Tony decides, as he spits bile and water into the sink, that he shouldn't jump to conclusions. To start, he has no proof that Steve is - that. It's so far from feasible, anyways. How is it possible for a man to keep that sort of secret for so long? he wonders, until a nasty little Porcupine-like voice reminds him that he's been doing just fine.

But Steve is different. Steve is honest. Sweet. Kind. Not the type to keep secrets.

Tony is bitter. Snarky. Cruel. Exactly the type to keep secrets and then some. Nothing without Steve.

Tony's a fucking supervillain. Not entirely by choice, at first, but he embraces it now. He still can't figure out how he got Steve to begin with; how Steve didn't see the rotting darkness within him, the black smear hiding beneath the mass of scarring across his chest. For the last six years he's just counted himself lucky and never pointed it out.

Captain America's a superhero. The good guy. A giant fucking douche, actually, all bullshit outdated views of justice and heroism. He targeted Tony - Iron Man - from the start, labeled him as the lowest and worst of the Villain League. Back then it actually hurt, because his actions weren't his own. But after a dozen encounters, two, he grew jaded. Tired. Resentful. The both of them did. And Tony can't pin Steve's gentle smile to the angry warrior he's been after for so long.

He wonders what he's getting out of all this introspection. A heavier heart, maybe. A sense of conviction, as he assures himself that while it's perfectly reasonable for Tony himself to be a bad guy, Steve isn't Captain America. Tony would know. Tony would recognize the love of his life anywhere.

Tony... needs proof.

He makes a call.

**8**

"Ah," says Doctor Doom, idly tapping the stone arm rest of his throne. "Iron Man. What a pleasant surprise."

"Doom," Tony says, with perhaps a modicum of respect amongst the thinly veiled disgust. Thankfully the armor's speakers alter his voice enough to conceal the rudeness. He's never liked the guy. All he does is sic Doombots on people he doesn't like and wave his hands as he tells people what to do. Somehow all that got him to the top of the League. Tony privately thinks if he'd just been a little hand-wavier when he started this gig he could be where Doom's at now.

"What is it you require?" Doom asks, patronizing as always. He looks down his stupid metal nose at Tony, a half flight of stairs below him. A nose, on a faceplate. Universe's worst idea. Tony rolls his eyes.

"It's, ah, personal," Tony answers significantly, twitching his head in the direction of various villainous lurkers around the room.

"Indeed." Doom waves a hand; all motion in the room comes to a halt as everyone's eyes go to the throne. "Leave me," he says without raising his voice. They all drop what they're doing, some grumbling about it, and file out of the room. The massive double doors slam shut.

There's a moment of silence.

"How is Steven, by the by?"

Tony scowls up at him. "You know that's what I'm here about."

"I do," Doom acknowledges, and Tony's surprised at how often he's been addressing himself in first person. Usually he's cracked a "You insult Doom" or "Doom agrees" or something by now. "Is it about the serum?"

"The serum?" Tony repeats, startled. What-? "No, it's not. Should it be?" he adds with some suspicion.

The other man just shrugs, a lengthy looking process under all that armor. "One would hope it hasn't begun to fail, seeing as the serum belonged to Erskine himself."

Tony stiffens, a frisson of panic sparking. "Fail?" he repeats, a couple octaves higher than normal. "Is that a possibility?"

"Calm yourself, Iron Man." Doom straightens in his seat. "It shouldn't. Erskine's work is legendary, and no longer in existence. As you well know, the last two vials were gifted to you in good faith."

Good faith, meaning a lifetime of villainous servitude. Jackass.

"I didn't come here to talk about the serum," Tony says to change the subject, uneasy as he is. "Last I checked, it was working fine."

"Then what have you disrupted my day for?"

Tony swallows. This could go two ways, and he doesn't like either one of them. But it's worth it. "I need you to find him."

Doom's head tilts. "Steven?"

"... Yes."

"Have you lost your husband, Tony Stark?"

"Look," Tony grits his teeth behind the faceplate, "a few days ago, he didn't come home when he was supposed to, and he hasn't been home since. I'm - worried."

"A few days ago," muses Doom. "Would this have happened, perhaps, the day Captain America fell?"

Tony jerks back. "That has nothing to do with it," he spits. "I just need to find him."

"It wouldn't be so far off the mark, would it?" Doom says. "Perhaps you should consider the possibility." He shifts forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Very well. I will activate the tracers I left after examining the serum. Supposing it hasn't broken them down," he says as an afterthought. "It has been nearly six years."

Tony doesn't want to say anything like "thank you" or "that'd be great", something that warrants a response, or worse, a debt.

"In exchange," of course, "you must attack Stark Industries and steal the most recent technology you've designed."

"Done."

"You will bring that technology to Doom." Ah, there it is.

"I will," Tony promises.

"So quick to betray your own company," the other man says thoughtfully. "What else would you do for your Steven?"

"Just find him," Tony says shortly. He himself doesn't know his own limits. What would he do for Steve? What wouldn't he do?

It scares him when he can't think of anything.

"You have my word," Doom says solemnly. "Dismissed."

**8**

The heist goes well. Tony's sorry about the eleven deaths - sort of - but he knows he'll never regret it. Not when it comes to Steve.

He looks down at the box of miniaturized heat-seeking missiles tucked under his arm and wonders.