It took Steve six minutes to answer.
The two fast beeps, the notification of an incoming text message, sounded loud in Tony's ears and suddenly his heart was beating frantically in his chest and his tie felt far too tight. With shaking hands, he pulled the tie loose and let it drop onto the floor, trying to calm his breathing.
After four months of silence and reading and rereading Steve's letter – four months of nightmares and heartache and constant worry – it felt almost incomprehensible that it had only taken Steve minutes – mere minutes – to text him back. Tony wondered if Steve had been carrying his cell on his person all this time, just waiting for Tony to contact him or if it was by chance that he had been near enough to it to reply so fast.
He dared to wonder if Steve might have missed him, like he had missed Steve.
A darker, more bitter side of Tony's mind suggested that it hadn't actually even been Steve texting him – that it wasn't Steve who had sent him The Phone in the first place. Sure, yeah, FRIDAY had confirmed that The Phone, the letter and the box in which The Phone and the letter had arrived were all covered with Steve's fingerprints, but there had to be dozens of boxes, outdated phones and papers on which Steve had left his fingerprints over the years. Steve had a neat handwriting, one that wouldn't be too difficult to forge. Perhaps someone was deliberately trying to fool Tony into believing that he was in contact with Steve Rogers when actually they were trying to gather some intel or come up with discriminating evidence against him or the other Avengers in this manner. Perhaps The Phone was a trap of some kind, a tempting lure, and Tony had only managed to make things worse for everyone by keeping it. Steve might not even have any idea of The Phone's existence.
Tony wouldn't have put it past someone like Ross to come up with the whole idea.
With his mood darkened by his suspicions, Tony reached for The Phone on the desk, sinking into the office chair as he cautiously opened the device.
One message had been received.
"Fuck it," he muttered before raising his voice, "FRIDAY, any progress on locating the cell to which the number on this cell's contact list belongs?"
"Obviously not," came FRIDAY's exasperated answer. "I would have otherwise informed you. I am still working on the tracing, just like I have been for four consecutive months – not that you've ever thanked me for it – and I will let you know, if I find something. You do know you didn't make me incompetent, boss, don't you."
"Sure," Tony agreed, "though I clearly should've given you less sass. I just need you to do your job, not talk back to me. Why the heck did I even end up giving you personality?"
The question was rhetorical – JARVIS would have known not to answer it, but FRIDAY's programming was different and therefore she couldn't be faulted for giving a reply.
"It must have had something to do with the way you made me on the same Friday Miss Potts left you, boss. Do you wish for me to put a more detailed analysis up on the holo board?"
"Don't you dare," sighed Tony, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just... let me know, if you manage to trace the cell."
"Of course, boss."
FRIDAY fell silent, and Tony hold onto The Phone a tad bit tighter.
Now there was nothing to it, but to read the text.
Tony,
All vulgarity aside, it's a good idea to draw. I have found it therapeutic myself; I am now working on a portrait of Pete Coscarart. Feel free to use anything you find in my art studio – or yours, I should say, since you were the one to pay for it all. I hope to hear from you again soon. Please don't hesitate to call or text me.
Your friend (whether you believe it or not), Steve
Tony read the text three times before he snapped The Phone closed and put it back into its drawer. Slowly, he stood up and bent down to pick the tie up from the floor.
If the text hadn't been from Steve, someone was playing a cruel game.
Tony could have easily called the number to have FRIDAY analyze the voice on the other end, but he pretended hard that the idea hadn't yet occured to him: If it wasn't Steve on the other end, he almost didn't want to know it, not yet. Instead, he wanted, if just for a few days, to let himself believe.
"I have a mission for Iron Man," said Ross by way of greeting, placing a paper sheaf between the yoghurt and the granola with a little more force than strictly necessary.
"Good morning to you too, General Ross," said Rhodey with a false smile, while Vision inclined his head in a polite greeting and Tony – well, Tony ignored Ross and took a careful sip of his hot coffee.
The rich smell of coffee – Bruce's favourite brand, produced to fair trade standards – filled his nostrils. There was a blueberry muffin – baked to perfection by Vision (and seriously, one day Tony would totally convince Vision to profit and found a baking company, Vision's muffins were heaven in paper cups) – waiting for him to eat it so, all in all, he might have felt pretty good if it wasn't for, you know, the general in the room.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, Vision, Stark," said Ross, not sounding at all like he thought it was a good morning.
"So, how's life?" Rhodey went on conversationally, pouring himself more coffee. "I'm not asking because I care, mind you, but this is the first time in six days that Tony has actually had time to sit down to eat breakfast, let alone with me and Vision, so I'm trying to enjoy it and maintain a pleasant atmosphere for as long as it's possible."
Tony felt a pang of guilt. It was true that he hadn't been eating breakfast - or spending much time otherwise - with his friends in some days, even though he was well aware that they needed him. It was just that work had kept him busy - The Stark Industries had had urgent need of him due to an unexpected absence of one of the more important board members: Mrs. Hilmberg-Reynolds (or Holmberg-Ronaldson, or whatever her name had been, something with bergs or borgs and hyphens) should make a full recovery, but the heart attack had been unexpected and the presence of Tony Stark himself had been needed at the firm. Tony had gone to see Mrs. Hilmberg-Reynolds-Ronaldson and he had even remembered to bring flowers for her because he had happened to recall - at the last minute, but still - that that's what you were supposed to do when you visited someone in a hospital. (He just hoped that five buckets full of tulips was considered enough. It was usually Pepper who had dealt with these things. Tony didn't know how Pepper had always managed everything so well - it had been difficult to carry all those buckets.)
