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There will be unintended consequences to Strange’s spell — there usually are — and while Tony has an infinite number of questions, he asks none. The more he knows, the less he’s likely to make the right call in the heat of the moment, if that moment ever arises. But it will, Tony knows the ever-noble Steve will never take the ‘easy’ way out of a no-win scenario. He’ll die trying to keep his morals intact when the safest, when the only safe way out of the inevitable incursion is to kill his morals along with the invading Earth. Steve would rather die on the high horse than beneath its hooves. It’s difficult enough to entertain the idea of needing a failsafe for Steve. Knowing precisely what he will have to do to him is at war with his need to know everything and it leaves him fidgeting in the ridiculous velveteen wingback chair in front of Strange’s fireplace.
“It will be instantaneous—”
“Didn’t I already tell you to move on? I get it, you’re good at your job. There are other things to discuss,” Tony interrupts and looks away from the sharp side-eye glare he knows he’s getting. Nothing like an ego interrupted.
“If only the world knew what a brat you were, truly.” Stephen says flatly.
“They’d still love me regardless. We have to do something about Charles — do we replace him? Is there anyone who can even measure up to his proverbial shoes?” Tony flings a hand out between them as he reaches with the other for the cup with Earthy, bitter tea that had gone cold about an hour ago. Gross when hot, grosser when cold. Tony shudders when he swallows, almost choking on the lingering taste, and takes a moment to breathe hard through his nose before swallowing the rest of it. He’s thrown back some truly vile things in his drinking days, chasing the numbness of alcohol and relief from the resulting hangover both.
When Stephen moves to refill the little clay cup, Tony snatches it back. Cradles it to his chest.
“The seat should remain empty,” Stephen drawls, still holding the bewitched tea pot with both hands. He turns slightly to refill his own cup instead. It’s still steaming somehow.
Magic always makes Tony feel unsettled even when it’s a seemingly innocuous spell. The laws of thermodynamics are clearly being circumvented and he catches himself frowning at the damn pot. There’s a price to pay to make physics bend to your will, he supposes, but he doesn’t know what it is. Things without price tags tend to be innumerably expensive.
“Right, I thought so. Omega level mutants are hard enough to come by, let alone ones with telepathic powers.” Tony says, still holding the empty cup. He finds a fault in the glaze that he keeps scraping the blunt edge of his fingernail against, the motion repetitive and not at all soothing because Tony wishes he could dig it out. There’s no real point in discussing a potential Illuminati member with only the two of them gathered anyway. He can feel Reed’s indignation from here and smiles to himself. “Don’t we need a full consortium to make a decision anyway?”
“Regardless, we have already agreed to leave the seat empty. Either you’re trying to gracelessly change the subject or you have forgotten. Even Rogers agreed to honor Xavier by not replacing him. Though what he did with the mind gem remains to be seen — that is what we should be pursuing.” Strange doesn’t even wait for the steam to stop rising from his cup to sip at the disgusting tea.
Honor. Tony hopes the word tastes foul on Strange’s tongue after what they’ve just decided to do. Though it doesn’t seem like the sorcerer even has tastebuds anymore. Feeling called out, he stands and drops his mug into the seat behind him. “Changing the subject, clearly. Let me change it more forcefully, I’ve got a date to get to.” Tony lies as easily as he breathes some days. But he does actually have a standing date to get to...about ninety minutes ago.
He flicks his wrist in a facsimile of a wave as he heads for the door. He can remember how to get out of the Sanctum Santorum, but he’s not sure if it hasn’t been rearranging itself in the interminable three hours he’s been here. Thankfully he’s outside the incredibly deceptive facade without too much of a fight. That last area rug he carefully stepped around actively tried to trip him, Tony’s sure of it. Leave it to Stephen to decorate vindictively.
Jarvis is waiting for him in the car and he doesn’t hesitate to duck between erstwhile tourists in his haste to get to the curb. “Captain America has repeatedly called, wanted to know where you were,” Jarvis says even though the window is still rolling itself down.
