Note: Some readers who know me from AO3 will recognize the title of this story. I've rewritten it to feature an OC, out of love for the story and a desire to share it with more readers.

ALSO: This story has an odd bug, like other stories posted after 9/15 when the site stopped certain features. Random chapters are not loading for some readers, but the bug is transitory and you can sometimes trick it by opening the story in a different browser or on a different day. The story does exist over on AO3 under the username Darsynia, and after completing this over here I'm probably going to have to stop posting stories- the broken hit counter is one thing, but readers get frustrated when they can't access chapters! I'm sorry it's happening, for what it's worth. The site seems not to care.


Chapter One

Claudine simply can't believe this is happening.

Right as she was going over proposed alterations to Sam Wilson's Falcon suit, a person who looked exactly like Steve Rogers had walked through the wall right beside her.

"Oh heck no!" she'd burst out. "Do not tell me that Stark created some kind of matter splitter that lets a person walk through walls, please? I live here. I don't want to put alarm lasers in my bathroom, but I'll do it!"

Now Steve's looking at the solid wall behind him and seems surprised. "I'm sorry miss, but just a second ago, that was a doorway."

"If you two are trying to distract me out of noticing that the controls for Redwing are different, it's not going to work!" Sam says, his focus remaining on the sketch she'd mocked up for him.

Looking back at Steve, Claudine notices that something is… off. First of all, his uniform isn't one of her designs, but there are a few vintage ones still floating around. Second of all, his hair is longer than it had been the previous day at the monthly midday meeting.

The third difference is the way he's looking at her. Admiringly. Something he'd never done before- she would have noticed.

While answering Sam's question about one of the altered features for Redwing, Claudine keeps an eye on the way Steve's wandering through the large room. He seems to be growing more and more confused, picking up an item to frown at it, walking around one of the free-standing computer terminals, and generally looking lost. More than once, she catches him looking over at her in confusion.

With alarm bells going off in her head, Claudine makes a decision. "You know what, Sam, I think I just caught the problem with this. Can I fix it and have you go back over it tonight, after the dinner thing?"

"Sure, 'Dine. How many wings did you sign up for?" Sam challenges.

"Oh no you don't! That's confidential information. Not as many as you, that's all I'll say."

"You know it. See ya, Steve," he says on his way out. She walks along with him, and once Sam is through the door, she hits a very specific button on the panel next to it.

"I think you know I could probably break through any one of these walls," Not-Quite-Steve says from across the room. He sounds regretful.

"I mean, you could try, but this room is fortified. We test prototypes here, and not every invention behaves as expected," Claudine replies, a little proud of her deliberate double meaning. The button had sent an alert to just Stark, for now, but it also turns on a live recording of the whole room, displayed in certain spaces all throughout the complex.

"That's why there are no windows," Faux-Steve observes calmly. "Basement of the tower?"

She wills herself not to react to that. After the disaster with Ultron, after losing Bruce to fury and almost losing Stark to guilt, they'd all moved upstate, away from the bad memories. Was this Steve from their past or a whole other future? Was he really Steve at all?

"What were you doing right before you came here?" she asks, walking slowly over to the locker area. She'd probably fit into a few of the things there, if she had to.

"Arguing with Tony over something I thought he shouldn't be doing." He offers her a thin smile and slips his hands into his pockets, like that somehow makes him seem less dangerous. She knows better. "Look, whatever it was, it sent me here, and this 'here' isn't my here."

Natasha had taught her never to give too much away. "Oh?"

"My 'here' doesn't have-"

Before Fake Steve can finish his sentence, Stark bursts into the room completely suited up, and things get chaotic from there.

oOoOoOo

Claudine's on her way up to one of the open office rooms to write down everything she can remember, but as she get closer to the correct floor, she slows down. She has a bit of a dilemma, and no amount of reassuring herself is helping.

It's not about how much she hates her name, how much she's joked about legally changing her name to the one Stark had given her back when she'd started working for him: Brigandine. That's too much of a mouthful for most of her coworkers, more so for her friends ('too formal,' Sam says. 'Too sneaky for such a genuine person,' Clint says- but she thinks he's weirdly focused on the 'brigand' part). Most people just call her Dine.

No, her sticking point right now is how she realized something was wrong, what first made her recognize a discrepancy. The longer hair thing will probably be enough, but it isn't the whole truth. She doesn't want to reveal the whole truth, because the whole truth involves something she's kept to herself for over a year.

The real truth is that Claudine Randolf is head over heels in love with Steve Rogers. Her Steve Rogers, except he isn't. He's never looked at her the way this one just did.

She hasn't let that be a problem, of course. She's in her dream job; after being in armor fabrication and development at Stark Industries for years, Dine had been recruited by Tony Stark himself to work with the Avengers. It's been a genuine pleasure creating individual designs that are tailored to each fighter's strengths and weaknesses, instead of the mass-produced stuff she'd worked on for Stane.

