"Hey, old man. I've got something for ya."
The clank of a glass bottle on marble echoes briefly within the hollow of the Stark Mausoleum. The dust it displaces pillows out before resettling.
After a moment, and a bit of shuffling, Tony pulls out two clear shot glasses from a hidden pocket on his uniform. He uncorks the bottle and fills the glasses to the brim.
"This one's from your own collection, so bottoms up."
Tony picks up a glass, clinks it against the other and downs the shot of whiskey in one. The liquid leaves a trail of fire and he abruptly coughs.
"Shit, it burns. How can you even like this stuff? Yeah, I know, I'm not even legal yet. But you know, I'm old enough to shoot aliens in the head, so what's it matter?"
Unsure of what else to say, Tony heaves another sigh and settles against the tomb, promptly waving off more dust. After tossing the empty glass back and forth a few times, he slowly but surely finds his voice.
"Don't think I've forgiven you for shipping me off to the Academy. It was a dick move, and you know it."
Another sigh and he plops the glass down next to him.
"I still can't believe you got Captain Uptight-pants as my guardian. After so many years he still looks younger than some of our new recruits, and his personality is as about as interesting as the ice cube SHIELD chisel him out of; only an ice cube would've thawed by now."
Tony knew he was wasting time. He was given ten minutes. Ten minutes to resolve his shit. Ten minutes to get his stuff in order. Ten minutes before he ships out. Ten minutes to say goodbye.
Ten minutes is not enough. He hadn't visit since the funeral service years ago, but still. No one ever told him it would be this hard to talk to dead people.
"It's really happening dad: the swarm invasion; the Alliance; me getting hitched to an alien prince. It's fucking surreal."
He taps his head back against the wall and welcomes the sharp bloom of pain over the numbness.
"I read that damn Proclamation, you know. How the hell did you manage to pull off that I'm a 'Prince of Midgard' anyway? And when were you ever going to tell me that I got a dowry? A fucking dowry! It's the 21st century for fuck sake! Not the medieval ages!"
"Yeah, I know, watch my mouth. Sorry mom."
"I can't do this, dad."
"Marry someone I don't even know, let alone love? I know it's my duty but, what if the fancy Prince wants an heir and I can't provide?"
"I'm broken. Damaged goods. That bomb didn't just take you guys away from me and give me a shiny new jewelry. My heat hasn't shown up at all, even though Omegas as young as twelve are common enough. Sure, those know it all therapists say it's different for some Omegas, but that's just a fancy way of saying 'you're messed up and here's hoping it'll happen, kid'. I read somewhere that a rare few are born sterile; maybe I'm one of those."
"Look, can't you fix it somehow? Is there, like, hidden clauses in that damn contract you sold me off on? Old Nicky said you held them off for a decade already with that. Between the two of you, you must have some old trick up your sleeves? I know for a fact that old spymaster's secrets have secrets."
"Hey, Tony."
"Guh!"
Spooked, his right gauntlet palm, raised and ready, flash bluish-white in warning. Upon recognizing the interloper, he powered down immediately.
"I could have killed you Uncle Steve."
The other man rolled his eyes at the familiarity.
"It's Captain. We're in uniform, and no, you won't. It's time."
"Shit, already? One more minute, please. Please Uncle Steve?"
Steve disappear behind the doors for a brief moment before he poke his head back in.
"Two minutes."
The door closes and Tony is alone once more. Somewhat frustrated by the lack of time and his need for closure, Tony runs both hands through his hair. Releasing another sigh in defeat, he gets back up on his feet and straightens his uniform.
"Alright. So this is it. Last words: Dad, you're a dick. Mom, I love you and I wish you could be at my political shotgun wedding. Jarvis, buddy, old friend, I miss you terribly. Wish me luck; I'm off to get hitched to an alien."
With a last minute look at the empty crypt, he makes a slow trek towards the door and stops. A quick turnabout, a swift return graveside, and Tony swipes the remaining shot. The whiskey burns in his gut.
Now he's ready.