Where The Heart Is

by GallifreyGal

Sometimes Steve Rogers thinks he is a collection of fragments, nothing more. He is bits and pieces of memory, of remembered quotes and scraps of ideology. He is the Howling Commando's tavern songs. He is Brooklyn, he is 1944, he is a soldier, he is a Captain. But his scraps no longer line up with the world. His world no longer exists-so why does he?

2. Chapter 2

July 16th, 1942, 22:32

Location: New York City, NY, USA

McCauley's Irish Pub, Brooklyn

It was really very obvious now, Steve thought, that he wasn't in the armed forces. Young men in their uniforms, on leave or not yet shipped out, drank all around the pub. In fact, Steve, Bucky, and the bar tender, Tom, were the only young men not in uniform.

"Can I get a bunch of the boys over here? Taking a picture for the Gazette!" called out a pretty young dame with a camera. All the guys in uniform seemed happy to oblige, all crowding around a single table with their drinks as the bulb flashed.

"The lady said she wanted the boys up there," slurred a beefy guy Steve and Bucky's age as he approached their table.

"So she did. Guess you should get on up there," Bucky replied evenly.

"And why aren't you goin' up there? Oh, right—s'cause you ain't boys. You're nothing but a pair of yellow-bellied cowards, right 4F bastards!" the guy hollered the last.

"We're not looking for trouble, pal," Steve said, placating, but the drunken soldier wasn't having any of it.

"No, I bet you ain't. That's why you're staying out of the war, innit? Thought of fighting makes you piss your pants," the guy growled. The crowd of men had moved away from the picture, all of them gathering around.

"Max, ease up," one of them said.

"Oh, so you're in love with the 4F bastards now?" challenged another.

"David's right, Max, you should back off—"

"Won't fight—"

"—bring the fight to them!"

That was all the encouragement Max needed to flip over Bucky and Steve's table. Beer spilled all over them both, and glass shattered, scattering everywhere as the pints hit the floor. Steve got hit in the face by someone on Max's side while Bucky tussled with the big guy himself. Steve punched the gut of the guy who'd clocked him, but the guy just laughed and decked him again. Steve's world spun. The first guy who had spoken up threw a punch at the guy who'd hit Steve. The whole pub was a mess of shouting, punching, and screaming as the girls ran out the door. Steve could hear more glasses shattering—what had started with a brawl ended with looting and general pandemonium until the cops showed up, at which point everyone scattered, including Steve and Bucky. Bucky wasn't particularly keen on taking the blame for the entire brawl, and neither was Steve for that matter. They walked back to Ten Eyck in loaded silence.

"I think I'll try again tomorrow," Steve said when they reached their apartment. Bucky didn't have to ask for what.

"Don't listen to those morons, Steve," Bucky said. He sounded exhausted.

"But they're right," Steve said miserably. "I'm nothing but a 4F bastard."

"Well then, hell, Steve, if you think you're just a 4F bastard, then I really don't want to know what you think that makes me," Bucky said angrily. He went into his own room and slammed the door behind him.

March 5th, 2013, 19:05

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan

Clint and Natasha, having returned from their super secret spy mission, attended both training and movie night that week, which cheered Steve and made him feel like things had mostly gone back to normal. It surprised him to realize that there was a new normal for him. Even Bruce had shown up for movie night, apologizing for his recent absence. He hadn't realized Clint and Natasha were out of town, and he certainly didn't know that Tony was absent as well. He'd been caught up in a project. Tony, for his part, had not returned either to training or movie night, only increasing Steve's anxiety about the situation. So Steve ended up, yet again, riding the elevator to Stark Tower as Tony refused to take his calls or answer his texts. The elevator doors opened to an explosive argument.

"No, Tony, it's not just about that—God, you really never listen, do you? It's everything. It's everything."

"Pepper, how do I fix this if it's everything? How the hell do I fix some nebulous concept of everything?"

"Well, you're such a genius I'm sure you can figure it out," Pepper snapped. She looked at her watch. "And now I'm going to be late for the gala." She headed towards the elevator just as Steve gingerly stepped into the penthouse. Pepper was so furious she didn't even acknowledge his presence as she blew past. Tony stood at the bar, poured himself a drink.

"I thought I told you and your pals at SHIELD that you can't afford me," Tony said stonily.

"I'm worried about you, Tony," Steve said honestly. "I'm really worried. Is—is everything ok? With you and Pepper, I mean." Tony just stared at him.

"Did it fucking sound like it?" he asked. Steve winced internally. Ok, probably not the most intelligent question he'd ever asked.

"No," he answered. "Did you—uh—want to talk about it?"

"Didn't we just have a discussion about how you were not invited?" Tony asked.

"You can push me out if you want, Tony, but I think you should talk to someone," Steve said firmly.

"Are you telling me I need a shrink?"

"What? No—"

"Get out Rogers," Tony said. "Just go." Steve stared at him helplessly for a second. He watched him down a glass of bourbon and pour another. Tony looked up. "Why are you still here? Do I have to call security, Rogers?" Steve sighed, shook his head, and left. He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Clint—his first to the archer, actually.

Worried about Tony. Check on him later for me? He's drinking alone.

Seconds later, he got a text in return.

CLINT

Sure thing, Cap. Thanks for telling me.

Steve felt a little better as he got on the subway. He wasn't the only one looking out for Tony. But he wished he could do more. And he wished he had someone to talk to about it, someone who wouldn't be carefully monitoring his psychological state and reporting back to Fury about it. Then a thought struck him, and he pulled out his cell again. He dialed.

"Hello?" Ty's voice answered.

"Hey, Ty—you up for another round tonight?"

March 9th, 2013, 09:32

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Triskelion – Gym, Manhattan

"So, what are we watching tomorrow?" Clint asked. "Breakfast Club? Sixteen Candles? I mean, we've made it to the eighties, we can't leave out the classic teen movies. Oh! I know! Back to the Future! We could do the whole trilogy!"

"I actually wanted to talk to you guys about tomorrow. I, uh, I kind of have a date," Steve said apologetically. "It was the only time this week we could make plans."

"Well, why don't you just bring her? It's not like movie day will take all night after all," Clint said.

"You guys…you wouldn't mind?" Steve asked. Clint slapped him on the back.

"'Course we wouldn't mind, you dog. We'd love to meet her, right Nat? What's her name?" Clint asked. Steve smiled.

"His name is Ty," he said.

"His name is—what—oh—oh," Clint struggled for a moment. Natasha laughed at him, but a second later he joined in her laughter. "That joke makes a lot more sense now, oh, man!" Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Straight guys can—oh, never mind, doesn't matter."

"Tell Ty we'd like to meet him, if he's up for Back to the Future," Natasha said. Steve smiled at her.

"Yes ma'am."

March 10th, 2013, 14:13

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

"How have you not seen Back to the Future?" Ty asked as Clint fiddled with the Blu-Ray player (it was like a DVD, Steve discovered, which was a device that stored a movie).

"Steve grew up Amish," Clint said, deadpan. Ty laughed.

"Don't joke, I'll believe you. Sometimes I think this guy's an alien. I told him to look something up on Wikipedia the other day and he said, 'Is that…like…an encyclopedia?' I don't know how he gets through the day sometimes," he said. Steve casually put an arm around Ty.

"So I've still got the enigma thing going for me, huh?" Steve asked.

"Oh, definitely," Ty said. Natasha returned from the kitchen and tossed them a bag of microwave popcorn before gracefully settling on the couch. Clint joined her a second later as the Blu-Ray booted up. Clint put an arm around Natasha. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Clint gave her a puppy-dog expression. Natasha rolled her eyes, but the arm stayed where it was.

It struck Steve that this was the first successful double date he'd even been on. Well, maybe Clint and Natasha weren't on a date. Steve wasn't sure. He never knew what was going on between those two, and it felt far too personal to ask. But he decided he'd count this as a double date. He could be Steve Rogers, born in 1986, sketch artist, ex-military from Brooklyn with a boyfriend on the force. He could be Steve Rogers, watching movies with his friends. He could be Steve almost-Amish Rogers, the friend weirdly blind to pop culture and a little allergic to certain modern values. Ty leaned into his embrace, and for a few hours, Steve forgot the world, forgot his life, and everything was perfect.

March 16th, 2013 22:47

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve brushed back a lock of Ty's dark hair that fell into his eyes. The other man just smiled back at him, lighting up those green eyes. Steve was beginning to live for that expression. Ty propped his head up with one elbow on the bed, forsaking the pillow.

"Never did make it to that Chinese place," he said. Steve chuckled.

"I know! Damn shame, the way you've been talking it up all week," he said. "I was looking forward to those egg rolls." Ty lightly traced the length of Steve's arm with his fingertips, watching them as he went.

"Any regrets?" he asked softly, not looking at Steve.

"As amazing as you claimed those egg rolls to be, I don't think they could hold a candle to tonight, Ty," Steve said with a grin. The light returned to Ty's eyes, the happiness and certainty filling his expression once again. Steve raised himself a bit off the bed to capture Ty's lips with his in a kiss that was passionately reciprocated—until Ty pulled just centimeters away a few seconds later.

"You know," Ty said quite seriously, "we could always order take out."

"I would say all I need is you but honestly I'm starving," Steve admitted. Ty laughed and shoved him away. Steve stretched and got up off the bed. "You have the number?"

"No," Ty said, reaching for Steve's laptop on the bedside table, "but there is this magical thing called the internet." Steve got up and crossed the room, grabbing his phone.

"Oh yeah," Steve said, "Forgot about that." Ty laughed at his facetiousness. Steve hadn't been facetious. But that was ok. They ordered Chinese and spent the next half hour in bed, just talking about nothing in particular. When the doorbell rang, Steve threw on some sweats and a t-shirt as fast as he could and grabbed his wallet.

"Make sure they brought the egg rolls!" Ty called after him as Steve made his way to the front door. He undid the latch and opened the door.

