Thank you all so much for your patience this last month! I ended up in a bit of a rut and barely squeaked in over my wordcount goal by using about seven different projects, so I didn't really get much done... But that's okay. I've still got a few chapters stored up on this and should be able to keep up for a while.

And then there are the reviewers, who are all amazing and wonderful: Stelra Etnae, Terri'smind, Artful Artifice, Zenoneel-Sarior, DoublePaws, Nightlessd, Kae Richa, Pickles, and two Guest reviewers! Holy cow! The response you've given me is fantastic!

Pickles: I adore your commentary. Seriously. And thank you for the extra encouragement. Any chance you could get an account on here so I could actually message the answers to your questions instead of putting them at the tops of the chapters?

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright.


Chapter 9: Erised

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."

Dr. Seuss

When Steve got up to the sixth floor, his hands were sweaty. It took several deep breaths to calm down and remember that he could control this. By the time he knocked on the door of the lab Bruce had mentioned, there were no signs that he was anything but confused.

Having to act like he wasn't lovesick for his best friend every minute of the day was really helping him for once, Steve thought as he heard a call to come in. He was learning very fast how to regulate every system in his body. That included not exhibiting any of the physical signs of fear that currently roiled in his gut.

The lab was a tidy spot, with only two files open on a table and one computer running. In the middle of it Bruce stood, messing with a tablet. "That was fast," he commented.

"I was already here," Steve answered the unspoken question.

It was accepted with a nod. Bruce laid the tablet down on a side table and clicked a few keys on the computer. "We may as well get to business," he said, forehead wrinkling as he adjusted the view on the screen.

What Steve saw nearly took his breath away. He had learned enough over the last year to recognize a strand of DNA, but the picture was what caught his attention. It was Tony, except as he had last seen the man in 1945: dead and about to be buried. "Where did you get that picture?" he asked.

"The battle a few days ago disinterred several graveyards," Bruce said in a non-answer, turning around to lean on the table. His eyes were piercing behind his glasses, and a little green.

To try to alleviate the threat that the scientist must have felt, Steve slid onto the nearest stool. It was easier to give someone else a sense of control when he didn't tower over them.

That didn't appear to help much. "Your parents' graves were wrecked, as were yours," Bruce smiled weakly, "Sergeant Barnes's, and this man's. Anthony Starosta." He pointed at the photo.

"That's his DNA?" Steve asked. He couldn't decide if he was terrified or hopeful. Either way he focused on keeping his breathing even, pulse normal, and skin from going clammy.

"Yes," Bruce confirmed, before explaining, "Probably due to the way he died, he had a huge hole in his sternum that kept DNA from being gathered from there. So I drilled into the hip bone. And then I saw this." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring.

When it was dropped into Steve's palm, he knew the game was up. Despite that he knew his face showed nothing, it was obvious Bruce had figured it out. He let the facade drop with a sigh, and cradled the titanium band like the precious treasure he thought of it as.

On the other side of the table, Bruce's eyes softened. "It kept one of the bones from degrading too much and I was able to get a full DNA profile from that," he said, watching the super soldier with what looked like pity.

"So you know," Steve stated, unable to tear his eyes from the band. It looked almost exactly like when he had slid it onto Tony's finger in his casket. Only a little tarnish on the inside showed just how long it had been in the ground.

"It took a couple of days. The sequence itself didn't match anyone, even as being related," Bruce said nonsensically.

"What?" Steve asked, suddenly wondering what was really going on. Had he been had?

The scientist brought up five more DNA profiles, each with a picture beside it. There was Bruce, the Hulk, the current Tony, Steve, and… his smaller self. He'd almost forgotten the last minute blood test they did before his turn in the machine. They must have gotten the DNA from that.

Bruce immediately began to explain, "I knew there was something familiar but I didn't realize what happened until I woke up at two this morning and everything just came together. I compared Starosta's DNA to mine and realized that it had some of the same post-experiment markers. So I took those out. There were still some left that didn't seem right, so…" Here he seemed slightly sheepish. "I looked at your DNA for a comparison, and it turns out that he shared more markers with you post-serum than with me." He paused and fiddled with a pen, looking from the DNA to Steve and back.

