steadfast_tin_soldiers

Yeah. Yeah, they fuck up. The fact that Tony uses 'we' makes Steve feel better about it, though, and he even laughs a little at 'we're really good at it'. "We were bound to find hidden talents sooner or later, huh?"

And he nods in agreement. This is probably something they need to talk about more later. Steve really needs Tony to understand what's going on in his head, because he's having trouble tracking it, himself. That's going to be a tall order, but Tony's surprised him with his perceptiveness before. "I'm gonna give you everything I've got," he tells him, "but you might have to pull some of it out of me sometimes. I'm trying. Just believe me, I'm trying."

But he is smiling again, a little awkward and hopeful, and he bumps his knees against Tony's as they sit and finish eating. "I'll probably paint you," he says. "Once I get a new set of watercolors. It's been a while since I had time for portraits anyway. It'd be nice to get back into it."

Because he doesn't want Tony to think he's only doing it because he complained. Steve will be happier if he's got some kind of art project going.

Steve settles into the bus seat like it's second nature, a contrast to Tony's squeamishness. He almost wants to be amused by the way he sits on the edge, but that wouldn't be nice. He considers a moment, then shrugs off the hoodie he's wearing. "You wanna sit on this?"

Steve-germs have to be a step up from bus-seat-germs, right?

Tony shakes his head, feeling perhaps just a tad foolish here. He has to will himself to calm down, to remember the breathing techniques he’d developed in captivity when he was covered in filth and carrying around an attached car battery. He knows nothing on here will hurt him. After they win a few rounds of Blackjack, they can get themselves a room and he can shower. All of these stresses have just triggered part of him that hasn’t reared its head in awhile. It’s helpful, though, that Steve is being kind to him.

Swallowing back the queasy feeling in his stomach, Tony presses to Steve’s side and, because they are obviously a pair now, and no one is sitting across from them on the route, half drapes across him.

He’s not one for PDA. He doubts Steve either. But it’s still better than climbing into his lap. Tony needs to keep at least a little bit of dignity.

At least the bus ride is fairly quick. The depot they pull into is half a block from one of the Casinos and though Tony isn’t sure he trusts something themed towards Rome, to Caesar’s they head, a few hundred bucks still in various pockets stuffed into tight jeans.

Given the day of the week and the time, the casino floor is not as filled as it could have been. Old women in sweat outfits and walkers with tennis balls on the ends plow them over trying to get to their favorite lucky machines. There’s no chance in winning there. They need to start small with single digit bets at the tables. Between the two of them, they should be able to double their cash quickly. Steve is just going to have to wait for his sports betting and high stakes wagers until tomorrow. Tony isn’t as young as he used to be.

Steve's relationship with the world around him, dirt included, is just tremendously different. Which is weird, because when he was young his immune system was shot. He probably should have been more wary of germs. He's been exposed to TB, in fact, although since the serum he doesn't test positive any longer. Yet another disease he can't carry or transmit. That's a good thing; he thinks his mother would be pleased about that, if nothing else that's happened to him since her death.

He makes a little surprised sound when Tony drapes across him, and he knows it's primarily to avoid contact with the bus seat, but it feels good anyway and he doesn't care. PDA is normally not his thing, true, but he's hungry enough for affection he'll take whatever gets thrown his way. "Well, okay," he says softly. "Consider this an open invitation to use me as your furniture whenever."

He doesn't mean that in a kinky way. It's debatable whether he knows it can be interpreted in a kinky way.

Steve seems strangely enchanted by the tawdry pageantry of the casino. The brightness of the interior lights in the midst of the day give it a surreal quality. He feels like he's lucid-dreaming. "Not bad," he tells Tony quietly, "but I get to choose our next vacation spot, okay?"

They'll have to buy chips first, and Steve handles that transaction, splitting the chips between them. They're going to get pressured to buy drinks, too, especially if they catch the eyes of anyone watching the floor because they're winning too much. "I'll come lookin' for you in an hour or so," he tells Tony. "Or you can find me."

Blackjack is going to be the best place to start, but if they play at the same table they'll just trip one another up.

It’s easy enough to play but harder to keep the dollar amount on the table consistently slow. Tony knows what he’s doing though. He can calculate all sorts of probability, not just concerning which of the cards will be flipped over next but also how many times he can safely win compared to lose so as to not around suspicion.

