when he could make it rip apart old phones instead? Surely the satisfaction would be much greater to see a flip phone come apart than a hand being ripped to shreds.
He stares down the sink, the flip phone clutched tightly in his hand. Remains of coffee linger around the drain, dots of black against the shiny metal. If he only could make it a little wider, then the phone would fit without any problem.
It’s been a week since the call. Tony hasn’t tried calling Steve back, but it’s not like Steve’s jumped upon the opportunity to give him a call, either. Proven by their shared history, this is probably for the best. Not having any contact, that is.
Yet, Tony’s incapable of pushing the sound of Steve’s voice out of his mind. He remembers different tones, how soft Steve could look when their eyes met at times, everything that used to make him believe that maybe, just maybe Steve cared about him in the same way as Tony cared about him. It hurts so much sometimes that Tony regrets making the call; hates Steve for sending the phone in the first place, even though he doesn’t.
Rhodey knows something’s up. He was there when Tony got the package after all (he’ll never stop hearing about Tony Stank, but if it keeps Rhodey happy, he’d change his name in a heartbeat). No questions have surfaced about what was in the package, not that Rhodey isn’t interested in knowing, more that he doesn’t want to push Tony into spilling his guts about something he’s not ready to share with him quite yet.
Tony’s not sure about how much Rhodey knows about his his horribly stupid crush at Steve. Rhodey’s perceptive, so he probably knows it’s there, only not to what extent it goes.
He yanks his gaze away from the drain, staring down at the phone instead. His thumb drags along the display, bumping over the uneven buttons. Maybe he could smash it into fine, plastic powder instead with a hammer? Or melt it with the beam from his armour?
The possibilities are endless - he wants to do all of them, although there’s a strange ache in his chest from picturing the phone completely destroyed; useless. He wants to hate how Steve still has such a grip on him, even now after everything. How this plastic piece of garbage can hold such meaning, but be so loathed at the same time.
He’s tired. Tired of feeling like this, of wanting someone that cares so little about him. He wants to scream and pound his fists against Steve’s chest until he’d make Steve feel even remotely close to all of the hurt he’s caused Tony to feel; as if his heart had been ripped straight out of his body and put back in again, every piece in the wrong place, not fitting into the slots.
It only takes two signals this time.
”Tony?”
Not as breathless. Cautious, if anything. Probably with good reasons to be.
Tony tries to ignore how his heart pounds against his ribs, how every breath scratches on the inside of his throat. ”Yeah, fuck. The one and only.”
”I didn’t think you would call again.”
Tony hates how he can’t see Steve’s face. Like this, he can only hear but not see if any of it reaches Steve’s eyes; if he’s as broken about this as Tony is.
”Well, that makes two of us. Call the press, something we’re agreeing on,” Tony doesn’t even try to mask the bitterness, instead his embraces it, along with the anger, and lets it take over him completely; right beneath his skin, blazing. ”Maybe you don’t know shit about me and what I will and won’t do, ever thought about that?”
Steve sighs, deep and rattling. ”I didn’t mean it like that, just, I’m glad you called.”
”How did you mean it then, huh? Please, enlighten me,” Tony snarls.
”I just thought you wouldn’t call because you don’t want to hear from me. Please, I don’t want to fight, Tony, just, give me a chance to explain myself -”
”Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kept the death of my parents a fucking secret,” Tony steadies himself against the counter, knuckles white were his hand’s curled around the wooden edge. ”Keeping things like that to yourself is bound to start fights, Rogers, especially since it wasn’t your fucking secret to keep!”
”I’m sorry, Tony, for everything - you’ve got every reason to hate me, please, let me explain -”
Tony slams the phone down against the counter, eyes falling shut while he forces back warm, angry tears to prevent them from falling. He heaves out a breath, sounding more like a dry sob than anything.
Why does he keep hurting himself this way? What good can possibly come out of this, when he’s only driven by anger and hurt?
He leans forward, burying his face in both of his hands. When the tears come, he’s powerless to stop them.