"Hello—Tony?" Steve was shocked to find Tony—so much so that for half a second he wondered when and why Tony had gotten a job at a twenty-four-hour Chinese restaurant as a delivery boy. Then, of course, he came to his senses. Tony was a mess, more of one than Steve had seen him as nearly two weeks ago. Tony just sort of stumbled inside. Steve could smell the alcohol on him.

"Is it Sunday yet?" Tony asked. Steve was amazed that he was capable of speaking so clearly.

"No, Sunday is tomorrow—Tony, what are you doing here? Is everything ok?" It was another stupid question but Steve had no idea how else to ask it.

"Pepper and I called it quits. Well, mostly Pepper," Tony said. "But I called it quits too, a little bit. Like, 12%." Then he started laughing. Or crying. Or both. Steve wasn't sure, and he felt himself panicking a little. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this. Bucky had never gotten so broken up about any of the dames he'd courted—but of course, none of them had been half so serious as Tony and Pepper.

"Hey do you need help carrying any of the—oh. That's not Chinese take out," Ty said, coming out into the hall in a borrowed pair of sweats. Tony squinted his eyes at him.

"That's not Clint. Or Bruce," Tony said decidedly.

"No, this is Ty—why would Clint be here?" Steve asked, bewildered.

" I didn't know you had friends," Tony said bluntly. He stumbled forward a bit, and Steve helped him to the couch.

"Thanks," Steve said sarcastically.

"You know what I meant."

"I'll just—" Ty gestured vaguely to the kitchen. He mouthed to Steve, "Tony Stark?" Steve just shrugged helplessly. He'd have to explain later—and how he was going to do that he wasn't sure yet—but for now Tony was his main concern.

"Tony, do you want to start from the beginning?" Steve asked gently. Tony just laughed.

"Oh, sure. I was born. I think that sums up all of my problems pretty nicely," he said. "Are you sure it's not Sunday?"

"I'm a hundred percent positive it isn't Sunday," Steve said. Ty returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of water, which he set on the coffee table in front of Tony.

"You should really drink that," Ty advised. The doorbell rang again. "You like Chinese?"

"I don't remember," Tony said.

"My wallet's on the—"

"I've got it, Steve," Ty said. He left to get the door.

"Clint and Natasha weren't at the Tower," Tony said.

"They had a mission this week. I'm sure they told you," Steve said. Tony waved him off.

"I'm sure they did. Bruce…dunno where he went either. Thought it might be Sunday," Tony said.

"Oh, you thought they'd be here," Steve said, realizing. "Sorry to disappoint. It's just me."

"You'll do," Tony said. "Won't even remember this tomorrow."

"Probably not," Steve agreed. He grabbed the glass of water and handed it to Tony, who took a long gulp before setting it back down.

"You know what the worst part is? I knew it was coming for weeks. And I didn't stop it. I wasn't even sure I wanted to stop it," Tony said. The front door shut, and Ty returned, setting the bag of Chinese on the table. Steve was grateful they'd ordered enough for a small army. Ty had laughed at him for it, but Steve needed the energy with his metabolism. Now they certainly had enough to feed Tony, too.

"Ok, you've got to like chicken fried rice, right?" Ty asked, getting out all the cartons and lining them up on the coffee table. "Everybody likes chicken fried rice." Ty picked up a carton, some chopsticks, and handed them to Tony, who took them, looking more than a bit out of sorts.

"Who are you?" Tony asked.

"Tony, this is Ty. Ty, Tony," Steve said as Ty handed him a carton of mushu pork and an egg roll.

"You said that but who is he?" Tony asked.

"Ty's a friend from the station," Steve said. At Tony's blank look, he added, "The police station. Where I work. As a sketch artist."

"You work?" Steve rolled his eyes. He knew Ty was watching them both curiously, but he was glad the other man had the sense to stay quiet.

"Yes, I work. You knew that. I'm pretty sure you know my work schedule, even." Unless Pepper did.

"But what's he doing here at—" Tony, at that moment, appeared to have an epiphany. He glanced at Ty—shirtless Ty, wearing Steve's sweatpants, and then at Steve, whose hair was still mussed and lips still a bit puffy. "You're gay?"

"I believe the term is 'bisexual'," Steve said, deadpan. "Although current trends tend to lean away from labels." Ty nearly choked on his egg drop soup.

"I did not see that one coming. You've blindsided me, Rogers. No one ever blindsides me," Tony said, sounding offended. He put down the carton of chicken fried rice. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your slumber party." He got up on unsteady legs, ready to leave. Steve shot Ty a panicked look, and Ty just nodded his ascent. Steve just tugged on Tony's arm gently and he fell back onto the couch.

"Sit. Eat. There's plenty of take out to go around," Steve insisted.

"We can always order more egg rolls," Ty added.

"If you're sure…" Tony said, picking up the chicken fried rice again. Ty turned on the television and found Star Wars (Steve couldn't tell which one) playing. He was an incredible gentleman and politely pretended to be absorbed in the movie he had undoubtedly seen a hundred times over.

"Did you want to talk, Tony?" Steve asked softly, his words almost drowned out by the pew pew pew of blasters on the screen. Tony shrugged.

"Nothing to talk about. She dumped me. I let it happen. And there's nothing I can do about it," he said. He stared at the television screen, but his eyes were glazed. He wasn't watching. He was very far away. "I think, you know, I think it's better this way." Steve regarded him for a moment then gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"If you think it's best," Steve said, "then I'm sure it is." Tony laughed. Tony laughed so hard and for so long that Ty glanced over, breaking his feigned disinterest, for a moment.

"Steve," Tony finally said seriously, taking gulps of air down after his laughing fit, "since when have you ever agreed with me on anything I did 'for the best'?" Steve didn't even hesitate.

"The nuke. That time in Oregon. Turkey. Brazil. Wisconsin," he counted off. "There's plenty we disagree on, Tony. But even when we disagree—and don't throw this back in my face some day, but—even when we disagree, it doesn't automatically mean I'm right." Tony gave him a long, questioning glance, but Steve held his ground. Tony returned to eating the chicken fried rice. They ate in silence, watching Star Wars, until the movie (Return of the Jedi, as it turned out) finished and the channel advertised that next up would be Phantom Menace, at which point Tony unexpectedly lunged for the remote control, snatching it off a very surprised Ty's lap, and switched channels.

"No! We agreed. Just the original trilogy for Steve. There's a wonderful opportunity to not ruin it all for him, let him live in ignorant bliss, and that's what we decided on," Tony said emphatically.

"There's more? I haven't seen the rest? Tony, come on—" Steve started but Tony shook his head.

"No, Steve, you don't understand. You don't understand. You don't want to see it. What has been seen can never be unseen. Just let it be, Steve, and live your life in happiness," Tony said.

"I think you're being a little overdramatic—"

"No. You would understand if you knew. But you don't want to understand. Just trust me on this," Tony said.

"Ok, maybe you had more to drink than I thought," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm practically sober at this point."

"Really."

"My partially drunk is better than my stone cold sober any day, I promise you that," Tony said.

"Well, I don't believe that," Steve said. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's getting pretty late now. I think we should head to bed. Tony, I've got a spare room. You're crashing here."

"Nah, I can make it back to Stark Tower," Tony said.

"No, you're staying here. Whine about inferior sheets and a horrible mattress and terrible décor all you want, but I'm not letting you leave like this," Steve said firmly. "Spare room's over there. There should be soap and spare towels and a toothbrush in the bathroom if you want to clean yourself up a bit."

"Is that a hint?" Tony asked.

"Well you sure don't smell like daisies," Steve said, smirking. Tony huffed, and then he got up and went into the spare bedroom. Steve eyed Ty warily. Ty just leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

"So, how exactly does an NYPD sketch artist in Brooklyn meet and befriend Tony Stark?" Ty asked. Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's kind of a long story," he said. Steve didn't want to lie. He hated lying. But his identity was a secret. He couldn't let it get out. He wasn't even certain he was allowed to release that information, or if he'd have all of SHIELD and the government down his throat if he tried.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere until morning," Ty said mildly.

"It's—" Steve thought rapidly, spinning a tale as he spoke, "it's, well, I was in the military. In Afghanistan. How much do you know about Tony Stark?"

"Enough to know he got captured there for a few months a couple of years back. Go on," Ty said.

"Right. Well, I was in the group that was with him when he got nabbed. Didn't get to know him too well, but he was laughing and joking with all the guys just before. And then I was with the group that went to find him. That was an all volunteer mission. Nobody really thought we'd bring him back but Rhodey," Steve lied so convincingly he frightened himself. He could imagine the whole scenario. For a moment, he was that Steve, the born-in-1986 Steve. He was laughing with the other soldiers while Tony let out jokes like most people let out carbon dioxide. He could imagine the attack, he could imagine Rhodey volunteering to go and find him, he could imagine the General telling Rhodey he was crazy, he could imagine stepping up himself and volunteering to go with him, he could imagine finding Tony, battered and half-dead in the desert, he could imagine the relief. It wasn't that hard, after all. The same thing had happened with Bucky.

"And then what?" Ty asked curiously.

"And then…Tony was asking questions about all of us who'd come with Rhodey. Basic stuff, you know? Who we were, what we did for a living, what we liked to do. I mentioned I drew, did some art before I joined up. So Tony invited me to this art gala—and, I don't know, I got to talking to Pepper, that's Tony's girlfriend—or, was, I guess—and we got on really well. And eventually Tony came over and got to talking to the both of us, and, I don't know, how does any friendship start? With a joke and a laugh and a mutual grin? We just sort of fell into it," Steve said. Lies, lies, lies, all lies. It frightened Steve how well he lied. How much he wished his lie was truth frightened him more.

