Chapter Text
Tony woke up with a head full of cotton batting, a mouth full of dragon shit, and a memory of the previous evening that was entirely lacking.
He managed to roll over, away from the very annoying beam of light -- light, hah, felt more like a brain-destroying laser -- that was flooding his room, at the expense of everything left over in his stomach rebelling. “Oh, god,” he said, and then sprinted for the bathroom.
Okay, sprint was pushing it. Ambled with purpose and direction.
Whatever he’d eaten had probably tasted better on the way down, but since Tony couldn’t remember anything after he and Rhodey hit the third bar, he couldn’t guarantee it. He was just trying to find a bar that had the right ambiance.
He wasn’t sure he’d managed it.
He bid farewell to his late night snack, flushed, rinsed his mouth, spit. Used the bathroom for its other purpose, flushed again.
Considered taking a shower.
Considered not taking a shower.
Honestly, his sadiversary was getting to be old news, and he was too old to be acting like that anymore anyway.
He wasn’t even sure he really missed Steve anymore.
Did he?
He didn’t. Tony decided that, firmly. He did not miss Steve, that wasn’t going to happen anymore.
He tried to remember if he’d decided that last year, too.
Maybe he could go for a big party, his five year sadiversary next year, and then, it could all be over, over, over.
“Or you could just stop,” Tony told his reflection.
Shower.
He could do it.
Not mourning his failed relationships any longer.
He could do that, too.
Tony emptied his pockets; he’d apparently just rolled into bed, since the only thing he was missing from his outfit were his shoes and tie. And got only knew, he might have thrown the tie out last night. He’d been known to do that sort of thing before.
“New man,” he told his reflection. “New life.”
Wallet. Keys. Phone.
Cocktail napkin.
Cocktail napkin?
There were digits on a cocktail napkin. In his pocket.
“Jarvis, call Rhodey,” he told his phone. His phone did its thing while Tony finished getting undressed. “Speaker.”
“There’s coffee already prepped for you downstairs, no you didn’t puke last night before I left,” Rhodey said as soon as he picked up. “Your car is fine, we left it at the garage, and as far as I know, there are no warrants out for your arrest.”
“Thank you for that cheerful morning report,” Tony said. He turned the shower on and shivered as the water didn’t insta-heat and the first blast was cold over his forearm and hand.
“Seems like what you’d want to know,” Rhodey said. “How’s the hangover?”
“I think it’s been worse,” Tony said, stepping into the spray. It was still not as warm as he wanted it to be, so he turned it up some while he waited, cringing all the way in the back of the shower, away from the cold.
Which was stupid, because thirty seconds later it was way too hot and he had to reach through it to turn it down. He should get on the set-my-preferences shower system that would just… chime when it was ready. Like a microwave.
Except, you know, nothing like an actual microwave, because those were dangerous, even on short term exposure.
“You were doing okay, last night,” Rhodey said. “With the drinking. But then you decided to play bertie botts every flavor ice cream last night with some ridiculous little ice cream shop that’s open twenty-four seven and what the hell man, I could not keep you from eating chocolate and jalapeno ice cream at three in the morning.”
“Well, that explains my rude awakening,” Tony said. He considered that for a moment. “Did I say it was good? I mean, it sounds kinda awful, but also intriguing.”
“I didn’t eat it,” Rhodey said. “And I don’t lick another man’s ice cream cone, that’s just wrong. Especially when it’s yours.”
“So what kind did you have?”
“Maple Bacon with Jack Daniels,” Rhodey said without a hint of shame.
“Where’s this ice cream shop again? I think I’d like to go there when I’m sober.”
“We can make that happen, Tones.”
“Great,” Tony said. He filled his luffa with shower gel and was instantly drowning in some vaguely outdoorsy scented soap. “So, tell me, did I score last night?”
“You certainly did not,” Rhodey said.
“Really? Cause I got digits here that say otherwise.”
“That is a fake number, that guy totally did not give you his real number, you were being a total drunken asshole, flirting with some bar-bum. Like the worst lines ever. I wouldn’t date you with those lines.”
“Rhodey, you’ve known me since I was fifteen. I’m pretty sure if you were going to date me, you’d have said something about it by now. Fake number, huh?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I don’t even remember the ice cream, much less flirting,” Tony said.
“Oh, well… too bad. You two totally played tonsil hockey for a while,” Rhodey said.
“I thought you said it was a fake number,” Tony said. He rubbed shampoo into his hair. “So, if we were necking, that seems to counter the theory that it’s fake.”
“It was a pity kiss,” Rhodey said.
“Nobody gives pity kisses,” Tony scoffed. “And even if they did, no one would pity kiss me. I mean, I’m… good looking. Mostly.” He rinsed his hair, let the shower water run down his head for a while. Maybe he could drown in the shower, that might cure the hangover. Of course, it would mean drowning, and that just sounded uncomfortable. Not to mention, the whole being naked and dead thing. Would he even care about his image if he was dead, or would he be too dead to care?
