Chapter 4:

Tony was up early the next morning, and not by choice. He had set the alarm on his watch to match the schedule Rogers had given him, which he had scratched down onto a little slip of paper and shoved into his pocket. With a jaw cracking yawn he rolled out of bed, rubbing at the slightly chilled flesh of his arms. It would have been nice to have a blanket, but after the night he had, he wasn't up to asking Rogers for anything. Not even the basic amenities. He didn't know if Rogers had withheld the blanket on purpose and it was one of those situations where good behavior would earn him basic human privileges, or if it was just a simple oversight. To be honest, he really didn't want to know. Massaging the back of his neck he stood up, not bothering to change his clothes, Tony slipped out of his room and down the hallway. Nothing happened in his day until he had a cup of coffee in his hand. Bleary eyed, he padded softly downstairs, mindful to be quiet in case the Captain was sleeping. The last thing Tony wanted was a confrontation with Rogers before his requisite 2 cups of morning coffee. Tony was not exactly what one would call a morning person.

Rhodey had teased him mercilessly in college about his need for coffee, had even gotten him a mug as big as his head that read "No talkie before coffee". It had been nice, Tony mused fondly, to have a friend. One who saw and knew his true self. Being a 13 year old on a college campus had been...awkward and alienating. Luckily he had made a friend in Rhodey, and the old Sourpatch hadn't been able to shake him since. Tony scratched the stubble on his jaw. Colonel Rhodes was not going to be happy when he got back from deployment and found out about Tony's mating to Steve. He was out of the country on a top secret mission. Blah blah blah. Something about a terrorist organization. Tony wasn't worried for his friend, he was -after all- rocking War Machine.

Everyone assumed that Yinsen had been the one to build and design the suit that saved Tony's life all those years ago in Afghanistan. He had, after all, spent a lifetime cultivating an image of a womanizing partier who rarely took anything seriously - including his education. When asked about it, and about the identity of Iron Man, Tony would smile vapidly into the camera and admit that he had been instrumental to the making of Iron man; he had the very important task of picking out the color of the suit. His idea. Red and gold, wasn't that flashy? Probably the most important part, right? As far as who piloted the suit? Well someone much smarter than him, that was for sure. One of the scientists at the lab who wished his identity to remain a secret. You know how it is. He'd smile and shrug, turn to watch with the crowd as Iron Man cut through the sky above them all.

Rhodey told him he played the part of a self absorbed, none too bright, Alpha a little too well. Tony had a lot of practice over the years hiding who he was, his true self, from the public and acquaintances. He wasn't allowed to show the sharp and cutting intellect behind the facade his father had demanded he erect. The reasoning being that if anyone ever found out that he was an Omega, every project he had ever worked on would be questioned. They'd lose funding, supporters. It absolutely rankled that Howard had been right. Look at what had happened to him now, for chrissakes. He wasn't even CEO of the company anymore and that hadn't been enough to keep the sharks at bay. They had been out for blood.

Rhodey of course knew the truth. There weren't many secrets that Tony kept from his good friend.

Tony stumbled around down stairs in the dark, having not paid attention to where any of the light switches were during the infamous tour yesterday. When he stubbed his toe on the corner of a chair while passing through the dining room, Tony blew out a frustrated breath and muffled a curse. He missed Jarvis. With an AI in charge of the household there was no such thing as stumbling around in the dark or brewing his own coffee.

It took a few minutes for Tony to familiarize himself with Steve's kitchen. He felt like a thief rifling through the cabinets at the ass crack of dawn, trying not to be too loud lest he wake sleeping beauty. The need for coffee thrummed in his brain, pulsing and pushing at his temples. When he found the coffee beans a delighted sigh left his lips. At least he knew how to work the espresso maker/coffee machine. He had designed this particular model himself, afterall, only last year.

With the rich, heady, smell of coffee brewing in the air, Tony leaned against the counter and gazed out the window. A soft orange glow was spreading across the horizon as the sun began its ascent in the sky. Fog rolled across the grass in the distance, almost obscuring the mountains from view. The hiking here must be nice, Tony mused, if one was into that sort of thing. Outdoor activities weren't exactly his style. Tony much preferred his shop with the sweet sound of AC/DC blasting in his eardrums while he worked on an engine or one of his inventions. Something real, something tangible, that he could fix. Improve. Make better. If he closed his eyes he could still see the workshop, smell the stale coffee and grease. Tony was never more comfortable than when he had a tool in his hand. This? This domestic...farm life? It wasn't for him.

