Authors Notes: This is me having a go at writing some angsty stuff - there is another chapter under construction for this, and I know that this sort of stuff has been done a million times before, but I just can't leave these two alone!
Fourteen hundred hours. On the dot, Steve's been standing there for the best part of half an hour, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets clenching and unclenching his fists, driving his nails into his palms. Swallowing doubt and nausea that he wasn't coming.
He needs this to be what it is, a goodbye.
Or a last-ditch attempt?
Or a way back?
He's not even sure himself anymore, but he knows, he knows this can't go South, they can be civil to each other. Steve will brush off every smirk, every snide comment. He can't leave it the way it is.
The scraunch of the service elevator grate draws his attention, the muttering that follows, echoing through the vast emptiness of the derelict warehouse that was the decided meeting place. It's apt really and it suddenly occurs to Steve as he listens to the approaching footsteps, that Tony suggested it out of spite – some poetic representation of what they had become, derelict, empty. Nothing.
Tony stops short with four feet between them.
Four feet that might as well have been four hundred. He makes some non-commital shrug with his shoulders and stares off at a neutral spot over and above Steve's shoulder.
"Well. I'm here." Steve says nothing and tightens his grip on the nothing in his pocket. Tony's words are bitten out and clipped short with precise anger, but they haven't spoken face to face in what felt like forever and the sound of Tony's voice strikes every nerve, brings them raw to the surface.
"What was so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?" His eyes settle on Steve's for a fleeting moment before snapping to his feet. Steve shifts, restless in his own body, this was harder than he had ever pictured in his head.
In his head they shook hands, they definitely stood closer than two strangers waiting for a bus. When he felt weak he imagined that they embraced, and Steve got to inhale the coconut scent of Tony's hair and the heady tang of his cologne, just like he used to.
But this was not that, it wasn't a reunion, it wasn't a mad dash to the airport pounding on the cabin door yelling that you're sorry. It was a goodbye because Steve was sat between two powder kegs, one would ignite the other and Tony didn't understand. Tony was stubborn. He had to say goodbye to Tony. Such were the lies Steve would tell himself when he lay awake at night feeling his heart tear itself apart.
It's not fair.
"I'm leaving." He finally chokes, the effort to hold his voice from cracking making the back of his throat ache and leaving a metallic twang in his mouth.
Tony doesn't react more than a shrug, still staring resolutely at his shoes, he's not giving Steve an inch. "That's it?" He rocks forward on the balls of his feet, "That's what was so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?"
"Tony I- "
"Save it!" Tony's eyes flare with anger when they make deliberate contact with Steve's who blinks back tears because this was the last thing he wanted. "And stop looking at me like that. I hate it when you look at me like that." Tony nostrils flare as he takes a step forward jabbing a finger in Steve's direction. "You don't get to look at me like you still care!"
Steve bites down on the 'I do still care.' It would sound petulant defending a corner that was no longer his.
"You call me here to rub salt in or what?" Tony's getting in his space. "Fuck you Rogers. You want to go monster hunting, be my guest, you don't need my permission."
Steve sets his jaw maybe he was too presumptuous in thinking that he could ignore every snide remark. "He's not a monster." Tony's making this personal, but then how could it be anything but. "He's my friend."
"I was your friend, emphasis on the 'was'." Tony backs down, only a step or two, folding his arms in front of his chest.
"He needs me." And there's that flash of anger in Tony's eyes again the sudden intake of breath like he might say something but thinks better of it. "I don't have a choice." He adds, trying to convince himself more than for Tony's benefit.
Tony snorts out a laugh, rough and jagged on the edge of rage. "Oh, you had a choice Rogers." His lip curls back on his teeth when he speaks. "And you made it pretty clear who was important to you and who was-" he pauses, and Steve knows, he's looking for the words that are going to cut the deepest. It's fine Steve can take it, "Surplus to requirement."
Steve subconsciously braces every muscle in his body, stretches up to his full height. "That's not fair. I never-"
"Fair?" Tony laughs in a shrill uneven pitch, raking fingers through his hair. "I'll tell you what's not fair…" He trails off as his voice loses its power, blinking at Steve owlish and lost. "I thought we were… I mean we could of…" he chokes stepping forward so far into Steve's space that a deep breath from either of them would mean their chests touched. He's so close he can see the bloodshot pink of his eyes and the unkemptness of his beard that was a few days past due a shave.
Steve instinctively moves to hold Tony by both shoulders and his hands stop short hovering inches away. "Don't touch me." He sobs, burying his face into the fabric of Steve's jacket. "Just don't touch me."
Tony clings to him and Steve obligingly stands with his hands held up at the elbows and awkwardly away from his body as his heart breaks underneath the wet patch Tony's made on his shirt.
The derelict warehouse swims out of focus, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, let his body shake as the tears fall into Tony's hair.
It's not fair.
Authors Notes: As always comments and feedback welcomed!