Chapter Text
“You do not have clearance to be here,” FRIDAY informed him, voice cold in a way it had never been.
Stephen shifted, anxiety twisting in his chest. He looked up, searching for the closest camera. “FRIDAY—”
“You do not have clearance to be here,” FRIDAY repeated. “Leave or I will call security.”
Stephen’s heart stuttered. Please don’t do this. “Can you at least ask Tony if he’ll see me?” Stephen asked—begged, more like. He knew things were bad right now, the emails Tony had never responded to had more than told him that. Stephen had just hoped that… that if he was there, if he could look into Tony’s eyes and explain, that he’d be able to heal what was broken between them. “I just… I just want to see him.” Tony had moved out of Stark Tower and their apartment to the Avengers Compound, but Stephen had always had access to all of Tony’s residences, the compound included.
That had apparently changed. Maybe that shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Tony had once promised that his home would always be Stephen’s if he wanted it. Stephen had never stopped wanting it. Some part of him had still thought…
“You do not have clearance to be here,” FRIDAY repeated a second time. “And I won’t let you hurt Boss again,” she added, vicious note in her voice.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” he pleaded. Stephen really hoped he wouldn’t, at least. He’d never wanted to hurt Tony. Surely FRIDAY knew that much? But then, the last time he’d seen Tony set a painful precedent. Stephen couldn’t say he hadn’t hurt Tony, then, even if—at the time—he hadn’t allowed himself to really consider the consequences. “Please, FRIDAY.”
“You do not have clearance—”
“I’ve got this, FRIDAY,” came Tony’s voice from behind him.
Stephen whirled around to see that Tony had just entered, car key dangling from his fingers, the glass door sliding silently closed behind him. “Tony,” he breathed, relief filling his chest at the sight of his fiancé.
Tony didn’t look like he returned the sentiment. He looked exhausted in a way that the concealer under his eyes couldn’t hide. Tony’s normally perfect posture was marred by a slump. “What are you doing here?”
Stephen licked his bottom lip, nerves assailing him. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy… but he hadn’t thought this would be so hard, either. Stephen might not have always been eloquent, but he’d never felt so incapable of words as he did right now. But then, this wasn’t exactly a normal situation.
FRIDAY’s staunch declaration that he had no clearance felt like more than just a warning sign.
“I wanted to see you,” Stephen said finally.
Tony waved his hands at himself. “Seen. You can go.” He smiled, press perfect. “Next time just pick up a tabloid. I’m told I’m very photogenic.”
“No. Wait. Tony, I can explain.” He tried to close the space between them, but Tony stepped back.
Stephen’s steps stuttered. His heart clenched.
“I don’t need your explanations,” Tony said. His voice was bland, emotionless. “I figured out how you felt eight months ago. The rest of it is just details. I’m not really a details guy.” His lips twisted in an unhappy, bitter smile. “More big picture.”
Stephen’s breath caught in his throat. Because anything Tony had told himself eight months ago would be ugly and tainted. It did explain, at least somewhat, why Tony had never responded to the emails Stephen had sent. Tony had written Stephen off at the very beginning. Stephen didn’t know if Tony had even chosen to read those emails, now, if Tony had given up on him that early. “Tony—”
“Stephen, just go.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, closing himself off from Stephen.
Stephen’s eyes followed the gesture and he froze.
Tony didn’t seem to notice, still talking. “There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear.”
“Where’d you get that?” he whispered, completely bypassing Tony’s last comment. It was his ring. His ring. Hanging on a chain around Tony’s neck. He’d been certain he’d never see it again. He tore his eyes away from it, meeting Tony’s gaze. “Tony. Where’d you get that?” His voice came out more vehement this time. He gestured to the ring, his hand shaking more than normal. “That’s my ring.”
The laugh Tony gave was sharp and bitter, painful against Stephen’s ears. “Really, Stephen?” Tony shook his head. “Your ring? We’re really going there?” Tony’s lips twisted in an ugly sneer that should never have touched Tony’s face. “Where do you think I got it? I got it at the pawnshop you sold it to.” Tony’s voice cracked with unconcealed pain. “FRIDAY picked it up during her scanning three days after you left. The owner overcharged me, of course. But I…” Tony took an audible breath. “It might not have meant anything to you, Stephen. But it did to me. I wasn’t going to let it end up on some stranger’s finger.”
