A/N: I'm seeing Infinity War tomorrow and am a little bit worried as to the state these characters will be in afterwards... so, have this in the meantime. I'm on a (relative) roll.

it's a stubborn existence

She greets him for the first time in weeks with a knock on the door and a bottle of scotch in her hand.

(To be honest, she's not entirely sure what possessed her to drop in at the old Avengers Tower. An empty monument and an empty home to a team that no longer exists, and she thinks that it could be frozen in time and proudly displayed as a flawed collector's piece.

But, she does exhale in relief when Security recognises her, when she's allowed to move through the serenely-lit building, when the elevator takes her up back to an eerily familiar time, when she crosses the floor above the receding city.)

The thick one-way glass door to the loft and penthouse level opens, and he stands there, shirt rumpled and hair askew and eyes bloodshot.

"Commander."

"Stark."

"Been a while," he says, not moving. "What brings you here? You got something for me?"

She holds up the bottle. "Peace offering. But you're not drinking alone."

"That's a change," he says. "How do you know I'm not alone?"

"You are," she says flatly. "George and Emily down in Security don't lie to me."

"Good god, do you actually have people everywhere?" He stands aside, opening the door wider and lazily waving her in. "How'd you know I'd be here in the first place?"

"That one was Pepper. She always knows."

"Yeah, she does," he says, rubbing his eyes and gesturing for her to sit on the couch overlooking the city. "I think she's in L.A. tonight. What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday, and yes, she is," she replies, tucking her feet under her on the ridiculously comfortable furniture. "How long have you been in New York?"

"What, Pepper didn't tell you?"

"I'm asking you right now," she says, annoyance creeping into her voice. "I could go behind your back for almost everything, but I don't."

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Got up here on Sunday. I was refurbishing some of the labs at the compound and Rhodey told me to piss off. The guy's getting his strength back."

She grabs the bottle and pours two fingers into each glass. "That's good to hear."

"I'll let him know." He pauses. "How's—how's Barton's family?"

"What do you expect? They watched the news, they know whose side he was on, it didn't take long for Laura to figure out why Barton wasn't coming home right away."

He drains the contents of his tumbler in one go, before going for the bottle again. "Look, I didn't think they were gonna put them in the Raft."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Stark? That was established in the early drafts of the Accords. Where else would they have gone?"

"I never would have—they should have said—"

"—Maybe you should have read between the lines a little more before agreeing," she snaps. "Then maybe we'd be in less of a clusterfuck than we are right now."

He points a shaky finger at her. "Okay, you do not get to lecture me, Hill. This wasn't like with Ultron."

"No? You charge in because you think you're right or because you need to put it right, without considering the goddamn consequences. I admire the tenacity and conviction, but god, if you stopped to fucking think, just for a second…"

"You think this was a split-second decision? I seem to recall you acting as a go-between for me and Rogers in the weeks before the Accords. Where the fuck were you?"

"Oh, you can't fucking pin this on me or my absence," she laughs bitterly. "I was in Europe for months negotiating on behalf of the Avengers, and I spent as much time working with you and Rogers. Maybe you thought your decisions were made after Lagos and when Ross presented you with the Accords, but Fury and I both saw this coming a month or so before that. I fucking tried to keep you all together."

"So did I," he fires back. "I gave them chances to reconsider, I held off Ross and the CIA for as long as I could."

"Yeah, well, we both know how pig-headed the two of you can be," she says, reaching for the bottle and re-filling her tumbler.

"Right," he says, under his breath. "So, where's Natasha?"

"No comment."

"Come on. I know that they broke out of the Raft. You think I didn't notice some of the missing equipment at the compound?"

"Well, I'm sure you could trace and track whoever took it."

"Yeah," he says, waving a hand. "But let's say that it's best if I don't know, because I don't want Ross' people on me."

"Excellent, we're in agreement here."

"Sure," he snorts. "Where's Rogers?"

"Still no comment."

"Fucking spy," he mutters. "You know, though, don't you?"

She shakes her head, almost in disbelief. "No comment."

"Okay," he says, tapping his finger against his glass. "What are you up to these days? It's been a month since Leipzig and Siberia, two weeks since I got a call saying the Raft had been breached. You're down from five to two days a week at the compound, and that I have been tracking. You know, your room's still free, and I've just bought new coffee pods, including the ones that you like."

"Absolutely no comment. Nice try, though," she smirks.

"Who is it? Fury?" He leans forward, eyes alight, presses on. "Rogers? I mean, I know you've been okay in the past with keeping secrets and throwing me under the bus, but somehow, that guy never seems to cop it from you."

She glances at her former boss carefully, and then at the warm liquid in the bottle, dwindling. "Get your head out of your ass, Tony," she says quietly. "You know what my job was, and it was nothing personal, and certainly not against you."

He takes another large gulp, the burn almost non-existent now. "For a while, I thought you'd be on the side of the Accords. Like, ninety percent sure. And when you disappeared right before Ross came to the compound, I said to Rhodey after, 'It's okay, because we've still got Hill to talk some sense into Rogers and Wilson.' And I honestly thought you would."

"Like I said earlier, it was getting obvious that simply talking to the two of you, or getting you to talk to each other, wasn't working. And so I moved on."

"Cold." He squints at her. "And how does Rogers feel about nothing personal? Can't imagine that went down too well."

Her eyes harden. "He doesn't get a say in that. And for the majority of the time, he never did."

"The majority of the time?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know. Or guess," she sighs. "God knows Romanoff did."

"I genuinely—when?"