“Hope you told him I was literally anywhere else than the den of deadly textiles,” Tony doesn’t slam the back door behind him, but it’s a near thing.
“I did not tell him where you were, Sir. I did, however, tell him you would call when you were not indisposed.”
——————
It’s easy to pretend that the guilt he’s feeling is related to his tardiness. Steve’s face is so expressive that there’s no way Tony can read the disappointment there and pretend it’s anything else. But he smiles and drops into the booth opposite Steve as his stomach twists itself into a knot.
“You know, I’m actually shocked you stuck around.” Tony flips the laminated menu over to the beverage section, pointedly ignores the ‘loaded’ milkshakes, and does his best to avoid looking up at Steve’s heavy gaze. Those blue eyes would only make him want to tell him everything, why he crawled into the diner so late, about the disgusting taste of tea lingering on the back of his tongue. How sorry he is for things he can’t explain and hopes he’ll never have to use.
Tony looks up when Steve’s hand covers his, palm pressing down at callused knuckles and fingers caressing the back of Tony’s wrist under the cuff of his shirt. The sudden contact is electric and he knows he’s gaping a little, slams his mouth shut to regain a modicum of dignity. His teeth do that awful thing when they glance off of each other, create a brief squealing cacophony no one else can hear and he’s dizzy with it.
“I was worried. You normally let me know when you’re running late yourself. When it was a half an hour and I got no response I called Jarvis.” Steve says slowly, as if explaining a novel concept to a toddler. To be fair, this relationship was new territory for Tony and as adept as he is at many things, dating Steve is still new with a lot of unknown quantities mixed in. “He was unhelpfully vague but at least confirmed you weren’t crushed under the weight of a vintage car.”
That little uptick at the corner of Steve’s mouth tells him all he needs to know. There’s not going to be a fight, thank goodness, and maybe he can make it up to him. Tony turns his hand over, sliding the heels of their palms together. That quirk turns into a genuine smile and something settles in his chest like relief. He maybe even smiles himself when Steve shifts his hand so he can slot their fingers together properly. It’s a nice, warm gesture and Tony does his best to focus on the present moment.
“I’m sure you’ll get tired of my excuses eventually, but I did honestly just lose track of the time. For what it’s worth, it was an incredibly dull business meeting and the drinks they served were vile. Let me buy you a milkshake.” Tony breathes out practically all at once. It earns him a huff of a laugh and a squeeze to his fingers. “And a burger or three, you must be starving.”
“I’m not that hungry,” Steve shrugs.
“Yeah, and the Dead Sea isn’t salty. I know you’re probably starving. Let’s get some service over here.” Tony sits up and turns around, looking for the waitress that usually serves them at this diner. There’s a bit of a routine the two of them built up; unless the world, or worse, New York, was facing a dire threat, Tony and Steve meet at the diner on 38th and Madison for milkshakes and burgers every Tuesday at noon. Neither their burgers or milkshakes were that remarkable in terms of food — solid and satisfying, sure, but nothing to write home about. Frankly, Tony would prefer to meet at the Shake Shack out in Madison Square park even if they are photographed together more often than not when they had tried that in the past. But the atmosphere here was homey and the wait staff could not give less of a care about Captain America and Iron Man hogging a booth in the back for an interminable amount of time. Maybe it’s due to the fact that Tony leaves more cash than necessary to cover the loss of flipping the table. Or maybe they truly just did not need the space as the clientele flitted in and our pretty quickly.
Either way, it had turned from catching up with Steve to actively trying to woo Steve to now enjoying his...partner. A dedicated time to do so is something that three-years-ago Tony would have scoffed at, but now he looks forward to. Funny how people can change subtly over time.
“Natasha and I had breakfast, or tried to before Clint showed up and took the coffee pot back to God knows where,” Steve strokes his thumb over the back of his hand. “I don’t know where he keeps leaving it. But she stopped helping me cook and went after him. I ended up eating the majority of the eggs and definitely ate all the bacon.”
“She abandoned it, it’s only just.”
