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Sam's phone sounded out pigeon coos, a photo of Tony in a charcoal facemask appearing on screen; Honey Badger, it read. He answered. "Hello, Tony."
"Hello, sweet, baby boy."
Sam laughed around the brim of his Maple Latte. "What’d ‘you want, Tony?"
"Can't I just call my boyfriend, because it's good to call your spouse?" Tony answered.
"Yeah, it is, but whenever you call it's because you broke something and you wanna ask me where I bought it so you can replace it before I get back. So, what’d ‘you break?”
The line was quiet, Tony talking away from the phone for a minute. Sam listened, suspicious, intrigued, his years under S.H.I.E.L.D. stirring him to focus on the audible words on his end of the line.
‘You can’t reach Sharon? She lives like a few miles down—she has Gmail. Try again,’ Tony came back to the conversation. “Did I forget to remove the price tag on your 'best uncle' mug?"
"Yes, Tony. And I got it back from the trash so get ready to re-glue it for me."
Tony sighed and a pen moved across a sheet of paper, quick and short: a signature, Sam thought. "Anything for you,” He said. “But I called because do you know what day it is? The exact date and time?"
Sam leaned into the table of the French Bistro he was having coffee at, a smart-grin marking his face. "No, Tuesday?" He lied and Tony gasped.
"Shame on you. It’s only the single most important date in either of our lives."
"Black history month?" Sam answered, a waitress bringing his take-away order in a silver, bow-knotted box.
"Okay, second most important date in either of our lives."
Sam hummed, leaving a tip for the waitress. "I don't know, s'it my birthday?" He said, listening to Tony usher directions over the line— ‘to the right, no, my right, why would I mean your right?’.
“I’m appalled.” Tony said, and Sam laughed.
"I'm messing with you, Tony. Happy anniversary."
Tony’s smile rang through his tone. "I have so much planned! When d'you get home?"
"In about an hour, you?"
"Already there, waiting for you. Bring me something sweet, other than yourself."
Sam called a cab. "You're horrifically corny, and I'm bringing New York style cheesecake."
"You get me,” Tony sighed, amicable, love-struck. “See you in an hour."
"Wait, Tony. I know it's our anniversary and you're excited as I am but can we--"
"--go easy on the sex? I'll try, but your old back really should--"
"--I meant go easy on the celebration. I love you, and I wanna spend the day with you. Just you. No big event. That cool?"
"Uh…" Tony pulled away from the phone, looking at the delivery men packing hundreds of roses into the room; assistants setting up decorations and calling Sam’s entire friend list; artist in a corner portraiting Sam’s face in acrylic on a 240x320 canvas. "Right, yeah, of course, small. Got it! Small. See you in an hour, love you." He said then hung up.
"Everybody get out and take everything with you!" He shouted at the room. Everyone stalled for a bit, unsure. "I won't ask for a refund, just go! Go, go, now, leave!" He continued, picking up a crate of roses and carrying them outside. “Friday, I need a plan B. Small and romantic, but still very heartfelt.” He said to his AI.
Sam came home cautiously, preparing for a yard of people in their front lawn and living room, and a banner announcing their One Year Anniversary. Instead, he found the house empty and dark with light drooling out from the dining area. “Baby, you home?” He called. Tony peeked his head out from the kitchen, a mixing bowl in hand.
"Hello, muffin." Tony said.
"'muffin'?"
"It's our anniversary, Sam, I can call you as many terribly, corny nicknames as I want. Now take a seat, dinner's almost done, sweet-stuff."
Sam laughed and set the silver box of cheesecake down. The dining table had sage candles and rose petals on it; the entire room smelt like roses, and in the corner was something tall and draped in a sheet.
"This is nice, so what's the surprise?" Sam asked, watching Tony in the kitchen.
"No surprise, just dinner with my amazing, smart, capable, loving--"
"Do you need a second?"
"Two. Brave and sexy as hell boyfriend. See? Two seconds." Tony set identical plates of Lemon-Thyme Chicken on the table and a Quinoa Salad in the middle. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart, I love you." He said, sitting adjacent to Sam.
Sam smiled at the presentation, at his boyfriend, and took Tony’s hand. "I love you, too, Tony. More than anything."
"Does that mean I get a taste of desert early?"
"Yeah, it does."
Sam leaned in, Tony closing his eyes and matching him, then he stopped. The sound of a fuse running out and something flying caught him. "Uh, Tony?" He asked, angling to look at the wide plate-glass door that exposed their backyard.
"Yes, dear?" Tony sighed, an inch from Sam’s mouth; excited, still waiting.
"What's that?"
"The sound of my heart beating a million--"
"No,” Sam fixed Tony’s chin to face the backyard. “That sound. It sounds like--"
An army of fireworks went up then burst into lettered reds and oranges: Happy Anniversary, they spelled. Tony froze, then laughed. “Wow,” He said, turning to Sam. "My neighbour must have gone all out for her wife, I mean fireworks? That's a lot."
A second artillery went up: Sammie, baby, I love you. Tony.
Sam smirked, watching denial slip out of Tony’s posture. "Uhuh." He said.
"The second set went off didn't it." Tony sighed.
"Yep.”
"Look, I wanted to do small. I swear."
Sam hooked his finger under Tony’s collar, pulling him in, grinning, buzzing with laughter. "Tony?" He said.
"Yes?"
"I love you." Sam said, kissing him; lightly, playfully, ending it with a peck at the tip of his nose. “Even when you go overboard.”
A smile swallowed Tony’s face. "Can I have the rest, now?" He asked.
"After dinner," Sam said, pulling him in for a second and third kiss. “After dinner.”
Epilogue
Sam plodded down into the living room, tired. Hungry. His back and abdomen were springing with pain, running down into his thighs, and their dinner was still on the table, untouched after they’d ran upstairs to celebrate the rest of their anniversary in bed.
On the way to the dining area, Sam spotted the tall, draped figure he’d seen earlier leaning against the wall. It was 320 centimeters high. He tilted his head, curious, and peeled back the drape to find his own face staring back at him. “Agh!” He yelped, jumping back. “Jesus.”
Tony came down in a minute. “What happened?!” He yelled then spotted the pulled back drape of the canvas. “Wow, that is just…my assistant must have left that there. Really big fan of… ‘The Falcon’.”
“Right.” Sam panted, recovering.
Tony skipped down and rubbed Sam’s shoulder. “Sorry,” He said. “But out of curiosity, you’d agree they captured you pretty well, right? I—I assume my assistant paid quite a bit for it, so you know.”
Sam laughed and shook his head. “Tony.” He smiled.