Despite having worked with Natasha Romanov for a few years now, Steve sometimes still had trouble pinning her down. Every expression Natasha showed on her face, she deliberately put there – she was an emotional chameleon. Maybe it had something to do with being trained as a spy since before she hit puberty – where most kids got awkward first kisses and humiliating social experiences to define themselves, Natasha had gotten stuck with (or been blessed with?) a polished pistol aim and undercover assignments in foreign countries. Something about lying about her identity that young had made her a very slippery adult. Her real personality was hard to find on a good day.

And here she was, in all her catsuited glory when he showed up at work the morning after the best goddamned sex of his life, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked. He stopped short at her expression, suddenly worried he'd forgotten pants or something.

"What?"

Her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile. Her voice, around Steve at least, was usually a luxurious cross between bored and taunting. "Let me guess, you got some from the guy at the club."

Steve blushed, but his eyebrows furrowed all the same. "What club?"

She blinked slowly at him. "Nol Gradusof."

"Huh?"

"That very cold Russian night club. Surely you don't party so often that you forgot all that body paint?"

She was smirking, but Steve was a little bit freaked out. "You were there? I didn't see you."

She nodded. "I was following a target."

He snorted. "Is that code for getting drunk? There's no way you kept track of someone in that place without – you know – dancing on them."

Her smile was a slow, curling thing. "Is that what you were doing? You're an efficient assassin Steve, which target was the brunette?"

He smiled a little, looking down at his shoes. "Classified, Romanov."

That morning, he'd woken up to Tony buried into his side, sleeping peacefully for once. Steve had stretched, and the motion had made Tony scrunch his eyes open and smile blurrily at him. He hadn't been able to help himself when he'd wrapped his arms around Tony's waist and pulled him up against him. They'd stayed that way for a while before Steve got up and got ready for work.

Before, he'd felt like he'd been falling too fast and hard for a man who wasn't capable of the kind of relationship Steve wanted. Like there was a steel wall between himself and Tony, and that he'd never be able to fully reach him. But Tony was a hell of a lot more adaptable than Bruce had given him credit for. Sure he had his secrets and his demons, but Steve did too – he lied to Tony, every single day, about how he killed people for a living. That wasn't something you could just fib about and not be considered some kinda fucked in the head.

But they were coming together, closer and deeper every day, and Tony was opening up for him like a flower. They were both messed up people, and neither of them knew the half of the other's darkness, but they worked anyway.

"M-hmm. What's his name?"

Steve's grin widened a little. "Tony."

"Is he still with you? You should bring him around to SHIELD, let him meet the parents." It was a joke, so Steve laughed, but the idea chilled him to the core, just like she knew it would. She had an evil glint in her eye.

"Not…no. Nope."

This got a (genuine?) chuckle out of her. "Then we'll have a movie night, Clint and Coulson and I, and you can bring him around and pretend we're just normal friends. I'd like to meet him."

She meant it, he could tell, and Steve felt a sudden, huge rush of affection for her. Under that stony chameleon exterior, Natasha cared and wanted to meet the man who obviously meant a lot to Steve. He smiled. "That sounds great, Nat. Name a date and I'll bring him around."

Later that day, Fury and his stink-eye assigned Steve and Natasha to track down their mysterious hacker, who was still showing up in their mainframes, checking SHIELD's weapons specs every week on the dot. Steve still believed smarts of that caliber could come in handy on their side, but Fury ordered the two of them to assassinate their target anyway.

Natasha met his eyes, expression bland. "Steve isn't very familiar with computer programming or software, but our hacker's work is obviously highly sophisticated, otherwise we would've apprehended them already. I hope you're not expecting this to be a one-weekend assignment, Fury, because you'll be disappointed."

Fury pursed his lips. "Well it goes without saying then, don't waste your expansive window of opportunity by slacking. Because once that window closes, I will be angry."

Steve frowned a little. "How wide is our window?"

Natasha responded instantly. "At least six months."

Fury's already-wide eye grew bigger, and he looked ready to object before he visibly reigned himself in. This was Romanov after all – her estimate was going to turn out accurate, give or take a week. Fury nodded.

"Six months it is. Keep me posted on progress, I want reports from the both of you every two weeks."

Steve didn't think much on his new assignment. He was much more focused on tomorrow, when he could see Tony again and give him that shower sex he'd promised him.

Bucky answered the door a minute after Steve knocked, looking like he'd lost a fight with his own pillow. The bedhead was almost a diagnosable condition and he had his shirt on backwards. He rubbed his eyes as he held the door open.

"Steve?"

He smiled. "Can I come in?"

