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It’s not your eyes
It’s not what you say
The refrain floats out of the lab as you pass by on your way out of the building, and it’s Tony’s voice- soft and deep and true in a way you’ve never heard it before.
And those words, in that voice, stop you in your tracks. Suddenly, your heart is beating so fast it’s threatening to jump out of your chest, and your palms grow clammy, and you’re almost trembling.
So with one hand wrapped tight around your middle– trying to hold yourself together with all your might– you move past the glass doors into the lab and calm your heartbeat down just in time to hear the last line Tony sings.
You’ve been lonely, too long
And your heart nearly stops.
You’ve never heard that last line before, he’s never let you hear it, that line that’s the same as the last one of your own verse. And even as you take up the song, the next lines fluttering broken past your lips, words barely recognizable, there’s something inside you that shatters and hurts like a million shards of glass piercing your skin.
All your actin’
Your thin disguise
He turns, seeming surprised to see you, in his lab, in this moment, and for a split second you stumble over a word as you wonder if he will turn you away still.
But he doesn’t, and when you reach that stupid last line, he sings with you.
“You knew,” your voice no longer trembles, and you pull your anger around you like a shield, facing him down, “all that time. You knew- I talked to you about this, about how badly I wanted to find my soulmate. You knew, and you kept it from me anyway.”
“I suspected-” he begins, eyes downcast, his face shadowed with guilt, but you don’t let him get any further.
“Don’t. Don’t do that. You knew,” you snap, unable to rein in your anger no matter how hard you try, “So what is it? You didn’t think I was good enough for you? All those times you told me to believe in myself, that I was brilliant, all lies?”
His eyes snap back up to yours and to his credit, he doesn’t shrink in front of your rage.
“Of course not,” he insists, shoulders squared, eyes ablaze, just as vehement as you now, “Don’t you see, ___? I didn’t think I was good enough for you. I mean, you know me, you know what a breathtaking mess I am. How could I ever be worthy of you?”
You deflate, all capacity for anger suddenly leaving you, and instead you feel the urge to laugh, to practically cackle.
Because how is this happening? How could he have thought that? How did you end up here?
So you give in, you laugh and you laugh till your sides hurt and tears are streaming from your eyes.
“How could you think that?” you ask when you finally calm down, your voice still disturbingly loud, “How could you make that decision on your own, Tony? How could you do that to yourself, to me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, shoulders drooping, and he looks as broken as you feel, “___, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“No,” you’re no longer yelling but your fingernails digging into your palms are going to draw blood soon, “No, I can’t. What do you want from me? What were you expecting?”
“We could take it slow, we could..I don’t know, go out on a date, see how things go.”
He trails off when you show no signs of replying, of going along with this idea of his. And with a deep breath you force yourself to uncurl your hands, and speak.
“No.”
“No?” his voice is softer than ever now, and he’s smiling through the tears welling up in his eyes, “No. You’re right. None of that taking it slow crap. Move in with me today, ___, let me tell you I love you every five minutes. Let me say it so many times that you get tired of hearing the words.”
And finally, you let go.
“Then start this moment- what’s stopping you? Hold me, Tony, let me whisper it against bare skin, that I’ll never forgive you for taking this long, that I’ll never be perfect, that we’ll never be one of those perfect couples.”
“We were never meant to be perfect,” he tells you, and then he is closing the gap between you and pulling your into his arms, holding you tight, close, as if he’ll never let you go, holding you just the way you want him to, “Just right for each other.”
“I still can’t forgive you,” you whisper, your words brushed against his neck, “It’s too late for that, Tony, far too late.”
“I know,” he replies, his words ruffling your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “but that’s okay. I love you, and you love me, and that’s enough. That’s enough for us to grow old together.”
“Or die next to each other,” you add, and you pull away for a minute to look up at him, to look into his eyes, searching for a glimpse of his soul and finding it, “I do love you, Tony.”