He keeps his hat on and his head down. His voice drops artificially and he doesn’t meet the eye of the dealer. He knows he’s very recognizable. He knows he’s on television a lot, that he’s the household name that Steve once was and will be again in a few days, but currently doesn’t need to worry about. Tony makes sure he loses his third hand, all but the ante to be in the next two games. He loses the fourth too, overdrawing by a single number to scratch and hits big on hand five. There’s another big win on hand six and two more losses before he tells the dealer that he must have cursed his luck with the table.

Two hundred to start has turned to a neat thousand, but doesn’t arouse suspicion.

He’ll play some slots next and drink, tipping the cocktail waitresses with chips before heading back to the tables. Craps his favorite game and he promises himself to stay for ten minutes only. There’s not a good way to win the game without rigged dice and he’s not that prepared. As expected, he ends up losing most of his winnings. His luck hasn’t been good lately, and losing money is getting them no where.

At least he’s made a convincing go of being a guy who probably doesn’t know what he’s doing, someone the security on the floor doesn’t need to watch. Poker is his final game of the afternoon and by the time that Steve finds him again, Tony’s cashed out for three thousand dollars.

Not bad. Not enough to get a free room, but he is plenty drunk and a little less careful about keeping his head down. It’s hard, anyway, when Steve’s turned himself back up. Tony is compelled to smile at him. It’s as natural as breathing.

“So I’ve done some thinking,” he says, shoving a wad of bills into the back of the blond’s jeans. “I’ll go anywhere with you as long as there is indoor plumbing.”

Steve has the advantage here of being good at looking innocent. He drinks a little, for the sake of appearing out of his depth, and very deliberately plays up his wide-eyed, wholesome look. To anyone who doesn't look too close, in dim light, he can probably still pass for younger than he actually is, and pushing the Brooklyn accent makes him seems like maybe he's getting out of town for the weekend for the first time alone.

Aside from that, his technique is similar to Tony's, alternating big losses with bigger wins, until time is up and he feels like he's gone as far with the charade as he dares, as far as he can without anyone in the casino paying him undue attentions. He nets a little less than Tony, but it's still a good start, and he's convinced he can play high stakes later on and come away with a lot more.

As he approaches Tony, he looks pretty mellow. He can't get drunk, himself, but he can get desserts, and it hasn't been long since he finished a piece of chocolate silk pie. When he gets smile at, he responds with natural, warm enthusiasm, putting an arm around Tony and laughing as he shoves money into his pocket.

"That so, dollface?" He's teasing, but he seems at peace for the moment, content and affectionate. It doesn't bode all that well for them, maybe, but there's something about Tony being tipsy that he consistently finds endearing.

He's going to have to curb that, long-term. He doesn't want the guy pickling his liver for the sake of looking cute. But for tonight, he'll take it. "Well, I guess we're staying here tonight." Both arms are around Tony by now.

"How about a quiet beach next time, though? Somewhere in Maine, or maybe somewhere off Cape Cod. I'll build you a sandcastle."

“How can we live in a sandcastle?” He’s not that drunk, but he’s seen Steve work small miracles and he wouldn’t be surprised at all if the blond was capable of building a house out of sand for them to live in. If Steve wants to visit New England, they can do that, Tony has already decided, one hand still in the other man’s back pocket and the other slowly moving up his chest and all too broad shoulder.

They probably won’t get to Maine or Cape Cod. There probably will be no sandcastles. They have never lived normal lives and they likely will not do so in the future.

It just makes Tony endlessly charmed that after all of this, Steve is still probably looking for the American Dream. Picketed fence, two point five kids, a dog—

Tony had dreamed of children too. He’d lost a child, sort of, but he’d also wanted a family of his own. The crazy grin dissolved into a tired smile. “The moment we have time, we’ll go to the beach and you can build me sandcastles— We can do anything you want,” he promises, leaning up to kiss the man that has thus far proven himself to be an endless well of affection. “But now, you’re going to book us a room and order room service and I’m going to get supplies.”

He doesn’t have to go far. There’s a gift shop at the other end of the lobby specializing in everything from flip flops and sun hats to condoms and lube.