She had tried hard not to let herself show any favoritism, after she'd realized her crush on Steve wasn't going away. She doesn't even call him Steve, except in her own head- but all of that is at risk right now. She's tuned to indifference, and the open interest she had caught a glimpse of today is sending her senses reeling.

"Hey, Dine. Tony sent me up to make sure you're okay, said you looked a little shaken up." Natasha doesn't look concerned yet, but now Dine's on edge, because if Stark noticed that, Nat sure as hell will.

"I need to write this shit down, but yeah, a little bit," she admits. "It's like if instead of Vision, the model in the cradle was Rogers, and they got him 95% right." With a 5% 'thinks I'm cute' flaw, she doesn't say aloud.

Nat follows her inside and stands waiting as she busies herself with finding an incident report and the exact right pen. Dine handles it right up until she starts writing her name (ugh) and Natasha's shadow darkens the rest of the paper.

"Something you need?"

"You're freaked out."

"Well, yeah. If an interdimensional version of St- Rogers is able to stroll into our test room, we're going to need some equally interdimensional protections for this place, not to mention a thousand thousand other important locations all across the country!" Dine just picked something out of midair to bluff her, but it's the truth, and now she's managed to worry herself. She sets down the pen and looks up at Natasha. "What if they need him, Nat? What if we can't send him back?"

"If it's something Tony built, Tony can build it," her friend says pragmatically. "One worry at a time."

oOoOoOo

"There she is!"

Dine's late to the gathering, and she's going to have to make up an excuse, because the forty-five minutes she spent dithering over her clothing choices had everything to do with the image she wanted to present tonight. She ended up going with something casual, dressed-down, because as much as she'd felt a little thrill at the way Alternate Steve had looked at her, it had been disconcerting and alien. No way did she want to foster more of that.

She looks up and smiles weakly at Sam- until she remembers something. "Shit, Sam, your thing! I'm so sorry, I didn't go back in the room after-"

He comes over and slings an arm around her shoulders, comfort bred by familiarity. "No, I get it. Don't worry, manufacture isn't set for another week."

She relaxes into the hug, slipping a hand around his waist and squeezing for a few seconds before stepping back. "It's just that I promised-" This time it's Sam's expression that interrupts her.

"You know you design this stuff, you don't have to act like armor yourself, right? You sensed something right away, didn't you? And you got me out of the room."

Stark's loud, defensive voice cuts through Dine's mumbled explanation.

"-veryone's giving me shit over this, but I'm not the one who screwed up! And I'm the one who's going to fix it, so lay blame on the correct Stark! Who is, for once, not me." He's been making his way over to thrust her favorite beer in her hand without asking. She looks around for Sam, but he's gone. "If anyone should be mad, it's Dine," he shouts over his shoulder. In a quieter voice he adds, "Don't tell them I said this, Brigandine, but I apologize on behalf of my bumbling alternate universe counterpart. Who knows what kind of weird traits IMPOST-Steve has that our version doesn't!"

She already feels sick, and she hasn't drunk or eaten anything yet.

Stark drags her over to the catered wings and fills a plate without paying much attention to the cues she's trying to give him, which is tipsy-typical. Honestly, she's kind of grateful; with a plate piled high she'll have every excuse to focus on the meal instead of the cluster around the Steves. Stark at least carries it, every inch the gregarious boss, and she indicates the farthest table. This earns her a bit of a concerned look, but Dine just clinks her beer against his and tells him to shoo.

It's interesting watching the seemingly identical men holding position, holding court, really, as the various Avengers and associated staff ebb and flow around them. It takes a good hour (and half of the plate) for each person to get some time with the newcomer, after which the lights dim a bit, along with everyone's senses. This is the open-bar payment for the all-hands monthly midday meeting of the day before. Not all the attendees actually live at the compound; she only sees the whole team once a month.

With the lights down low, her corner is practically dark, but when a familiar figure approaches, she knows who it has to be.

"Have they settled on a name for you yet?"

"Tony seems to favor 'Major America,' which is better than I would have expected," Not-Steve says as he pulls out a chair and settles into it. He turns his head her way and smiles, the relaxed, almost-flirty kind she's always wanted from him. "I get the feeling that if it weren't for the contrast in uniforms, most of these people wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

Dine makes a non-committal noise and finishes off her beer. It takes a few gulps, but he just watches, like there's anything more to see than an anxious, embarrassed woman incredibly out of her depth.

"What about you?" she asks, afterwards.

"Well, we don't have this exact complex, which I think I gave away when we met the first time. Tony asked me not to go too deep into the changes-"

"No, no, I get it," she interrupts. "There could be something we don't know about yet."

"And vice versa, yeah. It might have taken longer for me to figure things out if it weren't for one of the biggest differences. I've never seen you before."

The half-bottle of alcohol hits her just as he says that, and she stares at him.

"Yeah, seeing Sam so comfortable with a complete stranger in a room that strangers probably shouldn't be allowed in ticked some 'danger' boxes for me," AU Steve says.

