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Steve, Thor, and Natasha are already fully laughing at them when Clint asks “Is this when I make the obligatory how many PhDs does it take to light a fire joke or are we waiting until after we’ve all missed the ball drop?”

“Hardy har har,” Tony responds, half-hearted at best. He pokes at the logs at the base of the fireplace dejectedly. “Just because you can’t appreciate my application of the scientific method doesn’t mean that we aren’t going to get this done.”At this point, not one single person is bothering to suppress their laughter and Anderson Cooper’s live coverage of Times Square has been long forgotten. The common room is dark and cool, the only light coming from the TV flashing between the ball waiting to drop and the poor freezing tourists. Nat and Clint are pressed together, shoulder to knee, on the loveseat beneath an impressive mound of blankets while Steve and Thor sit on the couch in their t shirts and thin cotton pajama pants like it isn’t thirteen degrees outside.

Tony himself is wearing two sweaters over his flannel PJs and Bruce is wearing the same, though his sweaters are obscured by the fact that the entire top half of his body is currently up the chimney. 

“Tony, I don’t see anything wrong up here!” Bruce’s voice reverberates against the metal sides of the flue and causes a small storm of soot to come raining down onto their sad, fireless pile of logs and kindling. The laughter, to say the least, does not subside.

This time ten years ago Tony had been in a Tom Ford suit, at a gala that cost more per plate than most make in a year, smooth talking a professional tennis player. But as he watches the soot roll down Bruce’s pant leg – navy blue fleece with tiny grey atoms – and gives up his pride in favor of chuckling at himself, he wonders if his past self would have even believed how much better this all is.

“Bruce, I think the stupid thing’s defective,” Tony says, tapping at the base of the fireplace with a wrench from his open toolkit. “I’ll design a better one in the morni-“

“Honey, the damper isn’t closed.”

Tony swivels his head to see Betty, holding a plate of mini quiches and staring at them with a look that some would call piteous. He can hear Steve’s sharp spike of laughter as his face falls and Bruce plops out onto the floor beside him with a simple “Oh.” Clint groans in disappointment.

“That had the potential to be quality entertainment for the rest of the night,” Clint grouses as Betty presses a single button and places the quiches down like they hadn’t been working on the fireplace for the past hour.

“Give it a few minutes and the next time you light the fire it won’t go out,” she whispers delicately, grabbing Bruce by the hand and pulling him back to the couch with her as she moves away from the fireplace.

Steve gets up to offer Tony a hand up and a smile that is nothing but affectionate as he says “You losing your touch?” and Tony is too damn happy to care anymore. He takes Steve’s hand goes up into his husband’s arms without complaint.

“Maybe with fireplaces. But if that’s all, I think the world will somehow learn to survive with my vast knowledge physics and engineering alone,” Tony replies, following Steve’s lead to the nearest armchair.

Tony’s half in Steve’s lap, half on the chair. Steve is warm beneath him and presses an even warmer kiss to the bottom of his jaw and asks “Ready for 2020?”

Thor and Clint are counting down aloud and Natasha is tapping her foot along to the beat of their counting.

Tony looks down at his husband and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the blonde fringe away from his eyes. They’re just as beautiful and blue as ever and his gaze is half-hooded, cozy and warm.

“Yeah,” Tony says simply, pressing his lips to Steve’s as the ball hits the ground and all sound is reduced to the cheers from the screen and Thor bellowing “Happy New Year, Midguard!”

And Tony really is.

…

It’s blizzarding in the way it always does during February in New York and it makes the tower feel like the inside of a snow globe. Quiet, muffled wind whips against the windows and it’s so soothing Tony almost feels like melting into the couch for a long nap. Steve, Natasha, and Clint are away on a minor recon mission that Tony knows they could do in their sleep. Tony just dropped by Bruce and Betty’s quarters and found Bruce bundled in a blanket and quietly reading a book on Marie Curie.

Everyone was safe. Tony had slept eight hours last night. The snow was still an untouched blanket over the city. Looking down at it all, Tony takes a deep breath and revels in the rare moment of peace.

Time slips by and when the elevator door dings behind Tony he actually jumps a little. He turns, expecting to see Betty, and can’t help the minor bolt of panic he feels when he finds Rhodey instead. Much to his chagrin, something must show on his face, because before he even says hello Rhodey says, “Nothing’s wrong!”

He’s covered in snow that he’s currently tracking through the tower’s common area but he smiles wide and genuine as he peels his hat off and drops it on a nearby end table. “I was in town. I didn’t think I would have time to stop by but my flight back to DC got cancelled with all of this,” he says gesturing out the window. “I thought I’d stop by and see you.”

“Awww apple muffin, you do care!” And as exaggerated as his sickly-sweet tone is, Tony is genuinely touched that Rhodey cares. That he walked through a blizzard for Tony. That he searched a desert for him. That he put up with him was he was an awkward, obnoxious fifteen-year-old stumbling through MIT. They’re long-term warm and fuzzies.

“Something like that,” Rhodey scoffs as he throws his jacket over the back on a nearby chair. But then he walks over and pulls Tony into a hug and Tony basks in it.

Tony’s got a million questions on the tip of his tongue about Rhodey’s work in New York and how the war machine armor is doing when the elevator dings again and Betty ambles out looking like a yeti with an Etsy addiction. Her scarf, pom-pom hat, jacket, and boots are coated in snow along with her standard four tote bags, purse, and grocery bags.

Despite all this, the first thing she does when she enters the room is let out a shout of excitement. “Jim! Oh, this is such a nice surprise!”

