Any other night Steve would've been happy that The Pitstop was so slammed but having to send Hunter home early for being too drunk put a strain on his already understaffed team. He picked up the slack and slung drinks. He worried about Hunter: obviously Fitz's death had taken a great toll on him, but he wondered how much slack he could really cut him before he'd reach his own breaking point. 

"Steve!" a familiar voice called approaching the bar. He looked up to see Bruce standing right in front of him.

"Not now, Bruce. Can't you see I'm slammed?"

"You never returned my phone calls."

"And you never learned to take a hint."

"Steve, I swear the properties are actually making money. In a few years, you'll make your investment back, I swear."

"I told you when we broke up: all I see when I see those buildings is our failed relationship. Twenty years that I'll never get back."

"It wasn't all bad."

"No, but it wasn't all great either. I'm happy now, Bruce. I love my life a lot."

"I know. I just... I need the money."

"What? One of your little twinks finally bleed you dry?" Steve scoffed.

"I'm dying," Bruce said simply.

Steve almost dropped the glass in his hand. He recovered and called one of the bartenders over to cover his section. "Step into my office," he said to Bruce. "Let's talk." 

###