He spends the whole day thinking about Peggy. She can tell him how to fix this. He has a million conversations in his head with her, he tells himself all of the things he thinks she will say.

Even then, he knows she'll say something better.

He feels a little better thinking that she'll know how to fix things. Everything. How to fix the problems at SHIELD, and his problems with Tony, and his problems with himself.

She fixed him once, she can do it again.

He tries not to think about how it will feel to admit to her that he's weak, that for as much as he's been telling her that he's happy now, and he's sleeping more, almost too much, and that he's dating someone and has a job, and that he has everything that he thought would make him happy, he still isn't.

He's not happy.

He's not depressed. Tony doesn't know him as well as she does. He'll tell her Tony thinks that and she'll laugh, and he'll laugh, because he was depressed and he knows what that's like and he's not anymore.

He's just not happy.

He's not sure why. Expectations, maybe. Maybe he fell too hard for Tony and expected him to be perfect. Maybe he's spent too long trying to think of SHIELD as the good guys.

Maybe because he's not taking action to fix anything.

He walks into Peggy's room with the words on his lips but then Theresa is there.

They play cards on Tuesdays. He knows this. He's usually glad for it, that someone is spending enough time with Peggy.

He's been so wrapped up in himself maybe he's forgetting to think about Peggy.

They both look up, and smile at him, and deal him in, and he can't bring himself to make her leave.

There's always later.

They're talking about SHIELD, and Steve would think there was some strange connection except that's all they ever talk about. Not SHIELD, in particular. Just Peggy's life.

"The thing you have to understand about Howard Stark is that he may have been a genius, and very wealthy, but he was still young, and idealistic, and had no idea how to run something with the scope of SHIELD."

"Which is where you came in," Steve

"Oh, I was one of maybe a hundred people," she says.

"That's not how Tony tells it."

Theresa perks up a little at that. But Peggy just rolls her eyes. "Oh, he doesn't know anything," she says.

Steve finds himself grinning at that, and Theresa laughs too, and even though he knows they're not sharing the same joke it seems like the weight is lifting off his shoulders. "He knows some things."

"Less than he thinks he does," Peggy says. "He's wonderful, but –"

"But conceited," Steve says, light, that same smile playing around his lips.

"I'm not going to bad mouth him to you," she says, with a sideways glance at Theresa, and a wink. "Or Theresa. I'm much more discreet than that."

Steve grins. "Just to Theresa, then?"

"Okay," Theresa says. "So to clarify, we are talking about Tony Stark, right?"

He never does get around to talking to Peggy. It's not that they don't get a moment alone. It's just that he gets so caught up in the fun of being around people, and laughing, that by the time she asks him how he's doing he brushes her off with an easy "okay," and doesn't let her push.

It he can handle this by himself, he should.

He meets Tony for drinks and appetizers, "at an actual restaurant," as Tony had pitched it.

He has fun.

He tells himself he's having fun, to remind himself to have fun, because Tony had also pitched that part, the part where he has fun.

He can't tell if Tony's having fun, or if he's too focused on making sure Steve's having fun.

"This is good," Steve says, gesturing at the food.

Tony nods.

He's not sure what to say, beside that.

He'd expected Tony to reject him when he figured out that he's not right. That was the worst thing he could think of.

He's not sure he likes this any better.

He keeps expecting it to get better, but he can't help seeing the strain in Tony's smile, the pause before he speaks, the way his eyes flick up and down Steve's face, like he's waiting for the wrong response.

Even when he gets Tony talking about his latest project – because there's nothing in Steve's life worth talking about, nothing that won't make Tony upset, or worse, condescending – it's not quite the same.

"Come back to my place?"

Steve shakes his head.

"C'mon," Tony says. "I'm not gonna try anything, if that's what's bothering you."

Steve shrugs. It is, maybe. The fact that Tony's not trying anything. "You could."

"Gonna have to be a little more enthusiastic than that, buddy," Tony says. "It doesn't bother me, okay? Let's just watch a movie."

He wants to say that it bothers him. That Tony should want him more than he does. That it's been 5 days and usually Tony would be telling him that it's torture but obviously that doesn't even bother him anymore.

Does Tony even see him that way anymore? Can he?

"I want you to."

"Watch a movie?"

Steve glances around, shrugging his shoulders. "Want me."

Tony snorts. "Of course I want you. You're the one who asked me to back off."

That's a good point.

"So, we'll watch a movie," Tony says. "And then we'll see where things go."

"Brokeback Mountain," Steve says.