It all suddenly came together for Steve. His face tingled as all the blood left it, horror settling in his veins. "Zola," he whispered.

All the memories of when Tony and Bucky were capable of keeping up but shouldn't have, Tony taking on the Winter Soldier, Tony getting younger as time wore on… They suddenly felt tainted. At the time Steve had been grateful and unwilling to ask, but now he wished for anything else.

"Pardon?" Bruce questioned, frowning.

"Don't worry about it. Please continue," Steve said, gesturing at the screens.

Bruce's rush to get to the end was obvious. "When I took out the markers of the DNA that were only present in our post-experiment selves, I ran the tests again and it gave me a 98.6% positive match to Tony. I don't know any way to get a result like that without it being that person, so… It makes no sense, but Captain Anthony Starosta was Tony Stark." Even as the words left his mouth, Bruce looked befuddled.

"Captain Starosta?" Steve parroted. In the forties, Tony had always been called Lieutenant the few times someone had used his rank.

"You wouldn't believe the promotions you all got," Bruce explained with a tight smile, "Everyone agreed that Captain America sounded better than Brigadier General America, or they probably would have made it more obvious. By the time Starosta died- when Tony died, he had made it up to Captain. But that's not so important." He stood beside the screen that proved everything, silently demanding answers.

Even as shock and disgust warred through him, Steve smiled. "When I first met Tony, he was forty five," he started, but stalled soon after. There were always more questions than answers, and what he had figured out since being defrosted only made those elusive answers more sinister than ever.

"That's another two years," Bruce said, and his eyes widened as he realized what that meant. "So if we dig too deeply into the past, we'll know too much about the future," he hypothesized.

Steve nodded, and relief was added into the already crazy mix of what he felt. It thrummed through his veins and made him feel about ready to explode with just how much that was. "Maybe not about the future in general, but about Tony's future," he agreed.

The smile Bruce gave him was sad. "You can't say a thing to him and it's killing you," he concluded.

"Thank God you figured it out," Steve sighed, "I remembered Tony saying that before he went to Brooklyn he lived with two assassins, a super soldier, a guy from fairy land, and a man with breathtaking anger management issues, and the whole time we were on the helicarrier I was going crazy trying to figure out who the second assassin was. Knowing this much… I know less than ever." It was the understatement of the year.

"Let's start at the beginning," Bruce suggested sensibly.

When Steve laughed, it was strained. He buried his face in his hands and the cold metal of the ring in his palm only slightly soothed him. "That's where half my questions come from," he mumbled.

"I get the feeling I'll want to sit down for this," Bruce said, and took a seat across the table.

"When I first saw Tony, he had tumbled out of a portal in the middle of a fight. From what I understand he was angry because the man he was fighting had nearly killed someone he called Cap," he said, and just there had more questions.

"So, it looks like in 2015 you'll finally lose a fight. And Tony will go kamikaze," Bruce said, nodding like it all made sense.

The story went on and on, through Steve getting sick and their date. When he got to Tony subtly encouraging him to try enlisting for a sixth time, he let out a watery laugh. Of course the genius would say that if anyone could make it, it would be Steve. It had already happened for him.

Getting together was glossed over, but Tony's entry into Project Rebirth as a scientist wasn't. It led Bruce to frowning, but he said nothing. There were gasps and chuckles in all the right places, until Azzano.

"Anthony Stark, SHIELD, Avengers Initiative," Steve repeated, the moment seared into his mind. "He didn't even realize I was there until I shook him. But when we had to escape, he was steadier than ever. Ran across a creaking support beam like it was flat ground." He shook his head, wondering how he didn't see it sooner.

The noise Bruce made was comprehending. "They were trying to recreate the serum and used Tony and Bucky as test subjects," he said, horror dawning in his eyes.

The mere idea of his man and his best friend having to go through the same kind of pain as Steve suffered in Project Rebirth… It nearly made him sick. At least he had gone into it willingly, fully aware of the risks and what might happen. They hadn't had that choice. "And it looks like it succeeded, at least partially," he commented with a jerk of his head toward the DNA results.