"The world can't wait for Tony Stark to eat his breakfast," said Ross drily. "We can't all rely on our wealth and live comfortably in our towers above everyday concerns."
"You could have at least called," Rhodey insisted. "We could have arranged an official meeting. Proper channels and all that, now that we work for the UN."
Ross let out a noncommittal noise and took a liberty of sitting down at their breakfast table. Onto Natasha's seat, Tony thought darkly.
"Speaking of calling," said Ross, turning his full attention on Tony, "have you happened to have any recent contact with, say, one Steve Rogers, formerly known as Captain America?"
Tony took a sip of the coffee. He had known to expect the unsubtle question. For months now, Ross had asked him something along the same lines every time they had met.
"Sure," he therefore snorted. "We text each other all the time. Just the other day I was telling him about this work of art I made - I call it The Schlong because it was, you know, a postmodern take on a penis - and then we discussed the merits of art therapy."
Ross' face reddened and Tony could see his eye twitching. The sight cheered him up considerably – perhaps the morning wouldn't turn out too badly after all.
"Mr. Stark," it was almost a growl, "I asked you a serious question and I do not appreciate that nonsense you gave me for an answer! Nick Fury might have put up with your childish, disrespectful behaviour, but I am not Nick Fury and I demand that you conduct yourself with more professionalism or there will be consequences."
"He's sitting at his own home, trying to enjoy breakfast," put in Rhodey who sounded and looked exasperated. "I say he can behave just as childishly as he wants in his own home. If you want professionalism, call beforehand and arrange an official meeting."
"He always puts me on hold!"
"I'm a busy man," said Tony and reached for his muffin.
By the time Tony reached for his second muffin, the more or less unofficial meeting had progressed without much participation on his part. Rhodey and Vision were already going through the sheaf of papers, while Ross was looking at Tony's muffin with disapproval with his nose all wrinkled as if Tony was eating raw fish entrails instead of a perfectly lovely muffin.
Upon noticing that Tony's gaze was on him, Ross cleared his throat, crossing his arms on his chest, and gave a bit of a nod towards the muffin.
"Too much sugar," he grumbled. "Not enough vitamins. That's hardly a healthy breakfast."
"It has blueberries in it," Tony defended the muffin. "And it's bad enough of you to interrupt my breakfast so don't you go criticizing my choise of nourishment, too. It's none of your business what I decide to feed myself with."
To emphasize his words, he took a big bite of the muffin, humming loudly with pleasure. Ross frowned. His eye kept twitching. It was difficult to say which one of them disliked the other more.
Rhodey let out a sigh and gave Tony a nudge in the arm.
"Eat your muffin, Tony, and shut up."
Eat your muffin and shut up. That Tony could do, and so he did.
"This mission is just for Iron Man?" Vision inquired, studying the papers with a frown, while Tony munched his muffin, making sure to eat it as loudly as possible to annoy Ross. He didn't think it was petty at all. "If I am understanding the situation right, the UN wishes to send Anthony to take down a terrorist cell in Awjilah, Libya. It cannot be a simple mission for one man – would it not be safer if I were to accompany him?"
"Stark has experience in taking down terrorist cells on his own," said Ross, glaring at Tony's muffin, visibly annoyed by the loud munching based on the deepening shade of red on his face. "The UN experts are positive that only Iron Man is needed for this job. There is no need to overexert our resources – the budget is limited, after all."
Rhodey gave Ross a dark look, leaning forward in his chair.
"You're not saying," he said, narrowing his eyes, "that the UN is seriously considering sending my best friend to a terrorist cell alone because it would be cheaper than sending another Avenger there with him."
Ross shifted on his seat, looking suddenly a bit defensive.
"There aren't currently all that many Avengers available, if you hadn't noticed," he said, and Tony swallowed a mouthful of the muffin to cover the way the truth still stung. "We are now working with what we've got. And no, Mr. Stark would not be going to the cell by himself, but in the company of trained Libyan soldiers. His function there would be merely to provide backup in case it would be needed rather than to be the one to engage the terrorists."
"I still don't like the sound of this," said Rhodey, giving Tony a concerned look. "With all due respect, General, this," Rhodey tapped a random paper with his forefinger, "would be his first mission since the Avengers..." he hesitated for just a second, "split up. Tony should not go on his first mission alone."
"With all due respect," Ross threw Rhodey's words back at him, uncrossing his arms, turning his head to look Tony straight in the eye, "you have brought the situation on you yourself."
Tony fumbled for his coffee mug, unable to meet Ross' gaze. Suddenly pestering Ross had lost all its charm. Tony felt dull and his thoughts rounded on The Phone and the text he had received six days earlier, presumably from Steve.
I hope to hear from you again soon.
Your friend (whether you believe it or not), Steve
"However," Ross continued, "if Stark doesn't feel 'up to it', we will be sending Natasha Romanov in his place."
Both Rhodey and Vision began to protest, but an odd sense of calm – or was it anxiousness, it was difficult for Tony to tell them apart these days – had filled Tony's mind.
"I'll do it," he said because there wasn't much else left to say.
Better him than someone else.
A/N: If you'd like to read more, please motivate me by sending me a PM or by leaving a review. :D Thank you for the lovely people who have taken the time to review the fic so far!