There are still things Tony thinks they're vastly unprepared for. The wind-up to Ultron's creation had been specifically about those things. And to have Steve put his finger in that bruise gets a wince out of him. They always do this to each other. Know exactly where to hit. It drives him crazy. But...

He also loves it. Steve pushes him, cracks him, like nobody else ever has. And now, at the end of the day, at the end of all of that whether they're bickering or actually fighting, they also then get to come home to each other. It's an intoxicating thing and yes Tony wants to hold onto it with both hands and never let go. But he's not sure about this. Trying to preserve himself early where he sees an outcome that's going to destroy him either way.

"I'm not giving up, I'm offering both of us a kindness we're not gonna get once we go out there," he tries to argue back. Tries to stay squarely in the lane of merely incensed and not angry. But it's too easy to slip into, especially considering he is bucking off intense rage over the very new and raw news that his parents were murdered. It's too much right now and he wishes Steve were anyone else. Anyone else that would've folded, crumpled, given in. Agreed with Tony and walked away.

But he wouldn't, would he? Because he's Steve fucking Rogers. "I ask you to make the best choice for both of us and you can't even do that." He finally stops cocooning himself, arms unwinding so that he can put his hands on Steve's shoulders. They probably look ridiculous. He has no idea what the two of them are even doing anymore. He just...

"None of this is easy. And if you think that's where I'm coming at this from, I don't know where you've been the past few months. No. Of course I don't wanna walk away. But I don't wanna lose the version of you that-" The words die immediately, lips pressing together, head tilting down for a second. The version of Steve that he loves. The one that loves him back. Endlessly. And the one that would always pick him, where others wouldn't. Pick him first. And the irony isn't lost on him. That this is where he finds himself, after always picking Pepper second so often that it ruined their relationship.

Someone else might call it poetry. He steadies himself and tries again. "We go out there together, like this," he warns, eyes up again to take in Steve's gaze. "We won't come back the same. I know you're not stupid. Foolishly hopeful, maybe. Sure. And I love that about you, even when it's worn out its welcome. But not stupid."

The way his shoulders sag just a little once Steve touches his face is nearly immediate. He's begun to rely on Steve almost too much for comfort since getting together- like a normal person should. Their relationship isn't normal by regular bounds, but there are things in it that are, that Tony cherishes and appreciates. Steve is his home, something Steve very handily reminds him is true in reverse. They've built something here that Tony doesn't necessarily want to demolish he just...

Doesn't also want to be let down. He wants to protect himself. Figures this is the "easier" ending for the two of them. Even if, as Steve stands there with Tony in his grasp, their gazes matched and unyielding, it feels like this is the worst possible thing to be doing in the moment. But Tony's rarely ever there. He's always sprinting ahead. Trying to figure out where it's all going. And he doesn't like the possibility of an outcome that will destroy them. If that's the case, why not just rip the bandaid off now?

But...

Steve's practically begging him not to do this. Will they be in this position, reversed, in a few weeks? Tony begging him not to take away his home? Their future? It's possible. It's a very real possibility that Tony wasn't keen to ignore. That he was going to let guide him through their separation right now but he really can't. Not with Steve so close, looking at him like that, telling him he doesn't want to be alone. How can Tony fight that?

"I love you," he exhales it almost painfully. If he didn't it would make all of this easier. If they were still working acquaintances at an arm's distance from each other, maybe even if they were merely friends. But now? Now he has to put Steve before himself. No matter where that ends up. Steve's picking him now, he might not later. Tony is helpless to do the same.

His hands slip from their perch at Steve's shoulders, sliding just a little down against Steve's chest. "One day... one day you won't have to be the one trying to talk sense into me. I don't know when that is, but one day. Probably." Joking again to ease the restlessness he feels squirming inside of him. Trying to regain some semblance of control. Of himself. "Gives you something to look forward to."

He still can't seem to unstick himself from Steve so a little obviously he asks, "If I tell you I need some time with this, there's no chance in hell you're leaving me alone, is there?" He's not sure he wants that either, really. He doesn't know what he wants yet but he knows giving himself some time to really absorb all of this instead of feeling it will give him clarity. The part of him that's used to dealing with everything on his own wants to take off. Run. And maybe not come back. But. The other part. That's used to having a home and a partner in Steve just wants to melt into him and let him be there for him. It's a struggle.

He feels like he did something right. Did the right thing for once, instead of the thing that causes the most destruction. He's not really good at picking the correct course of action in the seconds something is happening but usually he ends up at the right conclusion if he keeps working. His emotions are roiling right now and if it had been anyone else, if it had been in any earlier stage of their relationship, he already knows he would've severed the tie between them and left on his own.

