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It was three months after the Battle of New York, and Tony’s tower was rebuilt.
Stark Industries had paid for many of the city’s damages, necessary after Loki’s army practically smashed it apart. The jerk. And now, things were back to normal. Sort of.
The only thing amiss was that Tony’s lovely tower had been invaded by people.
Okay. Maybe it was partly his fault. He had invited the Avengers to live there, after all.
Bruce was living there almost full-time, and he was awesome as a roommate--he drank tea, did cool experiments with Tony, and didn't complain when things got blown up. Which was a lot.
Barton and Romanoff dropped in every once in awhile, between missions. They spent a lot of time sparring in the state-of-the-art gym, and didn't make a fuss. Tony could appreciate that, but he did think it was weird that they spent so much time sneaking around in his air vents.
Thor had nowhere else to live when he was on earth, so he had his own room in the tower. He loved learning about earth things: he liked watching the Weather Channel, and using the toaster to cook Pop-Tarts. He often walked around in jeans and a t-shirt, Mjolnir swinging casually from his belt.
Steve had taken some convincing.
After shawarma, and after the debriefing from the battle, he tried to slip away. Tony knew that the super soldier was going back to his lonely, SHIELD-issued apartment. So he stopped him. “Come on, Cap, I’ve got the room.”
“I don't want to be a bother,” Steve murmured, never meeting Tony’s eyes.
Tony was suddenly aware of how much he must look like his father. Especially to Steve.
“Just come for a night. Your room’s already done,” Tony said easily. That wasn't--strictly speaking--true, but there were already sheets on the bed, and the rest of the room could be made livable in five minutes. “Everyone else agreed. Come on...I will wear you down eventually, you know.”
Tony intentionally made the invitation sound flippant and casual. But he really did want to help...because, jeez, Steve needed some friends in this new century.
Steve sighed, and reluctantly agreed. And that was how six superheroes were suddenly living together under one roof.
A few days into this new living arrangement, Tony made one of his famous (or, as Clint called them, “stupid”) jokes...and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve smile.
“It’s almost the Fourth of July,” Tony complained loudly, following Steve through the kitchen like an annoying cat. “Your first 4th in the new century. How are you not excited?”
Steve sat down in a barstool and shrugged, completely unruffled.
That was so annoying. It took so much effort to annoy the captain, that Tony had almost given up trying. Almost.
“But you're Captain America,” Tony persisted. “It’s practically your birthday.”
Steve cringed a little, and didn't say anything.
Tony blinked. “It’s...it’s not though. It’s not.” He paused, looked at the ground, then back up. “Right?”
Steve sighed, and turned his chair around slowly. His face was a little strained.
Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh. My. God.” He stared in astonishment for several seconds, then burst out laughing.
Steve’s neck flushed.
Grinning and wiping his eyes, Tony finally managed, “How old will you be, old man?”
“Twenty-seven,” Steve answered reluctantly. He shifted in his chair, supremely uncomfortable. “It’s...not a big deal.”
“You're right. It's not big. It's huge. Don't you want to celebrate?”
“It’s not--” Steve sighed. “I didn't really celebrate it back...before.”
Steve’s blue eyes were cast down at the kitchen counter in front of him, looking seventy years older than they should. “And I don’t really want to celebrate it. Everything’s...so different now.” He pressed his mouth shut, and shook his head.
Now, Tony didn't get mushy. He didn't. But the six feet of blonde, blue-eyed American sadness in front of him left a pain in his chest.
He tried to imagine what that would be like--waking up to a city that was yours, but wasn’t yours, so similar but with so many things that had changed. He tried to imagine how lonely and depressing that must feel, but he just...couldn’t.
Steve shook off his sad look, and gave a very fake smile. Tony saw through it immediately--it was the one he, himself, gave to the paparazzi. “...if you say so,” Tony eventually replied, vague.
The twenty-six-year-old (practically a teenager!) captain nodded, and turned back to his drawing. He looked slightly relieved.
But behind him.
Tony was starting to smile.