"Well, I didn't mean to live in," he snorts, but melts subtly into the touch. Whether it's a come-on or just lazy, tipsy affection he's not sure yet, but he wants as much of it as he can get, either way. "But between your engineering and my brute strength, I'm sure we could figure something out."

He's selling his own design skills a little short there, actually. They could make some kickass sand sculptures if they collaborated. But Steve wasn't even thinking about settling down so much as a pseudo-vacation. Probably he still pays lip service to that picket fence, kids and dog. Something ideal, something simple and wholesome, but something that's not meant for him. He can't come home. There's still an empty room, made all the more silent once the strains of patriotic music fade away.

He's not sure what he'd do with kids, anyway. They're so...small. Delicate. He remembers holding babies for pictures on the road with the stage show and being terrified of crushing them with his arms, without even realizing it was happening. He had nightmares. That terror has faded somewhat as he gained control of his body, but he's still not sure how to handle a child.

Regardless, he knows that smile on Tony's face. People like us, we don't get a break, we don't get a retirement, we don't get to grieve, and we don't get to apologize. Except...except he is getting to apologize, and they are, almost, getting a break, a small one in the midst of war. The rest could follow. Maybe not the retirement, but there's no harm in dreaming about it.

"Anything I want, huh?" He returns the kiss with a shiver and a sigh. "I can come up with something better than sandcastles, then."

That's supposed to be innuendo. And if Tony's going to stick his hand in Steve's back pocket, he's going to playfully tug at one of his belt loops.

"Will do," he agrees to the plan, although it takes him a moment to withdraw from the embrace. "You need to try the chocolate pie. I'll get you a piece."

He books a room for them quickly enough, and brings Tony the extra key before heading up to settle in and order. Steve's room service order is bound to be far more reasonable than Tony's last one, both in cost and in nutritional value. There will be salad. There will also be burgers, though, so that's something.

It’s a good night, despite the salad. Tony has some, first clothed and then naked, and tries the chocolate pie too. He’s not a fan of the sugar but he eats a slice anyway because the blond is putting him through the paces with the work outs their getting. The room is standard. The view is of a parking lot. But when Steve stands by the window in the darkness, Tony can’t complain about not seeing the dark ocean cresting waves. He had no eyes for anything but Steve.

And why is that? The man is a fantastically giving lover, he’s kind and he’s affectionate. He’s also the last man on Tony’s earth and he could have done a lot worse for himself on that front. It’s not yet bothering him how easy this has all been. Taking to bed with someone is fine but Tony hasn’t slept around in eight years. Turn everyone to dust with a snap of your fingers and he’s ready to just fuck anyone?

He’s watching Steve, naked still, smelling like him no doubt, as the red digital clock on the nightstand flips over to three in the morning. They do a lot of their heart to hearts before dawn it seems.

“Do you want to lay out strategy? We have a lot of money to safely win tomorrow and a road to travel to Loki’s eventual counter attack site.” And that’s a lot of ground to cover in three remaining days before the invasion starts. “Or do you want to stand over there all broody and sexy?”

It's necessary, to have this contact, to give and receive a little affection. It's crucial. Steve's been a soldier for a while; at this point he needs something more to fight for than the American Dream. Something more than half the life in the universe, even. He needs the reminder that existence is worth fighting for. It hurts, soul deep, and he can't seem to shake that, but Tony's giddy, scotch-laced smile, the callused touch of his hands on his body, and the gleam of his eyes in the low light from the window seem to ease the pain, at least for a while.

He hasn't bothered dressing again as he stands by the window. There's a possibility someone's getting a free show, there, but the sill hits at about his waist level so he's not too concerned. Clothes feel excessive right now. He's trying to strip himself down to the essence, analyze where he's broken and patch himself up as much as he can, metaphorically. There are so many things he could say in response to Tony's invitation, but because there are too many, he hesitates a second, looking over his shoulder at him with a mild, tired not-quite-smile. Everything is wrong here except the lovemaking, he thinks. That feels right. That, and the jokes they keep batting back and forth.

This is why he needs Tony.

"My brain won't shut up," he explains. "It's a good thing we're both insomniacs. Let's talk strategy."

Or attempt to, at least. "I'm actually wondering how Loki got past your security before. Any ideas there? We might even be able to set up a trap, except we'd have to get around younger-you."

