The door buzzed as Steve slid his key card over the scanner. He took familiar steps through sterile halls as the people around him bustled, hands full of papers, files, and the occasional scientist's vial of corrosive mystery substance. He was running late, and Fury was going to tan his hide after he realized that one of his top agents – who, by the way, was never late – was not in fact dead or dying at the hands of some terrorist and was, rather, just running late for everyday reasons.

Well for other people, they would be considered everyday reasons. Steve, however, had never before been late on account of spending an extra slice of the clock this morning getting ready for his date, at noon, with one of the most beautiful men he'd ever laid eyes on. He entered the conference room working hard to smother his giddy smile.

"The fuck took you so long, Captain?"

Steve tried not to blanch, glancing at the clock above Colonel Fury's head. Two minutes late. Oh lord, he was in for it.

He stood tall. "I apologize, Colonel. It won't happen again."

His boss's single uncovered eye fixed him with a glare that could peel paint off cars in the SHIELD garage five floors down. Steve resolutely did not gulp. Finally, Fury gave a grudging nod.

"Damn right it won't. Take a seat."

He hurried to do so, tucking in next to Romanov. The redhead shot him a subtle look that clearly read "Where the fuck you been?" to people who knew her well. He shook his head at her, then turned his attention back to Fury.

"Coulson, report on Japan."

Agent Phil Coulson was a thin haired, middle-aged man with a deceptively genial face. His voice might have been even more unassuming, putting people at ease when, for all intents and purposes, he was the last person you should ever feel comfortable around. He could probably snap necks with his toes.

"The operation was a success. The asset maintained his cover despite attempts to reveal or make him. Oyakata is still alive – the asset, as planned, disobeyed orders and refused to assassinate him."

Steve had no clue what had happened in Japan, or who Coulson's asset was – it was customary, SHIELD's top agents reporting directly to Fury about the most high-risk (and accordingly most thoroughly classified) operations, all in each other's presence. It was the golden rule of SHIELD in general, but especially of the agents in this room: thou shalt not ask about each other's missions. And no one in this room had gotten this far because they took SHIELD policy lightly.

"Asset yet unaware we've got eyes on him?"

"He has no idea, sir."

"Barton, report on New Mexico."

And it went on like this, with a bored-looking Clint explaining the highlights of what sounded like an incredibly bizarre operation. Steve couldn't really focus; every time he blinked, intelligent brown eyes pierced into him with that knowing look. He wanted to make Tony laugh, to see him smile. He could only hope that he wouldn't make a fool of himself at lunch today; he could feel himself getting tongue-tied and stupid now just thinking about him.

"Romanov, report on Morocco."

"Target neutralized. No witnesses. The body will be found in the Dades River on Thursday." Steve blinked.

"How did you time that?"

The Golden Rule might have seemed an inch from being broken, but everyone in the room knew what this was. Natasha had worked in the field longer than any of them, and Steve sort of saw her as a mentor – a terrifying, homicidal mentor. She looked at him.

"I tied the body down with salt weights. Slow dissolving. In forty-eight hours the corpse will be weight-free."

Steve nodded, and turned his attention back to the front.

"Rogers, report."

Target neutralized. One witness, a henchman, also neutralized. Henchman's body was moved to the fourth floor of the building to prevent any forensics backtracking, otherwise untampered with the room, obviously left spotless and wiped clean. I threw the target's body in a drainage ditch five miles out after dislodging my bullet from the target's head."

Fury looked almost impressed, but it looked sarcastic on his face. "Thorough."

"Only for you, sir."

Clint snorted, slipping him a grin from across the table.

There was a soft knock at the entrance, and an agent with an immaculate, newly-pressed suit and tie peeked in through the crack in the door.

"U-um, Director Fury?" He spoke softly and his voice wavered.

Fury shifted his glare, currently customized for one Agent Rogers, onto the nervous man.

"There – there's been a situation, sir?"

"Is that a question?"

The agent's face turned beet-red, and he stared down at his polished shoes. He pushed thick glasses up his nose, and Steve sort of felt terrible for him.

"N-no sir, there has been a situation with the servers, sir." His voice was practically a whisper by the end of his sentence.

Fury's, on the other hand, was deadly. "What kinda situation are we talking about here?"

The agent, looking ready to bolt (or flee the country, which'd be slightly more effective in evading Fury's, well, fury) ducked his head low like he was steeling himself.

"We've. Been hacked."

