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Tony's not expecting Steve to pick up, so when the call connects with a soft click, he lets out an entirely undignified scream.
Steve, to his credit, does not comment on it. He doesn't do much of anything on the other side of the line, but Tony knows his breathing, as insane as that sounds. Knows the pregnant silences between himself and Steve intimately.
He has no idea why he even called, except he stumbled upon the flip phone while he was looking for a glue gun for one of Morgan's school projects a while ago, buried underneath a million other things in one of the many crammed cupboards of the workshop.
And then it kept taunting him with its presence, day in, day out until he caved late one night and fished it out. Nothing wrong with seeing if it works, right? It's a piece of history, was Tony's reasoning, although one that wasn't of much use to anyone in the end. But he took it out, anyway, charged it, and there it was—
Still working perfectly, ten years down the line.
That doesn't explain why Steve picked up, though.
"I didn't know you kept it," he says when it becomes apparent Steve won't speak.
"Why did you keep it?" Steve replies which—
Typical of him to answer a simple fucking comment with an accusation.
"I'm a sentimental fool, Steve. What's your excuse?"
Steve doesn't reply. Hah. Take that.
Tony feels good for a moment but his good mood is short-lived. "Better yet," he continues, when the silence drags on. "Why did you immediately answer? You sit around all day, waiting for me to call?"
It's mean, maybe, but he remembers the day Bruce visited him in hospital and gave the phone back to him. Remembers the blind, stupid, relief he'd felt in that moment, trembling, weak hands closing around the dusty phone.
Remembers thinking it was just him that felt that way.
Steve had, after all, never called.
But it's not fair of him to expect anything from Steve. Steve has made it clear he isn't interested in any deeper friendship. It's nobody's but Tony's fault for expecting more. "I am sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No, you're right."
Tony's mouth snaps shut. "About what?"
Steve huffs out a quiet laugh. "About me waiting for you to call." Oh. "Though I did not expect you to call me on the flip phone. You know, being a man of the future, and all. I know you got a perfectly serviceable StarkPhone or two with state of the art voice-to-text messaging and all that jazz."
Tony blinks, caught off guard. He grapples with a reply for a too long moment, mind going haywire, and though he tries to fight it, anger wins out in the end. "Why is it always on me to initiate contact? Not to sound like a deadbeat dad, but a phone works both ways."
"Do you want me to?" Steve shoots back at him, taking the wind right out of Tony's sails. Damn him.
"That's—of course, I do."
"I don't think you do."
"What does—yes, of course, I want to hear from you!"
"Really?" Steve asks, after a long moment, and he sounds terribly young somehow.
Tony looks around his empty room like he's in a reality TV show. He has no idea what's happening right now. He hadn't expected Steve to answer the phone, and now here he is, baring his soul two minutes in. "Steve, of course I do. I miss you. Terribly."
Steve doesn't say anything on the other side of the line for a long moment. Tony would regret his admission, except he can't get the naked vulnerability in Steve's voice out of his head.
"I miss you, too, Tony," Steve replies finally, and Tony's breath leaves him in a rush. "I would like to stay in touch, if that's—if that's something you want."
Tony's too stunned to speak for a few moments, then he shakes himself. "Are you sure you want to be all buddy-buddy with me? I've been told I can be annoying in larger doses. Not that I want to discourage you here but—well, you know what I'm like." You don't like me, is on the tip of his tongue. He swallows it down.
"I know a lot went wrong between us, Tony, but I'd like to try. I think—I think maybe we owe it to each other after everything, no?" A pause. "I mean, I know that I have—"
Tony's heart jumps to his throat. "Steve."
"Right. Not the time and place." He breathes heavily. "But someday maybe I hope we can talk about this. If you want, if—"
"I do, Steve," Tony replies, just to shut him up, but he means it.
They fall quiet. He doesn't think Steve will speak again but he does after a moment. "Sometimes I miss you so much, my stomach hurts. I don't want you to be another mistake. It would kill me."
Tony's eyes widen, hand rising to cover his shocked mouth. "Steve."
"Sorry, sorry, forget I said that. That was—inappropriate." He clears his throat. "But I meant what I said about staying in contact. I'm up for it, if you are."
"I'd like that," Tony says finally. He clears his throat. "Very much."
"Okay," comes Steve's reply on the other side.
"Okay."
"Well, then—"
"Yes—" Tony shuts his mouth, then he opens it again. "Good night, then. Looking forward to your next call. Or text message. Actually, please do not call me out of nowhere. I usually don't answer. Need at least five minutes warning beforehand. And even then, I might not answer. Nothing personal."
"Got it." Steve's voice sounds amused. Tony has no idea how he knows, but he does.
"Okay, bye."
"Bye," Steve says.
Tony waits but he doesn't hang up. Hell. They'll be one of those people that go you hang up, no, you hang up, won't they? "I'm hanging up now."
"Alright, bye."
Tony really does end up hanging up because it's nearing 10 p.m. and he starts feeling ridiculous. He deposits the phone in an unused drawer near his work table, then gets up and stretches.
Morgan's fast asleep in her room when he checks in on her. He trails a hand through her hair, then softly shuts the door behind himself. Then he brushes his teeth and retires to bed, a non-fiction book on aerodynamics in hand. He holds off an entire half hour before he reaches for his phone, and there it is, somehow both unexpected and not—
A text message from Steve waiting for him.
He smiles, heart doing somersaults, and clicks on it.