Tony had never been particularly good at reading facial expressions, though in all fairness, he had never put much effort into the task. At one point, he had attempted to develop a computer program which would distill affective information from a photograph of the face, but then he had realized that no one appreciated him snapping pictures in the middle of contentious conversations, so he gave up on the whole idea.
There were certain, frequently occurring expressions that he had a pretty good handle on: He could tell when Rhodey was fed up and when Rhodey was acting fed up but would really tolerate quite a bit more. He could tell when Pepper was about to give him more work to do and when she was about to complain that he hadn't done the work he was supposed to do.
Tony was really having a hard time parsing the expression on Steve Rogers' face.
It looked square-jawed and determined and squinty, with a good measure of deer-in-the-headlights and what-the-fuck thrown in. Steve's brow was narrowed and his lips were pressed together.
Unsure how to proceed, Tony cracked open his fortune cookie and munched on one of the larger shards.
You knew this could happen, thought Steve. You always knew this could happen. You should just be glad that your parents and Bucky and Dr. Erskine and everybody else aren't alive to hear it.
Steve felt a tightness in his muscles, the same urge to run that had possessed him when he had first awoken in the future. But he told himself, you're Steve Rogers. You're Steve Rogers and you don't run away.
You don't run away.
"I want to speak with Director Fury. I'd like to resign my commission quietly. I don't want to tarnish the reputations of the men I served with."
Taking another person's perspective was another skill Tony had never bothered to develop. "What the hell are you talking about?"
That was not the reaction Steve had been expecting. Now he had no idea what to say. He glanced to either side. The nearest people were a few tables away, but Tony wasn't exactly a quiet guy.
Tony started in on another fortune cookie. "Back up the truck here. So are you gay or not? I mean, Pepper's pretty good, but she's not perfect. We used to go to parties and play 'Really Bisexual or Just Likes the Attention' and she always did better than me but she'd miss one here and there. Or are you bisexual? Or you just like attention? Well, probably not that last one."
Now Steve really had no idea what to say. "I…" He picked up a fortune cookie package and turned it over in his hands. "I never, I swear…even, even when it was cold and the fellas would bed down in pairs and trios to stay warm, I wouldn't sleep like that because I didn't want to create any…" And he didn't. Always said that he was the C.O. and it wouldn't be proper, even if sometimes Bucky wanted to when he was stuck on thinking about Schmidt's prison and even if he never felt that way about Bucky and Bucky never felt that way about him.
"Seriously? Man, that's the oldest trick in the book. I used to do that when I was in college, tell a cute little coed that the heat was on the fritz and we should probably share a blanket and next thing you know," Tony snapped his fingers and smirked.
"I would never."
Tony shrugged. "What's your fortune?"
Steve opened the package and cracked the cookie. "It says, 'Gambling will bring you much sorrow.' and then on the other side it says my lucky numbers are 2, 5, 10, 11, 14, and 29."
"Well, that's some mixed fucking messages, right there."
They smashed the rest of the cookies and made stupid jokes about the fortunes.
"May your vision be as wide as your promise…in bed," said Tony.
"That doesn't even make sense."
"You do one."
"The wind that buckles the trees also stirs the waves…in bed." Steve scratched his head. "Maybe I'm just missing something."
"Normally this works." Tony looked personally offended that this batch of fortune cookies was not readily conforming to prepositional-phrase based humor. He sifted through the smashed cookie bits. "Oh, here's one. The man who is both firm and yielding succeeds at his task in bed." He tossed the fortune on the table. "Finally. Usually they all work."
Steve laughed, if only slightly. "So," he said, "what happens now?"
"It's up to you. We could go to Sears so you can see all the different appliances and tools and stuff. I really think we should watch Ghostbusters at some point, but it doesn't have to be today. Hell, we could fly to Florida and go to Disneyland if you really want. I have to admit, the thought of you riding the teacups does kind of crack me up."
"No, I meant, what are you going to tell Director Fury?"
Tony finally realized what he was being asked. "They have you studying history, don't they? Wasn't there anything in there about gay rights?" But as he was speaking, Tony realized that maybe there wasn't. Maybe they were just using textbooks, and if his own from high school and college were any example, they probably skipped the subject entirely. (Or so he assumed; he admittedly hadn't actually read them.)
Steve shook his head. "I thought things might be different now, because of those men I saw at the bus stop, but I didn't think-"
"It's utterly different. You can serve openly, legally speaking anyways – it might not be a wise PR move, but you can always finesse those things, believe me. Hell, you can get married if you want. I won't say nobody gives you grief about it, but most people don't, and the people who do are widely regarded as assholes."
"You can't joke about this, Tony. Please don't joke about this."
Tony found himself feeling oddly protective, which was ridiculous because Steve could easily snap him in half, but it occurred to Tony that even though Steve was born years and years before him, Steve was a good decade and a half younger in real terms. "Come on," he stood, "I'll buy you a drink."
"It's 1:30 in the afternoon."
"Never argue with me about alcohol."
"So," said Tony, putting a hand on Pepper's thigh, "you were right."
"I often am." She tipped her head back and kissed his nose. "What was I right about now?"
"Captain America's a little light in the loafers. More than a little. He-"
Pepper spun around. "You talked to him about it? Didn't I tell you to leave it alone? Oh god," she sighed, "you probably traumatized the poor man."
"I did not! I just…" Tony trailed off because it was difficult to describe the uneven blend of alcohol, fragmentary conversation, and Hanna Barbera cartoons that had comprised his afternoon with Steve. He ran his fingers along Pepper's leg instead.
She stood up, brushing his hand away. "I've got a meeting in L.A. at 9:15 tomorrow. Remember? The Lawson account?"
"Sure," he nodded absently, "Lawson account."
"You did write up your prospectus, didn't you?"
Tony was not an angry drunk by any stretch - though he could be a little mean when he was hungover - but it was still best for him to avoid serious conversation because he had a tendency to burst into bouts of unprovoked giggling, a behavior which tended to derail solemn discussion.
Apparently, the word 'prospectus' was hilarious.
"Tony, I gave you one thing to do. You had one responsibility. And tomorrow, I'm going to fly to L.A. and tell them what? That we really want their investment and we have no idea what we're going to do with it?"
"Well, I'm SORRY." Tony might have been shouting a little, another effect of the alcohol. "I'm sorry, I was too busy TRAUMATIZING Captain AMERICA."
They say you shouldn't go to bed angry, but Pepper had a 5am flight. Tony just didn't go to bed.
Steve closed his eyes to fix the image in his mind, then he lowered his pencil to his sketchbook and with a smile, he began to draw Howard Stark.
Please note that the Steve's first fortune is based on one I actually got years ago.