“That’s what I thought. But I’m not as in dire straits as you might think, appetite wise. Still going to hold you to paying though.”
“Literally the least I can do for making you wait so long for me to rock up. You can also hold me to other things too, if you’re so inclined.” Tony positively beams at the way Steve’s flush crawls slowly over his cheeks. The man isn’t so innocent as the media makes him out to be — Tony should know — but he still shows his feelings on his face instead of his sleeve. It’s all too easy to get a rise out of him in public, when Steve is on his best behavior because there is a huge, glaring demarcation of public and private life for him. And Tony’s never really known the difference.
Either way, Tony can tell that the pink tinge to soft, pale skin isn’t an embarrassed flush. It’s excitement.
“What makes you think I’m so easy, Stark?” Steve asks after the waitress whisks away with their usual orders. Both of his hands cover Tony’s where they lie on the table between them, warm and all-encompassing.
“All I had to do yesterday was walk into the gym in my new running shorts and I found myself unceremoniously pressed against the wall. And in plain view of the other... four people who might ever wander in, but never do because they’re all creatures of the night.” Tony tilts his head, grinning brightly in the face of Steve’s faux-indignation. “You’re about as easy as they come, darling.” The pink deepens and Tony can see far less of that cheerful blue in Steve’s eyes than before.
Lunch is devoured more or less in silence. Eating is a nice distraction from the warring heat thrumming through Tony, who’s feeling more at ease if only for being with Steve but also stuck on the details he deigned unimportant. He itches to know what he’s gotten himself into here, but there’s no going back.
They walk back to the Stark tower with their hands locked. Tony doesn’t call Steve out for slowing his pace so that he can keep up, but appreciates it all the same. Madison Ave is oddly empty of tourists for the fall, but then again it’s barely the end of September and the holiday crowds won’t start ramping up for a handful of weeks. Thankfully.
“Do you really keep the space gem in your sock drawer?” Steve asks, unperturbed by the passer-bys. To be fair, most people are too busy trying to take selfies in front of landmark buildings or texting as they walk to be paying attention to the low drawl of Steve’s voice.
Tony shivers. “No, of course not. But I know when to pull out my dick and when to keep it in my pants. Unlike you. Metaphorically, of course.” Sometimes he just likes to startle laughter out of Steve. The sound a delightful mixture of surprise and mirth that makes Tony grin up at the sky for a moment. Clouds cover the sky but promise nothing more than what they’re already doing, blocking out the sun.
“What are you intimating? That I pulled my metaphoric dick out at an incredibly serious meeting?” Steve is still laughing as he draws Tony closer to his side. He goes willingly.
“You said it, not me. I honestly cannot believe you keep yours in a god damned pouch like it’s one of your granola bars or band-aids.” Tony tilts his chin back in a silent demand and Steve obliges him with a soft, lingering kiss as they wait for the barrage of taxis and buses to pass them. The tower isn’t far, and ostensibly they’d get there more quickly if they didn’t stop at every corner like a couple of rubes from the Midwest who are too afraid of the MTA to cut off one of the drivers. But they’re not afraid, this is their city — both born in Manhattan — though they are afraid of losing any time.
Tony can’t help the fact that the incursions are intruding on his every thought, even as Steve steps impossibly closer to him. Without even realizing how far they’ve walked, Tony finds himself being hurried through the foyer of the tower. Steve is like a furnace pressed to his back as they pick their way across the marble to the elevators. The hand that settles at the small of his back blissfully makes his brain go blank like a high-powered magnet pressing to a hard drive.
There could be no one left on Earth but them and Tony would not care.
“You know there are cameras in here monitored by the security team?” Tony asks, voice going a little pitchy as Steve crowds him against the back of the elevator. He’ll blame that on the way Steve’s hands grab at his waist. It always makes him feel so small and fragile, being handled by Steve. And he loves not having to be so guarded all of the time.
“Yup,” Steve replies simply, mouth already at the side of his throat. He has to be able to feel how his heart rate kicks up immediately in response. The curl of that deceptively wicked mouth against his pulse point tells Tony that he’s right. He usually is.
