Summary: Steve liked to think that he knew Tony, that he understood how Tony's past relationships had mold the billionaire into who he was, but a little light reading and a trip out to Brooklyn proved that Steve didn't know everything that he'd thought he did and that even rehabilitated billionaire playboys had hidden depths. Companion piece to Aunt Peggy. Rated for mild language.

Disclaimer: The story is mine; the characters are not. There is no profit from this venture.

Reconnect

re·con·nect

1.connect back together.

2.re-establish a bond of communication or emotion.

Helen Forrest's voice rang out clearly in the spacious living room, crooning to a jazzy beat as Steve worked. He hummed along to the tune around the nails between his lips as he hammered another into a stud in the wall. The renovations to the Tower had finally been finished and the team had relocated from the mansion to add some personal touches to their respective floors. When Steve had wandered down to the lab for a hammer and some nails, Tony had protested the marring of his pristine new sheetrock. In response, Steve had teasingly promised to patch the holes when he moved out and Tony had glowered blackly at the soldier for the rest of the day at his jest. Steve had found a small bucket of supplies at his door the next morning and had promptly gotten to work, hanging the drawings he'd done and framed.

The day was dawning brightly outside the large windows, burning off the early morning fog that rolled through the streets, the promise of a scorching July afternoon. The track paused unexpectedly, the room falling silent, and Steve turned to frown at where his music player sat in its sleek docking station.

"My apologies, Captain, but Doctor Banner is outside. He is requesting entrance," JARVIS announced in cultured tones.

Steve nodded to himself in understanding, quietly spitting the nails into his palm. "Go ahead and let him in, please."

"Of course, sir."

Steve dropped the nails onto the coffee table, placing the hammer next to them as the door swished open. Steve poked his head around the wall, smiling at Bruce. "Hey, Bruce. Did you need something?"

"Not really," the scientist replied with a small smile, tapping the StarkPad he held in his hands with a palm. "I have a job to do."

Steve waved him into the kitchen. "Does this job require coffee? I made some earlier, but it's still good if you'd like a cup."

"I would, but I can't," Bruce replied, somewhat apologetic. "I'm afraid there's a time limit."

Steve froze, turning to Bruce with a blank face. "I'm sorry, what?"

Bruce offered him a reassuring smile and stepped into the kitchen proper. He placed the tablet on the kitchen table between them. "Tony asked me to give you this."

"I have a StarkPad," Steve said, his brow knitting with confusion. Bruce chuckled lightly and Steve smirked. He reached forward and tugged the tablet closer. "I'm assuming there's something more to this?"

"I'm not sure what," Bruce admitted with a nod at the tablet. Steve unlocked the StarkPad and stared at the bright screen for a moment. "But I was asked to answer any questions that you might have."

"Alzheimer's disease?" Steve arched a brow. "If this is an old person joke, you can tell him that he's not as funny as he thinks he is."

"I don't know what information he gave you," Bruce admitted, his hands aloft in a peaceful gesture. "But he was serious when he gave me the tablet. And he was adamant that you learn whatever is on there."

Steve nodded. They stood in silence for a moment, and then his brows furrowed suddenly. "You said there was a time limit?"

"He's given you an hour to read over it," Bruce answered apologetically. He watched as Steve flicked his finger across the screen. Bruce shifted on his feet, crossing his arms. "Do you want me to stay here? In case you have questions."

"No," Steve replied swiftly, his gaze and attention focused on the tablet. "No, I'm sure you have work to do. I'll be fine."

He shot Bruce a swift smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The scientist inclined his head and quietly left the room.

Steve barely noticed Bruce's departure, too absorbed in figuring out why exactly Tony wanted him to learn about a degenerative brain disease. He finally poured himself a cup of coffee, dangling the mug by his fingertips as he settled on his couch. There were pages and pages of information that he processed as quickly as he outlined military strategy. His drink was eventually abandoned on the table as he lost himself in the literature. He was completely unaware when JARVIS warned him of Clint's arrival and subsequent entrance.

"Dude."

Steve nearly jumped from his skin, one hand involuntarily curling in a fist and the other reaching for his shield. His eyes finally focused on the amused archer and he exhaled heavily. "Clint."

"Doing okay, Cap?"