“You’ve got to remember that I didn’t know there was intelligent life off of the planet,” Tony chides, feeling his bristles a little bit rustled. “I wasn’t keeping tabs on all things SHIELD.” He moves the blankets aside to signal his more than willingness for Steve to join him once more in bed. Comfort is top priority. And who knows when they’ll get to share something like this again? Tony almost died the first time he encountered Loki. There’s a lot that can go wrong here. He could be well and dead by this time next week. He’s expendable, though. Steve needs to wield the axe to destroy the stones, not him.

He turns, soft white sheets piling over his hips, and props himself up on two over stuffed pillows. He doesn’t immediately reach for Steve the moment the Springs groan at his added weight, though. He just enjoys his proximity without touch and smirks at the earlier comment about their shared insomnia.

“Also, he teleports. And clones himself and... there’s a whole lot that I wasn’t prepared for. It means I can cover our tracks this time though. We can put a halt on Loki’s attack, keep Banner from Hulking out and still let him escape long enough to open the portal. It’s just going to take a little work and some well placed clues. In three days, the other Tony is going to bug the hellicarrier. And I’ll leave files that J can pick up, easy.”

Setting a trap isn’t a bad idea, though.

“We know where the invasion point is going to happen. And I know Loki is going to play boomerang from the Tower with me. We can set a trap there.”

And sue him. But he’s actually kind of amused to play chess against himself. Other than Banner, eight years past Stark is his only equal.

"Aw, Tony," Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, because it's both endearing and hilarious that Tony would interpret his question as implicit criticism of his security techniques. "It was an honest-to-god question. I wasn't trying to give you a hard time. None of us were prepared for magical Norse god aliens."

He slides into bed next to him, folding his arm under his head. His gaze flicks lazily over the prone body beside him, like sex-brain hasn't quite given full control back to strategy-brain. Stark really is nice to look at.

He brightens at the reminder of Tony's hacking skills. "Of course. You were in their files before we even started arguing. Leaving yourself breadcrumbs is perfect. Anything we need filled in, the younger Steve can handle."

"Mind you, younger-Tony is going to be annoyed with you." Assuming both survive, which they will if Steve has anything to say about it.

"...on that note, I'm wondering if disrupting some of the communications on the Helicarrier would be worth it. If we can keep that nuke from going live, it would be one less complication." He reaches out and cups his hand around the back of Tony's head, gentle and subtly affectionate.

"And one less danger for me to worry about you getting into." No Tony, you are not expendable. You're essential.

This single gesture finally sums up everything that’s been bothering Tony about their intense, freshly cauterized relationship. Tony told Steve, the night before, that he needed to be loved. That he needed to have someone to ground him in that way or he didn’t think he could go on for too long. Steve played the part really well: he’s promised him that love, made love to him, and managed to somehow pull an apology from Tony rather than an argument when Tony said something dumb. The Why has been nagging him since then, but it’s clicked. Finally. Truly.

Steve does love him. Loves all of him. Maybe the blond is one of those people that can and does love freely and openly. Or maybe it’s been a long time coming. It doesn’t matter the length of time as much as it does the truly real and genuine quality of that love.

Tony’s heart aches as Steve touches him, not because he longs for it as much as he feels almost guilty for cementing the blond to him like this. The sensation passes quickly. Tony is selfish in life and this is his life now. He wants Steve and he’s going to keep him. No matter how badly he might feel or how better he thinks he can do somewhere else.

Tony responds to the touch by putting his hand on Steve’s hip and letting it slide up the thick muscle of his side and abdomen. “We can’t risk changing too much. Let the nuke happen. I used to think I did it to show you up but honestly, it’s my proudest moment. Sounds dumb to say it out loud. But you taught me something about myself. It needs to happen.”

And if this Tony dies in the process? Well, he’ll be there to help out with the better parts of his accomplishments.

And there will never be an Ultron. There’s a darkness in Tony that likes that. He caused so much hurt. He brought on so much destruction. Maybe it’s better for the world if the younger him does die.

The inherent risk makes him nervous. Steve wants to pretend it's because a live weapon of mass destruction over New York is exactly the kind of thing he crashed a plane into the Arctic to stop. Which is true. But what he's really worried about is Tony. Younger-Tony, sure, but mostly this one that's lying in bed with him close enough to kiss. Because he needs him, and he wants to see him happy.