Tony’s still standing there by the counter when Rhodey comes into the kitchen an hour later. Rhodey takes one look at him and knows something’s wrong; by now, he’s fluent in Tony’s moods and changes. Without him, Tony’s not sure what he would do. How close he’d been to actually lose Rhodey, forever. That Steve doesn’t even care to ask -
”Okay, what’s going on with you?” Rhodey says, voice gentle. The braces around his legs are still not perfect, but he doesn’t need to use crutches anymore. One step in the right direction; Tony wishes he could do more, that he could give Rhodey his legs back right this very second. ”You look like shit, and not in a good way.”
”How can that even be used in a positive way? It’s just ridiculous,” Tony wipes around his eyes, removing what little remains of his tears. He tries a smile, which ends up more of a grimace. Thought that counts, he muses tiredly. ”Doesn’t make any damn sense.”
”You’re trying to avoid the problem here, skilfully I might add, but I ain’t having it,” Rhodey waves a demanding finger in Tony’s direction, eyes gentle. ”If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine, I respect that. Just know that I’m right here if you want someone to talk to, not like I’ll be able to run away any time soon.”
Tony gives him a pointed look, cocking his head to the side. ”That’s just a low blow, comedy’s never been your strong suit. Just, leave it to us professionals, yeah? Stay in your lane, know your place and all that jazz.”
Rhodey holds his hands up, showing his defeat with an apologetic twist to his mouth. ”Shit, yeah that came out a little wrong. Still, if you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you, it’s cool, Tones. No pressure, you know where I’ll be if you change your mind.” He pushes off from the kitchen isle he’s been leaning against, carefully making his way over to the doorway. Every step is calculated and slow..
Tony watches him go. He can’t take it anymore. ”Rhodey, wait!”
Rhodey pops his head back in through the doorway, faint smugness creeping across his features. If he’d been anyone else, Tony would’ve been offended. But, he’s Rhodey and that only brings another attempt of a smile out of Tony.
”Yeah?”
The flip phone feels heavy in his hand. He raises it so Rhodey can see what he’s carrying, loosing his grip slightly. Rhodey blinks at the object, confusion flashing in his eyes; when he gets it, where Tony must’ve gotten the phone from, his face melts into something warm, something aching.
”Shit, that’s what you got in that package? The Tony Stank one?”
Tony nods, slowly exhaling a shaky breath. ”Cap sent it. If I - fuck, incase I ever needed him. Thoughtful, isn’t it? The righteous son of a bitch sure knows how to throw a party.”
Tired. So tired. The past few months embedded into his very core as dark, anguishing lines mixing with his veins. He places the phone on the the countertop, the weight of his guilt along with it. If he’d listen to Steve about Zemo, if he hadn’t reacted the way he did - everything, everything would be different, it’s his fault, always is -
No. Steve won’t go blameless out of this. Not anymore. Never again.
Rhodey’s by his side, his arm warm and pressing against Tony’s own. He doesn’t say anything, simply waits for Tony to regain control of his breathing, until the hurt’s timid enough to be dealt with again.
An arm slips around Tony’s shoulders, tugging him in close. He melts into the touch, for a moment he lets himself be held, like he deserves to be held like this. As if he’s not one to blame for everything going so painfully to shit as it’s done.
”I never thought I’d say this out loud, but fuck Captain America. If he shows up here again, boy, he’s got some fucking explaining to do,” Rhodey says with such earnest heat, stroking Tony’s back. ”Out of all people, you had to fall for the one who hurt you the most, didn’t you?”
There it is.
Tony lets out a brittle, bitter laugh. ”Just my luck, don’t you think?”
3.
As the tie slowly looses, bit by bit, around his neck, Tony draws in quick, trembling breaths. If he could only remove the damn thing entirely, why did he have to make the knot so fucking tight -
He throws the tie on the floor as he pushes the door to his office open with force. The glass walls shutter worryingly. He doesn’t care, about any of this - what matters is the phone, that he finds it right now before he tears the place apart by the seams.
Ross’ words from the meeting still echoes in his head, merciless and haunting.
You think you’re so smart, Stark. I know you had something to do with what happened at the Raft, I know it! And when I find out how you’re involved with getting those criminals out of the country, you’re done for, Stark. The Avengers will be over, mark my fucking words.