Buck swung the door open all the way in reply, turning and leaving Steve to follow him as he lumbered toward the kitchen. Two turkey sandwiches and some small talk later, Bucky sat down next to him at the dining table next to him.

"So what're you doin' here? You seem happy as shit."

Steve beamed at him. "I think I love her, Buck."

Bucky blinked, mid-bite, and swallowed before he responded. "Sharon?"

He nodded, grinning like a maniac. Bucky looked happy for him, but a little bit analytical. He cocked his head.

"What made you reach this conclusion, Stevie?"

He took a deep breath, unable to keep the smile off his face. He leaned forward, looking Bucky in the eye. He kept his voice low. "I told her. About SHIELD."

His friend's brown eyes grew huge. "You what?"

Steve felt his breath quicken, excited just thinking about it. "I told her about what I do, my job and everything – I mean I tried to avoid the gory details, but I told her that I work for a secret organization branched from the U.N. and that I eliminate United Nations enemies and threats and all that. And she – I mean it was a shock, I could see it on her face, but she didn't leave me. She didn't even leave my house or anything when I told her, she just nodded and took a second and then started asking more questions about it. We talked about it for a while and – and she's okay with it. I told her I work for SHIELD, and she's okay with it."

Bucky smiled. "That's awesome, Steve. But – wait, where does the love part come in?"

Steve leaned in toward him again, his voice soft. "You remember all that time ago, when I talked about loving Tony, because he was normal in the way that I never could be? Like he had a normal job, and didn't kill people for a living and shit."

Bucky nodded, brows furrowed. Steve looked down.

"Well, turns out he wasn't normal at all. Not only did he have all that fucked up stuff that happened to him – which did not make me love him any less, don't get me wrong – but Malibu Point was just his day job. He was a hacker, a really good one. Well, is. He –" Steve sighed, lowered his voice. This was classified shit, after all. "He hacked SHIELD."

Bucky gasped. "What the fuck!"

Steve shook his head. "Yeah, so we were – lying to each other, for months, about…being professional rivals, but on a lethal scale. He was the hacker digging in our weapon specs, I was the agent assigned to kill him, and neither of us even knew."

Buck looked shell shocked. Mouth open, eyes wide. Was he even breathing? "No fuckin' way."

Steve nodded, looking down. He wasn't too sure what Bucky was thinking, beyond being totally caught off guard. He knew it was a lot to take in.

"So…that's why he left. Once he hacked the personal employee files and saw my name, he learned that he was my target specifically. I think – I think he thought I got into a relationship with him just because of my assignment."

Bucky swallowed. "So that you could get close to him and like – kill him in his sleep or something?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I guess. He's smart though, must've realized that doesn't add up once he cooled down. I hope anyway. I mean I had ten opportunities to kill him every single day for months. But he was long gone by the time he woulda cooled down and seen that, probably halfway across the globe by then."

Bucky looked down. "Fuck."

And that pretty much summed up the entire predicament, didn't it? It was probably the most supportive thing that could've come from his best friend's mouth about the whole thing. Steve sighed, but there was a warmth there that came from not being alone – he'd finally gotten that shit off his chest.

Secrets had started weighing a ton since Tony. He'd lied about his occupation for an entire committed relationship. Then he'd had to lie about why they'd broken up. Finally he couldn't lie anymore, and he'd just told Sharon everything Tony had had to find out through chance. It had just slipped out sand through his fingers. Impossible to hold onto anymore.

And now Bucky. Who was shaking his head, looking lost. Buck took a deep breath. "And you can't…find him somehow, tell him all this?"

Steve shook his head. "SHIELD's still after him. That would put him in so much danger. Plus, I – I've got something good, with Sharon. I think I've got something really good with her. She's…the normal I thought I had with Tony, but didn't. Does that make sense?"

Bucky looked over Steve's shoulder somewhere, eyes far off. "I guess so. Whatever makes you happy, Stevie. I'll support you no matter what. Just – I don't want you to pick Sharon just because Tony's an impossibility, you know? The woman deserves to be more than somebody's afterthought."

Steve blinked, and felt a sudden surge of irritation. "Of course she's not a fucking afterthought, Buck, what the hell? I love her."

Bucky frowned, but looked a helluva lot calmer than Steve felt. "Then why did a conversation about Sharon turn back into a conversation about Tony?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Bucky shook his head. "Steve, every part of your relationship with Sharon has Tony in it somehow. It's either…she's the opposite of Tony here so you like that, or she's the same as Tony there so you like that. You need to love this girl for her, Steve. This isn't fair to her."

Steve's heart was pounding with fury. "I do love her for her. Sharon is amazing and I am in love with her. Tony's not in my life anymore." Suddenly he couldn't stomach the thought of entertaining this conversation any longer. He stood up and started toward the front door. "And fuck you for assuming otherwise."