"What?"

"I want to watch that," he says. "I'm tired of all those movies where the guy gets the girl."

Tony frowns. "Maybe not that one."

"Why not?"

"It's just… not… uhh... happy."

Steve waits, but he doesn't go on. "Not happy."

"Yeah."

He waits, and Tony's face makes this very slight, almost apologetic movement. "I don't think you'd want to watch it."

He waits, and Tony shrugs. "I don't want to watch it."

Steve sighs. "You know what? I think I'd rather be alone tonight."

He's barely even home when he gets a text message from Tony, and it's just a couple of links. He clicks one, sees "Coping with Depression," and doesn't even bother with the others.

He calls Tony. "I said I wanted to be alone."

He can imagine Tony's lip rising in disdain. "Do is it look like I'm anywhere near you right now?"

He doesn't answer.

"Okay, mutey mcmute face. You're the one who called me."

"Because you're not leaving me alone."

"So ignore me. That's the beauty of texting."

"How am I supposed to ignore you when you're giving me reading assignments?"

"They were articles I thought you might find interesting. That's it."

"I'm not depressed," Steve says, feeling entirely like he's lying. "I told you, I can't be. The serum fixed all that."

Tony laughs, soft and low. "Dunno how to tell you this, babe, but there have been massive improvements in medical science since then."

Steve knows he can't blame this on the serum. He was told, over and over, that the serum wouldn't change who he is.

Whatever it is that Tony's seeing in him, whatever Tony doesn't like about him, that's his own fault. His own failing.

He knows he's being distant. He claims that it's because he's tired, from work, and Tony very verbally and emphatically doesn't buy that.

So that's how he winds up at Tony's place, two days later, listening to another lecture about how he's messed up. Sick.

"Look, I've read a little bit of your file. You probably got bullied a lot when you were little, didn't you?"

Steve flinches at the term. It sounds so demeaning. He was small, yes, but there's got to be a better way to express that.

For once, Tony seems to notice. "Sorry, I meant young."

Steve shrugs. "I could stand up for myself."

"Really."

He looks away. "Bucky would step in, usually, but I didn't need him to. I could've taken it."

"Well yeah, of course you could, but most people don't have to."

Steve shrugs. "So?"

"So maybe you're so obsessed with standing up for yourself that you don't realize that it's okay not to."

He cocks his head. "What's your point?"

"I did my research, okay? You're supposed to to talk to me. I mean, I get it, who in their right mind would pick me to confide in but still, you're supposed to."

Steve shrugs. "Okay."

"So you'll do that then."

"I'm strong enough to handle things myself."

Tony frowns. "See, that's what I'm saying. It's not about strength, babe, especially if you're actually depressed – which yeah, okay, you said you're not and I don't want to make you angry all over again but I don't exactly trust your self assessment of that."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yeah. You're shutting me out because – I dunno why, because you think it's weak to show emotions or you can't stand feeling out of control or you think I won't like you if you're not the perfect embodiment of masculinity and the american way all the time, but whatever it is it's stupid and you need to stop it."

It feels like he's discovering this idea that Tony might not be right for him.

That's not exactly the right term. What he is discovering is that things aren't the same. It doesn't feel right anymore between them, and he has to try, too hard, to pretend that it does.

This new idea, the one that Tony's not right for him, that's the reasoned conclusion.

He hears Peggy's voice in his head. "Tony's not as smart as he thinks he is." And while he knows that when she said it her voice had been full of amusement and affection, now he hears it differently. He hears it as a criticism.

He hears it as his own criticism.

He thinks about talking to her about it. Decides against it. He stops by and sees her every time he's not at work or with Tony, and he never talks to her about anything useful, but it feels good, he feels comfortable.

He doesn't feel that way with Tony anymore.

He was so sure he was in love with Tony. He knows that he was. That's undeniable.

But he's not feeling that right now

He's not feeling bad, either. He's just feeling calm. Emotionless.

That means he's right.

Tony calls Saturday night, doesn't even say hello. "I want to see you," Tony says. "In person."

Steve swallows. He's made a decision. He just doesn't want to do it tonight.

"How about tomorrow? Lunch."

"How about now?"

"I'm busy right now."

"I'm busy tomorrow. You're sitting on your bed doing nothing."

"I don't sit on my bed."

"So you're at the table. Or something, I don't know, I've never seen you apartment. Let's skip the semantics. Did I do something? Are you mad at me?"

No. He's not.

"You owe me," Tony says.

"How do you figure?"

