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“JARVIS?”
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s with all the SHIELD alerts coming through, is Fury fighting off a rebellion from Natasha?” Tony tilts his head as he looks at the internal alerts flooding his screen. “Because that would be very entertaining.”
“I don’t believe so, sir, it seems to be that they’ve lost an asset.”
Tony pauses, tapping his fingers against the glass containing a half drunk smoothie. “That could mean anything, but if they’d just misplaced a weapon there wouldn’t nearly be this amount of fuss. No, it’s—JARVIS, pull up those emails from when Captain Frosty was found and cross check them against what’s happening now, see if there are any commonalities.” He picks up the smoothie and takes a long swig, making a face at the taste. “What the hell is in this thing?”
“Kiwi, avocado, grapes, chocolate chips, and chopped hazelnuts,” JARVIS says.
“...right,” Tony says, putting the glass down and raising an eyebrow at DUM-E. “You know, DUM-E, some things just don’t go together. Don’t look at me like that. Go on, get back to breaking more of my stuff. JARVIS, anything?”
“It does appear that the communications are between agents who previously interacted with Captain America, sir. In all likelihood the asset they’re talking about is Steve Rogers.”
“Huh, how about that? SHIELD lost their golden child. Has Fury tried to contact me about this?”
“Not so far.”
“Call him.”
“Sir, I don’t—”
“Nope, don’t want to hear it, call him,” Tony says, sitting up straight and stretching his arms over his head.
“Very well, sir.”
After he’s sent to voicemail twice, Tony finally gives in to his initial urge and overrides Fury’s phone, waiting as it rings endlessly until Fury finally answers. “Do not tell me you’re dying again because I do not have time for that,” comes Fury’s voice down the line, and Tony grins.
“Hi Nick,” he says. “Lost anything recently? Like, say, a blonde super soldier who just woke up in the future?”
“I’d ask how you know that, but I assume I’m not going to like the answer.”
“Probably not, but hey, who cares about details,” Tony says. “Seriously, did you think he was just going to play ball?”
“We had hoped that Captain Rogers would acclimate under our supervision.”
“Right. Tell me, Nick, you knew my dad, right? You knew Peggy Carter? After all the stories they told you about Rogers, you really thought that he’d sit around quietly waiting for you to come up with a plan?”
“Did you just call to mock me, Stark, or is there something you want?”
“There’s lots of things I want, honeybunch, but you’re not in a position to give them to me.”
“Stark.”
“Call off your dogs,” Tony sighs. “You know they won’t find him, you’re looking for a white blonde man in America with no distinguishing features, unless you count the shield. I’ll find him.”
“And then what?”
“So suspicious, Nick, when have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”
“You went on live television and announced you were Iron Man despite explicit instructions not to.”
“I did, didn’t I,” Tony says with a small laugh. “Bye, Nick.” The call ends with Fury still talking to him and Tony makes a face. “JARVIS, if I were a super soldier on the run, where would I go?”
“I dread to think.”
“Rude. We’ve got the specs from dad’s old files, update them if needed from the Times Square footage and get to scanning traffic cams, bus stations, train stations, you know the drill. Include airports, but I doubt SHIELD gave him a passport, and he’s smart enough not to get on their radar that way.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“Just—” Tony shakes his head before looking at the footage of Steve looking so damn lost in the middle of Times Square. “Find him.”
*
Tony’s phone makes a noise halfway through a virtual shareholders meeting, and Pepper kicks him in the shin. “I’m paying attention,” he says through gritted teeth, even though he absolutely was not because he’s not CEO anymore, so his desire to pay attention to whatever Graham in the bad suit is saying has fallen dramatically from his previous already low level of interest. “They’re all still mad that I don’t want to make weapons.”
Pepper rolls her eyes, but in an almost graceful way that Tony’s never managed to work out how she does. He’s never managed to work out how she does anything, which is why he needs her around. “Is it important?” she asks as he glances at his phone.
JARVIS is telling him that Rogers, or someone who looks like Rogers, was seen getting off a Greyhound in Boston, which. Sure, why not. Tapping out instructions to continue the search in the Massachusetts area, Tony shrugs and looks up. “Something personal,” he says. “It can wait.”
“Personal?”
“Not like that, Miss Potts,” Tony says, watching as she bites her lip. Looking away, he tries to focus on the screen where another identical person in a suit is talking, and Tony wonders if it’s a sign of sociopathy that he kind of wishes there was something to blow up in order to end this meeting.
