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Steve can pinpoint the exact moment Tony spots him; it's in the way he squares his shoulders ever so slightly, his body straightening not from confidence but from the sudden urge to hide his unease; the way Tony's facial features tighten in an attempt to hold the devil-may-care attitude on his face, and it's in the way Tony steals a second glance another moment later as if ensuring that Steve was really there.
Tony seems to be in no hurry to finish his conversation with the suits. In fact, Steve notices Tony’s suddenly speaking to the men more than they are to him, using every pause in the conversation to fill it with his own words.
Delaying his inevitable interaction with Steve.
Tony’s smiles and laughs are strained, and even from a distance, he can see the tremors in Tony’s hand, even if the other men can’t. It’s easy to miss because they’re not familiar with Tony the way Steve is, easy to miss because they haven’t been able to know and love Tony like Steve did. Looking at him now, it makes Steve feel absolutely gutted knowing that it’s his presence pushing Tony’s unease. Once upon a time, the sight of Tony’s face lighting up in Steve’s presence was the only thing that got him through the worst of days and the harshest of battles. It always rekindled the distant, almost foreign memory of Tony’s father who had always been there for Steve.
Tony was different from Howard in a lot of ways – they would have been two different men if they hadn’t shared the same last name. Howard had a certain kind of charisma that allowed him to be instantly liked by everyone around him, whereas Tony relied on snark and dismissive jabs to deliberately remind people he was above them. It had struck Steve in that moment how self-centered Tony was. Following that revelation, the next two years had really opened Steve’s eyes to the man that Tony was – the man’s persona explicitly went against all of Steve’s hopes and expectations of a Stark, but Steve dealt with him anyway. Steve knew Tony was smart enough to realize that Steve loved him when no one else could.
After a painfully minute, Tony gives the men firm handshakes, bidding them goodbye. Steve's awkwardly stood a few feet away from him, expecting Tony to make the first move. At this point, even the smallest movement from Tony could pave way for hope that maybe Steve didn’t lose him the way he’s been dreading the past few weeks. He couldn’t afford to be so careless and let Tony slip through his fingers like that.
Tony watches the men as they walk in Steve's direction, and when they turn the corner and move out of sight, Tony’s gaze travels to Steve, and it’s like Steve’s suddenly forgotten how to read Tony.
Tony’s looking at Steve in the way a man looks at a stranger. Like Steve’s one of the thousands of faces Tony’s forced to meet every day, from matters that concern Stark Industries to maintaining his ties with the US government. Like Steve’s suddenly not worth Tony’s time.
There are several flaws in Tony that he had overlooked during their relationship, all in the name of loving the man. For all intents and purposes, his lover had an ego that reached the skies, a fraction of it personified in the shape of a tower smack-middle of New York City, had a crippling need to ensure the world revolved around him and demands – and Steve had ignored all that, because his mind was clouded with burning love for Tony, and at the end of the day, Tony was always on his side. They were a team. Just like Howard and Steve had been a team once, and Howard never gave up on his search for Steve. He doesn’t expect Tony to give up on him either.
“Tony,” Steve says. The name feels like a breath of relief after spending weeks longing for Tony’s touch. He takes a few cautious steps forward, desperate to close the space between them. “You look good.”
Tony smiles, and Steve knows in a moment that it’s fake. “I know better than to weep over burnt bridges.” The words feel like a slap to his face. It’s one thing that he hoped Tony would put the past where it belongs, brush it aside as one of the many bumps on their road, but it’s a whole other thing realizing that it hadn’t even taken a split second for Tony to blatantly terminate their relationship. It’s been weeks since they last saw each other. Siberia was not a good way to end things, and Steve had tried to reach out and apologize in a letter that never got a response. He’d expected a conversation with Tony where they could talk things out, where Steve could make him understand without being weighed down by an overwhelming tension in the air like the one in Siberia.
“We can mend it, Tony,” Steve says, and he’s walked close enough that he could just take Tony’s hands in his own. That’s all he’d have to do to feel like he’s home again. “We can talk it out. Things can go back to the way they were.”
Tony laughs derisively. It feels wrong that Steve is on the receiving end of it. “Go back to the way they were?” Tony asks, and his voice is acidic. “Like the times you knew Barnes had murdered my parents every time you kissed me or fucked me? Or was it when you took advantage of my tech to find my parents killer? Senior Stark’s tech helps find Steve, Junior Stark’s tech helps find Bucky – it’s almost poetic really—"
“Tony, please,” Steve says, cutting Tony off mid-rant. There were times in their relationship when Tony acted like a petulant child, entitled in the way he’d expected Howard Stark’s son to be – a boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth and living off of his dad’s success. Their relationship had started with Tony feeling entitled to Steve’s time, finding ways to get a rise out of Steve with obnoxious words and childish acts. “You’re overreacting.”
He misses how easy it had been to talk to Howard in situations like these.
