A Little Sugar (In My Bowl) 4/?- a Superhusbands fic
Of all the people Steve Rogers expects to meet in his apartment elevator, it is not an extremely drunk version of billionaire businessman Tony Stark. It's like the start of bad romcom - those ones which Bucky says Steve would be perfect for - except that when Tony is involved, things are a little more…unpredictable.
Here on AO3
Previous parts (tumblr)
"If the results are bad," Tony says, "will you dress up in a sexy nurse costume and look after me?"
Natasha rolls her eyes, walking out from behind the monitors. They're turned slightly away from him, but he can still see his scans, rotating onscreen while the data processes. Figures flick upwards on another screen, calibrating into percentages. He fidgets on the examination chair, squinting against the spotlight above him.
"I mean, does Pepper make you do that?" he asks as Natasha gets to him. "Or does she do it? Or do you both do it?"
"Jealous, Stark?" she says, smirking, and pokes him in the ribs under the pretense of removing the electrodes.
"Not if you asked me to join," he says, trying to prod her back. She's too much of a ninja to be caught.
"You sound like a desperate ex," Natasha says, throwing him his shirt so it lands on his head. "And you'd do well not to talk about it."
"Firstly, there is nothing desperate about me," Tony says, sitting up. He's sore from sitting down for so long, and honestly, you'd think they could afford some proper chairs around here. "And secondly, do you mean I shouldn't talk about threesomes or your relationship with Pepper? Because I'm sure there's some sort of anti-fraternization clause in your contract, agent."
Natasha snorts.
"That's rich coming from you," she says, opening the door. "And from what I've heard, you've been doing some fraternizing of your own."
"Lies," Tony says, following her out of the ward. "I've been an absolute angel."
"I thought Steven was the angel," Natasha says, lips quirking up.
"It's Steve," Tony says, and then does a double-take. "Wait, what? What's Pepper been telling you?"
"Enough," Natasha says. "You realise his best friend is James Barnes?"
"Bucky? The cop? Yeah, sure."
"He also happens to be the liaison officer between SHIELD and the New York Police Department," Natasha says. "Small world, yes?"
"Guess so," Tony says. They've reached a deserted area of the building, with only the tap of Natasha's shoes accompanying them down the corridor.
"Exactly. So we don't want any awkward questions, do we?" She stops at the last door and turns to face him. "No matter how pretty the civilian is."
"Hey, I didn't – that's not –" Tony tries to rebut all her points at once, but she just smiles like a shark and opens the door.
"Director Fury will see you now."
One fantastic thing after another. Tony straightens his jacket and tries not to get too close to Natasha as he walks through the door. Who knew what that woman would do next.
_ _ _
"I'm sorry, what? The sniper's been dealt with but you're increasing my security?" Tony spins around on the wheelie chair and puts his hands behind his head. "You're not making any sense, Nick."
Fury turns around from the window and pins Tony down with his one-eyed stare.
"It's complicated," he says. "And above your clearance level."
"Excuse me?" Tony says, crossing his arms. "This directly involves me and it's above my clearance level? Challenge accepted. "
"You've got a challenge on your hands already," Fury says, sitting down behind the desk. He taps the surface and the screen lights up, documents opening up across the desktop. "And this one's a bigger bitch than SHIELD's firewall."
"And that challenge would be..?" Tony asks, spinning around on the chair again.
"Yourself," Fury says. Tony rolls his eyes.
"Heard it before," he says. "Can I skip the lecture and just get an actual report?"
"Here, have this one," Fury says, sliding several files over to Tony, who wheels in to have a closer look.
"Ah, my test results," he says, the screen familiar beneath his fingers. It was his design, after all – he could see the Stark Industries' logo in one corner. "Makes for great bedtime reading."
"I don't know if you understand the concept," Fury says, "but this –" he points a finger at the files in front of Tony, forcing him to look up. "This is not a joke. This is your life. We're dealing with the one thing I thought you'd actually take an interest in, but you can't even bother getting your ass in here in order to save it." He leans in, making Tony draw back. "You want a full report? Then you need to give us the data."
"Okay," Tony says, drawing out the word. "Do you want to loosen your eye patch? You sound a little stressed."
Fury sits back, lacing his fingers together, and his expression is both resigned and satisfied, mouth curling in a way that also makes it terrifying.