“Mrs. Banner!” Rhodey says with a grin, laughing as Betty seems to drop all of her bags to the floor at once with one large thump. He and Tony walk over and start scooping groceries into their arms as Betty starts peeling layers off.

“How’s married life treating you?” Rhodey asks.

“It’s wonderful!” Betty says with a huge, goofy grin as she unravels her scarf, revealing red, wind beaten cheeks. “I’ve never been happier.”

“Don’t get her started,” Tony says with faux-annoyance. “She’ll be waxing poetic over the exact shade of Bruce’s eyes for the next hour.”

Rhodey just laughs and Betty hits Tony’s shoulder hard enough to push him back a few inches. “Hey! Don’t hate because I’m…” she breathes a deep and ridiculous sigh. “Incandescently happy.”

Tony pretends to retch into his grocery bag as long as it takes to wring a laugh out of Rhodey, which isn’t long at all, and the warm and fuzzy feeling grows.

“You’re only doing that because you know that you’re an even bigger sap than I am!” Betty says as she flounces past him, guiding Rhodey away with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Jim. I want to hear all about how that peace summit in Bogota you were telling me about at the wedding went!”

Tony watches them go, snow from the outside of the grocery bag melting and dripping at his feet, and before he has enough time to worry that he’s been forgotten Betty turns around and extends an open hand.

“C’mon, you. I need to hear about your day too.” She says it with such ease that Tony’s heart almost breaks. It’s been years and Tony’s still not entirely used to all this. But it warms him so thoroughly, he can’t bear to fight it or even choke out a sarcastic retort. He just takes her hand and follows his friends into the kitchen.

…

Sometimes Tony has a hard time with dark winter nights.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve’s driving them home. They had gone up to Buffalo – far but not too far - for a quiet, snowy weekend and it had been wonderful. But now all Tony can see are icy patches in the dark bends of the road and he feels his heart in his throat. And of course, wonderful Steve doesn’t even have to look at him for more than a moment to know what he’s thinking about.

Tony lets the silence hang in the air for a while before giving in. It’s Steve, he tells himself.

“The thing that bothers me now that I’m older and, I guess, wiser?” Tony takes a pause to think and Steve doesn’t push. “Well, there’s a lot of things that bother me about it. But one of the things that I think about a lot is my mother’s piano. She had this beautiful white baby grand piano. And when they died I couldn’t bare to look at it anymore. So I sold it.”

Tony waits for the words of condemnation and they never come. So, Tony provides them himself. “I inherited a billion-dollar company and turned around and sold my mother’s piano.”

“It almost sounds like you were twenty years old and suddenly lost both of your parents,” Steve says plainly, like it’s fact.

Tony swallows and tries to make himself counter Steve but he can’t. In a way, he wants Steve to tell him that he’s terrible. But mostly, he just really loves Steve and he wishes his mother had gotten to meet him.

There’s nothing but silence in the car for a while, Tony making it clear that he can’t bring himself to say any more for the night. He watches as Steve moves his hand to the radio and switches it on. He fiddles with the knob for a minute before Frank Sinatra’s voice comes through, a little fuzzy but there nonetheless.

Steve moves his hand from the radio to Tony’s lap, where he scoops up Tony’s hand in his and lays it on the console between them. A few more moments and Steve is singing along to “Something Stupid” almost unconsciously.

Steve thinks he has an awful voice but his singing is one of Tony’s favorite things in the entire world. Some of his best mornings have been the mornings he’s woken up to Steve singing to himself in the bathroom.

Tony closes his eyes and soaks it in and all he feels is warm. For now, dark winter nights are forgotten.

…

When Tony had agreed to this plan, the idea of Thor in ice skates hadn’t even been a glimmer of a thought in the far reaches of his mind. Seeing it right in front of his eyes is something that Tony is certain that he will never be able to wipe from his memory.

Steve is suppressing any audible laughter like a champ, but he’s shaking so hard from it that Tony can feel it while only holding his hand. He’s honestly afraid that if Steve bites his lip any harder he’ll draw blood.

Tony doesn’t say anything right away, which is admittedly out of character for him, but it’s Valentine’s Day and Dean Martin is playing over the speakers and he’d at least like to maintain some level of romance. He does however shoot Steve a lingering side glance.

It takes Steve a moment to compose himself enough to even open his mouth, and honestly, Tony can’t even blame him. Thor’s skating ability is on par with a newborn baby deer fumbling its way through the forest for the first time. He wobbles with such vigor that he resembles jello more than any sort of demigod. And Tony thought the shameless photos of him and Steve on a Valentine’s date at a public ice rink would be bad. From what Tony can see while taking laps around the rink, there are at least twenty-seven people with their phones trained solely on the mess of limbs in front of them.

When Steve finally does open his mouth it’s with a barely restrained sort of wheezing noise and he only manages to get out “He…” before he needs to swallow back more laughter.

“Steve.”

“He can fly!” Steve manages to get out, a giant grin finally breaking over his face. “How…?”

Steve trails off with a vague gesture in Thor’s direction and a noise that is somehow conveys both amusement and confusion.

Tony smiles back if only because Steve’s amusement is contagious. He pulls Steve’s hand in his up to his mouth for a kiss before saying, “Now darling, we all have our strengths.”

Steve only says “Tony.” But he packs it with so much incredulity that he doesn’t need to say anything else.

“Babe, even I don’t have a joke for this,” Tony admits, beside himself.

“I think this is the joke.” Steve says, as wryly as he can while choking on the last traces of laughter.