"Shut up," Steve snapped without heat. Clint smirked as the captain rubbed his hand down his face tiredly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, for starters, you said that we were welcome to your floor whenever we wanted," Clint began, an easy smile on his face as he meandered into the room. He slunk around the walls, fingers flitting across stacks of book and picture frames, the few possessions that Steve had already set out. The archer glanced at his friend, chuckling lightly at the aggrieved expression he wore.

"And?" the soldier prompted wearily.

"And your time is up." Clint motioned at the StarkPad in Steve's hands. "Tony recruited me too. I'm here to make sure that you head out."

"To where?" Steve asked incredulously. "What is this all about?"

"Not a damn clue," Clint responded. "Now get your ass up. We're leaving."

"Clint, come on," Steve protested, throwing his arms to his sides. "Leaving for where?"

"Some place out near Brooklyn. Saint Agatha's something or other." He slapped one of Steve's outstretched arms. "Come on. Up you go."

Steve groaned good-naturedly, finally rising from the couch. "Are you taking me there too, chauffer?"

"Nope," Clint retorted. "That's on you. But I'm giving you the directions."

The archer pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, flicking it towards Steve's chest. Steve caught it with a palm, one eyebrow raised curiously as he opened it. "Saint Agatha's? Saint Agatha's what?"

"Still clueless, Cap," Clint said mockingly, herding Steve towards the door. "Can't find out if you don't go."

Steve rolled his eyes at his friend, but allowed himself to be shepherded underground to the garage. With a wave to Clint, he climbed onto his motorcycle and sped out of the garage, into Manhattan traffic. The drive was longer than he'd expected, but pleasant as the gray buildings of the city softened to familiar red-brick and the green of trees.

It was almost mid-morning when he finally pulled into the lot at the address given, his bike's engine rumbling loudly in the small courtyard. The complex took up an entire city block, alabaster stone covered with ivy in a way that reminded Steve of England. He parked at the far end of the lot and walked hesitantly inside. An older woman, hair dark with gray and a tight-lipped mouth, didn't bother glancing up at the sound of the door.

"Name?"

"Uh," Steve hesitated. "Steve Rogers."

Her eyes snapped to him and she jerked her head to her right. "That hall. First door on the left."

"Ma'am?" Steve, now thoroughly confused, began to develop a sick feeling in the pit of his gut. The lobby was well furnished, bright and airy, but nothing could hide the acrid scent of industrial grade antiseptics and illness cloying in the air.

There must have been something in his tone, because she finally wrested her attention from her paperwork and gave him a tired smile. "Mister Stark is expecting you, son. So head down that hall, and knock on the first door on your left."

"Oh." Steve nodded dumbly, thinking absently that he really should have expected Tony to have the staff on board with whatever harebrained scheme he'd concocted. He smiled at the lady, whose nametag he finally noticed. "Thank you, Vera."

"You're welcome," she returned. "Now, get."

Smirking softly to himself, Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and turned in the direction she'd indicated. The lobby wasn't terribly busy, a few orderlies bustling through on the way to their tasks. One or two residents moved slowly through the space, shuffling forward behind walkers or easing their gnarled hands along wheelchair wheels. Steve slipped quietly around them, distinctly trying to ignore the thought that he was technically older than most of the residents, and caught sight of his destination.

The hall Vera had indicated was empty, stretching into the distance with warm sunlight painting strips along the floor. The first door was cracked open, spilling more golden light into the hall, and Tony's voice echoed quietly through the breech.

"I, uh," the billionaire began, sounding unaccountably nervous. Steve faltered in his steps. "I did something that you might not like."

A soothing voice answered him, too low for Steve to parse out the words. A shadow passed in front of the door and back the way it had come, and Steve realized that Tony was pacing. Assuring himself that only hearing one side of a conversation was just like listening to someone on the phone and, therefore, not at all eavesdropping, Steve remained where he was and waited for a break to alert Tony to his presence.

Unaware of Steve's thought process, Tony continued. "I mean it. Depending on how this morning went, you might be really angry."

"Darling, you know I can never stay angry with you."

Steve stopped breathing, his lung seizing like they hadn't since his asthma had last flared in nineteen forty-three.

He knew that voice.

He knew it.

His heart stuttered shakily beneath his breastbone, breath catching in his chest as the crisp accent bodily threw him back, to a time when men were soldiers and women were dames and war raged on around them.

If Tony replied, it was lost to the sound of Steve's blood roaring in his ears. He felt himself falter, the smooth paneling of the wall warm against his back as he leaned against it.

