Tony yanked his worn AC/DC shirt over his head and discarded it on the closet floor, rubbing the workshop grease off of his fingers onto his jeans before pulling the long sleeve shirt he wore under it off, fingering the hole in the chest before throwing it down along with his tee shirt. Glancing down at his arc reactor, the light faltered twice. He flicked it once, twice and the light continued steadily. He'd get around to fixing it later, when it wasn't 3 AM. He then pulled at his belt buckle, undoing it and allowing his too loose jeans to fall farther down on his hips. Pulling at the loops of his jeans, he freed his belt and hung it on a hook bolted to the wall. Rifling through hangers of clean dress shirts, attempting to locate a free hanger, he felt a pair of large, square hands slide around his midsection. Tony's body braced in response to the unexpected touch and his hands automatically went up to his assumed attacker's lower arms, gripping them tightly, as if about to flip the assailant over and onto the closet floor. His hands loosened as he realized who had gotten the jump on him. "Dammit Rogers," Tony half chuckled "You know you could give me a little freaking warning before you go all ninja Cap on me. Say something like 'Hey, Tony I'm about to touch you'" Steve pushed his nose into Tony's collarbone and kissed it lightly. "Well I could," he began to explain, planting kisses up and down Tony's neck "But that just wouldn't be any fun." He spun Tony around and pulled him close, one hand pressed to the small of Tony's back, the other to his shoulder blades. Tony pushed his thumb across his soldier's cheek and left his hand to rest on the side of Steve's neck. In the darkness of the closet, and the darkness of Stark Towers, the blue glow emitting from Tony's arc reactor lit up the two men's faces, ghostly and beautiful. Steve watched the light dance in Tony's eyes as he leaned in to capture Tony's un-kissed lips.

"We gather here on this day, to honor the tragic and sudden passing of a heroic and noble man." Nick Fury's voice faded into white noise, as Tony stood on the green of the cemetery field, watching the love of his life being lowered into the ground. He stepped forward, his helmet tucked under his elbow, and placed his hand on the glass of the unclosed casket. Spreading his palm over Captain America's lifeless figure, a single tear fell from his eye, cutting a path through sweat and stubble, disappearing into his metal suit. Tony bent his head into his neck and squeezed his eyes shut in pain, feeling the loss dig a hole into him, pushing further and further in. But unlike the shrapnel in his heart, there was nothing to hold it back, no science to stop the pain. The tears were falling freely now and the rest of the Avengers pretended not to notice. They had gathered one last time, for the funeral of a fallen comrade. "Steve Rogers was the bravest, kindest and most selfless man I knew. He will forever be missed. May he rest in peace." Upon hearing the last words of Fury's impromptu sermon, Tony roughly pulled on his helmet and, assuming the identity of Iron Man, blasted off into the sky. Leaving the team, and the Captain, staring wordlessly after him.

The meeting of a one Tony Stark and Captain Steve Rogers had been a fiery one. Tony, the rebellious modern era man, and Steve, the stick-to-the-rules man out of time. Nothing about them should have worked together. They had nothing in common. Different ends of the spectrum. Two wavelengths running on, never overlapping. And yet, they had. The reason they were so wrong for each other was also the reason they were so right. Steve knew pain like Tony knew pain. Steve knew ostracism like Tony knew ostracism. And despite everything, they completed each other. Of course, Captain America and Iron Man had issues. Who's in charge issues. What's the next move issues. Tony-youre-such-a-loose-canon-you're-endangering-the-team issues. But that was to be expected. The rest of the Avengers sat back and watched as Iron Man and the Captain stepped into each other's personal space, fuming and red faced and shouting. Thor would often ask questions, as to clarify the situation. "I do not understand. Why do they not fight to the death for command? Tis the easiest way." To which Clint would reply "'Cause they're in love, stupid." And then they'd turn their heads to look at Clint, now fiddling with his extremely interesting and relevant bow, and remember why they fought in the first place. Because they WERE in love. Even if neither one of them was ready to admit it. Tony and Steve. Steve and Tony. In a completely non-platonic way. They had danced around it for weeks, months, but surprisingly enough, it was Cap that made the first move, kissing Tony once lightly in his workshop, and then shuffling his feet and blushing scarlet. That was the first night they slept together. It was also the first night that they realized that they didn't just complete each other, they were at a juxtaposition. A personification of modern ways and the reserved ways of the late sixties. Captain America, ready to charge into a burning building to save a life. Iron Man, flying in after him to find out why the boiler had blown in the first place. They complemented each other. And without one, there simply wasn't the other.