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In his enthusiasm - or possibly just because evil clearly ran in his family - Thor 'accidentally' roused the camp at 6 a.m. with a hearty greeting to Sebastian and his catering team, who had been thoughtfully leaving baskets of bagels and muffins dotted around before they flew back to New York.
Tony rolled blearily in his bed and had just enough time to register that it was weirdly hard and wood-like before he fell. He hit the picnic table bench on the way down, bounced and came to stop face down on the grass.
He struggled into a sitting position, attempted to straighten his new tee ("Contains a light-up 'Arc Reactor', does not prevent shrapnel from reaching your heart") and pulled himself back up to slump on the bench, head resting almost comfortably on the table.
There was the sound of sluggish movement from the RV behind him; somewhere above something creaked and someone whimpered.
Yeah, so, basically, 6 a.m. was a punishment reserved for people stupid enough to drink with gods.
Or, it turned out, with Darcy.
Somewhere around midnight, she'd confessed that drinking bets had semi-financed her second year of college. She'd been slur-free and hopping in a straight line with both fingers on her nose at the time, so Tony had been inclined to believe her. And take photos.
After that? Little hazy.
Something about mangos. Poodles? Mangos.
He did remember there had been a heated discussion whether Mount Rushmore even counted as a roadside attraction, but Thor had insisted that he wanted to see these great men carved from the rock, and it wasn't like they were being awarded points for consistency.
Anyway, a decision had been made, vodka, mangos and possibly poodles had happened and now Tony was here: hung over and awake so ludicrously early that the sky was still blushing from the night before.
The RV door opened and the scent of fresh coffee drifted out; a moment later, a mug of something warm and potentially life-saving appeared in his hand.
"The pot is on your right; the sugar and milk are on your left. And there's another mug, in case our Hawk survived the night in his nest." Selvig's voice was quiet, if not actually sympathetic.
From what Tony could remember, both Banner and Selvig had nursed a couple bottles of beer all night, and turned in early to sleep in actual beds; Selvig because experience had taught him well, and Banner with the excuse he tended to be an angry drunk.
Despite their obvious betrayal - he'd work out the details later - Tony mumbled something he hoped sounded appreciative as footsteps retreated.
He buried himself eyebrow-deep in his mug and tried to remember how consonants, you know.
Worked.
A few minutes later, there was a heartfelt groan from above. His hand floundered to the side until it hit the empty mug, which spun away. He lunged blindly after it and this time his fingers fumbled into a grip.
With a warm sense of achievement, and a faint sense of nausea, Tony raised his head and squinted against the light until a hazy blur turned into the coffee pot. Concentrating, he managed to fill the mug with coffee, barely spilling half of it in the process.
He paused. "Mk?"
"Nuh."
Okay, that made things easier. "Gr?"
"Ssssss."
He held the sugar dispenser over the black coffee until the liquid began to look suspiciously grainy. After some internal debate, he hauled himself to his feet and held the mug over his head. At a tugging from above, he released it.
"Nks."
"YWr." Okay, this was officially ridiculous. Tony cleared his throat and took a deep breath, which he instantly regretted. "You're welcome," he managed to rasp, before he started to list sideways.
Before he reached the actual tipping point, a hand appeared and gently pushed him back upright. "Good morning, Tony."
Banner looked awake: his hair was still damp from a shower, his breath was minty-fresh and he was smiling.
"This is your fault," Tony said, carefully laying his head down again.
The picnic table creaked as Banner sat opposite. "Okay, sure."
"Really!" Ow. "Really."
"Funny, I don't remember threatening to hurt you and your loved ones if you didn't drink an entire bottle of tequila."
"Barton agrees with me."
There was a muffled sound of complaint from the RV's roof, which Tony translated as, "Yes, Tony is correct, as always. Also, are there mints?" Without looking, he dug in the leg-pocket of his cargo pants, found half a pack of gum and tossed it in the general direction of the sky lounge.
When he did manage to raise his head again, Bruce was offering a plain bagel and a couple of aspirin. Tony snatched at both. "Okay, you're forgiven."