Peggy.

He'd known she was alive, known that she was nearby, but he'd never been able to muster the courage to visit. It made him a coward, he supposed, to not be able to confront something so familiar and so different at the same time, to not be able to take what were obviously the last few steps of his journey. Steve groaned aloud, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and cursing himself for his weakness.

He dropped his hands and very suddenly, there was a familiar pair of sneakers in his line of vision. Steve looked up into the eyes of Tony Stark.

"You alright there, Cap?" the billionaire questioned, his voice soft with a hint of steel. "Looking a little peaky."

"Peggy's in there," Steve said, quiet and mournful. "All this, everything this morning. Because Peggy is in there."

"That a problem?" There was a definite sharpness to Tony's tone now, and Steve simply stared at him, brow furrowed as he tried to ferret out why Tony was angry with him.

"Wha - ?" Steve stammered. "Uh, no. Why?"

Tony shrugged, crossing his arms, deliberately nonchalant. "You haven't been here before now. Figured it might be an issue. Hence the secrecy."

"You haven't mentioned it before now," Steve shot back, his voice soft, but intense. "You never said a word about this. Or that you even knew her."

"Please," Tony scoffed. "She and Howard were friends, remember? Think it through. Still interested in why you haven't been by, though."

"Tony, I -," Steve sighed deeply. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Tony asked flippantly, his dark eyes watching Steve with expectation.

The soldier frowned lightly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he finally decided on honesty. "It hurt too much."

Tony paused minutely, taken aback. "Well, it's not about you anymore. Now it's about her."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked lowly.

"After New York, we were on every news outlet in the world," Tony explained, the bite leeching from his tone. "You, you in that damned getup, were on every news outlet. And Aunt Peggy lost it."

Steve stared at him, unaware that his heart was in his eyes. "Lost it?"

Tony nodded, averting his gaze from Steve's. "Ranted and raved about tarnishing your memory with some upstart. She didn't watch any of the footage, so she didn't see you fight, but she recognized the costume on one of her good days. And it quickly became a bad day.

"So, you don't have a choice anymore," he continued. "On good days, she's upset that your memory is being used. On bad days, she has no idea why you are in town and won't call. So either way, it's hurting her."

Steve nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. Tony eyed him quietly, his expression softening further into sympathy as Steve visibly gathered himself and looked up with sorrowful eyes. "Is today a good day or a bad day?"

"It's a good day," Tony replied gravely. "So far."

The soldier was quiet for a long moment. "Will I hurt her if I go in there?" he asked hesitantly. "Will I make it worse?"

"No way to know," Tony shrugged. "Until you go in there. Up for it?"

Steve met Tony's gaze, his eyes purposeful. "Yes."

The billionaire nodded approvingly. "Then wait here."

Spinning on one heel, he stalked back into the room. Steve sighed heavily, letting his head lean back until it thunked against the wall. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet conversation between Tony and Peggy.

"Is everything alright out there?"

Steve closed his eyes, squeezing them shut at the sound of her voice.

"It is now," Tony replied with finality.

She hummed, disbelief evident in the noise. "If you're sure. What were you about to tell me, darling?"

There was a long pause and, when Tony spoke, it was almost hesitant. "You once told me a plan you'd had, involving Charles Xavier."

Steve crept closer at Peggy's silence, crossing the hall to stand just outside the door. "Yes, I recall," she finally answered, the barest hint of strain in her tone. "What of it?"

"Aunt Peggy, I went to him," Tony stated, nearly blurting the words in his haste. "I went to him and I asked him to look for Captain America."

"What did he say?"

Tony sighed. "Xavier found him."

"Go." The command sounded whipcrack sharp in the hall. "Anthony Edward, get your arse out there and bring him home," she ordered, her voice cracking painfully at the end. "Bring him home."

The pain in her voice was tangible, slicing through Steve like a bayonet, and he couldn't stand it. Ignoring his silent promise to stay where Tony had told him to, he curled one large palm around the doorjamb and finally entered the room.

"He did."

Tony made a disapproving noise in Steve's periphery, but the soldier only had eyes for Peggy. She was still gorgeous, as he'd known she would be, her silver hair falling in soft victory curls. Her dark eyes were shining, once lush mouth falling open in surprise.

"Dear God," she breathed. "You haven't aged a day."