That's love.

He studies his expression closely, looking for any hint that he's on the edge of passive suicide, the way Steve has been off and on for...far too long. He's not seeing it, at least not now. No, and if it's such a seminal moment for him--well, Steve can relate to that. If he were offered the chance to go back and stop himself from crashing the Valkyrie, he's not sure he'd take it.

"I guess...sometimes the worst things we go through help to make us the people we wanted to be," he says softly, wondering if that's applicable here. If a decade from now they'll look back, still grieving, but grateful for the way this has shaped them.

He leans in and nudges his forehead to Tony's. "Okay, but can you program one of the suits to carry it unmanned as backup? If for some reason younger-Tony doesn't do what we expect, you're not doing it twice. At least, not alone."

If they go out, they go out together. And Steve isn't keen on the idea of letting past-Tony die, either, but if it's a choice between that one and this one, the one that he can sorta-kinda call his Tony Stark, well, it's not a contest.

"...you know what, though? The moment you really stuck it to me was before that. When I thought I was trying to be reassuring, about Phil getting killed, and you looked at me and said 'we are not soldiers'. God, I needed to hear that. I think that's when I really started fallin' for you."

Thanks to his eidetic memory, he has that moment on file in his brain, with perfect clarity. The quiet rage on Tony's face, the tension in his jaw. His vintage Black Sabbath t-shirt. Steve smiles and gives him a light, strangely chaste, kiss on the lips.

There won’t be enough time to make a new set of armor and Tony is not planning on compromising the two they’ve got with them. One is Steve’s and the other is his own. He has absolutely no intention of risking their lives and their ability to leave this era and start again to save a younger and, simply by that fact alone, inferior version of himself.

Tony isn’t planning on assuming his double’s life. He doesn’t want this Pepper (or any Pepper actually, her loss is still an open wound for him that he is refusing to acknowledge). He’s not planning inserting himself into this time line anymore than he must.

But he does know, through trial and error, through his own life and experiences, that the world is better off without him. He can provide for the world everything that they might need by way of clean energy and advancement in technology without having a Stark try to destroy the world simply because he always thinks he knows best.

He’s not going to let Steve know that he’s already formulating a way to keep the armor from re-entry through the vortex. Why bother when Steve is kissing him anyway? It gives Tony an out. He doesn’t even have to lie to the blond about it now.

There can be a little hum against his mouth, a hum that can and does honestly mean anything. Is it still deceitful? It is. But Tony knows that Steve won’t understand. They’re going to make this future better right? Well that requires a more jaded, hands off Stark.

“I’m going to need access to Stark Tower before we get going. That’s going to be a problem. Pretty sure I spent most of my time building that thing when the whole shit hit the fan,” he murmurs when Steve lets him. “So... I guess we need a diversion.”

Steve is mercifully oblivious to this train of thought. In fact, it's not even a train of thought he's capable of anticipating, which is good because the argument it would spark might be very loud. He notes Tony's lack of affirmation with respect to his suggestion about programming a suit, though. But he thinks he understands why. If they lose one of these, they can't go anywhere else in time to fix mistakes if this plan they've undertaken ends up in disaster. At least, not unless he manages to rebuild the whole thing, which might require a whole new Ant Man suit, and...yeah, there's a point at which one runs out of supplies, and re-doing everything starts to look Sisyphean.

He doubles down in that kiss, regretting they can't put more checks in place and wondering when he turned into the Avengers' Unofficial Safety Inspector. He jumps out of planes on a regular basis, without a parachute, forchristsake.

When he backs off of the kiss, he gives him a wry smile. "Are you asking me to provide a diversion? If he's in the middle of working on a big project, it would take something monumental to distract him, you know that. You want me to commit vandalism or go have a heart to heart with him?"

“Bad idea to let him see you before the hellicarrier,” Tony says, wrapped up in these sweet moments of mixed business and pleasure. This is the second time they had discussed strategy without much cloth between them and he has to admit, it puts a new dynamic on their working relationship. He shouldn’t love it the way he does, but he’s been mixing business with pleasure since Pepper and he hooked up. She’s been integral to Stark Industries even before than and Steve is almost like an upgrade to her. He knows that isn’t fair so he dashes the thought from his mind, but it’s true.