Though Bruce looked like he wanted to go on an excited tangent, he gestured for Steve to keep going.

"That was when I first heard about the man called the Winter Soldier," the blonde said.

Bruce froze up. It was obvious that he knew the name.

"Tony said he was a ghost story and only two people had come out of a fight with him alive. He told us about, well, now I know it was Natasha, and how she nearly died and was terrified of the Soldier," Steve said, tapping the same area Tony had during his explanation, right near the liver, "He shot the engineer she was covering, straight through her. Then I found out that the Soldier was going after Bucky in an effort to get killed. He tried that night, but Tony drove him off." He shook his head, still wondering at it.

"Wait, wait, wait," Bruce cut in, obviously confused, "Do you think that the guy Tony was fighting when he went through that portal was the Winter Soldier?" He looked horrified and frightened at the mere thought.

"If you give me a few more minutes, I'll get to the end and then we can talk about that," Steve said, not sure if he wanted to hear what was coming. Half of it, he had already figured out. Someone else thinking the same thing would only be confirmation that he wasn't crazy.

For every word that Steve spoke, the burden on his shoulders kept getting lighter. While he kept their relationship and Iron Man's identity close to his chest, he said everything else that he knew. How Tony and Bucky were always there, able to keep up and never leaving him behind unless they had to, how they had perpetrated the raid that got Tony called the Ballsiest Idiot in the Force and then was captured on a courier mission in Germany. When he got to the hallucinogenic mushroom incident, they both laughed almost hysterically. Knowing what he did now, Steve was torn between berating Tony for depending on the timeline staying the same and pulling him close because he knew. The whole time, Tony had known what would happen to him. And he kept going.

Then Romania came up, and every word felt like it clawed its way up Steve's throat. Now that he knew what happened initially, he had a better idea of what was done to the two people most important to him in that lab. "The scientist told Tony to sing and he started singing Star Spangled Man With a Plan," he said, chuckles coming up that were more like sobs, "Then when they told him to sing something else, he started on something about men in tights roaming around the forest looking for fights. And the can-can." He had to pause when Bruce burst into giggles.

"Sorry," the scientist said, eyes crinkled in ashamed laughter, "It's just that… he was out of his mind and still sticking it to them. Mel Brooks, the guy that wrote that song, was Jewish and fought in the war. Typical Tony." He shook his head fondly.

That, Steve could agree on. He finished his story not long after, keeping only the technical aspects of how Tony died to himself. All he said was that it was assisted suicide, and Bucky had helped. "You know the story after that," he said tiredly, "I buried him next to my mom and kept going. Bucky fell, I crashed." He had never thought that he would want to go to bed right after telling someone. It was like he had relieved it all.

"In summary, Tony got into a fight with the Winter Soldier of all people and was sent back in time, was used as a guinea pig by HYDRA, became a Howling Commando, and committed assisted suicide at the end of 1944," Bruce said. He looked like he didn't know what to make of it.

"Yes," Steve agreed.

Bruce scrubbed a hand over his face. "No offense, but your life is insane," he said conversationally.

This time Steve let out a bark of strained laughter. That was putting it mildly. "You wanted to know some things about the Winter Soldier?" he asked.

"Yes, uh, I did but…" Bruce rubbed his head sheepishly.

"You forgot?" Steve asked, half grateful. Today was already hard enough.

The look in Bruce's brown eyes showed that he understood. Hesitantly he reached over and gave Steve's shoulder a squeeze. "I guess the only thing that matters is what happens now," he said quietly.

"No one can know," Steve said immediately, tiredly.

"I won't tell," Bruce promised. As of his own words were a kick in the pants for him, he went to work with fervor. On the computer he clicked several things and a little box popped up, asking if he was sure he wanted this data permanently deleted. It was more than a little bit of a relief when the 'yes' option was chosen without indecision.

"What are you doing?" Steve questioned, propping his head up on a fist.