A comment from the screen gets his attention and Tony snorts in disbelief. “Look, guys, if the military wants to fund us to develop something other than weapons? Great. All for it. Rescue helicopters, prosthetics for returning soldiers, medical equipment, all of that I’m happy to design. May already have done. But weapons are not being built again, not on my watch. So, if you don’t like it, well.” Tony pauses and offers them a sharp grin. “I’ve got enough money to buy most of you out. Are we done here? I think we’re done.”
The screen goes blank at his words, and Tony rubs a hand over his face.
“Tony—”
“Don’t, Pepper, I’m not in the mood.”
“I was just going to say that was a good speech,” she says softly. “Tony, are you okay? There isn’t something bigger going on?”
“I’m not dying again, why does everyone think I’m dying again?”
“Everyone? Who else thinks—”
“Fury may have said something—besides the point. I’m not dying. There’s something going on, but it’s not—” Tony cuts himself off and shakes his head. “It’s fine, Pep. I’m fine. Promise.”
“You know that makes me more worried than anything else you could say?”
Tony looks over at her, a slight smile on his face. “Nothing to worry about,” he says, laughing outright when she furrows her brow. “I’m joking. We can joke, right?”
“Just—” Pepper stands up, straightening her skirt. “Try not to cause too much drama before the next shareholders meeting?”
“You know I can’t promise that, but I’ll try my very best. Good enough?”
“It’ll have to be,” Pepper says with a small smile. “I’ve got work to do, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Miss Potts, I’m okay.”
“Well. Good,” she says, reaching out like she’s going to touch him before stopping herself. A sad look crosses her face before she quickly covers it up with a smile. “Goodbye, Mr Stark.”
Tony watches as she leaves, a heavy ache in his chest that has nothing to do with the arc reactor, and everything to do with the knowledge that Pepper’s still hurting and he’s the cause. He’s always the cause. Pushing it down, Tony puts his phone on the desk and taps a holoscreen up. “So, Boston, huh? JARVIS, any news?”
“It appears Captain Rogers rented a car in the name of Grant Carter, sir.”
“Captain America has a fake ID? Fake bank account? Not that shocking, all things considered. Paying in cash only gets you so far in this world. Guess SHIELD didn’t set it up for him or they’d be tracking him,” Tony pauses. “JARVIS?”
“Sir?”
“Can you locate Ms Romanoff?”
“I will try, sir.”
Tony nods, flicking the holoscreen down and leaning back in his chair, tipping it on it’s back legs. “This may have just got interesting.”
*
“Stark, why is JARVIS sending me messages?” Natasha’s voice echoes in the workshop, and Tony grins.
“I don’t know, maybe he’s got a crush on you,” Tony says as he fiddles with the boot on the armour. “Hey, but since you called back, is this a secure line?”
“Of course.”
“I mean without your big boss listening in.”
“Yes, Tony. What is it?”
“You wouldn’t have happened to set up a certain super soldier with an alternate ID, would you?”
There’s silence on the line, and Tony would swear he could hear Natasha thinking. “If I did, I wouldn’t admit it.”
“Didn’t know you’d had contact with him,” Tony says, dropping the screwdriver on the desk. “He pick the name?”
“It’s not like we’re buddies,” Natasha says with a sigh. “Fury assigned me to keep an eye on him. He wasn’t exactly okay,” she continues. “I didn’t expect him to leave without telling anyone, but given everyone seemed to underestimate his intelligence, I figured he should be prepared if he did decide to leave.”
“And you haven’t told Fury?”
“No,” Natasha says. “I know what it’s like to need to leave to get your head together and he—” she breaks off for a moment. “If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, then you need to understand that I haven’t seen anyone so lost in a very long time.”
“I’m not looking to drag him back to the real world, Ms Romanoff,” Tony says. “Not if he doesn’t want it, but—”
“What?”
Tony looks at the photos of Steve on the holoscreen and sighs. “I couldn’t put it into words if I tried.”
“Sounds like you might be a little lost as well,” Natasha says.
“Well, we all know that,” Tony says. “You going to tell Fury what I’m doing?”
“What’s it worth if I don’t?”
Tony smirks. “Check your email, I think you’ll like what you see.”
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“Goodbye, Ms Romanoff.”
Picking up a pair of small pliers, Tony starts fiddling with the connections on the boot in front of him, Natasha’s words about Rogers seeming lost spinning around in his mind. It’s not a shock that Rogers would feel that way after 70 years under ice, waking up in a world he doesn’t know, but it kind of shatters the image Tony’s had in his head this whole time. Then again, that image was put there by Howard, and any kind of weakness like that wouldn’t be considered manly, and Howard sure as shit wouldn’t stand for that. Wouldn’t want to tell his son if Captain America had anything that could be construed as weakness, lest Tony get the wrong idea about what was acceptable growing up.