She thinks, assesses. "Five months before Ultron. You and Rogers wanted me around the Tower more often, and I was."

"Huh," he says, looking at her. "Makes sense now."

"Yes, well."

"What happened?"

She stares out the large expanse of glass, up at the glittering lights of surrounding buildings (humans will never stop competing for more, for higher), down onto the bustling activity of the streets that she knows so well. God, she's missed this view. It almost hurts, thinking back, and a part of her wonders why it doesn't hurt more.

"I wasn't taking sides. Not with any one person. I couldn't," she says, voice still sad and tired. "He's always known, but two years ago, it didn't matter as much. Even after Ultron, it didn't matter, because we had our roles to play, in parallel, alongside each other. And it was good. And then when the shit came up between you two and about the Accords, there was no one else who could – or would – work with you both, and I had a job to do. That came first, and instinctively, it still does, and he knew it, and that was that. Yes, it was nothing personal against him – or you, for that matter – but don't think that I didn't spend time re-thinking and re-analysing every goddamn option and consequence. So, don't you dare suggest that I didn't have a fucking stake in this, or that I didn't care," she finishes, eyes flashing.

"Yeah, okay," he exhales. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"So am I," she says. "These days, it seems like no one can do anything for more than twelve months straight without it going to hell."

"I'm sorry about Rogers," he says, looking down.

She stares at him, surprised. "Yeah, you said."

"I mean it. He was difficult and wrong and a pain in the ass, but he was…" He hesitates. "He's still what the best of us could hope for."

"Yes. Yes, he is," she says simply before exhaling. "God, the last four years have been fucking insane."

He turns to her. "Maria, why are you actually here?"

"Believe it or not, you're a friend," she says dryly. "There aren't that many that I can count, and I know what self-destructive can look like."

"Hey, I object to that," he says, half-hearted. "Do you know how many things I've fixed in the last few weeks?"

"Should I be worried?"

"Not any more than usual," he says with a tight smile. "I think I'm getting too old for new projects. Maybe I'll disappear for a bit. Actually, fuck that, I'm gonna disappear forever. Buy that farm that I said I would last time."

"Yeah, let me know when that actually happens," she says. "You couldn't stay away even if you tried."

"No." A muscle works in his jaw. "Like you."

"And I gave in to that fact years ago. Which is part of why I'm here," she says. "Also, I'm not sure anyone would actually want me as an employee. I'd probably leave in less than a year anyway, at this rate."

He stands up abruptly, and she watches as he crosses the room and opens a panel in the glass coffee table, He digs around for a minute, before retrieving a familiar rectangular shape.

"Wanna play?" He asks, waving the deck of cards in front of her. "Like old times."

"Sure," she smirks. "Bored when no one's around?"

"Doesn't make a difference anyway," he shrugs. "Vision thinks he's above poker; Rhodey's not as good as you are, 'cause, you know, he wasn't ever a spy or deputy director of an intelligence agency; and Pepper, well…"

She rolls her eyes. "For the last time, being a spy doesn't make you good at this game. There were some high-level operatives in S.H.I.E.L.D. whom I'd trust with complex missions, but not the ones in a casino involving large sums of money."

"You know, I still can't believe that casino missions are a thing," he says, grinning.

"Just deal the cards," she replies. "And yeah, they were, because they're a terribly good place to get away with shit."

"Thought it only happened in movies."

"Most things, yeah, but not that one." She hums. "Romanoff actually really loved those missions, even though she was surprisingly shit at card games. Even Barton's kids would fleece her."

He smirks. "Next time, I'll invite her. You know, after you tell me where she is."

"Again, good try," she says, amused. "Also, you have your own shit to do and deal with."

"Yeah, well, Rhodey's getting there, with no big help from me. Vision's working his way through cookbooks of French cuisine now. Pepper messages me maybe twice a week about the company or hassles me to sit in on a board meeting. And there's you, whatever the fuck you're doing at the compound for those two days a week," he shoots back. "So I'm fucking fine."

"I'm keeping your team, and the training, technical, and operations staff functional," she says. "But no, I was talking about the kid you pulled in from Queens."

"Parker. Peter," he answers. "He's been bugging Happy, thinks he can save his neighbourhood by himself. Or needs to. Wants more to do."

"We've heard that before. Have you talked to him since?"

"Nah. Kid doesn't need me as an example," he says, tired. "And honestly, he should stay as far away as possible from this fucking mess."

"Not as an example, no," she shakes her head. "But he probably needs someone to talk to. You basically dropped him in the middle of Germany to fight half the Avengers, then told him to go back to school. You don't think he needs some sort of debrief?"

He glares at her for a long moment. "Sometimes, I hate it when you make sense."

"Only sometimes? I'm doing better than I thought," she arches an eyebrow. "The point is, you're not entirely without things to do. And even if you didn't want to fight anymore, no one's discounting your experience."

"I can't—I can't be a fucking teacher."

"Think about it," she says, ice grey eyes locking onto his.

"Fine," he snaps. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I have a list of things that need your attention at the compound, but that can wait."

"Ah, so this wasn't a social visit. Knew it," he exclaims semi-triumphantly.

"I can multitask," she shrugs, unapologetic but quiet. She looks out the window again, memorising and waiting. The list in her head grows longer and longer and longer by the minute, and she closes her eyes, feels his tracking her movements, can sense him itching to say something. Her back is ramrod straight, and she drops her head infinitesimally before lifting and turning to face him. She nods at him, at the cards in his hand. "So, you still playing?"

He chews on his lower lip and throws back the last of his drink defiantly, meeting her steady gaze head-on.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm still playing."