A pawnshop.
It made sense. That was where his muggers would have likely gotten the best value for it. Of course it had ended up in a pawnshop. It was beyond lucky that Tony had found it, that he’d been able to save it before it had ended up lost forever.
Except Tony thought… Tony thought Stephen had sold it? Tony couldn’t… he couldn’t really think that, could he? He couldn’t really believe that Stephen would sell his ring.
“No, Tony. I didn’t sell it. I swear, I didn’t—”
“Right,” Tony said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “It just fell off your neck and rolled its way to the pawnshop. Sounds likely.”
“I was mugged,” Stephen said desperately. “I was walking around like an idiot, the perfect target and these men—” Stephen shook his head, taking a desperate step forward. “Tony, I swear, I was mugged. I’d have never sold that ring. You have to know that.”
The look on Tony’s face said that no, actually, he didn’t have to know that. “Right.”
“I begged them not to take it,” Stephen said, desperate for Tony to believe him. “I gave them everything else, but I begged them not to take it from me. Tony, I tried to fight for it, but I couldn’t even throw a proper punch. It was stolen. I could never have sold it.”
The theft had been shattering. When Mordo had found him a few minutes later, Stephen had been numb, reeling from the loss of the ring, the rest of his stolen belongings entirely inconsequential in comparison. It had killed him to leave Tony, even if the desperation had pushed him to do it despite the recklessness of it, but… but the ring around his neck had felt like a promise—even if just to himself—that he’d be able to make it back to Tony.
That he’d be able to make it right at the end of it all.
Tony examined him, expression inscrutable—almost impossible to read—but even after all this time Stephen was an expert. Disbelief faded, slowly, but the only thing that replaced it was exhaustion.
“That’s unfortunate,” Tony said finally. “I’d hoped you’d at least gotten your money’s value for it. Seems I couldn’t even give you that.” His expression shifted to a thin smile. “I’d wondered how much my love was worth, and it turns out what little it was worth lined some mugger’s pocket. Fitting, I suppose.”
The weight of the words settled low in Stephen’s gut. “That’s not the worth of your love,” Stephen whispered. “Your love is invaluable. Your love—”
“Meant nothing to you,” Tony interrupted. “It meant nothing to you, Stephen.”
“Don’t say that,” Stephen said.
“Why not?” Tony said, anger tinging his voice. “Why not say it when it’s true.” Tony took a deep breath. “So you didn’t sell the ring. While it might have been nice to know eight months ago, it still… It only helped me accept what I should have accepted when you left. Because you did leave me, Stephen. You left me and never looked back.”
“I’m here,” Stephen said. “I am here, right now. I came back. I was always going to come back.”
Tony scoffed. “It took you eight months.”
Stephen hesitated. “Things didn’t go how I planned,” Stephen admitted. Not that he’d really been operating off of any sort of plan when he’d first gone. Just vague, desperate hope. “I didn’t… I thought it would be a few weeks at most. I’m not saying that makes leaving you the way I did right. But I thought… I didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”
Tony sighed, rubbing at his face. His hands fell to his side, but his expression was just as closed now as his body language had been before. “I don’t know what you intended. I don’t know what you intended because you never told me anything at all. All I know was what happened.” He spread his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Did you think I was just going to wait for you?”
Stephen didn’t know what he’d thought, all he knew was that he’d hoped. He had asked, in one way or another, for Tony to wait for him in every email he wrote, even when Tony had never responded. Had possibly not even read. …The thought that Tony had seen his name in his inbox and trashed the emails without even giving Stephen the chance to explain hurt.
“Did you?” Stephen asked, because even after all of this, some part of Stephen still hoped. “Did you wait?”
Tony wore Stephen’s ring around his neck, which seemed a pretty solid indication that Tony hadn’t moved on. But that wasn’t necessarily the same thing as waiting.
Tony looked away, shoulders hunching. “No,” Tony said, voice exhausted. “I gave up on us eight months ago in a pawnshop in Kathmandu.”
Stephen swallowed, nausea in his gut at the definitiveness of the words. “How much did you pay for it?” he asked. “I’ll pay double.”
Tony turned back towards him, confusion in his eyes temporarily replacing the blank exhaustion. “What?”
“That’s my ring,” Stephen said, a strange desperation in his chest. “You gave it to me. You made those promises to me. I want it back. So I’ll pay double.”