All in all, what Natasha’s words have done is make Tony even more intrigued by Steve Rogers.
*
Two weeks later, Tony’s staring out the window of his private plane on the way to New York. He could fly direct to Boston, but that would invite too many questions, and at least this way he can explain it away as checking up on the construction of the new tower. JARVIS has managed to track Rogers down to a small town where it seems he’s not doing much; if it hadn’t been for Rogers venturing out to Trader Joe’s and the cameras catching the rental car, Tony’s not sure if he would’ve found him. Seems like Rogers knows how to stay under the radar even now, which Tony respects.
So. He knows where Rogers is. He knows how to get there. He knows that Rogers is living a seemingly quiet life and not drawing attention to himself. What Tony doesn’t know is what the hell he’s going to say to him when he sees him.
“Goddamnit,” he mutters to himself as the plane starts pulling in for landing at Teterboro. “This might not end well.”
*
The old SI headquarters is a shell of what it was when Tony lived out here, and there’s a slight twinge of regret that it’s taken him going through the last couple of years to pay attention again. He visits the new interns in R&D, promising them more space in the new building and listening to what they have to say once they get over the initial shock at him actually being there.
There’s still a photo of Howard in the entrance and Tony pauses to look at it on his way out, wondering what the hell Howard would say if he knew Tony was going to meet Rogers. Probably nothing good. Probably would’ve gone and dragged Rogers out of his hideout by now and put him to work. Tony can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain that whatever he’s doing, his father wouldn’t approve. “Not even sorry,” Tony mumbles under his breath as he walks away, heading to the garage where he’s got several cars waiting for him.
He’s not driving to Massachusetts tonight, but he picks the least flashy of the cars, and heads out to The Lowell. Traffic is terrible, and he’s grateful when he finally pulls up at the hotel.
“Mr Stark, how good to see you again.”
“Hi Katherine,” Tony says, smiling tiredly as he leans against the counter, the suitcase armour in one hand, the rest of his bags being wheeled in by the staff. “It’s been a while.”
“It has,” she says with a smile. “How can I help you today?”
“Is the Manhattan suite free? Not sure when I’m checking out yet, if we can leave it open ended that would be a big help.”
Katherine’s face doesn’t betray anything as she clicks at the computer, and honestly, Tony would try and hire her away for that alone if he thought she would leave The Lowell. That woman would be a shark in a boardroom. “Yes, we can do that,” she says eventually. “We do have a penthouse available if you’d prefer.”
“No, the suite will do, it’s just me this time,” Tony says. “No wild parties, I promise.”
“You know we don’t mind, Mr Stark,” she says. “Gabriel will be up with your bags, you know the way, yes?”
“I do indeed,” he says as she puts the keycards on the counter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr Stark.”
*
Much to his surprise, Tony manages to sleep through the night and is only woken up by his phone gently sounding an alarm. “Huh,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Alarm off,” he says, reaching for his phone as he rolls over. “Okay,” he says to himself. “If I leave soon I can be standing outside Rogers’ door before nightfall. Great. Why did I decide to do this again?”
By the time he’s ready to leave, Tony’s having second thoughts. Make that third thoughts. Maybe fourth thoughts. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it. Getting one over on Fury is reason enough, but after what Natasha said, there’s a little voice in the back of his mind that’s wondering if he’s going to do more harm than good.
As he waits for the valet to bring his car around, Tony contemplates all the things he could do that don’t involve running off to find a super soldier.
And then he decides, fuck it. He can at least do a better job of acclimating Rogers to the world than SHIELD.
*
It seems like Rogers has holed up in a picture perfect Massachusetts town, the fall leaves tumbling down as Tony drives through the roads while his GPS blinks at him with his final destination. It’s not like his memories of MIT, not that he has many memories of MIT that don’t involve a lab or alcohol. Maybe if it had been more like this, he would have better memories. Maybe.
Up ahead he can see a quaint little farm advertising fresh cider donuts and, well, if he’s going to barge in on a man in hiding, he may as well bring donuts. Seems like the right thing to do. Pulling into the lot, he parks his car and checks he has cash on him, not wanting to leave a trail for SHIELD to track. Sliding his sunglasses on, Tony slips out of the car and heads straight to the donut stall; there’s a moment where the kid behind the stall does a double take, but he doesn’t say anything, just hands a dozen donuts over with a small smile. Tony tells him to keep the change.
