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Tony hated the beach. He always had. Ever since he was a little boy, he’d hated the sand and how it managed to get everywhere. He wasn’t overly keen on the sounds of the beach either, seagulls squawking above him and the waves crashing against the cliff. It was either boiling hot or freezing cold as well, with a beating sun burning his skin or a biting breeze whipping across the ocean.
But his mom had loved the beach. Any beach; it didn’t matter. As long as Maria had been somewhere that she could look out onto the bluey-green water and watch children dancing around sandcastles, she’d been happy. Some of Tony’s fondest memories were of him pouting knee-deep in water with his toes being scratched by cold sand as Maria had beamed down at him, her happiness radiating out. Even Tony had managed to muster up a small smile at that, every time without fail, a bigger one following when Maria had taken him by the hand and led him over to the ice cream stand that used to be set up a little way up the shore.
Ironically, the weather was perfect for a beach day, despite the storm swirling in Tony’s stomach. There was no vicious wind causing a chill, no burning sun heating up the sand until it was too hot to touch. Tony had lost track of the time as he sat there on the empty beach, just staring out to the sea.
It was beautiful, really. Even if he didn’t like being there, he could appreciate the view. A gorgeous blue expanse of water and the sky a myriad of colours as the sun started to dip beyond the horizon.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Tony smiled softly, not startling in shock, as Steve dropped down next to him, close but not yet touching. “They’re worth more than that.”
“I’m sure they are,” Steve laughed lowly, gently. They lapsed into silence for a long moment before Steve dropped his head onto his hand, arm resting on his knee, and turned to Tony. “How are you doing?”
Instead of snapping back with his usual brush-off, Tony actually thought for a moment so that he could answer honestly. “I’m okay,” he finally said.
“Yeah?”
“Mm.” Taking a deep breath, Tony tore his gaze from the horizon and looked over at Steve. “I am. At least now I know what happened to her. To them both.”
“They’ll find him.” Steve licked his lips and met Tony’s gaze head-on. “You have to know… That wasn’t my–”
“I know,” Tony said. He unhooked one of his arms from around his leg and reached out to take Steve’s hand in his. “That wasn’t Bucky, wasn’t Sergeant Barnes.”
There was a video. For twenty-something years there had been no evidence, no leads, nothing. And then, suddenly, someone had found a video. No one had gotten to the bottom of its origins before Tony had fled the scene - with the images forever ingrained into his retinas- but somebody, some organisation, had obviously been holding it in storage for a stupid amount of years.
Though it was only grainy footage in black and white, it was something. It was finally something hideously tangible that showed that the death of Howard Stark and his wife hadn’t been the accident that media at the time had tried to claim. The short clip was also something that tied the mysterious Winter Soldier to the murder of the Starks.
Furthermore, it finally provided Shield with the first solid proof that James Buchanan Barnes was that famed and feared assassin.
There was so much that needed to be said, so much that needed to be done. Tony had no doubt in his mind that Shield had already started a frantic search to trace the origins of the uncovered video and to get a lead on where the assassin would be headed next, but he found it hard to care too much in those first moments.
“Tomorrow,” Tony said, letting Steve adjust their hands until their fingers were interlocked and squeezing tight. His voice was hoarse, distant. “Tomorrow, we can talk until our throats hurt. We can scream and shout and cry about all of it and how messed up it all is. I’ll suit up and you’ll lead the team. We’ll start the search; we’ll bring him home.”
“But today?” Steve asked quietly, stretching over to rub his free hand up and down Tony’s leg. He didn’t seem terribly desperate to jump up and run back to Sheild’s headquarters to join in the mass of panicked activity and Tony’s heart felt the warmest it had been all day.
A single tear leaked from Tony’s eye, but he made no move to wipe it away. He turned back to look out at the sea, watching the waves roll forward until they broke in a dance of foam and spray. Swallowing around the lump in his throat and sniffing, he shuffled over until he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder.
“Today, I want to sit here.” Another tear slid down Tony’s cheek until it dripped onto the thin shirt covering Steve’s skin. “All night long. I want to sit here and think about Maria Carbonell. Just remember and honour my mom.”
Tony’s eyes closed as he felt a kiss dropped to the top of his head.
“Tell me about her?”
“Well,” Tony started, already feeling tears burning the back of his throat, “she always loved the beach…”