"Well," Ty said, "I guess that's another thing to add to the list. Hates sushi, knows oddly specific historical facts Brooklyn, makes friends with multi-billionaire industrialists. Can't say you've lost the enigma status yet, Captain." Steve just walked over to Ty and captured his lips with his own.

"Really?" he said. He took Ty's hand and ran it down the plane of his chest over his shirt. "Because I'm pretty sure you've seen all there is to see." Ty just grinned and they made their way back to Steve's bedroom.

Lies, lies, lies.

March 17th, 2013, 12:00

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve was waiting, sketching on the couch, when Tony finally emerged from the guest bedroom. Being Tony Stark, he strutted out with full confidence, obviously having showered and somehow magically making his suit from the night before look presentable.

"Well, thanks for the bed for the night—although, seriously, those sheets, Steve, I'm telling you, invest in yourself and get yourself some decent—right, insults. So thanks," he said, and then he started towards the door.

"Woah, woah, where do you think you're going?" Steve demanded. Tony just blinked at him.

"What do you mean where do I think I'm going? Back to Stark Tower," he said. Steve shook his head.

"No. No, ok you do not get to interrupt my date looking for movie day and then actually miss movie day," Steve said stubbornly.

"Steve, you said Clint and Natasha are on a mission. They won't be here. And God knows where Bruce is," Tony said. "No one is coming to movie day, sorry."

"Well you are, now," Steve insisted, swinging his legs off the couch to make room for Tony.

"Seriously?" Tony asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Least you can do after crashing my date is introduce me to an iconic film," Steve insisted. "Sit." Tony looked like he was about to argue, one corner of his mouth tugging downwards, but he walked over and sat.

"Have you seen Back to the Future?"

"That was last week."

"You did Back to the Future without me?" Tony asked, sounding mortally offended. Steve gave him a sideways glance.

"Didn't think you'd be coming back," Steve said. "And Clint thought it would be a great film to watch."

"Well, wasn't it? It's a classic," Tony said. He seemed affronted by the very fact that someone might dislike Back to the Future. Steve just shrugged.

"I liked the first one. But—the second one—well. Marty goes to the future, to 2015, and almost nothing is like he thought it would be. It's all wrong," Steve said. He sighed and shrugged again. "I don't know. The third one was kind of ridiculous, too." Tony was quiet for a minute.

"Ok, no time travel, got it. Guess that means I can't show you Thirteen Going on Thirty. Shame. There's this guy in there who looks exactly like Bruce, I swear. It's hilarious to watch him dance to Thriller," Tony said. At Steve's blank expression he just shook his head. "Another day. We'll have a zombie day and throw that music video in there." Tony got up and turned on the Blu-Ray player, switching it over to Netflix, which all of the Avengers collectively decided that he NEEDED to have. Steve didn't watch too many movies or television shows, but he liked some of the art and history programs. He'd also watched all of Pushing Daisies in less than a week and raged about its cancellation after watching the last episode. Clint and Natasha now knew not to bring it up. It was a touchy subject.

"How about…have we done Indiana Jones yet?" Tony asked. Steve shook his head, and Tony put the movie on before returning to the couch. They sat in silence for a minute.

"So did you want to talk about it?" Steve asked finally.

"Nothing to talk about, Capsicle," Tony replied. Steve sighed. They watched the movie in silence, and when it was over, Tony got up and left. Steve didn't stop him.

April 21st, 1943, 14:12

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Brooklyn Paramount Theatre, Brooklyn

Bucky had said he'd be late, but to save him a seat. He had to check in at the center. Pick up his orders. His orders. No matter what he said, Steve knew Bucky didn't want to go to war. Why he'd volunteered was a mystery to Steve, it was utterly baffling. That he'd managed to stay out of the draft so far was dumbfounding. But now he was going off to the war, going overseas to get shot at. Steve had no idea how he felt about the situation. He knew Bucky was going to fight to make things right, to protect them all, but he also knew Bucky didn't want to go. At the heart of it he didn't, anyway. And Steve couldn't imagine Bucky going off without him. Maybe it was silly—after all, it was always Bucky saving his ass, not the other way around, but Steve couldn't help but feel like they'd both be safer if they were together.

The newsreels played before the film went up. Every able bodied young man… Able-bodied didn't exactly describe Steve. He'd tried again, that morning. But it was the same answer as always. 4F.

"Who cares? Show the movie already!" some guy shouted at the screen. Steve looked over. A woman his age, maybe a little older, was in tears. An older man just stared with a long, grief ridden expression in the direction of the interruption.

"Hey, you want to show some respect?" Steve stage whispered back. There was no reply, and the newsreel went on. Steve couldn't believe the nerve of some people—
"Let's go! Get on with it!" The woman was actively dabbing at her eyes now. Other people were staring. "Just start the cartoon!"

"Hey, want to shut up?" Steve shouted back. He had no tolerance for assholes. And then the asshole stood up. Steve stood up with him, and then headed for the door, sending him a challenging look. He took the bait and followed.

Of course, bravery was no replacement for muscle tone. One solid beating later, and Steve was clutching to the top of a trashcan as a makeshift shield whilst getting his face punched in.

"You just don't know when to give up, do ya?'" said the asshole.

"I can do this all day," Steve replied. The asshole ripped away his shield and punched him. Steve fell, spinning around and nearly knocking himself out on the trashcan. He was still stuck to the pavement when he heard Bucky's voice.

"Hey, pick on someone your own size," he said. Steve was still in the process of getting up, but he heard the punch, heard the other guy's grunt. There he was, Bucky saving the day again. "You know, sometimes I think you like getting punched."
"I had him on the ropes," Steve said, wiping some blood from his mouth. Bucky bent down and picked up his enlistment form.

"How many times is this?" he asked wryly, glancing over the form. "Ah, you're from Paramus now? You know it's illegal to lie on the enlistment form. I mean seriously, Jersey?" Bucky just gave him a look. Steve just stared back. He was all in uniform, hat and everything, looking like a proper soldier. It felt real now.

"You get your orders?" Steve asked.

"The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow," Bucky said. It was real now. Bucky was leaving without him.

"I should be going," Steve said. Bucky gave him a hard stare, but then he grinned and threw an arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Come on man. My last night. We got to get you cleaned up!" he said.

"Why? Where are we going?" Steve asked. Bucky shoved a newspaper at him.

"The future." Steve just looked at the paper. He wasn't sure he was ready for the future. Not if it was a future, for however brief a time, without Bucky.

March 19th, 2013, 09:17

Location: Tokyo, Japan

Disneyland

"What sort of heartless bastard releases a kraken in Disneyland?" Clint asked, sounding not just personally affronted but the most offended Steve had ever heard him. Steve, Clint, and Natasha were high up on some ride, shooting exploding arrows at the monster, but it had some pretty thick skin. Steve and Natasha weren't even useful in this situation; they'd successfully evacuated the park, but beyond that they could only watch as Thor and Iron Man tried to take it down with lasers and electricity and Hulk did his best to punch it into submission.

"What did anyone hope to gain from this, is my question," Steve said, frowning. "Iron Man, watch on your left."

"Got it covered, Cap," Tony replied. He was still slightly inebriated, Steve knew, but they'd needed him on this. He'd been there longer than any of them—his suit was faster than any SHIELD tech. The Kraken raised one giant tentacle and slammed it down on Thunder Mountain.

"This is a tragedy," Clint said mournfully.

"Maybe we should try tying it up if we can't kill it," Steve mused. "I mean even those laser's Iron Man's shooting at it aren't doing all that much good. They haven't even sliced off a tentacle. The three of them have barely slowed that thing down."

"No, I've got an idea. It worked in New York," Tony said, sounding resigned.

"New York? OH—Iron Man, no, you have no idea if you'll be able to bust out of that thing—Iron Man! Stand down! Tony stop—" Steve yelled into his comm., but Tony had already flown into the jaws of the kraken. They waited with bated breath. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. "Shit—Thor, we need to take this thing out now." Steve jumped off their vantage point, running towards the thing. He didn't really have any great ideas, except to maybe wrestle the thing into submission. "All right, everyone take a tentacle—"

Just then, the Kraken screamed a horrible scream, and Tony burst forth from the kraken, covered in goo. The suit couldn't hardly fly—he fell like a rock to the ground, but so did the kraken. The limbs twitched. Steve was disturbed. He rushed towards Tony, who manually lifted his face plate, grimacing at the slime.

"Guess we're having calamari tonight," he said.

"Oh, god, no," Steve said vehemently. "Tony, what were you thinking?"

"Jonah and the Whale, Steve. You're Catholic, right? You know the story," Tony said dismissively, walking forward stiffly. The suit was not having fun with the slime.

"It's Jonah and the fish, technically—Tony, you had no idea you were going to come out of that. You and Thor barely made a dent in that thing!

"They're usually softer on the inside," Tony said. "Most things are."

"It doesn't matter you still had to pierce the skin and you know it," Steve said. He frowned. "Look you did great, but…"

"But what?" Tony demanded.

"But I'd prefer it if you wouldn't make the sacrifice play when it's not absolutely necessary," Steve said finally.

"Fine, whatever. I just saved us all some time. Now we can go get sushi," Tony said, annoyed. Steve gave Tony a long, hard look. Tony just stared back, challenging. Steve shook his head. He didn't want to start a fight. He was tired of fighting.

"You and the others go ahead. I want to see if SHIELD can get me back soon. I was supposed to have a date tonight," Steve said.

"What? Come on, we're in Japan, might as well get some sushi. I think your date's probably shot in the foot at this point, anyway. It's late back home already and it'll be even later by the time SHIELD manages to get you there," Tony insisted.

"You're probably right," Steve agreed, "but the thing is, I hate sushi."

March 20th, 2013, 17:23

Location: New York City, NY, USA

90th Precinct NYPD, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

"I'm sorry I missed our date last night," Steve apologized as he approached Ty's desk. Ty had been on active duty most of the day and Steve hadn't had a chance to see him.

