slowly sipping wine. It’s not his favourite type, but it’ll do;
it’s only just the morning. He’ll find something nice for the
heading towards him, frowning already, Tony sighs. This mission is
plain boring, and really, forcing the Ultimates to go to Europe and
chase made-up dangers? Steve should agree with him, but he clearly
then Steve reaches him. “Ran out of vodka, Stark?” he asks.
laughs, delighted, raises his wine glass. “You know what they say,
darling. When in Rome …”
your poison of choice, I see,” Steve says.
don’t really need a poison, now, do I?” Tony asks.
looks at him sharply; something like concern in his eyes, and no,
Tony can’t take it; he’s Iron Man precisely because he doesn’t
want pity or months left to live.
something happens here, you should be sober,” Steve says finally,
and good, good, they’re back to familiar territories.
basically sober,” Tony says brightly. “Nothing stronger than wine
stares at him.
I designed the suit. I can pilot it drunk.”
would be the point otherwise, really?
licks his lips—he probably looks like he’s wearing a very dark
lipstick already; the joys of red wine—and Steve tenses.
Still the sweetest MFL story ever (excerpts from Home: A Memoir of My Early Years, page 238):
The night before we opened, Tony and I exited the stage door at the end of the evening well after midnight and were surprised to see a long line of people going all the way around the theatre, with bedding and chairs on the pavement.
I asked, “What’s happening here?”
“We’re queuing for the opening night gallery seats…,” “They go on sale in the morning!”, “We have to queue now if we want a good seat,” they replied.
Tony and I stood and chatted with them for a while, and as we departed, I called out that I hoped they would enjoy the show.
The following evening, April 30, my dressing room was so full of flowers, I could barely move…the most endearing gift of all was a simple wooden Covent Garden tray, filled to the brim with bunches of dewy, fresh, sweet-smelling English violets -Eliza’s flowers. My lucky flowers.
When I opened the card it simply said, “With love from the opening night gallery queue.” They had apparently made a collection among themselves and purchased the violets from a Covent Garden vendor. That gesture meant more to me than I can possibly say.