Steve had worked under SHIELD over seven years now. Of all the horrific and bizarre things he'd seen and done, he couldn't recall ever having heard a sentence like that come out of a SHIELD agent's mouth. Now he saw where the guy's terror was coming from.

Fury seemed almost as caught off guard, staring at the man (who was actually shaking with fear) by the door.

"Excuse me?"

"I – yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, SHIELD has been hacked. We have been so far unable to trace the location of the hacker, and they bypassed our firewalls in less than four minutes."

Natasha was frowning. "That doesn't make sense, no one has ever made themselves untraceable."

The agent looked at Natasha like she'd just offered him free poison-free lunch. "That's what we've been trying to understand as well."

Fury stood. "I want all hands on deck. If you know how to hack, you're on this motherfucker. Romanov, you're with me. The rest of you, fuck off for the day. We need to focus on this."

With that, he stormed out of the conference room, the trembling junior agent and an unruffled Natasha in his wake.

Steve blinked.

"What…the fuck."

"Classy, Barton."

"C'mon Hill, you can't tell me you've seen this shit before."

Hill was one of those frighteningly competent people who, fortunately, hadn't set their minds to world domination or genocide or something equally awful, because they could probably get it done in a number of hours. Her every word and movement spoke of a half-casual, probably subconscious efficiency that he'd never seen in anyone else, not even Coulson. Steve had never talked to her outside of work; on principle, she seemed to shirk human interaction unless it was streamlined through work or missions. Steve looked across the table at her now, and admittedly his heart gave a fearful little stutter when he saw that Maria Hill had taken some time to look unnerved.

"So this is serious, huh?"

Clint snorted, his unease betrayed in tiny ways despite casually leaning back in his chair. "Bit of an understatement, Captain. Whoever this hacker is – when SHIELD tracks them down they'll either be chopped into small pieces and burned for good measure…or they'll be recruited and brought over to our side. No one's ever done this before."

Coulson rose from his seat. "Well you heard Fury, everyone, we need to leave the premises for the day. And it's barely ten a.m., let's take this as a good thing."

Clint got up with an exaggerated groan. "Yeah, doubt SHIELD will implode without my archery assisting the code repair."

Steve followed the three out the door, weaving in and out of panicked intel operatives and folding themselves into the elevator. Coulson and Hill got off on different floors, and suddenly Clint was facing him with a skeptical brow.

"So. Who's got you so happy today?"

"What?"

"You were audibly sighing during the entire meeting."

"I was not."

"Audibly."

Steve tried not to smile at the reminder. He had less than two hours now.

Clint pointed like a bratty little kid. "See! You just did it again. What, you got a date or something?"

Steve said nothing.

"Oh, so you do. When?"

"Noon today."

"What's she like?"

Steve looked at him sideways. "He's an MIT graduate I met at a coffee shop a few nights ago."

Underneath his sarcasm and generally laid-back attitude, Clint Barton had an exceptionally high level of training, probably the highest aside from Romanov. So Steve knew how much Clint's expression of surprise was intentional – for Steve more so than for himself.

"Huh, didn't know that about you. What's he look like?"

"He's –" Steve looked past Clint, biting back a smile. "He's got black hair and brown eyes."

Clint smirked. "You've got something on your face Rogers, it looks…" He made a show of squinting at him. "Looks like emotion, get that shit off before Fury sees."

Steve smiled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, the garage welcoming them on the other side. The both walked out and Clint punched his shoulder.

"But really, it's gonna go great I'm sure, stop worrying."

Steve mock glared at him, and saw Clint's sly grin.

"I never said I was nervous."

Clint tapped his head. "Spy, remember? Get with it, Steve." He started walking away, presumably in the direction of his car.

Steve chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Barton."

Clint didn't look back. "Wanna hear the full report tomorrow, Rogers!"

A smile slipped onto his face as he turned and walked to his car. He pulled his phone out, and typed in the number Tony had given him right before they'd parted ways the other night.

Hi Tony, work got out early so I was wondering, would you like to meet up before noon? Steve.

His phone buzzed with a response in seconds, and his stomach did a happy flip.

Eager are we? Sure thing muscles, let me finish up here then I'll come get you

Steve's grin was so wide it was probably medically unhealthy for his face. Where is here?

Again, the response was almost instant. If I told you, I'd have to kill you.

Steve shook his head. He opened his driver's side door and climbed in.

