Title: Replacements

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,231

Pairing: Steve/Tony

Summary:

"What has it got? A little LED light standing in for an arc reactor standing in for a heart. All man-made flash, but nothing inside. Little artificial replacements for the real thing. Huh, you know what? I was wrong. Maybe it's not that different from you after all."

Tony flipped up the faceplate of the Iron Man suit. A bit of rubble tumbled off. "That…didn't go as well as I had hoped," he said quietly.

Beside him, Steve struggled to his feet and brushed off the think grey dust from his chest. "You think?"

"This wasn't my fault."

Steve grimaced. Those were the first words out of Tony's mouth. He hadn't even gotten to yelling at him.

"Not your fault. Not your fault? Tony, look around you!" Steve gestured at the slightly smoking wreckage in which they stood. "You wanna have a guess at whose fault it is then?"

"I thought it would work. Guess I was wrong," shrugged Tony, eyeing Steve carefully. "We got everyone out. There's no need to throw a hissy fit."

Steve gaped at him. "No need—God, Tony, do you ever take responsibility for anything? Do you even see how serious this is?"

It hadn't started serious, but a lot of little things had cascaded, and then, well, Bruce had been there.

A week earlier, the Avengers had partially and completely accidentally done some slightly significant structural damage to the Statue of Liberty. Ok, they'd blown her torch clean off. Accidentally. Steve had been pretty upset with them then, too, but at least then, they had been fighting off the latest alien invasion. While, you know, saving people's lives, someone hadn't aimed properly, and the result was the city of New York was less than thrilled with them at the moment. Fury recommended a PR fix. And not so much recommended, as ordered after a very loud and very strongly worded team meeting. Steve had yet been unaware that one particular word could be used in so many ways. And he hung around Tony.

So that's how they had come to be standing outside the New York FAO Schwarz one hour earlier. Much to Bruce's horror and Thor's utter delight, they'd released a new line of tiny Avengers action figures. Steve had been sent an early copy of his. The thing's face looked eerily like his. He'd written a quick 'thank you' in reply, but he'd wordlessly slipped the thing over to Coulson the next time he was at HQ. The Agent could only gape at him. As he walked away, Steve thought he caught a hushed, "Early edition, Oh God…" but he pretended not to notice.

But one hour ago, he was standing in front of an enormous display of miniature Hulks, Hawkeyes, and Black Widows. The Black Widows were actually kind of cute, Steve had absentmindedly thought before quickly looking around in a panic. She could probably kill him eight ways using the doll itself for a comment like that. And for all he knew, Natasha could read minds. As flashbulbs—no, just digital cameras and phones, Steve corrected mentally—went off all around them, children came forward, some with the new dolls, others with assorted Avengers gear, and presented them to a team member to be signed. Steve loved it. Yeah, it was a blanket PR stunt and reminded him a bit too much of dancing around to 'Star-Spangled Man,' but then a kid would totter up clutching a small 'Captain America' shield, eyes big and round as they solemnly presented it to him, and, well, Steve's heart just melted. In between children, he'd glance at the others. Tony was chatting animatedly with anything that came within a twelve-foot radius. Bruce looked like he would sooner melt into the ground; this was not the Doc's cup of tea. Clint, who talked big and hammy, hadn't started out very much at ease, but he soon fell into a groove. Natasha, unsurprisingly, seemed to handle the crowds like she did everything else—straight-faced and confident, even if she wasn't. Thor was…well, his line had dwindled. Though everyone got a kick out of trying to lift Mjolnir, it only took a few rounds of a shouted "Why, this is no weapon befitting a young warrior!" before the staff realized he'd taken to handing out real weapons instead. Coulson had rapidly shunted him aside for a few hushed words, but by then, parents were a bit wary.

They'd been at it for nearly three hours. Just a bit longer, and they could pack up. Steve was surprised. The lot of them had actually managed to pull this off without a hitch. Thinking that, Steve later reflected, was probably his first mistake.

