Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/270081.

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Mature
No Archive Warnings Apply
F/F, M/M
The Avengers (2012), Iron Man (Movies), Captain America (2011)
Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov, [past
Tony Stark/Pepper Potts]
Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanov, Thor,
Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson
Part 1 of Ready, Fire, Aim 'Verse
Published: 2011-10-28 Words: 21006

Ready, Fire, Aim

by gyzym
Summary

There's no "I" in "Avenger."

Notes

Massive, impossible, mind-numbing amounts of thanks to: wheres_walnut for tolerating

me, foxxcub for letting me spam her inbox, sheafrotherdon for waging the good war
against my fascination with italics, and, of course, postcardmystery, who literally read
every word of this story as it was written and coaxed me through to the end. YOU GUYS
ARE THE BEST.
Additionally, neo_star0114 has done a truly amazing podfic of this story, which is, for
real, WAY BETTER than the actual written version oh my god. We're still waiting on the
podfic archival link; for now, clicking the link above will take you to a mediafire
download. Let me know if it goes down before I can get the archive link up, and I'll let her
know--in the meantime, please, go give her some love!

Tony leaves the meeting before hes supposed tobecause he is a busy man and he has things to
do and anyone who has a problem with that can just shut their mouths, cant theywithout saying
goodbye to anyone. He stalks down the hall and into the elevator and out of the lobby and up to
the car (where Happy is courteous enough to let him slam his own door) and fumes the whole ride
over to Stark Tower. He sketches out schematics for two new models of repulsor boots and a

pocket water filtration system on the back of a napkinhes nothing outside of the suit, is he, well
fine, hell show that frosted-over Americana has-been douchebag--and gets out of the car in a
whirlwind of irritation and almost-but-not-quite falling on his face.
Those curbsll sneak up on you, boss, Happy says, a hand on Tonys elbow to steady him, his
face perfectly straight.
Tony doesnt pitch a fit in the middle of the street, but only because Happy keeps a chart for that
kind of shit and Tonys over his quota for the month. He turns on his heel and marches inside
instead, eyes narrowed, and rides the elevator 40 floors up.
Wheres Pepper? he demands, when he gets to her office to find it empty. Her secretarysmall
and competent and utterly unimpressed by him, why is everyone so unimpressed with Tony today,
Tony is a very impressive personsighs.
Shes in the conference room, Mr. Stark, she says, but you cant
Nope, nope, I can, my building, its fine, says Tony, and he dodges the woman, strides down
the hall, throws open the conference room doors, and clears his throat.
Captain America," he says, "is a dick.
Then he notices the table full of investors.
Uh, says Tony, wow, okay. Uh. Well then. Good morning--is it morning? It's hard to tell in the
whole, you know, basement of doom they've got going on at--uh, nevermind. Right, so, great to
see everyone, any chance I can convince you this was a training exercise?"
Pepper sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and waves a hand in Tonys general direction.
Ladies and gentlemen, she says, Tony Stark.
-Tony goes homewell, no. Its not home, is it, its just a mansion that he happens to own and
have spent significant portions of his childhood in. Its his fathers house, looks and feels and,
impossibly, even kind of smells like him, and Tony wishes again that hed had the place renovated
years ago, instead of waiting until it looked like hed be spending a fair amount of time in New
York. As it is, the workshop and his bedroom are safe, and the rest of the place is either under
construction or far too full of memories to set foot in.
So: pissed off investors, residence in the House of Insecurities Past, and Pepper on the warpath, all
for a team of superheroes led by a guy who doesnt even like him. Great. Fantastic. Tonys life is
so awesome.
Jarvis, he says, the playlist from last week, you know the one, crank it, and goes downstairs to
be a brilliant innovative billionaire genius prodigy amazing human being where no one can bother
him.
Which works, until someone decides to bother him.
Sir, comes Jarviss voice, crisp over the sound of Highway to Hell blasting from every speaker
in the house, there is a Captain Rogers is at the front door. I believe he would like to see you,
though he reacted rather badly when I asked him to state the purpose for his knocking.
Tony grins, getting a little bit of perverse pleasure out of that fact; he laughs outright when Jarvis

pulls up the security footage of Steve jumping about a foot in the air and whipping around,
looking for the source of the voice.
Dick, says Tony vindictively, and Jarvis makes a noise that, if he wasnt an AI, would be a sigh.
Yes, sir, he says, so youve said. Several times, in fact. Would you like me to send him away?
Tony opens his mouth to say Yes, and, surprisingly, what comes out is, No. Puzzled, he tries
again, and produces, Yeah, no, dont, Ill get it, its fine, thanksthe Armanis are in the closet in
the far wing, right? Wait, where did I put those sunglasses, I need the sunglasses, dont let him
leave.
Ten minutes later, he opens the door in a pair of Armani trousers, a hand-tailored button down left
open over this mornings Black Sabbath tee, no shoes, and mirrored sunglasses. Even to himself,
he has no explanation for this behavior.
Steve focuses on the lack of shoes, because of course he does.
You rang? says Tony, ignoring the furrow-browed look of confusion Steve is giving his feet.
Did you want something, or is this some kind of weird 40s hazing thing? You stand on my porch
looking confused until I, what, try to fight you for dominance or something, and then theres like,
uh, brass bands and shit, that was the 40s, right
Stark, says Steve, and Tony hates that, hates it, What are you talking about?
I live here, Tony snaps, and Im busy, Im allowed to not make sense if I want to. What do you
want?
Oh, Steve says. He winces, and then actually flushes a little, puts a hand to the back of his neck.
Tony would be endeared despite himself, except that this guy is a tool. I, uh. Well, I think we
may have gotten off on the wrong foot. And since we are going to bewell, teammates, I guess, I
thought maybe we shouldwork on it.
You came all the way out here to apologize? Tony says. Have they not taught you to use the
phone, like normal people?
Im not apologizing! Steve snaps, and then visibly reigns himself in. No, you know what, I am
apologizing. Im sorry. Im justnot adjusting all that well, I guess, and then theres you, and you
look a lot like--
Get out of my house, Tony says, instinctive, automatic, before he can finish that comparison.
Steve jerks back, stunned, and then narrows his eyes. Excuse me?
You heard me, Tony says. Look, Rogers, you want teammates or whatever, fine, great, youve
got a whole gaggle of SHIELD cronies waiting to bust out their guitars and sing Kumbaya with
you, have fun, but I told you, I dont play well with others, okay? So you and yourapology or
whatever, you can just go, I dont need you to do me any fucking favors.
Steve stares at him with his mouth open for a long minute. Then he says, Whatre youno, you
know what, I dont care. Fine. If thats the way you want this to be, thats just fine with me. Have
a lovely evening, Mr. Stark.
Fine! says Tony. Good! Great! I will!
And turn down that racket, Steve yells over his shoulder, storming down the stairs, I can hear it

from all the way up the street!

AC/DC IS NOT RACKET, Tonywell, yeah, okay, he screams it, before slamming the door
on Steves rapidly retreating back.
I believe that could have gone better, sir, says Jarvis.
Captain America is a dick, says Tony, and I want that written on my fucking tombstone.
-Of course, Murphys law being what it is, the next thing Tony does is save the stupid bastards
life.
Its not even supposed to be a mission, not really. Tony knows from the encrypted emails he
certainly hasnt been hacking that its a more of a training thing, meant to see how well the
Avengers function as a team. Theyre just supposed to be doing recon, but trouble follows Tony
everywhere, so its a full-scale melee within fifteen minutes, bullets ricocheting wildly. Tony isnt
really fighting, just snatching civilians from the street and depositing them on nearby rooftops
Clints firing a crossbow with terrifying accuracy, Hulks all Hulked out, Natasha is doing her
circus acrobat of death thing, and Steves more or less playing human bowling with his shield as
the ball.
Thor, being Thor, is smashing people in the face with the hammer and laughing about it. Hes
Tonys favorite, really.
Anyway, the point is, Tony shouldnt even be in any position to save Steves life; he should be
punching someone in the face, or blasting someone with the repulsors, or doing something useful.
But, as it happens, hes on a rooftop, so he sees the grenade being thrown behind Steves back
that no one else notices, sees the gasoline leaking out from a shot-through Toyota, puts one and
two together to makes explosion with the ease of long practice.
Tony would like to think that, while he doesnt like Captain America, hes above wanting to see
him blown up, and thats why he does it. Hed like to think that, but the truth is much less
flatteringhe just sees the eventuality of it all and acts without thinking about it. He's as surprised
to find himself with an armful of all-American hero as, presumably, Steve is to find himself in the
air.
What the hell is your problem, Steve yells, struggling until Tony drops him unceremoniously on
a balcony, you cant just
The explosion cuts him off, rocks the whole street, and Steve looks down, blinks, and visibly puts
the dots together. Oh, he says, Ioh. Uh. Thank you.
Tony sneers, remembers hes got the mask down, and settles for waving a hand instead. Just a
guy in a suit, remember? he says, and doesnt wait around for Steves scowl.
-He takes Pepper to an expensive dinner, a seven course dinner, with the wine and the little fork
and the works, and she doesnt even have the decency to wait for the cheese plate before she says,
Tony, just tell me.
Tell you what?
Oh no, Pepper says, pointing her fork at him, dont you try that with me, either youve

wrecked the company

Why is it always that? Why do you always think Im going to wreck the company, you run the
company and anyway Ive only done that, what, two, three, four times
Six times, youve nearly wrecked the company six times that I know about, and if its not that
then youve murdered someone
Pepper--
Or youve developed some kind of emotional attachment
Dont say emotional attachment, god, now Ive said it, I'm going to break out in hives
Or youre trying to get us started again, Pepper finishes, taking a sip of her wine, which, as we
both know, would be a terrible idea.
But not worse than if I murdered someone, right? Tony says, and is a little horrified to discover
it comes out as an honest question. I mean, obviously the murder would be worse, which I didnt,
you know, do, nobodys been murdered and Im not trying to sleep with you again, you can rest
easy and stop looking at me like thatPepper. Cant I just, you know, take a friend out for a
meal?
Something soften almost imperceptibly in Peppers face; Tony only recognizes it from years of
watching her, trying to figure her out. He smiles, grateful for it, and she smiles back, and Tony
loves her for liking him still, even after he turned out to be a predictable train wreck of a boyfriend.
You dont have to try so hard, you know, she says.
You say that, Tony says, I hear the words coming out of your mouth, I do, I hear them, there
they went, but if I showed up at your office with a pizza youd CEO me right on out of there.
Pepper laughs. CEO isnt a verb, Tony.
Then youre not doing it right.
Is that so?
Am I awful to work with? says Tony, which isnt what he means to say at all. For a long
moment he seriously considers covering his mouth with his hand, like thatll force the words back
inside of it; then he winces, over-exaggerated, trying to play it off.
Pepper lowers her fork, raises her eyebrows.
Oh, Tony, she says, which, really, is answer enough.
-It turns out that, while Steve doesn't like Tony, Captain America gets on great with Iron Man.
Tony should probably have seen that one coming; one of the problems with having a second
identity, regardless of said identity's utter lack of secrecy, is that it makes it easy for people to draw
a dividing line. Nick Fury had done it--"Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended," god, that
was never going to stop rubbing him the wrong way--and Steve is clearly, visibly, doing it too.
Never mind that all the good Iron Man does is because Tony is, you know, running the show; Iron
Man gets smiles and camaraderie and "Nice work, buddy," and Tony gets flat looks and carefully

maintained distance.
Which is fine, really. Two can absolutely play at that game.
Iron Man and Captain America save the day in Bloomington, then Queens, then Spokane; Tony
and Steve snipe across the table and avoid each other's eyes. Iron Man and Captain America grace
the cover of Time Magazine, arms over each other's shoulders; Tony and Steve sit in the car
together in stony, frozen silence. Iron Man and Captain America fight together, fly together, banter
easily over criminal's heads together; Tony and Steve, if at all possible, don't even breathe the
same air.
"You're being ridiculous," Pepper tells him from LA, her voice fond and exasperated. Tony
misses her; the house is echoing, empty, and he hasn't slept in a couple of days. In his exhaustion
he's taken to cleaning out the place himself, separating items into "keep," "donate somewhere,"
and "burn, for they reek too much of my father," and it would be nice to have Pepper bursting in
and out, yelling at him to sign things, to eat.
"I'm always ridiculous," Tony says, digging through a box in his father's study. "That's like the
whole point of me, Pep, where you been?"
"Running your company, maybe?" Pepper says. Tony can hear the smile. "Honestly, Tony, you
could just talk to him."
"And say what? 'Sorry you only like me when I'm encased in metal, I'll try to work on being
encased in metal more?' I'd like to think I'm above groveling."
Pepper snorts, and Tony scowls.
"I said I'd like to think that, you could let me think that, that would be akindness"
He stops talking, because the piece of paper in his hands--yellowed, curling at the edges--demands
all of his attention. He stares at it, mouth open, until Pepper says, "Tony? Tony, are you there?"
"No," says Tony, "I mean, yeah. I, uh, something came up, I'll call you back, okay?"
"Tony," Pepper starts, but Tony reaches out and pushes the button on his tablet to end the call,
then holds the worn paper up to the light.
It's a photograph, which is strange in and of itself. Howard Stark was not a sentimental man by
any estimation, rarely kept mementos. What's stopped Tony in his tracks, though, is the content of
the picture--it's Steve, looking exactly as he did three hours ago, with an arm around Howard's
shoulders. There's a man on Steve's left, shorter, with dark hair, leaning into him and laughing,
and behind them a motley crew of guys in Army greens.
"Me and the HC, '43," is scrawled across the back in Howard's familiar handwriting, and Tony
knows, knows in his bones, that he can't just burn this.
He doesn't sleep again, but it's not like that's anything to worry about.
-Tony waits for Steve outside the meeting, trying not to look like he's loitering suspiciously. He
fails; Natasha gives him the evil eye, Clint circles him warily before walking away, and Coulson
sends him a text message that says, "Still looking for an excuse to taze you and watch
Supernanny; think twice, Stark."