He gets back into the car and sets the donuts on the passenger seat. Staring at the GPS, Tony sighs, reaches over and opens the box, grabbing a donut and eating it in three big bites before starting the car and pulling out of the lot.
It’s only a short drive from the farm and soon Tony’s turning onto a quiet cul de sac surrounded by trees. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was being lured to his death by his GPS. Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Tony bites his bottom lip before sighing and switching the engine off. “Well. We’re here.”
Picking up the box of donuts, Tony gets out of the car and, as he’s closing the door, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Swallowing, he turns around, the donut box still in his hand, and then there he is. Rogers. Captain America. Just standing on the porch outside the smaller building on the grounds as if it’s not some miracle of science that he’s even still alive.
Rogers doesn’t look much different to the photos and footage Tony’s seen of him, he’s not wearing the uniform though, instead clad in well worn jeans and a red and black plaid shirt that’s straining across his shoulders. Blonde hair falls over his forehead, and Tony can see the clench in his jaw from a distance.
“Hi,” he calls as he takes a few steps forward. “So, guessing by that look on your face you recognise me even though we’ve never met. Seems like SHIELD were awfully thorough in their efforts to introduce you to the new world.”
“Are you here to take me back?” Rogers asks, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “Because I don’t—”
“No,” Tony says quickly as he finally gets close enough to be within touching distance of Rogers. “I’m not here for that.” Some of the tension goes out of Rogers’ body, but Tony can tell he’s still wary. “I brought donuts,” he says. “They’re good.”
“Why are you here, Mr Stark?”
And there’s all kinds of things Tony could say to that, all kinds of tales and excuses and words that could fall from his mouth and he’d mean them, mostly. But instead what comes out is nothing but the truth. “Because someone told me you looked like you were lost, and I figured that’s something we have in common,” he says. “And call me Tony.”
There’s a flash of emotion over Rogers’ face for half a second before it’s gone, and Tony’s suddenly struck with the thought that Rogers is scared, that he has no idea who to trust, and that’s—well, again, Tony can relate. “Look, if you want me to go, then—”
“No,” Rogers says. “You can—it’s fine.
“Okay, Rogers, whatever you want.”
And wow, does his face ever react to that. “Call me Steve,” he says. “Please. No one has since—” Steve breaks off. “I’d like it if you called me Steve.”
“I can do that,” Tony agrees. “You got a coffee machine in there?”
*
The inside of Steve’s place is cosy, and Tony’s sure Steve had nothing to do with it judging by the way he touches things like they’re going to break on him. He does have a coffee machine, and even has coffee, and Tony takes the mug Steve hands him with a grateful smile.
“How did you end up here?” Tony asks, hands wrapped around the mug, soaking in the warmth. “Because being one state over from SHIELD HQ is hilarious to me.”
There’s a faint smile on Steve’s face, and he shrugs. “I got on the first bus that was leaving the city, didn’t put much thought into it.”
“But you didn’t go any further once you got here?”
“I was tired,” Steve says. “Spent the night in a hotel in Boston and then—people didn’t recognise me. Not that they should, or that I expect them to, but they didn’t. When I—before I woke up here, I always had people who knew me even when I didn’t know them.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“I figured you might,” Steve says, taking a sip of his own coffee and making a face. “God I forget how bitter this is.”
“Not a fan?”
“Not really.”
“Huh,” Tony says, watching as Steve practically pours sugar in his coffee. “Guess you don’t really have to worry about diabetes.”
“Don’t have to worry about a lot of things,” Steve says. “Sorry, I should—do you want to sit down?”
“Uh, sure,” Tony says, letting Steve lead him out of the kitchen and into a decent sized living room. There’s a chair with files piled on it, and a couch turned to face the fireplace with blankets strewn on it. “Are you sleeping down here?”
Steve pauses as he sits on the couch, moving some blankets out of the way. “I get cold,” he says, a slight flush on his cheeks. “I have, uh, nightmares and it’s easier to—”
“I get it,” Tony interrupts as he joins Steve on the couch. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at Steve. “You were telling me how you ended up here?”
“I was,” Steve says, a grateful look passing over his face. “After I rented a car, I decided to start driving, not to go anywhere, just to drive. It’s peaceful. Anyway, I was driving and I saw a car overturned but there wasn’t anyone around. When I got out I heard someone calling for help, and that’s when I met Mrs Sullivan.”
“Mrs Sullivan?”
“She owns this place, and the main house up the driveway,” Steve says. “She was trapped under the car, and I—”
“You saved her life.”