Tony hadn’t been able to give up being Iron Man. There had been absolutely no retirement despite what he’d told her. Multiple times. Steve is never going to want him to give that up, he knows. They can be and have been partners in everything.

Honestly, that he waited this long for these moments is insane. And that’s another reason to off the other Stark. He’d want to push his younger self into bed with Rogers and that won’t work to save Bucky’s life.

He can be a cruel man. Tony is sure that even Steve can see that through the rosey tint of his glasses.

“But then again... why don’t you let him take you to get some pizza. He knows a great place.” There really is no distraction like Steve Rogers. And why not give him a taste of what perfection might be without the sadness...? You know. Before Tony makes sure he never comes back through that vortex.

"Like how it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" Steve asks with mock innocence. "It's going to be a different first meeting for them no matter what."

He's not prepared to argue too hard. If Tony prefers he break some of his younger self's toys, he'll do that without any real qualms. He's just not sure there's much point in hiding from the younger Stark. Or maybe he's leery because he's learned from experience that being anything but honest with Tony ends badly.

His train of thought is veering wildly away from the direction Tony's is, then, but at the same time, he's feeling the contentment of the moment, lying nude and comfortable beside him and plotting schemes to save the world. It's not quite the rest and domesticity he'd like to believe they deserve, but it's probably as close as a couple guys like them can get. Tony's not going to retire. Steve doesn't think he's capable of retiring.

Slowing down and caring for one another in between fights ought to be a possibility, though. His hand strays over to glide through Tony's hair and down his shoulder, apropos of nothing more than affection. "You think so, huh? I'm getting a lot of pizza out of this deal. I'm gonna have to tell him I'm not the same guy he's about to meet on the helicarrier, you know. Other-Steve will give it away in a heartbeat."

“By looking pie-eyed and confused by whatever nickname the other me has deemed to call him?” Tony remembers fondly the way that they met. There’s allowed to be fondness in the end, even if there had been no fondness at the start. “Or are you going to try to have him head Loki off at the pass?”

There’s a small thrill of knowing that someone just like him is about to meet someone else who will be so important in his life. He doesn’t hate the younger man, he doesn’t wish him any harm really, and despite appearances, what’s to come really isn’t personal.

“I guess,” he continues, enjoying the way Steve is so casually affectionate, “as long as the head is figurative and not a performance piece, I can’t really complain.” He runs his thumb along the edge of Steve’s lower lip before he turns, encouraging the blond to spoon him. Tony has come a long way in a very short amount of time. From flinching at Steve’s touch to wanting to be wrapped up in it, he’s not the same man that walked into the last hotel with the blond.

He isn’t about to start singing about sexual healing but it’s got its roots there, he’s pretty sure.

“Let’s spend tomorrow making our nest egg and then you can go on a date with an earlier Stark vintage and see why a little aging makes for a smoother finish.” That makes his shoulder shake, pale, barely visible to most people scars actually catching the light. “Just don’t give him any ideas. Barnes is going need you. Not you-you— Stark won’t want to share if he finds out how good this is.”

"Pie-eyed, really?" He laughs out loud. "You know, that rubbed me the wrong way at first, big time. I couldn't figure out if you were making fun of me or not, without any cultural reference points. God, you annoyed me."

He closes his eyes at the brush of thumb along his lower lip--so, maybe he has a bit of a thing for sucking on fingers, does that count as an oral fixation?--but he is clearly more than happy to spoon up behind Tony. The height difference is ideal; he can tuck his chin into the other man's hair and fold his legs up against the backs of his knees.

"We told Rogers to make sure Loki gets out with the scepter, without killing anyone," he says. "Pitting Stark against him would be a disaster. But you were already ready to poke holes in SHIELD when you got in there. I think I'll encourage that. You were going to leave him breadcrumbs already. I'll give him a nudge. Tell him HYDRA has infiltrated them, I think. But without letting him know how deep it goes."

That has the added benefit of being backup, in case younger-Steve gets killed or runs off to find Bucky when he's told he's still alive. Someone will still be around to prevent Project Insight from seeing completion. And younger-Tony doesn't have to really trust Steve's intel to want to dig into it. He's inquisitive. It's his nature.

"You got a smooth finish, all right," he drawls in Tony's ear, deliberate innuendo tinging his voice.