Tony yanks open the drawers; things fly out, loose papers pouring down on the floor. No phone. Where the hell did he put it after the last call?! He can’t remember if he destroyed it not, the mere possibility of that makes him yank at the drawers with more force, blind with a white, aching anger.
Why why why -
Pushing at the folders on tabletop, the phone comes into view.
He snatches it. Going through the menu, pressing the phone against his ears with trembling fingers. His left arm throbs in discomfort, not that it helps when he rubs his hand over his elbow one bit, but it keeps him believing that he’s being somewhat soothing.
It doesn’t help. Never does.
”Tony -”
”No, fuck you, Rogers. You’re listening to me, for once in your goddamn life, you’ll fucking listen to what I have to say,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, eyelids slamming shut as he tries to stay whole, trying to prevent himself from falling apart. ”You plow your way through life like you can’t do any wrongs, no, not the almighty, oh so kind Captain America, he can never do wrong! He’s perfect, every word coming out of his mouth is a goddamn fucking blessing - but guess what?! You’re wrong! You’re not above the law, you don’t get to make your own as you please. Your actions have consequences, and I’m tired having to deal with them for you.”
He paces around the room, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. So much anger, so much hurt. ”I’m tired of cleaning up after you, Captain. Ross’ been at my throat, keeping me on a leash since day one - he’s out to get me, and when he does, it’ll be ugly for all of us. I’m sick of trying to keep this together when you don’t even care about what you’ve done, what we’re left to deal with here while you’re off being a fucking hero or criminal, depending on the perspective.”
His breath comes out harshly, his grip around the phone tight enough make his knuckles turn white. ”You haven’t said anything about Rhodey, so I guess he’s not important then, either? He could’ve died, and still can’t walk without help because of the stunt we pulled off at the airport. I brought him there, that’s on me, but I’m not taking the blame for it alone. Not anymore. Not when you’re living your best life in Wakanda and get to wait this fucking everlasting shitshow out.”
”I know, fuck - I know you never saw me as a friend, I know that now, but after everything, what hurt the most is that you couldn’t even muster the guts to tell me about my parents. Were you so scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle it that you thought I was better off not knowing? I would’ve dealt with it, just as I’ve dealt with everything else. I don’t blame your bff for what went down with my parents, but the way I had to find out about, with him just standing there? That’s on you Steve, what happened in Siberia, what we did, that’s. On. You.”
Warm tears rolls down his cheeks by the time he’s done talking. He wipes at them angrily with the sleeve of his suit jacket. Damp stains. Grey fabric turning black.
The other end is quiet. So quiet Tony’s sure that Steve hung up somewhere down the line.
Tony should feel relieved now, shouldn’t he? Finally, he’s poured out everything to Steve, all of the pain he’s felt. But, why does he still feel so heavy? Why does his throat seize up, making it hard for him to breath properly?
Why does it feel like he’s ruined himself even further without putting anything back together?
When Steve finally speaks, the tone alone knocks the air out of Tony’s lungs. He sounds like a man catching up with his years, fatigue and a sorrow so deep it feels like a physical punch to Tony’s gut.
”I… What happened, there’s nothing I regret more in my life than letting it turn into this monster. I’m so sorry for being responsible for what happened to Rhodey; if I could, I’d take it back in a heartbeat. I didn’t know. There’s so much I didn’t know - still don’t - Tony, about what you were dealing with. So much I should’ve told you, but didn’t. Bucky’s, ah, with everything, he was the easiest thing to focus on, sliding back into my old life where it was just him and me, keeping each other safe.
I couldn’t give up on him, Tony. He deserved a chance to get better, I’m not taking any of that back, saving Bucky, I’d do it again if it meant getting him out of harm. What I want to take back, is how I let all of your suffer because of it. I’m sorry, Tony. I’ll always be sorry.
You.. you were my friend, Tony. You never stopped being that.”
Tony clenches his hand into a fist, pressing it against his temple. Hard, aching to feel something that doesn’t completely consume him from the inside out. He wants to believe Steve something terribly. Soak in every word like a sponge soaking in water.