Thor claps him on the shoulder, leans down, peers at him, and grins. "You look tired, my friend.
Were we in Asgard, I would invite you to my bath; I believe you would find it most relaxing."
"This is why you're my favorite," Tony sighs, because yeah, okay, you know what, Tony mostly
doesn't think of Thor like that, but the mental image of him in the bath is definitely going to help
him through the day.
"Truly, your kindness knows no bounds," Thor says, and Tony laughs.
"Oh, no, believe me, it knows bounds. Intimately, even--look, buddy, I've gotta talk to Steve real
quick and I think he's coming, do you mind--"
"Oh!" says Thor, and then, in a complete departure from sanity, actually winks at Tony. "I will
leave you to your task, my friend. May luck be with you this day!"
"Um," says Tony. "Right. Thanks?"
Thor nods cheerfully and ambles away, which turns out to be perfect timing; Tony has half a
second to recover from that little display of before Steve rounds the corner.
"Hey," Tony says, "hey, Rogers, wait up."
Steve turns, stops, flushes faintly and frowns at Tony. Typical.
"Stark. Did you need something? I thought we'd settled the strategy for the next mission, but if
you'd rather--"
"No," Tony says, waving a hand, "no, no, we're good, covered that and recovered it and covered
it again, I'm all set. I just. Uh. Here."
He shoves the photograph at Steve with absolutely no grace, and winces internally. He's got more
poise than this normally, he knows it, he's witnessed himself in action first-hand and he's
downright charming, but for whatever reason Steve seems to shut down the normal interaction
part of his brain.
Of course, then Steve looks down at the photograph and back up at Tony, and there are actual
fucking tears in his eyes. Tony is more than sure that, even at his best, he wouldn't know how to
deal with this; thus, he resorts to an old, faithful strategy, and panics.
"Oh, Jesus," he says, "look, I know I'm not yourfavorite person or whatever, you don't like me,
I get it, fine, but please don't--oh, god, just don't, don't cry, okay, because then I'll have made
Captain America cry and I do not want Coulson to watch Supernanny while I drool, don't, please
don't, I just figured you might want it, I swear I didn't do it on purpose would you stop that--"
"I'm not crying," Steve says, blinking hastily. Then, softer, "Where did you get this?"
"You know the guy in the middle who looks like me was my father, right?" says Tony, who is
really going to have to work on his filtering skills. "That's registered for you, hasn't it?"
Steve doesn't take the bait. He just nods, still blinking, and Tony sighs.
"I'm justcleaning house. Trying to get rid of his shit, donating it, burning it, whatever, and I just
thought--"
"You're burning Howard's things?"

"Burning them," Tony says, waving a hand, "throwing them in the ocean, bathing them in acid,
whichever you like. Getting rid of them, that's the point. The last thing I need is more memories of
my old man, I'm full up, thanks."
Steve looks back down at the photo and doesn't say anything for a long time. Tony's bracing
himself for a punch in the face or something--it'd be about part for the course, given their history-when Steve clears his throat and says, "Ithank you. He was my friend."
"Well, lucky you," Tony snaps, furious suddenly. "He was my father; I didn't get that luxury."
He turns to go, so fucking done with good deeds for today that he could kill something, and he's
almost made it to the door at the end of the hall when Steve says, "Hey, Tony?"
And really it's probably just that it's the first time Steve has called him anything but "Stark," or
maybe the tone in his voice--wondering and unsure, less hostile than it always is--but Tony feels
something warm unfurl in the pit of his stomach as he turns.
"Yeah?"
"What was he like?" Steve's still looking down at the photo, but his voice carries. "I meanlater.
After I knew him. As awell, as a father, I guess."
Tony stands very, very still, swallows against the sudden constriction is his throat. It shouldn't
sideswipe him, that question; he's answered it in interviews enough times, has practiced his
smooth delivery in the mirror, never stumbles over it in public. Steve looks up at him, though, eyes
still wet despite his efforts, piercing blue even at this distance, and honesty wells up in Tony like a
floodgate is breaking.
"Disappointed," he says finally, and runs.
-Moving the Avengers into Tony's mansion is a complete accident, and, like most things currently
going wrong in Tony's life, is also completely Steve's fault.
It starts with a dressing down for the rest of the team that is, if Tony might says so himself,
hilarious. It turns out Fury's been keeping all of them housed in SHIELD headquarters, which,
hey, Tony could have told him that was a bad idea, but whatever, the explosion is worth
watching. Clint has apparently been camping out in the drop ceilings, waiting for people to scare-"It's practice," he protests, hands in the air, when Fury turns a vengeful eye on him--and Bruce has
broken six doors, a three beds, and a fridge. Thors taken to walking around the place naked, and
seems entirely confused as to why Fury would have a problem with this; Cap, looking shamefaced
about it, nods and looks away when Fury says the words punching bags.
When he gets to Natasha, Fury just sighs and shakes his head, a hint of a smile playing around his
mouth. She raises one eyebrowwhich, for Natasha, is practically a peal of hysterical laughter
and says, Its not my fault I make everyone nervous.
Be that as it may, Fury says, either you guys are going to have to shape up or were going to
have to find you other accommodations, and let me tell you what, the budget we have for housing
you all? Its not large. So, hey, you wanna live in the kind of boarded up rat traps we can find for
you, thats great, butfor fucks sake, Stark, what are you smirking about?
Tony grins beatifically, fanning his fingers out and locking them together to place behind his head.
Dont mind me, Im just really enjoying this. Theres a problem and I didnt cause it!

Oh, good, says Fury, rolling his eyes, so glad I interrupted this meeting for your smugness
Im not even involved, Tony continues gleefully, clinically incapable of passing up an
opportunity to gloat. While you all have been here terrorizing SHIELDs best and brightest, I
have been living quietly in my mansion, causing no problems, with enough bedrooms for all of
you
Thatll solve the problem nicely, Stark, thanks, Fury says, and flips his portfolio shut. Meeting
adjourned.
Youre welcome, says Tony, and then what Furys said actually processes. Wait, wait, hold
on, what--no, come back here, I didnt mean, what did you think I
And then Steve, fucking Steve, with his big stupid eyes and his sculpted goddamn cheekbones,
Steve who doesnt like Tony at all, looks up at him with surprise on his face and says, Thats
really big of you, Tony.
Three days later, Tonys got two SHIELD agents, a Norse god, the Hulk, and Captain goddamn
America living in his house. Some daysmost days, latelyhe really hates his life.
-The worst part about shacking up with a team of lunatic superheroes, Tony realizes quickly, is
how much he doesnt actually mind it. They drive him crazy, of coursehow could they not drive
him crazy, Clint alone is enough of an asshole for six people and having Natasha around makes
Tony jumpy, like shes going to stab him in the neck with lithium dioxide againbut its kind of
nice, actually, not being alone. The house still feels too much like Howard, but some of the
renovation is done, and having more people around keeps the sickening empty feeling at bay.
Also, Thor decides he wants to help with the renovation, which turns out to go a lot faster with
Mjolnir involved. Hes definitely Tonys favorite; accept no substitutions.
Anyway, its awful because its not awful, because Tony wants it to be awful and finds himself
enjoying it instead. Hes not sure what that says about himsome sad combination of doesnt
play well with others and secretly desperately lonely, probably, which is not something Tony
wants to spend any time consideringbut he knows that any therapist worth their salt would have
a field day. He spends even more time than usual in his workshop or at Stark Tower, trying to
avoid thinking about it, and finally gives it up and heads to his gym for a 3 AM workout session.
Where he finds Captain America, beating the living shit out of his punching bag.
Tony stands in the doorway, mouth open, transfixed, because yeah, alright, this is a pretty nice
view. Steve may be a lot of things, but theres no arguing the fact that hes gorgeous; sweatslicked and breathing hard, almost blurred with speed, he looks like something that walked
directly out of Tonys reptilian hindbrain. His face is screwed up, clouded over with some emotion
Tony cant read from this distance and probably wouldnt be able to read up close, either, and hes
taking swings like hes fighting for something.
Which, okay, thats Tonys punching bag; that thing is designed to withstand in-suit practice
sessions, and Tony would know, because hes the one who designed it. Theres no way Steve,
powerful as he is, should be able to move it that much, let alone rip it in half. But thats what he
doesthree more punches and a roundhouse kick and its flying backwards, spilling sand
everywhere, leaving Steve cursing bitterly under his breath.
Uh, think you won that round, champ, says Tony, and Steve jumps.

Oh! Tony, I didnt. Um. I didnt know you were there.

I wasnt, Tony says, slipping into the room and crouching over the mutilated remains of the bag.
Just got here. You know this was enhanced with Kevlar, right?
I didnt, Steve admits. Sorry.
Hes still breathing hard, and Tony hands over the water bottle hed brought in with him absentmindedly, running his fingers over the torn fabric of the punching bag. If Steve has this kind of
capability normally, Tonys going to have to design something considerably stronger to keep up
with himnot to mention something that moves, probably, since his agility is where he really
needs the work.
I do not, Steve says, capping the water bottle and alerting Tony to the fact that hes been
speaking out loud.
You do, Tony says, because he might as well, now. I watch you. Or, okay, thats not as creepy
as it sounds, I mean, the suit tracks that kind of data anyway, but youre the one I keep an eye on,
mostly, becausewell, no, I do it for everyone, I guess. Clints a little weaker on his left side
Yeah, Ive noticed that, Steve says, sounding surprised. Ive been running him through drills
when we get the chance, but hes not great about, you know, listening.
Tony nods. Its all the crouching, I think. He puts his weight on his right when hes in sniper
position, so those muscles get worked more; I was thinking about doing the redesign on his bow
with that in mind, adjust the specs a little, so hes got to distribute more, but I dont want to overbalance him.
If I can get him to run the drills, you wont, Steve says speculatively, taking another swig of
Tonys water. And a bow redesigns a hell of a carrot, hes been pestering you about that for
ages.
Im a busy man, Tony says, which, really, he intends to delivery with a tone of derision and
superiority. Instead he just sounds like hes joking, and Steve grins at him, easy and relaxed.
Tony is warm suddenly, the tension he came down here to relieve draining out of him only to be
replaced with a headier, buzzier variety. He smiles back, because hes helpless not to, because he
wants Steve to keep looking at him like that, like its good, like theyre friends.
I guess so, Steve says, mock-serious, but then again, you found time to decide Im not agile
enough
Youre not, Tony says, and Steve scowls, but its a good-natured sort of scowl. Seriously,
youre not, I can pull up the footage from our last fight and show you
Or you could just spar with me, Steve says, shrugging.
Tony raises an eyebrow and gestures to the mutilated remains of the punching bag. Really? You
think thats the best sell for a little play fighting? I dont know about you, Cap, but I am deeply
and sincerely attached to each and every one of my limbs, and, as I believe you know, I do most
of my fighting in a big metal suit.
Steves smile slips a little, but doesnt vanish entirely, and he doesnt take the obvious bait. I
promise not to treat you like a punching bag, if it helps. I could use the practice, and so could you
suit or no, theres always the question of form, right?

