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Stephen figured he should have seen this coming, he might have been a surgeon, didn’t spend excessive time with the average patient but he remembered enough from his residence days to know self-destructive tendencies when he saw it. If you were to look up the definition in a dictionary, Stephen was almost certain you could find Tony Stark’s name and image printed in little block letters.
That didn’t make this any easier of course, knowing something and witnessing it first hand were two completely different things. Yes, walking into their bedroom…no Tony’s bedroom to find him fucking a woman in their…Tony’s bed, the air thick with the musk of smoke, alcohol, and sex was perhaps the worst way to be faced with the truth of the matter.
He hadn’t been seen, the lights too dim, the grunts and moans too loud, and Stephen had never been one to cause a scene except when it suited him. So, he left, silent as he had come and disappeared to the Sanctuary, tired and weary from trudging through dimensions for the past week. All the while he felt as fragile as the first ice cover over a lake, thin cracks sliding their way through his heart, the only feeling in the swell of numbness covering him from head to toe.
He should be angry, he should be shouting and yelling insults and throwing things, he would have once, before the crash and Kamar-Taj but that wasn’t who he was anymore. But then again, it could be the fact that, even as tears stung his eyes and his breath grew laboured, he wasn’t exactly surprised.
He was distantly aware of the Cloak hovering around him, buzzing with anxiety as its master crawled into his large, cold, empty bed and curled in on himself. He didn’t care, utterly incapable of reassuring his loyal friend at the moment, his mind too busy playing the image of Tony in that bed, hips working furiously, the short-painted nails digging into his back. Stephen’s mind always did like to torture him, so he laid there shaking and crying in near silence, waiting for something other then heartbreak to sooth the pain in his soul.
----
Morning brought with it the righteous anger he was looking for.
He had gotten out of bed, sore and creaky from his travels, he had grit his teeth and wiped at his tears roughly, determined not to waste anymore on him. As he showered and scrubbed the dirt caked onto his skin, he fought hard to ignore the aching pain in his heart, the realization that even now all he wanted was to be held in Tony’s warm embrace, hear his voice talking nonsense, reassuring him.
Part of him wanted to open a portal to Tony’s penthouse where he was undoubtedly still sleeping off a hangover and scare him awake with shouting and throwing and just enough magic to terrify the man, part of him wanted to just disappear from the man’s life like a ghost, pretend he never came back from his dimensional travels, and an even bigger part of him, the one that left him filled with shame, was insecure enough to just want to know why.
But that was all nonsense, he knew why. By the time the clock ticked over into eleven o’clock the anger which had been refreshing but unproductive, was already seeping away only to be replaced with…disappointment. It was an incredibly inefficient word to describe the maelstrom of pain, heartbreak, and emotional stress pounding through him, but any other wouldn’t do. Because really, this had been on the horizon far longer then Stephen cared to admit.
So, as he sat in silence before the large window overlooking the New York Streets, hovering in the warm embrace of his Cloak, Stephen called upon every single shred of patience, sympathy, and peaceful practices he had been learning at Kamar-Taj, had known as a doctor, and tried, tried so god damn hard to prepare himself for what needed to be done.
Their relationship had been going strong for nearly a year, had been limping through the past three months, and all but stalled in the last two weeks as Stephen’s travels and studies dragged him further and further to parts unknown. Still, they had been working on it, they had been talking and planning and hoping. Stephen is pretty sure that was the worst part, that he hadn’t even realized Tony was giving up.
At four o’clock that evening a predictable knock sounded at the door of the Sanctuary and Stephen blew out a long weary sigh. He hadn’t told anyone he was back yet, not even Wong, who was sure to give him shit for it later, which meant the visitor was Tony, because he always inexplicably just knew. Slowly, Stephen uncurled himself from the position in front of the window where he had maintained his quiet stoicism for the past six hours. To call it meditation would have been too kind, he had been thinking, remembering, hurting.
Opening the door, Stephen knew exactly what he would find, and he was right, he always was when it came to Tony. The man on his doorstep was pale and haggard looking, no doubt suffering from the alcohol but was being destroyed by guilt. Shockingly, Stephen found himself numb in the face of the man he loved beyond words, the man he had thought he might gladly die beside one day.
“Tony,” the acknowledgement was horse from his long day of silence, his Cloak tensed in a decidedly hostile manner.
There was no need to play games here, Tony was aware that Stephen knew of his transgression. He was here to face his punishment, more then that he was here to bow down at Stephen’s feet and beg for forgiveness, for salvation. Part of Stephen wanted to give it to him, especially seeing the lost, agonized gleam in his eyes, but if he had learned anything since becoming a Sorcerer, since guarding an Infinity Stone and routinely saving the Earth, it was that the easy thing would always be the wrong thing.