Bucky had almost broken down Steve's front door when he finally showed up, ice cream and liquor at the ready as promised. He'd pinned Steve with this look, this – god, it was like Bucky knew everything but he didn't, he really didn't understand this one. And Steve told him that, a little bit petulantly, five shots and two bowls of mint choco chip later.

"You don't – Bucky I know you think you get it, man, but. You don't, so."

"Okay, Stevie."

"No, I'm serious though. This whole thing, it's just…so messed up."

Bucky leaned back further into Steve's old coach, the leather groaning and the TV blaring some rerun neither were really watching. He held out the Jack, liquid inside splashing against the glass, and Steve took it.

"Whadaya mean? You haven't told me much about what's goin' on here."

Steve shook his head, leaning forward to poor a shot into the glass on the coffee table. "I can't really, it's – it's classified."

He felt rather than saw Bucky hold back an eye-roll. They'd grown up together, him and Buck, and they'd enlisted together. But the years went on, and Steve fell deeper and deeper in with the military-types while Bucky got a taste and got the hell out when he could. He'd never fully approved of Steve's decision to work for SHIELD, even after having all these years to get used to the idea.

"Alright, well what can you tell me? You were in deep for this guy, and I actually liked him. What happened?"

Steve sighed, tossing back another shot. His world felt loose and light and he was still miserable. He sort of wanted to cry. His voice came out scratchy, and he told himself it was because of the whiskey.

"I was…keeping secrets from him, ya know, about what it is that I do."

Bucky shifted a bit. "So – what, he found out about your job at SHIELD, and bailed? I mean that's…understandable on his part, Steve, you can't hold that against him."

Steve shook his head. "No no, I wish that was it…like I said it's classified, but that's at least a big part of it. I fucked up, Buck, I didn't do right by him." His vision blurred, and he sniffed a little.

Groaning leather let him know Bucky had leaned forward, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Nah man, come on. Is there…anything you can do, to repay him or somethin'?"

Steve shook his head, closing his eyes. "No. He's never coming back." His voice cracked and he bowed his head low.

And it was true, wasn't it? It was like a hole opened up somewhere deep inside him – it felt like Tony was dead. He was never going to see him again – he would never get to talk to him, or make him laugh, or listen to him rant about the molecular intricacies of robotics engineering at 4AM when he couldn't sleep. And it hurt all the more because Steve couldn't talk about what he'd lost when Tony had walked out that door. "We broke up" didn't cut it. Tony was gone, and he would never see him or hear about him ever again.

He let out a sigh that threatened to turn itself into a sob, and his hand tightened dangerously around the shot glass. He heard Bucky stand.

"Alright, gimme that –" Bucky snatched the glass away, refilling it and shoving it back into Steve's hand, along with his half-finished bowl of ice cream. "Enough of this brooding bullshit, you don't need that right now. Drink your alcohol and eat your dessert."

Steve looked at him blearily, his sharp brown eyes and overgrown hair. "You're always babysittin' me."

Bucky nodded without missing a beat. "Damn straight, Stevie. Who else's gonna do it?"

Steve looked down, considering the question a little too seriously. "Well no one, I guess."

Buck nodded in what Steve supposed was a rather self-satisfied manner. "You may not be the twerp you were when we were kids, but you still need someone watching your back. You've nursed me back to emotional health after messy breakups, so now I'm doin' the same for you."

Steve nodded, content with that response, and felt his eyes drifting shut against his will. He suspected almost-crying took a lot out of somebody, and the whiskey wasn't exactly hyping him up either. He was feeling better though – in an artificial, self-medicated sort of way if he had to guess, but at least for right now he didn't feel like his heart was getting ripped out his chest.

He roused a little (when had he drifted off?) when Bucky spoke, his voice strangely hesitant. "Hey Steve – I know you said it's classified, but I – I really liked Tony, man, and I sorta gotta know…did you – I dunno. Were you like. Assigned to, arrest him or, or kill him or something? Was he a target of yours?"

Steve was three-quarters asleep at this point, but the SHIELD golden rule (thou shalt not ask about each other's missions) stayed hard and true, a blaring neon sign in his otherwise cloudy, heartbroken and intoxicated brain. He sighed, eyes closing.

"Classified."

And he fell asleep.