"Steve!" he heard Bucky yell, but he'd already slammed the door behind him.

Two days later, it happened.

The day before, Steve had had the best sex of his life again, and his doubts were easing with each passing minute. Tony had seemed loose and easy and open, all the tenseness draining from his eyes and muscles until it was only the tiniest of traces. Still there, but Steve could work with that.

"I gotta tell y'somethin'."

And then there was today.

Steve had come to Tony's apartment, not as planned per se, but at Bruce's request. He said Tony had been texting him some pretty weird shit and he would really appreciate it if Steve would go over and check on him, make sure everything was alright. Steve was already in his car by the time he responded with a yes.

And good thing he hadn't taken his time, because this was the first time Steve had ever been able to tell that Tony was drunk. Which meant he was fucking wasted. Tony had a mostly-empty fifth in his hand and he was sitting on the couch looking sort of hunched. All the lights were off when Steve had come in.

"Tony, what's going on?"

Tony shook his head, looking devastated. He was unshaven. "I need to tell you somethin'."

Steve nodded, worry spiking. What had he done? Tony's eyes were bloodshot and he had on the same clothes that he'd worn when he left Steve's house yesterday.

"Okay. Tony, what happened?"

Tony shook his head again, looking down. "I couldn't – I really like you, Steve."

Steve's heart was thudding dully in his ears. "What happened, Tony?"

Tony sighed. "And I need to tell y'this so we can keep having sex, you know? No secrets."

Oh my god he cheated he cheated what am I even gonna do he cheated –

"What secret, Tony? You gotta tell me."

Tony looked up finally, and his eyes widened in a surprisingly lucid, intelligent expression. "Woah slow down there, I haven't…done anything stupid. Everything's okay Steve. I mean I think it probably will be, since you're not a bad person…"

The relief that slammed into him left him feeling cold. He took a deep breath, and his brows furrowed. He had no fucking clue what was going on here. He bent down.

"Okay, lemme see that." He grabbed the bottle out of Tony's loose grasp, setting it down on the coffee table before wrapping hands around his boyfriend's upper arms and lifting. Tony rose, shuddering a little and swaying a lot, and then he was standing and leaning heavily against Steve, his forehead buried into his chest.

"Ugh…"

Steve wrapped his arms around his waist. Tony smelled like liquor. "Are you feeling sick?"

Tony shook his head, slowly like he was underwater. "Haven't thrown up from drinking too much since I was twelve."

The fuck? "You've been drinking since you were twelve?"

"Earlier'n that…"

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head. This could wait. "Okay Tony, we're gonna get you changed and into bed, and then if you wanna talk then we can talk, if you wanna sleep then we can sleep. Okay? It'll be up to you."

Tony's body shuddered violently for a half a second, and then he nodded. "'Kay."

Steve tightened his grip and started leading him down the short hallway. Tony's apartment was dark and cluttered with all sorts of random metal parts and half-finished, over-complicated looking machines. He had to weave and step over a lot of weird crap on the way to Tony's bedroom, but Steve supposed that's what he got for dating an MIT graduate. Finally they stepped past the threshold into Tony's room, and Steve lowered him into a sitting position on the bed.

When he took a step back, Tony was scowling and shaking his head, glaring at him.

"What're you doing…?"

The pit in Steve's stomach burst into something more violent when he realized Tony was suspicious. Suspicious of Steve's intentions, when Tony was drunk and defenseless in a bed. Images assaulted Steve suddenly, of Tony pinned under someone bigger than him, and he felt murderous.

But right now, he had to be practical. So he cleared the red from his vision and tried to treat Tony like he would a fellow soldier stuck with too many memories and all the quirky fears that came with the package deal. He put his heads up in a placating gesture.

"Nothing. You're okay Tony, I'm not gonna do anything. If you'll let me, I'd like to get you into some pajamas okay?"

Tony considered for a moment, and then his eyes warmed and grew trusting again. His shoulders sagged and he let out a puff of air. "Okay."

Steve kept his motions slow and gentle as he changed Tony over and got them both tucked into bed. Tony folded against him and sighed contentedly, but didn't seem tired yet. So Steve went with the safest line of questioning he could think of, and even then he knew this conversation would get sticky.

"Hey Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you've been drinking since before you were twelve?" He went for a chuckle, but it still sounded forced. "How on earth…"

Tony shifted but stayed pressed up against him. "Yeah, my father drank a lot, so he encouraged it. It was never – I didn't realize that was unusual until years later."

Steve's mouth fell open. "Your father encouraged you as a child to drink?"