Turning from the window he rubbed at his burning eyes, fishing out a mug from the cabinet where he had found them earlier. Plain white, all of them, no funny catch phrases or irony here. No cartoon characters of puppy dogs or even a "I went to New York and all I got was this lousy mug". As a matter of fact, the entire house was like those plain coffee mugs. Sure, it looked nice, but it almost seemed… unfinished. There were no personal touches, no framed photographs, nothing to give a clue into the psyche of the person who lived here. It was like bran cereal. Oatmeal.

Speaking of food, Tony eyed the fridge dubiously. It was his responsibility to make breakfast. His lips twerked upward in wry amusement as his gaze alighted on a small stack of cookbooks set out on the island. Cooking for Dummies. The Joy of Cooking. How to Cook Everything. The Flavor Bible. With a huff he turned his back to the stack of books and faced the coffee maker. Poured himself a cup and took that first glorious sip of coffee. He went from running a multi-billion dollar company, heading the R/D department, to being a glorified housekeep. He had left his work behind, all those unfinished formulas and prototypes, so that he could make Captain America breakfast and clean his tighty whities.

Joy of joys.

After his second cup, Tony turned back to the fridge. Captain America wanted breakfast? Well, that was what he was going to get.

Steve came in through the front door, sweat beading across his forehead, clinging sticky to his shirt on his back and chest. Every morning before the sun rose he went out for a run. There was something infinitely peaceful about running through the countryside, the coarse dirt road slapping beneath the relentless tred of his sneakers, the quiet stillness in the air heavy as the rest of the world slumbered on . He took a deep breath, still slightly winded from his 10 mile run, and made his way into the kitchen. Immediately his nose wrinkled as the smell of...burning? … filled the air. His eyes watered and he resisted the urge to sneeze as he rounded the corner and saw the slight figure of none other than Tony scurrying across the kitchen with a smoking pan in one hand. Steve watched in a sort of horrified fascination as Stark threw the pan into a sink full of water, yelping as it hissed and spit.

"Well, there goes the bacon!" there was a muffled curse. His gaze fell to the cookbooks that had been left out, all of them open and in various states of disarray. There was a stalk of celery sticking out of the Cooking for Dummies. It looked as if Stark was using it as a bookmark.

"Shit, shit, shit," Tony was cursing to himself, his back to Steve, waving his hand in the air before plunging it beneath a stream of what Steve assumed was cold water coming out of the tap.

Concerned, Steve stepped forward. He must have made some sort of noise because Tony shot him a look over his shoulder.

"Ah, the prodigal Alpha returns! Morning Spangles. Eggs are on the table. Scrambled. I was trying to make an omelette but well, now we're having scrambled eggs." He fluttered his eyelashes, his whiskey eyes lacking the warmth the tone of his voice employed.

"Bacons, uh, well. Bacon is soggy, if you want some. Not sure I'd really recommend it." His free hand plunged into the soapy, water filled, sink and fished out a blackened piece of bacon.

Steve felt the corner of his lips twitching as he nodded with forced solemnity. "I think I'll pass on the bacon." he said, proud of the evenness of his voice. "Thank you for making breakfast, Tony. How's that hand?"

Surprise flickered across the smaller man's face. "Ah this? It's fine, just fine. Do you want water? I made orange juice. Think you might need a new blender though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, had a tough time getting through those oranges. The juice is a little chunky but…" Tony gave a helpless shrug.

"You… you put unpeeled oranges in the blender?"

Confusion puckered his brow. "Well of course I...was I supposed to peel them? I swear the recipe didn't call for that." He turned, dripping water across the kitchen, water in the sink still running, as he grabbed the nearest cookbook.

"Oh geez, looks like you're right, Rogers. I was supposed to peel them first."

Steve took a deep breath, forcing himself not to laugh or sigh at the absurdity that was Tony Stark. What had he been expecting, really?

"It's okay, Tony. You'll get it next time." Steve walked over to the sink and turned the water off then turned back toward Tony, who seemed to be side eyeing him. Yeah, after losing his temper in such a colaselly stupid way last night, Steve couldnt really blame the guy.

"Sorry about the waste, with the oranges I mean," Tony stammered nervously, bottom lip jutting out just the tiniest bit, "I made an extra big batch because I figured you could have some tomorrow too."

"It's okay, Tony."

"I mean, 15 oranges seemed like a lot at the time but the blender seemed to do okay with it until well, it didn't."

Steve didn't bother to point out that orange juice was usually made by hand or with a juicer, not a blender. He eyed the orange rind speckled piece of machinery sitting next to the sink and again had to hold back a smile. Tony was awful at cooking, clueless really, but he was being so earnest that it was… well, almost endearing. Almost.