But he can't. More importantly he can't do that to Steve. Maybe the revelation is a little startling. When Steve cranes in, when he smiles, no matter how small or apprehensive, Tony finally feels like he picked the right thing. Which should be obvious, shouldn't it? Because he's picking Steve.

"You're gonna have to work around me- I'm not used to- ...this," he says in all its painful honesty. "Okay? We're over the part where I try to ruin everything. Now we're into the part where I feel antsy." Which is a subsection of also trying to ruin everything. But hey, if he acknowledges he knows he's this way, it can't all be that bad, right? That's what he's going with for now.

"And that includes ditching. Saw right through that one." Steve knows him too well. The inclination to take off is very strong. "I don't even know that I necessarily want to be alone," he continues, rambling now because there's too much mess upstairs and he hasn't had time to sort through it all. He's frustrated and angry and confused and has about a million hypothetical tabs open in his brain. "It's a little late in the day to start reconn work on Fury. I guess I could put out some feelers for Hill. But I-"

He practically runs out of air, petering off and then taking a deep breath in through his nose. His problem is he doesn't know what he wants or how to abate this tangle of feelings without his usual methods. Which are, roughly, self-isolation and ruin. "At the risk of sounding like an insane person after spending a half hour telling you to go, I'm gonna do another one-eighty back around and say I'd feel better, too. If we stayed together." He is a crazy person. Oh well. At least he's trying to be as honest as possible. Even if that does leave him feeling exposed.

Starting to get everything prepped will stop the wheels from churning so hard in his mind, and it does settle him a little more when Steve offers to make the first reach out. If Natasha can't get a hold of them they'll go to Hill next. If she can't, Tony will do it on his own. Or maybe they'll bypass him entirely and go through the ruins of what was the SHIELD building at the Triskelion. If not there, there's several other hubs and-

And, and, and. Maybe he's not so settled after all. Already jumping to the next thing, nodding numbly all the while to Steve's offer.

He tries to shake himself free but it's difficult, even on a good day. Today is assuredly not one of those. Though he does let out a slow, amused tinged breathy noise when Steve mentions ordering in. "I was thinking about that. Before you came home early." Before everything got ruined. Might still be ruined. He's not sure there's any salvaging this evening. But it certainly won't get better if he keeps stewing.

The problem is he can't help it. There's so many things they need to do. He needs to do. All while trying to honor his promise to not slip away and try to carry on by himself. Do this himself. "Felt like a night for ordering in. Wanted you all to myself. Little did I know..." Trying. Trying so hard to come back into his usual self, if only to put Steve a little more at ease.

He shakes his head and then finally relinquishes his hands from Steve and steps back. Already there's a void created the moment he does. But the last thing he wants to do now is appear needy. Even when he is even on a normal night. "Just tell me what you want. Good Italian? Bad pizza? Chinese? Thai? Standard Americana fare?" Talking just to fill space more than anything.

As soon as Steve gives him an indication of what he wants- better yet a direct place- Tony pulls out his own phone so he can start working up an order. "So, enough pasta to feed an army?" Teasing him just lightly where it would feel nice to fall into their usual cadence. He's feeling highly out of sorts and it at least gives him something to do. Something to put his immediate focus on. Ordering food is a small thing but it'll at least get them on the road to somewhere.

That is at least until Steve offers him his phone to look at. It's a small gesture. Incredibly small, and he doesn't even have to do it. He could just tell Tony he asked and Tony would believe him, regardless of anything that just happened. But Steve offers anyway and that too soothes Tony's nerves if only a little. It might also be no secret that he can't help himself, scrolls up a little because he's just nosey, until another text comes in.

Her asking why. Something he stares at for a little longer than he means to. Very suddenly he's handing Steve back his phone. In a rush, "I don't know what to tell her, but not this. Not yet. Please." Not that he has to beg Steve for anything but some part of him is very quickly feeling a clawing desperation. There's nothing he can do about this yet, is there? So no one else should know. Except maybe he could. There's no guidebook to how to handle a situation like this.

What does one do when they're alerted their parents death was actually a murder? Should he put out a statement? Does he alert the company? He doesn't have any family left, not like that, so there's no one personal that should be told. Maybe Rhodey...