"You know, Stark," he says, completely ignoring Tony's jibe, "I'd be just fine with leaving you in your high-class puddle of self-denial until you kill yourself, but we happen to have a contract, and your work is not finished yet. So you need follow orders until then."
"Not my division," Tony says.
"I dare say dying isn't your division either," Fury says. "You know what SHIELD medical predicts for you, don't you?"
"Graphically," Tony answers. "They all have issues, you should look into that."
"They're not bullshitting you in any way," Fury says, and his stare is drilling into Tony's skull. "I'd think about that if I were you."
"Because that is so healthy," Tony says. There's a chill against his back, but he blames that on the excessive air con. "Look, if you just gave me a decent update –"
"Well, considering how little time you seem to have for this," Fury says, smug now, "I assume you're more interested in the results, not the process. So you can run along now. I expect the project drafts finalized by next week."
Tony blinks, and then realises he's been dismissed.
"You know," he says, hands against the table. "This contract has two parties. And it also includes your medical team – the supposed best – doing their job. And I don't really see that happening."
"Oh, they are the best," Fury says. "But like I said: you're a challenge."
"If you don't do your part," Tony says, "I won't be able to do mine. Which would be a loss for all involved, especially you. So why don't you think about that?"
"I'd tell you how much we've been thinking about it, but hey, above your clearance level. But I can tell you that we're going to do whatever we feel is necessary and I'll thank you in advance for your co-operation." Fury stands, looming over Tony from behind the desk. "Agent Romanoff will debrief you on the rest."
"I thought you were supposed to be debriefing me," Tony says, also standing. "But you're obviously having issues with your assigned tasks today."
"You're really not one to talk about assigned tasks," Fury says. "Drafts by next week, Stark."
The door opens, and Natasha appears, arms crossed. She seems to have some sort of telepathic communication with Fury, as if both of them weren't creepy enough already.
"Well that was a gigantic waste of time," Tony says, throwing his hands up and walking out. "And you wonder why I never come in."
"Just keep your head down, Tony," Fury says, and Tony pauses at the door. "Some things are bigger than you know."
"Hollywood messages don't count as debriefs," he says, and leaves before he can cave in and look back at Fury. He's been pirate-eye'd enough for one day, thank you very much.
Natasha escorts him out of the building, giving him a rundown of procedures from here on in. Tony's not listening – anything important will be picked up by JARVIS when he gets the files, and he'll filter it through to Tony. SHIELD headquarters is a hive of activity – Tony thinks of it as an actual beehive, with Fury as Queen Bitch – but Natasha leads them through like Moses parting the Red Sea. It's only when they come out of the elevator that they bump into someone important enough to stop her.
"Barton," she says, and Clint raises a hand, eyes flicking from her to Tony. He's carrying a cage-like container, cat-sized, maybe. Natasha eyes it, and he shrugs.
"If anyone asks, I'm Rogering," he says, and Natasha nods, continuing to the exits. Tony power walks to catch up, glancing back at Clint.
"'Rogering'?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Is that some sort of new SHIELD phrase?"
Natasha glances at him, and she's smiling like she's hiding a smirk.
"Sure," she says. "We love new phrases."
They've reached the doors now, but Natasha swings around and stops him before he can escape.
"I mean what I said, Tony," she says, and Tony nods even though he has no idea what she's referring to. "And Fury's right – keep your head down, okay?"
"Uh huh," Tony says, and puts on his sunglasses. All this staring was doing his head in. "Give me a proper reason and I will."
He walks out before she can reply, and he's never been more relieved to see Happy waiting with the car.
'Where to, boss?" Happy says, starting the engine.
"The apartment," Tony says, pulling out his phone. He can see Happy watching him in the rearview mirror.
"I'm fine, Hogan," Tony says, and Happy looks away, smiling a little.
"Just checking," he says and Tony grins at him. It's pretty real. About eighty percent.
"And I'm about to get a whole lot better," he says, and places a call. "Hey, Pepper, hi! I've just made an executive decision." He gives Happy the thumbs up and imagines the expression on Fury's face as he says,
"Let's throw the biggest Fourth of July party ever."
_ _ _
Steve is used to Tony appearing at his apartment unannounced by now. He seems unable to call or text like a normal person – or what Steve imagined normally happened. He didn't exactly have a multitude of people contacting him on a regular basis.
