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The tiny, sweltering room was packed to the brim with several hundred sweating, smelly New Yorkers. Stephen was half-surprised that the fire marshal hadn’t been called yet, as the building was clearly over its maximum occupancy. Ah well, he supposed that it was only a matter of time.
Everyone there was irritable, of course, including him. No one enjoyed sitting in the DMV for hours on end under even the best of circumstances, never mind when it was 98 degrees outside. And inside the crowded room it was at least five degrees hotter, as it was packed with warm bodies and the air conditioner had sputtered and died about an hour ago. Stephen’s skin was damp and flushed and prickly, and his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck.
The man behind him kept kicking his chair, there were at least three children crying whom he worried would suffer heat stroke if they stayed in this hellish place too much longer, and the woman behind the counter was snapping at everyone who approached her.
Still, he felt a certain kind of kinship with them all. Everyone was suffering in this tiny, unbearably hot room, but they were doing it together, and if time in the hero business had taught him anything it was that traumatic experiences had a way of bonding people. They were all frustrated, but they all shared a few common targets for that vexation: the AC that had died a painful, smoking death; the blistering sun streaming through the dirty glass windows; and the little ticket each held in their hand printed with a string of numbers and letters that had not yet been called.
“Now serving. A536. At counter number one,” a robotic female voice said through the loudspeakers. Stephen glanced at the crumpled slip of paper on his lap: G234. He sighed and continued to fan himself with an aching hand. He had no idea if they were even close to calling his number. There didn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to it, as the voice leapfrogged from D to H and back to A, and had already called multiple “G” numbers larger than his.
“Remind me why we had to come here, again?” asked Tony, pitching his voice low, readjusting his baseball cap in an effort not to be recognized.
“I’ve told you why. It’s been ten years- it’s time.”
“Okay, let me rephrase. Remind me why you wouldn’t let me bribe the DMV to stay open past closing so we wouldn’t have to wait in line?”
“If I’m going to drive like everyone else does,” Stephen said simply, “then I’m going to get my license just like everyone else does too. No shortcuts.”
“Now serving. B89. At counter number four,” chimed the voice.
Tony snorted. “It’s Manhattan. Most people don’t drive, they take the subway.”
Stephen raised a brow. “Do you want to start using public transportation? I can get you an MTA card.”
“No. It smells like piss and there are rats the size of Chihuahuas. But why are you -“
Stephen sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Must we really do this now? Here?”
“But you can portal, and at this point I’m fine portaling with you. And you have a flying Cloak. And I can fly too, and you’re okay when I drive. Let’s quit while we’re ahead, call it a win and leave it there.”
“Now serving. I67. At counter number two.”
“That was hard at first, too. Do you remember how many sessions of therapy I had to go to just to be able to sit in the front seat next to you? How many panic attacks I had driving with you around the block?”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m trying to avoid here. Why do you want to put yourself through this? I can’t… I can’t stand to see you in pain like that again. Not when it’s so easy to avoid.”
Stephen gave him an incredulous look. “It isn’t a picnic for me either.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Do you think it’s any easier for me to see you, when you have one? To just sit there feeling helpless when you wake up in the middle of the night screaming, knowing that all I can do is hold you and let you cry on my shoulder and wait until it’s over?”
“Didn’t say that either.”
“Now serving. G536. At counter number two.”
“Then what are you saying?” Stephen finally snapped, the heat and frustration and fear all finally getting to him. “Because whatever you’re trying to do here isn’t fucking helping.”
Tony reached out to intertwine his fingers with his husband’s. His palm was damp, yet Stephen couldn’t care less. It was over one hundred degrees in that godawful room and both of them were uncomfortably sweaty, but the press of his skin and pressure of his warm metal wedding band grounded him.
“Sweetheart. Look at me,” said Tony. “Look at me.” Gently, he used his free hand to cup the other man’s face. After a moment, Stephen went along with the movement and turned his head willingly to face his husband. He raised a trembling hand to cover Tony’s own where it rested on his cheek. Peering into the tinted mirror lenses of Tony’s sunglasses, he wished that he could see the whiskey brown of the other man’s eyes rather than his own face staring back at him.
“I’m sorry,” continued Tony. “I’m just… you know I support you. In everything. No matter what you choose, I’ll be right here. But - are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”
“No,” he answered bluntly. “I’m terrified. But I need to do this.”
“And if you have flashbacks?”
“I’ll go back to my therapist. And I’ll keep getting behind the wheel.”
Tony sighed, long and deep. “Okay,” he said finally. He removed his hold on Stephen’s face and instead wound that arm around his shoulder. “Then I’ll be right here next to you.” He tucked Stephen’s head under his chin, and let their joined hands that rested on his lap remain tangled together. “Even though in this goddamn room I’m starting to feel like Hansel and Gretel after they get shoved into that oven.”
“Now severing. A445. At counter number five.”
“Hansel and Gretel didn’t go into the oven,” said Stephen confusedly. “They pushed the witch in.”
Tony snorted. “Not in the version my dad told me. He always liked to make them darker. To toughen me up, according to him. ‘ Stark men are made of iron.’ ” he said in a rough imitation of his father’s voice, rolling his eyes.
Stephen felt the gazes of several people sitting near them settle on his husband, and he realized that Tony had just slipped and revealed his identity. Ah well, only a few people had heard, and no one seemed to be mobbing him for autographs at least.
“Now serving. B36. At counter number one.”
“Your father was an ass, and if I still had the ability to control time I’d be half-tempted to go back and pay him a visit.”
Tony simply pressed a kiss to Stephen’s sweat-damp forehead in response.
They stayed like that for a few moments, until Stephen could no longer bear the heat of his husband’s body against his own burning skin. “I love you, but it’s too hot to cuddle,” he huffed, pushing the other man away lightly. Tony released him from his hold willingly after pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Now serving. G234. At counter number two.”
“Oh thank god,” sighed Stephen. He stood and picked up the folder with his necessary documents sitting on the floor in front of him.
“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Tony hesitantly, wanting to offer support but also understanding that this may be something his husband needed to do on his own.
Stephen just smiled and offered a hand to help him stand up beside him. “Always.”