Steve was in the middle of somewhere that Charlotte couldn't know about (not that she particularly cared to know; knowing meant that her worries would be cemented to the reality of a place, and she wouldn't be able to cope with that), and she didn't know what to do with herself. She'd been working, studying, volunteering, and then working some more since she could remember, so being a recent graduate, with no job and having quit her recent one for her impending move to Washington D.C., Charlotte felt bored, almost anxious in her idleness.

No, idleness was not the word. She'd been doing things. She'd started packing some of her things, though she was holding out her hope for Steve arriving back from Somewhere soon enough so that he would do the heavy lifting. Charlotte was no damsel in distress, but she was also not a martyr. If Steve insisted that he wanted to help her with her things, then so be it. Plus, it was more time spent with her dork of a boyfriend, so Charlotte couldn't complain too much.

She had also been baking. Charlotte hated cooking, something that her mother couldn't understand. Charlotte's mother, an aspiring chef once before she got pregnant with Charlotte and married her high school sweetheart in a shot gun wedding, loved cooking. Naturally she had expected Charlotte to join her in the kitchen to pass down her cooking skills, yet Charlotte had refused early on. She supposed it had been unconscious at first, but if Charlotte had been honest with herself, her reasons as she had gotten older had taken a more feminist twist. She'd see her mother cook for 800 elementary school children every day, and then come home to prepare them a meal as well every single day. She would see how her mother would go thrift shopping for new kitchen supplies when she could, and would photocopy recipe books from the library to imitate the cooking in her own home. And she would see the frustration in her mother and the longing in her eyes when she'd watch those cooking shows she loved.

And Charlotte did not want that for herself. So she'd refused all her childhood and even on the rare holiday she'd go back home to actually go near the kitchen unless she was a willing participant and at least one of her brothers was in there too. Because while Charlotte loved and admired her mother, Charlotte didn't want to live with a deep set longing in her eyes, even when she talked about how much she loved being a mother and a working woman and homemaker.

The kitchen, to Charlotte, meant broken dreams, and longing, and everything her mother missed out on when she'd gotten pregnant, so Charlotte would stay far away from it if she could.

Unless she was baking. Baking was the exception, Charlotte told herself, because one couldn't possible nourish and feed a family on cookies and cakes. So baking was a skill that didn't scream homemaking in her eyes, so Charlotte would bake. Steve, for his part, didn't seem particularly bothered by her baking, eating anything she'd put in front of him, only questioning whether she knew the oven was connected to a stove for actual cooking once when he'd come over for dinner at her place and she'd presented him with a loaf of bread, and Chinese take-out.

She'd raised an eyebrow at him, and he'd blushed and stammered that he didn't mean it like that, that he could care less if she cooked; he was just curious. So she'd told him she wasn't her mother, as if that explained everything, and Steve raised his own eyebrow at her, but didn't ask again. And later, months after that, she'd told him all about her fear of the kitchen when he'd had a nightmare, and they were both on the floor of his room at Stark Tower, and he'd looked at her, told her he'd eat cooking and cakes and loafs of bread and take-out for the rest of his life if it meant she was happy. And looking into his earnest blue eyes, still a bit hazy with that thousand-yard stare he'd sometimes get in the middle of the night when it was just the two of them, she'd cried because, a small part of her, the one that told her she was too young to be so in love, and way over her head with the whole marriage thing, had been afraid that he'd expected a perfect wife. One that cooked.

And that was that. She continued baking, and Steve had begun cooking for her whenever they had a night in. And the kitchen was becoming less scary now, with Steve manning most of the things they cooked, and she would bake bread from scratch for them, and take over chopping ingredients sometimes when Steve would begin cursing under his breath (and curse, did he) when (not if) the food would begin to burn.

But she digressed. It was late August, she wasn't in law school, she'd baked enough to give diabetes to a small army, and Charlotte was bored.

Just as she was contemplating on baking another pie to go along with the three other ones she had cooling by the window, next to the chocolate chip cookies, her phone vibrated against her back pocket signaling a text message. She opened the message with some difficulty (the cracked screen, and the slow processor didn't help any) but huffed out a laugh when she saw the contents.

It was a picture text from none other than Tony Stark (and no, she still couldn't believe she had his number, much less that the man casually texted her from time to time) which depicted a half melted Starbucks cup of iced coffee with the caption, "bears no resemblance to your iced Americano," and a slew of emoticons that she could not begin to discern, including rocket ships, fire, and the dancing lady.

MINE'S A LOT BLONDER, AND MUCH MORE DELICIOUS-CO

EW-TS

Charlotte laughed again at his rapid response before she asked him if he wanted diabetes, and if so, she was on her way to the tower.

