A/N: So, I have seen the new Avengers movie twice. I. Love. It. So, so very much. A friend of mine (and often co-writer) and I were discussing it, and one of the few flaws we found was not enough Tony-Steve bromance bonding time. So as I writer, I feel I am required to fix that, at least in my own mind. =D

The Son of His Late Friend

There were many things that Steve Rogers had found difficult after he had been freed from the ice. The world was greatly changed around him, his friends and loved ones were all dead – some in the war, some in wars that followed, and some even just succumbing to the passing of time – and he was left alone to try to piece together what might resemble a new life. The so-called Avengers had all gone their separate ways, but somehow, the Captain came to realize, they had managed to migrate back to New York one by one.

Perhaps that was why he now found himself standing on one of the top levels of Stark Tower. It was pouring rain and a bodiless voice had welcomed him at the main entrance – he thought he'd heard people refer to it as Jarvis, but he couldn't be sure – saying that if he were staying for a length of time there would be a room prepared for him. After a moment of hesitation, Steve had inquired as to if Tony Stark were there, and the computer had confirmed that the young inventor could be found on the landing deck. After thanking the AI system – he wasn't sure that he needed to, but it still seemed polite – he flung his bag over one shoulder and moved to where an elevator whisked him skyward.

When the door opened blue eyes came to rest on a dark haired man that was seated on the ground just at the edge of the overhead covering. Rain poured down a couple feet from him, but he seemed to be mostly dry as he nursed a glass of scotch. The bottle sat next to him, as if he had decided on one of his trips back to the bar that he would not want to continue the back-and-forth effort. Upon closer inspection, hair and clothes were damp as if he had been out in the rain at some point, and his feet were bare. He sat with his legs pulled gingerly up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and chin resting on his knees in between sips of his drink.

Steve made no sound as he watched the younger man. He found it difficult – very difficult – to believe that he was the son of his late friend Howard Stark. While there were similarities in the color of his hair and eyes, the same basic height and a similar build, and there was no denying that Howard's genius had not skipped a generation, the blond could not remember Howard being quite so much of an arrogant bastard. He put on a show, yes, and he had been a bit wild and perhaps just a little crazy at times, but it all seemed laughable next to the stunts that his son pulled.

When he had been pulled from the ice, Steve had managed to avoid looking into his friend's death. Fury had informed him that Stark was, in fact, deceased, but had left it to the captain to search further if he wished. He had not at the time, finding solace in taking out his frustration on a punching bag day in and day out. It had only been after he had met Tony that he'd thought to search out old newspaper articles. Howard had gone on to help create the nuclear bomb and to win the war. He had done great things, invented beyond most people's wildest imaginations, and in the end he and his wife Maria had been killed in a car accident. Some speculated that it had not, in fact, been an accident, but apparently Tony came by his heavy drinking naturally, so there had never been a clear decision on the matter.

Steve had found articles pertaining to the younger Stark as well, and after reading them he didn't know quite how to feel about the inventor. He hadn't liked him, at first, but then again he hadn't liked Howard until later either. He had thought that Tony wasn't willing to risk what it took to get the job done, but had been proven very wrong on that count. He had risked everything in the end. The newspapers weren't entirely kind to a boy genius. He had been a partier at MIT – very much under the legal drinking limit all through his stay – and had continued that trend even after taking over his father's company. Scandal after scandal was written, leaving Steve with a dropping impression of the man even after the battle they had all fought together.

But then things had changed. Sometime – perhaps three or four years earlier – the papers were lit up with talks of billionaire Tony Stark's kidnapping in Afghanistan. Everything that he had come to learn about reckless play-boy Tony Stark seemed to wash away, replaced by a man left very scarred by the events that had ripped apart his life. If he hadn't fought side-by-side with the man, he might have reflected some of the same confusing that the tabloids did, but after finding so many of the pieces things seemed a little clearer to Steve. Clear enough to think that he might have misjudged his friend's son.

"Hey," he called out without realizing he had planned to. Tony startled, looking back in an awkward way that spoke to the amount of alcohol in his system. His eyes were bloodshot and held the same haunted quality to them that Steve had seen far too often in his own time.

After the briefest of moments the inventor's lips twitched into a lopsided smile "Cap. Good to see you back."

"I hope I'm not intruding. You had mentioned that if we were ever back in New York City we had a place to stay here…" Steve's voice was uncertain as he spoke.

"Why would you be intruding at three in the morning? Come have a drink."