Tony lets out a bark of laughter at that and before he can say anything more he’s interrupted by someone skating directly into his shoulder. The force of the blow only pushes Tony a foot over into Steve’s space but it’s annoying enough that he knows exactly who’s at his side before he even turns his head.

“Barton, isn’t it enough that you’re tagging along on my Valentine’s Day? This was supposed to be a double date with Bruce and Betty.” Tony shoots a sharp glance towards the edge of the rink, where Bruce and Betty are most decidedly not skating, instead choosing to lean up against the wall making soppy faces at each other. 

“Oh don’t act like you’re mad that we crashed!” Clint says as he falls into line with Tony and Steve on the ice, matching their speed. “You love us too!”

“Debatable,” Tony says, unimpressed. “At best.”

“Now you’re just lying to yourself,” Clint says lightly with his usual toothy, boyish grin. He doesn’t say anything else and Tony doesn’t fight back. He just grips his husband’s hand tighter and keeps on skating.

Natasha eventually takes pity on Thor and comes out from her position behind them all to get in front of Thor and grab his hands, guiding him around the rink. It’s undoubtedly funnier to watch someone half Thor’s size guide him gently around the ice, but it’s much sweeter, too.

The opening notes of “La Vie en Rose” start to play, and much against his will, Tony can feel himself getting choked up. It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year and a half since they danced to this song as their first dance. He feels as though he was it happened just yesterday; and also that he’s always been married to Steve. All he knows is that Steve pulling him flush against his side does not help the situation in his throat.

Apparently Clint has a larger emotional range than Tony gives him credit for, because he excuses himself from the situation quickly, saying that he’s going to go check on Nat and Thor. Tony doesn’t honestly hear even half of what he says because before he’s even gone Steve is swinging in front of Tony to grab both of his hands.

Steve is all Tony can see, and Tony is at peace as Steve continues to skate them gently backward. His expression is warm and impossibly fond and he doesn’t need to say a word but when he does all he says is “I love you.”

Tony is suspicious that they’re starting to look soppy but he really couldn’t care less - despite the fact that he is fully aware that all twenty-seven cameras are now on them. 

“Love you too.”

…

Tony’s takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, tilts his face up towards the sun and basks.

“I know,” he hears from somewhere off to his right. He would usually crack an eye open in response, but he’s luxuriating in this moment; relaxed in a way that he so rarely is. The voice to the right continues, “There’s nothing like the first warm, sunny day of spring in New York City.”

He does turn towards the voice at that but it still takes him a minute to pry open his lazy eyes. Clint doesn’t comment on the delay. He’s busy helping Betty set up disposable silverware and open Tupperware full of sliced strawberries and pineapple chunks, his old, dirty Chucks getting even dirtier in the grass.

“Is that what you told Fury when you cancelled your morning debrief?”

“Oh no,” he says, waving him off. “I just told him that we had unexpected company.”

“Which isn’t untrue!” Betty adds.

They all take a moment to glance over towards Jane, who had just flown in the night before, and Thor. They’re standing in a gazebo atop a nearby hill, and while no one can hear what they’re saying to each other, everyone can see Jane’s arms flailing in agitation.

“Doesn’t look good,” Natasha murmurs from her perch atop a nearby rock. Her hair shines, beet red, in the sun; matches the two red patches starting to bloom on her cheeks.

“I tried to warn him,” Steve says. Steve had tried to hint to Thor that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to come and bring Jane along on their group picnic in Central Park after her impromptu visit.  It hadn’t gone over well.

Despite the awkwardness, Tony can’t help but feel pleasantly warmed all over, especially when he catches a glimpse of his husband, chatting happily to Bruce. He’s already managed to get grass stains on his khakis and he’s wearing a denim shirt so old and worn that he’s had to patch it twice already but he’s as frustratingly beautiful as he always is.

Betty tries to change the subject by saying, “Well, I’m sure they’ll work it out one way or another,” in a chipper tone, “Now come eat!”

And while Nat and Clint are slow to turn their heads back to the picnic blanket and move towards the food, Tony moves on before she even started speaking. He slouches toward Steve and is egged on by the easy, happy smile he receives for his approach.

The only reason Steve isn’t already beside Tony is that Bruce has brought a chess set with them and Steve was the only one that had risen to the challenge. When Tony finally curls up next to Steve he leans in for a brief kiss, warmth seeping even deeper into his bones, before glancing at the chess board. He squeezes Steve’s knee in an affectionate gesture as he sees that Steve is holding his own against Bruce pretty well. He’s proud but he can’t help himself when he foresees a move Steve can make for a major advantage.

“Honey-” Ready to tip Steve off, he’s swiftly and precisely interrupted.

“Hey now,” Bruce interjects, gesturing between them. “No chess cheats from the local genius!”

“What are you, Dr. Seven PhDs? An idiot?” They’re laughing as Tony leans over and makes the move for Steve, displaying as always his knack for listening.

“Hey!” Bruce protests but it’s half-hearted, and Steve makes a small happy sound so Tony doesn’t even pretend to apologize.

A pleasant breeze blows through the park and Steve sneaks his arm around Tony’s waist, pressing a kiss to his temple and whispering his thanks before going back to the game. Natasha comes to observe and drops a plate of food on his knee. And while Tony knows that it’ll likely only be hours before they’ll have to deal with the fallout of what’s happening in the gazebo, he can’t help but feel perfectly content.

…

Tony doesn’t have the good fortune to wake up in his husband’s arms every day. Between missions, Tony’s long hours in the workshop, and Steve’s tendency towards early mornings it’s rare that they ever wake up together.