And that's how Charlotte found herself sitting next to Tony Stark on the terrace of his tower in New York City, a plate of cookies, an apple pie, and a cooler full of fancy imported beers in between them as they sunbathed.

Tony popped open two bottles of beer before passing one towards her, which she took with a hum of appreciation. It was their fifth, and while Charlotte was no light weight, she was a bit too relaxed. Tony was well on his way too, although she suspected he'd started way before she'd arrived.

"I don't get it." Tony said after a while, both leaning back on the white leather recliners they'd dragged out into the terrace.

"That's scary," Charlotte agreed with a grin, as if she knew what he was saying, and Tony snorted in amusement.

"I mean, you've got your whole youth in front of you, and somehow you're sticking with the 96-year-old man who wants the marriage and the family and the monotonous life of the suburbs." Tony said. "I just-I don't get it."

"I love him." Charlotte responded, and she could practically feel Tony roll his eyes.

"I've had t-shirts for longer than you two have been together, and I still can't quite commit myself to wear them for the rest of my life."

Charlotte took a swing of her beer, a bite out of a cookie, and turned to give him a deadpan look. "Please tell me you're not comparing my relationship to your t-shirt taste. Also, you're old. Of course your t-shirts are older than our relationship. Probably older than me." And she grinned because, sure, it was a bit rude, she knew, but she'd learned fast enough that one had to hit Tony just as hard or he'd walk all over you.

"Rude." Tony muttered around a cookie.

Charlotte smiled, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The day was nice, a bit too chilly for her, but after living most of her life in the hell summers of Arizona, everything seemed too cold for her so she wasn't complaining.

The sat in silence for a bit more, Tony seeming to have given up on the subject.

"The sex is great," Charlotte eventually muttered, and Tony hummed as if in agreement.

"Did the serum enhance everything?" Tony asked, before quickly adding over Charlotte's laughter, "Purely scientific. That was a purely scientific question."

"You'd have to ask him. Didn't know him before the six pack." She answered diplomatically, laughter still in her answer. "But I'd imagine-"

"Stop. We're not going there."

"You asked!" She protested, still laughing lightly, but thanking him briefly when he handed her another bottle.

More peaceful silence as the city bustled below them.

"We're not doing the family and suburbs thing, by the way." Charlotte felt compelled to tell him this.

"What? No 2.5 kids, dog and picket fence?" And Tony sounded more curious than condescending, so Charlotte answered honestly.

"Well, if you must know-and you really don't-I don't think we'll be doing the kids' thing for a long time. If at all. I'm not the kid type of person and…well, even if we were, we're not even sure we can or should have any."

And that was true. Steve had fears, and Charlotte understood. Because he'd been small and sickly, and then been injected with God-knows what, and then frozen, and who knew what kind of things that led to. He'd been honest with her when they'd talked about their future together and Charlotte had asked him if he wanted kids at all (half afraid that his answer would be yes, if she was being honest). So the truth had come out that Steve was afraid that any kid they would have would be like him before the serum, and if they weren't, that was even more scary, Steve had told her, because that kid's blood would be valuable, far too valuable, and Steve could never see himself justifying bringing a baby into a world where people would want him or her solely because of their blood.

And Charlotte had listened as he spewed his fears while they laid in bed that night, until he'd finished before she told him she didn't want, didn't need any children, and drew him closer, his head between her breasts as she stroked his hair. He had been sad, she could tell, and while she had never really thought about having children at all, she was sad all the same because her Steve had wanted some at one point; and he deserved them, more than anyone else in this world. Sure, she was biased because if she were asked, she'd always answer that Steve deserved all the happiness in the world and then some, but all the same, it had been a sad night for both of them.

But Tony didn't need to know all this. Charlotte knew he'd catch on, though, because the man wasn't called a genius for nothing, and really, people underestimated him when it came to feelings. The man was compassionate in his own weird way (mostly by throwing money at the situation, or threatening, but who was she to judge), and Charlotte would be the first one to say it was a disappointing that not many people saw this.

"There are doctors-" Tony began after a brief silence, but Charlotte cut him off.

"We're fine. Maybe one day, in the very distant future-like flying cars kindda future-I'll feel sad about it, and Steve will want a kid to finger paint with, and we'll think about it. Not right now, though." Some more silence, "Also, I should stop drinking. It's borderline disgusting how emotional this is getting."

"Downright vomit inducing," Tony agreed with a nod. "Seriously though…I can find some doctors whenever you guys say so. Shouldn't be too hard, really. And if that doesn't yield anything, there's other ways-"

"Where you not just questioning my life choices twenty minutes ago?" Charlotte cut him off before the man rambled on like he tended to do. If there was something the little interactions with Pepper Potts taught her, it was that a Tony train of thought needed to be cut off efficiently and in a timely manner if she wanted to hear the end of it.

