Author's Note: Wow the reception on this one has been awesome thank you so much I'm glad everyone is enjoying it! In this part we are meeting Steve and I didn't want to rehash two movies worth of stuff so here's sort of the condensed down bit.

Many thanks to ravingbeauty for getting this beta'd for me! Enjoy!

That Had Such People

Part II - We know what we are, but not what we may be.

Malibu – 2010

He'd never thought it would hurt this much to die. His chest burned, his body ached. Christ, why did it have to hurt?

"Hold on, Mr. Rogers," a soothing voice whispered in the fevered darkness of his mind. How do you know me? he wants to ask, but the words stick in his raw throat.

"The world knows you, Mr. Rogers, and they too know who you are."

"Who are they?" he manages to croak.

"They call themselves the Ten Rings, and they wish you to make them weapons, Mr. Rogers."

"Steve, call me Steve."

"And I am Yinsen."

His chest ached all the time, a constant throb reminding him he was a prisoner. Each breath was agony, and the cave so cold and dark; he cradled the car battery close for warmth. He could fix this; he was sure he could. He was Steve fucking Rogers – he could fix anything.

Anything but his relationship with father…

"What is that?"

"It's a miniature arc reactor. I have a big one powering my factory at home. It should keep the shrapnel out of my heart."

The curious man gently touched the pulsing blue glow, "What does it generate?"

"If my math is right, and it always is, three gigajoules per second."

Impressed, Yinsen looked at him over his glasses, "That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes…"

Normally cold features pulled into a half grin, "Yeah, or something bigger for fifteen minutes."

He could do this. He could get them out. He just needed to stick to the plan.

He could have saved them. Why didn't he stick to the plan?

"We were supposed to get out together. There was a plan."

"It's ok, Steve. I'm going to see my family." Yinsen smiled softly, his eyes misty and far away, "Don't waste it, don't waste your life…"

That hot, endless ache burned in his chest; he almost wished he had died.

Steve woke with a start, that constant ache flaring to life with a vengeance.

Moaning softly, he straightened as his back protested his choice of sleeping position. Blearily he glanced around the darkened lab, at the holo screen flickering dimly nearby, telling him things he already knew.

"Steve, you down here?" a familiar and unwelcome voice called.

Shifting, Steve grunted as fire lanced across his front. "Here," he choked out as he stumbled from the car; he needed to change the core.

Suddenly warm hands were on his shoulders, "You ok, man?"

Steve pulled away, shaking his head, "Fine, Bucky. I'm fine."

His life-long friend frowned, "You don't look fine."

Slumping against the console, Steve reached under his shirt and snapped out the reactor with a pained groan. Holding up the thing keeping him alive, he listlessly examined the smoking core.

"Jesus, Steve, you had that in your chest?"

Bucky sounded horrified, but Steve Rogers, former CEO of Rogers-Stark Industries, just gave his friend a twisted smile. With a few deft movements he popped in a new core and took a shuddering breath.

"Peggy's worried about you," Barnes tried. "Says you haven't been yourself lately. Giving a lot of things away."

"Not everything," he finally replied, accepting the smoothie DUM-E brought over.

"I'm worried about you, too," Bucky admitted, dark eyes taking in everything about his friend – from his unnatural pallor and slumped posture to his desolate eyes and the strange marks creeping up his neck.

"It's nothing, Bucky, really," he said, his tone bordering on defeated. He had survived Afghanistan and Stane, and now the one thing that had given him purpose, the one thing that gave him meaning… was killing him.

"Does this have anything to do with that high-tech crossword on your neck?" Bucky asked, pulling the collar of Steve's shirt lower, taking in the marks with worried eyes.

Steve pulled away. "Why can't you leave it?" he asked softly, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice.

They were silent for a few tense moments before the sergeant relented. Heaving a weary sigh, Bucky clapped his friend gently on the back, "We just want to help, Steve…"

Absently the blond patted the reassuring hand and Bucky gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Peg and I are upstairs," he offered as he turned to leave.

Eyes closing in anguish, Steve waited until he heard the lab door click before slumping forward to rest his head on the workbench. He knew they only wanted to help him. There were only two people in this entire world he'd allowed into his life, and now it was best if he just pushed them away.

He'd spent his life building walls around himself; he had been a businessman, cold and ruthless. A merchant of death, his empire had been built upon the blood legacy of Howard and his father. His personal assistant Miss Margaret Carter – Peggy – had always said he was workaholic.

He felt a bitter grin twist his lips; that was before.

Before Afghanistan, before his hardware, before he became Iron Man.

His life had changed in an instant. The weapons he'd been so proud of had been the ones killing innocent people. He'd been disgusted by his own naivety, and vowed to change it.

He'd been given a purpose in his life. For the first time he could stand to look at himself in the mirror. He was helping people, changing things for the better… He was changing for the better. Until the one thing keeping him alive began to kill him.

"JARVIS?"

The AI hesitated only a nanosecond before replying, "Blood toxicity at 83%, sir."

Steve Rogers, billionaire, genius, philanthropist...

Iron Man was running out of time.

-#-#-#-

"What do you want, Fury?" Steve asked tightly, staring at the one-eyed director of SHIELD. He'd never gotten on well with the man; they seemed to have a difference of opinion as to who and what Iron Man should be.

"You signed your company over to your girl, gave all your stuff away, and let your best friend steal your suit," the man said calmly, settling into the one of the few remaining chairs in his now destroyed mansion.

Steve clenched his jaw and sank into a chair across from him. As he ran a hand through already disheveled hair, the ache in his neck reminded him that the relief from the hot, fevered, agony of the poison slowly killing him was only temporary.