"It's all right," Ty said sincerely. "Stuff comes up. Things happen. I get it. Mind telling me what it was?" Ty shut off his computer, getting ready to check out for the day. Maybe they could make up their date tonight, Steve thought.

"You know, I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. I'm not sure I believe me," Steve said. Ty just smirked.

"And you wonder about that whole 'enigma' label," he replied. Steve frowned, but Ty put a hand up. "Wasn't an insult. You don't want to say, that's fine. But I think you owe me a make-up date." Steve smiled, sliding his hands onto Ty's waist.

"Oh, so I do get another date? Good. I've got a few ideas how I can make it up to you," Steve said suggestively. Ty chuckled, putting his arms around Steve's neck.

"Really? You know, I'd be real interested to hear your ideas…"

"Over dinner?"

"Sounds perfect."

March 23rd, 2013, 04:14

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve knew that it hadn't even been a month yet since they'd started dating, and he knew that all of this was definitely new, but he was beginning to get used to it. He liked waking up, limbs tangled with Ty, warm from their combined body heat. He liked to hear his boyfriend's soft breathing when he woke up in the middle of the night. And the one time he'd had a nightmare, and woken up shouting for Bucky, Ty hadn't said anything. He'd just held him close and stroked his hair until he calmed down, and they both went back to sleep.

After their date on Wednesday, Ty just hadn't left. And they'd gone together in the precinct in the morning, and left together in the afternoon. Ty had run home to grab some new clothes, but other than that they'd pretty much taken up residence for the past few days in Steve's apartment. He should be shocked, maybe. He should be frightened by how fast everything was moving. But Ty was willing to go with the flow, and for once, so was Steve. He'd seen the damage that waiting could do. He was done with waiting. He was happy, perfectly happy, to live in this moment only, to forget the past, to ignore the future, and just be. But of course, not all moments are exactly happy.

Steve's cell phone, placed on his bedside table with the volume up as loud as it could go in case of Avengers-related emergencies, rang out, disturbing the peaceful moment. Ty stirred, and Steve made a grab for the phone. He turned it on just as Ty looked up at him blearily.

"Hello?" Steve answered. He was already trying to figure out how to put on the suit without Ty noticing, but it wasn't Fury or any of the Avengers on the line.

"Oh, Steve, thank God," Pepper's voice answered. "I didn't know who else to call; Natasha and Clint are out on missions, Rhodey's in Afghanistan, Bruce is on a trip to Mumbai for God-knows-what reason—"

"Woah, Pepper, slow down, what's going on?" Steve asked.

"It's Tony, Steve. Happy called me, but I can't do anything about this, not without making it worse—"

"Pepper, what is it?"

"He's thrown a party. That in and of itself would not be worrying but Happy says it's gotten a little out of hand, and Tony's had way too much to drink, even for him. He's playing with tech, and Happy's worried he might get out the suit again—Steve, oh, could you please just go over there and try to knock some sense into him?" Pepper pleaded. Well, he could hardly say no to a lady like Pepper. And besides, he was worried about Tony, too. Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, Pepper, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," Steve said. He could hear her sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, Steve. Call me later with an update?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," Steve replied, and then they hung up. Steve sighed, and went to pull on some jeans.

"Who was that?" Ty asked, his voice rough with sleep.

"Pepper," Steve said. "She's—She was Tony's girlfriend," Steve explained. He rifled through his closet, looking for a decent shirt.

"Oh, the one that dumped him? What'd she want? Where are you going?" Ty asked.

"Tony's being himself, and Pepper wants me to put a stop to it," Steve answered. He tugged the shirt over his head then went to the bed and kissed Ty. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Just go back to sleep." Steve grabbed his phone, his keys, and headed out the front door.

Stark Tower was all dark except for the top few floors, which were lit at full blast. Steve couldn't hear the music from the pavement, but he could see all the bodies dancing—well, what passed for dancing in this century, anyway. With a sigh he headed up to the penthouse.

The closer the elevator got, the louder the music became, and when the doors opened Steve wondered how everyone inside wasn't deaf. There were so many people packed into the penthouse Steve genuinely wondered how they all fit. He had to fight his way through the crowd.

"Have you seen Tony? Anybody seen Tony?" Steve asked around, shouting over the music. Someone pointed—ah, the bar. Steve moved through the hot, sweaty masses to get to the bar. He didn't see Tony—until he went behind the bar, where he found him sitting, clutching a glass and a bottle of vodka. He looked up as Steve approached with a glassy expression.

"Cap'n," Tony said, raising the vodka in salute. "Didn think you were one for parties."

"Tony," Steve said gently, kneeling down, "what are you doing back here?"

"S'n'it obvious?" he asked. He waved the vodka bottle again. "I'll get back up—later. There were two girls—earlier—maybe I'll do that. Again."

"Tony, I think maybe…maybe it's time for your guests to go," Steve said gently. "Why don't I clear everybody out for you?"

"No, no, party's just—just started," Tony argued.

"It's four in the morning, Tony," Steve replied. "I think this party's been going for a while. I think I'll tell everyone to wind it down." Steve got up.

"Just like Pepper," Tony grumbled, and then he looked suddenly grief-stricken. Steve had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to cut the music. He edged along the walls, looking for a stereo system. He circled the whole room, but he didn't see anything anywhere.

"How the hell am I supposed to turn this music off?" Steve complained aloud. The music cut off suddenly. Steve, immensely startled but grateful, stood up on the coffee table. It seemed quite rude to do, but it was the only way he would be seen by the whole party.

"Hello everyone," Steve said. "I hope you have all had a lovely evening, but it's getting rather late now, so it's time to start winding down. How about we have one last song for the night and then end this great party?" The crowd cheered—good, everyone must be tired by now, Steve figured. He stepped down from the table, and the music started back up again. It sincerely disturbed him, but he figured he'd question the magical music later.

One song later, everyone cleared out of the penthouse. Steve went back behind the bar. Tony was barely conscious. Steve hauled him to his feet, helping him into the bedroom, where he fell down onto the mattress. Steve took Tony's shoes and socks off.

"You should probably change," Steve said. Tony mumbled something that just sounded like 'mmmmmgerblemm' to Steve. He shrugged and went into the kitchen. He rummaged around for a glass, and then poured some water. He went back into the bedroom. Tony was already asleep, so he put it on the bedside table, found some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet and set it there as well. He shifted Tony on the bed slightly, moving him onto his side in case he vomited, and pulled up the covers around him. It was the best he could do.

Even in sleep, the other man looked tired. Deep circles were under his eyes, and he fidgeted, like he was in constant discomfort. Steve wished he could help him somehow, but he didn't think there was anything he could do. He turned off the lights as he left.

May 15th, 2013, 17:04

Location: Kadnikov, Russia

"Steve, what is it?" Tony demanded. Steve didn't even hear him. He was too busy staring. He couldn't look away. It was like a train wreck, like a nightmare. This was supposed to be a routine mission—if any of their missions could be called routine. The Russian government itself had called them in, fearing insurgents operating in the area. Tony had figured it was the Ten Rings, and they'd all agreed with him. The plan was go in, take them out (alive, if possible), and deliver them to SHIELD. But they'd found an empty shed, all but deserted, with only a few items left behind. They'd obviously left in a rush. They'd even left one gun behind.

Steve's fingers ghosted over the weapon, with its glowing blue core. The tesseract couldn't power it, no, but Steve had a good idea what was. But that was the least disturbing thing about it. His fingers found the logo, the brand. He'd thought this ended seventy years ago. He'd thought he was done. He'd thought his sacrifice had been enough.

It wasn't.

"Steve?" Tony's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

"It's…" Steve couldn't even say it. He felt sick. He felt more than sick. This was supposed to be over. If it wasn't over, then what was the point? What had he fought for? What had he died for? Well, he hadn't died, exactly. But he might as well have. Everyone else did. And what had it been for?

"I know that symbol," Natasha said grimly. Her fingers gently moved his out of the way, revealing the red skull with its tentacles beneath. "Hydra."

"How do you—?" Steve asked, but Natasha just shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "What matters is we've obviously found a small group of them that's still operational. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous that is." Steve handed the weapon to Tony.

"Tell us what you can about this," Steve said. "How it works. Who could have made it." Tony took the weapon, an action that looked awkward and bulky with his metal gauntlets.

"I'll need to do some further testing, but it looks like it might run on arc tech. Nobody should be able to replicate that yet—except Ivan Vanko, who's dead," Tony said. "Can't tell what it does, though; it doesn't look like repulsor tech—" Steve grabbed the weapon back from Tony, pointed at chair across the room, and fired. As Steve expected, the chair disintegrated. He handed it back to a stunned Tony.

"It does that," Steve said, voice rough. "It'll dissolve you in a blast. I don't know the technical term. Howard explained it to me a long time ago—specific targeted atomic destruction or something like that. Said he was working on something similar, but less specific. Guess that turned out to be those bombs they dropped on Japan." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He'd been glad when Howard hadn't been able to replicate the technology without the tesseract. He'd been glad when Howard had barely been able to puzzle out the tech at all, when he'd said it was years ahead of him. No one should have that kind of power. No one.

"This…I mean, I can count on one hand the people who should be capable of producing this," Tony said. "But I didn't see Vanko coming. I'm not going to pretend I know every crazy guy in a basement. You said Howard told you it was a specific targeted atomic whatever?"

"Your father. Yeah," Steve said. Tony just stared at the weapon.

"I knew you were fighting Nazis. And…Hydra, or whatever. Dad never mentioned these. I assumed you were up against bullets," Tony said, sounding dumbstruck. "How in the hell did this exist in the 1940s?"

"That's Hydra for you. As innovative as they are destructive," Natasha answered. Steve sent her a questioning glance, but she didn't elaborate.

"If it helps your research," Steve said, "it doesn't work on vibranium." Tony squinted at the gun.

