The break lasts until Wednesday morning, when Tony wakes him up with a video call.

"Fuck space," he says. He looks immaculate, as always. He's standing in his lab, backlit by the wall of Iron Man suits. "I want you around."

Steve grimaces, screws his eyes shut. "What time is it?"

"Uh..." Tony looks behind him. "About 4:26."

Steve grimaces again. "Did you sleep?"

"Yeah," Tony says. "Totally. Wanna get breakfast?"

"Now?"

"Or whenever. You can sleep more."

"No," Steve says, stifling a yawn, running a hand across his bare chest. "I'm up."

"You're not wearing the pajamas I got you."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Tony says, looking him up and down and biting his lip in an almost predatory way. "I like this better. Angle the phone down a little?"

Steve just smiles, arm coming up to cover his pecs.

"Ugh, fine. So, you'll be over soon?"

Steve nods. "I need to shower first."

"Ooh. Take me with you."

Steve grins, unsurprised. A little surprised. "You're telling me to take a phone into the shower?"

"Fine," Tony says, sighing theatrically. "I guess I'll have to come over there and hold it for you."

"Goodbye, Tony."

"Wait. Really, why don't I just come over there?"

"What?"

"I'm all ready. You shower, I'll show up." He smirks. "Who knows, if I take the suit maybe I can catch you in the shower."

"No. Your place is bigger." And there's no way he's going to let Iron Man show up on his doorstep.

Tony dismisses that with a little puff of air through his lips. "We're eating breakfast. I think I'll fit."

"Tony, it's 4 in the morning. I have neighbors. I'll see you soon."

He hangs up. Shakes his head, and then he smiles, a relieved grin that stretches what feels like ear to ear. It's been a day and a half. They've much longer without talking before, just by coincidence. A day and a half is nothing.

He's relieved anyway.

He's ignoring that little, awful part of him that kept saying that maybe it'd be easier, if Tony didn't want him around anymore. That he wouldn't have to feel guilty, he wouldn't have to feel lost, he wouldn't have to worry.

He's ignoring that little part of him because it doesn't know anything. He wants Tony. He doesn't care if it's hard.

Of course, in person, when Tony's with him it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

He finds him in his lab, of course, watching simulations of his suit, of course.

He wraps his arms under Tony's arms and across his chest, rests his chin on Tony's shoulder. "This again?"

He's not sure if he's expecting an answer, but Tony offers one anyway, his hands sliding up along Steve's forearms. "This happens to be the most important thing I do."

"Really?" Steve asks, hiding his smile behind Tony's shoulder blade. "I thought I was."

He can see Tony's grin in the reflection on the monitor, and that, more than anything makes him feel like everything's okay.

"Is this what you do all the time," he says, nuzzling against Tony's neck. "Obsess over the suit?"

"I'm not obsessing,"

"Mhmm."

Tony leans back warm and stable against him, his lips finding the corner of Steve's mouth. "Well," he says, still typing with one hand, "You gonna distract me, or what?"

Steve grins, flicks his tongue at Tony's ear and then he lifts him easily off of the stool, practically dragging him away from the computer, ignoring his half-hearted protests about schematics and rendering and flux capacitors.

They end up on the couch, Tony on top, stretched out across him kissing him first on the mouth and then on the neck, in all of the places that he knows Steve is particularly sensitive, leaving him laughing and squirming. Leaving him with no recourse but his fingers, and Steve makes use of them, trails them lightly, so lightly along Tony's obliques that he can feel him shiver, and then he tickles him, in retribution, because he's not going to be the only one trying to decide if what he's feeling is pleasure or pain.

Tony gives in first, rolls off of him, grins. "You don't fight fair," he says, biting his lower lip. "I like that."

Steve smiles but when Tony doesn't push him any further he just yawns, stretches. "I was lured here under the pretense that there would be food," he says, and maybe it's just wishful thinking that Tony could kiss him, could want him without wanting him, because that seems to be the wrong thing to say.

He knows it's the wrong thing to say. He's not stupid.

But Tony takes it in stride, pretends to think about it. "Well," he says, a little serious frown on his face, eyes in their upper right corners, "I guess I could do that."

Steve nods.

"You just sit here and look pretty, I'll take care of everything, sweetie," Tony says. "Jarvis, surprise me. And triple the usual order. Wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a bad provider."

And then he's sitting down again, claiming a space in Steve's lap, his butt on Steve's leg and his back against the armrest and his arm draped over Steve's shoulder. "So, where were we?"

Steve doesn't want to turn him down. He hesitates.