"What do you remember about your father? About his friend Howard Stark?" Fury continued, looking completely unconcerned about the destruction around him.

Steve snorted, face falling into his usual cool mask. "Howard I barely remember; he died when I was about six or seven. And dad… dad was a cold man. Don't think he even liked me. Sent me off to boarding school as soon as he could."

Nick gave him a half grin, "That's not true. Howard Stark and Joseph Rogers were founding members of SHIELD. Howard and your father were working on that unfinished tech of yours."

"Unfinished until I miniaturized it and put in my chest," Steve stated flatly.

"No," Fury cut in, his tone one would use with a small child. "Unfinished. Neither was able to find a way to stabilize the reactor. After Howard died Joseph was able to develop something, but he said he was limited by the technology of his time."

Fury stood, eyes scanning the distant horizon as he clasped his arms behind his back. "He said it would start an energy race to rival the arms race, make that reactor in your factory look like an AA battery… And he left it unfinished."

The man in black turned to him then, pinning him with his single eye, "He had faith that you would be the one to make it work."

Steve felt his jaw drop, mouth working as he tried to come up with something to say. He always knew what to say; Peggy said it was one of his more annoying qualities.

"Well good luck, Rogers. I have bigger problems than you right now."

Disbelief and stunned realization warred in the genius's head as the Director of SHIELD strode away.

"Oh, and Rogers… if you live through this, and Vanko… we'll talk again."

Snorting, the blond looked down at his bare feet. If he lived through this… "Think I'll live just to spite him."

-#-#-#-

"Well, Mr. Rogers, here we are," Nick Fury said as he settled before the impeccably dressed man clicking away on his phone, designer sunglasses perched atop perfectly coiffed blond hair.

A small half grin crossed the handsome blond's face. "Indeed, Director Fury," he replied as he glanced up at the man, a brow arching in defiance. "Hoping that if the palladium didn't get me, Vanko would?"

The Director's tone was dry as dust. "You have no idea," he replied as he tossed a file onto the table, folding his arms casually across his chest.

A hand reached out and opened it curiously. "What is this?" he asked as his blue eyes scanned the words on the page.

"It's Agent Romanov's report," Fury said, his expression carefully neutral. "On whether or not you would be a good candidate for a little project I have in mind."

"Shallow, unstable, issues committing, textbook inferiority complex, father issues…" he trailed off, reading the rest quickly. "Iron Man approved for project, Steve Rogers denied." He looked up at the other man with a frown, "How does that work?"

Shrugging, Fury held the man's gaze, "It doesn't matter. What matters is we have decided not to bring Iron Man in on the project." He didn't miss the barely discernable flicker of disappointment in the blue eyes. "Instead, we'd like to ask you to consult."

Steve had no idea what to say, but he'd always been one to rally quickly. "I'm not sure you could afford me, Nick," he said smoothly, leaning back and trying to look flippant.

The Director uncrossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, "As hard as it may be for you to believe, Rogers, you are neither the only, nor the biggest pain in my ass."

"Damn, and I try so hard," Steve muttered sarcastically.

The head of SHIELD pressed on, "There are bigger things happening, Rogers – bigger than SHIELD, bigger than Iron Man. A day of reckoning is coming, and we're going to have to pick a side."

Fury gave him a long, probing look, "The question, Steve, is what side are you going to be on?"

-#-#-#-

New York – 2012

He woke slowly, feeling sluggish, as if he'd been sleeping for a very long time. He blinked, trying to bring the world into focus. Dark eyes panned the room as he painfully sat upright. Large hands briefly touched his chest, pulling at the tight t-shirt, listening to the mumble of the radio.

It felt wrong.

It all felt wrong.

Frowning, he glanced up as the door opened and a woman walked in. She wasn't right either.

"Captain Stark," she said, smiling at him. It was the practiced smile of someone who was trying very hard not to show how nervous they were.

"What's going on?" he asked, immediately moving off the bed, expanded to his full height of six foot two.

"It's ok, Captain," she tried to soothe, holding out her hands placatingly.

"No, it's not," he said, all but growling. "This is wrong, all wrong. You, this place, and that game," he pointed unseeing at the radio. "I was at that game."

The fear flickered in her eyes and Tony sprang into action. Dodging past her, he broke through the door and into some kind of building. Dark eyes widened as he spun in disbelief.

"Captain Stark! Get him!" voices yelled as the pounding of boots echoed down the hall.

They were coming for him; Tony needed to get out. Spinning, he ran with everything he had. His world narrowed to nothing except the need to get away. He dodged blurred figures and ran through more doors, never pausing until his bare feet connected with something hard.

Stuttering in his stride, he looked up and froze as he finally registered his surroundings. The world was all light, color, blurs, and the noise… his keen senses were suddenly overwhelmed. What was going on? His breathing labored as he gasped for air, lungs burning.

"At ease, solider," a voice called.

Blinking, Tony looked towards the source, realizing he was surrounded. Dark eyes darted, mapping escape routes, as he planned his attack… just as he always had.

"It's ok, Cap. You're ok. You've been asleep a long time."

The words took a long moment to register; Tony swallowed thickly against the bile wanting to rise in his throat.

"How long?" he managed, watching warily as the man approached.

"Seventy years, Cap," he replied gently, coming to parade rest before him.

There was a sudden terrible ringing in his ears. It was by will alone that the super solider remained upright as he again looked upwards at the harsh gleam of metal and lights. He choked down his horror.

"Are you ok, Cap?"

Feeling a little light-headed and more than a little heartsick, he turned back to the man, utterly lost.

"Yeah, I just… had a date."