He can’t. Not yet; not while he’s still so full of anger, pain.
Now, he’s no more than an emptied shell, numb to the core.
”I’m.. fuck, I got to go.”
The phone slides out of his grip, falling to the floor. The rug dampens the fall, causing it to land with a soft thud.
Tony sinks down to his knees. Breaking under the pressure, the person he needs to be and the person he is.
He balls his fist, pressing it against his mouth as he muffles a scream.
4.
As a matter of fact, Tony’s drunk.
His head’s swimming. Limbs blissfully numb.
He has no idea of how long he’s laid here, on top of his bed, where everything smells heavily of whiskey and regret. The windows are dark, so either it’s night or he turned the blinds on, can’t remember which.
It’s pleasant though, the dark. He doesn’t have to face himself this way, when he can’t even see his own reflection.
He stares at the ceiling; remembering how his arc reactor used to throw gentle, blue light across the ceiling. Despite how it was years since he removed it, he still isn’t completely used to not having the blue glow around anymore.
Only scars remain. A few new additions, curtesy to Siberia and getting slammed with a vibranium shield. Toughest metal in the world in the hands of a enhanced super-soldier is bound to leave some marks behind; some more visible than others.
He rolls over, spilling out the last remains of his drink on the blanket. Almost knocking the flip phone down to the floor. He keeps carrying it with him everywhere, a heavy weight in his pocket at all times. To remind himself of what he said and did, the tone of Steve’s voice; how sorry he sounded.
A month has gone by since that call. He still hasn’t called back to hear the rest of Steve’s explanation. A part of him wants to know, the other one’s scared of what he might hear.
If Steve’s done with him, fine, Tony can live with that. He’s coping without Steve, no matter how much it hurts. But, if Steve wants to make amends, make things right, that’s a whole other story.
One that agonises more than it mends.
He pads over to the wardrobe, slowly not to tip over. Tony didn’t even remember the last time he drank this much; after Siberia, he promised both Rhodey and Pepper that he wouldn’t turn to alcohol again to make things easier. He’s kept that promise so far.
Until now, that is.
Will they be disappointed with him if they find out? Will they understand why?
Inside the wardrobe, a bag is resting against the wall. Big, flat.
Tony tugs at the straps, dragging the bag through the things scattered over the floor. Going by the seize of the bag alone, it should be heavy; it’s not, Tony lifts it with ease, the only struggle is to carry the thing without falling over as he heads for the bed.
”FRIDAY, turn on the lights, will you? Not all guns blazing, keep it cozy,” he says.
”Of course, sir.”
The bedroom lights up. A dim glow over the furniture. The blinds are still up. Must be nighttime then, he notes.
Opening the bag is like pulling the scab of a wound. You know damn well it’ll be a bloody, fleshy hole beneath, but you just have to do it; have to see the damage for yourself.
Inside the bag is no bloody wound. Not literally, anyway.
Only a shield.
Red, white and blue with a star in the middle.
It smells heavily of some polish, too clean compared to the musty smell in the bedroom. Spillt whiskey and sweat; it could just be him that smells. Did he shower yesterday or was it a week ago? He doesn’t remember.
Tony takes a swig of whiskey, straight out of the bottle. He wants to smash it against the shield, almost does, but it would make too much of a mess and he is no state of cleaning up both glass and liquor.
The metal is cold beneath his touch. Not as much as a scratch. If Tony hadn’t been there, feeling and seeing it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed that this shield would’ve been slammed into his arc reactor, breaking it in two.
He takes another swig and thinks of how he thought Steve would kill him when he brought the shield down. How he barely had attempted to shield himself from the blow, brining his arms up the last second.
”Fuck,” he croaks. ”Fuck.”
”Tony?”
Always the same opening line. Sometimes, it’s the only thing Tony wants to hear.