The flush on Steve’s cheeks gets a little darker and he ducks his head. “Nothing anyone else wouldn’t do,” he says in a soft voice. “I followed the ambulance and we got talking while she recovered. She let me rent this place while I got myself together.”
“Does she know who you are? Or does she think you’re Grant Carter?”
“She thinks I’m Grant Carter, but she knows it’s not my real name,” Steve says. “She would’ve been a kid when I went under. I don’t know why she’s been so nice—”
“She single?”
“She’s seventy eight,” Steve says with a small smile. “Too young for me.”
The comment shocks a laugh out of Tony and he tips his mug at Steve. “Not bad,” he says. “Getting in with the old man jokes before I could, impressive.”
“I try,” Steve says. “I’ve had a lot to think about while I’ve been here. Lot of things to catch up on.”
Tony looks over at the files in the chair. “I can see that,” he says, turning back to look at Steve. “In my defence, I was dying when Natasha wrote my file. Extenuating circumstances and all that.”
“You were dying?” Steve looks him over, his brow furrowed. “But you’re not anymore?”
“Not right this second, no,” Tony says, putting his mug down on the small coffee table before he leans back against the arm of the couch. “I edited that file, though. I couldn’t risk all the details—you know it would be easier if I showed you.”
“Okay.”
“You know I’m Iron Man, right?”
“Yes, Tony, the metal suit was hard to miss in the file.”
Tony narrows his eyes as he sits forward. “You’re a lot more of a smartass than my dad led me to believe.”
“Howard? We weren’t exactly friends,” Steve says, raking a hand over his hair. “I mean, we worked together during the war but he was always flying off places while I was with the Commandos, it wasn’t—” Steve breaks off and shakes his head. “Whatever Howard told you, we were colleagues, not friends.”
“Wow,” Tony says, taken aback by the fierceness in Steve’s voice. “Where were you when I was thirteen?”
“In the Atlantic.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “Thanks for that.” He shifts forward and tugs at the bottom of his t-shirt before pausing. “The file says it powers a pacemaker, which, kind of accurate I guess, but not entirely.”
“The arc reactor,” Steve says, his eyes darting over Tony’s body before focusing on the slight glow emanating from Tony’s chest through the shirt. “Tony, you don’t have to show me if you—”
“No, I just—” Tony breaks off and sighs. “Here goes nothing.” With that, he strips off his t-shirt and sits there, arc reactor bright between them. “It’s deep in my chest,” he says quietly. “Lung capacity diminished, I have to keep up a pretty strict regiment to make sure I can have a decent day to day life and operate the suit.”
“Does it hurt?” Steve asks softly.
“Yes,” Tony says. “No one’s ever really asked me that before.”
Steve nods. “When you were dying, it was—”
“Old one,” Tony says. “I know this doesn’t look pretty, but it was a lot worse before. Black lines running all over my chest, up my neck. Wasn’t great. But, I fixed it. Can’t fix the scars, though.” Tony shifts under the weight of Steve’s gaze and meets his eyes. “Sorry, I can put the—”
“It’s beautiful,” Steve says, so quietly that Tony isn’t sure he’s heard him right. “Tony, it’s beautiful, really. I can’t understand the engineering yet, but—” he breaks off and looks at Tony, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “The scars—they just show me you survived whatever it was they did to you.”
It’s not often Tony’s lost for words, but right now his mind can’t seem to find any that would be appropriate in response to what Steve’s just said. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Tony grabs his shirt and pulls it back on, trying to avoid the way Steve’s looking at him.
“Did I offend you?” Steve asks, his hands cupped around his mug. “If I did, then I—”
“No,” Tony interrupts hurriedly. “You didn’t. It’s just—you really think it’s beautiful?” Tony hates how needy the question sounds, wishes he could take it back because, fuck, being vulnerable in front of Captain America is not what he wanted from this trip. “Forget that, you don’t—”
“It is beautiful, Tony,” Steve says, putting his mug down on the coffee table and sitting forward, his knee brushing against Tony’s knee. “You’re the first thing about the future that I actually—” Steve sighs and looks away for a moment, his jaw slightly clenched. “You know, all SHIELD told me about the future, about what I missed, was war and death. They told me the basics of what else I needed to know, cellphones, the internet, vaccines, but mostly it was war and death, and I thought—is this really the world I died to protect?”
“We must’ve been a pretty big disappointment,” Tony says absently, wondering where Steve is going with this.