And then he squeezes him gently closer. "The other me can have Bucky to himself. I don't...it'd be too much, even seeing him again. I gotta let him be dead this time. To me, at least." Watching a friend die twice is two times too many, but for the moment, the clench of grief in his chest is eased by the pressure of Tony's back against his skin.

"I'm all yours. I'll try not to give your younger version any dirty thoughts."

They hit the tables again just after a generous breakfast, though Tony didn’t think that they would need to split up today. He’d had his fill of cards and all he really wants to do is to sit back and watch Steve work. The sheer mirth the blond has whenever he gets to flex one of the more unique aspects of himself is amusing. By the time Tony starts on his second Bloody Mary, Steve’s got all of his bets in. They just have to sit back and watch the results now.

Needless to say, buying a cheap car from the more or less economically depressed dealerships of Atlantic City with straight cash it accomplished before dusk. The one Tony picks out is red with a decent engine, but no where near the sort of vehicle he’s used to driving. It has plenty of leg room for the taller blond and space in the back for their things.

Iron Man armors might fold up pretty small even when they’re not made of nanotechnology, but there’s only so much you can do with quantum realm capable metals.

Their car doesn’t stick out at all on a side street a few blocks away from Stark Tower, though Tony had almost given up and stuck the thing in a garage when someone finally left them a spot to swing into. He might not be the world’s safest driver, but he certainly has mad parallel parking skills. New York shines line a jewel around them, people swarm the sidewalks and the stars overhead are muffled out of the visual spectrum by pollution. Still, it’s a nice night. Tony almost wants to unfold one of the suits and take it for a spin. He won’t, of course, but he enjoys seeing New York pre-burnt ruins.

He leans against the car, eyes lifted towards the tower. “Don’t have too much fun,” he reminds Steve.

His cup runneth over, as it were. Just a little bit; not so much that he can't mop up the spill. Steve has so many down moments, caught in the undertow of trauma and stress and depression, that when he has an up moment, he gets a little giddy with it. Like he'd forgotten for a while, how good it feels to feel good. He drinks one rum and coke, for the sake of appearance, but after that he mostly drinks juice, which clearly makes the bartenders want to laugh a little. Still, he's pretty, he tips, and he's polite, so most of the staff has taken to him by the time they're done.

He makes a couple tactful attempts to curb Tony's drinking today, but he doesn't want to pick a fight, either, so they take the form of ordering him food and bringing him bottled water more often than not.

Once the money starts rolling in--and there's plenty, by the end of it, somewhere in the range of an annual salary for an average joe--Steve is ready to cut and run. He has no argument with Tony's vehicle of choice, although he does have to pause and ask if red is his favorite color. It seems likely, given his aesthetic choices. Obviously, Steve's is blue.

"I'm pretty sure the other Tony will make sure I don't have all that much fun," he tells him wryly. "You really have gotten less abrasive. Not that I have room to criticize."

Steve's brand of irritating tends to be preachy rather than sardonic, but he does talk too much.

"You be careful," he tells him, nudging their foreheads together gently, the next closest thing to a kiss. "Don't get in any trouble without me."

He retreats with a last sober, fond look, and heads for the Stark Tower entrance. He's not sure what to expect at this point, actually; whether he'll be met or ignored at first. Security is mostly automated, he assumes, although he's met Happy before in their own timeline and is on reasonably good terms. He finds the lobby empty, which is not a shock since it's after five, but he has to assume there are a dozen different cameras on him. He stands still for a moment, looking around, giving JARVIS a chance to get a good read on his identity, then touches the intercom button.

"I'd, uh, like to speak to Tony Stark," he says awkwardly. "It's Steve--it's...Captain America." Sigh. "Steve Rogers."

Though the lobby was indeed deserted, the state of it would give Steve an idea as to why. No one had quite moved in yet, with finishes still being finalized and installed. There’s a dozen or so tech firms already fitting out office and research space and Stark’s East Coast division is nearly up and running, but the Tower hasn’t even been fully taken off the grid yet. Drop clothes and string lighting decorate the not yet polished floors and the video screens above the built in reception desk are dark.

At least until a light blue sphere appears on several. That would be JARVIS, a visual representation of his billions of lines of partially self generated coding at least, and while it’s hard to tell the mood of a nebulous cloud of data, JARVIS seems pretty happy to see Steve.