”Yeah, it’s me,” he knocks his knuckles against the shield, enjoying how the metal clinks at the impact. ”I’m not gonna scream your head off this time, not if I can help it. I’m sorry for that, I had a rough fucking day and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”
Steve snorts, a tiny sound full of something raw; something sad. ”I can’t say that I didn’t deserve it, because I did. You don’t have to apologise, it’s not like you don’t have reasons to be angry with me. Nothing you said wasn’t something I hadn’t said to myself before already. Just.. Captain America is one thing, while Steve.. - I’m different. Captain America needed to be perfect, something for people to believe in, even though the man behind the mask couldn’t live up to the standards. I keep messing things up constantly and don’t know how to fix it, just because I think I’m doing the right thing. I envied you in the beginning, you know? How easily you could jump between being Iron Man and being Tony, you made it look so easy.”
Tony scoffs. He’s too drunk for this. Yet, he can’t bring himself to hang up. Steve’s opening up, for once it’s not just Tony who has to do the talking. ”If you only knew half of it, Rogers. There’s nothing to jump back and forth from. Iron Man and I are one.”
”That’s the difference between you and me. You’re Iron Man, and Iron Man is you. I’m Captain America, but Captain America isn’t me. Not entirely. Bits and pieces here and there don’t fit the picture.”
Tony throws himself back onto the bed, switching the phone to the other ear so he can have one hand resting on top of the shield, enjoying how smooth it is against his palm and fingertips. He taps against the star, steady rhythm, over and over. ”Who are you then? If Steve Rogers isn’t Captain America, who is he?”
Steve’s quiet for a long while, only breathing. Shallowly, in and out.
”I’m just a lost kid from Brooklyn. Trying to do the right thing, but always messing up someway.”
Tony exhales, slowly. ”Tell me more. Tell me about the lost kid from Brooklyn.”
”Do you want the shield back?”
The sky’s turned into something reddish yellow, the sun slowly rising behind the trees. Tony’s bedroom is painted in dim rays of light, dancing along the roof and walls.
Tony hasn’t moved for hours. From what he understands, neither has Steve. Once Steve began telling Tony about his life, he didn’t seem to be able to stop. Tony, in his drunken daze and with a headache spreading at the back of his head, let him speak; let him talk and talk and talk until everything seemed to have been said.
This is the closest he’s been to Steve in months, hell, ever, and he misses him enough for it to feel like a physical ache pounding in his chest.
”I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve to carry it anymore.”
”What I said.. back in Siberia, about the shield. I, fuck, the shield will always be yours. If you want it,” he whispers. The serenity in the room is thick enough to be touched; if he speaks too loud, he’s afraid he might break it. Send himself back to reality again, where he has to deal with everything.
Here, he only needs to listen.
Steve chuckles, but it lacks of anything remotely close to happiness. ”Thank you, Tony. I mean it. Keep it safe, if I want it back some day, I know where’ll find it.”
Tony removes his hand from the shield, placing it across his eyes instead. Rubbing at his temples. ”Got it covered, Cap. Don’t keep it waiting too long though, might give it away to someone else if you do.”
”I miss you, Tony.”
Tony peers up at the roof through his fingers. Tracing the rays of light with his eyes.
If he closes his them, he could almost picture Steve lying right there next to him.
The thought consumes him, inside out.
”I miss you too.”
5.
Tony leans back with a sigh, dropping his gloves onto of the tabletop to drag his fingers across his face; rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes, despite how it stings. He’s been working non-stop for hours, putting the final touches on Peter’s new suit. It’s looking good; fantastic even, Tony’s mentally patting himself on the back for this because he’s outdone himself this time.
The suit will withstand anything. Whatever’ll happen once the invasion starts, at least Peter will be protected with the best Tony can offer him. He sighs, happy with what he’s accomplished, exhausted by the circumstances.
Since that drunken night a few weeks ago, Tony’s talked to Steve seven times. It’s always him who calls, never the other way around. It’s not tensed, as broken as it was in the beginning. Talking to Steve doesn’t make him want to punch a hole through the wall anymore; the last call they had, two nights ago, surprisingly enough, made him feel somewhat.. good.
He’s learned more about Steve during those seven calls than he’s done in all the years he’s known him. It’s a start, what they’re doing, and it doesn’t help in the slightest with how Tony feels for Steve.
That crush? Yeah, not much of a crush anymore. It’s fleshed out now, a living, breathing thing that wants to break out whenever Tony hears a smile in Steve’s voice.
