A/N: Post-Civil War, my Tony Stark feels have never been stronger. And yes, I love both him and Steve. Title quote from Chaucer.

He remembers that it was night, but it felt as though he were flying near the sun. Hammer ringing on metal, and Thor was a god but Tony ruled his own universe.

Steve had made them stop fighting. Steve, with his shield. Steve, who led them.

Steve, who knew.

Tony picks up a coffee cup, unwashed. The stain at its base is irregular, brown, splashed like dried blood. Tony hurls it against the wall without much energy, but it smashes anyway.

He cancelled three speaking engagements. Couldn't show them the fireworks of Tony Stark's rewritten memories. Dancing so close to the line of what's inside, for a few cheap thrills.

He didn't tell his father he loved him.

Steve didn't tell him that he knew.

He puts the Secretary of State on hold and smirks as he does it, the old Tony Stark smile. But Pepper isn't there to roll her eyes, Pepper doesn't know the whole story.

Nobody is there, nobody at all.

Tony thinks he's going to burn Steve's letter, but he doesn't.

It's night, it's always at night.

It's night because if you fly high enough, the sun gets blotted out. He said goodbye to Pepper while he flew like Icarus, bearing a missile.

He didn't think he'd make it back down.

Part of him wishes he hadn't.

Behind the pain there's unfairness, the fact that Steve Rogers is golden, has always been golden. And Tony, even in his own universe, is iron. Serviceable and hard, a tool to be used. But never beautiful, never precious.

Steve Rogers should be dead. He is almost a century old.

He has more friends than Tony does, and all without trying.

He's my friend.

So was I, Tony said. Because they were, weren't they? It wasn't fair—Tony should have been the one to throw away that friendship after the betrayal, Tony should have been the one to let go. But Steve didn't need him.

Steve's letter says he'll come back, if Tony needs him.

Tony staves off law enforcement, high-ranking government officials. The Accords are off the table. There is no table.

He doesn't know where this leaves him. He doesn't know why everyone leaves him.

I am Iron Man, and the crowd goes wild.

The crowd will always go wild, Tony knows. It offers him nothing.

His life has fallen apart in caves, in back country roads, in echoing bunkers with two or three other people. Never in front of a crowd.

He didn't think Steve would make that kind of choice for him. He didn't think Steve would be able to. He didn't think that the fight would come to them, a battlefield with only friends on it.

He did think Pepper would leave him—that was why he didn't let himself love her for a long time.

Pepper knew who he was, and she grew tired of it.

She would have loved him forever if he'd died in the New York City sky, above the sun, below the stars.

He made it back down.

He made a thousand mistakes.

He made too many friends.

He let his parents go.

Part of him wishes he hadn't.