Dragging a hand up Tony’s side, Steve eagerly untucks his shirt but frustratingly doesn't touch him. Instead, he’s reaching up to frame his face with both of his hands, palms cupping his cheeks almost reverently.
Tony can’t stand to bear the weight of that open affection right now, so he presses forward to claim Steve’s mouth in a kiss. Or he tries, at least, and is rewarded with a flash of bright red light right across his field of vision emanating from the center of Steve’s palm. He recoils sharply, hitting the back of his head against the mirrored surface of the elevator wall. Neither of them had indicated what floor they were going to, they haven’t even left the lobby.
“Fucking hell,” Tony spits, raising both hands to his eyes. He immediately regrets it because his palm blares red right against his screwed-shut eyelids just the same. There’s a lot more swearing than necessary, but no one’s ever accused him of being polite.
“Strange.”
“Yeah, it is strange how a bright red LED can blind a man, fuck,” Tony hisses, still rubbing at his eyes with his left land. He’s eyeing Steve through the spread of his fingers.
“No — stop rubbing — it’s Strange. He sent out an Assemble call...” Steve frowns at him, apologetic, before fumbling for his phone in his pants pocket. His frown only grows deeper as he reads whatever is on his phone. “The soul gem is acting up, he’s asking us to check ours...” He swears under his breath and if Tony weren’t already slammed back into reality, that would have done it. “Black Bolt is coming to pick us up.”
His head is pounding and his heart rate is still spiked, but Steve looks so serious now that any thought of climbing him like a tree dissipate. Tony sticks his hand into his left pocket and clenches his fist — the space gem materializes in the curve of his palm from the micro-universe he used it to create. It’s vibrating hard enough for him to know something is very wrong. He’s got a feeling his headache is only going to get a hell of a lot worse.
“Let’s go, then.” And before Tony can pull away from pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s cheek a blue light envelops the elevator and the now familiar pull of Lockjaw’s teleporting makes everything else seem so dark.
—————
They’ve found the mind gem. Well, rather the gems found each other when Hank McCoy pulled the blue gem out of Xavier’s little puzzle. He has no choice but to take the empty Illuminati seat, or so T’Challa doesn’t tell him as they put the final touches on the reverse-engineered neutron bomb. The King of Wakanda treats words like rare currency, only utilizing what was necessary to get his point across. It was maddening to work with him when he didn’t reply verbally — might as well be working with Blackagar. Kings and their silence. But they’re just about finished when he hears the echoing screams of a big blue baby.
Their table is full again, as is the gauntlet. There’s an unsettled feeling radiating throughout his body and Tony tries his best to ignore the hysterics of the furry mutant as he’s initiated via palm communicator. Strange is still one of the best surgeons but everyone who knows him, anyone who calls him a friend, knows he can be cruel when he wants to be. None of this incursion malarkey is easy, and maybe Strange is taking his stress out on Hank, Tony doesn’t know. But his palm vibrates when the rest of the group filters into the room to check to see if they can communicate with each other.
And when all of their palms glow that same ominous red from before, Tony knows he needs to get out of Necropolis.
Though he wants to finish what they’ve started on, Tony instead takes a solo dog-jump back to his own workshop to start the work on his own plan. He doesn’t want to be the one to pull the trigger on a world-ending bomb. He barely wants to be involved in creating it. None of them, barring Namor, actually want to consider using it. Even though one of them likely will have to do it. Steve excepted. Tony has to try his best so that he can be another exception to this particularly shitty situation. He has to do better than genocide.
There’s nothing to do but wait for the next incursion, so Tony gets to work on Avengers World. He all but buries his head in the proverbial sand until Steve brings him a sandwich almost three days later.
“You need to take a shower,” Steve says, nose pressing into his hair when he kisses Tony’s temple.