He misses him. A sort of loss the calls are unable to help with; not until he gets to see Steve again, face to face and the walls come crashing down along with them, will it be mended.
The flip phone is there, as it always is. By the tools, the schematics and materials.
Tony drags his index finger along the top of the phone, over the tiny display. He’s tempted to pick it up and give Steve a call, but there’s another call he needs to do first.
” - shit, Mr Stark can you hold a minute? I got a bit of a, ah, situation?”
Tony blinks, eyebrows furrowing together. ”You make it sound like I should I know if you’re dealing with a ”situation” or not, why does talking with you always end up with more questions than answers,” he says, knowing that Peter’s only briefly listening to what he’s saying. Teenagers. ”Are you doing okay, something I can help you with? I can send Happy over, if you -”
”No, no, god no, I’m fine, I just dropped some notebooks and now there’s papers everywhere. Jesus, MJ is gonna kill me if I don’t get this sorted - fuck it, I’m just gonna multitask from here on, what did you want to talk about, Mr Stark?
Shaking his head, Tony wonders how Peter manages to get through the day; the kid’s brilliant, and way too nice for his own good, but he’s also all over the place and constantly getting himself into trouble, both big and small. Dropped notebooks and a paper crisis? Cashes in pretty low on the risk scale.
”You can call me Tony, remember? Think we’re past the stale titles phase at this point,” Tony says, snickering. ”Just wanted to give you a lil update on the suit I’ve been working on for you. It’s finished, I’ll send it over to you in the morning. Or if you want, you can drop by and give it a few test runs? See if there’s anything I should tweak straight away.”
”How can someone have so many notes, did she copy the whole book or what’s going on - sorry, Mr.. Tony, shit, Tony, could you repeat that?”
Tony rolls his eyes, shaking his head. ”I’ve got a new suit for you. Do you have time to drop by the compound any time soon and give it a few merry go rounds?”
”Wh - a new suit?! Thank you, Mr - Tony, shit that’s just, you didn’t have to do that, really. The old suit you gave me is still working perfectly, I just can’t accept this -”
”So, come over tomorrow after school? I’ll have Happy pick you up at home, let’s say, around 4-ish? How does that sound?” Tony grins, the grin only widening when Peter sputters out a mess of words in response.
The flip phone buzzes. It keeps buzzing, causing the table to tremble a little along with it.
Tony stares at in disbelief.
” - Stark? Are you still there?”
”Uhm, yeah, something’s come up, I got to go. Are you coming over tomorrow or do we need a raincheck?” he flips the phone open, Steve’s name flashing over the display. Should he be worried or not? Steve’s never called him, not once; what if something’s happened to him, something bad.
No. Nuh-uh. Tony’s not going down that line.
”Yeah, sure, see you tomorrow, Mr Stark. Thanks again for the suit.”
”Don’t mention it kid, see you tomorrow.”
The flip phone feels wrong against his ear after speaking to Peter with his the other phone; a clumsy piece of plastic that Tony still wants to hammer into oblivion some days. Not because of Steve, not anymore, now it’s only because the phone is ugly as hell.
”Rogers? What’s going on?” he ignores a greeting, just like always. Steve and him have never been good at starting conversations, a year apart hasn’t changed that in the slightest.
”Tony, hi. Is it a bad time?”
Tony leans back against his seat, kicking his legs up on the workbench. There’s a peculiar twist to Steve’s voice, like he’s anxious about something, and it’s spiking Tony’s interest by a mile. ”No, not at all. What’s going on, Cap?”
Rustling of clothes, muffled voices.
Footsteps. The tiniest strain to Steve’s breathing.
He’s on the move.
”Are you alone, what’s going on? Don’t leave me hanging here, you can’t stand me up when you’re the one calling me.”
A huff, followed by a breathless laugh. Someone’s in a good mood. ”I just want to talk. Are you out or at home?” More muffled voices in the background; Tony hears Steve’s voice too, but it’s muffled, almost as if he’s covering the mic.
It bugs Tony to no end. Knowing only a little of what’s going on? Not one of his favourites. ”I’m at the compound, in my workshop. I don’t see why that’s necessary for you to know though, what’s going on here, Rogers? What are you up to?”