He'd taken his eyes off the others, which was probably his second. He couldn't see where it started; but he heard it all right. A sudden explosion tore through the center of the toy store. Instinctively, Steve had pulled the child he was currently with behind him and grabbed for his shield. He held up a hand to his face as he tried to see through the black smoke that now filled the room. Parents and children were screaming as they ran for the door. Bruce was on the floor between him and Tony, hacking out a lungful of smoke. On his other side, Tony was…Tony was just standing there looking up and frowning. As the dust cleared, he could see tiny sparks of light zipping around his head. The child behind him had been whisked away by a parent, so he trudged over to Tony. Around him, the others were doing the same, save Bruce, who was still wheezing on the ground, and Agent Coulson, who was already outside herding civilians away from the building.

"Tony," coughed Steve, "what the hell just happened?" He coughed again. Whatever smoke was being given off, it was acrid.

"Is everyone all right?" called Natasha

"Yeah, yeah," choked Clint. "What was that?"

Bruce looked up and shook his head before going back to coughing.

Steve looked back to Tony. "Stark. What is going on?"

Tony reached up and grasped one of the lights. It lay limp in his hand.

"Er…that may have been me?"

"What?"

"Yeah," he muttered, "The, uh, the dolls." He held up the thing in his hand for the others. It turned out to be one of the Iron Man action figures. "It was supposed to be a PR thing, right? 'Yay Avengers'? So I thought, why not make it something really cool, that will really grab attention. I mean, for once, I was really trying to help out, that's all. So I got my little plastic sample in the mail, and I thought, 'Ok, kinda looks like me,' which is exactly what I needed by the way. Who doesn't want a little tiny Them to keep on their desk at—"

"Tony!" snapped Steve.

"Er, right. So I thought, 'Why not make them even more like us. So I brought a bunch down to the lab, and tried to give them all little repulsors for the hands and feet, except I had to find a different way of powering them, small enough too, and in the end, I went for this chemical reaction that you can trigger by pressing in the chest plate, just…" he pointed half-heartedly at the middle of the doll in his hand, "…just here, it would trigger the reaction, which would power the repulsors for a bit. Do a sort of loop around before powering down. I swear it worked at least…three times in the lab." He glanced up at them No one was saying a word. "But, uh, it seems that the reaction is not as, uh, stable as I'd thought." Bruce coughed feebly. "And, er, toxic. It would seem."

Steve couldn't reply. He'd listened to Tony, stone-faced. And now—what was he even thinking? He tried to voice as much. "Tony—" he spluttered, "what…wha—what the—"

His scramble for words was cut short by Bruce, who had finally tried to get up but had tumbled back down in a fresh coughing fit.

"We need to get him out of here," said Natasha quietly. Steve looked down at him. The doctor was bleary eyed and was struggling to breathe around the smoke, more so than the others. His body was shaking more and more as he coughed.

Oh.

Damn it.

He spoke quickly and quietly, his voice resuming its cadence of command. "Thor, Hawkeye, you get these people away from here now. Widow, help him up and calm him down. Get him out of the smoke!" Bruce's face was tight as Natasha lifted him up. Poor Bruce, thought Steve. Always fighting it. He could fight it now. "Iron Man, you—" he furrowed his brow. In the gap of Steve's attention, Tony had suited up completely. "Just keep back on this one, Tony."

Tony's shoulders slumped. "What?"

"Because you're the one that caused this," snapped Steve before Tony could protest, moving back toward Bruce. He grasped Bruce by the shoulders; his eyes were still clamped shut as he shook. "Come on, buddy, you're almost back in the fresh air, it's going to be ok."

That was when the second explosion happened.

He'd left Tony alone (mistake number three), and in his frustration, he'd tossed the buzzing Iron Men into the pile of the others. Which had all promptly set off and exploded as well.

From there out, it was a mess of loud voices, black smoke, some Hulking out, some screaming, some flying civilians to safety, some crashing burning toys, and more than some structural damage. An hour later they were left with a curled up and well out-of-it Bruce, several hundred charred action figures, and a public reputation that may have been better before the event.

Afterward, Steve was finally letting loose on Tony. "You were careless, Stark, and you put a lot of innocent people in serious danger!"

Clint made his way over to them, having heard their conversation as he approached. Thor landed heavily beside him. Natasha was still crouched over Bruce, checking him over carefully. He laid a hand on Steve's shoulder, facing Tony. "Dude, take a breath. We handled it."

"We shouldn't have had to!"

