Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the October 13th Whumptober prompt: "Stay."
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The Argument by luvsanime02
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"Stay."
The plea leaves Tony Stark's lips before he can stop himself, and he immediately wants to smack his head against a wall. But then, that's nothing new. He takes another drink from his glass in order to hide his nerves, and ignores the way that his hand shakes and the liquid sloshes before he gulps most of it down.
The silence is harder to ignore. "What did you say?" Steve finally asks, sounding confused. That's understandable. The two of them haven't had much to say to each other lately. There's also an edge of dark anger in Steve's voice, and damn it, but Tony still believes that he was right, and isn't he allowed to be angry, too?
He takes another drink, and looks at the glass in his hands so that he doesn't have to watch Steve's expression. "Stay," he repeats. "There's a lot that we should talk about."
So many things that they could fill up an entire lifetime, but Tony is only asking for a few minutes. Maybe half an hour. Surely, that's not too much to ask for, right?
Tony knows the answer to that question. Why did he have to say anything?
Because Tony is tired, and although that's also nothing new these days, this life, there is a chance for Tony to try and fix some things between them. Not everything. Not right now, and maybe not ever, but enough so that they can be in the same room again without Steve developing a tic in his jaw.
"I don't know that there is," Steve says, and does he even realize how he sounds when he says shit like that? Tony's father never sounded half that stern, and part of Tony is still a little boy that wants to shrivel up and die inside when someone hates him, but the rest of him is far too used to the sensation, has gone numb to the disappointment.
"I disagree," Tony says quietly, watching his hands tremble slightly, and hating himself just that little bit more. "Five minutes?" he asks quietly. Tony still can't make himself look up, though. If he looks up, he'll let Steve walk away.
Like Tony could ever keep Steve here, anyway.
"No," Steve refutes, implacable as usual. How is he always so damn sure of himself all of the time? Tony wants to know Steve's secret. He could bottle and sell it, and become even more rich. Could do even more for his city, and his country, and maybe wipe away the stain that his father has left behind. If Tony accomplishes nothing else in his lifetime, then he hopes that he can achieve at least that much. "I can't talk to you anymore, Tony," Steve continues. "You still don't see that you were wrong."
Tony bites down on the million and one things that want to come out of his mouth. He wasn't wrong. He still isn't. But that's not the point right now.
"Does that matter?" he asks slowly. "Does it matter anymore which one of us was right or wrong? It's done." It's done and over with, and now there's nothing left to do except to move on and rebuild from the ashes.
"It matters to me," Steve says firmly. "Goodbye, Tony."
That shouldn't feel so final, but it does, and Tony can't say anything, can't explain. You can't make things better if only one of you is interested in trying.
Tony keeps his head down, and doesn't watch Steve walk out of the conference room. When he's alone, Tony fills up his glass again and goes to look out the window, and doesn't try to watch the street to see if he can spot Captain America striding away into the night.