This morning, though, they’re lucky. Light is filtering in between the curtains and Steve is warm against his back in their cocoon of blankets. Steve’s morning scruff scratches at Tony’s shoulder where he’s buried his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony’s only half awake, but the sensation of Steve’s breath on his neck and his fingers running up his side from his hip to his chest and back again is pure bliss.

He’s happily floating in the in-between, somewhere halfway between wakefulness and sleep, when he feels Steve smile against his neck and he immediately remembers what day it is.

“Don’t you say it,” Tony groans, his words slightly slurred from sleep.

“But I really want to,” Steve grumbles. His voice is still gravelly but impossibly fond. Tony knows that if he turns his head he’ll meet a pair of warm, besotted eyes to match that tone.

Tony stays stubbornly where he is.

“Tony.”

“I’m old. I’m over the hill.”

“Yep. You are.” Steve says it dryly enough but it’s quickly followed by laughter. Tony elbows him for good measure but he can’t help but laugh too. Steve presses a kiss to his shoulder in return and Tony finds his resolve crumbling.

“I’m fifty,” he murmurs, letting the words settle over him. In some ways he feels unbearably old. But in others he doesn’t know where all that time went to.

Steve just hums. He follows it with a simple, “You’re perfect.”

Tony outright snorts at that. “Oh really? Can I record that for when I’m being decidedly not perfect?”

“For the next fourteen hours, I’ll allow it,” Steve says lightly. Tony can feel Steve tugging gently on his hip, trying to get Tony to roll onto his back and look him in the eye as he says it. This time, Tony moves.

Steve looks just as soft and just as adoring as Tony anticipated, and he can’t help but melt into the sheets. They say nothing for a moment, just taking one another in. Tony raises his hand to Steve’s face and traces his fingers across his cheekbone, over his ear, and around his jaw to his lips. Steve waits a beat, kisses the fingers hovering over his lips softly, and then says “Can I say it now?”

Tony hums, as if he actually needs to give it any kind of consideration. “I suppose so.”

Steve kisses him first, pinning him to the bed with his comforting weight, before wrapping Tony up in his arms and whispering, “Happy Birthday.”

…

Tony starts when he first sees her, not expecting anyone to be up and on the common floor. It's been quiet in the tower with Steve and Clint away on SHIELD business in DC and Thor in New Mexico trying to win back Jane.  Tony is getting used to crawling up from his workshop at odd hours without hearing from anyone.

“Spies,” he grumbles to himself, though it doesn’t take him long to get over his surprise. He knows Natasha could easily kill him with a flick of her finger, even on her worst days, but she looks far from menacing in a pair of ratty jeans and an oversized grey tank top that looks suspiciously like one of Clint’s.

“I’d think of saying sorry,” she says, a little grin pulling at the side of her mouth. “But I don’t think that I’m doing anything particularly stealthy.”

Tony watches as she slips on an old pair of tennis shoes and can’t help but agree. But he still says, “Sounds exactly like what a spy that was up to something would say.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She just gives him another little grin and shrugs as she continues to lace up her shoes.

Tony knows that that’s probably his cue to leave but between his empty bed and the absolute pin drop silence of the tower lately, he’s in no rush to try and sleep. Instead, he takes in the darkness of the room and peeks down at his watch for the time.

“It’s 11:30. Where are you going?” he asks.

“It’s 11:30 on a Saturday, old man,” she replies, sounding as amused as Natasha ever does.

Tony thinks for a second that maybe he should be offended but then he isn’t. He’s settled and rooted and happy. He can take an old joke for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says, trying to sound indifferent. He doesn’t enjoy the thought of being alone in the Tower, but he’s not about to stop her. “Have a drink for me. And have fun.”

He turns on his heel and heads for the elevator up to his and Steve’s quarters, expecting Natasha to say her goodbyes and head out on her own. What he doesn’t expect is for Natasha to say, “I’m just going down the block to the grocery store. I think they don’t close until 12.”

Tony turns his head back at that, raising a questioning eyebrow as the elevator dings and opens in front of him. Natasha doesn’t seem fazed. She just continues as usual.

“Ice cream,” she says simply. “And I was going to come down to the workshop to ask if you wanted to come with me. But now you’re here so, let’s go.” And without further ado, she walks right past Tony into the waiting elevator and hits the button for the ground floor.

Steve has been telling Tony for a long time now that he can’t wait for the day that Tony stops being surprised that people want him. In a world where he still has nightmares that feature his father’s words of disapproval and Obie scooping his heart out of his chest, it’s a hard concept to fathom.

Looking at Natasha, waiting for him expectantly in the elevator, Tony can safely say that today is not that day. But the surprise makes the warmth of the gesture all the sweeter.

Tony tries to keep it cool. Natasha’s softened considerably over the years too, but not enough to not hold getting emotional over a walk to the grocery store over his head for the rest of his life.

“Rocky road?” he asks as he gets onto the elevator beside her.

She hums, considering it. “Maybe. Or cookie dough. Divide and conquer?”

Tony knows that she means that they’ll get both and share. He knows it because it’s how she’s referred to sharing everything from shawarma to onion rings for nearly a decade.

The elevator dings again when they hit the ground floor and Tony’s smiling.

“10-4, Red,” Tony manages to say around the lump in his throat that he’s fully pretending isn’t there. “You got it.”

…

Tony’s flying high on a combination of Steve’s laughter, fireworks, and barbecue when he walks into the kitchen. Which is why he doesn’t immediately recognize the panic unfolding in front of him.

“Clint, what did you do?” Natasha asks, voice slowly ticking upward with each word.