He still gets a little thrill from seeing Tony's name flash up on the screen, but he's not sure if it's because it's Tony Stark or simply because it's Tony. There's a difference between the two; Steve can tell, even if he hasn't googled Tony. He's certainly not going to now he actually knows the guy.
"Hi," he says, opening the door, and Tony takes off his sunglasses, smiling.
"Hey, yourself," he says, walking in. Thor bounds up to him and demands a petting, getting fur all over Tony's suit.
"You okay?" Steve asks, and Tony looks up at him, eyes sharp.
"Sure," he says. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know," Steve says, shrugging. "You just look…tired."
"That is a nice way of putting it," Tony says, flopping down on Steve's couch. "I haven't slept for three days and I'm probably hung over. Oh, God, it's hitting me now – yup, I'm tired."
"I think you need a babysitter," Steve says, sitting down next to him. "And a liquor ban."
"Your face needs a babysitter," Tony mumbles, hand rubbing at his eyes, and Steve laughs.
"Yeah, you must be tired if that's all you can come up with," he says, and Tony pouts without opening his eyes.
They sit in comfortable silence, Steve scratching Thor behind the ears, glancing at Tony to check if he's fallen asleep. He's pale and drawn, but even like this he has a certain poise. Steve blames his jaw line – it's like someone's drawn it with a strong, smooth line; no mistakes or hesitations.
Thor huffs against his leg, and Steve realises he's been staring like a creeper. He clears his throat, looking away, and Tony opens one eye.
"Okay, I have a question for you," he says, pointing a finger at Steve.
"Is this like when you rang me at two in the morning to ask about physics because…I can't really help you there," Steve says. Tony smiles and shakes his head.
"I rang? Oh, God, I need JARVIS to filter me. Was I drunk? I was probably drunk."
"I think you were just sleep-deprived," Steve says. "But you figured it out in the end, I think? You got all excited and hung up."
"Oh, yeah," Tony says, yawning. "Thanks."
"I don't think I did anything," Steve says.
"It helps when I ramble at someone," Tony says. "And JARVIS is getting too sassy for his own good."
Steve doesn't comment on how it's possibly unhealthy to converse with your own AI all the time, mainly because he's still slightly wary of JARVIS, but he's also incredibly impressed. He handled Tony with a snarky grace that Steve wanted to bow down to.
"Anyway," Tony says, sitting up, "I wanted to ask: what are you doing on July 4th?"
Steve's stomach does a funny little flip.
"Um…nothing?" he says, and then adds, "It's kind of my birthday."
"Kind of your birthday?" Tony repeats, eyes widening. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Steve shrugs, hunching in like he always does.
"It's not a big deal –" he starts, but Tony's rubbing his hands together, smiling.
"Of course it's a big deal," he says, "it's your birthday! This is perfect – I'm throwing a Fourth of July party, and –"
"Oh God, no," Steve says before he can stop himself, and Tony looks at him, cutting off his sentence.
"I haven't even told you what I'm planning," he says, and Steve feels like he's just kicked a puppy.
"Sorry, I didn't mean – that was rude – it's just…" he pauses, looking down at his hands. "Sorry. Just – rewind, start again, I won't interrupt this time."
"Well," Tony says, "I was going to say we could celebrate both and just throw a bigger party, but…" he raises an eyebrow. "You don't seem to be into that idea."
"I'm just…not a party person," Steve says. "I really appreciate the offer, I do, but…" he shrugs again. "I have a bad track record with parties."
"But my parties are the best!" Tony says. "Seriously, best of everything, whatever you want – food, music, alcohol..."
"I'm really not –" Steve says, and then doesn't want to continue because he can literally see the excitement draining from Tony's shoulders. "I'd just be a downer," he says, trying to maneuver his way out as tactfully as possible. Tony rubs his hand along his jaw, expression rueful now.
"It's okay if you don't want to come to a party with me," he says, and Steve blinks, because…what? "You don't have to sugarcoat it, I totally understand –"
"Tony," Steve says, getting it now, "no, wow, okay, that is not what I meant."
"No, it's okay," Tony says, half-off the couch already. "It's not like the press are ever nice to whoever I turn up with, and I totally just sprung that on you – I'm surprised they haven't caught wind of you already, to be honest, considering how much time we –"
"Tony, calm down," Steve says, reaching out and grabbing his arm. "It's not like that at all."
"Really," Tony says, and it doesn't sound like a question.
