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If there was one place that Stephen would have sworn he would never run into Tony Stark it would have been the supermarket.
For one, Stephen and Wong did most of their shopping in Farmers' Markets these days, so there was rarely a need for him to be there; for another, it was Tony and supermarkets. The two didn't mesh.
But there Tony was in the produce section, carefully picking out tomatoes. Next to him a kid was shifting back and forth on his feet in clear impatience. “Come on, Mr. Stark. They don’t have to be perfect!”
Stephen was frozen where he stood, unable to take his eyes off of Tony. Shock, confusion, some other emotion he really didn’t want to name all flooding through him—shame, he suspected, ugly, painful shame.
Tony looked at the kid, putting one hand on his hip, expression faux severe. “Rhodey doesn’t think I can do the shopping. Which is rude, since he was the one who taught me how to go shopping, way back in ancient times; not that I’m ancient, so don’t you dare say anything. I’m in the process of proving him wrong. These tomatoes have to be nothing short of perfection.” Despite his claims of looking for perfection, Tony chose three of the tomatoes, put them in the bag, and then set them gently in the cart.
The kid scoffed.
“I heard that,” Tony told the kid. “The disrespect I put up with.”
“We still need to get onions and cilantro for the salsa,” the kid said quickly, putting on a dazzling smile that reminded Stephen of Tony. “We should get on that. You’ve got to make sure you have enough time to do your compare and contrast thingy that’s totally valid and not complete overkill.”
“I will,” Tony said, sniffing a little in that way he always had when he was being just a little pretentious. Stephen had always secretly found it adorable, though he’d made sure never to let Tony know. Tony didn’t need the encouragement.
Tony turned, likely to head towards the onions and froze.
It took Stephen a moment too long to realize that he’d been caught. Stephen’s hands tightened around the shopping cart handle enough that it hurt and he was forced to loosen his grip.
Neither him nor Tony moved, just staring at each other from opposite sides of the produce section. Tony looked like he’d seen a ghost. Stephen’s heart was beating loud and violent in his chest. He was utterly incapable of movement at the moment, not when Tony was staring at him like that.
“Mr. Stark?” the kid asked, voice tilting up in question. “You okay Mr. Stark?”
Tony startled, looking away from Stephen. Stephen found he could suddenly breathe again.
“Yeah, kid. I’m okay. Do me a favor and go pick us out some onions?”
The kid’s brow furrowed, clearly confused, but obeyed, taking the cart and pushing it towards the onions. Tony turned back towards Stephen and for a moment he just stood there watching him before slowly making his way towards Stephen. Stephen didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony look so hesitant before.
“Stephen,” Tony said slowly as he finally got close. “It’s good to see you… well, alive.”
Stephen blinked at that. “Alive?” he repeated. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be alive?”
Tony’s jaw clenched. “Oh, I don’t know. You were only majorly depressed, cut all ties with everyone, sold all your belongings, took a flight to Nepal, and then disappeared from the face of the planet. But, hey, why would I have considered the fact that maybe you were dead,” the words were a quiet hiss.
Stephen flinched back, surprised at the venom in Tony’s voice.
”I—“
“I fucking mourned you, you asshole. But I guess it’s too much to send an email, a text, anything to say ‘hey, I’m alive!’” Tony’s face twisted, pain and some other emotion mixing. “But then, I guess, five years together and a promise didn’t mean anything to you.”
Stephen opened his mouth to protest. “Did you get the bananas, Stephen?” came Wong’s voice from behind him and Stephen winced as Wong came up and dropped the special bread he’d gone in search for into the cart. “I want to get home to the sanctum.”
Tony’s gaze darted between the two of them for a moment and Stephen could see him adding two and two together and getting five.
“Mr. Stark! I got the onions!” The kid was back, pushing the cart until it was in front of Tony and between him and Stephen, sidling right next to Tony and staring at Stephen suspiciously. Stephen had the strangest sense that the kid had heard everything, despite the fact that he’d been half the produce section away and Tony hadn’t raised his voice past that first, quiet, venomous hiss.