"Huh. That's…huh," Tony said. Then his head tilted. "What, exactly, is vibranium?" Steve tapped his shield. "Huh." Tony's faceplate snapped back into place. "I think it's time to get back to my lab. The quicker we can get answers on this thing the better." Steve nodded.

"We'll meet you back at base, Iron Man," he said. Tony laughed through the suit's electronic voice.

"So Stark Tower is base now, huh Cap? Good to know," he said. He exited the small shanty and then the other Avengers heard the sound of his repulsors activating. Steve looked around the shack. He felt helpless. He felt furious. He felt—he felt more than he could bear to feel.

"The helicarrier will be outside in five," Natasha announced. "Are you compromised, Captain?" She didn't ask it with any maliciousness, or with any judgment. It was just a simple question. It always was with Natasha. She was ever the professional. Steve just shook his head.

"I just want to get these bastards," he said. "Once and for all." Natasha gave him a level gaze.

"Things are rarely ever once and for all, Captain." Steve smiled bitterly.

"Don't I know it."

May 16th, 2013, 10:16

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Stark Tower – Lab, Manhattan

"Oh, good, finally," Tony said as Steve walked in through the door. He was in sweats and a black tank top, through which his bright blue reactor shone. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat that, far from being unattractive, bounced the light nicely off his muscles. "You brought it, right?" Steve took his shield out of the art portfolio bag he'd stashed it in.

"What do you mean, finally?" Steve asked. "It's only ten."

"Um, yeah, it's ten in the morning. I've been working for…twenty-one hours already," Tony said. He made a grab for the shield, but Steve pulled it back, regarding Tony warily.

"What are you going to do to it?" he asked.

"I'm just going to scan it. That's all. I swear. I want to see its atomic structure," Tony said, putting his hands up. Cautiously, Steve handed his shield over to the genius.

"So you haven't slept in at least thirty hours," Steve said as Tony placed the shield carefully on a clear table. The table lit up with green patterns that looked a bit like a circuit board. Lines ghosted over his shield.

"Forty-six," Tony clarified.

"You've been up for forty-six hours straight?" Steve asked. Steve, of course, was perfectly capable of this, though it usually made him irritable beyond what anyone could stand, but Tony was human. Tony didn't have the advantage of the serum. "That is not healthy."

"Thanks, Mom," Tony said dryly. Something pinged, and Tony looked at one of his numerous clear computer screens. Steve had only seen tech like this before on the helicarrier. His laptop, he knew, wasn't a quarter so advanced.

"Have you eaten since yesterday?" Steve asked.

"Hm? Uh, I don't know, I don't remember," Tony replied, typing something in. He stared at the screen and then guffawed. "Vibranium—fuck I should have guessed."

"What? What is it?"

"I discovered this element. Rediscovered, whatever," Tony said, waving a hand. "It's the core of my arc reactor. Dad left me a blueprint for it. A very cryptic blueprint, but a blueprint nonetheless." Tony ran a finger over the surface of the shield. It felt very intimate to Steve. "Should have guessed."

"All right, you've solved the whole mystery metal thing," Steve said. "Why don't we grab a burger or something?" Tony looked up, his eyebrows pinched together.

"You want to grab a burger," he stated.

"Yes."

"It's ten in the morning."

"You've been up for forty-six hours I'm pretty sure you can ignore the time of day," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "My metabolism certainly can. I'm starving. Time for second breakfast."

"I'm kind of in the middle of solving our problems, Rogers," Tony said.

"You're kind of about to keel over because you haven't slept in forty-six hours and I'm guessing you haven't eaten in at least ten," Steve said. He wasn't scolding Tony. Not exactly. Ok, he was scolding Tony a tiny bit.

"So you want to grab a burger," Tony said, sounding a bit disbelieving.

"Yeah, maybe you know a place where they haven't been processed and flattened until they're a vaguely meat-like substance but certainly not a burger," Steve said resentfully. Some things in the future were better. The culinary arts were not. "And somewhere with decent fries."

"Oh, I can show you a decent burger—what have you been eating, McDonalds crap? Ugh. I shudder just to think of it. There's this awesome place on sixth—real burgers, fresh made fries, you're gonna love it, Cap," Tony said, walking with Steve out of the lab. Steve smiled.

"Ok, but first—don't you think you should shower and change?" Tony blinked, then looked at himself.

"Possibly."

"Probably."

"It would be a good idea."

"It would be a great idea."

May 16th, 2013, 11:04

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Diner, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

"Here we are," Tony said as Happy stopped the car. Steve and Tony opened the doors and got out. Steve squinted.

"I thought we were going to get a burger," Steve said, frowning. They were back in Brooklyn, in Williamsburg no less. Tony grinned.

"That's exactly what we're doing. You haven't done much exploring, have you? Just sticking to the old haunts, huh? But you'll like this place," Tony said. It was strange, to have Tony leading him through his own hometown. Yet he walked with confidence until they happened upon an old railway carriage on 85th and Broadway. It didn't look at all like somewhere Tony Stark might go, with its red and green paint chipping, and dirty awnings flapping in the wind. Tony just waltzed on inside, so Steve followed after him.

The place was pretty busy, with a bunch of folks talking and laughing and eating. The radio—uh, stereo, probably—was blasting hits that Steve was beginning to recognize as being from the fifties. A young girl, maybe just out of her teens, dressed in an outfit that matched the décor, greeted them. Tony slipped her a fifty, much to Steve's chagrin, and she cleared a booth and seated them right away, taking their simple order and scampering off to the kitchen.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Oh, you don't like bribery?" Tony asked smirking. "She probably would have seated us quickly anyway. I'm Iron Man. I mean, come on. I just gave her the best tip she'll get all day." Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn't argue with that. Tony was, obnoxiously, right. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, either, so Steve supposed he could let it slide just this once.

"Fine, fine. I'm not going to complain. I'm starving," Steve admitted.

"How much do you eat anyway?" Tony asked with all the fascination of a scientist. Steve just chuckled.

"You, know, Howard asked—uh, sorry. A lot. My metabolism runs at four times the speed of a normal person. So I guess I eat around four times as much. I usually take in about eight thousand calories in a day. But I can survive on less. The military gave me double rations; that was all they could afford. I did fine on that, but I do get…irritable," Steve said honestly. The Howling Commandos always told him he was either the biggest pain in the ass when he hadn't eaten, or the most furious son of a bitch on the field. Tony gave him a measured look.

"Must be weird for you," Tony said. "Didn't think much about it that first mission. But it must be weird for you, being in this new century. Must be weird for you, meeting a friend's son, older than your friend was."

"Howard and I were more like acquaintances than friends," Steve clarified cautiously. "I didn't know him all that well."

"What did you think of him?" Tony asked. Steve almost didn't want to answer. He knew he was wading in dangerous waters—he'd been warned by everyone from Rhodey to Fury not to bring up Howard around Tony. He wasn't sure why Tony was luring him down into the depths, but at the same time, how could he refuse to answer?

"I had great admiration for Howard," Steve said honestly. "You could always tell he was the smartest person in the room, but he never made you feel stupid. Called everybody 'pal', and that's how he made everybody feel—like they were friends with him, even if they weren't. Very friendly guy, Howard. Best pilot I've ever seen—not counting you and the suit. I don't know what you want me to say, Tony. He made my costume. Hell, he helped make me. Erskine wouldn't have been able to perfect the serum without the vitaray machine. Never quite understood him though. Got the feeling no one really did." Steve didn't know what else to say. Tony was quiet for a moment.

"I think you're right on that account," he said, and that was that. The waitress showed up with their burgers, which looked amazing, like actual burgers, and when Steve took his first bite—well, it was love. He could hear Tony laughing at him. He must have made a ridiculous face.

"I thought you'd like it," Tony said.

"Like is an understatement," Steve said dramatically. "I think I'm in love."

"Well, since I've introduced you to your one true love, can we be friends now?" Tony asked. His tone was playful. It was obvious he was joking. But Steve put down the burger.

"We are friends, Tony," Steve said seriously.

"Ah, well, good to know that the key to a super soldier's heart is gastronomy. Hey, if you're willing to branch out a bit, I know another place in SoHo where they make white truffle burgers—you haven't lived until you've had one," Tony said easily. Everything about Tony was easy. Even his posture at that moment was the model of easy, with one arm draped across the back of the booth, fingers drumming absently. Steve had noticed he tended to do that. He wasn't sure if it was a nervous tic or if it meant that Tony was thinking. Steve hadn't puzzled Tony out yet. It bothered him.

"I'll never turn down a good burger," Steve said.

"Yeah? Hm. I'll keep that in mind," Tony said. They finished their early lunch in friendly banter. It was, Steve realized, a lot easier to get along with Tony than he'd thought.

May 16th, 2013, 19:21

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Diner, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve heard the key turn and the door unlock, so, spoon covered with marinara sauce still in hand, he headed out towards the entryway, greeting Ty with a kiss as he opened the door. Ty just smiled.

"I'm glad you're back," he said as he shut the door behind them. "How was the art gallery?" Steve, lacking anything better to tell him, had said he was going to an art gallery opening in Berlin for a few days, courtesy of Tony. He couldn't, after all, very well tell him he was going on a secret mission to Russia to root out insurgents, and now that he was back he certainly couldn't tell him all about Hydra, couldn't tell him that it was the group he'd fought against, couldn't explain how shaken he felt. So instead he wandered back into the kitchen, Ty following behind him, and said,

"Oh, it was great. I don't have anything against modern art, but I like the classics, and this exhibit was mostly modeled off romantic era paintings," Steve said. Lies, lies, lies. Steve had told more lies in these past three months, he figured, than he'd told in his whole life. He didn't feel right about it. He'd asked Fury's opinion on the matter. After getting glared at with one eye, Fury's answer had been definitive.