There was a faint buzz of excitement over New York on the Fourth of July.
It was still loud. But the shouts and the car honking racket of Manhattan sounded different, somehow.
Tony had gotten up early for once. He was dressed, with a red-and-blue tie, standing in the kitchen.
Steve wandered out in a checkered shirt and khakis. Which Tony had long-since dubbed The Old Man Clothes, because Howard used to dress similarly.
Steve passed the kitchen, said good morning, then had to do a double take.
Tony had decorated the Tower. Every available surface was decked out in red-white-and-blue, from paper party decorations all the way to flower vases. There was even a banner of tiny Captain America shields strung over the doorway. The placemats and decorations, and even the plastic cups, were festive.
Steve stood with his eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in confusion.
“Morning,” Tony said casually.
"What is this?" Steve asked, getting right to the point.
“Independence Day,” the billionaire responded casually. He shrugged and moved around to the stove, where bacon was sizzling in a pan.
Steve swept his eyes across the room. (Since when did Tony cook?) He gave the billionaire a wary look. “Stark…”
“What, I can’t enjoy a national holiday?” Tony asked innocently. “Come on, breakfast’s up!” With a flourish he placed an enormous plate of pancakes and bacon on the counter. “So sit your all-American butt down and eat.”
The captain relented, and grudgingly started to shovel down the pancakes. Tony fixed his own plate of food, then sat down in the next chair and ate happily. “So,” he began cheerily. “After breakfast, we’re going out. Hope you brushed your teeth.”
"Going o--” Steve choked on his orange juice. “Where are we going?”
“Out!” Tony repeated grandly. The second that Steve finished eating, both plates were swept away and dumped into the sink. “Bruce will wash them later. Come on!”
Against protesting, Tony got Steve into the elevator, down to the garage, and in the passenger seat of a Mustang. Then he floored it out into the crowded New York streets.
Steve was always nervous when Iron Man was driving. Even now, his hand was nearly crushing the door handle, and his jaw was locked tight. “Stark, I know what this i--”
“Shh, Spangles, I’m driving.”
“But--”
“Nope.”
After an hour, Tony parked the car. “Here--” and tossed a baseball cap into the captain’s lap.
Steve’s blue eyes bulged as he picked up the Yankees cap, looking between it and the smug inventor. In spite of himself, a hesitant smile started to form on his face. “Are we really going to a game?” he asked carefully.
Tony snorted. “Heck yeah.”
They had great seats, and Tony bought them hot dogs and sodas. Steve wore his Yankees cap, and was completely engrossed in the game.
“You some kind of baseball fanatic?” Tony asked, loudly slurping his Coke.
“Well...yeah.” Steve smiled sheepishly, adjusting his cap. “I listened to all the games, and Bucky and I went to two.”
“Two? Just two?”
Steve’s smile flickered. “Yeah, well...I was a newspaper cartoonist, and Bucky worked at the docks. Between the two of us, paying for an apartment and food and...all my medicine, it took a long time to save up.” He shrugged and went back to watching the game.
Tony blinked, suddenly looking at his teammate in a different light. He realized, then, just how different their childhoods had been.
In some innings, Steve cheered excitedly. During others, he jeered at the players in a Brooklyn accent. Throughout the game, Steve smiled with ease, like a normal twenty-seven-year-old should.
Tony watched in amusement, seeing Captain America more relaxed than any other time since they’d met. Usually he was working, and had to put on a stoic front as leader of the Avengers. Without all the responsibility on his shoulders, the kid smiled and acted like--
Well.
Like a kid.
The Yankees pulled ahead at the bottom of the ninth, stealing home base and winning the game. Steve was ecstatic. “Did you see that!” he practically yelled, even though Tony was right beside him.
Tony smirked and nodded. “Sure did, kid.”
After waiting for the crowd to thin, Tony and Steve made their way back to the Mustang.
“Thanks, Stark. That was fun,” Steve said. He gave a small, relenting smile.
Tony raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look at Steve as he got into the car, voice nonchalant. “It’s cute how you think your birthday’s over.”