The light from the only nearby lamp edges his profile in yellow, and Dine decides to call him Gold Steve in her head, because 'AU' is the periodic table symbol for gold, and that's what passes for clever right now. She's so proud of this that she misses the next thing he says; she asks him to repeat it.

"I said, how did you know? You knew right away."

"Your hair is longer," she says a little too quickly.

Gold Steve tips his head sideways and regards her with a look that amplifies her blood alcohol content to dangerous levels. "It's a subtle difference. You noticed that?"

"For all you know, it's my job to keep everyone up to regs," Dine jokes.

His slow, easy smile is familiar enough, except he's alone with her in a dark corner. "I wouldn't mind that at all," he says warmly.

It's time to get out of here before Claudine's lost dignity is her only legacy here at the Avengers compound. Already the tipsy feeling is fading, but the Steve Proximity Alarm is blaring at full volume.

She didn't actually know how accurate the thought was until Gold Steve stands and gallantly (bafflingly) offers his arm, and she hears a second familiar voice behind her.

"I don't think that's necessary, is it? She just had the one beer."

Gold Steve reaches up to rub the back of his neck, clearly chastened. "No, of course. Just instinct, I guess."

"This is above my pay grade," she squeaks, setting off toward the door. She'd been looking forward to talking to Clint while he was here. There's a containment idea she'd had for some of his more dangerous arrows- but there's no way in hell Dine's staying around to watch Steve Rogers talk Steve Rogers out of paying attention to her.

As she slips through the door, she hears one of them call out, "'Dine, wait!" but she has no idea which one of them it is.

oOoOoOo

The next day brings with it a more detailed plan of what to do with Gold Steve. Dine's on the periphery and busy with the planned upgrades to Sam and Clint's gear, so she only hears about it at lunch.

From Gold Steve himself.

She hadn't even planned to go to the cafeteria area, but as always, her minifridge is sadly devoid of take-out when it really matters. The kitchen looks safe when she gets there at two PM, late as usual, but in her defense, she was really caught up in the creative process.

One of the things Dine loves about the Avengers Compound is the random thoughtfulness scattered everywhere. In the cavernous freezer, there's always a supply of various frozen meals, almost as if she were living back at home and digging in her mom's fridge to find something she'd made two months ago. They're made biweekly but eaten any old time, and she scores a hit on the back bottom shelf: her very favorite hearty soup.

She's mid-microwave with it when Gold Steve walks in to rinse out his bowl. Seems he'd made the same exact thing. She wonders who helped him, where that person is now, and why Stark had thought it necessary to design a kitchen with only one way in or out. Hasn't he ever seen Jurassic Park?

"Oh, hello," Gold Steve says. Dine isn't looking over at him, but she can hear the smile in his voice. She doesn't answer right away (because her brain is running through a fragmented list of things to say, and every time she grabs one it's garbled. 'Soup is for the winter,' is right out. 'It's nice to not expecting to see you here' makes her nearly abandon the kitchen and push past him out of sheer desperation), and he fills the silence instead. "Oh, that smells familiar, is it the soup?"

She nods, hoping like hell that his version of Tony Stark hasn't designed telepathy.

"Maybe it's bad form to joke about it, but I wouldn't mind taking that recipe back with me. If we figure out how to send me, of course."

If this was her Steve Dine would have said something like, 'I imagine we'd just write it down and put the notecard in your pocket.' She does joke with the guy, it's not like they never interact. It's just that those interactions are as platonic as two houseplants sitting on the same indoor windowsill.

The microwave dings, and she excuses herself to grab the spoon over near where Gold Steve is standing. After a stir and a taste determines it needs more time, she grits her teeth and starts the timer for another minute.

"I'm sorry I make you so uncomfortable, if you don't mind my saying."

"You don't!" she lies, but Gold Steve's crossed arms lay on the guilt too much to ignore. "I'm… not used to the attention," Dine says delicately. His brows furrow, and somehow there are still forty more seconds on the timer before she can be saved by the bell. "She who is seen and not heard?"

"I don't believe that for a second. Sam Wilson hugged you at that thing last night, you don't get there by being seen and not heard."

"Yeah, well, I'm one of the only people who love Redwing as much as he does," she mutters.

To her delight and horror, Gold Steve comes over and rests a heavy hand on the microwave door, just inches away. "I cannot imagine being in a room with you and not seeing you," he says.

The traitorous microwave beeps loudly, startling her sideways into his arm for one shocking second. Dine backs away, saying the first thing that comes to her head.

"Why?" She closes her eyes tightly as she realizes she's basically asking for a run-down of compliments from the guy, rushing to say, "I don't mean that. I mean, I do, but I'm just-"

She hears the sounds of the microwave being operated, and confused, she just stands there with one hand clapped over her mouth, eyes closed. After two loud beeps and the start button, the microwave runs for a few seconds, beeping loudly again. It's so unexpected that she opens her eyes and sees Gold Steve with an encouraging look on his face, one hand held out placatingly in her direction.

"Can we start over?" he asks.