“But then they gave me your file, and I looked online, and I saw a man trying to make amends for the damage he’d done and I thought that maybe the future had something good to offer,” Steve says. “I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on you, and I don’t mean it like that, but you—you gave me hope.” Steve fidgets, his hands pressing against his thighs. “If that’s too much, then—”
“No,” Tony says quickly. “I mean, I wouldn’t go around telling random men they give you hope, but I—I get it. I guess. Is that weird? Am I making it weird?”
“If anything, I think I made it weird,” Steve says with a soft laugh.
“The donuts are still in the kitchen, if—”
“Yeah,” Steve says, standing up. “Good plan.”
*
“—and then Natasha reprogrammed Rhodey’s suit, and we kicked ass.”
“Technical term?”
“Absolutely,” Tony says, picking at the beer label on the bottle Steve had given him and looking out at the grounds from their position on the porch. “I only use the most technical terms.”
Steve laughs, and Tony finds himself staring a little. It’s not that Steve hasn’t laughed before now, but every time he does, Tony can’t help but fix his eyes on him. He laughs so easily, which Tony didn’t expect given everything he’s been through, and part of him can’t help but love the way Steve’s eyes crinkle up when he does, the glint of the fall sun making his hair shine. Taking a swig of beer, Tony hopes that he’s not being too obvious. He doesn’t even know if Steve—. Tony cuts that train of thought off and offers Steve a small smile that Steve returns.
“So,” Steve starts. “Not to—I don’t mean to sound rude, but are you planning on leaving? Not that you have to go, but we’ve been drinking, and I was going to make some dinner, so if you wanted to—”
“I’d like dinner,” Tony says. “Can you cook?”
“Kind of,” Steve says. “I’m trying,” he continues off Tony’s look. “There’s so many new things in the stores that we didn’t have, new ways of cooking, I’m having fun experimenting. But if you don’t want to try my experiments, then Mrs Sullivan sends down some meals for me that I keep in the freezer, I could heat up a lasagne?”
“Guess you have to eat a lot,” Tony says. “Metabolism and all that.”
“Yep,” Steve says. “But the snacks are better in this century, so it’s not too bad.”
“So glad that you’ve discovered Oreos.”
“Actually, we had those when I was a kid,” Steve says, standing up. “I couldn’t have them until after the serum, we couldn’t afford them and I was allergic to so many things that we couldn’t risk it.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Tony says, following Steve back inside the house. “No, seriously, you couldn’t have Oreos?”
“Couldn’t have a lot of things.”
“That’s so sad, Steve. So, so sad,” Tony says, taking a seat at the small kitchen table while Steve rummages in the freezer. “I really hope one of these cupboards has a whole stash of Oreos in all the flavours. They have flavours, right?”
“Yes, Tony, there are flavours,” Steve says as he uncovers the lasagne. “But you’re not having any before dinner.”
Tony raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Only if you get me another beer.”
“That, I can do.”
*
There’s a collection of beer bottles on the coffee table in the living room where they migrated after working their way through the lasagne, along with a bunch of opened Oreo packets that Tony’s narrowing his eyes at.
“Wonder how big you could make an Oreo,” he says as he grabs a couple from a packet before leaning back on the couch. “Like these are good, but imagine a super huge one. I’d have to get the ratios right, but I could make it work.”
“The next big Stark project?” Steve asks. “Giant Oreos?”
“You laugh, but the public would love it,” Tony says, shoving an Oreo in his mouth. “But, intellectual property, I couldn’t market them as Oreos. Stark-O’s don’t sound right,” he mumbles around the Oreo in his mouth before swallowing. “And I think when I go back to Malibu I’ll probably have a whole bunch of work to do that I’ve missed by being here. No time for Oreos.”
Steve goes quiet, and when Tony looks over he sees what Natasha must’ve seen when he was at SHIELD. Steve looks haunted, it’s a look Tony knows from staring at himself in the mirror, and it kills him to know that Steve’s got that within him as well. He’s too young to have been through everything he’s been through, and Tony would do anything to get that look off Steve’s face.
“Hey,” Tony says softly, nudging Steve with his knee. “Enough beer for the evening. I’ll build a fire if you clean up.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s not like I can cook breakfast,” Tony says. “Unless you want burnt eggs. Call it my way of saying thank you for not sending me away when I got here.”
Steve’s face is still somewhat vacant as he nods at Tony, and it almost seems like he’s working on autopilot when he starts picking up the empty beer bottles, carrying them into the kitchen. Tony lets out a soft sigh as he watches him before he gets down on the floor and starts pulling a fire together. There’s a pile of logs in the corner, along with a metal bucket full of things to use for kindling, so it’s easy going. Tony can hear the rhythmic steps of Steve going back and forth between the kitchen, and after a moment the water starts up and Tony assumes he’s washing dishes.