Natasha’s question was a red flag, but Clint’s quickly suppressed look of amusement is a glaring, flashing warning sign that something is afoot. Tony walks closer to look over Natasha’s shoulder and Clint raises his hands in a defensive gesture.

“I swear I told her Steve, Nat! I clearly said Steve.” Clint says.

Tony peers over her shoulder and nearly loses it.

“Happy Birthday Stew?” Tony asks, incredulous. Neither Clint nor Natasha jump, clearly having heard him come in. But nobody can tear their eyes away from the cake in front of them. “Really Clint?”

Tony says it, if only because it’s his husband’s birthday, but he can’t deny that it’s inherently hysterical. He has to bite down on a smile as Clint rolls his eyes.

“Oh my God, I did not purposefully tell the girl at the bakery to write Happy Birthday Stew,” Clint says, exasperated. “If I was going to risk everyone’s wrath for a prank, it would have to be a lot better than this.”

Tony does actually smile at that and Natasha steadfastly ignores them while she opens the utensil drawer and grabs a butter knife. Tony can see where she’s going with this as she angles the knife carefully over the cake.

“Nat,” Tony starts, unable to keep the laughter bubbling in his throat from starting to surface. “I really think he’s going to find it funny.”

Natasha tells him to hush with a single gesture, her hand cutting through the air. “I think I can fix it,” she murmurs.

Tony and Clint both quiet down as per her request but Tony can feel Clint shaking with restrained laughter at her look of concentration and it does nothing to help him keep his own laughter at bay. They watch as she tries to cut the W in Stew into a separate v and near-e type shape. It fails miserably as the red frosting trails behind the knife on its downward swipe, turning Stew into Stey /.

Natasha throws the knife aside, hissing “Goddamnit!” and Tony promptly loses it.

He laughs and laughs until his vision swims and his belly hurts, Clint and even Natasha not too far behind. When they finally all collect themselves, wiping tears from their eyes, Natasha just shrugs and says “Fine cake, you win. We’ll just put enough candles on it that he’ll never notice.”

And Tony laughs again at that.

Steve does end up noticing, even after all the candles have been taken out and the cake is a hole-ridden mess, and he does find it pretty funny like Tony predicted. Then Tony gets to laugh again with him and it’s the best laugh he’s had all day.

…

The sun is almost unbearably hot and so bright that Tony has to squint up at Steve, even with his sunglasses on. But the air smells salty and sweet, Tony can hear Thor laugh as he jumps through the waves, a giant golden mountain in the water compared to everyone else, and, best of all, Steve is gloriously shirtless.

Tony’s head is pillowed on Steve’s lap, the rest of him sprawled on a beach towel. He looks up at the line of Steve’s jaw as he turns back to look towards the Cyclone. Tony can hear the distant screams of its passengers as it takes its signature eighty-foot drop.

“You okay up there?” he asks when Steve starts to look a little too far away and feel a little too tense.

Steve snaps out of it pretty quickly, returning his gaze to Tony in a matter of seconds. It takes a moment but eventually he says, “Yeah, it’s just weird. I remember when that thing was first built.”

He takes a deep sigh and continues, “Buck and I were 10. He made me ride it over and over until we were puking our guts out.”

It’s one of those moments where Tony has to pause and consider what Steve needs. Tony knows it’s hard for him. He knows that it’s been seventy-five years but the guilt of watching his best friend die is still as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Tony also knows a thing or two about guilt and he knows that anything he says won’t change a thing. He settles on taking Steve’s hand, the one planted next to Tony’s shoulder on the beach towel, and wrapping it in his. He settles their intertwined hands on top of the arc reactor without a word and is rewarded with a tiny grin. Tony does everything but outwardly preen.

They just look at each other for a minute. Tony digs his toes in the sand and soaks in the warmth. The wind off the ocean blows Steve’s damp hair to and fro but Steve doesn’t move his hand from Tony’s to try and push it back into place. Tony turns his head and places a quick kiss right next to Steve’s belly button. Steve’s small grin grows into a full smile and Tony feels on top of the world.

Steve leans forward, taking his weight off of his other hand still on the beach towel, and brushes a finger down Tony’s nose and over his cheekbones.

“Freckles,” Steve murmurs. “My favorite thing about the summer.”

Tony snorts even though he’s stupidly happy. “You’re a dork,” he replies flatly.

“Takes one to know one, buddy,” Steve teases.

“Did you just call me buddy?” Tony protests feebly, words tinged with laughter.

“Would you prefer dude, perhaps? Man? Bro?”

Tony groans and takes his hand out of Steve’s to slap it over Steve’s smiling mouth before he can continue any further. “Please dear God, never use those words again.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees easily enough, kissing the fingers covering his mouth. Tony’s heart melts and he only keeps himself from tackling Steve right then and there by pushing Steve’s hair out of his face and running his hand down the side of his face.

“Takes one to know one, my love,” Steve whispers softly and so tenderly that Tony can’t help but get up and kiss him. Steve’s shoulders are sandy and his lips taste salty from their earlier romp through the water and Tony loves every second of it.

“C’mon fellow dork,” Tony says, getting up and pulling on Steve’s hand in an effort to get him to follow. “Between my PhDs and your tactical knowledge, I think we can build a pretty solid sand castle. What do you say?”

The Cyclone comes back around the track, its riders screaming as it makes its drop again. But this time Steve doesn’t look back. This time he follows Tony up to his feet and down towards the water.

…

Tony doesn’t say anything until he steps on the third or fourth apple core nestled amongst the leaves.