"Look," began Tony, "I'm sor—"

"Oh, don't, Stark. Because you, know, I don't think you are." His chest was heaving around his words. He couldn't stand to look at Tony right now. This was just so…him. Pulling some thoughtless move to look good, never mind the risk. It was stupid, and Steve had enough. "Yeah, sure. You're sorry things went to hell. You're sorry people got hurt. But don't pretend that you're sorry for your little stunt. That you wouldn't pull it again. Because that's who you are, Stark. A showman who can't resist showing off for a crowd. Got a problem? Throw some money at it and hope for the best."

"You done?" snapped Tony. "You feel good, Captain, lecturing me from your high throne? It was an accident, and you know it, so don't give me this shit about me and my life. I tried to fucking apologize, and you won't even let me have that, so you know what? I don't know what you fucking want from me. All I tried to do was goddamn help us. Make the stupid things a little more interesting." By then, Thor had backed off, and while Clint had stayed in some vague attempt to mediate, he wasn't coming between the two.

"Yeah," huffed Steve, "you said. You thought you'd make them look a little more like us. Except you didn't make them more like us. You made them more like you. And isn't that just you all over. But you know, I thought somebody as self-absorbed as you are could tell the difference. They're not you, Tony. Look at it!" He held up the slightly charred piece of plastic. The circle in the center of its chest still faintly glowed. "What has it got? A little LED light standing in for an arc reactor standing in for a heart." He tossed it to the ground and scoffed. He was getting carried away, he knew. But he was just so angry, for this time, for every damn time, he couldn't stop. "All man-made flash, but nothing inside. Little artificial replacements for the real thing. Huh, you know what? I was wrong. Maybe it's not that different from you after all." He glared at him, but Tony said nothing, merely stared down at the doll where Steve had thrown it. Steve just turned around and started walking home.

Back at the Avengers Mansion, Steve stayed in his room until much later in the evening. He had no patience for his teammates' curious looks, Bruce's 6,000th apology, and especially Tony Stark. He spent the afternoon, as he often did, carefully replying to his fan letters (taking care to hang up any and all pictures someone had drawn and sent him), but eventually, hunger won out, and he had to head downstairs. Thor, Clint, and Natasha were eating in the kitchen. When he entered, they glanced up but said nothing. Steve nodded; he was grateful. He hoped his teammates knew him well enough to understand. Yeah, he'd been pretty harsh with Tony, but not without reason. It was his place as team leader to step in for something like that. He grabbed a box of leftover Chinese out of the fridge, and when he turned around, Thor was standing carefully over him. He jumped slightly.

"Uh, hi," he said. He glanced behind the God standing very close to him. Natahsha and Clint had shifted away and were very pointedly not watching them. "Can, I help you with something, buddy?"

"Steve," began Thor carefully, "we have been through much together. And you know that I consider you a cherished friend." He looked into Steve's eyes pensively. Steve pulled back a bit but stood up straighter. Some people found talking to Thor…odd, but Steve knew a soldier when he saw one, and he knew when he was being treated like an equal. He took what Thor had to say seriously.

"Of course I do. You're my friend, too."

Thor smiled lightly. "It pleases me to hear you say that. However, that is not the only thing I wished to say." He paused, and Steve nodded for him to continue. "Are you…well, Captain?"

Steve frowned. "Yeah. Um, yeah, definitely. Tip-top shape."

Thor looked at him sternly. "Because you were most unlike yourself this morning."

Ah. That. Of course. Steve shook his head. "Look, Thor, I'm sorry if you or any of the others thought I was too hard on Tony," he said loudly enough for Natasha and Clint to hear. "But I had to do what's best for the team. And that meant making sure Tony doesn't do something as idiotic as today ever again."

"This isn't the first time."

Steve glanced up. Natasha had spoken from the table. "What?"

"Just…this isn't exactly the first time he's pulled a stunt like this."

"No," said Steve, taking his food and walking toward the doorway. "No, that's definitely true."

He went back up to his room with a lot to think about.

He didn't see Tony the next day.

Or the day after.

He didn't see Tony for five days in total.

He'd hung around the others that time, and everyone took great care not to mention Tony. Or to go down to the lab. Pepper had called. She was making sure there was plenty of takeout and coffee down there. Otherwise, it would be best for the Avengers to steer clear.

Steve had told her, "Yes, ma'am," and didn't think much of it. It wasn't the first time Tony had receded into lab-zombie mode. It wouldn't be the last.