"It's okay, Tony. I'll just have coffee."

"I've got a mug set out on the table for you there. Wasn't sure how you took it though, so its just black but if you want cream or sugar-"

"Black is fine. Thank you Tony."

"You're welcome. I'm going to go get a start on the rest of the list. Maybe take a shower first if that's alright?"

Guilt prickled across the nape of his neck. Soured slightly in his stomach.

"Of course it's alright, Tony."

"Awesome. Thanks boss." He said sardonically. " Enjoy your breakfast!" And then Tony was gone. Darting out of the kitchen and thundering up the stairs toward the small guest bathroom.
Shaking his head, Steve made his way into the dining room where a plate of slightly charred (how does one burn scrambled eggs?) and chunky scrambled eggs sat waiting for him. He took a bite, groaned, and discretely spit it back out. Rubbery. And was that a cube of raw carrot in there? He took a sip of the coffee to wash out the taste of burnt egg and nearly gagged at the bitter taste and coffee grounds.

That was awful. Truly awful. Steve frowned down at the plate and the coffee and sighed. Maybe he needed to look into buying cereal. You can't burn cereal. He could only imagine what lunch was going to be like.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Tony woke up, made breakfast (terribly) did his chores around the cabin and spent the remainder of his day avoiding Steve until meal times, in which they both sat down and tried to eat (tried being the operative word there, twice they had to order takeout instead) Tony's culinary creations. Steve, for his part, seemed keen to avoid him too… as if they were both tiptoeing around the big elephant in the room. It was on the fourth day of their little routine, after breakfast, that Tony approached Steve.

"Hey so, is it alright if I go outside for a little bit? Get some air? I'm starting to go a little stir crazy in here." Tony rubbed the back of his neck, his stomach tight, as he waited for Steve's response.

Steve looked up from the morning newspaper, confusion wrinkling his brow, before something that suspiciously looked like guilt filled his eyes.

"Yeah, Tony. Hey, listen. About all that stuff. I mean, you can go outside or around the property whenever you want. There are some hiking trails too if you want to stick to the paths. Just make sure you're home in time for meals and your responsibilities are all taken care of. And don't leave the property. We have a lot of land here, so that would be pretty hard to do. But you're welcome to explore it whenever you'd like."

Was he supposed to feel grateful? Tony gave Steve a tight smile. "Thanks," he said as he walked toward the door.

"Oh and Tony, some of the wildlife can be aggressive so… if you're going on a hike maybe just let me know."

Irritation bubbled in his veins, but Tony tossed another smile that didn't quite reach his eyes over his shoulder. "Thanks Boss, will do."

It would be about 20 minutes later that he would discover what Steve meant about aggressive wild life.

Tony slammed the front door shut, ankles bleeding, and breathing heavy. He kicked off his shoes, face smeared with dirt, and made his way towards Rogers who was partially reclined on the sofa, a sketch pad in one hand and a piece of charcoal in the other.

"Aggressive wildlife, huh Rogers?" Tony plucked a feather out of his hair, brushing the dirt off his pants and onto the floor, eyes narrowing at the amused smile that hid inside Steve's eyes.

"I see you've met the chickens. They're feral. And a little mean. Try to avoid their territory the next time you go off adventuring."

"Feral chickens. Who has feral chickens, Rogers? Those chickens are little monsters, and worse, they're organized. A gang of heath-hens. Two of them tripped me while the colorful one-"

"The rooster?"

"Sure whatever, the Rooster pecked the shit out of my face and hands. Little ankle biters chased me all the way to the front porch. And you let me go out there with a 'some of the wildlife can be aggressive'. Yeah, no shit."

"You poor thing," Steve said through a smile, as he sat up from his reclined position. He set down his sketch pad before rising to his feet with a stretch. The smile faded a bit as Tony took a flinching defensive step back, putting distance between them.

Tony ran a dirty hand through his equally dirty hair, soft downy feathers jarred loose from the motion and drifted lazily to the floor.

"Well, I'm going to take a shower and try to pretend this never happened. I just want to make it clear I know this was a set up."

Steve smirked. "You think I set … feral chickens on you? Like a pack of wild dogs?"

Tony's eyes narrowed. "That is exactly what I think." Tony turned on his heel and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving a trail of dirt and feathers in his wake.

"I'll be in the gym if you'd like to join me later! Wanna stay in shape to keep ahead of those chickens!" Steve called up after the irate Tony.