You just want to try to prove that Im wrong about the agility thing, Tony says, sighing and
stepping up onto the practice mats. Which, for the record, Im not.
Well see, Steve says, and Tony has just long enough to relish his smileto think, oh, fuck, I
like him, dont I, how could I like him--before hes being thrown.
-They save the world together, once, twice, six times, argue bitterly over what music to play, drive
one another up the wall. Clint takes showers that go on for far too long, and half the time Thor
doesnt shower at all; Natasha vanishes for days on end and comes back looking smug, satisfied,
and though they all tease her mercilessly about it, she wont crack and tell them where shes been.
Bruce takes a dry erase marker and writes all over the windows, equations Tony finds fascinating
until he smashes through them as the Hulk, and they all casually try to catch Steve up on pop
culture. Twice a week, Tony and Steve toss each other around in the practice room, sometimes
with the suit, sometimes without, and itsokay. Its good.
Its not quite home, but its not quite anything else.
-In August, about a month into the whole communal living experiment, Tony finds Thor sulking in
the living room. Thor is not normally one for sulking; he'd pouted for about six minutes when
Tony had told him "Keeping Up With the Kardashians," was not allowed under his roof, but he'd
gotten over it quickly enough. Tony eyes the long line of his frown, the way his shoulders are
slumped, and considers sneaking away before he can be dragged into whatever it is.
Teamwork, a voice in the back of his head reminds him. It sounds a lot like Steve, because that's
just what Tony's life is like.
"Oh, fine," he mutters, and Thor looks up. "What's eating you, buddy?"
"I do not know," Thor says, mystified, lifting an arm and looking around. "What does the creature
look like? Where on my body do you see it? Are you sure it is really there and not an illusion, for
my brother--"
"Uh," says Tony, holding up a hand. "No, it's not--it's a figure of speech, what's eating you, it's
like--it means what's wrong, okay, stop looking around, there's nothing actually eating you, you're
fine."
"Oh," Thor says. He actually looks kind of disappointed, and slumps back against the couch in
defeat. "Well, then. It is nothing, my friend. Do not trouble yourself."
Okay, awesome, I'll just be going now, things to do, people to see, great talk, thinks Tony.
"Doesn't look like nothing," says Tony, and curses the fact that Steve Rogers apparently
freelances at night as Jiminy goddamn Cricket.
Thor sighs, deep and long. "It is onlyat home, in Asgard, it is a day of great celebration,
wherein, with respect to Yggdresil, the world tree--"
"Whoa," says Tony, holding up a hand, "Reader's Digest version, please."
Thor scrunches up his nose--between him and Steve, Tony is starting to wonder if he shouldn't
just program Jarvis to produce some sort of voice-activated dictionary--but he seems to get the
message.

"It is a day for me," he confesses. "To celebrate my existence, what I have learned, and what more
I have to learn. I fear I have rather more in the latter category than the former, and it would be
incomplete without my brother; nonetheless, I would have liked to be there. It is impossible with
the current state of the Bifrost, however, so I shall have to weather it with solemnity, as befits a
warrior."
Tony takes that sentence, strips it of its inherent Thor-ness, parses it, and grins.
"Thor," he says, "is it your birthday?"
"No," Thor says, frowning. "Although I suppose that would be the closest Midgardian
equivalent..."
"It's your birthday!" Tony crows, because this? This is a problem he can deal with. "You
should've said, I throw a great party, everyone knows that, even Pepper knows that--hey, you
know what, I'll call Pepper, I'll call everybody, and you, you stay there, try to just, you know
frownless, and I'll be back. Whiskey, maybe, you like whiskey, right? Or mead, I can get mead,
I know a guy with mead, Jarvis, get me the mead guy--"
"I would not want you to go to any trouble," Thor starts hesitantly, and Tony grins wildly at him.
A party is good news. A party is great news; Tony's been behaving lately, intends to behave still,
but it'll be nice to cut loose a little.
Just in case, though, he walks to the bar, pushes the little red button under the sink. There's a faint
whirring noise, and then Jarvis's quiet, "Duly noted, Mr. Stark," which Tony knows means his
suit security measures have been activated. He won't be able to operate any of them if his BAC
goes above .08; he'd repurposed his morbid little blood toxicity death scanner to test for it, made
the whole thing impossible to override.
It's probably paranoid, but it had just seemed like a good idea, after thelast time.
"Trouble?" he says to Thor, running his hands over the assortment of liquor choices. "Trouble,
buddy, believe me, a party is not trouble when you're me--hey, you know what, let's just ease you
into it, get you in the party mood. Highlander or Highlander? I think, you being who you are, we
should go with Highlander."
"I do not understand your reference," Thor says, but some of his good humor is starting to come
back.
"That's great," Tony says, "it'd only offend you anyway," and pours three fingers each into two
glasses, passes one back to Thor. "Right, uh, toast, happy returns and all that--"
"To the great dignity and triumph of all those who stand with me this day!" Thor booms. Tony
looks around, mostly just to confirm the room is empty except for them, and then shrugs.
"Right," he says, "okay, what the hell, Ill drink to that. Cheers!"
-Five hours later, Tony is much, much more drunk than he intended to become.
It was justwhiskey, right, all that whiskey, and then Clint and Natasha showed up, and Pepper,
and Bruce. Cap sent him a text message--he isn't good with those yet, but has at least figured out
enough to be functional--that said DEAR TONY, I AM IN A MEETING WITH DIRECTOR
FURY. THANK YOU FOR INVITING ME! I WILL ATTEND, BUT MAY BE QUITE

LATE. SINCERELY, STEVE ROGERS.

And, well, anyone would need a drink after that. Several drinks, even, and Thor'd never had a
sake bomb before; that obviously had to be rectified. Tony forgot, in pouring them, what sake
bombs tended to do to Pepper--after three she said, "Tony, I've been meaning to tell you" and
then promptly listed all the way over into Natasha's lap.
Natasha stroked her hair, a fond smile on her face, and then gave Tony a look that dared him to
say something. Tony remembered her stabbing him in the neck with a needle like a kidney thief,
saw the honest warmth in Pepper's eyes, and bit his tongue. At least it explained where Natasha'd
been slipping off to lately. Tony felt pretty good about figuring that out; at least, he felt pretty good
until he examined that thought, pushed it to its inevitable conclusion, and felt more to drink was
definitely required.
Then the guy with the mead showed up. Thor, as it turned out, was not kidding about that stuff.
Point being, by the time Steve gets to the house, things have gottenfairly out of control. Clint is
perched on top of the entertainment set, painfully still, with a mostly-empty bottle of vodka next to
him; Bruce is sitting in front of the television, entirely captivated by Bill and Ted's Excellent
Adventure, because everyone agreed that the best thing to do with a trashed Bruce Banner was to
leave him in plain sight with something to keep him very happy. Pepper and Natasha are making
out in the corner, which Tony is fine with, really, he's great, he's so fine, and Tony himself is
teaching Thor the bump and grind.
Well. Tony is trying to teach Thor the bump and grind. Unfortunately, Thor choses the exact
moment that Steve enters the room to say, "My friend Sif has taught me many exotic dance
moves; I shall demonstrate!"
This is why Tony is hovering three feet off the ground, upside-down and being held by one ankle,
when he is confronted with the face of Steve Rogers.
"Hmm," says Thor, "I believe I am doing it incorrectly."
"Steve," Tony says, scrabbling for purchase and then remembering he's dangling in the air. He
settles for crossing his arms over his chest instead, tries to decipher the expression on Steve's face.
His mouth is curved, but Tony is upside-down; he can't actually gather his wits or spacial
reasoning enough to figure out if it's a smile or a frown.
"Hi, Tony," Steve says, and he doesn't sound like he thinks Tony is the worst person in the world
or anything, so that's something. "You guys look like you're having fun."
"Yes, yes, another!" Thor cries, and throws Tony violently at the ground. Tony flails, yelps, and
manages not to land on his face by the skin of his teeth; he rolls, aching, and groans into the
carpet.
"My friend," Thor says frantically, "I apologize, I intended to throw the bottle, only--"
"I know," Tony moans, "I know, I get it, shut up, god, fuck," and then he's being rolled back over.
"Oh my god, Tony," Steve says, and he's definitely frowning now, "are you okay? How many
fingers am I holding up?"
Tony squints at him. "Uh. Is this a trick question?"
Steve looks terrified for a second, and then seems to realize that both his hands are on Tony's
shoulders. He shakes his head, rueful, and waves two fingers in Tony's face.

"Peace!" Tony says cheerfully. "That's like my whole thing now, peace and love andand
Intellicropsoh, two."
"Okay," Steve says, and releases a breath. Then he releases Tony's shoulder, which is a tragedy.
"Okay, good, sorry, I should've caught you--"
"Agility," Tony says, tapping his face where he thinks the side of his nose might be, and Steve
laughs.
"Yeah, so you keep telling me. Think you can get up?"
"Can," says Tony, "maybeshouldn't."
"You're not going to lie on the floor all night," Steve says seriously. Tony is not sure what to do
with this information; he is quite certain he has spent many nights in exactly this condition, and the
floor is a better place for him to be than, say, in the Iron Man suit inside of a giant doughnut.
The truth is, Tony is drunk enough to know he's too drunk; the truth is, Tony hates being in this
place, feels like a failure, doesn't want to remember his last several trips down this road. He wants
to crawl inside something and die, wants to be miserable about Pepper and his assorted bad habits
and Steve, who is just being nice because Tony is a trainwreck. Even though Tony's not a
trainwreck, not always, just sometimes, and a couple times a year he's actually a decent human
being, things just got out of control and he's probably, he should probably stop drinking entirely,
he mostly has, he was responsible about the suits but this is stillnot good. It's not good, and he
should stay on the floor.
He would explain this to Steve, but Steve's already grabbing his shoulder again, his hand, hauling
him to his feet with the ease of someone with ridiculous super strength.
"It's Thor's birthday," Tony says, as though this explains everything.
"Incorrect but well-meant, my friend!" Thor bellows, and slaps him on the back. Normally this
would fine, but it's Thor; the force behind the slap shoves Tony forward again, directly into
Steve's chest.
It's a nice chest. Tony likes it here. Maybe he should stay.
"Ow," he says plaintively, as Steve curls an arm around his back to steady him, "hey. If you're
gonna go slapping people slap, uh, Captain Muscles here, because, you know, with the serum,
and themuscles."
"Captain Muscles?" Steve says over his head. He sounds amused, which means he's probably just
humoring Tony.
Given the fact that he hasn't shoved Tony away from him yet, Tony's gonna go ahead and take it.
"Captain Muscles," Tony confirms. "'s better than Captain America, because of--the French thing.
I know French! What's the thing--PEPPER!"
In the corner, Pepper breaks away from Natasha and looks around. Drunk as she is, she manages
to lift an eyebrow that speaks entire paragraphs; Tony stands his ground, mostly because Steve is
still holding him up.
"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

Oooh, the burn of bitter sarcasm. Tony grins, because he really has no other option.
"What's the thing," he says, "you know, the thing, the French one, the words. That I mean."
Pepper purses her lips, tilts her head, sighs and says, "Je ne sais quoi, Tony. I'm busy."
"That's totally it," Tony crows, "the thing Pepper said, that's whatuhI meant about
whatever we were talking about. You're tall. I'm gonna go now."
Steve is laughing at him. Tony can tell, because his big stupid soft comfortable chest is moving.
He steps back, because he totally should have done that awhile ago, and Steve says, "You okay to
be walking?"
"I'm not that drunk," Tony protests, and then winces at the implication that he knows what being
that drunk is like, and then laughs--he's not sure why.
"I meant because Thor threw you at the ground," Steve says, slow and concerned, giving him a
strange look. You dont feel concussed, do you?
This, Tony feels quite sure, is the kind of question people who aren't superheroes don't ever have
to ask each other.
No, he mutters, m good, s a thingThor, buddy, hey, hey, Thor, Thor--
Thor, Steve says, calmer and, naturally, much less whiny than Tony, and Thor turns his head
away from the silent communication hed apparently been exchanging with Clint.
Steven! Tony says that on a birthday it is customary to exchange greetings in kind. Happy
birthday, my friend!
Thats not, Tony says, while Steve visibly bites back a laugh, thats just, thats so not, I bet I
could figure out dictionary into a Jarvis for thewait. Hold on. Wrong order. Has anyone ever
told you about your hair, man, because you, I mean, just, thats a lot of hair, I need you touh.
Uh. Shit.
I think youve probably had enough to drink, Steve says. His voice is as warm as his chest was;
Tony wants to wrap it around him like a blanket, which doesnt make sense.
Mmm, he agrees, Captain America, oracle of truth, Im just gonna... and he stumbles away,
past Thor and Bruce and Clint and Pepper and Natasha, to snatch a bottle of whiskey from the bar
and sulk by himself on the back porch.
Or, at least, he means to go sulk on the back porch. He overshoots a little bit, and is leaning up
against the side of the house, the bottle tucked between his thighs, when Steve finds him.
Are you always such a, Tony says, and waves a hand, looking for the right word. Boy Scout, I
guess, did they have those in the 40s? I should probably know, I was one, hilarious, right? Three
whole weeks and then they kicked me out because I, uh, you know what, you probably dont
want to know that story--
The Boy Scouts were founded in 1910, and I brought you some water, Steve says, sitting down
next to Tony and deftly removing the whiskey bottle from between his legs. And some, uh,
Advil? Pepper said you might want it.
Thought Peppers mouth was occupied, Tony says, and snorts. Ooh, sorry, sounded a little
bitter, didnt it, maybe I should build like...voice modulation, right, wouldnt even be hard, I never

sound how I mean to sound. I think thats a good plan.