"Not starting anything, then," Tony sighs, and from how quickly he gives up Steve can tell he was expecting this. An upside of talking, maybe. Tony's energy seems to deplete, and he lays his head against Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Tony says. "Probably don't have time anyway."

Steve runs a hand through Tony's hair. It feels nice. Everything about him feels nice.

And then Tony clears his throat. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Steve says, the word jumping from his mouth automatically. "Just because —"

"No," Tony says, and it's a quiet word but it steamrolls over Steve's protests nonetheless. "I didn't mean it that way. Just, in general. Are you?"

"Yes," Steve says. "Of course."

And then, in the silence that follows, "why do you ask?"

"Well, I don't see you making conversation."

Steve snorts. There's no need for conversation. Even Tony acknowledges that, sometimes, on these late nights or early mornings. That just being together is enough.

Tony shifts. "Why don't you ever sit on my lap?"

That's even more ridiculous. He's not made for that, not anymore. He doesn't even think he'd mind it, if things had turned out differently. "I'd crush you," he says, brushing one finger along Tony's cheek like he's some delicate possession.

"You've got like fifty pounds on me," Tony says. "Maybe. That's nothing."

"And a couple inches."

Tony smirks. "Well, that's not true."

That takes him a second, and when it strikes him somehow it's funnier than it should be. And he grins, showing his dissatisfaction with a playful slap to Tony's left shoulder. "I was talking about height."

"Hmm," Tony says, the vibrations traveling between them. "So you'd sit on my lap if I wore high heels?"

Yes. Because that's the problem. "I'm not going to crush you."

"Right," Tony says. "Exactly."

"No — I mean, I won't do it."

"Spoilsport."

He stands up, takes Steve's hand, pulling, insistent but ineffective. "Up."

"No."

"C'mon. You're not gonna crush me."

"You don't know that."

Tony snorts. "Even if you do, it wouldn't make the top ten of stupidest things I've done. C'mon."

So Steve gets up too, shaking his head, and then he carefully, gently balances himself on Tony's lap. It feels good. Comfortable.

Tony pulls him back, tries to make him relax, but Steve can't, yet. "Are you sure this is okay?"

And Tony, he's silent a moment, and then he makes this awful, strangled noise. "Hfujhgh — can't — breathe —"

Steve jumps up like he's been stung, already feeling the flush in his cheeks, and he turns around, an apology already forming on his lips.

And sees Tony grinning like a madman. "Gotcha."

That's not funny. He frowns. "That's not funny."

"Oh, lighten up," Tony says, stupid grin still on his face. "I'm hilarious. C'mon. Sit down."

Steve sighs and makes a show of sitting next to him, leaving a little breathing room.

"Really?"

Steve shrugs.

Tony pulls him against his chest. "God, remind me not to joke around you."

Steve doesn't say anything, he just lets Tony rub his back until Jarvis announces that the food has arrived, and he lets himself think it feels good because he's tired and has just been embarrassed and not because he simply craves comfort now.

Breakfast is omelettes and pancakes and french toast and bacon and fruit and Steve takes one look at it and shakes his head. "Even I couldn't eat that much."

"Relax," Tony says, spreading the styrofoam containers out on the kitchen table. "It all microwaves fine."

It's a reasonable statement. Steve's surprised. "You eat leftovers?"

"Well, no. Happy does."

"I hope you don't let this go to waste."

"Course not. Everyone knows there are starving kids in Africa."

Steve cuts off a piece of pancake. "Starving kids in America, too."

"And you're doing a lot to fix that," Tony says, like it's just a reflex, and then he looks at Steve and seems to realize how it sounds. "I mean, fuck, you know I didn't mean that."

Steve shrugs. He knows he can't do anything about it, can't do anything about any of the injustices he's seeing, but god, he wants to, he's going to. He's gonna make this SHIELD job work out. He's gonna get back where he was, gonna work on it. Just that simple act of taking the job, it's given him hope. He's doing something.

He's staring into his food as he thinks this and maybe that's why Tony thinks he's upset.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Steve looks up, surprised.

"I mean, about that whole 'not trusting you' thing the other day. Obviously, I wasn't thinking straight."

Oh. Steve wasn't expecting to talk about that, and he definitely wasn't expecting an apology. "It's okay," he says, shrugging a little. "I should've talked to you first."

"Ehh, probably not," Tony says, offering a little smile, and Steve smiles too, just enough to return the sentiment, just enough to tell Tony it's fine, it's behind them.