"Shove it, Rogers!" Tony shouted back, from the top of the landing. He froze, trepidation in the line of his shoulders, a cagey wariness in his gaze as he turned down to look at a smirking Steven Rogers.

"See ya around, Tony." he picked up his art supplies and headed towards the basement. It was the one area of the massive house that Tony had yet to explore.

Maybe tomorrow. He was getting too comfortable. No sense in pushing his luck. He didn't know, yet, what Steve's boundaries were and which lines couldn't be crossed. Tony was sure he was going to stumble across them eventually.

The next morning, after breakfast, Tony went out for another walk. This time with an eye out for any angry, evil, flightless birds. The air was clean and fresh, the grass wet and dewy (apparently it had rained last night), and Tony tried to force his mind from the dark thoughts that had been hovering in his brain since he woke up this morning. He felt like things had improved so far with Rogers, but he couldn't be sure. There was definitely less aggression directed toward him. He wouldn't say they were friends or even necessarily friendly, but something about what had taken place the other night - that shameful humiliating night - had changed the dynamic between them. This morning Steve had even given him a tight smile and thanked him for breakfast. Tony knew exactly how that breakfast had tasted, so it was actually a kind gesture. He turned toward the mountain range in the distance, following the dirt path that led up from the lush green valley where the pack house was situated to the sloping hills that seemed to be calling his name.

Tony walked that path for a good hour before heading back, the muscles in his calves tight. He had worked up a good sweat, and lunch was due to be made soon, but he could afford to take a quick shower before he started desecrating the kitchen again. He entered the eerily quiet house, lost in his thoughts as he trudged his way up the stairs and to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. Closing the door behind him he stripped off his dirty clothes, letting them fall in a messy heap to the floor, before starting up the shower and getting in.

Tony let the hot water beat down on his shoulders, his hair plastered to his face as the steam billowed up around him. He took a deep breath, fighting to clear away the anxiety that was pulsing in his chest. How different would life be if he were born Alpha? Or even Beta? His hands fisted at his side as the familiar bitter fantasy played out in his head. There was no use dreaming about it, he knew, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts. He simply had to muscle onward. One foot in front of the other. Eventually the secrets he was sitting on would be uncovered and out, and as much as that terrified him the thought also brought a cleansing serenity in equal measure. He was sick of having what felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sick of carrying the burden of the secrets he kept.

A cool breeze stirred the air, and Tony lifted his head from the cold tile of the shower wall. The shower door was fogged up, and Tony swiped at the condensation to peer out into the bathroom. There was nothing there. Unease still had his shoulders stiff, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end. With a muffled curse he finished his shower, shoving down the irritation he felt at having it cut short.

Stepping on to the bath mat and out of the shower two things became immediately clear. His instincts were correct. Someone had been in the room with him not too long ago. They were gone now, and so were his clothes. A quick peek into the bathroom closet confirmed that all the towels were gone too. Tony stood, dripping wet, on a damp bath mat and stared at the towel that had been left for him. It was one that he had never seen before but it didn't take a genius like himself to figure out what was going on here.

Revenge. The towel before him resembled the American flag. The corner of his lip twitched upward in genuine amusement. Despite himself a guffaw escaped. Nearly twenty years ago he had done this very same thing to Steve Rogers.

It had been after a home football game. Everyone knew that Rogers liked to take long showers and was often the last one to leave the locker room. Tony had snuck in with a couple of buddies, grabbed all the towels and clothes, and left a poor, sopping wet, Steve Rogers naked and vulnerable in the school locker room. Not that, at that point, Rogers could be considered vulnerable. He had already undergone the serum which had transformed him from a mealy, weak, sickly Alpha into what would become Captain-fucking-America. It was besides the point. Tony's aim had been to humiliate Rogers, and it had worked. When he came dripping out of the locker room the entire senior class as well as half of the school had been waiting outside. Rogers had grabbed the closest thing, the American flag that hung on the wall outside the locker room, and wrapped it around his hips while everyone laughed and took pictures, making cat calls. The fact that Peggy Carter just happened to be there had only sweetened the deal.

"I knew you liked attention, Spangles, but I didn't realize you were this much of a slut for it. Poor little Brooklyn kid will do anything to turn a dime, huh?" Tony had drawled, smirking at the flushed and embarrassed Steven. He tossed Rogers clothes on the floor in front of him and a couple of dollar bills, knowing that his eyes shone with the malice that filled his heart. And like the utter jack ass he had been, he had walked away.

Shaking his head Tony grabbed the towel and dried off. He knew Rogers would never sink so low as to duplicate a highly embarrassing high school prank. Which could only mean one thing.