I think you should drink the water.
You would, says Tony, and takes a pointed sip of it. Hes not sure what point hes trying to
prove, but hes proved it, goddamn it. Im good now, thanks, you can go, theres a party. Go
enjoy the, uh, Thor, Thors very enjoyable, you know its his birthday?
Im good where I am, Steve says, and shrugs when Tony gives him what he hopes is a
questioning look. Not much for parties, never have been.
I can turn the music down--from right here, I totally can, hey Jarvis--
Its not the music, Steve says, its just...I like people one on one better. I always feel like Im
breaking some sort of social rule at parties, like theres some code everyone else has read. Bucky
used to say I was allergic to fun.
Whos Bucky?
Steves face goes dark and closed off for a second, but then he smiles. Hes...he was a friend of
mine. My best friend. We grew up together, fought together during the war. He knew me better
than anyone, I think.
Then maybe you are allergic to fun.
Definitely to Buckys idea of fun, Steve agrees readily. He liked things fast; I was always a
slower kinda guy. I dont know why he liked me, really.
Everyone likes you, Tony slurs, because its the truth. Like...like, everyone, youre just. Uh.
Very.
Very, Steve repeats, dry like the Sahara. Drink your water, Tony.
Maybe I will, Tony says, pointing a finger in Steves direction. He takes another long swing,
swirls it contemplatively in his mouth. Yknow, youre a good person.
Uh, Steve says, blushing bright red, thank...you?
Tony should leave it there; he should definitely leave it there. So, naturally, he adds, Sorry I
thought you were a dick, before.
What?
Bad judge, Tony says, gesturing at himself and spilling water all down his shirt, of character.
Like. Always. Thought Rhodey was a dick too, felt like an ass later--liked Pepper from the
beginning, she was always good, shes like. The exception. And fucking Obie, I always get it
wrong. Peoplere hard.
So I should...take it as a compliment? Steve says, sounding completely at sea. That you
thought I was a dick?
Smarter, Tony says. If Id thought you were good youd probably be like. Uh. Plotting...things,
are you plotting things, no one has tried to kill me in awhile, but I dont think you would. Thats a
compliment, sorry I called you a dick. Youre not. A dick, I mean.
Steve stares at him for a second, then sighs and shakes his head. Youre a complicated guy,

Tony, has anyone ever told you that?

No m not, Tony says, just...tired. Yeah. Thats...yup.
Hey, you cant sleep out here, Steve says, apparently correctly interpreting Tonys closed eyes
and slumped posture.
Wanna put money on that?
Come on, Steve says, and then theres an arm under Tonys, lifting him to his feet. Tonys too
drunk and shameless to help himself; he tucks his face into Steves shoulder, shuffles his feet in a
sad approximation of walking, and lets Steve more-or-less haul him through the house and up the
stairs.
Gonna be sorry, Tony manages, when hes collapsed face-fist onto his bed, in the morning.
Steve says something, but Tony cant really understand it, and forgets it at once. He registers
being rolled over, the soft brush of fabric against his arms, a brief pressure on each of his feet, and
then warmth slides over him and he abandons consciousness entirely.
He dreams of Steves hand in his hair, stroking lightly, for what feels like a long time.
-Tony wakes up to a headache that is dwarfed only by the ache in the rest of his body. He mashes
his face into the pillow, tries to will himself back to sleep, and fails. After a moment, Jarvis says,
Good morning, Mr. Stark, in a voice that would be hesitant if he wasnt, you know, a computer.
Fuck you, Tony mumbles into the pillow.
What was that? says Jarvis, in sunny, bordering-on-homicidal tones, and really, one of these
days Tony is going to get around to giving him a little less personality.
Eventually. Probably. At some point.
Fuck, Tony groans, fuck, fucking motherfucking fuck. He rolls over as gingerly as possible,
but apparently not gingerly enough. Even the smallest motion sets off a world of hurt, creeping up
his arm, his ribcage, his left thigh, and thats when Tony hazily remembers being thrown to the
ground by Thor.
Oh, hell, he mumbles, and pushes back the comforter to reveal the mottled canvas of bruises that
is currently his body. Thats gonna be a bitch to spar with, fucking Thor, I swear to god.
Maybepadding, Jarvis, could youpadding. Uh. After coffee.
Of course, sir, Jarvis says, apparently over the fuck you business. Ill begin rendering some
theoretical schematics for your approval. Shall I schedule an appointment with a doctor to see to
your bruising?
No, Tony says, no, its just, uh, hangover and, and, divine battery, no doctors, Im good. If you
could maybe just kill me, though? Thatd probably be for the best.
Jarvis doesnt even dignify that with a response, which is fine. Tony was sick of talking anyway.
It takes him another few minuteslong, dizzy minutes, in which he cant help but poke at his
bruises, regret it, and then stubbornly do it againto realize that hes in bed. His own bed, in his
own bedroom, on the second floor, whichTony is pretty sure he was too drunk last night to pick

his bed out of a lineup, let alone climb the stairs and get under the covers.
Now that hes thinking about it, hes not wearing shoes, either. Or most of the suit hed had on last
night, just the undershirt and the pants.
Huh. Maybe coffee, Tony thinks, and forces himself out of bed over the strenuous protest of his
entire body. He walks down the stairs feeling older than hes ever felt in his life, creaking and
aching with every step, and when he reaches the landing he peers into the living room and sighs.
Bruce is Hulked. Tonys not sure when or how that happened, or where hes going to find the
latest round of consequential structural damage, but at least he seems to be sleeping peacefully.
Granted, Tonys going to have to replace the couch, but hes sleeping peacefully. Thors sprawled
out on top of the bar, grinning in his sleep, and Clintwow, Clints still on top of the
entertainment set, looking right at Tony.
Morning, Tony says, youre not planning on moving in up there, are you? Because I dont
think you really match.
Clint says nothing. After a minute, he snores, which is when Tony realizes that hes asleep with
his eyes open.
Well thats not terrifying at all, he mutters to himself. He looks around for Pepper and Natasha,
doesnt see them, and, riding a hunch, says, Jarvis, call Pepper, will you?
Certainly, says Jarvis. A second later, the Jaws theme starts playing from the direction of
Natashas bedroom.
Thats not nice, Pepper! Tony yells, and winces at how much it hurts to draw the breath to raise
his voice. I told you to change that!
Not now, comes Peppers voice, followed immediately by Natashas more insistent, Fuck off,
Tony."
Tony scowls and walks into the kitchen.
The world better hope it doesnt need saving today, he mutters, and then Steve says, My
thoughts exactly, and Tony jumps about a foot in the air.
"Jesus," he says, "give a guy a little warning, fuck, is super sneaking one of your powers, oh my
god, you know I have a heart condition, right? Or, well, not a condition but aer."
He stops, because Steve has one eyebrow up, and his mouth is quirked at the corners; this is his
I'm laughing at you but too decent to do it out loud expression, and Tony knows it well. He
narrows his eyes and turns to the coffeemaker.
"Fine," he says, "be that way."
"I already started a--," Steve starts, and then he makes a strangled, choking sort of sound. "Tony,
your arm."
"Huh?" Tony says. He's trying to piece together what he remembers about last night into a picture
that makes sense; he's pretty sure he should be mortified right now, he just can't remember why.
"Oh, yeah, that. As it turns out, playing hacky-sack for a Norse god is a bad idea, who knew?"
"Me?" says Steve, and before Tony can stop him, he's reaching out to lift Tony's arm with gentle
hands. They're warm against the surface of his skin, warm like Tony is under Steve's sudden,

careful scrutiny, and Tony doesn't shiver, but it's a close thing. "This looks really bad--god, you
hit on your side, is it like this all the way down?"
"Kind of," Tony admits, because it's hard to lie to Captain America. "I've had worse, though, it's
not a big deal."
"Your ribs could be bruised," Steve says, brow furrowed. He reaches for the hem of Tony's shirt,
and that's about the extent of what Tony can handle this morning; he twists away, trying not to
wince too obviously at the movement.
"I'm fine, Cap. Coffee and some Advil, maybe lay off the sparing for a couple of days--"
"A couple of days?" Steve repeats, raising his voice, and then lowering it back to a furious
whisper when Tony groans and makes a shushing noise. "A couple of--Tony, your arm is blue.
For all I know you've cracked a rib, you need to see a doctor."
"But I hate doctors, so, uh, no, I'm thinking it's a no, definitely a no," Tony says, and pours
himself a cup of coffee. Something is itching at the back of his mind; hopefully the caffeine will
help. "Seriously. It's fine, I'm fine, everybody's fine, forget about it."
Tony's not fine, actually; he feels like he's going to keel over or throw up, like his head is going to
fall off his neck, like half of his body is on fire. He wants to curl up somewhere and lick his
wounds, and--oh, oh, there it is, last night's memories in stunning technicolor, the mortification
he's been waiting for. Steve saw Tony drunk, drunker than he's been in months; Steve listened to
Tony whine, pathetic and maudlin. Steve, shit, Steve carried him to bed, and now he's standing in
front of Tony with his arms crossed, concern on his face.
And the thing is, Tony knows it's just that he's part of a team now, part of Cap's team, for all he
doesn't play well with others. He's part of the team and that should be enough, but it's not, only
makes everything else worse by comparison. He wants to misinterpret what's happening here,
wants to read Steve's concern as interest in Tony instead of the Avengers, wants to walk forward
into Steve's arms, the warmth there, and let the tension drain out of his own shoulders. Hell, he
even wants to talk about what happened last night, wants to believe that Steve's inherent
impossible decency would overcome the judgement Tony knows he deserves, but Steve is his
coworker, not even his friend, and he can't.
"Let it go," Tony says, and looks away. "It's really not your problem, anyway."
"You're so goddamn frustrating sometimes," Steve snaps, "would it kill you to just swallow your
pride a little and-- "
"Yes, yes, okay, it would, it would kill me, because I have so much pride to swallow, don't tell me
you haven't noticed--"
"You know you're not the only person who--"
"Is affected by my injuries? I think I am, actually, and save me the 'There's no I in team,' speech,
because really, you know what, I get it, I've heard it, but I fight in a giant metal suit, so a couple of
bruises aren't going to--"
"You think this is about-- "
"Yeah, I fucking do."
Steve glares at him, and Tony glares back; Steve breaks first, huffing out a long sigh and looking
away. "Okay, fine. If you want to be a stubborn ass, I guess it isn't my lookout."

"Cheers," Tony says, raising his coffee mug.

Steve throws his hands in the air and walks away, and Tony's chest feels tight, heavy, until he's
gone.
-Tony Stark has been in love twice in his life, and the first time was with a circuit board. He never
got over that one, never even tried; its still there, humming under his fingers while he works, the
heady stream of how things fit together. Tony has never been able to fathom reality without the
picking it apart and building it a different way, and he sees no reason to start now. For all he pits
himself against commitment, the steady rush of home has always been clouded thick around his
work, and hes long since resigned himself to the fact that hes better with machines than people.
The second time, with Pepper, was less about stability, more about surprise. Tony hadnt known it
was possible to fall headlong into something hed been feeling for years; he scrambled and
scrabbled to catch up, to touch every loose end, to figure it out. And Pepper...god, those first few
weeks, tangled up with each other and their own mortality, Pepper was a dream Tonyd been
having for years. She splayed herself across his sheets, thighs cream-pale and bruised with kisses,
red hair spilled along the pillow, and quirked her eyebrows at him like nothing had changed at all.
Will that be all, Mr. Stark, she panted one night, wicked as Tony shook against her. She smiled
during sex, slept the night next to him, laughed at him over morning coffee; Tony traced the curve
of her spine with his eyes when she moved, woke up curled around her, a hand in her hair. She
was just Pepper, warm even when she was cold, hands soft where her voice wasnt, and he loved
her, he loved her, hed always loved her.
But Tony would be Tony, had always been Tony, couldnt ever seem to manage being anyone
else. Tony was himself in love or out of it, and Pepper knew him better than anyone; hed thought
he could be better for her, and she must have done too, and they were both wrong. Scrambling
and scrabbling were all well and good, but Tony fucked up more than he did anything else--too
little time or too much affection, absent and smothering by turns.
Shed changed her mind about quitting as CEO; hed agreed to the Avengers Initiative. Half the
time they were on opposite sides of the country, Tony knee-deep in some consulting project while
Pepper put out his fires, and when they did see each other Tony couldnt control himself at all. He
bought her diamonds and hung up on her; he missed board meetings and hid his eyes when he
fucked her; he said I love you once, twice, a hundred times, but kissed her silent before she
could say it back.
One month became two, became four, and they fought whenever they werent fucking. Pepper
tried for maturity and Tony tried to bait her, hoping shed reveal in anger what it was he was
doing wrong. She never did, just looked at him with eyes that spoke volumes in a language Tony
didnt speak, and he sent flowers, cards, suggested Venice for the second time. He tried so hard it
seemed like he wasnt trying at all.
They were on the way to the airfield--Venice after all, and Tony knew he was being humored, but
at least it was something--when the truth of it stumbled out of his mouth.
This isnt working, is it?
Of course its working, Pepper cried, exasperated, you havent listened to a word Ive said,
have you, we dont have military funding anymore, its natural that the numbers dont meet what
was projected a year ago--