"If no one can know, that means there can't be any record of it," Bruce explained as he deleted several more things, "This is a private server. When I asked Tony to check it out the other day, he said it has to be manually backed up, no option of automatic. It's probably used for research that might never be allowed to see the light of day. I'm going to make sure it doesn't." He grimaced as he clicked a confirmation that he wanted to delete everything on the hard drive.

"How? I heard Tony say that nothing is ever really deleted," Steve asked, curious. Living with Tony had showed him a lot about technology but he was still learning.

The smile Bruce gave him was grim. "There was a mysterious accident and the hard drive got smashed beyond any hope of repair," he answered with false innocence. It was belied by the force with which he pulled the computer casing apart.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Steve asked. Having an ally in keeping Tony safe only strengthened his resolve.

The computer was already half dismantled but Bruce immediately stopped. Instead he went over to a machine and emptied out a few small bowls of powder into a little baggy. He presented it to Steve on one palm, with all the seriousness of a funeral flag. "This is what I got the DNA from, the third phalange of his left ring finger. All the other material was contaminated. Without this there's no possibility of rediscovering what I found," he said, "I think you know what to do with it."

Not another word was needed. Steve's hand shook as he accepted the little baggy, clutching it in the same hand as the ring.

When he tried giving that back, Bruce shook his head. "I think it was supposed to be with you," he said with a weak little smile.

"The jeweler did say that all his titanium rings had sad endings," Steve murmured, half to himself.

Thankfully Bruce didn't comment. Instead he went back to messing up the computer.

Determined to do things right this time, Steve tucked the ring and bag of bone powder into his pocket. He got up, trying to figure out where to put them so that it wasn't obvious, when he realized he still had something to say. "Bruce?" he called, one hand on the door knob.

The scientist looked up from where he was bending some sort of green and gold board.

"Thank you for helping me protect him," Steve said, more grateful than he could express.

"As long as that stays your priority I'll keep helping," Bruce replied, an undeniable warning in his voice. He wouldn't put up with any harm coming to Tony.

At least on that, they could agree. Steve left not long after, trying to decide what to do with Tony's bones. It had to be something respectful, significant to them, but nothing that would draw attention.

Late that night, Tony crawled into his bed shivering again. Pretending to be asleep, Steve rolled over and pulled the other man against his chest, murmured nonsense into his hair. As the trembling settled down and Tony clutched his shirt tightly, he smiled.

He'd found the perfect place.


Sunrise found Steve standing on the Brooklyn Bridge. He rued that safety nets kept him from seeing the view unimpeded, but the light still reached him. It was good enough.

This was the end of a tour of their old stomping grounds, starting at the alley where he first saw Tony fighting his way out of a portal and ending at the train station where they had left for Camp Leigh. It dizzied his senses to see how much everything had changed in eighty years. Their old apartments were replaced with fancy townhouses and the old SSR base with an actual antiques shop.

But this was almost the same. The Lady of Brooklyn was still here, and was a representation of everything that had happened. She was the symbol of Brooklyn, where everything had started and ended alike.

For a moment, Steve closed his eyes and basked in it. The scent of the sea and crash of the waves reached him even over the unceasing traffic. It was perfect.

All too soon, it was time. Steve took the plastic bag from his pocket and emptied the bone powder onto his cupped palm. This was the last he had of the Tony he had first known, and first loved.

Well, not quite, he thought when he remembered the ring. That, he would have for as long as he lived.

This was different. It was biologically Tony, the only bit left that was purely him. And it was too dangerous to keep him.

It was time to say goodbye.

"We've had a good time of it, haven't we? You on the docks and me in the living room, and then out in France and the rest of Europe," Steve said, ostensibly to the ashes, "You were my everything and always will be. You're alive now, and I love you as you are. You're beautiful and brilliant and everything I ever wanted. When I lose you again it'll kill me for sure this time. But that's in the future. I'll always fight for you, as Steve Rogers and Captain America alike, but for now the best way to keep you safe is to say goodbye." He took a deep but shaky breath.

Someone walked up beside him and when he glanced over, it was Tony. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, but there was a peace in his face right now that wasn't often seen anymore. He looked from the powder to Steve and back again.