Tony shook himself, turning to the kid. “Right, let’s go get the cilantro, then we can go find the rest of the things we need for taco night.” He glanced at Stephen again, opening his mouth for a moment before shaking his head and turning away.
“Tony,” Stephen tried, taking an aborted step forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Tony paused, glancing back at him. “I believe you,” he said, the hiss gone and voice returned to normal. Stephen felt a rush of relief, but then Tony continued. “I don’t think I played a role in your thought process at all. You didn’t care, either way, whether you hurt me. Or Christine. Or any of us.”
“That’s not true.” He’d thought of Tony constantly, especially at the beginning. Thought of the last things he’d said to Tony. The accusations. The anger. The hurt.
Tony huffed a laugh. “How long have you been back in New York?” Tony asked, and there was something in his voice that told Stephen that he didn’t want to answer. That the acknowledgment that he’d been here and just… hadn’t cared, would break something that was already shattered.
“I… a few months.”
Tony didn’t look surprised, as though he’d already known. “Like I said. I’m glad you’re alive, Stephen.” With that, Tony turned away again, and Stephen could tell from the way his shoulders were set, the too-even stride as he walked away, that there was no getting him to turn back.
“Was that Tony Stark?” Wong asked, and while Stephen doubted Wong would ever let himself sound something as uncontrolled as ‘flabbergasted’, this was probably pretty close. “How do you know Tony Stark?”
Stephen swallowed, watching Tony walk away, the kid he was shopping with glancing back at Stephen with that same suspicious distrust as earlier. He felt sick inside, felt like his heart was being stabbed repeatedly with a red-hot poker. He didn’t want to answer this question any more than he’d wanted to answer Tony’s silent accusation about how long he’d been back. “I was going to marry him.”
He couldn’t sleep, restless regret tugging at him. He sat up in bed and pressed the palm of his hands into his eyes, as though that would somehow block out his thoughts. Thoughts of Tony and the look on his face. Stephen had done the right thing, was the problem. Or at least Stephen thought he had.
He’d broken off their engagement. After that… after that he hadn’t owed Tony anything. Not an explanation of what he was doing. Not a note telling him where he was gone. Not an email promising he was alive. Not a visit now that he was back in New York. He’d looked at the promises they were supposed to have made to each other and said no. And with that, he’d freed himself of any obligation to Tony. He had done right by Tony when he’d ended things between them.
So why did he feel so painfully guilty?
Five years together, Tony had said, five years that had meant nothing to Stephen.
Except they had. They had meant everything to Stephen. He doubted Tony would believe him if Stephen told him that. He doubted the words and he was the one who’d thought them.
Because clearly they hadn’t meant all that much to Stephen in the end, not if it had been so easy to end it all. Not when he’d never once looked back.
But that wasn’t true either. He had looked back. Had thought of Tony constantly. Had clung to the engagement ring that he hadn’t been able to give back to Tony and hadn’t been able to convince himself to sell. Had dreamed, such selfish dreams, of finding Tony and showing him what Stephen had become. Had imagined forgiveness, lips on his, whispered promises that they’d do better this time.
That wasn’t enough, of course. He recognized that. Recognized that it didn’t matter what he’d clung to or dreamt or imagined, because all Tony had gotten from him was his silence, his absence. All Tony had gotten from him was nothing.
He forced himself out of bed, grimacing as his feet hit the cool wood of the floor. With a flick of his hands he exchanged his sleep clothes for regular clothes before nearly fleeing his room and the thoughts that he couldn’t escape there.
The library was dark and silent when he entered but it was easy enough to light a candle and find a book. He sat at his favorite desk and tried to read, but his thoughts wouldn’t be settled, and his mind refused to concentrate on the words in front of him.
It was just the wrong book, he tried to convince himself. He stood to find another one, he needed something more difficult, something that would require perfect concentration to understand. He wasn’t surprised when it did just as little good. Neither did the next book nor the next.
“By the Vishanti,” he hissed to himself. “The past is the past. Let it go.”
“Thinking about Tony Stark?”
Stephen jumped in his chair, whirling around to find Wong standing a few feet behind him, watching him with too knowing eyes.
