Aftershock

The Toast

I exhale a laugh into my burger, sending a pickle to its sandy doom. "I'm sorry, I cannot imagine you riding a horse."

"What if I was your knight in shining armor?"

"Maybe if you were wearing ass-less chaps."

He pushes my shoulder, just enough to sway me off balance. I grin and shove him in retaliation.

I wish I could bundle up this moment and keep it in my pocket. Steve's eyes shining like the reflections on the ocean, soft music wafting on the breeze from someone else's speakers, junk food dripping grease between us...none of this would come out in a photograph, but it's worthy of a frame.

There used to be days, nights, when I thought that maybe I should've died to the snap. I used to think that maybe we pulled a fast one on the cosmos, and the universe has just been laying in wait to collect my dues. That maybe I didn't deserve to be one of the survivors. That maybe living just wasn't the same anymore.

I think, now, it's time to appreciate the universe's decision to keep me in it. And the people around me that helped make that happen. The man who saw a future in me, too.

Steve's phone buzzes, and he glances at the notification. "Sam says he wants to get everyone together tonight for drinks before we leave."

"Sounds perfect," I say. "I have a toast I'd like to make."

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I have a toast I'm going to try to make. My famous overconfidence is wavering now that I've been presented a window of opportunity, a lull in conversation. I've been lubing up my public speaking skills with cocktails all night, downing as many as Steve will allow me to ingest without inducing another Christmas Party Fiasco (his words, not mine, I think that was some of my finest work). I suppose I'm ready as I'll ever be.

I use the back of my chair to push myself upright and clink a metal finger against my glass, suddenly facing a a quiet room full of friends with color in their cheeks, studying me with varying levels of amusement and interest. No turning back now. I plaster on a grin and hope it helps mask the nerves that alcohol has only partially smoothed out. "Friends, colleagues, fellow Avengers. I have an announcement to make, and I'm gonna need your undivided attention. But...god, that's a lot of eyes. If a few of you could like, look over there—"

"Tony," Steve says, his tone soft but cautionary.

Right, the point.

"Well, first order of business...how about that heist? Boy, what a stinker. But hey, celebrate being alive, right? Cheers to that."

They brandish their glasses with a hint of apprehension.

"No one could have expected it," I continue, "But, uh...unexpected things happen all the time, and it's not always bad. Sometimes things happen, and it's confusing at first, but in the end you decide that you still love and support your friend and don't want to hurt his feelings. So you reserve your judgment for when he's turned around and out of earshot. You know?"

The silence is palpable; even Steve doesn't have anything to say, instead blushing into his drink. Scott offers a faint "Woo!" from the back of the bar.

"Yeah, cheers to that, bud." I tip my glass towards him.

"Tony, can you get there?" Rhodey says.

"Okay, picture this: two of your coworkers have a rivalry so strong they nearly throttle each other on multiple occasions, but then they realize they're actually not so different, or rather, they're not different in an incompatible sort of way. Now, imagine now that these two start dating, and they really really care about each other. A lot," I say. "Are you imagining it?"