It's all such a mess and before he realizes it for what it is, he feels that black pit of grief and sadness slam into him full force. "I don't want- I don't want to keep secrets from the team, about what we're doing, if we do it. I just- I don't know what to say about it yet." He tries to steady his expression, school it into something neutral, but as he goes back to his own phone to try and go through and order food, his eyes, ever open and expressive, give just about everything away. The menu eventually fades into as much background noise as the rest of it and he's left staring at his phone.

He doesn't know what to do yet, but he always figures it out. This time won't be any different, right?

He's so in his own head and miles away that Steve reaching for his phone gets no notice. But taking it snaps him back to. A noise of annoyance is quick to clutch at the back of his throat, but it quickly dies into just an airy exhale when Steve pulls him in. The urge to resist is high, not because he doesn't want it or doesn't need it, he does. So very badly. Something he realizes the moment he's enclosed so thoroughly. But the thought of looking so fallen, so weak, that Steve knows what to do is about as warming as it is frustrating and embarrassing.

He's not a kid anymore. He hasn't been for a long time. He's been an adult longer than he'd been in childhood. Grieving his parents' deaths like they're fresh doesn't seem right. He doesn't want to. Yet he feels helpless. Driven by emotions far beyond his control. Things he can't sort through right now. He doesn't want to appear this way in front of Steve but it's a little too late for that.

Anger would've been easier. He should've stayed in that mode.

Now, after absorbing enough shock and thinking through it enough to know that reeling out of Steve's arms isn't the best move- not even for Steve's benefit but his own- he allows himself to just have it. In what he assures himself is just a selfish need rather than seeking comfort. Even though that's exactly what it is. He lays his head at Steve's shoulder, arms winding low around him, hands traveling up the length of his back before catching in his shirt and grasping there.

If there's anything he doesn't want to deal with right now it's this. And it's why through one painful gulp of air and the next he jokes, "Sorry. I'm not usually this much of a mess." As if throughout the entirety of his life he's been anything but. He soaks Steve in so thoroughly, even though his face is hidden at Steve's shoulder he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

And right into his shoulder without moving or letting go he offers, "We should order. You said you were hungry." They should, so he can get into the process of cleaning himself up and shutting all this off. Work. Anything. Just not this. But he doesn't move away. Not sure yet that he can while Steve's offering so much. He feels pathetic, but they're already there. It's already too late. He'll do damage control later, not really understanding that that's not something that's expected of him when they're this far into their relationship. This should be normal but for him it's just anything but.

"You said you were hungry," Tony says this rather than I don't want to grieve. Or maybe that he shouldn't. Or trying to just get out that this happened when he was a kid. Almost twenty-five years ago. Isn't that long enough to get his head right about it? Even if this is presenting it in a new light, he feels like he doesn't get to have this. That he shouldn't. And, more importantly, that he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be doing any of this.

That's why when Steve picks him up he both grabs tighter to him while also telling him some muffled message of don't. Mixed signals that get ignored regardless, even by himself. He presses his head into Steve's shoulder tighter, now more in shame than anything else. He can't believe he's doing this right now. In front of Steve of all people. It's embarrassing. It's terrible.

It's kind of what he needs. But Tony's the last person to give himself anything. He just definitely doesn't deserve this, does he? Steve in his entirety. Weren't they just fighting? Wasn't Tony just trying to put a knife between them to slow the flow of blood while he felt like it was inevitable, that their relationship right in that moment was taking its last few breaths? Yet there he is. Steve fucking Rogers.

Trying to make everything right. Refusing to budge. Infuriating and stubborn and...

"I don't wanna do this," he murmurs after a long moment once Steve's settled them on the couch. The words fall against the side of Steve's neck, more breath than sound. Tony wills himself to carve out a hole, to get all of this mess away from himself. Because he's not sure he can go into the field like this. There's no getting through it in one night, even if he weeps right now into Steve's shoulder. He's not even sure he's capable of it, really.

So he tries instead to contain it all, box it up and shove it back into the dark corner it came from. Even still, he stays in his spot, hands resting against Steve's chest, head in the crook of his shoulder. "I can't do this right now. When we're done. Maybe. Not right now." He feels like if he lets this all go now it'll weaken everything else and the further they go, the more truth they get, the more people they put down, it'll only make it impossible. He'll be a liability in the field, in a much different way than he usually is. And especially if Steve's coming with, he can't do that.

Finally, he decides, he knows exactly what he needs. "I need a drink." Something he's gotten much better with in recent years. But that doesn't stop the call for it in moments like this. Like the only thing that'll smooth out his edges so he can continue operating. Yes. He needs a very stiff drink.