“Are you trying to scare the life out of me?” Stephen asked, the words came out snappish and sharp, not that Wong seemed to notice or care. “And it doesn’t matter what I was thinking about.”
Wong moved forward, taking the chair across from Stephen. He raised a pointed eyebrow as he made an obvious examination of the books littering the table in front of Stephen. “I’ve never seen you not able to read before,” Wong said, almost conversationally. “It is somewhat alarming, actually. As though a constant of the universe has failed.”
Stephen tried to be amused, but failed. “Even I have off days.”
“And on your off days you hide in here and read. This is not the result of an off day.”
Stephen rubbed at his temple, averting his gaze so he didn’t have to look at Wong and the judgment spread clearly across his face. It did very little to help, not when he knew it was there. Not when he knew Wong wouldn’t leave until he had whatever answers he wanted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Except it did.
“Then why are you here at three in the morning, failing to read books that you’ve never struggled with before?” Wong asked.
“Why are you here at three in the morning?” Stephen retorted, tone cutting. “Maybe I’m not the only one having an off day. Do you want me to start interrogating you?”
Wong was unbothered by both his tone and his accusation. “I am here because you are connected to the sanctum and the sanctum is acutely aware of your distress and would not let me sleep.”
“I’m not distressed,” Stephen argued, but even he recognized the mulish tone to his words. He shouldn’t be distressed, was the problem. There was nominally no difference between today and yesterday. Nothing had changed except for the fact that he’d looked into Tony’s eyes and seen pain and bitterness and… and had known that he was the reason for it. Before now, for the past year, he’d never really let himself think about what Tony might have thought. He’d thought of Tony, yes. But not what he was thinking or what he was doing or how he felt. It had been an act of self-defense. He couldn’t feel guilty for something he didn’t think about. “I just have to work through this. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Tony had done what he had always done, burrowed his way into Stephen’s mind. Stephen had never been very good at digging him out when that happened.
He just… he needed Tony to understand. It was a selfish, unfair desire. Stephen was hardly the injured party here. But he wanted it all the same.
“It is not my business—“
“You’re right,” Stephen agreed. “It isn’t.”
Wong plowed on, ignoring Stephen entirely. “But perhaps you would be less distressed—“
“Not distressed.”
“—If you were to actually talk to Stark,” Wong finished. “You clearly did not get a chance to say whatever it was you intended to say to him. Though knowing you, I’m sure you would have botched it up, regardless.”
“This isn’t about him.” It was. Oh, it was. Stephen hated it. He crossed his arms over his chest. “And thank you for your support. I’m so glad you think I’m incapable when I’m not.”
Wong just hummed. “Figure it out. Because I dislike the sanctum disturbing me because it’s worried about you. I need my beauty sleep.”
Stephen bit down the automatic retort about just how much beauty sleep Wong needed. “I will. Not that you’ve been any help.”
Wong snorted. “What makes you think I intended to help? I’m just here to tell you to deal with it.” Why did Stephen consider Wong a friend, again? Clearly he wasn’t. Wong turned, heading back out of the library, leaving Stephen to his books that, despite his best efforts, he still couldn’t concentrate enough to read.
There was a slight grating sound and Stephen looked down to see the cloak pushing his phone across the table towards him.
“It’s three in the morning.” Not that that really meant anything. There was a 75/25 chance that Tony was still awake. Either because he hadn’t gone to bed yet working on some project or another, or because he had gone to bed but a nightmare had woken him up.
The cloak pushed the phone closer again.
Stephen picked it up. It was a new phone, he’d sold his old one when he’d left. It didn’t have Tony’s number in it. Not that that was necessary, Stephen had the number memorized and he doubted Tony had changed his number. Hoped he hadn’t.
He carefully put in the number, his finger hovering over the green call button. By the Vishanti, this was a bad idea.
Strangely enough, things being a bad idea had never actually been enough to stop him. Unsurprisingly it wasn’t enough to stop him now, either.
He pressed call.