"You can't imagine my relief."
-o-
Erik had begged off, preferring to sit in the air-conditioned RV and work on his paper in peace, but everyone else had … there really just wasn't another way to put it, had assembled at the entrance to the park by ten, some heads aching more than others.
A slow walk and a lot of water later and Tony had to admit that he was starting to feel a little better. Give it another couple of hours and he thought he might even be able to look at cooked food without an unfortunate incident.
All was well with his world until they were walking back through the Avenue of Flags, where Rogers, in a worn-looking leather jacket and with a Dodgers cap pulled low over his face, was leaning against one of the square pillars.
He straightened when he saw them and waved to get their attention, as if they somehow hadn't noticed Captain America, framed by state flags and the sixty-foot heads of ex-Presidents gazing approvingly down on their favorite son.
There was a breathless squeak from somewhere behind him; Tony ignored it in favor of pulling out his cell and running a quick check for anyone else in the vicinity.
Nothing.
Banner, Thor and Barton were already walking forward; Tony wandered along behind them, in time to hear Rogers' reply.
"No, I came here with my folks a few years after it opened. I was just a kid." His eyes were warm, but his mouth twisted against something: a memory, a smile. "It hasn't changed much. Except this." He looked up at the flags. "This is new."
Bruce consulted the surprisingly informative booklet that Tony had thrown at him on the way out of the Visitor Center. "They added it in the seventies. Did you know Mount Rushmore erodes a tiny fraction of an inch every year? Give it a few hundred thousand years and the faces will be gone." He gave a fleeting smile. "Puts things in perspective."
Rogers' eyebrows rose. "Huh. That's really interesting."
Stark had the horrible feeling that Rogers was sincere. "How did you find us?" He threw an accusing look at Barton. "Did you drunk dial your boss?"
"I did not." Barton shook his head. "See, you can tell by the way we don't have bags over our heads."
"Nor did I tell Colonel Fury," Thor promised. "Though I am greatly pleased you are here, Captain Rogers." He clasped Rogers' arm wrist to elbow in greeting and delivered the customary heavy clap to the shoulder.
Stark thought his own fingers were still a little numb from when he'd received the same treatment, but Rogers barely moved. Super soldiers.
"So, hey." Rogers hesitated, looking from face to face. "I can go, if I'm intruding."
"Depends." Tony looked around, still suspicious. "Is this Fury's attempt to try and patriotize me into submission?"
Barton flicked a peanut off the pad of his thumb and watched it arc then drop directly in front of a startled, but not unappreciative, bird. "You know, I'm patriotic too. I could have patriotized the hell out of you."
"That's not actually a word."
Tony ignored Rogers' plaintive interjection. "True, you could have - but you don't literally wear the flag on your sleeve. You're not posing under the complete collection of American flags as we speak."
Rogers glanced at the small, worn-looking patch on the shoulder of his jacket, flushed and then edged out from under the flag of Arizona. "I wasn't posing. I was waiting." He crossed his arms self-consciously, realized that only made things worse and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.
"It's not his fault he looks like he's modelling for a catalogue when he stands still," Jane said supportively as she came up behind them, tugging Darcy with her.
Tony surveyed him critically. "Try slouching a little? Grow a bad mustache? Oh, hey - mullet."
He realized he'd lost Rogers' attention; the man was looking beyond him and wincing slightly. Tony turned to see Darcy standing, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open, with her arms rigid at her sides.
Well, this completely made up for the attempted murder.
Jane leaned in and closed Darcy's mouth with a finger under the chin. "She's a fan," she explained.
The spell was broken; Darcy rallied indignantly. "I am so not a fan. Wait, I mean, I'm not a fan-fan." Her eyes widened again. "I mean, I like you," she assured Rogers. "But not that way! Not that I wouldn't, but I won't. Ever. Because you're old enough to be-" She swung back to Jane. "Friends don't let friends babble creepily at Captain America," she hissed.
"After the way you drove? Oh, they really do." Jane nodded emphatically. "Please, keep going."