"Last time this happened I didn't make you come out."

Steve frowns. "So if you respect my decision once, you get a pass?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I had a shitty day. I just want to see you. Why the fuck is that an issue?"

"I –" Steve pauses. It's not going to kill him to pretend for one night that things are okay. "Okay."

"You hungry? There's this new place I've been wanting to try."

"It's late. Let's go somewhere casual," Steve says.

"Like what, 7-11?"

"There's a McDonalds by my apartment."

Tony laughs, and then stops. "Oh, you're serious, aren't you?"

Steve nods. "See you in 20 minutes."

Tony's sitting in the back, in the corner, facing the wall, the remains of a large fry in front of him. He offers some to Steve as he sits down.

"No thanks," he says, as his stomach growls. "I already ate."

"C'mon. It's terrible for you."

Steve squares his shoulders. "So what'd you wanna talk about?"

Tony shrugs. "Nothing. It's… whatever." He looks down, picks at some fries. "I, uh, just wanted to see you."

He looks around to make sure no one's watching, and then he reaches across the table, sliding his hand into Steve's.

"Can we, please, go back to your place? There are things I don't really want to discuss here."

For one second, he wonders if Tony's decided the same thing he has.

"Y'know, uh, stupid important emotional stuff," Tony adds, and that idea is gone.

It's painful watching him do this. He wonders if Tony thinks he's being subtle, right now. "If you have something to say, say it."

Tony blinks. "Uh, I love you?"

Steve already knows there's nobody in earshot but that doesn't stop him from looking around. "About me."

"Uh, I thought you loved me?"

"I do," he says. "That's not –"

"So then why do I feel like you're here against your will?"

Steve crosses his arms. "I am."

Tony sighs. "Right," he says, the word sharp on an exhale. He tips over the fries, throwing the last crumbs into his mouth. "Well, I'm done eating, so feel free to leave."

So he does.

"Okay, never mind, sit the fuck back down."

He doesn't. He just leaves, walking out the side door and he knows Tony's following him but he doesn't stop until there's a hand on his arm.

"What the hell? I told you, I had a bad day. This isn't about you. Why can't you hold yourself together for ten fucking minutes?"

"I can't hold myself together? You're right, that's not about me."

"Okay, fine. I apologize," Tony says, sounding far from apologetic. "I didn't mean it. I'm just saying you have some responsibility here." He sighs, looking tired and way too serious. "You can't expect me to fix you."

"I don't want you to fix me. I don't want you to do anything."

"I'm trying to help you," Tony says. "You know, you help me, I help you, except apparently not the first one."

"You need my help with something? You need me?"

"Yes," Tony says. "I do."

"For what?"

"I…" he trails off. "Things. That's not important."

"Oh," Steve says. "Right."

"Can we just go back to your place?"

"No," he says, and he's not supposed to do this. Not here. The time's not right. "I'm just a problem for you."

Tony frowns. "What?"

"I – this isn't working." He swallows, trying to hold back tears, because that's the last thing he needs to happen. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

He takes one last look at Tony's shocked face and then he turns away, his whole body tense. And he walks away before Tony can stop him, before Tony can make him feel even worse about this, repeating over and over again that it's for the best. That it was great while it lasted but Steve can't have everything he wants and he doesn't deserve this and he can't look Tony in the eye anymore and it's entirely his fault.

He hears Tony call his name. He walks faster.

He spends Sunday in his bed, crying sometimes, mostly lying there and feeling numb. Occasionally he has to get up, to use the bathroom, to delete Tony's messages.

Peggy had made him promise he'd visit her any time he was feeling down. He'd promised. But this isn't like that. This is different. This is the end of his first real relationship. He's supposed to feel like he's had his heart ripped out. Like he can barely breathe with the weight of everything he just lost.

Lost is the wrong word. He gave it up.

He's not sad.

He's just empty.

Deeply and profoundly empty.

He's felt worse. He knows that he's felt so much worse. This couldn't hold a candle to how he felt when Bucky died, when they woke him up and he realized he'd lost everything. Not to how he feels when he thinks about everybody he's lost. About who he's become

Just because it's not the worst pain he's ever felt doesn't mean he can handle it.

He curls up and tries to be alone but it turns out he doesn't know how to do that anymore. There isn't an inch of his body that doesn't have a memory, of Tony's hands or Tony's lips or Tony's teeth or -

He can't hug himself without feeling Tony's arm around his chest, can't even lower his pants without remembering Tony's strong hands, on his hips, spreading his thighs.