"Tony?" the blonde asked, wondering what drew him out here at this time of morning.

"You weren't there," Tony replied uncomfortably. He quickly changed the subject. "What's that?" he asked, nodding toward Steve's hand.

Wistfully he looked from the genius to his future and back again. "I'm saying goodbye to someone I love," he answered truthfully.

Tony blinked at the bone powder. "Are those ashes?" he questioned doubtfully.

"Close enough," Steve said, cracking a grin.

"Not sure that's legal, but I won't tell if you won't," Tony answered diplomatically.

"Do you… want to help me?" Steve asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure if it violated some code of conduct about ash spreading, but it felt like the right question to ask.

Though he didn't look quite convinced, Tony sidled closer. "What am I doing here?" he asked.

"On zero, blow on them," Steve said. The body heat of the man next to him gave him the courage to count down, "Three, two, one." On the beat right after one, they both took a breath and then blew on the pile of bone.

In a cloud it rose up and on a gust of wind dissipated. The mundanity of it was a relief. He had expected some dramatic display like the wind suddenly changing directions. It would have been very Tony to laugh hysterically in the afterlife as his ashes and bone fragments were blown into his boyfriend and past self's sinuses.

Task done, Tony clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I left the car over at the park. Meet me there when you're done and we can get some breakfast," he said. His dark eyes were sympathetic.

Steve nodded and waited a few minutes for Tony to be out of earshot. The moment he was alone, he whispered to the ghost of future past, "I love you."

Somewhere in his head, he could hear Tony's whisper on a crowded underground train. "You too."

Smiling, Steve jogged to catch up to his future.


The day after their chat and the subsequent dismantling of the computer, Steve expected to get called into Fury's office. Seeing Bruce there only made it more obvious what this meeting was about. "You called?" he asked.

"Not long after Doctor Banner and you had your little chat yesterday, one of our technicians found the lab computer in pieces, a jamming signal in the microphones, and the samples gone. And you," Fury pointed at Steve, "had something to do with this."

As it was an accusation rather than a question, Steve didn't answer. He simply frowned and crossed his arms.

"Don't play innocent with me, Rogers," Fury warned, glaring up at him from behind the desk.

"I'm not playing anything," Steve responded coolly. He really wasn't. If anything, he was dead serious about fooling Fury.

Fury obviously didn't believe him. "Last chance, Rogers, before I get an opportunity to test our nifty little lie detector on you," he offered, like it was a favor.

"Director Fury, I really have to protest. He told me about Captain Starosta and followed my instructions, nothing more," Bruce said. It was a good hint about what story to go with.

The look Fury gave the scientist, then the soldier, was suspicious. "Forgive me if I don't trust either of you too much on this," he said acerbically, and gestured for them to follow him from the room.

Steve didn't dare try to communicate with Bruce the whole way to the interrogation block. It was too risky under Fury's nose.

Instead he sighed as he was bowed into one of the rooms. This one was plain concrete with a table, three chairs, and a mirror that was obviously double sided. On the table sat a machine, and on one of the chairs sat a mousy technician. The second was occupied by Maria Hill.

The third chair was hard and uncomfortable, barely big enough to fit his bulky frame. It was probably designed that way, Steve thought as he adjusted in it.

"Captain Rogers, have you ever taken a lie detector test before?" Agent Hill asked as the technician busied herself with the cords.

"No, ma'am," Steve said truthfully. At the same time, he began to focus on controlling his body and everything about it- inward and outward.

Agent Hill looked like she expected as much. "It tests various factors including pulse, heartbeat, breathing, sweat response, and skin temperature, in order to detect the truthfulness or falsity of your answers to questions I will ask. The questions will have yes or no answers. Any questions?" she asked, analyzing everything about him as was her way.

"No, ma'am," Steve responded, and lifted his arms for the technician to fasten a stretchy belt around his rib cage. A few straps were hooked around his bicep, wrist, and finger, before the technician sat down again.

A few papers were glanced through before Hill began. "I am going to calibrate the machine by asking you a few simple questions," she said, "Is your name Steven Grant Rogers?"