"Really," Steve says. "I am totally fine with hanging out with you, but I am not okay with parties. That's it. And besides, I'd be a boring person for the press to pursue."
"They always find something," Tony mutters, but he relaxes back on the couch. "But…what're you going to do for your birthday, then?"
"Oh, same old, same old," Steve says. "Take a break, relax, that sort of thing. Don't worry about it."
"Hm," Tony says. "Okay…"
"What?" Steve asks, watching Tony's expression go from sad to sly in a matter of seconds. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing," Tony says, grinning now. "I just had an idea. I need to go." He pauses, looking down. "Can I…have my arm back?"
"Oh – sorry," Steve says, and lets go, feeling heat against his cheeks. "So uh…hope the party planning goes well, sorry about before –"
"That's totally fine," Tony says, standing up. "You just keep being you and I'll be in touch."
"Okay?" Steve says, opening the door. Tony pauses, the two of them caught in the doorway, before saying,
"Well, bye," and leaving Steve alone again, with a very possible threat hanging over his head and the feel of Tony's arm still under his hand.
_ _ _
Even JARVIS is skeptical of Tony's plans.
"Sir, Director Fury strongly advises against –"
"Director Fury can kiss my ass," Tony says, rummaging around the kitchen. "Actually, wait, no, that's disgusting. Somebody disinfect my ass right now."
JARVIS whirs around him as Tony sets a glass on the counter.
"According to SHIELD medical, you need to reduce your alcohol intake immediately, sir," he says, almost cautiously, and Tony pauses.
"Really now," he says, tapping the glass. "Is that what Natasha was telling me?"
"I believe so; it's at the top of the list. Apart from the usual negatives, alcohol is also decreasing the effectiveness of the suppressant."
"This just gets better and better," Tony says, pouring himself a scotch.
"Sir, I really wouldn't –"
"Of course you wouldn't," Tony says, and drains the glass, letting the liquid burn his throat. If SHIELD was that concerned, they should give Tony a serious report, not this cloak and dagger performance. The question isn't if they're hiding something – they're always hiding something, their secrets have secrets – it's more a matter of what is it? Tony has made them come clean-ish on multiple occasions, and he's ready to do it again…but maybe not right now. He rubs at his forehead, which has been aching for the last few hours, and then at his chest, which is seeping ice through his torso. He looks down at the glass in his hand, now empty, and sighs.
"Should I update SHIELD or Miss Potts about your extended plans?" JARVIS asks. "They did ask to be informed of any developments, sir."
"Don't you dare," Tony says, stretching and heading for the bedroom. "I don't want anybody breathing over my shoulder."
"Of course, sir," JARVIS says, and the apartment powers down around him as he closes the door. He thinks about Steve and birthdays and I am totally fine with hanging out with you and non-parties before he falls asleep, full-clothed and alone, like he's always done.
His chest is still cold.
_ _ _
The Fourth of July rolls around and Steve thinks he may be safe. Tony hasn't let anything on, or mentioned his sudden idea again. They haven't discussed the party at all, really, because Tony doesn't seem to do the actual organizing. He just waltzes in late and gets all the credit, from what Bucky's told Steve.
It's a beautiful night; clear and bright and perfect for fireworks. Steve leaves the curtains open and sits down on his couch, stretching out his legs. He's fine like this, just…fine. No work, no chores, nothing. His mother is out of state, visiting an old friend, and Steve hadn't wanted to intrude. Or add to airfares. Bucky says he's either allergic to spending money or has a fetish for saving it. Steve supposes he's right.
But right now…something doesn't feel right. It sits uncomfortably on his chest, like he should be somewhere else, or doing something, not sitting here alone with Thor asleep in one corner. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but he doesn't want to deal with tonight, of all nights. He's in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, and this normally triggers him into relaxing, but it's not working. He glances at his phone, still and silent, and wonders if Tony at the party yet. No, he likes to arrive late and it's only nine o'clock. He's been sending Steve random birthday messages all day, but he's obviously busy now. Bucky is out celebrating, and he's known Steve long enough to leave him alone when it comes to large gatherings. Steve has always appreciated this, but now he's not so sure.
He puts on a DVD and almost falls asleep. He's been working too much, taking too many shifts. Tony's spastic timing hasn't helped either – but that's not exactly his fault. Steve could've just hung up or not replied, but he's never done that. Tony's brain seems to be wired differently from other people, and it's fascinating to talk to him, even if it was at two o'clock in the morning.