"You're pretty great," Tony adds. "You know that, right?"

That's a stupid thing to say, he thinks, as the smile on his face broadens of its own accord. "I love you too."

"For the record, I wasn't fishing for that," Tony says, smirking, and for a moment everything's okay.

So then, of course, Bruce shows up.

Steve's in mid bite when he does, he shovels some pancakes in his mouth and looks up and there he is in the doorway, looking at them. That's not the main thing he's doing, of course, the main thing he's doing is walking into the kitchen, but his eyes are on them, and that's what Steve notices.

He's disheveled and tired, and he blinks, twice, and then gestures behind him, in an aimless sort of way. "Morning," he says, yawning. "I'm not uh, interrupting, or —"

"Not at all," Tony says, and clearly Steve's hand hasn't actually begun vibrating, it just feels like that, or clearly Tony would have noticed. "Join us. We've got tons of food."

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and smiles, distracted. And then he points to the refrigerator. "I'm gonna — juice."

When Bruce turns his back Steve gently disentangles his fingers from Tony's, ignoring the reproachful raised eyebrow he gets in return.

He holds his breath, waits for Tony to say something. To try and embarrass him. He doesn't.

Bruce doesn't say anything, and Steve didn't expect him to. He doesn't know what he expected. There's nothing wrong with — well, it's one thing to talk about Tony, it's another to have him there, with Bruce knowing that they've had sex. That's all. That's his only issue.

Why is it easier to talk about when just being here doesn't even take effort?

He shrugs it off and drowns his feelings in maple syrup, and at some point in the easy conversation his appetite returns.

He's starting on his second helping when Jarvis interrupts them with the time.

"Mm, fuck," Tony says. "I'm late. Bruce, nice seeing you. Steve, if you're chewing something I'd suggest swallowing it."

He does reflexively, not fully comprehending until Tony leans across the table, grabs him by the shirt, and kisses him. It's not chaste, it's not appropriate, not with Bruce a few feet away. Plus, he tastes like eggs.

"See ya," he says, with a wink, and then he's gone.

And Steve fakes a smile and sneaks a glance at Bruce and tries to ignore that sucking pit in his stomach. He's on edge. He shouldn't be.

It's okay now. He knows that.

But — even in front of Bruce, who's kind and understanding, it's not that easy.

"So," Bruce says. "Tony tells me you're working for SHIELD?"

Steve finishes his orange juice, and then he registers that. "Hmm?"

"You're working for SHIELD now?"

"Yeah," he says. "Next week."

Bruce nods. He seems comfortable, maybe a little tired, but not at all put off by Tony's affection.

Steve excuses himself anyway. It's not that he doesn't like Bruce. He does. But he doesn't want to talk about SHIELD, and he really doesn't want to talk about Tony.

He just wants to go somewhere comfortable, familiar, and unwind.

So he goes the only place that really feels like a home to him anymore, the only place where he has anyone he can think of as family.

When he gets there, Theresa's already in Peggy's room, working on a puzzle and chatting. And she offers to leave, but Steve's tempted but ultimately he wants her to stay.

With Theresa around, they always talk about the century Steve likes better.

"So," Theresa's saying, "I was reading this cool article about formal pictures — because, you know there are all these old pictures of two guys being really familiar, and lots of people think that's because they're gay — and it said that basically guys used to be friendly the way girls are, you know, like touching and kinda posing almost romantically, but that stopped because they didn't want people to think they were gay."

She pauses a second, then adds, "that's kinda sad, you know?"

Peggy nods, holding one of the puzzle pieces up to the light like it'll give her clues. "Where'd you find that?"

"Internet," Theresa says.

"Why were you looking for —" gay people, Steve thinks.

She laughs. "I wasn't looking for it. It just showed up on Tumblr. You do go on the internet, right?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Mostly wikipedia." And whatever Tony shows him.

"Well," she says. "You're missing out then. You gotta go on Tumblr or Reddit. I mean, they're awful, so don't, but that way you get to hear about cool things without searching for them."

"Uh, okay."

"Or, you know what, just give me your e-mail address. I can send you things I think you'd like."

"I don't have one."

"You don't have an e-mail?" She seems shocked, like everybody has an e-mail these days. "I mean, everybody has an e-mail. Or two. Or three."

"Even I have an e-mail," Peggy says.

Steve shrugs. "Well, I don't."

"And that's fine," Peggy says, patting his leg, and Theresa bites back a laugh.

"So, you were, saying?"

"Oh," Theresa says. "Right. So, I was just wondering, like, what was it like for you?"