The sound of ringing seemed to echo, each pause between rings felt as though it stretched out longer than reality. It was just after the fourth ring that he heard someone answer the phone. “You have reached the life-model decoy of Tony Stark, speak and be heard.”
God, he still did the life-model decoy thing? Who was Stephen kidding, of course Tony did. “Tony?”
The silence that followed seemed to last eons.
“Why the hell are you calling me?” Tony asked, voice too sharp and tone too abrasive. Stephen shouldn’t have done this. He really shouldn’t have done this. “I think we said all that needed saying.”
“I didn’t apologize,” Stephen said quickly before Tony could hang up.
Tony scoffed. “Stephen Strange doesn’t apologize, at least not last I checked. But then, what do I know about Stephen Strange?”
Everything, Tony had known everything. Or at least it had always felt that way once upon a time. All of Stephen’s flaws, his accomplishments, his bright sides, his mistakes.
“I’ve learned a little humility,” he offered. “Learned that maybe I’m not always right.”
Silence. “Good for you,” Tony said finally. “Glad that you got something out of the last… hmm, what was it. Two years?”
Stephen flinched, grateful Tony couldn’t see. “Please, let me explain.”
“Oh, explain. I thought you were calling to apologize. Make up your mind, Stephen.”
He probably shouldn’t have done this at three in the morning, Stephen acknowledged. There was no way that it was helping Stephen’s case when things were already fraught between them. “Can’t I do both?”
Tony sighed, and Stephen recognized the sigh as the one that only showed up when Tony was exhausted. For a moment Stephen found himself wondering if Tony wasn’t sleeping tonight for the same reason that Stephen wasn’t sleeping tonight. If Stephen haunted Tony’s thoughts the way Tony haunted his. Was it so terrible a thing that Stephen hoped it was true?
“Why are you calling, Stephen?” Tony asked again, and his voice was almost, if not quite, plaintive. “You’ve moved on. Become a better man. Found a new purpose.” Christine had told him, Stephen realized, though he had no proof. But the way Tony said the words… No, Tony knew, if not everything, then at least something. And he wasn’t asking. Tony questioned everything, and he wasn’t asking. If that didn’t prove that the whole thing was a mess then nothing would. “All of that. You didn’t want to talk to me before today, seeing me once shouldn’t change that.”
Stephen swallowed. “The past year I have done everything I can not to think about you,” he whispered. “Because if I thought about you I’d be torn apart by how much I missed you. I’ve been in love with you since one of our earlier dates when you brought me flowers talking about how it was a shame that too many men didn’t get flowers except for at their funeral and then you stole one of those flowers and played that stupid ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ game. And then you cheated to make sure the answer ended on ‘he loves me’. And I just… I realized it was true. Or at least that I was well on the way to it being true. And it terrified me because I’d known you for only a few months.”
Tony made a choked sound and Stephen pressed his luck.
“Tony, let me come over.”
“I don’t live in the tower anymore.”
He was supposed to have a visual image of where he wanted to go, but Stephen suspected that he didn’t need that, not when he was trying to get to Tony.
“I know that you know,” Stephen said quietly, a terrible admission, when he should have been the one to tell Tony. “It won’t make a difference where you are.”
He could almost picture the way Tony would be rubbing his hand over his face, exhausted and upset. “You’re not helping your case, you know.”
Stephen knew. Instant transportation and Stephen still hadn’t made the effort to say or do anything. “I know. Please.”
“God,” Tony said, so quietly that Stephen was almost certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it. “Why can I not refuse you?” His voice got a little louder, clearly addressing him again. “Yes. You can come over.”
Stephen didn’t hesitate, couldn’t hesitate or he’d back out and that would be an end he would never come back from. The cloak floated onto his shoulders as Stephen grabbed his sling ring and focused, all his thoughts on Tony, on the feel of him in Stephen’s mind eye. He spun his hand and a portal opened. Stephen both did and didn’t recognize the space on the other side. It was clearly one of Tony’s workshops—Stephen had spent enough time in them to recognize that—but it wasn’t any of them that Stephen knew. Right in front of him, haloed by schematics and blueprints was Tony, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, staring at Stephen’s portal with no surprise, only quiet resignation.