No, Tony said, not that, I, uh. Us. You and me. Its a no-go, isnt it?
Peppers eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut, and god, even that was enough; Tony
swallowed against the swooping crash in his stomach, took her hand.
Cmon, Pep, he said, how long have we known each other? I mean, god, remember when I
made you replace the arc--
I am not doing that again, Pepper said, and her eyes were wet, and really it was wrong that
Tony had to go through having this conversation; its not like they didnt both know where it was
going.
I know, he said. I know you arent. But I...look, I meant what I said, okay? About it being, uh,
you. Pretty much...only you, and if this isnt for us, then you know what, I can deal. Right? I
mean, I can totally deal, of course I can deal, but if it flames and burns and you hate me--
I dont hate you, Tony, Pepper said, and there it was, the fond exasperation, the fact that she
found the idea ridiculous, and what the fuck was Tony supposed to do without that, go live alone
in a treehouse in the woods?
Yeah, now, Tony said, rolling his eyes, trying for flippant, but in three weeks Ill have burned
down Stark Tower or knocked all the walls out of the mansion--Im remodeling the mansion, by
the way, the New York one, not the one here, the one here is yours, I mean, its mine but it can be
yours, if you want it I can sign the whole thing over to you, no problem, Im good at that--
Tony--
Fuck, fuck, and that was all Tony was going to let his composure slip, it really was. He took a
deep breath, faked a smile, and Pepper smiled back. She wasnt crying, but she wasnt quite...not
crying, either. Tony thought it must be nice. See? I cant even do a breakup right.
Is that what this is, Pepper said, but there was no question in her voice. She reached up, touched
the side of Tonys face--probably right where a bruise once was, Peppers funny that way--and
sighed. I do love you, you know.
But its too much, Tony said, right? Its too much, isnt it, I know, its okay, Im sorry, lets just
quit while were ahead, right? Thats the right call, I think thats the right call.
Tony, I--
Tell me Im wrong, Tony said, and meant it for the first time in his life. He wanted her to tell
him he was wrong, that they were fine, that she was happy; it was selfish, but he wanted it
anyway, tried to keep it out of his voice. Tell me Im wrong and Ill drop it right now, see if I
dont, go on, tell me.
Pepper sighed and shook her head and it was over, over even before she said, Youre all I have
too, you know that, dont you? Ive told you enough times that its processed? If there was any
way to make it work--
You wouldve found it already, Tony said, and ran a hand through his hair. Forget about me,
youre the genius in this car--no offense to Happy--and I know you tried, okay, Im a hard
problem to solve--hey, hey, you wanna give me a smile? Please?
She gave him a scowl instead, and when Tony laughed, it only sounded a little hysterical.
You know what, he said, tell you what, you should go to Venice anyway--no, no, dont start--


I havent even said--
You were going to, I just mean for the weekend, blow of some steam, enjoy yourself--
I know this escapes your attention constantly, but as CEO--
I was never this responsible as CEO, theres already a precedent and youre just--
Yes, I know exactly how irresponsible you were, thats not exactly a selling point and--
--making it more difficult this way, Pepper, cmon, just for the weekend and then youll come
back and-Find the entire company in complete-
--thingsll be normal, Tony finished. That shut Pepper up; she gave him a horribly doubting
look, and Tony was scrambling again, would maybe always be scrambling for her. Or as normal
as things ever get for us, come on, let me have this, let me think that we can--
We can, Pepper said, and her voice was firm, no-nonsense. We can, stop looking at me like
that, of course we can. It just...it might take more than a weekend, Tony. You have to be prepared
for that.
When am I not prepared? Tony said, Tell me one time I wasnt prepared, and that, at least, got
Pepper to laugh. Tony grinned at her, dug his fingernails into his thighs, and hoped. See, there it
is, thats a smile, were going to be fine.
The car drew to a stop; Tony could see his plane through the tinted windows, fueled up and ready
to go, and as endings went, this wasnt a terrible one. He climbed out of the car before Happy
could come around to open the door, offered Pepper a hand out.
So...thats it, then, Pepper said, and the tears were back, unshed but still visible. In ten years,
Tony had never once seen her cry.
Thats it, he said, and hugged her, pretended not to see the terrible relief in her eyes.
It took him three hours to get home, get the suit, and get to New York; he stormed through the
SHIELD hallways in full gear, ignoring the panicked glances from various agents. When he got to
Nick Furys office, he flipped up his mask, slammed the door, and said, I want in.
You are in, Stark, Fury said, without looking up from the folder he had spread open across his
desk. Made it down the hallway without getting shot, didnt you? Thats more in than most
people ever get, you got a reason for bothering me today?
No, Tony said, no, not in the building, not in as a consultant, I want in on the Avengers.
Fury did look up at that, one visible eye narrowed. And when did I give you the impression that
that was up to you?
Would you just listen, Tony said, and slammed an armor-clad fist into the desk. It left a two-inch
dent in the metal, and Fury just raised an eyebrow.
Im listening.
I will do anything, okay? Anything, is that what you want to hear? When I first started with this

I will do anything, okay? Anything, is that what you want to hear? When I first started with this
shit there was the next mission and nothing else, and I know Im a pain in your ass, and I know
you and your goons got up close and personal with me during a really bad week, but for the
record? The time before that? The last time I thought it was the end of the line? I built a fucking
arc reactor in a cave with a box of scraps and a goddamn car battery hooked to my chest, so I
think its safe to say Im normally good under pressure!
Look, Tony--
No, you look. Some part of Tonys brain--probably the small, scared, undeveloped corner that
handled his self-preservation instinct--wailed in terror at that, but he ignored it. I dont know what
you want from me here, I dont know if theres some kind of psych eval Im supposed to pass or
an obstacle course Im supposed to run, maybe you want me to flick out one of my eyes so we can
match, whatever. I know Im not a team player, okay, but that doesnt mean I cant do my
goddamn job, and if you keep me locked up in here running tests on god knows what I am going
to lose my mind. I will do the job, you know I will, you have to know that, I will do anything, you
just have to give me a fucking chance.
He was breathing hard when he stopped talking; Fury gave him a long, measured look, then
sighed. He looked back down at the folder open on his desk, made a check mark, and flipped it
closed again.
Fine, he said.
I knew you were going to say that, and I have prepared a-- Tony paused, let that process. Wait-wait, fine? Did you say fine?
I was gonna call you in anyway, Fury said, shrugging, figured Id let you say your piece first.
Turns out weve, ah, unearthed someone, and Im pretty sure he can keep you in line.
Oh, Tony said, and tried not to feel too ridiculous about the fact that his entire set of dramatics
had apparently been unnecessary. Uh, okay. So I guess youll just...let me know when Im
needed, then?
Mmhmm, Fury said, and Tony had turned to go when he added, Oh, and Stark?
Yeah?
Gonna need you on premises, Fury said, voice perfectly flat, eyes on his work. Right here in
this building for the next...week, lets say, though I reserve the right to need you for longer. Shit
for you to get done, its non-negotiable, you got that?
Tony thought of the empty house in Malibu, of Peppers face in sharp relief, of the Scotch sitting
on the bar in his living room.
Yes, sir, he said, because thank you would have been pathetic, and slipped into the hall.
(Five weeks later, the big blond hero in the armor Tony made him hates him on sight. Tony...well,
shit, Tony doesnt blame him at all.)
-If Tony's honest with himself--which he rarely is, actually, but whatever--he's missed New York.
There was a certain appeal to Malibu, sure, the beaches and the sunshine; there'd been panache in
the seedy, smoggy roil of Los Angeles after midnight, and Tony had been looking for panache.
The East Coast had felt thick and smothering at 21, at 31, haunted with echoes of his father's
Brooklyn accent, always hard with disappointment. Now, a few months shy of 41, he watches the

end of a thunderstorm out the window of what was once his father's study and very nearly smiles.
He's healed, mostly, from the whole tossed-around-like-a-drunken-ragdoll episode. One of his ribs
had been cracked after all, a fact which he wasn't ever planning on mentioning to Steve; still, time
and carefully hidden bandages have done their work. All that remains of the incident is a faint
yellow tint to Tony's arm, and even thats mostly faded.
Well, that and the fact that he and Steve have been circling each other like wounded dogs for two
weeks, avoiding eye contact and exchanging as few words as possible. At least it's familiar, Tony
thinks ruefully, for all it's harder to weather now.
Tony is, maybe, kind of, sort of, in what he would call a "mood." Pepper would call it a sulking
fit, but Pepper's in LA right now, so Tony is free to define things however he likes.
The rain stops abruptly, a shuddering sort of stillness settling over the house; in the absence of the
pounding beat of the downpour, Tony can hear Clint trying to teach Thor to work the Wii. It's a
losing battle--Tony knows from long experience--but it's not like he's getting any work done
anyway. He slips out into the living room, his tablet tucked under one arm, and leans in the
doorway to watch.
"You just wave it," Clint says, exasperated, "don't they wave things in Asgard? Is there a nowaving policy? Is it too ungodly or something--hey, don't you dare throw it--"
"But why should I wave it?" Thor says, dangling the WiiMote in front of his face by the strap. "Is
it not a weak man's task, mimicry and imitation of a real fight? This is a plaything for children! For
cowards!"
"Thor, it's bowling," Clint says. "Hey, Tony, make Thor understand the Wii, give him an upgrade
or something."
"Tony has abandoned attempting to school me in this folly," Thor says cheerfully. "He insists I am
a hopeless case, and should remain restricted to swinging the mighty weight of Mjolnir."
"Fat lot of help that is," Clint mutters, "I want someone to bowl with."
"You could ask Bruce," Tony says.
Clint, without looking away from the screen, just sighs and beats at his chest like Tarzan. "He's a
sore loser, it's bad for the walls."
"Hey," Bruce says mildly, looking up from the textbook he's reading, and sighs when they all
tense up. "Oh, honestly--I'm not feeling green, you guys can relax, I was just registering my
offense."
"Your offense ended in a viewing of your giant green dong last week," Natasha says, looking
extremely bored. "Which, for the record, offended me."
"You could bowl with Clint," says Tony; Natasha gives him a flat look that speaks volumes as to
how much that is not an option. "Or you could try Steve, he's getting better at it."
"Can't find him," Clint says. "He's been kinda scarce since you two went all cage-match on each
other the other day."
"We didn't--wait, you--I--you know about that?"
"It is not so large a house as you perhaps imagine, my friend," says Thor. He's got the WiiMote

balanced on his head now, and is moving his body to control it; surprisingly, it seems to be
working for him. "Also, you and Steven have not been particularly subtle about your discomfort
with one another of late."
"Oh, right, because they're normally so discreet," Natasha says, her mouth quirking up, and Clint
snickers as Thor lets out a guffaw.
"Hey," Tony snaps, and Bruce glances up again to give him a long-suffering look.
"See?" he says. "Not nice when they're all talking about you, is it?"
"I'm going upstairs," Tony says loftily, "because I am--"
"A busy guy, yeah, Tony, we know," Clint says. He does a controlled little fist-pump as he lands a
strike. "Maybe say it a little less, whaddya think? Be more convincing if it wasn't like your
catchphrase."
"Agreed," says Natasha.
"Here too," says Bruce, already looking back to his book.
"Tony may speak to his work level if he so chooses," says Thor, securing his place as Tony's
favorite once again. Then he ruins it by adding, "Though I will concede that he chooses to do so
perhaps more than is required for the understanding of others."
"Yeah, well," Tony says, which isreally, really lame. He's saved from having to elaborate when
Clint lets out a whoop of satisfaction and yells, "Eat it, bitch!" in a Norse god's face.
"You insult my people and my kingdom," says Thor, laughing on it, and reaches out to give Clint
what's probably the worst noogie of his life.
Tony's life has gotten very strange.
He watches them for another minute, the easy camaraderie that's flowing between them, and then
sighs and takes his tablet up to the roof. It's slanted and tiled over, not really designed for sitting
on, but Tony had spent hours up here as a kid, staring out at the distant glow of the city's lights.
He'd had a stairway built when he took over the mansion, a little door, because he felt like 40 was
probably a little old to be crawling out the window, but he hasn't had the chance to take advantage
of it until now.
For a moment, it's as good as he'd thought it would be. The air is cool, damp still, heralding fall;
Tony takes a deep breath, enjoying the taste of it, and then chokes on it a little when he notices
that he's not alone.
"Steve?" he says to the silhouette, really hoping it's Steve and not some supervillain with a lurking
fetish.
Then Steve turns around, bites his lip, and says, "Tony, hi," with no inflection in his voice at all.
Tony takes it back--he'd take the supervillain any day of the week. At least the megalomaniacs
they normally deal with would have the decency to actually stab him in the heart, instead of
making him feel like they had.
"Sorry," Tony says, putting up a hand. "I didn't mean to, to, intrude, fortress of solitude, probably,
right? That's a thing that people do, I get that, so I'll just, you know--"
"Tony, it's your house," Steve says, furrowing his brow. "You don't have to go just because I'm