"What was what like?"

"I mean, were you really close with your friends like that? Were you afraid people would think you were gay if you were?"

"Me and Bucky, we were — pretty close," Steve says, and this might be the first time he's mentioned Bucky to someone who isn't Peggy. "That's just how it was. Not everyone, but, lots of people."

"How close?"

"I loved him," Steve says, tongue sliding across his lower lip.

There's a silence, and he feels the need to keep going. "More than anyone," he says. "It's different, when it's just a friend."

Theresa frowns.

"You know they don't want anything else. That if they didn't like the person you are they wouldn't be there, and that's all that matters. Who you are."

"What else is there?"

"What you look like," Steve says, and Peggy pointedly rolls her eyes.

"No, he's got a point," Theresa says. "I feel like if you suddenly got ugly, that'd ruin any relationship."

Peggy shakes her head. "If it's true love it'll last. When you really love someone it's not how they look that makes them beautiful, it's how they are."

And Steve knows that's true, that's how he feels about her. But sometimes he wonders if that's really how it is, if maybe sometimes how you look overshadows how you are, even for the people who should know the difference.

"That's deep," Theresa says, gazing into the distance for a moment, and then suddenly snapping back. "So, did you have to worry about other people thinking you were gay?"

"No, it wasn't like that." He smiles, shakes his head. "I mean, Bucky always had some girl hanging around. He was good with 'em, real popular."

Peggy smiles. "Well, he thought so."

"He was," Steve insists. "He was a real smooth talker. Girls loved him. Not me so much."

Peggy snorts. "Not like you gave them much of a chance."

"I did."

"Oh, so now you're changing your story," Peggy says, smiling, a little teasing note in her voice. "I thought you said I was the first woman worthy of your attention."

He blushes. It's true, but the way she says it isn't. Everyone was worthy of his attention. Just no one set him off guard the way Peggy did. "So, to answer your question —"

Peggy swats him on the back of the head. "Changing topics, are we?"

"Just trying to answer a question."

"Oh, don't avoid the topic just because of me," Theresa says, giving him a little innocent smile.

And Steve casts her an amused, exasperated look, but Peggy's the one to give in first.

"Well, it just wasn't something you thought of back then," she says. "Not how it is now. Now everyone wants to know who you like to fuck before they even meet you."

Steve turns to look at her, because, that phrasing —

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "Do you disagree?"

"You could tell," Steve says, choosing to ignore the second half. "Sometimes. When a guy wasn't right."

He sees Theresa's expression. "I mean, queer."

That doesn't seem to work either.

"We weren't all looking over our shoulders all the time," he says. "It wasn't like that."

It was a little like that, sometimes, but only for him, not for Bucky. He just can't tell Theresa that. It's admitting that he is queer, because why else would you worry?

"I never thought that way," Peggy says. "Ever. When I met you, even before the serum, I would never have thought —" and then she seems to realize, looks at Steve wide-eyed, and his nostrils flare, he starts feeling a little off, and he's just glad she doesn't apologize, doesn't call more attention to it.

Theresa catches that anyway, maybe catches the reactions more than the words, looks at him, says, "so, wait, you're…"

"Bi," he says, because there's nothing better to do than shrug this off, pretend he's fine saything that.

She's silent a moment, as though wondering how to proceed. And then she shrugs. "I think everyone's everyone's at least a little bi."

"Well, I agree with that," Peggy says, a strange smile on her face, and it takes Steve a second and then he gapes at her, certain she can't be saying what he thinks she is.

Peggy grins. "You don't think I've told you everything about my life, do you?"

No, but –. Well. Maybe. A little bit.

She seems awfully pleased with herself. "An old lady has to have some secrets."

Theresa leans forward. "How far have you gone?"

Steve looks at her in horror, but Peggy just laughs.

"Not as far as I would have liked," she says. "There was the war, and then I met my husband, and, well, I'd already lost Steve, so I knew I couldn't chance losing him."

Theresa sighs. "You should write a book," she says. "You should write ten books."

Peggy shakes her head. "Oh, no one wants to read about me."

"You should," Steve says, and this is an old refrain but he doesn't mind pushing it because of the way she smiles when they do.

She smiling like that right now, but she shakes her head and picks up a puzzle piece. "I wonder where this one goes."

"Well, one of these days I'll persuade you," Theresa says. She nudges Steve. "You could write it, right? I'm sure you know all the good stories."

"I'm no writer," he says. "I could illustrate it, though."

