The line connected and Steve's voice greeted warmly, “Hey, Tony.”
“You're a dick,” Tony replied, wounded and strained. There was silence, so he added, “Everyone thinks Captain America's so damn nice, but you're a dick.”
“What?” Steve asked, sounding utterly bewildered.
“You left me here,” Tony accused.
“Oh, Tony,” cooed that damnable, wonderful voice.
“No! Don't you, 'Oh, Tony,' me! You left me here!”
“You know I had to go. I'm sorry it was so sudden.”
“Are you?” Tony snapped.
“Yes, Tony, of course. I wanted to say something, but there just wasn't time.”
“You should have made time! You should've- You- I-”
“I know, Tony. I wish I could've done more.”
Tony scoffed angrily, disbelievingly, “What more could you have done?”
“I don't know. Just more.”
“You did plenty!” Tony charged, seething. There was a long pause, but he didn't feel like filling it, so he let it hang there.
“You know I love you,” Steve said, soft and open, almost a question. It chipped at Tony's resolve, slipped inside and nestled into his heart, aching bittersweetly. He wanted to tear it out, hurl it back, burn it up, but he needed it, craved it, tucked it deeper and wrapped himself around it in a desperate attempt to keep it there, safe and sound.
“I don't understand,” he whispered, voice barely loud enough to his own ears. It didn't matter.
“I had to, Tony. You know that. Please tell me you know that.”
He hesitated, wanting anything but to admit it aloud, took a breath to stall. But eventually, he sighed out, “I know.”
Steve let out a soft breath of relief, probably thought it couldn't be heard through the phone, but yay, StarkTech. Take that!
“You're a stupid, self-sacrificing, horrible boyfriend. Why do you have to be such a good fucking person? Why can't you let me hate you?”
Steve chuckled at that, all smooth and honeyed, and it soothed the ragged edges of Tony's upset, even as it tore him apart much deeper inside. This wasn't right. They should be talking about sandy beaches and the benefits of having no suntan lines, arguing that work could be put off just once in their lives, that the team could handle things without them for just a little while. But they weren't. Not this time.
“Let me make it up to you,” Steve needled, pouring on the persuasion with that devilish boy-next-door charm.
“You can't,” Tony answered, but he could hear his conviction weakening.
“I will,” Steve insisted, sounding so sure and stubborn, with just a hint of mischief, and it was so perfectly, perfectly Steve, and everything Tony wanted.
“How?”
“Got any ideas?”
“Come back. Right now. Just come back home.”
“I can't do that, Tony.”
“Why not?” Tony pressed, even though he knew the answer.
“It was important, Tony. I couldn't just sit idly by.”
“You could've,” Tony muttered, knowing he sounded petulant and not giving a good goddamn. He knew better, of course he did, it was Steve, for god's sake, and Steve could never be a bystander, but that didn't make it any easier.
Steve moved on, saying, “I'll make it up to you. After. Anything you want.”
Tony couldn't stop himself from halfheartedly sing-songing, “Promises, promises.”
“Yes,” Steve agreed, “promises.”
“I'm going to be very demanding, you know. All kinds of crazy things.” That almost sounded normal.
“I'm sure,” Steve laughed.
“I mean it,” Tony maintained, but the momentary spark of not-so-bad was gone, and it came out sounding dismal. He swallowed heavily and requested once more, “Come home to me.”
Steve said nothing for a second, then asked suspiciously, “Tony, have you been drinking?”
“...No?” Said after finishing a pull of scotch.
“Tony?” Steve goaded.
“...Maybe.”
“How much?”
Guilty eyes flitted to the almost empty bottle on his workbench. “Not much.”
Judgy silence pervaded the air.
“Alright, fine, yes, I've been drinking. Not like it matters.” At least the last time they'd had this exact conversation, he'd been happily drunk on margaritas. Now, though, there was no room for sweet drinks, only strong, bitter ones.
“Tony, we talked about this. You've been doing so well, don't throw it all away over this.”
“Over this!” Tony mocked scornfully. He barked out a humorless laugh and pointedly drained his glass, then refilled it. “It doesn't matter,” he reiterated. “What're you gonna do to stop me? You're gone.”
This wasn't going at all as planned. It wasn't supposed to be this heavy. It was supposed to ease his pain, not redouble it. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Because for a genius, he was awfully stupid, that's why.
“I care about you, Tony. I don't want you to do this to yourself.” Well, wasn't that just the joke of the fucking millennium!
“Do what?” Tony bit out, slamming his again-empty tumbler onto the workbench. “Drink myself into a stupor? Have this conversation, like a pathetic crazy person? Fuck you! If you cared, you'd be here!”
“I wish I could be.”
“Then, come home!” Tony shouted.
Steve said softly, “I love you, Tony.”
Tony clenched his jaw so tightly, it was a wonder he didn't crack his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to somehow not hear the words, even as he longed to drown in them.
“I love you,” Steve repeated, voice filled with the truth of the words and just the slightest edge of pleading that Tony couldn't ignore, regardless of anything else. He couldn't deny that tone, even now.
“I love you, Steve,” he swore brokenly, chest seized up tight. He wondered if it would be his heart or his lungs that gave out first. He supposed it didn't really matter.
“I will make it up to you.”
“Just come home. That's all I want. Forget the rest of it, all I want is for you to come home.”
“I'll see you soon,” Steve promised. But that was a lie.
“Maybe sooner than you think.”
“Don't do anything too outrageous. You have to be there for the team, especially while I'm away. They need you.”
“I need you.”
“Promise me you'll stay there.” There was silence for a moment, then Steve hedged, “Tony.”
“I know. I promise.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I promised a long time ago, right?” It wasn't quite the same now as it was then, but it was a promise all the same. “I won't let them down. Or you.”
“No more drinking,” Steve intoned firmly.
“We'll see.”
“I mean it, Tony.”
“I know,” Tony answered softly.
“I'll be with you as soon as I can.” Those words were meant for a far lighter conversation, just the slightest bit too cheery to fit the mood. Tony ignored it.
“Can't wait.” And if his answer was a bit too dismal, well, he'd ignore that, too.
“I do love you, Tony. I'll be counting the moments until we're together again.” Damn sap.
Tony knew that was the end of the conversation, so he said as sincerely as he'd ever said anything in his life, “I love you, too, Steve. I miss you.”
There was a click that signaled the end of the call and the workshop went quiet.
It wasn't right. It hadn't gone the way it should've. There was too much he'd left unsaid, too much he needed to get out, before it chewed up what little was left inside and left him entirely hollow.
“Run it back, J,” Tony instructed.
“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied dutifully, voice far too gentle than a fucking AI had any right to be. “Same as before, isolating only Captain Rogers' part?”
“You're the best,” Tony answered, wishing he could even fake the joviality that phrase once held.
The line connected.
“Hey, Tony.”
Tony's eyes burned and his throat went achingly tight.
“Why did you leave me here alone?” he gasped out. There were still a few seconds to fill, so he asked, “Why didn't you wait just one more second? You didn't even say goodbye.”
“What?”
The tears spilled over, rolling hotly down Tony's face. “Why did you have to die like that? I can't do this without you!”
“Oh, Tony.”