So, Stephen took the leap to fill the void of silence between them, he allowed himself an expression of stoicism, a tone of neutrality. He wouldn’t be able to take anything more, iron control over his emotions and actions always having been his greatest asset. He would…compartmentalize this interaction and his emotions, hold it hostage under lock and key, hold a gun to the reckless wild part of him that wanted to let it all go, strangle the love he had for this man until it couldn’t slip from his mouth.
“I have questions, you will answer. You may say your piece only when I’m done.” Stephen didn’t bother phrasing it like a question, Tony would agree.
He did, the devastation on his face plain as day. He followed in meek silence to the sitting room, something he never thought would be associated with Tony Stark, something he hoped wouldn’t last.
Before long they were seated across from each other, not so unlike their interactions in the earlier days of their relationship. Stephen stared across at the man who once took the brunt of a powerful spell to save him, a man who once sang him to sleep in a quiet whisper after a horrendous nightmare, a man who would joke about marriage and their old age, and a bright future of contentment. This was not that man, he was slumped and pale, the dark bags under his eyes seeming to drag down his entire face. He was fidgety and anxious, not from this moment alone, but from a lack of alcohol. It was so clear now, like the sun bursting through a cloudy day, gradual and unnoticeable at first until the full rays shine through. He had relapsed and Stephen hadn’t even noticed, he beat the guilt back.
Instead he asked, quiet and calm, “how many times? How often?”
Pain flashed in those dark eyes, his head shook, “the once, I swear just the once.”
Stephen believed him, almost winced at the sound of his scratchy throat, smoking again. Tony would hide a lot of things from him but not fucking a stranger in their bed, the shame hadn’t even let him go the day before showing up on his doorstep, he frowned as an insecure thought slipped through his defenses, “stranger or friend?”
“Stranger.”
Small mercies. On to the next part though not by choice. There were plenty of vulgar and harsh questions he wanted to ask but they were born of anger, jealously, and the urge to hurt the man in front of him, not conducive to his fragile hold of neutrality. Still, it was a hard fight, his mind whipping questions at him and some almost making it into his mouth, (was she good? Did you think of me? Did you care? Did she care that you had a boyfriend?) Instead, Stephen clenched his hands in the arms of his chair, felt the Clock gently stroking his side in comfort.
“How long have you been hiding the alcohol? The smoking?”
“Wasn’t really hard to hide with you never around.”
Stephen blinked, saw the horror dawning on Tony’s face. Before the man could try to over correct, try to amend his words Stephen held up a hand, stopping the words from his open mouth. He supposes he has the right to be angry about that, but instead it was completely refreshing, “you meant what you said so don’t take it back. I think the least you owe me is honesty, even if it isn’t pleasant.”
Tony began to worry his lip between his teeth, a familiar habit that sent a pang through Stephen’s heart. He gave a curt nod, those haunted eyes looking deader by the moment.
“How long has it been that I didn’t notice?”
Tony flinched at Stephen’s re-working of the question, but he didn’t let up. Waited as the silence swirled around them, painfully aware that something fragile and precious was about to be smashed to pieces, and the air was holding its breath in anticipation.
“About three weeks.”
Stephen clenched his jaw, let his eyes flutter closed. He had said he knew why this had happened, and he did, he really did. This only confirmed his suspicions, and it hurt, though everything hurt today.
“I’m sorry.”
Stephen meant the words despite the way his mouth went dry as they came out, expected the shock on Tony’s face quickly followed by denial. His head was shaking rapidly, and he was leaning forward in his seat, those dark, tortured eyes looking into his, desperate to make Stephen understand.
“No, don’t. Nothing in this is your fault, I fucked up and got drunk. I shouldn’t have gone out and I shouldn’t have fucked her. Don’t….please don’t say that to me.”
Stephen managed not to react to the rush or words or the way Tony was clearly dying to touch him, instead, he raised his hand once again requesting silence, tears welled in the man’s eyes. Stephen swallowed thickly, “I wasn’t taking any responsibility or feeling any guilt regarding your decision to sleep with someone else, that was yours and yours alone. I was apologizing because I didn’t notice you were spiralling, and I should have, you needed someone, and I wasn’t there.”
“That isn’t….Stephen please none of it-”
He cut him off again, needing to get the rest of the words out, to make it clear that as much as this was Tony’s poor decision making, this was never going to work out from the start. It was predictable and horrible, and Stephen never should have let them go on this long, it could have saved a lot of heartbreak.