here."
"Not interested in crashing your party," Tony says warily, and Steve sighs, shakes his head.
"Party is definitely the wrong word. I'd like the company, actually. Stay?"
Tony tilts his head, and then shrugs and shuffles over to sit next to Steve. Apparently they're done
not talking; that's fine. That's good. Better for the team and everything. Tony will just let Steve call
the shots, and-"Hey, is that a sketchbook?" Damn his fucking mouth.
"What?" Steve says, and then glances down at his lap. "Oh, this? It's nothing, it's justI used to
do this kind of thing, back before the war. Didn't really have time for it once things got heavy,
though, and now I just do it tounwind, I guess. Helps me think."
"Can I see?" says Tony, which is a stupid question, since he's already snatched it out of Steve's
hands. For a second, he thinks he can see Steve blushing, and finds it endearing--well, more
endearing than usual, which is actually getting kind of difficult to imagine, thats probably not
good--despite himself.
Then Steve says, "I guess my answer's irrelevant, huh?" in his driest, most deadpan voice, so, hey,
maybe not.
Tony looks down at the notebook rather than replying, angles it towards the house for better light.
A bustling street spills out across the page in charcoal; shopfronts fit together seamlessly, and there
are rough outlines of people leaning out of upper windows, gossiping in the street. The detail is
uneven--the drawing is obviously unfinished, a work in progress--but the skill in it is almost
breathtaking.
"Is there anything you're not good at?" Tony says, and then, when Steve's face twists a little,
backpedals. "Uh, sorry, I just--this is really good. Is it based on somewhere specific, or--"
"It's my neighborhood in Brooklyn," Steve says. He sounds wistful as he takes the notebook back,
sad, old. "Or, I mean--was, I guess. I'm sure it's different now. I keep meaning to go see, but it's. I
don't know."
"Yeah," Tony says. He waits for Steve to elaborate; when nothing else comes, Tony turns his
head, really looks at the guy. He's staring down at the sketchbook, his thumb stroking lightly over
one corner, and his shoulders are slumped in on each other.
Tony's mind, never good with staying still, flits from scoliosis to lumbar support to charcoal
quality to the fact that he probably needs to get the roof re-tiled before it settles, strangely, on the
word Atlas. He frowns.
"Hey," he says, "you okay?"
Sure, Steve says, shrugging a shoulder. Its about the least convincing play-off Tonys ever
seen, and hes watched himself in the mirror. I...yes. Yeah. Its fine.
Uh-huh, says Tony, unconvinced.
He doesnt push for once in his life, though, not sure its his place, and they fall into an easy
enough silence. Tonys got his tablet out again, balanced on his knees, projecting a combination of
stock figures and a blown out view of R&Ds latest tragic attempt at creativity; hes absorbed
enough in his work that he almost doesnt register the sound of Steve clearing his throat.

Almost, but not quite. His fingers still, and he slants a sidelong glance to his left. Steves not
looking at him, but his face is twisted up like hes steeling himself for something.
Everyone I know is dead, Steve says finally. Its flat, monotone, none of the visibly held-back
emotion Tony remembers from the day with the photograph. Or, uh, knew, I guess, would be
more appropriate. Even--I had neighbors, there was a girl who lived in the apartment across the
hall from me, she was pregnant when I left, and her sons dead--Vietnam, I guess. You know how
weird that is?
I...dont, Tony admits, blinking. Honestly, it hadnt even occurred to him, and isnt that a bitch-Tonys never felt like more of an asshole in his life, and that bar is pretty damn high. But heres
Steve, quiet, steady Steve, Steve who genuinely likes people, wholl give (almost) anyone a
chance; Tony tugs a hand through his hair and cant fathom how many people he must have
loved, how many must have loved him, how many lives he must be mourning.
Im sorry, Tony says, and hes selfish, hes always been selfish, so he doesnt mean Im sorry
for your loss. He means Im sorry I was such a dick to you and Im sorry I didnt see you and Im
sorry, I should have done better. He means Im sorry you dont like me, but god, I dont blame
you at all.
Steve sighs and shrugs, catches the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other and rubs a
steady beat into his skin. Im not. Or, I mean, I am, of course I am, but its...I dont know. They
all lived such full lives, had families and...and...and lives, I know I said that already, but thats,
really, thats it. They lived. How could I begrudge them that just because I missed it?
Tony doesnt know what to do or say here, has never had any skill at navigating these kinds of
waters. The last time anyone trusted him in a conversation with this much emotional depth, hed
ended up getting (deservedly) punched in the face. On the one hand, theres probably not anything
Tony could say that would lower him in Steves esteem at this point; on the other, more important
hand, he wants to help.
I dont think its begrudging them their lives to miss them, he tries finally, hoping its the right
thing. Because thats not, I mean, if you want to look at the logic of the thing--which maybe you
dont, thatd be okay, I could work with that, we could try philosophy or, uh, math, Id probably
be great at this if it was math--but, my point being. You can be sorry you missed it without being
sorry they had it, right? Those are two separate things, arent they?
Sometimes they are, Steve agrees, sounding thoughtful. Sometimes...geez, I dont know. I
woke up and it was the future and everyone expected me to just...be glad we won the war, I
guess, and get back to work. And some days thats great, because god knows what Id be doing
without it, and some days...I guess some days I wish theyd just leave me alone.
Tony, wondering if that was a hint, makes a vague gesture towards the house. I can, I mean, if
you want alone time, I can provide, its a big house--
Steve actually laughs, a low, honest chuckle, there and gone again. The expression on his face is
exasperated, maybe a little fond, too; thats probably wishful thinking, the fond thing, but Tonys
not going to kick it out of bed. I didnt mean you, Tony.
Just checking.
Mmm, Steve says, taking a breath. Least the airs the same, right? I always did love New York
after a storm.
Me too, Tony says, smiling down at his knees. I used to come out here as a kid when it rained,

just to watch. Or, well, I did, until my dad caught me building that lightning-powered bottle
rocket--
Bet he loved that.
You can still see the scorch marks, if you know the flight pattern to look for, Tony says. Hes a
little proud despite himself, and he grins at Steves raised eyebrows. What? It worked; they dont
just throw the words child prodigy around, you know.
You must have been a terror, Steve says, and Tony laughs.
Im still a terror.
Steve opens his mouth, and Tony suddenly, definitively does not want to know whats going to
come out of it. Always good in times of stress, his brain connects a few threads its been working
out and Tony leans forward, intent.
Hey, can I see that drawing again?
I--what? Oh. Uh, sure, why--
I want to try something, Tony says. He lays the drawing flat against his tablet, raises a hand
when Steve makes a noise of protest. Im not going to hurt it, Im just...trying something. Ill be
done in a minute, I promise. Jarvis, you up?
For you, sir, always, Jarvis says, voice echoing into the darkness, and Tony quirks a smile.
Aww, baby, you dont have to wait up like that--no, Im just kidding, you totally do, do me a
favor and scan this in, would you? To my personal server, not the Stark ones, and dont auto-edit,
I know how you get--its charcoal, it should feel like charcoal, yeah?
Absolutely, sir, says Jarvis. Did you want me to simply store it, or...
No, no, Tony says, flicking through a couple of screens and absently handing Steves notebook
back. Manipulatable file, maybe 75% just so I can work with it, and then axe the bells and
whistles--dont need the spiral imprints, dont need the bent corner--actually, you know what,
could you just clear the paper and leave the lines, the whole thing should be--yeah, like that, thats
good.
Tony, what are you doing?
Working, says Tony, give me a second. Jarvis, do you recognize the location on the--oh, hey,
look at that, ten seconds or less, Steve, check it out, your artwork translates into the Matrix!
Definitely dont ask me what that means, you wont like it--okay, right, good, can you take the
lines, there, that's it, make the concentration a little darker--okay, thats great. And now just--yeah,
Google Earth would work but I'd rather you use the stuff from our satellites, I hate giving those
Silicon Valley nerds the traffic--let's say 33% opacity to start with, just ease it in--
Seriously, Tony, what--
Trust me, Tony says, which isnt something hed ever ask Steve to do if he was really paying
attention. Steve goes quiet, though, so thats something. Jarvis, darken the line art, a little lighter
on the--yeah, that's good, okay, can you render that so it's a little smoother--perfect. Right. Project
it up for me, bigger, brighter too, Jarvis, its night, I want him to be able to see--good, good, okay,
aaaand...there. Right there. Done.

He leans back to display his handiwork, trying not to be too obvious in watching Steves face for
a reaction. Its not like its any big deal, not really; Steves sketch is laid on top of a photo
composite of the same area of modern-day Brooklyn, charcoal meeting with faded-out color. The
sketch is darker and in the forefront, the buildings behind it are more of a haze--Tony had left
them nearly see-through on purpose, making them the ghost. The storefronts have changed, of
course, but a number of the buildings are the same; looking at it, its easy to see how it fits
together, past and present.
Steve stares at it, mouth parted slightly, and says nothing. Hes quiet for long enough that Tony
has to resist the urge to fidget and drop the tablet entirely; he sits on his hands to quell the urge and
waits.
Finally, Steve says, You know, its not so bad, when you look at it like that.
Of course it is, says Tony. Hes surprised by the harshness in his own voice, the honesty
threaded underneath it, but hes gotten on this train now, so he might as well ride it to the end of
the line. You know the thing in my chest, glows blue, looks real pretty--its there because if you
took it out for ten minutes, the shrapnel hanging around in there would lodge in my heart and kill
me.
Wait, what? I didnt-- Steve starts, and Tony waves a hand.
No, dont, it doesnt matter. Its not the point, and its fine anyway, so long as Ive got the thing
in my tickers fine and dandy, and look, the point is, it never gets boring, and it never gets better,
either. But if it hadnt happened, Id be...war profiteering, probably, or dead. And instead Im Iron
Man. And you know what, sometimes that doesnt fucking help at all, but its another angle, isnt
it? And this, uh, whatever you wanna call this little Photoshop experiment, or hell, just look out
there, you can see the lights. Thats New York, and it wouldnt be here if you hadnt done what
you did back then, and it definitely wouldnt be here if you hadnt punched Doom out last week, I
was there, I can personally attest to that fact. So maybe thats your angle, or maybe its just
knowing that the team wouldnt work without you--because we wouldnt, you know--or maybe
its something smaller, but its...youre...fuck, I dont know, please say something so Ill stop
talking, I told you Id be better if it was math, you want me to do some math?
No, Steve says, quiet, no math.
Tony clamps his mouth shut, because its really high time he did, and swallows hard. He looks
anywhere but at Steve for a few agonizingly long moments, and then his resolve breaks; when he
glances to his left, Steves got his head cocked slightly to the side. Hes looking at Tony with
sharp, appraising eyes, like hes a puzzle Steves trying to figure out, and Tony has to look away
again.
Seriously, youre starting to freak me out a little, even just a little nod or something, youre--
Thank you, Steve says. The sincerity in his voice--how do people even sound that sincere, how
can human vocal chords even do that--makes something in Tony crack open, leaves him tingling
all over, unsure.
Hes wanted to do unspeakable things to Steve for some time now, has recently become
acquainted with the fact that he wants to do much less vulgar, but decidedly more terrifying, things
with him as well. Just now, Tony looks at him and aches, for him and over him. He wants to
know everything and nothing, wants to stay right here and spend the rest of his life running, and
Steve...Jesus, given a choice, Steve probably would have chosen anyone else for company.
No problem, Tony says, clapping Steve on the shoulder and clambering to his feet. His voice is