He hadn't realized it was quite so late. True, he had gotten a bit lost trying to find the tower – he could always see it, but the actual path to it had eluded him – and he had been standing there and watching the younger man for a few minutes, but… three in the morning? "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so late."

"Does it look like I'm sleeping?" Tony laughed, patting the spot next to him. He waited until Steve moved silently over and took a careful seat next to him. "I was thinking about you, actually."

"Just now?"

"Earlier. Dad used to talk about you all the time."

This brought a sad smile to Steve's face. "Your father was a good man."

Tony snorted, pouring himself another drink. His offer to share the scotch with the blond obviously did not extend to him moving from his spot to fetch another glass. "My father was an arrogant ass that only cared about his work." He paused, stared at his glass as if he were trying to decide something, and then knocked it back in one long swallow. "At least that's what I used to think. I don't know what to think anymore, and he's dead so it's not like I'll be getting any answers from him any time soon."

"You and Howard didn't get along?" Steve asked tentatively.

"Not so much that," Tony answered with a shrug. "He just was never around. Not like I could talk, but at least I don't have kids."

Steve frowned, shifting to a more comfortable way of sitting. "The Howard I knew was a bit of an ass, but a good man," he murmured, looking out into the rain. "I've been reading up on him… On what he did after I was frozen."

"Yeah? Find anything interesting?"

"A bit. I'm not really surprised about most of it. I… ran across a bit about you as well."

"Don't believe everything you read."

"Should I not believe the part about Afghanistan then?"

Tony's gaze turned dark and he looked out into the rain. It was as if he were forcing himself not to shiver, memories very obviously playing close to the surface. He gripped the glass in his hand tightly and lifted it to his lips to take comfort in the numbness it would produce. At least it would if there had been some left in the glass. He growled irritably and reached a shaking hand out to the bottle. "I was there for three months. I nearly died. I watched a good man die instead, and I got myself out." His voice was clipped as he spoke, eyes never flickering to meet his guest's.

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Not your fault." Tony shrugged. "What is it they say? What doesn't kill you and all that? Well, it didn't kill me, and believe it or not I'm trying to make my life count for something more now."

Steve sighed. "I misjudged you," he said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't misjudge you."

Blue eyes flickered over, finding brown ones looking unsteadily at him. "How so?" he asked cautiously.

"You're exactly how Dad described you and it makes me want to lay you out just one time really good."

Steve couldn't stop a short laugh that escaped his lips. Put on the suit. Let's have it out. "Hey, I gave you a chance."

Tony laughed loudly, the sound escaping him in an odd sort of way. "Wouldn't make a difference. You'd still be better, even if I could lay you out."

Steve watched his friend's son and wondered just what Howard had said to him to make him feel that way. The animosity had been there from the get go and Tony seemed to hide almost constantly behind snarky cheer. Not tonight, though, because alcohol is just as good as a truth serum. Better, perhaps. "I didn't fly through a doorway thinking it was going to close behind me and save a city by doing so."

"You would have if you could fly."

Steve shrugged. "But I can't, and I didn't. You can and you did. That's what matters. We can… each bring something to this team, I think."

Tony let out a smothered laugh, rocking back and half-falling, half easing himself so that he was staring up at the next level of his building. The goofy smile faded after a moment and dark eyes flickered to where a blond man out of time watched him carefully. "You may be right," he murmured seriously. "This may go somewhere."

"It already has."

Tony sat back up, dropping his glass to the floor and standing very unsteadily. He waved off Steve's movement to help and padded his way inside, out of sight. The soldier sat there, unmoving, and wondered just how much of that bottle his friend's son had drunk that night by himself. He might have asked why, but he thought he knew the answer. That look he'd received when he caught the young man's attention. He had seen it on the battlefield, especially in the eyes of the men that had been caught behind enemy lines and held. Held and tortured.

Steve was about to get up to go look for the inebriated inventor when the man in question swayed back, an extra glass in hand. This brought a small smile to the blond's face and Tony sat very heavily back in his spot, almost tossing the glass to him. "I bet you're a lightweight," he chuckled as the other man poured his own drink.

The captain couldn't help but allow a smile to quirk the edges of his lips as he held his drink up. "To making our lives count for something more."

Tony grinned. "With new friends," he said and they clinked their glasses together.

"With new friends."

A/N: So... I love reviews like Tony loves a good Scotch (and how I love a good Maker's, but that's beside the point.) Please, feed my review addiction.