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It had been a mistake, the talking? Yeah, Tony should have known it wouldn’t help for shit. If he’d been truthful with himself he would have told Cap to stuff it and never come round again. He would have told him what would, no what should, happen if he kept on the same self-righteous path he’d been on, but… but, no, he’d taken on long look at the man and had seen not the Captain, but Steve. His Steve. The one who’d get up at six am sharp, and then run for hours through a city he no longer knew. He’d seen the man who would sometimes smothered him with his mother henning. He’d seen the weary look of the lover he’d comforted when nobody could find trace of the man he’d once called his best friend.
Tony had taken one good look at him, and he’d wanted. He’d wanted to hold him. He’d wanted to be the one to mother hen the other man for once. Had wanted to be the one to comfort his lover, just that once, but he had known better. Had felt it settle with a nauseating finality on, a heavy weight on his heart that seemed almost impossible to live with. Beneath the weariness was that same stubbornness that Howard had once admired and called determination. Tony had known, at a glance, that Steve had come for surrender and nothing else would ever be enough. There were no compromises, no platitudes, no speeches to make; Steve had come for Tony’s acquiescence and nothing less would make the man happy.
“Mr. Stark,” and son of a bitch if that didn’t get to him at once. Raised his hackles. Steve’s face, on top of it, had made things even worse. No pain, no remorse; it was as though they were back on the hellicarrier. Like Steve didn’t know Tony, fuck Anthony Stark or Tony Stark or Iron Man or the Merchant of Death, it was as though Tony meant nothing to him. “We need to talk.”
“If you’re here to break up with me, Captain,” Tony could feel the ugly twist to his mouth. Took satisfaction in the sound of crinkling leather from the Captain’s fists. “I fear you’re a bit late for that.”
“We never—“
“You sure outdid it, though,” Tony gives him a mirthless laugh followed by one of his trademark smiles. Ah, so there is emotion in the Captain still, after all. “If I didn’t know any better I would have assumed you talked to Pepper beforehand.”
“That’s not the type of talk I meant, Anthony, we—“Steve says tightly. Tony rears back as though he’d been spit on. That name, Steve knows exactly what that name means to Tony and yet… yet here he is. Pulling every black card he has on his now ex-lover. Well, he could do the same. Could play the same dirty game. Nobody had ever accused Tony Stark of being the bigger man.
“You know, I see it,” Tony interrupts again. Steve grits his teeth but doesn’t open his mouth again. Tony once spoke about punching his perfect teeth in, but now he thinks he can do something much better. He gives him an ugly smirk; he knows it’s bitter and twisted because he gives it to himself in the mirror every day. “Why the old man always called you one of his good friends. It seems to me like as though you were both cut from the same—“
He didn’t see it coming. He truthfully didn’t. All those years of enduring it. All the years of training. All the time’s he’d seen a drunken figure looming over him with a raised fist. Every time he’d been in his dorm room, cornered, with a boy not much older than himself letting his frustrations out through his punches. All the times he’d boxed with Happy. All of that for nothing because he didn’t see the punch coming. Didn’t see the anger on the other man before he lashed out.
But he felt it. Dear God, did he feel everything as though Extremis had sprouted pressure points in every part of his body. Felt the sudden pressure on his face. Felt his eyes close at the contact. Felt the plush carpet on his ass. Felt the same carpet burn against his hands. Felt the jarring pressure as his arms attempted to break the fall. He felt everything so acutely, and the punch to the face was suddenly the least important thing.
No, Tony thought. He probably looked ridiculous, on his ass, staring at Steve with wide eyes and what he was sure was a terrified expression on his face. Not again, not again, not again, never EVER again.
“Tony—“Steve’s voice broke. He took a step closer, and suddenly there was the sound of an engaging repulsor filling the room. Tony sprung to his feet with difficulty, he was shaking so bad, and aimed the gauntlet at Steve’s face.
If Tony had been paying attention, if he hadn’t been so consumed by fear, he would have seen the instant remorse. The pain, and the self-disgust on the other man’s face. As it was, though, he could merely raise a shaking hand in self-defense. What made it worse, so much infinitely worse, was the fact that he was wearing the uniform. The one thing that had made Tony hope when he was a child, what had made him strong, that symbol was no longer what it used to be.
“Get out,” Tony got out through gritted teeth. Steve merely swallowed, shook his head, and took another step forward. “GO! GET THE FUCK OUT!” Tony yelled.
He didn’t know what did it, to be honest. It couldn’t have been fear that Tony might actually shoot him. For one, everyone knew Tony was physically incapable of hurting Steve. He just didn’t think he had it in him. And second, and perhaps more importantly, his hand had been shaking so badly. Whatever it was, though, Steve shakily stalked away. At the door, he turned to look at Tony one last time.
“Fuck you,” Tony spat at him. There were tears in his eyes, he knew, burning and making it unable to see the soldier. Which was stupid because then Tony was sure that he would never see him again. “Fuck you, you damn liar” he said it quietly, once Steve had turned around. He knew it didn’t matter, though, that Steve had heard him loud and clear.
And still the soldier walked away.
And Tony, by this point, had lost count of how many times he’d broken down. Still, he was no Atlas, and at that moment it felt like the weight of the world was resting solely upon him. And his knees gave out. And so did his arms. His heart kept beating, but he wanted it to stop. He didn’t know what he was fighting for anymore.