Once the fire gets going, Tony gets back to his feet and walks into the kitchen, approaching Steve from the side, a little wary. He’s not stupid, he knows Steve probably has PTSD, even if he hasn’t been told what it is, and he doesn’t want to risk setting Steve off when he’s obviously not okay. “Hey,” Tony says quietly. “Can I wash my hands here?”
“Oh,” Steve says, his hands in the suds in the sink. “Sure.”
Steve tries to take a step to the right to clear some space for Tony, but even with that, Tony has to brush up right against him to get his hands under the spray. Picking up some suds with his hand, Tony rubs his hands together, watching the dirt fall away. Steve’s a warm line all along the side of his body, and Tony’s trying hard to ignore how that stirs feelings he hasn’t had in a long time.
Stepping back, Tony picks up a dishcloth and dries his hands, his skin heating up when he sees the slight pink blush running up the back of Steve’s neck. “I can go,” Tony says. “If you need me to.”
Steve’s shoulders slump, and that’s the opposite of what Tony was going for. “I thought we talked about this,” he says, an exhausted tone in his voice.
“We did, I just—you can change your mind. If you—”
“I like your company,” Steve says, pulling the lasagne dish out of the suds, rinsing it under the spray from the tap and placing it on the side. Turning around he takes the dishcloth from Tony and dries his hands before switching the water off. “If I didn’t want you here, I’d tell you to leave.”
“No one sober has ever said they like my company,” Tony says. “Except Rhodey.”
“Natasha said she liked you,” Steve says, dropping the dishcloth on the counter. “And she was definitely sober.”
“I—huh.”
Steve tilts his head, and for a moment Tony has to suppress the urge to pat him on the head like a puppy. “You don’t think she likes you,” Steve says.
“You read her assessment of me, right? Would you think she likes me after hearing that?” Tony waves a hand in the air. “It’s fine. She was doing her job, it’s nothing personal, I get it.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s fine.”
“Oh, we are not psychoanalysing me tonight,” Tony says, turning away from Steve and walking back into the living room, curling up on the couch. The fire’s still going strong, and if he looks into the flames he’s almost brought back to cold nights in Afghanistan, he and Yinsen trying to stay warm with the meager supplies they were given. A shiver runs through his body and he startles at the touch to his shoulder.
“I’m sorry if I crossed a boundary,” Steve says, walking by Tony and sitting down at the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“You—” Tony breaks off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that you—it’s possible that I have some issues I haven’t dealt with.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Well I wouldn’t have any idea what that’s like, would I?” he says in a flat tone that makes Tony smile.
“Touché,” Tony says, tugging a blanket down from the back of the couch and draping it over his legs. “So, at the risk of pressing on your issues, I couldn’t help but notice that you got a little, how should I put it? Upset, when I talked about Malibu.”
“You did, huh?”
“I’m observant like that.”
“You’re the only person who has come to see me because they want to see me, not because of anything else,” Steve says after a moment, his hands fiddling with the edge of the blanket over Tony’s legs. “You have a life, I get that, and I know that I’m not a priority, but—”
“Did I say that?” Tony interrupts. “Yeah, I have a life, but it’s—I only have to get back to Malibu because my workshop is there, but I’m working on a tower in New York, it’s kind of an experiment in clean energy, running the building off an arc reactor—”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing, changing the world one product at a time,” Tony says dismissively. “But the point is that I’ll be back in New York, so the real question is, will you be?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, his eyes lowered, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks in the light of the fire. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”
“What do you want to do?” Tony asks gently. “Steve, if you want to be Captain America then you can be, but if you don’t then that’s okay as well.”
“I want—fuck.”
“You can do that as well.”
“Tony—” Steve cuts himself off with a helpless laugh. “I don’t think going out and hooking up with a bunch of people is really what SHIELD had in mind when they defrosted me.”
“SHIELD don’t get a say in your sex life,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you really want them to, I don’t judge people’s kinks.”
“I definitely don’t want SHIELD anywhere near my sex life,” Steve says, making a face at the thought of it.
“Couldn’t help but notice that you said ‘people’ just now,” Tony says, his pulse picking up as he broaches the topic. “Does that mean you’re, how can I put this? Not necessarily picky?”
“You really are observant,” Steve says, looking down at his hands. “Yeah. I mean—I guess. I don’t know how to talk about it.”
