Tony can't help but stare at Steve as they get dressed the next morning to go down to breakfast. It's not like anything about the man has changed, exactly. He's still tall, blonde and gorgeous. He's still Steve. It's just, he's more now, too. He's the Tsarevich, he's the love of Tony's life. And sure, he doesn't remember any of that, but that doesn't mean it's not true. Tony's thought for so long how uncanny it was that Steve looked exactly like the boy he'd lost, but he'd convinced himself years ago that the Tsarevich was dead and gone. It wasn't possible, he'd thought. Except, apparently it is. It's funny, too, that the exact week Tony decides to let go of the Tsarevich's memory, the boy comes back to him. It would be tragic, this conflict of interests, except that since Tony gave up the Tsarevich so he could fall in love with Steve, he supposes there's no conflict after all. Still, this whole thing is confusing as fuck and Tony's feeling emotions now he's having a hard time dealing with.

"Nice locket," he can't help saying when Steve puts the thing on. "Where'd you get it?" He's not sure what he's hoping for here. Maybe he wants Steve to admit it was stolen or something, provide an explanation besides him being the Tsarevich and not remembering.

"Thanks," Steve says, smiling fondly at the thing as he tucks it under his shirt. "I've had it for as long as I can remember. The kids at the orphanage used to give me crap about it, but I've always thought that there was something special about it. You know, something secret that I could never figure out."

He's right, as a matter of fact. The locket isn't obvious about its secret, but if one has the right motivation and deft fingers, it opens up and begins to play a lullaby. Tony'd worked on it for months and the Tsarevich had been absolutely enchanted when Tony'd given it to him, impressed and awed by its small gears and magical sound. But of course, Steve wouldn't remember any of that.

Tony contents himself with just saying, "Huh," and turning away. If he lets this conversation go any further he's probably going to accidentally spill the whole story and then he'll be in trouble. But on the other hand, now that he thinks about it, Steve being the actual Tsarevich makes this whole con way less terrible. It's barely a con at all. In fact, it's rapidly becoming a good deed, just like he told Steve. Sure, there are the rubles to consider, but good deeds deserve rewards, too, right? And now that there's no con, there's no reason not to tell Steve.

"Steve," he says carefully, trying to figure out how best to word this whole thing. "I, uh-"

He stops, suddenly unsure again. Because, while the con is no longer a con, that doesn't mean Tony can figure out a way to explain that to Steve without telling him everything, Tony's whole past and their relationship in it. And if he does that, Steve's probably going to want to start it up again. After all, why not? Except, Tony could tell him why not and it's all to do with secrecy. Their relationship last time had to be kept an absolute secret and there's no reason to think it would be any different this time, especially with Fury watching Steve like a hawk. And for all that that kind of relationship may have been fine back then, Tony's not sure he's okay with it now, not when he's been a free man all these years. He wants Steve, no doubt, is maybe a bit in love with him, but he's not sure he still wants a relationship with a man who has to take up the title of Tsarevich. No, Tony realizes. It's better not to say anything now, just play it by ear and see what happens. Maybe there's some way it can all work out, but he's not going to get sucked back into that situation again, not now that he has a choice, no matter how much he wants Steve. If only there was a way for them to just blow this whole thing off, forget the rubles and forget the title and run away together. But, well, Steve's already made up his mind to go through with this, so that's what they're going to do.

"Yes?" Steve prompts.

"Um," Tony thinks quick. "I just wanted to say, good luck today."

"Thanks," Steve says, smiling at him almost shyly.

They're about to have a moment, Tony can tell and despite this whole revelation and the fact that they've most likely got a meeting with Fury today, Tony's not sure he's going to be able to stop himself from cornering Steve and kissing him again. They haven't talked about what happened last night, but from the look Steve's giving him, Tony can tell the idea of just getting back into bed isn't too far from his mind, either.

Unfortunately, before either of them can make a move, there's knock on the door.

"Breakfast," Barton's voice reminds them loudly. Then, quiet enough that they can barely hear, he adds, "I didn't cook all that food so you lazy bastards could sleep the day away."

Tony and Steve share a look, both startled and amused. Tony waits until he hears Barton's footsteps retreating before he bursts into laughter.

"Have you noticed the service here is pretty terrible?" he asks lightly.

Steve nods, grinning. "He doesn't seem to be a very good butler," he agrees.

They make their way downstairs, where Coulson is already waiting. The man waits until Barton has lazily served them before clearing his throat and saying, "General Fury will meet with you this morning."

Excellent, Tony thinks. Everything is going according to plan. Sure, there was a slight bump in the road, what with finding out the truth about Steve's past and all, but it doesn't change anything, not really. And that is the theory he's sticking to, come hell or high water.

Unlike Coulson's pristine but unremarkable townhouse, the residence of General Fury is an honest-to-God mansion. It makes sense, Tony figures: Coulson might need to keep under wraps for his day job, but Fury's day job is to rule the exiled Russian royal class with an iron fist and what better way to do than through shock and awe? Of course, once they're shown in to the General's study, Tony realizes Fury doesn't need a mansion to inspire shock and awe. He has an eye patch for that.

Tony can't help but stare at it, the missing eye. He certainly hadn't had that injury that last time Tony saw him. Of course, that had been ten years ago and Tony had been pretty preoccupied at the time, first with the fact that the man had just interrupted Tony and Steve with their pants still down and then a minute later with the fact that his parents were dead, but still, he remembers Fury's appearance that night very clearly. The man had been dressed as a guard, for some reason, and he'd definitely had both of his eyes. Tony wonders vaguely if lost his eye in the revolution, trying to get Steve out of the country. He figures it's probably better not to ask, though, especially considering the glare Fury's giving him with his one good eye from his spot behind the desk.

