Forgive Us Our Trespasses

'Cause you're the last of a dying breed
Write our names in the wet concrete
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me
I'm here in search of your glory
There's been a million before me
That ultra-kind of love
You never walk away from
"The Last of the Real Ones" – Fall Out Boy

**

"Hey, Tony."

The words were softly spoken, tentative and friendly, though it was the speaker that had Tony immediately freezing as he faced the holo-table featuring his newest project: the speaker shouldn't have been down here, if only for the fact that access to the engineer's workshop had been denied to all of the pardoned Avengers—and the fact that FRIDAY hadn't made a sound meant that this visit had been pre-planned and his baby girl had somehow been disabled.

The inventor slowly straightened, shoulders going back and chin lifting to meet Steve Rogers' gaze head-on as the dark-eyed man turned to face his one-time friend completely: there was a neutrality to Tony's expression, a blankness within the older man's gaze—one that immediately set Steve on edge, if only because Tony was never neutral. The genius always had an expression, a comment for everything under the sun. Steve shifted on his feet, weight redistributing even as he tried to offer the shorter man his best open, friendly smile.

"I know that the visit is unexpected, but you never stick around after briefings any more, and I think that it's time that we talked—"

The blue-eyed man trailed off, uncertain as Tony lifted a hand, interrupting the hopeful stream of words that he didn't want to hear in the first place. "Did you cause irreparable damage to FRIDAY to get down here?" the engineer asked and—there, right then, there was a spark of somethingthat flared within the brunette's gaze, bright and passionate and Steve could remember Tony looking at him and the rest of the team exactly like that. And it ached, knowing just how long it had been since the inventor had looked at any of them in a similar enough way.

"No," Steve admitted, voice muted. "Nat temporarily suspended her access to the Compound's systems. She should be fine with a reboot."

Tony's gaze hardened, dark brown eyes going flinty with collared fury. "I sincerely hope so, Rogers."

And--there, it was that thing that made Steve so angry, had pushed him into putting his plan into motion. That look in Tony's eyes, the carefully worded threat, the way that Tony didn't call any of his old teammates by their first names, not like how it used to be. The distance between the inventor and the pardoned Avengers was stretching wider and wider, deepening into a gulf that Steven was floundering at trying to cross, and the soldier missed Tony. Missed the older man at movie nights, missed the easy rhythm that they adopted between the both of them on and off the field—missed Tony's godawful music, his sarcasm, the brilliant insight he so often contributed to the Avengers' plans.

Steve missed Tony.

And Tony had never called, not once, not even when Steve had taken to always carrying the outdated phone in a front pocket—just... hoping. Waiting. Clinging to some sort of semblance that things would get better and all of them—his team—could move past this. But Tony never called.

"We need to talk, Tony. It's been long enough and you can't keep ignoring us," Steve eventually answered, finding the words as he gestured towards the other, palms up and showing that he was here to parlay, to bargain, to find the forgiveness that they both needed to offer the other.

The words, however, just caused the engineer to tilt his head to the side, neutral expression shifting to something... curious, academically so. Tony crossed his arms around his ribs, leaning a hip against the edge of his worktable, and Steve very carefully kept his eyes from flickering down to glance at the arc reactor that once more adorned the billionaire's chest.