I'm here

Steve's heart leapt up to his throat. He took a deep breath and wasted no time getting the hell out of his apartment, grabbing his wallet and a jacket on the way out the door. He climbed down the steps and found himself in front of a nondescript black Toyota, engine rumbling. He bent down to peer into the passenger side window, sure Tony was the driver but bracing himself in case he had the wrong car and was creeping out a random stranger.

But no. Inside, there was Tony, staring back at him with a growing smile. It was reassuring somehow, as if deep down Steve had worried that Tony was something his subconscious had made up. No part of him could ever fabricate that look Tony had in his eyes right now, visible even through the dark tint of the glass.

He pulled the door open and folded himself in, turned to the driver and smiling.

"Hey." Tony was looking back at him with a smirk.

"Hey yourself." His voice did things to Steve's composure. Tony had on a tight Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and it probably would've looked sloppy on anyone else. But the man oozed charisma and some sort of easy class that pulled it off and dressed it up somehow. Tony leaned back in the driver's seat, wrist draped over the wheel, and he was looking Steve up and down in obvious appreciation.

"Wow. So, you look nice." Steve laughed at his tone.

"You do as well, Tony." Tony shrugged.

"I thought we were gonna do something simple like hotdogs in the park, but I don't think it makes much sense for you to eat anything but fine dining, looking the way you do. It's just a waste of proper aesthetics when you think about it, your face-body combination would far surpass the décor they've got going on at most of those joints. I wanna put flowers in your hair or something."

Steve laughed. "Flowers in my hair?"

Tony's lips twitched up in a brief smile. "Okay so maybe I didn't think that one through. I tried to think of something I could do to you in public that would convey my appreciation for your good looks without getting me arrested."

He smiled and did not let his imagination run wild at that comment. "So where would you like to eat lunch, then, if street vendors and five-star restaurants are off the list? Because yes, five-star restaurants are off the list."

Tony pouted. "Fine. Well, you tell me. I'm not from here."

Steve cocked his head. "Where are you from?"

Tony shrugged in a way that hinted half-honesty at best. "California."

"Well in that case I'll run the show today – there's a great Italian place on 56th and 9th that I think you'll like, and it's close to the park."

"Italian for lunch?"

"Yes indeed."

"Alright, I dig it. We're doing this. Atlantic?"

"That'd be the quickest route, I think."

Tony pulled into the main road and settled in to the New York traffic like he'd spent every day of his life in this city. He weaved expertly through traffic, smoothly avoiding the worst of it and riding the waves of momentary fast lanes before they disappeared while eighties rock played softly through the speakers. Tony's hands were smaller than Steve's, but solid, like they worked with tools a lot. He tore his eyes away from them and looked out the front windshield instead.

"So if you were from California, what brought you to this neck of the woods?"

Tony glanced at him with a smirk, and then he focused on the road again. "Fresh start, really. I wanted a clean slate. California's a shitty place."

Steve laughed. "Not from what I've heard."

Tony changed lanes and grumbled, "yeah, well it's not for everyone. Pretty beaches, pretty people, sure, but then you've got the superficiality to watch out for. Not to mention the sunburns, god. What about you, always lived here?"

He nodded. "Born and raised."

Tony smiled in a way that seemed half-mocking, but also warm somehow. "I see. This is home then?"

"This – yeah." Steve smiled at him. "This is home."

"Favorite memory?"

Tony sounded playful and off-hand about it, but something in his voice said this was important. He wracked his brain for a particularly good one. "When I was fifteen. I was a really scrawny kid back then –"

"– yeah?" Tony's eyebrows were raised like he never would've guessed. Steve chuckled.

"Oh yeah, I didn't start looking like this until after I joined the service, they put me on diets and beefed me up and all that – but when I was fifteen, I was pretty small. And my best friend growing up, Bucky, he was bigger than me and he always loved getting into trouble. I never argued with him much about all the pranks, seeing as he saved my skinny ass in street fights more times'n I can count."

Tony laughed, and Steve repressed a delighted shiver.

"So one day, he had this brilliant idea, right? He comes up and says 'Steve, man, I think we gotta egg Mr. Bennett's house.' Mr. Bennett was that sorta stereotypical grouchy neighbor you always see in the movies? He was such a bitter old fuck."

This got another laugh as Tony switched lanes.