"Well," Fury says casually, standing and putting his hands behind his back. "Anton Eduardovich. Why am I not surprised? Why is it that any time someone causes the least bit of trouble around here, I always look for your face?"

"Guilt," Tony tells him succinctly.

Fury gives him a look, completely ignoring Steve for the time being. "What in hell's name would I have to feel guilty about?"

"I don't know," Tony says, shrugging. He didn't realize he was angry about this issue until just now, but seeing Fury makes him seethe with repressed rage. "Maybe telling me my parents were dead and to run and just assuming that would be enough of an explanation. Or how about abandoning me to the streets of Petrograd to starve or get murdered. Everyone else left, you know, or they got killed. There was no one left but me, Fury. Just me, all alone on the streets for ten fucking years!"

"There was no time," Fury says and he sounds regretful, but that's not good enough for Tony, who has apparently been harboring this anger for years. "I had to get the Tsarevich out and it would have looked suspicious enough with just one boy on my tail, let alone two. I don't care if you were having sex with the Tsarevich or not; you weren't him and he was my top priority. I had to get him out."
Steve says, "Wait, what?" but Tony ignores him.

"Yeah and a great job you did with that, too," Tony spits at Fury. "I've got your fucking Tsarevich right here and guess what? You left him there, too!"

"So you say," Fury says, glancing at Steve at last. "It looks like him, I'll give you that, but don't think I don't know your game, Tony. I may only have one eye now, but I still see what's happening all over the world. My spies have been on you these past few years and they tell me you're a conman. I'll bet you ten million rubles that this is another con, that this poor boy is someone you just dug out of the gutters and convinced to play the Tsarevich for me. I bet he's not even getting an even share of the money, is he?"

"Wait, what?" Steve repeats at a slightly louder volume. "Tony, what's he talking about?"

Tony doesn't have it in him to answer. He knew Steve was going to find out in the end about the con, about the rubles, but he hadn't counted on it hurting this bad, like a knife through his heart. He can't bring himself to look at Steve, to see his eyes wide and hurt.

"This isn't a con," he tells Fury, who snorts in disbelief. "He's the real thing and I fucking deserve those rubles for getting him here. You don't know what I went through to get him out of the fucking country, okay? The Communists were on our tail the whole goddamn time."

"You don't get to make demands of me, boy," Fury says, glare coming back in full force. "Your parents may have been noble, but I was the Tsar's fucking right-hand man. I did what I had to do and I'm still doing it."

He finally turns to look at Steve with his single eye and so does Tony. Steve, though, isn't looking at Fury; he's looking at Tony, and his expression is confused and hurt and so damn beautiful that Tony can't take it.

"Noble?" Steve says quietly, just to Tony. "You said your parents were servants. You lied to me?"

"It wasn't a lie," Tony protests, though he knows it's not going to fly. "I mean, technically, we're all servants of the Tsar, you know?" He gives Steve is best smile and hopes for the best.

"Has this all been a con?" Steve demands, starting to look more pissed off than sad. "Have you been lying to me this whole time, using me this whole time? And for what? For rubles?"

"Ten million rubles," Tony explains, trying to make Steve understand the importance of the whole thing. "It's ten million rubles, Steve. And it's not a lie. I meant what I said: you are the Tsarevich, I'm sure of it now."

"It was an act the whole time, wasn't it?" Steve accuses, looking more and more upset by the second. "All those things I felt- the things you made me feel! And last night! Was that all an act, too? Did you let me do those things, feel those things because I looked like your long lost lover?"

"No!" Tony insists. He takes a step forward, hand outstretch to touch Steve, to make him see. "It's not like that. It was real, everything that happened between us was real, I swear! It wasn't about him, it was just about you and me. And I was going to tell you, I was, about everything!"

"How do I know you're not lying now?" Steve asks viciously. "You've lied about everything else, why not this? After all, anything for ten million rubles, right?"

"I think that's about enough of your lovers' spat," Fury interjects.

"You're right," Steve says to him. "It is enough. I'm done. Find yourself a new Tsarevich, Tony, because I'm through playing one for you."

And with that he's gone, out the door with Tony and Fury staring helplessly after him.

"Pity," Fury says after a moment. "He did look very much like the Tsarevich."

"He is the Tsarevich," Tony says, telling himself that the lump in the throat is because of the loss of the rubles and not because Steve's walked out on him.

"Well, then" Fury says, steepling his fingers and giving Tony a searching look. "You'd better go find him before the Communist spies do, shouldn't you?"

"Oh God," Tony says, smacking a hand to his forehead. "The Communists!" He spares Fury the best withering glare he can manage before rushing out of the room, determined to catch Steve before someone else does. How could he have forgotten about the Reds? It's only been a day since their last encounter and now Steve's out on the street where any one of them could just snatch him up. And for all that Steve's been an orphan for the last ten years, he's never been on the streets, never had to develop the art of escaping from the eyes of the Red government.

Of course, apparently Tony's ten years on the streets don't count for much, either, because he's barely two steps outside Fury's mansion when someone grabs him from behind and presses a cloth over his mouth and nose. He breathes in a startled gasp and can feel whatever chemical is on the rag going to his head immediately. He can feel his legs giving out, feels himself falling, hitting the ground. All he can do is stare up at the sky, at the cold blue and the circling clouds, and between that and the stars clouding his vision, a flash- a flash of red hair. And then, that's it, he's done for.