The Avengers were back.

Clint had been surprised to hear the deep belly laugh coming from the upstairs bathroom. He had anticipated a lot of things from the former tech mogul, but genuine amusement had not been one of them. Steve lifted his head from the map the group had been perusing, his head canted to the side as he too heard the laugh that echoed from the upstairs of the house. One brow winged upward in surprise. Apparently the packhouse had not been a happy homestead while they had been gone. Clint wasn't surprised. After everything that he had heard about Tony Stark, Clint felt bad for the Captain. Stark had a bit of a reputation, and a seedy past. The small humiliation of what Clint had just done was nothing compared to what the little shit actually deserved. According to Bucky, Tony Stark had gone out of his way in high school to bully Steve. The thing of it was, no one had ever understood why. Not even Steve. Some people were just rotten to the core. From the sounds of it, Stark was one of them. Did Clint feel bad about pranking an omega? Nope. Not a bit. That little shit deserved it. Had been born with a silver spoon in his privileged little mouth. Clint couldn't wait to rip it out. Welcome to the real world buddy.

Ten minutes later the unmistakable sound of bare feet padding down the stairs reached his ears. Between Bucky and himself, they had been able to snag every article of clothing that Stark owned and string it up between the two oak trees out in the backyard. Clint had been surprised at the lack of designer clothes. Just a few band shirts and plain tees that were riddled with holes and burn marks. The jeans had holes in them too, and it wasn't by design either. Hardly seemed like that clothes of a spoiled socialite, but then appearances could certainly be deceiving. As a spy no one knew that better than Clint himself.

Still, despite thinking himself prepared to meet Tony Stark for the first time, Clint found himself struck dumb as Tony sashayed into the dining room.

Yes, sashayed.

There was no other word for it. Spine straight, plump lips tilted into a smirk, the little shit strode into the shock silent room swinging his hips and wearing nothing but a towel.

Or, Clint amended with a brief flutter of respect and a healthy twinge of amusement, what was left of the towel. Tony must have found a pair of scissors somewhere up there. Olive skin was proudly on display, with only a small triangle of cloth covering up his crotch. The rest of the towel had been cut into a small cape that fluttered down his back.

"Morning campers!" Tony called cheerily as he strode through the room towards the kitchen, damp skin glistening and the little cape fluttering behind him. Clint's eyes snagged briefly on the scarred tissue around the newest version of the arc reactor in Stark's chest, cataloging the information for review at a later time. It was then that he realized the little shit hadn't just made a pair of panties, but an actual glorified thong.

Bruce choked on his coffee, Bucky snorted, and Steve looked poleaxed. Natasha of course, merely took a demure sip of her coffee and went back to reading the newspaper.

Clint couldn't help the short bark of a laugh that escaped him.

"I was planning on making grilled cheese sandwiches, anyone want one? No? Probably a good call. I'm a terrible cook. I burn most of everything, you can ask the good Captain. Well, I'll let you lovely people get back to your work." Whiskey colored eyes scanned the table before locking in on Clint himself.

"I suppose I'm going to have to go outside to find my clothes, yes? Somewhere up high? Ah, a tree, of course. I'd say clever but it's a little cliche, don't you think?"

His gaze snagged on Banner, and he gave the quiet scientist an open and friendly smile.

"Dr. Banner, your work on antielectron collisions is unparalleled and I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster."

Bruce looked uncomfortable. For many reasons. "Oh. uh, thanks."

And then the stuck up, spoon fed, too-smart-for-his-own-good little socialite turned on a trim heel, slapped his own ass, and made his way into the kitchen leaving a silent and shocked room of superheroes in his wake.

Clint leaned back in his chair with a cat-ate-the-canary grin as Steve let out a deep sigh.

"Life around here is never going to be boring as long as he's around." Bruce mused.

Clint looked up to see Steve pinching the bridge of his nose. "I appreciate what you guys are trying to do here, but if we could please not purposefully try to agitate my new Omega, that'd be swell."

"It's just Stark, Steve. 'Sides, that's the least he deserves for all that stunts he pulled in high school. Can't hide behind his Daddy's name now." Bucky muttered a lazy smirk curling on his lips, as his solemn and dark gaze turned toward the kitchen where Stark had disappeared to.

Tony paused on the other side of the wall, straining to hear Steve's response. He could have said a number of things. He could have told Bucky to back off, to leave him alone, but he didn't. Instead Steve said nothing and as far as Tony was concerned that… spoke louder than words.

Notes: Well, there's chapter 4! Hope you enjoyed it!