“Mister Stark is currently occupied. Please leave the lobby promptly. Thank you,” JARVIS says, a bit more stiffly than Vision had learned over the last few years. The screens darken and several of the above lighting dims until it becomes obvious that Steve isn’t leaving.

There’s some silence after that. Likely, Tony and JARVIS are having a back and forth. The elevator to the far left of the security desk suddenly opens, revealing a more welcoming amber light than the bright whites previously shining down on Steve. Tony’s voice plays over the loud speaker system. “Okay, I’ll bite. Come up.”

It's funny, Steve knew the tower was under construction, but he didn't expect signs so prosaic as dropcloths and industrial lighting. Some small, illogical part of his brain was expecting everything to be sleek and futuristic, even if it wasn't complete yet. There's really no substitute for a good tarp, though, if people are going to be painting in your lobby.

Oh, god. It hadn't occurred to him to brace himself to hear Vision's voice. Or--not Vision's voice, JARVIS's, but it's a mild shock nonetheless. And maybe Vision wasn't the closest friend he's lost of late, but he was still a friend, and they fought so goddamn hard for him, it hurts to be reminded. Hurts to hear JARVIS and realize if they go through with their plans, Vision will never even exist.

He's a little slow to respond to the AI, but as the screens go dim, he says, "Hey, JARVIS. I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

He stays patiently where he is after the lights go down. He's not going to make a fuss, certainly not about to get violent, but he's not going anywhere, either, waiting in the low light with quiet confidence that sooner or later he'll get the response he wants.

And he is proved correct! Without hesitation, he heads for the elevator, removing his hands from his pockets so anyone watching can see he's got nothing dangerous on him. "Thanks," he says, and if anything it might strike Tony as odd that a guy who just popped out of the ice a couple weeks ago is so easily accepting of the technology around him. "Sorry to stop by after hours. This won't wait."

“Well it’s going to have to. Don’t touch anything.” Tony isn’t there. He’s working on welding a reactor to the bottom of the inlet so that he can properly power the building, though Steve will have no way of knowing that he’s underwater. Or that JARVIS is measuring up scans taken of the blond with the documents and files his dad kept on the guy. You know, protecting assets and stuff. Technically, Steve sort of belongs to him. Howard had filed patents for everything in Project Rebirth, including Rogers’ blood. It had just been free for the taking, Tony imagined, and with the original statute of limitations on that being a hundred years, Tony might even get to pass on Captain America to his kids.

If he has any kids. Hard to say either way at this point. Legal’s taken care of some messy situations for him in the past. Pre-Pepper.

Speaking of, he’s really glad that she’s not here. If this guy is the real deal, and intel gleaned from SHIELD and search alerts tells him that the guy really is, independent of JARVIS’ conclusions on the matter, then he really doesn’t want her around.

“Sit down. Black sofa not the white one.” Tony can multitask better than most, and that includes working under the Hudson and having a conversation with a former ice cube. “DUM-E will get you something to drink as long as it’s water. We don’t trust him with anything that isn’t clear.” Maybe he’s showing off. Maybe he wants to freak Captain America out with a robot. Or maybe he’s just extremely used to DUM-E and doesn’t think about how weird it is for the machine to roll up to a dead guy on his couch and offer him water.

He can't help but laugh at that, which is probably not what Tony was expecting, but maybe it will work in Steve's favor. If he can get Tony to be interested in the information he's about to give him, that'd be good, absolutely. But the main point is distracting him so Steve's Tony can do whatever he needs to do without getting caught. It's more important that this Tony's attention be on Steve than it is that he like or trust him.

So he rolls with it, shaking his head. "I'm overwhelmed by your hospitality. Were you planning on eating or sleeping at any point, or are you going to just spend all night working?"

He'll sit on the couch, no argument, leaning heavily against the arm and resting his chin in his hand. And when DUM-E rolls up with a glass, he accepts it gingerly and pats the robot without awe or fear. "Is this channel secure? Any chance this conversation is being overheard or recorded?"

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(( D: JFC Tony!))

((It’s been a hell of a few days for me. So I’m feeling mean. Sorry Steve and other Tony.))

((Sorry it's been rough! But I like the plot twist.))

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