“Tony,” he took a shuddering breath. “I hate you so much right now, and it hurts like fucking hell because I still love you even more then that.” A tear slipped from Tony’s eyes, his hands were shaking and now Stephen couldn’t tell if it was from lack of alcohol or fear of what was next. “We should have known better.”
Tony expression crumpled, “I need you to know how sorry I am, not as an excuse or any of that bullshit. You deserved better, I promised you better.”
Stephen was already shaking his head, hand slipping into the Cloak where he gripped the fabric desperately, had to control himself, “we both deserve better Tony.”
“No, after what I did-”
“I deserve not to be cheated on, you deserve not to be lonely. Tony, we both know how poorly you react to be lonely, to the feeling of abandonment. My job, my work will never allow me to be there for you the way you need, no matter how much I want to be.” And god did he wish he could, “I also deserve someone who will talk to me, you should have contacted me the moment you began to spiral.”
Tony’s hands came up to cover his tear-stained face, “I know.” He whispered.
“Now here we are.”
Silence, for the first time Stephen was a little lost. He had said things he needed to say, had made points he wanted to make but it all still felt hollow, like he was talking to a shell. That was, of course, because he was. Looking at Tony’s slumped form it was easy to see a man whose given up, a man so lost to his demons and his mind that he no longer knew how climb toward the light. It hurt, it tore him in two and then drove a stake through him for good measure, and Stephen didn’t know how to end this.
“I’m sorry.” The words are squeezed out between shaking breaths, loud and broken sobs falling from the man’s lips, and despite the tugging from the Cloak, Stephen found himself helpless as ever, being drawn into the black hole that was Tony Stark.
He stood from his seat, walked over to Tony and carefully, gently pulled him into his arms, hunched over his frame as he let it out. Stephen was distantly aware of the sour scent of alcohol, sweat but he didn’t care, too focused on the feeling of Tony in his arms for the what would probably be the last time.
He held Tony for nearly thirty minutes until he stopped, his hands which were twisted in Stephen’s tunic pulling him ever closer, until his wet voice could whisper desperately in Stephen’s ear, “I’m going to do better, I’m going to get better.”
“I believe you,” Stephen murmured. “You need to save yourself now Tony, you have an army of people to help you and I hope to every good being on this planet you find a way to.”
An hour later found Stephen in the bathroom, soaking sore muscles in a bath, staring blankly at the wall across from him. Tony was gone, had left shaken and desperate, had whispered at the door that he loved him, that one day, he would make it up to him. Stephen hoped it was true, but he also hoped that once Tony got the help he needed, that once he was back on his feet, he would realize that it was for himself and not for Stephen, it had needed to be done.
Stephen cried, of course he did. No matter what persona he put on, it didn’t stop the hurt deep down in his bones. Tony was a damaged and flawed human being, not so different from Stephen himself, and their mixture together proved toxic, yet, as Stephen watched his tears fall into the water and spread in tiny ringlets, he couldn’t help but hope that one day, maybe, that would change.
----
Time passed.
Stephen could admit he went into hiding, for both practical and personal reasons. He ended most of his associations with the Avengers, not in a bid to avoid Tony or the pitying looks he was sure to get from others, but in an attempt to also improve himself. He began sharing duties more practically, whenever possible, balancing his life more.
Other Sorcerers got to know the Avengers and it only strengthened ties. Stephen tried not to keep an ear out for Tony beyond reassurances that he was alive and relatively well, an assessment Wong was fantastic at. It seemed he was getting better and to Stephen’s infinite shame, the ache for the man never eased, was only ever distracted.
Eventually, almost a year after he and Tony separated, Stephen was needed at a particularly horrible battle, one that almost made him have to use the Time Stone, though disaster was averted just in time. Once on the earpiece, hastily given to him he heard Tony’s voice for the first time in too long, worked alongside him, saw with his own two eyes a happier man.
When Tony landed in front of him post battle, the lid of his helmet raising up and his eye filled with the same ache in his own, Stephen said nothing. When Tony asked him, filled with anxiety to catch up over breakfast he found himself nodding. When Tony spoke over mountains of eggs and pancakes about his therapist, and Pepper, and Rhodey, Stephen found himself relieved. Finally, when Tony spoke with a longing that echoed in his heart about how he missed him and how sorry he still was, Stephen found himself staying.
He began to wonder, idly, if maybe this wasn’t the beginning of something new, something good, something healthy, something that could last.