Tony balks and shoves his elbow weakly into Steve’s chest to ineffectively push him away. “Showered this morning, thanks. I just did it in the decontamination shower in the corner.” He waves a hand lazily in what he thinks is the right direction. He’s exhausting himself to keep his mind from straying. An ineffectual tactic that never works for him, but boy does Tony keep trying. It’s weeks like this where he swears he can taste the oaky burn of scotch at the back of his throat. Yearns for it. Gratefully just keeps working until all of his thoughts are consumed, instead, by a project. It’s touch and go on a day-to-day basis.
“Come on, you’re no good to anyone when you can’t think straight. Take a nap,” Steve cajoles, leaning into Tony’s space to lathe kisses at the juncture of his jaw. If his knees weren’t already weak from lack of sleep, they’d be quaking from the promise in the lingering of those lips.
“I would if I could, Steve. But you know that we’re running on fumes here. There are less than zero options and all those egomaniacs are married to their own explosive ideas. I need my own,” Tony mutters but turns his face to give Steve better access to the join of his jaw regardless. He starts an email to Luke Cage because that is somehow the most reliable way to get in contact with the man who has impenetrable skin. Email. Over a god dammed Yahoo account.
“And your ego won’t let you rest, mhmm,” Steve hums as he scrapes an eye tooth over the joint of his jaw just beneath his ear. Fuck. Whatever he was going to say is lost in a hybrid whine-moan he will never admit to making. The man knows just how to get under his skin.
But it’s a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t complain the entire way to the elevator or to his bed. Steve easily maneuvers him under the covers and wraps his body tight around Tony. He feels warm and safe and not at all on the cusp of total annihilation like he has been for the past few weeks. Tony sleeps for a lot longer than he ever intends to, but when he wakes up, Steve is still there.
—————
It takes four days after Hank joins the Illuminati for the end of the world to start again. Tony is getting so sick of this that he’s silent as he pulls on his under armor, scowling as he watches Steve pull on his uniform piece by piece. There’s a finality to this morning that he can’t quite place, an inevitability that resonates in his bones. His teeth ache which means he’s been clenching them again, but who knows for how long?
The Illuminati convenes in Pakistan, thanks to Lockjaw. That dog deserves more than the title of the King of Atilan’s pet sidekick but this is no time to bring that up. This time there’s no doubt what needs to happen. The gems are assembled just as the group is — and Tony is a prevailing voice as to which of them needs to wield it.
“None of us believe in this as much as you do. It’s an extension of will, Steve. You have to do it,” Tony doesn’t mask his feelings even if they’re deadened by the robotic overtone of the helmet. Steve will get the bigger picture, he always does. Namor scoffs and Tony flips him off with a gloved hand without any hesitance. There’s something so smug about the King of Atlantis that rubs even him the wrong way. It doesn’t matter if the mutant and Steve go back to the war, Tony can’t really stand him.
The fact that Steve needs to wield the Infinity Gauntlet, to use the gems and save the world seems right. If anyone had the conviction to do it, to do it right, it’s Steve. “It was your plan. You need to do it.” Tony says to Steve, thankful no one else could hear how his voice wavered. Steve could be irreparably harmed just from the undertaking, never mind the odds of this going completely wrong.
But Steve stands tall. He shoves his fist in the air, the gauntlet shining rose gold in the red light emanating off of the other Earth. There is no other way to describe the sight besides awe-inspiring or something as equally as cliche. But as Tony stands among the rest of the Illuminati watching Steve with his gauntlet-clad fist raised into the air and gaping behind the safety of his helmet.
Strange mutters something about it actually working and that’s the point Tony knows it’s been jinxed. The Earth doesn’t tremble beneath his feet, but the air around him vibrates hard enough to let them all know that something is awry. Steve shifts his stance and all at once a bright light overcomes him. It swallows the rest of them for a moment too. When it clears, they watch Steve stumble and slump to his knees and Tony’s heart breaks. This is the moment from which they will never come back, he’s sure of it.
—————
It’s like his veins are filled with ice, making every beat of his heart laborious and painful as he realizes that this is it. Steve isn’t backing down, but then again, none of them are. They take turns letting the steam out of their egos, yelling and pointing fingers as if that will save any of them from having to be the one to make the hardest decision. At one point, Tony takes off his helmet and throws it down onto the table in front of him. Steve walks out just after, muttering something about needing some air.