He can't hold his head in his hands because all that does is remind him that his own fingers will never feel as soothing again.

He used to be able to comfort himself. He used to be able, when it all got hard, to wrap his arms around himself and that was enough. He's not like that anymore. He needs someone to hold him.

He doesn't need someone. He needs Tony.

He hates himself, every bit of himself. He hates that he ruined everything that he could have had. Hates that he didn't deserve it in the first place.

He hates that he can't hate himself enough to really believe that this was for the best.

He can't stop thinking about the things he'll never do again, the way he'll never be able to kiss him, touch him, feel him, maybe never even see him. A part of him hopes he never sees him again. He doesn't know if he can handle that. If he could resist the urge to pull him into his arms and say he made a mistake, they should get back together.

He made a mistake. They should get back together.

He knows he's wrong for wanting it, but all he wants is Tony's head next to his on the pillow, or Tony's head on the pillow and his head on the bed because Tony wouldn't share the pillow. He wants Tony's arm draped across his stomach and Tony's skin against his and he wants Tony. He wants him so bad.

He's not sure how he gets turned on, how he can even get turned on when he's not feeling anything but it's got to be all of the memories, all of the moments he keeps going through of Tony's body and Tony's mouth, and Tony's cock and Tony's ass and, well, it's his own fucking fault that he has a damn near photographic memory. It's probably remembering the way Tony's lips move, the casual flick of his tongue and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

It's probably none of that, it's probably just an erection. But he makes it that, by thinking too hard. He makes it about Tony and before he knows it he's gripping too tight and stroking too fast to every visual and tactile memory he can drum up. Before he knows it he's coming, a mixture of guilt and grief and semen and regret, hitting his skin like acid, twisting up inside of him.

It doesn't make him feel better. He didn't expect it to.

He doesn't set an alarm that night.

He wakes up too early, unusually alert, and he looks up and there's a dark figure sitting at his table.

He's on his feet, reaching for something to use as a weapon, before she has a chance to speak.

"Just me," she says, and he doesn't recognize the voice but then she flips the light switch and it's Natasha.

"Stark's an ass," she says. "No reason to miss work."

There are so many things wrong with that statement that he doesn't know to respond.

"Are you going to offer me a drink?"

Steve runs a hand over his face. "I was going to show up," he says, blinking at the clock. He still has an hour.

"And I believe you," Natasha says, pursing her lips into a soft little smile.

"What was that about Stark?"

"You broke up. Saturday."

He considers denying that but there are much more pressing concerns. And he doesn't know if he can deny it without crying, or at least wanting to. "Are you following me?"

"No, of course not." She shrugs, tosses her hair. "SHIELD is." Quirks her head. "In public, at least."

He's shocked at the casual way she says that, at the fact that SHIELD would follow him after he'd expressed his disapproval of their invasive practices, at the fact that he's shocked at all.

"You really didn't think SHIELD was keeping an eye on you? Doing a little damage control? Wouldn't do for Fury's golden boy to get caught up in a sex scandal with Stark."

"A… sex scandal?" Thinking of Tony sends a pang down his chest, but thinking of him like he's some bad influence hurts more. "It wasn't like like that."

"Shhh. Shower. Shave. We can discuss the fineries of your relationship later."

He does, the water streaming down his face and he thinks of Tony but mostly he thinks about SHIELD, about the life he thought he was living that he obviously wasn't. He wonders how much they know. If they know all about him, all about Tony, if he's just their little guinea pig.

He should have known, he should have fucking realized that they would follow him, and maybe tap his phone, all of that. He should have known because Fury had showed him that, all of it, and he'd been young and naive and idealistic and said he wanted nothing to do with it.

He hadn't considered that leaving wouldn't exempt him, that the same things they wanted to use with him they were just using against him.

He wants to hit something, wants to punch the wall but he can't do that anymore because it used to be that he'd break his hand and that was fine, but now he'll break the wall and that costs money and takes time and is destroying something that doesn't belong to him.

Sometimes he misses the days when he was the only one his aggression could hurt.

He comes out and Natasha's cooking eggs. She's set the table and she's making toast out of that cheap bread he has for sandwiches. She looks up at him, and smiles, slow, like he's genuinely glad to see him. And just for a second he doesn't mind so much that she's here.

They eat mostly in silence, with the little scrape and clang of silverware against dishes. She barely looks up, barely says anything. But then, toward the end, she catches his eye, and she says, in that calm, even way of hers, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know why, or what for, but just that little gesture makes him feel slightly less alone.