Tony sees the hunch of Steve’s shoulders and, before he can think any better, he reaches over and touches Steve’s hand. “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “Trust me, I could write a book on, uh—” His throat goes dry as Steve turns his hand over and links their fingers together. “Steve?”
“I do trust you,” Steve says, squeezing Tony’s hand. “You’ve been more honest with me than anyone else I’ve met so far.”
“Even Natasha?”
“Now you’re being deliberately obtuse,” Steve says, his gaze fixed on Tony.
“Big word,” Tony says. “Look, Steve, not that I—you’re really—god if this was 1997 I’d have got you into bed and halfway to heaven by now, but I—”
“Tony I’m not asking that you let me bend you over the coffee table tonight, I just—” Steve breaks off and lets go of Tony’s hand. “Today has been the best day I’ve had since waking up.”
“I don’t know if that’s something to brag about,” Tony says, shifting a little closer to Steve on the couch, encouraged by the fact that Steve doesn’t move away. “But I’ll take it.” Steve’s mouth turns up in a soft smile, and Tony would swear there are butterflies in his stomach at the sight. “God,” he says softly. “You are unfair, looking like that.”
“Blame your dad,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a teasing smile.
“Can we please not talk about my dad right now?” Tony scrunches his face up. “Because I was going to try and kiss you—”
“You were?”
“I mean, if that’s something you—” Tony’s cut off by Steve’s mouth, hard and demanding against his, and it’s—well it’s not great. He touches Steve’s face lightly with his fingertips and slows the kiss down, taking control just enough to guide Steve into making it softer, and—yeah, that’s it. Tony curls a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, fire sparking in his gut as Steve proves just how fast of a learner he really is. Part of him wants to let Steve push him down against the couch and see what happens, but instead Tony breaks the kiss and takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Steve’s slightly wet mouth, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
“Wow,” Steve breathes out as his eyes flutter open. “I didn’t expect—”
“We don’t have to do this again if you—”
“Oh I want to do this again,” Steve says, reaching a hand up and pressing his thumb against Tony’s bottom lip before trailing his fingers down the side of Tony’s neck, a small smile on his face when Tony tries to suppress a shiver. “I want a lot of things.”
“Good, that’s—good, I mean, I want things as well.” Tony pauses, and narrows his eyes. “You mean sex, right? Not like a Playstation.”
“I don’t know what a Playstation is, Tony,” Steve says, dropping his hand from Tony’s neck and shaking his head.
“That did not answer my question.”
There’s a slight flush on Steve’s cheeks as he rolls his eyes, and Tony’s struck with the realisation that he could probably fall in love with him really fucking easily. “Yes, Tony,” Steve says. “I meant sex.”
“Good, because it’s legal now,” Tony says with a grin. “Surely SHIELD gave you a pamphlet on gay rights?”
“They don’t really have pamphlets,” Steve says, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Natasha gave me some books.”
“Was one The Joy of Gay Sex?”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I really am,” Tony says, shifting on the couch and nudging Steve’s leg with his knee. “Only a bit. You’re fun to tease.”
“Well, hopefully I’ll get a chance to tease you back.”
Tony’s eyes widen a little and he looks away for a moment, a small smile curving along his mouth. “I think that could be arranged,” he says. “Potentially.”
“Potentially?”
“Definitely,” Tony says. “But for that, you’re going to have to make up your mind on what you want to do and where you want to go.”
“Haven’t been out to the West Coast since I was on the bonds tour,” Steve says tentatively. “I got nothing tying me to New York, unless SHIELD—”
“They can’t control you,” Tony interrupts. “And if they try, well, my lawyers haven’t had an interesting task to do for a while, I can make them earn their paycheck. Something tells me Fury won’t try anything, though.”
Steve nods, seemingly reassured by Tony’s words. “So, do you mind me cramping your style in Malibu?”
“I think I could put up with it,” Tony says. “Seems like there’d be some benefits. How do you feel about skimpy swimwear?”
“Skinny dipped in France, once,” Steve says. “Not sure you can go skimpier than that.”
“I—” Tony shakes his head. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave right now? I could have us in Malibu before morning.”
“We both need sleep,” Steve says. “And I have to tell Mrs Sullivan I’m going, but—by the end of the week?”
“Take as long as you want,” Tony says, taking Steve’s hand. “I’m going to have to go back to New York, but you call me and I’ll come get you. You do have a phone, right?”
“Natasha gave me one,” Steve says. “It’s in the kitchen.”
“Okay,” Tony says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “Then—take your time. And when you call me, I’ll be there. And you can see what the world has to offer.”