Tony doesn’t follow him. The room grows silent in the way that is still noisy. Too many MENSA rated minds at work. Or maybe it’s the echoes of the sound Namor’s fist connecting with Steve’s jaw made ringing in his ears.
When T’Challa follows Steve out, Tony sits back down in his seat and cradles his head in his iron alloy covered hands. This is a nightmare come true. If Steve couldn’t wield the Infinity Gauntlet with his unerring optimism and earnestness, none of them would have been able to. Which means those fucking gems were a waste of their time entirely.
Of course Steve comes back into the room swinging his metaphoric fists, telling each and every one of them what a disappointment they were for even considering the option of destroying another Earth for their own sense of safety. What Steve doesn’t know is that Tony would kill a hundred worlds just to ensure that he remained in tact, safe, and whole. It’s not something he could voice to the other man without earning a roll of his sky-blue eyes and a stern lecture about the needs of the many...
When it’s clear that Steve isn’t going to back own at all, Tony tastes that bitter tea on his tongue. He moves to raise his hand and Steve finally addresses him in all of the shouting.
“We’re doing this for the right reasons. There’s no other choice. It’s the lesser of two evils,” Steve all but snarls. There’s a dignity to his anger that Tony finds horrifying. “Isn’t that right, brother?”
For the first time in hours, Steve is speaking to him directly. Calling him brother of all things. It makes Tony’s stomach sour but his resolve harden. He needs to be removed from the situation if they have any hope of saving their people. He stares down at the table in front of him, the length of which separates him from Captain America. Tony takes a long, slow breath and stares hard at the grain on the table when he says, “Dammit, Steve. Why do you always have to be this way?”
As if Steve knew how to be any way but righteous. But ethical and unwavering in his convictions.
Tony sets his shoulders and looks past Steve to Strange and gives the slightest of nods. “I’m sorry... I’ll find some way to make this right.” Those are the last words he says to Steve as he locks eyes with him.
“What?” Steve asks, confusion evident.
“Do it, Stephen,” Tony urges, feeling so close to vomiting he has to swallow hard three times before he can even breathe.
Strange, to his credit, does not hesitate before raising his hands, the green light flowing steadily from his fingertips eery and ominous. “I’m sorry, Captain... We have no choice. You were never here. You will remember none of this.” The sorcerer throws his hands apart and a bolt of green energy strikes Steve between his eyes, just under the white A emblazoned on his forehead.
Steve plummets backwards with nothing to break his fall.
How much Strange needed to wipe from Steve’s mind is an unknown quantity Tony still hasn’t asked. He refuses to ask the questions fighting their way across his tongue as he stands at the table while the others stand over Steve’s prone form. It takes a considerable effort to school his face into an expression besides grief. Hastily, he grabs his helmet and crams it on his head so he can at least give himself the peace of mind by knowing that Steve is at least alive. That his HUD can pick up that steady heart beat eases the bare minimum of the worries he’s harboring.
Steve is thankfully asleep through Lockjaw teleporting them from the Necropolis back to the tower and still asleep when Tony gets him into his bed. He leaves him to sleep it off. There must have been a touch of a fatigue spell thrown into what Strange hit him with to keep him down for so long. There’s no guide on how to navigate mind-wiping your partner, so Tony errs on the side of caution and let’s Steve recuperate on his own.
But Steve doesn’t show up to the diner on Tuesday at noon and the last time that happened he’d been in Medical for being thrown through a burning building and was on oxygen. He showed up in Tony’s workshop the next day with apology burgers. But there’s no sighting of him by two and so Tony leaves a few bills and retreats through those damned glass doors with his tail between his legs.
