“You’re so drunk.”
The statement came out more as a sigh than as a realisation. Tony grinned loosely while bringing the glass to his lips. “Your observation is accurate.”
Natasha sighed again and slid into the seat next to him. She took a look at his distracted face and took in the miserable sight. His eyes were unfocused, and there seemed to be growing lines at the corner of his eyes. She spotted the occasional white hair in his stubble and his unkempt hair was extremely unusual. Well, to be fair, it was 2 in the morning. But even so, Tony looked exhausted. Not just in the “I didn’t get enough sleep” way, but more of the weariness of the soul.
“What’s going on, Tony?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of the whiskey on the table. She didn’t particularly like whisky, being more of a vodva person herself, but American vidka was shit, and Tony only bought good whiskey. So, whiskey it was.
“What do you mean?” He smirked sardonically. “A guy can’t get drunk just for the hell of it?”
Not when you’re a middle-aged superhero, she thought silently, but decided against voicing it out loud. “Well then,” she downed the entire glass. “I guess I better catch up then.”
Tony just grinned.
The alcohol burned down her throat, and after her second glass he began to feel a little woozy. They stayed mostly silent. He didn’t have to say anything, and she didn’t have to do anything. Her company was more than enough. Both of them had their fair share of secrets, and their fair share of hurt. She didn’t need to know what sorrows he was drinking away. She only needed him to know that he wasn’t alone.