“Thor, you do know that the aim of this isn’t to eat every single apple you pick right this second, right?”

Thor turns his head back to Tony just to shoot a blank look at him that tells Tony that he has absolutely no clue what Tony is referring to. “It is an orchard,” is his only reply.

Tony frowns but knows better than to try and push for more answers. He just nods and mutters “Fair enough.”

“It’s alright,” Nat says, moving to match Tony’s pace. “I don’t think anyone’s going to accuse us of stealing anything.”

Tony cuts his gaze to the side to find that Natasha and Clint are carrying at least five bags of apples between them. Steve and Bruce are flanking Betty at a nearby Granny Smith tree. Steve is carrying what is easily ten pounds of apples without breaking a sweat. Bruce is holding open another bag while Betty keeps adding to the pile.

“You taking the whole orchard home?” Tony asks, genuinely concerned that they didn’t bring a big enough car.

She twirls around and simply says, “Think of the pies!”

“Yeah, think of the pies Tony,” Bruce agrees, a joking edge in his voice even though he’s smiling warmly at Betty. “And the tarts and the turnovers and the apple crisps.”

“I hadn’t thought of apple crisps!” Betty gasps. “I like the way you think, honey!” Betty beams over at Bruce. Steve laughs. Another apple core rolls past Tony’s feet.

“I don’t know why I think this is a good idea every year,” Tony says even though he can’t deny that he’s reveling in the crisp air and the orange and red leaves all around his feet.

“You love it,” Natasha says plainly from his side. Tony supposes that he can’t argue.

“And you love the pies!” Betty supplies as she tries to hoist herself into the tree. Bruce drops the bag of apples he had been holding in favor of diving to make sure Betty doesn’t fall and break her neck. The apples roll away. Steve laughs again, harder this time.

Tony does love a good pie.

…

Even after all these years, sometimes Tony is still overwhelmed by what the world sees when they look at his husband. A living legend, a war hero, the man who flew a jet into the ocean to save the world and woke up seventy years later just to do it again. Sometimes people look at Steve like they look at Thor. Like he’s otherworldly, set above and apart from them.

But then Tony comes home and he sees what the world doesn’t see. What he will selfishly hoard for himself for the rest of his days.  Steve’s bare toes flex on the tile kitchen floor, a sign that he probably regrets not putting on sock to go with his worn, grey sweat pants. His bangs, just a little too long, fall into his eyes as he focuses on his task.

Pumpkin guts are sprawled out across the kitchen table, emptied onto sheets of newspaper, and the kitchen smells heavily of pulp. But other than that, there is no sign of what Steve’s doing. He isn’t joined by any of the others. It’s just Steve, doing something Steve something he’s always loved to do.

Tony knows Steve can hear him walk up behind him even though he doesn’t say a word. He just looks over his shoulder and watches as he continues to make short, curved strokes that somehow eventually make a spindly old tree, surrounded by bats. He could watch forever and still, with all of his intellect, never be able to mimic this.

“You’re something else,” Tony says, finally breaking the silence. He brings a hand to Steve’s neck and gently massages, finding a knot forming there after what must have been at least an hour spent bent over his pumpkin.

“So I’ve been told,” Steve responds, smiling lightly but not looking away from his work.

“Yeah…” Tony knows he should have a smart retort up his sleeve but he can’t help but get lost in Steve’s carvings, which are slowly forming another new picture. He zones out just long enough to realize that the lines are coming together to form a black cat at the base of the tree and blurts out, “How?”

“Hm,” Steve hums, thinking about it for a minute while still working at on his cat. “Practice,” he settles on. “There wasn’t a lot I could do for fun as a kid. Also, how did you build an engine at age five?”

“Touche,” Tony admits. Steve doesn’t respond any further, just raises a hand up to try and push his bangs out of his face. He leaves a trail of pumpkin pulp on his forehead in his wake. Tony wipes it away and presses a kiss there instead. “You think there’s any chance I could learn?”

Steve looks up at that and shoots him a little grin. “As much as I hate it when you decide to do things like try and disarm a bomb within ten seconds to blow in an evacuated area-”

“Hey! Pot, kettle-” Tony interrupts. Steve keeps going.

“You can do anything you put your mind to.” He flips the knife in his hand with ease, holding the handle out to Tony, and moves over in his seat. It’s not enough space to sit fully, so Tony will have to sit half in his lap.

Tony doesn’t mind.

He sits down and takes the carving knife slowly, afraid that if he seems too eager Steve might just figure out how bad of an idea this is. Apparently it works because Steve just wraps an arm around Tony’s waist to secure him in place and points to a spot to the left of the spindly tree.

“I’m thinking of headstones over here, want to give it a try?” Steve asks, his chin snug against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony hesitates. Because even this warm, happy, toe-flexing Steve is still unnervingly perfect and Tony doesn’t want to point out how decidedly bad he is at this by ruining his pumpkin.

But then he takes Tony’s hand in his, guides the knife into place, and he whispers “I’ve got you.” And that’s all Tony needs to hear. 

Because Steve is irritatingly, overwhelmingly great in many ways. But he’s not otherworldly. He’s right here and he won’t let Tony fail.

They carve the rest together.

…

“He can’t do any worse than Natasha,” Betty reasons. It’s unusual for her to call someone out in such a blunt matter, but Natasha herself doesn’t disagree with her assessment.

“The rules are that we take turns giving the toast every year,” Natasha says evenly. “There are no rules that the speech can’t be ‘Happy Thanksgiving. I’m thankful we all made it. Let’s eat.’ Besides, I thought the whole point of us taking turns was to avoid Steve’s long-winded sap fest.”