“I’m sorry,” Tony says, with faked wide-eyed innocence. “I thought I was reacting to my now-ex-boyfriend who kept secrets from me and left me for dead the last time I saw him.” The word ex-boyfriend feels like nails against a chalkboard, the sound painfully denting Steve’s mind.
“You were going to kill Bucky,” Steve explains like he hasn’t already repeated this a billion times in his head to justify his actions. He never expected Tony to lash out the way he did, and Tony shouldn’t have lashed out the way he did. Not when Bucky was in such a compromised position. “He was my friend,” Steve adds, and it’s like Siberia all over again.
“What was I, Steve?” Tony asks, his voice eerily calm. His face is back to being expressionless again, like Tony knew it annoyed Steve. “Who the hell was I?”
“You were someone trying to kill my best friend,” Steve says, and softens his voice to one of concern. “What if you were in my place? And what if it was Rhodes? Or Happy or Pepper? You would have done the same thing, Tony.”
Tony’s gaze snaps to him, and there’s a fire in his eyes – it had warmed Steve once, but all it does now is burn him with rage. Tony looks almost offended that Steve had the galls to bring Tony’s friends into it. But Steve knew better. It was the only way Steve could make Tony understand. Tony never put himself in others shoes, never gave anybody the time of day when it didn’t concern him. Tony wasn’t like Howard, not in the way Steve had hoped. Where Howard was kind, helpful and wanted to do good for the sake of doing good for the world, Tony was apathetic when it came to doing good. He spent his days in the comfort of his home, living life his life in luxury like he believed he was born to be – and Steve knew it.
How could he not? He’d been with Tony the entire time. He’d tried to make Tony see the wrong in what he was doing, tried to show him what a good man Howard had been and that Tony could be the same. And yet, Tony had blatantly refused to be anything like his father. He never told Steve why, but it hadn’t taken Steve long to figure out that Tony was jealous of his father.
Steve looks at the utter look of shock in Tony’s eyes, as if Steve had somehow betrayed Tony by using his friends to compare the situation sparks something inside Steve. It starts growing like an itch, and all too soon, Steve finds himself losing his temper.
“I know you, Tony,” Steve says firmly. “Maybe more than you know yourself. Everything you do is for your own benefit. There was no reason for Stark Tower to be as high as the skies if you didn’t want to flaunt your privilege to the world. There’s no reason you had to stop selling weapons unless you realized you suddenly wanted to be seen as the good guy. There’s no reason you had to reveal that you were Iron Man if you didn’t want the public to flaunt over you and the government to follow you like dogs.”
Tony blinks, but doesn't offer a reply. Steve continues. “I do this one thing for my friend, and you turn into the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met.”
And then Tony’s face shifts, expression turning into something not for the better. Anger is burning hot in his eyes, and he looks at Steve in a way that stirs some kind of fear in him. “Your friend murdered my parents, and the so-called one thing you did was cover it up without even batting an eye.”
Steve sighs impatiently. Tony was plainly refusing to understand what Steve’s trying to say, trying to shift the blame to Steve as if Tony hadn’t initiated the fight in the first place. “I didn’t cover it up. HYDRA had already ruined our lives, Tony, and I only wanted to protect you.” Steve pauses, waiting for the words to settle before he continues. “I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“The right time?” Tony repeats bitterly. “Are you kidding me? You waited two years for the right time?”
Steve purses his lips. Tony shouldn’t have known that.
Tony huffs out a laugh, catching the expression on Steve’s face. “Romanoff told me. She thought I knew. That you had trusted me with information on my family.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Tony. I love you,” Steve says, and he so desperately wants to reach out and cup Tony’s cheek, swipe a thumb over the lips that he’d so often find himself wanting to kiss. But Tony seems to be farther away from Steve than he’s ever been.
“Love, he says.” Tony shakes his head, almost like Steve’s words were something he severely disagreed with. “It wasn’t love, Rogers,” Tony says, and Steve nearly flinches at the harsh use of his last name.
“What are you talki—”
“I was the closest thing to Howard Stark you had,” Tony says, and the way he says it, the surety in them makes Steve realize that this was something Tony realized a long time ago. “You lost Peggy, you lost Howard, and you lost Bucky. The last remnants of your old life were coursing through my blood, and all you wanted to do was make it yours.”
“That’s not true,” Steve protests, but his words come out weak compared to Tony’s.
Tony laughs. It feels targeted at Steve rather than at the situation. “Save yourself the embarrassment, Cap. You only wanted me after you knew Bucky was alive. You knew Bucky was out there somewhere, but I was the closest blast-to-the-past after him. So you tried to shape me into a man you once knew, bring out the Howard in me so you could live in the past."
Steve shakes his head, refusing to give Tony even the slightest bit of satisfaction that he could be right. That his Steve could do such a thing.
Which is why Steve reverts to the old Steve, the Steve with whom Tony had shared moments of passion and love, the Steve whom Tony had cuddled into during nights he couldn’t sleep, the Steve that never let Tony’s words prick him like he’d intended them to.
