A/N: Keep in mind that Steve is mentally stuck in ~1940, before he joined the war effort, pre-serum and everything. Let the awakening begin.

His mother had told him to always be nice to girls, but Tony felt that in some cases exceptions had to be made. Pepper was one such exception.

Tony found her absolutely irritating and annoying, with her high pitched voice and the way she tossed her hair carelessly over her shoulder and how she talked to Rhodey about classical literature and poets and managed to somehow divert the conversation whenever it turned to something that Tony might want to talk about. It wasn't even that Tony didn't like classical literature and poetry - he could quote at least a dozen of Shakespeare's sonnets, though he really wasn't sure what many of them meant. Maria had told him that a lot of them were about love, which Tony found absolutely horrifying, but his mother had only laughed and told him that one day he would appreciate them and his ability to quote Shakespeare at a lovely girl.

And that was the other thing. Whenever he went over to Rhodey's house after school or on the weekends to work on school projects, the conversation would always some way, some how, turn to Pepper. Rhodey would always look out his bedroom window with dreamy eyes and talk about how lovely her hair was, how pretty her smile was, and because he and Rhodey were friends, Tony just nodded and said noncommittal "uh-huhs" and "yeahs" to indicate some semblance of paying attention. He didn't find Pepper attractive - in fact, he didn't find any girls attractive, not in the way that Rhodey seemed to. Once, while Rhodey was downstairs getting a cup of juice, Tony had dropped his pencil and it had rolled under Rhodey's bed; when he had wriggled underneath it to look for it, he found, amidst the dust bunnies and lonely socks, was a magazine with a naked girl on the front cover. Out of a sense of morbid curiosity, Tony had tentatively opened it, had flipped through a few pages, and had been only scientifically fascinated by the slick mounds of breasts and the curve of muscle underneath spread thighs, had no interest whatsoever in whatever might lie behind those silky scraps of fabric that the women called underwear. Tony thought it was all very confusing, and thought that if he were a girl, he would still much prefer wearing his boxers, thank you very much. At that moment, Tony heard Rhodey's footsteps on the creaking stairs, grabbed his pencil, and wriggled back out from under the bed.

Seemingly over the month of August, Tony had shot up another six inches, and his mother had almost cried as she measured him at 5'7".

"You're growing up so fast, my sweet baby boy," she had exclaimed, tears in her eyes as she wrapped him in a tight hug. Tony had been surprised to find that he could tuck his chin over his mother's head, was shocked to find thin strands of silver winding their way through Maria's dark hair.

"Look at you!" she had said, standing back from him and smiling up at him, and Tony wondered when she'd become so small. "You're practically a man already. When did my sweet little baby boy get so big?" she wondered, looking up at him.

Tony only shrugged noncommittally and didn't know how to tell his mother that her 'sweet little baby boy' had had to figure out how to use a razor on his cheeks and chin from how-to videos on the Internet, how he'd accidentally cut himself more than once. Didn't know how to point out to her that his voice was dropping, deepening, by the minute, the hour, the day, the planes of his cheekbones emerging sharp underneath his eyes.

Your voice has gotten deeper, Steve observed one day while Tony was busy working on a report for his world history class. Oracle bones were incredibly fascinating, Tony thought to himself, and wondered how hard it was to learn Chinese. Surely his father couldn't object to that, could he? Chinese was a pretty useful language.

"Yeah, Steve, I'm growing up," Tony said, laughing. He was surprised to hear himself, still expecting to hear the giggles of a little boy and instead hearing the deep laugh of a man.

How tall are you now? Steve asked.

"I'm 5'8" right now, but maybe I could grow a little bit more. I don't know."

If you keep growing, you'll be bigger than me, Steve said, and Tony could swear there was a bit of teasing in there.

"How tall are you, Steve?"

I'm 6'2".

"Oh, that's super, super tall," Tony said, scribbling down some notes on the Shang Dynasty. "That's taller than my dad."

How is your dad, by the way? You don't talk about your parents much.

"I dunno," Tony said, chewing on the end of his pencil and staring at his computer screen. "We don't talk much. I don't want to talk to him."

Why not? Steve asked. If Tony were really being honest with himself, Steve sounded concerned.

