"Tony." Steve announced himself, his arms crossed.
"Yup," Tony said in return, barely glancing his way.
"We need to talk," Steve replied curtly.
"Yeah, I was thinking, we should have given ourselves last names. Then you could address me by my last name and sound really official. I would be something cool, like Stark, maybe. I love Game of Thrones, I need to catch up-"
"Game of- what? Tony-"
"And you would be something boring, like, ah... Rogers. Yeah."
"Tony, shut up!" Steve ran a hand through his hair, "Why do you feel the need to act like a child?"
"I'm just diffusing the tension a little," Tony grinned. "You know-"
"Will you be quiet for a moment? I need to talk to you."
"Look, I've already had a lecture, so I'm not interested," Tony interjected before he could begin, bored.
Steve ignored him, "It has come to my attention that you spend your spare time Downstairs."
"All my time is spare. I've not had a job in centuries," Tony looked at him with a tired look.
"So you've been doing mine?" Steve raised his eyebrows, a hint of that silent anger ringing through his words.
Tony's face hardened, "You were neglecting it."
"It's not your call to make to save random people, Tony," Steve scowled.
"They needed help!" Tony raised his voice slightly, raising his arm and gesturing at thin air in an appeal.
"That doesn't make it okay! You were spotted! It sent the world crazy!"
"You can talk, Mr Angel of Mons. You expect everyone to believe the soldiers were hallucinating?"
"There's a reason I never did that again, Tony." Steve's eyes were stern, his jaw set.
"And why is that?" Tony sat back in his chair, eyeing him expectantly.
"I swear," Steve said through gritted teeth, "You're going to get yourself banished." He turned around, ready to leave the room.
"Have you ever asked yourself why you're the only one here who fits the uniform?" Tony asked his back.
Steve made no comment as he walked purposefully from the room.
There was a pause before Tony called after him, "It's because you have a ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio!"