"Uh, or, please don't?" Rogers smiled and Tony was pretty sure he saw a tooth sparkle. "Darcy, right? Steve." He offered his hand.
Darcy shook his hand in a daze, swore that she was usually so much cooler than this, mumbled something about comic books, turned on her heel and power-walked quickly back down the path.
Rogers let out a breath. "I bet she's a real pistol, huh?"
"No," Tony said crisply. "No one has been a pistol, real or otherwise, since the fifties."
"Okay, this is serious. How about a really big mustache, a dictionary and a Team Edward t-shirt?" Jane suggested.
Rogers shook his head, lost. "I don't know what that is."
"You must be the most fortunate man in all of Midgard."
Jane scowled. "One time. And it was a joke."
Tony snapped his fingers rapidly. "Focus. We're feeling sorry for Captain America."
Thor looked bemused and then cleared his throat. "You have my sincerest sympathies, my friend," he managed, with a very nearly straight face. "Truly, your form is cursed."
"Should I go?" Steve looked around and then started in the direction Darcy had fled. "I should go."
"Wait, wait." Stark grinned and held up his hands; seriously, best hangover cure ever. "How did you find us?"
"I checked in, like we're supposed to, and Agent Hill mentioned that she hadn't heard from you guys in a while. She thought you were over this way and I was in the area, so I figured I'd swing by.
"When I asked the guy at the Visitor Center if he'd seen anyone matching your descriptions he was … very sure he had."
"And now you're going to tell us you're disappointed, not angry, then shepherd us back to the fold?"
"Actually, I thought I'd get a Popsicle." Rogers looked vaguely around. "Vendors are still over that way, right?" Without waiting for a reply, he wandered away; after a few steps he even remembered to slouch.
Banner followed him; a moment later Barton shrugged and did the same. Thor and Jane, quietly bickering, followed.
Tony was running out of interesting places to direct SHIELD's calls.
-o-
Maria looked down at the tablet in her hands and then at the empty desk. Technically, she should wait for the Colonel to physically take the report, but … was that a siren?
Yes, she was sure that was a siren.
Something obviously required her attention.
Her immediate attention.
She put the tablet on the desk and jogged away.
-o-
Knees bent and forearms resting across them, Steve sat back against the front wheel of the RV and turned his face up to the sun. Leaves rustled and the grass smelled fresh, like he remembered.
There was a quiet cough.
He opened his eyes a crack and saw Darcy standing a few feet away, two glass bottles of pop in her hands. She held one out and he took it, gesturing for her to take a seat.
"Thanks." He tried a disarming smile.
She smiled back; good start. "Hey, it's just cola. I wanted to apologize about earlier."
"Trust me, it could have been worse." He flicked the cap off his bottle. "So, you hang around with a demi-god, but I'm a big deal, huh?"
"Thor?" Darcy glanced across the clearing to where Thor was standing with Bruce and Clint, stabbing randomly at a roadmap. "Jane hit him with her van; that broke the ice. And I think some ribs? Anyway, when we met, he was just this really pretty, really crazy person.
"By the time he got all hammered up and god-like, we were tight. Besides, once you've Tased a guy, the magic is gone."
O-kay. There were things Steve wanted to know and things Steve did not want to know, and he thought he'd go ahead and put that one in the don't-ask pile. He struck out in slightly less godlike directions. "Tony Stark, then. He's been on the cover of everything. And he's Iron Man. That's pretty impressive. Apparently."
"Yeah, but it turns out he's just this huge nerd. Which I say with respect, because he's probably got his AI listening to everything." Darcy paused and looked around, waiting for a synthesized denial. "And we were actually looking for him," she went on when none came. "So I had time to practice my suave and worldly shtick."
"Suave and worldly, huh?" He took in her messy ponytail and bangle-bedecked arms. The bright pink circle-stamped summer dress, hem just over the knee of her bare legs. He remembered the perfectly presented women in spotless white gloves and elegant gowns. He kind of thought he preferred this; wondered if they would have too. "And how did suave and worldly go?"