Steve felt tears prick at his eyes, his throat tightening thickly. "And you're still the prettiest dame I've ever seen."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tony muttered beneath his breath, rising. He skulked to the other side of the room and Steve stepped into the place that he'd vacated, perching on the edge of the bed. "No liberties, Captain, she's married."

"Widowed," Peggy corrected, reaching out for Steve and enfolding his warm palm in both of hers. "Nearly twenty years, now."

"I'm so sorry." Steve squeezed her hands, chafing lightly at the chilled, paper-thin skin. "Peggy, I'm so sorry for everything."

"Don't you dare," she scolded, her eyes bright. "Just, don't."

He nodded, fighting back tears. "Okay."

A trumpet quietly began in the background and Steve glanced over his shoulder to find that Tony had set up a small docking station for his portable music player. The billionaire flicked his eyes to the soldier, his gaze lingering slightly on Peggy as the melody continued and became more familiar.

"Tony Stark, you devil," Peggy chided, her eyes sparkling. "Turn that drivel off."

"No, don't," Steve interjected, offering Tony a grateful smile.

Peggy scoffed good-naturedly behind him. "Don't encourage that boy, Steve."

"As I recall," Steve murmured, rising. "I owe you a dance, don't I?"

He held out his hand, palm up, and Peggy's eyes glittered with tears again. "Honestly."

Steve simply smiled, waiting for her to accept his offered palm. Rolling her eyes and muttering beneath her breath, grinning as she did so, Peggy took his hand with a firm grip. Steve pulled her up from the bed, slipping his arm around her for stability and keeping her fingers in his. She laughed, letting him lead her in a simple box step as Tony slipped out of the room, unaware of Steve's gaze on his back.

"I thought you didn't know how to dance," she teased. "Find yourself a partner?"

Steve ducked his head. "I taught myself," he replied softly. "Because I couldn't find one."

"Hopeless man," she murmured affectionately. "So dramatic."

"That's unfair," he complained, lips quirking in a smile. "It's not my fault this Brooklyn boy doesn't have your stiff British lip."

"That's because you Americans are soft," she informed him pertly, grinning devilishly when he laughed. The song blended into another, a Jack Teagarden number that he remembered from the dancehalls in New York, and he began to slowly move them about the room.

"You're lucky, Steve," she continued after a short silence of listening to the music, her voice thick. "Today is a very good day. But I've no illusions about my disease, and I don't want you to have them either."

"I read some pamphlets," he admitted, executing a perfect turn. "Tony insisted, before I came."

"Then you know that your next visit may not be so pleasant," she said delicately.

"Peggy, any visit with you is perfect," he insisted, squeezing her hand in reassurance when she huffed lightly. He stopped dancing, looking into her eyes seriously. "I mean it."

"Of course you do," she murmured, averting her gaze. "But there are more bad days than good, and that number will only increase."

"I would gladly come visit every day, whether you remembered me or not," he told her gravely. "Because you have waited long enough for me to be found. I can wait for another good day."

"Irritating creature," she told him without heat, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder. He smiled into her hair and gently nudged them into motion again, letting his feet carry them around the room.

"I missed you too."

It was full dark when Steve returned from Saint Agatha's. The elevator doors opened quietly to the common level and Steve stared sightlessly into the hall, too emotionally drained from the day to realize he was on the wrong floor.

"Captain?"

"Yeah, JARVIS," Steve sighed, pushing himself off of the rail he was leaning on. "I'm going."

He finally stepped out of the lift, making his way slowly to the main lounge, finally realizing where he was and deciding to take the emergency stairs down two floors, rather than the elevator. The sound of glass tinkling faintly registered and Steve looked up to find Tony regarding him from across the room with a crystal tumbler in hand.

"She okay?" Tony asked lightly.

"She is," Steve confirmed. "I promised to visit at least once a week and I'm going back tomorrow. There's still a lot we haven't talked about."

Tony dropped another ice cube in his glass, looking casually disinterested. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Steve answered, exhaling heavily, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Thanks. I think I am."

"Good." Tony turned his attention back to his drink, carefully pouring out three fingers' worth of scotch. Steve lingered for a moment before turning to the stairs. Tony lifted his glass to his lips, waiting until the soldier was nearly in the stairwell. "Hey Steve."

Steve paused in the doorway, cocking an ear towards the billionaire.

"Happy birthday."

Fin.