"Yes," Steve answered automatically.

"Are you also known as Captain America?"

"Yes."

"Were you born on July fourth?" Agent Hill asked.

"Yes."

When Agent Hill looked to the technician, she got a frown. "I think the machine is acting up, it says his body temperature is 67.85 degrees," the woman said.

Even Steve got a surprise out of that. He knew he ran cold now, but not that cold. People generally died long before they got down to that temperature.

"That's normal for him," Agent Hill reassured the woman.

The technician gave her a dubious look but said nothing more.

Agent Hill gave the questions she was to ask another glance before setting them on the table face down. "Calibration is complete. I'll start with the serious questions now," she told him before asking, "Did you and Doctor Banner discuss Captain Starosta in the lab yesterday?"

"Yes," Steve replied.

When Hill looked to the technician, she received a nod; it was accepted as the truth. "Was the information you discussed abnormally sensitive?" she continued.

"Yes," Steve said.

"Was Captain Starosta's identity verified successfully that you know of?"

"No." Steve lied for the first time.

When Hill looked to the technician, she received a nod. It was accepted as the truth.

Enhanced hearing caught the barest hint of a gasp from the other side of the mirror.

The interrogation went on for nearly an hour, grilling him on everything that could be answered with a simple yes or no. It was all done with a bland, expectant voice from Hill, not a single sign of surprise or anything else of note.

As Steve alternately told half truths, whole truths, and non-truths, he hoped he was giving answers that would complement what Bruce already said. He had decided that the best way to go about this was to imply the serum. Considering what had happened to Bruce when he tried to remake it, they had decided that it was better for the formula to be lost forever, and Steve disposed of the samples while Bruce took care of the machinery. The microphones being jammed, he knew nothing about in truth.

It was admittedly a reason that Steve would support destroying the data, even without Tony in the equation. After what had nearly happened to Peggy over Howard's sample of his blood…

Once the questioning was over with, Steve was unhooked and allowed to leave. The look Fury gave him was grumpy. "Fine, so you were telling the truth," he conceded.

"Thank you for acknowledging that," Steve said with such politeness that it was sarcastic.

"Doesn't mean you're not in trouble, if not from me then from the council," Fury warned them both. Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and walked away.

"Do you ever get the feeling that he wasn't hugged as a child?" Brice asked casually. Where before he looked worried and horrified, he had smoothed out his expression in the past few seconds.

Steve snorted. It seemed to be a requirement to be part of their group, not counting him.

"Let's get some lunch and talk, back at the tower," Bruce suggested.

It was a good one, and not just because Steve was hungry. "Not much time for talking, but you can keep me company while I paint," he offered.

"Important?" Bruce questioned as they walked to the elevators.

"The Stark charity thing is coming up and I agreed to paint something for the auction," Steve explained, grateful that they were alone in the elevator. Lately people had been fairly low on his list of favorite things. Since the battle, actually.

"Any chance you'll tell me what you're painting?" Bruce asked, lips tilted slightly up.

The elevator dinged as they arrived on the level with the garages. Walking out, Steve grinned. "Not when you can see it for yourself," he said cheerfully, "Need a ride?"

Nervously, Bruce nodded. "I took the bus," he said, glancing around.

"I've got a spare helmet," Steve told him, and led the way to his bike.

Surprisingly, Bruce was a very good passenger. None of this sitting straight up stuff. If anything he was more comfortable on one than any other time Steve had seen him, hands not even gripping Steve but resting on his own thighs as they wove through traffic.

Once in the Stark Tower garage, Steve took off his helmet and shook his hair out. "How did you learn to ride so well?" he asked conversationally as he settled both helmets on the bike. It had been a birthday gift from Tony last year, a 1940's Harley Indian rebuilt from the ground up.

The smile Bruce gave him was wry. "I spent most of my time since the accident in developing countries," he replied.

That was admittedly answer enough.

It was quiet between the two as they walked to the elevators and then rode upward. On the floor that Tony had set aside for himself and Steve, they got out and wandered over to what had been essentially turned into an art studio.