Tony shook his head, which was a mistake.
“Don’t even try that false modesty bullshit, Tony,” Rhodey said. “You know you’re the thing. Mr. Thing, Mr. Third most Eligible.”
“Yeah, I never liked that shit, brings the gold diggers out in full force. One of these days, I’d like someone to like me for… you know. Me.”
“Yeah, Tones, what’s not to like about you?”
“I hear that sarcasm,” Tony said. “And you’re hurting me here, sourpatch. I am hurt. Like, there might be actual tears and everything.”
“Look,” Rhodey said, “you and that guy, you were on the same page last night, but I’m telling you, you were reading totally different books.”
“I’m gonna call him,” Tony said.
Rhodey scoffed. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.” He wasn’t.
“I bet you it’s a false number.”
“Bet you it isn’t.”
“Oh, it’s on, Tones,” Rhodey said. “A hundred dollars says it’s a fake.”
“Five hundred,” Tony said, “verses --” he paused, trying to think of something Rhodey actually wanted that Tony might feel bad about giving him. There wasn’t much; usually Rhodey wouldn’t let Tony give him gifts, not like expensive, real ones, at any rate. And Pepper kept boycotting his idea of buying Rhode Island and renaming it. She said it wasn’t a good tax write off. Spoilsport.
“The Shelby.”
“Wo-- my car?”
“Tony, you have like seventy cars. But I like that one.”
“Deal. I’ll take my winnings in cash, no trade value,” Tony said. “Jarvis, end call.”
Tony got out of the shower and toweled off. Less vigorously than normal because see previously mentioned: hung over. Got his bathrobe and made his way to the kitchen. Punched the button on his coffee machine.
Considered the cocktail napkin and his phone.
Drank his coffee.
Dialed the number.
“Mmmphs?” a voice said, a male voice, even, so Tony figured he might be getting somewhere. “If this isn’t an insanely good looking guy, I’m hanging up.”
“Well, you’re in luck today,” Tony said.
“Do I know you?” the voice wondered. “Because really, I don’t think I made friends with people who were cheerful at… ug… it’s not even nine in the morning, what kind of masochist are you, it’s Saturday.”
Already, a man after my own heart. “Um, this is probably going to sound weird, but uh… did you give your number to anyone last night?”
There was a very long pause and Tony might have thought that the person hung up, except he could hear breathing.
“Yessss,” the man said, tentatively. “If you’re a friend of Sammie’s though, and this is a joke, you let that half-assed--”
“Not a joke--” Tony protested. “I found a cocktail napkin in my pocket, and I was wondering…” Wondering what, actually. If he was the guy from last night, if they’d had a good time, if it was a nice kiss, what’s your name, what do you look like… “would you like to have an ice cream with me. Today?”
“Wha---?” The guy asked. “Are you seriously asking me on an ice cream date after a ten minute conversation in a bar?”
“Why not?” Might as well roll with it, now that he’d gotten started. “Just, no strings or anything, no nothing. Just ice cream and a little get to know you. What, coffee dates are lame, everyone does coffee dates. I drink so much coffee that it’s like having a date at the corner water cooler.”
“Yeah, okay,” the guy said. “Ice cream date. Sure, why not?”
“Okay, so… four o’clock? Um… I’ll, um, text you the address? And… I might have had beer goggles on last night, so, text me back a picture? Just to make sure, because I’m pretty sure the conversation was with an angel, or a model or something.” Tony didn’t actually remember the guy at all, but a little flattery. And he’d win his bet… right? He could part with the car if the picture was scary. Hell, even if the picture wasn’t scary, he owed the guy for letting him know what Rhodey wanted for his next present.
“Sure,” the guy said. “I’ll… uh, see you at four, then.”
“Yep!”
Fortunately, typing in maple bacon jack daniels ice cream in his search engine got him the address for the ice cream shop. He texted his date -- who… had a name. And it was probably a boy’s name, too, except Tony didn’t know it. Fuck.
Then he texted Rhodey: Got a date. Four o’clock. Ice cream shop. Cash only!
A few seconds later, he texted again. Or, if he happened to tell me his name last night and you remember it, I’ll forgive you for betting against me.
New Text From Rhodey: Bucky Barnes.
Tony stared at the screen for a long moment. Then. You’re forgiven for thinking it was a fake number because I’m not sure that’s a real name.
New text from unknown number: Selfie from the gym a few weeks ago.
Attached was a picture of a guy wearing a baseball hat and workout clothes, scowling fiercely and pulling up his shirt to reveal ridiculously sculpted abs.
Tony stared.
“You’d think I’d remember him,” he said wistfully.
Texted back See you at Four.
New text from unknown number: looking forward to it. My first ice cream date since high school.
Tony texted Rhodey again, attaching the picture.
Cash. Only. I lied. You are totally not forgiven.