On the other hand…five days was a long time.

"Maybe someone should go down there," he said aloud over an afternoon game of wii tennis. (Steve and Natasha vs. Clint and Bruce. Thor was not allowed to play. Not after the last time.) Clint paused the game and flopped down onto the couch.

"I don't think that's wise, Steve," said Natasha.

"Why not? I mean, I heard Pepper. 'Lab is a no-fly zone.' But shouldn't someone at least check on him?"

"Someone, maybe." Clint frowned. "But not you. He just needs some time to cool off. Give the man his space."

Steve turned over to Clint with a sigh. "Is this still about last week?"

"Probably," shrugged Bruce, who had apparently been filled in on what he'd missed.

"I told you guys," began Steve, "that I needed to do what's best—"

"You did. You also ripped Tony a new one in the middle of a mission. Or, what turned into a mission," interrupted Clint.

"It wasn't that bad," defended Steve.

"It was quite cutting, my friend. I was most surprised," spoke up Thor.

"You too?" asked Steve. "What, you're all united in a...a 'Cap's Finally Lost It'…Club?"

Bruce smirked. Natasha replied, "No. Look, Steve, you know we all trust you. But we are concerned about you. It's Tony." She rolled her eyes ever so slightly. "Tony, who has gotten us into worse trouble at least twice a week, who will get us into worse again, and who has also never failed to get us back out of it. You know him as well as we do." She held up a hand before he could speak. "I'm not defending what he did. But come on. Are you that surprised? We just don't think you needed to be as harsh as that."

"As what?" Steve thought back to the conversation. "I'm pretty sure I called him self-involved, but—"

"-Absorbed," interrupted Clint, helpfully.

"Absorbed," corrected Steve, "but I don't think Tony's really in the dark on that one."

Natasha thought for a long moment before speaking. "Steve, what do you know about Tony's arc reactor?"

"What, the thing in his chest?" Natasha nodded. "Well…it powers the Iron Man suit."

"Go on."

"And...uh…it's some fancy technology that doesn't destroy the environment, based on what they were saying about Stark Tower?"

"And why do you think Tony has it in his chest?"

Steve frowned. "To…power the Iron Man suit?"

Natasha considered him for a moment. Then she turned to Clint, who just nodded. "Bruce?" she asked, turning to him. He sat back on the couch.

"Well, I certainly followed the news when it was happening. In the science community, the tech was certainly talked about. And Tony's given me certain…information. In case of emergencies, he said, but it's all pretty vague." He wrung his hands. "That's all I know."

"No, Thor," she spoke before he could, "you wouldn't know either. You weren't on Earth then." She paused again. "It's not my place," she finally said. "I suggest," she said to Steve, "that you talk to Tony himself. Or Director Fury, if he thinks it's relevant. But in the meantime, I suggest you apologize. And choose your words more carefully. I'm surprised he never told you," she said quietly. She rose and walked out.

"Natasha, I don't understand!" he called after her, but either she was too far to hear him or simply ignored him. Wait, what was he thinking; this was Natasha. She ignored him.

The next day, Steve decided to apologize. He'd spent most of the night training in the gym and running over what Natasha had to say. No, he realized, he didn't know the first thing about Tony's arc reactor. About Tony, even. The two of them worked well in the field now; that wasn't an issue. Captain America and Iron Man had no problems. But Steve and Tony—well, they hadn't been easy friends. Steve had tried; he honestly had, but even when he was ignoring how much Tony got on his nerves, he'd get careless in conversation. They'd be chatting. Steve would mention the old days—and Howard. Tony would clam up, and that would be the end of it. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, and he could barely reconcile his old friend with his current teammate. Sometimes he'd catch Tony's eyes, and it would be Howard looking back. And it was easy to see him in his son—both self-absorbed showmen, that was certain. But then…Steve couldn't quite articulate it, but there was an inherent difference between them. As though…well, Howard saw conflict and chose to work for war. Tony saw it and chose to work for peace. Much as he annoyed him, Steve respected that.

And in the end, that's what decided it for Steve. Tony was an Avenger above all else. He'd chosen this, and Steve knew he would never willingly endanger people. So he decided to apologize. While, remembering Natasha's odd lecture, making a mental note to suck it up and try to get to know him better. After all, as team leader, that should be his responsibility, too. But he's not going to ask. It's probably personal and irrelevant. If it weren't, Director Fury would have told him, surely.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the lowest button on the elevator panel.