“Wai--what?”
The billionaire smirked. “We’re just getting started, Capsicle.”
It was late in the afternoon by this point. There was a rosy glow over the city, and the sun glared at them through the tiny spaces between skyscrapers.
Traffic was lighter, so the driving was less bumper-to-bumper. Tony hummed to the radio, tapping his left foot on the floor. Steve looked out the window at the shiny, futuristic sights of the city. He probably would have been content to spend all day of his birthday driving around, getting new ideas for sketches to draw; his hand was already doodling on his leg with an imaginary pencil.
Steve was still confused when Tony parked the car. He was still confused when they sat down on the bleachers. It wasn’t until a woman on the intercom announced the beginning of the airshow that Steve understood.
Captain America shifted in his seat. “Stark, this is neat, but--you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Trust me,” Tony insisted, trying to hide a smile.
The two Avengers watched as the jets flew overhead. They were huge and sleek, with engines that made an unmatchable roar. Steve watched with polite interest, but he didn’t understand why Tony had brought him here.
Tony kept up a running commentary. “I like the wings on that one. Ooh, look at that exhaust! Do you see the exhaust? I could make something better than that one. Hey, they stole that model from me!”
Then came the end of the airshow. Steve stood up to go home, but Tony grabbed his arm. “Hold up, Capsicle. There’s one more.”
Steve reluctantly sat back down. “What is it?”
Tony smiled. He looked up, then pointed.
Steve followed his gaze. Coming over the horizon was another modern, powerful jet, with rocket exhausts in the back. Steve didn’t see what the fuss was about, but then the jet banked and revealed what had been hidden behind it.
A tiny prop plane--maybe half the size of the modern jet--trundled slowly into view. With its simple T shape, rounded nose, and whirring propellers, Steve would have recognized it anywhere.
“What…” Steve blinked, shook his head, and looked again.
Beside him, Tony gave a genuine smile.
The modern jet and the World War II fighter plane both turned at the same time. The jet had to slow to a near stop so that the old plane could keep up, and together they passed over the audience. Steve watched in amazement, his eyes wide and mouth opened in awe.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer. “The air defense of the United States of America, seventy years ago and today. A lot has changed, but not as much as you think.”
The plane and the jet circled around a few more times, and it almost seemed like the jet was guiding his friend into the future.
After the airshow ended, Steve sat perfectly still, his blue eyes a little more watery than before.
Tony looked over with a small smile. “Different, but not so different after all. Yes?”
Steve swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was thick. He turned and gave Tony a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
Tony shrugged it off. “Don’t have to thank me.” He hesitated, then patted Steve on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
Later that night, the modern jet and the old prop plane--along with the rest of the Avengers--sat on the beach at Coney Island. Bruce had brought a blanket big enough for all six of them. Thor shared his extra-large popcorn with everyone, which included a catch-popcorn-in-your-mouth war between Clint and Natasha (she was winning by a longshot). And surrounded by all his friends--still wearing his new Yankees cap--Steve happily watched the fireworks show.
“I can’t believe they still do the fireworks here,” he said, amazed. “It’s just like when I was a kid.”
“You are still a kid, and I know because you’re making me feel old. Which is weird because you’re sort of ninety-seven.”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Whatever.” Tony was leaning back on his elbows, watching the flashes of color light the night sky. It was quiet for awhile before his said, his voice deceptively flippant, “So, how would you rate the day, Capsicle?”
Steve looked over. He gave Tony a bright, genuine smile. “One of the best.”
“Hmm. That’s good.” Tony nodded, and it was easy to see that he was pleased.
A long moment went by before Tony spoke. “...happy birthday, Steve.”
Steve looked taken aback for a second, but then he smiled. “Thanks, Tony.”
They both looked back up at the sky. So did the rest of their friends. The Avengers sat in a comfortable silence, content with just being there together.
Steve thought about the airplanes. A lot of things were different, yes. But looking around, he could see that a lot had stayed the same after all.