Paint, canvases, charcoals, and other supplies were strewn everywhere in organized chaos. Steve knew exactly where everything was, but everyone else who had seen the room was immediately lost. Admittedly he liked it that way. His numerous sketches of Tony were more easily hidden.

In the center of the room, an easel was covered with a white cloth. Undoubtedly Tony had peeked, but it wasn't to keep him out. Just to keep the lights from affecting the paint before he was even finished.

When he unveiled the canvas, it was with a flourish. Nerves crowded his stomach as he waited for the verdict.

Mouth hanging slightly open, Bruce's wide eyes darted this way and that. He reached out to touch, but caught himself at the last second. "Is that…?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Steve confirmed. He glanced at the canvas and smiled fondly.

"I can't believe… This is amazing. Is it the only one?" Bruce asked. He was finally able to tear his eyes from the work to look at its creator.

Steve bobbed his head from side to side. "Part of a set," he explained. He picked up his apron and shrugged it on before gathering his supplies to continue.

"Set?" Bruce parroted. He took a few steps back and found himself leaning on a table piled high with supplies. There wasn't exactly a chair around here.

That should probably be corrected soon, Steve thought as he decided where to continue the piece. "The first one was an acknowledgement of my feelings and then I couldn't resist another version. After that all this happened and it just keeps growing," he explained as he began dabbing at the canvas.

"How did you get away with lying back there?" Bruce unexpectedly asked. It seemed like he had been itching to know for some time now.

Steve smiled laconically. "One of the blessings of my current situation. Heart rate, skin temperature, sweat production, I can control all of it and more," he said, "I got in some practice when I realized I had to pretend to not be completely lovesick. It's serving me pretty well."

As Bruce agreed, he watched the smooth movements of brush against canvas. "Is it really necessary though?" he asked. The pity in his eyes was difficult to deal with.

"He'd implied that nothing happened before March, 1943 so I have to stick to that," he reported stoically, "I'm not willing to risk the best thing that's ever happened to me, Bruce." It was one reason he had turned Loki down. To impress that on the scientist, he gave him a stern look.

It seemed that Bruce got it. "I get that. And I won't tell. But Nat was able to dig up a file on your last mission with Starosta," he warned.

The idea of some of the few people he wanted to make a good impression on knowing about his loss of control was more than a little embarrassing. Despite that Steve knew it would happen again in just a couple of years. "Roger that," he answered grimly.

"I should probably go. Just watch out. We all noticed how alike he and Tony look, and she's going to dig more," Bruce finished.

Steve waited until the door closed behind his coconspirator to sigh. Keeping secrets wasn't his forte. He hated that he was unable to be honest with people he truly respected. How had Tony done it?

They only had a couple more years to go, he determined. He would rather it be a couple more decades, but he'd take what he could get. Time with Tony was his most precious commodity right now.

He kept right on painting.


The only reason Clint wasn't startled when Bruce brushed by him was because he had seen the man enter the room. It was just out of the corner of his eye, but still. He took pride in seeing close enough to everything.

The note that was left on the table stood out against the dark glass. He casually laid his arm over it. When he finished his sandwich and went to out the plate in the sink, it was gone.

In the privacy of the bathroom, the only place cameras could be generally guaranteed to not exist, Clint opened the slip of paper. He read through it and swore, then did so again just to make sure he read it right the first time.

On the other side of the door, Tony called, "Did your dick shrink into nonexistence when you weren't looking, bird brain?"

Rolling his eyes, Clint yelled back, "You wish!" He immediately turned his attention back to the note and made a mental note to tell Nat. Then he disposed of it the only way he could right now that he knew for sure it wouldn't be discovered.

As the paper got soggy in his mouth, then went down his throat, Clint reflected on the new information. It was important and implied some strange and terrifying things, considering the plans they had come up with a few days ago.

They'd have to take extra care with any scenarios that depended on poison. Or Steve telling the truth about anything. Not to mention outside the scope of those circumstances…

Clint automatically used the bathroom, deep in thought. A tactical brain was accounting for what he now knew even as he walked back into the common area and went back to his video game.

He can fool lie detector tests.