Stephen stepped through.
“Say what you came to say,” Tony said, and Stephen felt another wince. Tony hadn’t even commented on his clothes, which should have been prime teasing material if things had been normal between them.
“…How are you?” Stephen asked quietly, sure that he was misstepping, but also unable to stop himself from asking. “You look tired.”
“I’ve got a lot going on, Stephen. I almost destroyed the world, Rhodey can’t walk without braces, I’m mentoring a teenage vigilante, I’ve got a lovelorn android that you’ve never met that I’m trying to support, I learned that my parents were assassinated, someone I considered a friend left me for dead in a Hydra bunker, and half of my team are fugitives from the law, which leaves me to deal with everything.” Tony shrugged. “So I’m doing just fine, Stephen.”
Stephen didn’t even know where to start with that.
“Oh, and my fiancé left me to join a magic cult. Can’t forget that,” Tony added.
“Christine told you,” Stephen said.
Tony snorted. “Yeah, she assumed you’d have come to me; I hated to disappoint her. But that’s par for the course these days.”
“I didn’t know you two were still…” he waved his hand. “In contact.”
Tony just rubbed at his face. “Just get to the point, Stephen.”
It hit Stephen that he didn’t actually know what to say. “I thought I’d found a way to fix my hands.” He saw Tony glance at his hands, noting the tremble that still plagued them. Tony said nothing though, waiting. “There was a man named Pangborn; he was paralyzed, but I found him and he was walking. Hell, he was playing basketball. I thought if it had worked for him then maybe I could operate again.” It had been all that mattered to him. The only thing he cared about. “So I went to Nepal, Kathmandu to be specific—“ though he knew Tony had followed his tracks at least that far, ”—searching for a place called Kamar-Taj.” He took a deep breath. “And I found the Mystic Arts.”
“The Mystic Arts,” Tony repeated, tone dry. “Sweet science, I can’t even—“ He shook his head. “Continue your absolutely fascinating story.”
Stephen wished he could tell whether Tony was being sarcastic or not, but it was just bordering on the edge and Stephen’s ability to read Tony wasn’t what it used to be.
“I failed, at the beginning. Failed for months until I finally figured it out.” He did not mention Everest, did not mention the Ancient One’s methods. “And then I couldn’t stop. It was… it was more than I’d ever imagined the world could be and I couldn’t stop myself. And I… I stopped thinking about you as much.” He hated admitting it, but he had to do this right. Had to be honest. He was probably healthier for it. Stephen had been almost obsessive in his thoughts, back then. The Mystic Arts had helped him in so many ways. “Before then it felt like you were the only thing besides my hands that I could think about, but there was… there was so much and it was easy to lose myself in it. But I… I didn’t truly stop. I’d kept the ring. Didn’t sell it along with everything else.” If Tony was surprised, it didn’t show. “I’d hold it, think of you and then… I just kept going.”
“And never once when you were ‘thinking of me’, did it ever occur to you to actually send a message?”
“It did,” Stephen corrected. “I just… could never bring myself to do it. I don’t know what I would have said. I wouldn’t have been ready to tell you the truth and I couldn’t imagine lying to you.”
Tony snorted to show what he thought of that.
“I never once lied to you,” Stephen said, tone going sharp. “I did a lot of things you might hate me for. But I never once lied.”
Tony paused, then let out a breath and nodded. “You’re right, that one wasn’t fair.”
Stephen let out his own breath. “Things went wrong, I discovered that the Mystic Arts, that the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj, that they had a purpose. That they were meant to help protect our reality from dimensional threats. And I… I was so close to walking away. That wasn’t what I’d signed up for. All I wanted to do was fix my hands.”
Another flicker of Tony’s gaze to Stephen’s hands. Stephen was grateful that there was no pity in his gaze. There never had been, just quiet acknowledgment and simple understanding.
“Then everything went wrong. My mentor, she died.” Genuine sympathy flickered through Tony’s eyes. “And there was a threat and… and I was the only one who could fix it. And I finally understood what you’d told me when you first started being Iron Man. That you finally knew what you were supposed to do. That was my moment, when I… I knew. It wasn’t about me. It was about… about so much more.”
