That accusation wasn't fair; Tony was a perfectly reasonable captain and pouted, delicate hand on his chest, who, me? for Steve to even consider that his hand at the helm would be a terrible thing. Tony wasn't even drinking and, if that held up, would probably be the sole designated driver on this little life raft come sundown. If that changed, 40 days in a foreign prison would do him some good. Honestly, he had all the angles worked out.
Steve's questions raised some of Tony's own, but they weren't yet pressing. If Wicked and Pietro were late to their own party, they had a pretty good excuse, just this once. Or, two of them, depending on how smoothly the machine ran. Tony grinned and insisted, "Some apologies are bigger than others," but if Steve felt he deserved preferential treatment now and the apartment didn't quite cut it, arrangements could be made. Tony hadn't made anyone a private jet this year. He swirled his ginger ale then downed it to leave the cup for someone else to think about before taking the angel's arm to lead them back to the stern.