"I noticed you were gone yesterday," Steve said. Tony sat on the living room couch, tablet in hand. No one else was around—the kids were at school, 3490 Tony and 3490 Steve were working, Thor and Jane had flitted off to Stark Tower as per usual, and Bruce had joined them. Clint and Natasha were—actually, Steve had no idea, but he rarely knew where either of them were—they slipped in and out of the mansion at their leisure, always quiet. Even Pepper was gone. So Steve, feeling lonely in the empty mansion and still not sure what to do with himself, had wandered into the living room and found Tony.
Of course, he didn't know how to talk to Tony. He had never begun a friendly conversation with the other man. They had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. And now, every conversation they could have felt like they were dancing around land mines. He wanted to get rid of that. He had enough trouble talking with Tony like a normal person without extra awkwardness hanging between them. He wasn't really sure how to broach this topic. In all honesty, he wasn't sure even what topic he was broaching. He just knew that all topics involving any kind of Tony these days were difficult to have. There was just no getting past the weirdness of their situation. At least, not for Steve. As ever, Tony appeared to be handling things with a cool head, an easy attitude, and a few inappropriate jokes. Tony just raised an eyebrow at Steve's gentle conversation starter.
"Yes?" he said. "And? Am I supposed to consult you now, before I go out, Dad?" Steve wrinkled his nose and made a bit of a face. He couldn't help it.
"No, of course not—and please never call me that again. I knew Howard after all, this is all still so…." Steve couldn't come up with an appropriate term. Weird didn't cover it. First he was transported in time to the future, and he was still processing that. Then, it turns out, he has to work with Howard's son who, in Steve's initial observation, essentially typified the 'rich brat' persona and was nothing of the self-made man Howard had been. And it was incredibly odd to know that the man, older than him, was Howard's son. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around it. And yet, he had to put away these musings, because the reality of the situation was in front of him. Tony was Howard's son, but he was by no means a child. He might have started on third base, but Tony'd hit three home runs on his own since. There was a ghost of history of the could have been still haunting Steve, and Tony was weirdly still slotted into that picture—he just had to learn to blot it out, to blot it all out. He was having difficulty coping.
Tony regarded him with a look that spelled suspicion. Caution. Perhaps, even, if he squinted, sympathy. But if there was any of that last there, it was gone quickly.
"Did you come to me because you need someone to moan at about the whole time travel thing and how much your life sucks because I'm really not the guy for that," Tony said dryly. Steve's jaw locked. He had a thousand things to say to this asshole and none of them were pleasant, except perhaps one, which was 'maybe I did'. Steve didn't know anymore. He didn't have anyone to talk to. Did he need to talk? He would have talked to Peggy. He would give anything to talk to Peggy. He would make a deal with the Devil himself to bring Bucky back. He could talk to them. Sometimes he talked to Natasha. Or Natasha talked to him, or tried to set him up with women at SHIELD. But mostly he and Natasha just joked, or were busy running missions together. Natasha was probably the closest he had to a friend in this century. But Natasha wasn't around.
"Pardon me for bothering you, Mr. Stark," Steve replied sarcastically. "I forgot you're so busy these days." He left, feeling angry and upset. Tony generally had that effect.
But then there was another Tony. A woman Tony. A Tony who was all snark and humor but without the sharp edges. She was funny and vibrant and ridiculously intelligent (maybe Tony from his universe was too—certainly he was intelligent, but all his humor was used to tear others down, all his vibrancy was drained by the press constantly in his face). Her words and attitude were never cruel. She was obstinate, obviously still a wild card, but somehow she made it charming instead of irritating. And she was his double's wife. His double, who had friends abound, who had clearly adjusted to this new century with ease, managed to embrace it and everyone in it, managed to move on and thrive. He worked a lot, but he didn't drown himself in it. Steve didn't like admitting it, but that was exactly what he was doing. If he was always at work, he didn't have time to think about anything else. Now that he couldn't work, he was at a loss.
He wandered into the kitchen. He was hungry. He was almost always hungry. He ate an embarrassing amount, and no matter how rich 3490 Tony and Steve were he felt bad mooching. Still, he didn't want to starve. So he got out some whole wheat bread, mayo, lettuce, tomato and some deli turkey. He was searching for swiss cheese in the fridge when he heard Tony behind him.
"Do they have pastrami?" he asked. Steve found the swiss, took it out of the fridge, shut the door, and shrugged. If Tony wanted a sandwich he'd have to scavenge for it himself. Tony looked a bit put out, and Steve could not fathom the audacity of that emotion given the present context. He set about assembling his sandwich. Tony got the pastrami out of the fridge.
"Ok, look, my default setting is dick, you should know that by now," Tony pointed out. Steve grunted. "Ugh, you're really going to make me say it, aren't you? Fine. Fine. Sorry, Cap. Look, I shouldn't make fun of the shit you've gone through. What did you want to talk about anyway?"
"Nothing," Steve replied. He took a bite out of his sandwich and started putting things back in the fridge—Tony was finished with his sandwich, too—he'd only put swiss cheese with the pastrami.
"Aw, come on, big guy, if you've got to get mushy with somebody it might as well be me, you don't have a therapist in this world," Tony needled.
"I don't need another therapist, Tony," Steve said, belatedly realizing that he was using his sandwich-holding hand to gesture sternly, which made him look rather ridiculous.
"Then what did you need? A superhero to hash out strategy with? A financial adviser? A techie to help you fix your laptop?" Tony asked. He sounded genuinely curious, and it just irritated Steve further.
"I could fix my own laptop, Tony, I'm not as helpless as you apparently think I am," Steve said. He put the bread back in a cupboard. He might have slammed the door shut with unnecessary force, but luckily it didn't break—a super-soldier proof house came in handy. Tony's brow was creased. He looked like he was studying Steve, like Steve was alien tech or a section of code he couldn't quite puzzle out. Steve shook his head. "I wasn't looking for any of those things, Tony. I was just looking for a friend."
Steve left before Tony could say anything else insulting.