He shouldn't, and he knows he shouldn't. But if Steve's not fighting him on it, it can't be that bad, right? Just a couple drinks. Which is more than one. But he already knows no matter what had come of it, he would have gotten up anyway. Still. Doesn't make it feel any less awful when he climbs out of Steve's lap, untangles the two of them, gets himself away from that immediate warmth to go over to the bar.

The one that all his spaces have. Even if he proclaims he doesn't have such a terrible relationship with alcohol as he used to, he still needs a bar. For entertaining, he'd said. They'll have guests over. They have no shortage of friends and coworkers and-

It's for him. The bar is always for him. Because no matter how much progress he might make, no matter how much he understands he can't be sloshed every hour of his life anymore because what if there's an incident, he still needs the safety of a good stiff drink. Like the whiskey he's currently pouring himself. The one he doesn't even enjoy because he tilts his head back and lets it slide down in one single gulp. Then he pours another. That one is to sip at.

And it doesn't make him feel better. It never does. But that's not the point of it. It's just to dull everything else around him. Or, tonight like most nights that he goes to a bottle, dull himself. The racing mind that never stops. "I'd offer to pour you one but I don't know if you like the taste of this enough to just drink it for fun." Because Steve gets no other benefits out of it. He sighs, after a slow sip, folding his other arm atop the bar so he can lean in. "Sorry I don't have another bottle of Thor's ale." Like they're celebrating. Like the two of them should get drunk for any good reason. "I'll have to ask him to bring some by so I can stock up."

He wants all of this to go away. For the two of them to go back to normal. With almost nothing in his stomach, too busy working today to really care enough to eat, the oncoming buzz should fix some of it, at least. Keep those turbulent emotions away from him so he can focus on... anything. Anything else. Just not this. Or maybe more accurately, not focus on anything at all.

He stays steady on Steve's approach though feels himself gripping his glass a little tighter. Almost like he's ready for Steve to take it out of his hands. He's not sure where the feeling comes from, and he doesn't really want to think about it regardless. That that's the only reaction he has is a bit of a blessing, a little relaxed otherwise as Steve nears, gives him that little kiss, even when he touches his hip. There's something grounding in all of them. Like they're carrying on and this is just a regular bad night. Like a meeting went wrong or they're having to write up debriefs about a mission gone awry.

This is something spectacularly worse than all that but it's nice to pretend it isn't.

He makes a little quiet noise of acknowledgement about Steve leaving and watches him go the whole way. When the doors close he finds himself raising his glass, almost headed for another immediate downing. Right in the middle of that motion when he realizes what he's doing. Steve's gone. He can down another and then pour another and nobody would be the wiser. His instincts tell him to do it. And it takes everything in him not to. He contemplates it a few moments more. Steve won't be gone forever. He could, he could, he could.

Maybe two or three, even. Just knock them back. Hell, drink out of the bottle. He thinks about it. Really hard. But it ends up with the thought that he'll get more drunk than he means to. He'll be a mess in front of Steve. Steve who's already seen far too much of who he really is these days and if he starts acting like that he might walk. Tony would get it. He really would. He doesn't want to be around himself, either. With a shaking hand he takes another slow, very concentrated sip, and then sets the glass down right at the time Steve reappears.

"Old," Tony teases, like he wasn't just contemplating drinking an entire bottle of whiskey and then possibly taking off. He can keep that to himself like everything else. It might not be healthy or even wise, or even make him look sane (which most would agree he's probably not), to just ignore everything that happened and pretend like everything is alright but with a little looseness filtering it, he's very keen to do so. Damn everything else.

He comes away from the bar, glass in hand again, and takes a seat next to Steve. The smell of food is overwhelming and powerful, not in a good way. "Technically I'm older than you, you know. I have wrinkles and greys. You have baby smooth skin and gorgeous golden hair. Don't talk to me about old. I think people think I'm getting away with something when they look at us." God knows Tony does. Knows that he doesn't deserve Steve but feels grateful and selfish enough to keep him anyway.

It really is one of the strangest occurrences Tony has encountered. He's been beloved by millions, fawned over, and been told every compliment that practically exists. He's bedded hundreds of people at this point in his life who have said similarly sweet things, even if only in the heat of the moment, and maybe even if they didn't really mean it. He's heard it all. But. When Steve says it he's reluctant to accept it. Shy isn't a thing he's used to being, and maybe it's not that, but some part of him just sort of gets a little nervous when Steve says things like that. In a butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of way. Something he's surely too, yes, old for.