As it started to descend, it occurred to Steve that Tony was the only one he didn't know about how he came to be an Avenger. He'd always assumed it was the Stark Industries bankroll.

"My apologies, Captain Rogers," came the disembodied voice of JARVIS, "but Mr. Stark has locked out all outside access to the lab at this time."

Steve sighed. "Could you tell him it's me? That I really need to talk to him? It's urgent."

"One moment."

"Thanks, JARVIS." He tapped his foot for a moment before the voice returned.

"You may proceed downstairs, sir."

"Oh," muttered Steve, "That was easy."

The doors slid open, and Steve looked around. Tony was in the middle of the room, bent over some sort of circuit board, Steve couldn't really tell, with grease stains down his cheeks and shirt. He took a few tentative steps in, but Tony said nothing. He didn't even look up as Steve got closer.

"Er—"

"I even turned off my music for you, Rogers, so this had better be important. I'm assuming it's Avengers stuff, since you told JARVIS it was urgent. Otherwise, leave me alone."

Steve leaned over to see what he was working on. Tangled wires, sheets of metal, and a few lights. New suit tech, maybe. "No. Well, sort of. Not directly, but—"

"Out with it, Captain," said Tony, still not looking up.

He sighed. "Tony. I," he cleared his throat, "I wanted to apologize. For last week. At the PR thing. With the—"

"I got it." Tony had stopped working but remained bent over the table.

"Right, well, I'm sorry," said Steve, running a hand across his forehead. "I was too hard on you. I shouldn't have called you out in front of the team like that. And I shouldn't have said a lot of what I said. I'm sorry," he repeated. He watched Tony carefully. For a moment, there was nothing. Then,

"Ok." He started working again.

Steve frowned. "Just…ok? Tony, I really am sorry."

"I know," said Tony. "That's why I said ok."

"Right," said Steve, taking a step back for lack of anything else to do. This isn't how he had expected it to go. He had expected Tony to fight back. To defend his actions. To yell at Steve. To…well, to react. But this was just—

"Do you need anything else, Captain?" he asked, finally looking up at him.

Steve hesitated. He thought about the little dolls. He thought about Natasha. He thought about Howard Stark. He thought about Iron Man. He shouldn't. There would be time. A time when Steve isn't nervous and Tony isn't angry and they knew each other better and Steve didn't feel so invasive for asking. He really shouldn't.

"Tell me about your arc reactor." Damn it.

Tony looked at him for a hard moment before turning back to his work.

"You wouldn't understand the technology," he said quietly.

"I'm not stupid."

"That's not what I meant," shot Tony.

"And that's not what I meant either. And you know that."

Tony set down his tools and finally spun to face Steve head on.

"Who told you to ask?"

There was no point in lying. "Natasha."

Tony shook his head. "Yeah. Well, never mind Natasha. You can leave now."

Steve stood his ground. "No, Tony. Look, I've apologized, and I am sorry, but you've locked yourself down here for days. We're worried, Tony. You won't even let anyone down to check on you and—"

"I let you in, didn't I?"

That stopped Steve short.

"Yes," said Steve finally. "Thank you. But I still need to make sure you're all right. I know—I know we're not very good friends, you and me, but—"

"Exactly, Captain," interrupted Tony. "You don't know the first thing about me, for all your talk. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't come down here on your own high fucking horse, in the name of 'the team,' so you can ease your own guilty conscience. Iron Man, fine, but Tony Stark isn't relevant to you, and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your self-righteous curiosity to yourself."

Steve looked back at him blankly, then nodded. "You're right, Tony. I don't know you. Doesn't mean I don't want to, though. Doesn't mean I can't try. But, if that's the way you want it, fine. I'll respect that. Next training session is at 0700 tomorrow. I expect you out of this basement and there, Stark." He marched off, leaving Tony muttering something unintelligible behind his back.