Steve turns back to the table from where he had been absent-mindedly gazing out the window while waiting, looking around at each of their faces before turning to Tony and saying, “I think I should be offended?”

 “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Tony says, taking Steve’s hand in his and holding it in his lap. “I like your speeches.”

“Wha-” Steve starts but is quickly cut off as Bruce scolds Thor for trying to sneak a piece of turkey skin.

“We promised that we’d wait until after the toast,” Bruce reasons, starting to push the turkey away.

“Then I have no choice,” Thor says gravely, though he’s fighting a smile. He promptly uses the fork to poke Bruce’s hand instead. Bruce squawks, laughs, and is half way through an incredulous “Really?” when Clint finally comes into the room.

“Happy Turkey Day, birdbrain!” Tony says happily and everyone echoes the sentiment in their own way. It’s the first time Tony’s seen him today, which he had thought was a little odd as he had been in and out of the common area all day. But Clint looks no worse for the wear.

“We were about to send a search party out for you,” Bruce says as Clint settles into his place at the table. “Everything okay?”

Even though it seems like a throw away question, everyone knows that Bruce means it’s just us.

Clint nods and says “Yeah, I’m good. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.” He grabs the glass in front of him before anyone else can comment any further.

“I know you all expect me to make a joke out of this but each of us only gets a whack at this once every seven years so I thought I’d try my hand at being serious.” Steve squeezes Tony’s hand and everyone settles in. A hush blankets the room and all eyes are on Clint.

“None of us here are exactly winning any awards for our stellar childhoods, I know,” Clint begins. “But, I was a foster kid with a disability-” He fiddles with one of his hearing aids. “Nothing was ever certain for me. Working for SHIELD was the easiest decision I’ve ever made because I had nothing to risk. And up until eight and a half years ago, I think we all felt a little like that. I think we were all a little adrift. But then we got each other. And we took that and made a team and then a home and then the closest thing to a family I’ve really ever had. So I am thankful. I’m thankful for our jobs because they’re important and I’m thankful for this house because it’s amazing. But most of all, and I think I speak for everyone here, I’m thankful for the six of you because you give me something to be certain about.” Clint takes a deep breath, tips the glass towards his mouth, and says “Now in the immortal words of the wizened philosopher Natasha Romanov: ‘We all made it. Let’s eat.”

Clint takes a long sip of wine from his glass, seemingly oblivious as everyone else at the table stares at him for a moment. Betty, eyes glassy, is the first to say something with an enthusiastic “Well said!” that breaks the spell that had fallen over them. Tony blinks and takes a moment to clear his throat, which had become mysteriously clogged, before joining everyone in taking a drink.

As he places his glass back down on the table and Bruce goes to cut the turkey, Tony catches Clint’s eye from across the table. He can’t help but smile. The others around them start passing around sides and chattering about the parade floats from earlier. Clint smiles back while Steve brings their joined hands to his mouth for a kiss. Steve only lets go to accept some mashed potatoes from Thor and even when he does Tony feels so grateful he thinks he could burst.

…

Tony is Suspicious.

“Okay, seriously, I’ve been letting this go for the past week but come on now,” Tony says exasperated.

It started last Wednesday when Natasha made him wait two hours so that she could go to the common floor with him to retrieve a book he had left in the living room earlier that day, saying that she just wanted to spend time with him. And then Bruce had insisted that they eat the takeout they had taken home for the team in the living room rather than take it to the other side of the floor where the dining room was. Just this morning, Steve had demanded that they have breakfast in bed rather than join the others in the dining room. Not that Tony had minded but still –

“Why does no one want me going in the dining room?” Tony asks, as the team spreads dinner along a coffee table in Steve and Tony’s suite.

Everyone pauses for a moment and looks at each other like deer in a headlight and it only makes Tony’s anxiety worsen, especially when the response they come up with is “What’re you talking about?” As if, it’s normal to be ladling out gumbo at the foot of Steve and Tony’s bed.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony demands, feeling like he’s going out of his mind. It’s only four days to Christmas and he can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of weird Dickensian morality lesson where the ghost of Jacob Marley is hiding in his dining room.

“No one has said that you can’t go into the dining room,” Thor says, dragging out the word dining. As if that wasn’t suspicious enough, his words are quickly followed but everyone else glaring at him.

Tony takes a moment to think about where the team has keeping him from for the past week a little harder. The dining room is immediately to the left of the elevator on the communal floor, which is why Natasha might have wanted to chaperone him. But no one had any problem with him passing the door to the dining room as he turned right into the main living area. But then there’s the office…

“So it’s my old office!” Tony exclaims. “You don’t want me going in my old office?”

The glares intensify. Clint outright shoves Thor in the shoulder. Tony is more confused than ever.

“I haven’t used that thing since before the Avengers were a thing and I moved my office up here.” Tony says slowly, trying to piece together whatever clues he can from the complicated series of looks the others are giving each other. “I thought that the only thing in there was a dust bunny colony.”

Tony lets the silent looks continue for another minute before Tony asks “Did you guys blow up the office?”

Steve lets out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a sigh, before reaching out for Tony’s hand. “Should’ve known that this was too big a surprise to keep under wraps,” he says. “C’mon sweetheart, we have something to show you.”

Tony wants to be scared but Steve is smiling at him and everyone else seems nervous, but happy? Everyone keeps shooting him knowing, half hidden grins as they all pile into the elevator and head downstairs.

Tony fidgets nervously and it doesn’t help that no one is saying anything.