"Well, I didn't insult him for five minutes and then run away, which is our new baseline, I guess. And he did let me drive the RV. But now he blames me for this monster hangover he has and goes yellow every time I say 'hi.'" She blinked. "I think I accidentally practiced aversion therapy on Iron Man."
Steve drank some soda to cover his grin. "He'll get over it."
"And Jane says if I get bored with astrophysics, I'll have a job waiting with Pepper Potts at Stark Industries, so, win.
"And Clint and Bruce are just people," she went on without prompting. "I mean, sure there's the whole secret agent stroke extreme anger management thing, but basically, people."
He paused, struggling to keep his smile. "I'm not people?"
"Dude, you're people squared. There was an eighties cartoon, with really important lessons about sharing. There are action figures, and retro-ironic t-shirts for the hipster in your life. My dad collected your comic books - there are baseball cards."
She misinterpreted his flinch. "And I'm totally doing it again. Seriously, I'm sorry I squee'ed out on you. Not cool."
He coughed and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "One time? I saw Joe Lewis and walked into the side of a jeep … in front of an entire division. So I get it. Except, maybe not the words." He raised an eyebrow. "'Squee'ed?'"
"Don't ask. Or go on the Internet." Darcy looked contemplative and then she paled. "Ever. There are whole forums out there with sweaty fans debating whether you were more authentic in the new or old costume.
"I prefer the new one, by the way. You know. In case you were wondering."
"Yeah." He smiled again. "Me too. And it's okay, I don't use the Internet, just the Google." He widened his eyes innocently. "It's pretty neat. Easy too. You think maybe I should type 'Captain America' in and see what comes up?"
Tony flattened himself against the side of the gangway as Darcy rushed up the stairs and into the RV, muttering something about deleting the Internet. He peered over the rail and then sauntered down. "You have quite the effect on women. And you're a terrible person."
"Says the guy who's been listening in." Steve craned his head in the direction Darcy had gone.
There was a muted, "Son of a bitch!" from inside, so he guessed she'd found his Twitter account.
"See, now we're good." He let his smile fade. "No one is people squared. I don't want to be a walking flag, Stark."
Stark shrugged. "For what it's worth, I approve. Far too many people throwing themselves at you, when clearly I'm the better option. All you did was punch a few Nazis and then nap for, like, seventy years."
"See, now you agree, I'm thinking I should apologize. Flowers?"
Stark grinned. "Nice thought, I prefer azaleas."
"For her."
"Why would she want azaleas? She's clearly a salted caramel person. And she's fine: you don't want people treating you like their hero, don't be their hero. Simple." He held out his hand.
"That easy, huh? " Steve let Stark pull him to his feet. "Did you want something, or did you just get bored?"
"Yes. And, funny story, yes. Oregon: the vote is tied. We have three for the House of Mystery and three for the Town of Boring, twinned with Dull."
Off Steve's dubious look, he said, "Seriously. Dull, in Scotland. I hear it's … there. Selvig's abstaining on the grounds he thinks we're all crazy. You're the decider.
"Don't let the words 'Boring Tavern, home of the famous Boring Topless Dancers' sway you in any way."
Something poked Steve's shoulder. He reached up and found a rolled up piece of paper being delivered though the window behind him by a bangle-draped hand.
He turned enough that Stark couldn't see before unrolling it. There was a crudely sketched house surrounded by question marks.
"House of Mystery," he said, looking up. "Definitely."
Stark narrowed his eyes. "Fine. But if you think azaleas will be enough to apologize for that kind of rank favoritism, you're mistaken." He swept away towards the now arguing Thor and Clint, complaining loudly about corrupt lobbyists.
-o-
Fury ran his eyes over the report, which boiled down to, "We lost Captain America. He's probably not dead."
So maybe it was time to escalate, if only because the agency couldn't afford to lose any more personnel to Stockholm syndrome. He tapped the comm bud in his ear. "Put me through to Personnel. And, no, Agent Monroe, I do not want to see today's postcards."
An hour later, the postcards mysteriously showed up on his desk anyway.