Tony shrugged. "I've changed my mind. I had an epiphany in which there are little Capsicles running around throwing frisbees and saying 'please' and 'thank you' for everything. Maybe helping old ladies cross the street. I want to live to see that." Tony turned to look at her and she raised her eyebrows in amusement but didn't comment. "Also, I call dibs on naming your first child. It's going to be a boy and his name will be glorious. Something like Anthony. Tony for short."

Charlotte laughed loudly. Setting her beer bottle on the ground so she wouldn't spill it all over herself. "And if it's a girl?"

"Antonia. Toni with an 'i' for short." And the genius was smiling that little smirk that Charlotte had never seen in any public magazine. It was carefree and genuine and amused all at the same time, and Charlotte was struck with the realization that Tony was her friend, even if they'd only known each other for very little and she was sure he didn't see her as one. So she smiled at him before she said, "I'm gonna miss you in D.C., Tony."

They made eye contact for a bit before he made a grab for her beer bottle on the ground. "That's it. You're officially cut off." He gave her a mock sneer. "You disgust me."

Before she could respond, her phone went off in her lap. She picked it up, briefly smiling when Steve's picture popped on the screen.

"Thank you for calling your New York Piggly Wiggly. You catch 'em, we fry 'em. How may I help you?" She picked up, smiling at the confused "uh…" on the other side of the line.

Tony cackled next to her, handing her another beer bottle.

"Just kidding. This is obviously Beyoncé." And Charlotte grinned when Tony continued chuckling.

"Ok. You're a bit drunk." Steve intoned, but he sounded amused to Charlotte so she hummed in agreement.

"Not that much. Just a little bit. You back in the states? Alive? All four limbs?"

"You mean five?" Tony asked beside her with an evil grin and Charlotte gave him a disgusted look that bordered on amused.

"Is that Stark?"

"Yes." Charlotte answered at the same time Tony leaned over to say, "No. It's Brian Johnson."

"Right. I'll be at the tower in an hour or so. Unless you two are at a bar…?"

"Nope. At the tower with fancy imported beer that tastes like urine a little. It's supposed to be the good stuff, though, so who's my poor man's palate to judge?"

Steve chuckled. "I'll pick up pizza?"

"I knew there was a reason I kept you."

They hung up then and silence fell between the pair again before Tony spoke up.

"It's astonishing how utterly normal you are. Literally, nothing on your record." He turned to give her a grave look. "I looked you up."

Charlotte rolled her eyes because it wasn't at all surprising. She knew SHIELD knew all about her, Tony Stark knowing so too wouldn't be surprising at all. Totally expected, at that point.

"You found nothing because there is nothing. I've literally just worked and gone to school for what seems to feel like my whole life. No time of stupid decisions."

"Wowsie." Tony said, an exaggerated lilt in his tone. "Isn't suburbia supposed to be the perfect hub for debauchery and drugs?"

"I didn't know you grew up in suburbia!"

"Touché." They leaned over and touched their bottles.

Steve arrived an hour later with three pizza boxes in one hand, and a 24 pack of water under his other arm. He set the things down on the coffee table Tony had dragged earlier for Charlotte to set her desserts in, and went in to lean down and kiss Charlotte.

"Hey." He whispered against her lips.

"Hey yourself." She whispered back, dragging him in for a deeper kiss. She could vaguely hear Tony gag in the background, so she stuck her hand out and flipped him the bird.

Steve pulled away with a slight frown though, and before Charlotte could say anything, he said, "You taste like piss."

Tony snorted in laughter in the background, and Charlotte responded, "I'm more worried about the fact that you know what piss tastes like." Steve rolled his eyes, but kissed her temple before reaching for one of the pizza boxes. He sat down at the arm of her recliner, handing her a slice before he grabbed one himself. "Besides," Charlotte added, "you've kissed me with tuna breath before with only minor complaining in my part, so we're totally even."

"You two disgust me." Tony interject with a sneer with more amusement than malice behind it, one of the pizza boxes in his lap already, and a new bottle of beer in his hand. "Seriously. It's not even sweet. Just disgusting."

"Aw." Charlotte dragged on with a sarcastic tone, and Steve chuckled, rearranging himself so that he sat in the recliner, with Charlotte between his legs. "Relationship goals?" Charlotte turned and asked Steve.

He grinned, a twinkle in those baby blues of him, and Charlotte was struck with how much she truly loved him. "Total relationship goals."