“Tony,” Bruce says, someone finally speaking. “We’re not exactly leading you to your doom here. You can unclench.”

Tony looks down and realizes that his hand that isn’t in Steve’s is clenched in a fist at his side. He unfolds his fingers slowly. He knows that they’re not going to hurt him. He trusts them all. But there is something decidedly weird about all of this. 

The elevator dings and the doors open to the common floor.

Everyone files out and Tony can feel the excitement in the group rise. It sets him at ease that they all seem happily eager and Tony starts to feel less nervous and more curious. He knows that logically, this is probably a Christmas-related surprise. But he can’t imagine what would be so big to illicit everything they’ve done.

They stop in front of the door to the old office and Steve lets go of Tony’s hand to go to the knob. He turns back and says, “We were going to surprise you with this on Christmas Eve. But, I knew, and I think we all knew, that now that you put two and two together on the office that you would’ve snuck down here anyway.”

Tony feels a little bad but he doesn’t bother lying about it. He definitely would’ve snuck down the second everyone was asleep. “C’mon, Steve,” Tony says, practically vibrating with the need to know what lies behind the door.

Steve smiles, a big beautiful excited smile, and it chases the last of Tony’s nerves away. Steve opens the door and reaches in to turn on the light. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” he says before finally moving aside so that Tony can walk into the room.

The weird thing is the first thing Tony notices is that the room’s been painted. It was a clean shade of gray with metallic accents before. Now it’s a calm cream color with hanging plants and fuzzy rugs. All of the old office furniture had been hauled away.

When he notices what he now knows was the cause of everyone’s secrecy last he nearly falls to his knees.

With the amount of time Tony had imagined the awful things that had happened to it, it’s almost the biggest shock to see it all in one piece. He walks forward stiffly and runs his hands over the edge of it reverently. He finds the notch in the wood where he had tripped and dented it when he was seven. He sits down on the bench and realizes that even this is the original as he finds the stain in the leather he had made when he accidentally laid a hand down on it while it was still dirty with motor oil.

“How?” Tony forces out, his throat scratchy, because he doesn’t even know where they would have begun.

“It was actually supposed to be an anniversary gift,” Steve says. “I started looking for it back in January after you told me about it on the way back home from Buffalo. But it ended up being a little more difficult than anticipated, so I called in some back up.”

“Steve had already contacted the major retailers in the city by the time he told us,” Betty says. “So, Bruce and I started putting out feelers at local pawn shops. As well as doing research into shops that would’ve closed in the last thirty years. That took us a while but we eventually found the shop and the original bill of sale.”

“Then Clint and I went to the original buyer,” Natasha says. “Luckily he was willing to help. But he had sold it to someone else. So, we tracked down the next owner. He was a little more,” Natasha pauses here. “Difficult.”

Tony tries to imagine anyone giving Natasha trouble with anything but he’s so overwhelmed right now that he can’t even give it a moment’s thought. He couldn’t think straight if he tried.

“So Thor and I joined in on the negotiations,” Steve says. “And we struck up a deal.”

“And then we all cleaned up and got the room ready. We had it delivered last week while you were at that conference in Shanghai!” Betty says happily, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Tony has a million questions for them. A million things he wants to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Even if he did, he can already feel tears in the corners of his eyes and he’s afraid that if he lets himself start talking the waterworks will stop and never end. Instead he settles on stating the obvious fact that he cannot quite wrap his head around.

“You all,” he pauses to swallow. “You found my mother’s piano.”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve says softly.

Tony wants to look at them at least, but he can’t tear his gaze away from the piano. He runs his hands over the keys reverently. “And you bought it for me. To have back. Permanently. For Christmas.”

“That is what Christmas is for, no?” Thor asks. As if it was no big deal that they all worked so hard on this.

Tony has no words. His chest feels tight and he knows it has nothing to do with the arc reactor. He has no way to thank them. He has no way to deal with how loved he feels right now.

“I-” Tony starts. He doesn’t know what to says so he just says, “Thank you.”

Steve drapes himself over his shoulders and nuzzles into the top of his head. “Merry Christmas,” he says. “We love you”

Tony closes his eyes and leans into it all. The others eventually pile on top of him in a ridiculous dog pile, sneaking in noogies and squeezing him tight. He feels perfectly at home.

…

This year the fireplace starts up without a problem.

But otherwise this New Year’s Eve is the same as the last. Everyone is cozy in their PJs. Steve is warm at Tony’s side and Anderson Cooper is back at it again.

“This year was wonderful,” Betty remarks as they enter the last two minutes of 2020, laying half-asleep across Bruce’s chest.

Everyone hums their agreement sleepily. It had been a good year. Tony can count the amount of times they had been called out on a major, world-threatening missions on one hand. Bruce and Tony had begun joint research into the future of robotics and artificial intelligence that was starting to gain traction. While Thor had lost Jane, he is still well and whole and happy – regularly helping Steve, Nat, and Clint on their missions when he can.

Everyone was here and everyone was safe. Tony couldn’t ask for more and yet he had a whole year’s worth of happiness to look back on too. He snuggles closer to Steve as the countdown to enters the last thirty seconds and Steve pulls him close.

“You think 2021 will be as good as 2020?” Steve asks.

“I hope so,” Tony responds, completely genuine. “I can’t help but feel like it was an outlier. But I guess I can hope.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “We can. And if it’s not, at least we’ll be in it together.”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers back with a smile as the others countdown the last five seconds of 2020. “Always together.”

The ball drops and Tony kisses his husband, excited for the year to come.