Steve doesn’t show up to their late-night movie time on Wednesday, either, and Tony’s creeping paranoia kicks into high gear. This is the worst case scenario he didn’t want to consider. The mind wipe didn’t just remove every memory or thought of the Illuminati and the Incursions, but the prevalent memories associated with any facet of them as well. Tony had himself erased from Steve’s mind, he’s sure of it because this feels like when Steve first moved into the tower all over again. Distant, cordial when they do catch a glimpse of each other in passing, but nothing warmer than a fleeting smile. Clearly not wanting a connection.
Except this is a total ghosting. It takes three days of Tony sequestering himself in his workshop — he’s working on his own plan given that the neutron bomb is supposed to be their last resort — before he catches a glimpse of Steve at his doorway. He’s making his finishing touches on the data set for all known heroes who are active on Earth before he even sees Steve for more than thirteen seconds.
“Hey, Stark. I hate to interrupt you when you’re in a frenzy like this. But I was thinking,” Steve says, not venturing further into the work space than he needs to.
“A dangerous past-time,” Tony interrupts.
“I know,” Steve replies on cue, smiling softly to himself. He almost looks proud and Tony wants to lick the edges of that smugness. “I was thinking that you could use a break. Do you want to talk team strategy over lunch?”
The other man looks so hopeful and so earnest that Tony can feel himself crumbling at the face of it regardless of how miserable he’s feeling. It’s like a hot knife through room temperature butter, how easy he can be manipulated by Steve. Not that Steve has ever been the one manipulating anything. He can’t let himself be lured back in, though, if Steve doesn’t remember their relationship. Tony’s sure that starting over again will absolutely kill him.
“Sorry, big guy, but I’m working on a time sensitive SI project. Maybe some other time.” Tony feigns a smile before he turns his back on Steve. He wishes briefly for Thor’s hammer to fall randomly out of the sky and onto his head. It would be a swift reprieve from imagining the all too real hurt expression that crosses Steve’s face before he steels himself and leaves.
There are fleeting moments where he lets the delusional thoughts overcome his rational mind. Tony lets himself think that this is honestly just a nightmare he needs to wake up from and not the new reality he wrought behind closed doors. He should have asked all of those questions. He should have trusted Steve to let bygones be bygones and walk away from the Illuminati. Maybe Steve could have come up with the only viable way they could save their home planet if not for being completely wiped by Strange via Tony.
But that’s not what happened. Tony can’t come to Steve anymore to work out how to stop their planet from combusting into shards, ending all life. Tony can’t come to Steve for anything because they’re only team mates right now.
He gave up the right to call him more and have those feelings reciprocated.
All in the name of progress.
—————
“Wake up, old man.” Tony feigns cheerfulness as he lets himself into Steve’s room. There isn’t a lock he can’t pick, besides this being his tower and all, if Steve asks about his presence in his room he’ll have an answer ready at least.
“I haven’t been able to sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about something you said. And, well...I’ve been busy.” Tony says, forcing an even tone. A lot of his time lately has been spent working toward preparing for the incursion they can’t fight their way out of; the end of all things. The end of what he had with Steve is more pressing and he’s already lost. “I’m sorry,” he says, pauses. “I know it’s late.”
“It’s fine, Tony.” Steve covers his face with his hands. “I’m grateful.”
The thing is, Tony knows what helps soothe Steve’s bad dreams — he knows that rubbing the heel of his palm between those broad shoulders will ground Steve. Knows that dropping a string of kisses across the back of his neck reminds him to be present. But he doesn’t have that privilege now. So he watches the man hunch over, making himself smaller with his hands pressed to his eyes for a few minutes too long.
He knows what’s coming, what’s inevitably going to happen to them and the planet entirely. Steve doesn’t. And that’s a small mercy.
“Bad dream?” Tony makes sure that it comes out as an actual question.
“Something like that,” Steve replies, voice rough. He searches with one hand in the covers to find the shirt he discarded in his sleep. Tony would have woken up wearing it, more than likely. It’s been two weeks of solitude and he’s not sure if his heart can take this. He should leave Steve alone.
“Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee,” Tony offers instead. It isn’t a date, not like the diner. It’s a simple olive branch Tony’s willing to let snap under his weight.