"Do they?" He challenges without a thought. And this is nice. Falling into it with each other. "It's not like you were celebrating. Or. Aging. Which is what we're talking about." He takes another very concentrated slow sip of his drink, shifting further back on the couch, tucking his legs up underneath him. Normal night. They can pretend this is a normal night. It feels better, when the alcohol starts soaking into him like a sponge.

Makes him feel better. That's when he finally reaches over to take a piece of garlic bread, dipping it into some marina on Steve's plate, and then takes a bite.

"No. They cracked you open and you came out same way you went in." He lifts his hand, flicking an errant stand of Steve's hair from his forehead. "Perfect," teasing still as he grins at him lightly. He knows Steve dislikes that over ideal version of him that the public carries for him. But. Even if that's not quite who Steve Rogers is, Tony at least thinks he looks perfect. Unfairly so, at times.

"You're you. So. You know. Anyway you went in. Perfect." His hand falls back to his lap and he looks into his glass. It's quick. Snap of someone's fingers and that grin fades and a thousand yard stare returns. Like his whiskey might tell him some ultimate truth. And when nothing comes of that he just finishes it.

One tilt back of the glass and it's all gone. Burning all the way down. And he doesn't know why he does it but the next words out of his mouth might as well suck the air right out of the room. "I was having a party. When it happened." He recalls this with a little exhale of amusement. The grin returns but there's an emotional charge behind it that he's trying to pretend is anything but.

Yet his voice is casual, even as he starts, "I came back from MIT to spend Christmas with them, he and I got into it like we always do, and they took off. Like always. Don't know why I thought it'd be any different that year. Anyway. I threw a party and used all his liquor. Like that'd teach him a lesson. Then the cops showed up around four in the morning. I didn't even think to send everyone home right away."

It's worse than not talking about it, maybe. Pretending to be so blasé about it. Like he wasn't just a handful of moments ago close to a full blown meltdown. But how else can he neatly compartmentalize all of it if he doesn't carry on that way? It's what he's always done. Even if right now it's in effort of trying to do something else. Something far out of his wheelhouse. And... maybe a little of it is just this need. This need to get it out so that maybe the ache holing up in his chest will lessen a little.

Except it doesn't feel that way. It never does. It only makes it worse. "I drank then, too," it feels like this is admitting something. His eyes lift to Steve's but only for a few seconds at best before he looks away. Like he can't bear to see what he might think of him after all that. He feels antsy again. "Everything I could get my hands on. Threw up. Jarvis was in-between cleaning it all up and trying to keep me from taking a car out to the scene." He makes a move to get up, because now he definitely needs another glass. "You know. Just in case you ever had any doubts that I've ever handled something like this correctly." Tony's not sure there is a way to do that. But if there is, he's certainly never been anything but incorrect.

Grieve. He hates that word. Visibly. It gets a wince out of him, the way his eyes narrow, the way his head turns as if he can get away from it. Not Steve, though, who's currently holding on to him. Tony knows why. He's not sure if he wants to fight it yet. Very rock and a hard place. The desire to drink and Steve not wanting him to. He's not sure who would win. Right now it's Steve, but only slightly. And while he sits, he does so a little more angled away than he had been previously.

Walling himself off from all the thoughts about grief coming from Steve. So he sits, legs folded, both hands cupping his empty glass, aimed towards Steve, but looking down. That is until Steve gives him that tight little smile and he feels like, as usual, he's doing everything wrong. He can't stop, either.

"I grieved enough back then," this is a lie so momentous and ugly he feels bad saying it. But the reason he says is it because he wants so badly for it to be the truth. "And I know your memory's not that bad, perfect like the rest of you. Whatever the rest of it is, I can't do it right now." As he'd already said.

He's not sure if he gives in to this decades old wound that it'll help him. If anything he thinks it'll make his pursuit of the ultimate truth and making someone pay for that harder to achieve. He doesn't look at crossing over the threshold of grief to acceptance as something that will give him clarity. Just something burdensome that will only cause more mess.

"And... one more drink won't make me throw up. I haven't had a few in a while, but I'm still pretty practiced." This, though, is desperation. The last dying breaths trying to spark flame to the alcoholic he used to be. He can't help it. The need for a drink is almost overwhelming, no matter what it looks like. There used to be a time when it might as well have been that a glass had been glued to his hand. Like father like son. He should've just taken a few sips out of the bottle while Steve was gone. He doesn't see it as victory that he didn't, that he was strong enough to refrain at that point. Right now it's a hinderance. A mistake.