So I wasn't going to post this until I had finished it, but I gave into temptation within three days. So. Here you go, yet another WIP from me. Pretty please share your opinions, with a thousand cherries on top!

**8**

"And you're sure he's legitimately dead?" Tony presses, flipping idly through news channels. They're all covering the same story of Captain America's death, and it's interesting, but rapidly getting old. They could at least have the decency to have different footage from each other.

"Very sure," the new guy says over the phone, voice oil slick and unpleasantly smug. Tony makes a face. "A guy can't lose that much blood and live, super soldier or not. Trust me."

Tony considers this. There certainly was a lot of blood all over the place. It wasn't a clean fight. "Yeah, I guess so."

"My armor's still covered in it," the guy boasts, as though walking around covered in a man's blood is something to be proud of. Tony supposes that, with the company he keeps, it is. "I may just set my gauntlets aside and never use them again. 'Snot every day a guy kills Captain goddamn America, yknow?"

"Hmm," Tony agrees, eyes on the screen as the good Captain gets impaled for the public's viewing pleasure yet again. There really is a lot of blood. And a lot of spikes. "You need a new name. Porcupine is just, no."

"Well, you're Iron Man," the guy who killed the Captain retorts. "You can't make judgements."

"Ah," Tony says sagely, observing the clench of Captain America's jaw as he dies. On screen, a group of SHIELD agents pick their way through the mass of dead bodies and kneel at his side. The Captain opens his mouth and says something inaudible, something with an O sound and an E sound. He'd like to think it's something pathetic like "help me", but the pixellated mouth doesn't close between syllables, and that rules out the M in "me". He's actually quite curious about the man's last words, considering Tony's been dealing with him for years. Maybe Steve will know - he's always been better at these sorts of things than Tony. "But I didn't choose my name. The press gave it to me, and that knocks my villain name about a thousand pegs above yours. You waltzed onto the scene, screaming your name. It's stupid."

Porcupine seems to really consider this. The television shows the agents dodging death by silver spike as the Captain takes his last breath. "Is it too late to change my villain name?"

"Absolutely," Tony snorts. He mutes the TV and stretches. "You broadcasted too much. There's no hope."

"Damn," the guy curses. "Is it possible to, like, upgrade?"

"Upgrade?" Tony echoes, amused. "No. But maybe the League will change your name to Capkiller, since nobody's really been able to so much as incapacitate him."

"Capkiller," Porcupine repeats, awed. "That's so badass."

Tony snorts. "Sure. Oh, hey," he adds as the SHIELD logo pops up on his screen. "Looks like you really did do it. SHIELD's announcing his death right now."

"Really?" The guy sounds thrilled.

"Really," Tony affirms. "I'll see you tomorrow at your initiation, Capkiller. I need food." With that, he hangs up and tosses his phone onto the table to his right. He's going to try to make dinner for Steve tonight, and that means hours of preparation.

Except, Steve doesn't come home.

At first, he considers it a good thing: he'd given up after ruining the last of the spaghetti noodles and charring the sauce somehow, instead ordering pizza. As he waited, he imagined Steve coming home, looking exhausted from his day at the construction yard, and sighing fondly at the box on the table. Then he would smile and crack a joke about Tony setting the kitchen on fire. He'd grab paper plates while Tony filled their cups and they'd eat together, playing footsie under the table.

After that, Tony would clean up the kitchen (again) while Steve hopped in the shower to wash off the day's grime. Just as Tony would finish washing their cups, he'd be swatted with Steve's wet towel and he'd turn to see his husband giggling like an idiot and running bare-assed down the hall. Tony would smile and drop what he was doing to chase after. When he caught up, he'd strip and let himself be tackled onto the bed. They'd fuck, warm and slow, taking the time to enjoy each other, and Steve would call it making love. Then they'd cuddle up together, Tony promising to clean the sheets the next morning, and fall asleep in each other's arms.

It's more or less what they do every day, and Tony is decidedly unhappy that their routine is being broken for the evening. The clock reads 11:14. He kicks at Steve's chair from his seat across the table. The pizza's probably growing mold already.

"No, it's fine," he bitches passive-agressively to the empty room. "Don't tell your husband of four years when you have to work late. It's not like he'll worry or anything."

Is it too early to ask Doom to locate Steve? Probably. It's just weird, is all. Steve almost never forgets to call.

Eventually he gives up. The pizza goes in the fridge, the lights turn off, and a quick note ("Come to bed, jerk") is left on the counter for when his stupid perfect husband comes home. He almost leaves his work phone on the table; thankfully (sort of) he gets a chain text from the League sharing the details of Porcupine's initiation, reminding him that he left the phone out in the open.

Cell phone on silent and tucked between the mattresses, Tony seizes the opportunity to stretch out across the whole bed. He feels like he's supposed to enjoy all the empty space, but really it just feels like what it is: an empty space, where Steve is supposed to be.

It takes a long time to fall asleep.