Tony didn’t respond for a moment, but Stephen could see him considering the words. “Then I’m glad for you.”
It was more than Stephen expected, especially because he could feel that Tony was genuine in the words, but it wasn’t enough.
“So I ended up in New York, Master of the New York Sanctum. But so much had changed. I’d changed. It’d been over a year since I’d left. And how did I come back from that? And with the way I’d left you…” He tried not to think about what he’d said and done. “I’d hurt you and I was too ashamed to try to fix that.”
Thoughts flashed through Tony’s eyes, but Stephen couldn’t read them all. The thought left him unbearably aching. He used to read Tony better than anyone other than Rhodey. But no one could read Tony as well as Rhodey, so Stephen had never felt bad about that particular failure. Finally Tony nodded. “Well, we’re fixed then. All’s well, you’re happy, I’m happy. You’ve moved on. Things are great.”
Tony was normally a far better liar than that. But perhaps Tony didn’t see the point in trying to be a good liar here and now. Maybe he didn’t think Stephen would care either way. Maybe it was Tony who didn’t care either way. Maybe it was something else altogether.
Still, there was one thing Stephen couldn’t help but focus on. “You keep saying that,” Stephen said quietly. “It’s always ‘you’ve moved on’, never ‘I’ve moved on’.”
Tony didn’t answer.
Stephen risked taking a step closer. “Tell me you’ve moved on, Tony.”
“You were right before when you said that you’ve never lied. Of the two of us, I’ve always been the one who lied, Stephen,” Tony said quietly, a direct contrast to the blithe lies he’d just given. But then, Stephen knew there was a difference between the two lies. “Do you really want me to continue that trend?”
Stephen’s heart pounded in his chest and he took another step forward. “Tony.”
Tony just shook his head, cutting Stephen off before he could even figure out what he wanted to say to that. “It only takes one person to end a relationship, Stephen,” Tony’s words were almost gentle for all that they were equally implacable. “You made that choice.”
“Let me make a new one.”
Tony took a step back, leaning against the table behind him. “Do you really want to, Stephen?” he asked, voice quiet and far too knowing. “Or is this just guilt and regret manifesting too little and too late.”
Stephen opened his mouth to deny and then hesitated. Was it? He didn’t think it was, but he hadn’t taken the time to really figure out what was motivating his actions.
Tony just nodded as though that was an answer. “I appreciate the answers, Stephen. I do. But this is… this is it for us.”
Stephen didn’t know what to say in the face of that. Because, chances were, that Tony was right. If there was one thing that Stephen had learned is that you couldn’t just go back to the way things had once been. “I understand,” he said quietly. And he did understand, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave it there. “And Tony… I do love you; I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did. For not being there when you needed me these past two years.”
Tony closed his eyes. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to help you,” he said quietly. “But I’m glad you found your purpose.” It was the understanding that Stephen had been desperate for, granted almost too easily. Now that he’d gotten it, he wasn’t sure it was enough. But it had to be, right?
For a long moment they just stood there in silence. “Friends?” Stephen asked, hoping he didn’t sound desperate. “I know things are messed up, but… but now that I’ve seen you again, I don’t want to go back to not having you in my life.”
Tony didn’t answer immediately, and Stephen wasn’t sure if he was genuinely considering it or if he was just looking for a nice way to say no. “Friends,” Tony finally agreed. “Not really sure what that means when it comes to the two of us, but… yeah, sure. We can try for friends.”
The silence stretched out between them as Stephen tried to figure out how to end this. Stephen had told Tony the truth; Tony had said he understood and Stephen believed that he was being honest. They had agreed to be friends, which wasn’t necessarily forgiveness, but it was something. It was as good a meeting as anything, especially for a conversation that was happening at three in the morning. It was closure. And yet things still felt unfinished.
Finally, Stephen gave up on trying to figure out what was missing and nodded, putting his sling ring back on and opening up a portal back to the sanctum.
For some reason, he still couldn’t manage to read.