"Ooh, yes," Theresa says, getting excited. "We could have a whole childrens' series, The Adventures of Peggy Carter. And — can there be a female love interest? I want there to be a female love interest. At least in some of them. And Steve, you can be in it, I mean, if you want. It's not classified, right? The government won't come after us?"

Peggy smiles. "No, I shouldn't think so. But I might."

"Well, that's why you'll have to help me," Theresa says, and then to Steve, "I really want to do this. Let's do this. You'll illustrate it all? You promise?"

Steve's not sure what to say, but it doesn't matter, because Theresa's work phone goes off at that moment. "I'm in 31," she says, and then, "Sure, I'll be right there."

"We can start storyboarding next week," she says, hopping up. "This is exciting. I'll call you so we can discuss."

She pauses by the door, turns back to look at Steve, "oh, and get an e-mail address, okay?"

"She's nice," Peggy says, and Steve nods.

"I'm so sorry for outing you, darling," she adds.

He curls up next to her, lets her run her fingers through his hair. "It's fine."

She smiles. "It is, you know."

"Mhmm."

"I'm glad you have Tony."

Steve doesn't know what to say. He is glad, he would never give him up, but –

"You never told me you were bi."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she says. "I had my fun."

He thinks about her, kissing girls, back then, back when it wasn't okay. And to think of her having fun doing it.

It is fun, though, he thinks, it's fun kissing Tony, and it's exciting or arousing or comfortable depending on the situation, but it's been terrifying too, once or twice, when he thinks too hard about what he's doing.

And he just got to wake up and suddenly it was okay and he doesn't even have as much courage as she did back then, can't even imagine letting everyone know.

And when Theresa mentioned a female love interest his first thought was that it wasn't appropriate for children. To see that. And his next thought was that it can't be inappropriate because it's just love but still, that was his first thought.

"It matters," he says. "It must have taken a lot of courage."

"I wouldn't say courage," Peggy says. "A disregard for what's expected, rather. I've always been that way. As have you."

"Maybe," Steve says, and then he sits up, because he doesn't want to give her the wrong impression. Doesn't want her to think he's weak.

They continue working on the puzzle, mostly in silence. His phone buzzes. It's from Tony. "Dinner with Pepper tonight?"

"No thank you," he types. The last thing he needs is another person watching as Tony gets too familiar.

Another buzz. "I'll also be there."

"I figured."

"What's wrong? Don't like me again? :("

"That's not gonna work on me."

He puts the phone down, determined not to give in to Tony's needling.

He's expecting Tony to argue with him, but when he picks the phone back up a half hour later there are only two messages.

The first: "come over after?"

And the second, ten minutes later: "I sleep better when you're here."

Peggy nudges him. "What are you so excited about?"

He looks up, realizes that he's smiling. "Just Tony," he says.

"You've been a lot happier since you got together," she says. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

He shrugs, smiles. Maybe he has.

He's almost asleep, the sheets cool against his sides, Tony warm against his chest. He's on the very edge of dreaming, and then Tony whispers. "Steve? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," he says, not opening his eyes, not sure if he could.

"Do you mind if I jack off? I'll be quiet."

That opens them. "What?"

"Um, beat off, or, spank the monkey, or what'd they call it in your day, like, what, charleston the… uh… thunderbird?"

"No one has ever said that."

"Hmm," Tony says. "Their loss."

Steve shifts onto one elbow, feeling sluggish, like he's not comprehending something. "I mean, why?"

"Because being around you… uh, does things to me. I probably shouldn't get into it, very personal, a little inappropriate, I –"

"Do you want me to –"

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"Doesn't matter. I didn't ask if you wanted to do anything."

"But –"

Tony sighs. "You're going to sleep. And I'm going to jack off here, or somewhere else. Simple as that."

"But –"

"If you wanted to fuck, we'd have done that already. Okay? This isn't some big thing. I just need to get off before I can sleep."

Steve can't help feeling like this is bad, that he should be a better boyfriend. But he's tired, and Tony's insistent, and the thought of doing anything other than laying here and falling asleep makes him want to sleep even more.

"Do it here," he says, shifting to get comfortable again. Wondering what he's supposed to do. If he's supposed to roll over. He doesn't.

"Great," Tony says, squeezing his hand. "I'll be quiet. Just go to sleep."

He nods, not expecting that to be easy. But when his head hits the pillow and his eyes close he finds himself back in that warm, comfortable place that he already was. And whether it makes him a bad person or not, the last things he hears as he falls asleep are the rhythmic sounds of Tony's ragged breath and the wet slide of his hand.