If Steve wasn’t.. no, no, that can be.
Tony lowers the phone, listening after any sort of commission coming from upstairs. There’s nothing, except for some very fade, brief voices. It could be Vision and Rhodey, probably is Vision and Rhodey, but maybe…
”Where are you?” he asks, almost unable to keep his hopes under control. What comes out is cautious, as if he expects the worst. ”Rogers, where are you?”
More commotion on the other end. Another voice, one that sounds so distinctly like -
”Me? I’m home.”
As if he’d been struck by lightening, Tony flies out of the chair and over to the entrance. His heart pounds against his ribs, he can’t let himself hope, he can’t -
He opens the door, and he’s stunned into silence.
Out on the landing, with a flip phone pressed against his ear, stands Steve.
Not the Steve Tony last saw in Siberia, bruised and beaten with the cowl still in place; not the old Captain America either, from before the Accords, with tension in his shoulders and sad confusion about everything this new age had to offer.
This Steve is nothing like the past ones, but all of them at the same time. His hair is longer, darker than Tony remembers it; the suit is darker too, close to black and dirty where the stripes and sars used to gleam bright. There’s a beard, too.
”Hi Tony,” Steve says, shutting the phone. His voice is so gentle, weary with both fatigue and a stain of caution. He’s keeping his distance, as to let Tony make the first move, show where they stand with each other. ”I’m here to pick up a shield.”
Tony slowly lowers the phone. The click it makes when it shuts brings him out of his daze.
Steve is here. In the flesh - alive, real.
”Steve,” he breaths.
He takes a step, then another one. Another one until he’s thrown his arms around Steve’s neck and pulled him in close.
Steve’s rigged against him at first, stiff as a board. Tony presses closer, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder and breathing him in; the dirt on his uniform; a mild, earthy scent that must be Steve’s cologne. After a few seconds, Steve melts into the touch, his body hard and solid against Tony’s cheek.
Lips touch the hair on Tony’s head; carefully, tenderly.
So soft it makes Tony melt, too.
”You son of a bitch, can’t believe you outsmarted me like this,” Tony’s lips tugs upwards, a helpless grin he’s incapable of stopping.
Steve huffs out a laugh against Tony’s hair. Had Tony always been so much shorter than Steve? Or has time just messed with what he remembers?
”I’m an excellent strategist, both on and off the battlefield,” Steve offers dryly as an explanation, his tone turning lower before continuing. ”Thought it was time for me to come back and face the consequences to my actions, I’ve done enough harm already as it is. To you, to everyone.”
Tony pulls back, enough to create some space between them. He can see Steve’s face clearly, and what he sees is a man plagued by guilt. For being enhanced and not able to get sick, Steve looks weary. The circles around his eyes are black enough to match Tony’s own.
It feels strange, touching Steve’s beard. It’s prickly, rough against Tony’s palm. Steve leans into the touch, those blue eyes of his looking so sad it might rip Tony’s heart into pieces by simply staring at him for too long.
”You’re doing the right thing. Being here, it’s the right thing.”
And Tony believes it; he believes in his own words.
They’ve been through hell and back, still got miles and miles left to go until everything is dealt and done with. This, on the other hand, the two of them being together, fact to face, is a step in the right direction.
When Tony cups both of his hands around Steve’s face and asks if he can kiss him, Steve leans down and meets him halfway.
Deep, hungry and enough to drag the air out of Tony’s lungs. He kisses with force, desperation, and Steve’s meets him with the same need, following Tony’s every move with a matching one of his own.
It’s nothing like Tony expected it to be, yet everything at the same time. He kisses, he takes, he gives, and when it comes to Steve, he can’t get enough.
No pain. No lies. Only this.
+1
It’s midday, with the sun hanging high and mighty upon the clear blue sky. Through the foliage, the light bathes everything in shades of warm and gentle green.
Steve wipes the sweat off his forehead. They’ve been out here for hours, searching through the rampant forests after Thanos’ troops and coming across more than a handful of them. He’ll never complain about having to fight a human ever again if he survives this; these aliens know how to put up a fight, and not in a pleasant way at that.