There are moments when he wonders why Tony's still talking to him, of all people. He didn't seem the type to humor someone for so long and Steve is pretty sure they're friends of some kind, but it still gets him sometimes, when he blends Tony Stark into Tony and realises who's sitting in his apartment.
There are moments when he wonders if Tony is just lonely.
Then he wonders if he is the one who's lonely.
Then he usually goes running.
He glances at his watch; it's now ten-thirty. The movie's still running, but he's missed most of the plot, and he can't be bothered rewinding. He glances at his phone again, almost willing it to ring, and –
It rings.
Steve sits up, staring, and then grabs it off the table because hey, speak of the devil, the caller ID says Tony.
"Hey," Steve says, "how's the party going?"
"I'm not actually at the party," Tony says, and he sounds like he's smiling. "Are you home?"
"Yes…?" Steve says, stomach flipping. Oh God, here comes whatever crazy idea Tony had.
"Oh, good," Tony says. "I thought maybe you were just lying and actually having a party without me – which would've been fine, by the way, but –"
"I wouldn't lie to you," Steve says, rolling his eyes even though Tony can't see him. "But seriously, why aren't you at your party?"
"Well…" Tony says, "I did turn up. But then I left, because I had other plans."
"Which were?" Steve asks, very cautiously.
"Come up to the roof and I'll show you," Tony says, and then he hangs up, just like that. Steve stares at his phone, and he's both incredibly wary and curious at the same time, which is making his insides jumble up.
He considers it for a moment, but there's really no alternative – he gets up, grabs his jacket and keys, and heads out.
JARVIS lets Steve into Tony's apartment and directs him to the stairs. Steve pauses with his hand on the door, more nervous than he should be, before stepping out onto the roof.
He's never been up here before, but he's sure it doesn't usually look like this. The whole place is decked in tiny lights – red, white and blue, of course – and one end has been decorated with in a similar fashion, with chairs set up around a small table, which is sagging under the weight of the fanciest cake Steve has ever seen. Tony is standing next to it, holding a bottle of wine and grinning.
"Surprise!" he says, and pops the cork. "And happy birthday, obviously."
Steve walks towards him, trying to speak but his jaw is still somewhere near the ground and he can't find his voice. The city stretches below them, a sea of glittering lights, and it's still breath-taking even though he's grown up with it.
"Is this a good silence or a bad silence?" Tony asks, pouring two glasses and handing him one. The liquid sparkles in the light, bubbles fizzing to the top. "Because I don't usually do this sort of thing, so…"
"Tony," Steve says, and then clears his throat because his voice has gone funny, "Tony, this is…wow. Just – thank you. You really didn't have to –"
"I know," Tony says, shrugging. "But I felt like it. Cheers?"
They catch each other's eyes as they clink glasses, and Steve laughs, looking away before he can start feeling embarrassed.
"I, uh, should have changed clothes," he said, taking a seat. "I didn't realise this was…happening."
"Of course you didn't, it was surprise," Tony says, sitting down next to him. "And don't worry, you're rocking the whole sweatpants look. Very, ah, casual-chic."
"Shut up," Steve says, bumping Tony's knee with his own. "Just because you were born in a suit."
Tony bumps back.
"That is because there's only one person who should be running around in their birthday suit right now and that is not me," he says, and Steve rolls his eyes. It's a technique he finds generally effective against Tony's more lewd comments, and it is much better than constantly blushing.
He takes a sip of wine – champagne, like they had during their first proper dinner together – and Tony does the same after a slight pause. They can see Stark Tower from here, clear against the night sky.
"I can't believe you left your own party," Steve says, and Tony laughs.
"Sometimes I don't even turn up," he says. "And I really only held this one to annoy some people." He shrugs. "After awhile I'm not that much of a party person either, I guess." He pauses, drinking again. "Must be getting old."
"I'm the one who's getting older here," Steve says. "Don't steal my moment."
"Oh please," Tony says. "You're like an old soul in a model's body. It's not fair."
Steve hopes the night is hiding whatever his expression is, and he drinks more champagne to avoid answering – which kind of backfires because it warms his insides despite being chilled.
"Besides," Tony says, looking at Steve. "I have spent enough birthdays alone to know it's pretty shitty without some company. Right?"
Steve looks back at him, thinking about it, and nods, slowly.