even, because hes always been a good actor when he sets his mind to it; he feels splayed open,
wrecked. You should come inside--Clints killing Thor on the Wii, or maybe killing him over the
Wii, hard to be sure. He could use a new partner.
Think Ill stay out here a minute, Steve says, smiling up at him. Do you mind leaving the,
uh...what is that, a computer glass?
Something like that, Tony says, feeling his own smile go lopsided. Tell you what, you keep it,
god knows Ive got more of them. Ill show you how to work it properly later; for now, just tell
Jarvis what you want it to do, hell figure it out for you.
Tony, you dont have to--
Least I can do, really, Tony says, which probably doesnt make sense to Steve, but is true all the
same. Ill see you in there, okay?
Okay, Steve says, and Tony makes it into the house, down the hall, and into the bathroom
before he collapses against a wall and closes his eyes.
-Four days into another insomnia jag, Tony gives up on the engine hes rebuilding and wanders up
to the main floor. The house is middle-of-the-night deserted, no mission or madness to keep them
up, and Tony grabs a stick of string cheese out of the fridge and munches on it contemplatively.
He walks the house, absently tracking changes; Mjolner half-buried in a coffee table, one of
Natashas throwing stars embedded in the wall. Theres a pair of Clints boxers near his door,
probably slipped off the top of the laundry, and Bruces textbooks are tucked into Tonys
bookcases. Steves on a health kick, so there are signs of that too--apple cores and fruit leather
wrappers, a clear message that theyre all getting too used to having a cleaning staff.
Tony sighs and smiles, all one breath, and makes a mental note to buy a Roomba to improve
upon. Then a flash of movement catches at the corner of his eye; he steps back, cocks his head,
and rounds the corner.
Steves in the gym again, going to town on his punching bag. Its new and improved--titanium in
the center, under six solid inches of Tonys personal version of Kevlar, with an inch or so of sand
around the edges so Steve doesnt actually break his fingers. Repulsors in the top and bottom,
tucked into the sides, let it fly around the room when Steve wants it to, and hes usually gasping
and clutching his side when hes done with it. Its voice-activated to respond to Steve and Steve
alone, and no one else is allowed to touch it. This is because, in all likelihood, it would kill them.
Tonys really proud of it, actually. Its always nice, making something that works.
He didnt build the thing for this, though, hadnt intended it to enable Steves late-night workout
habits. Tony hadnt actually known it was a habit until just now; for all he keeps odd hours, he
generally keeps them in the basement. He remembers that expression on Steves face, though, the
one that looks like hes fighting for something, and he wonders how many nights find Steve here,
beating on a punching bag alone. The serum means he doesnt need as much sleep as normal
people; Tonys known that from the start, but hes never thought about it.
He wonders how many things about Steve hes going to realize too late, how many little pieces
hes missed in being the most self-absorbed asshole on the planet, and then he runs a hand through
his hair and goes into the gym.
Hey, he says.

Hey, Steve says, after a moments pause. He brushes sweatsoaked hair out of his eyes with one
glove-covered hand, delivers a quick kick to the punching bag to send it off the other way.
Sorry, did I wake you?
Nah, wasnt sleeping. This room is soundproof anyway, you dont have to worry about that.
Tony eyes the freeweights in complete disarray, the slightly erratic, low-battery flight pattern of
the punching bags movements, and sighs. How long have you been down here, exactly?
Not sure, Steve says. He gives Tony a narrow-eyed look. How long has it been since you
slept?
Point, Tony says, because hes too sapped of energy to have this fight. Cmon, then, we might
as well be cranky bastards in the same place.
He expects Steve to argue with him; Steve just shrugs and strips his gloves off, follows Tony back
out into the house. They end up in the living room, sprawled over opposite ends of the couch,
watching Pretty in Pink because Tonys in charge of the 80s.
Thanks, Steve says after half an hour, and Tony smiles at him sideways, doesnt say anything at
all.
-Thanksgiving Day, Doctor Doom (and really, Tony thinks, couldnt he have named himself
something more apt--Doctor Crazypants, maybe, or Doctor Jesus Fucking Christ Dont You Ever
Die) brings every float in the Macys parade to violent, unrelenting life. The Avengers are on the
scene from the beginning, because parades are good publicity stunts--Tonys actually pretty sure
Steves relieved when the balloons start trying to eat them, he really hates the pandering--but the
Fantastic Four show up in fifteen minutes, the X-Men five minutes later.
This is why we cant have nice things, Clint mutters into his comm link, climbing up the
scaffolding of a nearby building to get a good firing angle, and Tony laughs.
What, you mean this isnt how you wanted to spend the holiday?
Better than going to see my family, Clint says, firing three shots from his crossbow at the
gigantic turkey wandering by, although seriously, I think at least one of these fuckers is actually
my sister--
Cut the chatter, Steve says, but cheerfully enough. Iron Man, can you get Black Widow in
position for the, uh, creepy king thing?
Ive said for years the Burger Kings a menace. Widow, on your six, ride the updraft, Tony
says, and fires a repulsor at Natasha. She jumps gracefully into the air, pulling daggers out of her
mysteriously invisible thigh pockets, and stabs them into the balloons neck.
Too on-point to say eat shit, right? she asks to general agreement, as Thor grabs her gracefully
out of the air and throws her towards Mr. Potato Head.
Hulk smash Hulk! the Hulk says victoriously; Tony has a terrible moment of confusion before
he remembers thered been a Hulk balloon.
Oh, hey, that reminds me, were so done parading, he says, and fires a missile into Spongebob
Squarepants. Because, seriously, this is not worth it, I had to rip that Iron Man balloon to shreds-whoa, Cap, watch it with the shield.

Knew youd move, Steve says. Tony can see his grin even from the air. Can someone tell the
X-Men to quit with the theatrics? Its bad for crowd control.
I suspect they are unaware of their behavior, says Thor. He sounds put out; Mjelnor turns out
not to be as useful as usual in a balloon fight. Although it has come to my attention that he with
the eyes that shoot fire is unpleasant to interact with. I have not challenged him to combat for his
insolence, but I may yet, the day is young.
Keep telling yourself that, Tony says, and ducks around a sudden projectile. Shit! They can
throw things now? What the fuck, are they learning balloons?
Be advised that the enemy is solidifying, Cap says, voice strained slightly. Getting hard to-punch--through--okay, there we go. Somebody find Doom already, this is getting out of hand.
I will seek him out, says Thor, and swoops away.
Hell have a control box with him, Tony says. Dont touch it, just call me, I can probably
rewire--shit, Clint, drop low--yeah, okay, there we go.
In the distance, Reed Richards is giving Kermit the Frog a long-limbed, strangling bear hug;
beyond him, Miss Piggy is on fire, though Tonys not sure if that was Johnny Storm or Cyclops.
He remembers a time in his life when this would have fazed him, but its kind of been a while.
Top ten reasons they shouldve let the Muppets die out in the 90s, Clint mutters, clearly on
Tonys wavelength. Tony hears Natashas snort of laughter, at odds with the fact thats shes just
choked out an armed thug with her thighs.
You like the Muppets, Hawkeye, dont lie.
Yeah, the old Muppets, the classic Muppets--
Seriously, the chatter, says Steve, Iron Man, jumping in three--
Roger, Rogers, says Tony, even though he really shouldnt use Stves real name on the comm,
just to see Steve smile as Tony catches him.
Dont do that, Steve says, and Tony grins behind his mask as he lowers Steve to the ground,
says, Dont do what?
All in all, its an hour before things are settled down. The street is littered with balloon shreds and
float parts, and Dooms being led away in handcuffs--Tonys seen that enough times to know it
wont last, but its still satisfying. The cleanup is going to take ages, but that, luckily, is not really
Tonys problem.
He drops to the ground, flips up his mask, and grins at Steve. More fun than waving and signing
autographs, am I right or am I right?
I dont have any idea what youre talking about, Im just glad for the safety of the people of New
York, Steve says, eyes wide, too-innocent, and Tonys still choking on his laughter when
Cyclops and Wolverine find them.
Hey, Steve greets them, nodding, good fight.
No kidding, says Cyclops, shaking his head at the mess. Someones gonna have to put Doom
down one of these days; some days I wonder if he and Richards dont have some kind of,

yknow, thing going on.

Wolverine mutters something that sounds a lot like, Prof and Magento, and Cyclops snorts;
Tonys not touching that with a ten foot pole.
Anyway, Wolverine says, you nutjobs move like a well-oiled machine. Aint so bad, fighting
with you.
Yeah, Cyclops says, impressive show all around, thanks for the help.
The help? Tony says, bristling, Im sorry, the what--
Steves hand lands on his shoulder, hard enough that Tony can feel it through the armor. It means
stop, and Tonys mouth snaps shut more or less against his will. Hes furious--the help, honestly,
like they hadnt won the damn thing practically by themselves, fucking X-Men with their
superiority complex--but then Steve smiles.
Thanks, he says, we make a great team, and maybe Tonys not so annoyed after all.
-There may be a lot of things Tony doesnt know--where Rhodey keeps the porn stash Tony
knows hes got, Peppers inexplicable knowledge of whatever Tonys thinking of saying, how to
make Thor understand that google is a verb--but he knows how romance works, at least for him.
Hes not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination, and hes aware that his feelings for Steve
are stupid and self-destructive, that theyre never going to come to fruition. Hes entertained a
couple of fairly compelling fantasies--crazy sex-drug attacks, passionate we-almost-died-oh-nowait-its-you-shit-yuck make-outs, end of the world with no other options scenarios--but even in
his fantasies, he cant let himself look at the possibility that Steve would want him normally.
Hes self-destructive, but hes not that self-destructive. Steve doesnt even like him; Tonys too
smart not to take what he can get.
Theyre on the couch in the living room again. Its become kind of a thing for them, these latenight rendezvous--Tonys hours are erratic even when hes managing to sleep, and Steve, as it
turns out, never needs more than four hours rest a night. Tonys got the footage from the Macys
fiasco playing on the television, is flipping back and forth from it to Ghostbusters, because hes
always been of the firm belief that Bill Murray movies should be watched out of order.
Natashas favoring her left side there, Steve says, frowning at the fight footage. Jarvis, can you
freeze that?
Shit, Tony says, staring with his head cocked. You think shell listen if you tell her to report
her injuries?
She hasnt the last ten times, Steve says, and sighs. Tony flicks back to Ghostbusters absently,
reaches into the popcorn bowl. Maybe you can upgrade her jumpsuit?
You say that like shell let me anywhere near it, Tony says. Too underhanded to use Pepper?
Yes, Steve says, and scrubs his face. No? I dont know.
Peppers very scary, Tony says, and then grins at the screen. Almost time for Dont cross the
streams, god, I bit that back like fifteen times during the whole Macys thing, youll see why-Michelin Man, I mean come on--

Youre not making sense again, says Steve, and quit switching the feed, I want to make sure
we didnt miss anything.
Tony warms at the we, enough that he risks giving Steve a cheeky grin. This is classic film
history, Rogers. The feed will still be there after this scene, I recorded it, its only playing when
we watch it, are you maligning my technology--
You need to sleep, Steve says, laughing, youre talking too much again, give me the remote.
I never talk too much, Tony says, which is just a boldfaced lie. I talk just enough, and what do
you mean the remote, theres no remote, what remote are you talking about?
That remote, Steve says, reaching around Tony to grab it. Tony ducks and weaves, trying to
snatch it before Steve can. Their shoulders knock, and then their chests, and then suddenly Steves
face is right over Tonys, his hand braced on the cushions behind him.
Um, Tony says, because hes hard, suddenly, and thats probably something he should get on
top of hiding, hi there?
Hi, Steve breathes, and then hes bringing his head down and pressing his lips to Tonys.
Its not the best kiss of Tonys life; its not even in the top ten, which isnt really Steves fault.
Steves soft and hesitant and tastes like buttered popcorn, but Tony cant even begin to enjoy it-Tony cant do anything, really, except lie there and try frantically to process whats happening. He
fails spectacularly at it, and in the end he shoves Steve back by the shoulders and scrambles to the
other end of the couch.
Oh my god, Steve says, flushing bright red, oh, god, Tony, Im sorry, Im so sorry, I just
thought--
But you dont even like me, Tony says, shell-shocked, and regrets it the instant it comes out of
his mouth.
I wouldnt ever want to make you-- Steve starts, and then he stops. His eyes widen and his
mouth drops open and he stares at Tony like hes never seen him before. Wait, what?
Never mind, says Tony, definitely never mind, such a big never mind, never and mind
combined is the way to go, I didnt say anything, hey Jarvis, can we maybe figure out some
memory erasing in the next two seconds, thatd be--
You think I dont like you? Steve says, his voice cracking on it. Tony, why?
Because you dont! Tony says, throwing his hands in the air. You never have, the first time we
met--
But that was, Steve says, his brow furrowed now, Tony, that was months ago--
And then youd only talk to me when I was Iron Man--
Youd only talk to me when you were Iron Man! Steve cries. He looks...horrified, Tony
registers through his own mortification, and wonders what thats about. I figured you were one of
those guys who didnt like mixing off-duty with on, Ive served with guys like that, I wasnt going
to push it, we had to work together--
Right, Tony says wretchedly, because hes always known that Steve tolerated him for the
teams sake, but its a little rough to hear it confirmed. We had to work together, I know. And