“Seriously?” Tony asked. He shook his head. “It’s not for sell, Stephen.” A hint of anger entered his tone and expression. “And any promises associated with it are null and void.”
“Triple, then. And not my promises,” Stephen said. “You don’t get to void my promises.”
“I didn’t void your promises. You did,” Tony said, anger growing. “You were the one who broke those. You left me.”
“I came back,” Stephen said, voice raising a little more than he wanted it to. “I came back, Tony. I was always going to come back. I know I left, but I… I begged you,” he said. “I know I couldn’t explain everything in those emails, but I tried… I tried to explain enough. You gave up on me eight months ago, but I never gave up on us. That has to mean something.” Please, he silently begged. Let it mean something.
Tony stared at him, brow furrowed slightly. The anger and frustration in his eyes dimmed somewhat, hints of confusion slipping back in. “What emails?” he asked. “I never got any emails.”
The words rocked Stephen backwards. Tony… Tony had never gotten his emails? Relief, perhaps unearned, coursed through him. This wasn’t good, but if Tony had somehow never seen Stephen’s emails, then he hadn’t been purposefully choosing to ignore him.
“I’ve been emailing you,” Stephen said slowly. “From… from where I was. It… it did take me a bit.” It felt like he had to be honest about that now, no false expectations or impressions. “The place I was at. We’re supposed to give ourselves time to adjust before reaching out to whatever we left behind. But the last five months I’ve been emailing constantly.”
Tony’s eyebrow arched in skepticism, the hint of progress from the email discovery disappearing. “Right. From ‘where you were’. You can’t even tell me that.”
Stephen could address that, and all the other questions, later. “It’s not that simple,” Stephen said. “I came here fully intending to tell you. To explain everything.” Grief twisted like a knot in his throat. “It’s… it’s complicated, Tony. And I can’t…” He closed his eyes, gathered himself together before he opened his eyes and met Tony’s gaze. “Please, Tony. I want to tell you the truth. I want to explain everything.” He wanted to make things right. “Can we just… sit, talk?”
For a long moment, Tony just watched him, eyes tired.
“Don’t you think you at least deserve an explanation?” Stephen asked. “After what I put you through?”
Tony scoffed. “Pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line,” he muttered. “One conversation, Stephen. One conversation and then…” He closed his eyes. “Then you leave.”
The words ripped into Stephen’s chest, leaving long, bleeding gashes in his soul. “One conversation,” Stephen whispered. His gaze flickered to the ring hanging from Tony’s neck. The need to get it back twisted within him—to earn it back—but he didn’t say anything about that, yet.
“Come on,” Tony said.
Stephen followed him through the hallways and to Tony’s personal areas of the compound. Tony threw the keys onto the kitchen counter and moved to the couch. He sat in the corner, almost wedging himself into the cushion in a way that told Stephen that Tony was trying to stay away from him. Stephen followed the unasked for request and sat on the opposite side of the couch, even if he longed to close the distance.
He missed Tony so much, but forcing this would only make things worse.
“All right, I’m listening. You want a chance to explain?” Tony waved his hand dismissively. “You have it.”
Stephen breathed out. One chance.
“You remember what it was like, the months after my accident,” Stephen said. “You remember…” He swallowed. “I was miserable, angry, grieving, unable and unwilling to cope.” A tired laugh escaped him. “I was lashing out at… everything. But mostly at you.”
“You were hurting,” Tony said. The words were a quiet sort of forgiveness that had always been there. Tony had taken Stephen’s vitriol with unending patience. Stephen had no doubt that Tony had had his own breakdowns, but he’d been so careful to never let Stephen see them.
“I was,” Stephen said. “I found out about a man who’d been paralyzed, discovered that he was walking. Playing basketball. It wasn’t the sort of healing that could come through only rehab and physical therapy and I knew there had to be something else to it. I tracked him down and begged for answers. If he’d found something… maybe I could get back into the operating room.”
Tony nodded, no hint of surprise in his eyes, so far. Stephen tried to remember if he’d said anything about Pangborn back then, or if Tony had traced his steps in those last days. But those last days were a blur of desperation. Stephen hoped he’d said something, even if…
Well, no point on focusing on that at the moment. Nothing Stephen could do to change the past.
