God damn it. Why did ‘thank you’ have to ring so deeply in his gut? That seemed intentionally unfair and Tony, catching his keys, glanced over at the taller man beside him and just climbed into his car. He would have a captive audience with a console between them and that would be much easier to deal with than a kitchen table with a buttercream nose or a club table with a communal shared love of jazz to hang over Tony’s Head.

He did not head back north, out of the city. He went east instead, over the Brooklyn Bridge and off of the island of Manhattan towards Steve’s old stomping grounds and the purveyors of the best pizza in the city.

“I don’t sleep. And I’m hungry.” He should have had several more drinks at the club and let JARVIS autopilot them back. “You can hold the 2-liter. It’s going to be Coke. We are not a Pepsi household.”