"You will not endanger this Initiative—or yourself—by revealing your identity to civilians, is that clear, soldier? We've given you a cover story for a reason. Stick to it. I don't care if you marry this guy—do you know how many Russian spies stayed in the States after, got married, and never breathed a word to their partner? It can be done. Keep your lips zipped, soldier. You need someone to talk to? We'll get you a fucking therapist," Fury had snapped. That had been the end of that discussion.

"Good," Ty said. "So, what's for dinner? Spaghetti?"

"With chicken parmesan," Steve added. "I've been told my recipe is to die for, which is, of course, understandable since I got it from—" Gabriella and Antonio Carbonell, just down the street—they own The Leaning Tower on Leopold St. You've been there, haven't you? Nice couple. Just had a baby girl before I shipped out. It's what Steve meant to say, until he realized that of course Ty wouldn't know them. The Leaning Tower had been closed for God only knew how many years. Gabriella and Antonio were undoubtedly dead by now. "—um, a couple of real Italian immigrants. Owned a restaurant. Nice people." Steve turned the heat off under the sauce. He didn't feel very hungry anymore. He felt Ty's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," Ty said softly. "You ok? You've got that look again." Steve blinked.

"Look? What look?"

"Like you're a thousand miles away, somewhere I can't follow," Ty said honestly. "Like the ground's fallen out beneath you."

"Is it really that bad?" Steve said, half-joking. Ty didn't smile.

"You know you can talk to me, Steve," he said.

Except that I can't.

"I know," Steve said.

May 18th, 2013, 10:16

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Gym – Stark Tower, Manhattan

Another one down. The punching bags in the Stark Tower could stand a little more than the bags at the gym in Brooklyn, but they still had a breaking point. Steve's last punch broke the metal chain that held it in place, sending the thing flying across the room and landing next to the boxing ring, sending up a cloud of sawdust. Steve just stared after it. He wondered if there were enough punching bags in the world for him to work out his thoughts.

"Hey Captain, you awake in there?" Tony asked, knocking on his head. Steve shook himself and swatted Tony's hand away.

"Yeah, I'm awake, why?"

"You've got that look."

"The thousand-miles-away-and-like-the-ground's-fallen-o ut-underneath-me look?" Steve asked, snorting. Tony blinked.

"Yes, actually, that's the exact look I was talking about. Apt description," Tony said. Steve sighed and shook his head.

"I just don't feel right about it. Clint, and Natasha, off in Turkey, while we're here. I know it's a two-man mission. I know they've got the most experience in covert ops, but…"

"But you personally want to be out there, kicking Hyrda's butt," Tony finished for him.

"I didn't fight many Nazis," Steve said. "Some. And I guess plenty of Hydra agents could be called Nazis for a time, but eventually, they were there own thing. Mostly, I didn't fight the Nazis. I fought Hydra. My boys went up against Hydra, died against Hydra. Bucky died fighting against Hydra on one of our last missions. I put that plane in the water, thinking we were done. Thinking it was over. Thinking I'd leave the world just a little safer than it had been the day before, even if the war was still going on. But they're back Tony, and Natasha makes it sound like they never left, and all I can think of is the Red Skull's grin and that obnoxious platform—cut off one head and two more will take its place." Steve shook his head, lost for words.

"We'll get them, Steve," Tony said seriously. "Clint and Natasha are going to find them, and once they do, we're going to go in and take them out."

"I know," Steve said. "I just hate waiting."

"Isn't patience a virtue? Aren't you the living embodiment of virtue? Ipso facto you should be patient," Tony said. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Not helpful, Stark." Tony slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, which, really, must have taken a bit of effort considering their difference in height.

"Well I don't have any helpful advice for, you know, vengeful feelings. I still have it out for the Ten Rings. But I am a master of distraction. How does going for Pop Burger sound?" Tony asked.

"What's a pop burger?" Steve asked.

"Tiny burgers. They're delicious. We'll just have to order like, ten, knowing your metabolism. They're fun. They're tiny. It's a novelty. Just go with it," Tony said. Steve chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Tony," he said. "I'm always down for a good burger."

June 22nd, 2013, 23:14

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Two weeks. Two weeks he had been gone, him and Clint and Natasha, having insisted on going for the ride for a second mission. Two weeks searching through Eastern Europe for a hidden organization that showed no signs of resurfacing. They'd barely found anything in the way of evidence, and the only hideout they'd found had been just like the last one—deserted. With nothing to go on, they returned, and Steve was more irritable than ever.

So, when he finally turned on his cell phone as they exited the SHIELD jet, Steve was less than pleased to receive another call from Pepper. Not, of course, because he was inherently displeased to speak with Pepper, who was a lovely woman and had many interesting things to say about art, but because he already knew what she was about to say before she said it.

"It's only been going since eight," Pepper said by way of greeting, "But Happy says Tony is dangerously drunk already. It's the fifth time this week, Steve—I don't know what to do, I didn't know who else to call, Rhodey's still overseas—"

"Don't worry, Pepper, I'll talk to him," Steve said unhappily. Pepper sighed. She sounded like she'd been crying.

"I don't know what to do Steve. It wasn't working. It wasn't going to work. But I never meant—"

"I know, Pepper. He knows that too. Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Steve said. He hung up the phone and hopped in the SHIELD provided car. "Stark Tower, please."

It was just like before. He'd done this four times now, and he certainly wasn't there for every time Tony went off the rails. It was the same story—loud music, sweaty bodies grinding on each other, lots of alcohol. It wasn't to Steve's tastes by any means, and he couldn't understand why anyone would like it. He pushed through the crowd, asking for Tony again. No one seemed to know where he was, until he got to the fringes of the crowd and a girl pointed—Steve looked, with horror, because she pointed outside. Steve nearly had a heart attack then and there. There, wandering about alone on the rail-less balcony, was Tony, wobbling and looking like a good gust of wind might just toss his drunk ass over the side. Steve moved quickly. He got out onto the balcony.

"Tony?" Steve called cautiously. He didn't want to startle him.

"Steve!" Tony said, thrusting the bottle of rum into the air. "Great party! Is it your birthday?"

"No—Tony, you threw the party. This is your house—oh for God's sake will you put the bottle down?" Steve marched out onto the balcony. It was a warm night, but the breeze gave him goosebumps. He was only afraid of heights when he was lacking a parachute, and this happened to be one of those occasions. He grabbed Tony's arm and led him back inside. He was wobbling dangerously. Steve asked the air,

"Ok, can the music magically shut off again?" Conveniently, it did. Tony must have some voice recognition software built into the invisible stereo, Steve figured. Everyone stopped dancing. Steve didn't even bother to get up on a table. He didn't care that he was holding onto Tony's arm like an angry parent. He just wanted them out.

"Thanks for showing up everyone," Steve said, though he knew his tone was anything but 'thankful'.

"Steve," Tony whined softly, but Steve ignored him.

"You can all now officially say you've partied in Iron Man's penthouse. Now please go. The party is over. Iron Man has been called for official duty." For a minute, those who could see him just stared. He glared. "Go!" They scrambled for the door, and within minutes, everyone was out.

"Kill joy," Tony slurred. "Party pooper. Captain party pooper." Tony giggled. Steve just dragged him into the bedroom. "'M not tired Captain Kill Joy."

"Good," Steve said. He dragged Tony into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

"What—" Tony asked, but before he could even crack a dirty joke, Steve shoved him under the cold spray. Tony yelped and tried to get out, but Steve blocked his path. "STEVE! WHAT THE HELL!"

"Do you think this is a game?" Steve shouted back over the pounding of the water. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think I like coming in here and cleaning up after you?" Tony just stared at him, slightly less glassy-eyed than he had been a few seconds ago. "My father was an alcoholic, did you know that? Do you think I like cleaning up after you anymore than I liked cleaning up after him? Do you think I want to watch you drink yourself into being a different person, like he did? Do you think I want to watch you drink yourself into an early grave? Because fuck that, Stark." Tony looked properly attentive now, so Steve shut off the water, but Tony still stood, dripping wet and fully clothed, in the luxury shower.

"You don't have to come after me, Rogers," Tony snapped. "I didn't ask you to—"

"No, you didn't, but you want to know who did? Pepper. Pepper calls me every time you get in too deep, Tony," Steve said. "And do you know how she knows? Because Happy calls her. Because they worry. And I come because I worry. And you know that if Rhodey were here, he'd be here too, and if Clint and Natasha weren't still debriefing, so would they, and so would Bruce if he weren't in South America. Because we're your friends, like it or not, and what you do to yourself you do to us. Tony, what the hell were you thinking? What were you doing out on that balcony? You could've gotten yourself killed. And then I would have gotten a very different call." Steve put his face in one hand and shook his head. He couldn't stand the thought of a call like that. Tony didn't say anything. He didn't even move. He just watched Steve.

"Tony, I get that you're going through some stuff," Steve said. "Believe me, I get that. But you don't need to destroy yourself in the process. Come talk to me. Because—Jesus, Stark, do you know what it was like, waking up in another century? Can you even comprehend it? Because I still can't. Everyone is dead. Everyone I ever knew, from my best friend and the Howling Commandos to my neighbors on the street in Brooklyn. I can't stand the thought of one more death, Stark. Especially not yours. Who the hell will go with me for ridiculously tiny burgers if you accidentally fall off a building? Who'll organize a fucking movie night in my apartment when I'm too depressed to see straight? You picked me up. Now I'm returning the favor." Tony just watched him. He didn't say a word. Steve was amazed to find a situation in which the witty man had nothing to say. Eventually Steve just shrugged.

"Sorry about the water. But you need to sober up. Change your clothes. Get some rest. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to have Clint come check on you in an hour," Steve said. He headed out of the bathroom.

"Rogers," Tony called out. Steve stopped and turned around. "Are we…we still good?" He sounded so small then. So unlike the crazy, arrogant, selfish bastard Steve had grown so fond of. Steve marched back into the bathroom, and pulled a surprise Tony into a bear hug. He didn't care that the front of his clothes were now as soaking wet and cold as Tony. He let the other man go.