“He gave me the name Kamar-Taj, sent me to Kathmandu.” Tony had followed him at least that far. The ring around his neck was sign enough of that. “I didn’t have anything more specific than that to go off,” he added with wry exhaustion. “Which led to me wandering the streets, asking for directions. It made me… vulnerable and an easy target. That was when I was mugged.” He met Tony’s gaze. “They took everything,” he said.
Tony just nodded, his thoughts carefully masked. But… maybe a hint of relief hid there. Relief that Stephen hadn’t sold that ring. It meant something, even if Stephen knew it didn’t yet mean enough.
Stephen still remembered the moment Tony had given him that ring, moments before going into surgery to get the shrapnel removed from his heart. Stephen had already known that he wanted to marry Tony, but in that moment the question had knocked him breathless.
The joy had been effervescent.
He shook the memory away, he needed to focus on the now if he was going to get any sort of chance to get that back.
“Mordo found me, not long after that,” Stephen said. “He showed me the way to Kamar-Taj, brought me to the Ancient One.” He licked his bottom lip. “And I discovered the absolutely impossible,” he said. “Something unlike anything I’d ever imagined or dreamed, even after everything.” He’d seen more than a few impossible things while at Tony’s side, but those had all seemed to have a scientific explanation, aliens or experimentation or something. “The Ancient One showed me the Mystic Arts.”
A moment of silence. Then. ”Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Tony muttered. “Don’t tell me you joined a cult.”
Despite himself, Stephen laughed. “No,” he said. “Not a cult.” He bit his lip, considered his options. He held out his hands, channeling dimensional energy. “And the Mystic Arts are very real.” He twisted his hands, creating a rope of energy and twisting it around, shaping it. He focused on the image he wanted in his mind.
He’d never actually done this, but…
When he finished, he had a golden flower made of pure energy in his hands.
Tony’s eyes were wide, focused on the flower. Stephen slid over the couch, a little closer to Tony. “Here.” He extended his hand, holding out the flower for Tony to take.
Tony looked down at it then back up at Stephen. “It’s safe?”
“Would I ever risk you?” Stephen asked, hoping that Tony didn’t actually doubt that. Tony must not have doubted it—or his curiosity was too strong to care about the risk—because he reached out, carefully taking the stem of energy in his hands.
“Oh.” Tony shuddered. “That feels…” He shook his head. “FRIDAY, you running scans on this?” He stared down at the flower, wondering. “It’s warm. It…” He looked up at Stephen. “It feels like you,” he said, a strange note in his tone.
Stephen smiled, heart jumping in his chest. “It won’t last, at least not without a bit more work.” He leaned forward, tapped the flower, directing the dispersal of energy before it could fade away. It washed out around them, a sparkle of orange and gold.
Tony looked around, awe in his eyes as the magic dispersed in the air, leaving a sense of energy around them. “Okay,” he said. “Mystic Arts. I’m retaining the right to be skeptical, but I will suspend my disbelief.” The awe in his eyes faded away, a clear sign that Tony was reminding himself that he was giving Stephen the chance to explain and that was it. There would be no pursuit of answers, when Tony didn’t intend to let Stephen stay. “Continue.”
“I have no doubt of your skepticism,” Stephen said, trying to hang on to the hope of more, anyways. Skepticism meant questions, questions meant Stephen got to stay. “There were a few… bumps in the road before I was accepted into Kamar-Taj.” He didn’t want to go into that first encounter with the Ancient One too deeply. He hoped that someday he’d be able to tell Tony the full story, but he didn’t want to distract from the real situation. “And… and I struggled.” He looked down at his hand. “Because I might have found the Mystic Arts, but you know the mental space I was in when I left. It was not the sort of mental space conducive to growth or learning.”
Tony just nodded.
“I didn’t reach out,” he said. “Not at the beginning. Part of it was that I still didn’t realize how long I would be gone. Part of it was shame. Part of it was the caution they expected of us. As I’m sure you can imagine, this wasn’t something they wanted broadcasted.” He waved at the air where the magic had dissipated. Tony could understand secrecy around such things, even if he still didn’t fully believe them. “It took me three months before I reached out. I…” He took a deep breath. “I emailed you. I apologized.” He met Tony’s gaze. “Maybe it was too little and too late, but it was the first thing I did. And then I asked you to wait for me.”