"He's too busy with work and stuff, and whenever he talks to me I feel like he doesn't listen to anything I have to say. He just wants me to do this, to do that, and he's always trying to get me to meet the daughters of some of his work friends, and he makes me dress up in these really tight, itchy suits just to take them ballroom dancing or eat cucumber sandwiches at the Four Seasons. I don't even like cucumber sandwiches, and I don't like the girls either."

I remember when I was growing up, I had a calendar of pin up girls at home, the screen read out. I hid it under my bed so my mother wouldn't see.

Tony wrinkled his nose at the screen, though Steve couldn't see it. "I saw something like that at Rhodey's house once. They don't make me feel anything," he confessed to Steve. "I don't know why. Maybe I haven't found the right kind of girl yet?"

Perhaps. I didn't find one, either.

After saying good night to his parents and telling Steve he would talk to him in the morning, Tony furtively opened a new window on his computer, typed 'pin up girls' into the search bar. He scanned over the presented images with disinterest, eyes roving over a vast selection of women with long, curvaceous legs and sultry, pouty lips slicked with lipstick. There must have been dozens, hundreds, thousands of pin up pictures, and he had a feeling that if he kept on scrolling, he still wouldn't find any girl that appealed to him.

He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and wondering what was wrong with him.

More on a whim than any real curiosity, Tony cleared the search bar, typed 'pin up boys' into it. Just to see.

He found his mouth drying as his eyes scanned rapidly over chiseled abs, strong jawlines, felt a stirring in his pyjama pants. Horrified, he hurriedly closed the window, cleared his search history, and stared at the soft glowing desktop of rolling fields, the images still dancing before his eyes.

After what felt like forever, a little window from Steve popped up.

I thought you were going to bed? Why are you still up? Don't you have school tomorrow?

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I do," Tony said, swallowing thickly and shaking his head to clear it. It didn't help. "I was just finishing up something. Goodnight, Steve."

Goodnight, Tony.

Tony's growing up very quickly. It's exciting, and a bit sad at the same time. I remember when I was still his age - well, that was only a few years ago, but at any rate. If he keeps growing at the same pace, he'll be my height, or taller.

One thing that sort of concerns me is how absent his father seems to be. Granted, his father does own like a multibillion dollar company or something of the sort, but I personally don't think there's any job in the world that should stop you from being a father. I used to think that joining the army and being a soldier was a job that could qualify for that exception, but now that I think about it, not even that should stop you from being a parent. But I mean, I don't know anything about running huge companies, or what Howard Stark is like at all.

I haven't yet figured out who Howard Stark is, or why he sounds so familiar. He just doesn't sound like someone I like, but maybe that's because Tony's been complaining about him for years now.

And has it been years? This whole concept of time, and consciousness, and life in general, is just confusing, and I prefer not to think about it. While Tony is at school, I usually talk to myself, thinking about penguins and how they look like miniature waiters in tuxedos. I really like penguins. They're very cute.

Speaking of cute, we talked about pin up magazines and calendars today. Me and Tony, of course, not me and myself and the imaginary penguins. And I told Tony that I hadn't found the right person, but that was sort of a lie. I had found the right person, but he was the wrong gender and he would have been horrified if I'd told him I loved him desperately, unrequited, all-consuming. It would have destroyed us, I think, our friendship. But it was so hard not to like him; he was everything a young, asthmatic, underweight boy would want to be, he was tall, had a strong jaw, had a laugh and a strength that showed itself whenever he shook your hand or clapped you on the back for a job well done. It was hard not to be attracted to him, and I'm ashamed to say that it wasn't an innocent little crush on my part. It was full blown infatuation.

But as years have gone by - and has it been years? Let's not talk about time - I've had a lot of time to think, and I've sort of determined that I wasn't really in love with Bucky. I was just in love with the idea of him, and the possibilities he presented. If you'd been in my position, you would have done the same.

I wonder where he is now? The last time I saw him he was getting ready to leave for war. I hope he's safe, not lying in some unmarked grave somewhere. That would be frighteningly sad, and I don't think even little penguin waiters could comfort me.

Speaking of lying, the pin up girls thing wasn't the only lie. I said I was 6'2", kept making jokes about how soon Tony would be taller than me. Why did I say that? I'm only 5'5".

Where did 6'2" come from?