this moment feels like an echo.

For the life of her, Amanda couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept eight straight hours. It’d been years—at least six or seven. It started when she was a SHIELD trainee. She’d gotten used to jerking herself out of a sound sleep for four am combat drills with Natasha, or pulling all-nighters studying for tests on proper gun handling or the latest spy software. Or even excitedly telling Phil every last detail of her training for that day over cups of hot cocoa and marshmallows. But that was a simpler time. A time that Amanda would give anything she owned to go back to. Back then, when she was staying up all night, she was content. Happy, even.

Nowadays, Amanda dreaded sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the fire and flames that she’d left in her wake. She saw her father’s eyes roll back in his head and felt his hand go slack in hers. She saw the destruction of her former workplace and heard Wanda’s heartbroken cries over her brother’s death. So naturally Amanda preferred to stay awake.

Which was why she found herself in her current situation—wandering the streets of New York City at three in the morning. Which on a Tuesday really wasn’t all that exciting. Just a smattering of homeless people curled up in doorways. The thud of music from a nightclub the next street over could be heard, and it did nothing to dull Amanda’s migraine. She felt a rumble in her tummy, and a sigh left her twin flesh. It’d been almost two days since the young blonde had eaten so she was damn near ravenous.

Amanda located the nearest all night restaurant, which happened to be a Chinese place. Normally she was sketchy of places like this, but the twenty something was desperate to eat.

“Sesame chicken, extra rice please.” She ordered as soon as she sat down, folding her arms and laying her head upon them once the waiter walked away.

A little too drunk to drive, a little too sober to go home -- every time he stepped through those empty walls, he could feel the silence echoing across granite tile and vaulted ceilings. He had everything anyone could ever ask for -- fame, money, intellect, charm, but it now all amounted to ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ. He'd been left to wonder, where will I be this time next month? ( Never mind next year. ) It was impossible to think past the end of the week, all of his meetings blurring in to blocks of time, indiscernible from the next, each face he met with faded, every conversation muted, nothing but lips moving and hands gesturing.

So here he stood with five doubles and one beer, for 'good luck,' under his belt, stomach turning and aching with hunger. He hadn't been eating well since what happened in the missile silo; the stress and anxiety constantly battling in his chest, causing nausea even at the slightest of movements. He'd lost weight, surely ten pounds since then, but now -- just felt right, staring up at the neon sign of a local Chinese sit-in. He'd familiarized himself with it long ago, waving to the petite, elderly owner as she shuffled towards him with a warm-hearted grin. Her wrinkled hands found their way to his shoulder blade, giving his shoulder a maternal squeeze. "Hello, Mr. Stark," she cooed, "do you want your regular? Jinhai is in the kitchen tonight -- he makes your chicken just right. I remember that." He can't help but offer a soft laugh and a thankful, deep nod, "Thank you, Madame Liao. I would love that. And, you know what? A beef and vegetable chow fun sounds great." Liao grins and mimics his gesture of respect, before whispering, "Sake, too? You look sad and nothing sake can't cure. On the house for Mr. Stark tonight."

After she excuses herself to hurry Jinhai in the back, Tony glances around, taking in the familiar scene with fondness. It was the only place in the city that he could hide-away, no one bothered him ( except maybe Liao, but it was always a pleasure to listen to her stories and he never left on an empty stomach. ) The only thing that stuck out, the only thing out of place, was the woman hunched over in her seat, forehead pressed to her arms and shoulders relaxed as if she were actually sleeping. Soon after he noticed her presence, the young waiter tending to her table glided over with her tray of food, staring helpless down at her; he didn't want to wake her, but definitely didn't want her sleeping there. His presence was silent, never prompting the girl to look towards him. So, Tony couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh before clearing his throat, loud enough to jostle the younger woman from her relaxation, doe eyes staring wide up at the poor waiter. He smirked to himself, watching as she slowly sat back up to take her meal.

Amanda snapped awake, blushing when she realized that she had fallen asleep in the middle of the Chinese restaurant. “Sorry,” she whispered to the waiter, gratefully accepting her plate. “It’s… it’s been a rough night.” The middle aged Chinese gentleman waved her concerns away with a smile before scuttling back to the kitchen, leaving Amanda with the hostess, and the person she had yet to identify. She turned in his direction and once she laid eyes upon him she dropped her fork, the utensil clattering to the ground.

Standing there in front of her was Tony Stark. Amanda would have recognized that face anywhere, despite the fact that he looked like hell. Understandably so with everything he had been through. But it still broke Amanda’s heart to see. Her mind traveled back to the last time the two had face to face interaction—it had been after Ultron had been vanquished. She was at the Avengers compound at the request of Steve, who felt that having someone to talk to that had been through a similar loss would help both her and Wanda. God love him, Cap’s intentions were always pure. The two had been talking over cups of tea when Tony stormed in, sporting a look that Amanda knew all too well. The look of someone who’d been broken.

“You okay, Tony?” Amanda remembered asking. He’d just looked at her and shook his head before stalking towards the elevator. A hurried conversation with Steve as she was getting ready to board her flight told Amanda that Pepper had moved all of her things out of the penthouse in New York and that she and Tony were no more.

She’d meant to reach out to the older man once she’d settled back in New York. But Amanda’s own problems swallowed her whole—she barely even remembered to wash her hair most days, so how the hell would she be able to help another human being whose problems were far larger than her own?
“Long time no see, huh?” Amanda whispered before picking up her fork, blushing again from embarrassment. “You can sit with me if you want… I think we could both do with seeing a familiar face.”