That earned him a sigh as Tony looked away. One hand came up, fiddling with Stephen’s ring in a way that seemed almost habit. Stephen wondered how often Tony had done that in the past eight months. He wondered how it felt for Tony, if the touch brought pain or comfort, longing or loss. “Wait for you,” Tony said quietly. “You really expect me to believe that you planned to come back?”
Stephen gestured to himself. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Stephen asked. “Nothing forced me here.”
“Then what did bring you here?” Tony asked. “Why did you come back?”
Stephen paused. “I was always coming back,” he said slowly. “At first… at first I was just waiting to figure out how to heal my hands. I was so sure it would come any day.” He looked down at his trembling hands. “I did figure it out,” he said finally. “But… but it wasn’t as straightforward as I had thought it would be. I could choose my hands… or I could choose the Mystic Arts and the duties and responsibilities that the Masters of the Mystic Arts take on themselves.”
Tony stared at him. “And you didn’t choose your hands,” Tony whispered. “After everything…” Stephen could hear the unheard words. Stephen had left Tony for his hands, and now here Stephen was, saying that he’d found something he’d considered more important when eight months ago he had told Tony he wasn’t more important.
It wasn’t like that, but Stephen didn’t know how to explain. “No, I didn’t choose my hands.” Stephen shook his head, emotion knotting in his throat, because even though he’d made the choice, didn’t mean the loss of his hands didn’t hurt. It was still a loss, still a wound in need of healing.
Tony sighed. “Right. Duties and responsibilities. Very vague. Must be important though.” The tone in his voice was cold, aimed at all of those things that Stephen had chosen over him.
But Tony didn’t understand, if Stephen had been given the choice between the Mystic Arts and his hands at the beginning, he’d have chosen his hands with no hesitation. If he had to choose now between Tony and his hands, he’d choose Tony. But then, then Stephen had been trapped in his despair, his hands had felt like the only choice he could make.
“I’ll explain,” Stephen promised. “I’ll explain the choice I made. But… But it’s complicated and…” Stephen didn’t want to bring up Dormammu right now, he didn’t want to risk manipulating Tony into letting him back in because Tony thought Stephen needed him in the aftermath. Stephen did need Tony, but he couldn’t come to Tony with a sob story to be let back in. “I don’t want to distract from… from us. From the explanations I need to give you.”
Tony’s gaze was scrutinizing. “All right.”
Stephen hesitated a moment, then drifted over it. “Things did happen and I… I made my choice to stay with the Mystic Arts; there were a few more things that needed to be done, but I became a full Master and… and my training was officially over.” He met Tony’s eyes. “Official as of this morning. I chose the path of a Master of the Mystic Arts, but…”
Tony furrowed his brows, eyes hooded. “But you came here.”
“Yes,” Stephen said. “I came here.” He risked reaching out, brushing his fingers over the back of Tony’s hand. Tony didn’t pull away. Tony’s skin was warm against the pads of his fingers and Stephen let himself press down, covering Tony’s hand with his own. “There was nothing about choosing the Master of the Mystic Arts that meant I had to stay away from you.” He steeled himself. “You’re right, Tony. I left you and coming back doesn’t suddenly make that right.” Even if Stephen wished it was that simple. “But I want it to be a start to making things right.”
For a long moment, Tony just stared down at their hands. “I think you should leave,” he said finally.
Stephen’s heart crashed into his chest. “Tony, please. I know—”
“I… I need to think,” Tony interrupted. “And I can’t do that with you here.” He laughed. “I never have been able to think straight when you were around. Not in the ways that it mattered.”
”Tony—“
“Stephen,” Tony interrupted a second time. “Just… let me think.”
Stephen swallowed hard, pain in his chest. “And when you’re done thinking?” he asked. “How will I know?”
Tony didn’t answer, gaze distant. “You survived eight months,” Tony said. “You can survive another week.”
A week.
Somehow that felt like an impossibly long time. One week. Stephen had already been without Tony for eight months. But if Tony was asking for a week then Stephen would give it to him.
“One week.” He swallowed, but then nodded. “I’ll be back,” he promised.
And when he came back…
His gaze fixed on the ring around Tony’s neck. When he came back… maybe Tony would be willing to let Stephen make those promises again. He stood, because Tony had asked him to leave and he would, but… but there was one thing he had to say, one thing that couldn’t go unsaid. “And Tony?” He met Tony’s gaze, hoped he saw Stephen’s sincerity. “I love you.”