The Star-Spangled Birthday Man (For Whom Tony Has a Plan)

Tony was in full belief that the word irony would have a picture of Steve Rogers under it in the dictionary.

What were the odds of him dating the one thing Howard loved most of all after years of  trying to be the complete opposite of the old man?

Of course, that was mild compared to some of the other facts that made Tony scratch his head. How is it someone can snap a Hydra goons neck without thinking but complain about language? Or the fact that while he can't get drunk, Steve can get wound up tighter than a squirrel sprinting across a highway from eating too much sugar?

But neither of those things topped the biggest irony of all.

Steve's birthdate.

Tony thought his boyfriend had been joking about his birthday being on the Fourth of July, but nope, it was right on there on his ancient parchment of a birth certificate. Speaking of which, that date was coming up soon and he needed to figure out a plan.

First, he was going to have to perform some reconnaissance.

He walked over to the corner of the room where the broom was standing, grabbed it and proceed to whack the handle against the nearest vent, causing a certain archer to fall out onto the ground.

"Dammit Tony! What was that for?!"

"One, you need to stop hanging out in my ceiling. Second, I need some spying done and you're just the birdbrain for the job."

"What makes you think I'll help out?"

"Because," Tony's grin turned downright mischievous as he got closer, "If you don't, I'll have FRIDAY send footage to Nat showing who ate the last of her Kartoshka."

Clint's eyes widened into saucers as he visibly gulped.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh I definitely would, wouldn't I Fri?"

"Footage  is already formatted into high-definition Boss," the A.I. noted a little too enthusiastically.

"Okay,okay, I'll do it, Geeze!"

"Perfect!" Tony said as he slapped him on the back and walked him towards the lab doors," here's what I need...."

                             ******************

Steve was sitting on the roof with his sketch pad when Clint found him. His pencil lay on the  ground next to him as he looked at the sky with a thoughtful expression.

"Drawing anything good?"

"Oh! Hey Clint," Steve said once he'd settled from the archer sneaking up on him, "nothing but a few scribbles today...mind's not really focused."