"Yeah. It was…good for me I think. I needed it."

Tony was an alcoholic then. Not that there was a whole lot of doubt in Steve's mind, but no one could binge-drink from childhood and not wind up an alcoholic. "Why – you didn't need that, Tony. Did your father tell you that?"

Tony shook his head. "No, he didn't – I mean yeah, he told me a couple times, but that's not why – I really did need it. I wasn't what you'd call a happy kid."

This was so far beyond Tony's off-limits zone. Steve wondered if he should shut this conversation down, wondered if Tony would be furious with him if he found out Steve'd let him divulge this much while obviously not in his right mind. But the questions had lingered for so long. The scars on Tony's body left little to the imagination, but Steve wanted to hear him say it. So that it wasn't a mystery anymore. So that he could know, for sure, what to say and what not to, so he could know how to help, so that Tony could be his and not just something illusive and uncharted.

"What do you mean, Tony?"

Tony shifted then, tilted his head up and pinned Steve with a dull look. His eyes were empty of mirth or sadness, like he was about to comment on the weather. "My father beat the shit out of me."

Steve had half expected it, but his whole body went cold anyway. It was like ice water had poured down his back. "What?"

Tony shrugged, looking unconcerned. "My mom left when I was really young, couldn't take the heat I guess. He was an angry drunk, and I was always home, so I mean. Two plus two."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Before he could speak though, Tony was talking again.

"You're th'only – there's only one other person I ever told, and it didn' go well. But I trust you, and I had to tell you."

His voice came out hoarse. "What – one other person?"

Tony's eyes shuttered and he shook his head. "Don't wanna talk about it. But – now you know. So now I can trust you."

Steve frowned, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Of course you can trust me. I won't – I'm so sorry, Tony."

The corner of Tony's lips quirked up for a half second. "You didn' do anything wrong."

Steve shook his head. His eyes were stinging. "I'm sorry that ever happened to you."

Tony waved his hand. "I left. I've had a good life since I got out."

"Have you –" Steve hesitated, then plowed through anyway. "Have you received any help since you left?"

Tony blinked. "You mean like a shrink?"

Steve nodded. "A therapist, or a counselor. Just someone to talk to."

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Steve, I think I would scare off any shrink I talked to. No, I've handled it fine. Just kept to myself, stayed busy, tried not t'think abut it."

Steve pursed his lips. "Tony, you know there's no shame in talking to someone."

Tony gave him a tiny smile. "I know, that's why I told you."

Steve shook his head. "I meant talking to a professional. I know lots of soldiers who benefitted from therapy. When you experience trauma, it helps to talk about it."

Tony frowned. "I'm not a soldier. I try not to think about it. It makes things more peaceful in my head. My mind is so loud all the time, I don't need that shit adding to the noise."

"But, talking –"

"I just want peace, Steve. I don't want to fight through it."

Steve sighed, then looked at him again. "At least talk to me. Whenever something is bothering you. Or you wake up from a nightmare. Or you're just having a bad day. If I know, I might be able to help."

Tony smiled then, this shy smile that lit up his eyes and was utterly, entirely sincere. "Okay. Will do."

Steve tightened his arms around him. "Good. I'll put you on the therapist's couch and everything. I'll make it feel like the real deal."

Tony snorted, pushing him away playfully. "Nah, I can think of much more productive things to do on my couch than talk about my daddy issues."

Steve smirked. "That so?"

Tony's eyes darkened. "Oh yes, soldier." Then the darkness went away and he let out a surprised little noise when Steve planted a soft, entirely chaste kiss on his forehead. He pulled back and smiled at him.

"Well you'll just have to wait for tomorrow for that. You're drunk."

"Killjoy. You're cockblocking your own cock right now."

Steve grinned. "Too bad."

He looked into Tony's eyes for something, he wasn't sure what. Past the drunken attempt at nonchalance, he saw relief there. Steve reached up, and grabbed his face gently between his hands.

"Thank you for telling me this. For trusting me."

He saw his jaw tighten for just a moment, and then Tony's eyes misted. He didn't look away, though. "'Course, muscles. Anything for you."

Steve smiled, his own eyes watery. "Anything for me?"

All the lightness left Tony's face. "Anything."

They fell asleep like that, pressed against each other, the smell of scotch between them. As Tony's breathing evened out, Steve kept his fingers in Tony's hair, their limbs tangled together, and he thought about what this meant. Tony was cracking open for him. He didn't know everything, but he was starting to get an idea. Of who Tony was before he'd met him. Of all the things he'd experienced. It painted a dark, noxious picture.

But Steve could no longer ignore the glaring fact that he was in love with this man.