Steve smiles. Soft. Sad. “Listen to yourself, Tony,” he says. “It’s like I’ve always told you – you read too much into things. The world is not in the varying shades of grey like you think it is. It’s as simple as black and white. There’s love, there’s hate. Something’s either wrong or it’s right. Not everything is a complex code to encrypt. Especially not me.”
“Jesus. It’s like I’m talking to a wall,” Tony says, completely skipping over Steve’s words. Because of course, Tony has to get his point across no matter what. Steve feels his patience running out.
“Tony—”
“Here’s what happened in Siberia.” Tony cuts him off, and as if in afterthought, “Well, apart from you leaving me to die. Ouch, by the way.” He clears his throat, and then: “Remember Howard Stark? Your apparent best friend that you still have some unhealthy infatuation over? You saw him die. You saw his skull being crushed . And then, only then, did you realize that I could never match up to the man my father was. You realized in that moment that Howard Stark was gone for good, and his son was the epitome of everything that the old man wasn’t.”
“I’ve known that long before Siberia, Tony,” Steve says, and was supposed to have made Tony shut up, but the man just looks delighted.
“See?” Tony asks, his lips stretched in glee. “You’re catching on. I knew you knew that. I’m not a damn fool, Rogers. I could see right through you. You wanted me to be my father, brought him up whenever you could.” Tony shakes his head, amused. “God, and you tried so hard. You didn’t even realize what I was doing.”
“I wanted you to be good. ”
“You’re not listening to me. What you wanted me to be was Howard Stark," Tony corrects. "And really, I know your temper. I’m the one who had to replace 20 punching bags every week—”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Steve interrupts impatiently.
“Seriously.” Tony shoots him a look. “Are you going to let me talk? Or did Howard also allow you to speak over him?” Tony asks, and all Steve can do is glare at Tony. He suddenly realizes how infuriating Tony can be when he wants to, and he always wants to be infuriating.
“You were angry I wanted to attack Barnes. That I wanted to attack someone with a direct connection to your past, someone who you didn’t have to shape into Howard,” Tony says. “But then, you were angry that you wasted the past two years trying to fix me. You don’t even feel sorry, because you’ve justified your actions with ridiculous reasons. Which, really,” Tony huffs out a laugh, putting his palms up in surrender. “By all means, go right ahead. But for god’s sake, try not to project it at me.”
Steve stares at Tony for what feels like ages, until finally;
“You’re wrong,” Steve says, and Tony raises an amused brow. “Tony, I know Siberia had a toll on you. Seeing Howard’s death must have been heard, but this is not the way to cope with this.” He sighs. “I know you have a hard time letting go but lashing out isn’t helping anybody. That’s why I didn’t tell you about their murder – because I knew you would lash out.” Steve smiles patronizingly, like trying to make a child understand the error in his actions. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“To be fair, anyone in my position would have lashed out,” Tony says matter-of-factly. Steve’s smile twitches – he had expected Tony to argue, spit out words to defend himself and criticize Steve again. “And please, for your sake, drop the act. The reason you didn’t tell me was so that I wouldn’t pull the funding from your two-year hunt for Bucky. Or maybe you assumed I would have let you find him, only for me to kill him myself.” Tony pauses; cocks his head. “Speaking of which, when was the last time you talked to Bucky?”
Tony sighs heavily, almost as if he’s tired of the conversation. “You used me, Rogers,” Tony says, and Steve’s surprised that Tony doesn’t even seem upset about it. “But I used you too. Don’t cry over it – it’s Business 101,” Tony shrugs, and Steve looks up at him. What was he talking about? When had Tony–
“Seriously.” Tony pats his shoulder once, as if he expected it to be comforting when Steve all but feels violated at the touch. Tony then starts walking past him. “Don’t sweat it. Thinking doesn’t do you good.”
It takes Steve a few minutes to piece it together.
Tony wasn’t angry that Bucky killed his parents. His anger had rooted from the fact that Steve hadn’t told him; from the fact that Steve left him alone in Siberia. The entire time, Tony wanted Steve to find Bucky. The idea of Steve meeting Bucky after so long had made Tony happy just as much as it made Steve happy. Steve's remembers appreciating Tony commitment to it, especially because the search was something that wouldn't benefit Tony in any way.
Senior Stark’s tech helps find Steve, Junior Stark’s tech helps find Bucky – it’s almost poetic really.
It’s only then that Steve realizes Tony never said when Natasha had told him about Bucky. You didn’t even realize what I was doing, Tony had said.
For all Steve knows, Tony could have known the entire time. His brain fumbles over Tony's parting words: But I used you too.
Steve feels his mind race. Howard wasn't the focus of the conversation at all - Tony was just trying to make Steve focus on one thing and skim over the other thing. He must have planned the entire conversation in his mind, dragging it out just the way he wanted, saying the right things just when he wanted. And Steve had been none the wiser.
Maybe I would have let you find him, only for me to kill him myself, Tony had pointed it out, like it was an amusing joke.
Tony had added the next words so casually that Steve didn’t even think twice of the meaning behind it.
Speaking of which, when was the last time you talked to Bucky?