"Anyway so we grab our carton, do the shit stupid kids do, covered his whole house in eggs – I mean looking back on it now I feel kinda bad, but anyway – all of a sudden this huge dog wiggles through this hole under his backyard fence. Like, the crabby neighbor has an actual junkyard-style dog, and it was pissed like you wouldn't believe. Bucky and I ran off in different directions, but when Buck realized the dog had zeroed in on me he must've doubled back. He found me – dunno how, I was way down the black at this point – and I was basically backed into a corner, but he distracted the dog and we both managed to move around it. Then we flew, I don't think I've run that fast since. We didn't stop running until we hit my doorstep. We both stayed at my place that night, and every time it got too quiet we'd hear that fucking dog in our heads." He laughed a little. "I don't really know why that's my favorite memory, but it is. Maybe 'cause it shows Buck and I had that whole 'live together, die together' mentality long before we enlisted."

Tony's voice came out a little softer than before. "He was in the army with you?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah, got out around the same time as me too. God, that's a whole other batch of stories to tell, not all of them pretty of course. But he's – kind of always been around, you know?"

Tony hummed in a neutral sort of way, but he sounded interested. "How did the two of you become friends if he was the big tough guy and you were – I can only guess – the scrawny artistic type?" The amusement in his voice wasn't lost on Steve.

He smiled. "Because scrawny artistic me never backed down from fights, even if it meant I got my ass handed to me. I'm still not sure why, but that seemed to pique his interest. I was like a big guy in a little body."

Tony laughed at that, his smile big and warm. "So now the only difference is that your personality and your body match."

"I win all my fights now."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side. You're body's like a Greek god's, it'd be cool if I just got the sexy parts of that and not the vengeful parts."

Steve laughed. "Your chances are looking good so far."

Tony released a melodramatic sigh of relief, clutching at his chest. "Oh thank god for that. At least I can die happy."

The drive continued, and Steve found himself telling Tony about the military, his brief stint in college, random stories with Bucky – telling this man everything about himself seemed effortless for some reason. And every time he got Tony to smile, or to laugh, his insides heated up just a little more until he felt like he was full of helium. His brown eyes stayed pinned to the unpredictable New York streets for the most part, but Tony's side profile wasn't something he'd had the chance to appreciate that first night with him. His skin was a lovely light tan, and it made his dark hair and lashes stand out and wow, this man was beautiful.

Before he knew it they were pulling into the parking lot and climbing out. Steve walked around the car to Tony, who got up in his personal space and smiled up at him. Something warm pulled at Steve's stomach when he realized that Tony was considerably shorter than him, a good five inches at least. Tony was looking up through his lashes. Steve made a note to memorize this expression and commit it to paper later. Colored pencils, maybe? Charcoal?

Steve had always preferred not to kiss people until the end of the first date. It was polite, not to mention it was prudent to get to know someone a little before involving yourself that way, even in such an innocent sense as kissing. Over the years it became less of a personal preference and more of a rule. And Steve was very good at following rules. But Tony, he oozed rebellion and doing things his way. And Steve wasn't sure if he could hold out with Tony looking up at him like that.

Suddenly Tony's smile widened. "What you starin' at, muscles? I look good enough to eat, clearly, but the way you talked up this Italian joint –" He waved generally in the building's direction without breaking eye contact. Oh to hell with it, Steve thought.

"I mean this is world-class Yankee dining, and I don't know what to get here so you're gonna have to lead me along like a little kid – mmph –"

Steve yanked him forward and up and then Tony's lips were on his, warm and chapped and it was electric. Tony responded with great enthusiasm, grabbing onto the front of Steve's collared shirt and pulling him down with a little growl. Steve's hands went to the back of Tony's neck and around his waist as he slipped a tongue over Tony's lips, hungry for more contact.

It was leagues away from the soft, quiet, gentle first kiss his rules demanded. Steve mentally scrapped the whole goddamn thing.

Tony pulled back sooner than Steve would've liked, but the heat Tony pinned him with as he looked up was almost worth it.

"You're. Good at that."

Steve smiled at him a little breathlessly. It was only the first date and he already wanted Tony to look at him like that every day for the rest of his life. What was it about this man that drove Steve so crazy?

"What d'you say we go eat? Their linguini is to die for."

Tony leaned into him for one tiny, scorching moment before grinning wickedly and turning toward the front door.

"Hey, you're the one taking your sweet time. Not that I mind, but c'mon, we should be punctual here. Keep up, Rogers."

He walked into the restaurant, leaving Steve to catch up. He shook his head with a dazed grin and followed.

He got the feeling it wouldn't be long before he was willing to follow Tony everywhere.