its--I mean, its really good of you to have...swallowed it so we could be teammates, and look,
dont worry about it, its not--I mean, most people dont like me, I dont exactly make myself easy
to like, it doesnt change anything, I know--
Tony, what are you talking about?
The team, Tony says, and oh, hes babbling, maybe Steve was right about the sleeping and the
talking too much, this is really, really awful, you had to, for the team, we had to work together
and I just got a little, but youre just--I mean it, youre just a good person and you could have
made it really obvious but you didnt, and I appreciate it, and we can just go back to me
appreciating it, can we stop having this conversation now?
No, we cant, Steve snaps, and grabs Tonys wrist when he tries to physically flee the room.
Damn Captain America and his damn super-strength. God, have I really been that bad of a friend
to you?
No, Tony says, hey, no, thats my whole point, you were great, you--wait, friend?
Jesus Christ, Steve says, and scrubs at his forehead with the hand that isnt holding Tony in
place. Tony. Tony. I dont...it was awful before I met you, half the time youre the only thing that
makes this century bearable. Youre, I, how could you not know that?
But I, Tony says, Im obnoxious and I never listen and Im not a team player and--
Right, Steve says, and takes Tony by the shoulders. Okay. Look. I know youve got some--uh,
issues, for lack of a better word, please dont take that the wrong way--so Im just going to lay it
all on the table, alright? And stop looking at me like Im going to kill you, Tony, thats not really
helping me feel better about my friendship skills.
Im not looking at you like I think youre going to kill me, Tony says, I just want you to kill
me, or let go of me so we can stop talking about this, youve just got my faces confused--
You are, Steve says, a complete pain in my ass some of the time. You never do what I tell you
to do and you never admit when youre wrong, and sometimes I think youre going to die from
not sleeping enough, and sometimes I think youre going to literally run yourself into the ground.
You say hideously inappropriate things to very important people and some days I want to shake
you--
Okay, Tony snaps, and tries to wrench himself out of Steves grip again. I get it, thanks, I dont
need the fucking list, believe me--
And youre also, Steve says, tightening his fingers on Tonys shoulders, the kindest, funniest,
most thoughtful person Ive met since I woke up, once you get past the whole...outer shell of
being a defensive ass thing. You make it easy for me to be myself; you listen to me and fight with
me and understand that I have a sense of humor and you never make me feel like Im stupid
because I dont know what Jersey Store or whatever its called is. I was wrong the first time I met
you, okay? Can you hear that? I didnt know you, and Id been in a basement for two months
being poked by scientists and everyone I knew was dead, my judgement wasnt exactly something
I want to be held to for the rest of my life!
Um, says Tony, blinking, what?
I like you, Tony, Steve says, and his voice breaks on it again; he shakes his head like hes trying
to clear it, rubs one thumb unconsciously over Tonys collarbone. I like you very much. Ive
liked you for months, and I cant believe you didnt know that, and Im going to keep telling you

now because I never want to have to have this discussion with you again, do you understand me?
Oh, says Tony. I...yes?
Great, Steve says, and then all his steely composure slips, and he blushes bright red. Uh, also,
sorry about...about kissing you like that, I just, um. It wont happen again.
Theres something funny happening in Tonys chest; hed think he was having a heart attack if he
wasnt intimately familiar with how that felt. He feels warm all over, awash with something hes
too much a coward to quantify, and hes not processing much, but hes processing enough.
Like hell it wont, he says, and grabs Steve by the back of the neck, drags him in.
The kiss is better this time, because Tonys actually an engaged participant; Steves soft at first,
careful, hands still on Tonys shoulders. Tony angles himself forward, insinuates himself between
Steves arms, between his lips--he wraps his legs around Steves waist and Steve groans into his
mouth, his hands stuttering their way down Tonys back.
Probably shouldnt, uh, Steve mumbles after a minute, I mean, right here--
No exhibitionism kink? Tony asks giddily, and has to bite a kiss into Steves neck when he
blushes. God, you blush everywhere when you blush, did you know that, its so distracting--
Tony, Steve says, more firm this time, and Tony laughs because he cant help himself.
Okay, okay. Bedroom it is, you got it, anything you want, coming right up--
We dont have to, uh, Steve says, and waves a hand. I mean, if you dont want to, I dont
expect--
If I dont want to, Tony repeats, see, okay, if youre worried about your friendship skills then
Im worried about my seduction skills, lemme show you how much I definitely want to.
He grabs Steves hand, drags it down to his crotch, and presses it against the tented fabric there.
Steves blush goes impossibly deeper, but his pupils are blown already, and when he takes a
breath, its ragged.
Oh, he says, oh.
Yeah, oh Tony says. Lets see how far down that blush goes, betcha I can get you to keep it
up--you didnt expect me to shut up during this kind of thing, did you, I hope you didnt, this is
the least effective way to do that--
Tony, Steve says, and there it is, thats the voice he uses in the field, insistent and in charge. Its
at odds with the flush on his neck, at the tips of his ears, but when he drags Tony into standing
and pulls him into another kiss, Tony cant bring himself to devote much attention to that
dichotomy. Steve guides him backwards towards the stairs, hands on his hips, and its all Tony
can do to keep from blowing him in the middle of the hallway.
I want to blow you right here in the hallway, Tony says, because he figures thats the kind of
information Steve should have, and Steves whole body shudders.
God, Tony, you cant just say things like that, Steve groans, and kisses him again, mouth open
and working like his life depends on it.
They make it up the first few stairs painfully slowly; every time they break apart to take a step, one

of them leans in again. After the fourth time this happens, Steve says, Oh, hell, this is ridiculous,
and lifts Tony off the ground, slamming their mouths together with a gracelessness that probably
shouldnt be hot. Under normal circumstances, Tony would object to being carried around; under
these circumstances, hes glad of the chance to wrap his legs around Steves waist, to grind, hard,
against his stomach.
Goddamn it, Steve gasps, and doesnt stop kissing Tony the whole way up the stairs. His hands
are on Tonys ass, and Tony would be willing to bet Steves not aware of the fact that theyre
flexing and squeezing every time he presses forward.
It...makes it kind of hard to focus. Or think. Or breathe, actually, not that Tonys particularly
worried about it.
Theyre in the bedroom before Tony can even process that the stairs are gone. He kicks the door
shut behind Steves back, reaches down with one hand to cup Steves dick over his pants as they
approach the bed. Steve sucks in a sharp breath and drops him, and Tony falls back onto the
sheets, laughing a little.
Oh, god, Steve says, and the blush is practically a permanent thing, isnt it, Tony hopes he never
stops, sorry--
Im not, Tony says, I meant it about blowing in the hall, lets get those pants off, and he
scrambles forward and undoes Steves flies.
Then he has to stare for a second, because...well. Because damn.
Packing some heat, arent you? he says, voice hoarse, and Steve puts a hand to the back of his
neck.
Uh, maybe? he says. I mean, I never really had any basis for...I saw other guys in the showers
and stuff, but its..its the only part of me that didnt, uh, you know. Grow. After the serum.
It didnt, Tony starts, and stops. Hes seen Steves file, seen photos of Steve before the serum;
the idea of Steve, short and scrawny and hung like this, sends a white-hot spark down Tonys
spine.
Oh, I am going to, Tony says, and licks his lips. Im gonna just, you just stay there, you dont
move, Steve, Jesus, gonna give you the orgasm of your life--
I dont, uh, Steve says, I dont have...much, er, experience with--
I think Ive got enough experience for everyone, Tony says faintly, and then thinks, meets
Steves eyes. But, hey, look, if I do anything you dont want me to do, you stop me, okay? I can
do slow, if you wanna do slow I can do slow but youre gonna have to say so, because I really
want your dick in my mouth--
Oh, god, Steve says, and its more a groan than anything else. Tony grins, licks his lips again,
and slides off the bed and onto his knees.
Taking that as a yes, he murmurs against Steves hipbone. When Steve nods, Tony wraps his
hand around the shaft and pulls Steves dick into his mouth.
Steve bucks forward instantly, clearly without meaning to; hes apologizing before Tony has a
chance to stop him, pulling back.
Dont, Tony manages, trying to spend as little time as possible with his mouth free, dont you

dare hold back, Ive got it, god, youre so good, just--fuck, Steve, dont go anywhere, dont
apologize.
Tony, Steve says, thick and hungry, as Tony draws him in again. This time he doesnt pull
away, just fists one hand in Tonys hair; the other, Tony realizes after a minute, is braced against
the wall, holding him up. His knees are shaking--Tony rubs his free hand against the back of
Steves thigh and is rewarded with a full body tremor, and Steves fingers tighten in his hair.
Tony, he says, oh, god, Tony, Tony, and Tony cant help it; he slides a hand into his own
pants, wraps his fingers around his cock. Hes too old for this kind of shit, he knows it, too wellversed in this kind of thing to be working towards coming in his pants, but Jesus Christ, hes not
sure he has much choice. Steve bucks again into his mouth, says his name a fourth, a fifth time,
and Tonys so hard hes sure hes going to die from it, wants to come like hes never wanted
anything in his life.
I, Steve chokes, I, I, god, and then he tenses all over and comes into Tonys mouth, trembling
knees very nearly giving way. Tony swallows and swallows and thinks theres a chance hell hold
out, be able to wait for Steves hand on him, but then Steve runs his fingers through Tonys hair
and he just loses it, comes without even meaning to, his hands still fisted around both of their
dicks.
Uh, Steve says, voice shaky, after a second, did you just--
Still kinda, Tony chokes, and lets his face settle against Steves thigh. Steve drops to the
ground--whether out of intent or necessity, Tonys not sure--and Tony gasps into his chest, waits
for his head to clear. When it does, Steves hand is still in his hair, and hes making a soft, amused
sort of sound.
If you are laughing right now, Tony manages, I swear to you, I swear to you I will take drastic
action.
Its just, Steve says, and yeah, hes laughing, Tonys going to kill him, I just cant believe we
didnt, uh, use the bed. Its kind of right there.
Oh, Tony says, blinking; when he lifts his head, Steves smiling at him, eyes half-lidded and
content. Next time?
Then he freezes, because hes assuming theres a next time and thats a stupid, silly thing to do,
and who is he, exactly, he thought he was Tony Stark, he should know better that anyone that
assuming only gets you a sad, pathetic morning after---and then Steves smiling, so big and wide that Tony worries a little for his cheeks, and leaning in
to press a soft, easy kiss to the corner of Tonys mouth.
Next time, he says, so thats alright.
-Even after Pepper, the sensation of waking up next to someone--of waking up next to someone
and wanting them there--is still more or less foreign to Tony. He blinks against the strangeness of
it, the arm pinning him to the bed, and then he brain catches up to his body and he lets his head
loll to the left.
Steves spread out over the sheets, face slack with sleep, hair in his eyes. Tonys not really sure his
heart can take it; hes not sure he even wants it to.

Jarvis, he whispers, let a little light in, yeah?

Theres a soft, mechanical whir, and then the blinds open slightly, faint slats of light falling over
Steves back. Tony traces one of them with a fingertip, not quite awake enough to be horrified at
himself, and smiles at nothing.
Hey, Steve says, without opening his eyes. Tickles.
Yeah it does, Tony agrees, because his higher thought processes arent really online. I can
stop.
No, Steve says, and yawns hugely, back arching to Tonys hand. He cracks one eye open, and
smiles. Nice to know you sleep sometimes.
When no alternative presents itself, Tony says. Is that what this was? A drawn-out ploy to
knock me out? Because seriously, they sell sedatives and stuff, you didnt need to go through the
trouble of--
Shut up, Tony, Steve says, nothing but amusement in his voice, and puts his hand on Tonys
cheek. He leans forward and kisses him, an easy, half-awake thing, and Tonys so relieved he
could actually choke on it.
Guess that answers the question of whether youll still like me in the morning, he jokes when
Steve pulls back. Like always, it comes out upsettingly honest, and he winces into the pillow.
Ugh, Jesus, lets strike that from the record.
Nope, Steve says, and kisses him again, yawning into his mouth this time. That should be gross,
Tony thinks distantly; theres definitely something gross about that, hell come up with it later. For
now he just kisses back, enjoys the sensation unwinding in his stomach, the soft, strange warmth
of doing this without any intent behind it.
When Steve pulls away, his hand is still on Tonys cheek, and he smiles.
Good morning, Tony, he says, I still like you.
Tony would say something to that, he really would, except hes pretty sure anything he could say
would be appalling one way or the other. He moves closer instead, presses a kiss into the top of
Steves shoulder, and Steve just sighs and shifts against him, running a hand along his spine.
Maybe a little more sleep, he says, slurred a little, already half out.
Sure, Tony says, whatever you want, you got it.
Steves hand lands on his ass--he squeezes once and Tony almost laughs, because hell be
horrified if he remembers that--and then he lets out a long snore. Tony waits him out, just to be
sure, lets the minutes creep by until his whole body is slack. Then he glances up at the ceiling,
takes a deep breath, and grins.
Hey, Jarvis, he says, if you could strike the whole, uh, put that Captain America is a dick on
my tombstone thing, Id appreciate it.
That seems prescient, Mr. Stark, Jarvis says. Is there anything else?
Nah, Tony says, think Im good. Wake us if we need to fight crime.

Works inspired by this one

[podfic] Ready, Fire, Aim by reena_jenkins
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