He got as far as the glass door before he stopped. He laughed quietly. "You know, I get it. I really do." Tony looked up at him, but he pressed on. "Because I look at you and I see a dead man. Don't, Tony," he held up a hand, "I just mean—I look at kids and I think their parents weren't even born yet. I look up old neighbors, and their children are dead too. I look out into the city they tell me is New York, and I see a new city super-imposed over my dead one. It's all gone, and I'm left in a world I was never meant to live in. Sometimes, I think—maybe I never should've woken up. I served my country. Proudly, I don't regret that. But I should've died in that plane. Like everyone I served with. Like everyone I lived with, who died in their time, too. I didn't. Instead, I'm here. But I try to make the best of it. I am still Steve Rogers, and I am still Captain America. If I'm needed, you can be damn sure I'm going to keep doing my job. But just now, you told me I wouldn't understand something. Because it's high-tech and I'm old. Steve Rogers—a man out of time, so why bother explaining things, right? He wouldn't get it anyway?" He shook his head. "There's always a little thing. Or some new slang. Or someone's attitude to remind you that you don't belong. That you shouldn't. But I do my job anyway. I never let it stop me." He glanced at Tony, who was watching him stoically. "So…I get it." He broke Tony's gaze and looked back to the glass door. He pressed it open. "I'll see you later, Tony." He started to walk out.

Tony sighed. "I was only 17 when he died. My Dad, I mean. And my mom."

Steve turned back. Tony had barely spoken, but he closed the door and faced him, silently inviting him to go on.

"Car crash. Nothing special. Could've happened to anyone." Steve nodded. This he had known; he'd looked into how Howard had died. Tony went on. "I was still at MIT. Still a kid. So I didn't take over SI until later. But, uh, I had help. My dad—he had this friend. And Obie—Obadiah—he took care of things. And me. Even before Dad died, he'd always been the only one to…" Tony trailed off and looked across the room. Steve moved over and sat on the stool next to Tony.

"Go on," he murmured.

"And, uh, and then he tried to kill me."

"What?" Steve instinctively reached out but thought better of it and rested his hands on his knees.

Tony ran a hand up through his hair and glanced over to the door. For a moment, Steve thought he might walk out. But he just kept looking at the door. And then he was talking. About Obadiah Stane. About Afghanistan. About waking up attached to a car battery. About Dr. Yinsen. About what exactly was hovering around his heart every minute of every day. About building Iron Man. About becoming Iron Man. About a small Afghani village. About his best friend ripping his heart out of his chest and leaving him for dead. And about how he had killed him.

Steve listened intently, knowing better than to interrupt him. But he felt awful. He hadn't known. Any of it. And he could think later about how maybe he should have, but all he wanted now to do was to comfort the man in front of him. To make it better.

"So that's, uh," Tony said, scratching his nose, "that's pretty much the story."

"Tony, I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't," said Tony, standing up. "Just, um, well, you asked, and it's not exactly secret I suppose. All the big wigs at SHIELD know. Scratch that, it's SHIELD. They all know everything about everyone." He turned his back to Steve to walk away a bit." God, I suppose anyone who read the papers in the last five years would know half of it anyway, though I guess that excludes you." He winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant—"

"It's okay, Tony. I know you didn't." He rested a hand gently on the back of Tony's shoulder. He felt him leaning back into the touch a bit, and Steve shut his eyes, just feeling. They just stood there like that, breathing, and Steve instinctively moved his hand in small, comforting circles. When he opened his eyes, Tony had started to turn around to face him, and the movement landed Steve's hand in the center of Tony's chest. Hesitantly, he moved to trace the edges of the arc reactor. They both watched him do this.

"It's okay," muttered Tony, looking back up at Steve's face.

"I know," said Steve, before taking Tony's face in his other hand and kissing him squarely.

Tony was caught off guard, but it was only a moment before his arms were wrapped around Steve's torso. They stumbled back to the glass wall behind Tony, pressing him between it and Steve, bodies and mouths still locked together.

After a few minutes, Steve pulled back, running his hand down Tony's neck and looking back at him.

"Oh," he said.

Tony swallowed. "Oh," he replied before cracking a small smirk.

"Good 'oh'?" he asked.

Tony nodded. "Very good 'oh', I think. Uh, you?"

"Very good," he echoed, lowering his head to rest between Tony's shoulder and neck.

"I was wrong, you know," murmured Steve into his neck.

"About?"

Everything, Steve thought. You. Who you are. Where you came from. What you think. How you feel. How you breathe.

"Your heart," he went with.

Tony paused and ran a hand down Steve's back.

"Yeah. Me too."