"You're such an idiot," Steve said. And then he left.

June 23rd, 2013 01:30

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve opened the door to his apartment, still all wet down the front, still furious, still frustrated, and most of all exhausted. As soon as he opened that door, the lights turned on and Ty emerged from the bedroom.

"Steve! I didn't know you were getting back today," he said. Then he frowned. "Christ, Rogers, you look like you've been through the mill. And why are you wet?" Steve just sighed as he shut the door and walked into his bedroom.

"Soon as I got in Pepper called. Had to take care of Tony. I kind of tossed him in a cold shower," Steve said. "Yelled at him a bit. He needed it, but…God, I'm tired, Ty." He sat on the bed and peeled off his t-shirt, Ty helping him pull it over his head. If he'd been thinking, he would have changed in the bathroom, but he didn't remember to think until he heard Ty's intake of breath.

"Steve—shit, what happened?" he asked. Steve's abdomen was bandaged. A bullet had just barely grazed his side during the only action he and Clint and Natasha saw in Eastern Europe.

"Oh, it's, uh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it," Steve said dismissively.

"That doesn't look like nothing," Ty said, looking at Steve very seriously.

"It's—I just—fell. And got clipped by a bike. A motorbike," he said, looking away. He was a terrible liar when put on the spot.

"Steve, I'm not an idiot. I'm a cop. I know dressing for a gunshot wound when I see one," Ty said, sitting next to him on the bed. He put a hand on Steve's chin, making him meet his eyes. "You want to tell me why you got shot at while visiting art museums?"

"Just got clipped by a motorcycle, Ty," Steve mumbled, eyes downcast. He hated lying to him. "It was an accident." Ty dropped his hand. He was quiet for a minute.

"All right," he said. "You must be tired. Why don't we just get to bed." Steve nodded. He changed out of his pants into sweats and climbed into bed, grateful for the cool sheets and warm cover, for the soft pillow under his head. He was more grateful for Ty's arms around him.

"You're sure you don't want to tell me anything about your trip, Steve?" Ty asked softly once the lights were out. Steve paused. He thought about it. For a minute, he thought about telling him everything—about his past in the twenties, thirties, and forties, about the Avengers, about the Hydra base in Russia, about their miserable and fruitless efforts in Europe—but it wasn't just his secret to tell. It wasn't his call to make. And more importantly, he wasn't entirely certain he could trust Ty with the information.

"I liked seeing the sunflowers. VanGogh's sunflowers. In Amsterdam," Steve said. Ty didn't ask him any more questions. Steve fell into an uneasy sleep.

June 29th, 2013, 14:03

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

After a slightly awkward weekend with Ty, with Steve fielding questions with lie upon lie upon lie, Steve ended up leaving that Monday on another mission to Europe, this time to France, and this time with Iron Man on board for part of the mission. It had gone the same as before, with reports of suspicious activity and an abandoned hideout, only they'd managed to find one still operational facility. After stealing what they could and subsequently taking down the Hydra agents—well, they still didn't have anything. The old cyanide trick was still popular with the group. The documents they'd found would help, but only once Tony or someone on the team had figured them out. So Steve, having contributed what he could, returned to his apartment on Saturday, considerably more battered. Two broken ribs, a mostly healed gunshot wound from the week before, various cuts and bruises, and a split lip. Steve didn't know how he would begin to explain it to Ty. He walked through the front door anyway.

"Steve! You're…back…" Ty trailed off as he took in Steve's appearance. His expression closed off. Steve's whole body tensed. He knew what was coming. They both knew what was coming. Steve sat down on the couch next to his lover. Ty didn't say anything for a while. Steve knew he was cataloguing his injuries, knew he could tell just from the way Steve walked and held himself that he had broken ribs.

"If I ask," Ty said, "what do you plan to tell me?" Steve winced, and not from pain. Not physical pain, anyway.

"Ty, I got into a fight," Steve said.

"You got into a fight," Ty repeated. Steve nodded. "Well at least that has to be partially true. Want to tell me who the fight was with?" Steve shifted.

"With…some bad people," Steve said.

"Bad people. Right," Ty said. "Probably also true. You want to tell me where you were?"

"I told you before I left, I went to France," Steve tried, Ty just nodded.

"All right, you went to France. You probably did," Ty said. His green eyes looked straight through Steve. "But you weren't there for any art museums. Hell, I don't know why you keep bothering to use that excuse if you're going to tell me you're going to Europe every time. You said you saw the Louvre last time and while I'm sure there are plenty of other museums in France, your story's not holding up so well anymore, Steve."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Ty," Steve said, resigned. He liked this. He liked what they had. He could feel it slipping through his fingers, just another thing ripped away with time.

"The truth would be great, Steve," Ty said. He didn't sound angry, didn't even sound disappointed, just earnest. That was Ty all over. He was never demanding. He was always understanding. He had to be the most understanding man on the planet, and yet Steve still couldn't give him the little that he needed.

"I was in France, Ty. I got into a fight. That's the truth," Steve said.

"But you didn't go there for the art museum," Ty said. Steve sighed. Ty took Steve's hand in his. "You can talk to me."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"You don't know what lie to tell me, you mean," Ty said. "Steve, how dumb do you think I am? I mean, really, how utterly, rock stupid do you think I would have to be to believe you? You're a terrible liar. Ok, soldier meets Tony Stark because he helps rescue him, sure. I could buy that. Kind of odd, but weirder things have happened. But a twenty-six year old guy doesn't know that Star Wars is more than three movies long? Has never seen Back to the Future or Breakfast Club or Sixteen Candles? Hell, hasn't seen Star Trek or heard of American Idol? Doesn't know what 'googling' means and has to be introduced to Wikipedia? Doesn't have a single profile on any social media site? Didn't know what a cassette was, or a floppy disk? Ok, maybe, maybe if you actually were Amish, I could buy all of that. But you're not actually Amish, Steve. And then—trips to Europe? Trips to elsewhere in the states that oddly seem to coincide with sightings of the Avengers? Steve, come on. Just talk to me."

Steve was a bit stunned. He hadn't realized quite how thin his disguise was. He probably should have. He should have known he couldn't function in the modern world just yet. Almost Amish. Right. He looked at Ty. So he knew. Or was pretty sure that he knew. He knew Steve's real identity, or kind of did. What would be the harm in confirming it? He could just come out with it. Ty, I'm Captain America. It would be easy. Ty, I was born in 1918. Simple. Ty, I've been frozen for 70 years. Ok, a little weird, but still easy enough to say. So why didn't he?

If Ty knew, then he'd know their schedule. He'd know when the Avengers were mobilized, for covert ops or otherwise. He'd know all of their secret identities eventually—the fact that Clint and Natasha and Bruce all lived with Tony had to be a major tip off. Telling Ty was inviting him in permanently. It would have to be more than a declaration of love. It was a declaration of permanent commitment in some way or another. Steve loved Ty. Ty was the perfect guy. He was funny, sweet, understanding. But in all their time together, Steve hadn't once thought of getting a ring. And that said something.

"I can't, Ty," Steve said. "I can't." Ty looked a little crushed and Steve wished he could take the words back, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. He couldn't confirm Ty's suspicions. Ty just nodded. He leaned in and kissed Steve gently on the lips.

"And I love you, Steve Rogers," Ty said softly, "But I can't be with someone who can't trust me." Ty gave him a sad smile, got up, and walked out.

July 3rd, 2013, 22:43

Location: New York City, NY, USA

Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Steve lay awake, doing exactly what he had been doing for days—wondering if he'd made the right decision. He missed Ty. He missed their jokes, he missed cooking with him in the kitchen (and inevitably getting absolutely no cooking done). He missed his smile. He missed those green eyes. He hadn't needed to go into work at the precinct all week, and he didn't know if he was grateful for that or if he wished fervently that he could see Ty again. It was an approach-avoidance conflict and Steve hated it.

He also hated that it was July. Yet another July. Life moves forward. Steve hadn't minded life moving forward a week ago. Now he wasn't so sure about it again. If he couldn't trust Ty, who could he trust? If he couldn't bring himself to commit to someone that perfect, who could he ever commit to? And how could he commit with Fury breathing down his neck, warning him not to expose his identity? He had no idea what to do.

He wondered if he should have gotten on a plane to England before they left France on that last mission. He had thought about it. It was close enough. Hell, he could just take the Eurostar over. He could go and find her. But what good would it do, interrupting her life in that way? It would be a shock, and probably not a good one. He didn't want to do that to Peggy. He couldn't. Life had to move forward, no matter how desperately Steve wished he could turn back the clock and go home.

Yet, if he went home, he wouldn't have ever met the Avengers. And if there was one good thing in this century, it was his friends on the team. Ty had been a good thing too, but Steve hated how he'd hurt him. Maybe he should quit his job, Steve thought. He didn't want to make work uncomfortable for Ty, and it wasn't like Steve actually needed the money. He could move out of Brooklyn, go live in Stark Tower, and never interact with civilians again.

Ok, maybe that was a bit drastic. He would never leave Brooklyn. He would die in Brooklyn. Well, at least, he'd be buried there. Assuming they could recover his body. Assuming there was a body to recover. Actually, at the moment he was probably slated to be buried at Arlington. He should really talk to Fury about that.

These were really lovely thoughts to have the night before his birthday.

Steve's phone went off, an obnoxious buzz on the bedside table. Steve reached over and turned it on.

"'lo?" Steve answered.

"Hey, Steve, it's Clint," Clint said on the other line, sounding a bit odd. "Look, uh, I guess I should probably take care of this, but, uh, I know you've been handling it lately and I think he likes you better than me—"

"Oh, god, what's Tony done now?" Steve asked, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Well, it's not a giant party this time, but he's kind of drowned himself in booze," Clint said. "I'm—I mean, I'm a little more worried about this to be honest. He's up in the penthouse alone. I mean, Jarvis is keeping an eye on him and keeping me posted, but—I just think he could really use a friend like you right now, Steve." Steve sighed.