Natasha and Bucky are huddled by a fallen log beside him. Both of their faces are glistering with sweat, much like his own.
”How many?” he asks.
Natasha carefully moves her head up to get a good glance at their targets, a group of loud, unfriendly looking aliens a few meters away from them. The aliens haven’t noticed them yet, they’re talking loudly to one another in a language Steve doesn’t understand.
If Natasha’s concerned expression is anything to by, it’s probably nothing good.
”Ten, at the least. Likely there’s more hiding in the trees. We should be able to take them on without much effort if we play our cards right.”
Bucky nods in agreement, reloading his gun. ”I’m all ears.”
Something buzzes against Steve’s leg, a frown gracing his features as he holds up one hand towards Natasha and Bucky to make them stay put while searching through his pocket with the other. Both of them look at him in confusion, Natasha smacking her hand across her face while Bucky only shakes his head when Steve removes the phone from his pocket.
”Really, Steve?” Natasha hisses. ”Don’t you dare answer that call. How do you even have any reception out here? We're in the middle of nowhere!”
She looks over at Bucky, as to ask if he can believe this is happening either. He simply shrugs in response, crooked smile across his lips. ”This is not the weirdest shit that’s happened.”
Steve gives her a glare, pressing the phone to his ear. Already sure of who’ll be on the other end.
”What are you wearing?”
Steve blinks, rubbing a finger against the bridge of his nose. Not what he was expecting. ”Tony, you’re not doing this right now. I’m in the middle of a fight -”
”And you still picked up, that’s what I call dedication, darling. Good for you, go team!”
Natasha’s sending daggers in Steve’s direction. She tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed in a way that tells him she’ll end the call herself soon if Steve doesn’t do it.
Well, Steve does know a threat when he sees one.
”Do you need anything? Are you okay?” He won’t deny that he’s relieved to hear Tony’s voice, no matter how inconvenient it is. Glowing, a small, warm flame in his chest, resides both relief and hope. Hearing no present sorrow nor distraught in Tony’s voice keeps the flame alive.
”I’m just peachy, Cap. Just - there’s, ah, something I forgot to tell you earlier. Just, don’t make a big deal out of it-”
Natasha narrows her eyes even more.
Steve swallows, keeping his voice as low as he can not to drag any attention to their hiding spot. ”What is it?”
Tony’s quiet for a moment, before releasing a shaky breath mixed with a laugh that’s so unlike him it makes Steve’s frown grow deeper, a faint worry running through his veins.
”I love you, Steve. If I get punched into oblivion by some alien in the hour or so, I just wanted you to know that.”
Steve smiles, despite the seriousness of the situation. He can’t help himself, he’s only human - his chest feels tight, warm and he needs to have this conversation again, some other time. He’ll fight to hear those words drop from Tony’s lips, face to face.
”I can’t believe you beat me to it. This is not how I saw this go down,” he says instead, shaking his head.
”Steve, cut it out,” Natasha warns, pointing a very stern finger in Steve’s direction. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s confused yet amused expression showing right above her head, Steve would be a lot more intimidated by her.
”I’m an impatient person, Rogers. Couldn’t wait around forever for Mr Excellent Strategist to get his thumb out of his ass, you know. I mean it though. Stay safe, don’t do anything stupid.”
”Nat’ll probably kill me if I don’t hang up now, so can’t promise anything,” Steve says, trying to keep his tone light because this is everything he’s hoped for. If the alien invasion wasn’t a thing, he’d be soaring above the clouds at this moment. Now, he steadies his grip around his shield, face melting back into something calculated, hard. ”Don’t do anything stupid like you would, you mean? I’ll try to keep it in mind. I love you, I’ll see you soon.”
”I’ll keep you to that, Steve.”
Natasha mouths ”finally” at him when Steve slides the phone back into his pocket. He merely shakes his head and runs out of their cover, towards their enemies with newfound strength and determination; Bucky and Natasha right at his heels. With Tony’s words still ringing in his ears, he’ll take on the whole world if he has to; if it means he’ll get to come back home again.
Back to Tony.