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“Tony,” Stephen started, then stopped, not sure what to say.
Tony glanced at him, but didn’t stop pacing, brow furrowed in a disturbed sort of contemplation. He hadn’t said anything since they’d left the Sanctum after Wong had finished explaining, Tony driving them home.
“I…” What was Stephen supposed to say? That he was sorry? That he hadn’t known? That he loved Tony? That they’d figure this out?
How were they supposed to figure this out? Tony had lost his memories—given them away—to save Stephen… and now Stephen was back and Tony…
Tony stopped pacing, whirled to face him. “They ate my memories,” he said. “They… I gave away my memories and they ate them.”
Stephen nodded, unsure how to respond, fear curdling in his chest. Tony felt violated. Violated because of Stephen. Tony was afraid, understandably so, and Stephen could lose him.
Maybe Stephen had already lost Tony. Because Tony didn’t remember them. Had never chosen Stephen.
And Tony… Tony had already lost Stephen. Very literally.
“That’s messed up,” Tony said. “I… Wong stripped my memories of you with magic and I didn’t even know.” Tony made an inarticulate sound. “Except I consented. But I don’t remember that.”
“Tony,” Stephen said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“For what!?” Tony demanded. “For apparently being someone I loved so much, I’d choose to lose you before ever risking you?” Tony’s voice sounded hysterical. “Is that what you’re apologizing for? For me loving you?” Tony whirled away, running his hand through his hair. “Wong said we tried to find another way, but it was pretty clear we didn’t explore all avenues, because… because you were at risk. Because we, because I, couldn’t risk you.” Tony looked overwhelmed, confused. “And now I don’t even know you,” he whispered. “And nothing makes sense anymore.”