"Guess so," he says. "I mean…it's hard, July 4th is kind of America's birthday and that usually takes precedence, which is fine, but I don't really crowds, so…"
"Yeah, me neither," Tony says. "But screw America, your birthday is totally a bigger deal."
Steve laughs.
"Sure it is," he says. "Everybody all over the country is setting off fireworks in my honor."
"Well l will be," Tony says, and then claps a hand over his mouth. "Dammit," he says. "I wasn't supposed say that."
"No brain to mouth filter, right?" Steve says, smiling. "You've mentioned it before."
"Yeah, pretty much," Tony says, lowering his hand. "Hey, you want to cut the cake?"
He produces a very funny looking candle and sticks it in, and it lights up in an explosion of gold sparks, making Steve jump.
"Sorry," Tony says, not looking sorry at all. "I kind of invented it last night and thought it would be fun to try."
"Do I…blow it out?" Steve asks, staring at it. It's burning like a mini firework, but doesn't seem to be running out or harming the cake in any way.
"You can try," Tony says, and Steve leans forward, staring at it before closing his eyes and blowing. Tony laughs, and Steve opens his eyes to find the candle still burning.
"An invincible candle," he says, and Tony nods, also leaning in to look at it.
"Well, you can still eat the cake," he says, pulling the candle out and setting it on the table. "Whoops, now there's a giant hole in it. Sorry."
"That's totally fine," Steve says, and he can't seem to stop smiling as he cuts the cake and plates them. It has more layers than that Inception movie, and Steve has to lick icing off his fingers when he tries to eat it.
Tony eats like he's on a mission, and gets cream in his goatee. Steve points it out and laughs when Tony tries to wipe it off but keeps missing.
The candle is still burning as they devour the cake. Tony puts down his plate and sits back, checking his watch as he does so.
"It's time," he says, and Steve straightens, looking around.
"Fireworks?" he asks, and Tony nods.
"New York is about to see a whole new side of Stark Fireworks," he says, and Steve can almost hear the tm on the end. Their knees bump again, and Steve leans in, looking at Tony's watch.
"Three…two….one –"
Stark Tower lights up like a switch has been flicked, fireworks shoot out, expanding across the sky in red, white and blue. Steve sits up, head back, watching the clusters of colour fall in sparkling lines, more fireworks going off before the first ones can fade.
He's never seen anything quite like it. Gold patterns pinwheel above the buildings as each level of Stark Tower sends out a different set, one after the other, a multitude of colors flying upwards and exploding like stars. Steve can hear them crackling and fizzling from where he's sitting, the whistle of the larger ones as they shoot up to spell USA.
"Tony, they're –" Steve looks back down, strangely breathless, and discovers that Tony's looking straight at him. "They are absolutely…"
"It's nice to see someone can still appreciate beautiful things," Tony says, though he makes no move to look up.
"What, have you lost that ability?" Steve says, not looking away either, even as more fireworks light up the night in two second bursts.
"Oh, I don't think so," Tony says, and his fingers brush against Steve's, their arms touching between the chairs. "I still appreciate you, after all."
Steve finds that he has nothing to say to that, because now he can see the fireworks in Tony's eyes, brighter than all the lights in the city. Tony's fingers tangle with his own and it draws him forward – except that he doesn't really have to far move that far. Tony's eyes lower and so does Steve's, and it would be so easy just to close his eyes and…
There's a shrieking over head – another firework, no doubt, the biggest one – but neither of them look up. Steve doesn't think he could pull away even if he wanted to, which isn't a surprise because he can barely breathe. It feels like there are sparklers against his skin, setting off in his chest, and there's only one thing to –
The night flashes against his eyelids, blinding him like a sudden burst of sun, and Steve jerks back looking around, just in time to see Stark Tower explode into a fireball.
It's like watching a monster devouring a stick of candy. The top of the Tower is burning, tongues of flame shooting out from the sides. They can hear the roar of the fire even from this distance, the way the smoke is smothering the sky already, spreading out over the city. Debris is falling, massive chunks dropping into the streets below, and there is nothing, nothing they can do.
Tony is on his feet now, Steve with him because their hands are still tangled together. Tony's fingers are gripping his like a vice, numbingly cold. Steve tears his eyes away from the Tower to look at him, and finds Tony speechless for the first time.
Tony's phone is ringing, somewhere, but neither of them can move. They stand at the edge of roof, and watch the Tower burn.
