Tony led Grant over to a table in the workshop, one he'd draped with a drop cloth, under a good play of light. He took hold of the cloth as Uncle Grant unzipped his jacket and tossed it aside on an empty worktop. "You ready for this? Really ready?"

Grant rolled his eyes. "For what, your flair for the dramatic?"

He chuckled. "Guilty. All right, old man, have it your way. Hold onto your dentures." And with that, he whisked away the drop cloth to reveal it at last.

He could see Grant stiffen as he laid eyes on it. Its convex surface gleamed sharply in the overheat light, displayed on a small rotating platter to raise it up for inspection, from its beveled edges to the red, white, and blue of its fresh paint job.

Tony waved a hand like a magician in the middle of his prestige. "There you have it. An Anthony Edward Stark original, your one-hundred percent functional, authentic vibranium Captain America shield."

Grant's eyes were wide as he surveyed it, taking in the the star within the pattern of concentric circles, meticulously recreated with laser accuracy to one sixty-fourth of a millimeter. "Damn, kid."

"What do you think, good enough for the purpose? What's it supposed to do again— barbecue platter? Saucer sled?"

"It looks… perfect." Grant circled it this way and that, taking it in from every angle. "Was it hard?"

"You kidding?" Tony scoffed extravagantly. "What kind of amateur do you take me for?"

Grant eyed him. "Well, you sure complained a lot for somebody who didn't have to work very hard."

"Well! I did make a few modifications, nothing big." Tony reached out to turn it gently on its display. "The vibranium actually supports a thinner construction without losing any structural integrity, so it's lighter now. So, you know, it's not going to throw out your shoulder when you give it a toss."

Grant grinned. "That's considerate of you. But like I said— it's not for me." He chuckled in his throat. "Damn, son, you think I want to go tearing it up after bad guys at my age? I leave that to fit young bucks like you."

Tony had to laugh— at the idea that he still counted as young, and at the image of mild-mannered Uncle Grant cracking a few skulls in his high-waisted pants and wire rims. Jesus, the guy had to be a hundred if he was a day. Still, he was a pretty impressive specimen, given his younger days as a square-jawed blond-haired GI. Tony snorted to himself; Aunt Peggy apparently had a type.

Grant ran the tips of his fingers around the shield's edge. "But you should know, Tony… I've got something important to do. It's going to take me away for a while. And… I'm not sure when I'll be coming back."

Tony grew alarmed at the weight in his words. "Hey, you sure everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine."

"Really? Because you're starting to sound kind of murder-suicide."

Grant rolled his eyes at this. "I promise, son. Just something important I have to take care of."

"Do the kids know?"

"Not yet. But they will." He chuckled. "They'll be happy to hear Granddad has something to keep him busy."

Grant paused then, as if considering something. "Aw, hell with it… maybe I will give it a try."

Tony gestured expansively. "Knock yourself out."

Grant hefted the shield then, with surprising ease and strength for a man of his age. He turned it over in his hands, then shook his head as if impressed. "Good weight. Perfectly balanced."

Then, to Tony's surprise, he slipped the straps over his arm. He raised it and ran it through a fluid motion up and out and down again, as if gauging how it might throw. And in that moment, with his arm fully extended and the movement stretched through his broad frame, Tony thought he saw something he couldn't possibly have seen. The shape of a hero, the vision of human perfection for whom that original shield was made.

He shook his head abruptly to clear it. "Shit, Uncle Grant."

Grant lowered the shield to the table, surveying it in quiet satisfaction. "You did good, kid. You did real good."

Tony blinked until his vision went back to normal. "Yeah, well, we knew that would happen. But who knew you'd look that good with it? Sure you don't want to give crimefighting a try?"

Looking him up and down with clear eyes, he was just Uncle Grant again, a well-preserved old man with his trouser waist up around his belly button. "Like I told you a million times. It's not for me."

"Yeah, yeah. A gift for some lucky so and so. Make sure they tag me on Instagram when they post it, I guess." Tony produced a case from behind the console, a disc-shaped brown leather piece custom made for the purpose. "Can I wrap that up for you, sir?"

Grant nodded, impressed. "You think of everything."

"Yeah, well. I wasn't going to let you openly walk half a million bucks' worth of Stark tech out onto a city bus."

"Oh, we're up to half a million now, are we?"

"Yeah, pal, you think my time is worth nothing? You're just lucky you're getting the friends and family deal."

"Guess so. Well, put it on my tab, why don't you?"

He let Tony pack it away for him, waiting patiently for the long run of the zipper around the case's circumference. "I want you to know how grateful I am," Grant said as he hefted it by the handle. "For going so far out of your way for me. And doing it so well. I won't forget it, Tony."

Tony felt the warmth and tightness spread in his chest, and it softened him as he walked Grant up the laboratory stairs and back to the front door. "I should be thanking you," he confessed. "It was good to have a project for a while. I think I needed the distraction."

"Things have been hard for a while, haven't they?" The concern in the question was too much; the guy was a recent widower, and he wanted to know if Tony had it rough.

Tony's eyes started to sting. "It's stupid, but… I just can't seem to get a handle on it." He barked a mirthless laugh. "Some hero I turned out to be."

Grant's gaze turned sharp. "You did the thing that you thought was right. Even though it was hard. That's all a man can do."

Tony reached to open the front door, not meeting the older man's eyes. "Yeah, well. If only everybody saw it like you do."

Grant paused then on the threshold of the door, resting the shield on the floor for a moment. "Someday," he declared. "You are going to save the whole world."

He turned back to Tony, looking at him with those kind blue eyes. Tony's throat grew suddenly tight, and all the wry pretense ran right out of him. "You really believe that?"

"Kid," he said, in that earnest way of his. "I know that."

Funny thing about Uncle Grant. When he said stuff like that, he made it sound like it was true.

THE END

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, a new installment of this series is now begun:

Forever Captain, part 6:
"Respects to Pay"
By Breakinglight11

Summary: "At Peggy Carter's funeral, Grant Carter is exhausted after a long day of accepting condolences on the loss of his wife of sixty years. But his daughter informs him there's one more person waiting to speak to him— Steve Rogers, the previous version of himself before he time traveled back to the 1940's. And it turns out Steve may need it more than he does."

Inspired by a moment in this fic. I thought it might be interesting to explore the moment Grant mentions when he encountered the previous version of himself at Peggy's funeral around the time of Captain America: Civil War.

You can find it on my profile here on Fan Fiction Dot Net.

Thanks for checking it out!