"Ok, yeah, I'll be there in fifteen," he said, and hung up.

"Just once," Steve said, walking over to where Tony was, half-passed out on the couch, "I'd like to come to Stark Tower not for an emergency or for the purposes of keeping alcohol out of your veins and away from your abused liver."

"You came for that party, once," Tony said, sounding surprisingly lucid. He had a glass of rum in his hand. He wasn't looking at Steve.

"Do you mean the one you ran me out of, or the ones I put an end to?"

"You came to apologize to me. You came to get me back on the team. Twice," Tony said. "You come for the gym here sometimes."

"Fine, let me further clarify: I would some day like to come to the penthouse for a pleasant experience," Steve said wryly. He sat down on the couch next to Tony. Tony poured some more rum. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, please, Steve, I'm not about to go falling off any balconies. Allow me my vice," he said.

"Pretty rude, not offering your guest a drink," Steve said. This time it was Tony's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"You want a drink? Fine, there's coke in the fridge," he said. Steve shook his head.

"No, I think I'll join you," Steve replied.

"You can't get drunk."

"I can try."

"You'd have to overload your system with alcohol. We'd have to funnel it into you. You'd have to get alcohol poisoning to get drunk," Tony replied, ever the scientist. Steve shrugged.

"Fine. Sometimes I like the burn," he said. "Pour me a glass. You're such a terrible host." Tony just guffawed as he poured Steve a glass.

"No one has ever called me a terrible host. I host the best parties."

"You host the best parties, but I'm sure you've been called a terrible host," Steve disagreed, taking the drink. He threw it back. It burned his mouth, his throat, and warmed his stomach. He couldn't get drunk, no, but he wanted to forget that for an evening.

"Well, you might be right," Tony said finally. They were quiet for a while. Steve finished his glass and poured another. "Did you drink before?"

"Before the serum. Yeah, why?" Steve said.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't. What you said about your dad," Tony said. Steve shrugged.

"I always knew when to stop. I was a lightweight, anyway. I didn't drink often, and I got drunk even less often," Steve replied. For the most part, he'd only gotten drunk when Bucky insisted—and once, on a particularly difficult anniversary of his mother's death. He knew what it was to drown his sorrows.

"So, why the change?" Tony asked, finishing his own glass. He set it upside down on the table. "In strategy, I mean. Why join me now?"

"Well, joining you this time doesn't mean teetering off the edge of a balcony or slumming it behind a bar while music blasts out my eardrums," Steve said. "But mostly I could use a drink." Tony scrunched his eyebrows together.

"Why?" he asked. "Still upset about the last Hydra mission?"

"I guess that's a factor," Steve said. "But mostly I'm upset about getting dumped." Tony laughed. Steve just glared at him. Tony kept on laughing.

"You—Captain America—dumped—oh, wow, that's the best thing I've heard all day," Tony said. "Someone dumping Captain America—that's hilarious, Steve." Steve frowned.

"Wasn't so funny when it happened," Steve said, taking a gulp of his second glass. Tony's laughter died off.

"What, you're serious? That dick dumped you?"

"That dick was my boyfriend, and he's a nice guy. And yes, he dumped me. It was my own damn fault though. I didn't really give him a choice," Steve said with a sigh. "I would've dumped me too."

"Damn," Tony said. He got up and came back with a giant bottle of vodka. "You want to get drunk, then downing that whole thing in like ten minutes is your best bet." Steve just laughed.

"No, no, I think I'm good," Steve said. "I'd rather not intentionally give myself alcohol poisoning. If I want to get high off my ass sometime I'll just talk to Bruce."

"I didn't know you knew that phrase," Tony replied. Steve rolled his eyes. He did grab the bottle, but he only poured a bit in his glass. The burn was nice. Steve sighed.

"I think I was supposed to get you to stop drinking," Steve said. "This was probably not what Clint intended."

"Oh, so Clint ratted me out this time? There are spies everywhere," Tony muttered.

"That's what you get for inviting spies to live with you," Steve pointed out. Tony shrugged. "He said somebody named Jarvis was keeping an eye on you, too."

"Have you really not met JARVIS yet?" Tony asked. Steve shook his head. "Hey, JARVIS, say hello to Steve."

"Hello Captain Rogers," spoke the disembodied voice of God, startling Steve so badly he fell off the couch. Tony howled with laughter. "You have spoken with me on limited occasion, but I have never spoken with you before."

"You're—oh! You're the invisible stereo system!" Steve said, suddenly understanding.

"I am an Artificial Intelligence, Captain Rogers. I speak through the hidden stereo system Master Stark installed all through the penthouse," JARVIS corrected.

"Your house talks, Tony," Steve said, bewildered. "This century just keeps throwing surprises at me. I never should have said what I did to Fury. It was a curse."

"My house doesn't talk. JARVIS talks," Tony corrected him. "He also sees and hears, through the cameras."

"The invisible cameras," Steve said. "Is he watching us right now?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers," JARVIS replied. "I monitor all in house interactions."

"All right, Stark, I'm not going to lie, that gives me the heebie jeebies," Steve said, shuddering. It felt rather Orwellian to Steve.

"Heebie jeebies," Stark snorted. "You're a living relic, Rogers."

"Don't I fucking know it," Steve said bitterly. Tony shot him a look.

"I didn't mean it like that," Tony said. "I really didn't." Steve looked at his watch. It was five minutes past midnight. He poured himself some more vodka.

"It's my birthday today," Steve said, swirling the liquid around absently. "I'm either twenty-seven or ninety-five, depending on how you count it."

"You're born on the fourth of July? Are you fucking kidding me?" Tony asked.

"It's the terrible irony of my existence," Steve said dryly. "Captain America before I was Captain America. Not sure I want to be Captain America anymore. Not sure I would have been, by the end of the war. I believe in this nation. I believe in its founding values. But I'm not sure this nation believes in its own founding values anymore. Maybe I should change my moniker. I can be Captain United Nations—how does that sound?" Steve smiled grimly. "Then again, I'm not sure I like them either. How does Nomad sound to you? Man without a country. Has a nice ring to it, I think." Steve downed some more of the vodka, wishing bitterly he could at least feel a buzz.

"I hope you're not serious," Tony said. Steve shrugged.

"Why not? I've lost everything I ever had, why not the country too? I've lost my best friend, lost my Commandos, lost my girl, lost my home. I lost my boyfriend. And hell, I'm probably going to lose you soon enough with all that booze you're drowning yourself in. Either your liver's going to give out or you're going to forget you don't have the suit on and fly out of a building, or you'll just be a different person by the end of it," Steve said. He shook his head. "I can't take this forever, Tony. I can't." Tony moved to sit right next to him, with only inches between them. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Captain," he said, "you're the strongest person I've ever met. You're probably the strongest person there ever has been. You'll get through this. And hell, so that asshole dumped you—you'll find another asshole." Steve snorted.

"No, now, that's where you're wrong. Ty was a good guy. Ty was a great guy. And I pushed him away," Steve said. "I couldn't—I just couldn't commit. I couldn't tell him who I was. Who I am, who I really am, I mean. I just kept lying. He knew. I knew he knew. But I still couldn't do it."

"Well, that's new. Steve Rogers and commitment issues? There truly is no hope for the rest of us," Tony said wryly.

"He was the perfect guy, Tony," Steve said shaking his head. "And I still—I couldn't—what's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Steve," Tony said seriously. "I would argue this makes you even more human. So, congratulations on being flawed like the rest of us." Steve chuckled.

"Like the rest of us? So I'm in league with Tony Stark, then? Wow, I must really be slumming it," he said. Tony hit him on the arm.

"Rude," Tony said. They sat in silence for a minute. "So trashing this asshole isn't going to make it better, huh?"

"I told you, Tony, he's not an asshole. He's one of the nicest guys I've ever met. Saves cats from trees and everything. I'm not making that one up, either, it happened a month ago. If I'd wanted an asshole, I'd've taken up with you," Steve said with a snort. He rolled his eyes and looked over at Tony, only to find a dark, intense stare waiting for him. "What?"

"Would you have?" Tony asked. His voice was low, and silky.

"Would I have what?" Steve asked.

"Taken up with me. If you'd wanted an asshole," Tony clarified.

"I—uh—" Steve felt a little blindsided. Tony's closeness suddenly felt intimate, like electricity ran between the gap in their skin. He was hyper-aware of every place where their thighs almost touched, of how he could feel Tony's breath on his shoulder. "Aren't you—I thought—uh—women?"

"Most of the time," Tony said. "But, you know, it is your birthday. And I am a master of distraction." Tony leaned in closer. Steve could smell the rum on his breath. He was shocked, but he didn't stop it when Tony's soft lips found his own, his goatee scratching pleasantly against his skin. Steve remembered what 'drunk' felt like. All of his senses left him for a moment—and in the next moment they came crashing back. Steve pulled away gently.

"You're drunk," Steve said.

"My drunk is your sober," Tony said. He was practically on top of him now. Steve didn't know when that had happened. "Do you want to hear me recite the alphabet backwards? Q—" Steve cut him off by pulling him into another kiss.

Maybe it was a terrible idea. Certainly it wasn't an idea with any sort of future attached. But maybe that was why Steve liked it. Maybe that was why Tony liked it. Neither of them wanted a commitment. They just wanted someone now.

Steve didn't stay. It would be weird if he did. Tony didn't say a thing as he put his clothes back on as the sun came up, and they didn't kiss before he left. There was no 'see you later, sweetheart' or 'call me' or 'until our date tonight'. But Tony did throw Steve's boxers at Steve's naked ass and laughed into his pillow, so Steve knew it was good. It was all good. And maybe tomorrow, they'd go for burgers.